Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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8 THE SPECTATOR rick Shepherd.” Here they spent the night. The next morning they went to a coal pit where a miner was en- tombed for twenty-one days. When he had been missing for seventeen days, Lady Whitelet, the owner of the mine said, “I will neither sleep nor eat until that man is taken out dead or alive.” A rescuing party was sent in search of him and at the end of the third day he was found alive. After this incident the boys travelled on until they came to the little town of Daly; here they had to give up their velocipides as Daly was a very mountainous country. They still had a distance of five miles to go by land, so there was nothing to do but walk. When they arrived at their destination, the town of Gervin, they were very tired and spent the remainder of the day at the inn. The next morning they secured a boat, and having no trouble, soon arrived on the little shore around the Ailsa Cregg. Now they were delighted and happy. Soon to their astonishment, a man came up and taking James by the shoulders said, in a loud clear voice, “You little scound- rels, don’t you know you are trespassing here?” At first they were badly scared, but finally Frank managed to tell the old man their names and where they had come from. That was enough. The old man told them they were a plucky little trio. After taking them to the little house, for he was the one who lived in it, he served them a supper which consisted mainly of fish. Then they wandered around the Cregg until ten o’clock, when it became dark, and they had to return to the house. The old man insisted upon their spending the night with him, and after a pleas- ant little talk they went to bed to dream of what they had seen. FLORENCE SLOAN ’07.

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THE SPECTATOR 7 ails the cregg?” She meant, “What is the matter with the rock?” From that day to this the rock has been known as the Ailsa Cregg. It is covered with moss and heather and is inhabited by wild goats, rabbits, small garter snakes—for this reason Ireland does not claim it—and about five or six specimens of beautiful birds. When a steamer passes the rock a cannon is discharged to show the passengers the number of birds on it, for when they hear the cannon they fly in a cloud above the stone. On the top of the rock there is a spring of fresh water which is a very remarkable occurrence, as the rock is in the ocean. At the bottom of the rock there is a small stone house, inhabited at the pres- ent day by a crew of divers. Do you wonder that the boys were anxious to see this rock? Frank, being the oldest, was chosen leader. One bright sunny morning they began their journey thirty-five miles by land and fifteen by water. They decided to go as far as they could on their two-wheeled velocipedes. After leaving Kilmarnock, the first town at which they stopped was Ayr. At Ayr they visited Tam-O-Shanter Inn and saw the cup out of which Tam-O-Shanter drank. This was nothing more than a little wooden pail, bounded by three silver hoops to keep it from falling apart. After dining, they mounted their velocipedes and rode off. After riding about a mile and a half they came to Burns’s cottage and as they were curious to see the bed where the poet was born, they entered, upon an invitation from an old lady who was living there. She showed them the bed, which, in accordance with the custom of the time, was built into the wall in a manner corresponding some- what to our modern wardrobes. The boys were delighted with what they had seen, and when traveling on, Burns’s poem, Tam-O-Shanter, was again recalled; for when “Kirk Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry,” they knew they would soon be at the bridge crossing the River Doon where the witches pulled the tail from Tam’s gray mare. At a little town this side of Maybole the boys visited the bow thatched house of David Hogg, author of the “Eth-

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THE SPECTATOR 9 The Hill. - 'HE HILLS in glorious majesty, w Raise up their tree-grown slopes, so fair; And ev’ry season merrily Robes them anew in garments rare. With richest gold and crimson tints, They glow thru the hazy, vigorous Fall, And we see the branches sway and wince, Bent by the chilling Autumn squall. In winter they stand out dark and bare, Mingling in hue with the leaden clouds; Or cover’d with snow they seem to wear In funereal silence, dead-white shrouds. When Spring, with soft and gentle rain, Wakens the sleeping slopes to life, And calls the flowers that long have lain Asleep, they rise in confusion rife. In Summer warm, a robe of green They don; their crested summits seem To touch the blue; of such a scene Ne’er did a rapturous artist dream. Thus ev’ry season brings a change To these all-glorious hills; the sod Now brown, now white, now green; for strange And wondrous are the works of God. FRANK M. BRENISER ’09. Michael John Popovich ”HE hands of the time office clock slowly swung to ten minutes of twelve. Deliberately the chief timekeeper closed and locked his desk, and taking his coat under his arm, went home to dinner. As he closed the door the assis- tant chief timekeeper closed his desk, yawned, took his coat under his arm, got his bicycle from the hall, and was soon speeding home. Then the five assistants grinned, (ten minutes before closing time,) put their papers away, got out their lunches and sat down to eat. The office was not a cheerful place. The brick walls