"Sweet Rosie O'Grady,
She's my pretty rose;
She's my pretty lady,
As every one knows.
And when we are married,
Oh, how happy we'll be,
For I love sweet Rosie O'Grady
And Rosie O'Grady loves me."
Hugh loved those nights: the shadows of the elms, the soft spring moonlight, the twanging banjos, the happy singing. He would never, so long as he lived, hear "Rosie O'Grady" without surrendering to a tender, sentimental mood; that song would always mean the campus and singing youth.
Suddenly examinations threw their baleful influence over the campus again. Once more the excitement, but not so great this time, the cramming, the rumors of examinations "getting out," the seminars, the tutoring sections, the nervousness, the fear.