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ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH: 
 
 A Collection of Poems, Stories, and Historical 
 Sketches by the Graduate and Under- 
 graduate Writers of 
 
 B^rtmoutft College 
 
 ''For aught I know, ^Icwos of Dertjmvu,th^y'j 'j > i ^ 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 H. J. HAPGOOD, '96 
 CRAVEN LAYCOCK, '96 
 
 HANOVER, N. H. 
 MDCCCXCV. 
 
C. M, STONE & CO. 
 
 ST. JOHNSBURY, VT. 
 
 PRINTERS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pagr 
 
 Men of Dartmouth. Richard Hovey, '85 ... 11 
 The Dartmouth Buildings in 1803. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96 . 13 
 
 My Choice. H. S. Baketel, D. M. C. 16 
 
 A Championship Song. E. O. Grover, '94 ... . 17 
 
 Freshman: Homesick. G. A. Green, '98 18 
 
 Clarkson, Right Guard. H. C. Pearson, '93 . . 19 
 
 To the Connecticut River. W. B. Plumer, '96 . 24 
 
 " Gaudet Tentamine Virtus." W. F. Gregory, '88 25 
 
 Among the Hills. R. Hovey, '85 27 
 
 Dartmouth in England. C. T. Gallagher, Hon. '93 28 
 The Dartmouth Buildings about 1835. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96 . 33 
 
 In Senior Days. H. C. Pearson, '93 35 
 
 The Reason Why. J. W. Bishop, '95 39 
 
 The Old and New. E. O. Grover, '94 40 
 
 A Dartmouth Invention. N. L. Foster, '96 ... 41 
 
 To A Withered Mayflower. F. V. Bennis, '98 . 42 
 Sanborn Hall Dutring Reign of Terror of 
 
 1894-1895. C. N. McCall, '98 . 43 
 
 Out with the Tide. H. S. Baketel, D. M. C. . . 47 
 
 Renewal. O. S. Davis, '89 53 
 
 The Campus. F. H. Swift, '98 . . . • 54 
 
 The Student's Vision. F. H. Noyes, '97 ... . 55 
 
 9^264 
 
ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 After Sunset. O. S. Davis, '89 56 
 
 Thetford Sketches. E. O. Grover, '94 .... 58 
 From the Ruins of the Old Pine. 
 
 F. L. Pattee, '88 . 62 
 
 Mount Desert from the Sea. A. 0. Caswell, '93 . 63 
 
 The Old Pine. LeB. M. Huntington, '98 ... . 64 
 The Dartmouth Buildings in 1851. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96 65 
 
 The Way it Feels. G. A. Green, '98 67 
 
 Pastels in Prose. E. O. Grover, '94 68 
 
 Farewell. K. Knowlton, '94 70 
 
 With the Dawning. H. C. Pearson, '93 ... . 71 
 
 To an Honored Cane. W. D. Quint, '87 ... . 75 
 
 AscuTNEY. W. B. Plumer, '96 76 
 
 The Old Snowshoes. P. E. Stanley, '93 ... . 77 
 
 His Decision. I. J. Cox, '96 79 
 
 The Ocean. W. A. Foster, '95 83 
 
 First Historian of American Literature. 
 
 C. F. Richardson, '71 . 84 
 
 To-morrow. W. D. Spencer, '95 87 
 
 Arnaut DE Marueil. J. H. Smith, '77 88 
 
 The Undecided Bet. B. C. Taylor, '97 ... . 90 
 
 May Musings. H. B. Metcalf, '93 94 
 
 The Dartmouth Buildings at Present. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96 . 95 
 
 The Old Pine. W. B. Plumer, '96 97 
 
 The Old Pine. L. S. Cox, '96 98 
 
 To Our Alma Mater. K. Knowlton, '94 .... 101 
 
 At Twilight. LeB. M. Huntington, '98 .... 102 
 
 A Turkey Feather. N. L. Foster, '96 103 
 
 Memories OF Horace. F. L. Pattee, '88 .... 106 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 98 
 
 Pledging a Freshman. C. N. McCall, ' 
 A Glance. H. B. Metcalf, '93 . . . 
 The Old Clock. W. D. Spencer, '95 . 
 A Nocturne. LeB. M. Huntington, '98 
 A Question of Ethics. R. H. Fletcher, '96 
 What Care I? H. S. Baketel, D. M. C. . 
 Apple Blossoms. I. J. Cox, '96 . . . 
 John Freeman. S. R. Moulton, '98 . . 
 Dartmouth Hall Speaks. F. V. Bennis, 
 A College Picture. J. H. Bartlett, '94 
 "WooDiN' Up." G. a. Green, '98 : . . 
 An Experience with the Rho Kap's. 
 
 B. C. Taylor, '97 
 
 Chapel Bell. G. A. Green, '98 
 
 The New Quadrangle. R. H. Fletcher, '96 . . 
 
 "Good Work." G. A. Green, '98 
 
 Drifting Song. K. Knowlton, '94 ..... 
 A Dartmouth Song. G. C. Selden, '93 . . . . 
 An Incident in College Life. N. L. Foster, '96 
 
 To A Robin. F. L. Pattee, '88 
 
 The Tower. F. V. Bennis, '98 
 
 The Tower. F. H. Swift, '98 
 
 Love's Roses. W. F. Gregory, '88 
 
 A Table of Dartmouth Buildings. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96 
 
 107 
 112 
 113 
 114 
 115 
 119 
 120 
 121 
 123 
 124 
 126 
 
 127 
 131 
 132 
 134 
 135 
 136 
 137 
 141 
 142 
 144 
 145 
 
 146 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Facing Page 
 
 Dartmouth Castle and Harbor. Frontispiece . 11 
 
 The Dartmouth Buildings in 1803 13 
 
 The Connecticut 24 
 
 The Dartmouth Buildings about 1835 .... 33 
 
 Falls of the Connecticut 58 
 
 The Dartmouth Buildings in 1851 65 
 
 The Main Group of the Dartmouth 
 
 Buildings in 1895 . 95 
 
 The Old Pine 98 
 
 Old Dartmouth Hall 123 
 
 The New Quadrangle 132 
 
 The Tower 142 
 
PORTRAITS. 
 
 Facing Pagb 
 
 Richard Hoyey, '85 16 
 
 Charles T. Gallagher, Hon. '93 28 
 
 Harlan Colby Pearson, '93 35 
 
 Edwin Osgood Grover, '94 40 
 
 Frederic Vucassoyich Bennis, '98 42 
 
 Harrie Sheridan Baketel, D. M. C 47 
 
 Fletcher Harper Swift, '98 54 
 
 Fred Lewhs Pattee, '88 62 
 
 Kent Knowlton, '94 70 
 
 Wilder Dwight Quint, '87 75 
 
 William Blaisdell Plumer, '96 76 
 
 Isaac Joslin Cox, '96 79 
 
 Charles Francis Richardson, '71 84 
 
 Wilbur Daniel Spencer, '95 87 
 
 Burpee Caldwell Taylor, '97 90 
 
 Louis Sherburne Cox, '96 100 
 
 Nathaniel Ladd Foster, '96 103 
 
 Charles Nicholas McCall, '98 107 
 
 Harry Bingham Metcalf, '93 112 
 
 LeBarron Monroe Huntington, '98 114 
 
 Sherman Roberts Moulton, '98 121 
 
 John Henry' Bartlett, '94 124 
 
 George Abbott Green, '98 134 
 
 Warren Fenno Gregory, '98 . 145 
 
 Robert Huntington Fletcher, '96 146 
 
Introduction. 
 
 COLLEGE life is full of sentiment. If a man is not 
 ^ aware of this fact while in college, he finds himself 
 awakening more and more to the meaning of it as the 
 years go by. The constant return of a graduate, in per- 
 son or in heart, to his college, shows the force of the 
 spell which is upon him. Alumni gatherings, which are 
 becoming so large a part of academic life, are simply 
 the tribute to college sentiment. These gatherings offer 
 the occasion for the discussion of educational, and even 
 public, questions, but they are the spontaneous out- 
 growth of a fellowship, which has but one origin, and 
 which dan have no equivalent. I doubt if all other 
 agencies and influences combined are contributing as 
 much to produce that fine sentiment, the tone and color 
 so conspicuously lacking in American society, as our 
 colleges and universities. 
 
 College sentiment has its literature. Apart from the 
 well-worn reminiscence, or the familiar song, it finds con- 
 stant expression in story and verse. College literature 
 is not a matter of subject, but of atmosphere. Love, 
 duty, adventure, the humor of life and its pathos, are 
 the common property of the imagination, but every 
 truest thing which is told or sung, is apt to betray its 
 locality-. That is one mark of its genuineness. This 
 volume of "Echoes From Dartmouth," which takes its 
 
INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 place beside others of like nature which have gone out 
 from the College, will prove, I trust, no exception to the 
 literary canon which has been recalled. I ha*ve seen 
 little of its contents, for the volume is in press as I 
 write this brief word of introduction, but the list of 
 writers and of subjects, which is before me, insures a 
 natural and pleasing variety. "Men of Dartmouth," 
 by Richard Hovey, breathes in every line the spirit of 
 the old College. It is a tribute and a challenge to the 
 men who " keep the still North in their hearts." *' Dart- 
 mouth in England," by Charles T. Gallagher, repro- 
 duces the delightful impression which the sketch made, 
 as given bj'' the author in the Old Chapel on the 
 "Dartmouth Evening," September 17, 1895. "The 
 Buildings of Dartmouth, bj^ Robert Fletcher, brings to 
 light, through careful research, a great deal of informa- 
 tion w^hich -was in danger of passing out of reach, which 
 had, in fact, passed out of the knowledge of many of 
 those most familiar with the material history of the 
 College. For the general selections made, and the ar- 
 rangement of the volume, much can be assumed from 
 the industry- and taste of the Editors, Herbert J. Hap- 
 good and Craven Laycock, of the present Senior Class 
 —the Class of '96. 
 
 WILLIAM J. TUCKER. 
 Dartmouth College, November 11, 1895. 
 
-bcr)0es • p0iT) - B(a]?fir)0ul'^'. 
 
 Men of Dartmouth. 
 
 pA EN of Dartmouth, give a rouse 
 (§) For the college on the hill ! 
 For the Lone Pine above her 
 And the loyal men that love her, — 
 Give a rouse, give a rouse, with a will ! 
 For the sons of old Dartmouth, 
 The sturdy sons of Dartmouth — 
 Though 'rotmd the girdled earth they roam, 
 
 Her spell on them remains ; 
 They have the still North in their hearts. 
 
 The hill-w^inds in their veins. 
 And the granite of New Hampshire 
 In their muscles and their brains. 
 
12 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 • 
 
 They were miglity men of old 
 
 That she nurtured side by side ; 
 Till like Vikings they went forth 
 From the lone and silent North,— 
 . . • ,.4n4 they strove, and they wrought, and they died ; 
 
 : •»•• '^BPut— the sons of old Dartmouth, 
 , . . ^Thejaurelled sons of Dartmouth— 
 ; I ^ t'hV-Mo^her keeps them in her heart, 
 And guards their altar-flame ; 
 The still North remembers them. 
 
 The hill- winds know their name. 
 And the granite of New Hampshire 
 Keeps the record of their fame. 
 
 Men of Dartmouth, set a watch 
 
 Lest the old traditions fail ! 
 Stand as brother stands by brother ! 
 Dare a deed for the old Mother! 
 Greet the world, from the hills, with a hail! 
 For the sons of old Dartmouth, 
 The loj^al sons of Dartmouth — 
 Around the world they keep tor her 
 
 Their old chivalric faith ; 
 They have the still North in their soul, 
 
 The hill- winds in their breath ; 
 
 And the granite of New Hampshire 
 
 Is made part of them till death. 
 
 R. HoYEY, '85. 
 
3 W 
 
 » 3* 
 
 3 • »♦ 
 
 5 
 > 3 3* 
 
THE DARTMOUTH BUILDINGS IN 1803 13 
 
 The Dartmouth Buildings in 1803. 
 
 TT would be difficult for any of the later alumni or 
 students of Dartmouth to realize how much change a 
 century of existence has brought the college. A view of 
 the three or four earliest buildings, on the south-east 
 comer of the common, if such a one existed, would be to 
 all entirely unrecognizable, and nearly so is the accom- 
 panying sketch of the second group. This is copied from 
 a water-color belonging to the college, executed in 1803 
 by George Ticknor, afterward the famous Harvard pro- 
 fessor, then eleven years of age. Evidently the details 
 are inaccurate, but the general impression correct. 
 
 Then, as now, the most important figure on the knoll 
 was Dartmouth Hall. The vicissitudes of the esteem in 
 which this structure has been held are interesting to 
 consider. Regarded at first with intense pride, later 
 eliciting only a contempt which scornfully likened it to 
 Noah's ark, it is now, in its battered age, once more an 
 object of admiration, not only for the artistic beauty of 
 its proportions, but also for its historic associations. 
 The difficulties met in its erection speak plainly of the 
 early poverty of the college. Planned in 1773, it could 
 not be begun for eleven years, or finished for seven more, 
 although wood was substituted for the brick of the 
 original design. The £4,500 which it cost, were raised 
 
14 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 with extreme difficulty during a long period, in every 
 possible way — by grants from the Provincial Assembly, 
 private subscription, public lotteries, and the contrac- 
 tion of a debt which "rested many years, a hopeless 
 drag on the prosperity of the College." Its early in- 
 terior plan was very unlike that of the present time. On 
 the ground floor a third transverse passageway ran 
 through the centre, where is now the " Old Chapel," and 
 a door at each end of the building admitted to a longi- 
 tudinal corridor. In the second and third stories, re- 
 spectively, the halls corresponding to this latter were 
 bisected by a library-room and museum. This arrange- 
 ment was very distasteful to the students, some of 
 whom, in 1811, testified as much by blowing down the 
 walls of the museum with a cannon, thereby nearly 
 wrecking the whole building. A rather interesting scene 
 occurred during the consequent disciplining. As Presi- 
 dent John Wheelock, according to custom, was an- 
 nouncing in chapel the expulsion of the principal oifender 
 and ordering him to leave the village within a speci- 
 fied time, that individual arose. "I shall go," he said, 
 in effect, "when I judge proper." "Take care of that 
 man," cried the President. "I am abundantly able to 
 take care of myself," he replied. "Before I leave I shall 
 tweak the nose of " (the person who had be- 
 trayed him). Thereupon he coolly turned and fulfilled 
 his threat, then beat a triumphant retreat. 
 
 The building to the north of Dartmouth was erected 
 hj a Colonel Kinsman, and used by him while he was 
 steward, and later by the College, until the system was 
 abandoned in 1815, for a students' commons hall. The 
 
THE DARTMOUTH BUILDINGS IN 1803 15 
 
 small house to the east is the original homestead of 
 Eleazar Wheelock, the younger, which remained a pri- 
 vate residence until it was torn down, sometime in the 
 vicinity of the '30s. Its only connection with the Col- 
 lege was from 1805-1807. when Ebenezer Woodward, 
 its owner, attempting the stewardship, apparently kept 
 the commons there. It was afterwards known as "the 
 Acropolis," because it stood on the crest of the hill. 
 
 To the south-west of Dartmouth stands the chapel, 
 measuring fifty feet by thirty-six feet, built in 1790, after 
 the students had torn down the old ** College Hall," in 
 which the first place of worship was located. Half of 
 the £300 which it cost was contributed by the towns- 
 people, who met there with the students for devotional 
 exercises until their interest was purchased by the Col- 
 lege. It was at first open to the students for their enter- 
 tainments, but later reserved exclusively for certain exer- 
 cises under the supervision of College officers, which in- 
 cluded even recitations of the senior class. It had no 
 chimney or stove, and "here, before breakfast on the 
 cold winter mornings and in the dim twilight of the 
 evenings, muffled in their cloaks, officers and students 
 gathered for prayers." It was removed in 1828 to the 
 present site of the house formerly occupied by Professor 
 Quimby on Main street, and was used by the towns- 
 people for prayer meetings until the erection of the 
 present vestry, about 1840, when it was transferred to 
 the lot on the north corner of Main and Elm streets, 
 now the property of Mr. E. D. Carpenter, and there 
 made into a barn, in which condition it existed for man}: 
 vears. 
 
16 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The gambrel-roofed house at the extreme south of the 
 picture is the final residence of the first president, the 
 home, also, of Presidents John Wheelock, Allen ( of the 
 " University " ) , and Tyler, and, — for a year or two, — of 
 President Lord. To make room for Reed Hall it was 
 removed in 1838 to West Wheelock street, where it is 
 now, in a considerably altered condition, the residence 
 of Mrs. D. B. Howe. There is a tradition that its ell 
 formed the nucleus of the present residence of Professor 
 Richardson. 
 
 The condition of the College at this time was preca- 
 rious. The number of students, indeed, was about one 
 hundred and twenty-five, including the medicals, but 
 there were only four professors, with one tutor, and the 
 total estimated income, of which a large part could not 
 be collected, was $4,500. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96. 
 
 My Choice. 
 
 C* HOULD some ethereal goddess come to me 
 ^^ And offer whatsoever she could give ; 
 Should heavenly voices whisper in my ear : 
 
 " Take anything on earth you wish and live " ; 
 Should choice be given 'twixt honor, wealth, and thee, 
 Which thinkest thou that I should likeh^ choose ? 
 Would it not be thee ? 
 
 H. S. Baketel, D. M. C. 
 
Richard Hoyey, '85. 
 
A CHAMPIONSHIP SONG 17 
 
 A Championship Song. 
 
 1©) ALLY, fellows, for a cheer ! Victory 's here ! 
 V Bunch up, fellows, for a shout ! Yell it out ! 
 Join the wah-hoo-wah in chorus, 
 For the pennant floating o'er us. 
 Live the green and white forever ; 
 Fade their ancient glory never. 
 Bunch up, fellows ! Yell with me 
 For Dartmouth : One, two, three ! 
 
 Wah-hoo-wah ! Wah-hoo-wah ! 
 
 Da-Da-Dartmouth ! wah-hoo-wah ! 
 
 Louder, fellows, with your cheer ! Do you hear ? 
 Wake the noble Earl once more with your roar. 
 The laurel crown is ours again, 
 And shall be so while men are men. 
 The granite hills are at our back. 
 The wind's path our running track. 
 Bunch up, fellows, more and more! 
 For Dartmouth now a deafening roar! 
 Wah-hoo-wah ! Wah-hoo-wah ! 
 Da-Da-Dartmouth I wah-hoo-wah ! 
 T-i-g-e-r! 
 
18 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Loud again the victory tell ! One more yell ! 
 Every Dartmouth man shall hear, far and near! 
 While a heart with valor thrills 
 We '11 glory in the granite hills, 
 And oft again, in victory's light, ; 
 
 Shall float on high the green and white. 
 Bunch up, fellows ! One more yell ! 
 The green and white ! Well — well — well ! 
 Wah-hoo-wah ! Wah-hoo-wah ! 
 Da-Da-Dartmouth ! wah-hoo-wah ! 
 T-i-g-e-r! 
 
 E. O. Grover, '94. 
 
 FRESHMAN: HOMESICK. 
 
 l3 E wonders what they 're doing home tonight, 
 1 And tries to plug beneath the smoky light. 
 
 Alas ! How far his thoughts from vexing books ! 
 
 How sad his air, how woe-begone his looks ! 
 
 No carpets, chairs; all dull and bare and cold. 
 
 Is life worth living, after all ? Tight roH'd 
 
 In quilts, he dreams — of going home some day. 
 
 Ah! homesick Freshman, your's the toilsome way. 
 
 G. A. Green, '98. 
 
CLARKSON, RIGHT GUARD 19 
 
 Clarkson, Right Guard. 
 
 I^LARKSON laid his curly brown head upon the Horace 
 that was open on the table before him, and between 
 the stubby fingers that covered his eyes a few drops of 
 suspicious moisture trickled out. His parents and his 
 classmates would have alike refused to believe it pos- 
 sible, but the fact was, Sam Clarkson was crying and 
 feeling a good deal better for it, too. 
 
 Clarkson was the oldest son of a New Hampshire 
 farmer. The swarm of little ones that came after him, 
 needed for their food and raiment all that the rocky hill- 
 sides could possibly produce. So when Sam, infected 
 with ambition by a winter's schoolmaster, announced 
 his intention of going to college, his father gave him his 
 blessing and plainly told him that was all the help he 
 could expect. 
 
 With the pluck and perseverance of three Yankee gen- 
 erations in his blood, that did not damit Sam in the 
 least. He paid tor his furnished room in a professor's 
 house by taking care of the professor's horse and little 
 garden; he waited on table at a dining-club for his 
 board ; secured a scholarship for his tuition ; and was 
 always on the look-out for small jobs, sawing wood, for 
 example, to pay his few remaining necessary expenses. 
 
 All this had no effect upon his relations with his class- 
 
20 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 mates. Thank Heaven, there was never a bit of snobbery 
 at Dartmouth. When he made some brilliant " rushes " 
 in the first recitations of the term, the men in his division 
 regarded him with mild interest ; but when, in the cane 
 rush, he put the sophomores' best man squarely on his 
 back and kept him there, then his popularity took a 
 sudden and tremendous jump. 
 
 He was "old Clarkson" then to all the Freshman 
 class, and nothing would do but he must play on their 
 foot-ball eleven. Being a big fellow and a natural ath- 
 lete, with muscles of steel, a clear eye and a well-con- 
 trolled temper, Sam liked the game, and played it in 
 a style calculated to bring terror to the hearts of his op- 
 ponents. It was largely owing to his personal prowess 
 and inspiring presence that the Freshmen kept the 
 Sophomores from scoring in the great game of the 
 year, and the score stood — 0, while the whole college 
 on the lines howled like mad. 
 
 When the alert captain of the 'Varsity, seeing in Clark- 
 son a present excellent substitute, and a prospective cen- 
 ter rush, or guard, asked him to come out regularly with 
 the second eleven, he w^as considerably surprised to be 
 met with a quiet but distinct refusal. " I 'm working my 
 way through," said Sam, "and I haven't time for that 
 and my studies and foot-ball, too." Whereat the cap- 
 tain grieved and swore; but the coach, who had cap- 
 tained the first eleven the College ever had, and thought 
 he knew Dartmouth men as well as he did Dartmouth 
 foot-ball, said: "Let him alone. He'll get all the plug- 
 ging he wants in a year, and then he '11 take to foot-ball 
 like a duck to water. You don't need him this fall, 
 anyway." 
 
CLARKSON, RIGHT GUARD 21 
 
 It was Sophomore year now, and they did need him 
 sadly; for many of the giants who had won the cham- 
 pionship the year before were gone. But still Clarkson 
 refused to go into training, and the rest of the College, 
 at first puzzled by his conduct, gradually grew angry 
 and called him a cow^ard, and a chump, and various 
 other uncomplimentary names. Not to his face, to be 
 sure, for they still remembered that Freshman cane rush ; 
 but in those evening gatherings where there are boys in 
 all the chairs and on the floor, where the air is blue with 
 tobacco smoke, and where all the problems of the uni- 
 verse are discussed and satisfactorily settled, from the 
 evolution of man to the best make of tennis racquet. 
 
 Finally, the new captain, who was a handsome young- 
 ster, with his blue ej^es and fair cheeks, told the Profes- 
 sor's daughter all about it. It has not been previously 
 remarked that Sam's professor possessed such a thing as 
 a daughter, but he did, and a very x^retty one, too, as 
 any man in college could tell you. She was a dainty 
 little thing, with dark hair that was forever straying in 
 bewitching locks and curls, and honest, deep grey ej^es, 
 that she veiled coquettishly wnth long lashes. As for the 
 tiny scarlet crescent of her mouth, it would tempt a 
 man to more than the steady curve of the rounded chin 
 would allow. 
 
 She was the only thing in the world of which Sam 
 would allow to himself that he was afraid. He had 
 worshipped her with a sort of dumb longing since the 
 first time he had seen her. One day he had driven her to 
 the railway station. It w^as late autumn, and the chillj^ 
 air made her, unconsciously, perhaps, draw closer to 
 
22 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 him. The faint perfume from her hair floated up into his 
 face, and presently a wandering curl ble^Y against his 
 cheek. He could feel yet that electric thrill, and it was 
 with a sense almost of danger that he had avoided her 
 €Yer since. 
 
 But this day it had been impossible to elude her. She 
 had met him squarely, and, her grey eyes flashing, she 
 had said: "I did not expect you, Mr. Clarkson, to be a 
 coward and disloyal to your college." 
 
 " Am I ? " he asked quietly, but with a deep, dark flush 
 on either cheek. 
 
 " Yes, you are," she replied. " You know our foot-ball 
 team is weak and needs you badly — that Amherst is 
 very likely to beat us. And still you refuse to play. I 
 am very much disappointed in you, Mr. Clarkson." 
 
 "I am sorrj'," said Sam humbly, and stood aside for 
 her to pass. Then he went to his little room and tried 
 to work upon his Latin for the afternoon. But the 
 lively verse of old Horace did not at all suit his frame of 
 mind, and soon he found himself in a very black mood, 
 hating himself and everyone else, but principally that 
 handsome young captain, with his mone\^ and his wit 
 and his walks with the professor's daughter. 
 
 Then he thought of her and the black changed to blue, 
 and he was enjoying all the sombre delights of melan- 
 choly when there came a tiny tap at the door. He had 
 only time for a hasty rub at his e^^es before she entered. 
 A little dab of powder under one eye looked as if she had 
 been crying, too, but Sam did not notice that. He only 
 knew that she was holding out both hands to him and 
 saying : 
 
CLARKSON, RIGHT GUARD 23 
 
 "Will YOU forgive me for what I said, Mr. Clarkson? 
 I wronged you cruelly, and I am very sorry. Father 
 has just told me the truth." 
 
 There was a lump in Sam's throat that kept him from 
 speaking, and she went on : 
 
 "But it is all right now. Father wants you to be his 
 secretary, and he will pay you enough so that you will 
 not need to do any other work, and will have plenty of 
 time to play foot-ball. Will you ? " 
 
 "Will I?" The tone of the voice answered the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Did he ? Ask the left guard and centre on that sea- 
 son's Amherst team. I am sure they still remember 
 how, not once or twice, but half a dozen times, in that 
 season's championship game, there plunged between 
 them a curly-haired young giant, whose onward rush 
 was stopped only when the whole opposing eleven was 
 clustered upon his shoulders like hounds upon an elk. 
 
 And I know that Clarkson and his wife still remember 
 what the Professor's daughter cried: "Thirty-two to 
 nothing ! Oh, Sam ! Dear Sam ! It is glorious." 
 
 H. C. Pearson, '93. 
 
ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 To THE Connecticut River. 
 
 TraOW under the hills where the shadows fly, 
 The pine trees murmur, the low winds sigh ; 
 And over the ripples of silver and shade 
 The moonlight streams like a pathway laid. 
 And the winds kiss the leaves and the leaves kiss the 
 
 stream 
 At the foot of the bank where I lie and dream. 
 
 Your years will come and mine will go ; 
 
 You w^ill continue to wind and flow ; 
 And into your depths the stars will fall' 
 That shine through the tops of the hemlocks tall. 
 
 And some other youth will watch their gleam, 
 
 And lie at the foot of the bank and dream. 
 
 W. B. Plumer, '96. 
 
> i J J 
 
 The Coknecticut. 
 
«• « • 
 
GAUDBT TBNTAMINE VIRTUS" 25 
 
 "Gaudet Tentamine Virtus." 
 
 [The early chroniclers of Dartmouth remarked that the 
 family device of the Earl of Dartmouth, " Gaudet Tentamine 
 Virtus," seemed especially fitted to represent the spirit of the 
 young College.] 
 
 T you ask, my good friend, how it chances 
 (^ That Dartmouth men, where'er they stray, 
 Are Hearing the front in life's battle, 
 And ne'er known to shrink from the fray. 
 
 Draw near, and I '11 tell you a story. 
 Though somewhat a secret, 'tis true. 
 Of Old World chivalrous glory 
 Forever maintained in the New. 
 
 Far o'er the sea lies an island, 
 The emerald gem of earth's zone. 
 Where Wit has perennial sources. 
 And Eloquence nurtures her own. 
 
 In the days of Erin's lost grandeur. 
 When her fingers so royally swept 
 Her golden harp-strings at Tara, 
 That for ages in sorrow have slept, 
 
 There flourished among her proud nobles 
 A chieftain of wisdom and might. 
 Whose crest was ever the foremost 
 In court, camp, council, or fight. 
 
26 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Now his was no usual sur-coat 
 That his arms emblazoned displayed, 
 On the moonlit shores of Killamey, 
 By the deft hand of fairies 'twas made, 
 
 And his arms had a magical potence, 
 Conferred by their kindly behest, 
 Each loyal descendant's proud motto 
 Was : " Manhood delights in the test." 
 
 Years passed : o'er the hill-sides of granite 
 A Voice in the Wilderness cried, 
 And prompt in his generous succor 
 The staunch Earl of Dartmouth replied. 
 
 His birth made him the successor 
 To the power of the sur-coat, I ween, 
 And the crest that never was tarnished 
 Still ever the foremost was seen ; 
 
 His name passed over the ocean 
 For the honored young college to bear, 
 And when green as its color was chosen 
 The magical charm was still there. 
 
 The earls of Dartmouth no longer 
 Grace the court or lend aid in the field. 
 But the enchanted device has grown stronger 
 In the might of our Dartmouth revealed ; 
 
 And each man of our sterling old college, 
 In contest of brain or of brawn. 
 Inherits the motto's brave spirit 
 That urges him constantly on, 
 
AMONG THE HILI.S 27 
 
 And, true to the crest of our patron, 
 
 He enters the conflicts of life 
 
 Endowed with the same Dartmouth feeling^, 
 
 A manly delight in its strife. 
 
 W. F. Gregory, '88. 
 
 Among the Hills. 
 
 T\ GAIN among the hills ! 
 (s) The shaggy hills ! 
 The clear arousing air comes like a call 
 Of bugle notes across the pine, and thrills 
 My heart as if a hero had just spoken. 
 Again among the hills ! 
 The jubilant unbroken 
 Long dreaming of the hills! 
 
 R. HoYEY. '85. 
 
28 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Dartmouth in England. 
 
 n^HE distinguished individual whose portrait hangs in 
 1 Wilson Hall was the Second Earl of Dartmouth ; the 
 first Earl was created in 1711, the first Baron having 
 been created in 1682; the arms at that time being a 
 white stag's head on an azure shield ( dark green would 
 have been more appropriate). The crest was five os- 
 trich feathers, alternating blue and white, possibly azure 
 and argent; underneath was a scroll, with the motto, 
 " Gaudet tentamine virtus " ; not entirely consistent with 
 that portion of the Lord's prayer which says "Lead us 
 not into temptation," and perhaps it will not do to 
 encourage the employment of this motto too strongly 
 among youths of tender age, who, when they think they 
 stand, should take heed lest they fall. 
 
 When the earldom was created in 1711, there was 
 added to the arms more imposing features — supporting 
 lions, with a ducal coronet in the crest, while the shield 
 was sown with fleur-de-lis and mullets. 
 
 The Dartmouth family name is Legge. Thomas Legge 
 w^as sheriff and Lord Mayor of London in the middle 
 of the fourteenth century; he loaned £300 to Edward 
 III. to war w^ith France, and therefore, I suppose, came 
 into royal favor. His son William married Elizabeth, 
 daughter of Sir William Washington ; whether of the 
 Northumberland and Durham Washingtons, from whom 
 
Charles T. Gallaghe^? Hov. *93 
 
e c c • • • • 
 c c c • ■• c • 
 
 t C «€-•«» • 
 
 c c e t 
 
 « e et f e 
 
DARTMOUTH IN ENGLAND 29 
 
 the father of our country, is claimed to have sprung, I 
 am unable to say ; but his son George commanded line- 
 of-battle ships and was governor of Portsmouth, near 
 Dartmouth, and he was made a peer, with the title of 
 baron, in 1682. 
 
 The second baron was one of the Lord Justices, and 
 was made Earl of Dartmouth and Viscount Lewisham 
 in 1711, and his son, the second earl, was, as I under- 
 stand it, the progenitor of the College. 
 
 There is little association, at present, between the 
 town of Dartmouth and the present earl, who still lives 
 in London ; but the association of the Legge family of 
 one or two centuries past was at Dartmouth, from which 
 place many naval expeditions, particularly against the 
 French, set out, and in these the family was interested, 
 Dartmouth receiving its charter of municipality for hav- 
 ing raised two ships for the service of the king, and later 
 raised thirty-one ships and 757 men for subsequent wars 
 against France. 
 
 So when Mr. Whittaker, with Rev. Samson Occum, the 
 converted Indian, as an object lesson, went to England 
 to raise funds which founded our College, the natural 
 direction of Mr. Whittaker and Mr. Whitefield, — whom 
 he met in London, — was to the Earl of Dartmouth, 
 from whose section, in Old England, many hundreds of 
 people had sailed to establish a New England in the new 
 world ; and thus it was that Lord Dartmouth allowed 
 the use of his name and money in obtaining subscrip- 
 tions throughout England for the establishment of a 
 college, which started from Eleazer Wheelock's begin- 
 ning; although, in some way, I have always given to 
 
30 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Mr. Thornton, the first treasurer, credit for a greater 
 part of the success than to Lord Dartmouth. 
 
 The old town is one of which we may well be proud, 
 either to have as an ancestor or to be its namesake ; for, 
 besides its beautifully picturesque location, it is one of 
 the most interestingly historical places on the coast of 
 England. It figures in Roman and Saxon history, and 
 at the time when William the Conqueror parcelled out 
 his kingdom among his followers, Dartmouth was of con- 
 siderable importance. It is claimed that William Rufus 
 left his hunting in Dartmoor forest, and embarked from 
 here when he went to relieve the Castle of Mans in 
 Normandy. 
 
 Chaucer says of his **Shipman": "For aught I know he 
 was of Dertemouthe." Richard, the lion-hearted, sailed 
 from here to the Holy Land with his crusaders, and 
 many are the historical incidents claimed for the place, 
 which time will not permit my relating. 
 
 It was the home of Hawkins and Sir Francis Drake; 
 here Sir Walter Raleigh lived and smoked the first to- 
 bacco that he brought from North Carolina, while a 
 rock in the river is pointed out where he was wont to 
 regale himself with an afternoon pipe. His father-in- 
 law. Sir Humphrey Gilbert, also sailed from Dartmouth 
 on his voyages of discovery ; Dartmouth, also, was the 
 birthplace of Newcomen, who invented the steam engine, 
 afterwards perfected by Watt. 
 
 The town is at the mouth of the Dart River, which 
 takes its rise in Dartmoor, the highest point on the 
 water shed, from which flow rivers north into the 
 Bristol Channel, at points in the country of "Lorna 
 
DARTMOUTH IN ENGLAND 31 
 
 Doon" and Charles Kingsley's "Westward Ho"; while, 
 to the south, the rivers flow, like the Dart, into the 
 English Channel. The mouth of the river, about 150 
 yards in width, is flanked on either side by an ancient 
 castle, restored and in a good state of preservation. In- 
 side the mouth the river widens to a large harbor, 
 capable of accommodating 500 vessels. 
 
 The local history states that Edward the Fourth made 
 a bargain with the municipality of Dartmouth, in con- 
 sideration of the payment of £30 annually forever, that 
 they build and maintain, at the entrance of the harbor, 
 "a stronge and mightye and defensyve new tower," 
 with a boom and chain extending to the Castle at 
 Kingswear on the opposite bank, an oil painting of 
 which latter, by one of Dartmouth's students, hangs in 
 the library building. The Dartmouth castle preserves 
 its ancient appearance; but is occupied only by an 
 ordnance sergeant of the British army, who has charge 
 also of the fort adjoining, where the Devonshire artillery 
 exercise the cannon in the casemates. 
 
 Adjoining the castle, also, is the ancient St. Petrox 
 church, like the castle, built in the fifteenth century, and 
 which also, like a portion of the castle, is partially 
 covered with ivy. The two together make a most pic- 
 turesque combination from every point of view, situ- 
 ated, as they are, on the rugged rocks at the mouth of 
 the harbor, the green clifis rising behind and beyond 
 them, terminating in the higher lands, forming a most 
 beautiful setting; above, on the river, extends the city 
 of Dartmouth on the one side, and Kingswear, its com- 
 panion, on the other, while between float vessels and 
 
32 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 boats, making of the whole a beautiful picture ; up the 
 stream, in the distance, lay those mammoth hulks of 
 days gone by, the "Britannia" and "Hindoostan" — 
 old three-deck line-of-battle ships, peacefully moored to 
 furnish a school for naval cadets, conducted similar to 
 our naval school at Annapolis; up the Dart river the 
 scenery is most fascinating and beautiful, and is made 
 one of the pleasure trips by people resorting to South 
 Devon. Fifty years ago Her Majesty, the present Queen, 
 wrote of it as reminding her of "the beautiful Rhine and 
 its five castles and the Lorelei." 
 
 But one of the most important facts, and one which 
 interests us more than anything else, outside of the 
 association of the old town with the College, is the 
 historical fact that practically from here sailed that 
 little barque across "the mighty Western sea," freighted 
 with a precious cargo that was to lay the comer-stone 
 of a nation, the blessings of which we now enjoy; for 
 the "Mayflower" and "Speedwell," after leaving Delft- 
 haven, really sailed from Dartmouth as their last port 
 of departure, and put into Plymouth only because the 
 "Speedwell" was found unseaworthy, and her people 
 were transferred to the "Mayflower" at that port; the 
 "Mayflower," therefore, really made her passage from 
 the town of Dartmouth, though she temporarily put 
 into Plymouth for the above purpose. Therefore the 
 town in New England, whose name has become asso- 
 ciated with the strength and greatness of our nation, 
 should be not Plymouth, but that given to our College, 
 — Dartmouth. 
 
 C. T. Gallagher, Hon. '93. 
 
> > > > 
 
 J.J » J 
 
THE DARTMOUTH BUILDINGS 33 
 
 The Dartmouth Buildings about 1835. 
 
 |UR second picture of the college knoll is from a col- 
 ored lithograph made at Hartford, Conn., probably 
 about 1830—1835. Already the general appearance 
 was different enough from that of thirty years before. 
 
 The most conspicuous change is the presence of the 
 two new dormitories, then used exclusively as such. 
 They were named, respectively, after Governor Went- 
 worth, and John Thornton, of England, the distinguished 
 benefactors of the college in its early struggles; al- 
 though, for some time, they were spoken of colloquially 
 as North and South Halls. Dartmouth Hall had under- 
 gone within a material renovation, including the crea- 
 tion of the then new, but now " Old " Chapel. 
 
 The foreground is rather fanciful, although the paths 
 ran about as represented. The road shown just south 
 of Thornton probably led merely to the rear of the 
 Wheelock House, which, by the way, was then occupied 
 by a Mrs. Carrington, who took boarders. The fences 
 would seem to have been somewhat altered since the 
 time of Mr. Ticknor's sketch. 
 
 The prosperity of the college was then increasing. 
 There were about 250 students, including about 100 
 medicals, though the faculty numbered only ten. Some 
 of the customs and drcumstances of that day seem to 
 us a little strange. The college owned only the land on 
 which these buildings stood; for not until late in the 
 
 3 
 
34 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 '40s, did it begin to acquire the rest of the Park square, 
 and not for thirty years after that did it secure its present 
 almost complete control. The necessary expenses were 
 estimated in the catalogue at $101.22, including $27 for 
 tuition, $3 for ordinary incidentals, and $54 for the 38 
 weeks' board. Commencement, originally celebrated in 
 September, occurred then on the Wednesday preceding 
 the last Wednesday of August. A vacation of four 
 w^eeks followed, and there were others, of two and a half 
 w^eeks in May and June, and of six and a half w^eeks, 
 arranged for the large number who wished to teach, be- 
 ginning in the latter part of January. Some years later 
 this arrangement was altered. Attendance was made 
 optional during an eleven weeks' winter term, when the 
 chief part of the instruction was in the Modern Lan- 
 guages, w^hich w^ere considered rather unessential. Later 
 yet, the convenience of the pedagogues was assured by 
 great readiness on the part of the faculty to grant ex- 
 cuses for absence during the first weeks of the winter 
 term. So a gradual evolution has gone on, until at 
 present, since the work in the summer hotels has taken 
 the place formerly held by teaching, the long summer 
 vacation has come into being, and absence during the 
 winter is paid for as dearly as at any other time. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96. 
 
>J»1I i i 1 i 
 
Harlan Colby Pearson, '93. 
 
7.V SENIOR DAYS 3S 
 
 In Senior Days. 
 
 U^HE little wood fire in the grate cast a narrow circle 
 1 of light into the enshrouding darkness. Within the 
 limits of its brilliance a daintily slippered foot and a 
 bit of silk stocking swung to and fro : while over oppo- 
 site a pair of russet walking shoes were planted solidly 
 upon the polished floor. 
 
 From the direction of the slipper came a musical 
 Toice, with a thoughtful note in it: "Charley, I've been 
 discussing the Sophoclean choruses with papa to-day. 
 And, Charley, do you really think they express the Greek 
 idea of a conscience, or what ? " 
 
 The russet shoes suddenly withdrew from view, as if 
 their owner sat erect tc, reply: " My dear Florence, I'm 
 sure I don't know, and I hardly think I particularly 
 care. The way your respected father translates them, 
 they might express about anything." 
 
 The click of a button, and the soft glare of the electric 
 light illumined the becoming indignation of a very pretty 
 girl. " Charley — Mr. Dana — what do you mean ? I did 
 not expect such a remark as that from you." 
 
 The dark-eyed young fellow in the great easy chair 
 smiled up at her a little impatiently, but, enjoying the 
 bright color in her cheeks, made no haste to reply : ** Oh ! 
 I beg pardon, of course. But we get so much of that 
 
36 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 stuff over in Dartmotith, that one likes something else 
 better from one's sweetheart, don't you know." 
 
 " The proprietary air with which you say * sweetheart/ 
 Mr. Dana, is simply overpowering. But, if you regard 
 an engagement as a prolonged billing and cooing, I must 
 beg to be excused." 
 
 "Ah, yes! quite so. And if your fiancd must pass 
 exams in Socrates and Sappho, I shall have to plug 
 harder than I 've ever done yet." 
 
 The rose was changed to the lily now, and wrath made 
 the brown eyes sparkle as brightly as the richly set soli- 
 taire that she threw in his lap. ** It is evident, Mr. Dana, 
 that I was very much mistaken in you a month ago. It 
 is weU we found it out so soon. Good evening ! " 
 
 As she swept from the room with a queenly grace, 
 Charley Dana watched her with an admiring smile. A 
 smile that continued as he strolled under the broad- 
 branching elms down the moonlit street ; as he watched 
 a glass marble and gailj^-painted wheel revolve in oppo- 
 site directions ; and as, fifty dollars richer, he sank into 
 a child-like sleep at 2 o'clock in the morning. For this 
 was by no means his first "lovers' quarrel " ; and he con- 
 fidently relied upon his charms of face and manner to 
 carry him through this, as they had the previous ones. 
 
 Whether or no Florence Huntley's pillow felt the touch 
 of tears that night, is a lady's secret into which we will 
 not pry. But the radiance of her smiles, next morning, 
 fairly bewildered curly-haired little Teddy Bell. So com- 
 pletely was he overpowered, in fact, that the quality of 
 his ball playing fell off perceptibly. Whereat the man- 
 ager and captain held a long and serious consultation, 
 
IN SENIOR DAYS 37 
 
 for the final championship games were close at hand, and, 
 with Teddy out of form, the chances of success were 
 greatly diminished. But, as the fair Florence's favor 
 continued, Teddy recovered all his old nerve, and felt 
 that he could do better work than ever under the inspi- 
 ration of her eyes. 
 
 That last Amherst game will never be forgotten by the 
 men who saw it. The last half of the ninth inning, the 
 score a tie, a Dartmouth man on third, and two hands 
 out! From behind first and third bases, long, living, 
 human lines converge. The cheering that was frantic a 
 minute or two ago, grows mechanical, then ceases alto- 
 gether. The nervous strain is terrible. A burly senior 
 relieves himself by swearing, none too softly, and the 
 grey-haired professor next him never thinks of reproof. 
 Even the girls in the grand stand appreciate the crisis, 
 and lean forward with breathless interest. Out in the 
 field the auburn-crowned Amherst captain bites his lip 
 till it bleeds, in his struggle to keep cool. Great drops of 
 sweat stand out on the little pitcher's forehead, and his 
 legs tremble in spite of himself. 
 
 The brown sphere shoots across the plate. "One 
 strike," and Teddy Bell, bat at his shoulder, has moved 
 not a muscle. "Two strikes," and a swelling, sullen 
 murmur, like an angr\^ sea, vibrates along the lines. 
 The ball comes once more, swift and straight as an 
 arrow. But this time it is met. Crack ! and the spell is 
 broken. A pretty hit, Mr. Steams, just out of your 
 reach. And the winning run is scored. Yell, Dartmouth, 
 yell! Be madmen if you will. Forget that you are 
 young or old, rich or poor, wise or foolish. Remember 
 
38 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 only that we have gloriously won a pennant. And you, 
 Teddy Bell, be proud as you may, for this is the day of 
 your exaltation. And lay away carefully, if you will, 
 
 the rose she took from her breast to pin on yours. 
 
 ******** 
 
 Tuesday evening of Commencement w^eek. The glee 
 club concert is over, and the crowd, pouring out of the 
 old gymnasium, turns its steps up the street toward 
 Dartmouth hall. There the grey elms in the college yard 
 have put forth their annual bloom of Chinese lanterns 
 and electric bulbs; beneath them sounds the pensive 
 strain of "After the Ball"; and around the distorted 
 circle of the walks twists and curls an endless human 
 serpent. 
 
 This young fellow in faultless evening dress chew^s his 
 moustache rather angrily. And the trim little girl at his 
 side does not seem very happy either; perhaps, because 
 she is manifestly his sister. 
 
 "Charley," she saj'^s, "3^ou never sang better in your 
 life. And you ought to be proud of leading such a glee 
 club, too." 
 
 "Sure," is the monos\'llabic reply, whereat little sister 
 looks up with mingled pity and vexation. Her face 
 lights up a moment later, however, as an advancing 
 couple are stopped and engaged in merrj' conversation. 
 
 Just how it happened no one but Kittie Dana knew. 
 But when the band struck up another air she and Teddy 
 Bell strolled away together, nursing a bad case of love 
 at first sight; and Florence Huntley and her former 
 sweetheart were left to their own devices. 
 
 I suppose they said a great deal to each other in a very 
 
IN SENIOR DAYS— THE REASON WHY 39 
 
 short time. For it was not long before I saw them steal 
 "far from the madding crowd" up to the picturesque 
 solitude of Observatory hill. And I alone know — prome- 
 nade concerts are guiltless of chaperones — what hap- 
 pened there, when, as the clock struck twelve, the 
 musicians packed up their instruments and the myriad 
 lights w^ere extinguished. 
 
 How a shapeless monster in the little iron summer- 
 house dissolved into two parts. And how, before the 
 separation took place, a smothered voice said : 
 
 " Charley, I just hate Greek choruses." 
 
 H. C. Pearson, '93. 
 
 wi 
 
 The Reason Why. 
 
 S we sat, not a word passed between us — 
 
 I '11 tell 3'ou the reason why : 
 We sat so close it would be no use 
 
 For even a word to try. 
 
 J. W. Bishop, '95. 
 
40 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The Old and New. 
 
 JUHE old Year, the happy Year, 
 1 The Year we used to know. 
 Stands shivering at the door tonight, 
 
 And waits her turn to go. 
 We fain would clasp the pleading hands 
 
 And smooth the wrinkled brow, 
 But Time has beckoned, and she says : 
 " I must be going now ! " 
 
 The new Year, the dawning Year, 
 
 The Year that we shall know. 
 Comes romping in with baby feet 
 
 From out the frost and snow. 
 She clambers high upon our knee, 
 
 And whispers in our ear, 
 The while she clasps her chubby hands : 
 
 "A Happy New Year! " 
 
 E. O. Grover, '94. 
 
Edwin Osgood Grover, '94. 
 
A DARTMOUTH INVENTION 4,1 
 
 A Dartmouth Invention. 
 
 TT is not, perhaps, generally known to present tinder- 
 ^ graduates that a Dartmouth catcher was the first to 
 
 use the body-protector, which is now used by every 
 catcher. 
 
 In the year of '82, the hopes of Dartmouth base-ball 
 enthusiasts had been somewhat dampened by the an- 
 nouncement that the man best fitted for the position of 
 catcher had been forbidden by his parents to play that 
 position, for the catcher in those days was peculiarly 
 liable to injury in the body, for which there was no 
 protection. 
 
 So it was that the uninitiated were agreeably sur- 
 prised to see their favorite catcher take his place behind 
 the bat in one of the first Harvard games played that 
 season. * 
 
 Before many innings had been played, a swift foul tip 
 had struck him full in the stomach, and the spectators 
 leaned anxiously forward, expecting to see him doubled 
 up with agony and carried from the field. What was 
 their astonishment when they saw him instead, coolly 
 pick up the ball and toss it to the pitcher. If this had 
 happened among savages, the catcher would probably 
 have gained some such name as " The Man w^ith the Iron 
 Stomach." As it was, the wonder of the observers was 
 not lessened, until the matter was explained to them by 
 
4.2 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 the more intimate friends of the player, for, being much 
 disappointed at his parents' refusal to let him catch, he 
 had set his wits at work and devised a sort of padded 
 cushion, which could be worn under his uniform, and did 
 not in the least impede his motions. It was not very 
 large, and fitted so well that no one would know from 
 his a]jpearance that he was thus protected. 
 
 From that time the protector became an essential part 
 of every catcher's outfit. 
 
 Man3^ readers of this will recognize in the inventor one 
 of the most prominent of Dartmouth's alumni. 
 
 N. L. Foster, '96. 
 
 To A Withered Mayflower. 
 
 OAIR withered blossom, though thy tender leaves 
 Are bruised and ragged torn. 
 And thou, e'en oithy unassuming grace art shorn, 
 Thou still art just as dear. 
 
 Undimmed the air thy fragrance yet receives. 
 
 One breath so small, 
 Yet round me all 
 
 The voices of thy piny home I hear. 
 
 F. V. Bennis, '98. 
 
Frederic Vucassovich fe^xN^s',*'^^. 
 
THE REIGN OF TERROR 43 
 
 Sanborn Hall During the Reign of 
 Terror of 1894-1895. 
 
 jjniS eight o'clock in Sanborn Hall; a placid quiet 
 
 1 reigns : 
 
 ^Tis like the brewing of the storm that 3^et unseen 
 
 remains. 
 The Hall an air of wise research and classic stud^' wears : 
 The only sounds are gentle steps which travel up the 
 
 stairs. 
 
 'Tis nine o'clock in Sanborn Hall ; a murmuring sound is 
 
 heard ; 
 The storm is gathering nearer now, but naught has yet 
 
 occurred : 
 A distant song comes from above and on our ears doth 
 
 fall, 
 But still a dignified repose hangs over Sanborn Hall. 
 
 'Tis half-past nine; the songs increase and float from 
 
 many bards; 
 From rooms near by, through open doors, we hear them 
 
 shuflEling cards. 
 The money's chink, theglasses' clink, increase our anxious 
 
 fears. 
 As louder yet the rising sounds fall on our listening ears. 
 
44 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 'Tis ten o'clock in Sanborn Hall; the sounds are now 
 foil loud; 
 
 In rooms above, in halls, on stairs, we hear the gather- 
 ing crowd. 
 
 The time rolls on, the sounds increase, the noise becomes 
 a din; 
 
 The joyous youths will now full soon their evening's 
 work begin. 
 
 'Tis half-past ten ; athletic games are played now, in the 
 
 hall; 
 The racers rush, with clattering shoes, and oft-times 
 
 loudly fall. 
 The bold contestants gather, then, and try, with all 
 
 their might, 
 To see who first can hurl a ball against the electric light. 
 
 Eleven o'clock in Sanborn Hall; the lights are out and 
 
 gone; 
 'Mid crashing sounds of splintering wood, we wish in 
 
 vain for dawn : 
 A raging crowd attacks our door, which is not strong 
 
 as rock ; 
 They push and shove, they kick and slam, they try to 
 
 pick the lock. 
 
 In wrath and dread we sit and swear, and watch our 
 
 tottering door ; 
 We prop it up with chairs and trunks, all piled upon the 
 
 floor: 
 
THE REIGN OF TERROR 45 
 
 Some Yoiitlis without have seized a trunk, and rush it 
 
 up and down ; 
 The noise is such we almost think 'twill wake the 
 
 startled town. 
 
 Half-past eleven in Sanborn Hall; the noise is at its 
 
 height ; 
 A constant din from room and hall disturbs the calm of 
 
 night : 
 The shutters, seized by ruthless hands, are dashed upon 
 
 the ground. 
 But, 'mid the roar, we scarce can hear this slight and 
 
 gentle sound. 
 
 'Tis twelve o'clock in Sanborn Hall; the crisis now is 
 
 o'er: 
 Though still the din is wild and fierce, 'tis less than 'twas 
 
 before. 
 A few, who dread tomorrow's sun, are hastening from 
 
 the Hall; 
 Their echoing footsteps, as they go, shake ceiUng, floor, 
 
 and wall. 
 
 'Tis twelve-fifteen in Sanborn Hall; our door is left, at 
 
 last; 
 The crowd decides to haste to bed; the sounds grow 
 
 gentler fast. 
 " Good-night ! Good-nightl " we hear the call ; and then, 
 
 oh, sad to tell. 
 The answer to this kindly wish is simply, " Go to ! " 
 
46 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 'Tis half-past twelve in Sanborn Hall; the sounds are 
 
 growing low : 
 The crowd has thinned, and those who stay prepare to 
 
 bed to go ; 
 My friend and I, with weary sigh, prepare to go there too, 
 A thing which, for the last two hours, we much have 
 
 wished to do, 
 
 'Tis eight o'clock in Sanborn Hall ; the day is bright and 
 
 hot: 
 The janitor arrives and sees, and cries, in woe, "Great 
 
 Scott! " 
 He meets the leader of the band, who, sauntering down 
 
 the hall. 
 Remarks, "They made such noise last night I could not 
 
 sleep at all. 
 
 " A band of ' medics ' came, you know, and made a devil- 
 ish row ; 
 I tried to study up my 'trig.,' but I don't know it now. 
 I wish those 'blamed,' confounded fools would keep out 
 
 in the street ' ' ; 
 And then he goes off to his club, and sits him down to eat. 
 ******** 
 
 'Twas thus it was in Sanborn Hall, in days that now 
 
 are gone ; 
 'Twas thus the revellers raged and slammed from eve far 
 
 on towards dawn. 
 We cannot pierce the future's veil, or see w^hat will befall; 
 We hope that now a peaceful calm will reign in Sanborn 
 
 Hall. C. N. McCall, '98. 
 
> 1 > » 
 
 i i 
 
 » J3 -> 
 

 Harrie Sheridan Baketel, D. M. C. 
 
OUT WITH THE TIDE 47 
 
 Out With the Tide. 
 
 TT had been an awftd night. For hours the wind had 
 howled and moaned about this tiny cottage nestled 
 among the cliffs. Now it resembled the awful roar of 
 a lion, and now the soft and plaintive wailings of an 
 infant. The storm had spent its fury, but the waves still 
 beat upon the rocky shore, with that sullen roar which 
 portends approaching evil. 
 
 " Old man, the tide is going out." As if from the sep- 
 ulchre came those words, and they brought a chill of 
 terror to the person addressed. "Jack, it is near the 
 ebb. Draw closer: I wish to talk with you." Again 
 came that sepulchral voice, and once more the hearer 
 started. 
 
 In one corner of the room, reclining upon a rough bed, 
 lay the prostrate form of a man of thirty, a man whose 
 wasted face bore traces of aristocratic breeding and 
 former good looks. In height he stood perhaps six feet, 
 with a body built in proportion. His shapely head was 
 covered with a luxuriant growth of straight black hair, 
 while a heavy mustache hid a set of pearly teeth. His 
 face bore a most determined air, in spite of the ravages 
 
48 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 of illness, and great strength of character was clearly- 
 portrayed there. The sick man possessed the general air 
 of a gentleman, although he was in a fisherman's hut. 
 
 The person addressed was of an entirely different type. 
 A short stature, a grizzled countenance, almost amount- 
 ing to a frown, and deep-set, piercing eyes, characterized 
 Jack Amazeen, the fisherman. He had long passed the 
 half-century milestone, but looked as rugged as the cliffs 
 he loved so well. 
 
 Almost a year before, after a great storm, a boat was 
 washed ashore, in which was found the apparently life- 
 less body of a man. The ever-generous Amazeen took 
 the storm-tossed stranger to his humble cottage, and 
 there nursed him back to life. This man, cast up by the 
 sea, gave the name of Jackson — Thomas Lee Jackson — 
 but more than that no one knew. He never mentioned 
 his antecedents nor anything of his past life. His rough 
 associates, thinking he had some trouble on his mind, 
 did not press the subject, and soon he became with the 
 rest — in body, if not in spirit — a common fisherman. 
 
 Time passed on. The new-comer, evidently accustomed 
 to luxury, could not stand the hardships of such a life, 
 and was stricken down with fever. With the winter his 
 illness increased, until on this cold, wild night the climax 
 had come. "Jack, it is near the ebb. Draw closer: 
 I wish to speak with you." Amazeen did as he was 
 bid. With a touch almost as gentle as a woman's, he 
 smoothed out the pillows and changed to a more com- 
 fortable position the weary sufferer. 
 
 "Jack," he began, "I have never told you of my life, 
 but I feel the end approaching, and I wish to die in 
 
OUT WITH THE TIDE 49 
 
 peace. Far away in a little Virginia town, surrounded 
 by beautiful trees and well-kept lawns, is situated the 
 manor house of Thomas Lee Jackson, my father. There, 
 in that house, quite thirty years ago, I was bom, and 
 there for eighteen years I lived, as happy and innocent 
 as a boy could be. I had seen nothing of the world, 
 its trials and troubles, and knew only happiness. My 
 mother was a proud, high-spirited, yet lovable woman, 
 and to her I owe my gentleness of disposition. My sire 
 was of an old and highly aristocratic family. He had a 
 cold and stern manner, which made me respect him, but 
 killed all thoughts of love. My constant playmate 
 v/as a black-eyed, dark-haired little maiden, by name 
 Helen La Fetra. Her family came originally from 
 New Orleans, and she possessed all the traits of a 
 Creole. When very young our mothers decided we 
 should marry w^hen the proper time came, and we grew 
 up with no other thought. I believed I loved Helen. 
 She was a beautiful girl in feature and character, and 
 her only fault was the presence of the green-eyed mon- 
 ster, jealousy. 
 
 " Shortly after my eighteenth birthday it was decided 
 I should enter the St. Thomas's School for Boys, situ- 
 ated within a few minutes' ride of Philadelphia, Natu- 
 rally I was greatly pleased with the prospect, and im- 
 mediately informed Helen as to my future plans. She 
 cried and mourned so that my heart was touched, and I 
 allowed that I wotdd stay at home. But pere Jackson 
 listened to no such childish excuse, and in a few days I 
 had bade my betrothed farewell. For a few months all 
 was pleasant. Frequent and tender missives found their 
 
30 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 waj' between St. Thomas's School and that little Vir- 
 ginia town, and Helen and I were happy. 
 
 " Suddenly there came a change. One afternoon, while 
 walking down Chestnut street in Philadelphia, I met my 
 fate. Hers was the most divine face I had ever seen. It 
 seemed to my boyish nature that she must be an angel 
 on earth, and yet I had never heard her voice. That 
 face haunted me by day, and was in my dreams at night. 
 For weeks I spent my leisure hours in wandering up and 
 down the streets of that cit}'^, longing for a glimpse of la 
 belle inconnue. At length my hopes were realized. One 
 day, in company with two fellow-students, I entered a 
 large store, and the first person I beheld was she. My 
 ideal a shop-girl ! I quailed at the thought, but, student- 
 like, found a pretext to speak. 
 
 ' ' That visit was but the first of many. I need not tell 
 how I met her when work was over and escorted her to 
 the neat, yet cheerless apartments where she Hved with 
 an invalid mother and younger sister ; how I partook of 
 their simple meals, read with her, sang with her, and 
 sped the hours in the thousand ways known to lovers. 
 Ah, Jack, those were happy days ! I met her as a boy, 
 but those experiences transformed me into a man. 
 
 " My father! How faint I grew when I imagined my- 
 self before him, venturing the information that I loved a 
 shop-girl! And Helen — she to whom I was affianced! 
 Recklessly I went on, falling deeper and deeper in love 
 with Susie— her name was Susie Winsted— until she 
 became a part of my very life. 
 
 " The summer came, and with it the time for my de- 
 parture. I will say nothing of my leaving: it is too 
 
OUT WITH THE TIDE St 
 
 sacred. From the time I met Sttsie my letters to Helen 
 had been irregular, but she received me as if constancy 
 had been personified. I dreaded to tell my father, for I 
 knew the inevitable result ; yet it remained undone, and 
 I resolved to take courage. The result was worse than 
 I anticipated. He raved and swore, and declared that I 
 should marry Helen or leave his house forever. Despite 
 the vain entreaties of my mother his will was firm. Give 
 up Susie ? Never ! I would sooner have sold my chances 
 of heaven. 
 
 " But my meeting with Helen — how can I ever describe 
 it? Ah, plainly do I see her now, though eleven years 
 have passed since that day. She stood in the drawing- 
 room, dressed in a loose, flowing white gown, with red 
 rosebuds at the throat, and a diamond-crested dagger in 
 her hair. She was no longer the lovable girl I had loved, 
 indeed, a fiend had taken that place. And the words she 
 spoke ! — a little water, please, old man ; yes, I feel better 
 now— Oh, God! what words! She brought down the 
 curses of a thousand devils upon me and mine forever. 
 Glad was I when she fainted, permitting me to leave. I 
 went home and craved my father's pardon. It was use- 
 less : he was immovable. 
 
 ** A few months found me in Philadelphia, clerking in a 
 store, married to my love. For a while nothing marred 
 our happiness, and I had almost forgotten Helen's curse, 
 but such happiness cotdd not endure. Susie was about 
 to realize the fondest anticipations of a woman's heart. 
 
 "Her invalid mother was seriously injured by a fall 
 and died in a short time. The shock was too great for 
 my girl-wife. She was stricken down, and the end came 
 
52 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 sooner than I expected. All night long the doctors 
 watched over and administered to her, but as the tide 
 went out, the spirit of all that was dear to me was 
 swept out upon the great unknown sea, and with it 
 went the soul of our little boy. The curse! the curse! 
 How little did I think it would come to that ! 
 
 " Then my life became a blank. I shipped as a sailor, 
 thinking death might come sooner, but fortune had de- 
 creed otherwise. We were w^recked, but the curse was 
 over me, and I was washed ashore. You know the rest. 
 Jack, when I am gone I want you to write to my father 
 and tell him of my end, and — just one more sip of 
 water. Let me sleep a little while, and I'll tell you the 
 rest." The wanderer turned on his couch, and soon was 
 wrapped in a peaceful slumber. 
 
 The dawn was fast approaching, and the tide was 
 going out. The wind died away. The ocean roared as 
 before. The sick man slept on. His dreams seemed dis- 
 turbed, and incoherent mutterings intermingled with his 
 breathing. The sun rose above the great hills far off to 
 the eastward, and the dull gray faded as its bright rays 
 crept above the horizon. A single ray of light stole in 
 through the little window, playing about the sufferer's 
 face. It brightened up the care-worn features as with a 
 light from heaven. The man awoke with a ghastly fire 
 burning in his eyes, but a seraphic smile lighted up his 
 countenance. 
 
 "Jack, my boy, the tide has nearly ebbed. Listen, do 
 you hear that music, the sound of voices, and, Jack, look 
 yonder, I see the river and angels on the other side, and 
 oh, Jack ! there — in — the — midst — is — Susie— my —• 
 
RENEWAL S3 
 
 Susie" — and with hands outstretched, and the name of 
 his beloved on his lips, the noble spirit of Tom Jackson 
 left its earthly frame. 
 
 The tide had ebbed. The wind moaned a solemn 
 requiem, and the waves, as they beat against the rocky 
 cliflfs, sang a farewell mass for the departed soul. 
 
 H. S. Baketel, D. M. C. 
 
 Renewal. 
 
 SAW one faring up the hills of Life 
 
 Beneath a sultry noon-tide's blazing beams ; 
 His shield bore dents from many a field of strife, 
 His rusty mail was gashed in gaping seams. 
 He walked alone, a pilgrim staff for spear, 
 Nor called for help, believing none would hear. 
 
 I saw him once again far up the height ; 
 
 Upon his staff a pennon fair unfurled. 
 
 His peerless brow was radiant with light. 
 
 He moved ill strength with thews to throw the world. 
 
 Before the victor fled his foeman grim, 
 
 For he was mighty since Love walked with him. 
 
 O. S. Davis, '89. 
 
S4 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The Campus. 
 
 IJLJHERE once the pine tree tossed its lordly head, 
 Where once the Indian spread his hemlock bed, 
 Where hooting owl his portent shrilly screamed, 
 And eyes of crouching panthers glowed and gleamed ; 
 'Tis there it spreads its bosom to the sky. 
 Reflects the clouds that bending o'er it lie 
 To look where year on year they see again 
 The groups of happy youths and learned men. 
 
 'Tis long since hardy hands the axe raised high, 
 And felled those haughty- gazers at the sky. 
 'Tis long since noble Wheelock's kindly voice 
 Directed those who made of wisdom choice. 
 Full eighteen whites, six Indians he brought; 
 'Mid heavy works and trials these he taught 
 To read, to write, but best to be a man ; 
 They lived in humble ways : a saw-mill ran . 
 
 A thousand snows have on thy bosom lain, 
 A thousand suns have burned them off again. 
 And here, where once a forest vast was seen 
 Expands beneath the stars our college green. 
 The hush of night a lonely air distils. 
 But happiness my soul awakes and thrills, 
 As falls the moonlight on our elm-edged ground 
 Where manly hearts are e'er united found. 
 
Fletcher Harper Swift, '98. 
 
f o o « 
 
THE STUDENTS VISION 55 
 
 Brave Wheelock, Webster, Choate, and many more 
 Have trod, as I do now, this shining floor. 
 They hourly come in all their strength to mind ; 
 Departing, leave their presence yet behind. 
 How many feet have trod this glist'ning plain. 
 How many here will never come again : 
 Then let us strive to be as they were then, 
 And, striving, be what Dartmouth knows as MEN. 
 
 F. H. Swift. '98. 
 
 The STUDENT'S Vision. 
 
 PE sleeps ; no care 
 Is in his youthful mind, 
 And softly through his wavy hair 
 
 The early morning sunbeams wind, 
 And weave a halo, such as masters old 
 Have limned above the virgin's hair of gold. 
 
 He sleeps ; 'mid dreams 
 
 There breaks a sudden sound. 
 And shivering, to him it seems 
 
 A hundred demons howl around. 
 And as he tries to break the awful spell 
 He wakes; he groans — it is the chapel bell. 
 
 F. H. NoYES. '97. 
 
S6 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 After Sunset. 
 
 PANOVER has two exteriors each year, as distinct as 
 the two coats of a rabbit. There is the long event 
 introduced by the terror-bringing call for foot-ball, 
 and ushered out by the whirl of Commencement; and 
 then follows that calm, lonely, beautiful time of the sum- 
 mer vacation. The student who knows only the first, 
 never has gained a half conception of the college town. 
 He must come back when the crickets are first beginning 
 to rasp out their mournful monotones from the grass- 
 tufts, and mope for an evening on the steps of Dart- 
 mouth Hall, before he can claim to be closely acquainted 
 with Hanover. There is just enough mist clinging half- 
 perceptibly to the campus, just enough after-glow in the 
 west, just enough of a threat of the full moon in the 
 east, to invite one's recollection to wander; and thus, 
 all through the hush of the evening, while the day's 
 sounds are giving place to those of the night, the alum- 
 nus on the stone steps hears voices to w^hich other ears 
 are deaf, and sees sights which fail the few who are 
 abroad. Long, weird cries again rouse the energy of the 
 Freshmen, gathering near the "Gym" with something 
 mysterious tucked away under the coat of a leader. 
 Under the windows again sounds the "Oh-h Jack!" — 
 that strange call, with the prolonged and mellow dron- 
 ing of the "oh," and the rifle-like explosion of the 
 
AFTER SUNSET 57 
 
 "Jack." A grand-stand and a crowd, too ; a tumult of 
 lusty shouting, and then a long suspense ; one last yell, 
 one mass of surging men, — and then the bell and horns. 
 Through the shadows a solitary form rushes along the 
 sidewalk, while the bell above tolls dismally; his pace 
 increases, the bell never falters, and he disappears under 
 the low arch just as the bell strikes its doleful double- 
 stroke. This was one of the men who "sleeps o' nights." 
 And then a long line of figures keeps stead\' pace over 
 that same walk. They enter the door. Finally the 
 notes of ' ' Amesbury " come floating out : 
 
 " Our life is a dream. 
 Our time as a stream 
 Ghdes swiftly away." 
 
 And once, before the dampness drives the careless alum- 
 nus to his close room, there passes before him the face 
 and figure of Ned — Ned, the fellow^ w^hom few of the men 
 liked. The faculty said he w^asn't strong. But he had a 
 heart in him as kind as the heart of a mother. And they 
 laid him aw^ay in a narrow^ house of earth, the other day, 
 the first one of the class to go; — so, perhaps, the fact 
 that there was something like a lump of lead in the old 
 graduate's throat as he walked away, will be thought no 
 weakness, — for, after all, though few can reason, all can 
 feel ; and this common lot of pain and loss makes us all 
 close kindred in the long run. Yes. indeed, there are two 
 phases to the college town among the hills ! Happy and 
 sad are those w^ho can live over by memory the tumtdt 
 of one amid the repose of the other. 
 
 O. S. Davis, '89. 
 
S8 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Thetford Sketches. 
 
 "LXJIDOW JOHNSON, who was postmistress in the 
 little Tillage, was tintisually long in distributing 
 the small pile of mail that had just come in from the 
 south. The sevev or eight farmers who crowded the 
 "office," were discussing loudly the relative weight of 
 two pair of oxen, and vainly trying to decide how much 
 corn had *' riz sence 'lection." In one corner of the room^ 
 and watching the open fire, sat a j^oung girl, perhaps 
 eighteen, though she appeared much younger. At last 
 all of the papers were distributed among the twenty- 
 five or thirty boxes which com'posed the post-office, and 
 Widow Johnson exclaimed : 
 
 " Well, that's the biggest mail I've had yet. One could 
 tell it was nigh Christmas. There was seventeen letters, 
 and most as many papers. No, Deacon Thompson, your 
 Hanover Gazette didn't come. It's queer, isn't it?" 
 
 "Wa'al, 'tis queer," said Deacon Thompson, as he 
 stroked his long, white beard; ''it hain't missed afore 
 for nigh onto a year. And just when I want to know 
 the news. too. I hear that Charlie Green has sold that 
 cow of his." 
 
 Just then, Tilda Higgins, who had been quietly waiting 
 her turn by the fireplace, came up, and Widow Johnson 
 Said, as she handed Tilda her father's Gazette and a 
 postal, "That's one of them big postal cards from Joe 
 
Falls of the Conan^tzcvr'. 
 
c c c c 
 
THETFORD SKETCHES 59 
 
 Brown in Dartmouth. Joe says that he 's coming up to 
 spend Christmas. 'Spose you are glad. Tilda ? " 
 
 Tilda did not answer, but blushed profusely as she 
 read the postal which Widow Johnson had just "glanced 
 at," as she said, "to see if any one was dead." Joe 
 Brown's father's farm was next to the Higgins's, and 
 Joe and Tilda had made mud pies together, and had had 
 the measles at the same time. But now Joe was in Dart-« 
 mouth college, and every one in the little village looked 
 up to Joe as the embodiment of all that was great. To 
 be sure, Joe was only a freshman, but, to Tilda, and, in 
 fact, to all. freshman and senior were alike. Of course, 
 it was only a friendship that existed between Joe and 
 Tilda, still Tilda couldn't help blushing whenever any 
 one mentioned Joe in her presence. 
 
 It was the next day after Christmas. It had been 
 bleak and cold, and Joe had spent his time in telling his 
 father and mother strange stories of college life, and in 
 eating apples. 
 
 Just before dark Tilda's little brother Sam was seen 
 coming "'cross lots." Joe met him at the door with, 
 "Hullo! Sammy; how's Tilda?" "Oh, Tilda's all 
 right," said Sam, "and she says as how she wants to 
 have you come over and pop com tonight. You'll 
 come?" 
 
 "Of course I'U come, if Tilda wants me to," replied 
 Joe. 
 
 Early that evening Joe took the well-worn path across 
 
60 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 the fields to Tilda's. As he passed the window he saw 
 Tilda sitting with her mother, sewing, 
 
 "Hullo! Joe," said Tilda, as he came in, "I'm so 
 glad you came, 'cause it 's terribly lonesome these long 
 evenings." 
 
 "Darning stockings, I see," replied Joe, as he took up 
 Tilda's work. 
 
 . "Why, Joe," said Tilda, "that's one of those society 
 panels that you asked rae to make for you. Don't you 
 think it 's pretty ? Tell us about how you joined that 
 ftmny-named society. Do they really have a goat, and 
 did they brand you, Joe ? " 
 
 Joe then told Tilda all about college and the college 
 town. How near he came to getting lost the first day, 
 and finally about his initiation into the Pi Kappa Pi 
 society. It was nine o'clock before they knew it, and no 
 corn was popped. Mr. and Mrs, Higgins and Sammy 
 all retired, and left Joe and Tilda to pop their com 
 together. 
 
 They sat in perfect silence for a few minutes, till the 
 snapping of the com in the popper sounded louder than 
 the beating of Joe's heart. At length, as Joe filled the 
 popper again, he began to talk ramblingly about the 
 weather, his chum in college, and a girl he met last sum- 
 mer. Evidently Joe was uneasy. He had known Tilda 
 a long time, and she knew it. But did she know that a 
 freshman was supposed to be engaged to some one? 
 When Joe had led the conversation up to the right point, 
 and the corn-popping was at its height, he said, ner- 
 vously, "Say, Tilda, it's strange, isn't it, how com 
 
THBTFORD SKETCHES 61 
 
 "Why, they just pop," replied Tilda. 
 
 Joe's heart failed him at this seeming rebuff, but he 
 was soon ready for another attempt. " We have known 
 each other a long time, haven''t we, Tilda ? " said he. 
 
 "We have, that's a fact," answered Tilda, "but I've 
 known Tom Wiggins longer." 
 
 Tilda did not seem to realize, in the least, that Joe was 
 trying to discover the way the com popped, and always 
 answered with some commonplace remark his most 
 pointed questions. Finally Joe burst out with, "Tilda, 
 I want to tell you something before I go about " — 
 
 " Oh, do n't bother. Joe ; you can tell me all about that 
 foot-ball rush tomorrow night, when w^e have lots of 
 time; let's just talk now." 
 
 Joe was unusually cool when he said good-night soon 
 after, and only remarked, as they stood in the door- 
 way, that he should have to return to college the next 
 morning. 
 
 At ten o'clock, the next morning, the twelve by fifteen 
 station was well filled with passengers waiting for the 
 down train, which was due at 10.15. Mr. Higgins was 
 there with a box of butter to ship, and Widow Johnson 
 had just run over from the post-office to bring her 
 basket of eggs, which she sent off each morning. Joe 
 Brown was alone with his thoughts and his small 
 trunk, and was feeling very lonesome after the failure of 
 the evening before. He had just dropped a penny in the 
 slot of one of those weighing machines, and was about 
 to step on, when he saw Tilda coming down the road 
 
62 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 toward the station. Here is another chance, thought 
 he, and, forgetting all about his weight, he walked out 
 to meet her. He had only three minutes to do it in, 
 but he would make another try. By the time they had 
 reached the station again the train had drawn in. As 
 they walked toward the rear platform, Joe said, in a 
 trembling voice, "Come, Tilda, you know what I was 
 driving at last night while we were popping com. I 
 was trying to pop-pop the question. Can't we be 
 engaged?" 
 
 " Why, of course, Joe," answered Tilda. " I wondered, 
 last evening, why you didn't speak of it. Father won't 
 know anything about it; he's loading his butter into 
 the car. It 's just lovely, is n't it ? Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 E. O. Grover, '94. 
 
 From the Ruins of the Old Pine. 
 
 MATER, more than loved of me, 
 J Who from its planting watched this tree ; 
 The mighty pine may prostrate lie. 
 May bow its aged head and die, — 
 The years have only youth for thee. 
 
 F. L. Pattee, '87. 
 
Fred Lewis PATffis,"8^/ 
 
c < c /£ I 
 
 '■ » c ' • : 
 
MOUNT DESERT 63 
 
 Mount Desert from the Sea. 
 
 ROUGH, rude, rugged range of hills, 
 Uprising from the sea ! 
 With long forgotten rapture thrills 
 My heart at sight of thee. 
 
 On old Green Mountain's rocky crown 
 
 Would I could stand again, 
 And gaze the waters up and down 
 
 That lave the feet of Maine — 
 
 Once more could climb up Newport's side. 
 
 From care and trouble free, 
 And watch the gallant war-ships ride, 
 
 Columbia's argosy. 
 
 Within thy virgin woods and bowers, 
 
 0, fair Mount Desert isle, 
 I 'd pluck again thy choicest flowers, 
 
 And bask in Nature's smile. 
 
 Farewell, sweet isle, thy shores recede 
 
 From my reluctant gaze. 
 Though I must leave thee, thou would'st lead 
 
 Me back to happy days. 
 
 A. O. Caswell, '93. 
 
ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The Old Pine. 
 
 BRAVE old Pine, the swiftly passing years 
 Have hushed the music of the sweet refrain 
 That breathed thy whispering boughs. It is in vain 
 We sadly mourn thy death. Thou hast no peers 
 To claim our love, and memory reveres, 
 And in her inmost shrine will e'er retain 
 The imprint of thy life. May we attain 
 The grandeur in our lives of thy long years. 
 Thy dark, green boughs festooned with whirling 
 
 throngs 
 Of snow-flakes soft, a robe of beauty wore, 
 And Dartmouth chose the glorious green and white. 
 The echo of a hundred parting songs 
 Thy branches flung. With hearts too full for more, 
 Old Pine, we leave thee with one last " Good-bye." 
 
 Le. B. M. Huntington, '98. 
 
* « , .010- 
 
DARTMOUTH BUILDINGS IN 1851 65 
 
 The Dartmouth Buildings in 1851. 
 
 TT is an unsettled question whether or not the quality 
 
 of a person's work is necessarily affected by his moral 
 character. The evidence of the accompanying picture 
 seems to be in the negative ; for, while it is indisputably 
 superior to that of Mr. Ticknor, it was engraved — 
 in 1851, from a daguerreotype — by a famous counter- 
 feiter, C. Meadows, better known as " Bristol Bill," then 
 serving a sentence in Windsor jail. 
 
 The principal change in the yard, since the time of the 
 preceding view, had been the erection of Reed Hall. The 
 second story of this building was occupied by the libra- 
 ries of the college and the two societies, the United Fra- 
 ternity^ and the Social Friends, which, together, at the 
 time ol its construction, numbered only about fifteen 
 thousand volumes. These libraries were entirely sepa- 
 rate until 1874, and were not united on the shelves for 
 five years after that. 
 
 Thornton and Wentworth Halls appear here — more 
 accurately than in the lithograph — as unpainted. They 
 were first washed yellow about 1869, as was Reed at 
 the time of its construction; a better taste has since 
 given all three more suitable tints. Dartmouth, appa- 
 rently, was always white until about 1865. 
 
 The representation of the yard appears accurate. The 
 
06 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 fence, evidently, had been again changed. The road be- 
 side Wentworth remained until the building of Rollins 
 Chapel rendered desirable its removal a few rods north- 
 ward. The tree conspicuous in the foreground is the 
 ** Webster Elm," even then giving promise of its present 
 magnificence. As the picture partly indicates, at this 
 time the rain had hollowed out the heart from the junc- 
 tion ol the limbs, and made for itself on one side a place 
 of egress. Somewhat later, Prof. Blaisdel and Prof. 
 Hubbard filled the whole cavity with brick and mortar. 
 The common, here first appearing, has, of course, an 
 interesting history. Over it — where now is the present 
 main path — ran for years the old turnpike. Its owner- 
 ship was, almost from the beginning, a matter of dispute 
 between the town and college. Among other things, the 
 villagers long claimed and exercised the right to pasture 
 there their cows. This custom the students bitterly re- 
 sented,— although, as late as 1820, some of their own 
 number were accustomed to keep those useful animals 
 — and very often, about Commencement time, the Fresh- 
 men and Sophomores would drive away the whole herd, 
 sometimes to a spot three or four miles distant, some- 
 times even to the basement of Dartmouth Hall. At last, 
 in 1835, the disputed territory was levelled, planted with 
 potatoes, and surrounded by a temporary fence. This 
 latter the dissatisfied among the townspeople tore 
 down, but the next year certain individuals of the fac- 
 ulty and town clubbed together and erected a perma- 
 nent one. That summer the Common served for a grain 
 field, but ever since it has been devoted to sports, and, 
 until the present athletic field was prepared, in 1893, it 
 was the regular college base-ball and foot-ball ground. . 
 
THE WAY IT FliEL^ 67 
 
 It was at just about this time, — in 1852, — that the 
 second of the associated departments, the Chandler 
 School, was established, by a bequest from Abiel Chand- 
 ler, of Walpole, N. H. In the second "academy " build- 
 ing it continued a separate existence until its consolida- 
 tion with the academical department in 1893. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96. 
 
 The Way It Feels. 
 I. 
 
 TT makes a fellow blue 
 ^ To flunk! 
 
 I thought I 'd rush him, too, 
 
 Then flunk ! 
 But now I '11 stop this play, 
 And buckle down and say, 
 I '11 rush him ev 'ry day ; 
 Not flunk ! 
 
 n. 
 
 I 'm happy as they come, 
 
 A rush ! 
 I 'm not a little glum, 
 
 A rush ! 
 Could read the thing at sight. 
 The one I plugged last night. 
 It makes you feel 'bout right, 
 
 To rush ! 
 
 G. A. Green, '98. 
 
68 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Pastels in Prose. 
 
 In the Park at Midnight. 
 
 The ragged remnant of the Old Pine gazes tenderly at 
 
 me through the nocturnal light : 
 
 Like a huge sentinel wrapt in his gray mantle the 
 tower stands guard upon the hill-top. With its dark 
 moon-shadow, which rests upon the grass-grown rocks, 
 it reaches out to the darker shadows of the evergreens. 
 
 Arm-in-arm in each other 's shade, the trees stand rest- 
 ful and asleep in the silence. 
 
 You can hear their gentle breathing as the breezes play 
 among their tasseled tops. 
 
 The ragged remnant of the Old Pine gazes tenderly at 
 me through the nocturnal light : 
 
 Like skeletons of former ghosts the summer houses are 
 raised indistinct against the orient sky. 
 
 Winding snake-like among the shadows of the mingled 
 leafage, the graveled walks run smooth and still. 
 
 With open arms the Bema embraces the lingering 
 moonlight, and reveals its grassy plot of ground in the 
 darkness of its overhanging rocks. 
 
 Hiding, as it were, in its own shadow, the Grotto 
 peers out into the mellow moonlight. Only the grim 
 blackness of its own visage is visible in its rocky cavern. 
 
PASTELS IN PROSE 69 
 
 The ragged remnant of the Old Pine gazes tenderly at 
 
 me through the nocturnal light : 
 
 But a beauty not bom of color dwells in this solitude. 
 
 A beauty in black. A blending of moonlight and 
 shade, that makes the meanest object lovely. A half in- 
 distinctness, which lends a grandeur to the towers of the 
 chapel and the church, as they rise into the low light of 
 the moon above the campus. 
 
 The surrounding hills are felt only by the oppressive 
 blackness of their invisible forms. We can see the ferns 
 and grasses fan with gentle breath the unopened blos- 
 soms of tomorrow at our feet. 
 
 But, hark ! The old clock in the gilded dome of Dart- 
 mouth Hall is telling in sounding numbers Time's mid- 
 night beads. 
 
 The ragged remnant of the Old Pine gazes tenderly at 
 me through the nocturnal light : 
 
 E. 0. Groyer, '94. 
 
70 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 DARTMOUTH HALL, that, gravely smiling, 
 Gav 'st us thy welcome 3-ears ago, 
 And watched us, drowsy hours beguiling, 
 
 Stretched on thy grassy lawn below ; 
 We pray of thee a parting blessing, 
 
 Our first, our firmest college friend, — 
 We come, a thousand faults confessing. 
 
 To crave thy pardon at the end. 
 
 And thou, O Pine, of Dartmouth's story 
 
 The type, in thy rough majesty. 
 Here, in the evening 's dying glory, 
 
 We bid a last farewell to thee. 
 With solemn care, yet ever tender, 
 
 Thou gazest on the student throng ; 
 Our guardian, to thee we render 
 
 The parting tribute of our song. 
 
 Ye, too, hills and vales, now l3ring 
 
 Half in the shadow, half in sun. 
 We say farewell to you, half sighing, 
 
 And yet half glad that all is done. 
 For joy is mingling with the sorrow, — 
 
 To learn was not the whole of life ; 
 We greet a freer, stronger morrow, 
 
 A morrow rich in earnest strife. 
 
 K. Knowlton, '94. 
 
Kent Knowlton, '^4..^ 
 
 3 "» J , 
 

 f o 
 
 / ' 
 
WITH THE DAWNING 71 
 
 With the Dawning. 
 
 JHHE hanging lamp, exhausted by its long night's 
 1 vigil, gleamed fitfully through its rose-colored shade. 
 Around the heavy draperies at the windows the pale 
 light of early dawn stole in sufficiently to reveal the dis- 
 order of the room. Half-burned cigarettes, and cards, 
 thrown down impatiently in the heat of play, strewed 
 the floor. A heap of empty bottles in one comer matched 
 the overflowing box of ivory chips upon the centre-table, 
 around which were grouped significantly a quartette of 
 empty chairs. On the low, broad sofa, his ulster thrown 
 carelessly about him, a curly-haired boy was sleeping 
 heavily. 
 
 From his perch on the cushioned window-seat Dick 
 Ernst regarded the scene with manifest disfavor. The 
 condition of the room was, in fact, in striking contrast 
 to that of its owner, who, outwardly, showed scarcely 
 a trace of the night 's dissipation. From his dark, rich 
 smoking jacket to his neatly slippered feet he was quite 
 as nattily presentable as when, early the previous even- 
 ing, he had met the president's daughter on the street 
 and strolled home with her, the envy and admiration of 
 many an under-classman. Even his handsome, boyish 
 face appeared none the worse for the sleepless hours 
 spent, save for the dark shadows just beneath his brown 
 eyes. 
 
 But, however fresh and vigorous he might seem, Dick 
 
72 BCHOBS FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 was compelled to acknowledge to himself tliat he felt 
 like a wreck. "He lives a week in a day," some of his 
 friends had said of him, and the results were rapidly be- 
 coming manifest to himself, if not to others. His head 
 felt as if a giant hand was grasping it, as in a vise, 
 while dwarfish demons ran red-hot needles through his 
 temples. The lassitude, that comes with long-continued 
 loss of sleep, made him lie back wearily upon the cush- 
 ions, and his hand trembled so that he could hardly fill 
 his meerschaum from the china jar at his side. 
 
 He w^as not inclined to sleep, so, scarcely know^ing 
 what to do, he drifted into thinking of himself and his 
 college course. Almost four years ago he had come to 
 Stonehenge with plenty of money and a good fit. 
 Brought up in isolation, however, by an eccentric uncle, 
 he knew as little of the living, rushing world, as the 
 wiry pony he rode about the ranch. In his first year at 
 college he had surprised his instructors by the steady ex- 
 cellence, and occasional brilliancy ot his work, while, out 
 on the campus, his mates had learned to respect his 
 agiHty, strength, and ready adaptability. 
 
 But increasing popularity brought increased tempta- 
 tions. Just a glass of beer with the boys had led, by 
 senior j^ear, to the best stocked corner cupboard in col- 
 lege, while the mildly exciting penny-ante had grow^n 
 into a game that had made No. 21 long a favorite scene 
 for sub rosa stories. In all the county round, too, 
 Dick 's more or less shadj' exploits had made his name as 
 familiar as the college president's. And now, on this 
 wintry morning of his senior year, it was not a bright 
 picture that he looked back upon, but a dreary vista of 
 
WITH THE DAWNING 73 
 
 wasted opportunities, worse than wasted talents, days, 
 months, and years of viciotis idling. An aching head, an 
 empty pocket, the boon companionship of rascals and 
 good-for-nothings, these were the results. 
 
 He thought of the men who had just left him, and re- 
 viled himself for descending to their level. De Forest 
 Davidson, christened Patrick Leary, proprietor of Davi- 
 son 's Daisies, at the opera house for one week, had been 
 ushered in by his new-made friend, Tom Glynn, the hotel 
 clerk. "Just to make up the game," Starr, the law 
 student, had slipped in ; a pale-faced youth, whose past 
 record was as doubtfully suggestive as his handling of 
 the cards. Ernst was naturally dainty and fastidious, 
 if not pure and moral, and the constant oaths and vile 
 jests of these vagabonds disgusted him even in remem- 
 brance. 
 
 "Anyway," he said, half defiantly, "I 've harmed only 
 myself. It 's no one 's business." 
 
 The sleeping boy on the sofa sat upright. "Full to 
 aces," he cried, triumphantly. "What, four deuces?" 
 And he sank back with a groan to his restless slumbers. 
 The troubled look in Dick Ernst's eyes grew darker. 
 Since entering Stonehenge the year before, " Little Bran- 
 don," thrown in his way by chance, had followed in his 
 footsteps, copying his words, deeds, and even appear- 
 ance, so far as he was able. Dick, on his side, petted the 
 boy in a careless way, and, unthinkingly, gave him a 
 flying start toward the goal of ruin. 
 
 He had spent the last vacation with the Brandons at 
 their Sorrento summer home; and there he had met Her. 
 Every incident of those happy days came back to him as 
 
74, ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 he gazed across the room at the sleeping boy. She had 
 avoided him at first, with the instinctive dislike a pure 
 woman always feels towards a ron^. But his winning 
 charm, so potent when he chose, soon made her dream 
 of influencing his life for the better ; and then the result 
 was inevitable. The night before he left he had told her 
 the old, old story, amid the thundering of the surf, and 
 she had listened wath a blush and smile of happiness 
 that, for a moment, drove every baser impulse from his 
 nature. 
 
 He cursed himself for his folly now, as he thought of 
 his neglect of her of late, and of the evil influence he 
 had exerted over the brother she loved. Impulsively he 
 strode to the window and pulled back the heavy hang- 
 ings. The morning sun, grown rosy, warm, and bright, 
 flooded the room with its brilliancy. It illumined Her 
 picture on the opposite wall, and gave the clean, delicious 
 face the tinge of life. Dick, exhausted and unnerved, 
 imagined that her eyes followed him everywhere about 
 the room, with a look half sorrowful, half reproachful, 
 but wholly loving. 
 
 Suddenly the bonds that his pride and vice had drawn 
 around him were burst by his passion. He fell on his 
 knees before the picture, and, with his head buried in his 
 hands, prayed Her God for forgiveness and for help. 
 Little Brandon, awakened by the brilliant light, opened 
 his eyes in astonishment at the scene. Then he turned to- 
 ward the wall and wept, so quietly that Dick never knew. 
 
 So a new and sweeter chapter in two life stories began 
 with the dawning. 
 
 H. C. Pearson, '93. 
 
3 J J : 
 
 > J 3 3 
 
 3 '> 
 
 J 
 > J 
 
 > J 3 J 
 
 , 3 > J : 
 
Wilder Dwight Quint, '87. 
 
TO AN HONORED CANE. T0 
 
 To AN Honored Cane. 
 
 n^HOU portly stick of genial j'ellow, 
 1 Full many a pave thou 'st trod with me ; 
 Staunch to thy hickory core, old fellow, 
 Friend from the days that used to be. 
 
 Under the elms of our Mother royal 
 Four score of knives thy shell did hack. 
 
 Thou touched the hands of a phalanx loyal, 
 For "Simp," and " Biler," and "Doc," and "Quack," 
 
 And " Sam," and " Bill," and the whole brave party 
 
 Lent to thee some of their spirits rare ; 
 Essence of all art thou, my hearty, 
 
 Swelling with pride in thy comer there. 
 
 Many a midnight tramp thou 'st lightened, 
 
 Chatting of dear-remembered hours ; 
 Many the gloomy spirit, frightened 
 
 Out from my heart by thy kindly powers. 
 
 So in the years when my footsteps falter 
 Be thou the strength that my days shall lack. 
 
 Bom of the ties no fate can alter, 
 Of "Simp," and "Biler," and "Doc," and "Quack." 
 
 W. D. Quint, '87. 
 
76 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 ASCUTNEY. 
 
 MONO the hills that girt around 
 
 The college and the college town, 
 Lies blue Ascutney's hazy peak, 
 Where dreamy thoughts and fancies seek 
 To fill each grotto with a shrine 
 Peopled from an unknown time. 
 Across the plain from college halls 
 Thy sunset beauty holds, enthralls, 
 And seems a calm, complete ideal — 
 A master's painting 'mid the real. 
 No rugged slopes or grandeur bold 
 Command the traveller to behold. 
 But. softer, gentler strokes of time 
 Have made of thee a gem sublime. 
 
 W. B. Plumer, '96. 
 
WrLLIAM Blaisdell Plumer, '96. 
 
THE OLD SNOWSHOBS 77 
 
 The Old Snowshoes. 
 
 n^HERE they hang above the mantel ; 
 1 Over them a rifle shines ; 
 
 Underneath, a leather knapsack 
 Brings a dream of other times. 
 
 Gone the study walls and windows, 
 Gone the glowing student lamp ; 
 
 Come the swaying branches sifting 
 Moonlight on a hunter's camp. 
 
 Once again I hear the whisper 
 Of the wind through mountain trees, 
 
 See the sparks from crackling embers 
 Floating upward in the breeze. 
 
 From the valley comes the piercing 
 Echo of the black-cat's cry, 
 
 Rising toward the blazing planet 
 Marching down the western sky, 
 
 "When the winter sunrise gilds the 
 
 Granite crest of Bigelow 
 Over still Megantic marshes 
 
 Buried in Canadian snow, 
 
•78 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Once again the snowshoes rustle, 
 
 And the strength of frosty air 
 Thrills along the hunter's muscles, 
 
 Sets the warm blood leaping there. 
 
 Through the ice of old Umbagog, 
 Catching salmon from the shoals ; 
 
 By the birchy shores of Suncook, 
 Broiling partridge on the coals ; 
 
 Stalking moose along the Churchill, 
 Where the hoot-owl hoarsely calls 
 
 Through the spruce and hemlock forests 
 As the dusk of evening falls. 
 
 All these forest scenes have faded — 
 Like the morning mists they go ; 
 
 Study walls are dim in shadow, 
 For the lamp is burning low. 
 
 There the snowshoes high are hanging, 
 
 Dry and dusty on the wall, 
 And the hour of midnight's sounding 
 
 Loudly over roof and wall. 
 
 P. E. Stanley. '93. 
 
> J 3 > 
 
^^ '"T 
 
 Isaac Joslin Cox. '96, 
 
HIS DECISION 79 
 
 His Decision. 
 
 U C'AY, John, are you going to set 'em up?" said 
 George Hanson, laughing, as he pointed toward 
 a building a short distance away. 
 
 John Harlow smiled as he glanced at the unique log 
 structure. "Old Times Distillery Co., Louisville, Ky.," 
 he repeated, reading the sign on the front. "No, it's 
 against my principles to set the boys up to whiskey, but 
 we '11 take a look inside, if you want to." 
 
 "All right, come ahead," was the careless reply, as 
 Hanson started in the direction of the building. 
 
 "Sold again!" he ejaculated gloomily, as he entered 
 it, and saw from the quantity of debris scattered around, 
 that the still was not yet in operation. " This is a great 
 Fair, isn't it?" he continued. "Here it's been going 
 two weeks, and not half of the exhibits are in position. 
 Even a distillery can 't ' set itself up ' in good shape." 
 
 " Well, that pun of yours doesn 't help matters at all," 
 rejoined Harlow. "Here comes the 'Colonel' himself. 
 Let 's hear what he 's got to say about his business," he 
 added, as a portly man, whose countenance clearly pro- 
 claimed his connection with the establishment, advanced 
 from the rear of the room. 
 
 "Good morning, gentlemen," was his courteous greet- 
 ing. " I am very sorry that my still is not in operation 
 yet, but, if you wish, I will explain the process as far as 
 possible." 
 
80 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 "Your old-fashioned establishment is very interesting," 
 said Harlow, by way of compliment, when they had 
 returned to their starting-place. 
 
 * ' Only the building is old-fashioned , ' ' corrected the guide . 
 "The apparatus used is of the latest standard make. 
 Will you kindly enter your names on our register?" he 
 added, handing the pen to Hanson. 
 
 * ' What are all these figures written after the addresses ? ' ' 
 asked the latter, pointing to a page of the register. 
 
 "Oh, you want to write your guess of the number of 
 paid admissions to the Fair during the entire season, in 
 that column," explained the guide, handing him a card. 
 "You see from our card that we offer fifteen barrels of 
 whiskey to the one guessing nearest to the correct 
 number." 
 
 " Well, here goes my guess," said Hanson, as he recorded 
 it. "Your turn now, John. Oh, there isn't any harm 
 in it," seeing that he hesitated. 
 
 Harlow took the pen and wrote rapidly as his friend 
 directed. 
 
 " I think it will be all right," he said confidently to his 
 friend as they departed. " My guess was too large, 
 anyhow." 
 
 John Harlow sat in his room moodily watching the 
 falling snow, which obscured his view of the nearest 
 college buildings. 
 
 " I should like to know how I 'm to get money enough 
 to come out square this term. Father's sick and can't 
 help me, and I can 't borrow any. Guess I '11 have to 
 leave college." 
 
HIS DECISION 81 
 
 Just then he caught sight of a person beating his way 
 along against the driving wind. 
 
 "There comes George Hanson," he exclaimed. **I 
 hope he 's got a letter for me." 
 
 A moment later Hanson came to the door and tossed 
 a letter to Harlow, at the same time calling out, " Hallo, 
 John ! there 's a letter for you." 
 
 " Thanks, old man, won 't you come in ? " 
 
 "No, I can't stop. I've got to plug that confounded 
 Greek, ' ' was Hanson's mournful reply as he closed the door. 
 
 "Louisville, Ky.," said Harlow, as he glanced at the 
 postmark, "I wonder what this is about." 
 
 His wonder did not decrease as he opened the letter 
 and read its contents. 
 
 "By Jove!" he burst out at last. "This is a great 
 note! My guess was the nearest right after all, and I 
 get the fifteen barrels of whiskey. I do n't know whether 
 to call that a God-send or not." 
 
 A puzzled expression came on his face as he read the 
 letter a second time. 
 
 "Fifteen barrels of whiskey! " he repeated to himself. 
 "That must be worth more than a thousand dollars. I 
 won't have to leave college after all." 
 
 He became thoughtful again, when he considered how 
 the acceptance of such a prize might affect his standing 
 among his college chums. 
 
 "Hang it all," he cried excitedly, rising from his chair 
 and pacing rapidly back and forth. "They needn't 
 know anything about it. The company write that they 
 will dispose of it, and send me the proceeds. I don't 
 have to tell any one where the money came from." 
 6 
 
82 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Yet he paused in his walk, as he reflected on what his 
 parents wotild say about the matter. Although they 
 would probably leave the ultimate decision with him, he 
 was too fond of them to do anything which they might 
 disapprove. 
 
 "Well, I don't see what I shall do. If 1 don't accept 
 the prize, I '11 have to leave college, and if I do the folks 
 at home won't like it, aud my influence in college will be 
 hurt. When 1 get the money, I can help my folks and 
 pay all my college bills, too. Isn't that enough good to 
 counteract all the evil arising from if ? " 
 
 But it seemed impossible for him to silence his scruples 
 by any such pretext, although it was equally hard for 
 him to contemplate the giving up of all hopes of an edu- 
 cation for which he had labored so earnestly. He knew 
 that he must decide upon one of these two courses, but 
 as the inward striiggle continued he grew more and more 
 perplexed. "What shall I do ? " he groaned aloud. 
 
 A determined look came over his face. "I won't do 
 it," he uttered aloud. 
 
 He seated himself at his desk and rapidly penned a 
 reply to the company, informing them concerning his 
 decision. Later that afternoon, when John Harlow 
 mailed two letters at the post office, one would not have 
 imagined that anything unusual had occured. 
 
 I. J. Cox, '96. 
 
THE OCEAN 83 
 
 The Ocean. 
 
 O ENEATH tlie glories of a summer sky 
 J The mighty ocean lies in calm repose, 
 Its waves are still, and out upon the deep 
 The white-winged ships upon their missions fly. 
 
 A change comes o'er the surface of the deep : 
 Dark clouds portend the coming of the storm ; 
 The sea-gulls' cries reecho far and wide, 
 And mariners a watchful vigil keep. 
 
 And now it breaks ! In awful rage and grand 
 The ocean hurls defiance at the sky, 
 While vivid lightning's flash and thunder's roar 
 Reveal the mighty power of God's hand. 
 
 The storm has ceased. Out from their havens glide 
 The ships, once more to fly upon their way, 
 While o'er the waves, in other voice, the calm 
 Proclaims again His power o'er wind and tide. 
 
 W. A. Foster, '95. 
 
84, ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The First Historian of American 
 Literature. 
 
 ■pj ARTMOUTH is fond of counting its priorities ; nor is 
 the task difficult. A pleasant primacy, thougli per- 
 haps not a commanding one, is brought to mind by the 
 recent hanging, among the portraits of the alumni in 
 Wilson Hall, of a painting of Samuel Lorenzo Knapp, 
 by the old-time and justly noted artist, John Vanderlyn. 
 The portrait is, from the artistic standpoint, one of 
 the best in the collection of which it now becomes a 
 part ; but its chief interest is a personal one. Knapp 
 was not only a voluminous writer, in general, but he 
 was the first to produce a book bearing the words 
 "American Literature" on its title-page, and definitely 
 professing to give a historical account of that literature. 
 Of such works — omitting cyclopaedias, collections, selec- 
 tions, biographies, etc., — there are now on my shelves no 
 less than nineteen, in English, German, and Italian, of 
 which the latest bears date of 1894; but the pioneer in 
 the list is the plainly printed and soberly bound "Lec- 
 tures on American Literature, with Remarks on some 
 passages of American History. By Samuel L. Knapp. 
 Published by Elam Bliss, No. 107 Broadway. 1829." 
 
Charles Francis Richardson, '71. 
 

FIRST HISTORIAN OF AMERICAN LITERATURE 85 
 
 It is a small octavo of exactly 300 pages, and consists of 
 a preface, fifteen lectures, a postscript, and an appendix. 
 
 Samuel Lorenzo Knapp,its ambitious writer, was born 
 in Newburyport, graduated at Dartmouth in 1804, 
 studied law, edited periodicals, and "wielded a facile 
 pen" in the production of many books, too hastily pre- 
 pared, or too ephemeral in theme to deserve or attain 
 any long life. Of these the public has impartially for- 
 gotten his fiction and his biographies, save that it occa- 
 sionally buys a copy of his story of the career of his 
 eccentric fellow-townsman. Lord Timothy Dexter, of 
 warming-pan fame. To write hasty sketches of persons 
 or periods was a favorite pastime of Knapp's, and 
 these accounts, though discursive rather than profound, 
 were neither unintelligent nor unoriginal. Like so many 
 Americans of his day, he was inclined to be over-enthusi- 
 astic in his portrayals; but those were times when 
 America's budding glories were not nipped by many 
 chilling frosts of local criticism, and Knapp merely fol- 
 lowed the current custom. He wished to develop what 
 Longfellow, in the title of his Commencement oration, 
 just four years previous, had called "Native Writers"; 
 and this wish was shared by his publisher, Elam Bliss, 
 whose name appears on the title-page of other good 
 books of the time. 
 
 That the year 1829 was a bad date in which to dis- 
 cuss our literature cannot be denied; it was ** betwixt 
 and between "—too early for discussion of our later and 
 greater authors, yet just after some of them had made 
 their beginnings. Knapp, therefore, did not discuss Long- 
 fellow, Emerson, Poe, Holmes, Hawthorne, or the histo- 
 
•86 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 rians: though he said something too mnch concerning 
 the colonial worthies and unworthies, and briefly con- 
 sidered such young men, or recent celebrities, as Bryant, 
 Cooper, and Irving. Having ample space, accordingly, 
 he began these lectures on American literature with the 
 condition of ancient Britain, and ended them with a long 
 account of the history of American arms on land and 
 sea. But, in the first discussion, if his linguistic and 
 sociological knowledge was sadly defective, he at least 
 connected literature with race, and race with environ- 
 ment; while, in his three closing lectures, he found one 
 American spirit in arms, on the rostrum, and in the 
 study. 
 
 The style was quasi-Johnsonian in its antitheses, and 
 certainly Yankee in its florid laudations or prophecies. 
 Furthermore, as I have said, Knapp wrote with facility 
 de omnibus rebus et quibusclam aliis, and never seemed 
 to know what to omit : American literature, in his appa- 
 rent view, began everywhere and would never end any- 
 where. But there was method in his multiplicity; he 
 connected literature with life, and clearly saw, and intel- 
 ligently said, that the flowering of a nation is the result 
 of long causes in a diversified garden. In some char- 
 acterizations — as those of Bradford's History of Ply- 
 mouth Plantation (which, of course, he knew only by 
 extracts), Edwards on the Will, and the methods and 
 attainments of the revolutionary orators — he displayed 
 a firm hand, a critical faculty, a sense of proportion, and 
 an impartiality based on original reading. Dr. Knapp 
 (he was an LL. D. of Paris) at least showed that Dart- 
 mouth men were interested in books, and that they 
 
Wilbur Daniel Spencer, '95. 
 
TOMORROW 87 
 
 firmlj^ believed, even in that nascent period, in the 
 existence and endurance of such et thing as an American 
 literature. 
 
 C. F. Richardson, '71. 
 
 Tomorrow. 
 
 n^HERE is a day which never comes 
 1 To light the morning sky, 
 But in our thoughts alone it lives 
 
 And there may never die ; 
 It holds our hopes of future bliss. 
 
 Our aspirations high, 
 And life itself is but a point 
 In that eternity — 
 Tomorrow. 
 
 Each sunset brings us nearer that 
 
 Which earth shall not behold, 
 Where, far aw^ay bej'ond the hills 
 
 And through the clouds of gold. 
 We see a glimpse of brighter hours 
 
 Than tongue of bard has told. 
 When marks of time will be effaced, 
 
 W^hen men w^ill not grow old — 
 Tomorrow. 
 
 W. D. Spencer, '95. 
 
88 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Arnaut de Marueil. 
 
 JPHE fame of Dante illnmines the ages, but his masters 
 1 in poetic art, like too many teachers of other arts 
 than verse, are little remembered. This is not his 
 fault, however. He has taken pains to acknowledge his 
 indebtedness to Provencal poets, and pays them the 
 signal compliment of introducing in his Divine Comedy 
 a stanza written in their tongue. Petrarch, also, is out- 
 spoken in his praise of them. Among those whom he 
 calls by name is Arnaut de Marueil. 
 
 This poet, born not far from Perigueux, in the days of 
 Robin Hood, loved Adalasia, vicomtesse of Beziers; and 
 his poetry is a record of the birth and growth of his 
 passion, and of its unhappy end. He was discarded for 
 a rival, but had the dismal comfort of being sacrificed for 
 a King, Alfonse of Aragon. 
 
 The verses that follow illustrate his manner and his 
 art. It will be observed that only four rhymes are used 
 in the thirty-two lines. 
 
 Sweet to me is April, bearing 
 
 Winds that o 'er me softly blow ; 
 Rossignols their songs preparing 
 All night long in hedges low ; 
 All the birds, as they have power. 
 While the dews of morning wait, 
 Sing of joy in sky and bower, 
 Each consorting with his mate. 
 
ARNAVT DB MARUEII^ 89 
 
 And as all the world is airing 
 
 New delight while new leaves grow, 
 It were vain to try foreswearing 
 Love that sets my heart aglow ; 
 Both by habit and by dower 
 
 Gladness is my rightful state ; 
 When dull clouds no more can lower, 
 Quick my heart throws off its weight. . 
 
 Helen were not worth comparing, 
 
 Gardens no such bei.uty show ; 
 Teeth of pearl, the truth declaring, 
 Blooming cheeks, a neck of snow, 
 Tresses like a golden shower. 
 
 Courtly grace, for treason hate, — 
 God, who bade her thus o 'ertower 
 All the rest, her way make straight ! 
 
 Kindness may she do me, sparing 
 Courtship long and favor slow. 
 Give a kiss to cheer my daring — 
 More, if more I earn, bestow; 
 Then the path where pleasures flower 
 
 We shall tread nor slow nor late. 
 
 For such hopes my heart o 'erpower 
 
 When her charms I contemplate. 
 
 Justin H. Smith, '77. 
 
90 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The Undecided Bet. 
 
 |NE day, while speaking to a party of friends, T re- 
 marked that I did not see any excitement in horse 
 racing. 
 
 "Do you ever bet on the races?" asked some one 
 quickly, and I replied that I never did. 
 
 "Well," he continued triumphantly, "no wonder, that 
 is the interesting part of it." 
 
 Although unaware of it at the time, I afterwards dis- 
 covered that he had struck the key-note of the success of 
 horse racing. 
 
 While this may be a little out of the line of this story, 
 it illustrates a point I wish to emphasize in the begin- 
 ning, i. e., the interest which centres around a bet. 
 
 Dartmouth has always been renow^ned through her 
 athletics, and her teams have always made a good 
 showing against the largest of the Eastern Colleges. 
 On the track team we had, in George Radbourn, the 
 finest half-miler that had ever entered college. When he 
 entered, he was entirely unfamiliar with the cinder track, 
 but, by that steady perseverance which conquers all 
 things, he achieved a place in the front rank among 
 prominent athletes. 
 
 Junior year George returned to college, determined to 
 break all previous records. When he began training, he 
 
• • 4 » J » ' 
 
 Burpee Caldwell Taylor, '97. 
 
c . c ^t- 
 
THE UNDECIDED BET 91 
 
 found he had a dangerous rival in Tom Creighton, a 
 Sophomore, who had entered from another college. 
 For some unknown reason Creighton became intensely- 
 jealous of George, and the two rivals created no small 
 amotmt of attention among the great body of students 
 who were interested in athletics. 
 
 The difference between the two athletes was very 
 marked. George was a heavily built fellow of medium 
 height, with large strong legs, and with a fine chest 
 development. His legs, which were almost as large 
 above the ankles as around the calves, gave him a 
 powerful stride. And he ow^ed most of his success to 
 strict, conscientious training, coupled with an unusual 
 amount of " sand." 
 
 Tom, on the other hand, was entirely different. He 
 was a tall, handsome fellow, with plenty of money, and 
 a man conscious of his own abilities. He had long, wiry 
 legs, and an enormous lung capacity, which, how^ever, 
 had become lessened by excessive cigarette smoking. On 
 the track, he ran with a long, springy stride, and, 
 in short, he was what is called an ideal runner. 
 
 Such, in short, were the two runners. George, for the 
 most part, worked for the honor of old Dartmouth, 
 while Tom seemed to run merely for the gratification of 
 his own vanity. 
 
 As the day of the Fall meet approached, the rivalry 
 betw^een the friends of the tw^o athletes waxed hot. A 
 few^ days before the race came off, a party of students in 
 front of the Wheelock were discussing the respective 
 merits of the two men, when Creighton appeared upon 
 the scene. Stepping up to one of George's most ardent 
 
92 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 supporters he remarked, "Look here, if you think Rad- 
 bourn can beat me, all right; but I have fifty dollars 
 that says he can 't. If you have any sporting blood in 
 you, you will cover it; if you haven't, put up or shut 
 up." 
 
 A murmur of approval went through the crowd of 
 Creighton's supporters as he made the offer. The fellow 
 spoken to turned pale for a moment, and then, slowly 
 drawing out a pocket-book, remarked: "I am always 
 capable of backing up my own statements, and if you 
 w^ant to add another fifty to that, now^ is your chance." 
 
 It was Creighton's turn to be surprised. For once he 
 had run up against the wrong man. The enthusiastic 
 supporter of George was none other than Clyde Mery- 
 field, the millionaire sport from Washington. The 
 money was placed and the affair finally reached George's 
 ears. 
 
 October 10th, the day of the meet, found the two rivals 
 in the best of condition. George felt in his own mind 
 that he could beat Tom, but still, for private reasons, he 
 did not wish to do so. He thought the matter over 
 seriously for awhile and then decided upon a certain 
 course. 
 
 The track was in elegant condition. It had been rolled 
 as smooth and hard as human hands could make it. 
 The starters for the half mile were soon brought out. 
 Such a feeling as inspires a man before a race of this 
 sort, only one who has participated can know. Tom's 
 blanched cheeks show^ed the nervousness which he tried 
 to conceal. George was apparently cool and firmly re- 
 solved upon his purpose. 
 
THE UNDECIDED BET 93 
 
 Finally, the other participants had their handicaps 
 assigned, while Tom and George were placed at the 
 scratch. The starter's voice rang ont clear and loud, 
 " Are you ready ? " No answer, " On your marks, set," 
 Bang! went the pistol and- they were off. It was plainly 
 evident that the interest of the spectators was centred 
 on the two rivals. Slowly but surely they were over- 
 hauling the handicap men. At the end of the first 
 quarter they had passed the bunch, aud then the real 
 race began, with Creighton leading. George knew he 
 had a hard race before him and held his strength, close 
 behind his rival. With regular, even strides, they passed 
 the two-twenty mark, and only two-twenty more to 
 run. On both sides the cheering was loud, aud still like 
 clock-work those two forms kept on. They had passed 
 the curve and were making the final effort. Like hun- 
 dred-yard men they flew down the stretch, breast with 
 breast. The cheering for an instant ceased, and then 
 began with renewed vigor as George, within twenty 
 yards of the finish, put forth a supreme effort and dis- 
 tanced his rival by fully two yards. But, as he was 
 about to breast the worsted, he suddenly sprang aside 
 and let Creighton win. Tom had won his bet. 
 
 The storm of applause which was bursting forth in 
 honor of George, was changed into a great commotion 
 when the spectators perceived what had been done. 
 
 Tom was angry at the outcome, but the affair was 
 done so quickly he had not the power to stop himself. 
 The record was broken and Tom had won his bet. But 
 did he win it ? There was a question for him to consider. 
 
 The judges declared all bets off", and praised both men 
 
94 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 for their gamy fight. When Tom thought the matter 
 over seriously, he saw the true man there was in his 
 rival, and, like the gentleman he proved to be, apolo- 
 gized to George that evening. After the reconciliation of 
 the two rivals, there were not two better friends in col- 
 lege than George Radbourn and Tom Creighton. 
 
 B. C. Taylor, '97. 
 
 May Musings. 
 
 TQ RIGHT the sunlight sheds afar 
 J A wealth of brilliancy. 
 
 Does it kiss the lips where the roses are, 
 The lips of my love, for me ? 
 
 Soft the balmy zephyrs blow 
 
 Through ev'ry budding tree. 
 Do they breathe a message, sweet and low , 
 
 From the lips of my love to me ? 
 
 Buoyant seems the new-born spring 
 
 With ceaseless harmony. 
 Does it bring more close, by its heightening, 
 
 The heart of my love, to me ? 
 
 H. B. Metcalf, '93. 
 
J-3» 3 3 : 
 
DARTMOUTH BUILDINGS AT PRESENT 95 
 
 The Dartmouth Buildings at 
 Present. 
 
 VIEV/ of the main group of the College buildings, 
 as it appears at present, is much less peculiarly 
 characteristic of Dartmouth than the pictures of the 
 same group at earlier dates. Then they formed almost, 
 or quite, the whole institution ; a distinction which now 
 they certainly cannot claim. 
 
 The most notable change in the row, since 1850, has 
 been the addition of Rollins Chapel, on the extreme 
 left, and Wilson Hall, the Library, on the right, which 
 were built in 1885. One alteration in Dartmouth Hall 
 is worthy of mention ; that is, the arrangement of the cen- 
 tral entrance. In former years the organ (the one now 
 in Bartlett Hall) occupied a position beside the one door, 
 and the platform was opposite. The seniors sat in the 
 front benches, right across the room, and behind them 
 came the other classes in order, the freshmen in the rear. 
 This system proved the cause of endless trouble, for it 
 afforded an excellent opportunity for the sophomores to 
 kick the departing freshmen down the steps ; an oppor- 
 tunity which they, of course, did not neglect. Accord- 
 ingly, about 1870, the central door was fastened up and 
 two others substituted, one on each side, and the organ 
 and platform changed places. The classes were located 
 
96 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 as at present, the seniors in the front middle seats, the 
 juniors on the front sides, the sophomores on the north 
 side, and the freshmen on the south. 
 
 The removal of all the fences has improved the appear- 
 ance of the yard. The old fence of the preceding picture 
 was succeeded by a hawthorn hedge, and that, in turn, 
 about the time of the building of the Library and 
 Chapel, by a wire fence. The laying of the tar-concrete 
 walks, about eight or ten years ago, was a change 
 greatly appreciated by the students. 
 
 Prominent among the events of the last few decades in 
 the history of the college, is the establishment of two of 
 the associated departments, the New Hampshire College 
 of Agriculture and the Mechanic Arts, organized in 1868 
 in accordance with the act of the New Hampshire legisla- 
 ture, — removed to Durham in 1892; and the Thayer 
 School of Civil Engineering, founded in 1871 by Gen. 
 Sylvanus Thayer of South Braintree, Mass., of the class 
 of 1807. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96. 
 
THE OLD PINE 9T 
 
 The Old Pine. 
 
 (May, 1895.) 
 
 rX is night upon the hill, 
 
 And the wind all softly creeps — 
 Creeps softly, low and still, 
 Where the old pine vigil keeps. 
 
 And the murmuring trees around 
 Breathe a prayer to the midnight air, 
 
 With a faint and fitftd sound, 
 For the old pine dying there. 
 
 There's a rustle in the grass ; 
 
 And in silent, mournful throng, 
 The shades of each old class. 
 
 Sing a last, low, farewell song. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, ye ancient pine; 
 
 A sacred memory is thine. 
 Farewell to thee, 
 Old college tree ; 
 Farewell, Old Pine. 
 
 W. B. Plumer, '96. 
 
98 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The Old Pine. 
 
 TffiOOKED upon for years as a landmark of fabulous 
 age, an inherent part of the college, respected and 
 revered by all who knew it, the old pine stood upon the 
 hill, watching over the dear old college. It was the last 
 of its kind, and no young shoot sprang up to take its 
 place, and for a century and a half it kept its vigil and 
 calmly watched over the early growth and later progress 
 of the historic institution. 
 
 Various attempts have been made by those interested 
 in the subject, to prove that the old pine was growing 
 even before the settlement of this country by the Eng- 
 lish ; as one writer put it : "It was a young shoot when 
 our fathers landed at Plymouth in 1620," while others 
 have sought to link with its history the old tradition 
 about the three Indians meeting around the tree and 
 singing their farewell song. 
 
 Ex-President Samuel Colcord Bartlett doubtless knows 
 more about the true history of the old tree than does 
 any one else. He emphatically denies the story of the 
 planting by the three Indians, and is firm in his belief 
 that the tree is not more than 150 years old. In the 
 first place, no three Indians can be fixed upon as forming 
 any educated, leave-taking trio, and, as to the song 
 which they were supposed to have sung, that was pub- 
 
The Old Pine. 
 

THE OLD PINE 99 
 
 listed in an old collection of poetry, without the follow- 
 ing so-called "pine stanza" — 
 
 " When these burnished locks are grej, 
 Thinned by many a toil-spent day, 
 When around this youthful pine 
 Moss shall creep and ivy twine. 
 Long may this loved bower remain, 
 Here may we three meet again." 
 
 In regard to the age of the pine, Dr. Bartlett arrived 
 at his conclusion after careful comparison with other 
 ttees in respect to height, size, rings, and other marked 
 features. Without doubt the old pine dates back to 
 a period earlier than the foundation of the college 
 in 1769, and it was probably a part of the forest which 
 covered what is now the town proper and the sur- 
 rounding hills. Some of its fellows, as they lay on the 
 ground after the first six acres had been cleared for the 
 college buildings, measured 270 feet in length. Growing, 
 as it did, on a ledge, it never reached such a height, yet 
 from its commanding position it always served as a 
 conspicuous and imposing landmark. 
 
 The actual history of the pine begins about the year 
 1840, when the senior class, during commencement week, 
 gathered about the tree and passed around a pipe, from 
 w^hich each member took a whiff, in supposed imitation 
 of the Indian tradition. This custom was perpetuated, 
 and before long an address and a poem were added to 
 the exercises and carried out down to the present day. 
 
 In 1892 the lightning struck the old tree and the top 
 was shattered. After that it steadilv failed, and last 
 
100 BCHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Spring, when all Nature began to clothe herself anew, 
 the old pine from its high position stood forth with red- 
 dened needles, looking as if its life had indeed burned out. 
 Here, for nearly sixty years, each class met to say 
 good-bye to the dear old college ; here they smoked the 
 farewell pipe of peace and friendship ; here the old tree, 
 with the wind sighing through its branches, whispered, 
 w^ith siren-like voice, a plaintive adieu, mingled with 
 alluring words of encouragement. Known by every 
 graduate and friend of old Dartmouth, when, during the 
 summer of 1895, the news that it had been cut down 
 was spread abroad over the country, it seemed as if the 
 college had lost a true and almost human friend. Com- 
 ing classes can never appreciate, or feel that thrill which 
 makes the heart-beat quicken ; they can never realize the 
 strong sentiment which existed regarding the old pine, 
 but as this dear old friend, almost the last of the old 
 Dartmouth, passes from the stage of action, every one is 
 reminded of the fact that Time changes all things, and 
 that the dear old tree, after guiding the old college to 
 within sight of a new era and the promised land, quietly 
 retired to make room for the New Dartmouth. 
 
 L. S. Cox, '96. 
 
Louis Sherburne Cox, '96. 
 
TO OUR ALMA MATEJt , , , IQl 
 
 To Our Alma Mater. 
 
 n^HERE is a College deep among the hills, 
 1 Though old in years, in spirit young and strong; 
 At thought of which each heart with rapture thrills, 
 To Dartmouth let us raise a hearty song. 
 The Dartmouth spirit 
 
 To our song we '11 bring — 
 Let the world hear it, 
 As challenge we fling. 
 
 Here 's to Dartmouth old and hoary ! 
 
 Here 's to Dartmouth ever young ! 
 Let us sing her fame and glory,— 
 
 Sing a song with heart and tongue, 
 Till the skies reecho o'er us 
 With the mighty-sounding chorus. 
 Throbbing proudly, 
 Swelling loudly, 
 Of a song as yet unsung. 
 Here 's to Dartmouth old and hoary ! 
 Here 's to Dartmouth ever young ! 
 
 K. Knowlton, '94. 
 
,tQ2 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 At Twilight. 
 
 r LOVE to dream and rest at twilight best, 
 When sinks the sun beyond the crimson west, 
 
 When softly tells the swell of low, sweet bells, 
 The homing of the herds from dew3^ dells ; 
 
 Then troop the ghostly shadows o'er the plain ; 
 The wood-thrush ripples dear his silvery strain. 
 
 But best of all I love the mellow light 
 That ushers in the frostj' autumn night. 
 
 When stirs the breeze among the rustling trees, 
 And sighs for sadness in the dying leaves. 
 
 I love to ramble down the village street 
 And see the cheery fireside's glowing heat, 
 
 The ruddy children laughing by the flames, 
 Some cracking nuts, or others playing games. 
 
 As one by one the cold, bright stars appear, 
 I turn my steps to seek the fireside's cheer. 
 
 The supper table robed in snowy white 
 Has merry faces round its wealth tonight. 
 
 And what care I though dead be leaf and flower. 
 After a walk at autumn's twilight hour ? 
 
 Le B. M. Huntington, '98. 
 
Nathaniel Ladd Foster, '96. 
 
A TURKEY FEATHER 103 
 
 A Turkey Feather. 
 
 JAMES REED was stretched luxuriously out in the 
 chair of one of Hanover's barbers, while that worthy, 
 who was new to his business, and, therefore, inordinately 
 careful, lathered his face for the fourth time. The youth, 
 who was a sophomore, appeared to be well satisfied 
 with himself, judging from the complacent, reminiscent 
 look upon his face. In fact, he was occupied with what 
 were to him very pleasant thoughts, and he did not 
 really see the chromo to which his vacant eye was di- 
 rected. He was going over, in his mind, all the incidents 
 of his successful turkey expedition of the night before. 
 He was wondering what would be the feelings of the 
 farmer when he went to count his fowls that morning. 
 I am sorry to say that "Jim," as he was called by his 
 friends, was able to see but one side of the affair, i. e., 
 his own. For he had accepted, without question, the 
 code of college ethics which declares that there is a 
 distinct difference, in fact, no analogy, between the 
 appropriation of turkeys and stealing. 
 
 While the barber was sharpening his razor, Jim glanced 
 carelessly around the room. There were only two other 
 occupants, one a student and the other a rather seedy 
 representative of the agricultural class. He saw, with- 
 out noticing it particularly, that the man seemed inter- 
 ested in the cut of his trousers, judging from the intent 
 
104. ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 gaze bestowed upon them. Jim glanced complacently at 
 the carefully creased production of the modern tailor, 
 and then, by way of comparison, at the patched and 
 faded ones of the farmer, and slighth'- smiled. As he 
 turned his head to receive the attentions of the razor, he 
 could see from the corner of his eye that the tiller of the 
 soil still kept an intent and rather peculiar look upon 
 his trousers. Looking more carefully', he discovered, 
 somewhat to his dismay, that near the bottom, on the 
 side next to the farmer, was a small but undoubted 
 turkey feather. It came over his rather guilty con- 
 science that the man must certainly be the owner of his 
 last night's spoils. But no! How foolish he was. 
 There was very little chance that such a coincidence 
 should happen. And, besides, what if it was so ? A 
 mere feather didn't prove anything. But, in spite of this 
 reasoning he could not banish a feeling of uneasiness, 
 which was increased by the fact that the corner of his 
 eye told him that the steady gaze of his tormentor did 
 not abate, but, as it seemed to him, became more and 
 more intent. He turned his face so that the barber could 
 shave the opposite side, and this put the man out of the 
 line of his vision. But the relief was only momentary, 
 as he could seem to feel that the feather was still the 
 cynosure of those eyes. He thought of brushing it off 
 with his other leg, but saw that this would "give him 
 away" more than ever. 
 
 The farmer now gave two or theee coughs, that 
 sounded terribly significant to the now thoroughly 
 alarmed student. He recalled that a senior had said, 
 the night before, that most of the turkey owners any- 
 
A TURKEY FEATHER 105 
 
 where around Hanover had vowed to send to prison any 
 student-thief they could catch. He pictured to himself 
 the distress of his parents, and, worse than all, that of a 
 " girl he knew." That settled it. He would try the only 
 way that he could see, and throw himself upon the 
 mercy of the man, and, by the promise of a large sum 
 of money, try to buy him oif. Rising hastily from his 
 chair, for the gentleman of the razor had finally com- 
 pleted his task, Jim beckoned the farmer to come out- 
 side. The latter, with wonder expressed all over his 
 face, followed him out. At first he did not seem to 
 understand w^hat the jumbled-up confession of the boy 
 was all about. But he did have intelligence enough to 
 pocket the twenty-dollar bill held out to him. Jim 
 finally noticed that something was wrong, and began 
 to think he had perhaps made a mistake after all. and 
 abruptly stopped and waited for the other to speak. 
 And this is what he heard: "Young feller, I did some 
 wonder where that turkey feather came from, but I 
 don't jest know what you mean by yer talk about 
 takin' my turkeys, 'cause I ain't never kep' any. But, 
 as fer the money, I ain't too proud to take it, and God 
 bless ye fer it. It '11 help me and Mary out wonderfull " ; 
 and with that he started gaily toward his broken-down 
 horse and wagon. 
 
 And that is why James Reed could never afterwards 
 be drawn into turkey parties, and why his monthly 
 account, which he sent home to his father, contained the 
 following item : 
 
 Charity $20.00 
 
 N. L. Foster, '96. 
 
106 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Memories of Horace. 
 
 a "O EHOLD Soracte white with winter snow," 
 J Ah, grand old poet of the Sabine farm, 
 
 I never read thy memory-haunting psalm, 
 But what Ascutney, lying blue and low 
 Upon the south, and veiled in misty glow, 
 
 Doth come to me, and all the mellow charm 
 Of those long summer days of holy calm 
 We passed with Alma Mater long ago. 
 
 What though Soracte now with snow is white, 
 What though the summer days come not again ! 
 Heap high the fire from Memory's plenteous store, 
 
 With summer fagots cheer the winter night, 
 
 Fling far away the thoughts of grief and pain, 
 And let our souls be jovial once more. 
 
 F. L. Pattee, '88. 
 
> >>1 
 
 >»»3 
 
 
Charles Nicholas McCall, '98. 
 
PLEDGING A FRESHMAN 107 
 
 Pledging a Freshman. 
 
 YOUNG Freshman once arrived at Dartmouth Col- 
 lege, fresh from the comforts of home and the com- 
 panionship of doting relatives. He felt very lonely 
 as, standing in the hall of the Wheelock, where he had 
 temporarily taken tip his abode, he looked about at the 
 strange faces and listened to the bustle and confusion 
 attending the arrival of students. He was almost in- 
 clined to think of giving up college and of returning 
 once more to his home. However, he considered that, 
 after awhile, he would become acquainted with his fel- 
 low-students, and that then college life would become 
 bearable, if not enjoyable. 
 
 Suddenly he saw one of the strangers who were stand- 
 ing about in the hall, advance toward him, smiling 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "Is this Mr. Greene?" asked the stranger, cordially 
 extending his hand. 
 
 The Freshman acknowledged his identity. 
 
 "I heard that you were coming," said the stranger; 
 "we have been looking out for you. Come over here 
 and I will introduce \'ou to my friend, Mr. Upsilon Psi." 
 
 The Freshman timidly followed his new friend to the 
 other side of the hall, where he was introduced to a man 
 as complete a stranger to him as had been the first. 
 The two chatted to him very pleasantly, on various 
 
108 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 matters, for a considerable time. Finally, Mr. Upsilon 
 Psi observed, kindly laying his band on the Freshman's 
 shoulder:- 
 
 "Mr. Greene, we wonld like to take yon over to our 
 fraternity 'chin.' There are a good many of the fellows 
 from your town in our society, and we would like you 
 to come over, so we can see how we like you and you 
 can see how you like us." 
 
 Mr. Greene gladly agreed to go, and thought how 
 kind it was of these lordly Sophomores, or Jimiors, or 
 perhaps Seniors, to take so much interest in a poor lone 
 Freshman like himself But when he arrived at the 
 "chin" his wonder and pleasure increased. Everyone 
 seemed interested to hear about where he came from and 
 to learn what his tastes were, and they gave him ice 
 cream and cake and treated him royally. By and by he 
 said that he must return to the Wheelock. and Mr. Up- 
 silon Psi and the mysterious man who had first ac- 
 costed him, — and whose name he did not yet know, — 
 volunteered to escort him thither. 
 
 " How do j^ou like our fellows ? " inquired Mr. Upsilon 
 Psi, as the three walked back together. 
 
 "Very much, indeed," replied the Freshman; "you've 
 treated me finely, and I am ever so much obliged to 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, don't mention it," said the mysterious man, 
 "but now, see. You say you like our fellows; I can 
 assure you that they like you. Now, why should you 
 wait any longer ? Why not pledge tonight to join our 
 society?" 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Greene, somewhat embarrassed, "I 
 
PLEDGING A FRESHMAN 109 
 
 promised to go down to a * A A * chin ' tomorrow 
 uight, so I 'm afraid I '11 have to wait till after that," 
 
 "Oh, very well," said the mj^sterious man, somewhat 
 reproachfully, " of course, if you like. But when you're 
 'chinned' by a society like T ^, it is not a time to 
 hesitate or delay." 
 
 "No, of course not," replied the Freshman, hurriedly; 
 "but, you see, I've promised and I can't very well help 
 going." 
 
 "No, I suppose not," said Mr. Upsilon Psi, magnan- 
 imouvsly; "well, we'll see you after tomorrow night. 
 Here we are at the door. Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night." said Greene ; "thank you very much for 
 your kindness." 
 
 But the Freshman was not j-et to retire to his lonely 
 room. In the hotel hall he met a man who introduced 
 himself as Air. Epsilon Deeke, w^ho was very cordial and 
 friendly, and who insisted on hauling him off to another 
 "chin" that same evening, despite the Freshman's plea 
 of having some algebra to study. At the "chin" Mr. 
 Deeke and his friends sang the praises of the E K A fra- 
 ternity; and, on hearing of the Freshman's previous 
 experience, warned him, with every appearance of anx- 
 ious interest in his welfare, that, though T ^ was, un- 
 doubtedly, a fine society, and many of its members fine 
 fellows, still it was a well-known fact that it contained 
 some of the most notorious "sports" in college. He 
 also had it duly impressed upon him that E K A was the 
 largest society in the country and had the greatest num- 
 ber of chapters, and that, in Dartmouth, it had the best 
 representation on the athletic teams, and on the dra- 
 
110 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 matic and the intisical clubs. It was full twelve o'clock 
 that night when Mr. Greene threw his tired form upon 
 his bed in the Wheelock. 
 
 The next evening, in spite of the counter attraction of 
 a foot-ball rush, he proceeded, under the kind care of 
 Mr. Alfadelt, to the "chin" of the fraternity of * A A. 
 Here the scenes of the preceding CA-ening were repeated, 
 and everyone w^as attentive, interested, and kind. They 
 asked him by what societies he had already been 
 "chinned," and, when he told them, gave him some use- 
 ful information about these fraternities. E K A, he was 
 told, w^as a nefarious organization, and, in its anxiety 
 to increase its numbers, used methods to induce Fresh- 
 men to pledge, which at once gained it the contempt of 
 the glorious * A A society. "As for T ^," said Mr. 
 Kressent, one of the leading <i» A A men, " well, we call it 
 our equal, and we two are certainly the best societies in 
 college; but," he added confidentially, and speaking in 
 a lower tone, " T '<P' has been going down hill lately, as 
 some of the men admitted last year show. Now, ours is 
 the oldest living Greek Letter Society ; its distinguished 
 members are scattered all over the country, and the man 
 who joins it will never have reason to regret it." 
 
 "And then look at our pin," said Mr. Alfadelt, proudly 
 pointing to his own, "isn't it a beauty ? " Why, all the 
 other societies envy us and confess we have a prettier 
 pin than any of them." 
 
 Mr. Greene was duly impressed by this important 
 argument in favor of joining the society. 
 
 A vigorous attack was then made upon the Fresh- 
 man. Mr. Kressent, ably assisted by Mr. Alfadelt, Mr. 
 
PLEDGING A FRESHMAN 111 
 
 N. Thusiast, and Mr. Starr, talked to him for about half 
 an hour, and so fired him with enthusiasm by the many 
 tales of the glory of the fraternity, the brotherly love 
 existing within it, and the magnificent literary advan- 
 tages oifered, that, unwilling to let such a wonderful op- 
 portunity slip, and fearful that delay might injure his 
 chances of admission, he pledged. Soon after he re- 
 turned to the Wheelock, happy and pleased with himself, 
 and, as he took off his coat, preparatory to retiring, 
 glanced with pride at the pledge button which one of his 
 kind # A A friends had placed in his button-hole. 
 
 The next week was one of hard work to the Fresh- 
 man, and he did not see many of those who had been so 
 kind to him. He noticed, indeed, that he was not so 
 much sought after as before, and he had few callers, save 
 that one or another of his ^ A A friends would drop in 
 occasionally, still kind and pleasant, though perhaps not 
 quite so beaming as on the night of the "chin." 
 
 One day he met Mr. Upsilon Psi and the mysterious 
 man (whose name was Dyamund, he had disco A^ered,) 
 walking down the street. He bowed pleasantly, but 
 there was little response. Mr. Upsilon Psi gave him 
 a cold, pitying smile, and the mysterious man gazed 
 dreamily down the street. Mr. Deeke, too, whom he 
 met often, seemed strangely indifferent about his welfare. 
 
 "Well," said the Freshman, philosophically, "my 4> A A 
 friends will stick b\' me." 
 
 But in two months this fact had ceased to give much 
 comfort. They had stuck by him, indeed. He had given 
 to Mr. Kressent a good-sized check for a pin, and to Mr. 
 Starr some cash down for an initiation fee. With money 
 
112 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 gone, and more, perhaps, to go, and with the terrors of 
 initiation looming up before him, the Freshman began 
 to wonder if secret societies were such fine things, after 
 all, or if they did not partake somewhat of the character 
 of frauds. 
 
 Did he find anything to repay him when he got inside ? 
 
 It is doubtful. He has not told. 
 
 C. N. McCall, '98. 
 
 @/l 
 
 A Glance. 
 
 PAIR of eyes I saw but once 
 Are looking into mine, 
 And in their play, 
 The laughter gay 
 And tender grace together shine, 
 As when I saw them beaming there. 
 
 Come, Cupid, tell your captive where 
 
 Their owner dwells today, 
 
 That I may thither stray. 
 And drink again the dazzling wine 
 That sparkles with a wealth divine, 
 
 Within two eyes I saw but once. 
 
 H. B. Metcaxf, '93. 
 
Harry Bingham MetcaIf* 'S's,, 
 
w 
 
 THE OLD CLOCK 113 
 
 The Old Clock. 
 
 ITH all thy memories and all 
 
 Thy moments dear to me, 
 Old Clock upon the college hall, 
 
 My heart goes out to thee ; 
 Four fleeting years, no longer thine, 
 
 Since time ran on apace, 
 Four golden years, I count as mine, 
 
 While thou and I were face to face. 
 
 But Time, which conquers all at length, 
 
 Has conquered thee, old friend, 
 And all thy pride and early strength 
 
 Are coming to an end ; 
 Thy weary hands are sometimes slow. 
 
 Or cease to move at all. 
 While shadows come and shadows go 
 
 Along the ancient gable wall. 
 
 While others in their thoughtless mood 
 
 Reproach thee for delay, 
 I ask thee not to make it good 
 
 If thou must lose a day ; 
 Forget the later, cruel jest. 
 
 Which careless lips have said, 
 Remember that they knew thee least — 
 
 Thy oldest friends have long been dead. 
 
114 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Men have their many holidays 
 
 And periods of rest, 
 And still they weary of their ways 
 
 And lose their youthful zest ; 
 So thou, Old Clock, for faithful zeal 
 
 Thy tired hands may stay, 
 And rest thee for thy better weal 
 
 In an eternal holiday. 
 
 W. D. Spencer. '95. 
 
 A Nocturne. 
 
 n^HE soft and sylph-like shadows throw 
 1 A robe about the dying day, 
 
 And dark-eyed night, with laughter low, 
 Trails in the sky her glittering train. 
 
 The soft, sweet-scented western wind 
 Seems but the breath of lovely night. 
 
 As through the latticed, open blind, 
 It woos me with its whisperings. 
 
 The soothing voice of rippling streams, 
 The music of the meadow marsh, 
 
 But lulls me with delicious dreams, 
 And I am lost in slumberland. 
 
 Le B. M. Huntington, '97. 
 
LeBarox Mjxroe HOxtington, '98. 
 
t c c t tc i ; 
 
 '^ *■ ' I t r ^ 
 
 
A QUESTION OF ETHICS 115 
 
 A Question of Ethics. 
 
 TT is often repeated that college students live in a world 
 of their own, a world whose events and problems, 
 sometimes at least, differ very materially from those of 
 all other places. Perhaps the contrast is more in ap- 
 pearance than in reality, in form than in fundamental 
 principle. However this may be, there are certain kinds 
 of experiences for whose exact likeness we must certainly 
 seek in vain amid any but academic surroundings. Of 
 such is an incident recently related to me by a middle- 
 aged gentleman with whom I chanced to strike up a 
 travelling acquaintance. He had been relating several 
 of his exploits, performed during an active career at one 
 of our New England institutions, and my interest was 
 already at a high pitch, when, after a few moments of 
 meditation, he commenced upon this : 
 
 "The strangest and most serious predicament that I 
 was ever involved in while in college," he said, " was the 
 very last. This was the way of it: The trouble all 
 began with a circumstance no less trival than the failure 
 of our librarian to note the return of a book that I had 
 drawn. I can remember just how that volume looked — 
 a red-covered edition of 'Marmion,' with the name in 
 big fancy letters on the cover. Well, in consequence of 
 the Professor's carelessness, it remained on the list 
 charged to me. This error could easily have been dis- 
 
116 ECHOED FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 covered, of course, if there hadn't been any complica- 
 tions; but, as it was, another fellow happened to steal 
 the same identical volume, a few days after I had taken 
 it back — though few such thefts were successfully com- 
 mitted with us — and that was the real cause of the row. 
 
 "This was at the beginning of the last term of Senior 
 year. About two months later I received notice, much 
 to my surprise, that ' Marmion ' w^as long overdue I 
 protested that I had returned it, but to no use ; the ab- 
 sence of the book from the library shelves corroborated 
 the records. Even under such circumstances my word 
 might have sufficed, if my conduct during my course had 
 been reasonably good; but the truth is, as you have 
 seen, that I was always a rather harum-scarum sort of 
 a rascal, and could hardly expect to be trusted against 
 such evidence. Still, I thought that since Commence- 
 ment was so near, the affair might come to nothing; 
 but in this I was disappointed. The faculty was par- 
 ticularly anxious to pitt a stop to the habit of pilfering 
 before it became general, and met my continued asser- 
 tions of innocence with a declaration that I shouldn't 
 be allowed to graduate until I should return the missing 
 volume or furnish another copy ; in either case, of course, 
 submitting to some disciplining besides. 
 
 " This made things look rather bad. It would be hard 
 enough on any fellow to compel him to take his choice 
 between proclaiming himself a thief and a liar when he 
 was neither, or else forfeiting his degree; but it was 
 especiall}^ unfortunate for me. My father, knowing my 
 natural proclivities, had sent me to college as a sort of 
 an experiment. He had especially told me, when I 
 
A QUESTION OF ETHICS 117 
 
 entered, that if I got my diploma he would take me 
 with him into his business, — a large and prosperous 
 one, — but that, if 1 failed to pull through, I should have 
 to take care of mj'self afterwards; and I knew that 
 he was by all odds too dogmatic and absolute to be 
 prevented by any excuses or explanations, however 
 plausible, from fulfilling the literal meaning of his words. 
 
 " One chance of honorable escape v/as still left. I hap- 
 pened, by mere accident, to know who it was that 
 really had the troublesome book ; so I went to him and 
 told the story, attempting to prove, what seemed clear 
 enough to me, that the only thing for him to do was 
 to take back the volume and acknowledge his responsi- 
 bility. I failed to convince him. As luck would have it, 
 he was on probation, and the detection of the theft, as 
 he said, would undoubtedly result in his expulsion. He 
 argued that, on the other hand, I was really in no pre- 
 dicament at all, as I could get out of the fix completely 
 by returning a copy of the book to the library under 
 protest. 'For,' said he, 'if \'ou stick it out that you 
 didn't take it, the faculty will be convinced that you 
 didn't anyway, so your reputation will be all right; and 
 now they 've said they vsron't let you graduate unless 
 you replace the d — d thing, they won't.' 
 
 "The truth of the latter statement I realized only too 
 well. The former I knew to be unwarranted, but I could 
 not persuade him that such was the case. I kept talk- 
 ing on in despair, and at last even threatened to de- 
 nounce him; but I had my trouble for my pains. He 
 knew w^ell enough that I wouldn't actually go so far 
 as that. 'Denounce, then, and be a sneak,' he said. 
 
118 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 ' 'T won't be any worse for me than if I confess myself,* 
 he added. The logic of that remark was unanswerable, 
 I knew, in the eyes of such a fellow^ as he ; so I wasted 
 no more breath on him. 
 
 "Only two alternatives now remained, for the false 
 sense of honor made me dismiss at once the idea of really 
 giving information against the ctilprit. I might refuse to 
 comply with the conditions for my graduation imposed 
 by the faculty, and throw away my chances for a quick 
 rise in business ; or I might return to the library a copy 
 of 'Marmion,' and thus, in the eyes of the college, ex- 
 change my honor for the degree — for, in spite of any 
 number of protests, everyone would have regarded such 
 a course as practically an admission of guilt. The ques- 
 tion w^as, whether my reputation with the few hundred 
 individuals who made up the students and faculty was 
 worth the sacrifice I must undergo to keep it clean. I 
 spent a good while in deliberation, and for a long time I 
 was undecided. Finally my pride gained the upper hand. 
 I went to the President and told him that 1 had positive 
 knowledge that the book had been stolen by another fel- 
 low; that I would never plead guilty to a false accusa- 
 tion, and that I would not reveal the name of the thief. 
 The result was as I expected; the professors were 
 inflexible, and would not allow me to receive a degree. 
 
 "It would, doubtless, have made a more dramatic 
 story if this incident had ruined all my subsequent life ; 
 but that was not the case. Though I was thrown at 
 once on my own resources, and though the death of my 
 father, three years later, put an end to the idea that I 
 might finally get into his business after all, which some 
 
A QUESTION OF ETHICS 119 
 
 small measure of success had put into my head — 'Hope 
 springs eternal in the' (what is it?) 'human breast,' 
 you know — still, I think I have made my way nearly 
 as well as I should have done in company with him. 
 Nevertheless, it has always been a question with me, 
 and I suppose it always will be. whether, considering 
 the circumstances, I really made the most rational 
 decision. What do you think aliout it ? " 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96. 
 
 What Care I? 
 
 IJLJHAT care I if the cruel world 
 
 Shows its harsher side to me ? 
 What care I if fortune fickle 
 
 Turns her back, nor smiles on me ? 
 What care I if troubles come, — 
 
 Friends desert me — old and new? 
 What care I for all these things 
 If one loving heart be true ? 
 
 H. S. Baketel, D. M. C. 
 
120 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Apple Blossoms. 
 
 ^rNDER the apple tree standing, 
 
 Peeping half slyly from covert so green ; 
 Fairest of all the waving May blossoms, 
 
 Maiden, half hidden, half seen! 
 The full joyous notes of springtime welling, 
 Thy praises alone to my heart are telling. 
 
 Beauteous apple tree blossoms ! 
 
 Flowers by May day's breezes soft stirred; 
 Fluttering so lightly down from the branches, 
 
 Shaken by wandering bird ; 
 Thy pink and white tints in harmony blending, 
 
 A message of joy to my heart are sending. 
 
 Fragrant and quick-fading blossoms ! 
 
 Mingling thy perfume with eve's gentle dew ! 
 Crown with the beauty of languishing petal 
 
 My darling, so tender, so true, 
 Affection's own soul! whose love enduring, 
 Eternity's bliss to my heart's assuring. 
 
 I. J. Cox, '96. 
 
9^3 
 • * 
 
Sherman Roberts Moulton, '98. 
 
JOHN FREE MAX 121 
 
 John Freeman. 
 
 T KNEW John Freeman very well. Fie was in my class, 
 that of 186-, and we were thrown together very 
 much, since the Dartmouth of those days was not so 
 large as now. John was a typical New Englander, tall, 
 raw-boned and strong, with an honest, open tace that 
 made yon instinctively feel that he was a man to be 
 trusted. He was "slow in speech and slow in wrath," 
 and a hard worker, for he was poor and must make his 
 w^ay in the w^orld. 
 
 A direct contrast to him in most points w^as his room- 
 mate and chum, Harry Fitzhugh, of Richmond, Virginia. 
 Harry was rather short, dark and wiry, and in tem- 
 perament a regular Southerner. He had one of the 
 finest tenor voices in college, and many times have I 
 listened to his singing, accompanied with many a false 
 note from his room-mate's banjo. 
 
 It seemed surprising to many, that tw^o men so unlike 
 as John and Harry should be such friends. Indeed, they 
 said that the only point that the two held in common 
 was the love of truth. The reason of their friendship 
 was this. One day, while skating on the Connecticut, 
 Harry had ventured upon some thin ice, which had 
 broken under his weight, and he would probably have 
 been drowned had not John come to the rescue. This 
 had happened in the winter of their Freshman year, and 
 from that time they were hardly ever separate, until 
 
122 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 the event came which was to change the course of their 
 lives — the civil w^ar. 
 
 There was great excitement in the little New England 
 college when the news of the firing upon Fort Sumter 
 reached Hanover, and all realized that the war had, in 
 truth, begun. Those Southerners who had not already- 
 gone home now did so, and among the number was 
 Harry Fitzhugh. It was hard for him to say good-bye 
 to John, and the two vowed eternal friendship, and each 
 promised to aid the other if in trouble. Then they 
 parted, and John went to enlist in the regiment which 
 was being organized at his home. 
 
 The rest of the story is known by hearsay alone. 
 Harry Fitzhugh went steadily up in the scale of rank, 
 until, in 1863, he was made colonel for gallantry upon 
 the field. Indeed, so brave was he, that when a man 
 was needed for a particularly important and perilous 
 mission, he was naturally the man selected. Entering 
 the Union lines in disguise, he succeeded in discharging 
 his business, and had all but escaped, when he was dis- 
 covered and pursued. Wounded by a shot from his pur- 
 suers, he stumbled and fell, but the enemy had lost track 
 of him, and for a time he was secure. Later on, how- 
 ever, he was discovered, lying behind a log, by one of 
 the soldiers, who was none other than his old college 
 chum, John Freeman. Filled with pity for the wounded 
 man, and the ties of friendship triumphing over the de- 
 mands of Avitj, John helped him to escape. The two 
 friends never met again. John fell in a skirmish only 
 two days afterwards, and Harry, who told me this tale, 
 
 is living now in Richmond. 
 
 S. R. MouLTON, '98. 
 
J J J J 
 
DARTMOUTH HALL SPEAKS 123 
 
 Dartmouth Hall Speaks. 
 
 T 
 
 O be toru down ! 
 
 So soon forgotten all our past ? 
 A centurv- of struggles classed 
 As naught ? And, Dartmouth, when at last 
 We 've won, you 'd tear me down. 
 
 To be torn down ! 
 Sons of " Old Dartmouth," you 're my own. 
 Will you see me thus overthrown ? 
 Your boasted love for me outgrown 
 So soon ? Then tear me down. 
 
 To be torn down ! 
 No, Honored College, vain my fears! 
 A parent weighed by honored years 
 Is safe. A century's love endears 
 Too well to be crushed down. 
 
 F. V. Bennis, '98. 
 
124 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 A College Picture. 
 
 TT is autumn, and college life has again begun. It is 
 early dawn and quiet broods over the slumbering 
 village. The golden beams of the morning sun rise 
 peacefully from their hiding, over the beautiful eastern 
 hills, and shed their benediction on the old group of 
 classic structures. The3' seem to kiss the blushing fol- 
 iage of the historic maples and scintillate in regal splen- 
 dor among the crystal drops of dew. Mists are dissi- 
 pating from the campus, a dense bank of fog is hovering 
 o'er the river and all is still. 
 
 The evening songs have been sung. The occasional 
 blow on the table, as the winning card goes down, is no 
 longer heard. The midnight "feed " is over. The latest 
 nocturnal rambler has returned and drawn his nightly 
 shroud about him. All, from the jolly fat man to the 
 gravest old "plugger," are enjoying that last sweet re- 
 pose on the boundarj^ between night and day. A calm 
 and peaceful serenity rests on the scene. There is not a 
 stir, nor a voice. All is still — gravely still — still like 
 death — the only quiet hour in a college town. 
 
 »*****»♦ 
 
 In an instant all is changed. Out peal the tones of 
 the old college bell, echoing in startling reverberations 
 
John Henry Bartlett, '94.. 
 
A COLLEGE PICTURE 125 
 
 through chamber and hall. Hundreds of classic sleepers 
 spring from their couches, suddenly aroused to thoughts 
 of breakfast, chapel, and studies. From every dormi- 
 tory they pour forth. The campus is alive with lines of 
 hurrying forms, scarcely yet awake to life. And yet they 
 continue to come, hastily darting from the doors, as the 
 sleepy eyes are pulled through the sweater, until the 
 latest slumberer is in action. 
 
 Soon the lines of humanity are reversed. In a studious 
 mood all are wending their ways toward the chapel. 
 Again strikes up the bell. All paces quicken. The last 
 fifteen warning strokes begin. The rear of the line is on 
 the run. They are fast counting off the strokes. A few 
 stragglers are sprinting down the campus. Alas, the 
 double stroke — the doors close with an ominous bang. 
 At the Rood House comer the sprinters stop in despair, 
 sigh for breath, grieve for another "cut," and the comedy 
 of the morning has been played. 
 
 J. H. Bartlett, '94. 
 
126 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 "WooDiN' Up." 
 
 Our daddies set the custom, 
 ( Ah, bless 'em, how we trust 'em, ) 
 A-stamping fit to bust 'em, 
 Woodin' up! 
 
 Let roll the solefal thunder 
 At Dick's all-harmless blunder. 
 " Get up ! " What horse ? we wonder, 
 Woodin' up! 
 
 The good pine floors have stood it 
 While class on class have wood it. 
 Let die the custom ! Could it, 
 Woodin' up ? 
 
 No, no ! Let 's go out dusty 
 From our Dartmouth, good and trusty. 
 And our custom never rusty, 
 Woodin' up ! 
 
 G. A. Green, '98. 
 
A.V EXPERIENCE WITH THE RHO KAP'S 127 
 
 An Experience with the Rho Kap's. 
 
 TT was raining hard, and Boston on a wet night is a 
 most disagreeable city. Washington and Tremont 
 streets were crowded with hurrying people. It was one 
 of those cold September nights which give warning of 
 the coming winter. At every fresh gust of wind the 
 traveller buttoned his coat more tightly about him and 
 hastened toward home. 
 
 One stranger alone seemed to be in no hurry, as he 
 stood gazing about him, debating whether or not he 
 should proceed. He did not long hesitate, however, as 
 a big, red-nosed patrolman came along just then, and 
 cried out : 
 
 "Come, get a move on, will yer; don't block up the 
 sidewalk that way." 
 
 The stranger, a large countrified-looking chap, who 
 could have crushed the big-waisted policeman with one 
 blow, turned, startled by the angry command, and 
 began to excuse himself. "I didn't mean any offense, 
 sir ; I was looking for the street that leads to the Union 
 Station, and — " 
 
 "None of yer 'back talk,' now, or I'll rim yer in; see! " 
 broke in the officer. 
 
 The stranger was about to make an angry retort, but, 
 on second thought, turned and went down the street. 
 
 A bright, good-looking little fellow, who had heard the 
 
128 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 conversation, hurried up to the stranger and asked if he 
 could be of any assistance to him. 
 
 "Well," answered the big fellow, with a peculiar 
 Western drawl, " I should like to find the Union Station, 
 if it ain't too much trouble for you to show me." 
 
 " Why, certainly not," answered the boy ; " I am going 
 that way myself, and — here's a car now. Jump on!" 
 After they were seated he said: "I am afraid our police 
 are not very polite, but then you get used to that sort of 
 thing after you have lived here awhile. Are you going 
 to take one of the evening trains out of the city ? " 
 
 ** Yes, I intend to take the late train for Hanover, New 
 Hampshire, where I am going to college." 
 
 "You don't mean to say that you are going to enter 
 Dartmouth?" 
 
 " Yes ; do you know anyone there ? " 
 
 " You bet I do ; my father gradu:ited there in the six- 
 ties, and I am going up there tomorrow myself and 
 enter as a Freshman, so I suppose we shall be class- 
 mates. How funny that we should meet in this way. 
 Gee! but won't you make a corker for the loot-ball 
 team?" 
 
 The stranger smiled, and said he did not know any- 
 thing about the game. 
 
 "O, that don't matter much," quickly replied the 
 other, "you '11 soon learn. But here we have been talk- 
 ing at a great rate and do n't know each other yet. My 
 name is Archie Kimball; 'Shorty,' the boys over to the 
 Latin School call me." 
 
 "And mine is Scott Raymond, from Eagle Heights, 
 Arkansas." 
 
AN EXPERIENCE WITH THE RHO KAP'S 129 
 
 ''Well, here we are at tlie Union Station," said Archie, 
 as they started to get out of the car, "and a good 
 quarter of an hour before the train goes." 
 
 Everything was rush and bustle for the next few min- 
 utes, and half an hour later found the two newly-made 
 friends on the way to their respective destinations ; the 
 one, rejoicing in his lucky acquaintance, the other, happy 
 because he had met a future classmate. 
 
 About a week later the two friends were installed as 
 Freshmen, and already Raymond had given promise of 
 a great foot-ball player. The two men so oddly matched 
 became great chums, and were to be found together al- 
 most every evening. One night, about ten o'clock, Ray- 
 mond was just leaving Archie's room, when he heard a 
 party of students coming in their direction, and caught 
 a snatch of the song: "Rho Kap' I am, Rho Kap' I'll 
 be, Rho Kap' through all eternity." 
 
 "That is the Sophomore hazing society," said Archie, 
 "and they are coming over to have some fun with me, 
 because I blew a horn after the foot-ball rush, the other 
 night. You 'd better not stay, as they may make trouble 
 for you." 
 
 "If they touch you while I am here," returned Ray- 
 mond, "there will be trouble. The cowards dare not 
 take anyone of their own size." 
 
 "They are knocking now," said Archie. "Come in," 
 and in walked ten or fifteen Sophs. 
 
 "We want you, Kimball," said the leader, a sporty- 
 looking fellow, with a tumed-up nose and sneering 
 mouth. 
 
 " What for ? " asked Archie. 
 
130 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 "No joking, Freshman; come along with us and do as 
 you are told." 
 
 "But what if I don't propose to let him," said Ray- 
 mond in his slow, drawling style, as he began to remove 
 his coat. 
 
 "You have nothing to say about it," answered the 
 leader angrily, and started for Archie, saying, "Come 
 on, boys." 
 
 He had got about half-waj^ across the room when he 
 found his shoulder in a vise-like grasp. In less time than 
 it takes to tell, Raymond knocked the two leaders' 
 heads together and then grabbed those nearest him. 
 The room was in a great state of commotion, and Rho 
 Kap's were sprawling about in all directions. Those 
 nearest the door sought safety in flight, and Archie 
 looked on with w^onder as his friend vented his rage on 
 the unfortunate hazers. 
 
 "And now," said Raymond, giving the leader a final 
 cuff, "if you or your crowd ever lay your hands on my 
 friend, I '11 trounce every one of you on sight." And he 
 looked as if he meant every word he said. 
 
 The Rho Kap's were fully convinced that the new foot- 
 ball star was capable of carrying out his threat, and it 
 is needless to say that Archie Kimball was not hazed 
 that fall. 
 
 "And to think," said Archie to his chum one day, 
 while talking over their impressions of the first few 
 weeks, "only think how strangely it happened that I 
 was not 'Rho Kapped.' My little assistance to you in 
 Boston was surely more than repaid." 
 
 B. C. Taylor, '97. 
 
CHAPEL BELL 131 
 
 Chapel Bell. 
 
 "LJLJHAT cuts athwart the morning air, 
 ^^ (Winter air!) 
 
 Arousing me to daylight's glare, 
 From my lair ? 
 
 Chapel Bell! 
 
 What makes me chew my morning steak 
 
 ( Leathern steak ! ) 
 In haste; some crullers grab, and make 
 
 A speedv break ? 
 
 Chapel Bell! 
 
 What makes me take a morning slide 
 
 ( Icy slide ! ) 
 Across the campus, on the glide, 
 Feet denied ? 
 
 Chapel Bell! 
 
 Single strokes. 
 G. A. Green. '98. 
 
132 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The New Quadrangle. 
 
 n^HE greatest single change ever brought about in 
 1 Dartmouth's external appearance will be the erec- 
 tion of the proposed "quadrangle." Perhaps, however, 
 it is hardly accurate to speak of this as a single ad- 
 dition ; for the buildings composing the completed whole, 
 as shown in the picture, will be erected at considerable 
 intervals of time. 
 
 Early in 1894 the authorities began to lay plans for 
 the much-needed expansion in material equipment. As 
 they decided to work on a scheme capable of sufficient 
 increase in the future, they found available for the halls 
 only three locations. One, the portion of Observatory 
 Hill between the Medical College and the dormitories, 
 would have demanded a rather crowded arrangement in 
 two parallel terraces, and would have been very expen- 
 sive. At present, be it remarked in passing, one build- 
 ing, a physical laboratory, may soon be placed in that 
 region, just to the north-east of the chapel. The second 
 possible situation, the east side of North College street, 
 seemed little better than the first; the third, and last, 
 was the square on which stands the church. This plan 
 was advised by Frederick Law Olmsted & Co., land- 
 scape architects, and the proposal contemplated the 
 purchase of the square as a whole and the erection upon 
 it of a regular closed quadrangle ; but, as some of the 
 
c c c 
 
 C I < c 
 
 c • c. < 
 
 « ctt «*< 
 
- THE NEW QUADRANGLE 133 
 
 property could not be secured, the trustees determined 
 to use instead only the southern half and to construct 
 there a three-quarter quadrangle, including the church, 
 open toward the campus. 
 
 In the spring of 1895 ground was broken for the cen- 
 tral edifice, the Butterfield Museum of Palaeontology, 
 Archeology, Ethnology, and kindred sciences, provided 
 for by the will of Dr. Ralph Butterfield, of Kansas City, 
 an alumnus of the Class of 1839. This appears in the 
 centre of the view. It will be finished by Commence- 
 ment, 1896, at a cost of $70,000. Its dimensions are 
 145 and 55 feet respectively; its style, Ionic; and the 
 materials employed in its construction, Lebanon granite, 
 "Milwaukee brick," Indiana sandstone, and terra cotta. 
 It will contain recitation rooms, as well as the collec- 
 tions. Next, in chronological order, will be the Memo- 
 rial Hall, which may be begun in 1896 or 1897, and 
 will occupy a position corresponding on the east to 
 that of the church on the west, about on the site of the 
 present "Rood House." The necessary funds, of which 
 $15,000 are already subscribed, are being raised among 
 the alumni. Its lower floor will probably be occupied 
 by the departments of administration, and will contain 
 the offices of the president, trustees, dean, and treasurer. 
 Its second storj-- may be devoted to an auditorium, and, 
 in any case, will be adorned with the portraits and pic- 
 tures illustrative of the history of the college. On either 
 side of the Museum, the rear of each on a line with the 
 front of the Museum, will stand a recitation building: 
 one devoted to history, political science, philosophy, and 
 kindred subjects; the other to the languages, ancient 
 
134 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 and modern. These three projected structures will be 
 of light material, to harmonize with that of the one 
 already under construction. Before they are completed, 
 the houses now fronting the street will be removed and 
 the ground graded in a uniform slope to the level of the 
 campus. The interior court will be 200 feet square, an 
 area to be made possible by the shifting of the side- 
 walk on the east. All the buildings will be heated from 
 a central station. They will be connected by an inner 
 coUonade of pillars, and will present a very imposing 
 
 appearance. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96. 
 
 "Good Work!" 
 
 IJLJHEN a man has shovsm himself above 
 ^^ The ordinary push and shove, — 
 Deserves a hearty word of praise, 
 At Dartmouth, we've a homely phrase: 
 " Good work, old man ! " 
 
 The Dartmouth man, with sturdy nerve, 
 On top, and never known to swerve, 
 Awaits, in life, the coming day 
 The world shall clap his back, and say: 
 " Good work, old man ! " 
 
 G. A, Green, '98. 
 

 George Abbott Green. '98. 
 
I t t • •. 
 
 C C C 6 *• 
 
 t « e c * c 
 
DRIFTING SONG 135 
 
 Drifting Song. 
 
 LXJAVELETS lifting my little boat, 
 ^^ Gently drifting, I lie and float 
 Over the boundless sea. 
 Wavelets plashing against my bed, 
 Thunders clashing over my head, 
 
 Both are as one to me : 
 Both are as one, as I sink to sleep, 
 Roaming the deep. 
 
 Oh, the bliss of the surcease of pain ! . 
 Soothed by the kiss of the waters, I gain 
 
 Peace for a moment and rest — 
 A moment's setting aside of strife, 
 A moment's forgetting of this sad life 
 
 By sorrow oppressed. 
 An infinite rest for an instant to know 
 From infinite woe. 
 
 Drifting ever, 1 thus would stray, 
 Greeting never again the day. 
 
 Through the unchanging night ; 
 Only waking to hear the roar 
 Of surges breaking upon the shore 
 
 That fringes the realms of light; 
 There, in Elysian fields, to find 
 Sweet peace of mind. 
 
 K. Knowlton, '94. 
 
136 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 A Dartmouth Song. 
 
 NARTMOUTH, 'mid thy hills enthroned, 
 Where, o'er summits purple-coned. 
 The eagles soar, — 
 Thine the majesty we sing ! 
 Loudly let the anthem ring, 
 Wide around reechoing, — 
 Dartmouth evermore. 
 
 Queen of the North ! Her classic brow- 
 Arts and sciences endow. 
 
 And ancient lore. 
 Clear and bright her radiant crown, 
 Sheds the light of learning do^wn, — 
 Spreads afar her fair renown, — 
 
 Dartmouth evermore ! 
 
 Distant lands ma\'^ claim her sons. 
 Where the broad Missouri runs, 
 
 Or rapids roar. 
 Still, however far we ^y, 
 Love for her shall never die, — 
 Still we bear her banner high, — 
 
 Dartmouth evermore ! 
 
 G. C. Selden, '93. 
 
AN INCIDENT IN COI^LEGB LIFE 137 
 
 An Incident in College Life. 
 
 TT was a cold, frosty night of February, a few days be- 
 fore Washington's Birthday. A stranger to Hanover, 
 judging from external appearances, would scarcely have 
 supposed himself to be in a college town, for, although 
 the evening was yet young, the streets were almost 
 completely deserted by students. 
 
 Of course the office of the "Wheelock" contained its 
 usual quota of "students about town," as a certain 
 class of so-called " rag-chewers " might well be desig- 
 nated, who were sitting or standing in groups, discussing 
 topics ranging from base-ball prospects to the theory of 
 evolution or the " Evidences of Christianity." 
 
 The store-fronts, even, were subjected, for once, to a 
 test as to their ability to stand alone, being deprived of 
 their usual " townie " support. 
 
 But college life, in all its various in-door phases, was 
 flowing smoothly on in the various students' rooms ; 
 and it is one of those rooms which we wrill now look in 
 upon. 
 
 'Round a blazing open fire were seated three Sopho- 
 mores, engaged in discussing the approaching Freshman 
 class supper. 
 
 "I tell you," the foot-ball man was saying, "this class 
 will be everlastingly disgraced if those blooming Fresh- 
 
138 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 men are allowed to have their banquet, while ninety 
 
 sits around like a flock of j^oung lambs and does not 
 make a move to interfere." • 
 
 "You're dead right, me boy," put in the base-ball 
 man, w^hose language w^as always a trifle idiomatic. 
 "They have had a soft thing so far. This class is in a 
 trance." 
 
 "Do you remember how ninety tried to swipe our 
 
 toast-master last year? How he escaped through the 
 back window while his room-mate held forty Sophs, at 
 bay, and how the whole class kept guard for — " 
 
 "What, again?" This last came from an athletic 
 young fellow who had been stretched at ease on the 
 window-seat, apparently asleep. 
 
 " You fellow^s make me more tired than one of B 's 
 
 lectures," he said, slowly raising himself to a sitting 
 posture. "This is about the fiftieth time this week I 
 have heard this same talk. Now, I have a little pro- 
 posal to make, which will decide w^hether or not you are 
 
 so anxious to do something for the honor of ninety . 
 
 It is this: I will go directly o-ver to Hamp's, get a two- 
 seated sleigh and his best horses, and we w^ill drive over 
 
 to T 's room ( for he has some prominent part in their 
 
 exercises), pick him up and take him to Newton Inn. 
 There we will keep him until the night of our banquet, 
 and he shall respond to a complimentary toast to our 
 class." Without waiting to hear the deluge of surprised 
 and chaflSng sentences which greeted this, the longest 
 speech of his life, the man of few words, but much 
 action, picked up his hat and coat and started rapidly 
 across the snow-covered campus. 
 
AN INCIDENT IN COLLEGE LIFE 139 
 
 Not more than two good bets had been arranged as to 
 whether it was a bluff, when a " Come on, fellows ! Get 
 a hustle! " sounded through the night air. 
 
 There was no chance to back out now, even if they 
 had so desired, and within three minutes they were 
 knocking at the door of the luckless Freshman. Being 
 told to come in they did so, and told their victim to 
 
 prepare for a short drive with them. T "tumbled" 
 
 at once, but, seeing no way of escape, picked up a few 
 necessaries and followed his captors. After a short, but 
 decisive, argument with a few Freshmen who chanced to 
 happen along, and a showing of empty revolvers on 
 both sides, the sleigh was driven rapidly away. 
 
 Now a change occurred, and the stranger would no 
 longer have reason to doubt that he was in a college 
 town. From Reed, Thornton, Dartmouth, and all the 
 other dormitories and college rooms, poured a steady 
 stream of excited students, in answer to the alarm of 
 the Freshmen who had seen the kidnapping; and soon 
 there might be seen on every comer knots of excited 
 Freshmen and complacent Sophomores discussing the 
 affair. 
 
 The leaders of the Freshman class were not long in- 
 active, and within less than half an hour four sleighs 
 were being driven at top-speed in as many different direc- 
 tions. Long after midnight, however, they returned, 
 unsuccessful, but not entirely discouraged. 
 
 The next day passed with the same result. But, mean- 
 while, the "powers that be" had forbidden the Sopho- 
 more class supper, unless the luckless Freshman should 
 be delivered within a few hours, this side up with care. 
 
140 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 But no move was made toward returning him, and it 
 began to look like a rebellion on a small scale, as prepa- 
 rations for both suppers were going steadily forward. 
 
 How it all ended, and without rebellion, can perhaps 
 best be shown by looking in upon the same trio of 
 Sophomores gathered around the same open fireplace. 
 They were complacently discussing the great success of 
 the scheme of their chum, the man of few words, and 
 wondering if he was enjoying his duty of guarding the 
 Freshman, when suddenly he broke in upon them, his 
 coat torn, his hair dishevelled, and his bleeding face 
 wearing a disgusted look. 
 
 To the numerous eager and excited questions hurled 
 at him he would only respond, "Swiped back by six 
 Freshmen." Sitting down at his desk he wrote rapidly 
 for a few minutes, then, tossing the paper to his friends, 
 went out of the room without another word, leaving 
 them to read the following resolution, which was unan- 
 imously adopted by the class the next morning : 
 
 " Resolved : That a committee of two be appointed to 
 inform the faculty that their demand in regard to Fresh- 
 man T has been complied with, and that he has 
 
 returned." 
 
 N. L Foster, '96. 
 
TO A ROBIN 14,1 
 
 To A Robin. 
 
 OHIEF songster in the chorus of the mom, 
 
 Oft hast thou roused me with thy roundelay, 
 Ere yet a shape of night had slunk away, 
 Or yet a blush within the east was bom ; 
 So eager thou, glad herald of the dawn. 
 To wake thy feathered minstrels and essay 
 To trill the rapturous welcome to the day 
 With bubbling throats, and banish night forlorn. 
 
 O, happy bird, I would thy faith were mine. 
 That in the storm and darkness I could see 
 A ray of hope, a hint of dawn, and sing. 
 I would my heart could feel the light as thine. 
 For every shade is doubly dark to me, 
 And only in the sun my fears take wing. 
 
 F. L. Pattee, '88. 
 
14,2 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 The Tower. 
 
 LXJHEN the class of '85 laid the foundation of the 
 ^^ Tower, the Old Pine stood as staunch a tree as the 
 proudest elm that now overlooks the campus. Its scores 
 of winters were borne so lightly that none could, in im- 
 agination, look but ten years ahead and see a whitened 
 stump marking the spot where, for a century and a 
 quarter, the old woodland king had so well guarded its 
 charge. 
 
 It is singularly appropriate that, in the same year 
 when the third stroke of lightning had at last destroyed 
 the Pine, this tower should be capped on almost the 
 same spot where the tree had stood, for the Tower was 
 in no wise planned as a successor. 
 
 So familiar had its figure become on this highest point 
 of the college land, that, were it not for the Tower, the 
 hill where the Old Pine laid down its long and honored 
 life, would look bare indeed. 
 
 With President Bartlett the idea of its erection origi- 
 nated. '85 laid the foundation, and '95, the last class 
 to enter under Dr. Bartlett 's administration, put on the 
 cap. The total height is seventy-one feet, and a climb 
 up the spiral stairwaj^ of eighty-six steps, places before 
 one a living map of the college, — the Athletic Oval, the 
 Campus, the Chapel, the Halls, — all Dartmouth living 
 and moving just beneath. 
 
The Tower. 
 
t « 
 t c • • c c e 
 • •••■« c • 
 
 c t c c » e e e 
 c < c t «. c e 
 
THE TOWER 143 
 
 But one accident occurred during the erection. When 
 the structure was about half completed, the staging 
 broke, allowing three workmen to tall upon the rocks 
 below. The men were all badly bruised, though only 
 one of them severely hurt. 
 
 The material of which the Tower is built is hornblend- 
 schist, a native rock found nearby in great abundance. 
 
 Funds were raised by class taxes. '85 laid the founda- 
 tions. The next five classes added eight feet each. '91 
 added six feet, and '92 the same number. '93 and '94 
 combined, and in the spring of '93 added three and four 
 feet respectively. '94 completed the stone-work, and '95 
 gave the finishing touches by the addition of a cap 
 twelve feet above this. At the left of the main en- 
 trance there has been placed a copper plate bearing the 
 following inscription : 
 
 THIS TOWER, 
 
 
 SUGGESTED BY PRESIDENT BARTLETT 
 
 
 WAS ERECTED 
 
 
 BY SUBSCRIPTIONS FROM THE CLASSES 
 
 OF 
 
 1885 TO 1895 
 
 
 INCLUSIVE. 
 
 
 F. V. Bennis, '98. 
 
liM ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 Sp 
 
 The Tower. 
 
 EN years have sped since first they laid thy base, 
 
 Ten classes gone and now thou art complete ; 
 What awe thy noble majesty awakes 
 In all who, gazing, tarry at thy feet. 
 
 O, happy heart, who first conceived the thought 
 Of lifting thee upon this rocky hill, 
 Glad thoughts of him shall ever fill the soul 
 As long as thou and men remain here still. 
 
 Thou waitest like some giant priest of old ; 
 
 Thy plated breast is turned to the west, 
 
 Its jewels' numbers plainly cut in gray. 
 
 Which speak the voice of those who love thee best. 
 
 Through coming years thine eyes will stretch afar 
 And look upon these pastures sweet in peace; 
 The waving river 'mid the distant pines 
 Will flow away ere yet thy watch shall cease. 
 
 Thy kindly face will welcome all who come 
 To this, the home our Alma Mater keeps ; 
 Thou 'It gaze upon them as they speed away. 
 While on thy breast the Alrna Mater weeps. 
 
■*t%% > I 1 » 
 
 J it 1. 
 » > 
 
 
Warren Fenno Gregory, '88. 
 
I^OVE'S ROSES ^ 145 
 
 When he who views thee now is bent with age, 
 When storm and wind have beat on thee in vain, 
 Perhaps, with heavy step and trembling staff 
 He '11 come and look upon thee once again. 
 
 F. H. Swift, '98. 
 
 LOVE'S Roses. 
 
 I IR TRISTRAM'S sword was brave and keen, 
 
 In the sunlight flashing bright, 
 But oh ! so deathly grim, I ween, 
 
 I could not bear the sight. 
 
 Sir Tristram's heart was true and leal. 
 
 So manly, high and bold. 
 But ah ! full like his gleaming steel, 
 
 All stern it seemed, and cold. 
 
 And so I took the roses fair 
 And wreathed the ghastly blade ; 
 
 All peacefully it nestled there, 
 I no more was afraid. 
 
 And lo ! the knight, by some sweet art, 
 
 Grew warm to me, and kind ; 
 I little knew that 'round his heart 
 
 The flowers of love I twined ! 
 
 W. F. Gregory, '88. 
 
 10 
 
146 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 A Table 
 
 /GIVING the date of erection, or purchase, of all the 
 H regular college buildings from the beginning, the 
 purposes for which they have been used, the dates of 
 their destruction, etc. 
 
 1770. First log hut built. It was about eighteen feet 
 square, and stood at first about ten rods west of the 
 house on Main street now owned by Miss McMurphy. 
 It was soon moved, because of lack of water, to a spot 
 just north of Reed Hall and west of Thornton, and occu- 
 pied by the family of the president, and, after his house 
 was built, by his servants. Demolished about 1782. 
 
 1770. Wheelock's first house built. It w^as of boards, 
 one story high, with an attic; 40 feet by 32 feet and 10 
 feet high in the posts. It was originally built near the 
 log hut, and at once moved to a spot on the present 
 common, about two rods south-west of the weU. It 
 fronted the south. In 1774, by the help of the citizens, 
 thirty feet, with a belfry, was added at the west end. 
 The eastern third was then used for a commons, and a 
 *' lean-to" kitchen added on the north side. The rest 
 was made into a large room, used hy the College and 
 citizens for chapel, meeting-house, and public hall. This 
 was the famous "College Hall." Torn down by the 
 students in 1790. 
 
Robert Huntington Fletcher, '96. 
 
A TABLE 147 
 
 1770. A "school-house" of unknown location and 
 history built. 
 
 1770-1771. First College Hall built. Itwasofwood, 
 two stories high, with an attic ; 80 feet by 32 feet. It 
 stood in the south-east corner of the present common, 
 facing east. Contained: student's rooms; the prepara- 
 tory department ; until 1774 the commons department ; 
 probably a room for the Sabbath services of the church 
 and the public exercises; after awhile the library; per- 
 haps a store until 1773. Taken down in 1791. 
 
 1784-1791. Dartmouth Hall built. See page 13. 
 Has contained : always — student's and recitation 
 rooms: at times— College library, 1791(?)-1828 in 
 front middle room, second story, now a part of "Old 
 Chapel," 1828-1840 in whole north end of first floor, 
 unified for that purpose; 1791(?)-1840 libraries of 
 Social Friends and United Fraternity, in south end, 
 second floor; till 1828, museum in front middle room, 
 third floor, now a part of "Old Chapel"; 1799-1811, 
 Medical department, first in north-east comer, then in 
 w^hole northern end and south-east comer of present 
 "Old Chapel"; from 1828, "Old Chapel." ?-1836, 
 present North Latin room was divided into "Junior" 
 and "Senior" rooms; in 1836 it was unified for society 
 hall of United Fraternity and Social Friends, and south 
 end of first floor, which they had occupied, divided into 
 two recitation rooms. ? — 1868, present South Greek 
 room was divided into "Freshman" and "Sophomore" 
 rooms; in 1868 unified. Numerous other changes in 
 recitation rooms from time to time. 
 
 1790. First chapel building erected. See page 13. 
 Moved away in 1828. 
 
148 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 1791. First academy building for Moor's School 
 erected on present site of "Moor Hall." Was of two 
 stories ; rather large, with a porch and belfry ( possibly 
 added later ). Contained : till 1828, Moor's School, then 
 private schools unconnected with the College; 1794— 
 1801, in second story, printing office. Thoroughly re- 
 paired in 1804, Sold and moved away about 1837. 
 
 1807. College purchased Col. Kinsman's house. Built 
 near present site of Rollins Chapel in 1791 for Commons 
 hall. Used as such 1791-1793 and 1807-1815. Used 
 also for student's rooms. Apparently destroyed about 
 1815. 
 
 1811. Medical building erected with funds furnished 
 bj'the State and by private subscription. Has contained 
 students' rooms, lecture rooms, etc. Repaired in 1872— 
 1873. New dissecting room added, 1894. 
 
 1828. Wentworth Hall built. Has contained: al- 
 ways, students' rooms; from 1868, North Mathematical 
 room; from 1869, South Mathematical room. 
 
 1828. Thornton Hall built. Has contained: always, 
 students' rooms; 1867-1892, in north-east corner,lower 
 floor, rooms of Theological Society and Society of In- 
 quiry, (since 1882, Y. M. C. A.); 1871-1892, on first 
 floor, rooms of Thayer School; from 1893, recitation 
 rooms. 
 
 1830 (about). College obtained part ownership of 
 the "College" Church, acquiring right to use galleries 
 and some pews in body. Church built 1796 by private 
 subscription. Had no blinds or arrangements for heat- 
 ing. In 1822, stove introduced ; in 1828, radically reno- 
 vated; from 1867-1869, repaired, carpeted, furnace put 
 
A TABLE 149 
 
 in, and en try- ways on sides added ; in 1877, ten feet 
 added to rear, and organ moved from rear of gallery 
 to position on left of pulpit, college purchased many 
 pews and rearranged position of students; in 1881, 
 control passed formally from pew-owners to Dartmouth 
 Religious Society ; in 1889, twelve feet added with means 
 furnished mostl3' by Hon. Hiram Hitchcock, who gave a 
 new organ. 
 
 1833 (about). College purchased Brown— formerly 
 Rowley— Hall. Built about 1815 by Mr. Rowley near 
 present site of Rollins Chapel, about east of site of 
 former commons hall. Contained : stores and students' 
 rooms; in second story a hall used for chapel exercises 
 ( and perhaps recitations ) by college during quarrel with 
 ** University," afterward for town hall (approached by 
 exterior stairs), later for a dancing hall. Named in 
 honor of President Brown. Apparently sold and repur- 
 chased at least once. Now residence of Professor Emer- 
 son, on North College street. Sold and moved away, 
 in 1843. 
 
 1837 (about). Second academy . building for Moor's 
 School, later, Chandler Building, now Moor Hall, erected. 
 Had a belfry, which was removed when Chandler School 
 thoroughly repaired it in 1872. Has contained : private 
 schools; a little later, Moor's School; since 1852 the 
 Chandler School, now the Scientific department. 
 
 1839-1840. Reed Hall built. Named for Mr. William 
 Reed, of Marblehead, Mass., the chief donor. Has con- 
 tained: students' rooms, always on third floor, and, 
 since 1885, on second; library tUl 1885; mineralogical 
 collection in south-west comer first floor till 1871 , when 
 
150 ECHOES FROM DARTMOUTH 
 
 this was transformed into recitation room; picture 
 gallery till 1885; physical laboratories and recitation 
 rooms on about half of first floor till 1885, since then 
 on whole of first floor. 
 
 1854. Shattuck Observatory built with funds given by 
 George C. Shattuck, of the Class of 1803. 
 
 1866-1867. Bissell Hall, the Gymnasium, built with 
 funds furnished by George H. Bissell, of New York, of the 
 Class of 1845. 
 
 1871. Culver Hall built with funds furnished by Hon. 
 David Culver and wife, and the state. Belonged to Col- 
 lege and the New Hampshire Agricultural College jointly 
 till 1893, when the College purchased the whole, the 
 amount due to the Agricultural College, through the 
 state ($15,000), having been remitted by vote of the 
 Legislature of 1893. 
 
 1884-1885. Rollins Chapel built. The gift of Hon. 
 Edward Ashton Rollins, of Philadelphia, of the class of 
 1851, in memory of his father, Daniel G. Rollins; his 
 mother, Susan B. Rollins, and his w^ife, Ellen H. Rollins. 
 Memorial windows ol the deceased Presidents of the Col- 
 lege have been placed in the chancel and in the transepts. 
 
 1884-1885. Wilson Hall built. The gift of Mr. Geo. 
 F. Wilson, of Providence, under the suggestion of his 
 legal adviser, the Hon. Halrey J. Boardman, of the class 
 of 1858. This hall is used for the Library, and also 
 holds the picture gallery until such time as a separate 
 building may be secured. 
 
 1885 — 1895. Tower built, by subscriptions from the 
 College classes. See page 146. 
 
 1889 - 1893. Mary Hitchcock Memorial Hospital built 
 by Hon. Hiram Hitchcock of Hanover. 
 
A TABLE 151 
 
 1890-1892. Y. M. C. A. building erected with funds 
 raised b}^ President Bartlett, in honor of whom it was 
 named Bartlett Hall in 1893. 
 
 1892. College purchased Conant Hall from Agricultu- 
 ral College. Built in 1873 and named for Hon. John 
 Conant, of Jaflfrey, who gave most of the money for it. 
 Renamed Hallgarten, in honor of Julius Hallgarten, of 
 New York, a benefactor of the college. 
 
 1892. Thayer School purchased Experiment Station 
 from Agricultural College. Built in 1888 with funds 
 given by the State. 
 
 1894. Professor Sanborn's house entirely remodelled, 
 transformed into dormitor3^, and named Sanborn Hall. 
 
 1895. Building of Butterfield Museum commenced. A 
 Museum of Paleontology and kindred sciences donated 
 by Dr. Ralph Butterfield, of Kansas City, occupying the 
 centre of the new quadrangle. See page 132. 
 
 R. H. Fletcher, '96. 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY