WEATHERGenerally fair Friday, todayand Saturday; continued cool;northeasterly winds.Vol. 35. No. 121. UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, FRIDAY, JUNE 7, 1935 FINALISSUEPrice Three CentsNICHOLSON NEW MAROON EDITORHold Twenty-Fifth AnnualInterfraternity SingTomorrowNight in Hutchinson CourtInduct Aides, Marshals'in Final Event ofProgram“The Owl Sonjj,” “We Come witha Shout and Sonf?,” “A Band ofBrothers,” and “Wave the Flafj” willbe the radio audience’s impression ofthe Interfraternity sinp:, but to thecampus it means the return of many jhundreds of alumni to the scene of jtheir past endeavors in order to par-1ticipate in the University’s greatest |undergraduate tradition—The Inter¬fraternity Sing, held in historicHutchinson court tomorrow night.This year marks an event ofdouble import, since it is not onlythe continuation of a great traditionbut al.so the twenty-fifth anniversary | Today’s Programfor AlumniReunionFriday12:30—Fifth annual alumni luncheonat Judson court.2:15—Alumni conference and for¬um. Judson court lounge.8:00—Band concert and al frescoreunion in Hutchinson court.9:00—The Alumni Reunion revuein Mandel hall.Saturday9:45—Alumni conference and for¬um in the Oriental institute.12 —Alumni breakfast in IdaNoyes hall. T. V. Smith theguest speaker.1916-17 Luncheon in Hutch¬of that tradition. 1Traditionally marking the close ofreunion activities, the sing has re¬mained es.sentially the same since its |induction in 1911. '!Begins at 8:20The sing will begin promptly at8:20 in Hutchinson court, precededby an hour concert by the Univer¬sity band. At the close of the sing¬ing, the official induction of Univer¬sity Aides and Marshals will takeplace, followed by the awarding ofthe quality and quantity cups. MackEvans, a.ssistant professor of Music,and two assistants will be the judges. ,To the music of “Song of the C,”“C” men will march into the courtfor the awarding of “C” blankets.The sing is traditionally terminatedwith the singing of one verse of theAlma Mater and a Maroon yell.The schedule of fraternities andthe at which they must be presentat Hull gate is as follows:Tau Delta Phi 8:10Alpha Sigma Phi 8:10Tau Kappa Flpsilon 8:10Sigma Alpha Epsilon 8:15Alpha Tau Omega 8:20Kappa Nu 8:25 1Pi Ijambda Phi 8:30 |Phi Kappi Psi 8:35 IZeta Beta Tau 8:45;Phi Beta Delta 8:50;Lambda Chi 8:50;Sigma Chi 8:55 |Phi Sigma Delta 8:55 |Phi Gamma Delta 9:00 |Delta Upsilon 9:00 iPhi Delta Theta 9:05Kappa Sigma 9:10Delta Kappa Epsilon 9:10 iPhi Kappa Sigma 9:20;Psi Up.silon 9:20Beta Theta Pi 9:25 jAlpha Delta Phi 9:30 iChi Psi 9:30 inson commons.1925 Luncheon in Interna¬tional house.3:00—General alumni assembly inMandel hall.5:00—Open house at the Lincolnroom in Harper.6:00—Sunset supper in Hutchinsoncommons.6;30—Doctors of Philosophy dinnerin Judson court. Speaker,Profesor Anton J. Carlson.10 —Dance in Cloister club of IdaNoyes hall. Music by JimmyCatlin’s orchestra.HUTCHINS WEIGHSNSL, SOCIALISTSreinstatementLittle hope for reinstatement thisyear was given to the disenfranchis-jed campus organizations of the Na- jtional Student league and the Stu-jdent League for Industrial Democra-,ey (Socialist club) by PresidentRobert Maynard Hutchins in a specialappeal conference with members of jthe groups yesterday. [The delegation of students receivedHutchins’ comment that he would |“consider” the arguments presented jafter a protest meeting against the,University’s stand was held in Har¬per’s Mil at noon yesterday. Speak¬ers at the mass meeting includedHarold Goldstein, chairman; JudithSchoenberg, acting head of the NSL; ;and Georg Mann, president of the:SLID.A letter from Maynard Kreuger,faculty advisor of the SLID, askingthat the organizations be reinstated,called the off-campus participationrule unfair. Mann stated that theclubs did not desire their charters re¬turned as long as the rule persisted. PRESIDENT HUTCHINSAWARDS DEGREES TO890 NEXT TUESDAYHold Convocation Receptionin Ida Moves CloisterAfter CeremonyThe one hundred eightieth convoca¬tion will be conducted in the Univer¬sity chapel next Tuesday in two ses¬sions, the first at 11 and the secondat 3. In the morning 373 studentswill receive higher degrees, and inthe afternoon 517 bachelor’s degreeswill be conferred, a total of 890.President Robert Maynard Hutch¬ins wdll give the convocation addressand confer degrees at both times.The graduating class is larger thisyear than it has been for a numberof years.The convocation reception will beheld Tuesday afternoon at 4:30. Thiswill be an innovation, since it hasformerly been held Monday night. Ifthe weather permits the reception willbe in the nature of a garden party,and will take place in the cloistersof Ida Noyes hall.Hold ReceptionMembers of the faculty who will bepresent at the reception include Presi¬dent and Mrs. Robert MaynardHutchins, Dr. and Mrs. Frederic C.Woodward, Dean and Mrs. Gordon JI>aing, Dean and Mrs. Frank R. Lil¬lie, Dean and Mrs. Chauncey S.Boucher, and Miss Gertrude Dudley.Sunday morning the convocationservice will be held in the Universitychapel at 11. At this time Dr.Charles W. Gilkey, dean of the Cha¬pel will present the convocation ser¬mon, and Mme. Claire Dux, well-known soprano now with the ChicagoCivic opera, will sing.At 10 Sunday morning the convo¬cation prayer service will be conduct¬ed in the chapel by Dean Gilkey.Some tickets are still available forthe morning convocation session, anda few may possibly be obtained forthe afternoon.Three More HousesJoin 1-F Buying Plan ^Three additional fraternities havesigned contracts to place their foodpurchases through the Interfraterni-ity council cooperative buying agency.Everett George, student manager ofthe enterprise announced yesterday.The houses are Delta Kappa Epsil-:on. Kappa Sigma, and Phi Kappa iPsi. iThis brings the total of Greek let¬ter organizations who have signed Icontracts for next year up to 14.George yesterday also announced that jthe agency handled $6723.51 worth 1of business in the five months of op¬eration from January 1 to May 31. |Estimated net savings to the twelvetotal .$771.51, it was reported. | JUNIDR ASSISTANTSAPPOINTED FOR 1936MIDWAY FANDANGOEight Named as Trusteesfor Next Year’sCarnivalThe appointment of junior assist¬ants to the senior directors of Fan¬dango for 1935-36 was announcedyesterday by the new executiveboard.The date for next year’s Fandangowas also set at the meeting TheFandango will run for three daysduring the autumn quarter. Novem¬ber 21, 22, 23, because of the recentagreement among heals of under¬graduate activities to curtail studentsocial programs during the latterpart of the spring quarter.The following seniors have alreadybeen selected as Fandango directors:Ravone Smith, auditor; RaymondLahr, publicity; Leonard Olsen, raf¬fle; Jayne Paulman, women’s activ¬ities; Charles Hoerr, personnel; andEmery Fair and Robert Leach, build¬ing grounds.Auditing Assistant*Assistants to the auditor are Don¬ald Elliott and Dean Phemister;George Felsenthal, James Melville,and Robert Barr were appointed as¬sistants to the pubi’city director.Raffle assistants are William Bev¬erly and Edward Bell; and Rita Cu¬sack, Patricia Ellis, and Leslie Wil¬son were chosen women’s activitiesasedstants. Genevieve Fish, JamesSnyder, and Dick Smith were ap¬pointed personnel assistants.Edward Stern, Robert Young, andJack Webster were named assistantsto the building and grounds direc¬tors. Philomena Baker was alsonamed general secretary by theboard.A new feature of the administra¬tive set-up for Fandango is the Boardof Trustees comprised of Dean Wil¬liam E. Scott, Peggy Moore, Ell-more Patterson, William S. O’Don¬nell, Noel B. Gerson, William D. Wat-■son, Waldemar Solf, and Harry Mor-I'.son.Cap and GownAwardThe award for the most valu¬able man in campus publicationswas made yesterday to CharlesHoerr, the retiring managing edi¬tor of The Daily Maroon. The an¬nouncement of the presentationwas made by William D. Watson,editor of the Cap and Gown,which annually makes the award.Hoen- is a member of Tau Kap¬pa Epsilon and Owl and Serpentand is the new business managerof the Cap and Gown and person¬nel director of the Fandango. McQuilkin and Storey NamedBusiness Managers; Lahr,Stolte, Kelley Complete BoardReopen Hearing ThisMorning in Red Roomof LaSalle HotelThe Senate’s review of “red” ac¬tivities of the University wil continuethis morning at 10 in the Hotel LaSalle “Red” room without benefit ofactive participation by Charles Wal¬green or his attorney Joseph B. Flem¬ing, according to the latest reportsreceived by The Daily Maroon lateyesterday.According to Russel Whitman, at¬torney for the senate committee,witnesses for this morning includefour students each from the NSLand the Socialist club. Dean of Stu¬dents George A. Works, WilliamScott, assistant dean, and RobertHutchins, president.According to other information re¬ceived, James Weber Linn, profes¬sor of English and Hulen Carrol,former head of the now defunct Pub¬lic Policy association, may appear.Among the students who willspeak on behalf of the two clubs willbe Judith Schoenberg, Loyd James,Augustus Kelley of the NSL, andRalph Kesselring, Truman Kirkpat¬rick, Harold Goldstein, and GeorgMann of the Socialist group.Dean Works will review studentactivities; Dean Scott will explainthe ousting of the two campus or¬ganizations (the NSL and the So¬cialist club) for violations of Univer¬sity regulations.SHARP DISCUSSESSUPREME COURTDECISION ON NRAEmphasizing that the particularcourse of events that the “new deal”will take is unpredictable, MalcolmP. Sharp, associate professor of Law,discussed possible etfects of the re¬cent Supreme Court decision in an in¬terview with a Daily Maroon I’epcrt-er yesterday.Professor Sharp recently returnedfrom Washington, where he has beenworking as a special consultant in thesteel code administration. He hasalso been in the capitol during thepast two summers.“The experience connected with thework of the recovery administra¬tion,” he stated, “seems to me likelyto have some permanent effect on theorganization of industry and the ideasof lawyers. Economic developmentsin the next months and years willlargely determine the nature of thoseeffects.” Choose 13 Sophomoresas Associates forNext YearBy a majority vote of this year’sboard of control, Ralph Nicholsonwas elected editor-in-chief of TheDaily Mai’oon for 1935-36, and Rob¬ert McQuilkin and Everett Storeywere elected co-business managers.By a change in the Maroon consti¬tution, McQuilkin. will be the admin¬istrative officer and circulation di¬rector and Storey will be in chargeof advertising. The others on thenew board are: Raymond Lahr, man¬aging editor; Jeanne Stolte, newseditor; and Henry Kelley, desk edi¬tor.The following members of the edi¬torial staff who have been selectededitorial associates are: Wells Burn¬ette, George Felsenthal, Zenia Gold¬berg, Julian Kiser, George Schustek,James Snyder, Edward Stern, andMary Walter. The business associ¬ates are: James Bernard, Donald El¬liott, Allen Rosenbaum, RichardSmith, and Roy Warshawsky.Editorial AssistantsThose who have been elected edi¬torial assistants are as follows: Jos¬eph Baer, Bernice Bartels, PatriciaBeesley, Adele Bretzfeld, FrancesBrown, Robert Brumbaugh, JamesColeman, Eulah Detweiler, CatherineFeeney, Ned Fritz, ElRoy Golding,John Hall, Ruby Howell, MarjorieKneen, Philip Lawrence, Alda Lueb-be, William McNeill, James Michna,Cody Pfanstiehl, Barton Phelps, Ir¬vin Rich, Betty Robbins, EdwardSchlain, Belle Schwager, FrancisSeiter, Ruth Sider, Eleanor Taylor,Gordon Tiger, Aileen Wilson, Hen¬rietta Yalowitz, and William Zopf.The folowing have been electedbusiness assistants: Irving Axelrad,Bryson Burnham, Robert Cantzler,W’illiam Cook, Anatole Creteur, Wil¬liam Hardy, Charles Hoy, FrankKahn, Hiram Kennicott, HowardKopple, Bernard Levine, Don Patter¬son, Arthur Rabe, Howard Reisman,William Rubach, and W’ayne Shaver.ActivitiesRalph Nicholson, the new editor,is a member of Owl and Serpent,Kappa Alpha, and Phi Kappa Psi,has been elected a University mar¬shal, and was a member of IronMask this year. McQuilkin is a mem¬ber of Owl and Serpent and Phi Kap¬pa Psi, and has been selected comp¬troller of the Fandango. Storey is amember of Sigma Chi, Blackfriars,the Dramatic association, and theDebate union, of which he is a pastpresident.The Daily Maroon Retiring Board of ControlCharles W. Hoerr Howard M. Rich David H. Kutner William H. Bergman William S. O’DonnellHoward P. Hudson1 wo THE DAILY MAROON, FRIDAY, JUNE 7, 1935iatlg ifflar00tiFOUNDED IM 1901MEMBER^sociated Cfollrdiate^<934 (EoUtsklfBuieSl 1935HisftSOli MISCONSHThe Daily Mar.ion is the official student newspaper of theUniversity of Chicagro, published mornings except Saturday,Sunday, and Monday during the autumn, winter, and springquarter by The Daily Maroon Company, 5831 University Avenue.Editorial office: Lexington hail. Room 15. Telephones: Local46 and HYDe Park 9221. Business office: Lexington hall,Room 15.4. Telephone: HYDe Park 9222.Subscription rates: $2.50 a year; $4.00 by mail. Singlecopies: three cents.TTie University jf Chicago a.ssumea no responsibility for anystatements appearing in The Daily Maroon, or for any con¬tract entered into by The Daily Maroon. All opinions in TheDaily Maroon are student opinions, and are not necessarily theviews of the University administration.Entered as second class matter March 18, 1908, at the poetoffice at Chicago. Illinois, under the act of March 8, 1879.The Daily Maioon expressly reserves ali rights of publica¬tion of any material appearing in this paper. The Daily Maroonwill not be responaiMe for returning any unsolicited manuscripts.Public letters should be addressed to the Edited, The DailyMaroon, Lexington hall. University of Chicago. Letters shouldbe limited to 200 words in length, and should bear the author’ssignature and address, which will he witLSeld If requested.Anonymous letters will be disregarded.BOARD OF CONTROLHOWARD P. HUDSON, Editor-in-ChiefWILLIAM S. O’DONNELL, Business ManagerCHARLES W. HOERR, Managing EditorWILLIAM H. BERGMAN, Advertising ManagerHOWARD M. RICH. News EditorDAVID H. KUTNER. Desk EditorEltlTCfHiAL ASSOCIATESHenry F. Kelley Janet Lewy Jeanne StolteRaymond Lahr Ralph W. Nicholson William W. WatsonBUSINESS ASSOCIATESZalmon Goldsmith Robert McQuilkin Everett StoreyEDITORIAL ASSISTANTSWells D. Burnette Riihy Howell James SnyderEulah Detweiler Julian A. Kiser Edward S. SternGeorge Felsenthal George Schustek Elinor TaylorZenia Goldberg Mary WalterBUSINESS ASSISTANTSRobert Albrecht A1 Frankel Harold B. SiegelJames Bernard Don Patterson Edwin SibleyHenry Cubbon Allan Rosenbaum Dick SmithDon Elliott Ma.\ S.-hiff Roy WarshawskyNight Editor: Cody Pfanstiehl1 Friday, June 7, 1935—— — " ,,THE LAST WORDHomecoming — Fraternity rushing — HueyLong — Ogburn petition — Peace Poll — PeaceSymposiums — Public Policy Association —Fandango — Legion riots — Walgreen — Lu¬cille — Little Beverly — Investigation — MoreWalgreen — they flash before our eyes as wewatch this last issue of The Daily Maroon of 1934-35 go to press.This year was a year of news, the biggest newsthat any college paper has been blessed with.More than that, we believe that The Daily Ma¬roon has fulfilled its duty to the campus in bring¬ing it the news in a tempting and readable form.Probably no more varied policies and cam¬paigns have been carried on than has this DailyMaroon. It has kept ahead of the times andshifted its editorial comment to many fronts tomeet new situations. One definite trend can benoted, the firm stand taken on freedom of thepress which troubled the collegiate press and theconsistent fight against the Hearst papers. Inits interest in the part of the student in worldpeace, the Maroon considered all sides of thequestion to the extent of taking actual leader¬ship in student and faculty symposiums.That we were not extremely biased in our viewswas demonstrated. Fascist organizations scur-rilized us, called us “red”; radical groups pro¬tested vigorously, named us “fascist.” We suc¬ceeded in our aim, then, that of stimulating cam¬pus thought on political and social problems.Former Maroon editors had exciting conflictswith the University administration. Ours was thetask of defending the University from the mostvicious outside attack it has ever incurred. Tothis end we achieved nation-wide publicity, werequoted in newspapers and magazines all over thecountry. The Literary Digest called this year’sDaily Maroon one of the two outstanding collegejournals in the United States.But we did not neglect campus activities. Fra¬ternities, although criticized for their worn-outshort-sighted policies, were accorded sympathetictreatment. A fight to disemburden them fromdeferred rushing was prosecuted fairly success¬fully. We attempted to aid when we could worth¬while activities.As an organization the Maroon has functionedsmoothly and efficiently. News editor HowardRich perfected a news gathering machine that |covered the campus completely, devised a sys- •tern of beats and staff organizations that eliminat-' ed many old-fashioned and unnecessary methods,and proved a capable personnel director.David Kutner, besides his pointed theater re¬views, saw that Maroon reporters wrote concise,brief and live stories.The staff worked as one under Charles Hoerr,the Managing Editor, who gave willingly longhours at the printers and took over many extraduties. In make-up The Daily Maroon has beenstartling original in lay-out, has made many in¬novations in type and heads, and has been ex¬ceedingly well-balanced in news placement.Perhaps most important, in this economic-minded world, this year’s Maroon made moneyunder the leadership of William O’Donnell andWilliam Bergman. Business Manager O’Donnellmade the Maroon pay better than any paper since1930, a worthy record, and effected a competentreorganization of the department.But the plaudits must go to The Daily Maroonof the future. In Nicholson, Lahr, McQuilkin, {Storey, Stolte, and Kelley we have the greatestconfidence. They will carry on Maroon tradition.—H. P. H. Letters tothe Editor>vne 6, 1935.H’MMM BODFISHReminiscence, retrospection, laud¬ation and sentimentality are in orderfor this final issue of the Maroonunder your guiding hand.Mediocrity, lack of originality andpunch with occasional attack ofpuerility have typified the Maroonthis past year. The realization ofthis condition undoubtedly led to theswing to the psuedo insipid sensation¬alism of the latter part of the yearwhen Huey Long and Hearst wereconquered.Throughout the year space andpublicity has been given to the radi¬cal groups on the campus entirelyout of proportions to their import¬ance. If student participation andinterest in these activities are reallyso minor as every B. M. 0. C. was I anxious to testify at the Inquiry,that it was, why, why so much em-i phasis unless the charges that youj are taking orders fron* Moscow arej true.I Then, ‘Lil Beverly,’ a pointless andi ludicrous splurge of yellow journal¬ism which fell flat with the moronswho usually appreciate that type ofreading matter and was disgusting tothe others.With the Walgreen charges andI the senate investigation came a pa¬rade of trivialities and petty counter¬charges, instead of analysis to findthe real issues and treat them edi¬torially with a modicum of intelli¬gence. Perhaps it is a part of amovement to define “Academicprivilege” as a forerunner of fasc¬ism?In concluding and summarizing,you were an inefficient, ignorant andbiased scoundrel, a reprehensible diz-zard, a menace to that great causeof college journalism.Fraternally yours,John H. Bodfisk II.P. S. This ironical. DREXEL TUBATBI8S8 E. UrdFri.—Ralph Bellamy - AdrienneAni'is in “CICOLETTE”Sat—Buck |c *6$ iw “STONE OFSILVER CREEK”Sun. & Men.—Edmund Lowe in“MR. DYNAMITE”The Travelling BazaarBy SAM HAIRREQUIEMGoodbye, goodbye everybody, one and all,singly and in pairs....Ah, woe alas, what isgraduation but a severing of the intellectual um-bibical cord and a timid venturing forth into thetreacherous people and, so they say, creeping andcold, cold, cruel, cruel world-at-large, full ofcrawling w’ith obscure things called Hard Knocks. . . .Watch out for them—these Hard Knocks.. .They are quite awful but, so they say, they willMake-a-Man-of-You. ...» * >i<HOW TO GET A JOB(Clip this out. Follow it to the letter.)Walk briskly into an office, any office, afterreading the name on the door so as to find outwhat kind of an office it is. If it says ZilchsteinEnterprises, Inc., that means they are enterpris¬ers and the chances are the people who work inthe office are enterprising and work on enter¬prises. That means they are enterprising peo¬ple. That’s easy. Just be enterprising. Radiate it.Glow with enterprise. Bloom enterprise. Youwent to college. That’s easy. Stride in and look¬ing neither to the right nor to the left, walk di¬rectly into one of the inner offices, preferably theone with “President” on the door. Call him Mr.Zilchstein, or just plain Zilchstein. You’re enter¬prising aren’t you? The man in the office will lookat you, but don’t let him talk. Just look at himand exude enterprise w'ith lots of words, bigwords. Enterprising words. If he opens his mouthsquelch him with a few words. After he is suf¬ficiently impressed, allow him to hire you. Permithim to trade places with you. You take his chairand he will ask you to let him continue in a sub¬ordinate capacity. Be magnanimous. Give him ajob.* ♦ ♦JUNE JOB-HUNTER’S SERENADE’Tis a terrible thing, this persistence,Oh what’s the reward Tor persistence?This is quite a terrible world.Shall my talents be ever unfurled?Oh living’s a terrible strife.Shall I ever escape with my life?Chorus (all in unison)Terrible, terrible—They’ve cooked my goose.Terrible, terrible—god, what’s the use?THE YEAR IN REVIEWTime Marches OnFootball. ...The Hessians get charley-horses and if all thepeople in the grandstands were piled one on topof the other I would rather see that.Mirror. . . .O’Hara gets hoarse and the club-women lookover the rule-book to see how many clothes theycan’t wear.This Party and That Party. . . .Foster Hall telephones surrounded three-deepevery Friday night. The Mortar Boards are an¬noyed when it rings. The Sigmas faint. The Quad-ranglers turn pale. The Esoterics fight.Gertrude Stein. . . .Holds forth. Salaams and short haircuts.Gerson saw it first. Who wants to be Assistant?Great things.Fandango... .Hotbeds tended carefully by Schuman. Wal¬green gives him pointers.Blackf riars....Practice being a'woman in front of the mirror.Get that walk.Exams. . . .Cold towels and coffee. Well, what’s a degreeanyway?AVE ATQUE VALEKeep the chin up. Throw out the chest.There is no more to writeGoodbye QUALITY — VARIETY — ENVIRONMENTTRY OUR DELICIOUS HOME COOKINGESPECIALLY PIESLUNCHEON 35cDINNER 50cSTALLMAN’S TEA ROOM1369 East 57th StreetDINNER SERVED FROM 5-9 EVERYFRIDAYin the NewSILVERFORESTwith RythmicRuler of theAir WavesHORACE HEIDTand his AlemiteBrigadiers30 ALL-STARENTERTAINERS7 P.M. to ClosingS(>ecial PritnUge Cardsmay be had at office ofDaily MaroonTo a Successful Summer--Now, as another session of scholastic endeavordraws to a close, don’t you find yourself really in needof a taste of concentrated relaxation? Couldn’t yougo for a splendid evening of dining and dancing atthe Blackhawk? I f you haven’t danced to the old lefthander’s music, you’ll find his popular style quitethe best bit of syncopation in Chicago.Joe SandersAT THEBLACKHAWKWabash at RandolphWhere to WorshipUNIVERSITY CHURCH OFDISCIPLES OF CHRIST5655 University AvenueDr. Edward Scribner Ames, MinisterSUNDAY, JUNE 9. 193510:30 A. M.—Communion Service.1 1 :00 A. M.—“Sublimating Instituitonalism,”Dr. Ames.6:00 P. M.—Wranglers.8:00 P. M.—Convocation Service for theDisciples Divinity House. St. Paul’s Church50th and DorchesterParish Office: 4945 DorchesterAvenueTel. Oakland 3185Rev. Donald W. Crawford, B. A.SUNDAY SERVICE:Holy Communion, 8:00 A. M.Church School Service, 9:30A. M.Morning Service, 11:00 A. M.Young People’s Society, 6:80P. M.THE DAILY MAROON. FRIDAY, JUNE 7, 1935 Page ThreeToday on theQuadrangles Lambda Chi Alpha. House danceat 10.Phi Gamma Delta. House dance at11.FRIDAYLectures“Statistics.” Professor HenrySchultz, Harper Mil at 4:30.MeetingsFreshman council. Alumni rom ofIda Noyes hall at 12.Mirror board. Student lounge ofIda Noyes hall at 12.Phi Beta Kappa. Judson court at 6. |Pi Lambda Theta. Student lounge jof Ida Noyes hall at 6. 'MiscellaneousUniversity Aides dinner. Sun par¬lor of Ida Noyes hall at 6.Kent Chemical society dinner.Cloister club of Ida Noyes hall at 7.Homecoming. Hutchinson court at8.Reunion Revue. Mandel hall at 9. SUNDAYConvocation. Prayer service. Uni¬versity chapel at 10.Carillon recital. Frederick Mar-riot. University chapel at 4.Organ recital, Robert Sanders.University chapel at 4:30.MeetingsGreek Women’s University club.Theatre of Ida Noyes hall at 3:30.Phi Delta Upsilon, Alumni room ofIda Noyes hall at 6.SATURDAYMeetings.41umni conference. Oriental insti¬tute at 9:45.Board of University publications.Press building at 10.Phi Delta Upsilon. Y. W. C. A.room of Ida Noyes hall at 3:30.Achoth. Y. W. C. A. rom of IdaNoyes hall at 6.Sigma. Sun parlor of Ida Noyeshall at 6.Quadrangler. Cloisters of IdaNoyes hall at 6.Misceleneous•Alumnae club breakfast. Cloisterclub of Ida Noyes hall at 12.Luncheon, Cla.ss of 1916-17. Cof-fet- shop at 12:30.Alumni assembly. Mandel hall at3.Beta Theta Pi. Open house at 6.Doctors of Philosophy dinner. Jud-son court at 6:30.Band concert. Hutchinson court at7.University Sing. Hutchinson courtat 8.Open hou.se. Ida Noyes hall at 10.Sigma dance. Edgewater Beachhotel at 11.F ot.ric formal dance. SouthShore Country club at 10.They’re not WIKIES itthey’re not by GantnerSELF-ADJUSTING SUPPORTERm m IVOVAL-SHAPED LEGHOLE**Thtonly swtm trunk m whichyou are propetly attired**Only Gantner WIKIES have the pat¬ented, correctly snug waist that won’troll down not too high, not too low!Also, Free-Breathing Lastez beltlBuilt-in elastic self-adjusting suppor¬ter! New oval-shaped leghole, patent¬ed closed fly front, and quicker-dryingfabric $3-95At y»ut OtaUr’sGANTNER & MATTERN CaSan Frandsco, Gdif.Maktn of Amtrua i Finest Swtm SeatsGnnTntRlUIKIES TUESDAYMiscellaneousConvocation. University chapel at11 and 3.Convocation reception. Ida Noyeshall at 4:30.Law School Association dinner.Union League club at 6:30.Theological Seminary diner. Clois¬ter club of Ida Noyes hall at 6.WEDNESDAYY. W. C. A. Y. W. C. A. room ofIda Noyes hall at 2:30.Campus View Apts.1-2-3 room apts. ideally lo¬cated to the University. Com¬plete hotel service, tile bathand shower. Rates reasonable.5482 Greenwood, WBER...IBS nEGTnGueiTDssimAB07EIT7WALNUT wst wtNlaunched on its mis¬sion of pisasurs-giv-ing to discriminating Pip# Smolors.Sinco thoio early I870'i, tho s«-promo qualities of this famousblond hove never varied.Four Dealer Hot HIJOHN MIDDLETON'SWALNUT BLENDMILD AROMATIC PIPE TOBACCOChicago’s Finest CafeLimE TED’SGARDENWALT REED& His Orchestra3 Floor Shows ONightlr OPor ReservationsPhoneHyde Park 10333— - No Cover Charge1222 E. 63rd ST.‘Next Door to Ted’s Beauty Shop”DINENOCOVER6158 jCOTTAGE IGROVE IiiiiiiiitiiiHtiiira THECAMPUSINN DANCENOMINIMUM ■PHONE IDORCHESTER |4746 ITO THE STUDENT BODYof theUNIVERSITY OF CHICAGOTHANKSWe wish to take this means of express¬ing our appreciation for your loyal andmost valued patronage.11 is very gratifying to note the mannerin which you have made our store YOURstore.Our aim will be to continue to makeyou feel at ease to come in to make yourselections.We also wish to congratulate thegraduates and are certain that new vistasin the Avenue of Life will open beforethem.AgainTHANKSThe Erie Clothing Co.837 E. 63rd Street THE STORE FOR MENrrs VACATION TIME AGAIN-Say Goodbye to Comprehensives,Text Books and Monday NightChapter Meetings in aSUMMER SUIT from FIELD’SHere’s the perfect farewell outfit for the homewardbound college man, suitable for your fraternity springparty and the entire summer season. Palm Beach suitsare headed for their greatest year. There are new darkshades, new sport back models, smart drapes and theprice is lower than last year’s. But because size and fitare so essential to the trim appearance of a summer suitwe suggest that you come to the STORE FOR MEN.For here you will find a complete assortment of suitsdesigned for both formal and informal wear, in your size,your shade and your style. And in addition you willhave the advantage of our skilled alteration service bytailors trained to our standards of workmanship. TTieMARSHALL FIELD & COMPANY label in your PalmBeach suit costs you no more. But it means a great dealmore in satisfaction and service.$15.75THIRD FLOORTHE STORE FOR MENMARSHALL FIELD & COMPANYLUUDAILY MAROON SPORTSPage Lour FRIDAY, JUNE 7, 1935ALUMNI BAU SQUADCLAIMS 54i VICTDRYUe VARSin TEAM Kessel Wins I-M Individual Point C MEN TD RECEIVERace; Kaye, Ely Are Runners-Up AWARDS ATPhi Kappa Psi, PhiPlace 3 MenFirst Ten SiginBabble, Boo, and Bat in Mudof Greenwood Field;Finally Call CameBy GEORGE SCHUSTEKA dozen and a half of the Univer¬sity’s ball-playing alumni talked,argued, booed, and hit their way towhat they claimed was a 5-5 victoryover the Maroon varsity ball teamyesterday afternon on a muddyGreenwood field in the annual var¬sity-alumni game. ^The rain which had been mildly jthreatening all during the afternoonbegan to fall in the last half of the ,ninth inning. This, coupled with the |fact that the scheduled hour of the I“C” banquet was drawing nigh, caus¬ed the calling of the game with iiiescore tied. iCaptain Wehling ran the varsity |in his last game, playing for five ‘innings in his familiar left-field ispot. After that time he sent himselfto the bench, from where he man¬aged the team for the rest of thegame. Mike Bernard took his place, iThe varsity played a rearranged {lineup, which functioned well. Bill iHaarlow was absent for the game, so ;Dave Levin moved in from his finalspot in center field to play first, iMarv Berkson occupied the middle of Ithe garden.The game was a high-spirited affair |throughout, with much arguing with :the umpire, and continual razzingof anyone who drew the attention of 'the small crowd of alumni and Ma- ;roon hangers-on.Varsity scoring was scattered jthrough the game. Captain Ralph'Wehling started the attack in the |first inning, scoring on a balk. Tony jKruzic, third baseman, scored in the |third on a hit by Dick Cochran. Wehl- 1ing crossed again in the sixth, and jDave Levin stole home in the eighth. ICo-captain Cochran got a hit in the |ninth and scored later on hits by'Shipway and Yedor. jBussy Yedor, pitching for the Iteam, held the alumni to two hits in |the first eight innings, but let down |a bit in the last frame to allow three jin a row, which resulted in two runs.The first two men up in the firstining, Buzzell and Webster touchedhim for base hits, scoring later. Onerun in the f’fth and the two-run ral¬ly in the ninth finished the scoringfor the alumni.Varsity 101 010 110—5 9 3Alumni 200 010 002—5 5 2Batteries: Yedor and Shipway;Page, Kaplan and Webster, Wingate. Leslie Kessel, Phi Beta Delta,leads the field of Intramural athletesthis year, amassing 445 points as to397 for Wilmar Kaye, Phi B. D., 372for Richard Ely, Phi Kappa Psi, and344 points for Jerome Spitzer, PhiSigma Delta, the closest rivals.Last year Ned Porte, Phi BetaDelta; A1 Marver, Phi B. D.; IrwinAskow,Kappa Nu; and John Moul¬ton, Delta Upsilon, ranked in theleading positions, while Kessel didnot place in the first ten.Phi B. D. TumblesThree members of Phi Kappa Psi,winning organization in Intramurals,and three Phi Sigma Deltas, fifthplace group, rated places in the firstten. The two Phi B. D.’s who coppedthe first two places were the only sur¬vivors in their fraternity of a groupof foyr who stood in the first fivepositions at the beginning of thisquarter.Kessel's outstanding demonstrationof ability during the past year wasin touch fotball and playground ball.SportFlashesBy TOM BARTON I-M Individual PointsKessell, Phi B. D. 445Kaye, Phi B. D. 397Ely, Phi Psi 372Spitzer, Phi Sig 344Adair, R., D. U. 332Hathaway, Phi Psi 310Kerr, Alpha Delt 292Hilbrant, Phi Psi 286Pink, Phi Sig 278Wolf, Phi Sig 275Braude, Phi B. D. 270D. Howard, D. K. E. 270Krause, Phi Sig 269Werner, Phi Psi 268Yedor, Phi B. D. 267Marver, Phi B. D. 265Zacharais, Phi Sig 265 l-F SING TOMORROW26 Athletes Win Awards;Coach Nelson Norgrento Present Honorsin which he helped his fraternity winthe major championships. Kaye, histeam-mate, was also an importantcog in the team’s success in these twosports.Ely won his berth among the high¬est scorers by competing in practical¬ly every sport offered in Intramurals,and by consistent ability.CLASSIFIED ADSWANTED: Tenant to rent an |unusually well-lighted four-roomapartment, furnished or unfurnish-1ed, wnth wood-burning fire-place. |One block from Mandel Hall. Mid-1way 1617. Louise M. M. Fuller. 'A FEW IFS—If Chicago had played Michiganevery Saturday during the fall gridseason....If it hadn’t rained when Chicagoplayed the Purdue football. . . .If Illinois hadn’t blocked thatkick. . . .If Berwanger had three more yearsto play....If Bill Haarlow hadn’t been eligi¬ble this past basketball season—andthe baseball season for that mat¬ter. ...If Chicgo hadn’t made four errorsin their first baseball game againstPurdue this year, the Boilermakersmight not have won 3 to 1 and theMaroons would have had a slice ofthe Big Ten championship pie. . . .If we had something to writeabout we wouldn’t have to fill upthis space without conglomeratedtripe....If we only had studied. . . .THREE MONTHS’ COURSEFor College Students and Graduate?A thorourih, intensive, stenographiccourse—storting Jannnry 1, April 1,July 1, October 1. Interesting Book¬let sent free, without obligation— lorite or phone. No solicitorsemployed.moser Summer Cottage for Renton Muskelunge LakeNear Tomahawk, Wis. Completely furnish¬ed four rooms and large porch. Excel¬lent fishing, swimming. Near golf course.By month or sea.son. Phone Dor. 9571.INTENSIVIStenographic Course FOR RENT: Reserve your roomsnow for next October. Single ordouble. Private family. Meals ar¬ranged. Also rooms for summerquarter. 6152 Ellis avenue. Twenty-six athletic award blanketswill be presented by Coach NelsonNorgren to as many Maroon C mentomorrow night at the iAnterfratemi-ity sing. Upon graduation or the com¬pletion of three years of intercollegi¬ate competition each athlete who haswon a C sweater is entitled to receivea Maroon blanket.The following men will receive theawards:John Baker, Edward Cullen,Thomas Flinn, Keith Hatter, WilliamLangley, Ellmore Patterson, Bart¬lett Peterson, John Womer, RobertEldred, Martin Hanley, WilliamSchroeder, John Barden, CharlesDwyer.George Nicoll, Joseph Stolar, Dan¬iel Walsh, Hubert Will, HaroldBloch, Marvin Berkson, David Levin,Ralph Wehling, Harold Block, An¬drew Dystrup, Robert Milow, EugeneOvson, and Trevor Weiss.One star is placed on each man’sblanket for each year of competitionin a sport, each sport having its char¬acteristically colored star. This yearseven men receive recognition Infootball, six in track and swimmingand water polo, four in baseball, twoin basketball, and one in wrestling..Five men. Baker, Cullen, Flinn,Patterson, and Peterson will receivestars for football and an additionalsport. Netmen Present Cupto Stagg at C BanquetLonnie Stagg, departing tenniscoach at the University, received atrophy from his conference championnet team and a tremendous ovationfrom 225 members of the Winners ofthe C gathered in Hutchinson Com- j mons lasI banquetI Thirty' taken irinitiatioiTrevoexpressetheir coiand wisiluck andquehannRooms for Summer Students. 5735Woodlawn Avenue. Dorchester10373. A. T. 0. fraternity house. $15per month.WANTED. Two pasesngers toride to Portland, Oregon or pointsenroute west. Leaving Chicago June15. Call Robert Hasterlik, 74 Hitch¬cock Hall. Midway 10153. Woodlawn Cafeteria1165 East 63rd StreetSECOND FLOOR“You can have an extra dateeach week with the money yousave eating the Woodlawn way.” AVALONIAN6616 Cottage Grove3 Floor Shows Nigl- - - FEATURING -TRACY AND DUB. & K. StarsMusic by Ray Parker and FFor Reservations Call MidNO COVER OR MSTEAK&CHOPHOUSE tenderSTEAKS Grstill rate high vdents who knovLAKlFOR RENT. 6 rm. apt. 2 baths.Freshly decorated. New gas stove.$55. Apt. furnished $60. 6143 Wood¬lawn Avenue. Reserve your room for the summer quar¬ter now ...S 8.50 per month$20.00 per quarterSI'ower baths daily room serviceSee MR. C. A. LUND5541 Weodl;wn Avc.BUSINESS COLLEGEPAUL MOSER, J.D., PH.B.Regular Courses open to Htgh School(Trad7iates only, may be storied anyMonday. Day and Evening. EverJngCourses open to men.116 S. Michigan Ave. ChicagoRandolph 434^ For College Men and Women.100 Words a minute in 100 days.Assured for one fee. Enroll now.Day classes begin each quarter.Tel. Ran. 1575Also Regular Courses. Day and Eve IINEWAYDRUG STOr?PuciseLUNCHES AT A DISCOUNTCome in and get acquainted with our store manager, Mr. Dreschler.how you can get lunches at a discount. Ask himSTINEWAY DRUG STORE57th at Kenwood“THE STUDENTS’ DRUG STORE” ►►►►►►►►►►►► THE PALM CRENT-A-BIKE STAat56th ST. & OUTERIs Now Open for Bi36 NEW LINCOLN BI<Balloon Tires and whatFor Men and Women$25.00 worth of Fun for 25 cCome in and have y<►►►► PHONE HYDE PARLOPEN FROM 7 A. M. UNTIIBYANbSTIIATTONIS SO. MICHIGAN AVE . CHICAGOOUR RULE IS CLEANINESSOUR AIM IS QUALITYOUR DESIRE IS TO SATISFYEnjoy thoseDeliciousWholesomeHamburgersHome MadeChili & PiesatMINER-DUNN, Inc.5236 Blackstone Avenue1732 East 79th Street ►►►►►►►►bf►►►►►►►► The Palm Grove Inn wishes to take this opportunity tothank you for your patronage thru out the school year.If you re in the city during the summer, drop in for a biteof food with your date, or a cooling drink after a hecticgame of tennis. Our sidewalk cafe has just opened;here, undisturbed you can lunch or dine as the coolinglake breezes and our continental atmosphere make a per¬fect meal blend with perfect surroundings. Rememberyou will always receive the same polite service and at¬tention at the Palm Grove Inn.PALM GROVE l^56tb A* and the Outer DriveSATURDAYS UNTIL 4OPEN UNTIL 3 A. M. NIGHTLY(COMMENTThe University of Chicago Literary and Critical QuarterlyAutumn Quarter, 1934 Price Twenty-five CentsSCIENCE AND RELieiON by MAX SCHOENTHE AUTHORWE HAVE been hearing much withinrecent years about the bankruptcy ofscience, the death of materialism,and the vindication of theology by her his¬torical enemy, science itself. Since theproponents of this scientific theology, prin¬cipally the Messrs. Eddington. Jeans. Comp¬ton and Millikan, speak as champions ofreligion, it seems worth while to raise thec|uestion as to which discipline has beenpromoting true religion, historical scienceor historical theology In 1894, AndrewD White wrote in his monumental work,A History of the Warfare of Science withTheology m Christendom," that "In allmodern history, interference with sciencein the supposed interest of religion, no mat¬ter how conscientious such interferencemay have been, has resulted in the directevils both to religion and to science, andinvariably: and. on the other hand, all un¬trammelled scientific investigation, no mat¬ter ho’w\ dangerous to religion some of itsstages may have seemed for the time to be,has invariably resulted in the highest goodboth of religion and of science Now, ifWhite uas right, this new theology parad¬ing in the garb of science, being anti-science. IS necessarily also anti religionWhat then, is religion, and what have sci¬ence and theology contributed to it^W'e arc prone to believe that religion isprimariK an opportunity for argument, for■" this issueSCIENCE AND RELIGIONMax SchocnTHE AUTHOR EdmundsenCOMMENT ON SCHOENT V SmithCANNIBALISM IN THE HOMEA E FishciLET WATERS RUNTHE BOY IS DEAD Sidney HymanWE REMEMBER ONLY THEBEAUTIFUL Robert StallmanMUSIC AND EMOTIONHerbert SchwartzEDITORIALMOODS IN VERSE Robert StallmanON DREAM LIKE STILTSTHE PERSONALITY OF A RAINY |NIGHT Winston Ashley '; SPRING EVENING 'James R Kmghamintellectual TRADITIONCeorg Mann ;THE HUMANISTS A E FisherPOEM ON GALLEY TEN heated discussion, rather thana subject for dispassionate ex¬amination. This is most un¬fortunate But the blame doesnot rest on religion. It israther the bitter fruit of thehistorical squabbles of theolo¬gians whose interest was notso much in religion as in theacquisition of ecclesiasticaland secular power. The en¬mities and animosities ofchurches must not be inter¬preted as manifesting a zealfor religious truth, but ratheras its corruption in the inter¬est of secularism. If religionmatters, and no sound think¬ing person at all familiar withthe spirit and teachings of thegreat religious minds of theages will deny that it matterstremendously, then its natureand significance can be readilyascertained, provided it is ridof the incubus of dogmatismWe cannot obtain any light onreligion from its corruptions byinstitutionalism, but we cansee it in its true nature as itfunctioned in the lives of thegreat religious spirits of theages, of whom Jesus is thesupreme example.The teachings of Jesus—and they are not really teachings in thecommon connotation of the word, but theexpression of passionate convictions as tothe significance of the human personality- -are given us in the collection of utter¬ances which we know as the Sermon on theMount These utterances center aboutfour basic principles: (1 • The Fatherhoodof Cod, (2l The Kingdom of Heaven orCod dwelling within man, (31 The searchfor this kingdom by man within himself,i4i The Brotherhood of Man in the Father¬hood of Cod Of these four principles thatof the Fatherhood of Cod is the essentialone, since the others center about it. Ob¬viously, then, the nature and significanceof religion is to be found in an inquiry ofthe source of the Cod experience in humannature, of what particular human need orcraving Cod is the expression.This need we find adequately expressedby Carlyle. "Deny it as he will,” wroteCarlyle, "man reverently loves man, anddaily by action evidences his belief in thedivineness of man. What a more thanregal mystery encircles the poorest of liv¬ing souls for us' The highest is not inde¬pendent of him; his suffrage has value:could the highest monarch convince him¬ self that the humblest beggar with sinceremind despised him, no serried ranks ofhalberdiers and body guards could shut outsome little twinge of pain; some emanationfrom the low had pierced into the bosomof the high. Of a truth, men are mysticallyunited; a mystic bond of brotherhoodmakes all men one.”A man must have this feeling of com¬munion with others, this feeling of belong¬ingness. or he is miserable. He can respecthimself only when he has the respect ofothers, when he has the feeling of beingwanted and needed. There is a mutualreaching-out of man to man, a process ofself-completion, by feeling one’s own beingin others, and the being of others withinoneself. This feeling of belonging-togeth¬erness is the kingdom of heaven that iswithin man, and it is of this feeling thatCod is the embodiment or concrete expres¬sion. Man’s search for Cod is his searchfor his basic seif, the self that unites himwith all other selves. This is the sum andsubstance of the religious experience, sothat where there is no personal, privateexperience of Cod there is no real religiousexperience. And whenever this experienceoccurs it is always personified. The psy-oneself of the brotherhood of man in thechology of the Cod-experience is that of allvital experience. All vital experience is notonly personal, but also becomes personified.It is personal in that it germinates and at¬tains maturity within the individual. It ispersonified in that as it develops in theindividual, the individual develops with itinto a new personality. As the experienceis being born the person who gives birth toit is reborn with it. And that new person¬ality is projected into all other personalities,for, whatever it is that is functioning withina person, that he will also see functioningin all other persons. So it is with the Cod-experience. As Cod becomes a reality tothe person, as he discovers Cod within him¬self, he and all other persons become Codlyor Codlike. There is no evidence that Codis real, that he is a personal experience,other than that he is personified. An im¬personal Cod is a futile, meaningless Cod,since he is not a living Cod. A living Codis not a philosophical concept, or a meta¬physical speculation, or a pantheistic prin¬ciple, or a theological argument. As a liv¬ing Cod he is a Being, a felt presence, areality that transcends all other realities.Anything else is logic chopping, rationaliza¬tion, self-deception. If Cod is real, youlive him, and you know him only when youlive him. It is not at all difficult to dis¬tinguish between a person who is in loveand a person who talks about love. Whena person is in love he has his being in love,his existence, his life, his every act, is love.His love is incarnated, embodied. He doesnot have an idea of love, he is love. Love,as a reality, is a being, a person; not some¬thing to talk about, but something to do.Likewise, for the truly religious mind. Codis a Being, and not a topic for arguments,proofs, exhortations or indoctrinations.And the person who is in love, who is inCod. projects his being into others. Wesay that the whole world loves a lover.The whole world loves the lover simply be¬cause the lover loves the whole world. Hewho is in love with Cod necessarily lovesman. since his experience of Cod is his ex¬perience of Cod in man: of the divine, thekingdom of heaven, that is in man. Hereinlie the social implications and consequencesof the religious experience. It is the vividrealization of the interdependence of socialwell-being. For the religious-minded indi¬vidual the social body is as the individualbody. When one organ of the individualbody is sick the entire body is sick. Like¬wise, when one member of the social bodyis abused, violated, the entire social body,all of mankind, suffers. Cod suffers, thekingdom of heaven is disturbed, the broth¬erhood of man is disrupted. Thus we findthe religious experience deeply rooted inthe human constitution and touching thetap-roots of human welfare. Religion isnot a greedy desire for self-glorification byhaving one’s sins washed away throughthe operation of some magical formula oftheological invention, but an arduous,ceaseless search for that self in one’s ownbeing that is also the self of mankind. Itis not something to be bought or conjuredup, but something to seek and search, foronly by seeking and searching can one findwhat is really worth having, because it isalso that which one is living.Here, then, lie the nature and the mean¬ing of religion. It is the discovery within Fatherhood of Cod. In the religious experi¬ence, Cod is the whole, of whom humanbeings are the manifest parts. As parts ofhim they partake of his nature. It is there¬fore in their attitude towards each otherthat men reflect their consciousness ofCod. When they deal with each other inthe consciousness of Cod they will neces¬sarily do unto each other as they would thatothers do unto them, for in this conscious¬ness, whatever one does unto others healso does unto himself, since others are partof himself, and himself is part of others. Apart cannot be injured without also injur¬ing the whole. Hence to violate one’s ownpersonality, the divine within oneself, orthe personality of another, is to sin againstCod. Religion then represents the supremehuman value, namely, the consciousness ofthe divine nature of the human personality,the full realization of which would inevi¬tably result in a state of peace on earththrough good will to men.Now, whatever helps to promote this su¬preme ideal of a kingdom of Cod on earthis in substance religious, and whateverT. V. SMITH COMMENTSEach man to his own taste in mat¬ters. like this, quite beyond proof.Dr. Schoen’s piece is much to mytaste in dealing with current dicta byphysicists upon religion. But what isbeyond proof by the physicists is alsobeyond proof by Dr Schoen Hiswitness otherwise is to himself, notto me. Whatever the mystic experi¬ences. he experiences; but subsequenthonorific identification of the objectsof such experience is to be watchedhawk-eyed. Proof by naming is proofof the poorest sort. Human brother¬hood got at directly as plain comrade¬ship seems to me a more dependablevariety than brotherhood mediated bymystic experience theologically named.If we are to take our mysticismneat—as I join Dr. Schoen in hoping—then let us name the objects andresults of such experience with namesnot loaded with traditional, ritualistic,and theological inferences.tends to obstruct it is in essence irreligious.Using this as a criterion, we can evaluatethe respective religious values of theologyand science.We have seen that religion is not a fixedsystem of ideas, but a call for a new wayof living. Religion is a challenge to men toseek, to know and to live the kingdom ofheaven that is within them. From thisstandpoint the theological mind is anti-religious, since, for the injunction "seekand ye shall find," it substitutes the for¬mula "accept and ye are saved." It dis¬places the life-giving spirit of seeking forthe deadening letter of conforming, andleads the person to the delusion that hepossesses something which he does not pos¬sess. The fruit of the theological mindcheapens religion by making something ofit that can be bought at the easy price oflip service to some set beliefs. It obstructsthe spirit of religion by giving somethingto the individual that forms in him a feelingof smug self-satisfaction and self-righteous¬ness, instead of challenging him to lookwithin himself to see how far he is fromCod. The living, pulsating, challengingJesus theology has been reduced to a cold. ghostly formula. By 325 A. D. the Jesuswho called his contemporaries to a newway of life in the consciousness of theirbrotherhood in Cod, had become a subjectof bitter controversy as to who he was. ahomo-ousios, of one substance with Cod.or a homoi-ousios, of like substance withCod. The Creat Calilean became the cen¬ter of a furious dispute over a diphthong,and a subject for street brawls and coarsejokes. Children were taught religion bybeing asked to solve the puzzle: "Did He-who-is create him-who-is-not, or did Hecreate him-who-is from that-which-is notr^’’And Cregory of Nyssa complains that, inhis part of the world, "if you ask the priceof a loaf of bread you arc told that the Sonis subject to the Father; if you ask whethera bath is ready, the answer is that the Sonwas made out of nothing” To this day thebattle goes merrily on, but on differentfronts and with less poisonous ammunition.Thus, religion as a call for a new way of liv¬ing. the theological method turned into aconvenient formula for a new way of believ¬ing about old ways of living.The religious fruits of science are of aquite different quality.In the first place, not the least servicethat science has rendered religion is in theapplication of the scientific method to bibli¬cal research. This has resulted in restoringto us the living Jesus and living religion bydisentangling them from the web of paganmythology that the theological mind hadspun about them Jesus now stands be¬fore us in his true form and in his true na¬ture as an historical personality, the like ofwhich has never walked the earth before orsince his existence. Many attempts havebeen made to belittle him. even to denyhis historicity. But all these efforts atdetraction have really only served to em¬phasize the more the sublimity of his per¬sonality and the incomparable grandeur ofhis teachings. Jew, Christian. Agnostic.Infidel, or whatever label men might pasteupon their foibles, must stand in awe andreverence before this Jesus of history andhis v'sion of a human family united by thet:e of mutual responsibility and mutual re¬spect, and hope prayerfully that somethingof his spirit might dawn on the human con¬sciousness. Similarly it is the science ofcomparative religion and the psychologicalapproach to the study of the nature of thereligious experience and of religious con¬sciousness that is gradually ridding us ofthe devastating effects of ’isms’ in religion,by revealing to us that true religion hasneither time nor place for fashions, but thatwherever it manifests itself it is the samein substance, as an expression of the humanmind seeking within itself for that whichconstitutes its true being Sectionalism,denominationalism, fundamentalism, mod¬ernism and all other parasites attached tothe social body, must disappear in the in¬creasing light cast by science on what issham and pretense, and what is real, inreligion.In the second place, if it is true that itis only knowledge that can lead us alongthe pathway of progress, and no sane mindwould deny this, it is the dependable knowl¬edge given us by science that can promotethe hope of religion for a kingdom ofheaven on earth. It has made a good startin that direction in what it has already givenus in the few years of its existence. Forthe signs and wonders of natural theology,{I'h’UHv turn to Srrrn)C 0 M M E T Page TwoCANNIBALISM IN THE HOME by A. E. FISHERThe true story of my unfortunatefriend jose and his family will probablynot be told for years to come, for intimes like these nobody could stand it. SoI shall give the most brief and cheerfulresume consistent with the facts, trustingthat none but wretches will enjoy them.In the days when jose was thriving andhappy I often visited him and his charm¬ing wife, Alta, for they gave excellent din¬ners and had beautiful pictures to look at,and everything about them was restful andeasy to be next to or surrounded with. Idid not mind their eccentricities and theydid not say they minded mine, for allfriends are strange in one way or anotherand you cannot have everything in thisworld.They lived in a large apartment full oftoys, for they had a baby and that was thebest excuse. We were very happy to¬gether as we ran our pushmobiles and pic¬ture shows, and nobody seemed peculiarto anybody else at all I had a deep affec¬tion for Alta, because she was beautiful,but I concealed it. because I was wise; andso we fought for cur turns with the baby'smeccano set like any strangers you wouldmeet in a railroad station in Pittsburgh orDubuque, laAmong the baby’s playthings was aRhode Island Red rooster Alta had boughtfor him in the country when he was a lit¬tle yellow chick. This rooster took to thefamily at once, and in a few weeks wasperching on the book case, the radio andthe head of the bed, sprouting his tailfeathers and his comb with careless easeand conducting himself like an old and valu¬able friend Leif Ericson, they called him,because he discovered everythingMonths passed, and Leif Ericson grewwings One sunny morning, he flappedthem and crowed, a series of long, piercingnotes that woke the family and the deaflady in the next apartment‘■Really this can t go on," people said.Cock-crowing’ jumping’ Pecking about’Other things’lose, however, was a hard, stubborn fel¬low. the baby was fond of Leif Ericson,and Alta was so beautiful that argumentwas impossibleAs Leif Ericson gamed in weight andfeathers he grew savage, disputing every¬thing First it would be a chair. Then abook Then the bathroom Then one’ssalad Through all this Alta smiled herdazzling smile, the baby cooed, and josesullenly read old newspapers and archeo¬logical magazines.Winter came and I remained away along while, for I was making a tour of theHebrides. Last summer, however, I re¬turned to New York, and decided to lookthem up for old times’ sake. My heartwarmed as I remembered our pleasant eve¬nings together. Dressed in a double-breast¬ed blue suit with a gardenia at the lapel,and swinging my light malacca. I hurriedtoward their apartment, thinking of Alta sbeautiful dark eyes. I rang the bell, andhad not long to wait. The door openedand Alta stood before me, clad in voluptu¬ous mourning."Walter!" she cried."Alta!" I whispered.I followed her across the ricfi Oriental rug and sat down in the old mauve arm¬chair, feeling a strange tenseness in theroom. Good heavens, what had happened?Jose, Leif Ericson, the baby—where werethey? I looked for my favorite pushmobile,but the sight of it gave me little comfort.Yet Alta looked so beautiful, so rich withlife, and the flames from the gas-logs madeher dark eyes snap and gleam so wonder¬fully, that in spite of my alarm I couldnot do anything but admire her. A fever¬ish animation was in her gaze! I felt itfixed on mine, and could not look away.I trembled, and my heart beat faster andfaster. I thought of Shakespeare, Romeoand Benjamin de Casseres."You haven’t heard?" she whispered."No," I whispered back. Her eyesflashed with a fire that did not come fromthe gas logs. "I loved them so," she mur¬mured.Let irafers run.Let seepThe ocfftn fhronfih the rallei/s nirre.Let irnfers rnn.lint keepLore's enrrent seeretive.Let the lend Inre the enreinp tide.Let the wash of the }rares flowTit the sands of the reachinp shore,lint hideLon 's nndi rtow.Let waters rnn.Let the sea ehnrn.And intrii-topped wares he hurled.Lit this hi’ known,lint hold the returnOf Ion's nnhroken rhpthmFrom the world.liithert Stallman.I sank weakly back in the old mauvearmchair that had cushioned my joy on somany innocent evenings. "You mean—"I began."Don’t’’’ she cried, with a strange vi-brance in her voice I had never noticedbefore. "It’s too late now for regrets. Oh,why didn’t I listen when you warned meagainst that bird?""Leif Ericsonr’’’ I whispered.She nodded. "Poor jose! Poor littlejunior! They loved him like one of thefamily. How foolish we were!" She low¬ered her voice, looked cautiously round, anddrew her chair closer until she was speak¬ing straight into my open mouth. The wordsrushed down my throat, faster and faster."Leif Ericson became a different bird afteryou left, Walter," she whispered. "Hegrew more violent every day. Nothingpleased him; all day he would stare intothe gas-logs, all night he would crow. Per¬haps our staying up so late was what up¬set him—perhaps he couldn’t adjust him¬self. One day he flew at junior and bithim. The taste of flesh made him uncon¬trollable. and he flew about, crowing fierce¬ly and biting us again and again. Thehouse was in an uproar. Even at dinner, when we sat down to his—his remains,there was no peace." Her eyes glitteredin the blue light from the gas-logs. "Weate all of him, anyway.”"Poor Leify," I murmured."We liked him," she said. "That waswhere we made our big mistake. I remem¬ber how poor jose looked up from his plateand said, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if Leif’scharacter should be transmitted to us andwe should all go around biting each otheruntil there was nothing left.’ His archeol¬ogy. you know. He had studied suchthings. Did you speak?""No,” I said."From that day," she went on, fixing mewith her dark flashing eyes, "from that daya change came over us all.""Good God!" I whispered."A terrible change. We were restless,irritable. We jumped at the slightestsound. Every morning at sunrise we wokeand called loudly to one another. Theneighbors complained, and we thought ofmoving. The apartment was no longer ahome, only a—a roost. One day juniorflew at us, and bit us again and again."I sat still, feeling my watch tick."We loved Junior," Alta said, simply."Poor jose—he realized then how true hisjoking words had been."I stirred in my chair. "It’s awfully late,"I said."It’s really very early," Alta said, draw¬ing nearer so that her words tickled mythroat. Her voice sank to a thin, fiercewhisper. "Do you remember that Swedishmaid we had? She showed it next. Recom¬mended to me by the very best people, too.Bit me on the hip, clawed jose, and triedto jump over the piano. We both likedher, though. We liked her very much.Even now, sometimes, I listen for her stepor fancy she is in the kitchen crowing ather work."I looked at the Oriental rug. I could notbear her glittering eyes."Poor jose!" mused Alta. "He was next.I forgave him, for I loved him. I loved himeven after he snapped at me one morningas we were sitting down to breakfast, andbit me severely in the leg. I love him still,"she whispered.My watch ticked and my gardenia quiv¬ered. "I really must be going," I said.But she paid no attention to me. "PoorLeify! Poor Ingeborg! Poor Junior! PoorJose! All I loved are gone! No one is left—no one!"Suddenly her face glowed, her eyesflashed, she clapped her hands together andjumped to her feet. "Forgive me, Walter,"she cried. "There’s you!"Her beautiful teeth gleamed in the gas¬light as we stood staring into each other’seyes. A wave of trembling swept over meand my knees grew weak. Everything inthe room went whirling away and hid it¬self in the dark, I heard the stars whistleto one another in the sky and the mole¬cules chirping in my little fingers. Onlythe tooting of an auto horn brought me tomy senses, and I came to myself just intime. Her face was only an inch frommine; her lips were parted, her breast washeaving, her eyes were hungrily searchingmy face. I backed away, I screamed, 1ran—and here I am.Page Three COMMENTMUSIC AND EMOTIONIT IS natural for the layman to think thatmusic is a language of the emotions. Itis perhaps just as natural for the musi¬cian to think of it as a language of tones.The task of philosophy is to bring laymanand musician together, since the commonground of expert and non-expert is, in asense, foreign to both.The layman, of course, does not knowwhat music is, and when he calls it a lan¬guage of emotions he is saying that the doesnot know what it is—somewhat elaborately.Neither does the musician know whatmusic is: “A language of tones" meansthat he is not interested in knowing whatit is. His meanings are given by tones,not words.By ‘knowing’ I mean knowing throughideas and the relations between ideas.There is no intention to disparage eitherthe layman’s appreciation or the musician’sunderstanding, and what our hypotheticallayman and musician are saying aboutmusic, is by no means to be dismissed asirrelevant and meaningless. Rather, bothare to be taken as signs, possibly converg¬ing signs, with a not too far distant pointof intersection.Seeking that point, let us assume thatmusic has something to do with emotionjust as truly as it has to do with tones.This much follows immediately: if musichas anything to do with emotion, theremust be relevant and irrelevant emotions;if emotion is the essence of the matter,then different musical compositions must beemotionally distinguishable. Otherwise allmusic, if not all art and everything besides,would be fused in one pervasive emotionalfeeling, which suggests an experience moreincommunicable even than aesthetic experi¬ence. I am making an assumption whichmay seem to some unwarranted, that every¬thing is not everything else. One thing,then, is not another, and this string quartetby Mozart is not that piano sonata byBeethoven.Well, if the two are different, and ifemotions are essential to their understand¬ing, the emotions will be different. Thequestion is: What accounts for the differ¬ence? We must remember that the twocompositions are not only different, butthat each is unique. What, then, are theunique emotions which characterize each,and how are certain emotions bound upwith a definite succession of tones in time?^Let us go over to the musician to seewhat he finds. Musicians, we discover,have the literal-minded habit of talkingabout phrases, periods, three and four partforms, etc. From which we might con¬clude that they look upon a composition,from their limited technical point of viewas just that: a composition. And a com¬position, I take it, is something composed,that is, placed together. It seems reason¬able that it is the parts that are placedtogether.Are emotions, then, the parts that areput together? They must be if the musi¬cian and layman are somehow right. ButI suspect that before we are through thelayman will be telling the musician some¬thing about his technical ‘parts,’ and thatthe musician, on the other hand, will betelling the layman a good deal about his ‘emotions.’ They will have to if they areto understand each other.Let us restrict ourselves to a single part.We will ostensibly be restricting ourselvesto a single emotion. Within a single partwe find a succession of tones arranged inrhythmic formation. This, unlike the emo¬tion, is directly observable, so it will be bet¬ter to start with it. It is this arrangementof tones in succession which is associatedwith some special emotion. The musicianwill insist that all the tones and eachrhythmic pattern is essential. If anythingof these is altered, however slight, themusical part is not the same. It followsfrom our acceptance of both the layman’sand musician’s opinion that the emotionwill be different. To each musical partthere must correspond one and only oneemotion.The conclusion need hardly be drawn:A musical part is an emotion, not, certainly,as something on paper, but as somethingactually heard and experienced. If themusician and the layman are right, wemust mean by music what is actually beinglistened to by someone, a conclusion whichshould persuade us that we are on theright track.But apparently one must be a fairly ex¬pert listener to grasp the emotional contentof a musical composition. The subtlestdifferences among the relevant emotions aredetermined somehow by the tones and theirrelations. And the number of such emo¬tions must be as great as there are distinctmusical parts, which is almost as large asyou please. If there is anything in the lay¬man’s claim, this must be the case; so thatthe first thing the layman learns about hisemotions is that he is capable of havingmany more than he perhaps realized. Hediscovers too that his emotions must bemore formal than he supposed, for thisrhythmic succession of tones is decidedlyformal. And if he would find out some¬thing more surprising still, he might ask amusician if there is anything which relatesone musical part to another. Musiciansseem to discover intricate and very impor¬tant relationships between the parts: thebetter ones trace transformations andanalogies with an insight which might makesome mathematicians a bit uneasy, andphilosophers too, if they recognized ‘thesame.’ It seems to be the case, then, thatthe so-called emotions are not only formal,but that each of them is formally related,or relatable, to the others.We may now turn to our layman and askhim a few questions about his emotions.Everyday emotions, he will recognize, de¬mand action. Our being angry means ourwanting to do something about it. Weare not angry in the abstract, but we areangry with someone. And when we do notdo something about it we become angrier,the contemporary method of catharsis iscontemporarily called ‘rationalization.’ Ifthe ‘emotions’ of music were anything likethat, music should be a painful experience.Our layman, though, seems to enjoy hismusical emotions, so we may conclude thatthey are not like that. It may not be be¬side the point to ask why they are notlike that.But first we should perhaps acknowledgewhat our musician has learned from the by HERBERT SCHWARTZlayman about his ‘technical parts.’ If theemotion is a part, it is just as true to saythat the part is the emotion, and to restrictthe meaning of music to a bare formal divi¬sion into parts is to deprive it of its realityin experience. Actual music is not the re¬lation of notes on a staff, but the actualsuccession of tones within ourselves, andthe condition of their being within our¬selves is that they be felt, not as practicalemotions, as we have seen, but as some¬thing like them. The ordering of tones isthe ordering of something like emotions.I think that by this time we have beensufficiently embarrassed by the same wordfor the ‘emotion’ of music and the emotionof practical life to be looking for a wordwhich will distinguish them What sort ofword will, I think, be clear when we haveanswered the question already proposed.It seems not too unlikely that the formalquality of the musical emotion is related tothe fact that it does not demand action,Approaching the problem from anotherangle, it seems strange that in the case ofmusic there is no object of our emotion. Ifwe are musically angry, we must somehowor other be angry in general Certainly weare not angry at the music. This qualityof our musical emotion and its formal na¬ture suggest this connection: we do not feelthe need to act in musical emotion becausewe are acting, acting, that is, musically.And our action has its beginning and endin the beginning and end of the musicalcomposition. Our action consists in realiz¬ing the implications of the emotions wefeel, and these implications are in the re¬latedness of the emotions. The emotions ofmusic work out their own rationalization,or rather we work them out when we reallylisten to music, and that working out isour action. Whether we state this as theformal relations of a composition, or interms of our feeling, we are talking aboutthe same thing The form is felt and thefeeling is formal, and that is the he and theshe of it. The ‘he,’ however, is somewhatmore articulate.The conclusion to v/hich we are forced isthat music is not quite as irrational as thelayman suggests, nor. on the other hand, ascut and dried as the musician would lead usto believe. Our minds and our feeling gettogether, and the word we are looking foris suggested by that fact. Suppose we callit ‘sensibility,’ that is, the quasi facultyrelevant to those acts in which our mindsand feeling are united. Those are not ex¬clusively acts of aesthetic perception Thefaculty appears to be related to, amongother things, ethical conduct, and Plato in¬sinuates on more than one occasion that itis closely akin to philosophic sfjeculation.It is a sense of proportion adaptable to allour activities, and the usefulness of musicis its power to develop that sense. Musicas such is the teacher of the emotionsrather than their expression, teaching themnot to take themselves too seriously, to playa sort of dialectic game with each other inthe course of which they are hidden anddiscovered, translated and transformed, ex¬amined and re-examined in each othersterms until at last they are revealed in rheirtrue natures. If it were possible to saywhat those ‘true natures’ were, music(Plcosc iiti‘,1 to Pdf/c Six)COMMENT Page FourTHE BOY IS DEAD by SIDNEY HYMANThey wept when he died. And the manof Cod theatrically mouthed sweetphrases as the mourners stood in therain about the open grave. The man ofCod knew he looked majestic and thebroad black rimmed hat set off all themore the cultivated pallor of his face. “Hewas snatched from us in the full bloom ofhis youth, from the life he lived we shouldall take example.”The boy’s friends felt called upon to uttermournful phrases. It was expected thatthey should thinkthrough the tragedy andshould form some state¬ments that would de¬scribe their grief as beingunique in the history ofgrief. But all they couldutter were phrases which,taken apart from the oc¬casion. would be infan¬tile in their connotationand ludricrous in theireffect. For they said.“The very heavens areweeping” “There are somany bad people who liveon to old age ” “Some¬times I wonder whetherCod is just." These werethe serious thoughts. Thiswas representative of thevery best thinking on themost solemn of occasionsand they were spoken inthe silence that the pres¬ence of death commands.But why should Iweep^ I knew the boy andI loved him His presencewas part of my dailyhabit I miss his comingto see me at evenings, he.indignant at some newlydiscovered injustice Thenhe would erupt in myroom with the fire of avolcano and his burningconvictions would pourforth and sear and en¬crust the wicked Or hewould surge into my roomwith the buoyancy of abrook after a heavy sum¬mer rain He would heaveand toss and swirl as hegaily recounted some tri¬umph of the day; somehope for the future andto all objections he, like the brook that hitsa projecting rock would spring into the airand his laughter would descend like a shim¬mering sparkling rainbow mist and settle onall about.But I do not weep for him for I knowwhat had possessed him in those days; hisfear of the commonplace; his fear of themundane. This he tried to convey to mein part of the prose he wrote:Last night I dreamed of floating on acake of ice and all about the waterstreamed a frosty blue. A haze of grey waswrapped on gaunt commanding peaks,while water frost and snow hung tremblingin the center of an all encasing ball ofsilence. Cod’s commanding hush. No sense of thought remained for that whichwas the “I” for it to cringe in fear of numb¬ing cold. Yet cringe I did with terrorgreater than the terror for the ghastliestsof deaths. Dead was I long past. Thattime which is the measure of all movingthings had ceased to count my acts. Whileall about the world did move, what floatedon the cake of ice remained yet still, be¬yond all mortal sense of time. If dead? Yetdeathless. Beyond all sense, yet pierced bysharpest pangs of fear, that came from theappalling loneliness and hush.The poem continued in this vein, but theremaining lines betrayed his struggle tocomplete a poem rather than to express aconviction. He spoke of “a ray of lightcoming from hidden source to beat uponthe icy burg ...”. , “The ‘I’ upon the ice had meltedinto flame and burned with constant fire;then like the Phoenix bird, which resur¬rects itself from out of the flame, the ‘I’again assumed its flesh and bore itself intothe sphere of mortal time.”The boy’s ideas became confused at thispoint. But his ideas never were clear. He was one of those persons who convey theirideas to us by the force of their personsrather than by their articulations. Whathe meant by his statements I can only sug¬gest. He may have hoped for a love soabsorbing that it would cause eternity tomerge into the present; that his ministra¬tions to the object of his affection wouldattract all his attention away fromthoughts of immortality and cause himto concern himself with the present:the presence of his love.But possibly I am onlyadding confusion. Andthe more I attempt toclarify the statements,the more paradoxical be¬comes the boy’s position.For this boy, with all hisyearning for emancipa¬tion and freedom, yearnedall the more for an objectworthy of his completedevotion. And for him,such an object was not tobe found. During an in¬stant he would absorbhimself in the love of awoman. He would sup-olicate himself before herand profess his affection;but supplication broughthim more closely to earth,and he perceived the ma¬terials from which wasmade the feet of thewoman.There was left for him,then, the subordination ofhimself to the service ofsociety and this he mani¬fested in his impatientdesire to reform itswhole. But, bit by bit,there seeped into his con¬sciousness the despair ofthe reformer. How toproceed? How to recon¬struct? And again his in¬articulateness added tothe loneliness that hadbegun to opress him.Forgive me if I digressat this point to say that Iwould be doing the boy’smemory an injustice if Ipresent his picture as thatof a disintegrated roman¬tic. The boy’s senses werewired to the most sensi¬tive nerve fibres in the life about him, andevery irritation to those nerves, set his ownrippling with fright or anguish. And of allthese irritations, it was the fear of bur-geoisism that settled in his mind in thosemonths that preceded his death. He satover there in that chair as he expressedhimself clearly for the first time in ourfriendship, and I can still hear him say,“I can understand why there is implied agreater respect for the grande than for thepetite burgeoise in Marxian literature. Thegrande burgeoise may be diabolic, but he isdiabolic on a grand scale. If he is con¬temptuous of human life, he again is con¬temptuous on a grand scale. He may be a(Please turn to Page Eleven)WE REMEMBER ONLY THE BEAUTIFUL . . .There is no memory in the mind’s memorybut the memory of beautiful things.There is no memory but the memoryof the harmonious and the beautiful.Read this. Read this. I say remember this.I say read thiswhile memory is upon you.(We remember only the beautiful) . . .I say respectRespect the memory of beautiful things.Measure duration by the memoryof beautiful things.Life itself is beautyLife and its fruition are full with beauty.Life remembers only things of beauty.Even dust has its beauty.It was once man.(Quicklime dissolves the body.The grave knows only bones . . .)Life exhausts itselfLife is a parenthesis.There is memory only in the living.Death has no memory.There is no memory in death.There is no memory in the gnarled matterthat is in you.Nor in the memory of that memory.Nor in the memory of things not beautiful.There is no memory in the mind’s memorybut the memory of beautiful things.We remember only the beautiful.Robert Stallman.Page Five COMMENTby ROBERT STALLMANCOMMENTThe University of ChicagoLiterary and Critical Quarterly92, Faculty ExchangeUNIVERSITY OF CHICAGOEditorCHARLES TYROLER. IIAssistant EditorsSIDNEY HYMANEVERETT PARKERBusiness BoardNOEL GERSONjOHN AULDFRANCIS HOYTAssociate EditorsLILLIAN SCHOENMARTIN GARDNERRAVONE SMITHAssistant to the EditorSUZANNE RICHARDSONNo responsibility is assumed by the University ofChicago for any statements appearing in COMMENT,or for any contracts entered into by COMMENT.Publisher’s AddressCLARKE-McELROY PUBLISHING CO.6140 Cottage Grove AvenueIndividual Copies Twenty-five CentsCOMMENT embarks hopefully on itsthird year of publication.We stated early in our career that itvyas our feeling that there is definitely aneed for a publication of Comment's na¬ture on this campus, or on the campus ofany institution that cherishes its standingas a true university. This strong feelingon our part has not diminished in magni¬tude.We further feel that Comment, althoughstill in its infancy, has made tremendousstrides in its chosen direction. Others,perhaps, do not share our somewhat ego¬tistical view. We are sorry for this, but itcan have little or no effect upon us. Wehave the confidence to carry on in our en¬deavor to present, in these pages, the bestin thought and expression available to us,firm in the conviction that in so doing weare performing a worthwhile service to ourcontributors and our readers. In slangterms we might say at this point; “Take itor leave it!”—but whatever your choice,begrudge us not our enthusiasm.May we at this time again reiterate an¬other of our firm convictions. A true lit¬erary and critical quarterly, realizing thatgreat literature and great criticism is time¬less in connotation, should have as an edi¬torial policy nothing further than a desireto present the best in literature and criti¬cism. It should not aim to expouse one“cause” or another. Its cause is simplythat of advancing the arts whatever betheir form. Surely that alone, without bene¬fit of “isms,” justifies its existence.There will be two more issues duringthis school year. One in February and onelate in April. Comment solicits originaland unpublished contributions for either ofthese issues. The magazine has not, norwill it, we hope, ever, be run for profit.It offers no remuneration to the authorsof any of the material published by it, but,although this has no connection with theforgoing, it does welcome its readers’opinions and prejudices as regards themagazine as a whole or any of its parts.C. T. 2nd. MOODS IN VERSEUnfitly, I these idle rhymes presentConceiving now one year their niggedmeasuj'e.Whoever may their nnstayed wit resent.Receive the unripe fruit not as atreasure.But yield the barren gnnnid a doubtinstead:Fairest seeds in savage sail are bred.SONNET IOh how much less than dead is one insane.When thought harried by torn maddreams has fledIn phantasies. When the inner thinkingbrainIs twisted cruelly like to a broken threadAgainst the terror of the seizure of terror—What thing remains for the man whosemind is gone?’His body is an empty house and thereAre windows of no light, with the shadesdrawn.With the door shut, the porch swept of thedust.But we. when the mind is vacant, whathave we thenFor pillars for the props which we may trustWhen the redoubled death struggle nearsits end?’Or shall we prepare for that black warpeddayWith an oak cane to lean on and a prayerto pray?’OBSERVE THAT MOUSE, like an impiouspirateOutraging the Scriptures of Religion.His bold atheistic vertebrateDigests the pages of the Gideon.He gnaws at the gospel to deliberateThe Ten Commandments of Religion.Nibbling the Testaments to irritateThe faithful brothers of the Gideon.FOR WHICH all Twelve Apostles imprecateThe curse of his soul to the Stygian.BUT THE MOUSE who can easily stomacha pigeonIrreligiously sniffs at the StygianHe merely shrugs his agate vertebrateAnd laughing, he swallows religion.WHEREUPON I and Peter postulate“The mouse has no Religion”I REMEMBER YOUR WORDWhen the match struck lightThough the wind had stirredThe match burned bright.And I asked you to nameA stronger flameThan the love that earnedSuch a lasting lightAs the match that burnedIn the wind that night.I REMEMBER YOUR WORDWhile the match burned bright;“I would have preferredA torch to light.”But what poor fireCan hold desireWhen the wind has turned?Of love’s delightThis I have learnedFrom one match that night. AGAINST A HANDFUL OF LAUGHTERSmall damp soulsIn their hemstitched shroudsDrawn down the whirlpoolWith a clenched fist.Small damp soulsIn innumerable crowdsPeer stiff-neckedInto death’s brown mist.%Clutch at the edgesOf the deep green earthWhere feet they borrowedOnce knew to walk(Tall feet, callousedWith grief and mirth;Feet that scatteredSmall crumbs of talk)Reach across the gulfWhere man is foundStrutting his bellowsAt his tea-table game.Where man with his soulHalf-buned undergroundLeans on the memoryOf his afternoon fameWhere is grist in a flagon.In a jogtrot tongueTo make mouths at the cloudedCalendar year^Give me teeth and hard lipsAnd a lamp that is swungOn proud pillars of boneIn a wide hemisphereLet me wear like a crownThe resplendent sunlight.Let me seize life’s singularFlame in each hour.Crowing flesh with thoughtO let me, contrite.Measure out my life.Cognizant that powerDisturbs the universeSchwartz . . .{('tailitiin ({ I)'(})){ PiUft Four)would be a superfluous art. The emotionsof music pass humorous comment on theponderous recitals of psychoanalysis, onthe too learned dissections of psychology,and on the composers who. too much con¬cerned with their humanity, abuse them inan effort to force them to express whatthey steadfastly refuse to express. It is thebusiness of the imitator to know that he isimitating.In that guise I have been saying a lot ofthings for the layman and the musician:it is not in the least essential that eithershould actually claim that what I have saidhe himself claims. They were simply usefultypes to refer to. It is dangerous to be evenas explicit as that about the ‘philosopher.’ Itoccurred to me several times that the de¬scription of the musician was more fittingfor the philosopher, but I was thinking ofa good musician. At any rate, the two arenot far apart in the opinion of certain ven¬erable philosophers who might recognize avariation on their own theme.COMMENT Page SixSchoen . . .iCo)ifi)ni('cf from Page Two)science has given us law in the universe.For Genesis it has given us meteorology.For magic it has given us physics and chem¬istry. For legends of miraculous healingsit has given us medical science. For de¬moniacal possession and the outrageoustreatment of the insane it has given usthe science of psychiatry. For epidemicsand scourges as visitation by Cod for thesins of man it has given us sanitation andthe conquest of contagious diseases. Forthe frightful ravages of infant mortality inthe name of Cod, it has given us the nu¬merous sciences of child health and childwelfare. Science said let there be light,and there was light. It is science, hard,harsh, materialistic, mechanistic sciencethat has dispelled the hellish darkness ofmedievalism by the light of knowledge. ItIS science that is bringing about a heavenon earth for the child, in place of the hellof original sin, infant damnation, birth insm and shame, utter depravity, and otherabominations of theological doctrine. Itis the laborer in the vineyard of science whotherefore manifests the true spirit of reli¬gion by bringing about through science,through knowledge, a condition on earththat will be a true reflection of the Father¬hood of Cod and the Brotherhood of Man.The contention that only science andscientific method can give us the truth thatmakes us free raises two questions thatmust be dealt with One of these ques¬tions IS of ancient vintage, the other is ofvery recent brew. The first question is;If there is no truth other than the truthof science, then all truth is materialistic,since science is committed to the factual,materialistic interpretation of the world.What then happens to the spirituaP Arewe deceiving ourselves with delusions whenwe speak of spiritual values^ The secondquestion is; Is it not true that current phy¬sical investigation has killed materialism,and that science has abdicated in favor oftheology^To know what it is we are talking aboutwe must define the terms material andspiritual The materialistic is the physical,or that which can be readily observed,weighed, measured and recorded. The spir¬itual is generally considered to be meta¬physical, supernatural, or at least thatwhich is not subject to observation, but ofwhose existence we are nevertheless awarein some mysterious manner, and which isof at least equal importance with the ma¬terialistic, in that man lives not by breadaloneWith these definitions in mind, theanswer to the first question is that the ma¬terial and the spiritual, far from represent¬ing two opposing realms, are inseparablefrom each other, in that the material is thesole evidence for the presence of the spir¬itual. When the spiritual does not mani¬fest itself materially, it is but a delusion,a self-deception.Take any spiritual value and consider fora moment what evidences we have of itsexistence. Consider the spiritual valueCod. How do we know that Cod is a realityto me or to you? How do we know thatCod was a reality to Jesus! We know itbecause every act of Jesus and every utter¬ance of his was a manifestation, an expres¬sion of Cod. That is why he spoke as one having authority, the authority of personalexperience, or personal conviction. Takethe experience of Cod away from Jesus andhe becomes an empty shell. Take Codaway from the vast majority of humanbeings and you have taken from them noth¬ing but a sound to prattle and quarrel about.Just as the acts of Jesus manifested hisconsciousness of Cod, so do the acts ofmost of us indicate the absence of Cod asa living influence in our lives. And all actsare physical, materialistic, factual, subjectto observation, weighing and measurement.There is no evidence for the existence ofthe spiritual other than its material expres¬sion.Furthermore, it is only when we takeaccount of the material, the factual, thatwe can arrive at true spiritual values. Asan illustration let us consider another spir¬itual value. Jesus said; Suffer little chil¬dren to come unto me for of such is thekingdom of heaven. Now ask yourselfwhich discipline, the scientific or the theo¬logical, has been most influential in con¬vincing us that a realization of the kingdomof heaven on earth is conditioned upon ourtreatment of the child. The theologicalLore is a fairiikuidConnuandiuif the heartTo be autrehedAnd eoanter-marchedAnd (fvowOn drean)-like stilts{Too tall to measure itself apart)lion' ean Lore knoieWhat strieken thinpDissolres its soip/When it ironld sinfflloir ean Lore knowThe heart ironld hideAll that it kneirWhen last it died^Robert Stidlinan.mind, in its spirituality divorced from ma¬teriality. has been telling us of the in¬herent and utter depravity of the infant,of its birth in sin and shame. But hard,materialistic science, by the disciplines ofgenetics, embryology, child psychology, hy¬giene and sanitation, has been creating averitable kingdom of heaven on earth forthe child. The material has generated thespiritual. Certainly, if Jesus came to earthtoday, he would see his work carried onmuch more effectively in a child researchinstitute and in a child guidance clinic, thanin most official strongholds of alleged purespirituality.What about the claim, hailed by manyclergymen with an enthusiasm that revealsonly their misconception of religion andignorance of the nature and significance ofscience, that current physics has wiped outthe materialistic conception of the universeand has established in its place the realityof the spiritual. This recrudescence oftheological dogma of the Dark Ages is thefruit of the muddled metaphysical longingsof a few physicists under the misleadershipof Eddington, Jeans, Compton and Milli¬ kan. It is these men, whose standing asphysicists is unquestioned, but who have asyet not succeeded in overcoming their in¬fantile animistic tendencies, who find inthe present unsettled state of the physicalsciences unmistakable evidence for the ex¬istence of Cod.There is no need to enter into a detaileddiscussion of the grounds for this new the¬ology offered us in the name of science inorder to place a proper evaluation upon it.Whoever needs proofs of the existence ofCod makes the tacit admission that Coddoes net exist for him as a living experience,but only as a sound. Why persist in de¬ceiving ourselves with words? That whichone experiences needs no proofs of its ex¬istence other than that it operates in one’sdaily activities. Cod exists only for himwho knows him by direct personal experi¬ence. You can no more prove the realityof Cod than you can prove the reality oflove. He who knows love needs no proofs,and he who does not know it may talkabout it, but all he does is disturb the at¬mosphere with sound waves. Those whoattempt to prove to us that Cod exists, bythe instrumentality of logical demonstra¬tion, are much more interested in logic andin the sounds of their voices than in Cod,and they give us a God who is a travestyof the personally significant Deity of alltrue religious experience. What sort ofGod do Eddington, Millikan and Jeans offerus? Eddington asks us to accept a thermodynamics Cod; Millikan, a cosmic ray Cod:Jeans, a mathematical Cod whose nature isthe square root of minus one! Eddingtongets to Cod via the second law of thermo¬dynamics and the multiplication table,Jeans sees him in a soap bubble, and Mil¬likan finds him in the cosmic ray. Edding¬ton’s Cod is busy with unwinding the uni¬verse and fooling little boys about the mul¬tiplication table. Millikan’s Cod is engagedin undoing the work of Eddington’s Cod bywinding up the universe with the cosmicray. Jean’s Cod is occupied with blowinga soap bubble which we deluded individualscall the universe. There are other scien¬tific Cods, as for instance those of Comp¬ton and Whitney. Cods who play ducks anddrakes with electrons and magnets in orderto fool the physicists. These pictures ofCod are travesties on everything that thetruly religious mind holds sacred. If sci¬ence does prove the existence of such aCod, then so much the worse for science,for religion, and for man, and Jeremiahand Jesus must have been badly deludedindividuals. But what science really provesis the truth of religion, the reality of Codas a personal experience of the brotherhoodof man, and the empty prattlings of thosewho would bolster up their own religiousemptiness by rhetoric and logic-chopping.Religion and science need no reconciliation,for they were never at outs with each other.But both science and religion have been, arenow, and ever will be in conflict with thetheological mind, for, whatever turns thehuman mind away from seeking the truth,by offering to hand it the truth, is a cor¬ruption of truth, whether it speaks in thename of science or of religion. The truthcan not be ladeled out. It must be soughtfor. and the search is endless. It is sciencethat is imbued with this spirit of search,and the truths it finds are religious truths,in that they are the sole truths that havebeen and will continue to promote Godli¬ness in man.Page Seven COMMENTTHE PERSONALITY OF A RAINY NIGHT . . by WINSTON ASHLEYTHE RAIN:Lake, lot, roof, streetand under their feet.A BOY; What’s that funny rumblin noise? That ain’t the L.This damn ole rain makes so much racket on the awnin up thereI can’t tell. There it goes again, real deep down. A drum.Gee! What a splash them cars make, why you can hearthe rain go plunk! under the fenders. I wish it ud all stop soas I could hear. What’s it?THE L OVERHEAD;Crack on the slick railsdrizzle, drizzle down through dripping trestlesTHE BOY; It s like when the guy threw that pineapple thinginto the Cleaners once a couple a blocks down and I saw all thebricks go out and the glass smash—There. It’s rainin bloodymurder. Again.—A STREET-CAR;Crack of pink sparks on dripping wiresgrind on slimy railsTHE TAXIS;Sizzle of sucking tirespoliceman whistlesTHE BOY; How funny my slicker crackles and the rain hittinon my hat—A CLOCK; Six. six, six. seven.DEATH IN A BACK ROOM SHOOTING CRAPS:Come eleven.THE BOY; I wish I could tell, the radio goin full blast in there,the fat woman yellin so loud at that funny little guy, if she’dshut up so as I could tell—THE FAT WOMAN; I’ll have you know I will not go nowhereif I got to walk in this pour. I tell you I am not gonna walk inall this pour. I’ll have you know—THE BOY; I bet. There' I wonder—THE THUNDER: Yes old old old gloomA GIRL OF SIXTEEN:Everything’s so wet and shiny like.I’m crazy to see her in this new picture.I’d go in a cloud-burst just to see her,down there’s the show, the red-sign showsreal red and bright through all this rain.Oh those lovely dresses! rain’s all over the window,the blue one, the grey-green one, that one. oh—Everything’s shiny. The show’ll be swell,slick furs, and shiny satins, and jewels, and glasseswith cocktails sparkling and bubbles and rings,and his shirt-front, him that leading man—Oh gosh—My shoes look so shiny, wettish,they catch the light so, the green signand now I can cross, it shines in the streeta long shine of green right up to this gutter—Car lights and taxis, and people in taxis.Me in a taxi. Oh gee if—THE LIGHTS:Long sunken wavering wet through thin waterand hazy signs haloed, and caught on drips, dripssplashed wide athwart dark edgespoured pale along worn steely railsbobbed in the globes of eyes in the blobs of vague faces—THE FACES:Coming up at you from the vague wetstretched in a second to a laugh, shrunk to a frownor vague,the wet nose tip, the lash bedewed, the small mustachelimp with water—THE WINDOWS OF A GROCERY STORE:And round white cabbages pawed overby damp brown hands.A DOC:Kinda blurry and dull looking out to-nightbut 0 the smells—A PHILOSOPHER;The rain imprisons and divides all men,behind the bars of the rainall men weep in their private hells A PROLETARIAN: In them hotels—A CAPITALIST: A night like this is good for business, the parksare too wet.THE STREETS:Pooled, black pool, white pool, varicolored,the long sunken paths wavering from light-postscrossing our steel ribs and our brick foreheads.THE GIRL OF SIXTEEN:It’ll be swell and here’s the show.The lobby’s got such a smell of popcorn'THE FACE ON THE SCREEN; You’re a dear Tommy, a sweetold dear, but no I just—I just can’t feel that way about yousomehow. Won’t you have anothah gin fizz?AN OLD WOMAN. My! There ain’t anything quite like a rainyevening to whetten up the appetite. I can just taste that beau¬tiful ham hanging up in there, nice juicy smoke cured—just theright damp of the air to bring out the flavor.A SUB-PROLETARIAN; Please mister' For acupacawfee. Pleasemister!A STREET-WALKER;This night’s Hell.Is that a guy comm or a woman?I can’t tell it’s got so dark with the rain coming downall the time.Say Mister—A FAIRY; No. No.THE OLD WOMAN Here it is. Let’s see the specials they’vegot here stuck up on the window, rub the damp off my glasses,my, mmm.THE PAPIER-MACHE TURKEY IN THE WINDOW.Here for four yearsBetween SPECIALS and BEERS.When it’s damp I feel soft and very freshalmost like real fleshinstead of macheTHE SOUPS INSIDE:Oily dribble from the spoononion delicate as the ripe mooncream of celery, ivory whi'eoily globules swimming bright.THE STEAK . Puddle of blood, puddle of bloodTHE OLD WOMAN: Good' Good' 0 my that |ust goes down sonice and warm, my. I just love to sit like this here in a nicebright restaurant and look out the window on a nice chillydamp night to whet the appetite for a real meal My. taste thatsteak, my—THE DYSPEPTIC: When it’s damp if I just take so much as adrop of fat—0 my, Mabel, you never saw the like—I go abso¬lutely green and spotty and—I wish you could see me. why Ijust—THE CREY-HAIRED MAN IN THE BIG OVERCOAT: Easy there,driver, easy. Oh' my joints, this damn damp'THE DAMN DAMP;Breath of water, the wet of the windexhaled upward finding a way through mesh of woolthrough net of cotton, through web of silkto young skin quivering, to ache, to the hot bone.Dampness on the powdery cheek, on the harsh shavencheek,on the broad ring chilled about a hairy finger.A YOUNG MAN;Hell that drop on my neck was cold'The street feels slimy under my feet,mud and grit, paper and slop.Stop and light. Cod' I’m horny.A DOC: I itch.THE YOUNG MAN:She’s got such swell skin, the little cheatsoft and warm, soft.I can sorta feel that I’m here, muscles and skinhere inside my clothes, I feel em moveagainst and around me when I walk,when I think of her and her fine hair,just touch her.COMMENT Page EightTHE FAIRY:Like mud, like slop under the feet of the young—This night, oh dear, this oozing night,defiled.THE YOUNG MAN:It’s time I felt something soft.In that damned store all day selling hardware,knives, buckets, pan-cake turners, shovels,steel crap.Soft now.—THE WIND:Lifted from the lake’s swell in a dark stream,strained delicately through dry park leavesdimthrough L trestles through engine smokethrough wood-fire, coal smoke,and let fall down across a street corner,a delicate stretched veil beaded, like darkness,like mouths.A MOTHER: Well, I’ve got em all kissed good night and gotthem drinks and tucked them in and put up the window andthey’re asleep. Dad’s gonta sleep in his chair.I like just a rainy night like this,just smell the wind, Chicago all over,beer that is from the Log Cabin Tavernand that’s dog dirt in the alleyand that smell there’s La Ruba’s Candy Shop,caramel—and why! you can smell the woolin people’s coats clear here at a third story winder— jaspie’s hair smelt so nice when I kissed him good-night.It’s a nice night and to-morrow’s Sunday.THE VACANT LOT:Buildings, alleys, streets, filling station,I am the blank backwash of a brick ocean,cindered puddle, puddle like a gentle eyereflecting the vague movements of a tumid sky,weeds, a few with a rank clean smell,rats hidden there in a private hell,harsh brick bats, twisted iron rust,under the roof of a board a spot of dry dust,and elsewhere rain coming into me, seeping insodden with puddled splendor, muddy love, discarded sin,a vacant blank, a square of dissolving night,nowhere are the eyes of a dripping catso bright.DEATH IN A RAGGED SLICKER: Hearin rain always makes mesleepy, does it you buddy? like a clock, steady.A PROLETARIAN: Well ya can always sleep, if ya can find aplace to sleep.RAIN:I fall, fell, shall fall on allmelt, dissolve, loosen, solvefever, mortar, fear and loveall as I fall is mudflesh steel bloodand then sleepdeeper than allfor I shall fall, fell .... I fall.Editor H Xote: ]Vi)iHto)i Aslih i/ is (t sophomore iu the lAiiversify, Last year heu'o)i the John Eiske prize for poetry, an annsnal distinction to be obtained by a fresh¬man. He has leritten hundreds ni>on hnndreds of verses, is an aeeomplished artist andIS at work on several novels.SPRING EVENING by james kinchamMr )0HN BARTRAM looked acrossthe table at his wife It was goodto look across the table and see herthere For a while he had been afraid hewould have to take his afternoon teas alone—a dreary prospect, for he loved her com¬pany, although she seldom spoke.“Lemon as usual, dearl^’’ He placed aslice of lemon in the saucer, earned hertea around the table, and placed it in frontof herShe was slumped forward in her chair,hands folded on her lap. He gently pushedher back and rearranged the pillows in hereasy chair to make her more comfortable.He went back to his side of the table andsipped his tea.“Yesterday was bad, dear,” he said.“But. now that I’ve got you back again,everything is all right”He looked around the room appreciative¬ly. It was a pleasant room. The late aft¬ernoon sun streamed through the windows,warming it. The garden outside was start¬ing to bloom It was good to be alive.Mr, Bartram finished his tea and rosefrom the table.“You’re still weak; I’ll carry you into thefront room”He placed her tenderly in a large chairbefore the fireplace. He pressed her hand,“Why, you’re quite cold; I’ll build a fire.Between long looks into the fire heglanced at his wife. Finally he stood up.The firelight exaggerated the redness of her rouged cheeks. And her hair had gotmussed. He dashed off for a brush. Eversince they had been married he had likedto brush her hair; she had always liked tohave him do it.Her hair was neatly arranged again. Mr.Bartram laid down the brush and took aclean handkerchief from his pocket. Herubbed some of the red from her cheeks.Better.He bent over to kiss her on the forehead.There was a knock at the front door.He looked up apprehensively and stood still.If he kept quiet, whoever it was would goaway. Then the door opened experi¬mentally.The Rev. David Welch put down his tea¬cup and took up a solid-looking ham sand¬wich. Afternoon tea with him was a fairlyhearty affair. He spent his afternoons inhis study or calling on the wives of hisparishioners and felt that he needed some¬thing pretty extensive to fortify him forthe Dorcas Guild, or whatever the eve¬nings might have in store for him. Thisparticular evening, moreover, he neededsomething substantial. It wasn’t a pleas¬ant evening he anticipated. The day afterthe funeral was always a let-down. Thesermon and the various techniqes of theservice he handled in excellent style. Hegrew in stature with the deep solemnityof the occasion and words came withouteffort. Invariably he dwelt upon the eter¬ nal rectitude of a beneficently ordereduniverse. The eye that saw and the handthat moved were symbols he delighted inportraying. Yesterday he felt he hadtouched the soul of John Bartram. Butthat was yesterday and the situation wasotherwise than the dreary call he was nowforced to make. He nibbled at the sand¬wich as if to make it last.Mrs. Welch looked up from across thetable.“Really, David, you must hurry.’’“But ,Martha, do you think I should goover to see Mr. Bartram so soon? .Afterall, it was only yesterday that I took herfuneral. Possibly it would remind him toomuch.’’“No, you must go, David. He’s alonethere in the house.’’The Rev. David Welch put on his hat.After all, he reflected, duty was duty.As soon as he got outside he felt better.The flowers of the neat little gardens alonghis way were beginning to bloom. He likedthis part of the year. It was not like thefall or winter when everything was dead.Death might be the beginning . Ofcourse it was the beginning, he caughthimself hastily. But still . It wasn’tdeath he objected to, no certainly not—allthings ordered. Yet the curiously repul¬sive form it took—As he walked up the front steps of Mr.John Bartram’s house he noticed the wearyred glow of a fire. Warm for a fire tonight.Nobody answered the knock. He openedthe door experimentally.Page Nine COMMENTi-'• *» » -I • > 4 I■ I-y^ 'f r ^’atW'^>-',‘ / p- 'iiN.'r'tMfit's''(I'f fhe '*in.' m. w'lui I'U ‘t^, A'"’'f'. tk-'’tv Lo'gic ^^ •<? i Ptirvir ('^“'(-.'f t'^unn'^-'f” "., .'^ ^ #r W #^-"A’^'d rr\ n^w ■^,t}> i. b'aefcgmu-f# 0 fe&v4'W'' ~ ~~ciiiiJrifSi^^ujjtt'’«pw ffi^w W^re o*:ii*^^» acw.dfcnf toa fliSf5®!:b^'ws®¥mt^m €«aWf iNjgiyaii I if% fir^.r!>i.!ig m io^c aa4 rtetorli»'eini# 'fefii»l.ii.^,,#i©uM v«^fiN '§if'i^ Tltctelgitto Wn^f^d' p^rcCfSic^ #h# y*$# erf' up'^w 1N^few T^ p^^tewiabfe m pm m f© rhf t mdV' ©Iar^:|¥Wl%pf^r8tl#R iI, if fi»tgll^gflwm pt«IWt ibi'»it it»^r^- l^i Tfe €!«■-mfieatlanil H,i^ Schools. Itte al t ©f M«»urtlyerslty atAll ih'€ f^'fiI# fe Iftf#to Sfth«'faf#^fp orCOWMiiWT mMwM' Mk •«® i^tepif«5!?^ w!?W fiW>*K3?' ^ wAc.Mmi ;iA» 'Sm§ m0 ■,i«l^ 90^1F«^ A» 0^4W^ w#«& m^l m¥l im-mMmlf§ Ti#?/# "Ak mmi !%• •*ptr ■/iKTOplJy'^w -sS7 ^fj^'t7^sfviv0!».9xy^frf.' fcitr fe#i 6mmi ft® f%&l4'^l n< #S # |taf i^a4 • I t% . '*fewi^^;ts ©f» iist fi«i4^tmd rh® f^yMi m ^tSfl wI «©«rt i»t Iwt^^t^ te flit tl# . M ■ ;• .11% IMffa© wmm m mj»irigiiRiW cf#^-i»t §mm ^#■fiTirfi^o-OLi- 0 siftygM 6M#te*t4.?©e ii4e @ini1.W# Irteaif-l?ii#=-'-l^ti¥st T^' li^ 'tict© C4>'iw©u3'ii»i>ca'te m0 uf^'<-'r@ten^^ tfeinr d#-?*¥#?■%§ 'eiif^|^,l§tfe')'S^v "1%^ WJ-fl'if Iw if%7 dW-^©^ fef Ife® fetei®5’fer %ipfti0 yc,3|p§*f w^ff feo |t|4.0> W4^ c# l%r i?#^iiTr^''ng a fn § ct'>rw%'n%tt i'aAj‘P?©iS^'A t.i%f ft'srgfelllh! li.§f^-? .f^Oftn-ttei'S 'WifI l^«4pm©:^ §»| jtp®ihg ji' 0 sir«#|pioisnsfer’^l’an-ffl^'.^s 0 #)g .■^j|ii4i'''fI fh^? ^*w ii y($l: >ynfe^3rn: MlirflilVht0f '■^lii lyc'^iitjg' fho qI A-^tjm@stert 0 #&®c| #SB'p#cp&f%' erf ^j-i^M#., mtm mil thsf ^8ifWi«iIt may v#ry tn^ that bytt« ©f l^ic, ti^ I i«ia ffiaw will 'fe eigG. }%i§ bteoWg to-I; f|j#i@fif^Dlyg mOrst'm tell# tfSwwtfi, It te tefeom® se-CiaHy I#t^BOso a Icve erf f'©<ammtr’ Tbsp ««l-ftl 'whlcf'sort, % a priOf rtry®mig to b®iTlbound of human thought” is dead and de¬spised.If man is to reassert his superiority overknowledge, if he is to make it a tool forhis use and not a routined god to follow,the present methods of education and re¬search must be changed. One of the mostimmediate changes must be the reintroduc¬tion of that medieval intellectual traditionwhich has been mentioned in the openingparts of this paper. By establishing anacuaintance with certain great works, bytraining in logic and rhetoric, it will be pos¬sible to open the channels of communica¬tion between scholars. The common back¬ground of method, ideas, and understand¬ing will permit the utilization of knowl¬edge; it will destroy the hermetically sealedcells wherein contemporary learning livesand strives to breathe.But even more than in aiding commun¬ication, the establishment of an intellectualtradition will foster all the branches ofthought, research and experiment. It willgive a solidarity to the work of scientists.It will help the faltering by giving them asystem with which they can ally them¬selves. By providing the man who hungersafter learning with a means of communica¬tion and a background, as well as an in¬telligent audience, to which he can referall his work, it will remove the complexityand the obscurantism that characterisesmodern research.The teaching of logic and rhetoric in anintensive manner, not only to those whowill enter some academic field, but to allstudents who are interested in fittingthemselves for life, is necessary. The pres¬ent conception of the institution of higherlearning as primarily concerned with “prac¬tical” training must be discarded, certain¬ly not in all universities, but in those whichaspire to any intellectual eminence. Sucha program of teaching would entail strictselection of students; it would require aneven stricter selection of the faculty; pro¬ficiency alone would not entitle anyoneeither to learn or to teach, an equallynecessary qualification would be a genuinelove of learning.Then, the student, after learning toknow and understand the classics, after thestrict discipline of logic and continuedpractise in writing would be allowed tospecialize in some field if he pleased. Aftera thorough grounding in the fundamentals,he could be allowed to roam at will; hewould be able to create his microcosm oflearning in some branch and, what is moreimportant, be able to understand the rela¬tion of his specialization to the broaderpattern of human thought.C'llKISlMAS BOOKSCHKISIMAS CARDSCHRISTMAS Ginsriif Season (’or Joyous Ciiviiij>'The University of ChicagoBookstoreSSth and EllisA beautiful boundmemory to carrywith you alwaysThe Cap and Gown Hyman . . .{Continued from Page Five)devil, but remember that the devil is adivine character and should be treated withrespect. The devil is a worthy opponentonly for Cod. But the petite burgoise; Ihave but contempt for him. He desiresinwardly to be diabolic, but he is lackingin the abilities to assert himself. He isneither virtuous or corrupt. He is in a stateof being-not being. His brains are likelard, and his skull is the palsied woodenvat encasing the lard.”Then how to live? Respect for the devil?But the devil was complete corruption.And the innocuousness of the petite devilwas repulsive. The reformer then? Per¬plexity and loneliness was the price. Inthe midst of all this the boy died. Youask, did he die a hero’s death? Did he dieas he was doomed to live—alone? Did hedie violently? And, I ask you, what mat¬ters the manner of his death!^ The groupwho stood about his open grave would bethere regardless of the manner of death andthey would mouth their mournful phrases.You may say, had he lived he might havefound the mean between the alternativesand counter positions he imposed on him¬self. And I answer, the boy was too deli¬cately composed to bear the pressure oftrial and error that moulds the pragmatist.No, I do not weep for the boy, for I knowthat he, in all his mental writhings, wassearing himself with questions that ap¬peared to him as best suited for his self-directed purification. In those moments ofanguish ;in the boy’s attempts to under¬stand himself, he approached more closelyto the divinity he yearned for than he couldhave approached at any time during the lifethat was denied him.I trill <'ti(/(t(ir itt ar<iiiniciit, (Iriiiedpossrssiott,CfHtiprllitit/ luintioiin front the Mtise toittdtihic cottcrit.Or dote /, ntti mtoti 11 ei cttle.s, t\t cvi'dittdiffrrettcr:lit re trith iiotir li})s, the trord'n ettclosttre,ittif hihors ettd tidth lore.Attd hji the teord heeottte Johtt to tjottrpnrnion.Xote ttttj foittitie reeorer.'<, ttitj trit retttntn,.{ttd titii ettttfttsiott .^tiffern prudence. I,tt'ho hud ettdeacoredProfit of tjottr Itfst, uttd tittj desires.[dtttit discretioit. Or is it mtj innoranceEttdotrs tjott Jtfliet; tntj futteij, the eye'sbetrayal fThese (ptestioits liityer,Attd my trttrds iitlrtide ttpon silettce.SAM MALATT’SOLD ENGLISH BARBER SHOPI.otalt-d iuro.ss from Hurton {.'ourt1011 East 61st StreetMerry Widow Tea RoomCome onee to see our art extiibitCome often to enjoy our food15j9 East 57th StreetI’hone Dorcliester 7210 • New and ImportantHarvey B. LemonFROM GALILEO TOCOSMIC RAYST. SmithPHILOSOPHERS SPEAKFOR THEMSELVESMarshall E. DimockGOVERNMENT-OPERATEDENTERPRIZES IN THEPANAMA CANAL ZONE^dyar J. GoodspeedTHE STORY OF THEOLD TESTAMENTReady in DecemberMIND, SELF AND SOCIETYEd.The University of Chicago PressOberg*s1461 East 57th StreetThe South Side’s Favorite FloristCORSAGES FLOWERSPLANTSBOOKSTHE GIFT ALWAYS APPRECIATEDNEWESTFictionPoetryDramaNon-Fict.lonGift EditionsChildren’s BooksBARGAINSMany tables of New Books at reducedPrices!WOODWORTHSBOOK STORE1311 E. 57th Open EveningsSpecial discount on allwork to studentsLaundering done on premisesWrightHand Laundry1315 East 57th StreetMidway 2073Page Eleven COMMENTTHE DAILY MAROONKeeping pace with the pulse of the campus accurate, concise news stories thought-pro¬voking editorials - features many and varied topped by that daily column of joy and sad¬ness, satire and pathos, wit and sentiment The Travelling Bazaar.New \ ork Jim gives it to you gladly for three cents per copy.\ WHEREWILL YOU FINDSTEAKS par excellence . . . cookedto a turn . . . and at prices that willastonish you?DRINKS of finest quality . . . pre-\ pared by experts of the mixing art?DINNERS and SNAC KS pleasing topalate and satisfying to eye? 'l ou II rn)o\ onr <>t oiii sp«‘i uil slrak sandwuhesv\lul«- liinnyiiii: in onr <>I thr «-<is\ i from thrtnist«‘t's loiinyt- of thr ( rntut\ of f’ro^rr'.s W rh.i\r puK h.isrd thr hiiiuturr liom this famousloom and vmII mst.dl it within .1 frw da\sDrop into thr cocktailloun"e an\timr for aMartini, a Manhattan, oran Old 1 ashionrcl Onlvthe finest ini^rt'dientsused \ THE CAMPUS from the biggest big 'shot to lowliest frosh gathered formidnight supper after formal danceOF COURSE YOU’VE GUESSED ITSTEAK and CHOP HOUSE5475 Lake Park Ave. -rCOMMENT Page Twelve §\h*cCOMMENTThe University of Chicago Literary and Critical QuarterlyVolume 3 Number 2 Winter Quarter, 1935 Price Twenty-five CentsPATTERN AND MOVEMENT IN ART AND SCIENCEA COMPLETE aesthetics would have toconsist of at least three partially dis¬tinct but closely interrelated theories;the theory of aesthetic qualities (such asthose of color or sound or smell). the theoryof aesthetic structures (such as thoseformed by combinations of colors or soundsor tastes*, and the theory of aestheticmeanings (“expression”). This classifica¬tion is a new application of the philosophi¬cal categories of Charles Peirce, which mayone day be as famous as those of Aristotlehave long been These categories cannotbe further explained hereThe theory of aesthetic structures mightbe called the theory of harmony, for “har¬mony" is the description we give to themost successful aesthetic combinations. Inthis essay the problem of harmony is to bemade central, neglecting almost entirely theimportant phases of that problem whichdepend for their solution upon a developedtheory of expression, and a theory ofqualityWhat IS harmony^ It would probably beagreed that it is a kind of relation betweenthings, such that though they are felt tobe different from each other, they are yetfelt to be not merely different Other¬ness IS not the only relation between themIn fact, it seems that the very opposite ofotherness is also involved In analogouscolor harmony, the basis of the harmonyis clearly the fart that the different huesare all variations of one general color, suchas the variations of green in foliage Again,in poetic rhyme it is clearly the similarityas well as the difference between two soundgroups that makes the aesthetic effect.With musical chords it is also true thatoctaves, at least, seem similar as truly asthey seem different They may in factactually be mistaken for each other' Thetrouble with this example is that octavesare rather insipid as harmonies, taken bythemselves. Perhaps octaves are too sim¬ilar? Perhaps the more exciting thirds orfourths are also similar, but less so Thisis a defensible view, as I have argued else¬where. But we have also the problem ofcomplementary color harmony. Is theresimilarity between two complementary col¬ors? It is clear that there is some, for atleast both are colors. Furthermore, bothmay be of equal “saturation” or richness,and in one case, at least, that of red andgreen, both may also be of about equal“brightness.” Still further aspects of sim¬ilarity can be indicated In fact, there is nocase of harmony that is a clear exception tothe principle of likeness in difference,similarity in the midst of contrast.If this principle is sound, there are onlytwo ways of failing to achieve harmony—by too little contrast (“insipidity,” by CHARLES HARTSHORNE“monotony”), and too little similarity(“discord,” “incoherence,” “chaos”).Since the contrast and the similarity canrefer to different “respects” of comparison,there is no need to fall into insipidity inorder to avoid chaos. Red is in muchgreater contrast to green than is gray, butit is also much more like it in that both aresaturated, whereas gray is the zero ofsaturation. Thus a vigorous scientific mindis like a vigorous artistic one in that bothare “vigorous,” even though in almost op¬posite ways. When, therefore, we say thatopposites attract, we must remember thatopposites may be all the more alike, inanother sense, just by reason of their oppo¬sition. We should not say that unlikenessIS the cause of attraction, but that the in¬terweaving of pronounced unlikeness withpronounced likeness is the cause of allaesthetic attraction and coherence in theworld.A good aesthetic maxim is to bebold in the use of contrast. Otherwise,one is likely to avoid discord only upon painof falling into insipidity. Pronounced con¬trast gives “strength,” “vitality,” to art.Besides, if one is timid in the use of con¬trast, one is hardly sure even of avoidingdiscord, for scarlet and orange, though lesswidely contrasting than red and green, arediscordant. And the worst musical discordsare half-tones. On the other hand, there isa value, connoted by such words as “sub¬tlety,” “delicacy,” in avoiding contraststhat are too obvious or violent. Yet delicacyat the cost of slight vitality is “effete.”The importance of contrast is not con¬fined to art All through life run the greatcontrasts of man and woman, child andadult, joy and sorrow, lively and calm tem¬peraments or moods, etc. Schemes of lifewhich attempt to reduce everything to auniformity of any kind must be examinedto see if they do not threaten the essentialvitality of life’s harmonies. For instance, itmay be a good thing to have strict economicequality between some groups in society,pure communism—e. g., among monks. But any proposal to universalize strictequality is perhaps a proposal to render lifeinsipid in this respect. It does not, ofcourse, in the least follow that the presentvery violent inequalities are justified, eitherwith respect to their violence or with re¬spect to their distribution. On the contrary,I believe that capitalism in its pres¬ent-day form is indefensibly, unspeakablycrude, chaotic, ugly—and doomed. Butwhen a liberal, such as Professor Simons,proposes, as a substitute for present capi¬talism, a duel or mixed economy consistingpartly of vigorous socialization of large in¬dustries, and partly of equally vigorouscompetition between private enterprises,he is by many accused of adoptinga timid compromise. He is really be¬ing bold in his use of contrasts, and thereis some presumption that this will enablesuch a scheme as his, if followed, to pro¬duce more vital harmonies. Red is the op¬posite of green, competition is the oppositeof socialization, but the profound andneglected fact is that red harmonizes withgreen and that competition is in certainrespects much more like its opposite, socialownership, than is that miserable inter¬mediate thing, “regulated” non-competi¬tive private monopoly. For both competi¬tion and socialized ownership afford someassurance of efficiency in the performanceof desirable services, both in a genuinesense embody the ideal of liberty, and bothare vigorous thoroughgoing methods,whereas private monopoly, however regu¬lated, is in essence inefficient, tyrannical,and half-hearted.Contrast is found not only throughoutlife but throughout nature as disclosed byscience. There is the shift of the electronbetween energy levels. The shift is sharp,and has a fixed minimal value which meas¬ures the least unit of radiant energyemitted by the electron, e. g., a photon oflight. The electron does not relieve themonotony of its existence, we might say,merely by shifting its path a little, butrather by shifting it enough to achieve ain this issuePATTERN AND MOVEMENT INART AND SCIENCECharles HartshorneDECEMBER CROSSINGThornton WilderPACE LEWIS CARROLLSam HairTHE WIDE INFLUENCE OF MR.ELIOT John HealySTORM AT THE FACTORYWinston AshleyLIKE AN AIREDALE Cliff Massoth WHEN THE CLAPPERS OF BELLSWinston AshleyEDITORIALACHILLES Sam HairSHEEP IN CAPS AND GOWNSGeorg MannTO A DEAD BODY George GrothTHE PROGRESS OF THE SOULElder OlsonTHE PROMINENT UNDER¬GRADUATEDREAD IN GRIEF Don Morrisdeep contrast between its two successivestates. Again, nature avoids monotony byflowing in waves. A calm lake-surfaceis in so far lacking in contrast, but whenthe wind ruffles this surface, sharply con¬trasting planes are introduced. We knownow that nature carries on all herfundamental operations, not in the man¬ner of an unruffled stream, or an arrowcleaving the air without deviation from itsalmost rigid trajectory, but in the mannerof a stream simultaneously flowing and ruf¬fling in waves. The wave-pattern, which isa simple scheme of repetitive contrast, isall-pervasive in nature. Furthermore, evento this wave pattern itself there is anequally fundamental contrast, the particlepattern or “wave-packet.” Waves are. itseems, collected in pellets. Matter is bothcontinuous and discontinuous, a vital har¬mony, apparently, of these two sharply con¬trasting aspects. This unity in duality iscalled in physics “complementarity.” Thereis still another contrast in nature, that be¬tween living matter and dead matter, orbetween efficient and final causes. A greatphysicist, Bohr, has suggested that here toowe may have complementarity, such thatevery particle has a living as well as a non¬living, a purposive as well as an automaticaspect. This assumption would make itpossible to unite physics and biology as inno other way. The philosophical argumentsfor such a union cannot be argued here, butit is interesting to note that, beginningwith Heraclitus twenty-five centuries ago.a number of philosophers have held thatthe world is a “unity of opposites.” Butopposite does not mean simply unlike, butrather: emphatically unlike and—in somerespect—emphatically alike. For instance,particles and waves are alike in that bothinvolve sharp contrast; the particle withthe surrounding “empty” space, and thewaves in their divergent planes. To decidewhether the world as disclosed by the newphysics is really beautiful apart from man itwould be necesary to discuss the questionwith reference to the categories of qualityand meaning as well as the category of nar-mony which is here alone under considera¬tion. But in so far as the new phys'cs pic¬tures nature as a system of complementar¬ities or vital harmonies, it is immeasurablymore satisfying aesthetically than the oldphysics, which was full of monotonous con¬tinuities. and of unlikenesses not unified byequally pronounced likenesses, while it waspoor in strong and well-unified contrasts.It is plain that if likeness in unlikenesscan occur among ideas, as well as amongsense qualities, then in so far the phrase“intellectual beauty” has a meaning. It isalso clear that generalization, in which liesthe great thrill of intellectual work, is afinding of likeness where previously onlyunlikeness was perceived; and lastly, it isclear that the widest generalizations, whichare the most thrilling of all, are those whichunite the deepest contrasts under a similar¬ity which spans the contrast. Thus, struc¬turally, science and art have a real kinshipin spite of their difference; in saying whichwe have suggested how life itself derivesbeauty from the contrast in unity of thescientific and artistic activities of man.A final observation completing thissketch of the theory of harmony is that inits temporal aspect harmony involves thecontrast between expectation and fulfil¬ment, and that unforeseeen novelty is as esential as the realization ot the foreseen.Expectation is built up partly by rhythm,which combines contrast, such as thatbetween accented and unaccented, orfilled and empty time intervals (silencesin music), with equality in the lengthof such intervals. But skillful artistsdo not neglect to provide the pleas¬ures of surprise furnished by frequent dis¬appointments of such expectations. As forscience, it used to glory in the idea thatif we knew all about the present, we wouldforesee all the future. But the moment webecome so familiar with a piece of musicthat we can definitely anticipate its futurepassages we begin to weary of it. Surprise,ignorance of the future, is demonstrably,then, part of the value of the presentMoreover, science was all along an excel¬lent illustration of this. For the great ex¬citement of science has always consisted inthe almost complete impossibility of pre¬dicting the future of scientific discovery.Science predicts everything better, we couldalmost say, than its own future. Surprise isthe constant attendant of scientific prog-THE AUTHORR HARTSHORNE is Assistant Pro¬fessor in the Department of Phil¬osophy at the University He came toChicago in 1928 from Harvard, wherehe had taken his Doctor’s degree andwhere he had taught after studyingmetaphysics and aesthetics in France.Germany, and Austria Under hiseditorship (and that of Paul Weiss>the collected works of the Americanphilosopher Charles Sanders Peirce areappearing from the Harvard Univer¬sity Press Last spring his major con¬tribution to aesthetics and psychologywas released by the University of Chi¬cago Press with the title “The Philos¬ophy and Psychology of Sensation”—Darid (>. liofihiHs.ress and is vital to its value Hence Lessingwell said that he would rather have thesearch for truth than the complete truthitself. But the new physics suggests thatknowledge “complete” in such a sense aswholly to exclude surprise has no meaningThis suggestion is aesthetically pleasing,like nearly all the other features of the newphysics. For if scientific law were the rigidthing it was formerly considered to be. thenbetween it and aesthetic law there wouldbe a great gulf fixed. There is a law ofmusical progression, but absolute predic¬tion by that law is too obviously absurdThe future that comes should, for aestheticpurposes, be like the future that is antici¬pated. but it should also contrast with it.Otherwise the likeness is devitalized andthe relationship of present and future isinsipid.The wave-pattern that pervades nature,and the energy level structure, are exam¬ples of temporal contrast that suggest acertain monotony from a long-run point ofview. If the crest of the wave has almostforgotten the preceding crest, the contrastwith the trough will have vitality. But ifthere were any memory of the long succes¬sion of crests, then the wave-pattern itselfwould become a monotony calling for con¬trast. An hypothesis to explain the pre¬valence of waves is that the life which, by Bohr’s complementarity principle is in thesimplest physical individuals, is extremelylimited in memory of the past, so that onlya few waves or only a few jumps betweenenergy levels would be retained in the pres¬ent feeling of these individuals. Thus therewould be no feeling of monotony in spiteof the myriad repetitions of the wave pat¬tern or of energy states, especially since the“uncertainty principle” suggests that therewould be surprise in the details of themovement. Yet if the universe as a wholeis living (that is. subject to Bohr’s prin¬ciple) as thinkers have often supposed,though never with such good reason as con¬temporary thought furnishes; and if, asthere are also reasons for holding which can¬not be given here, the life of the universeinvolves memory even of the most distantpast, then eventually the repetitions of thepatterns disclosed by current physics wouldcall for relief from monotony in new pat¬terns. If the universe as a whole is reallybeautiful, then even its “laws” mustchange, however slowly and—to us—im-percepnbiy At any rate, in the humancommunity this is what happens; exceptthat here the change is perceptible Com¬munities that have no means of preservingthe art experiences of the past in perma¬nent records may not feel much monotonyin repeating them But the more we knowof the past the less are we capable of beingsatisfied with its mere repetition Thus inhighly civilized communities fashions suc¬ceed each other in rapid succession, in spiteof the protests of those who are able toavoid discord between past and present onlyby avoiding all vital contrast between them.Novelty and freedom are fundamental tolife and to all harmony Even in looking ata picture we have surprises; for we do notgrasp the picture all at once, and as weconcentrate on one portion w'e are only par¬tially prepared for what closer scrutiny ofthe other portions will reveal Conserva¬tism in its unmitigated form. or. for thelong run, even in mitigated forms, isdoomed, as is every idea that seeks to evadethe consequences of the fact that time ischange through and lhrough--except in sofar as time itself has a basic structure ofpast, present, and future, with such andsuch basic interrelations These interrela¬tions are expressible m terms of the threecategories mentioned at the beginning ofthis essay, especially, as we have )ust seensome reason to think, in their aesthetic ap¬plication The idea of fixed species (ideasless general than categories! has no moresecure foundation than the fact that somechanges require even greater time spansthan geologic ages to become perceptible(Such greater time spans are called byWhitehead “cosmic epochs”) But it is ap¬parent that even the laws of electronic be¬havior are only descriptions of the ways ofacting of a certain widely distributed spe¬cies of creature, whose evolution must bevastly slower than that of the more com¬plicated creatures depending upon it. butwhose evolution must—on general prin¬ciples which have been partly explained inthe foregoing—be a fact. The truly “im¬mutable laws ’ of the universe are to belooked for quite elsewhere than in physics,with its arbitrary constants and its induc¬tive method. They are to be sought in thephilosophical disciplines, such as aestheticsand logic, which do not deal with arbitraryvalues of such general variables as the idea{I‘lc(nn‘ tiir)! to Voyv h'h’vev)COMMENTPage TwoDECEMBER CROSSING by THORNTON WILDERIT WAS a small slow one-class boat thatleft New York two days after Christ¬mas. Such ship’s company as was notconfined below amounted to some twentysouls that passed all their waking time inthe dining saloon or in the smoking room.Even the oldest travelers admitted that itwas the worst crossing they had everknown From time to time a passengerwould open a door upon the deck to receivefull upon his face the impact of the blastand to catch a glimpse of the onrushinghills of water and to turn in his billowingclothes, with a shudder, indoors. When atdinner some mountainous wave hurled it¬self against the ship’s side, causing theengines to pause for a sickening moment asthough never to recover, and leaving theportholes marbled and streaming withwater, all the diners would lift their eyesfor a moment to their captain’s face, seek¬ing to surprise one muscle’s twitch of dis¬may on all that ruddy German serenity.The passengers in the smoking room,awed and even slightly blanched by thetempest, played cards and tried new drinksand murmured to one another the storiesof their lives. And presently three person¬alities emerged from the group: Mrs Cow-perthwaite and Emma-Louise and the Lieu¬tenant Mrs Cowperthwaite was bound forPersia, to occupy herself with the dentalneeds of Persian children Tenente Rossiwas a young and gallant portrait-painterwho wove back and forth between Romeand New York perpetually painting ladiesthat leaned slightly forward from a divanresting one hand on a wolfhound’s head.Emma-I.ouise was a pretty schoolteacherof twenty-two who had never left CopperFalls. Missouri, but who was now on herway to be married to her cousin, the vice-consul at Lyons She had been deposited onthe boat by a flustered aunt who had puther in charge of the captain and of the pur¬ser and of the engineer of Mrs. Cowperth-waite and of anyone else she could discoveron the deck before the warning signal blew.Alice wanted to be polite, but she saidwith some severity. “It isn’t very civil‘ of you to say that I ought to have bet¬ter manners. I go to one of the very bestschools”“I’ve been to school,” said the Mad Hat¬ter, “one of the very best. You needn’t beso proud”“And where was that?” asked Alice.“One of the very bestest,’’ replied theHatter, “in the Middle Westest. Welearned all about everything—but only fora while”Alice considered a little and asked,“What happened then!^ ”“Nothing,” replied the Hatter, “nothing.First we cogitated, then we meditated; thenwe went back to school.’’Alice sighed wearily. “What a funnyschool,’’ she remarked: “first you beginyour lessons, then you go away.”“Why not?’’ muttered the Hatter.“Does YOUR school send you away in themiddle of the term?’’ Slicfch of the Author bijMaude Phelps Hutchins.Everyone took a protective interest inEmma-Louise and everyone developed amental picture of the expectant bride¬groom. the childhood friend, the clean-cut.the upstanding, the splendid young vice-consul at Lyons. Emma-Louise seemed tobe dpvoted to him, though she mentionedparticularly the adventure of living inFrance and the relief of escaping from Cop*per Hills, Missouri. Some ancestor had be¬queathed to her a sea-going disposition andshe was able to enjoy a host of new ex¬periences, the nine-days cyclone, cham¬pagne, the dressing-up every night, cards,cigarettes and soft-spoken Italian lieuten¬ants. It seerr.ed impossible that Europeitself could offer anything more extraor¬dinary than life on this palatial ocean liner.Everyone was very kind to Emma-Louise,especially the Tenente Rossi. But the cor¬porate chaperon suddenly discovered thatall was not well. Emma-Louise’s loyalty was“Of course not,” Alice replied very read¬ily.“Can’t be a very good schcol then,’’ saidthe Hatter. “We knew so much by thetime we went off that we were told to justthink about it till we came back”“I don’t know what you mean,’’ saidAlice.“Of course you don’t,’’ said the Hatter,tossing his head contemptuously. “I daresay you haven’t a grain of Progressive Edu¬cation in your head!’’“Perhaps not,’’ Alice cautiously replied,“but what good is it?”“It makes Initiative,” said the Hatterangrily. “Really, you are very dull!”The Dormouse shook its head impatientlyand said, without opening its eyes, “Youought to be ashamed of yourself for askingsuch a simple question.”Alice felt dreadfully puzzled.“Yes.” said the Hatter, “we made Initia¬tive, Opportunity, and Responsibility all infour weeks. The best of education, though committed to Lyons and was to be ratifiedwithin a week, and the ship’s companyviewed with alarm the twelve-hour conver¬sations that were taking place between theportrait-painter and the school-teacher, theglances, the sharing of a glass, the crypticjokes. Such passengers as ventured out onthe deck in the evening would come uponthe two of them sheltered in one overcoatand enjoying the tumult. The guardians helda meeting and Mrs. Cowperthwaite wasdeputed to speak to Emma-Louise. Mrs.Cowperthwaite deputed herself to speakto the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant wascourteous, but evasive. At first Emma-Louise was independent and cool, but Mrs.Cowperthwaite worked on her for two daysand finally—on the eve of their arrival at LeHavre—Emma-Louise broke down; all theaccepted ideas of Copper Hills rushed backinto her mind. She obtained one last inter¬view with the Lieutenant. They walkedtwenty times about the shrieking decks,while the guardians waited within in a sus¬pense that dwarfed the storm. When theyreturned the girl’s face was wet with allkinds of salt water; the Lieutenant wassombre and curt. The others felt that ithad been a great victory.The tiny tugboat that brought the Frenchofficials to the ship carried a passenger onprivate business. We are all at a disad¬vantage when we are engaged in shoutingto our friends on some arriving or depart¬ing steamer, but Herbert Crosby cut a morethan usually poor figure. His braying laugh,his pleased and possessive assurance filledthe boat for five hours. All the guardiansexcept Mrs. Cowperthwaite began to askthemselves whether it might not have beenbetter for Emma-Louise to be loved andperhaps abandoned by her Lieutenant,abandoned in some wretched Roman pen¬sion and dazedly shipped home, rather thanto pass forty years in the competence ofHerbert Crosby’s sheltering arm.(Reprinted from The Circle, Autumn.1930)by SAM HAIRyou mayn’t believe it ”“I never said I didn’t!” interrupted Alice.“You did.” said the Dormouse sleepily.“Hold your tongue!” added the Hatter,before Alice could speak again. Hewent on:“We had the best of educations, as wellas the most Progressive.”“I go to a very good school too,” saidAlice.“With extras?” asked the Hatter a littleanxiously.“Yes,” said Alice, “we had Civics andMusic.”“And Meditation Periods?” asked theHatter.“Certainly not!” said Alice indignantly.“Oh! Then yours wasn’t a really goodschool,” said the Hatter in a tone of greatrelief.“Now at OURS we had not only Civicsand Music, but Meditation Periods of Inde¬pendent Research.”{Please fani to Page Ten)PAGE LEWIS CARROLLPage Three COMMENTTHE WIDE INFLUENCE OF MR. ELIOTOUTSIDE on the well-kept LowellHouse yard the elms were alreadybare with the weight of Novemberand their leaves had been raked up. Henoticed that the leaves were gone as hesat there at his study desk next the windowthrough which he looked at this scene with¬out leaves. His right hand was upon a pageof Mr. Eliot’s PRIMER OF MODERNHERESY. That page was marked where itread:“Ihd mij f)oint /.s‘ that blasphemn is nota matter of pood form hnt of ripht beliefitself: no one ca)i possible blaspheme inanil sense except that in irhich a parrotmail be said to cnrse. unless he profonnd-hl belieres in that in ichich he profanes."He saw the dry etiolated face of Mr. Eliotlooking with a sad defferential smile thatopened to a crooked row of very cariousteeth. He remembered his first shock whenhe saw those teeth. He heard him speak¬ing again, his Oxford accent, his carefulwords, chosen one by one with precisepedantry. And his hand, when he shookhands, felt like a warm oyster. Was thatman really sincere, he wondered?’ He knewthat this idea on blasphemy had some basis:It was not an original one, though. It occurssomewhere in A La Recherche DuTemps Perdu, exactly where he could notremember, but in that place where Proustexplains why atheists are the greatest be¬lievers, an idea which, distilled from thealembic of Proust’s implacable mind bya warm stream of purely inferential reason¬ing. and carried along on a tide of pellettingprose, is accepted by Proust’s readers assomething at once too subtle and deep tobe explained clearly. Yet Mr. Eliot had hisown austere way of fixing on an odd idea,without going to any metaphysical sourcesor even of considering his own system oflogic, but nevertheless of fixing on it witha grasp like the snap of a turtle, and ofdeviously dragging it here and there untilIt suited him, and the reader felt that here,at least, is something that must be trueBut this point on blasphemy, was it a validoner’ Was it not connected with someaphorism Mr. Eliot had picked up in Pas¬cal or in Rochefoucauld?’ Did it not some¬how seem to derive from St. Augustine’sassertion that while one may doubt every¬thing one cannot doubt the fact that one isdoubting, an idea which a few hundredyears later was metamorphosized into Rob¬ert Grosseteste’s statement that truth isconsequent to all things, even to its con¬trary, because the false is necessarily thetrue false. He too kout a card from his deskand wrote with his fountain pen:"FAiot - Pronst - Anpnstine - (irosset-este their attitude that positive truthmail be found in a nepatire. Dissect thisridsoninp and a si: Prof. Lends exactlpndu re it stands as topic. .Also look intoits relation to the accepted pspchtdopicaldefinition of a belief."A psychological definition of a belief?He looked into his note-book and found it:Belief: an emotionally toned idea or sys¬tem of ideas. Then those who emphaticallyblaspheme, he thought, must show, throughtheir excitement, the emotional core thatis their belief. He was pleased with theexplanation he had found and smiled untilit occurred to him that a Protestant may consciously blaspheme about the RomanCathcl c creed without believing in it. justas a Roman Catholic might consciously blas¬pheme about Protestantism without be¬lieving in it. Nor was such a matter to besolved by dragging in syncretism; whatmight or might not be blasphemy was tobe decided by the hearer, not by thespeaker. The speaker spoke words for apurpose, did he not?’ And those words wereintended for a hearer who had the unim¬peachable right to take things on their facevalue. Was not Mr. Eliot spinning defini¬tions out of his own head^ Was it reallypossible to convince people that they shouldnot be shocked at blasphemy nowadayssince, according to Mr Eliot, it was ahealthy and desirable things Perhaps MrEliot had never taken the trouble to studyGestalt psychology, which would certainlyhave taught him how to call a spade a spadeSTORM AT THE FACTORYThe street was warm and placidand the pellucid light was loosenedand flushed through the sluicesof the hot heavy cloudsmassed and drifted and shiftingon the hot thick windThe crowd bubbled like boiling waterin a stiff eddy through the brokensunlightThe crowd drifted, massed, and shiftinglike the light flushed beatingagainst the iron gateThe thunder struck and the guns spatthe clouds like smokeand the clouds of smokedrifted and massed and spurtingand a boy screamingand the spotted squareand the crowd streamingand the clouds pouring out of the airand the gates of iron bloody and brightin the lightnings hot glareWinston .Ashlep.He looked out of the window again Thedesolation of the autumn yard hinted that itwas no longer good to doubt There is somuch doubt, he said to himself with a sigh,and turned back to the book to read MrEliot’s paragraph over.How well it explains what ProfessorSpencer calls “that passionate Christianityof T S. Elliot found in the HippotamusHe repeated from memory:The hippo’s feeble steps may errIn compassing material ends.While the true church need never stirTo gather in its dividends.The irony, he thought, the shary irony ofa classical Christian conscience. But then,as Professor Spencer had said, one can onlyfeel it intellectually, after the manner ofDonne, so to speak. Here, at last, was thetrue Eliot' He repeated another verse: . . . by JOHN HEALYAt mating time the hippo’s voiceBetrays inflexions hoarse and odd,But every week we hear rejoiceThe Church at being one with Cod.He smiled again. Blasphemy that showstrue belief!He looked out of the window. He lookedfor awhile as a dim idea bobbed up anddown in his mind Morality, he thought,sexual morality that has gone to the dogstoday. He saw the soft, young features ofHelen, the English wife of the jewishtailor on Mt Auburn Street. He had mether in the shop during the first week ofSeptember while he was over there to havehimself measured for a suit Then the nextday he had met her on the Square and madean assignation. Now he called on her twicea week, in the afternoons, at her apartmentHe did not love her. though she attractedhim She was a nit-wit given to ungram¬matical exclamations, but then she had acreamy English skin It was her immoralitythat sometimes repulsed him He did notmind being a cicisbeo—that was a matterof physical necessity with him She. how¬ever, never tired of talking about her earlylove life He saw her sprawled across acouch waiting for him Suddenly he tookup a piece of fresh paper and wrote'Spreading her legs, she shakes her hips;It is a very shocking thingTo see. the moment her bodice slips.The globes for which some poets singHe stopped, repeated the stanza, smiledbroadly and repeated it agam and again toabsorb the lyrical intuition he had startedHe gave it a titleA MORAL ESSAYHe waited for the next line to come Herepeated the lines he had written, thenforced a metastasis by dropping Helen fromhis mind and trying to imagine Evelyn inNew YorkShe knows the softest Lapland roll.And the cutest Chinese perk.And. a thing I don’t extol.An amazing Cambridge jerkHe laughed out loud How easy it came,yet he would have to keep to the point:Furies flying at her heelsWill shriek her uncompunctious crime.And tie her tight to chariot wheelsTo let her roll and retch in slimeSuch the grief, such the woe.Such the awful debt of vice;Post curmudgeons so they'll knowTo do only what is nice'He read the whole composition over andlaughed again He read it once more andsmiled with pride. He read again, andchanged the word "awful ” in the laststanza for “deadly"; that sounded better.He thought of Helen, her immorality, hersmooth skin, her abominable grammar. Hewould have to break off with her. Perhapsat last he had found his FRIEN VITAL,perhaps he had found himself, perhaps, butat any rate he understood Mr. Eliot.COMMENTPage FourLIKE AN AIREDALE by CLIFF MASSOTHI TRAVELLED a lot that year. There wasno work in Chicago, and the folkscouldn't afford to keep me at home. Thefellows down in the corner gang were pull¬ing stick-up jobs, and to stay away fromthem I was gone for several months.Just before I quit the road, I met Ed.It was in a little town in northern Indiana,where a railroad detective chased me offa passenger train. I didn’t want to staythere all night, so I waited around thetracks for the freight train that was sched¬uled to come in. It pulledin about eleven o'clock,but went right onthrough, and I saw a fel¬low with a bag come cut¬ting across the tracks to¬ward the train He cameup even with the car Iwas in, and made a lungefor it He stumbled andonly half got into it,but I reached down andgrabbed him by the col¬lar I could tell that hewas surprised by the wayin which he jumped upfrom the floor."Hello,” I said"Hi,” he said, reas¬sured He brushed thestraw from his knees“It was going prettyfast,” I said"And how It waspretty hard to make withthis bum hip Thanks forthe boost”All that I could see ofhim in the dark car wasthe shadowy bulk of hisfigure and the white lineof his teeth when hespoke, but I knew that hewas a young fellow by hisvoice I said somethinguncomplimentary aboutthe weather, to which heagreed: May nights in theMid-West are still coldThe train picked up morespeed, and I huddled upin the car opposite theopen door and watchedthe country-side flow byin two long lines of earthand dark sky. The otherfellow moved back intothe depths of the car, andremained silent as the train went rattlingthrough the night An hour passed, and Iwas dozing off to sleep when the trainstoppedI got up and, bracing my foot against thedoor, looked out. The night was a moon¬less expanse in which the stars glowedfaintly. Beyond some trees, made distin¬guishable by their rustling sigh, the lightsof a town showed a faint blur. Down atthe end of the long train of cars lay thecaboose, with pin-points of red and greenlight. A swit'"hman swung a lantern besideit. Suddenly I heard a cluttering soundnearby, like stones rolling down the rail¬road embankment. I shrunk back in thecar; the stillness, the loneliness of the freight yard, the midnight and the cold allconspiring to make me fearful."What is it,” the fellow in the back ofthe car whispered. I had almost forgottenthat he was there.‘‘Shhh, I don’t know.”I waited a few minutes and then lookedout again. There was nothing alongside thetrain. But the night seemed not so strangenow; its dull hum had been broken by mycompanion’s voice. He came up beside me."Cigarette?” he offered."Sure,” I said, gratefully.He struck a match. The light shatteredthe darkness like a tiny blast, and in theflare-up, caught for a moment in his cuppedhands, I saw a lean face. In the same mo¬ment he took a quick look at me, andbefore the match went out he smiled,friendly-like. The smoke was good, and sowas the smile, because strangers usuallydon’t trust you on the road.It was chilly by the door, and I wentback into the car to sit down. The dark¬ness was without end, and I raised myhands to keep from bumping into the rearwall long before I was even near it."It’s black as Toby’s ass out here,” mycompanion said from the door. I could just make him out and the faint streak of hiscigarette smoke floating from the car. Theweight of sleep, held back too long, pressedon me. The car seemed to hang motionlessin a vacuum.We had not moved for a long time, andI was almost asleep, when there came outof the quiet a far dull rumble which swiftlyresolved itself into a rapid and metallicclicking of car-ties. In a second our carcrashed about us, and shuddered tremendu-ously. In the wild motion of the floor. Ifell. Before I could getup, a second but lessershock came, and then awhole series of convulsivejerks passed in a fewmoments."An accident^” mycompanion cried out."No; just starting up.”I stood up and rubbedmy head. We were inan absolute darkness, inwhich not even a hair’s-breadth of light showed,for the tall door hadslammed shut. The trainwas stirring beneath us."Is that door locked?”the other fellow askedloudly from somewherenear me."It’s all right,” I said.I slid the door open,and the sound of the en¬gine panting and snortingrushed into the car. Wewere moving past themain street of the town,and as we rolled by thefew street-lamps threwoblique beams on thefloor that began at the farend of the car and swungforward in a half-circlebefore disappearing."I thought those doorsautomatically lockedwhen they were slam¬med,” he said as we satdown together on thefloor.“Naw.”"I thought that wemight suffocate,” he ex¬plained."Is this your first timeon the road?” I asked."Yes.”"What is your name?”"Ed.”"Mine’s Bud,” I said.We shook hands. I was just like himwhen I first hit the road—jumpy at every¬thing. We sat leaning together in the cave¬like darkness, because it was warmer thatway. After a time I put my head on thefloor, and with the clattering song of thewheels in my ears, I fell asleep.I awoke once again that night, pinchedby the cold. There remained the samepent-in gloom and the same flashing stripsof light coming through the half-openeddoor. I couldn’t see so much of my com¬panion as a shoulder, but he felt me mov-ing, for he said. (F^Iease turn to Payc Xixc)WHEN THE CLAPPERS OF BELLSWhen the clappers of bells clap the muffling airAnd the loft pigeons scatter down the loft stairAnd in the street feet scratch the misted iceOr a car grinding to rest honks twice.When the shadow of a smoke stack cuts starlightAnd under a tin roof creaking there shows the white.The steel white shadow of a frosted drainAnd below, the iced edge of a broken pane.When up the steps come counted foot-stepsAnd the bell rings faintly from the curtained depthsOf the house, a face seen faintly through window-steam.And this is all as an old dream.When the face and the voice and the noise and thepeace.When all the colors come, when they cease.Gossip, and names, and hoarse laughter, and the old hurtCome in waves, are remembered, hushed, spurtInto the clear burning of you, quench into me.When all that is the world and its beaten love and itswoven deathRise in me and die away and come again like breath,Each like the last, unasked and necessary.Then even as my breathing, it all comes as wordsAnd there is rhyming where there were faces, andshadows.And the bell-waked birds.WitiKfott AshlejfPage Five COMMENTCOMMENTThe University of ChicagoLiterary and Critical Quarterly92. Faculty ExchangeUNIVERSITY OF CHICAGOEditorCHARLES TYROLER. IIAssistant EditorMARTIN GARDNERBusiness BoardJOHN AULDJAMES MELVILLEEditorial AssistantWILLIAM HEBENSTREITAssociate EditorsLILLIAN SCHOENSIDNEY HYMANNo resp)onsibilitv is assumed bv the University ofChicago for an\ statements appearing in COMMENT,or for any contracts entered into by COMMENT.Publisher's AddressCLARKE-McELROY PUBLISHING CO.6MO Cottage Grove AvenueIndividual Copies Twentv-five CentsSOME day. dear critical reader, you ma\edit a literary magazine Some dayyou may edit a literary magazine thathas already stated its purpose in no uncer¬tain terms, editorially and otherwiseFurther, some day you may edit a literarymagazine that has definitely stated that itseditorial purpose is to further the cause ofthe yyritten expression of creatiye thoughtand that it refuses to espouse "a cause."feeling that by so doing it y\ould necessarilylose sight of its primary purpose Someday you may edit a literary magazine thatIS due to go to press in an hour yyith you.Its editor, flat on your back in a nearbyhospital yyith nothing to say. and less timein which to say it. If all these "ifs" shouldby chance happen to occur at the sametime, then you yvould knoyy exactly how weteel at the present momento o oWe could, of course, fill up this spaceyy ith a promotional adyertisement for someyyorthy student enterprise, yye could jot offshort biographies of the contributors tothis splendid issue of that alyyays splendidundergraduate journal. COMMENT, but yyea:'e obstinate We prefer to torture you mthis mannero o o"^his IS the third year of the publicationof COMMENT It IS perhaps no secretthat the magazine has in each of thesethree years, been running on the red sideof the ledger Yet. regardless of this factyye feel that not only is there a definiteneed for a campus literary magazine butthat COMMENT m some measure fulfilsthis needo o oEdyyard | O Bnen yy rites from Oxford.England, requesting that he be placed onthe list of subscribers so that he may con¬sider carefully the fiction published mCOMMENT as possible material for his annual and authoritative collection of theyear’s best short stories. This announce¬ment should be encouraging to all COM¬MENT contributors.o o oPlans have already been made for theSpring issue of COMMENT. It will be thelast publication under the present editor¬ship. The magazine will be on sale aboutthe middle of the coming quarter and allcontributions should be placed in the COM¬MENT box. faculty exchange, before Mon¬day night of the fourth week. The issuewill be nearly double its usual size.o o oAnnouncement of the COMMENT stafffor the year thirty-five and thirty-six willbe made in the Spring issueo o oWe look to the newly-formed Univer¬sity chapter of Kappa Alpha, oldest andmost distinguished of literary societies, tolend its future support to COMMENT Anorganization such as Kappa Alpha will gofar to relieve a campus from the throes ofdull scholarship and neglect of perfectionof creative writingo o oElder Olson, yvhose poem "Progress ofthe Soul" appears in this issue, has recentlyhad published a well-received volume ofpoerry. "Thing of Sorrow"o o oThe interesting essay by Mr Healy.yyhich makes its first published appearancein this issue of COMMENT, will be printednext month in an English magazineo o oBack issues of COMMENT may be ob¬tained in small quantities by those desiringthem, on application at the COMMENToffice. Lexington Hall There will be noincrease in price Please ask for MissPerkins, the office secretary.TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL'S AENEID(Hfur.'i K'ill tcith sicuttr truthHtautij, in hrnuzt that Si* lus tv t>nath(.And thtij U'iU ^dnipt (I dmn, in .'Undh)Thi canqut mr's broir and laurelu'reath.That lire and uloie in niarbh add:Will plead with eloquence mort fairAnd tell tht truths the satjts told:And tract arclud orbits in tht air.Forttdlinti tach bright rising star.O Roman, thine it is t(> ruUMightu natitins and lands afar:S'evtr forgtt thu sort reign tool.For this will In thg splendid skill.To glorifij thg peace with law.Show mereg in thg mightg will.\ tf crush tin proud with lupine jaw.Donald Morris. Achilles by SAM HAIRI. THE UNIVERSITYOHN gazed upon the gray green marsh.To the dull eye. that merely tarriesupon the outsides of things, it mighthave appeared unromantic or even unocean¬like. consisting as it did of acre upon acreof mucky swamp. Even to this childish eyemuch of the recent glamour seemed to havedeparted, but all the interesting things thatone could do on the raft, set afloat in for¬bidden waters, brought magic and mysteryin full flood. John was now aboard a cutter-rigged sloop whose masts raked devilishlyas the sea hissed along her black gunwale.A naked cutlass in his belt, an interestingscar on his forehead, he was a hard veteranof many a boarding party There was seri¬ous business ahead John heard himselfmurmur. "My Cod. Mr. Boatswain, is notthat a brigantine flying the colors ofFrance^ Cram the carronade with grape tothe muzzle " The death grapple with thecrew of the rich merchant occurred almostimmediately. Inexhaustible and unbe¬grudged buckets of blood filled the scup¬pers of two ships The result was not longin doubt, although the buccaneer crew wasoutnumbered. John reckoned, by at leastfive to one. the result was never meant tobe in doubt The French captain, a finefellow in his way. was cut down and hiscrew made to walk the plank, hung fromthe yard arm, or disposed of "in quatraine ”in the best approved fashion The air wasthick with magnanimity when a Princesswas discovered aboard the merchant and.weeping bitterly, was flung at the feet ofthe pirate chief But all good things mustcome to an end Tiring of the sight ot dis¬connected limbs. John Montague trottedhome, hungrier than usualII THE SWAMPJohn cocked his head back and gazedupon the ponderous hands of the massiveclock three stories above him in the smut-gray tower Here was no ordinary piece ofmachinery, but a "young man observe thetime and flee from evil ” symbol, to bethought of in terms of an imminent retribu¬tion It was strange, therefore, that inorder to satisfy a fancied inward feeling ofdetermination. John Montague went for¬ward to grapple with knowledge, squelch¬ing a more genuine sinking feeling, tem¬pered by insubordination Soon, envelopedin the atmosphere of young minds at work,John was a grim academician Now therewas serious business ahead He could beheard to murmur. "My Cod The funda¬mentals of political economy^" Visions offrenzied wrestling with idiotic ramifica¬tions of Saint Simon twelve hours previousput him on fairly level ground SinglingOut a fancied familiarity with capitalism,and cursing a lack of command over thedetails of the threatening aspects of collec¬tivist theory, profound observations andscintillating deductions began to flow,slowly at first, then with full force Mini¬mum subsistence levels, dictatorship of theproletariat, even distribution of income,organized minorities, injustices of laborlaws, and mass production scattered them¬selves at proper intervals through the pages,all nice phrases The outcome was not longin the balance Karl Marx, distinguishedenough fellow in his way. was cut downand his hypotheses discarded as defective.1turn to Poge Ttctlve)C 0 M E N T Page SixSHEEP IN CAPS AND GOWNS by GEORG MANNAmerican college students are, on thewhole, a disreputable lot. The out¬wardly stable economic world intowhich most of them were born is on thebrink of violent dissolution; the intellectualdisciplines they profess to follow are beingattacked by the rising forces of reaction;the secure future for which they yearn isbecoming more and more unattainable.And yet, with the exception of a smallorganized minority, American students re¬main blissfully unconcerned; instead ofpreparing themselves for intelligent partici¬pation in the inevitable struggles to come,they are content to amuse themselves withesoteric research, hibernate in labora¬tories, or casually prepare themselves totake a place in a world which breathed itslast in 1929. The modern world is going toHell in a handbasket, and American col¬legians can find no better role to play thanthat of the ostrich; and an ostrich, with hishead buried in the sand and his bottompointing toward far horizons, is an amaz¬ingly undignified bird—to say the least.An observer, basing his judgment solelyupon the political ignorance and inactivityof college students, might assume that thefalling to pieces of the present economicsystem in no wav affected campus life. Butsuch an assumption would be incorrect.The student has been affected by the de¬pression as much, if not more, than anyother social group The present crisis haslimited enrollments, increased the numberof students who must work their waythrough college, and, most important, de¬stroyed almost all of the opportunities fortechnical and professional work after grad¬uation There was a time when a collegeeducation was looked upon as the easy wayto a better job; that time is past, and. fromall indications, will never return again Thetraditional professions have been over¬crowded for years; the depression hasmerely accentuated unemployment and de¬creased incomes The scientist, and thetechnician find little call for their servicesin a system which is interested, not in im¬proving the methods of production, but insabotaging the existing methods in orderto create an artificial scarcity. The stu¬dents in business schools, formerly the fair-haired boys of our society, have slightlybetter chances of employment after gradua¬tion. but the campuses of the country areno longer deluged every June by personneldirectors of big corporations intrested inobtaining the cream of the college crop fortheir organizations. Only those studentswho are interested in working tor the gov¬ernment have any appreciable opportunitiesfor obtaining jobs; in particular, there hasbeen an improvement in the professionalfuture of those working in the social serviceadministration schools. The governmentneeds relief administrators and case work¬ers.Contemporary American universities pre¬sent the ridiculous and pathetic spectacleof thousands of young people, working andsacrificing for four years or more, patientlyacquiring a technical education, who willnever in this world obtain an opportunityto use their training as a means of makinga living. Even during the palmy days ofcapitalism there were more trained peoplethan the industrial and professional worlds could absorb; now, when capitalism has ap¬parently entered into a permanent decline,only a microscopic percentage of studentswill be able to support themselves in theprofessions for which they are prepared.The overwhelming majority will be com¬pelled to take jobs in which their specialtraining is useless—or starve.A slight acquaintance with the statisticsconcerning, not only the employment of re¬cent graduates, but the incomes of thosealready professionally established, gives am¬ple proof that the great majority of alumniwill never receive adequate compensationfor the time and money they have spent inacquiring professional training. And yetthe universities are filled with earnest stu¬dents, intent on following academic routine,who remain blithely ignorant of the factthat they are wasting their time, that thereis no room for the application of theirknowledge because the owners of themeans of production will never, can neverhave any use for them. Only an imbecile oran American college student could remainTO .1 DEAD BODY WASHED ASHOREEorcrcr fitrvver—Death let her lieOn sands sireetlii nionldedEnder a skijWith inaonliffht careenhujStr(dn)i(f her breastTh( n'inds Idowinff softlnS<dtlji and blestThe stars nioistlji mirroredDi opal spheresThe sea's saltii sprapLai/inp like tearsAronnd her the n'hisj)ersXo memories (/leanThe bodp anointedDri/^pinp and clean.—George Croth.so desperately unaware of acutality. Andonly an American college student, onceconfronted by the facts, would be contentto do nothing about it. The contrast inpolitical activity between American andEuropean students is overwhelmingly infavor of the European students. Collegesand universities in the United States arefilled with students who feel, quite correct¬ly, that there is no place in the outsideworld for them, and yet, instead of trying toimprove the economic situation, they spendtheir time grasshoppering about, trying notto think of the long hard winter that awaitsthem after graduation. Such an attitudemay be aristocratic and noble, it may be inthe best of the American Bourbon “Aftergraduation, the deluge,’’ tradition, but itmakes damned bad sense.It would not be fair to place all theblame on the students for their present fat-headedness. The educational system, whichhas done everything humanly possible ex¬cept decapitation to prevent independentthinking on the part of the young, is farmore responsible. The colleges of America,dominated without exception by wealthyunscrupulous trustees, comic opera legisla¬ tures, or physiologically devout churchgroups have consistently conspired to pre¬vent any independence of thought or actionby their students or faculties. Sometimes, asin my Alma Mater, the University of Chi¬cago, radicalism of any sort is discouragedby what Robert Herrick called “the tone ofthe house” ; that is, a sort of tradition wfiichtolerates freedom of thinking to a degree,but which socially frowns upon actions orideas contrary to those held by local bro¬kers, packing house magnates, or depart¬ment store owners. In other universities,expulsion and suspension are the means ofpreventing any connection between free¬dom of research and freedom of action.The students have been coddled into intel¬lectual inactivity by administrations whichhave provided safe means of disposing ofyouthful enthusiasm, football teams, keptcampus newspapers, fraternities, all thedistressing components of that state of in¬tellectual somnolence known as “collegespirit” The molders of the student mind,the professors, as a group, frown upon in¬dividualism and radicalism with fine im¬partiality; the administrative officials ofthe colleges, the deans, repress any at¬tempts to turn the miserable routine ofcourses and lectures into something morecompatible with the intellectual life.From the day he enters kindergarten tothe moment he gets his Ph. D., the studentis the victim of a machine designed solelyto limit and curb his intellectual activityand which functions all the more efficientlybecause it pretends to promote and fosterthings intellectual. Superior students areoverly impressed by the reverence paid toscholarship and bury themselves in re¬search. By concentrating on some small as¬pect of knowledge these high priests of theintellect, graduate students and professors,are able to divorce themselves suc¬cessfully from the world about them andtolerate social injustice, capitalist inter¬ference with academic freedom, and theantics of their own university presidentswith the greatest of ease. And by main¬taining a high degree of rectitude in onesmall, often completely insignificant, de¬partment of research, the professor andgraduate students feel justified in ac¬quiescing to all manifestations of anti-intel¬lectual activity outside that small field.Professors, as a whole, are fearfully timidin the face of social pressure; consequently,only an unusual character, a Veblen or aLovet^, is able to withstand all the subtleforms of social disapproval that are exertedon the person whose ideas or actions fail toconform to the accepted herd morals.Under these conditions, it is well nighimpossible for the student to break withhis environment and objectively examinethe world in which he lives. Everything hasconspired to limit his thinking; he has readprejudiced newspapers, magazines, andbooks all his life, the university he attendsis supported by the capitalists only so longas it does not attack the foundations ofmonopoly capital, the professors who teachhim are in tacit agreement with these capi¬talists to make his intellectual activityharmless, the members of his socialgroup violently oppose any attempt to turnfrom the narrow path of bourgeois(Please tarn to Page Eleven)Page Seven COMMENTPROGRESS OF THE SOUL by ELDER OLSON"WHOM FATE PLACED IN MOST SHAPES"Ar>J first there v\.is J childWhispering to herself, pljvink’A\lor»e on the worn stviirs. te.,irin^The rncX'in. ^Tersor^s m mirrors.Diesjms. the \jcant stillChv^irs 111 the Ijmp shineLjter. j nuite childW OLild Uwi ^xist rusted stonesTo .1 well dark vis sleep111 drevidtui Khx' to seeRisirij; thioLijjh hUick water.As dteants throuj:h the dark hram.PLimb, weevi wreathevT with loose hair.Stannj;one lonj; drowrievlLater, a thin arrnevi *:irlS<vinji from the shuttered roomAt dusk the birds the bir».tsTurnirTj: rosifXl the brc'wr’*shtr>ji Steeple,weptThere ren'a rwrThis or'e her e\es n'orrev'bs *‘ear as b\ a castb\ >v.c*^ a sev '^et oorsAs a c'' v' j:Aes a oarv rcvrr' Memory, like sleep, turns ghostlyThe cry, the echo.The tree, the spectre of the treeNight after night she would seeThe bough, the image of the bough.The gilt cock moving in the wind.The windmills glimmering vsith wind.Aged hands lifting the lamp at evening.The pump dripping into the wooden sinkAt midnight, the reflexOf e\es in deep glass.The sign, the s\mbol of the sign.Substanceless, through fallen cloudCXx'rs would open in shut TimeShe would lie stunned and deafenedB\ dead birds singing in dead seasonsTill bough and fallen cloud, east-bright.Cast cold sightless light.The cIockI the burden ot the cloudIIIAt night terror like windP'ucking at e\er\ sbmg e arxj board of thehouseShook her m rxjFear was the wrong rjoe in the mirror.The wrpr^ shaoow on the stairW hen the rnoon stooo at the panes shewould P«-t b^ “^er sewing;She wou'd C'eep nto c'oset arxj shutrr-e door Fearing one that like the moonStared in at all windows.One night the straw men rose and followedIVWinter puts rime on hinge and pane.Illumines flake and angled flakeExamine now the blue-ringed Soul,The intelligent particle wakeful stillIn the night-hung wooden houseWith Vega exact above the gableAnd snow daubed on stoop and sillNot frost-flake, taper, nor star-sheen.The idiot spectre gives but oneResponse maddening as the whispersOf the beetle m warm chimney-stone,A noise incessant, mane, shrill.Not even winter can make stillFirst VoiceWhat hangs by lantern-ring m thesnowy wood^Second VoiceInquire ofThe hare amid wan snows, questiontheMouse descending in the tunneledBarnbeam, demand ofThe dim mare breathing m the winterstallPROMINENT UNDERGRADUATET-t Av c' t'' s a tee an arxy'v-’'XX-S v.''X'e''grXX.ats' •' "X:' Cn\e''S tXs a very •'* "'ate * ' er'c arxt 'a. ^x''V vrss.'"a*e v'* 'X ' ? Raoseve * r t> *' S vX's ' e arx' *"a* a* '' s a ase aersofAa*' erx' Ah Rx' ■seve * ""a* "x? 'en'a nafX'f'v''x'v.s Ea ■x'*e kke can SeX' vCxrvX' •'*Exe-'x -'a* pf' "vS* ''a«e ’ve•'g E 'g a'X' ''as *s X'e e* '•k a es ^"'ecages c' '' s%'.x s* ''X' c>- xes c*•'a* cv'S vX'w'' cv. g''' ages “cr jrA *x' car' 'xe ctv ccu p •'anv x' onece'^e' *"ev.' x'f —e v'*'ce '"‘an ~'’ar''v *'? ■XvX'se'.e ' * A-'v ca ''ac a xxa*a " V * wcx. p re "x Rex'sexe's '"''e s> a ' av’ * Of' c' ,x.c e se x ce ‘^-'ex areaf' C O *ar" X of'g ' 'X' “xsex s c* xas'arx's '* vX-ng; Rcx'sexe * praws s "'er *age"o>" *-x' r exx' c* PC"' s •a'^'e-' arv'x'^x' E earx'f was a •'ece a' '^'xocx'feRvX'se-e * 'a^xr ~ ar'-x <•' a aous n~ ai '-x ' < aooea afxe s ega “'e s *aa>x' we ax * w a of'g sanx'xvr'a' r**ace g -e*' X' S'" es ax' * Of' v'e'"af'cs*'^a' "X: 'xx re exe a e*" X' ae'e^x' "* s^av,f'*’x •' * 'X' a* wa ~'a>'x *' s ■' '"'e"x ^ vv a.a 'X're see ~ex^ s Cev-e’^'X: 'XXX'"' ' 'xe "'xs* re a"" e* a~ af'^x ' s af' *'~e ^a s x eexx a" "awa d.as* .eo' re ax*eva ■'x? a ** a, * s \ vXX * xX'an a>' e g*'* aa sne z . a»' Reax-c aai's aev a>eva ■'w" or'e a e 'xx* a^ a>"' s 'g aa*s"wi' eA-O' X' "a" o- ax a* Can'p.- •v'ge ~x'> ansa a ' ax x*arx' 'g sOwasn a ax* af' ac exe sef’-'an a> x' x? ■'v?s a a . ex' xv *"< ee .ea. sa* g*"* *axv e rr' "xa C ax'f' xx'rra *ea."' axX' *or' X' axssess 'g ai' a^ sxx a' cvX^-x'^x^v *"0 'xxx'"' o 'xe *xs* a ss' re**X:' xa^'a^a^' a* ae-'X'e'axw - ar'^x xx'x *''e b "A t*' s respect Last vear one of hisaosest Ar-enos at Harvard was a middle-western bcv worvmg his wav through col-ege Pv wa tmg on tables Another member0* n 5 irt r*\jte cire'e was the son of a Mon-•ana aa'v^px.ncner. he had herded cattle fortv%x' vea'S sa* tf^ar ne might attend the Uni-vers X Ea rvte s th $ a Harvard en-•rarx'e 'epx. 'erw^nt'V»an\ rr -xes ''ave scrapes ot one sortar arx'*'''er ~’anx " xes *ast dnvmg when"'e s a* *"e w-'ee recav.se ot his name^ s "' so?mearx'rs ac*' eve w ax ano evag-gera*ec 'X‘*ar ex \tassjc''v.setts where*' s a aer rna—e-* ames was an mpc'rtantax'> * aa * g_re ~'anix ,%js -Aever botn-erec n Carmec* ax* aecc e .x* nor <e meNew Tea Nea* "arf'-ara ^fanx n ^.vassxxtcecr x'r *"e a**ense a* rass ''g a sq^accar '^'''e sergean* a'*attec vv th F'anx' nxr sanx * '"e anc * nj x ag'eec ta "ee' "" C**en "“e s ''o* so xrrv.rate t^'en•'e asvs -x' *avors ano aavs n~e * ne ^jstspr ng a wcr^ar' s*eccec n *'0f'* a* s aarar'c s''e a*e'- s^ec X'r SC5 ECC "er■'xscano s Sv-rg xr E E ECO *a aamexnsai*e xr ""e ass a* ''er serv'ces Axer *" sno oef'* ■'e ax’" avvav s aar ^r* Sv.f"r'e''aec a* f'g *''a* •' s *a"*'e'- ""vK: enougn wor-■ es w mox* **'e aoPi*ona care aaxsec rvs sa"f's jrxsx\Rx'esx s arx'**'e'’ a* ^ s ""ar'v v rxesky'''Of' "'e was aarxoa'e X'f a a ass a** aeas* .ea •'e wage ec xvo ** ef'os eac*' *envX'. a s "'a* -'e .vax. o x'* re e ec*ex' "ers* tv' ^''e we w sn *''at we a^rx-o w ''*ef' vX'> a-'S *''a* eas v \V*x?«’' "e goesacxx* ^ oxc a xf a s xas re r'g ecagn tax'A* a a ''T'er w a s'"a g*’ax.p a* *r e'X'sa res X'f' vE'.^X'' "OV..SO a wa *e'" anoe asked him for an autograph He was visiblyembarrassed but finally signed the prof¬fered card He is more likely to ask advicethan to give it He thinks much of hisfather and admires his work, but dislikesto be called "the President s son " Hecheerfully discusses governmental problemswith his associates, many of them bitteropponents of his father Ed note he livesand breathes |ust like the rest of usA Prince must be able to carry on thebusiness of government > oung Roosevelts studying government arxi ecorxyrncs Hewould like to go into politics but IS re-so ved to first distinguish himself m 'aw orbusmess He retuses above a*l to capitalizeon h>s ♦atber s reputation'^bere are alwavs ent es tne great Hismj s * ed with letters corxJemn n^ him*ar '"U'Ay th.ngs He rece ves v e acuse fort''e acts a* n.s tatner Otner etters s'ander*' s mcfAer Son>et me bxt rax v mere aree*ters r* pra se He s o^ten asjveo *cr aida* ane xpe or arx't^e'' He a wavs answerss-c"' efe's vX* ng wnj»ever s reasoTAablvrcss r e ’’o t^'e wr re''s a* " eno v e*Ters''e "ever *a > ta serxt h > tr'jrxsEvery 'xe '"xst "ave ^ ^ ' "cess■"*an.v " s 'X' evcect ar' "e s ca eo an*"e L'rxx'e rv posfa#' v'ecx*an*e> anc5* gn'er' S"CV g ' S 'Cf aver a .earr' ''as rer' aarrespof'c '..r cxs.v aTe awax g ' "e "v* "e* axr "g C'''r st-•"as arc s "ce **x'f' "e ''as SvVf'* -"anv•X'x s can'miv.* rexveen Canx' ege andE"jCx'y wne-'e see s r-* sa^ax'- Ea 'xrtegrar"nv sexx'-' So c ose ''xx.**vc are '' s*' erxts t"at "X' »vofa a* *‘Xf -an'vjrxe "*aseaivev.' av.* Ea *x''e j.", „ r.,^. v- WV,kf A' E \ -ageMassoth“Awake?”“Yes,” I said.“I wonder if this is a hot-shot?” I saida little later.“What’s that?”“A special fast freight.”“I hope it is,” he said.“Why?’ In a hurryl^”“Yes ”“So am I. You freeze your can off uphere,” I said.He laughed.“It should be warmer where I'm going,”he said.“Where’s that?^”“Louisville.”He called it, in a soft slurred way,Louava“I hope so,’’ I said. “I’m falling topieces, shivering so much”But despite the cold, I was tired enoughto slip of^ to sleep again Ed’s voice fellaway with the hoarse breathing of theengine.Steely morning light was in the sky whenI awoke, and I saw the true proportions ofthe car that had at night seemed a wholeworld of darkness Ed was lying on thefloor in an easy position, his hawked faceto the ceiling. His face was shaven and hisshirt was clean, and over his blue serge suithe wore for protection a pair of overalls.While he slept on. I rummaged in my can¬vas bag for some food The half loaf ofbread had ben squashed into an undershirt,and in the middle of the doughy mass wasa can of sardines. I had slept on my bagduring the night While I was about thetask of reclaiming two sandwiches fromthis mess. Ed sat up He arose from thehard floor with a smile and a cheery “Goodmorning. Bud ’’ He ran his hands roughlythrough his dark hair, cracked his bonesas he stretched, and yawned in a greatvoice“Yep, we’re on our way.” he sang out.I smiled at his exuberance.“Oh, food'”He made an exaggerated gesture of joy,though I could hardly down the stuff Wcsat on the floor and ate The country-sidewas grey, but it had a fresh smell and glis¬tened with a web of dew Night was dis¬solving over the edges of the earth, and thebright stain in the eastern sky spread up¬ward.“Are you just on the bum. Bud^” Edasked me.‘Yes, I’m going down to New Orleans totry to get a job around the docks ”“Is it tough going^’’“Sometimes A young fellow can get bymost of the time All he had to do is combhis hair, then go up to back door and say’Ma’am.’ He’ll get a better meal than thehusband does”“I’ll tell my wife to have a good dinnerfor you if you ever come io our place.” Edsaid.He thought that hair-combing businessa great joke. I was rather surprised to hearthat he was married He was only aboutmy age, a laughing kind of a fellow.“I’d like to get home by Saturday,” hesaid. “The derby is on then”“That’s right. I’d like to see it.“They’re swell. I’ve seen lots of themMy wife likes to see the ponies run Herfather owns a whole string of them She says that Cheyenne will leave them all inthe dust, but he won’t even get close toBuddy Boy..”He went on speaking like this, in a veryanimated fashion, with his good-lookingdark face full of smiles. He invited me tostop at his house, and he told me that hecould get me in to see the derby withoutcost. He was a damn nice guy.“It will be good to get back.”He spoke as though he had come fromthe corners of the earth.“Where have you been, Ed?”“To Mayo Brothers. You know, inRochester, Minnesota,. I had a bad hip.”“Mayo Brothers? Sure I know. I wasgoing up there to study medicine, but thedepression put a crimp into that idea.”“Is that right. That’s a great place. Theysure fixed me up. And cheap, too. Look .He stood up and walked a little way;and I saw that though he swayed in the rat¬tling car, he did not limp. I told him asmuch, and he looked pleased.“You bet it’s better,” he said, trium¬phantly.When he sat down again, however, Inoticed that he crooked one leg beneathhim and left the other thrust out across thefloor.“Ellen will be pleased now,” he said.“She always wanted me to have it fixedup.”“Oh, sure,” I agreed. “Something likethat slows a fellow up.”“Yeah, it cracked up on me about a yearago. I was out of work, and I took a jobin a factory to help things along. While Iwas there a fellow let a hand-truck packedwith machinery come rolling down a ramp,and it caught me against a wall. It wasn’tso bad after it healed up, and Ellen didn’tsay much; but things were theyweren’t the same.”His forehead filled with a labyrinth ofwrinkles“She likes to go places, you know. Well,we couldn’t go to dances any more. Therewere lots of things we couldn’t do”“Sure,” I said, “I know how it is. I hurtmy ankle in baseball once, and my girl¬friend . . .”He did not seem to hear me, for he brokeright in on my words; not rudely, though,but simply as if I had not been speaking. Ialmost felt that he was talking to himself.“I don’t know. I always did all that Icould. I like to see her laughing and gay.I don’t know.”He spoke in a low, bewildered voice, andlooked down at the floor.“Her father’s rich, did you say?” I asked.“Oh, yes, but that doesnt’ make any dif¬ference to her,” he said quickly.“Oh, of course not. I didn’t mean that,”I said in confusion. I was denying exactlywhat I had meant.“She’s fine—she’s one-hundred percent.”“Sure,” I said.“It’s just that she likes to have nicethings and everything; on account of ourfriends, you know.”“I know how it is,” I said.“I’ve got a picture of her here.”He opened his wallet to a photograph ina yellow celluloid pocket and handed it tome. He watched me pretty sharply as Ilooked at it, so I was careful about my face.The shiny card showed her standing amongthe flowers before a wooden bungalow, a dark-haired girl with a fine figure. A dogsat at her feet, his fuzzy head thrust up¬ward along her thigh in the way that a doghas of pleading affection. She had an im¬perious smile. In her simple house dressshe looked like a stage beauty trying to playthe role of a rustic maid in a pastoral.I wanted to say something compli¬mentary about her. Ed expected me to,I know, because when I handed himback the wallet he took it with an eagersmile. But somehow I was not even think¬ing about her good looks.“Airedales sure are swell dogs,” I said.I felt pretty foolish when I said that.Ed must have thought that I was crazy. Butwhen I got to thinking about what I hadsaid, I knew that I had come mighty closeto what I really meant. “That’s my dog,”Ed had said when I was looking at thephotograph; and I had thought; “Your dog?No, not yours.”“She should have a better guy than me,shouldn’t she?”He laughed when he said it, but I don’tthink that he was kidding. He soundedanxious.I did not say anything. Every time Iopened my mouth I was putting my footin it. I unwrapped a stick of gum andwatched the country-side slipping by. Thecorn was little more than short spikes inthe earth, and in the distance the fieldsmade patches of green and brown andblack. It was becoming warm with thebrightening sun. I thought about Ed, andI guess that he was thinking, too. WhenI looked over his shoulder I saw that helooked worried.“It would have been better if she hadstayed at my mother’s,” he said.I kept quiet, and watched him out ofthe side of my eye. A slow blush began tospread along his neck. He looked as thoughhe had said that without thinking. I pre¬tended to be watching a farmer behind hisplow.“You think that I’m jealous of her, don’tyou?”He was glaring at me suddenly. I bel¬lowed out, NO! horrified to think that hehad read my face so easily. But I don’tthink that that was it; he had hardly lookedat me. He must have been asking himself.But even as I looked at him the scowl wentoff his face, and a smile came across it likea warm breeze.“She likes lots of fun. And she’s goingto have plenty, too, from now on. We’llbe dancing by Saturday night.”You could have knocked me over with afeather. Here I was still confused by hisangry question, and already he was smiling.He must have suddenly satisfied his ownplagueing, otherwise he never could havegone in an instant from that black moodinto a gay.“She’ll stay with me now,” he said.I never saw a guy like him. It made mefeel funny; he had such a wild-lookingsmile on his face. The train was slowingdown, and I got up to look out of the door.We were coming to a town. When wegot passed the fringe of houses I saw thatwe were at Peru, the winter stop-off placefor the circuses. The clanging of the bellsounded very loud in the daylight. Thetrain began to slide off the main track intoa switch-yard, and when we climbed down,it went lumbering by us toward long linesof stalled cars. We were by the side of aPage Nine COMMENTPROGRESS OF THE SOUL by ELDER OLSON“WHOM FATE .... PLACED IN MOST SHAPES”IAnd first there was a childWhispering to herself, playingAlone on the worn stairs, fearingThe moon, persons in mirrors.Dreams, the vacant stillChairs in the lamp-shine.Later, a mute childWould lean past rusted stonesTo a well dark as sleepIn dreadful hope to seeRising through black water.As dreams through the dark brain.Dumb, weed-wreathed, with loose hair.Staring,one long drowned.Later, a thin-armed girlSeeing from the shuttered roomAt dusk the birds, the birdsTurning round the brownShingled steeple,wept.There remainedThis one, her eyes marredBy fear, as by a cast.By such a secret lookAs a child gives a dark room. Memory, like sleep, turns ghostlyThe cry, the echo.The tree, the spectre of the tree.Night after night she would seeThe bough, the image of the bough.The gilt cock moving in the wind.The windmills glimmering with wind.Aged hands lifting the lamp at evening.The pump dripping into the wooden sinkAt midnight, the reflexOf eyes in deep glass;The sign, the symbol of the sign.Substanceless, through fallen cloud.Doors would open in shut Time.She would lie stunned and deafenedBy dead birds singing in dead seasonsTill bough and fallen cloud, east-bright.Cast cold sightless light.The cloud, the burden of the cloudIIIAt night terror like windPlucking at every shingle and board of the IhouseShook her mind.Fear was the wrong face in the mirror.The wrong shadow on the stair.When the moon stood at the panes shewould put by her sewing.She would creep into the closet and shutthe door. Fearing one that like the moonStared in at all windows.One night the straw men rose and followedIVWinter puts rime on hinge and pane.Illumines flake and angled flake.Examine now the blue-ringed Soul,The intelligent particle wakeful stillIn the night-hung wooden houseWith Vega exact above the gableAnd snow daubed on stoop and sill.Not frost-flake, taper, nor star-sheen,The idiot spectre gives but oneResponse maddening as the whispersOf the beetle in warm chimney-stone.A noise incessant, mane, shrill.Not even winter can make still.First Voice:What hangs by lantern-ring in thesnowy wood^Second Voice;Inquire ofThe hare amid wan snows, questiontheMouse descending in the tunneledBarnbeam, demand ofThe dim mare breathing in the winterstall.PROMINENT UNDERGRADUATEThe author of this article, an anony¬mous undergraduate in the University,is a very intimate friend and formerclassmate of Franklin D. Roosevelt, Jr. Itis his desire, and that of his close personalfriend, Mr. Roosevelt, that he remainanonymous. (Ed. note: We can see yourpoint.)Every nation must have its Prince Charm¬ing; England has its Prince of Wales. Thepages of history list the princes of othernations down through the ages. For anAmerican Prince one could name no onebetter fitted for the office than FranklinD Roosevelt, jr. If America had a royalfamily it would be the Roosevelts. Theirsis a tradition of public service. They arean old family, long-time holders of vastlands. Young Roosevelt draws his heritagefrom the blood of both his father andmother. Eleanor was a niece of TheodoreRoosevelt; father Franklin, a cousin.Franklin’s appearance is regal. He is talland well built with a long, somewhat thinface given to smiles. Tradition demandsthat the Prince be ever alert to defend hiscountry in time of war; Franklin is in theR O.T.C. (Ed. note: see Lewis Dexter.)The modern Prince must be athletic.Franklin is on the varsity crew at Harvard.Last year be rowed the difficult six positionon an eight-oar shell. Even Republicans de¬clared him one of the most promising oars¬man ever to matriculate at Cambridge. Heis also an outstanding squash player, an ablehorseman, and he has played for three yearsat right tackle on the Croton football team.In addition to possessing an aristocraticdemeanor the modern prince must also bethe incarnation of democracy. Frank foots the bill in this respect. Last year one of hisclosest friends at Harvard was a middle-western boy working his way through col¬lege by waiting on tables. Another memberof his intimate circle was the son of a Mon¬tana cowpuncher; he had herded cattle fortwo years so that he might attend the Uni¬versity. (Ed. note, is this a Harvard en¬trance requirement?)Many princes have scrapes of one sortor another. Franklin likes fast driving whenhe is at the wheel. Because of his name,his misdemeanors achieve wide and exag¬gerated notoriety In Massachusetts, wherehis older brother James was an importantpolitical figure, Franklin was never both¬ered; in Connecticut people do not like theNew Deal. Near Hartford, Franklin wasstopped for the offense of passing a squadcar, The sergeant chatted with Franklinfor some time and finally agreed to freehim. Often he is not so fortunate; thenhe asks no favors and pays the fine. Lastspring a woman stepped in front of his car,and she later sued him for $25,000 Herhusband is suing for $10,000 to compen¬sate for the loss of her services. After thisincident he put away his car until summer,declaring that his father had enough wor¬ries without the additional care caused byhis son’s arrests.Modesty is another of his many virtues.When he was candidate for a class officelast year he wagered two friends each tendollars that he would not be elected. Helost. (Ed. note: we wish that we could winten dollars that easily.) When he goesabout in public he dislikes being recognized.At a dinner with a small group of friendsin a Boston Oyster House a waiter once asked him for an autograph He was visiblyembarrassed but finally signed the prof¬fered card He is more likely to ask advicethan to give it He thinks much of hisfather and admires his work, but dislikesto be called ’’the President’s son.” Hecheerfully discusses governmental problemswith his associates, many of them bitteropponents of his father. (Ed. note: he livesand breathes just like the rest of us.)A Prince must be able to carry on thebusiness of government Young Rooseveltis studying government and economics Hewould like to go into politics, but is re¬solved to first distinguish himself in law orbusiness. He refuses above all to capitalizeon his father’s reputationThere are always critics of the great. Hismail is filled with letters condemning himfor many things. He receives vile abuse forthe acts of his father Other letters slanderhis mother. Sometime, but rarely, there areletters of praise He is often asked for aidof one type or another. He always answerssuch letters, doing whatever is reasonablypossible. To the writers of friendly lettershe never fails to send his thanksEvery Prince must have his Princess.Franklin is no exception He is called onthe phone by Boston debutantes andBrighton shop-girls. For over a year Frank¬lin has ben corresponding furiously with aDelaware girl. He met her during Christ¬mas and since then he has spent manyhours commuting between Cambridge andSimsbury, where she is in school. (Ed. note:grammer school?) So close-mouthed are hisfriends that no word of the romance hasleaked out. (Ed. note: sh!)(ricdsc turn to l‘<i(/c Eleven)COMMENT Page EightMassoth“Awake?”“Yes,” I said.“I wonder if this is a hot-shot?’” I saida little later.“What’s that?”“A special fast freight.””1 hope it is,” he said.“Why? In a hurry^”“Yes.”“So am I. You freeze your can off uphere. ” I said.He laughed.“It should be warmer where I’m going,”he said.“Where’s that^”“Louisville.”He called it. in a soft slurred way.Louava“I hope so.” I said. “I’m falling topieces, shivering so much”But despite the cold. I was tired enoughto slip off to sleep again. Ed’s voice fellaway with the hoarse breathing of theengine.Steely morning light was in the sky whenI awoke, and I saw the true proportions ofthe car that had at night seemed a wholeworld of darkness Ed was lying on thefloor in an easy position, his hawked faceto the ceiling. His face was shaven and hisshirt was clean, and over his blue serge suithe wore for protection a pair of overalls.While he slept on, I rummaged in my can¬vas bag for some food The half loaf ofbread had ben squashed into an undershirt,and in the middle of the doughy mass wasa can of sardines. I had slept on my bagduring the night While I was about thetask of reclaiming two sandwiches fromthis mess. Ed sat up He arose from thehard floor with a smile and a cheery “Goodmorning, Bud ’’ He ran his hands roughlythrough his dark hair, cracked his bonesas he stretched, and yawned in a greatvoice“Yep. we’re on our way,” he sang out.I smiled at his exuberance.“Oh, food'”He made an exaggerated gesture of joy,though I could hardly down the stuff. Wesat on the floor and ate The country-sidewas grey, but it had a fresh smell and glis¬tened with a web of dew Night was dis¬solving over the edges of the earth, and thebright stain in the eastern sky spread up¬ward.“Are you just on the bum, Bud^“ Edasked me.“Yes. I’m going down to New Orleans totry to get a job around the docks ”“Is it tough going^’’“Sometimes. A young fellow can get bymost of the time All he had to do is combhis hair, then go up to back door and say‘Ma’am.’ He’ll get a better meal than thehusband does.”“I’ll tell my wife to have a good dinnerfor you if you ever come io our place," Edsaid.He thought that hair-combing businessa great joke I was rather surprised to hearthat he was married. He was only aboutmy age. a laughing kind of a fellow.“I’d like to get home by Saturday," hesaid. “The derby is on then”“That’s right. I’d like to see it.“They’re swell. I’ve seen lots of themMy wife likes to see the ponies run. Herfather owns a whole string of them She says that Cheyenne will leave them all inthe dust, but he won’t even get close toBuddy Boy..’’He went on speaking like this, in a veryanimated fashion, with his good-lookingdark face full of smiles. He invited me tostop at his house, and he told me that hecould get me in to see the derby withoutcost. He was a damn nice guy.“It will be good to get back.”He spoke as though he had come fromthe corners of the earth.“Where have you been. Ed?”“To Mayo Brothers. You know, inRochester, Minnesota.. I had a bad hip”“Mayo Brothers? Sure I know. I wasgoing up there to study medicine, but thedepression put a crimp into that idea.”“Is that right That’s a great place. Theysure fixed me up. And cheap, too. Look .He stood up and walked a little way;and I saw that though he swayed in the rat¬tling car, he did not limp. I told him asmuch, and he looked pleased.“You bet it’s better,” he said, trium¬phantly.When he sat down again, however, Inoticed that he crooked one leg beneathhim and left the other thrust out across thefloor."Ellen will be pleased now," he said.“She always wanted me to have it fixedup”"Oh, sure," I agreed. "Something likethat slows a fellow up”"Yeah, it cracked up on me about a yearago. I was out of work, and I took a jobin a factory to help things along. While Iwas there a fellow let a hand-truck packedwith machinery come rolling down a ramp,and it caught me against a wall. It wasn’tso bad after it healed up, and Ellen didn’tsay much; but things were theyweren’t the same”His forehead filled with a labyrinth ofwrinkles."She likes to go places, you know. Well,we couldn’t go to dances any more. Therewere lots of things we couldn’t do”“Sure," I said, “I know how it is. I hurtmy ankle in baseball once, and my girl¬friend . . .”He did not seem to hear me, for he brokeright in on my words; not rudely, though,but simply as if I had not been speaking. Ialmost felt that he was talking to himself."I don’t know. I always did all that Icould. I like to see her laughing and gay.I don’t know”He spoke in a low, bewildered voice, andlooked down at the floor."Her father’s rich, did you say?” I asked."Oh, yes, but that doesnt’ make any dif¬ference to her,” he said quickly."Oh, of course not. I didn’t mean that,”I said in confusion. I was denying exactlywhat I had meant."She’s fine—she’s one-hundred percent.""Sure," I said."It’s just that she likes to have nicethings and everything; on account of ourfriends, you know”“I know how it is.” I said."I’ve got a picture of her here.”He opened his wallet to a photograph ina yellow celluloid pocket and handed it tome. He watched me pretty sharply as Ilooked at it, so I was careful about my face.The shiny card showed her standing amongthe flowers before a wooden bungalow, a dark-haired girl with a fine figure. A dogsat at her feet, his fuzzy head thrust up¬ward along her thigh in the way that a doghas of pleading affection. She had an im¬perious smile. In her simple house dressshe looked like a stage beauty trying to playthe role of a rustic maid in a pastoral.I wanted to say something compli¬mentary about her. Ed expected me to,I know, because when I handed himback the wallet he took it with an eagersmile. But somehow I was not even think¬ing about her good looks.“Airedales sure are swell dogs,” I said.I felt pretty foolish when I said that.Ed must have thought that I was crazy. Butwhen I got to thinking about what I hadsaid, I knew that I had come mighty closeto what I really meant. “That’s my dog,”Ed had said when I was looking at thephotograph; and I had thought: “Your dog?No, not yours.”“She should have a better guy than me,shouldn’t she?”He laughed when he said it, but I don’tthink that he was kidding. He soundedanxious.I did not say anything. Every time Iopened my mouth I was putting my footin it. I unwrapped a stick of gum andwatched the country-side slipping by Thecorn was little more than short spikes inthe earth, and in the distance the fieldsmade patches of green and brown andblack. It was becoming warm with thebrightening sun. I thought about Ed, andI guess that he was thinking, too. WhenI looked over his shoulder I saw that helooked worried.“It would have been better if she hadstayed at my mother’s,” he said.I kept quiet, and watched him out ofthe side of my eye. A slow blush began tospread along his neck. He looked as thoughhe had said that without thinking. I pre¬tended to be watching a farmer behind hisplow.“You think that I’m jealous of her, don’tyou?”He was glaring at me suddenly. I bel¬lowed out, NO! horrified to think that hehad read my face so easily. But I don’tthink that that was it; he had hardly lookedat me. He must have been asking himself.But even as I looked at him the scowl wentoff his face, and a smile came across it likea warm breeze.“She likes lots of fun. And she’s goingto have plenty, too, from now on. We’llbe dancing by Saturday night.”You could have knocked me over with afeather. Here I was still confused by hisangry question, and already he was smiling.He must have suddenly satisfied his ownplagueing, otherwise he never could havegone in an instant from that black moodinto a gay.“She’ll stay with me now,” he said.I never saw a guy like him. It made mefeel funny; he had such a wild-lookingsmile on his face. The train was slowingdown, and I got up to look out of the door.We were coming to a town. When wegot passed the fringe of houses I saw thatwe were at Peru, the winter stop-off placefor the circuses. The clanging of the bellsounded very loud in the daylight. Thetrain began to slide off the main track intoa switch-yard, and when we climbed down,it went lumbering by us toward long linesof stalled cars. We were by the side of aPage Nine COMMENTconcrete highway that went passed housesgirded with lawns and lofty trees. Beforewe had gone far someone called roughly onus to stop. A burly man in a slouch hatconfronted us.“Where to, boys?”He spoke pleasantly enough, but his eyeswere hard.“We’re hitch-hiking to Louiseville,” Isaid glibly.The big man exploded the way detectivesdo when they catch you lying. They scareyou plenty.“Like hell you are! You just hopped offthat freight.”He looked grim. We didn’t say any¬thing, but just stood still and looked at himmeekly, bulking up above us.“This town is tough on bums. We givethem ten days or ten dollars. So you bet¬ter hit that road; and don’t let me catchyou near the tracks.’He didn’t look like a bluffer. He car¬ried a gun, and when I saw its steel handlegleaming beneath his coat I felt chilly. Wewalked away slowly, as though he werewrong about our climbing off a freight.When we got two blocks away he was stillwatching us.“Big stiff,” Ed said when we turned acorner.“Don’t worry, mister. We won’t let youcatch us around the tracks if we can helpit,” I said.We walked quickly through the town,passed the uptown district with its widered-stone streets, and came out on the op¬posite outskirts. Here the highway thathad plunged into the town behind con¬tinued out across rolling farm-lands. Ithought that we would try to flag a ridefrom a passing truck or auto, but Ed backeddown on my suggestion, and said that hewas not going to walk most of the way toLouisville.“1 want to get out of this burg as soonas possible,” he said.“Well,” I said dubiously. “There’s a pas¬senger train due in here in about an hour.We could take that, I guess, if we work itright.”“That’s swell. We’ll get down to Louis¬ville by tonight.”He walked off so fast that he began tolimp.“Take it easy, Ed. You’re limping.”“I guess it got cold during the night,”he explained.“Well, slow down. We’ve got an hour.”We went over to the tracks and walkedback about a mile to the depot. It was red¬brick and square, and looked like it mighthave been ordered out of a mail-order cat¬alogue. We took it slow, and kept on thefar side of the embarkment out of sight ofthe station.“Let’s wait here.”I sat down in some sweet-smelling grassand watched the birds on the telephonewires. Ed tried to take a nap, but hesquirmed and rolled all over the slope, andafter a while he sat up and watched thebirds with me. It must have been later thanI thought, because the train hooted beforewe had been there long. I stood up and sawthe passengers across the tracks gatheringup their bags from about their feet, andthen the long train came into view, its sidessteaming like a horse’s flanks in winter, andits bell clanging loudly.‘‘Wait until she starts up,” I said. ‘‘Thenrun and jump on her.” “Okay.”“You go first so that I can give you aboost.”“Okay, Bud,” he said.A minute passed while we watched thefeet of the passengers climbing aboard thetrain. Then the engine began to puff slow¬ly; her wheels turned tortuously, and sherolled toward us.“Now!”We scrambled up and ran for her. Theengineer gave us an indifferent glance andlooked ahead again, but I was kind of ex¬cited as I followed Ed up onto the ironshelf behind the coal tender. I was tight¬ening my grip on the grimy railing when Iheard a shout from the ground. A man wasrunning alongside the train. It was the de¬tective, waving his revolver and calling onus to get down or get shot.Ed moved quickly to the other side of theledge and leaped off the train. In an in¬stant I followed him, landing on the stonyground below. I turned around, expectingto see Ed running away, but I saw that in¬stead he was climbing up behind the sec¬ond car of the train. As he went pasthanging on to a narrow railing, he yelledat me to jump on. The quickness of it allcaught me flat-footed, and the train wasgoing too fast for me when I tried to geton. I was vainly reaching for a hold whenI heard a scream. An awful feeling cameover me, and I stumbled and nearly fellagainst the train as it swept by with an in¬creasing rush of wind. The long roaring linewas suddenly gone from before me. On theedge of the embarkment across the tracks Isaw a man leaning over something.It was the detective, I saw, and Ed. Hewas lying crumpled up, groaning. His facewas covered with scratches, and theyshowed in his scalp, too, where the hair hadbeen torn away. The detective sent meover to the station-agent to have him call adoctor When I left him he was kneelingthere, feeling of those parts of Ed wheremoist blotches were appearing through hisheavy over-alls.The ambulance came soon, its siren witha wild cry opening a lane in the crowd thathad gathered like flies at the sight of bloodTwo young fellows in uniform lifted Edonto a stretcher, where his figure, all blackand red, stood out sharply on the whitedazzling sheets. I rode up in front with thedriver, and listened to the doctor who talk¬ed to him from inside the car through anopen window. Ed’s moaning was deeperthan the humming of the motor, and everyonce in a while the rattling catches in histhroat took the doctor away from his con¬versation to sooth him.“It’s his hip that’s the worst,” the doc¬tor said once when he came back to thewindow.“Bad?” the driver asked in a dead voice.“Yeah. It looks like he won’t walk fora long time ... If he ever does.” he added.‘‘Is he a friend of yours?” he asked me.“Yes.”‘‘Youd’ better wire his folks,” he said.The ambulance pulled up beside thehospital. I went back to help with the cot.“Ed.”He rolled his head on the pillow towardme.‘‘How about sending a wire to your wifeto let her know?”His eyes were burning beneath thescreen of scratches.‘‘No, no. Don’t tell her. Don’t let her Hair“What did you learn then?” asked Alicetimidly.“Nothing!” shouted the Hatter angrily.“Really, you grow more stupid all thetime!”“That would be grand, certainly,” saidAlice thoughtfully, ’’but then—I shouldn’tlike it. you know.”“Not at first, perhaps,” said the Hatter,“but after awhile it’s all right. We bothliked it; until last February—just beforeHE went mad. you know” (pointing withhis teaspoon at the Dormouse).“It seems very nice.” said Alice, “butit’s RATHER hard to understand.” (Yousee. she didn’t like to confess, even to her¬self. that she couldn’t make it out at all.)“Somehow it seems to fill my head withideas—only I don’t exactly know what theyare! That’s very curious But everything’scurious today. However. SOMEBODY wentto school SOMEWHERE: that’s clear, atany rate—but Oh'” she thought, suddenlyjumping up, “if I don’t hurry I shall be latecoming home'” She was away in a moment,leaving the Mad Hatter and the Dormousein the wood.know. Bud.”“Okay, Ed.”I tried to face his look, but I couldn’t.COMMENT Page TenMann Hartshorne(Covtitiiird fro))i Page Seven)rectitude. But, and this is a mostimportant but. there is one factor thatcan transform this placid sheep in acap and gown into a reasoning, actinghuman being. When the student realizes,not through the medium of impersonalstatistics, but through actual contact withconditions outside the university, his hope¬less economic plight and that the most hecan expect is bare subsistence, then hewill be moved to do something about it.He has not been impressed by the hand¬writing on the wall, but he will learn fromactual want.THECHICAGOCOLLEGE PLANBy Chauncey S. BoucherThe first official report of the New Plan atthe University of Chicago, by the Dean of theCollege. Exactly what the New Plan is, is toldby documents, sample student programs, classschedules, faculty reports, and similar docu¬ments What it does is shown by examinationreports How it is accomplished is told by oneof the chief administrative officers with a keensense of philosophy behind it and a sympatheticunderstanding of the human problems involved.Published February 25364 pages, cloth, $3.00The University of Chicago Press (Continued from Page Two)of contrast, but with these variables in alltheir generality, and which employ themethod of imaginative experiment, whichdetermines not simply what happens butwhat can intelligibly be conceived, andhence what it is possible should happen.These are a few of the ways in whichall the sciences, together with philosophy,especially aesthetic philosophy, are movingtoward a new synthesis such as olderphilosophers could only dimly dream of, butwhich there is reason to think would givesome of them immeasurable delight couldthey be aware of it, and could they unify—and so harmonize—the immensely vitalcontrasts which, with all deep similarities,the new view exhibits in comparison to theold.DREAD IX GRIEFI ihhtk the world nuist evd trhen men(/roir mnie;W'lun mertiint/ thronfih a lahi/rinth ofdreams—Ilelierin<i the street music of calm verse—Rcrceirinfi over mofiic leaves of soundII is smolii/ fellotrs lost in sont/less sivirlsOf restless, raacoas turmoil in theirsphere,.1 pod's tonifue is stilled in silent painAnd s< uses the fat Hit p of song.—Donald Morris. Three minutes from campusYou’ll find a new restaurantyou’re bound to enjoy. Falk’sfeature fresh pastries bakedin their own kitchens andserved in delightful surround¬ings. You’ll find popularlypriced meals from extensivemenus, offered daily. Againwe say you’ll enjoy Falk’s.o o oYou are invited to investigateFalk’s special services andmenus for group parties.Falk’sRestaurantandBakery1449 East 57th StreetTo the PublicBreakfast—Luncheon—DinnerMcltingly delicious as only mealscan be when the food has beencarefully prepared in our kitchen.We ask your approval only onhighest quality and service ren¬dered at unusually moderateprices.BLACKSTONE HALLTEA ROOM5748 Blackstone Ave.Plaza 3313’’Croup Reservations Invited” Undergraduate . . . .(('outinaed from Page Eight)He is by nature a Prince among his fel¬lows. He might well say what jim Corbettsaid in reply to an exclamation, “jim, you’rea gentleman.”“I can afford to be,” was the reply. (Ed.note; He, too. was a Prince.)PHOENIX-lsthe University ofChicago HumorMagazine Special 20 % discount on allwork to studentsLaundering done on premisesWrightHand Laundry1315 East 57th StreetMidway 2073E A D “THE COLLECE ROOM”WHERE THE CAMPUSMEETS — AND EATSE R' S“THE CAMPUS DRUG STORE”61st and EllisFree—Fast—Delivery Campus Phone No. 9 or Fairfax 4800Page Eleven COMMENTTHORNTON WILDERHEAVEN’SMYDESTINATIONPrice $2.50You may think Heaven's My Destination as afantasy or satire, as richly comic or deeplytouching, BUT READ IT.It will be more discussed than any other novelof the year. Critics and public alike proclaimIt as the outstanding novel for 1935!WOODWORTH’SBOOK STORE Ma ir(CotitiuKcd froni Page Six)Oppressed by a fog in his brain, stewingin his own juices, john still drove his pen¬cil across the page. Aristocratic domina¬tion, implications of the machine age,catastrophic effects of the Industrial Revo¬lution, expansion of foreign markets, allwere ostentatiously used to their best ad¬vantage. Exhausted, sweaty of hand, john,the word-murderer, walked home, moredisgusted than usual.A beautiful boundmemory to carrywith you alwaysThe Cap and Gown Need a Typewriter?See the RemingtonNoiselessU. OF C. BOOKSTORE5802 Ellis Ave.THEDAILYMAROON EVERY OTHER THURSDAY NOW FEATURESA LITERARY PACE—BOOK REVIEWS—CRITICISM—THEATER—AND NEWS OFLOCAL LITERARY ACTIVITY.RESERVE YOUR THURSDAY COPY WEDNESDAYAT NEW YORK JIM'S MACAZINE STALL.WHEREWILL YOU FINDSTEAKS par excellence . . . cookedto a turn . . . and at prices that willastonish you?DRINKS of finest quality . . . pre¬pared by experts of the mixing art? We make a specialty of afternoon gatheringsand parties. Special low afternoon prices forsandwiches and drinks from the widest selec¬tion in south Chicago.Call Dorchester 0004 and make your groupreservations “arly. Louie will be there togreet you.Drop into the cocktaillounge anytime for aMartini, a Manhattan, oran Old Fashioned. Onlythe finest ingredientsused. DINNERS and SNACKS pleasing topalate and satisfying to eye?THE CAMPUS from the biggest bigshot to lowliest frosh gathered formidnight supper after formal danceor casual party?OF COURSE YOU’VE GUESSED ITonly at theSTEAK and CHOP HOUSE5475 Lake Park Ave.COMMENT Page Twelve