pleasantly to her ears. She could not resist the temptation to glance shyly upward to see if he really meant what he said. Yes, he was certainly in earnest, in real, downright earnest. "I know it isn't a question that is asked on such slight acquaintance; but, Miss Mary, I certainly do feel as though I'd known you longer, and you won't be angry with me, will you?" She angry? Why, of course she wouldn't be; she was really beginning to like it and wasn't quite sure, now, whether she was sorry that she had forgotten which of her refusals was the best. Yes, everything was just as she had pictured it in her dreams-the silver moonlight, the rustic setting, the handsome, dark-eyed youth with the rich voice. Oh, it was really perfectly charming! But she wished his emotion would not get the better of him quite so often, for they were nearly home. He was, however, beginning again. "Miss Mary, please tell me you won't be angry with me; for I value your acquaintance far too highly to drop it lightly." "Oh, yes," she thought; she would be a sister to him; but she timidly cast down her eyes as she answered coyly: "Why, Mr. Carter, how on earth do I know what you want?" By this time they were at the gate; but as he was about to lift the latch he suddenly faced her and straightened himself as for the finish. She became a trifle scared as she realized that now it really was coming and that her turn was approaching. He coughed nervously and undecidedly, then looked fairly in her face, which by this time reflected the crimson which covered his own, bit his lips, opened them, shut them, and finally with a mighty effort burst forth: "Miss Mary, how old are you? Mr. Stokes says you're sixteen; but I don't believe it." Marjorie Hughan. Never COULD I forget thee, sweet? Ah, no! Did all the world entreat, I trow; Should dreary seas stretch in between, Oh, beautiful thou wast, complete Our love, and bright; My whole life centered in that moment's bliss Of our first long sweet lingering kiss; Could I forget thee, sweet? G. A. K. S. COMMENTS THE last number was not wholly the work of the new Board, as the present one is. Whether we have any especial destiny to fulfill is not for us to say. We are what the students make us; without them we would cease to exist. But with their support, as in the past, we hope to continue as the representative of the lighter element in Columbia verse and fiction. It is our intention to continue and supplement the work of our predecessors, to help round out the literary activities of the student body, to give them our hearty support in all legitimate branches of their activity, whether slaving or sleeping in the lecture room, striving for honors in the arena, or participating in the thousand and one phases of their sphere of action. Though it is not our intention to introduce any startling innovations, we hope to keep free from any rut; but should we observe wherein we might improve we shall not hesitate to seize the opportunity. But we shall see what we shall see. THE Philistine, "made" by Elbert Hubbard, is a good little magazine and generally has our entire approval. But one of the times that it hasn't is the May issue. We consider it an affront to the whole University and to ourselves in particular when the name of our distinguished Professor Peck is made the advertising vehicle for a certain mythical and, as Mr. Hubbard thinks, facetious brand of moth balls. This slur at the daintily whiskered member of our faculty we particularly resent. Professor Woodberry is, of course, the dearest to the hearts of the Board, being the Father of MORNINGSIDE; but Professor Peck almost divides the honors with him, being its universally acknowledged Father-in-Law. Do you wonder we could not abstain from saying a few words in his defense? Professor Peck is one of our first subscribers. His original subscription blank, signed by himself, is framed and hangs over the Editor's own desk in our inner sanctum. Above it is a hand-colored portrait of himself, looking benignly and inspiringly down on us as we write this, and seeming to say: "I, the renowned author of many monographs, the maker of poems, the arbiter of dissertations, and writer of an encyclopædia, rise in my defense, ye stalwart Editors, and proclaim to all the world the merits of the Elbert Hubbard antibarking syrup, made only by the MORNINGSIDE and for sale by them at their office. Come all ye, who desire the truth, and get 10 cents worth by buying the MORNINGSIDE." THE new circulars of the departments of History and of Oriental Languages contain welcome news for every undergraduate. We notice that with the year 1903-4 Professor Jackson is to return in a greater measure to Columbia College. His work in Oriental fields has taken him more or less into graduate work a fact that everyone in the College has tremendously regretted, because of the feeling of admiration and love which we bear toward him. Now with his new course in the history of India and Persia we are to come into our own once more. THE MORNINGSIDE prize story competition was won by Miss F. C. Berkeley with a story entitled "The Pyx." This story will be printed next October. No poem was deemed worthy of the offered prize by the Competition Judges. De Rebus Nostris WHEN Greek met Greek, they drew their swords, Nor either'd to the other kneel. Beholders, breathless, watched the fray, They battled till the close of day. Richard Pryor. N UMBER -! Yes; no; this is not Miss Weston, this is Miss Jeanne Weston Oh, I'm the one you want Well, who are you? Mr. Lair? Oh, yes; do you want What? to see mother? Don't seem glad to see you? Why, Really! |