Illustration Commons^™

There Is Beauty There, Howard Michaelsen

Manuscripts

I turn my head to broad and level plains

And watch the wind force worship of the grain;

Here is a thrill that I cannot explain,

Beyond compare,

For there is beauty there!

Train Nocturne, Allyn Wood

Manuscripts

Upon the wing of Cygnus in migration

Eternal through the systems of the night-

First-Born Of Sorrow, George W. Coffin

Manuscripts

Wanderer, wanderer,

Weary and tired,

Who spoke to Bach

and Massenet

In Komm Susser Tod

and Elegie-

Speak to me now;

Speak to me now.

Eulogy, Richard J.O. Greene

Manuscripts

In cadence matched to mark each falling tear,

Tolls off each step of us, his mourning legions

Oh! that muffled hooves of beasts alone

Should spend my tears, is slighting to my grief;

Fifty Cents An Hour, Carl Henn

Manuscripts

"We'll try to be back by 11:00 o'clock. There's ham in the refrigerator and cookies in the cabinet. Be a good girl, Minnie; take good care of Debbie. Good-bye."

Inside, Edna Hinton

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

In Espalier, George Coffin

Manuscripts

It's three years now since the hyacinths were set along the gravel walk, and columbine mats in tangled masses in the corner plot this spring. soot-smudged web films veil the hanging rows of bulbs, wrinkled and dried to nothingness in the shed. The tools, their rich patina dust-dulled, die too - die slowly in rich red rust. The formal order's gone now, or going at least, before the writhing, creeping motion of unleashed growing things. The growing things return, as they will, to the abandon of chaotic beauty unrestrained.

The Dilemma Of Faith, Robert Bowles

Manuscripts

When the deadly, billowing, mushroom- shaped cloud signifying the explosion of the atomic bomb surged skyward over Bikini Atoll, it marked the opening of another chapter in the history of man's attempts to control the universe. Small, weak, and insignificant though he appeared when contrasted to the unlimited expanse of the cosmos, that branch of the animal world known as man had now tightened and extended his control over the universe. Is it any wonder that his chest swelled with pride as he contemplated his latest achievement of power? Is he to blame for suddenly wondering if he could not …

Old Man, Mary Alice Kessler

Manuscripts

Marvin walked slowly. His feet felt like two pancakes. He could no longer feel them except they were so hot. Just like a couple of pancakes. Flabby old hot pancakes. Marvin stopped under a big oak all hung with Spanish moss. It was cool here .. as cool as it ever was in Louisiana .. like when he went down into the swamps in the afternoon. Sticky cool like damp rags around his body. Marvin squinted with concentration. There was a broken down shack up the hill a way. Looked like there was a gal on the porch. Marvin laughed …

Dr. Mausdeth, Mary Alice Kessler

Manuscripts

Dr. Mausdeth was a good doctor. Everybody in Partridge knows that he was a good doctor. Why, he brought more babies into the world here in Partridge than you could count - and remember during that storm last spring when he was up for four days and nights without any sleep, taking care of the poor white trash beyond the railroad yards who got washed out? Mrs. Casper had a baby the first night of the storm. Her husband had been dead for only a week. Remember how he took care of everybody so well and all? And how he …

Poems, Frances King

Manuscripts

Frances King's poems won first prize in the poetry ,division.

Front Matter

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Volume 14, Issue 3: Full Issue

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

The Last Word, The Editor

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Profile Of A Nation, Donald H. Emrick

Manuscripts

Behind every face lies a story. Behind the profile of Abraham Lincoln dwelled the soulstirring drama of a fledging nation-its tribulations, its triumphs. Every stroke of the artist in painting the President depicted character, hope, life.

Price Of Courage, Barbara Shellhouse

Manuscripts

This is a narrative of the years snatched from a man's life, a young man, a writer. Ramon Larue was his name.

Friendship, Russell J. Zentz

Manuscripts

I am standing in front of the Toddle House one evening when who should drive up in a bright yellow sedan but Georgie Roberts, with whom I am very chummy of late. Georgie is by no means an exemplary character, but it so happens that his old man in recent years develops to a new high the art of separating well-to-do citizens from their potatoes and as a result does not worry much these days concerning the necessities of life. Since Georgie is an only child, Roberts the elder is more than liberal with such material things as automobiles and …

Army Talk, George C. Taylor

Manuscripts

The two soldiers stood under the arch with their legs spread wide after the fashion of men filled with confidence and a sense of well being. The larger of the two men took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair...

"Never The Twain Shall Meet", Robert Bowles

Manuscripts

It has been over a year since I last saw Lu, yet today whenever I pick up a paper and read of trouble in India, Palestine, or China _ especially China - I see again before me that homely yellow face with its broad, friendly grin, and the deep network of tiny, delicate wrinkles crinkling about the calm, slanted, brown eyes which saw so much and told so little. I can see the mild laughter, and maybe a trace of pity, slipping forth from Lu's usually inscrutable eyes, and I can hear again the soft, even tones of his voice …

The Hand, Robert T. Wukasch

Manuscripts

The hand rested on the shelf momentarily, then disappeared. The light was not too good and I could but distinguish it to be a male hand, not a large one, medium, with long fingers.

I won't tell you who I am, nor how I came to be lying on my belly here: I was peeking at someone, spying on him.