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 Book. 
 
 \ ''^ ':>■ 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
THE 
 
 NINETEEN HUNDRED gf THREE 
 
 CLASS BOOK 
 
THE EDITORS 
 
 GEORGE FREDERICK BAMBACH, Chairman 
 GEORGE HENRY BUTLER, Jr., Manager 
 
 FREDERIC JOSEPH AGATE 
 
 NATHANIEL WARING BARNES 
 
 CHARLES LE ROY HENDRICKSON 
 LAWRASON RIGGS, Jr. 
 
 ROBERT LIVINGSTON SCHUYLER 
 
 CHRISTOPHER BILLOPP WYATT 
 
 MARCELLUS HARTLEY DODGE, ex-officio 
 
THE 
 
 NINETEEN HUNDRED &" THREE 
 
 CLASS BOOK 
 
 A 
 Record of the Senior Class 
 
 of 
 
 Columbia College 
 
 Published by the Class in June 
 Nineteen Hundred and Three 
 
THE GRAFTON PRESS 
 
 70 FIFTH AVENUE 
 NEW YORK 
 
 -ife^ 
 
 Gift 
 
in tht ®ttaj of i^jcw IfxrvK 
 
 %uvX Pan 
 
 a 
 
 W'^Ca — -^r-^r" t €f *y' 
 
 y^ -^ '^'^<:^ Y^^r^^''^<<^ 
 
TO 
 
 George Edward Woodberry 
 
TO NINETEEN-THREE 
 
 Twelve are the years Columbia gave to me ; 
 
 Twelve are the classes of happy memory ; 
 
 And yours the last of the twelve, and no more shall be. 
 
 But O, to say farewell and fond adieu! 
 
 Four years to me are dear, and dearer far to you ; 
 
 And the years, that seemed so many, are found too few. 
 
 I taught you the ways of life, as poets teach; 
 
 Scott, Shelley, Tennyson, you heard me preach; 
 
 Yet most through my own heart to your hearts I reach. 
 
 I taught you Shakspere next, the infinite brain,— 
 Romeo, Hamlet, Lear,— our life of pain ; 
 And by my art I turned this woe to gain. 
 
 I taught you Plato in his masterhood, 
 
 Who, loving beauty, found thereby the good ; 
 
 Yet in myself nearer to you I stood ; 
 
 And more received, giving my brain and heart, 
 From whose exhausted springs new fountains start, 
 Because you made your lives of mine a part. 
 
 Where leaped the shell, my heart rowed with the crew; 
 My hand was on the tape, where Bishop flew; 
 Where broke the blue flag, I was there with you. 
 
 The years of football your bright records grace; 
 Game called, you saw me always in my place ; 
 I taught your Harold the famed Fennel Race; 
 
 And glad I saw him down the dazed field skim 
 In his first years ; and much I honor him. 
 Borne shoulder-high, until my eyes grow dim. 
 
 You wonder not who heard that April day, 
 
 I praised, loud-voiced, the perfect Harvard way 
 
 Of Marshall Newell, when I left the play. 
 
TO NINETEEN-THREE 
 
 Nor less, because I mingled with you so, 
 
 Shall you my intimate power, befriending, know. 
 
 Lifelong, within your souls, where'er you go. 
 
 O, why recall what was to me most dear. 
 The Crown, where duly, year by shining year. 
 The best Americans received our cheer? 
 
 Yet more, far more, generous you gave to me, — 
 Your banded hearts in perfect loyalty; 
 Whence I your debtor must forever be. 
 
 A thousand times the loud Columbia cheer. 
 Linked with my name, has fallen upon my ear. 
 Sweeter and sweeter with each passing year. 
 
 Though yours the last with those of old combine; 
 A thousand young Columbia hearts are mine. 
 Though yours the last, crowning the happy line 
 
 With love and honor, honor and love to one, 
 Whose labor for Columbia hearts is done. 
 Though not his love, a love not lightly won. 
 
 I murmur not, when fate has struck the ball; 
 The work our hands have raised can never fall; 
 Yet in my heart I grieve to end it all. 
 
 Not unto me be praise, the praise not mine ; 
 Praise ye the poets dead, and power divine 
 Whence they had strength; pray God, their strength be 
 thine ! 
 
 Break hands, and part ; but long this verse endures, 
 
 And loyal love to all and each assures. 
 
 With yours, and ever and ever yours, and yours. 
 
 G. E. WOODBERRY. 
 
Autobiographies 
 
CLINTON GILBERT ABBOTT 
 
 >^-pWAS Easter morn in eighty-one, 
 A When Clint first saw the light. 
 
 In the English town of Liverpool; 
 His hist'ry now I'll write. 
 
 At the famous school of Uppingham 
 He was drilled in Greek and Latin, 
 
 And languages and other things 
 They tried to make him pat in. 
 
 When he was sixteen years of age. 
 
 He took his longest step, 
 For he crossed the briny ocean, 
 
 And went to Poly. Prep. 
 
 Of classes and of colleges. 
 
 Which was the best to be? 
 Of course he chose Columbia 
 
 And the Class of Nineteen-Three. 
 
 The Nineteen-Three Columbian 
 
 He thought he'd bind with leather. 
 
 But after an hour or two of use. 
 It wouldn't hold together. 
 
 And yet in spite of such a "break," 
 
 Would you not call it rash 
 To vote him Football Manager, 
 
 And trust him with the cash? 
 
 But such was done, and he preferred 
 This work to that of scholar, 
 
 And so henceforth his mind he's made 
 A business life to "foller." 
 
FREDERIC JOSEPH AGATE 
 
 I WAS born at Yonkers, on February second, eighteen- 
 eighty, and prepared for College at the Drisler School. 
 I entered the Freshman Class at Columbia in eighteen- 
 ninety-nine. 
 
THEODORE HENRY ALLEN 
 
 HE arrived the fifth day of October, eighteen-eighty-one, 
 in Red Bank, New Jersey. A storm carried him to 
 New York when he was a year old, and he has been a for- 
 eigner ever since. Having gone through public school, he 
 decided to be a soldier, so went to Barnard School, in Har- 
 lem. His next ambition was to be a lawyer: he prepared 
 for Columbia and ultimately entered, through an oversight 
 of the Entrance Committee. But meeting several students, 
 he concluded that law was too difficult and strenuous. For 
 a time, he knew not what to do, and consequently had lean- 
 ings toward the ministry. A friend seeing him in doubt, 
 suggested that he might easily take up the study of medi- 
 cine. He misconstrued this for an "easy study," and is still 
 laboring under the delusion. Needless to say that he is not 
 yet at P. and S. 
 
 He is a good student when the professors are careless, 
 and an athlete as long as he pays his tailor's bills. In spite 
 of his virtues, he is popular, but only with those of his Class 
 who have paid their dues. I cannot, with modesty, say 
 anything of his looks, except, "Allow me — my photograph !" 
 
WILLIAM FITCH ALLEN 
 
 HE was born in Oswego, New York, on December twen- 
 tieth, eighteen-eighty-one, where he lived until in 
 eighteen-ninety-nine he became a member of the Class of 
 Nineteen-Three at Columbia College. He was pretty lucky 
 in being born in eighteen-eighty-one, because if he had been 
 born a year earlier or a year later he would probably have 
 missed the privilege of being a member of the above-men- 
 tioned class. The first sentence tells about all the impor- 
 tant events of his life before entering college, and the subse- 
 quent events have been just about as important. This be- 
 ing true they have been treated with sufficient consid- 
 eration. 
 
MARTIN CHARLES ANSORGE 
 
 WANTED — To exchange a college education for some- 
 thing useful. 
 
 "The subject was the victim of a conspiracy to increase 
 the population. Both the victim and the conspiracy were 
 hatched on New Year's Day, eighteen-eighty-two, in the 
 town of Coming, New York, notorious as his birthplace. 
 Having been born without teeth and with little or no hair 
 on his head, it would appear by the accompanying photo 
 (Pach's, regularly $20.00 a dozen — special rates to Colum- 
 bia students, $3.00), that he hath purchased for himself a 
 wig and a set of the false article. But be that as it may, 
 it is not for the biographer to intrude and examine. At the 
 early age of two, by means of an occasional trot around the 
 crib, he passed many of his college examinations. He hath 
 made much use of the athletic field and very little of the 
 library, where he sometimes spent an idle hour, studying 
 (the latest styles in millinery and complexion powders). 
 He is one of seven brothers, all single (mothers of unmar- 
 ried daughters call evenings, eifter seven). 
 
 If the Dean sees fit to graduate him, he will study the 
 law, and give his friends the opportunity to say, as they 
 have said of m;any before, "There's another man gone 
 wrong." 
 
DAVID ASCH 
 
 MINE has been a most extraordinary and eventful ca- 
 reer. I was born in Manhattan twenty years ago, and 
 have lived there ever since. Between the ages of seven and 
 sixteen I went to school, where I learned many things, and 
 from sixteen to the present time I have frequented Colum- 
 bia, where I have unlearned many things. My chief fear 
 during this latter period has been that I might get brain- 
 fever from overwork, but I have so far successfully guarded 
 against that dread disease. 
 
GEORGE FREDERICK BAMBACH 
 
 I WAS born October fourteenth, eighteen-eighty-one, in 
 the old City of New York, present Borough of Manhat- 
 tan. When four years of age I received my first instruc- 
 tion in a kindergarten, and from that time to the present I 
 have been anxiously striving to fit myself for life. After 
 leaving kindergarten I went to Public School No. 69, from 
 which I graduated in eighteen-ninety-five and entered the 
 College of the City of New York. Here I remained a year, 
 leaving it to prepare for Columbia at Trinity School, New 
 York. After three pleasant years at Trinity, I entered Co- 
 lumbia, where the past four years have been spent. I never 
 took much interest in athletics except as a spectator, but 
 have tried to do my part in that capacity whenever my out- 
 side work would allow. My chief delight, while at college, 
 has been to flit about before the footlights, and although I 
 like the excitement of the stage, shall try to do my best 
 work as a Church missionary in some foreign land. 
 
NATHANIEL WARING BARNES 
 
 AS nearly as I can remember, I was born on July twenty- 
 fifth, eighteen-eighty-four, at Newburgh, New York. 
 The Good Book says that a city set on a hill cannot be hid, 
 and thus it is with my birthplace. For, thanks to its colo- 
 nial relics, its heroes and its lobsters, Newburgh is known 
 o£ all men. However, the stories told by tourists that its 
 hills are so precipitous that the inhabitants have to chain 
 their houses down to keep them from sliding into the river, 
 is exaggerated, and except in a few cases, absolutely false. 
 After an uneventful childhood, characterized chiefly by a 
 small appetite and an insatiable fondness for travel, I en- 
 tered the Siglar School. There I remained for five years, 
 on a diet of conjugations, theorems, and Yale-blue air, es- 
 caping in time to enter Columbia with the Class of Nine- 
 teen-Three. Early in my Freshman year I made the 'Var- 
 sity Commuting Team, and have rolled up a record of one 
 hundred and twenty-five thousand miles to my Alma 
 Mater's credit. From the beginning I have striven to fol- 
 low the example of Caesar each day, and have so far suc- 
 ceeded that I can say with him, "I came, I saw, I went." 
 
ROBERT BRADFORD BARTHOLOMEW 
 
 I WAS born at Hartford, Connecticut, and prepared at 
 Drisler School, in New York City, entering Columbia 
 in eighteen-ninety-nine. I played football at school and 
 rowed a bit at college, but did not begin to study, as I have 
 since realized, till my senior year, when I became an awful 
 grind. 
 
JAMES BASSETT, JR. 
 
 " How trying 'tis when young 
 To learn the a, b, c's, 
 Yet men work years 
 And only get A. B's." 
 
 I WILL relieve the mind o£ the reader from a tedious 
 perusal of an enumeration of the toils of my life in se- 
 curing the long-hoped-for A.B. I was graduated from 
 Grammar School No. 89, then from the Horace Mann High 
 School. During the four years spent at Columbia, I ob- 
 tained General Honors in my Freshman, Sophomore and 
 Junior years, and now hope to wear the "gown of sombre 
 hue." 
 
 " What though we flounder wearily, 
 Through integrals and a' that? 
 For A.B. we bear them cheerfully. 
 
 We love them well for a' that, 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Old 'log' and 'trig' and a' that. 
 E'en the unmathematical. 
 They love them well for a' that." 
 
ALEXANDER OTTO BECHERT 
 
 I WAS born o£ German parents, in Brooklyn, New York, 
 on July fifth, eighteen-seventy-nine. When six years of 
 age, I entered the St. Mark's German-English School, where 
 I remained seven years. After spending two and one-half 
 years at Grammar School No. 74, and four and one-half 
 years at the Boys' High School, in Brooklyn (one-half year 
 in the commercial course and four years in the academic 
 course), I entered Columbia. Thus four-and-twenty years 
 have passed and I've done naught for immortality, unless 
 the key to its temple is that of Phi Beta Kappa. 
 
HENRY RUTGERS BEEKMAN 
 
 I WAS bom in New York City, November eighteenth, 
 eighteen-eighty-one. Cutler School, of New York City, 
 prepared me for college, which I entered in ninety-nine. 
 My college course has been marked by pleasant experiences 
 only. 
 
HERBERT CORLIES BRINCKERHOFF 
 
 I WAS bom April fourteenth, eighteen-eighty-two — ^it 
 was Friday, but, praise be, it wasn't the day before. The 
 place of my birth and early childhood was Mt. Vernon, New 
 York, where the Primary, Grammar and High Schools all 
 contributed their share toward my preparation for Colum- 
 bia. In my early youth I had spasms which shook the 
 whole family and dislodged from my infant cosmos the germ 
 of achievement. My whole College Course, as a conse- 
 quence of the aforesaid spasms, has been marked by a series 
 of futile attempts. In athletics I tried for cane sprees, 
 crews, and football teams to little purpose. In Freshman 
 year my efforts for high marks were rewarded by one soli- 
 tary A in elementary French (I studied French two years 
 in Prep. School). At present I am waiting for one more 
 spasm which will bring back to me my lost germ in time to 
 achieve a degree in June and success in the law which I in- 
 tend to follow, and let us hope, catch. 
 
BENJA MIN FRANKLIN BUTLER 
 
 I COULD write an interesting history of my life were it 
 not for the facts. 
 
GEORGE HENRY BUTLER 
 
 ORATOR, editor, and journalist, born in the State of 
 Maine, December twenty -nine, eighteen-eighty-one. 
 His early education was received in the public schools of his 
 native State, Riverview Academy in Poughkeepsie, and Co- 
 lumbia Grammar School in this city, from which he was 
 graduated in 1899. In the fall of the same year he entered 
 Columbia College and began his career with a number of 
 more or less auspicious conditions. He early joined the 
 Christian Association and the Philolexian Society and was 
 intimately connected with both organizations throughout 
 his college course. He was a member of six debating 
 teams representing Philolexian and was President of the 
 Society. In his junior year he joined the editorial staff of 
 "Spectator" and served in the various capacities of Associ- 
 ate Editor, Managing Editor, and Business Manager, and 
 in his senior year was the first Business Manager of "Daily 
 Spectator." During the same year he was president of the 
 Debating Union, Editor of the 1903 Students' Handbook, 
 and Manager of the Senior Class Book. He took little 
 interest in athletics, but in all other forms of undergraduate 
 activity he was keenly interested. He was the promoter 
 and first Vice-President of the Columbia Grammar School 
 Club, and a member of the Chess Club, King's Crown, and 
 the Boys' Club. 
 
LOUIS CASAMAJOR 
 
 FIRST saw the light of day and made my presence felt 
 in the world by a long, healthy howl on the twelfth day 
 of August, eighteen-eighty-one, in the city of "Homes and 
 Churches," Brooklyn. That I howled I am sure; howling 
 was ever my strong point. From the age of two to fifteen 
 I held the long-distance howling record of Brooklyn, and 
 successfully defended it against all comers. I never said 
 the bright things the average child is reported as saying. 
 I never cried for the moon. In short, I don't remember do- 
 ing anything but howling. In the fall of ninety-one, after 
 preliminary training, I entered the Adelphi Academy. In 
 the spring of ninety-eight I left the Adelphi, for the good of 
 that institution, and in the fall of the same year entered the 
 Woodbridge School, in New York. Here I studied for one 
 year and entered Columbia in the fall of ninety-nine. A 
 stranger in a strange land, I survived, however. In class 
 fights I took very little interest after a heavy man had sat 
 upon my head for ten consecutive minutes in one of them. 
 Chemistry and zoology absorbed most of my interest. Pre- 
 scribed studies were my bugbears. In the fall of nineteen- 
 two I entered the College of Physicians and Surgeons, 
 where I hope to finish my course in the near future. 
 
DAYTON COLIE 
 
 I WAS born just too late for church and just in time 
 for dinner on Sunday, February fourteenth, eighteen- 
 eighty-one. The facts have no significance, but as this is a 
 history it of necessity deals with the naked truth, which I 
 blushingly set down. My young days were mostly taken 
 up trying the various schools of my native "burgh," until I 
 finally reached Lawrenceville, where I spent three years. 
 Thence I went to Princeton, but led always by the phan- 
 tom of economy (of time), I found myself the next year in 
 Columbia, where, to all appearance, I am a fixture. 
 
WILLIAM PHILLIPS COMSTOCK 
 
 I WAS born in New York City, and have always lived 
 there. My school life consisted of about four years 
 spent in the Horace Mann School and then two years at the 
 Woodbridge School, in direct preparation for College. Col- 
 lege life has brought me a great many pleasant experiences, 
 both in my social acquaintance and interest in athletics. 
 After spending three years in the College course, my inter- 
 est in scientific subjects has led me to change my course to 
 Mining Engineering, in which subject I hope to take a de- 
 gree with the Class of Nineteen-Six. 
 
JOHN WHITING CROWELL 
 
 SOME there are who have led quiet lives and whose ex- 
 istences have been disturbed by no momentous events. 
 I am one of those. 
 
 I first saw the light of this dreary planet in New York 
 City, February fifth, eighteen-eighty-two. They say that, 
 as an infant, I had my distinguishing points, but this I have 
 always questioned. 
 
 At the mature age of eight years, I took up my abode in 
 Flushing, where, with the exception of short incursions into 
 the surrounding country, I have since remained. 
 
 After being graduated from that excellent institution, 
 the Flushing High School, my family said, "Columbia for 
 his," and there I went, to the regret, least of all, of myself. 
 
 There is no use in dilating on my College career. I have 
 tried to satisfy the otherwise unrecognized cravings of a 
 budding musical genius by incessant whistling, even at the 
 risk of becoming blatant. In this I may truthfully say that 
 1 have succeeded. 
 
ALBERT DAVIS 
 
 IS birth antedated, by about sixteen hours, the one 
 hundred and forty-ninth anniversary of the birthday 
 of the Father of Our Country — for which reason he has 
 always lived, so to speak, in the shadow of classic truthful- 
 ness. At the mature age of six he decided to take a course 
 in kindergarten methods, and later became deeply interest- 
 ed in the "three Rs." 
 
 He prepared for College at the Boys' High School in 
 Brooklyn, but left before completing the course, in order to 
 enter Columbia with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 
 
 He was a member o£ the Rowing Club and of Kings 
 Crown, from his Sophomore year. He contributed occa- 
 sionally to the pages of Morningside. In his Junior year 
 he was chosen Class Poet and Historian, and the following 
 year was elected Class Poet for Commencement. Senior 
 year, he became, by invitation, the only non-graduate mem- 
 ber of the Graduate English Club. 
 
 His literary remains are to be found in the Nineteen- 
 Three Columbian, and in the Nineteen-Three Class Book. 
 
 This history is in the past tense, because 
 
 " The present has already flown, 
 The future is one vast unknown." 
 
MARCELLUS HARTLEY DODGE 
 
 I WAS born February twenty-eighth, eighteen-eighty-one, 
 in New York City. After dividing my time for some 
 years between being thrown from the back of one of a pair 
 of Shetland ponies, or driving a pair of white goats tandem, 
 I began to go to school. I entered College from Mr. Brown- 
 ing's School. If you should ask me what has impressed 
 me more than anything else during my sojourn here, I 
 would say it is how much there is to know and how little 
 of it I know myself. 
 
PENDLETON DUDLEY 
 
 I WAS born at Troy, Missouri, September eighth, eight- 
 een-seventy-six. Four years ago I entered Columbia as 
 a special student, but concluded to graduate. This has 
 brought about a tedious but interesting College course. It 
 is my intention to remain in New York. 
 
HARRY HAMMAN DYRSEN 
 
 I WAS born in New York City, July twentieth, eighteen- 
 eighty-two, and liked the place so much that I have never 
 left it. Really, one becomes quite attached to a town like 
 New York. At the age of seven I was first sent to school 
 to be educated. Behold my face yonder and see what a 
 botch they have made of it. I don't mean the photog- 
 rapher; I mean the teachers. I think I should have been 
 sent to school when five. 
 
 In September, eighteen-ninety-nine, I entered Columbia 
 University, unconditioned of course (what a chance!). By 
 the way, I have tried most every means of getting rid of 
 conditions ; if anybody is in need of assistance, let him con- 
 sult me (confidential). Money returned if unsatisfied. 
 
VICTOR DE LA MONTAGNE EARLE 
 
 THE birth o£ a truly great individual is an event to be 
 remembered forever and cherished by all humanity. 
 On the twenty-fourth day of May, eighteen-eighty, I made 
 my appearance on the stage of this world of joy and misery; 
 and, since that time, each year without fail, that day has 
 been a day apart from all others, a day celebrated with 
 pomp and ceremony, firecrackers and cannon, rejoicing and 
 jubilation, in every part of the civilized world. It has been 
 most difficult for me to understand how people so early dis- 
 covered the great significance of my birthday, but the dis- 
 closure made to me by this remarkable intuition on their 
 part has ever been a most active incentive to aid me in striv- 
 ing to fulfil this indication of my future greatness. 
 
 N. B. — It is a strange coincidence that Queen Victoria 
 was also born on the twenty-fourth of May. 
 
ARTHUR FREDERICK EGNER 
 
 I WAS born September twentieth, eighteen-eighty-two, in 
 Newark, New Jersey. In eighteen-ninety-nine I was 
 graduated from the Newark High School. So far the placid 
 life of the easy conscience, broken only by examinations 
 and rumors of them, has been my lot. On the whole I have 
 lived a very satisfactory sort of life ; and by far the best part 
 of it has been my four years at Columbia. In this short 
 time have happened many never-to-be-forgotten events: 
 some pleasant, some unpleasant when they happened, but 
 now all enjoyable in retrospect. The greatest treasure 
 gleaned from all four years, however, has been a deep- 
 seated love and veneration for Columbia. 
 
HENRY HART ELIAS 
 
 I BEGAN my most uneventful career on November ninth, 
 eighteen-eighty-two, and was thunderstruck at the many 
 changes that had taken place in New York. From that 
 time until June of ninety-nine, private tutors and Columbia 
 Grammar School got me in good trim for the great ordeal of 
 entering College. After having passed the entrance ex- 
 aminations and become a full-fledged Freshman, I took up 
 Campus Course No. i by Professor Air (not hot), and must 
 admit that during the last few years I have derived great 
 benefit from it. Whenever I desired "recreation," I went 
 into the various buildings and for the price of a few exami- 
 nations saw some of the most original "artists" in the "pro- 
 fession." I listened to them with the greatest pleasure, and 
 think that in return they will present me with a Bachelor's 
 Degree. 
 
COLIN GARFIELD FINK 
 
 HE was born in New Jersey, on December thirty-first, 
 eighteen-eighty-one. He received his early education 
 in the private schools of New York. He entered Columbia 
 College in eighteen-ninety-nine, where he spent most of his 
 time smiling, doing "math" and "lab" work. 
 
JAY IRVING FORT 
 
 I WAS born in Linden, New Jersey, June first, eighteen- 
 eighty, and it was a lucky day for me. At the age of 
 nine I started to school, and am still a student. For six 
 short years I spent my time at the Newark Academy, doing 
 all I could in various ways. In eighteen-ninety-nine I left 
 there, or rather graduated, and in the fall of the same year 
 I entered Columbia. Here I have managed to stay for four 
 years, and at the end of this one I hope to graduate, the 
 Faculty willing. For further particulars, kindly communi- 
 cate with J. Irving Fort, thirty-three South Tenth Street, 
 Newark, New Jersey. 
 
ROSCOE CROSBY GAIGE 
 
 Captains o£ Unindustry 
 
 MR. ROSCOE CROSBY GAIGE, like his name, is very 
 impressive. The impression gained is one of exter- 
 nals, due largely to the wealth of massive forehead from 
 which the hair is so combed as to produce a Greeley-Web- 
 ster effect. This sensation is further emphasized by a bland 
 smile which creates the belief that Mr. Gaige is calmly con- 
 templating us inferior mortals from superior heights, while 
 in reality he is but wondering how he can avoid betraying 
 himself. 
 
 Mr. Gaige is not yet a man, but expects to become one 
 on July 26, largely because twenty-one years ago that day 
 the town clock in Casenovia, New York, suddenly ceased 
 work in celebration of the advent of an infant poet, who, 
 as the Fates willed, was to become more of a politician than 
 a singer of rhymed verses. 
 
 Our hero's first act was to toss around in his crib, and 
 prying beneath the mattress, to secure a firm hold on the 
 wires, which he has held ever since. This was, as history 
 has shown, a marked indication of his future talents. 
 
 Mr. Gaige has been a man of remarkable versatility ; he 
 has been President of the notorious "Beaux Arts Club," 
 lately suppressed by the police ; an official of the "Automo- 
 bile Club," which has its annual run in the Columbian; 
 Editor-in-Chief of Spectator, and has occasionally conde- 
 scended to have some of his writings in the Times. It is, 
 of course, well known that he had a poem in the Bookman 
 the month its circulation fell off five thousand copies. Mr. 
 Gaige, it might be noted as a point of information, went to 
 several lectures in his Freshman year, and most of the pro- 
 fessors in his elected courses he knows by sight. 
 
 ROI C. MEGRUE. 
 
ENOS THROOP GEER 
 
 I WAS born in Oyster Bay, Long Island, New York, on 
 the sixth of February, eighteen-eighty-three. In eight- 
 een-eighty-eight, the family took up their abode in New 
 York City, where they have lived ever since. At the age of 
 eight I went to Trinity School and studied there until 
 eighteen-ninety-five, when I left and became a student at 
 Drisler's, when sixteen years old, and in the fall of eighteen- 
 ninety-nine entered Columbia University with the Class of 
 Nineteen-Three. In the beginning of my Senior year I was 
 obliged to discontinue my studies on account of illness and 
 go abroad for the winter. I was thus prevented from grad- 
 uating with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 
 
FRANK VALENTINE GOODMAN 
 
 IN the language of the immortal poets, later set to verse, 
 "it was a dark and stormy night" when he first hit this 
 terrestrial globe. As that night of the twenty-fifth of No- 
 vember, eighteen-eighty-one, has since gradually brightened 
 into a day of average brightness, I suppose he should not 
 kick. All this occurred in Lockport, New York, so I've 
 been told. Much time was spent in elementary schools 
 preparing his brain for the studies, and, incidentally, his 
 body for the athletics of a College course. 
 
 May the celestial stars be thanked that the College cho- 
 sen was Columbia and the class that of Nineteen-Three. 
 What little he got there from athletics and (I hate to do it) 
 from studies, cannot help but make him a better represen- 
 tative of that College and Class of which he is very proud. 
 Moreover, may the stars keep up their fine team-work and 
 enable him to start a young alphabet after his name. 
 
HERBERT JOSEPH HAAS 
 
 EVERYONE, perhaps, remembers the Charleston earth- 
 quake of eighteen-eighty-six. This was prophesied in 
 Atlanta, Georgia, two years before, so some people say, by 
 my arrival into this world. The prophesy came by way of 
 continual yelling, which had kept up long after the Charles- 
 ton earthquake became a matter of history. I attended 
 public schools in my native town, and, as I remember, my 
 earliest ambitions were to own a livery stable or drive a 
 street car. This unhealthy state of mind was soon changed 
 when I became a student under Prof. W. M. Slator, of the 
 Boys' High School of Atlanta, who, I was informed, had a 
 disagreeable habit of administering corporal punishment in 
 the shape of shaking one until the position of the head was 
 a very uncertain one. 
 
 Not being good enough to become a minister, nor smart 
 enough to become a successful man, nor desirous enough of 
 losing sleep in later years to become a doctor, I decided to 
 study law, after taking a course in Columbia College, bear- 
 ing well in mind a dictum of an acute Southerner, "Many 
 young men who are studying law are more fit to be street- 
 car drivers." This, you see, brings me closer to my first 
 ambition. 
 
 Here I enjoyed my life at Columbia very much, and 
 shall never forget her. As my "prophetic eye" shows the 
 future horizon, I see two things plainly: New York, the 
 largest city of the world, the great center of the United 
 States, with Columbia, the largest and best-equipped of all 
 universities, and Atlanta, the pride of the South, emulating 
 New York not only in business methods but in the estab- 
 lishment and support of educational enterprises. 
 
RICHARD COMPTON HARRISON 
 
 liTT TE can't leave a blank," the editor said; 
 
 V V "Just sit down and write us a 'blank' verse instead. 
 Why tell of your parentage, then of your birth, 
 And of any old thing which will rouse us to mirth." 
 
 I purchased some paper, some ink, and a pen, 
 Read fifty-six volumes of lives of great men; 
 But search as I would nowhere could I see 
 A single analogy pointing to me. 
 
 In my twenty-one years, several months, and odd days, 
 
 I have done but one action deserving of praise. 
 
 I entered COLUMBIA, as you can see. 
 
 So fixing the date as to be with NOUGHT-THREE. 
 
CHARLES LeROY HENDRICKSON 
 
 WAS born on May twenty-ninth, eighteen-eighty-three, 
 and have made strenuous efforts to graduate before be- 
 coming a legal being. I attended a co-educational school 
 when six years old, but upon reaching the discreet age of 
 ten I became disgusted with the swish of skirts in th^ 
 schoolroom and entered an institution of learning where 
 masculine meditation was undisturbed. Upon leaving Poly. 
 Prep. I entered this immortal Class of Nineteen-Three, with 
 whose swift pace I have found it very difficult to keep up. 
 My first two years at Columbia were, of course, spent 
 under the protecting dome of the Library in the diligent 
 pursuit of knowledge scholastic. Having completed that 
 space of time which the greatest educational authorities 
 now deem sufficient for the attainment of the degree for 
 which I was striving, I endeavored in my remaining years 
 to learn the ways of the life around me. This latter pursuit 
 I have found to be far more instructive and profitable, and 
 it is by these last two years that I hope to remember 
 Columbia. 
 
HENRY K. HEYMAN 
 
 I WAS bom in New York City, March second, eighteen- 
 eighty-four, and was graduated from Grammar School 
 No. 89, in eighteen-ninety-seven, then entered the College 
 of the City of New York, where I remained until nineteen- 
 one, when I became a member of the Junior Class of Colum- 
 bia College. I have elected law as my intended occupation 
 and have already begun its study during my Senior year. 
 
WILLIAM FORREST HILLS 
 
 IN referring to one's ancestry, a man incurs the danger of 
 being accused like the potato: the better part under 
 ground ; greenest on top. At any rate, my ancestor, Joseph 
 Hills, came to America in the ship "Susan and Ellen," in 
 August, sixteen-thirty-eight. His wife was Rose Dunster, a 
 sister of Henry Dunster, Harvard College's first president. 
 My father's mother was the great-granddaughter of Major- 
 General William Heath, who took command of West Point 
 in seventeen-eighty at Washington's request. 
 
 The present exhibit was discovered in San Antonio, 
 Texas, on September fifth, eighteen-eighty. Be it said in 
 our defence that we broke away from our early surround- 
 ings and became a mild, peace-loving creature. Perhaps on 
 that account, we took little interest in College sports during 
 the Freshman year, but spent most of the time in grinding 
 for General Honors. For the past three years we have been 
 Clerk of the Gymnasium Department, where we have not 
 only gained valuable experience and knowledge but also 
 come to admire, and in a small way to take part in, the 
 activity of the athlete. Two summers ago, our time was 
 spent in arranging a series of home gymnastics, which is 
 published in the Success Library. Our chief interest is in 
 philosophy and the general subject of education, so that we 
 hope to obtain a higher degree before leaving our Alma 
 Mater. 
 
 Our College preparation consisted of three years' train- 
 ing at the Kimball Union Academy, at Meriden, New 
 Hampshire, and two years at Boys' High School, in Brook- 
 lyn, New York. 
 
 We have held no student's office in the past, but have 
 been elected Assistant Manager of the G3minastic Team for 
 next year. 
 
ALFRED HOFFMAN 
 
 I HAVE spent most of my life in Brookl]^, where I at- 
 tended public school. From eighteen-ninety-four to 
 ninety-seven I studied in Germany. On my return I spent 
 two years at Morse and Rogers School and then entered 
 College. 
 
RUSSELL PRATT HOYT, JR. 
 
 THE hardest task that can be set anyone is to ask them 
 to write a history of their life. I would rather receive 
 a card asking me to call on the Dean than be forced to write 
 all this nonsense. 
 
 There seems to be a general opinion, among the mem- 
 bers of the family that I was born on November eleventh, 
 eighteen-seventy-eight ; a long time ago if you stop to think 
 about it. I was not a precocious child, and did nothing of 
 note until I was two years old. At that tender age I be- 
 came aware that I possessed a voice of rare power and bril- 
 liancy, and I determined to use it. This discovery pleased 
 me so that I straightway emitted an "A-flat" of such beauty 
 and volume that the neighboring houses rocked and all traf- 
 fic in the streets was stopped. This was the deed of note to 
 which I referred above. At six I was a wonder at baseball, 
 and wrote a treatise on "Some Atmospheric Disturbances 
 Caused by the In-Curve." This article is on reference at 
 the Loan Desk. I prepared for College at Columbia Insti- 
 tute, and this school has the honor of crowding me into Co- 
 lumbia. While in College I have grown at least four years 
 older. This fact can be accounted for by my frequent visits 
 with the Dean and my unremitting toil as Manager of the 
 Glee and Mandolin Clubs; but there has been a great deal 
 of enjojnnent in both these harmless pursuits. 
 
STANLEY MYER ISAACS 
 
 J^T^WAS the month of September, eighty-two — 
 X Of men there still live thousands who 
 Could remember the fateful day and minute. 
 Had they only known what was happening in it — 
 That I entered the world (so tradition says) 
 Just eleven months and fifteen days. 
 And some three hundred and ninety years. 
 Since Columbus came here. As it appears. 
 This strange coincidence was the cause 
 Of my entering through COLUMBIA'S doors. 
 The house of learning. But here I must pause. 
 And leave to my Boswell the next to relate. 
 Even if the world for years must wait. 
 In order to learn what remains of my fate 
 (Really because I have no more time. 
 And cannot think of another rhyme). 
 
LEWIS ISELIN 
 
 I WAS born in New York City, December seventeenth, 
 cighteen-seventy-nine. I believe that I gave few indica- 
 tions of future greatness except that my nurse thought me 
 destined for the Church because of my solemn face. I re- 
 ceived my early education at Miss Reynolds' School emd at 
 Cutler's. In eighteen-ninety-five I went abroad with a 
 tutor, and on my return continued my studies under private 
 teachers. I entered College in ninety-nine. In College I 
 have done a little rowing and some studying. 
 
ELY JACQUES KAHN 
 
 IT was on the first of June, eighteen-eighty-four, that I 
 made my first public appearance. The date was a rather 
 strange one to select, but, as they told me afterwards, 'twas 
 a clever ruse — ^you see, it just balanced birthday and Christ- 
 mas presents. I was kept at school for a long while, here in 
 New York, and in my pre-Freshman days had only decided 
 on fourteen different avocations when I should have to face 
 the world. Luckily I gave up hope of becoming a police- 
 man, fireman, President of the United States, etc., before I 
 entered College, and for four years have rambled through 
 the groves of higher education, studying exactly those 
 things that I won't need later. Next year I expect to enter 
 the School of Architecture and put my air castles on a firm- 
 er foundation, so that at least one of my fourteen aspira- 
 tions won't be lost sight of. It is too early to speak of fu- 
 tures, so I'll ring off and connect you with the Fates and 
 their alluring though derisive voices. 
 
HOWARD ALLEN KEELER 
 
 I STARTED my existence on January twenty-third, 
 eighteen-eighty-three, in the City of New York, with a 
 great hustle— the only memento I have kept of my infancy. 
 At the end of my first decade I entered Columbia Grammar 
 School and was made head of the class as the most conven- 
 ient place for keeping an eye on me. After graduating with 
 the "highest honors" (?), I entered the Class of Nineteen- 
 Three at Columbia College. I had found "scholarly hon- 
 ors" too easy of attainment, so I determined to give the 
 other fellows a show. Resolving to do something for my 
 Alma Mater, I looked over the various branches open to 
 youthful energy. Football, crew, track, and baseball had so 
 many supporters that I decided to take up chess as the most 
 select and aesthetic occupation, I have had the pleasure of 
 representing Columbia on all occasions for the last three 
 years. As the track team seemed to be in need of good ma- 
 terial, I also went out each year for the mile run. After I 
 had trained some inferior runner so that he could beat me, I 
 always considerately retired. I might also mention that I 
 have been collector of dues for several societies. 
 
NICHOLAS AUGUST KOENIG 
 
 I WAS bom on the twenty-seventh of June, eighteen- 
 cighty-three, in the City of New York. My early educa- 
 tion was obtained at Grammar School No. 35, and at Trinity 
 School, both in New York City. In ninety-nine I entered 
 Columbia, which action I have never regretted. Although 
 I am fond of athletics, I have never engaged in any while 
 at College, as I have an absolute horror of the training table. 
 My motto is "Eat Early and Often"; for which reason I 
 favor the Deutscher Verein. 
 
BARENT LEFFERTS 
 
 I WAS born in New York City, on May fifth, eighteen- 
 eighty-two, prepared at Cutler School, and arrived on 
 the scene of action at Columbia in time to join the Class of 
 Nineteen-Three. 
 
HERBERT SPENCER LOVEMAN 
 
 ON the shore of the North River, in the great City of New 
 York — for I had decided long beforehand that that was 
 the only place in the world in which to make my entry into 
 the world — I was born on the eighth of November, eighteen- 
 eighty-two. To the happy circumstance that this very day 
 marked the departure for Europe of Herbert Spencer, then 
 on a visit to the United States, I owe my first and second 
 name. As for the third and last, that had long been await- 
 ing me. At the age of eight I first fell into the hands of the 
 schoolmaster at the Military Academy in Summit, New Jer- 
 sey. Two years later, putting off the soldier's uniform zind 
 refusing numerous offers to enter West Point, I removed to 
 Cleveland, Ohio, and thence to New York, where I finished 
 my preparation for College in the public schools of the city. 
 In the fall of eighteen-ninety-nine I came to Columbia and 
 registered with the Class of Nineteen-Three, of which I 
 have been fortunate enough to remain a member ever since. 
 Regarding law and medicine more or less as popular fads, I 
 have decided to take up study of Mechanical Engineering, 
 and expect to return to the University next year to complete 
 my course in the Schools of Applied Sciences. 
 
HAROLD CHAFFEE M'COLLOM 
 
 IN spite of surroundings, my early life in Brooklyn was a 
 quiet one, except for the noise which I myself made in the 
 few years immediately following my birth in eighteen- 
 eighty-two. I received my early education in Grammar 
 School No. II, where I learned to par*. and side-step 
 
 baby carriages. I was prepared for College at the Brooklyn 
 Latin School; then, taking with me my two distinguishing 
 traits, virtue, which may be attributed to the churches, and 
 careful deliberation, due to the trolley cars of my native 
 town, I entered Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine. The 
 following four years were marked thus : 
 
 Eighteen-ninety-nine to nineteen hundred : Learned my 
 way round Harlem and the Library. 
 
 Nineteen-hundred to nineteen-one: Slipped my knee- 
 cap and developed a distinguished, or at least a distinguish- 
 ing, walk. 
 
 Nineteen-one to nineteen-two : Took up, in Economics, 
 the study of money, which appears to be a rather interesting 
 subject. 
 
 Nineteen-two to nineteen-three : Joined the Glee Club : 
 was fined five dollars for singing in public. 
 
JAMES EDWARD McDONALD 
 
 I WAS bom in December, eighteen-eighty-one, at Con- 
 sett, County Durham, England. 
 
 Since then I have done nothing with remarkable suc- 
 cess. I thought on account of crossing the Atlantic that I 
 might become a famous oarsman, but I changed my mind 
 after about two weeks* training. Now I am satisfied to 
 cheer the crews from the non-observation train, and so in a 
 way I have wandered along for three years, content to be 
 at least a spectator in the great events which have hap- 
 pened during my time. 
 
HERBERT MONTGOMERY McCLINTOCK 
 
 HE was born July thirty-first, eighteen-eighty-one, in 
 New York City, and after having passed through what 
 Shakespere chose to call the first stage of man, he went, or 
 rather was sent, to the Collegiate School, where he passed 
 the next ten years of his uneventful life. And when he was 
 old enough to think of College, he gazed around and spying 
 Columbia, he said, "That for mine." 
 
 He entered that ancient institution of learning in the 
 fall of eighteen-ninety-nine, and if the Fates are propitious 
 hopes to leave it with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 
 
ROI COOPER MEGRUE 
 
 Captains of Industry 
 
 EGRUE is rather a funny ass, but not such a bad 
 sort after all, and it is for this latter reason that I have 
 consented, at his earnest request, to become his Boswell; 
 though, God knows, he is no Johnson. Some few months 
 ago it would have been difficult to find a lad with greater 
 blondness of facial or literary expression than Megrue, but 
 now, alas, the milk of human kindness has turned to acid 
 in his veins. Through no fault of his own. Fate cast him 
 into the managership of the 'Varsity Show, a seat carefully 
 mined with tacks, but with little else, by the managers of 
 the past five years. We miss his merry smile now, for he 
 is busy writing his life in five volumes, "The Gentle Art of 
 Making Enemies, or How I Did It with the Philharmonic." 
 
 He prepared for College at Nice and Monte Carlo, 
 where he learned the science of taking chances. When he 
 entered Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine he was so ad- 
 vanced that it was not necessary for him to devote his time 
 to sordid study like the rest of his classmates. Instead, in 
 his leisure moments he amused himself by turning off with 
 his facile pen leaders for the London Times, the Saratoga 
 Sentinel, the New York Herald and several other promi- 
 nent newspapers. 
 
 So much attention was drawn to Megrue through his 
 journalistic work that his efforts were awarded by his elec- 
 tion in his Senior year to the Associate Board of Spectator, 
 an exalted position that he has filled with distinction ever 
 since. He also was Editor of Lit. 
 
 But I must cease weaving these fragrant garlands for 
 my old friend, for as Mr. Alan Dale said in reviewing him 
 for the Journal, he might think that I'm in earnest, and 
 I'm not. 
 
 R. C. GAIGE. 
 
JAMES GARFIELD MOSES 
 
 I WAS born in old Kentucky and bred amidst the igno- 
 rant and degrading conditions obtaining in that State. 
 It was only on my arrival in New York some four years 
 since, and my entrance into Columbia College that I first 
 became cognizant of the utter savagery of my native State. 
 Then, for the first time, did I learn to know wherein con- 
 sisted the true elements of progress. It was such a pleas- 
 ant sensation to realize what hospitality, courage, liberal- 
 ity, and intelligence meant. And these first impressions 
 have not in any way been obliterated. All is so perfect and 
 lovely here, in such striking contrast with those horrid and 
 reprehensible qualities and characteristics of my old Ken- 
 tucky home, that I remember my date of birth no longer as 
 September twenty-seventh, eighteen-eighty-two, but as Oc- 
 tober of eighteen-ninety-nine. Nevertheless, I regularly 
 hie me to the land of blue-grass and horses, not to mention 
 other far-famed products, just to catch a whiff of air un- 
 contaminated by the decencies of New York civilization. 
 This is hardly an account of a rather uneventful existence, 
 but my literary executors will present to the world an ade- 
 quate biography, which will be found on sale at all book- 
 stores and news-stands. 
 
HERBERT ROE ODELL 
 
 BORN in Newburgh, New York, on July fifteenth, eight- 
 een-eighty. After years of study I entered Columbia 
 College in October, eighteen-ninety-nine. My first notable 
 act was to eat luncheon unmolested at the tavern while a 
 sub-Freshman, unaccompanied by Guardian or upper Class- 
 man, and my last was to take Latin B. in my Senior year. 
 
LOUIS S. ODELL 
 
 " For me ! sae laigh I need na bow. 
 For, Lord be thankit, I can plough." 
 
 NEAR Kelloggsville, a little hamlet resting peacefully 
 among the rolling uplands of the lake region of Cen- 
 tral New York, on December eighteenth, eighteen-seventy- 
 four, was born the humble subject of this sketch. My boy- 
 hood was divided between the "deestrict" school and the 
 surrounding woods and fields, for which I am duly thank- 
 ful. In the early part of my second decade my base of op- 
 erations was transferred to the High School in the neigh- 
 boring village of Moravia, which town then became my 
 home. After graduation there, a few terms of teaching in 
 rural schools knocked out of my visions most of the illu- 
 sions. Two pleasant years in the social and professional 
 atmosphere of the Oneonta State Normal School followed. 
 Then came three strenuous years as Principal of the High 
 School at Liberty, New York. Finally, the long-cherished 
 ideal of a College course was reached and in eighteen- 
 ninety-nine, after due considerations of my needs, especially 
 in the matter of having my rough comers smoothed and 
 the odors of hay and hemlock removed, I selected Columbia 
 as my Alma Mater. Here my class responsibilities. Chris- 
 tian Association work, riding upon street railways, singing 
 in a choir, and innumerable other engagements, have, 
 strange to say, allowed me considerable time for such inci- 
 dentals as mathematics and botany. 
 
GERALD STUART O'LOUGHLIN 
 
 HE was born in the city of Winnipeg, in the Province 
 of Manitoba, Canada, on October sixteenth, eighteen- 
 eighty-two. He died in — but I am anticipating. His life 
 was one of possibilities. His birth, I think, may fairly be 
 called the most important event of that life, since it made 
 possible all the subsequent events. The fact of his being 
 born in Winnipeg made it possible for him to come to New 
 York at the age of twelve, that in turn made it possible for 
 him to enter a public school from which the College of the 
 City of New York was a possibility. He went to the Col- 
 lege of the City of New York and two years made it pos- 
 sible (nay, desirable, even imperative) for him to leave and 
 enter Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine with the glorious 
 Class of Nineteen-Three, which he did (I do not mean he 
 did the Class, but entered with it). 
 
 By this step he was enabled to go into all the various 
 activities of College life, which he did not do for a very 
 simple reason. You see he was naturally of a generous 
 disposition, and therefore confined his attention to one line, 
 leaving the positions he might have occupied in all the 
 other lines open to the other students in the University. 
 Unselfish, wasn't he? 
 
 In course of time he became a Senior, which fact is re- 
 sponsible for the infliction of this history on whomsoever 
 may be unfortunate enough to read it. 
 
CHARLES WHYTLAW OSBORN 
 
 WAS born at Bellport, Long Island, February sev- 
 enth, eighteen-seventy-nine. He is the only child 
 and the idol of his parents, who look up to him — or rather 
 used to look up to him, for they have become wise and do 
 not do it any more— as a youth of great possibilities. Im- 
 agine the surprise of the devoted parents when, at the age 
 of two, and upon hearing one of the paternal jokes, he 
 turned to his father and said: "Father, the profundity of 
 your jocularity so closely approximates the frivolity of your 
 earnestness that it renders the arduous task of differentia- 
 tion intricately difHcult." That settled it. It was decided 
 then and there that when he grew up he should go to Co- 
 lumbia University. 
 
 The years passed rapidly and at last, oh joy of joys, time 
 was ripe for "little Charlie" to take his entrance examina- 
 tions. Finally the terrible struggle was over; and the 
 above-named youth, at the tender age of twenty, entered 
 upon his four years of triumph. When he first began to 
 sit up and take notice, he became much impressed with the 
 number of beautiful Barnard girls that were accustomed to 
 infest the Library, where he used to sit for many hours a 
 day and plug; he had never before seen so much or such 
 exquisite beauty at one time in his life. But no ! he would 
 not allow the sight of these fair nymphs to take him from 
 his work, for he was a hard and diligent student, almost a 
 grind. After his four years of hard and faithful work, he 
 stopped long enough to look back and view the great num- 
 ber of things he had accomplished by his faithfulness. He 
 had learned to smoke a pipe, and cigarettes, and, yes, even 
 cigars. He had also learned to mix a cocktail, and — but 
 space is limited. So, to make things short, we will say, 
 this youth can look back with pride and exclaim, with the 
 flush of triumph on his face: "I have accomplished some- 
 thing." 
 
THOMAS LOCKWOOD PERRY 
 
 SO far as I know, I was born in Troy, New York, Sep- 
 tember eighteenth, eighteen-eighty. I have no recol- 
 lection of what I did before that event to "pass away the 
 time." After some years, however, I happened in at the 
 Columbia Grammar School and discovered that there was 
 some difference between the light as I then saw it and the 
 "light" I was to get. Howbeit, I was thought a fit subject 
 on which to experiment with Greek and Latin meters. But 
 the line being measured, I strolled into Columbia College 
 to enjoy the all-too-short course of four years "while it 
 could be taken." The Columbian describes me as "A gentle, 
 harmless youth and of good conscience." Of that you must 
 judge. What Fate has determined for me I do not know, 
 nor have I determined what to do with Fate. 
 
HARRY TWYFORD PETERS 
 
 I WAS born August first, eighteen-eighty-one, in Green- 
 wich, Connecticut, and prepared for Columbia at Cutler 
 and Browning's School, entering in eighteen-ninety-nine. 
 
EDGAR DUDENSING PITSKE 
 
 HE was born in New York City, September thirtieth, 
 eighteen-eighty-one, and was the son o£ a student and 
 a scholar who graduatd first in his class at College. From 
 his early school career young Edgar seemed destined to 
 follow in his father's footsteps, although handicapped by 
 repeated changes of schools — a year at Dr. Dowie's, Long 
 Acre Square, New York; a year at Dr. Eckhard's, Heidel- 
 berg, Germany; three years at Dr. Schmidt's, Irving Place, 
 New York, and a year at the Thirteenth Street Public 
 School. Edgar was noted for his diligence and persever- 
 ance, always working his way to the first of the class. But 
 in his fourteenth year, at Horace Mann School, a great 
 change came over him. His father being dead and his 
 mother indulging him, young Edgar found that loafing and 
 making a fool of himself and of his teachers was easier than 
 studying. In this state of mind Edgar put himself under 
 the tutelage of a Mr. Senftner to prepare for College, but 
 the end of the year saw only two-thirds of the examinations 
 passed and Columbia refused the young loafer admittance. 
 A year of play at Trinity School, however, resulted in en- 
 tering without a condition. What he did at Columbia all 
 know. How in his first two years he was a would-be ath- 
 lete, how in his third year he again tried to become a stu- 
 dent by passing off twenty-six hours, how in his fourth he 
 has given up all hope of becoming anything, and consoling 
 himself in "his little, nameless, unremembered acts." 
 
ARTHUR MALCOLM REIS 
 
 THAT posterity in general, and my future biographer in 
 particular, may not search the public and private arch- 
 ives in vain for records of my infancy and early manhood, 
 I have here set forth those events of my life which I deem 
 worthy of public interest. 
 
 The first resolution of my life, namely to be born, was 
 taken on January the nineteenth, eighteen-eighty-three. 
 Though as you may see I have attained to no great age, 
 my years have spanned two centuries — a good omen in- 
 deed. How I spent these two centuries would be difficult 
 to relate, but be it known amongst ye all that in the year 
 nineteen hundred I entered the Freshman class of Colum- 
 bia College, and finding after three years that there was 
 nothing more to be learned, I decided to take my degree 
 with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 
 
 On the threshold of College I dreamed my dreams: — 
 alack, alack, dreams are but dreams, after all. Have I been 
 disappointed? At least as I bid Alma Mater farewell, 1 
 can say that I have grown wiser in dreaming. 
 
BERNARD HERMAN RIDDER 
 
 BREVITY is the soul of wit — also the first requisite of a 
 truthful account of my life. I was born March twen- 
 tieth^ eighteen-eighty-three, on which day there was no 
 other mistake of any importance. I haven't been in much 
 in College except debt and trouble. 
 
 These biographies are a beastly bore anyway. If you 
 tell the truth you are labelled "conceited"; but it ill com- 
 ports with the dignity of a Senior to hide what is quite ap- 
 parent. Therefore the only solution lies in a middle course 
 — ^while I have accomplished any number of unusually bril- 
 liant things, false modesty would feign impel me to silence. 
 
LAWRASON RIGGS, JR. 
 
 I WAS born in St. Louis, Missouri, on April thirtieth, 
 eighteen-eighty-one, and started life a barefoot boy. I 
 was rescued early and brought East, and graduated from 
 St. Paul's School, Concord, in eighteen-ninety-eight. I 
 pursued the language and other things in Switzerland in 
 eighteen-ninety-eight-nine. I entered Columbia in eight- 
 een-ninety-nine, where I have been chiefly a hearer and 
 spectator (not the Spectator — from which institution I was 
 banished with the reform administration). 
 
RUDOLPH CARL THEODORE SCHROEDER, JR. 
 
 I WAS born in New York City, in eighteen-eighty-one, 
 but have resided in Hoboken, New Jersey, for the past 
 sixteen years. I attended the public schools and prepared 
 for Columbia at the Hoboken High School. I entered Co- 
 lumbia College in October, eighteen-ninety-nine, and shall 
 study Law here at Columbia. 
 
ARNOLD O. SCHRAMM 
 
 HE was born in New York City, in August, eighteen- 
 eighty. Since that date he has changed residence 
 eleven times — giving an average of one moving once in two 
 years. This removing does not include temporary or sum- 
 mer homes. He is so imbued with the moving spirit that 
 in the spring he does not dare go near a railroad lest he 
 should board a freight car and turn hobo. 
 
 As a child he had his troubles, of course. A complete 
 lack of respect for school teachers seems to have been at 
 the bottom of them. 
 
 After attending various institutions for the instruction 
 of the young, he entered the Horace Mann School, where 
 he remained for four years preparing for College. He en- 
 tered Columbia with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 
 
 His record in College is remarkable for its emptiness. 
 He did nothing until his Junior year, by which time people 
 had succeeded in convincing him that he ought "to do 
 something for the University." So he put on a football 
 suit and went forth. Since that time he has never been 
 able to understand how a man with brains enough to play 
 football has not sense enough to stay out. Our hero had 
 neither. Not getting enough in one year, he appeared 
 again in nineteen-two. He was on deck every day, occu- 
 pying space and making demands on the attention of the 
 coaches. But greatness was not his own. At the end of 
 the season a committee with a sense of humor awarded 
 him "Varsity" stripes and football insignia. He does not 
 intend to wear them in a locality in which he is known. 
 
ROBERT SCHULMAN 
 
 MY birthplace is some unpronounceable Russian little 
 village. There I was born in eighteen-eighty, and 
 from there my parents found it advisable to emigrate ten 
 years later. It was not before my tenth year that I was in- 
 itiated into the mysteries of letters and numbers. Now I 
 am a medical student. 
 
ROBERT LIVINGSTON SCHUYLER 
 
 SHALL I compare me to a summer's day, 
 As with slouch hat down-pulled upon my pate, 
 I slouch along the student's weary way, 
 
 And look upon myself and cuss my fate? 
 My joy, it is the violin to play ; 
 
 Nothing but early rising do I hate. 
 And ever since I left the baby's bottle 
 I've read Euripides and Aristotle. 
 
 A Democrat, I hate each corporation. 
 
 Except the rather large one which I sport; 
 
 To "smile," it is my favorite recreation ; 
 And I imbibe my soda by the quart — 
 
 A habit which would jar poor Carrie Nation; 
 And I do lots of things I hadn't ought; 
 
 But I am not among tobacco's chewers. 
 
 Nor do I joy in liquors spirituous. 
 
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
 Apollo with a double sovereign eye; 
 
 And when within the swimming-tank I've been 
 The angry waters overflowed on high; 
 
 But I care nothing for a thing so mean 
 As water, when I'm really feeling dry, 
 
 For I — a trait traditional with Schuylers — 
 
 Consume enormous quantities of — Huyler's. 
 
HARVEY AMBROSE SEIL 
 
 I WAS born at Doylestown, Ohio, ^February fifth, eigh- 
 teen-eighty-two. After this important occurrence, my 
 life has been rather an uneventful one. I came East in 
 company with a great blizzard, and in eighteen-ninety mi- 
 grated to Perth Amboy, New Jersey. My boyhood days 
 were spent in the usual manner. 
 
 I prepared for College at the Perth Amboy High School 
 and entered Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine. During my 
 four years' stay I have been a staunch supporter of my 
 State, and have often defended New Jersey against the 
 gibes cast against her. I have been a steady commuter 
 £ind am a close second to Barnes. 
 
 I hope to graduate with my Class and return next year 
 to take up the course in Chemistry. 
 
RALPH LOUIS SHAINWALD, JR. 
 
 I WAS born on the fifth of March, eighteen-eighty-three, 
 in San Francisco. Two years later the family moved to 
 New York. 
 
 To fill in the time until I should join the Class of Nine- 
 teen-Three, I went to the Ethical Culture School, where 
 beside the three Rs I was taught to hammer a nail and 
 handle a lathe. This sort of work always interested me, 
 and one fine day as I was tinkering in my workshop, I 
 struck something new, which I ran off and patented — No. 
 688,705 — if you are interested. 
 
 In nineteen-hundred-and-one I joined the Baldwin-Zieg- 
 ler Polar Expedition. The good ship "America" and her 
 consort, the "Frithiof," left Tromsoe, Norway, on the sev- 
 enteenth of July. After being wedged for two days in a 
 Polar ice-jam, after running full speed against ice-floes to 
 break a path for the ship, and after three weeks of doubt, 
 we sighted Cape Flora, where Jackson rescued Nan- 
 sen. We established our first headquarters in latitude 
 80" 24' N., about six hundred miles from the Pole. Here 
 we shot thirteen polar bears, and I managed to gather to- 
 gether a few score of the Arctic plants for Columbia's mu- 
 seum. In August I returned to Norway on the "Frithiof." 
 
 I expect this summer to accompany an expedition to 
 Alaska, to climb Mt. McKinley, the highest mountain in 
 North America — five thousand feet higher than Mt. St. 
 Elias, which the Duke D'Abruzzi climbed in eighteen- 
 ninety-six. 
 
HAROLD SHIELDS 
 
 I WAS born at a tender age in Eastern Pennsylvania, in 
 eighteen-eighty-one. I began to articulate almost im- 
 mediately, uttering the word "wa-a-a" when but a few 
 hours old. I made continuous use of this vocabulary for 
 the next three years. During my childhood I consumed 
 milk and agricultural products in large quantities, produc- 
 ing in me a very gentle and docile disposition. After a 
 long and uneventful boyhood, I entered Columbia with the 
 intention of studying law, but soon decided that the afore- 
 said docile disposition, and the habit of truthfulness, unfor- 
 tunately developed during my Sophomore year, was better 
 suited for the profession of engineering. I have never been 
 in jail. 
 
JEROME BENJAMIN SHOENFELD 
 
 IT was on January twenty-seventh, eighteen-eighty-four, 
 that Mother Earth was graced with my presence. As a 
 child I thought I was "it," as every child who doesn't know 
 any better is bound to think; but I wasn't really "it," in a 
 game of tag, until I had reached the age of six. My fond- 
 ness for knowledge was already manifesting itself (I have 
 learned better since attending Columbia). Knowledge isn't 
 the only aim of life, and book knowledge isn't the only kind 
 of knowledge (sometimes a crib or a grind next to you is 
 better than a book). As soon as I arrived in the Catskills, 
 — in the good old summer time (ages ago), I commenced 
 my research work, by examining all the bureau drawers 
 and closets, and when questioned said, "I'm looking for the 
 mountains." As for school, I was an angel — in disguise — 
 my true nature has since cropped out. My career at the 
 College of the City of New York, or rather the College of 
 the City of New York's career with me, had better rest in 
 the same oblivion in which that institution rests in the 
 minds of all great men. In nineteen hundred I entered 
 Columbia as a Sophomore— a member of the illustrious 
 Class of Nineteen-Three. As a Soph, I studied hard with 
 poor results ; as a Junior, I thought I'd be big and smoke a 
 pipe — disastrous results. Hence I'm a notabac. As a Se- 
 nior, I loafed — and am awaiting results. 
 
WALTER SCOTT SPIEGELBERG 
 
 WALTER SCOTT SPIEGELBERG is my name, 
 'Most nineteen years I'm in the game; 
 Ate butter-scotch and rhymed a lot, 
 That's why my parents called me Scott. 
 Far down in "woolly" Santa Fe, 
 Was born on Decoration Day, 
 And so from early childhood's hour 
 They've called me but the family flower. 
 In public schools I did prepare 
 To later dine on higher fare. 
 For "Primer-books" and "A-B-C" 
 Soon gave place to Psychology. 
 But I am patriotic, too. 
 And love the glorious WHITE and BLUE, 
 And with COLUMBIA hangs my fate 
 With Nineteen-Three to graduate. 
 
HARRY WYLBUR STANLEY 
 
 OVER twenty-two years ago, in a prosperous city of 
 sunny Kansas, a State upon whose thousand hills now 
 roam the cattle; upon whose plains the breezes kiss the 
 seas of waving grain; and where the tall cow-stalks point 
 to a sky more beautifully blue than the fabled blue of Italy, 
 — in such a State I was fortunate enough to be born. Am- 
 bitious to be a big man, I became a tall one at least. I spent 
 three years in Baker University, Baldwin, Kansas, and in 
 the Executive Department of the State, but was suddenly 
 seized with an inordinate desire to learn to sing, came to 
 this wicked and dangerous city to do so, and have assisted 
 in making its hideous noises since October first, nineteen- 
 two. I had my College grades transferred and entered 
 upon my Senior year at Columbia with its advantages and 
 disadvantages. As to the latter, Barnard — but why say 
 more. I pause to wipe away a tear at the mention of the 
 name. 
 
 Law is to be my line of operations, but to a Columbia 
 Nineteen-Three man wishing to get away from a noisy, 
 wicked place like New York, I will play the real estate 
 agent and will be glad to show him the way to a home in a 
 famous, happy and prosperous State. (And we don't have 
 any Crokers or Canfields there, either.) 
 
HARRISON ROSS STEEVES 
 
 I WAS bom in New York City, April eighth, eighteen- 
 eighty-one, passed an uneventful childhood, and decided 
 to go to College as soon as I was old enough to know what 
 it was. Ever since my Freshman year I have been trjring 
 to reason out the justification for my decision; but in the 
 main I am as much in doubt as ever. I am at least satisfied 
 that I have learned some things and have even found out 
 that I can derive profit from experience. As for my "Col- 
 lege career," I must let that pass, for one can't write a his- 
 tory of things that never happened. 
 
ARTHUR LEWIS STRASSER 
 
 I WAS bom in an infinitesimal hamlet in Wisconsin, 
 which acquires its name, Stockbridge, from an Indian 
 tribe which occupied a reservation nearby. At the age of 
 seven I removed, with my family, to a slightly larger vil- 
 lage, Antigo, also of Indian derivation, where I worried my 
 way through eleven years of grammar and high schools. 
 I came to New York in eighteen-ninety-eight and prepared 
 for Columbia at Sach's. I have had an averagely quiet 
 four years at College, varying the monotony of my own life, 
 and increasing that of others, by indulging from time to 
 time in the gentle art of debating. I am at present study- 
 ing law, and hope some day to do a stunt in the twinklej 
 line along with New York's other future legal lights. 
 
GEORGE AUGUSTUS KEENE SUTTON 
 
 I WAS born October fifth, eighteen-eighty. My great 
 sustaining consolation throughout life has been the fact 
 that Brooklyn and not Hoboken was my natal village. 
 When a few months old my parents chartered a special 
 train and took me to Newark, New Jersey. There having 
 passed an uneventful boyhood, I was put through a course 
 of sprouts at the Newark Academy and entered Columbia 
 on the first trial. Then my domicile was shifted to "God's 
 Own Country." My Freshman year was uneventful ex- 
 cept where marked with flunks. Being of a literary bent, 
 I joined "Morningside" in my Sophomore year, becoming 
 finally Editor-in-Chief. Being quite a tank, I early made a 
 raid on the Deutscher Verein, with such good results that 
 during my Junior year I handled the cash, and as a Senior 
 called its meetings to order with the proverbial stein. 
 
 But happiness cannot be unalloyed, for being a Tam- 
 manyite, I almost passed away when Low was chosen 
 Mayor. A fly gets in the honey sometime. I have only to 
 mention my future calling. I had for years been torn with 
 doubts between being President of the United States or 
 digging in the subway ; but finally coming to realize what a 
 capital liar I am, I chose the law. Employ me if you should 
 happen to want a divorce. 
 
JOHN AUGUST SWENSON 
 
 WAS born in Sodra Wram, Sweden, August eleventh, 
 eighteen-eighty. When seven years old, I was sent to 
 the village school, from which I graduated in eighteen- 
 ninety-three. In eighteen-ninety-five I entered a techno- 
 logical institute intending to become a mechanical engi- 
 neer, but left in ninety-seven and served as an apprentice in 
 a machine-shop for some time. In eighteen-ninety-eight I 
 left Sweden for the United States. My first resort was a 
 farm in Medford, Massachusetts, but finding this too 
 tedious, I shipped as fireman on a steamer and in this way 
 added to my knowledge of the world by seeing more of it. 
 In nineteen-hundred, I entered the Sophomore Class in 
 Bethany College, Lindsborg, Kansas. Intending to be- 
 come a minister, I was sent to Passaic, New Jersey, to as- 
 sist in clerical work during the summer of nineteen-one. 
 My fondness for the sciences made me, however, change 
 my intended profession, and in October, nineteen-one, I en- 
 tered Columbia College with the intention of becoming a 
 teacher. This view I still hold, and after some post-gradu- 
 ate work I intend to make teaching my life-work. January 
 second, nineteen-three, I became Office Editor of Mathe- 
 matics and Astronomy of the "New International Ency- 
 clopedia." 
 
JOHN WARNER TAYLOR 
 
 THERE are in my opinion few things less instructive 
 than the ordinary Senior biography. Everyone, when 
 called on for a record of his life, deems it necessary to put 
 himself in a facetious record ; to conceal for modesty's sake 
 what he has really done; and to compose something that 
 shall read lightly and wittily if it does nothing else. There 
 seems, too, to be a traditional formula that governs their 
 structure. Quite properly they all follow a chronological 
 sequence, beginning with the interesting fact of the birth 
 of the writer and moving by fits and starts to the Senior 
 year in College. But for my part, I shall not tell you when 
 I was born. It might prove embarrassing thirty years 
 hence, you know. Nor shall I bore you with the details of 
 my height and weight and birth-marks, because I desire to 
 leave as few traces as possible, if in the future I should be- 
 come embroiled with the police courts. My Prep, school 
 was the Utica Academy, through which I glided as 
 through Columbia, without any extraordinary successes, 
 but still unmarked by any dismal failures. Study has never 
 worried me over much, or at any rate no more than iti 
 should, and finally I think I voice the sentiment of my 
 classmates when I say that I feel a genuine sorrow at leav- 
 ing behind me these four pleasant, undergradute years at 
 Columbia. 
 
BENJAMIN ABNER TINTNER 
 
 i i TT APP Y he without a history." I might, therefore, 
 Jti' consider myself almost happy. Suffice it to say, 
 though, I began my career May seventh, eighteen-eighty- 
 one, at Newark, New Jersey, and came to Columbia from 
 New York University up at Chancier's Farm. I thought 
 I would try football; my sole ambition was to tackle 
 Weekes. I did so ; and as a result nursed a bruised muscle. 
 I came out a second time, was promoted to the "Scrub," 
 and because of my donning football togs, and occasionally 
 running up and down South Field, was awarded "'Varsity" 
 stripes and monogram; an incentive to all young insignia 
 aspirants. 
 
WILLIAM FREDERIC THOMAN 
 
 I WAS born in New York, March fifth, eighteen-eighty- 
 four, and graduated from Public School No. 32, in 
 eighteen-ninety-seven. I entered the College of the City 
 of New York, where I remained until nineteen hundred, 
 when I joined the Class of Nineteen-Three at Columbia, in 
 the Sophomore year. I have never regretted the change. 
 
WILLIAM FYFE TURNBULL 
 
 THE founder of this name was a mighty hunter who 
 saved the life of King Robert Bruce of Scotland from 
 the attack of a wild Scotch bull by wringing its neck. This 
 was about thirteen-twenty. The King dubbed him "Turn 
 bull" and gave him a castle upon the banks of the Tweed, 
 from which in later years his descendants sallied forth to 
 annoy the quiet folk of the Scotch border. Three expedi- 
 tions were sent by the King of England against this pow- 
 erful clan, so that it was finally broken up and scattered to 
 the four winds about fifteen-twenty. 
 
 Some years after this I was bom in a quiet town on the 
 northern shores of Lake Ontario. At an early age I emi- 
 grated to the Wild West, landing in a small railroad and 
 mining town up in the mountains. Having occasion dur- 
 ing the next ten years to cross the continent seven times 
 each way, by the age of twelve I had traveled twenty-five 
 thousand miles by rail, which is as much as even Barnes 
 can boast of. 
 
 I went to school at various times in Waterf ord, Canada ; 
 Salida and Denver, Colorado; Newark and Orange, New 
 Jersey. I prepared for College at Orange High School, 
 and entered Columbia with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 
 
HENRY CLARK TOWNSEND, JR. 
 
 I WAS born in New York City on July first, eighteen- 
 eighty-one. My career consists in twenty-one years of 
 limited experience in various forms and branches of life. I 
 have done this and been that and yet at the same time was 
 never called proficient in anything. In fact, I am somewhat 
 a jack-of-all-trades. I was created with an unusually large 
 head, wearing at the age of three a seven and a quarter hat ; 
 and this fact alone, not considering my other marks of per- 
 sonal beauty, distinguished me from all other kids of the 
 same age. My mother, somewhat alarmed at the abnormal 
 size of my cranium, took me to a phrenologist, and there, 
 after the learned gentleman had passed his hands several 
 times over my top-piece, informed me that I had the mak- 
 ing of a great man. This only goes to prove how mistaken 
 some professional people can be. Perhaps, however, some- 
 time in the future, that prophecy may be realized. Here 
 is hoping that it may be so. So long. 
 
CAMILLE AUGUSTE TOUSSAINT 
 
 " Vanite des vanites ; tous est vanite." 
 
 BOUT a score and ten years ago, wearied of the strife, 
 ' turmoil and vanity of this great New York, my father 
 migrated to the beautiful Palisades of New Jersey, where 
 I was born on a charming June day in the year eighteen- 
 eighty-one. At that time an epidemic of "musteeks" was 
 raging. Thus the early days of my unassuming existence 
 were passed in an almost constant squall. The early years 
 of my life were uneventful, just as those of most children 
 are. They say a genius occurs once in a generation. How- 
 ever, a marked tendency to a thorough appreciation of the 
 value of numbers was noticeable in my schoolday years — 
 always preferring the greater division of the spoils of war 
 in play. 
 
 Finally, I entered on an uneventful career in the Jersey 
 City High School — perhaps scorning the insufficient, nar- 
 row honors of a small population. Ambition was my 
 watchword — some day the world, not a school of a univer- 
 sity, a mere infatuated part of that world, should realize 
 my merit and ability. However, many honors, which I 
 will not here enumerate, were forced upon me, unsought, 
 by reason of my unexcelled abilities in Mathematics. I 
 entered Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine and have contin- 
 ued therein until this my year of graduation. 
 
CHARLES DOSWELL TOMKIES 
 
 THE affront his dignity suffered at the hands of his pub- 
 lishers, who requested him to write the story of his life 
 in the space of two hundred and fifty words, has been partly 
 allayed by time. Moreover, the secret fear that it would 
 never be recounted unless written here, "a decent respect 
 for the opinions of mankind," and a high regard for the 
 welfare of posterity (who would otherwise suffer an irre- 
 parable loss), has moved the author to take up his pen at 
 the eleventh hour, and herewith follows the wondrous tale. 
 
 Far down in the Southland, the land of chivalry and ro- 
 mance, where the sun shines the brightest and the moon 
 beams with the softest glow, where the mocking-bird sings 
 the sweetest and the redbird's plumage glows the most bril- 
 liant, in a little hamlet in the northwestern part of the State 
 named after the French King, on February twenty-first, 
 eighteen-eighty-two, the subject of this sketch first saw 
 light. 
 
 Further towards the setting sun, centuries before, the 
 Keachies roamed through the silent forest. Tradition says 
 this was the parent stock whence all the other Southern 
 Pawnees were sprung. But long ago the red man has gone 
 to join his brethren in the Happy Hunting Ground, and of 
 him naught now remains save his name made immortal by 
 the quaint little village of Keachie, which preserves also 
 tradition, for it has long been regarded by all the country 
 round as the source of all things great and good. Here his 
 early youth was spent. 
 
 "What's his history?" 
 
 "A blank, my Lord." 
 
RUDOLPH LUDWIG VON BERNUTH 
 
 I WAS bom on December eighteenth, eighteen-eighty- 
 three, and passed my infancy as a nuisance to every- 
 body. At the age of six I was sent to the Collegiate School, 
 where I stayed until I was graduated in nineteen hundred. 
 During my scholastic career, I was the butt of the school, 
 and acquired the world-famous name of "Pop." I then en- 
 tered Columbia with the Class of Nineteen-Four. Al- 
 though I have never indulged in riotous conduct, my Col- 
 lege career has been a fast one in a sense of the word; for 
 in one of the class fights I received a mighty shove and 
 was precipitated into the Class of Nineteen-Three, where I 
 now stand to get my "sheepskin." 
 
BENJAMIN RUDOLPH VON SHOLLY 
 
 THERE are many rare abilities in the world that for- 
 tune never brings to light. 
 
RALPH HENRY WADDELL 
 
 I WAS born into this world of toil and trouble February 
 fifth, eighteen-eighty-one. The State of Illinois claims 
 the honor. My father is a minister, paradoxical as it may 
 seem. When very young, like other clergymen's sons, I 
 attended church regularly, sat in the "amen" corner and ate 
 cookies to quiet my nerves. When twelve years old I 
 moved to North Dakota, taking father and mother with me. 
 Locating at Devil's Lake, near the Fort Totten Indian res- 
 ervation, I led a life of constant warfare with ravenous 
 beasts and savage Sioux. After the Turtle Mountain mas- 
 sacre of ninety-eight, I returned to Ilinois and entered 
 Knox College. From Knox I went to the University of 
 Minnesota. While there I determined to come East and 
 get my degree at Columbia. So here I am, ready to gradu- 
 ate with the Class of Nineteen-Three. I expect to remain 
 here, go into the claims business, and claim everything in 
 sight. 
 
LEONARD MICHAEL WALLSTEIN 
 
 LESS than thirty years ago, I was born in New York 
 City. Ever since my first glimpse of earth I have been 
 the possessor o£ a surname similar to that of one of the 
 most illustrious soldiers in history, Albrecht Wencesles 
 Wallenstein. I went through the usual stunts of prepara- 
 tion for College and joined the Class of Nineteen-Three at 
 Columbia. Like my noble namesake, I have striven, but, 
 unlike him, I have striven for scholarly attainments and not 
 the praise and allegiance of man. 
 
GEORGE EARLE WARREN 
 
 I WAS born in Brooklyn, January ninth, eighteen-eighty- 
 one, and in eighteen-ninety-£our made the best move in 
 my life to New York City. I entered Columbia in ninety- 
 nine, where I have spent most of my time studying litera- 
 ture in Earl Hall. 
 
HAROLD HATHAWAY WEEKES 
 
 I WAS bora in New York City, April second, eighteen- 
 eighty, and prepared for Columbia at the Morristown 
 School. While at school I took considerable interest in 
 athletics, and it is needless to say that my enthusiasm never 
 waned while at College. 
 
FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 
 
 I WAS born at Boston, on April twenty-second, eighteen- 
 eighty-four, and migrated the next year to Providence, 
 Rhode Island. From here I went to Germany, where I re- 
 ceived my first schooling from the Spanish Rohr in the 
 skilled hands of a teacher in a Munich public school. At 
 the age of seven I returned to America, and a year later 
 encamped at Sewanee, Tennessee, where I remained for 
 eight years. By virtue of this residence I arrogate to my- 
 self the title of Southerner. I received my preparatory ed- 
 ucation at the Sewanee Grammar School, and after a year's 
 study in the University of the South, entered Columbia 
 when Nineteen-Three were "Sophs." 
 
GERARD BERNARD WERNER 
 
 A SERIOUS biographical notice, I think, is more ap- 
 propriate in a necrology than in a class-book; and a 
 humorous sketch of one's life ought not to be attempted 
 when the writer is not possessed of the humorous faculty. 
 I will therefore merely record, for the benefit of my future 
 biographer, that I was born in St. Louis, December seventh, 
 eighteen-eighty-three ; that I migrated to New York in 
 April, eighteen-ninety, and that I am now studying to be 
 an electrical engineer. 
 
EDWIN WOLFF 
 
 I WAS bom March fourth, eighteen-eighty-four, so as to 
 be in time to celebrate Cleveland's first inauguration on 
 my first birthday. After a while I went to Public School 
 No. 68, and later on to Grammar School No. 93. In eight- 
 een-ninety-five I went down to the Ethical Culture School, 
 where I remained until eighteen-ninety-nine, when I en- 
 tered the most glorious Class of Columbia ever known, the 
 only thing I did of which I am proud. I took part in all 
 class fights, examinations and other harmless pleasures, and 
 accordingly hope to be graduated. 
 
ALBERT WORTMANN 
 
 WHAT'S the use? To work like this is to go back on 
 all my past principles. For four years I have 
 learned the methods of the educated loafer, and actually 
 placed myself in the prime condition to graduate as such. 
 What a come down. But since I must, here goes. 
 
 I led an uneventful life of measles, etc., up to the time of 
 my entering College, when my physical sicknesses turned to 
 those of the brain upon encountering Math. A. and History 
 A. After a careful and thorough study, however, of the 
 principles involved in the mode of "getting through" the 
 exams, without work, I was finally able to devote my time 
 to the beauties of Nature as seen from the football and base- 
 ball fields (while consuming peanuts, etc.), and am now in 
 a position to write a textbook on the subject. But my abil- 
 ities are as short in that direction as they are in writing 
 this history, and so until I get the opportunity of talking it 
 off my mind, I end my past life. 
 
CHRISTOPHER BILLOPP WYATT 
 
 CHRISTOPHER WYATT was born in New York City 
 on March nineteenth, eighteen-eighty-two. For fur- 
 ther particulars, see Class statistics at the end, where he 
 figures, unfortunately, only too prominently. 
 
CLARENCE JOHNSON WYCKOFF 
 
 ON the twenty-fifth of October, eighteen-eighty-one, I 
 became an inhabitant of Brooklyn, the city of churches 
 and baby carriages, and since then have ever lived in that 
 place. After the usual experiences of a public school, I 
 entered the Polytechnic Preparatory School, graduating in 
 the spring of eighteen-ninety-nine. With the exception of 
 an arduous struggle with mathematics at "Poly" and also 
 at Columbia, my career thus far has proved uneventful. 
 Law is to be my profession. 
 
CLASS ROLL 
 
 Clinton Gilbert Abbott. 
 *Almon Edgar Adams. 
 
 Frederic Joseph Agate. 
 
 Theodore Henry Allen. 
 
 William Fitch Allen. 
 *William A. Andrews. 
 
 Martin Charles Ansorge. 
 
 David Asch. 
 *Daniel Read Bacon. 
 *John James Bakerman. 
 
 George Frederick Bambach. 
 *Percival Martin Barker. 
 
 Nathaniel Waring Barnes. 
 
 Robert Bradford Bartholomew. 
 *Murray Harold Bass. 
 *James Basset, Jr. 
 *John Grenville Bates. 
 
 Alexander Otto Bechert. 
 
 Henry Rutgers Beekman. 
 *Dino Bigongiari. 
 *Joseph S. Bikle. 
 ♦Marcus Isser Blank, M.D. 
 *Frank Tefft Bogue. 
 ♦Algernon Keen Boyesen. 
 ♦Pierre S. Boisse. 
 ♦Yeoman Briggs. 
 
 Herbert Corlies Brinckerho£F. 
 ♦Benjamin Franklin Butler. 
 
 George Henry Butler, Jr. 
 
 Louis Casamajor. 
 ♦Frederick Ambrose Clark. 
 ♦Ralston Roberts Coffin. 
 
 Dayton Colie. 
 
 William Phillips Comstock. 
 
 John Whiting Crowell. 
 
 Albert Davis. 
 ♦Alfred Dickinson. 
 
 Marcellus Hartley Dodge. 
 ♦Pendleton Dudley. 
 
 Harry Hammond Dyrsen. 
 
 Victor de La Montagne Earle. 
 
 Arthur Frederick Egner. 
 
 Henry Hart Elias. 
 ♦Milton A. Falk. 
 ♦Pierce Philip Ferris. 
 
 Colin Garfield Fink. 
 ♦Mortimer Levi Fisher. 
 
 Jay Irving Fort. 
 ♦Walter Frank. 
 ♦Leonard Felix Fuld. 
 
 Roscoe Crosby Gaige. 
 ♦Enos Throop Geer. 
 ♦Emanuel Goldenweiser. 
 
 Frank Valentine Goodman. 
 ♦Hamilton Adair Gordon. 
 ♦Arnold Gross. 
 
 Herbert J. Haas. 
 ♦Jacob Lionel Haas. 
 ♦Edmond Jordan Harrison. 
 
 Richard Compton Harrison. 
 ♦W. Claude Heaton. 
 
 Charles LeRoy Hendrickson. 
 ♦Henry K. Heyman. 
 
 William Forrest Hills. 
 
 Alfred Hoffman. 
 ♦Floyd D. Holmes. 
 ♦Everett House. 
 
 Russell Pratt Hoyt, Jr. 
 
 Stanley Myer Isaacs. 
 
 Lewis Iselin. 
 
 ♦Walter Abraham Jacobs. 
 ♦Maurice Lamotte Jenks. 
 
 Ely Jacques Kahn. 
 
 Howard Allen Keeler. 
 ♦Charles William Kennedy. 
 ♦Edwin B. Koenig. 
 
 Nicholas August Koenig. 
 ♦Charles Francis Lawson. 
 
 Barent Lefferts. 
 ♦Charles Howard Loper. 
 
 ♦Not in the Class for four years. fDeceased. 
 
CLASS ROLL 
 
 Herbert Spencer Loveman. 
 
 Herbert David Mandelbaum. 
 
 Harold Chaffee McCollom. 
 
 James Edward McDonald. 
 ♦Frederick Seybel McLintock. 
 
 Herbert M. McLintock. 
 
 Roi Cooper Megrue. 
 *David Ammen Menocal. 
 
 J. Garfield Moses. 
 ♦Hopper Lenox Mott. 
 *Samuel Sherill Mulford. 
 
 Herbert Roe Odell. 
 
 Louis S. Odell. 
 
 Gerald Stuart O'Loughlin. 
 *Louis Herbert Orr, Jr. 
 
 Charles Whytlaw O shorn. 
 
 Thomas Lockwood Perry. 
 
 Harry Twyford Peters. 
 
 Edgar Dudensing Pitske. 
 ♦Percival Valentine Raisbeck. 
 ♦Arthur Malcolm Reis. 
 
 Bernard Hermen Ridder. 
 
 Lawrason Riggs, Jr. 
 ♦William Rossbach. 
 ♦Charles Edward Scharps. 
 
 Arnold O. Schramm. 
 
 Rudolph C. T. Schroeder. 
 
 Robert Schulman. 
 
 Robert Livingston Schuyler. 
 ♦Frederic Cromwell Seaman. 
 
 Henry Augustus Seil. 
 
 Ralph Louis Shainwald, Jr. 
 
 Harold Shields. 
 
 Jerome Benjamin Shoenfeld. 
 
 ♦William Alonzo Simmons, Jr. 
 ♦Bert Veitch Smith. 
 tCharles Henry Smithers. 
 ♦Nelson Lockwood Somers. 
 
 Walter Scott Spiegelberg. 
 ♦Kenneth Miller Simpson. 
 ♦Harry Wylbur Stanley. 
 
 Harrison Ross Steeves. 
 
 Arthur Lewis Strasser. 
 
 George Augustus Keen Sutton. 
 ♦John August Swenson. 
 
 John Warner Taylor. 
 
 Samuel Abraham Telzy. 
 ♦William Frederick Thoman. 
 ♦Lloyd Brant Thomas. 
 ♦Benjamin Abner Tintner. 
 ♦Charles Doswell Tomkies. 
 
 Camille Auguste Toussaint. 
 
 Henry Clark Townsend. 
 
 William Fyfe Turnbull. 
 ♦Rudolph Ludwig Von Bernuth. 
 
 Benjamin Rudolph Von Sholly. 
 ♦Morris Voss. 
 ♦Ralph Henry Waddell. 
 
 Leonard Michael Wallstein. 
 
 George Earl Warren. 
 
 Harold Hathaway Weekes. 
 ♦Frederick Lyman Wells. 
 ♦Arthur Werner. 
 
 Edwin Wolff. 
 
 Albert Wortman. 
 
 Christopher Billopp Wyatt. 
 
 Clarence Johnson Wyckoff. 
 ♦Robert Hasbrouck Wyld. 
 
 •Not in the Class'four years. 
 
 fDeceased. 
 
CLASS STATISTICS 
 
 8g Ballots. 
 
 HOME.— New York City, 66; other parts of New York State, lo; 
 New Jersey, 8; Georgia, i; Kentucky, i; Pennsylvania, i; Kan- 
 sas, i; Sweden, i. 
 
 PLACE OF BIRTH.— New York, 59; New Jersey, 7; Connecticut, 
 2; Missouri, 2', Pennsylvania, 2; Canada, 2; England, 2; Russia, 
 2; Georgia, i; Kentucky, i; Kansas, i; Wisconsin, i; Massachu- 
 setts, I ; Maine, i ; Texas, i ; Ohio, i ; California, i ; New Mexico, 
 i; Sweden, i. 
 
 AVERAGE AGE AT GRADUATION.— Twenty-one years, two 
 months. 
 
 RELIGION. — Episcopalian, 26; Hebrew, 20; Presbyterian, 12; 
 Lutheran, 7; Baptist, 5; Methodist, 3; Dutch Reformed, 3; Ro- 
 man Catholic, 2; Agnostic, i; Congregationalist, i; Nothing, 9. 
 
 POLITICS. — Republican, 56; Democrat, 14; Independent, 3; Mug- 
 wump, 6; Socialist, i; Prohibitionist, i; Fusionist, i; Anarchist, 
 i; nothing, 5; gentle art of knocking, i. 
 
 PREPARATORY SCHOOLS.— Public High Schools, 28; College 
 of the City of New York, g; Polytechnic Preparatory School, 4; 
 Sachs, 4; Columbia Grammar, 4; Trinity, 3; Cutler, 3; Barnard, 
 2; Drisler, 2; Browning School, 2; Morse & Rogers School, 2; 
 Collegiate School, 2; Dwight School, 2; others, 20. 
 
 INTENDED OCCUPATION.— Law, 28; business, 17; teaching, 9; 
 civil engineer, 4; chemist, 4; doctor of medicine, 4; mining engi- 
 neer, 3; architect, 2; millionaire, 2; journalist, i; politician, i; 
 electrical engineer, i; philanthropist, i; forester, i; clergyman, 
 i; theatrical manager, i; nothing, 8. 
 
 FAVORITE STUDY.— Literature; history; economics. 
 
 FAVORITE PROFESSOR.— Professor Woodberry; (Professors 
 Van Amringe, Chandler and Lord.) 
 
 MOST POPULAR MAN.— Weekes, O'Loughlin, Dodge. 
 
 HANDSOMEST.— (Weekes, Earle), Bartholomew. 
 
 LUCKIEST.— Dodge, Townsend, Gaige. 
 
 WITTIEST.— Megrue. 
 
 LAZIEST.— Gaige, McDonald, Dyrsen. 
 
 NOISIEST.— Von Bemuth, Pitske. 
 
 SLOUCHIEST.— Schuyler, Toussaint, Wells. 
 
 GROUCHIEST.— TurnbuU, Wyatt, Schramm. 
 
 BIGGEST FUSSER.— Keeler, T. H. Allen, Crowell. 
 
 BEST DRESSED.— Peters, Iselin, Wyatt. 
 
 LOUDEST DRESSED.— Wyatt, Fort, Beekman. 
 
 BEST ATHLETE.— Weekes. 
 
 BEST STUDENT.— Isaacs, Abbott, Barnes. 
 
CLASS STATISTICS 
 
 BEST ALL-ROUND MAN.— Earle, O'Loughlin, Bartholomew. 
 
 WORST GRIND.— Wallstein, Crowell. 
 
 MOST CONCEITED.— Wyatt, Abbott, Agate. 
 
 MOST MODEST.— Weekes, Bartholomew, Dodge. 
 
 MOST SUBURBAN.— Barnes, Wells, Crowell. 
 
 MOST INNOCENT.— Crowell, Bambach, Barnes. 
 
Class ot)E 
 
 (Air, "America") 
 
 Columbia on the hill, 
 
 To thee, with right good-will, 
 
 Our praise shall be, 
 Thy sons who went before 
 Have held, in greatest store. 
 The honor that they bore, 
 
 A gift from thee. 
 
 Our thoughts will ever turn. 
 Our hearts will ever yearn, 
 
 From far or near, 
 To thee, O College great. 
 To thee, enthroned in state, 
 A mighty potentate. 
 
 Our College dear. 
 
 Thy name shall always bind 
 Each loyal heart and mind, 
 
 Columbia ! 
 Through all the country 'round 
 Thy fame shall loud resound, 
 Thou, with all glory crowned, 
 
 Columbia ! 
 
 ALBERT DAVIS. 
 
FAREWELL. 
 
 O, mighty Mother, thou who sit'st enthroned 
 Upon the height of that rock-circled hill, 
 Which watches o'er the Hudson as it glides 
 Between its sloping banks to join the sea, 
 Thy sons are loth to leave thee. Sad are we, 
 For we have loved thee : loving from that day — 
 How dim and distant now that time has grown 
 After the lapse of four swift-gliding years — 
 When first we saw thee guarding all the plain 
 In calm benignity. And thus we said, 
 As climbing upward to thy throne we came, 
 " How highly favored are that Mother's sons ! 
 How foolish they that spurn her kindly love ! 
 'Tis honor thus to stand beneath her flag, 
 To bear it onward as it floats on high. 
 A gracious parent glories in her child, 
 And he in turn is by her glorified." 
 
 So, looking, hoping, yearning, up we came 
 And entered in, and lived those four short years; 
 Four years which glided swift, as swallows wing 
 Their circling flight athwart the sun-flecked air — 
 In joy of life and light and sunny glow, 
 Darting and soaring past us on their way — 
 While we, thy sons, have all thy favor known, 
 Have shaped our manhood toward the high ideal 
 That shines, a beacon, flashing far above; 
 We live in hope to reach it, and that hope 
 Will hold us steadfast till the goal is won. 
 
 'Twas here we studied 'neath the lofty dome 
 Which rears itself to meet the vaulted blue, 
 Outstretching o'er it with a vaster calm; 
 'Twas here we lived our life, and ran our race, 
 And won our laurels ; now we face the world. 
 
FAREWELL 
 
 O, glorious Mother, we, thy sons, bemoan 
 The fate that sends us outward far from thee. 
 Not that we fear to struggle and to strive ; 
 Nor that the turmoil of the busy world 
 Will make us falter. Life is still before. 
 The lordly river, bending at thy feet. 
 Is proud to pay thee homage and respect 
 As flashing ever toward the sea it flows, 
 And we flow on, the Classes, going forth 
 In slow procession as the years glide by. 
 We soon must pass ; yet longing holds us back. 
 And binds us closer till the parting come. 
 We stand upon the margin where the stream 
 Is merged and lost within the billowing sea. 
 
 O, honored Mother, we, thy sons, must part. 
 Must part from one another, and from thee. 
 These first few days of Summer and of warmth 
 Have coaxed the rosebud from its casing sheath. 
 And flung the leaves far out upon the bough 
 To dance and tremble in the floods of light. 
 The world now bids us hasten, tuned in song 
 With earth and sky to chant our hymn of praise. 
 Go we not forth our College to uphold. 
 To gain fresh laurels which shall deck her brow, 
 To bring our many glories back to her. 
 And add our rushlight to her glowing flame? 
 
 ALBERT DAVIS. 
 
PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS 
 
 Time was at Columbia, and that not so long ago, when 
 Class Day, with its interesting customs, was not so im- 
 portant as it is now. Further back still it did not exist at 
 all, and the part the students took in their graduation was 
 confined entirely to the Commencement exercises. These 
 started at nine o'clock in the morning and lasted all day. 
 Each graduating student was required to read his oration to 
 the assembled gathering. The spirit of these august occa- 
 sions was that of solemnity and serious propriety, too sober 
 to make most effective the portion of the programme de- 
 voted to the students. The result of this, was the establish- 
 ment of Class Day by the Class of Eighteen-Sixty-Five, in 
 order that the Class might have its own exercises where a 
 spirit of mirth and cheerfulness most proper for such a gath- 
 ering might prevail. Though at first only a few speeches 
 of those graduating were given at Class Day, gradually, as 
 year by year the practice was continued, Commencement 
 finally lost the whole of the student side of its exercises, and 
 Class Day was the gainer. The two characteristics of the 
 custom which the Class of Nineteen-Three has asked you to 
 aid in upholding to-day are, first, that this is a meeting es- 
 sentially by the Class itself, and secondly, that long usage 
 has decreed as most fitting for it an atmosphere of pleasure 
 and mirthfulness. 
 
 It may be interesting to you to hear a few of the details 
 of a commencement, about eighteen-twenty, as given in the 
 announcement of the exercises. 
 
 The announcement states that the line of march of the 
 procession shall be from the College green in the morning, 
 precisely at nine o'clock. 
 
 Among those that shall be in line are mentioned, the 
 Janitor of the University, the President of the University, 
 Members of the Corporation of the City, Judges of the Su- 
 preme Court, Foreign Consuls resident in the city, the 
 Clergy and Strangers of distinction. Among the subjects 
 
PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS 
 
 of the orations delivered by the students we find the fol- 
 lowing: "On the Character of Martin Luther"; "The 
 World in the Twentieth Century" ; "An Oration on the In- 
 fluence and Importance of Women in Society," followed by 
 one on the theme "Absurdity." I am sure the two were 
 not meant in any way to be connected. An oration "On the 
 Progress and Vicissitudes of Letters" and one on "Flor- 
 ence." The Commencement closed with a prayer by the 
 President. 
 
 The celebration of this day has for us who are members 
 of the College proper a very real significance at a time when 
 we are v\7itnessing the great expansion of the University in 
 its various schools. It brings home to us in a true sense the 
 fact that the College was the parent of the University. That 
 around the College, sacred and precious for its traditions of 
 the past, and standing forth as the champion of full hope for 
 the future, Columbia has grown to her present state. That 
 almost every custom by which she has been endeared to her 
 sons has originated and been made possible of perpetuation 
 through the College. 
 
 It is here the men have more time to work for their Alma 
 Mater. It is here those ties of friendship are bound most 
 tightly together, which terminate only with life itself. A 
 University without a College to place and keep at the helm 
 the unwritten law of the past is deprived to a large extent 
 of that power to affect the lives of her students to which she 
 is entitled. How melancholy and uninteresting, how unin- 
 spiring and unprofitable would your walk and mine here at 
 Columbia have been if we had not had these customs to live 
 up to as Freshmen, to perpetuate as Upper Classmen, and to 
 receive our parting word of encouragement from, as we 
 leave to go out into the world? It is not surprising, then, 
 that we are glad to welcome you here this afternoon, and to 
 be permitted in your presence to add for our Class her stone 
 to that foundation of time which supports without doubt 
 our most cherished College custom. 
 
PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS 
 
 But what of the Class which is doing this this afternoon ! 
 I will be frank with you. Some of you doubtless have 
 heard of great men or great bodies of men, some of you 
 doubtless have read of great men or great bodies of men, 
 some of you doubtless have seen great men or great bodies 
 of men, but I feel confident you will surely agree with me 
 when I say that never before in the history of man has been 
 gathered together so great a body of truly great men as sit 
 before you this afternoon. You exclaim, "Tell me of their 
 past, their future, of their hopes and their ideals," and I 
 candidly answer that when they have passed through the 
 tender clutches of the classmates who follow me, you will 
 know more about them than of any other body of men in the 
 world. The Historian will tell you a few things we are, — 
 and perhaps a few things we are not; — the Poet will give 
 you our poetic side ; the Prophet, as best he can, will lay out 
 our future for us ; the Presentation Orator will make us feel 
 at times very ill at ease, and that our presence before you is 
 truly no delusion ; while the Valedictorian will impress upon 
 you the soundness of the advice he gives us in his words of 
 farewell. 
 
 Now, as we proceed with our last Class-meeting as 
 undergraduates, I want, in behalf of my classmates of 
 Noughty Three, to extend to you the warmest welcome 
 which it lies in our power to give. 
 
 MARCELLUS HARTLEY DODGE. 
 
CLASS HISTORY 
 
 Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen: 
 
 As you all will undoubtedly have surmised from the 
 ultra-intelligent faces of the Class of Nineteen-Three, here 
 arrayed before you, the chronicle of their notable doings is 
 necessarily a long one. Indeed, to enumerate even those 
 actions which might be regarded as epoch-making in the 
 history of Columbia College would occupy a much longer 
 time than would please speakers to follow, who have been 
 impatiently awaiting this afternoon as the opportunity, ^or 
 excellence, of making their grand bow to the world. So I 
 have been forced merely to jot down the more salient points 
 of the Class's record, which I have this afternoon the un- 
 speakable honor of presenting to you. 
 
 By way of introduction, I would say (and I say it with 
 all modesty) that the members of the Class of Nineteen- 
 Three feel that they may lay just claim to being, in all that 
 goes to make up a fine Class, superior to every Class that 
 has yet o'erstepped the threshold of this illustrious Univer- 
 sity — in other words, we feel that we are in a class by our- 
 selves. This claim we make for two reasons : first, because 
 we possess the best athletes, the best scholars, the best wri- 
 ters, the best actors, the best business men, the best debat- 
 ers, the best chess-players, the best artists, the best musi- 
 cians, the best fussers and the best lookers that the College 
 has yet produced; second, of course, because one of the 
 members of our Class is Harold Weekes. This second rea- 
 son every one naturally expected and its validity no one 
 will dispute. Of the first I can only trust that ere the after- 
 noon is over there will not be a vestige of skepticism or 
 doubt in the minds of any of you. 
 
 It was way back last century some time— in the Fall of 
 ninety-nine, to be a little more specific — that, as a Class, we 
 first made the acropolis of New York our stronghold. We 
 first came to know each other during those inspiring lec- 
 tures by Dr. Savage, when we learned that, by pa5mient of 
 
CLASS HISTORY 
 
 seven dollars, each was entitled to the privilege of recording 
 the full list of his diseases, together with the number of 
 hours per day spent upon each. It was then that, under the 
 kind guidance of nineteen-one, we began to hold meetings 
 of our own, the first desire of all Freshmen. The saucy 
 Sophs started to peep in upon us through the windows, but 
 with dignity becoming our positions as full-fledged College 
 men, we merely arose and drew down the shades. In fact, 
 I would at this point impress upon you that one of the most 
 marked characteristics of our Class throughout its course 
 has been its dignity; whereas that of the Class which pre- 
 ceded us was insidiousness. But more of this anon ; just at 
 present I am transported in thought, though at the time it 
 was in a furniture van, to a very undignified Sophomore 
 smoker, to which we were "invited" during the first week 
 of our College life. The invitations consisted of cowardly 
 and insidious seizure of individual Freshmen, the Sophs 
 having no heart to face us as a Class. At the smoker we 
 bore ourselves with our usual dignity, obeying no unpleas- 
 ant commands, and soon after sent a dignified challenge to 
 our rival Class to engage in the annual cane-sprees. They 
 could find no plausible excuse for withdrawing, and were 
 therefore forced to comply. That we won goes without 
 saying, the Sophomores only hastening their own downfall 
 by resorting to their usual insidious tactics. Since he won 
 the light-weight spree for us that time, victory has become 
 such a commonplace thing for Mr. Earle that they tell me 
 he now habitually signs himself "Victor." The sprees over, 
 and our canes won, we at once adjourned to South Field to 
 determine our right to smoke pipes by a tug of war. The 
 exact result of the contest has remained an unknown quan- 
 tity to this day, for just at the crucial moment, when every 
 strand was strained, the rope suddenly broke in the middle, 
 and we all sat down with less dignity than was our custom. 
 The Sophomores then, in gluttonous fashion, attempted to 
 
CLASS HISTORY 
 
 keep all to themselves the beer that had been provided for 
 the refreshment of all. Suffice it to say that South Field 
 was left after the battle a beautiful botch of beer, blood, and 
 brownness. 
 
 It was not long after that the Sophomores held their 
 Class dinner, and again their insidious nature manifested it- 
 self. For one of them represented himself over the tele- 
 phone to our president as a friend of his, asking him to 
 come out. But no sooner had he set foot upon the side- 
 walk than he was grabbed by two or three figures that had 
 been skulking behind the steps, hurried into a cab, and 
 driven off a captive. At our own Class dinner we enjoyed 
 true good cheer and drank many times to the health (?) of 
 Nineteen-Three. If you could have seen us going home 
 you would have determined that that dinner had done more 
 to bind us together and to enable us to look to our class- 
 mates for support than anything else hitherto. 
 
 As for the remainder of the Freshman year, it was 
 marked chiefly by a long string of athletic successes: 
 Messrs. Weekes and Berrien had already made the 'varsity 
 football team, while Mr. Bates sprang into prominence as 
 one of the world's best golfers. Mr. Coffin as an oar, Mr. 
 Earle as a gymnast, Mr. Goodman as a baseball player — all 
 on 'varsity teams. And innumerable others made a name 
 on the various Class teams, of which we had a goodly array. 
 
 With Sophomore year came new responsibilities. A 
 new Class had appeared on the scene of action to the educa- 
 tion of whose members we felt it was incumbent upon us to 
 attend with unceasing diligence. We reminded them gent- 
 ly that they must not walk on the grass, sit on the library 
 ledges, smoke pipes or carry canes; gave them lessons in 
 rowing on the pavement in front of Barnard ; allowed them 
 to help the Italians dig the subway, and in general curbed 
 the exuberance of their childish spirits. 
 
 Early in the year we, too, decided to have a smoker 
 
CLASS HISTORY 
 
 (somehow or other we seemed to regard the idea in a dif- 
 ferent light from that of a year previous). It was an amus- 
 ing sight to watch our innocent little visitors from Nine- 
 teen-four mount a chair in our midst and, after taking a pull 
 at the bottle and giving a cheer for Nineteen-Three, de- 
 scribe themselves, when bidden, thus: "I am Obo, the 
 mountain goat, who may be seen leaping from crag to crag, 
 scattering my horns, not singly, but one by one." Another 
 youngster gave us this touching little rhyme : 
 
 If you see a bumble bee, 
 Coming o'er the lea, 
 If you've got a grain of sense, 
 You'll let that bumble be. 
 
 I am inclined to believe that it is partly due to this piece of 
 advice that B. Lefferts, the crew manager, has this year 
 been given such a wide berth. Whenever he is seen making 
 a B line for anyone, as his custom is, his destination is apt 
 mysteriously to disappear before he gets there. 
 
 But the great event of the year was the Sophomore 
 Show. Not only was every member of the cast and chorus 
 a member of the Class of Nineteen-Three, but the play itself 
 was written by one of our classmates — a feat which no sub- 
 sequent Class has proved equal to. To be sure, Leonidas 
 intended it originally for Maud Adams and Faversham, but 
 he gave it to his Class and now he is writing something else 
 for Maud Adams. Who will soon forget Gerry O'Lough- 
 lin's impersonation of retiring maidenhood, who Dayton 
 Colie's coy ways, as she shook off her wig in the violence 
 of extruding her tongue at her mother? And the Soph 
 Show trip! Let me speedily draw a veil over the scene in 
 that large room at the Lakewood Laurel House, which was 
 assigned to no less than six of us for a comfortable night's 
 rest! 
 
 But the sad time finally came when we were compelled 
 
CLASS HISTORY 
 
 to leave theatrical boards, so we consoled ourselves by gath- 
 ering around festal boards and celebrating our second an- 
 nual dinner. For some unaccountable reason the dinner 
 was not held at the seime hotel as the previous year, in fact 
 they say that its proprietor ran for his revolver when he 
 heard that a delegation of Nineteen-Three men were again 
 waiting on him. Whether or not, we thoroughly enjoyed 
 that Sophomore dinner, while a few specially invited Fresh- 
 men provided the vaudeville entertainment and sipped their 
 lacteal beverage to the soul-inspiring tones of Holt's "Nine- 
 teen-Three March." 
 
 The absurd and old-fashioned "Sophomore Triumph," 
 so called, we considered it below our dignity to indulge in, 
 and every subsequent Class has followed our wise example. 
 But that reminds me of another incident. Have any of you 
 noticed that the back of the Library has a yellowish tinge? 
 It came about this way: One sunny morning the Fresh- 
 men decided to have their Class photograph taken. They 
 were festooned about the windows and ledges at the back 
 of the Library, blinking their innocent little blue eyes at the 
 man with the camera, when Vic Earle and Gerry O'Lough- 
 lin happened along. Now I might inform you, in the words 
 of the lawyer whose eloquence exceeded his knowledge of 
 the classics, that as David to Jonathan, as Damon to Pyth- 
 ias, as Orestes to Pylades, and as Scylla to Charyhdis, so is 
 Vic to Gerry. In the course of their inseparable perambu- 
 lations they chanced to stroll between the camera and the 
 Freshies ; and they strolled and strolled. It was a perfectly 
 dignified proceeding ; surely all the campus is public. Now 
 Vic has been voted one of the handsomest men in the Class, 
 and you can see for yourselves what a fine-looking chap 
 Gerry is when he gets up to deliver the valedictory ; and you 
 may wonder that the Freshies were not delighted merely to 
 include them in the picture. But somehow they seemed to 
 think otherwise, especially when a few more Sophs, who 
 
CLASS HISTORY 
 
 chanced to be passing, were unaccountably seized with a 
 desire to stroll in the same spot. At last the temper of the 
 Freshies became ruffled, as did their hair and their clothes 
 in the fray which quickly ensued. Suddenly, whiz ! an egg 
 flew, followed by another, and another, till the pavement 
 and the backs of both the Library and the photographer's 
 head were egg-bestrewn. (As to the quality of the eggs, 
 that they were from the lunch-room is sufficient guarantee.) 
 But all good things must have an end ; the superintendent's 
 men in blue appeared, and — well, Vic and Gerry were not 
 seen on the campus for several days thereafter. 
 
 The shining light of the Junior Year was the "Colum- 
 bian." I say shining light because I am inclined to believe 
 that the books have probably had their greatest sphere of 
 usefulness as fire kindling. The fact is, the editors, having 
 evidently something of the goat in their own make-up, were 
 so stuck on limp kid as a binding that they did the book 
 true Roycroftie. But unfortunately the leaves were not 
 stuck on the leather quite as much as the editors, and they 
 have been coming out steadily ever since. Anyway, the 
 book came out on time, and in its originality was typical of 
 the Class, at least. The editors tell me, too, it was a tre- 
 mendous financial success. I cannot recall the exact amount 
 of the profits, but I know there was a six somewhere — either 
 60, 600, or 6,000 — or was it just plain 6? 
 
 The other two notable events of the Junior Year were 
 the opening of the large, new lunch-room, by which Mr. 
 Heubner was enabled to discharge all his waiters and make 
 the men wait on themselves, and the Junior Ball. But since 
 so many of the beautiful young ladies sitting here were un- 
 doubtedly present at the Junior Ball, I will not delay to de- 
 scribe that now. 
 
 Our Senior Year has been a severe one. We have main- 
 tained to the end our usual dignity, and have, I am sure, 
 been a model to all the lower Classes. We have succeeded 
 
CLASS HISTORY 
 
 in learning to perfection how to continually lessen the time 
 spent on our lessons, an art which many cannot master in 
 only four years. 
 
 It will be noticed that Columbia has advanced in all its 
 departments since the Class of Nineteen-Three came there. 
 In numbers it has progressed to the front place ; in athletics, 
 the formation and maintenance of a football team of the first 
 rank is perhaps the most notable achievement ; socially, the 
 expanded function of King's Crown, now the University so- 
 ciety, should be cited, and religiously, the erection of Earl 
 Hall and the regeneration of the Y. M. C. A. ; in a literary 
 way we would emphasize the transition of "Spectator" to a 
 daily surpassed by that of no other College — a work chiefly 
 promoted by Nineteen-Three men. There is not a cap- 
 taincy, not a managership but has been held by Nineteen- 
 Three; indeed, for two successive years the football cap- 
 taincy was ours. 
 
 Oh, it is a wonderful Class, there is no denying it ! They 
 say that each seventh wave is a big one, and certainly un- 
 usually good Classes come at intervals. But in searching 
 the annals I have been able to find nothing that even ap- 
 proaches the general excellence of Nineteen-Three, and I 
 have been compelled to regard it merely as a phenomenon 
 of nature — a gift of Providence. 
 
 CLINTON GILBERT ABBOTT. 
 
PRESENTATION ORATION 
 
 I am like the future, for no man in the Class of Nineteen- 
 Three knows what I hold in store for him. See how they 
 shrink and tremble ! 'Tis in truth a modest, retiring bunch 
 of College men, for many a man has pleaded with me not to 
 give him a present this afternoon. Indeed, were I a Devery 
 instead of a Seth Low I should be rich had I taken all the 
 bribes offered me on the condition that I did not call So- 
 and-so up here in the limelight. 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, to invent this opening paragraph 
 cost me many a weary hour when I might have been attend- 
 ing absorbing lectures in economics and philosophy. For, 
 you see, some are born with reputations, others achieve 
 them, but mine was thrust upon me by fifty-eight enemies 
 of mine who had me elected the wittiest man in the Class. 
 It reminds me of the proud young married woman who had 
 been entertaining her friends with the tale of what a severe, 
 almost fatal, cold her son had. When her heir appeared 
 no sign of cold did he exhibit, either nasal, vocal, or pul- 
 monary. Rather annoyed, the mother said peevishly: 
 "Cough for the ladies, Johnny, cough for the ladies !" And 
 that is about what the Class has done for me ; though I have 
 never exhibited any physical, mental or spiritual marks of 
 humor, my fellow-students have bid me "Be funny, Megrue, 
 be funny !" But oh, victims in the audience, in apology for 
 what is to come from my lips, I may say with the poet, 
 "I never dare to be as funny as I can." If my janitorial 
 friends will now please close the windows and barricade the 
 doors, we will return to the subject, as the Freshman in 
 German A said after he had vainly searched for the predi- 
 cate six miles down at the end of the sentence. The first 
 specimen I propose to exhibit — (now, gentle reader of Nine- 
 teen-Three, I do not intend to allow you to know who my 
 first victim is until I stand on the platform on June eighth, 
 so we shall pass on) — I must confess in passing, because 
 of a small — very small — conscience which weighs upon me, 
 
PRESENTATION ORATION 
 
 that there was one bribe I did accept, and that from Mr. 
 Roscoe C. Gaige. Mr. Gaige agreed that if I would say 
 nothing about him he would be equally reticent in my re- 
 gard. I know Mr. Gaige pretty well, and I know many 
 things about him that would be interesting in the telling; 
 but he knows many — too many — things about me, so that is 
 why he sits there calmly smiling, realizing that I do not 
 dare. (On Class Day I propose at this juncture to present 
 George Bambach with a few presents ; he is, however, editor 
 of the Class Book, and if he knew what I had in mind for 
 him he might not be here — which would be unfortunate.) 
 
 Some of us there are in College with whom Fortune has 
 played her capricious pranks. Some of us have been lim- 
 ited in our exchequer and have had financially to battle our 
 way through College. True it is that we have lived on 
 cakes and pie for luncheon, but that is due to the fact that 
 we have been unable to afford a regular lunch — ^price, thirty 
 cents, bread and butter charged extra. Such a man is Mar- 
 cellus Hartley Dodge, who is here on the platform now. 
 Mr. Dodge, we all appreciate how successfully and against 
 what odds you have labored with the wolf ever scraping on 
 the threshold of your humble cottage on the Harlem rocks 
 amid the Harlem goats. You have battled against direst 
 poverty, and your classmates, realizing this, and realizing, 
 too, how much you have done for Columbia, have collected 
 funds to set you firmly on your feet to travel down the path- 
 way of life. Mr. Dodge, it affords me much pleasure to 
 present you with this small sum of $11,000,000. 
 
 The Class usually exhibits a playful humor which is 
 naive if untruthful in its Class elections. For example, I 
 have already demonstrated that I am not the wittiest man in 
 the Class, and I have suspicions about some of the other 
 choices. In one instance, however, the Class was absolute- 
 ly correct. It chose Mr. Howard Allen Keeler as the big- 
 gest fusser. (Will Mr. Keeler please come up, all the way 
 
PRESENTATION ORATION 
 
 up ?) For four years Mr. Keeler has conducted a monopoly 
 on the heights of Morningside ; it has been one in girls. 
 Not a dance, not an athletic game, not a Columbia function 
 of which Mr. Keeler has not been the shining light, always 
 with a fair young maiden reposing restfully on his arm. 
 He has had all kinds of girls, short and tall, slim and stout, 
 blonde and brunette, and every time he has had a different 
 one (I hope this is not an unpleasant awakening to any girl 
 here to-day) ; and all this indicates a certain masterful skill, 
 if not absolute loyalty. Sometimes when the moon has set 
 high in the heavens on a starlit night — and carriages have 
 been expensive — the girl has come from Barnard and 
 Teachers' College a-foot; again, when Jupiter Pluvius 
 turned on his nozzle and money has been more plenty, she 
 has come from all parts of the city, once indeed from Brook- 
 lyn — and greater love hath no man than this. Girls have 
 been Mr. Keeler's vocation, his avocations have been many. 
 He has played chess largely because of the strategic knowl- 
 edge it gives, so valuable in affairs of the heart, and for 
 many organizations he has been an indefatigable raiser of 
 money, a valuable adjunct after marriage. Therefore, I can 
 assure all Mr. Keeler's future wives — if there are any such 
 in the audience — that for this reason they need have no fear 
 of financial worries. But Mr. Keeler's four years are over 
 and no longer as an alumnus can he decorate the gym 
 dances with that same aplomb that he has manifested as an 
 undergraduate. As a reminder of his College triumphs, I 
 take pleasure in presenting him with this girl, who will be 
 silent and who will ever yield with maiden modesty to Mr. 
 Keeler's clarion cry, "To arms !" 
 
 One man of keen perception voted for Mr. Nathaniel 
 W. Barnes as the luckiest man in the Class, because for 
 four years he has traveled daily from Newburgh to Colum- 
 bia and return and is still alive. Coming from the wilds of 
 up the State in rain and snow, sun and storm, Mr. Barnes 
 
PRESENTATION ORATION 
 
 has shown a pluck that has rarely been surpassed on the 
 football field. His classmates do not want him to go back 
 to Newburgh to stagnate and so they have purchased this 
 little house in which he may repose calmly in the city, un- 
 trammelled by the thoughts of trains and ferry-boats. 
 
 Incidentally, ladies and gentlemen, looking down on you 
 now, I am wondering which of us has enjoyed this oration 
 less, you or I? You don't know how hard it is to try to be 
 funny. You always think of the clever things you might 
 have said now about five o'clock this afternoon. This is 
 apropos of the act that for five months I have been trying 
 to decide which of the Class of Nineteen-Three is the Class 
 goat — and I can't tell. I have thought of (a certain kind- 
 ness makes me refrain from mentioning names in print 
 now), but almost until this very moment I have been unable 
 to say who should receive this coveted position. Realizing 
 what I have done this afternoon has brought to me the con- 
 sciousness that I indeed, as presentation orator, am the 
 Class goat. My only regret is that I have no goat to give 
 myself, so I have got around this difficulty by remembering 
 that mirrors are everywhere. 
 
 And so, my masters, I have been the jester, the court 
 jester, as one of my predecessors in this office once said. 
 The court jester, with his motley and his bells, who beneath 
 his laugh sometimes has a heart little in keeping with his 
 smile. I have laughed and I have joked, but in my heart 
 and in the hearts of all of us there is the sad knowledge that 
 in the book of College where for four years we have been 
 discovering new wonders and new pleasures we have almost 
 reached that page marked Finis. Then come a few blank 
 leaves, empty indeed, until we pick up timidly that wonder- 
 ful volume, the book of life. 
 
 But again, my masters, the jester, though he sigh now 
 and then and long for more serious things, must always, 
 none the less, smirk and jingle his bells. So now I must 
 
PRESENTATION ORATION 
 
 perforce announce, at the request of the management, that 
 following this number on the program will come Mr. G. 
 Stuart O'Loughlin, the famous bareback valedictorian, who 
 will perform his dashing, death-dealing and dare-devil act 
 of defying emphasis, unity and coherence. Without aid from 
 the audience he will go up in the air and remain suspended 
 there during his entire act. This will be the climax of the 
 greatest Class Day on earth. Pink lemonade and peanuts 
 will then be served by uniformed professors in the audience. 
 Following the regular performance the spectators will kind- 
 ly leave this spacious tent, so far successfully heated this 
 afternoon by means of hot air, and adjourn to the yew tree, 
 where a male chorus of ninety-one voices will give a short 
 vocal selection. Mr. R. Bradford Bartholomew will then 
 offer his notable performance of rhetorical handsprings and 
 pathetic preludes. I will now circulate among the audi- 
 ence selling tickets for the open-air specialties at the mod- 
 est price of your sympathy in our failures to-day, your ap- 
 preciation in what we have tried to do, and your God-speed 
 for our future. 
 
 ROI COOPER MEGRUE. 
 
 APOLOGIA.— If it were not for Mr. Bambach this 
 would not be here. He made life so much of a burden that 
 to satisfy him and his Class Book I had to write something. 
 I do not know whether I shall have the nerve to deliver this 
 on Class Day. If I do, I may assure you, my Classmates, 
 in a spirit of vindictiveness, that there will be other and 
 worse victims than those who appear above. But whether 
 you like my roasts or not, I wish you, in good-will and fel- 
 lowship, long life, health and prosperity. But this job is 
 rather up to the valedictorian — the bareback one — so au re- 
 voir till our first reunion in Nineteen-Four. 
 
CLASS PROPHECY 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen: 
 
 When the Class Platts and Crokers decided that I should 
 be the prophet for Nineteen-Three, I was very much 
 pleased over the turn that events had taken, but since my 
 election a strange feeling has been growing in my bosom, 
 reaching its climax in the present moment, that those who 
 put me here were actuated not so much by the wish to find 
 the best man for the place, nor even, as might be supposed, 
 by the demands of political expediency as by personal en- 
 mity toward myself. I venture to say that no man was ever 
 placed in a position more fraught with burden and harrow- 
 ing responsibility than the exalted one that I at present 
 occupy. «i 
 
 If you were to receive reliable information that on the 
 ninth of June, just twenty years from to-day, at eight 
 o'clock in the evening, you were to shuffle off this mortal 
 coil, I think that you must confess that it would not add 
 materially to the joyousness of this occasion or of any other 
 in which you might participate. Now, that is just the pre- 
 dicament in which I find myself as prophet. I am pos- 
 sessed of all these pleasant little details about the futures of 
 my Classmates, but as their friend and well-wisher, how in 
 conscience can I ruthlessly destroy their chances for a 
 happy life by telling them whether they are to graduate or 
 not, the number of times that some of them will appear in 
 divorce proceedings, others in petitions of bankruptcy, and 
 all in the obituary columns of the morning newspapers. 
 How, for instance, can I be mean enough to crush Mr. 
 O'Loughlin's hopes for a place on the police force, by tell- 
 ing him that just as sure as the sun shines in the Heavens 
 he is to be a valet, to tell Mr. Dodge that he will not become 
 a second Andrew Carnegie, but that he is to spend his for- 
 tune and his life providing canned asparagus, bottled cock- 
 tails and mackintoshes for the civilization of the South Sea 
 Islanders, or to point out to Mr. Herbert Roe Odell that he 
 
CLASS PROPHECY 
 
 is at a comparatively early age to be chosen to fill an office 
 of vast power, that he is to hold the fate of thousands in his 
 hands, that he is to be President of the United States — 
 Cigar Stores Company. 
 
 No, a thousand times no. Far be it from me to tip off 
 Providence in that scandalous fashion. I must pass on 
 through the years, shrouding the awful burden of knowl- 
 edge in my tortured breast, a marked and melancholy man. 
 Still, for the benefit of the proud parents who are present, I 
 am able to tear aside the veil and disclose a few of the less 
 important things in store for their unhappy progeny. For 
 making this concession to parental pride I must lay my 
 most humble apologies at the feet of those not interested in 
 the aforementioned progeny by bonds of consanguinity. 
 
 ROSCOE CROSBY GAIGE. 
 
 (To be concluded on Class Day.) 
 
VALEDICTORY 
 
 Fellow-Classmates, Ladies and Gentlemen : 
 
 "Time rolls his ceaseless course" and with him we are 
 drifting on toward the end of our College life. These Class- 
 day exercises themselves are drawing to a close, and now it 
 is a matter of but a short time, a few days, and our under- 
 graduate life here at Columbia will be a thing of the past. 
 Still a few days more and we ourselves shall be things of the 
 past, and the "all-beholding sun" will see us no more, for 
 we shall have been gathered to the Mother Earth whence 
 we sprung. However, let us not think of that now. Rath- 
 er, as we approach the termination of the four years which 
 to us have seemed all too short, it seems fitting that some 
 expression be given to the thoughts which come tumbling 
 through our minds — thoughts which are darkened by the 
 mournful gloom of partings and farewells. 
 
 Friends, what I have to say differs from the wit and 
 humor which has gone before, inasmuch as that to which 
 you have just been listening has shown you something 
 which goes to make up the light, the careless, the humorous 
 side of the undergraduate, while this concerns the solemn 
 side, the more serious significance of it all; it deals with 
 what just now lies nearest all our hearts and which makes 
 at times a feeling of sadness steal over us on these, the last 
 few days of our life in Columbia ; which makes us feel that 
 something is being broken, something is being severed, 
 something being taken away, which we can never recover, 
 and which in the future will remain in our souls only as a 
 flood of memories, pleasant and unpleasant, sweet and bit- 
 ter. For in addition to the joys in College there has, I 
 think, come to most of us many a disappointment, many a 
 heartache, many a realization of the infinitely sorrowful 
 words of Whittier, "It might have been." Most of us have, 
 I think, experienced that intense yearning after a place in 
 some line of College activity in which we would dearly 
 love to have excelled; some of us have, no doubt, longed 
 
VALEDICTORY 
 
 even for a chance to try for such a coveted place — only to 
 have our aims, ambitions and aspirations in that direction 
 defeated by an adverse decree of Fate. And the disappoint- 
 ment has seemed to us at the time almost unbearably keen. 
 All these, however, it seems most comforting to think, 
 have been but the necessary experiences, the steps toward 
 the finding each his own proper course and sphere of influ- 
 ence in life. Let us hope that Father Time, the only physi- 
 cian who cures wounded and saddened hearts, will remove 
 the sorrows and disappointments and leave in our memories 
 only the recollection of the joys and happy associations of 
 our life as undergraduates. Then how good it ^yill seem 
 twenty or thirty years hence to meet some old College 
 chum, by whose side in the old days we fought our fights, 
 bore our trials, won our triumphs, with whom we shared 
 our glories and humiliations — someone with whom we will 
 talk over old times, feel the old love well up in our hearts 
 and live the old life over again. For 
 
 " Memory's leaflets close shall twine 
 Around our hearts for aye, 
 And waft us back o'er life's broad track 
 To pleasures long gone by." 
 
 It is to this College life of trials and triumphs, humilia- 
 tions and glories, sorrows and joys, that we are to bid fare- 
 well here to-day. Farewell! The very word itself has a 
 sorrowful sound, a tinge of sadness ; and yet in one sense to 
 us on this present occasion it ought to be welcome, for al- 
 though we are leaving the scenes, associations, and some of 
 the friends we hold so dear, are we not going forth to face 
 the great world with all its new and greater battles and vic- 
 tories, to new services, new triumphs, to the stern reality of 
 doing something worth while? We stand before you to- 
 day not as the ancient gladiators who were wont to say be- 
 
VALEDICTORY 
 
 fore they entered the combat in the arena, "We, who are 
 about to die, salute you," but with us now entering the com- 
 bat in the great arena of life it is : "We, who are about to 
 LIVE, salute you." 
 
 We are, it is true, saying farewell to the life within these 
 College walls, but not to the things, to the innumerable ben- 
 efits which it has bestowed upon us. Of those no one can 
 deprive us; those neither moth nor rust can corrupt and 
 thieves cannot steal. What are they? To the outside ob- 
 server they seem to be at most two things — mental and pos- 
 sibly physical development. To us, however, who are liv- 
 ing the life, the meaning is far deeper. Someone has aptly 
 said of a College education that it consists of two parts — 
 the part you get in the schoolroom from the professors, and 
 the part you get outside from the boys. The first can only 
 make you a scholar, but the second can make you a man. 
 
 The first — the acquirement of knowledge — some think 
 the whole end and aim. Surely that is a narrow view. It 
 is true enough that knowledge and its acquisition are the 
 standards on which we were admitted to this institution, on 
 which we remain, on which we are either permitted or for- 
 bidden to enter athletics, and it is presumably the attain- 
 ment of a certain degree of learning which puts us in a posi- 
 tion to say this farewell. "Knowledge," says Bacon, "is 
 power." And after all, the desire for power, for superiority 
 one over another, is perhaps the strongest single motive of 
 mankind. Nevertheless, Knowledge is not all. Saul of 
 Tarsus, you will remember, the Apostle Paul, studied at the 
 feet of Gamaliel, the greatest teacher of his time, and be- 
 came a very learned citizen of Rome ; but not until he had 
 acquired something beyond the power of learning and Phil- 
 osophy to give, a thing essentially of the emotions, a great 
 faith, was the intense yearning of his soul satisfied. The 
 great Goethe, in his "Faust," shows us the utter inadequacy 
 
VALEDICTORY 
 
 of all the wisdom of mortals to satisfy the cravings of the 
 human Soul. To come back to College, so it is here. 
 
 Besides Knowledge in the well-rounded Collegian there 
 is an indefinite, elusive, indescribable feeling, a loyalty, a 
 thing of the emotions, which we are wont to designate by 
 the term "College Spirit." This thing is best known by its 
 fruits, which are all the seemingly crazy, reckless, fool- 
 hardy, as well as many more sane things, a man does for 
 his College. It is what makes him think angry reproofs, 
 bruises, strains, even broken bones on the football gridiron, 
 as nothing; which makes him toil for six months for the 
 privilege of representing Columbia on the crew; which 
 prompts him to do things of a similar nature on all the other 
 teams for the glory of his Alma Mater. It is what makes 
 men give up their time, the use of their talents and energy 
 in the interests of their College. It is what has the power 
 to bring a man after his graduation back to Columbia from 
 New Mexico to coach a green football team. The men who 
 have done all these things have created for themselves 
 memories and associations which will remain with them 
 after most of the studies, the book-learning, have long been 
 forgotten. These men will come back in future years to 
 games and races, and that spirit will make the old grads 
 rise in their seats and shout themselves hoarse beside the 
 greenest Freshman and be boys again. That spirit is one 
 of the things you get not in the classroom, but outside from 
 the boys. 
 
 Besides this love of our College, there is a different love 
 which is engendered in the hearts of most of us while we 
 are here as undergraduates. I refer to the love of one 
 friend for another, to the self-sacrificing devotion so often 
 characteristic of the friendships formed in College. Noth- 
 ing can be more beautiful than the sincere, unselfish love of 
 two College chums. It is their solace in time of trouble and 
 in success it is a spur to yet higher attainments — their 
 
VALEDICTORY 
 
 never-failing source of sympathy and encouragement. And 
 the influence of one of these friends upon the other can hard- 
 ly be overestimated ; indeed, the effect of our friends on our 
 characters is far deeper than most of us imagine. Consider, 
 then, this fact: that here it is we make friendships which 
 will last through our lives. 
 
 Again, in addition to all these, there are influences too 
 numerous, too far-reaching, to describe. Suffice it to say, 
 however, that all of these forces, knowledge, learning. Col- 
 lege spirit, friendships and the rest, acting on a man's inher- 
 ent nature, co-operate in the making of his character. 
 
 This, then, the formation of character, is in the broadest 
 sense what a man obtains from his sojourn in the Univer- 
 sity. This is the work our College does for us, the build- 
 ing and broadening of our characters. Surely such a work 
 is indeed a great one. For, after all is said and done, is not 
 character the only thing which we can take with us from 
 this fleeting, transitory life into the great unknown on the 
 other side of the grave? When the great pilot, Death, meets 
 us face to face to steer the storm-tossed bark of our exist- 
 ence into our last port, whatever that port may be, or what- 
 ever we may think lies beyond, wealth, learning, power, 
 fame, influence and renown, all the trappings and ornaments 
 of this life of shams and deceptions will be stripped from 
 us, and character only will remain. 
 
 The character, then, as moulded by the various diversi- 
 fied influences of College life, is what we are taking away 
 with us (and God grant it may be strong, firm and resolute 
 to withstand the attacks and win the battles of our future.) 
 But — and this it is which gives the note of sadness to the 
 farewell — ^we are leaving a great deal. 
 
 We are bidding good-bye to the scenes, the places, the 
 associations, the activities and some of the people we have 
 grown to love ; farewell to the profs we have learned to re- 
 vere, esteem and respect and to whom we owe a debt of 
 
VALEDICTORY 
 
 gratitude we can never hope to repay for the part they have 
 played in the formation of our highest ideals, aims and aspi- 
 rations ; farewell to our College activities, our athletics, our 
 papers, our elections, our contests and celebrations; fare- 
 well to the other three classes — ^may they look well to the 
 interests we leave in their keeping — and finally the saddest 
 of all are the farewells to one another. 
 
 Fellow-Classmates, we are leaving much behind which 
 is very dear to us, leaving the scenes where we have spent 
 so many happy, so many bitter, moments. Our Class is to- 
 gether in its entirety probably for the last time. After this, 
 we separate and go in all directions, some of us never to 
 meet again. But still always let there be one unifying 
 force, one common interest, which will ever bind us togeth- 
 er, even though we may be scattered far and wide over the 
 world — something which will never die out of our hearts — 
 the love we all bear for Columbia and for the friends made 
 within the shadows of her walls — friendships and a love 
 which will outlast the fervor of youth and sweeten the ma- 
 turity of later life. And so, fellows, — 
 
 " One last toast ere we part. 
 Written on every heart 
 This motto stay: 
 Long may Columbia stand. 
 Honored throughout the land, 
 Our Alma Mater grsuid. 
 Now and for aye." 
 
 GERALD STUART O'LOUGHLIN. 
 
YEW TREE ORATION 
 
 Classmates, for the last time we all meet, not as we have 
 done over in College Hall, across from our Dean's den, with 
 our squabbles and mutual jealousies, but about our Yew 
 Tree, with friendship in our hearts and the pipe of peace at 
 our lips. 
 
 Soon we will be scattered by our life pursuits and, as so 
 many other Classes are remembered, so will this one be, by 
 its Yew Tree only, unless by our actions in after-life we 
 individually and collectively make famous the name of our 
 Class. And this is what I would urge upon you, one and 
 all, to-day: that you take care that the Class of Nineteen- 
 Three make it a precedent for Columbia, that each Class 
 that graduates shall vie with all the others to see which can 
 do the most for our University ; and by so doing each of us 
 will advance himself individually. For as in the College 
 world a College is known by her athletic prowess, so in the 
 greater, broader world is she celebrated by the men she has 
 produced and by their activities in life. 
 
 Then, think of all the great benefits we have received 
 from Columbia. First, the training of our minds, then the 
 training of our bodies, and last, that greatest of all joys 
 which runs deepest at College, the pleasures of friendship. 
 How can we ever in our lives repay her for these things? 
 From us, graduates of Colleges, much is expected, for we 
 have received much, and woe and shame to us if we do not 
 show ourselves worthy of those gifts. We must remember 
 that the man who does something worth doing is the man 
 who takes pride in his work for the work's sake, not for a 
 reward, but because the work itself is the reward. 
 
 The aim of Colleges is to fit the graduates to do a service 
 to their country, and they do fit them to perform this serv- 
 ice by training them in character ; and this means they must 
 train them, not to possess only the softer and gentler vir- 
 tues, but the virtues which are proper to a race of vigorous 
 
YEW TREE ORATION 
 
 men : the courage and the honesty that war aggressively for 
 the Right, and then to add to the Hard Common-Sense. 
 
 Courage, Honesty and Common-Sense constitute Char- 
 acter. Let us be men of character, and let us take care that 
 we never do anything that will bring aught but honor to 
 Columbia, so that by our deeds and not by our Yew Tree 
 alone may our memory be kept alive in the hearts of all who 
 love Columbia. 
 
 ROBERT B. BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
SEP 29 1904