8
THE HESPERIAN
of the Ootnoritoe nnd pnrt of the Stato dele
gation left the hall. At about six o'clock,
however, the business was transacted.
The election for the onsuing yoar: Mr.
Moss, of Wosloyan, president; Mr. Morton,
of Doano, vico-prosident; Mr. Pulis, of TJ.
of N., secretary. Mr. House, of Doano,
was recommended to tho Inter-state Asso
ciation as president for next yoar. Mr. An
dreas, of Doaue, was selected as float dole
gate, and Mr. Finch, of Ootnor, as regular
delegato to the Interstate Contest.
GatesrCollege, after considerable discus
sion, was again taken into tho association,
so that from this time forth tho president
will not bo so potent.
Tho affairs of the State Association wore
shown to bo in very bad condition and a tax
was resort to. Then, at 6:15, aftor a four
hours' session, tho meeting adjourned.
"Stolon, oir, all tho rest of my clothes
have boon stolon, and now I am reduced to
those. I really don't know what I'll do
if"
But tho professor and tho senator wore
too sympathetic, and tho boy too cold to talk
any longer. Bosides, tho second bell was
ringing.
IN DUNKLEN STUNDEN.
REDUCED.
Tho other morning one of tho University
professors and a state senator wore walking
up Eleventh street, towards tho University.
A creature passed by them and hurried
on a creature really, of mysterious age, for
his pantB and coat wore of different fit; about
his head he wore a large bandana; his foot
were shod in moccasins; instead of mittens,
ho wore a pair of dirty, white gloves.
"Why, who is that odd looking man?''
exclaimed the souator.
"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,
"Good 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 toll me, really, what is tho mat
ter? urged his teacher.
"Well, Professor Dash, to tell the truth,
I'm reduced."
"Reduced! How."
WJien 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 ilanges 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 I wonder, sad and weary, who in earth or
heaven can find
An original idea in my mind.
Old graduates of Yalo will bo Burpriged
to learn that tho "Lit" prize will not be
awarded this yoar, because not one of the
essays, handed in was "worthy of considera
tion." Tho 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 tho
students, or a very general indifference to
such honors." Tho real explanation is
probably "indifference," thanks to tho ath
letic craze which makes gods of men of
knotted muscles and looke with contempt on
intellectual accomplishment. Ex.
