Excerpt from The Stentor, Vol. 6: October 4, 1892
Organize a Republican club as other colleges have done. Organize a Democratic one - if you can. At any rate let's have a political club, arise out of our lethargy, and cast our vote sometime knowing why we vote as we do.
Notes of an Idler.
Did you ever notice the way boys receive letters? No? Well, having nothing to do lately, as our heading would indicate, we took our stand at the post-office one day and this is what we saw. Groups of boys are approaching from various Clubs and resorts to see what Uncle Sam's mail bag has brought them. The mail is not yet distributed, so into the office they all crowd and good naturedly chaft each other while awaiting their fate. "Bet you two to one you don't draw", "Oh, come off, I don't expect anything" (all the time hoping against hope that she did write.) "Well I'll be hanged, nothing but some confounded circular" "Say, swipes, your bill for box rent's all you get." "By George, if the old man has't sent my allowance, I'm in the consumme." Click, click, the window goes and the mail is open, "231, 416, 32, 56, 121" and on down the line it goes till all have received their portion. Now let us watch the most interesting proceeding. Hero comes one fellow full tilt, down three steps at a time, his face beaming all over. He shoves a thick envelope into his coat and makes for his room. "Hello B - got a "square." What did she say about me, old man?" "She uses lots of stationary on you, B - ." But B - is far away from the crowd now. He hangs onto the letter tightly. He known almost what it says. It is too sacred to open any place but in his inner sanctum. Thither we dare not follow. Then here comes the crowd. Beaming faces, disappointed faces, jolly faces, serious faces. We know the effect of each epistle. Here's comes the boy whose home writing consists of the following stereotyped message - "Dear Father. Am well. Please send me some funds, your loving son." There he goes waving his funds and thinking how he can best "blow it." This fellow who looks very sorrowful has probably just heard from pater to the effect that his last term's report has been received. This one with angry mien says under his breath that he "can't see why the Facility had to go blab to the old man. He didn't flunk much more than the rest and as for those old oil barrels just wait till he gets a chance at some more." Then here's a group who didn't receive anything, who take especial delight in guying those who did, and who vote letter writing a nuisance and not "what its cracked up to be." Well lets go and see if we received anything - but stay - this is not all. Here comes a tall manly looking fellow, an upper-class man, and a shrinking homesick freshman. The former has folded up a long letter and replaced it in his pocket. He looks dreamily off into the distance and doesn't mind where he is going. He sees the old home, the dear old place, the loving faces, and reigning over all the sweet, dear, beloved mother who has penned those lines, who hopes and prays that her son will be a noble man. And he grows sad and thoughtful as he thinks that perhaps he doesn't think enough of home, and he wonders if the old home influence is being shaken off. He determines this shall not be, and walks briskly down the street strengthened by those loving sentences.
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