Bolax.
P. S.—The Monk's name was Friar Tuck. I remember Uncle Dick telling about him.
"Hurrah, Hurrah! for vacation's coming,
And the weeks of Jubilee!"
Awarding Prizes.
The weeks rolled on in spite of the oft-repeated saying among students, "Vacation will never come." The examinations began on June 15th; quite a number of patrons attended. Bolax stood the test of examination finely, all things considered, but his former lack of application showed itself in several things, particularly arithmetic.
In addition to the three medals given by the gentlemen, a prize had been offered for the best declamation. All prizes were to be awarded at the closing exercises on Commencement Day.
The large exhibition hall was crowded on that afternoon, which was a regular fete for the people of L'Islet. Great pains had been taken to dress the hall, its walls were festooned with evergreens, and the spacious platform gay with flags.
The boys were dressed in white pants and blue jackets. Everything that skill and taste, combined with economy, could suggest, had been done to make the place attractive, and the occasion pleasant.
"What uncouth creatures boys are!" observed one young lady to a bevy of misses seated near her. "Look, there isn't one in that crowd sitting gracefully, they all act as if their hands were in their way." "You don't mean to say my brother is ungraceful, do you?" asked Julie Bernier.
"Oh, I'm not referring to the collegiate class; they certainly are gentlemen, but the juniors."