Entered at the Post Office at Richmond College, Va., as 2nd class matter.
VOL. XLVII FEBRUARY 1920 No. 5
Richmond College Department
J. L. Lane, '20 ..........•.............................
H. R. Holland, '20 ...................................
Chas. F. Le.ek, '22 ..................................
W. R. Loving, '21. ..................•.....
Editor-in-Chief
Assistant Editor
Business Manager
Assistant Business Manager
ASSOCIATE EDITORS
Mu Sigma Rho
S. P. Spratt
E. B. Willingham
V. C. Hargroves
Philologian
A. B. Cook
W. M. Pettus
W. E. Hatcher, Jr.
THE RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER (founded 1878; named for the Southern Literary Messenger) is published on the first of each month from October to May, inclusive, by the PHILOLOGIAN and MU SIGMA RHO Literary Societies, in conjunction with the students of Westhampton College. Its aim is to foster literary composition in the college, and contributions are solicited from all students, whether society members or not. A JOINT WRITER'S MEDAL, valued at twenty-11.ve dollars, will be given by the two societies to the writer of the best article appearing in THE MESSENGER during the year.
All contributions should be handed to the department editors or the Editor-in-Chief by the fifteenth of the mon.th preceding. Business communications and subscriptions should be directed to the Business Manager and Assistant Business Manager, respectively.
AddressTHE MESSENGER, Richmond College, Va.
EDITORIAL
Throughout the world there is a spirit of unrest which too often has revealed itself in some form of Bolshevism. The people who most easily become the victims of this fretful, dissatisfied, and want-to-tear-upMore something-spirit are those persons who Conservatism do not think for themselves. Therefore, last of all should this evil spirit enter the rank and file of college men. We have come, or else we have largely made a failure, to that !Place where we can think for ourselves, and solve problems in a quiet, deliberate manner instead of turning ourselves into radicals. The college man should be among the last who gird their loins for a stroll after radicalism, or any of its kindred. The colleges and universities all over our country are undergoing changes, and when we realize that our college, too, is transforming itself, we need not become frightened and attempt to suddenly overturn any part of the college.
But there is one thing which becomes the duty of every man who loves his college, and that duty presses itself upon us today. As students we must combat every influence of a radical, or Bolshevik nature which does not tend toward building up our college. The time is now ripe for us to begin to knock the "Knockers." Constructive criticism is a fine thing when the right sort of a man offers it, but destructive criticism is a factor which we cannot permit to be in the making up of our college life. The next time you hear destructive criticism let the ''Knocker'' know that you are opposed to that sort of college ~irit. We need to work for more harmony, and less discord; for a more concerted college spirit, and less Bolshevism.
There is a perplexing question in the minds of some people as to just what class of men should compose our honor system. Some have defined this class as those fellows who make high grades in their The True classes, while there are others who would H (YYl;()r System go to the other extreme and lay too much stress on other phases of college life. It seems that our coach, Mr. Dobson, has sounded the compromising note when he says that the college honor system should include not only the men who do well in classes, but also those men who make :finerecords in other phases of college activities. Richmond College should . have some kind of an honorary club, or society which would choose to its membership only those men who are t he all 'round college men. Let a man be chosen not because of his class standing, for this often proves nothing as to the real practical value of a man, but choose him because of his social, athletic, forensic and class work ~bilities. It seems that this would come more nearly bemg the sort of an honor system which we need most. To ?ea member of such a society would be the biggest honor m our institution.
Whether the work has been done well or not, the grain has been garnered, and the time has come for others to assume the responsibility of this work. This issue ends the work of the present Messenger Aurevoir staff from the Richmond College side Messooger Staff of the lake. We could not lay down our reaping hooks without saying to our comrades from Westhampton that we greatly appreciate the :fine spirit of co-operation which they have manifested during our work together. This staff of editors looks out upon the work of those who are to follow, and offers for them our best wishes for a better Messenger than we have been able to !Produce. If our best wishes for the Messenger of the future are realized Greater Richmond College will justly be proud of her magazine. Thus we leave the work for you, new editors, and bid you" aurevoir."
TO THE GAVE.
( The Gave is a small river in Southern France. I followed it from its source to the plains, a distance of about sixty kilometers.)
w. G. KEITH, '23.
Oh I beautiful little streamlet
Pretty and narrow, You leap from pit to rock
Like a darting arrow. How like a child are you, Hurrying and dancing along, Bounding from fall to fall With an endless song. Now you're fallen o'er the cascades, And turned into the plains, You doze along by the farms, Watering the fields of grain. How like a maiden are you now Quiet, beautiful, and retreating You braid your banks with flowers fair, The while soft music repeating.
On past the peaks you've come Joined by many an ally Your big strong back and muscles deep Carry the boats up the valley. How like a giant are you Still, strong and swift; You carry a heavy load
Many a cup you lift.
Small were you in the mountains green And gentle on the lea, Stout of heart in the valley wide
Gigantic as you rush into the sea: Then once more are you small
In the vast blue of the ocean
Lost with your comrades all In the deeips great motion.
RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
THE PEASANT.
M. E. COOPER, '20.
The end of the logging season had arrived; the men had just received their pay for three months back, and had rushed en masse to the village drinking-house, without which no Russian community can exist. One passing the small frame shack which served as the drinking-house would have been startled by the sound of wild singing, merry and lusty yells. The place, usually peaceful enough, had suddenly been converted into a virtual Bedlam, for the men now possessed the means to satiate their long-unsatisfied thirsts.
Within was a scene characteristic of a Russian orgy. The strong smell of vodka pervaded everything; the very walls and ceiling seemed to reek with it. On the floor, long unswept, lounged burly shapes in preposterous positions. The stifling smoke of cigarettes made the small room, if possible, more uncomfortable. A few of the men, for some unaccountable reason, were weeping. It is said that strong drink has this affect on certain kinds of human beings. But most of them were singing, and song mingled intermittently even with those who wept. The nature of man had reverted to the primordial state. All of the revelers, with one exception, were ill-clad. Their garments were in tatters; from the torn shoes were visible their exposed toes. Some did not even have shoes, but used rags to bind around their feet and to keep the cold out. In the center of the room, however, stood one whose fine leather boots and fur coat together with a smoothly shaven face distinguished him as of other than the peasant class. This man's name was Avrilo Alexander.
Avrilo Alexander was the leading man in the village ; also he was the most feared and respected. The inhabitants held him in a sort of reverential awe, and hastened to do his every command. But Avrilo Alexander was not a good man at heart. One of his many bad qualities was a hearty detestation of the peasant.
18 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
Every parcel of land in the village belonged to him; thi s h e had a!Pportioned among his followers on very lenient payments. In addition, he was the representative of the government in Petrograd. Not only was the village in his hands by virtue of his being the owner of the land, but officially the place and its inhabitants belonged to him. In view of his great power, as can b e readily understood, he had no enemies and many friends.
From his father, whose memory caused pangs of horror to run through the older people of the place, he had inherited in addition to his large estate, a whimsical disposition. He was a man of caprices. His greatest pleasure was to run ov e r in his mind the many things which differentiat e d him from the low, filthy people all around. The comparison pleased Avrilo Alexander. He would not have conditions otherwise. Therefore, he made it his aim to endea v or to keep things as they were.
In the drinking habits of the peasants, he saw a means of aggravating their poverty-and he encouraged this. He never pressed for payment of the money due him; this would have possibly made his tenants wary. But he exulted in the thought that he had these men in his grip, that they belonged to him, that if he wished-he, Avrilo Alexander, could break any one of them across his knee as easily as a decayed piece of wood. No one dared to ignore his suggestion that they be merry when the day of drawing the pay rolled around. If at home afterwards the wife would scold and quarrel, the retort would almost always be-" Avrilo Alexander asked it. Do you want that we shall be turned out of house 1'' His father, it was repeated in hushed tones, had once flogged a man to death; but that had been in the days of serfdom. However, no one doubted that the son, if given proper provocation, would also go to some such extremity.
As he looked around the room befogged with smoke, the calm smile of satisfaction which had dwelt on his face turned to a look of displeasure as his eyes fell upon a man huddled somewhat 3JPart from the others in the corner. This man was joining but sparingly in the bois-
RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
terous joviality of the rest of the lumberman; in fact, on his face was portrayed an anxious, uneasy look. It appeared as if he wanted to get away. Looking at him, there came to the mind of A vrilo Alexander the recollection that on previous occasions of festivity, the individual in the corner had lacked the enthusiasm which was generally felt and displayed.
Perceiving all at once that he was being looked at intently, the latter shifted about uneasily, and then as if struck with some new resolution, walked over, slowly and deliberately around the men strewn in his way, to where Avrilo Alexander stood. He was shorter than the others, but broad across the shoulders. Among a race of tall men his height tended to make him conspicuous, and as he moved, the eyes of those lying about turned in his direction. When he had reached Avrilo Alexander, the latter said sharply:
"What is it you wish, Ivan Petrovitch1"
The answer came in slow, measured tones, as if the man addressed was not accustomed to saying much, and being called upon suddenly, was finding difficulty with his language.
"Just to say, sire, that next week when the money falls due, I will pay you the five hundred rubles for the house and farm.''
The noise had strangely stopped, and the silence was tense. Avrilo Alexander's face became drawn and stern. Then as if reassured of something, the features relaxed and a slow grin covered his face. This was the signal for a general outbreak of laughter. The absurdity of the Words which the short one had uttered struck them as peculiarly funny, and they rolled about the floor in their glee. This man was no better than they, and none of them had as much as ten rubles. Five hundred rubles ! It was ridiculously absurd.
"Ha! Ha!" they guffawed, "An angel from heaven has showered rubles upon Ivan Petrovitch." And again "Ivan Petrovitch has been bewitched by the evil one'. It is his wife from the south-she of the devil eyes. She
has made a rich man of Ivan Petrovitch, the son of a swine-herder.'' ''Ha! Ha!'' they roared.
Feeling vaguely that he had made a mistake, the short man hurried back to his corner. "Ivan Petrovitch has become quite a jester," called out Avrilo Alexander. '' He is weaker than the rest of us, and the vodka ha s gone to his head.'' When the party broke up well after midnight, Ivan Petrovitch walked hurriedly home in a steady step without any semblance of a swagger. He h a d had only one small glass of vodka the entire evening.
The next day Ivan Petrovitch had no sooner shown hi s face in the village than much merriment and many derisive remarks were directed at him. The peasants could not easily forget his boasting of the night before; the women of the village had been acquainted of the particulars, and they joined in the sport of making play of I van Petrovitch with the vehemence and bitterness of which only their sex is capable. ESjpecially were they slanderous in their remarks against his wife, Marico, whom I van had brought back with him from a trip to the far south some five years previous. One old, wrinkled hag, at least ninety years old, ambled out into the road directly in the path of Ivan Petrovitch.
''You would have none of the girls of your own race," she cried in a shrill voice, "But you will suffer, never mind. The fair-skinned Jewess of a wife with the coalblack eyes will damn you by degrees. We will see, we will see.'' And waving her arms defiantly, she stumbled away. At last Ivan Petrovitch, wearied of the taunts of his fellow-creatures, and made his way home. He did not venture away from the house the next day, or the one following.
On the third night after the scene in the drinking-place a man without a shirt or head-covering could be seen running hurriedly down the road which cut through the village. It was well past the hour of midnight, about t h r ee o'clock in the morning; the wind had changed in the night from a dull, torpid breeze to a chilling, heavy blow. Everything about was pitch dark, for not a singl e s tar could be seen in the sky. The man, thinly clad and
RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER 21
shoeless, stumbled over some obstacle in the way, but picked himself up quickly, and continued to run.
As he entered the main section of the village, he set up t he cry of '' *rasbonich , rasbonich; yaslodgi, yaslodgi.'' This alarm set every one astir, and many of the ipeasants hastily threw some clothing on, and joined in the shouting. The entire group made their way to the house of Avrilo Alexander, who, as has been said, represented the police power of the village.
The tumult had already aroused him, and he was standing on the front step of his house waiting for the crowd of peasants to come up. . In his left hand he held a small lamp which afforded some little light. When the man who had raised the alarm saw Avrilo Alexander, 1he rushed up to him with such eagerness that he was in danger of falling. Avrilo Alexander h eld up his hand for silence.
"What is the matt er; what is it you wish, Ivan Petrovitch?"
The short lumberman was quiv ering in every muscl e of his body. He was so nervous, his face so white and fri ghtened, that he could hardly stand. There was a tr emor in his voice as he spoke.
'' Master, I have been wretchedly robb ed.'' He halted, and could iProceed no further.
"Who is it that has robbed you, Ivan P etrovitch? Speak man-we may yet catch the thief."
Although he still trembled, Ivan Petrovitch, with an effort manag ed to say:
'' A tall, giant of a man he was, sire-with large, round eyes and a long beard; a wayfarer whom I h a d taken in for the night. With a da gge r he threat ened my lif e, the mon ster. And h e would have killed m e had I refused him the mon ey. Murder was writt en in bis ey es. H e would have h a d my life, sire-his eyes, how they rolled ? ''
The recollection was too much for th e shatter ed nerv es of Ivan Petro v itch , and h e began to w eep softly. Avrilo Alexand er turned to the crowd of p eas ant s .
*Murder, murder, thief, thief.
22 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
"Has such a man as Ivan Petrovitch describes been seen by any of you 1'' he asked. There was a general shaking of heads. No one had seen such a man.
The man on the stairs turned to the weeping lumberman.
"Of how much did he rob you, Ivan Petrovitch1" h e asked, thinking to himself that a great deal was bein g made of a small loss.
The man addressed raised his white face.
'' Of everything I had, Sire. He took from me five hundred rubles, master." Ivan Petrovitch now brok e down completely, and sobbed out aloud. A cry of rage rose from the throng of peasants; so they had been called from their warm beds to be made sport of by this fool of a Petrovitch. In their anger they would have rushed upon him, but Avrilo Alexander interceded by holding up his hand for quiet. ·
'' Our poor brother has become demented,'' he said with an air of indulgence, behind which was recognizable an ironical note, "It is only the proper spirit that we should solace him, rather than do him harm. Take him, friends, and lead him to his home.''
So, two strong moujiks took hold of Ivan Petrovitch by the arms, and turned the steps of the whimpering man homeward. His face was an unpleasant study of resentment intermingled with incredulity. He could not comprehend why these people would not believe him, and his story of the five hundred rubles. Had he not worked hard these five years, he muttered to himself1 Was he not saving his kopecks and his rubles while the others threw them away on vodka and other foolish things 1 And then, he reflected as he was being carried rather than led along, the farm under his wife's care had brought in good returns. Yes, they could say what they wanted of Marico, but she was faithful and hard-working. And she had good sense; she had a head on her, had Marico. Thus blubbering and whispering to himself incoherently and disjointedly, the peasant at last arrived at his house.
The next day a rumor became current in the village
that Avrilo Alexander had it in for Ivan Petrovitch; and that as a punishment for his many lies and deceitful ways, Ivan Petrovitch would soon be turned out of house. The prophecy of the old hag was coming true, every one whispered to his neighbor. Even as she had said, his wife with the devil eyes was damning him by degrees. And most of his former comrades felt secret exultation at the prospect of Ivan Petrovitch's impending misfortune. Their pride had been rankled at his boast concerning the five hundred rubles; there had been a certain reflection in his words upon their own circumstances which they did not relish.
On the night preceding the maturity of his debt to Avrilo Alexander, Ivan Petrovitch was sitting abjectedly before the small fireplace meditating with great discomforture upon his future. His wife, Mari co, was sitting not far away, and as usual, was saying nothing. At intervals she would cast a look of sympathy from her jetblack eyes upon his face, somewhat thinned and sunken from the recent exposure. He was the only man who had ever treated her kindly, and since their meeting five years back, he had always been good to her; for all this she was grateful. But, she reflected, was it possible that it was true, as the moujiks in the village said, that she was an evil influence U/POnthe life of Ivan Petrovitch. She did not know_jall her life she had known only sorrow.
Suddenly there was a rush at the door, and Ivan Petrovitch sprang from his chair with a cry of horror as a tall man, a giant of a man, with large, round eyes and a long beard rushed upon him. Before he could utter a sound, the stranger was at his throat.
'' The money-quick-the money that I lost here. Where have you hid it?"
Ivan Petrovitch shook his head to signify he knew nothing at all concerning the money in question. He could not speak, for the other's grip was tightening around his neck. Where was Marico, he thought dumbly; had she deserted him 1 He again looked weakly at his assailant. No; he cogitated indefinitely to himself, he knew nothing
24 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
of the money the man claimed to have lost; he only knew that this man had robbed him of the five hundred rubles he had accumulated after so much wearisome work, and that he was now going to rob him of his life.
Again the words came swiftly, hoarsely-"Where is it -the leather purse with the five hundred rubles. It must have dropped under the bed where-"
Ivan Petrovitch felt the taller man lurch against him as if driven from behind by some strong force; then the grip around his neck loosened. As he staggered to the wall, the stranger rose to his full height. Then he turned slowly around, and faced Marico, his hostess of a few nights ago. He made one step in her direction, then shuddered, suddenly doubled up, and fell, face downward, with a thud to the floor. A few quivers shook his body, and then it lay still. From his side protruded the soiled hilt of a knife. It had been driven into his body right ll!P ' to the handle.
Ivan Petrovitch, having partly regained his breath, seized his cap and started for the door, telling Marico he would now show the peasants in the village, and Avrilo Alexander also, whether or not he was demented. But his wife Marico, pushed him back.
"IvaTu----fool of a Russian," she hissed, "Would you have us both hung, Ivan Petrovitchf"
Slowly the moujik grasped the full meaning of his wife's words. It would be fatal to whisper even a word of what had taken place. The thing must be covered up.
So Ivan Petrovitch, in the dead of night, carefully wrapped up the dead body, hitched his horse to the wagon and drove off. At th e river, some five miles from the village, he halted the wagon, and searched for about :fivf'. minutes for some heavy stones. Shortly afterwards a dull thud sounded, then a heavy Si'Plash,and again all was still. Ivan Petrovitch once more got into the wagon, and drove further, to a large town situated about fifteen miles on the north side of the river. At daybreak he was seen to drive into the village accompanied by a distinguished
looking, well-dressed gentleman, made more dignified by gold-rimmed spectacles.
And the peasants of the village, in recounting the proceedings of the day that followed, as they were wont to do for years to come, unanimously agreed on one point, if on no other; namely, that the procuring of the lawyer was the work of Marico Petrovitch-the Jewess from the far south with the devil eyes.
"The slow-witted Ivan Petrovitch, the son of a swineherder, would never have thought of it,'' they all assented conclusively.
Avrilo Alexander gradually lost his hold on the peasants as a consequence of his failure to humiliate his former tenant. Ivan Petrovitch and his humble wife, Marico, prospered from year to year, and soon grew quite wealthy. In the minds of the moujiks of the village, Ivan Petrovitch's rapid rise was due to his wife's sagacity and competency. In their frequent domestic quarrels, they would invariably taunt their wives with the wish-'' Ah! if I only had a wife like Ivan Petrovitch, with devil eyes. Then you would see how I would amount to something.''
26 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
THE HOMECOMING OF THE 29TH DIVISION.
GEO. D. EUBANK, '23.
The troqpship is the home of great numbers of soldiers, for a period of from seven to twenty days. The U. S. S. Matsonia was no exception to this rule, and when the 116th Infantry returned, there were probably three thousand five hundred soldiers on board. The trip bad taken ten days up to the time this story opens.
On the morning of May 20, 1919, at perhaps 3 :30 A. M., some one yelled down the hatchway, of our compartment, that we were nearing land. He must have had lungs like a bellows, for he waked up every one, and soon we were dressed ready to go on deck. We had watched the chart each day, reckoning the time until we would be at home again.
On deck, there was a cold, clammy fog, which almost hid the water from our sight, and our siren broke forth, every few minutes in a hoarse bellow to let other ships know that she was coming in. At four o'clock :perhaps, I saw a light on the starboard side. It would flash, then disappear, and repeat this over and over. It was th e lighthouse on a cape to the north of us, Cape Charles. The speed of the ship now gradually decreased, and we moved very slowly forward, passing great, shapeless masses, on either side, whose only claim to recognition in the fog would be the bellowing of their sirens. Now we passed among some, which were anchored near the entrance to the bay, and we seemed to have stopped also, but our siren fairly shrieked its call for a pilot.
The fog had been gradually clearing, and now began to blow away leaving our view unobstructed. There, a rowboat is approaching with three men in it. Two are rowing, and one is watching the ship upon which we stand, as if he was desirous of making out what ship this is. He proves to be our pilot, and while he is coming aboard a great bundle of Baltimore newsp3.{Pers, much to Ol!r great delight, is hoisted on board with a small rope. The first real American newspapers many of us had seen for
eleven months, unless it be that those month and one..,half old papers, which reached us oversea could be called the same. Who would not read such a paper eagerly or wait impatiently for his turn to read iU Look how each one strives for one of those precious copies, looking eS1pecially at the advertisements, and computing the probable cost of civilian clothes, which he hopes to have in the next few weeks.
With the pilot on board we move forward again this time with a greater speed. It is now about eight o'clock and a few smaller boats may be seen on the surface of the bay. Now we pass a tramp, with a cargo for some foreign port, making its way to sea. Its siren blows a salute to the incoming transport. Soon tugs appear, making their way over the water toward us, and some of them carry numbers of people. Airmen from Langley Field fly low over the ship and drop cartons of '' Camel cigarettes,'' some of which fall on board, although by far the greater part fall in the bay. A great number of the men find them very welcome, for money has become scarce with the majority.
Now small river steamers .approach, crowded to the rail with men and women who shout greetings to the men, some of whom are recognized by friends or relatives. The soldiers are asking civilians questions among which one hears a few like these: "Want to trade that suit for a uniform 1 Has Newport News a decent restaurant where I can eat 1 Any booze in town 1'' A great many more things are heard, but these seem to occupy the minds of the greater number. This banter flies back and forth the whole distance to the dock.
A bugle blows "Attention," and instantly every one becomes as rigid as a statue. Three battleships move slowly past, the sailors standing at "Attention" also, but as each passes the discipline relaxes for just an instant, while the sailors give three cheers for the ''Army.'' The last one bears the Governor of Virginia, who comes out to see this regiment, which went from the Old Do-
28 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
minion, return. Behind some submarine chasers, and these are followed by a heterogeneous mixture of crafts of all kinds, which are able to be found around a harbor. Each one salutes as it passes and all are packed with shouting humanity. Virginia is welcoming her own.
We pass slowly by great and small freighters, liners, the Ripraps and all welcome us with sirens. The deep bases of the great freighters and liners, mingling with the shriller treble of the tugs of sub-chasers. In the distance can now be seen the wharves; they mean solid earth to us after our long trip across the ocean, and how each and every one longs to be on the wharves. It is now about ten o'clock and we are waT[)ing into the docks, each and every one torn by varied emotions.
At last we have landled. How good it is to feel th e earth und er us once more. We form in column while the Red Cross gives out chocolate and cakes on the sides qf the dock. Now we are marching out on a side street, to wait until all have land ed, and a great wave of friends, relatives and sweethearts break over us. While waiting you listen to the people, talking all around you in your own language, and how strange it seems to hear som e small children talking the English language ; after all of the months, when every child spoke French.
The waiting is over and now fa the rs, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends and sweethearts are ordered to mov e aside, while the boys make r eady to march. With a long swinging step we are off and soon find ourselves on a street, whose sidewalks seem to be actually packed with people, and some even break into the ranks, distributing candy, fruit, ice cream , and cak es to the boys as we march past. We march up this street a few blocks, then turn up Twenty-fifth Street, passing under the victory arch, by the school children, massed on each side, and we are acCOIDIPaniedby slow moving trucks, from which school girls, dressed in white, scatt er flowers over us and the str eet , for many nev er touch us. Another turn brings us to camp and the barracks.
We are carried to the barracks by the commandant, and as soon as we have thrown off our packs, we rush for the bath-houses to wash faces and hands in real fresh water, which makes it seem as if we were also in a paridise, after the use of salt water. Then back to our bunks &gain and after chow we are ready to rest until bedtime, a tired, but thoroughly happy regiment of men.
30 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
TAG DAYS.
A. B. CLARKE, '23.
Among the many needs of life, From beans to tacks, including wife, We find a few which were so small We did not notice them at all. But low, the small has changed to great, And among these few I wish to state, That while it may not seem the case , The Tag Day now has taken its place.
We walk the busy business street, Where on each corner now we meet, The chair, the box, and tags galore, Increasing daily, more and more. We lift our eyes above the crowd, And gaze aloft at sky and cloud, In hope that thus perchance we '11pass The box, the tags, and charming lass, Who smiles so sweetly, asking you, '' Oh I please buy a tag, today, iPlease do!''
Now, who can keep from pausing there To please the one who is so fair? On every corner we now may lag, For from a button-hole flies the tag, Which seems to others to insist That they be too a philanthropist, And so one day of tags is done; But another is coming as sure as the sun.
The thoughts and worries of tags have gone, When on the next bright, cheerful morn, We start upon our way down town, To find our worries come back at the soun' "Buy a tag, Mister, the money is for-" But walking is hard, let's have the street car, And so you believe you have gotten away From box and chair of another tag day.
It is not so easily done as thought, For when you alight you are sure to be caught. The lady is waiting to receive your dime, And a tag hangs on you a second time . .Ah, what a tragedy comes when you find The smallest, a quarter and not a dime. And thus the condition i s all the worse; We grumble, we growl, we complain, some curse.
The next day we find the tag is still there, The lady, the smile, the box and the chair. Oh! why do they ever continue to cry
The usual call of, "Buy a tag, buy!"
Small things so of ten do worry you, Ah! the fly in the ointment, the soap on the cue, The collar that's tight, the tack in the shoe, Our troubles are many without something new.
But what is the use to complain each day, The tag has come, and come to stay. The dodging and .growling won't take it away. But as a suggestion, I here might say, We co1.1ldmake a law to control the rate, Of tag days a week, not more than eight. But nevertheless we must smile and say: "The puI7Pose of tag days is good anyway!"
32 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
THE ADMIRABLE INVESTMENT.
E. L. ACKLEY, '23.
Mr. and Mrs. Reddington were seated in the drawing room of their sumptuous residence on Fifth Avenue. Mrs. Reddington was reading one of the latest novels. Mr. Reddington was seated in a heavy leather rocker, drawn up before the fire in the fireplace. He seemed to be entirely absorbed in deep thought. His face was serious and haggard. Finally he drew a deep breath, roused himself, and turned to his wife.
"Ethel," he said, "I am checkmated. I can't see any way out. The lumber mill is a failure. The stock in the Hampden Mining Company is worthless. The Mutual Trust Bank, in which I had deposited over half a million dollars, has failed. Our house is mortgaged. I have scarcely five hundred dollars in the world. A week from today a note for one thousand dollars is due. I have no prospects of receiving any money from any source. I must have money.'' He ipaused.
Mrs. Reddington unwillingly laid her book on the table when she saw that she must listen. When he had finished, she looked him in the eye with a frigid stare and said, "WelU"
Mr. Reddington winced, but continued, '' The only thing that I have that I can sell is this house. We could moVP out in the suburbs, buy a small cottage, and be very comfortable.''
''You '11be asking m e to take in washing by the day in a little while,'' she said sarcastically. '' First you think we better sell one of our automobiles, because you have decided that four is enough. Then you sell our Newport home. Now you want me to pack up and move out into the country and raise chickens for a living. What would Mrs. Westmoreland think if she should see me out in my back yard with a sun bonnet on, feeding chickens?''
The husband had the manner of a person who was undergoing some excruciating pain, but who was concentrating all his will power on not revealing the fact. He
RICHMOND COLLEGE Kl£JJ)
1W'i CI-IMOND VA made another attempt. '' But, Ethel, it was all necessar y . • I have had bad luck with my investments. I just couldn't afford to keep all these things. If I can sell this house, I can pay all my debts and have a little with which to start over. And then . we could be comfortable in a smaller house. We could afford to keep a couple of servants, and I'm sure-"
'' George Reddington,' ' she broke in, ' 'do you think I'm going to listen while you carry on like thaU The very idea! When you married me, you promised to support me and to see to it that I was happy. I've stood this curtailing of expenses as long as I'm going to. It isn't my fault that you didn't have sense enough to know where to invest your money."
"But what am I going to do1" he asked weakly.
"Don't ask me. I'm not responsible for the support of the family, am H That's up to you. Only you needn't mqpect me to put up with any such nonsense as you have suggested.''
Neither of them said anything more that evening. George Reddington remained in his chair, stunned, dazed. Mrs. Reddington soon, retired and left him there.
The :riext morning at breakfast not a word passed between them. Mr. Reddington walked downtown, instead of riding in his automobile. He returned late in the evening. He was very quiet for the next two days. Nothing more was said about selling the house. On the third day he reurned from his downtown office early.
"Ethel," he said, "I have some private business matters to attend to. I am going into my private office, and I shall lock the door. If you should want me for anything, please knock at the door."
''Very well,'' she replied.
About two hours later, a letter came for him by Special Delivery. The envelope contained the return address of the Mutual Trust Bank. The servant knocked at the door of Mr. Reddington 's private office; and, receiving no reply, she took it to Mrs. Reddington. She tore it open and discovered that it was a communication
34 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
from the bank stating that they had recovered practically the entire amount of their money, which had been stolen, and that Mr. Reddington would receive a check for eighty per cent of his deposit within five days and the remainder in thirty days. Mrs. Reddington, herself, then went to her husband's office and knocked. Still no response. Becoming alarmed, she summoned her servants, who finally succeeded in forcing the door.
They found Mr. Reddington lying on the floor, in a pool of blood-dead. At his side was found his fur overcoat all soaked in blood. Under the coat was a small powerful revolver. There was a small hole through the coat near the barrel of the revolver. He had evidently muffled the sound of the pistol with the overcoat.
Mrs. Reddington gave one piercing shriek and fainted. She was taken to her room, and a doctor was summoned. The servants found a long envelope on the table. It was directed to Mrs. Reddington, and was in her husband's handwriting. It was marked "Personal." As soon as she was able to receive it, it was given to her. She opened it and took out two papers. One was a legal paper of some sor,t, and the other was a note from George Reddington to his wife. It was as follows: Dear Ethel:
I ;promised to support you. I have done my best. The paper enclosed is a life insurance policy for five hundred thousand dollars. My liabilities will not exceed one hundred thousand. Take the remainder and enjoy life. I hope it will be sufficient. I have done my best.
GEORGE.
GOD AND THE ELECTRIC EEL.
J. T. KNIGHT, '20.
The chef was a versatile fell ow, his moods as changeable as the sBa itself. Jovial at times, again abrupt in manner and grumpy in speech; fond of his pipe and ale, a true seaman and typical Limo-an Englishman through and through. I was once told that he suggested that the whole crew attend mass upon touching port after being at sea for many weeks. I was also told that he ran the third/ mate from the galley with a meat cleaver for no other reason than the officer had politely spoken '' Good morning.'' However, he was a true friend and held sacred some friendships of his early life, as you may judge from the following story:
We were several days out of Frisco and until today everything had moved along in the usual routine without any interruption save the loss of a log. But today the usual course of events had been disturbed. A Norwegian, one of the seamen, could not be accounted for. During the night the eight-to-twelve watch had awakened him, but he had not relieved the man at the wheel. Towards the end of this watch the gear to a boom had broken and one of the starboard booms was swinging loose. It had swung inches back and forth with each lift and fall of the tramp beneath it until finally the gear creaking broke with a crash.
The only conclusion which could be reached in regard to the unaccounted for disappearance of the seaman was as he was walking over the surplus coal, which was carried on the forward main deck, he had been struck unconscious by the swinging boom and thrown over the side. The forecastle lookout had not seen the rigging break, for at that time he was occupied in the approach of a ship off the port bow.
The next night the ·chef and I were leaning on the rail of the port bridge deck just outside the galley door discussing the accident and how the- disappearance of the
36 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
Norwegian had effected his remaining fellow-countrymen and true friend.
'' They were good friends, and Jess realizes his loss, "I remarked to the chef.
'' Aye, laddie,'' he replied, I noticed the change in his expression.''
Once before I had seen this tragic mask descend upon his face, and that when I casually asked if he had ever been married. Whereupon the blood had jumped into his throat and his face had reddened, the bulging of each v ein speaking his anger. "Damn you and your questions!'' was his ejaculation and wisely I stayed clear of him. for several days, knowing that a seam.an 's secret is his own.
Tonight this sullen mood was not of lengthy duration, and as we leaned against the rail looking out across the sea and up at the stars, his previous life was to me more curious than ever before, for I had begun to consider him as a friend. Beneath us the water boiled against the Demon's midships, glowed and sparkled and flamed in the bright moonlight like silver fire. The moon stitched every wave with a hem of crimson hue and the valleys between the waves were blue as the heavens themselves.
'' The beauty itself shows a God,'' I ventured, breaking the silence.
"There is no God on the sea." He laughed a coarse laugh as if he mocked the world and him.self.
I said nothing awaiting for him to express his thoughts.
Presently he said, "Mess (for that was my title aboard the ship), when I was your age I believed in a God, then when I grew older I began to doubt, as all young men doubt, and there came into my life a loss and since then I have never been satisfied by proof or evidence that there is a God. ''
I studied him with a sidelong glance, measuring his profile and marking the shape of his forehead and his eye and upon his face that tragic mask again descended. He had suffered; his face told that. He still suffered, the mark of it was alive in his eye. I realized I was gazing
into the face of sorrow, and this spiritual dumbness made the grief all the more poignant. I could see that he was det ermined to tell me the reason why he doubted the exi stence of a Supreme One, but his reticence withheld me from urging him on.
His mental soliloquy ended, he sighed profoundly and nerved himself as for a great effort.
"Ed was his name, the best friend that any man ever had. When boys we were the best of pals and remained so in manhood. At school we were kept abreast in the same classes. In my youth I received a good education. Ed continued his work into college, and finally became a ship's doctor and ,I married.'' Here he paus ed, not because his memory was deadened, but because the memory depressed him. '' Then came the deluge in my life,'' he continued. '' My wife turned false. The vex-y earth seemed dark. There was beauty in nothing. Faith r emained only in Ed's friendship, and only his fri endship made life worth while. Her beauty haunted me, if it were beauty. I fell asleep at night with her voice in my ears, and when I waked in the morning my first thought was of her. I was the unwilling slave of a new emotion. I lived in haunted misery and would have given the remaining y ears of my life to have forgotten her. I cursed God and humanity, for before this I had faith.
Mess, I do not believe there is any mis ery in the world which will compare with that of a man who has given his heart to a woman and found that his love for h er has been made a plaything for her :fickleness.
I took to drink and frequented every public house until my last shilling was spent, then I went to sea. Luck decreed that Ed and I should be aboard the same ship, he the ship's doctor, I the second cook.
My adversity drew me all the more closer to him. I began to more fully appreciate his intimacy. Our attachment for each other has meant more to me than I can tell. From boyhood we were as one; we knew each other's inmost thoughts, our reasonings, our impulses and our fancies were the same. '
RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
We made the seas many times. Together we have ridden in the chaise of Japan, the gondola of Venice, the palanquin of India, have thrown pebbles at the monkeys on the tropical isles, have watched the Hula-Hula maidens of Hawaii perform their dances, have stood by the rail watching the fish being winched aboard in the Alaskan waters, and have together drank cognac in French ports and vodka in Russian cities.
'' And then,'' his voice faltered, his head dro01ped. His eyes, as if glowing with the dull light of a hidden fire, portrayed an undescribable something in their grayness.
I was still leaning over the rail watching the fleeting gleams of phosphorous that passed in the waves lashing against the ship's bottom. The tinkle of three bells on the bridge and the mere sonorous reply of the bell on the forecastle interrupted the silence.
After a time the chef spoke. His voice, as if unable to altogether master the enormous silence of the sea, sounded muffled, very calm-without the usual ring in it.
'' One day,'' he continued his story, we were in the Amazon, just before lifting our hook for England. Ed decided he would take a swim, although he had been warned against the current of the big river. In fact, very few natives ever venture a swim in the Amazon. Ed was an expert swimmer, and knowing this he did not heed the advice given him. I saw him dive from the boat deck and immediately return to the surf ace of the water with an expression on his face that will forever be carved in my memory. There was disruppointment, surprise and horror combined. He seemed to say to me, 'Good-by ole' chap. Would that you could help me, but you can't.' His body had been electrocuted, having come in contact with an electric eel. We dragged for him, but poor Ed's body could never be found. The ship was under orders to leave the next day and from that moment when I saw Ed for the last time I have heard nothing of him. He was the dearest friend any man could have. And if there were a God he would not have taken him from me. Ed, Ed Hopper ... Why, Mess !'' he exclaimed.
RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
At the sound of the man's last name my head began to swim, my throat choked, I could not get my breath. My strength finally came back to me, "Ed-Edward Hopper, my father," I gasped.
I then told the chef that I had never known the exact details of my father's death, for I had left home immediately after my mother's departure from this earth, and from that time this was the first word I had ever heard spoken of my father.
'' Then perhaps there is a God. Ed was taken from me and you have come to take his place.''
40 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
OBLIVION.
B. u. DAVENPORT, '22.
0 ! Friend! Would thou achieve a name, And rise above indifferent fame T Millions Are buried in a living tomb; And, nameless, endure a dreary doom, Oblivion.
Then work in the morning of thy day, While youth and vigor yet hold sway. Your mission In life is just as great as you make it. Toil on: Avoid that sombre pit, Oblivion.
And list, ye pleasure swirled Hordes to the joys of the world Abandoned: Tomorrow done will not suffice. Keep on. Work now or pay the price, Oblivion.
Westhampton College Department
Editor.
Assistant Editor.
Business Manager.
Assistant Business Manager.
J e:ffries Heinrich
Anna lfoAlpine
Marie Crowder
Stella Hubbard
EDITORIAL
Another club has recently been formed, or rather reorganized, at Westhampton. It is none less than the Equal Suffrage League of Westhampton College. Judging from the number of girls who enthusiasW oman tically joined the ranks it is evident that the Suffrage sentiment of the college community is strongly in favor of woman suffrage. If any of the girls maintain any anti-suffrage sipirit they have not shown it by the formation of an Anti-Suffrage League to combat their friends who have taken the opposite stand.
Since Westhampton is located so near the State Capitol, within whose walls a hot fight is taking place over the ratification of the Federal amendments, it seems peculiarly :fitting that Westhampton should have a suffrage league and should take an active part, whenever possible, in pushing forward the movement in her state and in SUjpporting the movement in other states which have not given their women the vote. Naturally it will be regretted if the Virginia legislators do not grant suffrage ~o their women, and those of us who are Virginians will 1n later years hate to look back to this crucial moment when our leglsiators were given the chance to give us the vote, but held back and let the men of other states do it, but if it is so ordained and we have done our .utmost to make it otherwise, then it can't be helped. The thing that we, as college women, should bear in mind is this:
42 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
The time is coming and is near a;t hand when there will be equal suffrage in the entire United S.tates, and college women will be expected to cast an intellectual vote. Let us be sure and know fot what and for whom we are voting before casting the ballot. And above all let us be conscientious about it. Don't let the example of some men who are too indifferent to pay their poll taxes and ·vote be the policy for us to adopt. Always remember that one vote more or less will count and that it will be not our privilege, but our duty, to vote when the time comes.
IT ALL DEPENDS ON ONE'S POINT OF VIEW.
GLADYS SHOEN, '22.
Old Uncle Ezra sat smoking his corn cob pipe on one side of the rail fence down in Cox's meadows. Young Patrick Henry Jackson lay stretched lazily out in the long grass on the other. The whites of Uncle Ezra's eyes were rolling angrily.
"Gwan thar, nigger, I done tole yo' day's blackberries a-growin' on dis' yere fence. ''
'' I knows yo' done tole me dat, but I done tole yo' dey's huckleberries." Patrick Henry dug one bare black elbow viciously into the soft turf.
"Look hyar, Patrick Henry Jackson, yo' mean ter tell me I 'se lyin'? Ole Ezra, whar went ')Possum huntin' wid yer gran 'pa? ''
"Fo' Gawd, dey's huckleberries, Uncle Ezra."
"Hi, thar, yo' lazy, no 'count nigger, I done foun' yo' at las'. What dat I hear 'bout blackberries and huckleberries?" Aunt Jenny's voice shrilled out suddenly, interrupting the argument.
"Dey's blackberries," boomed Uncle Ezra.
"Dey's huckleberries," yelled Patrick Henry.
Aunt Jenny came up closer, peered over the fence at Uncle Ezra, folded her arms belligerently, and passed judgment.
"Sho, ain' it a purty par o' fool niggers yo' is T Sech argification ! Whar all yo gumption gwine, De littles' pickaninny in dis yer cyounty knows dat dey's huckleberries on one side Cox's pasture fence an' blackberries on t'other. It all de!I)ends on which side ob de fence yo' happens to drap !''
Aunt Jenny's remark, translated into prosaic everyday English simply means, "It all depends on one's point of view," that is literally.
For weeks after I heard our minister use the expression, "point of view" for the first time, I puzzled over its meaning. I lay awake at night counting the rosebuds on the wall IP'aper and wondering about this unusual
44 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
point. To the mind of a seven-year-old, point suggests something very tangible and definite. Was the point sharp or blunt? When I slept, my world was a world of rosebuds, pricked and torn and bruised by a myriad of pin points and pen points and jpencil points. I have learned since that a point of view is the most intangible of points, yet it's the most used and most vital in the world. There are more points of view in daily use than there are stars in the sky. No one is too poor or too ignorant to have one, or a million, if he should want them. They are personal property. A man may trample your garden, br eak your windows, steal and cart away all your money and valuables, but he can't put your point of view into his pocket and walk away with it. But, best of all, since it is intangible, and is not yet considered a luxury, it is not taxable.
There are two kinds of this disturbing point, the literal and the :figurative. Literally speaking, one has a point and a view. In :figurative language, one has a subject, and an idea. The queer encongruous thing about it is that one may have a point without a view, but a view without a point is iilljp'Ossible. It is as necessary that there should be different points of view as it is that trees should be green and buttercups yellow. If all the world looked at things from the same vantage point, life would be a picture in a dull monochrome. Judy O 'Grady and the Colonel's Lady, though they are sisters under their skin, look ·at life through differently colored glasses. I think I remember hearing somewhere, ''Variety is the spice of life, that gives it all its flavor.'' It is the endless variety of points of view that prick and stab the world into wide-awakeness and action.
Aside from being innumerable and as varied as J oseph 's coat of many colors, they are quite easily transferable. When we finish with a particular point of view we cast it away as we would an old suit or a worn-out pair of shoes. Some one else picks up our cast-offs and uses them in his turn. Thus, always changing, being tossed from one hand to another, a poor helpless point of view is hurled along through its earthly career.
Just as it takes more than one swallow to make a summer, it takes more than one point to make a complete view. I'm thinking of those six old "men from Hindustan to learning much inclined, who went to see an elephant, though each of them was blind.'' Each had a different point of touch, since they were blind, and "each was partly in the right, and all were in the wrong." It all depended on the "point" again, how far wrong they were. The six right parts added together would have made an eleiphant, and Uncle Ezra's view plus Patrjck Henry's would have made a complete true-to-life picture of Cox's pasture fence.
Point of view, along with the expression "worth while,'' is the most abused and hacknayed phrase in modern usuage. Somehow, p eople think it modern and representative of the twentieth century to scatter "points of view" promiscuously throughout writing and conversation. As a matter of fact, the phrase, or the thought back of it is ages old , as old as the five points in the north star. I can fancy Eve saying to Adam, "It all depends on one's point of view who is to blame for biting that apple.''
Everything in the world depends on one's point of view, from the shape of the baby's nose to the right of the Irish to have home rule. You can qualify any statement a man may make by tacking on this little trailer, "Considering his point of view-"
Morals are stupid things, and very unstable too, since it depends on one's point of view as to their inteI'!I)retation. The only moral I can find for this is very shadowy, and according to my point of view, unnecessary. However, take into consideration the other person's point of view, trying always to remember that it all depends on one's point of view whether an alligator is a reptile or a fish.
TO ----+----
BERNIE E. WHITLOCK, '23.
'Tis twilight, and before my open fire I sit and muse on you, Prince of my Dreams. Somewhere we've met in ages past and gone, Our souls are linked as one, to me it seems. Perhwps in Mars or Neptune by Love's stream Which flows to join the billows of the sea, Our hearts we pledged then and forever more. Then thou art mine, and I belong to thee. Or on some mystic isle ruled by Queen Love, Beneath a man, yet smiling Lady Moon,Where :flow'rets lend their perfume to the air, And fairies hop and dance to elfin tunes; You whispered words that made my blood to surge, My heart to leap within my beating breast; My soul to gaze on a transformed world, My lips to choose one word from all the rest. And yet tonight our paths lie far apart; I know not where your's lead, nor whence they came; But this I pray-that ere I breathe my last, My hung'ring lips may murmur your dear name.
ON TUCKING UP YOUR HAIR.
KATHLEEN PRENTISS, '23.
There comes a day in the life of every girl when she must make a most important decision. This decision seems such a small matter to other people-those who have been in the same boat years before-yet it takes careful consideration and deep thought to finally decide the question. To tuck up your hair, or not to tuck up your hair, that is the question. Whether it is nobler in appearance to look '' grown up'' or to continue to let your hair hang down your back and be looked upon as a "little girl."
It is hard to break away from the old habit of twisting those curls around with a hastily and none too gently applied comb, and tying on the very best piece of ribbon you ipossess. You invariably wear your best piece to school, then when Sunday comes it is too wrinkled and soiled to wear with your nice dress. It is a sad day when, for the last time, you tie that ribbon just as tight as you possibly can and set it up as stiff and straight as it will go, to make it look like a butterfly. "Butterfly bows" will never lose their beauty.
Your mother always has something to say about the important act. She hates so badly to see her little girl tuck up her hair. It will seem too much like her daughter is getting grown up. It seems to be rather a sad feeling when a mother realizes that her daughter is no longer a little girl, but a big girl. She insists that your hair looks so sweet and girlish down your back, and that you have plenty of time to wear it up.
But the old order changeth and at last the fated day arrives. You have fully made up your mind that you are plenty old to put up your hair and look decent. But rehearsal has been going on for at least two weeks, so the finished performance is ready to be presented to the public. The night before the day after is so full of excitement and joy in anticipation of what tomorrow will bring forth that you are really not able to study your
lessons as your teachers expect you to do. You go to bed early so as to get up early and have plenty of time to finish the job properly. You awake to find a bright morning smiling upon your great day, and with a joyous squeal you roll out of bed and begin dressing. Isn't it a grand and glorious feeling to brush out the troublesome curls and twist up your heavy, waving tresses into a big, loo se knot ? Oh! the bliss of pinning down the coils with real, sure enough hairpins. Your hair feels so firm and smooth that you just know it looks grand. You seize a mirror and gaze rrupturously at the reflection of the back of your head. But all your gladness turns to sadness when you perceive that the knot is much nearer the left ear than the middle of your head, and instead of a firm, smooth tuck, you behold a rather ragged, straggly, lop-sided bunch of hair resembling only slightly the desired coiffure. You snatch out the hairpins and one more attempt to effect the hoped for arrangement. Ah I this time it is much better, and your spirits rise as you behold the perfection of your labors. You straighten your tie, slap the powder puff across your nose, shove in a restles s hairpin, and give a final pat to your hair; then you proceed to descend the stairs in a most dignified manner, and take your usual place at the breakfast table.
Your older brother, glancing at you absently, arrests his cup in mid-air, and with eyes wide open, stares at the top of your head.
"Well, for the love of Mike, look at Sis! What in the dickens are you trying to do? Think you look some swell, don't you? Guess I '11 have to tell Johnny about your recent growing up."
With this teasing comment he proceeds to finish his coffee, and too shocked to reply, you gaze helplessly around the table to learn the sentiments of the rest of th e family. Mother and sister admit that it does look very nice, and father adds that you look as sweet as a peach. Your ruffled feelings are somewhat soothed, and reassured, you proceed to enjoy your orange. Breakfast over, you gather 1l1Pyour widely scattered books, search
for your coat and gloves, then put on your hat. You start from the front and gently push your hat down over the back, but alas! it comes to an abrupt halt as it meets with an obstruction-nothing more . or less than the worked over tuck. Making a fresh start you carefully fit your hat over the back of your head, taking great pains not to disturb the well behaved tendrils. But again you stop when the hat lands about two inches from your forehead. Your hat is simply not large enough for your head. Yet you have to get it on, and a glance at your watch tells you that there are a very few minutes left. With a quick, painful jerk you yank your hat nearly down to your eyes. then rush to catch the car for school.
The fun begins when, in the cloak-room, you remove your hat and an admiring circle of your friends begin their comments on the marvelous change.
'' Oh, Dot, you've got your hair up' It looks fine! I'm crazy about it. How in the world did you get it fixed so nicef" ·
"Well, at last! Glory be!" that's your chum." This is a welcome sight !. I've been after you long enough. I'm glad to see that my untiring perseverance has amounted to something and has had the desired effect.''
"Why, Irene, it didn't look all that bad, did iU I wish I had put it up long ago.'' ·
"Well, I can't say it was a disgrace to civilization, but it looks a thousand times better like this. It looks grand. Don't ever fix it any other way.''
'' Gee, if it looks that nice, I think I '11keep on tucking it up." ·
You walk into class with your head up, fully satisfied with yourself and feeling friendly towards all tlie world. It is a sad, but true fact that you have not translated but ten lines of your Latin, but you don't worry about it, for may be the teacher won't call on you; and if she does, it might possibly be within those translated ten lines. But, meantime, why worry? You won't be the first person unable to translate, so don't bother about it. A brilliant
''star'' reads the first ten lines as though he were reading from an English book, or were himself a Roman.
Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue sky, "Dorothy, will you translate?" With a bump you bring your wandering thoughts down to earth and concentrate on the passage before you. It looks rather easy, so you hope that you may deceive the teacher into believing that you have read your lesson.
Trying to look as though you could write a book in Latin, if necessary, you clear your throat and make a brilliant, heroic beginning.
"Nay, indeed he even dares to come into the forum and sit among the senators. Ah-er-er ( a dead silence pervades all). Er-ah-ah-Miss Williams what does that next word mean 1 I've forgotten. Oh, yes! I remember. Aher-er-Daily he plans your destruction-"
A shiver runs through your body. Terror grips every muscle. For, suddenly you feel that something terrible is happening to the back of your head. Something is slipping, slipping, and you feel that your destruction is planned and being carried out. Your comb, cables cut, so to speak, has started upon a swift descent; and just as a drowning man catches at a straw, it grabs at the nearest strand of hair; but, unable to secure a foothold, it bounds to the floor and slides down the aisle. Several hairpins, careening madly against each other, slide down your back. You are teribrly embarrassed when a long loop of hair, released by the comb, aimlessly strays from its home and comes trailing down over your eyes. Your face turns red, redder and reddest, and your confusion increases when several members of the class turn around to see what is the matter. A person's hair is always such a bother; it is forever and eternally coming down-that is .unless you've really learned to fix it. But, after returning the wanderer to its jproper place, you proceed with your translation and somehow, manage not to bring discredit to your name in the form of a zero.
As the day drags on, your coiffure begins to deteriorate more and more rapidly, and you are greatly relieved
when the last bell rings and you are free to go home and begin a period of reconstruction for your hair.
The first day is truly trying, but if you live through it, the others are not quite so bad, and by Friday night you are better able to control your stubborn hair which, the minute the hairpins are out, still continues its former habit and curls itself up and stands ready to be tied with a bow of ribbon.
You are particularly anxious for your hair to look nice Friday night, l,ecause you have a ''date,'' and you want to find out the effect of your hair being tucked up. You add a touch here and there until you have your hair just right, then you go down stairs fully satisfied with yourself. After a while your "date" mentions quite casually that your hair looks nice tucked up, you look older; then immediately asks if you want to go to the movies.
Having your hair tucked up does make a change in events. Your brother treats you more as though you are a young girl than his "kid sis." He takes you to the movies, to dances, brings his friends to see you, and makes it more evident that he knows you are on the face of the globe.
Your older sister has more respect for you. She seems to realize that you are a companion, liking the same kind of things and peqple that she does. So, when she is invited to dances, you also are asked, not because you are her sitser, but because you are a very promising young lady.
When you go away in the summer, those persons who haven't seen you for a .good while exclaim over how you've grown and declare you to be " quite a young lady.'' What's more, you are now one of the young people of the place and enjoy the pleasures of that set. Oh! it makes a great difference, and you are confident that you have had a better time that summer than you ever did have before.
By this time you have entirely overcome the difficulties of trying to train your hair to the ways of civilization, and are fully prepared to enjoy the pleasures and happiness which go along with having your hair tucked up.
LITTLE DEAD DAY.
POLLY SIMPSON, '23.
The sky is blue and the sound is blue, And the wind blows crisp and cold; And all is framed in the autumn haze That comes as the years grow old.
Little dead day, Slipping away
Into the soft blue night; May after years, Shadowed by tears, Keep some bit of your light !
The sunset is scattering wealth for us; Now deepest gold are the silver sands; The gray dusk falls like a sheltering cloak, And the quivering trees wave ghostly hands.
Little dead day, Slipping away
Into the soft blue night; May after years, Shadowed by tears, Keep some bit of your light I
THE PERSONALITY OF TEAPOTS.
HANNAH COKER, '23.
And "the kettle began it" as it sat on the coals singing merrily. It was ,not an obstinate and aggravating little kettle like the one that defied Mrs. Perrybingle; but an obedient, good little kettle, and therefore happy. Yes, even though its dented metal sides were darkened by smoke, it was singing steadily and soothingly. Its song was a little bubbli~g one, and its range was not nearly an octave. It was hard at work as you could tell by the white laboring puffs, or breaths, it sent out from its spout. Did all little kettles work like that I wondered, as I sat there watching the flames dance around it. No, of course they didn't. Black Julia's old brown teapot was not as faithful as this. Her brownie teapot grew weary holding tea; then out from a little crooked crease in its side it sent dribblings of brown tea. How it loved to ruin old Julie's white table cloth. With its eye cocked on her as she bustled around the kitchen, it would spill slyly, drop by drop, all the spicy tea. Then when ,Julia sat down with a sigh of relief to her evening meal, her kettle put on its most saintly expression; its brassy cheeks fairly glowed with affected righteousness. Two faced, wicked little kettle!
Brownie's first cousin lived next door with the grocer's wife. This cousin, little Gray Face, was stout and heavy like Brownie. Gray Face had never traveled much either. Her S1pherewas in the dark, dingy dining room of Mrs. Allen. Usually she sat on the coarse, red table cloth between four dirty young faces. Gray was dependable, however. Down in her motherly little depths she always held, warm aand close, tea for the four little boys she loved. She never sneaked, but seemed full of kindness and watchful care. She received he ·r reward too; for every evening the shine was put back on those cheeks by Mrs. Allen's wet, greasy dish rag, and all night long Gray Face could rest peacefully on the highest shelf of the cupboard.
RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
Yes, gray kettle, you are loved, but not as another of your kindred. That kinsman is the baby of the great family. This, like all other babies I know, is innocent, beautiful, and .sweet. How trustfully it can smile up at you, from the crude plank table in the playhouse ! Yes, it is a pot of pure gold! Golden at least to the little girl, Elsie, who treasures it so. Of how many dreams is that dolly teapot the center! What beautiful fairy tales are woven with a thread running from that little golden vessel! Oh, some say it is a little bigger than a thimble. Yes, I know, but Elsie doesn't realize that. For her it is large enough to hold hours of joy. How it enjoys helping Elsie fool her father with a cup of grape leaf tea. Its little yellow sides almost shake with laughter as the sour, greenish liquid is poured out. The teapot, living with Elsie and her dolls in the land of make-believe, is one of the happiest I know. But then it's young, you see, and knows so little of the world.
In a museum window across from my home I see every day the wisest old fellow. I know he must "waggle" often as he sits there in his conceit, and watches the city go by. "I am very old," he seems to say. "You gay young things think you know it all, but as for me, I have passed through hundreds of years. Did I not come over with the Captain, John Smith, of course, and was it not I who warmed him every evening during long hard winters T I have lived with shining old mahogany and aristocratic silver. On a great, handsome sideboard, I have glowed under a candelabrum that twinkled with a thousand starry eyes. Balls and wedding festivals, sparkling with ladies' jewels, and brilliant with the color of their gowns, have been viewed by me. I have known these, and other experiences of joy and sorrow. Laugh on, young child. Your knowledge is small . as compared to that which I hold under my embroidered coat of dull silver." As I looked in the museum window I thought how exqui site was the carving on that dull silver coat! Row (Perfect the lines! Rare, aristocratic, old pot, you hold an enviable spot in my heart.
Now, as I gazed intently into the red and orange flames, I saw there another pot that has lived through generations. This one is, if anything, more austere than the former. This teapot gentleman bears his history proudly on his face, instead of in his memory. From the peculiar raised letters molded out, and baked on his bronze, square-jawed countenance, one realizes immediately that he is a Chinaman through and through. He is cold and proud, like many of the revered old men of this race.
J apy, just separated by a bit ofi sea, has none , of the formality and grotesqueness of the subjects of the Chinese teapot kingdom. J apy is gay, beautiful, and often dainty. How much of the delicate beauty of slender Jap maids, willows, rivers and charmingly sh11jpeddwellings she had absorbed. She reflected their loveliness in a gay, pleasing ·red against a white background. She fills you with a great love for her artistic native land, Japan, and recalls delightfully its charms. These J ap teapots are many. At times, one seems to send to you an aroma of the delicate white wisteria pinned here and there on her pale, green dress; another may please you by a dazzling bird of paradise singing, to all appearances, amid sprays of bright flowers. Or again, you are deceived into thinking that you are on a little path under the turquoise sky, journeying toward the hut, yonder, at the foot of the snow covered Fugi.
When we arrive in England on our teapot tour, we find there a rather self important little fellow. Why not 7 Doesn't the lord, as well as the maid or laboring man, leave his work at five every afternoon, and give to Mr. Teapot his whole attention 7 From his roomy English interior, the whole kingdom is supplied with the biggest part of one meal. Is isn't a pale, faint beverage, either, that this small English native serves, but a strong, stimulating drink. By the number of cups that Tommy Atkins ~rinks you will know that our efficient little friend has imparted a relishing flavor to .the tea.
. One of the most prized dames of this kingdom once Journeyed to America. She entered a home where she
was apjpreciated and cared for. Only at family reunions or Daughters of the American Revolution meetings was she taken down from her friends in the china closet to add atmosphere to the tea table. Even then she was only touched by the reverent fingers of the hostess. On these occasions the meetings seemed to assume a new dignity, and a flavor from the simply panelled tea pot of gray white, presiding in the center of the table. In each of its twelve nicely squared alcoves stood one of the prophets. This vessel, which came from the little town of Wedgewood, in England, had, for a tea pot, one of the tenderest, most calm dignities I ever knew.
The little town in which I live has young girl tea parties too. On any summer afternoon, it is not an unusual thing to see, between the pillars of a low "homey" bungalow, a gro111Pof girls clad in rainbow organdies. They are chatting and laughing; but as in the meeting mentioned before, what would the club be without the squatty teapot in the centerT Betty is its name. Yes, I know it. Why, she is so extreme in her loud yellow dress; she is frivolous and officious too. Attractive, gay Betty is just as interested as the club girls in the gossip flying around. Often, I imagine, she recalls interesting bits of scandal to the members of this good-time club. Little pot, I fear you will live only a short life. Today you are the center of life and mirth; but your flaming dress soon wearies others, and you are hidden away, out of sight.
''Well,'' you may say, '' do you slander all modern teapots in this wayT" No; I have in mind another one of china that will last through the years, if its delicate frame is carefully handled. When you enter its home, the large softly lighted drawing-room, it welcomes you from a little mahogany table by the fireplace. You feel its charm before it has moved, or even spoken to you in a purring voice. '' Come and sit near me, in this handsomely furnished room," it seems to say. "I will refresh you by my harmony of colors, and cheer you with my exquisite designs. Turn your tired eyes upon me. My shiny black dress, decorated with rich rose and blue pat-
terns, and finished by a border of midnight green, will not weary you.'' Then when you have looked, and gone away, the memory of its calm beauty will often refresh you, but you may come and look again and you will see something new, for my designs are not revealed at once. '' Ha I ha! who is this chubby, little lady, who smiles at me from my mantel? This is the first teapot I have seen whose sides were really and truly moulded into the features of a lady. I don't use my imagination at all when I say she is a jolly looking lady teapot! She keeips me laughing always. Her six little teacup children round her are the '' livin'' image of their ma. Funny mama teapot, by your smooth, parted hair, and your open motherly face, I know you are the salt of the earth. You 're not only good, but you 're good-natured, too. How I'd love to have you hug me! What a soft, warm squeeze it would be! Your shining hair, your fat pug nose, those little round laughing eyes, your cheeks, and even the dimple in your double chin are a blended hue of green and lavendar. "Ha, ha, ha!" she laughed again. "Isn't this world just the jolilest place you ever saw? Law me, how I does love the old place.''
At this point in my reverie, I heard my niece singing a new version of an old ditty. '' Auntie take the kettle off. Auntie take the kettle off. Auntie take the kettle off. We '11all have tea,'' she caroled merrily; so I grasped the black wooden knob of the brass handle and hurried away to the supper table with the kettle which to me was, perhaps, the most useful of all the teapots.
58 RICHMOND COLLEGE MESSENGER
EXCHANGE DEPARTMENT.
The Richmond College Messenger has been in a position this year to handle a larger number of exchanges than for several years previous. We wish to extend our hearty thanks to those universities and colleges who have responded to our request for exchanges. We also aplPreciate the honor that other colleges have shown in desiring exchanges with us. We are glad to add the following magazines to our list:
The University of Tennessee Magazine.
The William and Mary Literary Magazine.
The University of Virginia Magazine.
The Wake Forest Student.
The Furman Echo.
The Wells College Chronicle.
The Wesleyan, from Wesleyan College, Macon, Ga.
The Acorn, from Meredith College.
The Lesbian Herald, from Hood College.
The Bessie Lift Journal.
The Sweet Briar Magazjne.
The Bryn Mawr Review.
The Isaqueena, from Greenville Woman's College.
The Mary Baldwin Miscellany.
To our list of exchanges we have added several publications from preparatory schools who are desirous of having their students attend Richmond and Westhampton Colleges. We therefore gratefully acknowledge
