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Page 62 text:
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EOPLE are constantly remarking that they observe this or that
feature of the human face more than the other. More generally
it is the eyes that command attentiong sometimes the mouth.
Occasionally someone will be found who declares that he notices
hands hrst and chiefly.
For myself , I think the eyebrow is a fascinating feature, which by
having its direction turned a hair's breadth, or its distance from the eyes
altered by a fraction of an inch, can change the expression of the whole
countenance. The ear has a humor of its own and can delight or amuse
by its angle and size. But of all the neglected and unsung features, the nose
has the fewest lovers. It occupies the central position, it covers the largest
territory, it shows the most amazing varietyg yet it shares the fate of all
obvious and unchanging things-it is ignored or passed over with a reference
to its size and its general direction.
I have never read a poem written to a nose. In Browning's poem
called "A Face," he speaks of a girl's lips, her neck, hands, and chin, but the
nose, a necessity in any prohle, is not even mentioned.
There are various reasons why more is not said about noses. In the
hrst place, they are always the same, and in the second place, beautiful
noses are so rare. There are many lovely eyes, and finely cut mouths, but
the discovery of a really beautiful nose is an event of a lifetime. Some noses
are too long, some, not long enough.
. Hazlitt in his well-known description of Coleridge says: "I-Iis nose
was small, feeble, nothing."
Eloise Bowling, '35.
The moon is shining bright on high,
The stars, like rliamoiizls, gleaming,
The milky way jlows 'cross the sky,
The siimmev' night lies alreamiizg.
A las, the trees are now all bare,
The milky way 110 more doth flow,
Bu! the stars still shine cmd the 11io01i's slill lhere,
And S1l77I77l67',S asleep beneath the snow.
52 Pauline Wygal, '35.
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CAN REMEMBER one incident in particular that better explains
the reason I like to read than I could ever tell you myself.
It was a very windy, cold day in March, one of those days
when it seems that everything goes wrong, when your coHee isn't hot, the
fire just won't seem to burn. It was just such a dreary, disagreeable day
as this, and it seemed as if I were in for a first rate it of "blues"
It was too cold to go out of doors, the wind was literally chasing and
howling wildly around the corners of buildings. All the family had gone
away for a week, leaving me alone in the cavernous house with only the dog
for a companion. Not being used to this it was not easy for me to Hnd a
suitable way of amusing myself. '
I-for a short While I contented myself by looking from the kitchen win-
dow into the garden, watching the wind toss the leaves and flowers about,
but hnally this grew monotonous. Then I shifted my lookout to the front
room windows and stood for some time watching a man whose coat was
blowing open as he chased his hat which was being tossed about by the
wind. If a few more events like this had happened, they might have served
to keep me amused for a while, at least, but as it was so disagreeably cold
out of doors, the streets were almost deserted with the exception of an
occasional automobile or two.
I Hnally turned to the armchair by the hreside where a bright fire burn-
ed and prepared to curl up comfortably to take a nap, when my eyes fell
upon a book lying on the library table nearby, the title of which was"Little
I decided, by sudden inspiration, to read, not having done so in quite a
while. Before I realized it I was, in my imagination, a victim of Laurie's
pranks, a pal to the boisterous joe, watching prim Beth with amusement,
and trying to solve Meg's difflculties-forgetting my lonesorneness entirely.
The characters in the story were so optimistic and pleasant that the mood
seemed to become infectious and the out-of-door world seemed to take on a
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