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"Our Jimmie, little Jim?" exclaimed Phil, and his face perhaps unconsciously hardened as he thought of what this man had done to ruin our old friend.

"Yes," Somers continued, "little Jimmie, but changed you wouldn't know him except for his eyes-no man ever had eyes like Jimmie. His face was thin and he had a big red scar across his forehead. He recognized me, and I started back. I think I always was a coward, even when I was in college."

hand open, and Jimmie was marched away with the others to the firing squad."

The man sank back exhausted. The delirium had seized him again.

The flames of the camp fire crackled and shot upwards, but we did not heed them. I was thinking of what many another man has thought-the strangeness of woman's love. As I looked at the prostrate figure in the firelight a mental picture of Jimmie rose before me of Jimmie,, brave and true, and I wondered at Jessie's

We nodded. We had always choice. known it.

"But this was no time to think of old scores. The fatal bag was thrust before him. He put in his hand. My turn was next. I shut my eyes and plunged my hand into the bag a black one! The sentence of death!

"I don't remember distinctly now. I can see Jimmie's face. His eyes sparkled with a look of vindictive hatred as he opened his hand and disclosed a white bean. Then everything was changed, and it was the same Jimmie we always knew at college. I felt something slip into my hand. There was no time to remonstrate. An officer came down the line and jerked my

It was Phil who broke the silence, Phil who more than all the others had known Jimmie. "Fellows," he said, "there was a man for you."

It was not until several weeks later that we learned the rest of the story; how Somers had escaped and, after almost dying of thirst in the desert, had seen our camp fire. He recovered, and is now back again in Chicago. He was offered the head of the Mexican branch of his firm, but to the surprise of his friends refused it. I saw him with Jess not long ago. She looked as gay as ever, but I wondered if she knew of the lonely grave under the Mexican sky.

THE EDITORS' TABLE.

of a

The unexpected death of Professor Burke A. Hinsdale at Atlanta, Georgia, The Passing on Thanksgiving day, 1900, marks a great loss to the Great Man. University of Michigan and the cause of higher education throughout the country. While still in the full strength of his rugged vigorous manhood, spurred on by the knowledge of his own powers as shown in results accomplished, by a ready heart and hand to give counsel and advice, by keen insight into the illimitable fields of knowledge yet unexplored, and by the scholarly desire to correct the errors of others, he sought to crowd the tasks of many years into one, thus sowing the seeds of that disease which ultimately bore him away. Dr. Hinsdale lived a strenuous life-buried deep in the labors he most enjoyed. "The only way I know in which to accomplish anything in this world," he was wont to say, "is by hard work." His powers of concentration and endurance were marvelous. An unusually logical and retentive mind, coupled with the peculiar ability to put his finger on whatever he was looking for, enabled him to sift the grain from the chaff of literally hundreds of books in a single year. He was a man of excellent judgment and deep convictions in many fields of knowledge, always able and willing to defend his opinions before the world. Broad sympathies and deep human interest in everything characterized his work. These famous lines of Terence,

"I am a man; nothing in human life Can fail to have its interest for me,"

was the matto he pasted into his books; and as the man thought, so he lived. It is to these qualities that we may attribute his success. Though he died at three score and four, neverthe

less we may feel sure that he accomplished more in his lifetime, and has left a more lasting influence upon posterity than most men who are permitted to fill out the allotted span.

and

In the eagerness to acquire a practical training which will equip him for busiCharacter ness or professional life, the student is in danger of losEducation. ing sight of the most important part of his college career. It is well to remind him that this should be a period for character building as well as for acquiring information. "The body is more than raiment," and while a college course may place upon a man the garments of culture, beneath all this is the real man.

It is this that must stand the shocks and furnish the motives for the battles of practical life. The ornaments of culture may be torn away in the conflict, and unless there is revealed beneath it a character of stirling worth, the college course has failed of its most important purpose.

No other period of life offers such opportunities for the development of the real man. While his character is yet in its formative stages, the student is here thrown into contact with hundreds of others who come with different traditions and view life from different standpoints. There is much to inspire him, both in the traditions of the past, and the active life of the present. In the work of the class rooms he is brought into contact with men of mature thought. With these opportunities college life should mean more than a mere study of books; least of all should it be a period of comparatively idle enjoyment; its most important purpose is the building of char

acter.

BETWEEN ACTS.

The deep resonant clang of the hammer and anvil sounds clear and loud on The

the cold, still air of these Knockers' December days. Noisy volClub. umes well up from every "den," boarding house and hall where students congregate; echo and re-echo; then pass on to the unknown regions beyond the Observatory and Lower Town. Again, we hear of the fatherless communications which appear in the three-column Official Organ, wherein the leader of the Anvil Chorus, and the shade of a great journalist, wax loud and clear over sundry and divers matters which are burning questions in the student body just at present. But what is all this "knocking" about? Is it because the students supported a losing football team, and feel they haven't received full value for their money? Or, would they like to return to the Michigan system of coaching, and hire three men for the price paid to one? Perhaps young America is merely asserting his rights under the constitution. At any rate, something must be done, and if the Athletic Association is not able to stand on its feet, let us know it, so that we can bolster it up; if it is, let it assert itself and answer some of the charges made against it, which, on their face, appear very convincing.

Beyond question what is needed at Michigan is a strong ruling hand,—a coach, trainer and director in one man, who shall be paid a good substantial salary, say $4,000 a year, to be borne partly by the University and partly by the Athletic Association. Such a man should be to Michigan what Prof. Stagg is to Chicago. Michigan alumni could assist in the coaching, and the student manager could be made something more than a mere figurehead. This new professor of athletics should be a man of great executive ability, skill and tact; one who is popular with, and thoroughly under

stands the needs of the student body, and what man would be more competent for such a position than Keene Fitzpatrick? BRET CROCKETT.

The Uncut

Putting aside preferences, to the eye of the average person a diamond is a diamond, and a pearl is a pearl; to the mind of this same perDiamond. son the difference is the same-whether we speak of these as gems or metaphorically as persons. Yet how differently do the gems appear to the observer, the thinker, the investigator. The average man sees only what meets his eye. The other sees all.

But apply the comparison to people. Take the diamond in the rough-the uncut diamond-and the pearl in its finished state-the polished pearl. You have often heard the expression applied to women'She is an uncut diamond,' or 'She is a polished pearl.'

It has struck the average man one way, the nature student another.

Which do you think the average man would take if offered him? Nine times out of ten, the polished pearl—and the observer, thinker, nine times out of ten the uncut diamond. Both are acceptable to be sure; each is a treasure, but which is the more valuable in the end? And the end is when the final accounting is made. Will not time wear your uncut diamond into a beautiful shape? Will not time lessen the beauty of your polished pearl? Which then is the better treasure?

Apply the theory to individuals; more specifically, to girls. Let us divide them into two classes, those who are sincere, and those who are actresses.

The actresses may be separted into three classes the good, the poor, the bad. There is no man so ignorant, so feeble, so unsophisticated, that he is unable to see through a bad actress.

A poor actress may fool, inveigle those men that have little knowledge of women.

A good actress will fool one wise man after another-men who claim to thoroughly understand women-who would laugh to scorn anyone who should say they were being fooled.

But the hardest and yet the easiest to understand is the sincere girl; hardest, because she is so rare; hardest because one is apt to believe her lacking in witeasiest to understand because she is always truthful and honest.

The sincere girl is the uncut diamondthe good actress the polished pearl. The average man's choice is the same as in the case of the gems themselves—he takes the polished pearl-the good actresswith the nature student it is otherwise; he takes the uncut diamond, the sincere girl.

Who gets the richer prize?

M. N. S.

ABOUT THE TOWN.

The dawn was breaking but all was still quiet in the little hut. The grey light of morning stole in Passing through the small window

With the

of Night. and over the poor bed with its silent form. The little dog in the corner stirred uneasily, but no clatter of wooden sabots on the rough floor, nor cheerful word of greeting from his mistress aroused him from his sleep. A sunbeam entered the window, and moved slowly along the opposite wall and downwards until it shone on his curled-up form in the corner. As the warm ray touched his nose, he shivered slightly, then wrinkled the skin on his nose, and pawed at it as if a fly were tickling him. Finally he arose and stretched himself, · yawning.

But almost at once he seemed to know that something was wrong. Maybe it was the unusual stillness, or the chill in the room, or perhaps something appealed to his delicate dog-instinct which has no meaning for our duller human sensibilities. At any rate, he gave a nervous little whine which seemed to say, "What

is the trouble, mistress? How comes it that it is so late and you not up yet?" and walked straight to the bed. He licked the hand which hung down at the bedside affectionately, wagging his tail; but that cold hand gave no answering caress. Then he jumped up onto the bed, and with quivering nostrils sniffed about at the bed clothes. He came to the dear old wrinkled face and licked the sunken cheek, at first doubtfully and with hesitation, then anxiously. But the lids did not lift from the kindly, faded blue eyes; the thin lips were open, but no sound came from them. The little dog whined again piteously, and drew his soft paw as in entreaty across the cold cheek.

Then the full meaning of it entered his little heart, and turning toward the small window, through which the bright sunshine was now streaming, he raised his head and howled a low, wailing cry of unspeakable anguish. And when they came at last and broke in the door of the hut, they found the little dog sitting on the bed guarding the body of his dead mistress. H. P. B.

THE OTHER FELLOWS.

It is scarcely necessary to remind students how valuable a part of college life is the contact with that intangible something which for want of a better name we call college spirit. College magazines furnish perhaps as good a mirror of college spirit as can be found, and the INLANDER invites its friends to make use of its exchanges and through them to get acquainted with the life at other great universities.

An editorial in the Mount Holyoke for November illustrates our point of view. This college is in effect a large household; the girls assist in the domestic work, each choosing her own share in it, "doing the same thing every day for a year, and spending on an average about thirty minutes a day." But it appears that a movement is on foot to do away with domestic work and this editorial is a vigorous defence of the work. In these days of advocates of women's rights, it is refreshing to hear a person who has some clear ideas about the importance of women's duties. And if this editorial represents fairly the spirit of the Mount Holyoke girl, it is our firm conviction that our intelligent American youth will not fail to give her a chance to put her ideas into practice.

The November issue of the Amherst Literary Monthly is unmistakably a good number. "The Humanity of Jonathan Swift" sketches the character of the satirist in an interesting fashion. The verse is above the average, and two short stories add to the interest of the number.

In small letters on the inside cover of the Tennessee University Magazine appears the name of Carl Holliday, editorin-chief; but in the body of the number, his name or his initials appear as the au

thor of stories, verse, etc., no less than ten times. It is safe to estimate that he has contributed a good half of the contents. It would appear to a casual observer that something is wrong with the literary spirit of the students at Tennessee University, when the editor of their magazine has to assume so large a part of the task of filling its columns.

The exchange editor has just reviewed the second number of the 'Varsity Fortnightly, published at the University of Illinois. "A College Periodical," its subtitle reads, "of Some Literature and a Little Art," and a good number it is, too. President Draper contributes an article on "University Freedom and Student Character," which is so pregnant with the spirit of broadmindedness and good sense that we should like to quote it entire. An attractive cover design and some highly creditable illustrations indicate that the editors have not forgotten about that "Little Art" they promised.

The Western Oxford, a quarterly magazine, enters upon its ninth season with a commendable number. "The Smoking Flax" is the title of a story of unusual type and interest. The "Trials of the Business Manager of the College Magazine" are sympathetically described by a young lady who claims two years' experience as her justification for the authorship of the article.

We admire the neat style in which the Brunonian appears. The November number reprints a story by Isaac Nelson Ford, the well-known war correspondent, written and published in the Brunonian in 1870. It shows that the college man has not changed greatly in his tastes and in his favorite haunts in the last thirty years.

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