• Every time he buries his pipe bowl deep in the fragrant gay Christmas treasure-tin of Prince Albert and tamps down a goldenbrown pipeful of this mellow-mild tobacco, he ' ll think of you. The National Joy Smoke - on Christmas and every day of the year.
• Here's a grand g ift that keeps on sayi ng " Merry Christma s" lo ng after that festive day is do ne. Two hundred rich, full-flavor ed, cool , mild Camels, all dressed up in a bright and cheery holiday carton. No other wrapping is need ed. Your dealer has these Christmas Cam els.
THE MESSENGER
Editor-in-Chief
FLETCHER STIERS, JR.
Westhampton College Editor
PEGGY HARRIS
Art Editor Po etry Editor
LAVINIA WATSON
Assistant Art Editor
SETH DARROW
I--Iannah Barlow
\'Vilma Lum
Alice Macon
Frances I-Iix
Hathaway Pollarcl
VERDA SLETTEN
Assistant Poetry Editor
PATRICIA BLACK
EDITORIAL STAFF'
Georgia l(ilpatrick
James Richman
CONTACT STAFF
Vivian Borton
Ba1·bara Ann Rodm,·ald
Letitia Earll
Claudia Dorran [ 1 J
Richmond College Editor
ALBERT SALEEBY
Businers Manager
FRANK WENTZEL
Assistant Business Manager
FELICITY McDONALD
Pat Velenovsky ,valt Preston
]l[ildred Bellows
Marion Feiber
Kathleen Mallory
Editorial
THE inaugural address of Dr. George M. Modlin , fourth president of the University of Richmond, is of vital interest to every student of the University For in that address President Modlin not only accepted the responsibility of guiding the thoughts and education of students, but also set certain g oals and outlined the course by which he and the University hoped to reach those goals .
President Modlin prefaced his remarks with the statement that " these are the times when social institutions of every type are being critically examined. Colleges and universities cannot and should not claim exemption from these searching inquiries." He named three of the philosophies advanced which are " essentially noteworthy " : the " cultural heritage " view , the " student need" approach, and a " third philosophy ... the training of the Christian citizen ." The advocates of this third philosophy maintain that it includes all the essentials of a sound education program
From this beginning President Modlin presented "the aims and obligations of the University of Richmond as determined by the forces that have shaped its destiny ." He summed up his address in these words: " As a liberal arts institution, it must provide sound learning in the humane tradition for the intellectual and cultural development of the student ; as a church-related institution, it must offer moral and ethical training toward the understanding of spiritual values ; as a private institution, it must develop human personality for its fullest expression through individual freedom; and as an urban institution, it must train responsible citizens for leadership in a progressive , democratic society."
We find that the views expressed by President Modlin agree with those of other eminent educators President Bowman of Johns Hopkins University (Tim e, October 21 , 1946) said to students entering the university , " Distinctly you are not here , we hope, merely to gain the smartness required to ,beat other men. You don ' t need to go to college for that We hope that you will think of your growing knowledge and skill always in relation to your duty to the community What
we can do for you is of no lasting importance if we have not taught you that citizenship comes first today in our crowded world "
Sir Richard Livingstone, President of Corpu s Christi College and Vice-Chancellor of Oxfor d Univeristy, said ( in an article , " Education for th e Modern World, " published in Th e Atlanti c Monthly for November , 194 6) that "it is th e weakness of rich and complicated societies lik e our own that they tend to live in externals, to concentrate on the techniques of their life. But ed ucation, while it must provide for these , can onl y base itself on them at the expense of neglectin g more important things. Such an education will p roduce mere technicians. By a mere technician I me an a man who understands everything about his job except its ultimate purpose. "
In the August , 1946 issue of The Atlant ic Monthly a portion of the memoirs of Ellery Sedgwick , editor of that maga zine from 1908 to 1938, is published under the title "Informal Education at Harvard." We quote a brief passage: "The obje ct of college is to learn to kno w men and to think as a man . . . . Facts are convenient but of little valu e compared with the knowledge of how to read to understand just wh y two and two make four; t o know a man when he sees one "
Those .:,re but a few of the men who are spea king and writing today, on education. It would b e easy to fill this page simply by quoting, but enou g h has been given to show the trend .
The world is beginning to ag ree with these m en that there is more to this business of life th an " know how." The " mere technicians ," as Preside n t Livingstone calls them , can win wa r s; but so fa r they have been unable to prevent them. They h ave built up production methods that should free all mankind from drudgery , but mankind still is frustrated by its own lack of cooperation.
Mankind is not to be blamed too heavily for th is The great mass of the people are, as they h ave been through the ages, content to go their w ay, following the leaders who appeal to them m ost strongly, the leaders who seem to offer the m ost for the moment. This is human nature, that quali ty which is not changed to any extent whether th e
p eople trudge behind a plodding ox or whizz th rough space in a multi-motored plane. Then it is th e leaders who must bear this onerous burden of bl ame.
Education of leaders is the job of the colleges. N ot only must they furnish men and women who are capable of taking over political and diplomatic l ea dership , but they must also furnish that backlog of thinking citizenry who support the leaders in t heir efforts for a better world for all men. None of thi s is to imply that a person must go to college to learn to think. But it does most emphatically mean tha t any person who does have the opportunity of a ttending college should come away with some of that knowledge which Ellery Sedgwick summed up a s: " . . . how to read ... to understand just why two and two make four ; to know a man when he sees one "
W hile it is the duty of the college to instill this knowledge in the students , it is the duty of the students to seek it. It is hard to p our anything into a closed mind . The colleges have made a statement of their aims; what are the aims of the students?
T he answers would be as many and as varied as th e students. No longer is college considered only a ple asant bridge between ad olescence and the respon sibilities of manhood. There are many who ha d a lready accepted these responsibilities, but still came to college seekin g something they missed in thei r life . This in itself marks another trend . T he g reat number of mature men in school can be a ttributed to some extent to the war. But behin d them were others who desired a college education Since the mature men in college were making good grades , the other older men wo~ld be en couraged to try it themselves The reall y impo rtant thing about this older group is that th ey w ere coming because the y wanted to learn, no t because they were being sent by somebody else
Some of them had such definite ideas about wha t they wanted college to g ive them that they
had a hard time adjusting themselves to what college wanted to give them Some could not see the value of courses required for their degree; some complained because there was not time for all of their questions to be answered; some could see connecting links between the courses but could not trace all the leads. One difficulty seemed to be that they were , for the most part , day students, living off the campus. They did not get the full benefit of the community spirit that supplements the courses offered in the classrooms. College is also an experiment in living together.
We who work on the various activities on the campus feel that taking part in these activities helps us to understand the purpose of college . Not everyone feels that he has time to take part in extracurricular activity We believe they are missing an important part of their education. Perhaps educators should take steps to draw these men more closely into the college community. Some of the men wh o wanted more questions answered felt that group discussions- " bull sessions," if you like, led by members of the faculty would help them. Such sessions could also be used to explain the relation between the courses and the aims of our type of education. They could help to sa pply that side of college that is missed by day students. Whatever the educators decide, we are glad that we are going to school at a time when education is receiving such a close scrutiny . We are fortunate to attend an institution which sets its go a ls so high , and believes education s:1ould combine the liberal arts tradition with the natural and social sciences under the moral and ethical values so necessary for a well founded life. These a re the foundations for good citi zenship, but these basic principles must not remain static theories of an idealistic civilization. They must be integrated and interwoven throughout the fabric of life so they become actions as well as thoughts. C ollege 1s a good place to begin practicing .
-WALT E R B. HOOV ER.
Too man y people want to climb the tree of knowled g e but are afraid of the altitude.
- MIRIAM THALENBERG.
[ 3 J
ThreeSundays
Sunday, November 4th, 1945
It was her last Sunday alone. Next week George would be back with her, and the aching loneliness of their separation would become a memory, something to be catalogued and filed under "U," for unpleasantness. She hummed to herself as she cleared away the breakfast things. The humming reminded her of the new Mozart album she had bought yesterday. She put the things in the sink and went into the living room to put it on the machine. The tinkling, frothy sound followed her back into the kitchen. When the dishes were dried and put away, she went over to the little corner that she called her office. Here, in front of a big sunny window, she had her most comfortable chair, the telephone, a little radio, and a table for magazines and books. She liked it because it gave her a chance to read in snatches while something was cooking. Pinned to the wall above the magazine table was a little chart. On it was a calendar for every month that George had been away. Thirty-seven of them. It had become a kind of fetish with her to check off the days as they passed, adding each in turn to the total that she had spent alone. Today made eleven hundred and thirty one. She remembered how Talman had laughed at her for what he called her "witch's rite." But she didn't mind. Somehow it made him seem a little closer.
The rest of the day went smoothly. She was conscious of the waiting, the feeling of expectation and anticipation; but that did not make the time drag. During the morning she read and played over some favorite recordings. The machine had come to mean much to her in the last few years. It had been a wedding present, but they'd never used it much. Now it seemed to have a regular place in her quiet and evenly paced life. Nearly every Saturday afternoon she stopped in at a shop near the office and picked up a record or two. She hoped that George would enjoy it. He had never cared much one way or the other about • music, but then, they'd never really made an effort to appreciate it together-and the concerts, too. She had gotten in the habit of going to hear the city orchestra on Sunday afternoons, usually with two or three people from the office. The first time
she'd been out with Talman had been to one of these afternoon affairs. Now thinking of those days almost two years past, she longed for George , for his presence beside her while they listened to the great music, for the snug, encircling comfort of their own living room as they read together, for the quiet fulsome intimacy of anything they might do or share together. And it soon would be so, for by this time next Sunday he would be with her.
In the evening Anne planned her week Tuesday would be her last day at the office. Mr. Warner had known for some time that she would be leaving soon, and when the wire came he was very nice about it. A week didn't give them much time to get someone else, but then it didn't give her much time either. Two days, in fact, for he should be in on the noon train Friday. So she thought ahead of what had to be done, so much time for the beauty parlor, , for getting her shopping done on Thursday morning so she could take the afternoon to go over to that place on Third Street where the man had promised to save her a bottle of Scotch. And then there must be time Thursday night to give the place a lick and a promise so it would be ready for George on Friday. George wotlld like it she knew. She'd done so much with it since he'd been gone, and most of it her own work-the walls and woodwork painted, new slip covers, even the floors redone . She was very proud of it all. She got up, snapped out the light, and went in to bed.
Sunday, 11th November 1945
Sleep became wakefulness easily and withou t effort. She lay for a moment quiet, listening t o George's heavy breathing. "Our first Sund 4y together," she thought; "Friday and Saturday didn' t really count. Things moved too fast. This is our first real day together." She edged out of be d quietly and poked about on the floor for he r mules. 'Tll get things ready before I wake him A regular prewar breakfast this morning. Rea l sausage, real hot cakes, everything he used to like. " She slipped into her robe and went out, closing the door so she wouldn't disturb him. She put th e [4]
sausage and coffee on, mixed the cake batter, and sat down to read the paper in her little office. She was doing her best to understand what was going on in postwar Europe. Much of what the papers said puzzled her, and she looked forward to talking about these things with George. He'd been th ere and could probably tell her lots that didn't get into the papers.
When the coffee perked, she went in to call him. She shook him gently and kissed his ear. "G et up, dear, breakfast is ready."
" Uuummmpppfff!"
" George, darling, don't you want to get up? I'v e got the loveliest breakfast for you. Everything you like. Come on, dear, please." " Uumm." George turned over without opening his eyes, and buried his head in the pillow. "Not now," he said, "don't want any right now. Want to sleep."
" Oh, George, please get up. It's our first real breakfast together. You can go back to bed if you want to, dear." He didn't hear her. He was already asleep again.
She hesitated a moment, then left the room, closing the door quietly. She went back to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and sipped it while the first of the cakes was cooking. She wanted to wait and eat with George, but she knew tha t if she did she'd get a headache and the day would be spoiled. As she ate, she read about the French elections. She couldn't get much from the newspaper story.
When she was through, she put the dishes in the sink and went to sit in the big chair. She tuned in the station that played classical recordings all day, turning it very low so as not to awaken George. They were playing Brahms. She let the paper go, lost in the revery of listening. A few minutes later she heard the bedroom door open, and George came into the kitchen, wearing his robe and slippers, and running his hand through his hair. His face was heavy with sleep. His jaw was black, for he hadn't shaved since he'd been home. "Good morning, dear," she said. "It's a lovely day, and I've got a beautiful breakfast for you. "
" Morning, Anne," he said. "I can take care of it. I feel as if I haven't eaten since I left Fort Meade. He picked up the comic section from the table and went over to the big chair. "What gives to eat?" he asked.
"Your favorite. Real sausage and hot cakes."
He frowned. "Listen honey, would you mind very much fixing me a couple of eggs?"
"Why George, you always used to love hot cakes. And I've got the batter all mixed."
"I know, sweet, but that was before I had to eat the damned things every morning, week in and week out. I swore I'd never eat another one again as long as I lived. Why, we almost had to kill the mess sergeant to get him to serve something else."
"Well, he probably just didn't know how to make them. But if you want eggs, my sweet, eggs you shall have." She put a skillet on the fire and broke three eggs into melted butter. When they were done, she turned them out on a plate, added several pieces of sausage, and set it down in front of him.
"Mmmm. Good." And he thanked her with his eyes while his mouth was full. As she was making toast, she thought of the newspaper.
"George, tell me something. What are these elections about in France? I've been reading the newspaper every day, but I can't make head nor tail out of them."
He looked surprised. "What elections? What are you talking about, honey?"
"The elections in France. They're voting for a new constitution and for some sort of change in the government. Didn't you hear about it while you were in Marseilles?"
"Oh, I might have. We didn't pay much attention to what those frogs were doing. They probably don't know what it's about themselves." He continued to eat. She went back to her readmg.
Suddenly, "George."
"Yes, dear?"
"George, do you like music?"
"Do I like music? What do you mean? Sure I like music. You know I always liked to listen to Guy Lombardo. Still do."
"No. That isn't what I mean. Real music. Symphonies and opera."
"Well, I can't really say. Never had much chance to hear any. It's all right, I suppose, but I can take it or leave it alone. Why? Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I don't know. I was just wondering. I've listened to so much while you were away, and I've really come to love it. I hope we can go to hear some together sometime."
"Sure. Sure, honey. Why not? Anytime. But [ 5 J
say, Anne, speaking of going to hear something , you know what I really want to do? Take in some of these radio programs like say Fibber McGee and Fred Allen and some of those big shots. While I was overseas, I used to promise myself when I'd be sitting in some dump in France listening to those shows that if I ever got back, I'd go down and see some of them. How about it? Do you think we could get tickets to go? "
"Why, of course, darling , if you'd really like to. I'm sure Mr. Warner could get us some. I'll call him about it this week." She got up and started to run the hot water.
George yawned and scratched his head . "Think I' 11 dress and walk down to the corner for a paper," he said . "This lousy sheet here doesn't have Dick Tracy. Got to see old Tracy Couldn't let a Sunday pass without that. I'll be back soon. " He kissed Anne and went out.
She finished the dishes and went in to make up the bed. George didn't get back until after one. " Ran into Johnnie Fisher and some of the other boys down at the corner, " he said. " Hadn ' t seen those boys in three years. That Johnnie sure looks prosperous. Bet he ' s done all right here at home while the rest of us were aw ay. Maybe he was lucky to have that bum eye! "
"Why, George, that's not a nice thing to say at all. Johnnie and Nellie both worked hard during the war. They did everything they possibly could. He was an air raid warden and in charge of the scrap drives for this part of the city She worked at the hospital several days each week. Why, sometimes I was ashamed of how little I was doing compared to them. You really shouldn ' t say a thing like that."
"Oh hell, Anne , I was only kidding You know I think the world of old Johnnie and of Nellie too. In fact, I asked 'em to come over for a drink this evening about seven."
Anne was dismayed, but she tried not to show it. "Oh, George, and I had counted on our having this first Sunday alone . But that's all right. It'll be fun having company in again. " She tried to cover up her slip. While she fixed dinner, George sat in the big chair and read a Western Story Magazine he had brought back from the store.
In the afternoon they sat in the living room; or rather she sat, reading, while he lay on the chesterfield smoking a cigarette. After a little while she put her book aside.
"George. "
[6]
" Ummm ?"
" George, what are you going to do with tha t big old bag? Don't you want to unpack it this afternoon and put your things away?" She indicate d the dirty duff el bag that he had brought hom e with him on Friday and dumped in the corner b y the fireplace He had rummaged in it for a fe w things; and now socks, underwear, and a Germa n helmet overflowed onto the floor.
"I don ' t know. There's no great hurry. I don 't need the stuff right away. Let's just chuck it in th e closet.''
" Oh, but don ' t you have some things you wan t, some souvenirs? I was sure you'd have some pi ctures of the places you'd been. Like Paris an d London. I bought a little album. I thought w e could sort of go over them together, and you could tell me about them as we pasted them in. Then you ' d have a kind of record of your trip ."
"Listen, honey, I don't need any book for tha t. It's all right here in the old noggin. I don't car e if I never see or hear about those places again Besides , the only postcards I got wouldn't do t o put in a book, even if I hadn ' t sold 'em to a gu y on the ship . No , honey, just let's let that stuff set. I'll put it in the closet tomorrow and forget abou t it."
Anne was quiet. She wondered if George rea lly felt that way down inside of himself . She hadn 't thought about it that way. All her life Euro pe had seemed a fabulous and mysterious place, a place that everyone longed to see, and on whi ch one looked back with pleasure. Having to see it as a soldier and during a war was not the be st way, but it was better than not seeing it at al l. But she said nothing If he didn't feel that w ay about it, well, she ' d just let it drop . She went ba ck to her book.
The Fishers were right on time. George h ad shaved while Anne was getting things ready fo r highballs. Just before the bell rang he came int o the room , his face shining, and gave her a lon g kiss. "You look nice, honey," he said
She smiled . "So do you, darling ."
He looked around. "Where's the whiskey?" h e asked
" Why it's in the kitchen. I thought we'd m ix the drinks there like we always used to."
"Oh, let's bring the bottle in here on the tabl e. Maybe Johnnie would like one straight. I know I would." He got the bottle and put it, with fo ur
shot glasses, on the gate-legged table. The bell rang.
The first half hour with "the Fishers was a little stiff They had to get to know each other again. Johnnie was feeling his way with George to see just what he wanted to talk about. They all sipped their first drink slowly. When George got up to mix the second drink, he asked, "Who'll have a straight one?" pouring four shot glasses full as he spoke. No one answered.
" What, no straights? Well, I'll have to kill them myself, I guess." He drank two, one after the other, quickly.
" Oh, George," said Anne.
" What's the matter, honey?" he said, looking at her. "Been a long time since I saw any of the real stuff. Not like ol' Johnnie here. He could get it anytime." He drank the other two shots
Johnnie flushed slightly and said, "You' re right, George, you've got it coming to you."
The conversation became a monologue of George's experiences. First he told how he'd given the battalion commander a piece of his mind and gotten away with it; then about getting tied up with some M.P.'s in Paris; finally about wandering around, lost in the snow, during the Bulge. All were heavily embroidered. He took several more drinks in rapid succession Anne got up and fixed highballs for herself and the other two, after he had twice poured himself a shot without mentioning refilling their glasses. He was getting sticky fast. He mouthed his cigarette, spilled ashes on his shirt front, and upset Anne's drink with his foot. The others pretended not to notice anything wrong.
George lit another cigarette from the butt of his last, with difficulty. "An' lemme tell you sumpin'," he said, "the French babes ain't all they say they are. Not by a long shot. We got pretty sick of 'em, lemme tell you. Just no good, none of 'em. Whole damn country no good. Buncha frogs. No good, Belgians no good, English no goo d, Luxa .. Luxa .. , people in Luxemburg no good . Alla buncha frogs. All tarred wi' same brush. I know. I seen 'em." He stopped to draw deeply on his cigarette. The others maintained an embarrassed silence.
George went on. "An' nother thing lemme tell ya. The Germans ain't so bad. Got the only decent plumbing in the whola Europe. Think you can find a bathtub in a French house? Like hell you can. Frogs don't need 'em. Don't take baths.
You c' n tell it, too. But Germans dif rent. More like us. Germans didn't want Nazzis. Just politics. Same's here. Couldn't stop 'em once they got started. Just came in and took over. But they got plumbing-good plumbing. Best damn' country in Europe, even if we did wreck it. They had it coming. But was all Nazzis fault. Germans good clean people. Lots of bathtubs. Love kids. Plenty kids in Germany. Be lots more soon." George giggled at this last and slumped back on the chesterfield. He tried to reach his glass on the table, but his face changed. He stood up, swaying, headed for the door. They heard him being sick in the bathroom.
Anne wanted to cry, but she didn't. She didn't know what to do. The Fishers solved the problem for her by saying they had to go. She didn't try to keep them. Johnnie was swell. At the door he pressed her hand. "Don't worry about it," he said, "remember what he's been through."
After they were gone, she sat for a few minutes in her big chair in the kitchen. She kicked off her shoes and watched the big lazy goldfish in the little aquarium in the window, waving his fantail back and forth. Finally she went in and made a bed on the chesterfield.
Sunday, 3rd November, 1946 (year later)
Anne heard him get up at eight and bang around. She listened for a time and then went back to sleep. It was eleven when she woke again. She took a shower, slipped on a robe, and went into the kitchen. The remnants of the breakfast he had made for himself were on the table-eggy plate, half empty coffee cup, and a c;rust of toast. He had dropped the bread; and it lay on the floor by the cabinet, the wrapper split, and two slices lying loose on the linoleum. She picked them up and threw them in the can. She tidied up, then made some fresh coffee, and boiled an egg. She didn't feel much like eating.
When she'd finished, she spent an hour straightwiing the apartment. George's things were everywhere: a pile of Western Magazines on the end table, some papers he'd brought home from the office stacked sloppily on the record player. She did what she could in the hour she had before she was to leave to meet the others. She was glad that George had had to go down into the country to show a customer around. It saved so much argument. He'd kick, as usual, when he found [ 7 J
she'd been to the concert with the girls, but it would be over by then and she could find some other reason for going next Sunday. She'd been back at W ai;ner' s now for about four months, and these Sunday concerts were the only relaxation she got. George was busy trying to catch up with his work and hadn't wanted to go out at night for months. This little outing each week was her balance wheel, and she didn't intend to surrender it.
She dressed quickly and caught a car at the corner. The girls were waiting for her at the usual place. They had lun_ch and .were in their seats well before time. The first number was a long, slow symphony of Mahler's. She sat with her eyes closed, letting the music soak into her pores. She wasn't hearing Mahler, it was just the sound, the soothing, lulling, floating effect of the rise and fall of the playing. She drifted free of herself for a time . She lived for a moment in the past, the past of almost three years ago. She had sat in the same dark au8itorium, listening, letting the sound swell engulf her. Next to her sat Talman, dark and quiet, as deeply engrossed as she. In the union of their thoughts his hand had
found hers, held it. She let it lie within his hard , cool grasp, placidly, but with no return of pressure. She saw him without seeing him, not as a man but as a friend, intelligent, appreciative, completely aware of her state of mind She ha d thanked him silently, many times, for his understanding. And now he was dead. Gone beyond her power to recall him. She had watched him climb into the plane at the airport. No one ha d ever seen the plane again. Somewhere the ocean held him, locked away forever from the sight s and sounds of the world he had loved so well. The Mahler ended, and with it her mood. Th e other girls were chatting. They were planning th e rest of the evening. Pauline turned to her.
"What about you, Anne? Will you come wit h us tonight? We' re going to pick up some thing s and go down to my place for supper. Marian ha s a friend who was with the OSS. He's coming over later and show some films he made in Paris du ring the liberation. It should be interesting. Won 't you come? George won't mind."
Anne thought a moment. "All right, I'll come ," she said. "George won't mind."
-HENRY I. TRAGLE.
A FairyDance
(Written after w a tching the moon 'rise over Lake Michigan)
A lake upon a lake, And from its dusky boundaries
Came a million fairies
To dance a fairy dance. Across that shimmering moonlit water [ 8}
Each carried his tiny lantern. And as the crescent moon rose high, A million more joined the band; Until there was but one lake, And fairies, hand in hand.
-EDWARD T. CLARK, JR.
Ramadullah I
SAW Ray the other day. It has been quite a long time since we parted, and I didn't ever expect to see him again. But circumstances are of ten odd.
He was quite a character with a huge, bushy beard and a smile that was always flashing his white teeth against that beard like heat lightning. Unlike a lot of his countrymen he didn't chew betel; he was very proud of those gleaming teeth. Hi s real name was Ramadullah, and he was our Sikh driver. Odd, he was so happy-go-lucky about some things and so dead serious about others Ta ke politics for instance. He ' d talk politics by the hour and never get tired or boring or start in blaming the English for every little thing that went wrong. And his two sons-they were the twin prides of his life. He ' d beam all over when he talked about them. Both were studying to be doctors. It was a very hard financial struggle, but they were going to be "the best doctors in all of India -at least in all of Bengal province ."
We were driving bad; : from the docks one warm day in April after seeing some friends off on the long trip home; the hot wind was blowing dust and o dors over us , and a cataract of sound flowed around and through the dingy street. We felt a bit low and disgusted with the place.
"Ray, " someone asked, "wouldn't you like to go to America?"
" Nay Sahib. India is my home , the home of my par ents, and the home of my sons I could never leave it."
We should have stopped right there, but we persisted. And in a way I'm glad, because we found out about Ray.
" Now Ray," I said, "just think of all the opportunities you would have in America. Your sons could go to wonderful schools , and you would be out of this place One day soon this country is going to explode when the Hindus and Moslems star t fighting each other."
" Sahib." And in the soft voice one uses for a child he explained how he felt. "Sahib , you who have been talking so much about going home to
your country and your people should not have to ask such questions, but I will answer them. I could not live anywhere else and feel that I could call myself a man. If my country is to have trouble, why should I run away? As for my sons, this land gave them their lives, they shall devote their lives to it. You speak of trouble. There will be trouble, but not much. The people will forget their differences and work for the great India of the future You wait and see, Sahib, one day we will be a great nation It will be made so by the little people like me. Then my sons will have all of the things we could not have before. There will be many schools and places for the people to see beautiful things. And we will be free. We will be free!"
By the time he had finished speaking we were back at camp. My orders came through the next day, and I took a few days off to buy a few souvenirs , so I didn't see much of Ray But before I left I went to say goodbye to him and to wish him luck. I wanted him to write me, but with a sort of half-sad, half-embarrassed smile he told me that he couldn't write. And his sons did not have time to write for him .
As we shook hands for the last time he said ' ' "God be with you and your loved ones, Sahib. Even though I do not write I will think of you. Goodbye, Sahib."
So we parted, and I've often thought of Ray and his dream for India. As I said, I saw him the other day in the newsreels of the Calcutta riots. A buzzard sat on his chest. . . . -PAT VELENOVSKY.
ONE SUNNYDAYin the fall of 1943 I was wandering around in the basement of the University of Richmond Playhouse looking for a pair of dice that had rolled that very morning through a crack in the main floor. After searching in vain for about two hours, I fell into a hole about fifty feet deep. Fortunately the bottom was covered with bird feathers and stacks of paper, and my fall was somewhat cushioned I gathered the papers together , thinking that surely this was where the professors obtained their tests , and crawled back up to the main floor. When I arrived into daylight, I was amazed to find that the papers were covered w:ith grotesque and unintelligible scratchings. The following week I chanced to come across Professor Jacque S Hunneycutt, who at the time was doing some outstanding research on the fission of the Virginia butterfly . It is to Professor Hunneycutt that I owe the first hint to the secret to these translations. Jokingly, Dr. Hunneycutt remarked to me that the writing looked like the scratching of some wild animal. This was at first laughed off. Today, however, we know that these scratchings were those of the most intelligent animal ever to live. There will be many many years before birds will evolute into a species that will be able to write half so intelligibly as this old and wise member of the Aves class. After two years of searching for a code, one afternoon in
this kind donation did not serve an important part in the translations.
After three months 2 of decoding I was ready to edit my translations. By this time it was apparent that these manuscripts were the secret diary of one of our fine feathered friends . . . a bird named William. According to the custom of that tim e animals used the name of their common species a s their last name thus we have William Bird 3 January 17, 1739 w . D. GARVEY , River Road Tavern , Richmond , Virginia, October 12, 1946.
Today I was born I was not hatched like othe r little birds . .. of all the fool things to happen to me, I was brought by a stork named Hildegard . This strange birth caused quite a bit of disturbanc e and aroused much curiosity in Revotsew. 1 Patty , a squirrel from the neighborhood, came over to see what a newborn bird looked like . I must say tha t my first meeting with squirrels has not been too impressive. Everytime Patty turned around sh e would brush me in the face with her tail. The n too she was bewildered that I could speak Hebre w and Greek. As best as I could I explained that I have not always been a silly little bird, but onc e I was an olive grower on the southern coast of Greece and had died two hundred years ago.
the River Road Tavern someone spilt a bottle of ' January 30, 1739 brew over a manuscript that I was studying. At the bottom of this script was a key to the code which only became visible when in contact with ale. Later it was discovered that this code would only appear when dampened by Blatz Ale. I should like to take this time to express my thanks to Mr. F. Byer Blat z, President of the Blatz Brewing Company, for the case of ale he donated for further dampening of the code. The code was copied down after the second dampening and consequently tpe donation was not used for this purpose . It would be a folly, however , to say that
All Revotsew 1 turned out to see me make m y first attempt at flying. Learning to fly is not so easy as people would like to believe. According to tradition all birds, before they are permitted to fly, must pass many tests and go through muc h training . There is another bird in my class who is very much like me. His name is Johnny Hausse Johnny claims that he was once a chief of a south sea island tribe. I do not doubt this for h e chirps with a Samoan dialect. The other day, however , he told me that he once had two hundre d wives. I am afraid that I can ' t believe th.ts th o' [ 10]
fo r for a young bird he has very advanced ideas. Joh nny is always saying, "William, never get hit ched up with two hundred women. You can't imag ine how really terrible it is. Marriage is like eating a plat~ of boscht you are always left with a cold potato." But I digress. Johnny and I did get our wings,4 and we have been flying higb. all day. Today Revotsew is proud of its sons, Johnny and William.
February 13, 1739
I am writing this from a field just outside of the camp of the Wahoo Indian tribe. 5 Johnny and I flew up to meet a cute little birdie from a sweet briar patch not far from here. There are a lot of frie nds up here, and everyone seems to be getting well stewed. Hortense, the babe from the briar patch holds her mash well, but she is coming along It's now a race between Johnny and myself. (Jo hnny doesn't know it but I am mixing him doubles.)
February 14, 1739
T his morning I awoke finding myself on the back of an inebriated duck whose first name is Rap ture. " Rapture and I were told that we have been floating around for eight hours. Johnny and Hor tense aren't anywhere around (I didn't know it, but Johnny was mixing me doubles, too.)
February 20 , 1739
To day at Jamestown a cargo of blacks arrived and w ere placed on an increasing labor market. I believe that I have met the chick that I want to be the m other of my children. When I first saw her she w as sitting on the long yellow nose 7 of one of the n ew blacks. The first thing that struck me was her r ed breast. 8 I found out later that her name was Josephine Robin. Must look into this tomorrow!
February 23, 1739
Ha d my first date with Josephine · Can't say yet!
February 28, 1739
Johnny is back from the burial of his composer brothe r , Bach Hausse Johnny ' s late brother was blind ed from the smoke of a scouting Indian who was sending a message, and flew into the fire as usu al he was trying to make an ash of himself.
March 5, 1739
. Last night Josephine and I flew down to Williamsburg to a gala affair. This was Josephine ' s
first Virginia dance, and I believe that she was very impressed. At least she seems to be coming along my way. The dance was great. Burp Refine and his orchestra played. They are up from a recent engagement at the Gangrene Room of the Hotel Castoria in Carolina Love that music!
March 6, 1739
All day today I have been flying up in the clouds. The reason last night I popped the question to Josephine, and she said, "Yes." We are going to be married in Colonel B. Mayo's chicken house . 9 I have asked Johnny to be the best man, and he has accepted. Johnny has started to make plans already. He will make a good best man, for he has always been a leader of men ... and a follower of women.
March 20, 1739
For the past three weeks Josephine and I have been running around Revotsew, to coin a phrase, like chickens with their heads cut off Tomorrow we are to be married. Johnny says that everything is ready.
April 4 , 1739
The honeymoon is over. During the past two weeks I have not had time to write in my diary The wedding was plain but served its purpose. We honeymooned up at Hole-in-the-Rock, Virginia. I was thinking while I was up there. If a road were built across this rock, it would be just like a bridge . Perhaps it could be called Natural Bridge or something like that.
April 14, 1739
I feel like an ole married man. Johnny and Rapture came over to see me. They stayed as long as they could, then gave me some sad looks and went to get a spot to drink over at the Tavern. To hell with it! Tomorrow I am going to the Tavern and get stinko
April 15, 17 39
Tonight I didn ' t go to the Tavern with the boys. This morning I awoke with the most terrible pain in my !;ide. Feeling sure that I was having an attack of appendicitis, I had Josephine to fly over and get the doctor. While she was gone, I resigned myself to have an appendectomy. When the doctor arrived, he decided that he would have to operate immediately As he was ready to operate , he rolled me over there under me was an egg th a t Josephine had laid during the night.
[ 11 J
I had been sleeping on the darn thing, punching a hole into my side for goodness knows how long. After I got up and walked around for a while, the pain left and I was all right. As I write this, I am now sitting on the little egg. Bless the little fellow! •
May 4, 1739
My entire underside is killing me from sitting on this darn egg. Have you ever tried sitting on an egg for any length of time? If I live after this experience, I shall spend the remaining years of my life studying to find a way to lay square eggs10 • something flat upon which to sit.
May 9, 1739
Today it happened. Around 3:00 P.M. I felt a . kick. I turned around to see who it was, and there was no one there. I have been feeling all sorts of things for the past three days so I paid little or no attention to this little kick. In another moment I felt another kick ... this one was far greater than the other so I stood up to see just what in the heck was going on and discovered that another Bird had been born. It is a boy and we are going to name it Richard. 11
FOOTNOTES
1 There seems to be some dispute about the ~welling place of William Bird. There are some who contend that he called his nesting neighborhood, Westover. I have found this could be true. It all depends on which side of the manuscript you start your translation as to what translation you obtain. I used the conventional method starting at the top left corner and working my way from left to rioht to the bottom of the page. There are two schools of thought as to how birds write. Some say that they write by dipping their tails in ink and backing up to the paper. (This is the method that I have elected to believe.) The:p there are others who say that they write much like humans grasping a pen under their wings and writing from the bottom of the page up. At any rate you will notice that Westover is merely Revotsew spelled backwards.
"I should like to thank the administration of Richmond Colle~e for excusing me from classes for this three-month period in order that I might work on the manuscripts.
3 You will note that William spells his last name BIRD and not BYRD. It is th~ belief of the author that much after the time of William some more sophistical tropical birds changed the "i" to "y," and we now have Byrd. This, of course, is merely an opinion of the author and is not to be confused with the factual content of these translations.
• •contrary to opinion, birds are not born with their wings. Birds are born with stubs where the wings are supposed to be. Upon completion of required training wings are presented to the birds by the USAAF (United Soarers of Air and Altitude Fantasies). These wings then are fastened onto the stubs.
•Thomas Jefferson makes reference to Chief Wahoo and his great still in many of his writings. Animals from all over Virginia would By, crawl, hop, and walk to feed upon the saturated mash which had been dumped from Wahoo's still into these fields. Chief Wahoo had the
largest still in America until the National Distillers established their large plant in New Ams t erdam. When National Distillers completed their p lant, Chief Wa h oo realized that sooner or later he would have to give up his business. He therefore sold his still ·and mash fields to Thomas Jefferson who on these very grounds founded the University of Virginia. There are some who be l ieve that on week ends the fumes from these" fields come up, and everyone in Charlottesville becomes stinko. Ano t her i;nteresting bit of information about Chief Wahoo is that he was the first American Indian to wear a black knitted tie.
"Rapture Duck was the Rembrandt of Revotsew. He left several portraits of himself. One of these depicts l{aptme Bying through a ring. This portrait was to become the most famous of all duck pictures. Late l y it has been used as the discharge emblem of the United States Armed Forces.
'It is the opinion of the author and Chiquita Bannana that this was not a slave with a yellow nose, for at that time most slaves were black. Rather it is believed that what Mr. Bird believed to be a yellow nose of a new slave is the first banana to be eaten in the United States . . . February 20, 1739.
"First mention of a Robin Red Breast in American Bird history February 20, 1739.
"Colonel Mayo left a diary which can be obtained at the Richmond College Student Shop, Richmond, Virginia, for five dollars plus postage. In this diary Col. Mayo gives the exact location of his chicken house. Strange ly enough this chicken house still stands and is now part of the University of Richmond campus. It is being used as the University Playhouse. Tho' there are no chickens living there now, it is the author's belief that this may be one of the causes for the chicken attitude about the campus.
10William Bird and Johnny Hausse did extensive rese_archwork during the next ten years on the development of square eggs. The challenge was taken up by their children and carried on until 1899. The most important finding was made by William and Johnny. A Canadian goose, named Patsy, was Bying south one fall and due to • sudden illness had to stop over in Blacksburg, Virginia. The cause of her illness was discovered, and after a few days she laid what the author believes to be the first · square egg. Johnny and William, when they heard of this Bew up to Blacksburg immediately. They adopted the egg, each taking turns sitting on the little fellow, for it was not half so uncomfortable as the foolish rolling round ones. The bad thing about this, however, was that the goose was born with a square head. The two researchers continued their search for years. No matter how m u ch crossbreeding they tried they never deve loped a roundheaded bird from a square eg& or a square-headed bird from a round egg. Thus was developed the Bird-Hausse Theory: "The shape of a bird's head is directly proportional as to the shape of the egg." It must be gratifying to the present Bird and Hausse families to know that at Blacksburg there is a college, V.P.I., which has a required course for all students in which the Bird-Hausse principles of egg laying are taught .
uRichard later was discovered to be a penguin. At first his father, William, was .quite disturbed about this. But later it was learned that both William and Josephine had some penguin blood. About this same time Dr. Peggy Penguin announced her famous Theory of genetics in which she made known that the penguin gene was by far the most predominating gene in all nature. One penguin gene in the mother and one in the father meant that the child was certain to be a penguin. The next volume of these translations deals with the adventures of Richard Bird. The penguin in Richard comes out, and he goes to the South Pole where he sets up a colony of Virginia birds.
[ 12]
The MoonFestival
EDITOR'SNoTE: Our hats are off to Elizabeth KwangHsin Hsu, author of The Moon Festival, who came to America in order to fulfill a long cherished dream of becoming a doctor. Leaving her Mother, Father, two brothers, and two sisters in South Kunming, Capital of the Yunnan Province, where they have been refugees for the past six years, Elizabeth arrived in the United States in July, 1946.
Her Father, who was a graduate of Richmond College in 1922, has been a Professor and Head of the Department of Physics and Chemistry of the National Kunming T eachers College in South Kunming, since 1939. Prior to this year, he was Dean and also Head of the Department of Physics of Lingnan University in Canton, Capital of the Province Kwangtong.
Canton is Elizabeth's home town, but when the schools were closed there in 1937, she was forced to leave and go to Hongkong to continue her studies. She remained in H ongkong until 1939, at which time, because of the high cost of living and because it was no longer safe, she jo ined her family, who had moved to South Kunming
America welcomes such valiant people as Elizabeth H su with open arms, and the University of Richmond is gr ateful for the privilege of sharing in the unfolding of th is drama of everyday life . In passing, we may not salute th e modest Elizabeth with our hands, but we do with our hearts.
]CANING against a tree under the full moon, I spent my special moon festival night in this foreign country. The moonlight which was not bright, brought back my past happy festival night. The cool breeze, although not chilling, aroused peculiar feeling.
I remembered the moon festival night on August 15 when I shared with the rest of the family th e warmth and happiness of the celebration. Sitting beside a marble table near a plum tree in our garden under the bright shining moon, I listened with great interest to my grandmother tell the m any different stories about the moon.
"Thousands and thousands of years ago," my grandmother, sitting on an easy chair, started her story, "a noble betrothed his daughter to a rich landlord according to the custom. But this daughter lowered herself to marry her real lover, a poor,
handsome serf. Disobeying her parents, she ran away with her lover at midnight under the full moon on August 15. Her parents, being exceedingly a_ngry, prayed the God of Jade, the most powerful god in ancient China, to punish this disobedient couple. The god, in order to show his power to the world, changed the poor serf into a bare tree, took it from the earth, and put it in the cold moon with the noble's daughter leaning against it. Since that time on every August 15 the moon has been particularly bright so that the girl, repenting of her sin, can see her parents clearer; and her parents, being no longer angry with her, can see their loving daughter again.
"See, the girl, leaning against the tree, is longing for home now. But poor girl-!" My grandmother, pointing to the moon, gave a sympathetic sigh. I opened my eyes as wide as I could, rubbing them again and again; still, I could not see a trace of the girl nor the tree but a big, round, shining moon. "You stupid little thing!" my grandmother said hopelessly, seeing that I could not understand what she meant.
After the story, came the moon cake, three inches in diameter and one inch high, with a picture of the moon, the sky, the tree, and the earth on top of it. Watching my Mother cut the cake, I saw the golden yolk of the duck egg in the middle with the chopped ham and sweet lotus seeds surrounding it. I smiled, moistening my lips. Then, thanking my Father in heaven for giving me such a home, full of peace and happiness, I shared the cake with my family.
A sudden cool breeze, blowing away the wonderful smell of the moon cake, brought me back to the gloomy j\merican moonlight. I could smell only the dying grass. I could feel only the dark shadows. Staring at the moon, I saw the girl who leaned against the tree, longing for home.
-ELIZABETH Hsu.
A
Toast
May your future have just clouds enough
To make a glorious sunset.
-PATRICIA PARLOW.
[ 13]
The Hunt
SITTING down to dinner the other night I reflected upon the emaciated chop resting apologetically on my plate. As I reached for my knife and fork, I grinned and thought: "You are the result of a long, tiring, exasperating day; you tested my patience and fortitude." My fork worked its way into the chop; my knife closely followed.
"What are you thinking?" asked my friend at the opposite end of the table. "You appear to be amused."
"I was thinking of our ancestors-and this lamb chop. And I was thinking of today. Do you know I actually have a pain in my back from leaning over the showcase at the meat market this morning? True, there was nothing in the trays, but I waited, having faith in a rumor that there would be some. At the end of two hours and twenty minutes, the rumor materialized-along with two dozen more women. I could almost taste the broiled steak, the prime ribs of beef, the sugar-cured ham, or, perhaps, a slice or two of bacon.
" 'What can we buy today?' bellowed a voice at the side of me, as the elbow belonging to that voice pierced my ribs.
" 'Any Smithfield Hams?' the tall lady at my le£t demanded in a raucous tone, her heel leaving its imprint on my little toe.
"I was almost a candidate for the dentist's chair as my teeth came face to face with the cold enamel of the showcase, someone behind me having been pushed by someone behind her.
" 'I can suffer all this,' l said to myself, 'if I can only get some good meat.'
"Do you know what selection I had when I was finally waited on? Lamb chops. Oh, don't misunderstand me. Lamb chops are delicious-when they are lamb chops. But can you classify that morsel before you? I find it very difficult to do, and so I am going to accept the clerk's word that this is a lamb chop and swallow my vitamins."
My friend, too, accepted the statement that the piece of meat before him was a lamb chop and proceeded to eat it. But a few minutes later, he paused.
"How do you associate our ancestors with this lamb chop?" he asked, somewhat puzzled.
"Well," I said, "several generations ago, on this same ground, the men went out to trap and hunt meat for the family larder. Bruises, broken bones, and even death resulted. Now, women are the hunters. And from my experience today, I have bruises but no broken bones so far as I know."
The lamb chop, nevertheless, was not unwelcome, and maybe the three bites it afforded were worth a few bruises.
-BY DOROTHYTOOLE.
HFamousLast Words"
"But Johnny, I DIDN'T stand you up; I just forgot about our date."
"But, Officer, how would I know with a broken speedometer?"
"Please detach this stub and return it with your remittance."
"Look, NO HANDS."
"But it MUST be deep enough to dive-I can't see the bottom."
"Caution-'Use only as directed!' "
"Honest, we really DID run out of gas."
"You can borrow on your signature."
"Take that old nag back to the stable an d bring me a horse with some SPIRIT.''
"Come in and see our representative. No obl igations."
"The directions say, 'SHAKE WELL BEFOR E USING,' but it looks mixed enough to me."
"Sure I'm sure it's a sure thing!"
"But I tell you it's a snap course."
"I do."
-PATTI :BLACK. [ 14]
TheKiss
My mirror shows my face, at once
Familiar and yet strange, For as I look I feel inside Of me take place a change
That fills my soul with wondrous warmth And fear; a change that starts Down in my toes and travels upWards towards my pounding heart.
I stare at lips that I do know Belong, of course, to meBut lips now pale and trembling, which In love I gave to thee.
And suddenly those lips reveal The taste of much I've missed, For you at last have brought me Love, And I have just been kissed.
-DOTTIE HUGHES.
Sonnet
When I consider all the works of God, And look upon them all in wondrous awe, And try to find in each the smallest flaw, It seems as though my searchings are in vain. I look intent upon the budding trees, The flowers, birds, and all His mysteries; But not in smallest one is there mistake. I go to complex things; I look on men, And all in vain I search for error. Then I reach and pick a little blade of grass. Why go to trees and higher things to see, When blades of grass explain it easily? He makes no mistake. All are perfect made. And gazing on His work, I am afraid!
-J.B.K.
[ 15}
From Loneliness
IN THE DREARYupstairs apartment which looked out upon the street, Karen sat before a window and watched the frolicking and antics of the other children as they ran and played together. And as she watched, tears slowly filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks . How she longed to rush down the dark stairs out into the open air and run and shout and play, never to stop. But this was impossible for Karen. You see-her mother worked hard all day long in one of the big uptown hotels; and while she was gone, Karen spent the lonely days minding her baby sister who now lay sleeping on her lap.
Karen sat there with the tears glistening on her
cheeks , and suddenly a long shaft of late winter afternoon sunshine fell on the hair of tl::iesleeping child , turning it to spun silkiness. And Karen watched! Amazed at its soft shimmery beauty Why, it was all golden and lovely! She touched it lightly with the tips of her fingers and was thrilled by its fine shining texture.
The baby smiled in its sleep. It reminded Karen of the little angels which she had once seen in a great painting in the big museum. They were clustered about a lady who stood on a cloud, and oh, how kind and sweet she looked. And Karen smiled-happily-eagerly awaiting the return of her mother. -SALLIE ADAMSHUGHES.
Sleep?My LittleOne
TONIGHT,I shall have a subconscious wandering. Subconscious wandering. Subconscious wandering. Sub ... sub ... sub ... I think the bed is too hard. That's what it is. It's too hard. A horribly, horribly made bed. I could make a better bed myself. I wonder how they make beds; they take a tree, of course-take a tree now. Trees never have to worry about insomnia. Trees never have to worry about anything-e:]fcept an occasional dog or two. ·
"I think that I shall never see A billboard lovely as a tree, In fact, unless the billboards fall, I'll never see a tree at all."
That's Ogden Nash-hmmm. Ogden Nashery Is mostly trashery. You get his stuff eries In haberdasheries.
A poem! I've written a poem! Well! It's no t everyone that can just lie quietly in their beds, and compose .flowing poetry. I wish I could lie quietl y in this darn bed. Sleeping gently in angel slumber, lightly touched with-make your mind blank ! That's what it said in that last article. Blank. Blank. Blank.
" Blank," she cried , as she threw herself off th e cliff into the raging torrent below. Blank blankityblank-blank ... blank-blank.
I'll count sheep; that's what I'll do. One, tw o, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, my mother said to take this one, two, three, four, who are we for , Blank-blank, Blank-blank, ~rah rah rah. Nuts!
I've got a terrible cra:ving-a terrible, gnawin g craving-pecans! That's what I want. If I could only have some pecans . Perhaps if I got up, an d [ 16]
went out and bought some pecans, my inner being would be satisfied, and I would pass on to peaceful slumber. That's the trouble with me, I've got an awfully mysterious inner being. I'm such a mysterious-I could always read a mystery story. T here's an idea. But I've read the only one in the ho use . Oh, sorrow. That was a good one, too. I wish I hadn't read it yet. I'll think about it. Let me see
Let me go, you fiend! Oh , I can stand this deception no longer! But I dare not let Jeffery know the awful truth. How can I live with this terrible secret? I shall end it all; nevermore will I suffer. Poison, pistol, I care not; anything to rid me of my soul-sta bbing shame. (Sound of trumpets.)
G ive me my dagger! Farewell, beloved Jeffery-I go! I go I'll go get a drink of water. I'll h ave some excitement if it kills me . Oh dear , I can 't g et out of this bed , it will kill me Come
Fate
How of ten ranting, raging at cruel fateFor life to me is a dungeon, dim and dankI search for doors in walls completely blank Of an y escape from all these things I hate. And all small joys of daily life abate, As I for ever dream of lofty rank , And a ll my wondrous wishes and hopes that sank Obscured by worldly worries till ' twas too late. But now reflecting quietly I perceive How l ife a prison darker by far would seem, If I could not in my talents still believe, But ha vin g had a chance to achieve my dream Had found that I myself was not worthy of fame Instead of having this kindly fate to blame .
-WILMA LUM.
[ 17]
on, you coward, show some will power. I'll count three. One, two , three. I'll count three again. One, two, thr-E-e Ouch, my aching back!
Brrr-it' s c-cold. Now, to watch out for the rug; I know I'll bump into something - walk around the chair, slowly, I made it! I made it without bumping into a-damnation! Ouch!
Oh-hh!
I give up. I won ' t go to bed, and I won't go to sleep. I'll sit in this chair till I rot-where are those blankets! now. I'll sit here, and I'll never go near that foul bed again. I think I'll think deeply all night. Concentrating on my subconscious. I won't ... slee ... sleep at all. Stay up all night Never ever go to sleep.
-PAT BALLAGH.
ArthurMcGee
MIRIAM THALENBERG
It was many and many a year ago , Beside a blue shimm' ring sea , That I met and married my only beau Whose qear name was Arthur McGee; And not even the winged cherubs of heaven Were as happy as Arthur and me.
Oh he was glad , and I was gay Beside that blue shimmering sea; But just this past week a huge limousine ploughed Right into my Arthur McGee. However think not that I grieve ove r much- His insurance goes all to me!
ftp ef/you r gift bundles with thes e cheery cartons of Christmas Chesterfield s They Satisfy .
