The swimmers of Harvard will be again obliged to use the Brookline baths for practice, since the dormitory pools are too small for the purpose, and the long-promised natatorium at Cambridge still remains a pious wish. Matthew Mann, the advocate of the elementary crawl, will coach the squad. He says the Crimson has excellent material, but it is hopeless to believe that it can be promptly developed, owing to the difficulty of getting the candidates to take often the inconvenient trip between Cambridge and Brookline. Among the best watermen trying for positions in the varsity team are Captain Fullerton, able to do around 1:00 for 100 yards and 2:40 for the furlong; Seymour, almost as fast at the two distances, and Gibbs, Wentworth, Jackson, and Darling, good for about 0:27 at 50 yards, and warranted to furnish likely representatives of the sprints and relay races. Elopers Drowned in River. Ivan Heer and his sweetheart, Miss Ruth Rechman, both of Cave-In-Rock, Ill., were drowned in the Ohio River a few miles below Evansville, Ind. Heer and Miss Rechman were in a skiff eloping to Caseyville, Ky., where they were to have been married. Their skiff struck a snag and the craft rapidly sank. Occupants of a launch near by tried to save the elopers, but were unsuccessful. Heer was about twenty-two years old and Miss Rechman was twenty, and a popular young woman of Cave-In-Rock. Tires of Looking at His Own Gravestone. Francis M. Collins, eighty-eight-year-old war veteran, has grown tired and lonely sitting at the foot of his own grave in Forest Home Cemetery, at Milwaukee, Wis., admiring the flowers and the monument--especially the monument. Collins has decided that man was not meant to be alone, on the earth or under it, and is planning to get married. For twelve years Collins has been a daily visitor at the grave. For a long time it was a source of pride for him to look at his name and war record carved in a solitary magnificence on the handsome tombstone. He prepared for his burial by a budget filed with a certificate for five hundred dollars with a local bank. The solitary name on one side of the stone began to look forlorn and lonely. The veteran got the habit of romancing on how nice it would be to have another name--her name--on the opposite side. There was no particular woman then. But there is now. Her name is Orrie Viola--something--but Collins will not tell the rest of it. The other day a stone carver came trudging through the cemetery with his tools. He hunted around in the vicinity of the chapel until he found a plot that looked like a little garden, and beside it was an old man with a patriarchal beard. When the stone carver left, the name “Orrie Viola Collins” smiled back at the afternoon sun, and Collins was smiling up at the newly carved name. Some New Inventions.