MSGR 1937v63n5

"I put great emphasis on good digestion," says Dorothy Poynton Hill, Camel Smoker

"IT'S a long way down when I dive from the high board," Dorothy continues, "-you can see why I enjoy Camels 'for digestion ' s sake .' " Mealtimes (right ) , and between meals, too, Dorothy prefers Camel's mildness ''I've found that Camels never jangle my nerves, or upset my physical condition," she says. By speeding up the flow of digestive fluids and increasing alkalinity, Camels give digestion a helping hand.

COWPUNCHER Hardy Murphy, from Oklahoma, says: "As a cowhand, I take what chuck I get and count on Camels to ease my digestion."

THE MESSENGER

UNIVERSITY 0 F RICHMOND

THE MESSENGER

STAFF: Editor-in - Chief, Russell S. Tate; Richmond College Editor, Francis \V. Tyndall; Westhampton College Editor, Margaret Dudley; Associate Editors, J. H. Kellogg, Katherine Broyles; Assistant Editors, Stuart Graham, George Scheer, James H. Ricks , Julia McClure; Poetry Editors, G. Motte Martin, Margaret Carpenter; Exchange Editor, Jack Staples; Book Review Editor, Martha Ellis. Business Manager, Edward Canada; Assistant Business Manager, Winifred Schenk.

Regrets

by JEAN SEARING

I've loved you very much, my dear, And so I think it sad That we should reach a parting-place After all we've had.

You've hurt me very much, my dear, In being merely you; It hurts me more that you don't see That our romance is through.

We've laughed so very much, my dear, That now's a need for tears, Or something but this emptiness To carry through the years.

I've loved you very much, my dear, And now we've lost the bliss, And all that's left' s a broken heartI wonder whose it is?

(You want to know whose heart it is? If anyone's, my dear, it's his!-b.)

Congo N oeturne

by G. MOTTE MARTIN

IN THE impenetrable darkness of the night , the African swamp was fragrant and dank. Suddenly, between the trees , a pale light flickered over the waters, then disappeared. The darkness seemed to grow solid. Five minutes passed-an owl hooted-a twig fell with a "tic-tic" through the underbrush, and the slumbering breeze turned languidly in its leafy bed to bear the odor of lotus lilies mingled with the smoldering fragrance of orchids. Then an utter silence settled its feathers and pushed the little meaningful whisper of the jungle. The light appeared again and, like the eyes of a lion in the firelight, glowing now here , now there , now not at all, drifted over the swamp like a lost bit of fox-fire. Thus the will-o-the-wisp came and went and at last disappeared in the east. Later above the distant flat-topped mountain, a glow appeared in the sky, and the pale king of the ignes fatue, the full moon , arose in all its splendor to view serenely the beautiful flowering jungle below which breathed little sprays of mist across its face but remained utterly motionless as though watching the silvery fog banks that crept up the ravines from the swamp and the mirrored ribbon of river beyond, as though listening to the monotonous chirp of the great fruit bat in the mango tree. The stars all blinked, and the moon stood still at the sight revealed by the moonbeams in the village clearing.

In the center of the clearing was a fire around which were grouped three tall idols with faces frozen in the hard cruel lines of insane rage , their wooden flesh tattooed into black secret patterns. Between the idols danced three men , their faces hidden grotesquely by wooden masks , their rhythmic ankles, ringed by nut - shell rattles , flashing in the moonlight , their hands clapping

in unison to the tum-tuker tum-tuker beat of the tom-toms lost in the shadows. Shrilly, eerily rose the weird Black chant of the medicine men , " Mu-kee-shee wa deetu-Mukushee wa deetu kushiwha wewe. " And the people encircling th e actors answered in unison from the shadows , " Y ea-yea-yi-yo yea-yea-yi-yo."

Mukeba, the mightiest hunter of his tribe , looked uneasily at the moon and then back to the Bwanga tree which ruled over his fortune as a hunter. Hung on its limbs among the many animal trophies was the skull of a little diker antelope , the last animal which he , the greatest hunter, had killed in the past month, the last animal which Madeer, his favorite wife, had cooked. Mukeba had enjoyed that last antelope , had enjoyed even more the trim figure of his healthy , well-proportioned young wife. It was a shame that Kafufu , the wise, the head witch doctor of his tribe , had found no other meansbut he must not think of that , now.

Suddenly everything grew quiet. Mukeba glanced up quickly. At last across the clearing in the dense shadows around the entrance of the path to the swamps , he faintly discerned a human form, motionless and forbidding. Kafufu had returned! A strange dread played around Mukeba' s heart. Slowly , softly , like a cavern wind, the death chant rose. The deed had been done ! But surely he had not been to blame. Had not his hunting luck declined in the face of all lesser magic? The death chant rose higher , and Kafufu moved slowly across the clearing , carrying on outstretched arms a motionless form . Mukeba could not move. He could only see Madeer as she had danced , with eyes half laughing, two nights before. At his feet Kafufu put her down - his Madeer. Mukeb .1 scarcely heard the chanters who

now surrounded him, but Kafufu was handing him something. Ah-the Life Bwanga-the medicine made from the blood of his dearest pos-

session. ''Well-" Mukeba shrugged his shoulders. Tomorrow he would have good hunting.

Epitaph For A Lovely Lady

by JEAN SEARING

Sorrow not

She has found the peace she sought ; Your tears disturb her Where she lies At rest

Do not extol! her virtues . . . She had but few , And you , unseeing , Cannot find them

Nor murmur of her sins They were but a means of escap r: From a weary world Where strength is king.

Her mind saw gay lights Of distant worlds , And she is happy now Among them

Sorrow not

Snap Snap

by M. BAILEV MURDOCK

MODE RN science in its search for knowledge has not neglected photographyfar from it . The new photography has been made so versatile that the rankest amateur can now casually snap pictures that a few years ago would have been considered impossible.

Never -e nding scientific research and ex periment have yielded new cameras , new lenses , new films, and new chemicals-even color , to the endless array of equipment that makes photography the art , the profession , and the hobby that it is Amateur photography has been given new life and new vigor by these additions , and countless numbers of people all over the world have taken up the pursuit of this fascinating , and often profitable , subject as a hobby . Photography is popular because it is versatile and unlimited in possibilities . The amateur can bend his photographic endeavors to suit his particular fancy , and he can always go just a bit farther toward the goal of perfection . Many amateurs specialize in particular types of photography , such as portraiture in general, baby pictures , landscapes , animal life , still life , architectural subjects , ships , and nudes. The artistic side of photography has been dev eloped so much and so extensively that it is said to be threatening the security of painting as one of the fine arts

The most widely publicised field of the new photography is that of the so - called " candid " camera. This field represents a remarkabl e amount of research and development in the necessary equipment The miniature cameras of today are truly marvelous optical instruments Their lenses and films form a combination which often rivals the human eye in sensitivity , and the user of one of these cameras has an instrument that can afford him endless hours of enjoyment .

Miniature cameras , by their very nature , are small. This makes carrying them easy and ke eps

them convenient for use at any time. Since nearly all the lenses found in them are capable of getting good snapshots in ordinary indoor illumination, the candid cameraman gets a great " kick " out of snapping his friends at times when they least suspect it. The speed of the lenses and shutters enables him to meet extreme conditions of lighting and exposure at a moment ' s notice. The more expensive ones are capable of taking good pictures by the light from the flame of a singl e match , while a large number of " candid " cameras can take pictures of performers on the stage under normal illumination , pictures of theatre signs at night , show windows , and the " candid " cameraman can snap pictures of his favorite star while he sits in the theatre watching her latest pictur e. What could be more fascinating?

So widespread has the fad become that at l(:ast one night club has "Candid Camera Night ," at which the amateurs are allowed to snap anything in sight, even when they visit the dressing rooms of the performers.

But not only does the miniature camera find itself useful among amateurs , but it is becomin g increasingly useful in all fields of science and particularly in medicine and denistry.

The photographer does not have to rely upon his lens alone , because a synchronized flash bulb will enable him to take pictures under any conditions . He also has numerous gadgets at his disposal, by means of which he can insure himself of perfect pictures every time.

One of the interesting new fields which is just beginning to be developed is infra-red photography. The next time you see a picture in which there is a " moonlight " effect-green leaves show ing up as white , pronounced highlights and shadows , and beautiful cloud effects- you will be witnessing an example of this new field . Infrared photography utilizes the infra - red rays

7

found in daylight by focusing them on a special film. This new turn is very useful in aerial photography, since the infra-red rays are not affected by the haze which diffuses and blurs ordinary light. This makes long-distance photography possible.

But nothing as yet has been said about cinematography, or "movies." This industry has been responsible for many developments in photography, the most notable of which is the color process now becoming widespread in use.

Technicolor, as it is known, is a fitting example of what scientific research can do. The story of the development of this process is a long one but nevertheless fascinating. One has only to witness one of the currently popular travelogues or color cartoons to realize that he is beholding a modern miracle.

There are many who believe that it will be only a few years until color photography will come to the top and make black-and-white photography as antiquated as the Model T. Color is an up-and-coming thing; it will be interesting to watch its progress.

The color processes are not limited to motion pictures, for these processes have made their appearance in still photography and are growing rapidly in public favor; nor are motion pictures monopolized by professionals.

Many amateurs are movie fans. They direct and produce their own shows as well as lifelike pictures of their friends and families. The movie fans find their chosen hobby more fascinating than any other, as they will testify.

We have seen something of the newer aspects of photography-the candid, movie, and color-but the box camera has evolved a bit too. Even it is better than ever before.

Then, too, there is the whole matter of processing which the amateur may do himself or have done, as he chooses. That, however, is another matter entirely, to be found in the many technical books now in print.

Photography has passed its infancy. It is a modern hobby for modern people in a modern world. Remember, too, that the new photography makes truer than ever the adage that "one picture is worth a thousand words."

Oetober Dusk

by G. MOTTE MARTIN

The painter dipped his brush to earth ; Straight through the autumn sky he spread The brilliant hues of dying dayWhose life was spilled in flaming red Behind the leafless ebon trees Like ueins that drained the waning light. Then , slowly , one by one the stars Appeared , and God had painted night

I Am The Unknown

by FRANCIS ,v. TYNDALL

I am the Unknown. I stir rest lessl y As that stolid soldier Paces back and forth

Back and forth

Back and forth

Before my tomb.

I am the Unknown. Men still remember For what I fought. But still they do Nothing. But arm and re-arm. I s that For what I fought ? Oh , God , show them

I am the Unknown. Oh, God , show them. Show them the mothers They made mournful martyrs. Show them the wives They made weeping widows. Show t h em the children They made sad-eyed orphans.

Oh , God , show them.

I am the Unknown. To my cold breast They pinned tinsel I did not win. Tinsel of an age that, Oh, God , May never return.

I am the Unknown. Orators say I s leep. Liars! Can one sleep Who has seen Hell ? Who sees another Hell Coming ?

I am the Unknown , Your Son , Your Husband , Your Father.

Intangibility

by G. MOTTE MARTIN

A man can n ever t ell your beauty , Lov e. A word can ne ' er reflect your form and face As mountain lakes reflect the sky above , And I can never pen your charm and grace With symbols that flowers crud ely trace To know a rose, a rose must first be seen ; The words which Absence u ses in your place Are goblets filled with liquors flat and mean Compared with nectar drawn from sight of you , my Queen.

But yet the blind may see with lover's will , By light of Passion ' s universal flame , The little hummingbird - like thrill That flashes through me when I hear your name. Appear , from joy I want to cry , but Shame With nimble fingers steals each falling tear ; But how my wild and frightened heart to tame When one so fair beside me stands so nearAnd laughing helps blind Cupid aim his ruthle ss sp ear ?

But now , your lips upon my lips-I yield. My heart against your heart - our thoughts tak e flight Till pleasure blooms in every barren field , And little things , empowered to give delight Seem gems upon the velvet breast of night ; But , Darling , know that while this joy I tell , If beauty deep refused to lend you light , My Love would wither with this flower ed dell , And in my cooling heart would bloom the asphodel

Aeo01a, City of the Sky

by JO TREVVETT

& CROSS the golden New Mexican sand, the .11l road stretched before us like a silver thread in the early morning sunlight. We could see for a hundred miles around-the sand dotted with sagebrush and cactus , isolated adobe huts , and the blue hills in the distance. Yet we had no eyes for the landscape , for my Western companion had lived with it all her nineteen years , and though my Eastern eyes usually revelled in its beauty , I was at the moment totally engrossed in the adventure before me , for was I not on my way to Acoma , the city of the sky?

Early that bright September morning we had left old Santa Fe , already a thriving town when the pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock , passed Berradillo , famed for its grape brandy , snatched some breakfast in Albuquerque , and now as I pressed my foot harder on the accelerator , the miles seemed fairly to fly by , a whir of gold and gr een , until by midmorning we reached our " turning off place " which left only thirteen miles between us and our destination. Yet these thirteen seemed as long to me as the hundred and sixty we had just covered , for the road was narrow and bumpy enough to give arthritis to knee action wheels More than once I wished myself on the back of one of the beautiful horses that passed us at an easy lope whil e we floundered in the ruts and gullies cut out by rushing arroyos. Finally , as we wound around the huge formations of rock and sand , carved , it seemed, by som e master hand which knew all the intricacies of Gothic architecture, the road came to a sudden stop. Directly in its path stood a huge round plateau perhaps a quarter of a mile in diameter and extending up some three hundred and seventy feet into the air . There was no perceptible vegetation except at the base. There was only a formation of rock and sand ex tending its

barren palm to the sky and blocking the road with the stubbornness of a burro. Slightl y b ewildered and befuddled from the last thirt een miles , I brought the car to a slow halt and op en ed my mouth to inform my companion that in th e East we would tunnel straight through such an obstacle , when she silenced me with , " But this is Acoma. We have reached our destination ." I thought that I must have been loco , as we cattle rustlers say , to let her induce me to ride so far to see a piece of rock and sand , when she directed m y sight to the top of the mesa , as we Spaniards sa y, and upon close examination I made out an entir e village almost indescribable to the naked , as w e Coronet readers say , eye .

" Well," said I, now ready to believe anything , " how do you get up and down , or do they furnish wings so that you can fly up ?"

She replied that they did not have th e Oti s ( adv. ) elevators we would undoubtedly hav e in the East , but showed me , completely hidden by overhanging rocks and my riding skirt , th e steps carved out of solid stone and worn by centuries of use , not ordinary stair steps , but varying from stepping stones to " steps " of almost four feet. For the long steps , however , th er e were neat little niches for one ' s hands for on e to pull oneself up by instead of scrambling one ' s way up.

Ascending slowly , we reached the top , wher e the rows of houses stretched before us , primitiv e flat-topped structures carved out of the same volcanic rock as the mesa , as we New Mexicans say , itself , lined on either side of a street covered with fly covered filth , reminding one of th e Student Shop back in Richmond. As we rounded a corner we scared two burros , the only animal which is sure - footed and light enough to make th e st eep ascent . We stepped back as the animals jump ed

and tipping our hats, said "Pardon our sudden ascent." All supplies are carried up on the backs of the Indian boys, including all the pure drinking water. Otherwise they use a reservoir, at least that is what two cheerful little Indian girls told us it was. In reality it was a puddle of stagnant rain water - the burros wallow in it , the children play in it , and they all drink it Outside of each house stand the round mud oven, resembling a small igloo , in which they cook , and a small rectangular building, resembling a telephone booth, except that it has no wires attached. In the center of the village is the kiva where they hold their ceremonials and from which came weird noises accompanied by the ceaseless beating of tom-toms and Roy Dennis' orchestra , for this was a feast day

In the middle of the main street stood a large shed, rudely constructed of poles hidden by green corn stalks which signified a feast day , or fiesta , as we Cubans say , in thanksgiving for g ood crops. The front end of the shed was open , where stood two boys with guns , guards , and in the back on the altar banked with corn and green vegetables stood a beautiful image of the Mother Mary Along the sides on benches sat the Indian men and women , reverently saying their prayers We had been there some minutes when a huge Indian woman appeared , dressed in her most elaborate costume , her small papoose strapped to h er back and balancing on her head a bowl large enough to have held two papooses , piled high with vegetables , corn bread , and other rich eatments . Her husband , a prosperous looking Indian , followed her , both kneeling before the Mother Mary while the priest took their offering . It was fascinating to watch the women as they appeared , each trying to outdo the others in her offering and appearance. When I spoke to one of the natives and tried to get her to tell me something about the ceremony, she muttered in her g uttural language something which sounded like " Scram !" and pretended not to understand English . Later , how ever , when I caught her talking in E n g lish to on e of her friends , I seized that op -

portunity to talk to her a little and found that she had attended the Indian school in Sante Fe, which bears no relation to Santa Claus. She was willing enough to talk about her baby , a chubby little papoose with magnificent gigantic colossal stupendous big brown eyes or of a trip she had just made East or of other trivial matters , but when the subject of the ceremonies was tactfully introduced again , she assumed the attitude of an enraged clam and indicated conclusively that the interview was over. She disappeared into the forest , dragging her canoe behind her.

On chancing to glance upward , it seemed as if I might clutch a patch out of the blue sky ; and I thought that at night the light from the stars must illuminate the whole village. Although the sun was bright , there was a heavenly breeze , which I later learned was created by the air conditioning machine hidden in a shack , and it was refreshingly cool in the shade. We were allowed to putter about at will , since Will ' s wife was away for the week-end , and you somehow received that wonderfully soothing sensation that you were free from the annoying complexities of everyday life , that you were a part of that pleasantly indolent atmosphere and that not even an insurance salesman could bother you here . Nothing , however , can be said about brush salesmen Suddenly I was teddibly thirsty , and the only water lay three hundred and seventy , no , three hundred and seventy and six-tenths , feet below in the radiator of the car. One would not think of drinking water found in these villages . The more I tried to shake off that thirst , the more it gripped me , until I found myself descending the perilous path at a reckless rate of speed , gravity being thirty-two , with thoughts only of h two oh My throat felt as dry as Na Cl and my feet as hot as h two s oh four. After finally having quenched my veddy teddible thirst with water heated almost to berling , I immediately wished myself back in the land of the sky and was at the same time too lazy , · or perezosa , as we Puerto Ricans say , to ascend again.

As we rode away , I glanced sidewise and rather

sheepishly, as I fluttered my lids, at my companion. I could see by her smile that she was wondering to herself, "What have they in the East with their crowded, smoky cities where you have

to gasp for air, with their topheavy skyscrapers and their daily grind from nine to five that can compare to this, a natural city in the sky?"

Marine Tableau

by STUART GRAHAM

The sun came up above a restless sea, Its rays endowing sky with rosy hues. Then on the far horizon day revealed A steamer, pouring forth black clouds of smoke

As slow she plowed her way through ceaseless swells.

The vast expanse of lonely , open sea, A foam-flecked desert of translucent green , By some supernal , cosmic sleight - of - hand Effected dimunition of the ship, Engulfed the finite in infinity.

The tireless engines throbbed their rhythmic song Within the bowels of the ship. Without, The twin propellers cut their swashing swathe , Disturbing Nature ' s helter-skelter plan, The ordered disarray of sight and sound.

For four full days had motion of the screws Disturbed the foam-flecked desert of the sea, Propelling on with never-tiring force

The man - made monster-ship of steam and steel Designed to overcome extent of space.

For two days more the ship of steam and steel Would cast its shadow on the ocean ' s fluor , Its disappearing wake , a spectral bridge Extending all the way from shore to shore , A symbol of man ' s mastery of space

The Earth Chuckled

by EVELYN HAZARD

FROM early morning there had been a feeling of apprehension that the heat had flung over the land. Even the animals sensed it-the dogs , usually so frolicsome , lay idly about. The river was unnaturally still, reflecting perfectly all the trees along the bank, for not a ripple creased its surface. A white rowboat hung listlessly at anchor , moving only with the tide. There was no sign of the winged forms of the seagulls which were almost always flying about above the water , lighting gracefully on the surface , or dipping a wing into a foam-tipped wave. All the :fishing boats were tied near the wharf , and the :fishermen were standing about smoking and talking in low tones , realizing that the storm in all its fury would soon sweep over the river .

A dark cloud plodded its way across the sky . It moved on until it blanketed the intense brilliance of the sun that had shone so relentlessly all the morning and early afternoon Grey , wool clouds soon blotted out t he whole sky , and they seemed to press the heat closer to the earth . The darkness penetrated the very depths of the river until it became a sluggish black stream flowing between the white sands of the beaches on either side. But the awful stillness stayed It was as if the earth held its breath .

Then the wind rushed across the water , stirring up waves as it passed . Along the shore the loftiest pines shook , and they swayed beneath its power . The wind scooped up the sand on the beach into little piles and flung it back again .

Gathering force , it swept back across the river , transforming the water into a seething pool, swirling about the piles of the old wharf. The boats swung to and fro and dipped their bows into the foaming mass.

The rain finally added its fury to that of the wind , mixing with the angry waters of the river The waves swelled, pounding on the beach with mighty roarings. The water reached out with long black :fingers to the trees growing close to the river's edge. They creaked protestingly and some of the smallest of them weakened and fell into the swirling mass of water.

The dull murmurings of thunder rumbled in the heavens, and the lightning flashing across the sky revealed the ravages of the storm-fallen trees , boats filled with water , masses of seaweed flattened out on the beach , logs tossed up on the shore. Then the wind , rain , thunder , and lightning seemed to expend their greatest efforts. The earth shuddered .

But the wind soon exhausted itself to a gentle , salt-tinged breeze . The rain stopped , and the surface of the river wrinkled with waves which gently splashed on the beach The clouds floated away , revealing a twilight sky filled with all the glories of a sunset and reflected in the waters . The boats bobbed up and down , and here and there a graceful seagull dipped a wing into the water. Had there been a storm? The earth chuckled .

The Old Honse

by G. MOTTE MARTIN

The Peace found here In yesteryear Was guarded by the trees; Now much once dear Stands ruined and drear By noisy streets like these.

The old mill stream Here used to dreamBut now , with smothered sound, Where no sunbeam Will euer gleam E'er weeps beneath the ground.

Now never will The whip-a-will Return with plaintive call To sing until The watermill Becomes enchanted all.

Nor cool and deep Will mosses sleep Beside the waterfall, Nor flowers peep Through vines that creep Along the moonlit wall.

How oft I sigh When night is nigh For breath of fragrant air! How mem'ries cry For days gone by When all I saw was fair!

Lost, A Love

by N. T. BABCOCK

Once I had a loue. A loue all inspiring, A loue so untiring, Once I had a loue.

My loue wasn't tender. My loue was strong, My loue was a song, But not of surrender.

I was happy when with him. I wasn't excited, I wasn't delighted, But my heart was in rhythm.

Then the phone didn't ring. He stopped coming to call, And that wasn't all. My heart didn't sing.

The summertime passed. We started again, We started in uain. A spell had been cast.

We talked ... and agreed To be friends, To the end So we parted . .. were freed.

I thought I was glad. It was no more, It was of yore. But now I am sad.

For I cannot forget. I sit and I think, I sit and I blink Back the tears coming yet.

Once I had a loue. But I tossed it away, Now all I can say I s Lost, A Laue . 16 .

Found , Anoth e 1· Love

We met by chanc e. He passed by , Caught my eye At a dance.

A few moments after We formally met , I'll neuer forget , ' Mid music and laughter.

From that uery moment

Life ' s been so gay One long , sunny day J'ue forgotten what " low " meant.

We ' re so happy , we two 11/e' re excited, Delighted Euen old thing s are new !

And , as hand m hand , We walk , And we talk , We ' ue so many things planned.

I neuer thought life To be so diu i ne , ... so sublime, With so little strife.

But with him beside m e Inspiring .. . untmng Wit h his loue to guide me ,

My life is worth liuing. It's so real And I feel That my loue is worth giuing.

Old loues and late loues I' ue toss ed them away But now I can say Found , my great loue .

I Won't Forget Sooska

by MARGARET PHILLIPS

SOOSKA hadn ' t been with us long. With a well-used carpet bag in her hand and a garish kerchief around her head , she had dropped in one day out of the " great nowhere. " This was just before the last roundup at " H. H. Ranch ." She filled in the answer to our complicated quest in seeking a satisfactory cook. One might have said that we had made a mistake again , for she looked neither capable nor interested. Her eyes , deep , intrinsically deep , each an abyss of emotion , belied the toughness of her small brown palms I used to watch her lift , with a furtive gesture , the heavy ribbon of hair which persisted in climbing over her finely molded ears . Her smile was lightening-a flashing Cossack ' s sword , a melody , sometimes sunny and sometimes cruel.

It was odd the way she clung to her Russian garments , unbelievable the adroitness she exerted in preparing such palatabl e meals , and equally so the stamina she put forth in laboring over stacks of dishes. Even that was not enough When we came home in the evening with the fire of the sunset sinking in the darkness down into the canyon's gaping mouth , tired , weary , dirty men , Sooska had warm water , clean towels , and soap After the meal, she would sing to usRussian lovesongs reeking with Volga boatmen and Russian boots - a touch of red , a tone of humility , a challenge . In all it was the voice of an angel for us , penetrating our plain boarded walls and gracing our checked table cloth

During one of her afternoon rambles , I discovered her gazing profoundly into the hazy opaqueness of the canyon. I dismounted and drew up beside her , startling her out of her revene .

" Ah , eet is you , Mr Baines. I look into the lonely , lonely wastes beyond. Eet make me theenk of Roosia. Some day I return."

We spent the afternoon discussing that remote country Sooska told me enchanting tales Somehow I knew she was mixed up in its interminable famine . A tangled mystery was woven into her soul. She never spoke of it , and I knew she never would .

When the canyon seemed to swell up with blackness and fine stars pierced the pale sky, we returned and with our horses , healthy young fillies , started back to the ranch.

That evening Sooska prepared one of her special meals. She had chosen to dress herself in the gaudiest of colors. Spangles and old pieces of Russian jewelry clasped her throat. Her spirit was high , her demeanor radiant. I thought surely a Hungarian gypsy had stolen in upon us.

These nights were so enjoyable beside an open fire in the midst of tasty aromas and haze from our pipes. I wonder now how such pleasure could have been grabbed so ruthlesly away from me I recall the sad day I had to leave , the day the message came , the tears in Sooska ' s eyes , and the blessing she bestowed upon me. Even now I caress the exquisite Russian ring , her gift which I shall always cherish .

As I sit here and dream before the fire , and smoke coils itself from my pipe , a shape is created out of the brilliance of.the flame, and as the logs smoulder before my eyes, a dancing figure leaps up upon the ashes with all her glow and darkness . It lingers ! it calls to me; it wavers and vanishes , leaving memories .

No , I won ' t forget Sooska.

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by STUART GRAHAM

THE sophomore fraternity man is a swell fellow. You can spot him a mile off. The rub is that he never is a mile off. Often you wish he were.

The sophomore fraternity man is a swell fellow. He is the product of two powerful factors. A sophomore is a necessary evil-a fraternity man is an evil necessity. You figure the resultmath is our weak subject.

The sophomore fraternity man 1 is a swell fellow. He is consistent in his inconsistency. He defies all tradition in dress. He comes to chapel in a sweat shirt "borrowed" from the university athletic association and shows up for Math Zero just one step out of a fashion plate from Esquire. He is like every other fraternity sophomore in that he is unlike anything else in God's green world.

The sophomore fraternity man is a swell fellow. He is the most important man on the campus. He does not boast an imposing array of honor-keys like his junior and senior brothers, but that does not faze him. Not one whit. He will transfer next year to good old Chicago, or Stanford, or Cornell, or Bridgewater. Or he will stay at Richmond and become president of any one or more of the societies in which he enjoys

membership. He is a sure shot for manager of football, editor of the paper, chairman of the honor council, and business manager of the annual. He is a diamond in the rough. Who will deny that one in the rough is better than a second shot on the green?

The sophomore fraternity man is a swell fellow. He is the lover supreme. Tales of his conquests would satisfy even the insatiable appetite of a True Confessions reader. (It is rumored that he sometimes reads True Confessions.) Campus beau ties fight to be strung on his line.

The sophomore fraternity man is a swell fellow. Is it any wonder that a little of his greatness seeps through into his attitude toward schoolmates? College is no place for false modesty. A man of superior endowments is privileged to act in a superior fashion. The sophomore fraternity man exercises his privilege. If he fails to speak to a classmate on the campus, let no one call him a snob! In all probability he is engrossed in his ~houghts, travelling a far more ethereal plane than the majority of us will ever attain. Or he may be near-sighted. Who are we to judge our superior?

The sophomore fraternity man is a swell fellow. But why the hell doesn't he grow up?

To One I Love

by'--G;----MO'l'TEMAR'l'IN--...

You are like a moving flame, and I fear you, Drawn, breathless, by the splendor of your light. Yet craving for the warmth and balm of laughter My fear grows still beside the grace you bring.

I hate you that you so control my thinking, That in my veins the blood beats with your name ; I hate myself, who sees the end so clearly, But weakens when you merely smile at me.

You give me strength to meet a world deriding , Yet rob me of all shields to hold away The tender charm you owe to tie me to you, Who are yourself so infinitely free.

I do not ask that I should ever bind you , But that you somehow hold aside these fears Brought to me. by the mocking laughter shining So often in , the bottoms of your eyes.

For it is not that I am pained of burning , Or feel the weight of those unasked for chains; It seems to me an ecstacy unequalled To be consumed in such a flame as yours.

My darling , only stay, from pity, gentle , Since you alone are all defense I have, And let the ending find me smiling, happy, I cannot move , so let me linger here

Lost

by JOHN S. HARRIS

ASLIGHT break in the heavy mass of grey clouds in the east seemed to announce the coming of another typical August day . A thick mist rising from the surface of the creek gave the scene an appearance of utter abandonment. A gentle wind lashed the water into little ripples which could be heard breaking against the sides of several small boats anchored there . A number of sea gulls were flying overhead in search of food. On the nearby shore a red head was busily engaged in drilling his way into an old pine tree half fallen into the water . It was indeed a scene of natural tranquility.

Uncle Nat, an ancient Negro of the neighborhood , famed for his skill as a fisherman , made his way slowly down the path to the water ' s edge. Prayer meeting had been late last night down at the cross roads , and the old man was in none too good a humor. He did not like to lose any of his sleep even to carry some white gentlemen fishing As he climbed aboard his boat , he noticed that his favorite fish box was missing . " Some triflin ' nigger done stole my box, " he muttered under his breath. With a look of disgust , the old man walked back up on the shore and hauled out an old box which he had used last year After several painful sputters , the ancient marine engine started , sending the launch along at a slow rate of speed. The tide was very low , thus making it difficult to keep from running into sandbars or hidden snags. By the time the boat had reached the mouth of the creek, the sun was well on its way across the sky.

" I reckon they ' ll be waitin' down at the warf, " the old man said to himself as he headed his boat down the river. " They ' ll be mad cause I ain ' t thar on time, but I <loan care ." When old Nat drew up alongside Monaskon wharf , Jack Stone and his friend , Joe Austin, were standing there impatiently waiting.

"Hurry up, Nat. Let's get out there before all the fish are gone , " shouted Jack. " Joe and I have been here an hour. "

" Thar's plenty of fish out thar , Mister Stone . I 'nows whar dey is . You leave it to me. "

Equipped with the latest fishing tackle , a pair of scales , and a camera , the two boys climb ed aboard and made themselves comfortable A few minutes later Jack said, "Let ' s stop here a while , Nat. This looks like a good place. "

Nat puckered his brow for an instant and drawled , " Dis here ain ' t a good place. Ob er yonder is de place whar I caught a hundred trout , ' bout a week ago . You won ' t catch nuddin ' but little 'uns here , no how. "

Still grumbling, the old darkey threw out the anchor and as the boat swung around , began to cut up the crab bait and put it on the lines. The two boys fished for an half an hour without getting a single bite . Finally Joe became impatient . " Let's move , Nat . I don ' t believe you know anything about fishing. "

This was too much for the old darkey who had been fishing long before these " young 'uns " were born. As he pulled up the heavy iron anchor , he drawled , " I told ye that you weren't goine to catch any fish here , no how. Um'll take you whar thar ' s some fish. Deed I will. " With that he started the engine and steered the boat toward an old oyster pole , long discolored by the salt water. This proved to be a better location , for the boys caught a number of small perch and several " hard heads." They were , however , very anxious to remove this blemish upon their reputation as fishermen by catching some denizen of the deep who might give them a real fight . Preferably it should be a six or eight pound trout or a rock fish of equal size. As usual, luck was against them , for they continued to pull in numerous small ones .

'T d like to catch a big fellow just to show the folks what a good fisherman I am," exclaimed Joe , while looking in the direction of a small boat anchored nearby. A lone Negro man, clad in a pair of faded blue overalls, sat in the skiff fishing. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, for every now and then he would give a chuckle as he pulled up a good sized trout. It was hard to understand how one fisherman would have so much better luck than those around him. Suddenly one of the boys thought of a solution to their difficulty.

Turning toward their neighbor, he shouted, "Have you got a mess of fish yet? How about selling us a couple of dozen?"

The negro grinned and shouted back in reply , "Yes , suh , boss. I'll sell you all you want , h " c eap.

While the boat was approaching them, the boys agreed that they would buy three dozen large ones. These ought to be enough to convince anyone , even the most dubious. Uncle Nat

took the fish, placing them in the fish box with the little ones which they had caught. By allowing the box to float in the water , the fish were kept alive until the close of the day. So great was the interest of the party in their purchase that they failed to notice the dark cloud which was forming in the west. The gentle breeze had become stronger, whipping the water into little white caps. Even the two city-bred boys could see that it was time to pull up anchor and make for shore. Such was their haste, indeed, that the fish box was entirely forgotten. The anchor was quickly drawn up, and the motor started. As the boat began to gather speed, Joe shouted excitedly, "Look out! Grab the box!"

Jack lunged forward and seized the end of the rope. With great difficulty , he lifted the box up on the deck of the launch. "Let's take a look at those babies again," he said, taking off the top. At that moment, he uttered a cry and pointed toward the interior of the box. It was empty! The bottom pad broken loose, liberating the entire catch.

Sonnet

by G. ~10TTE MARTIN

If Laue some day should lanquish on its throne , And Trouble ' s ugly elues incline your ear

To bitter men , whom Failure wed to Fear , Who bid you trust no man but liue alone , Or , ouer-wise , some knowing owlish crone Relate of Faith betrayed by one most dear , Or Youth , sophisticated , stop to sneer , And Time for Laue his sickle seem to hone: Rem ember then your faith in Laue to hold , And guard that well wherein your louings lie, Nor offer shrinking heart with fingers cold , But trust the ailing Passion lest it die For Doubt is Death , a wolf within the fold , But Trust erects its own defenses bold , 23

On Sleeping In Class

by STUART GRAHAM

The professor is ranting and raving, But never a word do I hearAs he looses his ire With ardor and fire, I never veture to call him a liarI just dream of a bottle of beer.

The professor is ranting and raving , A pastime that gives him delightW hen he gets on the theme Of the Hitler regime , I never alter the course of my dreamI just dream of the party last night.

The professor is ranting and raving On some intellectual pearlAs he turns on the heat With abandon complete , I never venture to stir in my seatI just dream of a date with my girl.

The professor is ranting and raving , An action that suits him so well As he reaches his peak On affairs of the week Somehow my dream-boat develops a leak , But thank Heaven! There goes the bell!

The Great Event

by ANNE ADD

MOLLY sat at the telephone frantically ex..._ plaining to Eddie that she couldn ' t keep that date with him for June I 5 as something terribly important had come up. Upstairs in her room , Jean circled the numbers " I 4" and " 15 " on her calendar with a red pencil. All about the campus people are discussing their plans for the GREAT EVENT which is to occur on the University of Richmond Campus in the Roger Millhiser Gymnasium on June I 4 and I 5 when the

INTERFRA TERNITY COUNCIL

sponsors the

FINAL DANCES OF THE

UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND

Monday Night from 9 'til I , Featuring

DEAN HUDSON'S FLORIDA CLUBMEN

A ND TH E IR CHAR M IN G VOC ALIST

FRANCES COL WELL

Tuesday Afternoon from 4 'til 6 and Tuesday Night from 9 'til I

PRESENTIN G THE SENSATIONAL KAY KYSER

WITH TH E SPOTLI GHT ON THAT SIR E N OF TH E AIR

VIRGINIA SIMS

Tickets on sale for the set, $5 . 00 ; Monday night , $ r. 5 o date , $ I. oo stag; Tuesday a.fternoon , $2.50 date , $2.00 stag ; Tuesday night , $3.75 date , $3 25 stag

Celebrities the world around have glowingly lauded these bands. President Roosevelt , '' One third of the nation

is ill fed, ill housed , and ill clothed , so let's go hear Kay Kyser."

Cab Calloway declares, " Dean Hudson is too hot for me."

Hitler says , " Kay Kyser is the only good thing in America."

Everyone will tell you, " You'D BETTER GO TO ' FINALS ' ."