Toothaker's is the Favorite Livery with Students. Hacks always in waitin%.
WEEKLY
UNIVERSITY COURIER
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J. SULLIVAN,
President, | ROSS WEMPEL,
Scott)
EDITORIAL STAFF.
MAUD MASMISFIELD,
CLARA GRENAMETER,
FANNER PRATT,
TAYLOR CUMMINGS,
J. E. GRIFITH,
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A. L. BURNEY
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BUSINESS MANAGED
J. BULLIVAN,
A. W. POSTLEWATH
Look under
Book 109
MOTTO.—Fraternity Rule Must Be Broken.
Entered at the Post Office at Lawrence, Kan
ans, as second class matter.
LAWRENCE JOURNAL COMPANY.
Wiscons ersity students and board of regents are still at war
LAWRENCE JOURNAL COMPANY.
An extra appropriation will be needed for the heating of Snow Hall.
THE fraternity system was never founded for college political purposes.
Rohinson avenue should be graded as soon as the weather opens in the spring.
COLLEGE honors secured by political chicanery, lose thereby their sweetness.
SENATOR ISGAILLS' Senate bill to establish a national university, has attracted much comment from the press.
Is the coming oratorical contest nothing but personal good feeling should prevail among the contestants.
More and more are we becoming convinced that the abolishment of the Normal Department of last year was a mistake.
The State press continues to say good things of Prof. Carbidhe as president of the late Teachers' Association at Topeka.
+ - +
Dr. Wilcox will teach a class in Sanskrit as a Senior extra. The work, however, will not count for anything on the records.
THE Capital at Topeca, never lets an opportunity pass for saying a good work for K. S. U. Students and faculty appreciate it.
Let every student write a letter to his or her home paper next week telling of school life the past term, and the opening of the new February third.
FEBRIARY third the second term begins. Let all map out good, thorough work. Life is too short to be wasted; attempting too much is nearly as much to be depleted.
--off when a rat skurrying along or the wild screen of some passing or the wild screen of some passing gull would arrive me with a start to tosee and bat. The bat another quart of gulls.
THERE are good enough speakers on our local oratorical contest to give K. S. U. a chance of going to the Inter-State Contest in good shape, if the right kind of work is done.
TO THE retiring members of the Courier staff this week, Messrs. Hayslett, Reed and Fritz, the Courier feels it loses valuable workers. The new members it heartily welcomes to its councils and field of labor.
Ir is now about the time of the year that the classes generally have their class parties. We hope that these will not be omitted this year. There is nothing else that will create a healthy class spirit, and bring all the members of a class into friendly relations like a class party. There are very few students who are not willing, once in a year, to take part in an affair of this kind. These parties are always the jolliest of the year, and ought not to be neglected.
It is only two weeks now to the examinations of the first session, and the present reviewing work is very important to every student. Make the best of your opportunities now, and do not put off your cramming till the night before examination.
We cannot but admire one or two of the faternales of K. S. U for their determined mode of action in keeping out of political entanglements. Continued political strife grawns on the very vitals of any social bond.
--off when a rat skurrying along or the wild screen of some passing or the wild screen of some passing gull would arrive me with a start to tosee and bat. The bat another quart of gulls.
GREAT credit is due C, T, K Prentice, the chief of police of Lawrence, for the broken knuckly feeling which exists between students and city. Collisions such as abound in Eastern colleges, are unknown here. Overhearing tone of officials are the general cause of such bruises.
+ + +
We are pleased to see the tendency this year of social affairs to take the home select plan that it is. Select friends meet at the home of some of their number and pass the evening in merry ways. Already this is resulting in the formation of reading circles and informal organizations for mutual improvement.
--off when a rat skurrying along or the wild screen of some passing or the wild screen of some passing gull would arrive me with a start to tosee and bat. The bat another quart of gulls.
SOME of the puerile attacks on the faculty for the regulations on "walking in the halls" are to be depicted by all fair-minded students. The loafing in the halls during vacation hours, is wrong. Every student could very profitably fill the four hours spent at the University in recitations. Those who have but three can well spend the extra hour in the library.
--off when a rat skurrying along or the wild screen of some passing or the wild screen of some passing gull would arrive me with a start to tosee and bat. The bat another quart of gulls.
MADRIGAL
The word University is one that is very much abused. According to Webster, a university is a universal school, in which are taught all branches of learning. Our own institution is, as yet, hardly a University in the true sense of the word. Indeed, there are but few real Universities in this country. There are nevertheless, in this State, several schools that call themselves Universities. Some of them are colleges, others are academies. One, located at Salina, has given itself the somewhat bombastic title "Salina Normal University." This school has a course that can be completed by the average student who has "finished" the district school in about two years. He then graduates, and gets a diploma from the "University." There are some other schools in the State that insist on being called Universities, that really give thorough instruction in one or two courses, and might properly be called colleges. Among these we would class our nearest neighbor on the south. Highland "University" ought to be satisfied to be called an academy, but the institution at Otawa should hardly china to be more than a high school.
These schools are all good in their proper places, but look rather ridiculous when they speak of the motives as Universities.
--off when a rat skurrying along or the wild screen of some passing or the wild screen of some passing gull would arrive me with a start to tosee and bat. The bat another quart of gulls.
After a short and somewhatgressive exercise in Robert's Rules, the members amused and informed themselves in a moot discussion pertaining to the subtitles of coenumbiliality and divorce.
KENT CLUB.—The Kent Club in its last meeting reorganized, there not being a sufficient number present to transact the business and carry out the program; with Mr. Tabot chairman pro. tem.
As I remember, the judge waked up twice—once while the young but much enthused barrierer was engaged in a discussive flight through the honeymoon epoch, and again just as the clamorous court adjourned.
It is to be hoped that upon our next meeting, there will be at least a quorum in attendance, as we have some business of importance which has been deferred for some time.
The committee to choose "Junt Orator," met in Prof. Spring's room Tuesday at the end of the fourth hour. Senators Sherman, Legan, Haley, and Beck, James Freeman Clarke and Robert Collyer, of N.Y., were discussed. Senator Sherman was chosen as the first choice of the committee, and Robert Collyer as second.
- off when a rat skurrying along or the wild screen of some passing or the wild screen of some passing gull would arrive me with a start to tosee and bat. The bat another quart of gulls.
All the world is bright,
All my heart is merry,
Violates and roses red;
Brow in tears and bow;
Brown—the white's hair;
Lip—the crimson beard;
Hair—the green trough trend—
Ah, my love, the yuun!
Wing to me, birds, and sing to me;
Noo so happy as I.
Only she must kisses bring to me
When my beloved is by.
All the air is sweet,
All my heart is quiet.
Fleece clouds on breasts warm
Baby bear crying.
Eye-where soft lights meet;
Where-when eyes stot;
Look-down kisses bring to me
Ah, she you my love!
Wing to her, bird, and sing to her;
None so happy as she!
Only the merriest melodies bring to her-
Only this messiest moment.
— FRANK DEMMERTER SUNNMAN.
A TRUE GHOST STORY.
Sitting one evening with a young officer who had already made himself distinguished for cool courage and a love of adventure, and whom his brother soldiers considered the best pistol shot in the army, the conversation happened to turn upon the almost universal belief in the supernatural.
E. J. Bidwell in the Chicago Tribune.
We discussed the genius of the tales of the east, the witches and ghosts so generally accepted a century ago, and the spiritualists of to-day. Suddenly F turned to me and said: "Perhaps you may be surprised if I tell you a true ghost story, one I can vouch for myself." Knowing him to be a confirmed skeptic upon all supernatural subjects, I smiling assented.
"You need not smile," he continued,
"my experience was enough to shake
the nerves of the beavest man living,
and to have rendered a timid one
mad."
"Some six or seven years ago, shortly after graduating from the military academy at West Point, I was sent with my command, part of a company of heavy artillery, to take possession of the little fort on Bedouin's island, in the harbor of New York; the island, you will remember, on which Bartholdi's Station of Liberty is to be placed. The place had been long deserted, had acquired an evil name, was known to be the resort of thieves and smugglers, and, the New York police said, was the headquarters of a gang of river pirates. It was, indeed, to break up this nest of soundricks, who had found that, being United States property, the old fort was never visited by the police, that I was to take possession of the island."
"It was a gray, raw day in November; rain had fallen in the afternoon, and when boats containing my little command reached our destination, a cold for lung over the harbor and the rising wind howled about the old barrack, adding to the gloom and increasing the dreary desolation of the night. B o'clock and daylight beginning to fade so I made the necessary preparations for the night as noply as possible. Inside the tiny tint there was a house, but in so dilapidated a state that but one room—a barnroom, which the room—was habitable, and this the bare floor, the broken ceiling, the walls from which the paper hung in strips made unimaginous enough. In this, however, being the best, my trumpet was placed in playing in a cheerful way, lamp lighted, a bed, bedding, a table and two chairs brought in, and I started on a tour of inspection. I had told my sequester to prepare the quarters for the men in a long, low building that was turning in a cheerful way, fairly good condition. Soldiers are rapid, because systematic, workers, and before nightfall all were made comfortable, and the supper served to them which did credit to the company's cooks, and the jailer as—narrative speck in the harbor, as you know—looked into the old esementes, went through the ruinous old house from cellar to attic, examined boats and doors, then, having given orders for the night, closed the great gate finding in the fort and retorted to my guards."25
"I certainly am not either a tilder or an imaginative man, but there was something to the last degrees depressing in the place that night. The wind, which had rolled over me, ed and mourned in the deserted place; the rats trooped up and within the partition walls, and there rose a strange, earthly smell which reminded me, I scarcely knew why, of men whose bird's scream could be heard, or the distant roar of the foghorn of some passing ship was added to the sighing and grooming of the wind. I sat down and changed to the room where I chanced to have in my pocket, wrote out a few memoranda, then opened my trunk, lifted out the tray, which I placed upon the little table, put a number of articles of daily use on a chair, and went to sleep still early, not more than 10. I believe, I made my toilet for the night, turned out the lamp and jumped into bed. I had placed my pistol, a self-cocking Colt of the longest size, under my arm, and I held the lamp out and all was dark than the tales told by the New York police came forth to my mind, and I almost regretted not having to go outside little fort. Then I felt like laughing at myself for such absurd apprehensions. Still I could not sleep. I was just dox-
At last sleep came calm, peaceful, dreamless sleep. How long I slept I have no idea; perhaps for an hour, perhaps for two. Then, from within my very room, of which I had seen every window barred, every door bolted and locked; there came a low, low mooning cry, ending with a shunk horrible, so that I am not as ashamed to say that, I was inose my heart, seemed to stop for a moment and my hair rise stiffening on head."
It was but for a moment. A faint light from the waning moon came in through the shutters, and, as I rose, there rose across the room a long white figure, large and hairy, floor and grow to a man's size or more, and as I gazed, heard that dreadful shriek! What? No matter. It was something, and its presence returned all my combativeness, not only the gory wrath was only feeling."
"some scoundrel," said I to myself,
"playing me a trick. Some of these prince-menagers have unarranged a ghost
in their room, and they will so who
un play ghost the best."
"As Those I had taken my six-shooter frame under my pillow, and now I called out: 'Who are you? What are you doing here, you seem frightened?' And I scream or I'll shoot. Still there was silence. My pistol was pointed a little above the centre of the figure, and again I cried 'Answer or I'll shoot.' No answer came, and I pulled the trigger, I was sure of my aim, and yet the bullet seemed to bury itself harmlessly into the wall before it fell back down to ball some lower, and then a third, almost to the ground. Still the figure neither moved or spoke. There it stood, white, glistens and uninjured by lead. As the third shot left my pistol I leaped from the bed and rushed upon the shadow form. A box of cartridges lay upon the tables with all their contents in pocket of my night dress. Cocking my revolver as I am, I tried to seize the intruder with my left hand, flinging myself with all force upon him." "Horrors! An instant later I were thrown down, down, I knew not far or where. The door seemed to have opened and wallowed me up. I screamed. I lame to the pit.
"Confused; half unconscious, I stung to my feet, and once more there came, first that moaning, and then this, which I whistled raised me from my sleep!"
"You know how little superstition there is in my nature—some say, indeed, too little, for it is difficult for me to believe in anything not patent to my senses; but at that moment there crept into my soul a grappy force. A hinderer ran through my frame. I could feel my eyes dilate and open, to their umsot and a sweat, cold as ice, mingled from my brow with the blood trickling from my wounds. All was still as death. I tried to tangle; my throat was swollen; my breast rattled often. No sound came to tie that horrid silace. I strained my eyes into the black obscurity which encompassed them—a darkness which pressed upon me which so seemed to hold me breathless, in its internal enlace. Nothing. A void, vast as the universe, shuddering foot stood upon a something dark, dark and cold, as if they rested on a nest of serpents; above, around, a silent pull of unutterable obscurity. My elbow touched the wall. I started as if stung by a scorpion or as if ghostly hands had sliced through my veins. I moved my hand. My heart stopped and then sent the blood whirling to the brain in sickening foreswail. Was I mad? Was this a fever-born dream?"
"Some dreadful thing, cold, slimy, as was everything in this bideous place, crawled or wigged from under and beside my feet. Spotts red and green began to dance like demons' eyes in the distance—formed probably by pressure of the blood upon the brain and nerves."
"I have twice or thrice since then faced what seemed like probable death; without much feeling about the matter, but the boe was visible, tangible; not a bibulous void like that I faced that November night."
"I had struck my head violently in the rapid descent, but gradually my senses returned and drove off the nameless dread, only to replace it with a feeling of helplessness, almost despair, with a vaulted cliff which stiffened my limbs (clad as I was in a single linen garment) to the bone. But, with the return of thought came the better feeling of a wish to at least stringle for existence. I tried to collect my ideas, to inquire about what else thing could possibly have happened. It was all alike reasoning around a circle."
"Again I tried to call out, and this time a faint, hoarse sound, which seemed to be the voice of another, issued from my lips."
"What had been in my room?" How came it here? What had it done to me? How could I possibly have gone through the floor? Where had I gone? Through what agency? So, back again to who had been in my room? How much did it cost the round again. The more I thought the more explicable became the whole affair, but at least I could now think—not shiver in nameless terror."
"I knew not where I was, but I felt sure that no sound I could make would reach the men, all of whom were outside the fort. Even from the ground-floor room it was quite certain that they would be there and wave beating against the sides of the islet, no mere report of a pistol could be heard a distance."
'Where could I be?' Was this some trick of the thieves who had held the deserted so long? It was dark as only a windowless vault can be at night. Not one ray to show me if the place were large or small—a cellar
or a well. By what possible agency could I have been thus hurled into this pit? I had paced over the whole room and there certainly was no opening in the floor unless I stepped back. Besides this, I felt sure that my fall had been much greater than the distance from the room I had slept in to the cellar. My brain was still somewhat clouded by the blow my head had received before my fall; it struck just before my fall, or rather, before my heavily violent thrown downward.
"Fortunately my pistol was still in my hand and the box of cartridges in my pocket. I felt carefully for the wall, placed my back against it, and, determining to take the moment in silence. All was still. Taking the box as noiselessly as possible from the pocket of my night shirt. I reloaded my pistol. Still nothing. But I was freezing. The slimy stones beneath my bare feet were rapidly chilling my blood. If I was alone in my room, I may see where I am. I fixed twice."
"It was the collar which I had already visited! I had only, then, fallen 10 or 12 feet. I at once remembered that to this collar there was a door leading by an external flight of stone steps leading to the ground in front of the room in which I had slept. Another shot showed me the door, on which, however, there was a heavy, old-fashioned lock with three dozers inside my revolver broke the rustic iron—and I was free!"
"Covered with blood and slime, I stood at length beneath the stars; my head heched violently, my teeth chattering. The world around me Othel delight of that manure." Free
"My first feeling was that it was my duty to call some of the men and search the house, but that I could not bring myself to do. No, I must not come until they come until I had solved the mystery. My own outer door was too securely bolted to force open; but making my way through another entrance I easily blew the lock off an inner door of communication. Grasping my hand I can instantly entrench. There, directly across the room, was the figure."
"Bang bang! and I sent two more balls bruising through it. Whatever it was certainly was no living thing. If not, what then? What or who had struck me that blow? Who had opened the pit beneath? With eye and ear upon the alert ready for foe, human or other, I reached the table where the lamp stood and felt for a match. None. But I had some in my pocket. My clothes were upon the other side of the bed. I went slowly around, found the glass, and kept my pistol in my right hand, removed the globe and chimney of the lamp, struck a light, took a hurried look about the room, put the fire to the wick; replaced the chimney, and turned again to the white mystery, which was not even grass. One thing was certain, it had not been there when I went to bed. In the light it looked like a great white box some ten feet high 'open on the sides, and standing against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. Taking the pistol I walked toward it is that top on. By heavens, it is my trunk!"
"What do you think the ghost was? It was an old, white-painted dumb waiter leading to the former kitchen. My trunk had chanced to be placed directly on its top, which was level with the door and the footsteps had loosened its old weights. I had taken the tray of clothes from the trunk, and the dumb waiter; gradually looseden had shot up, as such things as a window and the footsteps hours later. It had long been discussed and the shelvings removed. When, therefore, I rushed at it I had simply fallen into a hole, some three feet by two in the floor between the elevator's sides; had struck the bottom board, and my weight removed, had again risen. I had come down very hard on the stone paving in the former kitchen, had cut myself on some projecting edge, for there were two pretty bad places from which the floor went, that the mysterious agency which had "hurled me" into that awful "pit!"
"Did you ever hear of a ghost doing more?" I never heard of one who could
"but just think if I had gone bare-footed and bedrangled, called up my men, and led them to combat with—as old white dumb-waiter!"
President Cleveland has written a letter in acknowledgment of his election as an honorary member of the Twenty-first Regiment Veteran Association of Buffalo. After returning thanks the President continues: "I remember well the day the regiment let the City of Buffalo for the front—whether by him or by others and they tears it occasioned." I remember, too, the return of the survivors and the vacant places in the ranks once filled by those who never returned. The city which this regiment honored by its services should be proud of its achievements, and it should not be forgotten. It is a monument in token of a greatful appreciation of patriotic devotion. I shall be glad to assist such an undertaking."
A HINDOO FUNERAL
Arreangement by Which Glastly Emma
Are Avoided.
San Francisco, CA.
Colonel Mulligan, whose widow has just been made pension agent at Chicago, was an American Regulus. When a Confederate prisoner he was released in order that he might go to Washington and ask for an exchange of prisoners. He was unsuccessful, and was advised not to return, but he was a man of honor and went back to his place in the Confederate prison.
Mr. Edward Lawson, the millionaire owner and editor of the London Daily Telegraph, has purchased a splendid estate in Buckets County, England, and is "going in" for social leadership.
A marriage and a funeral are affairly much to be dreaded by a wealthy Hindoo, for on either occasion there has to be considerable spent on feasting not only on the relatives, but a hour of dependents; and as without a feast the soul of the departed one is in danger of not tasting the joys of the life hereafter, a funeral feast is really often the real source of the woe on such occasions. As a matter of course the Brahmins figure conspicuously, for it is hoped that through their intersections will the dead man gain heavenly bliss.
In Madras the ceremonies are arranged scientifically. There much of the hideousness that is so revolting to a person of delicate nerves is hidden. The body is wrapped in cracking around and burning the corpse, no terrily offensive odors, but on the contrary, at a high-castelfemale there is to be seen the greatest resemblance to the very possible arrangement to deprive the funeral of its ghastly effect.
become a person position, resting on a heavy bed of dry straw. This straw bed rests upon a solid stone foundation imbedded in cement. When the straw has been laid and brushed three times slightly upon it. The legs are crooked into tailfashion, and the body is clothed in pure white of peculiar linen, used solely for the shrouding of the dead. The corpse is then covered with white flowers, the only part that is visible being the face. The checks are painted with a black Ammonia paint. The pot has passed around the pyre three times muttering a mantram, with the pot in hand containing the holy fire he lights the pyre. The straw is specially ablaze, and the slight layer of wood is soon burning, and when the fire has gone away the cover is covered with a thick coating of mud, so that the corpse is actually burned within a covering. It is thus left for three days, when this coating of mud is broken open, and the collected ashes are thrown into the adjacent river. No sooner has the mourning corpse been dome is left the corpse than the oldest son prepares himself for the last rite of the ceremony. He disobes entirely and taking his position near the last pyre, gets shaved from every foot, the body's anatomy and its body's anatomy is observed rigidly, and the number of people led is generally more than the purse of the dead man can actually afford.
Death in India is not looked upon with that mysterious auspice as in more northern countries. Its presence is so universal, its operations so rapid and the removal so sudden, either by burning or burial, that the bereaved have been the target of the curse of grief by the unpleasant spectacle of having the dead in their midst. Funeral cortege in all parts India are disorderly, and it is not uncommon for them to dudge in unseeably fighting with each other when they are at peace. One of the victims is perhaps shirking his portion of the load when carrying the corpse to the chat.
Perhaps never to better advantage does the philosophical nature of the Hindoo show than on the occasion of a death. Rarely does a mother, who has been gravely grief over the close approaching death of her son, once make a moan after the breath has left the body. "Death has come," she says, "and hence let there be no weeping. And mourners are engaged for lore, with ink, will, with tearless eyes, follow the remains of her child.
Shakespeare Appreciated.
A late English book contains a good story of an admirer of Shakespeare among the settlers of a Western territory. The incongruity of taste and life which the story exhibits will not seem strange to any one who lives upon the frontier.
Fort Bridger takes its name the celebrated hunter and trapper, Jim Bridger, one of the first white men to penetrate into this part of the "Far West." He settled down here after a life of wild adventure, for nearly half a century from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico, in search of game.
Jim, however, had literary taste, but books were raare out on the plains. One day a man wished to buy some oxen. Jim said he could have any except one yoke which he would not part with. But the messenger said that the man wanted them, and no others.
"He can't have 'em" said Jim, "there's no use talkin'."
"Well, he wants them; and is just a-waitin' for em," said the messenger. "He's a-settin' there a-readin' a book called Shakespeare."
"Eh!" yelled Jim, jumping to his feet—"Did you say Shakespeare? give me my boots—quick!" and he ran to the corral. "Stranger," said he; "give me that book, and take them on en."
"Oh, no," said the man, "I only brought the book to read on the way I will give it to you."
"Stranger," said Jim, resolutely "take you these oxen, and give me
them."
THE S
And so the man did; and Jim Bridger hired a reader at fifty dollars a month, and listened to Shakespeare every evening.
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