Editorials. IT ought not to be necessary to remind students who are far enough advanced to enter upon a college course, of the inestimable value of a library, yet it is apparent that few men realize the great advantage offered by such a collection of books as that possessed by Tufts College. Our library, while small, and meagre in some of its resources for advanced work, contains, for the average student, all that is required — for every student, riches that can only be found by the closest acquaintance. One would be led to expect that in a little community gathered together for mental improvement and for inspiration the book would play an important part; that the spare hour now and then obtained, when routine study is not congenial and physical exercise impossible, would be devoted by the student to exploring the recorded wealth of other men's minds. This expectation is seldom realized in the case of men entering college, the proportion of those who immediately seek the library to explore its shelves being very small indeed. It sometimes happens that a man reaches his junior year before drawing his first book from the college library, and then perhaps he does so because he has been directed to the investigation of some special subject by an instructor. This is but another example of the failure on the part of many persons to realize the great advantages that are to be enjoyed in the college of, to-day for the mere asking, advantages which it is no one's business to point out and which, perhaps for this reason, remain untried waters to the many who have not sufficient enterprise to make a first excursion until necessity in some form is present. But there is a right use and a wrong use of books. Emerson says that some "meek young men grow up in libraries, believing it their duty to accept the views which Cicero, which Locke, which Bacon, have given, forgetful that Cicero, Locke, and Bacon were only young men in libraries when they wrote these books," and yet the same writer declares that "well used, books are the best of things." The average college student does not err, however, in that he is too much of a bookworm, but rather in that he uses books too little or to too little advantage. A

library filled all day with "meek young men " is not the desirable state. A collection of books to which active young men and women are going in their spare moments for short interviews with the great novelists, the poets, the essayists; where minds open to inspiration seek contact with that which will inspire this is the idea of the college library. Probably men and women who enter Tufts are not more blind than those who enter elsewhere, but they can be less blind if they will. They can seek the library at the earliest opportunity, and need certainly not go away without having profited. A librarian and an assistant are always glad to aid one who needs assistance, and can find something which even the most unappreciative can enjoy.

The warm weather with rain and the cold weather with snow have proved sufficient, with the frequent injuries to players, to break up the foot-ball season at Tufts this fall, and to make the team weaker than it might otherwise have proved under the efficient coaching of Mr. Hamlin. It is difficult to understand why the management should have consented to confront Yale with this team of only average strength, for, while it is an honor to play with the great university team, if the score can be held somewhat within bounds, it is far from desirable to play a game which, by the size of the score, causes the college team to be known at once to the public as "one of the weakest of the college elevens." All the advantage which the players may gain in opposing men with the Yale training is more than counterbalanced by the loss of reputation which the college and the foot-ball team suffers by such a defeat as that of two weeks ago. It would be far more creditable to Tufts to defeat the smaller New England colleges, or to play in fairly even contest with them, than to meet inglorious defeat at the hands of the foremost eleven in the country, representing a university many times larger than our own college. Let us first show that we can make some impression upon a small fortress before we attempt to attack the impregnable walls of the fortified city.

It is again the unpleasant duty of the TUFTONIAN to announce the death of an undergraduate in the college. On Thursday, the eighth of November, Robert Henry Bolles, of the Junior class in the engineering department, passed away, after a comparatively short illness. His genial disposition had made him popular with his associates, and causes the loss occasioned by his untimely departure to be keenly felt by those who knew him. To the bereaved family, and to the fraternity of which he was a devoted member, the TUFTONIAN extends its sincere sympathy.

A Memorable
Murder.

20

THE quiet town of New Castle is to the writer one of the most delightful spots in New England. It is a quaint old place, and the population is largely made up of fishermen, who may frequently be seen sitting in front of their rude homes and lazily mending their lobster-pots, or, if a stranger happens to accost them, they may possibly entertain him with a graphic and spicy account of their last trip to the Banks. It is indeed a relief to converse with one of these perfect specimens of hardy manhood and hear him relate in his inimitable way the many hair-breadth escapes he has met with. He probably does not know or care who Grover Cleveland is or whether the Goulds made or lost thousands of dollars on their last speculation. If he can only gaze on a large roll of bills which represents the results of the last four months' cruise at sea, and if he can have his old, but treasured meerschaum pipe filled with the strongest of tobacco, he is perfectly contented and would not exchange places with the most fortunate millionaire.

Linden Street was known far and wide as the principal thoroughfare in the fishermen's part of the town. This street literally gave forth an odor of salt, there were so many fishermen there, and what few ornaments appeared in front of the shabby houses betokened the briny deep. The sidewalks were trimmed with oyster shells and sea-moss, while in place of the customary hot-house plants, the windows of the dwellings on Linden Street contained only curious sea-weeds and rare marine curiosities.

In one of these typical fisherman's houses Louis Wagner lived with his aged parents. He was a young man of about twenty-five years and fairly well liked by the neighbors. However, there was something about him that his friends could never fully understand, and the fact that the little children feared and avoided him proved conclusively that his nature was not one that would attract or interest. It may have been on account of an almost chronic scowl, or because he was occasionally intoxicated; however, no one disputed the fact that Louis Wagner at times could be a perfect gentleman. He followed the sea for a living, and was accustomed to go in company with John and Alfred Hontvet and Ivan Allborg, who had come from Norway in early youth and had purchased a small fishing-smack, the Raven.

These Norwegians lived together on Smuttynose Island, situated nine miles from the mainland. The two Hontvets were already married, and Ivan Allborg had pledged his troth to a beautiful daughter of Norway, Karen Hontvet, a sister of John and Alfred. With the blue eyes and yellow hair that are so characteristic of maidens of this nationality, she was a perfect picture of girlish beauty, and when she stood on the rocky cliffs and anxiously gazed to catch a glimpse of the returning sail, she made - dressed in her plain but becoming navy-blue garment, with a white kerchief around her neck — a picture that the most talented artist could not hope to faithfully represent. Karen lived with her two sisters-in-law, and these women were left alone and helpless on the desert island when the men were away on cruises, sometimes lasting for months. However, they passed the time as pleasantly as could be expected, ever thinking of the return of their beloved ones and preparing new delights and surprises for them.

These Norwegian men had the greatest confidence in Louis Wagner. It is unfortunate that the honesty which beamed forth from their beautiful blue eyes could not have been reciprocated by him whom they trusted implicitly. If Wagner did not accompany the men on their fishingtrips, he was frequently asked to remain at the island and protect the women. In return, he was treated with great respect and his visits were rendered very pleasant. The confidence of the women in this man was also unbounded, and little did they dream that their protector had any but the kindest feelings toward them.

During the month of February the Hontvets, together with Ivan, were preparing the Raven at New Castle, where Wagner lived, for a short cruise of one night and one day. They asked Louis if he would not accompany them. When he excused himself, they paid no unusual attention to his refusal, as he frequently remained behind. It happened that during the parting conversation John Hontvet mentioned to Wagner the fact that he had recently sent to his home at Smuttynose Island a large sum of money and that he felt apprehensive as to its safety, with only the women to look out for it. He said no more; this was enough.

The breeze had scarcely filled the sails of the Raven when Louis Wagner determined to have that money at any cost, though he knew that he would not obtain it without some resistance on the part of the women. He was slightly under the influence of liquor at the time and may not have been entirely conscious of his resolve. However, he regained his senses in time to change his resolution if he had desired, but the devil in his nature overcame everything and swept him out of his natural senses. Yes, he would have the money! But could he reach the island that evening? If he did not, in the morning the men might have returned. It seemed as if the Fates themselves were spurring him on, for not merely had he been informed of the presence of the money, but on that very evening there was an ebb-tide and a full moon to render his fiendish journey more easy. A row-boat was gladly loaned to him, and, hurried along by the conspiring elements, he made the distance of nine miles in the remarkable time of two hours. During his journey his intentions did not weaken, and he approached the island on the most obscure side and fastened the boat. Leaving guilty foot-tracks behind him in the snow, he drew near the house and entered by means of a window. After calmly eating a supper which he had himself prepared, he began his search.

The Hontvet women occupied adjoining rooms and awoke on hearing the noise. One of them entered the room where Wagner was, expecting that the men had returned — she was struck with an axe and instantly killed. The woman recognized her assailant just before the weapon fell, and had time to shriek in a heart-rending tone the one word, "Louis!" Then

commenced an awful struggle.

The two other women were in different rooms, and could not reach each other without exposing themselves to the monster. Mary Hontvet courageously barred her door and protected herself as well as she could, but to no avail. The fiend broke the barrier, and aiming a terrific blow at the woman, left her for dead. However, she dodged the axe and fell to the floor from terror. Instantly recovering herself, and possessed with the unnatural strength which is born of frenzy, she fled from the house in her evening attire, taking in her arms a small dog.

In the meantime the brute had found the beautiful Karen, crouching at her bedside, and in spite of her piteous appeals for mercy, he cruelly strangled her. Then he returned to the other room and found that Mary had fled. He could not possibly afford to allow her to survive and testify as a witness to his awful crime; but after searching the island in vain for an hour, he returned to the house for the money. He could not find the purse, and as the first rays of the morning sun were now peeping into the house of awful carnage, he dared not delay. He concealed the traces of the crime as well as possible and started on his homeward journey.

The unfortunate Mary had hidden behind a crevice in the rocky ledge and was momentarily expecting to be pounced upon. Indeed, in his search the murderer had passed within a few feet of her. A bark from the dog in her arms would have meant certain death. Her terror and suffering in the cold night air cannot be described. Not venturing to stir till day-break, when at last she felt that all would be secure, she started with reluctant steps to return to the scene of desolation. Her courage failed her, however, for she knew too well the sight that would meet her gaze. She summoned up her strength and waved and hailed to some carpenters on a neighboring island, who answered her signals and started to offer assistance. Nature then gave way, and Mary fell in a dead faint. The carpenters on arriving tenderly brought her back to her senses and carried her to the home of a neighbor on another island. When the ill-fated house was entered the awful work of the demon was only too plainly seen. Nothing could be done but to await the arrival of the coroner.

At this stage of the tragedy a little sail was seen glistening in the bright sunlight, and it appeared to be headed for the haven at the western end of the island. As it approached nearer and nearer, it became evident to those who had gathered on the stricken island that the vessel was the Raven. An appeal went up to heaven from the hearts of the horrified spectators that this Raven might be struck by a tornado and instantly destroyed! It was a sympathetic appeal, for the people realized that the blow on reaching the land and on learning the calamity would be much harder for the men to bear than to meet watery graves while in pursuit of their business.

What a dramatic situation was now furnished! The happy and laughing men were steadily approaching a fate worse than death itself, and instead of the loving women standing on the shore to greet them with the waving of handkerchiefs and with kisses, there stood a crowd of people who, out of pure sympathy, desired the boat never to reach the haven. The cruel winds and the tide hurried the vessel on, and after the dropping of the anchor the terrible ordeal was at hand! It would be useless to attempt to describe in words the utter despair of the men when they came to the terrible realization of their loss. When sailors who are ordinarily brave under trying circumstances, fall to the ground in a swoon, the writer might as well throw aside his pen after he has stated that fact, and not try to picture the misery which he cannot even imagine. The man Wagner, who had ruined this happy home and had destroyed the confidence of honorable men, met a just fate at the hands of the executioner. This scene finished the last chapter of the memorable murder.

R. K. M.

The Belfry.

THERE came an hour at evening when I must mount to the belfry and call the people from the thoughts of the world unto celestial meditations. Through darkness I rose, by doubtful steps carpeted with dust and cobwebs, and circled round by bats.

Out of the darkness, rising from the gloomy tower-ladders to the bleak enclosure of the