Atwood Hammond High School - Post Yearbook (Atwood, IL)

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(ioni.ixs TED MKUliirr 'OO I guess pa thinks I'm badly skeered, But, gee! I'm not. I’m not afeerd. Up here with all these rats and rniec. And all such things that I think's nice, As spiders, pinchin'bugs and snakes. But when Jane sees ’em, she just shakes l t, he just thinks I'm dreadful bid. And bully gee! but he was mid. And ma. (she's firm mad), said, to . I don’t do what I ort to do. Nor do things that I know L si oa'd, I wouldn't even bring in wood. And when pa said he bet he coul I Make me bring in that dog-gone wo »I Then I got closer to my ma. And she said. “Don’t get angry, pa, But he grabbed me and ma said, .Sol i Pa said, “young man, march to the loft Gee! I'm jist skeered to death o' ghosts Aunt Emmy, she knows 'bout the most! She told me 'bout a goblin once, That stayed up in this loft fer months, That yelped and hollorcd down the hall, And never could be seen at all! Boo! it seems awlul dark up here! I'd like to know what's over there. I feel so awful cold and damp, Just like I'm goin' to take a cramp! Oh! Ma, is pa gone back to town? 1 wish you'd please let me come down. B ACC ALAt'R HATH SERMON “FIOS Ok THISTLES4 SUNDAY. MAY 1 », BY Rev. H. G. Rowe. COMMENCEMENT ADDRESS Friday, May 24th by ALLEN ELLINGTON ROGERS, A. M., Professor of Law, U. of I.

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“What! Master, you are jesting with us! No, I know what I am saying.’ But how is it conceivable that a dead man can have pictured his own death agony'' By conceiving that a living man may have guessed or represented his own death. Moreover, you know that in certain religious orders to pronounce final vows is to die. “Ah! you believe—? 1 believe that that woman who is present in the flesh in the background of the picture was the soul aud the life of this monk who is dying on the ground. I believe that when she died, he believed himsell dead also and did die, in fact, as regards the world. I believe, in short, that this work, more than the last minute of its hero or painter (who are indubitably one and the same person), represents the taking of vows by a young man disillusioned of earthly joys. So tnat he can be living yet ' Yes, he can In? living yet, and as we know the date of this occurrence, perhaps his spirit has again become peaceful and even joyful, and the unknown artist may be today a very fat and jolly old man. As for that, there is a way to find out, and above all we must ascertain if he painted any more works. Follow me. And, so speaking. Rubens approached a monk who was praying in another chapel and asked him with Ins habitnal boldness, Will you tell the Father Prior that 1 wish to speak to him on behalf of the King. The Prior, who was a man of considerable age. arose laboriously aud replied in an humble and broken voice What do you want of me? I am the prior. Pardon me, father, for interrupting your prayers, replied Rubens, Can you tell me who is the painter of this picture? Of this picture? exclaimed the monk, “what would you think of me if I replied that 1 had forgotten:” What! You knew and can have forgotten it?' Yes, my son, 1 have forgotten completely. Then, lather,” said Rubens, in a tone of insolent jest, you have a verv bad memory. The Prior knelt again without making any reply. I come in the name of the King cried the proud and overindulged Fleming. What more do you desire, brother?” murmured the monk, slowly raising his head. To buy this picture of you. This picture is not for sale. Well, then, tell me where I can find its painter. His majesty will wish to know him, and 1 must embrace him, congratulate him, show him my admiration and affection. All this is alike incapable of realization. Its painter is no longer in the world. He is dead!’ exclaimed Rubens in despair. The master spoke well, said one of his pupils, this picture was painted by a dead man. He is dead! repealed Rubens, and no one knew him. Ili.s name is lorgotten; his name, which should be immortal: his name, which would have eclipsed my own. Yes, mine, lather, added the artist with noble pride, lor you must know that 1 am Peter Paul Rubens! At this name, famous throughout the world, and of which from its connection with a hundred majestic paintings, true marvels of art, no man consecrated to tiod was ignorant, the palli i lace ol the Prior suddenly flushed amt his downcast eyes were raised and fixed on the stranger's countenance with as much veneration as surprise. All! you knew me! exclaimed Rubens with childish satisfaction. 1 aui glad. Now you will belessoia monk toward me S then ... cornel Will you sell me the picture? You ask an impossibility replied the Prior. “Well then, do you know of any other work of this ill-fated genius? fan you not remember his name? Will you t» lI me when he died?' You have misunderstood me, replied the monk, 1 tola you that the painter of this picture did not belong to the world, but that does not mean precisely that he is dead. Oh! he lives! he lives! cried all the artists, let us know him.” Why? The unhappy man has renounced everything t .at is worldly. He has nothing to do with men . nothing I beg you, therefore, let him die in peace.” No, said Rubens with enthusiasm, this cannot be father. When Io l kindles in a soul the sacred lire of

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HIGH SCHOOL CONCERT MAUUKULACKWELr, -JO Last year’s post, said, The new piano is not yet ours That remark w is still tru • in April. 1907. Principal Cresip, who is usually all smiles, went around with his countenance darkened as if some great calamity were about to descend upon him. lie wanted that piano tobe o irs, and the school year was drawing to a close, so he confied his troubles to his friend Gore, who is equal to any emergency anywhere and at any time. He is a man of uscfulne,- and prominence He has a vast deal of influence at the U. of I. where he is located When he says, “Simon says thumbs up, —up they go So he said to several of the students up there— Boys, let’s go down to Atwood and help Cresap clear up that piano debt. He said that every fellow who would volunte«r to go with him. should have a good square meal. In a trice there were a number of responses and several fellows began to tell what they could d in the way of ent -rtainmint. Mr. Gore finally selected a half dozen of the best looking, and they ar rived early Saturday morning. They paraded the street all day. played tennis, and flirted with the pretty girls, just-to pass the tim? away all of which is excusable in college men. When evening came they assembled in the opera house, where they were to display their varied accomplishments. There was a funny man in the crowd, whose name was Hubbart. He was funny looking, funny acting, and he had the funniest feet. They were so large. He said that a barrel of salt fell on them, but that lie wore the same numbered shoes that Mr. Gore wore and no salt had fallen on Mr. Gore’s feet. He told that he and Mr. Cresap went to Peoria once upon a time, to fish on the lake and they killed one hundred and twenty five million ducks, etc. Some didn't believe it. That out rivaled Baron Munchausen’ famous duck story. Tanquary, with his mandolin played such beautiful music that Orpheus with his lute was not in it. Even the small boy in the back of the house was quiet for once Easton, Dr. McClain, Baker, Theo Gross, and Uncle Casper have been tripping the light fantastic toe ever since. Crumbaker spoke a piece about papa’s taking care of the baby, which made every bachelor in the hou c vow he would remain in single blessedness. The quartet. Messers Harris, Gore, Cunningham and Wilkinson had voices as sweet and musical as Apollo's lute, strung with his own hair. Wilkinson is such a tiny little fellow, but when he opened his mouth such a volume of melodious sounds burst forth that his statue was forgotten. He is a veritable Jean De Reszque. Our own girls comprising the Aeolian quartet, sang as never before. The charming students to the right and to the left of them and the sea of faces before them seemed to imspire them. They sang the Goblins'll Get You. and we understand the Champaign goblins got some of them when the entertainment was over. Ben Tomlinson, the man, who goes to Oxford next year, came upon the stage in time to help give the College yell. During this performance the rafters fairly trembled. The Atwood Orchestra with their accompanist, Miss Leah Sipe wrought the audience up to the highest state of ccstacy, especially in the rendition of that classical selection known as Dan Tucker or something else. All the time Mr. Cresap laughed and applauded. He seemed to be like Mark Twain’s hired applaudcr. He even laughed when tne most pathetic scenes were enacted. The entertainment closed and every body went home, smiling and happy and wishing there were another piano needed.