How long it seems since that mild April night, When, leaning from the window, you and I Heard, clearly ringing from the shadowy bight, The loon's unearthly cry! Southwest the wind blew; million little waves Ran rippling round the point in mellow tune; But mournful, like the voice of one who raves, That laughter of the loon. We called to him, while blindly through the haze Upclimbed the meagre moon behind us, slow, So dim, the fleet of boats we scarce could trace, Moored lightly, just below. We called, and, lo, he answered! Half in fear, I sent the note back. Echoing rock and bay Made melancholy music far and near; Slowly it died away. That schooner, you remember? Flying ghost! Her canvas catching every wandering beam, Aerial, noiseless, past the glimmering coast She glided like a dream. Would we were leaning from your window now, Together calling to the eerie loon, The fresh wind blowing care from either brow, This sumptuous night of June! So many sighs load this sweet inland air, 'T is hard to breathe, nor can we find relief; However lightly touched, we all must share The nobleness of grief. But sighs are spent before they reach your ear, Vaguely they mingle with the water's rune; No sadder sound salutes you than the clear, Wild laughter of the loon. * * * * * SIDE-GLANCES AT HARVARD CLASS-DAY. It happened to me once to "assist" at the celebration of Class-Day at Harvard University. Class-Day is the peculiar institution of the Senior Class, and marks its completion of college study and release from college rules. It is also an institution peculiar, I believe, to Harvard, and I was somewhat curious to observe its ceremonials, besides feeling a not entirely _unawful_ interest in being introduced for the first time to the _arcana_ of that renowned Alma Mater.