June, June, beautiful, glowing, fascinating June, no doubt thou art tired of hearing thy charms sung by lovers more eloquent than I, but forgive this outburst from one who has known thee in the shades of Cambridge. Never art thou more seductive than where the old walls and stately elm trees trace their cool outlines on the turf of the Yard, where the earnest, eager students, prone on the greensward, blow upon blades of grass between their thumbs, and bet on sparrow fights and caterpillar races. The tennis-courts are alive; there are ball games on Holmes' Field, and the river winding through the green-flowing meadow (the tide being high and the mud covered) is dotted with swift-gliding shells. In the long-fading twilight the bright-beflannelled and straw-behatted groups sit upon the fences, and lounge about the streets, trying to screw up enough energy to disperse to their rooms, and study for the—Finals.

Ah, June, that is the one worm i' the bud of thy beauty! It is hard, indeed, to eschew the racquet and the oar; to go over to the Library at an early hour and hunt up Story on the Constitution, or Dana's Wheaton, or Ruskin's Stones; to find it seized, and promised to five other men before yourself; to seek a retired alcove less hot than the rest of the drowsy place, and there, taking off your coat, to doze over a volume until four o'clock, when the reserved books may be taken out; then to carry a huge book over to your room, and with an awakening cigar, grind until dinner-time; to go at it again in the evening when the scent of early summer drifts through the open window, together with the singing and laughter of some inconsiderate jackass who has finished his examinations, or does not care whether he gets through them or not. Hard is all this, but still, oh, June, I would woo thee again in those shades even in that wise; for, perchance, I might finish my examinations early and then would I enjoy life to its fullest, and make it miserable for my less fortunate friends. I would join with those who had also finished their work, and we would have a grand reaction. We would urge the others to join us on the river and the tennis-courts; we would sing in the Yard of evenings, and the free would put their heads out of window and cry "More! More!!" while the still grinding slaves would cry "Shut up!" and other things that I should grieve to hear and will not state; and if haply we sat upon the steps of Matthews or of Holworthy, or any where within range, these same scurvy slaves would throw pitchers of water and other things, even eggs kept for the purpose, until we untrammelled souls betook ourselves elsewhere. Then would we go to the "pop" concert, or the Howard AthenÆum, or other abode of intellectual rest; and after that we would sup with great mirth. We would found a recuperating club for weary minds, and as each friend threw off the yoke and joined us, we would receive him with becoming ceremonies. Oh! the last week before Class Day is well worth the pains of the other three.

"What is so rare as a day in June!" carolled Hudson joyfully, as he danced into his room and thumped Burleigh on the back.

"One in February," growled that portly gentleman, "there are two less of 'em in the year. Now look here; if you are going to kick up a row because you are all through, just get out of here, and make your ill-timed noise somewhere else."

"Don't be so sour. Hullo, Lazy Jack; these be hard times for you, old Butterfly. How many more have you got?"

"Five," sighed Jack. "Pol. Econ. 23, Fine Arts, Freshman English, and two entrance conditions."

"Great Scott! The way of the transgressor is hard."

"Clear out of here," commanded Burleigh. "I am coaching this man Rattleton, and I don't want any interruption in my private tutoring. Get out," and Ned hove a dictionary at his exuberant room-mate.

"Oh, if you are laboring with Jack, I won't interfere with the good work of the Rattleton Rescue Mission," said Hudson, dodging the dictionary and taking himself off to irritate some one else.

Ned Burleigh was never in such a mood about his own examinations. He was one of the few men for whom those trials had no terrors. None of his friends could tell exactly when he did work for an examination; it might have been at 4 A.M. on the same morning after a supper; it might have been on the train during an inter-exam. excursion to Newport, or on a cat-boat cruise in the harbor. Yet he had never failed. He used to say that to know too much about a course made the examinations mere drudgery, but that when there was an uncertainty, then there was some sport in the struggle, some excitement as to whether you could throw the paper or the paper would throw you. That was all very well for him, who generally "ragged a B." and never got "flunked," but it was a dangerous attempt for most men to follow his example.

This year, however, Ned was devoting himself to Jack Rattleton. It was a serious case with Jack, for he had any number of conditions to work off, so many, in fact, that every one was rather astonished at his attempt to retrieve his degree, and at the unwonted, desperate efforts of Lazy Jack. It was a forlorn hope, and the betting was heavily against him. Under any circumstances Ned Burleigh would have done all he could to help poor Jack pull through, but, added to his unselfish interest in his friend, were pride in his pupil and the fact that he had taken some of the long odds against him. Nor could Jack have found a better coach in the most high-priced tutor in Cambridge. With a thorough knowledge of the courses he had taken, Ned combined a knowledge of the presiding minds in those courses, and, moreover, he understood perfectly the science of passing an examination.

"Now, Jack," he said, "you know the important points and main definitions in that course pretty well. Just remember that all that is good is Greek, and all that is Greek is good, and no modern work from the Brooklyn Bridge to a beer mug is worthy of aught save the abhorrence of cultivated men. If the exam is in Sever, you might throw in an allusion to the draughts and foul air in that modern pile of bricks. Now how about Pol. Econ. 23? Let's see, does Jowler give that still? Well, you are morally certain to have a question on the Tariff of '46—that is his pet. Be certain that the country has never been more prosperous than under that tariff. Of course, there was the discovery of gold and other causes of prosperity at the same time, but unless you know all about them, and can explain them away, don't touch on them at all. Jowler is a free trader, bear that in mind. I will do him the justice to say that he would be delighted if you knew enough about the course and were clever enough to make any strong points for protection; but you are not, so don't try it. Stick to plain, first principles, and show that the country is going to the devil."

"Gad, Ned," said Rattleton, shaking his head in mournful admiration, "it is a great thing to have learned so much. I have wasted my advantages awfully."

"Constant application, my son," quoth Burleigh, (who for three years had been on the ragged edge of probation, and had been saved only by his high marks), "strict attendance on lectures, and careful attention to the great men under whom it is our privilege to sit. Even if you never go near the library, you can learn much in the lecture-room. Now I must leave you; I am going to a seminar over in College House."

"All right, I have got to leave, too," said Jack, looking at his watch. "There is a grinding bee in entrance Greek, in Jim de Laye's room—lot of foolish virgins like myself, who have put off the job until Senior year, and are doing their school work now. By the way, I promised to collar a mucker to drive the horse."

"Get my friend, Mr. James Casey; very intelligent young man; understands the job thoroughly. You will undoubtedly find him playing duck-on-a-rock in a vacant lot back of Holyoke, or badgering the Dago fruit-man on the corner. If you don't find him, drop a package of cigarettes somewhere, and watch it; you will catch a mucker right away."

"A better way than that," said Jack, "is to chain Blathers to the iron railing of the Pudding, and stand behind the door. In five minutes all the best talent in muckerdom will be there with tin-cans and stones."

Jack had no need, however, to expose his faithful hound. He found a covey of muckers, in the vacant lot before mentioned, and on demanding whether any of them could read, was at once besieged with volunteers to "drive the pony." "Chimmie" Casey was among them, and Jack secured his services. "Chimmie" had been at school to some advantage, for he could read Bohn's translations with great fluency (which is the English of "driving the pony"), and made many a half dollar by his learning.

Jack took him round to De Laye's room, where eight or ten men were already assembled, with books, pipes, and siphons of seltzer, ready for the services. The mucker was put in the middle of the room with the "trot"; the students sat around him and followed the translation in their Greek texts. The following is a short specimen of Prof. Casey's flowing delivery of the Iliad:

"Den puttin' on deir shinin' mail, dey moved apart from de great crowd of admirin' Trojans and well-greased Greeks. Den Jones spake——"

"What!"

"I can't say dese hard names. Mr. Burleigh told me to call 'em all Jones when I got stuck."

"All right, go ahead."

"Jones spake wid words of hate. 'Dog-eyed son of—son of—' Gosh! dat's a hard name to call a feller."

"Let it go at Jones."

"'Dog-eyed son of Jones [I must learn dat], now shalt dou meet dy doom. To him Jones, de god-like son o' Jones—' say, how did dese fellers all have different names from der faders?"

"Never mind; go on with the trot."

"'T'ink not to turn my heart to water wid your vauntin' words' [always jawin' before dey fight].

"He spake and t'rew his mighty spear and struck full in de midst of Jones' buckler round. It pierced eight folds of tough bull-hide and t'rough de brazen breastplate and cut de linen vest beneat' [dat Jones was a daisy]. Den Jones, poisin' his mighty spear, prayed to Jove: 'Oh, fader Jove, wreak now meet punishment on dis offender; send him to de shades by my arm,'—say, what's he always stoppin' to talk to dat feller for in de middle of a scrap?"

"Shut up and go on!"

"He trew his spear in turn, but de point fell harmless. Den again he cried aloud: 'Oh, fader Jove, dou art de most unkind'—was Jove de referee?"

"Look here, Jamesey, if you don't stop talking we'll dock your pay."

"Den sure de light had sped from Jones' eyes, but mudder Venus, when she saw her son hard-pressed, flew to his side. From de field she bore him far from Jones' wrat', wrapped in a hollow cloud [de h—— she did! Dat's de silliest fight ever I hear on.]"

At the end of the "grinding bee" young Mr. Casey was dismissed with coins, a cigarette, and advice to restrict his annotations in future lectures.

Rattleton struggled along in his new mode of life for a week or two longer, until his last examination a few days before Class Day. Ned had sent him to bed early on the night before. At breakfast, and on the way over to University, Nestor gave his final advice.

"Look your paper over carefully before you begin to write. Write only on those questions that you can answer, and write a lot on them, so that you apparently have no time for the others. Don't try to bluff on the questions that you don't know; some men can do it, but don't you try it. It rarely goes down with Jowler. Take the whole three hours, and don't go out early, even if you have written all you know. Now, good luck to you, old man; go in and win. I'll see you at lunch."

The paper was very easy. Dick Stoughton had the same course, and finished his answers early. While waiting a decent time for appearance sake, before going out, he executed a characteristic stroke. Brown, the proctor, was a man who prided himself on his sharpness and yearned for opportunities to show it. He was taking a post-graduate course, and had been in the University only one year. He had a custom of walking stealthily about the room, and, in the most offensive manner, peering over men's shoulders while they wrote. On one of these hunts he sat down on the corner of Stoughton's desk and looked over the shoulder of the man in front. Machiavelli Stoughton hastily wrote out, on the back of the examination paper, the gist of half the answers. This paper he pinned on the back of the proctor's coat with the legend "Read him and pass him along." Brown then continued on his tour of inspection, to the edification of all and the salvation of many.

Several other men came out early also. They gathered on the steps of University, and compared notes on the paper. The chief topic of conversation, however, was Rattleton.

"I am afraid the jig is up with poor Jack Rat," said one man. "He is stuck."

"Yes, I saw him biting his pencil and tearing his hair," corroborated another.

"He looked gloomy as a funeral," said Dick; "besides that paper was so easy that, if he knew anything about the course, he ought to have finished by this time."

"He will lose his degree surely unless he gets a squint at Brown's back," said Gray. "Can't anything more be done for him? Set your crafty brains at work, Dago Dick."

"Of course, nothing can be done," said another man. "How are we going to communicate with him from out here? We might get him in an awful scrape."

"Hold on, I've got it!" cried Stoughton, and dashed off across the Yard.

Half an hour later a man hurriedly entered the drowsy examination room in University, and went up to the proctor with a telegram. Brown looked at the address and took it over to Rattleton. Jack was now slumped down in his seat gazing blankly at a fly in his inkstand, probably wishing to change places with the fly. The proctor handed him the telegram and stood near him. Jack opened the envelope, then started and smiled a little as he read the message. He looked up suddenly and caught the proctor trying to read the telegram.

"No bad news I hope, Mr. Rattleton," said the latter, looking at him narrowly.

"Oh, no," answered Jack, "best of news." He closed his blue book with a slam and returned the proctor's gaze squarely.

"Ahem!" coughed that officer of the Court. "I presume, of course, Mr. Rattleton, that your message is in no way connected with this examination?"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Brown," replied Jack in his deliberate drawl, "you do not presume anything of the kind. If you did, you would have better manners than to be so inquisitive about it;—at least I will give you credit for such. As a matter of fact this telegram contains no information on the paper."

"I must insist upon seeing it, sir," exclaimed the red and astounded proctor.

Jack rose to his feet. "You heard what I said," he remarked quietly. "I am not in the habit of being doubted."

He walked up to the desk at the end of the room, and put his blue book on the pile of others. "You notice, Mr. Brown, that I have not written a word since receiving this message. I do not know who sent it, nor anything about it. Here it is if you would like to read it." He threw the telegram on the desk and stalked out of the room.

The group of men on the steps outside crowded around him with eager inquiries.

"I don't know," said Jack, "but I guess I got through. I had written most of the answers half an hour ago, but, of course, I was not fool enough to go out early, and have the proctor mark the time on my blue book. That is all very well for you fellows who are sure of your answers and have good reputations, but I need to exhibit the full three hours of careful thought. I should have stayed to the end if I hadn't had a tiff with Brown, the proctor, about a telegram."

"What!" cried the others. "Dick Stoughton's telegram? What happened?"

"Nothing much; Brown has it."

"Nothing much! You are a ruined man! Didn't you see that telegram was a brilliant idea of Dago Mac's. It had all the answers in it; didn't it, Dick?"

Jack looked at Dick, and grinned.

"Oh, no," said that crafty genius, "that is only what you fellows thought. I wasn't fool enough to write anything of the kind, when that Argus Brown was proctor."

"If he is small enough to look at that telegram after I gave it to him," said Jack, "what he read was this: 'Get into a row with Brown about this telegram. He is a cad, and will probably accuse you of lying. Old Jowler hates that sort of thing, and has no love for the Brown type of proctor. If he hears of the row, he will count it up in your favor.'"