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

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c gently laid it on the shelf at his elbow and getting stiffly to his feet, came out and joined those already assembled. In another cabin, a short, sturdily built, little man was rubbing and polishing a long curved sword. His hair and beard were slightly grizzled, but his whole figure had a look of strength and power, strangely at variance with his small stature. At last he finished, hung the sword upon the wall, and stepped back to view the result of his labors. It did not seem to please him, for he took it down again, and rubbed it with great energy on one place near the hilt. After this he seemed satisfied, and with an expression of great content, hung it on the wall and came toward us. His benignant expression changed, however, as he came near us, and his glance was very dire, indeed, as he looked at my companion. Priscilla was talking with a young man, who had come up, unnoticed by me. The wind ruffled his flaxen hair, and his honest blue eyes had the look of a student. Ex- posure had scarcely tanned his fair face, but for all that, he looked every inch a manly man. The rising wind moaned through the now bare branches. Priscilla tried to with- draw her hand, but I tightened my hold. There was a soft purr and Snip slipped from my grasp and sprang to the floor. The dying embers of the fire fell apart and lay in a smoldering heap of ashes. Minnie Ruster, ' 09. Eng. I. AS uccess fulW ooing HE hesitated at the door, but seeing Her seated in the room came eagerly in with a tender smile on his face. He took a seat facing and as near as possible to the object of his adoration and sat there and gazed at Her ardently, his soul in his eyes, and thus they met for the first time. After this he came each day and made sacrifices at the shrine of his devotion. The tributes consisted of carefully gathered passages from literature, sometimes flowery expositions of certain poems and yet again, but rarely, opinions on general reading. And She accepted these offerings sometimes with a smile and then the youth ' s heart bounded with joy. But, alas ! sometimes She frowned and then his heart was sad and his head was bowed with grief. And so passed a half year and one day the youth came for the last time to learn his fate and lo, he found to his great joy that his ardent wooing had conquered and he had won — an At from his teacher. Robert Lindley, ' 06. Eng. VII.

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A Thanksgiving Story r was Thanksgiving Day. Without, the snowflakes whirled merrily down. Within, a blazing fire glowed and spluttered in the library fireplace, glancing on the bronze images and marble busts on the bookcases, throw- ing a stray gleam, now and then, across the nose of a bust of Beethoven. The firelight shone also on a very much ruffled, discontented little girl, who sat kicking the head of a tiger-skin on the floor, and gazing indignantly into the fire. This was myself, on the morning of Thanksgiving Day. My kitten, Snip, came into the room and rubbed himself against my foot, arching his back and purring loudly. I lifted him to the table by my side, and had quite an interesting conversation with him. I always told Snip my troubles, and he never interrupted me in the telling, nor afterwards violated my con- fidence. That morning I had gone to the kitchen to see if I could help cook, and what do you think she said ? Now, Miss, run away. Little girls must n ' t bother around Thanksgiving time. You better take a nice nap, so you 11 be all fresh when the folks come this afternoon. Indignantly I marched back to the library, determined never to speak to cook again. And now, I concluded, what shall we do? Snip looked wise and said nothing. Along with my other determination, I had decided not to close my eyes that day. However, the glow of the fire was like balm to my wounded dignity, and before long I found my angry feelings subsiding, and my eyelids drooping, despite my most vigilant efforts to keep awake. The soft purr of Snip, who had fallen asleep, changed to the melancholy November wind that sighed through the trees. The dancing firelight and flickering shadows changed to leaves of crimson and gold and brown, that fluttered softly down and lay in shifting heaps on the bare ground. Men and women, dressed as I had seen them in old pictures, hurried to and fro, apparently very busy. Some were preparing the meat of deer and other smaller game for the great open fires in the center of the clearing, over which the women presided, turning the meat suspended from bent saplings. Others were coming in from the dense forest, laden with game. On the outskirts of the busy little crowd, Indians squatted on the ground, smoking stolidly, or moved slowly about wrapped in their gay blankets, their long black hair decorated with feathers. A young girl stood near me. I was instantly attracted toward one near my own size, and although she was dressed in a strange fashion, there was something very sweet in her face, with the brown eyes and soft little curls, which her Puritan cap tried in vain to repress. Her short- waist ed, long gray dress would have been severe in its extreme plainness, if a broad white kerchief had not been folded across her shoulders. She smiled at me and I went nearer. In a few moments we approached one of the fires, around which the quaintly dressed people were gathering. My eyes roved to the little circle of cabins on the edge of the forest. In one of them an old man was carefully removing a pair of horn-bowed spectacles, which he placed in a large open book on his knees. Then closing it with reverent care, he @

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The Soul of Japan DURING the Great Peace in Japan there were two clans, the Fujiwara and Taira. The Taira were all powerful. The Mikado was but a puppet in its hands, since he was kept in its stronghold and surrounded with all manner of weaken- ing influences. Now the leaders of the Fujiwara were two powerful bakufu (nobles), Hojo and his brother. Hojo, early trained as a Samurai, most honored of the land, was set in his purpose to remove his Mikado from the influence of the Taira and make him what he was thought to be, the ruler of the world. So he received the two swords, the armor and the ring of the Samurai, and after two years ' comradeship with them, he had pledged a band to rescue the Mikado. A month before the time set for an attack upon the Taira stronghold, Hojo was guarding a cleft in a precipice on the seacoast near his own castle. Not far away was an eta village. From time beyond which the oldest men had no knowledge, the eta had been outcasts. They were considered of another race, and were prohibited from living with, or worshipping the same gods as, the Samurai. Their touch was contam- ination and they were forced to perform the most menial of tasks. It happened one day that as a maiden approached, his companions shrank, menacing her with their swords, crying, Eta ! eta ! Hojo likewise shrank back, for what right had an eta to walk on the ground trod by a Samurai ? But for an instant their glances met, and thenceforth there was no peace in his heart. As he watched on the cliff with the sea thundering beneath him he thought of her constantly. He, a Samurai, loved a despised eta. In the night he went to the Shrine of the Silver Lake. The moonlit lake reflected the ringed bamboo half hiding the sacred shrine and was polluted by the image of a Samurai, traitor to his vows. He felt his ancestors raging at him, and scorning him, who had betrayed their faith. To get the maiden meant everlasting separation from his country, his Mikado and his own blood. His ambition to rescue his Mikado would be lost. The maiden, seemingly carried by the moonlight, floated across the lake and beckoned to him. Ungirding his swords and armor he laid them beside the shrine, and with one last look at the spot to which he could never return, went down the path, through the Torii, or Sacred Gateway, to his own castle. He told his brother and aged father of his struggle and decision. He finished, fell upon his knees and begged forgiveness, but his father drew away. Do you forget you were a Samurai and bakufu, and now are an eta? You are no longer my son ; I have but one son. Go! A band of Tartar sea rovers had been beaten off, and the dead were yet lying where they had fallen. Near a heap of slain invaders, blocking a cleft in a great cliff, lay an old man in the garb of an eta. Over him a woman crouched and wept. With his right hand he pressed a sword of the Samurai to his forehead and on his finger was a curiously wrought ring with the letters Yamato Damashi, meaning the Soul of Japan. Lex Dickey, ' 06. Eng. VII.