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

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A Tale of Old Japan BN the days of the early seventies, Old Japan was governed by the first Christian S Wj Mikado, Tori. His body-guard was the faithful band of the Samurai, led by iril tne valiant Prince Korin, strongest-of-the-strong. Migaku, gatherer-of-news, and Tacho, teller-of-who-comes-and-who-goes, were among the Samurai- Now it so happened that these three men were descendants of the body-guard of the first Mikado, one thousand years ago, and as such, deserved the unre- strained confidence placed in them by his imperial majesty, Tori. A few years after the beginning of Tori ' s reign, murmurings of revolt against the imperial government came to the knowledge of Migaku. The one remaining people of Japan who refused to adopt the Christian religion were the Kwannians. The Mikado Tori had been unjust to them, had persecuted the worship of their protectress, the beautiful Goddess Kwannon, had crushed her shrines and ruined her temples. Their love for their deity had been degraded. Revenge should come to the Kwannians, for Nagoli, their prince, had said it. Kwanni is an island scarcely an arrows flight from the nor ' .h shore of old Japan. It was evident that the inhabitants were preparing for war. Night revelries in the red bamboo forest were frequent, for so Tacho reported to his imperial majesty, Tori. Migaku discovered from a Kwanni fisherman that on the night of the next full moon Prince Nagoli and his war minister, Zakkun, would hold a review of their soldiers. A ruined shrine of the goddess Kwannon in the red bamboo forest would be the meeting place. Later in the evening Nagoli was to give the annual Feast of a Hundred Visitors in his great palace hall. Here Nagoli ' s most trusty counselors would come and they would plan for war. The Mikado Tori sent Prince Korin, leader of his faithful Samurai, to the island of Kwanni. It was his perilous task to watch the night review of Nagoli ' s soldiers and to report the plans made at the Feast of a Hundred Visitors. Korin had little difficulty in crossing over to the beautiful island. The golden sun of old Japan was sinking in the celestial heavens just as the prince reached the shore. It was the night of the review of the soldiers, and Korin passed swiftly through the red bamboo forest and hurried to the palace of Nagoli. It was fast growing dark, but the hour of the Ox, the appointed time of the review, was far removed. However, Prince Korin was not thinking of Nagoli ' s soldiers, for he had something far more important — a tryst in the Red Maple Gardens of Nagoli ' s palace. Assani, daughter of Nagoli, was a beautiful girl of eighteen summers. She was as fair as the goddess Kwannon and the daintiest maid in the Kingdom of old Japan. Korin had met the beautiful Assani at the Festival for the Foreign Embassies given by his Imperial Highness, Tori, two years previous. The two had loved from the first meeting and the pnncely Korin had since kept a tryst -every change of the moon with his princess in the Red Maple Gardens of Nagoli ' s palace. Nagoli ' s hatred of the Mikado and his Samurai alone kept them from declaring their love. And now what a trick for fate to play ! Korin, the betrothed of Assani, must spy on her people, must

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Skatini IN nearly all of the northern countries where the winters are cold enough to produce ice, one of the chief amusements that are attendant in winter ' s train is skating. Of course to know how to skate one must learn this art by means of a long, eventful process, the effects of which are for a time painfully asserted in the learner ' s mind. There are two different ways of learning the art of skating. The first is to have a helper on each side of the beginner to hold him up ; the second is for the beginner to blunder along by himself and amuse the bystanders with athletic stunts done without apparatus. Much has been said about the joys of skating, but very little about the woes of the beginner. First the victim hies himself to some sporting -goods establishment and hands out his cash, receiving in lieu thereof a pair of guaranteed steel skates and a couple of straps to bind them on more firmly. Then the aspirant for skating honors betakes himself to some ice-bound pond with his precious articles of revolution. He plumps himself down on a rock and proceeds in a mysterious manner, not mentioned in any treatise on skating, to fasten the aforesaid articles on. Generally some friend rescues him in time, fastens the skates on correctly and leaves him to his fate. First he steps out on the ice and essays to make a bold stroke, after the manner of skilled skaters, with an amazing result. His lower extremities show a sudden desire to seek higher paths, while his head becomes interested in astronomy. He sees planets and celestial bodies the astronomer never dreamed of, while the sun and moon dance a jig in the background. After the fiery exhibition clears up a little, the rebel, or revolutionist, or whatever he may be named, sits up and feels for the crack in the back of his head, whose edges he can hear grating together — in his mind. But he is disap- pointed, visibly disappointed, to find nothing like an injury except a small bump, which he informs his friends is as big as a baseball. Then he cautiously rises to his feet, or rather, his skates, and stands about watching the experienced skaters, wondering to himself if they almost broke their necks before they learned to skate. At last, tiring of this, he begins again. He tries a stroke, with immense success ; then a larger one — success again and applause from himself. Again a larger stroke — fireworks, blue rings and pink and yellow dots are much in evidence. The skater picks up his remains disgustedly and wobbles slowly to the shore, jerks off his skates and departs for his dwelling-place. There the disgruntled beginner seriously contemplates the advisability of summoning the doctor. But in a few days the temptation proves too great as he sees his comrades gliding over the pond, so he packs up his skates again and makes another pilgrimage to the scene of former defeat. This time he sees with pride that his skates are properly adjusted and he slides forth cautiously on the pond ' s frozen surface. Now he takes shorter strokes and frequently tumbles. At last on a certain day, a day which he marks in his diary with red ink, he learns to skate ; and from that time on the illumi- nations become dimmer and less frequent. Now he can blunder around the pond twice without stopping and watches with scorn the gymnastics of the new victims. Ralph Wheeler, ' 07. Eng. V.

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be instrumental in the downfall of her father ' s house. How could he do it ? And yet he must, for was he not of the Samurai, who for a thousand years had never failed the Mikado ? In such a frame of mind Korin proceeded to the Red Maple Gardens of Nagoli. He cautiously approached their trysting place, a shinjio among the moon flowers. Setsu, Assam ' s maid, was there, but the little Japanese princess was not. For the first time she had failed him. She had accompanied her father to the red bamboo forest, so Setsu said. All the pride of his long line of Samurai ancestry asserted itself. He would report the night review of the Kwannian soldiers, would enter the guarded palace and be present at the Feast of a Hundred Visitors . Thus he planned the downfall of Nagoli and his people, all because of the unfaithfulness of Assani. Firmly determined in his resolve, Prince Korin hurriedly left the gardens and hastened to the Red Bamboo Forest to the ruined shrine of Kwannon. He had not proceeded far when he saw long files of marching soldiers, by the glare of their lighted torches. He cautiously entered a bamboo grove near the ruined shrine. Night fires gleamed fantastically and threw weird shadows over the silent, marching soldiers. The brightness of the fire at first temporarily blinded the watching Samurai. Then becom- ing accustomed to the strange play of the firelight he observed three silent figures stand- ing near the ruined altar. The foremost of the three was Nagoli, erect and handsome, with his eyes fixed on the silent marchers. Zakkuri, the war minister, was the second. The third was the lovely Assani. She leaned against the stones of the once beautiful temple of Kwannon, but her attitude expressed indifference to her surroundings. Ever and anon she raised her lovely face, pale and listless in the fitful firelight. He winced instinctively when he thought of his treacherous plans to deceive her people. The lovely face in the firelight moved him strangely. A fierce short struggle between his love and the honor of the Samurai battled within him. In the end, it was the same old story. Since the days of the gods Water flows the same, Love goes the same. Korin decided. He would lose both or win both. With a swift bound he landed squarely in front of Nagoli and placed his sword over the heart of the Japanese prince, uttering at the same time the low dread call of the Samurai, Old Japan and Samur. forever. Assani started and gazed bewildered at the Samurai prince. Zakkuri shuddered and fell fear-stricken in a heap. Nagoli alone moved not. The tramping of the silent soldiers continued. Slowly the handsome Nagoli spoke, You are indeed bold, Samurai! The answer came quickly, Not so, noble prince. One thrust and thou art in the land of souls, one bound and I am gone through this grove to his imperial majesty Tori to report that the leader of the Kwannians is dead. Be sensible, worthy prince, dis- §