FRESHMEN AT THE THEATRE.

About forty very meek and very proper freshmen attended the performance at the Boston Museum last evening, occupying three front rows of the orchestra chairs. With a fearful and blushing consciousness of their own wickedness, about forty very meek and very proper freshmen from time to time during the performance furtively glanced around, and beheld the eyes of some fifteen or twenty upper class men narrowly watching them. Not a sound was heard, however, but silently and stealthily, at the close of the performance, these freshmen glided from the scene of their terrible orgy, and emerged under the frosty starlight of Scollay square. With loudly beating hearts, forty freshmen took up their line of march for Cambridge bridge. There their courage failed. With a feeble cheer for '86, panic-struck, they turned and fled, some boarding a passing Harvard square car, the rest, grimly resolved, returning to brave the terrors of a supper at Young's, and there drown the memory of their sad guilt. Hic jacit the custom of freshman theatre going, not by the hand of prerogative, not as token of failure, but overtaken by old age and debility it dies a natural death.