MSGR 1941v67n4

THEMESSENGER

'Teis,ieHTcRtEAF IS AflllJcK, Af/SS. · ·

11 •• it costs more, too - but Luckies pay the price!" says Joe Cuthrell, tobacco auctioneer

"THERE'S no two ways about it-the lighter, milder tobacco comes high, and Luckies pay the price to get it. That's why most auctioneers, buyers and warehousemen-fellows like me, who actually see the sales -smoke Luckies as a matter of course!"

In buying tobacco, you get what you pay for. And independent tobacco experts tell you that Luckies pay higher prices to get the finer, the lighter, the naturally milder leaf So why not decide to smoke the smoke tobacco experts smoke ? Next time, a :;k for Lucky Strike.

i THE MESSENGERi

UNIVERSITYOF RICHMOND

THE MESSENGER

UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND

Editor-in-Chief

PHYLLIS ANNE COGHILL

Richmond College Editor

MURRAY BARR

Westhampton College Editor

JEAN LOUISE NEASMITH

Assistant Editors

LEANDER SAUNDERS, JR

HELEN HILL

STRAUGHAN LOWE GETTIER

Associate Editors

JOHN DECKER

MARY GRACE SCHERER PAT ABERNETHY

JANICE LANE

Art Staff

BOB CARTER

ED LUTTRELL

Business Manager

SIMPSON WILLIAMS

Assistant Business Manager

ROBERT BLACK

VOLUME XL VIII APRIL, 1941 No. 4

Blanket Bid

The invitation to be read by a nationwide audience has been extended to the writers of this campus! The editors received recently a letter from the International Student Service announcing their plans to publish a national student magazine. Having read THE MESSENGER,they asked for contributions from our student body.

This very influential organization is headed by such outstanding people as Archibald MacLeish, Mrs. F. D. Roosevelt, Mrs. Dwight Morrow, and Albert Einstein. Its activities have been far-reaching and are even more significant today. It is a distinct honor that we should be asked to take part in their scheme to publish "a national student magazine devoted to the best writing and thinking of the current student generation."

They wish to include in this publication "creative work in literature and the visual arts, as well as critical articles on contemporary events, the social sciences, philosophy, and the arts." And because they realize the difficulty in obtaining good articles, they are interested in seeing term papers which might be turned into articles. Not only this, but they will be glad to suggest ideas to those authors interested in contributing. Graduate as well as undergraduate students are acceptable as contributors. Furthermore, they are willing to publish articles, short stories, and verse

which have previously appeared in campus publications.

We should have representation in that national magazine. It is up to you whether or not we shall. There are bound to be students on this campus who will be interested in, and perhaps excited about, this venture. Certainly the number of different writers who have submitted material to THE MESSENGERduring the past year shows that our campus is interested in creative and critical writing. The publications secretary of the International Student Service, Mr. Irwin Ross, has read that material and has been sufficiently interested in it to write a personal letter to your editors asking to see more.

In generations preceding us youth was taught to be seen and not heard. But our training has been quite the opposite. We have been encouraged to speak and write frankly and openly. In most circumstances our words have had little influence beyond the spheres of home and school. This is our chance to show the whole United States how we think and write. How can we fail to respond?

Non-Fiction Contest

Encouragement to writers seems to be th~ theme of this page. We offer another opportunityTHE MESSENGERNon-Fiction Contest. Not only will the winner be recognized through publication, but he or she will also be awarded a prize of ten dollars ($10.00).

Subjects for the articles may relate to sciences or the arts (literature, music, painting, drama, etc.) and range from the campus scene to the world scene. The length may vary, but should fall approximately between 1,000 and 4,000 words.

In order that the manuscripts may be easily read it is requested that they be typed, double-spaced with wide margins. To avoid any prejudice in judging them we suggest that you do not sign the articles, but place your name in an envelope and clip it to your paper.

Manuscripts must be in THE MESSENGERoffice or in the hands of staff members by May the ninth (9th) They will be judged by one member from the English departments of both Westhampton College and Richmond College, the acting president of Pi Delta Epsilon, and the editor-in-chief of THE MESSENGER.The winning article will be published in the June issue of the magazine. The entries are expected to be the products of intellectual honesty and responsible thinking.

[ 2 J

GUESTEDITORIAL

By GEORGE ELLIS, JR.and AMMON BALFOUR (Editor-in -Chief and Managing Editor of The Panther at Virginia Union University) ·

In the present struggle that this country is now going through to be prepared for participation in the fight to free liberty-loving people, there is no time for the petty prejudices and interracial misunderstandings that have over the years kept our country in a state of constant unrest.

Let no one think that America can function effectively without the complete unification of each of her racial groups. The secret behind Germany's success is that they have in that country a group that believe in their own superiority; the Aryan, if you please. We in America, do not have that asset. Consequently, in order to counteract this German advantage, we must unite our racial groups, drop our prejudices, cultivate understanding, and together put our shoulders to the wheel. We college students of our respective groups can be the nuclei around which can be molded a new America, one which is solid; and homogeneous in spirit if not in race.

If we fail to get together on this we leave ourselves vulnerable to the inroads of power-seeking dictators of shell-holed Europe. We create our own Fifth Column, one more deadly and effective than any that Germany's brain-trust could devise.

It is during trying times like these that the problem can be solved with greater facility. Each of us has a common interest-that of protecting ourselves and the other democracies from the iron heel of the European warmongers who would prey upon our cherished liberties, personalities, and even our lives .

There are many ways in which relations between the races can be improved. First of all, we should strive to understand one another's customs, modes, and racial characteristics. We should learn to appreciate the cultures of the various races, even though they might seem strange or peculiar to us. We should strive to help one another; human beings should be like that. For above all individual nations is humanity. In this great country of ours, there is room for everyone; we could all live together in perfect harmony if we only would.

America is a land that boasts of its many educational facilities. What other country in the ·world can boast of more than five hundred institutions of higher learning as we can here in America?

There is no other country that can surpass us in our indomitable will to discover our true destiny which is ever before us. In just a little more than a hundred and fifty years, the true Americans, men like Robert Morris, Robert Paine, Thomas Jefferson, Booker T. Washington, Frederick Douglass, and Felix Frankfurter have shown us how much could be done for this tremendous undiscovered land of ours. And even more than that, they have shown us how much still remains undone--that the trueness and greatness of our country is still before us. The America of tomorrow will depend upon our attitudes today.

Back in 1776, when the colonies severed their relationships with Mother England, they had the right idea. They were beginning to respect the rights of personality. It was then that our country was in its limelight; it was then that our country was on the right path; it was then that our country was making its true discovery-the discovery that here in America we had the elements that ~ould blossom into happiness for the greatest majority. But somehow we lost our way along the years, and the great things that our country could have accomplished never came into being. Somehow we had forgotten that America was made up of all peoples, of all races, and of all religions.

Now, for the first time in many decades we are seeing the true light. We are seeing for the first time that the sole reason our country came into being was due to the belief of our colonists in the basic rights of man; and primarily, they felt the need for each other, "United we stand, divided we fall."

At last we are finding our way back. We are finding out that if we are to keep this land of ours, we must cooperate with each other and put all petty intolerances and prejudices behind us. Let us get together on this enormous issue and work this thing out.

WhyDoIt Again?

As

mirrored in the Richmond Collegian 1 1914-1918

By STRAUGHAN LOWE GETTIER, '42

THE meeting lasted just three minutes. But it was decisive. That was back in ' 17. There had been a meeting previous to this one, but there was nothing done except a lot of heated debating which ended in an uproar. This time the assembled Richmond College student body came to an agreement. On April 6 the United States had declared war on Germany. Now, seven days later, these students passed the resolution:

W e, the students of Richmond College, in the light of th e present intern ational crisis, desire to endorse th e policy of th e national administ f ation ; and as evid ence of that fact we hereby tender our sefvices in any way in which the administfation may care to use them.

If you were a freshman or a sophomore in this institution in 1914 you witnessed this as an extreme change of opinion. But you probably didn't notice the shift at all. Few did then . By the time America became involved in the conflict you had forgotten how appreciative of Germany you had formerly been.

In the middle of December, 1914, Dr. Dingus , professor of German, gave a speech in praise of Germany's patriotic universities where the professors could speak the truth as they saw it. And their classes were thick with Americans, Englishmen, and other foreigners in quest of the world ' s best educators.

At the same time, it is interesting to note, the R i chm on d Collegian was an unqualified exponent of military isolationism as the desired foreign policy. The editors remarked in an editorial captioned "Help America First" that it was sad , very sad indeed, about the way the poor defenseless Belgians were being overrun by the vicious Huns, but, they said, home problems such as the slums of Richmond were far more important to us than the conflagration abroad. We can understand this simply by taking a quick glance at any Collegian of the 1939-40 session which carried at its masthead the banner AMERICA MUST STAY OUT OF WAR! E;,rly in the same session Royall Brandis, student news commentator, unequivocably asserted that he would never agree to Amer-

ican participation in another European War. Likewise, in '14 students were discussing the menace of militarism and demanding "brains - not battleships." And they were free from the fear of "isms," for, in January of the same year there came a Socialist speaker who lauded the advancement of his ideals in this country and opposed militarism outright. But changes in attitude were already in progress.

After a little condemnation of the Central Powers in February, a March wind blew up the question " Resolved: that , in view of the present European War, the United States should enter on a substantial program for increasing its army and navy." The Philologians and Mu Sigs debated it pro and con. Opinion on the negative side was very complacent about the state of the Nation , but not so the affirmative, for they not only thought war was inevitable but trembled in an advanced state of neurosis at the thought of what an easy victim the defenseless United States was to a foreign invader. Maybe it was the tramp of German infantry or maybe it was the fluency of the affirmative team, but, whichever one it was, the affirmative side won the debate and the literary men returned to their books with the fear of Mars in their hearts.

Then came the summer. When school opened again myriads of new ideas were flying around confusedly. Thoughts and actions were widely diversified and inconsistent. Mr. Henry Ford got up a peace party to go to Europe; a Richmond College man was selected to go. Later , however, the trip was called off. Collegiate prohibition orators became intoxicated by their own eloquence. Women were fighting for suffrage. And the Mu Sigs, not greatly concerned with the European situation, put a team in the field that insisted upon the City Council of Richmond passing an ordinance prohibiting kissing within the corporate limits About the same time , back to the serious vein, Dr. Walter Russell Bowie was explaining to this campus " what preparedness means to America. "

Then, all of a sudden, spring was here and undergraduate fancies were lightly turning to mak-

ing arrangements for class night, "the class appearing as the representation of preparedness, in keeping with the spirit of the times." It was pleasantly prophesied that "military drills are soon to begin in order to put everything in readiness."

When autumn came again the Y.M.C.A. made an effort at developing "cosmopolitan interest and international citizenship" just as the W esthampton chapter of Tau Kappa Alpha in a recent assembly program contended against isolation in favor of world citizenship. However, before the semester was over Randolph-Macon, William and Mary, and Richmond College were debating the desirability of Congress enacting a law establishing universal compulsory military training. This type of fluid mind is not to be wondered at, however, if we consider how we have passed, for the most part, from last year's desire to "keep America out of war" to our present tendency to approve America's being an arsenal to provide for violent subjugation of those whose political philosophies differ from our own.

But to get back to the story-just two months after that three-way intercollegiate debate, America declared war on Germany. A few days later, in only three minutes, the Richmond College stu-

dents passed the resolution we have already mentioned and surrendered their consciences and persons to the government without a single reservation.

The week following "The young ladies of Westhampton College turned out en masse and twice paraded around their campus, carrying flags and singing 'The Star Spangled Banner.' They were addressed by President Boatwright and they handed to him a resolution in which they pledged allegiance to him in whatever counsel he might pursue in handling the situation."

At the same time the Y.M.C.A. was adapting itself to the regime of violence. It threw its former constructive policy of promoting cosmopolitan interests and international citizenship out of the window and turned to play host to the Officers' training conference. And students began overcoming parental objection to enlist in the army that was going to secure peace for all times and justice for everybody ( which explains why we live in such a Utopian world today).

It was in October, 1917, that the Westhampton girls had pronounced advantages of V.P.I. and West Point brought to their very arches for Richmond College appeared in full uniform. Major

A scene at the Reception Center, Fort Meade, Maryland during the winter of 1940-1941 as men of the new army learn some of the rudiments of drill.

John Randolph Tucker, formerly of the Richmond Light Infantry Blues, was appointed commandant. Each week-day there was an hour and fifteen minutes of drill and it was understood that "unless physically disabled every man in college is expected to take military work." At first all were delighted and eager, but the novelty didn't last long. A campus essayist had it that "Military training like castor oil is something you take only when you are compelled to." But the boys kept marching. They were told that they were "fighting for the vindication of a great Ideal." And the girls industriously knitted sweaters for The Cause. Their pious but ridiculous motto ran "In God we trust patriotism."

The war went on. The campus learned of their fell ow students slain or wounded abroad. And while the fighting continued in France there were

struggles at home. Somehow the mind couldn't stay geared to the process of annihilating people not so totally different from our own. Peace-universal peace-came to be the recognized need. And so it was that while all seemed lost, while Paris was in the path of destruction, while transports were still conveying American doughboys across the blue, Dr. Boatwright expressed the desire and hope of all in saying, wh:h perhaps, a long range view that, "After the war will be a world in which moral power is to be substituted for physical force."

We have seen the trends of thought and action followed by that former college generation. Up to this point our path has paralleled theirs too closely for comfort. Having once seen the futility of it all, why must we run this course again?

War Spring

You might think armies and starvation, brutal force Rule that great sweep of plains and hillsIf you have seen the country's quiet beauty There is no doubt what holds, what captures youThe trembling poppies red and wet from rain, The purple richness of wisteria bloom, Deep glens, and hidden mountain shade-Swift beat of sea- and endless screaming gulls, The silver beauty of a still, clear night, A fish's fin in patterns of the moonThat is the strongest though the slimmest web; But it ties deep within the heart and mind, Can not be severed by brute strength alone , And only time can wave it to forgetfulness. By KIRA NICHOLSKY.

7fie1ndomitable?na1tquis

By MARK WILLING, '42

MANY and varied are the legends throughout the civilized world , but none is so moving, so fascinating, or so stirring as that concerning the Marquis of Villalobar, a great gentleman from Spain. It is the legend of a man who was not a man; it is a tale mighty in its drama, and at the same time pathetic in its subject. Loo k not in history books or in government documents for this story, for it is but a portrait in whispers , painted in unguarded moments by those who worked with him. It is told haltingly in secluded spots as if those who recount it are still afraid that the little Marquis , dead since 1926, may still be able to rebuke them for their rashness

Brand Whitlock in his rotund but intriguing work, B elgiu m gives us a thousand anecdotes that reveal the personality of the Marquis, but never once does he make mention of the awesome truth about Villalobar. He does , however, hint at it in his diary entry of July 18, 1921, when he speaks of the Marq~is' "peculiar infirmities." With these two w ords the scene is set.

The Marquis of Villalobar , Grand Officer of the Legion of Honor, Knight Commander of the Order of Christ, Maestranti Knight of Zaragoza, to list but a few of his fabulous array of honors, was the Spanish ambassador to Belgium during the first World War . It was in Brussels that he met Whitlo ck, America ' s minister to that warblasted capital. It was here that Whitlock learned Villalobar's jealously guarded secret that was known only to a chosen few

For the little Marquis was born a monster, a misshapen creature with tiny legs , an arm that resembled a cloven claw and a head that was entirely devoid of hair He donned a wig, thrust his g rotesque hand into the heart of his tunic, and encased his limbs in some sort of artificial mechanism that raised him to normal stature while his will lent him seven league boots that were to carry him to the ends of the earth

The disguise was so complete that to the entrained his deformities were unnoticeable. Alexander W ollcott tells us that a great Spanish Lady, supposed to be the Queen Mother, upon being confronted by the Marquis' stout shoulders and handsome countenance for the first time, evinced a

noticeable interest in the rumor that a monster had been born to the Villalobar family. She wondered if the Marquis knew anything about it. Villalobar bowed from the waist and with a sardonic smile upon his face answered her, "Madame," he said simply, " I am that monster. " Whereupon he moved away while the great lady slunk nervously into the darkest corner that she could find.

It is Whitlock who gives a picture of the farsightedness of the Spanish ambassador. Brussels was being occupied by the Germar:is. For hours the two men had been watching the grey hordes march through the streets-the stamp of their feet upon the pavements pounding out the epitaph of an age that was dying. Finally Villalobar turned to the American, and with eyes that seemed to look far into the future, he said with the accent of history and doom:

" You and I, we shall remember this, but the world will forget." He was right. The world forgot, and Belgium again felt the crush of the aggressor's heel.

The Marquis, however, did not confine his activities to Belgium, for his diplomatic career carried him all over the world. Today there are still men in Cairo, Tokyo and Constantinople, in Washington, Paris and Madrid who revere his memory. They loved him, those brilliant diplomats who represented the great nations of the world They pitied him too , for they knew that he was as proud and sensitive as he was chivalrous and gallant; and they knew also that he would under no circumstances tolerate any physical assistance whats<?ever. They tell of the time when at a social affair in his embassy, he slipped as he was mounting the great stairway. Down he crashed , and over and over he rolled down the whole length of the stairs. As if in a trance the assembled guests stood motionlessas if they were carved from granite-while he laboriously righted himself , and with surprising confidence undertook the difficult ascent once more. It was not until he reached the top that anyone dared to breathe again. Such was his indomitable will.

One might think from all this that Villalobar was a man to be feared, one who did not relish human society or who felt sympathetic towards the [ 7]

human race. Lest any such feelings exist, I hasten to pass on to you Whitlock's story of the Marquis' night-long fight to save Edith Cavell from a German firing squad.

For hours Villalobar, together with Hugh Gibson and M. Jean de Leval of the American Embassy, had been arguing with the Prussian Charge d' Aff aires, trying to win from him a pardon for Miss Cavell. At last Villalobar, crimson with fury, pushed the German martinet into a private room and there unleashed all the pent-up emotions that were welling up within him. Later they merged from that room, the German, pale and trembling -terrified; Villalobar cool and poised. A telephone conversation ensued between the Charge and the Governor of the prison at which Miss Cavell was being kept. He turned away from the phone, spread his hands out in a helpless gesture. It was too late; nothing could save her now. Villalobar, beaten, stepped out into the rain-filled night.

Then there is the story that W ollcott heard in Berlin. It comes to us second-hand from a high ranking Spaniard in the consular service. One

night when he was an undersecretary with Villalobar, this gentleman discovered to his horror that he had left a rather indiscreet note from a young lady on the Marquis' desk. Fearing rebuke if the Marquis found the note, he crept downstairs and into the office. As he was rummaging through the desk he was startled by a strange scraping sound. Startled, he turned his flashlight towards the noise. A cry of amazement leaped from his lips, for there right in the middle of the 9pot of light stood a tiny creature with blazing eyes. He was clad from head to foot in a white nightshirt, and on his head was an odd-looking cap. Without saying a word, he turned and scampered away into the concealing darkness. The next day the unfortunate undersecretary received orders to return to Madrid.

These are but a few of the incredible legends that surround the name of Villalobar. They are second-hand to be sure, but it is only in this way that one hears about the little Marquis. Still, they tell the story of the man far better than any biographical document could. For they are living pictures of his personality, his life, and his times.

Men, Learn From the Latins

Martial aids college girls with advice to the boys

I don't like your hair with a permanent wave Nor your hair looking topsy-turvy. I don't like you with a pealed-dean shave; Yet I hate for your face to look dirty.

I don't like you in a sissy hat, Nor your hair cut short and stubby. A cave man I do not want to attract, And a weakling I'd hate for a "hubby." Now you may have lots of hair on your arms And your chest may be awfully scratchy. A heart and soul hold for me greater charms Than a "he-man" who's probably "whacky."

-Epigrams of Martial Book 2, Epigram 36, Translated by CLARINECUNNINGHAM,'42.

ForStrength

By ELLEN MERCER CLARK, '44

ARED ROSE. A large deep-red rose with per£ ect petals, outlined against the mosscovered wall. For a time-she couldn't have told how long - it was all the girl saw. It was the one real thing in a world which had suddenly come to an end .

She crumpled up on the bench with a dry sob that hurt like a sword stab. Official notices were brief So brief you could say the words over and over to yourself: "Killed in action." Killed in action. Not that you believed it. Kurt was so strong, so alive , so-so himself, and he'd promised to come back- " Back when the roses bloom roses are for brides, Alice. Wear one when I get my leave so I'll be sure to know it's you."

The rose quivered a little, and somewhere a bird was beginning to sing. It bothered her. Calliopes aren ' t wanted at funerals. A laugh hurt worse than a sob.

" I hate war ," she said to the rose . She had said that to Kurt , too , and he had shaken his head and explained that some things were worth fighting for, and that he couldn ' t shirk when everyone else was doing his best. She had listened. She always listened to Kurt, but she had believed that not even a war could disturb the way of life which she hacl been brought up to expect.

Yet the ration system was a dreadful bore, and most of her friends were away or too busy to be amusing She had never " gone in" for war work. Slumming had never appealed to her, and work with refugees was even less savory. Nursing or ambulance driving was i11;possible since blood made her £eel faint. But she could knit, and she was always careful to carry her gas mask in the cover that matched whichever coat she was wearing. The war really seemed far away, for her section of the country was out of the path of the big bombers

[ 9]

Kurt had worried a little about her attitude, but she had explained to him that she couldn't do such things. "Of course those girls who drive trucks and serve food and escort children are wonderful, dear, but I'm not the type. Can you imagine me in one of those shapeless uniforms?" She had almost decided to give in and off er her services after his next leave. When a man is in the army, he likes to feel that his wife is doing something for the cause too. She had planned to tell him , laughing at the awkward picture she would make, dressed up in a uniform, and making him laugh with her. The boyish laugh that she'd never hear again . The rose seemed more red , like blood. " Blood makes me faint," she murmured. She was on her knees now beside the rose , grasping the bush. The thorns were almost antidotes to the pain in her heart. "Kurt didn't want me to faint. He wanted his wife to be strong, and I was going to be, but now - oh, I can't." Her palms were red from the thorns, red like the rose that seemed so full of life and color. " Blood is for strength. " Had Kurt said that? She stared at the rose. 'TU be back by the time the rose blooms. " " No, Kurt," the tears were coming at last, " no, Kurt , but I can take it to you."

f f f

The fat woman leaned on the back fence. "Yes. They ' re putting the place up for sale 'adn't you ' eard? The young lady went up to London and was in one of the raids. She drove an ambulance and did real well I 'ear. I must say it surprised me. Didn't think she 'ad it in ' er ... 'er young man was killed you know ... . Oh, I didn't feel for 'er much She took it as cool as could be. Went up to London right away. Yes. I saw ' er leave, with a red rose, as bright as could be, stuck in 'er coat."

~eein9?nusic-Hea/r.in9Colo'r.

.2ottiCenlu't~?nu9ic

By ANN OAKES, '43

HAVE you seen Fant,asia? Many of you probably won't-due primarily to the expense of installing Fantasound. However, because it is new and unusual and so utterly different from the most popular conception of it (Snow White), you should know something about it. Since you won't catch the spirit of Fantasia in the scientific description of Fantasound in Theatre Arts nor in the impersonal write-up of the New York Times, a college student's viewpoint might make an explanation simpler.

Fantasia is literally a product of the imagination. The film version is a series of impressions in color and motion which were conceived by Disney and his corps of "good listeners" after hearing over and over again recordings of the light masterpieces that were chosen from about 700 possible ones. You might be interested to know that Disney conceived his idea for Fantasia several years ago when he was working on a short subject in which the music was to be interpreted on the screen with colored imagery. He felt that anything as lovely as that should not be subservient to another feature to run as a short subject. A few months later he called in Stokowski and Deems Taylor, the three of whom made the final selection.

In 1929 Alfred Frankenstein was running an article called "Music and Radio" in The Golden Book Magazine in which he said, "Hollywood's new talking movies present possibilities of a new unity of sight and sound in the popular theatre.

The screen itself will come to life with its own sound. All the fantastic and exquisite rhythms and tones of modern life will vitalize the theatre. Tones and sounds will weave into the clash of forces in the pictured story, resulting in an art form that our day alone could have realized."

Scarcely at the beginning of talkies-in all their imperfection and instability-a critic was unconsciously predicting Fantasound-something that we ourselves have difficulty believing in. The setup of the new device is so complicated that when the musical selections were recorded in Philadel-

phia with Stokowski conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra, each of the divisions of the orchestra was recorded separately at the same time the orchestra was being recorded as a whole. The records were re-recorded "through nine channels and thirty-three separate microphones." The amplifiers, sixty, I believe altogether, are situated throughout the theatre so that the right channel comes through the right microphone. That's why you hear the chime of "Ave Maria" ring in Heaven and Jupiter pitch his darts from the balcony while thunder rolls in from the sides.

With Fantasound, which the great triumvirate, Disney, Taylor, and Stokowski, is suggesting as a third medium for musical interpretation-the other two being opera and ballet-the sound is so integrated with the perfected animation on the screen that you adjudge the experience to be one of "seeing music and hearing pictures." You are so completely lost in what's going on that you feel as though you were only a splash of color on the universal screen-on a note from the chord that Sullivan lost and Disney has found. This is interesting in itself because Disney must be chromaesthetic, as are many of the great artistic geniuses. Beethoven used to call for " 'more purple' in certain passages, 'more gold' in others." Stokowski himself conducted an experimental concert in which he used the color organ along with the music of the Philadelphia Orchestra following his performance of "Promethe" which was composed for colored lights. Who could naturally be of more service in the making of Fantasia than Stokowski?

However, "Taccato and Fugue" by Bach presented new difficulties to already experienced artists because here there was nothing in the composition around which to develop the theme--no story. "Toccato," surprisingly enough, is defined as "a brilliant composition in free fantasia style." (Fantasia was to be only a temporary name under which it was to be filed on record until a better one could be found. They never found a better one.) This was to be visual imagery then

-"these fragments of luminous music, these bright, dreamlike and impermanent pictures in the sky."

The film begins with the orchestra coming on and assembling in the usual manner of orchestra's tuning up at leisure. After Stokowski mounts the platform, he raises his baton and as the various sections of the orchestra pick up the theme, the camera turns to them to cast them in shadow pictures on the screen in stair-step fashion. The shadows gradually become red, golden, and blue until the actual figures disappear leaving only the notes darting across an ever-changing pastel sky. Mrs. Miniver might be describing Fantasia instead of fireworks, "The sparks of the rocket come pouring down the sky in a slow golden cascade, vanishing one by one into a lake of darkness."

I heard "Toccato and Fugue" about a week later, and I was rapt. With each succeeding time I hear any one of the eight selections I ring in a curtain call on some part of Fantasia. It has helped me so much in creating my own imagery while listening to great music. Some people will never appreciate Fantasia because they don't believe that visual imagery is necessary for enjoying good music. That depends on what type of images your individual nature requires to stimulate your imagination most adequately.

The "Nutcracker Suite" does not follow the original ballet. The music "takes you to a realm of purest fantasy" where capering mushrooms are mandarins, where mad Russians turn out to be thistle boys and orchid girls. Dewdrop fairies right out of Puck's playground frolic in the glimmering sunlight. Languid willowy creatures, cousins of Pinocchio's Cleo, dance the graceful water ballet where later the frost fairies streak over the ice cutting the spiral of a figure eight on the crystal surface. Milk weed pods emit muslin balerinas to join the snowflake fairies for the "Waltz of the Flowers" as autumn fairies herald the approaching winter.

The technical problems Disney was to encounter in this part of the production were "not only unsolved, they were unheard of." It was no easy task "to light a scene with incandescent dewdrops or to animate the intricate geometrical patterns of a host of dancing snowflakes." Such is the genius of the Disney technicians.

The next composition, "The Sorcerer's Apprentice," dates back to Lucian, an ancient Greek writer, who could not have known the outcome of "the powerful magician and his little assistant" when he first wrote about them two thousand years ago. Goethe, a German, turned it into a poem a

thousand years later; Dukas, a Frenchman, into music about a hundred years after that; and Disney, an American, made it into a movie in the twentieth century. With Mickey Mouse as the assistant and the male component to the witch in Snow White as the sorcerer, the film couldn't fail. Mickey had been assigned the task of filling a huge trough with water. Akin to his mortal capacity of self-preservation is his ready initiative. He adjusts his master's hat on his amateur head and energizes the broomstick after the manner of hypnotic artists. The broomstick works very well and Mickey falls asleep directing it. He dreams a dream, though, as wonderful as Joseph's, in which he swings a baton for the great cosmos. I wondered about that-a sorcerer's apprentice, an imp of Satan, trying quite successfully to direct the course of the entire universe. His success is short -lived, however, for the diligent broomstick has completely flooded the place. You can't tell a broomstick anything, not one with a wooden head anyway, Mickey decides-so he chops it up. It's like cutting a worm in two and having two wormseach chip becomes another broomstick carrying buckets of water, and Mickey floats around on the water vainly looking for an antidote in the wizard's handbook. Of course, the master arrives in time to quell the rising flood and snatch his hat from a dripping and sheepish Mickey.

"That is how Fantasia began, and just as the magic in the story went far beyond the little apprentice's original intention, so did the idea of making great music visual grow into the revolutionary kind of entertainment that is Fantasia."

"The Rite of Spring" was the most powerful and the most surprising of all the selections. When first presented in Paris in 1913 the audience hooted it because the "discordant sound, its new violence, its brutal pounding rhythms were too much" for them. Disney's staff saw it not as a primitive pageant of tribal dances, but rather as a story of the beginnings of life on this planet. The prehistoric animals are as nearly correct in every detail as possible. "In picturing a primitive world, Disney has let science write the scenario." You could visit museums of natural history and look at the skeletons and remains, but not until you see Fantasia do these monsters "live and breathe and move and die." The strain of watching them lumber across the burning sands in search of water is almost unbearable. "The Rite of Spring" had to be placed before a fifteen minute intermission so that the audience could recover from the violent impact. (Everyone headed straight for the water fountain!)

[ 11]

The orchestra left, too, for intermission, which adds to the atmosphere of a legitimate concert. It reassembles . This time when they tune up the bass fiddle and clarinet get together for a little swing and before you know it there's a jam session right there. It might be interesting to know that this happened quite by accident when Stokowski was away which may account for it being included. Deems Taylor breaks in to introduce the most important figure in Fantasia's production, the sound track - a very interesting personality , you discover - one well worth knowing.

With its exit comes the next introduction - the one most comparable to Snow Whit e- the " Pastoral Symphony," by Beethoven. When Snow White's animal friends are all gathered around here in the woods, you get only a faint idea of how the creatures of Mount Olympus act. The centaurs court the centaurettes; you know what happens to the fancy of even half a man with the advent to spring. Together with Pan and the cherubs ( ?) they prepare a feast to Bacchus, " tipsy god of wine. " Bacchus rides a "jacchus," a donkey with all the ear-marks of a unicorn. If you could visualize Wimpy in a toga with a garland of grapes on his head holding a goblet instead of a hamburger and acting like Hugh Herbert, you ' d get some idea of what Bacchus looked like to Disney.

The most lovable character in the whole of the " Pastoral Symphony" (Disney has a way of making at least one character in a picture so pitiful that you can ' t help lo ving him-look at Porky Pig, the Ugly Duckling, and Dopey) was the black sheep of the Pegasus Family. He was black in every sense of the word-and the last one to hatch. This might have had something to do with his having such a hard time learning to fly. Anyway, after two unsuccessful trials he is ready to admit that he is a throw-back on those four-legged animals that mortals call horses. His mother picks him up again. His wings flutter wistfully, but not enough to sustain him, so when he starts to fall, she takes his tail between her teeth and jerks him back up. The props are still a little weak, however, and "Blackie" has to repeat the operation in order to keep elevated in the eyes of the brothers and sisters. Later I remembered a song that reminded me of "Blackie's" encouraging mother: "Mrs. Fox Terrier said to her pups. In all life's adversities, keep your tails up." As the "Pegasus Family" glides gracefully away the last thing you see is the little black figure with its tail waving gallantly.

Ponchielli' s "Dance of the Hours" came as a

let-down to some people. I doubt whether or not anyone could appreciate a chorus of ostriches arabesquing through a ballet after the "Pastoral Symphony" - just like a troupe of agile donkeys . Since Mlle. Upanova symbolizes a dawn, I prefer to wake up at the crack of dusk. The elephants were very significantly dressed in pink for the benefit of those who indulge. DeQuincey might have spent a day filled with Hippopotami for noon, elephants for a siesta, and alligators to usher in the evening meal. "When we see what this talented troupe does to l' arte des danses in the true classic tradition, we can only marvel at what the future may hold. "

We are truly unprepared for Moussorgskyas is anyone when he hears his music for the first time. In a lovely graveyard on Bald Mo u nt ain the graves gape open to release the souls of the damned to a fiendish devil who in his brief hour of triumph changes them all into the most horrible slimy things that ever crawled " It reeks with Death; it how ls, shrieks and thunders evil." Moussorgsky himself cried out to see the mon sters and demons he heard racing through his music. In the sheer terror which this monster invokes , you are sure that the world is doomed-all your hopes and ideals come crashing down around you . As you almost succumb to the power of the devil , a church bell tolls on a distant hill. You rememb er that there is a God and that evil cannot hold up its head in His presence. As it continues to toll Satan's doom, the monster and all his demons return into the chasm With the welcome melody of Shubert's "Ave Maria, " we are carried straight up through space to join a procession that slowly but patiently bends its way upward to the throne of God. Every head is lifted as if a burden had become lighter suddenly, and in the tense silence the chorus gives way to one voice that, like the ray of light now pushing its way through a darkened sky, is clear and unafraid. The light seems to be coming through a grove of trees whose branches interlace to form a cathedral window.

This was the most moving experience I ever had-I'm sure I never prayed as fervently as I did then. Still more impressive was the quiet in which everyone left the theatre. No one spoke above a whisper. I had never seen that happen before. From that audience of a great variety of people Disney's Fantasia received the most coveted applause of all-silence.

We cannot begin to imagine the possibilities of Fantasound should it continue to be used and per£ected. Throughout the course of its production great artists, scientists, actors, historians were all [ 12]

visiting the Fantasia set, and following its progress with a great deal of interest and enthusiasm. They recognize it as a new art. The expense of installing Fantasound is the greatest drawback at present, but already Warner Brothers have perfected Vitasound which may solve this difficulty for some theatres. If the theatres felt that Fanta-

sound would be of use to them again they would not feel so reluctant about its being installed. But it will not be used again unless Disney makes a new movie or other artists are encouraged to work with it. If it lives, it will be because you want it to live. Only by its survival will you be able to see Fantasia in the future.

fletween /he flo-o-lc-R.nd~

A Treasury of the W odd' s Great Letters, edited by M. Lincoln Schuster. Simon and Schuster, New York, 1940. $3.75.

Reviewed by Lee Saunders.

"What cannot letters inspire? They have souls; they can speak; they have in them all that force which expresses the transports of the heart; they have all the fire of passion. They have all the tenderness and the delicacy of speech, and sometimes even a boldness of expression beyond it."

There is no one who does not get an unexplainable thrill out of reading letters, for in them we find the revelation of a living personality. People express themselves in letters as they could not do elsewhere. Letters seem to serve as a vent to let out one's thoughts and feelings. To know any great character of history and really understand his life we turn first to his correspondence because there we see the man himself.

In this collection are the letters of great men from the ancient times when Alexander the Great and King Darius III exchanged defiance for the mastery of the world to the indictment of the Hitler regime for its secret and open crimes by Thomas Mann. We see the beginnings of Christianity through the eyes of the Apostle Paul, we see the preparation of Thomas Jefferson to write the Declaration of Independence, the private life of Napoleon Bonaparte, the beautiful love story of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett and the growth of a great scientific theory by Charles Darwin. The selection is widely diverse in time, types of personality, subjects and style; and be-

[ 13]

fore each example there is a brief sketch giving the biography of the writer and the historical significance of the incident.

Here we find pictures of men at the peak of their careers, and at times of disparagement. One of the most interesting is the letter of Emile Zola to the President of the French Republic in defense of Captain Alfred Dreyfus. Zola at the height of his fame as a novelist laid himself open to a charge of libel in this letter in behalf of a man whom he had never seen but whom he believed to be innocent. In the daring epistle Zola made accusations against the officials of the government for their untruthfulness and unfairness in their handling of the Dreyfus case. For this piece Zola was tried and sentenced to jail; but later it was proven that he had fostered a just cause.

Still another letter of interest is the one written by Robert Louis Stevenson in defense of Father Damien. Father Damien, upon his death in a leper colony, was criticized for not living a clean and wholesome life. However, when Robert Louis Stevenson read this untrue report concerning Father Damien who spent his life helping others, he wrote a spirited appraisal of Damien, and a fierce denunciation of the clergyman who dared to insinuate that Father Damien's life was not that of a Christian.

In all, the collection of letters constitutes one of the finest anthologies in its particular field. Furthermore, the book offers an acute insight into the lives of these great personalities of all times It seems almost certain that in years to come the book will be considered one of the classics

10N of c/ufch.

C )'J'fe

BeyondthePaddock

By EDWIN T. WILLIAMS

FREDDIE BAUGH grabbed the hunk of glycerine-colored saddle soap in his left hand , soused the rag in the bucket with his right, and squeezed it to dampness before wiping off a goodly amount of the soap and smeared it on the light-weight racing saddle before him. As he rubbed it into the aging leather, Miss Ellen Harper, cooling off Royal Star ( out of Lady Moon by Royal Mars) after a long trot across country, came by in her circuit around the paddock. Miss Ellen was his secret passion. Freddie, at sixteen, was slight, wiry, clear featured, bue-eyed, with blond tousled head; he was still in the grade just before high school, but he didn't care as long as he had Miss Ellen for a teacher .

"Gosh , she's beautiful!" he breathed to himself as she and Roy ct! Star swept by with the rays of the setting sun glistening in her lightish brown hair curling over a tiny head, down by pink ears, and swirling on to yellow blouse-covered shoulders. In grey breeches and shiny black boots Ellen was straight as an arrow and carried her one hundred and five pounds like a man in order to keep from being stepped on by the big stallion. Presently, changed to a fresh print dress, hair smoothed, she took on the color and pleasing feminine lines that make any man look twice.

Twenty-four summers ago Ellen was born here on this rolling farm in the foothills of the Blue Ridge near Warrenton. Her family was not wealthy but they had always had at least one good hunter and a saddle horse in the stables. Ellen had learned horses by growing up with them. Then there were the nearby horse shows, fox hunts, hunter trials, and annual races down at Curles Neck and up at Middleburg. Many times she had seen her father and a few neighbors light out across country, through the meadows, over rail fences, stone walls, and by the short cuts through streams and woods in exciting point-to-point races. Somehow Dad had managed to send her to Chatham Hall so that she could have her horse at school and then at college. But when she went to work in Washington and had to send her horse back to the farm, the zest for life faded from her brow, and after a year she fled home. Four years now she had been teaching in the county school, but, with the freedom of the rolling countryside, and a daily canter,

Ellen was happy except for the shadows of her father's death and a sickenihg heartache that she didn't like to admit, even to herself.

Freddie hopped around to the other side of the saddle and rubbed the soap into it vigorously, for there were other chores to be done before nightfall. He had never been so happy in his life, and proud, too. He had the pungent odors of the stalls in his nostrils again and he and Miss Ellen had bought a new hunter that they were goin g to train for steeplechase racing.

Although most of his life had been spent within a stone's throw of the stables, Freddie's father had been a trainer of sprint horses for the flat races. By the time he was twelve, he had seen all of the b.ig tracks in the country and ridden in a few of the merry-go-rounds at the state fairs. The end of the world seemed to have come on that September day four years ago when his father had been picked up, a shapeless mass, trampled to death by Black Fi r e, a promising brute that had been turned over to him for training. Through gritted teeth Fred swore never to look at a horse agarn.

With no parents, his mother having died when he was seven, Fred was left to the mercies of an uncle and the temptations of smoky Pittsburgh. Three years in a cramped suffocating city-three years of listening to people say, "You ' re Elfe Baugh's son; too bad he had to go so young. He was fast becoming one of the greatest trainers in the business."-After three years of homesick longing for something he couldn ' t quite understand, in desperation he had run away. As though guided by the ancient star of Bethlehem, he had wandered here to the horse country of Virginia and the manger of Ellen Harper's sleek hunter.

From his story Ellen knew his unsatisfied longing; he was a victim of "horse fever"-it was in his blood just as it was in hers. She had given him new life in pointing out that he must carry on the work his father had begun-carrying on as do the fledglings of the stage, the toilers before the mast, and the wielders of the palate and brush. Joys and sorrows, privations and fulfillments, are as nothing; they are only part of the grooming toward ultimate culmination in a great play, a winning horse, a worthy voyage, or a masterpiece

[ 16]

of art. Mrs. Harper and """"'""""'"""""""""""""""""'"""""""""""""""'""'"' forehead as he heard Ellen Ellen had given him a home say, "Yes, Freddie, we've in exchange for chores Win? Place? Show? got the makings of a great around the farm and work- leaper! When we're ing with their horse.

m our through with him he'll beat

Whistling gaily, Freddie Non Fiction Contest any steeplechasing horse in stepped into the tack room Virginia-even Bold Warand tossed the saddle on its Closes Prize rior." rack. Two other racks on May 9 , 1941

$10.00

As Freddie was rubbing the same green wall held down the thin muscles of saddles of different weights .

Royal Star, he thought, Above these , a crop, bridles, "We'll beat Bold Warrior bits, and other pieces of tack dangled from metal and Frank Craddock too. And that's what Miss pegs In the corner behind the door was the supply Ellen wants more than anything else. " Thinking cabinet complete with first aid kit, colic remedy, of Frank made his blood boil. The pros and cons and various other boxes and bottles the upkeep of of the affair between him and Miss Ellen had been a good horse demanded. A home-made ladder con- gossiped about the countryside until he knew the trivance with broomstick rungs and rope sides story well.

(Freddie ' s invention) hung hammock-fashion Frank had come down from Philadelphia about across the opposite corner from the wall to the three years ago, bought a string of thoroughbreds doorpost. From its rungs hung freshly laundered from Ireland, Maryland, and Kentucky and set up white horse stockings, felt pads, cloth weight breeding and racing stables on the old Marlin pads, and other animal paraphernalia. In the corner place about six miles up the road. It wasn't long by the window was a low shelf with four silver before the dashing Frank and Ellen were constant loving cups . Two of the trophies had been won by companions. The apple blossoms in May, the pieEllen as the best horsewoman at Chatham Hall ni cs over on the Rappahannock in July, the trails and in the Deep Run Hunter Trials down at Rich- winding through the hills in September, and the mond last spring , and two were won by her father. moon on the snow in December helped Christmas Above these along the wall were glued various announce an engagement. Nevertheless, an April new and faded clippings and pictures of horsey wedding went up in smoke in February. No one interest along with a blue and two gold ribbons. seemed to know just what happened, but the Two camp chairs reclined under the window sympathies of all were with Ellen . Secretly she had with a small black pocketbook and a stack of one- tasted sorrow; but sudden! y her fighting spirit depound lead weights resting on one of them. A manded that this loathful man creature should grass rug on the rough board floor accentuated grovel in the dust. When word went around that the feminine neatness of the place. the "school marm," as the cross-roads loiterers

At Miss Ellen ' s call, Freddie bounced out and called her, was training a leaper for the spring took Royal Star's halter while she unsnapped the meets they all knew the reason why. girth ' strap and drew off the grey blanket edged in After supper, Mrs. Harper creaked back and yellow with the initials E. H. in two of its corners. forth on the front porch in her old Boston rocker For a moment they just stood and gazed at him- purling one and knitting two. Ellen swung leishis glossy chestnut coat shining like burnished urely in the swing and Freddie was propping up a gold, his magnificent bulk measuring seventeen post, with his feet down on the steps. The air was a hands tall, deep-chested and strong looking. little crisp and laden with fragrance from the Though he was still a little thin in leg muscles, budding peach trees. The whistle of a distant bird proper training would take care of that. His big floated in and a bat zoomed by. stride and rolling gait were what had caught their Miss Ellen, being just as methodical in other eyes. There wasn't a prettier sight in all north- things as in her school work, had outlined on paper western Virginia than Royal Star rolling across a her plans for making a champion out of Royal green meadow with Miss Ellen in that yellow Star. Reading and talking by the light from the blouse, her hair flying in the wind as he took a window, she said, " First, we shall lay out a mile four-foot-six rail fence in his stride. He needed a course in the pasture, marking it with whitelittle time to open up, but give him the distance washed stones, and build six post-and-rail timber and he'd show the speed. His ears perked up and jumps like those at Curles Neck. By that time it wiggled the white splotch, the family mark, on his will be August and Royal Star should be legged

[ 17]

up. Then we can start him on daily six to seven mile gallops to give him strength and endurance and work off some of his middle. In September we can school him to jump over timber, holding his head firm and taking the rails fast and low like a track star flying over hurdles. November should find him burning up the Harper track if we can rent a good sprinter for the last half to keep him stepping on the home stretch."

Then came spring and with it the races at Middleburg and Curles Neck. All the counties around Warrenton were buzzing with speculation on Royal Star and Bold Warrior and the feud between Ellen Harper and Frank Craddock. The newspapers down at Richmond heard the story and featured it. These unknowns, Bold Warrior and Royal Star were now watched with more than local interest.

On race day, a sparkling Saturday afternoon in early April, horse lovers from far and near, from Tidewater and the foothills converged on the Curles Neck track. Old friends stood about in happy clusters; drunks staggered around, offering big odds; society editors milled here and there observing clothes and people of note; bookies tried taking bets, but were hustled away by exponents of the law. The crowds gathered around the paddock looking over the entries in the third race, the Deep Run Hunt Cup consisting of three miles over timber. This was the race between Royal Star and Bold Warrior , not to mention the five other hopefuls.

Frank Craddock, exercising an owner's privilege granted only to men, was ready to ride Bold Warrior and, in colors of black and white, stepped up to the scales. Freddie, arrayed in new silks of grey and yellow, had just weighed and was slipping the required pound digets of lead into his weight pads. They exchanged formal greetings and stalked out to board their mounts.

A bugle sounded Boots and Saddles and started the parade to the post. Following a pink coat, these tough-sinued, supple -muscled power houses of racing energy ambled by the stands and down to the starting gate. The sun was bright, the track was fast, and squinting eyes were glued to the lineup. Golden Sun with her jockey in a yellow shirt had drawn number one. Slow Fire in red and white display was number two. Number three was Bold Warrior with Frank in black and white atop. A solid green shirted jockey sat astride Old Orchard, number four. Freddie on Royal Star in yellow and grey had drawn number five. Red and brown was showing on New Gold, number six . Orange and black was sported by Flowing Sue, number seven.

The voice of a sports commentator is heard over the loud speaking system: "They're primed for action. It looks like a break! No, Number Four is acting up. Whoa, there, Seven, hold him steady! That's a boy, bring that Number One nag back into line! The starter's flag flashes in the sun and a thunder of hoofs rolls up to the first jump."

Mrs. Harper breathes a pr3.\yerto heaven. Ellen stands in the infield with clenched fist and determined jaw. The son of Elfe Baugh settles to the grimness of his task and Frank Craddock realizes his laurels are at stake. "Old Orchard is taking the lead with New Gold and Bold W anior close behind," the voice at the "mike" continues. "The others are bunched with Royal Star, just sticking his nose into the rear of the cluster. The crowd is roaring as they sweep over the first jump and pound on to number two--over the second and the field is lengthening. N ew Gold is nosing out Old Orchard, Bold Warrior falls back to fourth and Flowing Sue pushes into third place! There are two jumps cleared and eighteen to go in this test of skill, endurance, and courage. Royal Star is running sixth, but Freddie Baugh is saving that reserve power in those speeding legs. The third and fourth are cleared with little change and the fifth jump is coming up. One of the horses is down! It's Golden Sun and his jockey hits the ground! We hope he isn't hurt! Number Six and Slow Fire make a challenge as they plow through the stretch, fighting up to second place. Black and White moves back into third place. Golden Sun, without a jockey, is following the field around -too bad! Red and White goes down at the seventh jump, leaving five in the competition! New Gold is still out in front, with Old Orchard, Bold Warrior, Royal Star, and Flowing Sue! Frank Craddock seems to think it's time to make a bid and is pushing Bold Warrior. He is pulling up even at the eighth post and rail and now leads the field by a length! Freddie Baugh is beginning to open up! Royal Star moves fast and low, taking the jumps smoothly and evenly. He's pulling up on Bold Warrior! Now they' re battling it out! Now it's the Warrior! Now it's the Star!"

Egged on by the voice of the reporter, the crowd is going frantic. Ellen's blood runs hot and cold as Bold Warrior pulls away to take the jump. The owners around her in the infield were yelling wildly . But what is happening! The Warrior has stumbled on that jump and Frank is off! No, he's clinging to the Warrior's neck! "Why doesn't he let go?" Ellen cries aloud. The answer is plain as' he bears down on her side of the infield. His foot is caught in the stirrup; if he lets go he will be

[ 18]

dragged! If he doesn't he'll be crushed against the rail at the next jump! Freddie sees his danger too, but doesn't know what to do. As they draw closer, Ellen forgets that this is the man whom she hates, the man that she would rather see dead than alive, forgets that to humiliate this man she has spent months training a horse to win a race. His danger blasts a buried and bleeding heart from its tomb. Ellen jumps almost into the path of the onrushing horses and yells at the top of her lungs, "Run him out of bounds, Freddie! Run him out of bounds!" Freddie heads Bold Warrior into the open field away from the jumps and the Patrol Judges take charge of the situation. The field sweeps by as Freddie circles to rejoin the race, but

too late to snatch the laurel wreath of victory that was almost within his grasp.

In the vari-colored rays of the setting sun, Ellen struggling between remorse and hatred, listened to the sheepish, stammered phrases of a wretched man-trying to thank her for her deed of the afternoon and to convince her that the past was behind them. In his eyes she saw burning the old fires she had missed all these months. She longed to toast her aching heart in their flames, but her spirit revolted. She raised the crop that was in her hand and struck him across the face. Her lips curled. "I would have saved a dog's life under the same circumstances."

Calendarfor May

April 25-Marionette Repertory Theatre presents its version of William Shakespeare's "Taming of the Mew," also other numbers, at the McVey Hall of St. Catherine's School.

April 27-Tommy Dorsey will appear for two concerts in the Mosque at three-thirty and eight p.m. with his orchestra, Frank Sinatra, Connie Haines, and the Pied Pipers.

April 12-May 15-Virginia Artists Exhibit to be displayed at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

May May May May May

May May May

2-Metropolitan Opera Company presents "La Boheme" at the Mosque.

3-Metropolitan Opera Company presents "The Marriage of Figaro" at the Mosque.

3-Westhampton College May Day. Program to be presented at four p.m. in the Luther H. Jenkins . Amphitheatre.

7-Graduation Concert to be presented at Westhampton College. Artists: Miss Mayme O'Flaherty, Miss Mary Buxton.

9-University Players final spring production, "Spring Dance" by Philip Barry, to be presented in the Luther H. Jenkins Amphitheatre at eight thirty p.m.

9-Westhampton College Dance Recital under the direction of Miss Bok, dance instructor, at seven p.m.

14-15-Dance Exhibition in the Westhampton College Social Activities Building to begin at seven-fifteen.

15-Housing Exhibit to be shown at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

[ 19)

ShouldWeAttack?

By JAYNE MAIRE, '42

IT was amazing to find how few dormitory girls went to hear Dorothy Thompson; but it really should not have been, for it was just one more link in a chain of events leading up to a problem that has not yet been solved. There has been a general slump in our interest in national and world affairs, in scholarship, in leadership. We seem content to sit back and watch the world go by-doing nothing about it-caring even less. Perhaps it is wrong to be worried-perhaps it's profound pessimism. But where is this attitude going to lead us? What sort of citizens will we make? Will we be prepared to lead a society now in chaos?

There is a challenge to the statement of those individuals who maintain that we who are in college are wide awake. The opinions on which this challenge is based have been voiced by campuses all over the United States.

One of the most important things in life is the abi lity of individuals to live together and cooperate. In college we are supposed to be learning to do that. Here we have a community; complex in its organization, and complete in its government. We have a college government, but we feel that it is an institution to be the intermediary between the students and the administration. We forget that a democracy is based not upon how much one is able to get out of the government, but upon how much one is able to put into it.

Opinion seems to be that it is "cricket" to get the best of the Honor Council in large and small matters, and when we are called to task we acquire a persecution complex. But it is the small fundamental things that really count, and when we are dishonest in them, how can we expect to be trusted in larger matters?

The scholastic attitude is confused. Anybody caught studying is accused of being either a "sucker" or a "Phi Bete." Why study? We have at times considered ourselves superior to debutantes, shop girls, salesmen, or garage mechanics. Why, we are college students! But, we find to our embarrassment that debs are not only beautiful, but intelligent and quite well-informed, and that the poor college girl often feels very much ashamed and left out of conversations because she doesn't know where Salonica is or We are

prone to feel that we can get by once we have college degrees-but can we? Are we fit to be representatives of college when we refuse to read newspapers, listen to educational radio programs, or pay attention to Convocation speakers. With such an obvious decline in true scholarship one can't help but wonder why youth comes to college. Why not join the Country Club instead?

What knowledge we acquire comes directly through our professors. And even then we're seldom interested enough to discuss the lecture outside of class. The world is in pretty bad shape. All the nations are at each other's throats and the United States is being drawn into the conflict. Does all this have any vital effect on us? We don ' t think so. Here we sit playing games and wasting our time. Bull sessions or conversations at mealtime don ' t even bring up intelligent questions. Newspapers are around, but we only know the back sheet-the funnies. Radios are available but we don't even listen to a news broadcast once a day, much less two or three. And we're nervous wrecks over the news!

We're striving to be good Americans; but we don't, it appears, even know the meaning. To be really good Americans we must be intelligent, and use our knowledge to the best of our ability. We are entering upon a difficult period in our history, and it is going to take all of the energy and devotion of every single person to get the country through it.

Security and peace mean more to us than anything else. It doesn't matter that men in Europe and Asia are fighting for their very existence. We have an ocean on each side. Every time the war is mentioned we leave the room. And not many of us grasp the full significance of the National Defense Program. Yet we expect to have a controlling voice in future affairs.

In spite of this lack of interest, we maintain that we are wide awake, that we know what is going on and that we care. We want to be good citizens. This criticism coincides with that made on many other campuses in our country. Perhaps if more of us face our shortcomings squarely and realize the gravity of the situation, we can turn our efforts full force on making ourselves a youth fully capable of the responsibilities we will have to carry_ [ 20]

..

Or Defend?

By LUCY McDONOUGH, '42

YOU have a fear that the younger generation is not capable of taking the reins of government and world affairs when our time comes. You tell us that our conversation is trivial and shallow, that we do not know how to discuss intelligently questions of any importance. We refuse to realize the grave situation that the world faces today, and we sit idly by leaving the work to others. We are told that we take no interest in what goes on around us, and that we do not care for worthwhile things.

We deny your accusation!

Real College students are well informed on current affairs, and we frequently discuss conditions abroad and at home--labor, our educational system, and politics. But it is only when we mention last night's party that you listen. When you do hear us voice our opinions, you either brand us as radicals or smile complacently. We do have our opinions, and we can def end them because we know they are well-founded.

We not only realize what is happening in the world today; but what is more important, we are learning why. We are finding out the cause of the tragedy we see around us. We are trying to discover where you and your predecessors have failed, so that we may profit by your experience. We are not ready to act; and yet you begrudge us the opportunity to gather our ounce of prevention before the time comes to cure. We are preparing for the role we are going to take.

All around us, the ideals that we have always taken for granted are being ruthlessly crushed, and a new order is being set up. We sense something wrong. We wonder what true culture is. Civilization rests on it, and evidently the foundation is not very firm.

Before we do or say anything, we want to know deep down inside that we are right. We believe in democracy, and we are prepared to fight for it, but we want to know why. We must.

Our world is fighting for human liberty. When the time comes for our generation to take command, it is probable that the war of guns and death will be over; but the real war will be just beginning. Victory for either side will be physical; the battle of ideals will go on.

After the war, a democratic, Christian society

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must reconcile itself with a totalitarian, anti-Christian society, and live in peace and friendship with it. To do this we must have toleration, justice, truth, and understanding, and we cannot acquire these in an instant. We are fighting now to win those qualities, for they must be slowly won. It is not easy to forgive another's faults, to accept truth, or see that justice is done. Yet, to make friends with those younger generations, now our enemies, who will be our fell ow citizens in the world to come, we must learn.

By understanding human nature, we can make friends with those who would be our enemies. If we understand truth, and if we know how to evaluate the worth of things, then we shall be able to make this world a better home.

We are learning how to live. We are learning how to care for our bodies and our minds and to keep them healthy and clean. In college we are learning how to live together as people should, in fellowship and good will. We work together, and of necessity, play together, for the world must play. We are learning how to think, independently and honestly, how to be truthful, to self and ideals, how to judge and evaluate, to know truth and good from falsehood and evil, and we are learning the importance of individual responsibility. Our life with other people is teaching us that each one must do his part, no matter how small, to make a strong and efficient unit. In athletics or in life, we are learning that teamwork counts.

We are interested in world affairs, and we do realize the gravity of the world situation. Because we are young and human, we must take time to play; but you should not condemn us for it. If the world knew how to play, maybe there would be no wars.

But don't worry about the younger generation. We' re going to be good world citizens because we' re learning the rules. We' re learning truth and consideration of others. We' re finding out the whys and wherefores, and when the time comes for us to tie up the loose ends you leave, we'll be ready. Don't say we're irresponsible and carefree. You're only looking on the surface. We're looking down underneath. Real College people are thinking people, and we'd like you to know us before you condemn us.

AllFromtheSamePen

By LOIS JEAN FITZSIMMONS, '42

Dearest John:

Has the mailman begun to ask questions again because the Richmond postmarks were missing lately? Honestly, darling, I am sorry-But today he will be bringing you three post-cards from me, one for each day that I was in Washington and unable to write you a letter. Will that make it all right?

Only girls went on our trip ( in case you are interested, Mr. Hancock) and it was definitely a "hen week-end." Why, every person we met was of the female species. These Washington women are all so darned smart, that I was really envious until I realized that not a one of them has youreason enough for my developing a superiority complex.

We walked all over Washington, and late Saturday afternoon when I could see the bottom of my foot instead of a shoe sole at my lowest extremities, I was perfectly willing to spend the rest of my life sitting on the curb in front of the White House ( with you, of course) , but all the members of our party rushed into a cab which landed us at the Library of Congress. I just sat down determined to enjoy only the lobby and a good soft seat in that building, only to remember that the first signer of the Constitution was, somehow or other, related to you. Of course I immediately walked up hundreds more marble steps, just so I could touch that precious document, and do you know the old guard stood right by me and allowed me to stay there only ten minutes without so much as caressing the case it's preserved in!

Oh darling, I must tell you the peculiar discovery I made in the middle of our sightseeing tour. I should have realized this before, but not until I stood directly under that wonderful statue of Abraham Lincoln did it dawn on me why he's always been my favorite historical character. It's because you look exactly like Abe must have looked in his early twenties. I took snapshots of him from every angle and I'll send them to you as soon as they are developed. Then you can see for yourself.

Oh, I almost forgot--there is something in the Folger Shakespearean Library which I want us to see together sometime. Do you remember the very first summer I met you on the Sigma Chi house

' party at Virginia Beach-the night Jack had to drive the chaperones to their homes leaving me in charge of you-and the little gift shop where you bought me a heart ring with / and / engraved on it? The point is: William Shakespeare gave his Anne a ring almost exactly like mine with W and A on the little heart, and this Folger ( whoever he is) considered it important enough to exhibit for everyone to see. Doesn't that make you feel dramatic? I wonder if Anne wore hers everywhere as I do mine?

Sunday morning we saw the most gorgeous cathedral! It looked just made for the wedding we planned. You would look so perfect in your morning formals against that setting-and me in a white dress. But, of course, that will have to wait. Meanwhile, we both must get an education, you know, and sow a few wild oats; but nothing is any real fun for me without you.

Please forgive me for being unable to write anything but ramblings about my trip, but maybe it will help you to realize that I did go to Washington for educational purposes and not to see that Jack Durwood as you implied in your last letter.

By the way, John, you did stag at the Panhellenic dances last week-end, didn't you? I know you had to go, but you promised not to drag that wicked old Tri Delt gal to any more affairs-I hope I can trust you as you can me.

All my love to you, JANE.

Sue, honey-

I've just got back to school after the "delightfulest" week -end. I must tell you all about it.

I went to Washington with a crowd of girls from here, primarily to see how our government is run, but I've never spent such a romantic three days in all my life.

In the first place, Jack Durwood, my F.B.I. man called the hotel for me almost ten times Friday and finally succeeded in catching me. Well, he had luscious plans for me every night, but I knew I couldn't get away from the chaperones that often. He settled for Saturday night (because the sponsors of the tour hadn't planned anything for then). Of course, I j u st lived from that moment for the

anxious to hear how your quarrel with Charles turned out.

Bestest love, JANE.

hour of the date-you know how long I've been crazy about Jack! And, no kidding, there are plenty of things to do on a date in that Washington. We started off by eating at some "snazzy" hotel, where there was a new orchestra playing and golly, that man-he dances even better than he used to at Family, dears: those country club formals. After much talking How will I ever be able to let you know in just and eating, we rushed to the theatre to see Ruth a letter the millions of things I did during the and Paul Draper, the famous dancers, and it was week-end in Washington? But first, I want to almost midnight when their performance was over. tell you how very much I appreciated your sending I was sure we'd head for the hotel, but no, sir, we me the money to go. I am positive the trip was got into Jack's new swanky convertible and went easily worth the $15 it cost, and I did store up to all the little joints we could find. There I thousands of dollars worth of knowledge. Why caught up on all the latest jitterbug stuff, to say your daughter feels as if she knows as much about nothing of a couple of new slow steps. To make the government as the president himself. the night complete, Jack bought me a huge box You know the Alumnae chapter of our college of candy; and, oh, Sue, he's coming to Richmond sponsored the trip, and I was really proud to see in three weeks just to see me! how much the old grads have amounted to since

Besides such a thrilling night with Jack, I met they were in my shoes. They all seemed to be "big all his friends the day our group went through the shots" and were plenty charming! Through them F.B.I. building to find out about finger-printing, we got on the inside, so to speak, where an average crime, etc. I have never felt so important in all tourist never goes. For instance, in the famous my life. Jack drew me aside when we walked into Supreme Court building, we each were allowed the room where he works, and ushered me up and to shake hands with Justice Black in his own ofdown aisles and aisles of the best-looking men I fice-Good enbugh, huh? ever saw, introducing me to every one of them. You can probably guess in what building I You can imagine the envy of the other girls. spent most of my time. Just as when I was there

One night all us girls were invited to a big before, I couldn't be torn away from that wonderdinner at the National Women's Democratic Club, fol Smithsonian Institution. I had forgotten the and thank goodness, it was by no means a "women many buildings that belong to it, and I think I only" affair. I was seated across the table from the spent a few minutes in every one of them. Once I smoothest young Englishman you ever saw-with got so interested in some electrical wonder (being a real Oxford accent. When it was over, he insisted th e great physics student that I am) that I woke that I give him the name of the hotel where we up to find myself almost alone because the "closwere staying, and wanted to know if we were al- ing bell" had rung. You told me to be sure to write about the new lowed to have dates while we were in the great city. I was positive he was going to call the next Mellon Art Gallery-Well, it is certainly as great day, but if he did , I never got the message. as they promised it would be I didn ' t see as many paintings as I had wanted to because I was en-

I can't close without telling you about th e tranced with the marble, the fountains, etc. I did darling bus guide we had on th e sight-seeing look up grandmother's favorite Gainsborough, tour. He was German and supposedly pro-Nazi; though. and he didn't smile a single time during th e entire Every famous woman in the District of Columtwo hours he was showing us arou nd - He was so bia and lots of the men, too, talked to us at one exciting and looked so much like Charles Boyer time or another. And on every hand the talk was that I couldn't take my eyes off him. When we war. Every department of the government apgot to the Washington monument nearly every- pears to be concentrating on a prepared America. body jumped off the bus to look arou nd - But, And, gee, I never realized how much their every since it was cold and since I'd been there before, I move vitally affects my life. Not a one of them didn't leave my seat; so he came back, and we had failed to mention that a great deal of the respona most interesting conversation. It was mo st en- sibility of war in the United States will depend lightening-he couldn't talk about a thing except upon the women. Frankly, I got cold chills when his little English wife! I realized how right they are.

Goodness, I have certainly filled you with Dad, how'd you like to see our family name enough talk about my trip. Write me soon. I'm so placed in the archives of National History ?-be[ 23]

cause I think it's going there. Every girl in our party signed a petition to the House of Representatives, asking for a youth reference department in the Library of Congress; and one of the Congressmen told us that the petition would be put on record in the building of documents How about that ?-a paper signed by Jane Milton preserved within the same walls as those signed by people like "Stonewall" Jackson, "Teddy" Roosevelt, and Henry Clay.

I know you will be glad to hear that, thanks to Frances Perkins, I now have not only a subject, but a good start on my sociology term paper. She

gave each of us a pamphlet, giving all the information on Social Security which should work in at least a good "B."

Thank you over and over again, for giving me such a marvelous educational week-end. I'll save the many things I haven't told you about it .intil some time when we have a couple of whole nights to discuss it.

By the way, I saw Jack Durwood once or twice when I was in Washington and he sends his regards.

Love to all, JANE.

I brought dark roses for an early love( O eager dreams, where have you fled away?) She smiled and took them-but I cannot prove The meaning of that look-she would not say. I thought I saw, within her silent eyes, The young and timeless songs that lovers sing; But love, the witch, can work a fair disguise, And I am left to vain remembering. Still, she has taught me things about my heart I never would have dreamed-how it can bear The height of joy, and then be torn apart, And in the end, have love and faith to spare. 0 brave and willing heart, whose valiant beat Mocks even death, in face of sure def eat!

By NANCY MASTERS, '44.

One of our well-known English professors has been complaining of late that the majority of his seniors are never on time to classes, and that he barely had a quorum to begin. However, one bright-eyed senior ups and tries to vindicate himself: "Doctor-I've been on time every day, haven't I?" To which the good Doctor replied: "Yes-you' re the darling of my heart but you' re not a quorum."

MURRAY BARR. [ 24]

Not Hate,Buta Song

By LOUISE WILEY, '43

IHAD been running for such a long time that up with you." I was not surprised, only comforted I had to hold myself together with my hands and rested by the sound of his cool voice. He took pressed against the ache inside. Short gasps up his stick and we walked on together. Somehow mingled with bitter sobs and the roar of the planes the sound of his footsteps and the wooden tapping overhead. My blood kept thumping in my temples against the rocks reassured me and I turned my and my head was so dizzy. I was not really run- head to ask him, "Who are you?" ning any more-only falling forward-on and on. "I am the old priest from the crossroads, but my Sometimes I stumbled and then I fell, throwing church and my people have gone, so I left to seek out tense hands to meet the stinging stones and refuge in the mountains," he said. earth. I pushed myself up and sat back with my "The city has fallen, but I will come back legs doubled under me. I tried to pull my hair again some day after we have destroyed their cities back from my face so that I might see the planes. as they have ours." I promised him. At first I could only hear them in the dark , but "Why would you destroy their cities? Is it not then off in the distance I could make out the red enough that they have destroyed ours?" he asked. blotches where they had been I bit my lips and "There is nothing left for me , but to fight them. tasted the fresh saltiness of blood with my tears. They have killed all that I have loved and nothing Voices pursued me down the road, "Hurry, will be the same ever," I replied. hurry! You don ' t want to die!" warned one. "If "Your hate will destroy you before them. Jesus you give up, you will be left to play at cards with said to love your enemies." Death, Decay and the Worms, " said another . "It is easy for you, an old priest, to love your Death muttered , "How about a game of hearts?" enemies. Your mumbling prayers and empty God I cried out , " No, no , I will not play with you! I can comfort you, but I am not that much of a fool. want to live! " But now I was not afraid , for I No just God could permit this war which is deheld hate as a sword in my hand and cut out of straying all the beauty and goodness in the world, " my heart my fear, and I buried it there under a I flung at him. stone. "Look!" he exclaimed.

I did not cry over that stone , for not even child- The snow peaks in front were slowly turning ish tears could relieve me . I sat there alone in the to a pink gold , and down in the plains the sunlight dark , my nails cutting my hands so that I could seemed to comfort the city-making the remainbear the agony of remembering the life dying in ing windows bright gold , and softening the black my mother ' s eyes as she watched her home crum- rums. ble. When I closed my eyes so that I could not see " God's world will always have beauty and the fires in the distance, something carried me goodness, but your world reflects the spirit in your back among them. Again I was choking in the heart. You can't live in a perfect world, but in this smoke, my eyes smarting and I was sick with the world there is life for everyone and a choice for smell of burning flesh and the sound of flames everyone. You can have beauty or ugliness, love roaring above their screams. Hate had burned out or hate, peace or war, calmness or fear, God or my fear, but my memories were all bitterness. no God. Still, there is here ugliness and hate , After a while I went on down the road , walking war and fear, and you can't close your eyes to it. slowly over all the dead who had not been strong And if you live with poetry and faith in your heart , enough to flee. Yet I knew that they had only then you will live in a whole world-a real world left their bodies behind and had flown away to where you can reach out and touch beauty and the eastern mountains, in whose lonely caves I too ugliness-with faith always in your heart. " would find safety . As the full sunrise shed its sudden warmth

The road had left the plains now and had be- upon us, I found that my hatred and fear had vangun to climb the foothills , when in the gray ished as he talked. And I climbed toward the green dawn someone s.itting on the edge of the mountain top with my head held high and with a road called softly, "Wait a moment and I will go new song in my heart.

[ 25]

ThreeTurnstylesTurn

By BEN ROUZIE, '44

The fable of the Tortoise and the Hare as it might have been written by Hemingway, Stein, and Shakespeare

For Whom the Bull T oils-Hemingway

XT was raining. The trees were full of it and the roads were boggy and the rabbit paths were like tent trenches and there was no moon but the hare and the tortoise did not care. They were both a little drunk and they did not care. Outside in the meadow they saw the raindrops wandering like anemic beachcombers down the weeds and the grass blades and the soggy rotten brush and the misshaped stunted trunks of saplings but the hare and the tortoise did not care.

Spring had come late that year and before it came you could see the tall dead pine tree that the buzzards slept in and the knoll where the old dead horse was so fragrant when the wind blew wrong and beyond to the big pig sty of Farmer Darnley. But now spring had come and it hid the vultures' home and the horse dead as a mountain but alive inside and Farmer Darnley ' s heavy dull pig sty. But the hare and the tortoise did not care because they were thinking only of the bright red wme.

The hare stirred and sat erect.

"What do you say to a race?" he asked .

" A race?"

"Yes. A race. What do you say to one?"

"I never met a race. I say nothing to a race. "

" The human race?"

"That's corny ," said the turtle.

"Yes," said the hare.

They finally agreed to a race and the betting was heavy as it usually is on opening day and it opened with the hare paying less than even money. He had run before, somebody said, and they would probably disqualify him before the finish because once he had drunk curdled blood and shouted merrily in the direction of a puddle of Welsh rabbit. Then they were at the line and the timekeeper was squinting at the sun with a face as if he expected to be nauseated on clean white linen and we all knew that the great cruel offensive was at hand.

[ 26]

It was still raining. Not a light rain that comes down pleasantly and is soon gone but a torrent that keeps driving with no wind in it and nothing in it but water. The hare awoke to see the rain coming down and the paths crowded with nobody and the trees standing straight up. Then ahead where the path waded through a dank meadow he saw a knot of beings with their furs drawn tightly about them and the rain coming down and not a dirty joke in the bunch, and with the realization that he had been asleep came a kindling hot desire for red wine. He started heavily along the route of the race.

On the outside of the circle in the meadow he hesitated and drew near one of the huddled figures and touched the shoulder of the spectator and asked the cause of the gathering. The answer brought another desire for red wine.

"It's the tortoise," said the person. " He's dead. Stepped on."

The hare dug heavily into the crowd and reaching the tortoise who was flat like a mashed turtle , he was speechless but unafraid. He stroked the mangled shell, bloody and beginning to putrify and he moaned and turned toward the circle of unshaven faces.

" You go away, " he told them.

They went away to the knoll of the putrified horse and the hare turned once more to the tortoise and smoothed the back caked with unsavory dried blood and tried to remember the times they had spent together drinking red wine and telling dirty stories. But it was no use. It was like saying goodbye to a statue and the hare went out of the dank meadow and across the flooded creek and through the rain-filled forest. He tried not to think of events which had led up to the thing and to think rather of the red wine and the pleasant evenings in the glow of the fireflies and the great repertoire of dirty jokes that they used to tell. But it was no use and the hare hopped slowly home in the rain.

Race ofLight-Gertrude Stein

The Serbian lady can say, that every hare is one he had been doing wrong in doing he was really hare. Napoleon can say that one rabbit is a rabbit certain then that he was a great one and the toris a rabbit is a rabbit and they say that every rabbit toise which is a tortoise is a tortoise is a tortoise at is as they say. 10:00 P.M. and they had a race.

In this way we have a place to stay and he was They meant to be left as they meant to be left, not met at the kennels because he was settled to as they meant to be left left and their center, as they stay. When I said settled to stay I meant settled meant to be left and and their center. So that in to stay Saturday. Saturday with two pairs of pants their and do, they raced long is long. So suddenly and alterations free. In this way a carrot is a carrot. and at their request. It to them and so suddenly In this way if in as a carrot if in as a carrot where, and as their request. The tortoise and the hare. No, if in as a carrot where and there. Believe they have the shell you say. No obscenity. Obscenity in obworms too Believe they have those worms too and scenity which is obscenity equals obscenity squared. blue when you see blue, is all blue precious too, is Or obscenity to the profane power. And worms. all that that is precious too is all that and they Power is power and money is money is money. meant to race. In this way they nearly did nearly in But money is not carrots and power is not carrots this way they nearly did nearly did and nearly did. for carrots are in and of money and by power at And I was surprised. Was I very surprised. Was I 11: 47 P.M. surprised. I was surprised and in that patient, are As five. you patient when you find rabbits. Rabbits in a Now to fairly sleep it have, now to fairly sleep forest make a specialty of children and so do chil- it have, and now to fairly sleep it have. Have and dren. Children and song. Children and there. to have. Now to fairly slumber it have and to have. There where the carrots can grow nearly four times Naturally. yearly.

b As naturally , naturally as, as naturally as As

One was certain that for a long part of his eing b b · naturally. one being living he had een trying to e certam Of that he was being wrong in doing what he was Now to fairly taste it have as naturally. doing and then when he could not come to be course they won the race which is a race is a race certain that he had been wrong in doing what he is at 7: 30 A.M for purple tea as of tea purple tea had been doing, when he had completely convinced which is tea and yet tea. himself that he would not come to be certain that As two lumps and a stop watch.

Life

As You Lack It-Shakespeare DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HARE, exiled to the forest and hopful of returning. TORTOISE, traveler and gentleman.

BuDDINIUSMAYOMUS,clown

ACT FIRST

SCENE I

O r chard of Buddinius' house.

Ente r th e Hare and the Tortois e Har e : What ho, Tortoise. What make you here today?

T ortoise: Ho

Hare: Marry, sir, I have not seen thee since-Tortoise: Since I did course the mile on Mount

H a re: Olympus, When all the knaves there come to see the race

Did cheer me on.

Yes , brave thou wert in running that warm day.

For thee I have great praise. But come, my Tortoise ,

[ 27]

What prodigal portion of thy might

is this

Which pulls thee on like one who sallies forth

To pay his income tax? When last thou ran, \'Qith thy stout limbs begetting records daily,

Thou wert a snap o' th' bow.

Torto i s e : Aye, that was in the good and ancient days

When I did run with all the best of them.

Aye, when the sign would reach my unseen ears

My sturdy limbs would wave like goodly dames

Bidding a sweet farewell. But that is gone.

Them days is gone forever.

Hare:

Thou speakest truth. Them days is gone forever. (Exeunt severall y

Enter Buddinius Mayomus.

Buddinius: A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the mir- Hare: ror,

A corny fool; a screwball world!

Enter Tortoise.

Ho to a race.

Thou stickest out thy neck, my boxedup friend.

Tortoise: May Hercules give chase with horn and pitchfork! (Exit Buddinius.

Tortoise: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was four. And after dawn breaks salty in the yeast

'Twill be but ten and then a leaven.

And so, from hour to hour, we pun and pun, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and stink.

Aye, and there is a hare that roams abroad, With his rank torso shaped to fit the dish, And thereby hangs a tail. Oh, for a tail!

Oh, woe is me!

Enter Hare.

Hare: What sayest thou to a race, my hardshell brother,

Or to a spot o' wine within yon tavern, Wherein we may, if fancy ticks thy toes,

Dance to the juke box?

Tortoise: What ho, you scoundrel, rather would I say

(They race. (Hare sleeps.

Enter Buddinius.

Buddinius: What ho, a helpless turtle! Too, a hare, Lost in the sweet, deep grass of lordly slumber.

My work is here cut out.

(Slays Tortoise with ice pick, stomps on Hare.

Aye, there they sleep, ha ha, they sleep, they sleep.

They ne'er will wake from such a savory slumber.

And I am happy true.

(Drools on grass.

No more will roam the forest and the lane

These sleezy two. No more. No more. Ha ha.

(Slips on grass, bashes head on Tortoise shell.

And I have won, fair won. And I have won

The race of slimy ages. (Dies.

LINEPROFILES

Once more we attempt to characterize our authors so that they may live for our readers.

"Men, Learn from the Latins"-is advice from an ancient pen in a modern interpretation by Clarine Cunningham, a member of the Junior Class and a Latin major. Straughan Lowe Gettier, a ministerial student, not only makes biscuits but also writes. His "Why Do It Again" is an excellent piece of research on a very vital question. Louise Wiley may now be considered a regular contributor to the MESSENGER. For her second entry this year she departs from the poetic form to prose, but maintains the lyrical quality. A newcomer, both to the campus and THE MESSENGER,Lois Jean Fitzsimmons, transfer from Virginia Intermont College, ably introduces herself in a novel treatment of a rather well known idea. . . . Lucy McDonough, in this issue presents a defense of youth which is proof of her broad scope as a writer. / ayne Maire upholds a different view with an attack on the "shallow"

youth. "Not meant to be research or an impersonal criticism, but reading material for the college student's understanding of Fantasia," is what Ann Oakes says of her article. . . . True to our prediction, "For Strength" is second proof of Ellen Mercer Clark's unusual writing ability. Because of his ease in writing, only one example of his versatility, Mark Willing is a MESSENGER favorite. His necessary departure will be evidenced in many phases of campus life. Edwin Williams shows finesse in combining informative matter with fascinating fiction. Deep feeling and keen sensibility characterize the sonnet of Nancy Masters, another Freshman contributor. Once more Ben Rouzie provokes laughter, this time through the medium of a rewritten fable. . . . Bob Carter is to be commended for his cartoon-like map of our campus, which represents again the varied and prolific talent of the Class of '44. [ 28]

Ahead for MILDNESS ... for BETTERTASTE and COOLER SMOKING

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LOUISE STANLEY

Chesterfield's Girl of the Month