University of San Francisco - USF Don Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

 - Class of 1913

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University of San Francisco - USF Don Yearbook (San Francisco, CA) online yearbook collection, 1913 Edition, Cover
Cover



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Text from Pages 1 - 66 of the 1913 volume:

' 1 i ( ( i From left to ritfln H »p row) Raymond Kynn, Millou Hairy, Harold C hu 1 Thomas Murphy, Joseph Moiillle. Hem-tfe Nelson Sci’Onil row William Kelly, Joseph Foley. George I.yle, Stanley Kelly, Kdwaid O'Neil, John Schlnppl. Third row Frank Cioed. James McMahon, Robert Flood. Ms. Joseph Sullivan. S. J„ Robert Chambers. Hnuh l ouovan, Adolph Sittro. Fourili row—Duvid I’arry, John (Jrady, Ferry Mvi’nnn.JVL n 9Tl CLASS ’13 ANNUAL VOL. 1 SAN FRANCISCO. CAI__IUNE 1910 NO. To Uev. Herman Joseph (ioller. S. I., this volume is affectionately dedicated. Go search the pearly depths where littering treasures lay: Ope wide a garden rare fresh blown by the god of day: Linger in vastest fields deep-steeped with richest gold I" inger in (iazas’ lands, of treasure yet untold. C 'en these can ne'er compare with this ■ —1' humble gift to thee, f)eplete with Freshman's love that will live for eternity. James Actic.srrs McMahon.6 T II E I KS II M A X . JJaraftisr anil thr Aftrrmath ALL was at rest. A fragrant atmosphere gently wafted the blossoming trees to and fro and played angelic harmony in its course. The east, alight with the golden harbinger of day. dispelled the soft darkness and lit to life the slumbering morning-glory and the drooping sun-flower. The trickling rills through primrosed banks merrily laughed: and the golden-chaliced poppies swayed; and the feathered tribes sang through the forest hall, and Adam and Kve arose. In magnificence, the “Lord of C reation” stepped forth, and justice was the girdle of his loins; and faith, the girdle of his reins. The wolf in joy with the lamb, the leopard fetching playful bounds about the kid, crouched before the master whose voice the calf and the lion and the sheep together revered. The purple vine, ruffled only by the kissing breeze, crept along the garden ways, heavy with its burden of sweetness—a fair gift for him for whom it was created. Smiling were the trees with luscious fruit; rich were the fields with golden harvest, and the king of all creation stood in the midst of it. rejoicing. Before Eve glides the vilest creature of creation. Noting her longing eyes. as she wistfully gazes on the forbidden pleasure, he slimily urges her to eat. She listens and Adam follows. Woe! Woe! They know what ne’er they knew before and monster sin stands before them hideous; the birds in horror, wing away in fearful flight; the beasts with snarl and threat cast at them fiery glances of haughty insubmission. Deep are the groans of that awful voice within them; loud its lamentations; piercing its wailings of agony; menacing its condemnation. Stygian clouds o’er shroud them and roll in fury and thunder in terror; and from their midst quakes the voice of the Almighty. In vain do they hide their shame, born of the theft of sin. The adornments of their souls are gone; the glittering gems have disappeared; their radiant garments have fallen in shreds, and they would conceal their blushes forever. “In the sweat of thv brow shalt thou eat bread till thou return to the earth out of which thou wast taken. Go forth from the paradise of pleasure.” And Gabriel stood at Eden’s Garden with flaming sword raised on high: and ’neath it went Adam and Eve, alone. C. Stanley Kelly.T II E E KS II M A N . “ahr ArraDiatifi” As rejected by the leading managers of the I'nitcd States and England. A tale of Bohemia—as it is not. Dramatis Personae. George I-vie—A Good but Dishonest Painter. Vens Nelson—A Scandinavian Musical Critic. Robert C hambers—An Epic Poet. Noth—The above trinity not suggested by Henri Mnrger. Scene—A garret on Montgomery avenue, the home of the Arcadians. There is nothing whatever in the room except the atmosphere of genius and three empty milk bottles. Thus are fulfilled the requirements of Romance. On a pile of rejected manuscripts lies Chambers in an attitude of most poetic dejection. Mis hair, although long enough to satisfy the most punctilious, is very ragged at the edges and lacks the finish which the most successful poets regard as indispensable. The dark and flowing beard which lends such dignity to his visage, is in the same condition as his hair. Mis clothes show signs of having once been well made, but have so fallen into decay that only the most cultivated imagination would be able to infer from their signs of pristine beauty the former prosperous estate of their wearer. Ilis snores fill the attic, but the house is so high that they do not disturb traffic in the street below. A sound of footsteps i heard on the long stair, the door opens with a bang, and Lyle enters. Lyle—Ilola! mes enfants, the poverty-imposed season of Lent is over. The Easter-tide of prosperity is here. We eat! and, bv all the gods of Greece and Rome, it is well! (Sound of violent scramble from the roof where Nelson is hiding from importunate creditors.) Lyle—Behold! I have this day sold my masterpiece, the work of unadulterated genius in which, fool that I am. I had wrapped my mind and soul, and for what, ask you, to advertise the latest brand of hop, and draw the beauty-loving populace of this fair town of ours to an appreciation of a loathsome brand of cabbage-leaf. Ten bones! In this degenerate day what is there that an artist will not do to gain possession of the trifling bit of filthy metal which forms the open sesame to every joy of man? Ten bones! and it is well it was not less, else there were trouble in the busy marts of trade wherein I hawked my treasure like some peddler of peanuts or the agent of The Ladies’ Home Delight.—a house and lot with every new subscription. One man there was. Sutro his name, who thought mv painting looked more like the Pacific building on a rainy day than “Smiling Tobacco Fields of Virginia.’ —its true title. Out on you. foul barbarian. I cried, whereon he. paraphrasing, yelled, “Out with von!” and in a moment I found myself in the darkest depths of the elevator shaft, whither I had been cast by the rude hands of as bloodthirsty a pirate as ever trod the decks of a Brangwvn privateer or poured out his crimson lake life blood after the fashion of the motley I loward Pyle. Pondering upon my evil fate I suddenly descried in the shifting shadows of that subterranean well the color scheme that will make my painting8 T I! I : I K KS II M A X . of the cellars of the Rheiins champagne vineyards a highly lucrative venture. Chambers—A has! the mercenary motives of our modern times. There is no art save that which works alone for the production of the beautiful. The epic poet of these clays is little thought of. yet it is from him alone that the literature of this Western hemisphere has anything to expect. It is not a trade as are the crafts today miscalled painting and criticism, which are in reality onl means of livelihood. Is there a man among you who puts into his work all the virgin purity of his inspiration? Do you. ah Jcharlatan color-slingcr. put upon your canvas only those figures which your eye has detected as beautiful in nature! Is the taste of the buyer ever divorced from your mind? Would von paint your sea pink if that was the impression its hue gave you. when you knew that the uncultured mind of the low-browed purchaser could see in it only green? You speak of food. Are not the pangs of hunger sweet to him who writes of hunger? This very morning I have composed an hundred verses, each as perfect as ever sprung from the immortal mind of Milton. I have achieved what no man of my time has ever approached, and you would have me glory in the shame of art gone wrong. Tis true. I have not eaten well for years, but feasts of soul have been to me but common diet Each day I dine upon Parnassus with the bards of every age. And you would talk of earthly fare. Lyle (in disgust, lapsing into th vernacular)—Aw. cut out the heroics and get the Swede off the roof. If I keep this money in my pocket much longer I’ll get to love it so well that I will not he able to part with it. Chambers—Alas! 1 fear me that I must yield. The cruel pangs or relentless hunger press me hard, and like the wise warrior retreating before a greater force seems to yield while he does but gather strength: I eat the dead-sea fruit of misused art to stem awhile the flood of weakness nature imposes. When strong again the labor I’ll attack, and as the lean weeks follow the fat ones, again I’ll sink into the divine stupor, and once more properly inspired. I’ll duplicate my former triumph, aye! perhaps surpass it. and once again the world shall know that genius is not dead! Descend, oh mime of Muneker! cringing servitor of the box-office—’tis well that Ilulsmams knows you not. I»v all the laws of beauty and of order, an all-provident government had long ago exterminated you and all vour clan. Xelson (mechanically)—Madame Te trazinni opened last evening— Lyle (impatiently)—Cut out the “shop”! Come on down town ! Eor one night, at least, we live! Xelson—to the largest lions. that ever— The trio starts down stairs. Chambers—And it will take a week to get properly hungry again. Lyle—You had better say that it will take a week to get properly fed again. Xelson—filled a San b'rancisco— Sound of scuffle as critic is squelched bv his comrades. Curtain. Jos. E. Foley.T II I F R E S 11 M A X . 9 “‘Xmrlrru ahtrtrrn” (0 |li! gallant fellow Freshmen, 'Trusty sons of right. Let's never cease repeating ( )ur old class slogan “light.” We'll plant upon the heights of fame ( )ur standard white and green. Till all the earth with one accord Acclaims “nineteen thirteen.” Hurrah! Hurrah! for T’reshmen. Hurrah! for the gallant few. The bravest in the college To light for red and blue. I ler llag we’ll keep a waving. Well venerate her name. We’ll give our latest drop of blood To win her glory’s fame. Edward M. (VXeii.i..IO T II K I R KS II M A X . aljr Unkmumt I IF Arizona sun sent its torrid rays quivering and "listening upon the waters of the Colorado. ()n either side stretched a wide vista of sand, fringed by a long low range of blue j)eaks, forming as it were a vast amphitheatre of burnished gold. 1 lerc and there along the river bank were grouped a few scraggly cottonwoods, while the sand lay bare its bosom to the unmerciful beams of the sun. save where the cactus rose in disordered array. W illiams, half overcome by the gleaming golden rays, impatiently dug his spurs into the pony’s Hanks, anxious to reach the foothills and overtake the author of that small brown cloud of dust dead ahead. Here and there along the road lay the whitened carcass of some animal, and once or twice he detected the bones of a human being bleaching in this desert waste, a mute testimony of the days of old and the wagon trails of the 40crs. As his lithe body rose and fell in unison with the pony’s lope, the vents of the previous years rapidly arose in his mind. I low his father and mother had died and he had come west to start life anew in this desert region. I low he had gradually risen in the eyes of its citizens, had secured the nomination for sheriff, and now his success or failure depended upon that gray cloud ahead; for screened by that enveloping curtain of dust rode Jim Lawton, terror of the desert, murderer, rustler and thief. Only last night he had shot a man in cold blood and made his escape. Williams, anxious to secure a strong foothold in the esteem of his fellow citizens, had offered to track the bad man and bring him to justice. And now, as he loped along with his quarry in plain sight, he endeavored to formulate some ru e by which he could capture Laxvion. (iradually as the desert receded and the mountains loomed higher and higher the distance between the two men short-ened. I le now entered a twisting, squirming depression guarded on either side by the lofty dunes that threw a molten mist down upon his face. As he turned a sharp corner he startled and immediately reined in his pony, for not more than fifty yards in front of him, with his back to his pursuer. wa Jim Lawton gazing at his broncho’s hoof, an anxious look spreading over hi face. Quick as a flash Williams gun was out. and as the reprobate turned his head he found himself confronting a piece of blue steel that flashed wickedly in the sunlight. At the command of Williams he threw his belt and gun on the ground and leaning lazily on the pony’s flank gazed calmly into the others eager, excited face. For the first time Williams had a good look at the man. and as his gaze fell upon the other’s tanned and weatherbeaten features, he gave a start, for there was something strangely familiar about the poise of that head, the decisive mouth and steel gray eyes. When and where he had seen the man before was a problem he could not solve, and he sat pondering in the saddle, his thoughts going back to days of yore. In the meanwhile Lawton pulling out his tobacco pouch, had deftly rolled a cigarette. His hand now traveled through his different pockets searching for a match. All at once there was a report, a blinding flash, and Williams’ gun lay in the sands at his feet, while in Lawton's hand rested a small revolver. Laughing grimly he spoke with a softT II E F R ES II M A X . ii drawl, from which the accent of the East had not wholly heen eliminated. “W’al, stranger. I guess you aren't wise that we hoys always carry a little vest pocket edition for sociability's sake.” W illiams gazed ruefully at his gun, and then at the man. too overcome with chagrin to speak. Why had he heen so anxious to overtake him? W hy had he allowed his youthful enthusiasm to carry him beyond the portals of safety? lie knew this grim looking figure would have no mercy, his every act showing he was devoid of all such gifts. Lawton picking up his gun motioned toward a clump of trees at the entrance of a small valley, for they were now at the base of the mountains. Wiliams entered. the other following close behind. When thev had seated themselves in the - shade of the trees Lawton spoke, still in the soft low tone, “My broncho's lameness was only a stall to get you to catch up with me. for I knew you were a tenderfoot, and your acts would give me more than enough chance to plug you, I set the trap and you in your would-be bravery fell for my bluff." Williams started at these blunt words, his cheeks turned pale, not through fear but with excitement, and his breath came in gasps. “Well, for God's sake, whv don’t vou + do it. you murderous dog, and relieve tt me. Lawton’s eyes lit up with furv. and when he spoke it was in a low. hard voice suppressed with rage, “Shut up. you cur. or I’ll save you the trouble. You call me a dog. and yet it was you and those like you that drove me to this life. You. with your high ideals, what you call your fine sense of honor, and your false doctrines made me a murderer and a thief. I started out right but the sneaking, lying coyote skulks in the garb of man drew me down to mv doom. I lost money, friends and what was dearer to me than life itself, mv honor. Oh! you can sneer at me and say, how can a range loper jhjsscs honor.' but a range loper has to he made by sin and misfortune, moulded from a man to a blackguard. That's how I came to take to this life, driven t« it h you of the civilized East." Forgotten was Williams’ anger, forgotten was his desperate errand. All hatred changed to pity for this wretched being, and in a voice tinged with sorrow he asked. “What do you mean? Speak out and tell me about it.” “This is what I mean.” and snatching a small picture from his pocket Lawton threw it on the ground at the other’s feet. He picked it up and gazed at it with bulging eyes, for it was the same that had adorned his mother’s room long ago. It was a picture of himself, his parents and elder brother whom he had never seen. Now he understood why the outlaw’s face seemed familiar: what there was about those eyes and chin that claimed resemblance to the thoughts of his mind, for before him. a murderer and thief, sat his brother, his own flesh and blood. They gazed upon each other for a few moments and Lawton’s face softened, his eyes lost their steely look and the hard lines disappeared from his brow. Slowly their bands met in a fond clasp and their hearts were filled with a t range tenderness, foreign in every respect to their outward natures. For a short space not a word was spoken, each wrapped up in thoughts of the years gone by. Then W illiams spoke in a low voice, not entirely devoid of emotion. "Tell me about it?" “There’s not much to tell." said Law-ton. “W hen I was a hov of sixteen and you were only a kid. I got into a scrap with my parents and they turned me out. I came out West and tried to start rightI 2 T II K F k KS II .M A X . Imt everything was against me. Kvery one knocked me and the only friend I had was an old drunken hanger on. ( ne day the hoys thought they would have some fun with him and the result was. when he resented it. they shot him. I killed the ringleader and tied to the mountains. From then on my whole nature changed. It seemed as if my very soul broke into small hits and then melted together in a solid mass. All pity was gone from my heart, love was a thing unknown, and I lived a life of crime, murder and robbery. I low I have sunk, no one but myself can tell. I grew worse and worse every day and when you tracked me out here I meant to kill you until I saw your face and knew the truth. ( nce again mv heart beat with the throbs of love: now the old Haines surge in my soul. Imt it is too late, too late for—’ 11 ere he broke down and wept softly as if hiding his grief from the curious rocks and crags. Williams arose and placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder said. “Cheer uo. old man. you’ve had hard luck, that's all. Come back with me and together we will live those years that never were.” I hit Lawton shook his head. " o.” he said, “you’ve started out honest and I won’t spoil your career. People will discover the secret and all your ambitions will be lost. You’ve something to live for. I haven’t. I have lived my life and soon I will pass from this desert of pain, happy now that we have met. Leave me go. and I’ll light out for the Mexican border. Yo. you can’t come, bov. Co back and make a name for for vourself. but for Cod's sake not th? kind I made. You’ve got a chance to make good. I haven’t. Co in and win.” In vain did Williams expostulate and plead. Lawton was firm, and as their hands met in a last clasp his pent up grief burst forth. 11 is lips quivered, the tears gushed dow n his seamed cheeks a he said in a low broken voice. “Goodbye, Jack, and Cod bless you.” Slowly W illiams mounted his pony and rode to the head of the valley, where he paused and looked back for the last time on his brother’s form, then spurred his horse onward. The narrow defile was reached and before him. through the rocky portals lay the desert. I le paused for a moment and then rode out on to the whitened plains, soon to be lost in the enveloping clouds of dust. When Lawton rose and followed his brother’s path to the mouth of the canyon the sun was slowly sinking to rest behind the Heecy clouds of the horizon. Twilight now shed its grew some pall over the vast tract of sand, enveloping alike dune and hill in its stygian pallor. Leaning against his pony’s Hank he gazed upon the scene with glistening eye. The sands, lit by the moon’s bright beams, seemed as if thousands of dull gems had been scattered broadcast. Here and there a bleak cactus stood forth, half covered by the inky cloak of night, half immersed in the moon’s silvery rays: while the somber hills burst forth in a shaft of light, only to melt into a shapeless mass of rock and sand, rearing theii lofty forms to the star-bedecked heavens. Before him lay the desert, smiling and glistening with the rays of heaven as if urging him onward. Before him lay his hopes and ambitions, and what was dearer to him than life itself, his brother. Behind him lay sorrow and death, lie paused for a moment and clasping his hands muttered a childhood prayer, then mounted his ponv and rode up the val-lev. Not once did he falter, not once did a sigh escape his lips, as mounting the precipitous mountain trail that led to the Mexican border he was lost to view in the encircling gloom. RORKRT L. Cl IA MItRRS.iflmmliitht mt llir Drfirrt i JTTllK shimmering landscape fades W a va and tile long, arid wastes arc concealed in the bosom of the night The silhouette of the distant mountains appears vividly in the pale light of the rising moon, as o'er the peaks it sends its slanting rays adown the undulating drifts of sand that sparkle and reflect its soft light. A solemn, sepulchered stillness pervades the scene. Xo hooting owl or crying coyote or sweet nightingale is heard within these hounds. The dull whir of the constellations pursuing their certain course through the heavens seems to break the silence. Save this, untiling stirs. L'p the mystic desert skv mounts the orb of night, disclosing a ghasth trail lying like a long pale scar across the desert’s ghostly face. It leads to a distant range, black, stark, and im- penetrable. The inky shadows of the cactus alternating with the silvery light spots are thrown in spectered disorder along the way. and I tremble to pursue mv course. I hit the satiny orb of the midnight hour smiles above me and floods the scene with her rippling waves of silver. How peaceful seems all! The dark, sombre hills rear their forms to the star-bedecked heavens and the lone tree on the far-away crest seems ashine with a shower of diamonds. Such is the desert wrapped in the moon’s bright beams. Mere apart from the maddening whirl do we behold Hod's creation untouched by man. unpolluted by the march of progress. Mii.ton IIai.ky. £iutart Sunset has turned To wastes of glittering gold, The wooded peaks That tower in the air; As down the slopes They cast their shadows rare. And to my heart Sweet beauty they unfold. ’ Wm. J. Kkm.y. 4 T H E FR ES II M A X . (0ur Srarlirr 31 I were an artist I would paint, With brush and color, all of gold, The image of a heavenly saint. 11 I were a sculptor I would mould A figure, with an angel’s face, Shining with peace and holy love, A face, alight with God's great grace. Pure and white as the unsullied dove. In later years these thoughts shall remain Through whatever comes or whatever goes, With a loving fondness shall we retain. This image of Our Teacher. C. Stanley Kelly.T II K I- K KS II M A X . 5 Arrial Nauigattnn A S I UMAX nature evolves, new - T faculties are coming into existence constantly. Our inventive genius has developed for us the wireless telegraph wireless telephone, the steam turbine, and the automobile, many new means of communication, and even undertaken tc obtain for us mechanical (light. The past three generations of mankind have accomplished for us more in mechanical apparatus than will ever be recorded in the history of invention. ()nr ancestors of ancient (Irecce and Rome were, without dispute, our superiors in art. sculpture, and oratory; yet they made but little progress and gave but little application to the laws of physical science. That the progress of the world would remain at a standstill is against the laws of nature, hence impossible; and as it is not at all improbable that the future mode of transportation will differ tn a greater extent from the present., than the present from the past, why not universal aerial navigation? "The ‘lunger and the chances of injury are too great.” say some. I hit every new invention has its skeptics. fter Icarus and the rest of the fabled living men of antiquity the first authenticated air craft appeared at the close of the eighteenth century, when the Montgolfier Brothers, sons of a wealthy paper manufacturer of France, held the attention of the whole world with a hot-air balloon. Spherical ballooning dates from that incident in the year 1783. Like all great inventions, it began on a small scale, until today we have the modern leviathans of the air. The Montgolfiers first began with small paper balloons, but these were soon followed by larger balloons of cloth, in which a sheep, a duck, and a chicken, were involuntary passengers. lint this became tiresome for the French gentlemen of that (lav, and the n y 7 spirit of human adventure strongly asserted itself. The King of I 'ranee, being both proud of and interested iti the work of the Montgolfiers, was in favor of sending two condemned criminals on a flight, but M. Pelatrie Dc Rosier earned immortal fame, as the French chroniclers put it. by his opposition to such a plan. “Y hat.” said he. “send two criminals into the royal atmosphere above us? Xo. 1 will go myself.” 'I he King, pressed by the will of his subjects, yielded very reluctantly to the courtier’s importunities, and four months later, a balloon was made of linen cloth, about seventy-eight feet high. The envelope had a wide mouth with an iron grate suspended across it. on which a fire was built. The morning of the ascension dawned bright and clear, and M. De Rosier, together with Marquis d’Arlarnes. started on the first excursion of mankind into the atmosphere above us. Fortunately a safe trip was made; no accidents being met with except the unfortunate burning of the envelope. The greater part of the world at that date, ignorant of the limitations of the atmosphere, grew over-enthusiastic and imagined it would be possible to visit the moon and the planets. From then on ballooning has been more or less perfected. Spaulding. Roberts, Pynchon. Bell, and many others have contributed much to this department of aeronautics practical, but with Santos Dumont rests the distinction ofT II E F K ES II M A X . 16 putting spherical and dirigible ballooning on the plane of practical usefulness I'or the last five years, there has been strenuous search for the practical solution of aerial flight. People of every class attempted the solution of this problem, having for their bond of association the common end of sky navigation. There is hardly a scientist of importance in the world today that has not expressed his views on this subject through the medium of long and learned essays. In all important scientific universities of Europe and of our own country, aerodynamics and the ‘accompanying experiments are included in the regular curriculum. The greatest problem, up to a few years ago, that the inventors of promising machines had to contend with, was the engine. I hit since the automobile is in such an advanced stage, it is much easier to acquire a light engine that will develop a sufficient amount of driving power. This is the reason for the increased activity in the .aeronautical field; for those who have given the subject sufficient consideration are convinced that the automobile manufacturers have developed in the gasoline motor, an en- gine powerful and light enough for aeronautical purposes. It is idle for people to suppose that those who have given their time and money to the advancement of aerial navigation. will not succeed: for to gainsay their success is to doubt the evolution of mankind towards perfection. Inventors do not give tip because of discourag-ment by the public, or danger to their persons. Some may lose their lives sutler the pangs of poverty and privation. and above all ridicule; but as time advances, the world changes sides and extends it helping hand to the deserving and the successful. Man once made his home in the caves of a hillside and nourished his body on the Jruil of the earth and for lack of roads used the trails made by wild beasts. Now. in the course of the evolution of man's nature, his spirit has been educated, and his mind trained, and made ready to appreciate the {light of man by mechanical means. The opportunity of developing an entirely new means of transit is within his reach and the mystery of aerial things, which has hardly been dreamt of by previous generations of man. may come to pass. (jKokck A. Nki.son.T !! l I- R ES II M A X . •7 alir SUurinr T itions how beneath his sway. 1 Kilims do lead him on his wav. Peoples tall beneath ids Monarch tremble at the sight ()f the warrior. Kverything he sees is Ids. I'or the braving of the arrow’s whiz. I 'verv country is his own. Kvery camping place the home ()f the warrior. lie is greatest of us all. Till they lay him in his pall. Then no more is he the best. As he takes the lasting rest ()f the warrior. Aikh.pm (i. SI’Tie . f18 T II E FR ESI I M A X . i Clir Drsrrt ffliranr L( ) VLY over the whitened mountain top. that rose as a buttress against the further march of the desert waste, appeared the blazing rim of the rising sun. glistening the distant snow peaks to dazzling brilliancy. On this side of the I Hue Ridge Mountains lies the Colorado canyon, the boundary between California and Arizona. St ruing to lose itself in the bosom of the earth, its upright banks- the silent markings of a life of toil—the (Irand Canon has been wrought through centuries of effort by the Master I land of Nature. To the west the canon looks on the southern part of California, and a more dreary sight could scarce be seen in those days when irrigation was almost unknown and when our present smiling farms were but barren fields of weeds. As far as the eye could see tlu wasted sands of the Mohave Desert stretched out. sparkling Heath the blazing sun and overcast with a deadly silence that bespoke some coming tragedy. As the sun rose higher, it disclosed two figures resting on the outskirts of this arid scene. A man and his horse were camped beside the Colorado river. The horse was grazing on a sickly patch of grass that grew along the river’s bank: now and then the beast would turn around to see if its master were still in sight. Soon the man arose, stretched his sinewy arms, saddled his mount and then swung himself into place on the horse’s back. lie was making for the 3 liar Ranch situated at the foot of the Coast Range and close to Buena Vista Lake, having come from lower Nevada to take charge of his uncle s outfit. In his letter of appointment. he was advised to follow the course of the Colorado for thirty mile 5 after it leaves the canon and then to make a short dash across the desert. Hut since supplies had failed he deemed it unwise to follow that long route, and chose to make an immediate break across the mountains and around Death alley to his destination. In this way his journey was shortened but 'twas a hard one for the horse as the roads were extremely rough and rocky: but he figured that a day’s hard journey would not hurt the beast as it could get a good rest when the camp was reached. With a light heart, therefore. Jim Lawson, sprang to his saddle and ascended the mountain side: the summit gained, he gazed in silence upon the sombre desert that lay far to the south and west, beneath him stretched the valley of a thousand tragedies—the Valley of Death. Slowly guiding his horse down the barred slope, he rode along the base. The sun was now high in the sky. the heat was over-bearing. Suddenly the ponv halted, turned its head looked at its rider, and then, without a sign of warning, was off across the unwatered wastes of Death Valiev. Jim was stunned by the quickness of the move: he pulled the reins, hut to no avad: he pleaded with the maddened brute as he often did when herding cattle. but the poor horse was crazed with the sweltering heat. Bv the time Law-son was able to collect his thoughts he was well into the valley: turning hi-, eves toward his destination, everywhere he saw the same, nothing but the still desert, its sun-baked sands reflected the sun’s rays and caused a sudden dizziness in the now terrified figure on the fleeing horse. W ater was Jim’s first thought. Water, the same thought that comes to all wanT II !•: I; R KS II M A x . derc r on that | arelic ! spot. Collecting lii en es. he realized that he was going deeper and deeper into the unchartered stillne of the murderous waste. A moment more and he was seeking a soft place on which to jump from the animal's back. Carefully poising himself, he made the leap. There was now hut one course, and that was to retrace his steps and trust tu Providence to save him. Murmuring a short prayer, a practice to which Jim was unaccustomed, he trudged on. I»y nightfall, he thought, he could reach the Colorado, where he was certain to find water. Mis tongue, now swollen twice its natural size, clung to the roof of his mouth, and fairly ached for want of the reviving lotion. 11 is eyes burned from the overpowering brilliancy of the noon-day sun. and his head throbbed with a dull dizzy ache. A few hours more, water and with it. safety would he his. ( hnvard he pressed, the sun growing hotter and seeming to mock his struggling efforts to cheat its strength, the desert glared at him. defying him to evade its deadly influence. Now hi feet were sore, the sands burned through the soles of his shoes, and his progress was extremely slow and painful. I hit knowing he must labor on or perish, he struggled all the more— every step an effort. Law son. now frantic with thirst, peered before him. and his eyes rejoiced at what lie saw. There not a mile away, a clear blue lake enamoured the attention of his longing eyes. Mere at las» in thi lake so newly found, was refuge from the over-bearing heat and stillness of the desert plain. Again he trudged on. hut now with gladdened expectation. Mis feet were painfully swollen from contact with the piercing heat of the sandy floor, their soles cracked and bleeding, hut he struggled on. 19 Then of a sudden, the waters receded, the wide blue lake became a scorched gully. The mirage had led him on and then melted into the silence of the failing sands. Was this the water he had hoped would save his life? Jim threw himself on lrs knees and his arm outstretched, sorrowfully surveyed the circling barren: to the east were the hills he had 0 hopefully left that morn, and as he gazed at them he wondered at the fate of the fugitive animal. Look where he would, his eyes could see no water, no comfort. Maddened, he gouged his tired fingers into the burning sands in |iicst of his lone desire, water. I le dug until his nails fell off and his finger tips were running blood that dried and caked as it dropped upon the scorched bosom of the plain. Then with a groan and a piteous wail that told of his sad plight, he fell prone on his face and silently awaited the death that would release him from this unrelenting heat. Slowlx raising his aching head, he gazed into the east, and there again he saw that mirage of water that had beckoned him across the desert and left him there to die. With a hollow laugh, he flung his weary form towards the hiring spectre, and again cast himself to die. alone and forgotten in that neglected region of heat and silence. 'File sun. whose lurid rays had led him on and then struck him low. was now setting. Just as Satan tempts to sin. and having conquered, leaves his victim to conscience and remorse, so had the sun lured the man to brave the arid plain and then had left him helpless and forlorn to die in that desolate waste, far from the world of comfort and relief. The last purple ray of the departing sun had sunk beneath the western mountain, when the moon, following the custom of the scene, rose silently to pass its nightly vigil o’er the scorched20 T II K I ' K K S II M A X . plain. Its silvery beams shrouded the desert with a pall of "loom as it rested after its day of tragedy. No sound broke the solemn stillness ot‘ the night, nothing to see but the now-cooling sands, the ghastly guardian of the night, and the distant stars, gazing peacefully at the sleeping world. The light of the moon fell upon the unconscious Lawson near the outskirts of Death alley—and then the stars, as wicked children peeking through the sky to look on a forbidden sight, strove to catch a glimpse ol the prostrate figure felled bv the power of their guardian, the sun. As morning neared, a hand of cowboys roaming by the mountain’s base descried the prostrate form of a stricken fellow, with quickened step they pushed on to the spot and in a few minutes were beside the unconscious Lawson. Tenderly, they raised him on a pony dried his swollen lips with generous quarts of water, and started for the cooling Colorado, that silent figure had so gladly left but a morn-ago. Across the sombre waste, the "low ly departing moon followed the procession shielding them with its borrowed rays, dropping cool shafts to light the way but now to roast the sands to deadly work The stars peeked in silence through the studded sky. and as the men neared the mountain base, they all withdrew, seeking their rest beneath the motle mantle of the coming dawn. In the morning the sun rose again looking in vain for the victim of it" day-old heat. Sweeping the plain with "beets of dame, it sought some new wanderer to lure to death in the nil watered wastes of the sun’s graveyard. Death alky. Ciias. I I. ko!.i C. ri.Mi-:i.i .T II F I K FS II M A X . 2 I Stmijjmi rrra —N scanning the past of California. d) nu more striking figure appears to us than Fr. Junipero Serra. the ] riest who ilcvoted his life to spreading the (iospel in the new world and to establish it by his misisons. W hat indomitable energy, what ceaseless activity what hardship and struggle he expended can he estimated by the mighty monument' whose ruins stand today on southern soil. Thi' champion of Christ first saw the light in the Island of Majoria, Spain, in 1713. 1IC early years found him studious and devout and tilled with but one idea to consecrate his life to the service of the altar. Filtering the convent of San llernardino. he prosecuted the classical studies with much distinction until the age of sixteen when he entered the I ranci'can )rder. ()f this, he became a luminary, and shed much luster on the sons nf the Seraph Saint by his arduous and lasting toil in the new world. It was not until the year 1749 that Junipero took sail from his well beloved Spain en route for the missionary fields of far away western Pacific. I -ike St. Paul lie underwent hunger and shipwreck which were ! him as the furnace to the gold, and after much tribulation he landed on the coast of Mexico where he went through nineteen years of strug-g'e. The Jesuits being expelled from their missions by the inquisitors' edict of Charles III of Spain. 1769. Serra was appointed President of the missions and was 'cut to Lower California. Ilis hope was realized. I le was a missioner in New Spain. With a heroic little hand he set out for his new fields against the wishes of his many friends. Nothing could deter him—not even an inflamed leg. from which he was suffering most acute pain—from making the journes afoot and in most inclement weather. Cnspeakable tortures and hardships were his constant companions, but in spite of it all he walked triumphant through a dreary ten months and arrived at San Diego in May, 1769. Mere he planted a rude cross which was the cornerstone of Californian civilization From this point went forth Fr. Crespi with a party having Portola as its leader, to discover Monterey Pay. They missed it and continued sixty leagues to the north where they found a most beautiful and tranquil sheet of water which they named after their beloved founder. St. Francis. After six months they returned to San Diego to find their companions in a sorry plight. Serra lying at death’s door. Portola hastened hence to Vellicata where he found saving provisions for his stricken companions. ()nce the afflictions of the camp were stayed the party started for Monterey—the much debilitated Junipero going by sea. The bay was found and Monterey was taken possession of first in the name of the church and then in the name of New Spain. The following fifteen years of struggle were marked bv the most heroic achievements: but Serra's endurance was limitless. Mis courage in depressing circumstances and his trust in the omnipotence of the Maker led him to conquer odds which were sometime' too much even for the bravest. San Diego mission was reduced to ashes and the presiding priest cruelly murdered by the hostile Indians. Put this blood of the martyr was to be the seed of Christians and Serra recognized it. Ihnlaunted heT II E !♦ R ES II M A X . raised from the ruins a house of prayer to (iod and turned the stony Redman to he its most devout worshipper. When the missions are in starvation we see him walking 240 miles in quest of food and returning laden. To baptize the children was his insatiable passion. To preach the word of (iod was his aim. ( )ften was he found in the pulpit beating his unbared chest with a sharp stone and applying burning torches to his flesh in order to do penance for his lowly auditors and to illustrate hell’s torments. “To labor is to pray.” said the old solitaries. Serra. before death closed his eyes, founded nine missions— San Diego. San Carlos. San Antonio. San Gabriel. San Luis Obispo. Mission Dolores (San Francisco). San Juan Cap istrano. Santa C lara and San lUtena Ventura. He would come to one of. these places, raise a cross on high and build a booth about it. The ground and booth he consecrated and christened with the name of a saint and celebrated holy mass. With this simple ceremony over he left two of his friars in charge with some soldiers to guard them. All that these could call their own were several head of cattle and some seed. Krom this humble beginning mighty institutions arose. In upper California alone. 5143 Indians were converted to Christ in a short time and lived a thoroughly civilized Christian life. Immense fields were operated in which the Indians toiled. For recompense they received food, clothing and education. With absolutely no worry they lived care free. The morning Angelus roused them from slumber and summoned them to the holy sacrifice. fter breakfasting they labored till the hour of eleven when they would lunch and rest. At two o’clock they resumed work until relieved bv the sound of the Angel’s evening song. Supper over, they had their games, races and dances which they entered into with a spirit of inno cent mirth. The illustrious founder of so noble a work was not destined to survive it long. For many years he was suffering from heart trouble, but this, the inevita ble cause of his death, could in no wis«» restrain his ardor nor stop his attempt at a thorough visitation of all his missions. Though worn and very lame he journeyed on foot from San Diego to Monterey and then to San Carlos where he remained in broken health. ()n the evening before his death luni-pero Serra repaired to the church to receive the last holy rites. The service fo» the dying was read and our holy man summoned all his strength to answer the prayers. Returning to his cell he sank on his rough couch and prayerfully awaited the coming end. ()utside the covered walks knelt the Indians and around his bedside knelt his brethren With a last faint effort he raised his hand to bless them and with the “cum spiritu saucto" his spirit winged it flight to its God. On the spot where he had labored so long Fr. Junipero Serra sleeps in eternal peace. His grave Once green with the verdure placed there with loving hands now is o’er steeped with the ruins of the stone church of San Carlos. 'The thousands of acres about, once the smiling fields of the Indians, are now in strange hands that revere not the hallowed past. Hut all was not in vain. Though Serra sleeps in the ruins of bis work, his Christlike spirit has gone forth and has conquered cities and the hearts of men. Johx J. Scin.APpr.T II E E R ES II M A X . 23 daloary’a (Crnaa (Planted by Archbishop Wemany many years ago,on a mountain overlooking the city.) edemption's sign! I plitted High o’er the western title: t h! tell the varied stories That in thy breast reside: The tales of wild adventure: The tales of bitter woe: The tales of holy comfort That set thy heart aglow. Alas! the proud invader ho trod this hallowed spot. W ho scorned my saving lessons And my warnings soon forgot. Mis wailings ever haunt, me As the dismal night wind howls: When earth and sea are shrouded His spirit ’round me prowls. I’ve watched the storm tossed billows Dash 'gainst the (iolden (late. With the lightning from the heavens Sealing mortals' fate. I-or years I've stood to brave it— guide to point the way I nto the realms of gladness I ’nto eternal day. I've seen the Jasons enter. The burnished strait below. In quest of gold and treasure: nd I’ve seen them go Proudly sailing to the sea Rich with their yellow gain. I’ve seen them ride the billows. I've seen them dashed amain. The just are gently sleeping In the shadow where I fall: And calmly they are waiting (iabriel's judgment call. P.ut throngs around me gather And listen to my voice— These turn my tears to gladness— These make my heart rejoice: Led by the sons of Francis They climb the way through me That leads where bask the nations 'Xeatli the sun of eternity. — I’RANCIS J. ('RKEI)K.JKrrfihnum (Sitting at the UiUa by llir £ ra AFTER a long session of hard study the Freshman Class and its professors looked forward with genuine pleasure to the annual outing. In High School a day’s picnic was considered sufficient recreation, hut the increased study and “dignity” accompanying the name of “Freshman" required an excursion of at least two days. Through the kindness of Rev. Fr. R. A. (Ileeson, S. J. we were granted the freedom of Man-resa. a delightful villa overlooking the placid waters of the blue Monterey I lay. After a month of preparation, we were at last off for the finest time we had ever experienced. And then when we arrived there and gazed about in silent admiration of the encircling beauty, ejaculations of wonder and appreciation escaped the lips of all. The Villa commands an unobstructed view of the water. There not a ship was seen, no sign of man’s hollow conquest over the deep. The bay was as smooth as glass; the sunbeams played among the wavy hills and valleys with sparkling energy. The billows charged upon the seemingly primeval shore with an unrelenting persistency to reach the rocky bluff that stood as a hairier to their advance. Turning, we behold the mountain clothed in all the splendor of its virgin growth. There we see a farm house nestling amid the shelter of an orchard: and far beyond the towering summits of the Santa Cruz Mountains peer above a grove of giant redwoods. We do not wonder when told that this is where the fathers of the Society of Jesus seek a retreat from the bustling activity of college life. Again we survey the surrounding glories and utter a mental “Laud ate ” 'Then of a sudden we are startled bv the shrill whistle of a locomotive and snatched from our Eden and thrown again into the world of progress and action. but the sweetness of that stolen dream shall ever remain with 11s. Dropping our luggage in the house we all raced to the beach to enjoy the indescribable pleasure of a dip in the surf In mad haste we jump into our suits and all made a wild run to revel in the ever-advancing breakers. Oh! the glory of a plunge in those playing waves! Enlivened with renewed energy, we dress hurriedly and return to the house. “And what a sight was there.” The sizzling of steaks, the mashed jx tatoe the aroma of coffee, all uniting to increase our ravenous appetites. We can neve repay ilia1 (Jood Samaritan who gave up the pleasure of a swim to prepare our dinner: but we are sureT 11 E F K E S 11 M A X . thu on Reckoning Day lie will gain a high place tor his generous services. ()ur table was set in the open, amid a groping field of grain; and as tile last dish was cleared away, we turned to view a glorious sunset on the water. I never could do justice to a description of our ensuing joys. A moonlight walk through the canon and a grove ot palms completed that day's outing, and returning, we rolled in our blankets and gazing into the starry realms above dropped oft into a welcome slumber. And then I dream, a beast of prey is at ni side. I awake to gaze into the light of a dickering lantern while a voice commands me to “get up and see the comet. ’ I jump up and join in the sport of arousing our sleeping fellows. Soon all are awakened. I;ar to the east we gaze and finally a keen eye shouts, “I see it.” And sure enough driving amid the accustomed stars is the intruder who has come to glide across the picture of the heavens. At first the comet seems out of place hut as we gaze it grows in beauty and magnificence and soon it is an integral part of the firmament. It holds our awestruck gaze until it falls a victim to the brilliant rays of the coming dawn. Then we manage to snatch an hour’s sleep. As a fitting start to the day. which was Ascension Thursday, we all heard mass. There upon a rude altar in the villa was offered up the body of Him for whom we live. Xo choir to extol 11 is praises with chants of melody, no marble pillars to adorn 11 is home, only a rough altar and a hand of twenty-two adoring souls, yet the simplicity of mass in that beauti- ful scene surpassed the splendor of the grandest cathedral. After breakfast in which we heartil indulged, we tried a game of baseball This over, it’s hack to the beach for another swim. And how we did enjoy it' This time the whole party of twenty-three plunges in and delights to revel in the waves. Then we lounge about in the sand, forming in groups and chatting. Having gone hack to the house, preparations were made for our last meal We resolve to make it one never to be forgotten. A lamb is secured from a neighboring ranch and we start a barbecue. My power of description is too limited to attempt an account of it. suffice to sav that we consumed it all. including the inevitable beans, potatoes and coffee. With no little reluctance, we make preparations for our departure. Cameras have been clicking all the time but now all are busy snapping groups, scenery and individuals. Pleasures of this life are fleeting and it was not long before we were hoarding the train for home. As the train pulled out we looked back upon that scene where we spent such a ha] pv time, again we contemplate the glories that Xature has spread around the vilb « Then our backs turned to pleasure we return, refreshed, to conquer a month of repetitions and to weather the gruelling storm of a week of examinations. I »ut even now we recount with joy the many happy incidents of those two days we spent at Manresa. the villa by the sea. John If. Grady.I II K I- K ICS II M A X . 2( Alaska Jim Jim Coppens—Known as Alaska Jim. Dan Salter—A gambler, late of Circle City. Steve W illiams—Resident of Alaska. Tony Lasan—A French Canadian. John Cory—A profligate. Scene—Coppens’ cabin. Flambeau Alaska. I'imc—About 8:30 I . M., the middle of October, 1903. Discover Coppens seated in C. near table, smoking. Kilter Will C.. his coal buttoned tightly about him. Will—llrrr—Evenin’ Jim. Cop.—Oh. howdy Steve; wal how’s everything? Will (unbuttoning coat)—Oh. fair, same as usual. My. she sartin are cold out! Cop—Won’t be long fore we have snow. Will—W e ll have it fore mornin.’ Cop—I fear so. W’ill—When it begins up here we get all we wants of it. Leastways I do— lounging about, the grip sets in. Cop—Sit down that by the fire an be comfitablc. Got your pipe? I got some 0 Gibbons’ new tobacco thar. W ill—Xo; but I reckon I’ll sit down awhile. Whar’s Tony, out? Cop—lie aint come home yet: don’t know what’s keepin’ him. Will—Cnusual. ain’t it? Cop—Wal, it’s not every niglu. Even Tony has business, sometimes. His mine, I reckon. Will—Tim. I want to tell you something. I11 the middle o last summer, as 1 suppose you recollects, you an me had quite a talk with a sartin individual bout bey in’ our laws, an’ the wust of it was. he didn’t take it peaceful like at all. C p—Salter? ill—Yup. Well you mind how he went away after that, we don’t know whar. Wal today— Cop—Do you mean lie’s come back." W ill—Yes, sar, that’s just it. I hit I want to tell you. this morning I saw him talking with Tonv. Cop—W ith Tony ? ill—You weren’t here at the time, so I let it until now. Cop—That gambler, what can he be tip to now? Can you think, Steve? W ill—Xo; but there’s something more. Cop—I lout Salter? W ill—Yes. I was at the barracks the most part of the day; anyhow, about noon Salter shambles in with another. I didn’t pay much attention to the latter, for I was all eyes upon Salter. He spoke all right at first, 011 no one thing or other, as though he had forgotten all about our little mix-up. pretendin’, you know. Finally he came to his point. ‘’Williams.” says he. “this is I lob Fallon.” At that I looked to the stranger, and Jim, could you think who it was? Cop—Don’t suppose I could. Will—Cory. Cop—Cory? Good God. did Tony see him ? W’ill—Xo. fpau.se). Cory don’t know me but I knows him. I knew Salter was lying, but 1 didn’t let on to it. I fe wanted 11s to take Cory into Flambeau to run a mine of his. Cop—Run a mine? Xot Salter. He makes his money at the card table or the point of a gun; that’s how. Will—Anyhow, that’s what he told me. Fallon, he said, was a right good man. and he was the one to run it. Cop—We've had enough of Cory; we won't stand for any murderer or thiefTil !•: F R KS II M A X . 2 here. I k ’ the one who shot Tory, who made the |x or fellow what he is. you Know. What, the man that did this come here? lie dare. Will—That's how I take it. Cop (pause)—What did you tell him. Steve ? Will—Mr. Fallon, I says, you’ll have to see Alaska Jim about that. C op— iood ! W ill—At that Cory turned away sick like. Cop—Ami Salter? W ill—He flares up indignant, and demands a reason. "Salter.” says 1. "we’ve had an understanding before: you’ve got to see Jim C’oppens about this, and that settles it.” and at that I walked away. Cop- It was the right thing. Steve, (arises, pause), but I wonder if he will come? Salter may make a fight, lie’s that kind, but Cory, has got to go. Will—A tolerable bad one. Cop—Yes, but for another reason. Will—What is that? Cop-—Tony. He’s lost a good part of his mind. Rut good God, if—I just say—if he remembers Cory. 1 don’t want anything like that l come on him now. Will—Xo. Co| —It’s ten years now. Steve, ten years. When the winters would set in and the summers pass away, the long dreary nights before the fire, the quiet hours with our pipes, 1 had most forgot that man. I tried to. but 1 knew, something told me. that he would come back to blur everything. Will—I reckon not, Jim. Cop- laska is a great country, Steve, she’s bad and she’s good, just as winter and summer. Will—We’ll fix it. Coppens, bv tomorrow night we’ll have all Flambeau with us. Cop—He brings nothing good with him. that’s sartin : the sooner it’s done the better. ( Will arises and moves to door.) W ill—It’s not quite snowin,’ but I’ll be on my way. Cop—A bad night out, eh Steve? For Tony, specially. Will—Well, you’ve got what there is. Jim. Cop—(shakes hands) I thank ye Steve. Yes sar an’ I know I’ve a good man with me. Will—What’s for the good of Flambeau is that to he done, says I. Wal. night, Jim. Cop—Good night. Steve: I may be over in the morning. Will—Xight. (Exit Will. Cop. pauses—business—goes to l . and commences to arrange the blankets on the floor.) (The door in C. opens slowly and quietly. Enter Hasan. Me is nervous and walks fearfully to L.. he continually clutches his right coat pocket Cop turns and sees him.) Cop—Tony? (Las turns quickly.) Las—Jim ? Cop—(approaching him)—What is it, lony? Las—What is it? I dunno deres noting. Cop—Look at me. Tony, what is it: I .as—I )ere’s noting. Cop—Can’t 1 see? Why man you’re shaking like a leaf. Ye ain’t ill, be ye? 'Fell me, Tony, what is it? Las—Wid me, Jim, dunno. 1 cold tnebbe? Cop—Xo, it ain’t that, you’re keepin back something. Tony, you know. 1 don’t like that. You wouldn’t want me not to like you? I.as—Xo, no. no (hastily) you like Tony? Cop—Then tell me. Las—(pause, business)—Zit is destvT II K I K ES N M A N • 28 mebbe? (shows Cop handful of nuggets. ) Cop—W hat he them? Las—I»y de light, sec—He’s good one. yes? You lak deni, yes? Cop—Nuggets, Tony ? I .as—Yes. C op—They are. I lip. so the mine's boomed up at last; wal. that's right fortunate: I’m glad of it. Tony: you won’t work hard any more. My. they're sparklers, ain’t they? Shine like the midnight sun. Las—l»ut I (loan lak deni. Cop—You don’t like them? Meanin’ they're no good? I»ut they are. Tony? Las—He’s good; they’s good ones, yes. but dese is bad place. Cop—A bad place, ves, but you won't have to put up with it long now. Not with a mine that has the likes of this. Las—Once I lak dese country, it been so much to me. ()ut in dem hills is lak in big garden. Dese men dev treat me good. but. Jim. you been 111a lies frieti. Cop—I hit why. Tony, who would be otherwise? Las—I work hard. den. I try to be good. I try to pay you back. You poor man. yes? Cop—I'm poor, but as long as we can eat ? Las—Den mebbe you (loan live here so long too: you go to the big country, yes? An Tony go with you. Cop—(aside)—There’s something on his mind (to Las) go away? No. Tonv. the north has been my friend for twelve mighty years. Las—Mebbe the bad man make you go ? Cop—W hat, drive me out? Las—If dey shoot? If dev—? Cop—(looking steadily at Las. who is uneasy)- I guess it won’t come to that. (Las in deep thought) (pause.) Las—I»ut dere is had man dat would kill? Cop—No there aint. Tony. Las—Dat Salter, he would kill. Cop—That’s what I was waiting for. Las—hastily)—No, no, no, uh. 110 Jim ( from his manner, it is very evident lm fears something.» Cop—I las that man been threatening you? Speak Tony? Las—No. no. Cop—I’m your friend, now, if ever you had one. Won’t you tell me? W as Salter threatening you or not? Las—He did not threaten me: no. no Cop—Not at all. Tony? Ilccause if he has, Tonv— Las—No. Cop—Was he—talking to you today? Las—Today? No. no. I (loan see him today: no, no. Cop—Tony, (nods bead) you warn’t never like this before. Las—Jim, you got de papers for de mine? Cop—Yourn. yes. Las—You hide him. yes? Cop—Why ? Las—Den you keep dem an you tak de mine. Cop—Me take it? Las—You tak him. ves, lie’s goot one now. lie’s big one. planty gold. lie mak Alaska Jim rich man. Cop—It’s von that’ll i.e the rich man. Tony. Las—No. no. you not got de papers in de cabin, no? Cause uf dey burn de cabin you (loan lose dem? Cop—There pretty safe. I reckon. Las—An Tony (loan know where, no? Cop—No. Las—Dat is goot: you will tak de mine, yes? Cop—How do you mean, run it for you ? Las—No you keep it. I give to you.T II E F K ES II M A X . Cop- Xot that, Tony, I’ll run it, make it pay. Las— o, no, cause you been goot fricn tt Tony, you help him. you give him everything, an Tony (loan have nothing to give big Jim. I kit’s why I give you le mine. C op—I hit you don ’t understand. Tony. Las—Yes, I understand—ves—now von will take him? Cop—No. Tony, I couldn't do that. Las—Yas you tak him. you mak me happy den ? Cop—No. 'Pony (patting him on the shoulder L that’s not why von got tie mine to give it away, hut rather to work it. to get some good of it. Las—(pause) — Den you won’t take it. Jim? (with emotion.) It mak me cry. Jim. cause 1 work hard. I pray lak de fader teach me. (rudely makes sign of the cross, and lifts hands devoutly). I pray I he lucky, and strike him rich, den I have somting to give Jim—now he won’t take it from—Den Tony won’t tak it. too—I shuck him away, (picks up nuggets from table, he then proceeds toward the door, and is about to open it and throw the nuggets out when Cop speaks.) C’op—Tony, don’t do that. Las—Den von will tak him? Cop—I’ll take it then, and we’ll work it. you and I. W e’ll make them sit up and take notice. The nr’ne that has nuggets like these. Pony, stands alone in all Alaska. Las—Yes. yes (gleefully), den mebbe we go to some other big country, yes? Cop—W’e’ll sec the Cnited States then. (Nearing Las.) You're happy now. eh? Yes. an’ I'm mighty glad o’ that. You may be lackin' in some things. Pony, but you’ve a heart as big as the world. Exit Cop. L. (Las stands in L. grati- 2S) Pi.-d.) Enter Sal. stealthily, approaches Las roughly. Las frightened. Sal—Lasan ? Las—(turning) You—had man. you go way. Sal—Did you tell him bout that miner If you did. remember—you took them nuggets arterall. Las—No. no. vou go way. you bad man. Sal—I came here for somethin’ an I 11 get it fore I leave. Las—You would kill? Sal—Shhh. (pushes Las aside, and assumes an easy position.) ( Enter ( op. he goes to C. and then sees Salter.) Sal—Evenin.’ Jim. Cop—Did you knock fore you came in here. Salter? Sal—Knock? W hy. yes—didn’t I. Lasan ? Las—(uneasy) Yes. yes. (Cop now discerns the trouble, and looks intently from Las to Salter.) Cop—(to Las) Pony? (moves to L.) (surprised, be turns to Sal.) Cop—Now I see. so it is you. Sal—Me? What do you mean? Cop—I guess you know. So ibis is the kind of men you fall on, is it. Salter 1 (pointing to Las.) Sal—I must say. Jim. tin’s is new to me. I don’t see any significance in it. leastways.— Cop—A serpent tongue like yourn co’dd preach some hellish religion. Sal—See here, let’s you an’ me have an understanding. Cop—I think we had an understanding. Sal—W'c had an understanding, yes. but whether you take it kindly now or not. you’ve got to answer me this. Cop—I have? Sal—-That’s what you have. Coppcns. Cop—Are you tryin’ to run this town, are vou?30 Til I- F K ES II M A N . Sal—No, but confound it. you’re running it as you wish and by no means justly. Cop —We ain’t, you say? Sal—That’s what you ain’t. Coppens— there ain’t another mining town up here run like this. Cop—Then it’s nigh time they would be when they seed the likes of you and Cory. Sal—(indignantly) Do you mean Cop-pens? Cop—That’s just what I mean. Sal—You take care sir— Cop—Was that to frighten me? Wait (turns to Las) Tonv. go up to Gibbons’ will you. and get the provisions I had ordered ? Las—The traders? Cop—Yes. that’s a good man. and right away, will you. Tony? l.as—Yes. Cop—Do you want a coat? Las—Xo, I be right back, (nearing door, he whispers) An Jim. you will watch out. ves? Cop—Oh. that’s all right. (Exit Las. Cop closes door) (to Sal) Now we can talk. Sal—And we will talk. Now Coppens Cop—Easy there,— Sal—What I want to say is. I ain’t over cool headed. I ain't, and it may be a little dangerous to irritate me. Cop—That’s likely enough. Sal—It may be extremely so. Cop—Still likelier. Sal—You’re taking it cool enough. Coppens? Cop—I always do. Sal—Now you listen—I came ncre for something. I did. and you’re going to give it (Cop still unmoved), now you see here. Coppens. your provokin’ me I’m arter something, an’ T want it. Cop—You do. and if you don’t get it? Sal—If anything ill comes of this. Coppens. you’re bringing it on yourselt. Cop—M canin’? Sal—What I’m generally arter. I get. Cop—Generally, eh? Sal—That’s what I said. Cop—An’ it ain’t never happened to come agin you.' Sal—Xo. Cop. (vehemently)—Then. Salter, take it that it will now. for I’m goin’ to make it that hot for you. that you'll pray to get out. Sal—You’ll do this? Cop—1 will, both to you and this murderer Cory. Sal—Corv? I think. Coppens,— Cop—Yes Cory, and not Fallon. Do you think that we would let him stay in Flambeau? Do you? Sal—ballon is all T knowed him by. Cop—You lie. Sal—-What ? Cop—I say you lie. Ten years ago when Cory shot Lasan you didn’t know him? When he bunked, grubbed, when he worked with you? Sal—Flow do you know all this? Cop—Cause I trailed him until he was well over the border line—and poor Lasan in Dawson near dead. Why shouldn’t I know it? Why Cory when cornered in a Circle City gamblin’ place, even said you—you made him. Sal—He lied. Cop—Xevertheless it’s black and white agin you. Sal—And you’re of that opinion, too. eh? Cop—Yes. Sal—What, that T made him? Co|)—Will you answer me a question? Sal—Sec here now,— Cop—Yes or no. Sal—T don’t sec what that’s got to do with it. Cop—Will you answer?Til K r K ES II M A N . 3 al—(pauses) ) es. ('op—On the level? Sil—Why not? Cup—When you applied at the bar racks yesterday for Cory’s admission you didn’t know he was remembered here. Now you know it and you’ve dropped it. well and good. But my question. Yhv did you want C ory here? Sal—Why? Cop—Steve W illiams told me you had a mine? Sal—Was he here? Cop—Yes-—Now do you think. Salter, that I would believe that, knowin’ you as 1 do? S tl—Believe it or not, it’s true. Cop—That you’ve got a mine? On the level, now? Sal—Yes, 1 have. Cop—And you’ve worked on it? Sal—For nigh on three months. Cop—What is it. placer or bench? Sul—Placer. Cop—Ear from here? Sal—The second ridge. ( op—-( surprised ) Second ? (aside) 'Pony—(to Sal) Have you got the pain rs? Sal—1 tiled an application, but they haven’t attended to them yet. Expect them any time. Cop—The second ridge? The three Miles brothers got claims staked there, and George Seaton, are you near them? (Sal stunned.) Are von? Answer me Whc •rever it is. I’m going to see it—no land jumping here. Salter. Is it near any of these? (pause.) Sal—(indignant) Why confound it all. Coppens. Cop—Will vou give me the location? Sal—I’ll tell you. yes. but it doesn’t mean that you’ll get it. Since you must know, it is between the Miles and Seator. claims. ( o«»—(amazed, flares up) It is? Thief, dog. You dare. That’s Kasan’s mine. You’ve said that you’ve worked on it; if you have, it will be mighty hard with vou. for I run 'Pony’s mine from tonight oil. It’s mine, do you understand ? You came here for the papers, don’t I know? but thank God they’re where no thief of your type can lay hands on them. Good God. there isn’t a death good enough for a cur that would do this. Poor Hasan. poor Pony, there was a time when he could stand agin the like of you. and I wish to Heaven he could now. You’re a low beast. Salter. Sal—You call me this? You’re making a brave stand, so as you can keep it yourself, but you won’t. I’ll swear to that. Cop—You will? I’ll meet you at your own game, Salter—and when it’s done I’ll hound you until you’ve cleared Alaska miles and miles. I’ll mark you so that not even the Injuns will grub you. It’s goin’ to be a fight. Salter. Rut you play fair (Sal makes a quick move to grasp his gun. but Cop sees him) Get your hand off that, you’re a dangerous man with a gun. Corv is bad. but he isn’t half as bad as you are. I’ve found that out. Rut you’ll pay for it. you’ll pay for it. Now get out (opens door.) Sal—Coppens,— Cop—Get out. (Sal moves to threshold.) Sal—This game is just beginning you’ll find that out. (Exit Sal. C. Sal is seen through window gun in hand Coo. suspecting this, crouches near to wall, lie remains thus for a moment, and when Sal has disappeared, he slowly grasos a blanket from near him. and slowly nicks it up. Sal again appears and then disaooears. Cop listens in-tentlv. then stealthily moves to window and throws blanket over it. ITe then peers into the next room. Quietly steal-T II E F K ES H M A X . ing over to the lamp, he extinguishes it. and taking another blanket goes into the next room. Enters again, goes to table, relights the lamp and begins quietly to till his pipe.) ( I ause) Knock is heard Cory—(without) Open, Jim, open (Knocks) Open. (Cop walks wearily to door and opens it.) Enter Corv, Cop startled. t ’ p—You ? Cory—Yes, but wait. Cop—Wait? Don’t I see your game? You of all men. Corv. There's no game. Jim: leastways not agin you. Cop—None agin me? I reckon. Cory. I know yon too well. Cory—For Cod’s sake. Jim. another time, they’ve got poor Lasan. Cop—Got Tony? Who? Corv—Salter, his gang. Cop—What ? Cory—W hat I sav. Jim Coppens. is the truth. He was gagged and taken to the quarry. Cop—The quarry? Tony, and on a night like this? Cory. 1 don’t know this may be a game, there may be a dozen guns waiting for me out there, but I’ll take the chance: they’ve got Lasan: I’ll take the chance. (Grasps hat and moves hastily to the door: Cory bars passage.) Cory—No. Coppens. don’t. Cop—So you have a game, eh? (grasps nistol) I ’ll pass there Cory or.— Cory—There's no dozen, but there’s one. and you’d be rash to face that. Cop—I hit Lasan? Cory—What there was to do out there has already been done. Cop—You mean? Cory—I’ve told them at the barracks. Williams and bis men will get the gang and save Lasan. I hit Salter is the one we want. Xow will you listen? Cop—(pause) You did this Cory? Cory—Jim, I swear. Cop—And now you mean to get Salter. you his?— Cory—Don’t speak of that, please don’t. If you knew him as I do.—as.— as poor Lasan does.—that Salter is the devil himself. It was he made me what I am,—and poor Lasan.— Cop—Lasan? What has he clone to him ? Cory—What? It’s nothing to rob him of his mine.—but to beat him, too. and Lasan what I had made him.— Cop—Salter did this? I’ll get him,— I’ll,— Cory—Ah. then you lister, our chance is tonight. Cop—Tonight ? Corv—Jim. do you know why I was sent here? (’op—Sent ? Cory—Yes, by Salter, all was planned before we came in Flambeau. When he had left here. I was to come, a quarrel would naturally arise. I was then to.— Cop—Shoot ? Cory—That was my part of it. When that was done Salter would join me to ransack the place for the papers, burn it down and then a quick get away. Cop—Salter is rotten to the heart. Corv—If you knew him as I do. but volt don’t, vou couldn’t.—and all this is for Lasan’s mine. Jim. it’s the greatest thing up here. Cop—Don’t I know it? Cory—Then fight that Salter doesn’t get it. fight until we get him where he belongs. (C’orv goes to window and looks out.) I can’t see him. but lie’s up there, iust waiting to hear the shots. Xow. Jim. to work. I hit wait. There’s n window in tint room, ain’t there? Cop—Yes. Corv—Then I'll take a look through that. (Exit Cory L., Cop goes to door and looks in.)THE FRESHMAN. 33 Cop—I think Corv is on the square ( Pause.) lory-—(entering) No. I cant see anything. I hit we ll try it. l ake that corner. Jim. with vour gun (pointing to the L.) All right, now 1 11 shoot. (Shoots twice, pauses and hoots once again; they await the outcome in silence. ) lory—(slowly) He may have sus- pected. I tut, no—(a knock) (Cory shows himself through window, opens door. Enter Sal I ., gun in hand. Cory shuts door.) Cop—(to Sal) Drop that gun. (Sal turns amazed.) Drop it I say. (Sal drops it to door, turns to Cory.) Sal—You did this Cory? Corv—Yes, but you've run me long enough. Cop—(to Corv) (let that gun away and search him. (Cory kicks gun toward Cop. searches Sal for another weapon. hut finds none.) No more, eh? There’s some rope in that next room, get it. (Turns as he tells this to Cory. Sal reaches stealthily to an inner shirt for a secreted weapon. Cop turns hastily and sees him.) Stop that. (Sal mortified.) ( Enter Cory E with rope.) (To Cory) lie has another gun in his shirt, the left side. (Cory gets it and hands it to Cop who put it on table with his own.) Now well tie him. (Sal sees Cop unarmed and approaching him. grasps for something in his hip. Cop seizes Sal’s arm. swings him about takes the knife and throws it to the fioor.) (To Sal. as he holds his arm. viciously) I'll break it. I’ll break it. (Sal groans.) (Cop throws him to floor and stands over him menacingly.) (iet up now. (Sal arises slowly. Cop and Cory hind his hands to his baek.) Enter Will and Las. C. Will—So you got him. eh. Jim? Cop—Yes, thanks to Corv, here. Will—It as he who put us on our job too. Cop—We’ve been sadly mistaken in him. Steve. Cory—(speaking to Las) Rut he won’t never do it again. Tony. Cop—(to Las) Yes, old man. all will he well. now. I heard everything. Will—Yes. sir. well, this is our man. eh ? Cop—You bet, and guard him well Steve. Will lie won’t get away. I reckon. It was quite a night, after all. wasn’t it Jim? Cop—It sure was. Steve. Will—(to Sal) Well, von go ahead (To Cop) We'll file all the charges in the morning. Well, night. Jim. Tony, good night. Cory. Cop, Las—(iood night, (l ory hows, i Exit W ill and Sal, ( . Cop—(to Las who is now seated in R.) Wal. Tony? Las—Jim, de trader say he doan have no provision for von. Cop—I know. Tony. I just wanted von away from Salter, that’s all. (Cory, who has been standing in I... walks to door in C. Cop turns and sees him.) Corv—I reckon I’ll be goin’ now. Jim. rts,— Cop—Where to? Cory—Where? To the mountains,— anywhere. Cop— Not tonight? Resides I reckon it’s mighty lonesome livin' in the mountains. Con—It may he.—but.— Cop—Cory, it was a great thing you did tonight. Cory—I’m glad you think so. Jim. Cop—I do. and I pride you for it. yes f.om my very heart. Because you’ve served Torn well, what vou'vc done has ¥ • brought new life to him. When I think34 T II E F R ES II M A X . of ten years back, when I trailed yon far across the Yukon, and high in the range, hoping, praying, at last to conic upon you. but I couldn’t and my hate was the more bitter. It’s a sad recollection now. Cory, and Cod only knows my regret. I’ll try hard, and I want you to forget it. and Salter, and everything that’s past as well. All that I ask now, Cory, is that von stay and live with Tony and me. Corv. Jim—(shake hands.) —Joseph I . Mouille. iErtfora IttimUrh ft n either hank of the river W The resting armies lay ; Smiling victors, garbed in blue, Poor vanquished ones in gray. I Moody strife is ended. The blaring bugles tell. As float their shrill notes over The mountain and the dell. The hand of one starts “Dixie,’’ The hvmn they hold so dear. While thundering to the heavens (ioes the Southern warriors’ cheer. “Home Sweet Home,” the other echoes And its music ever new Stirs the breasts of blood-stained victors, Heating high beneath the blue. Roused by music’s power, I'he hearts of all beat fast And in that moment friendship grew. That through the years would last. —George 1». Lyle.T H E F R ESI! M A N . 35 iCifr’fi (gnal JlTllERE is an old familiar saying, that w the things of this life are very uncertain. and it is true. I hit there is one event that we are equally certain of. and that L death—Heath—1 a fe’s goal. When the eyes shall he blinded to all that is worldly, the body loses its life, the senses wither of their potent charm, when the soul. Cod’s handiwork, parts forever from the corpse of which it had so long been a part. It is the time when the sands shall have run dry. When night closes ’round with its hideous pall, bidding farewell to sunshine and life and with icy fingers touch each throbbing wearied breast, and spreads the harvest of repose. Our birth into this world is but the starting point of an unending race towards death. The youthful eye cannot discern that meeting place of earthly time and long eternity; it cannot picture Frigid Death lurking in the bright and rosy path of life; and yet it may arise as one is poised for new success, and strike him down before it makes its presence felt: or then it may be waiting for along the course and hv its slow and grim approach, acquaint one of his end: its shado v foam floats spectre-like before the eyes of some, but in the end its never failing arms embrace us all. Destined as it is. to encroach on every living thing, yet its advent brings dread and abhorrence, its touch the direful plague of grief. Leaves that bounteously (locked the trees in spring, in autumn we know must fall, and the gayest sun-kissed flowers, at the north wind’s breath, must show of their beauty once so divine, so lovelv and crumble to the ground. These are but death’s seasons, harbingers that toll the hour from the caverns of the deep. Wc know the time when the moon shall wane, when no longer her dim lovely light covers mountain and valley in a silvery sheen, and all is bane and black. And when it dances and smiles on the face of the river, and casts its copious rays on the sheltering wood and vale, but now it is seen no more. W hen the robins and swallows with their fill of joy, shall have left to Cross the sea, when autumn’s hue shall tinge the golden grain, then—we know that summer is no more, and the season is at hand, when all is desolation, and nature’s fondlings are no longer of this life. It has no herald, no sign, nor season— it comes when least we expect, the hour no man knows. Where it steals in where it clutches and drags the last breath from its hopeless victim, and casts it bv with disdain—no trail is left of its ghastly spectre. This is death, inevitable certain—this is the goal, each mortal is destined for. And yet ’twas death, that for the early Christians held a martyr’s crown: ’tis death that hovers o’er the world, its strings of life on all. now dropping scattered runners in its course or thrusting down its plaguey hand upon the heads o$ scores. It changes shape almost as often as it strikes. That is death—the sinner’s fear, the saint’s delight: the portal that opens to a hell of torment or to a paradise of delight. lleyond life’s goal, there is a land where the glittering waters wander through golden dells, where the sou! reigns in all splendor, where ages of happiness roll on and on and where the weary and footsore traveler is refreshed by the magic waters that flow from the mountain of life. We cannot see that mystic land, butT II E F R ESH M A X . the earth, makes our thoughts turn to the heavenly smile of iod. And still we travel on through life’s temptestuous ways, now in the shadow of sin. now in the sunlight of Grace, pushing ever onward to the Kingdom of God, where pleasures never cease: and led by the glory of God’s Grace, that shines upon our tired but happy spirits, lighting the path of Eternal salvation, heralding the kingdom of heaven, welcoming the dawn of a new age. as we reach Lite’s sacred goal. —Pekcy S. McCann. we have tasted of its fruits. W hen we have stumbled on life’s path, the heavenly breezes from the land of peace have supported them and borne them onto the Eternal city. W hen our spirits have been tried with the temptations of this life, it has been the magical waters from the Stream of Grace, that has bathed our brows, and refreshed our tired and sin-heset bodies. Vs we gaze upon the stars of heaven, we think of the countless souls that have trod'that silvery path, through the blue dome to the Gates of Rest. Even the sun. sending its bright rays down uponT II E I7 K KS II M A X . 37 a hr 3Juuuarulatr gazed upon tlu lily fair. SJ At break of day : Its chalice brimmed with diamonds; lieneath the ray Of the golden sun. it stood a queen In that garden wav. I watched the central ocean toss ()n high pure foam. That showered back as sparkling gems. I nto their home. Naught did I find so chaste, the sea W hile I did roam. I stood upon the mountain high Amid the snow. That faced that morn a burnished sun With warmth aglow: No beauty such have e’re I seen. Nor do I know. The lily in the garden fair: The foam-tossed sea: The snow that surplices the mount In purity: Oh! Mary. I leaven’s Oueen are naught Compared to thee. Hut:ii C. Donovan.T II E E k ES H M A N . 3« ‘Uunxt tl|r (diqi att tlir tip” 1111 a look of absolute content, joy and gratitude upon his face, Morton Reed left the church that Sunday morning. An honest man, not by the world’s standards, but by God's, is a rare thing, a man rich but honest is rarer still, but a man so wealthy as to be numbered among the richest in the land and yet so good as to be pointed out as a paragon of virtue and honor is rarest of them all. “With kindness toward all and malice toward none,” ever ready to lend a helping hand or word. Morton Reed was an example of the ideal, husband, citizen and man. This morning, as he came from church a feeling of unusual elation possessed him. for yesterday at the director’s meeting of the Universal Light and Rower Company, in which he was a large shareholder. and also President, he had been able, and almost single-handed, to squelch a motion for the issue of a large block of stock. As he knew, the Company had enough capital and was not in immediate need of money, being in an extremely prosperous condition. Jle had not hesitated to tell them so, nor to openly brand the motion as a desire on the part of a few to increase their profits by “watering” the stock. True, there had been murmurs and looks from the discomforted members, but Reed controlled too many votes to be openly antagonized. so the result was that the motion was not brought to vote. This was the reason of Reed’s elation lie had been able, by his firm stand, to save some thousands of poor investors their hard-earned capital, and he felt correspondingly pleased. To do good wherever possible: was his motto. He had made it his watchword during a long reign as kind of finance and as a reward was today looked upon by rich and poor alike as a model of integrity. That evening upon his arrival home, preparations were made for a trip, lie intended to join his family in Newport, but pressing affairs made his presence imperative in New York, so he was leaving San Pranciseo in the morning. Monday dawned warm and clear. The. city awoke from its slumbers and soon the din of the day was heard. W agons, large and small, automobiles, old and new, hauled and chugged their way through the crowded thoroughfares and the day’s labor was begun. The rattle of the pneumatic hammers in the rising skeletons of steel, the grumble of the street cars, and the teams rose high, drowning out all sounds but one. for above all came the erv of the newsboy, “Extra, extra. Morton Reed is dead”! I he papers sold rapidly. It is not every day that great men die, and people were only too anxious to read the details which were simple: “The 5:40 Limited, which left this morning, was wrecked near Stockton The accident was caused by a rear-end collision. The freight which struck the Limited, while it was stopping for water, completely demolished the ‘Sylvia , the special car of Morton Reed, which was at the rear of the train. The engine of the freight was destroyed, and an oil car directly behind it caught fire, igniting the wrecked private car. When the flames were extinguished, the oil car. the freight’s locomotive, and the ‘Sylvia’ were a total loss. The body of Reed has not been recovered, it being believed to have been incinerated bv the intenseT H E I-' R I'SII M A X . 39 heat. The engineer of the train was severelv bruised and outside of him and Reed, no one was injured.” Then the account went on to describe Reed and his many philanthropic works, more to fill space than to provide reading matter. The news of the wreck-proved a great sensation and people were seen stopping on every corner in little groups, discussing the many kindnesses for which the great man had been noted. Throughout the entire city, practically everyone bad a kind word to say. and not a few shed tears in private. True, there were those to whom it wa an utter impossibility to say a kind word about anybody, but these were quickly subdued by the many grateful ones around them. Though the news caused a great sensation everywhere, nowhere was it greater than in the Stock Exchange. That august body, which like time and tide, waits foi no man. condescended to close its doors for one hour in honor of him who had so often exposed its shames; and then when it re-opened, it gambled as never before on the results of his death. C orporations in which he was even faintly interested had the liveliest few hours of their existence, hut excitement was supreme in the offices of the Universal Light and Power Company. A directors’ meeting had been called for ten o’clock that morning, and never was a meeting so well attended. In the absence of President Reed. Vice-President Murphy presided. He was the man who on the previous Saturday had suggested the additional issue of stock. “My friends.” began the vice-president. “we all know why this meeting has been called. Our honorable. President. a man whom we all have admired, has, by an unforseen accident, passed from our midst. The least we can do in honor of his memory is to send some fitting token of esteem to his bereaved family. (I Pm. I I'm.)” 'flic suggestion is well received and soon a generous contribution is made towards a monument for their lamented ( ?i associate, 'file Directors then lean hack in their chairs, a look of expectancy upon their faces. Meanwhile Murphy clears his throat and glances around the table. “On Saturday," says he. “a suggestion was made toward increasing the capital stock of this corporation. It was not approved by our late President (I I’m) hut otherwise (I Pm); 1 think, it had the approbation of the rest of the Hoard. (The heads of the Directors nod in unison.) This company, the largest of its kind, needs a greater reserve fund than we have at present. Improvements could be undertaken which are now impossible owing to our lack of capital. W e could also buy out several independent companies with this money, and at the same time increase the profits.” (Directors again nod and smile knowingly.) A small stock-holder jumps up and remarks : ‘‘I thought the Secretary stated in his last report that our plants were absolutely modern and that the reserve fund already too large, and furthermore, that we controlled all of the so-called independent companies.” Mr. Murphy waved his hand in a grand manner. “The Secretary was slightly mistaken. W'e need the capital, for it will enable us to undertake projects hitherto undreamed of. And that we may he unhampered by any lack of funds I suggest that the amount of the issue he double that originally intended." A smile passed over the Directors’ faces as they heard the proposition, then with the utmost dispatch the motion was4o T II F- F K ES II M A X . drawn up and put before them for discussion. “Are you ready for the question?” “Question.” “Question. ’ was heard from all sides. “All those in favor of----------” “ ne moment.” said a quiet voice. They turned as one, looking like school children caught in a prank. “Where in the dickens did you come from?” cried Murphy. “I missed my train.” replied the cool voice of Morton Reed. Adolimi G. Sutko. ahr iflaBtrrpirrr uf (Snifa (Crratimt AS we gaze about in wonderment at the beautiful scenes of Nature, as we contemplate the summer’s glories and the winter’s strife, we are raised above this earthly sphere and from our souls rise canticles of praise to Mini who is the Author of these glorious sights. Yet far surpassing Nature’s sweetest moods and mightier than all the universe is the human mind, the masterpiece of God’s creation. The summer sun that bleaches verdant fields to golden brown; the new-born day emerging from the exile of the night: the raging sea: the chastened mountain top that seems to guard the smiling, sun-kissed plain: all certainly are magnificent and lasting adjuncts to the extrinsic glory of God. yet all are relegated to the region of the long-forgotten past when placed beside the splendor of the human mind. I low calm and peaceful does it seem when wrapt in prayer’s seraphic silence. when it lingers on the border of eternity in awestruck contemplation of its heavenly goal! All earthly turbulence-forgotten, it seems wafted to the regions of ethereal bliss: it is as peaceful as a doe grazing in primeval glades. And when temptations stealthily approach, its conscience argues with its lower self and. murmuring earnest prayers for strength, it banishes the forces of the Tempter who strives eternally to win the soul from allegiance to its Maker. I low different from the prayerful mood is it tossed in passion’s racking storm. There we see it calming troubled waters with soothing notes of prayer, calling heavenly forces to quell the rude rebellion in the soul. W hat a saddened spectacle is presented by a mind o’er-wbelmed with sin ! The mind whose conscience has been silenced bv its iniquity is like a ship deserted on the billows of a raging sea. for then the sun of virtue is obscured by murky clouds of sin and howling winds unite to lash the waves to unabated fury. The man who ceases to repel temptation is guilty of abusing the most precious keepsake God has placed within his care. Man is like to God because he has a mind, a soul, and to abuse the mind through unrepulsed in diligence in sinful ways is to abuse God and to merit everlasting punishment. Woe to the man. degenerate through sin. who ceases to resist the charges of his lower passions: whose once so wakeful conscience was deserted for the realms of wickedness, and. left unaided in its battle with the Tempter was blunted and is lying stricken in the channels of a mind perverted from the righteous path and plunging headlong; to petition's darkest depths. We first see it in the growing babe living peacefully in a childish sphere and gazing in wonderment at the moving world without. No thorny paths stretch out before its guileless eyes, no sinning cloud as vet has formed to overcast theT II E F R ES II M A X . 4i rosy paths that welcome its advance This is its age of innocence and in this age alone is it content. Then launching on that perilous sea where good or ill selections spell life’s success or failure, when the cheery vista of future years is changing to a rough and troubled road: no more do roses lend their cheer to an erstwhile pleasant path, hut thorns predominate and choke the rough ascent to heavenly virtue and to earth’s success. Then is the mind most sorely tried when sly temptation steals its seductive way into the channels of thought and strives to overthrow a virtuou sway and place degraded Mammon to rule o’er a now remorseful soul. W ithin this age the mind is hut the battle ground of good and evil passion. The conscience, prompted by the grace of God, is ever warding off temptation’s wary strokes. Indeed, it is a glorious sight to see the mind emerging from the battle-field of youth enshrouded with the brilliant rays of a sun of virtue, unobscured by lowering, iniquitous clouds. The habits of thought developed in youth are but guideposts for advancing years. The virtuous man is one who has spent a virtuous youth, just as a goodly apple is grown upon a healthy tree. Sublime, majestic, is it in leading fellow men! W hen noble thoughts recalled, from memory’s cells, unite to cheer a struggling mankind in its own onward course, and when all the world hangs waiting for decisions of the godly mind. W hat scope of action has the mind! We ne’er can e’en imagine what the human mind has done and yet can do! And then when it has weathered the storms of youth and floated safely o’er a sea of strife, it nears the end of earth ly time: and then tis launched upon the shoreless limits of eternity. Whither goes the departing soul? Where in the boundless ocean of eternity floats that tiny, precious bark? Xo sooner does it leave this turbulent scene than it is recompensed or judged for its earthly stewardship. I low horrible, dejected. is the shriveling soul that hears the frightful sentence of "Depart”: what anguish ravages the soul when it realizes that in l ime’s brief moment it could have won an eternity of bliss! Alas too late, docs it consider the unbounded goodness of the God who made it. and now must exist to suffer an eternity of unrelenting justice. Mow different is the soul whose life was spent in pleasing God! It leaves this scene of strife and swift-winged angels guide it to the I Seat i tic Vision of its Maker. Freed from corporal shackles. it stands before the great white throne and leaps in cctasies of holy joy as it realizes that the final goal has been attained. C i 1 as. Harold ( ru ii:r.r .4- T II E F R ESH M A X . i “ahr (Suliirn (§atc” 31 t was in 49, The ship was sad and drear, I'or the stormy voyage had lasted I hit two months short a vear. The pilot stood in the cabin h'or quiet, he raised his hand. "Tomorrow at sunrise We sight the promised land.” The gloom was changed to joy, And through that sullen night, Xo one lay down to rest. Each longed for that fair sight. The morn dawned warm and clear The ship plowed on her way— The sun did brightly rise And brought a tropic day. The ship approached the shore ()f the famous Golden State, And dimly in the distance Was seen a silver strait. The thought occurred to all "It is the hand of fate. The first thing we should sight Is the friendly Golden Gate. "()ur quest will he successful And gold we ll surely find.” And each one did believe it Down in his heart and mind. And as they saw the omen Of an open Golden Gate Silently a prayer was said h'or that auspicious strait. ADOI.I’11 G. Sittro.T II E F R ES II M A X . 43 arur (Ciillrgr Spirit V. Dutch, what time is it?” These words were spoken by Jack Hudson, a diminutive Freshman of five feet six inches, and when ‘‘Dutch’ Fitzpatrick answered. “3:15,” his blue eyes showed his disgust of “Dutch” because he could not make the time fly faster. After what seemed eternity to Jack 3:45 arrived, and school was dismissed. Then Jack lost no time hurrying1 toward the campus with his old friend Fitzpatrick. Here let us turn aside from the storv and sav a few words about Jack Hudson, or John Joseph Henry, as his father would say. Jack is a Freshman, at San Juan College, and although small, he is a universal favorite on account of his cheery disposition, and general affability. He is a fair swimmer, baseball player and track man. has, in fact, tried out for all these teams, but has failed to make any. I hit past failures and sly drubbings from his friends do not prevent him from trying out for the 'varsity rugbv team. His special chum is “Dutch” Fitzpatrick, a veteran forward of over six feet who tips the scales at one hundred and ninety-six. It was on account of the striking contrast of this pair and the fact that they were never seen apart, that earned for them the titles of, “Kolb ami Dill” and the “Siamese Twins.” Me fore leaving the men on the field for the first day of light exercise, the coach, a husky Englishman named Catron. called them around him and asked them to step on the scales, so as to give himself a line of the average weight of the forwards and backs. William Krause, better known as “Rugbv Mill.” was the first one. one hundred and fifty odd pounds; Mill was last year’s fullback and expected to fill that position again. Fisher, a big forward, one hundred and eighty-nine; Waters, three-quarter. one hundred and sixty-three; and Marry, half back and captain, one hundred and seventy-two. Then a lot of new men and at last 1 ludson, one hundred and twenty-four pounds. A smile passed around the room, but the coach, just to encourage him, asked, “What position are you trying for?” On being told half-back. C’arron told him that lie was against a seasoned warrior and was very light, but that he had a chance to make good if he trained well. The team then indulged in light practice. The next afternoon, the coach told them in a few words that training was to start immediately, and that he wanted them to keep good hours, avoid smoking and eating of truck bet wen meals and above all to obey him on the field. That day about twenty men were weeded out, leaving enough for three teams. Jack was half on the third squad and for the first few days it seemed as if the scrub would never learn to pack nor the backs to gel the ball out to the wing-three-quarters. A few weeks of tiresome practice passed slowlv bv. but at last the coach announced 0 w r that he would retain the thirty most promising men and let the others go. While the names of the lucky ones were read off. Jack’s heart was in his mouth and when the twenty-fifth was passed he gave up all hope but the twenty-seventh name was his and he turned a handspring with joy. My now the team knew Carron and they liked the way he had his word obeyed and also the nice manner in which he pointed out their good qualities and their faults. Once in the dressing room lie said. “Some here, as well as Jack, have no chance of making the ’varsity. Jack is44 T II I- FK ES II M A X . against the captain, the best man on the team and can hardly expect to oust him. hnt he is quick on his feet, cool-headed, and game to the core, so that is why I kept him and let some bigger fellows go." Every day the two remaining squads would play and as most of the men were seeking a place on the “big team." the game was fast and furious. Jack was generally shown to good advantage whenever he had a chance. When the practice games with outside institutions began the blue of San Juan was always triumphant, hut as the season wore on the team was severely crippled by the loss of two forwards and went down to defeat not a few times. In some of the games to give the captain a rest, or when the game was well in hand. Hudson was sent in for the last fifteen minutes of play. In his first game he became rattled hut after that he played a steady game; on the whole, however, he showed up poorly alongside of Harry’s brilliant game. At last the great game of the season with their old rival Ashland was near at hand. The forwards had recovered and the team of San Juan was in its old form, but teams it had barely beaten were defeated quite easily by Ashland. At last the day of conflict arrived, a day that only California can give. While the East was shivering in the blasts of a blizzard, the sun shone on a dry field of whitewashed lines and a grand stand predominated on one side of the field by blue and on the other by red and white. At two o'clock the Ashland adherents were in evidence both on the grand stands, which were filled to overflowing and on the field where their team was running up and down and passing the ball in the usual preliminary practice. At a quarter past two, Harry has not showed up. and the trainer and coach are fearful lest something has happened to him. A deafening roar greets the team of San Juan's blue as they trot out on the gridiron. W ith five minutes left before tlu game and Harry has not arrived A minute later he came out of the club house pulling on his sweater. Catron, walking with him. asks what delayed him so long and Harry told him he was running for a car and slightly wrenched his ankle, but he thought that he was all right now. Hut the coach was worried, for his white face and drawn lips told only too clearly how he was suffering Harry had just time to take his position and to listen to the last instructions of Carron. when the whistle blew and the great game was on. Harry received the ball from the kickoff, ran in as far as possible, and made a beautiful kick to touch. Ashland received the ball on the throw out but gained no ground; they scrum. Ashland gets the ball, big “Dutch" Fitzpatrick knocks over half a dozen men and blocks the kick. Thus the game progresses, now at one end of the field, now at the other. Watkins, an Ashland back, time and again gets through the three-quarter line but is always tackled, although once within ten feet of the goal. Ashland is cheering her men repeatedly, and San Juan is responding to the efforts of her supporters with lusty applause. The first half over, the teams leave the field for a much needed rest. Turning to congratulate Harry, the coach finds that he has fainted. In a minute he is revived. Pluck, grit and excitement had carried him through the first half with a badly sprained ankle, but now lie has collapsed. Carron calls his men together and tells them that now they must fight harder than ever for they have lost their captain : he told them that they had done pretty good hut that in the second half they have to score, for in this game there was going to be hnt one score and SanT II E F K ICS II M A N . 45 Juan had to make that. “Some of you fellows have not played enough games to earn a block, hut vou need only to make that score and I'm sure the student body will reward you with a block emblem. I hit if any of you play to the grand stand, out you go; now go on and win. Then, as an after thought, he said: “Say Hudson, take Barry's place, and give San Juan the best that is in you. The second half started: those on the side lines envied Jack’s good luck when they saw him in the captain's place, hut Harry, who would not leave the field, soon silenced all their kicks. At first the shland hacks took great liberties around Jack’s territory, but after he had dropped a few. they began to take notice of him. The game continued as before, neither side with any particular advantage. although shland had the heavier team. With three minutes to play, it looked like a o-o game. The ball was being scrumed on the red and whites forty-yard line when their backs heeled tin ball out. Jack was quick, but the Ashland half was quicker and passed the ball out to the three-quarters. Like a flash Jack intercepted the pass, and was off down the field before he realized what had happened. Thoroughly surprised. the Ashlandcrs did not try to run Jack down until he had a good handicap. and their only hope lay in their hack who was stepping back to the three yard line to tackle him. I wice Jack almost stumbled when he looked back and tried to see who owned the pair of feet running behind him. Try as he would he could not out distance them, and every moment he expected an Ashland man to tackle him. Then, after w hat seemed an age. a voice behind said. "Keep it up. Kid.” and then he knew it was "Dutch.” The ten yard line was reached. "Dutch” running even with him twenty-live yards to the side: the Ashland full back was the only obstacle to a score I hen. in a flash, the coach’s words came back to him. "The man who scores gets a block." Then he remembered he was fighting for his college; but if he passed the ball to "Dutch” it might he dropped Thousands of thoughts crowded to his mind: he could hear the mad roar of the crowd in the stands; if he were tackled he would fall over the line; he also knew that the crowd would remember only the man who scored: even now few in the grand stand knew who had the ball. In the excitement he might he chosen for next year’s captain. All these thoughts crept into his mind in an instant: yet in a flash Ik made up his mind. The chances were in his favor, but it was for his college and he took no chances, but sprinting ahead passed the ball backwards to "Dutch." who was over the line for a score before he was tackled. The try for the goal was missed, the whistle blew, and the game was over and won for San Juan. The mad crowd headed for "Dutch.” and carried him around the field on their shoulders. But in it all Jack was unnoticed. ( nly the coach came up and squeezed his hand and let him know that his spirit was noticed. Then Jack knew that he had done his duty, and was happy. Francis J. Creki-e.T I! !•: F R K S 11 M A N . 4r Ariaett adly she bends her head. Death hovers o'er her bed. Silent and wan. hair city of the west. Long by the Friar blest. Ah! she is gone. Where is her beauty bright. Where is her wealth and might. On land and wave? ( n her death fixed his crown Wrapped in her sable gown. Deep in the grave. Fair city of my choice. All hail! With thee do 1 rejoice. All hail! Risen to wealth and might; Lit with a golden light; Crowned with a glory bright. Now you are grand. Gate to the Orient, I leaven on thee has spent Purest of love and lent With lavish hand. Treasures without compare. Treasures so richly rare. That made thee fairest fair Of every land. Roiikkt I. Flood.Til E F R ESH M A N . 47 3Ju iflrmnriam .MICHAEL Departed this life February the twenty-first, nineteen hundred and ten. Early in the new year when all dawned hopeful before a happy class, the dread shadow of Death was cast o’er the family of Joseph I'oley, and his beloved father, Michael, was summoned from this earthly exile to his true home above. J MIX McCAXX. Died March the seventeenth, nineteen hundred and ten. With the close of our yearly retreat came the sad announcement of the death of John McCann, father of Percy McCann. While yet in the prime of life he was suddenly called to his reward, rite departed was a true friend of the college and we are confident he is now reaping the fruits of his stewardship in his eternal home. GERALD MOCILLK. Passed away April seventeenth, nineteen hundred and ten. Scarce another month and bereavement again was ours. The hand of Death beckoned a loving parent, and Gerald, father of Joseph P. Mouille. our esteemed classmate, passed from a lifu of prayer, grace, and good works to his everlasting reward. To our stricken fellow Freshmen and their families we extend our most heartfelt sympathies, and we assure them that their beloved ones will ever be an object of our prayers. RcquicscatU hi Pace.4 T II E I- R ES II M A X KDITOIII A I. STAFF First row—C. llarohl Caulfiehl. (' Stanley Kelly. Joseph Foley. .Second row—John II. l.Srmly. Robert L Chambers. Kdwnnl M. O'Neil. Cieorjfe It. Kyle.T II K F R ES IT M A X . 4() CLASS ’13 ANNUAL Editorial Staff. Robert 1. Chambers Editor-in-( hiei C Stanlev Kellv Associate: Editors. C. Harold Caulfield Joseph Foley Assistant Rusinkss Manaokrs. John II. tirade (ieorge i». Lyle, Artist. Edward M. ) eill EDITORIALS Published annually bv the Class of 1913 St. Ignatius College. AFTER weeks of preparation Tin : Frhsii man Joi’rnal has finally made its debut, and we sincerely hope that it will meet with the approbation df all its readers. W hile we do not for one instant presume to style it a literary work deserving special praise or any unusual commendation, still we have tried our best to make this, the initial number of the class of ’13’s annual, a success, and it is our hope that our readers in a spirit of clemency will overlook the mistakes that may creep into our columns Tiik Joirnal is an absolutely Freshman publication, devoted to the fostering and advancement of the class in the literary field. It was born and nurtured in the minds of the class members, and its success or failure depends alone upon their energy and ardor. In the early part of the term wfc published a small weekly for class distribution only and devoted it exclusively to our individual affairs. This, however. was not a new idea, for during the past four years the publication of a weekly in the class of ’13 lias been a regular occurrence. The movement this year was far more successful than anticipated ami the amount of literary ability displayed led us to formulate plans for a class annual. The time of preparation was short but the indomitable spirit of '13 tint has led us on to many victories, both on the field and in the classroom, prevailed : the members settled down to work with a will and through their earnest efforts Tin- Joirnal was produced As yet we have just arrived in the world of letters and our position might be termed the crawling stage in literary life, but we hope to grow and in our growth t attain that degree of excellence that will make the annual both an honor to the C ollege and to ourselves, a worthy representative of St. Ignatius and the Class of 13.5° T II K FR KS II M A X . W e have taken the liberty of dedicating this humble publication to the Rev Father (toller. S. J.. provincial of the California province, a man loved and esteemed by all of us who have had the pleasure of coining in contact with him. not only because of what he represents as head of the Jesuit ( h'der on the Coast but also because he is a true man. a staunch American citizen, and a lover of California. Father Goller has always been a good friend of the College and has performed many acts that have endeared him to all true Jesuit boys, riius it is with grateful hearts that we lay this our lowly offering, before him and hope that next year it will blossom and come forth a larger and better edition and one that is worthy of the College. We hardly know how to thank the Faculty for the many favors they have generouslv granted us. W hen we went » • to them in trembling to seek permission to publish this small volume, we were in doubt whether they would think us matured enough to handle such a weighty matter. I hit Father Sasia. S. J.. and Father Mahoney. S. J.. readily saw-fit to repose trust in us and grant us our request, and so it is to them that we owe our first word of thanks. Your kindness. Fathers Sasia. S. J.. and Mahoney. S. J., to us we assure you will not be abused, and we will lend our efforts to do you honor and to make our College proud. Though we know that we shall be in your debt forever on account of the numerous privileges you have granted the College men. still we hope that this magazine may in some measure repay you for what you have done for the Class of 13. The Editor wishes to thank his staff for the energy they displayed to make this JorRNwr. a success. It has been not a hardship but a pleasure to be surrounded by such a group of capable and intelligent men, who have worked in unison as one big machine and whose bv-word has been Congeniality and Success. lie firmly believes that no better business manager exists than Mr. Stanley Kelly, under whose excellent management the cost of the issue was rendered possible. In Messrs. Joseph Foley and Harold Caulfield he has two able associates, who have done noble work-in behalf of the Class. The literary ability of these gentlemen, combined with their excellent managerial notions, has gone far to make our Jot unai. a literary and material success. Mr. John (irady and Mr. Edward (YXcil, as assistant business managers, have earned the universal praise of the Class for the zeal with w hich they have fulfilled the obligations imposed upon them by their office Mr. Geo. Lyle, the staff artist, has worked in the interests of the Class and we feel sure that his efforts will be appreciated by all. Ye wish also to take this occasion to thank our friends who have lent us encouragement. and last, but not least, our teacher. Mr. Sullivan, S. J.. who through his example and painstaking efforts during the past term to raise 11s to a higher standard in litcrarv work has done more for the Class and Tiik Journal than its largest contributor. Me has been to us both a teacher and a friend, and through the columns of this our Freshman remembrance we wish to tell him again how we appreciate his kindness and. although he may not he with us next year, our thoughts will always be with him and the memories of the Freshman Class of 13. Ye also wish to thank Father Spange. S. J.. for his painstaking efforts in our behalf, and we would assure him thatTH K FRESHM A X. 51 wo arc not ungrateful for wliat lie ha done for us and the kindness that he ever and so abundantly meted out to us. And now. a word to the Class. The term i ended. Commencement is over and we are free for a few months to rest our minds and prepare for another year of hard study. I hit shall we all come back? Shall not some of us be missing to answer roll call next September? Fellows, we have kept together through High School and the Freshman year at College. Let us not desert now or we shall regret it in the years to come. It has been a noticeable fact that after the Freshman year the Class starts to thin emt; men leave one by one, and only a few remain until graduation. Let 1 hi -he untrue in our case. Let us stand to- gether until graduation day. when with our sheepskins we shall go forth into the world to make a name for ourselves. This last year has been a successful one. W e have been victorious not only on the athletic Held but also in the classroom. as the Commencement awards have shown. W e have been successful in all our undertakings, and yet it is not surprising: it is but the true spirit of the Class of 13. the spirit that has conquered and that will conquer not only in the school but in the outside world. So good-bye, fellows. It is not good-bye but au revoir until next September, when once more the Class will assemble under their victorious emblem and when once more they will start in with renewed vigor and zest to fight for their Alma Mater and their Class of 13. —Roiikkt L. Ciia.mnkrs.Tin-: runs Umax. ifrrBljmati in Kilty aul Kdwanl M. O’Neil a. 1 "Baasa" 3jjrRKSIIMK art students. Freshmen Jf' are athletes. Freshmen are debaters. Freshmen are fun makers and Freshmen are actors. This last qualification was ably demonstrated in the late very successful production of "King Saul" which won so much honor for our Alma Mater. In it Freshman did much to render the drama memorable. Long in advance rehearsals were started which continued for hours every evening in the basements. The old walls were benevolent auditors and we came to love them. Robert J. blood essayed the difficult role of David, the shepherd lad. with ease and grace and scored a wonderiul hit. As a matinee idol he made ‘AN bite Whittlesy" look sick, for during the fifth performance, which fell on the afternoon of the week’s last day with the theatre stocked to its limit even of standing space with the white-gowned proteges of our estimable sisterhood. “IJob" drew applause which amounted to an incipient riot. The technical golden fringe elegantly became Robert, for it fell over his shoulders with natural hang and didn’t in the least serve to change his gender. And then those skins once the protection, no doubt, of some forest monarch, now hound round the structure of S. I s premier athlete. How they became David reincarnated! From the first moment of his appearance "IJob" compelled our notice and gave us a delicious interpretation of the truly sublime character entrusted to him. We are delighted with you "Rob." and we feel that you have honored us. “Merc”! “Merc”! When shim his glory fade! The funniest collegian 1 ever met off the stage is Edward M. O'Neil of Freshman, lie could excite to laughter the most blase in this our fair city by the western sea. and if he got a good chance to twinkle he would prove as great an excitement as Halley’s comet. “Merc” played Baasa the absurdly rotund, vociferously boastful old soldier who trembled at the sound of fight like a leaf in a gale. His helmet was funny, his nose was more so. his waist line was a sufficient maker to compensate the patrons for entrance fee. His feet so small, and so acrobatic in the way he guided himself from one part to another of the stage simply convulsed the audience, bid’s method of procedure in exciting our risibilities are as originalTHE FRESHMAN. 5$ as they arc dashing. hctlicr he gallantly follows the army as it pursues the enemy with vigor; whether at Saul’s command he arrays young David in the armor of the king; whether he re-enters flushed with glory at the head of the victorious soldiers who fought and hied and won ; or stands before the throne of his master—lie is one grand howl. Rut “Merc ’ starred again in the vastly opposite role of “The Witch of Endor.” Rent low with age; matted, greyish hair covering his neck and hestniggling his face: with his nose, fingers and nails weirdly worked out of proportion; a crouching, shriveled creature, with sallow skin and a morose and gloomy manner. he enters the cave and powerfully carries out a scene of ghostly harrowing effect in master manner. I le was ably assisted here by two other Freshmen. |ohn II. (iradv and Raymond S. Ryan Kd has won fame for the college and so we Freshmen rejoice. “Ring" Ryan, as Ebenezer. was another feature that shed luster on King Saul, and at the same time reflected brilliancy on Freshman. 11 is pleasing rolt- was quite commensurate with his ability and he proved that he has a great deal more to bank on limn end man in minstrelsy. “Rob" Chambers has an individuality quite his own. and showed up a happy find for-the delicate part of " The Young Levite.” I nlike many stage recruits, lie carefully refrained from patterning himself upon some other player, lie blended the dignity of his office and the heart of a fond son into a creation which became a very lovable character. lie read his bright lines and went through many effective situations with the ease of a seasoned thespian. Rob is our chosen friend and a high honor to us. “Hal” Caulfield of Freshman shed more glory on us through “Saul.” ( ur. talented and untiring brother did his part for all there was in it. The manner in which he talked it up to Saul, and conveyed the impressions of the-people was great. “Hal” did well, and we are all glad, for we like him. lie is true as tried gold and his part suited him. “Rig Ruster” llalev can go some in histrionics. He’s the prize baby when it comes to captaining an army. Leave it to “Milt” to guard Saul’s tent with safety and keep out every little Hebrew intruder. Even the noble-hearted David quailed when our Freshman mascot vociferated. “Stop, man! give the word.” Dave Rarry. i.b took the house with his impressive impersonation of the aged priest Achimelech. The palsied hand and gasping voice, the body bent with age. and the measured step required a heap of acting which we feared our honored classmate was unable for. Rut Dave had it in him and with diligence he showed it. Ye feel safe in saving that not many collegians could equal Dave in this masterful character portrayal. quick change made our versatile Mr. Rarrv a warrior in sympathy with the Shepherd Prince. This part he played in facile mood and merited much credit. Freshman belabored the iron while it glowed and turned out another hit-making thespian in the person of Hugh Donovan. Hugh is nothing short of a Reau Rrummel and was so strikingly handsome in “Saul” that his gorgeous costume seemed no more than a fitting frame for his lovely figure. His worth, however, was not confined to beauty alone. I le railed at the villians. pleaded with the king, jollied Raasa. and counseled the mob as nature demands. 'Flic hand he received bespoke fair appreciation of his intelligence. Tiiomas T. Murphy.T 11 E F R E S H M A X . JFrrshmatt in Srbatr LTHOrCir the Class of 13 has . been in the Senior Piiilhistorian Debating Society but one session, its members have gained prominence by their oratorical abilities. Our representatives are able to meet the other classes with no small degree of success, as has been demonstrated within the past year. The experience which has been gained together with the improvement that must occur in the remaining years of college life, bids fair to develop a peerless class team. The benefits occurring from the forensic exercise will prove a potent factor in rendering successful our after careers. Clear and forceful expression is the sole lesson insisted upon in the weekly meetings, and the mastery of these spells our future success. A conscientious adherence to this training will turn out men who arc not swayed by the false glamors so often perceived in their antagonists, men who can think for themselves, men who are easy in the expression of their convictions, men who are clear in delecting the adversary's strategy, men who are courageous to advance the cause of truth, men who are fearless in defense of principle. Jo 11 x J. S irr.sen.Ifrrshmait in (61rr UT a tew sons of song are branded with 13. In fact outside some celebrities S. I. has taken most of her vocal talent from Ereshman. Merc. (t'Xeil is a prominent member whose art has always served college festivities well. As a coon shooter he stands in a class alone. Just let him loose at a down-in-the-cellar minstrel show and he makes the groundlings spirits attentive, lie can turn their savage eves to a modest gaze. It’s nothing for the trees and things stoekish to leave their places in the scene and follow “Merc” in harmony. Last Christmas the student body was invited to a black-face howl in the gym. Ereshman was there with the programme. As I was on the bill modesty forbids me anything like high-sounding epithets, so I have thought it fitting to quote one of our local newsmen who wrote up the show for publicity. Says he: “Rarely have I attended an ebony-faced song, dance and joke fest. as that given bv the St. Ignatius (lice Club last I riday afternoon. ‘Ping’ Rvan and Edward M. ( ) Xeil are endtnen of wonderful talent. Their song hits were received with thundering applause. ‘Merc’s’ ‘flood Evening’ with the accompanying chorus and dance was unique. ‘Ping’s’ shouting of ‘Camp Meeting Time,’ while the chorus went through fantastic figures was deserving a professional performance. ‘I‘oh’ l lood gave a clever inter- pretation. ‘Spartacus.’ ami displayed great powers. ‘Ilob can do some rag singing also. Jack (irady was received with enthusiasm and sang ( )h! You Pink and I Hue.’ This song was a decided hit. bringing out the salient points of an outrageous local onslaught. Jack had to repeat it again and again, each time creating new excitement for the old varsity colors ‘red and blue.’ Hugh Donovan was a type and was awarded first prize for his very natural make-up. l»ob’ Chambers sung as ne’er before, lie’s the candy youth when it comes to putting the flourish to a chorus. 11 is rendition of the ‘Ihill Dog’ made the hark on the trees turn green. ‘Ig’ Nelson is certainly a gifted rag-artist. Mis duet with ‘Dane’ Creede was exhilarating. John Schlappi and W ill Kelly were another two that Ereshman gave to this illustrious show. John is some stepper in chorus work, while W ill figures finely in ‘buck and wing’ prowess.”—S. E. "Examiner.” On our way. thereat, and on the train hack from Manresa the Ereshman »lee was in evidence. They sang no less than seventy songs to the great delight of the passengers, conductor and brakemen. When we’re out, we re there with heavenly harmony to which not only the artists but the whole class is attuned. Raymond W. Ryan.TH F I' K ES II M A X . 5-1 IFrrahmau iit Athlrtirs LAXCIXC over the year’s athletic annals of St. Ignatius, it is with pride and delight that we find so many Freshman names who have fought and won glhrv for Alma Mater and the “red and blue.” ()n the gridiron, on the diamond and on the track the men of “1913” were formidable, were active, were true, and with pleasure do we publish their deeds. I ( TIS. I.L. A Freshman captained the team in the person of “Hob” Flood, lie was the choice of the student body and their trust was highly placed. Let it be said that in Rugby he showed the class of a veteran and won the admiration of our most enthusiastic Rugby fans. II is agility and display of judgment, his even temper and genial spirit evoked respect from his team-mates, and it was these qualities that our respected fellow “Freshman" used as tactics to lead the varsity “red and blue” to not a few victories. W e are proud of blood and we are proud of his team-mate, “Milt” Haley. This youth of 21 summers, of i ;8 pounds, of a big broad smile, and of one grand disposition, was the idol of the team. When he possessed the pigskin and steamed his way over the gridiron the foemen trembled and none ever stopped his course, save the Santa Clara S. A. A. when they secretly slipped in seventeen men, three of whom were men for Haley. Coach Pomeroy highly commended Tom Murphy for his fearless and effective work. Tom always showed the “stuff” and we take pride to have among us such a classmate. “Igga” Nelson and “I lank” Creedc served as subs to the ’varsity. They are not recorded on the score card but their deeds. like the unknown just man. are inscribed where they will never he forgotten. We boast of these, our classmates, who so manfully underwent the grind of hard training, who never missed an afternoon’s practice, who appeared for every game on the side lines in their football togs, awaiting anxiously a word front the coach to “get in.” The pleasing order never came and the season wore almost to the end with Nelson and Creedc on the lines. The season finished and they hadn’t played a game. There is something passing great in this which we cannot let go unnoticed. To get out in the field to hold up old “red and blue” shows a love for Alma Mater perhaps, hut it might also show a great love for self, especially when we hear the howling rooters lustily throating our names to the sky: when the local newsmen celebrate us in their columns: when our pictures appear in the dailies and admiring thousands learn of our prowess, lint when we do our mightiest, and that’s not considered mighty enough: when we get the hard knocks of a battering training only to he kept on the side lines, and then root for our Alma Mater, we have proven our love for her to be manly, and that means more than all glories combined. For this we are proud of Nelson and Creedc. 11A$KI!ALI.. Freshman did his share in giving some stalwart defenders to the “red and blue.” "Rob” Flood had the position of shortstop cinched and fully realized all the good things that were expected of him. He was, in fact, one of the sensations of the season and showed to equal advantage with any of his team mates Another Freshman—Joe Mon i lie—cutT H E F R F. S 11 M A X . ? VARSITY PI.AYKIIS. Keft in right (top)—Milt. Haley, rugby: Stan. Kelly (capt.j varsity basket-ball: 1’ing Uyan, baseball. Hottom—Joe Moutlle, baseball; Bob. K’lood (eapt.) varsity rugby; Tom Murphy, rugby.T II E I K ES II M A X . himself a niche in the hall of fame by breaking in as one of the varsity slab artists. The curve ball is the secret of Joe's success, as all season, batsmen have been endeavoring to discover its mystifying ways, lie pitched the team to victory in almost every game he par ticipated in. We are far from ashamed of Joe. for besides being an able performer. he is ever a perfect gentleman on the field and has done much to win respect for us from our opponents. “Ping" Kvan was the third Freshman who tried for ‘varsity honors. Early in the season he was appointed guardian of the initial bag and did himself honor until a serious malady resulting from an over-trained arm forced him to the outer gardens. HASKKT HALL. 'The “red and blue" basket ball team was captained by a Freshman. “Stan ’ Kelly, and the star forward was another Freshman. “I»ob" Flood. This duet sim-pl did things with style and vim. Kelly at center, was lengthy enough to secure the ball every time, lie got away fast and passed as accurately down the field as a past master. In the championship series which, by the way. he captured from Santa Clara College. Kelly’s opponent could seldom find him. He showed the villager some going that the latter seemed to take in through a wide 5 ) opened mouth. Mood, in the words ot our able coach ()rno Tyler, is premier forward in our local college teams. In the Santa Clara games when “red and blue” strove for and won C atholic College championship Flood seemed to get a basket every time he got possession of the leather. Ilis underhand passes wen-stamped with speed and directness, and the way Santa Clara groped around Mood’s agile antics was cpiite a compliment to our honored classmate. ukksidknt's day. The third annual President's Day was celebrated on May 7th bv an athletic carnival. A11 inter-class meet was scheduled and a beautiful and costly trophy was offered by Rev. Father Sasia. S. [.. to the individual scoring the greatest number of points in the winning class. Long in advance of the eventful day Freshman were on the cinder path and in the field, making ready to win class honors. This was due to the valuable speech of our captain who blew the breath of life into that fossilized adage “Labor compters all things.” We kept up the grind until the very day of battle, like true descendants of the house of ginger. From sundry remarks of our local newsman it was opined that long before the May 7th sun would set the angoras of our foes would be bound fast in our folds.T II E F K !• S II M A X . 6o alir Utrlnrii The shades of night were falling fast W hen o’er the campus proudly passed A stalwart team aflush with fame And shouting loudly the fair name ()f Freshman. For forty yards the big men ran And to our joy our Captain, “Stan. As swift and Heel as the northern wind. Came first with Milt and blood behind From I'reshman. The fifty was a glorious race, T»ob” got first and "Stan" third place. And every voice sang forth the praise. And to the skies the name did raise ()f Freshman. Two-twenty was a pipe, for we With ease and grace all places three Mad taken; Kelly. "Ilob,” and Milt Xew glory on the llag bad spilt ()f Freshman. Again we ran.—it is to laugh— "Stan" copped a second in the half; From lusty voices awful sore Thundering went the name once more ( )f Freshman. "All out for relay." Dion cried— And we in the grand stand watched with pride Stan. Milt. "Hob." and Nelson pass All other foes and boost our class— ()f Freshman. High in the air we saw Milt soar, lie cleared some twenty feet or more: And "Hob" jumped in the second spot, While Haley second put the shot For I'reshman. Long live the men who fought this fray. Long live the men who won the day. Long wave our flag of white and green, Long live the class of nineteen thirteen Of Freshman. David A. Harry.Cl. SS Tit CK TKA 1 Left to rljjfht 1 upper)—Flood, Donovan, Haley, Murphy, (irmly. I .oft to risrht (lower)—Nelson, Chambers, Kelly (rapt.). Caulfield. Ityan.T 11 E F K ES II M A X . 6 Kobort J. Flood "HOIt" FLOOD, ’l . WINNER OK Till-: presi-dent's TROPHY. With F points made single-handed ’ I Job ' Flood. our worthy classman was awarded the most cherished prize in all athletics that transpire in our scholastic year. I le figured in everything he entered. running with grim determination and conquering with modesty. The entire student body congratulated our hero and felt proud.- as Freshman does.—of one who could represent old “reel and blue anywhere and would do it proud. David A. Harry. 


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