Emmerich Manual High School - Ivian Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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The Imp ' s Revenge Early at morn, in a very bad fix, An imp of Satan crossed the Styx. A surly look spread o ' er his face, He seemed the fiercest of his race. He suddenly spoke, with a lowly moan, I ' ll kill Saint Peter for what he ' s done ; He refused me way through the pearly gate, To the streets of gold and the heav ' nly state. I ' ll fix him, in an angry tone, I ' ll bring him down from his lofty throne. The latest infernal machine he shall feel, A war-like, death-dealing automobile. Suiting his word, he, with hasty stride Climbed in the machine which stood at his side, And, with an oath, turned on the power, Which hurried him upward at forty an hour. The terrible thing mounted higher and higher, Leaving far behind the brimstone and fire. It climbed with speed up the narrow way, Stopping for nothing, night or day. At length, the machine, at a reckless rate, Smashed square against t he pearly gate. Then, the gong, with its terrible din, Aroused Saint Peter and those within. Saint Peter, appearing in angry haste, Opened the gates with scowling face, Demanding, in his loudest tone, Why, thus, approach the heav ' nly zone ? The imp replied with fiendish grin, At great expense and work I ' ve been To bring the last invention of man For you to try with your own hand. At once, Saint Peter, without a thought, Jumped in the machine the imp had brought, The wicked fiend with skillful hand Turned the thing from the heav ' nly land. Then, he jumps, quickly, from his place, As it darts off at its fastest pace, Leaving Saint Peter all alone To make his way to the torrid zone. ROY McINTOSH Oh Boys! If you want to get wed before you are dead, I ' ll tell you just what to do : Be a villain outright and she ' ll marry on sight Just to make a man of you. When asked as to his favorite bird The two o ' clock owl, he said. We wonder who the girl can be Who has so turned his head.

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Educational Value of Farming | HE CLASS of people usually represented in papers by an individual wearing a broad, straw hat, a red bandanna, and designated by the name n Uncle Silas, are, more often than not, possessed of considerably more wit than are those wise-in-their-own-conceit individuals who attempt to ridicule them. This may not be because of any extraor- dinary native talent in the men, but because of constant practice afforded by their occupation, in certain branches of higher education, the teaching of which is erroneously supposed to be the exclusive function of schools and cities. For instance, a city chap, versed in books of adventure, might well be expected to have sufficient ability to manage any sort of an animal from a mouse to a giant. Yet the odds are, that, despite his learning, in attempting to drive a drove of horses along a road, he would have a hard chase every time he came to a lane. Not so the farmer. An old farmer friend of mine has a unique method of doing two men ' s work under those conditions. He erects a stake in the middle of the lane ; and his coat and hat, placed on this, make his ability twofold. For, if the horses doubt the identity of the figure, they so little doubt that of the hatless, coadess figure cracking the whip behind, that they have no time to make closer investigation ; and so, go straight forward. This farmer would have no wonder when told of the triple-formed Diana, because he can easily be so himself. It was ingenuity gained in similar practice, I imagine, that fitted Cincin- natus and our Putnam for sending the enemy down the proper road, — as Cincinnatus might have said — The road to Orcus. Thus, a farmer needs no military training to be a good soldier. Of course it might aid him in dress parade. The son of this same fanner friend of mine, from living in favorable rural surroundings, devel- oped quite a vein of humor; so much so, that, on one occasion, when I asked him if his neighbor still kept roomers, he replied : n No, she passes them on to the next nei ghbor as soon as possible ; I don ' t call them roomers, though ; I call them gossip, pure and simple. You may do as you like, though. 1 ' This same boy has more recently gone to the city where he contributes to the comic page of the daily papers, working over the old, old jokes about Chauncey and Henpeck. He would be surprised and much mortified if he were informed that he has not coined a real joke since he left the country. It may seem the height of absurdity to say that country life will develop a good orator. But, when a farmer, plowing com, strikes a blind stump so that all eight of his eagle-claw cultivator pins are broken, it is safe to say that there, with only circumambient nature, the offending stump, and the horses as auditors, will be delivered an extemporaneous oration, impassioned, pithy, straight- forward and abounding in the most expressive epithets — an oration which would have put Pericles, Cicero and any one else except our own Patrick Henry, wholly to shame. There is a reason for such eloquence. His auditors are wholly passive, whereas, in an assembly of men, such as he would necessarily address if speaking in the city, his mind might be distracted somewhat from the subject of his speech by thinking of the possible differences of opinion among his hearers. So the talk would be much less forcible. As is always readily conceded, the power to appreciate music and the ability to produce it are crowning elements of higher culture. The farmer is awakened every morning by a classic chorus. The geese, waddling around the house in one direction, quack a strophe ; the guineas, gliding around in another direction, screech the antistrophe ; and the chanticleer, getting down from his perch, gives the epode before the door. Nor is the farmer unappreciative. Indeed, he is often worked up to such a fine frenzy as can only be relieved by instant action. And he must, therefore, be out of bed immediately. It is not long, either, till he displays his talent for producing music. He issues from the house, begins to whistle. The geese, guineas, chickens, the dog and the house- wife ' s pet pig surround him in a drove; the horses in the bam neigh, the cows in the back lot bellow ! — Could Orpheus attract the beasts of the field to come and listen to him ? Pooh 1 what if he could ? The farmer learns strategy, humor, oratory, music culture of the city ? Why should he long for the boasted ELMER ADAMS

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Harrington ' s Predicament 1$$S RTHUR HARRINGTON was in a predicament. He was in love. Now, ordinarily, being in love is not considered a serious predicament, but when one is in love with two girls and doesn ' t know which he likes better, he is in a very serious predicament. Such was Harrington ' s condition of affairs. His feelings were in a state of chaos. When he was in the presence of Miss Dorothy Wharton and beheld her becomingly clad, as usual, he was positive that he cared more for Dorothy; but, strange to say, when he saw Miss Clarice Adams in one of her dainty dresses, he was equally positive that his preference was for Clarice. At this time Harrington became interested in amateur photography. He practised faithfully on inanimate objects until he was confident that he bad gained sufficient experience to attempt the pictures of Miss Dorothy and Miss Clarice. Accord- ingly, one bright day he took a photograph of Dorothy and immediately afterwards one of Clarice. He took the camera to one of the leading photographers in the city to have the plates developed. He requested the firm to mail the prints as soon as finished to the respective addresses of Dorothy and Clarice. Several days later Harrington was rapidly walking toward Miss Dorothy ' s residence, picturing the warm welcome he would receive and Dorothy ' s thanks for the picture. He was soon at the house, but instead of being asked in, he was politely told that Miss Dorothy Wharton was not at home. Surprised but undaunted, he proceeded to Miss Clarice ' s, thinking that he loved Clarice better after all. He reached her home, but here he was politely informed that Miss Clarice Adams was not at home. Harrington pondered deeply, but could not arrive at a logical conclusion. The more he thought of it, the more puzzled he became. He finally decided to go to the photographer that had finished his plates to see if he could get the negatives. Arriving there he asked for the negatives. He had no sooner looked at them than he sank into the nearest chair, completely overcome. In the center of the negative was Dorothy Wharton ' s photograph, clear and distinct ; a little to the left was a faint yet unmistakable likeness of Clarice Adams. When taking the pictures, Harrington had neglected to reverse the plate-holder, consequently making two exposures on one plate. Now he is bemoaning fate and the fact that cameras were ever invented. SAMUEL GOLDSTEIN Youth IT WAS the night before Christmas, a night in complete harmony with the joy, peace and hope of the time. The brilliant moon shone upon a white earth horn a cloudless sky. The air was just chill enough to be infectiously brisk, and created in me a springing step as I walked along the silent street, thinking pleasant thoughts of the past and present, in accordance with the spirit of the Christmas-tide, and building air -castles for the future. I looked ahead into the misty beyond, and behold ! I saw an ever changing scene passing as if in review before a conspicuous figure, my future self. I would be an engineer, engage in work for some large railroad, work which would allow me to travel, as I have always wished to travel, continually. I saw myself in a favorite position on the rear platform of a speeding train, watching and enjoying. I should build up a happy home, and would enjoy many a comfortable evening before a cheerful fireside. The scene changed. I would be a lawyer. I would plead, always careful to be in the right ; I would engage in politics; nay, I would be a member of Congress and in that position would engage in my favorite pursuit, debate. And again I would have a home. And so my dreams changed, none impossible, all improbable. The fiery optimism of youth accomplished much that night toward the improbable, but always one picture remained the same, that of the home. And again — But I reached my destination, and sadly gave up my happy forecasting. The moon still shone, but without its former luster ; the sky appeared a trifle misty. And I was sorry. IRWIN COTTON