So end the college-days of these most uproarious of mirth-makers and hardest of American students; and the hundred whose joys and sorrows have been identified through four happy years, are dispersed over the land. They are partially gathered again at Commencement, but the broken band is never completely united. On the third anniversary of their graduation, the first class-meeting takes place; and the first happy father is presented with a silver cup, suitably inscribed. On the tenth, twentieth, and other decennial years, the gradually diminishing band, in smaller and smaller numbers, meet about the beloved shrine, until only two or three gray-haired men clasp the once stout hand and renew the remembrance of 'the days that are gone.' 'They come ere life departs, Ere winged death appears. To throng their joyous hearts With dreams of sunnier years: To meet once more Where pleasures sprang, And arches rang With songs of yore.' FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: 'In the fourteenth century, Novella de Andrea, daughter of the celebrated canonist, frequently occupied her father's chair; and her beauty was so striking, that a curtain was drawn before her in order not to distract the attention of the students.'] [Footnote 2: Vol. i. p. 392.] [Footnote 3: Vol. iii. pp. 379 and 473.] [Footnote 4: The Linonian Society was founded in 1753; The Brothers in Unity, fifteen years later, in 1768.] GO IN AND WIN. Will nothing rouse the Northmen To see what they can do? When in one day of our war-growth The South are growing two? When they win a victory it always counts a pair, One at home in Dixie, and another _over there_! North, you have spent your millions! North, you have sent your men! But if the war ask billions, You must give it all again. Don't stop to think of what you've done--it's very fine and true-- But in fighting for our _life_, the thing is, _what we've yet to do_. Who dares to talk of party, And the coming President, When the rebels threaten 'bolder raids,' And all the land is rent? How _dare_ we learn 'they gather strength,' by every telegraph, If an army of a million could have scattered them like chaff! What means it when the people Are prompt with blood and gold, That this devil-born rebellion Is growing two years old? The Nigger feeds them as of old, and keeps away their fears, While 'gayly into battle' go the 'Southern cavaliers.' And the Richmond _Whig_, which lately Lay groveling in mud, Shows its mulatto insolence, And prates of 'better blood:' 'We ruled them in the Union; we can thrash them out of bounds: Ye are mad, ye drunken Helots--cap off, ye Yankee hounds!'