SUNDAY. NOVEMBER 25. 1928
THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
PAGE FIVE
Insure Christmas Gifts
Loss to Be Covered by Postal Service, Says Abraham
"Iinsure your Christmas packages! says R. C. Abraham, postmaster of the University station.
"Christmas parcels are usually of more than intrinsic value; and if such are sent as an ordinary mail and aristocrat or a gentleman, sessees or are damaged or are in a riffle condition upon receipt there is disgrace. The parcel duplicates the shipments and in such cases it is also put to additional expense. On the other hand, there is a value for them that makes them to a sender who realizes that the value of the contents of a parcel will have something to dispense to a customer by the service if the parcel was properly prepared and insured for a sufficient amount to cover the financial loss associated with it.
Dr. Sherbon Is Sponsor for National Research
The National Research Council or Washington, D. C., has announced national fellowships for research it child development for 1920-1930, according to Dr. Florence Brown Sheen in the department of Home Economics.
The fellowships aim to promote fun damental research in the several set courses basic to child development. The purpose of fellowship appointments is to develop and improve skills that may be prepared already to contribute to scientific knowledge of this field.
Applicants must be residents of the United States or Canada and must possess the basic secrecy in or medicine, and must present tangible evidence of rejection of their application. A stipend is $1,800 upward, varying with the requirements of individual eligibility.
The request for applications must be made through Doctor Shiron on the Executive Secretary of the ComA Dorea, Child Development, Merck A. Dorea.
Dove to Be Out Before Christmas, Says Eyre
That the Dove will unfold its wings and spread its pinions in flight over the campus before the Christmas holidays days was decided at a meeting of the staff at 4:10p. Wednesday in Praxis was the day of its appearance not set.
"The educational staff of the Dove will be larger and more truly representative of the students of all departments of the University this year that would benefit from a fellowship. Eyes, has 29, member of the staff." "The purpose of the Dove is to furnish a journal of liberal discussion for all students of the University. Anyone may contribute articles to the Dove's contributor must sign his correct name."
"The editorial staff is not organized. It is merely a group of men interested in the work who take charge of the make-up and printing of the Dove."
The Dove will be published more regularly after Christmas, according to Eyres. It will appear at least three times during the spring semester.
Alumnus in India Writes to Alumni Association
Curtis Giese, A.B.T.10, has sent it his alumna does two years in advance from Madura, South India to Freeport Secretary of the Almah Association.
He tells Eldsworth that Fay Live engoog, A.B. 790, and his family have been at the same station hill wif him during this season.
Y. W. Advisory Board Has Dinner for Cabinet
Members of the Y, W, C, A-, Advisory board entertained the cabinet at an informal dinner Thursday evening after a meeting with Dr. Elliwell Williams, secretary of the University Y, W, C, A., was guest of出席 members and guests were present.
5
These were guests: Mrs. A. Henley, who is idom of Honesty House, Mrs. Lloyd Carter, Stanton Olinger, Mrs. Clayton Crocker, and Miss Dorothy Laxon, Carter, and Miss Dorothy Laxon.
Oread High to Give Plays
Students in English to Present Program in Fraser
Gallon Gas
80c
Students of English in Orend High School will present a program of one netting in the Little Theater, Green Bay Wednesday evening, Nov. 28 at 7:45.
Firestone
CARTER SERVICE
Latin Play to Be Given
"Menaechmi" Will Be Presented Before Christmas
The leads for the movie of “Menneschii,” a Latin play to be presented in English by the Latin class which is headed by the director Etsia Sigma Phi, honorary latex and Greek fraternity, are as follows: Menneeschii I, Ruth Warwicken, c29; Menneeschii II, Amy Fryer, c29; c29; wies of Menneeschii I, Ruth Ashaugh, gr: Kirkham, a lady friend Menneeschii III, Katherine Poiieulis, Marie Moreau, uche; a cook, Mikkel Homonon, c29. Helen Hendrichs, c29, will deliver the prologue and announce the end of the cast will be announced later.
The play will be directed by Miss Lilian B. Lawer of the Latin department, and it is being translated from English to Latin as a class. The play is written in common Latin and at times borders on stage. The language is used in both English and will be in common English and will be
The Alpa Chi Omega women are graduated from Notre Dame of Oregon. Because of their oratory high scholastic honors they were presented with a cup by the alumni and received a medal.
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GOOD YEAR
Morning and Evening
PAGE FOUR
THE MAGAZINE SECTION OF THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN, November 25, 1928
BLANK VERSE FROM THE BACTERIOLOGY DEPARTMENT
To inject white mice,
Little white mice
To inject them intraperitoneally
And watch them ruff up and die
To feel needles go through skin Softly, easily. Pushing again, the contrals, pushing again, the contrast intestine, Blame the dull needles!
To watch them shiver and shake,
Little white mice
With tiny sharp ears,
They then blink balging eyes
Wristfully.
The glory of death!
The autopsy after!
And at such a contemptuous hour!
To tell the coldest scissors the fur
The beautiful, snow white down.
Cruelty to dumb animals?
No!
Science.
But to inject white mice
Little white mice
With diplococcus pneumoniae.
—Ketter Hurford.
ROSES
I sit beside the glistening pane And watch, and listen to the rain
The rosetree to the trellis clings,
And though each falling rain-drop stains
and splatters as it rolls away,
The rosetree's dead and cannot say
a good touch. It leaves wounds
And good the winter's wounds to heal.
That tree was beautiful last year.
Then it was filled with clusters dear
Of redceded roses, greenest hawes...
And then it bleached. That twimbs in the freshened air.
A rain-drop fabric of despair
—Lyle Giifford Pen and Scroll
Bathing Suits
(Continued from page one)
"I'm going out into the hammock until Aunt Sarah comes."
She took a magazine from the table and went out into the yard, across a bit of dry, dusty grass to the hammock under two immense box elders. She settled herself in the shade. Idyle she turned the pages of her magazine, and magazine, on her writ of interest and imminent passes she became impatient. At last she gave it up.
"I guess she's not coming. I'll put Nan to go and dress her, and bathing on her arm, she left the yard.
But Nan was canning peaches and it was some time before the two in wool bathing suits and rubber caps, slipped through the trees to the river. They were chattering so gaily that they did not notice me. She had a very sharp edge. One wore a garmment of doubtful color that sagged miserably. The other wore a faded blue dress. The collar was half turn off; the buttons were missing and in their place monostonic safety pins caught the dress together down the front. Their eyes looked to the seat figures in bathing suits on the bank.
"Well, I do declare, if she haints 'gone and got that Nan Hunter down here. she knows I don't like her. I call that impertinent. And just look at her a-stand'd in there' in that thing as bold as you please' exclaimed Sarah Beverley to her companion. "I examined Sarah Beverley to Corn, I do believe she's a-gin't to dive!"
Sarah's voice held infinite disquiet. Sarah was shocked. But her conjecture was right. With the noise that comes of health and happiness Nan walked slowly down the improvised diving board. She saw the man walking toward her head, and in a moment had gracefully curved and disappeared head first below the water.
"Well!" gasped Sarah. "Well! That's the most disgraceful thing I ever seen. To parade her body life."
She turned and scrambled up the low embankment. Her companion followed. One usually followed Sarah Beverly. On the bank they paused, two bedraggled old women, dressing dresses sagging heavily and wrapping about their legs to their ankles. Out in the middle of the river a green cap had appeared above the surface of the water and was bobbing freely and happily up and down.
BOOKS
Marsh-Fire
by Mateel Wee Farnham
Dodd. Mead and Co., N. Y.—$2.00
Reviewed by Lida Eckdall
Marsh-fire is not a real fire, but that elusive light which hovers over marshes, luring travelers from the highway in the belief that warmth and comfort will occur in the darkness, explain Minted Howe Farham.
"Marshall-Fire" is a story of the sustained struggles and battles of Josie, the business favorite, to control and keep in favor with her employer for over a period of twenty years. It is a story of the "inspiration," as she puts it, that Josie. It is a chronicle of the energetic, scheming, insinuating, foolish, misdirected Josie—a story of the working world and a story of that working world's outside activity. Again, Mateeel How Farnham has written a book that will be talked of—for it is a book of clever character interpretation, understated style, and a number of really beautiful pictures—but somehow it lacks the spontaneity of her former book, "Rebellion."
Perhaps one of the most intriguing character sketches is unfurled in the lovely Flora who, in their stolen meetings and her perhaps over-generous love, philosphizes to Michael that,
"Long ago, when I was very urphy, my father taught me the wisdom ... of gathering my rosebuds while I was still young enough not to care too much. And there were still rosebuds for the gathering!"
"Marsh-Fire" is the tale of a struggle against unconventionality while "Bellion" is of a struggle for the unconventional. "Marsh-Fire" is too stammerly thought out.
Michael, the center of the wheel of controversy,
is privileged.
"And it was spring. After an unusually hard winter the ice at last had gone out of the rivers, the frost out of the ground. Up on the hills overlooking the town the arbutus bld itself from the casual passerby, but bloomed in all its exquisite fragrance for those who cared enough to search for it. (He had sent a bunch of waxy pink and white blossoms to Eleonor and she had seemed more pleased than he.) Presently it was May and the hillsides were a rose-colored glory of wild azaleas, the skies softly blue, the early mornings and twilights a harmony of bird calls. He hoped long before another May to have climbed to the ummost pinnacle of bliss—and winter never again would matter."
PRAYER FOR A PAGAN
Earth, I come
As child of thine:
Give me the beauty
of trailing vine.
Give me the voice
Of wind in trees;
And a bread of soul
Like your own blue sea.
Give me the splendor
Of sunset skies,
The glow of stars
To light my eyes.
Let my heart be happy
As a rustling leaf
Touched by a rainbow
From showers of grief.
Take me at last
To thy own warm clods—
Let me lie the still,
Nor trouble the gods.
Jane Kerr
NOVEMBER
On the sunflower stalks
Triped with seed clusters
Song sparrows are hovering
While a chill wind blasters
A chickadee nonchalcus
Rocks on a stem,
Chuckling, chattering,
A blue gray gem.
Phone 4
Winter time coming,
Winter to stay,
I cannot care.
When wild birds are gay.
—Lorene Squire
FINIS—?
One who suffers through disease,
Or feeling he imposes on the world,
May welcome final closing of the eyes.
Death by his own hands,
Death by strange hands,
Death by loved hands,
Death by Nature's hands.
It is all death to the body, one and the same.
But what of the soul death? Keen minds question;
Can only he who trusts forever live?
Some say yes!
Some say no!
But who knows he can forever live?
And what is meant by "Forever live"?
Suicide—murder—execution—
Still birth—sudden death—deterioration,
what know you?
What know I?
Who cares except for selfish
Motives, where he goes when
Comes the end?
You will die.
I will die.
Who should care?
Who should worry?
In body; but what then?
Ultimate disposal of our inward spark
Is God's problem.
Loss and more the brain confounding—
Who should wonder there are Atheists?
Who should marvel at believers?
No two men see God alike—
But all can try to do the right.
By listening to the Conscience' urge,
And tempering urge with intellect.
Till mortal death do us part.
An Extraordinary House by Arthur B. Gauged
This particular dwelling is not so old when compared with many other houses in Lawrence, but it has an air of dilatation that governs its whole atmosphere. It seems unnatural that the windows are not broken because of the environment in genetics; they are made from a material years of service and exposure. The planks lap over each other to form the dingy sides of the structure, Tail, ragged trees which have never been trimmed border it along the street. The yard is unkempt in appearance and is covered with fallen brush and old dried grass. A great view-obstructing bush is stationed near the corner of the lot, while two tree branches snake either side of the old brick walk which is now grown over with grass and moss.
I viewed the subject from the opposite corner of the street and was thus able to discern from one position the features of its construction and surroundings. The contour of the front wall is broken by a plain front porch, jutting out from the main building. This is covered with a few dead vines. There are two windows over the porch which seem to view with casual half-closed eyes, the chance passer-by. A rusty-hued bay-window thrusts itself inquiring toward the street as if it were trying to see what is behind it, which is drawn into old boxes and a wrecked chassis of an old car. Nothing new breaks in upon the scheme of things except a tall radio tower which is itself built of old discolored lathes and boards.
My first thought when I saw it was that it was unoccupied and had been so for years, but the smoke which curled out of the chimney immediately belied the idea. Curtains festoon the windows, but they were quite closely. People who live in a house and allow it to be in such a dilipidated state must be either too old or stingy to provide for its adequate upkeep. I am curious to find out if my judgment of the occupancy of the house warranted that I surveyed it that it would make an idea "unhallowed" house if it were in a more remote district.
The Cow-Man
(Continued from page 102)
me. I was glad that I was going to get up out of bed the next morning and the next, and that the next one I was going home. I would not have to lie there listening for that sing-song cry, remembering that it had lost its charm. It is strange, but in the three mornings I was there after I saw the cow-man, I never heard him again. Possibly I merely missed him; possibly for some prosasic reason, he did not come. In either case, I cannot be sorry.
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