Westmoorland College - Lupine Leaflet Yearbook (San Antonio, TX)

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LUPINE LEAFLET 15 On Wasting Time IJ El El Elizabeth Regent This is the first day of spring. When the sun came up this morning with such a glittering, gay glory, I thought- The world is so full of a number of things , but now I feel altogether different. I am sitting in the study hallg there is much on my mind, but I fear there is very little in it. It is a pity to be burdened with so much work when all outdoors is calling, Come out and play with me. But it is not for me to play. Within the next fifteen hours I must prepare an essay, a short history of the Irish Government, and cram for a quiz on the Types of Thinking . I can't seem to concentrate tho'. What good does the study of psy- chology do one, if one does not apply it? Psychologists say that looking off in the distance for a moment rests the eyes and, also, puts the mind in a concentrated state. On looking out the window, I see budding trees, baby shoots of grass, and a sprite little red bird, who dares me to count ten and make a wish before he decides to hop or fly away. Why was mankind not born with an education even as this saucy fellow? Now I must study. This history assignment reads: The Success of Bismarck's Ministry -due March second. What utter disrespect! I wonder what Ben Milam, Bowie, and Houston would think if they could return from their chambers in the Silent Hall of Death, and find me pursuing my labors when all the other students of Texas are to.pay respect to these heroes by putting aside all work on Independence Day? This desk and seat aren't very comfortable. I wonder if the girl who occupied this place last year was an industrious student? Yes, yes, I remember she was on the Honor Roll. I must study, too, so that when years come upon me, I will find pouring over books but an irksome task. Who was that who said something about spring and fancy? I don't seem to be able to learn much history. I know what I'll do. I'll stop studying history and write an essay. Anyone ought to be able to write a theme on a beautiful day like this. Here is the list of subjects under this inviting looking magazine. None of the titles seem to harmonize with my feelings. I do not have the in- centive to write On Wearing New Shoes , for I have on an exceedingly old pairg it would be a burlesque for me to attempt On Being Small , when one has overdrawn, it would not be pleasant even to think about The Excitement of Having a Bank Ac- count. Was that the gong? Horrors! 'and that awful quotation about 'ta spent hour pricks my conscience. I must find a subject for my essay tho'. Here- On Wasting Time -I think that applies to me. I hope I can be included in An Apology for Idlers. l am still puzzled over that saying about spring and fancy. Oh, I remember now- In the spring a young man's fancy Lightly turns to thoughts of--- fAnd a young woman's, too, for that matterlj CLWIIIZIO O Mental Lazmess EI El El Evelyn Leonard The psychologist, who said people are born mentally lazy, struck the right chord. I think I must be growing lazier every day in every way. When I went to grade school, l did apply myself a little, but now. When our teacher told us we should put two

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14 LUPINE LEAFLET Well now, I done had dat fiddle ober fifty years. Marse Frank gib it to me when he come 'courtin' 'round here and took Miss Callie off. Den, hit ain't 'xactly mineg 'caze, Marse Frank, he tole me, when he was here ten years ago, dat some day he was gwine ter come back fer 'Old Strad'. But den l reckon he ain't eber comin' back no mo' now. How much would you gib me fer it? Nic, I like you better than these other negroes around here, and I realize that you are getting old and won't be able to work any more. lf you won't let them know how much I give you, l'll pay one hundred dollars for your old fiddle. Then you'll not have to worry about clothes and food any more. The old darkey sat there stunned, amazed. He had never had a hundred dollars in his life. He could not realize that there was so much money in the world for him. Marse Hinton, you don't really mean it, you wouldn't gib me a hundred dollars for dis ole fiddle, would you? But, den, dis am the only friend what's left meg and we's been here together more'n fifty years. Marse Frank might come back some dayg den held be mad at Nic for not keeping his 'Old Strad'. Let's wait three mo' months, an' if he ain't done come by dat time, de fiddle am yours. Thus it was agreed that Uncle Nic would sell his violin to Hinton at the end of three months. Every evening since then he had taken it out on the porch, and as he sat there, he would mumble the same old story to it, over and over again. At last the evening came for Hinton to take it away, and Uncle Nic was telling his story for the last time. A little negro girl, coming home late, called out to him, Whar was you gwine de other day when you passed our house on yo' way to de mill? l ain't done seed you 'till you'se slam out o' sight. Uncle Nic was not in a mood to answer foolish, questions, he was bidding fare- well to his only friend. 'l wuz gwiue whur I wuz gwineg dat's whur l was gwine , was his rather sharp reply. Just then he caught sight of Hinton at the gate. Dar you is, Marse Hinton, come right in. Ole Nic was out here in de cool biddin' farewell to his fiddle. Hit sorter seems like losing one ob de family to let dis ole' friend go. Hit have been mah only friend for many years now, and, Marse Frank, he ainit come for it yitg I guess I might as well let you hah it. But, Marse Hinton, l wants to play just a few mo' tunes before you takes hit away. Ole Nic ain't young no mo', and hit's mighty hard to say good-bye to :Old Strad'. lf I didn't need that money most awfully bad, I wouldn't let you nor no other white man take mah old fiddle. Again the old negro began to play. His whole soul seemed to be in his music. Every emotion was expressed beautifully, the notes rose and fell with the feelings of an aching heart, as weary as the weeping willows from years of faithful service. Hin- ton sat on the steps, fingering a roll of bills. He did not see that tears were rolling down the old darkey's face, he was not conscious that he was hearing a masterpieceg that of an old darlcey's soul bidding farewell to its last companion. Both were too absorbed in his own thoughts to see the tall, stately man who stood at the gate. He had been there for some time, but he was too moved by the peculiar beauty of the magic music to speak. He stood there thinking of the beautiful, little bride he had taken from here so long ago, and of the love old Nic had for Little Sunshine. He stroked his grey beard with one hand, and hastily brushed away a tear with the other. Then he laughed softly. . Uncle Nic dropped the violin to the floor with a bang. He almost fell over Hin- ton as he stumbled clown the steps and out to the gate. There were millions of men in the world, but only one had that peculiar, musical ring in his laugh. Uncle Nic recognized it instantly. De Lord save mah soul , cried the old darkey exultantly, if hit ain't Marse Frank !

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16 LUPINE LEAFLET hours a day on each subject and that it was our duty to do so, l said to myself, Listen to me, Evelyn Leonard, if you did as she said, you might get some decent grades. You are going to map out your program so that you will be able to study two hours on each subject every day, and you are not going to let anything inter- fere with your plan either. Do you hear me? Will you do it? Nly conscience answer- ed, Barkis is willing. lt took me an hour to work out that program, but l felt I had not wasted my time. For the first few days 1 managed to carry this out-but ah! the tempetatious! The library full of thrilling stories and my fellow classmates to write notes to! At home new magazines coming in, picture shows, company! It is so easy to be a man of straw! My program stays forsaken in the front of my note book, a South Sea Bubble. Each Thursday night as we rack our brains for something to cover two pages for English, how many of us throw down our paper and pencils in despair and yield our- selves to sweet sleep? How many of us when we tackle our algebra, and the first problem being hard, give up, because we are too lazy to analyze and reason it out? How many of us in history class sit and dream day dreams when we should be writ- ing the day's lesson? When I go to practice, l love to sit and play my old pieces and think of my ambitions. Will I ever succeed in that way? lt uses a little of my brain energy to take a few passages of a new piece and practice it over and over again. lt is so easy to do the other way! ' Why not be mentally lazy? What does it profit one to cram and cram for glory that is forgotten by the world? iillib Puritanically Speaking - Myrle Long Behold the Puritan! He reads no Sunday papers, His Sabbath ne'er began With Katzenjammer capers. CNO special credit in the deed, There were no papers then to read.J He never walked the links, To play at golf on Sunday, A goodly man methinks, To put it off till Monday. CYet second thought and, by the way, There was no golf for him to play.J He never in his pleasure car, The Sabbath desecratedg Nor viewed a movie star, ln clothes abbreviated. fBut cars and movies, don't forget, Had not been invented yet.J And so the Puritan Was never so sorely harrassed, As is the modern man, Nor half as embarrassed. fTemptation never smote this cuss. On Sunday as it smites us.5