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Kansas University Weekly.
well as at other times, that they ingratiated themselves with the Missouri University people leaving a creditable impression both for good ball playing and for general agreeableness. Throughout the game a spirit of good nature and kindly feeling was manifest; and although the Missourians were hard loosers their asperity was tempered with genuine respect for our athletic skill and our manly conduct. Mr. Fletcher is to be especially commended for his capable management of the team. He has worked under many difficulties, not the least of which were the discouraging comments of petty croakers. The result of the Columbia game bespeaks his competency and ought to insure him general approbation. Among the individual players perfect harmony now exists; all differences have been adjusted, and downright ball playing is made possible at last. One more inter-state victory, and the excellence of the '97ball team will become college tradition.
Lilqraqy.
"Chapter XX."
But I've been so interested in describing the wedding that I almost forgot something that is of a good deal of importance—to me—and about which I must tell you. You won't believe I could forget it when you hear what it is, but really it seems of so little moment now—as if I had always known it—that I do forget it half the time.
In most of the novels and stories "for the edification of youth," when, along past the middle of the book, the plot gets inextricably tangled, there comes in a pathetic scene in which one of the characters dies. It generally comes about chapter twentieth, and is always very affecting, although you are frequently glad in a subdued sort of manner for it clears the way for the hero and heroine and after that they "all live happily ever after." Well, in the story of our lives which we have been working out, the Great Author pursues somewhat the same plan. We are entering now upon the twentieth chapter. And the character which has been selected to be the centerpiece in this moving tableaux is my honorable self.
Now Frank, please don't be surprised. You know you never really expected to see me live to be a sober, middle-aged woman. You didn't think of my dying, of course, but rather
I would disappear, and if I were sober and middle-aged you'd never know it. But, you see, the world is too small. I can't disappear with any certainty of remaining unseen. You'd be sure to run against me, nervous and dowdy and respectable, at a watering place or keeping a highly convenient, and untidy "Bicycler's Inn" where you needs must stop when you went out on a summer tour. So you will readily perceive that the other way is much the best.
No, I'm not joking this time, it's really decided. About a month ago I developed a nice little hacking cough and one fine day after an over-exertion—but the details are probably not interesting to you, and besides I believe I have forgotten them myself. Suffice it to say that the grave and reverend lights of the medical profession—(it never occurred to me before, but what a good epithet that is for a physician, "a grave light!") anyhow, all the doctors here have decided that I have consumption and can last at the farthest only until spring. Isn't it exquisitely ridiculous? That really is the only way it affects me. Now about a year ago I was wild to die and get out of it all, but just as I have reconciled myself to living and leading a placid and commonplace existence in the most contented manner I am presented with the gift I have given over desiring. It reminds me of nothing so much as the time Uncle Ross offered me a year in Italy after the sickness in which