Lincoln High School - Cardinal Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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-11-LY . . BEAUTY AND YTUAEB lEdit0r's Note-As the -'word . ugliness is unpleas- ant, we have taken beauty and tts. reverse as the title for this artifle, the first of a series to he 'written by .Hes belies amies, it makes me so happy to think that at last I can reveal to you the secrets of my beauty preparations, which can be found in every drug Store and on every dressing table of your so- wonderful America. Before beginning, let me make sure that you understand the derivation of the word cosmetics, one of the most frequently used terms in the expla- nations of my marvelous CEditor's Note: and lucrativel methods of rejuvenation. The singular of the word cosmetics is cosmos . After many years of exhausting research, I was finally able to discover that Cosmos was a Glreek word, which by those oral changes which are so frequent, was distorted from its original form cause . That is why, when a woman is asked the reason for her use of these complexion aids, she answers causc . Truly, the use of cosmetics is the cause of many things. One of the basic rules of beauty is that its seekers should always carry my rose-petal powder, creamy scarlet rouge, etc., with her, so that the moment she finds that the freshness of her appearance is vanish- ing, she may apply them. This is often a tres bon ex- cuse for not listening to the long but simple annals of a boor QI am not very well acquainted with your English poets, but I do know some of the best selec- tionsj for you can appear preoccupied with even spreading of votre poudre. When going down Main Street and finding it necessary to pluck two hairs from your left eyebrow, and then re-blacken it, be sure to say I use Madam Cerise's toilet prepara- tions in a pleasantly conversational tone at the con- clusion of your operations. Often men object to the use of cosmetics. This, mes belles femmes, is all bluster, or as you Americans Madam Cerise, the famous French exponent of facial emhellishmentsj say with evident reference to the color which the man turns when called Canother quaint bit of phraseology, which, I believe, originated at the tea tablej, all huff. Your lovable Lovelace expresses this false masculine viewpoint in these lovely lines I could love thee, dear, so much, if thou loved lipstick less. As for the question of superfluous avoirdupois that is the bane of many womens' lives. There's no question about your President Coolidge's belief in his words Yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous. Let me have men about me that are fat, for he immedi- ately appointed a Cabinet composed largely of stout men. There is a moral hidden deep in this incid- ent, mes belles filles. It is: don't think too much. As your clear-visioned president has said, it is dangerous. I am not allowed to print the names of toilet preparations in this column, but I believe that I can, without breaking a plank in the editorial policy, recommend a very reputable line to you. It is manufactured by a famous French beauty specialist, and goes under the name of Madam ,.,,,,.,.,,,..,. 'S Beauty Aids. I shall permit you to fill in the blank as you wish, for as the Irishman said, You know me name, Al. In closing this, the first of my messages to the American public, I would say that Mark Antony hated Cleopatra because she did not use enough of my lip-rouge, Henry VIII had Anne decapitated because she did not put my perfume behind her earsg Queen Elizabeth ordered Mary Stuart executed be- cause she stole some of the royal cold cream which carried my label, and you-may profit by their ex- amples. Page 27

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-u my dream, and wept for anger at their immobility. I cursed their black souls, and swore to avenge the wrong they did me. For twenty-three years I lived thus. I lacked one hundred marks. I gloated in the knowledge of Dexfiny at my finger-ends, and borrowed the gold from a dealer in usury lest someone cheat me of my supreme goal as I thrust out my hand to receive it. The director laughed at me when I demanded the portrait. He laughed at me,-my shoes were worn. Trembling with passion I thrust the money in his hands and gave him a wrinkled letter Creply to an inquiry I had addressed seventeen years before to the trustees of the institution-whether the canvas was for sale and the price?J He smiled now, at the money for which I had bled twenty-three years, but he sold Destiny to me. Nursing the tears of eagerness I ran to my sorry rooms in the West Quarter and wept, unconfined. The portrait was mine, mine! It was the happiest moment of my life. The grey of Diana was lovely, alluring, fascinating, the blended colors were in- describably beautifull 'll could feel the numbing influence of the colors creep upon my consciousness, binding slowly and carefully my senses in a mesh of tangled twines- and infuriating mel Destiny laughed at me and called me fool. Were I-I to yield myself to this bit of rag and smirch of color? Were I to permit this profanity of reason to persuade me, and to beat me into insensibility? It taunts me with hypocrisy! I seized the portrait and hurled it into the open fire and heaped a pyre of raw wood about it while I shook with vicious rage and spattered the oil about the grate. The fire leaped up in straining anxiety with the fire within me as I crouched in the blue glare and watched my dream shrivel into the nothingness from which it sprang. To a Dead Sparrow SIEGFRIED ROSEN How small you lie upon the sidewalk there, You, with your sudden bankrupt wealth of song, While your fellows fling their trifle lyrics through the airg But you shall not be cold nor lonely long. Come, comeg I'll build you a nest, Deep in the sweet warm earthg And you shall lie on your broken breast, And pause till your other birth. I'll make you a place with my slight bare hands Under this cherry tree, And its life shall take you to foreign lands As the seasons come and flee. And you shall sing. And you shall sing Brave lyrics from your pretty mouth, When sparrows make the April meadows ring With songs they purchased in the South. To One Lost CARLOTTA Mrrcri ELL I wonder if forever I must dream Of valleys where the blue smoke idly drifts, Must all my dreams be mingled with a theme Of mountain-kisses, splendid fleeting gifts? And must each flower nod and point the way, That I shall follow in my tired questg Must I in dreams relive the sun-filled day She left that quiet valley of the west? O, city windows with flowers on the sill, ' I know she comes at morn to one of you. O, tell me do her brown eyes ever fill, As she looks westward when the sky is blue? Page 26

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's LEDGHR CONTIEST WINNERS Front Row: Kenneth Collins, Juanita Tunstall, Vivian Charters. Back Row: Carlotta Mitchell, ClareneeBo,lkenback. Roderick jizmsva Wkimir O, we were sailin' the briny deep Six and forty strongg Below in the alley, a bloomin, slave VVas singin' a pirate song. Our ship was lungin' from side to side, Full speed we dared not checkg And the waves, they seemed to lash the more When Roderick came on deck! O Roderick, the captain of Our mighty pirate crew, He sailed on all the seven seasg He plundered and he slew. i'Roderickl Roderfckl The bilgea they did quake- t'Twas only his mother a callin' him home From canoeing on Oswego Lake.D ljflgl' Autumn SIIZGFRIED Rosex The leaves are released From the somber trees, To scatter about And lie at ease. Over the dead grass They fitfully walk, Exciting themselves YVith querulous talk. The sun has burnt Everything brown, There tumbles a leaf Like a tragic clown. Suddenly a man Comes over the grass, Grinding tense leaves Like shrunken glass. I '.r' 'f J, I Cleopatra 1 FAYE Howe . . I V Lltopatrzfs beauty, peacock-wise, Still borrows buried dreams of men, and still It flaunts its flaming memories and flies Through the great tomb of time-across the sill. The wind that cries among the stars repeats A whisper 'fCleopatra faintly then, Or stronger, as it mourns through webbing streets Of cobblestones and clay that once were men. Dreams follow back the transient star trail blade by the centuries which since have passed And find, unbeautiful but flower-frail, Dead embers that have yet a warmth to cast, For Cleopatrais beauty, flamed to ash, Still lives, yet other Antonys to lash. 28