Greater Latrobe High School - Latrobean Yearbook (Latrobe, PA)

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ORANGE A ND BLACK 11 and proceeded in the greatest bliss to eat a good story? It's great fun, and an unbounded pleasure. I've done all these, too. But is fun all we are to have out of our companions? It is hardly likely that the true and reliable, steadfast companion always amuses you. My best fellows don't. So, in the same way, books do not always send a thrill of pleasant emotions through our senses. Isn't it a fine thing that our modest, meek friends, books, never boast of the good they have done? Quietly in their place on the shelf, they stand on duty to be called to the front at the call of the owner,-always at the serv- ice of those who can lay hands on them. Think of it. All that they say is, Pick us up and let us help you. Now let us discuss, for a minute, some specific friends. Friend Bible is my best companion because she has been my most faithful servant and guide. When we recall the great good books have been to us it is obvious that they are our friends. How much the Bible has done for me I can't be- gin to tell. Classics and boredom are two words which enter many peoples' minds sim- ultaneously. The reason, I believe, lies in the fact that they have never cultivated a liking for them. It is fine to appreciate the work of a great writ- er. I'm sorry I cannot appreciate them more than I do. The greatest potentialities in this FAITH'S In the small village of Pavlow, near Moscow, Ignace Savanoft lived alone with his elderly mother. When a mere boy Ignace's father had been killed in the Siberian mines and had left a small though sufficient sum of money for his wife and child, to live corn- fortably for a While. Ignace's mother was a kind-hearted and courageous womang an always present help in world are unseen powers which work their spell over the human race at all times, we being all the while uncon- scious of their power. The unseen in- spirations of authors long past are living today with us in the books at our very finger tips. All we are re- quired to do is to grasp, digest them, and gain an enormous profit from them. People will look and search a book store for hours to iind a trashy poorly written book, when right in their own homes is the Best Book ever written. The Bible '.ies upon the par- lor table on the clean white center piece waiting to be used and read. Yet we fl have at leastl thought this marvelous book was to be read only by deacons and preachers. But when I began to timidly turn its leaves I found a book which was written for me, only, with my peculiarities and weaknesses. Most people discover the very same thing. A book written es- pecially for everyone. After a little deliberation I thought l'd like to end this talk with a stanza from one who has bee11 enraptured by the power and pleasantness of books: I call them friends, these quiet books, And well the title they may claim, Who always give me cheerful looksg U.Vhat living friend has done the same?J And, for companionship, how few, As these, 1ny cronies, ever present, Of all the friends I ever knew Have been so useful and so pleas- ant? -'21. POWVER trouble. lgnace had devoted all his life to the piano. His mother had al- ways been considered by her own peo- ple quite proficient in this art but never had gained the opportunity to become really great. This one hope she had fostered,-that some day her son might attain the privilege to climb the lad- der of fame and success. One day an opportunity presented it-

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10 ORANGE AND BLACK BOOKS AS COMPANIONS It is not my purpose to put into this little treatise what I have read,-wait, I had better pause a moment 3 practi- cally all of this has been read by me, the only difference being that the thoughts are expressed in my own words. It is the most difficult task in all the world, I think, to write any kind of essay, thesis, or anything of the sort, which contains something worth while, without somewhere in that theme putting in, under one dis- guised form or another, the thoughts of men whose works and books the writer has read. Surely books are the springs from which incessant streams of inspired thoughts How. Books,-what are they? Just a min- ute or so ago I read this definition for a true classic: A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit. We read booksg they inspire usg they put new spirits into usg they change our entire being. Yet, did the average reader ever stop to think that what has brought an innovation into his life has been the life-blood of a master-spirit? I never thought of this matter to any great extent before now. It is true without a doubt. Are books your companions? They are mine and I am mighty proud to have such beloved friends to converse with. I say converse WITH because I simply cannot read a book and not ask the author a question or so. Then it is interesting to listen to the writer explain himself on the very question which I asked him. He probably does this in a few paragraphs or pages. Just in this way my reading becomes a life-like, lively talk,-a chat with a master mind. What a privilege it is to be able to have the greatest men of all time speak with you! It is a prerogative which millions of people seein not to comprehend. I didn't, I can't, and probably never will fully realize the great boon books have been to nie. A companion is the one person in whom we confideg one who is an in- spiration to usp he is our adviser and helper in time of need, as well as at other times. Think of the best friend you have had. He was your staff upon which to lean. He smiled and talked with you for probably he had had ex- periences which enabled him to be a great comforter to you. He shared in your joysg wept with you in sorrow. Did we ever think of going to a book with living thoughts imbedded on its leaves to have a master-spirit converse with us, to comfort us in our sorrowg to help us appreciate our joys more highly? Allow the whole world of famous scholars who have been Writ- ing all through the past centuries to tell of their experiences. I don't want to lower the estimate you have of your living churn or do anything of the kind. What I want to say is give the wise men of the past ages a chance to en- ter into your trials and pleasures. The best books I have read are my best friends. So this evolves itself into the statement that the more books I read, the more friends I have. I have read comparatively little and, I will admit, I am not a fast reader. It seems that when a book talks to me I have to think about the things the author is thinking about and in that way literally write the book all over again along with the original writer. The authors and I have great times together. Have you ever perused the rich and shining pages of a. book in red while you were recovering from an illness? Have you ever lain under the boughs of an old apple tree in the summer time and balanced a book in your hands and started a pleasant conver- sation with the author? Or have you ever thrown yourself into the most comfortable rocker in the house, after an honest, hard day's work, then rest yourself by means of a quiet talk with a master-mind? Have you ever scram- bled into a pleasant nook in a hay-mow

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12 ORANGEA ND BLACK self. Moscow was excited and highly honored with the presence of the great- est artist of the world. Through some divine power, as it seemed, Ignace had been granted a few minutes of the ar- tist's time in which he might display his talent before the great pianist. The day for the starting arrived and Ignace arose early that morning bid- ding good-bye to his mother saying, I feel sure I can arrive and return safely although the journey on foot will be long and wearisome, but the rest is uncertain. My son, your talent comes from your faith in God. Some day you shall be great. Ignace started on his journey cheer- ed by the encouraging words of his mother. He had hoped to reach the tavern of .Iuvok by four in the after- noon, but a sudden storm arose. The sky looks threatening, thought Ignace. The storm became more fu- rious tossing the snow in heaps upon the trail and roaring and howling through the trees. It blinded and chill- ed him. Oh, if I could but reach the inn. Is there no one near? Help! Help! he called. But no one answered. I am beginning to feel numb, and I can- not face this blast longer. 0, I cannot lose this golden opportunity. Is that a cave yonder? Ignace staggered to what appeared to be a snow-covered cave or covert formed by the snow drifts. Here is shelter, thought Ignace. For hours the winds raged and the icy blasts hurled their cutting lances against his face. Mother earth ap- peared to have no mercy and the icy nook sheltered him very little. To- wards morning the darkness that had spread over the storm-swept country didused and the winds subsided. Sud- denly Ignace, who was half frozen and dazed, was awakened by the sound of a terrible crash. Unexpectedly masses of snow fell upon him and almost com- pletely covered him. Ignace terrified and stiff with cold could not succeed in getting himself uncovered. A heavy weight was holding him down and his face was covered with snow and sleet. The inevitable seemed to be approaching Ignace and he hoped his mother would be well taken care of by some kindly neighbor. Ignace, still partly conscious, felt himself moving on something and heard the sound of roaring waters but soon these sounds disappeared. Mother, where have you been? were Ignace's words three days later. Ignaceis mother told him of his es- cape by miracle and explained all to him as told her by the rescuing par- ty,-how he had happened upon a block of ice on a river and how the jam had broken and he had been on the edge of the rapids and had been saved from a terrible death by a large dog which a hunter had lost that day. It is not known exactly, my son, how this most gracious creature saved you. It seems probable that he must have dragged you somehow across the ice blocks, upon which you must have taken shelter in mistake for a. land grotto,-to shore. 0 yes, mother, I remember now. The shelter which I reached appeared in the form of a large cave of snow and in my half-dazed condition I mis- took the ice for a land cave of shelter and the frozen river for a storm-swept country. I see also, my son, your probable mistake but let us forget it in the joy of your safety. But let us continue, mother, for I feel stronger and more interested. The dog tore od your glove and returned to his master's abandoned hut some distance away. It happened as by providence, that the master had returned together with others in search of his faithful dog. Upon see- ing the glove the party set out upon their sleds guided by the dog in search of the perishing one. Suddenly they came upon a prostrate form and hav- ing discovered your name in your prayer book they, after administering potions, brought you home. After anxious days of waiting Ig-