THE REGENERATE MIND From deep in oblivion, the clear trill of a Lark speeds incessantly Through the cool night air and flashes Upward toward the region of the bulking barriers to new day. As the last notes of the piercing chord strike, The ponderous obstruction splits imperceptibly; Yet the first faint flush of light expands outward Only to be compelled to mingle with a rushing Wave of iridescence as again and again the bird's Shrill trumpeting dashes relentlessly against the barricade of timeless gloom. But a mightier ram takes form as note presses upon note; And as each is recalled from the ever-expanding edges of unknown worlds, strength surges And the beauty and brilliance of the heavens swell in pregnant magnitude; The Universe labors and pants as it grows from soft-blown purples and subtle pinks to warm-hued mandarins and splendrous yellows. Suddenly, as if grown aware of the terrible force he has compelled into a single mighty mass, And now impatient to view the nucleus of the latent charge, Marshalled and pulsating before him as in a gigantic womb, stretched to its bounds, The Winged Divine, hesitant in awe of his mighty power, Darts upward from his throne of dewed grass, in a blaze of new sound, Hurls feathered song and spirit at the taut encumbrance to hope and promise! And, at the accord of his final burst of harmony, Pierces the golden glow of morning and forces the issue of a new day! G. R. GROVE. 28 CAMPUS COUNTERPARTS CAMPUS COUNTERPARTS CAMPUS COUNTERPARTS By MARSHALL D. ISAACSON "Never judge a book by its cover," goes the old cliche, and, as cliches go, it doesn't say much. However, it does raise an interesting bit of speculation; can we make the same generalization about people? Is it possible that unbeknown to us those with whom we daily come in contact could have done things or been places about which we have only dared dream? That man standing next to you in the elevator, maybe he was once a professional hunter. The woman across the lunch counter from you might be a roving photographer for Life or Look or Playboy on second thought, better make that a man across the counter. Possibly the English instructor lecturing before your class was once a South Sea pearl diver. Not very likely, you say? Probably not, but I just happen to be that instructor and I once was that pearl diver too. Admittedly, correcting themes and diving for pearls are strange bedfellows, but then not all of us on campus have spent our lives surrounded by musty volumes. How I came to be hunting pearl shell in the Torres Straits of Australia is a long and, for now, unimportant story. Suffice to say, that with the spirit of Conrad stirring within me and fancying myself a Lord Jim, I was lured to those azure-blue waters which lie between the lonely northeastern tip of Australia and the bottom of primitive New Guinea. I was drawn to the islands of these tropical seas by visions of romance and adventure and wealth. Instead, only the brutal reality of blood, sweat, and crafty French pearl buyers awaited me. As for the "romance of the islands," let me assure you that there's nothing romantic about waking at 3 a. m. to find cockroaches nibbling away at the callouses of your feet tasty as these podiatetic tidbits might be; nor is there anything very romantic about the weeping tropical ulcers which cover your wrists and ankles and obstinately refuse to be dried up, even by sulfa powders; nor is there anything particularly romantic about the putrid stench of seaweed which has lain rotting on some beach for a week under a hot tropical sun. No, if you want South Sea romance, better to get it from the sterile print of Conrad or Maugham than from the sweating, suffering flesh. As for the adventure well, you could call it an adventure, getting up at dawn every morning to raise the anchor; spending all day diving in ten or fifteen fathoms of chilly, shark-infested water; dropping the hook again at dusk and crawling into a pitching, heaving bunk only after all shell has been cleaned and stowed, decks sloshed down, and diving gear coiled and secured all of this taking until eight or nine o'clock at night. It might also seem adventurous to suddenly find yourself in the middle of a Carpenteria wilie-wilie a seventy mile an hour wind which blows up within fifteen minutes from a flat calm and usually lasts for about three days. You might even call it high adventure to feel your luggar's keel grinding its agonizing way into a field of razor-sharp staghorn coral. However, this isn't particularly my idea of adventure at least not the kind from which you can keep walking away. As for the wealth, it was there all right; however, the trick was not how to find it but how to keep it. If the sharks or the bends or the quicksand (oh yes there is! and on the bottom of the ocean too) didn't part you from your newly- won treasures, then the pearl buyers and shell traders on Thursday Island would separate your treasure from you. And if perchance you should somehow manage to slip through these greasy, greedy fingers, there was always the Commonwealth Tax Collector who could be depended upon to strip the flesh from your weary, waterlogged bones. No, the illusion of wealth in these islands was usually just that an illusion. But enough reminiscing; what! really want to discuss is something far removed from the Torres Straits of Australia in body, that is, not in spirit. I'm referring to the fact that here, on Weber's campus, on dry land, almost a thousand miles from the sea, I'm meeting a few students who are seeming counterparts to the denizens of the deep that were my constant, and sometimes, dangerous companions. It might be well to mention that most forms of marine life in the tropics are relatively harmless to a diver. He knows their characteristic traits and knows just what to expect of them. Likewise, on campus, most students are amiable and can coexist in a harmonious state with their instructors, neither threatening nor being threatened by them. However, as in the tropics there are those few forms of marine life which cause a diver some problems, so it is true of a few students on college campuses who make their presence painfully known to the in-