Word: welles
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Associate Professor Robert Dudley French of the English department is a teaching professor as well as a scholar. Graduated from Yale in 1910, he returned to teach in 1915. In 1920 he took over a Chaucer course, brushed up its fustiness, livened it, taught it well, increasing the enrolment from 30 to 300 in nine years...
When Dean Wilbur Lucius Cross of the Graduate School announced this fall that he would retire from the faculty at end of the year, a full professorship in the English department was left vacant. After 14 years of well-received teaching at Yale, popular Mr. French hoped that the fruits of his long labors might be rewarded. But another consideration arose last month. He was offered the Provostship of Avon Old Farms, a pretentious two-year-old experimental school at Avon, Conn...
Sixty-one indignant undergraduates published a signed manifesto in the Yale Daily News, crying: ''The withdrawal of Mr. French signifies, as well as an incalculable loss to the university, a demoralizing blow directed against those who stand out for the principles upon which he has based his work ... an irreparable injury to the principle of a 'finer, not a bigger Yale,' which we have been led to respect...
...shores of Lake Cayuga stands Cornell, partly on a low plateau deeply serrated by close-wooded hollows. The process of erosion has done well by the university, for Cornell's ravines are a joy to her poetasters, a convenience to her cavaliers, a laboratory for her scientists. The late longtime (since 1889) Trustee Henry Woodward Sackett, Manhattan lawyer, counsel for the New York Herald Tribune, loved well these natural wonders. Said he: "Since my first knowledge of Cornell University, I have regarded the beautiful deep ravines or gorges . . .'as among the choicest physical assets of the university. . . . Every...
...house a face watches them menacingly. Through the fog comes faintly the tolling of a bell-a convict has escaped! At Oakmere Pool lies the dead body of a man, stripped to his underclothes. . . . Thus this thriller, in the somewhat old-fashioned English manner: plenty of atmosphere and a well-defined trail, with the red herrings a little brightly colored. Two characters stand out with pleasant eccentricity: old Mr. Hubbleby, who spends the daylight hours of his vacation riding to and from London on express trains, sleeping at home every night; Pithecanthropus Smith, who is no believer in Sherlock Holmes...