historic excelsior threads

snooping through old family stuff in the basement, I came across an old college newsletter from the Nineteen-Oughties. they have a lol thread of their own:

G. Alfred Harbour's (Poet Laureate) mental equilibrium was very much disturbed by the announcement that he had never kissed a girl. He was forced to write a poem, bewailing the fact that such a false rumour should have been given credence.

* * *

Dr. O'K. (in Chem. class)—Mr. Smith, if I treat a silver dollar with nitric acid, and then expose it to the air, what will happen?
F.H.S.—Why, somebody will steal it.

* * *

Prof. W. (in Eng. Lit. class)—Mr. M——, what do we mean by the expression, "Pluto, the ruler of Hades, shed tears of iron"?
M.—We mean that they have a foundry in hell, I suppose.

* * *

Kinnard—I ran around too much last month. I've got to get down to work.
Brogans (absent-mindedly)—I've got to shoot somebody or go to saw-milling, one.

* * *

Prof. F. (in study hall)—Mr. Houston, take your feet off that desk. Its strength is limited.

* * *

Seddon (in Electrical Laboratory)—Fambro, I wish you would not work that bass voice of yours. It agitates this galvanometer so.

* * *

It is said that there have been entirely too many explosions in the "prep." chemical laboratory of late.

* * *

Seniors Markert and Lowndes are now reading "Buffalo Bill" to each other between times. They say that Bill has been killed thirteen times up to date. As this is a fateful number, they are anxious to find out if he survived the last fatal shot. For their peace of mind, it is hoped he did. They are able to appreciate the experience of being "shot."

* * *

Prof. F.—Mr. Watson, did your sodium carbonate fuse?
Watson—No, sir; it re-fused.

* * *

The Middle Class roll was called at the Grand last Friday night a week ago, and, while a few were tardy, but one was absent.