But perhaps the most interesting day of college-life is 'Presentation-Day,' when the Seniors, having passed the various ordeals of _viva voce_ and written examinations, are presented by the senior tutor to the President, as worthy of their degrees. This ceremony is succeeded by a farewell poem and oration by two of the class chosen for the purpose, after which they partake of a collation with the college faculty, and then gather under the elms in front of the colleges. They seat themselves on a ring of benches, inside of which are placed huge tubs of lemonade, (the strongest drink provided for public occasions,) long clay pipes, and great store of mildest Turkey tobacco. Here, led on by an amateur band of fiddlers, flutists, etc., through the long afternoon of 'the leafy month of June,' surrounded by the other classes who crowd about in cordial sympathy, they smoke manfully, harangue enthusiastically, laugh uproariously, and sing lustily, beginning always with the glorious old Burschen song of 'Gaudeamus': 'Gaudeamus igitur Juvenes dum sumus: Post jucundam juventutem, Post molestam senectutem, Nos habebit humus.' * * * * * 'Pereat tristitia, Pereant osores, Pereat diabolus, Quivis antiburschius Atque irrisores.' Then as the shadows grow long, perhaps they sing again those stirring words which one returning to the third semi-centennial of his Alma Mater, wrote with all the warmth and power of manly affection: * * * * * 'Count not the tears of the long-gone years, With their moments of pain and sorrow; But laugh in the light of their memories bright, And treasure them all for the morrow. Then roll the song in waves along, While the hours are bright before us, And grand and hale are the towers of Yale, Like guardians towering o'er us. * * * * * 'Clasp ye the hand 'neath the arches grand That with garlands span our greeting. With a silent prayer that an hour as fair May smile on each after meeting: And long may the song, the joyous song, Roll on in the hours before us, And grand and hale may the elms of Yale For many a year bend o'er us.' Then standing in closer circle, they pass around to give, each to each, a farewell grasp of the hand; and amid that extravagant merriment the lips begin to quiver, and eyes grow dim. Then, two by two, preceded by the miscellaneous band, playing 'The Road to Boston,' and headed by a huge base-viol, borne by two stout fellows, and played by a third, they pass through each hall of the long line of buildings, giving farewell cheers, and at the foot of one of the tall towers, each throws his handful of earth on the roots of an ivy, which, clinging about those brown masses of stone, in days to come, he trusts will be typical of their mutual, remembrance as he breathes the silent prayer: 'Lord, keep our memories green!'