BTACK Locoes, cas^- " ' V ' 50 5 THE LIBRARY 1 OF HAVERFORD COLLEGE THE GIFT OF /I MO. '^ 195 5 ACCESSION NO. / 5./ 7 3/ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation http://www.archive.org/details/haverfordianvols5051have w c D COLLE. THE_____ __ ERFORD, PA, HAVERFORDIAN PUBLISHED MONTHLY AT HAVERFORD COLLEGE NOVEMBER 1930 National Prestige in Men's Apparel The name of this house (or years has been nationally known for men's apparel that is exceptionally fine in quality . and authentic to the last detail of style < < < Jacob Reed's Sons 1424-1426 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia Atlantic City » » 1127-1129 Boardwalk ESTABLISHED 1872 HOPPER, SOLIDAY & CO. MEMBERS PHILADELPHIA STOCK EXCHANGE INVESTMENT SECURITIES 1420 WALNUT STREET PHILADELPHIA Patronize our Advertisers THE HAVERFORDIAN Table of Contents © Frontispiece Douglas Borgstedt 390 Contemporary Comments Harris Shane 391 A. S. T J. M. deG. 395 L'Apres-Midi d'une Faune J. T. G. 396 The Japanese Dagger J. Hoag 401 Wind at Evening H.J. Nichol 407 Winter Night Magic H.J. Nichol 408 The Scientific Method B32 410 Books 421 The Haverfordian VOL. L HAVERFORD. PA., NOVEMBER. 1930 NO. 1 "The Haverfordian" is published on the twenty-fifth of each month preceding date of issue during college year. Its purpose is to foster the literary spirit among the undergraduates; to this end con- tributions are invited, and will be considered solely on their merits. Matter intended for insertion should reach the Editor not later than the fifth of the month. Entered as second-class matter March 19, 1 92 1 , at the post office at Haverford, Pennsylvania, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Acceptance for mailing at special rate of postage provided for in section 1 103. Act of October 3, 1917. authorized April II, 1921. LOCKHART AMERMAN, Editor J. T. GOLDING, Associate Editor D. L. CLEMENTS DOUGLAS BORGSTEDT J. B. APPASAMY Art Editor Boo\ Reviewers WILLIAM M. MAIER, Business Manager CHARLES G. SINGER, Circulation Manager EVAN M. BLANCHARD, Advertising Manager vSO-^l ml3l — JDeginning with this number *—* and continuing for several more numbers, the HAVERFORDIAN will shoulder the white mans burden and publish "Uncle Bob's Kiddies' Page," by Harris Shane, author of "Two Gun Sam," "Blood on the Desert," "The Maverick Murderers" and "WOO Dainty Desserts for Summertime." Dear Mr. Heilman: Well, here I am back at Haverford for another year's hard work, and I should not need to add, hard play. I've been intending to write to you for several weeks now, and as the time is drawing pretty close I thought I'd better get what I have to say off my chest. You know, Wes—you don't mind my calling you "Wes", do you? Rhinie year I had just been at college a month—things were still strange to me (as indeed they still are)—when I walked into my little old room 'way up in the third floor of Barclay and found a square, stiff, white envelope in with the rest of my mail. I thought "Oh joy, an invitation to a dance, I've always wanted to go to a dance." So I saved the envelope till last and then I took it over to one corner of that litle old room o'mine ("Bide-a-wee," I used to call it) and opened it. Well, it wasn't an invitation to a dance, but it was a handsome engraved birthday card, from you, yes, you, Wes. I hadn't heard of you then—and of the wonderful work you are doing among young fellows of College age—but just the thought that someone was interested in me,—someone knew when my birth- day was, and someone took enough trouble to send me a card (and that someone was you) cheered me and made me go through the day with a light step (I was skipping that week, I believe, for I hadn't tipped my hat to a senior). I don't mind telling you that I took that card home and showed it to the folks with tears in my young eyes. I have gotten a card every year since then, Wes, and I can't tell you what they've meant to me. Sometimes even we college men 391 — 392 THE HAVERFORDIAN hardboiled and rough and tough as we are—get feeling a little "blue" and it certainly is mighty fine to know that good ol* Wes I lei 1 man is still thinking of us, watching us blossom into young manhood. But here I am dawdling along, Wes, without saying what I started out to. You may not know it, Wes, but in less than a week now, I'll have attained my majority, as the saying is. I'll be twenty-one years old. And I'm telling you that that's a big day in a fellow's life. Now cards are all right, Wes (and it sure was mighty fine of you to send me them, as I say) for ordinary birthdays but you know a boy's twenty-first birthday is something special. You see what I mean something special—something special . Well, so long, Wes, hope I see you soon and we can smoke a Lucky together. Boy, I sure do like those old Lucky Strike cigarettes. Never can get enough of them. Well, be seeing you, Wes. Yrs.. Harris. We have had the last summer vacation we'll ever have —unless of course, the unemployment problem next sum- mer is as bad as it was this—and in many ways it was a peculiar one. During the entire month of June we looked for a job and it is quite probable that it was all valuable experience. Certainly we met enough secretaries, office boys, and officious third vice-presidents to do us for quite a while, thank you. Giving up the idea of a job, we took to sitting in Rit- tenhouse Square, waiting for one of the children of a wealthy family to fall into the pond. Approximately four hundred other members of the army of unemployed were waiting for the same thing. When a five-year-old girl threw her rubber ball in the water and then leaned perilously over the edge to retrieve it, there was a near riot before we had finished rolling up our trousers. — CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS 393 While every bench was filled with down and outers some of them with no work for months—the children and their nurses strolled around pushing English perambu- lators with $20 dolls inside. It was enough to make one turn Socialist or something like that. The undergraduate brand of Socialism or Communism or whatever it is always seems a bit ridiculous to us. Everyone is so frightfully serious about it, without quite knowing what they're serious about. And many of the country's future capitalists and wives of capitalists are at present denouncing capitalism from the front seat of a LaSalle roadster. Philadelphia—along with the rest of the nation—went in for endurance in a big way. Most of the population was either perched on various trees or serving the perchers. There were a few, however, in more worthwhile occupa- tions. Four boys alternately rode a bicycle around the block for several weeks; a twelve-year-old boy sat on a fire plug for 23 hours; two small girls stared at a police- man for an hour and a half; a fifteen-year-old girl pushed another one to Atlantic City in a baby carriage, etc., etc. Seized with the desire to do something along those lines, we gathered a few friends together, went outside the city limits, and sang the "Maine Stein Song" forty-eight times without stopping. This, we might add, was not a stunt but of inestimable value to Science. The book trade in America suffered an exciting sum- mer, from all indications. What with publishers cutting books down to a dollar apiece—which is about 98 cents more than most of them are worth—and the United Cigar — 394 THE HAVERFORDIAN Stores going literary, it was enough to give Mr. Scribner a few more gray hairs. We stood in front of a United Cigar Store window the other night and gaped at the display. The heading "Publishers' Overstocks" was prob- ably perfectly true—ten copies of most of those books would be an overstock; but the thought that, after all, it was entirely fitting that tobacco and books should be sold by the same people stole over us. The alarm clocks and the safety razors in the same window we could not explain. The variety of titles was amazing. Some roguish windowdresser had placed "On theTrailof Chief Buffalo," "On the Make," "Preparing for Motherhood" and "Without Kin," next to each other. All of which may be woven into a very touching story if you go about it in the right way. #| CUV** O tau*ja Editor s Note—This is the first of a series of articles by Mr. Shane, on "Important Phases of the Failure of the Tomato Crop in Jugo- slavia". The next will appear in an early issue. ? A. S. T. Oh, comme j admire ta beaute blonde; Oh, comme je t'aime, S. T.I Se peut-il que de tout le monde A moi tu es restee? Ah non, je sais ta beaute pure N' appartient qua toi; Je voudrais bien,—ceci je jure,— Quelle appartienne a moi. Mais comment done te faire comprendre Mon admiration folle Je voudrais bien te voir te rendre A moi, passive et molle! A quoi bon te presenter meme Ces vers qui disent ma plainte? Tu n'pourrais pas lire ce poeme: Cela, chere, est ma crainte.