Greenwood School - Tree Yearbook (Ruxton, MD)

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Q THEE U lllll i i NE cold December eve last year I stopped for the night at Memory Inn, ? a quaint old place north of Philadelphia, noted for its historical back- ground. My ancient host, who seemed himself almost to have stepped out of a past century, welcomed me warmly, and insisted that I thaw out before retiring and try some of his excellent sherry. Having reassured me that I was to make myself entirely at home, he said ugood night . I sat down with the old guest book he had given me to glance through in a large comfortable armchair before the fire. It was most pleasant to sip the fragrant wine as I turned the worn yellow pages lovingly. Names and pictures of the famous characters in history crowded my mind. Especially vivid, as I studied the character- istic signatures, were the figures of Jefferson and Hamilton, arguing over government, central power or rule of the people. Quarrelling .... debating .... debating .... Now Mr. Hamilton, I can't agree with you,', came a voice from the corridor. Well, Mr. Jefferson, you will have to be reasonable and see my point, too. I knew at once that it was that argumentative pair, Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton. I listened carefully to the conversation. To have your people rule,,' continued Mr. Hamilton thoughtfully as he strolled toward the fire, will bring our nation to ruin. Why, they can hardly read and write. 'cWell, sir, retorted the other, you don't expect us to pay those .... He seemed to be seeking a word which would express his feelings when he suddenly noticed me. I stood up as he approached. I am Mr. Jefferson, he began, Uand this is Mr. Alexander Hamilton, sir. You didn't need to tell me that, I said laughingly. I think I would have known you anywhere with your powdered wigs and lace stocks. Won't you sit down and join me in a glass of sherry? I believe I shall, said Hamilton fixing himself comfortably in front of the fire and Mr. Jefferson quite readily followed his example. Suddenly we heard the sound of horses' hoofs beating up the road. As the rider dismounted, the stable boy rushed out to take his horse. From the cheerful chatter that followed, we surmised that the newcomer, whoever he might be, was in excellent fettle. Page F orty-six

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Ye lazls of Brittany hark my song, ds your fathers harkerl of yore- ffnzl neither prayer and neither tears, Nor sweetheart's kiss, nor m0ther's fears Can keep ye safe on shore. S0 as I eallefl when I was maifl Anal flwelt in my father's hall, S0 shall I call ye from the sea, .ffnfl though ye strive yourselves to free, Yet I shall holfl ye thrall. Yes, I shall holfl ye thrall Till the sea yields up its prey, Anil the sunken ships shall rise again, zfnzl float once more on the salty main, In the dawn of the Judgment Day l M. G. MACHEN, ,37 F ' T9 Page Forty-fi

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iff E U Iliff cc - , Good evening, gentlemen, good evening, he cried as he came in. This room looks cozy enough to a shivering traveller. But do not let me j . interrupt your conversation, my frxendsf' ' We were just discussing the political situation. What do you think of it? asked jefferson politely. My interests do not run to the lawf' replied the guest, whom I now recognized . l 1 . l ' b as Washington Iiving, but iather to the legends and traditions of the country. Really? Then you would be interested in the ancient superstitions of our negro slaves, said jefferson eagerly. HI Would, indeed! replied Irving. lVly Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Rip Van I'Vinkle, and numerous others of the short stories were founded on the superstitions of a village in New York. CMr. Hamilton, who had been sitting silently during the conversation, brightened at the mention of his home state.j Being now fairly launched on his favorite subject, Mr. Irving passed the sherry again and proceeded to make us laugh hilariously over his delightful stories. Suddenly there was a flapping-of wings, a pecking at the door, and into the room came a tall gruesome-looking figure with a raven perched solemnly on his shoulder. A sepulchral voice spoke, C' 'Long I pondered weak and weary .... ' As I live, it is my favorite poet, Edgar Allen Poe! I exclaimed amazed. Pray sit down, sir.', Excuse me gentlemen, but since my beloved Virginia's death I can concentrate on nothing, nothing! I hear the 'moaning and the groaning of the bells' H. As he spoke, the raven flew from his masterls shoulder to perch on the door. Now, come, friend, said Mr. Irving, and cheer your spirits with a glass of winef' We were all a little relieved at seeing Mr. Poe step out of the shadows and accept the chair proffered him. For a moment there was silence broken only by the rhythmic flapping of the raven's wings, and then suddenly a voice broke the stillness. Now mind you, boy, spell honor with an 'or' instead of an 'our'. This is America. Did you get that? Yes, sir, the stable boy agreed, Yes, sir, Mr. Franklin. It was indeed Benjamin Franklin who walked into the room, and with his entrance the mystic atmosphere caused by Mr. Poe was at once dispelled. , Ahal There you are, gentlemen. I hoped I might find some friends to help me while away the time. I have some extra copies of Poor Richard along. Allow me, do! With that he dived into his great coat pocket and produced several copies of the last edition of the Almanac which he distributed among us. Page Forty-seven