Loyola University Maryland - Evergreen / Green and Gray Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

Text from Pages 1 - 206 of the 1915 volume:

‘ v’V • -Cfe. ' ? - y ■ ' -r - ' ; ae ito® ail® Inyala dnlltge Unnual 1915 REV. WILLIAM J. ENNIS, S. J. President of Loyola College. dantpntH Page Seniors’ Farewell, 1915.. ...William F. Sauer, ’15 7 The Class of 1915 . . J. A. Quinn, ’15 9 The Twentieth Century and Classical Education ...August J. Bourbon • 15 Ye Myrthe ....Ambrose Quinn . 27 The Twentieth Century and Catholic Philosophy ....Andrew J. Harrison • 29 The Burthen of the Shell . . .Ralph J. Sybert, ’16 • 35 Charity ...J. A. Q., ’15 • 36 Nature’s Crime . . . ,Ferdinand H. Schoberg, ’17 • 37 The Gentle Heir ...William F. Sauer . 42 Love ...Ambrose Quinn, ’15 • 43 When Love Was Lost. . . ...Herbert R. O’Conor, ’17 • 44 The Chronicle . . . Leo A. Codd, ’16 • 49 Quinine Quips . . .Joseph J. Quinn, ’16 • 53 Peace and the Individual. . . . Leo A. Codd, ’16 ■ 56 Tell Me .. J. J. Q., ’16 The Paper Knife ...H. Raymond Peters, ’18 . 61 Poetry in the Current Magazines . . . . . . Leo A. Codd, ’16 • 65 How History is Written. , . . . J. 0. Scrimger, H. S., ’15 • 70 The Sabine Farm . . .Joseph J. Quinn, ’16 • 72 The New Seal ...W. T. A • 75 Mother Seton . . . Joseph D. Monaghan, H. S., ’16. . . • 77 Carpet Slippers ...Joseph D. Monaghan, H. S., ’16.. . 82 The Wind ...Ambrose Quinn, ’15 • 83 Light in the Making . . . J. J. Lardner, ’15 . 84 The Substitute . . .City Editor, ’15 . 87 The Ghost of the Battlefield . . . . .Joseph C. Garland, ’18 . 89 Taps ...Joseph T. Parr, H. S., ’16 . 92 Pianos Joseph J. Quinn, ’16 • 94 The Night Watch . . . J. V. Buckley, ’17 • 95 The 5.10 Train . . . Commuter . 96 The Stroke Oar . . . Thomas Cole, H. S., ’18 • 97 Old Books ...W. Leo Johnson, H. S., ’15 . 100 ( 5 ) Friendship’s Refrain Joseph J. Quinn, ’i6 102 The Significant Parallel W. D. Hodges, ’17 103 Characteristics Ambrose Quinn, ’15 105 The Complexion J. J. Quinn, ’16 106 The Gateway Through the Laurels. . . .H. Raymond Peters, ’18 108 113 114 117 119 120 121 , 122 123 ’18. Retrospection Joseph J. Quinn, ’16 The Convict’s Prayer Thomas V. Murphy, H. S. Conceit of Forty Ambrose Quinn, ’15 Editorial Staff Education C. G. 0 ., ’15 War T. J. L., ’15 How to Spend Vacation C. G. 0 ., ’15 “Labor Ipse Voluptas” J. V. B., ’17 Oratory — An Asset W. A. S., ’17 123 I’o Graece J. V. B., ’17 124 Alumni Notes A. J. B., ’14 129 Loyola Debating Society 133 Morgan Debating Society Joseph T. Parr, H. S., ’16 13b The Secchi Scientific Society Francis Ruppert, ’15 138 Senior Essays C. G. 0 ., ’15 140 Loyola Chess Club W. F. S., ’15 141 Sodality of the Immaculate Conception 143 Sodality of the Annunciation 143 Knights of the Blessed Sacrament 145 The League of the Sacred Heart 146 Association of the Holy Childhood 147 The Year in Athletics Roger F. O’Leary, ’16 149 Basketball Edgar B. Graham, ’15 152 Baseball Roger F. O’Leary, ’16 155 Awarding the “L” 161 A Course in Senior Philosophy J. A. Q, and J. J. L 162 Junior Class Notes J. A. Q., ’16 165 Sophomore Class Notes W. D. H., ’17 169 Freshman Class Notes W. A. S., ’18 171 Fourth Year High Class Notes D. A. D., H. S., ’15 175 Third Year High Class Notes Joseph D. Monaghan, H. S., ’16. . . 179 Second Year High Class Notes Edward J. A. Nestor, H. S., ’17. . . . 185 Special Class Notes Francis Stafford Turner 189 First High, Section “A” Class Notes. .Gerald Barrett, H. S., ’18 191 First High, Section “B” Class Notes.. James Shea, H.S., ’18 192 First Prep. Class Notes i95 Second Prep. Class Notes i99 Advertisements 202 ( 6 ) The western hills are bathed in sombre light At evening, when with crimson flush, the day In rugged strength is hast’ning on its v ay To meet soft mantled dawn. The lonely night, ’Cross boundless seas of toil, a clarion strain In challenge sends to break sweet bonds, alone To meet the savage shock of life, the moan Of pain unheard, and dying count it gain. Dear comrades, hark! The gently stirring breeze Atremble sings farewell, and sadly sweet Is gone. Yet hopeful Youth goes out to meet The dawn of manhood’s day. Ye peaceful leas. Farewell! Sweet cloistered years of classic lore. Pure, faithful lives will tell the fruit ye bore. William F. Sauer, ’15. ( 7 ) J. HERBERT ELLIS. Came to Loyola in the fall of 1913. “Herb ' ’ has had a varied career. He is an earnest student and a conversa- tionalist of ability. Our famous picnics owe much to “Herb ' s” knowledge of the culinary art. (!Ha 0 fl of 1015 ' Y HE shadows of our college days are lengthening. Each year time has shaken our class urn and now senior draws us forth. Standing on the threshold we feel the sadness that comes from the lengthening shadows that tell us that all must part and each one go his respective way. No more shall we meet in the corridor or class room but often may we meet down the corridor of time. No more shall we be together in the halls of Loyola but long may we be in one another‘s memory. True the shadows slowly lengthen. However fleeting our retrogressive glance may be, all will have to acknowledge that our Alma Mater has ma de an in- delible impression on our lives. Out in the world whatever oc- cupation we may hold, whatever country we may sojourn in, nothing will ever be able to obliterate that literary impress obtained in those years so pleasantly spent in the halls of Loyola. Kind teachers have been the main factor in helping us to cope with both knowledge and adversity. From the assiduous Rev. M. A. Purtell, who started us in the fundamentals of Latin and Greek, to the deep and philosophical lectures of Rev. Justin J. Ooghe, a continuous spirit of assistance and good fellowship has existed between teachers and student. Rev. George E. Kelley and Mr. A. T. Higgins are lasting in our memory, for who could forget the patience they showed in the last three years of High School? Freshmen, the ‘‘rosy fingered dawn” class of the college, was made memorable by Rev. M. McCabe. He disclosed to us the beautiful vista of poetry; it can hardly be said that we recip- rocated by showing him the beauty of ours. In Sophomore Rev. Joseph Ziegler lead us forth to battle not with the sword but with keen edged words, taking, for example, Cicero and Demosthenes. Rev. Henry McLaughlin, the dominant figure in our scientific course, was always up and doing, espe- cially so when we were the opposite. Mr. Joseph Kelley and Mr. Walter G. Summers, also of our scientific course, demon- (9) EDGAR B. GRAHAM. ‘‘Ed’’ is our mathematiciin and financier. Business mana- ger of Annual, ’14. .Manager of basketball team, ’14-’15. strated to us through many pleasant hours numerous experi- ments. Lastly come our Junior and Senior years, under Rev. Justin J. Ooghe and Rev. Timothy Brosnahan, years of philo- sophic thought and reflection. Like a ship sailing the world of knowledge we have navi- gated many oceans and seas on its broad expanse. Latin and Greek may be designated as the longest oceans. Only time and study will show accomplishment on their course. For six years we were rocked on the billows of Latin and Greek gram- mar and fought the persistent winds of strange expressions. Investigating the currents known as the authors was our prin- cipal occupation. Some rushed precipitatedly with heated animosity : these were the orators ; others were slow, calcu- lating and decided ; these were the historians. Pursuing our way we had to pass through the seas of Ger- man and French. However, in point of beauty, thought and sublimity they are too comm.ercial to be attractive. Still they lend a variety to the scene making the course complete, as one wishes to find out everything when on such an intellectual journey. But above all the most intricate, the most subtle and the most dangerous are the rapids of philosophy. For two years you turn and are twisted on their maelstrom surface, tossed by storms of disbelief and uncertainty, driven one way and then another, today on the rocks of despair or the quick-sands of shallow thought, to-morrow steadily drifting with confidence inspired by truth. Thousands journey these rapids but strange to say each denies the other’s course. A chaos of directions has been given which leads no where. For to travel them the individual has to make the journey himself, see for himself and, what is most important, think for himself. In other words no one can be substituted. The sounds, gulfs and tributaries of this world of wisdom may be considered as chemistry, history and mathematics, where it takes analysis, precision and a nicety to course. Thus we have made our tour and have reached the haven, the goal of the class of 1915, true Bachelors of Art or able bodied seamen of the world of knowledge. (II) THEODORE M. HEMELT. Our worthy President. ' ' Ted” is a serious student first, last and all the time. A ready debater. Since his arrival in 1912 we have utilized his argumentative proclivities by letting him fight all our battles. The number of members in our class is nine. True all did not start with it from first year High. Edgar B. Graham, the manager of the baseball team, and J. Ambrose Quinn are the only ones who have the honor of this distinction. William A. Sauer, the thespian, joined the class in second year High, coming in from special class. John J. Lardner, the philoso- pher, through promotion also entered the class in second year high. Clarence G. Owings, known as the genius, the next to swell our ranks through promotion, entered in the fourth year high. Francis J. Ruppert, the student, is another of the many members added through promotion, Freshman being the year in which he made our acquaintance. Theodore M. Hem- elt, the orator, after several years’ absence from Loyola, re- sumed his studies with us in Freshman. J. Herbert Ellis, busi- ness magnate, formerly St. Charles’, was introduced to us in Sophomore. Mathew C. Kalb, the musician, cast his lot with us in Junior, coming from the class below. On the whole the class has been studious, having shown its ability on numerous occasions. All the members have won medals or merits of distinction for proficiency in study. Messrs. Lardner, Owings and Ruppert being particularly brilliant in this line. In ending, no excuse need be given, for like all grad- uating classes we are conceited, namely in thinking ourselves the best class that has ever passed from the halls of Loyola. J. A. Quinn, ’15. MATTHEW C. KALB. Came to our class last year from Freshman. ‘ " Matt” is a musician, and, even with Philosophy, insists that life is one grand, sweet song. He is Vice-President of the Chess Club. Ulljp ®uifntipllj (firulunj anb (llaasual iEburalinn. We hear it said on all sides that we live in an age of busi- ness, and this certainly seems to be the truth. The tendency of the day is to judge everyone and everything by the critical standard of business utility. “What am I going to get out of it?” seems to be one of the first ideas ingrained into the minds of our youths, and, instead of casting off this false standard as they grow older, many of them seem rather to increase it, so that finally their whole existence becomes merely a ques- tion of so many dollars and cents. To them there is nothing worth while, unless it gives promise of immediate monetary returns. Religion, education, morals — everything, in fact, is conformed so as not to become a hindrance in the wild scram- ble for riches. Naturally, one of the first places to feel the results of such a misguided condition of affairs is the schoolroom, where the minds of our future men and women are sent to be molded. Here, as everywhere else, only those things are wanted which are likely to produce speedy results. Every study must stand a rigid examination as regards its utility; if it does not measure up to the standard required, out it goes, to make room for some more practical course. An excellent example of this can be observed in the public school system of a city not very far from here, where hours that were formerly applied, with good results, to the pursuit of grammar and spelling and other such fundamental studies, are now given to manual training work and basket-making, and similar “practical courses.” In the colleges and high schools, the same thing is being done. A little English litera- ture, several comprehensive courses in science and applied mathematics, and a smattering of French or German — and, presto, you have the college course complete. No furbelows there. Everything is practical ; each and every study is calcu- lated to bring in a certain number of dollars to its most for- tunate possessor. (15) JOHN J. LARDNER. Prefect of Sodality and President of Secchi and Debating Societies. Class Editor of the Annual. Class arbiter. Salu- tatorian. Whereas the aim of the college course was once to give the student a rounded education, so that he, or she, might be fitted to face all the varied phases of life, the purpose of the course today would seem to be rather to train than to edu- cate — to turn out men and women skilled in the work of the office or shop, but skilled in that alone. The study of the classics, once an essential feature of every college course, has been, in many places, ruthlessly discarded. So-called educa- tors the country over have come out strongly against these studies, protesting against them as a useless waste of time, and, in fact, the only colleges that have stood up in their defense have been the Catholic institutions. The objection raised to the classics is that they are not prac- tical enough. They are of no real commercial value, their opponents say, and, unless continually pursued, they soon fade from the memory. Hence, why waste precious hours on them? Let us take a momentary glance at the latter part of thi objection. They rail against the classics because these studies are easily forgotten. “Why not, then,’ ' we ask, “give up the study of physics, and geometry, and mathematics, for the same rea- son? For experience tells us that the greater part of these studies are forgotten unless continually pursued. Even some of the more simple studies do not make such a lasting impres- sion on the brain. It is not easy, after one has been away several years, to spell many of the words that once rolled so nimbly off the tongue nor to locate the cities and rivers that wer once so well known.” Hence, why urge that the study of Latin and Greek is valueless because we soon forget many of the words and con- structions? It is not so much for the languages themselves that we labor, but rather for the training of the mind and character that is the natural result of close application to these branches. The graduate setting out to face the business of life is not judged ultimately by the little bit of knowledge that he may have been able to gather, but rather is he measured by his capacity to imbibe knowledge. It is not the things that can be learned within the four or eight years of school life that constitute an education, but it is the mental training, the great CLARENCE G. OWINGS. Valedictorian. Thespian. Secretary of the Sodality and the Secchi Society. The only man who has succeeded in accomplishing the hitherto impossible feat of carrying away the medals and never declining invitations. Editor-in-Chief of the Annual. thing of “having learned how to learn.” And it is precisely in this respect that the classical course differs from the modern practical courses. The latter seek to cram into the students a multitude of facts, that may, perhaps, be of use to him some day; the former system seeks rather to lay a solid foundation, upon which the student may later on build up a real educa- tional structure. For the college training, indeed, is but an introductory course in the great school of life. The editor of the Iron Age magazine, an authority of the first water in the business world, puts the matter briefly, but well. He says : “Our great corporations and manufacturing concerns se ek the college trained man, but in no sense do they desire him because of the smattering of knowledge he may be able to devote to their interests. They take him solely for the training of intellect he has gone through.” And this edi- tor goes on to say that records of the business world prove the superiority of the college man at 30 years of age to the man of the same age who entered business by the apprentice’s door. “The graduate may have been twenty-five before he donned a jumper,” he says, “but in the five years he learned more, with the college training he had as a foundation, than did the regu- lar journeyman in his fifteen years of actual work in the shops.” Supplementing this testimony is the experience of the Inter- Ocean, a well-known daily paper of Chicago, which instituted a thorough survey of the business district of that city, with a view to ascertaining the true business value of the classics. Speaking of the undertaking, the Inter-Ocean says: “When we began our quest dozens of wise men sneered at the colleges, and declared that the classics would avail a man nothing in business. Yet, as a matter of fact, we found that the number of college-trained men employed in the best positions was 34 times their proportion of the population.” Thus we see that even from a purely commercial standpoint the classics have decided claims for recognition. But they have also other advantages, which appeal not only to the business man, but to all classes and professions. Not only do they, from the very nature of their study, impart a training and balance to the mind that is invaluable to men in every walk of life, but they are indispensable to scholars and J. AMBROSE QUINN. Our authority on horticulture. Class Historian and Poet. ‘ Brose’’ and ‘‘Ed” Graham have made their way together from First High. others who would investigate problems in history, philosophy, religion, literature, or practically anything else. They give us our technical vocabulary in all the sciences. And, finally, they open up for our inspection many of the greatest literary pro- ductions of all ages — works of oratory and pleading, poetry and the drama, that may truly be said to form the basis of all our modern literature. And yet these studies are rejected because of their lack of utility. How is it, one may ask, that the study of Latin and Greek is of such great value in building up and strengthening the mental and moral powers? The reasons can easily be seen. First of all, the daily translations from these languages into English is an excellent discipline for the mind, requiring, as it does, severe and systematic mental labor, close observation, and minute consideration and appreciation of details. And, just as bodily exercise develops and strengthens the physical side of man, so does this mental exercise assist greatly in the broadening of his intellectual side. Again, the transforming of thought from such tongues so widely differing from our own causes the student to develop a quickness and flexibility of mind, for the varying phases and idioms of the ancient world must be turned and twisted and made to fit our own times. And following upon this sharpening of the faculties must, of necessity, come a power of accurate and forcible expression, else the beauty and force of the ancient writers will not be felt in the translation. Thus these studies, while forcing the student to work and think independently, and to voice his thoughts with precision, at the same time open up before his eyes the storehouses of the wisdom of bygone days, and enable him to view and study the lives and achievements of men of other ages, and thus obtain a broadened outlook on life in general. The study of modern languages cannot well replace them. These latter- day tongues are of commercial value and nothing more. They are but poor developments of the two great mother tongues; their study does not require the same exertions of mind from the student, and cannot possibly develop the same discipline of mind and clear habit of thought. I shall quote a few opinions on the value of the classics from (21) FRANCIS A. RUPPERT. Came to Loyola in 1908 and has been a leader all through his course. ‘‘Franz” takes life philosophically. men who have made their marks in the business and profes- sional worlds, and have seen just what the different systems of education have been able to accomplish. Banker, lawyer, statesman, scientist — one and all agree that, without the pecu- liar training afforded by the study of the classics, the young man is severely handicapped in his struggle for success. James Loeb, the senior member of the banking firm of Kuhn, Loeb Co., of Wall street, perhaps the leading financial insti- tution of the country, is a firm believer in the classical train- ing. “That a classical course is a valuable training for busi- ness life,” he says, “has always seemed to me a self-evident proposition. I firmly believe that a thorough training in these cultural studies is the sine qua non of every successful life. A graduate of such a course learns more quickly, and masters more thoroughly, whatever department of activity he enters, than does the one whose development is only along the lines of his own work.’’ That is what Wall Street thinks about the classics. Now let us take a glance at other lines of busi- ness. William J. Sloane, president of the W. J. Sloane Co., of New York, one of the largest carpet manufacturing concerns in the country, has this to say in favor of classical education: “I, for one, think that a classical education is a distinct advan- tage to a business man, and will prove to be so in increasing measure as he rises to positions of responsibility and influence in his business and elsewhere. It gives him a wider horizon, and this means greater ability to see through complex situa- tions, to understand motives, and to measure men.” From the classics to carpet making seems a far cry, but even in this branch of business are the ancient tongues able to hold their own. From the viewpoint of the statesman, the case for the clas- sics is put very clearly by the Hon. John W. Foster, Secretary of State in President Harrison’s Cabinet, and now a leading lawyer in Washington, D. C., who says: “Every man at the bar or in public life who was made familiar with the classics knows how valuable these studies have been to him in his pro- fessional career, because of the discipline they have given to the mind, and the accuracy of expression which they have (23) WILLIAM F. SAUER. Joined us early in our course. ‘‘Will” is an artist and musician as well as an actor. Founder and first President of the Loyola Chess Club. Art Editor of the Annual. developed.” Mr. Foster tells of the many and prolonged dis- putes between our country and England over the wording of our various treaties, and says that the greater part of the ill- feeling and trouble caused by these disputes could have been avoided if the negotiators of the treaty had possessed the capacity to express their intent in more precise language. Such is the statesman’s view of the question. Dean Hutchins, of the Law School of the University of Michigan, earnestly commends the study of the classics to the prospective lawyer. “Its value,” he says, “is that it fits the mind for the analysis of the intricate questions presented in the practice of law; it lends balance to the judgment; it so develops one’s faculties that he has them at all times under his control, and is prepared for every emergency; and lastly, it gives him a skill in the use of languages that will be of inestimable value to him in his preparation and interpretation of the laws and legal documents.’’ And so, in like manner, does Dr. Victor C. Vaughan, dean of the University of Michigan Medical School, advise the prospective doctor to begin his course with the study of the classics. “No one can become a student of anything,” says Dr. Vaughan, “until he first learns how to study, and this he does in the pursuit of Latin and Greek. Such a training gives the habit of close observation, of attention to detail, and an alertness of mind, all of which will be of great value to him, both in his laboratory and at the bedside of his patient.” And finally, Professor C. O. Whitman, of the Department of Science at the University of Chicago, admits the necessity of the classics even to those whose minds have a decided scien- tific tendency. “I have long held,” he said, “that a thorough knowledge of Latin and Greek is quite essential to the mod- ern man of science. In my own department, the ablest men are, without exception, men who have had a thorough classical education.” And so it goes. In every calling the value of the classics is appreciated, even where one would least expect it. In our great national sport, for instance, most of the real “brainy’ ' players are those whose minds have had the college training. “Connie Mack,” perhaps the greatest leader of them all, real- (25) ized this long ago, and has always made efforts to land college- trained men for the team. “And his reason for this,” he says in a recent article, “is that the college man, by virtue of his superior intellectual training, is better fitted to cope with the emergencies of the game.” Scan the rosters of the leading nines, and you will soon perceive the truth of this. Mathew- son, Collins, Doolan, Barry, Plank, Bender — all the great vet- erans of today were trained in the college class room. They did not study the classics to enable them to become ball play- ers, but yet, see how much better off they are than the average man who did not have the opportunity of a college education.” From these few instances, and countless others that could be cited, we can see just how the classical studies are of direct utility in the varied pursuits of modern life. But even if their materialistic advantages were not so pronounced, they ought still be included in the college course, for the sake of the high degree of culture they inculcate. For, after all, the function of education is not merely to instill information, but it is to bring out (e-duco, to lead forth) the good traits of character, to develop man’s manifold powers, and to teach the intellect how to act. Financial success is assuredly not the only thing to be sought for in this life; the high-road of temporal pros- perity is not the only way to happiness. There is still another success, far nobler and higher — the success of knowing that one’s faculties of mind and will have been strengthened as they should have been; the knowledge that one has made the most of the gifts bestowed on him by his Creator. In this development of mind and character the classics have always been a very important factor, and, despite the hue and cry of our modern practical education enthusiasts, we may rest cer- tain that wherever real education and culture are to be per- petuated, there shall we find, as an essential feature of the educational system, the compulsory pursuit of the classical studies. August J. Bourbon. (26) Blithesome as morn, Free as the day, ’Tis beauty allured Far off her way. Swinging in springtime. Lingering ’mid bowers. Honey of clover, Perfume of flowers. Dells where the elflns Sweet nectar brew; Boughs of the forest Where turtle doves coo. Waters that glisten And glitter along; Zephyrs that blow Wild nature’s song. Sparkles at eyes. Shows on the lips. Bubbles and smiles. Dimples and sips. Ambrose Quinn, ’15. (27) LOYOLA COLLEGE FACULTY. ®lfe 0turnttelIj (Epnturg anJi (Eatljnltr J tytloaopljQ The importance of Catholic Philosophy has never been so convincingly demonstrated as in our own era, when men of science, wearied of the so-called philosophies that have blazed forth in overpowering brilliancy and in turn to be extin- guished by the clear working of the intellect, have returned to that which William James, in his later days, characteris- tically designated as common-sense scholasticism. And while many other studies are in their effects inestimable, they but concern the accidental being of our era; Catholic philosophy strikes at its very core and heart. What, then, is Catholic Philosophy? We often hear such expressions as the philosophy of history, the philosophy of poetry, the philosophy of suffrage, the philosophy of life. Is it any of these that we mean, or is it all of these and more, too? If I should say that philosophy deals with everything on the globe, I would narrow its scope; if I should say that philosophy has for its subject-matter not only the globe, not only the universe, but all creation, actual or possible, I would somewhat intimate its all-embracing character. If I should say that philosophy stretches its comprehensive antennae from a knowledge of the origin and entity of the smallest bit of microscopic life, the most minute form of existing being to the higher animals and man, and through the vast infinity of intervening distance to the all-perfect God, Himself, I would be nearer the right solution. Plato’s definition, the acquisi- tion of knowledge, is too broad and vague. Aristotle defines philosophy as that department of knowledge concerned with first causes and principles. The master mind of Thomas Aquinas held that philosophy was the science which considers first and universal principles. Philosophy, therefore, consists in the knowledge of all being and their origin and principles, and should be one as truth is one. But as religious truth is claimed by several societies with often diametrically opposed means of acquiring it, so there are several schools of philo- sophical truth, each claiming to be its sole possessor. (29) It is not my intention to dispute the claims of rival systems. To attempt such would be productive of mystifying doubt. It is my purpose to present a brief review of the most salient dogmas of Scholastic or Catholic Philosophy, to point out how they would eradicate many evils from our modern life, and how their observance would make for the man of the twentieth century a happier and a nobler livelihood. To expose the subject to you succinctly: Man is an indi- vidual and a social being; considered in himself, he is a com- posite nature. His material element is the body, which digests and assimilates, perceives and remembers, imagines and, in fact, performs its functions like the animal. But man is more than matter. There is that within him which exalts him above the animal, above the brute, a factor not emanating nor originating in any way from matter, but though depend- ing on it for its operation is infused into the body before birth by the creative act of the Supreme Being. That is the soul, from which proceeds his power of thinking and reflec- tion, reason and judgment; the power by which he meditates and deliberates, as to what is true or false, right or wrong, what is evil and what is good. By it, and through the medium of the senses, he can seek the origin of his existence and the purpose of his being. Man is more than intellectual; he is volitional, too. He possesses a will, a power free to choose the good or the evil, unimpeded by external influence. Furthermore, man is a social being, and as such is prescribed by duties to others. If he is a husband, he has the duty of loving and aiding his wife ; if he is a father, he is bound to rear and educate his offspring properly. As a neighbor he is obliged to respect the rights of others to life and the means of subsistence. Above all, man is bound to God, bound to render Him homage and fealty, as his First Cause and Crea- tion; to serve and revere Him, as provident and ever-sustain- ing; obliged at last to God, as man’s last end and ultimate beatitude. Indeed, while the doctrines of philosophy are as varied and as numerous as the works of creation, there have always been certain ones especially appropriate for each age, because of the trend of human thought. But what doctrine applies most (30) appositely to our own era? If we consider the modern man of business or profession, the corporation magnate or the lawyer, the doctor or the banker, we see them nearly all con- centred in the world, devoting their time to stocks and bonds, to wills and law suits, to operations and experiments, having as their only goal material advancement and material pros- perity. Ask one of this class if he has a soul. What will the answer be? Either a positive negation or a dubious reply. One, that he has never seen it; another, never felt it; another still, never found it in dissection ; and the last knows nothing about it. They unanimously concur, however, in the declara- tion that science has flouted the very existence of a spirit soul, as a hoax of religion ; that science has erased it from the book of knowledge and has once for all time rung its death-knell. But has true, real science branded it as a nonentity? Has it proved as fallacious the existence of a spiritual soul in man, distinct from matter and directive of it? Has it relegated this dogma to the refuse pile of exploded theories as the mere trumpery of the psychologist? Evolutionists have long tried to substantiate the theory that man evolved by successive changes from the brute beast, and hence has no spiritual or at most only a material principle. But the whole cohort of materialists met defeat at the hands of such as Lord Kelvin, St. Geo. Mivart and the German chemist, Liebig. Liebig, walking one day through a meadow with Kelvin, who asked him if he believed that the flowers were gradually evolved by mere mechanical forces, replied emphatically: “No! No more than I could believe a book of botany describing them could grow by mere mechanical forces.” If this is not true of the plant kingdom, how less true of the body of man? According to Lord Kelvin, for the body of man to grow from lower forms of life, more time would be required than even the age of the world or the sun allows. Darwin, speaking of this statement, said that “Kelvin’s views on the recent age of the world have been for some time one of my sorest troubles.” If there is no conclusive proof for the evolution of the body, there is none whatever adducible for man’s soul growing by successive changes from matter. Scientists have vainly endeavored for more than a century to And the soul in man, to prove that it were merely material, but neither experiment nor study yielded it a material constitution. The animal body reveals a physiological construction allied to man’s; it has the same functions of assimilation and diges- tion, the same functions of growth and perception. Yet never has the animal been found to enunciate a single rational judg- ment, neither one sign indicative of an intellectual power, nor an effect, actuated by other than a blind instinct. But man can reason and reflect in complete abstraction of sense and matter and can choose this or that course of action with untrammeled freedom of selection. What, then, causes this? The soul alone! Not the soul of the plant, not the vivifying principle of the brute, but the spiritual, vitalizing soul, that raises humankind above the conglomerate mass of those “nourishing a blind life’ within the brain,” and enthrones it with the regal crown of a free, all-rationalizing power. The spirituality of the soul is not the only and perhaps not the greatest tenet of Catholic Philosophy. To acknowledge its truth, however, would mean to garb life with its richest jewel; to reject it as false would rob us of our greatest bless- ing, make us slaves of passion and render equity a dream of jurists! What a change would its acceptance make in the constant, ceaseless cycle of business or professional life ! Man amasses a fabulous fortune, builds palaces and maintains an establishment of regal proportions; he has everything the heart can crave, every enjoyment, every satiety affluence can afford. But what a gigantic bubble, what a colossal farce, what a baseless fabric, is the whole labor of his existence if he reject the deathless soul. He has toiled and he has sweat; he has hoarded and invested ; he has utilized every means skill and initiative afford; he has undersold his competitors, worked his employees to the edge of physical exhaustion for a barely living wage; he has relinquished all the finer and ennobling instincts of culture to lay up a fortune, when, in the midst of it all, within the very grasp of success, he beholds the fatal handwriting on the wall and infers its unutterable significance. A sudden snapping of this intricate mechanism, a sudden gasp, and he sinks to lifeless clay. Then comes the terrible reali- zation of how futile, how impractical, were all his efforts. (32) As a house of cards collapses at an infant’s touch, his hopes, his castle of dreams, is shattered and ruined forever. Is this, then, the end of man? Has man not a spiritual soul, destined to live on? If not, tear justice from the hearts of men and God from His Heaven ! Is there any equivalence of justice between the laborer in the dugout and the rich man in the bank; between the hovel and the mansion; the broad, rolling acres, that surround the one, and the narrow back yard, with its square foot of sky, that the other encloses, if you reject the immortal soul? Is there any equitability be- tween one who seeks his own enrichment, utterly ignoring the laws that govern fraud and dishonesty, and the toiler who prefers death to crime? Is there any equitability between the man on whom fortune is ever smiling, and him, who struggles on, ever failing, ever defeated? Is there any justice without the soul, destined to live on? The immortal soul alone recon- ciles success and riches with defeat and failure. It alone is the supreme leveler of all mankind; it alone inspires man to live rational with himself, honest with his fellow-men and God-fearing with his Creator. If this dogma were universally acknowledged today, human affairs would be more equitably adjusted to the rights of all m en. The employer would no longer regard the employee as a mere machine productive of commodities, but without any claim on his justice ; the employee would no longer look upon the employer as a superior being, aloof in sphere, and actuated by desires essentially different from those burning within his own breast. He would regard him as a father, solicitous of the children of his employ, as well as of the children of his blood. If mankind unanimously accepted, and lived with a full realization of the immortality of the soul, it would truly merit the epithet of practical — practical in the sense that rec- ognizing that as man excels the animal in being, he must sur- pass it in destiny, and that destiny not circumscribed by this, but completed by another, happier life, of which this is but the symbol and the shadow. This doctrine, however, does not comprise even a small part of the teaching of Catholic Philosophy. It is but one point within the vas t circle of truth. Catholic Philosophy stands (33) for the right of the individual against society; the right of that machine of industrial utility, the employee, against the soulless corporation. It stands for the unity and indissolu- bility of the marriage bond. It stands alone when, in proud defiance, it exclaims, “The bond of matrimony is inseparable and death alone can sever it.” It claims that the education of the child rests in the hands of the parents, and, except when wrongfully neglected, the State cannot interfere. Finally, Catholic and true philosophy contends in no unmistakable terms that neither the State, nor any other society, can compel man to act against the reasoned dictates of conscience. Man is immune from such bondage, unfettered in this regard, and no power can force him to submission, but one power, and that power is tyranny. Essential as are all these teachings to the integrity of human action, their truth does not transcend the certainty and conse- quences of immortality. All our actions are animated and colored by the desire, satisfiable by no earthly possession, of something hereafter, a desire to live on in perfect serenity and unbroken happiness. Its verification must be contended without any concession. For, if it is unfounded, human law is worthless, the justice and mercy of God are annihilated, moral law and its obligations have no place in the life of man- kind, and Catholic Philosophy is at least exposed to the ridicule of all rational men to be that which her enemies have described her, a bundle of baseless, superstitious speculations. Andrew J. Harrison. (34) abp iSitrlhfn of ihr S’hfU Through the night I muse on in my garden, And I journey afar in my thought, Till I gaze on the mothers in Europe And the wives that by God seem forgot! And sons too I see in dank trenches. As they writhe in black agony’s grip ; Bodies torn to a semblance scarce human Lave the loam at the shell-crater’s lip. Mothers’ hearts that are sick from long vigils, Whose wild cry transcends forest and brake. As they wail to lorn hearts in the distance, Thirst of soul, kisses only can slake. And one cry I can hear that is hopeless. Ebbs a soul as the light turns to gray. And he curses the mother that bore him To the doom of this ill-fated day. To the curse of this Godless war season. On that sweltering eastern plain. Where he gasps in the heap of the stricken. Only God knows the teeth of his pain. That red plain where the shell widely flashing Tears in twain Nature’s mantle of night. Drives the blood from the heart of the dying. Sears the soul that is sick of the flght. See how stark now he lies there and pulseless. As the clouds dim the face of the moon. What’s that flgure that steals from the forest With such ominous portent of doom? What’s that flgure, I say, ’tis uncanny. How it flits ’mid the heaps of the slain! ’Tis a woman! She’s paused, she has clasped him. See! she reels as one pierced to the brain. (35) Ah ! the clouds, that are lifeless, have pity. And veil closer the face of the moon. For tears mix not freely with life’s blood. They’re congealed by the chill of the tomb ; Of the tomb that hides flesh that is mutual. And say not that strife may be well. For the shell that brought night to her loved one Laid her soul on the gridiron of hell. Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6. (SHjarttji Could I but sing some little lay, Of beauty, love and sunshine gay; Some little thing to pass away All gloom and darkness of the day ; To tell how other roses bloomed. Died and unnoticed were entombed ; While we that flourish here Have our love and friendship dear; A few sweet, happy thoughts to some. Then would I think my errand done ; What better gift could I enrhyme. Compared to wealth of every clime? J. A. Q., ’15. (36) Nature ' a (Ertme I F you ever had the occasion to visit one of the cities or towns of Canada at a time when winter was about to fade before spring’s advancing colonnade of flowers, accompanied by de- lightful sunshine, then, no doubt, you realize the vast differ- ence in the weather conditions of that country as compared with those of our own temperate land. You see not there the innumerable protracted changes attendent upon the advent of spring to our regions, but what you do behold in its stead is, to say the least, remarkable. A heavy cloak of ice and snow is thrown over the roofs of houses and winding thorough- fares, the wind exceeds the speed limit in its frantic race, and the whole atmosphere is that of cold, disagreeable winter, even until the very day of spring, and then — what a change. No sooner does the sun shower its glorious flood of rays on the distant spire, on the glittering house-tops, on the white-capped hillside, than ice and snow at once begin to melt, warm breezes fan the atmosphere, and ere the day has passed all signs of winter have disappeared, — spring in all its glory, at last, has come ! It was on such a day as this, about 5 o’clock in the after- noon, when business men and clerks were hurrying from their places of work, when employer and employee sought their respective homes, that the little town of Winston was shocked beyond expression by the astounding news that was conveyed to its inhabitants. That day which brought such a wealth of cheerfulness to the townspeople was destined not to leave them without some sting of sadness in their midst. The evening newspaper — fortunately, they had one evening edition — was carried to the utmost districts of the town by enterprising youngsters, who filled the air with their shrieks and howling until everyone from mere curiosity was compelled to invest in a copy. And when they purchased it their curiosity was not only not satisfied but greatly increased, for in daring headlines the paper announced that Louis C. Burton, a most prominent (37) and most esteemed lawyer of the town and a man beloved by everyone, had been found in his office brutally murdered. I do not intend to go into the details of the case, for that would entail needless narration ; but, omitting all super- fluities, I will recall briefly the chief circumstances just as they occurred to me in my position as witness and afterward assist- ant counsel for the defense. The elderly woman, whose duty it was to clean the floors of the corridors as soon as work had been completed in the offices of the Law Building, was in the act of performing that duty on this day, when she noticed that instead of being securely locked, as was usually the case, the door of admit- tance to the office of Louis C. Burton, attorney-at-law, was slightly ajar. Surprised, but uncertain whether the lawyer might be performing some additional work, she knocked, but received no answer; and when, on knocking a second time, no response was forthcoming, she pushed open the door and screamed — for the sight that met her eyes well-nigh terrified her. At her cries about five or six employees, who had been v orking late that day, rushed in the direction of the sound and burdened her with all sorts of questions as to the reason for her outcry; but she said not a word, only pointed inside the office. At the sight they drew back abashed ; but, quickly recovering from their surprise, they entered and surrounded the spot where, on the barren floor, lay the body of the lawyer in a pool of blood. Immediately a physician was sent for, officers of the law were summoned; and when I, attracted by the commotion, reached the scene a few minutes later I found them all— doctor, policemen and employees — huddled in one spot near the body. By little questioning I learned all that had occurred, save the real motive for the deed and the real murderer. The physician declared that life was extinct, death being due to a wound in the back of the neck just where the head and spinal column join. We examined the wound, and I must confess that to myself, who had been a criminal inves- tigator before I had undertaken the study of law, it certainly was so peculiar as to excite my curiosity. Ugly and jagged, it seemed not only improbable, but impossible, that it was in- flicted by a knife, for such a wound would have been clean-cut. (38) As was only natural, we looked about for a weapon, but none of any description was visible. We examined the desk, chairs and whatever furniture adorned the modest office, but as yet were unable to find anything that could have produced the w’ound. One of the windows was raised considerably from the bottom, but as the office was on the fourth floor of the building, there was no access to it, and consequently no possi- bility of the mmrderer entering from the window. The ques- tion of suicide was too ridiculous to be considered, as is evident from the very nature and position of the wound; and there seemed to be but one reasonable conclusion, namely, that the lawyer was slain by some person or persons unknown, who had escaped without leaving any clue. There were very few visitors at the deceased lawyer’s office that day, as I ascertained, the last to leave it being his friend and also mine, Joseph H. Culver, with whom, it had been over- heard, he had an altercation. Naturally, as there was no one else to whom the blame could be ascribed, and since Culver Vvas the last to visit him and by reason of the quarrel had a motive for the crime, suspicion rested on the shoulders of this man. The police authorities, therefore, unable to offer any other explanation of the affair and thwarted in all their at- tempts to find a clue to the real cause of the murder, could do nothing but arrest and indict Culver as the guilty person. My law partner and myself had been engaged to defend the accused, a defense which we intended to execute to the best of our efforts and ability; for we had especial interest in the case, since the defendant was not only our client, but our friend. I had quite a little chat with the prisoner, and, although cir- cumstances pointed to the contrary, I could not, even if I had been in the position of prosecuting attorney, prevail upon myself to acknowledge his guilt, so convinced was I that the m.an was innocent. It seemed, however, that if our power of persuasion would fail of its purpose, this man must meet with an innocent, though inevitable, fate, unless some new solution of the crime should suggest itself; and I was determined that if any other means of solving the murder were available I would do all in my power to accomplish that end and free my friend. (39) THvo months had passed since the day which marked the occurrence of that strange murder. It was the day of the trial. I was sitting at home pondering over the affair, devising how we would do this and that, when, wearied at the continual thought of it, I picked up the morning paper to see what was occurring in other parts of the world. In doing so I happened to glance at an article telling of the vast amount of damage that had been caused by the toppling of a huge piece of ice from the summit of one of the Alps. I could almost picture the ice rolling down the mountain-side with marvelous rapid- ity, crushing whatever it encountered, and — and — I had it! I leaped to my feet for joy, and, with a glance at the clock, snatched up my hat and was gone — gone, walking as fast as I could to the courthouse, where in a private room were my partner and the defendant. I communicated my discovery to them, and immediately, just as the sun reappears after an April shower, so did the sunshine of hope replace the look of worry and sadness on their countenances. So entirely changed did we seem that it is no wonder why those in the courtroom viewed us with surprise when we entered for the trial. Little needs to be said of what transpired before our oppor- tunity to speak had come, save that the prosecuting attorney had wound around the defendant an unbroken chain of circum- stantial evidence. But when I arose to speak not a sound could be heard throughout the entire room, so intent were they on hearing everything I might say. I began in a low voice, re- minding them of the character of the defendant, who had been a man held high in their esteem and who never yet bore the stain of even a petty crime. I explained how contrary it was to human nature for a man to fall at once into a grievous crime and that this phase of human nature alone proclaimed the innocence of a man, as yet unknown to crime before he was falsely accused of the present murder. The chain of cir- cumstantial evidence advanced by the prosecuting attorney I condemned as worthless, since no weapon w as found and the entire evidence was based on the fact that the defendant was the last visitor in the office and that he had been overheard to quarrel with the deceased lawyer. And then I came to what I professed the most important fact to be considered, the nature (40) and position of the wound. The wound was evidently not caused by a knife, as they acknowledged; but by what was it caused, there lay the difficulty ! Imagine their surprise, there- fore, when I told them that I had discovered the solution of the crime that very morning, had found the weapon and the murderer! At once all eyes were filled with wonderment, the jury leaned forth expectant, and even the judge could not restrain his eagerness to hear. And the solution? So simple that really I was surprised I had not discovered it sooner; so truly plausible that the jury deliberated but a few minutes before they returned a verdict of not guilty. Returning to the morning of the crime, let us recall some of the circumstances. Louis C. Burton was in his office and had received several vis- itors. About 2 P. M. he was visited by his friend, Joseph H. Culver, who had come to discuss the transfer of some prop- erty. During the conversation something was said by one that proved offensive to the other; words followed words, and before long a heated quarrel had sprung up between the two gentlemen. When the discussion was at its hottest point. Culver, incensed, departed in haste. Burton was affected very much by such an unusual occurrence, and, being extremely excited, endeavored to console himself. Thinking that a good inhalation of the fresh spring atmosphere would revive him, he crossed the room to a window, which, by the way, was in the rear of the building and overlooked a small alley, and he thrust forth his head and shoulders. And then — what hap- pened? Scarcely had he leaned from the window than he was struck a ghastly blow in the back of the neck, and, staggering across the room, he fell dead on the floor of his office. But what odd weapon and what mysterious hand dared to deal that deathly blow? Transfer your eyes to the roof of the building and there you will find the answer. As you remember, it was the first day of spring, and the snow and ice which covered the roof was fast melting. Huge icicles hung suspended from the eaves, and as the warm rays of the sun were constantly played upon them the links connecting them with the roof v ere gradu- ally melted, and with a loud sound they crashed to the ground. So it happened that when Mr. Burton leaned from the window an icicle, loosed by the warmth of the sun, fell with great force. inflicted the deathly blow, and, proceeding to the ground, melted and disappeared, — the slayer and the weapon which caused the murder. Since the death of Louis C. Burton ten years, ten long and joyful years, have passed; and even at this late date I can remember distinctly every important detail in connection with the murder and the ensuing trial. Quite a change has taken place in my life both as to residence and profession. Per- suaded by influential men who gained for me recognition for my services in that famous case, I have abandoned the pursuit of law and returned to the art of investigation, an art m.ore adapted to my nature. For years I have been a citizen of these United States, and ever since I left the old home at Winston have been a member of one of the most efficient detective agencies in the country. And Culver — he has become an industrious and successful business man of New York; and every year, no matter what are the circumstances, he is my guest. Together we recall the event, how I related my dis- covery, how the jury returned a verdict of acquittal, and how each one of us afterward departed for other scenes of con- quest. Against all my protests to the contrary he continually insists that I was his preserver, and it seems he cannot fully express his true gratitude to me. When I recall, however, all the circumstances and consider the success I have since met with I cannot but indulge in that old, old saying : “ ’Tis an ill wind that blows no one good.” Ferdinand H. Schoberg, ’17. ®hp (Srntl? She loves the gentle air With all its fond embraces. And with a tender care. She loves the gentle air; While she both sweet and fair Amid her frills and laces. Loves but the gentle heir With all his fond embraces. William F. Sauer, ’15. (42) IGnu That sensation Of ticklization, Love, Pure and true. Is demonstration Of appreciation; Which Starts from two. Much variation, No realization. Reap The fickle few. Slight hesitation Is procrastination ; Hold While you sue. Ambrose Quinn, ’15. (43) Jffliffn ICottP Mas Host T last my fondest hopes were to be realized. For three years I had labored incessantly on an artificial organism which I hoped would greatly benefit mankind. But until now I had found no one who would be a willing subject for my experimentation. However, in the person of Everett Young, my life-long friend and companion, I found an individual so devoid of hope that he consented to become my patient. “Ev” Young was stricken with a malignant form of paralysis when a youth and gradually the muscles of his heart had become affected. He had been warned by every physician whom he had con- sulted that he had at best only a few years to live. With characteristic determination, he tried every remedy offered by consoling friends, but all to no avail. It was with little con- fidence and less hope that he entered my sanitarium and ex- pressed himself as willing to become the habitation of an arti- ficial heart, designed by me after a most assiduous study of drugs and electricity. I informed him that the operation would take place on the following day and set about completing my arrangements for this the most delicate undertaking of my medical career. On the following day surrounded by a brilliant galaxy of physicians and surgeons, I put my creation into the body of a living man to supplant that most necessary organism of the human frame — the heart. The diseased organ was removed and in its place was inserted this delicate mechanism encased in a sack of doubly refined India rubber ; its tiny cavities were connected with this intricate machine and the incision covered over. Two small wires protruded and by means of these a pocket battery was connected with the newly installed organism. My patient was under an anaesthetic and his return to sen- sibility I anxiously awaited. After five seemingly intermina- ble minutes my subject stirred and a few seconds later he (44) regained consciousness. Looking at me he said softly: “Jeff, you have triumphed.’’ Needless to say, my audience was astonished. After numerous requests I was obliged to explain the mechanism of the new heart. I related how one part controlled the mus- cular contraction and expansion of the organ and how the other held sway over the greatest of all emotions — love. I told them how two small plugs controlled the entire system, two plugs so intricately fashioned that the construction of a duplicate for the same instrument was impossible; and how by the use of tiny resistance coils the possessor of the heart could regulate the vigor of muscular action and the intensity of the emotion prompted by Cupid. Little did I dream that my work was to be rewarded so soon afterwards. It happened that Mr. Young, seeking to recuper- ate from his indisposition, made his way in company with his valet, Stuart, to a seaside resort. Here also was another attraction — greater even than the health-giving atmosphere — in the person of Miss Evelyn Crosby, a charming brunette, with whom Young was greatly enamored. The invigorating sea breeze soon changed his pallid cheeks to a rosy red, but somehow he felt it an obligation to remain for an indefinite period at the resort. “Ev” was to be seen frequently walking the boardwalk in company with Miss Crosby. However, he had a rival lover whose ardent devotions to the girl seemed to be winning for him a prominent place in her heart. Undaunted, Young determined to take the most important step in his career, and that very night he asked the woman he loved to share equally his successes and failures. A cruel fate it was which prompted this truly great man to cast his all at the feet of this captivating but fickle girl. Up and down the beach they paced. Young and his fiancee; and yet, despite his suspicious surroundings he felt that he lacked som.e attribute essential to his success. What it was he could not imagine. He seemed to be perfectly capable of carrying on an interesting conversation, but that its purport was not highly satisfactory to his companion he was keen enough to observe. The fact was that Miss Crosby had studied her lover very ( 45 ) closely, and her remarkable intuition, developed through vv ide experience, told her that the psychological moment wrs due to arrive that night. The fact that her anticipations failed to materialize and that Young persisted in talking of such com- monplace subjects as vivisection and electricity irritated her to say the least. Finally, she asked her companion to escort her to the hotel. Young accordingly accompanied her to that place and bade her good night. Miss Crosby entered the hotel but instead of repairing to her room she hurried out a side door and made straightway for the promenade. There she saw Young’s rival and her chagrin was soon forgotten in the company of this other friend. Meanwhile Everett Young, as perplexed as he had ever been in his life, wandered about aimlessly, thoroughly angered at his stupidity in failing to grasp an opportunity which had clearly presented itself. It was in such a condition that Stuart suddenly came upon him. The valet stopped his master and reaching into his pocket produced a bit of metal. “Mr. Young, I found this on the floor of your room after you left. I — .” “That solves it all,” interrupted Young. “Give it right here, Stuart. How could I have been so deucedly careless?” He inserted the plug in its place in the battery, for this was where it belonged, and rushed in search of Miss Crosby. Stuart, unable to comprehend the reason for his master’s con- duct, followed behind. Young searched here and there in the resort and at the hotel, but all in vain. Finally he made for the boardwalk and hastened along scanning every face for the one he wanted. Suddenly he stopped. Immediately before him, walking arm in arm with Young’s rival, came Miss Crosby. Everett gave a quick snarl of rage at the faithlessness of the girl. His fin- gers were already grasping the revolver he carried, when Stuart, divining his purpose, slipped his hand into his master’s coat and pulled out the little plug which he himself had given his employer a few minutes before. The effect was instantan- eous. He had extracted the plug which controlled Young’s emotion. Deprived of love he ceased to care for the girl’s deception. (46) Young turned immediately. The hand that had been about to commit a dastardly deed was thrust forward to grasp that of Stuart. He then wheeled and strode away. Just at midnight, Stuart again came upon him. This time he was standing meditatingly at the end of a long pier. In his hand he held the plug which Stuart had brought to him earlier in the evening. Seeing his valet, he handed him the metallic knob. “Drop it into the water, Stuart,” he commanded. “But there is no duplicate and none can be made,” remon- strated the valet. “Be that as it may,” said Young slowly. “Cast it into the water.” One brief moment, the knob was poised in Stuart’s hand and glistened in the pale light of the moon. Then — a faint splash, a tiny ripple and the wide expanse swallowed up the key to the greatest of all emotions of Everett Young’s life. The m oon sank behind a cloud and the lapping waves donned somber black as if in respect to the despairing man at the end of the pier. Throughout the rest of his life, though everywhere respected as one of the most successful business men of the age, Everett Young was always described as a man who knew not what it was to love. Herbert R. O’Conor, ’17. (47) REV. RICHARD A. FLEMING, S. J. Prefect of Studies. (48) Oilie (Ehrnnirle Another year has come and gone and left its happy memo- ries. For those who are not of Loyola, we record them here in a plain, blunt way — only facts that bespeak the care-free days of College. As for ourselves, we know them all too well, but perchance should memory fail, as memories oft-times do, we too may find them here chronicled with the happiness and charm known only to those who spent the year 1914-1915 at Loyola. September 14. Classes were resumed today, which means a lot of “How have you been’s” and a lots of hand-shaking. Several famil- iar faces of the faculty were missing, and their successors given a cheery welcome. September 21. The Mass of the Holy Ghost, marking the formal reopen- ing of schools, was celebrated this morning. The Seniors returned today. At the tap of this morning’s gong the regis- ter showed three hundred and eleven students enrolled. September 25. Reorganization of the Sodalities, the Literary, Debating and Scientific Societies. October 12. Columbus Day — a holiday. October 13. The first Reading of Marks in the Hall. Besides the en- joyment furnished by the low standing of several “not-over- the-summer-yet” gentlemen. Fourth High furnished a pleas- ing entertainment. October 28. Retreat began under the direction of Father George Kel- ley, of the High School Faculty, and an old Loyola boy. October 31. Solemn closing of the Retreat, followed by breakfast in (49) the “Gym.” Covers were laid for 284, and as many enjoyed themselves and the breakfast immensely. November 23. Annual Alumni Theatre Party at the Academy of Music. A brilliant performance of “King John,” with Mr. Robert Mantell, was enjoyed by a well-filled house. November 26, 27, 28. Thanksgiving Holidays. December 16. A Mock-trial: “Roosevelt impeached for Columbia affairs,” presented by the Junior Debating Society. December 13. Christmas recess began today. The students extended the Season’s Greetings to the Fac- ulty with an informal entertainment. The Programme GREETINGS : “Wee Whispers” Master Kirby, First Preparatory. DEBATE Ts Santa a Myth?” Masters Beach, Bergin, Fitzsimmons, Flavin, Feehley, Frainie, Matthai, McGovern, Roche, Second Praparatory. STRING QUARTETTE Selected Creagh Hibbitts, Henry Wiedefeld, Francis Magann, John McCaffrey, First High “B,” Edward Kerr, Accompanist. RECITATION “A Christmas Legend” William Sweeney, First High “A.” VOCAL SOLO “Absent” Charles Schrufer, accompanied by Herbert Williams, Special. ESSAY “Christmas Here and There” D. Albert Donegan, Fourth High. RECITATION “His Nativity’’ Mr. Streett, Freshman. DOUBLE QUARTETTE . . . . “Adeste Fideles” Spalding Reillv, Edwin Cole, Chester Kearney, Joseph Tormey, Joseph Monaghan, Wilmer Love, Edmund Sullivan, Michael Buchness, Third High. ADDRESS “A Christmas Moral in Oedipus” Mr. Farrell, Sophomore. ADDRESS “The Logic of Christmas” Mr. Codd, Junior. DUET Violins Selected John Sweeney and John Meyer, Second High, Herbert McCann, Accompanist. TWO STTR PRISES GREETINGS Mr. Hemelt, Senior. J. H. E. and W. A. S. Noel January 4. Classes resumed. January 6. Although the weather was very inclement, about two hun- dred were present at the Athletic. Association’s first Annual Ball. Dancing, a buffet luncheon and good cheer was the order of the evening. January 31. Father Couglan, Professor of Sophomore, transferred to St. Ignatius’ Church, New York. Father Francis Hargadon joined the Faculty today. Father Hargadon, being a Balti- more boy, was tendered a Baltimore welcome. February 16. Shrove Tuesday — a holiday. Tonight we held our first “Parents’ Party.” The name is rather vague, hence an explanation. The College Students and those of Fourth High held a reception for the Faculty, the immediate family and “one girl friend” of each student. First in order was an Euchre and Five-Hundred Party, then luncheon, at which covers were laid for three hundred, and dancing until Ash Wednesday, with her sack-cloth pall, drowned the strains of the fox-trot. A great success, and we hope, a permanent institution. March 5. Special Novena of Grace. Services started today for the students. March 13. Holiday in honor of St. Ignatius and St. Francis Xavier. March ig. Loyola’s representative was victorious in the Maryland Intercollegiate Peace Contest in oratory, held at Johns Hop- kins. The other entrants were representatives from St. John’s College, Georgetown University and Johns Hopkins. March 20. Half holiday for last night’s victory. March 31. Father Rector gave an illustrated lecture on the Passion. Easter recess began today. (51) April 9. Classes resumed. April 28. Senior classmen attended the Philosophic Disputations at Woodstock. May I. May devotions, with the long-standing custom of decorat- ing the Shrine, began today. May 14. Holiday in honor of Rev. Father Provincial’s visit. May 24. Whit-Monday. A holiday. June 7. A week of night-mares, but no sleep. A hair-raising exam, on each day. June 8. Annual Track and Field Day at Tolchester Beach. June 14. General Communion, followed by breakfast in the “Gym.” June 15. High School Graduation Exercises June 16. College Oratorical contest for the Lee Medal and Under- graduate Prize Night. June 17. Sixty-third Annual Commencement. Leo A. Codd, ’16. (52) (Ipumtne (J uipa was saying, when I came to New York ten years ago I didn’t have enough money to buy the soda water that drips off a fountain faucet in spare moments. I was so poor that when a man spoke of Poverty it was like calling me by my first name. I didn’t have a pocket, much less anything to put in it. Searching in an old barrel one day, I came across an ancient- looking volume, torn and faded, and badly affected with spinal meningitis. It was the Art of Physiognomy, which, trans- lated, means judging a person’s character from his face. I read and reread it six times, and then for diversion and variety read it once more. I got quite adept at judging people’s faces. My landlady was a stout, obese dame with a double-expansion face. I met her one morning on the stair-steps with pocket- book in hand. After explaining Physiognomy to her, I ended up by saying : “Yes, Mrs. McCutcheson, you have an amiable disposition. You don’t like to be criticised and you want your own way. People don’t realize the real good that’s in you. (Oh! thank you, Mrs. McCutcheson, I didn’t expect a quarter from you.) Your large nose denotes dormant intellectual power which, with time, will bear fruit and blossom. Your gigantic cucum- ber-shaped ears are an infallible sign of generosity and a lov- able disposition! (Oh! again Mrs. McCutcheson, I didn’t ex- pect another quarter.)” For one hour I talked to her, until finally her purse was emptied. Eventually I got Physiognomy down so fine that I could tell the physical condition of people and matter, particularly of stews. One noon hour a diabolic stew was placed before me. I opened Mrs. McCutcheson’s eyes with these words : “This stew is composed mainly of water, to which has been added pepper and salt. It is a near relative to an ordinary almshouse stew, differing only in these respects: The tender (53) scraps of meat have been eliminated, the select bits of gristle removed and all rich essence of anything good and nutritious has been extracted. Besides this, it is identical with alms- house stew.” One Saturday night I met Mr. McCutcheson at the front door. I explained Physiognomy to him. “Yes,” I began, “it’s very simple. Take, for instance, yourself. A child could see the absence of animosity in your disposition and that you want something when you wish it. Your chin denotes perspicacity and love of money. You are desirous of being rich, yet you are quite liberal with what you have. (Thank you, Mr. McCutche- son, this is quite a surprise, I assure you.) Yes, the bridge of your nose is a certain sign of modesty and warm-heartedness. The color of your teeth show your liking for tobacco, while the shape of your forehead is an indubitable sign of great power of thought, mental capacity and (oh! Mr. McCutche- son, you really don’t mean this!)” “Sh-h-h-h,” he whispered, “don’t let the madam know I gave you this dollar.” Over a hot cup of coffee I thought out my future career. Why not start up a physiognomical agency? Advertise as some big company and I would attenuate every purse in the country. The Physiognomical agency sounded too big and indigestible. Quinine Quips was just it. There was a medici- nal sound to the combination, and the quip or joke about the whole affair was that I should get all the money. That was a huge joke. I advertised in sixty of the leading lowermost periodicals of the country. In most cases the editors ranged my ad. along with the free articles Ethelbert boys and Dorothea girls write under inspiration It cost me six dollars in all. Two of the requisites of the ad. were a picture of the person and 50 cents in coin. For two days I didn’t hear a word. On the third day I received thirty letters. I remember the first letter I opened. It was from a waitress in Detroit. The kodak picture of her was taken at her country home in Michigan. The most power- ful microscope couldn’t have found her face. She must have stood the length of a freight car from the camera, and an enor- (54) mous picture-hat shaded her features successfully. Taking it all in all, her face reminded me somewhat of a shoe-button around a corner. Nevertheless, I found it with my imagina- tion, and the following was my answer. (Being under oath, I am not free to print the letter, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t reproduce it.) Dear Miss Blanche Rosebud: Your face is one of singular attractiveness and rather novel as to features. Prof. Leroy Stiffler, P. D. Q., read it without the slightest difficulty. The bloodshot condition of your eyes shows irregular habits, a tendency to late hours, also ocular strain, probably caused from examining oatmeal too closely to remove foreign particles. Your mild, overhanging lip signifies goodness and a pre- dilection for walking and running — incubators. The dimple when occurring above the eyebrow, as it does in the picture, denotes ability to chat, hang pictures and judge tooth powder. Your ear-lobes are not physiognomally great. A simous nose , as you have, is a certain sign of inclinations toward earth, for pressing flowers and fastening dog-collars. Your left nostril tells me that you display an aptitude in operating a shoe horn, while the perfect equilibrium which your ears maintain enables me to say that you have an aver- sion to broken umbrellas, pugnacious tramps and runover heels. Am I not right? The color of your hair — which is either blonde or black — is an infallible sign of your predilection for prunes, pocketbooks and pretty jewelry. For the slight sum of one dollar. Prof. Leroy Stiffler, P. D. Q., can tell from the perfect perpendicularity of your fore- head whether you will marry soon or not and whether your husband will be a millionaire or a marine. Write soon, dear, sweet Miss Rosebud. Prof. Leroy Stiffler, P. D. Q. “Per J. S. H.” Joseph J. Quinn, ’i6. (5S) Pfarc anil life 3ln iBl al Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen: It is not my intention to preface my remarks with the mean- ing and desirability of peace. Suffice it to say that what peace is is clear to us all and universal regard overshadows all that I might say in favor of its desirability. But within the last few months so many theories have been shattered and so LEO A. CODD, ’i6. Winner of the Maryland Oratorical Peace Contest. many doctrines proved groundless that I do not think it amiss to dwell this evening on the one means of obtaining Interna- tional Peace which diplomacy has ostracised from its tenets and which rulers and statesmen have long since forgotten. A year ago we might have advocated the adoption of treaty upon treaty with every nation and people on the earth and (56) we might have given our bounden word ever to remain faithful to those treaties and we might have thought, as we did think, that each new document was a milestone passed on the long journey toward International Peace. Today -our own time above every age in history presents the most brilliant proof that we must go deeper than scraps of paper and costly arma- ment in our quest of a panacea for international ills. Today we need but turn to the widow and orphan in the lands be- yond the sea and see in them the failure of our plan and won- der wherein lies our fallacy. We had thought ourselves too far advanced in civilization ever to resort to armed war- fare; we had calculated that arbitration should cause the armies to become as the toys of children and the navies to be but painted ships upon a painted sea ; we had boasted that we could look back through four thousand years of history and see the folly of the countless years of warfare; we had prided ourselves that now the time was come when men would ar- bitrate and not kill. Ladies and Gentlemen, it is not for m.e to tell you that the present war has destroyed our fondest hopes for if it teaches no other lesson it brings home the haunting fact that in all our plans for world peace something vital has been lacking. The Peace Movement fundamentally is an organized en- deavor to abolish war and to settle all international differ- ences by arbitration. Such a movement is reasonable, praise- worthy and just. It has embodied its ideals under the two Hague Conferences ; it has succeeded in having all the nations subscribe to the Hague Conventions, the sum total of which means that all the nations promised that only in the case of last resort, only in the case of unjust aggression, would they take up arms against one another. Have the nations of the world lived up to their promises? Actions speak louder than words. But because we find almost the whole world plunged in the horrors of war today does not mean that all our plans and negotiations are in vain. On the contrary, we must keep them all ; only add one more. It is this, if you would have peace among the na- tions, you must first have peace within the nations; national peace means peace in each unit, in each family of the nation; peace in the home means peace in each individual heart. There ( 57 ) lies the key to the whole situation. We must be practical. We must pass into the realm of ethics and see that there is not one ethical code for the nation and another ethical code for the individual. The moral law that binds the nation is the same that binds the man. The trouble has been that we have been living under two standards of ethics. Christian for the individual and pagan for nations. But there is no double standard. If it is wrong for me to take revenge, it is wrong for the nation to take revenge. If it is wrong for me, except in the case of self-defense, to kill my fellow man, it is just as wrong for a nation, except in the case of unjust aggression, to destroy a sister nation. And one cannot twist it to mean differently, for too many crimes have been called patriotism and too often have we lost our reason for our so-called love of country. Rather let us have a new patriotism. The old patriotism sings forever of dying for one’s country, the new patriotism emphasizes living for it and living rightly and being a credit to it. It may be objected that such a remedy sounds all very well but that an international brotherhood is a theme for poets, not for statesmen; that as long as man is man he will have his differences, he will have his disputes. I do not deny it. What a droll and drowsy world ’twould be if Utopian dreams were realized and we passed our days in a fairyland. But are we of the millenium not endowed with reason? Have we not be- thought ourselves to have the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome? For the arts we went to Egypt, for literature to Athens, for religion to Palestine, but for a means of settling our international disputes we go to the jungle of Africa and, endowed with reason as we are, we put our- selves below the brute. Our high born pride is offended, our national honor must be upheld, and we uphold it by slaughter- ing one another. We draw up a hundred healthy, happy men against another such hundred, the councillors of state plot their high chess game, the pawns are moved and in place of two hundred men, happy in the thought of a life well spent, you have two hundred silent dead. And yet we are creatures whom God hath endowed with reason. (58) Ladies and Gentlemen, it is a very poor argument to say that people have always fought; therefore, they always will. The advocate of slavery told his fellows that as long as time lasted they would have the slave master and slave driven. The advocate of the feudal system told his fellows that as long as time lasted they would have the feudal lord and the serf. The advocate of war today justifies his stand by telling the whole world that it is a very sound doctrine that teaches to forgive and forget personal insult but when my country’s honor is wronged I must straightway fly at the alien ' s throat and make away with him and leave the widow and orphan to eke out a miserable existence in sorrow and distress. I must cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. After scattering devastation in my wake I must turn and say: “Now my nation’s honor is appeased.’’ Like charity, peace begins at home. We must start at the root and prune the tree accordingly. There should be in the heart of each and every one the determined conviction to live according to God’s moral, to act according to God’s right, and all that is necessary for world peace will follow. Internal strife will fast give way, the struggle between capital and labor will find an equilibrium and race antagonism will take its place among the anachronisms of the past. And then we are fit to frame a national policy worthy of rational beings. We can then tell the world that v e wish for no victory except the victory of peace, for no territory other than our own, for no sovereignty except the sovereignty over ourselves. Tell ail that we deem the independence and equal rights of the smallest member of the family of nations entitled to as much considera- tion and respect as those of the greatest empire and that we deem the observance of that respect the chief guaranty of the weak against the oppression of the wrong. We neither claim nor desire any rights, privileges or powers that we do not freely concede to every nation and people on the earth. We wish to increase in prosperity, to expand in trade, to grow in wealth, in wisdom and in strength, but our conception of the true way to accomplish it is not to tear down others and profit by their ruin, but rather to help all friends to a common good (59) and a common end so that we may all become greater and stronger together. But so long as hate and fear and suspicion and pride are praised and encouraged war can never become an impossi- bility. If a better and saner world is to grow out of the horror of futile carnage men must learn to find their nation’s glory in the victory of reason over brute instincts. Stop the sacri- fice that lays the flower of the nation martyred on the altar of patriotism! Tear out the plummet sunk deep in the human emotions and send afar the universal entreaty : “God, that we may see!” That our eyes will one day be opened is inevitable. Nations learn but it takes a long, long time. Leo A. Codd, ’i6. uIpU iSIe Why is it, at evening, when the twilight mists float high. And the vesper melody of songsters trills out clear. That the wind through fields of grain Croons a soft, sad, mystic strain. Bringing thoughts of friends and playmates once held dear? Why is it, at night time, when the gales, like demons wild. Go raging down the land in fury haste. That a fiendish voice in glee Always, EVER, dins at me. Pointing out my golden moments gone to waste? Why is it, at midnight, when the world broods black and still. Lighted only by the moon or planets pale. That life seems a troubled sea. Darksome, full of misery. With here and there a lone but friendless sail? J. J. Q., ’I6. (60) JUE little village of Mansfield awoke one day from its long slumber of hum-drum, every-day existence to a tragedy. One of its most reputed and foremost citizens, the Hon. Judge Seybold, was found, early one morning, dead at his desk. Not, indeed, that the mere death even of such a well-known person- age as the judge would arouse such a sensation, but, rather, it was the extraordinary circumstances which surrounded the death of the good old man that caused such v idespread ex- citement. Judge Seybold had been the most universally popular man in the state. Pleasant and good-natured, his friends were in- numerable, and not a soul had a grievance against him. He lived, save for an aged housekeeper, alone in his cottage in the middle of the town. Early one morning the housekeeper came into his office, found his lamp burning brightly and saw the judge sitting awkwardly in his chair with head and arms lying prone on the desk before him. The very attitude of the body told the fright- ened woman the judge was dead, and hastily, she called in a neighbor. The body was straightened in the chair, and a letter was found tightly clutched in his hand. After some effort it was extracted from the stiffening fingers. The envel- ope, neatly cut by the judge’s paper-knife, lay upon the table, and was postmarked from New York. The letter was written as if by one little versed in English. (6i) It read as follows : To Judge Seybold: H ' onored Sir— Herewith enclosed do I send the powder, as thou hast asked. Do thou place it upon thy tongue, and swallowing it, — then swiftly and peacefully shall the sleep of Death come upon thee. No suffering or agony shall rack thy body, but calmly thou shalt pass from life. My friend, this powder I send only because thou hast begged for a means of flying from the crime thou hast committed and of escaping the disgrace thou sayest cannot be faced or borne by thee. Thy servant, Abdal Samuran. The letter, when first read by the shocked townspeople, proved to be utterly inexplicable. Afterward, however, they remembered that the judge had traveled extensively through India and had gained the friendship of many Hindus. This letter was written apparently by a Hindu. The only solution it offered was this : The judge seemed to have committed some crime, and, unable to bear the disgrace which he felt would soon come upon him, he had begged a drug of this Hindu with which to end his life painlessly. Receiving the powder in the letter, he had swallowed it immediately. How- ever, no one could think of any crime that might be attributed to the good old judge. But, as if to answer this one difficulty, the day after the judge was found dead the Municipal Bank, of which he had been president, discovered that nearly a hun- dred thousand dollars, supposed to be safe in the vaults, had disappeared, leaving no clue whatever. Truly, now was the judge’s death and the letter explained completely! The judge, evidently, had squandered in some manner the bank’s funds, and, seeing the loss would soon be- come known, had taken the poison received in the letter. In proof of this the doctors who examined the body declared that there were traces of a strange Asiatic poison in his system. The letter was traced to New York, but the Hindu was never found. The coroner gave a verdict of “Suicide,” and the body was buried. ili ❖ You wonder, perhaps, how I happen to know the facts of (62) this case, or, possibly, why I set forth such an uninteresting case at all. The reason is this: One month after Judge Sey- bold was buried I broke down and confessed to having mur- dered him. Why and how I killed him is easily explained. I was cashier in the Municipal Bank of which Judge Seybold was president. For years I had planned the theft of the funds in the vault. Because of my position in the bank, I could get them in my possession quite easily. The point, however, was this : Once the theft would become known, the investigations, if carried far enough, would point to me as the thief. There was but one way to solve the difficulty — to prove absolutely and finally that another person took them. Thus, no danger- ous investigation would take place. Now, if I fastened the blame on a living man, he might successfully defend himself against the evidence. Not so a dead man. I chose the judge as my subject, not through enmity toward him, but because, being president of the bank, people would easily believe it possible for him to steal the bank’s funds. I was well acquainted with the judge, — in fact, being neigh- bors, I visited him frequently. It was on one of these visits that I happened to notice the j udge’s paper-knife, which he used constantly. It was this fact that gave me my idea. After a long search I found a paper-knife, the exact duplicate of the judge’s. Now, long before this, a Hindu whom I had befriended gave me a small vial of a subtle Eastern poison. I knew if I could inject this into the judge’s system he would die in but a few minutes, and, although the country physicians might recognize poison in the body, they could never tell how it was injected. So I carefully arranged minute needle-points in the handle of my knife. These were then soaked in the poison. Next, I wrote with artistic care the letter found later in the judge’s hand. This I sent to New York to a friend, who, in turn, sent it to the judge. It was at this time that I stole the funds from the vault and hid them in a dark recess in the cellar of my house. I watched the village post-office carefully and when I saw my letter in the judge’s mail I asked for my own letters and then kindly offered to take the judge’s mail to him. I destroyed all his letters but the one, so that the (63) judge would be sure to be found later with the incriminating letter in his hand. With the letter and the poisoned paper-knife in my pocket, I paid a short visit to the judge. While chatting in his office, I substituted, by clever maneuvering, my paper-knife for his own. Then, taking my leave, I walked about for a few minutes, then returned and gave the letter to the judge’s housekeeper, say- ing I had forgotten to give the judge his mail. She probably placed it on his desk, where he, seeing it, sat down, grasped the paper-knife and opened the envelope. The poison entering the palm of his hand through the pin-pricks (afterward un- noticed) acted quickly, and he fell with the letter clenched in his hand — quite the effect I desired. I made it my business to be the first person the housekeeper found when she went for help. I then substituted easily enough the judge’s paper- knife for my poisoned one. There is but little left to tell. Although I was never for a moment suspected of the judge’s death, my crime haunted me. Fear and remorse stretched my nerves to breaking tension. One day I saw lying in a table drawer the poisonous paper-knife, which I had forgotten to hide. With infinite care, lest the poisoned needle-points prick me, I carried it to the cellar and flung it into the dark hole among the stolen bonds. Later, fearing for some insane reason that the bonds were not safe, I went to the cellar and began groping around in the hole. Suddenly my hand brushed against sharp, needle-like points, and I felt them dig deep into my skin. Instantly I knew what I had done. My hand had been cut by the poisoned needles of the paper-knife!. With a scream of horror I rushed from the cellar and the house, and, groveling before the first person I met, I sobbed out the story of my crime. Then chaos descended. I am now serving a life sentence in the state penitentiary. You may ask how it is I am living now after having been pricked by the poisoned paper-knife. They told me, after my delirium, that when I was groping in the hole in the cellar a little, new-born kitten had playfully scratched my hand with its baby claws. H. Raymond Peters, ’i8. ( 6 ) 50ptrij ht tire Current iHagaHtttra J T is a busy world that we live in and it is a lively world, too. It is a world deepset in foolhardiness and quite lost in the whirlwind of magazines that weekly sweeps over it. Be these faults or virtues, this world is a reading world and an appreciative reading world. It consumes all that the in- spired ones serve up but it digests only a portion and that portion is worthy of the digestion of such an appreciative reading world. And what is this portion to which I allude? None other than the poetry in the current magazines. Every magazine has its “Potash and Perlmutter;” every periodical has its version of political economics written by some Cabinet member or high state official, every weekly has its “Diamond Necklace’’ serial and they all have their page of poetry written by poets and catered to appreciators of poets. The one class regulates the supply, the other class regulates the demand; a mutual regulation is the compromise and the product, real poetry. Thus poetry in the magazines today claims more recogni- tion than all the touchy episodes of Robert Chambers can conjure up and more real literary delight than Churchill can picture in the inside of a thousand cups. And the reason of it all is that there are poets today and they are giving their all to the magazines. Probably never before was more good verse being written than it is today. America has her contingent. England’s yearly output is enorm.ous and the Continent holds its own, while India with her Rabindinath Tagore is forging to the front with her characteristic but true poetry. And here we see the subject broadening into a world-wide one about which page on page might be written. But this essay, like the poetry of all time, has its rules and limitations so “what’s done ’twere better done quickly,” and to the point. It is extremely difficult to classify the writings of the present day poets because few devote themselves to one style of verse (65) alone. The writer of dramatic poetry will sometimes write lyrics and the author of philosophical verse will write poetry about nature. But for all that, there is a classification and I present it thus. There is, first of all, the lyric poet and the poems of nature, old yet always new; novel, yet always streaked with primeval charm. Then there is the philosophical or miystic poet, he who knows the blade of grass not from the poet of nature’s standpoint because it is green and harmonizes with leaf and sky. But he knows it because beneath and beyond that simple blade of grass is a great something — some call it God, others are ashamed to — a great Cause and a great Effect. In the third and final class falls the only new idea that poetry could endure — the poem, of protest. Under this new guise, magazine poetry goes forth to persuade and convince, for its mission is one of persuasion and conviction. It is the poem that departs from the naturalist and m.ystic and turns to the dowm-trodden laborer and sufferer and pleads his cause and plys his argument and does it surprisingly well. What of the old, old Lyric? Do our magazine poets do justice to its ancient beauty and charm? Yes, and admirably. Its pristine note is held aloft as it ever was before ; its simple trend and happy thought run on unmdndful of its changed course but happy in the thought that nature has a tale to tell and that the telling is entrusted to the lyric. Alfred Noyes is a young Englishman — another Tennyson, some think— who delights in the lyric strain. His verse is ever optimistic and brimming over with spontaneous joy and happiness. He loves sunshine and children and green fields and, although at times his verse is " dramatic and again it happens playful, yet, whether dramatic or playful, it is always graceful. Kis “Forty Singing Seamen” and “The Barrel Or- gan” need but the mentioning — they are superb lyrics. Here, too, with the lyric writers we happen upon Bliss Car- man, always scattering his cognomen through his w ' orks. Often, as I recently happened upon one, one finds a charming verse tucked away “far from the maddening crowds ignoble ( 66 ) strife” awaiting a watchful eye to take its message and rec- ognize beneath the name of Bliss Carman. May comes, day comes, One who was away comes ; All the earth is glad again, Kind and fair to me. May comes, day comes. One who was away comes; Set his place at hearth and board As it used to be. May comes, day comes. One who was away comes ; Higher are the hills of home. Bluer is the sea. It is Carman, the songster of nature, trilling a ditty of na- ture’s deck and garb in May. Close with these come Madison Cawein who writes of na- ture always with the same touch of freshness. He sings and lives in every day things ; he idealizes fields and grass and nowers and in his prayer “For Old Age” and “The Wild Iris,” although romantic in themselves, he displays his immutable love of the out-of-doors. For dreary beauty and delicate finish Arthur Upson is among the best. In his “Westward Songs” his zenith is reached; there his delicacy and grace are paramount and his poetic in- sight and expression abound. Such are some of the lyric writers who send out their message through “Scribners” and “Flarpers” and the rest. There are others — many others who have taken nature for their theme and have done no injustice to their calling. And now the mystic. Yes, he lives to-day and more so than ever. He thinks as the mystic poets of yore, but his thoughts have the advantage of a common carrier, the maga- zine. His forbears delved into the profoundities of life but lept their thoughts each in his narrow cell. Today such thoughts are heard. Richard Le Galliene thinks aloud the wonderful wordings (67) of things natural. What ecstacies of admiration he draws from the pipings of the feather-coated songster! What sym- pathetic lays on the state of a departed friend! What won- derful gropings in the dark seeking a reason for it all, but finds it not — always moving in his mystic realm of beautifully col- ored fancy. In contradistinction to Le Galliene one might place Cath- erine Tynan, a mystic, like Le Galliene, but without his dark wanderings. She marvels with nature, but she sees Him be- neath it and she tells her readers of Him, and it is surprising how she introduces, where others of her class leave off, a Catholic mysticism. Will I place Rabindinath Tagore in this catagory? Tagore is a Mystic, a Hindu Mystic, a fancy of the mystic coupled with the imagination of the East. Let him tell you of the child love or let him sing the beauties of the simple life and mys- ticism becomes a temptation that is hard to spurn and a de- light that one enjoys because of its double appeal to beauty and to life. There is one other I might mention here, George Santayana. In his serious and uplifting verse he studies the philosophy of life. But he differs from the rest; he spurns nature and leaves her in the past and always takes the abstract theme. Still his sonnets are pleasing and inspiring and lend a touch of beauty where one would least expect to find it. And now to the latter day work, the poem of protest. Strange though it seems, the young poets of the day have caught the strain of the uplift and they indulge in this thunder- ing pastime. They bring out sympathy for the working man, tenderness for the suffering and revolt against tyranny. Truly such poetry is novel, for where in all time did poetic verse champion labor and cry for the betterment of conditions? To my mind Masefield — he writes quite frequently in “Cornhill” and the “Spectator” — is among the most forceful of the pro- testors. His “Widow of Bye Street” has the sympathetic note of the day and his “Everlasting Mercy,” while somewhat droll in its narrative strain, still is vigorous and vivid. William Watson, too, is now a convert, to say nothing of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Watson recently amazed England and ( 68 ) America as well with his demand for justice for Armenia and Greece in “The Year of Shame,” a worthy work for one of Watson’s calibre. There are others, many others, Russell and Schauffler and the rest, who cry for justice in the magazines. Whether their pleas are answered is not known but it is known that their writings touch the responsive chord and from the poetic view- point they have not tried in vain. Their work is one of in- terest and truth and their mission presented through the me- dium of poetry should, to say the least, succeed. Such is the poetry in the current magazines. And such it will stay for at least another decade. Nature, romanticism and fanciful philosophy, a strange ware for a magazine to sell, yet a ware that many call for and many more must have. Leo A. Codd, ’i6. (69) ava Hfiatnry ia Ifflrtttpu J RROR is a hardy plant; it thrives in every clime. Where truth struggles for existence, error unmolested flourishes with facility. Nay, more, it is even assisted in its growth, and that by men whose characters are so far above reproach that to impute vicious motives to their actions were no less than impiety. But in the realm of history there is some little excuse for their offences. History is to a great extent intrinsically uncer- tain, depending, as it does, upon human testimony. Conse- quently, slight errors or discrepancies in an historian’s narra- tive might be attributed to a false play of memory of his witness, etc. ; but flagrant misstatements of more important facts can be traced to no other cause than an intention to deceive. It may be assumed that when an historian of high personal character has been secured, the reader might with safety implicitly rely upon his testimony. This, unfortunately, is not the case. He may intend to be truthful, but, from one cause or other, be entirely misleading. If such, then, be the caution we should exercise and the dif- ficulty we experience in respect to facts, is it not still more necessary, before we believe the historian when he would ascribe motives and secret designs, that we require him to pos- sess sagacity, caution, a keen sympathy with and a faculty for discerning virtue, and even the spirit of charity? ‘ ' Some are not content with telling us what men have done, but pretend to enter into the secret motives of men” — and with what dog- matism ! Few nations, if any, have suffered as much detraction at the hands of American and English historians as the Spaniards : being children of the Church, they suffer the same condemna- tion. And of all phenomena, the strangest is the attitude of historians towards the Catholic Church and her adherents. Her opponents seem utterly to condemn and disregard those canons of criticism and of evidence which they rigorously require in every other case. How much sentimental ink, for (70) instance, has been shed over the wickedness of the Spaniards in crossing the ocean and attacking people who had never done them any harm, overturning and obliterating a splendid civili- zation, and more to the same effect. They forget that, if guided by strict logic, it would be difficult to condemn the Spaniards for the mere act of conquering Mexico without involving in the same condemnation their own kith and kin v-rho crossed the ocean and overran the territory of the United States with small regard for the property rights of redmen of any sort. The North American conquerors, if called upon to justify themselves, would have replied that they were found- ing Christian states and diffusing the blessings of a higher civilization; and such, in spite of much alloy in the motives, was certainly the case. Could not the Spanish conquerors, with as much justification, give the same answer? It was high time that an end should be put to those hecatombs of human victims, slashed, torn open, and devoured on all the little occa- sions of life. The individual, too, receives no better treatment at the hands of the historian. What a picture have our writers taught us to conjure up at the nam.e of Cortes ! Cortes, the adventurer the fighter, the gold hunter! May not his motives have been higher? For Las Casas, too, our separated brethren have no better thought than as the man who brought negro slavery to America, as the founder of the vilest system of bondage. These examples are good specimens of grosser historical blunders. In this connection Fiske says, and Fiske is an authority whose mind is far from bias toward the Catholic Church or Catho- lics: “When now and then in the course of the centuries God’s providence brings such a life into the world, the memory of it must be cherished by mankind as one of its most precious and sacred possessions.” How truth does contrast strangely with the all-too-prevalent notion of Las Casas. With these considerations before us, it seems expedient, especially in these days when so-called history is used as a weapon controversial against Catholics, to cultivate with regards to all such stories not an unreasonable and total incredulity, but a certain amount of perfectly justifiable dis- trust. J. O. Scrimger, H. S., ’15. ull|p abinf 3ffarm. Whenever I hear the word “farm’ " I drop everything and listen, knowing full well that only good can come from a farm. By the way, I came from one myself. The other evening I attended a lecture entitled “Horace’s Sabine Farm,” given by a college professor at a noted hall. If it had read “Horace’s Study,” or “Horace’s Villa,” I would have remained home reading Greek or studying chemistry, but, as it was, I went for the express purpose of being carried back in memory to my little home farm, far in the sunny South. The professor’s voice hardly carried to the end of the hall, much less my memory to the sunny South. In a peculiar sort of whine he began translating several odes I had learned at college, but, unfortunately, have misplaced somewhere in my memory. His voice moved several people, not their emotions, just their presence, out of the hall. It sounded to me as if he were down in a cellar shouting for help. His voice climbed weakly to the top of his throat and then must have slipped back; anyhow, only half of it appeared. Most of the time he wasn’t talking, even though his lips were moving at a rapid rate. The poor old gentleman had no control over his voice whatever. I felt sorry for him. One moment he would speak like a negro, and then, without changing gears or giving you a signal, he would slide into some foreign accent, as, for instance, the Scandinavian. Then, before you could lift your eyebrow, he would adopt a thin, weasel-like note, and if you didn’t look to make sure you would swear he had a baby concealed in his vest-pocket. At times his voice moaned wearily, while at oth- ers it had that peculiar rasping effect of sand-paper on iron. There were moments when it literally shrieked. In fact, it was tearfully titterable. I would have arisen and left had I not been persuaded to remain by the fact that stereopticon views taken on the farm were to be exhibited. For one hour I listened, fully conscious that his words were having the effect of a soporific on me. (72) At last came the views. The first was of the farm taken from a train window six miles away. It was blurred and finger-printed and cracked and altogether looked as if a baby had scratched it from noontime until it takes its afternoon nap. The farm looked singularly peaceful as it lay in the sun- shine six miles away. To gain an idea of how it looked would be well-nigh impossible, but it closely resembled a fish-scale viewed in a dark room. I thought I saw a butterfly alighting on a hocus-pocus plant in Horace’s garden, but the distance was so great it may have been a humming bird. View No. 2 was of the fountain of Bandusia. It was a com- mon, ordinary post hole full of leaves and lizards. On a peg to the right hung a cup — for dipping out t he lizards, I suppose. I expected to see a large, foaming fountain, with rainbows in the mist and little children feeding crumbs to the goldfish. Special attention was called to a bow-legged frog sitting on the bank. The next was of some goats snapped upon the mountain- side. They looked too dear for anything. A little boy sitting beside me was about to go up and get one. They had long, musician-like hair coming down over their eyes, which were the color of a two-cent government stamp. One of the goats was the most peaceful animal I ever saw. It had such a calm, happy expression on its face. The eyelids, partly closed, gave it the look of amiability. Serenity seemed to hover over it as it lay stretched out drinking in the noon-hour sun. She allowed the flies to alight on her at will. The poor goat was dead. View No. 4 was of Horace’s farm taken from another moun- tain peak. The farm could be seen four miles below in the valley. I should say maybe it could be seen, that is, if one had a microscope and time and a nice imagination pliable to dis- tortion. A small dot looking like a grain of sand in relief against the ocean was said to be Horace’s villa. Right below it could be seen a wheelbarrow painted yellow. Above and to the right was a beech tree on which Horace had cut his name. But as I couldn’t see the tree, I experienced great difficulty in distinguishing the “H’’ from the “O.” We were told that when the picture was taken several pigeons were quarreling on a (73) distant roof, but as this didn’t concern us we passed on to the next picture. It was another view of Horace’s farm taken on the opposite mountainside from a distance of three miles. Good heavens! They treated the farm as if it were a dynamite factory about to explode. I arose, grabbed my overcoat and plunged out as a picture of Horace’s whetstone was thrown on the screen. When I wish to learn anything about Horace’s farm I ' l! go steerage to Italy and walk inland until I come across it. Joseph J. Quinn, ’i6. (74) Uiljp Npui g’fal IVl any of our readers will no doubt be interested in knowing of the new seal which was recently adopted by the College and which appears on the cover of this issue of the Annual. This shield consists of four parts surrounded by a circlet. In the upper left of the shield, as carried aloft, is a fac-simile of the famous Battle Monument, symbolic of the City of Balti- more, and with which we are all so well familiar. This device has also been adopted in the new city flag. In the lower left of the shield is embodied the seal of the State of Maryland : two Maltese crosses placed in opposite corners; the remainder of this section is fllled by the well-known bars. The upper right of the shield contain red and white stripes, emblematic of our country, while the lower left is representa- tive of the House of Loyola. The w olves stand for courage. It is said that the sons of the noble House of Loyola fought like wolves for their king, and these animals were emblazoned on their escutcheon to make their deeds m.emorable for all time. The cauldron hung up over the blazing logs is a monu- ment to the generosity of the Loyolas. In the circlet surrounding the shield are the names of the College, the city and state and, finally, the year of the founding of the College. W. T. A. (75) JOSEPH D. MONAGHAN, H. S., ’i6. Winner of first prize in ‘‘Maryland Day” contest. Subject of essay, “Mother Seton.” JKotlfer ptott. LOSING the biography of the St. Elizabeth of Hungary or of St. Rose of Lima, one naturally asks “Are there such people now? Has heroic sanctity passed or does it still exist?” Our questions are invariably answered that Providence vouch- safes to bring to our attention constantly obscure lives re- splendent with virtue. God shows this in every century. He deigned to give us in our own times another saint, Mother Seton, whose life was admirable as a child, wife, mother, and religious. Her soul was animated by obedience, purity, patience, piety, and charity — in a word she was imbued with the zeal of the first Christians, and the spirit of the martyrs. Aye, she was a martyr: suffering the loss of friendship, the criticism and opposition of friends, and persecution from her own family, that she might embrace that which she knew to be the one, true faith. Elizabeth Ann Bayley was born in New York on the twenty- eighth day of August, 1774. Her parents, Catherine Charl- ton and Dr. Richard Bayley, a well-known and energetic physician, were Episcopalians of means. When Elizabeth was three years old her mother died, and upon her father fell the entire care of her education and training; he was assiduous in developing every good quality of mind and heart in his lov- ing and obedient daughter. Reared in the Episcopalian belief educated in the studies pursued by the young ladies of her times, versed in French and music, with the best of instruction, select companionship, and the most diligent care, Elizabeth advanced rapidly in her studies and became the joy of her father’s heart. Because of her fondness for elevating literature she chose books pertaining to the Catholic Faith. She was inclined even in her devotions to be Catholic, constantly wearing the crucifix having a love of prayer and of spiritual reading, and a great reverence for her guardian angel and the Holy Name. (77) When Miss Bayley reached the age of twenty she was mar- ried to Mr. William Seton, also an Episcopalian. Her hus- band was a man of amiable disposition and the highest character, who appreciated her virtues and her merits. At this time his affairs were in a prosperous condition, and stand- ing high socially he could place his wife in a position to be admired for her many accomplishments and splendid qualities. The early years of Mr. Seton were spent in the mercantile house of the Filicchi Brothers, in Italy, Catholic Italians for whom Mrs. Seton had a ' great fondness and admiration; and who were largely instrumental in teaching her the beauties of Catholicity. To the Setons were born five children, all of whom she offered to God. Several years after the marriage Mr. Seton failed in health and sailed to Italy with his wife and eldest daughter. Be- cause of a rumor that yellow fever prevailed in New York, Mr. Seton was not allowed to land at Leghorn, which was his destination. After a month of illness at the lazaretto out- side of that city, Mr. Seton died. Here, indeed, a sword of sorrow pierced the heart of Mrs. Seton. Luring her stay at Leghorn with the Filicchis, MIrs. Seton unconscio usly imbibed lessons in Catholicity that would later influence her life. She frequently visited churches where she v as greatly impressed. Ever fervent in following the dictates of her conscience, she studied the doctrines and teach- ings of the Church, and resolved to embrace the Catholic Religion. The first dogma she accepted v as that of the real presence. After returning to America and informing her friends of her determination to become a Catholic, Mrs. Seton was be- sieged by her many friends, and by her ministers, who strove to change her intention. Great was the opposition of the Episco- palian clergymen who placed her conscience on the rack, striv- ing to tear away from it the Catholic doctrines which she had accepted, shocking her by talking of anti-Christ and idolatry, and endeavoring to weaken her adherence by remsinding her of her friends, her social standing, and the wealth ultimately to be at her disposal, if she conformed to her relatives’ desires. (78) But undaunted by their opposition and the thought of what she would lose, she remained firm in the belief that the Catholic Church taught the one, holy and true faith. She renounced Protestantism on Ash-Wednesday in 1805, and was received into the fold for whose faith many Christians had like- wise undergone persecution. On the feast of the Annuncia- tion, in the same year, she received her first Holy Communion. . ' !rs. Seton had earnestly tried, immediately after her hus- band’s death, to maintain her children by teaching in New York. Because of difficulties she sailed to Baltimore arriving on the feast of Corpus Christi, 1808. Her future dwelling adjoined St. Mary’s Seminary, on Paca Street. She was re- ceived with great kindness, and was visited at her home by the first bishop of the United States, Bishop Carroll, and by a former governor of Maryland, Gen. John Eager Howard, of Revolutionary fame. Zealous that the Catholic Faith might be early inculcated into the minds and hearts of children, Mrs Seton conceived the idea of organizing a congregation of nuns for this purpose and oi founding an American branch of the Sisters of Charity, hut not until she had prayed and consulted her spiritual direc- tor, Father Dubourg. It seems that the hand of God pointed out the way. When she first desired to establish a community she was entirely without funds, having been reduced to actual poverty. At this stage Divine Providence came to her aid. One miorning after receiving Holy Communion she felt urged to accomplish the desire of her heart, and immediately called on her confessor, to whom she communicated her inspir- ation. He was astonished — for that very morning a Mr. Cooper, a wealthy convert and a student of St. Mary’s Semi- nary, had been inspired at the same time, in the same chapel, after receiving the Blessed Sacrament, to establish with his mcney an institution of learning for children, under the guid- ance of holy wmmen. Father Dubourg advised each separately to m.editate over the project for a month and to inform him of their decision. During this time there v as no communica- tion between them. Each returned to the priest with steadfast convictions. This proved to be a Divine direction. Mr. Cooper furnished the mionev with one restriction, that the house should be located at Emmitsburg, Md. (79) Mrs. Seton, who was ever solicitous about her own children, decided to take her three daughters with her to Emmitsburg. She prevented her older son from entering the American navy, and under the care of a Father Brute he cross ed the ocean and was placed under the guidance and protection of Mr. Filicchi, at Leghorn, where he would acquire a knowledge of business. Her younger son entered the counting house of one of the principal merchants in Baltimore, an influential Catholic. To the great joy of Mrs. Seton, her two sisters-in-law, Har- riet and Cecilia Seton, embraced Catholicity. They joined thirteen other zealous women under Mrs. Seton, and all began the journey to Emmitsburg on the feast of St. Ignatius, walk- ing the greater part of the distance. Reaching their destination they were crowded in a small house consisting of one story and a garret, with but two rooms on each floor. Such was the first house of the Sisters of Charity established in the United States. But Mrs. Seton was un- daunted by difficulties, being remarkable for her wonderful cheerfulness in adversity. Upon the advice of Archbishop Carroll the rule of the French Daughters of Charity was adopted, and the name “Sisters of St. Joseph” was taken.. After various changes the habit eventually adopted was that worn by the Sisters of Charity in France, — a blue habit, and a white linen bonnet called a cor- nette. Two of Mrs. Seton ' s daughters joined the order. The elder was stricken with a dangerous malady, and the day before her death took the vows of the society, being thus the first pro- fessed member. The other candidates of the society, which was rapidly growing, took their vows before Archbishop Car- roll. Mrs. Seton was elected superioress, a position she held for twelve years — years of noble efforts and splendid results — which were terminated by her death on January the fourth. 1821, after a brief illness. She tranquilly surrendered her innocent spirit to her Heavenly Father, having lead a life of trial and sacrifice. As an incentive to emulate her holy example and aspire to her glorious reward, the Sisters have inscribed on the walls of the humble chamber, in which she (80) expired, the following memento : “Here, near this door, by this fireplace, on a poor lowly couch died our cherished and saintly Mother Seton. She died in poverty, but rich in faith and good works; may we, her children, walk in her footsteps and share one day in her happiness. Amen.” She was buried near the mother house at Emmitsburg among the blue hills of Western Maryland, where she had spent twelve years in seclusion and prayer with her community. From St. Joseph’s, the mother house at Emmitsburg, mis- sions were established in other cities and states. Thus were inaugurated those great works of the Sisters of Charity: the education of children, the care of orphans, and the amelioration of the condition of the sick and afflicted, monuments to the zeal and piety of the saintly foundress of the order. Mother Seton. Joseph D. Monaghan, H. S., ’i6. (8i) (Sarprt S Iippprsi IfY they’re old and worn, but I will never do away with them.” The priest removed the cigar from his mouth and, seem- ingly studying the ashes, emitted the smoke slowly from his parted lips, permitting it to curl about his nose and to ascend in a long, fading spiral into the air above. He was seated in his study, before the open fireplace, and was the picture of ' ‘Comfort and Content.” I had seen him many times as he was then, for I was a favorite guest and was always admitted to his library. He was dressed in a slumbering robe, girdled at the waist; his feet were slippered. It was of his emerald green carpet slippers that he spoke. ‘‘They have quite a history,” he added after a pause. ‘‘They belonged to m.y father, who gave them to me at his death. A peculiar gift it v as, but these slippers were to make me think often of dear, old Ireland, and the feet that once trod there; of Ireland’s staunch fidelity to the Church, and her history of English persecution and intolerant imposition. ‘Tviy father was a member of the ‘Clan-na-Gael.’ His loy- alty to Ireland and the Church cost him all his possessions. England sent her troops to quell the rebellion and slowly exterminate Catholicism. They seized my father’s house and fired it, for he was both a Fenian and a Papist. With a super- human effort he escaped to a neighboring forest, carrying a priest who had been ill, and also my aged mother. This was done, in both escapes from the house, by means of these noise- less slippers, for he was forced to pass through the encamp- ment. If it had not been for the fact that the seizure and burning of the house was done at night, this would never have been possible. “These sarne old carpet slippers have lightly run up and down the stairs here in America (for we were obliged to sail to this country), as my father patiently waited on my invalid mother for m.any years. And many’s the time I have heard (82) him tell of waiting for the priest to come with the Holy Viat- icum, as he paced the floor in his slippers. “But best of all have they been a source of joy and comfort in the library, where we studied, and thought, and talked, before the open grate, on many a cold night, of the days of our life in Ireland.’ When he had finished speaking I sat and mused over his words, which brought to my mind scenes of martyrdom in the “ould country,” where some of my own relations had suffered for the faith. They were old slippers, but were sacred to the priest, and I often have thought of them and wondered what tales they could tell of the love of God, the love of country, and the love of parents. Joseph D. Monaghan, H. S., ' i6. 10inb Along the surface of firth and lake. Among the crags a-racing; Tuning your lays ’mid brakes and braes. The grass and flowers a-chasing. Across the breadth of yonder hill Your ranks are always pushing; The headed grain supinely bows To salute their queen in passing. Today you gently kiss the flowers. Tomorrow, gru ff and grumbling. Tear your way through forest bowers, The oak and chestnut humbling. Ambrose Quinn, ’15. 1. ■ ’ Wi -h -• •... -■ (83) IGtgljt ttt making Thursday, April 22, the Secchi Scientific Society visited the Gas Plant at Spring Gardens and the Electric Plant at Westport. The members, who sacrificed the pleasure of a late sleep and journeyed toward the big black tanks, were fully compensated for their trouble. This trip was most in- teresting and instructive. The weather was ideal. The appointed hour was nine. Accordingly, at ten (after the wait for stragglers), the party moved on the works. After the few minutes taken up with introductions we immediately got down to business. With visions of two extensive plants to be inspected before dinner, we were thirsting for all the knowledge the plant afford ed. The men in charge lost no time in their endeavor to get it into our system. The tests for the heating efficiency of the gas and the method of analysis were first shown us. The first test is ob- tained by a special apparatus. The analysis is simple, con- sisting merely in passing the gas first into a pipette, the meas- urement noted, and then successively through solutions of bromine, chlorine, a salt of potassum, one or two other reagents and finally over phosphorus. The gas is returned to the pipette each time a constituent is absorbed by one of the reagents. As this experiment recalled the weary after- school hours spent tinkering over beakers, mortars, etc., dur- ing many a balmy day in spring, we hurried away to the next exhibit. This was the test for candle-power, substantially the same as our laboratory test. The apparatus works a trifle more smoothly than ours and a standard pentare lamp is used instead of the candle. Only water gas is manufactured at the plant. The coal gas used by the company is piped from the furnaces of the Mary- land Steel Works. A demonstration of the manufacture of this kind of gas followed. Anthracite is used, and is carried to the generators by a (84) labor-saving process which can be easily comprehended when seen, but which I would not dare attempt on paper. In the generators the coal is heated to incandescence by means of an air blast. As the gases thus produced leave the generator and pass to the superheater, air is introduced. At this point the carbon monoxide. unites with the air and a good quantity of gas is wasted. Steam, after the air is shut off, is passed into the superheater and water gas is formed. The gas is non- luminous until enriched by passing it through crude oil on its way from the superheater. The water gas itself serves to enrich the coal gas. After the gas is produced the next operation is purifying. At this plant an oxide of iron is used for this purpose. The gas is passed through mammoth tanks containing the purifier, which can be cleansed by exposure to air and used over again. The only by-product of the plant is a kind of tar. It pos- sesses none of the richness of coal tar, but makes a fairly good oil for roads By the system of indicators used, the pressure at various points of the city can be seen at a glance and varied on a few minutes’ notice. We were next shown the giant meters used to indicate the entire output of the whole system. We were told that the checking up between the individual meters and these at the plant was so perfected that the percentage of error is almost negligible. The gas is pumped into the water-sealed holders, where it awaits distribution through the mains. Some one foolishly proposed that we climb to the top. In a little while Balti- more lay spread out far below us — tiny, insignificant and quiet. It is safe to say that none of the members will attain fame as mountain climbers. Our corpulent fellow-scientist succeeded in hauling his avoirdupois to the dizzy height of one-half the three hundred feet, where he deposited it and in patience awaited the descent of his more slender partners. It was coming toward noon when we were ready to leave for Westport. The call of the inner man was becoming in- sistent and interest lagged proportionately. A South Balti- morean volunteered the information that it was but a short walk. We have not figured out yet what he had against us. (85) Over the ties, and back lots, we trudged until we came to the door of the big power house, where we were courteously re- ceived. As we were familiar with the principles of generating power, the element of novelty in this line was lacking. The construction of the massive machinery attracted the most at- tention. A full hour was consumed in going over the plant. We were admitted to the bus gallery and to the transformer room, where, on account of the high voltage, visitors are rarely admitted. During the visit several members asked questions that displayed a surprising degree of intelligence. Before leaving Mr. Summers took a few pictures, after which we boarded a car for home — a tired, hungry and statistic-swamped set. J. J. Lardner, ’15. ( 86 ) ujI|p S ubatttute VERY dear friend of mine asked me to do him a favor the other morning. He petitioned in such a heartfelt manner that I couldn’t well refuse, saying that he was to be married that day and would lose his position if unable to find a substitute. As he is the author of a Health and Beauty Column in a country daily, I could hardly understand how I vjas to fill the vacancy. Still, he explained that all to be done was to answer the questions sent by mail during the day. After numerous excuses for my unfitness and so on, I finally consented and went up to his office. This is how they were answered : Question — Whenever I sneeze my phantasm reproduces the likeness of my mother-in-law. This is gradually ruining my health. What is the matter? Jack. Ansv er—Friend, you spell sneeze wrongly; it should be d-r-i-n-k. Question — My nose turns up terribly. How may I rem- edy it? Sarah Jane. Answer — By not imagining you are something which you are not. Question — Tell me how to coax your eyebrows. Edna. Answ er — This is a beauty column Edna, not a marriage bureau. Self addressed envelope “please.” Question—I am very bashful in the company of others. Please give m.e some advice? Willie. Answ er — Consider yourself lucky that you haven’t been caught. Question — For the last few days my tongue has been a source of much pain and annoyance. Could you make a sug- gestion? Mrs. Smith. Answer — Dear madam, this is nothing unusual in the femi- nine sex. Question — I am only forty-six, and as my fancies are also (87) young I would like to know what is your opinion of those who use vaseline for a face massage? Miss Spinster. Answer — Very cheap. Question — This is hardly a question for your column, still I am anxious to know whether it is true that a black mule has enough magnetism to draw a cat. Tom. Answer — This is a hard one, Tom. However, I know a dog has enough to draw a flea, but am very doubtful about that mule. Question — My hair is brown, but it scintillates so fearfully it looks red. Korrows, what am I to do? Evelyn. Answer — Don’t worry, that’s of light effect. Question — As you’re well up on the question of magnetism, which is more attractive in a girl, magnetism or beauty? Belle. Answer — Magnetism; beauty is distractive. Question — My husband has been rather sour of late. What is wrong? Mrs. Armstrong. Answer — I only intimate, possibly pickled. Question — Give me a mild, unobtrusive appellation for a nom de plume? Poet. Answer — I hate to do it, friend, but, being as you insist — Softbrain is very suitable. Questions — Girls say one side of my face is more handsome than the other. Am I cross-eyed, or are they? Percy. Answer — No, cross-examined. This filled the column. The editor must have forgotten to proof it, for it appeared in the next edition, to the great anger of the correspondents and the enjoyment of their friends; in fact, such a howl was made that a special edition had to be gotten out to explain that the author was on a spree when he wrote it, and, being now over the effects, was ready to apolo- gize. Just between you and me, the paper made quite a bit tooting the circumstances through special editions. City Editor, ’15. ( 88 ) (Fife ®ljaat of tlfp Sattlpfifli " H EY, fellers ! Come on over to Dickson street ; the ‘Dick- son Streeters’ are battlin’ the Pottery gang! Yuh awta see ’em; got lanterns an’ all.” This was the excited announcement that greeted the ears of the “Raiders,” as “Reds” Dolan, with a hop, skip and a jump, landed in their midst. “The Raiders,” as the group of youngsters living near Crescent and Armstead streets were termed by the residents and patrolmen of that neighborhood, had been indulging in an indignation meeting. They agreed to a man (?) that this was the slowest night since “Reds” Dolan moved to that vicinity; not a stray “hound” or prowl- ing “skinner” could be found. There wasn’t a chance to ring door-bells, eit her, for the heat had driven the housekeepers to the front doorstoop. So the news brought by “Reds” was to them like a cooling draught to a desert traveler. Every moth- er’s son of them was for hiking at once across Church’s lot to aid their friendly enemies, the “Dickson Streeters.” Now, Church’s lot, in former days, was the site of a large chemical factory. The property extended from Dickson to Crescent street a distance of half a mile. Some twenty years ago the buildings were destroyed by fire. Weird stories had their origin in the grim ruins. Irving’s “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” has not a more blood-curdling effect. Spectral drivers lead forth their phantom steeds ; an unfortunate watch- man nightly hangs his ghostly self; frightful cries arouse the initiated, and every night the shrouded form of a woman ap- pears at the office window. So it was quite natural that “The Raiders” should halt before crossing the lot. “The Raiders” were not cowards by any means. They would stand their ground against any mortal foe. But to match themselves against a ghost — whew! “Wouldn’t be so bad,” Johnny Clark remarked, “if a feller knew what a ghos’ looked like.” “Aw, wat yuh ’fraid of?” “Reds” growled dis- gustedly. “Didn’t we play ball there today? Didn’t we go (89) through the ole warehouse Sunday?” “I know,” Dave Spicker interposed, “but that was in the daytime; ghoses only are at night.” “Looka here,” “Reds” boasted, “if you fellers are gona stan’ here, I ain’t. I’m gona cross the lot.” Arming himself with two large stones, “Reds” proceeded toward Dickson street. He was not long alone. Not a boy of the crowd but what followed him, each imitating their leader in the selection of ammunition. Lightly they treaded, lest the slightest sound would bring down the wrath of the ghosts. Should any credulous youngster dare to break the silence he would be strongly reprimanded by his fellows. They were nearing Dickson street, when the ever-alert and none too comfortable Johnny Clark called “Reds” to look at “that white thing over there.” Immediately every eye was focused to the spot pointed to by Johnny. “What is it, any- way?” Sam Strunk questioned timorously. “What do you think it is, stupid?” Johnny returned, in a tone of surprise. “What else but a ghos’, a’ course,” he added. “What’s ’at, Johnny?” chimed in a chorus of voices, “what yuh say, a ghos’?” “Sure, I did,” Johnny replied. “How yuh know?” the chorus asked anxiously. “Well, didn’t my dad say that a ole man hung hisself over there,” Johnny explained. “Aw, rets,” “Reds” spoke up, “whose afraid of ghoses? They can’t hurt yuh, anyway.” “Can’t they?” two or three youngsters, ready to relate some well-w orn tale of horrible, ghostly deeds, began, ‘‘Why, I know — ” “Here, cut that out,” “Reds” inter- rupted; “if there’s any ghos’ over there, I’m gona find out.” As before, the boys rallied around “Reds” and marked on to conquer or die. Twenty-five yards from the “phantom” “The Raiders” halted. No sensible boy, however brave, w ' ould tempt a ghost too much, especially when the “spectre” was making menacing advances toward them— dancing, as it were, on the evening breeze. “The Raiders” determined to let Mr. Ghost know that they were not to be trifled with. Twelve well- aimed missiles sped “ghost-ward,” and immediately twenty- four sturdy little legs were bent in hurried retreat. The fleeing urchins turned not to view the “ghostly remains,” but on they sped until the electric lights of Crescent street envel- oped them in their glare. The next morning “Reds” and “Danny” Dougherty returned to the “haunted” spot to look for some marbles dropped in flight. With heads bent low they were eagerly scanning the ground, when suddenly they were pitched to earth. Looking up quickly they espied Mrs. Murphy’s “Nanny” breaking for cover. Mrs. Hopkins, broom in hand, was following the fleeing goat. “John, oh, John!” the wielder of the broom shouted, in tones loud enough to be heard by her husband, who was crossing the lot on his way to work, “look what that good-for-nothing goat of Mis’ Murphy’s did to your good stiff- bosom shirt! If I had my way, you’d see a lawyer and sue her for damages.” “Phwat’s that, phwat’s that I hear?” bel- lowed the thunderous voice of a large woman, whose sud- ccvered arms indicated a recent engagement with a wash- tub. “Ye’ll stone me goat, will ye? It wouldna be good fer ye, me lady, if I see ye doin’ it.” “Well, why don’t yuh keep your old goat in,” snapped the yet wrathful Mrs. Hopkins; “there it’s gone and ruined my husband’s shirt. I intend to sue fer dam ages.” “Phwat’s ailin’ ye, are ye dac?” the owner of the goat retorted. “Flow’s me pur ‘nanny’ to reach that moth-eaten old rag of a shirt and it a good five feet from ground. Go ’long, now, and let me not hear of ye stonin’ me goat again, an’ ye do, ye wouldna need sue fer damages, ye’ll git yer fill.” During the dialogue “Reds” and “Danny” were mute but thoughtful. The reference to a damaged shirt had set them thinking. They glanced at the clothesline, tied to two poles on the lot, and then to the collection of stones upon the ground. “Say, ‘Danny,’ ” “Reds” finally spoke, “I don’t think we want them marbles; les’ go home.’’ And as they moved on, they resolved that no alibi of theirs would ever exonerate Mrs. Murphy’s “nanny.” Joseph C. Garland, ’i8. HE last fading streaks of sunset had disappeared and night had fallen, still and ghostly. The moon glided silently through low-hanging clouds and with its pale rays partly illu- minated a battlefield. Just a few hours before the roar of battle had reigned supreme; now all was silent, save when an occa- sional shriek of a dying soldier pierced the night or when the solemn stillness was broken by the raucous cry of some bird of prey that wheeled in its searching flight over the coming feast as the man-built birds of war had done a short time before. Debris of all kinds and guns of every description were strewn in utter confusion over the ground, broken or still erect, looming up in the darkness like huge and awful watchdogs awaiting their quarry. Horses and men lay in horrible, ghastly heaps about the field, dampened in their own life-blood, and forms still leaned against their guns with grim, smiling faces and with limp arms dangling at their sides ; they were loyal in death to the flag they had served so well. The ghastliness of this dreadful scene was increased tenfold by the uncertain light of the moon as it glided slowly through the clouds. Among the still, silent figures Captain Carey lay mortally wounded. His left arm had been blown off above the elbow, and the blood oozed in a fast increasing stream, from a wound in his breast where a bullet had zigzagged its way. He had been overlooked by the hospital corps, left for dead. As the night grew cooler with its blessed breeze, the form moved and twitched, then the eyes opened. Slowly Captain Carey’s senses returned. Pain dominated his consciousness, he was being burned, not all of him, his chest and arm only. Why doesn’t help come? Terror swept over him as he realized that he had been overlooked. Overlooked. ❖ ❖ Hg shrieked aloud to show that he was not dead. Now he discovered another torture. Thirst consumed him. “Water! Water!’’ Oh! but for one drop to moisten his (92) parched tongue and burning throat. Perspiration broke out all over his body. Oh! would this hell ever cease? Through his agonized mind all the doings of his life passed : vividly he saw the parting kiss he had given to his wife and little one; the sorrow they would endure when they read his name in the list of the dead. He remembered with a shudder that attack. He had spurred his horse and leaped into the very mouths of the enemy’s guns. Suddenly the animal which he rode pitched and toppled over kicking violently. It had been shot under him. After that had come that burning sen- sation in his breast — then — oh, yes, he saw it all now, the sud- den light in the sky before him and his fall to the welcome earth. After that he could remember no more, his senses had left him. “What are those lights over yonder?” “It must be the camp.’ ' His breath was coming in short painful gasps. “The Lord’s will be done.” It was more peaceful and holy now. He was dying for a good cause. Bobby and mother would be proud of him. Thank God! He would rest better now. “What was that?” Over the field stole the soft, vibrant notes of a bugle, playing “Taps.” It had reached the ears of Captain Carey lying in his death agony out upon that bloody field. “Goodby, Bobby! Goodby, Jane!” He lay prone with a con- vulsive shudder, the blood gushing from his mouth. He was sleeping the everlasting sleep. Out there on the battlefield, engulfed in darkness, except for the feeble rays of the moon, “Taps,” the summons to sleep, had called Captain Carey to his eternal rest. Joseph T. Parr, H. S., ’i6. (93) 5Ptanna A PIx NO is a musical hotbed for raising a disturbance. The piano owes its existence to some man who had at least a slight suggestion of a brain. It was not the idea of taking a big box and disposing of a lot of wire into its interior that made the world gasp, in the Eighteenth Century, but the marvelous convincive power of the man who thrust his finger into the eyes of over a million people and relieved each of several hundred dollars, at the same time explaining how the piano, when set up in a parlor, will collect dust, agents, scratches, blackhand letters and musically inclined persons who like to sit in other people’s parlors with muddy feet, idle gossip and an appetite for cake. Pianos destroy gladness, induce sadness and often lead to madness. They are putting nerve specialists into 6o H. P. limousines at an appallingly fearful rate. Every little town located on the outskirts of obscurity has its nerve specialist going out on Sunday afternoon in a luxurious car and admir- ing the landscape through the left window when some of his old-time friends are passing on the right. The piano by itself is a perfectly harmless article, and may be draped with lace or decked with trophies and vases in a highly satisfactory and becoming manner, but when it is tor- tured by a young lady who received the O. K. degree — for caramel making — at college, well — . The piano is a large and exceedingly awkward instrument, but it is slightly smaller than a room. It is not the piano that takes up so much space ; it is its voice. A piano can be kept in a serene corner of a room without tripping up a person once. But its voice reaches right out and pushes a pin into the ten- derest part of a person’s body, the nerves, and makes them howl in pain. For five dollars down a person can obtain a piano that will in time put everybody in that neighborhood six feet down. By means of this instalment plan we can have a big, polished. (94) bow-legged piano placed in the home and collectors calling around on the first and fifteenth as regularly as John D. Rocke- feller takes his milk and crackers. The instalment plan enables one to enjoy good music from a piano when it is in its prime and before it has become weak in the vocal cords and then will it to several succeeding generations, which will pay its mortgage and cause neighbors to tear up floors and buy profane parrots as an antidote to its music. Joseph J. Quinn, ’i6. lilip Ntgltt Hatrh Out in the full moon tide. Beside a lisping stream. Alone and rapt I sighed. In saddest joy serene. And many a vision high Shone on my inward eye. Behold! a lone star peeps Adown upon the wave. And night a vigil keeps In solemn stillness grave. Methought a voice came nigh And pie rced the silv’ry sky. Through all the dreamy hours. So rife with balm and ease. Nestled ’mid sleeping flowers. Bathed in the soughing breeze. Beside the flow I stay And watch till break of day. J. V. Buckley, ’17. (95) SlJjf 5.10 ulratn Be the day sunshiny or full of rain, There’s nothing to me like the 5.10 train. I hear it puffing and blowing its way Down the pages of Latin and French all day. At noon, at recess, and half-past two. It seems like the day will never get through. Tempus and tide never wait for men. But I always wait for the old 5.10. Of course, there’s a train called the 3.15, But it’s slow and plodding and might have seen The days of Napoleon or other big men; But there’s nothing to me like the old 5.10. At the rate of forty or maybe more. We tear through towns with a fearful roar. Then I snuggle down in my red plush seat ; No, sir, the old 5.10 just can’t be beat. Then the tickets are punched to the rythmic strain Of the car wheels clattering their glad refrain. I put back my ticket and snuggle again. There’s no train to compare with the old 5.10. A friend may snuggle beside me, too. But not one of those friends who bill and coo. I guess billing and cooing have all been tried Time and again on that 5.10 ride. When the signal is given the train slows down. And i get off at my little home town. I cannot speak but with pompous pride Of that Parkton train and its glorious ride. Commuter. (96) a lie S’trokp (0ar “W ELL, Mickey, the hammer has fallen at last,” said Jim McGrath to his crippled room-mate, George Mickson, generally known as “The Grind,” because of his studious dispo- sition. “Talk English,” said George. “Well, when I came here after the last recitation I found a note under the door requesting my presence in the Dean’s office. Arriving at same, I was politely notified by Professor Wilson to discontinue as stroke until I could pass my Math- ematics and Physics conditions, and you know it’s next to impossible for me to pass those conditions. When our new coach, ‘Pop’ Emmet, heard the news he was furious, and immediately appealed to the Dean, but that distinguished gentleman upheld Willy’s ruling.” “Can’t you pass those conditions in time for the big race?” questioned George. “Perhaps, but even then I would be out of trim, and by the time of the race the crew should have been made three weeks beforehand and should run like a smooth, well-oiled machine,” dejectedly answered Jim. “I’ll help you. If you’ll study with me. I’ll have those con- ditions passed within a month’s time,” George said deter- minedly. “I’m with you, Georgie.” Jim studied with George for one whole month, and after successfully passing his exams he collided with George in the corridor awaiting the results. “Yea, Georgie,” Jim greeted him, as happy as a lark, “you did it, all right.’’ “Nonsense, Jim, it was your determination, anyhow. Now that it’s over, you go down to the boat-house and get back into your old place as stroke.” “Pop” Emmet personally toiled with Jim for three weeks, but grinding at his lessons and toiling in the shell was an (97) great strain on Jim, so when the day of the race arrived Jim was far from being well, but the remembrance of Micky’s and Pop’s labors helped him pluck up courage. The day was perfect. There was a light breeze stirring, and the boats of all description that were lined up along the course were decorated in Verton’s gold and Southern’s cardinal pen- nants. Both shores were densely covered with people, and the observation trains, one on each shore, resembled long serpents. The crowd would first cheer one college and then the other. The shells were in position — great, long, white specks on the calm, azure surface of the river. Of a sudden, everything was hushed ; it was as if some spell had been cast over the crowd. Sixteen bronzed warriors tensely leaned forward, tugging at their buried blades and awaited the pistol shot. Then cheer after cheer was hurled across the river. They are off! During the first quarter Emmet felt like a criminal. He had let a sick man go into the race. He knew Jim was out of sorts, but to make a change at the last minute was like killing all their chances, and this race meant more to Emmet than anyone knew. So he prayed that Jim would last the full distance. The shell was leaping ahead like a thing alive, the eight blades rising and falling in perfect unison. “One — two, one — two,” counted Jim. The stroke had been dropped to thirty-six and the shell was riding high, almost skimming over the surface. Jim was rowing the race of his life, and they gradually drew away from the others. A mile and a half had been covered. Jim was beginning to feel the effects, and, although they were two lengths ahead of the nearest shell, Jim had his doubts as to the outcome. Now Jim’s pulling was purely mechanical. He was begin- ning to get weak. Another half mile, and out of the corners of his eyes he could see the bow of the Southern shell directly opposite him. About a half length lead, stroke sick and the race only half over. Another half mile and his brain was reel- ing. He was groggy. (98) “One — two, one — two,” he counted thickly. Something hit him in the face. It was a handful of water the coxswain scooped up and threw. He knew Jim’s condition as he sat there white-faced but quiet. Anxiously he watched Jim battle against exhaustion. The other crews were passing them. The last mile. How he was suffering. Jim listened — one, two — the coxswain was counting for him, and gradually he went on from two to four and then to six. At the last half mile Jim dared open his eyes, and to his astonishment he saw the Southern shell two lengths behind. The stroke had been increased — the last desperate effort. Jim pulled for his life. The Southern shell was gaining; now only a half length lead; the other shell was gaining slowly but surely. Jim could dimly hear the coxswain pleading with the crew to brace up. They were going to lose, after all. No! They must not lose. Now — once again — a shot rang out. What terrible suspense — what agony. Ah! he could see it was a gold flag the judge had dropped. The race was over and they had won. Jim dimly heard the frantic cheers of his schoolmates. ‘‘Jim McGrath, umpty ”He smiled, and then everything went black before his eyes. He fell forward into the waiting arms of his coxswain. The exertion had been too much and he had fainted for the first time in his life. Thomas Cole, H. S., ' i8. (99) ®lii Jiaaks I enjoy nothing so much as old school books and memories of boyhood. When I recall those charming days I find myself once more within the cheerful circle of youth. Those days, though gone, are mine forever. As I take up a well-worn book and open it at a familiar page and read once more the lines which at one time seemed uninteresting and tiresome, almost unconsciously I repeat line after line aloud, for now I can fully appreciate their beauty and rhythm. I can remem- ber my first impression of school books. I looked upon them as a boy does upon the forceps of a dentist and wishes all sorts of things upon the inventor of those instruments of torture. At first I felt great aversion to them. Why should I be so changed now? We all greatly cherish some little remem- brance of departed friends, because it seems to bring us closer to them. Old school books are remembrances of bygone days. By looking over them and meditating on old school pleasures I seem to become a boy again and to forget the dullness of daily life. Then, too, there is the return of old school friends and the revival of old intimacy. But one cannot meet a boyhood acquaintance every day if he lives in a city far distant from that in which he spent his youth. By perusing parts of Latin and Greek authors I can remember who was called upon to translate many of the lines and I can almost hear the very words they say. Here is a book, the Aeneid of Virgil, the very book that I used long ago. As I turn the pages I see marks of many kinds, the interpretation of which I no longer remember. They seem as strange as the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Although now I cannot decipher any of them, still I know that every one had a definite meaning. Between the leaves there is a paper on which is drawn the picture of one of our teachers, and, although it is not an exact likeness of the original, it looks (loo) a great deal like him I wonder if he is still alive and teaches in the same old school. Recently I had occasion to visit a second-hand book store with a friend. While glancing over the books which were piled in numerous rows I found one which had really belonged to a school friend of mine. I immediately called the dealer and questioned him as to how he had come by the book. He described the man who had sold the book to him and after consulting some of the papers on his desk told me the address of my friend. After making our purchase we left the store and I went to my lodgings, intending to visit my old acquaint- ance. Acting on the dealer’s directions, I found my friend at home and spent an evening with him that I shall never forget. I was pointing out to him last evening the little collection of books I had gathered together. “I wish the good old times would come again,” he said, “when we were young. Then we were, I am sure, a great deal happier. Do you remember the tricks we used to play, and how much fun we thought it was to play tricks upon others and how we felt when some one played a trick on us? How we used to ‘kill our grandmother’ every year to see the opening game! How we used to make excuses for not knowing our lessons and for coming to school and mass late in order to escape jug! How we used to look forward every month to receiving an honor, only to find our mark dangerously near sixty! Although we did not think it at the time, our school days were the golden days of our life.” I told him that I remembered the days when I came home with twenty excuses for being late, while in reality I was gently detained in jug. I remember our pleasant walks to the country on Thursdays and holidays. They are all gone, now that we are no longer boys, and the things which we once enjoyed we cannot enjoy again. I remember the time we went out after persimmons and the results of eating some delicious green ones. But all this is past; we cannot enjoy things as we did long ago. We cannot do whatever we wish, and where we formerly walked we must now ride. Yet, could those days return, could you and I become young again B.nd go to school every day, I know we should be happy. (lOl) No one can truly understand our feelings, unless he has had like experiences; such a one alone can sympathize with us. We shall continue to recall happy times, look over the books we have saved, long after our interest in more sordid things of life have died out. W. Leo Johnson, H. S., ’15. JfrienJiBl|tp’0 iSpfrattt Not on Biscay’s troubled main. Nor on India’s seaboard lea. But fate and fortune linked us close On peaceful friendship’s sea. We saw the dark blue rollers rise And bulge and burst to foam. We saw the stars at nighttime gleam From out their arching dome. We heard the sea-mew in its flight. But storms ne’er came our way; We saw the sun in distance dimmed But never darked our day. A few short years our hands were joined. Our hearts in deep repose; No premonition’s silent blast Gave warning of its close. It came at night when all was still. On friendship’s peaceful sea. Without a storm, without a blast. One link broke silently. We floated far, we floated wide. And on our vessels bore ; But shall we meet one day again, A voice says — nevermore. Joseph J. Quinn, ’16. (102) A g tgntfirant Parallrl LITTLE over a century ago the world stood amazed, shocked, dumbfounded, at the awful excesses perpetrated in that great catastrophe known as the “French Revolution.” Never before in the history of civilization had such an orgy of blood and passion been seen. Before this terrible revolution France could hardly be said to have discarded the old feudal system, and was one of the most despotic and corrupt of monarchies. The peasants and poorer classes were so ground down by taxation and personal abuse that one of them hardly dared call his soul his own. Every man oppressed the man beneath him, and the peasant, the lowest in the scale, the foundation, as it were, was forced to bear the whole weight of the great structure of abuse and corruption. Although this system of government was poor and inade- quate, it was, nevertheless, a system, and although dishonesty and corruption of all kinds seemed to be the keynote of all political transactions, France as a monarchy was a veritable “Utopia’’ when compared with the hellish chaos of murder and rapine that followed under the name of “Liberty.” All things earthly must have an ending, and with the advent of the weak and vacillating Louis XVI, the French monarchy came to its downfall. From the slums of the cities, wherein lived the very dregs of humanity, ground down and sunken to the level of beasts, ominous murmurings began to come and spread through the rural districts, and, being ignored, they gathered strength until with a mighty roar the French Revolu- tion burst into being. The “Mob of Paris,’’ consisting of the most degraded m.en and women in the country, took the reins of government into its hands and, inflamed by the speeches of such fiends as Danton, Robespiere and Marat, commenced the wild excesses that turned the whole country into an enormous slaughter pen. The king and queen and those of the nobles and upper classes (103) who could not escape were murdered regardless of age or sex, and as the blood lust of the mobs clamored for more victims the priests of the country were slaughtered and the “Reign of Terror” began. Churches and convents were sacked and burned, and France, in the madness that followed, solemnly renounced God and placed “Reason” on His throne. Decent men lived in perpetual fear of being denounced as Royalists and guillotined, for in those dark days denunciation meant conviction and few found their way to liberty after once being imprisoned as “enemies of the state.” Such was the French Revolution; truly a terrible thing; the very reading of it were enough to fill one with a sickening dread, but withal it is not unparalleled and we need not search the records of the so-called “Dark Ages” if we would find a similar case, for here at our very days, in the “enlightened” twentieth century, is a condition of affairs which bids fair to eclipse all that has gone before. Mexico under her presidents could not have been called a triumph of democracy ; her being was not exactly a vindication of republican principles; nor was she in any way the earthly paradise dreamed of by Lafayette. Her peasants were poor and densely ignorant and had only a nominal voice in the government; the rich patrician of the cities despised the poor peons, and the president was really a dictator. The government, however, was strong and in its way, capable. At present the government has been wrested from the hands of the educated and cultured upper classes and the country is practically in a state of anarchy. Life and property are in the hands of and at the tender mercies of the various cut-throat bands of “revolutionists.” These wretches respect neither age, sex nor profession; priests have been murdered, banished, robbed and persecuted in every way; citizens of foreign countries have been robbed and murdered, and, not content with these lawless acts, the inhuman degenerates have sacked convents and outraged the sisters residing therein. Free rein is given to every evil pas- sion of man and bestially is at its height. Such is Mexico today. Such are the conditions that obtain in this enlightened age at our very doors, and by, our sufferance, in a country over which we claim certain rights. Truly we should be proud. W. D. Hodges, ’17. Oltfarartpriatira Violets ever peeping, Lily is so tall; Myrtle’s always creeping. Near Ivy on the wall. Pansy, quiet, pensive. Causes Rose to blush. While Susan’s eye offensive Makes bright Daisy tush. The gaysome Gladiolia Have peaceful Olive, green With envy at Magnolia And the fair Jessamine. Ambrose Quinn, ’15. Qlotttplpxt0n HE complexion is the hue permanently residing in the wallpaper of the face. Complexions are of two kinds — installations and prepara- tions. The former is installed at birth and becomes attractive and entertaining at about the age of sixteen, so much so that if the complexion is in conjunction with a pretty face and a few neat dimple dints, young men will cut through three ar- cades and up four avenues just to obtain a second glimpse of it. The latter kind is bought in boxes and put on the cheeks with small brushes, although when the Pomeranian poodle downstairs is fretting for its evening walk the counterfeit complexion can be put on hastily with the finger tips. Few of Nature’s imitators are aware of the fact that their cheeks are posters advertising the vacuum brains located immediately to the rear of them. The complexion is the orchard of the face. In the springtime of life it blooms, which ordinarily is sixteen years of age or when a girl’s blushes reach to her ears and her dress to her shoetops. At this period of life the ' complexion becomes no- ticeable and stands out conspicuously even on a girl with red hair and two compartments to her chin. The ideal complexion is a pool of velvet rose and warm pink and when this has favorable surroundings such as two-sixteenths of an inch dimples and two ruby cushion lips and nicely framed in rich brown hair, it is soothing, to say the least, and no sane person can call his time wasted who gazes upon it with an eye to beauty. Eight hours sleep will get at a complexion from within and will fill it out and tone it up like a Mount Blanc sunset. Pine- apple sodas and marshmallow sundaes will also get at a com- plexion at the interior and will make it resemble a Pittsburg rainbow. A pretty complexion is a beautifier of girls. It lends charm to a plain face ; it enhances the attractiveness of a pretty face ; it accentuates the fascination of a beautiful face. A coral (io6) or alabaster colored complexion, nicely tinged with pink, is an antidote to tired eyes ; it fills the soul with sublimeness and also fills the divorce court with complicated cases. This world is full of women who have acquired their mar- riage papers solely on their complexions; and this world is full of men who have acquired their walking papers solely on their complexions — when they assumed a too talkative hue around the base of the nose. J. J. Quinn, ’i6. (107) (Satpuiag olljrnugi} ffiaur la ’ HE professor of Greek, who had been slumbering peace- fully, awoke with a start, then sat up and listened intently. Again came the sound that had awakened him. Some one outside of the house was tossing pebbles against the window pane. With his heart playing a solo on his ribs, the professor hastily donned his clothes. For, to the professor, that strange and mysterious summons at the dead of night seemed to mark the turning-point of his life, the realization of all his hopes and dreams. Now, before we proceed, let it be known that, although in the class-room the professor had gained the reputation of being a stern, strict and practical man, whose only object in life seemed to be the drilling of Greek into the heads of unap- preciative students — yet, because of that very fact, the pro- fessor was an old fraud ! Hidden away in his room were more romantic tales of love and adventure than any high-school girl would ever be guilty of perusing. Every night, after his work was finished, he would devour page after page of highly adventurous fiction, thrilling love stories and the like. Then, with a sigh, he would close the book and sit there and dream and dream. Oh, the hundreds and hundreds of fainting hero- ines the professor saved from certain death! Mostly they were heiresses, and their fathers were generally persecuted by relentless enemies. And always the professor outwitted the villains and brought them to justice with wonderful skill and courage — in his dreams! Needless to say, the professor was romantic — highly, intensely romantic. He hated himself for the puny part he played in life. What chance had adven- ture, mystery, romance or intrigue in the life of a college pro- fessor? What chance had he to save a brown-haired damsel from the machinations of a gang of scoundrels? And so the professor chaffed under his unromantic duties by day and dreamed of adventure by night. And here we return to our story. Is it any wonder the professor stubbed his toes in his excite- (io8) ment and put his clothes on inside out? For now his dream was materialized. Here was mystery, intrigue, romance. Here was adventure knocking at his very door — or, rather, throwing pebbles at his window pane ! The professor stole down the back stairs and slipped fear- fully out into the black night. He made out the figure of a man on the porch. From his lusty panting the professor saw he had been running and was well-nigh exhausted. Thus assured that the man was harmless, the professor quite boldly went up to him. “What do you want with me?” he whispered, his voice squeaking with excitement. The man panted awhile, then pointed in the direction of a neighboring forest. “For Heaven’s sake, save me!” he begged. “Save me from those men! They’ve had me locked up in a house over in the forest. Tonight I escaped, but they’re after me, now. They’re coming to take me back again!” “But why should they imprison you? What do they want with you?” asked the bewildered professor. At this the man became almost violent. “Those scoundrels!” he shrieked. “They want my inven- tion, but they’ll never get it! It took my whole life to find the secret of perpetual motion, and now no one knows it but Margaret and I. They can kill me before I’ll tell them ! And Margaret— she won’t tell them ! . Oh, no, she’ll never tell them” and he sent out peal after peal of laughter. Plainly the poor man’s nerves were unstrung. But the professor fairly hugged himself with joy. Here was adventure for you ! A great inventor discovers the secret of perpetual motion. A band of clever villains kidnap him and imprison him in a house in the forest in order to force him to tell them his priceless secret. And then, there was Mar- garet. Now, who was Margaret? By all the laws of light fiction Margaret should be the inventor’s daughter. Probably she had been kidnapped with her father, because the leader of the ruffians wanted to marry her! But the professor wanted to be sure, so he remarked : “You say your daughter, Margaret, is still imprisoned in the house over in the woods?” (109) “My daughter?” the man replied. “Margaret? Oh, yes! My daughter Margaret! She’s locked up in the house over there. To find the house you follow the road through the forest until you come to a spot where there are laurel bushes growing everywhere. You’ll see a big iron gateway, covered over with laurels. That gateway leads to the house.” The professor was about to ask the inventor why he had left his daughter in the house while he had escaped, but the answer came to him immediately. A frail young girl could never escape on foot from the forest and elude the kid- nappers. It all became clear to the professor. The inventor did not intend to escape from the villains at all! He had gotten away from the house only in order to let some one know of their plight, and then he would go back to his daugh- ter. Then, with a friend on the outside of the house helping them and having a carriage ready to bear them quickly out of the forest, the inventor and his daughter could easily escape. Before the professor could ask any more questions shouts were heard coming from the forest. The professor’s teeth chattered at the thought of the nearness of the gang of ruf- fians, but with a hero’s calm and steady voice he shouted to the man near him : “Hurry! Move away from the house, quick! Make them believe you’ve seen no one since you escaped. Go back with them now and tell your daughter that assistance is at hand. If I live till tomorrow night, you and your daughter shall be freed from these dastardly scoundrels !” With these heroic words the professor pushed the inventor toward the road, then hastily climbed the back stair. From his room he heard sounds of a scuffle, and, peeping through the blind, saw a band of men leading his friend, the inventor, back into the forest. The professor slept not a wink that night, but paced the floor till morning. Now that adventure had thrust itself upon him, he didn’t know whether he was heartily glad or scared stiff. One moment he would resolve to tell the police of the matter and there end it all so far as he was concerned — then immediately he would call himself a coward and a quitter for having wooed Adventure, and then “backed down” when she (no) cast her glance upon him. Finally, however, he decided to stick to his word and rescue that inventor and his daughter or perish miserably. The professor failed to meet his classes that day, giving as an excuse that he was sick. He was. He was scared sick! Every time he thought of breaking into that house of mur- derous kidnappers he wanted to resign his professorship and embark for Africa. During the day he collected an electric flash-light, a revolver, and a small crow-bar, which answered for a “jimmy” — all of which articles are standard equipment for heroes. Next he got out his carriage and carefully greased the wheels to prevent all noise. He even thought to place a bottle of smelling-salts in the carriage, for who ever heard of a heroine that didn’t faint when she was rescued? At length night came on. When his clock had struck twelve, the professor cast a lingering, farewell glance on the scenes he had learned to love, then clicked to his horse and set off down the road through the forest. Watching closely for the laurel bushes the inventor had spoken of, the professor drove on and on. Finally a turn in the road brought to view a great iron gateway leading through what seemed to be a solid wall of laurels. Tying his horse, the professor investi- gated. The gate was locked, and the laurel bushes only served to hide a high stone wall which completely surrounded the house. There was nothing to do but climb that wall! and the professor did — that is, after much anguish, he got to the top, then sat down heavily to recover his much-needed breath. But the spikes and broken glasses imbedded in the top quickly aroused his feelings and he promptly lost his hold and fell safely to the other side. A great stone building met his gaze. He encircled it to find a window suitable to use his “jimmy” on. He was rather amazed to find every window covered with neat iron bars. Then, when he was almost dis- couraged, he came across a window the bars of which were loose. This was probably how the inventor had made his escape the night before. With a Niagara of perspiration pour- ing over his brow, the professor pried open the window and stepped into the building. Not a sound did he hear. As he sneaked here and there his knees vibrated like the prongs of a (III) tuning-fork. He came upon a door securely barred on the outside. Here, he decided, was where the inventor and his daughter were kept. With trembling fingers he unbolted the door, opened it and cast the rays of his light about the room. His friend, the inventor, lay on a cot sleeping soundly. Shak- ing him lightly, he awoke the man. “Here, get up,” he whispered. “I’ve come to take you away! I’ve got a carriage outside. Hurry, and awake your daugh- ter.” The inventor looked blankly at the professor, then spoke in an injured tone: “Who are you? What do you want? Don’t you hurt me! Go away from here!” The professor became impatient. “Come, stop that nonsense! I’ve come to save you. Do you want those villains to get your invention?” “Invention? Oh, yes, invention! Look, here’s my inven- tion.” The man picked up a cigar box and took from it a spool with a nail running through it. “There it is— that’s my invention ! Perpetual motion ! See it go round!” Something strange was happening to the professor’s brain. His knees threatened to give way under him. “Why, man, you blasted fool, that’s no invention!” he screamed. “Where is your daughter, Margaret?” With great willingness the man trotted over to a cupboard and brought out a little rag doll. “There — that’s Margaret!” he smiled; then, proudly, “she’s got pretty dresses, too !” The professor cannot be blamed for his actions. The poor inventor was found next morning with two black eyes and three ribs fractured. While Margaret — the professor twisted Margaret’s head off, then he trampled on her! Let this tale end here. Suffice it to say, the professor got out of the place safely. But, just as he departed from the spot, he cast the ray of his light on the gateway through the laurels. Over the archway was a neat sign — “Dr. Gordon’s Asylum for the Insane!” The professor is no longer romantic. H. Raymond Peters, ’i8. (112) ISrtroBpfrtimt I used to think I knew a lot in first or second high, When to my Greek or Latin two hours I did apply. And gee! when I took hold of French and spoke it right out loud, They sometimes talk of Lucifer, but, gee whiz! I felt proud. I spoke it to the brakeman, I hummed it when I slept; I yelled it at the milkman and I sang it when I wept. Profanity was not for me when with my classic French I strode around real bumptious like while others took the bench. And now sometimes when leisure comes and takes me by the hand, In front of our old pictures in the corridor I stand. Not handsome, not by any means, but faces filled with joy. For we were just the simple, ordinary high school boy. But when we gained admission to that famous college ba nd We took what all high-brows would call an unprecedented stand ; We wrote to authors asking them if they wished to write our lives. And we started preparations to take the whole world by surprise. But now we know we know we know what little we do know. Since Philosophy has taught us how to reason out just so. Those high school days were great old days, just seething full of glee. But I’d rather be a Junior than a high school devotee. Joseph J. Quinn, ’i6. (SlomufB Pragpr JT WAS a balmy Sunday morning in April. The sun was putting forth its brightest rays and gladdening the earth with its smdle. The streets of the city were thronged with people, many of whom were going to church. Among the crowd was a fair-faced girl of about sixteen, ho lding the hand of a golden-haired boy. They were chatting merrily as they walked along, but their conversation was interrupted by the pealing of bells from a nearby tower. How sweetly they sounded as their tones were wafted over the city, giving their message of love to all. The two had by this time reached the church, and, entering, took a seat in the middle aisle. Soon the priest began his sermon, which was entitled “The Cruci- fixion,” and in it he told of the sufferings of Christ on the cross, and of the consolation He had received from the thief to whom He promised Paradise. If the priest had looked down in the middle aisle he would have seen a little boy weeping bitterly at the thought of the sufferings of our Saviour, who, even in His agony, remembered the repentant sinner. When the ser- mon was ended the little boy whispered to h is sister, “Ask him to preach it again.” Church was soon over, and, on arriving home, the girl took down the family Bible from its place and, while her brother listened intently, she rehearsed once more the story of the thief’s conversion. Again the boy was touched, and when they went to the dinner table the mother inquired why his eyes were so red. On a beautiful Sunday in May, the little boy received for the first time his Lord and God in Holy Communion. How sweetly he told his sister that he would try to make repara- tion for the cruelty shown to our Lord on the cross. Years passed away, and he was now nearing his twenty-first year. He was greatly changed in morals and habits. He was no more the sweet little boy of years gone by, for he had formed the drink habit and stayed out late at night. His sister tried to change him, but without success. One night, (114) in a drunken stupor, he became angered at another man, and, drawing a revolver, shot him through the heart. The police entered, he was taken to the station, and when his trial took place he was sentenced to be electrocuted in a month’s time. It must have been nearly 3 A. M., for in the East a little rosy light began to show itself above the horizon. Against the sky were dimly outlined the cold gray walls of the Mich- igan Penitentiary. At the entrance to the institution was a little gathering waiting to be admitted, that they might see the execution of a criminal convicted of murder. In the midst of the group was a fair-faced woman of about thirty. How she could endure such a sight was a mystery. Her clothes were plain, yet neat; her face bore a look of sadness. She had come not to see a prisoner punished, but to try to com- fort him in his last hour of life ; he was her brother. The big door finally opened and she was pushed aside by the crowd, impatient, even, to see a fellow-man die. In Cell 88, on the criminal fioor, there lay a man, young in years but old in sin. His wan face and thin hands showed signs of former strength. Before his cell the watch kept up his unceasing march through the corridor. Just then a mur- muring of voices was heard and a guard, escorting a young woman, came and stood before the cell. When the convict saw her he hid his head in shame. ‘‘Shall I let her in?’’ asked the guard. “Yes,” returned the convict, in a cracked voice. The guard v as surprised, for since his trial the man had been obdurate and would allow no visitor, not even a priest, to enter his cell. Silently the woman approached the cot on which he lay, and, taking his thin face between her soft hands, spoke soothingly to him. As they sat there the condemned man recalled his virtuous youth, and, thinking of his present condition, shed bitter tears of regret. “Read for me, once more,” he pleaded, “the story of the good thief.” When the reading was finished he asked for the priest and his peace with God was quickly made. Unannounced the five guards that were to lead him to his death stood before the cell. Without a word he arose, kissed his sister, and, walking to the door of the cell, he said, “I am ready,” and was gone. The last room on the criminal floor is known as the de ath chamber, for the convicted never leave it alive. On this bright morning in May it was crowded with people waiting to see the execution. A short walk brought the guards and their prisoner to this room. A hush lay on the people as they entered. The white- haired priest, with a figure of Christ uplifted, asked the pris- oner if he had anything to say. Kneeling down, the convict joined his hands and prayed: “Oh, God! who in Thy last agony didst promise a place in Paradise to the repentant thief, although I am unworthy, take me, also, that my soul may rest in peace.” At that moment a tearful face appeared in the doorway, and when she heard the prayer she faintly smiled and departed. Stepping back, the prisoner allowed himself to be strapped in the chair, and, the switch being turned on, he was carried to his Judge. Thomas V. Murphy, H. S., ’i8. (ii6) Olonmt of iForty My beaux Are numerous O, So funny and so jolly O ! Patsy, Nell and Molly O, They call me in their folly O 1 My age, Like vintage O, Seems younger, by golly O, Than when I was a dolly O Beneath the mistle and the Holly O ! My looks, So cute, O, Are sweet as any honey O ! Full of flash and sunny O, Backed by all my money O ! Ambrose Quinn, ’15. (117) BOARD OF EDITORS. EDITORIAL STAFF. X CLARENCE G. OWINGS, ’15. Assistant Editors: JOHN J. LARDNER, ’15. LEO A. CODD, ’16. JOSEPH V. BUC CLEY, ’17. W. ADY STREETT, ’18. Art Editor: WILLIAM F. SAUER, ’15. Business Manager: J. HERBERT ELLIS, ’15. Alumni Editor: AUGUST J. BOURBON, ’14. Athletic Editor: ROGER F. O’LEARY, ’16. High School Editor: D. ALBERT DONEGAN, H. S., ’15 iim ADVERTISING AGENTS College: HERBERT R. O’CONOR, ’17. GEORGE E. RENEHAN, ’18. High School: J. WILMER LOVE, 16. J. LACY BRADLEY, ’17. CHARLES L. COOLAHAN, ’17. EDWARD A. ROSENBERGER, ’17. JOSEPH L. KERNAN, ’17. GERARD V. HEMELT, ’17. HENRY J. CASEY, ’17. LAWRENCE O’NEILL, ’18. ROBERT A. COOLAHAN, ’18. (119) iEiJuratinn F all the words in the category of human expression, educa- tion is surely the most abused. Any man who acquired a reputation in any line of endeavor is spoken of as an edu- cated person. The boy who has fooled away many precious years in a school where most of the time is spent in weaving baskets or teaching handicraft is said to have received a good education. And again do people call that man educated who has studied mathematics till it is with him almost an obses- sion. But surely this is not education. Education does not consist in cramming facts and theory into a man’s head regard- less of order, nor even with the highest possible degree of sys- tematic precision. The term itself signifies that the process is eductive; it means to draw forth, to lead out, and specifically to develop, to instruct and to nourish and cultivate man’s physical, mental and moral powers, to render him efficient to cope with the ordinary difficulties and duties of life. Here education may be called formative, for it is the shaping, the moulding of dis- position and temperament. Once formed, this development may further be evolved by constantly applying one’s brain energy not passively, gulping in anything that comes to notice, independent of authority, but actively, thinking for one’s self. Education is necessarily determined by the capacity of the individual to be developed. Hence it is that both time, labor (l20) and money are being daily wasted by our school system in cramming into the heads of mere boys of thirteen years all the intricacies and deep problems of higher mathematics, when they have neither the inclination nor the capacity to assimilate them. Who, then, you ask, is an educated man? That man is edu- cated who can think for himself, and pass judgment on a sub- ject without having some one supply his thoughts. C. G. O., ’15. War SOLDIER, lying in a London hospital, it is related. recently shocked an elderly lady visitor by his open grumbling. “Why,” said she, “you are the first one I met who did not like it at the front.” “Well, the others must have been fools or liars!” was the tart reply. The sentiments of this English Tommy are apt to be those of the majority who have experienced life on the actual firing line. Except for a few supreme moments — a proud departure amid the wild enthusiasm of civilian friends, or when in the heat of conflict there comes complete forgetfulness of self — war has little to attract the individual. Once seen as inev- itable and beckoning them on as to a sacred duty, men go gamely to their death, but during the monotonous hours spent in the water-flooded trenches in their inmost hearts they will curse it. War has received its definition for all time. With each suc- ceeding conflict the definition seems to grow more applicable. But is this not only seeming? The outcry at present is against the methods of waging war. Throughout the centuries, since the days when men catapulted stones, the same cry has been raised at the advent of every frightful carrier of death. With the development of knowledge conditions change and men chafe as they adjust themselves to them. War itself has ever remained the same. It is a protest against an injustice, real or fancied, and in so far represents something good in human nature. It has always and ever will be the opportunity (121) for the outbreak of the worst passions of men, as well as the occasion for the noblest sacrifices. War is rooted in the good and evil impulses of men, and will last as long as intrigue and injustice. Far easier is it to conceive the world dominated by an Alexander than to enter- tain the thought of men with passion at white heat repressed, submitting tamely to an arbiter after the stinging insult or the measured blow. The peace propagandist represents a highly developed type, and we like him for his doctrine, but while we listen to his ringing condemnations, the apologist of war opens the volumes of history to show how the softening vices of peace sap a nation’s vitals as well as war. War will never find a place in the idealist’s scheme of things as they ought to be, but in the “working order” on this little globe of ours it will ever retain its place. J. J. L., 15. oa (So S’ppttb Baration Vacation does not mean cessation from all work, nor does the term imply that we should go forth to some mountain height or to the shores of the deep, sounding sea, and there indulge in blissful inactivity — to use the same diligence in avoiding labor as we had exerted in its performance. It means rather that we are to enjoy freedom from the pursuance of some accustomed duty, whatever that might have been, for a definite interval. Vacation implies that we have at some pre- vious time or other been engaged in a determined course of action. Vacation is not perpetual, for this is merely idleness. How, then, shall we occupy ourselves during vacation time? Surely there is no better opportunity for the development of some one part of our being, be it intellectual or physical, nay, even moral, which was probably neglected, and with sufficient reason, due to the burden of our studies. For no man can effectively cultivate all his powers at one time; one will always predominate. If your muscles have grown soft through lack of use, try swimming. If your brain has become dull; if math- ematics have stunted your imaginative and esthetic growth, and have caused you to neglect the classics of your language; (122) if weighty duties and their fitting performance have occupied all the moments which you had intended to devote to reading, here, indeed, is the golden opportunity. Vacation time! Grasp it, and then smile with satisfaction later on. C. G. O., ’15. “Habor 3 pst 110 130” n ' Y IRTUE is its own reward” is a proverb known at least in the abstract to every man. So obvious is its truth that it has been admitted by every nation, no matter how low its moral and intellectual status. Yet how many are there among civi- lized men and even among those who move in the circles of the cultured, dillying and dallying and even growing heretical as to the meaning of the equally obvious and consoling truth that “Labor ipse voluptas.” It is indeed with very truth that with our knowledge of men and the times we can safely say, that there are a great many among us, who either miss entirely the “laborum dulce lenirhen,” or realize it, alas, when their days are narrowing and their race almost run. It is the man who labors in season and out, inspired by mo- tives that become rather the “vir” than the selfish time-server, who is happiest. Life to such a one is a veritable cycle of joy. Whether his course lay in the realm of intellect or in a lower bu t perhaps none the less noble and honorable sphere, the in- tense and spiritual joy of a work well done is most surely his. His reward is one “that no man can take from him.” To him alone belongs an “otiose cum dignit te’’ with a satisfaction unknown to the procrastinator and the idle man. Hail to the man of work! J. V. B., ’17. (0rat0ru — An AhopI. QNE of the most beautiful of the fine arts is oratory ; yet, to my mind, one of the most neglected. It is looked upon generally as something which only a lawyer or a preacher need know and practice. One does not have to acquire vast exper- ience in life to sound the fallacy of such an opinion. True it (123) is that oratory is a powerful weapon in the hands of a lawyer and an untold means of doing good when employed by the preacher. But how often is a business man obliged to address a board meeting on occasions when he needs more than the dry-boned recital of statistics. The physician is requested to lecture and the banker is requested to speak on financial conditions. How painful is it for their audience, when the speaker is nervous, self-conscious, or knows not even the rudiments of sustaining the attention and interest of his hearers. On the other hand nothing appears to me more admirable than a man who has the power of holding the minds of an assembly enchained and enchanted by the cleverly woven web of his speech, who has the ability to fascinate their souls, impel their wills and win them over to his cause. For what is so praiseworthy as that one man should rise up and move a multi- tude by the very powers that nature has given to each one of the multitude? And what is more beautiful for a being en- dowed vAth understanding, than a speech which bodies forth in choicest language wise maxims, good counsel or solid rock foundationed reason driven home with pleas that appeal to the human emotions. Further advantage, almost innumer- able as they are, shall not be mentioned here. But briefly let us remark how frequently it happens that not only personal dignity, but even the safety and well being of the less in- structed — yes, even of a nation — depends vitally on the orator. Wherefore let us say with Cicero, “Continue as you are doing, young men, and apply yourselves earnestly to the study of oratory, that you may be an honor to yourselves, a help to your friends and a treasure to your country. W. A. S., ’17. 3a. iSraprf ! las, what has come to pass among us? Quid dicemus? A reign of intellectual anarchy has succeeded. Culture is dethroned. For once at least the Greeks have ceased to mould the thought and character of the vast majority of Americans. Woe is us! Forever are we to disprove our vaunted claim to mental vigor, by stilling the classic tongue of Demosthenes and Sophocles in so many of our schools. This is a mistake that has already begun to work havoc in the minds of our generation and to bring forth a race of care- less, slipshod thinkers, if thinkers at all. It is the logical pro- duct of the age of commercialism. And undeniably it gives the lie to our mouth in our loud boast of progress, just placing us hopelessly in default of the standard we claim. But nowadays when we are hearing so much anent classic- ism and commerciali sm, when everything even the spiritual is measured by the material, it will very probably pay us in the long run to stand aside from the maddening throng and intel- lectual whirlwind and listen to the dictates of sound judgment on the subject. And we will very probably be better men, cultured men and the thinkers of our age if we adhere closely to the Jesuit “ratio studiorum” which insists, to the eternal glory of that distinguished body, upon a thorough knowledge of the Greek tongue. Surely the Greek culture, the training that produced an Aus- tin, a Newman, a Bossuet and a Webster and is even to-day held in highest esteem by men who really studied Greek in their undergraduate years, for the training it gave them, for the power of concentration and accurate study they now have, due to this early training — surely such an advantage is not to be foregone because of the levity of material and unthinking minds. J. V. B., ’17. PHILIP 1. HEPISLER, ex-’oS, M. S. Pvosidoiit of Alumni As:sooiatioi . Ahtmiti AB0iuialimt Siinjiila (Enllcyp Board of Government for 1915. Rev. William J. Ennis, S.J., Honorary President, ex-officio. Rev. Joseph I. Ziegler, S.J., Moderator. Executive Committee : Philip I. Heuisler, ex-’gS, B.S. ’06, M.S. ’12, President and Chairman. Victor I. Cook, ex-’oy, Ph.B. ’08, LL.B., First Vice-President. Charles O’Donovan, ex-’yy, LL.D. ’12, M.D., Second Vice- President. Joseph A. Carey, A.B. ’13, A.M. ’14, Treasurer. James P. Walsh, A.B. ’12, LL.B., Financial Secretary. Francis X. Milholland, A.B. ’gg, A.M. ’00, Recording Secretary. Directors : 1913— 1915. Thomas W. Jenkins, ex-’58. Martin A. O’Neill, A.B. ’96, M.D. Matthew S. Brenan, ex-’yg, A.M. ’03. 1914 — 1916. Charles O’Donovan, ex-’yy, LL.D. ’12, M.D. Charles R. Whiteford, ex-’oo. Charles S. Grindall, H.S., ’6y, A.M. ’96, D.D.S. 1915 — igiy. Isaac S. George, A.B. ’01, LL.B. J. Boiseau Wiesel, A.B. ’oy, A.M. ’10, Ph.D. ’ii. Thomas A. Whelan, Jr., H.S., ’95. (127) REV. WILLIAM H. KELLY, ’07. Rev. William II. Kelly celebrated his first Mass at St. Elizabeth’s Church, December 19, 1914. Father Kelly came to Loyola in 1903 after making his preparatory studies at the parochial and public schools. Having received the A. B. de- gree from Loyola in 1907, Father Kelly continued his studies at St. Mary’s Seminary and since ordination has been sta- tioned at St. Katherine’s, of this city. ‘‘ CTIVITY is the sign of life,” sayeth the philosopher; and, judged according to this revered dictum, the many ac- tivities of the Loyola Alumni Association during the past year would seem to indicate that the spark of vitality is strongly aflame within the Association, and that the Loyola Alumni are very much alive, indeed! Having just lately passed the first milestone of its existence — its twenty-fifth anniversary — the Association this year has progressed very well, and is now a source of undoubted interest to all the Alumni, as was evi- denced by the excellent attendance at the various affairs held throughout the year. As the first event of the Fall season, a “get-together” smoker was held in the College Library early in November, and attracted quite a large number of the former students. Preceding the reunion proper, the gathering was entertained by the talented impersonations of Mr. Archie Leon French, whose efforts were well received. Buffet luncheon was then served. The theatre party, held at the New Academy of Music on Monday, November 23, was a success from every viewpoint. The play selected was “King John,” with Mr. Robert B. Man- tell in the leading role. Although this drama had previously been given at Loyola by the College Dramatic Association, it had never been attempted in this city by Mr. Mantell, and for that reason was of particular interest. Elaborately staged and splendidly acted, the performance was a revelation, and made a deep impression on all present, Mr. Mantell especially coming in for unbounded applause. (129) REV. EDWIN L. LEONARD, ’lo. Rev. Edwin L. Leonard was ordained September 24 , 1914 , on the completion of his theological studies at St. Mary ' s Seminary. Father Leonard is from St. Mary’s Star of the Sea parish of this city and came to Loyola for the last year of the high school, and in 1910 received the degree of A. B. Father Leonard is now pursuing post-graduate work at the Catholic University. The Nominating Convention, to select the names to be voted upon at the yearly election, was held on December 15, with delegates present from most of the former classes. As Mr. George, who had been president for two years, refused to become a candidate again, two entirely new “slates” were drawn up, and arrangements were completed for the election. That the selection of the officers for the coming year was a matter of general interest was shown by the attendance at the election, which was held on the evening of January 13. Following the voting, Mr. George, who presided, took occa- sion to congratulate Father Michael A. Purtell, S.J., of the College Faculty, who laughingly admitted to being fifty years “young” that day. Most of the Alumni present were ac- quainted with Father Purtell, who had been at Loyola seven- teen years, and all hastened to add their congratulations. With “On to Guilford” as their slogan, the members of the Association, nearly 100 strong, gathered at the Emerson Hotel on February 2 for their annual banquet. And right pleased were they to hear from Father Ennis that “the deed to the lot at Guilford was safely locked in a strong box.” For now they felt that they were, in very truth, beginning “to get somewhere.” Dr. Charles W. Mitchell, professor of pediatrics at the Uni- versity of Maryland, delivered the principal address of the evening, taking for his topic “Modern Educational Methods.” He warmly congratulated the faculty of Loyola on their un- swerving fidelity to the classics, declaring that the man who had a classical education always proved his efficiency when necessity demanded it. He strongly scored many of the modern methods of teaching, especially the vocational train- ing, which, he said, should come after the classical course, when the mind and will of the boy have been strengthened and broadened, and he will not consider only the selfish, utili- tarian motives that arise from vocational training. Mr. George M. Shriver, second vice-president of the Balti- more and Ohio Railroad, gave an interesting review of the railroad situation, and showed how the roads were forced to ask for an increase in rates, owing to the many rigid Federal and State laws, which had reduced the surplus and earnings of the roads to a very low level. The retiring president, Mr. Isaac S. George, after making a plea for quicker and heartier co-operation on the part of the Alumni when matters were called to their attention, turned over the reins of government to his successor, Mr. Philip I. Heuisler. Mr. Charles C. Conlon was toastmaster for the evening. The final event of the year, the Memorial Mass and Com- munion, was held on Sunday, April 25, in the College Chapel. Rev. Edwin L. C. Leonard, of the class of 1910, was the cele- " brant, and spoke feelingly of the members of the Association who had gone to their reward within the year. Following the mass, a breakfast and informal reunion was held in the students’ gymnasium. Owing to a severe illness, Mr. Philip I. Heuisler could not be present at the memorial services. We are glad to say, however, that he is now far advanced on the road to recovery. “It’s a short, short way to Guilford Estate,” we sang at the banquet, and surely we members of the Alumni Associa- tion can voice no brighter hope for Alma Mater than this — that it WILL be a short, short way to Guilford Estate, and a short, short time before college and church are firmly estab- lished there. A. J. B., ’14. ffiuynla Scbatittg arirty An innovation introduced this year was the holding of the debates on Thursday evening. Thus the orators were in fine fettle for a battle of skill after the rest-up on the weekly holi- day. Unusual interest was shown in the meetings during the year and the climax was reached in the preliminaries for ' the final public debate. After several meetings, in which real argumentative power was shown, the following were selected to represent the Society before the public on June 2: Joseph J. Quinn, ’16. Herbert R. O’Conor, ’17. Ferdinand H. Schoberg, ’17. William A. Sehlhorst, ’17. The pictures of the debaters appear on another page. The subject for discussion is : “Resolved, That the policy of the present administration in regard to Mexico is justifiable.” The officers of the Society are : President, John J. Lardner, ’15. Vice-President, Leo A. Codd, T6. Corresponding Secretary, Clarence G. Owings, ’15. Recording Secretary, Herbert R. O’Conor, ’17. HERBERT R. O’CONOR, ’17 First Affirmative. LOYOLA COLLEGE, PUBLIC DEBATERS uitjp Morgan Irbating i ortPtg The honorable members of the Morgan Debating Society have had a most successful term. As senators and representa- tives they have commanded the applause of a thankful nation while they outlined a wise and safe national policy; as Su- preme Court judges they handed down decisions declared just by plaintiff and defendant, and truly showed themselves other Daniels come to judgment. They have even stooped to plead for the humble high school boy, and poured forth floods of impassioned eloquence in condemnation of the barbarous and anachronistic system of jugging. The chests of the gentlemen whose names this illustrious organization had deemed fit to enter upon its roster could be plainly seen to dilate, and their arched foreheads to expand, as they noticed the looks of awe and reverence on the counten- ances of the “youngsters” and heard the whispered query, “I wonder which side won today?” One of the numerous glories heaped upon the society was the privilege of holding a court-martial at the April reading of marks, for the edification of the faculty, college, high school and preparatory classes. The budding forensic power of the at- torneys and the self-possession of the witnesses was favorably commented upon by all, and the trial had several agreeable notices from the various newspapers. While speakers from the floor have been enthusiastic all year, the high-water mark of feeling and excitement was reached at the meeting which marked the close of the 1915 term of the Morgan Debating Society, when one of the gentle- men from the floor, having received recognition, spoke gravely, in measured and solemn tones, “I impeach the president,” etc. Slowly that bewildered officer relinquished the chair to the vice-president. After some heated altercation and general excitement another speaker rose and impeached the vice-presi- dent. No officer seemed to please all the members, and when the last censor stepped from the chair, with a look of chagrin (136) upon his face, preparations for the election of new officers were put in order. But, “All’s well that ends well,’’ and that meeting ended in a rousing and heartfelt cheer, as the motion for impeachment was defeated by a large majority and the president reinstated. On Friday, March 21, in the yearly prize debate, held before the Fathers of the faculty and the student body, the question, “Resolved, That Active Intervention in Mexico Would Be Un- wise and Unjustifiable,’’ was ably defended by Alfred Wilson and Raymond Furlong, while the negative side, S. Scrimger and J. Ramsay Barry, attacked fiercely the “safe and sane’’ policy. The victory was awarded to the affirmative side. The winner of the medal will be announced on graduation night. The officers for both sessions were as follows : President, 1914 and 1915, D. Albert Donegan, ’15. Vice-President — 1914, Alfred Wilson, ’15; 1915, Gerard Muth, ’16. Secretary — 1914, Thomas Lind, ’16; 1915, J. E. Keelan, ’15. Assistant Secretary — 1914 and 1915, Joseph Parr, ’16. Censor — 1914, Gerard Muth, ’16; 1915, Alfred Wilson, ’15. Assistant Censor — 1914, J. Murnane, ’15; Joseph Mona- ghan, ’16. Moderator — Mr. F. W. O’Hara, S.J. Joseph T. Parr, Ass’t. Sec’y. 0prrt}i SriPtitifir § Drietg The Secchi Scientific Society, which had not been in active existence for some time, was reorganized last October. All the upper class men, that is to say, all the college classes, were eligible for membership. In all twenty-seven. Junior and Senior as a body and several from Freshman and Sophomore, became members of the society. The following officers were elected : President, John J. Lardner, ’15. Vice-President, Leo A. Codd, ’16. Secretary, Clarence G. Owings, ’15. Treasurer, George B. Loden, ’16. The aim of the society is to stimulate interest in natural science. For this purpose the constitution directs that some science which is not included in the college curriculum, or some branch collateral with one of the sciences studied in college, be investigated, and also that visits be paid by the members to various industrial plants and places of scientific interest. Probably never before have these directions been so thor- oughly and enthusiastically observed. By a unanimous vote astronomy was chosen as the special study for this school year. Instead of having regular classes in this matter under the instruction of a teacher, the moderator thought it prefer- able that the members themselves should take turns in deliv- ering lectures. Hence, at each of the semi-monthly meetings of the society two lectures were read. The matter for these (138) lectures had been mapped out by the moderator, and each lec- turer added his notes of individuality in the presentation, explanation and so forth of the matter assigned him. It was not until March that the society extended its activi- ties beyond the confines of the class-room. On March ii a most interesting and instructive visit was made to the Emer- son Drug Company’s Works in the Emerson Building and to the Glass Factory (Maryland Glass Corporation) of the same company at Mount Winans. Two weeks later the newly installed Sewerage Disposal Plant at Back River was inspected. It was indeed a treat to see the thorough and efficient manner in which the foul water from the city’s sewerage is freed of its noxious qualities. On April 15 the members were made familiar with the modern methods of ice cream manufacture, when Hendler’s Velvet Ice Cream plant was visited. On April 22 our eyes were opened to the wonderful mechanism and incalculable efficiency of Baltimore’s lighting service. On this day a visit was made to the Consolidated Gas, Electric Light and Power Company’s Gas Plant in Baltimore and to the Sub-Generating Station at Westport. In the month of May visits will be made to the steel plant at Sparrows Point and to Gunther’s brewery. If circumstances prove favorable, the moderator intends to reward the faithfulness of the members by an automobile trip to Washington for an inspection of the Gun Shops at the Gov- ernment Navy Yard. Francis Ruppert, ’150 (139) g fntar w ITH the approval of the faculty the Senior Class has at- tempted and accomplished a work which is entirely a new idea in the usual curriculum of the Loyola Senior. Each mem- ber of the class has presented an essay on some philosophical subject, a special class being held for this purpose on Saturday afternoon. The purpose in view was to teach the student how to express his thoughts and opinion of philosophic questions in a literary manner, to give the matter in a pleasing form, though with strict regard for its philosophical accuracy. A critic was ap- pointed to review each essay, and the members of the class were also privileged to express their opinion on the matter in question. The papers delivered were as follows : “The Chasm between Sensitive and Rational Life.” Author, J. Herbert Ellis; Critic, Wm. F Sauer. “Proof of the Existence of God from the facts of Nature.” Author, Edgar B. Graham; Critic, Francis Ruppert. “Pragmatism.” Author, Matthew J. Kalb; Critic, Clarence G. Owings. “Hypnotism and Mesmerism.” Author, Theo. M. Hemelt; Critic, J. Ambrose Quinn. “Evil and Divine Providence.” Author, John J. Lardner; Critic, J. Herbert Ellis. “Sensitive versus Intellectual Knowledge.” Author, Clar- ence G. Owings; Critic, Edgar B. Graham. “The Descent of Man.” Author, J. Ambrose Quinn; Critic, Theo. M. Hemelt. “Mechanism.” Author, Francis J. Ruppert; Critic, Mat- thew C. Kalb. “Miracles.” Author, Wm. F Sauer; Critic, John J. Lardner. C. G. O. (140) IGognla Qll psa (Club HE establishing of a Chess Club at Loyola this year was well received by those students familiar with the game. No sooner was the announcement made than one candidate after another presented his name for membership, and it was not long before the list swelled to a goodly number. Every one was eager to sign up for the line of battle, enthusiastic to try his tactics on an opponent. Arrangements were made, and after a short while the games were being played in regular order. Every Saturday afternoon the boys met and played many a hard-fought game, some of which were not finished at one sitting. Interest among the members waxed strong, and not before a tournament was started did the contestants manifest their real colors, bringing into play their strongest powers of attack and defense. Game after game was played, and finally, after many struggles, the seven best were selected to play in the final tournament, which would terminate the season. One feature which made our club lively and interesting was the fact that some of the members were not accustomed to the same minute rules and were thus ever settling disputes by con- sulting the best chess manuals available. Frequently, too, we had to resort to the wider knowledge of the moderator to de- cide cases where the books at hand would give no direct infor- mation on the point at issue. The fact that often the games (141) terminated in a draw was evidence that the members were well matched and the victory was not to be gained without great care and study. The fascination which has always made chess the most profound and intellectual of all games was well- nigh experienced by every member of the club. By way of a concluding word, we can say that the initial year of the Loyola Chess Club has been memorable for its singular vitality and for the interest and enthusiasm it aroused among the devotees of Caissa. It is sincerely hoped that the coming years may keep the cliil % living society, with an ever- increasing membership, and may the present members return in after years to their Alma Mater and see in the new college a room adorned with the prizes and pennants won by the valiant club. The officers are: Honorary President — Louis Halliwell, S.J. President — V illiam F. Sauer, ’15. Vice-President — Matthew C. Kalb, ’15. Secretary — A. Berthold Hoen, Jr., ’18. Treasurer — Theodore M. Hemelt, ’15. Advisory Board — Michael A. Ryan, ’17. William P. Hammond, H. S., ’16. Francis R. Eby, H. S., ’18. W. F. S., ’15. S ' oialtta of lljp 3mmar«Ialp Qlonrrption. The Immaculate Conception Sodality is composed of all the members of the college classes, and meets every Saturday morning at 11.15 o’clock. The exercises consist in the recita- tion of the office and a hymn to the Blessed Virgin. The Rev. Moderator delivers a short instruction on some religious topic. During the past scholastic year the Eucharistic Ring was reorganized. The purpose of the Eucharistic Ring is to have one of the members receive Holy Communion every day, and to cultivate and further the religious spirit of the Sodality. OFFICERS— FIRST TERM: Prefect John J. Lardner, ’15. First Assistant, J. Neil Corcoran, ’16. Second Assistant, Herbert R. O’Conor, ’17. Secretary, Clarence G. Owings, ’15. Sacristan, Francis L. O’Toole, ’18. SECOND TERM: Prefect, John J. Lardner, ’15. First Assistant, J. Neil Corcoran, ’16. Second Assistant, John Farrell, ’17. Secretary, Clarence G. Owings, ’15. Sacristan, Francis L. O’Toole, ’18. Consultors, J. Herbert Ellis, ’15. Eugene T. Baldwin, ’16. William A. Sehlhorst, ’17. John J. Krager, ’18. Moderator, Rev. Richard A. Fleming, S.J. 0 balila of tijp Annonriation ' J HE Sodality of the Annunciation is composed of students from the High School and Preparatory classes, and has been productive of a strong filial devotion to the Blessed Vir- MAY SHRINE, gin Mary, as was shown by the large and faithful attendance throughout the year. The exercises comprise the singing of hymns, the recitation of the office, and an instruction by the Moderator on some phase of Christian life. Owing to the increase in membership, the weekly meetings were held this year in the Chapel of Grace. ©fftrtrH: Prefect, D. Albert Donegan, H. S., ’15. Assistants, J. Edward Keelan, H. S., ’15. Albert J. Sehlstedt, H. S., ’15. Secretary, Alfred Wilson, H. S., ’15. Sacristans, Thomas Murphy, H. S., ’18. John J. McCaffrey, H. S., ’18. James Shea, H. S., ’18. Promnlprs: Wm. P. Hammond, H. S., ’16. J. Ross Prevost, H. S,, ’17. Creagh Hibbitts, H. S., ’18. Henry Garreis, H. S., ’18. James Mallonee, ist Prep. William Flavin, 2nd Prep. Moderator, James Lacy Bradley, H. S., ’17. Edw. A. Kerr, H. S., ’18. J. Leo Jendrek, H. S., ’18. Robert Berner, H. S., ’i 3 . Francis Kirby, ist Prep. . Becker, S.J. iKuigltta of tlje IBkaaeii g arrament pHE second term witnessed the organization and growth among the students of Loyola of the Knights of the Blessed Sacrament, a society which has for its object the fos- tering of devotion to the Eucharistic King by the frequent re- ception of Holy Communion. This devotion, long a favorite one among the student body, has noticeably increased as a result of this organized move- ment. Heeding the call to the Standard of Christ, over one hundred and fifty boys have pledged themselves, as chosen Knights of their Eucharistic King, to receive him frequently, in reparation for the many insults heaped upon him in this sacra- ment; and to labor zealously in spreading the practice of fre- quent Communion, realizing that frequent Communion alone can engender in themselves and others that steadfast piety w hich will lead them safely through the dangers of youth to firm and fervent Catholic manhood. The organization of the Knights of the Blessed Sacrament marks the further spread of a Society instituted in the Jesuit college at Boston, and now established in Catholic schools and colleges of other cities. That this Society will continue to grow and be productive of still greater fruit is the ardent wish of those who have wit- nessed its wonderful influence for good among the students of Loyola. QIoilBUltorH; D. Albert Donegan, H. S., ’15. Wm. P. Hammond, H. S., ’16. John J. McCaffrey, H. S., ’18. William Flavin, 2nd Prep. J. Wilmer Love, H. S., ’16. J. Ross Prevost, H. S., ’17. Edward A. Kerr, H. S., ’18. Carroll Kirby, ist Prep. Charles F. Schrufer, Special. Moderator, James J. Becker, S.J. (iJlfp ICeagup nf g’arrtb l|part The work of the League is to instill the spirit of Christ into the lives of the students. Each month the promoters distrib- ute the leaflets to their bands. Reverend Father Rector prays for the intentions of the students at the mass on the first Fri- day. After the mass a short discourse on the month’s inten- (146) tion is given. The majority of the students of the school are now fully certified members. PROMOTERS: Clarence G. Owings, ’15. Ralph J. Sybert, ’16. Ferdinand H. Schoberg, ’17. Joseph C. Garland, ’18. Norwood C. Kelly, H. S., ’15. J. Spalding Reilly, H. S., ’16. Moderator, Lc Norbert T. Marley, H. S., ’17. Herbert G. Williams, Special. Bernard Weigman, H. S., ’18. Thomas Cole, H. S., ’18. Joseph King, first prep. F. Xavier Keelan, second prep. Halliwell, S.J. Aaaortati0tt nf Itje alu " pHE association of the Holy Childhood strives to awaken among the students an active interest in the propagation of the faith in pagan lands. The annual dues contributed by the members help to support the babies that are neglected and abandoned by their parents in China and other pagan coun- tries. Thus a spirit of generosity, even though the amount called for be very small, is fostered among the members, and zeal for the salvation of souls is brought home to them. PROMOTERS: Wm. F. Sauer, ’15. John J. Sweeney, H. S., ’17. Joseph V. Buckley, ’16. Leo A. Codd, 16. Albert J. Sehlstedt, H. S., ’15. John J. Krager, ’17. Joseph D. Monaghan, H. S., ’16. J. Leo Kernan, H. S., ’17. Henry C. Wiedefeld, H. S,, ’18. Gerald Barrett, H. S., ’18. Charles Schrufer, Spec. Orlando Reese, Prep. Moderator, Rev. Richard A. Fleming, S.J. LOYOLA BASEBALL TEAM. Olljp f par in Attjlptira P " OR the last two or three years to those interested in Loyola and Loyola activities, the one burning subject of discus- sion has been the new Loyola— the Loyola that-is-to-be. Few but have heard of the proposed move to Guilford, and many have probably gone so far as to picture in their mind’s eye the work that will be accomplished by the College in this new field, work that will be necessarily on a larger scale than ever before. Class work will be broadened by new facilities, postgraduate work will be inaugurated, the evening courses will be enlarged, the student body will increase, and all college activities, in- cluding athletics, will be wider in scope. Therefore in considering the new Loyola an important con- sideration that appeals to the students themselves, and to lovers of college sports in general, is the competition with the larger colleges, the space for practice and interclass games, the new diamonds and gridirons, and the broadened field for athletics generally, presented at Guliford. With such visions in view the past year at the college from a sporting viewpoint must have been gratifying to the alumni and students of Loyola. Foundations have been laid on which to build the (149) athletic future of a bigger college. Seeds have been sown which will, in due season, come to flower. For the first time, the teams in all branches of sport have assumed their rightful places as representatives of a prominent college, — a spirit of progress has everywhere prevailed. That the year would witness a revelation in athletic methods was early indicated. Soon after the arrival of the new moderator. Professor John H. Murray, last year stationed at Woodstock, a new spirit of confidence was inspired by his enthusiasm and initiative. At the announcement of the foot- ball schedule it was noted that stronger teams were to be met. The spirit of progress went deeper than this, an up-to-date club house and well conditioned playing fields were secured, an improvement made possible by the co-operation of a mem- ber of the Loyola Alumni Association, Mr. Isaac George, and slipshod methods of practice on daily differing fields were eliminated. FOOTBALL. HE season thus auspiciously begun was, to a large degree, successful. Four games were won, three lost and one tied during the season. 86 points were scored by Loyola against 8 4 by her adversaries. Larger crowds than ever before at- tended the games and a notable increase in enthusiasm and loyalty was shown. The opening game of the season was played on October 3rd, with the Commercials, a strong local club organization. After a hard fought game the final score was 0-0. Dunhams was overwhelmed on the following Saturday by a 45-0 score. Quinn, O’Conor, and Kelly of the Loyola back-field each registered two touchdowns. Schopp made the other score for Loyola. Another victory was chalked up on the 14th, Mc- Donogh being defeated 14-6 with O’Conor and Kelly making the scores. On the 24th the Georgetown Freshmen defeated Loyola 20-0. Marstons was defeated by a like score in the next game. On November 7th, one of the two big games of the season was played, Baltimore City College being met on the Walbrook Oval. In order to prepare for this contest ano ther innovation was inaugurated, a first-class coach being secured, to instruct the players in the fine points of the game and to teach them new formations. The team practiced faith- fully and put up a good battle on the day of the game, but was sent down to defeat by a 20-0 score ; the skill of their opponents in throwing the forward pass proved too much for our boys. Several times City’s goal line was threatened, but on each oc- casion the required punch was lacking. Completely outweighed, with several of their best men out of the game, the team did well to hold the Naval Academy plebes to a 35-0 score in the next game at Annapolis. Solace was had for these defeats however, when the Georgetown Preps were humbled in Baltimore by a score of 7-3. Rivalry between the two Jesuit Colleges has always been intense in all branches of sport and the Washingtonians came confident of victory. The game was very hard fought and the score was 3-0 in favor of the preps until the last moment of play. Just before the whistle blew Kelly, Loyola’s right half, got c ' way for an 80 yard run, taking the ball over the line for a touchdown. O’Conor kicked goal. This victory closed the season. The following is the lineup of the eleven that represented Loyola on the gridiron : Center, Buchness and Hoen; Guards, Lindsay, James Kelley, Sehlhorst, Hodges and Ryan; Tackles, A. Quinn, Sullivan, Jos. Kelley, Murray; Ends, Lind and Considine; Quarterback, H. O’Conor; Right Halfback, J. O’Conor, Sybert; Left Half- back, J. Quinn, Schopp; Full back, H. Kelly. Herbert O’Conor, sophomore, was manager and John Quinn, sophomore, captain; William Sullivan of the same class was elected next year’s captain at a meeting held soon after the cl ose of the season. The record : October 3. — Loyola, o; Commercial Club, o. October. 9.- — Loyola, 45; Dunhams, o. October. 14. — Loyola, 14; McDonogh, 6. October 24. — Loyola, o; Georgetown, 20. October 31. — Loyo .a, 20; Marstons, o. November 7. — Loyola, o; City College, 20. November ii. — Loyo-a, 0; Naval Academy Plebes, 35. November 14. — Loyola, 7; Georgetown Preps, 3. Total: Won four, lost three, Loyola 86 points, opponents, 84. Roger F. O ' Leary, ’16. (151) BASKETBALL. J N view of its remarkable showing during the season just - closed, the College team again demonstrated that it must be ranked among the foremost quints of the South. Comparing the schedule prepared for the Blue and Gold players with those of the other College and University squads in this sec- tion, it is very evident that Loyola was called upon to face the hardest opposition of them all. Catholic University, Univer- sity of Virginia, George Washington, Washington and Lee and Mount St. Mary’s were among those to tackle the College quintet, and the result of the conflicts was most gratifying to the followers of the Blue and Gold. Of the sixteen games played, ten victories were recorded and six reverses sustained, and 486 points were tallied against 445 for the opposing teams. The showing is all the more wonderful, considering the dif- ficulties that beset the team throughout the year. The great- est, perhaps, was the inability of the management to secure a regular court for the practices and home contests. The six- teen battles were waged on eleven floors. Then, too, all the regulars, with the exception of Captain Corcoran, received in- juries which kept them from a number of contests. This is not intended as an excuse for the team’s losses, for the record speaks for itself, but simply shows what would have inevitably resulted had the team had a regular battlefield and sustained fewer injuries. In spite of their successful season, the Blue and Gold players are not contented. They feel badly over two incidents — the cancellation of the Virginia game and the refusal of Mount St. Mary’s College five to tackle them in a third and deciding contest for the Maryland collegiate championship. Virginia’s refusal to play seems inexcusable. As a morning paper com- mented, “It would appear that Virginia’s withdrawal was due to an over-anxiety to safeguard their claim to the Southern collegiate championship title.” With arrangements practically completed for the deciding contest for the Maryland title, the faculty of the mountain college refused to allow the Mountaineers to play. This would seem as though the faculty was willing to relinquish their claim to the title and bestow it upon Loyola. The players were also disappointed in not having the oppor- tunity to match their skill with the Yale University quint dur- ing the Southern trip of the New Haven team. The Blue squad favored Catholic University with the battle, and was defeated. Memory of last year’s struggle with Yale still lin- gers, and the Loyola basketers are confident that they could have put one over on the Northerners. It is too difficult to pick out the most noteworthy and out- standing game of the season, as every contest was decidedly interesting, closely contested and full of thrills. However, the players pride themselves in four victories, all staged on Baltimore courts — namely, those over Catholic University, Mount St. Joseph’s, Gallaudet and Mount St. Mary’s — and consider each a great achievement. Gallaudet, the old jinx of the Blue and Gold squad, suffered its first loss to Loyola in three years, and the other three aforementioned quintets glee- fully boasted of dire happenings for the Loyola five, but fate decreed otherwise and disaster fell upon each of them. In accordance with the custom of years, the opening game was played with the Alumni in the College ‘‘gym.’’ Led by “Big Six” Stanley Cook, the “grads,” stars in their school days, showed the effects of high living and were smothered by the collegians, 93 to 27. The squad was idle for two weeks, and on December 12 journeyed to Washington to oppose the George Washington five. In a rough struggle Loyola lost, 35 to 26. It was the first victory that the Senators had ever registered over Loyola. December 17, Mount St. Joseph’s was played at Irvington, and the Loyola lads were forced to go an extra period to gain the verdict, 27 to 26. Catholic University was the first of the college squads to visit this city, and the meeting, which took place at the Rich- mond Market Armory, was most spectacular. For the second time within three days the Blue and Gold quint was forced to battle an extra period to win, 33 to 25. Loyola scored eight points in the extra time, while the Brooklanders were unable to tally. Following this game, activities were suspended for the Christmas holidays. The first game of the new year was played at Washington on January 9 with Catholic University, and the Blue and Gold, displaying its poorest form of the season, lost, 49 to 27. Then the team hit its stride, winning four in a row. Mount St. Joseph’s received its second defeat, 38 to 23, before the largest and most enthusiastic crowd of the year. Gallaudet was beaten 34 to 19. At one time the score was 14 to 3 in favor of the Mutes, who threatened to live up to their reputation as jinx of the Loyola quint. The Loyola machine got in its work and won out rather handily. St. John’s bowed before the Blue and Gold clan at Annapolis, 29 to 20. Loyola won from George Washington, 26 to 17, and thus avenged the season’s initial loss. After this string of wins, the Blue and Gold five took a trip to Virginia, which was arranged in place of the annual North- ern invasion. They had little success, losing each contest — the first on Thursday to Washington and Lee at Lexington, the second to the Young Men’s Christian Association of Lynch- burg, and the third to the University of Virginia at Charlottes- ville. Joyce, who has been mentioned as a member of the Southern intercollegiate championship team, did not accom- pany the team, having been injured in the George Washington contest, and his absence was keenly felt. Returning from the South, Loyola started another winning streak. St. John’s was disposed of for the second time, 29 to 16. University of Virginia lost by forfeit, and the Mount St. Mary’s team, making its first appearance on a Baltimore floor, succumbed to our fine attack, 40 to 25. The last game of the season was played at Emmitsburg, with Mount St. Mary’s. The narrowness of the court proved the undoing of Loyola, the Mountaineers tallying 29 points to our 17. We had but one star on the squad this year. He was mostly responsible for the team’s good record. His experience and extensive knowledge of the game was the potent factor in whipping the squad into such fine fettle and thereby bringing the victories to Loyola. You all know him — our coach, V il- liam Scheurholz. The predominating feature of each game was the fine team- work of our players. Individual playing was not tolerated. This may be evinced by glancing at the field scoring records of the guardians of the centre and forward positions — Corcoran, II2 points; Scheurich, 102, and Ullrich, 88. Captain Corcoran leads in the scoring, his accurate tosses from the foul line bringing his total number of points to 218; Scheurich comes next with 108; then Ullrich, 88; Buchness, 22 ; O’Connor, 16, and Joyce, Quinn and Vaeth with 8 each. The record: Loyola, 93; Loyola, 26; Loyola, 27 ; Loyola, 33; Loyola, 27 ; Loyola, 38 ; Loyola, 34; Loyola, 29; Loyola, 26 ; Loyola, 22 ; Loyola, 21 ; Loyola, 22 ; Loyola, 29; Loyola, 2 ; Loyola, 40, Loyola, 17. Alumni, 27. George Washington, 35. Mount St. Joseph’s, 26. Catholic University, 25. Catholic University, 49. Mount St. Joseph’s, 23. Gallaudet, 19. St. John’s College, 20. George Washington, 17. Washington and Lee, 40. Lynchburg Y. M. C. A., 46. University of Virginia, 48. St. John’s College, 16. University of Virginia, o (forfeit). Mount St. Mary’s, 25. Mount St. Mary’s, 29. Edgar B. Graham, ’15. BASEBALL. A FTER a lapse of several years Loyola College was again represented on the diamond in 1915. The season was eminently successful and plans were made to further develop this year’s nine. Mr. Murray is in charge of the coaching, and he has spared no efforts in perfecting the team. A very full schedule was arranged by the manager, J. Edw. Keelan, in- cluding games with Washington College, Mount St. Mary’s, Polytechnic, City College, Rock Hill College and many other strong teams. The season opened with a practice game with the Young Men’s Catholic Club, Loyola winning easily, i8 to 4. The score by innings: SCORE BY INNINGS. R H E Y. M. C. A 1 0 2 0 1 0 0— 4 5 4 Loyola 9 0 0 9 0 0 x — 18 16 2 Batteries: Loyola — Sullivan and Quinn; Y. M. C. A. — Conroy and Gunning. A game with the Terrapins followed, and while Loyola was defeated, 13 to o, the team made a good showing considering the class of the opposition. German pitched the entire game for Loyola, and was opposed by Suggs and Smith. The Loy- ola boys connected well with the curves of both pitchers, there being few strike-outs. In the field they handled themselves well, making several good steps. The line-up; TERRAPINS. LOYOLA. AB.P :. H . 0. A. E. AB. R .H . 0. A. E. Meyer, rf .. 3 1 0 0 0 1 Keelan, cf . . . 2 0 0 3 0 2 McCandless, rf . . . . 2 0 2 0 0 0 O’Connor, rf . . . . ... 2 0 0 0 0 1 Knabe, 2b . 5 2 2 3 4 0 Vaeth, rf ... 2 0 1 1 0 0 Duncan, cf . . 4 1 2 3 0 0 Scheurich, 2b . . . ... 4 0 0 3 1 0 Zinn, If .. 2 1 1 0 0 0 Sybert, 3b . . 4 0 1 0 3 1 Simmons, If . . 1 0 1 0 0 0 Buchn’s, If ... 3 0 1 1 0 0 Swacina, ib . . 4 0 0 7 0 0 Sullivan, If ... 1 0 0 0 0 0 Kirkpatrick, 3b . . .. 5 3 2 0 2 0 Lind, ss . . . 4 0 1 3 5 1 Doolan, ss Owens, c . . 4 1 1 7 2 0 Corcoran, ib... . . 3 0 1 10 1 0 .. 1 0 0 2 2 0 Quinn, c .. 3 0 0 1 0 0 Jacklitch, c . . 2 1 2 5 0 0 German, p . 3 0 1 2 3 1 Suggs, p .. 0 1 0 0 0 0 Smith, p . . 3 2 1 0 1 0 Totals . .36 13 14 27 11 1 Totals .. .31 0 6 24 13 6 SCORE BY INNINGS. Terrapins 1 0 5 1 3 2 0 1 x — 13 Loyola 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 — 0 Two-base hits — Zinn, Kirkpatrick and Smith. Sacrifice hits — Knabe, Swacina, Meyer and Zinn. Stolen bases — Knabe (2), Zinn, Kirkpatrick, McCandless and German. Double play — Doolan to Knabe, to Swacina. First base on balls — Off Suggs, 2; off Smith, i; off German, 5. Struck out — by Suggs, 2; by Smith, 5. Passed balls— Quinn, 2. Wild pitch— German. Left on bases — Terrapins, 10; Loyola, 7. First base on errors — Terrapins, 3; Loyola, i. Umpire — Rudderham. LOYOLA VS. POLYTECHNIC. The next game, the first of the series for the city champion- ship, was with Polytechnic, and Loyola again was declared (156) the victor, 5 to 4, in a hotly contested game, in which the win- ning tally was not put over until the ninth inning — Captain Scheurich scored on Sybert’s long hit to left field after work- ing his way to third on a fumble, a stolen base and a wild throw. Scheurich and Sybert were the stars of the game, Sybert having hit a home run with two men on previous to sending over the winning tally in the ninth. The base-running of Scheurich has been responsible for many victories for Loy- ola. Quinn caught a steady game behind the bat. Eddie Vaeth pitched his first full game for Loyola and came through with fiying colors, displaying great steadiness in the pinches. He did not issue a single pass. The line-up: LOYOLA. AB. R. H. O.A. E. Keelan, cf 4 0 1 2 0 0 O’Connor, rf 3 1 1 1 0 0 Scheurich- 3 b 4 2 2 1 3 0 Sybert, 3 b 4 1 2 1 3 0 B’chn’s, ib 3 0 0 1 0 0 Qiiinn, c 4 0 1 4 1 0 Corcoran, ib 0 0 0 16 0 1 Scritny, ss 3 1 0 1 1 0 Screntny, ss 3 1 0 1 1 0 Vaeth, p 4 0 1 0 4 0 Totals 29 5 8 27 12 1 POLYTECHNIC. AB. R. H. O.A. E. Parsons, 2 b 3 1 1 1 2 1 Hastings, If 4 1 3 4 0 0 Crouse, cf 4 1 1 0 0 0 Michael, ss 3 0 0 5 3 0 J Knecht, rf 4 0 1 0 0 0 Muller, ib 4 0 1 11 0 0 Lentz, c 1 0 0 1 0 0 Neele, c 3 0 1 3 1 0 A Knecht, 3 b 4 1 0 0 2 0 Lamb, p 4 0 0 0 4 1 Totals 35 4 8 :=25 12 2 ' One out when winning run was scored. SCORE BY INNINGS. Loyola 2 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 1—5 Polytechnic 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 0 — 4 Two-base hit — Vaeth. Home runs— Sybert and Hastings, Stolen bases — Scheurich ( 2 ), O’Connor and Crouse. Double play — Sybert to Corcoran. First base on balls — Off Lamb, 5 . Struck out — By Lamb, 5 ; by Vaeth, 3 . Passed ball — Quinn. Umpire — William Stewart. LOYOLA VS. GALLAUDET. The team went to Washington for the next game, where they defeated Gallaudet at Kendall Green by a 7 to 5 count in II innings. The game was raggedly played in the field, but both teams hit the ball hard and timely. Gallaudet scored first, sending in a run in the second inning. Loyola took the lead in the fourth, scoring four runs by mixing hits with Gal- laudet’s errors. They kept in the lead until the ninth and added one in their half of that inning. Gallaudet rallied in the ninth and tied the score, Lind saving the game at this juncture by a fine stop and throw to the plate. Loyola won out in the eleventh on hits by Quinn and Vaeth coupled with Gallaudet’s errors, Quinn scoring what proved to be the winning run. The Loyola catcher played a fine game for the Collegians both with the stick and behind the bat. Throughout the season he has been one of the mainstays of the team. A veteran behind the bat, and possessed of a fine whip, he holds up the pitchers well and keeps the opposing players anchored to the sacks. Nothing is more discouraging to a team than for the opposing players to run wild on the bases. With the combination of Quinn behind the bat and Captain Scheurich on second base, Loyola has quite an edge on her opponents in this department. Vaeth and Scheurich also played well for Loyola; Rockwell, Tremke and Rasmussen did the execution for the Kendall Greeners. German twirled the whole game for Loyola. The score : LOYOLA. AB. R. H. 0. A. E. Corcoran, ib 5 0 2 10 0 1 O’Connor, rf 4 0 1 2 1 0 Scheurich, 2b 6 1 2 1 1 0 Sybert, 3b 5 0 2 2 2 1 Buchness, If 5 1 1 1 0 1 Quinn, c 4 3 3 7 3 1 Lind, ss 4 1 2 3 3 1 Vaeth, cf 5 1 2 6 0 0 German, p 5 0 0 1 4 0 Totals 43 7 15 33 14 5 GALLAUDET. AB.R.H. O.A.E. Rockwell, ss 6 1 3 3 0 1 Schone, If 5 0 1 1 0 0 Marshall, ib 3 0 1 9 0 1 Pendall, c 5 1 113 1 0 Pillioch, 3b 5 1 1 5 2 2 Tremke, 2b 4 0 0 1 0 0 Peard, cf 5 0 0 1 0 0 Hladik, rf 5 0 0 0 0 0 Lynch, p 0 0 0 0 2 0 Rasmussen, p 2 2 2 0 2 2 Totals 40 5 9 33 7 6 SCORE BY INNINGS. Loyola 0 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 1 0 2—7 Gallaudet 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 2 0 0—5 LOYOLA VS. M. A. C. Loyola lost out in a see-saw game with the Maryland Ath- letic Club, at the Maryland Oval, in the next battle of the year. Loyola outbatted and outfielded the clubmen, but succumbed to the breaks of the game and lack of the necessary punch in the pinches. Eddie Vaeth twirled for Loyola, while Johnson and Muth • (158) took turns on the mound for the clubmen. While hit hard in spots, Vaeth twirled better than his veteran opponents, yield- ing 12 hits to 14 for Loyola. Vaeth struck out eight, while Johnson and Muth sent down nine by the same route. The clubmen started off with a rush, sending three runs over the pan in the first inning. Loyola went scoreless until the fourth, when a two-bagger by Scheurich, followed by a sacrifice and Quinn’s single, netted a run. Two more in the fifth nearly evened the count. M. A. C. succeeded in keeping their one run lead safe until the ninth, when, with two gone, Loyola made a bid for the game. Sybert singled to center and scored on Buchness’ single to left. Quinn fanned, ending the game. Buchness played well in the field and at the bat, camp- ing under four hard flies and securing three hits, one a triple. Vaeth also netted three safeties. Franke led at the bat for M. A. C., getting a home run and two singles. Both teams played well in the field. The score : LOYOLA. AB.R.H. O.A.E. Corcoran, ib 4 0 1 7 0 0 O’Connor, rf 5 2 1 0 0 0 Scheurich, 2 b 5 2 2 3 1 0 Sybert, 3b 4 1 1 1 2 0 Buchness, If 5 0 3 4 0 0 Quinn, c 3 0 1 8 2 0 Lind, ss 4 0 1 0 2 0 German, cf 4 0 1 0 0 1 Vaeth, p 4 1 3 1 2 1 Totals 38 6 14 24 9 2 M. A. C. AB.R.H. O.A.E. Kaufman, 3 b 5 0 1 3 0 1 Bonthron, c 4 2 2 10 4 0 Franke, ib 4 2 3 7 1 2 Douglass, ss 3 2 2 1 1 0 Lawrence, If 4 1 1 1 0 0 Wo’n, 2 b, cf 3 0 2 4 1 0 Muth, cf, p 4 0 0 1 4 0 Johnson, p, 2 b 3 0 0 0 2 0 Con’ine, rf 4 0 1 0 0 1 Totals 34 7 12 27 13 4 SCORE BY INNINGS. Maryland Athletic Club.... 30100210 x— 7 Loyola 0 0 0 1 2 0 2 0 1—6 Two-base hits — Scheurich and Bonthron. Three-base hits — Buchness, Douglass and Lawrence. Home run — Frank. Bases on balls — By Vaeth, John- son and Muth. Struck out — By Vaeth, 8 ; by Muth, 4 ; by Johnson, 5 . Umpire — Buchness. LOYOLA HIGH SCHOOL BASEBALL TEAM. ’ HE Loyola High School base ball team, under the manage- ment of James Considine of the class of Second High, has begun what promises to be a very auspicious season. Two games have so far been played, one of which was won and one lost, both by close scores. The opening game with Towson High School ended in de- feat by a one-run margin, the final score being 6 to 5 in favor of the suburbanites. Harmon, Considine and J. Kelly for Loy- ola, Vandermost and Cuhn for Towson were the batteries. The team came back, however, strong in the second game of the schedule, defeating the strong Calvert Hall nine by a 7 to 6 score. Harmon twirled a steady game for Loyola, while Con- sidine featured with the stick. Roach and Currin were the battery for the losers. The next game, scheduled with Strayer’s Business College, was postponed after two innings of playing on account of rain. Return games are scheduled with all the opponents, as well as with many other of the city’s strongest nines, and prospects are bright for a most successful year. The regular line-up so far has been : Dennison, ib. ; Screntny, 2b.; Lind, ss. ; Murnane, 3b.; Davis, 3b.; Geraghty, If.; Trainor, c. ; Harmon, p. ; Kelly, cf. ; Flaherty, rf. ; T. Kelly, 2b. ; Elwood, rf. ; Considine, m’g’r. and p. TRACK. J OYOLA has not in the past been prominent on the cinder path, though she has had some good material. Probably at some time in the future she will take her place in this line also. The word track at Loyola spells Tolchester. Here, dur- ing the annual excursion, we have a set of games open only to the students of Loyola. While no records have been broken, the meet arouses great interest at the college, and the events are hotly contested. Special events are opened to the younger boys. The date of this year’s meet has been set for June 8th, and a large entry list is promised. Roger F. O’Leary, ’16. (160) Auiariiiny tl)p “I;” At the mid-year reading of marks the following were awarded the “L” for football: John J. Quinn, ’17 (Capt.) Anthony V. Buchness, ’16. James A. Considine, H. S. ’17. A. B. Hoen, 18. James P. Kelly, ’16. John P. Kelly, H. S. ’17. Thomas H. Lind, H. S. ’16. James J. Lindsay, ’17. Martin F. Murray, ’16. Herbert R. O’Conor, ’17. J. Ambrose Quinn, ’15. Michael A. Ryan, ’17. William J. Sullivan, ’17. And the following were awarded the basket-ball “L” : J. Neil Corcoran, ’16 (Capt.) Anthony V. Buchness, ’16. John A. O’Connor, ’18. John J. Quinn, ’17. John A. Scheurich, ’16. Edward S. Vaeth, ’18. At the May reading of marks the following received the “L” for baseball: John A. Scheurich, ’16 (Capt.) Anthony V. Buchness, ’16. James A. Considine, H. S. ’17. J. Neil Corcoran, ’16. J. Edward Keelan, H. S. ’15. Thomas H. Lind, H. S. ’17. John J. Quinn, ’17. Joseph H. Screntny, H. S. ’15. William J. Sullivan, ’17. Edward S. Vaeth, ’18. SENIOl A (!Io«r0f in S jnittr 51|ilo0npljy Ellisism — To be a follower of this school, you must confess to be able to do a variety of things. If a person says print, why, go ahead and print. If he says parboil, well, do so. In fact, do anything, or, in other words, you must not only theorize, but be really on the job, when the practical side comes up. Their doctrine, briefly summarized, may be ex- pressed as “demonstration is the best proof.” By nature such people are cool and collected, short of stature, with curly hair. Expression (poetic) : “Take me where the breezes blow.” Grahamism — May be suited to anything, like the jimmy key ; per exampla : a student today, a teacher tonight, business man tomorrow, athletic manager the next day and a reporter every day. The meaning has some connection with Ellisism, still there is a slight difference, just as in the individuals. The followers are tall, which does not signify tall thinking; also slim, which does not portray slim ability. Their doctrine, “Be a Jack of all trades.” Expression (realistic) : “ ’Way down South in Dixie, That time I got so frisky.” (162) Hemeltism— Depicts a slight strain of obstinacy, signifying “If you don’t take me, I’ll be sure to get you.’’ A person confessing to this “ism” must have everything explained, for their doctrine is “I am from Missouri!” They are very per- sistent, and have a head full of knowledge. As in all “isms,” industry plays an important part. Expression : “We won’t get home until morning.” Kalbism — Signifies light-heartedness and argumentative- ness. Somewhat contradictory, you may say. Still you most probably have never come across any of these individuals. Their doctrine is, “I should worry!” They try to soothe things over with music. It is a strange philosophy, one must admit. Expression : “I play in the fields with the daffodils.” Lardnerism — This h as a smack of the real thing— philos- ophy, I mean, their doctrine being, “Mental gymnastics are good for scholastics.’’ For elucidation. I’ll mention a few of their expressions : “Cogitation is mental celebration” ; “Ges- ticulation is sometimes done with approbation.” It is too high-priced to give much more here. Expression : “My ideal is tall brunette.” Owingsism — Does not by any means refer to pecuniary matters. Who would be so gross as to degrade it in this man- ner? The followers of this high class of philosophy show natural talent and artistic genius. Far be it from me to depreciate the elite, the sublime and the beautiful, which are studied by this class, whose doctrine is, “Subtle is the art of smiles.” Expression : “Fie, fi, gimme a piece of pie.’’ (John Welsh — “Where’s your nickel.”) Quinnism — Exponents of the doctrine of scepticism. Ov er- shadowed by a halo of modesty, which is the grand impedi- ment to an accurate knowledge of their doctrines. Expression : “Dolce far niente.” Ruppertism— The profound. Stops not at the surface, but delves far below. “The mystic meaning of your thoughts so grand, Plough not the surface but a deeper land. Where others see naught but the dark, You see the light, joyous as a lark.’ ' (Ode dedicated to Ruppert.) Doctrine, “Drink deep or touch not the Pierian spring.” Expression : “Could I but trip the light fantastic toe.” Sauerism — Not akin to Pessimism, but, on the contrary, its followers see nothing but beauty in the present order. To become a member you must learn to sound the heavenly har- monies, or “wake to ecstacy the living lyre.” The world is a chess game, in which we triumph over fate. Expression : “My favorite opening is ‘Ruy Lopez.’ ” J. A. Q. J. J. L. (164) Qllaaa Notpa Of all the classes that ever have been, There’s none to compare with the Junior men. Boys in the senate are growing goatees, And dusting the benches, thinking they’ll please The present classmen, for it’s already seen There are three or four statesmen in class sixteen. Lincoln and Lee and other big men Have dabbled in history with sw ord and pen ; But history contains no real big man. When compared to one of our Junior clan. Take Baldwin, for instance, whose motto great. Is running through business at neck-breaking rate ; Tell me a saying of king or of lord. Which can emulate Baldy’s : “I’ve sold a Ford.” Buchness, also, li ke men of old. In song and story shall ever be told; He types each night and he types each day. But, “I’ll pay you next week” is all we say. (165) JUNIOR CLASS. The reincarnation of Burke and of Pitt Can be seen in Codd, if you’ll only sit, And list to his speech, not told in rhyme, How “Nations learn but it takes a long, long time.” Each morning at nine just after rep, Corcoran gets restless and full of pep. Next to taking us out for a ride, A Maxwell book is his special pride. Kelley and Loden since High School days. Sit side by side and receive great praise. To audiences Bud has himself endeared, While logic has dulled Kel’s razor, ’tis feared. Sweet, smiling Murray in circles galore. Takes the seat of honor just near the door. The medals he’s won clearly testify That he was a student in days gone by. O’Leary now is the man we hear Who’ll take the chemistry prize this year; But he wouldn’t accept it if he could, ’Cause he uses the spectroscope under the hood. “The Star of the South” in the basketball line. Is what Scheurich gets when he’s fit and he’s prime ; Good natured and jolly and studious, too. He’s liked by everyone down to the few. From Elkridge each day on the B. and O., Comes Sybert, the student, plodding and slow; Near the radiator with feet propped high. Thoughtful and dreaming sits pensive Sy. A word of myself in this rhythmic strain. Would tickle me much but I shall refrain From boasting and toasting in tones real loud. But I’m proud that I’m one of the Junior crowd. For of all the classes that ever have been. There’s none to compare with the Junior men. J. J. Q., ’I6. (167) SOPHOMORE CLASS. The studious-looking man in the corner is J. V. B., the greatest of burlesque comedians, understudy to the well-known Willy Batson (he of the “funny slide’’), and, in spite of the assertion so oft repeated of you that “no man ever became great by being funny,” Joe is already in a fair w ' ay to fame. Ahem! We hope that it is not a violation of neutrality, but for the past few months we have harbored in our midst the “German General Staff,” consisting of Generals E. J. (von) B., J. G. (von) K. and F. H. (von) S., sometimes spoken of as the “Board of Strategy.” Ah, my friends, v ar is a “turrible” thing ! However, let us turn from the thunder and roar of the “Busy Berthas” to the joyous contemplation of that fair, bouncing nymph, “Miss Fatima F.,” weighty but beauteous withal, in original “Dance of Death” creation. O, Terpsichore, strange indeed are the instruments which thou hast chosen for thine interpreters ! But here — Alack! Alas! And by darn! O Mars, will insist on thrusting thy bloody lance into our midst! War, relentless war, has disturbed the peaceful quietude of our slumbrous existence, and dreadful is the slaughter. Number- less the alliances and counter alliances, countless the truces made and broken in a breath. Here, forsooth, are strategists and tacticians to put the armies of Europe to shame. “What are the nations involved?” Ah, stranger, ’tis a fair question. All the peoples and tribes of the earth have settled (?) their differences through the agency of the bellicose Messrs. J. S. K., W. A. S., J. J. L. and W. J. S. “Sh’h! Is that a riot over there?” No, no! That’s J. J. Q. discoursing for the benefit of H. R. O’C. on the “mens sana in corpore sano.” Not that the distinguished H. R. needs instruction, for he never blew out his bunsen burner and was never even accused of sacrificing with two down and three on base. Some one needs it, however, and J. J. Q. wants to talk. No, that’s not Charles Chaplin. That’s our authority on “love,’’ etc. Such learned epigrams and “little sayings” as “ALL’S-FAIR-IN-LOVE-AND-WAR” roll off the silver tongue of M. A. R. as pearls of priceless value. “Was it he who blew out the bunsen burner?” Well, now, you’re get- ting per sonal. I must go, anyhow; here comes a certain mem- ber of the faculty. He’s looking for me for being late. W. D. H., ’17. FRESHMAN. (Elaas Nntpa L. A. C. — Came to class sometimes. We distinctly remem- ber seeing him there once. His newspaper informed him that it required his undivided attention, and so Lawrence is lost to us now. J. S. D. — Friend of L. A. C. Finds great pleasure in read- ing Eugene Field. Has an athletic pipe; oh, it is ever so strong. ‘ ' Why is ‘laudat’ in the subjunctive, James?” “Oh — ah — after that ‘ut,’ Father.” “No, indeed, it is not; you can- not pay attention to your neighbor and Horace at the same time.” J. J. D. — The Hamilton com.edian — the jocular distractor of tedious class sessions, that is, when the “jitney” does not run off the track. He sometimes brings it into town himself when the regular chauffeur does not appear. F. P. G. — When not studying Greek he looks after the chickens and pigs in Waverly. Does not care for analytic geometry, but passes time away writing the best English, both verse and prose. Is the proud possessor of the Maryland Pil- grims’ medal for his essay. J. C. G. — Yes, indeed, he is from South Baltimore. Is man- ager of the Catholic Club nine. Gave us the treat of the year the week he had the diary. His greatest fault is that he is always picking on W. A. S. Is one of the “bosses” at the “Star” and has never been found working. (171) FRESHMAN CLASS. F. R. H. — Prefers physics to Greek, so he takes physics during our Greek hour. None of us has ever been able to dis- cover why he or anyone else could dislike Demosthenes or deep-browed Homer, for with them we find our pleasure and recreation after a day of hard toil. But still it may be that he does not love Greek less, but physics more. A. B. H. — Our Mount Washingtonian. Takes active inter- est in class meetings and makes some fine proposals. Has been questioned many times concerning the other people from Mount Washington. Struggles bravely with “athletic” geom- etry. F. L. A. D. O’T. — Given to strolling contemplatively be- neath the silvery rays of Luna, but as he is such a cute chap he may yet overcome it. Is constantly occupied with some form of entertainment during class. “Now, Mr. Beadle, have you attended to that matter yet?” H. R. P. — Tam-to-to-ra, zing-boom, tra-la. The music mas- ter. Expert organ wrecker and ivory puncher. Is most efficient beadle this class has ever had. Takes delight in de- bates and writing detective stories. R. I. Q. — Evidently likes the scenery at Mount Washington, or at least there is some attraction there, for he frequently wends his way to that place. Is president of Freshman class. G. E. R. — Woe betide the unfortunate and importunate Freshman that tries to wrest possession of the floor from him when he gets started. Another Freshman who prefers physics to Greek. W. M. R.— -He of the fancy shoes. The student who gives answers in imitation of the Delphic Oracle. “How are you to work that question, Wagner?” “Divide it.” “Do you know the answer, or not?” “Yes, Father.” J. J. K. — Our janitor. Has been unanimously elected to that position of honor ever since Third High. Talks much but says little, and even that little cannot be understood. De- spite repeated warnings, still places the unco-ordinate side of the co-ordinate blackboard near the class. “My Lord, 7, 7, I am amazed, 7, 7, etc.” “Yes, John, that’s right, you’re wrong.” L. C. R. — The class secretary from Glyndon. Knows all (173) mathematics, whatsoever. The committee appointed to re- store the class banner to the wall had some difficulty because a ladder could not be procured. Louis was placed on the com- mittee and the next day found the banner on the wall. I wonder why? W. A. S. — Dreams much of green hills of Harford County. Is always ready when there is a question of erudition. Cer- tainly must be crazy or something or other to have written such as is here printed, for there is absolutely no meaning or connection whatsoever to the class. V. M. T. — Appointed to see that the blackboard is kept clean. Is constantly referred to in questions concerning analytical geometry. “Now, Mr. Teano, how many hours of studying did you say it was possible to do?” E. S. V. — The well-known cue artist. Still thinks his name is “Swissen.” Frequently is roasted in class, but is a valuable asset to several athletic teams. His pitching beat “Poly” this spring. W. A. S., ’i8. (’ 7 ) OIlaaB Notpa w ELL, here we are at last, High School Seniors, a title which we have boasted of since September, and which has been respected by every High School student. We have secured part of our greatest desire, and we now look back with a feeling of pride and satisfaction on our High School record. We consist of twenty congenial members, said members composing one jolly crowd. We became, in fact, so ‘‘jolly,” as the springtime was approaching, that as a result the “Why Lunch Room” was but a memory, and for a while we lunched with “John.” We take an active part in every society of the school, contributing stars to the Morgan Debating Society and the Athletic Association, as well as making a good show- ing at the weekly meetings of the Junior Sodality. In February we had the pleasure of being introduced to our friends, Virgil and Homer, greatly appreciating and all but “tasting the sweetness” of their lines. Just glance down the following list, gentle reader, and learn a few facts concerning the constituents of our class. We have: H. J. C. — A diligent fellow, whose earnestness keeps him lingering around the top rung of the ladder. He’s the one who always puts Fr. S. in a good humor. J. A. C. — About four feet eight inches, growing in knowl- (175) edge, but not in altitude. John was retired from the leader- ship v ith full honors of war. R. B. F. (surnamed Vernon Castle) — The glass of fashion and the mould of form, the observed of all observers. Too much society, Raymond. D. E. F. — All the way from Havre de Grace, but you would never suspect it. He’s like the rest in all other respects. E. J. J. — One of the “heavenly twins.” Flis good qualities are too numerous to relate. J. E. K. — A prospective rival of Charlie Chaplin. Has had several offers from Keystone and Essanay, but too modest to accept. J. J. M. — The best tenor in our ranks. We are always rep- resented by Joe in the musical line. E. G. M. — “Where are those lines I gave you. Gene?” “Why, father, I forgot them.” What a pity Gene has such a poor memory. A. A. W. — An actor of some repute. Has appeared several times at the Academ.y this season, and is at present aspiring toward grand opera. J. O. S. — Bureau of general information. Speaks six lan- guages and can quote any passage from Scripture. Learning to dance, too. L. J. R. — The other “heavenly twin.” “It’s a pleasure to ask Lawrence to recite.” A. J. S. — Here’s one of the few who doesn’t care what mark he gets as long as he’s learning. There’s something in that, isn’t there? J. S. — “Oh, I’m so sorry I disturbed you, Joe.” “Pardon the interruption, gentlemen.” W. L. J. — Our expert Greek “verbist.” Makes a specialty of Xenophon and Flomer. A. G. S. — Our present beadle. Oh, ’e’s little but ’e’s wise, ’E’s a terror for ’is size. An’ ’e does not advertise. C. O’B. — Our erratic friend from Walbrook. “Take him all in all. I’ll ne’er look on his like again.” Always mumbling to himself. C. J. K. — His serious countenance confronts us at every turn. Resembles his desk-mate as much as day is like night. T. I. S. — A five by three individual. One day astounded all by pronouncing correctly Przemysl. Has been looked upon as an authority ever since. N. J. K. — One of our out-of-town acquaintances, who speaks only when aroused to recite. But give him credit, boys; he loses no time when he does talk. H. J. L. — Proves a never-failing source of dry wit. Another one of those out-of-town representatives, who continually boasts of his native hamlet. D. A. D., H. S., ’15. (178) (Elaaa 5?otra w HEN the old bell rang on September the fourteenth, the thirty odd students of Third Year High class little dreamed of the eventful year that had just begun; they dreamed more of the vacation just ended. Thoughts of ban- quets, stirring “football” and “basketball” games in Latin and Greek, and the several other interesting events, never en- tered their heads. The first noteworthy action of the class was the election of the following officers: President, Thomas Lind; Vice- President, Gerard Muth; Treasurer, Joseph T. Parr. Then under the protection and guidance of the above named the remaining twenty-seven dived deeply into Cicero, Caesar, Xenophon, etc. They remained submerged for a month. But at the October reading of marks three sharks, Joseph T. Parr, J. Spalding Reilly and Joseph D. Monaghan came to the surface and gave a specimen, making short speeches on Xenophon’s Anabasis, Cicero’s Orations and Caesar’s Gallic Wars. For their hard work the class received a half holiday. Joseph D. Monaghan was awarded the gold prize for the best essay on Shakespeare’s historical drama, “King John.” The competition was held prior to the theatre party of the (179) THIRD YEAR. Loyola College Alumni, which attended the performance of “King John” by the scholarly tragedian, Robert B. Mantell. As a manifestation of class pride we found it desirable to have basket-ball and baseball teams. The basket-ball team was composed of IVL Flaherty, manager; A. C. Kearney, captain; C. Ucker, M. Buchness, B. Harrington, J. Parr, K. Golley, J. W. Love and W. Wickham. The baseball team was: E. Sullivan, manager; T. Lind, captain; C. Ucker, W. Love, J. Parr, W. Wickham, J. Horrigan, P. Rakow, M. Buchness, A. C. Kearney, J. R. Barry, M. Flaherty, K. Golley, T. Kelly and T. L. Doyle. During the Christmas holidays our first banquet was held. A most awe-inspiring solo, “In the Valley of the Moon,” was sung by Thomas Lind. Popular songs w ere sung by J. Ed- mund Sullivan, with J. Wilmer Love at the piano. Naturally, the refreshments were most popular that evening. The occa- sion was a very enjoyable, informal one. For the benefit of the various teams a raffle of a two-and- a-half dollar gold piece was held. The net proceeds amounted to thirteen dollars. The gold piece was won by Mr. J. A. Wick- ham. At the beginning of the second term the class elected the following: President, Joseph T. Parr; Vice-President, Gerard Muth; Treasurer, Martin Flaherty; Secretary, Michael Fahey. A string quartet was organized by J. Wilmer Love, J. Ed- mund Sullivan, Edward E. Marsh and Joseph D. Monaghan. A vocal double quartet was formed with the following singers : First Tenors, Edwin Cole, John G. Hiskey; Second Tenors, William P. Hammond, J. Ramsay Barry; Baritones, J. Wilmer Love, Joseph D. Monaghan; Basses, J. Edmund Sullivan and Michael Buchness. On April the seventh, at seven thirty P. M., the class gath- ered in the library. Violin selections were played by the string quartet. The double quartet sang popular songs. Piano solos were rendered by Joseph Tormey. In the gymnasium a number of races, contests and blind boxing matches delighted all. Our second banquet followed. Mr. O’Hara, S. J., and Mr. Halliwell, S. J., Prefect of Discipline, honored us by their presence. Frank J. Herman won a handsome book of poems, offered as a prize by the Prefect of Studies for winning a “bee” in ‘Vt”, verbs. Needless to say our Lind wasn’t President Wilson’s repre- sentative in Mexico. Has anybody here seen Kelly? Speaking of eggs — Golley, I do love Ham-mond. Mr. F. W. O’Hara, S. J., honors us by his presence on all class occasions. The Third Year Double Quartet was a howling success. J. T. P — r had the temerity, audacity, nay, cheek, to appear in school wearing a red necktie on “St. Patrick’s Day in the Morning.” What happened to him? What could he expect from a student with such a Pat — ronymic as Sullivan? Speaking of saints — -we’ve one in the class anyway— St. Leger. Sullivan’s “Lost Chord” — his missing violin string. Was the singing of the Double Quartet responsible for the movement for community singing? Appalling thought! Dumas “Les Trois Mousquetaires” have rivals in Love, Ucker and Sullivan, whose motto is “one for all and all for one.” Has this Roman (C.) Triumvirate forgotten Julius Caesar? Let them beware the fate of the ancient triumvirs. No, gentle reader, “Mousquetaires” does not mean “mos- quitoes.” Hammond isn’t a typewriter; he is a typist, just a type of mighty good fellow. “Herman the Great” will perform a great disappearing act — when school closes. O listen Second Yearers and you shall hear Of the teacher you’re going to have next year. He’s six feet tall with a manner sweet, But a system of “Jugging” that’s quite complete. His hobby is Greek, with Latin next, And he truly loves English — not the people — the “text,” For by his name it is easily seen He’s a son of “the sod” and a wearer of green. — Lind. Tom Moore, will you prove worthy of your name. And sound again the strings of Erin’s harp? Will you aspire to sing of Ireland’s fame And chant her praises, though the world may carp? Just before going to press we received news of another honor for Third Year. This year Loyola entered the “Maryland Day” prize essay contest for the first time. The first prize was awarded to Joseph D. Monaghan. Thanks to the careful supervision of the Fathers of old Loy- ola, the past scholastic year was a most successful one for Third Year High in scholarship and social pleasures. Joseph D. Monaghan, H. S., ’i6. SECOND YEAR. (Elaas JJntfa a moment lest our fame be swallowed in the clouds of obscurity.” If you ever happen round Loyola do not fail to visit Room 5, where there is collected the greatest menagerie ever sheltered under one roof, and I promise you a spectacle that is rarely wit- nessed in any corner of the globe. From “Pat” Trainor (pater- familias) to Baby Cunningham, there ever lingers among us the class spirit and union with which we dominate the terri- tory about us. Though a very wide and varying streak of a desire to be funny (not always succeeding) lurks about the sombre portals of our classroom, we took occasion to select those men who would watch over our progress and elected the following offi- cers for the first term: President, Joseph P. Kelly; vice-presi- dent, Harry J. Graham; secretary, John J. Sweeney; treasurer, Stephen C. Elwood. The officers of the second term were : President, James A. Considine; vice-president, Francis J. Geraghty; secretary, Edward J. A. Nestor; treasurer, Stephen C. Elwood. There are a number of others who, as leaders of class factions, help to dictate our affairs. Notably, I may men- tion our champion diplomat and authorized ambassador from South Baltimore, who takes every possible occasion to assist (185) US by his witty remarks. As a worthy representative of the German race, he presents excellent arguments in their favor, but in vain. The odds are against him. In the celebrated menagerie we have gentlemen of every possible description, some with intellects that would make even Aristotle blush. And then our young Ciceros stand out prominently when it comes to class debates and elocution con- tests. Again our more dramatic members are gaining laurels for themselves and us in local theatrical circles. With hair as fluffy as Garibaldi’s and a voice as penetrating as that of Caruso, our vice-president certainly can hold his audience spell- bound. In their roles as class “funnymakers,” if in nothing else, our jesters and clowns are making a great reputation. Surely our envoy from Middle River has “Charlie” Chaplin beaten a mile when it comes to real comedy. To consider another faction, I must introduce to you the famous strategist and slick sleuth, who for the most part, how- ever, slumbers in the quiet of his own personality ; yet August is always around when the treasurer needs a tip. In the same class belongs Herr Rohleder, who wakes up occasionally to yawn. Now to behold the pride of the classroom, the greatest ath- letic quartet in existence, the only “Big Four” — “Considine- Kelly-Harmon-Elwood.” How their names seem to cast fame upon us! Listen to the applause that follows them into the classroom ! Who knows but that we shall develop a Cobb or a Johnson, and then, remember, we shall be “at home” to receive congratulations. Close rivals of the quartet are Billy Reid, an excellent specimen of a typical country boy with a developed muscle that counts, and Count Alfonse. I would do the class a grave injustice if I failed to mention Manager Scrivener’s Yanigans. Though they may not have made a glittering record, they certainly have the spirit that counts for half the game. Now see our great natural lights. Sweet Auburn and Straw- berry Blonde. The latter is authority for several Greek infini- tives which must have existed long before creation. But all is (i86) well, Henry; you are second to none in many other matters, the very life of our classroom. Finale: A fitting close before this copy runs away. See the real Apollo; the piercing eyes and cold black hair. He is class president, chief of the “Big Four,” a leader in study, philo- sophical opinions, “oratorical comedy,” athletics, and — love. Mercury, himself. Au plaisir. Edward J. A. Nestor, H. S. ’17. (187) g ' PErtal OIlaBa w E assembled, in September, from many different paths to start a grand united effort in Special Class. We soon learned that we were to journey on a special train of “Royal Blue Limited” speed, with no stops at side stations and with- out change of schedule. Anyone who could not keep pace with our speed was prom- ised a drop from the rear of the “Observation Platform,” to retrace his tracks or catch an “Accommodation Train.” The realization has more than equalled our most sanguine anticipations, and we feel that vacation will be all too short to enable us to recover from our strenuous effort. When the hours hang heavy and absence from class has robbed us of pleasant companionship, a remedy for the blues will be found in the recollection of some of the following : “In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as can’t.” “Stalled in Greek.” “Sweet antiques.” Hawthorne’s “Double-Tailed Stories.” “Smiles upon the cheeks.” “Ears laid upon the neck.” May joy attend us all during vacation’s happy hours and find us reunited, in September, at Loyola. Francis Stafford Turner. FIRST HIGH A. g prttutt A ' HIRTY-FIVE of the proverbial schoolboys “with his satchel and shining morning face’’ assembled in our class- room on the opening day of school. All showed the strengthening effects of a good summer’s outing and all seemed prepared to unearth the deep treasures hidden within the closed covers of Bennett’s First Latin Book. To be sure, among the firstlings of the High School there were many old-timers of our “Prep” day, the Athletic Coniffs, the Moundsman Barrett, the Aviator Kilner and the smiling Francis Abell, but a great many new faces greeted us, and we welcomed them loyally in the real Loyola style. During the first month of school we held our elections, and the class selected the following miembers as its officers for the coming year: Edward A. Kerr, president; Richard Ball, vice- president; Bernard Meyer, secretary, and Gerald Barrett, treasurer. It did not take us very long to get down to real hard work, and not many days had passed before the loud-sounding voices of our cheering section were heard shouting the declensions and conjugations in the Latin tongue. (191) This vocal culture was an asset in our contest with Section B of First Year High School, and we were declared the victors. All work and no play make even Jack Kilner a dull boy, so we organized a basketball team, and, though our percentage did not reach the thousand mark, we made a fair showing for a quintet of Tyros. The warm days of April saw our newly-uniformed base- ball team practicing faithfully, and the good results obtained later on fully repaid us for our efforts. Gerald Barrett, H. S., ' i8. S prttnn ■yHE morning of September 14, saw us, forty in all, hastening to Loyola; some smiling, some frowning, but all with bright hopes for the coming year. “Room three,” sounds familiar. Here we sat and labored hard, sometimes at least, to master the rudiments of Latin. Early in the year the election of officers was held with the following results: President, LeRoy T. Davis; Vice-President, John J. McCaffrey; Secretary, Albert Best. No one was elected Treasurer, as it is not thought good to encourage idleness. One bright morning in autumn we heeded the call of the woods. Should all poison ivy perish? Ask the undersigned. On all occasions Kowzan has been on the entertainment com- mittee. Thanks, Ed. Superior ability was shown by those who represented us on the diamond and in the “gym.” The baseball team won nearly every game, and the basket-ball team was invincible. We are proud of you, Dan. Some have the bad habit of talking in class. Perhaps the vocal culture thus acquired accounts for the fine singing and speaking at our banquet. The less talkative members of the class have achieved fame on musical instruments. Recall our string quartette in the Christmas entertainment. Schilling talks little. He is a man of one word: “Why?” We are looking forward to pleasant times in the second year, and we hope all our present class will meet again in Sep- tember. James Shea, H. S., ’18. (192) FIRST HIGH B. FIRST PREP. Our A, B, C. DANIEL B. — Small boy, but wins big things. Carried off the prize for the biggest contest of the year, the contest in the Latin Declensions. Will be big some day. Now knows it was not necessary to be in long pants to win the Latin contest. JOHN P. B. — Our crack speller, who didn’t win the final contest, however. Some speller, indeed, but he can’t help it; it’s in the family. Never yet talked in class. Why so sad, John? The woodpecker died. ROGER B.— Our angel without wings. A rather timid squirrel, who succeeds, nevertheless, in cracking the hard-nut questions. Expects to be in long trousers next year. J. ELLIS B.-— Once a good boy; he is now better. J. J. B. — Small and young, but very studious, occasionally. HUGH D.— A hard student and a good student — half the time. JOSEPH G.— Of the quiet kind. Will make a noise in the world some day. J. H. G. — Very good half the time; at other times he’s better, but never has headaches — like so many of the Preps. (195) JOHN G. — Gets more fun than fish on our Thursday out- ings. EDWIN G. — He adds color and tone to the class. M. F. H. — From Hamilton, the next to the last place the Lord made. Very much alive. Studies hard — once in a while. FRANCIS H.- — The best boy in the class one day in the week — Thursday. Very quiet. T. EDGAR H. — Likes to get sick often, some say, but we don’t believe it. F. H.— Awfully bashful, but not afraid of any Prep. Has visions of First High for next year. JOHN J. — He’s a bird, a double “J,” not a woodpecker from Relay, John. A. E. K. — From Govans, loveliest suburb of Baltimore, some think. JOKING, Jr. — Not Sr., but Jr. He must be a prince. Postpones his coronation till the examination, when his royal eff orts and hard study will be crowned with success. We all wish him a happy sunshine reign and do hope it will not be a wet one. Seldom serious. Always joking. There’s no royal road to a testimonial, Joe. Honest, we’re not joking, like you. KARLKING — Another king whose coronation day was May 15 last, when he won the final spelling contest. Can’t realize it. It’s true, Karl; why not believe it? Make an act of faith. A king of the old type once reigned in the kingdom of Overlea, but now deposed and ending his days in peace in peaceful East Baltimore. C. K. — Hails from distant Mount Washington, yet the boys think there is much hope for him, he is so gentle and kind. Don’t lose courage, Carroll, the Mount may yet be admitted into the Union. Civilization is spreading rapidly to the re- motest regions of the wilderness. THADDEUS K. — The kid, yet too big to ride his hobby- horse any more. Promises to grow two inches by September, as he is anxious to enter First High, Section A. Easily fright- ened once by a smaller boy. We think that other boy’s name was Rodgers. HENRY L. L. — Once a hard student. Very difficult to make angry. Thinks he will come back to hard study again. J. J. M. — The only representative from fair Curtis Bay by the sea. One of the good boys. T. J. IVI. — The Latin shark of our class. Would like to live at Relay. Rather gudgeon-like in his ways. Sent word to the dear little gudgeons a little before the outing by drop- ping a line to them. Very generous; nothing mean about him. Won the mid-year immunity contest. F. K. M. — A good little boy at home and sometimes at school. C. R. M. — A real king of class, not like the other two, who are only mock-kings. J.N. — With a smile that is child-like and winning. Never laughs. Notice this, Orlando. J. O’M. — Quite a man. The only one in First Prep, (be- sides the teacher) who is in “long trousers.” All the 40 other small Preps promise to wear short pants as long as they can. P. P. — Still growing. A close second in the Latin De- clension contest. Almost won — a little more chalk would have done it, Pliny. O. R. R. — Our genial laughing machine — always wound up. Possesses an overflow of good nature. Copy him, boys. Pass that thing along, Orlando; it’s a good thing; don’t keep it all to yourself. Is trying to learn just when to laugh. Draws the line so far only at funerals. J. J. S. — Still another adding color and tone to the class. Pity he came so late in the year. Top boys not sorry for that. W. A. S. — And always will be a scholar. J. E. VAN B. — The strong boy of the class. Not afraid of any other two. Look out, Berger. K. VAN B. — Always with a pleasant face. Never late more than five times a week. LEO J. W. — And still another adding color and tone to the class. Has resigned from the Supreme Bench. White House next. SECOND PREP. VINCENT C. W. — Almost a real man — all but the “long trousers.” To be a real man next year. No harm in trying, Vincent. J. B. Y. — Like some other precious things , comes from afar. Very hard around the head. Our Ty Cobb. J. G. — One of our numerous class dignitaries. You know. First Prep, has Cardinals, Kings and Chief Justices, and some colored boys. J. G. is a Cardinal. H. C. — Our latest arrival — that is, this year, not every morning; that distinction belongs to another. Likes to be in front near the teacher — not like some Preps who have a lik- ing for the benches in the rear. Reader, you are under sus- picion. § pronii On September 14, Loyola College opened its doors to the students. The last of October had arrived before everybody knew each other. The first thing we did was to buy our books and membership cards to the Athletic Association. When school opened, our class consisted of twenty-two boys. Gradually new arrivals swelled the number to thirty-six. How- ever, Paul Beach, Stephen Grey, Lawrence Rodowski, Leo Alexius and Charles Rogers left us during the course of the year, reducing our number to thirty. Just before Thanksgiving we decided to have a party during the holidays. We had it. The programme included a few readings, a basket-ball game and some eats. Flannery, Mat- thai, Feehley, Bergin and Jeffres were defeated by Finnan, Frainie, Keelan, Roche and Bees by a score of 13-8. We had great hopes for a Christmas party — but that failed to be. As the months went by, baseball occupied our attention. Handball was too tame. We organized a team with Keelan for manager, and Roche for captain. We played our first practice game on April 12, 1915. On Saturday, May 8, we lost one of the most important games of the season, when Rock Hill College Midgets defeated us 22-8. We won our first game against the Caroline A. C. 14-8. (199) About the middle of March, we organized a debating society, with John P. Flannery as chairman. In over a hundred speeches, we have discussed various weighty public questions. Frizes were offered in the several semi-final debates. The Grand Final debate should be very interesting. “Resolved: That the right to vote should be extended to the women of the U. S.” 1. Affirmative, J. Milton Fitzsimmons. 2. Affirmative, William Fletcher Harrigan. 1. Negative, John P. Flannery. 2. Negative, Joseph Lutz. And to finish up the year, there is a movement on foot to form a sort of Bureau of Communication, to which each mem- ber of the class must send a written account of his doings at least once during the summer. The idea is, then, to send these letters from one to the other. There was a class named 2nd Prep. Who gathered each morn upon the step. But the Prefect cam e down And gave them, a frown. And since then they’ve lost all their “pep.” Ashes to Ashes, And dust to dust, If Kelly don’t get you, Carey must. ■Not-able class artist. “Give ’er gas.” Stinger — Boy Orator. “One more word, mister.” You don’t know he’s around until the first honors are given out. The dad of the class. The 3-hour student. Funny as a crutch. Beau Brummel of Second Prep. Looks awfully natural with a mask on. The capable chairman of our debating society. C. S. A. J. L. B. - C. K. B. — J. R. B. — F. J. D. - C. H. E. — B. J. F. — C. M. F. — M. J. F. — f p p W. H. F. — The class paper boy. C. . " i. F. —The interrupting Chinaman. D. F. H. — “Left it (my composition) home, mister.” W. F. H. — Meek as a lamb. W. G. H. —Capital W. Hiskey. J. P. J. — Our class president — conspicuous by his ab- sence. A. J. J. — Our new cook. F. X. K. —Better late than never. J. L. — ‘Debating Joe. W. J. Mv. — ‘T don’t know it, mister.” A. Me. — The boy who’s right there. J. L. McG.— “Lend m.e a pencil, will ye?” J. L. P. — Taking a course in sketching here. F. A, R. — Class champion pencil sharpener. J. L. R. — The boy who’s always ready with a speech. I. S. — “M ' arble bust of your ancestors,” Mr. K. W. T. — A pair of smiles. J. T. — A pair of smiles. A. W. — Wychof Cough Drops are too cheap. We have had a good year. Flannery, our class treasurer, has kept things going nicely — making our credit good and relieving each one of us from the usual school troubles about money. We think that with the various societies we have formed, we have learned to govern ourselves, and we hope that when next September comes we will all be together, ready for a new year, a class with a get-together spirit. James Lawrence Roche, Charles A. Frainie, William A. Flavin. Approved: J. Preston Jeffers, President. John H. Flannery, Treasurer. (201) Krs AJiuprti0ittg Pttton By the liberality of our adver- tisers, we are enabled to make the ANNUAL what it is. A glance through the following pages will show that they are all firms of recognized standing, and we there- fore recommend them to your favorable consideration. H.