You Can't Take
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IT seems as though the Indians
Met our Grandpa's at the dock
The day they landed on that bleak
But very famous rock
And we suspect, although of course,
We never have been told
That Indian friends kept them from want
And hunger and from cold
And showed them where they might plant
corn
As well as where to build
In order that when winter came
They might be warm and filled.
This brings us to Thanksgiving day
And to this little story
About an Indian boy and White
Who ought to have some glory.
E(CCiS IF
"Green Margini" by E. P. O'Donnell (Houghton
Mifflin).
LIKE many novels that hava won price contesta
E. P. O'Donnell'a "Green Margine," which
took the Houghton Mifflin Fellowship Prize, ia
over-written. Mr. O'Donnell treats hia reader to
(Teat reams of poetry, no that one haa, after
reading hia book, the same sensation that results
from over-indulgence in French pastry and choc
olate bare.
Of course, Mr. O'Donnell la entitled to some of
Illustration from book jacket
his poetic binges, for the country of which he
writes la a Strang lusty one, one fairly new to
the literary world. He couldn't be too re
strained In writing of an unreatrained, lush
country.
The scene la that part of the country where
the Mlasissippl meeta the sea, It ia a land of
fiddler crabs, aluggiah waters, swollen watere,
hurricanes, roaring alligators, orange groves,
Irieh laborers, levee workers, soldiers, Slavon
ians, Frenchmen, Negroes. Mr. O'Donnell haa not
been afraid to splash exotic colours on a
mighty canvas, but I am afraid the canvaa waa
too mighty for him. The character are blurred
. and unreal, in moat eases, like figures In a
dream. They are people aeen in the dark. The
outlinea are aeen but the features indistinct
The central character In the story ia Sister
Kalavlch. hard and lovely, whose atory, for all
Mr, O'Donnell'a efforts might well have remained
unwritten. Moving in as grand acene, ahe,
with all her problems, aeema amall and unneces
sary, trivial. Sister, living with her father
Tony, a tubercular drunkard, and her brother
Mocco, a laiy futile person, meeta Bruce and
becomes pregnant by him. Her father casta her
out and ahe geea to live at Gram paw's camp.
Grampaw ia the moat annoying character in the
A6t TWO
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Thanksgiving
By R. Remlow Harris
THEIR fathers, so it seems, were scalped
Or sick or out of luck
' And so the boys went out to hunt
With true and manly pluck
They would not let their households starve--Not
them we mean, not they
Besides all that, tomorrow
Was to be Thanks Giving Day.
So little Narry Gann Sett took ,
His papa's trusty bow "
And Daniel had his father's gun.
What Turkey had a show?
TUil IE MOMENT
book. A delta Polonlus, full of philosophy and
advice calculated to make those about him die
contented with their lot. Grampaw believes in
individualism. Living with Grampaw, ahe meets
Loretta from New Orleana, a city woman who
makes Sister, for a time, yearn for town life.
Sister's baby fa bom, Grampaw diea of a heart
attack, and the story continues with Sister's
triala and tribulations. She meeta Rene, an
artist, is his friend for a long time, Tony diea,
Moeco goea to New Orleana, Mitch Holt, with
of "Green Margins."
whom Slater haa been in love all her life, geta
out of Jail, and they marry, having many chil
dren. THE most clearly drawn character in the book
ia Mocco, Ha ia the nearest approach to
underatandability and reality. A poor, discon
tented person, is Mocco, elwaya going to go to
New Orleana and cane hia niche in the world.
After making atatementa to the effect that he ia
leaving Grass Margina year after year, he ia
finally put on a barge drunk and carried to
New Orleana. He geta a Job there, marries, and
la fired for dishonesty. Returning to Grass Mar
gina, he ainka back to hia usual lasy life, beaten
because he only had wiahea, and no strength
with which to carry them out.
Rene, the artist, ia too obvious from the start.
He ia a dreamer, an artistic soul who prefers
equator to comfort, for the aaka of art. He
falls in love with Sister, starts painting pictures
instead of abstractions, falls out of love, and
finds contentment with a mulatto until hia mur
der hy a Jealoua Negro rival,
Mitch Holt, who marries Sister, haa been a
smuggler. He spends several years In the peni
tentiary, cornea out determined to lead hia peo
ple, and as far as I can gather, changea hia
mind.
So Why
Turkey
THERE it was. The big bird fell
As Daniel's weapon blazed
But Narry Gann Sett saw that it
Was only slightly dazed.
So from his father's trusty bow
He sped a deadly arrow
Which killed the gobbler much more dead
Than any frozen sparrow.
So proudly homeward both our hunters
With their turkey marched
Their heads were high, as though
They had been ry stiffly starched.
But being manly little boys
They did not brag nor boast
Although of course, their deed did give
More flavor to their roast.
By Jane Archer
Laid in so fabuloua a acene, perhapa It is a
mistake to portray clear cut character. Some
of Mr. O'Donnell'a prose ia beautiful, but hia
book ia cluttered with passages of this sort:
"Sister waa unwell. She waa happy and sad.
She felt like fleeing down the road with loosened
hair, or finding a place to lie on the earth to
weep, or plunging her handa among the stars."
And
"Sister waa highly excited now, eager to
plunge into the living of a new life. She waa
tired of the aea. Her growth, aomehow, had
stopped. She wanted to feel dry land under
her. She waa hungry for the earth. She longed
to plunge her handa Into the soft rich land."
AND Rene: "'A tree ia a creature of con
trary rhythms like a man, vertical flow of
aap and the planetary movement of fruit around
the swollen boughs. That observation would
have made a stir among my old gang. ... Is
she thinking of me tonight t She shall think of
me! My will must never waver! That night in
the lighthouse she waa very near to submitting.
Next time he' head rests on my shoulder it will
remain . . . Lovely mouth, the trumpet of her
soul! Ripe lips, drooping like fruit, heavy with
songa unsung! In this place she ia wlsr than
I, saddened by the secrets of the soil . . This In
escapable network of stars! Blurred stars, blur
red hedges, blurred footfalls. I am a footstep
in the mist! My thoughts grope softly as quick
roots fumble for the sweet secretions of the
night , , . Saddened by the secrets of the soil!
I must tell her that! No It ia too full of
hiase "
Too much ia too much, and 499 pagea cram
med with this sort of thing ia what I call too
much. It'a too bad too, for Mr. O'Donnell haa
a definite feeling for lovely words and lovely
sounds. He haa created an atmosphere that ia
truly exciting.
After completing hia manuscript Mr. O'Donnell
should have laid it aside for several yeara to
let it get cold. He might then have aeen that
he could cut about half of it out and have had
a better book. He drugged himself with hia
own poetry.
Mr. O'Donnell won the Fellowship Award. H
presumably la a man of soma education. He
knows words and he knowa the English langu
age. Ha strung 499 pages of words together
and got them published. Ha even won prise
contest on them.
How then ha he th temerity to do this?
"She bosomed her letter."
"She ovened them with a last lingering
touch."
Despite that fact Mr. O'Donnell haa written
a fairish book. A book that ia too extravagant
A greedy book, it ia true, but a book that la. In
a few spots, well written. We can over-look
many of th author faalta.
n I l
D
m nea
Ml
We Can't Stand
Do We Think We
Nobody Can Find
DONT BE AN EGO-MANIAC!
Don't get the idea that some one is crazy
over you when perhaps they have been feeling
aorry for you and trying to be nice about it!
DONT GET THE IDEA, EITHER, THAT
YOUR PROBLEMS AND DIFFICULTIES ARE
GREATER THAN ANYONE ELSE'S FOR
THEY PROBABLY ARE NOT HALF SO BAD
AS YOUR NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR'S.
It'a odd how we use a magnifying glass when
we look at ourselves and our problems and half
shut our natural eyea when we look at other.
Enlarging our own virtues and minimizing our
friende' la a good old pastime.
There Is a modern expression which says "You
Just can't take it," and ita popularity Is due to
the fact .that so many of us can't take It! We
can't atand criticism, we won't be big enough to
admit that there ia a flaw in our make-up.
Why, In heaven'a name, do we think we are so
(rH th-t no one has any right to find fault
with us?
If you really want to find a friend (and a
friend is ten times more valuable than some one
In love with you there are few real friends)
just take someone who has criticized you with
intelligence, alt down and see if they are right
about you, admit the fault and set to work cor
recting it. Get on to yourself! ABRAHAM
LINCOLN SAID: "I DON'T THINK MUCH OF
A MAN WHO IS NOT WISER TODAY THAN
HE WAS YESTERDAY."
If there isn't any room for improvement how
eould life be worth living? A part of the Joy
of facing each fresh morning is the conscious
ness of power to achieve. Who said, writing
of a prospector, "It isn't gold that I'm wanting
so much as Just hunting the gold."
All of life is pursuit of something and It
wouldn't be worth curing if it wasn't! So when
you feel important take down a list of things
you do wrong and atart correcting them. It'a
grand for what ails you and is guaranteed to
keep you sweet and unassuming and modest in
short, real person!
WITH THE EXCEPTION OF BREATHING
ANT EATING. PRAYER IS PROBABLY
THE MOST UNIVERSAL ACTIVITY KNOWN
TO MAN!
. There are peaceful natives who dwell In ob
aeure mountain passes of practically unexplored
region of the earth who do not care greatly for
fighting, but they pray. There are warlik
tribes that dwell in other regions that also pray.
The Mohammedans bow their heads reverent
ly at sunset in sublime aubmission to Allah; the
Orientals make obeisance to strange golden idola
and the Christian nations kneel in holy worship
to their God. Different in clothes, different in
customs, different in moral standards and edu
cation, yet they all have the divine urge to plead
for guidance. No stronger argument eould be
found to uphold the fact that there is a God, a
creator who lends ear to the supplications of
mortals.
PRAYER IS FAITH; and faith la a sixth
sense given to man aa surely aa he haa been
given the other five. It wields a greater influ
ence than any other one thing in the world, and
yet it ia within reach of the lowest individual.
Newspaper reader of 20 years ago will re
member the fire which threatened to wipe At
lanta, Georgia, from the map. The fire ran
with uncontrolled fore from housetop to house
top; block after block waa ravished. The shack
of an old Negro mammy waa directly in the
path of the conflagration. Firemen breathless
ly urged her to move from her home but the
old white headed woman hadn't gone to her
hallelujah meetings in vain. Her faith in "God
Almighty" waa not shaken by the fury of th
Seasca pes
AT SEA: broken from the orbit of my daily
dozen, I'm north-bound on the good ahip
"Cricket." Wing-weary land-birds shelter them
aelvea from sea-gulls. Their refuge Is beneath
life-boats. If they live until we reach Columbia
River well and good. They look tired and cold.
Food and water may aave them. If some of us
should fly into space, and auddenly find our
selves on Mara, I imagine our bewilderment
might not be unlike that of these poor wind
driven birds. Gone ia their song of the forest
Gone are their native haunts perhaps aa the
smoke-filled fog tells a gruesome story. Forest
fires along the coast of Oregon are bringing
damage to treea that grew before the white man
came. A naaty fog haa closed in upon us. Its
sticky fingers penetrate to the bone. With
monotonous regularity the ship's vibrant siren
wama every Mother's Son of our presence. A
steady throb indicatea that all ia well below. The
ahip'a engines, turn with th same dependable
regularity as the pendulum of Grandfather's
clock.
I shudder at the thought of what a forest 'fir
may do. The sight of grotesque figures of men,
drawn by heat, th muscle of their backa and
necks pull their heads up, while they lay upon
their bellies; seared lips leave grinning teeth.
Empty eye-sockets; neither ears nor nose re
mained. Drawn fingers, burned short.
A HY should these thinga be? To change
YV th subject I shall tell you of this ahip'a
officer. Each one, representative of those who
built th West I might hav said, thoae who
used up th West beyond which there is no
more. After that, it'a East again!
Th arly whit settler, cam by ship and
wagon. Later, by train. Today we flyl
. Far away Latvia gave this Coast Captain
John Wehman, Master of the "Cricket" then
nineteen years. He first landed at San Fran
cisco in November, 1887. Today, hia birth-place
may well b proud of th lad who wandered far
to make a home. He helped build th West!
Norway gave us Tonnes Berensen. He ia th
healthy looking Chief Mate, who left a Danish
ded?
Criticism! Why
Are So Big That
Fault With Us?
flames until Mammy's shack was completely
surrounded. There was no way to save her.
.11 I it J I
ueorgians ten us mat wnen me names aiea
down the old darkey was sitting safe and sound
singing spirituals thanking God. Ita worth
thinking about her aupreme faith!
THE ancient Spartan mothers who sent their
sons forth to battle with the admonition to
BRING HOME THEIR SHIELDS AS VICTORS
OR BE BROUGHT HOME ON THEM in other
words FIGHT FOR VICTORY UNTIL DEATH
were not so unmerciful as they may seem to
many moderns.
It was the old rule of the survival of the fit.
teat, which is a pretty good rule, by and large.
THE YOUTH WHO GROWS UP UNDER
SUCH TUTORING WILL NEVER FLINCH
BEFORE THE DEMANDS OF CARVING A
CAREER. The reporter who is sent out to get
"facts" if he la a good reporter, will either go
until he geta them or is certain that they do not
exist in a form which can be published. The
trapper in the northern wooda knowa that HE
MUST EITHER GET HIS ANIMALS OR FACE
STARVATION.
It ia the failures, the driftwood of humanity
and the unsuccessful mass who utter the dia
tribe against this rule of the ancient shield. No
really successful man or woman has ever ac
cepted a half way compromise with life. Com
promises were not made for them. To them if it
is worth doing at all it ia worth doing well.
The one who fights to the bitter end, if a fail
ure, at leaat learns a lesson which will make the
next fight worth while. Mistakes are the step
ping stones to progress. EVERY MISTAKE
WE MAKE IS A SOLID ROCK BENEATH
OUR FEET WHICH LIFTS US HIGHER UP
THE LADDER. If we make enough of them
we are likely to reach the top. The wrong
things we do serve as guiding posts.
NOT EVEN MISTAKES SHOULD DIS
COURAGE US NOR KEEP US FROM FIGHT
ING TO THE END.
MAYBE Stelnach waa wrong. Who knowa?
This would be Gertrude Atherton to the
contrary.
Rejuvenation ia something more than glands,
and even if it were not most doctors (including
the great Stelnach, we are told) declare that
the effect of reactivation operationa ia tempo
rary. It ia aaid that the Stelnach operation is
somewhat more lasting than other "because it
stimulates the creation of hormones within the
body itself. However, its effect rarely lasts
more than a few yeara at the most."
It would occur to me, after roaming over a
goodly portion of the world and talking to a
good many medical men, philosophers, and
morons, that to atay young requires something
more than Just the physical mechanism. If you
, can't change the mind of a man or a woman
by changing the glands, pray tell me what good
it will do to change the glands, since the mind
will, after a few yeara, produce th same face
aa It produced before.
Plastic surgeons, alao devoted to restoring
youth, claim that their operationa are likewise
only temporary. Doesn't it sound reasonable
that the individual with a nasty disposition is
going to succeed in ruining th most perfect
face a surgeon can build up by repeated pulling
of th muscles in order to growl at th world?
Jealousy, fits of temper, unhappy and discon
tented thoughts distill and discharge poisons in
the system tearing down th work of nature and
surgeons.
So in the final analysis wa say Maybe
Steinach la wrong after all I
Jean Rendlen
"The Cricket"
By Capfain C E. Barry
Whaler to Join the Big Parade westward. Ex
cept when he tried what all sailors dream about
a chicken ranch American ahipa have known
him since 1900. This ship haa felt th heavy
tread of hia feet for eight years.
"When Sweden got too many "Sons" a law was
passed to compel all Government employees to
change their names. That's why a Pilot in South
Sweden named Jepson changed hia nam to
Malmgren. Hia aon, William F. H. Malmgren,
firat arrived at San Francisco in 1901, and la
Second Mate here. Comea now the Third Mate,
Leonard Olsen, who was born at SUvanger, Nor
way, 1898. Still a young man, but, he haa apent
much time under the American flag. Few men
can boast of a western heritage comparable to
our Chief Engineer Thomaa Herman Dittman.
Hia father, Carl Dittman left Stettin, Germany,
and made hia way to America, On board a
Yankee Trader, young Dittman arrived at
Monterey, California, 1842. He married Mar
garet Whitfield, who waa bora at Half-Moon
Bay. California. Thla union brought forth ight
children. Four atill survive. Carl Dittman, left
Germany in a British ship. Ha took th nama of
Charlea Brown. Thla name, ha used while with
Fremont s Army, mining, and catching the wilv
aea-otter with Captain Nidiver. Both of thene
gentlemen made Santa Barbara, California, their
horn.
Upper New York etatOoet Albrt and Ger
trude Wright in 1905. That's when they took
their aon Paul, and moved "Out West" The
parent live in Hillsdale, Oregon. Paul, la Firat
Assistant Engineer on th "Cricket" There's a
stump Ranch in Washington that belongs to
Charlea George Colea, our second Assistant
Engineer. In the day of sun-bonnets, and light
ning-rods, he left th Sunflower state of Kan
aaa with hia parenta, to settle at Roach Har
?2 2,,u,n I,1,nd' WMWiigton, That waa in
1890. Charlie, looks forward to the time, wher
ne can sit on these stumps and ponder.
Truly these men belong to th West In the
year to come, when generations yet unborn scan
the pagea of history that depict the West, I hope
their names will not have been forgotten. May
th Lord see fit to eliminate fogs by then I
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