The Messenger, Vol. 34, No. 8

Page 1






MAY, 1908.

No. 8.

CONTENTS. A Senior's Farcwctl(Poem) ... . .... . .... . ...... . •. ,Edwin M. Heller .. In Course of Time (Story) .. ... .. . . .. .. ... .. . .. .... .. .. .... "Bingla" .. Jean Jacques Rosseau ... . ..... .. ....... ... ... ,; .. . . Miss Sadie HcU.tem . . Consolation (Poem). . . • . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..... ... ... . . . . "Dick Minnow" . . The Som of Re1t (Poem) ............. .. ... . . .. ... .. . A. Y. Maynard .. Lucy's Boy (Story) .............. . . ... ... . . .. ... Miss Macon E. Bames . . Bob'• Story .... . . ..... .... . . . .. .. .. . . .. . . .. ... ........J. W. Pulley .. Duak (Poem) ....... ... ... . ..... . ..... .. . .. ...... . .. ... w. J. Young .. "To Violets" (Sonnet).. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . .. . C. L. Stillwell . . . The Brotherhood of Man . ........ ..... .. . .. .. .. ..... . T. W . Ozlin .. Editorials . . . .. . .... . . .... . .. . .. . ..... . . . ... .. . ...... ... E. L. Ackiu,. Campus Notes. . .. . ........ .. . .... . . .. ... .. ..... .. ... G. F. Ezekiel . . Alumni Department .. . ... .. . . .. .. . . . ... . ... . ..... .. . E. W. Hudgins. . Exchanges. . . . . . . . . ..... .. ....... . .. .. .. ... . .... .. . . . .T. W. Ozlin . .

363 364 368 375 376 377 382 386 387 388 390 394 398 399


ten per cent. discount to students.

college clothes made to your order

$15.00 up.

Jkip ~DRPPisb 88@, hatters= tailor.s=furnishers, no. 4 J2 east broad street,

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R. N. DANIEL ........... . .. President. J. K. HUTTON ......... Vice-President. ,W . M. THOMPSON ... . ...... Secretary. T. J. MOORE . ........ . ....... Treasurer.

C.H. GOODWIN ... . ......... President. W . R. ·D. MONCURE ... Vice-President. R. A. BROCK ........... . ..... Secretary. A. J. CHEWNING, JR ... .... Treasurer.

CHI EPSILON. Hiss VIRGINIA WARE ......... . .... President. " MATTIE BROWN ...... ... Vice-President. " LELIA BETTY ...... ...... . . .. . . . ,.Treasurer. " GERTRUDE RICHARDS ........ Secretary.

THE MESSENGER. E. L. ACKISS .. . . ... .. . . ................ Editor. OSCAR B. RYDER ...... Business Manager.

GENERAL ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION DR. W. L. FOUSHEE ... '. .. . . President. T . W. OZLIN . . ......... Vice-President. G. F. EZEKIEL ...... . ...... Secretary. A. T. GRIFFITH ............ Treasurer. ROBT. N. POLLARD .. Graduate Mgr.



A. J. CHEWNING, JR ... .. .. .Manager. G. L. WRIGHT . .... . ...... .. ... Captain.

M. M. LONG .. ............ .... Manager. C. T. GARDNER ... ... .. . . . . . ..Captain.

TRACK TEAM. J. A. BYRD ......... . ... . .. .. . ... ... .Manager. E. H. LOUTHAN •. ..... .... ....... . Captain.

Y. M. C. A. E. B. J. J.

M. LOUTHAN .. ..... .. ... President. N. DANIEL... .. .. Vice-President. F. CROPP ... . ......... . .. . . Secretary. H. TERRY ......... .... ... Treuurer.




.messenger. MAY, 1908.

No. 8.

A Senior's Farewell. BY EDWIN :M, HELLER,


The time has come for us to part, From you, 0 Alma Mater I The yearning of each loyal heart Yet makes the''parting harder. Ye bonnie halls and classic walls, ¡ Where we have loved to dwell; How much we hate to leave you now, No heart, no tongue can tell. Wi_thin your genial class-rooms gay We've spent the hours of youth, And now to you we say farewell, To tread the path of truth. Upon your verdant campus bright, With joy we've lounged supine; And often in the silent night We've worshiped at your shrine. Your guiding hand has piloted Our grasping minds alongAnd pointed out the way of right Whenever we were wrong. Oh, mother of our youthful lore ! Oh, parent of our joy I We pray your fate may have in store Pure bliss without alloy.


" Stone walls do not a college make, Nor iron bars a cage " ; The associations we create Shall be our heritage. The wisdom which to us you've given We gratefully acknowledge; You know how hard for it we've striven, Oh, noble Richmond ~ollege I We'll think of you in future days, When we have reached our goal, And chant on high your lofty praise With all our heart and soul. And as we gaze about these walls, We cannot help the tear that falls, For, though we're glad that we are through, We grieve to bid you now adieu.

The Course of Time. BY BINGLES,


!i!HE University buildings were ablaze with lights. It was ~ commencement night. Through the windows one could see the couples gliding by and hear the music of the waltz. Out in the starlit night a man and girl walked slowly back and forth. The girl was not pretty, yet she had a winsomeness and vivacity that was more than good looks, and when she smiled and looked at you, out of her hlg brown eyes there were few of the boys who were not her abject slave. Certainly " Bob" was no exception to the rule. The large, stern, quiet man had spent all of his spare time during the past session humoring her whims, and many a time had denied himself a necessity in order to gratify some pleasure of hers.




"Katy," he said, "I love you, and I want you for-listen, dear-my wife. To-morrow I have to leave early, and I can't see you again ; but I will come back in the fall. Look at me, darling, and tell me what I want to know." "Bob," she whispered ; and as he caught her in his strong arms, and his lips met hers, he received his answer. Two months later he received this letter:

"Dear Kr. Harlan: "You will be surprised when you receive this note, and will doubtless misjudge me. Truly, when I pledged myself to you I thought I loved you, but now I know that I did not. I have seen a good deal of Jack 1rranklin lately, and we are to be married in November. Put me ~out of your life, and forget that there was ever such a worthless person as "KATY HARRISON."

The great ocean steamer was nearing New York, and on board ship the passengers were busy getting their things together. The waiters were rushing here and there, and the officers were busy giving their last orders. In the midst. of all the confusion the man leaned against the railing, a book in his hand, absorbed in his own thoughts, and apparently oblivious of the confusion around him. In passing he had seen the book, opened, lying in a steamer chair, and in glancing down he had seen the name" Kitty Harrison "-a name that had not crossed his lips since he had received the note telling of her approaching marriage. Years had passed since that commencement night under the trees, but the student, who had now become a statesman, was a law student again at the university, and was living over that last year . of his college life again. . He was roused from his reverie by the voice of the girl of his dream, saying: " Dear me, where on earth can I have put it? I know I left it in that chair when I went to my room a few minutes ago. Well, of all-" The girl had suddenly caught sight of the



book in the stranger's hand, and, blushing with embarrassment, left the sentence unfinished. The stranger lifted his hat. "Pardon me," he said; "I-in fact--well, I guess I'll have to own up. I passed your chair; your book was opened at the fly leaf, and I happened to glance down, and, seeing the name of a girl I once knew, could not help taking it up to examine it more closely." " Oh, did you know Kitty? I am Kitty's sister, and you are-" "Mr. Harlan. I knew Miss Harrison at the University in 1900. You are very much like her." "Well, no wonder you don't remember me. I was off at boarding-school that year, trying to get some sense in my head, and leaving the boys strictly to Kitty. I am going to see her now; she is living in New Jersey." " Mrs. Franklin, is she not? " "Most decidedly not. She and Jack had a fuss, and something happened, and we never saw Jack any more. She married Mr. Earley, and is now a widow. She will be delighted to see you. Can't you come out to Bayonne to see us ? " "Thank you, but I have to go straight through to Washington to-night. Can I help you about your baggage?" "No ; guess my uncle will attend to that, but I guess I had better be looking them up. Good-bye."










"Well, old fellow, how are you? By Jove, I'm glad to see you. What are you doing down here, fooling with politics and trying to elect the next President? I never thought, when we were in college together, that you'd go in for this sort of thing," was the greeting of ¡s old friend, Billy Bole. "If you will let my hand go for a minute, and come up to my rooms, we can have _a good old time talking over our experiences, and I'll tell you all you want to know, provided you don't fire all your questions at me at once." "All right, but let me tell you what I want you to do. The



future Mrs. Bole is having some sort of a ' shing~ding ' to-night in honor of some girl that has just arrived on a visit. Come on, and go to the house with me; I'll make it all right with her, and I just want you to meet the sweetest little girl in the world." An hour afterwards our friends were admitted to one of the homes on Wabash avenue. As they entered the parlor Bob saw, standing beside the future , Mrs. Bole, the girl who had been in his thoughts since their :encounter aboard ship. " You? " he said. "Yes, I believe it is," she laughed merrily as she answered; "though I really didn't believe at one time the custom officials were going to leave enough of-me and my clothes to make my trip abroad worth while. "I saw Kitty," she said-and he fancied her voice changed ever so little. He wondered if Kitty had told her all. " She said you took her to the final germanbut enough of Kitty. My duties for the present are over; let's find a nice, cool place, where we can sit down and talk." They were the last to leave, and while Bob was telling her good-night he took her hand, and, looking at her long and earnestly, said : "I will be in town a few days ; may I ¡ call in the morning ? " That night, before retiring, she wrote to Kitty: " And now ihat I have told you of my trip and my arrival, I must tell you now of Bob Harlan. How could you have treated him as you did? He is the noblest, grandest man I ever met. I saw lots of him to-night, and he's coming to call to-morrow. N otwithstanding the number of people I had to talk to, I got in a good many words with him. I like him, and I'm glad you didn't succeed in spoiling his life, though I can see he's not any too anxious now to talk about you. You are a good-for-nothing girl, and don't deserve my even mentioning Mr. Harlan's name to you. Your sleepy "NELL."

And two months later : "Dear, I am just adorably happy.

He, the Great and Only,


will be here in two hours. I am dressed and waiting. I still can't understand why you can't come to my wedding. Of course you are in mourning, but then you know you never really loved the man you married, so I don't see what difference it makes. I am awfully glad you didn't marry Bob."

Jean Jacques Rousseau. BY SADIE



~OME eminent historian has classified the men of the world ~ according to two great types- ( a) those that reflect their own era, their personality being an embodiment of the social, moral, and political tendencies of their own age; (b) those who are prophetic of a new era, who reflect not their own age or any past epoch, but stand, as it were, upon an imminent precipice, peering into the age that is to come. Of this last and epoch-making class Rousseau is a most worthy exponent. A thorough comprehension of his personality will disclose that it reveals not one prominent characteristic prevalent in the day in which he lived; but that he, the typical radical, imbued with the ardent revolutionary spirit, was opposed to every convention and tendency of his age, a monarchical era, in which the State was embodied in the haughty personality of the King. "I am the State," was the boast of Louis XIV., and hence the study of the character and influence of Jean Jacques Rousseau, " the foe of kings," is the study of the germ of the political characteristics of to-day-modern democracy. His life is probably the most inconsistent of any author who has exerted such a potent influence upon literary and political history. He seems to have been imbued with a spirit of restlessness and revolt. He was not a Frenchman by birth. His father, a watchmaker, had emigrated from France to Geneva, where Rousseau was born in 1712; but it was not the atmosphere of Geneva that Rousseau breathed. He inhaled the germ



of the artificial, corrupt, and conventional French society of the eighteenth century; and fostering a contempt for this debased, immoral, and polluted society was his life's task. The seventeenth century in France had seen the birth of the so-called "French Academy,'' which, though to-day it is supreme in the restricted sphere time and custom have given it, at the time of its birth, and especially a century later, exerted the most potent influence upon society, religion, and politics. This institution was the guiding star of Louis XIV. and Louis XV.; it controlled the education of the youth of France; it sanctioned or denied whether an author's work was to be received with popular applause; it revived, to a certain extent, the old, trite, and insignificanit ¡ controversies of the "schoolmen '' of the early Middle Ages, forsaking necessary questions concerning government and society as it embraces the common people, and gave its attention exclusivelyto moulding opinions according to form and established methods. Not because this society was in France, for just the same inevitable result is sure to follow in England, in America, or in any country where reason-and not reason as it works in harmony and co-operates with conscience, but as it dominates the physical and spiritual instincts in man-every incentive to free thinking, popular interest, and spontaneity is crushed ; what should be creed becomes dogma; what should be done by instinct and according to the dictates of conscience is accomplished by cold, philosophic reasoning and according to established methods. It was in this conventional and monarchical state that Rousseau arose to destroy this condition, and deluge the State with unrestrained and democratic principles. Rousseau was thoroughly scrupulous in all his transactions with mankind. We see him in the presence of lord and lady, before citizens of his own degree, even in the presence of an Emperor, and yet not once does he, even in his most destitute circumstances, practice unscrupulous devices.



He was, at all times, vain, boastful, and independent. Sublime egotism, the characteristic of the Frenchman, dominated his personality. Possibly, if Rousseau had been a man of reflection so far as his own deeds were concerned, he would not have indulged in the frivolities of which he is to-day accused. "It is amazing with what ease I forget past ills, however fresh they may be " ; and when, in the initial paragraph of his vast undertakings, his " Confessions," he proclaims to mankind, "When the last trumpet -shall sound I will present myself before the Sovereign Judge with this book in my hand, and say aloud, 'Thus have I acted ; these were my thoughts ; ~uch was I. Such as I was I have declared myself; sometimes vile and despicable, at others virtuous, generous, and sublimeeven as Thou hast read my inmost soul, Power Eternal I'" it is then that we see a man not ashamed to acknowledge his guilt, but ready to expiate whatever crime he committed. Irrespectively of what moral weaknesses a man is accused of, when he speaks thus so honorably, and stands before his fellowmen ready to be judged, as Rousseau did, then he, at least, does not deserve to be placed in the category of the unscrupulous, immoral, and debased. This is, however, the light in which the twentieth century at large regards Rousseau, and this very fact tells us that we are still incapable of passing judgment on any man so long as we confuse his personal vanities¡ and his moral integrities. There are no two personalities in the wide range of literature that bear such marked resemblance as Rousseau and Byron. Both revolutionists; 'b oth with the instincts for man's individuality and personal liberty; neither great thinkers, but both impass~oned dreamei'S. Grethe's criticism of Byron is likewise applicable to Rousseau, " When he reflects he becomes a child " ; and Rousseau himself says, " The man who meditates is a depraved animal." Both had the greatest contempt for the existing state of society in their respective ages. It is true that Byron received immediate response to his



sensational and emotional doctrines, but he did not awaken a revolution as did Rousseau. The Bastile had fallen when Byron arose ; men had seen the danger of excessive emotionalism, and hence Romanticism in the days of Byron had been tempered by a spirit of sanity, and by the ideas of men as sane as Montesquieu, in France, and the poet Wordsworth, in England. Concerning the condition and temperament under which Rousseau's productions were written, he himself says, "A sentiment takes possession of my soul with the rapidity of lightning, but, instead of illuminating, it dazzles and confounds me ; I feel all, but say nothing; I am excited, yet stupid ; to think I must be cool.'' He feels; but he does not see. Such we know is Romanticism, but it is not sane Romanticismthe Romanticism of Wordsworth, who sees and feels. This emotional, iridescent feeling is not only characteristic of the man, but of each of his :works. It is his early work, the "Nouvelle Heloise," published in I 1760, by which his claim to Romanticism is usually reckoned. Some critic has said that here Rousseau laid the foundation of, or rather awakened, emotion and sentiment in the human heart for the continent of Europe and really for th'e civilized world. This statement proves to be absolutely erroneous when viewed from the standpoint of any country other than France. It is to Samuel Richardson, whose " Pamela " was published in 1740, and his " Clarissa Harlowe '' in 1748, in which works emotion and se!;ltiment are the all-prevailing elements, that Rousseau owes his claim to Romanticism as far as sentiment and emotion are concerned; for both of these works were widely circulated on the continent of Europe, and Edouard Rod, Rousseau's great biographer, tells us, " His father, who was a watchmaker, scarcely concerned himself with his early education, except to read Plutarch and Richardson to him." What Rousseau really did for the civilized world was to turn men's eyes to nature. He awakened their appreciation for



"landscape " and natural beauty, which, on account of the classic spirit in England, and the dictatorial manner of the French Academy, had passed into oblivion. Rousseau, then, is the writer of the civilized world to portray .natural beauty, and to combine with it sentiment and emotion-hence the first genuine Romanticist. , His "Contract Social," his greatest historical work, and one that especially interests students of political history, reveals those facts based on the feelings of a thorough Romanticist, and not on the facts and research of a sane student of history. His fundamental idea was to bring about a reform, a thorough political revolution, performed by purging society of its conventional characteristics-revolutionizing and democratizing the State by effecting a social reform. This is the doctrine of all historians. Even in our own age there has been a political reformer, Thomas Jefferson, who recognized the fact that, in order to democratize the State, society would first have to undergo the same process. Thus far, Rousseau has not erred ; but his conception that the primitive state of man, and this barbarous state alone, constitutes democracy is entirely erroneous-" The simple, primitive condition, free from luxury, vice, and ambition, is the point of refinement beyond which progress should not pass. In this simple state, before .men entered into the bondage of luxuries, which in time became necessities, and which debase both body and mind, they lived independent and in a condition of natural equality." This is the keynote of Rousseau's political philosophyliberty, equality, and individuality; but are these requisites of democracy only attainable among barbarous people? His obsession that the age of creation was one of individuality and, equality, influenced only by natural laws, and that, by ignoring all intervening ages between this " golden epoch " and his own artificial era, and reforming his age according to his conception of this primitive state, he would accomplish his



desired revolution, proves to be incompatible with our doctrine of reform. The true historical conception that a nation's history is the embodiment of gradual, steady growths, and not of instantaneous and violent revolutions, was ignored by Rousseau. To him history presented no continuity of events; to him society was not a growth, but a conventionality ; he viewed each age, not as in harmony with its predecessor or its succeeding generation, but as merely an isolated epoch. This absence of any just historical sense resulted from an over-sentimental and passionate nature. His philosophy stands no rigid examination; it is not true philosophy, but that of an isolated dreamer. His theories concerning democratic governments, which he so ardently advocated, are erroneous; his idea of democracy, based on the family as a unit, and his doctrine that the State should not contain more than ten thousand inhabitants, reminds us at once of the conception of Aristotle. Such an idea of reform, based on the family as a unit, is not characteristic of such thorough students of history and philosophy as Burke and Montesquieu, but rather of the impassioned dreamer; it is romantic philosophy, a desire to reform nourished in a mystic atmosphere. "I find more profit in the chimerical beings which I assemble around me than with those which I see in the world." How could his philosophy be sane and profitable ? But the fact that his philosophy, as erroneous as it was, was based on the conception of liberty, equality, and individuality of mankind, makes him one of the great personalities of our modern era. As he typifies "liberalism in literature," so does he likewise exemplify "liberalism" in life, in politics, in society ; and it is for this reason that his political works, even though they were designed to announce various political and philosophic creeds, carry with them the spirit of Romanticism. It is also true that this romantic temperament is seen in his " Emile," an attempt to reform the method of educating the



youth. Here is his attack upon the conventional and artificial founder of the Academy. He desired the youth to be educated according to natural laws; nature was to be the teacher and guardian of youth-" Allow nature to act in her place, for fear of thwarting her operations." Now, after having briefly considered the doctrines of his typical works, " The New Heloise," " The Social Contract," and his "Emile," we observe that, even though each was written with the supreme desfre for reform, all portray the personality of the ardent Romanticist, and each exemplifies the true spirit of Romanticism. Around the name of Jean Jacques Rousseau, one of the supremely great personalities in the period of "modern de- . mocracy," there hovers a mist of shame and reproach, created by those persons who have not recognized the fact that Rousseau's temperament necessitated dreams and diversions. "I alone, I know my heart, and have studied mankind; I am not made like any one I have been acquainted with, perhaps l.ike no one in existence; . if not better, I at least claim originality, and whether Nature did wisely in breaking the mould in which she formed me can only be determined after having read this work." (" Confessions.") And now let me conclude by saying that, even though Rousseau was morally weak, even though his philosophy was erroneous, he was at least scrupulous in all his transactions with mankind; and, through his philosophic-romantic works, he has left us priceless heritages-----the¡ sweetness of the emotions, the force of nature, and the value of the liberty and individuality of mankind; and, when we are in danger of censuring the man on account of his trivial errors, let us consider the statement of Mr. Morley: "To one teacher is usually only one task allotted. We do not reproach want of science to the virtuous and benevolent Channing ; his goodness and effusion stirred women and the young, just as Rousseau did, to sentimental but humane aspiration. It was this kind of influence that formed the opinion



which at last destroyed American slavery. We owe a place in the temple that commemorates human emancipation to every man who has kindled in his generation a brighter flame of moral enthusiasm, and a more eager care for the realization of good and virtuous ideals."

Consolation. BY "DICK MINNOW,"


In the twilight hours so dreary, When the lengthening shadows fall, And the robin's weary And a gloom is over all; As I, pensive, sit a,nd listen To the distant whip-poor-will, As I drink the drowsy music Of the softly rippling rill, Then my fancies backward :flitter To the days now long since gone, When we used to sit together In the twilight hours forlorn.

But, alas! green grass is growing On the mound above her head ; And sweet zephyrs, gently breathing, Softly kiss her flowery bed. But perhaps on some fair morning, When this world shall be at rest, We will sit again together In the regions of the blest. Then our sorrows shall be ended, And the eve give place to morn, And the gloomy hours of twilight To the bright eternal dawn.



The Sons of Rest. BY A. Y. MAYNARD,


Let us alone, For we must rest. Oh, cruel 'tis To mar our rest. We would not be So great a pest ; Let us alone. We know that time Is flying fast; We know the day Will soon be past. Who knows but this May be our last ? So let us rest. We lie beneath The leafy trees, And hear the drone Of tired beesAnd feel the breath Of summer breeze. Ah ! this is rest. Most weary is The thought of books, And weary are The teacher's looks. We'd rather dream Of shady nooks, Where we could rest. We fondly pray That while we sleep Kind Fate our dreams From work will keepAnd Fortune bless Us while we ~teep Our souls in rest.



Lucy's Boy. BY MACON E . BARNES,


HAT a picture ! Edward thought he had never seen one so attractive before. He had been following a somewhat overgrown road, and had come unexpectedly upon the gray old house. The gnarled live oaks were holding in front of it a veil of moss, as if to screen it from the view of all but those who cared enough to approach near and look behind the soft festoons. Crumbling it was in places, one of the columns that supported the piazza r~>0f slipping from its foundations. Yet this was only in harmony ;'it seemed fl tting that this relic of past years should hav~ some timbers out of place. The loosened boards, the blinds broken from the windows, the vines climbing high, with great sinewy runners, the old trees showing here and there a space where one of their number had fallen, were marks which only Time could have left-Time that had touched the grand old place with rough hands at first, but had left it without its arrogance, more tender and more fascinating, seeming to say to the wanderer: " I, too, have suffered. Come and whisper to me of your sorrows; I can understand." That was the setting and background to the real picture which had first caused Edward to pause, forgetful of his whereabouts. :From the front window to the left of the massive door looked out two of the dearest old ladies he had ever seenfaces old and sweet and lovely, faces across which age had drawn wrinkles, and brows that time had crowned with silver. One, with neat curls combed smoothly back, leaned on the window sill, her eyes upon the blossoming chrysanthemums beneath. The other stood a little back, gazing out over the shoulder of the one in front. She looked through the moss and leaves to the broad cotton fields, which showed beyond like great gardens of white roses. Edward had crept so near to the window, watching the faces,



that he now stood almost beneath their eyes, in the shadow of a tall shrub. Suddenly the one with the curls spied him. She was evidently strongly agitated. An exclamation, a point of the finger, and the same ld'ok of agitation overspread the other's face. Edward realized where he was, and, knowing that an apology was necessary, came out in front of the window and tipped his cap politely. "I ran into your place while hunting, and in my admiration for it didn't realize how rude I was. Pray pardon me, ladies; I hope I haven't frightened you." "Yes, yes," they said together. "'It's all right." But they were too confused or frightened to say rriore. Laughing good humor, that should have reassured them, lookeil out from his gray eyes. There was frankness and manliness in every expression of Edward Kendrick as he bade them "good day'' with a gallant bow and turned to leave. "Lucy's boy," he thought he heard them murmur as he went back again down the avenue between the rows of oaks. The sun was setting; 'twas time to leave off his hunt, even though there were not many birds in his bag. One last glimpse he stole of the two old ladies, still at the window, and turned out of sight in the woods on the left. The day had been dry and hot, and his gray hunting suit was covered with the dust of sandy fields. The coolness and shadows of the woods induced reverie. Something about the old house 1?-ad reminded him of his stately Virginia home that he had left when a boy of twelve. It, too, had huge columns and massive doors. There was a wide hall, a broad piazza, a green lawn on which he had often romped. But dearest of all memories connected with his home was that of his mother. He could see again . his sweet brown-haired mother, as she nestled him lovingly to her side and told him that he must grow up to be an honor to the State whose son he was. A son of old Virginia-the words ~ounded sweet, as if he heard



the echo of his mother's voice corning down to him through the years. She had passed away. He had left his childhood home to live with a rich uncle in Tennessee. Quickly enough the years had gone by, and had he been an honor to his native State? He had not been a dishonor; no. But he could not recall that he had ever done anything especially honorable. He had gone through college and graduated. Since then he had occasionally taken a part in his uncle's business. The old gentleman had died, and Edward had found himself possessed of (to him) unlimited means and leisure. He did not care for continued amassing of money; his wants were not extravagant, and he disliked tlie confinement of an office. His energies had mostly been¡ expended in travel and hunting. He had climbed mountains, explored streams, dipped into almost anything that appealed to his love of adventure. Now he was in the South, preparatory to spending a good part of the winter on the hunting fields of South Carolina. This was the last day of a week's hunt; on the morrow he and his party went back to Aiken. His friends were already at the hotel, arranging their baggage, having declared long ago that the hunting was not worth the trouble. Edward had stayed out for a last shot. When he reached the village he stopped at the largest store on the principal street. "Who is it that lives out there a mile to the west?" he asked an old fellow who looked as if he might know all the village gossip. "That I Why, that's the old Turner place. Miss Mary Turner an' Miss Sue Turner's, who live there. A fine place it was, too, an' they had lots o' money. But they lost nearly all in the war, an' after that it's been steadily goin' down. They ain't got nobody to manage for 'em, an' the Ian' rented out's becomin' poorer an' poorer. "Yes; Miss Mary an' Miss Sue live there all by 'emselves-



them two ole women. And I say sometimes it's a wonder the ole house don't fall in on 'em an' kill 'em when ain't nobody to help. They've lived there alone for years an' years. There was another sister, Miss Lucy, that died and left a orphan boy, which they brought up. The last year of the war he went away an' was killed. It do seem like a pity too-such a sprightly lad as he was; an' they still grieve after Miss Lucy's boy, as they call him/' The story finished, Edward sauntered away, but the old ladies and their home haunted his memory. The next morning he found himself strolling, gun in hand, toward their place again. Why, he could not have explained. Something irresistible caused him, much to the disgust of his companions, to go for another short hunt before leaving on the noon train. He strolled along the same overgrown road till it turned abruptly into the avenue under the live oaks. There were the old ladies again, in the yard bending over their flowers. Their hands clasped convulsively as he came up. Surely he had not considered himself so frightful before. He thought he owed it to his self-respect to explain that he was harmless. "Excuse me, ladies, but may I not move these heavy pots for you? When one has nothing to do but hunt it gives pleasure to be useful occasionally," he explained. "Yes, yes; to be sure. You are so like Lucy's boy. That was our nephew, who went to the war and never returned. On just such a morning as this, in his gray uniform, he marched away. All through a long year he fought, and then fell in the front, under Lee-our brave boy." The old voice trembled, tears filled the faded blue eyes. Fresh and green liad lived the memory of the little Confederate soldier through all the years, and Edward looked on with reverence. " Come and see us sometimes, if you are going to live in the village," ventured- the little .lady with curls. "'Twill be so



much like being with Lucy's boy that we could almost think God had sent him back to us." "I will," said Edward. A sudden idea begari to take possession of his mind. It grew upon him as he stayed and talked to them. When he left he thought it over carefully as he went back to the village. No one in the wide world was dependent on him, and if he died the next day no one would remember him hardly six . months. What good had he been to anybody or anything in his life ? Whom had he helped along the course ? Why not be Lucy's boy, sent back to the dear old ladies? Why not make himself happy in service by bringing cheer into the lives of these two for the short tinre they could live? Thus his soliloquy went. He knew he could manage their plantation more successfully than they, and would this not be some honor to old Virginia? It would be doing something really worth the while. "Not going back with us," cried Jackson, when Edward had announced his intention of staying over at least a while longer. "You're crazy. The best hunt yet will be next week ~t Dantnack. Come on, old boy; I know you don't mean it. What is it? A black-eyed lassie that's keeping you here?'' But Edward was deaf to all their entreaties. They left on the noon train, with him standing on the station platform, feeling just a little sinking at his heart. He remained at the hotel, trying to decide whether or not he should give up his care-free life for one of service. Again he wen~ over the allurements of society life, the friendships of gay comrades like those with whom he had just parted, the fascination_ of travel. Against these he weighed the comparatively shut-in life he would lead with the two old ¡ladies; the possibility of the farm becoming monotonous. He considered it well, for he knew that once the work was taken up there would be no turning back for him. Then he saw the pleasure of bringing smiles to their faces and the joy that their smiles would



bring to him. This old home would be again his boyhood home; the two ladies,would be to him what his mother would have been had she lived-loving and inspiring him. The- decision was made. Edward walked to the Turner place and rapped on the door. They took him into the large hall, quaint with dark paneled walls, old-fashioned furniture, and spreading antlers. And there he told them that he was Lucy's boy, come to love them and care for them all their lives, if they would let him. He told them: his whole story, and how he had awakened to the fact that his life thus far had counted nothing, and the pleasure it would give him if they would allow him to help them. He told them that as Lucy's boy, in his soldier's suit of gray, had laid down his life on the soil of Virginia, so from Virginia had come another Lucy's boy 'to take his place in the old Southern home. The fading faces of by-gone Turners looked down from the walls with admiration. The swords, the epaulets, and other trophies of brave men of the past seemed to say: "We welcome you into a family that loves heroic deeds." But Edward knew only the joy that overspread the faces in front of him, the tears that filled the blue eyes, and the tender embraces that drew Lucy's boy to home and love and happiness, and he felt he had chosen the life that was worth while, and that he had come to his own.

Bob's Story. BY J, W, PULLEY,



WAS on my ay to Middletown, a small village, where ~ several men had promised to meet me and pay their taxes, for I was then tax collector. It was early in the morning, and as I had been driving I?Y horse a good deal during the week, I thought it better to let him take his time. While riding musingly along I happened to glance up the road about a half




a mile, and as I did I saw a lonely .figure walking along. I made up my mind that when I oyertook him (for it looked to be a man) I would offer him a ride, as it always gives me pleasure to share a part of my buggy with any pedestrian in the country. As I came a little nearer I saw that it was not, as I had supposed, a man, but a boy, in his working clothes, with his head hung down, as if he were grieving over some mishap. As I drove by I slowed down, and said : "Young man, won't you have a ride? " He looked up, seemingly surprised, and said, in a sad voice: " Yes, thank you; but how ca.n you be so kind to me ? I thought everybody was down oh me." While saying these words he got in my buggy, and I noticed that his eyes were red, as if he had been crying. "What are you so sad about, my young friend I " said I. " Have you had some misfortune? " "Misfortune," said he; "misfortune is no name for my troubles. My father-" Upon saying this he burst out into tears, as if his heart were about to break. I gave him my handkerchief, and told him to wipe the tears away and tell me about it. "It may be that I can help you in some way," said I. "There is no help for a boy who has been turned out of his papa's house," said he. " Turned out of your papa's house? What for, and what is your name, and where do you live? It may be that I can get your father to let you come back again." "My name is Robert Wells," he said, "but they all call me Bob,. and I live on the old Bartlow farm, about five miles from Middletown." "Oh, yes," said I. "I collected your father's taxes last week. And we are not over two miles from your home. Now, if-" "But father has turned me out," said Bob. And the tears again began to trickle down his dusty, sun-burned cheeks. I continued:



"Now, if you think I can possibly do you any good, which I think I can, I will turn my horse around and take you back to your father's house." "I-I don't know whether you can or not, but I wish you would try, for God knows I didn't do it on purpose." So saying, I turned my horse back, and told him he could tell what their trouble was on our way back to his father's place. "I haven't but one brother, ~ ack. He is twelve years old, which makes him two years younger than I am, and I think that papa must like him better than he does me, because he makes me plough all day and won't let him help me at all. But Jack loved me, and whenever he got a chance he would help me as much as possible. Well, day before yesterday papa went to Middletown to vote for Bartin, who wants to represent the county, and he stayed all day. At dinner 'time I told Jack;• Let's build a boat (as we had two hours' rest after dinner) and put it in the river,' which is about a quarter of a mile from home. He was right in for it, ,so we fed the horses and ate dinner as quick as possible. Then we got the hammer and nails and built a boat about a foot and a half wide and ten feet long. But just as soon as we had finished it was time for us to go to work, so we had to wait until yesterday to put the boat in the water. But it would never do to leave it where papa would see it, because we knew that he would not let us put it in the river, and whip us besides for wasting his timber." "This is where you were wrong,'' said I, "for you knew that you were doing something that your-father did not want you to do." "I guess it was wrong, but a boy that has to work all the time, like myself, i excusable for doing some things that are wrong, to have a little pleasure.'' "Well,'' said I, "I guess you are right. But go on with your story.'' "Well, papa always takes a nap after dinner; so while he was asleep we hitched up to the cart and carried the boat to the



river. We were so anxious to see if it would leak that we got in it and pushed off into the water, but we had to hurry to get back to the house in time to go to work with papa. We decided to get up before day this morning and catch some fish, so we got up about 2¡ o'clock and got our fishing tackle ready and started for the river. Jack asked me, on our way there, if I wasn't afraid the boat would turn over, but I said that I was not, though I really do believe I was. I can swim very well, . but I knew that he could not swim at all. " When we arrived at the river we found the boat nearly half full of water, but soon had it baled out, and pushed out into the water. As we had only small hooks, we decided to fish for mud perch; so we looked for a place that the bushes had piled up, for you know this is the best place to catch these kind of fish. I saw just a little ways from me a dam about half way across the river, which was made of logs and brush, so I told Jack that we had better go there and fish until time to go home. He agreed, so we rowed up there and cast our lines into the water. "We fished here until half past 4 o'clock, without catching anything. Then I told Jack that we had better go home, because papa usually came to our room to call us about 5 o'clock; but before going I would try one more throw, which I did, and no sooner had it gotten in the water than I felt something pull the line. I gave a sudden jerk, and the boat turned to one side as if it was going over, and I guess Jack thought it was too, for he jumped into the river, about three feet from the boat, and went straight to the bottom. I was so frightened that I hardly knew what to do, but somehow I got my boat near the place where he went down, thinking that when he came up I would be near enough to catch him. He stayed under so long I thought he was not coming up at all. When he did come up he was about four feet from the end of the boat. I grabbed at him, but he was too far, and he went under again. This time he stayed under longer than before, so I shoved my boat right

. '



to the place where he went down. When he came up for the last time I reached out my hand and caught him by the hair just as he was going down. Somehow I managed to get him into the boat, but it was too late. He was dead.'' At this instant Bob began crying again, and I will have to confess I was not far from it. After a few minutes he managed to finish his story by saying: "I managed to get him nearly home. Papa saw me, and ran up and took Jack away from-me, and kicked me in the side, for he knew by Jack's wet clothes that he had gotten into the river. After he found out that Jack was dead, he told me to leave home, and that if he ever saw me again he would kill me." We were now in about a hundred yards of the house, and his father, who was fixing the fence around the yard, saw us, and came running towards us. This frightened me, for I did not know just what might happen; but he took Bob in his arms, and said: " Oh, Bob, I never thought you would go away and leave your pom: dad. Forgive me, boy, for what I did. Jack was not dead, but only unconscious." While he was saying this he carried Bob into the house. Being left alone, I turned and dro"\Te on to Middletown, feel. ing more than repaid for my trouble.

Dusk, BY W. J. YOUNG,


The night i ¡ come, the city lights above the shadowy flights 0' the last faint glow of day, ¡ That margins th' reddish, broken line 'Twixt star-flecked heaven and hill-top pine, Obscured in dusky gray.



The world in sleep dull drowses the hours, Ceased all aspiring miracled powersUprears the steeple there, Lone finger pointing, immutable hand, Toward love, home, life, God ; solemn, grandThough all unseen, 'tis fair. The star of even, far gorgeous queen, Enthron'd Venus o' doubt's domain, Her maiden promise bring, O'er trackless, through death and dark, To guide, at last to moor our bark By some Elysian sprmg.

"To Violets." BY C. L. STILLWELL,


0 sweetest Violets I Flora's daughters fair, By fairer hands plucked from your quiet beds, Where happily ye raised your pretty heads And scattered odors sweet throughout the air. Sweet prophets of approaching vernal morn, Ye bring me thoughts of Easter's c'lestial light, Ye drive away care, and give me visions bright Of spring's sweet peace and pleasure's happy dawn . 0 Violets I would that you could ever live, And I instead be plucked by one so fair, And taken to her bosom t' linger there, For dearer bliss nought else could ever give . Though taken from your homes to fade away, Ye still shall live in my fond heart for aye.



The Brotherhood of Man. BY T, W. OZLIN,


"~~M I my brother's keeper?" This ¡inquiry, made by the ~ first-born of our earthly parents, bas been made over and over again in all ages. Perhaps it suggests itself to every normal being in one way or another. It bas received every variety of reply, from a bold negative to a daring affirmative. It is doubtless a human characteristic to endeavor to evade it in order to escape some of the responsibilities of life. Time has been when it was possible to give a negative reply and escape any serious consequences. These were the days when men were scattered over the earth, each tribe or individual occupying their own separate sphere. This time has passed away, perhaps forever, and the new conditions of life on our globe to-day brings this old query to the front with a force and a power which are ,entirely new. As man has usually risen to be master of his situation in all ages of bis history, so be is doing now. Conditions of modern life extend to him a new challenge, and he is rising to meet it with his old-time determination to conquer. These thoughts are called to mind by the great National Conference of Charities and Correction, which is now in session in Richmond. Does not this movement mark a new era as truly as Luther's theses on the door of the Witten burg Cathedral? Does it not indicate that the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns 1 We have passed the stage in our history when our interests can be limited by any locality, state, or nation, but our views and sympathies are becoming world-wide. Our cause is no longer the cause of any particular sect or nationality, but we are beginning to see that the cause of humanity is to be the guiding consideration in the twentieth century.



This Conference has brought together men and women from every rank and calling, to consider those vital economic and social problems which concern humanity as a whole. Men are beginning to see that we cannot serve the Master by segregating ourselves into monasteries or churches, apart from His people, and the idea is slowly but surely making its way, that to follow Christ is to serve Him by serving humanity, for whom He gave His life. Thus it is that we are realizing that no man lives to himself, and this has now become as true of nations as of individuals. So we approach the future with our interests broadened and our sympathies deepened for all mankind-indeed, the day seems not dist1mt w°hen the war drum will t'lirob no longer, and the battle flags will be furled in the brotherhood of man, the federation of the world.

Ube .messenger. @

:JBoatt, of JEt,t tots. ERNEST LEE ACKISS, '10, Mu Sigma Rho.


WALTER R. D. MONCURE, '09, Mu Sigma Rho.

A.ssistant Editor.

:associate ~~ttors : Philologian. s. H. ELLYSON ..... . ...... Fiction T. W, OzLIN ..... . . . . . Exchanges E. W. HUDGINS .. . Alumni Editor

Mu Sigma Rho. J. F. CROPP ... .... ......... Poem G. F. EZEKIEL .. . . Campus Notes C. H. GOODWIN . ....... .. . . Essay

OSCAR BAXTER RYDER, '08, Business Manager Philologian. ARTHUR TAZEWELL GRIFFITH, '09, Assistant Business Manager Mu Sigma Rho.

The Duke of Wellington is credited with having said that habit is ten times nature, rather than second nature; and possibly no one is in a better position to judge the force of habit than an old soldier. We have often heard of horses that would immediately start round in a circle at a full gallop upon hearing a band, regardless of any vehicle they might have attached to them, and, upon investigation, it would be found that they had at some former time belonged to a circus troupe. Quite a few instances are on record also where riderless cavalry horses, in the midst of battle, have been seen to form and go through regular drill at the sound of a bugle. The force of habit upon these animals had become so strong that they disregarded surrounding circumstances, even their fear taking a secondary place, and they were hardly more than automatons. Nor is it exaggerating, we think, to say that habit has practically as marked an effect upon men. HA.BIT,



That we should cultivate habit is generally acknowledged, provided it is the right kind. The man who has not ' a regular time for his meals, his rising and retiring hour, a time for work and a time for recreation, is hardly more than a volitionless creature, doing each thing as it occmrs best to him at a particular moment, without regard to order or time. And he generally spends the most of his time deciding what to do and when to do it, and the rest of it regretting what he hRs or has not done, as the case may be. It is conceded that the time for the formation of educational habits is between the ages of twenty and thirty. But the most creative, the most formative period is up to twenty years of age. A person rarely learns a foreign language after he passes two-score years without having a foreign accent. We would like to say a few words covering that part of the two periods mentioned which embraces a man's college life. We think that many a man's habits are formed, and the majority of them fixed, while he is in college, where, as it were,_ we are placed on a pinnacle, and given a brief survey of the experience of the world, with all its wisdom and lore spread before us like a panorama. As education, in a sense, is but the cultivation of the ability to apply the experience of others to our own lives for our persona] edification and advantage, we should be so careful to look sufficiently far into the future to distinguish the habits that will be beneficial from those that will be derogatory to a man who wishes to succeed and to get the things that are worth while in life. We should be so careful to ask ourselves, when we find anything is getting to be habitual, whether it will be of benefit if indulged in to any extent, and, if we cannot answer this question in the affirmative, ¡ then the habit should be eliminated as speedily as possible. The familiar quotation, "Be sure you are right, then go ahead," is an excellent one, and one that is of nearly universal application. The habits of morality (for, indeed,




we think this may be properly said to be a habit), neatness, tact ( and by this we do not mean policy), decision, and industry are of sterling worth, and are well worthy of acquisition by any person. And if we are able by diligent practice to acquire these in our early years, when they have become fixed habits our minds and energies will be free to devote to other things of life, while these, with a little encouragement and will-power, will take care of themselves. While others are struggling, pe_rhaps vainly, to overcome bad habits, and acquire others that are worthy, we will then be able to see the wisdom of our early start, which enabled us to transform what at first seemed to be the artificial into the natural, and will be glad that the natural becomes us so well.

We have had two notable public lectures here since the holidays, treating important problems from an economic standpoint, which have been particularly edify~ng, opening a new field of thought here at College along their particular lines. The lecturers, Dr. H. L. McBain and Dr. D. S. Freeman, are graduates of our institution, and are both a credit to it. It seems to us that such an important branch of study as economics and political science is deserving of having a professor devote his entire time to it, and¡ why could not we have a chair devoted to this department here at College 1 Situated, as it is, in the city of Richmond, the capitol of the Confederacy, which necessarily is a radiating point through the whole South for thought and education, in establishing a chair for this study we would not only be helping our College and State, but even the whole South; for a spirit of inquiry and a desire to know the truth in connection with all ' things relating to the problems of yesterday and to-day would be awakened, which would generate through the whole country. And it would seem that a College of over three A NEW CHAIR.



hundred students stands in urgent need of such a department' As far as we can ascertain, there are only two institutions of learning in this State that have a department devoted especially to this subject. Let us be the third in this very important field of work.

This is the last issue of THE :MESSENGER A PARTING WORD. for this session, the next being the The editorial staff October number. has not done the work that it feels it should have, but the circumstances have often been rather extenuating. We sincerely hope the contribuWrs will not relax their work, but that during the summer they will continue to send in articles, and, indeed, we ask that they will do so. Let us make the We will next session's magazine an epoch-making one. appreciate it if the students who will write will let us have the articles not later than September 1st, as they must be in the ?ands of the editor not later than September 10th. Address them either to the College or London Bridge, Va. In closing, we wish to thank the student body for their interest in and their work for THE MESSENGER during the past session, and to wish the whole College a most pleasant and profitable vacation.

-~ -~--

(tampus 1Rotes. G. F. EZEKIEL, Bditor.

The following protest emanated from the Law Class, as may be detected by its legal phraseology. We herewith publish it without any remark, as we do not care to espouse either side, preferring to keep out of trouble: THE ANTr-WmsKER CoNFEDERATION OF RroHMOND CoLLEGE.-Since the time when Delilah, by fraud, obtained from Samson the secret of his mighty ¡s trength, woman-kind, as a whole, has been, and still is, the .open and avowed enemy of evf3ry form of masculine capillary substance. During recent times several enterprising youths of Richmond College have deigned to dally with the " Tonsorial Muse" in a manner which has been productive of some facial ornamentation, and it is interesting to observe that the aforesaid feminine aversion has manifested itself to a marked degree among the Co-eds. of the College. On more occasions than one they have publicly denounced our mustaches and sideburns with the well-worn feminine epithet of " perfectly horrid "; and it is said a scheme has been concocted whereby it is arranged to station watchmen at the College gates, whose duty it shall be to charge an admission fee to see the wild animals. Just why our feminine friends should dispute our inalie¡nable right, or question our hitherto undisputed privilege to decorate our faces according to the dictates of our own razors, we are not able to understand, unless it be that in coming to a Baptist college the right to enjoy the mystic pleasures of "close communion," unimpaired by any obstruction, however slight, is claimed. Below will be found the record of our base-ball team for the month of April. It needs no comment on our part, but speaks for itself.



April 6th-At Petersburg: Richmond College, 1 ; Randolph-Macon, 0. April 10th-At Lexington : Richmond CoJlege, 2; Washington and Lee, 2 (twelve innings). April 11th-At Lexington: Richmond College, 2; Virginia Military Institute, 3. April 18th-At Petersburg : Richmond CoJlege, 2; A. and M. of North Carolina, 1 (five innings). April 20th-At Petersburg: Richmond College, 1; River-· side Club, 4. April 2.1 st-At Petersburg ; Richmond CoJlege, 10 ; Virginia Polytechnic Institute, 2. April 28th-At Richmond·: Richmond College, 9 ; Fredericksburg CoJlege, 0. · At the present writing we have three more games to win in order to win the championship, and if the team will work hard and k~ep up its standard we are fairly confident as to the result. At.the regular monthly meeting of the Athletic Association, held Monday, May 4th, the foJlowing officers for 1908-1909 Were elected: President, Dr. W. L. Foushee; Vice-President, T. W. Ozlin; Secretary, G. F. Ezekiel; Treasurer, A. T. Griffith; Base-Ban Manager for 1908-1909, M. M. Long; Track Manager, 1908-1909, J. A. Byrd; Executive Committee, J. H. Bristow, W.R. L. Smith, Jr., 0. L. Bowen, and J. R. Sheppard. At the previous meeting, in April, Mr. Willard McBain was chosen chief rooter for the present base-ball aeason.

Among the most enthueiastic Richmond CoJlege rooters at the William and Mary game at Wi1liamsburg, on May 2d, . were thiTteen representatives from the Westminster School. There were also a few W. C.R. girls present, but they seemed to be divided in their opinion, about half of their num her wearing "Loonie" colors. It is now '' up to" some of the



regular Saturday night visitants at the Woman's College to either demand explanations or to boycott that institution. The Philologian Literary Society has elected R. N. Daniel to preside over that body, while Mu Sigma Rho Literary Society has chosen Conrad Goodwin as their President. New officers have also been elected for THE MESSENGER. E. L. Ackiss (Mu Sigma Rho) is now Editor, and G. F. Ezekiel (Mn Sigma Rho) and A. B. Bass (Philylogian) are Business Manager and Assistant Business Manager, respectively, for the coming year. The annual orators' contest between the Mu Sigma Rho and Philologian Literary Societies took place Friday night, April 10th, and proved to be almost a walk-over for the Mu Sigs., the winner being J. F. Cropp, with C. H. Goodwin and J. H. Johnson close behind. It is doubtful as to who is entitled to the second and third places. The Philologian representatives were R. W. Grant, Edmundo Belfort, and T. E. Peters. There are twenty-two applicants for the degree of Bachelor of Arts, fifteen for Bachelor of Laws, one for Bachelor of Science, and six for the M. A. degree. This is one of the largest graduating classes in recent years, and we take this opportunity to wish them all good luck in the forthcoming exams. May they ever look . back upon the session of 19071908 as one of the pleasant seasons in their life's calendar. On Friday night, April 24th, J. F. Cropp, of Mn Sigma Rho, and E. H. Binford, of the Philologian Literary Societies, representing Richmond College, met and defeated the Randolph-Macon debating team in Ashland. The subject discussed was," Resolved, That the State Corporation . Commission should be elected by the people." Richmond had the negative side of the question, and won out easily.



LosT-A ring, garnet setting, initials" C. D.R." Supposed to have been lost at the Woman's College last Saturday night. Finder please return to this office. It is rumored a heart was also lost with the ring, but the owner is not so particular about the latter, as he secured another in exchange. The period from 1:10 to 2 P. M. on Thursday, April 9th, was spent by the majority of the student body in attending a lecture given in the chapel by Professor F. C. Southworth, of the Meadville (Pa.) Theological Seminary. The fifth of the Faculty receptions was held Thursday evening, April 9th, in the library. Dr. and Mrs. E. C. Bingham acted as host and hostess for the evening, which was enjoyed greatly by all present .


Friday, May 25th, lias been set aside by the Faculty as Field Day, and a committee, under the leadership of Mr. E. A. Dunlap, is now at work making the necessary preparations for the event. Polities have been the one absorbing topic on the campus for the last few weeks.

~ . Blumni li)epartment


E. W, HUDG~S, Editor.

"These are my jewela."

R. W. Durrett, M. A., of 1899 1 has resigned the prin~ipalship of the Welsh Neck High School, at Hartsville, S. 0., and expects to work in Virginia next session. Dr. Ourtis Lee Laws, student in 1889, has resigned from his Baltimore pastorate, to a!:cept a call to the Green Memorial Baptist Ohurch, B~ooklyn, N. Y. L. H. Walton, M. A ., 1905, has accepted a c11ll to Scottsville Baptist Ohurch, which will necessitate his absence as teacher in Fork Union Academy. D. J. Carver, M. A., 1906, from Ohina, and L. L. Jennings, from Honolulu, have sent their contributions to the endowment fund of the Oollege. Dr. A. W. Freeman, B. S., 1899, has been appointed assistant health officer of the State Board of Health, with his office in Richmond. W. 0. Beasley has resigned as principal of the Newport News Academy, and will enter Johns Hopkins University next session.

~xc ban~~- !,~~rtment. 0

The April issues of the exchanges have been very tardy in making their appear- ' ance; as a consequence, there are a very few on our desk at this writing. Some of the old reliables are here, and, for the most part, are brim full of mattermostly good, but some exhibiting strong evidences of the amateur's pen. In this, the final issue of the college year, we wish to express a few words of parting to our friends, in all parts of . the South and many in the North. First, we desire to express our appreciation for the helpful and impartial criticisms which our magazine has received. These have been a decided help to us in point,ing out our defects and what merits we were worthy of. As has been expressed before, the spirit of mutual helpfulness has been the guiding motive in what we have had to say of those we have criticised. We are, in a real sense, members of the same family, with similar aspirations and purposes, and for this reason we shall feel that our ~ims are common. We shall look forward to the next session with interest, when we hope to meet all of our friends, and welcome them back to the exchange list. FOBEWORD.

It is sometimes difficult to determine which is the best book in a given selection, or which is the best magazine in the reading-room of a large library ; but with us this ie not a matter of question. The University of Virginia Magazine stands out prominent when compared with the publications of other institutions in the South.




This magazine, above a11 others, is making a real contribution to Southern literature. The charm of historic connections and poetic halo of romance that surrounds the University is given expression through the pages of the magazine. The Easter issue is especially attractive in plan and execution. The cover is attractive, and the frontispiece, showing the serpentine walls, which were planned by Thomas J e:fferson, is an ideal introduction to this splendid issue. The poetry of this issue is good, though all the selections are short. "Love's Plea" and "Scarlet" are especially beautiful gems. "A Wasted Dialogue" is as cleverly written as any story that has come to our notice. The writer's style is terse, clear, and strong. He does not a1low the interest to wane 'until the last line is finished. " The Elemental Flame" is somewhat a new departure in college literature, and therefore all the more interesting. It is a tragedy in one act. The plot is not clear, and it is with difficulty that the reader keeps before him the goal to which the story tends. We are glad to note this attempt in this form of writing, and we hope that other magazines will make similar attempts.

The current issue is devoted to the interests of the Freshman class, but contains much matter worthy of the pen of a Senior. In the realm of essay The Student is especially strong. Among those worthy to be read are " The Dignity of Labor" and " The Trivial Round of the Common Task.'' We are glad to notice a discu ssion of " The Night Riders in Kentucky." It is high time the magazines of the South began the discussion of such subjects, which are of ¡ current interest and paramount importance. We a e passing through a period of transition, and hundreds of burning problems are facing our people on




every hand. These must be !!ettled, and will be settled either right or wrong. The mission of the college is to give light, so why should not the college men of the South set themselves to work to understand these problems and lend their aid toward a judicious solution.

The Ohisel having just reached our table on its first visit this year, we cannot forbear to say a few words about this product of the feminine mind. First ¡ of all, we would like to he informed as to why we have been deprived of the pleasure of this exchange so long. Surely it is not because The Ohisel has failed to make its appearance. We greet this issue with a sensation of mingled delight and disappointment-delight to have it on •our desk again, and disappointment to find its conten'ts so small and so mediocre. There are one or two short stories, the best of which is "Love Versus Ambition." One essay, '' The American Youth," is a well-written article, and conveys some strong thoughts. In poetry The Chisel is poor; only one or two short bits of verse, of which the best is "A Dream of Youtb." As a parting word we would say to The Ohisel that we hope to be favored with a visit at least once a quarter hereafter. THE CHISEL.

We acknowledge the following exchanges: The Furman Echo, Lesbian Herald, Winthrop Oollege Journal, HampdenSidney Magazine, Davidson College Monthly, Tennessee Oollege Magazine, Gray Jacket, William and Mary Literary Magazine, Howard Payne Monthly, The Pharos, Bow and .Arrow, High School Review, Oollege Topics (University of Virginia).