DUCHESS Farewell to revelry, farewell the dance, Have they not Love and Happiness their servants, They are not only for the young. But here The snares and dangers of this wicked world, But you, poor innocent, were an easy prey. WITHERS Thou too, Lætitia, art thou dead? (Dies of remorse. Chord) PLUM She is. WITHERS Then there is no more virtue in the world! Come and be mourners at my funeral, This is the gate and portal of my ending, Which seek their harvest in a waste of words; As you may see in some great orchestra Sits by the cymbals, and the instruments (Stabs self) (Stabs self) (Stabs self and surveys scene) Well, this will puzzle them at Scotland Yard. (Dies. Chord) [CURTAIN] THE REVOLT OF A MIDDLE-AGED FATHER BY I. M. RUBINOW I HAVE a daughter in the sophomore class of X College. It is a small freshwater college, but with an excellent reputation; admission is fraught with many difficulties and confers some distinction. My choice was due partly to its location near the city in which I live, but partly also to its lack of ostentation. We might have chosen the large university in my city, one of the largest in the country. But my son was a student there, and from him I learned of the disadvantages of large colleges the lack of personal contact with the professors; the impersonal, machinelike processes of degree-making; the absence of true college life. To some extent I had contact with the student body at that large university. The group was not impressive. It certainly was quite different from the small group of students I studied with at Columbia in the early nineties. So my daughter was going to have the best I could afford; perhaps ill afford, for I am a man of modest means salaried man, in fact, having two other children already in college. Her going meant considerable sacrifice of comforts, of opportunities for saving, and even of the savings previously made. a As my daughter's college is less than an hour from the city, really in the suburbs, I could visit her off and on, going down direct from the office in time for the evening meal or for an occasional Saturday afternoon. Thus VOL. 189- NO. 5 I I have obtained an intimate glimpse of present-day college life. My first impression was decidedly favorable. There were the alluring old buildings, scattered over the large campus, a welcome relief from the congestion of a gestion of a large metropolis. There were the groups of young girls and boys (it is a coeducational institution). There was loud talking, laughing, joking; and some innocent spooning, to be sure; yet, as far as I could see and learn, there was very little of that extravagance of conduct which some observers seem to find about a campus. They were happy boys and girls. But, somehow, I never could feel the atmosphere of an educational institution. A few visits were needed before I could answer the question which seemed to trouble me: 'What does this remind me of?' It came in a flash. A summer hotel in the mountains or at the seashore. The exuberant youth, the loud, sporty clothes,—perhaps not always expensive; I am a poor judge of that, the cars before the entrance, the meandering couples, the total absence of care, even the tone of the conversation, all smacked of vacation rather than vocation. I confess that, when the comparison occurred to me, it worried me. And the more I observed the so-called college life, the more worried I became. I have no fear that modern youth or the coming generation will go to moral perdition. Each age and generation 593 |