(L;Rnrgrtnwu Q!Nlltgt 3Jnurunl
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(l;rnrgrtnwu Q!nlltgt 3Jnurunl Vol. XLIII :lllaaqingtnu. ill. Cl! •• flay. 19'15 No. 8 aJtr.e &tatf JOHN C. McNAMARA, ' 15 &titor ,,. CM~ Associat e Editors PETER A, KARL, ' 15 FRANCIS I. CONNOLLY. '15 .Altontlf W. KENNEDY HUTTON, ' 15 EDMUND E. BARRETT, '15 Honw NWJs AthZ.tu• Contributin a Edito r s CALVIN B. GARWOOD, '15 EDWIN G. CASS, '16 JOHN J. O'DAY, ' 15 RICHARD BARRETT, '17 THOMAS F. GURRY, Jr., '16 ERNEST E, BLAU, ' 17 LEO. V. ICLAUBERG, '16 W. ST. JOHN GARW-OOD, ' 17 GEORGE E. HAMILTON, Jr., '17 S taff Arti s t FRANK F. LAMORELLE, '15 Bu s ine s s Dept . WILLIAM J. CULLINAN, ' 15, Advertisloa WILLIAM E. HARRINGTON. ' 16, Circulation 1Ehitnrial W!Jt 1Jfrrsqman Numbtr. ACH hour as it comes is but a testimony, how fleeting, yet how secure, how certain is the gr eat whole,'' wrote Cardinal E1 Newman, and w ell might w e apply it to the JOURN AL, living ~~ on we feel sure with a perman en cy that w ill endure, and ever striving to improve under the changing staffs which direc t its destinies. Like an image on the waters, which is ever the GEORGETOWN COLLEGE JOURNAL same, though the waters ever flow, it r eflects the life and activities of Alma Maler by the facile pens of its changing writers. And so as the child is father of the man, the Freshman is parent of lhe Senior, on through the endless column which extends ever forward into lhe future in Georgetown's sons yet unborn. With this in view, the literary a nd quasi-literary lalenl of lhe Fresh man Class has assumed the weighty responsibility of publishing this month's edition. From the sacred recesses of the editorial sanctum, we realize that their task is a mighty one, if they would a ttain the excellence of our other issues. However, just as the College Senior mu t realize tha t soon he is to be a freshman in the world, so do we remember tha t once we were freshmen here and nol possessed of the ra dia ting genius which this year developed within us, graced these pages. Who knows but tha t a nother v\Tatterson may be hiding his light behind the barrier of youthful reticence! A successor to 0. Henry may be only awaiting an opportunity, while an embryonic J effrey F arnol may be just beginning to despair, and the poetic soul of Alfred "i\'oyes burning for an outlet. Shine forth then or be forever forgotten! A year or two, and it will be your monthly task, and we are confident that then the poor, though earnest efforts of your humble predecessors will pale in comparison. THE EDITOR. j;arrarun. Sarcasm, with its well-groomed but less dangerous companion Irony, has caused more destruction than war, more pain than wounds, more sorrow than deaths. In the wake of this fiery monster is strewn the wrecks of homes where the flame of love once brightly burned, the smouldering embers of the cottage in which true friendship ha d passed many happy hours. Sometimes, indeed, sarcasm is a m eans of defense. \¥ould that it were used for this purpose alone! But in the hands of man, it is made to serve the purpose of a bee's sting, a cat's claw, a snake's fang. As a man who tak es pride in the gun he loves to shoot, w ill be temptecl to display his prowess, so the sarcastic tongue, not satisfied with being used only when n ecessary, wounds and pains the object of its wrath. "A sharp tongue never mellows with age." More bitter it becomes until it finds a parallel in the story of the cruel Moor, who, not content with stabbing his victim, must needs increase the p ain by turning the weapon in the wound. (494 ) GEORGETOWN COLLEGE JO URN AL In the prologue to many a domestic tragedy, sarcasm has been the main actor. Trivial matters concerning the household or p etty pecu liarities spurred on by a sharp tongue have estranged man and wife, furnished gossip for the community, business for lawyers. Life long friendships have been broken through the medium of sarcasm. The faults and weaknesses of one, exaggerated and divided by the irony of the other, have rent the bonds asunder. Perhaps sarcasm was intended as a means of conversion. But, to expect conversion through such a medium plainly signifies conceit in the user. He places his sharp tongue above sound reasoning. But when his race is run he will find that he has as many converts as there are St. Patrick's days in one year. Finally, the hereafter of the addict of sarcasm does not look particularly bright ifwe accept Herod as an example, for this wielder of the sarcastic sword has not to date been canonized. ROBERT M. O 'LONE, '18. A C!!nntra:.at. What is the soul of the peasant's song? Of what does the blue-bird sing? What is the cause of the fireside's glee? Of what does the anglers ring? Sweet, gentle Peace! Why are the homes forsaken of m en? Who dug the newly-made graves? Who is this monster gray and red Binding weak men as his slaves? Grim clashing War I - James McSherry Alvey, '18. (495) GEORGETOWN COLLEGE J OURNA L Wl7r B Uh ~an of tqr ~nor. JOSEPH H. 0ILKES, '18. liE Black Moor was a dark, desolate, treacherous, thickly " ooded place. For years few human beings had dared to enter its forbidding gloom. The folk of the adjoining coun ~ try side said that it was haunted, and no amount of per suasion, no offer of a reward could induce them lo brave its ill-omened hills and valleys. Now it was precisely for this reason that I had decided to make it my home for an indefinite time. The doctor said I needed a change of scene and quiet if I wanted to enjoy a few more years of life. I had been spending most of my time studying law, and in my spare moments did some little writing. I had almost :finished a book that I was com posing when my physician advised me to give up the law for a wlulc. So here I was, a weak man of thirty, prematurely gray, in search of health and strength, with my few belongings and Flint, my guide. He was an old hunter, as true and hale and hearty a man as I ever wish to happen upon. But with all the loneliness and quiet of the Moor, time did not hang heavily on our hands. Flint liked nothing better than roaming aimlessly about the valley or shooting birds and squirrels or fishing in the creek that flowed near our cabin. I was busy with my book, and in my spare moments accompanied Flint on his ramblings. It was on one of these exploring expeditions that we met Dr. Condon, a rather peculiar, gray-haired old man of about fifty. He informed us that he was a scientist who had lived in the moor for some twenty years. He confessed to be much given to chemistry and studies of insects and animal life, and for this reason had made the woods his home and intended to spend the rest of his days there in writing a treatise on animal life and in Chemical Experiments. V·le put him down as a queer and rather week-minded old fellow who wished nothing more than to be left alone, and after inviting him to give us a visit, bade him good day. We had now spent a week or so in the forest and were beginning to think it a trifle lonesome and monotonous. We still took our daily walks about the valley and turned in early at nights, I was progressing rapidly with my book and was beginning to feel that I had received some benefit from our sojourn to the Black Moor. (496) GEORGETOWN COLLEGE JOURNAL One night- I should judge that it was about 2 o'clock- we were awakened by a startling shriek that echoed through the valley. It was one of those cries that one might imagine as issuing from the depths of hell-a shrill, piercing wail that reverberated over the hills. We were both wide awake in a moment, lit the light and listened. And as we sat there in our beds, straining our ears to- there it was again, the shriek of a wild, terror-stricken creature, half like the cry of an animal, yet with the note of a human voice in its unnerving wail. We both rushed to the door and opened it just as a black figure dashed past about twenty yards away. By the feeble light that shone from with in our cabin we were not certain whether it was a man or an animal. Then, as it flew down the valley, it uttered another of those piercing cries and disappear ed from view. We heard nothing more of the thing for the rest of that night, nor did sleep r efresh our agitated minds. Flint and I vainly spent the next morning in trying to come to some solution as to what sort of a monster it could have been that had dis turbed us. We could only make vague guesses. That it was a man we felt practically certain was out of the question. If it was an animal, what kind was it? We could think of no creature tha t gave forth such queer, blood-curdling yells, so we decided to watch for it the next night and sat down to lunch.