I cannot expect any one to be interested in these stories who is not interested in the scenes where they are laid. To you, my class-mates and contemporaries, I need make no apology. We always gave each other freely the valuable gift Burns asked of the gods; my shortcomings I shall learn soon enough—especially if I have written anything false or pretentious. But I feel sure that anything about Harvard, however imperfect, will not be unwelcome to you—provided it is true. We are scattered far apart and cannot often meet to talk over old times; perhaps these recollections may partially serve at times, in the place of an old chum, to bring back the days when we were all together. They are only yarns and pictures of us boys; but you will think no worse of them for that. The higher traditions of the old place I have dared in only one instance to approach.

and for that we reverence, we glory in those precincts; is it profanation to add that we also love them, because we ourselves have rollicked through them, with Jack, Ned, and Dick?

One thing, however, I must say to you before you begin to read. You will quickly see that I can claim little originality in the following stories. They are almost all founded on actual occurrences of either our own college life, or that of undergrads. before us. Some of the incidents came under my own notice, others happened to men of whom I do not even know the names, but who, I trust, will forgive my use of their experiences. But let no one imagine that, in any of the characters, he recognizes either himself or any one else. No one of us enters into these pages,—though I have tried to draw parts of all.

Among you also, my older brothers, I hope to find readers. There have been changes and developments since you were in college; many old institutions have passed away and new ones taken their places; there may be features in these sketches that you will not recognize; but in the main, Alma Mater is still the same. Holworthy, with all its memories, still gazes contemplatively down the green leafy Yard; the same old buildings flank it on either hand. The white walls of University still look across to the aged pair, Massachusetts and her partner, the head of the family. The latter still rears his sonorous crest (in spite of all your historic efforts to silence it); and is it not Jones who rings the bell? The river is there, the elms are there; above all, the undergraduate is there, and oh, reverend grads., from the tales I have heard ye tell, I opine that the undergraduate is still the same. If I can recall him to you in these sketches, if I can make one of you say, "That is like old times," I shall have done all that I hope.