T II R 1 1 K S V R R I A N
liixby's Retreat.
This eolumn will be run on absolutely
loii-purtisaii principles until al'ter tho
.lection of W. .1. liryan.
If our measures lack their usual rythmic
How, it is because our lungs are still sore
us ji result of blowing a tin horn for Mc
K'inley at the rally last Tuesday.
If old Diogenes should I'niui'
Back to this world again
Ami hern roHiimu sarcastically
His lantern search tor humi;
Why, ft- ho scanned with piercing eyes
The ever-surging mob.
If he miw me, thou I surmise,
At once he'd loo his job
Aii open letter to R. S. Baker: Dear
Haker: Asa warm personal friend of
yours, I extend sincerost congratulations
iii)ii your election as President of the
W .1. Bryan club of the University. You
luive proven yourself a hero on many po
litical batiloholds; you have fought, bled,
and lived to light anothei day. But 1
loeply deplore Unit I shall no longer feel
tin-electric thrill of your gold standard
speeches as re mow grass on tho campus;
1 regret that your valiant right arm will
he vinyed against the hosts of tho Phil
lisiines,tho' your other weapon moves on
in another key.
I hy elm ion voice of other day,
That terrilb'd the pops
I Li lost its qoundam power to soar
Like ovory bird that Hops,
w ell miss you whon in iiondish glee,
We gather in tho spoil.
W.'Ml mourn for such a noble, fowl
Kinatigled in tho toil.
Yet you may riso in spito of all;
.Just tij it ono and soo
If (iiiMsmltli lucks in point of gall.
Then 3011 may quote from me.
AKM V VlltfNK.UK CANO
I
I hoard that stirring, sad appeal
Those deep pathetic ploas.
Henceforth with all tho vim I feel
I'll worship Hercules.
Bold, bad Achilles Hoot of foot
And bravo Ulysses' craft
Will be tho subject of my toot
Until I'vo gone clear daft.
II
Tis true, I sat till near the close
A listener turned to stono,
But whon the Chancellor arose,
I "felt an inward groan.
Atonco I saw how mean I'd boon;
I molted down in tours
For missions I have blown my tin
Through these long weary years.
Tho pathos leavened tho whole mass,
Full deeper my dejection,
I felt so small my looking-glass
Returned not my rolloction.
And thereupon I vowed a vow
While baling out my tears
1 swore I'd do the right thing now
If spared a few moro years
HI
tio I subscribed; well, friends it moans
Moro far than you suppose
My oast-oil' sox, my last year's jeans
And worn out underclothes,
Will now no more to Afric's shore
Tobloss tho heathen go;
For now I'm sure I need thorn more
Than these poor creatures do,
I'll have to diet, skimp and Save
And have my pants half-soled,
My shoe.-' likewise, perhaps tho grave
May claim my shrivelled mould.
JV
The Spanish bull lights, Konmu hows,
And snuthorn lynching beos,
Where human goro at random Hows,
And all such scenes a those--
Are not to lie compared at all
With our athletic sport
Our deified beloved Foot ball,
Or "carnago"just for short.
Then come whatever may befall,
Around tho gridiron join!-
The helmets, ooaoh, und doctor-bills
Are paid in stand ml coin.
With swelling heart and boatning eye
Oheer for your Alma Mater
Remember those who lighting die,
Hoceivo their blessings lator.
Then hip hurrah for tho foot ball few
Who go it not alone!
(I'll sit noon my patches two
And cheer the game with Doane.)