Osborne, McCarty, Thornton and Spain, With their companions in sunshine and rain, Back in the seventies, might tell what befell At the ring of the old University bell. The eighties came on and the roll-call grew longer Emboldened with learning, my voice rang the stronger; The day of Commencement saw young men and maids Proudly emerge from the classic shades Where oft they had heard and heeded well The voice of the old University bell. They bore me away to a shrine new and fine, Where the pilgrims of learning with yearning incline; Enwrapped they now seem, in a flowery dream, The stars of good fortune so radiant beam. Of the long roll call not one is forgot, If sorrow beset them or happy their lot; My wandering children all love me so well, Their life-work done, they'll wish a soft knell Might be tolled by the old University bell. Such is the force of habit that it was many years before I could shake off the inclination to obey the imperative summons of the old University bell. With other small children, I ran about on the huge timbers of the foundation, in the dusk when the workmen were gone, glancing around a little fearfully at the dark shadows in the thick woods, and then running home as fast as our truant feet could carry us. The laying of the cornerstone was an imposing ceremony to our minds and a significant as well as gratifying occasion to our elders. The speeches, waving of flags, salutes, Masonic emblems and service with the music rendered by a fine choir, accompanied by a pioneer melodeon, made it quite as good as a Fourth of July. All the well-to-do ranchers and mill men sent their children from every quarter. The Ebeys of Whidby Island, Hays of Olympia, Strongs of Oregon, Burnetts of down Sound and Dennys of Seattle, beside the children of many other prominent pioneers, received their introduction to learning beneath its generous shelter. A cheerful, energetic crowd they were with clear brains and vigorous bodies. The school was of necessity preparatory; in modern slang, a University was rather previous in those days. But all out-of-doors was greater than our books when it came to physical geography and natural history, to say nothing of botany, geology, etc. Observing eyes and quick wits discovered many things not yet in this year of grace set down in printed pages. A curious thing, and rather absurd, was the care taken to instruct us in "bounding" New Hampshire, Vermont and all the rest of the Eastern states, while owing to the lack of local maps we were obliged to gain the most of our knowledge of Washington by traveling over it. The first instruction given within its walls was in a little summer school taught by Mrs. O. J. Carr, which I attended. Previous to this my mother was my patient and affectionate instructor, an experienced and efficient one I will say, as teaching had been her profession before coming west.