Calhoun School - Ink Pot Yearbook (New York, NY)

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ink pot In This sfrange land found only in one's dreams, Led by a clue ThaT never yeT beTray'd, l soughT Through woodland bowers and dells and sTreams For The greaT monarch of each hill and glade: And afTer leagues of chequer'd lighT and shade l found in dim alcove b man unTrod: A GianT Thronecl: face hidden, head down-weigh'd, Wrapp'd in sTar-spangled robes: Behold The god, The sleepy ruler of dream-world, King Nod. SIMONETTE LANS, '39. cosmetics through the ages DO you noT remember The firsT Time you sfood in fronT of your bureau and gazed info The mirror, dreamily Thinking how lovely you would look wiTh iusf a biT of powder? Mofher had gone shopping: Dad was in The office: and, wiTh no one aT home, you decided To Take advanfage of The siTuaTion. Dipping moTher's special puff info her powder iar, you Then generously smeared your enfire face. Whaf a Thrill! The firsf Tasfe of make-up! Now you are ThirTeen. Powder is no longer a forbidden fruiT. The nexT desire is To use lipsfick. You save a dime, venTure inTo The five-and-Ten-cenT sTore and, wiTh Thaf liTTIe Thrill of mischief, selecT a kiss-proof model. Again you are aT The mirror. arTisTi- cally coloring The face. WhaT fun! How grand and grown-up! The nexT sTep is To beg moTher's permission To use iT-even if iT is only on Sundays. Mofher says Yes : The boys in The class seem To approve: and you are Truly grown-up. Four years have passed and cheek-pinching has given way To rouge. How shocked mother was, buT afTer This vicTory, mascara and eyebrow pencils are a cinch. AT lasT, aT TwenTy-one, how silly iT now seems, ThaT TirsT powder-smearing parTy. Years pass. Life begins aT forTy is The popular Theme, and The Toll of make-up is sounded. To look Truly charming. -mascara and eyebrow pencils are ouT of The quesTion. Mrs. Simpson does noT use rouge. so ThaT is ouT, Too. STill you cling To The lipsTick, buf, according To The popular adverTisemenTs, Lips naTural are lovelier. ThaT means go easier on lipsfick. So The powder Triumphs afTer all! MINNETTE GALPEER, '39. death as a guest W HO is The ineviTable guest? Comes he now or, perhaps. in laTer years. His hosT is waifing. The guesT is arriving laTe. He is in anguish, his body now rigid wiTh pain, now convulsed wiTh chills. Has The guesl' forgoTTen This appoinTmenT? Or is he merely making anoTher call? One musT noT forgef ThaT he is a much sought afTer person. Suddenly The bell rings. A horrible piercing scream, changing To a wavering urgle, breaks The maddening quiet. Then a deeper, more lasfing silence prevails. From Tar off The muffled sound of sobbing is heard, breaking The awesome sfillness. He is here. The long-awaifed guesT has arrived. He does noT sTay. He has no Time To gloaT over his handiwork. Da and nighT, his endless presence is felT. He makes no disTincTions: rich, poor, young andlold, all feel his dreaded sting. Those who escape his visiTs need noT rejoice: he will be back again, This Time inexorable. CHARLOTTE DAVIS, '38. Thin-Ty-seven

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i n k Thirfy-six the land of nod The dozing warder by The half-shuT gaTe ResTs his dull head and dreams of dinner-Time: All round ThaT porTal, where muTe phanToms waiT, Bloom The ay Tlowers oT OrienTal climeg And from Tgar-off There comes The sleepy chime OT silver bells Trom a blue mounTain heighT: The only sound besides, The measured rhyme OT a near TounTain dripping drops ol: lighf- PleasanT dream region oT The SybariTe. And oTTen in The sleepy aTTernoon Rolls down halT-lazily among The Tlowers The velveT peach, King Summer's princely boon. Ripen'd by yesTerday's lasT sunny showers. IT shakes The bee Trom The hollyhock Towers: BuT soon, like babe ThaT TreTs iTselT To resT, Sleep doTh revisiT iT in iTs sweeT bowers, Rock'd inTo sleep on iTs moTher's breasT, UnTil The sun Turns crimson in The wesT. An endless June glows in The cloudless blue- Cloudless excepT one loiTering snowy hill Of driTTing vapour, cruising eTher Through And promising a sunseT ThaT is s+iII So slow To come, Though yeT we know iT will: In Dreamland all The clouds do as They please: SOTT whisp'ring secreTs, murm'ring rill meeTs rill, Red poppy leaves blow by on every breeze, And low dream voices sTir among The Trees. And all around This quieT peaceTul place, Where never TrumpeT blew nor shone a sword, Lie miles of unmown meadows, o'er which race, Glancing o'er cowslip cups and emerald sward. Lighf sunbeams Trorn rich Summer's olden hoard: Through waves of TluTTering flowers grey careless While soTT againsT The Tace of Dreamland's lord DriTTs The gray down oT ThisTles casT away, l-larvesT oT The daydreamers as some say. Beyond These pasTures Tar To easT and wesT. STreTch greaT green ToresTs never Traversed: And There no sound disTurb The wild deer's resT BuT The slipp'd acorn paTTering on his bed, Or The crisp beechnuT crackling aT his Tread. No hunTer's horn scares This bird's paradise. Nor beaT oT echoing hooT: no shaTT is sped By sTaring woodmang nor in any guise Do Towlers hide here wiTh Their lures and lies. play

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ink pot going formal in bermuda GOING fo a formal parfy in Bermuda presenfs guife a problem. as fhere are four ways by which one may reach one's desfinafion. Ouf of fhese mefhods only one has proved enfirely safisfacfory. Firsf, we shall begin wifh fhe mefhod used by prehisforic man, walking, provided fhaf your desfinafion is nof 'foo far away. You deparf from your house looking fresh as a daisy, in a preffy new frock and dainfy evening slippers, wifh your escorf on one arm and your chaperone on fhe ofher. Affer walking abouf five minufes up a sfeep coral road, you begin fo find fhe heels of your slippers slowly bending under fhe soles of your shoes. You 'rrudge on wearily, dodging in and ouf among bicycles and carriages fhaf always seem 'ro be geffing in your way. You finally reach your desfinafion, fhor- oughly fired and dirf , wifh your fresh frock covered wifh coral dusf. The second mefhod of fransporfafion is by boaf. You sfarf ouf enfirely af peace wifh fhe world. Your escorf has his new mofor boaf, wifh iusf enough room for fwo in fhe fronf seaf and a nice Iiffle rumble seaf in fhe back for your chaperone, buf much fo your regref, your chaperone iumps in alongside of your escorf, and fhere you are, alone in fhe back seaf, geffing your hair blown abouf and fhe spray drenching you. You arrive wifh cold, sfraighf hair, and a wef dress. The fhird mefhod of conveyance is by bicycle. Your male companion enjoys fhis mefhod immensel , as all he has fo do is fo fake a pair of frouser clamps and be off: buf no such luck for our Iiffle heroine! The long dress has fo be carefully gafhered up, so 'rhal' if can'f 'frail behind or gef caughf in fhe wheel. Ah, buf sure enough, info 'rhe wheel if goes and ouf if comes, affer much persuasion, 'rorn and covered wifh grease. You arrive hof and dusfy, wifh a forn and messy dress. The Iasf mefhod of fravel is fif for a princess and fhe mosf preferable, provided your escorf has received his allowance and is able fo give you fhis luxury, a coach drawn by fwo beaufiful whife horses. You are freafed like Cinderella in her fairy coach. You reach The parfy as spick and span as when you sfarfed ouf, wifh nary a hair ouf of place. Remember girls! While in Bermuda be sure of your escorf's favorife mode of fravel. ELAINE 6. GRAHAM, '38, the ocean THE mosf femperamenfal fhing fhaf I know of is fhe ocean. On a clear, sunny day. The ocean is a mass of rippling silver, as fhe sun reflecfs on 'rhe wafer. One can see fhe horizon, where fhe vasf ocean ends and fhe cloudless sky begins. The waves genfly roll and soffly break, 'ro lap againsf fhe sandy shore. All is franquil as 'rhe sea gulls darf here and fhere in search of prey. On a dismal, dreary day The ocean and 'rhe sky are as one. There is no separafion befween land and sea, as a draping misf envelops fhem bofh. The howling wind whips fhe ocean fo acfion, and fhe rushing, roaring waves gallo and spring downward wifh immense violence and force. The deep, angry ocean snarli and growls wifh malice, as she devours fhe refreafing shore. The frighfful, cruel, un ielding waves creafe pure whife foam which churns and sucks back fo fhe hearf of fhe fempesf. No one knows fhe goal of fhe sfern and hideous ocean, which seems defermined fo sweep everyfhing from ifs pafh. SHIRLEY LU BELL, '39, fhirfy-eighf