Kansas University Weekly.
147
Their crews do not row time trials under cover of darkness, nor do their foot-ball teams practice behind closed fences. Enjoying sport for sport's sake, they are never led by the desire to win to employ a questionable means of winning. No one ever heard of Oxford or Cambridge allowing a man who was ineligible to play on one of their teams.
Turning from England to America, one finds a very different spirit existing among the colleges. Each college seems jealous of its rivals, lest it may be beaten in athletic contests or overreached in diplomacy. The inevitable consequence of this jealousy is a continual bickering, which is unbecoming of sportsmen and gentlemen. The truth of this is proved by a glance at the history of athletics for the past two or three years. Harvard and Yale, quarrelling over a comparatively trivial matter two years ago, have only just succeeded in arranging their differences. Princeton and Yale, alleging unfairness of play on Pennsylvania's part, have refused to meet that college in any branch of athletics for three years. This spirit of distrust not only has an injurious effect upon the smaller colleges, but it is reflected in the preparatory schools.
Obviously this sort of spirit is all wrong. It is bound to produce an unhealthy rivalry in athletics. No matter what eligibility rules colleges may draw up, no matter how many agreements they may make with one another, the rivalry between them will be unhealthy. Cure the spirit, and the rivalry will become wholesome immediately. With the proper spirit there would scarcely be any need of eligibility rules.
Placing an ineligible player on a team, practicing in secret, and all other unpleasant features of American college athletics would disappear."
Lilgraqy.
In the French Quarter of New Orleans.
It was such a beautiful, old place. I knew it must be so, from the very day when first I saw Madame Laronne. She had such an atmosphere of peace and content, of gentleness and dignity about her. Even the amber colored rufles of lace at the wrists of her black silk gown seemed to mark the gentle, old lady's individuality. She was far above and beyond us. She was living in a world all her own—a world made beautiful by sorrow and suffering.
I was always a lonely child. I used to sit by the sunny south window, and think and think. My thoughts were my only companions. That was the reason such a bond of sympathy existed between Madam Laronne and myself. Someway, I felt it even then, but now I know it.
"Child," she said to me one day, laying her jewelled hand upon my head. "Child, you must come to my home. We need each other, you and I. I will send Norah for you, child."
My heart leaped for joy. I thought the greatest happiness of my life had come. All my listlessness was gone. I danced and sung. It was only by a great effort that I could restrain my impatience; and every morning I donned my little cap and coat and waited in the dark, lonely hall for Black Norah to come for me.
Many days I waited; but at last, the bell rang, and I knew Norah had come. We started out together down the broad, glaring street; for many blocks we walked, turning and twisting through a labyrinth of narrow streets until I should have been completely and hopelessly lost, had it not been for Norah.
The crowd became thicker. Great, sinewy Mexicans with their broad, flapping hats and their gorgeous colors, crowded and jostled us. The dark-eyed, olive-skinned Creoles glided swiftly by. Contented looking negroes lounged on every side, while happy, care-for-naught