1878

The Alumni Fund office credits our class with four "Regulars," two for 29 years and two for 26; which isn't so bad Hayt's report on his surgery is true to life. Modern anaesthesia gave him a grandstand seat from which to observe the operation, and he made the most of it, watching with interest the doings from the incision until the removal of the staples with which he was put together. Even after years of experience on the ranch, he says he got new ideas on drainage, among other values derived from the show. And after he got home his feminine neighbors showered him with dainties from their cuisines, for which he implies no inadequacy of digestive organs Parkhurst of the mighty stride finds his legs somewhat wabbly since his illness, not only limiting his locomotion but depriving him of his customary winter recreation of sawing his next winter's firewood. He thinks his legs will get into swing as weather becomes more favorable to pedestrian pursuits. All of which by some mystic telepathy awakens this query (to which responses will be welcomed): How many of you graduates of the late seventies remember seeing and hearing Barnaby dance and sing the ballad of the man with the automatic wooden leg (precise title missing) in the College Church sometime in 1876 or 1877? Any of us old fellows who may be fearing that his legs are holding out better than his brain may be minded how Barnaby, tall, long legged, solemn visaged, after gyrating through stanza after stanza with that dynamic leg somehow always out ahead, suddenly stopped, with the words, uttered as if with his last breath: "He died!" Then as suddenly resumed, full steam, "But the leg it went on the same as before, Ri-tu- ri-lu ri-tu-ri-lu, Ri-tu-li-ri-lu-ri-lu."

Could any witness forget that motion picture?

Secretary and Treasurer 321 Highland Ave., Fitchburg, Mass.