Editors' Table.

Why this outcry from the college press against valedictories? The rage for antiquities ought to include them-indeed, it is only because what we have to say is so old that we dare to say it. Our feelings on this occasion are what convention requires-we are taking leave of our distinguished editorial positions with deep regret-nay, sadness,―arising partly from the thought of how far our real work has fallen below the ideal standard we set ourselves, and partly because of the loss of importance we suffer in retiring from public life. We started upon our career with excellent intentions, with enthusiasm and a strong love for the work; little by little our pride has fallen, and now, in this last moment, we point with pride to but two achievements, we have always had the MisCELLANY ready on time, and we have published more marriage notices than any previous board.

We cannot say that our career has been one of unalloyed bliss, or that it has been without its share of hard and anxious work; but, even in our darkest moments, we have been cheered and encouraged by the words of commendation which have reached us from our brothers and sisters of the press. Surely we have been especially favored in this way; and, by one or another, have been credited with every virtue belonging to journalism. Still, in spite of all this praise, we are not unduly

puffed up with vanity; and to those who are disposed to censure us, we will say, that we are as keenly alive to our shortcomings as our worst enemy could desire.

We love to shake our wise, Senior heads, and deplore this tendency or that. Give us one more chance, ere we yield up, possibly-yes, probably-forever, the journalistic pen. And this time we are dead in earnest over a college nuisance,— namely, some of our fellow students.

When we were Preps, a Senior was a "thing apart," a godlike creature, who condescended to eat in the same dininghall, and sleep under the same roof with us, but who was no more one of us than was Gulliver one of the Lilliputians. Those good days are over, and Seniors even go so far as to have "walking-days" with Prep friends and relatives. We are no longer godlike, and we are not asking to be so considered; but we do feel that we have an equal claim with the rest of the College family, upon common respect and perhaps we are entitled to urge this claim. As sufferers we now speak. Each year, there descends upon the quiet Vassar community a vandal horde, very few in number, we thankfully acknowledge, but oh, so powerful in their torments! These are young ladies (?), wholly lacking in anything which could be called timidity, bent only upon asserting themselves and their tastes, to the general discomforts of those who must needs. come in contact with them. A few of these unconventionalities are jostling others in the corridor or elevator-dignity is no protection here-only solid avoirdupois-supplying anyone near them with wholly uncalled for information, just for the sake of accosting people whom they do not know, and hearing the sound of their own voices. To be stared at by people as they pass, is rather uncomfortable for the stared-at; but that the whole line should be made to stop, in leaving the dining-hall,

in order that one vandal may indicate, by her pointed finger, some student who has been under discussion, is insolent. We should like to be charitable enough to attribute all this to thoughtlessness, but our charity is not broad enough to cover this multitude of sins-insolent rather than thoughtless seems to be the word. As to the habit of making one's breakfast toilet all the way to the very dining-hall door, it is more ill-bred than all the rest, and ought to be prevented by enforced punishment. We only ask to be treated like ladies.

We

We think that we are very wise about our neighbor. pride ourselves upon our ability to decipher his inmost motives. We say wonderfully clever things about him. We delight our friends with cutting sarcasm and witty remarks about his little idiosyncrasies. We take up a human soul and dissect it calmly and classify it, entirely to our own satisfaction. When lo! some day we find that we have been all at sea; that that personality which we thought we had fathomed so perfectly, we really knew nothing about; that suffering and writhing under an exterior which we had laughed at or contemptuously pitied, was a heart whose struggles make us wish to fall on our knees for forgiveness before the man whom we had condescended to notice and jeer at as a half-demented specimen of the species. Such an experience ought to teach us a lesson; but it does not. We still go on judging, fools in our supposed wisdom. We still handle that sacred thing, a human being's personality, as if it were an interesting bug for us to classify and make sage and brilliant remarks concerning. We ought to cover ourselves with sackcloth and sit down in the ashes every time we

We are meddling with that about which we know nothing. Even the friend who most bares his heart to us must remain ever, in a great measure, unknown; how much more, then, the mere passing acquaintance, of whose joys and strug

gles we are entirely ignorant. Can we never realize the depths of this ignorance, and regulate our words and actions accordingly?

Within the last few weeks we have been fired by a new and worthy ambition. A month ago Mr. Blaikie, of New York, visited the College and spoke to us on physical culture; emphasizing the importance of muscular exertion. His address was sensible, straightforward, and practical; its effect, magical. Exercise in the gymnasium, became the most important business of life. Mr. Blaikie's book, "How to get Strong," was eagerly procured, and read with enthusiasm; while hosts of disciples followed out its instructions with unquestioning faith. At first we feared that all this sudden interest would not last. "Vanity! Vanity! all is vanity," we said to ourselves, “and this also will soon pass away." But still time goes on, and it does not pass away. The dumb-bell exercises and the exercises for the chest, the running in the gymnasium and the long, brisk walks in the open air, are still looked upon with undiminished favor. Is it possible that we are witnessing the dawn of athleticism at Vassar? If Mr. Blaikie has really awakened among us a permanent interest in our physical training, he surely deserves a high place in the list of our benefactors.

HOME MATTERS.

Our new organ, the gift of Mrs. Bertha Adelé Deane, of New York, is at last erected and tuned, ready for use. It will be dedicated with appropriate ceremonies, on Friday, the 17th. The organ comes from the factory of Hilborne L. Roosevelt, New York; and though not the largest instrument made by

this builder, it is, in every detail, his best work. It occupies three feet more in depth, six more in width, and four more in height than the organ which it replaces.

It has been tuned to the pitch of a Steinway piano, so that the two instruments can be used together.

There are four sixteen feet stops, an unusual amount of bass, in order to balance the numerous four-feet and two-feet stops of the Manuals. By this means it is rendered peculiarly practical.

The scheme is as follows:

Organ of Three Manuals and Pedals. Manual Compass C C to A3. 58 Notes. Pedal Compass 30 Notes.