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SPECIAL COLLECTION

RELATING TO

HARVARD UNIVERSITY,

SUPPLEMENTING THE ARCHIVES.



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HARVARD
ADVOCATE.



VOLUME LXVI. — No. i






CONTENTS.



The Week

After the War .

Nineteen Hundred and Two

A Word to College Writers

Mooring

Miss Peyton's Red Parasol



Page

I
I

2

a
3



Two Sides of the Fence
The Passing of the Storm
Barlow's Sal ... .
An International Complication
Book Reviews



Page
7
9

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12

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Cambridge, Mass., October 17, 1898.



Printbd by Edward W. Whbblsr, Cambridgb, Mass.



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Harvard Advocate.



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THE HARVARD



Vol. LXVI. Cambridge, Mass., October i7>^i %8^ ^. . -^ No. i.



The Advocatr is published fortnightly during' the
College Year, Terms,S^'S^ a year, m advauck. Single
copies, J J cents. For sale in Cambridge at Amee*s and
Thurston* s. In Boston, at Damrell, Ufham A Co.*s, cor.
School and Washington Streets,

All communications, contributions and subscriptions
should be sent to the Harvard Advocate, iido Massa-
chusetts Avenue, Cambridge.

Contributions and manuscripts unaccompanied by
stamps will not be returned.

Subscribers who do not receive their numbers will
confer a favor by notifying the Business Manager.



BOARD OF EDITORS.

J. A. Macy, '99, PrtMideui.
F. M. huiM,ft,*q^ Stcretary.



R. P. Bbllows, '99.

J. F. Bricb» '99.

Clarbncb S. Hasfbr, 3d Sp.



A. B. RuHL,*99.
A. G. Fuller, 1900.
R. S. Holland, 1900.



J. B. HoLDBN, Jr., '99.



Bmifuss Managtr,
G. C. Griffith, 1901.



r Ediior,
W. K. Vandbrbilt, Jr., 1901.



•• OOME dear friends who gave their lives
^ and all that they had or hoped for, to
their country and to their fellow men in the
hour of great need."

Stanley Hollister, '97 iL
William Huntington Sanders, '97
James Thwing Furness, '98
Nathaniel Brown Adsit, 1900

We know better now than we did a year ago
what Mr. Higginson's speech, from which the
quoted phrase is taken, meant to the older men
of the university when he addressed the students
and graduates June 10, 1890. The fellows who
died in this war were known to many of us and
for them as well as for the Harvard men of the



Rebellion, Mr. Higginson has spoken the final
word. It is the character of the Anglo-Saxon
genus and especially of the species dominated
by Puritan reticence, to say little and think much
of gentlemen who have died doing the duty that
belongs to all of us. To know what we ought
to think about the few men we have lost in the
Spanish war, we cannot do better than to read
the thin little pamphlet containing Mr. Higgin-
son's address, rich in those simple great thoughts
that the man of fifty knows how to say so much
better than the undergraduate.



The Freshman has been taught to regard him-
self as the smallest part of the community. This
is a good precept if it tends to make him modest
and self-contained. But he should not give it a
self-annihilating interpretation. He is, from
some points of view, the most important of the
quartette. We know pretty well the capacity of
the other three, it is to the new comer that we
turn for the fulfillment of the hopes which raw
material always gives rise to. Let him feel that
the senior is corporal of the four and that num-
bers Two and Three are more experienced
drillers, but let him not forget that at times he
is pivot-man and that the evolution of the four
depends much on his steadiness.

Mr. Nineteen Hundred and Two Man, nearly
everything now is in the hands of the upper
classman, but he has no inherited right to his job.
If you can beat this Senior or that Junior in the
kind of work he tries to do, his place is yours.
If you cannot beat him, see how near you can
come to equalling him, and you will be his suc-
cessor. Do not think that the causal clause
"because I am a Freshman," is a reason for



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anything except an abundance of gentlemanli-
ness and perseverance on your part. Your suc-
cess in college for four years is worth more to
you than the Junior's welfare for his two remain-
ing years is to him, for the exact mathematical
reason that your time in college is to be twice
as long. Therefore you ought to work twice as
hard to establish yourself as a useful, energetic
member of the university.

This is perfectly plain sense, so clear that
to the upper-class men it is a series of truisms.
Some men, no matter where they are in their
studies, are always Freshmen. Some Freshmen
are as good as good Juniors by the beginning of
the second term, simply because they take hold
of things soon enough, do honest work in support
of college enterprises and do not talk too much
about it.



We have had a dozen written inquiries within
a week as to what sort of manuscript the Advo-
cate prints. The policy of the Advocate is not
so narrow as to debar any article that would
have a clean interest for undergraduates in gen-
eral. If you like to write for us, the label to
paste on your desk is, '* The Advocate is likely
to print anything of mine which I would like to
read if some other man had written it." That
may be so comprehensive as to suggest nothing,
but it is the only answer that we can phrase to
the question " What kind of things do you like ? "
We prefer a story to an essay, a quatrain to an
epic poem, but if you think undergraduates would
like to read your work, send it along, no matter
what it is about. The canons of decency, it is
hardly necessary to add, we try to follow as be-
comes the oldest publication of a Puritan college.



MOORING.

T^HE mists blow over the lea,
* The ships put in from sea,
But I see her hair
With the rosebud there

And the world is well with me.

The breakers pound on the shore,
The distant pine-tops roar.

There 's a cloud aloft.

But her lips are soft
With the kiss I am longing for.

The rain beats down on the world.
The dripping sails are furled.

But clear are the skies

In her sea-deep eyes
Where never a cloud has curled.

0*er the bay we love to sail
The mad storm voices wail,

But the sounds of the sea

Will be song to me
Till the song of our love shall fail.



P.H.



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MISS PEYTON'S RED PARASOL.



CAR BELOW the tops of the dark pines, the
* gently roughened surface of the lake shivered
like chain-mail in the hot afternoon sun. All
round it the walls of deep green dropped steeply
down to the water's edge, with scarcely a break
in color except where, in places, bits of gray
rock jutted out into the open. It was from the
highest one of these tiny table-rocks, way above
the cottages and turretcd roofs of the hotel, that
Miss Marion Peyton abstractedly gazed on the
green and silver below. Regardless of the sun
which beat into dazzling vividness her skirt of
white duck and her pink shirt waist, she poked
with the tip of her closed parasol the bits of
moss which clung in the crevices of the bare
rock.

Her golf clubs and tennis racket, for once
unused, lay on the hall seat in the big house
whose chimneys just showed half a mile down
the shore. The sophomore who enjoyed hill-
climbing, and the other young gentleman, who
possessed a Rob Roy canoe and a pair of excel-
lently tanned arms, searched for her in vain.
All that people could say was that Miss Peyton
had gone off alone early in the afternoon, remark-
ing to some one that she wanted to think. It
seemed a most amazing and unwarrantable pro-
ceeding. In the first place Miss Peyton was an
" athletic girl." She had limitless quantities of
what the novelists somewhat vaguely call " good
red blood," and she was expected to affect
sweaters and an irresistible air of camaraderie.
It was her r6le continually to prove to the mascu-
line mind the weakness and inaptitude of the
masculine body. Without her, everything of
course must stop, and the girls and men loiter-
ing in the shade of the hotel porch felt, some-
how, ill-used. Certain allowances might be
made, because, with the summer so near an end,
complications might have arisen with so popular
a girl as Miss Pe)rton, which required thought.
She was, indeed, the sort of girl not to think
about such things until she had to. She had a
mask of breezy playfulness which was most dis-
tressing to the younger and more imaginative of
her admirers. She would much rather talk about



the beauty of the road or the roughness of the
course than about the future careers of the young
gentlemen with whom she walked or played, and
inside facts about the reasons for last year's
defeat or the hopes of next year's victory, inter-
ested her more than facts about the inside of
their heads or even their hearts. That she felt
at all, few were certain ; of the depth and serious-
ness of the emotion which for the past few weeks
had been growing more and more turbulent
beneath the gay impenetrability of her manner,
none had even suspicions. Though something
were about to occur, it seemed all the more
strange that she could have escaped without
being accompanied by the Centaur or even the
Somnambulist.

The Centaur's name was Waldron. On his
college football team he had been variously
known as **beef" and "slugger" Waldron.
He was tall, broad, athletically-handsome, and
had about him the air of one who always suc-
ceeds. To Miss Peyton, who was supposed to
regard a massive pair of shoulders with almost
the connoisseurship with which a horseman
regards the limbs of a thoroughbred, such a man
would evidently be irresistible. By those who
believe that Mother Venus and the young archer
always play a sort of celestial game of casino
with their victims, the two young people were
said to be made for one another. The only
opposition to Waldron's monopolization of Miss
Peyton was made by the Somnambulist. She
herself had invented the pseudomyn for Lester,
and it represented with droll accuracy his lack of
energy, of true sporting blood and of the things
which athletic young men most obviously admire.
Spending most of his time, when not with Miss
Peyton, smoking over a book under the trees
that shaded the great rambling house of the
Lester's, he seemed to regard the hotel people
from the point of view of an amused spectator.
Toward Waldron, even, he maintained this atti-
tude, a feat which both the guests and the Cen-
taur, himself, regarded as additional proof of
singular deficiency. Miss Peyton was the only
object for which he seemed to feel real human



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interest. As to the success with which his per-
sonality met that of Waldron's, she, more than
any one else, was able to judge and likely to be
affected. The lookers-on knew only that, though
she always tolerated his presence, she chaffed
him unmercifully. It was said that a man must
care a lot for a girl to let himself be made such a
fool of.

** Of course," Miss Peyton was sighing, aim-
lessly poking a bit of moss over the edge of the
cliff, '* of course things could n*t have gone on
so forever, — it was too fine for that," — she
inserted the tip of her parasol beneath another
tuft, — " of course they could n*t." With hands
clasped round the ivory handle and brows puck-
ered, she gazed distressedly out upon the lake.
*' There is the place," — she stared fixedly way
off toward the farther shore, " there 's where he
stopped paddling and there, — O, what am I
ever to do I If only he had n't, or if he had
waited — to-morrow I should have been gone
and he would have forgotten, and everything
would have been simple and easy. And now he
has made it so hard for me — he says he will
never forget, and I shall be followed everywhere

— he said he would — and he is so — so big,
someway, that you can't tell him to run away,
and this minute I suppose he is trying to find
me and I — I want to be rescued and " — Miss
Peyton dropped the parasol into her lap, — **and
there is no one to do it"

While she thus soliloquized, the suspicions of
her ears had kept increasing her anxiety, and
suddenly the distinct sound of breaking twigs,
from a short distance down the slope to the
right of the rock, brought her head up with a
jerk. " He is coming! " she whispered quickly,
her fingers opening and shutting nervously
around the ivory handle. " It will be so always
and all the time and forever and what can I do

— here — all alone." — Just then her searching
eyes caught sight, through the branches, of a tiny
Eton cap.

" O,'* said Miss Peyton. " It 's the somnambu-
list." The pucker faded from her brows and the
look of bored fear from her eyes, but as she
waited she began to breathe more quickly, and just
as the owner of the cap was about to push aside



the bushes and step onto the rock she suddenly
seized the red parasol and pushuig it up very
quickly, held it low over her head.

*' O really, Miss Peyton," came Lester's easy
drawl as his face emerged, ** don't put it up, I
beg of you — you 've forgotten the shirt waist,
— they won't go at all, you know, really they
won't."

Miss Peyton looked up amusedly as he stood
regarding her with much seriousness, and half
unconsciously closed her parasol. She always
liked to talk with the somnambulist There was
something in this inconsequential greeting which
was typical of that droll, half embarrassed
manner with which Lester masked his inner
composure, and which seemed to take her back
out of her anxiety and to make her feel as though
she had a protector. Perhaps never before had
she felt toward him this same kindly warmth, —
as though he suddenly had become an old friend.

** Why did n't you come round by the road ? "
she asked.

"It was too far and would take too long. I
saw your parasol through the trees from the
house."

Miss Peyton observed some scratches on his
hands as he patiently plucked the burrs from
his golf stockings and was not insensible to the
implied compliment

" You may stay," said she, " though I "

** You came up here to think, that 's what they
told me. I wish, though, that you wouldn't
You 're going away, you know, and we ought to
talk."

** That's just why, — that is, 1 must think
about going."

" Oh I know," assented the somnambulist ** I
was thinking about the same thing, — about your
going, you know." Miss Peyton turned her head
aside and rested her cheek upon the handle of
the parasol. '* It has been so long now, so long
and such good fun while it was going, and one
has — has got so used to it"

" Don't, Mr. Lester, let 's not begin that way.
We should have to get sentimental, and neither
of us is of that sort, and least of all here in this
hot sunshine."

" O that depends," said the Somnambulist very



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slowly, following out with his pipe-stem the pat-
tern of his knickers, " one gets to know people
pretty well in a place like this, and to finding
out the little things and adding up those he likes,
but we mustn't have a scene."

" No," said Miss Peyton, looking toward him
for an instant with a laugh, ** we must n't have a
scene." She never had felt quite the same com-
rade-like feeling for any one that she felt for the
Somnambulist at this instant. Clasping her hands
round her knees she looked amiably off into the
distance.

'* We have had some pleasant times, all of us
here this summer. I 'm quite sure that that
battered old racquet never had more fun in his
life, — that is if he feels, and do you know,"
Miss Peyton spoke with somewhat unusual viva-
ciousness, ** I almost believe they do."

** They ought to, of course," admitted the
somnambulist gravely. ** I Ve often, under cir-
cumstances, wished to be one.''

" You had rather be than see one, I suppose,
because the other might imply that you had to
use it and the first means mere existence, and
that " — Miss Peyton looked very determined as
though she were saying that which conscien-
tiousness forced her, — and that's your ideal."

** Yes, I know," he said apologetically. ** I
suppose you are right — of course you are. It
would n't do for me to make a try at competing
with the others at that kind of thing. But when
you are gone," — he paused tentatively, —
*' when you are gone you will have to classify
us in some way, you know. And along with the
trees and the water and the tennis racquets and
— and the furniture — I'm not so bad, do you
think, in that class."

'*No," laughed Miss Peyton, turning and
glancing at him for an instant, " you 're very,
very excellent, even though you're not — a
hero."

Lester cast a look that was half despair, half
droll commiseration at the averted face of the
girl.

"You're getting into your r61e again and I
wish you would n't. You will begin to scintillate
in a moment, and when you do that I always
wonder if you were n't bom too late. Don't you



know, Miss Peyton, since we got away from
dragons and drawbridges heroism has to be
inferred."

*' Even though it 's not implied." Miss Peyton
held the distance with her eyes as though it
were a tennis-ball she were about to volley into
the farthest corner of the court.

" You always judge so by the outside of things

— by the thinnest outsides," mused the Som-
nambulist, looking into the bowl of his unlighted
pipe. " What 's one to do ? One can't do any
different, it would be too much like what Jack
Homer shouted after he got the plum."

*' No, certainly not ; but one can tell by little
things what he will do when the time comes.
I'm afraid they can, and the possible time is
what one always thinks of. You must n't think
the girls who waited in the lattice windows and,

— and, all that, were very different from us.
The kind of a man that a girl "

** There 's a girl in it, too ? "

"Of course there is." Miss Peyton felt a
prickly warmth spreading down beneath her
high white stock, but she went on firmly, " A
girl must judge by the very outside things, and
the man who never, — that is the kind of man
that appeals to a girl "

" This is n't heroes, its hearts, and if it 's
that, if it's that, — " the somnambulist turned
toward the girl and his drawl braced into sudden
earnestness, — ** you don't fancy that when it
comes to pleasing the girl or doing anything for
the girl — the girl one takes to, you know, — that
any man would back off from — from anything,

— you don't believe M^/." He leaned forward,
staring into the girl's eyes. Miss Peyton did
not know whether or not to laugh. Then of a
sudden an odd look flashed into her eyes.
Jumping up she walked to the edge of the rock.
Thirty feet below, the wall jutted forth into a
narrow ledge, on a level with which were the
tips of the tallest pines.

" The Somnambulist won't ride a horse or row
a boat, or even, — or do anything, but he can
make very pretty speeches." There was a flash
of crimson, and then a light slap as the parasol
struck on the ledge below.

" I 've dropped my parasol," said Miss Peyton,



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and turning she regarded the Somnambulist with
a smile. Already he had flung off his coat.

** Do you mean it ? " he cried eagerly, " really,
do you ? '' The girl gave a little gasp as he lay
flat and swung himself over the edge. She had
never seen him like this.

The rock was not quite perpendicular, and
here and there were jagged projections and
stunted, tough little bushes. Miss Peyton started
to say something, but she could only gasp a
bewildered and frightened " Don't 1 " when the
fascination of the thing overcame her. She
kneeled flat at the edge and looked down with
devouring eyes. Slowly, from point to point and
bush lo bush, watching his feet like a cat, Lester
descended. In the excitement of it Miss Peyton
forgot the perilous rashness of the act, or that
she was its cause. At last, when within a few
feet of the ledge, Lester let go his hold and
dropped safely. Dashing his shirt-sleeve across
his face he looked up with a grin.

" Don't go away, Miss Peyton, look down —
look down just as you are now, and I 'U bring it
to you."

" You will fall ! you will I " groaned Miss Pey-
ton reaching for him with her eyes.

" O but I could n't now " — Miss Peyton
wondered afterward that she had not thought it
strange when he added, "my princess."

Giving a hitch to his belt and taking the slen-
der parasol between his teeth, Lester started
upward. It had been far from a simple matter
to go down, and to come up was twice as diffi-
cult. The girl heard him breathe very quickly
several times, but the wadding of scarlet silk
kept her from knowing that he was cursing
savagely. Once his foot slipped from under
him and stretching her arms down toward him,
Miss Peyton cried in terror, '*0, O, my dear,


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