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Page 31 text:
THE SWAN SONG The room was still, save for the soft chords of the organ. A stray sunbeam glanced through the window, playing on the face of the organist as he sat before the beautiful old instrument. The choir began to file in, silently taking its place in the front of the huge room. This choir had been founded full fifty years before by some great lovers of music. By constantly ta king on new men, younger ones who would be able to carry on the work, hardly one of the original group remained. One gentleman, how- ever, was so old and care-worn that he must have been among the founders. His hair was white, his face lined, and his eyes dull and listless. Bowed down by the cares of the world, he Seemed to be far away in a world of his own, oblivious of his surroundings. As the first number commenced, his hands shook, and with a start he came to the present. Gazing in wonder at the young faces about him, he pondered why he, so old and faded, should be placed among these young men, full of life and gayety, the whole future before them. Life was before them, with its happiness and sorrow, joy and defeat, its tricks and turns, and beguiling ways. He, too, had been young once, innocent, and proud to face the world with his young strength. He wished to tell them that it was all useless, that life would fool them when least expected, and would bring sorrow and disappointment with it. Suddenly he felt something straining the very depths of his soul, forcing him to look upward, upward, towards heaven. He began to wonder what his loved ones would think if they could see him then, a sour, bitter old man, not willing to take his portion of the world ' s unhappiness. He began to sing, softly at first and tremblingly, but soon it came clear and strong, so true that it sent a tremor into the hearts of the people, although they knew not why. The choir was hushed by the power of his voice, and the audience scarcely breathed for fear of losing a note. Gallant and brave he was, an old war-horse, his day long since over, but singing with vigor and spirit in memory of his boyhood days. There is an empty seat in the choir now; no one thinks of refilling it. It stands there, a silent reminder of a gallant old gentleman who gave his last song to the world with a smile on his lips, although his heart beat low within him. — Louise Ruggles, H9. CLOUDS As I was looking at the sky, I saw a lovely cloud on high; It turned into a maiden fair With lovely form and flowing hair. An elephant then took her place. With swinging trunk and stately pace; A lonely bird it then becan e. Winging o ' er the ball of flame. A darting fish did then appear, Who knew no joy and knew no fear; ' Twas but a passing, fleecy cloud ; It then became a horse so proud. He marched along with stately tread. But to become a warrior ' s head; And then the sun sank in the west, And all the clouds sank into rest. — Catherine Peck, H7.
Page 30 text:
AN HAWAIIAN BURIAL CAVE One Sunday morning two companions and myself left Wiamea for Kawaiha, the northern seaport of the Island of Hawaii, to explore an old burial cave in a gulch. Since the natives were very much opposed to anyone entering these caves, we hid our team along the road and then hiked up the ravine till we came to the cave, an old lava blowhole. We climbed up about eight feet and crawled along a low and narrow passage for some distance, until we found a piece of a calabash. Upon closer examina- tion of the wall, we found it artificially sealed up, and, after some hard work, laid open an entrance to a large, irregular cave. On raised stones in the center stood a canoe of koa wood covered with choice tapa and grass-mats. Lifting the cover, we found the mummy of a man, well over six feet tall, his head covered with a wig of red hair. He had probably been a chief. We took samples of the tapa, then examined the walls of the cave for other walled-up outlets. We were not disappointed in our expectations, and had soon opened up another exceedingly narrow passage that led into another cave which gave us the surprise of our lives. Wriggling painfully forward, holding a lighted candle in front of me, the first thing I beheld was a pyramid of some fifty skulls grinning at me. I involuntarily stopped, but the others pushed on, and soon we were standing before what is consid- ered by the Bishop Museum the largest find ever made in the Hawaiian Islands. There were wooden idols of a shape and workmanship of which there is no duplicate in any museum; wooden calabashes studded w th human teeth; the remnants of a feather-cape; a large number of boar tusks; a calabash containing the mummy of a little child; a carving knife made of a human bone, a handle with shark ' s teeth as cutter; and many other articles. It is believed that this find once formed the equipment of an old heiu (temple) and was hidden by loyal priests at the time of the overthrow of idolatry, in a cave guarded by a corpse. No native would ever venture into such a place because of fear of the spirits. There was a great deal of excitement when the natives heard of the find, and when I met with an accident shortly after (in which I almost lost my life), they told me that I had been " kahunad " (cursed) by their witch doctors. — Annie Haenisch, H9. " CANTARA " As we gaze over the mass of green at our feet, the fading sunlight casts a beautiful pink over the snowy white slopes of Mount Shasta. We seem to command the earth from our perch on the porch of a snow-colored villa, high up in the hills, looking down on the peaceful little lumbering town of Cantara, hid away in the midst of the Siskiyou Mountains. Far below lies, like a blue ribbon, the majestic Sacramento River, where the water, a mass of motion, seems to pause, letting the frolicking fish have their play. Then, when it can restrain itself no longer, it hurls itself over the falls and down into the fast-gathering gloom below. Now the faint outline of a saw-mill reaches our eyes. Its fading form seems a supernatural standard of serene peace and content. On the opposite side of the canyon, placed high up on the slope, the distant flicker of lights shows us the position of the quaint little cottages of the woodmen. Now, far to the left, at the entrance to the canyon, the long-echoing shriek of a north bound train is heard as it rounds the bend and disappears behind the tall trees guarding the majestic Shasta. — Thomas Duggan, H7.
Page 32 text:
MUSICAL ORGANIZATIONS QiULS ' Glee Clu£) Boys Glee Club
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