Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

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THE ECHO and testament. My éxtra supply of jewelry, I leave to Zelma Carithers, to- gether with my frivolous ways. To Dale Wetzler, I leave my hair-pins and combs, so that his hair will not always be in his eyes. I leave my dainty little feet to Clarendon Anderson, requesting that he walk as quietly around the study hall as I have done. My slender figure and my many neckties, | leave to Adelaide Rutledge. My little sister, Louisa, I leave to the tender administrations of the faculty. Before leaving this dear old school, I, George Meagher, desire to make my last will and testament, and hope that my gifts will be truly appreciated. My extra supply of nut-brown freckles, I lovingly leave to Ruth Hill, for I know they will go well with her complexion. My keen dimples, I leave to Louis Fletcher, to be added to the collection he already has. To Miss Crane, I leave my black Chemistry apron, asking her to hang it in the laboratory as a momento of my former days in High School. My rubber heels, I leave to Theodore Overton, to enable him to walk less noisily when in the building. I, Chester Gore, do hereby solemnly bequeath to Amandus Kistler, my yice, I leave in care of Mr. Allen, so that he supply of neckties. My nice v ct may aid Mrs. Mills in leading the singing on Mondays. My perpetual grin, I leave to Lester Nathanson. My charm for the opposite sex, I leave to Wm. Morrow, hoping that he will be as successful as I have been. My ability to “cut” school, I leave to Crystal Lambert. My career as an artist, I leave to Arthur Meese, along with my pivot tooth. We appoint DeWitt Montgomery as chief administrator of this, our last will and testament. Signed, THE CHRISTMAS CLASS OF to12. ; Wamething Real In the study hall at two-forty, one day, Was gathered a merry crew; There were Sophomores, Juniors, and Seniors, And Freshmen studied there, too. Mr. Montgomery did chance to go out of the room, Which gave them some time for fun; And how they had it, you'll very soon know Before my story is done. For Donald, who dearly loved trouble to hatch, Did have a revolver in his pocket ; He then gave the trigger a mighty pull, And BANG! it went off, like a rocket. When Mr. Montgomery re-entered the room, He saw a smile on the face of each boy; Then into the office he took Albert and Donald; And they went, not showing any great joy. What he said to them on the carpet that day, Neither of the boys will tell; But we may be sure that the study hall Will never more have a powdery smell. [Page thirteen]

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Y G Z g 4 Y A y gy G Z We w cane VOL. V. SANTA ROSA, JANUARY, 1913 No. 5 AA New Year’s Day APPY NEW YEAR to you, one and all! I am going to tell you a story of which I a m very fond. It is a story of a New Year’s Day in sunny Italy; a story told long ago by one who loved and lived in that land of painters and poets. The glorious sunshine of a New Year’s morn gladdened the heart of a little silk weaver. Day by day, her tired feet 1ad stood before her web while her deft fingers twined the silken strands. sut today she was free; this was to be her one glad holiday—the only one in a whole long year. As she rose to delight in her glorious luxury, she whis- ered to herself: “I must not squander a mite of my twelve hours’ treasure. jut this one day I have leave to go and play out my fancy’s fullest games. may fancy all day.” So she was to spend her day—morn, noon, eve and night—in fancy fancying herself the happiest four in Asolo. These four were Ottima, the wife beloved of rich, old Luca, who owned the silk mills, where the weavers earned bread and milk; Jules and Phene, a bridegroom and his bride: Luigi and his mother, for none ever loved more tenderly than they; and Holy Mon- signor, “for best love of all is God.” Happy little weaver! With joy sure- ing through her heart, she went forth singing her New Year’s hymn: All service ranks the same with God. If now, as formerly He trod Paradise, His presence fills Our earth, each only as God wills Can work—God’s puppets, best and worst, Are we; there is no last, nor first.” “This glorious morn I shall be Ottima, rich Luca’s wife.” And the little maid went singing. High on a hillside, gleamed the place of Luca. Within its walls lay an old man dead. Without, in the garden below, stood a woman fair, and a man [Page fifteen]