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'THE .MICH' fh}AN IAL

. I L T


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SPECIAL MID-WEEK MAGAZINE PAGE

H1E tIIC ICAN DAILY
Established 1890
FE DAILY'S MID-WEEK MAGA-
ZINE PAGE
neral Editor...... William H. Fort
Contributors

AMONG THE POETS

THE PRESENT

iriam Hubbard
uth Butler
uriel Tyson
arry A. Miller

Golda Ginsburg
Grace Boynton
Christian Wenger
Wm. T. Adams


WEDNESDAY,

JANUARY 19, 1916.

SCIENCE AND JOYLESS MATERI-
ALISM.
This is an age of Science and Effi-
ciency; the world has become instead
of a place of Happiness, a maelstrom
of rapid-fire business into which every-
one is thrown to rise and become one
of. the directors of the pool, or to be
swallowed in the swirling eddies of
modern life and the swift machinery
of modern existence. Why is all our
life on such a material basis? Why
do our rich men think only of getting
-more money and then of the best way
of spending it? Why is business run
for the sake of efficiency on disre-
gard of human happiness? Simply
because we and they lack a goal; we
work for the sake of doing something.
Life is largely sordid and tragic,
necessarily, but it is also worth liv-
ing. It is man's duty to live; it is
the college man's duty to "live better."
Not only can man live, as is Kipling's
philosophy, but they can live for a
purpose, the purpose\ which only
whole-hearted loyalty to and pursuit
of an ideal can give.
Ideals, are necessary to life; they
form the most important factor in suc-
cess. Get one. Get a dozen, and try
to live up to them.
WHO IS TO BLAME?
It was a freshman who publicly de-
clared, two weeks before the close of
the first semester, that, so far, he had
gained nothing out of college but a
good time. When questioned as to
where the fault lay,-in the Univer-
sity, in his associates, or in himself,
he retired from the field with true
freshman vagueness. But the com-
ment stuck. He was not a stupid boy,
nor a lazy one: but a most desirable
type of student, and he felt rather
cheated. He had expected to grow,
and he found himself, after six
months, much the same as when he
had entered in the fall.
Where does the blame fall? Class-
room work, unfortunately, slips off
many a student's shoulders, leaving
no trace behind. But atmosphere hab-
its, college spirit, at least, ought to
make some impression. If they have
not, either the much vaunted college
atmosphere is sadly lacking, or the
student has failed to come within its
range. A freshman is entitled to a
few growing-pains; needs them in
fact. Who is to blame that he has
not had them? He, himself, or you,
or I?
IMPRESSIONS.
Soft, gently melting columns of gray
smoke rising against the yellow of the
sunset sky! What wonderfully lovely
stuff it is! One might almost think
of it as the dream of industry, for
see how at first it rushes from, the
stack-hot with energy, sweeping
along with its memory of the toil be-
low-still fresh. Then slowly it loses
the rough enthusiasm, and resting con-
tent for a moment in its gentle love-
liness, it softly disappears. This bit
of peace, a. vision of things beyond, a
moment of reetion, how singularly
beautiful that it should give to the
cycle bf stern industry the second
timn!
What a joy it is to revel in a day
of wind and sunshine! You have
followed the gaily curving road for
several miles and now you breast the
turn of the hill, your breath coming
hard and deep. The light weaves it-
self among the yellowing leaves and
dances on the graveled path. The air
is cold and sharp.
And then you con to the crest of
the hill. Yox are c at of the woods
and the sun is warm and gratein on

yuur back. At your feet there is a
rough slope to the lake, and it
stretches away-away--a woniderfui
ruffled, Parrish blue, all set about with
the dull glow of the fsst-coloring trees.
And to thin' that there are people
.ho are bor.I by 'rving!
BUSINESS OPPORTUNITY
Just right for two students; $4,000
takes established business clearing.
over $200 per month. If you mean
business, write Michigan Daily, Box
YX nao7f

Some there are whose eyes behold
All grandeur in the past,
Whose minds in the dusty mould
Of yesterday are cast.
Down with the worship of the olden
way,
Sing me the glory of a great today
And the land that I call home.
I scorn the mind whose blindness
sees
No culture save in Ancient Greece,
No heroes save in Rome.
Oh! spectre of dead yesterday,
Whatever laurels bind thy brow.
My methods are the modern way,
My age-the living now.
-R. H.

VERlS LIBRETTO

Pictures From the THEll HUMAN DICTAGRA PI
"YouknoM" said the pretty Junior
YllowPstoneto another girl. "You know, I'm so
mad! I don't think I'm going to the
Hop! Imagine!"
ROARING 3(OUNTAIN "Why," began the other. "How on
Nature is not often positive y un. earth!" "It was this way," announced,
canny, but sometimes she makes you the Junior. "He was the very last fel-
think that she has gone stark, staring low I had this year-the one I was-
mad. with so much last year got engaged
"That's Roaring Mountain!" they in the summer-(as if that weren't bad
told us. "Roaring Mountain!" we enough)-Well, this other came up tol
thought. "W'hat a fanciful name!" Srne the Iouse one night and I introduced
one heard a wild-cat up there one him to one of our Freshmen-Fresh-
night and named it that." # man mind!-And the first thing I
There were pine on either side of knew, he'd invited her to the Hop!-
the road, following close to it as if "And the worst of all!-The man I
eager to make the sturdy little high- went around with this summer-the
way part of the forest again. But our one I had in reserve that I thought I
coach rattled along cheerfully and we could depend on, came, up here this
smiled at "Roaring Mountain." fall, met one of our girls at the House,
"There it is!" called Earl, the driver, took her up the river and invited her
and stopped the horses. to the Hop two weeks afterward!-
We listened. Why, there was a grum- I don't know what I'll do-Probably
ble, and a dull roar that you felt, have to go home between semesters!"
more than heard-a low, mumbling -
sound, like a giant growling to him- LA GRIPPE.j
self. "Roaring Mountain!" The hill- On December twenty-first, the vari-
side was bare, gray rock. A few naked ous trains pulled out of the Ann Arbor
trees clung to ledges. Steam flung stations at the usual time with a gre-
itself from crevices. At the foot of garious, affectionate, vacation crowd.
the mountain was a pool of murky They did not go alone. Even in such
green water, with ghastly white tree- close quarters there was room for
trunks leaning into each other at Monsieur and Madame Streptococcus,
crazy angles. Bubbles rose slowly their increasing progeny and their in-
along the edge of the water - lazy teresting little cousins the Micrococ-
green bubbles-and in places a seeth- cus Catarrhalises in the windows, on
ing movement showed that the water the seats, people's overcoats and suit-
was boiling setpopesoerot.n sut
ovr itl e la hcases. There was scarcely a place in
And over it all, the dull roar of the all that crowd of humanity that the
steam up above. Streptococcuses were not. At each sta-
"Roaring Mountain!" tion-stop some of the Micrococcus Ca-
tarrhalises would walk off, the Micro-
BE A MAN! coccus Tetragemuses would come on;
There was silence in the room. each one bent on prolonging the life
There was no sound. The poor, flick- of his tribe.
ering yellow electric light gleamed "How do you do," said one Microbe
alone in the quiet. Now and then a from his comfortable nook in the cat-
pen scratched fitfully. The air was erpillar of some gentleman's upper
tense with feeling. A hundred heads lip to the Micrococcuses on the tip of
bent silently, sullenly, solemnly to some person's nose.
their tasks. Silence-and the scratch "Fine, thanks," came the chorus.
of a fitful pen and the gleam of the They mingled and intermingled, mar-
flickering light. Silence. riages every moment of their one-
The professor paced paddy footed minute day, and births so fast that
up and down the platform, his face the poor little Schizomycites did not
moved to drawn whiteness by the know whether they were Streptococ-
frozen silence. He passed his hands cuses or Catarrhalises, and they were
through his graying hair. He glanced probably a little of both. Before they
nervously at his large, silver watch were through they were all Strepto-
which his father had given him years staphypneumicrococcuses. Meanwhile
before on his death bed. Silence. their unconscious hosts were planning
Suddenly a scream rang out, the their vacation.

FAR OUT OF THE WOI4LD

He had come to town from college
for the first time in months, and imme-
diately deserted the home fireside.for
a small and exclusive dance. He had
been rather satisfied with himself as
.e dressed; he looked well in evening
clothes-all Glee club men do; and
he prided himself on his dancing and
his college patter. The men in the
dressing room had welcomed him cor-
dially, drawing him into the discussion
which was just then engrossing them.
What was his opinion of this lategt al-
}uermanic stroke? Pretty scandal,
wasn't it? He looked at them in quiet
tolerance. He was sorry, but really
he knew nothing about it. They were
amazed; how could he help knowing?
It was on everyone's lips. Oh, but, of
course, he was away from home! At
college, wasn't he? A bit out of the
world, of course! And they turned
away frdm him.
His momentary annoyance passed
as his hostess greeted him charmingly
and handed him over at once to a
dainty bit of a girl from New York.
Would she dance? She supposed so,
but really, dancing bored her awfully.
She di4 so wish they would;skate in-
stead. He looked at her q'uizzically.
Did New York societygirls indulge in
so childlike a pastime? Why-how
funny! That was all they did. Didn't
he know that .skating was the latest
fad? Where had he been living, out
of the world somewhere?}
He was relieved to have the next
with a girl he had always known, a
nice reliable girl who knew his taste
and appreciated his dancing. She was

so glad to see to see him again. And
he to see her, of course. She was
wearing her hair differently, very be-
coming, he thought; and that quaint
frock. New, wasn't it? She laughed
and shook her pretty head. Her dress
was old as the hills. Didn't he even
know the fashions? Where had he
been living, out of the world some-
where?
One of his sister's chums claimed
him for the ,next. And he was pre-
pared to hear her high school chatter
with patient interest. She was very
serious. Her class, it seemed, was
studying the problems of the war, and
wasn't this new complication with
Austria just dreadful? He confessed
that he did not know whether it was
or not. How strange? Why, it was
awfully serious! It might mean war!
Where had he been living, out of the
world somewhere?
He wandered over to the next girl
sulkily. She, too, was home from col-
lege, where he saw her only occasion-
ally on the campus, although he had
always known her at home. She wasn't
his style at all, but his evening was
spoiled anyhow. She may have noticed
his ill-humor, but all she said as they
trotted off was, "College men surely
know how to dance, Bert! You'd think
some of these men had been living out
of the world somewhere!"
He marveled that he had never ap-
preciated her before. She was won-
derful. And only yesterday he had
publicly stated his disapproval of co-
education. Funny, how a fellow's views
change!

Tune: Three Blind Mice.

Three blue books,
See how they come,
See how they come!
The first one's over

by Monday

noon,
(The second and third don't fit
this tune),
And if I'm dead by the rise of the


moon,
It's three blue books!

Three wee marks,
How did they come,
Why did they come?
The first one begins as
word does,

People You Ought to Know
WITH MR. SWING IN CONSTANTINOPLE

a swear

The other two E's make me tear
my fuzz,*
'Twould tax the patient old man
of Uz-
My three wee marks!
* Author's note: Tle authorrhas
curly hair. Is the Scriptural refer-,
ence in the next line perfectly clear?I
M. M. T.
TO READINGS IN ENGLISH

The
Of
I r
Of
And
For
It I

HISTORY scream of a soul in pain. Then fol- "What are you going to do this va-
lowed the slow sobbing of utter des- cation?"
By Cheyney, pair. A boy, hardly more than that, "It's work for me. Oh, yes, I'll get
ey haunted my thoughts morn. lay with his head in his hands, weep- something ;done."
noon and night. ig, as only a boy can weep. "There'll be a thousand things going
you, how I did curse the hight: The professor moved toward him. on; me for the time of my life."
Oh Cheyney. _ "My boy," said he, laying his hand on "Guess I'll visit the Juvenile Court
ead those documents through and the lad's shoulder. "My boy, be a for my thesis."
through man!" "Ha, ha" said a Micrococcus Ca-
Alfred's cake and Henry's shoe, The sobbing ceased and only long tarrhalis as she gaily coquetted with a
d then upon the quizzing day painful breaths. "It can't be," he Pneumococcus in the membrane of
got the pence they paid for hay; muttered. "It can't be." "What?" the last speaker's throat.
Oh Cheyney, gasped the professor. "Such an auspicious time for travel,
"Those cuffs! Those cuffs! The for- my dear," said Madame Streptococcus
haunted my thoughts morn, night mulas were on them and I forgot to to her venerable spouse Monsieur
and noon. put them on!" His head bowed once Pneumococcus. "What with crowded

It was at a reception at the Ameri-
can College for Girls last winter that
I was talking to Mr. Raymond Swing,
when his eye rested absently on a
group of pretty Turkish girls as they
roettred behind the curtain at the end
of the marble hall in accordance with
college regulations.
"I say," said the gentleman seduc-
tively. "Get me a chance to talk to
some Turkish girls, wont' you"
The persuasiveness of tone would
have melted something much har.er
than the heart of a young member of
the college faculty. but this was a rs-
quest to rouse the utmost schoolmarm
horror.
"Impossible," I said, deeply shocked.
"But why?"
"Custom of the country," I said,
sympathetically. "Alas, Mr. Swing,
you are still young, and sad as it is,
you might be considered attractive.'
Only gentlemen wao are old and fa n-
ous are allowed to meet the girls and
even at that the college is considered
too progressive."
The war correspondent turned a,
boyish pink.
"I'm a perfectly good married man,"
he protested. "I.know you can get;
we the chance, and nobody ever in-;
terviewed a Turkish girl before.
Please."
"It's out of my power," I said, "but
I'll give you a hint. Our dean can do'
it for you if she chooses to, but she's
a good deal of a man-hater."
"Introduce me," was the answer.
It took about five minutes for the

magical Mr. Swing to convince the
dean that it would be a privilege to
find some Turkish girls who would
consent to be interviewed. I believe
the miracle was partly performed by
the casual mention that Mr. Swing's
grandmother was once president of
Mt. Holyoke. The dean was a Mt.
Holyoke woman. At any rate that
august official moved away to hunt
ip, the girls and I, feeling like a con-
spirator, supplied the diplomat with
the names, histories and character-
istics of the girls I thought it likely
he would meet.
"But the girls hate to have people
write about them," I warned hhm.
"They will like meeting you but they
won't want to talk much."
The affair seemed to turn out to the
correspondent's satisfaction, however,
and was widely published lass winter,
embracing the views of progressive
Turkish women on religion, patriot-
ism, feminism, marriage and dress. As
for the girls, they were charmed.
"He was so nice," Hatidje confided
to me. "He is saying he takes excuse
he asks so many questions, and we
are saying to him all he asks. And
then he is saying 'May I print this?'
and we day 'Yes.' He is so polite. Are
all American men so nice and do
they stay young like Mr. Swing?"
I reflected upon the ways of a war
correspondent *ho could impress a
Turk with his good faith, ingratiate
himself with a grim guardian of
school-girls, and induce the confidence
of fearful and suspicious orientals, all
in one afternoon.

That final to me a coming so soon
Oh Cheyney.
I crammed my head with sentences
Far beyond my poor senses
I read and wrote and read some more.
I said goodbye when the final was
o'er
To Cheyney.
You haunted my thoughts noon, night
and morn,
Oh Cheyney.b
But now the inkstand you adorn;
No longer may you torture me
With statements lacking unity
In which there is no earthly sense
Or beauty, life or coherence;
Poor Cheyney.

more.!
The professor passed his hand over
his face. His look was kind but in-,
tense tragedy had scarred its fineness.
"My boy," he said. "This must be part
of the discipline of life. Be thankful
that those answers to the problems are
still pinned inside your tie!"
Prof. Wilgus Has Relapse of La Grippe
Prof. H. L. Wilgus of the law school
has had a relapse of a recent attack
of la grippe and he will probably be
confined to his home for the remainder
of the week.

cars and Christmas reetings to say
nothing of dances and the osculatory
mistletoe our cultures will be pres-
ent everywhere."
Was she right? Watch, oh, I mean
listen to the returning crowd.
"Hello, old ban. Have a nice timb ?"
"Yup; I only had the grip."
"So did I. Didn't get a thing done."
Universal "Katchoo."
Business of affectionate greetings.
Monsieur Tetragemus revived. One
embrace had brought new material to
his nearly exhausted frame.
"Ah!" he remarked, "What would
the Microbe family do without railroad
stations, crowded cars, and the loving
nature of human beings. If they will
all go to a couple of dances this week,
attend their classes well, and go to
church on Sunday, we will have a
very profitable season, very profit-
able."
"Yes, I had the grip," said the cam-
pus, "and I feel--I know., I am get-
ting it again."
So the merry war goes on. The
microcci chortle in glee. Should so-
ciety be muzzled?
I.B.

Tips From Here and There
between the two of us the Rhetoric Scalpers could make a good business
building is a pretty good place to on dance tickets these last weeks
slide by--but sometimes you slip.

Folders, Announcements, etc.
The Ann Arbor Press.

Try
(*)

IF WISHES WERE HORSES
Only a child with a ragged dress
That I met along the path
In the wind-swept chaff and the heat's duress
Of the summer's aftermath;
I raced the wind for her hat and won,
And I laughed at the tears of the child,
As they challenged smiles at h'er fear's retreat,
Till she proudly stamped her stone-bruised feet
And defiantly turned on her laughless beat,-
And I wished I had only smiled.
THE OWL
There is an owl.
At the Zoo.1

Reflections

And still the Campus Cops are in-
active. Evidently a dull season.
The Military Training war seems to
be over.- Writers' cramp, maybe.
Just 8709 minutes before exams.
Do your blue book shopping early.
The honor system would be a good
thing-unless you grant that Michigan
men aren't to be trusted. Then, how-
ever, you wouldn't be a student of our
institution. Are you with us, against
us, or neutral?
After them a few weeks tilt Easter,
for those who have a home to go to.
Ordered that Michiganensian yet?
Neither have we.
Skating to classes would give you
a few more minutes with her.
Those attendance committee slips
are hitting hotly-and somehow they
always strike home.

Huerta a good Indian - Editorial
head in Detroit News. Some good in
the old gent after all.
We seem to be getting MORE of that
weather the weather man forgot to
slip us during June, July, August and
September.
Profs are human after all--so per-
haps you'll get by.
Sign in Grand Rapids street cars--
"No spitting in these cars, by order
of the Fire Commissioners." Now dust
why, we wonder, should they object.
Nineteen states will be arid in 19.46,
which may be known as the year of
the Great Drought.
Limericks You May Hate Missed
"There was a young lady named Rider,
Whose parents forbade her sweet cider,
But she drank without fear,
For when they were near,
She'd Just hide 'er cider insider.

It stands on one foot and looks at me with large, round, glistening

yel-

low eyes.
I stand and gaze back at it.
There is no sound.
"Why do you gaze at me so silently?
Do you know the secret tragedies of my heart?
Why do you not speak?
I raise one foot and grasp the cold, iron rail and gaze intensely.
I hop slowly around the cage, with its cruel wire.
You do not move except your head, pivoted on its fringe of feathers, which
turns to watch me.
You do not raise your eyes from mine.
why An von not sneak

I sometimes think that the con-
sciousness of growth will take the
sting out of almost every experience.
If gaunt sorrow has come to one, the
feeling that one must have grown by
I contact with this bitterness, is, of
itself, in the nature of compensation.
_ And half the thrill of joy is knowing
that one must have grown to realize
such ecstasy.
Good Printing. The Ann Arbor Press.