North Wind By lizette stuart I FINALLY came to the top of the hill and looked down on the far reach' ing sea. The little town below clustered between the sea and the foot of the mountain on which I stood. A large flat rock hung over the side of the mountain. I crawled on it, holding tenaciously to the little ridges until I was firmly seated. I lay down on the rock and pressed a hot cheek against it. Near where I laid my cheek there was a crevice, and in the crevice there was a little purple flower. The stem snapped in my fingers as I plucked it. Its smell filled me with subtle delight. Below in the hamlet a curl of smoke started toward me, but it soon faded out. On the beach two girls raced their horses through the sand, and in the bay a boat dropped its sail and bumped against the pier. The warm sun stole through my blouse and tickled my back; the pleas-ing warmth laded my eyelids. Was I at last going to sleep? Had I at last tired my body enough that it cried out for sleep? Slowly I closed my eyes. Sleep? No, there was that face, his face as the sailboat sank the look of horror on his face fear for me, fear for himself. I opened my eyes; I wanted that feeling of drowsy disinterest in the world again. I wanted to forget that face. The sea was no longer a thing of calm beauty; it was a huge vampire, taking breath from men as a vampire sucks men's life-blood. The shore was no longer a playground for romping horsewomen, but the desolate bleakness which caught his bruised body as the sea vomited it up. The smoke from the chimneys cast a veil over the houses below, making them look not like vacation houses, but like a dirty factory town. The violet lay crushed in my hand; all its fragrance was lost. The cool stone on which I lay was now cold as death, and it chilled my body until I stood up in the sun's rays, but the beating heat only made me diszy. The uninvited tears in my eyes made retreat impossible, and I dropped to earth and began sobbing as I realised there is no retreat deep enough or hill high enough to hide the sight of the sea or the feeling of death. Page Twelve South Wind By edward west AS I lay on the grassy knoll watching the moon sail through the patches of filmy cirrus clouds, I imagined myself sailing too, sailing through the heavens. Reality left me to a dream, and I was in a world of fantasy. Queer, fat-bellied chaps, partly clothed, scampered from one to another of the trunky and club-like bushes. They were half afraid of my appearance, yet boldly curious; for they came nearly within my reach, and my slightest moves set them galloping wildly to another hiding place. Soon ugly little heads appeared from behind the bushes, and another cautious attempt at inspec-tion was made. Then my thoughts wandered over great hot deserts, above strange vil-lages, and soared over vast mountain ranges so high that the plains below looked as mist. Suddenly I felt myself falling falling with a speed that burned. Down, down I fell. The air currents tugged upward and seared my flesh. Below there came into view strange gaping creatures. They, monstrous in size, were weaving from side to side to keep in line with my fall. I was nearly at the end ... I was about to plunge into one of their huge slimy gulets when my whole body quaked. With a violent lurch I flung myself upright and screamed in a wild unhuman way. Summer breezes that impartially kissed my cheeks caressed the silhou-ettes of the neighboring trees, and played with the long blades of grass at my feet. Glutted upon mental hell-horrors in the midst of physical heaven. What strange tricks sleep plays on the mind! The earth held me to her bosom and offered me security and peace. I was reassured by the tangibleness of life, thankful for the warm pleasantness of things. I was glad of the company of my friends the crickets and frogs that sang their "summer sonatas." The pulse of their song was interrupted occasionally by the off-beats of a few who lacked an accurate sense of time, but through it all there ran a basic throbbing rhythm. The river sounded in my ears like far-off thunder. I turned on my side and closed my eyes. Sunsets, stars, soft winds, subtle fragrances . . . then sleep, and the great adventures of the mind. Page Thirteen