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rheostats, hot bearings, poor set-ups and attendent evils, I rushed to my room and, breaking the world's bath-shave-dress-pack record, made the ten o'clock bus to Meadville. The country was glorious (I must get some new adjectives!), the day perfect, spring at last asserting its right, and blossoming forth in a beauty that's beyond all description. I grew philosophical as I'm rather want to do of late, and reflected a bit sadly that for us if we are lucky, at most we can see but 70 or 80 times like this. Oh, what a pitifully small number! When I think of that and the fact that I have but forty or fifty more, maybe many less (who knows?), I want passionately to live every moment of my life to the last sweet drop. And the world seems good and beautiful and I wonder how people can be unhappy. It seems that even the sorrow on one's soul should be soothed and alleviated by such beauty. The lovely green fields rolled by, the farmers plowing and harrowing the land, the song of birds, the pungent smell of manure, and sometimes away across beautiful pastures and meadows, a wood opening its eyes again and sin ging the sweet music of rebirth. The colors here were not unlike those of autumn when the blazing fanfare of October sadly perhaps flames across the land, and yet how different these colors, all brown and red and yellow though they be. These are fresh and tender and so unsophisticated, so pure and hopeful and unafraid. Oh, well, we went on and I joyed and drank my fill. When I got to Meadville, I went up to the school and found Ken waiting for me, and unfortunately feeling rather weak after an attack of tonsilitis. We talked a bit before lunch and afterward I convinced him that the lovely air and sunshine outdoors would do him more good than staying in his room all day. So we went out and walked and finally called on a girl who has affected me very much. She is Mrs. Hazen, a young widow, only twenty-two, who lost her young doctor husband in February. She has a dear little baby to help her. Ken had told me her sad story, only married about two years, the lovely home, the baby, love, such happiness as she had never dreamed of, "like heaven," youth, and dreams, everything the heart could as for, and suddenly in one week, pneumonia, death, everything crushed terribly. She is so young and the thing has shaken her, almost stunned her. She doesn't know what to think of life now, she is terribly shaken in her faith in things, and it is small wonder. So we went to see her. Her mother, Mrs. Townsend, and the baby were with us on the porch. Alice Hazen appeared very jolly at times, whenever she would forget the present momentarily, and her old happy self shone through the curtains of sorrow that had fallen around her. But suddenly I'd see her gazing far away with the saddest look in her eyes and I could have cried for her. She is so young and attractive and sweet, and in her eyes, that look! "Oh, dear God," I cried to myself, "comfort her!" We called on Miss Ellis, the friend of all the students here, and then the Lyttles for a minute, and after supper on Mrs. Bob Day, who is to me most attractive, a bit