University of Missouri - Savitar Yearbook (Columbia, MO)

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is per se a guaranty of rare merit. As a matter of course, every man and maid deserves to have his name here enscrolled in huge hieroglyphics. Where, then, to draw the line, is a problem of momentous anxiety to the writer, to say nothing of the luckless fellows whose good report lays in the balance. Filing into recruiting quarters at an early date we were duly and impressively sworn in for another year ' s hard campaigning, and right well have we bent to the task. Knowing our pre-eminence in learned lore, we have lost no opportunity of im- pressing upon the bright lights at whose feet we sit for instruction, the immensity of our intellects. Hellenic deciphering has been like chaff in a whirlwind before our mighty onslaught. Roman linguistics, with all its logic, has been mere child ' s play. Psychology. ' We have propounded philosophy, terse, turbid, and of such transcendental nov- elty that the scientific world stands aghast. Education. ' The happy youth who, in the future, finds himself pleading the approval of our pedagogical smile must tread untried paths. In fact, we have found no ologies and isms of sufficient weight to forestall the exuberance of our effervescent craniums. In the forensic arena we shine like dia- monds of the first water. On the athletic field our iron muscles baffle all aspirants. In the army we sit enthroned, while the rank and file would be practically nil without us. The journalistic muse finds a safe retreat within our fold, while in society our blooming countenances find a welcome at every portal. Our agriculturists have no field mice in their pockets. Our engineers already propose ideal ships en route to the moon, and bridges that will span infinity. Our ladies ! Ah, those damsels. Where the thoughtbound hall that would exclude them. ' Where the royal banquet they would not grace. ' Our members hail from the four corners of this great commonwealth, while one finds bivouac on the prairies of the Lone Star state, one in far off Arizona, and one in that land where rolls the mighty Oregon. Our private conclaves have been rare, but rich. Ponderous questions have there been decided, and huge bits of eloquence have there been noncha- lantly cast to the winds. Do not think, dear reader, that all this is mere articulate wind. I doubt if Sallust, Livy, Polybius, or Don Quixote himself ever had more stalwart heroes to extol than I. Ours is not a genius that by some hyperbolical outburst of enthusiasm has snatched immortality from some accidental catastrophe. No, ' tis a steady flame. O wad some pow ' r the giftie gie us To see oursers as others see us? Though our peregrinations through the elysian fields of classic lore may have enlarged our bump of emulation, no fair connoisseur

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Skctcl) of Class of PinetpCigM » ♦ ji J AN is an historical biped. Homer tuned his lofty lyre to sing i ' ' valour of Achilles. Since the invention of his vocation 11 hy our friend Homer, no age has been complete without an ■11 historian. There is an innate curiosit)- in man ' s composition by which each individual is constantly trying to unearth facts of moment in his neighbor ' s existence. And, as for himself — what is it that impels the proud emperor to leave a peaceful realm and glut his ferocity by the overthrow of an adjoining kingdom. ' ' Why is it that men so often spurn the smiles of beauty, forsake the haunts of fortune and glory in the clash of steel and the thunder of artillery. ' ' Why is it? Thirst for fame — immortal fame: and fame, diagnosed, consists in having your name scrawled upon vile paper by viler ink by some vain-glorious biped termed historian. However, this boon obtained, and l)oth powerful potentate and humble mechanic will die happy, and in post-mortem realms will smile with ecstatic joy to think that their name or their deeds will be flaunted in the face of posterity with pride or adoration. Under such circumstances the historian becomes an important factor among his fellows. And I, in attempting to assume that role, recognize the immensity of my responsibility, and with trembling timidity under- take to chronicle the valiant deeds of the men and women of M. S. U. ' 98. I am convinced that the fame eternal or direst oblivion to some fifty stalwart sons of toil hangs pendant upon the fickle impulse that drives my pen across this sheet. Within the ink drops glistening from my quill is concealed a mighty power, and it makes me sad to think that upon the ultimatum here e.xpressed rests the weal or woe, the future glory or disgrace, of mv honorable contemporaries. Juniority

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r. M[LTO Vllison. lie bears his blushing ' honors thick upon him. 2. T. H. IIOI.MAX. ' Give ine, Uim! heaven, a private station. 3. Jessik Bi.air. A friendly heart with inanv friends. 4. C. ivi. Bauxes. Mv onlv books are v(ini:in ' s looks, and lolly ' s all I lify ' taught nie. 5..C. E. Drwev. Iluiuly Willi Ihf i|iiill. 6. G. H. HuGGiNS. Hapjiy in cuniic powers. 7. W. F. Wilson. ' Tis not niy talent to conceal my ihoug hts. 8. MuRRv Phillips. A merrier man I never spent an hour ' s talk withal. 9. Nellie Walker. ' ' Graceful ease and sweetness void of pride. 10. A. C. Bush. i-- L. E. Durham His hands are full of business. 11. G. P. Adams. For se eral virines have I liked several women. 13. A. E. Russell. ' 0. my i ntoiii Tho ' modest, on his unembarrassed brow, nature had written— gentle- I4 ' JACKSOX. man. Science his views enlari es.