Grant High School - Memoirs Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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17. S. Grant MEMOIRS Page 15 days he staid, and by every argument known to him he tried to persuade her. At last, she consented to run away with him. And so they left in the dead of the night. Next morning a servant brought to the aged Balthar, a sheet of papyrus, which she had found in Siras’ apartment. A premonition came to the old man. Bewildered, he unrolled it. and read the cruel little note which Siras, in her haste and illusion had written. “Father: I am leaving my conscience with you, and am accom- panying our friend. Falthes, son of Pharoah, to his home. Tell Japheth to come to Memphis, if he would see a Queen. May Osiris, god of my husband’s house, smile on you. Siras.” That evening a servant, searching for a vase, came to Balthar’s apartment, and found him. He was dead. —Mary Foster. Dancing Of all the things I love to do. To ride or play at chance. There’s one I like beyond them all— It’s this—I love to dance. What joy it is to gently sway, To waltze’s rythmic beat; And on the floor a pattern trace With eager dancing feet! Or in a mad, gay Spanish dance, With music fast and wild— To whirl, and dip, and glide along— ’Tis glorious, my child! A room festooned in colors gay— Where couples lightly prance; ’Tis here I’d like the best to be, Oh, how I love to dance! —Elizabeth Howard.

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Page Ut MEMOIRS U. S. Grant A Tale of Old Egypt (A story told by the Jewish applewoman.) vrfNLJR life on earth is merely an initiation or a prelude to the life beyond. If we prove faithful in the trials which come to us, we shall be admitted to an everlasting companionship with the One and Only God. Herein, lies our duty. Such was the philosophy, the creed, the very life of Balthar. Balthar was a wealthy Egyptian who lived many, many hundreds of years before our era. His religion was that of the Israelite, and because of his belief and theories, so strong within him, he could do no wrong. He had an only child—a true daughter of the Nile; her hair was darker than the night; her almond eyes were sparkling black; her olive skin was satin smooth. Her beauty was such that suitors from every country were constantly seeking her hand. But, true to her father’s faith in her. she would consider no other than her true love, Japheth, the son of her father’s steward. Her aged father was never happier than when they sat side by side on the roof garden, watching the setting sun. And always he had a bit of wisdom or a theory to expound to her. Such was their custom. One night, seated thus, he leaned back in his chair and began; “Siras, my own, I have something to tell you, which will, I hope, give you greater wisdom. It is a comparison which has been with me for many months. Perfect of body you are, my child, and your intellect has been schooled more than that of most women. You have a personality which imprints upon the mind of all who see you, an image which they will never forget. But, a moment. “A commanding personality is the greatest gift this life holds for us. It can be likened to a crown. The base is the body; the framework is the mind. The pearls are thoughts; the diamonds are speeches; the rubies are good deeds; but the diadem, the emerald, without which the crown would be an unlovely thing, is a conscience. When we obey it, the whole crown sparkles bright; but when we disregard it, the light dims and often goes out. What a mockery the crown is then! “O daughter, light of my soul, protect your most precious stone and keep it shining and bright.” The lovely Siras leaned toward him as she spake: “Dear father, I will take your counsel, and through life be guided by my conscience. This I promise.” Next day the Pharoah’s son came asking for the hand of Siras. “It were wrong for her to wed with other than her love; Siras will never do that,” the aged man told him. And in his heart he said, “Least of all with you, you wine-drinking, meat-gorging, pleasure-loving son of a monarch, who follows fancy and never a single God.” Nevertheless, in his trust, he left the matter to Siras’ judgment. At first, she was deaf to all the young man’s enticements of title, fame, tnd pleasures. However, the Pharoah’s son was loath to leave. Three

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Page 16 MEMOIRS U. 8. Grant Budding Genius jr [OE, dear, come down. Willie is over to play with you.” “Tell him to come up here, mom.” A few moments later Willie was squatting beside his little friend, gazing breathlessly at the radio which Joe was hauling to pieces. “Gee! D’you think yer big hrother’d care?” “’Course not! Why, I’ve seen him do this very same thing lotsa times. Lookit, Willie. We’ll put this wire up around our castle and it’ll make a keen telephone. Henry, he'll never miss it.” “Golly!” whispered Willie, awestruck. “C’mon. Let’s go right now.” The two hoys jammed the few pieces that would jam into place and the rest they hid. Holding the wire clutched to his bosom, Joe, followed by his accomplice, clattered down the stairs, hanged through the kitchen door, and was off to his castle.” In a short while the wire was strung up, changing the medieval baron’s castle to an up-to-date robber’s den. For most of the afternoon the bloody two found enough excitement in this invention to keep them moving, hut suddenly Willie had an inspiration. “Say, pard, I got an idea. If we hitch this wire to that telephone wire why maybe we could hear somebody talkin’, really and truly, on their phones.” The two leaned a wobbly ladder up against a nearby house and Willie, armed with the shears, and holding one end of the wire, gingerly mounted. With a single snip the wire parted. Just at this crucial point a fearful shout broke the afternoon calm, and Henry, Joe’s big brother, and owner of the radio, came tearing across the vacant lot to where the “castle” stood. “My radio!” he roared. “You’ve ruined it. Gimme that wire!” He spluttered these words out, just as an agonized howl came from above. “Ow! My arm! Oh, golly, I’m bein’ killed!” Both heads turned up to Willie, who had given himself a shock. He was clutching his arm, and dancing around as well as he could on his feeble support. At this point Joe’s mother appeared at the kitchen door. Mothers often have a way of sensing these crucial points. Willie also sensed it, for his howls immediately stopped. Henry directly came to life, and renewed his complaint against his small but sinful brother. Dragging the culprit off to be judged, he continued to air his views, while Willie, seizing this opportunity, got down the ladder as quickly as possible, and was soon speeding from the scene of battle. Just what Henry told his mother I am not certain, but it would not be necessary for one to know if he caught a tableau which the sun saw as its last rays peeped through the window at little Joe, who was tearfully sitting on a pillow. —Adele Wedemeyer.