Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

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A GLIMPSE OF R. L. S. IN SARANAC HIS house looks like every other little white cottage in Saranac, and yet a glamour seems to surround it, as if Robert Louis Stevenson were still sitting at his desk, dreaming of the land across the seas. It is!! on a small hill and follows the conventional architecture of all the Saranac bungalows which are built for comfort, not for style. In spite of this, the tall, majestic Adirondacks in the background and abundantly leafed trees around the house make the scence a very attractive one. The Stevenson memorial on the door says that Master of Ballantrae , A Christmas Ser- mon , Pulvis et Umbra , The Lantern Bearers and other essays were written here, you therefore enter the cottage with pictures of graves dug by candlelight and tin bullis eye lanterns jumbled in your mind. The inside is the essence of simplicity in furnishing, but a veritable treasurehouse in curios. Here are pictures of R. L. S. alone, with his wife, and with his friends, there are letters which, alone, reveal his true strength of character, a glove, a pin, a pen, all are objects of fascination to the followers of Long John Silver and David Balfour. And joy of joys, in an unobtrusive glass case is the far-famed velvet jacket, the bane of his friends and the ridicule of others. It is not hard to picture R. L. S. with his flowing hair, deep dreamy eyes and long face in this atmosphere. The desk at which Stevenson wrote stands in the ante-room. It is a very plain piece of furniture, yet what secrets it could divulge if it chose! There are some of Stevenson,s own works in the book-case. How tempting it is to sit down here and relive the adventures of John Hawkins or wonder again at the sublime courage of Aes Triplex. You take a hasty glance at the littered bedroom which is not always open for public eyes, at the fire-place, one of the few comforts of Stevenson's exile, you sign the visitors' book with a feeling of reverence-here have stood August St. Gaudens, Will Low and other immortals, you go out, free from an atmosphere that transported you to other times, you drive through the streets of Saranac lined with similar houses. But this Hunter's Home of R. L. S. is one of the last things you see as you leave this little hamlet. Lorraine White, C5 HOKKU PREPARATION A man is nurtured By woman,s sweetest life-milk To learn to eat grit. Sarah Lederman, A8 Page Thirteen

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BACK STAGE-FOURTEENTH STREET ITH the feelings of a little girl beholding the dawn of a glorious adventure, I started out for the Civic Repertory Theatre and an appointment with its director. I said to myself, Oh, you will see Her at last! Peter Pan with his tumbled hair and heart-rending smile .... Hilda Wangel with her free, strong adoration for the master-builder. .Hedda Cabler, that pale, cold woman who bade her lover kill himself beautifully, and who killed herself at last because she could not live beauty .... You are going to see Masha, the dearest and saddest of the Three Sisters .... Oh, you are going to see Eva Le Gallienne! What will she be? These words sang in my mind as a trembling hand pushed open the tall iron door that shuts the life of the stage away from prying eyes. I found it hard to ask in a steady voice where Miss Le Gallienne's dressing room was, but the man who guarded the door was sympathetically aware of my feelings, and with a kindly smile he guided me through a narrow hall filled with boxes and barrels, cardboard posters and mirrors. We stopped before a green door with Miss LeCallienne tacked unobtrusively upon it .... I would have to wait twenty minutes, the man said- Oh, I'll wait! I murmured, looking at the door and trembling. And while I waited, I learned a great deal of the private life of an actor. Since it was a matinee of Peter Pan, I saw pirates clumping out, poor weak pirates whose feet swam in boots twice the right size, and whose ferocious scars both melted from the heat of flannel shirts and dripped miserably down hot cheeks. I saw one of them stop to knock at a door, from which came forth Wendy, sweet Wendy in her frilly nightgown, with a long Russian cigarette in her hand. I saw Mrs. Darling invite a gentleman to dinner on Sunday afternoon as they should not have any more tiresome rehearsals , and Mr. Darling begged the cabmen to be sure to put his kennel very securely up against the wall, so he could crawl out without moving it. I saw too the lost boys come trooping out of their dressing-rooms in respectable suits and Eton collars, meet their governesses, and go sedately home where they probably forgot Peter Pan entirely. And I even heard the gay Peter Pan himself sigh and ask for his pipes in such a weary tone that I was shocked. Waiting, I ran the gamut of all emotions, from the first amazed unbelief to at last open amusement at their everyday lives. Suddenly I knew by the crowd of people Hocking in that the perfor- mance was over, and with cheeks that would burn and hands that would tremble and a heart that would not stop pounding, I went in to greet sun- tanned Peter, who squeezed my hand and grinned cordially at me. Then she was Peter Pan? Down I sat beside a big dressing-table, a couch, and closet full of hats, coats, costumes, and watched her change from Peter Pan to Miss Eva La Gallienne. Under my very eyes she took off the tan and some of her exuberance with it, confessing that sometimes she was Page Fourteen