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Page 104 text:
Glimpses of Faculty Homes.
It would be a very pleasant experience for students if they could visit the members of the faculty in their homes. It would be a pleasure and a profit for both students and instructors and would bring them in closer touch with each other. It would be a source of inspiration to us as students, for it is only bv exchanging thots that we are able to get the most and best out of life. But for a large student body this is impossible, so let us view for a short time a panorama which goes on in the faculty homes.
We visit Prof. Brownell on a clear, frosty .morning and find him out on the bleak hillside milking the cow. He is absorbed in deep contemplation of the morning sun and reasoning that it is colder in winter than in summer because the rays fall more obliquely and are spread over a larger area. The piping voice of little Sam breaks in upon his musing and these words come to his startled ears: “Why, papa, you forgot the milk pail.”
Let us next visit the home of Prof. Howie. We find him in the back yard sawing wood. Great drops of perspiration stand out on his brow and the muscles of bis brawny arm contract and relax in harmony with the action of the saw. He straightens up, then goes at it again, whistling a tune which sounds very much like "Everybody Works But Father.” Drcusy Clarence looks out from the upstairs window to see what causes all this commotion, while the savory odor of coffee and cakes spurs Prof. Howie on to renewed efforts. He thinks with satisfaction of the three or four pound? avoirdupois which be has just lost at the wood pile.
We will next pass to the home of Prof. Gregg and find him in the act of shoveling coal into the furnace room, which at that moment abounds in “pulveru-lcr.ce." Between acts he may be found in his laboratory, making a piece of apparatus to be used for testing the variable tension of a frog’s heart under different electrical stimuli.
Page 103 text:
girls whose visits were not quite finished by 10 o’clock, so the lights disappeared to the accompaniment of stifled shrieks and closing doors.
Many and varied were the pictures of girl life to be seen about the hall, but as I think back, one of the most vivid of these is a Saturday morning picture. The pump stood on a raised platform hack of the hall, and about this platform I see a group of girls trying to start their charcoal irons. There were irons in all stages. Some with a few burning kindlings tenderly watched over; others smoking like steam engines as they were swung back and forth in the hope that an additional breeze might induce the charcoal to burn. Still others, with charcoal glowing brightly, were being borne triumphantly away to the improvised laundries indoors.
Sundays? Yes, dear, our Sundays were indeed days of rest and gladness. We went to church and Sunday school in the mornings, but in the afternoons we read and rested, and took time to know each other. On pleasant days we roamed among the hills, or strolled beside the river, learning Nature’s ways, as only she could teach us.
In the evenings we sometimes met in the parlor and talked or sang until the l oys came, then those who were not interested in some particular boy slipped quietly away, leaving the others to enjoy themselves, just as boys and girls do now.
Ah, yes, those were happy days, child, and the friendships we formed there have held fast and true through all these years of separation and change.
I know that the school life you are just entering will mean much to you. Remember that our lives arc what we make them, and my hope for you. dear, is that your days may he as busy and happy as were ours in Mt. Vernon Hall.
Sara E. Dunn.
One hundred three
Page 105 text:
Let us now pay a short visit to the club house. Here harmony reigns and life flows along like a dream, except when Miss Goshen exercises her oratorical ability on the unfortunate butcher who sent up a tough steak. The happy circle is sometimes broken by the absence of Miss Schlcc or Miss Lally. who stayed tc wield the birch upon some wayward or obstreperous youth who thinks that where ignorance is bliss, tis folly to be wise.
If we should go to Prof. Scherer’s home about midnight we would find him searching wildly for the paregoric bottle, and at the same time making a desperate effort to quiet the pair of howling twins in his arms. The cries of the twins echo and re-echo in the stili night, but thru it all the athletic director, calm and unruffled, sings: “Gone arc the days when my heart was young and gay."
If we should spend an evening with Prof. Beck we would find him in his arm chair reading to the children. Pomcna, who has been quiet for a long time, suddenly asks her father why he has a moustache and she has none. He tells her that she has none because she docs not need it. The cat purrs louder than ever and the professor spends the rest of the evening thinking of that “promising" Junior class entrusted to his charge, and hoping that none of them will register for Romeo and Juliet without first seeing Prof. Searson, whom we will visit next
Wc will either find him in his den trying to “dig up" illustrations for his famous literary Work, “The Idler." or making extensive improvements on his from yards. He claims to be the only member of the faculty that is doing honest manual labor this spring.
At Prof. Duncanson’s we find Harold crying quite lustily. His father has been playing with his new toy engine and has broken it trying to train a frog to be engineer. Mr. Duncanson concludes that frogs have no intellect anyway, but he did like to play with that engine. On the promise of a new engine Harold is quieted and peace is restored once more. .
A club has been organized which has for its motto, “A cold bath every morning.” Prof. Delzell has lectured extensively on the beneficial effects of cold baths and the advisability of following his method. From the next room may be heard the following conversation: “Come, Mark." “No, I don’t want to. The HiO is too cold. I want it nice and warm like papa has it."
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