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The Sweet Briar 


No. 1 

November, 1909 




Sweet Briar Song (Poem). M. Pinkerton, '12 3 

A Sketch of Mrs. Indiana Fletcher Williams. L. 

M. Hooper, '10 4 

The Shadow-Child. M. Pinkerton, '12 9 

Fairies (Poem). /. Hurt, '11 13 

The Legend of Saint Hilda the Good. B. C. 

Shand, '12 14 

The Minuet (Poem). M. Pinkerton, '12 17 

A Eeverie. E. W. Grifjiin, '10 18 

The Wedding — A Monologue. M. P. Harris 21 

Editorials 24 

Athletics 27 

Y. W. C. A. Notes 30 

Social Notes 32 

Personals 36 

Rhyme and Reason 37 

/ 4-/ j 

15Mint$$ ^anager^ Announcement 

The Sweet Briar Magazine, which is conducted by the student 
body of Sweet Briar College, is at present published quarterly. 

We call the attention of our readers, and especially of the students, 
to the firms who advertise with us and who thus have contributed 
materially to the financial support of the magazine. We hope that in 
return the students will, as far as possible, give them their patronage. 

Subscription, $1.50 per year. Our advertising rates are, per year: 

One page $20.00 

Half page 15.00 

Quarter page 8.00 

Eighth page 5.00 

Payments for advertisements are due after the first issue of the 
magazine. All subscriptions must be paid in advance. 

Address all business communications to 

Margaret Browning, 

Sweet Briar College. 

Published Quarterly by the Students of Sweet Briar College 

Vol. 1 


No. I 

§>toeet IBrtar ^ong 

WEET BRIAR ! Sweet Briar ! the flower fair, 
The rose that on your crest you wear 
Shall never fade, but always bear 
Thy beauty, O Sweet Briar! 

Sweet Briar ! Sweet Briar ! thy columns white 
Shine on the hills, a beacon light 
Of truth to burn with radiance bright 
Forever, O Sweet Briar! 

Sweet Briar \ Sweet Briar ! we sing to thee, 
May thy foundations ever be 
Strong as thy hills ; thy purity 

That of thy rose, Sweet Briar! 

M. Pinkerton, '12. 


a ^betcf) of ^r0, SnOtana jHetcijer aniiliams 

[The editors of The Sweet Briar Magazine think it most fitting 
that a sketch of our founder, Mrs. Williams, should occupy a most 
prominent place in this the first issue of our college magazine. They 
think this because they feel that all who know and love Sweet Briar 
will feel a vital interest in the woman whose long-thought-of and 
cherished dream was the college which we know to-day, and that there- 
fore they will be glad to have this opportunity to read an authentic 
statement of the facts of her life.] 

was born in Lynchburg, Va. Her parents 
were Elijah Fletcher and Maria Crawford 
Fletcher, who had four children — Sidney, 
Lucien, Indiana and Elizabeth. Her 
paternal grandfather, who was a well-to-do 
farmer, lived in Burlington, Vt. He was very ambitious 
for his sons and gave them all excellent educations, but 
particularly Mr. Elijah Fletcher, who was graduated from 
Amherst College, Massachusetts. 

As his health was not at all strong, Mr. Fletcher, when a 
young man just out of college, determined to go South to 
live. Fortunately in Washington he was introduced by a 
Congressman from Vermont to the Hon. David Garland, 
who then represented this district of Virginia. Then it was 
that Mr. Garland, in helping Mr. Fletcher choose a home in 
Virginia, advised him to come to New Glasgow. 

Mr. Fletcher, pleased with his suggestion, soon after ar- 
ranged his affairs and set the day for his departure. As an 
evidence of his pluck and determination it is said that he 
even walked from Washington to New Glasgow in order to 
see and study the country. He carried only the bare neces- 
sities for the trip tied up in a large bandanna handkerchief, 
while his baggage followed him by wagon. 


In New Glasgow he was offered the principalship of the 
academy, which he accepted. As he was admirably adapted 
to the profession he had chosen by native taste and education, 
he taught for several years with great success. 

It was in New Glasgow that he met the beautiful Miss 
Maria Crawford, whom he later married. Her family was 
very prominent in this part of Virginia. Her father, who 
was Clerk of Amherst County, was a wealthy and influential 
citizen. Many of the same Crawford family, who after- 
wards moved South, were also distinguished people. 

Shortly after Mr. Fletcher came South to live, one of his 
brothers moved West, and finally settled in Indiana, where 
as a banker he became a very wealthy man. He was the 
founder of the Fletcher National Bank, now one of the 
largest financial institutions in that state. This Western 
brother, in compliment to Mr. Fletcher's adopted state, 
called one of his daughters Virginia, and, in return, Mr. 
Elijah Fletcher named his daughter Indiana. However, 
Mrs. Williams never liked the name, and always softened it 
to "Indie." 

Mr. Fletcher a few years previous to this had moved to 
Lynchburg. Here he established the Lynchburg Virginian, 
at that time the most influential Whig paper of this section 
of the state. He was a man of wide influence, a vestryman 
of St. Paul's Church in Lynchburg, and at the same time 
greatly interested in the church at Amherst. 

He, too, gave his children the very finest opportunities for 
education to be had at that time. His sons, Sidney and 
Lucien, were sent to Yale; his daughters, Indiana and 
Elizabeth, first to a convent near Georgetown, then to St. 
Agnes, Bishop Doane's celebrated school in Albany. After 
this the girls with their brother Sidney went abroad to study 
in Paris. At the end of several years spent there, they took 


an extended tour through Italy, Egypt, Russia and England. 
They returned home probably reckoned among the most 
extensive tourists of their day. 

Miss Indiana Fletcher was considered a wonderful per- 
former on the harp, while her sister, Elizabeth, was equally 
proficient on the piano. Soon after their return to America, 
a concert for charitable purposes was given in Lynchburg. 
Both girls took part and many people remember, even to-day, 
how wonderful their music was considered. 

Mr. Fletcher's family, at this time, lived alternately at 
Sweet Briar and at their town home in Lynchburg. When 
any social functions were given in the latter place the young 
ladies were driven into the city in their old family coach, 
drawn by four handsome gray horses. 

Scarcely had the young ladies been fairly launched into 
society, after their return from Europe, when the death of 
their mother occurred ; then, only a few years later, that of 
their father. Before their mourning was laid aside the war 
came on; hence, even as a young girl, Mrs. Williams went 
into society very little. She, however, had some very dear 
friends in New York — the Misses Williams, whom she invited 
to visit her at Sweet Briar. It was here that she met their 
brother, a young minister, who had come down to escort his 
sisters home. 

This brother fell deeply in love with Miss Indiana, and for 
a time, even, they were engaged to be married. Later, be- 
cause of some misunderstanding, she discarded him, and 
accordingly Mr. Williams determined to sail for Europe. 
Repenting at the last moment, however, she not only ordered 
her florist to decorate his stateroom with emblematic flowers, 
but had a note delivered to him after the ship had gotten well 
under sail. Mr. Williams wrote a most appreciative letter 
from the other side and the matter was made up. Before he 


recrossed the ocean, however, the Civil War had stopped 
communication, and thus during the long, dreary years of 
war they knew nothing of each other. 

In the early part of June, 1865, as soon as the cessation of 
hostilities made it possible, Mr. Williams made a most unex- 
pected appearance at Sweet Briar. Their marriage was ar- 
ranged to take place in August, by which time they expected 
that the railroad would be repaired, thereby making travel to 
the North possible. Accordingly they were married in Lynch- 
burg early in the morning of a day late in August, 1865. 
The ceremony was a very quiet one, with only a few people 

As Mr. Williams retired from active ministry after their 
marriage, for a number of years, they were able to divide 
their time between their homes in Sweet Briar and New 
York. It was at Sweet Briar that their daughter, Daisy 
Williams, was born in 1867. As she grew older and her 
education required it the family spent more and more time 
in New York. She was a remarkably bright, simple and 
lovable little girl ; and, as she was their only child, in her 
was centered all the affection and hopes of her parents. 

- We can imagine how happy her life at Sweet Briar must 
have been, and how congenial her occupations. In writing 
to her mother, who was in New York several times while 
Daisy remained at Sweet Briar, we get little glimpses of her 
daily life. Her time seems to have been occupied indoors 
chiefly, with her tutors and music teachers, or in practising 
upon her much-loved harp. Out of doors, she spent a great 
part of her time among her flowers, in long rides around the 
country with her father, and in visits to her aunt, Mrs. 
Mosby, who lived at St. Angelo. The child's health, however, 
seems never to have been very good, which fact was a source 
of constant anxiety to her parents. 


The life of the family at Sweet Briar seems to have been 
almost ideal. As they were all musical, their quiet life here 
gave them the opportunity to indulge their taste to the fullest 
extent. One of their greatest pleasures was to spend whole 
evenings playing together, Mr. Williams on the flute, Mrs. 
Williams at the harp, and Daisy at the piano. 

Mrs. Williams, not only gifted by nature but also fitted 
by education and travel, was a fine conversationalist and a 
woman of finished manners. She was well equipped to enjoy 
society, but her anxiety for her daughter's health prevented 
her from taking an active part in it. This anxiety was un- 
fortunately well founded, for her daughter's death occurred 
when she was only seventeen years old. This, followed 
closely by the death of her husband, was a blow from which 
she never recovered. Thus it is that the latter years of her 
life were such sad ones ; that she did not mingle in society, 
and saw very little of anyone other than her nearest friends. 
These latter years of her life, however, were not spent en- 
tirely at Sweet Briar ; for, as she was not at all strong, 
hence needing care and attention, she lived for several years 
with a dear friend in Amherst. Here in the midst of a 
large family, several of whom were musicians, she lived a 
very congenial and comparatively happy life. In the early 
fall she had gone back to Sweet Briar, but was preparing to 
return to Amherst when her death occurred, October 29, 

To the last day of her life her every thought and action 
were directed towards one end, which was the founding of 
a school as a memorial to her daughter. This idea appeared 
in her will, the fulfillment of which has laid the foundation 
for our college. Louise M. Hooper. 

Note. — I am greatly indebted to Captain and Mrs. Payne, of Am- 
herst, for the facts contained in this paper. 


Wbt ^J)aDoto*CJrilO 

OR a long time I had heard, on the far side 
of the hedge, a scraping among the dead 
leaves, and in the pauses a child's voice 
singing wordless songs. The singer, I 
thought, must be the gardener who had 
tied up the ragged cosmos flowers that 
yesterday had sprawled over the ground in the box-circle where 
I sat. At the thought, I saw it was true, for a child came 
through the opening in the hedge, brushing the leaf-mould 
from her short skirts and pushing back long curls from a 
high forehead, and blue eyes set far apart. She sat on the 
ground beside the crumpled flowers and began to smooth the 
pink petals through her earth-stained fingers. 

"Do you live here ?" I asked, for I had thought the house 
empty and its owners dead. The child quickly raised her 
face with a faint surprise in her wide eyes. She looked 
down the green box-walk, through the dark yew-tree arch at 
the closed shutters of the house beyond, before she answered — 

"Do you allow people to go through the house V I went on. 

"Yes ; let me show it to you," she smiled, almost eagerly. 

The child ran before me down the walk, where she waited 

on the porch, beside the door which was half-opened on a 

dark, cool hall. We went in and started up the white-railed 

stairs, but on the lowest step she checked me. 

"Somebody told me once," she began shyly, "that a little 


girl lived here a long time ago — a little girl who died. Let's 
pretend I am that little girl, and you are visiting me in this 
house ?" 

As I preceded her up the stairway — 

"Remember," she laughed, "that you've just come in your 
old coach, and it's waiting for you now by the turn in the 
hedge. Can't you hear the horses stamping?" 

We waited in the dim silence of the upper hall until I 
fancied I heard hoofs pawing the hard clay road. I could 
see nothing in the gloom, but the child found a door-knob 
beside me. We entered a room, where I waited in the dark- 
ness while the child ran to open the shutters. 

"This," she began, as I stood dazzled by the sudden rush 
of sunlight, "is the best bedroom." 

As my eyes grew accustomed to the light I saw a tall 
four-poster with flowered curtains. There was fresh matting 
on the floor and pink cosmos flowers in a glass jar. 

"Do you like it ?" she asked eagerly. "JSTow we'll go to 
my room." 

We went down the stairs, past a tall gilt mirror, and paused 
at a half-open door. 

"This is the library, but we can't go in. Papa's in there 

We tiptoed hastily by, but I turned my head and through 
the crack saw a man's shoulder bent over a table. 

"Was this the little girl's?" I asked as we went into the 
dark, close-shut room. 

"Yes," said the child softly. "But you're forgetting. It's 
my room and my desk and my flowers in the windows." As 
she spoke heavy furniture stood out dimly among the shadows, 
and the light in the square panes came through green leaves 


and pink transparent petals of flowers. The child called me 
to the bed and I saw that it was heaped with little piles of 
linen and silk and satin, folded and uncut. 

"These were hers," she said gently. 

"The other little girl's ? She had a great many lovely 

"Yes," the child replied slowly, "but I think she would 
rather have had some other children to play with." 

I had forgotten our game in thinking of the other girl, 
who would have been almost an old woman now if she had 
lived. I looked across at the child, who stood on the other 
side of the bed, folding a piece of pink-sprigged lawn. She 
looked up with a little start when I said — 

"Shall we go on?" 

"Oh, yes," she smiled; "I'll show you my harp." 

I followed her through the hall again into a room of dim 
furniture wrapped in linen covers. She lifted a corner of 
one to show me the bright brocade beneath. A great square 
piano filled one angle of the room, and beside it the gold 
harp frame showed through its worn green cover. The 
child patted the torn case. 

"Do you play on it much?" I asked. 

"I did. I mean I haven't practiced much, and some of 
the strings are broken. Come over here and I'll show you 
the Japanese cabinet." 

She started across the room and I turned to follow her, 
but stopped to look again at a picture that I had seen first 
only as the vague outline of a face. It grew clear now as 
the portrait of a child — a little girl with long, quaint curls 
and a gentle face. I looked from it to the child coming back 


from the cabinet. A little wind banged the shutter to, and in 
the sudden twilight that it made I could see her only as a 
shadow among the shadows. 

"Is that the picture of the little girl — ?" I began, and 

"That died," finished the child, "and that you didn't 
know in the garden, and everybody else that comes here 
knows ? So when I saw you didn't I thought I'd pretend I 
was real." She looked wistfully around the room in which 
she had been real. 

We walked silently back to where the door we had entered 
opened on the sunlight. Outside under the yew-tree arch 
the child looked back once before she was lost among the 
boxwood. Behind me the door swung open on a bare and 
empty room. 



OLL back, roll back, ye vapory mists, 

From the vales which now you clothe, 
And show me the dell where the fairies dwell, 

And the elves and trolls repose. 
Where night by night, by the moonbeam bright, 
They chatter and dance with delight, 
And day by day at the dawn's first ray 
They scamper and vanish away. 

Show me the place where the rivulet flows 
Over rock, over sand, and through dell; 

Where the elf doth float his yellow-leaf boat 
Round the coves he loves so well. 

And night by night by his fire-fly light 

He steers and rows with his might, 

While day by day he moors, so they say, 

In some dark subterranean bay. 

Show me the place where the moss-carpet lies 

So soft, so cool and so green; 
Where round and round as the valleys resound 

They chant the praise of their queen. 
Where night by night with their fairy-feet white 
They dance fairy dances so light, 
And day by day the long slanting ray 
Hunts in vain for some mischievous fay. 

Jennie Huet, '11. 



Cf)e Legend of ^aint ^ilDa tfje aooD 

; TIRING the reign of Edward VI the Prot- 
estants, being eager to establish the new 
religion and demolish the old, wrought 
great ruin to the ecclesiastical buildings of 
England. Not the least of these to suffer 
was Whitby Abbey, that venerable edifice 
in western Yorkshire, where many years before Saint Hilda 
the Good had lived a pious life, serving the Lord in prayer 
and fasting, never turning away the poor from her door. 
Such in fact was her piety and the power of her spirituality 
that when she prayed the very snakes around Whitby turned 
to stone. 

However, the Protestants, ignoring all this in their 
religious zeal, burned the beautiful building and turned 
away its inmates. The chapel of Saint Mary, alone, they 
left standing, but broke its exquisite stained windows, white- 
washed the walls, and erected huge wooden tablets upon 
which the commandments were painted, in the space where 
the statues of the blessed Virgin and other saints had stood. 
IJor the priests they substituted a minister, who wore no sur- 
plice and used the new "Book of Common Prayer," instituted 
by Edward in place of the missal of former days which the 
good Saint Hilda had so earnestly read. Could this be right ? 
the people questioned among themselves, though they did not 
dare to protest openly, for Warwick's tyranny was well 
known throughout England, and many a faithful Catholic 
had been burned for his religious beliefs. 


On one particular evening, as the parishioners slowly 
climbed the hundred and ninety-nine stone steps leading to 
Saint Mary's, they could not but feel a strangeness in the 
air. The uncanny sea fret which enveloped everything, and 
hid the red tiled roofs below, had a mystery about it which 
seemed to foretell the occurrence of something momentous. 
Would the so-called reformers come and burn the v chapel as 
they had burned the abbey? Hardly, for the Protestants 
had not only placed their own minister there, but had forced 
on the people the new and unfamiliar religion. On the 
parishioners came, unable to banish this presentiment. They 
entered the church silently saying the prayers which they 
had learned in the days gone by — the prayers which their 
fathers before them had loved, yet the prayers which they 
dared not now openly use. 

When the minister had read the English service he as- 
cended to the pulpit, where he began his sermon. In this 
sermon he upheld the new beliefs and condemned the ancient 
church, the prayers to the Virgin and saints, the celebration 
of mass, and all of the traditions made sacred by age. And 
the voice of him who preached arose through a strange, still 
silence, a leaden silence of disapprobation and sadness. This 
silence was the spirit of Saint Hilda the Good. Because 
they must listen to this usurper upbraiding the faith of their 
fathers, rebellion burned in their hearts and bewilderment 
was written on every face. Would Heaven suffer this to 
go on? 

Although there was no wind, the heavy oaken door, creak- 
ing on its old hinges as though it alone dared to protest 
against this outrage, slowly opened. In rolled a cloud of 
sea fret. The sacristan closed the door, but the mist instead 
of flitting away became more and more dense and gathered 


blackness around it, finally taking the form of a mm dressed 
in her black robes and white linens. The preacher paused in 
terror, not knowing what to do, but the people fell on their 
knees, for they knew that their patron saint had returned to 
them in time of their greatest need. On finding her children 
listening to these words of heresy and schism, her beautiful 
eyes, which were filled with reproach and entreaty, seemed to 
call out to them to return to the faith she had taught their 
fathers, yet she said not a word. In fear and trembling the 
preacher descended from the pulpit and fled down the 
hundred and ninety-nine steps, never to return. As slowly 
as she had come did the holy nun vanish into the air. The 
people, left to themselves, began to chant the litany of the 
saints as had been their custom in days gone by. And their 
chanting arose through a strange, still silence, a golden silence 
of beatitude and love. This silence was the spirit of Saint 
Hilda the Good. 

Barbara C. Shand. 



C&e Minuet 

LIPPEE'D feet that lightly go, 
Graceful bow and curtsy low, 
On the measure stately, slow, 
Of the minuet. 

Falling scarf and flutt'ring lace 
Float and fly with airy grace 
On the tripping, even pace 
Of the minuet. 

Merry hearts that gayly beat 
To the tune of dancing feet, 
Moving through the music sweet 
Of the minuet. 

Grace of days that now are dead, 
Charm of hours that long since fled, 
Come again in stately tread 
Of the minuet. 

Mary Pinkerton, '12. 



a l&etoene 

[LAM! bang!" went the door of the chicken 
house as small William Romney stepped 
over the threshold and violently closed it. 
"Everybody here ? Let me see. One, two, 
three, four, five, six, seven, eight. That's 
right," exclaimed William. "Gee, but 
you're a fine lot of turkeys ! 'Rastus, you're a peach, old 
fellow, and I'm going to save you for our Thanksgiving 
dinner. The rest of you boys I'm going to sell, but, oh, you 
'Rastus, the cook's going to chop off your head in the morn- 
ing. No, I'm sorry, but it can't be helped, for you yourself 
know that day after to-morrow will be Thanksgiving. Good 
night; sweet dreams." 

With this monologue finished, William pushed open the 
door, went out, and began to lock up with exceeding great 
care. "For," thought he, "I can't take any chances on losing 
my prize turkeys to-night." 

After the key had been given a final twist and the sound 
of William's disappearing whistle showed that he was near- 
ing the house, poor old turkey 'Rastus lost his proud look of 
indifference. Was it really true that this was to be his last 
night on earth? Yes, it must be, for William had said so in 
his most serious way, and William knew better than anyone 

Alas, alas, if he could only live the last six months over 
again ! To think his mother had always warned him of this 


untimely death, and he had never really believed it. Thanks- 
giving ! He had learned that dread word in his first vocabu- 
lary, but its deep significance had never appealed to him 
before as it did now. Well, since he had but little time left, 
let him spend it in the best way possible. Perhaps he had 
better try to develop faith in the religious doctrines he had 
heard, but which, woe to him, he had carelessly disregarded. 
Thank goodness, William had given him time to repent and 
to turn his thoughts turkey-heavenward. 

'Rastus remembered that when his mother has received her 
final warning, that she, pious turkey that she was, began at 
once to enumerate all of her petty faults and ask forgiveness 
for them. Accordingly, since he had now received his death 
warrant, he resolved to follow her example. 

In the first place, the very earliest thing he could recall 
was a scolding he had received for pecking one of his little 
brothers. That always had been a great fault of his — an 
eagerness to fight on each and every occasion. And in this 
case he had started a fight without the least provocation. 
Again, from youth up he had been inclined to be greedy. 
Oh, how he remembered the sound whipping he had gotten 
for snatching away from poor old Mr. Bill Turkey the piece 
of food the latter had found! Such a lesson ought to have 
cured him, but it didn't. Too late he realized that he had 
always been greedy, and not only greedy, but vain as well. 
Vanity, vanity ! He had been naught but vanity ! He could 
see himself spreading his beautiful feathers and proudly 
strutting ahead of the rest of the flock. It was queer, queer, 
that this admiration he had so cherished in the past should 
now be the cause of his death. 

But, oh, he had overlooked one of his worst traits — the 
dreadful habit of flirting. How could he have been so cruel ! 


To think of the number of hearts he had wounded by a 
single glance, and then left to break for lack of further ones ! 
Only yesterday had he been responsible for the breaking off 
of an engagement. True, he hadn't meant to break it off 
seriously, for with him flirting was merely a pleasant pastime. 
Never mind. He was going to die to-morrow and matters 
might be mended after his death. 

Here two great tears flowed down his beak and interrupted 
his train of thought. Brushing these away with a feather, 
he sadly remarked to himself that there would be no sleep for 
him that night. But Providence is kind to animals as well 
as to human beings, so it was not long before 'Rastus, over- 
come by such unusual emotions, fell into an exhausted 

Thanksgiving day dawned bright and clear. Services were 
over and everyone was happy in his expectations of dinner. 
Especially was this true at the Romney house, where Mr. 
Romney, with William a close second, triumphantly led his 
guests into the dining room and pointed with pride to the 
deliciously roasted turkey before his plate. 

"My, my," said the parson, rubbing his hands, "what a 
beautiful bird! How grateful we should be that the turkey 
was created brainless so that we could kill and eat him with- 
out a scruple of conscience." 

But alas ! All of this shows how little man really knows. 
Eugenia Whyte Gkiffin, '10. 


"€J)e eOeDDing"— a Monologue 

>OW d'ye do, Mis' Jones? I jest bin over 
ter see Mis' Banks, an' I 'lowed I'd come 
over an' tell ye the news. 'Spose ye don't 
know erbout the weddin'. Hit's been kep' 
a secret, but Mis' Banks she told me an' 
told me not ter tell nobody, so ye mustn't 
breathe it to a soul, 'cause hit goin' ter be a surprise. It's 
Sarie Anne Banks' weddin' an hit's goin' to come off soon as 
ever she gits her new white frock done, an' that'll be next 
week some time. 

"You'd never guess till the cock crows, Mis' Jones, who 
'tis she a-goin' ter marry, an' I can't tell ye neither, 'cause 
I promised not ter. But if ye promise, 'pon yer word an' 
honor, not ter tell a human, I'll tell ye right now, 'cause I 
know ye'r sure ter hear it sooner or later, an' hit mout as 
well be me as tells yer as anybody else. Hit's that town 
boy, Harry, what's been sparkin' yore gal Mamie. Now, 
Mis' Jones, ev'rybody's been thinkin' sure Harry an' 
Mamie'd make a match of it; but 'tain't always what yer 
think's goin' ter happen as always happens. Anyhow, it's 
mighty plain that Mamie's in love with him, an' I'm bound 
she'll be powerful broke up over it, so yer better not say 
nothin' to 'er about it, Mis' Jones, lessen ye think ye better 
kinder prepare 'er for it by degrees. Pore gal, hit's mighty 
bad ter have a disappointed love affair. I know some'n 'bout 
it myself; but mine didn't happen jest in this way, 'cause 
my beau he died; an' from that day tell this I ain't never 


had no use for a man. I says ter m'self then that I'd be a 
old maid the longest day I lived, an' I been true ter m'self 
in that promise. 

"Pore Mamie, she shore is got my sympathy, 'cause hit's 
as shore ter break 'er heart as hit's dark when night comes. 
Now, Mis' Jones, I jest thought yer oughter know this 'fore 
it come on ye unawares. Anything comin' sudden-like's 
bound ter be terrible, an' I think ter m'self that the blow'd 
most kill Mamie, let it come anyway it might, an' ter ease it 
up er little I'd let er know afore hand. 

"How do I know all this, Mis' Jones ? Why, hit's as 
plain as two an' two's four. Didn't I go in on 'em a-makin' 
Sarie Anne a fine white frock like no gal has 'ceptin' at her 
weddin', an' didn't I hear 'em a-talkin' when they didn't 
know I'd come in : 'Sarie, you sho' will look fine in this 
frock,' says her ma, 'an' with them white slippers an' gloves 
an' them pretty flowers, all the folks won't hardly know ye. 
I seen Harry up town this mornin',' says Mis' Banks, 'an' 
he wus er astin' erbout ye.' 

"Then, Mis' Jones, I coughed, 'cause I didn't want ter 
be a-hearin' things as wasn't meant fer my ears, so I jest 
coughed kinder soft-like, an' made out I'd jest come in. You 
jest oughter seen how quick ev'rything wus hushed up. I 
seen they wus try in' ter hide ev'rything, so I jest walks right 
into the room where Mis' Banks an' Sarie Anne wus. On 
the bed, kivered up with a sheet, wus a big pile of some'n; 
'course I knowed what 'twas, but I didn't let on. I jest walks 
up ter the bed an' kinder raises up the sheet an' say, 'Land 
sakes, Sarie, ye must be a-goin' ter git married,' says I ; an' 
then she jest owns right square up an' says, 'Yes, some time ; 
don't tell nobody, though, 'pon yer word an' honor.' An' 
'course, Mis' Jones, I wouldn't tell nobody 'ceptin' you. 


Then I ast 'er pint blank if Harry wus ter be the groom, 
an' she turned red as er beet an' says, 'Yes, Harry's ter be 
the groom,' says she ; an' then I hurries over ter tell you'uns, 
'cause my heart was jest er ackin' fer Mamie, pore gal. 

"Now I must be goin' Mis' Jones ; I have ter stop at the 
Kimsey's on er little business, an' at Squire Anderson's, 
'fore I go home. 'Spect Squire Anderson'll marry Sarie 
an' Harry. I don't mean ter say nothin', Mis' Jones, but I 
mean ter keep my ears open while I'm there, an' if I git on 
ter anything by accident I'll come right over in the mornin' 
an' let ye know. 

"Come over, Mis' Jones, an' tell Mamie ter come; she'll 
always be welcome at my house, 'cause I know all erbout 
these here disappinted love affairs." 

It created some little excitement in Mapleton a few days 
later, and perhaps a little surprise on the part of a certain 
village gossip, when the Gazette announced the approach- 
ing marriage of Miss Mamie Jones and Mr. Harry Martin, 
at the home of the bride's mother — Miss Sara Anne Banks 
to act as maid of honor, and only attendant to the bride. 

M. P. H. 


Jennie Hurt Editor-in-Chief 

Associate Editors: 
Eugenia W. Griffin Annie M. Powell 

Frances P. Murrell Mart B. Pinkerton 

Margaret Browning Business Manager 

Eugenia M. Buffing ton Assistant Business Manager 

In this our first issue we have admitted much which 
reviews the past three years of our college life. We have 
done this because we feel that it will be of 
The Magazine, especial interest to the old students who are 
no longer with us. If, however, in doing 
this it should appear to some that we are overimbued with 
the spirit of Sweet Briar, let them attribute this seeming con- 
ceit to that interest which we feel that our older students 
have in the affairs of our college life. 

There are two articles in this number to which we wish 
to call especial attention : "A Sketch of Mrs. Indiana Fletcher 

Williams" and "The Shadow-Child." Most of 
Articles us have never had access to an accurate account 
in This of the founding of our college. We have known 
Number, simply that the founder, Mrs. Williams, died in 

the year 1900, leaving her estate for the establish- 
ment of a college, which should stand as a memorial to her 
daughter. Around these facts have gathered innumerable 
stories of the founder and her family, all of which have 
come to us only indirectly. Because we know that these 
accounts are quite unsatisfactory we have taken this oppor- 
tunity of getting at the true facts of the matter. 


We wish to thank the contributors of this article for 
aiding us in the publication of what we believe to be an 
accurate narrative of the life of our beloved founder. 

For those who are not familiar with the traditions of 
Sweet Briar "The Shadow-Child" will have but little signifi- 
cance. On the other hand, everyone who has seen the circle 
of boxwood, where the cosmos bloom in the fall, the yew 
trees, the dark halls and winding stairs, the big harp now 
silent, and that picture of the sad-faced little girl — in fact 
everyone who has heard the story of Daisy Williams and her 
quiet life at Sweet Briar will realize at once that she is in 
reality the Shadow-Child not only of this story, but of Sweet 
Briar as well. This child thus represented as a shadow- 
child is to us in many ways a real child. 

For very obvious reasons it will be seen that in this issue 
we have omitted our exchange department. Because we 

recognize the importance of this department, 
Exchanges, however, we wish in the future to make this a 

very distinct phase of our magazine. We wel- 
come, therefore, the publications of other institutions, which 
we shall be glad to acknowledge in our next issue. 


We wish to remind our students that the board of editors 
depends upon them for their support and cooperation. If 

the students will remember that the staff is 
Appeal for not chosen by them to produce a creditable 
Cooperation, magazine, but to collaborate and publish the 

very best thoughts of the students themselves, 
we believe that they will assume an individual responsibility 
which will result in the contribution of their very best efforts. 


There is in the very nature of our surroundings a certain 
breadth and freshness which, we believe, is reflected in our 
college life. The student, though perhaps 
The Sweet Briar unconsciously, is in a way influenced by 
Spirit. our broad open fields, our rolling hills 

and vast forests upon which she gazes 
day after day, while the freshness of these fields unfurrowed 
by the plow, and of these woods which the saw has not yet 
entered, has also its effect upon the individual. These in- 
fluences, we believe, tend to produce a certain sympathy, 
tolerance, and originality among our students which char- 
acterizes the Sweet Briar spirit. May this spirit be displayed 
not only in our dealings with each other, but in our relations 
with other students and other colleges. 



Our Athletic Association, as the first-year girls will 
remember, dates from the fall of the year 1906. During 
that first year very little of importance took place. It is 
true that we had two tennis courts, two boats and a basket- 
ball field, but we had only one class, the freshman class, 
and therefore no interclass games. The lack of contests, of 
course, made the activities of the association rather dull and 
uninteresting. But the very fact of the present prosperity 
of our organization grows out of that small beginning of the 
first year. 

If the old students could come back to see us now, they 
would, indeed, be astonished to see what we are doing, for 
we not only have class basket-ball teams, but regular annual 
events, which keep the association alive with interest by 
calling forth the class and college spirit of every student. 

Last spring, on the 5th of April, we celebrated our first 
Field Day. To increase enthusiasm in competition the 

faculty presented the association with a hand- 
Field Day. some silver cup. From that time on, every girl 

who had entered the lists worked with renewed 
energy in order to have her name engraved upon the trophy. 
Everyone who saw the ardent zeal and interest, which were 
displayed by the classes with their songs and yells on that 
noteworthy day, predicts that Field Day will always hold an 
important place among the other annual events at Sweet 


The following contests took place : 

Basket-bal] game, College vs. Preps ; running high jump; 
running broad jump; standing broad jump; hop, step and 
jump; hurdles; hundred-yard dash. 

This fall boating and tennis were made separate organi- 
zations of the Athletic Association. The Boat Club, which 

was reorganized with a renewed interest, can 
Boat Club, now boast of a longer list of members than ever 

before. The old students, no doubt, will be 
both glad and surprised to hear that we have at last obtained 
the object of our wish, for during the summer months, under 
the kindly offered supervision of Mr. Dew and Mr. Manson, 
a much appreciated boat house was built. This house is not 
only large enough for quite a number of boats, but contains 
four or five dressing rooms for those who enjoy swimming. 
We are now looking forward to the spring days, when we 
can enjoy the swimming even more than we did during the 
few warm days of fall. 

Last May we had our first tennis tournament, which did 
much toward stimulating additional interest in the club. 

It was, indeed, an inspiring sight on those 
Tennis Club, beautiful spring days to see the faculty and 

students out on the campus cheering the 
players who participated eagerly in the series of both singles 
and doubles. This fall the Tennis Club has more than a 
hundred members, who, as soon as the basket-ball season is 
over, will begin to look forward to the spring tournament. 
It will be necessary for the association to provide some new 
courts in order to give every member a chance to play. 


We have now three basket-ball teams — the Senior-Soph, the 
Junior-Fresh and the Special or Sub. team. A schedule is 

followed by which three match games are 
Basket-Bali, played every week. Since the teams are so 

evenly matched we may expect a hard fight 
for the championship on Thanksgiving, for each team seems 
to be filled with the determination to win. 

We have noticed that golf has not been so popular with 
the students this fall. Perhaps the lack of interest in this 

sport is the result of our increasing interest in the 
Golf, more exciting games of basket-ball and tennis. We 

feel, however, that our wide expanse of campus offers 
us an opportunity for enjoying golf as few other college 
students can. We hope, therefore, that the students will, 
as far as they are able, take advantage of this delightful and 
at the same time healthful sport. 

ISTow that we have most of our organizations in good 
working order, we feel that we can turn our attention in 
another direction. We want a hockey field. This 
Hockey, wish, we feel sure, will be satisfied before the 
year 1909-'10 draws to a close, because we believe 
that every student in the association will give us her 
individual support in this new undertaking. 


£♦ W. €♦ & Jftotes 

On September 22, 1909, the Y. W. C. A. gave a reception 
to the students of Sweet Briar. The new arrivals were 
piloted by the old girls to the Administration Building, 
where Dr. Benedict and the faculty received. After a short 
time spent in the hospitable parlors the faculty and students 
adjourned to the Refectory, where they were received by 
the Y. W. C. A. cabinet, and entertained by the association 
members during the rest of the evening. 

Barbara Lawerence, who was elected president of our 
association last May, did not return this year. At the first 
business meeting held in September Loulie Wilson, already 
vice-president, was elected president in her place, and Frances 
Matson vice-president for the year 1909-'10. 

The first weekly meetings in October were taken up with 
reports from the Sweet Briar delegates to the Asheville con- 
ference, held in June. The reports were very interesting 
and instructive. Through our delegates to Asheville con- 
tact with so many other associations has tended to broaden 
our work and point of view, and has forced upon us the 
realization that we are not an isolated association, but part 
of a great whole, comprising thousands of members and 
extending into every quarter of the globe. If all the girls 
who last year responded so promptly and generously to our 
appeal for individual contributions could have heard the 
two reports, there would be none to doubt that what we have 
gained in enthusiasm and practical help has repaid to the 
fullest extent the great effort we exerted to raise the neces- 
sary funds for our representatives. 


Our various committees, whose work was somewhat de- 
layed by the changes in officers, are now working in good 

The Membership Committee, which began its work in 
the summer months by writing letters of welcome to the in- 
coming students, has continued to create interest in the asso- 
ciation, and has enlisted a large number of new members. 

The Extension Committee, formed only last year, is 
forging ahead and doing good work among the maids. Regu- 
lar evening classes taught by the students have been organized 
for the maids. We wish to appeal to every member of our 
association for her interest and practical support in this 
newest phase of our work. 

On Sunday, November 7th, after the evening chapel 
service, a number of the girls gathered together in the Blue 
Parlor to enjoy the music and reading which the Social Com- 
mittee had planned. Dr. Harley read one of Kipling's new 
stories, after which Isabel Cornwall, accompanied by 
Henrietta Washburn, rendered violin selections from "II 
Trovatore." Hereafter these very informal gatherings will 
be held before an open wood fire in the parlor of Randolph 
Hall. The Social Committee cordially invites everyone, 
whether a member of the association or not, to come and 
enjoy the evening with them. 

Since we have found that so much of our success depends 
upon close contact with other associations, we have taken 
advantage of our earliest opportunity to send delegates to the 
Student Council to be held in Richmond, Va., November 
11th to 14th. The delegates appointed by the cabinet to 
represent Sweet Briar are Loulie Wilson, Isabel Cornwall 
and Mary Tandy. 


Social i2otes 

The first social event of the year was the Y. W. C. A. 
reception to the new girls on Thursday, September 22d. 
This reception was held in the Administration Building by 
the old students, assisted by the faculty. After the more 
formal side — and we were glad to notice that much of the 
usual formality and stiffness was absent on this occasion — 
all adjourned to the Eefectory. There each new student was 
cordially greeted by the Y. W. C. A. cabinet. A dance 
brought this delightful evening to a very happy end. 

The old students will remember what a great source of 
pleasure the faculty concerts have always been to us. Those 
of the old students who were not present this year on Satur- 
day evening, September 25th, missed not only a delightful 
concert by the faculty, but the interesting readings by Dr. 
Barr, of Lynchburg. 


There are some people who do not advocate college train- 
ing for women. However, if these same unbelievers could 
have been present on Saturday evening, October 2d, at the 
baby party which the juniors gave the freshmen, they un- 
doubtedly would have changed their minds, for when one 
considers that these juniors, who, in their black dresses and 
white nurses' caps, ministered so beautifully to the needs of 
the freshmen babies were themselves freshmen babies only 
three years ago, one must admit that only college training 
could have produced this sudden metamorphosis ! 


On Saturday, October 16th, we had the pleasure of having 
with us for the first time Ernest Hutcheson, the celebrated 
pianist. The keen attention and loud applause which he 
received from his audience certainly indicates a deep appre- 
ciation of music among our students. 

We were glad, indeed, to greet Dr. Denny, of Washington 
and Lee University, who lectured to us Saturday evening, 
October 23d, on the "Standard of Womanhood." 

Perhaps the most amusing event of the season was "Alice 
in Wonderland," presented by the Dramatic Club, "Paint 
and Patches." There were three scenes, "The Duchess' 
Kitchen," "The Mad Tea Party," and "The Croquet Game." 

Alice, strange to relate, exhibited no fear whatever in 
meeting the Pish, the Frog, the Dormouse, the Cat and the 
March Hare, though all of these animals talked and chatted 
in a most surprising manner. 

At the end of the last scene Alice, with her various ac- 
quaintances, sang a song of welcome to the new girls, after 
which a short talk was made by Eugenia Griffin, president 
of the Dramatic Club, in which she cordially invited the new 
girls to join the club. 

Much credit is due to Miss Plaisted not only for dramatiz- 
ing this play, but also for rendering much assistance to the 
members of the club. Judging from the splendid dramatic 
ability displayed by the students who took part, we may 
expect many more such evenings during the year. 

The Sweet Briar girls are always greatly interested in 
the football games of the season, particularly in those that 


are played in Lynchburg. Quite a number of the students 
went over to see the exciting game between Washington and 
Lee and Virginia Polytechnic Institute on October 30th. 
After the game many of the students from both colleges came 
over to visit Sweet Briar. 

Very probably it will be of interest to some to know that 
the much-discussed topic of capital punishment has at last 
been decided by the students of Sweet Briar. On November 
1st this very serious subject, "Resolved, That capital punish- 
ment should be abolished," was firmly maintained by Louise 
Hooper and Annie Cumnock, the senior debaters, while the 
negative side was no less strongly upheld by Mary Parker 
and Jennie Hurt, the junior representatives. After much 
deliberation the judges declared that the victory belonged to 
the juniors. 

Though we do not expect to become suffragettes in the 
future, we do believe that this training which we get in our 
Debating Club will prove very beneficial to us. We, there- 
fore, urge the students to consider this among the most im- 
portant of all the phases of our college life. 

On this same eventful evening of November 1st, as the 
students issued out of the assembly room, where the debate 
had been raging for an hour, they found the whole place 
pervaded by a spirit of mystery. No one knew the cause. 
Gradually the new students had disappeared until there was 
not one in sight. Could they have been spirited away in 
some mysterious manner ? Before the old students had had 
time to consider this question very much a crowd of ghosts 
and apparitions burst upon them. Each student was seized 
by a ghost, who quietly beckoned her to follow. Across the 


arcades they passed, on to the Kefectory doors, which were 
barred and guarded from within. At last, a dark figure 
unbarred the door and admitted one ghost and her com- 
panion. After a while another couple was allowed to enter, 
and so on until the whole company had passed beyond the 
dreadful doors. Within, in the dimness of another entrance, 
dark figures crouched at the stairway could be discerned. 
Seated upon the stairway, another obscure figure presented 
each visitor with a sheet of paper, which, she mumbled, 
would admit her into all the realms of the infernal region. 
Without a word the accompanying ghost moved on, past 
skeletons, bones, and pallid faces, down another flight of 
steps, where — oh, horror of horrors! — they were surrounded 
by hideous devils with horns and tails and arching eyebrows ! 
These fiends seized both ghost and visitor and shot them 
down a steep plane into another dim region. As they 
scrambled to their feet ghosts and devils running up danced 
them around and around in a bewildering whirl. 

Suddenly, as if by magic, the lights flashed on, and there 
stood, instead of devils and ghosts, our own new students. 
In order to refresh their guests, who had undergone such 
terrifying ordeals, great baskets of popcorn and apples had 
been prepared, while the doughnuts and cider added the 
finishing touch to an ideal Hallowe'en party. 

There is something about a bright log fire which appeals 
to every one, especially to college students, who miss so 
much the quiet winter evenings spent at home before a cheer- 
ful fire. Mr. and Mrs. Eollins must have known this when 
they invited the Y. W. C. A. cabinet a few weeks ago to 
spend Saturday evening with them in their comfortable study, 
in the east tower of the Administration Building. 



Dr. J. M. McBryde, Jr., and family have moved to 
Sewanee, where he is occupying the chair of English Lan- 
guage and Literature in the University of the South. 

Miss Gay Patteson, who is on a year's leave of absence, is 
studying in Munich. 

Miss Chapman, who is also on a leave of absence, is doing 
graduate work at Yale. 

Mr. Davis is teaching at Radcliffe and at the same time 
doing graduate work at Harvard. 

Adelaide Schockey and Lillian Lloyd are in New York 
this winter. The former is studying music under Stagowski, 
and the latter is studying art at the Chase School. 

Former Sweet Briar students travelling abroad this winter 
are Barbara Trigg, Bertie and Winnie Hensel, Margaret 
Dressier, Emma Krause and Lanier Dunn. 

Among the debutantes of Richmond this season are Cary 
Valentine, Mary Saunders and Nell Potts. 

Estelle Weslow is taking a music course at the Cincinnati 

Nell and Esther Keller are students at the University of 

Alma McKay is studying art in New York. 

Martha Bell, Cornie Fore and Douglas Gray were among 
our visitors at the opening of college. 

Claudine Hutter is in Leipsic, studying music under 

Cards have just been received announcing the marriage, 
on November 2d, of Miss Mary Steele Parrish, of Richmond, 
to Dr. Thrift Ferguson, of Gaffney, S. C. 

On June 16th Miss Evelyn C. Owens, of Winston-Salem, 
N. C, was married to Dr. Robert O. Apple, of that place. 
Sweet Briar girls who attended the marriage were Lucy 
Sims, Virginia Shoop and Annie Laurie Haynes. 


Bijpme anO J&ea0on 

Prof. C. (in English class, reading aloud) : "Doth not 
Brutus bootless kneel ?" 

Miss McC. : "Well, I don't see why Brutus had his shoes 

P. L. : "They say that a girl always gets pretty when she 
gets engaged." 

M. B. : "Oh, I'll get engaged right away." 

P. L. : "But you've got to be rather good-looking to get 


Barbara (entering a usually crowded Southern car, now 
for once almost empty) : "Oh, how heavenly ! There are 
so few on." 

We once knew a damsel named Roxy, 
Whose ways were decidedly foxy ; 

When "stung" for exam, 

Said, "I simply won't cram. 
So henceforth I'll take mine by proxy." 

English professor (reading in dramatic tones) : 
" 'Where the mermaid is decking 
Her green hair with shells.' 

Now, you observe, young ladies, the delicate Shelley-like 


Miss Wingfield (on the second day after her arrival) : 
"Where is the Refectory? Down in the Infirmary?" 

Instructor (giving out a sentence to the "Rush French" 
class) : " 'Where are the men,' Miss Murrell ?" 

Another instructor (overhearing as she passes) : "There 
are no men here, alas ! There are only Benedicts." 

Our late professor (reading "Paradise Lost") : "Note the 
exquisite beauty and imaginative quality of this description." 

Miss B. : "Yes, Milton describes things so beautifully that 
we almost forget we are in hell." 

French instructor (to Miss Scott) : "Quel etait le metier 

du pere de Racine ?" 

Miss Scott: "II avait gouvernement du sel." 

Miss Shand (looking up) : "Yes, Racine's father was a 


Miss Booth (hurrying to the Library) : "Oh, I have to 
report to-morrow on the Diet of Worms." 

Miss Grammar : "Why, Alma, I thought you had finished 

First student: "Surely, Nan, you don't believe all those 
old Bible stories." 

Second student : "Why, certainly, most emphatically, with- 
out the shadow of a doubt, I believe the whale swallowed 


Miss Denham: "I was late for lunch and I felt so em- 
barrassed as I came into the Rectory." 


In s umm er's whirl 
You meet a girl ; 
She laughs, she sighs, 

You are the prize. 
You laugh, you play, 
But wake one day 
To find your heart, 
By Cupid's dart, 
Is cut in two. 
What can you do ? 
You sigh at fate, 
At last relate 
Your own sad case, 
And plead for grace 
From damsel fair, 
For whom you care. 
And since you've spoke, 
Her own is broke ; 
So now you patch 
Hearts in a match. 

L. M., '13. 

Isn't it strange what diplomatic means our faculty find 
for expressing their pent-up feelings! 

The other day one poor turner of the pedagogic grindstone 
was explaining the bodily cavities. In a burst of sheer in- 
spiration she exclaimed, "Why, for example, the better part 
of your heads is absolutely empty — except for air." 



First you have a track, 
Then you have a train, 

Then you have a paragraph, 
If you but use your brain. 

Your cars must be connected 
With coupling-pins, you know, 

For if you miss connections 
Your train will never go. 

Don't forget the engine — 

It draws it all along. 
"Without a topic-sentence 

Everything goes wrong. 

We thought we had a river 
With "influences" flowing in, 

But now it is a mountain range, 
Which troubles us like sin. 

So coupling-pins and mountains, 
When everything is done, 

Amounts to nothing more 
Than just our English I. 

L. M., K B., E. CL I. C. 

Directory of ^>toeet TBii&t College 


President i Dr. Mary K. Benedict 

Treasurer and Business Manager William B. Dew 


President Annie M. Powell 

Vice-President Jennie Hurt 

Secretary Louise M. Hooper 

Treasurer Annie W. Cumnock 


President Loulie W. Wilson 

Vice-President > Frances N. Matson 

Secretary Virginia D. Etheridge 

Treasurer Corinne Dickinson 


President Alma W. Booth 

Secretary Mary V. Parker 

Treasurer Margaret Boley 


Tennis Frances P. Murrell 

Golf Martha Tillman 

Boating Kathleen Cowghill 

Basket-tall Annie W. Cumnock 


President Eugenia W. Griffin 

Vice-President Virginia Shoop 

Treasurer Margaret Dalton 


President Annie W. Cumnock 

Vice-President Margaret Browning 

Secretary Frances N. Matson 


Senior Class Louise M. Hooper 

Junior Class Josephine W. Murray 

Sophomore Class Frances N. Matson 

Freshman Class Margaret Dalton 


Editor-in-Chief Annie M. Powell 

Business Manager Frances P. Murrell 




^[ The extremely rich 
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New Customers Each Day 

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D. Moses & Co.'s ffiB gg 

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PRESCRIPTIONS Carefully Compounded 





-•■.-.■■' '' ■'"■ .vi^-^r.--.''-: ',: .1 *"• 
'Rose Garden" Hedge, Sweet Briar Institute, Va. — (No. 304) 

iI'/'SiiAi* ..;•-■' 

Sample of Four-Color Process 

from the Presses of 


Lynchburg j Va. 

J. I\ Bell Company 

Lynchburg, "Virginia 




( See other . 



A Song of the Morning (Verse). Mary PinJcerton, '12 43 

Julius Caesar — A Tragedy. Margaret Browning, '11 44 

The Tale of the Skeleton. Louise M. Hooper, '10 . . 50 

In the Light of the Embers. Eugenia W. Griffin, '10 56 

The Land of Sleep (Verse). V., '11 59 

A Postprandial Warning. Louise M. Hooper, '10. . 61 

If We Had Our Wat. Rebecca White, '13 65 

The Loss of a Jewel. Margaret Coleman 68 

A Pastoral — Suggested by the Thought of Exam- 
inations. M. A. Ribble } '13 70 

Editorials 72 

Athletics 75 

Y. W. C. A. Notes 77 

College Topics 79 

Personals 86 

TSMinz$$ ^anager'0 Announcement 

The Sweet Briar Magazine, which is conducted by the student 
body of Sweet Briar College, is at present published quarterly. 

We call the attention of our readers, and especially of the students, 
to the firms who advertise with us and who thus have contributed 
materially to the financial support of the magazine. We hope that in 
return the students will, as far as possible, give them their patronage. 

Subscription, $1.50 per year. Our advertising rates are, per year: 

one page $20.00 

Half page 15.00 

Quarter page 8.00 

Eighth page 5.00 

Payments for advertisements are due after the first issue of the 
magazine. All subscriptions must be paid in advance. 

Address all business communications to 

Eugenia M. Buffington, Bus. Mgr., 
Sweet Brim College. 

Published Quarterly by the Students of Sweet Briar College 

Vol. 1 


No. 2 

3 ^>ong of tfte Rowing 

HE sun blares up above the sea, 
Masterful on the deep ; 
The loud sea shouts upon the sand, 
To call us from our sleep. 

To call us to the level beach, 
The eager breakers beat ; 

Beyond to where the sea-paths foam 
That wait our coming; feet. 

For we are loosened from the night, 
The night and all old days, 

To turn our faces to fresh skies, 
Our feet into new ways. 

Our hands to try the untouched day, 
Wherein great prize will be ; 

And wonder waits our shining sails 
On the sun-dazzled sea. 

Our eyes are blind with golden light, 

And yet our quick hearts say: 
It hovers on the wide sea's rim 

The promise of our day. 

Mary Pinkerton, '12. 



Julius Caesar— a CrageDp 

— "Csesar, now be still; 
I killed not thee with half so good a will." 

HESE are the last words Shakespeare puts 
into the mouth of Brutus about to die by 
his own hand. If one adds to this frag- 
ment that well-known refrain from the 
first choral ode in iEschylus' "Aga- 



at Aavov ai Aavov ei7T€, to 8ev vlkolto 

(Cry woe, woe for Lanus, but let the good prevail !) 

it seems that one has a text, or an hypothesis as it were, from 
which to prove that Shakespeare's great drama of "Julius 
Csesar" is essentially a tragedy. By tragedy, however, is im- 
plied a much broader term than the original conception of 
the T/oaya>Sos or "goat singer" ; a more definite word than 
tragic used in the adjectival sense as anything mournful or 
calamitous. Professor Baker, of Harvard, defines dramatic 
tragedy as "a sequence of serious episodes leading to a 
catastrophe." With this definition as a basis, this paper will 
attempt to show by analysis with reference to direct cause 
and effect that the chronicle play of "Julius Caesar" is a 
dramatic tragedy. 

From the standpoint of the drama, then, is there anything 
that interrupts the "sequence of serious episodes" in "Julius 
Csesar" ? The answer comes back straightway in an inter- 


rogative form — can one reconcile the fact that the first three 
acts of the drama deal with Caesar and the last two with 
Brutus ? It would seem so, though to do this one must resolve 
the compound drama into its elements, the dramatic actions. 

It must be understood in the beginning that tragedy pre- 
supposes two opposing forces of good and evil, of which one 
must be overcome by the other. In "Julius Caesar" the op- 
posing forces are represented by the party of conspirators 
headed by Brutus and Cassius, while the avengers of Caesar, 
led by Antony and Octavius, constitute the other side. The 
different dramatic actions that lead finally to the overthrow 
of the conspirators are the elements that make up the drama. 

To illustrate this point more clearly one might give 
Professor Moulton's scheme for the action in "Julius Caesar." 
The rise and fall of the Republican conspirators he calls the 
main action, which he subdivides into: (1) the sub-action to 
the rise (character decline) — the victim Caesar; (2) sub- 
action to fall (character rise) — avenger Antony. It must not 
be thought, however, that these two forces can stand opposed 
without some unity to weld them into a perfect drama. This 
unity of action and interest is found in the person of Caesar, 
who, as I said before, is murdered in the first scene of the 
third act. But Caesar murdered is as dominant a power in 
the tragedy as Caesar living. Though his body is struck 
down by Brutus and the conspirators, his spirit rises up 
strong in the persons of Antony and Octavius to avenge itself 
upon his murderers. 

Because the first three acts of "Julius Caesar" deal directly 
with the conspiracy that makes Caesar its victim, and centers 
all the interest in the accomplishment of this violent deed, 
can it be said that the last two acts deal only with Brutus, 
when the motive that leads Antony on is the desire to avenge 


Caesar's death? Though it is true that Brutus is the hero 
of the drama, and more especially of the last two acts, the 
ghost of Caesar is present to him at Philippi, as a subjective 
force representing the avenging spirit. Because of this unify- 
ing spirit, represented by Caesar, one feels justified in saying 
that there is no real change in the interest of the drama after 
the third act, since the real unity of the tragedy lies in Caesar. 

That the events which make up the tragedy are "serious" 
need not be questioned when one considers the motives that 
prompted them. The impelling force with Brutus is the 
thought of killing Caesar, which his conversation with Cassius 
(Act I, Sc. 2) fixes upon his soul. Actuated by the loftiest 
ideals of patriotism and civic honor to murder Caesar, the 
enemy of Rome, inhibited from joining the conspiracy 
straightway by his love for Caesar, the personal friend, the 
decision in favor of the former is necessarily one of serious 
consequence. Though the motives of the other conspirators 
were not so high, the results of their actions were proportion- 
ally grave. The effect of the first serious action, Brutus' 
joining the conspiracy and almost unconsciously assuming its 
leadership, was the violent death of Caesar, which caused civil 
war. This in turn brought about the deaths of Brutus and 
Cassius. Could there be a sequence of episodes any more 
serious in their nature ? 

Since "Julius Caesar" has a sequence of serious episodes, 
does it follow that these episodes lead up to the catastrophe, 
to the suicide of Brutus ? What logical reason was there for 
such a termination of the tragedy ? Could not Brutus have 
been captured by Antony, taken to Rome, eventually pardoned 
for his great offense, and then fulfilled his day the "honorable 
man" that Brutus was ? He could not have done this and 
still have been Brutus, because of the inherent nature of the 


man. He was a Roman — with all that word implies in its 
best significance of patriotism, loyalty, honor, courage, in- 
telligence. He was a man — in no way proof against making 
some great fundamental error in reason or in action. Herein 
lay his great mistake. When he conceived what he thought 
to be a wrong to Rome in Caesar's rapidly increasing power, 
he tried to right that wrong by another wrong — the murder 
of Caesar — seeing only the desired, the ideal, result to be ob- 
tained by his action. However patriotic, however impersonal, 
however noble Brutus' motives may have been, the mistake 
of his act remains in all its intrinsic value. Hence in dealing 
with the remaining part of the drama from the viewpoint of 
tragedy, this error must be assumed in spite of the motives 
actuating it. For this same error, with its noble motives and 
still nobler atonement, is the character of Brutus. 

When the climax of the drama culminates in the murder of 
Caesar, it leaves Brutus still unconscious of having committed 
any wrong. It is on this account that he refuses to yield to 
the mere shrewd advice of Cassius that they put Antony out 
of the way also. "Julius Caesar" is then a tragedy of fate 
in the dramatic sense of that term. Antony spared, stirs, 
in his famous speech against the conspirators, that very 
Roman mob for whom Brutus has committed the murder. 
Just as his speech is the result of the wrong done by the con- 
spirators, so is the civil war that follows the inevitable result 
of his speech. 

With the fourth act, the logic of events has caused Brutus 
to question the complete justification of his act. The quarrel 
scene not only shows how his part in the conspiracy has re- 
acted upon Cassius to bring out the low, the mean, the 
cowardly attributes in him, but it also shows the sensitive- 
ness, the underlying sweetness in Brutus' nature. Further- 


more, when the cause of the conspirators against the avengers 
is staked entirely upon the outcome of the battle to take place 
at Philippi, the entrance of the ghost seems to make Brutus 
realize his great mistake — that the killing of Caesar was 
really prompted by his evil spirit. However, it does not affect 
his courage, for he is brave and dauntless in the battle. In 
marked contrast with this is the cowardly attitude of Cassius 
in the same battle. Since the "inevitable recoil" of his deed 
upon him has been to bring out his craven fear, he dies by 
his own cowardice — afraid to lead his legions in battle, skulk- 
ing in the mountains, trusting a slave's word to the effect 
that Brutus' legions have been overcome. 

However, with Brutus it is different. Again the element 
of fate seems to interpose, for if Cassius' legions had been 
well led, might not the conspirators have been the conquerors 
of the day ? With the defeat of his legion came the defeat of 
his purposes. There remained for him only capture and the 
disgrace of being taken prisoner back to Rome. The imme- 
diate effect of this would be that Brutus the patriot, Brutus 
the patrician, would be held up to the derision of public 
opinion. This would mean the acknowledgment of the 
defeat of all that Brutus at his noblest had stood for. This 
would mean the acceptance of that for which he had struck 
down Caesar. Was not death even at his own hand preferable 
to this ? When he killed Caesar he had said — "as I slew my 
best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for 
myself, when it shall please my country to need my death." 
As he felt that this need was present, there was but one thing 
to do. Though he had striven for Rome's good, he had failed. 
Since his country needed his death, he would give it. Brutus 
was still the Brutus of the intensely egoistic sense of honor 


both personal and civic. His death was his last legacy to 
Home. He died with the words — 

— "Csesar, now be still; 
I killed not thee with half so good a will." 

In the terms of the tragedy itself, it seems, then, that the 
suicide of Brutus was justifiable. For always remembering 
his character, given the fundamental error of Brutus, and the 
sequence of events, how else could the tragedy have been 
logically terminated than in the catastrophe, the suicide of 
Brutus ? 

Herein lies the great tragedy of "Julius Csesar" — that a 
man of Brutus' calibre, for the carrying out of one mistaken 
idea, should ultimately be forced to forfeit his own life. It 
is not even as if he had died unconvinced of his mistake. 
The tragedy lies in the realization of his own error, though 
knowing at the same time, as he did, what motives had 
prompted that error. What could be more tragic than the 
atonement ! 

— "Csesar, now be still; 
I killed not thee with half so good a will." 

And in the echoes of memory again comes the thought con- 
tained in the refrain — 

"Cry woe, woe for Lanus, but let the good prevail !" 

Margaret Browning, '11. 



Cfje Cale of t&e Skeleton 


FEW years ago there was a strike among 
the laborers at work on a certain railroad, 
which was at that time being run through 
the western part of Pennsylvania. The 
work was brought to a standstill, thereby 
releasing from all duty the corps of young 
who had been previously occupied in its con- 
At night when the weather was fine, the men lay 
on their blankets around the great fire before their tents. 
Out in the open thus, with only the stars and the clear moon 
overhead, the crisp air in their faces, in the bright firelight, 
there was every incentive to light-heartedness and jollity. 
Accordingly all sang and laughed and told stories, each man 
taking his turn on this particular night with an unusual zest. 
Finally it came Nelson's turn. He was a young 
Southerner, who had only recently come from Virginia to 
be put on the corps. The men had had little opportunity to 
know him, but they were all attracted by his genial manners 
and frank, almost boyish, face. Thus, since his story came 
next, all the men looked interestedly in his direction, anxious 
to hear the story he would tell. 

"I'm not much of a story-teller," he began, "but the situa- 
tion we are in just now, caused by this strike, reminds me of 
a rather strange incident which occurred some years ago down 
in old Virginia. I was nothing but a little chap then, but 
I had been allowed to go with my father, who was in charge 
of the work on the college that was being built down there in 
Amherst County. He had experienced lots of trouble in get- 
ting men for the work, for all the darkies for miles around 


were scared to come on the place. They had many queer 
ideas about it — one especially, that the place was haunted ; 
accordingly they wouldn't come to do so much as dig a trench. 
Finally, however, my father got the work started by bring- 
ing some negroes from elsewhere. Then by degrees the ones 
around were convinced that no bodily harm would come to 
them, so gradually they too began to work." 

This proved a good beginning, so after more wood had been 
thrown upon the fire each fellow settled himself comfortably 
in his blanket, prepared to enjoy what was to follow. 

"All went well," continued Nelson, "until the day when 
the work was to begin on the foundation of what became later 
the Academic Building of the college. 

"The day before, an old darky had come in from a nearby 
village, who really looked half starved. He begged my father 
so pitifully for a job that his name, which he gave as Jake 
Williams, was placed on the list of those who were to begin 
digging for the foundations the next day. 

"The following morning, bright and early, I was dressed 
and out. I remember. I ate my breakfast in the greatest 
hurry. Soon I was standing on the hill with one of the engi- 
neers, my hat pulled down over my eyes just as his was, 
hands thrust deep in my pockets." 

Just at this juncture, to emphasize his story, Nelson 
stepped in front of the fire, assuming the attitude which had 
characterized him on that morning. 

"Among the workmen," continued Nelson, still standing, 
"I noticed the old darky, whom I had seen talking to my 
father on the day before, working among the other men in 
the trench. My attention was especially attracted to him, 
because it seemed to me he was putting forth a great effort 
to work. In fact he looked weak and sick, and I determined 


to ask my father to let him off. If I remember correctly I 
think I was on my way to speak to my father. Anyhow, just 
as I passed the old negro certainly a strange thing occurred. 
Suddenly the pick which he was using rebounded forcefully 
from the earth and struck him on the head. The negro fell 
to the ground as if he had been shot." 

Here Nelson again added to the dramatic feature of his 
story by using that agility and nimbleness which enabled him 
to throw himself quickly on the ground. Arising, amid a 
silence broken only by the crackle of the fire, he continued : 

"Perhaps I should have been frightened, but, nevertheless, 
I ran to him, and, as he lay there with his face upturned, I 
can never forget the abject, frozen terror, which was written 
upon that ashen face. Beside him lay the skull of a man! 
You may be sure that I was glad when the others arrived. 
Naturally excitement was intense. Hurriedly, therefore, the 
old negro was carried to one of the tents, where the men 
worked on him in an effort to bring him around. Finally 
he showed some signs of returning consciousness. 

"Just at this moment my father entered the tent. Imme- 
diately the negro recognized him. The presence of my father 
seemed to bring a certain relief to the old darky, for he made 
an effort to speak. To my delight he opened his eyes again, 
and keeping them fixed on my father's face said, 'Lord, 
marsa, Sam is done kilt me arter all. I done tried ter keep 
outen his way, but he done cotched up wid me,' then he closed 
his eyes again. The shock of the blow he had received, added 
to the terror which the sight of that unexpectedly upturned 
skull had inspired in the old darky, had been too much for 
him, and even I realized that he had only a few minutes more, 
at the most, for this world. With horror in my soul I listened, 
breathless, while the dying negro recounted to my father, as 


to a confessor, the dreadful story of his life. The very words 
of that old negro, as he lay there with that ashen face, as only 
a negro's face can become ashen, were burnt deep into my 
memory. This was his story as well as I remember it : 

" 'I regun I better tel you, marsa, 'fore I goes, dat I kilt 
pore ole Sam. I'se er old nigger now, but onst when I wuz 
young I uster lib right on dis here plantation.' 

"He paused for a moment as if in doubt as to whether he 
should really tell his story. However, he continued : 

" 'We wuz all mighty happy in dem days. My mammy she 
uster lib down dyah in de quarter string, and us little niggers, 
me an my bruder Sam, uster play out dyah under dat big 
'simmon tree an' wurk tergither out in dat cornfield. But 
wen ole Marse 'Liger buyed dat purdy little yaller gal, 
Sallie, an' brung her heah, Sam an' me neber got on from dat 
time on. We wuz allers a-squabblin' an' a-fightin' ober dat 

"The darky hesitated again. My father leaned over, how- 
ever, telling him to continue. 

" 'One night I wuz out a way down in de barn lot, shuckin' 
corn, when Sam he walked in all puffed up like, an' 'lowed 
ter me dat he knowed I'd be glad for ter heah dat Marse 
'Liger had done said he could marry Sallie. De Debil muster 
got me den, marsa, kaise I sprung up like mad an' ran at him. 
He tried for ter hole me off, but I wuz de strongest, an' in 
'bout a minit I had him by de throat. I could ha' kilt him 
easy, but we fell ober tergither an' kaise he wuz on de bottom 
he fell on er ax what wuz lyin' dyah on der ground. My 
weight on his'n drobe it clair inter de back ob his head. I 
thought at fust he wasn't much hurt, but in a minit he 
stiffened out an' died right dyah on de ground. Oh, marsa, 


I hadn't meant for to kill him, G-awd knows I hadn't, but 
dyah he wuz daid. I had kilt me own bruder.' 

"The poor old negro had made such an effort trying to 
impress just the way that they had fought, but it was too 
much for him. He dropped back on the pallet and we 
thought he had spoken his last. But after a pause, when my 
father reminded him of what he had told last, in a feebler 
and less connected way, he continued : 

" 'Den it comes ober me all ob a sudden like dat somebody 
would sho' fin' me out, den I would be hanged up. So I takes 
him in my arms an' brung him out in de ole orchard fast as 
I could. I could heah de Debil talkin' back er me dat night 
when I cyard him out heah an' buried him far down as I 
could dig under dat big apple tree, den kivered up de grave 
wid leaves. An' I bin heahin' dat Debil talk eber sence; 
ebery night I heahs him outside de door kinder moaning, an' 
sayin' kinder soof to hisself like, "Whar's Sam? Whar's 

"The old darky seemed more feeble than ever after this 
part of his confession had been made. It seemed that he 
could say little more. My father put something to his lips, 
assuring him at the same time that no one was calling for 
him. At last he went on: 

" 'De nex' mornin' arter I buried him, ole marsa he say 
ter me, "Jake, whar dat nigger Sam ; he ain't done run away 
ter dem tarn'd Yankees, is he ?" An I says, says I, "I 
heahed him say yistiddy, marsa, dat he wuz gwin ober ter 
Appomattox fust chanst he got, an' I spec' he's done gone — 
I ain't seed him no whar leastways." My har kinder riz up 
kaise I thought ole marsa looked at me mighty curous-like, 
so I sorter started pull'n up weeds round de door.' 

: ' 'What happened then, Jake ?' questioned my father. 


" 'Ole marsa he gabe me Sallie de month arter dat — but 
someway I ain't neber bin happy sence. Sallie she ain't 
neber lobed me like she done Sam, an' I knowd it. When us 
slaves wuz sot free we went off wid de rest on um, but Sallie 
she kinder pined, and died, not so vera long arter dat.' 

" 'Where did you go then V asked my father. 

" 'Den I tried ter work ober dar in Amherst, but I neber 
has bin able ter do much. I allers seemed sorter tuckered 
out like an' no good for wurk. Ise er ole man an' I ain't got 
nobody for ter look out for me, so I bin hungry many a time, 
marsa. Anbody wouldn't hire me, kaise I couldn't wurk, so 
when I heahed 'bout you, marsa, I comes ober heah an' you 
gibes me er job, an' puts me ter dig right whar I hed buried 
pore ole Sam. I didn't know, kaise de ole apple tree, whar 
wuz dyah, wuz gone.' 

"The old man began to shiver violently, and I could hardly 
hear the last words he uttered, they were so tremblingly 
pronounced : 

" 'I spec' he's callin' me, marsa, an' dis pore — ole — nigger 
— will had for ter go. Wuz dat de Debil dyah, marsa ? 
Marsa — plese, sar, don' leabe me, don' leabe me ! I'm comin' 
— Sam — I'm comin'. Good-bye — mar — ,sa!'" 

The story-teller's voice had ceased, and while the fire sent 
up great showers of sparks from the fresh logs which were 
thrown upon it, Nelson retired to his blanket amid a round of 

Louise M. Hooper, '10. 



Kn tije iLigfjt of tlje <&mbm 

HE big hall clock was just chiming eleven 
as I finished the last page of my story. 
With a sigh of regret that the absorbing 
romance was ended, I closed the book, put 
out the lights, and crossed over to the big, 
open fire. It was Christmas week, and I 
was one of a party of girls and teachers who were spending 
the holidays at college. We were staying, not in the dormi- 
tories, but in the more homelike atmosphere of the old Sweet 
Briar House. 

To-night when I finished reading I remembered that every- 
one else had retired early, and consequently I was the sole oc- 
cupant of the whole lower floor. On the one hand the thought 
made me feel a bit uncanny because of the many supernatural 
stories connected with the house, but on the other, my story 
had put me into such an imaginary, dreamy frame of mind 
that I was loath to go to bed. A deep chair before the fire 
extended a most welcome invitation, so sinking into its 
luxurious depths I decided to watch the blazing logs. 

The flames cast a weird, uncertain light over the old room. 
Now and then a log slipped as its former support crumbled 
to ashes. Then rays of light leaped forth, illuminating for an 
instant different objects in the room. At one time a ray 
transformed a bit of gold from the mirror's edge into the 
burning eye of a dragon. At another, it changed the 
mahagony claw of the table into the brown, bony hand of a 
skeleton. For a long time I watched with absorption these 
wonderful metamorphoses. At length two particularly vivid 
streaks darted forth. One fell upon the portrait of the child 
Daisy, now dead for so many years ; the other, upon the 


long-silent harp standing in the recess of the window. Then 
the two darts converged and at once disappeared. 

This rather unusual action aroused my thought. I glanced 
at the harp and then, turning to the left, directed my gaze 
upon the features of the solemn-faced little girl looking down 
from her massive gold frame. Strange I had never before 
noticed what a very wistful expression she had. And stranger 
still, that I had never noticed the object upon which her 
yearning eyes were so intently fixed. I started to investigate 
and a few minutes later discovered that it was the harp 
which held her attention. I glanced again at the portrait 
and the change I saw in the expression was marvelous. 

The face was joyous and the eyes, now gazing in my 
direction, seemed to be thanking me for some great favor 
done. In fascination I stared at the picture. As I stared, 
the object of my gaze began to descend gradually to the floor. 
Reaching the carpet it stopped, and from its embrace stepped 
forth the little maid of fourteen summers whom I had 
hitherto regarded merely as a picture from some artist's 
brush. What a mistaken fancy, for here she was a living, 
breathing child ! A child, too, whose face was not solemn and 
melancholy, but which was, on the contrary, radiant and 
beaming with the light of some hidden joy. 

For a second the little picture-girl stood still. Then with 
noiseless tread she started across the room. 

"Oh, you dear little girl," I impulsively called out, "won't 
you come talk to me ?" 

But heedless of my remark she moved on, and turned her 
steps toward the harp. When she reached it she deftly drew 
off the cover, and with a little sigh of satisfaction lovingly 
laid her cheek against its side. The next moment she began 
to pluck the strings gently. 

What a picture the child made as she played ! Never, 


never can I forget the scene. The look of rapture that over- 
spread the childish face as she drew her fingers across the 
strings was as saintly and perfect as the expression of a 
Madonna. And how wonderful were the strains of music 
that floated out at the touch! 

At first a single little melody, full of pathos and pleading, 
stole forth. Timidly it began to pour out its story, and, 
finally dying away, was followed by other melodies, some- 
times in slow and sometimes in hurried succession — each one 
telling a certain part of the tragic romance that the music 
as a whole was depicting. Each new strain vividly told its 
part, and after the last one all former melodies returned and 
blended into one harmonious crescendo. 

I was held spellbound. Then the music carried me so com- 
pletely in its wake that I began to quiver violently from 
head to foot as if held under some tremendous nervous strain. 
For support I reached for the arm of the chair. As I touched 
the velvet I was so startled that I sprang to an upright sit- 
ting posture. For an instant I gazed around in a bewildered 
manner. Then, my senses returning, I looked with strained 
eyes toward the harp. With difficulty I discerned its out- 
lines and saw there was no figure by its side. I turned to 
the left and perceived that the picture of Daisy hung in its 
accustomed place on the wall. The fire, I found, was giving 
out its dying rays. The room was exceedingly cold, and I 
was shivering until my teeth chattered. 

I arose from my chair, and as I did so the clock chimed 
half past twelve. How quickly the time had flown! Could 
it be possible that I had been dreaming before the embers ! 
No, I rather believe I had been an eye-witness to Daisy's 
return home. For was it not Friday night, and had I not 
been alone in the Gray Drawing Room at twelve o'clock ? 

Eugenia W. Griffin, '10. 


"Cfje LanD of §>leep" 

HERE is a land, we know not where, 
Nor how our souls may entrance find 
Into its strange enclosure, 
For having passed the portals there 
A while thej dwell to leave behind 
All record of their journey. 

A journey strange, a mystic land, 
From which our souls no warrant hold, 
For them a sure departure; 
Yet daring — though with empty hand- 
To undertake this journey bold, 
They hasten thence rejoicing. 

No gate is barred to those who seek 
To fling aside all mortal cares, 
And through its realms to wander; 
The mighty lord, the beggar meek, 
The child, and he with whitest hair, 
Go hand and hand together. 

They know not where, nor how, nor why, 
But some unseen and quiet hand 
Had stolen from their shoulders 
The burden of toil, the smothered sigh, 
The tears, the cares, despair so keen, 
Which rends their hearts asunder. 


But where and what this land so strange, 
To which our souls for refuge fly, 
From cares of all men mortal ? 
Do spirits kind our eyes bedew, 
And from us blind our burdens take, 
To lead us through the portals ? 

Or does there blow a gentle breeze, 
With odors from rose petals sweet, 
To make our minds forgetful 
Of all the thoughts which daily tease, 
And offer cumbrance to our feet, 
Our weary paths pursuing ? 

Whate'er may be this wondrous land; 
Where'er its boundaries vast extend ; 
Howe'er we gain admittance; 
Before another shall we stand, 
And round its paths and gardens wend 
Our ways for time eternal. 

Yet should our souls this second dread, 
Than that in which our souls sojourn, 
Is broken with the morning? 
For though their mortal house be dead, 
From care and toil their feet are led 
Throughout all time eternal. 



3 PostpranOial Earning 

T had certainly been a perfect day in the 
country, there was no denying that, so 
now that Ted was in bed and Grandma 
had taken away the light, he continued to 
lie there for ages and ages, thinking of all 
the good things he had eaten that day, for 
Grandma always had such good things to eat that Ted wished 
he could make her a visit every Sunday. Now he was staring 
with wide-open eyes into the dark corners, and at that curious 
chair — or was it a chair? — which he could see in the half 
light from the transom. 

Somehow everything looked so strangely different to-night. 
It seemed as if he would never go to sleep. In fact, he 
decided, on the whole, as he knew he must be staying awake 
all night, that he would rather keep his face turned to- 
wards the room, and, not as he usually did, towards the wall. 
It was much more comfy this way of course ; he could breathe 
much better and he could see Grandma if she should happen 
to come in again. Besides all these reasons he preferred to 
keep his eyes on the things in the room. It was much safer, 
he knew, in the country, in case of burglars ! 

He thought of everything he had done during the day ; of 
how he had gone to church with the family in the good graces 
of them all, walking proudly along, in his new suit, between 
Grandma and Uncle Tom. Then, terrible to relate, how he 
had been taken out of church, poor fellow, by Aunt Mary, 


only because lie had crawled underneath the seat, while the 
family was praying, and had given Elder Thompson's dog, 
who sat behind them, one tiny little tweak of the tail. How 
was he to know Elder Thompson's dog didn't have any more 
religious principles than to howl out in church as he did? 
He thought it entirely unnecessary that Uncle Tom should 
have picked him up, as he did, virtually by one leg of his 
knickerbockers, and set him upon the seat! Then he had 
been quietly taken out by Aunt Mary. He didn't mind that 
so much, to be sure, — and he didn't think Aunt Mary did 
either. She had hurried him home, making him fairly run 
to keep up with her — most undignified behavior, he thought, 
for a maiden aunt. 

When they reached home, with the parting advice to try 
to behave himself and not disgrace the family further, she 
departed into the house. He had wandered, rather discon- 
solately, out into the back yard in search of something to do. 
There he had found Uncle Sam, the old darky who worked 
on the place, sitting under a tree whittling. He and Uncle 
Sam were on very good terms, so, as he didn't seem to have 
the least idle curiosity as to why he wasn't at church, he sat 
down on the root of the tree by him. Then they had had 
such a nice talk about all the things they were interested in. 
There was the turkey, whose existence they were continually 
reminded of by the delicious odors which were wafted to 
them from the kitchen. This reminded Uncle Sam of a story 
he said his granddad had told him when he was a little nigger 
about the size of Ted himself. Ted remembered now that 
he had heard Uncle Sam say, "Dyah is some turkeys in dis 
wurl what folks sut'n'y orter look out fur, an' ef dee don't 
dee sholy will be sorry fur it. Dyah is a sartin kind o' turkey 
dat I know ob, dat has two white dots on his head bofe sides 


ob dee comb. When dis hyah turkey is put on de table up in 
de Gret-House an' folks eats too much ob him, dat turkey sho' 
gwin hant em. Ise knowd it ter tek place myself, an' 'tis 
de truf fur sho'." Uncle Sam had added that yesterday 
when he had cut their own turkey's head off he had noticed 
very particular and had seen two little dots on each side of 
his head. He said he thought it was his duty to tell him 
about it, so as he could "be very keerful not ter tek mor'n 
one helpin' o' turkey." 

Ted had tried not to, but that was the best turkey he had 
ever eaten, and, besides that, Grandma had made him wait 
till the very last to be helped — he knew she hadn't forgotten 
about that dog in church — so he was very hungry, when, after 
years of patient waiting, he finally did get something. Thus 
it was that when Uncle Tom said, "What's the matter with 
Ted, won't he have some turkey ?" he had said, "Yes, thank 
you," before he had time to think. And, worse still, he had 
had a third helping ! 

At this thought a little shiver crept up his back. He 
glanced nervously towards the door, and there, coming 
through the transom, he saw a huge purple turkey, with 
great protruding eyes and teeth showing in a broad grin. 
The turkey carried under one wing a big plum cake and a 
half mince pie. By the other he was drawing after him a 
whole train of meat and vegetable dishes, coupled together, 
veritably like a train of cars. Ted felt his hair rise on end 
as the whole cavalcade landed on the floor at one bound. The 
turkey taking two or three strides towards the middle of the 
room, looked first up, then down, and finally all around the 
room, and, though Ted squeezed down under the covers 
until he couldn't get any further, with nothing but one eye 
left out, the turkey saw him he was almost sure. In one more 


second he had no further doubt about it, for the thing began 
to stalk towards him, gobbling at each step, grinning at him 
and bobbing the dishes about so that the covers fell off, for 
one moment allowing him to see the turnips, the macaroni, 
the beets, the potatoes, the celery, the corn, the carrots and 
the spinach he had eaten at dinner. 

The turkey was advancing quickly towards him now; in a 
second more he would reach him, he would most probably 
peck out his eyes. With one bound he was at the foot of the 
bed ; he seized one of Ted's toes, which in his struggles to get 
as far under the cover as possible Ted had pushed out from 
the sheets. Then without further ado the turkey hauled him- 
self up by it on to the foot of the bed, pulling the dishes up 
after him. As if fascinated, Ted held his eyes fastened on 
the great green ones down there by his feet. Then began a 
prolonged march from his feet to his chest — his body seemed 
to be yards in length. The turkey walked very deliberately, 
drawing all the dishes along till he reached his chest. There 
he stopped and quietly piled them up in rows and tiers until 
they were about a yard high. Then he himself walked 
around them and stepped deliberately on Ted's head. He 
was choking, he was smothering, he was dying — the very life 
was being mashed out of him. He used his last remaining 
breath in one short scream for help. Something was lifting 
him up bodily, taking him out of bed; the turkey would 
surely throw him out of the window before help came! 

But no, somebody was patting him, helping to get his 
breath; he opened his eyes. There was Grandma, standing 
by his bed in the gray light of the early morning, telling him 
it was quite time he were up and dressed if he wished to get 
his train in time for school. 

Louise M. Hooper, '10. 



3f Wit JDaO 2Dur Wis? 

lAIST'T the old weather ever behave itself?" 
I thought as I gazed gloomily out of the 
window at a landscape even more gloomy 
than my own temper. "One cannot think 
of taking a sleigh ride on such a day. I 
suppose I may as well study that old 
mythology lesson." So with a sigh of resignation I pulled 
"Greek and Roman Myths" from the book shelf, and settled 
down in front of the fireplace. I was not in the mood for 
study, and, besides, the fire made me drowsy, so I soon 
stopped reading to gaze dreamily at the blazing logs. As I 
sleepily watched the dancing flames, to my great surprise 
they suddenly parted and a young man stepped briskly out 
on the hearth. From the wings on his sandals and on his 
staff, as well as from his likeness to the picture in the book 
I had been studying, I at once recognized him as Mercury, 
the messenger of the gods. 

"Hail, mortal !" said Mercury, "I am sent by his sovereign 
majesty Jupiter, king of the gods, to ask you to attend the 
court where his highness hears the complaints and rights the 
wrongs of his mortal subjects." 

As he spoke he extended to me the tip of his winged staff. 
Immediately, as I touched it, I felt myself rising rapidly 
up the chimney, and then through the snowy atmosphere. 
So swiftly did we travel that it was not long before we ar- 
rived in front of a magnificent palace, blazing with many- 


colored lights. We were immediately ushered into a large 
and sumptuous hall, where sat Jupiter on his lofty throne. 

The room was swarming with mortals as well as gods, but 
a small boy was the first to make his way to Jove's throne. 
He removed his hands from his pockets just long enough to 
greet the god with a jaunty jerk of his rakish little cap. 
This done he began his petition : 

"Please, your highness, I wish you'd change the weather. 
I think I'd like summer all the time, so's I wouldn't have to 
go to school. But a fellow can't skate in summer, so I think 
you might make heat freeze the ponds instead of cold. That 
would be darned jolly!" 

Before Jupiter had time to answer this rather unique 
request the small boy was elbowed aside by a tall, dreamy- 
looking young man : 

"Ah, Jupiter, I presume. I am sure you know me. I am 
the artist Sir Raphael Angelo. You know, my dear Jupiter, 
how a lack of the beautiful hurts the soul of an artist. The 
weather, dear Jupiter; glaring, blazing, sunny days — 
devoid of beauty ! Give us always gray days ; days when the 
sun hides herself as in a veil ; days when earth, air, and sky 
blend softly their pale opaque tones of gray." 

"What does the man mean ? Would he have us all as gray 
as Quakers?" thundered Jupiter. The tall youth glanced 
reproachfully at the god, as he ran his slender fingers through 
his long, curling locks, but made way with a deep bow for 
the radiant young girl who came running up. 

"O Jupiter, you darling! How perfectly angelic of you 
to let us poor mortals trouble you with our woes ! There 
are such loads of things I want that I scarcely know what to 
ask for first. But I really think that what I want most is 
satisfactory weather. I really think that light, summery 


clothes are the most becoming to me. Don't you think I look 
well in white? Men are such good judges! But to return 
to the weather. I do think I'd like the weather always 
summer, because one can have so much more fun. But, no, 
then I couldn't wear that perfectly darling set of furs Dad 
gave me last Christmas! O Jupiter, you're such an angel, 
don't you think you could give us a kind of mixture of 
summer and winter? But never any rain, for rubber over- 
shoes make one's feet look so large!" 

As I leaned forward to hear Jupiter's answer to her plea, 
I left myself rudely seized from behind. Supposing Mercury 
to be the offender I turned to remonstrate with him at his 
rudeness, when I found myself confronting the laughing, 
mischievous face of my small brother. 

"It's about time you woke up, you lazy thing!" said he. 
"See, it's clearing up; mother says you can have your ride 
to-night after all." 

As I jumped joyfully from my chair, I inwardly vowed 
that hereafter I would make allowances even if poor Jupiter 
didn't get the weather just exactly to suit me. 

K. B. White, '13. 


C&e *Lo$0 of a Jetoel 

N the confusion of the gayeties of the ball 
which celebrated her coronation the night 
before, the fairy queen, Titania, lost her 
most precious diamond. She had looked 
on all her delicate gowns of moonbeams, 
jet, search where she would, she could not 
find her lost jewel. So she ordered that the blue-bells be 
sounded, thus calling forth her many subjects, that she might 
command every elf to search in all particles of dust of each 
flower, upon whose petal she might have danced. Thus she 
was seated on her royal throne of fern, over which hung a 
filmy canopy, the work of an industrious spider, directing 
the search for her lost treasure. 

The whole of Fairy-dale was in a tumult over the loss of 
such a costly jewel. Puck, the keen-eyed, was called that 
he, too, might search for the lost. All the wise elves were 
ordered out of their dens of learning ; even the smallest fairy 
was to join in the search until somewhere some trace of the 
jewel was found. 

Through the whole day there was great confusion, but all 
for naught. Gradually Night threw his heavy cloak over 
this fairy-world. The tiny stars crept out and the moon 
shone in all her splendor. Then this Fairy-dale was a dream 
of loveliness, for the fire-flies, with their tiny torches, came 
forth, that the search might continue; now the gauzy robes 


of the fairy-creatures were made more delicately beautiful 
by the glimmer of these torches. 

Still there was no trace of the prized jewel. So finally 
wearied with the search, Titania ordered that a supper of 
nectar and fairy crystal drops be spread before each and every 
one of her faithful subjects. But ah! as the little queen put 
the golden chalice of a daffodil to her lips, that she might 
drink of the nectar, she saw a sparkling in the center of the 
cup and — lo ! — there was her lost diamond, a dewdrop. 
Then all made merry and the laughter of these fairy-creatures 
sounded as peals of silver bells ringing forth for great joy. 

Margaret Coleman. 


a pastoral 


NCE more the time draws near when shepherds all, 
From hill and vale, assemble at the word 
Of their respective masters ; with their flocks 
In all conditions now to be reviewed, 
And judgment passed by overseers stern, 
Lest some lone sheep has suffered sad neglect. 
Come then, muse, inspire this shepherd swain 
With words impressive, that will move the hearts 
Of supervisors e'en so stem as these, 
To pity this expectant, shuddering throng. 

For we poor shepherds are but mortals weak, 
And oft when faint and thirsty lay our sheep, 
Instead of leading them to that pure flood, 
Tested by time, through time refreshed, renewed ; 
Checked for a while by boulders in its path, 
But fed by Norman and Italian streams, 
To rise afresh above them and dash on 
Absorbing from its roughened course the strength 
And purity wherewith to cast aside 
The refuse clogging up its onward flow. 
Instead of this, we led them to some pool, 
Sparkling with evening freshness near at hand, 
In truth, however, stagnant and impure 
Breeding disease and trouble in the fold. 


Or else persuaded by companions gay 
To come and join them in a savoury feast, 
We yield, and all unheeded flits the time 
When we should guide our hungry sheep along, 
With Hannibal through Alpine passes steep 
To Italy's warm plains where they may bask 
On sunny slopes and feed in meadows green. 

Or tempted, yet again we linger long, 
Absorbed in sports with comrades on the green, 
Forgetful of the tedious pilgrimage 
To father Tiber, in the far-off East, 
Who tho' in vain he tried to satisfy 
Our baser natures with the sight of gold, 
And yet, by mingling compounds queer and strange 
In a mysterious way, he can produce 
That savoury substance which delights the taste 
Of sheep in every land and every clime. 

And so, O masters, do we now confess 
Our weaknesses of days now past and gone, 
And plead with you to look into the past, 
That ye remember in your shepherd days 
Temptations such as these came e'en to you. 
And were ye not at such times anxious too, 
When retrospection brought before your minds 
Some idle hours, or frolics dearly bought? 
Recalling this through all the coming days, 
Review the sad results of heedless ways ! 

M. A. RlBBLE, '13. 


Jennie Hurt Editor-in-Chief 

Associate Editors: 
Eugenia W. Gbiffin Annie M. Powell 

Feances P. Mukrell Mary B. Pinkebton 

Eugenia M. Buffington Business Manager 

We shall publish from time to time in our magazine stories 
concerning Sweet Briar. The two stories in this number 
"In the Light of the Embers" and "The Tale of 
Articles the Skeleton/' both of which are connected with 
in this Sweet Briar, need some explanation. There is a 
Number, tradition that on Friday night, as the midnight 
hour approaches, the ghost of Daisy Williams re- 
turns to the gray parlor of the old Sweet Briar house in quest 
of the tall gilt harp which stands shrouded in the dim alcove 
of the parlor. This mute object, the companion of her child- 
hood days, she seeks weekly that she may pass her spirit 
hands across the broken strings. This is, then, the tradition 
upon which the writer of "In the Light of the Embers" bases 
her story. 

"The Tale of the Skeleton" is derived from the following 
facts : When the excavations were being made in the old 
orchard, for the foundation of the Academic Building, a 
skeleton was unearthed by one of the workmen. Just how 
and why this skeleton came to be in this spot will always 
remain a mystery. 

Another workman while digging struck something which 
made his pick-axe rebound with sufficient force to prostrate 
him on the ground. This occurrence the old negro super- 


stitiously attributed to the presence of some "sperit" or 

Though these are two separate and distinct facts, the 
writer has so combined them in "The Tale of the Skeleton" 
that the one serves to explain and verify the other. 

That there is a universal tendency among college students 
to neglect the newspapers and periodicals during their four 

years of college life is, indeed, quite apparent to 
Magazine anyone who talks to the average college student. 
Reading. There are, to be sure, exceptions to this rule, as to 

all others, for some students, along with their 
regular academic work and athletic activities, find time to 
keep up with the topics of the day. But as a rule — and we 
do not believe this statement too sweeping — college students, 
and those who live in dormitories especially, do not find the 
interest which they should find in the newspapers and maga- 
zines. We have noticed this tendency among students from 
various colleges. College girls as a rule know scarcely any- 
thing of outside affairs, except the little knowledge which 
they gain from a hasty glance at the social columns. College 
men, too, though we must admit that they do not err in this 
respect as do their sisters, are prone to give far too much 
of their time to the sporting columns of these periodicals. 
Ask either these men or these girls to discuss the great crisis 
in England at the present time, and they will have, if any 
idea at all, only a very superficial one as to the meaning of 
such a term. Ask them about Zelaya, and very probably they 
remember only to have heard the name. Ask them any 
question concerning modern events, and few of them will be 


able to give you an idea of anything which has appeared 
without the sporting and social columns. 

In our own college we hear numerous students declare 
after the holidays that they felt at a loss whenever any topic 
of the day was mentioned at their homes. We see no excuse 
for such neglect. We feel ashamed that our students have to 
make such a confession. We, therefore, urge them not to 
neglect this important side of their education, but to devote 
some time, if for only a few minutes each day, to the news- 
papers and magazines, which lie undisturbed upon our 
library tables. Moreover, we wish to call their attention to 
our "Current Events Club," where the members of this club 
may hear weekly lectures on world-wide subjects, and where 
they also feel at liberty to discuss freely any question which 
may have appeared during the week. We are glad to see that 
a number of the students have already taken advantage of this 

With a club of this kind in our midst, and our library racks 
filled with magazines and newspapers, the students ought to 
exert themselves in this direction. If this were done not only 
would college life become vastly more interesting, but the 
topic of conversation at the table, in the walks, and, in fact, 
in the social gatherings, would cease to consist in the worth- 
less "small talk" which we hear from day to day. 



When the first issue of the magazine was on its way to 
the press all three basket-ball teams were anxiously awaiting 

the outcome of the final games of the season. 
Basket-Bail. Each team had worked hard during the fall, 

and each firmly expected to win the champion- 
ship. But, sad to relate, all three could not be the winners ! 
It was the good fortune of the Senior-Soph team to get the 
first place. The first game for the championship, on Novem- 
ber 13th, was bravely fought by the Junior-Fresh and Special 
teams, the last of which were victorious. Their victory was 
not for long, however, for a second game was played between 
the Specials and Senior-Sophs on Monday, November 15th, 
in which the latter team won. Again the game was a fierce 
one, but the Senior-Soph team left the field champions of the 

Defeat was indeed bitter for both Special and Junior- 
Fresh teams, yet both could not but feel a certain pleasure in 
seeing the outgoing Seniors carry with them the honors of 
the championship. 

The great athletic event of the year, Field Day, will take 
place on Monday, April 11th. Elsie Zaegel, Sue Hardie, 

Elizabeth Craven, and Mertie Watson have been 
Field Day. chosen to arrange new entries, practice days, etc. 

The old students who remember the last Field 
Day exercises are already beginning to look forward to April 


11th, when there will be not only a hockey game and other 
new entries, but many more students to participate in the 
various athletic feats this year. 

Al l those who enjoy rowing, swimming, and even the 
strollers, find pleasure in our lake. This winter the skaters, 

too, have had their share of the pleasure, for the 
Skating, ice has been thick enough for skating several times 

during the year. Only a few of the students 
have been so unfortunate as to break through. These few 
have received no injury, thanks to Mr. Rollins and Dr. 
Humphreys and their long oars with which they so skillfully 
fished out the unfortunates. 

It is with delight that we announce that work will be begun 
on the hockey field within a few days. The field, we hope, 

will be completed before the middle of March in 
Hockey, order that the students may have time to arrange 

for a game on Field Day. We feel sure that hockey 
will become as popular with the students as basket-ball and 
tennis have always been. We wish to remind the students, 
however, that the success of this sport depends not entirely 
upon their interest in the game, but upon the readiness with 
which they respond to the demand for money which has been 
so recently made. 


g* ©3. €♦ ^ Botes 

Our Association members attempt each Christmas to bring 
joy into the hearts of some who are less fortunate than they. 

A year ago the Association conceived the plan of giving a 
Christmas tree to the children of the Indian mission, which 
is about three miles from our college. On the morning of 
the last Monday before the holidays began a number of the 
students, with Mr. Rollins, Dr. Harley, and Miss Burner, 
who was then visiting us, drove over to take the presents and 
tree decorations. Mr. Rollins, of course, went to minister to 
the spiritual needs of the Indians, Dr. Harley to look after 
our own physical welfare. All morning was spent in dress- 
ing the tree for the arrival of the congregation of the little 
mission chapel. Words cannot picture the looks of delight 
and even of rapture which lighted up the faces of these 
Indian children as they gazed upon their first sparkling 
Christmas tree. 

The Association planned again this year to have the tree 
at the mission. Several of the students were going over, as 
they had done before, but the weather interfered this time. 
So the presents were sent over to be distributed by Miss 
Packard, who has charge of the mission school. 

The Association members, however, would not be satisfied 
without a Christmas tree, so a beautiful one was prepared 
for the neighborhood children. From miles around they 
came to see St. Nicholas, and to receive from him their 
presents, not without words of warning and encouragement 
for the coming year. 


Because we feel that our regular Sunday services are more 
formal than they should be the cabinet has decided to conduct 
the Y. W. C. A. services in the parlor of Randolph Hall in- 
stead of the chapel, as we have done heretofore. The first 
of these meetings, which was- held just after the Christmas 
vacation, proved to be quite successful. 

We are glad to see that the regular Wednesday evening 
prayer meetings, which are now held on every corridor, are 
well attended. These small informal gatherings bring with 
them something which the larger meetings are unable to 

It was unfortunate for us that Sweet Briar was not repre- 
sented this year at the Student Volunteer Convention in 
Rochester, 35T. Y. Though delegates were appointed, none 
of them were able to attend. However, we feel that we have 
not missed this wonderful convention altogether, for Deaconess 
Goodwin visited us shortly after her trip to Rochester, bring- 
ing with her much of the spirit which animated all who were 
present at this great assemblage of students. 

The ofiicers of the Association for the year 19 10-' 11 have 
been recently elected. Loulie Wilson will again be presi- 
dent, Eugenia Buffington, vice-president, Henrietta Wash- 
burn, secretary, and Elsie Zaegel, treasurer. 

This plan of electing our officers at the beginning of the 
second term seems to us a most excellent one, for the new 
officers by becoming familiar with their work during the 
spring months are able to plan during the summer, so that 
at the beginning of the first term the work is continued with- 
out interruption by a change of officers. 


College Copies 

Occasionally we seem to be admitted into the very presence 
of the "King's Treasure" and of the "Queen's Garden." 
Professor Crawford's lecture on "Literature as a Passport," 
on Monday evening, November 8th, served itself as an "open 
sesame" for all who heard him. 

We are proud, indeed, to boast of a Sweet Briar composer's 
evening. On Monday evening, November 8th, the faculty 
surprised us with a program of ten beautiful numbers, all of 
which had been composed by members of the faculty. 

The year 1909-'10 is in many respects an important one 
in the history of Sweet Briar. In this year we issue our 
first student publication; in this year also our first annual 
will appear; in June of this same year our first graduates 
will say farewell to their alma mater. On November 19th, 
also of this same year, another event took place which we 
consider one of the most significant in the annals of our 
college. This event was the celebration of Founders' Day. 
At seven o'clock Founders' services were conducted by Mr. 
Rollins, after which the audience was allowed to depart and 
prepare for the rest of the exercises. At eight o'clock the 
Junior class ushered the students and visitors into the as- 
sembly room. When everyone had been seated the first 
academic procession began. The Seniors and the faculty 


clad in their caps and gowns entered, followed by the speakers 
of the evening. As this impressive procession advanced to the 
front of the room the whole audience arose, applauding 
loudly. When the line had passed up the aisle and everyone 
was again seated, our president ascended the rostrum to make 
an introductory talk upon Founders' Day, and its meaning 
to us at Sweet Briar. 

In this talk she cited, as a most interesting coincidence in 
the history of Sweet Briar, the fact that Elijah Fletcher, 
who bought the estate and amassed the money for the estab- 
lishment of our college, had been graduated from the Uni- 
versity of Vermont, in 1810 — exactly one hundred years 
before Sweet Briar will send forth her first graduates. Thus, 
our first Founders' Day was in a sense the centenary of the 
graduation of one of our founders. 

Dr. Benedict then presented Mr. Manson, who needed no 
introduction at Sweet Briar. His address on the founders 
of Sweet Briar gave us not only a clear outline of the life 
of our benefactors, but a most sympathetic look into their 
daily life and thoughts. 

Dr. Craighead, of Tulane University, next talked about 
the meaning and purpose of an institution like ours. He 
found Sweet Briar quite an ideal spot, he declared, except 
for one thing — a dormitory for the young men whom he found 
in his audience. Perhaps he did not realize, however, that 
so many young men are not admitted at Sweet Briar except 
upon "special" occasions. The special occasion this time 
was Founders' Day celebration and the dance which followed. 

This dance, which we consider one of the most successful 
we have ever had, reflects much credit upon the girls who 
planned it. 


As the guests entered the Refectory they were received by 
Dr. Benedict, together with the Executive Board of the 
Student Government Association. The grand march was led 
by Eugenia Griffin, manager, and Mr. Albertson, of Wash- 
ington and Lee University. Ice was served between dances, 
and refreshments about the middle of the evening. Everyone 
was inded sorry to hear Mr. Dew's voice announce that the 
" 'bus will come in a few minutes !" 

Thanksgiving was spent in various ways by the students. 
Many of them, of course, went to Lynchburg to witness the 
game between Davidson and V. M. I., others to attend the 
matinee. Some of the students, too, spent the holiday with 
friends outside of college, while a great many remained here 
to enjoy a quiet day either on the lake, in riding and driving, 
or in playing tennis. Wherever they stayed, all seemed to 
have had a "perfectly lovely" time, and plenty of Thanks- 
giving turkey. 

The Sophomore class on the evening before Thansgiving 
invited the three classes, with their respective honorary 
members, to go with them on a hay-ride. Of course everyone 
accepted — Sweet Briar people always do — and the wagons 
were jostling slowly along before eight o'clock. 

Very much shaken up, but still in good spirits, the occu- 
pants of the wagons alighted in the middle of the woods, 
kindled a huge fire, and circled about it to toast marshmallows 
and to tell ghost stories. Some of these stories, too, would 
have done credit to Poe or Maupassant. 


What could Sweet Briar do without the Walkers! On 
the evening of Thanksgiving all the students and faculty- 
were invited over to a bonfire at St. Angelo. There they 
saw a bonfire indeed! After enjoying games around the fire, 
the crowd of hungry girls — and hungry faculty, too — 
gathered in the halls and parlors of the beautiful house, where 
the Walkers displayed their usual hospitality in serving 
delicious cakes and hot chocolate. 

Everyone who has heard Maude Powell will realize what 
a treat the students of Sweet Briar enjoyed on Saturday 
evening, December 4th, when she, with her magic violin, 
visited us for the first time. 

The second of the series of debates took place between the 
Freshmen and Sophomores on Monday, December 6th. The 
subject, "Resolved, That college in the country has more 
advantages than college in town," was defended by the Sopho- 
mores, Mary Pinkerton and Elsie Zaegel, while the Fresh- 
men, Mary Tyler and Elizabeth Franke, manfully opposed. 
Fortunate for us at Sweet Briar, it was decided that although 
the college in town may offer many advantages, these advan- 
tages are far outweighed by those which one may derive from 
the college in the country. 

Why is it that the people who manage bazaars always know 
how to get our money? When Miss Guion announced that 
she would be glad for us to give anything to the bazaar which 
we ourselves should like to buy, most of us felt that our purses 
were too thin either to give or to buy. 


But when the time arrived on December 11th, for us to 
look around at the dainty Christmas gifts, the candies, cakes, 
dives in the fish-pond, etc., our purses became still more 
emaciated, while the cash boxes of the bazaar managers in- 
creased steadily in weight. 

Apropos of the bazaar, it will be of interest to the old 
students to know that the money from this bazaar, and that 
which comes from, the sales at the Tea House, is laid aside 
for a Northern scholarship. Different members of the faculty 
conduct the Tea House, where during the fall and spring 
months ices, salads and ice cream are served. During the cold 
days of winter one may buy hot chocolate and cakes. 

We wish to print in this number the program of the 
Christmas Festal service which was held here on Sunday 
evening, December 12th. The hall decorated in garlands 
of evergreen, the stage banked with boughs of cedar, holly, 
and pine, and the big silvery star which shone above the 
heads of the choir, lent a most festive aspect to this beautiful 


Hymn ~No. 50 — Adeste Fideles 


Pastoral Symphony — From the Messiah Handel 


Anthem — There Were Shepherds Myles B. Foster 

Choir and Orchestra 
Psalm 150 


Carols — Shepherds, Shake Off Your Drowsy 

Sleep Old French 

We Three Kings From Orient Are. . . .Old English 

Ring Out, Ye Bells /. H. Wallis 

Choir and String Orchestra 
First Lesson — Isaiah 9 :l-8 
Hymn No. 51 — Hark, the Herald Angels Sing 

Second Lesson — St. Luke 2 :1-14 

Carol — Holy Night Barriby 

Choir and String Orchestra 
Soprano Solo and Chorus — "Lovely Appear" 

(From The Redemption) Gounod 

Choir and Orchestra 
Hymn No. 53— "Shout the Glad Tidings" 

Chaplain — Reverend Wallace E. Rollins. 

Choir — Sopranos: Misses Bancroft, Bradfield, Buffington, 
Clyde, Esther Cornwall, Isabel Cornwall, Crawford, Cocke, 
Dalton, Denham, Mary Ervin, Grammer, Koser, McClain, 
MacDonald, MacWhorter, Pierce, Reddish, Rigney, Schwab, 
Virginia Shoop, Stephenson, Margaret Thomas, Winnie 
Walker. Altos: Misses Howland, Lily Walker, Violet 
Walker, Wilson, Morenus, Ruby Walker, Washburn, Wright. 

Orchestra — Violins : Miss Alexander, Mrs. George Dornin, 
Miss Cornwall, Miss Hancock, Dr. Humphreys. Flute: Dr. 
W. E. Walker. Piccolo: Miss Winnie Walker. Clarinet: 
Dr. George E. Walker. Piano: Miss Virginia Shoop. 
Violas : Misses Gardner, Lily Walker. 'Cellos : Mrs. Rollins, 


Miss Taylor, Mr. Kobert Tait. Oboe: Miss Ruby Walker. 
Drum and cymbals : Mr. Edward Walker. Orchestral organ : 
Mrs. Walker. 

The Billihens and Merry Jesters on Monday evening, 
December 13th, again joined together to give a delightful 
entertainment. Both "The Mouse Trap," presented by the 
Billikens, and "The Land of Heart's Desire" by the Merry 
Jesters, showed great care and dramatic ability. On the 
whole "The Mouse Trap," we think, was the better of the 
two; not that this one displayed greater ability or more 
careful work on the part of the actors and directors, but that 
the other play was a far more difficult one to present. 

The Christmas concert on Thursday evening, December 
16th, was one of the delights of the season. We enjoyed this 
concert so much ourselves that we only wish that there might 
have been more people outside of Sweet Briar to enjoy it 
with us. 

Just as the sun peeped above the top of the nearby ridge 
on the morning of December 17th, the corridors were aroused 
by Christmas carols, which seemed to issue from some 
mysterious source. When the source was discovered, how- 
ever, it was found that six of the students had arisen early 
in the morning in order to go from building to building sing- 
ing the "glad tidings." This is a beautiful custom, we think, 
and one which it would be well for us to establish at Sweet 



Martha Bell and Bessie Jackson were among our visitors 
during the Thanksgiving recess. 

Martha Tillman had as her guests, for a few days in 
December, her sisters, Misses Mary and Katherine Tillman, 
of Nashville, Tenn. 

One of the autumn marriages, which will be of interest to 
5 06-'07 students, is that of Miss Olive Spigner to Mr. Paul 
de Launay, both of Columbia, S. C. 

Mayo Thach, Margaret Cobb, Margaret Thomas, Margaret 
Dalton, Florence Coffin, Rose Owen McDavid, Ruth Dowd, 
Clyde Cranford, Mary Johnson, Nell Davidson, Bessie 
Brown, Margaret Koser, Henrietta Washburn and Lucelia 
McClaine, chaperoned by Miss McLaws, Miss Shaw and 
Miss Carroll, attended the Thanksgiving hop at V. M. I. 

Mary Lou Cobb, Anna Norris, Virginia Ely and Emma 
Bradfield were present at the Thanksgiving dance at 
Annapolis, Md. 

Elizabeth Craven attended the Christmas dances at 

Miss Louise Payne of Lynchburg, Miss Lucy Grwathney of 
Richmond, and Miss Kitty Rogers of Lexington, were the 
guests of Lucy Sims for a few days after the Christmas 


On Thursday, the 6th of January, at Spokane, Wash., 
Helen Lillian Fargo Schulte was married to Dr. Albert 
Tenney. Dr. and Mrs. Tenney will make their home at 
Seattle, Wash. 

Deaconess Goodwin has been with us recently. During 
her visit she delivered several brief talks on the student 
volunteer movement in which she gave an interesting descrip- 
tion of the Rochester Convention, which she had just 

Mrs. Lewis, of New York, who is pleasantly remembered 
as Miss Gabriel, is visiting Dr. Harley at the Apartment 

In Washington, on the 13th of January, Cary Valentine, 
of Richmond was married to Mr. Louis Cutchins, also of 

Cards have been received for the marriage of Miss 
Evelyn Williams, a former Sweet Briar student, to Mr. 
Vincent Miles, to take place on the 8th of February, at Mul- 
berry Hill, Lexington, Va. 

Director? of §>toeet IBrtar College 


President i De. Mary K. Benedict 

Treasurer and Business Manager William B. Dew 


President Annie M. Powell 

Vice-President Jennie Hurt 

Secretary. Louise M. Hoopeb 

Treasurer Annie W. Cumnock 


President Loulie W. Wilson 

Vice-President Eugenia M. Buffington 

Secretary Henrietta Washburn 

Treasurer Elsie Zaegal 


President Mary V. Parker 

Vice-President Alma W. Booth 

Secretary Mary Tyler 

Treasurer Helen Lamfrom 


Tennis Frances P. Murrell 

Golf Martha Tillman 

Boating Kathleen Cowghill 

Basket-ball Annie W. Cumnock 


President Eugenia W. Griffin 

Vice-President Virginia Shoop 

Treasurer Margaret Dalton 


President Annie W. Cumnock 

Vice-President Margaret Browning 

Secretary Frances N. Matson 


Senior Class Louise M. Hooper 

Junior Class Josephine W. Murray 

Sophomore Class Frances N. Matson 

Freshman Class Margaret Dalton 


Editor-in-Chief Annie M. Powell 

Business Manager Frances P. Murrell 

Pine Knot" — President PvOosevelt's Cottage, Albemarle County. Va. 

Sample of Four-Color Process 

from the Presses of 

T , . ,„7, 7, ,, ,. r 

J. P\ Bell Company 

Ia'nchburg, Virginia 




[See other side) 



The Truants (Poem). Mary Pinkerton, '12 89 

The Development of the Early Drama. Emma W. 

Morris, '1 1 90 

Two Letters of Long Ago. Elizabeth Franke, '13 98 

To Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Poem). M 102 

The Fate of An Easter Bonnet. Margaret A. 

Ribble, '13 103 

Cupid's Assistant. Marie Abrams 108 

The Guardian Spirit (Poem). Henrietta Washburn... Ill 

The Story of the Teddy Bear. Almeris Bailey 112 

The Lost Key. Marie Abrams 116 

Jack's First Keal Experience. Isabel Ketring 120 

Five- Year-Old Ambition (Poem). Rebecca White, '13 127 

Editorials 128 

Exchanges 131 

Athletics 133 

Y. W. C. A. Notes 134 

College Topics 135 

Personals 142 

15u0ine0$ manager's; announcement 

The Sweet Briar Magazine, which is conducted by the student 
body of Sweet Briar College, is at present published quarterly. 

We call the attention of our readers, and especially of the students, 
to the firms who advertise with us and who thus have contributed 
materially to the financial support of the magazine. We hope that in 
return the students will, as far as possible, give them their patronage. 

Subscription, $1.50 per year. Our advertising rates are, per year: 

One page. $20.00 

Half page 15.00 

Quarter page 8.00 

Eighth page 5.00 

Payments for advertisements are due after the first issue of the 
magazine. All subscriptions must be paid in advance. 

Address all business communications to 

Eugenia M. Buffington, Bus. Mgr., 
Sweet Briar College. 


Sty? £»ttm?t Irtar ilaga^me 

Published Quarterly by the Students of Sweet Briar College 

Vol. I 


No. 3 

Cfje Ctuant0 

H, long enough our hearts we let 
To that cramped page that life had set 
Our hands, for though the body met 
Its tasks and held its straying look, 
The spirit gnawed behind the book. 

There came an hour in spring when all 
The warm night voices rose to call 
To us across the city wall ; 
A wind went down the streets and we 
Followed it through the gates — were free. 

And we shall never turn to pen 
Our lives in those dull streets again; 
We've lost the prize they kept, but then 
We won ourselves, and all the earth 
Is ours to learn their prize's worth. 

Under the new leafed bough to lie, 
Upon the hilltop near the sky; 
Far off their traffic thunders by, 
Far off their scorn and pity pass. 
How warm the sun upon the grass ! 

Mary Pinkeeton, 12. 


€$z Development of tfje OBarlp Drama 

E must trace the origin of modern drama, 
not from the drama of classic literature, 
but from its beginnings in the Middle Ages. 
Classic drama died a natural death, for 
it was utterly impossible for any true 
drama to survive in those degraded times 
of the late Roman Empire, when public taste demanded 
entertainments that would satisfy the overmastering desire 
for excitement and bloodshed, for cruelty and vice. Thus it 
was not the original drama that the church condemned, but 
the later and corrupt forms, and the gladiatorial shows 
which were substituted in its place. The drama, as we have 
it to-day, was certainly influenced by the classic dramas, but 
this influence did not begin to make itself felt until a com- 
paratively late stage in the development of the drama. 

The new drama grew out of the church's desire to bring 
home to an unlettered people the reality of the chief events 
connected with the Christian religion. As the church serv- 
ice was entirely in Latin, it seemed to the priest both advis- 
able and expedient to attempt to present its truths and 
doctrines to the rude, unlearned masses of barbarian converts 
in symbolic forms and by means of concrete illustrations. 
The splendid liturgy of the church, therefore, gave rise to 
the first step in the development of the new religious drama. 
In the Christmas and Easter services, the gospel narrative 
of the Nativity and the Passion was not only pictured, but 
also enacted around the altar by the priests. All was, at first, 
spectacular. It was, however, but a short and natural step 
to the introduction of dialogue in the Easter service, closely 
following the words of the scriptural narrative. 

The next step in the development originated, perhaps, in 


the Christinas service. This was originally only the repre- 
sentation of the manger scene near the altar, but gradually 
the other incidents connected with the birth of Christ were 
introduced; the Annunciation, the Adoration of the Magi, 
the Flight into Egypt, and so forth. For this, it seems, 
separate platforms or stations were erected in the nave of 
the church: there, in one corner, was placed Herod's throne; 
there, at some distance, was the hill where shepherds 
watched their flocks ; and, near the altar, the manger of 
Bethlehem. In these stations it is thought we have the 
beginning of the act in the modern play. Gradually the 
gap between the Christmas and Easter plays was filled in 
by the representation of other prominent facts in the life of 
Christ. Since some knowledge of the incidents of the Old 
Testament was necessary to a complete understanding of 
Christ's life, the priests introduced other plays depicting 
Old Testament history. Gradually, perhaps one by one, 
these incidents were added until the Mystery plays embraced 
a whole cycle from the creation and fall to the Messianic 
prophecies, the birth, life, and death of Christ. 

Along with these scriptural plays there grew up another 
kind of religious play, the Miracle play. These it seems 
had as their basis some incident from the life of a saint, 
whereas the Mysteries followed scriptural narrative, 
although no such distinction between them existed to mediae- 
val minds. These Miracle or Saint plays were also enacted 
by priests, within the body of the church, almost as though 
some pictured saint had stepped from his richly stained 
window down into the dim cathedral aisle and there per- 
formed anew his miracles. One of the most popular saints 
then, as now, was St. Nicholas, and the numerous legends 
connected with his name might easily furnish material for 
many a crude play. 


As the Passion Play, as it was originally played at Easter, 
gradually grew to include a whole cycle of Mystery plays, 
presented at different stations, we can easily see how con- 
fused and crowded the church must have become, and thus 
how the plays were forced out of the church. To fill the 
urgent need for more space, the plays were moved out into 
the church yard. But this arrangement proved unsatis- 
factory; the graves were desecrated, and the space crowded 
by a noisy, jostling concourse of people, so that some open 
space just outside of the town was chosen as the scene of the 

As the Mysteries increased in elaborateness, the priests 
were unable to devote the required time to them and hence 
laymen were substituted as actors. About this time, too, 
the language changed from Latin to the vernacular. As 
early as the twelfth century, Hilarius wrote in mingled 
Latin and Old French, so we may suppose that this change 
of language was a gradual growth. In order to properly 
present these plays, it was necessary that they be under the 
control of some well-established organization. At first, the 
church had been the only organization of durability and 
power, but, by this stage in the development of the drama, 
the trade organizations had acquired a firm basis, and the 
presentation of the Mysteries was turned over to the guilds. 

In France, when the plays were first given outside of the 
church, all the different stations were arranged upon one 
long platform. Later, however, these stations became sepa- 
rate; each station was erected upon a four-wheel cart, and 
had two stories, the lower one of which served as a dressing- 
room for the actors, while the upper one served as stage. 
It was in this latter form that the stations, or pageants as 
they came to be called, were known in England. 

Sacred drama had no independent origin on English soil,. 


but was introduced into that country after the Norman 
Conquest, and it is probable that the Miracle plays were 
brought over before the Mysteries. However this may be, 
it is certain that in England these pageants became united 
in the Mystery Cycles, which reached a high stage of de- 
velopment and were given elaborate presentation at certain 
fixed times of the year. Pope Urban, in 1264, had insti- 
tuted the feast of Corpus Christi. This feast was not kept, 
however, until several years later. As Corpus Christi day 
was the Thursday after Trinity Sunday, thus happening 
to fall at a season when the days are longest of the whole 
year, the guilds chose that as the day on which to present 
their plays. Great crowds from the surrounding country 
flocked to town to witness the performance. At a very 
early hour — five or six o'clock in the morning — the first 
pageant was presented before the Abbey gates; when this 
was finished it passed on to the next street, and a second took 
its place. Thus it continued, so that each street had a 
pageant playing before it, until all had been performed. 

The guilds bore all expense of the plays, each member 
being taxed a certain amount to defray costs, so that no 
charge was made to the spectators. Great care was exercised 
in the choice of actors. Realism was aimed at, although 
the scenery and stage machinery were of the crudest kind, 
and there was absolutely no change of scenes. In the cos- 
tumes, rich and splendid effects were sought rather than 
appropriateness, and absolutely no attempt was made to 
reproduce the scenery of the country where the action was 
supposed to take place, no effort to give local color as we 
would say to-day. 

The four great cycles of the Mystery plays are the York, 
Towneley, Chester, and Coventry. These are not the work 
of a single author, but each cycle is an organic growth. The 


York cycle, the first to be printed, was probably composed 
between 1340 and 1350, and numbers forty-eight plays. 
The Towneley or Wakefield cycle contains thirty-two plays. 
The Chester manuscript is a late one, but there is reason to 
believe it based on a much earlier text, and it is thought to 
have been written by Randall Higden, a monk of St. Wer- 
burg's Abbey at Chester (1290-1364). The Coventry cycle 
contains forty-two plays, the greater part of which were 
written about 1468. Let us imagine ourselves present at 
the presentation of one of these cycles. 

Early one June morning, in the fourteenth century, the 
quaint medieval old town of Chester is pervaded with un- 
wonted commotion and an air of suppressed excitement. 
Even before the first streaks of dawn appear in the east, 
people are up and stirring in the town ; country people 
from the farms for miles around come thronging in as soon 
as the gates are opened. And all this hurrying crowd 
eagerly pushes on to the market place, to the open square 
before the Town Hall, each one anxious to get a good place 
from which to view the coming pageant. The windows of 
the narrow, gabled houses are filled with curious faces peer- 
ing out ; the arches of every quaintly carved doorway are 
packed with spectators — rough, toil-worn peasants ; pom- 
pous burghers with their wives and daughters in bright- 
colored garments ; sturdy yeomen in the picturesque forest 
green, but without their accustomed long cross-bows, since 
to-day all weapons must be left at home or surrendered to 
the master of ceremonies'. Here and there, a young squire, 
a page, or, perchance, some knight or noble lady in rich 
attire, or a solitary priest with solemn countenance. 
Perhaps some urchins more enterprising than the others 
have climbed into the branches of nearby trees, and await 
the performance from that vantage-ground. 


Thus, in the soft June air, this varied assemblage impa- 
tiently awaits the coming of the first pageant. There is a 
noisy hum of excitement, which soon gives place to an expect- 
ant hush, as the heavy cart is wheeled into the square. The 
lower portion is curtained off with bright green hangings, 
embroidered with religious emblems. On the upper stage 
sits the actor who is to represent the Deity, resplendent in 
shining white, with gilt peruke and flowing gilt beard — a 
costume worn also by the saints and angels. With such crude 
accessories as the stage machinery of the time furnished, 
he attempts to illustrate the creation of the world, using 
hawthorn branches, lanterns and wooden images of bird and 
beast, and accompanying his acts by explanation in rude, halt- 
ing, abrupt lines. Adaan and Eve are next endowed with the 
breath of life, and the Archangel sent to escort them to the 
Garden of Eden. 

Thereupon the cherubim break forth in an anthem of 
praise, the whole movement of which is lighter and freer 
than that of most of the verse. The Creator then rises 
from his throne and walks toward the rear of the stage. 
Lucifer immediately usurps this position and calls upon the 
other angels to know if, by his beauty and power, he is not 
well-fitted to occupy the throne, but they are divided in their 
opinion upon this point. He tries to test his powers still 
further by attempting to fly, but falls off the stage into the 
black, gaping jaws of a pit, intended to represent hell-mouth, 
whither he is followed by his adherents. 

This pageant was given by the plasterers' guild — a curious 
fact about the early plays, for was it mere coincidence or 
only another curious example of medieval symbolism that 
the plasterers were chosen for the representation of the 
creation, the shipwrights for the building of the ark, the 


goldsmiths for the adoration of the Magi, the vintners for 
the first miracle at Cana, and the bakers for the last supper ? 

This pageant is then wheeled on to the next street, and a 
second takes its place, this time greeted with peals of laughter 
from the crowd, as Cain and his saucy plow-boy squabble 
like two homely Yorkshire rustics. And so on throughout 
the various phases of Old Testament history the pageants 
proceed, now holding the spectators spell-bound with interest, 
now throwing them into uproarious mirth at some comic 
invention of the dramatist which was far removed from 
scriptural narrative. Such a lively scene as this is given 
when Noah's wife stubbornly refuses to enter the ark, in 
spite of all commands and entreaties. 

The first of the New Testament pageants shows Csesar 
Augustus, decked out in purple and gold, bullying and dom- 
ineering all about him in a strange mixture of Latin, Anglo- 
Saxon, and Norman French, such as is fitting for so mighty 
a personage. The story of the shepherd's watch by night 
is told simply and graphically, the scene representing, not 
Palestine, but such a one as might be familiar to any Eng- 
lish peasant, and the characters real English shepherds. 
Here the comic element is introduced, also, in the story 
of Mak and the stolen sheep and in the rough shepherd's 
ludicrous attempt to imitate the angel's song. Yet there is 
complete absence of any irreverence on the part of both dram- 
atist and audience; the author only aims at realism and 
dramatic interest in telling the story. Indeed, from this 
point onward, the comic element grows steadily less, there 
is no further burlesque, and the pageants gradually increase 
in intensity, seriousness and tragic interest. 

The next pageant represents the Adoration of the Magi, 
one of the most beautiful of the early English plays in its 
spirit of reverence, its quaint language, and curious union 


of the practical and material with the spiritual. Then 
Herod appears, swaggering and blustering, proudly strutting 
about the stage in a trailing robe of blue satin, wearing a 
gilded helmet, and devoutly worshipping "Mahonne." And 
so on throughout the long summer day, the pageants appear, 
tell their story and teach their lesson, and pass on, until 
finally the last one comes, The Day of Judgment, where the 
souls of the evil — dressed in red and yellow to indicate the 
fate which awaits them — are turned over to the demons to be 
tormented eternally. While the onlookers are awe-inspired 
by this terrifying spectacle, they also gasp with astonishment 
to find among those destined to such punishment no less a 
person than a Pope of Rome ! 

Thus as the waning light puts an end to the spectacles, 
and the weary people, silent and subdued, turn their steps 
homeward, perhaps there is not one among the crowd who has 
not learned some lesson and who has not been forcibly im- 
pressed by this crude but earnest depiction of the Gospel 

In these early attempts at dramatization, one may find 
all the elements which have since been developed into the 
powerful and splendid English drama, elements of both 
comedy and tragedy. True, in these unskilled afforts to 
tell a story, the comic and tragic elements are hopelessly 
mixed, and the attempt at characterization is crude, always 
subordinate to the plot or story. But the next step in the 
development of the drama, the Moralities, made a decided 
advance in this direction, indeed, here character study — not 
of real people but of personifications of abstract virtues and 
vices — occupies the chief place. Thus the raw material was 
ready at hand; it remained for modern drama to supply 
true, natural, human characters for the lifeless personifica- 
tions of the Moralities, and to unite the two, story and 
character delineation, into one brilliant whole. 

E. W. M., '11. 


Ctoo Letters of Long ago 

London, April 19th. 

Y Dear Prae: — Thou knowest not what ex- 
citements I have had since I left old Plym- 
outh Town so long ago — it seems. My 
worthy uncle, Mr. Samuel Pepys, has been 
most wondrous kind and has e'en promised 
to take me himself to court early next 
week to see our Queen©, at which I am most thrilled. He 
has bidden my aunt coach me in the manners and fashions 
of the court so that now I am learning the minuet glide and 
curtsey and languish — and find it most fascinating exercise — 
During Lent we had but few gaieties so they say, but it is all 
so new and strange to me that I scarce know where to begin, 
Prue, nor how to convey to you the wondrous occurrences. 
To-day being Easter Sunday, we went to the King's chapel 
and did hear Dr. Betis preach a most wonderful sermon con- 
cerning the dangers of Hell's fire, which did much uplift 
me. We heard also Captain Cooke's new musique-vialls, and 
other instruments played a symphony between every verse 
of the anthem and most beautiful it was. 

Scarce a week ago, my aunt took me to see the rogue 
Turner hanged. We had a good view from the balcony of 
a house of my aunt's friend opposite the cart. The specta- 
tors were not to be numbered and all thought it a most pleas- 
ing sight to see such a hardened wretch hanged at last, but 
methought it was most pitiful — he being so young and deli- 
cate looking as scarce to be able to commit such crimes. 


Since then have I also been to see a new play at Covent 
Garden. Oh, Prue, plays are the most amazing and marvel- 
ous things in the world ! 'Twas so enchanting that at times 
I found myself gasping through very forgetfulness to breathe. 
The play was entitled "A Midsummer Wight's Dream/' and 
although I was so enthralled with it, uncle — and he must 
surely know, being esteemed so highly by the lord chancellor 
and Lord Callendar — declared it the most insipid ridicu- 
lous play he e'er had seen in all his life. 

Lent being now over, we will go to many routs and weekly 
dancing assemblies next week. And, Prue, if I tell you a 
wondrous secret, thou wilt swear thou wilt not think me vain 
nor e'er breathe it to a soul % 

'Twas only ten days ago, Lady Sandwich's two daughters, 
both monstrous beautiful, came to call, bringing with them 
three or four young gallants. One of these, Sir William 
Hambleton, was most attentive to me, Prue, and has been 
often to see me since. Indeed he hath asked me to step the 
minuet, and quadrille as well, with him at the first assembly. 
My aunt and I are much concerned at present with getting 
me a new frock — all my gowns being monstrous nugging and 
frumpish. E'en now she's calling me to her, so I must 

Write to me soon and tell me all the gossip at home. I 
wish you were here so I could chatter more freely with you 
and so you could enjoy it all with me. My respects and best 
wishes to your honored father and mother. 

Anne Beadfield. 

London, April 29th. 

My Dear Prue: — At last I know what court life is 
like. But two days ago my uncle carried me to White 


Hall to see our Queene in her presence-chamber. Her 
maids of honor were playing at cards with my young Duke of 
Monmouth, a lad of fifteen, already having the manners of a 
young coxcomb of twenty or more. I was much impressed 
with the sweetness and gentleness of Her Majesty, poor 
lady, cruelly neglected, 'tis said, by the King, though 
as she speaks English but imperfectly, I had little 
converse with her. There I met my Lady Anne 
Scot, the little mistress of the Duke of Monmouth, who was 
most gracious and friendly to me, and e'en invited me to go 
in her party to the ball that night given by Lady Castlemaine, 
the most beautiful lady in London and a great favorite with 
the King. And oh ! Prue, I wore my new dress that I wrote 
you Aunt was making for me. I fear me I cannot describe 
it justly to you but I will do my endeavor. 

" 'Tis a black velvet with pink satin sleeves and stomacher, 
and a pink satin petticoat, over which is a fall of white 
crepe ; the sides open in front, spotted all over with gray 
embroidery, and the edge of the coat and skirt trimmed with 
gray fur." 'Tis the most elegant and dashy robing that 
I've ever had and e'en Sir William Hambleton admired it 
extravagantly. I will not tell you all he said, for fear you 
think me a vain puss. My Lady Anne was most beautifully 
gowned in silver lace and being a most graceful dancer, was 
monstrous popular, but still was most thoughtful of my pleas- 
ure and introduced many brave young gallants to me. Oh, 
'twas a most heavenly time, Prue, for 'twas my first real 

After the ball, being in a way in the King's party, we went 
to the play, a new farce, written by one of his young favorites. 
Although at first I thought the vizard or mask worn by most 
of the ladies present — not in our party — a monstrous pity, 


since it hides the whole face, I e'en wished before long that 
I had one, for the farce vastly shocked me — "and indeed, 
'twas most indelicate, and made me bhish scarlet and all the 
more that my Lord Monmouth whispered that he enjoyed the 
broad parts through my cheeks." Uncle says, and I really 
wish it, I need not stay again to the farce, for which I am 
most thankful. 

I don't wonder that you complain that I am becoming 
truly a lady of fashion, for in addition to the routs, assem- 
blies, plays, etc., I have e'en learned to bowl with Sir Wil- 
liam's help, and next week my worthy uncle has promised 
to take me to Bath and Oxford to see the gayeties there 
before returning home. But, Prue, an you promise not to 
tell, particularly Philip — for 'twill make him most con- 
ceited — I'll tell you that I'll e'en be glad to come back to 
dear old Plymouth town and exchange my stately lords and 
ladies, not e'en excepting Sir William, for my good old 
friends at home. 

Your ever loving friend, 


Elizabeth Franke, '13. 


Co aifteO, LorO Cennpson 

{Tennyson's "F rater ave atque vale") 



EAD ns out from noisy strivings, to thy mystic 

country go, 
Where thy song to us is wafted, as the zephyrs 

gently blow, 
Tenderest of all the poets that this world may 

ever know, 
Sweetest bard of all the ages, sing thy measures 

soft and low, 
Chant thy tales of that great king whose realm 

was lit with Truth's bright glow ; 
Sing of lands alight with gladness, of a country 

void of woe; 
Sing of mystic Avalon, the fairyland of long ago ; 
Sing to us of love and battle, knights and 

maidens pure as snow, 
Of the nymphs so softly laughing, of the monk 

with head bent low. 
Sing to us of friendship lasting, Heaven's own 

jewel here below ; 
Sing in measures lightly lilting, chant in rhythm 

solemn, slow, 
Only sing to us, thou poet, sweetest songster 

earth can know ! 



Cbe jFate of an (Easter OSonnet 

jT was a wonderful creation — Dorothy had 
planned every detail of it herself, from the 
hopeless looking wire frame, which had been 
miraculously changed into a drooping white 
cloud of chiffon and lace, to the palest of 
fine rosebuds just under the brim, which 
brought out the faint color in her cheeks ; and then on top 
there were banks and banks of blue forget-me-nots which 
just matched the deep blue eyes underneath them. Truly 
it was most becoming to this slip of seventeen-year-old girl- 
hood, and would not Rob think so too \ Surely ! and Rob's 
judgment was of no little weight these days since it had 
become known to the whole college that he was an ardent 
admirer of Dorothy, and then, to be sure, he was to take 
her to church to-morrow, when he would be rewarded for 
his patience in trying to listen with polite interest and at- 
tention to the trials that had to be endured with stupid 

It had been tried on for the last time Saturday morning 
and, proving entirely satisfactory, was to be sent up imme- 
diately. Dorothy found it waiting for her when she arrived 
at home, and in great exciteinent took it out of the careful 
tissue-paper packings to disclose its charms to the expec- 
tant family. Then when it had been duly admired, she 
bore it off in triumph to be carefully put away in the ward- 
robe until the following day. 

On arriving at her own door, however, a sight met her eyes 
which threw a damper on her exultant spirits. Her small 
sister was curled up in the middle of the bed, sobbing as 


if her heart would break, and in Dorothy's favorite arm- 
chair, reposing in state upon the pillows, was — oh, horrors ! 
— a small rigid white object, which proved to be a deceased 
kitten. Without stopping to comfort the pitiful little ob- 
ject on the bed, she tore the cover from a magazine which lay 
near her on the table, and picking up the innocent corpse 
by its tail, gave it one vigorous fling out of the back window. 

Just at this juncture the small sister had been impelled 
by curiosity to peep through the tear-bedimmed fingers to 
see what was going on. Seeing the object of her grief thus 
heartlessly cast from a second story window down to the 
ash pile in the back yard was just the last straw, and with a 
volley of abuse at her unsympathetic sister she buried her 
head once more in the pillow. 

Dorothy, still horrified at the thought of a dead kitten in 
her arm-chair, was not in the least mood to pity, and for- 
getting for the time the treasure in the hat box on the floor, 
she shrugged her shoulders and walked out of the room, slam- 
ming the door behind her. In disgust she descended the 
stairs to find mother and tell her what a little goose May 
was and that she ought to be spanked. 

May in the meantime, again left to herself, continued the 
violent weeping, thinking all the while of the cruelty of the 
world in general and her own family in particular. Father 
nad even offered to get her another kitten, the very thought 
of which made her loyal little heart shudder; and showed 
that he had no idea at all of what true love is. And now 
hard-hearted Dorothy had been inhumanly disrespectful to 
the dear remains. It was more than she could bear. She 
would just pine away and die ; then they would all know that 
it was a broken heart that killed her, and would be so sorry 
about the kitten, and think how really noble and true kittens 


must be. They would put on her best white dress for a 
shroud and have a funeral with flowers and things — just 
here a bright thought interrupted this gloomy reverie — why 
not have a funeral for Snow ? She could at least give her a 
decent burial. With a bounce she was off the bed and 
starting toward the door. A large white box was in her 
way on the floor, which needed only a vigorous kick to disclose 
the much-talked-about Easter bonnet. A moment May hesi- 
tated — ah, surely here was revenge! In an instant she had 
taken the tongs from the fire-place, and holding the odious 
object at arm's length, carried it over to the window, where 
needless to say, it followed the kitten. 

Feeling relieved already, she ran down the back steps and 
out into the yard. The hat had landed not far from Snrw's 
prostrate form and as she sat down between the two it oc- 
curred to her that her revenge could be even more complete. 
A pair of scissors was all that was necessary; and there was 
no reason to fear the consequences, for she would not be 
discovered before next morning, and of conrso she wouldn't 
live through the night. 

An hour later there was a neat little grave in one corner 
of the garden. Around it was a fence of white wire on 
which pink rosebuds were climbing in profuse abundance. 
The grave itself was a mass of blue forge t-me nots. .Near 
by on the ground lay the exhausted mourner fast asleep. 

Dorothy, a little while later, feeling penitent after her 
hastiness, again made her way up to her room to seek resti- 
tution. No little sister occupied the bed now ; only a hollow 
in the middle and a damp rumpled looking pillow showed 
traces of her. In vain she searched till supper time, and 
then, sitting down to the meal with a rather guilty conscience, 
she awaited her father's arrival, that he might advise about 


the continuance of the search. His footsteps were soon 
heard, but, contrary to all custom, on the back porch. Then 
he appeared in the doorway, a pathetic figure sleeping peace- 
fully in his arms, a decidedly misty look in his eyes — 
and Dorothy forgot every vanity she was ever guilty of during 
the description which her father gave. 

Easter Sunday dawned bright and clear in spite of pessi- 
mistic prophecies of bad weather, but Dorothy saw all kinds 
of triumphs in millinery pass her door without a pang. 

In her small white bed in mother's room May slumbered 
on undisturbed till a violent ring of the door-bell waked her 
with a start. Rubbing her stinging eyes with both hands, 
she tried to remember where she was and what had happened. 
Slowly but surely the appalling thought came over hett* 
that she should be dead. But here she was most decidedly 
alive and with a peculiarly heavy weight on her conscience. 
There was no apparent way open for suicide, and, strange to 
say, the desire to lie in state in a "best white dress" amid 
flowers and weeping friends had entirely vanished. Seem- 
ingly the only means of obtaining forgiveness for yesterday's 
"sweet revenge" was confession, honest and penitent. She 
jumped out of bed without giving herself time to think of 
probable scoldings and rushed up to Dorothy, whom she 
met just coming out of her room. A confused confession 
was poured out, together with an abundant flow of tears, 
but this time Dorothy's pity knew no bounds, and she would 
not leave May until every tear was wiped away. 

Rob, waiting below in the parlor, concluded that the Eas- 
ter bonnet must be a very difficult article to put on. Need- 
less to say, he was rather surprised when Dorothy walked in 
arrayed in the same costume she had been wearing to church 
since Christmas, but as he had heard sounds of sobbing 


from upstairs while he waited, he concluded very naturally 
that something was wrong. He received no explanation 
then, however, for Dorothy had not gained entire control 
over herself since the scene upstairs, and the horror of her 
life was hysterics. 

Strange to say, Rob requested to be allowed to call again 
that afternoon. He had not been there long when Dorothy 
announced that she had something to show him, and led the 
way to the secluded corner of the garden so recently turned 
into a cemetery. There she told him the whole story. The 
funny side was uppermost now and they laughed — right over 
Snow's grave — till it was necessary to sit down on the old 
bench under the oak tree near by. Regardless of the chilli- 
ness of early spring they continued to sit by Snow's grave 
till nearly dark. For Rob also had a story to tell, not a 
new one by any means, but intensely interesting nevertheless ; 
and Dorothy's cheeks did not need the presence of pale pink 
roses to bring out their color, for truly the roses would have 
looked ghastly pale in comparison. And, moreover, forget- 
me-nots were entirely unnecessary, for Rob wore a pale 
blue necktie over which a pair of blue eyes looked perfectly 

Father again coming in the back gate, saw and understood, 
but refrained from carrying the present mourners (?) in 
in his arms. 

M. A. Ribble, '13. 


CupiD'0 distant 

LEANED back in my seat on the big Cali- 
fornia Limited with a weary sigh and 

listened to the rumble of the wheels and 
wondered if the end of the journey would 
ever be reached. But by and by, I began 
in spite of my weariness to be interested 
in my fellow passengers. 

Across the aisle from me sat a patient mother, endeavoring 
to extract a cinder from the eye of her small son, who, having 
screwed up his eye as tightly as possible, resisted all her 
efforts and howled vigorously, while his even smaller sister, 
delighted at her mother's distraction from watching her, 
leaned far out of the window to wave a chubby hand at the 
jack-rabbits and prairie dogs. 

Across the aisle further back an irascible old gentleman, 
much disturbed by the noise of the children, glared angrily 
over the top of his newspaper at the group, and muttered some- 
thing about "children ought not to be allowed on trains." 
The old gentleman evidently had never gotten a cinder in 
his eye when he was a little boy. 

A little further back in the car sat an old lady, surrounded 
by much luggage — a large and ancient carpet-bag, a cotton 
umbrella, a parrot in a cage, some ferns carefully wrapped 
in wet newspapers, and a dilapidated rain-coat. She never 
took her hand off her umbrella or the cage, and kept glancing 
uneasily out of the window every few minutes. Every time 
the conductor or porter came through, she told him to be 
sure to put her off at her station, but she continued to sit on 
the extreme edge of her seat, with the air of one who has a 
morbid fear of getting left on a train, and is determined to 
take all precautions to avoid it. 


Just at this minute a fat negro, looking extremely good 
natured and well fed, waddled through the car, calling "Last 
call for lunch," and I rose promptly and went into the dining 

Somehow, I dreaded waiting for my lunch — it would 
take so long — I complained to myself, but I became so en- 
grossed in watching the rest of the people that I forgot time, 
lunch, and all else in my absorption. 

Alone at one table sat a ruddy-faced and extremely stout 
lady, who ate doggedly, with the air of one who is fully 
determined to get her money's worth, though she suffer from 
dyspepsia the rest of her life. I imagined she had come in 
at the first call for lunch and had been eating steadily ever 

Across the way from her sat a small boy, who was care- 
fully reading the menu from beginning to end, and his 
round eyes were gleaming in delighted anticipation of the 
glorious feast to come. His face beamed with the joy that 
children alone exhibit in the dining car. To them to eat 
there is one of the great things of life — they only can enjoy 
eating soup while it sloshes almost into their eyes at each lurch 
of the train — they only experience a great thrill over "ice 
cream" and "assorted cake." 

I finished my lunch, and returned to the sleeper, resigned 
to a long and monotonous afternoon, but fate had decreed 
otherwise. Upon four separate and distinct occasions I 
detected with interest and amusement the bullet eyes of the 
fat and irascible gentleman glancing covertly at the nervous 
old lady — she detected it also, and coyly began a conversation 
with the parrot, which went on in a low and unceasing mono- 
tone for an interminable length of time. I noted, however, 
that when the old gentleman was absorbed in his newspaper, 
then her eyes found the bald head above the paper even more 


interesting than the parrot. I wondered idly if there would 
be any further developements of this amusing little scene, 
and then Destiny, in the shape of the small boy across the 
aisle, proceeded to arrange things for himself. 

Wandering down the aisle, he leaned over the arm of the 
old lady's seat, and, after regarding her attentively for a 
few minutes, he remarked: "Lady, that man's looking at 
you." I jumped — the old lady jumped, so did the old 
gentleman, and every one else who had caught this startling 
remark. "He looks," continued this small assistant of Cu- 
pid, "he looks like he wants to come and talk to you." 

The old lady blushed violently, but the old gentleman was 
gallant. He rose, and to the extreme delight and interest 
of all passengers, he soon possessed himself of the seat next 
the old lady, remarking something about "the wonderful 
intuition of small boys," etc. 

All afternoon I watched the pair — the gallant old gentle- 
man and the now coy old lady, and I was more than sorry 
when I heard the call for Centreville and saw the old lady 
reach for her carpet-bag. At any rate, the parting of these 
new acquaintances would be interesting, I thought, but there 
I was deceived. There was no parting — that gallant old 
gentleman was talking most kindly to the small boy. He 
was writing down his name and address in a note book — 
how strange, I thought — then — "You must come to see 
Maria and me," indicating the old lady by his fat thumb, 
"when we get settled in Centreville," he said, "you dear 
little, smart little boy!" The train stopped at Centreville, 
and the old lady got off ; so did the gallant old gentleman — 
and yet I had heard him say he was bound for the Golden 
Gate. Evidently Centreville was now the Golden Gate 
for him and I was sure from the cov blushes of the maiden 
lady of the carpet-bag and the beaming countenance of the 
gentleman of the bald head, that he had completely forgotten 
his remark earlier in the day, that "Children ought not to 
be allowed on trains." Maeie Abkams. 


Cfje <8>uacDtan Spirit 

[Written on viewing our college buildings from the top of the hill 
where Daisy Williams lies buried.] 

N calm and peaceful silence, towering high 
On the majestic crest of yon fair hill, 
A solemn witness of a soul passed by, 

Th' inspiring angel, motionless and still, 
Points upward to the azure vault of Heaven, 
With finger speaking Faith, his watchword 
Ah, would that it might now to thee be given 
To share the joy of a Great Presence near, 
In such retreat serene and undefiled, 

Where Earth and Heaven mysteriously do meet ! 
I close my eyes and seem to see the child 

Who, in that nearby world, life here complete, 
Looks down, a spirit that has found release, 
And guards her own last resting place in peace. 


Below this hill, close nestled in a vale, 

A noble piece of man's own handiwork 
Rises alone mid Nature's stretch of dale — ■ 

Within her, life and consciousness do lurk; 
Both of activity of body and 

Of mind a home, concealed amongst these hills, 
She gloriously meaningful doth stand — 

A contemplative spirit she instills, 
Suggesting thoughts magnificently mild, 

By contrast with yon mount in clearest sight — 
I close my eyes and seem to see the child 

Reincarnated in the youth so bright, 
Which lives and breathes and joys within these walls, 

Scarce dreaming that her guarding spirit calls. 

Henrietta Washburn. 


Cfce ^torp of tbt CeOOp 15ear 

WAY off in the deepest, darkest part of a 
forest there used to be a little house, the 
home of the Bear family. The same fam- 
ily lived there that had treated little Golden 
Locks so badly, when she visited them. 
You remember all about that, don't you ? 
There was Father Bear with his deep gruff voice, Mother 
Bear, with her high squeaky voice, and Sonny Bear, with his 
little shrill voice. Xow would you like to know how the 
Bears and Golden Locks met again? If you would, here 
is the story: 

One morning little Sonny Bear got up on the wrong side 
of bed, and that was the cause of all the trouble. Just as 
soon as Sonny found that he had started the day wrong and 
that he was as cross as a little bear could be, he decided that 
he would be bad, just awful, all day long. Maybe if he'd 
decided to be good, things would have gone better, but he was 
too cross to want to be good. 

Sonny went down to breakfast and he looked as mad as 
hops; he swung his feet and kicked his chair, and put his 
forepaws on the table, and wouldn't eat his porridge, and 
pouted until his daddy wanted to spank him. After break- 
fast he grumbled all the time he was wiping the dishes and 
teased to go hunting honey until his mother boxed his ears 
and sent him to bed without any dinner. ]\ T ow wouldn't 
you have thought that by this time any little bear would 
have been tired of being bad? You'd have behaved then, 


wouldn't you ? But Sonny didn't, because you see, when 
bears are cross and bad, they're lots crosser and badder than 
little boys are. 

Sonny went to his room and he behaved worse than ever. 
The sun was shining out of doors and the flowers were 
blooming and the breeze brought the smell of honey. Sonny 
thought of awful things. He wouldn't stay in his room; 
he was hungry and he wanted his dinner ; he wanted that 
honey; he wouldn't stay shut up; he would run away. All 
of a sudden he noticed a branch so near his window that he 
could reach it, and quicker than a flash he was out of the 
window and sliding down the tree to the ground. Then he 
started off. He had decided to run away. He needed a 
spanking, but you wait and see what happened to him. 

Sonny went on and on. He walked so far that he got 
almost out of the forest. But he hadn't found the honey 
and his feet were tired and he began to wish he hadn't gone 
quite so far. He sat down on a stone near a brook to rest 
and to get a drink of water, when all of a sudden he heard 
some one calling to him. Pretty soon a fairy peeped out 
of a buttercup bloom. 

"Hello !" she said, "You're Sonny Bear." 

"Yep," said Sonny. 

"What are you doing so far from home ?" 

"I just earned," answered Sonny. 

"You ran away." 

Sonny only muttered something disagreeable. 

"Aren't you ashamed ?" 

"Xo, I ain't," 

"Well, you ought to be." 

"Well, I ain't ; so there !" 

"You're a bad, cross, little bear, and I'm afraid I'll have 
to teach you a lesson." 


"You dassen't !" yelled Sonny, and started to run away ; 
but goodness ! he couldn't move at all ; he was just stiff. The 
fairy jumped onto a butterfly's back and rode away and left 
Sonny sitting there all alone on the stone, quite unable to 
move. Sonny thought that he had sat there for hours before 
he heard some one coming through the woods. My, but he 
hoped with all his heart that it was the fairy again. ; but no, 
a little girl came into sight among the trees. She came 
nearer still ; and Sonny recognized Golden Locks. She was 
looking for flowers, and in a minute she saw him. 

"Oh, look ! It's a bear !" she cried ; "a make-believe 
bear, and he's just like a sure-nuff one. Where'd he come 
from ?" 

Sonny tried his best to tell her he was a sure-nuff bear, 
but he couldn't say a word. He felt Golden Locks pick him 
up and squeeze him, and the next thing he knew he was on 
the way home with her. 

Golden Locks named him Teddy, played with him all day, 
and took him to bed with her at night; and it was the fun- 
niest thing, Sonny wasn't homesick, and he wasn't even hun- 
gry, though he hadn't had a thing to eat since breakfast. 
Golden Locks said she guessed he was stuffed with straw. 
Maybe the fairy turned his heart and everything else into 
something like that. 

One day, after Teddy had been with Golden Locks about 
a month, they had a visitor — a little girl — and she liked 
Teddy so well that she wanted to take him home. Of course, 
Golden Locks wouldn't allow that, but her mother said, that 
if the little girl would come again the next day, she would 
try to make a bear just like Teddy for her. That night 
Teddy had to let them examine him all over. Then they set 
to work on the new bear. They sewed up his skin and they 



stuffed him with straw and they fixed his ears and sewed on 
his legs and paws. Then they made some eyes out of shoe- 
buttons, and fixed his nose and mouth, and the next day there 
was a bear, almost as good as Teddy, waiting for the little 
girl. She took him home, and goodness ! the next day, most 
a dozen people came to ask Golden Locks' mother to make 
them a Teddy bear. They kept coming every day, and buy- 
ing bears as fast as they could be made, and it wasn't very 
long before the family was almost rich ; so they lived happily 
ever afterwards. But it used to make Teddy just mad be- 
cause they put whistles inside the toy bears to make them 
squeal, and he never could make a sound. He used to think 
that it was too bad that the fairy hadn't turned his voice 
into a whistle instead of just hay; and I do ; too. Don't 
you ? 

Well, Teddy is still living with Golden Locks. I guess 
he'd have been dead long ago if the fairy hadn't changed 
him that day ; but, as it is, he's still alive and happy. So you 
see Teddy did a lot of good after all, because if it hadn't 
been for him you wouldn't have all those toy bears now. But 
don't you think that you can be as cross and bad as you 
please. Something awful might happen to you, and, any- 
way, you wouldn't like to turn into a Teddy bear, would 
you ? So when you get up on the wrong side of the bed in 
the morning, just take my advice and get right back in 
and get up on the other side. 

Almekis Bailey. 



Cf)e Los* iftep 

LOWLY the sunlight faded in the great 
hall of the castle, the soft purple dusk, 
rich and glowing, and mystic as only- 
Spain can have, settled over the whole 
world outside and left the great gloomy 
castle hall dim and dark. A servant ap- 
peared with a lamp, the light from which fell full on the 
face of the motionless man at a table — a young and hand- 
some face, but stern and cold, with dark, mocking eyes' and 
a merciless month. This was Don Luis Cortez, the idol of 
half the ladies in Spain, the darling of the court of Ferdi- 
nand, the trial of his father's existence. 

"Don Luis," — old Count Cortez came slowly into the 
room — "have you thought of the request I made of you? 
Have you decided upon a lady whom you wish to marry?" 
In dead silence the young man arose and walked to the 
door; then he turned his handsome head scornfully toward 
the old man. "No," he laughed back, defiantly, "no — there 
is no hurry," and he laughed again and disappeared out upon 
the battlements. 

"Sefior Don Luis Cortez" — he turned quickly at the soft, 
mocking voice and faced a slender girl — a gypsy, dusky and 
beautiful in the dim light, her luxuriant dark hair tied with 
a brilliant red kerchief, her bare, brown neck and arms 
adorned with many chains and strings of lustrous beads. 
In astonishment he gazed at her. The look of cold scorn 
left his face, and he took a step toward her. With her merry, 


mocking laugh, she sprang away from him and was gone, 
with Cortez following her. Ah! had the fair, bejewelled 
ladies of the court and the gallant courtiers seen indifferent 
Don Luis Cortez in mad chase over the field and rocky road 
after a Spanish gypsy, whose mocking laugh bewitched the 
young lord, as she danced and laughed gaily ahead of him 
in the moonlight, until he finally caught her in his arms ! 

Hours later, worn from his long, mad race, and burning 
with a strange new love, Don Luis stood in the castle hall, 
there to face the truth. In love with a Spanish gypsy, 
he, Luis Cortez ! "'No !" he cried, in anger, striking his fist 
on the table, "]STo, not I, Don Luis Cortez !" 

Cortez married Rita Gonzales, a fair and high-born lady 
of the court, married her in the spirit of stern defiance and 
revenge upon his own heart, and the gypsy knew and grieved, 
but she watched and waited in silence. 

Cortez stood in the old tower one day, on the ground 
floor, gazing out upon the dark forests and sunlit hills. The 
mellow, sweet voice of his bride floated upward from the 
great hall, singing an old Spanish love song, but Cortez 
heard her not. He heard only a merry, mocking laugh — he 
saw only a moonlit road, and a dancing girl with dusky hair, 
beckoning him on and on over the rocky roads. Suddenly 
he was aroused from his dreams by the click of a key in the 
lock behind him, and he sprang for the door. It was locked. 
Noiselessly a girl, with dusky hair and eyes blazing, blazing 
with hatred and revenge, stole out into the open. She 
wandered wildly over the fields, and flung the key far into 
space, and then ran on and on and disappeared into the 
darkness of the forest beyond. 

High and low the castle folk searched for the young lord, 
and in the lonely tower Cortez called and struggled and 


wrenched at the massive door. At once the broken-hearted 
old man, Cortez's father, after searching for days, and finally 
giving up all hope, took his servants and his son's bride and 
left the castle and returned to the castle of Sefiorita Gon- 
zales' father. 

The old castle was silent and deserted. One day at sun- 
set Luis Cortez, summoning his last strength, dragged him- 
self to the barred window. He started back at the sight of a 
beautiful, dusky face. The gypsy gave a single glance at the 
gaunt features of the man she had once loved; all the old 
passion came back to her and her revenge was gone. "Don 
Luis!" she screamed, "I locked you in! I locked you in! 
The key, the key, the key ! She ran to the fields — all night 
long in the moonlight and all the following day she searched 
in her frenzy — then at sunset she returned and peered 
through the grated window. Cortez lay on the stone floor. 
He turned his great, dark eyes toward her and then smiled — 
not the scornful smile of old, but one of tenderness and love. 
"Senorita," he gasped, "it was always you whom I loved. 
I forgive you. I love — " his voice sunk suddenly ; then he 
spoke again. "I am dying," he whispered, hoarsely, "dying, 
dying — " Mad with remorse, the gypsy tore at the heavy 
bars ; she ran through the empty castle and beat frantically 
upon the great door; then back again to the window, and 
called to the man within. Cortez did not move. She called 
again and again, and then, at last, she understood. 

She clung to the gray wall, and it was cold and wet to 
her bare arms. She called to the dead man and begged him 
to speak. She tore at the bars until her hands were bruised 
and bleeding. And then she flew to the fields and searched 
and searched in the moonlight. 


The moss had grown gray on the castle walls, and the 
light shown in through the iron bars of the tower window 
upon the bleaching bones of a skeleton. In the fields beyond, 
an old gypsy crone wandered, searching, searching. She 
was bent and wrinkled; her hair hung wildly around her 
face in thin, white strands, and her dark eyes blazed with 
fiery passion. A peasant asked her what she was searching 
for. She raised her crazed face to his, and pointed to the 
castle tower. "When I find the key," she cried, her wild 
eyes burning with passionate hope and longing ; when I find 
the key, Don Luis Cortez shall come out again in the sun- 
shine; he'll wander with me in the moonlight. The key!" 
she screamed, "I hunt for the key that is lost; I hunt for 
the key that is lost!" Marie Abrams. 


3[ack'0 JFirst Eeal experience 

VElsT from the very first vision, when she 
had been brought in by Miss Gibson, the 
teacher, and given a place across the aisle 
from him, Jack had been captivated. He 
had undoubtedly met his Waterloo then and 

When she had been seated and had brushed off with her 
sleeve her pencil-box key, it was Jack who had quickly picked 
it up and presented it to her, swelling with pride to think 
that he could have done a service for her so easily. 

¥ ow Jack was only eight years old, but he was proudly 
conscious of gaining each day in physical and intellectual 
powers. For every night didn't he stand by father while his 
head came almost to father's wrist ; and didn't he every night 
add and subtract sums and figures, reluctantly leaving when 
Mary appeared — ushering him away in spite of all he could 
say — and just as he was doing his very best ? The only great 
cloud upon Jack's otherwise clear horizon was the fact that 
he was endowed with more than his share of avoirdupois. 
However, this cloud didn't look so awfully black, when 
father had told him he needed everything he possibly could 
possess to grow into a great big man. Jack never doubted 
one word that father said, so he guessed that it was all right. 
So, after her first day, he hurried home from school (he 
knew the way now — Mary didn't have to come any more 
for him) and breathlessly told mother all about her. 

"Mother, her hair is real curly, and is all tied up with the 
widest, bluest ribbon — so soft and so nice," he cried, looking 


up into mother's smiling eyes. "And, mother, guess what 
her name is ? It's Eloise, and just as I was going to ask 
her where she lived when school was out, up came a worser 
and crosser girl than Mary, mother! Oh, she was 1 awful 
ugly! Well, she came and took her away — and she didn't 
want to go either!" 

Every night when mother and father were sitting by the 
fire, Jack would give glowing accounts of what he had given 
to Eloise that day ; what she said ; how she laughed when 
Bobbie Jones had to sit upon a chair by Miss Gibson for be- 
ing bad. Once Jack had given her some big chocolates, so she 
threw away her peanuts that Bobbie had given her. Then all 
the boys laughed at Bobbie, and he grew so mad that he said 
he'd get even some day, for girls couldn't do anything and 
were only babies. Father glanced at mother then, who took 
Jack upon her lap and told him that she hoped her son 
would never say such bad and ugly words about little girls 
as Bobbie Jones did. Little girls were not made to be 
strong or rough as little boys were, therefore he should al- 
ways treat them with kindness and respect. So Jack prom- 
ised mother faithfully that he would. 

One day Miss Gibson told the children that the next day 
would be St. Valentine's — a day when little children re- 
membered one another with the kindest thoughts and words, 
explaining to them how they could do this. That afternoon, 
when school was dismissed, all the boys gathered in front of 
the gate and talked about the valentines. Bobbie Jones was 
going up to his uncle's store and just buy any one he wanted, 
for Bobbie had seen one up there the night before in the 
window. He was going to get one for some one, too ! "You 
bet! and maybe some one won't be glad!" and he turned a 
menacing eye on Jack. 


Jack sniffed, answering back, "Well, I guess I don't care." 

Then all the boys laughed and Bobbie Jones called out, 
"Comei on, boys, let's chase Fatty!" 

And Billy Emmory shouted, "He's des so fat he tan't 
wun, eben !" Billy hadn't yet been able to overcome the 
great social error of lisping. Then all the boys laughed and 
jeered at Jack and called him "Ellie girl, Ellie girl," till 
his face flushed up, and he shook his little fat fist right up 
under Bobbie Jones' nose and told him he'd just better keep 
still. That he shouldn't dare to talk about that Eloise girl 
or he'd hit him one right under the eye, and it would hurt, 
too. Bobbie only laughed and turned on his heel. 

"Come on, fellows!" he shouted. "Don't hurt that baby 
girl !" and away they ran. 

Jack was indignant, to say the least, and stood just where 
they left him, watching them as they ran away down the 
street. His eyes became real large and so bleared he couldn't 
see the boys for a second. Something dropped upon his 
cheek — swiftly with his little clenched fist he brushed that 
drop away, and turned all around to see if anyone was looking. 
No one was, so he swallowed that big lump in his throat real, 
real hard, and turned and ran as fast as his little legs would 
<;arry him towards home. 

When he reached home, there stood Mary instead of 
mother at the door waiting for him. Now he wanted to see 
mother above everybody else; but Mary told him she was 
away, and that he must come right upstairs. Jack did not 
feel so inclined, and he persisted in remaining before the 
fire there to wait for mother. However, with some coaxing 
and debating upon Mary's part, Jack was at last persuaded 
to go up stairs to the nursery, where little boys should go. 

The valentines weighed heavily upon Jack's mind, and after 


imperiously ordering Mary to hunt those "colored pencils," 
he decided to make some valentines for mother, dear, for 
father, and, yes — for Eloise. After Mary brought his pen- 
cils and some papers he started diligently to work. 

"Mary," he said, "Mary — " 

"Well, well, Jack?" answered Mary. 

"Why, jes' how does a val'tine look like?" 

"Why, a what?" 

"Why, a val'tine." Mary never could understand any- 
thing like mother anyway. "Teacher told us to-morrow 
was Val'tine day, and I want to know what a val'tine is 
like?" he asked slowly and somewhat forcefully to make 
Mary comprehend. 

"Oh ! A valentine ! Why — er — like a heart." 

"A what ?" 

"A heart, child, what do you want ?" 

"A heart ? What's that ?" 

"Oh, it's a part of your body, boy S" she answered crossly. 
Mary always was so cross whenever she sewed like that. 

"But, Mary, I don't see it," in a hardly audible whisper. 
The tired Mary religiously put down her sewing, mutter- 
ing something Jack couldn't understand, and told him if he 
asked any more silly questions she would take his pencils 
away. Then she drew him a heart upon the paper. After it 
was drawn, poor Jack didn't know what to do with it. So 
he sat disconsolately by the window, not daring to ask any 
more questions from Mary, and wishing with all his heart 
that his mother and father would come home. 

At last up came a carriage to his house and out stepped 
mother, dear. 

"Mary ! Mary ! there's mother, dear," he cried, and 
pounded on the window-pane to make her look up. But she 


wouldn't, so he jumped from the window and ran breath- 
lessly down the stairs to mother. She held out her arms to 
him, and he ran right up to her. He never was so glad to 
see her before in all his life. She looked so pretty all dressed 
up in blue just like Eloise. 

"Come, mother, dear," he said, pulling her by the hand; 
"I want to tell you about our val'tine." So what could 
mother do but follow him to the fire and listen about his 

"What is a heart for, mother ?" 

"My dear, it is to keep your strength and body in a proper 
condition. It pumps the blood all through your body ; with- 
out it you couldn't live. Ask father; he'll tell you better 
than I." 

"Well, nurse told me it was like this," and he traced an 
imaginary one in the air with his finger. "Is it?" 

"Yes, that's the way it looks." 

"Well, do I have to have one for a val'tine ?" 

"Yes, I believe you should — but, listen, there is father — 
hurry, son, or you won't be ready for dinner." 

After dinner, with father's and mother's assistance, a 
valentine was painfully constructed. A rather bulgy heart, 
all shaded with blue. 

" 'Cause, mother, you know she always wears blue ribbons 
on her head. So, I think that's the nicest color, don't you ?" 
So blue was the color of the heart. Then mothei brought 
some blue ribbon to tie the valentine with at the top. Father 
suggested a few words be written across the top. Jack didn't 
seem to know what to write, so after much thinking and 
scratching of the head upon Jack's part, the inscription was 
decided upon. Across the top was printed, "To Eloise, 
from Jack." 


The next morning Jack could scarcely wait until Mary 
started him to school with the valentine snugly in his pocket. 
He arrived there early, only to find Miss Gibson, who smiled 
to see him so early. Jack assumed an attitude of indiffer- 
ence — almost impossible when this was the great St. Valen- 
tine's day, and there down in his pocket was one for Eloise. 
Once Miss Gibson left the room, and Jack took his opportun- 
ity and quickly placed his blue heart on Eloise's desk. The 
other pupils came exchanging and distributing valentines. 
Soon it was almost time for the bell to ring and school to 
begin, but Eloise hadn't yet appeared. Jack became worried 
and fidgeted to the door and then to his desk again. At last 
she came, all dressed with her ribbons on her hair, sure 
enough. Jack smiled and beamed upon her. Eloise, 
though, didn't see him. She went to her desk, where there 
were already many other valentines from other boys and girls. 
Eloise smiled and looked so pleased that Jack had to laugh. 
Everybody crowded around her to see what valentines 
she had received, Jack remaining on the outer edge of the 
group, where he could just peep through and watch her. She 
opened them, one by one, laughing and smiling all the time. 
At last she came to his, and Jack's heart stood still, failing 
him just for a minute as he turned his eyes away. However, 
he mustered up sufficient courage to look again. Yes, there 
she was still smiling, and, looking around the group, she 
caught his eye and then smiled more than ever. Just at that 
moment up came Bobbie Jones, elbowing his way through. 
He placed proudly upon Eloise's desk a big square box. 
Everybody gasped — even Eloise — and she hurriedly untied 
the string, thanking him. Bobbie importantly gazed at her 
as she took out the valentine. Every one was real still, and 
all gazed at it in awe and amazement, for it was a big square 


valentine, all trimmed with white, gold and silver paper and 
blue pictures. It was the most beautiful object they had 
ever beheld. 

"Oh!" said Eloise, and thanked Bobbie again, who 
stiffly answered: 

"You're welcome." Then Bobbie's eye caught the de- 
jected blue heart lying on the desk. He saw at once that it 
was from Jack. He took it up between his fingers and held 
it up before everybody, and laughed until Eloise blushed. 

"So Fatty made you this, did he ?" If you keep Fatty's, 
you can't have mine — so there!" and he jeeiingly pointed his 
finger to Jack, who had fallen into his seat. 

Eloise's cheek was real red as she wavered, fingering the 
blue heart with its cherished blue ribbon; but this other big 
valentine had completely won her with its new "boughten 
airs." She glanced up. There stood Bobbie, looking scorn- 
fully at her. She turned to look at Jack, who was gazing at 
her with all his soul. Then — Bobbie laughed and pointed 
his finger at Eloise, calling: 

"Jack's your beau !" and with that Eloise stoutly re- 
futed by ruthlessly tearing up the valentine with her two 
little hands and stamped her foot, saying: 

"He's not !" 

Then Miss Gibson rang the bell and everybody had to go 
to their seats. Jack's little heart was pounding so fast he 
thought he would have to jump up. That persistent lump 
he forced down again and again, and he disdained to glance 
up for one moment or even notice Eloise. 

That afternoon, when school was out, he hastened home, 
and there was mother waiting at the door for him this time. 



He never did understand how mother knew, for before he 
even had uttered one word she had stooped down and said : 

"Why, Jack! What's the matter, lad? 

Then Jack couldn't hold back those tears any longer. 
Mother led him to the fireplace and never said one word. 
When he had used every dry spot upon his handkerchief, 
which had been compressed to the minimum size of a tightly- 
rolled ball, she silently handed him hers. Finally, after Jack 
could sob no longer, he turned to mother and told her every- 
thing that had happened. Mother never questioned, for she 
understood. Then Jack ended by saying: 

"And, mother, don't ever ask me about — about — her any 

And mother never did. 

Isabel Ketking. 

& A £ 

jFitoe#ear*£DiD amtutton 

DOX'T just know what I will do 
When I'm a grown-up man ; 

I'd like to sail across the sea 
And find out some new land. 

But mother says there're no lands left 

And all discov'ring's done; 
I guess I'll build a big airship 

And go to 'splore the sun. 

Rebecca White, '13. 


Jennie Hurt Editor-in-Chief 

Associate Editors: 
Eugenia W. Gbiffin Annie M. Powell 
Frances P. Murbell Mary B. Pinkerton 
Mary V. Parker. 
Eugenia M. Buffington Business Manager 

We are again agitating the question of changing our col- 
lege colors. Twice before in the history of the College has 
the dissatisfaction with rose and green arisen 
Our College among the students and even members of the 

Colors. faculty. Twice before has it been moved and 
seconded in our mass-meeting that white be 
substituted for the rose. Each time, however, the motion 
failed to carry a two-thirds vote of the student body. 

A few weeks ago the question was again brought up and 
the vote for white and green was carried by a considerable 
majority. There was a sufficient number of students, how- 
ever, to call for a reconsideration of this action ; as a result 
of which a committee on college colors has been appointed 
to correspond with the largest supply shops in the country in 
order to see if the suitable shades of rose and green can pos- 
sibly be procured. 

The chief cause of discontent on the part of so many of 
the students and faculty comes from the fact that it has 
seemed impossible to get pretty shades of rose and green in 
felt, and hence some very startling combinations of these 
colors have been made. We are glad that the atrocious pink 
and green Sweet Briar pennants which hang in the shop 
windows of Lynchburg, and even in our own book store, 
have not appeared to the artistic sensibilities of our students. 
We do not feel ourselves that they are altogether pleasing to 


our own aesthetic senses, yet we do think that we should not 
give up the colors which have meant so much to us for four 
years without going to the bottom of the affair and proving 
to ourselves that it is impossible for us to procure the suitable 

Rose and green have a meaning to us, for they represent 
the blossoms and foliage of the sweet-briar rose, for which 
our founder named her home and for which she requested 
that our college be named. 

This idea has been carried out still further by our motto, 
"Rosam quae meruit ferat" — "Let her who has deserved the 
rose wear it," and by the name of our annual, The Briar 
Patch. Take away the colors, rose and green, and substitute 
white and green, and all unity is gone. Let us not, therefore, 
fling aside our colors with too great haste, but rather let us 
leave no stone unturned in our attempt to preserve them in 
their suitable shades. 

Without going deeply into the time-worn discussion of the 

advantages of college life and college training, let us consider 

for a moment the opportunities which we have 

Social here at Sweet Briar for deriving those benefits 

Intercourse which come to us through social intercourse 
with our fellow-students. 

Although not yet four years old Sweet Briar has among 
her one hundred and forty students representatives from 
twenty-four states. From Florida and Texas to Maine, from 
California to the eastern part of our own state our students 
come. From the country, from towns and from cities, from 
various stations in life, from families of all denominations, 
these hundred and forty girls have gathered together in one 
place to study and to profit by the contact of student with 


In a college, therefore, like ours, which is in no sense local, 
denominational or undemocratic, we can gain much from 
those with whom we associate from day to day. If we 
would gain a broad view of life we must choose as our 
friends not only those whose ideals and tastes coincide with 
our own, but those who differ from ourselves in temperament 
and in their social as well as in their religious views. 

It was to emphasize these advantages that our Student 
Government Association in the year 1908-09 added By-Law 
XXIII to its Constitution, by which all secret organizations 
are forbidden. 

This is a step which we ourselves have taken. May we 
advance still further by establishing in our college, instead 
of the little cliques and narrow circles so characteristic of 
dormitory life, that broad spirit of democracy and of cos- 
mopolitanism which will thus enable us to enjoy those op- 
portunities which are here to such splendid advantage. 

It does our hearts good to see the work on our new dormi- 
tory progressing so rapidly. This dormitory, which will be 
north of Kandolph Hall, will have on the 
Our New lower floor a large assembly room which, 

Dormitory though only a temporary one, will for the 
present answer the purpose of both auditorium 
and chapel. 

The year 1908-09 gave us Randolph Hall, and now 1910 
will see the erection of a fourth dormitory. If every two 
years henceforth should give us a new building the quad- 
rangle which we all hope some day to see would be very soon 


As we consider the various exchanges on our table, we 
feel almost at a loss to know where to begin in this, our first 
attempt at criticism. Each magazine possesses its peculiar 
merits, and naturally many of them have their weak points. 
It would be a hopeless task for an inexperienced exchange 
department editor to attempt to review all or even a large 
number of these exchanges. So, after much deliberation, 
we have decided to confine our efforts in this issue to writing, 
not a criticism but a brief appreciation of, what we consider, 
the two best magazines upon our table — The University of 
Virginia Magazine and The Vassar Miscellany. Both of 
these possess a breadth and a balance which we hope, in time, 
The Sweet Beiar Magazine will acquire. 

With the editor of The University of Virginia Magazine 
the policy seems to be to make their production representa- 
tive of the spirit and customs of the South, particularly of 
Virginia. This seems to us an excellent policy, the devel- 
opment of which gives to this magazine its chief interest. 
The articles in the series, "In the Old Dominion," are well 
developed character sketches, sketches which give us an 
insight into the lives of somewhat obscure Virginia heroes. 
"Vignettes in Ebony," a series of negro dialect poems, and 
the discussions of Various Southern writers which have 
appeared in the issues, are well written and interesting. 
While this policy of reproducing Southern customs and 
spirit seems to be predominant in the magazine, it in no wise 
restricts its development along other and broader lines. 


Indeed, as we have said before, it is the breadth and balance 
of the magazine which arouses our admiration, the forceful 
and able way in which each department is handled, in which 
each is fully developed while overemphasis is given to none. 

We have read the various issues of the Vassar Miscellany 
with the keenest interest. Here, as in the University of 
Virginia Magazine, it is the departmental development of 
which we especially approve. The Vassar Miscellany wisely 
strives to draw the attention of the students from the narrow 
college walls to the problems of the outside world. The 
"Current Topics" are well chosen and most instructive. The 
magazine reviews, too, are very profitable to the student. Pos- 
sibly, of all the articles that have appeared in the issues, we 
were most interested in the one entitled, "The Vassar Mis- 
cellany," dealing with the development of the magazine from 
the founding to the present day. We were encouraged to 
know that even a magazine of this high order had undergone 
a struggle for existence, and we were inspired to hope that 
some day our efforts will be crowned with the success which 
has crowned the efforts of the editors of the Vassar Miscellany. 



On account of the cold rainy weather during the winter 
months, the members of the tennis club were unable to use 

the courts. JSFow, however, since the courts have 
Tennis been graded and the backstops have been repaired, 

tennis players are enthusiastically planning for the 
annual spring tournament. Those who are devoted to the 
game have already begun to practice daily in order to enter 
as contestants. Not only those students who play tennis, 
but those who are mere spectators, await the outcome of the 
tournament with intense interest, for then the annual cham- 
pionship in both doubles and singles will be determined. 
The tournament will be held during the first two weeks of 

At a recent meeting of the Boating Club, plans for an 
aquatic meet were formulated. This will be the first event 

of the kind to be held on the lake, but since 
Lake Meet many of our students are good swimmers we 

do not doubt that it will be a great success. 
The date for the meet has not yet been set, but will probably 
be near the middle of May. A big raft will be anchored in 
the center of the lake from which diving and swimming 
contests of all kinds will take place. Water polo will also 
be played by those who are sufficiently expert in swimming. 


g, am. €♦ a. Jftotes 

The value of electing the new officers in the middle of the 
session has been shown by the greater ease and readiness 
with which the new committees have been organized. These 
committees, which were selected soon after the election of 
officers, have already drawn up their policies and begun their 
work for next year. 

The Cabinet has made many interesting plans for the rest 
of this year. One of the most successful, no doubt, will be 
the circus, which, though conceived of primarily because of 
its money-making possibilities, will afford great merriment 
to both audience and performers. 

The Association has another plan in view for raising 
money which will be put into execution at the end of the 
year. This plan is to purchase the books used by the classes 
of this year in order to sell them at a small profit to the 
incoming students, thus aiding both seller and buyer. 

Our delegates to the Asheville Convention last June were 
sorry not to see Sweet Briar represented among the many 
beautiful and interesting exhibits of the various associations. 
This year, however, Sweet Briar will not be omitted, for 
posters, books, and other samples of the work of the asso- 
ciation are being collected for the next convention. 


College Copies 

We are always glad to hear about the old "Polly Tech." 
We love still better, however, to hear of her from those who 
know and love her. Better still do we love to hear her deeds 
sung by the V. P. I. Glee Club. 

Though the Glee Club has visited us before, this fact did 
not cause our enjoyment of the entertainment on Saturday 
evening, February 5th, to be at all diminished. 

The Faculty Committee on Entertainment is to be con- 
gratulated on the quality of the musical treats they have 
secured this year. They have given us the opportunity 
of hearing Ernest Hutchinson and Maude Powell, foremost 
representatives of pianists and violinists in America, and in 
February they gave us the further pleasure of hearing a 
baritone singer who, while not yet famous in America, bids 
fair to become so — Horatio Connell. 

It may be said without exaggeration that never has a 
concert been more enjoyed at Sweet Briar than the one 
given by Mr. Connell on the evening of February the twelfth. 
The wonderful quality and tone of the singer's voice, com- 
bined with the charm of his personality, made his singing all 
that could be desired. 

Mr. Connell, who is an American by birth, has but lately 
returned from London, where he has lived for the past nine 
years. We are glad that he will now make his home in 
America. From Sweet Briar Mr. Connell went to Pitts- 
burg to fill engagements, and in May he is to take part in the 
May Festival at Spartanburg. 


Bad as was the night of Friday, February 18, the students 
would not be deprived of the pleasure of hearing Sembrich. 
A special train was sent out and about eighty of the students 
undertook the stormy trip to Lynchburg. At two o'clock 
next morning they trooped into the dormitories, delighted 
with Madame Sembrich and with their journey. 

It often comes into people's heads that girls' do not appre- 
ciate mathematical charts, scientific terms, etc. Perhaps this 
is sometimes true, but not always does it hold, as we observed 
on Saturday, February 19, when Prof. Stevens of Washing- 
ton and Lee, in his most interesting lecture on "The Comet," 
showed us by means of his charts the intricate paths of 
some of the heavenly bodies. It was particularly interesting 
to us to hear of Halley's Comet, which has become visible 
to us since Prof. Stevens' lecture. 

The much-debated subject of government ownership of 
railroads was the point of controversy at the debate held 
February 21, between the Junior debaters, Jennie Hurt and 
Mary Parker, and 'the Sophomore representatives, Elsie 
Zaegel and Mary Pinkerton. The Juniors fought bravely 
for corporation ownership while the Sophomores upheld the 
government side of the question. The debate opened with 
simple statements, made both amusing and emphatic by the 
debaters. But as the controversy progressed the battle 
became quite furious. When every phase of the question 
had been discussed and exhausted by both sides, the judges 
found themselves confronted by a problem which was very 
difficult to solve. Finally, after considering and weighing 
all the points made, it was decided that the victory should 
go to the Sophomores, So the weighty problem was solved 
for once and for all time. 


The Freshmen "babies" are "spunky children" after all. 

On the eve of Washington's birthday they surprised the 
other three classes with the most attractive little envelopes 
decorated with red cherries and enclosing invitations to a won- 
derful dinner. This dinner, which was served in courses, 
and the beautifully decorated table would have delighted the 
heart of old "Georgie" himself. 

Later in the evening the Freshmen entertained us with 
a real George Washington play — real, for there was the 
cherry tree which the obstreperous George whacked down, 
and there was George's father, who forbore to lay hands on 
this mischievous young rascal because he couldn't tell a lie. 
The play was dramatized by one of these same Freshmen 
and presented by them also. Hurrah, we say for the 
Freshmen ! & 

Even though we are college students we have not for- 
gotten the pleasures of our childhood. This was proven by 
the enthusiasm which was manifested when it was announced 
that Dr. Walker would give a "moving-picture show" in the 
assembly room on the evening of February 26. Our enthus- 
iasm was found to be not in the least misplaced, for this 
entertainment was even more unique and interesting than 
such entertainments usually are. Views of Canada, Alaska, 
and California passed before our eyes in the most remarkable 
fashion while, at the same time, our appreciation of them 
was increased by Dr. Walker's remarks upon his personal 
experiences in these countries. 

After the "show," ice-cream and cake were served in the 
Domestic Science room. 

The proceeds of both entertainments were for the benefit 
of the much-desired hockey-field. We are indebted to Dr. 
Walker not only for his assistance in our endeavor, but for 
a most enjoyable evening. 


One would imagine that the whole Senior Class, in migrat- 
ing from the second floor of Randolph Hall at Sweet Briar 
College, to Lynchburg, twelve miles distant, at six o'clock 
on Sunday morning, would have done so in a more orderly 
manner than these aforesaid Seniors did on February 27, 
when they were invited to spend the day with Mr. and Mrs. 
Manson. We can forgive them this time, however, for arous- 
ing us from our morning nap, for the anticipation of a 
visit to Mr. and Mrs. Manson could not but cause even our 
calm and collected upper classmen a certain thrill of excite- 

Those of us who think that we are nice looking and who 
pride ourselves on the taste of our attire must have had 
reason to change our opinions on the evening of February 
28, when the college students attended a "tacky party" given 
by the Specials and Sub-Freshmen. From the country boy 
gazing at the sights before him with eyes and mouth stretched 
wide to the aged lady clad in blue print with "specs" orna- 
menting the end of her nose, not one "tack" was missing. 
There, in the Refectory, they danced and chatted, interspers- 
ing the gaieties with generous glasses of pink lemonade. 
When the ten o'clock bell sounded the company departed 
tired, but happy and grateful to their hostesses for thus 
giving them the opportunity of experiencing the joys of 

Prof. Abbott of Blacksburg, well known at Sweet Briar 
in connection with the V. P. I. Glee Club, gave us a delight- 
ful concert on the evening of March 5th. We hope that it 
will not be long ere he visits us again. 


On Saturday evening, March 2nd, we welcomed another 
of Washington and 'Lee's professors. This time it was 
Dr. Currell, who lectured to us on "The Tempest." Though 
some of us were at first disappointed that he had not selected 
"As you Like It," our commencement play, we were in the 
end glad that Dr. Currell had made so wise a selection. 

After Dr. Currell's lecture the faculty and Seniors were 
invited by Mr. and Mrs. Crawford to meet Dr. Currell in 
their home. 

During the evening, which seemed to flee so rapidly away, 
delightful refreshments were served. 

On Monday, March 7th, the first issue of our annual, The 
Briar Patch, was escorted by both "business manager and 
editor-in-chief to the printers. So important a manu- 
script as this could not, of course, be entrusted to Uncle 
Sam's protection even for a journey of twelve miles ! All 
of us, as well as its staff, are eagerly awaiting the return of 
this much-longed-for traveler. 

It will be of interest to all who visited Sweet Briar last 
May Day to know that this year, instead of "Robin Hood," 
a mask will be presented in the Sweet Briar Dell in honor 
of the queen and her court. Plans are now being made 
for that day as well as for the concert and dance, which in 
the evening are to follow these festivities. 

The Dramatic Club has decided to present as our com- 
mencement play in June, "As You Like It." Though the 
club has never before undertaken one of Shakespeare's plays, 
we see no reason why this undertaking should not prove 
a great success — in fact, we know that it will. 


The very interesting talk on the Indians, which Mr. Dew- 
gave the Current Events Club Sunday night, March 6th, 
opened the eyes of many of the students for the first time 
really to this very difficult problem with which the govern- 
ment is wrestling. 

Mr. Dew's work with the Indians, in the employ of the 
government, was in the interest of missionary as well as edu- 
cational ends. Thus it is that he could give such an intimate, 
sympathetic and unprejudiced view of their daily life, charac- 
teristics, and customs. 

The Club is much indebted to Mr. Dew for the store of 
facts which he gave them from his experience among the 
various tribes, but even more for the wealth of folklore with 
which he so characteristically lightened his address. We 
sincerely hope this is only the beginning and that Mr. Dew 
will very soon favor all the students with a talk on the 
same interesting topic. 

Everyone who knows Virginia Shoop knows of her won- 
derful musical talent. We do not hesitate to say that we are 
proud of her and expect great things of her in the future. We 
were sorry indeed to part with her as well as with her music, 
but we are glad that she shall have the privilege of studying 
in Germany under Teichmuller. 

We are publishing in this issue a copy of Virginia's 
recital in order that those who know her may see for them- 
selves what we enjoyed on March 19. 

Grieg — Sonata for Piano and Violin, Op. 8, Allegro con brio 


| Impromptu, Op. 36. 

Chopin < Etude, Op. 10, No. 5 

miss snoop I Waltz, Op. 34, 'No. 1 


Hugo Wolf Yerborgenheit 

Strauss Trauxn durch die Dammerung 

Brahms Das Madchen Spricht 


Liszt Petrarca Sonetto, Xo. 123 

Paderewski Polonaise, Op. 9, Xo. 6 


Del Riego /. Red Clover 

Wh ite When the Swallows Homeward Fly 

Hatton Bid Me to Live 


Mendelssohn Concerto in G minor — last movement 


With accompaniment of 2d piano and double string quartette. 

Be it Resolved, That the students of Sweet Briar College do 
hereby express their warmest appreciation of the action of 
their chaplain, Rev. Wallace E. Rollins, in declining the 
many and urgent calls recently extended to him. 

Be it Resolved also, That not only do the students recognize 
in Mr. Rollins a chaplain who exerts an active and forceful 
influence for good in their college, but they recognize in him 
a personal and sympathetic friend of each individual girl. 
Be it further Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions 
be presented to Mr. Rollins, a copy published in the next 
issue of the college magazine, and a copy entered on the 
minutes of the Student Government Association. 

Eugenia Whyte Griffin, 
Margaret L. Dalton, 
Alma Wheeler Booth, 
Annie Marion Powell, 
Committee from the Student Body. 



We are glad indeed to welcome to Sweet Briar Miss S. G. 
Patterson, who has just returned from Germany. 

The many friends of Lanier Dunn are glad to have her 
again with them at Sweet Briar. 

Beba Stephenson, who was so fortunate in having her 
mother with her during her long illness at the Infirmary, 
is now quite well and enjoying a visit from her sister, Miss 
Helen Stephenson. 

It was a great pleasure to have with us just before the 
Easter vacation Mrs. Katherine Salter Bushnell. We have 
always enjoyed Mrs. Bushnell's singing. When we heard, 
therefore, that she would take part in Virginia Snoop's 
recital we were even more delighted to have her with us. 

Margaret Cobb, who had to leave college on account of 
illness, is now much better. We sincerely hope that she will 
be able to be with us during the May Day festivities. 

Mary Pinkerton was very fortunate in having her mother 
with her before the Easter vacation. 

Byrd Knox also enjoyed a visit from her mother before 
and during the Easter vacation. 

Mrs. Davidson, of Washington, D. C, visited her 
daughter Nelle for a few days this spring. 

Cammie Bodman's mother and little sister were with 
her for some time during March. 

Mr. Catlett, from Staunton, visited his daughter Lucy 
during the early spring. 


Margaret Thomas, Lillian Bowman, Katherine Lanier, 
Bessie Grammer, Clyde Cranford, Sara Denham, Lou Em- 
ma McWhorter, Emma Clyde and Katherine McDonald, 
chaperoned by Miss Cole and Miss Shaw, attended the hops 
on February 5 th at Washington and Lee University. 

Margaret Dalton, Virginia Eldridge, Martha Tillman and 
Mary Ervin attended the Woodbury Forest hops in February. 

Frances Richardson had as her guest for several days in 
March her father, Mr. J. L. Richardson. 

The engagement of Miss Janie Owen, of Lynchburg, to 
Mr. Charlie Heald, one of our college directors, also of 
Lynchburg, has been announced. The marriage will soon 
take place. 

Mr. Bell, of Lexington, and Mr. Rollins exchanged pul- 
pits some time ago. Mr. Bell, who came for both morning 
and evening service, was enjoyed by students and faculty. 

Mrs. Buffington and her daughter Sara Louise arrived a 
short while before the Easter vacation for a visit to Eugenia 
Buffington. Mrs. Buffington with her two daughters spent 
the vacation at Hot Springs, Virginia. 

Luima Pfeiffer's mother, father and little sister visited 
her a short while ago. 

Directory of §>toeet IBriar College 


President Dr. Mary K. Benedict 

Treasurer and Business Manager William B. Dew 


President Annie M. Powell 

Vice-President Jennie Hurt 

Secretary Louise M. Hooper 

Treasurer Annie W. Cumnock 


President Loulle W. Wilson 

Vice-President Eugenia M. Buffington 

Secretary Henrietta Washburn 

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Eye (Poem). Mary Pinkerton, '12 147 

The Development of the Arthur Cycle. Louise 

M. Hooper, '10 148 

Love (Poem). L. E 158 

Robert Herrick — A Study of His Poetry. E. W. 

M., '11 159 

The Vision of Saint Anthony. Louise M. Hooper, 

'10 165 

The Wood-Road (Poem). M 173 

May Day. V 175 

When in Rome. Henrietta Washburn 179 

Reminiscences of a Poet. B. B. White, '13 185 

The Indian Settlement. A. M. P . 192 

Sweet Briar Residents. A. W. Cumnock, '10 196 

To the Spirit of Song (Poem). M 200 

The Foreign Nieces of Miss Susanne. Marie 

Abrams 200 

Editorials 203 

Athletics 206 

Y. W. C. A 209 

College Topics 211 

Personals 216 

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Published Quarterly by the Students of Sweet Briar College 

Vol. I 


No. 4 





LL day long in the wind its gray-green waves are 
To silver in the red valley, 
Till they sweep up the hillside to rally 
Their tossing crests on the ridge in a sea without 

But at evening their surges stand still, the wind 
Grown gentle, whispering slowly 
In the rye, murmurs a holy 
Benediction before its footsteps pass in the 

Mary Pinkerton, '12. 


C&e Development of tjje 3rti)ur Cpcle 

From the Beginning Through Geoffrey of Monmouth. 

HOUGH the English possess no epic which 
can be considered genuinely national, per- 
haps owing to the fact that there was a 
conflict during the epic period between so 
many heterogeneous traditions, yet their 
loss is more than atoned for in the possession 
of that greatest of national creations, the legendary history 
of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. 

Despite the fact that a mighty effort has been made in an 
attempt to uplift King Arthur as a national hero, for a 
scientific age such as ours, his fame rests too obviously on a 
legendary foundation to admit of its acceptance as a basis of 
national pride. There can be no dispute, however, as to the 
supreme position in our literature which is accorded 
Arthurian romance, at once so full of love and adventure, so 
seemingly infinite in variety, and so captivating in its sug- 
gestion. The Arthur tales will be remembered when those of 
historic heroes are long since lost among the multitudinous 
facts of history. We shall never cease, as long as the Celtic 
blood flows in our veins, to be profoundly stirred by the 
stories in connection with the life of this mystic king. It 
will perhaps ever be true that here poets, artists, musicians 
will ever find inspiraton to their best efforts. 

The character of Arthur is as fascinating as it is complex. 
Of one thing we can be sure and that is that there was once 
a real Arthur, who later became the hero of the Welsh tales, 
the "Chronicles" of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and the 
romances of the Round Table. 


It is indeed unfortunate that it is impossible for us to 
construct a coherent historical picture, by which we would 
thus be enabled to compare side by side the historical and the 
legendary personages. It is most certainly an error for any- 
one to suppose those legends, which group themselves about 
the life of the romantic king, to be arbitrary creations, and 
not to recognize them as having an origin in real fact and 
a rational development long before the period, in which, 
crystallized in their final legendary form, they are merged in 
the current of literature. 

We should remember that before Arthur appeared in 
French form in the romance of the Round Table he was 
a Celtic hero in the Breton and more especially still in the 
yet earlier Welsh tales. Behind these there was the original 
Arthur, perhaps the last great Celtic chief in Great Britain, 
to whom belonged the honor of giving the last blow to the 
Saxon invasion in Kent and West Wales. His legendary 
development may perhaps be traced to the defeat of the Celtic 
genius in arms, which forthwith resorted to songs for revenge, 
the true mark of a conquered race. 

The prophecies of Merlin for the real Arthur are certainly 
more than realized by that hero in the tales which per- 
petuated his fame. In the course of a few centuries of oral 
repetition, and in addition to this in the course of a migration 
to a different people and language, the tales were gradually 
altered to a far ampler tenor. It is surely only natural to 
suppose that they underwent a marked degree of change in 
crossing the channel and in exchanging the soil and speech 
of Brittany for those of France. With the amplifying of 
the tone of the tales came inevitably an equal growth in the 
proportions of the hero. 

From the Celtic chieftain develops the poetic king, who, 
not content with pacifying the Celts, defeats the Saxons, and 


crowns his declining years with the establishment of a reign 
of peace and justice upon earth. 

The construction of this edifice of fable, however, by which 
it is evident the Celts hoped to conceal from themselves the 
real ruin of their race, was not completed in a single day. As 
has before been suggested, with the multitudinous repetitions 
which these popular legends underwent, the figure of King 
Arthur kept pace with the increasingly ambitious prophecies 
of the seer. This was accomplished in the main by enrich- 
ing him with every noble trait which could be borrowed from 
the story of any great chief. Around the main personage, 
too, began, by degrees, to revolve other ideal types, until 
finally was founded the harmonious hierarchy of King 
Arthur and his Knights, which became by its very nature a 
fountain head of romantic literature. 

The character of Arthur may, therefore, be treated as a 
threefold creation, or, in other words, we realize that in the 
upbuilding of this marvelous personality materials were 
drawn from three distinct sources. 

First, there was the historical Arthur, a great chieftain 
who held a conspicuous place in the written and unwritten 
annals of the early Welsh; second, many mythical traits 
were joined to the already noble character of the hero by his 
association with the ancients of his race ; third, after passing- 
through the changing fortunes of seven centuries, the final 
Arthur emerged — a romantic personality, brilliant and 
unique as he was supreme. It is certainly very interesting 
to learn how this development came about. 

Arthur's name does not occur in any historical document, 
which we have any knowledge of, before the "Historia 
Britonum" of Nennius about 826. This history Nennius 
based on the old Celtic tales which were at that time current 
in Britain. He tells us that after the time of Ambrosius 


Arthur fought against the invading Saxons in twelve battles, 
the last of which was the famous Mt. Badon. The position 
the historical Arthur occupied is clearly defined in these 
words in the "Historia" : "Pugnabat cum regibus Britonum 
sed ipse dux erat bellorum." Arthur was the "dux bellorum" 
of the Britons, a recognized title which existed before and 
even after the withdrawal of the Romans. After this event, 
during the fifth century, hard pressed by the Saxon invaders, 
the Britons won a series of battles, crowned by the glorious 
victory of Mt. Badon. Here Arthur was slain. In the 
reverses which followed in the later sixth century the hero- 
worshipping Bretons reverenced even more than ever the 
brave leader who had previously brought them success. It is 
safe to say that Arthur now becomes a name to conjure with, 
an all-powerful magnet by which are caught and held what- 
ever materials of legend, myth, and saga, not irrevocably 
connected with some other hero. He is eagerly crowned with 
the laurels of grateful memory and long-forgotten deities are 
stripped of their possessions to increase his glory. 

These Celtic stories were transmitted to the French by 
the Amorican Bretons, who migrated from South Wales and 
Cornwall in the fifth and sixth centuries. These growing 
traditions then entered upon an era of altered development. 
They found great popularity in France with all classes, and 
soon came to be preferred, even to the songs of the trouveres. 
Many centuries after this the "History" of Geoffrey (a more 
detailed account of which follows in this paper) was trans- 
lated by Wace into old French, and this far more poetical 
form of Arthur completely routed the Charlemagne Cycle, 
which, with its pervading feeling of feudal ties, had ceased 
to find an echo in the hearts and life of the people. 

But meanwhile we must not suppose that the insular Celts 
had forgotten the ancient traditions of their race. In Eng- 


land as in France the Arthurian lays were sung by bards 
and minstrels. The conquerors, who showed an amazing 
readiness to identify themselves with the history and fortunes 
of their new land, were charmed with the imaginative beauty 
of the poems. Thus after the conquest the tales were widely 
disseminated so that they became familiar to every one. 
They now only awaited some impulse to be extensively 
written down. 

Before the appearance of romance the old French narra- 
tive lays are certainly the most pleasing form in which these 
stories are preserved to us. With these lays is inevitably 
associated the name of Marie de France, who, though a 
French woman, spent the greater part of her life in England. 
There having become familiar with the tales which were 
then current of "the old courteous Bretons," through the 
agency of the minstrels, she was inspired by their beauty 
and soon turned them into graceful verse. 

Following Marie de France the next contributor which we 
find to the upbuilding of the Arthur cycle was made by 
Crestien de Troyes. He was a Frenchman who character- 
istically turned the simple Breton lays into elaborate, courtly 

The most significant thing to be noted in connection with 
these poems is the fact that they appear to have offered a 
natural rallying ground for the Knights of the Round Table 
about King Arthur. Perhaps as many as a score of heroes, 
who had hitherto enjoyed an entirely independent existence, 
are now forced to enlist in the service of the great king. As 
Mr. Scofield says, "The time for individual knights was past 
when Arthur once mustered his forces." As if by a great 
magnet they were irresistibly attracted to him by the sheer 
grandeur of his name. By virtue of this, too, perhaps by 
reflected glory, their characters and their valorous deeds 


assumed an ever greater nobility when associated with this 
illustrious monarch. 

The poems of Crestien are quite as worthy of note for yet 
another reason. The old poems which he found ready at hand 
Crestien embellished with really tender sentiments and won- 
derful descriptions. And the refined and chivalrous tone 
which the tales assume after his time convince us that this, 
too, is due to his recasting. But, though the tales did gain 
in the several ways mentioned, we cannot help but feel that 
they have lost somewhat in their depth of thought in propor- 
tion as they have varied from the Celtic model. In the 
French revarnishing of the tale of Tristrim, for instance, 
the beauty of the original legend was in great measure con- 
cealed. In the Celtic tales the philtre is drunk by Tristan to 
gain all knowledge, and the result which ensues, his madness 
and despair, is the madness and despair of a mortal fatally 
endowed with the universal insight of a god. In the French 
redaction we find the philtre degenerated into a mere vulgar 
love draught. It is the same thing with Merlin — whereas 
in the Celtic texts he is pictured as mad with grief at behold- 
ing the sorrows of a fratricidal war and in consequence gifted 
with the powers of seer and magician over all nature, in the 
French romances his frenzy and powers of magic have no 
worthier cause than his love for Vivian. 

There were many imitators of Crestien in France and 
Germany. First appeared the charming poem Le Bel 
Inconnu, written by the Knight Renard de Beaujou; later 
the splendid translations of Erec and Ivan by Hartmann 
von Aue, and finally the great poem Parzival, closely allied 
to the Conte del Grael, written by Wolfram von Eschenbach. 

A still later development of these older tales we find in the 
metrical and prose romances, which formed so large a part 
of the current literature of the time. 


These romances, .so-called, were a sort of potpourri of 
popular tales, a collection of adventures of the various 
Knights of Arthur, joined loosely together. Viewed to-day, 
as a whole, they are monotonous and utterly lacking in unity. 
At that day, however, the case was entirely different. They 
were not taken as a whole — they were not originally designed 
for that — but they were read piecemeal, perhaps only one or 
two episodes at a time. These were heard with breathless 
interest by those who gathered in the great hall of the castle 
to hear them read by one skilled in the art. 

In the various tales each particular knight assumes the role 
that best suits his individual character. Tales of certain 
ones, too, become more numerous as the character grows in 
popularity. In France Percival and Gawain enjoyed the 
greatest popularity, while in England the chosen knights 
were Lancelot and Tristrim. 

Meanwhile King Arthur, though his character is in no 
way allowed to degenerate from its former nobility, assumes 
more the role of an onlooker than an active participant in 
the exploits of his Kound Table. At the head of his knights 
he lives out the length of his days, fated ever to be youthful 
and courageous, happy in their brave deeds, till, with the pas- 
sage of years, the noble order perishes, and King Arthur is 
borne mysteriously to the realm of the Otherworld. 

It is difficult to truly estimate the real value of these early 
Breton romances, for it is certainly true that they possess a 
charm all their own. Looking at them from the standpoint 
of our own time we realize that that is due, not to the form 
in which they were cast, but to the very spirit which they 
embody. Even the practical minds of modern times are 
entranced by their unreality, held enthralled by their ethereal 
beauty, and beguiled by their innate spirit of unearthliness. 


As did those of olden times our natures respond to the charm 
of mystery implied in 

"The forest and the enchantments drear 
Where more is meant than meets the ear." 
To us as to those people of olden days the lande eventurense 
is irresistible in its appeal. 

And for pleasures such as these, we are forced to acknowl- 
edge, the "matter of Britain" is unsurpassed. It is a veri- 
table treasure horde, in which the most wonderful possession 
of all is Arthurian romance. 

But the Arthur tales, so far as they have been traced in 
this brief history, have not yet been cast into the mold from 
which they emerge in their most enduring form. This great 
and lasting work was reserved for one of the most flagrant 
and brilliant of literary impositors which it has yet been the 
fortune of England to produce — good or bad as the case may 

This man was Geoffrey of Monmouth, the writer of the 
Historia Begum Britannice, the most permanent literary 
production of that age. Geoffrey, it is claimed, was of Welsh 
descent, and thus perhaps we may account psychologically 
for his keenly developed powers of imagination. Swift of 
wit, he perceived the need of his time and straightway sought 
to supply that need. 

He conceived the daring scheme, which required a master 
mind even to plan, of writing a comprehensive history of his 
nation, which should exalt to heaven the prowess of his down- 
trodden but ambitious race. He perceived that this would 
delight the Normans, whose interest was so closely bound up 
in the country which they had adopted as their own, and that 
it would also make its appeal to the pride of the native Eng- 
lish themselves. 


Therefore, taking as sources the Historia Britonum, by 
Nennius, the Breton lays current in his day, and many tales 
of the classics, he wove them all into the fabric of a marvelous 
history. As a literal translation of some ancient and long- 
lost document he exhibited this imaginary history to the 
gullible public. There can be no doubt as to the fact that 
the thing was well done, and the very boldness of the im- 
posture challenged success. 

Although Geoffrey was denounced by some few con- 
temporary scholars as a flagrant overrider of the truth, his 
work was universally enjoyed by '.Normans and English, 
because it pictured the traditions of the land as they wished 
them to be. 

This was sufficient — it became popular everywhere, and 
was even translated into a number of different languages. 
For hundreds of years the work had a great influence on litera- 
ture and life. The Latin Historia was almost immediately 
translated into French by Wace and Gaimer, which trans- 
lation furnished the basis for the work of Layamon, who in 
his Brut (C. 1200) gives us the first poetic history of the 
Arthur legends in the vernacular, which is certainly a most 
important literary possession. It is this work which in turn 
furnished the basis for the work of Mallory in the fifteenth 
century, which is generally considered the source of 
Arthurian romance. 

This man of inventive genius, Geoffrey, left no fact lack- 
ing in the fabric which he wove so subtly. The scope of the 
work he made to embrace the period extending from the 
time of the landing of the Trojan Brutus on the shores of 
Albion through the Saxon invasion and the reign of the 
illustrious King Arthur, to whose character he probably 
contributed more than had any single writer. Thus it is that 


the rendering of the Arthur legend into an even more en- 
during form than it had before been cast is perhaps Geoffrey's 
most important service. If Geoffrey had not written his 
history the stories which are associated with the name of 
Lear, of Cymbeline, of Gorboduc, of Lucrine, and a multi- 
tude of others, would never have been preserved to us. 
Probably few of the legends of Arthur would have been 
familiar to English ears, and Merlin and Arthur would have 
been far less names to conjure with. 

Here, as everywhere the legends are treated, the charm of 
romance, the fascination of the infused spirit of fairy tradi- 
tion, which breathes through them, is as enchanting to-day 
as it has ever been. In one of the Canterbury Tales — I 
think in that of the wife of Bathe — Chaucer tells us that 
in Arthur's time England was "fulfilled of fayerye," but I 
cannot but think that it was no less true of his own age, and 
just as much so of our own. The legends which deal with 
these early times are "stimulated and aided by the concep- 
tions living among the people." There as nowhere else they 
are vitalized by sympathetic belief. This will always be true 
as long as Celtic blood flows in English veins. 

Search where we will among the store of national folk 
lore, and I think nothing will be found to match Arthurian 
romance. Nowhere can there be found anything which makes 
so strong an appeal to our imagination. As some writer has 
justly said, "It is the glory of the Celtic race that originated 
it, the French that gave it shape, and the English that adopted 
it as their own." 

Louise M. Hooper, '10. 




LOVE, how strong thou wert in that bold breast 
Which to the Stygian shore and Pluto's realm 
With plaintive lyre, unarmed, didst dare make 

Of her whom Proserpine and Tartarus held ! 
So great thou wert that Sisyphus let fall 
His load, and Tantalus his thirst o'ercame 
To hear the strains of Orpheus and thy call, 
O Love. The Furies, too, their wet eyes dried. 
That Queen her opiate poppy ceased to press, 
While from her dusky brow eternal gloom 
Was shed, and e'en that King to thy distress 
Unmoved could not remain when from the throng 
Of spirits pale and wan, Eurydice sped 
To seek her Orpheus and his well-known song. 
O Love, unthinking Love, couldst thou have thought 
Of all the woe and pain in those two breasts 
Which by a heedless look alone was wrought, 
Wouldst thou have held in thy relentless hold 
The will which dared for thee a task so bold ? 

L. K. 


I&ofcert derrick— a ^tuDp of ^10 Poetrp 

ITH Herrick we enter upon a new phase of 
poetry, one almost unique, differing alike 
from the poetry of both preceding and sub- 
sequent ages. He stands, as it were, 
between the school of Spenser and the 
Cavalier poets, yet equally aloof from both, 
with a spirit and style removed even from that of his professed 
model, the poet whom he most admired, "rare Ben Jonson." 
The most marked characteristic of Herrick' s verse is, perhaps, 
his Latinism. Many before him had written pastorals and 
translations, many among his successors have written love 
lyrics, but none of the others have caught so completely the 
spirit of the Roman muse. 

Herrick has been compared to both Martial and Catullus ; 
however, it seems difficult, almost impossible, to say that he 
resembles one more than another, for in his poetry we find 
echoes of all the Latin poets — "stately Vergil, witty Ovid, 
soft Catullus, sharp-fang' d Martial," Horace, Juvenal, and 
the others. Parts of his poems often read word for word as 
the Latin does, yet they do not convey the impression of a 
deliberate translation, but rather of unconscious echoes of a 
half-forgotten song, the complete reincarnation of the ancient 
spirit of poetry. 

In the dominating genius of his verse — at least of the 
Hesperides or earlier poems — Herrick may be said to most 
resemble Catullus. There is the same intense love for the 
beautiful, the joy of living and loving, the quick appreciation 
of all that is bright and free and youthful. "Vivamus, mea 
Lesbia, atque amemus," sang one ; "Let us live, O my Lesbia, 
and let us love. . . . Suns may rise and set, but for us, 


when once onr brief light has waned, there is one perpetual 
night for sleeping." And across the lapse of years the other 
answers : 

"While Fates permit us, let's be merry ; 
Pass all we must the fatal ferry : 
And this our life too whirls away, 
With the rotation of the day." 
Or again : 

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may: 
Old time is still a-flying; 
And that same flower that smiles to-day, 
To-morrow will be dying." 

Like Catullus, Herri ck, too, writes many a lyric, many a 
love song. He, too, writes a poem lamenting the death of a 
beloved sparrow ; he praises his mistress' beauty and expresses 
his devotion, in much the same terms as does the Roman; 
he, also, idealizes his love in much the same way : 

"What I fancy, I approve; 
No dislike there is in love." 

In spite of all this, however, one cannot but feel that, just 
as to Catullus Lesbia meant all that was beautiful in every 
sense of the word, so the poems of Herrick are addressed to 
an ideal of perfect and abstract beauty rather than to a real 
person, and Dianeme, Julia, Perilla, Cinthea, and Perenna 
are but names to express this ideal. 

In the form of his poetry, Herrick reminds us of Martial, 
although he is absolutely free from the caustic wit and harsh, 
stinging sarcasm that often characterizes the latter's work. 
The poems of both are usually brief and to the point, both 
full of a certain flashing kind of wit, skilful cleverness, and 
well-turned, often epigrammatic, phrases. In several in- 


stances, there is also pronounced similarity of subject, such 
as in the poems "To His Muse," those to his book, and the 
one telling when he wishes his verses to be read : 

"When the rose reigns, and locks with ointments shine, 
Let rigid Cato read these lines of mine" 

is an exact repetition of the lines, 

"Cum regnat rosa, cum madent capilli, 
tunc me vel rigidi legant Catones." 
It is interesting to compare his poem on the fly buried in 
a bead to Martial's epigram on a viper thus enclosed in amber, 
and the poem about Herrick's little maid, Prew, with Mar- 
tial's concerning the little slave girl. Moreover, both poets 
delight to sing the praises of a rural life, both, in turn, tire 
of this, and long for the noise and excitement of the city 
once more. 

Like Ovid, Herrick loves to give a mythical explanation 
of things about him, to express some pretty conceit about the 
trees and flowers ; he tells why the wall-flower is so called, 
how springs came first, how violets became blue and mari- 
golds yellow. Though his poetry as a rule expresses more 
active joy than that of the leisurely, pleasure-loving Horace, 
still in some of Herrick's drinking songs — for example, the 
"Cobbler's Catch," "A Bacchanalian Verse," and the "Ode to 
Ben Jonson" — there is an echo of the "nunc est bibendum." 
Then again it is as if Juvenal were speaking once more, 
through the lips of our own English poet. Both praise the 
country life, and the beauty of the old-time simplicity and 
frugality coupled with sweet contentment. 

" 'Tis not the food, but the content, 

That makes the table's merriment." 
" 'Tis not the extent 

Of land makes life, but sweet content." 


"For seldom use commends the pleasure," forms an exact 
parallel to ie V oluptates commendat rarior usus." Another 
interesting parallel is given in the statement of the subjects 
of which their books treat. And again we may trace a 
resemblance to the ancient moralist in the lines, 

"Who swims with virtue, he shall still be sure 
(Ulysses-like) all tempests to endure." 

Besides these, Herrick's description of a stingy host, in "A 
Panegyric to Sir Lewis Pemberton," makes an interesting 
comparison with portions of Juvenal's Fifth Satire, and his 
poem on "The Country Life" with the treatment of the same 
subject in the Eleventh Satire, as well as with several of 
Martial's epigrams. His scorn of Fortune's might echoes 
Juvenal's sentiments upon the vanity of human wishes — 
Nullum numen hdbes, si sit prudentia, nos te 
Nos facimus, Fortuna, deam caelque locamus, 

"Nam pro jucundis optissima quaeque dabunt di." 

It is, perhaps, to Vergil, the "Wielder of the stateliest 
measure ever moulded by the lips of man," that Herrick's 
"jocund Muse" bears least resemblance. Yet even these two 
have some things in common. Both love the country and 
both have the power of dignifying with poetic charm the 
commonplaces of every-day life. In "The Country Life," in 
"To Phillis," and in the poem to Lady Abdie, there are lines 
and descriptions which remind us of the pastorals of Vergil 
in his lighter moments ; for example, the following lines : 

"So smells the breath about the hives, 
When well the work of honey thrives ; 
And all the busy factors come, 
Laden with wax and honey, home." 


Herrick seems thus to sometimes catch the spirit of the 
pastoral better than others who deliberately set out to imitate 

Moreover, we frequently meet with Latinism in expres- 
sions such as "Love's chorus led by Cupid," in the exclama- 
tion " Ai me!" and in single words, such as when he speaks 
of the "candor undefil'd" of his book, or uses the word "inter- 
talked," or speaks of the "supremest kiss." Allusions to 
ancient Roman customs are often made ; he mentions the 
"holy-meal and spiriting-salt" used in the funeral rites of 
the ancients ; he beseeches Julia : 

"Cut off thy hair, and let thy tears be shed 
Over my turf, when I am buried. 
Then for effusions, let none wanting be, 
Or other rites that do belong to me." 

Akin to the Latin, too, are his naive expressions of belief 
in the certainty of the immortality of his verses. In the 
poem to his father he writes : 

"Thou gav'st me life (but mortal) ; for that one 
Favour, I'll make full satisfaction; 
For my life mortal, rise from out thy hearse, 
And take a life immortal from my verse." 

In the poem to Mistress Elizabeth Herrick, he echoes the 
"exegi monumentum cere perennius, in the lines : 
"When there's not one 
Eemainder left of brass or stone, 
Thy living epitaph shall be, 
Though lost in them, yet found in me." 
Again, addressing himself, he writes : 

"Thou shalt not all die ; for while Love's fire shines 
Upon his altar, men shall read thy lines." 


From these examples cited, I think we may say that Kobert 
Herrick must be compared not to a single one of the Roman 
poets, but to all of them — for he knew and loved them all. He 
seems to be endowed with the spirit of Latin poetry more than 
any other of the earlier English poets, more, perhaps, than 
any at all up to the time of Tennyson. Herrick has been 
criticised as a "hedonist and a pagan," yet this seems only 
partly true. A hedonist? Yes, if a keen joy in life and 
his surroundings be hedonistic, and a pagan, also, if an in- 
tense love of beauty be an attribute of paganism. There is, 
however, a tinge of idealism in Herrick, also; he desires 
true beauty of a higher type : 

"Let's strive to the best ; the gods, we know it, 
Pillars and men, hate an indifferent poet." 

"When I love (as some have told 
Love I shall when I am old), 
O ye Graces ! make me fit 
For the welcoming of it." 

"He lives, who lives to virtue : men who cast 
Their ends for pleasure do not live but last." 

Besides, he is an optimist; he believes in the good of the 
world that he loves, and he has a certain philosophy of his 

"Evil no nature hath ; the loss of good 
Is that which gives to sin a livelihood." 

So to those who charge him with flippancy and too much 
levity, let him but speak for himself, to disprove the charge. 

E. W. M., '11. 


Cije Vision of ^>atnt ^ntfjonp 

HE faintest of andante pianissimo move- 
ments had ceased to quiver from the mighty 
organ at the far end of the cathedral in 
response to the loving touch of Giovanni's 
skillful fingers. The daylight was dying 
from the great sun-loving Gothic windows, 
shadows were beginning to creep about the base of the tower- 
ing piers, and the lofty nave roof was lost in shadows, but 
still Bartolome stood with troubled eyes gazing upon his 
own lovely but unfinished work. 

"Was all his labor to be in vain ? Could it be that he 
would never finish the picture because his ideal was impos- 
sible of realization ?" These questions kept recurring to his 
mind with irritating persistency. 

Brother Francesco had been in to view his work only the 
day before and he had seemed almost mad with disappoint- 
ment when he found the great altar piece so near completion 
yet with the painter standing idle before it. It had been 
to no purpose for Bartolome to protest that he would yet finish 
the Vision. Surely in two days' time the picture would be 
ready for the celebration of the Saint's day. 

But after the irascible old monk had hobbled down the 
aisle, thumping his heavy stick upon the pavement as he 
went, and throwing back exhortations to work which sounded 
suggestively like threats, the young painter leaned wearily 
against a pier and gazed dispiritedly up at the noble figure 
of Saint Anthony, which stood so majestically before him, 
created by his own hand. 

The Saint indeed stood there gazing heavenward in holy 
ecstasy, a spirit of devout fervor pervading his whole body — 


but seek as he would, — and the painter had searched from the 
Guadalqui vir to the Torre del Oro, — he had failed to find a 
face in the whole of Seville which he thought capable of 
inspiring in the person of the Virgin such noble enthusiasm. 

When he had faintly suggested this to the holy brother on 
his return to-day in hopes of seeing the picture finished, the 
old man had replied inpatiently: 

"Tut, tut, Don Murillo, there is no lack of pretty women 
in the city of Seville! You have grown over-particular of 
your models since you have sojourned for so long a time with 
the great Don Velasquez at the capital. I pray you forget 
this foolish idea and in one hour I will send you a dozen 
girls from whom you may choose the most beautiful to play 
the part of our dear Lady in your picture. We are paying 
you in good ducats if you finish our picture for the day of 
the blessed Saint, which falls on the morrow. There is no 
saying, too, what misfortune may betide our monastery — or 
it may come to you Senor painter as well — if our patron be 
neglected on his own sacred day." 

Bartolome had said little in reply except that he cared not 
for the great price — it was only the picture for which he 

He stood rapt in thought as the shadows fell deeper on the 
tiled floor throughout the whole cathedral, and a certain 
dimness pervaded the picturesque vistas through the shadowy 
arches. His eyes were fixed on the great silver statue of the 
Virgin with her babe seated so majestically upon the Gothic 

What if he might find a woman with the queenly bearing 
of this one, the noble pose of her head, the expression of 
heavenly joy on her countenance, the graceful poise of her 
whole body — But lo ! the dear Virgin had granted his 
prayer. His breath came quickly as he gazed, for at that 


moment he experienced a vision. Near the Puerta del Perdon 
he saw such a sight as his eyes had never rested on before— 
an angel truly. "Within the bronze doors knelt a woman, her 
hands clasped, her whole being uplifted in prayer, appar- 
ently oblivious to the presence of anyone else, save herself, 
in the whole great cathedral. Her uncovered head was 
bowed, her face was almost hidden, but a dim shaft of golden 
sunlight, which at that moment broke through the stained 
glass window near her, in one last burst of autumn radiance, 
was caught and held by a mass of red gold hair. 

Bartolome noted as he looked that a curl slipped from 
some kind of a great, emerald-studded comb, which gleamed 
in the light, and slipped down, on to the long, black cape in 
which she was clad. 

So overpowered was he by the beauty of this heavenly 
vision that he was on the point of falling to his knees in 
adoration. But just at that moment his attention was riveted 
by a slight movement of a hand with tapering fingers, which 
emerged from the recesses of the black cape and quickly 
made the sign of the cross upon her breast. Then it was 
that the angel's head was lifted, the marvelous eyes opened 
and fire seemed to burn from their depths into the very heart 
of the painter as he stood in silent, awe-stricken wonder. She 
gazed straight at the silver image of the Virgin and Babe 
only a few feet away from him, her look was one of reverent 
and awe-inspiring devotion, her face transfigured by an 
almost heavenly glory. His heart was fairly bursting with 
the joy of the glorious sight before him. Now, by the help 
of the kind Lady of Grace, his dream was to be realized. 
This glorious apparition had come in direct answer to his 

He seized his brush and had made several impassioned 
strokes upon the ready canvas, when, hearing a slight move- 


ment behind him, he turned to find the luminous eyes turned 
directly upon himself. The vision had disappeared now and 
in its place stood a girl with a rather startled look upon her 
beautiful features. She had arisen from her knees, realized 
she was no longer alone, and had now turned to leave the 

The startled look assumed an almost frightened air when 
Murillo's voice sang down from the chancel : 

"Do not leave me, my beautiful angel, just when my dream 
has come true. One moment more and you shall occupy the 
place of our glorious Lady in my picture." 

But her quick steps had already carried her almost to the 
bronze doors when his pleading tone arrested her flight. 
Turning she called back: 

"I whom you see, Seignior, am no angel — but only a poor 
girl of the Court. The Queen is now at the Castle of Alcazer, 
Seignior, and I am but one of her maids." 

At these words Bartolome came down the long aisle, and as 
he approached her, seeing the quick tears start to her eyes, 
said : 

"Fear not me, my Senorita, I wish you no harm, but only 
that you stay and allow me to see your heavenly smile yet 
one short five minutes longer that I may transfer it to my 

"But, Seignior, I cannot, I will soon be missed at the 
palace — and, alas, I must return!" 

"Why," questioned Bartolome, "do you not ivish to 
return ?" 

"Oh, no — no," and the young girl burst into a flood of 
tears. "The Queen, usually so kind to poor Dona Beatrix 
de Cabrera, is now most unkind !" 

"How has she mistreated you, Senorita ? Perhaps, perhaps 


you will alow me to help you," Bartolome was at once all 

"Oh, will you, will you ?" she asked eagerly. " Can you 
though, can you kill Don Pedro de Moya ?" 

The painter winced a little. 

"For the Queen has promised that on my eighteenth birth- 
day I am to be his bride. And though I do not love him — 
to say truth I hate the man — he holds the Queen to her 
promise, which was stamped with the royal seal. And now — 
my birthday falls on the morrow! How little did I dream 
that the joyous Saint's day would mark my doom. O 
Seignior painter, what can I do now ? I fear that naught 
but death is left me. I cannot marry the man whom I 
detest !" 

"By no means," said Murillo. 

"But what can I do? I escaped from the palace only to 
come here to beseech the help of the dear Mother. I thought 
perhaps I should be heard better in her own Santa Maria 
della Sedia. After I evaded the Lady in Waiting, a perfect 
ogre of a woman, I slipped from the women's apartments 
down through the patio, then bribed the keeper of the gate, 
and was permitted to pass out. 

"How daring you were," breathed Murillo, enchanted and 
hoping to keep her. 

"I had never been on the streets alone before, and your 
Seville, so busy a mart, frightened me when I found myself 
in the crowds flooding the thoroughfares. But I wandered 
until finally I came to the Court of Oranges. There I sat 
down a moment to rest by the fountain, then I came in. I 
prayed — and I thought for a moment that my prayer had 
been heard, for I seemed to see myself rescued by the help 
of some noble friend, who should be bold enough to brave the 
anger of the Queen. But then — you recalled me, and I 


found myself the same unhappy girl I had been before ! 
But I must go, poor unfortunate that I am, or I shall soon 
be missed from my prison, and that dreadful Don Pedro will 
be at hand to seize and drag me back ! What can I do, what 
shall I do?" she moaned. 

"Naught more than allow me to aid your ladyship," replied 

"But how?" she asked eagerly, relief showing in her voice. 

"By no other way so well, I think, as by marrying me, 
your ladyship." 

His very boldness appalled her. She did not even protest. 
Her dark eyes filled with tears, her lips quivered, her hands 
clasped each other convulsively for a moment, then coming 
nearer to Bartolome, she replied: 

"But I cannot let you — I will not allow you to sacrifice 
yourself for me, for one who is so unworthy. You are noble 
— but indeed you must forget your generous speech, for I 
cannot accept such self-sacrifice." 

She had taken his hands in her earnestness, and stood 
looking up into his kind eyes turned so pityingly upon her. 
But even as she gazed into their depths she seemed to find 
there a deeper emotion than pity. Her hands fell to her 
sides, a deep flush suffused her face and she looked quickly 

It was Murillo's turn to plead. 

"But, Senorita," he replied, "why should you call such 
an act a sacrifice ? Far from it — it would indeed be a glorious 
privilege — one which would bring me more happiness than 
ever I imagined even in my wildest dreams. For Dona 
Beatrix, since the moment just past when you knelt there near 
the great window, your glorious eyes full of the mystery of 
prayer, your face heavenly in its gladness, your hair im- 


prisoning the late sunbeams — I have loved you as never 
before man has loved. I hardly dared believe you more 
than an angel, so thrilled my heart became at the wondrously 
beautiful picture you made. I fancied a vision had been 
vouchsafed to me in my need. But now your coming has 
saved me — you have indeed played the angel to a despairing 
painter. My picture shall soon be completed if you will only 
remain and then — we shall go to the house of Fra Bertrand, 
a priest and my good friend, who will soon make you my 
wife. Then we shall leave Seville, leave the Queen, the Court 
and all its horrors far behind. We shall go to Sardao, 
where we shall be happy — happy with each other and by the 
sea. There as long as you wish it we shall remain, and I shall 
paint you with the sea light in your eyes and those wondrous 
waves of gold blowing in the sea wind, and your sweet lips 
parted just as I see them now in happy surprise. What say 
you to my plan, my loved one ? Will you not trust me to 
take you away from these cruel people, to make you happy 
once more V 

He paused a second in the very earnestness of his pleading. 

"Why do you fear, Don Murillo, I would go to the end 
of all lands with you ? I, who a moment ago believed I 
hated all men, because one was so cruel — now have begun 
to think that at least there is one, whom I cannot hate — 
because of his kind and noble heart." 

As night fell in the Moorish Court of Oranges a belated 
beggar, seated by the quaint old gate, saw two figures emerge 
into the darkness from the portal of the cathedral. 

One he saw to be a woman, a great cape wrapped about 
her, the hood drawn over her hair ; the other he recognized 
as they approached — a stalwart figure, tall and broad 


shouldered, who assisted the woman to descend the long flight 
of steps with a marked gentleness and deference of bearing. 

"Don Murillo, by Our Lady," he muttered. "Never before 
have I seen him in the company of a woman. What has 
come over the man !" 

But as they hurried down the court, stopping only long 
enough to toss the largest coin in Murillo's purse into his 
box, their happy faces left in the mind of the beggar no 
further room for conjecture. 

On the morrow, in the early morning of Saint Anthony's 
Day, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Sedia was thronged 
to overflowing. For the people had come to see unveiled the 
Vision of Saint Anthony, which all the city knew the great 
painter, Don Murillo, had done in honor of the Saint. 

When the curtain before the altar piece had been drawn 
back, revealing to their gaze the picture, the deep silence of 
the cathedral was only broken here and there by low ex- 
clamations of delight, of wonder, of awe. Before them in 
the picture stood indeed the noble figure of their own Saint — 
but this was not the whole. Above him and gazing down 
upon him with marvelously luminous, wondrously loving 
eyes, was seen the beautiful face of the Virgin. She was 
clad in a black mantle, which would have lent to the picture 
a sombre tone, had it not been that, seemingly a moment 
before, a mass of coppery golden hair had fallen about the 
shoulders, which gave a certain radiance to her whole face 
and figure. 

All fell to their knees in spontaneous and silent adoration, 
for all realized that in this vision the Virgin had indeed been 
reincarnated in the person of a real woman — the earthly and 
the heavenly at last had met. 

Louise M. Hooper, '10. 



C&e mooO*I&oaD 

HE wood-road calls and beckons, 

With alluring, whispered plea: 
"Come, follow up my windings, 

And ever happy be ! 
For just around the turning 

Of the woodland road, there lies 
The happy land of pure delight, 
With smiling, summer skies." 

So a short road or long road, 
The right road or wrong road, 

'Tis ever a wood-road for me! 
A bright road or gray road, 
A sad road or gay road, 

'Tis a wood-road that leads to thee. 

Adown the dim and dreamy aisles 

The fairy spirits flit ; 
While round about all nature smiles 

Till the glow-worm's lamps are lit, 
And somewhere on its winding ways 

The road leads past that place 
Where dwell the ghosts of all the 

Which have most happy been. 

So a short road or long road, 
The right road or wrong road, 
'Tis ever a wood-road for me ! 


A bright road or gray road, 
A sad road or gay road, 

'Tis a wood-road that leads to thee. 

Dream-flowers bloom beside the road, 

To guide the wanderer's feet — 
Wind-flowers, and heart's-ease, and eglantine, 

And laurels with perfume sweet. 
The South Wind, with murmur caressing, 

Now whispers and calls to you ; 
And I know we'll find, at the wood-road's end, 

The country where dreams come true. 

So a short road or long road, 
The right road or wrong road, 

'Tis ever a wood-road for me ! 
A bright road or gray road, 
A ,sad road or gay road, 

'Tis a wood-road, Love, leads to thee. 




e&ay Dap 

AY DAY ! What is there associated with 
this day, the very name of which seems to 
conjure up so many thoughts of joy, beauty, 
and gladness ? Is it that we have read how 
the Romans during the last days of April 
and the first of May held their joyful 
festival, the Floralia, in honor of Flora, beautiful goddess of 
flowers and fruits ? Or is it because we know how in Eng- 
land even before the sixteenth century all the people, both 
young and old, from village and country, laid aside their 
work, and donning their holiday clothes gave themselves up to 
a day of festivities and merrymaking? How on the night 
before, just after the midnight hour, youths and maidens arose 
to go accompanied by music and the blowing of horns into 
some neighboring wood, where they adorned themselves with 
nosegays and garlands of hawthorne, with which, as the sun 
began to rise, they hastened home to decorate the doors and 
windows of their simple houses. How in the latter part of 
the day they gathered on the village green to dance around 
the gaily decked May pole which unmolested had stood all 
year as though consecrated to the goddess of flowers. How 
one of the number who was chosen Lord of the May, usually 
impersonating Robin Hood, in "scarfs, ribbands, and other 
fineries" sat beside Maid Marion, the Lady of the May, and 
presided over the games, the wrestling matches and archery 
contests in which his "merrie men" clad in suits of lincoln 


green participated; while the maidens with their fantastic 
dresses adorned with bells, danced the Morris dances. And 
how in later years when this beautiful fete had fallen into 
disuse, and such beauty-loving people as the Squire of Brace- 
bridge Hall encouraged in the country folk a love for this old 
custom, they crowned a rosy-cheeked girl of the village, and 
danced and sported as in days gone by. Is it, then, because 
we have heard and read of these other May Days that such 
thoughts within us rise ? Or is it because on May Day all 
nature seems to be exultant that she has burst the bonds of 
winter and has begun a reign of flowers and sunshine % 

Whether we associate May Day with the ancient Koman 
festival of flowers, or with the English May pole dance and 
pageants, or with the spirit of gladness which all nature 
seems to express, we cannot but feel that it is a day not only 
to be observed because of its beautiful ancestry, but to be 
enjoyed because it is May Day. 

At Sweet Briar we have always regarded this day as one 
of the most important in our calendar. It was on May Day 
of the first year that that small line of girls clad in white 
wound their way across the campus, in and out among the 
dark green firs and spruces, and around the corner of the old 
two-towered mansion, into the box-wood circle, singing as they 

"Sweet Briar, Sweet Briar, the flower fair, 
The rose that on your crest you wear 
Shall never fade, but always bear 
Thy beauty, O Sweet Briar." 

And then standing around a throne of flowers they waved 
aloft branches of white dog-wood while they sang a spring 


song to Queen Anne, who walked majestically toward her 
throne. Her loyal subjects then crowned and garlanded her 
with flowers and presented to her a scepter, not of gold and 
precious stones, but of daisies. With such a scepter no queen 
could rule harshly, so bidding her loyal subjects be merry, 
she showed them the May pole, which stood gaily decked in 
streamers of rose and green in the center of the box-wood 
circle. And the subjects of no other monarch have been so 
happy as were the subjects of that May queen as they wound 
the May pole to the little song: 

"Gaily now we twine the May pole 
With our colors rose and green. 
Singing merrily to springtime, 

To fair springtime and our queen." 

When twelve long months had brought around a second 
month of flowers, another queen sat on the throne — Queen 
Mary was her name. Far more numerous were her subjects, 
too, though no less obedient to her commands. At one gentle 
nod of her pretty head they sped away to do her bidding, and 
to be glad. First, they danced around the May pole, and then 
disappearing as if by magic behind the box-wood bushes, 
they reappeared, skipping and singing in the quaint old folk 
dance, "Ace of Diamonds." No sooner had this ceased than 
the minuet with its stately measures began. The queen 
herself could not resist this, so laying aside her scepter and 
stepping from her throne she danced with majestic mien this 
most graceful dance. 

Queen Josephine succeeded Mary, and again there was 
no lack of mirth within the borders of her realm. Even the 
bold Eobin Hood and his lawless merrie men came to play 


before her beneath the green wood, and when another May 
Day found her again upon the throne, the seasons them- 
selves did her homage. The old Inviemo, god of Winter, 
leaning upon his staff, his white beard flowing ; Kawasha, god 
of Tobacco, with his Morris dancers ; the red god of Wine, 
and Silenus' riding upon an ass with his silly followers — all 
honored her until the graceful Primavera, goddess of Spring, 
dispersed them and conducted her flower subjects, the roses, 
jonquils, crocuses, and morning glory into her presence. 
There they danced their light, fantastic dances, and, placing 
their garlands at her feet, flitted again into the wood from 
whence they came. 

So, thus, have we always celebrated May Day at Sweet 
Briar — a day which carries with it so many beautiful asso- 
ciations, and which at the same time makes us feel, as all 
nature seems to feel, that we must go a-Maying. 



Men In Home 

VIRGINIA, you have no idea how perfect 
it is to get back to a big city, where all is 
life and gaiety and society! I think I 
should have had nervous prostration if I 
had been obliged to stay in that hopelessly 
slow country school much longer." 
"Why, how you do talk, Clarissa ! You seem to forget 
that the same beautiful Southern country you are speaking 
of is my home. Let me see, haven't I heard that adjective 
'slow' used in connection with your own gay city? I may 
be mistaken, but I believe I have !" 

"Most likely you have, if such bromides ever reach your 
rest-cure of a town ! But nevertheless, it only applies to our 
Rapid Transit Company, and you just wait! You'll soon 
be so tired out with gaiety that you'll wish it were only a 
little slower ! Here we are at the house, and this is the City 
of Brotherly Love, so let's put aside our fiery loyalty to our 
native place, and be happy. 

"Mother, this is my college chum and roommate, Virginia 
Lee, and I'm ,so glad you're going to know each other." 

"I'm extremely pleased to meet you, Miss Lee. I've heard 
Clarissa speak of you so much. Clarissa, dear, take your 
friend upstairs, and show her into the blue room ; and you'll 
have to hurry and dress, for Mr. Eager is coming at eleven 
to take you both out in his machine. I'm going to chaperon 
you. It's ,so lovely to have you back again, but I don't see 
much chance of visiting, these holidays, there's so much 
going on." 


As soon as the girls were alone, and poor Virginia could 
gain her breath, she demanded anxiously: 

"Clarissa, you don't mean to say that we have to have a 
chaperon to go riding with us ! I never heard of such non- 
,sense. Why — but — oh, I'm awfully glad your mother's 
coming!" ("What agony!" she sighed to herself.) 

Before long, they were fairly flying through the streets of 
the "Ked City" — Mr. Eager and Virginia in front, and 
Clarissa and her mother behind. Virginia, full of fun and 
spirits, soon had her captivated companion in a very loqua- 
cious mood, and if it had not been for Mrs. Miller's occa- 
sional interruptions on the subject of the higher education, 
the ride would have seemed a very reasonably sensible one. 

"May I come to call, Miss Lee, before I go?" asked Mr. 
Eager, as he helped his attractive new acquaintance out of 
the car. Before the poor girl had time to reply, Mrs. Miller 
spoke up most cordially : 

"Indeed, we should be delighted to see you, Mr. Eager. 
How about this afternoon ? It's the only time the girls have 

"Thank you, you may certainly expect me then." 

"What," thought Virginia, mystified, "can that 'we' mean ! 
I wonder whether every poor innocent pair of trousers that 
enters the house has to be chaperoned, too ! Surely that can't 

The afternoon came, and also the expected visitor. They 
had hardly sat down when who should come rustling in but 
the aforesaid Mrs. Miller, all smiles and eagerness ! Vir- 
ginia's face fell. More agony ! She simply must find some 
means of escape. Finally she ventured: 

"O Clarissa, I completely forgot about getting my gloves 
for the dance to-night ! I'll just have to tear myself away 


for a few minutes, because the stores close in fifteen minutes. 
Perhaps you and Mr. Eager would walk along with me, and 
then I shouldn't miss any of this nice visit. How about it ?" 

"Oh, my dear, what are you thinking of! Of course I 
sha'n't allow you three to go unchaperoned down Chestnut 
Street at five o'clock in the afternoon. Wait a minute, and 
I'll get on my hat." 

This was too much for Virginia. ISTot allowed to go around 
the corner in broad daylight with two friends, and all of 
them fully able to cross a street alone. Oh, how tiresome ! 
In endeavor to hide her feelings, she hurried out of the room, 
and flung herself down on the couch in the library, where the 
little French poodle was her only companion. She grabbed 
him about the neck, and held him close, so that he shook 
violently with every convulsive sob that she uttered. "Those 
miserable chaperons, oh, oh, oh ! Foxy, aren't they perfectly 
—well, I can't think of anything bad enough. Come, don't 
you think so, Foxy? Haven't you found them so?" she 
stammered, impatiently stamping her foot. Then on receiv- 
ing no response, she flung the little animal from her in a 
rage. "I haven't had one blessed chance at my beau yet !" 

Mrs. Miller's step on the staircase reminded her that she 
must be going, so hastily brushing away her tears and trying 
to hide the pout, she ran to join the others. Oh, it was a 
delightful walk ! Seldom had she been so thrilled ! Her dis- 
cussions with Mrs. Miller were so perfectly heavenly ! 

In the evening, everything was hurry and bustle in 
preparation for the dance. 

"But why do you start to dress so early ?" asked Virginia, 
quite surprised to find her chum beginning to get ready at 
half past seven! "It doesn't take you two hours, does it?" 


"No, dear, but the dance begins at eight, and you'd better 
be starting now, too." 

"At eight! Why, Clarissa, I should think you'd be dead 
by three o'clock to-morrow morning!" 

"Dead ! Why ? I expect to be in bed then. What do you 
mean ?" 

"Oh, I thought that was the time dances are usually over." 

"Virginia, what can you be used to! We'll be back at 
midnight at the latest, so you needn't worry." 

"What queer hours ! But tell me who's coming after us. 
Tell me about my partner ; I'm so excited !" 

"Oh, that's so, you know all that beforehand where you 
live, don't you. Well, up here, it's all a surprise. We don't 
know who our partner is to be. Mother usually chaperons 
us, and we get our programs filled out after we get there — if 
we are fortunate !" 

"Of course, Clarissa. I don't know what made me forget 
the chaperon ! It's all going to be so new and different, I'm 
getting quite excited." 

At ten minutes to eight, a gorgeous spray of sweetpeas was 
handed to Clarissa from her partner, who had bespoken her 
the fortnight before. 

"What do you call that ?" asked Virginia, mystified. "A 
spray ? Well, I never saw quite such a queer effect before ! 
It looks more suited for a funeral than a dance. We never 
think of such things. If we want a bouquet, we stick one in 
our belts and go along. One lives to learn, I see!" 

They hurried into the carriage— they, of course, being 
Virginia, Clarissa and Mrs. Miller. Crowds were going to 
the same hall for which they were bound, and many were the 
styles and colors of the costumes that surged on the grand 
staircase leading to the ballroom. In the ladies' dressing 


room, tired-looking maids hurried back and forth from one 
society belle to another, unfastening evening coats, taking off 
rubbers, putting on slippers. 

"Poor things," whispered Virginia to her companion. "I 
should think they would drop. I'm going to wait on myself. 
I only wish I could think of something to cheer their poor 
hearts !" 

"O Virginia, how silly ! They're used to it now, and prob- 
ably couldn't do without it. You do have some of the most 
farfetched ideas." 

When Clarissa had arranged her hair, with a view to 
making it stay on a little longer than usual, they started in 
for the real amusement of the evening. 

"Now, Virginia, dear, just keep behind me, and I'll intro- 
duce you to the receiving line." Ah, this was yet another 
"rapture unforeseen" ! Each person in the line required a 
courtesy — but it was all beginning to be a grand joke to 
Virginia now! She invariably trod on the toes of each suc- 
cessive victim to that conventionality. However, they finally 
won their entrance to the arena, and lo ! what should greet 
their eyes but something with the effect of the sheep on one 
hand and the goats on the other — one line of trousers and 
another of skirts ! Ah, here comes Clarissa's partner for the 
German, and after much introducing, Virginia secures one 
too. But then, the German is not all ! The miserable hours 
are the dances beforehand, when everyone is free to take 
different partners. Clarissa has done her best in introducing 
people, but they are all busy with their own friends, and have 
no time for the stranger, attractive as she is. She shifts from 
one foot to the other, in awkward boredom. Oh, if the floor 
would only open considerately, and let her through! But 
then, this was pleasure, she kept reminding herself. Finally 


she dropped into a seat, for the wall looked weak and lonely 
(Virginia always was thoughtful of others), and after what 
seemed months of longing for her downy bed, the bugle call 
announced the beginning of the German. At last her partner 
appeared and never had she hailed one so gratefully before ! 

She was just beginning to feel at ease after this first dance, 
when her partner led her back to her seat, bowed curtly, and 
muttered, "Thank you," as he dashed off for a "break." 

"This beats all," she laughed to herself. "At home, such 
kind attentions as these little kow-tows would frighten a 
poor girl. Indeed, ,she was more often than not, hurled into 
her seat at the end of a dance." 

Wait a minute! What makes her stare, and then start so 
frantically % 

"Not Dick!" she gasped. But, yes, Dick was standing 
opposite her, and without thinking twice she dashed across 
the room, grabbed him by the coat tail, and they were indeed 
an amazed and relieved couple ! 

"Virginia Lee ! Where have you come from ? I'm so glad 
to see you ! I'm so bored with this whole performance that 
I feel like skipping. Come out in the moonlight, and let's 
talk Norfolk!" 

Henrietta Washburn. 


l&emtmscences of a poet 

jHE Martin piazza was just the place for 
summer reveries. There I sat having the 
nicest kind of day dreams, when suddenly 
the drowsy summer stillness was broken by 
a series of screams which called me rudely 
from my meditations. Thinking nothing 
but that some dreadful accident had happened to one of the 
numerous Martin youngsters, I rushed hurriedly in the 
direction of the backyard from whence the howls came. The 
sight that greeted me there would have caused a less sym- 
pathetic person than I to double up with laughter. 

For under an apple tree sat my landlady, and upon her 
broad expanse of lap was a wildly tossing whirlwind of arms 
and legs. Upon this squirming heap Mrs. Martin's strong 
hands were rhythmically thumping, while at each recurring 
thump a scream of anguish came from the writhing little 
piece of humanity. 

"Why, Mrs. Martin, what has Jane done ?" cried I im- 

"Done! look at that!" said Mrs. Martin in excited tones 
as she dramatically pointed at the ground with one hand, 
while with the other she continued her tattoo of whacks on 
poor, weeping Jane. 

Following her guiding finger my gaze was attracted to the 
ground, which was white with sheets of paper. 

"But what's the matter with that?" said I in bewilder- 
ment that such a seemingly mild offense should call forth 
such drastic punishment. 


"Poetry!" said my landlady tragically. 

Seeing my puzzled expression, she allowed poor Jane to 
slide from her lap, whereat the small poet lost no time in 
making good her escape. Mrs. Martin rose with a sigh. 

"Everyone has their battles — and mine is to cure Jane of 
this poetry idea. The Lord only knows what times I have. 
I hate to spank as much as any mother, but poetry calls for 
strong measures. What's a body to do when she sees her 
child developing bad habits ?" 

"Most mothers would be proud to think their children 
aspired to being poets," said I. 

"Law! It's plainly to be seen that you were never the 
wife of a poet." 

As I did not deny this charge, Mrs. Martin went on, her 
portly figure swelling with pride in spite of her tragic accents 
as she said, "Yes, my husband was a poet. They say he first 
showed signs of it when he was real young. His parents 
named him Peter, but when he was six years old he insisted 
on being called Adonis. His parents was somewhat s'prised, 
but Adonis always had a way of getting what he wanted. 

"Think of it ! At six years old he was readin' the most 
learned things and there's where he took that name Adonis 
from. His folks lived next door to us and we always played 
together when we was little. He used to write the most 
beautiful poems to me ! Oh, they was lovely ! The other 
girls used to laugh at him 'cause his hair was so long and 
curly. But I always thought him handsome — his eyes was 
so beautiful ! And he used to call me his Aphrodite and 
Venus and Hebe and all kinds of beautiful names the other 
boys didn't know anything about. 

"I was real pretty in those days," here Mrs. Martin sighed, 
"and I had plenty of beaux, but I turned them all down for 


Adonis. But finally all the other girls was married and 
Adonis hadn't jet popped the question. And his pa and ma 
had died and he was livin' by himself and such a sight as he 
did look! Sometimes I had to send him home to put on a 
decent suit, for the holes in his clothes was enough to make 
one blush. Poor soul, there was nobody to patch for him ! 

"One day I says to him, 'Adonis, you need a wife to take 
care of you.' 

"He opened his big eyes wide, 'If I should marry, my 
Venus, I'd be estranged from you.' 

"My heart gave a big flop, but I picked up courage and 
blurted out, 'But why can't you marry me V Then I hid 
my face, I was that ashamed of myself. 

" 'Who would I write poems to then ?' says Adonis. 

" 'Why to me just the same,' says I. 

" 'But poets never write poems to their wives. That 
wouldn't be romantic. I can't lose an inspiration just to have 
a wife. Wouldn't you rather be an Inspiration than a wife ? 
Any girl can be a wife, but not every girl has the chance to 
be a poet's Inspiration. Think ! you will be put with Beatrice 
and Laura!' says he. 

"I didn't know who those ladies was, nor I didn't care 
either. I says, 'I don't want to be with Beatrice and Laura, I 
want to be with you.' Then I gathered all my spunk, 'If you 
don't want to marry me, I'll marry Rube Barnes and then 
yon won't have me for either an Inspiration or a wife.' 

"This seemed to set him thinkin'. Besides, I was crying 
and Adonis always had the softest heart. 'Dry your eyes, 
my Grace,' says he, 'it may be that such a poet as I can rise 
above the common etiquette of poets and make even my wife 
famous.' And with that he kissed me and I was so happy. 

"Well, time went on, and like a modest, well-behaved girl r 


I waited for Adonis to set the day for the weddin', thinkin' 
I had gone far enough in doin' the proposin'. But Adonis 
didn't set it. Sometimes I wouldn't see him for a week, and 
I'd be just ready to throw him over, when he'd appear with 
a poem 'To His Beautiful Betrothed.' That was the name he 
called me. And he would look at me with such a meltin' 
look that I'd think I'd rather wait ten years for him to set 
the day than marry anyone else. 

"But one day I thought there was getting to be a limit 
even to maidenly modesty, so I says, 'What month is the most 
poetic for marriage ?' 

"June,' says he, 'the first days of June when spring and 
summer wed each other — that is the time for the poet's 
nuptials.' Nuptials is what he said. I s'pose it means 
weddin'. Adonis was always great on fancy words. 

"The day we fixed on came and I was at the church on 
time. I was a little worried, because I thought Adonis would 
come in that unpatched state of his, but imagine my horror 
when I found he wasn't there at all. We waited and waited 
and still no Adonis. And the bridesmaids began to giggle 
and the ushers — some of them was old beaux of mine — looked 
tickled, no doubt thinkin' I was repentin' of my bargain, and 
wishin' I'd taken one of them. 

"Finally I was near crazy, and when the rest of the party 
wasn't lookin' I slipped out and ran down the street to 
Adonis' house. I rushed all over that house, but Adonis 
wa'n't to be .seen, till somethin' told me to climb to the attic. 
And sure 'miff there he was. Imagine how mad I was at 
seein' him stretched out on the floor, runnin' his fingers 
through his curls, and chewin' his pencil. I could have 
pulled out those lovely curls in that minute to think he was 


lyin' there calmly on his weddin' mornin', makin' me the 
laughin' stock of the town. 

" 'Adonis !' I screamed. 

"He glanced up in that dreamy way he had, 'Hush !' says 
he, 'you will drive away my Muse !' 

"With that my heart like to burst. On the very day he 
was to marry me, to think he should be talkin' of his Muse, 
whoever she might be. I knew Adonis was absent-minded, 
but I hadn't thought he'd go back on me for another girl. 

" 'Show Miss Muse to me and I'll kill her,' I cried. 

" 'Poor, excited girl,' says Adonis, 'there ain't no Miss 
Muse. You don't understand. My Muse is what inspires 
my poetry.' 

' 'I thought I was your inspiration,' says I, almost wild 
with jealousy of this Muse thing. 

" 'So you are,' says he, 'you inspire my Muse and my Muse 
inspires me, but you are not a poet, so you can't understand. 
That is a poet's misfortune — to be never understood even by 
those he loves.' 

" 'I certainly can't understand why a poet even should lie 
on his garret floor and moon on his weddin' mornin'," says I. 

" 'I was makin' you immortal,' says he, 'this is your 
Prothalamion I was writin'.' I think Prothalamion was the 
word he used. It was somethin' outlandish. Anyway he 
says, 'All poets write Prothalamions before they're married. 
It wouldn't be a poet's weddin' without a Prothalamion.' 

" 'Well, it won't be any weddin' at all unless you hop right 
up off that floor and come with me. You can write your 
Pro-thing afterwards,' says I, real spunky-like. 

" 'It will be too late,' says he, 'you are losing the chance 
to be immortal.' 


" 'You are losing the chance to be a husband,' I called at 
him as I flounced down the stairs. But in a minute he came 
after me beggin' to be forgiven, and lookin' so handsome that 
I forgave all his poeticness. 

"When we got to the church the people was all gone, and 
I like to cried, 'cause I had pictured to myself how jealous 
the other girls would be when they saw how handsome Adonis 
looked marchin' up the aisle. But we had to be married at 
the minister's house without any audience at all. And 
Adonis had forgot the ring too. He said he had used it as a 
paperweight to keep his poems from blowin' away. 

"I thought I was perfectly happy now I was Mrs. Adonis 
Martin, but my troubles was only begun. Adonis didn't 
know how to do anythin' but write poetry. And the papers 
didn't appreciate his genius he said. He used to say that 
oftentimes the greatest poets wasn't appreciated till after 
they was dead. But that wasn't much comfort to me, for pa 
was gettin' tired of supportin' us. But he bought us this 
little farm and we moved here. And Adonis was so pleased. 
He said he hadn't realized before how much inspiration there 
was on a farm. 

" 'There's also work to do on a farm,' says I, and I made 
up my mind to teach Adonis somethin' useful. So one night 
I gave him a pail and a stool and sent him out to milk the 
cows. When it began to grow dark and Adonis didn't come 
I was worried, so I went to investigate and there he was 
sitting on the pail milking into the stool. After that I let 
Adonis go back to his poems. I just decided that a poet 
wasn't made to be useful. And I ran the farm and took in 
boarders same as I've been doin' since. 

"I never came to words with Adonis except over the 
children's names. And he would name them poetry names, 


which I was afraid would spoil their dispositions. But no- 
body could have the heart to refuse Adonis anything when he 
looks soulful, so I just had to let him name the children 
Janice, Mignonne, Andromache, and Rosamond. But I 
always call 'em Jane, Minnie, Annie, and Rose, which are 
good, sensible names." 

Mrs. Martin paused as if in thought, "After all I don't 
s'pose he could help bein' a poet, and poets can't help not 
likin' wrinkles and bumpy hands. After a while he stopped 
writin' poems to me. He tried writin' some to the children, 
but he said children wasn't inspirin' subjects. And I was 
so busy I couldn't keep an eye on him. And poets is like 
children — they need to be watched. You can't judge them 
like common, ordinary folks. So I don't blame him for 
runnin' off with that pretty, little Hetty Snow, who didn't 
have bumpy hands and wrinkles from takin' care of children 
and boarders. 

"But I tell you what, I'm goin' to spank all the poetry 
out of the children, if I have to spank 'em till my hands is all 

K. B. White, '13. 



Qibz SnDtan Settlement 

|c \m 

OLLEGE life is apt to absorb all of our 
energies and interests. The average stu- 
dent is so thoroughly engrossed with her 
duties and pleasures, so deeply interested 
in the concerns of her little college world, 
that she loses sight of the great world 
beyond. She may read or hear of the problems of this great 
world, she may feel a passing interest in the struggles and 
achievements of humanity, but beyond this passing interest^ 
she goes her way oblivious to the vital questions and issues 
around her. 

The condition of affairs is a natural and perhaps a proper 
one. It is only by entering heartily into college life that we 
accomplish the best results. While this is the case, it does 
seem that every student should, as far as possible, at least 
familiarize herself with outside happenings and interests, 
especially with those which are in close proximity to her 

As we live our life at Sweet Briar, as the days pass filled 
with their ceaseless round of duties and pleasures, very few 
of us give thought to a problem of humanity which is being 
solved within a few miles of our college, a problem narrow 
in a sense and yet connected with that broad one which the 
United States has been grappling with since its very founda- 
tion. I refer to the treatment and civilization of the Ameri- 
can Indian. 


All of us have heard of the "Indian Settlement," or, as we 
often call it, the "Mission." Some of ns have visited this 
mission and have taken part in the services held in the little 
chapel, set in the heart of the great woods. Those of us who 
have had this experience must have been impressed with the 
appearance of these mission folk. Probably their high cheek 
bones, their stoical bearing, the many colors of their dress 
gave us some intimation of their race. Although these people 
are commonly called "Issues" they are in reality a branch of 
the Cherokee Indians. 

In the latter part of the eighteenth century the inhabitants 
of the Piedmont section of Virginia were accustomed to see 
small bands of Indians passing by their farms or stopping 
at their wells for water. These Indians, who were members 
of the Cherokees or allied tribes, dwelling on the borders of 
North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia, were in the habit 
of making pilgrimages to Washington to see the "Great White 
Father," their route passing through or near Lynchburg and 
Charlottesville. On some of these pilgrimages various mem- 
bers of the band dropped off in Amherst County. They took 
up their abode in that portion of the foothills of the Blue 
Ridge, known as Bear, Tobacco Row and Paul's mountains, 
respectively. There this race has remained for over a 
century. At the present day they are no longer an unmixed 
race, although they proudly claim to be "Indian men and 
Indian women." 

There are about three hundred and twenty-five of these 
people scattered throughout the western part of Amherst 
County. Their homes are little log cabins about sixteen feet 
square, and these cabins often accommodate several families. 
The people live chiefly by raising tobacco, the women working 
in the fields as well as the men. Their characteristics are 


more strikingly Indian than their features, chief among these 
being their stolid, unemotional bearing under all circum- 

On one of our visits to the Mission we met a little Indian 
girl about ten years old, wandering around in front of the 
chapel. Thinking that here was indeed a chance to gain a 
glimpse into the lives of these interesting people we cornered 
the child and did our utmost to get her to talk. To our 
surprise she not only refused to talk but manifested not the 
slightest interest in us. She assumed a stoical, non-committal 
air and showed an absolute indifference to our presence. 
This is a mere example of the extreme stolidity which char- 
acterizes even the children of this race. 

Until the Civil War these Indians were isolated and 
practically shut out from the outside world, owing to the 
fact that their color precluded intercourse with the white 
people and they on the other hand held themselves above the 
slaves. In this way there seemed to be no place for them; 
they existed in a little world of their own, a separate and 
distinct race and colony. 

The first attempt to Christianize these people was made, 
about forty years ago, by first a Methodist and then a Baptist 
minister. Both of these men inaugurated plans for a church, 
but before their undertaking was accomplished they were 
called to different fields. After the departure of these 
ministers two old Indian men for a number of years con- 
ducted a sort of Sunday school and prayer meeting for their 
people, but these meetings were more in the nature of social 
gatherings and fighting grounds than religious worship. 

It was not until the summer of 1907 that any definite work 
towards the Christianization of these people was accom- 
plished. Then it was that Rev. Arthur P. Gray, Jr., of the 
Theological Seminary, began missionary work among them. 


Owing to his perseverance, to the assistance of the church 
people throughout the State, and to the subscriptions and 
work of the Indians themselves, an attractive little chapel, 
called St. Paul's Chapel, was built and consecrated in the 
fall of 1908. Since this time the work has progressed 
steadily. The chapel now has twenty-six communicants. 
Two ladies, Miss Cornelia Packard and Miss Martha 
Spencer, have taken charge of the mission work and also 
opened a school for the one hundred and fifty children of the 
settlement. The work towards the civilization of these people 
has been in every respect most successful, and the outlook for 
their future physical, intellectual and spiritual development 
is most hopeful. 

As all of us know our Y. W. C. A. has inaugurated the 
custom of remembering the Indian settlement at Christmas 
time. Many of us have experienced the real pleasure of 
being present when the stoical little Indian children gazed 
for the first time on a Christmas tree. I am sure those of 
us who have had this experience wish our Y. W. C. A. custom 
to be one of long duration ; wish too that, not only at Christ- 
mas, but at other times, while our busy college life is passing, 
we may at least not be unmindful of the efforts which are 
being made to civilize and help these isolated people so near 
our college walls. 

A. M. P. 



§>toeet I6riat EestiDents 

TERN winter had held dominion over all of 
nature for many weeks, when one day 
dawned bright and warm, and the realiza- 
tion of spring came to me. How had it 
come in with such a bound ? It seemed to 
to have taken possession of all of the outer 
world, as well as of myself. I felt spring in my bones — I 
must get out, near nature, where I could almost see the trees 
budding and the flowers springing into life. 

Being so impelled I made my way to the old rose garden. 
Here one would find spring if anywhere. Ah! I was not 
mistaken, for here were the first crocuses of the season, here 
the grass was greener than outside, the trees seemed to have 
more buds. But, what was that weird melody that greeted 
me? My gaze was drawn toward the top of an old apple 
tree, where a brown thrasher was perched, viewing the sur- 
rounding country from this point of vantage. He, too, 
seemed to have been awakened by spring, for he was singing 
with all of the madness of early springtime. As the fervor 
of his song increased his head raised, his whole plumage 
seemed to lift, to float, tremble. Then the frenzy passed. 
Who could mistake the wonderful truth of the returning life 
when this bird was exultingiy singing it from the tree-tops ? 
Such passionate caroling soon awakened all of the in- 
habitants of the enchanted garden. Numberless songs were 
wafted, through the tree-tops, from the throbbing throats of 
these tiny creatures, who were so joyously heralding spring. 
Here, very near me, was my friend of all winter, the 
meadowlark. Even this old snow-lover seemed to feel the 
thrill of springtime, for he lifted up his voice in a song which 


I had not heard during the whole dreary winter. He re- 
joiced in spring, yet there was a sadness about this song which 
quieted the wild emotions that the frenzied brown thrasher 
had aroused in me. His was a pathetic, mournful song, 
pitched in a minor key, which saddened while it gladdened. 

In a minute this sadness was dispelled by the clear, loud 
call of our old familiar friend, the downy woodpecker. In 
the midst of the wonderful melodies of these others he was 
busily beating out his rolling tattoo all "for the love of the 
lady." Soon his call was heard, and the "lady" appeared, 
flying straight toward her future "lord and master," from 
a distant oak. Then this happy pair began cheerily hollow- 
ing out their home, oblivious to the fact that they were in 
truth disturbing the harmony of the whole scene. 

Just at this point a flash of blue crossed the garden. After 
it had passed I saw that it had been occasioned by a small 
bluebird, which was perched on an old, gnarled tree. Here, 
doubtless, was the nest of this beautiful little creature. Soon 
he began a song which, though the tones were quavering, ten- 
tative, and uncertain, was yet very appealing in its tenderness 
and the pleading quality of the voice. In spite of the minor 
strain which ran through the whole of the song, he seemed 
to be nature's very exponent of the joy of living. 

Again my attention was attracted by a bright flash of color. 
The flash ceased, and in its place appeared a haughty 
creature, strutting about quite near me, and bearing himself 
with a refined and courtly dignity. This cardinal — for it was 
none other — seemed, indeed, a shining example of self-con- 
scious superiority. Seeing that he had attracted my attention 
he began his song. Commencing with a strong, rich whistle 
like the high notes of a fife, repeated over and over as if to 
make perfect the overture, suddenly the music ceased and I 


learned that there was to be no glorious performance after 
all, only a prelude to — nothing. For a few minutes I 
listened to this prelude, which was repeated time and time 
again. Then, away flew our brilliant friend to attract the 
attention of some one else for a time. I looked after him, 
wondering what his thoughts were; whether he was really 
what he appeared to be — a flashy, attractive creature of 
whims, darting here and there, flaunting his brilliancy before 
the eyes of his less fortunate neighbors — or an undeveloped 
genius, who would some day astonish the world by the won- 
derful song he would add to his already formed overture. 

There appeared at this moment one of these neighbors, who 
in appearance was no doubt his less fortunate brother, yet if 
one should listen to his variety of expression for a very few 
minutes one would see how wonderful are his resources. This 
very versatile creature is our cherished mockingbird. First, 
he began his song with the grating tones of the horrid cat- 
bird. Hearing this, one would believe it absolutely impossible 
that the rich, tender song which followed could belong to the 
same bird. This is the song that he sings when, in the dead 
stillness "of the night, he wakens to pour forth his passionate 
feelings to a silent world. 

So I was entertained in this bright spring morning by one 
great songster after another. Each seemed to be trying to 
outdo the other, yet at the end of this wonderful out-of-door 
concert I was at a loss to know which one had awakened in 
me the deepest feelings, which had aroused most the dormant 
passions. Each, in his own peculiar way, had delighted me 
and brought to me the realization of spring ; the fact that life 
was returning into this world which had, too long, been held 
under the spell of cold, unyielding winter. 

A. W. Cumnock, '10. 


Co tjje Spirit of ^ong 

SONG of the soul and music of thought, 
Gift of the high gods to mortals below, 
Imperfect expression of beauty vast, 

Lighting the way, Truth's lamp all aglow, 
Bringing faint echoes from far-away lands 
Beyond misty clouds which obscure our view- 
Whispers which only the heart understands, 

Glimpses of dream-beauty perfect and true — 
Come to us now, thou Spirit of Song! 

Settle amongst us, accompany our way; 
Scatter thy roses when the road seems long ; 
Color with glory the commonplace clay. 
Bring down to earth this gift faint, elusive, 
Beauty incarnate, all good inclusive ! 



Cfje jforeign mtm of alto Susanne 

spacious, handsome, old house in New York 
and, as she had nothing else to do, she 
spent her time worrying. Half the time 
she worried over her house — it was spotless 
— not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere, 
but, in spite of the lack of dust and dirt, Miss Susanne 
searched for it none the less diligently. The other half of 
her time she worried over her young nephew, Larry Brandon, 
who lived with her whenever he stayed in New York at all. 
Larry was the possessor of a large income, which he spent 
rashly — he was the possesser, also, of a wandering disposition, 
and wandered rashly around the United States at will. He 
hadn't begun on Europe yet, but Miss Susanne put the idea 
into his head. If he must wander, reasoned Miss Susanne, at 
any rate Europe would be somewhat improving to his mind — 
much more so than his numerous hunting trips to the West, 
and cruises up the Hudson, which he took so often. There- 
fore she suggested the idea of a European trip and Larry 
and some of his friends immediately jumped at the idea and 
decided to go. 

To-night, however, as she sat alone in the library, a sudden 
and awful idea came to her. She sat there and thought and 
thought, and the idea grew rapidly in probability and fear- 
fulness. She groaned aloud and glanced around the hand- 
some old room anxiously. "That imp," she wailed, "is just 
certain to marry some foreigner, and bring her back here to 


my house ! If he marries a Japanese girl that can't speak 
English — but he won't, that kind wouldn't appeal to Larry — 
he'll probably select a Spanish dancer with glittering clothes 
and lots of big, copper bracelets. I can see her now — 
heavens above ! — and he leaves early to-morrow morning be- 
fore I could possibly see him — oh ! — what shall I do ?" 

As there was absolutely nothing she could do, she went to 
bed in a rage over the prospect of Larry's foreign wife. Miss 
Susanne had a way of crossing bridges before she even came 
within hailing distance of them. 

Miss Susanne had gone to bed in such a fearfully perturbed 
state of mind that she dreamed many dreams that night, and 
often she tossed and groaned in her sleep. 

Larry had returned from his European trip. He was sit- 
ting in the library again, reading. He looked very strange 
— things always do in dreams — and, mercy me, he was telling 
Miss Susanne that he was a Mormon! Then she seemed to 
see around the house many wives — a great multitude of wives. 
In one corner sat a Japanese girl, who fanned calmly, and 
fanned, and fanned, and fanned. Miss Susanne hated fans. 
All the Persian rugs were rolled up into a heap in the immac- 
ulate parlor, and in the middle of the room a Spanish dancer, 
in glittering garments, and with many copper bracelets, 
danced wildly to and fro; danced, danced — yes, actually 
danced in Miss Susanne's house, and that honorable and very 
devout lady was a very strict Methodist. 

And, oh, there were many more wives — airy French chorus 
girls, Scotch milkmaids — all, all of them foreigners. But — 
oh, horror of horrors ! — an Egyptian maid with dusky hair 
sat in the front hall, while at her feet lay a spotted creature 
— a dreadful, furry creature ; good heavens, it was a leopard ! 
— lying in undisturbed elegance on Miss Susanne's rug, and 


probably shedding hair all over it, too. She seemed to hear 
Larry's voice in bold, loud tones, announcing, "This is my 
favorite wife, Aunt Sue — 'queen of the harem,' so to speak, 
you know." 

With a scream Miss Susanne awoke. The Egyptian maid 
and the leopard had vanished. She was in her own room in 
her own bed, and only Larry's voice was real, calling her 
loudly from somewhere downstairs. 

Dressing hurriedly, Miss Susanne rushed downstairs. 
Larry looked at her anxiously. He had never seen his dig- 
nified aunt rush before, and, moreover, her face was pale — 
her eyes anxious and startled. 

"I just wanted to tell you, Aunt Sue," he said calmly, 
"that I'm not going abroad, after all — one of the boys found 
out he couldn't go at the last minute, so we just gave up the 

With a wild, hysterical shriek of joy, that dignified and 
undemonstrative maiden lady fell upon Larry's neck. "Oh," 
she sobbed, "I'm so glad you're not going!" 

"Why, Aunt Sue," said Larry, in amazement, "I thought 
you wanted me to go. You suggested the trip yourself ; you 
know you did." 

Miss Susanne's dream returned to her vividly. She saw 
with especial clearness the leopard on her rug, and shuddered. 

"Oh," she cried, "I have a special reason for not wanting 
you to go." 

"Why?" asked Larry, gently, but with his curiosity now 
thoroughly aroused, "why don't you want me to go ?" 

Miss Susanne hesitated. Then she drew herself up in all 
her dignity and reserve. "Because," she answered sternly, 
"just because." 

Marie Abrams. 


Jennie Hurt Editor-in-Chief 

Associate Editors: 
Eugenia W. Griffin Annie M. Powell 
Frances P. Murrell Mary B. Pinkerton 
Mary V. Parker. 
Eugenia M. Buffington Business Manager 

We want to say .something about student government in 
general, and student government at Sweet Briar in particular. 

We have never had any other form of govern- 
Student ment, and hence, we can speak authoritatively 

Government, only of this kind. The thirty-six original 

students of Sweet Briar had lived together 
not more than two weeks before they petitioned the faculty to 
be allowed to govern themselves "in matters not strictly 
academic." This the faculty granted, and a formidable 
constitution was drawn up embodying rules and regulations 
chiefly in regard to quiet during study hours and after lights, 
said laws being executed by the Executive Board composed 
of the four officers of the association and three other members 
and a Board of Proctors — one proctor from each corridor. 
Since this first year the students have taken into their con- 
trol matters concerning attendance at chapel, tardiness to 
meals, and daily exercise. For a while proctors were chosen 
to put these laws into execution, but this past year we have 
taken a step still further by introducing the honor system 
into our association. Every individual student is now 
responsible for her own registration of daily exercise, tardi- 
ness to meals, chapel attendance, as well as for honest dealing 
in academic work. However, if she proves herself incapable 


of assuming this responsibility, she is reported to the Execu- 
tive Board of the association, which deals with her even to 
the extent of expulsion from the organization. 

We are glad to say, however, that our students as a whole 
have responded to this appeal to their integrity and honor 
by showing that they are fully capable of assuming both an 
individual and a social responsibility. 

We feel that student government is the only method of 
government for college students, in that it not only trains 
the student in self-reliance and self-control, but develops her 
executive ability and her power of cooperation with her fellow- 
students as well. Indeed, when one is preparing for life 
mere physical and mental training without this training in 
self-control and self-government is practically worthless. 
The student who cannot abide by the laws which she herself 
makes and enforces, cannot in the nature of the case become 
a good citizen in the larger world, where willingly or unwill- 
ingly she must take her place. 

The officers of our institution believed this or they would 
never have entrusted to the students so important a matter. 
The way in which our association has developed and 
strengthened within these first four years of its history 
indicates that their confidence has not been misplaced. 

In fact, when we consider that Vassar College was sixteen 
years in establishing her student government, that the 
students of Wellesley, which was founded in 1875, did not 
draw up their constitution until 1900-01, and that Smith is 
still under faculty control, we cannot but feel a certain sense 
of pride in the fact that our own organization, begun by 
thirty-six students in the first year of the college, should have 
within the space of four years attained to its present stage 
of development. 


It seems most strange for us at Sweet Briar to be talking 
of commencement, that is, a commencement in the real sense 
of the word, beginning with the baccalau- 
Commencement. reate sermon, proceeding with Senior ban- 
quets and teas, addresses and class-day 
exercises, and closing with that sad and joyous day when each 
dark-robed Senior stands to receive her diploma and to have 
her hood placed around her shoulders. Indeed, we are to 
have everything usually associated with the close of college, 
except the alumnae. 

But though we have no alumna?, there are about fifty old 
Sweet Briar girls who are planning to meet with us on June 
the fourth to see their college send forth her first graduates. 

We welcome you home again — one and all ! To you of 
1906-07, who also were pioneers with these five graduates; 
to you of 1907-08, who lived with them as Sophomores, and 
to you of 1908-09, who knew them as Juniors, we, who have 
also honored them as Seniors, extend our greetings ! 

For us, as well as for you, they have always been our 
upper class, and for us as for you they will always remain 
our first alumnae — our older sisters ! 



On April 11th the Athletic Association held its second 
annual Field Day. The long weeks of training under the 
committee in charge had filled with enthusiasm 
Field Day. even those students who are least fond of 
athletic sports. Needless to say the contestants 
themselves were more vitally interested in the day's events. 
The athletic field, roped off in our college colors, was sur- 
rounded by students and members of the faculty, who were 
interested in the outcome of the contests. Programs, with 
the names of the contestants and the list of entries, were 
sold by the Y. W. C. A. 

The officials appointed by the Field-day committee were 
Miss Plaisted, starter; Miss Guion, timekeeper; Alma 
Booth, scorer; Dr. Harley, Miss Howland, Nan Powell, 
judges. These officials and the Field-day committee took 
entire charge of the exercises. Creditable records were 
established in the first three entries, this being the first time 
they have been included in our list of events. The running 
high jump, running broad jump, and hop-step-and-jump were 
especially interesting. In all three of these Ellen Hayes 
surpassed her last year's splendid record. 

After the contests of this kind the races took place on the 
long stretch of road leading to the athletic field. The course 
was marked off for the 100- and 50-yard dashes, which came 
as the climax to the day's contests. The dashes were the 
supreme tests of endurance and athletic ability. Taking into 


consideration the fact that we have never had a regular track 
team we may well be proud of the records made by the run- 

The entries and records of this Field Day were as follows : 

1. Baseball throw 109 feet 

2. Basket-ball throw 59.3 feet 

3. Eight-pound shot put 20.6 feet 

4. Running broad jump 13 feet 

5. Running high jump 3 feet 10y 2 inches 

6. Standing broad jump 6 feet 4^ inches 

7. Hop-step-and-jump 30 feet 8 inches 

8. Fifty-yard dash 6.6 seconds 

9. Hurdles (100 feet) 5.2 seconds 

10. Hundred-yard dash 13.2 seconds 

In the evening the President of the College distributed to 
the five successful athletes the much-coveted S. B.'s. 

The letters are given to those students who have broken 
former records or established new records. Those receiving 
S. B.'s were : 

f Running broad jump 
1 Hundred-yard dash 

Dorothy Swan j Expound shot put 

( Baseball throw 

Laura Portman Basket-ball throw 

Louise Hooper Fifty-yard dash 

Frances Matson Hurdles 

Ellen Hayes, having gained the highest number of points 
(20), has the honor of holding the Athletic Cup for the 
college year 1910-1911. 


This spring has brought tennis into greater favor with 
Sweet Briar students than ever before, although it has always 

been one of our most popular games. The 
Tennis interest taken in tennis has reached its height 

Tournament, during the last two weeks while the annual 

tournament has been taking place. Miss 
Murrell, the Head of Tennis, arranged a schedule of games 
starting on Monday, May 9th, and extending into this week. 
Those entering the tournament were: 


Isabel Cornwall and Esther Cornwall. 
Sue Hardie and Eva Horner. 
Frances Murrell and Dorothy Bancroft. 
Dorothy Swan and Laura Portman. 
Nan Powell and Mary Parker. 
Dunbar Avirett and Nell Tandy. 
Ida Ross and Martha Tillman. 


Dunbar Avirett. Isabel Cornwall. 

Nell Tandy. Louise Hooper. 

Ellen Hayes. Frances Murrell. 

Lucile Marshall. Eva Horner. 

Esther Cornwall. Sue Hardie. 

The preliminaries were interesting as deciding which 
players would play in the finals. The four who played for 
the championship in the final games were Esther and Isabel 
Cornwall against Dorothy Swan and Laura Portman. The 
Cornwalls won two successive sets, thus gaining the right to 
hold the championship in doubles. Throughout the tourna- 
ment the champions played a remarkably good game ; their 
swift, hard serves were fully equalled by their steady all- 
round playing. 

So far the championship in singles has not been decided. 


A series of meetings conducted by the different classes has 
been planned. The Freshman Class a few Sundays ago held 
the first meeting of the series with "The Freshman's Ideal 
of the All-Round College Girl" as their topic. 

The Missionary Committee has received a letter from Miss 
Casler asking for help in furnishing a Summer Vacation 
Cottage for working girls, in the mountains of North 
Carolina. The Association has responded to this appeal by 
sending some linen for the cottage. 

One of the cleverest performances of the year was the 
circus given by the Y. W. C. A. in the refectory a few weeks 
ago. When the expectant audience assembled they found the 
refectory transformed into a typical circus ring, with a broad 
circle of seats and a goodly supply of sawdust in the middle. 
There were, to be sure, country couples and city couples who 
enjoyed with equal mirth the peanuts, popcorn and other 
delicacies which were to be purchased for only a nickel or 
two. At last when even popcorn and peanuts had become 
monotonous, and the audience had begun to feel that perhaps 
there would be no circus after all, the gentlemanly ringmaster 
announced that the performance would begin with a grand 
parade of animals collected from all parts of the globe at 
an enormous expense to the manager of the company. What 
an exciting twisting and turning of heads there was when 
each tried to get the first glimpse of the line of animals 
coming in "one by one," led by the big elephant who swung 


himself majestically along, lowering his dignity now and 
then to squirt water into the faces of the startled onlookers. 
After him chattered the monkey, while the camel bobbed be- 
hind him; then came the kangaroo, leaping nimbly around 
the ring, and the white bear and the brown bear, led in by 
their keepers. At the very end of the line the donkey pranced 
gaily in, waving his forefeet in the air. 

When this wonderful procession had filed around the ring, 
the animals were called upon to do their separate stunts. 
The elephant sat most gracefully upon a chair, while the 
amiable white bear performed all the tricks taught him by 
his Italian keeper, Spaghetti. 

Then the most thrilling part of all the show took place. 
For a Spanish matador, gorgeous in crimson scarfs, con- 
tended with an infuriated bull and was slain. Nothing 
daunted, however, the dainty Japanese tight-rope dancer 
fluttered gracefully on a rope, which fully satisfied the re- 
quirement of "not more than ten feet above the ground." 
Next the bandmaster led in his German band, which per- 
formed a crashing accompaniment to the prima donna's im- 
passioned rendition of "Love me and the world is mine." 
The performance closed with a Koman chariot race, in which 
the charioteers in flying togas dashed madly around the ring, 
dragging after them their chariots — toy express wagons. 

But this was not the end of the fun for this day, for what 
would a circus be without the sideshows, with such sights to 
be seen as the Siamese Twins with the cheerfully smiling 
Billiken at their feet, the Living Skeleton, the Dwarf, the 
Lady with her feet where her head ought to be, and the 
snake-charmer surrounded by toads, snakes, and lizards ? 
Indeed, these wonderful exhibitions were a most fitting 
climax to so interesting and instructive a circus as this one 
proved to be. 


College Copies 

On March 21st the first debate of the second series took 
place between the Seniors and Juniors. Nan Powell and 
Eugenia Griffin, the Senior debaters, maintained the affirma- 
tive side of the question, Resolved: That college training- 
fits a woman for her sphere in life, while Emma Morris and 
Josephine Murray opposed. Though the debate was indeed 
a close one it was decided that on the whole the Seniors had 
made a better argument. 

Last spring we enjoyed a Kipling evening made delightful 
both by Mrs. Bushnell's singing and Mr. Jack Lee's selections 
from the poems of this author. A short while after Easter 
this year Mr. Lee again entertained us with his selections 
from a number of other authors. We hope that he will visit 
us again very soon. 

On the evening of April 18th, the Freshmen and Sopho- 
mores engaged in hot debate on the subject of college athletics. 
The Freshmen, Dunbar Evirett and Helen Lamfrom, con- 
tended that "athletics have been excessively developed in 
American colleges;" while the Sophomores, Loulie Wilson 
and Frances Matson, upheld the opposite side of the question. 
The Freshmen were victorious. 

We are always glad to welcome Dr. Palmer, of the West- 
minster Presbyterian Church in Lynchburg. On Sunday, 
April 23d, he visited us again, giving us a sermon in the 
evening as well as in the morning. After the evening service 
he joined our social gathering in the parlor of Randolph 
Hall, where he delighted us with his songs and readings from 
Thomas Nelson Page. 


Ulmus Alata ! Yes, Ulmus Alata is planted and is growing 
at the rate of two buds a day steadily. Should any explana- 
tion of this statement be desired we will say that Ulmus Alata 
in biological and at the same time Senior terms is in plain 
English and every-day language a young winged elm chosen 
by the Senior Class, planted by them (or under their super- 
vision), watered by them, and daily scrutinized by them from 
top to bottom. Ulmus is indeed a wonderful tree already, 
but how it is going to grow and develop ! 

On April 13th, the winners of the Senior-Junior debate 
of the second series, namely, JSTan Powell and Eugenia Griffin, 
debated against the winners of the Sophomore-Freshman 
debaters of the same series, Dunbar Avirett and Helen Lam- 
from, concerning fraternities. The affirmative of the sub- 
ject, Resolved: That the fraternity is a desirable element 
in the college, was upheld by the Seniors. The negative 
side, however, came out ahead. 

This debate was a most exciting one in that it determined 
which of the two teams should take part in the final contest. 

These Freshman victors, then, with the Sophomores, Elsie 
Zaegel and Mary Pinkerton, who are themselves the cham- 
pions of the first series, will discuss the question of War 
Appropriations on Saturday, May 21st. 

Happy should be the class whose representatives are able to 
stand first in the debates of the entire year ! 

On May 1st, Mr. Dew again entertained the members of 
the Current Events Club with one of his interesting talks on 
Indians. As we have said before, Mr. Dew is particularly 
interesting to us not only because his life among the Indians 
has enabled him to know their languages, customs, and ideas 
of life, but also because he understands the methods with 
which the government is now dealing with this interesting 


A charming scene took place on the campus on April 14th, 
when the Sophomores so pleasantly surprised the Freshmen, 
who were busily engaged in planting the roses sent them by 
Mr. Ernest Boley of Cleveland. The Sophomores with great 
pomp and ceremony gave to the younger class the care of their 
own roses, which they had tended during their Freshman 
days, at the same time presenting them with a hoe to aid 
them in their labor. With the promise that they would 
prove themselves worthy of the gift of the Sophomores the 
Freshmen continued their planting until dark. 

The giver of these three hundred or more roses can never 
know what they mean to us at Sweet Briar, for all spring 
the roses which he gave the Freshmen of last year have been 
adorning our campus, our tables, and our rooms. 

The old students know, of course, that our five graduates 
of this year are Annie Cumnock, Eugenia Griffin, Louise 
Hooper, Frances Murrell, and Nan Powell. 

It will be of interest to them also to know something of 
the commencement exercises of this first graduating class. 
We will, therefore, publish below the program for this event : 
Saturday, June 4. 

9 :00 p. m. Junior Banquet to Seniors. 
Sunday, June 5. 

11:00 a. m. Baccalaureate Sermon — Et. Bev. A. M. 
Monday, June 6. 

5 :00 to 6 :30 p. m. Senior Tea in the Bose Garden. 
8:00 p. m. Becital by the Students of the Music 

9 :30 p. m. Banquet of the former Sweet Briar students. 

r, June 7. 
4:30 p. m. Class Day Exercises. 


8 :00 p. m. "As You Like It," in the Sweet Briar Dell. 
Class Banquet at Sweet Briar House. 
Wednesday, June 8. 

10:45 a. m. Commencement Exercises. 

Music — Glee Club and Orchestra. 

Prayer — Bight Beverend A. M. Bandolph, President of 
the Board of Directors. 

Address — Mr. N". C. Manson, Jr., Chairman of the Execu- 
tive Committee of the Board of Directors. 

Address — Hon. H. St. George Tucker, of Norfolk, Va. 

Music — Glee Club. 

Address — Dr. Le Baron R. Briggs, President of Radcliffe 
College and Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences of 
Harvard University. 

Address — Dr. E. A. Alderman, President of the University 
of Virginia. 

Conferring of degrees by the Right Beverend A. M. Ran- 
dolph, President of Board of Directors. 

Music — Glee Club and Orchestra. 

We are in the midst of elections — the most exciting and 
nerve-racking time of the year. As yet only the officers of the 
Student Government Association and the magazine staff have 
been determined. These officers are as follows: 

The Student Government Association — President, Mary 
V. Parker; vice-president, Loulie W. Wilson; secretary, 
Eugenia Buffington ; treasurer, Elizabeth Franke ; execu- 
tive board, Mary Tyler, Elsie Zaegel, and Jennie Hurt. 

The Sweet Briar Magazine staff — Editor-in-chief, Jennie 
Hurt; business manager, Henrietta Washburn; associate 
editors, Eugenia Buffiington, Rebecca White, Margaretha 
Ribble, and Lncile Marshall. 


We were indeed glad that there were so many visitors with 
ns on May Day to enjoy not only the May Day exercises and 
Masque of Flowers, but the delightful concert given by the 
Orchestra and Glee Club as well. 

We think that the Sweet Briar dances are always nice, 
but the one on the evening of May Day surpassed them all. 

President Benedict, with the members of the Executive 
Board of the Student Government Association, the May 
queen, and dance manager, stood in the receiving line. After 
the eighty or more couples had passed this formidable array 
the grand march, led by our May queen, Josephine Murray, 
and Mr. Charles M. Abbot began. The dancing then con- 
tinued until the wee small hours of morning. Between the 
numbers ices were served, and supper about twelve o'clock. 

The managers of this dance, Lucy Sims, Henrietta Wash- 
burn, Isabel Cornwall, Martha Tillman, Bessie Grammer, 
and Virginia Etheridge, are to be congratulated. 



Among our guests for May Day were : Mr. and Mrs. Clyde 
from Pittsburg, Pa. ; Mrs. Bancroft from Springfield, Ohio ; 
Mrs. and Miss Kichardson from Charleston, W. Va. ; Mr. 
Buffington from Evanston, 111. ; Mrs. Cranford, Mrs. Den- 
ham and Mrs. Drew from Jacksonville, Fla. ; Mr. and Mrs. 
Shand from Narberth, Pa. ; Mrs. Morriss and Miss Joynes 
from Richmond, Va. 

Margaret Potts has been visiting Miss Dearborn in 

We were glad to have with us for May Day the following- 
old students : Helen Purdy, Mrs. Cutchins, Lucelia McClain, 
Annie Laurie Haynes, Alma McKay, Ellen Douglas Gray 
and Virginia Shoop. 

Miss Plaisted had as her guest during the first few days 
of May, Miss Foley. 

We are glad to welcome Margaret Cobb back to our midst, 
and are pleased that she will be with us until the close of 

A few Sundays ago Mr. Palmer, from Lynchburg, and Mr. 
Rollins exchanged pulpits. We enjoyed having Mr. Palmer 
with us again. 

The following students, chaperoned by Miss Howland, 
attended the V. M. I. April hop: Margaret Thomas, Emma 
Clyde, Sue Hardie, Florence Coffin, Rose Owen McDavid, 
Katharine Lanier, Clyde Cranford, Margaret Dalton, Lillian 
Bowman and Mayo Thach. 


Ida Ross and Marguerite Shafer, chaperoned by Miss 
Selfridge, attended the April dances at the University. 

We are glad to have Eva Hurt with us again. 

Mrs. Cocke and Mrs. Wingfield, from Richmond, are at 
Sweet Briar for a .short visit. 

Carina Eaglesfield has arrived at Sweet Briar, and will 
spend some time with us. 

Mr. Duvall, of Baltimore, was the guest of his daughter, 
Margaret, for several days in the middle of May. 

Miss Virginia Dew, of Wytheville, Va., spent May Day 
at Sweet Briar as the guest of her uncle, Mr. William B. Dew. 

Clyde Cranford left college on May 7th for ISTew York, 
where she expected to set sail for Africa on May 15th. 

We were very sorry to have Emma Clyde leave for home a 
few weeks ago because of illness. 

Miss Martha Plaisted, who has assisted for the past two 
year in the History and English departments at Sweet Briar, 
has accepted a position at Bryn Mawr College. 

We appreciate Miss Plaisted's interest in all of the en- 
deavors of the students, especially in the Dramatic Club and 
the Athletic Association, both of which will miss sorely the 
help which she has so kindly given them. 

Nan Powell, '10, has been chosen to fill Miss Plaisted's 
position as English assistant for next year. We are glad of 
this, not only because we shall now have Nan with us again, 
but also because we realize how great an honor she is receiving 
in thus being asked to become a member of our faculty. 

Mr. and Mrs. Rollins will set sail very soon for Scotland, 
where they will attend the World's Missionary Conference 
which meets in Edinburgh in June. 

Directory of ^>toeet IBrtar College 


President Dr. Mary K. Benedict 

Treasurer and Business Manager William B. Dew 


President Annie M. Powell 

Vice-President Jennie Hurt 

Secretary Louise M. Hooper 

Treasurer Annie W. Cumnock 


President Loulie W. Wilson 

Vice-President Eugenia M. Buffington 

Secretary Henrietta Washburn 

Treasurer Elsie Zaegal 


President Mary V. Parker 

Vice-President Alma W. Booth 

Secretary Mary Tyler 

Treasurer Helen Lamfrom 


Tennis Frances P. Murrell 

Golf Martha Tillman 

Boating Kathleen Cowghill 

Basket-ball Annie W. Cumnock 


President Eugenia W. Griffin 

Vice-President Virginia Shoop 

Treasurer Margaret Dalton 


President Annie W. Cumnock 

Vice-President Margaret Browning 

Secretary Frances N. Matson 


Senior Class Louise M. Hooper 

Junior Class Josephine W. Murray 

Sophomore Class Frances N. Matson 

Freshman Class Margaret Dalton 


Editor-in-Chief Annie M. Powell 

Business Manager Frances P. Murrell 




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(See other s/'de) 

The Sweet Briar 

Vol. I 

No. 2 

February, 19 10 


The Sweet Briar 

Vol. I 

No. 3 

April, 1910 


The Sweet Briar 

Vol I 

No. 4 

June, 1 910