AT last Seventy-seven has left us. No poet in melodious lay has sung, no orator in rounded periods has eulogized, her proud achievements. Her departure has been signalized by few of those time-honored festivities which gladden the heart and weld in indissoluble bonds youthful friendships. We cannot blame her disunion; it was but the revolting of a noble soul against the contemptible electoral machinery which has latterly crept stealthily even into college politics. We grieve at her misfortune, but we rejoice at her nobleness. It is with feelings of the deepest sadness that we bid farewell to this class. We believe that she has exercised a better, stronger, more permanent influence over this College than any preceding class for many a long year. As a prominent professor, who had the best opportunities for observation, remarked, "It was a class composed of men who were either very good or very poor; there were few mediocre men." The editor's chair is not the speaker's stand, or we should be tempted into speaking perhaps with unbecoming warmth of our departed friends' many excellences. But we cannot but remember that it was the class which threw so much life into some of the highest literary courses in college. If we remember rightly, Greek 9 (AEschylus, Sophocles, Aristophanes, and Pindar) in Seventy-six's hands seemed on its last legs until Seventy-seven raised it again into one of the most successful, even in a numerical point of view, of all Greek courses. The study of Cervantes, Dante, and of Old French literature received an impulse from this class they had never before known, while three of her members have climbed to dizzy heights in Mathematics which have been rarely, if ever, trodden by undergraduate feet. We venture to predict that it is a class that will most emphatically be "heard of again." We wish them all god-speed in every good work.