|
|
| Vol. II |
May, 1939 |
Number 5 |
|
ACADIANS AGAIN
The Review continues to receive letters
indicative of the interest stirred by Wilton P. Ledet's article on the
Acadians in the March issue. Some of the responses would be serviceable
to the author who sets out to write a history of the eighteenth century
migration from Nova Scotia.
"Your researchers deserve great credit in unearthing
many interesting things of the Acadians in Louisiana," commented Robert
M. Clutch, Philadelphia advertising executive. "There were 300 or 400
[Acadians] shipped here during the expulsion time and their plight was
very pathetic. Many of them died of hunger. Some Quaker took pity on
them and rented them some ramshackle shanties. . . Some were sold on the
block the same as slaves. The whole thing was a terrible arraignment of
man's inhumanity to man."
ATTENTION: WILDLIFE DIVISION
A rare opportunity for useful public educational
service appears to be afforded the Branch of Research and Information if
it is prepared to move quickly. The "Swapper's Columns" of
Yankee, the New England magazine, contains an item: "My stuffed
pileated woodpecker has mites but no moths. I want mounted moths or
butterflies. Can't we get together?"
|
|
MORNINGTIDE
Ever desirous of marching in the forefront of the
parade of events, The Review dispatched its alertest agents this
month to conduct a door-to-door canvass on the joys and sorrows of the 8
o'clock réveille of summer. As expected, there were
"yeas," "nays," and "undecided."
Those voting in the affirmative described the
rollicking matutinal pleasures which regale him who, bounding
calesthenically from bed at 6 ante meridian, welcomes an early
opportunity to transfix with his shining lance the workaday foes
besetting his office path. Those registering a contrary verdict cited
the doubtful value of the emancipated hour from 3:45 to 4:45 p.m. in
which, they stoutly insisted, life's most trivial inconsequentialities
occur. Unmeasured, however, was the cautious ballot of the undecided who
revealed, in some cases, that they habitually stayed up all night to
assure a timely arrival at the morning deadline. The latter two groups
hinted that 8 a.m. appeared just as early among the flowers of May as
during the showers of April.
Fearful lest it release an undigested report on the
colder statistical aspects of its arduous survey, The Review, to
stop the gap, summoned the full complement of its Branch of Poesy and
ordered verses appropriate to Aurora's glorification. The result, Poem
No. 10-dash-14B, does not appear, somehow, to be altogether mete and
proper from the psycho-administrative standpoint; yet, lacking more
uplifting strophes, we reproduce, with fitting Goldbergian
salutations:
DAWN SONG
Punctual, precise Percy Neverlait,
Always at his desk at the stroke of eight,
Did labor mightily the whole day through
Doing what others took an hour to do.
While belated, sheepish Von Schloh McBlip
Began each day by signing a leave slip;
At quitting time so gripping were his chores,
He worked firmly on as others slammed their doors.
Now time has fled and Life has played her prank---
The hare runs behind, the tortoise front rank:
Punctual Percy is sub-Inspector,
Schloh signs mail as Regional Director.
---H. R. A.
|
