University of Vermont - Ariel Yearbook (Burlington, VT)

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Undergraduate Students

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Senior Soliloquy They drift away, Ah, God, they drift forever. As I sit by my iireside on a cold Winter evening and watch the fantastic shadows as they mysteriously weave in and out on the wall, they mingle strangely with my dream as I think how soon I am to leave the dear old college never to return. Little does the student realize the love he holds for his class- mates until the sorry business of parting is at hand. My eyes are dimmed and the shadows blurred as I think of the days of Auld Lang Syne and wish for some good angel to carry me back to my Freshman year. As with half closed eyes I sit and gaze back over the past, strange visions of by-gone days appear to me. Well do I remember that morning four years ago, when we filed into chapel and took our seats under the organ loft for the first time. Methinks I can still feel my bosom heaving with pride as it did then to know that I was a college man and I remember that very night I wrote home to mother telling her to Please don't call me ' 'Willie' any more because all the fellows say 'Bill ! ' I remember that I thought what a stern looking man Prexy was and wondered if I would ever have the courage to speak to him. At that time I really believed the three professors who were present at the chapel were all there were in the University. Our class, so says the ARIEL scribe of '98, has always been a modest class. Surely no one will ever deny us this characteristic. How like the fair for-get- me-not that blushes all unseen is Sammy with his smile and uncollected foot- ball taX ! Where could you find a more ideal type of modesty than in bashful Billy Wlielan, the Apollo of the class ? But no 1nore of this lest we should seem to disprove our modesty by making boast of it ourselves. The shadows deepen and the lights are burning low. A dark cloud hangs over the scene as I look back to our Sophomore year and think how the immodest foot-ball heroes of ,QQ rolled us in the dust to the tune of 12-o. Methinks I still see our manly crew making a futile rush at the ,QQ center with a valor that would have done credit to the I-Iay Hill foot-ball team, only to be piled in a pro- miscuous heap on the earth, while, a little way removed from the general heap, Billy Taylor, complacently seated on Pa Morse's stomach, waits for the melee to straighten itself out. Those were sad days for ,98. 25