University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD 31 Truly will I obey the master ' .s command and fire at the tiny white patch ; but Ming has had first to place the patch where it will do him the most g ood. Suddenly he sat erect, brought the gun to his shoulder and fired point- blank. But the shot flew wide, for the instant he had fired Ming ' s sharp mountaineer ' s eye had detected upon the side of each advancing chair a spotless white disk. He sobbed in disappointment. Prince Hung Wo had ruled his people for many years and conse- quently retained a well paid secret service for a reason. E. 0. McCormick, ' 26. Vermis Non Homo I saw an ugly clinging worm Upon a leafless tree at rest, In time — the glories of the morn — A butterfly with quiv ' ring crest, A glorious, glittering butterfly, Was waiting for her wings to dry. But soon she sailed on silken wing Into the fragrance of the morn. She flitted o ' er the lifeless boughs And fairy-like she trod each thorn, A flash of color here and there. And then I gazed on empty air. Of old ' twas said of Christ the Lord, When on the tree in withered form. Vermis non Homo, worm not man. He called for death to end the storm Of anguish. His soul, the butterfly, Rose up exultingly on high. — Frank A. O ' Toole.

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30 THE REDWOOD No more ; a toucli of the whip will aid you to be more careful in the future. Away with him. But he motioned for the guards to tarry a moment before dragging the frightened prisoner from his sight. When they have succeeded, wretch, in sharpening your wits with a touch of the hide see that you keep them so, for it is an old trick to sharpen a dull weapon with a smooth strap. Ming had received his final orders, but he had also received a good beating and the beating was uppermost in his mind. Not while his shirt was caked with blood and clinging to his raw and quivering back would he concern himself with Prince, master or coolie. He had silently listened to the words of scorn poured upon his unprotected head by Lu Fang, and these had cut more deeply into his northern pride than had the blows into his tender flesh. His long line of ancestors had been outraged, his kind parents reviled as the lowest of the low. Ming pondered for awhile, then slowly and painfully rose to a standing position. Through the open window he could see the wide expanse of glorious wind-swept mountains, the mountains that he knew and loved so well. Ah, if he only were free to return to his home. But he knew that as long as the master continued to keep a watchful eye upon him, for he was a good and useful servant, he would never leave Canton. So with a deep sigh he turned his back upon the tiny grilled casing and the life of fancy, to the true, plotting world which moved about him. But all the time a thought was forming in his slow Chinese mind for he had overheard a conversation between Lu Fang and his brother: Tomorrow is the day the Prince Hung Wo rides inland accompanied by his chiefs and warriors, and I being his chief advisor will trail just behind him. Twelve sedan chairs will be used to convey us to the Prince ' s country place, and as the Prince has always feared assassins, these chairs will be entirely closed in and covered with heavy black cloth. Only I shall know where the Prince will ride, and I follow close upon his heels. But what has Ming to do with all this? he remembered having heard the master ' s brother interrupt. Lu Fang had answered: Ming will obey my commands, which are to hide upon the outskirts of the city in the direct line of the pilgrimage and put a bullet through the tiny white disk I have placed upon the Prince ' s sedan, visible to none save the skilled vision. Ming, dog though he is, has a mountaineer ' s eye and is consequently a sure shot. But that had all happened yesterday. Now Ming had been given the gun and was sent to his hiding place right after the noon meal of rice and baked fish. It was an excellent gun and Ming felt that he knew how to use it. Crouching low behind a sheltering rock he watched the oncoming procession with bated breath. Now and again he half raised his rifle as if measuring the distance between himself and the moving company. As usual he was soliloquizing while he prepared for action:

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32 THE REDWOOD The Poet of Olympia Mine shall be The song that wakens up from age to age The memory of that prowess which achieves The honor of the leafy crown. 8th Olympic Ode. The Seventh modern International Olympiad was held at Antwerp in nineteen hundred and twenty. The result of that great struggle was a complete conquest for the United States. A brilliant page was added to our athletic liistory. We glory in it not so much because we were vic- torious over all the nations competing but because the principles of ath- letic competition which must be forever associated with the Greeks, the founders of these classics, were fully vindicated. The games symbolized more than the striving for physical supremacy — they symbolized the unselfish ideals of amateur sport. We stand on the eve of another Olympiad. Will the United States emerge from the contest at Paris with another victory? This is the ciues- tion paramount in the mind of every sport lover. Our prospects this year seem as bright as they ever have been. The United States, mainly be- cause of the wonderful spirit of amateurism upheld by our colleges, more than any other nation resembles the Greeks who were true amateurs. It seems but fitting that America, where the athletic ideals of the Greeks find their fullest expression, should win the Eighth Olympiad. A marvelous institution, these Olympic Games, in their origin Pan- hellenic, in their growth international. In elder days the Greek athlete trained and endured t o win — what? Only an olive wreath; but the glory that went with it was the crowning achievement of the hero ' s life. That spirit which the Greek idealized, the spirit of competition for sheer love of the sport and the skill acquired in it, marked the true Grecian ath- lete. If honor came, be it only an olive twig or the plaudits of his proud countrymen, it came as a reward of honest superiority: The calm divine that overspreads The mind from sweet successes in the strife. It is because this old Grecian spirit of athletic prowess prevails that every four years the nations gather on the field of sport and clash in competition as keenly as did the ancient Hellenes. Every great historic and heroic institution has its poet laureate. The approach of the Eighth Olympiad which will take place this year in Paris recalls the original Olympic Games and their first Panegyrist, who sings of Fame won in the course upon Olympic soil, Where whosoe ' er is swift of foot, and those Who in the very flower of their age Can put their strength to sternest proof contend.