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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 07
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 5 The Swede set to work without a word. He never spoke when words were unnecessary. “Need some help?” queried Gene as he came up. “Yes. We got to get this rack up and get the bundles back on—sort of elevate it all back. Say, kid! You run over to the rig and get me the return elevator,...
Show moreTHE DIAL 5 The Swede set to work without a word. He never spoke when words were unnecessary. “Need some help?” queried Gene as he came up. “Yes. We got to get this rack up and get the bundles back on—sort of elevate it all back. Say, kid! You run over to the rig and get me the return elevator, will you? The separator man has it.” “Sure.” Gene hurried off. At the rig the men seemed to sense that something was up as Gene approached, for they gathered and talked in low voices. Gene, how- ever, failcd to notice anything unusual. “Say,” he yelled at the separator man, “let’s have your return elevator, will you?” “Sure,” was the reply, “if you’ll take it off.” He pointed to the elevator box fastened diagonally across the side of the separator. There was a roar of laughter from those of the crew who had witnessed the incident, which was heard by Dena above the roar of the ma- chine. S‘he shrewdly conjectured that her Ibrother was the butt of the joke. She could not, of course, hear what was said. For a moment Gene was hot with resentment. Then he too saw the ludicrousness of the situa- tion and laughed. Wise was he to do so, for a threshing crew, like other men, appreciate a good sport. Nevertheless, there was a great deal of good-natured raillery. As Windy ’s load was rebuilt and the forenoon wore on, “bring the elevator” became the byword when- ever Gene was by. Suspenders said it often with great gusto and each time with an air of having thought of a startlingly original witti— cism. He slapped his thighs and was quite con- vulsed with mirth. The booms seemed to or- iginate somewhere in the abdominal cavity and, as they rolled upward, to gather momentum and intensity. The forenoon was a long one for Gene. He wondered whether the crew would ever forget the matter. Nor did the noon intermission seem to improve matters much, for Gene’s ad- venture of the forenoon served as table talk; and the possibilities of the subject seemed so far from giving out that it promised to serve as such for many days to come. Little by lit- tle, however, the twitting grew more endurable. As he brought in his second load in the after- noon without eliciting any smart remarks, Gene began to feel that the incident had either been forgotten or that the joke had lost its savor. Suspenders came in to the machine earlier than usual, for the field was almost cleared. “Seems like \Vindy is hauling bigger loads ’n usual, this afternoon,” he remarked, inno- cently. “That’s so,” agreed Gene. “Wonder what’s up?” 7 “Dunno,’ rejoined Suspenders. “Can’t be that he is still using the elevator?” There was a burst of laughter from those present—for Suspenders had taken care that the conversation should not be too private,— and, when it subsided, Gene stepped closer to Suspenders. “No,” he said. “You know what I think? I think he’s gotten a pair of fresh suspenders!” The roar of derisive laughter that greeted this remark was very gratifying to Gene, be- cause it showed that the men were with him. Suspenders rose to the occasion by emitting an appreciative chuckle. He had reason to be in good spirits, because an old flivver had just pulled up to the rig with Dena and the after- noon lunch. Those who are fortunate enough to be by the machine when the lunch comes— thus being assured of quick service and hot coffee—are seldom in (bad humor. Then, too, Suspenders was given an excellent opportunity to divert attention from himself. Bakken had just left the machine and was driving toward the farther end of the field at breakneck speed. This remarkable phenomenon soon attracted the attention of all. The explanation, however, was obvious. The field was almost cleared. In the western end were still two short rows of shocks. The Swede, with half a load, was just finishing up one of these; Bakken, intent upon
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 18
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 6pilogue The orchestra has begun playing its overture. Instruments of many different tonal qualities and pitches have sounded the initial note. Some are perhaps too loud, others lack animation, and a few may be flat or sharp; but on the Whole, every one lha responded Willineg with an en- deavor...
Show more6pilogue The orchestra has begun playing its overture. Instruments of many different tonal qualities and pitches have sounded the initial note. Some are perhaps too loud, others lack animation, and a few may be flat or sharp; but on the Whole, every one lha responded Willineg with an en- deavor toward excellence. Each section is striv- ing to create an effect of harmony, and to in- spire its auditors. So have our group of writers begun; but they must also praceed—ever co-operating, ever alert, and ever vibrant with the creative spirit. They must constantly pursue the vision of a more perfect expression—now adding grace to the softer, more subtle emotion, then soaring to inspired heights of power; but ever reaching out toward a more adequate realization of the beautiful and true. Abner Batalden
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 19
Collection: Literary Journals

Title: The Dial 1929, Page 20
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: ;..

Title: The Dial 1932, Page 10
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 8 ' THE DIAL upon time or place. Jesus has deﬁnitely stated that “God is a spirit" and that worship is above all a personal experience between my soul and God. In one sense, then, accessibility. worship is not dependent upon time. But in another sense it is dependent upon time, for psychological...
Show more8 ' THE DIAL upon time or place. Jesus has deﬁnitely stated that “God is a spirit" and that worship is above all a personal experience between my soul and God. In one sense, then, accessibility. worship is not dependent upon time. But in another sense it is dependent upon time, for psychological reasons. We have room for only one major thought at one time, and that is at the best ﬂuctuating in its hold. I need a favor- able environment for my worship, an environ- ment that will protect me from disturbance while I have my experience. This involves that a suitable time be set aside each day, and that I have a suitable place secure from interruption for my worship. The idea of a collective worship arises from our desire to share our experiences with others and to share in their experiences. We are gregar- ious even in worship. This means that the place of worship should be large enough to accomodate, if need be, our whole student body at one time. And since chapel is compul- sory, the need is, of course, further evident. Now time must be set aside from the duties of all students. that the opportunity be open to all. The place is also important, prefer- ably near or in the college proper. The chapel hour now becomes the college’s supreme ef- fort to provide a proper environment for the worship of its students. It is the climax of all its efforts in behalf of the human per- sonalities entrusted to it. It is not dissociated from its educative work; it crowns the efforts of the faculty. “Religion is the perpendicular in man’s life and destiny. It is the relation of man to the Ultimate Being which is Divin- ity.” We need religion in our educative process if for no other reason than that we do not become ﬂat and shallow. It is signiﬁ- cant that church architecture of the noblest type always suggests a straining of the soul upward. II There is a great danger in being too ab- stract and so I offer the following suggestions as to what I consider essential in the environ- ment for college worship: 1. The hour must be the most suitable. The middle of the forenoon is perhaps the best. The student is now wide awake and as yet unwearied from his work. 2. The place should be conducive to worship. The arrangements within the chapel should help to produce a spirit of reverence. Moreover, it should never be used for any other purpose, most decidedly not as a gymnasium or classroom. 3. Thetimeoftheeneciemeheuldbele' enoughtoanowameeeageeftweuty-Ive to thirty minutes inleuthtobe All announcements should be given by one person, without any comment. coudmssed i chapel should be provided with a pipe or- gan if it is possible. and at last ﬁve minutes of music should be provided be- fore the opening of the service. 4. The speakers should be carefully chosen. It is not right that the student body should be made the victim of some visiting brother’s itch to preach. No unprepared addresses should be permitted. 5. One liturgical service a week should be held. This liturgy should be adapted espe- cially for college worship, a symposium. perhaps. of the rich liturgical heritage of the Christian church. Other suggestions could be made. I know, but these represent, in the main, what I con- sider to be essential in an environment for college worship. III How often has not our President called at- tention to the responsibility involved in at- tending chapel! To him it is the culmination of all the efforts extended by the College for the release and the regeneration of the per- sonalities within its walls—the climax of the college day, and he feels that unless this cul- mination of eﬂort takes place for all the students present, the college has failed in its task. This involves co-operation on the part of the student as well as on the part of the one leading the convocation—a mutual under- standing of what is involved in being in the presence of Divine truth. The student who realizes this will have a religious experience. Out of the chaos of his life come order; out of perplexing problems and despair come praise and hope; out of the whirling tempest of doubts, fears and misgivings about spirit- ual things comes the calm and light of faith. He feels the power of the Divine ﬂow- ing into him; he ﬁnds reality; he ﬁnds God. and ﬁnding God, will be able to ﬁnd himself. He rises on the wings of prayer and iinds a new world where the old things have passed away and all things have become new; the very atmosphere is changed, luminous now with the light of Heaven; and in the East he sees the new, fresh, sweet dawn of Eternity. He warships.
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 07
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 6 The New Dorm Symphony J01)er HOMME QUIETNESS—heavy, sullen, and dark—— c," engulﬁng me. In the distance sounds the faint rumble of a train, and near at hand, the crunching of the milk-wagon’s wheels on the snow. Then again, that silence swallowing up everything. Yes, I am awake—early....
Show moreTHE DIAL 6 The New Dorm Symphony J01)er HOMME QUIETNESS—heavy, sullen, and dark—— c," engulﬁng me. In the distance sounds the faint rumble of a train, and near at hand, the crunching of the milk-wagon’s wheels on the snow. Then again, that silence swallowing up everything. Yes, I am awake—early. Suddenly — brrr! — I jump. My nerves taut, I. recognize the lusty voice of our trust- worthy friend, Big Ben. It rings and rings. I ought to shut it off, but it’s too cold to get up. I’ll let it run down. My room-mate turns over, ﬁnally waking up—the dormouse! Like an orator she makes a sweeping gesture, such a broad one that the clock is swept off the chair by her side. It crashes to the ﬂoor. Fully awake now, she sits up to view the wreck. But no, the thing is still tinkling in a sickly tone. Harmonizing with it, there are now ﬁve or six other alarms shrilling in the dis- tance. All about me, ambitious co-eds are waking to their daily duties. Whimsically, I parady the lines beginning “When Duty Whispers” thus: “When alarm clocks bellow loud ‘Get up!”’—my poetic vein is cut by “Get up yourself, lazybones!” from my room- mate. “Naw, I’m not hungry. Guess I’ll sleep through breakfast." Did I say “sleep”? Pardon me, I only meant “recline.” For who can sleep through the staccato of a dozen doors closing, and the crescendo of a medley of yelling voices? Thunder roars above me. I mutter, “Wish they’d hire a moving van. That would be a bit more quiet." 1k * i The morning passes; the afternoon replaces it. I return to my room after the last class- period, resolved to study assiduously. Once inside the door, I stop, my ear-drums thump- ing. The piano in the adjoining room is being horribly tortured. But if only that were all! I collect my senses enough to de- tect the blaring of two radios and the scream- ing of a portable. From the parlor quiver the liquid notes of aspiring divas. This con- glomeration of noise (call it music, if you must) is enough to harass a saint and I am no saint. I decide to contribute my own crash- ing ﬁnale, so I slam the door and run for the library. JP ‘ To a Birch Tree THER tall trees majestic were, which grew, Stalwart and strong beside the lake; But none gleamed white, as purely white as you, Through those dark shades which pine and maple make. When, in the woods, I came upon you there, Your bark with reckless wounds was scarred,- By human hands its beauty marred; And, where the cut was deep, your heart lay bare. G As silently, together, you and I Hid in the darkening shadows of the trees, The sunset ﬁlled the glowing, western sky, And balm was wafted on the evening breeze. GRACE JENSEN.
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 14
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 12 THE DIAL When Bjorn Met the Bear Bronx anwss \,1Y friend, Reider, and I had been camp- 1 ing in the mountains for two weeks. This morning we had been climbing a mountain top, which was simply hard work combined with a certain satisfaction of telling others we had been able to climb a certain...
Show more12 THE DIAL When Bjorn Met the Bear Bronx anwss \,1Y friend, Reider, and I had been camp- 1 ing in the mountains for two weeks. This morning we had been climbing a mountain top, which was simply hard work combined with a certain satisfaction of telling others we had been able to climb a certain high peak. The pleasure of such an ascent is not always so easily explained, and I suspect that it is not so much enjoyment, as is the delight exper- ienced by the mind in tyrannizing the body. Now we had eaten our supper and while Reider had gone up the river to ﬁsh trout, I was sitting outside the tent enjoying the even- ing by whittling a tentplug with my hunting knife. I soon dozed off. A short time later I heard an animal roam- ing around close to me. I did not dare to open my eyes, because if it were a bear. there was just one thing to do; remain still as if one were dead. “A bear!” I thought. My hair rose with the consciousness of his pres- ence, as it is supposed to do when a ghost passes by. The rapidity of thought in such danger is well known. I thought about what mother often called me: “The black sheep of the family.” I had always comforted myself with the thought that she must have been a little color blind, but now I agreed with her, although it was too late. I understood that even in such an obligatory review it is not possible to think of any good deeds one has ever done. The sins stand out larger than ever before. The bear came nearer. I could feel the warmth of his body. What could I do? I tried to think about every story I had heard or read in connection with bears. I knew the life of one of us would soon be in the past. I had never read of a man, except David, that had been able to kill a bear without a gun. Well, I still had my hunting knife in my right hand. If I could plunge my deadly weapon into Bruin’s vital regions, I would be saved, and more than that, I would be a hero. I tried to think about how I should proceed. The best spot in which to plunge the knife was either between the eyes, into the brain, or into the heart just behind the fore-legs. But this experiment would be dangerous. What should I do if the bear had the hind quarters turned toward me? I might be able to injure him, but then he would tear me into bits. No. that idea would be no good; there was not any chance. The hear was already touching my left foot. I tried to fix my last thoughts upon my home. What would they say when they should get the report that Bjorn was eaten by I bear, or as it would be in Norwegian: “Bjorn blev spist av en bjdrn"? That was not all, because the mind at such a time is not under control. How would it look on the heed-line in the newspaper with perhaps both names capital- ized? People might think that all With the name “Bjorn” had turned into cannibals. I could not follow that thought, because my mind began circling around. But one thing was clear, and that was that no person should be allowed to have an animal’s name. The bear was snuﬁing all over my body. I hardly dared to breathe. I was near a very unheroic and disagreeable death. Well, probably not? My mind began to wander again. For a long time there had been a keen dispute. among the biologists, whether s beer was a herbivorous, or a carnivorous animal. One group said it was herbivorous, proved by the teeth; the other group said it was carniv- orous, proved by the length of the intestine. Then, when the world would know that Bjorn was eaten by a bear, this scientiﬁc problem will be solved forever. I would have the honor of dying as a martyr for the cause of science. It was not much of a comfort to me, but my parents might be more honored by having my eptaph state that I died for the cause of science rather than just to satisfy the stomach of a hungry bear. The bear was snuﬂing around my head. I felt its moist, warm breath. It was now my last moment, unless some- one should come and shoot the beast. I was in agony. My thoughts were whirling around in my brain. I could not endure it any longer. I wanted to ﬁght my enemy. I was furious enough to tear the bear to pieces like David had done in days of old. I opened my eyes, and held ﬁrmly to my knife so as to be able to slash the beast into pieces. I met the piercing eyes of my enemy. We stared at each other rather surprised. I turned away from him and looked around to see if there were any other animals near, but no, there was only one, my enemy, s large, red calf. a" la» 14":
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 08
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 6 THE DIAL In the Presence of God Can. Somme THERE is something splendid, something magniﬁcent, something awful, something inspiring about a great church or cathedral. Many of the most brilliant essays composed by man have been inspired by, and conceived in, a great temple of God. I cite the...
Show more6 THE DIAL In the Presence of God Can. Somme THERE is something splendid, something magniﬁcent, something awful, something inspiring about a great church or cathedral. Many of the most brilliant essays composed by man have been inspired by, and conceived in, a great temple of God. I cite the attempts of Addison, Goldsmith, Irving, and others that have been suggested through their visits to Westminster Abbey. A great church has alo ways had the effect of creating within a man a new sense of his own insigniﬁcance and God’s omnipotence. This has always been the effect which it has had upon me. At least, that was the feeling I had when I visited one of our city's greatest cathedrals last fall. Having walked for a long time in the glow- ing, softly warm sunshine of an autumn Sun- day, I came to one of the churches which rise so majestically from the crest of Lowry Hill. Choosing the larger and what I thought the more beautiful of the two, I entered it. It was rather late in the afternoon; the sun was moving westward, and its warm rays pierced the costly stained windows on the west side, spreading a pleasant amber glow over the whole interior of the beautiful building. Over the straight-backed, English pews was spread a kind of a sheen, which added to the beauty, the solemnity, of the place. The sun had sunk just far enough to cast mysterious, long shadows in the corners and behind the pillars. Moreover, it had also reached a position where its rays, passing through a dark, but richly- colored little window, lit up in glorious splen- dor the gorgeous shades of purple and gold on the cloth spread over the altar. Through still another, but larger, Gothic arch the rays of the sun passed, to reﬂect a soft, glowing light from the pipes of the huge organ. To describe it all in a sentence, I would say that all over the church interior the soft reﬂection of the setting sun was shed, reﬂecting different colors, depending either upon which object it fell, or upon the shade of the stained window through which it passed. However, all these hues seemed to merge into that one shade of amber; all basked in this glow, saving only those parts which were obscured in the dark, mysterious blackness of the shadows cast by the huge pillars or in the void of darkness high up among the great arches, which the light-spreading rays of the sun could never penetrate. Such an atmosphere could only turn one'a thoughts to serious thinking, to meditation, to reverie. As I stood in the center of this vast temple of God, bathed in the glow of His sun, I could not help but thank Him for giving in- signiﬁcant, little me a chance to commune with Him. As I thought of this great church, of the hundreds, thousands, of cathedrals just like it, and greater even than it. I could not help but stand in awe as I realized that these and countless others had been erected for wor- ship to the one, great God. After considering my insigniﬁcance within this great church, I thought of how much less I meant, what an inﬁnitesimal part I was of the whole universe, with its hundreds of millions of miles, with its millions of stellar members, with its unlimited distances, which God governed with no more effect than to us is the work of turning a ﬁnger. The thought humbled me and made me much more grateful to God for His im- measurable sacriﬁce in sending His only be. gotten Son to help insigniﬁcant little mo re— turn to His good graces. Awed by the very splendor and tremendous- ness of God, I began to feel afraid that such a great God would have little time to waste on such unimportant personage as I. As if in very answer to my mental question, the great chamber, which had been previously quiet al- most to the point of complete silence, was ﬁlled with the joyful, uplifting notes of that inspiring melody, “Ein Feste Burg." In a mo- ment my fears were swept away. I was re- joicing with the immortal professor of Witten- berg in that my God, in addition to being great. was also good and gracious—muniﬁcent enough to always be my protector, “my for- tress," and my “shield.” As the last echoes of that grand hymn died away, I turned to see at the consolate of the immense organ the church organist, practising, as I supposed, for the services that evening. Overjoyed at the thought of being permitted to listen to music played on this great organ, I sank into a pew and listened to the beautiful music which poured forth from the echo chamber of the mighty organ. First I thrilled to some chorals, as the organist prepared for the hymns which were to be sung at the evening services. Then he turned to the works of the old masters, and the whole structure shook as he sounded the chords written by Bach, Litszt, Chopin and
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 18
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL EDITORIAL STAFF Enm'r G. ANDERSON, Editor-in-Chief Gnu Juan, Juan-a nouns. Literary Editor: Mame: Hm, Hoke-Up Egiitor Tnom Sun-nu, Imam Noam, Business Menage" w fGamble of Gontents Pogo THE DIAL, an apology, by Ernest G. Anderson ..................................................... .. 1...
Show moreTHE DIAL EDITORIAL STAFF Enm'r G. ANDERSON, Editor-in-Chief Gnu Juan, Juan-a nouns. Literary Editor: Mame: Hm, Hoke-Up Egiitor Tnom Sun-nu, Imam Noam, Business Menage" w fGamble of Gontents Pogo THE DIAL, an apology, by Ernest G. Anderson ..................................................... .. 1 A LEN'I‘EN HYMN, by Prof. P. A. Sveeggenl,........k... . 2 A CERTAIN CENTURIAN, a story, by Thomas Spande._..,,.... . m- .. 8 THE NEW DORM SYMPHONY, an essay, by Judith Homme .............................. -. 5 TO A BIRCH TREE, a poem, by Grace Jensen .......................................................... .- 5 IN THE PRESENCE OF GOD, by Carl Solberg, ’36 ............... .............................. .. 6 WORSHIP IN COLLEGE, an essay, by Ernest G. Anderson POOR PROMETHEUS, a narrative, by Maurice Helland .................. 1. .......... n...“ 9 THE HEART OF GITCHEE GUMME, by Ruth Bower, ’35 .................................. .. 10 BLUE RIVER MIST, a poem, by Judith Homme. ............................................... ._ 11 WHEN BJﬂRN MET THE BEAR, a narrative, by Bjorn Nielsen ................... .. l2 TODAY, an essay, by Elsie M. Tollefson-.....--... 13 BROKEN SHELLS, by Suniram Drahnreb ........................................................... _._ 13 EDITORIALLY SPEAKING ...... .. 16 INTERPRETATION, a poem, by Maurice Helland...-._......-_.._m__.._.‘.-b-...___-._...-- 15 Published by the Augsburg College Writers Club, Minneapolis, Minnesota
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 06
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 4 THE DIAL to lend their voices to the Hosannas and other shouts of approval that greeted the hero of the day. Cornelius drew his guard aside. “This must be the young Jewish prophet who causes the Sanhedrin so much trouble. Well, it is none of our business. Come, men.” The day was hot and sultry....
Show more4 THE DIAL to lend their voices to the Hosannas and other shouts of approval that greeted the hero of the day. Cornelius drew his guard aside. “This must be the young Jewish prophet who causes the Sanhedrin so much trouble. Well, it is none of our business. Come, men.” The day was hot and sultry. Even the palms were wilting with the waves of heat brought by the east wind. 0 t O Today there was to be a triple cruciﬁxion, and the road to Golgotha was crowded. As the three doomed men stumbled along, Cornelius and his soldiers kept back the morbid, jeer- ing mob. He looked at the crowd wonder- ingly. Only a week ago they were prais- ing him whom they now scorned the most. He looked at the young Jew and felt an intense sympathy for him. He had not deserved this. He was a beautiful young man with a splendid physique, but the scourgings had taken toll of his strength and he often stumbled. A grizzly fellow brushed passed Cornelius, and as he did so, the centurian grabbed him. “Carry that man’s cross.” The man scowled, but dared not disobey. With ease he lifted the crude cross off the back of the nearly prostrate Jew. Cornelius seemed to see the face of the grim old prophet soften and heard as an echo, “Do what thou'cans’t to ease the yoke." “Wouldst thou help nail them to the cross, captain?” “Nay, see ye to it.” The two robbers cursed ﬁercely as they were nailed, but the young Jew only gritted his teeth and stared upward. The crosses were lifted and with a jarring thud, that tore the nail holes larger, they were dropped into the ground. One of the robbers let out a diabolical curse and the other one fainted. But still the young Jew remained unmoved. “That vile, young Jew hath courage." “Aye, that he hath.” “Perhaps he speaketh with Jehovah,” jest- ingly replied another. Like a ﬂash Cornelius turned. “Jest not while ye are at such a task as this.” The men looked at one another questioningly and shrugged their shoulders. “I must get out of this district. Both Pilate and Herod shed blood for any little thing. I can stand war, but when a man sacrifices others merely for the whim of a dancing girl, or for the sake of his own popularity, then I would rather not be near them. Let someone else carry out their murders. Perhaps I can be transferred again.” The young Jew had spoken several times while the captain was thus deep in thought. His reverie ended abruptly at the sound of a reading crash. And looking up to the Jew. Cornelius saw the agony overcome by a look of majestic triumph as he cried out, “It is ﬁnished.” And immediately it became pitch dark and the earth shook as if convulsed with horror. Huge boulders cracked, hills split as if cleft by a gigantic axe. Trees were broken and torn up by their roots. Blinding ﬂashes of light showed the mob milling madly. For- gotten was the cmciﬁxion. Gone was the nor- bid curiosity. Their one thought was to get away from the hill. Cornelius stood alone. The guards had lied with the mob. In silent awe he knelt by the cross. When the quaking had ceased and the pall of the sky disappeared he arose and stood gazing at the young Jew. “Surely,” he said, “this must be the Son ed God." Then slowly he wended his way through the dusk to the city . “Aye, Julius, this is no mere mortal whose tomb we guard. And hast thou not heard how men from the dead have preached in Jerusa- lem, and that the temple veil was rent in twain?" Julius was about to reply when suddenly they were suffused in a dazzling white light and the earth trembled. They fell upon their faces and became as dead, and when they awoke the sealed stone was removed and the tomb was empty. Upon report of this Cornelius and the other guards were heavily bribed and sworn not to tell the truth. Cornelius accepted the bribe, but was deeply puzzled in his heart. “It is good," he said to Julius, “that I re- ceived my transfer. Next week I go with my wife and child to Caesarea. Maybe there I can learn more of this great prophet. Here I dare not even inquire. Then, too, I would fain be rid of these murderous tasks that Pilate and Herod bid me do.” It II ‘ And there was dwelling in Caeserea a cer- tain Centurisn—a devout man, Cornelius by name. He was of good repute among all men, both Jew and Gentile. A man who feared the Lord and daily prayed unto Him. And the Lord sent Simon Peter unto him to instruct him. Then Peter, ﬁnding that he believed in the Lord and, being led by God, baptized him. Cornelius, the ﬁrst Gentile Christian, re- mained true in the faith doing his best to ease Rome’s hard yoke, until the day when that yoke fell upon him too. And he strode out into the Arena unafraid, for he was a soldier of Christ. .. swag-smile?in
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 15
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 13 Today ELSIE M. TOLLEFSON ODAY, and today, and today; forever awaiting tomorrow, forever regretting yesterday. . . . Today was funny. You know, it was different. Arose betimes, which means about 9:30, with the customary premonitions of Friday the Thirteenth. Such unhappy thoughts...
Show moreTHE DIAL 13 Today ELSIE M. TOLLEFSON ODAY, and today, and today; forever awaiting tomorrow, forever regretting yesterday. . . . Today was funny. You know, it was different. Arose betimes, which means about 9:30, with the customary premonitions of Friday the Thirteenth. Such unhappy thoughts brought on the resolve to think more than the usual superﬁcial thoughts about ef- ﬁcient schedules: doing only the things neces- sary and in the least possible time. . . . Prob- ably it was only something I had eaten—I mean that brought on the unhappy thoughts. I think there should be a law against sending out chow mein after midnight. . . . Breakfast. Funny how girls have to eat breakfast from a sense of duty. Sometimes I think I hate men who can eat a hearty breakfast and be- gin the day feeling happy and contented with life. . . . I struggle through my grapefruit, toast, and coffee so I will not have to join the throng that fares forth for breakfast to the Riverside at 9:45. . I invariably begin the day “in a mood”, which I conceal by re- fusing to speak. The world grows brighter as the day advances and as duty after duty is over. By duties I mean classes. I suppose that by early afternoon I shall feel quite jovial. . . . School. Humdrum reality, with little seconds of ecstacy at a thought, an idea, a glimpse of something beautiful in a book or a personality. . . . It was worthwhile. Today I am a model student, eager with a burning thirst for knowledge; interested, and, per- haps even seemingly intelligent. . . . Also I learn something today. It is that instead of possessing the qualities of simplicity and wholesomeness when we grow up we become tricky sophists. I agree heartily. . But why ramble on when the sun is so warm and friendly, the skies are so unbelievably blue and I am so happy. . . . So happy, in fact, that certain solemn, suspicious individuals look at me disapprovingly, as if my happiness were wicked. . . . My girl friend and I go for a walk. A gipsy ancestor ﬁlled me with a longing to tramp over the burnt brown hills with my face turned to the sky. We decide to walk out past Mendota Bridge and have a steak fry. Isn’t it delightful to cast care to the four winds to commune with nature, to count the colors of the sunset, to observe laboring hu- manity, to lose oneself in the sordid, fascinat- ing Mississippi, to watch the scurrying musk- rats and Polacks in the riVer bottoms and ﬂats, to think about living and dying. . Living is funny . . . and strange. . . . Full of tiny moments of happiness, like today, and days of sorrow and strife. . . Nice to be home. The little hole in the hall carpet where I stand while looking for the keyhole. . . . Key- holes are hard to ﬁnd. . . . The landlady is going to put in a new hall rug next week. . . She always is. Home is something to which one may cling when life itself seems loosed from its moorings. My walk was grand, but home is very welcome. . . . My revery fades out as my eyes are closing and I am fading into Edison’s prescribed ﬁve-hour sleep. Today, Friday the Thirteenth, is ended with no castrophies or regrets. . . . Tomorrow, an- other day, is just over the horizon; yesterday, that is today, will soon be past. . . . Broken Shells Sum‘ram Drah'nreb F we cultivated the art of silence more as- siduously we should make better progress in the art of speech. * The friends of Job sat for seven days in silence when they saw his calamity. Therein they showed greater wisdom and sympathy than when they began to speak. Before they ﬁnished, they had spoiled their sick-call. . The delicate but silent beauty of the rose is a more convincing argument for the exist- ence of God than is the noisy crowing of Chanticleer. ‘
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 09
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 7 others. Then as he played an adaptation of Wagner’s immortal “Overture to ‘Tanno hauser’”, my soul throbbed to the deep, rich harmonies of the opening measures. Suddenly I was awakened to the fact that I must go home. The dark, mysterious shadows which had formerly outlined clearly the...
Show moreTHE DIAL 7 others. Then as he played an adaptation of Wagner’s immortal “Overture to ‘Tanno hauser’”, my soul throbbed to the deep, rich harmonies of the opening measures. Suddenly I was awakened to the fact that I must go home. The dark, mysterious shadows which had formerly outlined clearly the forms of the sturdy-looking pillars had now grown vague, had overstepped those lines, and had merged with one another. The great shadow above, which had formerly been con- ﬁned to the vast region upon where the arches met, had now crept down and had cast a pal] over everything. The windows, which had formerly reﬂected a mellow glow into the chamber, had since turned darker and darker as the sun drew farther and farther away, so that now they seemed transformed into a rich, somber blue. As I slipped through the massive oaken door to the accompaniment of the digniﬁed strains of a recessional march, I walked slowly down the long walk ﬂanked on either side by stately trees, thankful that I had made such a fortunate decision as to spend the Sunday afternoon with God in His own dwelling-place. ‘JE Worship in College ERNEST G. ANDERSON OME time ago, two very helpful and timely editorials appeared in our college newspaper on chapel attendance. I felt at the time, and since then, that the subject was the most vital one before the students at Augsburg. It is trite to say that the chapel exercises are an important part of the college day; what we want to realize is just why it is important, and desirable, for us to take part in the college Worship. The college student does not as a rule object to attending chapel, but on the other hand, neither does he go into superlatives in extolling its virtues. Now it should be otherwise. Granted that there are those attending a Christian college who are not even interested in religion; granted that there are those spiritual natures who are so interested that they can even contribute act- ively by their presence, interceding for the success of the occasion as they take part; nevertheless, the bulk of our student body re- mains in between these two extremes. It is to them, primarily, that college worship should make its greatest appeal. And, unfortunately, both for the school and the students, it is to them that chapel makes the least appeal. The aim of every chapel exercise is a reli- gious experience. By this I mean that my soul shall know that I have been in the pres- ence of God, that I have heard His voice speak- ing to me, and that I have answered with a cry in my own soul. This experience is vastly different from what I may have in the la- boratory, bending over a specimen of organic life in my endeavor to verify some principle of biology; it is vastly different from my varied classroom experiences as the enlarge- ment of mind takes place under the guidance of an instructor; it is the realization of my unity with my fellowmen, a sense of sin and guilt, and my realization of my unity with God, a sense of forgiveness and restoration. This is essential to my life. I must continually sense these unities; I must worship daily in order to obtain, and retain my sense of “be- longing,” both to my race and my God. Wor- ship is the free giving of my soul to God that it may receive from Him that which it needs in order to overcome the handicaps of belong- ing to my race, the handicap of evil and sin, and in order to realize in a workaday world the glorious beauty of belonging to Him. Now is such an experience possible in a college? Can we overcome the sense of belonging to a race of beings who rush about in a mad search for what they call knowledge, wealth, pleasure, and power? Can we overcome the tension long enough to say the Lord’s Prayer decently, let alone suggesting that college students should have a religious experience at every chapel exercise? And, I admit that it seems impossible and well-nigh preposter- ous even to suggest it. But I will have to justify myself at least, even though I cannot hope to Win any disciples. It is admitted that worship is not dependent
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 04
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 2 THE DIAL talityinthespirituallifeofourachooL'hue- asaathismaybeasymptomafitsdsay. ThefoesoftheChristianfaithare'ithintl: camp. Wearecalledtolovethehostilemul— titudes outside, but we are not commanded to love slovenly mental habits or indiﬂ‘erenee to the issues of life. Surveying the situation...
Show more2 THE DIAL talityinthespirituallifeofourachooL'hue- asaathismaybeasymptomafitsdsay. ThefoesoftheChristianfaithare'ithintl: camp. Wearecalledtolovethehostilemul— titudes outside, but we are not commanded to love slovenly mental habits or indiﬂ‘erenee to the issues of life. Surveying the situation in our own school we are both encouraged and disheartened. We are encouraged by the attitude of the faculty as a whole towards this problem, and one can- not but rejoice that the leaders have not lost the vision, no matter how discouraging has been the task of attempting to convey it to others. Then we are also encouraged by the few who are not averse to a little mental perspiration. There are a few whose faces shine from the vision they have had on the mountain top. Their lives are going to count for God and humanity. But the heart-break- ing phase is that the Christians too often feel that they are guilty of disloyalty to Christ if they use their intellect, and that to examine the tenets of our faith is to doubt God. It must be a rather timorous faith and a rather fragile God that is seriously disturbed by sound, healthy thinking about Him! Paul advocates thinking most vigorously and think- tanyisahsolutalyementialasapri-ryn- quisitefor adequate living. Now'hathaaallthistodo'ithlheb'm” Intheﬁntphegitiaapleaforﬂam Noliterarymagaainehasarighttoaa‘l‘tht hasasitsonlypurpoaethepuhﬂaﬂudﬁe hestresultsodsenteneemandm sayings. ltshouldaimtoatt-alatathahd thoughthyitastudentsonthevttalhmd life. Itshouldreﬂectasaeeuatelyaapadlh totheoutside'orldapictmofthtm microcomacollqeanditslﬂe. It“ givewholesomestabilitytooarfaithhm ousthinkingahoutitanditaphssinmﬂm Finally,itshouldcultlvatealovef¢th beautiful. 96 I A Lenten Hymn (Melody: My God, how wonderful Thou art) MY Savior, once Thy face was set To bear the bitter cross; Should I Thy suﬁering now forgot, Or count Thy pain a loss? Should I forget that Thou for me Once walked that bitter way, And sacriﬁced, that I might see How good that road today? My Savior, make me strong to serve And give my life to Thee, And from that pathway never swerve Which Thou hast shown to me. Thoubidctmsmtakeaptheenu. Aburdenlmtbear, Normattheaaenﬁee' ale“, Whichthuwithfhulshm.. My Savior, not a calla-ads pain, I emanate to Thee. Myh'fe,witheurylouergm’a, Thine m not alwaye be. Aadilsometﬁaathepaialallead, Whichheretomisgiul. _ medghmdomlhwthatnad Willeadm'thfhuiaﬂm P. A. 8v... ,1.’ 3 ' t v. . “rt-Jeri 'Q- 2
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 13
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 11 The heart of Lake Superior, however, is not always warm. I have seen it when it has made me wish I were a thousand miles away. I do not mean when it is stormy and angry, because that is an inspiring sight, but I do mean when the water is calm and gray, and the sky is calm and gray....
Show moreTHE DIAL 11 The heart of Lake Superior, however, is not always warm. I have seen it when it has made me wish I were a thousand miles away. I do not mean when it is stormy and angry, because that is an inspiring sight, but I do mean when the water is calm and gray, and the sky is calm and gray. The sun shines on it with a‘calm, cold light that sends shivers down one’s back and makes one think of all the dead men concealed in its depth. It is then that I feel the cruelty, the unmercifull- ness of the heart of “Gitchee Gumee.” Then there are other times when the heart of Lake Superior is as cheerful as anyone could wish. When the water is blue and the sky is blue, and white gulls wheel around in the air and a pure white fog rests as lightly as the gulls themselves on the surface of the waves,—then it is all that one could ask. It is then that I love “Gitchee Gumee.” There is one view of Lake Superior that I shall never forget, a view that an artist could paint: the Lake at sunset and in a gathering storm! Stormy black clouds piled high above the water, and in the water was reﬂected their dull, angry color. But in the midst of the sky was one mass of clouds of pure ﬁre, all gold and ﬂame, and shot through and through with duskier trailings that seemed to resemble smoke. Beneath this mass of ﬁre an ore boat was making its way into harbor, all its lights aglow. I glance again at the sunset clouds above and, as I watched them steadily, it seemed, for one instant, that this was the heart of the Lake; the heart which I could hear throbbing in the cry of the fog-horns. Only one instant the illusion remained and then slipped away as the clouds, too, lost the colors and became as the rest, only dull, toss- ing, and stormy. After the sunset comes night! The Indians’ “Big-Sea-Water" is unfathomable at night, but it is also restful. I used to love to sit at the window and watch the boats far out on the water as theyturned on their lights. It often reminded me of “The Lamplighter” by Stevenson. But the boats were not the only objects that I watched light up—for the stars also came out. Sometimes, as I looked out, out where the sky met the water, I could not tell whether the lights were stars or boats. Then the fog would come creeping in, blotting out both stars and lights, and the beating of the heart of the lake would commence again. For one instant I had seen the heart; and had heard and am still hearing the heart of “Gitchee Gumee” as she lulled me to sleep with her beating tone for—Oh-h De-ar! Oh-h dear! Oh dear! '16 Blue RiveraMist AS I stoood at dawn of a summer’s day, Between hills of dew-decked green I saw a blue mist on the river that lay Like a ﬁlmy, vapory screen. It flooded the river low-lands With the blue of a summer’s sky, .Covered was all by shadowy hands Yet distinct were the hills and I. There at dawn an enchanting tryst The great river held with me; Now I long to follow the blue of its mist To that deeper blue of the sea. JUDITH HOMME.
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 03
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL VOL. IV MARCH. 1932 NO. 1 The Dial EnNssr G. ANDERSON OME ninety years ago a magazine by the name of The Dial was issued by one Eliza- beth Peabody who had started a bookshop. The editor of the new publication was Mar- garet Fuller and among its contributors ap- peared such names as...
Show moreTHE DIAL VOL. IV MARCH. 1932 NO. 1 The Dial EnNssr G. ANDERSON OME ninety years ago a magazine by the name of The Dial was issued by one Eliza- beth Peabody who had started a bookshop. The editor of the new publication was Mar- garet Fuller and among its contributors ap- peared such names as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bronson Alcott, James Russel Lowell, Henry Thoreau, and others of lesser fame. The maga- zine was to be the ofﬁcial organ of The Trans- cendental Club, a group of men and women who were interested in German speculation, Neo-Platonism, and Oriental mysticism. They met to discuss these at that time absorbingly interesting subjects and also ways in which they might present them to the world. It seems that it is the ﬁrst instinct of the human to published a new idea to the world at once. The group was composed of men and Women of more than ordinary intelligence in some re- spects, but in others they were doubtless rather helpless. Their “Brook Farm” experi- ment proved that one can qualify as expert on the theories of life and yet fail most severely in carrying them into actuality. But we are interested primarily in the Dial. The project proved a ﬁnancial failure, chieﬂy on account of a limited subscription list and the both suspicious and derisive re- ception it was granted by the public. There are, after all, very few who are capable of deriving much enjoyment and beneﬁt from an hour with German philosophy or Brahmin theology. Emerson said in a letter, “Poor Diall—it has not pleased any mortal.” He opposed timely articles or any discussions on current issues, consequently he found little support from reformers and the extremeists. Yet it did serve a great purpose in the few years of its existence. It is fair to say that it provided an outlet for the creative genius of such men as Thoreau, Emerson, and Lowell in a manner best calculated to inﬂuence the literary thought of the day. It is important and in fact, necessary, that a new enthusiasm must ﬁnd expression and that it must be in a form and manner tending to perpetuate it. It has often been intimated if not directly stated that the church schools are not friendly to freedom of thought. The charge has been that thought and faith are antagonistic and that one cannot think after one has become a Christian. The mental life of a pious be- liever, it is stated by many modern critics of religion, becomes narrow, circumscribed and hypocritical. That these charges are in the main baseless, no one with a little fairness will dispute, but we wonder if, after all, there isn’t something in the background of the church college which has given rise to this criticism. I am not thinking of any taboos on thinking in our faith, but I am wondering if the lack of thinking done by the students hasn’t given rise to the idea that the absence is caused by a prohibition on thought. What is it in the mind or the life of the average college student that causes this mental ﬂabbiness? I have had occasion to glance through a group of freshmen themes recently and the samples of collegiate thinking were discouraging. Now one of the aims of any literary magazine is most certainly stimulation of thought and thinking. No great advance will be made by our church schools until they become leaders of Christian thought as well as inspiratioml centers for the emotional phase of the religious life. No leadership will come out of the cam- pus until leadership is established on the cam- pus. . . . Too often we are satisﬁed by the mediocre minimum, and we accept a noisy emotional demonstration as evidence of vi-
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 19
Collection: Literary Journals

Title: The Dial 1932, Page 05
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 3 A Certain Centurian THOMAS OST of them were shepherds and trades- men. But here and there stood a white- robed rabbi gazing disdainfully at the scrawny, uncouth speaker. Moving about through the motley crowd were soldiers with clanging short swords and glistening helmets. A well built...
Show moreTHE DIAL 3 A Certain Centurian THOMAS OST of them were shepherds and trades- men. But here and there stood a white- robed rabbi gazing disdainfully at the scrawny, uncouth speaker. Moving about through the motley crowd were soldiers with clanging short swords and glistening helmets. A well built youth called to one of the sol- diers, “He speaketh calmly and unafraid." “Aye, captain, that he doth.” The speaker had ceased his harsh, cutting harangue and the crowd was moving cityward. Little groups stopped to talk to him. The cap- tain, too, stopped and drawled, “What shall I do, oh prophet? Shall I lay aside my sword and take the shepherd staff or wouldst thou have me as thy disciple?” This offer seemed so preposterous that he laughed boisterously. The rugged man stood in silence for a mo- ment. Then he replied, “Nay thou canst best do thy share in the guards. My people have need of men in thy position who are just, who can ease the hard yoke of Rome.” The captain walked away thoughtfully, no more in a boisterous mood. Had the prophet spoken harshly and rebuked him, he would have enjoyed it. But the sudden change from his caustic tone to that of sadness gripped his heart. As he neared the house he grew more troubled. He could not rid his mind of that sad, meditative look, which was the more striking because it seemed so out of place in the stern face of the prophet. II! It * “Bring him here. What has he done?” “He failed to do obeisance as Pilate passed him and Pilate bade us take him and teach him better. Aye, We shall delight in the honor. We shall scourge him and bastinado his soles. Perchance the smarting of his soles will humble his soul.” And they laughed coarsely at the fun. The poor shepherd crouched in terror be- fore the captain. And in his eyes, raised in pleading, Cornelius seemed to see the same sad look as he had seen in the prophet’s eyes. “Wist thou not that Pilate is praetor and that thou must do him homage?” “Aye, captain, but my child is sick and I was so intent upon ﬁnding the new prophet that I failed to see Pilate.” For a moment he forgot his plight and with eagerness moved closer to Cornelius. “Hast thou heard of him?” He can Work miracles SPANDE such as have not been done since Elijah’s time. Perhaps he can heal my daughter. "Maybe," and his voice sank to a hushed awe, “he is our Messiah." The grim look on Cornelius' face softened, and, whipping out his sword, he cut the bonds. “Thou cans’t go, but remember next time.” The guards gazed at each other in ill con- cealed surprise and disgust. It was their pas- time to torture such prizes, and for the cap- tain to take away such a chance was unfair. As soon as the captain walked away some began to mutter. “He must have taken to heart what the old prophet said.” “If he keeps this up he had better be a nursemaid. Soldiers must be men." At this last remark one of the younger sol- diers spun around and the others quailed be- fore his fury. He snarled, “Do not think for a moment that I agree with the captain’s act. But let me hear no one say that Cornelius is not a man. Well, ye know that he is not cap- tain by inﬂuence. He has earned it by bravery and sagacity. ’Tis only cowards who say such base things behind one’s back. “And,” he chuckled, “I doubt if any of us would care to say it to his face.” The next day there came rumors of an up- rising in Arabia, and within a week Cornelius had received his marching orders. Now all petty strife was forgotten. They were all soldiers and eager for action. ’11 I'.‘ III Two years later they returned, weary and worn by the strenuous campaign. But, as al- ways, they were prepossessing and self-conﬁ- dent. Cornelius in the lead. sat grimly astride a prancing black, a spoil of war, and the others followed. The whole group was very trim and grand and radiated force and power. As they came toward Jerusalem, they beheld a great multitude pressing along the main way. As they drew nearer, they saw a comely young man clothed in a simple, ﬂowing, white gar- ment. He rode a little, white ass that walked proudly and sedately down the palm strewn path. The. contrast between the forceful and barbaric splendor of the guards and the quiet, peaceful nobility of the young Jew was strik- ing. Yet the multitude did not notice it. In- deed, there were very few who noticed the ar- rival of the guards, for they were all eager
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 01
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Published by theAngsburg Writers’ Club 1932

Title: The Dial 1932, Page 11
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 9 Poor Prometheus MAURICE Hams steady humming sound drifted out through the windows of a comfortable home on ultra-respectable Division street one hazy autumn afternoon. A poet would per- haps have imagined that some thrifty house- wife was plying the family spinning wheel somewhere in...
Show moreTHE DIAL 9 Poor Prometheus MAURICE Hams steady humming sound drifted out through the windows of a comfortable home on ultra-respectable Division street one hazy autumn afternoon. A poet would per- haps have imagined that some thrifty house- wife was plying the family spinning wheel somewhere in the cool interior, but spinning wheels are very rare in Butter City. Almost as rare, in fact, as poets, and if there are any left they must have been relegated, like the poets, to dusty atticsu The Butter City at- mosphere is not congenial to poets. In fact the only truly cultural agency in the town is the Thursday Afternoon Literary Guild which, by the way, was the cause of the strange buzzing sound on that particular afternoon. At precisely three o’clock the hum of voices ceased as the president, always punctual, called the meeting to order. “We will have the pleasure today of . . .” She glanced severely at the lady in red who was giggling for no apparent reason. “We shall discuss," she began again as the lady in red subsided into decorous silence, “the Greek . . .er . . . er . . work called Prometheus Bound. In order to put us in the proper mood Miss Allen will favor us with the solo, ‘From the Land of the Sky Blue Waters’." As the last piercing note died away the audience sighed in unison; a lady in pink sur- reptitiously wiped her eyes on a pink hanker- chief, the lady in red relaxed and closed her mouth which had unconsciously dropped open as she listened breathlessly. and the hostess retreated from her position in the kitchen doorway whither she had been drawn by the magnetism of music. Finally, when the murmur and rustle which followed the song had sufﬁciently subsided the president called on the town librarian to give an account of the plot of the drama. “What lessons may we learn from the story?” asked the president, true to her re- gular routine, after she had thanked the li- brarian for her excellent report. . “We should be thankful that we are not chained to a rock,” suggested the lady in red. “Indeed, we have much to be thankful for,” agreed the president. “We should learn to have patience, and not lose our tempers even if we are sorely tried,” said a lady in black in an even tone. “How would you like to be chained to a rock?” challenged a lady in blue. “Well, men can stand more," defended the lady in black. “My boy was tied up by some bad boys to a post in our barn once," remarked the lady in pink reminiscently. “I wonder how the story ends? I suppose he married that lady after a while and . . .” “Please do not depart from the subject, Miss Allen.” “Why should the story end in a thunder- storm like that, I’d like to know. Life isn’t like that,” said the lady in pink, not very convincingly. “Life doesn’t always end in a wedding, either,” sighed the librarian blushingly. “What else may we learn from the story?” persisted the president. “We should learn to be patient, as some- one said. In that beautiful song we heard to- day there is a line which is very appropriate, I think. ‘She is sick for the sky blue waters; the captive maid is mute." Even if she was very sad and lonely she didn’t complain like Prometheus. I think that is the right spirit.” Having completed her contribution to the dis cussion, the lady in grey replaced her notes in her purse and sat down. “That is very true . . . Mrs. Hewitt?” “Madam president, my niece from Oconomo- woc who is visiting the club with me has just ﬁnished a poem about Prometheus. She gets inspired every once in a while.” “We would be delighted to hear it; nothing could be a more ﬁtting close to our enjoyable program." The president bestowed on the young Miss Hewitt one of her rare smiles. The poetess arose bashfully (as every poet- ess, or poet for that matter, should), and be— gan in a low hurried voice to recite her im- promptu masterpiece. AN 0m: T0 Pmmarnaus There was a certain man In the ancient days Who did a great deal of good In various ways. But for some strange reason Which we cannot explain He was tied to a rock By a great iron chain.
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 02
Collection: Literary Journals

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