The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1894-02-21
The Professors Romance.

One evening not many years ago
George Wilson made his way through
one of the side streets of New Haven.
His full name, as it appeared in the
catalogue of the university, was
George Ellis Wilson, of Smithville,
Pa. He had just eaten supper at the
Commons" and, leaving the other
fellows, had hurried down the walk
between 1.-THE old brick row" aud the
new dormitories, across the busy
street and down this little lane till
he came to a dimly lighted, second
hand bookstore. Here he stopped
and looked in the windows. They
were filed with old books with sur
prisingly low prices pinned on them
and steel engravings of Washington
and Jefferson that doubtless had been
the pride of some patriotic home, but
now looked fiy-specked and bedrag-
gled enough After pausing at the
threshold long enough to shake the
snow from his coat he entered. Out
from behind the stacks of books that
filed the rear Oft the store came a little
man, with long beard, round shoul-
ders and very old and dusty coat that
came down below his knees.
"How do, sir? A stormy, evening""
he said to Wilson, as he climbed up on
a chair to turn the gas little higher.
every" replied Wilson, and with
out more ado began to examine the
books around him. They were stacked
up in the greatest confu sion. Book
cases were full, drawers were full
and great piles in the corners
reached almost to the ceiling The
air of the room had the rusty
odor peculiar to old books, and the
little OLD man who kept the store
seemed to have absorbed some of the
musty learning of his shop, such a
scholarly stoop did he have aud so
dusty were his clothes. An effort had
been made to sort some of the books,
and over several shelves was hung the
lsbel" Religious, and over some others
''Greek and Latin" while in the ex-
treme corner were "Translations. ~
Wilson eyed these last suspiciously,
for he had 'boned" his way through
preparatory school, and he had made
up his mind not to ''horse" through
college. Turning to the Latin books,
he looked them through till he came
to copy of Horace, somewhat the
worse for wear, but serviceable. The
slittle old man meanwhile was trying
to bring some order out of n confused
heap of magazines piled up on the
floor. Wilson glanced over the pages
of the Horace, and, deciding that
it would answer his purpose, paid the
old man 35 cents, put the book in his
pocket and went out into the street.
Going back to his room in ''North Mid
die, he took off his coat and threw it
.on char with the Horace still in the
pocket. The next morning he got up
late, and in his hurry to get to break
fast put on the coat just as he had left
it the night before. At chapel, how
ever, during the long prayers, while
the president was imploring blessings
for the heather in all lands" under
which head Wilson would have little
thought himself included, he pulled
out the Horace and looked at the fly
leaf. There we're two of the initials
of the former owner, w. B., and his
class. '55. The last name had been
carefully scratched out. Up in the
corner there was o note, evidently
written during some recitation 80
years before: "Can you tutor me an
hour in trig. tomorrow" By the
time that Wilson had observed this
much the prayer was ended and the
president was walking down the mid
die aisle, while the seniors, in accord
/. ance with Q custom handed down from
long ego, were making prodigious