An Irish landlady has placed the latest feather in Julian Coolidge's cap. As owner and mistress of a Plympton Street "pig-sty" near Lowell House she is reputed to have recently held out for $42,000 when the University bid for her property. Said she, glancing toward Mr. Coolidge's domain, "My Jim brought me here when this place was all a dump, and now that I have such good neighbors, by God, I mean to stay."
"Confound the cats! All cats--alway--Cats of all colors, black, white, gray; By night a nuisance and by day--
Confound the cats!"
Last-Friday one distraught cat owner in Eliot House wrote a friend:
Will you do me a great favor and feed my cat a raw hamburger on Saturday and Sunday? I have been called away for the weekend, and I will repay you on my return Monday. Keep the bloody little animal in the bathroom, so that there will be no unfortunate debris elsewhere.
Yours with many thanks,
Yesterday's sleet storm seemed to put increased vigor into Lowell House's monthly bell-bedlam. Caring neither for sleet nor student, Arthur T. Merrit, Eliot House music tutor, climbed to his tower station accompanied by several assistants. Two of the merrymakers stood under the 14-ton bass bell and another at the chains and footpedal operating the remaining 16 bells.
When ears had been plugged with cotton, a signal was given--and some thousand students jolted in their beds. With their heads projecting inside the bass bell, the pair swinging the clapper have never been able to hear the tinkling syncopation of their rival bellman. Hence the regular bass booming is completely divorced from the higher pitched trills.
A visitor entered the Geographical Institute last week. Glancing to the left he read the inscription:
PUBLICITY PRESS POLITICS ARE METHODS OF SELF EXPLOITATION AND THE COMMERCIALIZATION OF SCIENCE
He sighed and went on.
For ourselves, we can't help hoping that the initial letter of "PRESS" is responsible for its appearance in such unholy company.