THE Madisonensis contains one of those crude articles on Education and Common Sense, a kind with which the college press is much burdened. Two columns are devoted to a wholesale condemnation of the hard student. The author labors under the impression that well-trained, well-educated men are not wanted, and he amuses himself by applying to them such adjectives as fossilized and unconditional. Further, he evidently has recently attended Van Amburgh's Circus, for he favors us with a long discussion of Hannibal's tricks. To compare Hannibal with "rank" men is certainly original; but to apologize for Hannibal's conduct is so unique that the whole passage deserves quotation. "We think," says this precocious writer, "that in many cases Hannibal - like students possess sufficient common-sense, but, by force of circumstances, fail in exercising it. To such men a college course is narrowing, instead of being expansive, and making them truly vicarious." As friends, we should advise the author to consult the Dictionary before he uses "vicarious" again, and moreover to read Emerson's Essay on "Domestic Life," pp. 108, 109, before he again makes dogmatic assertions.
THE Yale Lit. for April has been received. In accordance with its custom of publishing in every number a love or ghost story, it furnishes this time one of the former class, "That Freshman," better than the average which are published in its columns, although open to much censure. The plot, of course, is not elaborate, and the characters are not so distinctly drawn as we could wish. Regarding the character of its sentiment, many different opinions are expressed. The chief fault, by no means an unusual one in such compositions, is the fact that the conversation is all carried on in a very stilted style. Two college men, one a Freshman, the other a Senior, ride home together from a party. Entirely unacquainted up to that evening, they indulge in the most gushing sentiment toward each other, as well as toward the belle of the evening, who, next to themselves, is the chief subject of conversation.
Perhaps, however, the story is chiefly valuable for affording us glimpses into Yale student life on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons. From casual remarks, we gather that whist is a game which is not enjoyed there. Pillow fights are preferred. But even these grow monotonous to the high-spirited Freshmen, and on the afternoon from which the tale dates, we learn that, having stationed watchmen throughout the entries of their building, some Freshmen were indulging in a quadrille. Such an innocent sport is not allowed, however, by the Yale Faculty. It tends directly to worse vices. A step is heard in the entry, and every man is in a trice hidden. After this, we shall never be quiet when the valor of Yale men is assailed.
The heroine of this story and these two men, Freshman and Senior, meet while camping out in the Adirondacks. There is always, of course, more or less difficulty for the novelist to find a suitable time for his hero to declare his passion for his heroine. Hughes, however, did a good deed for a multitude of these lesser writers, when he had Tom Brown carry home Mary after she sprained her ankle. Since then it has been the misfortune of many fictitious belles to suffer the same accident, and Bessie Kendall was not exempted from the usual lot.
THOSE who remember our temperate remarks about Western College journalism will be surprised to learn that the Chronicle (published at the University of Michigan) is aggrieved. Not only does it call the Magenta little, but overwhelms us by saying that we are cross, then calls us "coxcombs whom nature meant but fools." We regret that we are so small, and must acknowledge that if we were cross, we ought to be whipped; but at the same time, in order not to have those dreadful epithets "little" and "cross" applied to us by a paper no larger than our own, we will confess that the Chronicle is the best example of Western College journalism we have seen. But we must insist on our old opinion that the tone of that journalism is very low.
Instructor (to Fresh. who cannot transfer The king flees into the present tense). Insert has, and what will it become? Fresh. (confidently). The king has flees. - Yale Record.