Bridgewater State University - Alpha Yearbook (Bridgewater, MA)

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26 NORMAL OFFERING steadily, and inonotonously, the old clock on the mantlepiec-e' chimes out the stroke of each hour, until it gains the eleventh,-and then stops. A mystic and thrilling treble voice utters the words, Yes, my son, I hear youg I see' you. Hold me, for I am coming to meet Him face to face. PIG Pk Pk Pk Pk 34 Pk Pk 214 214 Pk wk Morning has lifted her portals and the world is bathed in a flood of rose and purple light. The great sun in his fiery chariot has just begun his daily journey across the heavens. The deep blue ocean is calm, and the magnificent pine trees by the little house at the top of the hill are gently swaying in the slight breeze. Birds flutter to and fro, chirping and singing joyously. I The gaily-colored flowers in the garden, refreshed by the storm of last night, are nodding their heads coquettishly, and throwing laughing kisses at the sun, their wise and ancient monarch, seated in his lofty carriage of state. The little house is still and the room is still, save for the con- stantincreasing rhythm of the old clock on the mantlepiece. The lamp is on the table-extinguished. The rocking chair by the window holds the form of a woman with snow-white hair. The head is bent and the eyes are closed, but a glorious smile is revealed on her lips. One lifeless hand clutches a cross, only a fragment of metal' but the sacred symbol of liberty, honor, glory, peace,-and of God. Fannie Tinkham A wee little dog put on boxing gloves And said, Will anyone spar with me? A Maltese cat from a safe place said, To spar with you I'll agree. Come down on thegroundf' said the dog. Said the cat, You come up in the tree! Edward Parker QGrade V1.5

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NORMAL OFFERING 25 The old timepiece still performs its duty faithfully, but it cannot be heard in the violent outburst of misery and horror. Again the walls of the room repeat the exclamations and pleadings. My boy, my own, my all! What is life? Mere empty, vacant nothing! War, brutal War, savage War !-Take me, kill me, and lay a cross on my breast. War, you are my god! You took my boy 3-take me ! The cries change to a semblance of insanity, and again the weary head droops, and all is still le-Xcept the faithful old clock on the mantlepiece. Instantaneously, the soft mellow rays of the lamp are trans- formed into a star of flashing brilliance, and the center of the room is veiled in a faint, grey cloud of mist. A deep, quiet voice from within the veil utters the words, HMother, be still. The veil soon vanishes and in the center of the carpeted floor stands a youth,-a man,-a soldier. His eyes beam and sparkle with heavenly joy and love, and his erect, stalwart figure, clothed in a uni- form of khaki, seems to tingle with life and vigor, -hypnotizing and magnetic. His features are radiant with happiness and good will, and his black, glossy hair shines in a halo of brilliance. He silently crosses the room and places his strong and sturdy hand upon the bent and silvery head. Mother, my Mother, I am here. I have come to you. Can't you hear me? Look at me, Mother ! The almost muffled tone expresses sympathy and suspense, akin to pain. Mother, be not afraid. I am with God, my God, your God, God of all mankind, the Creator of all. I have given my earthly life to Him, for my country's sake, for the sake of humanity, for the sake of the future generation, for your sake g and yet you grieve and moan, and bury yourself in misery, sorrow, and dismal melancholy. Mother, dear, lift your eyes heavenward and be thankful, pour forth from your soul and 'lips words of praise and devotion. Rejoice! be proud of your son. f Although my bones lie with others in the realm of the dead, I am living, I am at peace with my Maker. Listen to me, Mother dear. The bent form in the rocking chair lifts itself and staggers. The silvery head shines in glorious splendor, the dark eyes glitter with an unknown, almost supernatural light, the wan cheeks flush a deep rose, and the lips are transformed with an unearthly smile. The feeble hands reach out and cling to something,-and slowly,

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NORMAL OFFERING 27 Cflhe Man mlm Jllnheratunh QA12 Imaginary Incidentj . ..... 66 9' T'S a very nice boat, I said, thoughtfully to Nate Wetherby, il captain and owner of the Mary Chilton, a very nice boat, indeed! Captain Wetherby placed his feet apart, and swayedhis thick- set body easily with the lift and drop of the long, rolling swell coming in off Cape Cod Bay. His clear blue eyfes glinted from his brown, clean-shaven face. 'A niceboatj he mimicried. 'She's not a boat! Sheis a ship, -a great ship, a grand ship! All land-lubbers are the same! I 'A very nice boat,' indeed! What do you know of the feel of a ship, the pull and swing, the life What do you know of the tall white sails in the moonlight? 'A very nice boat !' He spoke gruffly, but toler- antly. Yes, land-lubbers are all the same! All except one, he amended, after a momentis thought. I met one once who knew ships and could feel them. He pulled his black pipe from his pocket, lit it, settled comfortably on a coil of rope, and puffed a moment in silence. Then he removed the pipe, and, cuddling it lovingly in his hand, continued: It was down in the South Seas years ago, when the Mary Chilton was trading there+copra, hemp, and coralf'-he caught my inquir- ing look. Oh, the Mary wasn't always a New England coaster! Time was, lad, before the steel ships came in fships with no soulsb when the old girl was known to every port in the world. 'Here comes the Mary Chilton,' the word was then, 'sailing fair and clear! Ah, boy, those were good days. Another long silence.. But I was telling you of this fellow. We were touching at Samoa, when he came aboard,-a tall chap, and most fearful thin. i Robert Louis Stevenson his name was. I remember that when he climbed the rail I was going to throw him overboard. I was sick of having dudes turning up their noses at