The Student Vagabond

Last night the Vagabond lay out on the lawn alone with his flagon beside him scanning the stars. Above the Dipper spilled out the dew and so bright it was that the little superfluous star on the handle could easily be seen. Lord Grey of Falladon, learned that he was going blind when the eyes which five years before "had seen the lights going out all over Europe" could not descry this single star. In the west over the shoulders of the mountain Jupiter glinted in a setting of dark blue velvet, and the milky way beat a track across the heavens. The earth had vanished and in its place was only a collender of sombre hue through which there sparkled the lights of an invisible nation. It was a sobering sight thus to see the works of man lost to view and the Vagabond reached for his flagon.

In the midst of all this quietude and grandeur ever and again he thinks of his followers in Cambridge drinking iced tea in the Houses and preparing in a desultory way for Finals. For them now he has a passing word of advice. It is far better to get away from the vale of tears for a period of three days on end, quite utterly away, with whatever sources of diversion is denied, than to moulder in the cool tombs of Widener or Sever for a few hours each day. For in the latter case the evenings are always spent at Wellesley, if it be Sophomores, with the rationalization that the mind must be cleared. If it be Juniors there are the Pops, or Revere Beach, or the river bank. But this is all extremely bad, no work obviously is done in the evenings and very little accomplished during the days. In retreat lies salvation.