Lightly, lightly winging, on the breezes swinging,
Airy little fairies, full of grace and glee,
Dancing with the sunbeams, weaving dainty day dreams,
Could mortals be as light and free? Airy fairies we!

It was the old story of Cinderella, but the characters were flowers, Sunshine, Bonnie Bee, the good old Godmother, and Mother Nature. Cinderella was a daisy bud, and because her petals had not yet unfolded she had no fine dress to wear to the ball of Prince Sunshine. Cinderella was Marie Schatter, who is well on the road to recovery from a bad case of curvature of the spine. The stepsisters, Hollyhock and Tiger Lily, were proud indeed, although they did limp a little.

Mother Nature, the good fairy godmother, however, summoned Bonnie Bee, who, in his efforts to call the sunshine to open Cinderella’s petals, quite forgot that he had a tubercular knee. When the sunshine did come and Cinderella’s petals opened up, she smiled as only a little girl who has suffered much can smile.

At the ball the part of the Prince was taken by Celia Weller, who has not lost hope that her back may some day be straight. Among the flowers was a little girl, all in white, who carried a bunch of blossoms almost as big as her stunted self.

The play from the ball on followed the time-honored version. In the final scene, where the Prince finds his true love by the try-on of the tiny slipper, all the thirty children in the play came upon the stage.

In spite of their physical handicaps, the children put great spirit into the play, much to the credit of the educational system that lifts little sufferers into Fairyland.

CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL ENTERTAINMENT

New York Mail

A sweet-faced woman stood beside the crib of little Jack MacIntyre in the surgical ward of St. Mary’s Free Hospital for Children this afternoon, and watched him hold court with the little queens of Fairyland, whom De Wolf Hopper had imported from the Majestic theatre. Above the crib was a copper plate bearing the inscription, “In Loving Memory of Katherine Harris Wilkes,” and it was between this plate and the happy group paying homage to little Jack that the woman divided her attention. Sometimes it seemed as if tears were responsible for the glistening in her eyes, but this impression died away when her gaze rested on the little man in the crib.

He was a happy little fellow, and his smile was contagious. Even the staid little members of the “Pied Piper” chorus, exalted to the pinnacle of dignity by being permitted to take part in a “benefit performance,” melted before it. They had approached his crib shyly, but the effusiveness of his greeting was irresistible.

“I was goin’ home to-day,” he gurgled, “but I’m goin’ to stay now for the show. I like shows, I do, and I like”—this with an arch smile—“I like girls, too.”

“You little dear,” said Miss Marguerite Clarke, who plays the part of Elvira in the Hopper show. Jack accepted this tribute complacently, for when one is four years old and the pet of an entire hospital staff, homage becomes almost commonplace.

“Which of these little girls do you like best?” queried the smiling nurse, who was chaperoning Jack’s guests. Now Jack’s last name is MacIntyre, and he proved right then and there that he was a bona fide “Mac,” blarney and all.

“I like,” he said, and his eyes roved smilingly over the entire party, “I like ’em all.”

This diplomatic answer won so much commendation from the little girl guests that it is probable that Jack would still be holding court if the performance planned to gladden both him and his little comrades had not been scheduled to start at 1 o’clock sharp. Chirps of impatience from other parts of the ward warned the party that their visit must be cut short; so the little fairy queens left Jack and prepared for their entrance on the miniature stage which had been erected in the middle of the big room. Only the sweet-faced woman who had stood silently beside the crib remained, and Jack turned his beaming face upon her.

“Are you happy, dear?” she said.

“Sure,” he chuckled; “there’s goin’ to be a show. Ain’t you never seen a show?”

The woman turned from him a second and looked up at the inscription on the plate above his crib. Then she looked down at his smiling face again and said:

“It’s been a long time since I have seen one, dear, but I’m going to watch the show here to-day with you. May I?”

“Sure,” he said. And then he stretched his tiny arm through the bars of the crib and laid his moist little hand in hers—“You and me, together.”

LAWN FETE

Kansas City Times

A quaint old fashioned garden, gay with rose trees and wistaria-twined archways, a garden which blossomed in a day, was the setting for the delightfully costumed fete given yesterday afternoon for the benefit of the little sufferers of Mercy Hospital. Girls in primitive Yorkshire peasant garden smocks assisted in the welcoming of those who came to see the pageant and to give their mite for charity. Little ones of every age who followed the “pied piper” were reproductions of the children of Kate Greenaway. Flowered chintzes gave aid to the blossoms in the garden in adding to the color effect.

It was a fete for the delight of all the grownups, but it really belonged to the little Miss Muffets and their brothers and sisters. This little bit of a Mother Goose child was there in the person of Mary Belden, who looked so bewitching in her flowered ankle-long frock demurely laced in front with velvet ribbon, her fascinating mob cap and strapped white slippers that even then she might have been in a terrible fright of the wicked spider had it not been for the wonderful mitts she wore. They were quaint and black, and Miss Muffet’s pride in them apparently gave chase to her timidity.

Riding a pony with all his might was little J. W. McGarvey. A pale blue long-tailed coat had he, and a stunning high hat sat proudly and securely on his head.

Betty Banks wore a long yellow postilion coat over her pretty white frock and also a big black riding hat.

Far from contrary and altogether fascinating were the “pretty maids all in a row,” and even the original contrary Mary might have been forgiven for her contrariness had she appeared in the frock this Mary (Miss Virginia Aikins) wore. Her costume was a checkered one in many hues, banded about the bottom with velvet ribands. Her big, big hat in Leghorn and her extensive lace collar gave her a very important air.

The pretty maids were decked in flowered frocks of gayest chintzes, bobbing poke bonnets and Maud Muller hats. Ribbon streamers mingled with their curls and gave to the costumes a graceful touch.

The two little Pussy Cats were attractive little kittens in posied skirts and black coats.

Almost too heavy for little Jacky Horner was the big Christmas pie. But the broadly checked long trousers and the checked “runabout” composed a very stunning suit.

Too pretty to tumble in were the costumes of Jack and Jill, Virginia and Penelope Smith. Jack’s suit of sprigged chintz and Jill’s plaid swirling skirts were topped by a high hat and a bright bonnet with plaid bands. With his faithful crook, a gay yellow suit and a cocked hat Little Bo Peep took his way after his sheep very energetically.

“The Merchantmen” were costumed in velvet doublets and hose. These were in bright blue and rose and green and purple. Their velvet Beef-eater hats were true to the type and very becoming to the wearers.

Outside the garden the grounds were turned into Arcady where booths were created into miniature kingdoms, the prettiest of the young matrons and girls presiding. Miss Felice Lyne and her assistants, Mrs. William Perry, Miss Virginia George, Miss Dorothy George, Miss Helen Furguson, Miss Katherine Harvey and Mrs. C. N. Seidlitz, jr., were at the refreshment booth. Miss Lyne sold the cigarettes there.

Miss Josephine Bird, Miss Elizabeth Marsh and Miss Ada Lee Porter served at another booth near.

All these young women wore the picturesque garden smock and some type of hat which properly accompanied it.

Pretty peddlers everywhere were dressed in airy summer frocks with skirts of great expanse, ruffle trimmed and suggestive in every way of the picturesque Victorian era. They were selling sweets and flowers and balloons. To the lot of Mrs. Kenneth Dickey fell the task of disposing of the balloons. Mrs. Dickey wore a white net gown trimmed in velvet bands and a large hat with transparent brim. A silk sport coat added a bit of color. Among the other venders who plied their trade for charity’s sake were:

JUBILEE SERVICE IN CATHEDRAL

New York Evening Post

It is seldom that New York goes to church in honor of a foreign potentate, and a royal monarch at that. Yet some thousands filled St. Patrick’s Cathedral to-day to listen to a solemn high mass, celebrated with all the stately pomp of the Roman Catholic ritual, in honor of the diamond jubilee of his “Apostolic Majesty Francis Joseph I, Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary, of Bohemia, of Dalmatia, of Croatia, of Slavonia, of Galicia, of Jerusalem, Archduke of Austria, Count-Prince of Hapsburg, Seigneur of the Wendish March, Grand Voyvode of Servia,” and any number of additional titles.

Archbishop Farley sat in his high seat at the left of the chancel, surrounded by monsignori in violet, while the glimmer of many-hued cassocks, the rustling of stoles, and the shimmer of the purple gowns of the acolytes filled the broad altar with a constant play of shifting colors.

Through windows, high up, the cold early-winter sunshine poured, warmed by the gracious tones of the panes, and mingled with the yellow light of the candles on the high altar. At intervals along the nave and in the side aisles bunches of electric lights twinkled dimly.

The church filled rapidly, and by the time the first premonitory rumbles of the organ started the echoes flying back and forth among the lofty arches, the front part, clear across the transept, was full, and scarce a pew throughout the entire body of the edifice that did not have its quota of the devout.

Not all were Austrians or Hungarians, or any one of the myriad nationalities ruled over by the aged Emperor-King; not all were Catholics, either. Many were there simply to do honor to a man who had ruled the most scattered country in the world for sixty years, the span of an ordinary man’s life.

In the front pews sat the diplomats and guests of honor, with here and there among them the glitter of a uniform or a decoration. An Austrian in the full uniform of his country’s service, his glazed, yellow-plumed shako on his arm and sword clanking at his heels, strode up the centre aisle to a pew. His stiff pompadour and little moustache reminded one of the slim lieutenants who haunt the cafés of Vienna and Buda-Pest. While one felt instinctively that he would have been out of place on Fifth Avenue, somehow his strange uniform fitted in with the atmosphere of the church.

The organ started and the procession of altar boys, acolytes, priests, and deacons appeared. Candles glimmered, rose and fell, to the organ’s swelling prelude. With the clergy ranged in orderly rows before the altar, the chant of the Te Deum was taken up by the archbishop. Then the celebrant of the mass, the Rev. John Hauptmann, and his deacons, the Rev. Urban Nageleisen, and the Rev. Rudolph Nickel, clad in shimmering gold vestments, advanced and commenced the preliminary ceremonies of the mass.

It was all very beautiful and imposing, and the vast congregation sat spellbound through the scene, while the clergy, the celebrants, and the masters of the ceremonies, the Rev. J. V. Lewis and the Rev. A. Blaznick, conducted the rites.

Later, there were sermons by the Rev. Ambrose Schumack and Father Mateus. Father Schumack spoke in English with a marked German accent, taking for his text “Fear God, honor the King.” He told of the work of Francis Joseph, of his long and stormy reign.

“On this glorious day,” he said, “it would hardly be fitting to go into the sadnesses of his life. We may pass over the wars, bloody and terrible, into which he was dragged; we may pass over the tragedies in his family history. He is an old man, who has ruled his country for sixty years, and who has kept her, until to-day, whole and strong. He has kept her so, largely, I think, because of the aid which he has been afforded by Divine Providence. ‘Fear God; honor the King.’ That is a motto which can hurt none of us.”

One could not avoid a quiver of historic interest at the words. Perhaps never, since the days when Clinton’s grenadiers garrisoned New York, has a clergyman preached from such a text.

Father Mateus, who followed Father Schumack, spoke in the Magyar tongue. Many there were in the audience who leaned forward attentively in their seats, drinking in the unwonted words. To them it was like a breath fresh from the fatherland. But the majority of the audience could only appreciate the priest’s fine delivery, which sent his resonant words clanging distinctly into every farthest corner of the building.

At last, Father Mateus climbed down from the pulpit, and the service was continued. And then, when it was nearly time to go, the whole congregation rose and joined with the choir and the priests in singing the mighty “Volkshymne,” which runs:

Gott erhalte, Gott beschütze
Unsern Kaiser, unser Land!
Maechtig durch des Glaubens Stuetze,
Führ’ er uns mit weiser Hand!
Lass uns seiner Vaeter Krone
Schirmen wider jeden Feind;
Innig bleibt mit Habsburg’s Throne
Oesterreichs Geschick vereint.

Besides Mayor McClellan and his secretary, others who attended were Patrick McGowan, president of the Board of Aldermen; Lawrence Grosser, president of the Borough of Queens; Louis H. Haffen, president of the Borough of the Bronx; Bird S. Coler, president of the Borough of Brooklyn; Thomas F. Murphy, assistant postmaster; Robert Watchorn, immigration commissioner; Samuel S. Koenig, secretary of State-elect; Rear-Admiral Goodrich; Gustave Lindenthal, Judge Hough of the United States District Court, and the justices of the Supreme Court, Charles H. Truax, Henry Bischoff, jr., Leonard A. Giegerich, John W. Goff, Mitchell E. Erlanger, Lorenz Zeller, and W. H. Olmstead. The city magistrates were represented by Henry Steinert and Peter T. Barlow.

Practically all the diplomatic representatives of the various governments maintaining consular offices in this city were present, including the Austrian consul-general, Baron Otto Hoenning O’Carroll; the Austrian consul, Georg von Grivicic; Karl Buenz, the German consul-general; Leg. Rat Karl Gneist, German consul; the Count Hannibal Massiglia, Italian consul-general; Courtenay W. Bishop, English consul; Étienne Lanel, French consul; Baron A. Schlippenbach, Russian consul-general; Kokichi Midzune, Japanese consul-general; John R. Planten, consul-general of the Netherlands; Julius Clan, consul-general of Denmark; Jose Joaquim Gomes dos Santos, Brazilian consul-general; Jose V. Fernandez, consul-general of Argentina; Ricardo Sanchez-Croz, consul-general of Chili; Wallace White, consul-general of Paraguay; Juon J. Ulloa, consul-general of Costa Rica, and Ramon Bengoeches, consul-general of Guatemala.

The officers of the Austrian Society of New York, Emil Fischel, Dr. Edward Pisko, Dr. Karl Weiss, and Leopold Selzer, together with many of the members, were likewise present.

UNIVERSITY COMMENCEMENT

New York Evening Post

New Haven, Conn., June 17.—Seven hundred and seventy-eight degrees were conferred upon students of the class of 1914 at the 213th commencement exercises of Yale University here to-day. The ceremonies were held in Woolsey Hall, in the presence of a great and distinguished academic gathering. Twenty-one honorary degrees were conferred, among them that of doctor of laws on Romulo S. Naon, Ambassador from the Argentine to the United States, and now one of the envoys in the mediation proceedings at Niagara Falls.

The same honor was awarded to Surgeon-Gen. William Crawford Gorgas, who yesterday received the degree of doctor of science from Princeton. In view of the centennial celebration of the Yale Medical School, it was natural that the number of medical men to receive honorary degrees should be much greater than usual.

The gathering of the candidates for degrees was preceded by the customary procession, formed in Vanderbilt Court, through the central green and thence through College Street to Woolsey Hall, while the Trinity Church chimes on the Green and the band which headed the procession played “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” The formal exercises included music conducted by Prof. Horatio Parker, dean of the Music School. Three of the numbers were composed by Jean Sibelius, who was among the recipients of honorary degrees. Prayer was offered by the Rev. Dr. Charles E. Jefferson, of New York City, a member of the Yale Corporation. Prof. Wilbur L. Cross, of the Scientific School, presented the candidates for honorary degrees.

For work done in the various departments of the University the 778 degrees were conferred as follows: In Yale College, 287 bachelors of arts, 313 bachelors of philosophy; in the School of Divinity, 27 bachelors of divinity; in the School of Law, 29 bachelors of laws, 6 masters of laws, 2 doctors of laws, 2 bachelors of civil laws; in the School of Forestry, 24 masters of forestry; in the Graduate School, 32 doctors of philosophy and 30 masters of arts; in the Sheffield Scientific School, 1 degree of electrical engineer, 2 of civil engineer, 8 of mechanical engineer, 4 of engineer of mines; in the School of Fine Arts, 1 bachelor of fine arts and 2 bachelors of music. The prizes in all departments were announced yesterday, and the chief honors were published in the Evening Post.

Of the men receiving honorary degrees, the following were awarded the degree of Master of Arts:

Edwin Howland Blashfield, mural decorator, winner of many prizes, and editor of Vasari’s “Lives of the Painters.”

Edward Robinson Baldwin, M.D., right-hand man of Dr. Trudeau at Saranac Lake, and an American authority on tuberculosis.

William Herbert Corbin, ’89, honored because of his important work as Connecticut Tax Commissioner.

Capt. Charles Franklin Craig, M.D., ’94, an officer of the United States Medical Corps, who has distinguished himself chiefly by work on malarial and tropical diseases.

John Howland, ’94, professor of pediatrics at Johns Hopkins University.

James Hartness, president of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers, inventor of useful mechanical parts, instruments, etc.

Henry Hun, Ph.B., ’74, well-known neurologist and formerly president of the Association of American Physicians.

Elliott Proctor Joslin, ’90, a physician of note in Boston, who is connected with the Harvard Medical School.

Fred Towsley Murphy, ’97, professor of surgery in Washington University, St. Louis.

Oliver C. Smith, president of the Connecticut Medical Society, and a leading surgeon of Hartford.

William Francis Verdi, M.D., ’94, a leading operative surgeon of Connecticut.

Miss Mary Emma Woolley, president of Mount Holyoke College.

Jean Sibelius, the leading Finnish composer, was honored with the degree of doctor of music. The degree of doctor of science was conferred upon Edgar Fahs Smith, provost of the University of Pennsylvania and a well-known American chemist, and upon Richard Pearson Strong, Ph.B., ’93, professor in the Harvard Medical School, an authority on tropical diseases.

Sidney Gulick, professor of theology at Doshisha, author of “The Social Evolution of the Japanese,” and influential adviser of the Japanese and American Governments on matters of race adjustment on the shores of the Pacific, received the honorary degree of doctor of divinity.

The following received the degree of doctor of laws:

William Crawford Gorgas, surgeon-general of the United States, chief sanitary engineer of the Panama Canal, and a member of the Isthmian Commission.

George Wharton Pepper, an eminent lawyer and a citizen vitally interested in the work of Christian unity and missions.

Rómulo S. Naón, Ambassador of Argentina to the United States, formerly Minister of Education, and a jurist of note.

John Kimberly Beach, 77, formerly of the firm which for many years has been the counsel of the University, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of Connecticut, and professor of mercantile law and admiralty jurisprudence in the Yale Law School.

Peter Ainslee, leader in the Church of the Disciples, worker in the cause of Christian unity, and the author of the standard history of his communion.

A commencement week made historical by the endowment and promise of further endowment in its centennial year of the Yale Medical School, was brought to a close by the exercises to-day. In every way, this week marking the completion of the 213th year of the conferring of Yale degrees is generally regarded as a notable one. On the class reunion side, the usual bizarre effects have been gained by the adoption of class costumes. Various classes appeared as polo players, Colonials, British soldiers, and Chinese mandarins, and some two hundred members of the academic triennial class were decked out as playing-cards. Many classes report record attendances, those back for regular reunions including numerous distinguished sons of the University. One gathers the impression that this year’s commencement has brought back greater numbers than any previous occasion, barring, of course, the bicentennial celebration, in the fall of 1901.

Two innovations were tried out this year on the social side of commencement week. The so-called “1492 Dinner,” inaugurated some years ago to provide a Tuesday evening dinner for all returning graduates not included in regular reunion classes, was taken over by the class secretaries’ bureau and rejuvenated under the more formal title of the “United Graduates’ Reunion Dinner.” Held in Woolsey Hall, where the Newberry organ was used to accompany the singing of old Latin hymns, and where the surroundings were conducive to a more informal and intimate gathering than in the University Dining Hall, the dinner was a success under the new auspices. Charles W. Littlefield, ’03, of New York, presided, and two of the speakers were John H. Finley, Commissioner of Education of New York, and Dudley Field Malone. At the end of the Tuesday evening reunion celebration, a general alumni gathering on the College campus brought men of all classes together. This meeting was an improvement on last year’s gathering, spectacular fireworks, general singing, and athletic contests being the features of the programme.

The final event of the Yale commencement of 1914 was the president’s reception in Memorial Hall this afternoon.

Note—The following two stories show how the same incident was reported in a Chicago morning paper and in a New York evening paper of the same day.

COMMENCEMENT INCIDENT

(1)

Chicago Tribune

Champaign, Ill., June 17.—[Special.]—Discipline at the University of Illinois is not what it used to be in the days when they decided to make an example of Porter Gray, the boy who wouldn’t go to chapel.

Chapel cutting in those times was considered a pretty serious offense; yet here was the Gray boy back on the campus today with the full knowledge and consent of the faculty.

And more than that, the faculty—regardless of the fact that it wasn’t much more than twenty-nine years ago that he was suspended—patted him on the back, defied the rules of dignity by joining the student body in an oskey wow, wow, and wound up by making him a bachelor of science.

Those of the town folk who saw Porter the day he packed up his other shirt and collar and marched defiantly into exile remarked on his changed appearance on his return. The hair that fringes the new bald spot on top of his head is gray, he has become exaggeratedly round shouldered, and he can’t see without the aid of thick lensed glasses. But that, says Champaign, is what fast city life will do to any youngster.

Porter had not been back at school long before he met another bad boy—a chap named Harrison Coates Earl, who got into trouble with the university authorities and left as hastily as his classmate, Gray. Harrison has changed a lot, too. He has put on flesh, and he says that even without the recommendation of his alma mater he got a good position in Chicago as a municipal judge.

The new school educators in charge at the university treated Harrison Earl as they did the Gray boy—only it was a bachelor of literature they made him.

The two disciplined classmates had been wandering around the campus unrecognized amid a swarm of hurrying, nervous seniors. They met at the bursar’s office.

“Here’s $5—my diploma fee. I’m Gray, ’85,” jerked Porter through the wicket, when a hand thumped against his back.

“Gray, ’85, eh; little Port Gray? Why, you’re suspended for cutting chapel. You’d better get off the campus before they catch you.”

Gray, ’85, whirled around. He recognized the heavy handed speaker.

“Harrison Earl,” he cried. “Do you mean to say they’re taking you back, too?”

“Not Harrison, but Judge Earl, if you please,” said the other severely. “Your guess is right. They’ve called me back to get my degree. In a few hours I’ll be a bachelor of literature. I don’t know, though, that it’s going to help me any in the law, but I’ll be glad to get it just the same. How about you?”

Gray shook his head.

“I’ll be a bachelor of science when they get through with me at the exercises,” he answered. “The degree might have done me some good—twenty-nine years ago—but I don’t think it’ll be of any great assistance to me now. It might make me eligible to the University club. But they probably wouldn’t want me there. I’m a professional masseur.”

Back in the early ’80’s seniors at the state university didn’t go in for caps and gowns at commencement, but it never did take Porter Gray long to pick anything up. After looking over the new fangled outfits on display along the campus, he went into a shop and rented one for himself.

In cap and gown he paraded into the university auditorium with the rest of the candidates for degrees. In the section to which he was ushered he found a dozen familiar faces, all seamed with wrinkles like his own, and most of them adorned with spectacles. The owners of the faces remembered him, too, as he was whispering greetings.

“Will Brown—you still alive? Bob Dunlevy—why, Bob, you need a shave. Joe Holt, did you come all the way from California for this?”

To those of his old schoolmates who hadn’t read of the university’s intention of calling it quits and conferring on him the degree held back for twenty-nine years, Gray explained the reason for his return.

Gray told how, after losing his battle for reinstatement in the courts, he had decided to cut himself off forever from the university; how the alma mater had forgotten his existence, and then, with the unearthing of some old records, had “discovered” him and offered him a degree.

“If they had not said the first word I never would have taken it,” Gray protested. “If I had it to do all over again I would not change my course. I was an agnostic, and I am one still. They couldn’t drag me to chapel if I thought I could put the time to better use with my books.”

(2)

New York Evening Post

Champaign, Ill., June 17.—Suspended twenty-nine years ago because he was an agnostic and would not attend chapel, Porter Gray, of the class of ’85, received his degree of bachelor of science from the University of Illinois to-day.

Gray was working his way through the University back in the eighties. It was his ambition to become a Government entomologist. He was forced to take leave of absence for one year to earn money to complete his course.

In spite of his narrow means and close attention to his studies, Gray began to acquire a campus reputation as the man who never went to chapel. Attendance was compulsory in those days. Selim H. Peabody, then president of the University, called Gray on the carpet, but the student was firm.

“I am an agnostic,” he said. “I will not go to chapel.”

“Write a statement that chapel attendance is repugnant to your religious convictions, and that will suffice,” said Dr. Peabody.

“I will not. I have no religious convictions; I am an agnostic. I simply will not attend chapel,” said Gray.

He was suspended forty days before he was to have been graduated.

President Edmund J. James, of the University, came upon the papers in Gray’s old and forgotten case a short time ago when he was engaged in rounding up the old alumni for a home coming. He wrote to Gray in Chicago, and urged him to visit the University.

Gray, embittered by a vain fight that had taken his last dollar years ago and had ended only in the State Supreme Court, to compel the University to give him his degree, replied curtly that all he wished the University to do was to forget him. President James wrote again that chapel rules were obsolete now, and that they wanted to give Gray his belated degree. Gray came here to-day, and from a big crowd of undergraduates he will hear for the first time the cheer of Illinois. College yells were not much known in Gray’s day here.

UNIVERSITY CLASS DAY

New York Sun

The Columbia seniors had an honorary valedictorian at their class day exercises yesterday afternoon whose name was not on the programme but whose presence on the platform called for ten minutes’ continual cheering. Fifty years after he had been graduated, and upon the eve of his retirement from the university, Dean John Howard Van Amringe became an honorary member of the class of 1910, and yesterday, when the class was celebrating its last reunion as undergraduates, Van Amringe, ’60, made a farewell address to the class.

When the class marched out of the gymnasium at the conclusion, the white haired dean and the senior president went out side by side, on the “pilgrimage” to Hamilton Hall, where the class ivy was planted.

The exercises were held early in the afternoon in a room thronged with the relatives and friends of the graduates, who marched into the gymnasium dressed in academic cap and gown. Robert Scarborough Erskine delivered the president’s address of welcome. Francis N. Bangs, a son of Francis S. Bangs, who had much to do with the abolition of football at Columbia five years ago, was the class historian, and he divulged class secrets. He made the statement that a ballot of the class showed that forty-one of the eighty-seven members have more than a passing liking for beverages stronger than water, while fifty-two delight in using tobacco. Bangs did not go any further into the intimate history of the class.

Harry Wilson of Sioux Falls, S. D., was selected the most popular man in the class, the one who has done most for Columbia, the most likely to succeed, likewise the noisiest, and the biggest politician. Howard Delane was chosen the best all around man and the best natured; he was elected the recipient of the alumni association prize to the most faithful and deserving student, which is the highest honor a senior at Columbia can gain. John Mentil was elected the best athlete; that distinction he gained with ease because he has been captain of a championship basketball team and is on the varsity baseball team. Clarence Renton won the rather doubtful honor of being the biggest fusser and likewise the most foolish man in the class. Sidney Glide took first place in the race for most conceited and grouchiest while Arthur Schuarz was designated the laziest, biggest sport and biggest bluffer.

The statistics of the class as a whole showed that the average height was 5 feet 10½ inches, the average weight 151 pounds and the average age 21 years 5 months, making the 1910 men the youngest set that has been graduated from Columbia in some time. Most of the members of the class were born and live in New York, although every part of the country is represented. Thirty-one men intend to study law, ten will take up engineering, nine have chosen medicine and eight will go into business. The others were hazy as to just what they were going to do, or were too modest to tell about their plans. More than half the class is Republican, and there are only ten Democrats. One man declared himself a “Bryan Republican.”

The class decided that Prof. Hervey was the best teacher and the hardest professor to bluff. Prof. Charles Arthur Beard was elected the most popular professor, and William Clinton Densmore Odell, a brother of the ex-Governor and a professor in the English department, was elected the most polished. The history department was considered the best in the university, while the French department increased its lead in the contest for the least desirable, getting the fifteenth successive annual vote for that honor.

Benjamin Berinstein, one of the two blind men in the class, was elected to Phi Beta Kappa, with Thomas Alexander, Paul Williams Aschner, Ernst Phillip Boas, Mortimer Brenner, Louis Grossbaum, John Dotha Jones, Russell Thorp Kirby, Herman Joseph Muller, William de Forest Pearson, Edward Heyman Pfeiffer, Maurice Picard and Rollo Linsmore de Wilton.

Berinstein stood at the head of the list. He has studied for the last year in the law school, having completed the first three years of his course in the college last June. James Henry Mullin, the other blind member of the class, received commendation for his work.

Condict W. Cutler read the class poem, and the class prophecy was delivered by C. Homer Ramsdell of Newburgh, N. Y. Geddes Smith of Paterson, N. J., made the ivy oration, after William Langer and Dean Van Amringe had delivered their valedictories.

William Allen White will deliver the annual Phi Beta Kappa address in Earl Hall this afternoon, on “A Theory of Spiritual Progress.” In the morning the seniors and the faculty will play the annual baseball game on South Field.