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VOL. 59.
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PENNSYLVANIA
STATE COLLEGE.
FALL TERM BEGINS SEPTEMBER 10,1554
Examinations for admission, September 9.
This institution is located in one of the most
beautiful and healthful spots of the entire Alle
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1. A Full Scientific Course of Four Years.
2. A Latin Scientific Course.
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Se Scientific Course (a) AGRICULTURE ;
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5. A short SPECIAL COURSE in Chemistry.
6. A reorganized Course in Mechanicie Arts,
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7. A new Special Course (two years) in Litera
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8. ACarerully graded Preoaratory Course.
a SPECIAL COUSESare arranged to meet the
wants of individual students.
Military drill is required. Expeuses for board
and incidentals very low. Tuition free. y~ung
ladies under charge of a competent lady Frlnci
pal.
For Catalogues, or other Jres9
GEO. W. ATHERTON,LL. D., PRESIDENT
lyr STATE COLLEGE. CENTRE Co., Pa.
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MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY. APRIL 23., 1885.
Til E I'ROFESSOIh
"Miss O'Brien will read the next
stanza I" said Professor Ingram, in
cold, dignified tones, as ho looked up
from the battle-scarred copy of Horace
that lay on his desk, and fastened his
dark eyes on Elise.
"Excuse me, professor, but I know
the translation I made of that passage
is not correct, and I would rather not
read it. Although I tried very hard I
have not been able to get at the poet's
exact meaning."
"I did Mot ask you to express youro
pinion of the translation you had made,
Miss O'Brien, but requested you to
read it 1" and the shadows grew dark
er on his face.
"Reallv, professor, I cannot read it,"
persisted the fair girl.
"Well, try !"
Elise recognized the accents of com
mand in what he said, and it never oc
curied to her to disobey him or to resist
further. No one who had ever been in
his class would have parleyed with him
when he looked and spoke in that way.
So she snatched up her book and hasti
ly read the verse he had called upon her
to translate.
Her effort was greeted with a titter
of laughter all around the class. It
was not ofteu that the members of
Professer Ingiam's class cast aside the
dignity becoming the situation when
they were in his recitation-room, but
this was more than they were prepared
for. Even the professor could not re
strain the smile that crept over his
dark, handsome face as he heard his
pupil's version of the venerable Latin
language, Elise feigned to laugh a lit
tle, too.
"I suppose, sir," she said, looking
up at him defiantly, "the next time I
tell you I cannot translate a certain
passage you will believe me ?"
He made no reply, but fastened his
eyes on her with a keener scruuity.
He was wondering how the girl who
was so freely praised by other teachers
as being the star of their classes, who,
he bad heard, was the sharp mathema
tician in the school and excelled in the
literature could be so slow to compre
hend Latin.
Elise was glad when he passed the
verse to another girl, for she was grow
ing uneasy under his searching gaze.
A short time afterward she was on
her way to her music room to practice,
and chanced to meet Mat tie Hatton
her first favorite, in the hall. Mattie
commenced laughing, and exclaimed :
"Well, Elise, that was a heavenly
translation you treated us to this morn
ing 1 No doubt it made old Horace
turn over in bis grave to have
h is pet thought so fearfully distorted."
"I don't care if it did ! Did I not
tell Professor Ingram I could not read
it ? I know as well as you how ridic
ulous my translation sounded. I have
known a long time there is no bright
hope of my ever being a Latin scholar.
Papa says it is because 1 did not nave a
competent teacher in the beginning.
Anyway, I have such a distaste for it
that I cannot make up my mind to
learn it. I did not dislike it so before
I. commenced taking lessons from Prof
fessor Ingram, but now it seems line I
only go to that class to make a display
of my ignorance day after day. He
generally calls upon me to read the
most difficult part of the lesson, and if
he finds that I am especially iguorant
on aoy particular subject that is the
very one about which he asks me most
questions. You know I have no
trouble in other classes, but it seems
that when he fixes those hateful old
dark eyes on me it sets my wits wool
gathering. I believe I am afraid of
him."
"Afraid of Professor Ingram ? The
idea of such a thing I It is true I would
not dare disobey bim, or thwart him io
any way, but I never dreamed of being
afraid of him. He is positive aud
stern, but never violent nor rude, and,
truly, for justness and kindness all sea
sons are summer to him."
"Kindness I" cried Elise, her pretty
, blue eyes sparkling scornfully, "I wish
he would indulge in a distribution of it
when lam near, if he keeps such a
stock in store. I suppose, in my win
ter of discontent,l fail to appreciate the
professor's summer time disposition.
lam sure I ever dread the hour when
his class meets, and I would walk far
out of my way to avoid meeting him on
the lawn."
"Elise, you should not say that.
For my part I think he Is very patieut
with you, and I know he has never
treated you unkindly."
"No, he never chides me in words,
but his eyes speak volumes of disappro
val to me He is so cold and digni
fied that lam always ill at ease in his
presence. They say he goes much in
society ; I wonder if his manner out
there is the same as here ? If it is I
should think there would always be a
vacant space around him."
"I do not know ; I never met him
A PAPER FOR TIIK CIRCLE.
before I came be;e, but have heard lie
cut quite a llguie in Paris, winter be
fore last."
Here Mattie, remembering that the
bell had rung for her next class, start
ed on, telling Elise to come over to her
room early that evening, that they
could get through with their work in
time to go out for a walk. Elise and
Mattie were true friends, and thpy al
ways studied their lessons together,
helping each other all they could, ex
cept in Latin. Elsie would not study
that with any one, because she felt that
in it, she could hot help them in re
turn for the assistance they would give
her.
For a few days after this little epi
sode, Elise, although she pretended
not to mind her failure, worked at the
despised study with more zeah
llut ere long she became discouraged
again, and many a time would have
begged the superintendent's permission
to quit the class, but for one reason—
she knew that unless she attained a
proficiency in this branch, she could
not take a full diploma that year, and,
although the study of Latin was a
great buiden to her, she could not gain
her own consent to lay it down at the
cost of losing a diploma, "the consum
mation devoiitedly to be desired" of
every school girl's heart.
"I am afraid it is useless for me to
try," she said to one of the girls, on
her way to the profess Dr's office the
day of the senior Latin examination,
"but rt seems too bad, after I have
been so successful in all my other class
es, to give up ray hopes of a diploma
and the scholarship medal without
even making an effort in this. If 1 had
gotten the music medal, I would not
care so much, but I lost time droning
over this old Latin, and coeld not pay
proper attention to my music. I rare
ly ever had such horrid luck in all my
life, and poor papa will be so greatly
disappointed when he comes to com
mencement 1" Here Elise's voice fal
tered, and a tear stole iuto her great
blue eyes.
"I am so glad you are going to try,
dear," said the girl to whom she had
been speaking, "and I hope, sincerely,
you will meet with more success than
you expect." And she truly did ; all
the girls loved the beautiful, kind
Franco-Ii ish girl, for she was always
merry and always kind. She worked
hard all that day and remaiued in the
office writing long after all the other
girls had gone. The professor waited
patiently for her, but never glanced to
the desk where she sat. At last she
laid down her pen, folded her papers
without reading them and, with a deep
sigh, banded them to the professor.
It was seldom Elise, sighed, but she
was very tired now, ana had little hope
of her labor availing anything. A lit
tle while after she passed by his door,
and glancing in, saw that lie was sit
ting in the same place iuteutly reading
her papers.
"I understand !" she said to herself,
"lie is so much afraid my papers went
a mark high enough to pass me that he
can not wait longer to look over
them."
Perhaps Elise felt that she was un
just to the professor in her surmise.but
she would have felt it more if sue had
only glanced up to meet the kind,
sympathetic look in bis eyes as she
handed aim her papers, not au hour be
fore.
In a few days they all met agaiu in
his office to hear the fiat pass o.i the re
sult of their labor. Wbau he came to
Elise's Dame he made a slight pause
before be read it, and the mark he had
put on her examination—a pause to give
her failure emphasis, Elise interpreted
it. She was the only one who had fail
ed ! No need of emphasis to make ber
feel it I How was she to bear her great
disappointment V
If Elise's good judgement had not
made her know how deficient she toas
iu a knowledge of this language, she
would have believed the professor's dis
like for her had influenced his decision
but she well knew it was just, and her
heart sank deep under her failure. She
did not raise her eyes from the floor,
but sat there motlonless,expressionles3
until the class was dismissed, for the
last time, with congratulations from
the professor. Then without speaking
to any one, she hastily turned to leave
the room. She mad 9 her exit from his
preseuce to-day less joyfully than she
had ever done, for, heretofore, however
serious may have been her bearing
when she entered his recitation-room,
her face was always the most radiant
of the class as soon as she was dismiss
ed.
She avoided speasing to any one, and
walking oriskly to her music-room open
ed her portfolio and commenced prac
ticing. It was the hour for her to
practice her vocal lesson, but she was
too nearly crying to sing. At first her
lovely eyes were so dim with tears she
could scarcely see the notes, but ere
long, with her unusual powers of self
control, she had mastered her feelings
"ufilciently a> sing. Turning over the
fancy operas site was wont to practice at
this hour, she sought the old Irish mel
odies that she used to sing to her father
summer evenings when the shadows
had gathered on the hills, and the din
of the world was hushed and gave place
to the music of her sweet childlike
voice. It seems a consolation to pour
forth the sadness of her soul into those
sweet old refi ains that she had first
heard as they fell in music from the lips
of her mother, whose voice had long
been hushed on earth. The last notes
of "Kathleen Mayourneeu" had just
been borne away by the summer breez
es when Mattie, her favjrite, gently o
pened the door and asked permission to
enter.
It was not long before EUse's tears
had broken through the tariiers of self
control and weie falling fast from eyes
that,it seemed nature had fashioned tor
smilss.
"I know it is silly to cry about it,
Mattie ; but, oh, it is such a bitter
disappointment ! No diploma, no
medal, no honor on commencement
day after so many sessions of faithful
labor. And I have looked lor ward to
my commencement day as the hap
pießt, fairest day of my life. I would
not mind for only my own sake, but to
think how disappointed poor papa will
be."
In vain Mattie tried to console her
friend, telling her that it was only the
disappointment of a day, and "would
never count in the news of a battle," as
she bad merely failed to attain the out
ward flourishes ot her recompense, that
she had gained knowledge, taste and
adornments which were recognized by
all the inmates of the Alma Mater,and
would be appreciated by society in days
to come.
But all the logic failed to bring back
the smiles to Elise's face, for she could
not help but deem it a cruel fate that
her first great disappointment should
cast its shadow over the day she had
marked out to be the brightest of her
life.
But after all when that-much-talked
of day came Elise was not so sad as she
feared she would Le. How could site
be sorrowful in such a scene V Sur
rounded by such a convoy of merry,
white-robed creatuies, with such a
flood of golden sunlight pouring down
upon them balmy, perfume laden
breezes fresh from the gardens of June
fanning their brows and strains of joy
ful music charming their senses, hearts
that had grown old in disappoiutinents
soon cast aside their sadness.
That night after the exercises were
over and the audience dispersed, Elise's
father led her out on the moon-lit bal
cony to tell her how well pleased he
was with her session's accomplish
ments ; he told her how happy it
made him to hear her voice and to see
how skillrully she executed the most
difficult instrumental pieces.
"But, dear papa, I have no diploma,
no medal for you," she said, deeply
sighing.
"That does not in the least displease
me, my little girl. As to medals, they
only represent relative ♦ xcellence, and
if you ate not exactly satisfied with
your literary attainments, and have
your heart set on taking a diploma, you
need not be gdisappointed, for to-day
Professor Ingram spoke to me of your
failure in Latin examination, and told
me the cause of it. He said, as he ac
cepted the invitation exteuded him, he
would take pleasure in g ving a few
private lessons, and you might pursue
your studies in Latin and be able to
take your diploma yet, with very little
inconvenience to either party.
This revelation struck Elise almost
breathless.
41 What invitation, papa i"' she ask
ed. 44 1s Frofessor Ingram going to
yisit you at Woodlawn this summer ?"
44 Yes darling, I have often invited
him to visit me at my summer home,
that we might hunt and fish together
aud spend again a pleasant time in
each other's company as in our old col
lege days. I 4 ave always been fond of
Ingram, and will be only the more re
joiced to have him with me if his yisit
is the means of making my loyed one
more happy."
It made Elise's heart sink, the pros
pect of the summer before her, when
she had expected to be as joyous and
free as a lark, to be restrained all the
bright, beautiful time by the grave,
dignified professor's presence. llow
much more happy she would be to pur
sue her studies fiee and alone 1
But she did not make known her
feelings because she loved her father
so well and would not for anything an
noy him. She turned thj subject as
soon as she could, asking eagerly about
her a maiden sister of Mr.
O'Brien who lived with him and tried
faithfully to fill the office of a mother
to his orphaned child.
For the first few days after the pro
fessor's arrival at Woodlawn Elise
skillfully steered clear of his presence,
never meeting him except at the table
Terms, SI.OO per Year, in Advance.'
and when she went to take her lessons
from him in the library.
The professor, although she wa9 per
fectly polite to him, saw that she avoid
ed hira, and the hour spent with him
in the library each morning, was area
punishment to her. The first morniug,
as the professor had not brought his
text books with him, she was obliged
to let him look on her book as she
read ; but by the next day she had
brought down an old copy of Tacitus,
that was her father's from some dusty
recess in the library, and politely offer
ed it to him. He noticed this, and
tried to make her more at ease in his
presence.
"Miss Elise," he said, one morning,
"let me entreat you not to sit so faroff,
as if you were afraid of me. Come
over here and sit on this sofa by me,
and I give you my. word for it, if you
do go d little wrong, you will sustain
no raoital injury at my hands. Pray
do not rush through your lessons, list
ening to my comments and corrections
as the inevitable, and then hurry out
of my presence as if I were an ogre.
It was expedient for me to be strict
and stern in my class at the institute,
hot the relation as teacher and pupil
need no longer exist between us ; let
me be your friend and helpmate. Ido
not know why you appear to dislike
me, and are so constrained in my 'pres
ence. I have often noticed that you
are never so frolicsome and gay when
lam near. No need to put constraint
on your happy spirit on my account,
child. Although the joyous mirth of
youth has departed from life forever, it
still gladly echoes the music of other
youthful health."
"Indeed, Professor Ingram, you mis
judge me. Ido not dislike you, and I
know you have always beeu just to me.
I confess I was not always perfectly
free and at ease in your class. You al
ways looked at me as though you were
criticizing what I said so severely in
your mino."
"I)d I," said he, laughing. "Well,
hear me swear, right here, by the shade
of old Tactitus that I will not do so a
gain. And will you not, on your side,
promise not to look so solemn whenever
I come near you."
Elsie promised, and it was not long
before she and her teacher were fully
enjoying each other's society. They
often sat and conversed long after les
sons were over. Nor was their conver
sation confined to Latin literature, for
Elsie was beginning to feel so free in
his presence that she could converse
with him as easily as with one of her
schoolmates. She would show him her
books, birds and flowers, and even let
hiui examine the collections of botanic
specimens she had made. She would
often go out for a walk with him, aud
as they wandered where the prospect of
green, sloping hills, shady dells, spark
ling streams and distant, blue moun
tains were spread out in heavenly beau
ty before them, the grave professor lost
many a lesson that nature, iu her sileut
language, would have taught him, in
listening to the sireue voice of his hap
py companion. Elsie would go on with
her merry discourse, hardly realiziug
that the dark face before her,which she
had come to think so handsome, was
the same that had often been turned
upon her with a frowning expression in
the dreary old recitation room at the in
stitute.
She often sang for him. and he seem
ed never to tire of hearing her voice.
One evening when sha had finished sing
ing "Kathleen Mavourueen," he said :
"Do you know that I once heard yoir
sing that song more beautifully than I
ever heard it sung by any musical ar
tist of either contineut ?"
"Why,no; I did not know you admir
ed my voice enthusiastically. Please
tell me where I was so fortunate as to
deserve such praise."
"Do you remember of practicing in
the music-room near my office the hour
after I read the examination report of
my Latin class ? I heard you singing
and sat down by the window and listen
ed to your songs. I was there when
Miss Ilatton came in and j ou told her
how sorely disappointed you were in
not gettiug your diploma. I cannot tell
how deeply I sympathized with you !
It was then I (fetermmed you should
not be disappointed, in the end, if any
assistance I could render you would be
of avail."
"Oh, you eavesdropper 1 aud how lit
tle I dreamed then you were so sweet
and kind. Ido not remember all I said
in my disappointment; maybe I said
something naughty about you," said
Elsie, affectionately taking his hand
from the back of the chair, where it
was lying, and tenderly toying with the
fingers.
"No, you did not," he said, bending
his dark, handsome face close to hers ;
"and my little darling,l havesomething
more to confess. Do you think that,as
I heard you sing, I determined to one
day make that sweet voice and these
sunny curls and laughing blue eyes all
my own ?"
But we will not listen tothe words he
uttered as he told her the old, old story
that has kindled lovelight in the eyes of
happy maidens from time immemorial;
the old, old story that enchanted Elsie
as 110 music had ever done, aud called
forth fiom her heart a confession of the
love she bore for him —a love that "was
founded 011 a rock," and was as pure as
her spotless life.
Ere another commencement day rol 1 -
ed around at the institute, the profess
or had made her his bride, and when he
came to sign his name to the diploma
that Elsie had so fondly desired,a thrill
of happiness and pride ran through his
heart as he thought of all it had helped
him to gain.
NO. 16
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al'.inseitlon - .*•,
A Scared "Stage Baby."
Joe Jefferson tells a good story of
Edwin Forrest. The great tragedian
was playing an engagement in Cin
cinnati, and it was decided, to put on
'Pizarro,' but no child could be found
to personate Rolla's little boy. The
manager and the property man were
at their wit's end. It was impossible
to have the boy personated by a dum
my, for he was required to walk, em
brace his father and mother, and per
form other actions which to-a dummy
would have been physical impossibili
ties. At last, in an evil hour, the
property man was struck by what ho
regarded as a happy thought. At a
oue-horse museum a few squares off
the list of curiosities included a mid
dle-aged dwarf, who, despite his small
stature, was gifted with a large head
and a very old face ai well as a singu
larly gruff voice.
The property man, after considera
ble negotiation, succeeded in renting
his midget from the museum manager
for one night only, to personate
Rolla's infant son. The dwarf was
not present at rehearsal,and the char*
acter of the infant which he was to
carry on was carefully concealed from
Forrest, who beheld him for the first
time as he picked him up in the first
entrance to rush with him across the
bridge,and whose feelings at that mo
ment, like the difficult passage in nov
els,'may bo more easily imagined than
described.' Grasped the terrified
dwarf in his brawny arms Forrest,
never very gentle in any of his stage
business, rushed like a whirlwind be
fore the audience, shouting at the top
of his powerful voice, 'Rolla passes
freely!' and handling the sou of his
adoption rather more roughly than
usual.
When about half way across the
bridge the poor midget could endure
it ho longer, and thrusting his head
out from old Metamora's arm, and
looking up into his face said in a deep
bass voice, so completely out of keep
ing with his stature and his supposed
juvenility, that if a lamb had roared it
could scarcely have been more surpris
ing •• 'See here, you great big lubber,
what are you going to do with me,
anyhow ?'— Phila. Times.
John and the Lawyer.
Among the meu of the revolution,
no one was more respected for his
honesty and good sense than Roger
Sherman,of Connecticut Courts and
juries deferred to him, and from all
parts of the State clients sought his
advice. One morning a farmer, who
was far from quickwitted, dropped in
to see him. When his turn came, Mr.
Sherman greeted him cordially, and
said :
'Well, John, what can I do for you
this morning ?'
'Why, lawyer,' was the answer, 'I
happened to be in town, and thought
I'd call and get an opinion.'.
'State your case, sir ; what's the
matter ?'
'I ain't got a lawsuit. I only want
one of your opinions. They are said
to be valuable.'
Mr. Sherman saw into the character
of his visitor,and writing a few words
on a slip of paper, handed it to him,
and charged seventy-five cents for the
advice. John, proud of his success,
hurried home to his wife to boast of it.
He found her in discussion with the
hired man about a field of oats which
had been cut the day before. He was
anxious to do some other work, while
she was advising him to get in the
oats. She was full of energy, and
much more capable than was her hus
baud.
'Well, John,' she said, 'what shall
we do about the oats ?'
'Read the lawyer's opinion,'said he,
and produced his treasure. 'lt cost
me seventy-five cents.'
She read it: 'Never put off till to
morrow what can be done to-day.'
'Enough said,' cried John ; 'them
oats must be got in.'
A heavy rain which came that night
would have injured the oats badly, if
they had been left out in the field.
John always gave Mr. Sherman the
credit of saving his oats, and held him
in his highest esteem as a man of won
derful wisdom and forecast.— Youth's
Companion.
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