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Page 3 text:
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BULKELEY NEWS VOL. XI. FEBRUARY, 1915 No. 2 A Parable A certain man made his way up a rugged mountain path. Below him lay a broad valley green with the bursting richness of returning summer. Glistening in the sunshine there wound through the plain a silver ribbon of water near whose quiet banks peaceful cattle grazed in calm content. Sequestered farm houses here and there rose through the leafy branches of oaks and elms. The man had left this quietude for the broader view the mountain top might give. He turned from the road and made his way through a sloping field of wide-open daisies. How bracing the air! How far away and small the valley ! How tiny the houses and the river ! How broad and magnificent the view ! The mountain was indeed repaying the climber for his upward toil and his renunciation of the charms of the lowly plain. There on the mountain, high above the sounds and scenes of earthly toil, the man felt an exhilaration that the valley had never given. Far away he saw- mountain range after mountain range—huge gray billows of e a r t h , seemingly rolling toward him. ‘ ‘What a wonderful earth this is !” he mused. Through the shade of a grove of trees he pressed on. The sunshine checquering his path made him look up through the towering branches. Glimpses of a blue, cloudless sky cheered him forward. He emerged from the shade, strode upward toward the summit of promise. There were fewer and fewer trees, less and less green herbage, more and more open spaces—a broader and broader view. At last the man reached the barren summit. Beneath him lay the world stretched out in indistinct greens and grays and browns. Over his head hung the endless blue of the sky. What a wonderful, inspiring view ! this view of the world, God’s world. But as he contemplated its grandeur the view seemed to change. The chill mountain breeze made the man shudder. Suddenly he became conscious of the barrenness of the mountain top. No grass, no flowers, no trees, no living creatures save himself were there. “Yet this is the broader, higher view,” he said with a tone of disappointment. “How lonely, how solitary.” He thought of the valley with its meandering stream, its b r o a d pastures, its cattle, its inhabited farm houses.
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Page 4 text:
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4 BULKELEY NEWS The mountain gave the broader said unto himself, “I will return to view, but it demanded solitariness the peaceful, friendly valley,” and the renunciation of the companionship with his fellows. And he Quatre-vingt-huit. A Little Information AN a bright spring morning of the year 195-, an old man stood on the walk of Bulkeley Place gazing intently at the old school. While carefully noting every change in the building and grounds, he called to a boy who was evidently taking an extra recess for himself. Very reluctantly the lad approached the man and in a sulky tone of voice asked what was wanted. “My boy,” said the old man, “years ago when I was about your age I attended this school but since I was here last many changes have taken place. Now, I wish you would listen to me and explain about these things.” “Oh, I’ll tell you all I can,” answered the boy, “but first let me get behind this tree so that old Adams won’t see me out here.” “Who is this Adams you speak of, one of the new teachers?” “Adams a teacher! No, he’s the “gink” that takes care of the grounds and squeals to the p r i n c i p al about anything we do around the building. ’ “Hump!” snorted the old man. “Say, that reminds me, what’s the idea of the flowers and shrubs out there in the football field?” The football field! Why that is the school flower garden. Was it a football field once?” “That’s what it was and on these same grounds the great football team of 1914 practised. Reckon you’ve heard tell of Moran, Satti and the rest of the boys who played on that team. And-er-that is, of course you’ve heard of their manager ?” ‘No,” replied the boy, “can’t say that I have.” ‘Well, you have surely heard of Donnelly; the star half-back and captain of that team, the crack first-base-man of the Senior baseball team of 1915 and the man who ran away with the laurels at every track-meet ?” “Why yes,” said the boy, “I believe I have heard the name before, but wasn’t he a valedictorian, poet or something?’ ’ “Valedictorian, poet or something’ echoed the aged man, “have mercy, boy. Aren’t there records and cups and things in this school won by those old athletes ?” Ah, I don’t know, you see we don’t play football or baseball here and as for track meets, I’ve never heard of one.” What?” asked the dazed old grad, “No football, no baseball, no track meets. Why, what do they do
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