Gloucester High School - Flicker Yearbook (Gloucester, MA)

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PROPHECY FOR 1902. When I decided to prophesy for the Class of 1902, I first thought of funds, without which everything in this cruel world is impossible. The class Treasurer was very obliging, and drew me a check for 8500 without a moment ' s hesitation, refusing to supply me with more, on the grounds that he had, for safe keeping, buried the remainder in a beanpot in the cellar of the Rockport Town Hall. So he who thinks the lot assigned to him is too humble, is respectfully reminded that presidents and millionaires come high. I had already decided where to transact the business, but perhaps no one of you noticed a small advertisement on the twelfth page, lower right hand corner of last Sunday’s 44 Journal.” It simply informed the public that the only and original priestess of the Delphic Oracle was in Boston for a limited stay. I was glad to be able to consult so old and reliable a firm, and was also rather eager to see this energetic female, whose tongue had made more trouble than a little. The house is very easy to find, so easy in fact that directions are unnecessary. It was an imposing brown stone front, and I nervously rang the bell, as I endeavored to cull a suitable greeting from my 44 en- tautha Kuros ” vocabulary. A moment later the door flew open, and I stepped directly into a large square hall, quite destitute of furniture. At the upper end, another door led into darkness, while on the thresh- hold two young men in white tunics were playing checkers. It was very picturesque and I should have admired it far more if, just as I approached, the taller of the two had not adjured the other to 44 go way back and sit down.” Alas for the degenerate modern Greek! 44 Excuse me,” I said, disliking to disturb them, 44 but is the lady

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ODE TO 1902. i. A door is barred ; we cannot find tbe key ; Yet some day we shall linger weary-eyed, And strive as other lingers fling it wide, To catch a glimpse of things that used to be. II. And as we gaze, let no one, losing trust Whisper, repining ; “ All my life is vain ; I worshipped glory and my mede is pain, My high ideal is fallen into dust.” III. Tbe goal we strive for, must eternal stand If it be worthy of onr toil and tears ; Tor it has been upheld these countless years By something higher than a human hand. IV. So let us lift our eyes and know His plan ; And calm among the ruder things of life Keep one ideal untainted by the strife, A pure-souled woman or a noble man.

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“ She’s always in,” mumbled the taller, rising to his feet and tipping over the board ; “ we’ll take her out now, if you’re in a hurry. Ivlear- chus! ” this to his companion, “ get a seat and lift up the trap while I fetch the old lady. Klearchus, stretching himself, strolled to the middle of the hall and lifted the trap-door, which 1 had not observed. Then he brought a low stool and sat down on the floor beside me. “You look shocked,” he said, kindly. “I am, a little,” I admitted, “You boys don ' t seem very respect- ful.” “ Wait till you see her,” lie replied, rather crossly. “ All she does is to lie in her box, day after day, never speaking a word, unless she has a customer. All she will eat is pickled peanuts. Poor Socrates and I spend all our time in shelling peanuts and putting them up in jars. My nails are worn to the quick.” Before I could reply, Socrates returned, carrying in his arms what appeared to be a bundle of white cloth. Klearchus hurriedly placed a metal tripod over the trap-door and together they set upon the low perch, a little wizened figure from whose mummy-like wrappings a little pinched face peeped forth, with sharp, beady e} r es. “ She knows what you want and all about it,” remarked Klearchus, proudly. “ I’ll go and turn on the gas.” “ Would you please not prophesy in blank verse,” I ventured humbly. “ It always bewilders people so and moreover it’s monot- onous.” “ Rhymes cost extra,” interrupted Socrates eagerly, “ but I can take them dow n in shorthand and add it all in with your bill.” At this moment fumes of gas began to rise rapidly through the trap, as if a gigantic electric fan was at work below. A horribly familiar odor smote my nose. “CL! ” I gasped.