SUNDAY, DECEMBER 15 1929
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UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN, LAWRENCE, KANSAS
PAGE FIVE
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--green rolling valley below, that was dotted with many little silver lakes. As John and晏东 stopped to admire this lovely scene, John said enthusiastically, "This landscape is very new, and each new sight seems more beautiful than the last."
PAGE FOUR
THE MAGAZINE SECTION OF THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
LIFE AND DEATH
(Continued from baze one)
So Emily left her artist husband alone to paint the beauties of nature, while she hunted mountain flowers, followed rushing streams, and made new trails up the rocky mountain slide. Late that evening she came back to the quiet village, tired but happy, and filled with an abounding enthusiasm for the Swiss mountains.
And so a month passed by quickly. Each day brought new discoveries and fresh inspiration to the artist and his young wife. One morning at breakfast, Emily said suddenly, "John, let's leave your house at home today. I should like to climb and climb with whole day long. Don't you think it would be fun?"
"That’s a great idea," replied John, as he hurried to finish his breakfast of hard rolls and coffee.
Emily and John set out as to climb into the Alpe, Afternoon found them climbing up the great Jungfrau toward heaven. The snow was more abundant and the little chalets perched on the rocky mountain became scarer and rarer, but John and Emily climber on and on. When they came to a wide gap, John said. I'll go first, Emily, so as to break a path for you." And he stepped out bodily on the snow.
"Oh no, John, please don't cross there. It doesn't look safe," Emily called. But her warning came too late. Already John had gone down with the ice and snow into a deep abyss.
"John, oh John," cried Emily frantically, but there was no answer. Terrified, Emily turned and ran swiftly down the mountain side toward the last chalet that they had passed. Here she found two girls in a dark cave and back up the mountain with the distracted Emily. One glance into the deep abyss by the Swiss men told them that they were too late. There was no hope; the young artist had been buried beneath the sliding mass of ice and snow that had followed him into the cave. Then the girl who did do was to carry the grief-streaked Emily back to their chalet. For weeks the young widow lay ill in this chalet high up in the mountains. Emily's only words were, "John, John, please come back to me," and her only interest was to gaze all day at her sister. She was not in the spot where John had disappeared. She still had hope that she might find her husband some day.
Thirty long years passed by. The lonely years that Emily Whitby had spent since that fateful honeymoon had changed her from a lovely girl to a sad, grayhaired woman. Emily grew tired of her monotony and learned to rely on herself yearned for freedom, and for the peace and solitude of the little Swiss village of Grundelwald, and for the mighty snow-covered Alps. Above all, she desired to return once more as a woman to the scene of her life's greatest happiness and her life's greatest joy, and again this very summer." Emily promised herself.
Late in August of that same summer, the great ship, the Berengaria steamed out from the harbour at Cherbourg towards its home port. New York City. The boat was crowded with happy, carefree men, returning home after a summer of fun in Europe. She had been away for who she stayed apart from the gay crowd. She took no interest in the deck sports, in the bridge tournaments, or in the masquerade balls. This woman was only a girl, yet her face bore the lines of an old man, and her eyes showed that she had known great sadness and suffering. All day long this sad girl sat in her steamera chair, gazing out at the sweeping clouds. She faraway look in her eyes. It was Emily Whitty, returning alone to the dreary city of New York.
The glorious month of June found Emily once again at the old inn in Grundelwald. The Alpa held their snow-covered heads up into the white clouds as majestically as they had thirty years before. The girls sat on her shoulders little since Emily had seen it hiat. The brisk mountain sun and the sweet cool brews from the mountains, all gave Emily more joy than she had felt since she and John had trumped over this country together. On this visit, Emily's climbs were shorter than they had been that other summer trials, but she was a grand old, I guess," she told the old Swiss inkerer, "because I'm not climb around as easily as I once could. I still love the country as much as ever, though." she added. On the days that Emily did not climb into the mountains to find Edelwies and forgetting following the winding lanes through the village, and flower gardens of the Swiss villagers. In the evening Emily would sit in the comfortable lounge of
the inn, and watch the happy visitors pass by,
she watched their good times, she would think to herself,
"Perhaps some of those happy people are on their honeymoon."
One day in July, while Emily was taking one of her daily walks through the village, she was started by a group of young Swiss men running down the mountain side into the market place. Their hurried murmurer and their excited voices showed plainly that something unusual had happened. They were asking me to slow the slow, easy going Swiss peasants, followed them into the square. By the time Emily reached the stone church in the square, the men were leaving town again, and with them was a crowd of villagers. Emily hurried after these men and women, who were talking rapidly as they climbed up the mountain side. Fifteen minutes of steep climbing brought the footsteps of many people who were gathered at the foot of a huge glacier. The glacier that attracted the attention of he crowd. They had seen plenty of glaciers before. At the base of the glacier where the Swiss men and been digging in search of traces of silver ore lay a huge cake of ice, nearly eight feet square. Emily hurried to the front of the group, eager to see what was causing all the excitement. One glance at the ice, and Emily knew it. Then I asked for my husband, my iamb, I knew I should find him again." For in the center of the block of ice was frozen the body of a young man, perfectly preserved.
The villagers were speechless. They looked from this old grey-haired, adafied woman, of fifty, to the handsome, happy face of the young man in the cake of ice. Was it possible that this youth and this old woman could be husband and wife? Emily looked intently at the peaceful face of her dead husband. While she watched him, she broke out crying wildly, "It is my John, and he is dead—dead for thirty years, and he is young and happy. For me, I am his wife. I am alive, but I am old and lonely and sad. Oh God, it is not fair. Let me die, too. Now for I know that there is no age in death."
--ing on his mother's nationality William Allen White says, "This is all that saved me from an awful fate. Irish血 is a good antidote for Puritan gloom, and it possible for me to laugh and cheat death."
RESOLUTION AT DAWN
RESOLUTION AT DAWN
In slumbering quiet dreams the earth
Half hidden by the spangled shroud of night.
Long have I waited on my little life.
Half hidden by the sponged shroud of night.
Long have I waited on my lonely吊灯 for
The world lies hushed and black about me.
But now the guns of dawn have shot the east with red,
And in the blinding glare of the bloody sun I swear:
And though the days may stretch ahead, an endless chain of uneventuals;
Though all my shining hopes of dawn at night may be but dust;
Though love may never drop a single blossom at my feet;
Though I may stretch wide, empty arms to an ungenerous sky forever;
And though my wild ambitious fires become cold ash;
Though I walk toward death alone—
What in its agony the womb of dawn brings forth
I shall not shrink, though full of sorrow be my way.
I shall accept with the uncomplaining sigh of age—
The wayward rebellion of youth shall no more be acting
With high head held shall I walk hereof below Down my pole hill at dawn toward the setting
WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE
(Continued from page two)
After living in Emporia for about a year Mr. White's father decided it has become too sophisticated and metropolitan in its ways and in accordance with this belief he moved his family to El Paso, Texas, where he lived for the life of about 600 people. In this environment young William grew to boyhood. 'However, his mother saw to it that his literary education was not neglected. She read to him all of Charles Dickens, Milton, and George Sand's works before he had completed his secondary grades and later high school in El Paso as a printer's devil on the Butler County Republican during vacations. After completing his high school work he returned to Emporia and attended the College of Emporia for two years. He then entered the Kansas where he studied for four years and worked on the Lawrence Journal World in his spare time.
In 1891 he became an editorial writer for the Kan-
san City Star. This was his first "big assignment." In his editorials written for that paper he first revealed his ability to write a calm, objective analysis of issues for which he later became renowned. During this time Mr. White became a member of a coaching club in Kansas City. At one of these meetings Mr. White taught the school museum of the Kansas City schools. He fell in love with her and they were married. In describing his matrimonial experience William Allen White says, "From the age of six I’ve never been out of love. Sally just came along, hold out her apron and kicked the tree, and I fell in it. I never had a A year after after their marriage their first child was born. I did not provide for a wife and child he began to look around for some chance to go into business for himself. Finally the opportunity presented itself, and in 1895 he purchased the Emporia Gazette, my White says, "I bought the Gazette with blue, hot air, and three thousand dollars of borrowed money, and his business acumen must have stood him in good stead, for at the end of three years he had completely paid for the Gazette out of its own earnings.
From then on his rise was rapid. In 1896 an editorial, "What's the Matter With Kansas?" was printed in the Gazette. This edited creation a faror that echoed throughout the country's press, Mr. White immediately became nationally known, and he soon afterwards in McClure's, The Atlantic Monthly, and Serribeu. Unquestionably this editorial was the means by which he suddenly became famous.
Mr. White describes himself as a "short, fat, bald headed middle aged, inland American." He is typically American, essentially provincial, and famed as a conversationalist. His only antipathy is a large city. He firmly believes in a college town and has said, "The American country town with a college in it, is the highest form of ideal environment."
As an editor he is unique in that he preaches what he讲he his paper, the Gazette, is more than the uncompromising organ of his convictions; it is the unaffected mirror of his personality. When he bought the Gazette he made his choice of country journalism for life, leaving for it a position with a metropolitan newspaper that promised all the success such a paper might bring.
Although he is well known and active in politics Mr. White never allows his party affiliations to prejudice any opinion he considers basically right. He is progressive and does not mind in the least fairly denouncing some cause for which he stood in the past. In his early political life Mr. White was a stunner conservative, but with the coming of manpower in his book upon politics he became a progressive and finally refers to this metamorphosis as the turning of the Walrus into a March Hare.
The Progressives of Kansas passed a resolution in 1914 inviting him to run for governor. He refused this honor saying of himself—"he can't make me president." He also sometimes comes into the Gazette office and exploits, and which are dangerous; he has been jawing politicians for twenty years until he is a common scold, and he has set his so-called ideals up high in his administration. This performance that this man White would have to advertise on the bills." However in 1924 Mr. White ran for governor, over 150,000 votes. Though this was not enough to elect him it was a clear inflection among people who had in his political policies and beliefs.
Mr. White's editorials are perhaps the best known and most widely read of any of his writings. There is in them a certain spontaneity and informality that charm and captivate the reader. In the group of editorsional found in Helen Ogden Mahin's book "The Editor and His People" under the title "Sathi the Preacher" there is a delicate euphemism of suffering, like the death of pages. Throughout all his editorials there runs a thread of calm introspection that at once differentiates them from those of the common herd.
His novels while not so widely read as his editorials, are nevertheless of considerable interest. Carl C. Van Doren says, "The thing that elevates William Allen White above the deadly levels of fiction is his hearty bubbling energy. He has the courage of all his peers." He wrote for many years. He has a multitude of right instincts and sound feelings, and he habitually reverts to them in the intervals between his stricter hours of thought. The hero villans of "A Certain Rich Man" and "In the Heart of a Fool" tread all the paths of selfishness and come to hard ends in punishment offense of counting the head higher than the heart."
In conclusion it might be fitting to state that William Allen White will always be remembered as a fearless, sincere, representative of the highest type of American journalist.
OP
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