nce to Xenophon.

You have a confused idea of calling Dalton--Xenophon. You think the
meeting broke up with a chorus, and that somebody--you cannot tell
who--broke two or three glasses. You remember questioning yourself very
seriously as to whether you were, or were not, tipsy. You think you
decided that you were not, but--might be.

You have a confused recollection of leaning upon some one, or something,
going to your room; this sense of a desire to lean, you think, was very
strong. You remember being horribly afflicted with the idea of having
tried your night-key at the tutor's door, instead of your own; you
remember further a hot stove,--made certain indeed by a large blister
which appeared on your hand next day. You think of throwing off your
clothes by one or two spasmodic efforts,--leaning in the intervals
against the bedpost.

There is a recollection of an uncommon dizziness afterward, as if your
body was very quiet, and your head gyrating with strange velocity, and a
kind of centrifugal action, all about the room, and the college, and
indeed the whole town. You think that you felt uncontrollable nausea
after this, followed by positive sickness,--which waked your chum, who
thought you very incoherent, and feared derangement.

A dismal state of lassitude follows, broken by the college-clock
striking three, and by very rambling reflections upon champagne,
Xenophon, "Captain Dick," Madge, and the old deacon who clinched his wig
in the church.

The next morning (ah, how vexatious that all our follies are followed by
a "next morning!") you wake with a parched mouth, and a torturing
thirst; the sun is shining broadly into your reeking chamber. Prayers
and recitations are long ago over; and you see through the door in the
outer room that hard-faced chum with his Lexicon and Livy open before
him, working out with all the earnestness of his iron purpose the steady
steps toward preferment and success.

You go with some story of sudden sickness to the tutor,--half fearful
that the bloodshot, swollen eyes will betray you. It is very mortifying
too to meet Dalton appearing so gay and lively after it all, while you
wear such an air of being "used up." You envy him thoroughly the
extraordinary capacity that he has.

Here and there creeps in, amid all the pride and shame of the new life,
a tender thought of the old home; but its joys are joys no longer: its
highest aspirations even have resolved themselves into fine mist