Editor-in-Chief Business Manager Assistant Editor Assistant Editor
LUTHER WELLS •
WESTHAMPTON COLLEGE
DOROTHY GWALTNEY
VIRGINIA BECK •
ELIZABETH GILL
JOHNNIE ADAMS Staff Artist
Editor-in-Chief Business Manager
Assistant Editor
Assistant Editor
THE MESSENGER is published every month from Octo~er to J111e _by the students of the University of Richmond. Contributions are welcomed from all members of the _student bo~y and _from the alumni. Man~scnpts not foun~ available for publication will be returned. Subscription rates are Two Dollars per year, smgle. copies Thirty-five Cents. All ~usmess communicat10ns should be addressed to the Business Managers.
Entered as second-class matter m the postoffice at the University of Richmond.
Members Intercollegiate Press Association of Virginia
EDITORIALS
URIS past theatrical season on the campus has been productive of some of the best work seen these many years. The University Players have thrown off the black frock coat of complete conventionalism and presented Euripides and Ibsen. Now they go so far as to take off their vest and even open their collars a little with a production of Shakespeare's Merry Wives of Windsor, with all its coarseness and burly good humor included, we hope.
Now that the campus with all its disinterest is at least getting beyond the faint pansy Lady Windemere's Fan, Rachel Crothers opuses and other such poached tripe, it seems to us the thing to do is at the earliest possible time to dish up a good roaring comedy-not as drama or as an example of the art of acting, but as pure and simple fun and entertainment. If our good play reading committee would but realize it, that if the theatre, aside from stimulating thought, fails to entertain, it is doomed to a long existence in a green bottle of alcoholic preservative.
A university should be able to point with pride to its dramatic achievements. But first of all, it should want to point with a proud forefinger-and next, and most important, it should provide means bv ~hich plays can be produced m a manner removed from the pronounced tinge of stable stalls. One of Aristophane's barnyard fantasies is well suited to the luxuriousness of our present Red Cross Building.
As long as this college fails to provide means and incentive for student self expression, just so long are we going to have such volumes of THE MESSENGER.-L. N. B.
TRONGER and stronger becomes the stand against tradition. It is indeed gratifying to see the banners borne straight and true across the campus of Westhampton. Who ever dreamed that a May Day staged in some place other than Dogwood Dell could be any sort of a success? Who ever before heard of a May Day which was not merely a succession of irrelevant incidents strung together; which was not devoid of coherence; which confessed to a plot and a purpose? The suggestion that May Day be held in the Greek Theatre was received by many as incongruous. It required the deft application of forethought to visualize the advantage of such an arrangement.
The battle against convention is so prevalent in all the various parts of the world that it is in itself conclusive
TABLE Of CONTENTS
Metamorphosis, Elizabeth Gill
Portrait in Oil, S. 0. Terrick
With Apologies to Lewis Carroll
Old Edlow, N. Y. Booth . Diamonds, M. L. Dinwiddie
A Nigger in Heaven, L. S. Booth
Of Human Bondage or a Modern Pilgrim's Progress, Katherine Brugh •
Les Villages Du Midi, Paul Frederic Bowles
Cantor lmpotens, Wolfgang
Moon Magic, Wolfgang
Sunshine Jimmy, H. R. Neathery
proof that its cause is a just one. Within the last year various steps have been taken on the University of Richmond campus for the furtherance of that cause, and the success of the several enterprises lays a rock foundation for other even more daring ventures. It is to be hoped that there is leadership enough for continued progress. Now that the road has been cut, all hands should be in readiness for its paving.-D. J. G.
Metamorphosis
The wind was cool and young and quick of movement; It stirred the new-leaved trees along the street To quivering laughter, and among their branches Sang strange songs to entice my tired feet.
On the bright thoroughfare I walked sedately, But when I reached the dimly lighted park And, slipping in, became another! shadow I ran lightly, doing dance-steps in the · dark.
Omnicience
When the kind earth has cleansed me of my body And taken it upon herself again To fashion from its substance other creatures Who shall know living and the ancient pain,
Of living, then, transcending life and knowledge Vested with freedom and tranquility, Shall I, omniscient, feel a certain pity For you, who being mortal, envy me.
-Elizabeth Gill.
Portrait in Oil
By S. 0. TERRICK
Time: Present.
Place: A corner of the World on a small branch of the Amazon in Brazil.
Scene: The room is of murky white; it is dirty. Towards the left is a bare table with chairs about, straight backed, uncomfortable ones. A door on one side of the room is covered with a heavy piece of canvass under which water has seeped; it is raining hard. The rain can bei heard drip drip drip. On a cot in the rear at the right is a young boy of perhaps twenty-three, twisting and writhing. It is very nearly dark, the sticky atmosphere of the room is distasteful. In the distance can be heard the hum of motors and a swish of a piston running in and out of a shaft. Soon after the scene opens, a young) girl of about twenty, with straggly hair about her extremely pretty face, enters. Her coat is dripping wet. She takes off her hat and raincoat, hangs them on a peg, looks back at the boy on the cot, braces herself, forces a smile and goes towards him. . . .
GIRL: Hello, honey, how are you feeling now?
Boy (looks at her with his eyes staring) : Better. (He, too, forces a smile.) Oh, I think that I'm getting along all right, but this place . . . it's terrible, no beauty, no color; it's just the whirr of machines, the yells of sweaty men ... their curses. (Wildly.) I can see them . . . men . . . sweat . . . animals . . . heat . . . machines ma~hines whirring everyone is a machine here. God, we're all machines, I didn't want to be one, that's why he sent me here.
GIRL: Be quiet, dear; it's the world God made we must live in it.
BoY: I won't I tell you I won't ..•. (More wildly than before.) Damn it all, I didn't want a world like this, but the one the one I could make. (Slowly as visualizing his world.) Beauty .•. culture ... fancy ... pale blue heavens . . larks escaping the preying claws of vultures the soft downiness of fluffy clouds to rest on painting art • • drama I could weave with threads of dull scarlet or brilliant purple all that my heart desired. (Then wilder as before.) No money • . • no money ••. none . . . none . . do you understand me? No money damn it none (He sinks back exhausted.)
GIRL: There, there, dear, please don't excite yourself. We must find some way out of all this. (She gets up from beside the cot and goes to a chair beside the table, sits down, sinks her head on her arm, sobbing, and murmuring) : I can't stand it. I must go I must go. But I can't leave him. (Enter a Man in grimy and oily overalls. His face is almost black with oil.)
MAN (sees Girl sitting at the table, goes up to her, does not remove his hat): When's the kid going to be able to go on the well? We've got to have men you know the new well's about to blow. I got orders from his old man to make him work and to try for God's sake to make a man of him.
GIRL: But he can't go to work. Look at him for yourself. Can't you see he's raging with fever?
MAN: G'wan, we all get a little hot in this damned place, but we just go on working plugging • getting nowhere but just work work till we drop then get pitched into a hole in the ground that's about the only place that's cool I hope to hell I can feel the coolness it would be worth dying for but we don't want to die I don't know why we shouldn't unless unless, aw I don't know unless we're too damned scared to take the chance. . . . But I got orders to make the kid a man and I don't go back on the boss. (He walks over to the cot roughly, takes the Boy by the shoulders and raises him to a sitting position, looks at his thin and emaciated face shakes him.) What are you trying to do, fox me? (Then lets Boy fall back and pushes his hat from the front of his head.) N aw, I reckon you ain't. You got it all right. You ain't good for nothing.
GIRL: But you don't know him what do you say things like that for?
MAN: N aw, he ain't no good. His old man says he draws pictures, pounds the keys on a piano, makes pretty speeches. What the hell good is that? He can't work. He can't make money! He can't take care of you or your children, that is if he's man enough to get any. He's got to work. (To Boy): You understand, I want you on the well. Quick, understand? You gotter git better and be pretty damn fast about it. You're just in the way down in this world. Not good, fer nothing.
GIRL (standing in front of Man): But he doesn't
have to take care of me-it's my life to do for him; he married me, it was enough he doesn't owe me anything. But can't you see what he's trying to do? to make this world just a little more beautiful . . . to make it just a little bit better to live in . . . to sweep his art across us like a cooling breeze. It will make us cool cool do you understand? we will escape the heat this heat. A chill is sweet isn't it? It's prickly fingers vibrate, travel over your body and leave you tingling.
MAN ( not understanding) : Mebbe, but I want the kid. He'll have to work just as we all do. He he ( The lad on the cot interrupts them by his writhings and shouts, "It's cool coof' then he sinks back. Man and Girl watch him. There is a silence in the, room. From without is heard the whirr of machines.)
Bov (in delirium) : Is this death? the same whirr machines men sweating no, not men angels sweating pulling the sun across the heavens their wings are dirty yes, gold coins money, money gold gold in stacks . angels tearing at each other to get at it . . . let me out . . . I don't want to stay here . . . death . . . ha! ha! ha! (laughs hysterically.) God is a god of gold (laughs more violently and throws his head back on the pillow . . . his laughter fades slowly away . . . he is silent.)
MAN: Do you suppose what he said is true? (Man is awed.)
GIRL: I don't know . . . supposing it 1s what are we going to do?
MAN: Huh, it can't be true. Those preachers ought to know. They say that there is a Heaven. It's streets are paved with gold and there are girls ... good looking ones, and all they have to do is look after ' you all the time. Sure there must be some place like that. Those preachers ought to know . . . and anyway it's in the Bible. But, hey, that ain't got nothing to do with this now. I want the Boy . . . I'm short on Men in this World they ain't making them fast enough for me •.. how are we going to run the Wells, the Machines without Men? He's got to get on the job in the morning, see? His old man is right in not letting him waste any more time drawing pictures, bah! Playing a piano like children and weak little women. Making pretty speeches, damn. You'd better have him ready.
GIRL: I ... I ... I'll try to have him ready to be out tomorrow. .,.
MAN: Aw, right. (He turns and walks abruptly out.)
GIRL (going over to the table, then turning and look• ing at the Boy on the cot): But if his father knew what it was like in this World would he have sent his Boy out into it? But he knew he must have known. . . . He was here once himself. . . . Didn't he . . . didn't he find out what it was like? If he didn't . . . why didn't he? He probably had no soul nothing just that animal instinct for work without asking questions . . . just that slaving . . . plugging plugging. He didn't know. How could he know? . . . he had no mind . . . no eyes for beauty . . . they were too filled with gold so filled with gold that a painting looked to him like a smear of butter. Music was jingling jingling little gold coins clanking together. ( She goes over to the cot, sits down and begins to rub the Boy's forehead. He sits up strangely.)
Bov: Who are you? (His eyes stare.)
GIRL: Don't you know me your wife?
Bov: My wife? . . . I have no wife. . . . I don't know you.
GIRL: Dear, don't you remember? those afternoons you walked through the cool green forest, I first came to you. Don't you remember when you leaned back on a bed of moss and watched wisps of clouds dally behind large tufts of cotton ones? the September sky was deep blue it was a huge canvas a background on which you tucked and retucked the clouds first in one position then another sometimes they were envisored knights with waving plumes, on horses garbed with hoods of azure then they were cities ... turreted ones with domes of gold just covered with a light snow.
Bov: I seem to know you.
GIRL: And one day I followed you to the music hall and took a; seat just behind you. I watched you respond to the dull harmoniousness of the Sixth Symphony . . , you were enthralled by the swinging rhythm of Strauss they played some of Wagner and I watched you heighten to the loud, thumping music that stirred you a wild abandoned piece of de Falla sent tinglings throughout your , body. It was a savage, gypsy tune that sent the blood coursing at a high rate through your veins. Then I think I leaned over and whispered to you. Did I? Try to remember.
Bov: Yes, yes, I think you did. Go on.
GIRL: You went to the art gallery and I walked slowly behind you, dogging your footsteps. You paused before
this painting and that. You didn't know; you were groping trying to discover yourself trying to find out. Don't you remember standing before a certain old master and looking at it first from one angle then from another to get the different effects of blending caused by the light from the sinking sun streaming through a purple stained window?
BoY: It's coming back to me; keep on.
GIRL: Then finally that evening in the deep soft velvety blue of a summer night, you called out to me. I had waited, longed for that moment. And when your voice came out across the night to me, I hurried to you, brushing out of my path the webs of glimmering moonbeams. I stood before you at last, you recognized me. You gathered me to you and pressed your soft lips to mine. As for me, I had no choice. It was only for me to do your bidding. You married me and we lived together in the little lodge by the lake where the waters were always blue, the stars were brightest and the moon shone for us alone. We were happy until ... until
BoY: Yes, yes, my Soul filled with beauty
. . with music. . . .
GIRL : Then you know me now?
BoY: I've always known it was you. (Very slowly.) But I wanted to see if you knew . . . if you knew yourself in this place. You might have forgotten what you were here.
GIRL: But you see, I didn't forget.
Boy: No you didn't and I still have you will have you-always.
GIRL: Yes, always.
Boy ( breaking off strangely) : What is death?
GIRL: I don't know? What is it?
BoY: It came to me. It was whirring ... pounding just like it is here sweat greed
working driving. (A trifle wildly): Oh, if it's like that, I don't want to die but I'm not quite sure it may be different. But suppose it isn't?
GIRL: I have a feeling, oh, I'm afraid there's no difference.
Boy: Then where can we go? I know that I must. I must go somewhere very soon but where? If death is what I think it is, I don't want to die but I must go.
GIRL: But why go off when you don't know . don't know where you are going what you are going into?
Boy ( very slowly) : That's it. We must defeat death. That's the only way. He's the last enemy who must fall before us. We can beat him cheat him we can we can. (Then very wildly.) Let me up let me up I tell you. ( Girl is farced to hold him down he is finally quiet after a struggle and looks up at her.) But how how can we defeat death?
MAN (rushes in and pushes Girl out of the way. She falls back in chair besides cot) : She' blowing we got to have you now Git up. (He grabs Boy and shakes him.) Git up git up (The Boy falls limp.) Say, wake up, will you? Git up git up (Finally he realizes that something is wrong and lets go the Boy. The body falls back limply. Man listens to the Boy's heart then shakes his head slowly He turns to Girl and finds that she has slipped back in the chair. He feels her pulse and listens to her heart. Shakes his head again.) Dead both of them. (Walks to the door and looks around.) They weren't good for nothing. He couldn't Work. (Then in ecstacy.) Anyway the Well she's blowing I reckon we got enough Men. (He rushes out. There is the silence of death within the room, but outside the machines whirr as the curtain falls.)
PAGE EIGHT }!t-
With Apologies to Lewis Carroll
I thought I saw a cat's insides That / made me pale and sick, I looked again and saw it was Simple arithmetic. If this was only bridge, I said, I'd take an extra trick.
I thought I saw the Fairy Queen Running down a hill. I looked again and saw it was A lovely moonshine still. I cannot drink the stuff, I said, It makes me very ill.
I thought I saw a dog-fish With a gleaming dorsal fin. I looked again and over it was The seventh deadly sin. If I just knew the cosine law I'm sure that I would win.
I thought I saw a yellow slip That meant I had an "E." I looked again and saw it was A lavender sweet pea. If I don't shoot the thing at once It'll climb upon my knee.
I thought I saw in one swift glance, A view of time and space. I looked again and saw it was Our dean in a mile race.
If you don't leave' this room at once, I'll smack your sassy face!
-Evelyn Duncan.
Old Edlow
By N. Y. BOOTH
ASSIUS EDLOW was born in England. A somewhat hazy spot in the crystal ball of retrospect fixes the year at 1779, or perhaps it would be better to say within a few years after George's troops had met ignominous defeat at the none too gentle hands of American colonists. His father, old Richard Edlow, had long been a favorite of the English stage and now in the year 1805, with which our story really begins, the theatre-goers of London were not yet ready to receive the young Cassius Edlow, either as a successor to his famous father or as a serious rival to the justly lionized Edwin Blunt.
Even though Cassius was twenty-six years of age, he had only two years before really thought of a theatrical career. His preparation had been meager; he was not possessed with an over amount of intelligence or manly beauty-but his voice-that magnificent, vibrant, liquid tone of his would carry to every part of the theatre and thrill the onlookers to such an extent that they would forget all of his imperfections. That is, all would forget except the staunch supporters of Edwin Blunt.
So this bringS1us to the night of November 23, 1805. Cassius Edlow was presenting Shakespeare's Richard III in the historical old Covent Garden. This was his first independent performance as a rival of the czar of actors. London was divided into two camps. Blunt's followers declared that Edlow was an interloper, a pretender to the throne, and had openly declared their intention of breaking up Edlow's opening performance. But Edlow had plenty of friends to tell the Blunt partisans to come on and try it.
Mobs packed the streets long before and after the ~heatre was full. Inside the house two hostile gangs Jowled and jeered each other. Upon Edlow's first entrance "R" h d " h as 1c ar , t e Blunt crowd hissed deafeningly. The friends of Edlow replied with splitting applause and the legs of chairs.
Up and down the stage the actor went, wretchedly trymg to make his lines heard above the roar of the crowd. Whenever his enemies showed the least sign of tiring th emselves out, his friends set up such a tumult of triumph th at nothing was gained. He was as helpless before the one as he was before the other.
After a time he gave up the brave acting with which he had hoped eventually to quiet the house, and retired to the wings. The rumpus went on as before, both factions seeming to have forgotten him entirely.
He was not, however, defeated, and tried everything he could think of to capture his house. He began acting again, necessarily in pantomime; he addressed the audience; he hid; he reappeared pleading, and then went back to acting again as though nothing was wrong. The shrieking fighters refused to be wooed away from their fun. At length Edlow tried big, printed signs on them. First he came down to the footlights with a placard bearing the words, "Grant silence to explain." At the sight of this the racket increased. Next he appeared with a sign reading "Mr. Edlow wishes to apologize." The fights and catcalls redoubled.
Once more he sallied out and paraded the stage with a painted legend "Can Englishmen condemn unheard?" and was answered by both the camps in the affirmative. Finally he gave up, finished out the play in dumbshow amid the infernal racket and went home, leaving his manager to scream this rebuking news through the house.
"Bring him back," howled the friends of Blunt, angry at having their game spoiled. The partisans of Edlow shamed their adversaries and sought revenge with fists and teeth. So the opponents kept it up until after midnight when, worn out with pleasure, everybody went home.
Similar revelry was held at every Edlow performance for nights thereafter, all London seeming to have joined in the sport. Heads were cracked and passions boiled, but Cassius Edlow had a powerful frame, and a tireless voice and in time he won out over his enemies.
There was sufficient room for both Edlow and Blunt. The former played at the Covent Garden and the latter held forth at the Drury Lane Theatre. Their differences were settled peaceably and for a while they co-starred in amity. Edlow was famous-not only for his marvelous voice and his steadily improving stage technique, but also for the extreme violence with which he threw himself into a role. He acted with prodigious energy and was far famed for the tempestuous roles which he essayed with such herculean power and force that it was said that the actors on the stage with him were held spellbound by his
terrible eyes which flashed with green and red. He would bring audiences to their feet with his frenzied word-fights.
As most actors, friend Edlow had an extreme fondness for strong drink. His escapades have become history. Once he pawned himself to a loan-broker for the price of a drink, coming back, honestly, after he had consumed the amount of the loan, to stand in the pawn-shop window, wearing a ticket like the watches, guitars, family crockery, and other thin gs which shared his place of display. Some friends found him there and redeemed him.
Managers were driven to desperation by Edlow's vagrancy. In many in stances he was not fit for the evening performance after an afternoon of hard drinking. One of the managers tried locking him up in the dressing room so as to be sure that he would be sober for evening performances. Edlow soon worked out a way to get around this barrier. He bribed a boy to stand outside his door holding a saucerful of brandy at the keyhole. He gave the boy the bowl of his pipe. Through the aperture of the keyhole Edlow would stick the stem of the pipe; the boy would put the bowl into place and then continually fill the bowl with brandy until friend Edlow sucked himself full. When twilight came-and also the manager-the star was dead drunk.
Edlow's disposition, as the years went on, due most likely to constant drinking, became worse and worse. He was given to violent storms of anger. During one of these fits, he was really dan gerous. He was given to all manner of petty prejudices and dislikes.
In 1821 he and his wife sailed for America and landed in Norfolk, Va. He stayed there only a few days and left for Richmond, where one of the South's leading managers gave him an opening engagement. He chose Richard III. as the play for his opening night.
It is now the afternoon of the sixteenth of June. Edlow, forty-two years old, showed the results of a decade of dissipations. He was gray and worn; his eyes were blackly circled and were sunken. He was nervous; that night was his American premiere. Much depended upon it; his hands shook. Cassius Edlow was hardened to the stage and its tricks and caprices. He had played Richard many hundred times. Why was he shaking? He didn't know.
Edlow made his way to the bar which was located in the basement of the hotel at which he was stopping. No one paid any attention to him. They hadn't paid much attention to this London favorite in America. He sat down at a table a little off to one side and ordered a whiskey and soda , That was poured down, and another,
and another. He heard a voice at the table next to him and turned to see who it was speaking. Edlow's eyes wer e somewhat blurred by this time, but he recognized the speaker as the member of the local company who was t o play "Richmond" to his "Richard" that night. Stephen Evans spoke:
"This man is an impostor; he can't be the great Edlow. Wait, just you wait until tonight and you will agre e with me after you have seen him."
Edlow was in a rage. He gave a start as if to attack the speaker, but for one of the first times in his life he restrained himself. This American opening could not be marred. He swallowed another whiskey and made h is way unseen out of the bar.
That night was a gala occasion. All of Richmond society had donned their best. There were many visito rs from Washington, Baltimore, even New York, which in those days was quite a journey distant. They did not know, but if this was the great Cassius Edlow, he wa s not to find America wanting. Men with their high gre y beavers and frock coats, silver knobbed walking canes swinging in their hands, girls with wide colored band s around their hair and whirling hoopskirts of white touched in pink, all presented an early American social pictur e par excellence. Richmond was indeed the theatrical center in those days and set the fashion by her approval or disapproval of either new play or unheralded actor. Backstage, Edlow suppressed a great anger. The y doubted him. He would show them, and that cursed "Richmond" too. He was an impostor, eh? Drink had sharpened his nerves so that they were tingling; his eyes were blazing. He was eag!!r to show them; then doub t, if they dare.
From the minute that the curtain arose and "Richard " made his first long speech, the audience bellowed their approval. They stamped ai-i'd screamed; pitched hats in the air and nearly tore up the seats in the house Edlow 's triumph was complete. He threw every minute bit of energy into the monstrous role of "Richard" and made it live with all its bloody fury. His hatred of "Richmond " gained and gained in intensity. Edlow glowered at him during the few minutes offstage. They had not yet appeared together and would not do so until the final battle scene. The audience was breathless through such a storm of soaring passion and deep thundered speeches. The play was almost ended: "Richmond" had returned to conquer "Richard" with a large army. The two had pitched thei r tents hard by one another without knowing it. People shrieked and felt cold clammy shivers as the apparition ( Continued on Page 24)
Diamonds
Diamonds are hard and cold precious stones! man paid the toll of sunlight, and toiled in the pits of earth's belly drank its black bitter bile, to give an iridescent spark to a woman's smile.
-M. L. Dinwiddie.
A Nigger in Heaven
I saw a nigger man in heaven. His plumed helmet bobbed up and down, Like a white rooster greeting the first streak of purple dawn, Above a shining row of golden teeth. A sword of silver dangled at his side And the sun was blushed to shame at the glitter of his jeweled fingers.
His loins were girded ' bout with shining crimson satin things.
A grave white man was digging ditches at his feet.
-L. S. 'Booth.
Of Human Bondage or a Modern Pilgrim's Progress
A Comparison of Manghum's Human Bondage with Pilgrim's Progress
By KATHERINE BRUGH
_ UNY AN, living in a period of religious and political strife, was thrown into prison, and there conceived the pattern of a Pilgrim's Progress ; :Maugham, existing in a world of mental turmoil, of insistent questionings and flagrant doubts, looked in through the barred windows of his own soul, and there, in the shadows of that inner dun geon, he wrote the semi-tragedy Of Human Bondage. To the extremely pious man, merely the mention Of Human Bondage in the same breath with Pilgrim's Progress would be a sacrilege, but a close analysis of the two books reveals a marked similarity. Both portray the workings of a human mind seeking the truth about life; only Maugham plants his story in the sun-kissed surface soil of the twentieth century, while Bunyan buried his deep beneath Puritanical seventeenth century's subsoil.
Christian, with a book in his hand and a burden upon his back, set out upon the journey of life; Philip, with no book to guide and direct and impeded by the draggin g of his little clubfoot, suddenly found himself thrust out from his former life of love and comfort into , a frightfully puzzling and calculating world. The difference between the two pilgrims' manner of setting out on life's journey clearly reveals the philosophy of the two periods. Christian was at perfect liberty either to stay in the City of Destruction or to fare forth to the Holy City. The freedom of will, as advocated by Spinoza and Descartes, is, here, clearly in evidence. But with Philip, there seemed to be no opportunity of choice. Hereditary influences, and especially environmental conditions, which Herbert Spencer so decidedly str~ssed, swept the young child out from his old moorings i~to strange and distant seas.
Not only is the question of the freedom of the will brought into play, her~, but also the problem of ultimate reality. The philosophers of Bunyan's time were finding ultimate realities in every conceivable form of mind and matter. Bunyan found reality in God. God and the Holy City were ultimates toward which Christian directed his footsteps in a determined and directed effort. The philosophers of the Victorian era and the following twen-
tieth century were more sceptical about such matter s. Nietzsche flatly denied the existence of a univer sal truth Others wavered from one belief to another. This unev en line of thou g ht is seen in the labyrinthian and haphaz a r d life's journey Philip made in seeking truth.
The first obstacle Christian met on his journey w as the Slough , of Despond, into which he quickly sank. But he finally got out of the muck and the mire, and continue d on his way to the Holy City. Philip spent a decidedl y lon g er period in this puddle of mental despondency, an d it is extremely doubtful if he ev er thoroughly clean sed him self from the mud that clung to him. Fear s, doub ts and di scoura g ing appreh en sions followed him throu g hou t his childhood and early manhood. vV heth er or not he arrived at a mental calm after he married Sally, is left to our own ima g inations . At the very end of the book, there is a phra se which might be interpreted to mean th at Philip eventually got rid of the mud stains made upon him in youth After Sally had promi sed to marry Philip , they left the National Gallery and stood for a momen t looking at Trafalgar Squ a re. Below them, everythin g and everybody was in a hustle and bustle, "and the sun was shining " To one who is acquainted with human nature, it is very doubtful if Philip ever quite freed himself from his despondency, not being able to free his body from the deformity which was its ori g inal cause; for, as psychologists tell us, mental peculiarities and abnormalities can be traced back directly to physical defects. On the other hand, those who are skeptical of the recent psychological teachin g s mi g ht be more optimi stic in the ir interpretation of that phrase-"and the sun was shinin g "
Christian had scarcely freed himself from the Slough of Despond when, who should he meet but Mr. Worldl y Wiseman. Being versed in the ways of the world, Mr Worldly Wiseman soon turned Christian from the Straight Gate of Christianity, by persuading him that morality w as better; that in it he would find his burden of sins removed ( a clear conscience). Christian getting a glimpse of hell on earth (Burning Mountains), was frightened, and knew not which way to turn. Evangelist ( the church) appeared and reasoned with him, thus convincing him of his erro r ; then disclosed the deceit of Mr. W aridly Wiseman . Evangelist pointed out to him the way to righteousnes s
PAGE THIRTEEN j;.-
( Straight Gate), and Christian, broken-hearted and repentent, was admitted therein. He next went to the house of an interpreter, who showed him how to get to Heaven ( Celestial City), and gave him a Bible to comfort him on his way.
In a way, Weeks, the American, whom Philip met in Germany, corresponds to Mr. Worldly Wiseman. Not that he turned Philip from the Straight Gate of Christianity, but he led him away from the corseted dogmatism of the Church of England. He was student enough to realize that true religion is not merely limited to the narrow boundaries of Christianity, but includes the best in all religions. Nor, for him, did Christianity reside only in the Church of England, as Philips' uncle had taught him. But when Philip had once freed himself from the shallows of dogmatism, he was suddenly swept over the falls of religious belief into the calm, slowly moving waters of disbelief in God. Now Philip did not get a sight of hell on earth and rush like a frightened sheep back through the Straight Gate, as Christian did. But after he had discarded God as so much excess baggage, a panic fear seized him that perhaps after all it was true that there was a, Heaven up there beyond the blue sky, and a jealous God who would punish with everlasting flames the atheist. Philip did not mind this as far as immortality was concerned, for his life had not been sufficiently happy to warrant a desire for eternal existence, but when he thought that he would never again see his beautiful mother who had loved him so tenderly, strange misgivings overwhelmed him. And so, although he was afraid, he did not again enter in through the gateway of his old beliefs.
In Hayward, we find the Interpreter, but so confused and hazy were the directions he gave, that he sent Philip zigzagging across the field of life. The thing that made him dangerou~ as an Jnterpreter was the fact that he believed implicently in his directions. He honestly mistook his sensuality for romantic emotion, his vascillation for the artistic temperament, and his idleness for philosophic calm. His warped interpretation of life was eagerly accepted by Philip, who ardently endeavored to follow in the footsteps of his friend.
Christian now turned into a highway fenced on either side with a high wall (salvation), which led to the cross (forgiveness). Because Christ died on the cross for sinners, the burden (sins) fell off the back of Christian, and he continued his journey, his mind at peace.
Philip, quite contrary to Christian, never ridded himself of his physical and mental burden. Regardless of operations, his club-foot would always remain a club-foot.
However, he was partly relieved of his mental burden when he gave up what he thought was his belief in God, but what was, in reality, a tenacious faith in externals rather than in the essentials of true religion. He felt light and free when he had disencumbered himself from the lies and hypocracies which had invariably attended his religious instruction and observations.
A hill was the next obstacle Christian met, and it was very difficult because scorn and ridicule were placed as stumbling-blocks by those who had turned aside from the Straight Way; besides, the hill was always steep for pilgrims. Worn and weary, Christian at last reached a quiet grove, where he rested and slept. Neglecting to guard his religion, he awoke and found his Bible missing.
The hill of scorn and ridicule was reached much sooner by Philip in his journey than by Christian in his. It was at King's School in Tercanbury that Philip was made miserable by taunts of the boys and even of some of the teachers. His club-foot prevented him from entering into sports and games with the other pupils, so that he became a very sensitive outsider. His classmates looked at him questioningly and scornfully, and Philip crawled further back into the little shell he had created about himself, and there, alone, suffered the agonies that only loneliness can bring. Childhood is very often not the carefree, happy time that traditional belief has pictured for us. More often, it is the most unhappy and destructive time in life. It is the period of a most violent battle between hereditary and environmental factors. If there is the least bit of understanding between the two opposing elements, then peace is soon arrived at, and the child becomes adjusted; but if, on the other hand, there is no natural harmony, the battlefield of early life is only made horrible with the bloody victims from both sides, the terror of which is never blotted out from the memory of the child.
After Philip left Tercanbury, he lay down and slept in the grove of irresponsibility. He did not watch expenditures nor direct the trend of his thoughts. He spent without thinking of the cost, and he believed without weighing the value of the thought. In Germany, he was swayed this way and that by the teachings of Hayward and Weeks. In Paris he sat at the feet of Lawson, Clutton, Flanagan and Cronshaw. He dabbed in first one thing and then another, not having any definite occupational aim. He did not really awaken until all his money was gone, and he had to postpone his medical training for several years because of the lack of it.
Both Christian and Philip met the devil about the same time. Christian encountered him in Apollyon, who (Continued on Page 19)
PAGE FOURTEEN )at,-
Les Villages Du Midi
ASPRES
I
Il y a ici
un soleil qui brule mais parce que le matin est neuf les saules sourient au-dessus des ruisseaux
Les lames du matin coupent le ciel en morceaux d'argent
Les montagnes sont assez lontaines
Pres de la gare
il y a une raison svelte
On ne peut pas respirer . Elle est partie
Et puis la cheminee la-bas et ce lait et cette dame c'est trop clair vas-t'en
II
J'ai pense a cette vieille parce qu'elle lisait "le petit savoyard" et sans les lezards souples, sur cette petite colline au-dessus de la vallee immense on ne peut guere marcher
Ah, mon cher
ce soleil, ce soleil de lait bouillant qui s'impose sur la vallee voilee
voilee d'une voile de chaleur qui arrive de loin
d'autres vallees du sud
III
Ces rues de soleil qui monte des pierres
Il y a ici une pensee mais les chiens empestent Il n'est pas mechant ! ce ruisseau ote du dos de la montagne ce sentier trop sec
IV
Mais nuages seches ou ciel sec les pins ici sont epais
Encore une voile se laisse tomber clans ces bois et loin au milieu du bois sans bruit sans monde un coucou comme une cloche voilee la voile des aiguilles qui poussent a cause du soleil
Mais ce matin dur ce matin chaud sans vie sans bruit c'est la fin du monde
Les rochers sont trop pointua plus haut
.. ,
Mais l'on a toujours su qu'on ne peut pas se tromper
Les nuages qui s'en vont savent <;a
Les fourmis qui ne descendront jamais dans la vallee
Elles savent tout-ce qu'il y a
II n'y a rien avoir a savoir dans ces bois de pins sans brise
Une fois seulement
on entendra le coucou
Une fois seulement
le grelot qui sonne du cou de la chevre passera des petits oliviers a ses oreilles voilees
U ne fois on va comprendre qu'il y a ici un matin de lames qui ne peuvent pas couper le cou du coucou VEYNES
On n'attend pas
On passe par cette rue etroite
Le pouvoir d'oublier
On ne l'a plus
Au marche
Il y a trop de fontaines
Les rires montent jusqu'au ciel
Il y a trois rues etroites
Et on va rire
Le dimanche et la messe est finie
Le soleil tombe sur le toit di l'eglise
S'il n'y avait pas tant d'enfants
L'eglise serait plus propre
Mais les souris seraient toujours la
On a tue l'herbe clans ce village
Un chat
Un arc et un peuplier
Au revoir
Dans le cimetiere il n'y a pas de monde
Et les escargots s'amusent sur les tombeaux
Pourquoi les fleurs artificielles sont-elles encore colorees?
Ah oui ! Ah oui ! Le mur avec le trou
Mais on ne peut pas voir clans la cour
Ni clans le coeur de l'eglise sale
On ne peut plus traverser le chemin de fer
Pour visiter le cimetiere! sans ecouter
Le tunnel sous la montagne est noir
Et plus noir quand le train passe
La fume epaisee renouvele toute sa douleur
Les escargots se ha.tent a se cacher
Le village baille sans rire
Et autour de l'eglise la poussiere danse
Avec les enfants
-Paul Frederic Bowles.
Cantor /mpotens
He yearned to sing of sounding stormy ships The petrels plaintive crying in the rain, And surges of green water, men at grips With death, and ever and again While brimming was his pen with eager speechThe golden phrases dangled just beyond his reach.
To catch the white-hot thoughts that seared his mind And chain them down before they have escaped, Imprisoned on the page, clear, well definedSuccint and terse, vivid and artist shapedHe tried, but 'twas his galling, bitter lot To have the vision while the words came not.
And, still, the heavenly images were there, Summits of snow, and tranquil forest glades, Lovers caresses on a maiden's hairThrobbing of hoof beats, clang of questing blades, But, battered down by a caprice of Fate His kindly mind was inarticulate. -Wolfgang.
Moon Magic
White moon along a bare unlovely shore, Blistering the sand, and fitful now the swells. Last night they tumbled greenly in glad rows As joyously they poured amid the shells Besprinkled on the polished silver floor.
And something made the sand spit a broad streetFor us alone-to travel hand in hand, And lips were warm, and light was on your hairWhy are the dear delightful things we planned Remotely vanished with the daylight, sweet?
That shuffled pile of bleaching, knotted wood Is hideous and ugly in the glare, All warped and twisted on the scorching beachLast night it seemed to us a royal chairAh, we would call the moon back if we could! -Wolfgang.
Sunshine Jimmy
By H. R. NEATHERY
A-TA-DEE-DA, TA-TA-DEE-DA." James
Madison was humming his latest melody and at the same time tapping his feet, for he was extremely happy this morning; why shouldn't he be? Had he not been to all of the theatrical managers in New York in hopes of getting on with a show, and last night he had received a letter from the manager of the Eclipse, stating his act would be booked at orn~hundred a week. It was up to him to make good now. Jimmie tapped his feet consistently as he went about his morning toilet. Before his eyes the vivid scenes of Broadway lights began to glow. Sure he could see them flicker on and off as they let the public know that "Sunshine Jimmie" was at last on the Great White Way. Sunshine Jimmie, the great song and dance man from the South, he would show them what real dancing was.
Glancing at his wrist watch, Jimmie saw that he only had one hour in which to be on time at the Eclipse for the first rehearsal. Quickly grabbing his coat he hurried from his room and down the stairs of the rooming house and out into the street. Down to the corner lunch room Jimmie hurried for his morning repast of doughnuts and coffee. Gulping down his coffee and choking on the last doughnut Jimmie tossed his fifteen cents upon the counter and ran to the curb. "Taxi!" A yellow cab pulled up and Jimmie jumped in, saying to the driver, "Eclipse Theatre, and step on it."
The cab pulled away into the traffic, swinging to and fro as the driver dodged in and out through the lanes headed toward Broadway. Jimmie turned around to watch the cars in the traffic that followed. It was always amusing to smile into the faces of other people as you passed them on your way to work. Then, you could gamble on how close your driver could come to hitting another car and then just miss. It always took away the worries on one's mind and it also added a thrill to the humdrum to this daily routine. Squeaking brakes, red lights, street cars, speeding motors, squawking horns and clanging bells were a dreamland now for Jimmie's thoughts were not on the worries of life this morning, it was the excitement of the first rehearsal that made him jovial and smiling.
The cab pulled up short and stopped. The cab door opened and Jimmie simply flew to the sidewalk- and
throwing a bill at the driver, touched his hand to the brim of his hat and turned toward the alley leading to the stage entrance. As he stepped into the alley a voice, mighty close, said, "One moment, Slack."
Slack. That name pierced Jimmie like a knife, cutting deep into his heart. The name had not been attached to him for five years and here in New York, on the day of the rehearsal he was to be faced by someone from the home town that would spill his past out before the public as though it were merely water on a hot day in July. Jimmie stopped short. Who could want him in New York? What were any of the boys from Memphis doing here anyway? Jimmie turned. Close at hand stood two young men dressed. in blue suits, apparently men of business, their faces white and sober with half closed eyes and thin lips. Jimmie recognized them at once. They were the Aderson boys ; sure he remembered them ; had he not kept company with their sister for over two years.
"Howdy, boys," said Jimmie as they stood there looking at him, "what's on your mind?"
"Just a little business," said one, and with the reply jabbed Jimmie in the ribs with the end of a gun. "You are riding with us, Big Boy."
This last remark gave Jimmie a queer feeling that everything was not as it should be, but he mustered up his courage and replied, "Where to? I've an important rehearsal in fifteen minutes and I can't afford to be late."
"Never mind that rehearsal, come on." A second jab in the ribs told Jimmie that it would be best not to argue. Perhaps they were a little hard up and needed a little cash and were trying to get some from him. He would give it to them, but walking along Broadway like they were doing seemed queer and in Jimmie's mind there were curious thoughts mixed in an effort to solve what was happening and what was to happen. About half way up the block from the theatre a cab was waiting at the curb. Toward this the three made their way. Getting in, the cab left the curb without delay or direction and sped toward the East River. Jimmie sat between the two Aderson boys. All three were silent until after the cab left Broadway and started up a side street.
Jimmie glanced at his watch and said, "I have only five minutes left to get to the theatre, boys. What say let's turn back?" With this Jimmie leaned forward to tell the
-1•
driver to go back to the theatre, but to his surprise he was pulled back onto the rear seat roughly.
"You do not have to worry about the theatre, Slack. We have things to talk over." One of the Aderson boys spoke and the tone of his voice gave one not a tone of fooling, but of determination.
"Well, what is it then?" inquired Jimmie.
"We know the dirty skunk you are. Leaving Mary as you did and then coming to this town to hide. Yeah, you thought you were clever, but we've caught you in the end and you are going to pay. See!"
Jimmie looked from one side of the cab to the other trying to locate himself, but he was not familiar with this neighborhood at all and still the cab sped on.
"What do you mean, I left your sister. Haven't I a right to leave a girl after a quarrel? Hasn't she the right to get someone else? I wasn't married to her, was I, so why should I have a ball and chain attached to me? I came here and have made good and then you two had to show up. What's it all about, anyway?"
Jimmie started to become nervous as he raked his memories for happenings of a few years past.
"So you have forgotten, eh? Well suppose you try to think of that night you told Sis that you would take her share of what Dad left her and invest on the exchange for her, how she had asked you about the stock and you claimed that you were waiting for the delivery of the stock. Yeah, and then you left after you forced her to give in to you. She told us everything the day before she died. Poor kid. The baby died, too. But even that doesn't let you go. We promised her on her death bed that we would find you and tell you, but you are also going to answer for her death as well."
With this the two boys pulled from their pockets cold steel automatics and leveling them at the pit of Jimmie's stomach said, "Now tell us it is all a lie, damn you!"
Touching the driver on the shoulder orders were given to proceed back to Broadway. The cab turned about and speedily retraced its trail back to the Great White Way. Jimmie looked at the two on each side of him. Their faces were white and their eyes drawn to slits. They were not nervous in their control over the guns they held in their hands. They meant business.
"I can get the money for you. I have it all in the Central National. Have been easy with it and the interest has kept me well supplied with funds. Just drive up to the bank and I'll get it for you. But-but-please put those irons away. They make me a little nervous."
"Central National, driver," spoke one of the two. "Listen here, Slack. One of us is going with you and
the others is going to hold the cab, see? And if you make a false move down you go. Get me? Down you go. After you get the money we will take you back to the theatre." The cab pulled to a halt and Jimmie and the one on the right of him got out of the cab. They were in front of the bank and Jimmie looked about as though he wished to run and hide.
"Come on. No stalling, Slack, you've wasted enough of our time as it is," said the one who was standing on the sidewalk with him.
They proceeded into the bank and up to one of the desks where Jimmie wrote hurriedly on one of the counter checks of the bank. One hundred thousand, five hundred and fifty-six) dollars. Everything on his account even the remaining interest that he had not spent. He would give it all to them and perhaps they would leave him. Up to the cashier's window the two went. The check was passed into the cashier, who took it and looked up at Jimmie and said in an inquiring voice, "Drawing it all out, Mr. Madison?"
"Yes."
"Do you mind if I ask you is it because you have not received perfect attention here? Are you planning to leave our business? We hate to lose a customer in times like we are having now, you know, when the stock market is fluctuating so."
"I'm buying a lot of stock short and they want the cash. Going to make a clean up, see. I'll have it all back in next week." Jimmie knew that he was lying, but it was of no use to tell the truth to the cashier.
"In hundreds and in fifties. They will do nicely," replied Jimmie.
The money was counted out and Jimmie took it and in turn give it to Aderson. Back to the cab the two went with the money and with orders to go back to the theatre, he driver pulled from the curb and wound the cab into the traffic.
The crowds no longer appealed to Jimmie. Everything seemed to be hanging in a haze jumbled together in an unutterable fashion. Silence held the three occupants of the cab as it swung through the human throngs of Broadway toward the theatrical district. Time was but a fancy, for in what seemed a moment, the cab had covered the distance between the bank and the theatre. Jimmie came back to consciousness as the cab pulled to the curb near to where Jimmie alighted a few hours previous. A hurried glance at the two in the cab and Jimmie ran toward the stage entrance of the theatre. Here he stopped. He must form an alibi for being late for his ( Continued on Page 23)
OF HUMAN BONDAGE OR A MODERN PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
(Continued from Page 13) flattered him and endeavored to dissuade him from persisting on his way; but Christian killed him and again took up his pilgrimage. Philip met him at the bedside of his dying uncle. He tempted Philip to give his uncle an overdose of medicine, for he desperately needed his uncle's money to continue his medical training. He had been a complete failure in all his attempted occupations, and medicine was the only hope left for him. Besides, the horror of his floor-walking job at Lynn's, with its starvation wage and long weary hours rankled in his soul. And what good 1was his uncle, anyway? He was merely a bigoted, utterly selfish old fool, who, all of his life, had practiced the vice of self-indulgence behind the snowwhite shield of virtue. But Philip overcame his desire as Christian overcame Opollyon, and finally the uncle obliged him by normally ceasing to exist.
Christian also rubbed elbows with death. When the shadows of death drew near, Christian was afraid, for all his sins, in shapes of monsters, drew near and threatened total darkness. But he was joined by one who was faithful to his religion (Faithful), and , his fears were quited.
Of all of Philip's friends and associates, I think Athelny best represents Faithful. It was he who came to Philip's rescue when Philip was penniless and out of work. He fed the boy when he was hungry; he lent him money; he got him a job at Lynn's; he guided Philip through many stages of mental despondency. He wa a queer little
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man, but on the whole, his philosophy of life was simple and substantial. Mrs. Athelny, his common-law wife, gave to Philip the mothering that he had so greatly needed throughout his life, and the atmosphere of the Athelny home was a soothing balm to his troubled brain.
Christian came next to Vanity Fair (a place where everything was sold--even souls), and here, Faithful was burned at the stake. But Christian did not remain alone for a long time, for he was soon joined by Hopeful, and together they travel to Doubting Castle.
Philip did not make just one trip to Vanity Fair as did Christian-he spent his week-ends there, so to speak. The first Vanity Fair he visited was at Blackstable. There, the Vicar forcefully undertook to sell his narrow and pious beliefs to anybody who happened to be in the neighborhood. Not only was he loud in lauding the merit of his own wares, but he deplorably disparaged the goods of his competitors. Philip's next visit was at Tercanbury.
The Rev. B. B. Gordon, a man ill-suited to be a schoolmaster, was so vain about his own knowledge of Latin that he was cruel and violent toward those students who were unable to perform like little trained poodles. In Germany, Philip met vanity personified in Hayward, who called himself an idealist. Hayward had sold himself to the fetish he called culture, which was, in reality, only masked vanity. Philip again met vanity at Blackstable in the person of Miss Wilkinson, the daughter of a rector. He had just returned from Germany and was a little disappointed in having had no opportunity to indulge in those little affairs of which Hayward was so familiar. Mi ss Wilkinson had been so hedged in by religions and straightlaced morality that she jumped the fence into the other extreme. She became vain in her dress. She donned loud clothes, and began to powder heavily. However, in Philip's ignorant eyes, she was little less than marvelous, but to those versed in the ways of the world, she was vulgar and loud. She was also vain in her exhibition of Stuart & Betts INCORPORATED WHOLESALE CONFECTIONERS
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former intrigues, and what made her vanity even more intolerable, was the fact that these intrigues existed only in her own mind. But we can excuse a lot in her, for she had to be so pious in youth, that old age was upon her before she had experienced one particle of romance. She was desperate for just a sip of that happiness which she believed to be the herita ge of every woman. In Philip she saw her opportunity, and he, vain in the impression of his wickedness which he had made upon her, sold himself to her for the sake of his pride.
Philip again met vanity in Paris. All of his friends, there, were vain-especially Cronshaw, who was convinced of his great talent in versifying and in philosophizing. But the real Vanity Fair, the event of the season of his life, was visited with Mildred, who was vain to her very finger tips. She was undernourished, anaemic, unlettered, selfish, vulgar and immoral. The feeling Philip had for her certainly could not bd termed love, for there was not a single lovable quality about her. He had for her a physical passion which, strangely enough, was utterly devoid of lust. And when that passion was dead, pity and a queer sort of affection remained in his heart.
Norah, the very best of Philip's mistresses, most corresponds to Hopeful. She was always optimistic, and her companionship and cheerfulness steadied Philip in mind and body, so that he was successful in his medical studies during the time he was with her.
Christian at last reached Doubting Castle, but was immediately seized by Giant Despair; but because he was promised eternal life (Key of Promise), he escaped. After a long time he arrived at Delectable Mountains and, there, got a glimpse of Heaven ( Celestial City). But his troubles were not yet over, for he soon had to go down into the Enchanted Ground, which was covered with frogs and briars. He then came to Beulah Land, with its flowers and bird songs, and was much tempted to lie down and sleep. But one who yields to this temptation never awakens spiritually, so Christian went wearily onward. The river of death was ultimately reached, and by the help of Faith he crossed the stream and entered the Gates of Heaven.
Philip came to Doubting Castle very early in life. As a mere child he had been taught by his uncle that God would give him anything he wanted-if he had faith and would ask God for it. Philip prayed to God to make his foot normal as it should be. He really believed, and he prayed fervently and regularly. He would kneel on the bare floor, in his icy little room, and beseech the Almighty to replace his club-foot with one like other boys had. One
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Sad though it may be, Philip did not journey into Beulah Land, cross the river and finally enter the Gates of Heaven. His pilgrimage ends here, as far as we are concerned, for the haphazard, labyrinthial wanderings begin to steady themselves, and by thet end of the book, the tone passes on to infinity in an even, parallel line. Pilgrim's Progress, on the other hand, advanced steadily to a high point, and ended abruptly. Christian wove his threads into a tedious and cleverly proportioned pattern. He met an obstacle, he conquered it, and was bothered no more. On the other hand, the further Philip advanced, the more obstacles he collected about his person. In his confusion, he visited the same places and encountered the same obstacles again and again. Philip followed no design in weaving his threads of gray, because he had discovered no pattern for himself.
SUNSHINE JIMMY
(Continued from Page 18) first rehearsal. The pause was enough for the Adersons. Again the voice that had pulled Jimmie out of his trance that morning brought him to his senses as he stood by the door of the theatre.
"One moment, Slack," came the voice. This time the two Adersons were standing at the entrance of the alley. Jimmie knew that they waited for him to turn toward them. He wheeled to face them, and as he did so one of them said, "Remember, Slack, that you killed our sister."
A number of sharp reports rended the quiet of the alley. There Jimmie lay at the door At the entrance to the alley the two Aderson boys stood close together and said to Jimmie, "You got what was coming to you, Slack."
The two disappeared.
The deadly humdrum of the passing traffic on the street, the blowing of police whistles, the sound of sirens and excited voices came to the slowly closing ears of Jimmie.
"Who did it, old man?" came a voice near by, yet it seemed to blend into the distant traffic.
"They'll miss me, Sunshine Jimmie, Song and Dance Man from the South," said Jimmie, as his head lay in the arms of a police sergeant. That new melody that had haunted that morning came to him once more, "Tata-dee-da, ta-ta-dee Jimmie would never see those bright lights on Broadway now, for he was headed another way.
An ambulance hurried out of the alley toward Bellevue, but Jimmie knew nothing of this and never will. He had paid the price for love.
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3. THE T. C. WILLIAMS ScHooL OF LAW, a Professional School of Law, offering the Degree of LL. B.
4. THE EVENING SCHOOL OF BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION. H. H. Seay, Jr., Director.
5. THE SUMMER ScHOOL. W. L. Prince, M. A., Director.
RICHMOND COLLEGE FOR MEN (W. L. Prince, M. A., Dean). Richmond College for Men is an old and well-endowed College of Liberal Arts, which is recognized everywhere as a Standard American College.
WESTHAMPTON COLLEGE (May Lansfield Keller, Ph. D., Dean). A standard college for women, holding membership in the Association of American University Women.
THE T. C. WILLIAMS SCHOOL OF LAW (J. H. Barnett, Jr., LL. B., Secretary). Three years required fo1· degree of LL. B. in the Morning Division, four years in the Evening Division. Strong faculty of ten professors. Large Library. Moderate Fees. Open to both Men and \Vomen. Students who so desire can work their way.
For Catalogue or other information concerning entranct into any college, address the Dean or Director.
F. w. BOATWRIGHT, PRESIDENT
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OLD EDLOW
(Continued from Page 10) arose between the tents. Finally came the time when "Richmond" and "Richard" met in mortal combat. They fought back and forth across the stage with brilliant sword-play. Even as the audience watched, something seemed to snap within the powerful Edlow. He became a veritable demon; his eyes flashed; he snorted and bellowed. Slashing with tremendous strokes, he went after "Richmond." Off the stage they went with "Richmond" defending himself as best he could. The audience kept their seats.
Edlow forced "Richmond" out through the back stage door, up a dark alley where the sparks from the swords flashed in the pitch blackness. The alley led out into the main street of Richmond. The two continued to fight; rapidly, a crowd gathered, but none ventured to restrain Edlow. With a mighty thrust, he sent "Richmond's" sword flying from his hands and with the same movement, his own sword penetrated "Richmond's" breast.
Edlow was dazed. He threw aside his sword and dashed away from the crowd. Up the alley he flew and into the stage door and back out on the stage. An impatient audience had been clammering for the play to go on. With one of the most dramatic, if not the most dramatic gesture of his entire career, Edlow held up his hand. The house quieted as if by magic. Edlow spoke: "The play cannot end as was intended; I have killed 'Richmond.' "
Perseus had held up the Gorgon's head. The entire assemblage turned to stone. Edlow turned and quietly left the stage and the curtain was rung down.
Two weeks later Edlow was sentenced by a jury to be hanged by the neck until he was dead. He had played his part too well and paid the penalty.
To Autumn
Last night Midas walked in my garden And left his golden touch upon my trees.
My beeches are my fortune; My maples a golden store. I shall be a miser and hold them tight
In my fingers.
And then when I am tired of playing with My fairy weal th I shall open my hands
And let my shining coins shower on the muddy earth.
