And with sweet, clear rendering, the band begins to play: "In cottage or palace, Wherever I roam, Be it ever so humble, There's no place like home. Home! Home! Sweet, sweet home!"-- O what does it mean, to those men who (except for the short furlough) have been four years in exile! They give no sign; motionless as so many statues; the black chin straps merging faces, and hiding what may be there. The June air stirs the soft edges of the black plumes, floating them off as one; the sunset glitters on buckle and bayonet; the great garrison flag curls and uncurls its mighty folds. "It may be for years and it may be for ever," before the men of that front rank will look upon the scene again. They have hated it, sometimes, and longed to get away, but now they know how well they love it. What things those old hills and they have gone through together! from the forlorn pleb days until now. And even with that thought, the band lapses softly into another mood: "Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind?" and every heart answers to the pleading of "Auld Lang Syne." For these classmates, after to-morrow, will be scattered to the four winds. Some, not to meet again till they are grey-haired men; never _all_ to stand together, until the day when before the King "in his glory," "shall be gathered all nations." Believers or unbelievers, they think of it now. They may not speak nor touch each other, nor turn the head, but they think. It is as well, perhaps, that "The girl I left behind me" puts in her word just here, and you have to laugh, partly because you were so near crying. But Lang Syne and Sweet Home have the last saying, as the band comes back to its place. Parade goes on, and for once everybody is "present or accounted for." The orders are published, the standing read (not always, in these days), and then the graduating class come forward, and with dress hats off and held at the correct angle, shake hands with the Commandant and have a short address from him. And while the little company pass down and stand in line before the trees (not that either, now), the old Commandant turns hastily away from the show, and seeks his own front door. It is a long ago "Lang Syne" that he remembers, and far better than these youngsters, he knows what all this means. But the music begins again, with another change. "I see them on their winding way" fills all the air. The lines break up; and buckle and bayonet, sash and plume, come gaily past the seats, and then as they pass the waiting graduates, again the plumed hats come off, while cheers ring out in eager greeting from their comrades marching by. "I know I shall cry when it comes to that!" said a gay young first classman to me. And I have no doubt he did. But there are no lookers-on in front of them, and the old plain tells no tales.