Eastern High School - Punch and Judy Yearbook (Washington, DC)

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THE EASTERNER 9 and I looked at each other in consterna- tion, “That senile old idiot,” said Anderson. “The people at the tavern were right. He's more than peculiar, he’s crazy.” “No,” I said, “he’s sincere. There’s something in what he says. Any way, we'll see tonight.” “1 won't get out of bed,” said Ander- son, “to see any ghost with the odor of Sweet-peas.”’ But he did. At one o'clock we both got up, dressed, and went into the side yard. Autumn had come early that year and the yard was filled with dried leaves, that rustled as we walked. A full moon lit up every corner of the big yard. “A good night for ghosts,” said Ander- son. “Look,” I cried, “there it is. the man.” “Where?” he asked. “I don’t see any- thing.” He was right. I had seen nothing but a shadow. It was my imagination. But still I seemed to smell a queer indefinable odor. “What's that white thing moving in the window?” I asked. “That’s old Garret smelling sweet peas,” said Anderson. “You're as fool- ish as he is.” The next day, when we went to see some friends in the village, we asked them about old Garret and his hallucination. “Yes,” they said, “poor old Garret. He’s a nice old man. Too bad he’s crazy Imagine he would be daffy, living off by himself as he does.” “But has any one ever seen the corpse hanged on the tree?” we asked. “Some people have thought they have,” they answered, “but they never really knew whether they did or not. It’s the smell of the sweet peas that gets them. They seem to imagine the odor of the sweet peas and the ghost comes easy then. (Continued op page 19] There is SONNET TO A MAY DAWN The scented glory of the new-born day Holds me enthralled. The» rising sun pours streams Of golden scintillating light that gleams Thruout the waking world. Even the jay Has ceased his idle chatter as the day In all its shim'ring radiance beams Upon his fragrant woodland, ‘till it seems It has been altered, by some magic way. ' Oh! May, thou art the month of sunshine bright And delicate pink laurel and skies blue; Thou art the month when all the world seems right And living is a joy that is too true. It seems to me to miss the human sight; The Living Dead alone do not love you. C. T. Lanham, '20. Dorothy Rohrer, Eastern, 1919, who won the prize offered for the best work in English, is keeping up her good work at Wilson College. The following poem appeared in the March number of The Pharetra, the college magazine. GLIMPSES A streak of crimson on the snow; A speeding form, A whir of wings, A clear note lifted free ;— The cardinal sings. A flash of warmth and color On a winter's day. A lane winds down between the hills, The honeysuckle blooms. A splash of blue Tip-tilted on the tangled rose, A lilting note. The bunting lifts his song of joy Upop the summer breeze. Dorothy Rohrer.

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THE FASTERNER 8 ticed when we had first come to live with him. Lows Sahel “That tree,” he said, “was old, W the house was built, and God knows how old it is now. When ] was a young man, scarcely more than a boy, this room was made mine, as none of my five sisters (all are dead now) would use it on account of the tree's keeping out all the light. “One night when Twas about twenty years old, 1 found myself unable to sleep. 1 was drowsy as if doped, and a queer faint odor pervaded the room. I after- wards learned it was the odor of the sweet-pea. None of them grow in this part of the country, and forever after it has had a queer effect upon me, produc- ing nausea and a queer mental condition, as if 1 were half recalling dim recollec- tions of a previous life. These ideas never became tangible. They were simply fleet- ing ideas that coursed through my brain. This particular night, I seemed to hear voices talking at the foot of my bed, and every once in a while some one would take a few steps across the floor. To save my life I could not move a single limb or open my eyes. I was in a stupor, unable to move or think, but still receiv- ing definite ideas. After a while, I seemed to hear a loud clamor at the window sill and then a low moan, After that the noise subsided. “It did not seem as if I really slept at all that night, except as I have said, I was in a dull stupor. Early in the morning, I scemed to experience a feeling of re- lief of some kind, and I opened my eyes and got up. Nothing appeared to be dis- turbed in the room. I went to the win- dow. There was a fresh coolness in the air. The sun had not appeared over the distant hill tops yet. . Everything was gray. 1 glanced down. There | saw a sight so horrible that 1 was rooted to the ground. 1 have seen this self same sight a dozen times since, but never has it Pr peared so'gha stly: Hanging on the near- est limb of the tree outside my window was a lifeless body, with head sunken low on its breast. I could almost reach out and touch its sunken cheeks. The body was horribly deformed and the sightless eyes bulging out of its head sent a shiver down my spine. “The corpse was that of a man of ¢]- derly middle age. Whether it was a case of suicide or not, we never knew. We could not identify him. As my father cut him down, I smelt that detestable odor of sweet-peas. We buried him underneath the tree and he lies there to this day. “This incident happened on August 2. Five years later, to the day, I was return- ing late at night, froma neighboring farmhouse, when ,as I entered the side te of the house, I saw that same hor- rible sight that I had seen five years pre. vious, A black figure silhouetted against the full moon and swaying slowly back and forth outside my window. I fainted in a very unmanly manner. I woke up in the morning and found that I had been carried to my room. There was still the unmistakable odor of sweet-peas, but the body was gone. My family said that they did not smell any odor nor had they seen any body. This, they said, was the first of a series of epileptic fits. They lied. I have never been anything but sane. 1 have deeper penetration than most men and I have seen things so horrible that I cannot repeat them even to you—but ev- ery five years on the night of the second of August, I have seen that same black spectre. Again five years have passed, and tonight is the night. You will sce the man.” Here he became agitated and began to talk to himself in an incomprehensible manner. He left the room and Anderson

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THe EASTERNER Published Five Times @ Year by the Students of ASTERN HIGH SCHOOL, WASHINGTON, D.C, : VOL. XXIII WASHINGTON, D.C, MAY, 1920 NO 4 Editorial Staff. Humphrey Walsh . Helen Black Grace Welsch Helen Weigel SO pc GO WOMB OU Ale Mae Jones ....+++-Charles Lanham Editor-in-Chief Assistant Editor Literary Editor’: .398¢-h st = -7e- 22007 7higa, mila? Assistant Literary Editor Verse. ssecccesretertet lusanl Baitor satvjebiiesmeereamc es marae ea aeny Florence Boteler Military Notes cesisve se euscy + aha aicnanin amen Clarence Parker School- News isusseeses hese me eessey cea ea Austin Snavely George Havenne) PLT ICH te Sasa ae GENO ON ONIO OOO IRD OG IS 7 { Benjamin Simot Scarchead udeswaver seed sewer SscR seit ee Robert Benner Exchange oii sseeotecrcsecsssecssccssives sec. wees eee. Julia Diggins Girls’: C]ubS vic oars oe dele ove se winis, » Captiate geese Basi o)e e Mary McKenzie Business Staff. Manager vescputitescs cyenueseem out ieee . Lester Engel Advertising Manager ..-.+-++s++eeersesstseret: George Havenner Circulation Manager ..+..-+++++eesrrse' teegences William Furey Staff Typists. Mary Motherwell. Cecile Freeman. Florence Boteler. By Subscription, $1.00 a Year. By Mail, $1.25, Single Copies, 25 Cents,