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Published by Alpha Omicron Pi, 2015-10-01 16:44:50

1917 February - To Dragma

Vol. XII, No. 2


A Panhellenic Jour- m Published Quarterly
nal Published in the
interest of the College i n December, March,
Fraternity World. July and September,
rice, $1 per year

GEORGE BANTA -- - Editor-in-chief
- Fraternity Editor
W A L T E R B. P A L M E R - -
. . Sorority Editor
IDA SHAW MARTIN . . Exchange Editor

ELEANOR BANTA - Business Manager

G E O R G E B A N T A , JR.

Contains articles on timely subjects by the best authorities in
the Greek World. Also has an authentic directory of therof-
flcers of all the different fraternities and sororities. Its motive
ia to further the cause of the Greek-letter organizations.

(Sbr (Bollfgtatr f r m a



Sfjiu Number of

3B ieiitrafrii to

Mttl? % Sou* mh Admiration


Stye %m of l a !

To Dragma


Alpha Omicron Pi Fraternity

StabU of (Buntrttta

Poem 83
Motherhood—A Profession for College Women . . . . Virginia Esterly,?. 88
The College Girl in a Small Village Coila Anderson, P 91
Poem—My Wish Elizabeth Hanly, T
Preparedness Isabelle H. Stewart, 2 IOI
The Editor's Honor Roll 104

Homes or Only Houses? 108
Mate Giddings, I ; Clara Bell, X ; Louise Benton, T ; Edna Hath- 112
way, Z ; Agnes Lakin, 0 ; Mildred Mallon, 2 117
An Anchor to the Chapter Home Katharine March Thomas, K IW

Grand Secretary's Honor Roll

The Rocking-horse limes Morris, H


Friendship—Shadow-Pictures Fannie W. Butterfield, K

Fraternity Songs and Song Writing Mae I. Knight, 2

The Tweet-tweet Family Elva Pease Pettigrew, I

Dormitories—Our College Homes, Joyce Cheney, P; Eleanor Manning, K

The Quiet Corner

Billie's Room Marguerite Pilsbury Schoppe, T



The Time—The Place 126

A Convention Symposium 127
Stella George Stern Perry, A ; Isabelle Henderson Stewart, 2 ; 135
Lillian MacQuillin McCausland, B ; Helen Henry, 2 ; Anabel 140
Good, Z ; Ella Adams Wheeler, V 143
A Welcome from Kappa 180
Randolph-Macon Lucy R. Somennlle, K

Attention! Convention ! Bernie P. Palfrey, K

Convention Bulletin Lucy R. Somerville, K


Active Chapter Letters

Alumnae Chapter Letters

Alumnae News




Jessie Wallace Hughan, Alpha '98, 61 Quincy Street, Brooklyn, N . Y .
Helen St. Claire Mullan (Mrs. George V . ) , Alpha '90, 118 W . 183rd St., New

Stella Stern Perry (Mrs. George H . ) , Alpha '98, 2243 Green Street, San

Francisco, Cal.
Elizabeth Heywood Wyman, Alpha '98, 45° Broad Street, Bloomfield, N . J .


Grand President, Isabelle Henderson Stewart (Mrs. B. F . , J r . ) , Sierra City, Cal.
Grand Recording Secretary, Helen N . Henry, 264 Boylston St., Boston, Mass.
Grand Treasurer, Lillian MacQuillin McCausland (Mrs. Norman), 29 Hum-

boldt Ave., Providence, R . I .


Grand Vice-president, Jean Loomis Frame (Mrs. J . E . ) , 606 W. 122nd St.,
New York City.

Grand Historian, Stella Stern Perry (Mrs. George H ) , 2243 Green St., San
Francisco, Cal.

Registrar, Marie Vick Swanson (Mrs. A. E . ) , 1926 Sherman Ave., Evanston,

Auditor, Helen Dickinson Lange (Mrs. W. R . ) , 1646 Fair Oaks Ave.,
Pasadena, Cal.

Examining Officer, Linda Best Terry (Mrs. W . L . ) , 231 Avalon Place,
Memphis, Tenn.

Chairman Committee on New Chapters, Viola Clark Gray, 1527 S. 23rd St.,
Lincoln, Neb.

Editor-in-chief of T o DRAGMA, Mary Ellen Chase, Bozeman, Montana.
Business Manager of To DRAGMA, Marguerite Pilsbury Schoppe (Mrs. W . F . ) ,

Bozeman, Montana.


Delegate, Anna Estelle Many, 1325 Henry Clay Ave., New Orleans, L a .


Editor-in-chief, Mary Ellen Chase, Bozeman, Montana.
Business Manager, Marguerite Pilsbury Schoppe (Mrs. W. F . ) , Bozeman,

Assistant Business Manager, Antoinette Treat Webb, 134 Cottage St., Nor-

wood, Mass.
Exchanges, Helen Charlotte Worster, Caribou, Maine.
Chapter Letters, Margaret June Kelley, 52 Essex St., Bangor, Maine.

Pi—Alice Ivy, 1556 Calhoun St., New Orleans, L a .
Nu—Elinor Byrns, 27 Cedar St., New York City.
Omicron—Roberta Williams, 1510 Faust St., Chattanooga, Tenn.
Kappa—Lucy K . Somerville, R. M. W. C. Lynchburg, V a .
Zeta—Elsie Ford Piper, Wayne, Neb.
Sigma—Olive Freuler, 2946 Russell St., Berkeley, Cal.
Theta—Mrs. Le Roy McCleod, Browns Valley, Ind.
j)eita—Margaret Fessenden, 46 Whitfield R d . , W. Somerville, Mass.
Gamma—Elizabeth Hanly, Caribou, Maine.

Epsilon—Agnes Dobbins, 409 Classon Ave., Brooklyn, N . Y .
Rho—Leonore Doniat, 4129 Kenmore Ave., Chicago, 111.
Lambda—Corinne Bullard, Porterville, Cal.

Iota—Helen W. Whitney, 220 S. Catherine Ave., L a Grange, 111.
Tau—Bertha Marie Brechet, 2320 Grand Ave. S., Minneapolis, Minn.
Chi—Ruby Davis, 17 3rd Ave., Gloversville, N . Y .
Upsilon—Susie Paige, 607^ E . Morrison St., Portland, Ore.

Pi—Mrs. George P. Whittington, Alexandria, L a .
Nu—Daisy Gaus, 497 Halsey St., Brooklyn, N . Y .

Omicron—Harriet Cone Greve, Missionary Ridge, Chattanooga, Tenn.
Kappa—Frances Allen, 1012 Federal St., Lynchburg, V a .
Zeta—Mrs. B . O. Campbell, 1971 Sewell St., Lincoln, Neb.
Sigma—Dorothy K . Clark, 1328 St. Charles St., Alameda, Cal.
Theta—Ceilia Bates, Winchester, Ind.
Delta—Annette McKnight, Billerica, Center, Mass.
Gamma—Alice Farnsworth Phillips (Mrs. G . A . ) , 11 Norfolk St., Bangor, Me.
Epsilon—Isabella Stone, 27 Lincoln St., Needham, Mass.
Rho—Doris Wheeler, 639 Forest Ave., Evanston, 111.
Lambda—Frances Chandler, 623 Park View Ave., Los Angeles, Cal.
Iota—Ethel Brooks, Beecher City, 111.
Tau—Bertha M. Brechet, 2320 Grand Ave. S., Minneapolis, Minn.
Chi—Ethel Harris, Verona, N. Y .
Upsilon—Laura A. H u r d , 4626 21st Ave. N . E . , Seattle, Wash.

P i — H . Sophie Newcomb Memorial College, New Orleans, L a .
Nu—New York University, New York City.
Omicron—University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.
Kappa—Randolph-Macon Woman's College, Lynchburg, Va.
Zeta—University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb.
Sigma—University of California, Berkeley, Cal.
Theta—De Pauw University, Greencastle, Ind.
Delta—Jackson College, Tufts College, Mass.
Gamma—University of Maine, Orono, Me.
Epsilon—Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y .
Rho—Northwestern University, Evanston, 111.
Lambda— Leland Stanford University, Palo Alto, Cal.
Iota—University of Illinois, Champaign, 111.
Tau—University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn.
Chi—Syracuse University, Syracuse, N. Y .
Upsilon—University of Washington, Seattle, Wash.
Nu Kappa—Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Tex.
Beta Phi—University of Indiana, Bloomington, Ind.
Eta—University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.
Alpha Phi—Montana State College, Bozeman, Mont.
New York Alumnae—New York City.
San Francisco Alumna?—San Francisco, Cal.
Providence Alumnae—Providence, R. I .
Boston Alumnae—Boston, Mass.
Los Angeles Alumnae—Los Angeles, Cal.
Lincoln Alumnae—Lincoln, Neb.
Chicago Alumnae—Chicago, 111.
Indianapolis Alumnae—Indianapolis, Ind.
New Orleans Alumnae—New Orleans, L a .
Minneapolis Alumnae—Minneapolis, Minn.
Bangor Alumnae—Bangor, Me.
Portland Alumnae—Portland, Ore.


Pi—Mildred Renshaw, 741 Esplanade Ave., New Orleans, L a .
Nu—Mary B. Peaks, 244 Waverly P L , New York City.
Omicron—Mary D. Houston, University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.
Kappa—Augusta Stacy, R . M. W. C , Lynchburg, V a .
Zeta—Edna M. Hathway, 1232 R St., Lincoln, Neb.
Sigma—Helen Schieck, 2721 Haste St., Berkeley, Cal.
Theta—Agnes L . I.akin, A 0 I I House, Greencastle, Ind.
Delta—Margaret Durkee, 38 Professors' Row, Tufts College, Mass.
Gamma—Jessie Sturtevant, Orono, Me.

Epsilon—Dagmar Schmidt, 109 Valentine Place, Ithaca, N . Y .
Rho—Marion E . Abele, 1340 Glenlake Ave., Chicago, 111.
Lambda—Marion Gilbert, A O I I House, Stanford University, Cal.
Iota—Florence L . Moss, A 0 I I House, Urbana, 111.
Tau—Muriel Fairbanks, 13 Church St. S. E . , Minneapolis, Minn.
Chi—Frances Carter, 503 University Place, Syracuse, N . Y .
Upsilon—Louise Benton, 4732 21st Ave. N . E . , Seattle, Wash.
Nu Kappa—Genevieve Groce, 3350 Cedar Springs Road, Dallas, Texas.
Beta Phi—Vivian Day, University of Indiana, Bloomington, Ind.



New York—Edith Dieta, 217 W. 105th St., New York City.
San Francisco—Emma Black, 2913 Fillmore St., San Francisco, Cal.
Providence—Helen Eddy Rose (Mrs. A. D . ) , 25 Fruit H i l l Ave., Providence,

R. I .
Boston—Marion Rich, 17 Lawrence St., Chelsea, Mass.
Lincoln—Annie Jones, 1710 B Street, Lincoln, Neb.
Los Angeles—Mildred Hunter Stahl (Mrs. Leslie), 535 E . Bailey St., Whittier,

Chicago—Julia Fuller, 4526 Ravenswood Ave., Chicago, 111.
Indianapolis—Margaret Jayne, 1318 S. Belmont Ave., Indianapolis, I n d .
New Orleans—Anna Many, 1325 Henry Clay Ave., New Orleans, L a .
Minneapolis—Miss Laura J . Hartman, 2801 W. 28th St., Minneapolis, Minn.
Bangor—Irene Cousins, 82 N . Main St., Brewer, Me.
Portland, Ore.—Alice Collier, 568 17th St., Portland, Ore.



Pi—Rietta Garland, 1639 Arabella St., New Orleans, L a .
Nu—Frances Walters, 79 Washington Place, New York City.
Omicron—Mary D. Houston, University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.
Kappa—Bernice P. Palfrey, R. M. W. C , Lynchburg, Va.
Zeta—Gladys Whitford, 1232 R St., Lincoln, Neb.
Sigma—Marion Bachman, 2721 Haste St., Berkeley, Cal.
Theta—Anna White, A O I I House, Greencastle, Ind.
Delta—Kennetha M. Ware, 101 Capen St., Tufts College, Mass.
Gamma—Ruth B. Chalmers, Mt. Vernon House, Orono, Me.
Epsilon—Joanna Donlon, Sage College, Ithaca, N. Y .
Rho—Alice Jane Wilson, Willard Hall, Evanston, 111.
Iota—Velda Bamesberger, A 0 I I House, Urbana, 111.
Lambda—Laura Wilkie, A 0 I I House, Leland Stanford Jr., University, Cal.
X a u — J a n e M. Schober, 821 7th St. S. E . , Minneapolis, Minn. '
Chi—Frances Carter, 503 University Place, Syracuse, N . Y .
Upsilon—Margery Miller, 4732 21st Ave. N . E . , Seattle, Wash.
Nu Kappa—Etta Louise Pendleton, Southern Methodist University, Dallas,


Beta Phi—Bernice Coffing, University of Indiana, Bloomington, Indiana.

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To D R A G M A

VOL. X I I FEBRUARY, 1917 No. 2

T o DRAGMA is published at 450-454 Ahnaip Street, Menasha, Wis., by George
Banta, official printer to the fraternity. Entered at the Postoffice at Menasha,
Wis., as second-class matter, April 13, 1909, under the act of March 3, 1897.

T o DRAGMA is published on the twenty-fifth of November, February, May,
and September.

Subscription price, One Dollar per year payable in advance; single copies,
twenty-6ve cents.

Mary Ellen Chase, Editor-in-chief. Marguerite Pilsbury Schoppe, Business

Stay, stay at Home, my heart, and rest,
Home-keeping hearts are happiest!
For those who wander they know not where
Are full of sorrow and full of care—

To stay at Home is best!

—From The Hanging of the Crane.





Through many readings of the subject, I have come to an im-
passe—for motherhood is not a profession—and College often woe-
fully limits motherhood.

Motherhood is not a profession, and in the nature of things can
never be. It is based on emotion, not reason, or ambition. I
believe God is the only one who consciously intends motherhood for
every woman. It is usually developed haphazardly, and accepted
as a matter of course. Then again there is no remuneration except
emotional and spiritual—which in itself would take it out of the
rating of professions. There is a wonderful chance to develop a
profession from it, but it would be vicarious—a sort of super-nurse-
maid idea. At present motherhood is entered upon with shameful
ignorance and lack of preparation.

As to the limitations of college. Colleges usually train women
for remunerative professions, breed spiritual ambitions, sensitize
the nervous system, and advance the age of marriage by cultivating
a particularity of choice, and an ambition to practice the carefully
prepared profession. All these make for few children. Often as
culture develops in women, courage shrinks, and I know many
college women who let physical fear of pain bar them from mother-

In spite of all this, I believe that the ideal mother, though not
the most prolific one, is the educated woman. A special education
for motherhood—the most universal occupation of womankind—has
been appallingly slow in development, due, I suppose, to the fact
that motherhood is a natural and not an intellectual attainment.
I wish that I could go forth as a crusader, demanding an education
in child raising for every woman—beginning with myself.

When we pass from the haphazard motherhood which considers
clothing, feeding, and spanking her children to be the sum of her
duties—and this is the majority, as love counts as an instinct, not a
duty—we reach the intellectual mother who is after all the ideal.

The value of college education for mothers is, as I see it, a
training of the mind to grasp cause and effect—to weigh values—
to attain a sort of judicial balance, so that true standards can be
apprehended and intelligent processes can be developed. This men-
tal power is applicable to every part of a child's development.
Suppose I take a few concrete incidents.


Mrs. Haphazard, though dressing her child warmly in winter,
and lightly in summer, will have, for every day wear, coarse, out-
grown, and outworn garments, faded generally and often ragged,
that the best Sunday and party clothes may be delicate, lace-trimmed
and dainty—they may even have furs and jewelry.

Mrs. Intellectual knows that faded colors, rags, and ill-fit develop
slovenliness, and uses strong, plain, well-made clothes. She realizes
that furbelows develop a love of cheap finery, and insists always on
neatness and simplicity which alone give a chance for the develop-
ment of good taste in the child.

Like a preacher I have arrived at my "secondly"—feeding. Mother
Number One will feed a child to keep it quiet—will insist on an
early learning to eat everything "to save trouble"—(Dear Mrs. Hap-
hazard, to make trouble)—and awards it with that traditional reward
of good children—candy. Mother Number Two knows that over-
loading by quantity or overtaxing by quality will tell inevitably on
a child's health, if not immediately or if never directly in the diges-
tive organs, then sometime in the eyes, the throat, the nerves.

Just one more blow at Mrs. Haphazard: She spanks for every-
thing or overindulges, or (that worst brutality of all) says with
near-sighted pride, "I never spank my children in anger. I always
wait until we are perfectly calm and sometime afterward, explain
to the child the reason, and then spank him." Dear, cruel Mother
Haphazard! By that time the child has forgotten why and how he
was naughty, and he carries away only a terrible, grieved memory
of a spank without a cause. If you fall, does Mother Nature say
to you—"Very well, but next week I shall in all calmness raise a
bump to remind you to be more careful next time." No, the bump
rises simultaneously with you.

It is wiser, kinder, and more effective to link closely cause with
effect—and more intelligent.

And yet, my sister woman as intelligent as I may agree with
Mrs. Haphazard—so there you are! There are no rules of mother-
craft. It is as individual as are the children. So if I write of it,
having studied no mothercraft, I must write of my own experiences.
Please forgive it, dear sisters, as being personal, and accept it as
what I have learned from being a mother.

To begin with, I am a Martha with strong Mary learnings. My
"soul yearnings" are all for Mary's wings, but I usually find my
feet stuck fast to the rock that is Martha.

My idea of children before having any of my own was nebulous
and picturesque, and centered in visions of myself (somehow grown
miraculously delicate) dressed in a lacey, chiffoney tea gown effect,


sitting under a shaded lamp and rocking to sleep—shades of mo-
dernity !—a little curly-golden-haired girl. Or of the same golden
curls flushed and tousled and fallen fast asleep among her toys.

So much for dreams and, alas! for reality. Martha has stepped
in, and I know now that lace and children do not exist together,
that to let a child become exhausted to the point of sleep before it
goes to bed is bad for habits, health, and spirit, and that a careful
tucking into an early bed is the only just treatment of the child
with maybe—here Mary intervenes—one doll hugged close. And
most unkind disillusion—my golden-curls have metamorphosed into
two sturdy daughters with hair as straight as a string and, like
my own, of an indeterminate taupe!

It is not the science we learn, nor the letters, nor the mathematics
that help in mothering. Though my college hygiene helped a little,
the plumber helped as much—though pedagogy taught me how to
teach my children, it is another woman who teaches them. Though
my music study taught me what is best in that art, I find a lullaby
more grateful to a child than opera, and a monotonous intoning of
the days' events most grateful of all. There's someone else who
will give them all that I learned at college, save that one best thing—
a spiritual balance—a power of weighing values, of anticipating

It is more or less easy to dispose of material processes in an
intelligent way. Then comes the great and terrible problem of
moral and spiritual direction. I say "direction" very humbly, for
my children's spirits are as distinct and independent as my own.
And I should no more expect them to be like mine or to hold my
ideals than that I should expect a bird to fly in only one direction.

I can only teach truth, gentleness, kindness, honesty, and even
those are not absolute, but are subject to interpretation. My inter-
pretation is not yours—nor my child's, and I can only watch in
travail of spirit, the growth of soul in my children, and with patience
and justice direct, not make character.

No, motherhood is not a profession, but it is an all-engrossing
occupation and a developer of powers. We learn to recognize the
importance of minimizing Confusion and her handmaiden Strife,
the value of Peace, the value of simple living and much high think-
ing, the fallacy of that bugbear of centuries, the utter self-sacrifice
of the mother to her children, realizing that a spiritually, mentally,
or physically impoverished mother is a mill-stone, not a spur, to1
the spirit. We learn also to weigh all values and to live and teach
only the great essentials, cutting out ruthlessly the trivialities that
hinder—to give the soul a chance.


Motherhood is the great, single, unalterable duty of womankind,
which has for its rewards mother-love, a passion of possession and
protection, and the love of children that is instinctive, everlasting,
unquestioning, uncriticizing, and unseeking; and which has for
its fulfilment the continuance of humanity, without which God's
wonderful world so exquisitely and intricately developed would lack
its object and its spiritual crown.

Kappa Chapter at Home to All
A L P H A O's!

Place, Lynchburg. Time, June 21-26, 1917-




Before I was endowed with a Bachelor of Arts degree and left
college, I used to dream fondly of the wonderful things that I
would do when I battled w ith the heartless world. But now I seem
to have quietly retired to a sheltered little nook where I watch the
others do what I had planned to do. My situation here at home
is rather peculiar, although my village is typical of a hundred others
scattered through the Middle West. It is a quaint little place,
and in the past year I have come to love its very inconveniences and
inaccessibility. I f I have gained nothing more in my two years
here, I have learned to know the people better and to realize that a
higher education often fixes a false standard by which we judge our
fellow-man. My mother being an invalid, I have the care of the
home which means more than those few words can convey. The
household machinery ran smoothly enough during my vacations at
home, but how often it needs oiling now, and usually when we have
guests, too! In the winter the cistern pump always freezes at my
busiest time, and in the summer our cow wanders into the neighbor's
garden or I discover a ghost-like cobweb waving a spectral finger
over a caller's head. However, I console myself with the thought
that if one can not rise al>ove such minor difficulties she is that
much weaker when a crisis comes, or I remember that "nothing is
so bad but that it can be a whole lot worse."

Lacking kindred spirits from the college world (indeed, there is
only one other college girl in town) I plunged into church work.
Enthusiasm and high pressure can always be worked off here, through
the Sunday School which generally wants for efficient teachers, and
the Ladies' Aid clamoring for new and attractive menus for lunches
and suppers. If the college girl has any talent, however weak or
disregarded before, she is called upon everywhere to use it. As I
had had two years of expression I soon found myself "expressing"
every time I went out into society whether it be sewing circle,
church supper, watch party, or entertainment. When I protested
against this wholesale speaking for my supper, the people thought
that I was becoming conceited. Early in the summer I had used up
my small stock of readings which would appeal to the average
person, and I had to resort to some deeper ones. Immediately my
popularity was on the wane and it was whispered that I was becom-
ing a "high-brow," horrible word! Now I do not have to cast
al>out in my mind for a suitable reading when I accept an invitation
for dinner or tea. I am sure that many other college girls in return-


ing home have gone through this same experience. I really liked to
do it until it became a habit. In the club work here I had an
opportunity to be of real service in supplying the late plays and
poems. These books were appreciated more as they were being
discussed in the papers and magazines.

As the church and the school occupy the center of interest in a
small place devoid of any active social life, I soon found myself
taking the role of substitute teacher in the high school—merely
because there was no other college person in town to take it. What
I went through with that, will always remain in my memory. It
seemed that I was usually called on at a moment's notice to come
down and take the solid geometry or higher algebra class, subjects
that never were my forte in high school and college days. I expected
that every statement I made would be disputed or questioned, and
the nervous strain was worse than the subject taught. But I soon
learned to pick out the brightest pupil in the class and watch his
every expression; if he frowned, I frowned and if he remained serene,
I congratulated myself on my astuteness. A bomb was thrown though
in my algebra class by a senior that shook every atom of conceit out
of me. It concerned the rule stating that "a" with the exponent
zero became "a" with the exponent one. The battles I fought with
those exponents on the field of "a" will never be recorded in history;
nevertheless they were prolonged and terrible.

Substituting in English was more restful, and compared with the
other it was a positive joy to hear the pupil talk of the Decoration
of Independence or to begin a theme with "As I stood by my cottage
door while the shades of twilight gathered round me," et cetera ad

But as a bureau of information in a small place the college girl
gives out knowledge with a free hand. She is supposed to know,
she had had advantages that most parents are striving to give their
children. The value of a college education is not to go out into the
world and shine as a bright star in the distance, but to return to
the home in the country or village and show that she can still love
the old things, the common things, in spite of her superior'advantage.
Mothers come to her when the question arises of sending John or
Mary to college or normal. It is her business to know the various
schools and the requirements, for if she doesn't who will tell the
mother when the high school faculty has scattered for the summer.
If she is able to win the confidence of the girls in the last years of
high school, she may inspire them to greater ideals, because girls at
that age will not tell everything to a teacher or faculty member
that they might reveal to one outside of the school force. Some


of the questions put to the college girl are both ridiculous and
pathetic, but in most cases they require some pretty hard thinking.
A teacher about to be pensioned in our school wanted to go into
settlement work in a city, and as I happened to know the woman
at the head of our college settlement in Chicago, she was helped.
Last spring a high school girl wanted to take up nursing. We
labored over her application and she was finally accepted. One of
the boys wanted a short course in "bee farming" and a school of that
nature was located for him.

It is not all giving, for a college girl is enriched by each experience,
and she begins to feel after a while that she is of some help in the
community even though she may be trying to fill a position as I
am of running a large household with one hand and disseminating
knowledge with the other. Above all she must keep playing the
game of "just being glad."


B Y E L I Z A B E T H H A N L Y , T, '15

(Published in The Outlook for December 27, and reprinted in


If I could be who I would be,
If suddenly to me God said,
"Of all my dear and noble dead
Choose one to be again on earth
For strife or service, toil or mirth,
Resume, one hour, mortality,—"
I know right well who I would be.

If I could go where I would go,
In all the lovely lands that are
From Southern Cross to Polar Star,
If I could linger for a space
In one long-loved, earth-hallowed place,
Why, then God's will should set me down
At nightfall, in a Scottish town.

In "Leery's" shape I would go forth
Through that dim city of the North,
And run again with eager feet
Along the Kdinboro' street,
To light the gas lamps one by one,
And nod to little Stevenson!
And as he lay in bed he'd see
My street-stars shining in a row.

If I could be who I would be,
If I could go where I would go.




Once upon a time there was a bride, who on her first laundry
day, went through all the required formula of soap suds, rinsings,
bluings, and starchings. Only, the order was somewhat reversed,
for the wind blew gaily a line full of clothes, sad looking, too—
for the starched things had been thoroughly, very thoroughly rinsed,
and blued to the blueness of despair. Nor is this a case where the
excuse, "She was only in love," can be laid at her door. It was
due to lack of training, education, and ignorance of logical think-
ing. Her schooling ended at the eighth grade before the days
of domestic training. It is wisdom now that has led our educators
to place this essential in the grades. This is a science that has done
the most for home-making, and blest is she who has had its privileges,
and twice blest who has studied it at first hand.

Is it a home where the mistress is a Human Dutch Cleanser?
Is it a home where the mistress is, well, Waste? Every town has
them both. Work never done, for the former sees too much, and
the latter, too little. Both need to be prepared!

On the hill in our town live the Dutch Cleansers. One day I
went to call. I refuse to speak of the parlors, for I have forgotten
how many times a week these are aired. The dusting and sweeping
could well be eliminated, as the rooms are hermetically sealed! Not
a chance for a mite of a gay dust speck to ever ride gaily in on a
sunbeam. I found the mistresses around back, in the kitchens, gen-
erally very weary, and apologizing for spotless aprons, and kitchen
stoves "that haven't seen the brush since yesterday." Is this pre-
paredness ?

I arrived home weary and ill at ease, and turned my back on our
stove in the living-room. In the fifties it warmed the feet of the
miners at the old Garibaldi. Many are the stories it could tell
(that's why I am so fond of it). Yet it is scarred and riveted, and
takes black only without a shine. One of the Dutch Cleansers told
me what could be done with vinegar and sugar, and, I think, molasses.
Anyway, I felt I could not make it a success. It sounded like
candy. When I asked if there were some one she could recommend,
she thoughtfully considered the town, and shook her head. Every-
one, it seems, has work enough in her own home, except the Wastes.

By any chance that you might be interested in "Garibaldi," I am
going to tell you that he was taken up and put down in the cellar
that very afternoon. I would not be surprised if the crack in his
back widened perceptibly, from inward amusement over our very


frequent declarations of a warm and early spring, with no real need

of a stove. Especially, as two days later it snowed, and with the

rain and cold weather following, I burned myself severely, trying

to keep warm over an oil heater. I nervously felt the D. C.'s were

beginning to wreck our home!

Did you ever hear of spring house cleaning? It is a frightful

malady that sweeps over Our Town and when it comes in winter

it is called Christmas house cleaning. The latter is not so thorough,

as carpets are omitted, due to the snow on the ground. All the

D. C.'s tell you most minutely the progress of the day's work (a

room a day is the schedule, I believe). By a series of bulletins—it

must be this—all the housewives in town are kept informed. I do

not know if meals are omitted during this siege, or what happens

to the husbands, for there are carpets to tack, curtains to stretch,

walls and floors and ceilings to scrub, windows to clean, and pictures

to hang. Is this preparedness or insanity?

But I doubt if all the town is thoroughly spring cleaned. There

are the Wastes, you know. They arise at nine, and go through

this form of dressing: Hair not combed, dress pinned on, shoes

not buttoned. With a strong cup of coffee in one hand, and a piece

of bread in the other they discuss over fence tops the gossip of the

town, and add a little more to make it real interesting and scandalous,

as . . . "Well, Mrs. Stewart has had to come down from

her high horse, and do her own washing. You know, Mrs. White

(the only laundress in town) is giving up all her washing. The

last time the Stewart's sent their wash to the city it took three

weeks, and goodness knows how long it will take when the bad

weather sets in. She doesn't know much anyway. Guess it took

her some time with those flannels "

But that line of "heavy flannels" was too great a grievance to

lay at my feet. It is not the work that I am taking offense at, but

the quality of the laundry. My neighbor's line passes my window,

and I know now, that convicts are not alone in wearing wide stripes.

And when it comes to "robes de nuit," vivid pinks and yellows, I

should think, might cause vivid dreams.

My neighbors have already told you that I am in a quandary

over laundry. But they did not know about bread, a food-stuff that

can not be purchased. "No, no, I will not sell it. But you, you must

make it, and I shall' show you," the little German lady next door

said. You see, she was prepared. "Make bread or starve?" was a

question that I answered with, "I refuse to starve." I wonder now,

how we could ever eat the badly cooked dark-looking loaf, which

the hotel sold us for months. Then meat is a commodity impossible


to have in winter, and so I did another unheard-of thing. I corned
beef, (fifty pounds, it seemed like fifty head before I finished).
What is left for me now but to weave and spin! The nearest
approach here is a rag carpet, and all the rags I burn, through very

Yet, it is interesting to shut yourself in a kitchen, especially when
you do not shut your thoughts up, too. Pots and pans in assorted
sizes had such strong resemblances to some children of my past
acquaintance—and ingredients might be thoughts, so that mixed, and
seasoned, and cooked, we had Mary Angelina for pudding, and
Tommy for a salad. I did realize quite suddenly that little children
were very ordinary fare, when we might be feasting on whole chap-
ters! Many a meal have we had on you. These cannibal banquets.
I never confessed to my husband, but undoubtedly they left a strange
effect on him—for rather frequently have we taken long machine
trips, when a good restaurant or hotel was at the other end. Reno
is eighty miles off, and some fear the name, but we have a clear
conscience, as we go for something very different.

I feel like the man who was placed behind a wood pile, which,
whenever he attempted to climb, rose to greater heights. After
some thought he concluded to use the saw nearby. The pile dimin-
ished speedily, because of sane thinking and a little sawing. There
is a happy medium in housekeeping, and efficiency here as well as in
the office. It is wise to be prepared! I have reason to believe the
Queen of Hearts was. Those tarts were stolen, not because a Queen
made them, but because they were so goad. The reason I know is,
that a year ago I became a member of her household.




Kappa Pi Pi
Zeta Omicron Nu
Theta Kappa Omicron
Gamma Delta Kappa
Rho Epsilon
Iota Rho Zeta
Chi Iota Sigma
Upsilon Omicron Beta Phi
Nu Kappa Zeta
Beta Phi Lambda Delta _
Boston Alumnae Tau Gamma
San Francisco Alumnae Upsilon Epsilon
Los Angeles Alumna: Nu Kappa
Lincoln Alumnae San Francisco Alumnae Rho
Chicago Alumnae Providence Alumna? Lambda
Indianapolis Alumnae Boston Alumnae
New York Alumnae Iota
Lincoln Alumnae Chi
Chicago Alumnae
Minneapolis Alumnae Upsilon
Nu Kappa
New York Alumnae
San Francisco Alumnae

Providence Alumnae
Boston Alumnae
Los Angeles Alumnae
Lincoln Alumnae
Indianapolis Alumnae
New Orleans Alumnae
Bangor Alumnae
Portland, Ore. Alumnae

• I f the name of your chapter does not appear on the above Roll of
Honor, something is wrong. The tardiness cannot be due to want of
instructions. Every chapter editor has received typed instructions.
Moreover, in the September Number appeared the Alpha Omicron
Pi Calendar, containing full directions and dates. It is annoying,
expensive, and unnecessary to send letters asking for late work,
and yet we all have too great a pride in To DRAGMA to allow an
issue to appear with letters omitted. I f a chapter editor has been
negligent, will the chapter president please investigate? I f your
present chapter editor cannot be on time, you can doubtless find

another who can. T H E EDITOR.




I once heard a mother say after visiting her daughter in the
chapter house—"I am so glad that J — is in the house, for it's such
a happy home." What was it that made the mother feel the home
spirit? Was it the cozy comfortable house—the dear housemother
with her sweet influence and gracious dignity—or was it the girls
themselves in their relations to her and to one another?

My own home is what it is to me because of the ones who consti-
tute it and of my feelings toward them. If a chapter house is to
be the true home for from twenty to twenty-five girls, there must
be harmony in its fullest sense and a feeling of true love between
them. Each girl must feel that she is one of a big family, and
in many different ways do her utmost to fulfill her part in it.

She must first of all be cheerful and hopeful through the rough
days as well as the smooth, even when the troubles look largest and
darkest. Thinking things will come out all right, goes so far
toward the desired goal.

Perhaps the word unselfishness has been worn out and misused,
yet it must form the basis of the girl's character. She must learn to
put self in the background, not to be weak-willed or to be too easily
influenced, but to forget self where the others' wishes and happiness
are concerned. She must be able to face questions with an open
mind and to see the others' viewpoint. There are ways and ways of
viewing things which may never have occurred to one person.

In criticisms of one another the girls must be thoughtful yet frank
whether they be favorable or not. One of the joys of friendship is
that of being able to be frank yet kind with your friend. Along
with frankness comes that of true sportsmanship. It is impossible
to live with girls of every temperament and disposition and be a
quitter. Take things as they come and don't worry if you've done
your best. At least don't fuss; and take whatever comes "like a

Aside from these attributes, I think that the laws of friendship
must govern the life of each girl. As President King of Oberlin
has said, "The problem of friendship is the problem of life itself."
So to me it is the problem of all phases of Ufe whether it be our
home life at college or elsewhere.

Finally the housemother is such a vital and important factor in
the spirit of the chapter house. Her character not only influences
the happiness and life of each girl there but her personality and very
self helps to make the college world feel it is a home and one of the


very highest kind. How carefully then she should be chosen!
So it is after all character that makes the home.



A chapter house or a chapter home, which is ours? No one can
answer that question quite so well as the members of the chapter,
It does not take long for girls to find out whether they have home
privileges or those of a boarding-house. I f the question is answered
in the negative, it would be well for that chapter to find out why
it lives in a house and not in a home.

To most of us there is only one real home, the place where mother
and father, brother and sister are. There is home. Can we not find
a solution to our problem there? Consider the real home and the
chapter house. We find that the essence of any home is love. None
of us expect a love like a mother's in a chapter home, but one like
that of a sister is possible. The first rule to follow in the transforma-
tion is to fill our house with those whom we can love. Choose, then,
for fraternity sisters only those girls who are sure to be congenial.

There are more practical things than love that help to make our
houses homes. Did you ever sleep in the same room with a girl
without feeling more friendly toward her? Dormitories are splen-
did places for intimacy to get a good vigorous start so that it will
ripen into something deeper. Fifteen or twenty girls sleeping in one
room interchange secrets, talk over troubles, and become like sisters,
indeed. Choose a house with a possible dormitory in it, is another
recipe. I f fortunate enough, build one.

Of course, a complete home has other things. There are many
little necessities. A piano, a victrola, a fireplace, and a library are
valuable additions. An electric flatiron and a sewing machine are
quite useful for modern girls who look after themselves. A barrel
of apples might make the house more of a home, especially for the
country girls. As little drops of water have their use, so little
things are important in home-building. Our girls have a custom
of giving Christmas and birthday gifts to the house. In that way
many home things are acquired.

A house or a home? Why not all ask that question and make the
answer affirmative?

CLARA M . B E L L , X , '18.


Is there any word that should mean more to a person than
"Home"? What a comfortable feeling we should have when we hear
the word.


Everyone of us, if we but knew it, could help to make our chapter
house a real home—a home that would give out comfort and help
to everyone in it. It is not difficult if we all try.

I f we would all try to express a helpful interest in our sisters'
affairs, not the interest that is annoying, but the sympathetic interest
and consideration which tend to make the ideal home.

So many times friends or relatives come to the house for an
evening or afternoon. Here is another chance to express a home-
like and hospitable feeling. I f we will but treat them as we would
like to be treated, show them all the courtesy which we would wish
shown to our friends or relatives, then the chapter house will advance
one step nearer the real home.

But a so-called home is not a home unless everyone in that home
is harmonious. Thoughtfulness, consideration for other people's
feelings and things, a kind word, and a happy, cheerful expression
all tend to bring the circle of the house into a closer home relation-

Then, too, the little social hour after dinner (before study hours
begin) helps to make a chapter house seem more like a true home
with a happy, good-natured family.

So, when all is said, if we will only help others, think, and do
what we would want others to do for us, and above all, express the
sincerity of a true friend, then our chapter house will become a real



A subject really worth consideration, but one which receives all
too little thought, is the "homeliness" of the fraternity house. Most
of us spend the greater part of four years in the house and it
becomes our home during that time. A few general suggestions
about the home may not be unwelcome, and will, we hope, cause
you to think of others more appropriate to your individual needs.

I f our fraternity house is to be a home, we must feel somewhat
responsible for its appearance, and see that it looks its part. That
involves thoughtful and tasteful purchasing of furnishings, and
careful arrangement and use of them after they become part of
the house. In a certain bank hangs this sign, "If you would spit
on the floor at home, do it here." On the other hand, if we have
been taught to treat the furniture kindly at home, we can at least
show it respect here.

Good magazines—not the kind from which you tear the cover—
but good magazines are essential to the one who would talk intelli-
gently, now-a-days, and they add to the "homeliness" of the chapter-


room. Book cases full of well-chosen books are necessary for com-
fort. We spend many hours each day with books—why would we
remove every trace of them from the gaze of our guests? Grate
fires and easy chairs and flowers do their part, too, in giving the
chapter house the atmosphere of a home.

That is merely the material side of it, however. Far more impor-
tant is the attitude of the occupants. At home one is entitled to
expect the family to be interested in even the most trivial events of
the day. The same should be true in our chapter home. It is so
easy to grow self-centered and indifferent to those around us. On
the other hand, we sometimes find ourselves indulging in confidences
to the point where it becomes a task rather than a pleasure to

It is said that he gets the most out of life who puts the most and
the best into it. Why not put our best into our fraternity life? Then
surely our home life will be harmonious, our meal times seasons of
real refreshment (not hours for personal gossip and poor conversa-
tion) and our relations with one another born of true fraternity
interest and love.

EDNA H A T H WAY, Z, '18.


The home-like chapter house surely involves many perplexing
problems, and just how to meet and solve these problems is, some-
times, quite as perplexing. While, of course, it is necessary that
each house should have a few "cut and dried" rules and regulations
to which each member must always render obedience, yet
these do not create the "homey" spirit which is so desirable. To
the majority of the girls concerned, the chapter house is a substitute
for their respective homes during the school year, but it cannot be a
home unless each of us feels the individual responsibility to make
it so.

Those two words really sum up the whole thing, but they can
and do include such a vast number of things. While rules and
regulations do not finally settle the question of harmony, yet to a cer-
tain extent they are necessary and this implies a willingness on the
part of every girl to work for the interest of the group in obeying such
rules. The girl who feels no responsibility about study hours or
getting in just on the dot, always makes trouble for the sponsor or
the chapter president. Consequently the rest of the girls must feel
the effect, and the usual desirable spirit receives a deadening blow.

Above all things there is no place in a crowd for the person who
is always selfish, wanting to monopolize the honors, be on every


committee, and constantly be seen. The character of the group must
be determined by the character of the individuals in it, and when
selfish interest prompts the actions of each of us, the action of the
group must be impaired.

There is always enough to do in the house and the willingness with
which each girl sets about her task brings happiness and satisfaction
to the whole group. When asked to serve on a committee, she must
work with all her might to make her service mean something.
Wounded feelings should be absolutely unknown in an ideal home,
and a sharply spoken person is undesirable. Each of us has so
many little faults and defects which she must overcome before she
meets the world. Why not make the life in the chapter house a
"cure all"? Here we meet a variety of dispositions and we must
remould ourselves to fit occasions. Our attitude then should be one
of willingness to admit our defects as they show themselves and
of desire to remake them into desirable, lovable characteristics.

I cannot feel that I have said anything at all until I tell you
just a little bit about our chaperon in connection with our chapter
life. As never before we have come to a realization of how impor-
tant a factor the chaperon is. It is such a help to know that you have
in your midst a real guiding star, who is the confident friend of every
girl in the house and who just naturally fits in any place from
planning parties to enforcing rules.

However, back of the whole thing, there must be in the heart of
every girl, that great, deep, sacrificing love which is the guide to
all nobler and better ideals.

A G N E S L A K I N , @, '19.


Although the word "home" suggests to most of us an atmosphere
rather than the material building and furnishings, I think that the
exterior and the interior of the house as well as the far more impor-
tant factor—the traits of the girls—have their parts in the creation
of that subtle condition which makes a house a home.

The exterior of the house may vary according to taste—it may
be old or new, large or small—but I think that it should look like a
"home" rather than a public building. Here at California there is
a growing tendency toward making the fraternity houses look exactly
like our public libraries. Now if I lived in a place that looked
like a public library, I would certainly be afraid to talk above a
whisper for fear somebody would scold—and that surely would not
make me feel at home. In all seriousness let me emphasize the impor-
tance of the first impression given by the outside of a house—when


one sees a home-like exterior, one at once imagines that the people and
the interior must be delightful and although this impression may be
changed by an interior obviously contrary to it, "home atmosphere" is
such an illusive tiling that this first impression is likely to influence
the acceptance of its very existence.

The interior of the house is both a cause and an effect of "home
atmosphere." It is a cause inasmuch as it makes the same sort of
an impression as the exterior of the house, but it is far more impor-
tant as an effect, because it is the visible proof of the interest and
pride of the girls in their home. And what is more, it is an inevitable
result of this interest that the interior will be attractive and appeal-
ing, for a home-like interior, though added to and embellished by
beautiful furniture, is created only by thought and taste.

' Among the girls there must be, of course, a unity of purpose. Not
that there may not be plenty of diversity in ideas and types, for the
houses that get this unity by having all of their girls think and act
alike remind me of the possible results of the criterion: "Peace at
any price." Along with a unity of purpose and a diversity of means
towards this end, there must be tolerance of the ideas of others,
and sympathy—the sympathy that means understanding. These
traits in each girl will, I am sure, make the chapter house a "home,"
but they are big influences and even with their existence there may
still be "sins of omission" in small things which tend to lessen
their value. "There are so many girls to do such and such a thing,"
you think. "Surely someone who isn't so busy will do it"—and being
everybody's duty, it becomes nobody's duty and isn't done at all.
Under most circumstances I am not an advocate of developing
egotism, but if each girl would feel that the things which are too
small to be assigned or are unforeseen, are her own personal responsi-
bility, there would be far fewer regrets, and the "home atmosphere"
would be increased in strength.

MILDRED M A L L O N , 2 , '20.



B Y K A T H A R I N E M A R C H THOMAS, K , '12

The other day, out of a clear sky, via Uncle Sam's letter route,
a letter came to me telling how my chapter celebrated Alpha O's
twentieth birthday. I wish the writer of that letter might know
how I thrilled as I read all her "homey" news about the red candles
burning on the birthday cake, the splendid new girls, the new lamp,
and even the new trash can at the foot of the new steps. Everything
new!—but I sat for a long time after rereading that letter, with
closed eyes, visualizing the dear old scenes, with the new improve-
ments and new faces—and with a warm glow in my heart, I imagined
that I was for the moment back among them, and of them.

For the sad part about us home girls is that we seem to be no
longer a vital part of our chapter or our fraternity—somehow we feel
"left out"—although I will say in passing that those of us who
have had the good fortune to return and renew old ties have not
felt "left out" for long. Indeed, so cordial is their welcome, so
loving and sisterly their attitude, it is almost difficult to tell new
friends from the old! But we cannot all have this wonderful
experience, and so feel a little "left out."

Of course, it is a natural consequence—we have all had our day—
we have all done our best to live up to and raise, could it be possible,
the high standards of A O II—and in turn we must hand over
these privileges, turn over the reins of authority to our younger
sisters, and watch them try their hand at running "our" chapter
from a distance. And the distance is sometimes so great that although
we never, deep in our hearts, forget the beloved ties that bind us,
still we are conscious of a depth to be bridged, and a fear that
we are "drifting away, drifting apart."

And what an easy thing it is to drift when one is out in the world,
with new interests, new ties, new aspirations, new friends, without
a strong anchor to hold us! And girls, my plea is for that anchor.

As I read over Kappa's birthday letter, it came to me what a
wonderful thing it would be for all of us who are so far away
(and you, little sisters in the active chapters, will be in our class
one day, and will see for yourselves) to renew regularly our ties with
our own chapters in some way.

We all want to know what is going on in our absence—how the
plans we laid have matured; we want to know about the plans you
are making; we want to know why our new girls are "the finest in
college"; we want to know your problems and your achievements,
your joys and your sorrows. And we want to know not only about


the active chapter, but also about the sisters we knew and loved
so well when we struggled and toiled and rejoiced together—what
life is meaning to them now that we are all so far apart.

I haven't been out of college for so long that I cannot clearly
remember how little time there is for letter-writing, and how one
postpones the evil hour as long as possible in the stress of work and
pleasure. And I know it is asking a great deal to beg for letters
for all of us, telling all the things we want to know.

To DRAGMA, it is true, gives us all the fraternity news. By
reading that we know just what A O II is doing, and a little of
what our own little chapter has done, but of course it would be
impossible for To DRAGMA to print the intimate news of each chap-
ter. So why not each have a little chapter paper—an "anchor"—
to "drop" to each chapter alumna several times a year?—the oftener
the better! It wouldn't mean much work. Everyone in the chapter
should be privileged to add to it. Keep a notebook in the chapter-
room ; and, when something happens in which you know we would
be interested, jot it down. A little note telling us of some party
you have been enjoying, another telling of some welcome visitor on
the campus (who may also be induced to write her impressions of the
changes that have taken place; so that we, who know so well how
"Mary" feels and sees things, can feel almost that we have visited
you, too!) another telling of some problem to be solved (for you
must all have problems—different from ours, presumably, but there
just the same—and perhaps some of us could even help, certainly
sympathize) will soon mount up to a paper of much interest. And
add all the news you can get of your "old girls"—engagements,
marriages, births, triumphs in the business world, success in the
world of letters, struggles, and achievements. We will do our
share, I am sure, by sending in all the "personals" we can collect,
and any class failing to report will more than deserve a black mark.
The paper could be sent to To DRAGMA each time for the notes it
could use.

And perhaps, once in a while, you could send a snap-shot of "the
crowd"—"once more united" in the room which holds so many happy
and tender memories for us all—or sitting on the porch—or gathered
in some familiar spot on the campus. For we would all love to see
the new faces that belong to the new names, and that would be
next best to the real thing.

And don't forget the college news. We are all loyal to our
Alma Mater as well as to our fraternity, and we want to know
what you and others are doing for her.


Is it too much to ask? It is only a suggestion, of course, but
if you will take it up, it seems to me that it would be a splendid
thing for us all. It will not take up much valuable time if you all
help, and each girl does her share will not require any wonderful
literary ability, you know, for you are writing to your own family;
and it need not be expensive. Have the little sheet mimeographed
for a starter and see if it won't bring joy to hearts all over the
country, and be an anchor in the truest sense of the word.

I think that you will find that it will be worth the effort, for
it will draw each "family" closer together, and all of your "big
sisters" can feel that they have a real part in your life, as you have
in theirs; and that they are working for and with you as you are
working for and with them in A O I I .



Pi On time Third received First received
Nu Prompt On time On time
Omicron Third received Prompt Prompt
Kappa On time Prompt Prompt
Zeta On time Prompt On time
Sigma On time On time On time
Theta Prompt Prompt On time
Delta On time Prompt Prompt
Gamma Prompt Prompt Prompt
Epsilon College not opened On time On time
Rho On time On time Late
Lambda On time Prompt
Iota Prompt Prompt Second received
Tau First received Prompt
Chi College not opened Second received
Upsilon Second received First received Third received
Nu Kappa On time Prompt Prompt
Beta Phi On time On time On time
Late On time



A Fairy Tale By INNES MORRIS, I I , ' 1 0

(The author suggests that this may be a good bed-time story and sends it
to the Alpha 0 mothers.—The Editor.)

I t was the Prince's sixth birthday. He wandered around through
his six rooms of toy gifts and was very happy. Finally he saw way
over in one corner a large package all tied up i n brown paper.
There was a toy that caught his eye, for even at six the little Prince
could read those words:

Your Fairy Godmother.

The Prince tore off the paper with delight and there before him
stood the most beautiful rocking-horse you've ever seen. I t was
as large as a real pony. Its hair was soft and brown. Its mane
was long and silky and black, and its tail was, too. Its eyes were
the softest brown and looked straight ahead. I t was just a beautiful
pony and the little Prince was as happy as ever he could be.

He forgot his other toys, but jumped on the horse and away he
rode. He imagined he was captain of a large army, and wore an
armor of steel. A mighty sword hung at his side, and his helmet
gleamed in the sun. A l l day he rode at the head of his men, through
forests, over mountains, into valleys, over plains—all day he was
following the enemy. Finally at nightfall he met them.

"Charge," he said to his army. His noble steed plunged forward
and there was roaring of cannon, clanking of steel, flashing of guns—
and the enemy was conquered.

Then his Royal Nurse came to put him to bed. He went regret-
fully after kissing his horse on his hairy cheek.

The little Prince had hardly fallen asleep when a very curious
thing happened. A soft whinny aroused him. He listened. Again
he heard it—right by his bedside. He put out his hand and touched
the warm, panting nose of what he knew to be his rocking-horse.
The Prince drew his pony gently to him, and saw that great tears
stood i n the horse's beautiful eyes which were now glass no longer—
glass that looked straight ahead.

"Oh, my beautiful Pony," said the little Prince, "you are alive and
not a wooden rocking-horse after a l l ! Why do you weep?"

"Little Prince, I am alive at night only. And I weep because
I may not play with my fellow playmates."

"What do you mean?" asked the mystified little Prince.
"Well, you see, as long as we don't belong to any one but are
just in a toy shop, we can go every night to Toyland—a place away


over the H i l l s where all the rocking-horses go and frisk and
scamper and play together until daylight comes. We have such fun.
But now that I have a master, I may not go."

"Oh, I can't let you go, you'll never come back again, and I
won't have any horse to ride!" said the little Prince.

"Yes," answered the pony, " i f you look in my mane you will find
a single white hair. Pull this out. So long as you hold this, I
shall be obliged to obey you."

"Then you may go, gladly," said the Prince happily, "and play
all night. I ' l l call you when morning comes."

So the Prince wrapped the white hair around his finger, went
to the window and opened it.

"Enjoy yourself, my Pony."

"Thank you, little Prince."
Then the Pony was gone, and his master watched him as he sped
through the moonlight, just touching the tops of the hills. Away
off he thought he heard the neighing as of many horses, calling joy-
ously to their playmate, and the note of happiness that was in his
pony's answer made his heart glad as he crawled back into bed.

I t was early morning when the Prince unwrapped the hair from
his finger and waved it out of the open window.

"Little Pony, your master wants you back again."
Way off on the horizon there appeared a little black speck, which
grew larger and larger the nearer it came. Finally the pony burst
in through the window, and stood quivering by the Prince.

''Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Oh, little Prince, it was wonderful! I t makes it easier to be
wood all day and never able to look right or left—but just straight
ahead. Now, little Prince, will you replace the hair?"
When the Prince had replaced the hair, he spoke to the pony
again, but silence only greeted him. The pony was not warm now,
but just the rocking-horse of yesterday.
A l l day long again the Prince was the captain of an imaginary
army. And at night came the Royal Nurse to take him off to bed.
And that night the same thing happened again. The Prince extracted
the hair and watched the pony as he sped over the hills to his

And so it happened every day and every night until a month before
the Prince's seventh birthday.

The Prince began to notice that his pony returned more reluctantly
each day and lacked his old joy and spirit. He had no happy



cheery word now when he came from his night's play. Finally,
one day the little Prince asked him about it.

"My Rocking-horse, tell me why you are so miserable. There
is something that is worrying you. Please, won't you tell me what
it is?"

"Oh little master, I think I ' d best not."
"Perhaps I might be able to help you," urged the Prince.
"Yes, but I couldn't ask of you," answered the pony.
" I beg you to tell me."
"Well, you've given me freedom to enjoy myself. But at the
end of a year, in fact on your seventh birthday, you are my master
day and night. I can never go to my playmates again. I must be
wood always. Only my mind will live and remember, and long for
the good times again—unless—"

"Unless what?" prompted the Prince.
"That white hair you have—it makes you my master and so long
as you keep it I must remain as I am—only a rocking-horse."
"But i f I threw it away?" questioned the Prince.
"Then I would be free day and night. I could live with my
beautiful playmates and be happy always!"
"Do you mean, you—you'd never be a rocking-horse? You mean
you'd never come back to me? Do you mean that?"
"Yes, my master."
"Then I ' l l never do it. I must have you to be happy. I can not
do i t ! "
" I couldn't ask it of you," answered the rocking-horse and his
voice was f u l l of sorrow.
So the days passed on. There was never a word spoken between
them—no word of parting at night, no word of welcome in the
morning. Both were very unhappy.

The Prince no longer rode at the head of a charging army, but
rocked disspiritedly, the reins hanging loose.

Finally the night before his birthday arrived, and the pony came
to be released for his last night's frolic. The little Prince silently
removed the white hair and wrapped it around his little finger.
He opened the casement window. The pony couldn't see that tears
were streaming down his little master's face, for two great drops
filled his own eyes.

"Before I go," almost sobbed the pony, " I want to thank you
little Prince for all you've done for me. You've been such a good
and generous master and I have loved you. This is the last time I ' l l
be able to speak, and I want to tell you 'good-bye' and wish you a
happy seventh birthday."


At that he was gone—out into the darkness. Way off the little
Prince thought he heard a faint whinnying and neighing—even in
these sounds there seemed a note of sadness.

He stood by the window and the hot tears burned his little cheeks.
He slowly unwrapped the white hair, held it at arm's length, then let
it f a l l from his fingers.

"Go, my own little Pony—go and be happy!" he cried. Then he
fell sobbing on the floor.

The next morning the Prince awoke to his seventh birthday. He
wasn't happy. He was lonesome. He didn't want to see his seven
rooms of toys that were to take the place of his beloved rocking-
horse. He was glad the Royal Nurse hadn't come. He would dress
himself, and escape into the woods. So he hurriedly dressed, ran
down into the yard and was passing the Royal Stables when the
Royal Coachman called to h i m :

"Oh come, Your Highness, and see what your Fairy Godmother
has sent you for a birthday present."

The Prince didn't want to go at all, but even at the age of seven
he wasn't very big, and oh, the Royal Coachman was—not seven but
very big!

There in one of the stalls was—what do you think?—a perfectly
beautiful pony! His hair was soft and brown. His mane was long
and silky and black and his tail was, too. His eyes were the softest
brown and looked straight—into the Prince's.

"Oh—Oh!" sobbed the little Prince in his great joy, throwing
his arms around his pony's neck.

The Royal Coachman didn't understand why the Prince was so
very happy. But of course you do, don't you?




A bud has crept over my window-sill,
I t is wrought with an infinite, tender skill,
Unfolding worlds beyond my fireside here,
But the vine outside shivers harsh and sere.

A life has come into my heart's hearth glow;
I t is harsh and rough to the world, I know,
But the budding soul is the part I see,
And a perfect thing is this life to me.


Dimpled mischief, baby fingers,
Firelight on a dancing wall.

Not one shadow ever lingers,
Gleefully he tries them all.

Hares and chicks fade in the making;
Sleepy in my arms at last,

A l l his baby acts awaking,
Fleet my shadow pictures past.

(Both the above poems appeared i n the Randolph-Macon Tattler.
"Friendship" is to be published in the Anthology of College Poetry
for 1Q15-IQ16. T H E EDITOR.)



BY MAE t KNIGHT, 2, '06

Chairman of Song Committee

Fraternity songs have had two sources of inspiration, the ritual-
istic rite and the need for expressing the feeling of fellowship. Since
the ritual is devotional and spiritual, the church hymn has furnished
the inspiration as well as the music for that type of song. The
rollicking college song has furnished the model and music for festive
gatherings, and some of the well-loved folk songs like "Believe Me
I f A l l Those Endearing Young Charms" and "Auld Lang Syne"
have been the source of countless loyalty songs. The quality of
verse has ranged from the trite and commonplace to that of a very
high inspirational order. The music has usually been tunes already
in existence. This is not strange, and perhaps we should
be content with the use of existing tunes, for there are many old
well-known melodies that are adapted to express the very spirit of
loyalty and love that a fraternity song should express. These
melodies are usually simple folk tunes and suggestions w i l l be
made later as to their use.

When and where are fraternity songs sung? What singing memo-
ries do we cherish? First, are the ritualistic songs, songs associated
with the ceremony of pledging—of initiation. Then there is the
fraternity hymn, the best known and most cherished song, which
really crowns the real Greek. I n addition there are the banquet
songs—first a grace to be sung before being seated, then the toast
to the fraternity. There may be included songs for special occasions,
the reunion or Alumna; song, the parting or Senior song, the
Founders' song, the Convention song. Then there are the quiet Sun-
day evenings, about the fire-place, when the special chapter songs
are sung, some humorous, some cheering, all more or less personal
and local.

Let us look at Alpha Omicron Pi and see how our songs suit
our needs. An examination of our songbook and of the songs
published from time to time in T o DRAGMA w i l l make us decide
at once, that, though we have some songs that meet our needs fairly-
well—"Once More United," "The Rose of Red," "Alpha Girls" (a
more appropriate title can surely be found), "Oh Alpha O " in May,
1916, T o DRAGMA, and "Loyalty" in November, 1915—there is-
obvious need for many, many more and better songs. Grand Council
has recognized this need and is behind the Song Committee in its
effort to make Alpha Omicron Pi a "singing fraternity." Wouldn't
that be an excellent aim for 1917?


"A singing fraternity." I f Alpha O were a singing fraternity,
we would find the bonds' of loyalty and sisterly devotion strengthened
to an immeasurable degree. The inspiration and joy which spring
from singing together a really good song, representing the spirit and
ideals of our beloved fraternity cannot be measured. "The singing
chapter is the live chapter." Let us work up chapter singing and
let each chapter try out existing Alpha O songs and devote in addition
some effort to the problem of new songs, so that we may be a singing
fraternity with plenty of singable songs.

What do we need? Study the list. First and foremost a hymn
or song of loyalty, so fine that we will instinctively rise when we
sing it, and will feel that it expresses better even than can a ritual-
istic ceremony the ideals and traditions of Alpha Omicron Pi. Grand
Council opens a contest for such a song and offers ten dollars to the
one writing the song adjudged the most suitable.

I f you do not feel equal to the high task of a hymn, perhaps you
can offer a song suitable for pledging or initiation, or a simple
grace before meals. I f you are a senior and are beginning to feel
the pangs of parting, express your thoughts in a parting song to
be sung at the senior banquet. Or perhaps you hope to attend Con-
vention and feel inspired to write a loyalty song to the Founders,
or a Convention Song or a Reunion Song. We need them all. and
we need fine, inspiring songs to express our love and loyalty.

For these songs, hymns, patriotic airs, or old favorites are recom-
mended to the budding song geniuses: "Gaudeamus Igitur," "Integer
Vitae," "Lauriger Horatius," "Now the Day is Over," "Ddxology,"
"O Mother Dear, Jerusalem." These may be found in any good
church hymnal. There are many staunch patriotic airs to be found in
a good school collection: Austrian National Hymn, Kellar's Ameri-
can Hymn, Recessional, Russian National Hymn. One of the finest
school songs is "Illinois Loyalty," but such a song has such value as
a college song and so much local suggestion that, generally speaking,
it should not be used.

For the banquet songs more rollicking types may be chosen: Bul-
lard's "Stein Song," "Old Heidelberg," "Song of a Gambolier,"
"Wearing of the Green," etc. The following list may be of some
value. Most of them may be found in Songs H'r Like to Sing: (Pub-
lished by Silver Burdett Co.)

" A l l Through the Night," "Auld Lang Syne," "Believe Me I f A l l
Those Endearing Young Charms," "Blue Bells of Scotland," "Drink
to Me Only with Thine Eyes," "Flow Gently Sweet Afton," "Isle
of Beauty," "Loch Lomond," "Maryland, my Maryland," " A Merry
Life," " M y Heart's in the Highlands," "Soldier's Farewell," "Stars
of the Summer Night," "Upidee," "Vesper Hymn."


Songs written to "popular airs" have a certain value, but their
life is limited to the life of the "popular song," usually one year.
Such songs should not be encouraged no matter how catchy or
attractive they seem, for they are all doomed to early disappearance.
Some of the songs in Robin Hood or in Gilbert and Sullivan's
operas are worthy models, but the safest tunes are folk tunes and
hymns because, in the first place, time has tested their worth, and
our children will be singing these tunes when all our poems and
popular songs have been buried; secondly, because they are known
to everyone and everyone loves to sing them and will sing them
with beauty and understanding.

As to the poems, good inspirational poetry is what we are seeking,
words that will express the ideals to which we are devoted and which
can be set advantageously to the tune selected. Here are a few hints:
Select the type of song to be written, and search for a tune that
expresses the general feeling. Then get a copy of the words and
music. (Never trust to your memory.) Jot down the metrical and
rhyme scheme of the original poem and follow i t ! ! You will find
that you won't get into trouble with too many or too few syllables
to the line, and your rhymes won't be forced i f you follow the origi-
nal scheme. Note the most significant point in the line and make
that the most significant point in your poem. Avoid accenting an
insignificant word like "and," "the," etc.; avoid vague constructions
and unusual order of words.* Make the poem as simple and natural
as possible, then it will be singable and good. Copy the words
and music and submit to the committee by April 15, 1917.

The best songs will be published in To DRAGMA from time to
time, and all will be tried out at the Convention in Virginia in June.

Now a few hints on the chapter singing, for here is where the
songs will survive or perish. From the writer's experience in school
singing, the greatest hindrance to good song singing is lack of
memorizing words. A person who is searching his memory for the
words can hardly sing with enthusiasm and spirit. The first advice
is, learn the poem. Have an examination i f necessary, but be sure
every girl knows every word. The tunes are not so difficult. I f the
song is to be sung in unison and there is only one copy of the music,
give it to the most musical girl. Let her play (with one finger) the
melody, and let the rest fit the words. I n ten minutes it can be
sung with enthusiasm, even a new tune. Then sing—and sing—sing
at chapter meetings—sing at the table—sing around the fire—sing for
your alumnae—sing, and let's be known as that "singing fraternity,"
Alpha Omicron Pi.

* Avoid personal allusions to other fraternities, use no other abbreviation
for Alpha Omicron Pi than "Alpha O," and above all, don't use the word



Another Bed-time Story by ELVA PEASE PETTIGREW, I , '09

I n the eaves of an old house was a snug little nest in which lived a
family of birds. The tribe to which this family belonged was greatly
disliked by housewives, because of its untidy habits. Even in
winter these little feathered creatures stayed in the north and seemed
to enjoy the coldest weather, so that they were nuisances the whole
year around. Now I know you have guessed to what tribe this bird
family belonged—the English sparrow, of course.

In the Tweet-tweet family, for that was their name just the same as
yours is Smith or Brown or something else, there was Daddy Tweet-
tweet, Mother Tweet-tweet and two baby Tweet-tweets. Blinkie was
the little boy sparrow. They called him that for he always blinked
his eyes when he looked at anyone. Fluffy was his little twin sister,
called so because she had the habit of fluffing up her feathers when she
became frightened.

On a very cold day during the Christmas holidays, Blinkie, who
was rather cramped and tired of staying in the nest, decided to get
out and see i f he couldn't find a bug to eat. He flew around the
house, and right on the window he saw—yes, sir, it looked just like a
nice fat bug. Blinkie pecked at the window, but the bug wouldn't
come. Then he pecked again and again, but it was no use. Finally
he hopped down on the window-sill and looked into the house. Now
what do you suppose he saw? Why a beautiful Christmas tree with
lovely ornaments shining all over i t ! And Blinkie noticed that one
ornament pressed against the window-pane, and what he had been
pecking at wasn't a bug at all.

Away he flew back to the nest and told Daddy and Mother and
Fluffy all about the wonderful tree he had seen.

"Tweet-titi-tweet-tweet-tweet, I wish I had a Christmas tree," said
Blinkie. Just then, standing on the roof of the house right near
Blinkie was the daintiest little creature you ever saw. She was so
tiny that probably you couldn't have seen her, but Blinkie could and
he blinked and blinked.

"What do you want of me?" asked the fairy, f o r the little creature
was a fairy, you know. Blinkie had spoken the magical words that
called the fairy when he had said, "Tweet-titi-tweet-tweet-tweet;" but
he didn't know that.

"Who are you?" asked Blinkie.
"Why I am the Christmas fairy," and she smiled so kindly that

Blinkie forgot to be afraid.


" I f you are a really-truly fairy," said the sparrow, "maybe you
would bring me a lovely Christmas tree like the little boy in the
big house has."

"That I w i l l , " said the fairy, " i f you will go to bed early tonight.
I n the morning you will find your Christmas tree."

And while the little sparrow boy blinked his eyes, the fairy

Blinkie flew to the nest and told his family all that had happened.
They thought that Blinkie had been dreaming for they didn't believe
in fairies.

Blinkie went to bed early, however, and when he got up in the
morning, the first thing he did was to fly around the house. There in
the back yard, standing in a pile of snow was a beautiful Christmas
tree. I t was covered with strings of popcorn and cranberries. The
little boy sparrow hurried back to tell his mother, daddy, and Fluffy
what he had seen, but he was so excited that he couldn't say a word,
so they followed him to the Christmas tree. They, too, became
excited about i t .

Blinkie tasted the popcorn and cranberries. "Tweet-tweet, they're
very good, have some."

"No," said Daddy Tweet-tweet, "we must not be greedy. Fluffy
and Blinkie, you fly just as fast as you can and invite all of the birds
in the neighborhood."

You may be sure that the little sparrow children hurried, for the
very sight of the beautiful tree made them hungry.

In a short time, the tree looked as though it were decorated with
little brown birds, and Blinkie and Fluffy were chirping and swaying
in the very top of it. Such a feast the little creatures hadn't known in
years. Soon the popcorn and cranberries were gone, and even the
strings the birds carried away as souvenirs of the day or as helps in
making new nests in the Spring. A l l the birds had gone home, and
Blinkie found that he was alone on the tree.

"Thank you, kind fairy," said Blinkie although he couldn't see her,
" I ' l l always believe in fairies now," and the little sparrow flew home
and cuddled down i n the nest near Fluffy.




In a big fat book labeled "Dictionary" I discovered a horrible fact.
Dormitory signifies a place to sleep in, and a resting place for the
dead. Since, I have peered into the corners of M t . Vernon and failed
to discover anything resembling a dead body. Mt. Vernon House,
dormitory, is not a burial place. It's the most wonderful home built
on a wholesale plan there ever was, and it is a home because of the

A recipe reads usually somewhat like this: Take one egg, a pinch
of salt, and one teaspoonful of so and so. The recipe for our home
is unwritten, and as follows: Take thirty healthy girls, a lot of under-
standing, sift out all constraint, and add one housemother who is

We study because the faculty says we must, " M a " helping us, and
we live because we love it. After dinner which is served in a low-
ceilinged room with many small tables, a huge fireplace, and
unrestrained conversation, one very good feature, we dance in the
long hall between the reception room and the dining-room, to the
music of the victrola, which " M a " bought for us. You can't help
knowing a person after you have begged her pardon for treading on
her pet, tenderly guarded corn. Half of the girls know how to lead,
and play the man's part as well as true masculine followers of Mr.
Castle. The freshmen take care of the victrola, changing the records
and needles, but it is good to notice that upperclassmen will take
their place when the freshmen are farthest from the machine.

Sunday nights are the real "home" nights. Lunch is served i n the
reception room where there is a cheery glow i n the fireplace. There
are no lights, except two shaded ones on the serving tables. Upper-
classmen usually sit at the tables and the freshmen serve. We hold
our plates in our laps and sit in companionable groups, forget that
there are biology and psychology textbooks squatting complacently
on desks upstairs, and exchange opinions on the last fraternity dance,
while the little, fluffy, powder-puff dog runs about sniffing for wee
tastes of things, which dog etiquette w i l l not allow us to give him.

Lunch over, pillows are thrown before the fire with an indiscrimi-
nate mass of home-loving girls upon them, and we sing the usual
college songs, and possibly someone reads. It's home, rest, and
healthy diversion.

But you can't call any sort of a structure a home unless there is a
mother. Ours is a home, and ours truly an understanding mother—
not the "rush-around-at-clubs" kind, or "many-cooks-leave-because-of-


her" sort, not built with any special specifications, but she is what
each one of us wants her, for i n everyone's life there is a time when
two arms are needed to hold you tight and a heart a bit older that
can tell you why.

Are you "scairt" o' finals? You're a fraid-cat. We're not. I n the
afternoons when we come in all tired out by a hard one, and pretty
much discouraged, we find " M a " serving cozy afternoon tea, and the
girls curled up in front of the bright, cheery open fire. Then when
the last final is over, we pull down the curtains in the reception room,
and every girl in dressing gown and pigtail comes in, and may do
anything from reading Ibsen to turning somersaults.

And when the snow slips away to just the hilltops and Spring does
not fear to come back to us, we have our Sunday night lunch on the
porch, and it isn't what you're thinking. It's a long vista of shadows
that creep from the huge white pillars, and the fluffy white lace shrubs
at the edge have been sprinkled with perfume.

We're happy, that's all—but it's a lot.



I am wondering how many of you girls thought as you entered your
dormitory after the Christmas holidays "how unlike home it all is,"
and i f any of you longed for your own sweetest room at home. I am
sure that some of you did anyway, but I am not so certain that the
thought of home carried with it a thought of the things that make
your home so lovely. For instance, there is no need of "Sh-ing" in the
hall outside your room back home; no thoughtless person drops i n to
borrow your best paper or pencil—and not return it. There was little
need of a "Busy" sign to ward off gossips during the time allotted
your studying in the high school days; all the family helped to keep
the house quiet f o r you. When you were sick i n that dainty bed at
home, willing hands helped to lessen the tiresome hours of suffering
and little sister would bring up the prettiest plant or fern that it
might cheer you, and, too, someone's loving services daily ministered
to your comfort. Outside that room of yours which is possessed with
all of that individuality that your personality has lent it, there is not a
corridor lined with sentinel trunks, carpeted with linoleum, lighted
by day with windows, curtainless and staring, and by night with
swinging, white shaded globes. Rather is there a useful cheery hall
with a window seat at each end, freshly curtained windows, shaded
bracket-lamps and oh, most lovely of all—flowers; a window box
probably or perhaps some fern, yet, however small the leaf and unpre-
tentious the blossom, an abiding sesame of good cheer.

Do you believe that "to have a friend is to be one" ? Then, why

not say with me that "to have a homelike dormitory is to have a
homelike spirit within one." You will find that the easiest way is to
start in your own room; a big rocker, fresh, dainty curtains, a cheery
table cover and scarfs harmonizing with hangings and rugs, a few
good pictures well placed, and you lack but one thing—and that one
thing is the flame! Please, please, have the flame! For the flame
is but a cheery, heartfelt greeting, a spirit of fellowship and good
will. I t is the secret of a happy dormitory, the home spirit!

ELEANOR M A N N I N G , K '19.

The little worries which we meet each day,
May be as stumblingblocks across our way,
Or we may make them stepping-stones to be
Of grace, O Lord, to Thee!

—A. E. Hamilton.
Life is a rosary,
Strung with the beads
Of little deeds,
Done humbly, Lord, as unto Thee !




O I've fitted up a quiet place in the corner of my heart!
Its four walls are of friendship and for you it's set apart.
There's a hearth-fire lighted in it, glowing bright as bright can be,
Now won't you stay awhile each day, and just be glad with me?

The Editor is glad over the reception of "The Quiet Corner" by its
readers. She has felt a warm glow of congeniality and friendship
upon reading the letters and suggested poems of interested Alpha O's.

The following letters are sufficient introduction for the poems
which follow:

503 University PI.,
Syracuse, N . Y.,
November 27, 1916.

Dear Miss Chase:
Our To DRAGMAS have just arrived and I feel as though I must

write immediately and tell you how delighted I am with our new
department, "The Quiet Corner." And how well named it is, too!
I n the hurry and rush of our busy college life too seldom do we take
the time for a "quiet hour" or even a quiet minute, I ' m afraid. I am
sending a poem which I read last summer, and which especially
appealed to me. Perhaps some other Alpha O's who "have loved
life" would enjoy it too.

Fraternally yours,

H E L E N F. SCHRACK, X '17.

Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die,
I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky.
I have run and leapt with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast.
My cheek like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have prest.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

I have kissed young Love on the lips, I have heard his song to the end,
I have struck my hand like a seal in the loyal hand of a friend,
I have known the peace of Heaven, the comfort of work done well,
I have longed for death in the darkness, and risen alive out of hell.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

I give a share of my soul to the world where my course is run,
I know that another will finish the task I must leave undone;
I know that no flower, no tint, was in vain on the path I trod,
As one looks on a face through the window, through life I have looked

on God
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die,

Amelia Josephine Burr.


2 8 0 N . Center,
Orange, California,

December 4.
My dear sister in Alpha O:

I have been reading November's To DRAGMA and feel very happy
over it.

I am enclosing two poems which I like very much. They may not
be what you want for "The Quiet Corner" but they at least show my
interest. There are some poems which you like to murmur to your-
self. These are two of them.

Yours in Alpha O,



By William Ernest Henley

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.

The smoke ascends
I n a rosy golden haze. The spires
Shine and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night,
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.

So be my passing!
My task accomplished and the long day done,
My wages taken, and in my heart
Some late lark singing
Let me be gathered to the quiet West,
The sundown splendid and serene,

(The other poem sent by Miss Curtis will appear later.—The Editor)


The following poem, written by Dennis A. McCarthy, and recently
reprinted by The Literary Digest seems especially appropriate for the
Home Number of To DRAGMA.


The pride of autumn fades away on wooded vale and hill,
The days are growing greyer, and the nights are growing chill,
Then, hey for home, and happy eves, and joys that never tire!
Will face the worst that winter brings with love beside the fire!

Oh sweet as youth the springtime was, and fair were summer's bowers,
And gaily flowed the pageantry of autumn's golden hours!
With sadness from the hills we saw their sunlit days retire,
But winter brings us back again to love beside the fire!

So bolt the door against the blast and start the cheerful blaze,
And let us sit, sweetheart of mine, and talk of olden days,
Of days when first you woke in me the dream of young desire.
When yet I hardly dared to hope for love beside the fire!




I t is a small room, to grown-up eyes, at least, but to Billie, aged
five and a half, and but lately advanced from a crib beside "mother's
bed," it represents the place of dreams! A t any rate, it is quite big
enough for the small boy and his modest array of possessions. The
ceiling and drop border are done in rather a deep cream tint, to the
moulding, and below that the walls are tinted pink—personally
selected from the painter's color-card by the small owner. Around
the border, above the moulding is the room's chief glory—a "p'rade"
of animal cut-outs.

A child's room with similar decoration was illustrated not long ago
in one of the leading woman's magazines, and from their interior
decorator we secured the address of the New York house handling the
cut-outs, which are in poster colors that harmonize with any color
scheme. I would be only too glad to pass the address on to any
interested mother, sister, or aunt. The cut-outs come in sheets at
fifty cents each, postpaid, and two sheets are ample to border a small
room. The cutting out and arranging was "mother and daddy's" part
of the f u n , and though the results might not suit a naturalist—the
flamingo and the polar bear, the camel and the pelican being in close
proximity for instance,—the results seem to satisfy the little lad
whose present ambition is to be a "college football man an' then a
circus man."

For a spread for the three-quarters bed I got the heaviest and best
quality of unbleached sheeting in three-quarters width, and made a
two-inch hem all around. Then, using some of the paper animals as
a pattern, I cut others from pink Devonshire cloth (which will stand
indefinite tubbings without fading) and stitched them around the
border above the hem, and outlined them with black. The elephant
was chosen to reign in solitary state in the middle of the spread.

A dressing table constructed by "daddy" from a box, is covered
with unbleached muslin, and the little runner has a narrow stitched-
on hem of the same pink Devonshire cloth, and a pink squirrel is
appliqued to the pin cushion. Cream scrim curtains, his own
cherished pictures hung from the moulding, his toy chest and set of
shelves stained to match the woodwork, and a coyote skin rug beside
the bed (to be supplemented later by some pink and cream woven
rag rugs) complete the furnishings of "Billie's Room." He really
enjoys keeping it in order almost as much as displaying it to visitors
when opportunity offers, and his pride and delight in "my own little
room" have more than repaid us for the slight effort and expense.
Try it and see, mother!




I T IS with a deep sense of gratitude that we send this big pile of
manuscript, now so importantly reposing on the Editor's couch, to
the publisher. Gratitude for many pleasant hours engaged in revis-
ing and compiling, for the assurances of interest from so many sub-
scribers, and for the help and willing cooperation of our chapters and
of our alumns contributors. I f the reading of the Home Number
will only give to you half the pride and pleasure it has given the
Editor, she will be glad and grateful, indeed, for the suggestion which
gave birth to this—the Home Number of To DRAGMA.


AN Y addition to the splendid articles on the coming C O N V E N -
T I O N which appear in this number would be superfluous, were
it not that this especial addition has to do with the subject of a
SPECIAL T R A I N . To talk about a S P E C I A L i n February brings
nearer the realization of a dream. That is why the Editor has been
harassing railroad men all over the country.

The result of her, in this case, excusable annoyances is as follows:
The Pennsylvania Lines, Chicago to Lynchburg, via Cincinnati,
will be very glad to give us a Special Train, providing we have one
hundred persons going from Chicago to Lynchburg. This train
would leave Chicago at any time desired, giving a fast run and pro-
viding Pullman equipment of the finest type available. This is our
Anniversary Convention. Certainly from the states west of the
Mississippi, together with the delegations from Illinois and Indiana,
we shall number one hundred. I f not, the same lines will give us
special Pullmans on the regular train i f we have a minimum of
twenty-five for each car.

Now listen to the fares, and you will decide on the spot to go!
The round-trip fare, Chicago to Norfolk (of course you do not
have to go to Norfolk unless you wish) is $33.00. This is a six
months' ticket, and is salable the year round. For a very little more
a round trip ticket, Chicago to Lynchburg, return via Washington
may be bought. To give an idea of the length of the trip, it may be
well to state that the best train leaves the Union Station at 9 :30 A. M.,
arriving at Lynchburg the next day without change at 1:45 P. M . A
double lower berth is $4.75 ; upper $3.80.

The agent says that there will doubtless be even lower rates in
June, but even these, you see, are not high. Read the Convention
Bulletin for the approximate cost of a week at Lynchburg, and decide

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