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

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a hi?h school will more than double the pleasures of life; aud the noble deeds to be accomplished. You farmers, I want to say something to you. Listen! I hear you «ay, “I don’t see any use of sending Johnny to high school. He is going to be a farmer and he has a good enough education for the farm; and besides he does not care anything about going to school anyway.” If he does not care anythiug about going to school that makes a difference. But let me suggest this to you; buy your boys and girls some good books; these will not cost you very much, then encourage your -children to read them. Give your boy a taste of alcohol aud he will soon be wanting more. So, I say, give your boy a taste THE LITTLE BO By Myrtle Mrs. Livingstone, a tall and slender woman, came slowly lowu the brick side-walk. With oue hand she held a parasol over her and with the other she led her little boy, Robert. The two Brown hoys, their little checked shirts open at the neck, sat on the fence and stared at Robert and his mother as they passed. He was conscious of Willie Stevens, as well, pretending to hide himself behind a tree. As Mrs. Livingstone reached the long flight of stone steps which led to her own door, she loosened her son’s ''and in order to raise her dress. Robert sat down on the porch. After Robert’s mother had gone into the house, Willie of knowledge and he will soon be anxious to obtain more. If you give your boys and girls a good education they will make you proud and happy. But if you do not, you will see your mistake someday and be sorry of it. So do it now, do not wait until it is too late, and then blame yourself and your children because they are not able to do something great in this old nation of ours. The world needs educated people to goyern it; and some of the best and wisest men and women of the world to day were boys and girls who spent their earlier days on the farm. Do you not want your children to do something to make this world better when they have to depart for that home above than it was when they entered it? Y NEXT DOOR McClain jumped from behind the tree and made a face at him. “Hullo, Willie Stevens,” he called. The Brown boys hearing him, dropped from their fence and siunt-ered up. “What’s your name?” pursued Wi llie in answer. “Robert Livingstone.” Willie at once began to call him nicknames which seemed to say that he did no like his new acquaintance. Rose, a sister to the Brown boys, a rather tall, fieckled girl, wearing a brown checked dress and a brown straw hat, by this time had joined the group. “Hullo Rose,” said Robert, “I know you.”

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can think of no possible motive vhicb the Greek might have had in committing the murder. From the conversations that I have had with A’paecides, I am confident that he admired Glaucus and that they were extremely well-disposed toward one another. On the other hand, I well remember that for a short time before the priest's death, he avoided speaking of the Egyptian, although he had had a great reverence for him before. The young man’s becoming a Nazarene may have caused an estrangement betweeu the twc. But the strongest evidence is always found in the will of the Gods. Praises be unto them! Oh! Marcus, that thou couldst have experienced the emotions which I felt upon beholding the lion, crouching before his intend ed victim as if he were completely subdued by the calm and dignified countenance of his prey! But-still greater was my astonishment when the beast, rushing across the arena, en deavored to leap up the parapet-And, since it has happened, although i did not notice it at the time, 1 recollect that the brute was just in front of that part pf the amphitheater in which Arbaces was seated. It was most certainly devised by the God! And since learning that Glaucus was saved in that horrible disaster and that his accuser met him destruction, I feel all the more assured that the Gods were not to be beaten out f Uieir lawful prey. I shall finish now and when I Y»sit Rome again before many days, I shall tell thee more. Farewell.” The plan of this theme was suggested by reading Edward Bulwer-Lyfton’s “The Last Days of Pompeii,” as will be seen, of course, by all who have read that masterpiece and remember its characters and its plot. A HIGH SCHOOL COURSE By Fked Romine With a view of inducing more scholars to enter the high school of Atwood during the following term of ’08 9, I quote the following observations which have been made by a Freshman. Some people have such narrow conception of what it means to spend four years in a high school that you hear them say, “I am not going to send my children to high school; it costs too much and I don't believe in it anyway. They don’t teach anything but Latin and a whole lot of other nonsense that will never benefit anybody.” When you hear a person say something about like this, you may write it down in your memorandum book that he does not know what he is talking about. For the joy, the inspiration, and the elation which a person receives when lie has learned this same Latin and other nonsense, as some people call it, more than pays for the time and money spent, not counting the real benefit which is derived from an education. A few dollais and a few years spent in

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“No you don't,” muttered one of tlie Brown boys. “I mean I know your name, amended Robert politely. Rose made no reply as she leaned against the lamp post and thoughtfully spun her brown straw hat around by its elastic. Robert, conscious of her superior age and leadership, knew that the boys were waiting to hear what she would say. Willie's voice broke the silence, “His mamma holds him by the hand—Poor little-fraid-cat couldn’t walk alone.” Robert had expected this, but his face blushed. He did not like to have his mother hold his hand, but he had never told her so. “Fraid-cat,” continued his tormentor. “Shut up!” shouted Robert, regardless of the consequences if his mother should overhear such an expression from his lips. He leaped to his feet and ran forward. The group scattered instantly, Rose and the other boys taking to the fence as the safest place. A round stone lay directly in Robort’s path and seeing it, he picked it up and threw it with all his strength, then without waiting to see the consequences of his deed, he turned and ran into the house. “What is the matter, my dear little boy?” asked the mother. “Iran up the steps very fast,” he answered. Then his mother took him up stairs and washed his hot face and hands. His supper was tasteless in his mouth. Why had he thrown that stone? What would Rose think ot him? He thought he ought to tell his mamma and papa all about it, but his courage vanished. He went to bed; he could not sleep but kept thinking about little Willie and whether he had hit him when he threw the stone. Mrs. Brown came out on the porch and called Rose, saying, that supper would be ready in live minutes. Soon the Brown family were running homeward, telling what had happened that day, at the gate. “The little boy next door can throw like everything. He hit Willie Stevens right on the arms.” Meantime, Robert lay on his bed, gazing open-eyed out the window. Over and over again he lived through that afternoon. His pillow became hotter and hotter, less adapted to his head when suddenly he felt as if he warned to pray. He knelt down beside his little bed and said, “Our Father who art in Heaven, 1 want a tall sister and two brothers. I don’t mind if they have freckles. I have been bad, but I didn’t know I was going to be. If you will, I will stand and let Willie Stevens throw a stone at me and I will shut my eyes. I cannot wait much longer for my brothers and sisters because I feel so awful, and this I ask for Jesus’ sake, Amen. Then he stole back to bed and drew the covers up close under his chin and was soon fast asleep. The next morning lie rose with the strong desire upon him to go out and meet Will'e Stevens and fulfill his vow. He hurried out into the hall for bis hat and went slowly down the