Measured by the modern standards of chafing dishes and squabs, sister societies, parlors and ski scaffolds, old-time amusements seem exceedingly simple. It is perhaps safe to take refuge behind the statement of a great man in Germany who lately gave his life for his country: "The present generation takes its pleasures too expensively--a beautiful sunset is the greatest show on earth."

Pioneer days and pioneer conditions are good pals. There was little within doors to afford pleasure in the eighties and early nineties, but the primeval forest with its monster trees, narrow winding paths and wealth of flowers of a quarter century ago held a fascination over young nature that few of this present super-cultured age, who know only the present campus, the Vale of Tawasentha, track, tennis courts, can fathom. Lady slipper hunting for a single specimen is now, for example, to the botanist a fine art, but twenty years ago we went out "after five o'clock" and gathered them in handfuls. Really, many of the leisure hours were spent in the "woods," regardless of season or weather. And much jealousy--grouch against things that are--such as faculty and boarding establishments and janitor-sentimentality and other afflictions of youthful days--took flight there among the green and the blue.

Back in the days of the ice palace and the tobaggan there was a famous lot of snow for several winters. Industrious hands built a small platform of snow right east of the Old Main and on cold nights reinforced the first incline with pails of water. On a favorable day it was then possible to slide across the plain and even across Lincoln street. This sport was entered into with great enthusiasm by practically all the students. But it had its drawbacks and perhaps would not have been approved of by a physical director. There were far from tobaggans enough to go round and many of them were private property. Those who were especially favored, either by ownership or invitation would slide enthusiastically for a time and then stand around for awhile giving someone else a chance. Heated from the exhilaration and the long walk up hill in soft snow, many caught serious colds in the sharp wind on the hillside. "But it sure was fun."

Baseball comes under the sports, to be sure, but to a great many whom nature forbade to play on the team it was plain fun. It perhaps did more than anything else for the college spirit--that is, if we mean by that, love of each other and of Alma Mater, the spirit of good fellowship and co-operation, unselfish joy in the success of fellow students and generous support in time of misfortune. If by some mischance some had to stay at home from out of town games, they spent the day gathering flowers for the dining room and saw to it that the first sight to gladden the eye of the homecomers was Old Glory--mind you, the flag never went up till the train whistled. That made the ceremony an intimate affair--between those who came and those who stayed.

The monthly holiday was the source of much exhiliration. First there was the trouble of getting it. Did the dear old Prexy understand human nature so well that he intentionally made trouble about it? We think so now. It wasn't like a Monday with study hours and things. No, a "free day," pure and simple. (We had recitations six days a week). Such days invariably ended with "fun in the basement." Real fun. Because everybody was young both in body and heart. Toggery counted for nothing because nobody "dressed up" and the refreshments counted less because there usually weren't any. Who had time to eat when the time was limited till to o'clock?

The garret masquerade is now so much a thing of the past that it can be publicly discussed. The illusion of perfect secrecy was always kept up while it existed as an institution. As a rule the general public--that is third floor Main--usually knew pretty much about it--at least when it was over. But the nature of secrecy gave to the whole thing an originality and a whimsical humor that a public function never could have produced. Very little money ever changed hands over this affair. Closets and garrets of long-suffering faculty ladies have withstood raids of many generations of students from the "Ladies' Old Hall." Refreshments, if there were any, were for years pilfered from the lean larder of the Old Main basement. Sometimes the whole treat consisted of cranberry juice and cookies.

To be sure there were formal social affairs but they were usually managed by faculty or somebody who was old enough to want to do the work and let others have the fun. As a rule these functions were popular too, because the faculty was popular and the functions were few.

As we look back over the past we must admit, there were a great many restrictions of all kinds on the intercourse of the young people at Old St. Olaf. Much seems crude and overdone now and yet that served its purpose too.

The Ladies' Old Hall became a place to be reckoned with. The girls certainly developed a sense of responsiblity that is somewhat lacking in the present age.

Well, there are a number of "Oles" who thank their stars they lived while St. Olaf was young, when money counted less than character, when people counted more than clothes, when social affairs bristled with hospitality and graft was yet unnamed.