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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 13
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: , .25; .35., THE DIAL 11 ner. Into the making of the ﬁrst, many sleep- less nights had entered, many trying mo- ments, overcome in patience, and through it all the warfare with self had to be unceas- ingly waged. Her sister stated that she had not had one sound night’s rest in four years, having...
Show more, .25; .35., THE DIAL 11 ner. Into the making of the ﬁrst, many sleep- less nights had entered, many trying mo- ments, overcome in patience, and through it all the warfare with self had to be unceas- ingly waged. Her sister stated that she had not had one sound night’s rest in four years, having always to be on the alert for her mother’s needs, night and day. If she were a remnant, it was not due to the quality of the article, for her character and her spirit must have been of the ﬁnest type to discharge so successfully a very dif- ﬁcult duty. She was a ministering spirit to one who needed her care, and who called for spiritual as well as physical help. It meant not only keeping the tired and weak body as comfortable as possible, but also con- soling an impatient and anxious soul. Mil- ton’s verse describes very ﬁtly such hidden lives: “They also serve who only stand and wait.” Such service means often a turning from the shining path of personal hopes and aspir— ations to the long, heavy road of care and worry. It meant exchanging beautiful dreams for a hopeless, exacting reality. But there is a recompense for a faithfulness that does not waver at the loss of personal hap- piness. Around the bedside of that frail mother hovered the spirit of One who looks deeper than our human wisdom and judg— ment can penetrate. Mingled with the thank- ful utterances of the mother for her daugh- ter’s care was the sound of His voice: “He that ﬁndeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for My sake shall ﬁnd it.” We should be thankful for occasional upsets as we trundle our little cart of prejudices through the world. Here is one that spills our narrow conceptions of human happi- ness, usefulness, and beauty of life uncom- promisingly into the dust—an unwanted woman discovered as an absolute necessity in some one’s life. MW, Wintry Winds AGNES M. FREIJ, ’32 (ZSHE dusk falls gray and mystic Around my cottage small. Deep shadows press through windows While night encircles all. The wind blows weird and threat’ning; The snow-flakes strike the panes. The sounds send icy shudders Creeping through my veins. And in this lonely night time Visitors grim and cold Come singing in the wind-storm With voices loud and bold. They come in through my windows To lurk in corners gray, To make my lone heart sadder, As ’round my house they stray. Strange sounds my soul make mournful I hear them o’er and o’er, All night the wind’s sad moaning Around my cottage door.
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 19
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: The Block BEATRICE HELLAND, ’31 S I sat studying one day I looked out the window and saw a score of co-eds coming out of East Hall, bound for the board- ing club. Would it not have seemed strange, I thought, to have seen such a group on the campus ﬁfteen years ago? In those days Augsburg was...
Show moreThe Block BEATRICE HELLAND, ’31 S I sat studying one day I looked out the window and saw a score of co-eds coming out of East Hall, bound for the board- ing club. Would it not have seemed strange, I thought, to have seen such a group on the campus ﬁfteen years ago? In those days Augsburg was strictly a gentleman’s insti- tution. Folks had not yet realized that there was something worth training beneath the feminine coiffures. West and East Halls were then “den gamle 0g den nye professorboliger.” The Nydahls, the Harbos, the Lilleheis, and the Hendrick- sons were among those who called Augsburg “home”. I do not know how well our parents liked this arrangement, but we, the younger generation, found it ideal. The students would perhaps have prefer- red the co-eds to the contingent of “P. K.’s” (professors’ kids), one or more of Whom seemed to be always under foot. They had, very likely, their deﬁnite ideas about us, but I wonder if they realized just how carefully they were being watched and judged by those campus “brats”. I still have a deep feeling of respect and admiration for a certain student who car- ried me home from church on his shoulder during a raging blizzard. I have fond me- mories of students who were “child-minded” enough to stop and turn the rope for us when we were engaged in that most fascinating of springtime activities, jumping rope. I have vague recollections of a more imaginative scholar who used to take me upon his knee and tell me wonderful stories of chocolate houses and mountains of ice cream. Even now as I go from room to room in West Hall, memories come crowding back. Here is where I fell down the long stairway and mother had to come and kiss the “hurt ;" here, the parlor where I used to sit and practice my piano lesson and watch the clock; there, the alcove where father always performed the mysterious rite of decorating the Christmas tree. Then there is the sidewalk behind the Main which is especially good for roller- skating; the entrance which makes such a grand fort for snowball ﬁghts; the old, spreading cottonwood tree which was always the goal for our favorite games of Run Sheep Run and Stillwater. Each time I walk down the Seventh Street driveway I think of it as the old slide down which we coasted, skiied, and rolled until we looked like an army of little snowmen come to life. I am afraid we did not appreciate the efforts of our more sensible elders who sprinkled sand on the driveway to make it more safe for pede— strians. Every morning we lagged through Mur- phy Square on our way to the Monroe school, but as soon as we were dismissed we came skipping back to “The Block”, for there all our interests lay. It was our world. Recollections of childhood scenes are al- ways attractive. Others may scoﬂ" at the drab appearance of our campus. They may think it inadequate and uninteresting, but, somehow, its shortcomings are hidden from our eyes. To us it is a place of beauty, for in every nook and cranny dwells a memory of the days when we lived and laughed to- gether on “The Block.”
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 04
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 2 THE DIAL easily subdued were the most uncertain in the matter of a yield. I came to love certain portions for their faithfulness in respond- ing to our care, but for others I had a dis- trust: they accepted every care and atten- tion, but deceived us at harvest time. it t t # With this new...
Show more2 THE DIAL easily subdued were the most uncertain in the matter of a yield. I came to love certain portions for their faithfulness in respond- ing to our care, but for others I had a dis- trust: they accepted every care and atten- tion, but deceived us at harvest time. it t t # With this new contact and affection for the soil came strange thoughts and fancies, dim gropings after wispy solutions to the mysteries of life, which somehow seem united with the soil and our relations to it. What was this mighty indwelling force that could transform a black ﬁeld into a carpet of green almost over-night? What reposed un- derfoot, unfelt and unseen, yet able to send a frail crocus through the hard surface of the prairie? I began to sense something of the reality of God, not in deﬁnable terms or clear—cut experiences, but as the answer, someday to be vouchsafed, to all the per- plexing and mysterious questions of life. * * * O I noticed that the soil was also the cause of tremendous changes in human lives. It would arouse ambitions in men’s breasts un- til they seemed almost possessed in their urgency to become rich through the soil. It gave freely but exacted a tribute from these pitiful creatures that included every- thing from the loss of friendship with their own kind, to the loss of mental powers and life itself. I heard the story of Olle Skulstad. He lived alone on his big farm, except for an extra man at the busy seasons of the year. He would not spare his body or even stop to give it the food it needed. They told of the moldy bread dipped in black coffee, the hurried gulping of some cold, canned vege- table, and then his rush to be out in the ﬁeld again. He died alone from a blow given by his horses. 1! SI I! t The soil was often a handmaid of romance. Hopes, fond expectations, and plans were nourished upon its promise. Vows were made that could be kept only on condition of its fruitfulness. Men were eager to show the starry-eyed, yet clear-minded, woman of their choice what two strong arms and the soil could bring forth. The eternal round of replenishing the earth was kept going be- cause one hundred and sixty acres of rich soil held forth the key to the house of hap- piness for two trusting human beings. # i i t She was a woman who had sinned griev- ously, but she had also paid for her moment of pleasure with her life. Tongues wagged, heads nodded knowingly over gossipy cups, while whole boneyards of skeletons were locked up by these self-complacent souls as they hurled their cries of “Unclean! Un- clean!” at the lonely woman on her death- bed. But a kindlier friend awaited her when they cast her out, for the sheltering arms of mother earth accepted the poor, withered body without a murmur or re- proach. The words, “Dust thou art; to dust shalt thou return” fell upon our hearts like the shovels of earth upon the coffin; we had proved ourselves less than dust in sympathy, in forgiveness. * *‘ * II The young lady in the seat ahead tired of the card game. She raised the shade and looked out upon the prairie, now gray and mysterious under the evening shadows. “What a terrible place to live in!” she ex- claimed, “nothing but endless acres of bar- ren prairie. I pity the person that has to live here all his life.” “And yet there are men who make this desert bloom,” returned her partner. “What you think is dreadful is to them a paradise of wheat, cattle, and broad pastures.” “Yes, that may be all true, but no doubt these same farmers are just as stupid as the cows they milk, and as blind to the ﬁner things of life and culture as the dirt out
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 03
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL VOL. III DECEMBER, 1930 N0. 1 Soil ERNEST G. ANDERSON, ’34 S the fast transcontinental train swept westward into the prairie lands, and nearer home, I lost interest in my book and feasted my eyes upon the welcome and fa- miliar landscape, now fast graying under the approaching twilight....
Show moreTHE DIAL VOL. III DECEMBER, 1930 N0. 1 Soil ERNEST G. ANDERSON, ’34 S the fast transcontinental train swept westward into the prairie lands, and nearer home, I lost interest in my book and feasted my eyes upon the welcome and fa- miliar landscape, now fast graying under the approaching twilight. Two passengers in the seat ahead also glanced once or twice at this, to them, apparently new country; then pulling down the window shade with a shiver, one of them, a young lady, picked up a deck of cards and invited her companion to take part in our national indoor sport. I sank into a reverie. Was it all so fearful, this country of prairies, of rolling sun-kissed hills, of plains bursting with rich soils? I knew it did not matter what these strangers thought of my country, but why was it con- sidered so fearful that our lives should have the tang of the soil? The Soil! I was fas- cinated by a thought that our lives are moulded and affected by the inﬂuence of the soil. * a: a: a: I was conscious of it very early. It en- tered my life ﬁrst as a playmate, later as a taskmaster, and ﬁnally as a well-loved friend. There was nothing quite so satis- fying as soil when we sought our games. It served admirably as a medium of expression for our life in miniature, an imitation of all that we observed. In it caves were dug, dams were built, harbors deepened for our Armadas; and when Romulus and Remus altercated, it served as a weapon of offense and defense. During this time it was all rather impersonal; except for the discom- fort which accompanied periodic removal of particles which persisted in clinging to us. The soil had not as yet awakened any deﬁ- nite reaction within me. I remember, though, how pleasant the wagon tires sounded on the gritty road, and the thick, puffy clouds of dust which sprang up around the horses’ hoofs as they stepped along the loose track. * * * * Our stay in the make-believe world is short, and soon I had to take my part in reality’s sterner games, and my old play— mate left me. When we next met, it was as opponents in an ancient combat, man’s struggle with the soil—for his bread. It became my taskmaster, and how I chafed under the new-found yoke! How my body ached after a long day’s work in the dusty ﬁelds! The soil became insolent in its tyran- ny, placing stumbling-blocks to my weary feet in the form of large, hard lumps of clay. When evening came, I walked home with an air of defeat, depressed at the thought of a life-long struggle with the soil, of stumbling over chunks of earth. * It * * As I grew physically better ﬁtted to per- form the heavy farm work, almost unawares to me, a change took place in my attitude to- ward the soil. I learned to love it, and be- gan to perceive in a dim way that it re- sponded to love. It was anxious, I felt, to return our labor, our care, and our seed with an abundant harvest, if we would but be loving and honest in all our work. Not all the ﬁelds were equally valuable. The most
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 11
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Character Sketches The Cynic GERALD SVEEGGEN, ’34 A cynic is a disillusioned idealist or an atheistic thinker who sees beneath the tinsel of his existence with its beckoning mirages and tantalizing desires into what he thinks is the root of life. He sees and thinks more clearly than does that...
Show moreCharacter Sketches The Cynic GERALD SVEEGGEN, ’34 A cynic is a disillusioned idealist or an atheistic thinker who sees beneath the tinsel of his existence with its beckoning mirages and tantalizing desires into what he thinks is the root of life. He sees and thinks more clearly than does that general class of people who live in a state of placidity, never bothering to probe beneath the surface of their systematized lives. He realizes that the everyday hopes and disappointments with which we are plagued are but natural sequences in the order of things, and that we are merely puppets on the ever shifting scenes of our lives. He sees that every being is endowed with a certain proportion of good and bad, and that our customs, our conventions, and our habits are only superﬁcial attributes which attempt to cover our naturally worldly minds with a false standard of perfection, and that only a few puppets are lifted above the milling masses of humanity. He laughs at the folly in his own life, at his feeble attempts to gain riches and glory, and at the same hopes in the lives of the people about him; and he looks down upon and sneers at his brothers who are pursuing ideas and hopes that they will never reach, for idealists are his favorite objects of ridi— cule. He knows that the happiness pursued by all will not come through satisfying his worldly desires or gathering riches. Such happiness is a snare set for those who do not realize that they are nothing but scintillating bubbles, which burst into nothingness at the touch of our groping, ever clutching hands. He feels no joy of living. He does not realize that, pitiful as it might seem to him, this brief period in the span of eternity is a path to a ﬁnal justice. All this he thinks, but the more he thinks, the more he realizes that, despite his callous attitude, he is pursuing the same vain hope of peace and happiness that he derides in his fellow men; but he cannot ﬁnd it, and so, in bitter desperation, he laughs. ————<¢a>>—-#— An Old Minister FRITJOF MONSETH, ’34 N old minister is the personiﬁcation of understanding and the incarnation of adaptability, a piece of humanity that can automatically ﬁt into any situation or envir- onment. He is interested in and acquainted with every profession and occupation in life. When he visits a farmer parishioner who is especially fond of horses, his liking becomes the same. He follows his friend to the stable and very ably discusses the merits and de- merits of a horse. He knows all the horses by name and walks along the alley to see if they are all in the barn. His host follows behind and very enthusiastically talks about his plan of trading off the old mare for a younger one. The minister suggests that he secure a mate to the blocky animal by the door. After a discussion of this nature, the
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 05
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 3 there.” With this dictum she picked up a gaudily-covered magazine with its special number of “The Unfaithful Wife, or Love in Gangland”, and was soon absorbing Amer- ica’s culture, oblivious to the rest of the world. A huge moon arose, showering a cascade of silvery light upon the...
Show moreTHE DIAL 3 there.” With this dictum she picked up a gaudily-covered magazine with its special number of “The Unfaithful Wife, or Love in Gangland”, and was soon absorbing Amer- ica’s culture, oblivious to the rest of the world. A huge moon arose, showering a cascade of silvery light upon the plains. The wheels clicked a hurrying, eager tattoo to the roar of the speeding train. And outside, under the moonlight, was the soil, locked in the icy arms of winter. gas»;— Sonnets EINAR R. RYDEN, ’29 IV CZQHAT pain! Excruciating, endless pain! I have forgotten all, all, all but self; I have all virtue in my being slain; I strive but for the power of gold and pelf. How could I through my years of life be blind To usefulness, to fellowship, and love? I’ve been a parasite on humankind, Forgetting fellowman, and God above. And yet I live. Perhaps I can atone To some degree my selﬁsh, mad desire— I turn to Thee upon the heavenly throne And Thou in me a new life will inspire. My sins are great. Thy love is greater still, And I submit myself unto Thy will. V (Zé)HEN I my thoughts review in serious mind And think upon the days that used to be— Then, I was guided by a heart so kind That not the slightest harm could come to me. How often I did grieve that gentle heart And cause deep sorrow where but joy should reign. Yet in my childish cares she took my part, I would repent and be forgiven again. A mother’s level—fresh as each new-born day, Pure as the moonbeams in the darkest night— I would, in all I do, somewhat repay That love which serves in sadness and delight. So now I shall, that I might happy be, Return that love so freely given for me. VI HE constant progress of the modern mind Continues with its search to learn the laws Of all material things, to know the cause Through scientiﬁc skill, and thus to ﬁnd Life’s ﬁnal purpose; then, with life deﬁned In all its aspects, there need be no pause To contemplate—for, knowing, nothing awes. But can the facts be seen with soul stone-blind? We love and hate; we live and die; the chain Of sin still holds us fast as in the day When Faith’s own children tempted were to drain The cup of Love and thus, for self, betray Man unto Death. But Faith will yet sustain The one who can both Faith and Love obey.
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 01
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: u. 3, >74 «LC/>313”, “1.!” H, the many hours PUBLISHED BY THE LITERARY ORGANIZATIONS OF AUGSBURG COLLEGE MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 22
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 2"."99‘4 —g.;.-- 20 THE DIAL EDITORIAL STAFF MATHILDA SAGENG, Editor-in-Chief LITERARY EDITORS BUSINESS MANAGERS MANLEY GJERDE OTTO Ron'rvmrr OLETTA WALD CLIFFORD Sum-m (Gable of Gontents Soil ,,.,.,V.V.._,.,,_.,H____.,,__,_______.Ernest G. Anderson _.,....-___._-_- l Sonnets ,,,,,,,, .V V Einar...
Show more2"."99‘4 —g.;.-- 20 THE DIAL EDITORIAL STAFF MATHILDA SAGENG, Editor-in-Chief LITERARY EDITORS BUSINESS MANAGERS MANLEY GJERDE OTTO Ron'rvmrr OLETTA WALD CLIFFORD Sum-m (Gable of Gontents Soil ,,.,.,V.V.._,.,,_.,H____.,,__,_______.Ernest G. Anderson _.,....-___._-_- l Sonnets ,,,,,,,, .V V Einar R. Ryden.._.._._-..*e~_._ 3 How a Freshman Keeps Humble .................... ,.Ruth Osterhus __._-__.~____-_-_- 4 An Episode from Life ____________________________________ ,.Luthard Gjerde __ 5 Prayer __________________________________________________________________ "Anna Pederson ..................... -. 6 Scenes from Cathay ............................................ ..Grace Jensen ________________________ _- 7 My Kikung Hills ____________________________________________ ,,Grace Jensen .......................... .i 8 The Cynic , _ _ . . . A A , _ _ _ _ _ _ . __ Gerald Sveeggen ...~..__..~.___,___e__ 9 An Old Minister Fritjof Monseth ___________________ _i_ 9 An Old Maid." Ernest G. Anderson ..................... __ 10 Wintry Winds Agnes M. Freij ........................... __ 11 A Village Constable __________________________________ _-_Bertha Lillehei _________________________ -_ 12 On My Other Father _______________________________________ __Martha Rossing _______________________ or 12 A Self-Made Man Who Worships His Maker____Ernest G. Anderson _________________ .- 13 The Depths , _ e , _ _ _ . _ _, Grace Jensen ............................ __ 14 Music Hath Charms _______________________________________ .MVIaurice Helland ............... _.- 14 On Inferiority Complexes _________________________________ «Mathilda Sageng -._.,.,_e_~-___r__- 15 Caritas Dei _____Lawrence Bueide ...................... -_ 16 The Block Beatrice Helland _______________ __; 17 “Midas” ..... ,. Ingvald M. Norum _______________ -- 18 The Higher Learning ______________________________________ _.Manley Gjerde _________________________ __ 19 Published semi-annually by the literary organizations of Augsburg College, Minneapolis, Minnesota.
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 16
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 14 THE DIAL tongue in speech, or by his hands in writing. Thus a great man is properly praised, even if he has to do it himself. There is, however, one thing which is an abomination to the self-made man, and that is any criticism or personal reﬂection directed against himself. So high and so...
Show more14 THE DIAL tongue in speech, or by his hands in writing. Thus a great man is properly praised, even if he has to do it himself. There is, however, one thing which is an abomination to the self-made man, and that is any criticism or personal reﬂection directed against himself. So high and so exalted is the opinion which he holds of himself that it would be quickly and indignantly resented. Like the medieval kings, the self-made man can do no wrong. ___r_.<$_$>> .__, , ,i , The Depths GRACE JENSEN, ’33 I cannot lift my heart to pray, So deep my care. My lips need form no words to say, Since Thou art there. I cannot lift my voice to sing, So deep my joy, Bat Thou hast ﬁlled the hidden sprth Naught can destroy. I cannot lift my heart or voice In joy or care, But Thou hast made for me the choice, And Thou art there. _#‘<$_$>,__._f Music Hath Charms MAURICE HELLAND, ’33 (((ZQHE little tyke is a born musician,” 9 agree the members of the fair sex who are gathered in an awed and admiring circle about the crib of the youngest twig on the family tree. But the men, remem- bering their own youthful days, predict no such misfortune for the helpless infant. To be a musician, according to their opinion, is to be something effeminate. “The little tyke” will probably begin his musical career almost as soon as he can re- tain his balance on a piano stool. He will probably submit to taking piano lessons as a lesser evil than learning to play a “ﬁddle;” but there will come a time of revolt unless the “little tyke” really is a born musician, which is quite unlikely. I imagine most of us have been given a dose of music at some time or other and have survived the ordeal with few ill—effects, despite our momentary grimaces. Unless this period has left too deep a mark on our personalities, we go through life with a passive interest in music. We may suppose that we could get along just as well without it, if necessary, but I wonder.— Of course I enjoy hearing others sing, too, but to be frank, I think I get more enjoy-
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 20
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: “Midas” INGVALD M. Karma, ’34 HEN we were small boys, my two brothers and I had many light duties to perform; one of these was to feed the calves This constant contact brought about a special afﬁnity between us and these young quadrupeds. In spite of the fact that there was quite a number of them...
Show more“Midas” INGVALD M. Karma, ’34 HEN we were small boys, my two brothers and I had many light duties to perform; one of these was to feed the calves This constant contact brought about a special afﬁnity between us and these young quadrupeds. In spite of the fact that there was quite a number of them, we found it possible to name them all. We took a great deal of pride in the appelations which we attached to the patient animals. I think that one already realizes that Midas was not a king with a golden touch, but simply a calf who received his name from that source. He was born late and was, therefore, in a way, a calf by himself. It was only natural, then, that at the end of a big season we should turn to stories in our readers for his name. We found none more suitable than Midas, so Midas he was. As summer wore on, he grew to be a large calf and was of a very docile nature. While we were fond of all the young kine and neg- lected none of them, we were always ready to give special attention to any one showing particular aptitudes toward becoming a pet. The result was that, before the summer was over, Midas would follow us about the place as much as we desired and sometimes more. A loud call of that magic name would start him at a jump, and keep him going at full speed until he reached the spot from whence came the welcome sound. It mattered little whether there were one or more fences in his way; he was little detained on that ac- count. The fact is, that he was out of the pasture more than he ever was within. It was not unusual to ﬁnd him nibbling at the things growing in the garden or to see him walk indiﬁ'erently over mother’s ﬂowepbeds. And strangely enough, it did not seem to bother his conscience in the least. Winter brought a long conﬁnement for our pet, but, like everything else, it also had an end, and with it came liberty once more. As soonasschoolwasoutsothatwehadmore time for play, we decided that Midas had great possibilities as a draft animal. The ﬁrst important step in this direction was to obtain something that might be fashioned into some sort of a harness. Father was ap- proached on this subject, and was ﬁnally persuaded that it was all right to let us have the desired materials. After these had been procured, it was not long before we had the young mammal arrayed in a marvelous en- tanglement of knots, rivets, ropes, and straps. The sled which daddy had made for us was deemed a better vehicle than the coaster wagon for this ﬁrst venture, as it was very strong and there would be no dif- ﬁculty about short turns. Midas was soon securely attached to this winter-rig to take one of us for a “summer-ride.” This was a new experience to him, and it took a long time to convince him that he ought to go for- ward. Our methods of persuasion were many and varied. When our constraint be- came too vigorous, he made one great launch forward, coming down on all four feet at once, and remained in that position. How- ever, in a remarkably short time he learned his lesson with no greater casualties than a number of additional knots and strings on that contraption which we called the har- ness and some minor repairs on our sled. Midas was now a trained ox, and would do our bidding very willingly. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. We made a large cart which was quite serviceable for hauling pur- poses. Thus we combined work and play. The only exciting experience which I am re- call after that happened one day when my two brothers went out in search of thrills. Our ox presented himself, and with the sight of him came the idea of hitching him to the coaster wagon. As soon as this was accomp- lished they started for a ride, but the prog- ress was too slow to thrill young Americans. They, therefore, invited Rover, the collie, to
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Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 02
Collection: Literary Journals

Title: The Dial 1936, Page 38
Collection: Literary Journals

Title: The Dial December 1930, Page 12
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 10 THE DIAL minister takes his leave and goes to visit Mrs. Anderson. She immediately invites him to come in and have a cup of coffee. He accepts the offer, and, before she has occa- sion to give him a second cup, he politely re- quests a little more. He inquires about her rheumatism and listens...
Show more10 THE DIAL minister takes his leave and goes to visit Mrs. Anderson. She immediately invites him to come in and have a cup of coffee. He accepts the offer, and, before she has occa- sion to give him a second cup, he politely re- quests a little more. He inquires about her rheumatism and listens eagerly as she un- folds her past history and present troubles. The minister makes his next call at the dairyman’s. He goes with his friend to the dairy-barn and observes the milking proce- dure with great delight. He numbers the cows and returns to compare his ﬁndings with those of his host. When the skimming of the milk is begun, the minister very cheer— fully oﬁ'ers a helping hand. He engages in a conversation with the hired man until the task is ﬁnished. Then he returns to the house and, upon coming into the kitchen, reminds the Wife of his friend that they have much for which to be thankful. During the sup- per hour he discusses the conditions in the synod with his host. who is a deacon. After- wards he retires to the parlor where he par~ ticipates in spirited singing with the young people of the home. He knows the young men in his parish personally, and during the winter frequently goes with them on ﬁsh- spearing trips. He is also acquainted with the children in his parish. The only time he has difﬁculty in causing them to obey him is at Christmas programs when he pleads with them to keep their candy bags closed until they get outside the church. He takes great pleasure in calling upon college and seminary students to address his congrega~ tions. When the student appears to have made a failure, he promptly rises and selects a statement made by the speaker, and cla- borates on it at length. In all my observa- tions of the old minister I have noticed this outstanding trait: sympathetic considera- tion for all his fellow-beings. An Old Maid ERNEST G. ANDERSON, ’34 IS popularly and superﬁcially deﬁned as a remnant on the matrimonial bargain- counter. The same authority which is re- sponsible for the deﬁnition has sought to ex- plain her unfortunate condition in various ways. It has been pointed out that she was too particular; others, dissenting, said she was not particular enough. Appearances have a great deal to do with our success in life, so it has been averred that she was too thin, and here again we have a deplorable lack of agreement, for this, too, has been denied by some who maintained she was not thin enough. Many other possible reasons could be cited to demonstrate the futility of arriving at a solution of the problem: why is an old maid? We shelve it by concluding in our astuteness, that a woman unmarried is a woman unwanted. But occasionally we discover an old maid living such a self-sacriﬁcing life that we are shamed into silence. Our backyard philoso- phy will not ﬁt such a case. One I remem- ber in particular. I had been asked to visit an old lady who had been bed-ridden for a number of years. Her advanced age and feeble condition demanded constant and per- sonal care, and this duty fell to her daugh- ters. One had a profession and thereby sup- ported all three, but it kept her away from home, so the care of the invalid fell to the lot of the other sister. The atmosphere of that sickroom testiﬁed to the spirit in which she served, and its appearance to the man-
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Title: The Dial 1936, Page 24
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Geezy, My Boy THE SUN had on its dull fall color, and it shone only half- heartedly in the little window. Its morning light fell upon the frail little form of Geezy, Tony Cappello’s only son. The little warmth of the sun helped put cheerful- ness into the room, but Geezy did not seem to want it....
Show moreGeezy, My Boy THE SUN had on its dull fall color, and it shone only half- heartedly in the little window. Its morning light fell upon the frail little form of Geezy, Tony Cappello’s only son. The little warmth of the sun helped put cheerful- ness into the room, but Geezy did not seem to want it. for his fever had come again. He looked tired as he lay there, covered with a tat- tered patch-work quilt. His black hair was tousled about his head, but there was a smile on his face as he gazed out the window. It was the third week now that he had lain there in his little room. Day after day his father had climbed up and down the worn stairway to care for his son. Tony Capello had at ﬁrst been cheerful about his son's illness, but now, little by little, the sparkle had left his eye, and a queer tightening of his throat had come each time he brought up the hot soup and crusts. Tony was not sing- ing today as he came up the stairs to greet his boy. “How are you today, Geezy, my boy?” “I’m good, Daddy, except I am so thirsty.” Tony turned away as his son continued, “Look at the leaf, Daddy. It’s hanging on a long time isn’t it?” His father looked out the window at one lone leaf ﬂuttering back and forth as it hung on the quivering ivy. Now and then it gave the pane a gentle tap as if it sought
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Title: The Dial 1936, Page 17
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 15 George. Mother will care for him now.” She gazed into the sunken eyes. An eternity seemed to be passing. All her mother love was in that look. When the interne passed again to show her the way out, Mother Roberts stooped to kiss her boy. “I’ll be back Sunday,” she said. “I’ll bring...
Show moreTHE DIAL 15 George. Mother will care for him now.” She gazed into the sunken eyes. An eternity seemed to be passing. All her mother love was in that look. When the interne passed again to show her the way out, Mother Roberts stooped to kiss her boy. “I’ll be back Sunday,” she said. “I’ll bring you some angel cake.” As they were leaving, the interne spoke, “He is very weak, Mrs. Roberts. He can only live a few days.” She grasped his arm. “When I ﬁnd him, shall I lose him,” she pleaded. The joy in her eyes ﬂickered and died. But then she remembered her promise. “Will he live until Sunday?” she asked. “I think so, mother. I hope so.” “He must. I’m going to make an angel cake to bring to him. He must live!” * * ii * Mother Roberts had much to do before she could make the angel cake. She had to count her money. She had to buy the best ﬂour, and the best eggs, and some very ﬁne sugar. There was nothing left in the cracked cup when she had ﬁnished her shopping, and in her purse only enough remained to take her to the hospital. She would have to walk back. The best of everything is ex- pensive. Evening came early it seemed, and Mother R’oberts lay on her bed—to sleep ?—to think of George. Oh, that she had found him so late. But then it was not too late to give him something he liked very much. It would be a perfect cake, golden, white, and soft. Perhaps angel cake would be the last he ate on this earth. Her mind fondled the thought. Morning came at last for Mother Roberts. She was in no hurry to bake the cake. That could wait until after- noon. But the hours pass quickly when the mind is hap-
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Title: The Dial 1936, Page 07
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 5 Arnold turned to leave, but something seemed to hold him back, and a voice spoke within him, “Stay a mo- ment. You can leave when the people begin to come.” He found a pew in the last row and sank down in it. Re- laxing, he gave himself over to the spell of the music which continued to...
Show moreTHE DIAL 5 Arnold turned to leave, but something seemed to hold him back, and a voice spoke within him, “Stay a mo- ment. You can leave when the people begin to come.” He found a pew in the last row and sank down in it. Re- laxing, he gave himself over to the spell of the music which continued to ﬂoat through the vast church. What precious memories those familiar strain re- called. He could see his mother as she sat in her old rocker telling him the stories of Jesus. He could hear her voice, almost, and feel her hand on his head as she asked him never to forget that blessed Son of God. But the picture of home and mother soon faded, and in its place he saw the Christ. He saw Him as He went about preaching to the multitudes and ministering to the sick. He followed Him through the streets into the byways. Then as the music grew more solemn, he went with Him into the dark garden of Gethsemane where he saw the Savior kneeling with head bowed on out—thrust arms. Arnold shuddered as he saw Him raise His head—saw the sweat, like drops of blood, pour down over His face, and heard the cry of anguish that burst from His lips as He prayed, “Father, if Thou be willing, remove this cup from me; nevertheless, not my will, but. Thine be done!” From the garden Arnold came to Calvary where he met Christ on the cross. It was as he stood there that . he heard a voice speak to him, at ﬁrst gently, then rising into thunder, “It was you who cried, ‘Crucify Him 1’ It was you who demanded the release of Barabbas! It was you who hung Him on the cross! YOU!” “Stop it! Stop it!” Arnold’s soul cried out. Yet the voice persisted, torturing him to his very depths. He could stand it no longer. A few moments later, when the church began to ﬁll with early morning worshippers, Arnold was on his knees, praying for forgiveness and for grace to begin a new life with Christ.
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Title: The Dial 1936, Page 21
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 19 laughing eyes of the abbot’s niece ﬂashed through his restless mind. At the top of the staircase a creaky, worm-eaten door opened on the lower stone ceiling where large boulders lay scattered about. To our astonishment the church had two solid stone roofs, one over the other. This...
Show moreTHE DIAL 19 laughing eyes of the abbot’s niece ﬂashed through his restless mind. At the top of the staircase a creaky, worm-eaten door opened on the lower stone ceiling where large boulders lay scattered about. To our astonishment the church had two solid stone roofs, one over the other. This strange architectural feat has always remained a mys— tery to me. Perhaps it was to give proper proportions to the structure, or for a hiding place in time of danger. Across the cloister court lay another stone building. This was the dwelling place of the monks. Entrance was made through an arched passage, and here a peculiar niche arrested my attention. It had been used for the incarceration of unruly and perverse monks. So tiny was this recess in the damp stone wall that the monk would have to spend the long hours in a most painful, crippled position. Escape was made impossible by a heavy iron chain fastened to his foot. Passing through the refectory where the monks once revelled in food and drink, we descended to the spacious cellar beneath to ﬁnd an amazing labyrinth of vaults and narrow passageways. Somewhere in that dank and gloomy place a secret doorway exists, for no monastery in that turbulent age failed to build secret underground passages from the cloister to a place of safety. In the North, two tunnels were often made, one running to the sea, another to the mountains. The monks of Ustein Cloister did their work well for their passages have not been discovered to this day. By a tortuous path of creaky stairs, steep ladders, and narrow openings our guide brought us at last to a lone room under the very roof. This was the abbot’s private chamber, and on still nights the soft echoes of feminine laughter would drift down to the ears of monks dozing at their vigils. They half knew that their master re- ceived his lady visitors by hoisting them up the wall in
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Title: The Dial 1936, Page 10
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Not Really Wild THEY CALLED ME WILD. At any rate, the way some of the neighbor women complained, I must have been a terror. But just because a fellow continually wore a black eye or was giving one to somebody, didn't mean he was wild. No, I’d say that was protection. Yes, they called me wild. But...
Show moreNot Really Wild THEY CALLED ME WILD. At any rate, the way some of the neighbor women complained, I must have been a terror. But just because a fellow continually wore a black eye or was giving one to somebody, didn't mean he was wild. No, I’d say that was protection. Yes, they called me wild. But they were Women and I was a boy so how could they understand? “A fellow has to have some fun, I hope," I would retort at some well-meant scolding. I tried to be good, but what was the use—humph. No matter how hard I tried, everything was wrong, and I was called wild for it. Everything I did turned out for the Worst. If I played ball, a window would break, and I’d get a whipping. If I leaned casually on a fence, it broke—another licking. I threw the cat off the back porch because it howled, and the ungrateful thing dug its claw into my face and pulled me off with it, and me? Well,—I skinned my face on the side walk. No licking this time, but my mother would look at me and sigh, mak- ing me feel just as bad. At night I’d sit on the sofa just as quiet as I could, and then, “Roy! take your dirty shoes from off that sofa!” Well! what was a fellow going to do? Some- times company would come to the house, and there I’d have to be—all dressed up. I’d sit there with my hands folded trying to keep a bored look off my face. Before they’d come I’d always get a lecture on how to act be- fore company. I tried, but why did they always have to
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Title: The Dial 1936, Page 14
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 12 Her Promise AT LAST MOTHER ROBERTS had reCeived a letter. For many years the mail box had never held anything but advertising circulars-—that is, since the war had taken her boy and since death had taken Father Roberts. Mother sat holding the letter. She trembled, hardly dar- ing to open it....
Show more12 Her Promise AT LAST MOTHER ROBERTS had reCeived a letter. For many years the mail box had never held anything but advertising circulars-—that is, since the war had taken her boy and since death had taken Father Roberts. Mother sat holding the letter. She trembled, hardly dar- ing to open it. She polished her spectacles, put them on the table and peered with unseeing eyes at the corner of the envelope. It might be from the church. Perhaps the pastor had noticed that she had been missing the last three Sundays. Mother Roberts regretted that, but it was so hard to walk so far when her stockings and shoes were so worn. Strange that her eyes should fail her so suddenly. Bewildered she passed her hand over them. “Ah, you are growing forgetful. You must remem- ber that in order to read you must wear your glasses.” She laughed silently and put them on. The Veterans Bureau? Now who can be writing to me from there?” She paused and looked out the window. “Shall I open it?” It was hard, because "veteran" reminded her of her son who had failed to return. “Now,” she scolded herself, “open the envelope and see for yourself before you imagine all kinds of impos- sible things.” She hesitated nevertheless as she drew forth the paper. It was a puzzling sheet of paper—an ofﬁcial report. She studied it awhile until suddenly her whole being trembled, for what the report really meant to say was this, “Your son is living. He is in ward forty-
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Title: The Dial 1936, Page 27
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 25 Clean Dirt HE WAS A BOY——a small one too, he knew, for everyone said so. But he didn’t think so much about his size be- cause he couldn’t change it anyhow. There were other things to think of—the green grass. How he loved green grass, and yet he loved the dirt beneath it even more. He loved...
Show more25 Clean Dirt HE WAS A BOY——a small one too, he knew, for everyone said so. But he didn’t think so much about his size be- cause he couldn’t change it anyhow. There were other things to think of—the green grass. How he loved green grass, and yet he loved the dirt beneath it even more. He loved its cool dampness and murky color, but, of course, no one talked about such things. One must talk about useful things like tables, chairs, dishes, and—and baby carriages and such like. Yet he wondered if others felt about dirt as he did. He knew that auntie didn’t, because she had admitted it. He had told her conﬁdently and conﬁdentially that he loved dirt because it was so clean, and she had laughed, yes, laughed! No, auntie didn’t understand. Well, aunties weren’t so important anyway, but mothers. He loved his mother, and he knew that she loved him, but they couldn’t .talk together. You see she was mar- ried—had a husband, auntie said. Her man probably did have a right to all her time, but he would have liked to tell her about clean dirt just the same. He hadn’t seen his mother’s man around for a long while, but now some neighbors came and said that he had been found lifeless—suﬁocated, they said. He didn’t know what suffocated meant—hurt, probably, because the neighbors had had a serious look. But lifeless, there was nothing unusual about that. His mother’s man had been lifeless before. Well, why think about such things? He wanted to talk to his mother. It was probably a
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