It stands a little distance back from the street, between it and which lies the 'Campus,' a beautiful grassy slope of vivid green, surrounded with an iron fence, laid out with neat gravel walks, and shaded by noble and magnificent trees of more than a century's growth. Nothing can be more beautiful in summer time than this shady lawn. Here, at all hours of the day, students may be seen reading alone, or conversing in groups, seated on the benches placed at intervals among the trees, or stretched at full length on the fragrant grass, kicking their heels gymnastically in the air, or sauntering with arms interlocked along the gravel walks, singing, perhaps, some college song, such as 'Gaudeamus igitur, Juvenes dum sumus,' or others less classical and more uproarious. Here, too, those known to their class-mates as the 'hard fellows,' are wont to prowl in the darkened hours, making night hideous with terrific voices, or stealing in darkness and silence to play some trick on the 'Profs.' or 'Tutes.' From the gates of the Campus, every afternoon at the hour of five, or after prayers, the whole troop of students, to the number of three hundred, issue, for the purpose of taking their evening walk. Down the street they march, by twos and threes, chatting, laughing, telling college stories, or rehearsing the gossip of the day, into the extreme lower end of the long street, a locality known as Orthodox Corner, where they turn and march back in the same order. As they proceed, their ranks are gradually swelled by a couple of hundreds of 'Seminary' students (distinguishable by their more mature appearance, their heavier beards, and their 'stove-pipe hats'), and their walk enlivened by the sight of numerous ladies, who, by a remarkable coincidence, have also chosen the hour between five and six as the most fashionable for promenading, the dames of course usually going _up_ the street as the students are going _down_, and _down_ as, the students are going _up_, in order to afford them opportunities to exercise their graces in bowing to those whom they know, and staring at those whom they do not. For one brief hour, the quiet street presents the appearance of a crowded city, the pedestrians jostling each other as they pass and repass; but soon as the hour of six arrives, all is still again, for youths and maidens are alike engaged in discussing that meal for which their long walk has served as a whet.