(You may be thinking: “She is getting lazy with two ‘Argus’ posts in a row.” Yes, I am, but I couldn’t resist!)
From the Argus, March 21, 1888, p. 129:
The novelty of a chapel cut was appreciated by the score of men who had courage enough to wade and roll up to the chapel steps Tuesday morning. The door was shut, and, after waiting the customary five minutes, the yell was given and the men returned to their rooms to wait for the storm to blow over. Professor Van Benschoten was the only member of the faculty who appeared. He stated that no doubt it was a big storm, but it couldn’t compare with the one Xenophon describes. Nevertheless, the storm was big enough to stop all college work. Wesleyan was desolate and no mistake. No teams passed through High street for two days, and the consequence was that provisions ran short. The college club were obliged to take to condensed milk, and, as the article is not drinkable, much suffering was caused among the freshmen. The overworked men in the college, however, hailed the storm as a blessed relief from work.
Prof. Rice preached Sunday in Springfield. He was not able to get nearer home than New Britain, where he stayed until the roads were open. Prof. Van Vleck had started for Baltimore, but he was snowed up in New York and was unable to leave until Thursday, when he took the boat to New Haven. Griffin, Gill and Munroe were snowed up on the New England road. Their experiences will be given farther on. Barto and Alexander have not been heard from yet, but undoubtedly they are in snug quarters.
Professor Atwater, returning home from his office Monday night, really became alarmed. It was just after dusk when he started. The snow was of that blinding class which blows over the “desolate moors,” and the moon had hidden herself behind an adjacent snow bank. After a half-hour’s hard work the professor found himself opposite the A. Δ. Φ. house and not able to go farther. In response to his requests for assistance a number of college men, spurning his offers of gold, placed him in their midst and escorted him safely to his anxious family.
The men in college can now realize what it is to be shut off from the outside world. No New York papers for five days, no mails for a week and no telegraphic communication are things you don’t often read about.
Clark and Smith, the Wesleyan amateur photographers, secured some good views of blockaded trains and other curiosities.
The “Mugg’s Landing” theatrical troupe were entertained one afternoon of their forced stop in the city by the college songs which a number of the men sang to them.