12
THE HESPERIAN
The final election of the Senior class re
suited in the choice of the following officers:
President, A. W Martin ; vice-president, G
M. Castor; secretary, Miss Davisson; treas
urer, A. C. Mayer, Tom Hall was nomi
nated for scrgeant-at-arms but, like Ca?sar,
refused the honor thrust upon him. The
chair ruled that in -as-much as the constitution
provided for no such office the nomination
was out of order.
BIXBY'S RETREAT.
Did you read the Nebraskatfs head lines?
Who got that type so sadly mixed
Spirit of good or evil
Was it, I pray, the editor,
The printer or the "devil"?
R. S. Baker insists that he couldn't take, a young
lady to Doane. He feared that her charming
conversation would so divert his mind from the
subject that he would fail in debate. This self
denial on the part of R. S. is to be commended.
"No cross no crown."
SPRING.
(Contributed.)
When the blossoms on the maple
And the cherry and the pear,
And the buds upon the apple
Spread their fragrance through the air;
When the birds arc in the trees
And the grass begins to grow;
Then comes spring with gentle breeze,
And all creatures seem to glow;
Then the mellow, spring-time beauty
Wraps the earth in heavenly love,
And young lovers think their duty
Is to get right in the shove.
A prof, may "trip it" at the dance,
May bet on our foot-ball 'leven,
May scuffle and scrap at the Lansing door
For a seat in the 'Nigger Heaven.''
Or he may even chew and smoke,
Work votes on election day,
Or part his hair as he pleases
And 1 have little to sny.
But when a prof, forgets his class
Of bourse it's not 7iisifaiilt
While talking su'b-rosa to some pretty las;,
Then 1 say we should call a halt J
angel's bower.
I love to sit, while shadows tall
Grow dim at twilight hour,
Within that silent, mystic hall
The Saint's call 'Angels' Bower.'
Light tapestries with dainty fold
Adorn those shadowing walls.
The chandelier s effulgent gold
On Fairy beings falls.
'Tis there my thoughts itr placid stream
To voices sweet respond
As sorrows flee in heaven's gleam,
I catch a glimpse beyond.
Let 'Saints' in 'Paradise' annoint
Those who our lives inspire!
How kind of Heaven to run a joint
Down here to lift us higher.
Disturbed one night from a pleasant sleep
By an owl's "cgoic" hooting,
My first impulse was to load my gun
And finish the night, owl-shooting.
But ere I had opened my drowsy eyes,
I knew by the boastful tone
That, somehow or other by witches' spell,
T was spirited down to Doane.
I've learned wherever 1 find myself,
However unholy the place,
To hope that things are not totally bad,
And loolc for their brighter face.
I peered about for that noisy bird,
With its sickly, sallow screech,
But never a feather nor fowl descried
As far as the eye could reach;
But instead of the bird with the Icnowing
glance,
On the roof ol inflated Doane,
In the hard disguise of gentleman
Sir House sat hooting alone.
All lighter pleasures I forego
In striving for the bay,
T'm loathe to talce a girl to Doane
No matter what you say;
'Twould dissipate my mental force
HcrTambling conversation,
So 1 am bound to go alone
It Is self-preservation.