The student, perceiving from Bill's descent to the vernacular of
common men that his ire was roused, abjectly and unqualifiedly
apologized.

"Well," said the orator, threateningly, "you'd better take that back.
I've sawed wood more'n thirty year, an' no man ever 'cused me o'
stealin'." Then gradually becoming good-natured, he added,
"Crucifixin' yourself in the observatories of life in the gray dawn
over your jewelry. No sir, I never stole nothin'. _You_ do. You'd
steal if you wan't afraid to. Ottah!"

We regret to be obliged to chronicle one incident that would seem to
indicate something of malevolence. The impartial historian, however,
must not shrink from the full performance of his duty.

Another of the notables of this region, of sable lineage, called, on
account of a peculiar propensity to split two-inch planks with his
head, "Abe Bunter," not long since honored the students of this
institution with a series of calls for the purpose of soliciting money
to purchase for himself a bovine, to replace one providentially taken
from him. His success may he inferred from a remark let fall by Bill,
accompanied by a demoniac chuckle:

"Say, old Abe Bunter's round with an inscription, an' he hain't got a
cent."

Like all great men, Bill has his eccentricities. Fresh meat, and,
indeed, meat of any kind except pork, he abominates. Beefsteak,
especially, is an object of indescribable aversion. Untold wealth
would not suffice to induce him to partake of it. This repugnance is