PS 3505 .018 C5 1921 Copy 1 s CHIMES RUNG BY THE University District Herald '%-W- For the bells are ringing, The bells are ringing, Listen to the message in their chime. "You better be a Booster, Yes, be a better Booster, And boost a little better all the time." ^ ^ % BY ALICE ROLLIT COE Copyrighted 1921, Seattle i t?) 'i> 6^ 6 0*%t^ DEC 19 '21 ©CU655510 f^^ \ 9- Page 3 College 7 Where are you going, my pretty maid? ^ "I'm going to college, Sir," she said. fi^ O, don't go there if you love your life, It will quite unfit you to be a wife. "But I thought a woman's work was such That a body could never know too much." O, no, my child, it would never do; A man always knows enough for two. "Then why was I given a mind? say!" So you could change it from day to day. " Well, then if I must marry, must I forego All the wonderful things I long to know?" Alas! my child, it is better so. The maiden stood by the campus gate. Consider, before it is all too late; A little Latin and Greek may prove An armor to turn the shaft of love. Dan Cupid would be in no end of a panic At the thought of a girl with a brain titanic. He would scurry away with scant apol- ogy If he found you coquetting with Old Psychology. The more for ancient lore you yearn, The less of the lore of love you'll learn. "But the world is so full of beautiful things!" Yes, yes, my child, but Love has wings. He may flit away, long, long before Your tiresome college days are o'er. Those capital letters that follow your name Are proof it will ever remain the same. The more degrees from your Alma Ma- ter, The more degrees from Hymen later. So, pretty maiden, be warned, I pray. From the paths of learning turn away. In one scale books. In the other — a man! Hesitate, educate, then, if you can. With a careless laugh, that mocked at fate. The maiden that passed through the campus gate. But passed she in? Or passed she out ? Well, you can decide for yourself, no doubt. MAY B. KNOTT. Babushka A great presence has been in our midst. She came and spent a quiet day under the shadow of the Chimes Tower. "Babushka" has been here. And what was the message she brought ? An appeal for her beloved Russia? For the peasant. Dulled by years of oppression? For the. millions of children Who need not only food to keep their bodies alive, But even more, need teachers to keep their soul alive ? Yes. But something else. The witness of unconquerable faith in God and humanity. Half a life of exile? She never mentioned it. The hardships and privitations she had been through ? They were as though they had never been. Russia and her great need. And the children, the children. These were the things she talked of. Love and hope shone from her coun- tenance. Every selfish mean thought seemed to wither up in her presence. The little, petty, fancied ills that we give house room Scuttled away into dark corners like so»many cockroaches. And we feel, for a time at least. That they will never dare show their ugly black faces again. MAY B. KNOTT. Page 4 Better Speech Say It With Flowers "Say it with flowers!" "Spring is in the air/ The snow of the cherry blossoms and the pink apple petals are spread for our delight. Nature is saying it with flowera. She might, perhaps, say it some otker way. The urge of life, The whipping up^ of dormant energies, The start of the new cycle, — She might, indeed, say it in sterner ways. But no. She chooses to say it with flowers. And the maple is in tassel; The star of the dogwood gleams among the firs and cedars; The deep rose of the wild currant warms the shadowy places of the wood. Nature will choose the beautiful way, And say it with flowers. "In the spring the young man's fancy Lightly turns to thoughts of love." He, too, will say it with flowers. Flowers, the most delicate, the most beautiful of all the gifts of earth. Beautiful, not only with a transient loveliness, But with the promise of good things to be. j } Say it with flowers, young man. Not necessarily with costly hot-house orchids; Send her a spray of apple blossoms at least, Which means that some day you will buy the apples for those big, flaky pies she is going to make. You can say anything with flowers. But don't forget that later you will have to say it with flour. JMAY B. KNOTT. Did you ever tuck a book into your pocket And think to yourself that you would have a quiet half hour's study during the long ride to town? If you did have to pay 6J cents, you would get all you could for your money. And then, just as you had settled your- self in a seat by the window and pulled out your book. Two women came in, and took the seat behind you. And begin to talk. Well, you know the rest. It happened just that way the other day. I tried to concentrate on my book But the voice in the rear was one of those — what do they call them? 0, yes, buzz-saw sopranos. And there was no escape! The recital of personal experiences, past, present and possible, was thrust upon my un\villing ears. And then, suddenly, a sentence floated across to me — No, it was fired across, And brought me to attention like an order from a second lieutenant. As for my book. It might as well have been out of print. I tried to grasp the meaning of the words I heard. To analyze them, to take them apart to put them together again. I clutched at them, but I might as well have clutched at fog. I said them backward and forward And then began in the middle and said thf-m both ways; But it was no use. These were the wordb.-- "It don't look like it hardly did." It was Better Speech week, too. That may be the reason that I became obsessed with the desire to make sense out of that senseless sentence. 1 tried to come to satisfactory terms with it. I tried to forget it. But it haunts me still. If you, or anyone else can parse that sentence, rieasc send it to the Lost and Found column of the Herald. No. If you want a quiet place to read, Take your book to the library or to a bench in the park. You may think it pays to spend 6i cents for a quiet half-hour. But— It don't look like it hardly did. MAY B. KNOTT. Page 5 Q uestionnaires yes, we each of us took a surrepti- tious peep at the Edison question- naire, Just to see if we could answer a few, And each of us got a little jolt, eh ? We immediately began to question the value of questionnaires in general And Edison questionnaires in particu- lar. Are we not subject to this plague of questions from earliest infancy? Somebody is always trying to find out how much we know, When it would be to their advantage and ours to let the matter rest. What is the bane of school life ? Not learning, but examinations. So, we would be happy enough in this old world. If they would only let us study and en- joy it And judge us by our fruits, Not the facts that we can muster on call. A fig for their facts! What is a fact, anyway? Why, everybody knows that the most fictitious things in the world are facts. A fact depends so much on the point of view. The Good Book says, Get Wisdom, Get Understanding, But the world says. Get the Facts! They can't measure wisdom, nor weigh understanding, So, they judge a man by the bits of bric-a- brae he has on display. Who cares how high the tide runs in the Bay of Fundy? We need all our wits to keep tab on the rise of the tide of taxes. "Where do prunes come from?" They come from the place wher% ques- tionnaires are made. What makes us hate to go to school? Questions. What makes us afraid to go home? Questions. What makes us shun society? Ques- tions. What makes us -afraid to die ? Ques- tions. - By the way, who are our friends ? The people who do not question us. That is all there is to falling in love. Two persons meet,and — take each other for granted. It is such a delightful sensation, that they decide to take each other foi?^ life. 'fM '111 And straightway ruslfi off and,^et mar- ■rioH : -J - A - i~ . ried. Poor ■ml^'f^ p^ c=^^5E^ _ ,1| And fanfey mof^ have ^39fl€^' ^vlth ques- MAY B. KNOTT. Reconstruction Reconstruction. Just fourteen letters in that word. Just fourteen points in President Wil- son's peace terms. Those peace terms mean just that — Reconstruction. A big word. Not easily understood. It will take years to understand those peace terms in all their breadth. Reconstruction. A building anew. The world re-made. There is work for everyone. But thank God the eternal foundations are there on which to build. Right. y^ Justice. i ■ Mercy. Let the treaty be written on the heart of men this time. Not on a scrap of paper." V;:M//i';,'[;|/;,m|';i MAY B. K1^0"^i.'i' . ; .// Page 6 The Poet Puzzles For Parents "Puzzles for Parents" would be a good title for a book that we wish some- one would write. It used to be easy to be a Parent. At least we knew how to proceed. There were certain convenient conven- tions. And then there was a generally ac- cepted theory i^hat -children had to be trained ' And a fairly reasonable hope that the average child would react favorably to that training. But times have changed, Whether human nature has or not. We must mend our methods. We are gi-oping about in the dark, clutching at this thing and that, Seeking for some key to that baffling mystery, The heart of a child. It used to be supposed that quiet, and sane surroundings wei-e the best con- ditions for the unfolding of child na- ture, — And plenty of sunshine, of course. But apartment houses and movies offer little peace and quiet. In the multitude of counsellors there is safety. Yes, but in too much experiment there is peril. There used to be a few good old things to tie to, Like obedience, politeness, and so forth; But self-determination seems to have the right of way just now. It may be all right, but isn't there too much 'self" and too little "deter?" Yes, it keeps an honest parent busy these days, Trying out each new theory. Another text comes to mind. "And while I was busy, the Child es- caped." MAY B. KNOTT. At last the poet has come into his own. In the list of those engaged in essential industries We find the Poet. Of course he is tossed in vdth a lot of common folk Farmers, bricklayers and what not. But the great out-standing fact is He is There. After all these centuries of mere suf- ferance, Looked at askance by busy people, Tolerated as an ornamental but scarcely necessary adjunct of civili- zation, A pleasant enough sort of fellow to passed an idle hour with between drives. Now he is really accorded a place in the scheme of things. Why, even the Socialists with their plans for work for everybody and everybody at work. Even they, really, couldn't see where the poet came in. Homer and Milton and Shakespeare are well enough, But they are too far off to get on one's nerves. And now, at this time of crisis, When the slogan is — "Work or fight", Now, when if ever dreamers might be supposed to be at a discount. Poets are billetted with essential work- ers. How has this recognition come about? Men have ever been impatient with what they deemed the impractical. Behold, this dreamer cometh!" cried the self-seeking shepherd brethren. And they sold him into Egypt. But the dreamer was a man of vision, And it was to him They had to turn in time of dearth. The poets of today have claimed no exemption. They laid aside the pen and went sing- ing to the front. The beloved Rupert Brooke and a knightly few have already taken the long trail "West". Our own Alan Seeger has gone. And now Joyce Kilmer. Others will arise. We need the seers as well as the doers. Works may sometimes fail. But when the vision perisheth Then is the time of fear. MAY B. KNOTT. Page 7 Ai ir Trifles light as air, That is the theme of my meditation. How often have you looked out into the night and said, "There is nothing there." Nothing ? There is the air! The terrible air! Did you not feel it touch your check softly like a caress ? And yet, how many nights have you wakened to hear its fierce roar, And feel the mighty gusts tearing at the very foundations of your dwell- ing. Nothing but air! The soft breath of Heaven! Have you not stood on some promon- tory and watched the sea lashed to fury by the wind? Have you not heard the shuddering crash of timber As some mighty tree went down before the sweep of the hurricane ? The "impalpable air." What a power is this silent, unseen, untouched thing. We begin to live with our first breath. We die when we can no longer draw on this mysterious force. The breath of life, we call it. It laughs, gathers itself together, lets loose its strength, And it becomes the breath of death. Man has tamed the earth and chained the lightning. He rides upon the sea or under it at will. Now, he boasts in his folly that he has conquered the air. The air! that gave him life but to rob him of it at last. The air! that moves his sails. And drives upon him the waves that drown him. The air that brings the summer rain to nourish his fields. And harries the ripened grain with hail stones. King of the air? The all-pervading, all-encompassing air? The wind that "bloweth where it list- Then is he 'king indeed. MAY B. KNOTT. Thanksgiving Day Once upon a time, a few colonists, Facing a wilderness. Menaced by savages. Cut off forever from their home land, Facing a future lightened only by their undaunted hope, Proclaimed a Day of Thanksgiving. The ideal for which they suffered and endured Dominates the world today. The flag that symbolizes the full flowering of that ideal Floats in starry beauty in every hem- isphere. In silence more eloquent than a thous- and Liberty Bells, It proclaims liberty to all people. Old Glory! Amid the clustering flags it shines; Over lands redeemed, Over nations pledged henceforth To Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood. Bearing witness to the sublime faith of the Pilgrim Fathers. A faith of which this Thanksgiving season is the glorious fruition. MAY B. KNOTT. Page 8 Leap Year Stove Pipes It's time to start the furnace fire, The days are growing chill; These early fogs and rains don't tend To cut the fuel bill And Father groans to think of it As he sits down to sup. He ought to thank his stars he has No stove-pipes to put up. Don't you remember, long ago, How Mother used to say, "It's getting cool, we'd better put The stove-pipes up today." And then they'd drag the heavy stove Into the sitting room And call the hired girl to bring The dust pan and the broom. And maw, she'd tell us kids to scoot. And take the cat and pup. And keep from underfoot, so Paw Could put the stove-pipes up. Then Paw, he'd set the stove in place And get the pipes all ready, And climb up on a kitchen chair While Maw, she'd hold it steady. Then Paw, he'd wrastle with the pipes And turn 'em every way; And yank and twist the elbows round And jam his thumb and say, "Doggone!" "If you'd of minded me When you took 'em down last spring," Maw'd say, "they'd go together now. Easy as anything. You would not get them all mixed up, And swear and get so vexed, „ , If you'd marked the first one. 'i^oj 1,' And all the others. 'Next'." "' •" " The modern man may have a drop Of wormwood in his cup, But let him thank his stars there are No stove-pipes to put up. MAY B. KNOTT. The Sockeye Salmon run every four years. So do the bachelors; Or they pretend to. I think they rather pride themselves on being pursued. But they are really relieved to have the burden of choice taken off their shoulders. I should think it would be a pleasant change for a man Not to have to pick out a wife. But to be picked. You know how much trouble men have Making up their minds Which girl in the "rosebud garden of girls" They really want. It is Mary's curl. And Helen's eyebrow, And Emily's shell-like ear, Bessie is such a dear girl, Marion is a good pal, Jane is a beauty — And so it goes. I do not believe they ever do make up theirs minds; They just make a grab, and the nearest girl is It. Suppose things were reversed. And the girls given the three year term. And leap year left to the men. Perhaps, if misses had the mating, There would not be so much mismating. And the vital statistics might be better reading. A woman usually knows her own mind, anyway. She knows good matrimonial timber when she sees it. Nine times out of ten she would pick the right man. She would not worry about his eye- brows or his ears. Some of these nervous bachelors who talk about going into retreat during leap year Might get the surprise of their lives. It would be perfectly safe for them to be aboard after curfew, For nobody would see them in broad daylight. Much less after dark. MAY B. KNOTT. Page 9 Padding After all, the biggest part of life is largely padding. Essentials are there, of course, but how few and how small they are if we strip them of their padding. You may square your shoulders and face the fact — But most of the "square" is padding. The display in the windows of the big stores — What is it but padding? We don't go down town to buy those lace-bespangled gowns, Or the expensive trifles spread out so alluringly before our eyes. No. We pass them all up and take the elevator to the second floor (or the basement And buy double-heeled stockings for Willie, rompers for the baby, or per- haps enough calico for a kitchen ap- ron. But it is human nature to spend our dollar at the store that has a thous- and dollar window display. It is a well-known principle of dietetics that we must eat more than mere food elements. We must have bulk. The alimentary canal must be kept busy. Incidentally, the body absorbs enough nourishment to sustain life, — Padding again. The political orators who are let loose upon us just now, work on the same principle. They dare not give us only cold facts. They put plenty of warm padding in to make us feel comfortable. ncome T ax Yes, we must have bulk and plenty of it, if we are to digest the political meat offered for our consumption. The mass of the people must have something to talk about. Incidentally, enough power is generated to keep the world going. And Society — Ah, here is where pad- ding becomes a fine art! Small-talk, expensive gowns, dinner- parties, Reserved space in the society column. Are they not all just so many cleverly adjusted layers of cotton batting? And for the political climber, a hand- some house. You can't make Front Porch speeches from the fourth-story window of an apartment house. Blessed be padding. Padding, that saves us many a hard knock; ' Padding, that takes the jar out of our little flivver; That makes us poor, lean mortals look as if we belonged to the Stuffed Club. Woe to the man who would grind life down to essentials; Who would give us the naked truth; Who would jerk our comfortable cush- ions from under us , And leave us not even a ribljer tire to ease the jolts; Who would strip us of all illusions and lash our bare shoulders with facts, facts. - - , . What is the end of^that man? e padded cell. MAY B. KNOTT. .^■^ VV I Henry had an Income Tax. It grew and grew and grew. And everywhere that Henry went. That Income Tax went too. It followed him to town by day, It shadowed him by night And never for one little nour Let Henry out of sight. What makes the Tax chase Henry so? The pitying neighbors cry. So Henry'U learn to chase himself. The assessor doth reply. Observe the mad gyrations T^'^»., Of the little sportive pup, 'iUU\}ii\W'''^^^ Who still pursues his latter end, And never catches up. ; > So Henry and the Income Tax Keep up the merry race. And we may follow if we will, While Henry sets the pace. MAY B. KNOTT ^:. ?inyi?v I ^r A: Safety Week Last week was Safety Week, you know, And Reginald was wary; He watched his step, or high or low, He drove his car most awful slow, — But he didn't count on Mary. He'd Stop, Look, Listen, left and right, He played safe; he was chary Of taking risks by day or night; Alas for him, the luckless wight! He never thought of Mary. Whene'er he crossed the railroad track He made sure there was nary A freight car just about to back; Of caution Reggie showed no lack— Except concerning Mary. He never dropped a cigarette Half -burned; on the contrary. No safety rule did he forget, He kept thern every one, and yet, It seems he forgot Mary. Reginald played safe, my dear. But if some little fairy Had only chanced to wander near To whisper softly in his ear, "Take care! Beware! of Mary!" Now Reginald is full of Pep But April ways are airy. He kept repeating. "Hep" and "Hep." But oh, it's hard to watch your step When you step out with Mary. The end is easy to fortell. 'Tis quite unnecessary On harrowing details to dwell; Suffice to say that Reggie fell — O yes — he fell for Mary. His reasons there's no need to state, They very seldom vary; But if you wish to learn his fate (I think she set an early date) Just put two R's in Mary. MAY B. KNOTT. Page 10 The Seattle Spirit Whom do you think I met yesterday down on Pioneer Square ? I could hardly believe my eyes. I thought it must be a stray bit of fog clinging about the Totem Pole. But no. It was the Seattle Spirit. Just as I passed he turned and looked at me. "Why, May B. Knott," he cried. "Don't you remember me?" "Indeed I do," I exclaimed. I said I remembered him all too well. I asked him where he had been keep- ing himself; Why he had gone off and left us when we needed him most. He gave a little laugh and twirled round on one toe. (He is just as much a boy as ever.) "O, they seemed to think they could get along without me — I thought I'd just take a little vacation. You know they worked me pretty hard for awhile." I told him that he was mistaken. We could not get along without him for a day. I said if he had not gone off we would never have had things balled up this way. The shipping — "0 my ships," he cried. I have dreamed of them for years. I have seen the masts clustered thick in the harbor. I have watched them in my dreams, Great ships a-building. Coming and going. Carrying the fame of my beloved city to the world's end." "It will be nothing but a dream," I said, "Unless you come back." The ways are silent. The keels unfinished. The masts unlifted. Well, I hope you have come to stay. Seattle never needed you as she does today." He smiled a big Uncle Sam smile. "I am within hail." If they want me, let them call. But it must be unanimous." And I found myself staring at the To- tem Pole. He had gone as suddenly as he had come. I wondered — Will they call him? MAY BE KNOTT. Page 11 Buttons Button, button, who's got the button? Well, we have all got the button. But I'd rather get Central. It is pretty hard, Just as we are recovering from the strain of computing the income tax. They spring the Automatic Phone. I should say install. It stalls us sure enough. And suppose it does not work ? We punch and turn everything a dozen times, Till our brain begins to spin. And we long to lay hands upon some- one. Well, it will do no good to rave. No one cares a button. I do not know that I favor this auto- matic trend. This elimination of the human factor. Buttons, buttons everywhere. And no one near to think. Little Emily said she had a new dress with buttons behind and buttons be- front. And that is our case exactly. ^ We save time and trouble at the expense of neighborliness. Some day we will live in a box. As man once lived in a hollow tree. Solitary, but satisfied. With buttons behind and buttons be- front. I wonder if we will be happier than when we had to get out and scratch for a living. But there is one thing still untouched by change In this era of the omnipresent button; A man still has to have some buttons sewed on. And it takes a wife to do that, MAY B. KNOTT. Pep A college education is a very handy thing, When you face life's great arena and your hat is in the ring; But something more is needed e'er the trophies home you bring. That's PEP. There's the slow, hard-working fellow that they call the College Grind. He's a fine, concrete example of the steady-going kind. He knows enough to beat them all, but fails, because his mind Lacks Pep. We are all of us acquainted with the easy-going chap. He can't see honest work, because he's looking for a snap. We know why fortune's favors never tumble in his lap — No Pep. You may be very foolish, or you may be very wise. It really doesn't matter, so long as in you lies The one and only gift that will enable you to rise. That's PEP, If you would always scramble out when you are in a fix, If you would play the game of life, and always take the tricks. In short, to win! in everything, you must be sure to mix Some PEP! MAY B. KNOTT, Page 12 Women Jurors H. Independence Day Independence Day. Once it was the Great Experiment. When men stood up, And reverently said, We will govern ourselves. The Great Experiment. But it stood the test. And the world looked on and wondered. As time passed they said, "If America can do it — Why cannot we ? " Now the testing time has come to them also. America learned that one word. Independence. Now she must put one more syllable in it- Interdependence. We can stand alone, But in another sense we cannot