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THE HESPERIAN
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of tho Cotnerites and part of tho State dele
gation left tho hall. At about six o'clock,
however, the business was transacted.
The election for the ensuing year: Mr.
Moss, of We8loyan, president; Mr. Morton,
of Doane, vice-president; Mr. Pulis, of U.
of N., secretary. Mr. House, of Doane,
wp.& recommended to tho Inter-state Asso
ciation as president for next year. Mr. An
dress, of Doane, was selected as float dele
gate, and Mr. Finch, of Ootner, as regular
delegate to the Interstate Contest.
GatesrCollege, after considerable discus
sion, was again taken into the association,
so that from this time forth tho president
will not be so potent.
Tho affairs of the State Association were
shown to bo in very bad condition and a tax
was resort to. Then, at 6:15, after a four
hours' session, the meeting adjourned.
"Stolon, sir, all tho rest of my clothes
have been stolen, and now I am reduced to
these. I really don't know what I'll do
if"
But the professor and the senator were
too sympathetic, and the boy too cold to talk
any longer. Besides, tho second boll was
ringing.
IN DUNKLEN STUNDEN.
REDUCED.
The other morning one of the University
professors and a state senator were walking
up Eleventh street, towards tho University.
A creature passed by them and hurried
on a creature really, of mysterious age, for
his pants and coat were of different fit; about
his head he wore a large bandana; his feet
were shod in moccasins; instead of mittens,
he wore a pair of dirty, white gloves.
"Why, who is that odd looking man?''
exclaimed the senator.
"I I don't know, he walks like one of
my boys. Come, lot's hurry and catch up
with him."
A moment later, the professor cried,
"Goo;l morning, Mr. Blank." Tnon in
voluntarily, "What is the matter, .you're
dressed so queer?"
"Oh", nothing, professor, nothing," and
he began to whistle as though unconcerned.
" No, but tell me, really, wljat is the mat
ter? urged his teacher.
"Well, Professor Dash, to tell the truth,
I'm reduced."
"Reduced! How."
Wjhen the frontal convolution of my sad en-
cephalon
Groweth weary with the Vergil I have slowly
stacked thereon,
And my conic sections piece themselves together
like a dream
All the flanges of the semi-circularis in between.
When my history has hid itself forevermore to stay
Where the gyrus hippocampus major winds its
weary way
And I've filled each waiting fissure from Rolando
to the last
With the "English" of the present and the future
and the past,
When I've crammed the subarachnoidean spaces
one and all,
Till I cannot tell candatus from calloso-marginal,
Then 1 wonder, sad and weary, who in earth br
heaven can find
An original idea in my mind.
Old graduates of Yalo will be surprised
to learn that the "Lit" prize will not bo
awarded this year, because not one of the
essays, handed in was "worthy of considera
tion." The Evening Post remarks: "That
a university with an undergraduate academic
department of over 1,100 students, cannot
produce a single literary effort worthy of
consideration for a prize, indicates either a
very low order of intellectuality among the
students, or a very general indifference to
such honors." The real explanation is
probably "indifference," thanks to the ath
letic craze which makes gods of men of
knotted muscles and looks with contempt on
intellectual acccomplishment. Ex.