University of Michigan - Michiganensian Yearbook (Ann Arbor, MI)

Page 328 text:

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To a Portrait. BY C. FRED. GAUSS. I. ]ETHINKS that you are glad this day The Spring is in the land, And from your niche you seem to say, Ah love, come take my hand. Come take my hand, you seem to say, The skies are blithe and blue; I sigh the Past mocks me this day, I cannot come with you ! II. Tonight I deem your eyes are sad, The rain is on the roof, On all the far, fair days we had Meseems they look reproof. There is no help for this, my dear, Come let us talk tonight; Then if it rains I do not hear, I wait the morning light. III. Now in these last, long summer days I look to you, and sigh, All bleak and bare the autumn ways Far, far before me lie. This autumn land is vague and sad, I look to you, and say Ah come, you are not sad or glad But only far away.

Page 329 text:

The Editor ' s Ordeal. (HERE had not been so much commotion in and about the headquarters of the Evening Post since the last presidential election. Office boys hurried in and out with messages to and f lrU, from the different members of the staff. Reporters seated J BTI? here and there were hastily going over their work before sub- mitting their reports to their respective editors. Citizens whose prominence gave them access to the office were over- looked, so busy was every one with the work before him. In the telegraph office the instruments seemed to be racing with each other in their eagerness to tell the news. Outside in the street below a great crowd had gathered around the bulletin ' s, anxiously awaiting the latest n ews from Santiago. No wonder some of those gray- haired old men trembled as they read that a certain regiment had taken its position on the firing line and was under orders to advance. Many of them had stalwart sons at the front and they inwardly thanked their Creator when the learned that their boy had not been named among the casualities. The managing-editor sat before his desk busily engaged with a great bundle of proof sheets of the twelve o ' clock extra edition. As he paused for a moment to remove the perspiration from his brow an office boy handed him a dispatch from the telegraph editor. He glanced at the message and read as follows: Serg ' t. Campbell, Troop H, Rough Riders, lost his life in gallantly attempting to plant the flag on a block-house at San Juan.