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ST. PAUL'S
REV. BEVERLEY D. TUCKER, JR., D. D., RECTOR
SUNDAY SERVICES
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Vested Choir of 40 Voices With the Following Soloists: Tenor-Joseph Whittemore Soprano-Mrs. Frances W. Reinhart Bass-Norman Call Alto-Mrs. F Flaxington Harker F. Flaxington Harker , Director and Organist
ST.PAUL'S is the historic "Church of the Confederacy," referred to by Mrs. Jefferson Davis as "The West• minster Abbey of the South." Pews occupied by President Davis and General Robert E. Lee are marked by silver tablets. The memorials to Confederate leaders and others are among the most beautiful in the entire country.
A liberal Christian message, for thought and forward-looking young men and women 1s preached from its pulpit .
Kellam Hospital, Inc.
RESOLUTIONS
"We, the members of the First Baptist Church of Wartburg, Tenn., desire to express our appreciation for the kindness, liberality and skill of Kellam Hospital, Richmond, Va., shown our beloved Pastor, Rev. I. H. Bee, in the successful cure of that dread disease, cancer, and his restoration to us in perfect health and, we trust, many more years of usefulness.
"And Further, Be it Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be placed on the records of the church and a copy forwarded to Kellam Hospital.
"Done at regular session of the Church, this 9th day of August, 1925."
CARRIE S. HONEYCUTT, Clerk and Treasurer.
YOUR SEMINARY
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2. Westhampton College, a College of Liberal Arts for Women.
3. The T. C. Williams School of Law, a Professional School of Law, offering the Degree of LL. B.
4. The Summer School. W. L. Prince, M.A., Director.
Richmond College for Men
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Richmond College for Men is an old and well-endowed College of Liberal Arts, which is recognized everywhere as a Standard American College. Its degrees are accepted at face value in the great graduate and technical schools of America. Its alumni are so widely scattered through the nation that the new graduate immediately joins a large and friendly group of men holding positions of power and influence. The College occupies modern and well-equipped buildings, on a beautiful campus of 150 acres in the western suburbs of Richmond.
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MAY LANSFIELD KELLER, PH. D., DEAN
Westhampton College for Women, co-ordinate with Richmond College for Men, is housed in handsome buildings on a campus of 140 acres, separated from the Richmond College campus by a beautiful lake of about nine acres. All degrees are given by the University of Richmond, and those conferred on women are, in all respects, equivalent to those conferred on men. While the two institutions are co-ordinate, they are not co-educational.
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.J. H. BARNETT, .JR., LL. B., SECRETARY
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VoL. LI
THE MESSENGER
DECEMBER,
1925
EPHEMERON
ROBERT
A. STEW ART
- after de Banville
Rare lad , blonde as Italian sun, Whose glowing morn hath scarce begun, Live blithely till thy course be run.
Love's missal bids thee reverence Wine And Loveliness and Spring Divine. ' All else is naught: naught else be thine.
Flout with thy smile dull care and dole; When Spring's return exalts thy soul, Deck with its buds the sparkling bowl.
The mirthless tomb enfolds its prey. What then remains? Evanished MayThe echo of Love's roundelay.
"Effects and causes Wisdom knows," The barren sophists prate and prose. Words! Words! Pluck we the moment's rose.
No. 2
ANNOUNCEMENT
The chief trouble with collegiate literary composition -more than one sound thinker has observed -is due to the fact that undergraduates are taught how to write before they have anything to say. Anyone connected, editorially, with a college magazine is very likely to be of this somewhat cynical opinion. But, as cynicism gets us nowhere, perhaps a slight effort in the direction of remedial suggestion may not be amiss.
After all, is it true, as stated above, that the chief obstacles are a lack of background, a lack of experience, or a lack of imagination, rather than the needful ability to juggle twenty-six arbitrary symbols? If so, why not follow the advice of a certain writer of our acquaintance and adopt as a slogan, "materia aliena, mea ars ?" Why not, in the absence of original notions (as if such animals existed!) hie us hence to some foreign tongue and exercise our verbal adroitness in the gentle art of translation?
Immediately a gasp of protest will arise from those persons who have already attempted such little excursions. "My word," they exclaim, "do you not realize that translation demands not only a mastery of one's own tongue, but etc., etc." However, heartily ignoring these folks, we pass rapidly on, for, after all, we are not going to translate Descartes, Flammarion, or Paul Bourget. Mais non. Instead, we are going to take a simple, little tale of some thousand words, and after enjoying it in its own delicious French, we are going to set it forth into as equally delicious English. Certainly, in all of Richmond and Westhampton Colleges there is a great number of students who can understand simple, lucid French, and who can, further, write simple, lucid English. The contest ( for that is what it is, Messieurs et Mesdemoiselles) is open to all undergraduates in the University of Richmond. The subject of our experiment is a short story by Louis Carpeaux, which first appeared in the Smart Set for June, 1922, and which, to our knowledge, has never before been translated and published in the English language. This story will be found on the pages immediately following this announcement.
For the best translation submitted before January 10, 1926, THE MESSENGERwill offer a handsome souvenir imported direct from
ANNOUNCEMENT
Paris and appropriately inscribed. The judges who will select the winning translation are :
Miss GRACELANDRUM,Eng.lish Department, Westhampton College.
Miss VIRGINIAWITHERS, French Department, Westhampton College.
PROF. C. L. DODDS,French Department, Richmond College.
PROF. W. M. JONES, English Department, Richmond College.
All manuscripts must be neatly written, or typewritten, and signed with a nom de plume. A sealed envelope containing the author's real name on the inside, and his, or her, noni de plume on the outside must accompany the manuscript. The winning story will be published in the February MESSENGER.By special arrangement with the French Department of both colleges, all students presenting satisfactory translations in this contest will be given credit for same in lieu of some usual required work.
Now for a brief glance at just what constitutes a good translation. This task, however, we relegate to more skillful hands, in short, to the late Alexander Fraser Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee, from whose admirable "Essay on the Principles of Translation," we beg leave to quote:
" I would therefore describe a good translation to be : That in which the merit of the original work is so completely transfused into another language, as to be distinctly apprehended, and as strongly felt by a native of the country to which that .language belongs, as it is by those who speak the language of the original work.
Now supposing this description to be a just one, which I think it is, let us examine what are the laws of translation which may be deduced from it.
It will follow:
I. That the Translation should give a complete transcript of the ideas of the original work.
II. That the style and manner of writing should be of the same character with that of the original.
III. That the Translation should have all the ease of original composition."
So, Messieurs et Mesdames, keeping these precepts in mind, let us to our knitting -to our Larousses, that is, to our pens, and mayhap, to our Frasier and Squairs.
L' AME DE RAVELNAR ET LE SoR.CIER MALGACHE
By LOUIS CARPEAUX
Ravelnar, ma jeune servante malgache, etait devenue triste, malade. Elle se plaignait de maux de tete et pretendait qu'elle n'avait plus d'ame clans le corps. Personnellement, je la croyais seulement malade d'imagination, pour avoir mange du canard, qui est un oiseau fady 1 • Mais Ramanatene, sa sceur, voulut que je consultasse le sorcier; et celui-ci me conseilla un pelerinage au tom beau d'une aieule de Ravelnar. Comme ii ne me demandait pas d'argent pour m'y conduire, j'acceptai d'y aller, bien que ce tombeau fut situe en pleine foret, a plus de deux jours de Fianar.
Toutefois, avant de partir pour la foret, je resolus de consulter l'arriere-grand-pere de ma servante, qui s'etait rendu celebre en erigeant, de son vivant, une immense pierre levee, couverte d'inscriptions destinees a I'immortaliser.
Cette pierre levee etait ce qu'il aimait le plus au monde. Aussi, d'apres Ravelnar, son a.me y habitait-elle, et on pouvait lui parler, et peut-etre savoir ou etait partie l'ame de la jeune fille.
Par une belle matinee ensoleillee, j'enfourchai un mulet. Ravelnar monta en filanzane, et nous partimes consulter le celebre aieul.
Je refis avec plaisir cette jolie route d'Alakamiche, toujours frequentee, animee par le flottement blanc des lambes malgaches.
Quand nous fumes arrives, Ravelnar, apres avoir enterre une off rande en argent au pied du monument, le frappa de ses petites mains fragiles, armees d'un gros silex. Puis, vivement, elle colla son oreille contre la colonne vibrante.
Que lui dit-elle?
Plusieurs fois !'operation recommence. soucieuse. Ravelnar est
Soudain, je la vois, jeter son caillou, cracher sur le monument et deterrer son obole ! L'aieul n'avait pas daigne se deranger.
Ravelnar etait absolument furieuse, autant que consternee. . . . C'est alors que l'idee me vint de forcer l'aieul a repondre.
Suivant la coutume malgache en pareil cas, je pris cinq cailloux et, l'un apres l'autre, les jetai sur le faite de la pierre levee.
Trois etant restees sur le sommet, l'aieul avait parle: c'etait un ordre de depart.
1 Defendu.
Je me decidai done immediatement a partir clans la foret, ou reposait le corps de l'arriere-grand'mere, qui avait jadis occupe une situation importante a la cour des reines de Tananarive.
Le sorcier m'avait offert de me conduire au sejour de l'ame ancestrale, mais, quand ii fallut partir, ii exigea que je fisse tuer un breuf, dont l'ombre nous accompagnerait et nous assurerait bon accueil. Cela tombait mal, car c'etait justement fin de mois, et ii ne me restait pas beaucoup a depenser pour l'ame de ma "ra1;11atou."
Enfin, je trouvai une occasion: un petit breuf de soixante francs, que je fis immoler, et dont le sorcier, ce mangeur des bourses et des ombres, se regala pendant plusiers jours.
Avant mon depart, Ramanatene, sreur de ma jeune amie, craignant qu'on ne volat aussi mon ombre, voulut que je me fisse frere de sang avec elle, pour me proteger.
A cet effet, toujours devant l'affreux sorcier, nous bumes une gouttlette du sang de nos poitrines legerement incisees.
Des lors, chacun de nous possedait la moitie de l'autre, et nous devions tout mettre en commun, meme notre argent.
Et, si l'on me volait man a.me clans la foret, Ramanatene, au retour, me donnerait la moitie de la sienne.
Rassure, et heureux d'etre frei:e de sang de la jolie Ramanatene, je partis, un matin d'aurore sanglante, a la recherche de l'ame ancestrale.
Cette recherche n'etait pas chose aisee. Le tombeau, oublie depuis des annees et des annees, se trouvait en pleine f oret, loin de tout sentier.
Dans l'epais enchevetrement de vegetation, nous nous ouvrimes difficilement un passage,-plus exactment un tunnel !
Nous marchions sur un veritable matelas elastique, humide, forme d'arbes entiers, de branches, de brindilles en decomposition. De hautes herbes, de profonds entrelacements de lianes et de bambous protegeaient l'acces de ces lieux mysterieux, ou la mart et la vie luttent dans un perpetuel recommencement. Et, quand nous debouchions sur une petite clairiere, nous etions aussi heureux de revoir le jour que la caravane assoiffee d ' apercevoir au loin une oasis.
Seuls, quelques bourdonnements d'abeilles laborieuses arrivaient jusqu'a nous, du haut des grands arbres ou elles batissent leurs ruches d'ecorce; seul, le cri plaintif du babakoute 2 , imitant le rale du moribond, nous faisait tressaillir, ou la grenouille des bois
2 Singe malagache a queue d'ecureuil.
THE MESSENGER
poussant son croassement etrange, qui ressemble au bruit d'un coup de hache sur un arbre caverneux.
Et nous avancions toujours dans la penombre, la vegetation de plus en plus epaisse, precedes par le sorcier qui, parfois, faisant eclater un tronc de bambou, s'y desalterait bruyamment. Ravelnar se serrait contre moi, toute transie du mystere profond de ce sejour des ombres.
Cependant nous voici enfin arrives.
Tout proche d'un ruisselet glougloutant et paillete d'argent par les rayons du soileil, se dessine faiblement un petit tertre que d'immenses, fougeres arbor-escentes envahissent et enserrent.
C'est la que git l'aieule, depuis deux siecles. Repudiee, exilee, elle s'etait enfuie a Fianar, ou elle mourut de la lepre, ce qui lui valut d'etre exilee encores apres sa mort, de reposer pour toujours dans ce lieu solitaire et grandiose.
J'etais emu, profondement impressionne, cependant que le sorcier preparait son sortilege: une assiette de riz mielle, enfermee dans un panier a couvercle.
Pour mieux attirer l'ombre gourmande, a cote du panier le sorcier a etale du miel sur une feuille de bananier; et il injurie le ciel afin d'attirer l'ombre, de la reveiller.
Puis un grand silence succede a ces imprecations.
Accroupi au pied d'une gigantesque fougere, dont la dentelle me caresse le visage, Ravelnar tremblante a mes cotes, j'ecoute, recueilli et ravi, les longs fremissements des bambous, les chuchotements des bananiers, les soupirs des fougeres legeres.
II semble que l'ame de l'aieule anime ce paysage profondement mysterieux. Aussi ne suis-je pas trop etonne quand je vois le sorcier suivre du doigt dans l'air quelque chose qui, pour moi profane, reste invisible.
-Mon a.me, voila mon a.me, murmure Ravelnar en extase.
-Comment est-elle? demande-je a voix basse.
-Toute blanche, en forme de creur aile.
Mais, soudain, le sorcier bondit sur le couvercle du panier. D'un violent coup de poing, il referme le panier, sur lequel ii a appuye de toutes ses forces, en hurlant des paroles sacrees, incomprehensibles meme pour Ravelnar.
L'ame de ma servante est prisonniere. Sous son bras, le sorcier l'emporte, victorieux.
Nous suivons, dociles, jusqu'a Fianar. La, clans ma maison, un veritable f estin, compose surtout de viande de bceuf et de riz, avait ete prepare. On mangea, on but a satiete.
Au dessert, le sorcier reclama le silence.
Au milieu du recueillement general, il ouvrit le panier, doucement, tout doucement.
L'ame n'y etait plus visible, -intimement confondue avec le riz sans doute.
Aussitot Ravelnar, en hate, avale tout le contenu de l'assietteet, avec lui, sa propre a.me qu'il contenait !
Depuis lors, elle ne la perdit plus, - heureusement pour moi !
LAMENT OF A CONNOISSEUR
J. DONALD DEVILBISS
I like to light candles . . .
And hold them in my hands
While they burn;
Their lambent glow is my life.
It is hard to see them melt;
And then gutter and go out in a pool of cold wax.
Some burn slowly, some are gone in a flash;
The most beautifully colored do not last longest.
But, 0, it is infinitely harder,-
It breaks my heart,-
To have a chill gust come and blow them out
Before their little moment is over I
ROSEMARY
- that's for remembrance
The following poem was written by Mr. L R. Hamberlin, ' 83, President of the Mu Sigma Rho Literary Society and one of the Editors of "The Me s senger " for the session of 1882 -1883 It was in the May, 1883, issue
LIKENESSES
Like as the dewdrops, cool night brings, Do bathe the flowers of earth, So draughts of love I drink from thee Leave fresh my heart from dearth.
Like as the sunshine in the morn Peeps spotless o'er the hill, So glances fi:om thy glorious eyes My days with radiance fill.
Like as the moonlight in the dell Falls restfully adown, So thoughts of thee my passioned life Do calmly, sweetly ·crown.
Like as the tides of ocean 'tend The moon in dark or shine, So, yielding to thy magnet spell My life e'er leans to thine.
"ON SUCH A NIGHT AS THIS
A ONE-ACT PLAY
LESLIE L. JONES
The Persons of the Play
BILL - A Junior. Somewhat different. Six months in the Merchant Marine, and one terrific winter in a Northern Quebec logging camp have done much to cure a fit of wanderlust which assaulted him at the end of his freshman year. He once more haunts the academic shades of Matthews College in a not-over-strenuous pursuit of the elusive B. A. He is about twenty-three years old.
Eo--Another Junior. Younger than Bill. Has felt a "call" to the ministry. President of the Divinity Students Association.
RALPH-A Senior. About twenty-two years old.
MADGE-A Junior. About twenty.
CHARLIEand PETE-Two Sophomores.
(It is Sunday afternoon . . late Sunday afternoon. June is the month, and the day has been of a rareness to delight Mr. Lowell himself. The sun is rather low within an hour or so of setting. The audience cannot see the sun ( the seats face eastward), but the river which extends from the right rear to the left fore ground is shot with gorgeous streamers of gold, and scarlet, and bronze. Across the river, a panorama of gently rolling hills . hills clothed in blue grass. On this side the river are many trees. Two of the trees, very ,large and standing near the river bank, support a rustic seat made of a single hewn log. A path accompanies the river , and what with the water, the birds, and the soft, cool grass, •t is a delightful little spot . . . by far the nicest spot near Matthews College.
It is the day before Commencement.
Ed is sitting upon the bench. His back is propped against one of the trees; his legs stretch out before him upon the log. He wears a neat suit of blue serge, black shoes, and a black derby hat. He is reading an India paper edition of the Holy Bi,ble. Ed is an earnest young man, serioits, sober, and a shade sanctimonious Sanctimonious is certainly the word. Ther{! are birds in the trees; the river is a breathless dream of delicate color, and across the blue-green hiJls
THE MESSENGER
little shado w s gli d e . now hastil y, now lazily, n ow not at all -but Ed Ed is r eading th e S event eenth Chapt er of the Book of Re ve lation.
H e r eads carefully , and with d eli beration , m oist ening his fing er as h e turns each page. At inter v als h e looks dow n th e path in rather an abstract ed sort of fashion. During on e of th es e glances his attention is appar ently arrested by some object , or objects, in the woods. The sound of footsteps become faintly audibl e. Ed closes the B i ble, holding the place with one finger, and dropping his feet to the ground upon the farth er side of the bench, disappears behind the low er of the two large trees.
A moment later Madge and Ralph enter from the left. Madge is the girl who will be chosen May Qu een next year. Ralph is the young man who sits for the artist who paints the ads for Society Brand Clothes. Just now they are both somewhat subdued. She presses close to him, her arm in his, and they walk very slowly . very, very slowly.)
RALPH: Good old Dingley Dell! Let's sit down a minute, Madge . for the last time.
MADGE: 0, don't say that, Ralph. Didn't you just say you were to come back next year? Coming to my Commencement?
RALPH: You bet I am. (They sit upon the bench.) If I possibly can. It's a long way, Madge-California. And a year a whole year . so much can happen in a year. Sometimes I wish I weren't going.
MADGE : I wish so all the time.
RALPH: Really, Madge, really? Cross your heart?
MADGE : Silly ! Haven't I told you so a thousand times?
RALPH ( holding her close to him) : You darling ! Of course you have. And that's what makes it so hard . . so hard to go, Madge. (After a pause) But there's something else I'd like to hear you say . . . just once.
MADGE: What's that, Ralph?
RALPH: You know. You came near saying it down by the bridge. Won't you say it now? (Smoothing her hair with his hand.)
MADGE: I'm afraid, Ralph . . . afraid to say "yes." And it's so hard to say "no."
RALPH: What are you afraid of, Sweet? Of me?
MADGE: Oh, no, not you! Of . . . of myself, perhaps.
RALPH : You . . . you want to say "yes" ?
"ON SUCHA NIGHTAS THIS . . ." 17
(She presses her face against his shoulder, and does not answer.)
RALPH : Do you Madge, do you? Tell me.
MADGE: I I believe I do, Ralph.
RALPH : Then you will? You will? You darling ! . . 0, Madge, I want you so much! A whole year before I can see you again. Don't let this be our last little hour. Please, Madge, please . you said you loved me.
MADGE(holding him t1:ghtly): 0, I do, I do . too much I'm afraid.
RALPH: You mustn't be afraid . of anything. What else can matter, if you love me and I love you? There's nothing to be afraid of. And tonight there'll be a full moon. Bill Maclaren told me so. Our last full moon together . . let's make it the sweetest. Won't you, Madge, won't you? Please, please, Little Sweetheart.
(She is silent, her face stiU pressed agai;,,st his coat.)
RALPH: A whole year . maybe longer .maybe forever. Please, Madge, please. Won't you?
(A bell sounds. It ;s the chapel bell announcing vespers. The lovers are silent until the last soft note comes gently down the river.)
RALPH: Forever . . . maybe, forever, Madge.
MADGE: Oh, no, Ralph, not that! Don't talk like that. It hurts . it hurts. 0, I love you, love you, love you.
( She clings to him tremulously, pressing her own cheek to his.)
MADGE: You won't think less of me? You'll always, always, love me?
RALPH : Always, Madge, always.
MADGE: 0, Ralph, I'm afraid . afraid sometimes. I love you so much. And I I want you, too. Nothing else seems to matter. I don't care I love you, love you.
RALPH ( kissing her) : You darling! You darling!
(They hold each other tightly, for hours it seems to Ed, and are silent. Ed can be seen on the left of the tree whither he glided when they sat down.)
RALPH : You're the sweetest girl in the world, Madge. You've made me happier than I've ever been . . or can be. Except tonight. 0, but it'll be nice tonight upon the river . our last night together. We'll never forget it, Madge . . never. I'll be just below the dam with the canoe. Will half past eleven be too early?
THE MESSENGER
MADGE: I don't think so. Between then and twelve. Maybe a little later.
RALPH : I'll be there. But it won't be hard to get out?
MADGE: Not very. The proctor is off at midnight . but I don't care if it is hard. It's your last night and . and I don't care what happens . . so long as I am with you. 0, Ralph, I love you, love you . be good to me, Ralph . don't ever forget me . you won't will you?
RALPH: Forget you? Forget you? You little witch! How could I, Madge, how could I? Stop loving you? I could forget God much easier.
MADGE: Oh, Ralph!
(She kisses him upon the lips, and jumps to her feet. The boy grabs her, and holds her to him passionately in a long embrace. Slowly and silently they go up the path to the right.
As they pass from view, Ed peeps cautiously around the lower tree. Bill, crawling on hands and knees, suddenly appears from behind the river bank which descends c,lose beside the trees. Creeping up to the bench he sprawls across the tog, his hands touching the ground in front, his toes behind. The color scheme of Bill's attire is white: white duck trousers, white sport shirt, white tennis shoes. His hair is dark brown, bordering on red, and is curly about the ears. He is unconscious of Ed ' s presence, and gazing after the departing lovers begins to chant
BILL : Where did you get that girl? Oh, you lucky fellow! Where did you get that girl?
Now tell me on the level.
(During the song he drags himself slowly across the log. His toes have just reached the top of the bench, and, his body forms an exaggerated arch, when . . )
En: Bill!
(The human bridge collapses, and Bill crumples to the earth in a heap. Coming to a sitting position, he places one hand over his heart and regards Ed with mock seriousness.)
BILL: Gracious goodness, Edward, how you have startled me. The eavesdropper eavesdropped. Alas, I'm all undone. (Leaps lightly to his feet, and goes through a few setting up exercises, as if to limber up stiffened muscles.) So you, too, my ecclesiastical young friend, you, too, have been simulating the dictaphone.
En : Not intentionally, Bill. to be interrupted in my studies next Wednesday night could pass. I saw them coming, and didn't want I'm preparing a sermon for so I got behind this tree until they
BILL: And they didn't pass? Like the Bosche at Verdun. Well, seeing as I'm in the same old boat, I suppose we'll have to grant you absolution. As for me, I was in the midst of a delightful siesta when those dulcet voices broke into my slumbers, and then . . . well, Ed, you can see what chance I had to make a graceful retreat. I just had to lay there on my jolly old back, and drink in the whole business.
En: It's rather fortunate that somebody did' drink it in.
BILL: How come, Ed? How come?
En: Well, you heard what they said, didn't you? What they planned to do?
BILL: Aye, aye, milord, I did that. I am privy to the plot, as they say in the movies. And I jolly well wish I weren't. It has done nothing but stir up a riot of envy in this otherwise noble buzzum. Think of it, Ed ! Tonight while I'm sitting in on some idiotic bull session, that Valentino room-mate of mine will be strolling i' the moonlight with the comliest damsel in half a dozen states. ( Sighs exaggeratedly.) Gee, I never did have no luck.
En: You should be thankful you don't if it's like this. I don't call that luck, ruining a girl
BILL: Ed, what in the hell are you talking about?
En: You understand perfectly well. You fellows may think I'm prissy, and over-squeamish, and all that, but there's a limit to everything.
BILL: You're jolly right, Ed, there sure is. Especially to this business of reading other people's minds.
En: I may not be a mind-reader, but I know that a girl does not sneak out of her room at midnight to meet a fellow unless unless
BILL: Unless she thinks right much of him, eh? Righto, Ed, righto !
En: But that's no excuse for sin no matter how much she thinks of him. And that's not love anyway, it's
BILL : Look here, Ed, where do you get that sinning stuff? If you keep on like this, I'll have to smash you with that old wheeze of your ancient namesake, Eddard the Third. You know, that "Boni soit qui mal y pense," affair.
THE MESSENGER
En: You may laugh all you want to, but this is a serious matter. I never thought Madge was that kind of a girl
BILL: Steady, Ed, steady or I will get serious.
En: But suppose she's caught stealing out like this. Think of the scandal. And the school's good name. Have you no pride in the honor of Matthews? I have, and I'm going to report this thing to Doctor Fisher right away. (Starts out right.)
BILL ( detaining him) : Easy, Ed, easy. Let's talk this thing over a bit. I suppose I ought to admire your zeal, and righteousness, and all that, only it looks so damnably like meddler's itch that it leaves me cold and sceptical. What in the name of hell have we to do with these folk ' s business? Especially their love affairs?
En : Do you mean to tell me that we should stand by and do nothing while they break the rules of the college, and the laws of God?
BILL: Ah, ha! So that's your concern, is it? The jolly old commandments. You're afraid they'll smash one of your precious "Shalt-nots" the good old Seventh, eh? or is it the Sixth? I never could keep the darn things straight.
En: A lot of people would be better off if they did. This is no laughing matter, either.
BILL : I should say not. Love is the most serious matter there 1s. Look where it usually ends up. In marriage, Ed, marriage those so-called holy bonds of matrimony. And what is more serious, or more tragic than that? Or more fatal to one's life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness? Answer me that, Ed, answer me that. You may have three goes but the first two don't count.
En: If you can't talk sense then I'm going. I know my duty ( Starts up the path to right.)
BILL ( blocking the way effectively, but diplomatically) : Duty? Duty? Ah, Ed, there you strike a spark from this old chist ( striking his breast). Do you remember what General Lee said about duty? "Duty," said Old Marster, "Duty is the sublimest word in the English language." But he was wrong, Ed, dead wrong. Love. That's the word, Ed. Love; sublimest, divinest, superfinest
En: Bill, please stop this nonsense. Something's got to be done about this matter. Can't you be serious for a minute?
BILL: Who? Me? Good Heavens, Ed, I never was more serious in all my life (dramatically). Don't you realize the significance
of this day; the import of this night now on the verge of falling? (Fames.) No? Alas, Ed, for shame. If you would keep an occasional eye on the almanac instead of burying yourself in that imaginative literature (pointing to the Bible in Ed's hand) you would be hep to the secret. Why, our gallant Lothario mentioned it just a few minutes ago. And still you know not of what I speak? No? Then I must be the good, old Samaritan and dispel these clouds of ignorance which press down upon you. (Very impressively and in a low voice) : Tonight, Ed, tonight is the night of a full moon. (Pauses dramatically, and continues in the same manner): But a short while now, and above the crests of yon beetling hills, will Cynthia peep. Good old Cynthia, wise, friendly old Cynthia. And then will there be another of those "on-such-a-night-as-this" nights like the ineffable Mister Shakespeare so exquisitely depicts in that last, sweet act of "Ye Merchant of Venice." Think of it, my young man, think of it! Three thousand years and more since Leander swam the Hellespont, on just such a night as this will be, to walk in the moonlight with Hero. Dear, delectable Hero. And she, too, had to crawl out of a lower window three thousand years ago. She was a nun, you remember, or a college girl, or something . Think of it, Ed ! Three thousand years ago, and the same old story. My word, fellow, this business of love is almost as old as the commandments of your friend Moses. Think of it !
En: I do not care for mockery, Bill. Nor do I care to see the name of Matthews sullied by improper conduct. My duty is clear. I shall
BILL: But how about my duty, Ed? I love old Matthews, and all that, God knows. But how about Romance, Ed, sweet, jolly, old Romance? It's rotten scarce, you know, frightfully, frightfully scarce. That's where my duty lies, Ed with Romance, and Love, and Cynthia. Especially on such a night as this will be. It's not that I love Moses the less, but that I love Romance the more. Well said, Marcus Brutus. But really, Ed, you don't realize what you are trying to do. Murder Romance? Jove! you'd regret it to your dying day. Here, sit down a moment (shoving him over to tlte bench and pressing him down upon it) and I'll show you the utter hideousness of your contemplated crime. There we are, all set. We'll try this thing fair and square. I'm for Romance, and you're for Moses. Romance has the first shot. When I'm through you may read me a couple of chapters from Deuteronomy by way of revenge. In the meantime calm thyself, and hearken to
THE MESSENGER
these potent arguments I am about to unleash. As an introduction to my thesis I shall be forced to read you a bit of a poem from this here very charming little volume. (Takes a smaU, red book from his hip pocket.) This here very charming little volume contains the work of Mister A. Newberry Choyce a jolly old Briton, dontcherknow, but a damn fine poet withal. Of course, now, I admit that David, the son of Jesse, was no mean rhymster himself. For a change of diet, however, I heartily recommend my old friend Choyce, of deah, old Lunnon. So lean me down one of thy long ass'es ears -that's from Tennyson, you know, nothing personal, Ed, nothing, personal-and absorb the sweet strains of this verbal gem. It's called "A Lady \i\,Talkedin Ilium." Get that, Ed? "A Lady Walked in Ilium." Here goes:
"A lady walked in Ilium, But that is long ago, And whether she was sad o' nights, Who is there to know ?
"And whether she discovered, too, That loving has no ease When there is a golden moon Swinging in the trees.
"Who is there to tell me Whether even yet There is one night that lady Cannot quite forget?"
Do you get that, Ed? "One night that lady cannot quite forget?" Honest, now, Ed, would you destroy such a night steal such a night from a girl? That would be the real sin, Ed, the unpardonable sin far worse than anything they can do to the good old decalogue. And anyway I'll be damned if I can see any relation whatever between sin and the love of young folks like these. Sin? My God! Who made these rules anyway? Not God. God made Love, and Youth, and moonlight. Had you ever thought of that, Ed? And can't you see that I have God on my side, as well as Romance, and Love, and Cynthia? I should so say! Moses might have made those commandments, but it was God who made that boy and girl and it was God who set their blood on fire and it was God who made that moon you'll
"ON SUCHA NIGHTAS THIS . . " 23
see up there in a few minutes. And I'll be John Brown if I can tolerate any interference with the works of God not by you, or Moses, or any old body. I'll be damned if I can, Ed. Of course, I'm not on such intimate terms with God as you profess to be, but in this one particular instance I am as bigoted as John Roach Stratton. So there we are. Shall we shake hands on the business, go up to the hall, and forget we were at Dingley Dell this afternoon, or shall I have to throw you into the river? For, by the toe-nails of Moses, I shall throw your ministerial hide into yon water, if you insist upon blocking these people's last little moments of happiness. Be reasonable, Ed; I don't like to get peeved. It disturbs my digestion, and I have a luncheon engagement tomorrow Let's give it to them, Ed that last night they cannot quite forget
A VOICE ( some distance up the river) : Bill! 0-0-0h, Bill! Bill Maclaren !
BILL: YE-oo -00 !
THE VOICE: Is that you, Bill?
BILL: No buddy different!
THE VOICE: Where are you?
BILL: Dingley Dell! What's the racket. You frighten the dryads!
THE VoICE (as if its owner were running): Wait-downthere. We're coming.
( The sound of running feet becomes louder, and two Sophomores dash in. They are out of breath, and seemmgly very excited. Charlie and Pete are their names.)
CHARLIE: Bill, 0, Bill, they want you up at the hall right away. Something's awful has happened. Ralph Morrison (stops to catch his breath.)
BILL: Ralph Marrison? What about Ralph? What's happened?
CHARLIE (panting from exertion and excitement): He-he0, Bill, it's awful! I saw him he he ( breaks down, and drops upon the seat).
BILL: For God's sake, fellow, what's the matter? Spit it out. What about Ralph?
PETE: He's just been killed.
BILL : Killed?
En: Killed?
PETE : Killed.
THE MESSENGER
BILL: Good God, Pete, what do you mean? How did it happen? He was down here just a few minutes ago. Wasn't he, Ed? Don't try to kid us, Pete.
CHARLIE (jumping up excitedly): Nobody's kidding. It's true as gospel. I saw him . . his chest was all smashed in it just happened . he was going to town with Bob Spreull . something happened to the damned old flivver . nobody saw it . steering gear, or something . they went off that sharp curve on Erb's Hill . . fifty feet down . rolled over and over and over and over ( his excitement increases) stuck in a tree . smashed the car all to pieces . killed Ralph . the engine fell right on his chest . I saw it . helped to lift it off him Bob didn't get a scratch . Ralph killed instantly . . . I saw him . his chest was caved right in . . God! It looked awful . . awful . awful ( bursts suddenly into tears).
(There is a Jong, awkward pause. They stand in the dusk looking at the crying boy.)
PETE: Come, on Bill, let's hurry back. Doctor Fisher wants you to call Ralph's people . . . you know them better than any of the other fellows. Come on.
( Bill stares at Charlie - dazed. speechless.)
PETE ( shaking him) : Come on, Bill. Let's go.
BILL: All right, Pete . . . just a moment. This has been a bit sudden, you know. Sort of knocked me up. I'll be right along though . . . don't wait . . . tell Doc I'll be right up . . . run ahead, and take Charlie with you.
(Pete and Charlie go out right. Bill sags heavily against a tree, motionless. Ed stands near, restless, nervous, a bit uncertain. He goes over and sits upon the bench near Bill.
It is now "the moth hour of eve." Twilight has crept quietly down the blue-grass slopes and into the woods. Hill-tops across the river trace an uneven line against the slightly lighter sky. There are many fireflies. River frogs begin their sad, interminable chorus, sweetly discordant. Faster and faster comes Night.)
En (softly) : Bill !
(There is no response.)
En (a moment later): Bill! 0, Bill!
BILL: All right, Ed.
En: It's terrible, Bill, terrible . . . this thing. But God knows best, and we must accept his will.
BILL: I understand all that, Ed, but it certainly does seem hard to pass out like this. And on this day, too. Tomorrow, his diploma . everything before him health, position, family everything. And a girl who love him Good Heavens, Ed, I wonder if Madge knows Suppose they keep it from her, and tonight she slips out to meet him . . and he dead all the time! Good God! ( Gets up and moves about nervously.) Think of that, Ed, think of it!
En: I am thinking of that, Bill. And of something else, too, (Pauses.) Do you remember -Charlie said that Bob Spreull did not get hurt?
BILL: It's always like that. The chap who has the most to lose . he always has the worse luck.
En : Luck? How about God, Bill? (Hesitates.) Had you thought that perhaps, after all, this thing happened for the best?
BILL: My God, Ed, what are you saying?
En: Just this. It may be that Goel, who sees into our hearts and knows our innermost thoughts, bas taken Ralph like this in order to keep him from sin . . and to save Madge. Had you looked at it in that way?
BILL ( staring strangely at Ed) : Looked at it that way? Looked at it -Good Lord, Ed, do you really believe such rot? Do you0, Hell, you'd never understand. Let's leave God out of this thing . if there is a God.
En: Of course, there is a God. How can you say such things, Bill? Especially right now. Have we not just witnessed an expression of his infinite power and anger? The Bible tells us
BILL: I know, I know
En: Bill! a lot of things. Chiefly rot.
BILL: Yeah, rot. Tommyrot. Legends, superstititions, yarns to frighten children . . and morons. Don't quote any of your idiocies at me. Not now, at any rate. I'm fed up fed up. A righteous God! Bah!
En: Stop, Bill, stop. That's sacrilege.
BILL (fiercely) : Sacrilege, Hell! If God had anything to do with this, then I'll be damned if I'll have anything to do with God. A righteous God! (Pauses.) Good night, Ed, can you honestly believe that any decent God could do a thing like that . . mangle a fellow like that, kill him cruelly, horribly because he had blood in
THE MESSENGER
his veins instead of water? Don't tell me. Don't tell me. I just cannot imagine such a Being or Trinity or Spirit or whatever you wish to call it.
En: We must not question God's ways. They are not for us to understand.
BILL: The same old bunk. If your righteous God takes such an interest in Moses' commandments why doesn't he punish some of these others these other filthy ratters who break all of them, and then die of old age? Answer me that. I'll tell you why. There wouldn't be any left to worship Him, that's why. And he likes to be worshipped, this jealous God of yours likes to see fear in the eyes of little men men his masterpiece - some masterpiece a job to be proud of.
En ( rath er aghast) : You'll be sorry for this, Bill this horrible blasphemy this mockery.
BILL: But I'm not mocking not the idea of a God . It's what you have made of God that I hate thi s little , jealous God this God of righteousness and respectability and dogmas, and creeds and but let's cut this twaddle It gets us nowhere and poor old Ralph lying up there on the hill - I'm not laughing at your beliefs , Ed, only don't tell me that God had anything to do with this, and then expect me to believe in him and love him Rot, pure rot Madge crying her heart out Ralph dead and you tell me that he even watches the fall of a sparrow My God, what utter rot!
(He moves about restlessly , his voice trembling with passion. Bill is very nervous.)
And tonight a million rotten things will be done millions, millions, millions! Hateful things, filthy things, obs cene things! And who will be punished? No one! That's who. No one And all your damned old commandments will be torn to shreds all of them and a million wretches will live, and laugh, and enjoy life and the finest chap in Matthews crushed dead and a girl's heart broken Do you call that justice? Divine Providence! Bunk , I tell you bunk. Sheer bunk. Divine love! Don't tell me it's all a rotten mess Life no order no sense utterly idiotic Li£ e ! Rot!
(He drops heavily into the seat, with his hands over his face Across the river the dark: mass of the hills draw an uneven
"ON SUCH A NIGHT AS THIS . . "
27 line against the brightening sky. A soft, pale light spreads through the woods. There are many fireflies. The chant of the frogs becomes more melancholy than ever. Above the crest of a hill peeps the round edge of a large, golden moon at first slowly, then with increasing boldness. The light arouses Bill. He ,looks up. The moon is swinging over the hills is mirrored in the water of the river Bill stands up. His face shows in the dim light, pale, drawn, tense. Ed is standing in the shadow of the' lower tree. It is Ed who breaks the silence.)
En ( almost whispering) : Bill, Bill! Let's go.
BILL : Go ? Go ? Look, Ed, look! It's theirs theirs ! Their last full moon forever. (Softly) : "One night that lady cannot quite forget" cannot quite forget - cannot ever forget ever ever ( there are tears in Bill's voice. He stops. Then as suddenly turns upon Ed): Damn you, I hope you're satisfied you and your jealous God your righteous God your your God of justice (His voice brealzs. He' flings himself upon the grass, and heavy sobs shake his body as
THE CURTAINFALLS
CONCERNING A DEPARTMENT OF DRAMA
M. R. M., '26
Vague but increasingly frequent remarks relative to a Department of Drama on our campus have given rise to much wonder as to just what constitutes such a department anyway. Department of Drama, you say to yourself, and the words have a sound that is not displeasing. Department of Drama, you scribble icily on your pad, when the deluge of facts and formulas and whatnot constantly directed your way refuse to hold your attention longer. Your pen, as if to alleviate the increasing restlessness, desperately retraces the letters, and you glance at them, half curiously at first, then with a dawning of interest. Almost unconsciously the thought comes that somehow it looks rather well; it would look well in a catalogue. A catalogue? Why not our catalogue? And then the speculation begins: why isn't it there already? What constitutes such a department anyway?
A rapid succession of half-formulated suggestions is the result: a dramatic coach; a class for studying drama; another to rival the Carolina Playmakers for writing it; a final group blessed with the histrionic art itself. And a second thought adds, groups concerned with the laborious but withal intriguing details of stage mechanics; others whose inglorious but gratifying task it is to promote the business end of things; and yet others who, somewhat after the fashion of the critic, seek at once both their own mental satisfaction and the correction of flaws in the whole dramatis personae. Finally there comes the suggestion of hour credit for work done in any of these fields of activity, and of established financial backing from the powers that be.
Interesting ideal! you say to yourself. And then I surprise a startled look in your eyes. Ideal; why it's not an ideal at all; it's just a reality unrecognized and sans gloire. In answer to the wonder as to why such a condition is allowed to exist on a progressive campus comes the suggestion that there must be a lack somewhere. Even unconsciously, the mental inventory begins with the purpose of locating the deficiency. A dramatic coach? Nothing open to question there, surely; you challenge anybody to name one better than our very own. A class of drama? Again, our own is above reproach. Dramatists? Ay, there is a rub! For, though our campus is verdant with devotees of the pen, few have as yet aspired to the category of playwrights. (A Department of Drama is the evident
29
solution there.) Actors? Again, the campus breathes of adepts to the art, including those already arrived at the state of local stardom, those on the way, and those in the bud. Costumers? Stage mechanics? When one remembers such things as knights' sashes, fashioned of scarfs extraced from the audience just two minutes before the curtain arose ( after many doubtful efforts) ; or artichokes for Pierrettes who "cannot live without them," devised at the last moment from nothing else than bananas; or comely turbans wrought of bath towels between acts ; or, thunder and lightning and torrents of rain, resulting from certain frenzied maneuvers among the stage hands with rice and sheets of tin and a cannon ball, all lingering doubts of the efficiency of present appo intees vanish without a struggle. College credit? The other rub! We admit with a certain degree of shame that our system of credit is limited. But then perhaps it is due after all to the widely prevailing idea on our campus of "art for art's sake."
Department of Drama? It already lives and moves and has its being; it needs but a little wing dust to make it soar, joying in its new freedom, and delighting the eye of the heholder with its greater worthiness and beauty. Department of Drama! A name to give dignity and to flourish under; a stronghold for souls jaded with wondering about business ends and the like; the balm of security for art hitherto handicapped; a very little thing - a miracle!
BOTTOM VERSUS ARIEL
T. P.
The other day an instructor in the University of Richmond, apropos of a study of Shakespeare, presented a most interesting question to her class. The subject began with a consideration of the relative values of Bottom's absurdly practical philosophy ( set forth in Midsummer Nightis Dream, we remember), and that delightful way of looking at things characteristic of Ariel and Puck. The subject began here; but it went straightway toward an everyday basis, and culminated in this query: Is it better to have a small campus, with no need of patrol and no grass to cut, or the campus of our university at the present time?
Now this discerning instructor, it seems, has been often approached w'ith the suggestion that the campus be made smaller and
THE MESSENGER
an extra professor hired -yes, hired - with the money saved on upkeep. She appealed to her class for a refutation of the idea. Thanks to some fine spirit still alive in these materialistic days, the girls were quick in response . They said they did not want a narrow campus. They don't; who, indeed, does? If education is a matter of text-books and science lectures merely, it has signally failed. If it is a thing to be sponsored by Bottom the weaver, who burlesqued Pyramus and Thisbe because he couldn't understand moonlight unless it was represented by a lantern, and couldn't enjoy anything less tangible than an earthen wall -if it is this, we ask that we may be kept ignorant. Puck had a lovely -and probably a most helpfullesson when he went forth to "have a gem in every cowboy's ear." He had a lesson in beauty.
The campus of the University of Richmond is one of the finest in the South. Visitors are unanimous in their praise of it. Shall we, who own the gift, leave others to realize its value? The consideration of healthfulness alone should convert the practical-minded to the idea of an extensive site for a college; let them think, if they must, of the doctor bills saved by the invigorating atmosphere about their children! We wish they would think of the other side to the question -the cesthetic side. Strong and courageous souls are best developed; are best molded in beautiful places. The sunlight on a lake may be a greater lecture than that of any teacher; it ts a greater lecturer. The influence of nature has been discussed until the very words are trite; but it is a most vital subject for discussion, and surely, if Socrates and Plato, if Christ and the psalmists, were unashamed to speak of it , we should be also unashamed.
This publication takes up the fight on the side of greater space and finer appreciation of it. We are for Ariel and Puck-and the instructor who had courage enough to begin this debate.
OF CRITICS
loNE STUESSY
Critics may be distinguished as adverse and favorable; or, they may be called destructive and constructive. The adverse or destructive critic presents this advantage: that they thoroughly consume the object of their displeasure, leaving behind no vestige from which a troublesome new form may arise. Weakness and vacillation characterize those other critics who dare not boldly denounce a piece of work as wholly wrong, but must needs find it to be half creditable and half displeasing; or, as they say, there may be found certain indications of promise, or, perchance, a phrase or two that really pleases. Indeed, such a man would tell his sister that he liked the color of her hat very much (if hats may be considered works of art, as indeed some of them are) merely because the color green became his sister well; notwithstanding the fact that the shape was most horrible. Thereafter, the foolish girl would feel justified in seeking green in her apparel, merely that she might look her best, whereas green is a very expensive color and one that tends to inflame the vanity of any young lady to whom it adds beauty. The wise critic would have frowned darkly upon the whole hat, albeit the green was ever so becoming, and the maiden, in dismay, would have withdrawn both her hat and her countenance from society, a far more economic procedure than the former. For if one knows not whether it be the face Ol'] the apparel that displeases, one is safe to condemn both. Consider then how far the efficiency of the second critic exceeds that of the first. Consider how often the world has been saved by him from aspiring young artists, who had good ideas, but had hopelessly bad form; or consider the deluge of delightful pictures from which we might have suffered, had not our watchful friends crushed the rising geniuses with a single adverse criticism. On the other hand, I need not mention the countless amateurs who have actually risen to the heights upon the strength of a word of praise or a helpful suggestion by one of the despised brethren, a constructive critic. The results are obvious; they are dire; therefore let us criticize wisely and well. The rose that is nipped in the bud need not fear future evils; its safety has been purchased with a trifle, the hope of future glory.
THE MESSENGER is published every month from November to June inclusive by the students of The University of Richmond. Contributions are welcomed from all members of the student body and irom the alumni. Manuscripts not found available for publication will be returned. Subscription rates are Two Dollars per year; single copies Twenty-Five Cents. All business communications should be addressed to the Business Managers.
(Entered as second class matter in the postoffice at The University of Richmond.)
CAUSERIE EDITORIALE
ART AND THE WOMAN
Not so many years ago an age old chrysalis opened and from it there emerged an eternally familiar creature in a new form. The world hastened to examine this being, to study the movement of her body and the color of her wings. Men attempted to explain her emergence from a state of lethargy. They speculated as to the course of her flight, wondered what would be her new attitude to life in its different aspects, and began to question the relation of this new woman to art. The small number of great women artists, both in the past and in the present, is a noticeable fact. Men say with truth that there have been, with few exceptions, no women of outstanding genius or achievement. The new woman answering him replies that lack of opportunity and a mistaken sense of inferiority have caused this. However, women have ever been more closely associated in activity and spirit with the more beautiful side of life, and have often had more leisure for the pursuit of art. One wonders why
there has not come from the leisure of upper class households an expression of art deeper than painstaking needlework. Perhaps the more fundamental reason for woman's non-development in art may not be lack of opportunity or incapability, but a deeper cause within the very makeup of woman's nature.
Art to the woman has always meant the enhancement of personality, has been a method of self adornment, rather than an idea to be followed in the subjection of self. She has been an acquirer of art, not a worshiper in its many temples. When she studies music it is with the purpose of enriching her personality, rather than of injecting her spirit and person into the music. She sits down before the piano ( when it is a woman we are tempted to call it pianoforte), she spreads her skirts in pleasing folds, she curves her arms and her fingers in that position which she knows will give the most grace and charm to her appearance, which has been fore-studied in her mirror. An audience, no matter how small, must be present. If there be none, she creates the onlooker in her mind. Her personality requires display and is not content to be forgot in the perusal of the idea. So she tends to "The Rosary," batiked veils, free verse, to things with a semblance of beauty perhaps, but insignificant in the greater idea of the beautiful.
Here we meet the egnima of the true conception of art. Indefinable as it is, we know Raphael reached it, Keats and Chopin reached it, but we are quite doubtful that Whistler ever did, or Harold Bell Wright, or Carrie Jacobs Bond. Whatever it may be, women have scarcely, if ever, reached it. As she becomes more active in the field of art she still retains the inborn tendency to regard personality as of primary value, for which all material must be subject, and to which every idea be secondary. This attitude, although not so prevalent, has existed among men. "Oneself for Art's sake" has been an ideal frequently abandoned by that sex. And as a result we have the great personalities of art, Dr. Johnson, Lord Byron, Whistler, and the score of others whose lives interest us as much as their work, men not feminine in their characters, but possessing that most feminine trait, the ability to enrich their personalities with their art. These are the characters which we like or dislike, admire or condemn, according to our own tastes. We react to them and to their art as we would to persons. The men and their works interchange, become so interwoven that their production does not stand apart from their personalities. They have molded themselves with their art. Few are those who cannot appreciate the greater
THE MESSENGER
artist. Intelligent understanding is alone the requirement to enjoy masterpieces. It is about the personalities that we disagree. To dislike Whistler is a matter of taste, to dislike Michelangelo is a failure to comprehend.
Woman goes one step further in the enhancement of personality. She tends to develop the practical phase of art. Commercial design, costume design, and interior decoration are of more interest to her than that vague and uncertain field of higher art. She ignores an exhibition of fine paintings to spend time sewing that her children may be more beautifully dressed. She allows good books to go unread in order to decorate her home more tastefully.
As a last test, woman questions the ultimate value of beauty. Can it be, she asks, that art is an ideal so lofty, an idea so eternally above life, that personality is abandoned in its pursuit and sacrificed in its creation, or is beauty but a tool to be used in the molding of more complete and beautiful personalities? There have been great artists who have been meager in the qualities which make a personality rich and pleasing. If beauty is made for man and not man to worship art, then the conception of the woman is more primal and untrue. Unless it has degenerated into mere vanity, the enriching of personality by art is of more lasting value than the abstract ideal of art. Yet art can never reach the pure heights of creative genius without personal subjection to the ideal. And to give oneself wholly to an ideal is the greatest gift of a personality to the world.
M. w. H.
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The University of Virginia
EDWIN A. ALDERMAN, President THE TRAINING GROUND OF ALL THE PEOPLE
Departments represented: The College, Graduate Studies, Education, Engineering, Law, Medicine, The Summer Quarter. Also Degree Courses in Fine Arts, Architecture, Business and Commerce. Tuition in Academic Departments free to Virginians. All expenses reduced to a minimum. Loan funds available for men and women. Address THE REGISTRAR, University, Va.
IMPORTED
Brass, Cloisonn e , Chinese Vases, Silk Gauze Lanterns Atlantic Hand Dipped Candles, Novelties 104 East Grace Street Madison 2570
Crozer Theological Seminary
Tuition and room rent free. Scholarships available to approved students. Seminary within 13 miles of Philadelphia. Metropolitan advantages. Seminary's relations to University of Pennsylvania warrant offer of the following courses:
1. Regular Courses for Preachers and Pastora. Seminary. Degree of B. D. or Diploma.
2. Training for Community Service. Seminary and University. Degrees of B. D and A. M.
3. Training for Advanced Scholarship. Seminary and University. Degree of Th. M. at Seminary , or Ph. D. at University.
For Information Address
REV. MIL TON G. EVANS, LL. D., President, Chester, Pa.
Harper Method
"Compare the Work"
ROY AL TYPEWRITERS FOR RENT
Special Rates to Students
FACTORY REBUILT MACHINES FOR SALE
Easy Payments
Royal Typewriter Co., Inc.
A. BARTLETT, Mgr.
737 East Main Street, Richmond, Va.
CABELL PHILLIPS, Representative
The Student
OF THE UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND
Will enjoy "browsing" in our store; there is no obligation to make a purchase; you are welcome here at all times.
LARGEST
STORE
Publishing House
Meister
BOOKBINDERS
DON'T JUST SAY
"ICE CREAM''
SPECIFY
SOLD OVER THE ENTIRE SOUTH
MANUFACTURED BY CHAPIN-SACKS CORPORATION
MEN!
Style Still Lurks In Your Old Felt
-and we will restore it completely to its original appearance. It's surprising how thoroughly we clean old hats. That's why we say "Save your old hat."
LADIES!
Hats Remodeled to the New Styles
Bring us your last season's hat and we will remodel it to the new styles - at small cost. New models to try on and select from.
Verra Hat Works
Two Convenient Locations
211-13 N. FIRST STREET Ran. 909
Mail Orders Solicited
702 EAST MAIN Mad. 5426-W. Representative DAN BEGOR
COLLEGE STUDENTS
Especially Invited to
The First Baptist Church
CORNER BROAD AND TwELFTH STREETS
REV. GEO. W. McDANIEL, D. D., Paator
Church Services: Preaching Sundays 11:00 A. M. and 8:00 P. M. Prayer Meeting Wednesday 8:15 P. M.
Sunday School: Meets at 9 :30 A. M. Baraca, Philathea and other organized Bible Classes.
B. Y. P. U.'s: Meet at 7 :00 P. M. Sundays. Fellowship Union meets in Baraca Room. Fidelity meets in Sunday School Auditorium; Loyalty meets in Church Parlor.
"COME THOU WITH US AND WE WILL DO THEE GOOD"
Comfortable Convenient Safe
THE BOYS' MEETING PLACE, AS WELL AS THE OLD GRADS RICHMOND UOME. BROADSTREETAT EIGHTH
