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THE directors of the Harvard Cricket Club have taken measures to procure an appropriate "shingle" with seal for the members of the Club. The initiation fee has been placed at the low sum of one dollar, and a book has been opened at Richardson's to receive the names of subscribers.

The Cricket Club is one of the oldest sporting organizations in College, and is deserving of better support than it has ever received. The popularity of the game is increasing in this country, and it becomes of more importance each year for us to have a good eleven in the field. The success of the Eleven last spring was very creditable; and, if money is forthcoming, the Eleven this season bids fair to be quite as good as last year's. Comparatively little has been done for the support of the Club by any class now in College, either with men or money. Not one cent has been subscribed by either the Freshmen or the Sophomore class, and to these we look for aid. An attractive shingle will be procured, and will be ready for delivery by the 1st of April. This is a particularly good chance for men who have as yet few such insignia. It should be remembered, before refusing to subscribe, that the Eleven is entirely dependent on subscriptions for its support, as games are never played on an enclosed ground. Every man in College feels aggrieved when the Eleven loses a match; then let all who can assist them with the money that is needed to keep the grounds and implements of the Club in good condition, so that the Eleven may make the best use possible of its practice. Subscriptions will be received for the present at Richardson's, and due notice will be given of the receipt of the shingles in readiness for delivery. There are several vacancies in the Eleven to be filled, and all cricketers of any class or school connected with the University are invited to present themselves on Jarvis at the opening of the season.


MARCH 19,1875.


"A chap who spent $1,500 to graduate at Harvard is postmaster in Iowa at $24 per year. Where would he have been but for his Latin and Greek?" - (Last seen in the Trinity Tablet.)

FOR the past fifteen years this paragraph has been going the rounds of the press. I am sorry to see it again; but I suppose that the editorial barrel has been again turned, and that this reminder of "Auld Lang Syne" has come to the top.

I am the "chap" who has been, for these long years, held up for the derision of envious enemies of Harvard and true classical education. Up to this time I have taken no notice of it, supposing that such a thing would die of itself; but now, since it has been again brought to light by the organ of one of the older colleges, I think it time for me to vindicate myself.

In the first place, the statement that I went through Harvard on $1,500 bears in itself evidence that I cannot be a man of mean ability or small industry.

The truth is, that I am of a philosophical turn of mind. I looked with sorrow on the scramble for wealth and the lack of culture in America. I felt that the influence of even one man towards correcting these evils would not be lost. Although many offices with large salaries were offered me, I was actuated by a purpose of establishing a centre of learning and refinement, - a republic after Plato's own heart, - and I decided to take the post-office of Skunk's Misery, feeling assured that a man of culture and a philosopher could make the lowliest position honorable and useful. I have not been disappointed. The post-office is near the bar-room of the village tavern. I there delivered the letters alternately with short but pithy essays on philosophic and classical subjects. At first I translated these effusions into the "flash" dialect peculiar to these regions; but, gradually introducing words of a more refined nature, I brought the villagers to a proper use of their mother tongue.

In time, my labors brought forth fruit. Instead of using revolvers to convince each other of the error of their ways, they gradually accustomed themselves to put their arguments strictly according to the rules of logic. Cards fell away before the more elevated amusement of syllogistic discussion and the discovery of fallacies. Jevon's Logical Machine has completely supplanted the game of "Draw Poker."

Drinking and smoking are not entirely given up, but remain in a more refined form; rum and navy plug being exchanged for some light wine and cigarettes, over which the most abstruse points of philosophy are discussed far into the night. The bar-room has become the porch of the philosopher. The bar-tender - there being no demand for mixed drinks - brings his former experience to bear on chemical experiments.

The farmers have made a careful study of Virgil's Georgics, and have applied his advice with astounding results. A certain poetic halo has been thrown around the most menial duties of the farm.

Nor have we neglected Ruskin's art theories. One of us - a man of true philosophic and artistic feeling - has produced a frying-pan, ornamented with the most aesthetic and subtle designs in bas-relief.

The community having become so refined, the suggestive yet uneuphonious name of the village grated against our finer sensibilities. By a unanimous vote, the name was changed to "Polecat's


The barbarous inhabitants of Thimble Rig, a neighboring town, in order to cast a slur on the founder of this new regime, maliciously published in the Weekly Eavesdropper, the scurrilous organ of that benighted town, the paragraph which heads my letter.

Still, I have not repented my course. The result has been beyond my expectations; and I trust that future ages, when they reap the benefits of the culture I have implanted in the wilderness, will see that my work has not been in vain.

Truly yours,


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