The Students Journal.
PUBLISHED WEEKLY
BY THE
Students Journal Publishing Co.
BUSINESS MANAGERS.
W. C. Fogle ... Editor-in-Chief
C. E. Kimpton ... Loca Editor
Chara S. Bosworth ... Literary Editor
BUSINESS MANAGERS.
JAS, V, MAY.         A. O. GARRETT
ASSOCIATES
Robb, W. Neal ... Literary
B, L. Pampel ... The Halls
Artie Kelly ... Music
F, H. Kelly ... Pharmacy
G, J. Graves ... Locals
B, E. Blackman ... Exchanges
The stock of the STUDENTS JOURNAL company consists of non-transferable one朵 shares. Any student, instructor or employee University may hold one and only one share.
WE ARE pleased to have secured for our columns the remarks by Dr. Wilcox at chapel last Friday morning.
CHANCELLOR CANFIELD, of Nebraska University, has received the degree of LL.D. from Williams. President Gates, of Amherst, received the same honor, as did also President Tucker of Dartmouth.
THE Salina Daily Republican was printed one day last week on paper made from sun flower stalks. The paper resembles brown straw paper; but is stronger. Kansas sunflowers are useful as well as ornamental.
A GLANCE at the ordinary newspaper shows the great need of a more highly educated class of editors. The imperfections in college journals testify to the same thing. The men who control the literature of the people should be educated for their profession as well as the men who deal out medicine for the sick body or theology for the hungry soul.
Why does that pauper continue to try to keep up appearances, is a question that might well be asked of many even worthy persons. It is perfectly proper for every one to attempt to rise above his environment; but why expend half one's energies tricing to appear to be what we are not. Truth is true and worthy for its own sake, and whoever dares be bolty what he is, even if that be vilest of the vile, is truer to his life than he who is not, but makes himself seem to be.
But a little time before the end came; Tennyson wrote of his wishes about death the following tenderly pathetic lines,—the last expression of his poetic pen;
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And many there be mounding at the bar
When I put out to sea.
Twlight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell
When I embark,
This is the thirteenth year of college journalism. First given practical expression in 1880, at Dartmouth, the idea has spread among educational institutions, until that school must be poor indeed that has not its college paper. But the number of good college papers has not increased in proportion to the need. Few fields can be tiled to better advantage than that in which the college journal works, and few are so often neglected. The college paper has done a good work, but in many instances it has failed to fulfill its mission. With an opportunity to exert a powerful influence against moral and literary deprivacy, it has not done so; but by petty laziness and undignified bickerings; by narrow and participant control; by indifference among its supporters as to its mission and the performance of their part in carrying it out. the college paper has done harm to itself and to the institution it has represented Such imperfections do not however detract from the value of true journalism
If in K U. there is any influence at work to delay the development of our papers to the ideal standard, the consideration of their possibilities ought to destroy it at once. ___
"A TRUE orator's will is master of his intellect, his life, his action. That is a splendid discipline of the will which compels a speaker to flash from one thought to another, quickly, definitely, clearly, and to present each thought in its completeness. An orator dare not be a mere babbler of words,"—therefore, University men, learn to express yourselves. There are those among you who make poor showing in class, merely because you lack such discipline as is here spoken of. Knowing is often of little use if you; cannot tell others your ideas. Your knowledge will double in value to you and the world, when you have learned to express your thoughts with clearness and force.
Prof. Wilcox at Chapel.
The necessity of doing duty, the eternal value of righteousness, the paying quality of upright living, the absolute certainty that the right is to be victorious in the end, that is what I have been trying this week to bring clearly and strongly before our minds, believing it to be the best preparation we could have for our daily work.
I have strong hopes that I have not spoken in vain. Yet I cannot close my week of service here without calling attention to the slight force of words as compared with deeds, and to the futility of my efforts without yours. I am intensely interested in the moral and religious welfare of our University, and I know that a good many of you also are. What can we do? How can we influence others to a better and higher life?
It is an old story, yet it seems necessary to repeat it again and again. As Cardinal Newman put it,—personal influence is the best means of propagating the truth.
Personality is the great moving force of the world. I know that is a very broad statement, and that I cannot define personality perfectly. But I feel sure you know what I mean. The sum total of all your powers and impulses works in a way peculiar to yourself, and that is your personality. Now it is by that you are to work upon others. You may talk till doomsday, but if the whole force of your personality does not go out in influence on others, you will see very little effect upon them.
The Emroerer Marcus Aurelius in enumerating the forces that had most deeply touched his life and moulded his character names persons alone, not books or the sayings of men. The greatest school is a man or a woman, says President Eliot. And the organizing center of the first Universities was in almost every case a powerful and attractive personality; the great teacher was the starting point.
This personality of a man, which can do so much, is a magnificent gift, but also a great responsibility. Be careful of it then. Foster it. But use it. By using it you will foster it. Guard it against loss or destruction. Stand by it, like Antigone, like Socrates, like the Christ. Be true to yourself. Be true to your faith Stand by your colors every time, no matter how strong the enemy seems, and he will flee before you. Don't give up your moral personality. I like to read Browning's Prosipice. Thore we have the kind of hero we all want to be, I am sure. If the fight must come, we want to be in it. It has come. Let us then go into it. The foes of right are about us. Let us be at them.
Some of you know of Arthur Cumnock, who is said to have changed the whole tone of life at Harvard during his four years there. Would that we had an Arthur Cumnock, who might by the force of his personal character transform us. I think we shall have one some time.
What will he have to do among us? If my diagnosis is correct, we are not given
over to drinking, and there is no especial mania for cutting recitations. But we have had such a thing as polite gambling, and we still pull wires for and against the societies. And this last is one of our greatest evils.
Another of our greatest evils is the large number of parties and the large amount of money spent for suppers, dresses, and carriages in connection with them. I do not mean to say that a party or a dance is wrong in itself. But I do mean to say that there are by far too many of them, and that they cost too much. I mean to say also that it is wrong for a student to stay at a party after midnight, and that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred of our students it is wrong to spend money on a party dress. There was a time when the girls went to parties in their best ordinary dresses. Then it was not necessary for young men to get carriages to take them.
If you say, Yes, but we must move along with the times, I reply, that is not the tendency of the times. At the eastern colleges the tendency is toward simpler and cheaper college living.
Then again, I find it very hard to understand how a company of college students can devote a whole evening or night to dancing. I am not surprised when I hear of uncultured people doing so, but it seems to me that people of culture ought to consider that beneath them. A half-hour or hour spent in dancing is a recreation not disagreeable to myself, but a whole evening given up to it is a confession of want of interest in things that pertain to culture.
Moreover, all this takes time as well as money. And it takes health too. Parties are not confined to Friday night, and since they are to be altogether or principally dancing, a good many must go to dancing-school. That takes more time and more money. To show you how this has taken and is taking health, is too sad an undertaking for me. You all know something about it.
These seem to me our greatest evils, and they seem to me serious evils, that must be eradicated if we are not as a college to lose our moral force and leadership. All the leading of which a college is capable will be worthless if it is not backed by morality. It will perish utterly in the end if it hold not up to men the ideal of the best and truest culture. And that is moral culture.
Is there not an Arthur Cumnock among us? Will not some of you strive to be like him? I know that some of you can, if you only will, exert a great influence on those around you. Think of your duty to them, think of your duty to the state that calls you here for good service in coming years. Think of your duty to morality, to truth, to God.
Several fine specimens have been added to the museum. The most recent are saurians, mosaasaws, dating from the cretacious period. The largest of these belong to the species liodon and is considerably over twenty feet in length. It is a rare specimen and is in perfect condition. Parts of others were obtained, some from animals which must have been over thirty feet long. The specimens have been some time in preparation. They were collected by Dr. Williston and Judge West two years ago, from the Gove county chalk deposits
At Snow Hall.
S. Barrett, of Pittsburg, Kas., has a policy in the Northwestern for $2,500. age 51, date Nov. 5th, 1887, dividends used to reduce premiums as follows:
A Challenge.
Premium. Dividend. Per Cent
1880 ... $24 73 . $83 90 . 27.1
1890 ... " . 35 20 . 26.2
1891 ... " . 30 55 . 25.2
1894 ... " . 75 08 . 60.2
Policy holders in other companies are asked to compare their dividends with the above, and produce its equal if they can. Why don't you exercise the same care and judgment in buying life insurance that you do in other important business matters. Is not the matter of a few thousand dollars to your families of as much importance as the buying of a suit of clothes or a load of wood.
OUR STUDY WINDOW
J. R. GRIGGS, Resident Agent.
Bently and I had agreed on a game of tennis at five last evening. Bently is a classmate of mine, and rooms just across the street from me.
A College Episode.
Five o'clock came and went. Being absorbed in the delightful task of writing a theme, I had not noticed the passing of time; neither had I heard, through the noise of traffic on the street, Bently's call from the sidewalk beneath my window.
A heavy footfall on the stair, however, as of some one bounding up three steps at a time, brought me to my senses physically speaking. My door burst open and there stood Bently, decked out in his new tennis suit, gesticulathing with his raquet and with his tongue at the same time.
"Get a move on you, Marlowe. You are the slowest coach I ever saw," he shouted.
No second appeal was needed to persuade me to lay aside my first and, as yet only written page, on which there were, perchance, more erasures and interlineations than original sentences. With a pair of vigorous kicks my two slippers were deposited in their usual corner. Whereupon, Bently, having received some sudden inspiration, broke out with our class "yell." How's this, Marlowe?" queried he. 'Lavender and cream! Are you so full of class spirit that you wear the class colors on the heels of your socks?'
Two bright round spots in the heels of my black stockings, each about the size of a silver dollar, had caught his eye. What had struck him most, doubtless, was the fact that the spots were not of the same color.
"My washerwoman has been daring them," I replied; "and she was probably short of mending material."
"She was color blind, I wager," echoed Bentley.
What the colors really were does not matter. Suffice it to say that it was a vivid imagination on Bently's part that led him to call them lavender and cream, our class colors.
"The deuce take it," he continued,
"loes your washerwoman mend your
socks? Not much does mine"
"Of course," answered I; "she not only does that, but she keeps an eye on my buttons and all such trilures as those."
"Well, that's a laundress worth having," whistled Bently.
ing. Whatever Bently,
"She's an obliged old lady, this washerwoman of mine," I remarked casually, as I went on with my preparations.
"I venture she has seen better days. She is quite intelligent looking and seems well-bred."
"Mine wasn't bred at all," laughed Bently.
"But the most striking thing about her is her kind-heartedness," I went on. "I was struck by her tender motherly face the first time I saw it. And I afterward found that I had not been deceived in my first impression of her, for she took an interest in me when I was sick last spring—came to see me and brought me delicacies. She has been doing my washing for two years, and I couldn't ask to have it done better. You'd do well to try her, Bently. They say she is very poor, and her only support is what she makes out of her washing. She lives all alone."
"By the way," I exclaimed, "this is the evening to take my laundry. We have to pass right by Mrs. Old's—that's her name—in going to the tennis court. I shall take my bundle atong and give you a chance to see if I have sized the old lady up all right, and you can make arrangements in regard to your washing."
"All right, I'll try her, if it will please you," rejoined Bently. "But, Marlowe, you're too sentimental." I should like to see you stir up any sentiment over my old washing machine."
Bently protested, since it must delay in at least a minute; but notwithstanding his objections I started off with my bundle.
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We soon reached the house. I had but rapped at the door when a little girl, who was playing in the adjoining yard, timidly volunteered the information that there was no one at home.
She was a sweet little thing, not over three years old, with the brightest of blue eyes and pretty flaxen curls hanging down to her shoulders. I was strangely impressed by her childish sweetness and innocence.
"There's nobody to home," she repeated.
"Mrs. Olds will be back soon, will she not?" I asked.
"No, sir, she won't turn back," replied the child.
"She is just at some neighbor's house, isn't she?" I suggested.
"No, she's don away."
"Oh, she has moved away?"
"No, sir, she hasn't moved away."
Then recollecting that once Mrs. Olda spoke of having a nephew—her only living relative—in Ohio, I said,
"Where has she gone?" I asked, puzzed.
"She has gone on a visit?"
"No, sir, she's not don on a visit; she's
don away to stay."
"She went away early one morning. She's don away to stay. She wont turn back any more."
Recalling the fact that the last time I had ever seen her Mrs. Olds was slightly ill. I asked.
"She got well again, did she not?"
"She's dead. She'll never tum back any more."
"Dead!" I exclaimed.
It may be weak and childish to confess it, but the game of tennis had lost its charm for me. It was tiresome, spiritless. Bently went three straight sets.
L. A. L.
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