his window and poked out his head. It
might be an invitation to a feast. A
shower of gravel stung and rattled about
his ears and a pair of Union lungs sang
out, "Who's goin' to paint the Ero pic-
ture, baby?" While Charley sputtered
and spat, the triumphant gentleman be-
low passed on, singing gaily "Lies and
Love and Sausages," and sought the vil-
lage to trade the first for the last.
68
THE LITERARY HALLS
"Lies and Love and Sausages!" The
strains lingered in Charley 's memory and
sang themselves to his tortured soul.
Then association of ideas got to work.
Where had he heard that song before *? Oh,
yes, that bully old mimic and comedian.
Alec Drake, sang it and sang it scrump-
tiousl}^ in the theatre the last time Charley
stopped off in Cincinnati. Dear old Alec
Drake! That was a wonderful image of
him in that wax-works shov/ at Main and
Market streets. They must have caught
him in the midst of that same song, jolly
old rogue. Who would think that wax
figures could be made so like the life"?
Why, I'd rather make images as good as
those wax-works than paint all the old
flat daubs that ever hung in literary halls.
It's better art; it's real sculpture! ''Lies
and Love and Sausages!" 0-o-oh, what
a huge idea! It actually hurt for a min-
ute, but there's something to it. Why not
69
THE LITERARY HALLS
get a statue of Doctor Bishop for Erodel-
pliian Hall and lord it over the Hyenas
forever? But a statue must cost barrels
of mone}^ Well, why not a piece of a
statue, then; one of those head-and-shoul-
ders things on a pedestal? Let me see —
oh, yes, a bust, that's it; Erodelphian,
forever, with a bust !
There was only troubled sleep for the
youngster that night, and little of that.
Society was to meet the night after and
the final vote was to be taken. Argu-
ments and rejoinders, wild fragments of
oratory raced through his brain, and the
fever burned his temples. No wonder he
was only a pale, shivering wisp of a thing
as he sat through the complacent remarks
of Martin on Friday evening, heard a
high-browed junior call for "Question,"
and struggled to his feet, stammering,
"Mr. P-p-president!" How he said the
rest of it he never knew. But when he
70
THE LITERARY HALLS
sank into his chair again, the all-gone
feeling had vanished from his middle and
the Martinites knew what their young
and persecuted brothers thought about
cheap imitations. Moreover they were
smiling at this impossible suggestion of
a bust.
Now there was one very weak spot in
young Anderson's armor; and Martin,
experienced debater that he was, found
it at once.
"The young gentlemen has suggested
that we procure a bust of Doctor Bishop
for our hall. An excellent idea; very ex-
cellent, and in splendid taste. But whom
can he have in mind to mould the classic
features of the Doctor? As he is well
aware, as all the gentlemen are well
aware, America has but one sculptor
capable of such a trust — the great Green-
ough, of Boston, and he is unfortunately
at this time in Italy."
71
THE LITERARY HALLS
Probably not one in ten of tlie gentle-
men in question had ever heard of Green-
ough, or knew if his habitat was Boston
or Bohemia; but when Charles Martin
appealed thus to their superior knowl-
edge, not one of them would fail. But the
future Governor was on his mettle.
Jumping to his feet he assured them in
shrill tones that they need not go to Italy
or even Massachusetts for their modeler
of clay. No farther away than Cincinnati
there was — there must be — an artist
equal to the task. Some of them had seen
his work and knew what perfect like-
nesses he produced. True, the medium
was slightly different, but that didn't
matter.
"Will the gentleman, then," Martin
interposed with a tinge of irony, "kindly
inform the society who this local sculp-
tor may be, and where his mastei'pieces
are found."
72
THE LITERARY HALLS
Anderson flushed. It did seem foolish
now at the finish. But he went doggedly
on. "I don't know his name, but he's the
man who made the wax-works at D'Or-
feuille's Museum, and I — " The rest was
lost in a shout of laughter, and it was
mighty hard for a certain tow-headed
freshman to hold back a few big hot
tears. When quiet was restored the vote
was taken and the original motion carried
by a large majorit}^
Then the prospective politician and a
few faithful cronies began to do what
should have come at first. They attended
to their fences. Governor Anderson has
since confessed that his methods on this
occasion were decidedly shady, and de-
clared that he used such tactics only this
once in his career. An opposition party
was rallied, not from those who merely
wanted a bust, but rather from the large
miscellaneous element who for one rea-
73
THE LITERARY HALLS
son or another wanted to *'bust" Martin.
All the youngsters were ready. Martin,
they said, was a conceited puppy who
tried to patronize people. Some of the
older brethren joined in because they
had old accounts to settle, and a few came
along just to see the fun. Such an at-
tendance had never been seen before.
Promptly at the call for business a re-
consideration was voted and almost with-
out debate Erodelphian Hall decided to
adorn itself with a plaster bust of Doctor
Bishop, the same to be modeled if possi-
ble by the unknown Cincinnati wizard
who made waxworks for D 'Orf euille 's
Museum. A committee with Anderson
at the head was commissioned to contract
for the job.
In a few days the three advanced upon
Cincimiati, where they had not a friend
or acquaintance to help them out. An-
derson as guide and spokesman led his
74
THE LITERARY HALLS
party direct to the museum, where duty
was forgotten in a half hour's joyous con-
templation of the world in wax. Then
they went at their task. The first guard
accosted was a wax one, and they col-
lapsed in giggling confusion. They
waited till they caught one walking, and
were directed to a dingy little office at
one side, where a small French person
beamed upon them and shrugged friendly
shoulders.
"Ze man zat mek ze wax-woork"?
Non, Non! Zat ees mon grand secret;
mon! He ees un miracle, un prodige, un
— vat you call gen-i-us! I cannot geef
him up ! Ze Musee uptown, zey send you
here"? Hein?"
With some confusion on their part
and many shrugs and grimaces on his,
the boys explained the real nature of
their errand.
"Oui, oui, certainement ! Ze bosse, ze
75
THE LITERARY HALLS
statuette. Zis man lie mek you ze won-
daireful bosse. Parbleu! Who else
should mek you ze bosse ? You find heem
where ees ze cornair of Feefth Street
wiz ze Mam Street. Voila! Hees name
eet ees Pow-airs, Hiram Pow-airs. Un
jeune fils, un gen-i-us! Oui, oui!"
With swelling hearts the trio hurried
up the street to the workshop studio of
their gen-i-us. In his muddy apron
Powers himself met them at the door.
This raw Vermont lad, clock-maker's ap-
prentice and moulder of waxen images,
was at that moment entering upon the
career of achievement which Avas to bless
the world with his masterpieces. The
creator of the Greek Slave was making
his first attempt in clay. He was all the
boys had hoped of him, modest, genial
and capable. Tie was willing to under-
take the commission and would insure
them satisfaction. The clay model would
76
THE LITERARY HALLS
cost them one hundred dollars; it could
be moulded in plaster for five more. The
contract was closed in a jiffy, arrange-
ments were made for the artist to study
his subject, and the committee strutted
toward the canal-boat — the most self-
satisfied group of infants the sun shone
upon. Thus Hiram Powers entered upon
his first remunerative piece of sculpture,
preserved in that time-stained plaster
cast in Erodelphian Hall.
Along toward 1840 the literary situa-
tion began to be complicated somewhat
by the appearance of Greek letter frater-
nities. Alpha Delta Phi came first, an
importation from the east, and after it
was well established sub rosa, began a
series of free lessons in that subtlest of
all arts, college politics. One cold winter
morning in '39, both societies awoke to
find that these mysterious Greeks, bear-
ing gifts of flattery and promise, had es-
77
THE LITERARY HALLS
tablislied themselves in all the really
honorable offices about the halls, and
were running things "for the good of
the order. ' ' There was a rallying of bar-
baric hosts, and by the next election time
the Alphas were confronted by two iron-
clad ordinances — strangely alike — deny-
ing membership to every Greek frater-
nity man. They quietly gathered their
camp-followers about them, retired to
their own back-yard, and founded a nice
little society among themselves which
they christened Miami Hall. They man-
aged somehow to get faculty recognition,
and three societies sawed the air and
talked themselves purple in the face till
1843. Then the hatchet was entombed,
the Union and the Miami societies unit-
ing in the Miami Union Hall. Erodel-
phian and Miami Union have shared the
field to this day, except during the rather
brief existence of the Eccriteans.
78
THE LITERARY HALLS
Something has been said of unfriendly
relations between literary halls and fac-
ulty. Very real these appeared through
a number of years, and were by no means
a matter of jest. They were a favorite
topic of conversation, embittered many a
student's career, and blighted the admin-
istrations of two able and consecrated
presidents. All trouble seems to have
arisen in the societies themselves through
a misconception, or too literal interpreta-
tion of their independence. They insisted
that a charter from the state rendered
their official proceedings as societies im-
mune from any outside interference,
whether b}^ faculty or trustees. This in-r
sistence w^as largely the work of graduate
members of the societies, who had, of
course,, no responsibility to the faculty,
but by the old constitutions might sit and
vote as active members of the halls when-
ever they chose to drop in and exercise
79
THE LITERARY HALLS
the privilege. They usually chose about
the time they had an ax to grind.
No open break is recorded until Doc-
tor Junkin's time. Soon after his arrival,
one Dodds, a refractory and entirely un-
qualified student not then in college,
petitioned for the privilege of graduation.
The faculty promptly sat upon him. The
matter was appealed to the Board of
Trustees. They sat upon him with an
equal promptness. The Miami Society,
Avith a fine show of innocence, then gave
him a prominent place on the program
for their commencement exhibition, an
event that in those times overshadowed
the graduating exercises themselves. To
be sure there was trouble. Anj^body but
the Miami Hall must have foreseen that.
The faculty in a long and formal docu-
ment protested against such procedure.
Even then the tabooed name appeared in
the printed list of speakers, and at the
80
THE LITERARY HALLS
proper time two bona Me seniors es-
corted Mr. Dodds to the platform, only to
be publicly and solemnly, if not affection-
ately, admonished for their pains. These
two also would have been denied degrees,
except that they signed complete apol-
ogies along about sunrise on Commence-
ment morning.
Two things in these apologies catch
the eye. One is an early phrasing of
chartered independence: they ''did not
suppose the faculty had a right to inter-
fere" with a literary society exhibition.
The other breathes the song of everlast-
ing youth in its rich suggestion of a melo-
dramatic extravagance — which just failed
to connect. It quotes rumors of a plot
among the seniors of the Hall to tear up
their diplomas publicly as they received
them on the platform, or at least to cut
out one certain signature. Luckily for
Doctor Junkin, he was spared this crush-
ing humiliation.
81
THE LITERARY HALLS
A little later came the Jones case.
Jones was nsnally in disgrace and always
on probation, bnt blest with a thick skin.
One morning he asked permission to read
in chapel a note concerning the expulsion
of a fellow-derelict from his literary
society. Doctor Junkin refused until the
facult}^ might act. Next morning Jones
took no chances, but marched boldly to
the rostrum and sailed in. The Doctor
gently but firmly towed him back to port.
The faculty lost no more time in taking
up the question, and ruled that such
literary skeletons should remain quietly
in society closets, and not walk abroad
disturbing the good humor of the com-
munity. Informally they agreed that
Jones was a thorn in the flesh and an un-
desirable citizen.
The formal ruling was announced in
chapel next morning before prayers. The
informal one became manifest imme-
82
THE LITERARY HALLS
diately after the Amen. For Jones the
irrepressible was once more on the plat-
form, reading away at the same old soiled
manuscript. The president demanded
silence. Jones read the louder. The
audience became much affected. Groans
and cat-calls, cheers and hisses drowned
the speaker's words, but he finished the
paper and stalked off the rostrum into the
great world of business waiting to receive
him, unheard but victorious. But all this
was only a new symptom of an old dis-
ease. It all came out in the faculty clinic
that preceded the lad's expulsion. Thus
reads the diagnosis:
''A further ground of action in finding
this sentence, but which its very nature
prohibits being published, is that Mr.
Jones did very distinctly and repeatedly
intimate to the Faculty that he would be
sustained by his Society in all that he had
done ; that he had talked with all, or very
83
THE LITERARY HALLS
nearly all, the members since Monday
morning, and he knew he would be sus-
tained: — thereby obviously intending to
intimidate the Faculty with the fear of a
general combination to resist."
With the coming of great-hearted
Doctor MacMaster, with his scholar's
want of tact, societies and faculty settled
down to their sweetest, juiciest bone of
contention. Every organization in those
days delighted to be talked to. No society
had blue-blood or recognition with the
smart set, unless it had itself learnedly
addressed, at least once a year, by some
degree-bespangled wise man of the East,
on "The Social Significance of Oriental
Mysticism" or "Unquestioning Obedi-
ence to Properly Constituted Authority
— the Real Safeguard of a Republican
Government." It was always a moment-
ous occasion. The village belles were all
there, and in later years came the demure
84
THE LITERARY HALLS
young ladies from the female institutions.
The members beamed proudly over im-
mense rosettes the size of liver-pads, and
tried to look unconscious of their pinch-
ing boots as they squeaked loudly up and
down the aisle. The president of the
concern outdid himself in an introduction
magnifying the colossal achievements of
the speaker of the evening — and invari-
ably forgot the distinguished gentleman *s
name.
Well, each of the halls had one of these
dissipations every commencement week
and another during the year. Their in-
tellectual natures demanded it. The
speakers usually were men of real ability
and fame, though occasionally they did
strike one a bit unsound in his theol-
ogy. History records no real blunder of
judgment anywhere along the line. But
as each side remarked — with one paw on
the bone — that didn't matter; it was a
85
THE LITERARY HALLS
question of principle. Clearly, everybody
who had ever held membership in the hall,
and paid his fines and scraped his boots
on the doormat, might come in when he
chose and cast his vote in electing these
speakers. If the faculty had no veto
power, any old body might some time be
chosen to air his views, orthodox or other-
wise, on ''Unquestioning Obedience, etc.,
etc." "Certainly!" remarked the soci-
eties, in firm and chilling tones, "and be-
cause of our herein-before-mentioned
charters from the state, it is none of your
cultured business." Then they all took
another try at the bone.
Not very dignified, is it, looked at
through the vista of three score and ten
merry years? But out of such petty
bickerings, men tell us, often evolves
great history. In this case there were
four years of skirmishing. The trustees
were summoned as reserves and gave an
86
THE LITERARY HALLS
overwhelming decision against the soci-
eties. That ought to have been final:
trustees conducted the examinations in
those days. But these gentlemen were
requested to assume a position of inert
suspension right beside the facult3^ In
solid and offended majesty they turned
upon their teaching staff. "Why, bless
me, professor, mercy on me," they
wheezed, "you must chastize these impu-
dent rascals, you must indeed! And
soundly, too, very soundly!" And the
fight went cheerily on.
Apparently nobody thought, at the
time, of the possibility of having these
boasted charters revoked. Nobody thought,
either, of cutting former students out of
active membership in the halls. Both
parties continued giving up their peace
and happiness for principle, until the
division had entered into the little faculty
itself, and the prejudice had arisen which
87
THE LITERARY HALLS
colored every action of the president, and
biased students ere they set foot in Ox-
ford. The Snow Rebellion drifted in,
with its ugly contentions, and the severing
of friendly associations. Then at last,
one day in 1849, Ardivan W. Rodgers,
charter member of Phi Delta Theta and
secretary of Erodelphian Hall, quietly
submitted to the professors the society's
appointment for anniversary speaker and
politely requested their approval. They
gasped and promptly granted the re-
quest, wishing for the society a long-con-
tinued career of prosperity. The raven
croaked and the gray wolf howled as the
moon rose over the battle-field. But the
fight was over.
Pray do not imagine that throughout
their whole career these societies have
continued daring the faculty to tread on
their coat-tails. The little period of con-
tention is almost lost to view amid the
88
THE LITERARY HALLS
years and years of cordial co-operation
and zealous effort. Even in the contro-
versy, for all its unpleasant features,
there was experience and growth. The
very key to existence in the literary hall
is strife and rivalry, the mimic warfare
that makes ready for the battle of life.
Somebody is always getting angry, only
to be laughed back to a grudging sense of
his own hot-headedness. Those old meet-
ing-rooms are alive with reminiscences,
all too many for a tale like this, of the
jovial wit-combats of other days. One
example will have to serve.
Ben Harrison, the nation's Ben, was
an everlasting student when in college;
but despite his seriousness gave the im-
pression of extreme youth. One night he
was lined up with some young colleagues
in defense of a measure, and was much in-
censed when an opponent spoke con-
temptuously of these ' ' callow youths who
89
THE LITERARY HALLS
would know more when they were older. ' '
Ben bided his time. Next Friday after-
noon his crowd was due for declamations.
They took two turns at their meetings
then, you know; miscellaneous speeches
in the afternoon, debate by candle-light.
Harrison was called on first. He took a
position squarely in front of his former
opponent, stretched to his full five feet
six, and gave with much feeling Pitt's
reply to Walpole — "The atrocious crime
of being a young man I shall attempt
neither to palliate nor deny." One after
another the youngsters took their places,
each one on the same spot and with the
same speech. The house was hysterical
when they finished, and impromptus were
called for. At once a little shock-headed
urchin, smallest and youngest in the hall,
and a frat brother of Ben's, leaped to his
feet and finished the audience by piping
out once more the familiar lines.
90
THE LITERARY HALLS
Of course there were the Greek frater-
nities claiming the closest affiliations of
these young hearts. But the comrade-
ship of the literary halls was a very real
and very dear one. In those days when
snail-like transportation made the home
folks seem a long way off, this comrade-
ship fought hard against illness and dis-
couragement. Sometimes it struggled
with death itself. Three tokens of these
combats gleam white among the trees in
the pretty village burying-ground. The
modest slabs reveal the names of three
old-time Erodelphians, ministered unto
till the very end by sympathizing com-
rades, although home and kindred were
denied.
J. W. Smith.
John Jameson.
Joseph Little.
Above each name stands the motto
of the society that erected the stone,
91
THE LITERARY HALLS
"Scientia, Eloquentia, Amicitia." Be-
low is the parting benediction of man to
man,
"Vale, mi f rater."
Say if you will the old-time literary
society is a thing of the past. It has justi-
fied itself a thousand-fold in pulpit and in
forum. They served an apprenticeship
better than they knew, those fiery-hearted
lads of olden time. And we who profit
by their national achievement and revel
in their rich traditions, would gladly
waft our message back to each of them
along the corridors of time :
*'Vale, mi f rater."
92
-3^
gy»gi*aMW! Brt l ffl ll l! i . ' ' h M 'mvfMrxStMnVJs^Cj.'- .ft!^Ji.^7Ksy^ - ^: *^-nm i
11^ M
"c^Y
THERE is a tradition, dating back
to the time of people who should
have known, that the Indian word 'Mi-
ami" meant mother. Nowadays people
usually forget that the name is aboriginal
at all; and cultured Easterners give it a
rich, garlicky Italian twang, as they
drawl it at you in melodious tones, "Mee-
aw-mee." However, the old tradition
lingers in its savage beauty and takes a
real significance in the eyes of those
much-abused but naively self-sufficient
college organizations, the Greek-letter
fraternities. For out of the loins of little
old Miami, in the years "befo' de wah,"
arose in turn three of the largest, most
95
WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK
prosperous, and most widely-extended of
these secret brotherhoods.
Far be it from this sketch to attempt
discussion of the impulses or ideals which
operate to produce these unions of choice
spirits, these gatherings of the elect, or
whatever else they choose to call them-
selves. The closed circle of intimates is as
old as time; and contemporary with it
arose a tendency to inward "peeve" and
consuming jealousy among those just out-
side the circle. If twenty picked men are
gathered from a possible hundred, the
pathetic part is not played by the hun-
dredth man, but by Number 21. When Og
and Glug, among the pre-Adamite cave-
dwellers, happened upon a valley where
sweet red berries grew, invited Wap to
share their secret, and gathered daily in
their close retreat to mimcli and snooze
and barter confidences ; when they decked
themselves with the shiny fruit, leered in
96
WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK
the faces of Tub and Blub — who weren't
asked — and called themselves a struag of
gutturals meaning in their lingo "Order
of the Sacred Grotto where the Red
Berry Grows:" there appeared, in germ,
the Greek letter fraternity minus the
Greek.
In the college community there is par-
ticular need for these limited brother-
hoods. A fellow can't intimately fellow-
ship a whole school, and there have to be
the chosen few whose hearts thump in
unison with his. To these alone he goes
with the hopeless problem in algebra or
the perfectly bully note from the girl
with the brown eyes; these only are per-
mitted to loan him money when dad's
allowance is all spent, or to share the lus-
cious box of "eats" that mother always
sends on birthdays. A heartless world
may scoff, or bone-headed reporters write
scathing sarcasm of the "rah-rah boys
97
WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK
from the Eata Bitea Pie crowd." But
somehow there's nowhere else in college
life where real youth — red-blooded, siz-
zling, affectionate youth — gets expression
so adequately as in the comradeship of
fraternity halls.
To be sure their secrets and occult
mysteries savor of a colossal farce. A
Greek motto that not one undergraduate
in twenty would recognize if he met it in
broad daylight out on College Avenue; a
set of digital contortions suggesting life-
long agonies with rheumatic joints and
called a grip; a ritual pieced together out
of empty but resounding phrases and
calculated to make candidates forget the
miseries of the hot sands outside. Be-