The first class to graduate was in 1867. They were four in number--"the immortal IV"--as Dr. Raymond characterized them at the planting of their class ivy, for there were then no class trees by adoption. No diploma was given to the class on the day of graduation, the trustees hesitating to admit the propriety of the term Bachelor of Arts as applied to women. Instead, the four received a sort of special certificate stating their proficiency "in science and the arts." Later, the next year, when the matter was satisfactorily adjusted, they received the regular parchment document. The early fortunate possessors of the degree of A.B.--once given only to men--were regarded with admiring awe, and they had not to strive much for any desired position coveted. A successful young woman teacher of experience entered college to go through the course in two years, to the wonder of some friends who regarded her as having no need of a degree. "I want it for commercial purposes," was her shrewd reply. She had her reward in advancement far beyond what hitherto had been perfectly satisfactory. It is now a matter of course that a candidate for any position should have a college education, and the well earned degree confers no special distinction. Indeed, it has come to pass that the almost indifferent comment is, "Well, what has she done since?" A favorite question to the college girl was, "What good does this higher education do? Can you make a better pudding for it?" "I'll tell you what good the college does," laughed a certain bright student, "it is a great place to take the starch out of one! Why, at home I thought I was somebody; here I find the only somebody is the best scholar in the classroom." The President taught mental and moral philosophy as the catalogue stated it. He also gave some lectures in history, as did the professor of ancient and modern languages and the professor of English. Under the term natural philosophy came mathematics, physics and chemistry, and the term natural history covered the wide field of science now separated into special departments. Biology was taught under zoology, and an amusing incident in class at one time was when one of the number (afterwards a surgeon and doctor) exclaimed in dismay at sight of the eye of an ox laid on her table for dissection, "O Professor, mayn't we have forks?" The second year of the college was little changed from the first, and so the distinction of being "an aborigine," as Miss Mitchell dubbed the officers that came in '65, was bestowed on a few of us who had just missed that date. She always brought some little present for the band on her return to college each year, and it delighted her to add a fresh anecdote, told as we walked down a corridor, her large, serious eyes twinkling with fun.