Grant High School - Memoirs Yearbook (Portland, OR)

Page 14 text:

Page 12 MEMOIRS U. S. Grant A Ship of War A ship of war with stately pride, Its anchor fast below, Lies in a harbor fair and wide, Where salt-sea breezes blow. Thick armor has this warship bold ; ’Tis made of strongest steel, No shell from foreign warships hold, Can weaken this proud keel. The gaping mouths of cannon black, Project from out its side, They guard our country from attack, Protection they provide. Upon its deck at work or play; Crou'd sailors brave and tall, The flower of our country they, Their duty first of all. The captain’s stiff white figure stands, Upon the quarter deck. The sailors wait for his commands, To help avoid a wreck. In seventy-five our ships were wood, Our men of iron cast: But now our men are strong and good, And our ships are steel and fast. —John Paul Jones.

Page 13 text:

U. S. Grant MEMOIRS Page 11 for dishes are the common light for womankind.” “Well, I’ve been brought up in a dish pan,” remonstrated her daughter, “but somehow, some way, 1 am going to break away from it all.” “Great ladies who write fine books never have to do dishes,” her mother reminded her. “It is six months now since you left school. You talk only of what you would like to do, but you do nothing!” “Dishes, mother! I do lots of dishes!” “They are only means to an end; be careful lest the means becomes the end. I have done many of them in my life, too. But when my hands were red and sore, and when I was more tired than I thought I could bear, I laughed because I had my dreams of you, Johanna dear—that some day you should be a great lady. Now I can laugh no more, and I am tired because my dreams are done.” Johanna swallowed tightly, but she answered, “I can’t mums. I can’t go back to it. It’s too hard. I can’t work my way through school. I just can’t! If you could be with me, it would be different. Mrs. Krum is so different—always telling me I’m silly to imagine about things and always heaping more and more work on me. Why, it was terrible the way she worked me! David writes they can't keep a girl now since I left. He writes he’s been going to night school since then, too, and that some day real soon lie’s going away to school.” “Some day,” answered Mrs. Holt, “he may become a great doctor and you? Will you become a great lady some day?” “It won’t make any difference. He’d never think of me then, anyway.” “No, perhaps he wouldn't of a quitter, but surely he would remember the famous Johanna Holt who had earned her own success.” “He never would,” retorted Johanna. “Why he—.” A low cau-itous whistle interrupted her. Amazed! Delighted! The little drudge flew to meet the young storekeeper and they talked together a long while, of many things. “For the knives are brave gentlemen and the forks are gracious ladies,” Johanna sang gaily as she tucked them away. David had gone to college to be a great doctor. Great doctors love only great ladies, so Johanna had come back to Mrs. Krum, to school, and to dreams. Once again she told herself the world would know V. Johanna Fairfax, or would it be V. Johanna Krum? And blushing most furiously, she fiercely polished the queens of Crystal Kingdom. —Astrid Erickson. English Folks You see a beautiful girl walking down the street. She is singular and you are nominative. You walk across to her, changing to verbal. Then it becomes dative. If she is not objective, you become plural and you walk home together. Her mother is accusative, and you become imperative. You talk of the future, she changes to objective. You kiss her, and she becomes masculine. Her father becomes present. Things are tense, and you become a past participle. —Virginia Warnock.

Page 15 text:

U. S. Grant MEMOIRS Page 13 The Merrie Monk “Cv OOKE, CEDRIC, here coometh the merrie monk,” cried a young J4, peasant lad one bright morning in early spring. “Ay,” answered the other, “and apricking it doon the road he is as if the Old Nick himsely were after him; but that is as always. He is but a poore monk, say I. A monk out of his cloistre is nat worth an oistre.” “Litel cares he for that. They say he hath ful meny a deyntee hors in his stable, but few can surpass the oon he is astride now. It’s as broun as is a berie.” “Ah, good Hugh, yow always were a lovyere of a good hors; and that palfrey he rides is a worthy steed by my troth. Looke, tho, at its rider. He would he a mor graceful if he were less stoute. I dere swere he loves a fat swan as wel as any roost, and he has drunk ful many a mug of something stronger than water. He is nat pale as is a for-pined goost. His balled heed sheen as any glas, and eek his face as he has been enoynt; his eyen stepe and rollinge in his head that stemes as a forneys of a leed. Now certeynly he is a fair prelat. “Aye, and gaze thee at his robe, belike. I have heerd say his sleeves are purfiled at the bond with grys, and that the fineste of a lond.” “ ’Tis God’s oune truthe and more. For to festne his hood under his chin he has of gold wrought a full curious pin with a love-knot in the gretter ende.” “Just hark to his bridel ginglen in the wind as clere and eek as loude as doth the chapel belle. Zounds, Cedric, but I wolde I were in his place. Litel of care knows he. I’ll wager, or of swink, to judge from his white hondes. What sholde he studie and make himselven wood, or swinken with his handes and laboure, as Austin hit? Did yow here, Cedric, he intendes to go on a pilgrimage to Caunterbury? I’ll wager that’s whither he is bound now. An odd place, sothely, for the merrie monk to he travelling to!” “Aye, so, Hugh, but the fields are nat an odd place for us to be travelling.” So with a last, lingering look at the fast disappearing cloud of dust far doon the rode, the two lads hurried off to their day’s swink, to dream of the time when they, too, wolde be “a manly man, to been an abbot able.” —Anne Brickneli..