Barringer High School - Athenaeum Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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2 Nothing touchiug uniformity of belief, or affecting the internal spiritual discipline of churches. Nothing can be found in these laws savoring of tyranny over men's liberties of conscience. Yet were they denounced, defied and disobeyed. The Emperor himself complains that “leading Catholic priests have, unfortunately, not only joiued in the movement, but joined in it to the extent of open revolt against existing laws.” Bismarck enforced the laws, enforced them by penalties of fine, imprisonment and for- feiture of oflice. He expelled all Jesuits from Prussian territory, and suppressed all factious organizations of the Church. “ Monstrous! ” cried the Ultramontane . “ This is political proscription, this is perse- cution.” Political proscription it may be, but can society afford to parley with theorists about the amount of consideration due its enemies, when Law, Government, and social order are threatened T At such times action prompt, vigorous, effectual, must meet the emergency or all is lost. And is it persecu- tion t If indeed there be any persecution it is hardly in a style to recall the terrible solemnities of “ The Holy Inquisition.’’ But political proscription and persecution there U none, for laws precisely similar to those which in Prussia have invoked the thunders of ecclesiastical denunciation, laws such as have there been met by bitter defiance, and by systematic disol cdicnco, just such laws a« these have long existed in Oldenburg and other German States, not only with his knowledge and recognition, but by actual compact with the Pope. Could these laws, “ if against God and the Church” in one part of Germany, lie less so in another ? Was Borne indeed reduced to this extremity for a pretext to assail German Nationality. But religion, wo admit, is no proper sub- ject for legislation, nor is political proscrip- tion and persecution a just exercise of the prerogatives of government; but to combat foreign usurpation and domestic treason is such, and it has ! cen only to the resistance of the one and the suppression of the other that Bismarck’s Ecclesiastical Policy has ever been directed. But why are we called upon to sympathize with Germany, a great and successful military power, in her internal conflicts ? Because the question is not whether Germany be great or small, strong or weak, but whether she is just and right; and no man, no nation, how- ever powerful, can afford to go agAinst the morel judgment of mankind or to ignore in great questions the calm verdict of history. But this is not all. Our own interests in this conflict, individual and national, are identical with the interest of Germany. Bismarck's antagonist is also our enemy. Rome has not declared war against German independence and civilization alone, but against society and civil authority everywhere. It is “ The Holy Roman Empire ” seeking universal su- premacy, ready in France to ally itself with HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL. Legitimists and Imperials, in Germany with social Democrats and Polish Revolutionists, | in Spain to bless the Carlist banditti, in the i United States to work by free schools or agaiuat them, and in every land, whether through the laws, behind the laws, under the laws, or over the laws, to seize its own oppor- 1 tunity. It is a foreign tyrant saying to our sister Republic : “ We do censure, condemn I and declare utterly null and void ” laws en- i acted by the Government of that Republic, laws providing for free education, for the j freedom of the press, and for freedom of worship. It is a Roman despotism, insolent- ly parading its pretensions before our eyes, creating its minions of American citizens and upon American soil. Seeking iu every way, | by fair means or foul, to control, subvert, or abolish our splendid system of free education, j this is the form that we recognize and abhor. I O may it ever be as justly said that when the liberties of man, or the independence and sovereignty of States, or the sacred princi- pies of justice, or the glorious institution of j civilization were in peril, that then America | was in sympathy with Right and Truth, for now, as when twenty-three hundred years ago it was written near the willow-fringed ; rivers of Babylon, “ As for truth, it cndurctli | and is always strong. It liveth and con- I quereth forevermore.” The Republic of New Grenada. A DICKENS PARTY. BY JULIA MKItkY. It is Mr. and Mrs. Boffin’s Golden Wed- ding day. Perhapsyondon’tallknowMr. and Mrs. Boffin. In such a case you must imme- diately make their acqnaintancc. No one who has once seen Mrs. Boffin’s broad, cheery face can help feeling anxious to know more of her. In short, Mr. and Mrs. Boffin arc the kindliest, cheeriest, most sympathizing, un learned people you can find by scouring great I.ondon for-a-’day. It was the desire of Mrs. Boffin and her l eloved “Noddy” to celebrate this auspi- cious day by inviting all their friends, rich and poor, in Dickens’ world ; and according- ly on this day we find this plan has been carried out, for the parlors are full of people of every kind and degree. A young girl with dark curly hair, bright expressive eyes, and a generally coquettish, graceful air, easily recognized as the “ lovely woman,” Bella Wilfcr, is talking to her father, R. Wilfcr, a meek, chubby little man, looking very much like a cherub grown old. Bella is petting her father and talking to him in her earnest, confiding way. “ Hold! I cannot allow such levity.” Whose voice can that be but Mrs. Wilfcr's? And there she is, her Imnds encased in gloves, and handkerchief over her head, glancing in her most freezing manner on that original young man, Sam Weller, Esq. He refusing to be put down, continues the rccountal of his ad- ventures since he “ was first pitched neck and crop into the world to play at leap frog with its troubles,” interspersing the same with many of his original anecdotes. Mrs. Wil- fcr, being at last propitiated, relaxes into a grim smile, and edifies him with reminiscences of her early life. But who is that smiling, benignant, jolly- looking old gentleman? Is it?—yes, it is Scrooge. But what an agreeable change! Scrooge, who used to » c a terror to all children, is now leaning over a wee, p'uTo.Tbj»- cheerful little face, looking up in his and smiling very contentedly. Well, we are glad to sec old friends changed, when it is for the better, and henceforth will give ghosts some credit, since Marlcy’s ghost certainly benefit- ted Scrooge, and opened his heart to Tiny Tim. Mark Tapluy, searching for a fit subjecton which to expend bis cheerfulness, discovers that “ lone, lorn creature,” Mrs. Gummidge. No one, after seeing her thin, dreary face and unconcealed forlornity, could deny him credit for being cheerful with her. He succeeds in imparting some of bis superfluous good na- ture to her, for her spirits, before at freezing point, rise with astonishing rapidity. Mrs. Jellyby, a pretty, plump woman of about forty, with handsome eyes that seem to look a great way off, is talking in n very learned manner about Africa. Her extensive correspondence of about five htindrcd Todcrs j| daily, shows great devotion to that country, especially to the Borrioboola-Ghans. ncr principal hearer is a well-preserved elderly gentleman with a delicate, refined face, and an easy negligence of dress and manner. Ho asks questions in an artless, childish manner but then, he is only a child, he says. He has no worldly wisdom. His wants arc simple. Then why can’t men lot Harold Skimpole live without demanding what he docs not have—money. The mystic message “ Barkis was willin’,” causes a large, good natured woman, with a a face very like a hard red apple, to laugh and blush most unaccountably, sending Peg- gotty’s buttons in a perfect shower to all parts of the room. Of course Mr. Pickwick is there, and never was there so benevolent a smile or benignant a look as that which illuminates the face of the great Pickwick. Mr. Micawber, tired of waiting for some- thing to turn up, has decided that his talent for talking can be best employed in exhibiting Mrs. Jarley’s Wax works, and accordingly he is about concluding a bar- gain with Mrs. Jarley, with prospects of bringing up the young Micawbers in tba promising field. | A young man with a large mouth stretchc to its utmost limits in a good-natured grit and with a peculiar faculty for showing h buttons, of which he has an incredible nun

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NEWARK PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL, JANUARY 1, 1870. + Vf'.i No. f,. STORM THOUGHTS. •• itonlaai Rttitte. Aifatiut my window, the rain to-night 1 pattering, thick and faat: And the tree without moan weird and wild. In every freshening blaat. The wind increase, the etorm grow wild. And ahriek thro laboring tree»: While the deep’ninf roar from tho far aeo-ahore, 8peak the wrath of the angry ace . And here, in my warm and cheerful room, I I i» ten to »torm and rain ; And think of thone, who on hclplco wreck Are toeaed on the fearful main. I »cem to cc a» the lightning» fla»h, The wreck ’mid the dying »pruy ; And the hla»t in the tree aeem to echo a elirick, A» each binding m »t give» way. I »ee her ecudding before tho wind, No helm her cour»o to guido; I hear the cra»h, aa upon a rock. She part» 'mid the angry tide. Another flaah, and no ahip appear»; No wreck among tho wave ; But a bubbling eddy for a moment mark». The place of a hundred grave». Ah! many a child «ill cal) iu vain, And many a parent rave, For one» thoy loved, that deop in the aca. Now alecp in a coral cave. The wife will watch and pray in vain For the form aha will never aee: And her aad, »a l heart will tell her thin, Aa ahe ki»»e her child at her knee. The mother will mingle the name in her prayer . Of the »on ahe will never aeo: And dream, what ahe dared not think by day. That her boy waa drowned at aea. But these are thought , too dark and aad. Yea. darker than need to be; Por God, who ia God of the flowery land. I» God of the flowcrlc»» ae . BISMARCK'S ECCLESIASTICAL POLICY. PRIZE ORATION OF THE CLASS OF 75. UT J. PAUL HKYSOI.DS. A hundred years ago the spirit of inde- pendence and of nationality flrst stirred in the hearts of the American people. Then it was that thirteen heroic colonies, weak in aterial resources but strong in the conscious- •ss of right, appealed to the God of Battles r an idea and a principle. Then it was at in a conflict with the strongest military d naval power of the age, they triumphant- asserted the justice of the one and vindi- cated the truth of the other. Ten years ago a mourning nation was told that her heroes had not fallen in vain, but that on the field at Appomattox that other idea, the idea of the inviolability of hnman rights, and that other principle, the principle of unity and integrity of the State, were recognized and established forever. To-dsy there is another conflict for an idea, and a principle, a con- flict not yet, thank Heaven, made vivid by the horrors of war, but nevertheless a conflict whose issue is as vital to America and Ameri- can institutions as was that whose success made us a nation, or that other whose result assured our existence and gave it perpetuity. What ia this idea, this principle? Where the scene of conflict? The nation is in apparent harmony. No sounds or scenes of discord disturb our peaceful shore . No word of hostile demonstration flashes over our cables. But way down upon the south- ern slope of Europe, upon the historic banks of the Tilwr, where the crumbling monu- ments of Roman greatness mourn the depart- ed glory of the eternal city, and frown upon the degeneracy of a noble race, a voice, terri- ble in its historic associations, speaks to Christendom, denouncing in tones familiar to them only, of m disral despotism, denounc- j ing the “ audacity ” of modem, thought, of modern civilization, of modern liberty, demanding universal obedience, and de- claring all temporal authority subject to I the spiritual power. The idea of civil : allegiance, the principle of the suprem- acy of the State, this k the idea and this the principle that is availed, assailed by a power whose potent influence has made mem- orable twelve centuries of European history under that terribly significant title “The Dark Ages. But where is the scene of this conflict ? Prussia, long insulted and oppressed, emerg- ing from her vale of humiliation, fired with the spirit of her heroes, resolved to emulate the days of the great Frederick. She demanded a leader; a leader who would point her to the realization of her ambition —one great, united, Germanic nation. In Bismarck -Soldier,Statcsmsn, Philosopher she found one; snd from Dupe! to Konig- I gratz, from Koniggratz to Sedan, from Sedan to Paris, swiftly one after the other he swept away the obstacle to nationality, and forty million people of one country, one language, one destiny, became one great, free and happy nation. But sixteen of these forty millions owed a spiritual allegiance to the Church of Rome, the church in whose history the idea of religion is lost in that of an usurping political policy. The Church, in which to- day, in the language of a great English Statesman, “ Individual Servitude, however abject, will not satisfy the dominant party, the State must also be a slave.” Here then is the scene of this conflict of nationality and • Paparchy,” of society and intolerance. The antagonistic forces had met in the Ger- man Empire. Collision was inevitable. Rome had not changed since the days that witness- ed a German Emperor, smocked and barefoot in the snow, imploring absolution of a piti- less Hildebrand. She demanded submission; would accept no less. “ But, -said Bismarck, significantly. “ we are not going to Canoraa, either bodily or spiritually.” It would be long l cfore Pins IX. would play the Hilde- brand to the Emperor Frederick William. It was not a defiance to provoke Papal antago- nism. Uitramontanism was already an or- ganized political power, with principles of avowed hostility to German unity long before it was consummated at Versailles, and the new Empire st once liccame the mark of Its hatred, bitter, intense, powerful. Bismarck was not the aggressor. But in assailing the sovereignty of the Empire they touched the apple of his eye. Was be to accept defeat in the very hour of victory? Were German unity, independence, sover- eignity, the dream of her poets, the aspiration of her patriots, the vague longing of her people, to be thus rudely annihilated at the very moment of their realization ? Were tho interests of civil society and government everywhere to be surrendered without a struggle? No,' said Bismarck, and 4 no ’ was re-echoed by the German people, and by the voice of all nations. The State would never surrender, when surrender meant to vacate sovereignty. And so when Seminaries sup ported by the Stato were found to he nurse- ries of treason, controlled by ultramontane from Italy and devoted to the denationalize lion of clergy, loyalty to the State, and a good education were by law made prelimi- nary qualifications of the clergy. It was forbidden to employ church discipline for political ends, or for the injury of any one in person, property or liberty. It was declared that any person should be privileged to with- • draw from the church without sustaining censure or damage. Nothing restricting liberty of faith, of worship, or of conscience.

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her, U standing lost in admiration. The object of Sloppy’s glance is a lame girl with long, wavy golden hair—JenDy Wren, the Doll’s Dressmaker— who is energetically tell- ing Dick Sniveller she knows his tricks and his manners, while the Marchioness stands by in gaping admiration at any one with so much spirit and independence. Mr. Jarndyco is talking genially to every one, saying iu a positive tone that the wind is south, not cast. Mr. and Mrs. Boffin are bustling around, meanwhile, making every- one, if possible, more at home than ever. The cricket chirps away right merrily on the hearth, seeming excited by the company, and if its rival—the kettle—were here, it must surely acknowledge itself defeated, for the music that pours forth from its melodious throat defies all restraint from size. In due time supper is announced, and the bounteous supplies justly feel flattered by the ample justice dono them. Toasts without number are drank and acknowledged. En- joyment is at its height, when poor little Johnny comes in, drawn completely one- sided by the immense lwiby, looking much larger than he. The breathless Johnny is relieved of his load and heartly enjoys his supper, while the precious baby is entrusted to Tilly Slow boys, who with the best inten- tions brings its bead into immediate contact with every solid near at hand. Of course there must be a dance, but that is only for the young folks. So those who can call no longer themselves young, look on re- signedly, till inspired by the example of Mr. Boffin, who triumphantly leads his “old lady on the floor, all join in and whisk about with great spirit. How they dance ! Even Tilly Slowboys and the baby take part, which gives Tilly an excellent opportunity for testing the quality of baby’s skull Then, after wishing Mr. and Mrs. Boffin many happy returns of the day, they part with mutual good-will and enjoyment, leaving the cricket alone in his glory. After a few drowsy chirps he subsides, justly feeling that never b's a cricket so distinguished itself before, and that it is a day to occur but once in a cricket's life. When men arc hastening with wild hope in pursuit of their selfish desires, their ears are deaf to thousands of soft voices which greet them with resistless power, when once disappointment, danger and despair have compelled them to retrace their steps. Fi.okknok N. Gregg. Tiik State Board of Education in connec- tion with the State Superintendent, has beeu mindful of the coming exhibition at Phila- delphia, and proposes to send photographs of every public school iu the State, with specimens of work done by pupils of each class. We hope that our school will lie well represented. HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL. REMEMBRANCES. nr ALICE B. rOISIEK. Her thought were drifting bnek ward To tho halcyon day of yore, When a merry child she used to be, Playing at mother’ door. To the little brook and the meadow, And tho old mOM-grown mill, Whoso wheel w« always running, Hut now is silent and still. To tho ramble in the forest, With “ Carlo ” at her aide; And the pleasant talk with mother In tho shadowy eventide. Alas, they all have left her, SAt sleep in tile silent tomb, And tho dear old home on tho hillside Is all a vanished dream. The memories that keep thronging Of those happy days long gone, Scent to mock her now a she sits With her grief and care atone. But one bright thought is cheering her t’i on her lonesome way— The thought of tho Heavenly greeting On somo golden future day. When in that peaceful abode, Where the loving angels aro blest, Wc shall meet to part no more In tho land of eternal rest. BLANK VERSE. IIY EMMA DUNNING. One lieantiful morning in Decemlier, n young girl might have been seen hurrying along the main street of one of our suburban villages, leading her younger sister by the hand. They had started out to buy Christ- mas presents. The sun shone-pleasantly and the crisp snow cracked sharply beneath their ! feet. They were very happy, and the elder thought “how pleasant this is, gliding in nnd out, seeing the pretty things and buying those that you wish to have, it is just real life poetry.'’ And the younger, thinking of i he story that her mama had told her, won- dered “if the beautiful Christ-child would’nt like a present on Christmas morn ing, and wished she could find one good cuough for Him. The long looked for Christmas morning came, but there were no happy greetings 'or little gifts exchanged. The little girl had been ill; all night the anxious mother and sister had watched ; and now tho “Christ-child” had taken His gift to Himself. All was gloom and sadness, lor the life of the house was gone, and the lonely sister looked wearily out of the win- dow aud thought of the day, only two weeks since, when everything seemed so bright and beautiful, when she had thought that life was poetry. Now,she had no little sis- , ter, anil every thing was dark and gloomy; all ] 8 the poetry seemed suddenly to have gone out of her life, and looking forward to the future years, nothing remained but cold bard prose. Yet the poetry was there all the same ; and in the later years she recognized it, and saw that it was just this sad change that she had needed to make her life better. And so frequently when life looks least inviting, it contains the most poetry, although it may take long years to find it out; even ns in blauk verse, we must read the long lines through to the end before wc can under- stand the poetry, and know that it is really verse. Life is poetry, but poetry is not limited to the consonance of sounds, and life is as varied as verse. Wc naturally think of poetry as insepar- rably connected with rhyme, but with very little search we find the verse without a rhyme, blank verse— long weary lines, just doled out in a measure, and every one begin- ing with a capital letter, just to make you catch your breath and think you’re going to ! cgin again.” But it is in this measure that the hero stories are told. Would’nt it be splendid if wc all were heroic and our lives were epics! Wc may enjoy a life of gaiety; with no aim but pleasure, a smooth and easy flow of events may seem to us perfect harmony, but with deeds done jnst to .make the rhyme and rhythm, life filled with selfish purposes gradually becomes narrower and narrower; for by too much sunlight the vision is con- • traded. When trials and disappointments come, former gaiety having unfitted us for sorrow, wc ure at first weighed down with trouble ; but looking about us and seeing others bear- ing greater burdens bravely, we feel ashamed and put away our own petty grief. Wc can then sympathize with the suffering, and can help the “ heavy laden,” and thus our trials may diffuse the starlight that enlarges the vision and enables it to take in influite space. Our lives arc then adapted to higher and more perfect things; we are not looking out so much for the pleasure, the mere rhyming, but more for the real good; and so life becomes elevated, miyestic and even sublime; then indeed it is poetry. Wc all like hero stories written in blank verse, the denouement is always so grand, and we follow eagerly to sec what the heroes do in the end. But what if they are “all killed off? ” Then they do really begin again, and the hero story is indeed finish- ed. If wc wish our lives to be epics, we have one grand hero story which wc may read and try to make our stoiy resemble; but in order to reach perfection, we must not skip a single line of our model, but study it diligently and carefully, and when we come to the end of life, the Great Hero will say of our work as of his own—“ It is finished.”