Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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Sunrise EARLY one fine morning, I was awakened by the twittering and chirping of birds in the apple trees near my windows. I dressed hurriedly, for I intended to take my dog, Jack, for a nice long walk before breakfast but I heard such a sudden commotion outside, that I looked out to see what was the matter. Eight noisy robins were trying to get possession of a poor little worm, but soon got tired of quarreling and each went to find food for himself. It was very interesting to watch them but when I looked up toward the east I forgot everything else, for I was looking upon one of the prettiest sights that I have ever seen. The eastern sky was full of beautiful clouds. Two large ones, in crimson and gold, were directly opposite me, and were unbounded by a multitude of small, gray ones. I thought they resembled two mountains and the sheep which graze in the valleys near them. The sun was just peeping up behind the mountains, and as I watched it ascend higher and higher, I thought how like our lives was the scene presented. We were once like the sheep, playing and enjoying ourselves. Then as we worked harder and became stronger, we became like small mountains, each trying to occupy a place, distinct from the rest. Then as we become more powerful, and gain in strength and wisdom, we, like the sun, are striving to reach our zeniths. Let us try to reach the highest point we can, for, as Lowell says, “Not failure but low aim is crime.” EMMA APPLEBY, 1912. “©len tarns ®rabeparb” IN the southeastern part of Ireland, in the valley of the river Slaney, lies the quaint little village of Glen Carrig. On the slope of an adjoining hill stands Glen Carrig House, the imposing residence of Colonel French. This house in early days had served as an abbey or monastery, but the members of the French family, into whose hands it had fallen, had eventually turned it into a fine dwelling place. An atmosphere half of awe and dread and half of romance mingled with superstition still slung to the house, and this was increased by the proximity of an old, ruined church which still adjoined the abbey-dwelling. About fifteen years prior to the time of our story, a man named James Lennon, while passing through the graveyard, had been murdered. His body was left under the old ivy-covered wall, where it was later discovered by a workman. The people of the neighborhood wisely nodded their heads over reports that Lennon’s ghost was often seen prowling around the old church ruins in the dim twilight. The graveyard, the old church and the ivy-covered wall, in the dim light of evening, makes one, even today, shudder and fear, 97

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where wearing apparel was sold On the counters were displayed clothing and shoes similar to those which Skygack wore. We left the store and passed down the streets until we came to a stand where a man was selling what we thought were small clay models, but upon examining them more closely we found they were made of cheese. We bought several of these thinking to take them to our friends but alas! the temptation for a taste of cheese became so great that we ate them instead. After passing some time in Moonville, we again entered a street car and rode into the country. This country was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. Such exquisite flowers and trees were never to be seen on the earth. We picked great bouquets of Jupiter flowers, so called because they had been imported from the planet Jupiter. We walked quite a distance over the country road until we reached a small lake called the Eye Lake because it forms the Moon’s Eyes. This lake was very clear and we were told to look through it. We did so and were surprised to discover that we could see down upon the earth and all that was happening there. We were now convinced that the moon really had eyes, and no argument however strong, against this from our earth friends, could change our opinion. As we had been gone for a long time, one of my friends suggested that we go back to Moonville and get our dinner. We thereupon walked to the car, got aboard and rode back to town. We inquired for a good restaurant and were directed to a queer looking building facing the main business street. The food served here was very good with the exception of the soup which was so thin that we all agreed that the name Atmosphere Soup was certainly appropriate. In the afternoon wc went to what we thought was a foot ball game but upon arriving at the grounds we saw that the players were kicking a head cheese instead of a foot ball. These head cheeses as you may imagine did not last very long and a supply of them was kept at one side of the field so that a fresh one could be easily gotten when it was needed. The game was an exciting one, the score at the end of the first half being 6 to 6. There was no time limit after the first half, the game being called off as soon as the supply of head cheeses was exhausted. The final score was 10 to 8, favor Case School or, in English, Cheese School. While we were enjoying ourselves at the game several of the more curious moon people had been investigating our ether ship and by some false move had started it toward the earth. When we looked for our ship we found it was gone and as we were to go home that night we were greatly distressed. Finally Skygack told us that every evening an old woman on a broom came to sweep the cobwebs from the sky. Skygack had often ridden down to the earth with her and she would probably take us if he asked her. We saw her ride by and Skygack asked her to take us down to the earth, and, seeing we were his friends, she agreed, and we rode home in a unique but safe manner. IRENE GUENTZLER, 1912. 96

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when he recalls that ghosts have been seen stalking around the old ruins, and most of the villagers would go out of the way rather than pass the scene of Lennon’s murder after nightfall. It was dusk. In a small, three-room cot on the outskirts of Glen Carrig village sat sat Andy Doran, the cobbler, busily working on a pair of boots. Andy, as well as being a good cobbler, was also a fine story-teller. On all the traditions and superstitions about ghosts, farics and hidden pots of gold, in which the peasantry of that locality were firm believers, he was well posted. The young fellows of the village were in the habit of gathering around Andy’s cheerful hearth during the evening. They would watch him ply his trade, but what they enjoyed more than anything else was to listen to his entertaining yarns of which he seemed to have an unlimitd supply. “The boys are late tonight,’’ said Andy as, stepping his work for a minute, he lit his pipe with a piece of glowing peat. His words were addressed to his wife, Shela, who, looking up from her knitting, replied in a kind tone: “Why they’ve plinty of time yit; it’s only half after sivin.’’ “Shela, there is a story which I have been thinking of all day, and I think I’ll till it to the boys.” “Here they are, Andy!” exclaimed Shela. The door opened and in stepped Bill Mooney, the village blacksmith, with five companions. “God save all here,” said Bill. “God save ye kindly, Bill,” responded Andy, faithfully carrying out the Irish custom of salutation. After all were seated Andy said, “As I was jist saying to Shela, a story me grandfather tould me has been on me mind all day.” “Let’s hear it, blurted out Darby Redmond. “Shure,” says Andy, “me grandfather tould me a hundred times how old Pether Duff’s grandfather became suddenly rich. Pether's. grandfather claimed he got the money from an uncle who died in California; but me grandfather said he knew better, and that it was a pot of goold ould Pether’s grandfather dramed of at Tubbercurry graveyard and that when he got the money he pretinded that it kirn from America.” When Andy had concluded his tale, which told of goblins and hidden treasures, old Tim Hurley, the local postman, who had listened open-mounted, said, excitedly, “Be dad, Andy, I often thought there was a pot of gold hid somewhere in the ould graveyard above.” And he pointed mysteriously toward the French house and the adjoining graveyard. “Them’s me sintiments, too,” replied Andy, “and some of us will live to see it come thrue.” In Andy’s audience that night were Marshal, the butler. Tom Nolan, the coachman, and Ned Brady, a local character, commonly known as Tip, all of whom were employed at Glen Carrig House. On their way home, while 98