Although the custom may be childish, it certainly is not the pernicious thing which the press would have the public believe. Athletics have a very prominent place in the college world. Youthful vitality finds a safety valve in athletic exercises. Inter-collegiate rivalry is a most natural thing. University foot ball teams, crews and ball nines follow as a matter of course. These contests are of absorbing interest, and are eagerly anticipated. Alumni of many years’ standing are carried away with enthusiasm at a college match. The public is led to suppose that athletics monopolize the student’s thought and interest. It is true that students do talk of a ball match more frequently than of Greek particles. The one belongs to the recreative side of college life, the other to the recitation room. When relieved from his regular duties, the normal student seeks recreation. Beside affording exercise, athletics engender a college spirit which helps to bind together the Yale alumni all over the land. Whatever may be the excesses, the advantages are manifold. The faculty declare that athletics have never been more prominent, nor the standard of scholarship higher than at the present time. One trace, at least, of the good, old, puritanic days is found in “compulsory prayers.” At seven every morning, except Sunday, when there are regular services at 10:30, the old bell in the lyceum tower disturbs the peacefully slumbering student. At eight it gives a second warning, and at about seven minutes after it rings again, until, tolling the last minute, it stops at 8:10 precisely. The students who have been dropping in one by one since eight, come in increasing numbers as the time approaches. As the bell and organ voluntary cease, a few stragglers drop into their seats. If it is the last of the term, there are often a few men who, having only two marks between them and the cold world, appear in conspicuously superficial toilets.