Emerson College - Emersonian Yearbook (Boston, MA)

 - Class of 1915

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Emerson College - Emersonian Yearbook (Boston, MA) online yearbook collection, 1915 Edition, Cover

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Text from Pages 1 - 156 of the 1915 volume:

The Emersonian VOLUME VIII PUBLISHED BY THE STUDENTS’ ASSOCIATION EMERSON COLLEGE OF ORATORY BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS ABEOT MEMORIAL LIBRARY EMERSON .COLLEGE 3)n appreciation of fjcr unfailing binbneSS anb generositp, combineb toitfj fjer been Spmpatbp anb beep unberstanbing, bo toe bebicate tfns boob, as a tribute of gratitube, to one tofjoSe stubcnts are fjcr frienbs. €fote Burnett OTtUiarb EDITORS )t Cmersomatt Poarb Editor -in-Chief Lois Perkins Associate Editor-in-Chief Marion Vincent Art Editor Gladysmae Waterhouse Business Managers Albert R. Loyejoy Fred W. Hubbard YEAR BOOK BOARD Contents PAGE Advertisements 148 Classes 58-89 Clubs 90-93 Dedication 7 Dramatics 132-137 Emerson College Glee Club ... 96, 97 Emerson College Magazine Board . . 138 Finis 147 Literature 98-120 Nineteen Hundred and Fifteen . . . 26-57 Officers of the College and Faculty 8-25 Societies 121-131 Students’ Council 139, 140 Y. W. C. A 94, 95 Bits of Humor 141-146 0m rofes ors; Witya fja tie been an inspiration anb a guibe, tobo babe been our (opal frienbs anb bnSe abbisers, anb babe birecteb us to tbe roab of personal bebelopment, at tbe enb of tobicb stanbs tbe blsion of true art, createb for us bp our Cmerson Jfacultp. HENRY LAWRENCE SOUTHWICK PRESIDENT HARRY SEYMOUR ROSS DEAN EBEN CHARLTON BLACK POETICS; ENGLISH AND AMERICAN LITERATURE WILLIAM G. WARD ENGLISH LITERATURE; PSYCHOLOGY, LOGIC, DEBATE WALTER BRADLEY TRIPP DRAMATIC INTERPRETATION; HISTORY OF DRAMA; IMPERSONATION; ANALYSIS CHARLES WINSLOW KIDDER VOCAL physiology; hygiene of the voice; acoustics SILAS A. ALDEN, M. D. APPLIED ANATOMY; HYGIENE; PHYSICAL TRAINING WILLIAM HOWLAND KENNEY TECHNIQUE OF THE VOICE JESSIE ELDRIDGE SOUTHWICK voice culture; ethics; Shakespeare LILIA ESTELLE SMITH HISTORY OF EDUCATION; PEDAGOGY; SCHOOL MANAGEMENT FOSS LAMPRELL WHITNEY PERSONAL CRITICISM. ' EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION MAUD GATCHELL HICKS DRAMATIC LITERATURE AND IMPERSONATION, PANTOMIME AGNES KNOX BLACK LITERARY INTERPRETATION; ANALYSIS; READING AS A FINE ART GERTRUDE McQUESTEN TECHNIQUE OF THE VOICE; ARTICULATION; INTERPRETATION GERTRUDE CHAMBERLIN BROWNING AND TENNYSON; EIGHTE ENTH CENTURY LITERATURE PRISCILLA C. PUFFER gesture; elocution HARRIET C. SLEIGHT anatomy; physiology; hygiene; interpretation ROBERT HOWES BURNHAM MAKE UP SENIORS Senior Officers C. Jean McDonald May Miller Albert A. Lovejoy Albert F. Smith President Vice-Presiden Secretary Treasurer Class Flower Jack Rose Class Color Red and White THE EMERSONIAN 27 Ye Tale of the 1915 Pilgrims (With Apologies to Chaucer) When that Commencement with its teas and dances, Had given maids their last glimpse of romances; And saddened every heart with tears and sighs, (For there is something bitter in “good-byes”) — When inspiration blew with her sweet-e breath-e, Inspiring many a heart with visions great-e, The Senior maidens, now with charms endow-ed; And all the bearing which their years allow-ed, Were given sheep-skins as a goode reward-e; A gift they welcomed each with one accord-e. When admired sages from the Faculty-e, Had giv’n advice on that which they fore-see-e, Then calleth fame — in distance very small-e, For inspiration answers many futile call-es! And maidens for to seek-e fame and art-e, Must travel far their knowledge to impart-e. Bifel that in that season on a day, At Emersonian College where we lay, Ready to wander on our pilgrimage, With heart-es strong, and full devout courag-e, A maid spoke up with smile and wisely said-e, That Senior pilgrims might seek art together! That each upon a horse might gayly ride-e, And each with friends arrayed on either side-e, And each might pass away the tyme-e, By adapting Evolution verse to Senior rhyme-e. And so upon that great Commencement Day, The Seniors all made plans to ride away; And just as Phoebus rose high in the sky-e, The Faculty and students came to bid “good-by-e,” And when the last farewells at length were said-e, They journeyed forth in fellowship together. Methinketh it accordant to reason To tell you about the position of each of them, Just as it seemed to me, — the verse they wrote and of what degree, Pardon for the jest that they are in-ne, At Helen Baxter I will first begin-ne. 28 THE EMERSONIAN Helen R. Baxter, AA4 124 Morgantown Street, Uniontown, Pennsylvania Parties and fancy balls, And one clear call for me; And yet there are no zeroes or bad marks, When I put out to see! C. Evelyn Benjamin, Marshfield, Vermont Secretary of Y. W. C. A., ’14 Vice-President of Y. W. C. A., ’15 Little thinks, in the school, Miss Ben- jamin, Of the work in secret thou hast done! Nor knowest thou what sentiment To Christian meetings thou hast lent. THE EMERSONIAN 29 Grace M. Bigler, Greenville, Ohio Class Vice-President, ’14 Junior Marshal, Picture Committee, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee We cannot choose but think upon the time When in our play you well did take your part; And acted such, that our absorbing minds Felt “Every student” well did follow art. Vera Bradford, Shirley, Massachusetts Chairman Ring Committee, ’15 “The class is all a stage, And all the men and women merely maidens. They have their exits and their entrances; And one maid in her time plays many parts, Your best being Signior Gremio!” 30 THE EMERSONIAN Frances Bradley, KTX Talcottville, Connecticut Treasurer Canadian Club, T4 President Canadian Club, ’15 Oh, the prim little maid! Through the college days Imprisoned in savoir-faire ! She never lost heart, though she heard many things, And manners were shocking and rare. And well could they merrily laugh “Ha! Ha!” In a chorus coarse and loud ; This precise little maiden would stick to her creed, — Bad manners she’d never allow! Lola S. Bromley, 1532 North 15th Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania I change my room from day to day, I never can get settled! I move right in and move away, ’Til now I’m sorely nettled. THE EMERSONIAN 31 Emily F. Brown, £Mr Chocowinity, North Carolina Stunt Committee, ’13 Cap and Gown Committee, ’15 President Southern Club, ’15 Chairman Commencement Program Senior Stunt Committee Talent is something, but tact is every- thing. Tact is useful in all places and at all times. It is useful in college for it shows Emily the way into the world. It is useful in society for it shows her the way through the world. Hazel E. Cole, Midvale, Ohio Good-bye, kind world, I’m going home! Thou hast been my friend and I’ve been thine ! Long through the classrooms I have roamed — Until Dan Cupid gave his sign. Long I’ve been tossed like the driven foam — And now, kind world, I’ll make his home. 32 THE EMERSONIAN Sara W. Coleman, Portsmouth, Virginia Glee Club Here’s to the natural instinct to decern What knowledge can perform — is dili- gent to learn — Abides by this resolve, and stops not there; But makes her teaching vision her prime care. Alice M. Conant, New Haven, Vermont Y. W. C. A. Cabinet, ’14 Chairman Silver Bay Committee, ’15 Right to the school the wild news came, Far flashing on its wings of fame ! Swift as Love’s gay royal page, Miss Conant is indeed “engaged.” THE EMERSONIAN 33 Alice M. Evans, KXX Masonville, New Jersey Cap and Gown Committee, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee A cheerful person is pre-eminently a useful person. She knows that there is misery, but that misery is not the rule of life. Therefore she is not only happy herself, but causes the happiness of others. Rebecca C. Farwell, Z j H 32 High Street, Turner’s Falls, Massachusetts Class President, ’12 Magazine Board, ' 15 Picture Committee, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! Read another verse, Let thy voice endear it, Pourest thy full heart in Profuse strains of unpremediated art! 34 THE EMERSONIAN Edna W. Fisher, Watsontown, Pennsylvania Why I see her now in Dramatic Art, Where she played so well the old man’s part: The rasping voice — a nd her face — ah, me! Wasn’t it rich for the class to see Such skill right here in college? Edwin D. Flanders, Jr., 2AE, £AT 52 Amherst Street, Nashua, New Hampshire Stunt Committee, ’14, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee Fear to recite? To feel the fog in his throat, The blush on his face; When the “roll” begins, and the verse denotes He is nearing the place — The trembling of knees — all confidence gone, The glance of the foe, And she stands — the Arch Fear in a visible form! Yet the strong man must go! THE EMERSONIAN 35 Minnie B. Frazine, KTX 309 Chase Street, Kane, Pennsylvania Year Book Board, ’13 Member Students’ Council, ’14 Member Y. W. C. A. Cabinet, ’15 Out of silence comes thy strength. Silence is boundless, never by meditating to be exhausted — unspeakably profitable to thee! Helen L. George, Bedford, New Hampshire Glee Club Senior Stunt Committee At college it was — at the Senior play, And she looked like a queen in a book ’tis said, With the mark of art upon her brow, And a crown of gold on her head. 36 THE EMERSONIAN Amy Gildersleeve, Gildersleeve, Connecticut Ring Committee, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee Then she said: “I covet truth: Playing is unripe childhood’s cheat, I leave it behind with the games of youth.” Labor through her senses stole, And she yielded herself to the perfect whole. Marguerite A. Grunewald, KTX 2134 Sedgewick Street, Chicago, Illinois Member Students’ Council, ’13 Vice-President Students’ Council, ’14 Member Y. W. C. A. Cabinet, T5 Miss Kindly is nice to everyone, and has been for so long that none can re- member to the contrary. The little Freshmen love her. She helped them with their lessons and smiled upon them many weeks ago. THE EMERSONIAN 37 Louise Hainline, KXX 420 North McArthur Street, Macomb, Illinois Junior Week Committee, ’14 Vice-President Students’ Council, ’15 President Glee Club, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee Friends, classmates, and Seniors! Hear me for my cause. And be silent that you may hear; Organize a Glee Club and have respect for my judgment: Awake your voices that you may the better sing! Georgette H. Jette, KTX Danielson, Connecticut Stunt Committee, ’14, ’15 Year Book Board, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee Who is the happy maiden? Who is she? That every girl her friend should wish to be. It is the gracious spirit, who when brought Among the tasks of school hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased her class- mate’s thought. Whose high endeavors are an inward light That makes the path before her always bright. 38 THE EMERSONIAN Carolyn E. Jones, 4 Mr 5829 Phillips Avenue, Pittsburg, Pennsylvania Senior Stunt Committee What a naughty tale you told me Once upon a time! Said you cut no classes (scold me), Was it luck, or was it mind? Brains or bluffing? Bluff you said, When your Prose Forms themes you read. Albert R. Lovejoy, J AT 42 Cherry Street, Gardner, Massachusetts Class Secretary, 13, ’14, ’15 Stunt Committee, 43, 44, 45 Chairman Stunt Committee, 44, 45 Junior Week Committee, 44 Business Manager Year Book, 44, 45 In Emerson man lives all lives. The man of genuis knows within himself the trials of a Co-ed school, for having been in class and seen each girl he can realize the possibilities of man. To his judg- ment all problems fall and are solved. Troubles arise but what are they to him? THE EMERSONIAN 39 Jessie MacAloney, Fairview, Halifax County, Nova Scotia Glee Club She was Baptista — just a little girl Of fifty inches, bound to show no dread. Yet she was brave and mannish-like did play Her part, and stalked about with lordly tread. Jean C. MacDonald, Z £E 3106 Pacific Avenue, Tacoma, Washington Member Students’ Council, ’14, ’15 Class President, ’14, ’15 Oh, Jean MacDonald’s come out of the West! In Senior elections her name was the best ; And save her good sceptre, she weapons has none, She rules all un-armed and she rules all alone ! 40 THE EMERSONIAN Louise L. Mace, Russell Street, Huntington, Massachusetts Chairman Cheer Committee “This girl has really worked,” the teach- ers said, And so we learned — work was with glory wed. Genevieve M. MacGill, KTX Sayre, Pennsylvania Glee Club But you do know music — Wherefore Keep on casting pearls To a — singer? All we care for Is to tell you that a real Voice comes aptly in when gruff Grows our singing — (There, enough.) THE EMERSONIAN 41 Nellie Marrinan, Brisbin, Clearfield County, Pennsylvania Chairman Cap and Gown Committee Better than all measures Of delight and sound! Better than all treasures That in books are found! Thy jokes in classes are — Thou jester of renown! Laura Mae Meredith, 1926 Fifth Avenue, . Troy, New York Chairman Junior Week Committee ’Tis she whose law is reason — who de- pends Upon that law as on the best of friends; Who comprehends her trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim! 42 THE EMERSONIAN May M. Miller, KXX 14 Astor Place, Yonkers, New York Stunt Committee, ’14, ’15 Junior Week Committee, ’14 Class Vice-President, ’15 When luncheon time is over she stands up in the hall, To try and catch a glimpse of her, in hopes that she might call. Most every day at recess, and sometimes after class, Miss Miller and “her teacher” are often known to pass. Gertrude Morrison, Z t E 85 Glen Street, East Somerville, Massachusetts Stunt Committee, ’13 Class Cheer Leader, ’15 Always there and never here, We have missed her much this year. That sunny smile, those bright red beads, The Senior cheers she always leads! The roll call now for many a day Repeats its dreary roundelay, Morrison — Will come? Will come? — Morrison. THE EMERSONIAN 43 Ethel M. Neel, Cornelia, Georgia Year Book Board, ’13 I chatter, chatter, as I go, Exhaust my subject never! Some may talk fast, and some talk slow, But I talk on forever! Lois Perkins, AA t 1 Sachem Terrace, Norwich, Connecticut Stunt Committee, ’15 Song Committee, ’15 Editor-in-Chief Year Book, ’15 Ye call her chief — and ye do well to call her chief who for four long months ’mid toil and tribulation has fashioned this book from that which the broad scope of Emerson has furnished, and for all services now gives her most hearty thanks. 44 THE EMERSONIAN Beatrice E. Perry, 3 MG 296 North Main Street, Reading, Massachusetts Senior Stunt Committee Sink or swim, live or die, she cannot play a man’s part. It is true indeed that she was ever lady-like and aimed not at independence. But there’s a divinity which shapes her end. Olivia Privett, Jacksonville, Alabama Picture Committee Senior Stunt Committee Oh, woman! in our hours of work You cheer us — you who never shirk! When pain and anguish wring the brow A ministering angel thou! THE EMERSONIAN 45 Marguerite Seibel, Z £E 55 Church Street, Pittston, Pennsylvania Member Students’ Council, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee Tell us, Marguerite, What strange thoughts are thine! We’ll the secret keep If thou wilt be kind And tell the inner thoughts which Flash across thy mind! Albert F. Smith, t»AT East Hacldam, Connecticut Business Manager Magazine, ’13, ’14, ’15 Class President, ’13 Member Students’ Council, ’13 Stunt Committee, T3, T4 Class Treasurer, T4, ’15 Had we but plenty of money — money enough and to spare, The dues we owe no doubt we’d pay to him with greatest care; Ah, such is life! Such as life, which he leads as treasurer there! 46 THE EMERSONIAN Jennie P. Smith, 91 Broad Street, Charleston, South Carolina, Glee Club Magazine Board, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee Oh, Jennie Smith, thy love for tragic readings Has made a deep impression on our minds! You carry us through woe past all be- lieving. Wild Spirit! Thy voice grows gray with tragic fear: We tremble and despoil ourselves — to hear! Verda A. Snyder, Readysville, Maryland Member Y. W. C. A. Cabinet, ’14, ’15 Chairman Music Committee, ’15 We must be in chapel now that she is there, For whoever goes to chapel sees some morning unaware, A girl who takes attendance as she goes her usual round. And if we are not present our names are written down. So be wary of Miss Snyder — excuse she’ll not allow, In chapel — now! THE EMERSONIAN 47 Ruth Southwick, AA J 281 Tappan Street, Brookline, Massachusetts Commencement Committee, ’15 Senior Stunt Committee Fear life? No, let her taste the whole of it, Fare like her peers, the heroines of old; Take her chance — in a minute have glad life’s arrears, Of luck, success, and fine gold! Elizabeth M. Sturdevant, KTX Silver City, New Mexico Senior Stunt Committee Even as she spoke, her frame, renewed In eloquence of attitude, Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher, Then swept a kindling glance of fire. Her fortune and her work are blest, She’s hailed as one of the “crew’s best.” ( 48 THE EMERSONIAN Marion F. Vincent, £Mr Pittsford, New York Magazine Board, ’13 Chairman Stunt Committee, ’13 Stunt Committee, ’13, ’14, ’15 Member Y. W. C. A. Cabinet, ’13, ’14, ’15 Chairman Silver Bay Committee, ’14 Chairman Devotional Committee, ’15 Treasurer Glee Club, ’15 Associate Editor Year Book, ’15 She plays her parts they tell us As he pronounced them to her, Trip-pingly on the tongue! Mabel E. Warren, Richland, Missouri Senior Stunt Committee If she were caught at a “sermonette,” And a pen was wanted for her need, She’d kill all joy, and trill her fret — She could not sketch nor draw indeed! THE EMERSONIAN 49 Gladysmae Waterhouse, South Poland, Maine Member Y. W. C. A. Cabinet, ’14, ’15 Chairman Visiting Committee, ’14 Year Book Board, ’14, ’15 Member Students’ Council, ’14 Aye and even to the ending, Artist’s sketch at need! Execute the hand’s intending, Promptly, perfectly indeed. Save the Class Book from defeat, With their drawings quite unique. Marion A. Wells, KTX 24 Union Street, Watertown, Massachusetts Glee Club Treasurer Y. W. C. A., ’15 Member Students’ Council, ’15 This girl is relieved and gay when she has put her heart into her work and done her best; but what she has said or done otherwise shall give her no peace. 50 THE EMERSONIAN Florence Westbrook, Waverly, New York I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of her, is just what I can see. She is nearly always with me and fol- lows me around And if you’d like to know her name — inquire of Harriet Brown. Naomi Williamson, KTX 903 North Spruce Street, La Grande, Oregon Her hard work carves her future years, Her earnest thought endures; Her life is one she need not fear, Because her mind is sure. THE EMERSONIAN 51 Alice F. White, Z3 E 57 West 75th Street, New York City Junior Week Committee, J 14 Thy cares seem empires, known to none save thee; Responsibilities and work — what are they? And yet these troubles worry you — we ' see, Care writes no wrinkle on thy youthful brow Just as it always was — so it is now! Olive R. Grover, Nahant, Massachusetts Caroline Richards, Hotel Oxford, Boston, Massachusetts 52 THE EMERSONIAN epilogue fflp gooblp frienbs, at last each berse is saibe, ®fje Seniors nob) ribe fortfj in lift together. 3 prap of pour fair courtes=ie Co accuse bit not of billainie, Cbougb 3 babe Spoke plaittlp in mp Sentiments, iBut thoughts anb jesting nob) are sorelp spent. 3n this tale 3’be tolb bob) each one stanbes, iWp blit is Short, pou map bull unberstanb-e. fWap tbe future sbob) pou all a brilliant Sun ne, Jfaretoell to all anb blessings on each one=e. THE EMERSONIAN 53 Prophecy — Seniors BY Georgette Jette Such has been the influence on the minds of the Seniors of the arduous study of “The Taming of the Shrew” and “Romeo and Juliet,” that it has affected their whole future. Helen Baxter In her one sees the promise of romance and the possibility of tragedy. Evelyn Benjamin “How but well, dear, how but well, It were impossible you should speed amiss.” Grace Bigler “Having thrust yourself into the maze, Crowns in your purse you’ll have, and goods at home.” Vera Bradford Now are you for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in.” Frances Bradley “I think she’ll sooner prove a good soldier, Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.” Mrs. Bromley “Lord, lord, you shall be a joyful woman.” Emily Brown “You shall have honours that you dream not of.” Hazel Cole “Many a morning shall you be seen With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with your deep sighs.” Sara Coleman “So hast thou shown us friendship, Live and be prosperous; and farewell, good classmate.” Alice Conant “All your fortune at his feet you’ll lay, And follow him, your lord, through all the world.” 54 THE EMERSONIAN Alice Evans “For thou shalt Boston leave, And then to Masonville come, as he that leaves A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep.” Rebecca Farwell “You shall begin with rudiments of art To teach a system in a briefer sort, More pithy, pleasant, and effectual, Than hath been taught by any of our trade.” Edna Fisher “But your good luck shall grow to such excess I cannot sum up half your sum of wealth.” Edwin Flanders “To be noted for a merry man He’ll woo a thousand, point the day of marriage, Invite the friends, and proclaim the banns, Yet never means to wed where he hath woo’d.” Minnie Frazine “Thy mildness prais’d in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Thyself shalt have success through all thy life.” Helen George “Well, in that hit you miss. She’ll not be hit With Cupid’s arrow. She hath Forsworn to love.” Amy Gildersleeve “To Art she’s married, not unto a man.” Olive Grover “You’ll see your fortunes farther than at home Where small experience grows — And so shall go abroad to see the world.” Marguerite Grunewald “Your life shall be a dream Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.” Louise Hainline “Well, you shall make a simple choice; You k now not how to choose a man.” THE EMERSONIAN 55 Georgette Jette “Thou, like the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb And in thy ways prove likewise variable.” Carolyn Jones “You’ll be no preaching teacher in the schools; You’ll not be tied to hours nor pointed times.” Albert Lovejoy “Oh, you shall play a merchant’s part And venture madly on a desperate mart.” Jessie Mac Alone y “I vow you’ll sing as sweetly as the nightingale.” Jean MacDonald “Hie you to Tacoma, — There stays a husband to make you a wife.” Louise Mace “Thou shalt smell sweet favors and feel soft things, — Upon my life, a lady indeed.” Genevieve McGill “Your books and instruments shall be your company: On them to look and practice all the day.” Nellie Marrinan “Hark, suffragette, thou shalt like Minerva speak.” Laura Meredith “Why then, broad fame is thine from all the world By youth’s firm promise.” May Miller “You shall be brought from a wild May to a May Conformable as other household Mays.” Gertrude Morisson “With work’s strong wings shall you o’er perch all walls, For stony limits cannot hold ‘grit’ out.” “You’ll make a mutiny out in the world, You will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be a girl!” Ethel Neel 56 THE EMERSONIAN Lois Perkins " You are Lois Perkins, of Norwich Heath; by birth, a joy; by education, a reader; by transmutation, an author; and by ultimate profession, a housekeeper.” Beatrice Perry “Let two more summers wither in their prime, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.” Olivia Privett “Thus have you well begun your reign, And ’tis my hope you’ll end it joyfully.” Caroline Richards “Here shalt thou stay, at Emerson, Forgetting any other home but this. Marguerite Siebel “You shall at once put you in readiness And take a studio, fit to guide and teach Such pupils as time shall beget. Albert Smith “You shall be schoolmaster And undertake the teaching of the maids: That’s your device.” Jennie Smith “Well, well, thou hast a careful mother, One who hath sorted out a sudden day of joy That thou expect’st not.” Verda Snyder “Pardon, good Verda, your business shall be great.” Ruth Southwick “You’ll be no stoic nor no stock, I trow, Or so devote to Aristotle’s chicks, As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured.” Elizabeth Sturdevant “There is no end, no limit, measure bound. To your success; no words can your joy sound.” Marion Vincent “Thou’lt frame thy mind to mirth and merriment, Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.” Mabel Warren THE EMERSONIAN 57 “Thou shalt have gold, And nothing conies amiss, so gold comes withal.” Gladysmai Waterhouse “Thou art almost afraid to go alone There in the world, yet wilt thou adventure.” Marion Wells “And therefore frolic, thou shalt hence forthwith To feast and sport thee, at thy father’s house.” Florence Westbrook “Florence, go forth: Happiness is enamour’d of thy parts, And thou art wedded to success.” Alice White “You shall be lady of a house, And a good lady, and a wise and a virtuous Naomi Williamson “Why bless your very heart, I think you shall be happy in your second match, For it excels your first.” Post Graduate Officers Mildred Johnson President Dorothy Deming .... Vice-President Ethel Bailey Secretary Sadie O’Connell Treasurer THE EMERSONIAN 59 Ethel V. Bailey, 79 Evans Street, Medford, Massachusetts Class Secretary, ’14, ’15 Member Y. W. C. A. Cabinet, ’14 “Her voice is sweet and low — An excellent thing in woman.” Florence Bean, Pocatello, Idaho Students’ Council, ’14, ’15 Stunt Committee, ’12 “Faster than springtime shower comes thought on thought, And not a thought but thinks on dignity.” 60 THE EMERSONIAN Ethel I. Beard, 1814 Cap Avenue, Des Moines, Iowa “Good nature in man or woman Is the immediate jewel of their souls.” Elizabeth L. Beattie 502 Lake Avenue, Rochester, New York “A maid into whom nature hath crowded so much humor.” THE EMERSONIAN 61 Virginia Beraud, 1403 Eagle Avenue, Houston, Texas Assistant Editor Magazine, ’14, ’15 Stunt Committee, ’14 “Thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward char- acter.” Mary Morgan Brown, Uniontown, Alabama President Students ' Association, ' 15 “Your very goodness and your company O’er pays all I can do.” 62 THE EMERSONIAN May O. Coolbough, 3 Hudson Street, Worcester, Massachusetts ‘I speak as my understanding instructs me. Laura B. Curtis, Hartland, New Brunswick Class Secretary, ’13 Stunt Committee, ’14 Vice-President Canadian Club, ’13 “The very smile before you speak Encircles all the heart.” THE EMERSONIAN 63 Dorothea Deming, Wethersfield, Connecticut Class Vice-President, ’15 Member Y. W. C. A. Cabinet, ’14 “Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth not knowing.” Zinita B. Graf, Fayette, Iowa “She is kind as she is fair, For Beauty lives with kindness.” 64 THE EMERSONIAN Hilda M. Harris, Newfield, New Jersey President Y. W. C. A., ’14, ’15 “When a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman’s kindness overruled.” Adelaide V. Igo, New Boston, New Hampshire “I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he most needs me.” THE EMERSONIAN 65 Marion F. John, Newtown, Pennsylvania Junior Week Committee, ’13 “There is a kind of character in thy life That to th’ observer, doth thy history Fully unfold.” Mildred E. Johnson, 215 Norfolk Street, Cambridge, Massachusetts Class President, T3, T4, ’15 “Full of noble device, of all sorts; en- chantingly beloved.” 66 THE EMERSONIAN Mary V. Langford, 2013 Clinton Avenue, Minneapolis, Minnesota “Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends and ne’er be weary.” Mattie F. Lyon, Wyalusing, Pennsylvania Treasurer Y. W. C. A., ’14 Member Students’ Council, ’15 “Therein should we read the very bottom and the soul of hope.” THE EMERSONIAN 67 Bertha McDonough, 123 Devon Street, Dorchester, Massachusetts Cheer Leader, ’13, ’14, ’15 “Thro’ light and shadow thou dost range Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of fleeting change.” B. Belle McMichael, Pillsbury, North Dakota Editor-in-Chief Magazine, ’14, ’15 “I am a part of all that I have met.” 68 THE EMERSONIAN Frieda Michel, 111 McBean Street, Peoria, Illinois Member Students’ Council, ’15 “Let my deeds be witness of my worth.’ 7 J. Stanley Newton, Hector, Arkansas Member Students’ Council, ’ 1 4 Treasurer Southern Club, T4 “Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow?” THE EMERSONIAN 69 Sadie A. R. O’Connell, 42 Prospect Street, Milford, Massachusetts Class Treasurer, ’13, ’14, ’15 Treasurer Students’ Association, T5 “Kind nature meant for you to excel.” Edna N. Spear, 304 W. James Street, Tyler, Texas “We that have good wits have much to answer for.” 70 THE EMERSONIAN Margaret A. Strickland, Randolph, Massachusetts Stunt Committee, ’13, ’14 “For where is there any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman’s eye.” R. Madeleine Tarrant, 2 Fifth Avenue, Saratoga Springs, New York “When she passed ’twas like the ceasing of exquisite music.” Junior Officers Percy Alexander President Jessie Smith Vice-President Gertrude Keister Secretary Mary Ella Perry Treasurer JUNIOR CLASS THE EMERSONIAN 73 Junior Class Akin, Margaret Agnes Alderdice, Mary H. E. Alexander, Percy E. B. Allison, David B. Butler, Charlotte W. Duggan, Bernice H. Fransioli, Florence Good, Lulu K. Keister, H. Gertrude McKinney, Hallie Erma Ocker, Verna G. Perry, Mary Ella Ritchie, Angeline Martha Sigworth, Alice Smith, Jessie G. Townley, Byrdie Pearle Vann, Louise C. Warren, Gladys H. White, Ruth Wood, Ruth A. Special Students Brown, Harriet M. Calloway, Mrs. Lawrence Collins, Mrs. Marion V. Foster, Alton Eugene Geblin, Edward Warren Guthrie, Olive E. Hawkins, Ethel F. Heckbert, Beatrice Henry, Gwendolyn Kelsey, Inez Mabel Knowlton, Bernice Paige, Lucius R. Porter, Helen Leone Rosenthal, Estelle Snell, Margaret Catherine Weer, Helen 74 THE EMERSONIAN “Apologia Pro Vita Sua” Oh, what a commotion at E. C. O. When the Powers decreed there’ d be Another year added to our course — Four years, instead of three. “Give us some Juniors,” was the Faculty cry, “Juniors we need to see,” — And straight therewith, from the scattered crowd, A class there came to be! Then “oh, oh, oh,” a chorus came Of horror groaning low, From the eighteen Juniors, gathered with care, Eighteen, beginning to grow. “We’re much too few,” one Junior said. The teachers said, “Not so — You see you’ve got to start this thing And then begin to grow.” Then in a small, deserted classroom, Lying dusty in the sun, The Special Students gathered, and the Fateful deed was done. With much shrinking of the spirit, as They looked ahead that day, Did they glimpse a long, hard journey, And a thorny, rocky way. “On the road to fame,” they say, “where those Dear diplomas lay, We must have a man to lead us on This shining, twisting way.” So they gave the man the chair, President, they made him there. To his shoulders fell their burdens — Alexander tore his hair! “Manage all this flock of women? Call class meetings once a week? Harness genius to a system? — Radcliffe, Silence! Hear me speak! If a class we simply must be, This wish, I’m sure, is yours also: We will lead a simple living, Quiet; in obscurity. It has this credit, here at college, Such a course is quite unknown, Let us then be gladly ‘different,’ Make a name and fame our own.” THE EMERSONIAN 75 Then throughout the dreary Winter Tireless, the Juniors worked, Strove to keep themselves in silence, The vain glare of footlights shirked. Never was a harsher thing done: They too, liked the center stage, But their numbers kept them silent, But their terror made them sage. Oh, it’s Juniors this, and Juniors that, And Juniors wait outside, And it’s “Special Place for Juniors,” When diplomas are untied. When diplomas are untied, my boys, Diplomas are untied, Oh, it’s “Special Place for Juniors” when Diplomas are untied! Gertrude Keister. Sophomore Officers Dorothy Canaga President Nettie Hutchins .... Vice-President Dorothy Hopkins Secretary Fred Hubbard Treasurer SOPHOMORE CLASS 78 THE EMERSONIAN Sophomore Class Bailey, Florence E. Barrow, M. Lucile Bartel, Helen H. Bellefontaine, Marie C. Call, Hazel G. Canaga, Dorothy E. Cole, Jessie Davis, Mrs. Ethel E. DeWire, M. Esther Eaton, A. Faye Elliott, F. May Ellis, Bess E. Good, Helen Grayce Greene, Ethel S. Haszard, Jessie C. Hopkins, Dorothy C. Hubbard, Fred W. Hunt, Gladys E. Hutchins, Nettie M. Irwin, Vivian Jack, Eleanor W. James, Berton W. Jenkins, Phyllis Kendall, Leah I. Kennard, Ruth Kester, Eura M. King, Vivian H. Lancto, Mary C. Leach, Marjorie H. Longstreet. Margaret L. McAleer, Leoda Manning, Mae Mildred Minahan, Ann B. Nygren, Astrid W. Olin, Rhea M. Pearson, George F. Pinsky, Bessie Reed, Ellen D. Reed, Helen L. Robinson, Oma G. Rothwell, Stella D. Sanborn, Elsie C. Sayer, Mary F. Schmitt, Edna I. Smith, Laurence J. Southwick, Mildred Sprague, Theodate F. Tack, Elizabeth H. Taliaferro, Anthony B. Thorson, Grace W. Tull, Catherine Upson, Lucy H. Vail, Anna W. Van Hoesen, Estelle Walker, Carolyn V. Walker, Freda L. Welsh, Gertrude K. Winn, Mary Anastasia Zerwekh, Grace A. THE EMERSONIAN 79 Sophomore Epigrammatics BY Eleanor Jack Dorothy Canaga A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance. Nettie Hutchins I never knew so young a body with so old a head. Fred Hubbard Get money, still get money, boy; No matter by what means. Dorothy Hopkins To see her is to love her. Lawrence Smith Shakespeare Jonson Burns Helen Bartel That great brow And the spirit — small hand propping it. The mildest manners with the bravest mind. Browning Pope Freda Walker Preserving the sweetness of proportion and expressing herself beyond expression. J onson Eleanor Jack I do but sing because I must And pipe as the linnets sing. Astrid Nygren Framed in the prodigality of Nature. Helen Reed Tennyson Shakespeare Humility, that low, sweet root From which all heavenly virtues shoot. Moore 80 THE EMERSONIAN Jessie Haszard Happy am I: from care Fm free! Why aren’t they all contented like me? Opera of La Bayadere Catherine Tull Practice is the best of all instructors. Syras Hazel Call A creature not too bright and good For human nature’s daily food. W ordsworth Bessie Pinsky I chatter, chatter as I go. Tennyson May Elliott The timely dew of sleep. Milton Burton James A noticeable man with large gray eyes. W ordsworth Bess Ellis Her ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are peace. Carolyn Walker Old Testament All kin o’ smily round the lips An’ teary round the lashes. Lowell Certrude Welsh Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven. Wordsworth Elsie Sanborn Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart. Wordsworth Stella Rothwell Faye Eaton She’s all my fancy painted her, She’s lovely, she’s divine. Mee Laugh and be fat. Dickens THE EMERSONIAN 81 Margaret Longstreet Now my soul hath elbow-room. Anna Vail A child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, For thy more sweet understanding, a woman. Shakespeare Shakespeare Vivian Irwin She is a winsome, wee thing. Grace Zerwekh Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart. Byron Mary Winn The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books. Longfellow Ethel Davis Hospitality sitting with gladness. Longfellow Phyllis Jenkins I will strike with things impossible Yea, get the better of them. Shakespeare Edna Schmitt She formed the image of well-bodied air. Pope Marie Bellfontaine Lady, you, whose gentle heart doth fear The smallest monstrous mouse. Shakespeare Gladys Hunt When you do dance, I wish you a wave o’ the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that. Shakespeare Molly Sayer Fatally beauteous, and having killing eyes. Dryden Mildred Southwick A chieftain’s daughter seemed the maid. Scott George Pearson He was the mildest-mannered man That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat. Byron 82 THE EMERSONIAN Theodate Sprague O, I writ, writ abundantly — do you never write? Florence Bailey Thou sayest an undisputed thing In such a solemn way. Lucile Barrow Esther De Wire Lucy Upson Her stature tall, — I hate a dumpy woman. Hid in ringlets day and night. My life is one long horrid grind. Congreve Holmes Byron Tennyson Vivian King It is better to be out of the world than be out of the fashion. Dickens Swift Mae Manning To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question you were born in a merry hour. Shakespeare Ethel Green Her voice was ever soft Gentle and low — an excellent thing in woman. Anthony Taliaferro Words sweet as honey from his lips distilled. Rhea Olin There was place and to spare for the frank young smile And the red young mouth and the hair’s young gold. Ruth Kennard Shakespeare Pope Browning Divinely tall and most divinely fair. Leoda McAlier I awoke one morning and found myself famous. Beth Tack Byron Ah! Why should life all labor be? Tennyson THE EMERSONIAN 83 Grace Thorson Eura Kester Is she not passing fair? Shakespeare Exhausting thought And hiving wisdom with each Studious year. Ann Minahan How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour. Grace Good She was so good she would pour rosewater on a toad. Byron Watts Jerold Marjorie Leach Hang sorrow! Care’ll kill a cat. Jonson Estelle Van Hosea Tutor’d in the rudiments Of many desperate studies. Leah Kendall Shakespeare Ellen Reed Mary Laucts For if she will, she will, you may depend on’t, And if she won’t, she won’t, so there’s an end on’t. From a Canterbury Pillar Tutor’d in the rudiments Of many desperate studies. Shakespeare Why should not then we women act alone? Or whence are men so necessary grown? Oma Robinson Who knew the season, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet. Jessie Cole What will not woman, gentle woman, dare? Dryden Tennyson Southey Tho’ this may be play to you, ’Tis death to us. Roger L’ Estrange Freshmen Officers Fay S. Goodfellow President Beatrice E. Coates . . • Vice-President Marguerite E. Brodeur . . . Treasurer Barbara Wellington Secretary FRESHMAN CLASS 86 THE EMERSONIAN Freshmen Class Anderson, Ralph Beynon, Jane Brady, James Brodeur, Marguerite Burnham, Marion Caine, Ethel Carden, Edith Carter, Helen Coates, Beatrice Cronin, Mary Duval, Ina Ellis, Evelyn Feely, Margaret Flaherty, Helen Foss, Rowena Fowler, Annie Fox, Marguerite Callaway, Mildred Gates, Rena Gilmore, Ethel Goodfellow, Fay Gore, Henrietta Gorg, Lillian Green, Mary Grilley, Virginia Guild, Helen Gwin, Ramona Handy, Leon Hewitt, Golda Mae Hyde, Marguerite Levin, Ruth Libbey, Ethel Lombard, Ellen Mace, Selina Macomber, Rena Manley, Hazel Morrison, Effie Maxham, Katherine Mead, Esther Mitchell, Dorothy O’Leary, Grace Pickering, Marjorie Punnett, Mary Rasmussen, Elvira Roar tv, Helen Roberts, Louise Rawnsley, Beatrice Ruggles, May Schrenier, Florine Sheppard, Jean Thompson, Marguerite Toll, Amy Van Buren, Annie Vedder, Virginia Walter, Mary Wellington, Barbara Whiting, Izer THE EMERSONIAN 87 A Freshman’s Dream (Arranged) The True Dream of Barbara Wellington, 1918 I sat before the fireside in my cosy little den, Thinking of the many steps in evolution, when Without a word of warning, there suddenly appeared A face so round and jolly that my thoughts at once were steered Right through his twinkling eyeglass, to where my concept lay, But what this crazy motive was no mortal tongue can say. Some unknown power drew me, and with a sudden cry I dived through the eyeglass of Mr. Kidder’s eye. Landing without the slightest jar upon a softer pile of hay than man ever stacked, I had barely time to blink my eyes, when a most uncanny sound was transmitted to my brain — a veritable pandemonium of caw-cawing. Could it be Poe’s raven? No, the burden of these ravings was “Nearer ever more!” I was losing my breath control, my chest was falling, my head swimming, when there came over the crest of a hill the most harmless band of maidens, evidently my fellow classmates. Judging from the earnest, worried expression on their faces, and from the terrific potential power manifested in their voices, I concluded that they were members of the famous Emerson Glee Club. At their head was a buxom female, waving a cornstalk while she vehemently declared, “My whole heart is in this caws!” In spite of the strength of their argument, I cannot say that I wept when they departed. Next I noticed an old gnarled ash tree, with the label “ Yggdrasil ” on it, which seemed to shiver and shake ominously. All the leaves came whirling down, disclosing the bare skeleton, robbed of its potential possibilities. Upon the rattling limbs were seated a number of eccentric figures, whom I at once rec- ognized as belonging to Division A of our class. They were vainly endeavoring to fit arrows to the bows which they each held, but giving it up, each said sadly, “I could not shoot.” Determined to show these faint-hearted Freshmen true courage, I picked up a bow lying conveniently near me, fitted a long straw to the string and announced, “I can do what I will to do!” The group in the tree answered sarcastically, “Do!” Twang went the bow-string; the mighty tree was stunned — it throbbed till each occupant of a branch melted into a ball of dew and rolled off to the ground. In vain I entreated them to “roll on” again; they melted into a crystal pool to which I added my salty tears. Gazing gloomily into the empty tree, I saw to my amazement a dozen or so brown monkeys leaping from their family trees onto the scene of the recent trag- 88 THE EMERSONIAN edy. They swarmed over the boughs, each choosing a separate one, and pro- ceeded to hang upside down by their clinging tails. Then gibbering a rhythmic chant which sounded like “Poise forward two — three — four — back — two three — four — rise — two — three — four — hold — two — three — four,” they swung from side to side in time to the metre. But when they reached the words “down — two — three — four” they simultaneously gave a spasmodic jerk, and all fell down in a heap, becoming as they splashed into the pool, the students of Division B. They all gazed mournfully at their sad tails, still swinging on the classic higher branches, and chanted in chorus, “Can that B we?” Receiving no reply, they crept silently into the forest. As they disappeared from view, there sounded an energetic buzzing wafted to me through the elastic waves of air. Who could it be? The bees had just left. Then the humming changed to a ringing, and the ringing to a singing and I heard an intoned poem of such beauty of sentiment that it delighted my innermost soul. The burden of it was the following: “You cannot see Who we might are, Division C Ma-za-ska-a.” Truly thrilled at the radiation and warmth of the projection of this epic, as well as at the length of the line “Ma-za-ska-a,” I hoped the muse would never cease. But yes, alas, they changed to “Do, di-di-di, di, On the tip o’ the tongue, Li, li-li-li, li, How we wish we were hung!” This pathetic appeal showed me that Division C as well as A and B longed to hang onto the tree of knowledge. But they gave it up, never neglecting to exercise their poetic talent, however, for as the sounds grew fainter and fainter, I heard the hearty cheer: “There can be no comparison With our captain Miss Marrison.” This blended into a hum which faded away as their voices tried to reach some far-away concept. As soon as these sounds grew fainter I heard a jingling of sleigh bells from the north. There appeared a boat-sleigh full of Freshmen — yes, my fellow stu- dents of Division D, driven by a robust individual who lashed the team, bellow- ing “I was ever a fighter!” The excited party yelled “Whoa” in various pitches, but the horses kept on dashing through space. Soon large snow flakes began to THE EMERSONIAN 89 fall, and while the crowd was howling “Out of the North!” the snow dropped down their open throats, making agonized cries of “Ow!” Wishing to take their minds from such difficult knowledge being crammed into them, I stood up high on my haystack, made a sweeping gesture which mani- fested its force by stopping the horses, and delivered the following: “When earth’s last picture is painted And the tubes are twisted and dry, It’s time to take the window to see Leary going by. He’s very, very like me, From my heels up to my head; He’s yellow, black and pale, and also Very hectic red. Banner of England, not for a season O banner of Britain hast thou! Come see the Dolphin’s anchor forged; ’Tis at a white heat now; Press where you see my white plume shine Amidst the ranks of war, Stretched in his last found shell And knew the old no more! Out of the north the wild news came, The dove said, ‘Give us Peace.’ ‘Cusha-cusha-cusha’ calling, As if ’twould never cease. Woe! lightly to part with one’s soul As we find on page twenty-eight, Good-bye, proud world, I’m going home, Serene I fold my hands and wait.” SOUTHERN CLUB THE EMERSONIAN 91 The Southern Club In October, 1913, the Southerners at Emerson organized themselves as the Southern Club, its function being to support and assist one another, as well as to bring a touch of the Southland into the northern atmosphere. The first year of existence was a very successful one, largely due to the influence and leadership of Judith Lindon. The activities of 1914 closed with a most unique entertainment given in Huntington Chambers Hall. At the reopening of college in September the club was reorganized with a very large mem bership. A number of social events have marked the year as interesting and the annual stunt has given us the recognition and good-will of the college. Officers of the Southern Club Emily Brown Bernice Ruggan J. Stanley Newton Jennie Smith Magazine Reporter President Secretary Treasurer Members Lucile Barrows Virginia Beraud Harriet Brown Mary M. Brown Sara Coleman Mrs. Ethel Davis May Elliott Bess Ellis Florence Fransioli Gertrude Keister Hallie McKinney Ethel Neil Mary Ella Perry Olivia Privett Alice Sigworth Verda Snyder Edna Spear Anthony Taliaferro Marguerite Thompson Katherine Tull Byrdie Townley Louise C. Vann CANADIAN CLUB THE EMERSONIAN 93 CANADIAN Officers Frances Bradley Percy Alexander Jessie Haszard President Treasurer Secretary Members Post Graduate 1915 Laura Curtis 1915 Jessie MacAloney Frances Bradley 1916 Percy Alexander 1917 Jessie Haszard 1918 Marguerite Hyde Jean Shepperd In Facultate Agnes Knox Black Elsie Riddell Mrs. Harry Seymour Ross Y. W. C. A. CABINET THE EMERSONIAN 95 Oct. 1. Oct. 8. Oct. 15. Oct. 22. Oct. 29. Nov. 5. Nov. 12. Nov. 19. Dec. 3. Dec. 10. Jan. 7. Jan. 14. Jan. 21. Jan. 28. Feb. 4. Feb. 11. Feb. 18. Feb. 25. Mar. 11. Mar. 18. Young Women’s Christian Association Officers and Cabinet Hilda M. Harris Evelyn Benjamin Helen Bartel Marion Wells Mary Morgan Brown Marion Vincent Virginia Beraud Minnie Frazine Marguerite Grunewald Elizabeth Tack Alice Conant Verda Snyder Olivia Privett Gertrude Welsh Jane Banan f Gladys Mae Waterhouse Mattie Lyon Laura Curtis Kate Boyd George Alice Conant Marguerite Grunewald President Vice-President Secretary Treasurer Devotional Committee Program Committee . Social-Service Committee Bible Study Committee . Intercollegiate Committee Social Committee Silver Bay Committee . Music Committee . Room Committee . Association News Posters Visiting Committee Financial Committee . Student Secretary Delegate to Silver Bay Delegate to New York City Y. W. C. A. The Quiet Hour at Emerson Thursday 2-3 p.m. “Come Ye Apart and Rest Awhile” Speakers and Subjects “The Opportunity for Social Service” W. W. Locke “What the Individual Can Do for Peace” Jessie E. Southwick “Plans for the Cabine t” “Ideals” Dr. Mary Alice Emerson “Christian Living” Mrs. A. H. Nazarian “Silver Bay and Its Meaning” Hilda M. Harris Report of Silver Bay Convention Alice Conant “Credo” Dean Ross Girls’ Meeting “Jane Addams” Naomi Williamson “The New Year” “Opportunity” Dr. Herbert Johnson “The Awakening of China” Rev. Chen Rally Day “Completeness.” Experiences of a Summer in Europe . Gertrude McQuesten “The Association” Elizabeth Dodge, National Board “The Day of Prayer” Katy Boyd George “Our Hope” Dr. Jenness “Helpfulness” Mrs. Lemuel H. Murlin “Work” Mrs. Hicks Social Events Reception to New Students Y. W. C. A. Social Conference and Tea — guests of Mrs. Arthur Tedcastle Readings — Miss Gordon and Miss Lyndon During this school year the Y. W. C. A. has supplied through the Social-Service Department a half-hundred readers and teachers to the different settlements and various institutions. The Y. W. C. A. Calendar, under the leadership of the Financial Committee, was a great success. GLEE CLUB THE EMERSONIAN 97 Glee Club Louise Hainline President Eleanor Jack Vice-President Margaret Longstreet Secretary Marion Vincent Treasurer Mrs. Toll Chorus Director “The wee birdie’s song is bonny, my dearie, But it’s your song, my lassie, that makes my heart cheerie.” Like the servant with the two talents, some of the daughters of E. C. O. are working in the Emerson College Glee Club as well as in the regular college classes. The new organization is the foster child of the Musical Club of 1907. At present it is passing through the step of animation in its process of growth with excellent vigor and enthusiasm. In accomplishment it is as yet a Freshman in College, but the students are watching its progress with confidence. The obvious musical interest crystalized itself into an organization on the fifteenth of October and there was a splendid spirit in the beginning and we are glad to say that it has not abated. There is a membership of more than thirty, directed by a special chorister. The club is very fortunate in having as its leader one whose special training has rendered her a very capable director. It has been whispered by some of the members that by the spring term this organization will have progressed so happily that it may become a helpful feature in the College Commencement and the Faculty has been pleased to see an undertaking entirely under student control with such earnestness and serious intention. The helpful support of the whole college has been very gratifying and it has made the present club possible by guaranteeing a permanent effective organization. THE EMERSONIAN 99 Literature Behind the Outside (With Apologies to Stephen Leacock and to the Emerson Faculty) The day at Emerson begins. The students’ voices are buzzing noisily in the chapel. Judging from the conversation, it might involve anything from a new coiffeur to the fundamental principles underlying expression. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly — as if done, so to speak, by years of practice — there is a loud clap of the hands which startles the seething multitudes. Everyone looks up and sees a man confronting the school, who with the power and com- mand of Moses, combined with the wisdom of Solomon, has brought order out of chaos. He looks just like General Washington crossing the Delaware and everyone sits with bated breath. There is absolute silence. Nothing can be heard but here and there the fall of an eyelid. Each student braces herself for the shock as the man known as President Southwick says in well modulated tones : “Let us sing hymn nine” and as he says this his voice implies all the dissatis- faction that words could possibly convey. He learned how to do this at Emerson and it has tremendous effect upon the school. Everyone sinks back with relief and waits for the piano and then with one accord the students rise in a body and sing lustily — though no one knows what she is singing about. As the last word of the hymn dies down there is a sound of breaking furniture and a scuffle of feet. One might think that this was included in the curriculum, but not at all, it is only the banging of chairs — a habit which once acquired can never be broken! As everyone is seated the big door at the back of the room opens and twelve sheepish-looking girls, trying to look bold, file in like leopards on the march. President Southwick makes a quick mental calculation as to the number of tardy ones and decides that the fault is not so grievous that he must remark about it but he does not know that upstairs there are many more who have “caught on” that Mrs. Puffer is in the coat room with her note book. A few of the conscientious late-comers steal down the stairs with a haunted look, like rats who smell the cheese in a cage, and then — it ' s all over but the shouting! A figure in a blue dress looms up, as it were, by magic. “Are you excused?” says the voice. “No, but my car was a little late, Mrs. Puffer.” “Pm sorry but I must take your name and then if you wish a permanent excuse you might speak to the Dean about it.” 100 THE EMERSONIAN Mrs. Puffer smiles inwardly at her extemporaneous diplomacy and tact. She really knows that the girl will consider it too much trouble to go to the Dean but then it was a gracious suggestion and a very just one, too! On the other side of the big door chapel is still in session. After the new Chaplain has read, with a great deal of feeling, a few verses from the Bible, he retires to the back of the platform just as a lady steps on to the stage from a side door. All the visitors in the balcony wonder what she is doing up there and just as they decide it must be some kind of entertainment they hear the lady say: “ Position — prepare to stand — stand!” There there is a sound of breaking timber again as the student body rises as if afflicted with rheumatism. Then some music is heard on the piano and the visitors look on in eager expectation. They watch the lady on the platform whom afterwards they learn is Miss Smith. She is doing something most incoherent with one foot and then raises one arm slowly and gracefully. The students are all trying to do the same but the effect is very different. After twenty minutes of various contortions the music dwindles down and the students dwindle too. As the last chord is sounded the teacher bows graciously and retires, just as another lady takes her place. She stands quietly before the school, assumes a wonderfully ethereal expression, and just as the strangers are expecting her to expound some marvelous philos- ophy they hear this voice singing (“like balls of light”): “Nom-m-m — Nom-m-m — Nom-m-m” and then the class repeat in suc- cession until the room vibrates with discords. These are the vocal exercises which everyone ought to practice at least an hour every day! President Southwick now gives a few words of valuable suggestion and then dismisses “his children” to classes. The music starts in with a lively popular tune and the students march out in single file, each one conscious that she is the cynosure of all eyes, while in reality no one even knows she is there. Consequently there is a little air of self-consciousness which quickly vanishes as soon as the surging mob reaches the lobby where it generates into a gabbling mass of human- ity. Miss Smith seems more perturbed about the “gabble” than anyone else and she bravely but forcefully transfers the crowd into the elevator. Once in there one is “done for.” You have to stand still while you are jabbed with books, pencils and hat pins, and if you talk you have to be very careful what you say because if you say anything about anyone that person is sure to be within hearing- distance. After reaching the fifth floor, which is the seat of learning, each individual goes indefinitely to her classroom and it happens to be more luck than anything else if she arrives in the scheduled room, because, like the negroes, they all look alike! If the pupils happened to be Seniors they go to “Romeo and Juliet” where each one, after carrying her chair around on her back deposits it where she THE E M ERSO N I A N 101 thinks she will be less liable to be called on. She then engages herself in rapid conversation with anyone who is considerate enough to listen. Suddenly a very positive step is heard along the hall. Enter Mrs. Hicks. The conversation boils over into a cadence and stops, and all eyes are turned towards Her. “Romeo and Juliet” is such an exciting class that the scholars have to sit tight to hold on. The whole period is diluted with ninety per cent thrills. Each girl feels ike a very fool while she is reading and knows that she is even more of a one as soon as she stops. The bell rings only too soon and the whole class file out thoroughly impressed and pass on into Advanced Interpretation where they find Mrs. Black surrounded by a number of students who were lucky enough to find some excuse to linger behind. She is talking with that same intensity of feeling and everyone realizes that her class is bound to be exciting. After reading the roll call Mrs. Black produces a large manuscript from a budget of papers and dictates a few notes. Then she suggests that some reading be done around the class. The atmosphere becomes very tense now as no one is ever sure where the axe is going to fall. Just as Mrs. Black “swoops down” upon the first unsuspect- ing victim, the rest of the pupils count up in number to see which verse will fall to them. There are many trembling knees and dry throats at just about this time, but happily the second victim has not obtained the right atmosphere and so she is doomed for the rest of the period. Mrs. Black becomes more and more intense as she puts the scholar through various tests and just as each girl decides she could do it much better than the one who is trying, the bell rings. Mrs. Black then kisses her pupil affectionately (more as a benediction than a farewell) and then everyone passes down the hall exclaiming impressively that she is “scarey but powerful.” Next is Mrs. Williard’s recital class. As you go into the room you can realize at once just which ones have to recite because the front row is lined with flushed faces and certain girls are biting their finger nails, at the same time assuming an outward calm, but this outward calm can always be mistaken — it is a “dead give away!” Mrs. Williard, after reading the “roll” gives a gracious nod to the “pupils who are held responsible for the morning’s program” and then assumes her correct, picture-book, sitting position which is the admiration of the whole class. The recitals now take place and are conspicuous because of their brevity. Mrs. Williard afterwards rises to the occasion with her black note book in hand and commences her criticisms which are usually very tolerant, because she must always be diplomatic and not hurt anyone’s feelings! She usually mentions the good points first, and then brings in the bad points as an afterthought, and she really does this so well that everyone says afterwards that she is a “perfect dear.” 102 THE EMERSONIAN The fourth period finds the division filing into Mr. Kenny’s room where he stands impressively before the class as though he were monarch of all he surveyed. The pupils sit before him like so many ninepins ready to be knocked down without a minute’s notice! The white cards which Mr. Kenny fondles carelessly are used to tell the fate of each person. If “His Majesty” finds a new defect in his pupil’s voice she looks as though she ought to dress in mourning, but if, on the other hand, after she has successfully hummed her “M” he says: “Good work — sit down,” she beams for the rest of the day. The bell rings most imprudently and usually at a most crucial moment, but that is fate, and the scholars rush down the hall making mental calculations as to how much money can be spent on lunch. The abundance of the repast always varies inversely according to the amount of finances in hand, and most of the school, after indulging in an apple and a cup of tea, find that there is plenty of time in which to interview Mr. Kidder about credits. He sits at his desk, as a martyr to the cause, while innumerable students push so many schedules before him that he has to look cross-eyed to see them all. People are usually very business- like with Mr. Kidder. They have to be because he decides such important ques- tions. He usually transfers a part of the multitude to Dean Ross who sits in his office as placid as a May morning and decides the most vital problems with apparent ease and calm. In passing from the Dean’s office one might wander down the hall where Dr. Black would be seen with a great many books and papers under his arm. From a distance he reminds one of Captain Hook in “Peter Pan” and just as a student decides to sink into oblivion for fear of an encounter, she hears a delightful Scotch greeting emphasized by an irresistible rolling “R.” This accent charms those who come within range of it and makes them bubble up inside with a desire to chuckle. By wandering further down the corridor one may catch a glimpse of Dr. Alden standing before a class of girls who are waving their arms about and taking deep breaths. Dr. Alden is always very much engrossed with his instructions but at the same time he never happens to miss anything which goes on outside of his door. A voice is heard not far off exclaiming estatically: “Students — oh, students!” A little person clad in a pink cameo and blue dress comes smiling into view. This is Miss McQuesten, who has come to impart some information to a group of pupils and she very likely singles out a few “to be ready for Senior recitals by next Thursday.” Whatever she says the girls are very good-natured about it because Miss McQuesten always inspires a jovial response. After a recess of three-quarters of an hour has elapsed Mrs. Rogers may be seen walking definitely to the office where she rings the bells for the last class and as she does this she smiles and beams benevolently upon the students who surround her. THE EMERSONIAN 103 The last period finds the Seniors in the lecture hall where they are talking over the affairs of the day. A man walks down the aisle. This is Mr. Tripp! He taps with his pencil on the back of the chair, smacks his lips, and reads the roll call. This being over, he smacks his lips again and retires to the back of the room where he sees and hears much more than is expected of him, and at the same time silently draws his own conclusions. Suddenly the lights all over the room are extinguished (except those on the stage). There is a hush of expectancy, and then the curtain rises and a real “playlet” is presented during the next half hour. When it is finished the curtain falls and then, in accordance with all the best rules of the theatre, it rises again and shows all the “stars” holding hands and bowing charmingly. The class then rises in a body, put on its wraps, and files out as Mr. Tripp eyes each one in his pleasantly critical way. This is another one of his virtues, the one quality over-balancing the other just enough to make it exciting. School is now supposed to be over. But not at all! Nearly everyone has to remain to meet some appointment. Some students are even obliged to go to sesthetic dancing class where they adorn themselves in wrinkled bloomers and try to make themselves think they look attractive. On the contrary they all look like the end of a misspent life as they gaze listlessly out of the windows waiting for Miss Riddle who suddenly appears. She has more vitality than the whole class put together, and she soon has them all in line where she commands them to take three steps forward and then u tour de bas.” Each individual takes the three steps and then does something indescribable. If there are visitors there they wonder a little about the u tour de bas.” It is a perfectly fascinating name and the way Miss Riddle says that one phrase, u tour de bas ” rings in one’s ears for days afterwards. After the dancing is over another survey of the corridor would show a young man standing before a group of scholars who are clad in aprons and who, with astonishing grimaces on their physiognomies are bending over individual electric lights. This is Mr. Burnham’s “make-up” class and one has only to glance in the room to see how remarkable it is. School now is over and as the last weary student stands exhausted before the elevator, she comes face to face with Miss Sleight , to whom she wails out her trials and tribulations all in one breath (Mr. Kenny has taught her the use of breath control). Miss Sleight puts her hands caressingly on the girl’s shoulders, tells her to go home, take a hot bath, and then retire. This is enough encourage- ment for the girl. She grasps at Miss Sleight as a drowning man at a straw and pours out her life’s complete story, commencing with the family affairs and ending up with hereditary traits which have caused her so much misfortune. Miss Sleight realizes that it will do the “poor child” a great deal of good to relieve the mind 104 THE EMERSONIAN of its burdens so she listens with her usual amount of sympathy and under- standing. At the front door of the building they part, and the exhausted student wan- ders homeward, thinking what bliss it would be to be one of the Emerson Faculty. And somewhere in the remote and restful suburbs, away from the trials of college, that same Faculty are at the same time realizing how glad they are that they are not enrolled as pupils in the Emerson College of Oratory. L. P.’15 A Night on the “Coeur de Lion” Percy Alexander, T6 The Island of Campobelle is shaped like an old woman — a dear, patient old lady, who has been content to sit for centuries in the same untiring position, and receive upon her bent and rock-ribbed back the relentless lashings of the Atlantic. Those terrible lashings! How often have I heard them at night resounding like muffled thunder over the tree tops, and have fallen asleep to dream of giants and earthquakes. I loved this dim region, with its great cliffs towering far above the surging mass of waters. I loved the gulls that ruled in wild abandon on the bosom of the incoming gale. But above all I loved the free sweep of black sand that curved like a drawn bow from the foot of the Glen Severn cliffs to the heights of Bone Vista, fully a mile away. Here Captain Kidd had buried countless treas- ures ; and it was here that I was wont to steal on still Sunday afternoons to watch the white sails far oujb at sea, and dream of lands that I had never seen. I feared the great loneliness that came upon the place when the sun was set, or when the clouds hung low in the heavens, and the day was darkened, for then the sea sent forth its dead and the land was peopled with a thousand fancies. At such times I would crouch in the cove and listen to the roaring of the sea, and watch the feverish surf, which like the breath from the thundering mouth of a cannon would rise like a ghost and vanish in the twinkling of an eye against the dark cliffs of Glen Severn. At such times, also, I shunned a certain dark object half buried in the black waters of a deep and narrow ford, above the crest of sand at the wood’s edge. It was the ruins of a massive wreck about which had congre- gated the tales of a simple and imaginative people. Often during the long winter evenings, when the table had been cleared and Betty had taken her darning, she would draw us about the fire and tell us of the wreck of the Coeur de Lion. How, in her grandfather’s time, it had set sail from England to bring Rear Admiral Fitz-William Owen and his young bride, Lady Ellen Archer-Shea, to their great estate on the wind-swept heights above Welsh Pool Bay. There had been a mutiny on the high seas, and the unhappy THE EMERSONIAN 105 ship fleeing before the fury of the heavens was caught and crushed in the iron grip of Glen Severn. “And did the sailors really kill Lady Ellen?” we would ask with widening eyes. Whereat old Betty would shake her finger. “Ain’t I been a-telling you that my Joe seen the very bar what struck the poor lamb down, and the Lord don’t catch me out there o’nights with the wind a-howling, for I’ve seen things. You needn’t tell me!” She always concluded this narrative with a wise shake of her head and an awful rolling of her eyes that never failed to strike terror to our hearts; so that we would creep trembling off to bed to snuggle under the warm coverlets and listen to the pounding of the sea. And ever through the web of my dreams passed the stately figure and the sad, pale face of the young bride — Lady Ellen Archer-Shea. I was still young when I left my island home, and these early terrors were swept away on a flood of new experiences. It was not until the end of my acad- emy life that I stood again, one dull October afternoon, on the cliffs above Glen Severn. It was one of those magical still days when the fondest memories of the past seem to congregate to pour in upon one’s soul like a sweet symphony. And as the sweetest things in life are usually tinged with something of mystery I was carried back at a bound to those early days when every cave and crevice of this desolate spot had been the abode of ghosts and spirits of the dead. I was overcome by an irresistible loneliness that was emphasized by the vast desolation of waters, which fretted the cliffs below my feet with a mournful and melancholy sound. And when I loosened a stone with my stick I drew back with a shudder at the dim echoes that were sent vibrating from rock to rock. A couple of ravens, probably nesting on a shelf of the cliff, launched themselves into the abyss of air and melted into the deepening gloom. Darkness comes quickly in these parts; the stars leap to their places while the sun still lingers on the western rim. And even now the sun had gone, leaving an angry scar on the border of the heavens against which the giant cliffs of Grand Manan stood like ebony on a shield of blood. The village of Welsh Pool lay fully three miles away and the road to the latticed windows where my mother would now be placing the evening lamp lay under the towering ranks of dark and solemn pines. Following a narrow sheep path I made what haste I could and came out upon the sands of Glen Severn. But here I found myself in a disheartening predicament. The waters of the ford had swollen and were rushing to meet the ocean in such a sturdy torrent as to shut me off completely from the road communicating with the village. I had either to retrace my steps up the side of the cliff, which the darkness was fast rendering impossible, or to scramble over the boulders that huddled like sheep at the water’s edge. This, also, I found impossible because of the incoming tide. It was then that I thought of the wreck of the Coeur de Lion and thither I bent my way. I 106 THE EMERSONIAN knew that by crossing this melancholy bridge I might gain the opposite shore and reach the village before dark. But as I stood finally in the shadow of the Coeur de Lion I stood abashed. What was it, I paused to wonder, that brought so vividly to my mind my childish impressions of this ill-favored object? For now, as if rushing to embrace a mind from which they had been all too rudely banished, old Betty’s tales came flocking to reclaim their ancient tenure with renewed and startling vividness. I heard her words as clearly as though they had been uttered yesterday (and she lying in her grave this many a day) : “The Lord don’t catch me out there alone o’nights, for I’ve seen things. You needn’t tell me!” And I confess that I was filled with that nameless, that inexplicable timidity and dread that a child feels when it finds it self alone amid the scenes of its nightly dreams of fear. The appearance of the whole place was, indeed, desolate in the extreme. The grim black sides of the ship were sunk deep in the sickening ooze, and along the water’s edge spread a stagnant growth of luxuriant mosses resting on the surface like fine silk. The running water carried out the long tendrils in graceful ripples and something in the movement of it suggested to my mind the unbound tresses of a woman’s hair, so that I thought of the Lady Ellen Archer-Shea. So unnerved was I that I trusted myself to look no longer and catching hold of a hanging cable I pulled myself lightly over the bulwarks and let myself down on the deck of the Coeur de Lion. At that moment, as if to emphasize my utter loneliness, there struck upon my ear, faintly borne above the wilderness of t ree tops, the distant tolling of the chapel bell from the hill above the village of Welsh Pool, calling the worshippers to evening devotion. The notes, half strangled by a rising wind, were inexpres- sibly sad and mournful. And although in any place so forlorn one might gladly have welcomed any sound of human companionship, these tones now filled me with a strange depres- sion of soul, as if they had lent themselves to those subtle phantoms that lurked in the shadow of the Coeur de Lion , ready to distort the most familiar sounds into impressions of dread and terror. They seemed as remote, as far away as those cold stars that were fast taking their places in the deepening vault of heaven. I was now cut off from any sight of the ocean by the bulwarks that came above my head and which darkened the corners of the deck into impenetrable caverns of gloom. The light was not so obscure, however, but I could distinguish the gaping blackness revealed by the missing door of the hatchway, from whence issued an odor of decaying timbers. A piece of paper caught by the wind swirled across the deck and I started visibly. As I did so a rotting timber gave way beneath my added weight. I was conscious of a sharp and biting pain. Things seemed strange and far away, and I sank down unconscious upon the deck. It must have been on the verge of midnight when I came to my senses. It THE EMERSONIAN 107 was a wild and serenely beautiful night. The moon was in the heavens, and like the pale face of a woman whose mind is dead, it reeled among the swift fleeting bars of blackness which the rising wind lashed in fury across the sky. The uncouth shadows rushing madly across the deck vied with the kaleido- scopic fury of the heavens. The wind gathering its force at a vortex would pause suddenly above the Cceur de Lion, then descend with such lightning rapidity as to shake her decaying timbers like reeds, so that I feared to be ground forever into dust and buried in the black waters of the lake. The heaving of the sea must have been terrific, for above the screeching of the wind could be heard the thunder- ing roar of the waves against the bosom of Glen Severn. The very coast seemed to rock with the mighty impact; and ever and anon the Cceur de Lion was shaken as with some feverish pulsation of the earth. Was it an electrical breath issuing from the region of that pale face in the clouds, or was it but the wind rushing in from the sea with some dark secret for those tall pines that bowed their heads submissively beneath the heavens and swayed their arms with a continual sighing and sobbing? There was no rain, but at intervals a cloud of fog fled like a sheeted ghost before the wind, or rested with wings atilt upon the quivering mast of the Cceur de Lion. I was so awed by the wild grandeur of the night that time and place seemed for the time to have been swept from my mind, and I lay endeavoring to collect my shattered wits. A dull throbbing in my leg caused me great uneasiness, but when I attempted to extract my imprisoned foot the sharp and biting pain caused me to cry aloud. But groaning here was surely out of place, as it served only to recall to my mind my utter loneliness and helplessness, and the terrors of the evening. I thought of the turmoil in the minds of my family with me abroad on such a night, and instinctively I strained my ears for any sound of human approach. I heard nothing, however, save the voices of the storm, and in a sudden lull of the wind there came from where the “Wolves” reared their hungry maws above the sea the half strangled moans of the “Whistling Buoy.” I could picture the frenzied foam leaping far over their jagged heads. God pity the vessel, thought I, that should run into that howling pack on such a night as this. Probably on such a night, too, that grim tragedy was enacted that had played such havoc with my childhood imagination. My mind was keely alive to every hideous suggestion, and my eyes followed fearfully each uncouth shadow as it swept across the deck. I cannot say how many minutes, perhaps only seconds of the terrible night had worn away when I became aware that some living thing was on the wreck near me. I heard nothing, I could see nothing. But every muscle was suddenly arrested, and I knew that I was not alone. I lay tense, straining every nerve; it seemed that my very blood stopped its action to intensify the stillness. Who’s there? I called aloud. 108 THE EMERSONIAN There was no answer, and the silence was more frightful than before. I was about to call again, when with a shock there smote upon the air a shrill, sharp scream. It came from the cavernous depths of the Coeur de Lion, and rose again and again — a very ecstacy of terror — until it seemed to me that it must have pierced the very ears of old Betty in her grave above the village. The pounding of my heart was greater than the beating of the sea against the bosom of Glen Severn. My eyes were fastened upon the hatchway whence had issued those terrifying cries and before I had the power to move them there glided there- from upon the deck of the Coeur de Lion the mantled figure of — could it indeed be so? — and yet it was no other. There before me stood the enveloped figure of Lady Ellen Archer-Shea. I did not move; I had not the power to stir. But I continued to gaze upon the figure before me, and even in this tortured state of my mind I found time to wonder what freak of the imagination had enabled me to picture so graphically in my childhood a figure upon which I now gazed for the first and only time. Here, indeed, was the same lady who had been wont to pass nightly before my sleeping cot. Here were the same eyes — never had I seen such large, such softly luminous eyes! And in them now was that ancient and familiar expression, that same tender and haunting appeal. Surely there never were such eyes as those of the Lady Ellen, which now seemed to pierce my very soul, and yet which seemed all unconscious of my being. I noted the whiteness of the mantle which served to envelop her figure, and which as she came from the hatchway hung from her outstretched arms and swayed gently in the wind. But the outward appearance of the figure was, indeed, of little moment as my whole attention was absorbed, fascinated, bound by the brilliancy of those singular and beautiful eyes. Never again should I doubt the wildest dreams that I might hear of this unearthly region. I could not see the moon, but I knew by the whiteness that suffused the deck that its face was uncovered. It was then that there leaped into the eyes of Lady Ellen Archer-Shea a wild look of terror, so that there shone therefrom such a light as was surely never reflected from human eyes. She glanced quickly from right to left and with arms upraised passed, without the least sound to a gap in that portion of the bulwarks that lay in shadow; so that, but for the whiteness of her dress and the peculiar brilliancy of her eyes she must have passed forever from my sight. The light that had burned so steadily into my eyes now wavered and at that moment there rushed through the opening of the hatchway whence had come the figure of the Lady Ellen Archer-Shea the figure of a man similarly gowned. I noted the same lustre of the eyes as they swept the deck with an evil and. pene- trating glare until they rested upon the figure in the shadow of the bulwarks. What was my surprise at this moment to see the Lady Ellen rush upon her THE EMERSONIAN 109 assailant with the rapidity of lightning and there burst from her soft white throat the same shrill, piercing cries as had before raised the terrors of the night. I watched like one transfixed, my eyes fastened upon the unfortunate woman who filled the night with the horror of her dying struggles. Her assailant towered above her with upraised arms. And at that moment I swear I saw aloft a great black bar that descended, delivering a terrific blow — not upon Lady Ellen’s head, but upon my own upturned face. When I opened my eyes I was lying upon my own bed with my head in a bandage. The bright streaks of morning light struggled through the curtained window and rested on the patchwork quilt. I attempted to rise but a kindly voice requested me to lie still and rest. Soon I learned that I had been found unconscious upon the deck of the Coeur de Lion, my broken ankle caught securely between two timbers. A heavy block, dislodged by the wind, probably at the moment of my keenest fear, had inflicted a deep gash across my forehead. Some days later I learned upon inquiry that as the searching party had approached the ship a couple of great snowy owls had darted out from the recess of the hatchway with screams of defiance and indignation at thus being robbed of their daily rest. They had evidently been nesting there for some time for the deck was strewn with feathers and many were stained with blood, as if a deadly battle for owner- ship had recently taken place. The Way to School Mary Ella Perry The way to school is a stretch of city street with the houses lined up on each side like a spelling class ready for a match, and the car tracks run down the center in due order. In fact it is quite a usual bit of street and does just what you expect of it. This is the way the street appeared to me when I first walked down it, but after having traveled it several times a day for a goodly space, in all moods and in all weather, it has grown to have a personality of its own. Every day some new aspect, some lovable oddity has revealed itself, until their accumulation has formed a sort of catalogue of daily delights, as it were. There is, to begin with, on looking up and down the length of it, a long sweep of tracks, a medley of cars and people and houses, and then the spires rising up at the far end. Then in a charmingly illogical order, the procession of sights and sounds proceeds — never any day alike — but a motley array ranging from the proverbial sublime to the ridiculous. There are the great patient horses 110 THE EMERSONIAN which always set me wondering what indomitable force it is that keeps them living on to the end of their lives — for who knows what? Again sometimes the sight of the cars and automobiles running about all by themselves, strikes me ludicrous and for an instant makes the whole scheme of things. Life’s mechanisms, its goings and comings, and paraphernalia gener- ally seem wildly amusing and almost silly — like a grotesque dream of some sleeping giant who will shortly wake up and spill us out of his head. Then there are the fruitstands with washed-faced apples; the vines running- in dismayed fashion over some of the houses; a policeman who carries the tin} school children across the street in his big arms; the versatile buildings which can have any kind of a show from palm-tree displays down to chickens; the exciting- movie signs, a certain lordly gray cat, and best of all near the end of the trip, is a broad clear space of sky, where deft invisible fingers daily place a new display of sky and cloud. Here is a railroad bridge where the smoke is exquisitely designed by the nature of things at the moment — and then curls and re-curls, and separates and reunites over and over until the eye is distracted by the beauty of it. Also the desire to go — oh, anywhere — gets started into life by the sight and sound of the trains — and why, by the way, do we want to go? What of thought or memory is it ever possible to leave behind us? They usually travel faster than we and await us at our destination. All of these things, and many more taken together, form the character of the street — a thing of varying moods under varying skies. These moods, in their turn are memorable. I shall never forget the picture of it at such differing times: There are the clear shining days, when the lines of the houses are startlingly distinct in every detail and all the little climbing spires beside the great spires are so clearly seen that they can be counted; when everybody looks as if they had just dropped a burden around the corner; when the wind blows wings and flags and clouds into riotous disorder about the sky, and the whole world is one gay laugh. Then the snowy days, when it seems as though a spirit has suddenly gone through the world with a finger on its lips, whispering: “Hush — hush-sh-sh” and has filled even the street with its gracious deeds. What the snow can take and do with an ordinary door-post is comparable to nothing as for miracles, lest it be what a kind spirit can do for a commonplace day. But best of all is the dear old street on rainy days. It is really snug at such times. The sky is so protectingly near, the bricks of pavements and houses show new colorings, and the people, suddenly bereft of high, indifferent airs, are invested with a convenient humility (for who could be high and mighty carrying an umbrella)? Then last, there is the foggy weather when the spires slip up into the mist like vanishing dreams and some vast unspeakable loneliness overwhelms the THE EMERSONIAN 111 world, and each person walks alone with the inscrutable yearnings of his own spirit. Yes, quite a wonderful bit of street after all and I like to think that I should walk it thus every day of my life. And even after I had died there would still be an incalculable store of riches in it which I had ne’er dreamed of. The Lure of the Camera Genevieve McGill Having your photograph taken is, perhaps, the most excruciating pleasure you may ever hope to experience. Of course you never dream of undergoing the agony until urged by “particu- lar” friends to present them with a glorified likeness of yourself. After several months of earnest thought and contemplation, you decide to offer yourself an unwilling sacrifice on the altar of friendship. You telephone to make an appointment, hoping you have chosen a time when the photographer is not at liberty, but he is! “Just one hour left this week and will be so pleased to see you.” The fated day arrives. You present yourself at the office; from there you are led into a small room, yes, very small; in fact one might call it the least common multiple of an 8 ' x 10 ' . Here you proceed to array yourself in an outfit you hate to wear; your “crowning glory” is strangely perverse, and after a careful study of your features, you realize that you will never look like the few who are for- tunate enough to become “classics,” remaining as eternal illustrations of what this particular photographer can do for those who are by nature good to look upon. Next you are ushered into a larger room with a very solemn atmosphere. You marvel at detached staircases, and windows where people stand with that “far away look.” You know, because you have seen such things depicted. Being thoroughly frightened by this time, you sit quietly and with an obvious show of resignation, allow your head to slip away into a tortuous-looking iron frame. At last you recognize the bliss of an hour with the dentist. Indignation is written plainly on your face. Why should he ask you to smile? Your agony is surely manifest. Nevertheless, you do grin a little, because if you didn’t, you know very well he would make you laugh outright by winding a mechanical toy or wiggling a wooly dog, which would be the last straw. You venture to address your torturer by saying you “look perfectly frightful” but he assures you that you are of your “sex and species the aesthetic triumph of creation.” 112 THE EMERSONIAN Another man now appears, a tall blond youth, who hides his face as quickly as possible, then pushes a huge mechanism in your direction. “All right, look straight ahead,” your captor thunders. The confederate takes aim and fires! You swoon, but you are not slain, in fact you recover. Quietly you withdraw, overcome by the prospect of seeing home once more. In a week you call for your proofs. They prove nothing to you except that you are far less attractive than you dreamed; even when you were as blue as indigo and hated yourself. Your friends do not agree as to which looks least like you (really, it is hard to judge), and ultimately you end this harrowing adventure by going back to make arrangements for another sitting. The Triumph of the Feather Duster Gertrude Keister Spring was in the air, there could be no doubt of it ! Men and women walked more briskly down the icy streets; shop windows, formerly soft with furs and sombre velvets, began to show faint hints of lavender and rose; even the hats perched on waxen models assumed a jauntier tilt; students, thronging the great city, to-day were carrying bags of dreams; even the conductors on the crowded cars seemed more nearly human — one unbent sufficiently to answer a question in an almost civil manner. Spring? Yes, it was spring; bringing with it all the age-old memories; all its half-sensed possibilities; all its promises to mortals, could they hear the Pipes o’ Pan and catch the hidden meaning from his heart of song. The earth was young again and all her children were vibrant with a stronger pulse of life. Walking down the street in the teeth of a brisk March wind, came the very incarnation of all the youth of the world. A girl, tall, slender, every movement instinct with life and grace. There was courage in the proud poise of the head; a hint of a little too reckless independence about the lovely mouth; and suddenly in her eyes, a touch of the faintest wistfulness. “Lilies-of-the-valley,” she murmured softly; “it is their fragrance! The fairies are ringing their bells in the valley of happiness, miles and miles away. Nancy! What a foolish girl you are! ’Tis only a whiff from a florist’s shop. Florist’s shop! Oh, this endless city — ” Her musings were suddenly interrupted. A tall young man, a very presentable young man indeed, had spied the slender figure in its spring-like garb of green, and crossed the street to meet her, saying quickly, “Hello, Nancy! Going home? Let me come — I promise I’ll be good and leave in just thirty-one minutes.” 113 THE EMERSONIAN “It is yourself, Hal? Shure, and why not make it the one without the thirty?’ ’ teased Nancy. “Nay, you know you’re welcome; but for your own sake, I’m warning you not to propose to-day. I’m liable to accept!” The young man reddened. “Oh, now, look here, Nancy,’ tisn’t fair to laugh at me. Goodness knows I try to stop proposing to you, but it seems to have become a habit! However, I’ll be darned if I do it any more for a month! Maybe by that time you’ll be so grateful for my forbearance that you’ll accept me heart and hand.” “Not a chance, Hal,” laughed Nancy. “I’m much too busy. But come on up to the house. You can stay out on the fire-escape while I straighten the suite. At present it may be a sight for gods, but certainly not for men ! ” The two walked on chatting merrily. Nancy’s mercurial spirits soared happily, her momentary unhappiness forgotten. Human companionship is a blessed thing; just the comfort of being with one well known and liked often ban- ishes anguish that seemed to rack the heart. Yet often, too, that sense of comfort is tragical since not understood; for ’tis sometimes the herald of a deeper happi- ness — potential; a messenger of the little god of love to stupid folk buried deep in commonsense. At last Nancy and Hal reached the apartment house, where Nancy and her two student friends were playing at keeping house for the winter. One was just coming down the walk. Nancy hailed her with joy, robbing her of the house key that traveled around erratically among the three — the other two keys had disappeared during the soul-stirring times of house cleaning — and ran gayly up the steps calling over her shoulder, “Hurry up, Hal! I’ll beat you to the elevator.” Hal Morrison smiled. “You’re a reckless little creature, Nancy; actually you make me dizzy with your whirlwind life. You’d better stop it, and settle down, little lady. Now wait a minute! I’m going to open that door. These blooming- elevators are uncanny things.” “Aren’t they?” chuckled Nancy, fitting herself comfortably into a corner and giving the button a rather vindictive little push. “This one always reminds me of the man in Arabian Nights that said ‘Open Sesame’ with such marvelous results. Only I’m constantly afraid the apparatus will get stubborn and refuse to come. I’m sure it has human intelligence.” “Living near you, it’s apt to, Nancy, my dear,” Hal said with mock-gallantry. “Now drop that possessive pronoun,” scolded Nancy. “I don’t mind being ‘dear’; but the horrible atmosphere of domesticity, and general marital freedom that goes along with the ‘my’ makes me see row upon row of feather dusters whisking my remnants of soul into eternal waste-paper baskets. I don’t like it — ugh!” The young man smiled a little sadly. 114 THE EMERSONIAN “Well, Nancy — dear,” he said, “I shan’t argue with you, but oh, little woman, if you could only realize that happiness, true happiness, is just as apt to lie with your dusters as with your restless wanderings. ‘Home-keeping hearts remember! but there! Run along in, and whisk those kimonas under the couch, while I smoke on the fire-escape.” Nancy sighed, a trifle penitently, and back to her eyes came the shadow of a dream, and over her face came the wistful look the lilies-of-the-valley brought; but she opened her door and with an occasional glance at Hal, commenced bustling about with an air of great importance, singing softly to herself: “Happiness, happiness, where have I laid you? Caught one day from the skies’ bright blue; Treasured in sunshine, sparkling with diamonds Dancing on rose-leaves, glist’ning in dew” — Nancy broke off abruptly, saying indignantly to herself, “Feather dusters? — Never!” Then aloud, “Come in, Hal; the room is swept and garnished. Don’t we look nice?” “Most magnificent, Nancy. Now for the first five of those thirty-one minutes, I’m going to give you your final opportunity to embrace the feather dusters — and incidentally, me!” Hal grinned boyishly. “0 pshaw! I can’t joke about this, Nancy. I’ve been hanging around this town — you chiefty — so long that I’ve lost all sense of proportion, and I’m apt to laugh at things nearest to my heart and weep when I draw a royal straight. Truly, Nancy, I can’t stand this any longer. If you don’t accept me to-day I’m going to leave for Colorado to-morrow. Jack Dilger has offered me a cracking good job as electrical engineer with the Elkhorn Coal and Coke Company, and I’m going to work. Nancy, dear, if it could only be work for you — ” Nancy gasped. “Again? Oh, Hal, you promised!” “Yes, I know I did; but a fellow isn’t wholly responsible around you, Nancy. You’re the best little chum that ever lived when a fellow just likes you, — but you’re a witch , a tantalizing, aggravating, charming little witch when he loves you. And Nancy, I’m lonely. Life’s a dreadful bore when you’re anchorless — ” Nancy dropped her head on her hands a moment, then looked up with all the rebellious protest that — for all the warmth and truth in her heart — had so often led her impulsively astray. “But Hal, it’s the everlasting sameness of this matrimony thing I hate! Oh, I can’t do it. I love this way of living. I adore the happy, care-free irresponsi- bility of it. Houses stifle me! Happiness can’t lie in feather dusters; tho’ I’m sure I don’t know where it is. I’ve mislaid mine,” and Nancy smiled but with a wistful little quiver of the mouth. “I caught it once, ages ago, perhaps, before the world and you and I were made; but now it only comes to me in faint whispers of fragrance, like a dear, half-forgotten memory. Sometimes, Hal, I feel I’m THE EMERSONIAN 115 fated to be unhappy — that happiness will come and pass, and I shall know him — too late.” Nancy suddenly rose with a reckless little toss of the head. “But yet I can’t tell now. Please go, Hal; I’m sorry, but you must.” Hal caught her hand in his. “Very well, dear! It’s all right. I understand. But I’m not going to give up hope yet. I can’t help you to know yourself now, tho’, Nancy dear. It seems my presence only adds to your uncertainty. So good-bye, God keep you, dear. If ever — Oh, Nancy, there won’t be many feather dusters! But no — Good-bye!” Before Nancy could speak, Hal caught her in his arms, kissed her, and was gone. Six days passed; six long, gray days. Nancy went about her daily occupa- tions, but down at her heart was an ache, a definite, unmistakable ache that had never been there before. Not even to herself, though, would she really admit her loneliness. There was her art ! but art seemed suddenly longer than the road to righteous- ness, and a bloodless, lifeless thing, colder than the arctic snows. Most unaccount- ably Nancy found herself listening, breathless, each morning, for the postman’s ring. Why, she didn’t know. Certainly she didn’t expect Hal to write; he had realized how ineffectual letters were. At every footstep in the hall she started, then shook herself in disgust. Gracious! She wasn’t in love with Hal; and besides his footsteps couldn’t be sounding in the hall unless the bell rang first; why, to be prosaic and technical, he’d have to climb the fire-escape if he didn’t ring and ask for admittance! But hearts are known to be illogical things. By the seventh day Nancy had gained the proud ability to cast merely a casual glance in passing, as it were, upon the mail-box; she steadfastly refused to walk up to it and reach two small fingers down inside to be sure that — well, to be sure that — oh, any miracle might happen! Perfectly good letters have been known to get twisted up into such tiny strips that they were quite invisible. To be sure, such cases are rare, but they have been known to occur. On the eighth day, though, the bell rang furiously in the afternoon. It was the postman! With a parcel-post package mailed from Philadelphia. Nancy took off wrapping after wrapping; and then as the contents were revealed, stared in amazement, not unmixed with mirth. In her hand was an elegantly bound copy of “House Craft Made Interesting. The Modern Science for Woman.” “Well, at any rate, it’s a very pretty book,” smiled Nancy,, “tho’ I’ll wager it’s a horrid bore. I shan’t punish myself with reading it, that’s certain,” and she tucked it away in a corner of the book-case. 116 THE EMERSONIAN The next night Nancy’s room-mate, Beatrice Fairfax, searching for her Kipling, discovered “House Craft,” and haled it forth in high glee. “Oh, come here Edna!” She called to the other member of the triumvirate, who was busily studying in her room. “Nancy’s going in for domestic science and the sheltered life for women. How have the mighty fallen!” “Just because some practical joker chooses to waste his perfectly good cash, I don’t have to read the thing,” retorted Nancy, with some spirit. “Oh, what’s that? The postman this late?” It was; and he bore with him a handsomely bound edition of the collected magazines of Good Housekeeping for the preceding year. Close upon the heels of this arrival came a letter from the publishers of the Good Housekeeping and Ladies ’ Home Journal with the information that they took pleasure in sending Nancy, beginning with that month, a year’s subscription to their respective magazines. Then followed an uneventful week, entirely empty of packages. Surely the gener al of this campaign was a genius. Just when Nancy was beginning to feel the weight of ennui a large, square, interesting-looking package arrived. It was flat and thin — what could it be? Nancy unwrapped it hastily, with no small degree of anticipation — it was a large, hand-painted, brilliantly colored repro- duction of a feather duster! Nancy collapsed upon the sofa, helpless with mirth. When Edna and Beatrice arrived, they found the feather duster usurping the proud position the Winged Victory had held, nor could all their piety or wit avail to change its station! Nancy herself was reposing upon the sofa, immersed in a book which she dropped hastily, but with a studied attempt at nonchalance, among the pile on the table, as she rose and hurried out to the kitchenette to prepare dinner. From the clatter of utensils floating out forthwith to the ears of the other two girls, they judged that “things were toward” in the culinary department; and they were right. A most strange and wonderful concoction in the way of dessert greeted their astonished eyes a little later. “What in the world, Nancy?” asked Beatrice. “Are you sure it’s safe , my dear?” Nancy flushed indignantly. “Now you needn’t think I can ' t cook, just because I don’t choose it as a profession! Commonsense teaches you one or two things.” “Your pronoun was properly chosen, Nancy,” murmured Beatrice teasingly; “but so far as I can see, we still get no light on this particular product. Is it genius? For pardon me, my dear, it doesn’t look like commonsense! And are you sure it has enough nitrogenous properties, Nancy?” Nancy’s tip-tilted nose elevated itself two inches in the air, as she said, “That shows how much you know, Beatrice Fairfax. Desserts aren’t supposed to be nitrogenous; they’re carbonaceous. ” THE EMERSONIAN 117 “I knew it, Edna ’ exulted Beatrice; “she has been studying ‘House Craft How could you support a family on $1,500 a year, Nancy? Isn’t that what Hal gets, Edna? Oh, come back, Nancy. Be a sport!” But Nancy had fled! The next mail from the West brought a legal-looking document and several pamphlets. The document was a blue-print of a bungalow that made Nancy’s heart beat more warmly in spite of itself; the pamphlets were from the architects who designed it, treating interestingly of woods and stains, and built-in book- cases, open fireplaces — everything about a house that a home should have. Nancy spread the plans out on her table, and fell to interested discussion with herself. “Now if only these were French windows, — and if that porch went all the way ’round, it could be ever so much nicer,” she decided. “Den? Now what in the world would this house want with a den? Oh, well! Yes, I reckon there ought to be a man in it,” — grudgingly. “Somebody would have to fire the furnace, and maids are much too expensive. But gracious me! I’ve no time to be wasting like this.” And Nancy swept the whole collection into her chiffonier drawer. The next day, with no reason nor excuse for such madness, she deliberately decided upon the colors she would like for each room. She hesitated long over the living room — twenty-three feet long it was, with a big open fireplace. “Green is certainly the most restful color,” deliberated Nancy. “Green it shall be! And the woodwork shall be golden oak, and the furniture green wicker, with gray covers splashed all over with pink roses, luscious pink roses — Oh ! What’s that? The postman again? Well, it’s a good thing. I’m getting almost sentimental! Oh, dear, my heart isn’t just comfortable!” Two packages this time met Nancy’s eager gaze. One, big, bulky, the other, thin and flat. She opened the big one first — out tumbled six black cloths, with gloves fastened to the back! There was a circular attached: “Dustless dusters, warranted hygienic — takes the place of the old-fashioned unsanitary feather duster — every housewife needs them.” “Oh, Hal, Hal, you’re a darling!” Nancy laughed, but tenderly. “And what, oh, what is this other one?” “This other” was a kodak picture of a young man on horseback — his eyes looking straight into Nancy’s from some Colorado hill, miles and miles away. 5j{ % % Hs H The next day, out at a busy mine near Denver, a young electrician had just finished his morning ablutions, arrayed himself in the spotless khaki that betrayed the tenderfoot, and was starting out the door to the shaft. He stopped a moment on the threshold and drew from his pocket the picture of a merry, roguish face, looking at it whimsically but tenderly. 118 THE EMERSONIAN Nancy, dear,” he murmured, “will you love me or hate me, I wonder, for this deluge of things domestic I’ve been turning loose upon you? Please God it may be the former, little girl. Oh, Nancy, Nancy, if you could only learn to know your own true self as I have faith to believe I know it, little woman — ” The manager’s son came running up the hill. “Here, Sir,” he broke out, “here’s a telegram for you. Dad said it just came. Is there any answer?” Hall tore open the envelope, and instantly the words were graven on his heart. “Answer? No!” His joyousness bubbled in his voice. “But say! Tell your father I’ve changed my mind. I accept that leave of absence he offered me last night. I’m leaving for Boston on the 9.45. If you get my horse up here in five minutes you’ll never regret it, son.” This was the telegram : “Picturesqueness preferable to Sanitation. Please bring one feather duster. “Nancy.” THE EMERSONIAN 119 “If” (For Emersonians) (With Apologies to Kipling) If you can go to class, when all about you Are cutting theirs and trying to make you; If you can trust yourself, when teachers doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting, too. If you can wait, and not get tired in waiting For rehearsals, which they never have, Or being Captain, don’t give way to chatting And yet don’t look too cross, or talk too bad. If you can walk just like a man, or master, If you can storm like Kate, — be not too tame! If you can meet with Romeo and Juliet And treat those lovelorn lovers just the same; If you can bear to hear the scene you’ve coached Ripped up by Tripp, and never shed a tear, Or watch the scene you gave your life to, roasted, Why, then, you just belong right here. If you can make one heap of all your blue books, And start to write them when it’s nearly ten, But not let midnight study spoil your good looks, And not forget that you must wind “Big Ben”; If you can force your last week’s small allowance To pay your bills long after they are due, And so keep on, when there is nothing for you, Except Exams, which say, “Plug on!” to you. If you can take Expressive Voice and Ethics, Debate, “Extemp,” and “Taming of the Shrew,” Also Dramatic Training and Forensics And Evolution of Expression, too; If you can fill your vacant periods With sixty seconds’ worth of time improved, Your place is here at dear old Emerson And what is more — you’ll be a Grad — oh, do! Beatrice Elinor Perry 120 THE EMERSONIAN Opportunity Percy Alexander This I dreamed — no, by George, I saw it! There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; And underneath the cloud, and in it, sped A train — full blast! And men sneezed, and Ladies yawned with grimy fingers ’gainst their rouged lips. A dainty damsel sighed, then settled Backward, bored but brave! A craven hung from out an upper berth, And said, “Had I the fortunes of the country’s blest — The yellow gold from Rockefeller’s vaults — But this poor thing!” he flung it from his hand, And stretched full length, like one who had a million! Then came the grinning Africanus down the line, All penniless, and spied the glittering quarter where it lay, And snatched it up, and ran and bought A whisk-broom, and with battle shout He brushed the travelers down, and let no dust escape, And banked ten dollars that heroic day! (Good way!) SOCIETIES 122 THE EMERSONIAN Delta Delta Phi Colors — Black, White and Gold Flower — Marguerite Honorary Members Henry Lawrence Southwick Walter Bradley Tripp Charles Winslow Kidder Harriet C. Sleight Mrs. Charles W. Kidder William G. Ward Mrs. William G. Ward Associate Member Mrs. Jessie Eldridge Southwick Active Members 1912 Ruth Southwick Helen Baxter Lois Perkins 1917 Katherine Tull Mildred Southwick Vivian King AA4 DELTA DELTA PHI 124 THE EMERSONIAN Kappa Gamma Chi 1914 Madeleine Tarrant 1915 Marguerite Grunewald Genevieve McGill Alice Evans Elizabeth Sturdivant Minnie Frazine Laura Meredith 1917 Nettie Hutchins Ann Minahan Phyllis Jenkins Honorary Members Mrs. H. S. Ross Mrs. F. L. Whitney Mrs. W. H. Kenney Miss Lilia Smith Dorothy Canaga Elizabeth Tack Frances Bradley Georgette Jette May Miller Naomi Williamson Louise Hainline Marion Welles I KAPPA GAMMA CHI 126 THE EMERSONIAN Miss Mrs. Phi Mu Gamma 1914 Dorothy Deming Emily Brown 1915 Betty Perry Marion Vincent Harriet Brown 1916 Theodate Sprague Carolyn Jones 1917 Mary Sayer Esther De Wire Marie Helm Estelle Van Hoesen Gwendolyn Henry Anne Vail Gladys Hunt Harriet Sleight F. L. Whitney Honorary Members Mrs. M. Hicks Mr. W. B. Tripp Mrs. E. Black Pres. H. L. Southwick o M PHI MU GAMMA 128 THE EMERSONIAN Colors — Hose and White Alpha Beta . Gamma Zeta Phi Eta Flower — La France Rose Chapter Roll . Emerson College of Oratory, Boston, Mass. Comnock School, Chicago, 111. Syracuse University, Syracuse, N. Y. Honorary Members Henry Lawrence Southwick Walter Bradley Tripp Allan A. Stockdale Ella G. Stockdale Edward Phillip Hicks Bertel Glidden Williard Mary Elizabeth Gatchell Elizabeth M. Barnes Associate Members Maud Gatchell Hicks Gertrude T. McQuesten Florence Bean Zinita B. Graf Elsie R. Riddell Active Members 1914 Virginia Beraud F. Marion John 1915 Elvie Burnett Williard Gertrude Chamberlain Laura B. Curtis Edna N. Spear Rebecca Farwell Gertrude Morrison C. Jean MacDonald Marguerite Seibel Alice F. White Helen Bartel Dorothy Hopkins Stella Rothwell 1917 Hazel Call Eleanor Jack Astrid Nygren Etta G. Gore Margaret Longstreet 130 THE EMERSONIAN Phi Alpha Tau Alpha Chapter Founded at Emerson College of Oratory, 1902 Chapter Roll Alpha . Emerson College of Oratory, Boston, Mass. Beta Gamma University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. Delta Leland Stanford University, Berkeley, Cal. Epsilon University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn. Zeta Carroll Colege, Waukesha, Wis. Eta College of Puget Sound, Tacoma, Wash. Theta Northwestern College, Naperville, 111. Iota University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kan. Officers Albert R. Lovejoy President William G. Ward, A. M Vice-President Albert F. Smith Secretary Walter B. Tripp Treasurer Active Members Robert H. Burnham Edwin D. Flanders, Jr. Fred W. Hubbard Albert R. Lovejoy Albert F. Smith Anthony B. Taliaferro Walter B. Tripp Henry L. Southwick William G. Ward, A. M. Honorary Members E. Charlton Black, A. M., LL. D. Charles T. Grilley Richard Burton Edwin Whitney Allan A. Stockdale PHI ALPHA TAU Jtlotto sfjoulii tf jc spirit of mortal tie proub?” THE EMERSONIAN 133 Dramatic Index The Deep Symbolic Meanings of Plays in Boston “Much Ado About Nothing” “Midsummer Night’s Dream “Comedy of Errors” . “As You Like It” .... “The Winter’s Tale” “The Tempest” .... “All’s Well that Ends Well” “Measure for Measure” “School for Scandal” “The Phantom Rival” “The Rivals” “Panthea” “Mis-Leading Lady” . “Outcast” “Innocence” “Diplomacy” Examinations Junior Prom Freshman Stunt Senior Stunt Report Cards Emerson Exercises C ommencement Costumes for Dramatic Art Emerson College of Oratory Laura Curtis Marian John and Virginia Vedder Ruth Southwick Mildred Southwick The Seniors The “Co-eds” Faculty Criticisms POST-GRADUATE PRODUCTIONS Instructed by Mrs. Hicks Fennel The Romancers Holly Tree Inn The Game of Comedy Land of the Heart’s Desire Comedy and Tragedy In Honor Bound Caesar and Cleopatra SENIOR PRODUCTIONS Instructed by Professor Tripp Pygmalion and Galatea Gringaire King Rene’s Daughter David Garick Nance Oldfield Birthright The School for Scandal She Stoops to Conquer The Shadow of the Glen A Set of Turquoise The Decision of the Court Rosalind 134 THE EMERSONIAN THE CLASS OF 1915 EMERSON COLLEGE PRESENTS “EVERYSTUDENT” A MORALITY PLAY Adapted from Walter Brown’s “Everywoman” BY GEORGETTE JETTE ASSISTED BY GENEVIEVE McGILL December 17, 1914 CANTICLE I. Everystudent’s Home. Everystudent, with her three companions, becomes discontented in her home, because there Nobody admires her, Flattery comes to her, and exaggerating her power of expression, persuades her to seek for Art and win the applause of the world. Everystudent believes him and goes in quest of Art. CANTICLE II. At Emerson College. Everystudent comes to Emerson, where the Faculty aid her in her quest. They tell her to make Work her friend but Everystudent finds Work too hard and is afraid of her. Pink Tea, Maxixe and a host of Little Things beguile Everystudent. They make her forget Work. Dazed and bewildered she loses Simplicity and mistakes Artifice for Art. CANTICLE III. At Emerson College. After fruitless wanderings and many little adventures, Everystudent becomes weary in her search for Art, and almost despairs of ever finding her. Far wiser than at the beginning of her quest, she turns to Work whom she now sees to be beautiful. Work, in return for Everystudent’s love, shows her a vision of Art. Nobody Olive Grover Everystudent Grace Bigler Youth Rebecca Farwell Talent Beatrice Perry Simplicity Laura Meredith Flattery Helen Baxter Work Elizabeth Sturdivant Pink Tea Alice White Maxixe Ruth Southwick Artifice Emily Brown Art Helen George Vocal Technique Edwin D. Flanders, Jr. Argumentation Naomi Williamson Anatomy Florence Westbrook Oratory Louise Mace Articulation Louise Hainline Impersonation Marion Vincent Ethics Nellie Marrinan Gesture Caroline Jones Time Jessie MacAloney Aspirants — Pert, Shirk, Earnest, Butterfly, Dig, Grind and Star Misses Bradley, Bradford, Smith, Ritchie, Evans, Seibel and Privett The Little Things Misses Gildersleeve, Waterhouse, Benjamin, Snyder, Wells and Conant STUDENT COMMITTEE Albert R. Lovejoy, Chairman May Miller Marion Vincent Lois Perkins Edwin D. Flanders, Jr. Georgette Jette " Pianist, Genevieve McGill Dances by Miss Elsie Riddell, Emerson College THE EMERSONIAN 135 SOPHOMORE THE CLASS OF 1917 EMERSON COLLEGE OF ORATORY PRESENTS ALONG CAME TRUTH BY Laurence Joseph Smith Huntington Chambers Halls, Thursday, December 10, 1914 Characters Truth Benson, the girl from Emerson . Mrs. Amelia Benson, her mother Sheridan Love, the man from Emerson . Gideon Gadgrind, a hypocrite Euphemia, his submissive wife Professor Tuttle, principal of Peaks ville Academy . Alice, his blind daughter Hi Hoosier, the chore boy Sarah Maud Perkins, with detective ambitions Mr. Harry S. Ross, dean of Emerson College . Mrs. Ross, his better half Miss Harriet Sleight, enthusiast collecting bones . Maggie Mixem, an escaped lunatic Grabem Quick, asylum guard Dorothy Hopkins Astrid Nygren Burton James Fred W. Hubbard Helen Reed George F. Pearson Freda Walker Charles Vinick Leoda MacAleer Laurence J. Smith Lucy Upson Molly Sayer Marjorie Leach A. Barclay Taliaferro Chorus of Students The Misses Jack, Bellefontaine, Bartel, DeWire, Haszard, Hunt, King, Rothwell, Call, Green, Kennard, Southwick, Vail, Van Hoesen Pianist , Lucile Barrow Synopsis of Scenes Act I. Sitting room at Benson’s Time: Near Christmas Act II. Peaksville Academy, an afternoon in Commencement Week, three years later Musical Numbers “You Can’t Get Away from It” “The Girl from Emerson” Committee Nettie Hutchins, Chairman Dorothy Canaga Laurence Smith Burton James Eleanor Jack THE EMERSONIAN 137 EMERSON COLLEGE OF ORATORY Sixth Annual Production from the Elizabethan Drama THE GRADUATE CLASS OF 1915 PRESENTS “ THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE ” By Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher Foreword. “In its conception, The Knight of the Burning Pestle’ is in a marked and peculiar sense original. Its place among the dramas of its age is unique and unapproached. In its function as a burlesque, it is the only complete embodiment of a new dramatic type. “The satire in the play points in many directions. It is leveled at the romances of chivalry, together with the tastes of the reading members of the middle classes; it is leveled at the dunce- critics of the London shops, who presume to sit in judgment upon the playwrights; it is leveled at some of the childish diversions and foibles of the commoners, with an especial reference to th eir inflated military ardor. “There are three comparatively distinct strands in the plot of the play: the love story of Jasper and Luce, the fortunes of the Merrythought family, and the adventures of Ralph. The last offers an excellent parallel, in its ridiculous laudation of the prowess of London prentice- boys, to the burlesque use of this theme in the play. The first two are realistic reflections of ordinary life merely, and drawn from the common subject-material of the stage.” Former Revivals 1910. “The Marriage of Wit and Science” 1911. Jonson. “Every Man in His Humor” 1912. Jonson. “The Silent Woman” 1913. Chapman. “All Fools” 1914. Shakespeare. “The Merry Wives of Windsor” Produced under the direction of Mr. Walter Bradley Tripp “THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE” Dramatis Personae Speaker of the Prologue Miss O’Connell A Citizen Miss McMichael His Wife Miss Harris Ralph, his apprentice Miss McDonough First Boy Miss Bailey Second Boy Miss Michel Venturewell, a merchant Miss Brown Humphrey Miss John Merrythought Miss Curtis Jasper ) , • { Miss Graf Michael hlS S ° nS I Miss Bean Tim [ ( Miss Beard George i apprentices j Miss Strickland Host of the Bell Inn Miss Beattie Tapster Miss Coolbaugh Barber Miss I go Sergeant Miss O’Connell William Hammerton Miss Igo George Greengoose Miss Coolbaugh Soldiers Misses Beattie, Perry, Mrs. Langford, Misses Brown, Deming, Spear, Tarrant Gentlemen Messrs. Allison and Newton Luce, daughter of Venturewell Miss Beraud Mistress Merrythought Miss Lyons Pomponia, daughter of the King of Moldavia Mrs. Langford Scene: London and the neighboring country, excepting Act IV, Scene 2, where it is in Moldavia. 138 THE EMERSONIAN MAGAZINE BOARD Emerson College Magazine Belle McMichael . Virginia Beraud Rebecca Farwell . Alice Sigworth Laurence J. Smith . Margaret Hyde Editor-in-C hief Associate Editor Senior News Junior News Sophomore News Freshman News Albert F. Smith Business Manager Emerson College Magazine under the direction of the Students’ Association is a true exponent of Emerson. It imbibes the Emerson atmosphere and sends it to all parts of the country to the alumni colleges interested in Oratory. The magazine serves as a connecting link between the graduates and their Alma Mater. It is the medium by which they may keep in touch with them. Within its pages are found articles pertaining to the technique of the work, contributed by persons of professional note and experience; cuttings appropriate for platform readings chosen from worthy literature; selected poems, and college and alumni news. It is the aim of the magazine to bring each subscriber something of value in relation to this chosen work of Oratory. THE EMERSONIAN 139 Students’ Council In April, 1908, the students of Emerson College organized themselves into a Students’ Association, the object being to unify the student body, and in a way to make the true Emerson spirit more keenly felt among the students, and to further the interests of the college. The Association is officered by a president, a vice-president, secretary- treasurer, and the students’ council. This council consists of three officers of the Association as officers ex officio, and twelve other members, three from each class. Regular monthly meetings are held by the council and here plans are discussed and recommended that help the student body as a whole and also the Alma Mater. This year the council has been busily engaged in paying off old debts of the Asso- ciation amounting to accumulated sums. The Emerson College Magazine, which is published once a month throughout the year, is under the control of the Association which has also had charge of the Annual Year Book — the Emersonian, during the last four years. It is the great unifying element of all the student body. STUDENTS’ COUNCIL

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