IT was one of those perfect spring days that inspire birds with song and men with spring fever. Suddenly there was a sound of music (more clamorous than harmonious) that echoed even unto the most secret recesses of the Campus. Immediately order was changed to pandemonium. Professors strove to hold the attention of listless classes; wailings and strange mutterings filled the air; curious faces peered out of windows. The chief of goblins, who has maintained his tyrannical sway from the old tower of U hall for over forty years, sought safety in the attic below. Then a brief silence, after which the music again broke forth, followed by a random of yells that proclaimed to the University a legal holiday (legal in every sense), the annual barbecue of the Law College.
   But soon all was quiet; nothing remained of the disturbance except the resentment it had caused. At Capital Beach the fatted calf of three summers had been slain and roasted -- a wonderful banquet it was, and great was the eating thereof. In less than an hour Dr. Maxey rivaled President Taft in circumference. Dignity was forgotten; and embryo attorneys, professors, famous lawyers, and judges mingled together as one great family. There were speeches, songs, jokes, and hand-shakes, without number.

Then came the great athletic carnival. Some were contesting in boats while others bathed in the briny waves of the lake; there were marvelous feats in baseball. The married men ran a race. Professor Conant madly was waving his coat as John Munday crossed the tape in the lead. Dean Hastings gave his sacred beard an unkind twist. Professor Robbins shouted for joy, and, forgetful of his prejudice threw his arms about the neck of a justice of the Nebraska supreme court. Effeminate Clark Johnson actually forgot to think about the ladies for a small fraction of a second (the first time in ten years). Even Sam Buck began to show signs of activity -- and who will doubt that great miracles had been wrought that day?
   When the last slanting rays of the setting sun glanced across the lake the homeward journey was begun -- so tired, but after all how grand

A TRAGEDY

   HOW could race be more exciting! The runners scarcely seem to touch the cinder path at all. Neck and neck they go. Each is trying to win. Now the line is crossed. The judges are uncertain who was first. Did human eye ever behold athletes so daring, strong, and brave? There is no man so hard whose very soul would not be melted into admiration. Now they are off, on the quarter-mile. The renowned Atalante, Guy Reed, and Art May, could not have followed a pace like that. "See that hammer go!" The efforts of "Sid" Collins seem like child's play in comparison. And the shot -- that smashes the world's record. That high jump mark will not be cleared again for many a day. They pass the hurdles as though without an effort. Surely these must be the children of gods and goddesses. Never before was a day so resplendent with heroic deeds of strength, grace, and speed.
   In a moment the Marathon will begin. Dr. Clapp is making ready to give the starting signal. But horrors! A gruesome tragedy mars the scene. A policeman has dragged the youth away from the knot hole in the fence -- for a girls' track meet is not held for the sake of pleasure.

   FOR many years it has been the custom of the University to extend to the High Schools of the State an invitation to visit the Campus, and become more familiar with Nebraska University. Accordingly a day in May has been set aside for an annual Fete Day. An immense track and field meet, in which the State High and Prep schools compete for honors, is held on Nebraska field. During their stay in Lincoln, hundreds of the youthful visitors are cared for at the various fraternity and sorority houses, and by friends from the "home town" who have preceded them to college. University class rooms are thrown open for their inspection. Large numbers of informal parties and social affairs are given in their behalf.

   THE Trail itself is an innovation this year, but in reality is only the continuation of an old event, under a new name. The Trail originated tinder the title of "The County Fair." It was backed by the Y. W. C. A. of the University, and its purpose was to raise a fund for the benefit of that organization. Both the County Fair and Trail alike consist

of a sort of indoor circus, the various sororities and other co-ed organizations having sideshows, fortune telling booths, candy shops, flower stands, and a hundred catch-penny devices of different kinds. There is a slight admission fee of ten cents, but it costs a great deal more to get out again.