Barringer High School - Athenaeum Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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MARRIAGES AND DEATHS. For the best Oration—Gift of the Alumni —Edmund K. Hopper. For the highest per cent, in Mathematics during the past four years—John L. John- son Medal—Kittie V. N. Crane. For the highest percent, in Scholarship of the entire Class as shown by the final examination—George B. Swain Medal— Carrie I). Schieck. For the best Rhetorical work during the 23 year by the young ladies—Tichenor Medal Marion Thomas. For the best final Essay of the young ladies—Abbie A. E. Taylor Medal — Genevieve S. Grork. For the highest per cent, in Scholarship, Deportment, and Attendance of the entire Class during the year—Hovey Medal— Hester B. Dean. MARRIAGES. Miss Annie M. Force, 71, to Mr. Harvey J. Poinier. Mr. Charles E. S. Thorn, ’76, to Miss Minnie Hyde. Mr. Albert D. Burgesser, 77 to Miss Ella Finter, '83. Mr. William L. Ilazen, ’79, to Miss Olive Starr. Mr. Elmer L. Rodrigo, ’79, to Miss Anna M. Paulin. Miss Sarah E. Bowers, 80, to Mr. Henry Applegate. Miss Mattie Putnam, ’85, to Mr. George E. Rowland. Miss Lillian B. Jerolomon, '8$, to Mr. Charles Brintzinghoffer. Miss Grace Dawson, ’86, to Mr. Robert (). Bell. Miss May Hendrick, ’88, to Mr. William M. Berry, Jr. DEATHS. Mr. Willis Bristol, 74. Miss Helen Tunison, ’93. Frank B. V x rhees, ’90. FRANK B. VOORIIEES, Class ok 90. died 1 Closed arc the eyes that have sparkled with laughter, Sealed are the lips that have smiled in pure mirth. Silently, noiselessly, Angels surrounded thee, Bore thee triumphantly Hence from the earth. Gone in the bloom of thy youthful ambition; Gone from our midst, facing death undeterred. Silently, noiselessly, Angels surrounded thee, Ami immortality On thee conferred. SC. 20, 1009. Silence now falls in the place of thy gladness; Silence has buried thine earthly strife. Pensive and thoughtful we linger in sadness, Never again may we meet in this life. Dead! the world cries, Dead! echo sighs Dead. Dead to the world, but to us thou art near: Vision may fail, yet is memory dear, List'ning, there come to us words of cheer, Joyous I dwell in happintss here.” Living! the angels cry. Living! echoes reply, Living. N. K.

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EDITORIAL. himself with the High Sehool four years ago, and during that time his eareer gave ample assurance of future success. Of amiable disposition, genial temper, and large social tendencies, he endeared him- self to teacher and pupil alike. He was a faithful student, apt and ready to learn, and if life and health had been spared, would have graduated with honor. We shall ever hold him in pleasant and affec- tionate memory: “ Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, He sparkled, was exhaled and went to heaven.” We have on our table a goodly number of essays and poems which we would publish if we had room, but even our four extra pages will not suffice for them. Among the articles laid over are “The Dew-drops Story,” by Miss Edith M. Jaco- bus, ’92. “A Picture in the Coals,” by Miss Clara 0. Simonson, 92. “ Biddy,” by Miss Carrie J. Osborne, 93. “A New Year’s Call,” by Miss Maria H. Ely, ’93. “ Sea Weed,” by Miss Minnie Ochs, ’93. It is to be feared that the grandeur of some of Shaw’s periods will be eclipsed by the brilliant rhetoric of the Senior girls’ recitations in literature. ONE quietly made us acquainted with the fact that a new word has recently been coined by saying: “ Spenser is still the third name in our literature, and he has not been surplanted, except by Dante, in any other.” BABY MAUD. The sun was shining his brightest, The skies were of deepest blue When Maud and I went walking And roaming the meadows through. Such a dear, sweet, little maiden, Her years only numbered three, But I think ’twas the fairest vision That ever appeared to me. Her cheeks were pink as the wild-rose, Her eyes of the violet’s blue That hide in the green, grassy meadows, And peep through their leaves at you. Said Maud, in a faint, little whisper, “ I feel so happy, don’t you? I’ve wondered and I’ve wondered Aunty, why the sky is so blue. Tis the color of gentians aud blue bells, And the color of mama’s eyes, And I think whenever I see them They’re made from part of the skies, “ And I’ll tell you something, Aunty, In them I always see, Two dear little angel faces. Smiling and laughing at me.” Dear baby, God keep her ever So pure in life’s long race. That whatever reflects her image Shall show an angel’s face. A. C. R., CLASS OF ’9O. PRIZES OF 1889. For the highest per cent, in Scholarship and Deportment of the Class in German during the year—Edward Goeller Prize— Charles R. Floyd. For the highest per cent, in Scholarship, Deportment, and Attendance of the Gradu- ates of the Commercial Department—Gift of the Gentlemen of the Class of Scventy- N ine—M a x Ha m m e rsc i i lag. For the highest total average of all the examinations for the four years by the Young Ladies—Gift of the Alumni— Jennie B. Harvey.

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24 I AGO. I AGO. WM. II. OSBORNE, ’90. “ Honest Iago.” IN the ancient days of gnomes and fairies, when superstition and wild imagination pictured impossibilities to the untrained minds of savage Britons, it was popularly believed by those barba- rians, that his Satanic majesty preferred to transact his business by proxy, so he kindly imbued with his spirit some choice human being, and thus established an agency on earth. Perhaps, in delineating the character of Iago, the poet intended to convey some such impression, for, in none other of Shakespeare’s plays, is there a character so much resembling Mephistopheles. Not a hundred yards from the Rialto, in Venice, once stood the mansion of the venerable Brabantio. Upon the scene of action enters a young man not yet thirty; a young man clad in a sombre suit of dark green, with brown topped boots and sword at his side ; a cavalier, a soldierly looking fellow he appears. His thin black hair is already streaked with gray; he has a thin, gristly nose and the slightest possible pointed mustachios and goatee; rather oblique eyebrows and gray eyes; cold, keen, gray eyes. This is Iago, honest Iago. A handsome face, truly, but wicked; a sinister, sly, deep face: honest Iago— deep, devilish Iago. Iago was the friend of Othello, the friend of Cassio, the friend of Roderigo, and—the enemy of them all,—honest Iago. Slighted by the Moor and subor- dinate to Cassio, he hated them both. It was not a passionate hate, but a cool, gentlemanly, inward hate. “ When a man bleeds inwardly, it bodes no good to him:” when a man hates inwardly, “it bodes no good to others.” With a villain, hate and revenge are synonymous. Mask- ing his revenge under a plausible excuse for jealousy, Iago played the villian. To study the character of the general, to find his weakest point, to lay the plot—in the fertile mind of Iago, “ is but thought of and tis done.” We cannot but admire the consummate art of the villian. Evidently a master of intrigue in war, it was pastime to lay a plot in peace. Shakespeare has a happy faculty of voicing through the mouth’s of his villians some of the most virtuous expressions of thought. Thus Iago gives utterance at times to the most beautiful sentiments: yet they serve only the more to blacken his character. His evident reluctance to discover Cassio to the Moor, his “divided duty” between friendship and justice, testify to the cunning of this Satan. Pretending to pour oil upon the rankling wound, Iago carefully sprinkled it with salt; in making light of Desde- mona’s alleged fault, he made her appear the worse. O, he was no common butcher, this Iago: a practiced surgeon, one to perform the most delicate operation, to separate the finest tissues. In completing his great scheme, Iago was never heated, but always calm, cool, and collected. The proper (improper) consummation depended on a c x)l head and sound judgment: a false step might prove fatal—to Iago. Iago was no courtier, no ladies’ man: “You might relish him better in the soldier than in the scholar.” He was but an honest solder: it was not his cue to play the flatterer like a common villian, an obsequious knave; no, no, he knew better.