Hathaway Brown School - Specularia Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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outside the window that opened UPOU the porch. I closed the book with a btlflgv T056 and Dol-:ed the fire, drew my Chalf nearer to my friend, and tried to start a conversa- tion, but in vain, for again I Ileafd the 10W wail, this time nearer and more distinct. I could endure it no longer. I jL1I11Ped to my feet, resolving not to be a coward, whatever :night befall me. I quietly walked over to the window, jerked open the old fashioned shutters, and. bracing myself, lOOk6Cl out. I saw nothing but the starless heavens, the swaying branches of tl1e elms, and the faint glimmer of the moon. For a 1nO111CD'i I forgot myself in watching the weird beauty of the scene. But suddenly I was quivering with excitement, for a long, dark object lay at my feet on the other side of the window pane. I know not why, but I could not look down at it, much as I longed to. A11 of the horrible, ghostly tales which I had lately been reading flashed through H157 mind. While I stood staring out into the darkness, visions of some poor person over- Come by the cold, who had fallen on my doorstep, came before me. Summoning all my courage, I wrapped myself in an Indian blanket, opened the door, and, feeling the cold rush of air in my face, stepped out. I steadied myself for a moment, then knelt and felt of the ghastly object. Something warm and soft touched my hand. I shud- dered! It moved. A cover fell back, and there-there was only our big Newfound- land,iRomp, wrapped up in the door mat! SUE I-IARMAN, 1903. CAA1 . lborace Zltllalpole. . The eighteenth century in England will always he au interesting period for students of literature. It is the age of johnson, Coldsurth, Richardson, Fielding, and many other Ruuous literati g but Horace Walpole, the well known literary gossip and great gentleman of the land,-greatest, according to his own opinion, considered them entire- ly beneath his royal notice. Walpole was horn in London September 23, 1717. the fourth sou of that famous Sir Robert Walpole. whose admirable pru- dence. litlelity, and success did so much for lil!!-Zlltll P1'0SPCl'il5'. His mother was Catherine Shorter. who claimed Dryden for her great uncle. Of his childhood very little is known: we hear that his godmother was his beautiful aunt, Dorothy Vtlalpole, and that he was inoculated for smallpox in 1724. Probably the most interesting event of. his early life was his visit to the king X? hen he was' about ten he tells us, in Chapter I. of his Reminiscensesf' that he had a great desire to inspect His Majesty in consequently his mother obtained permission for him to kiss King George's hand, although it was a most unusual request even for a Prime Minister's wife. He was educated at Eton and King's College. It was at Eton that he-formed the friendship for Thomas Gray, with whom later he traveled on the Continent until a separation was necessitated by some mis- understanding, causing estrangement until years later. Then Walpole was generous enough to own that he had been entirely in the wrong. Through his fatheris influ- ence he obtained a number of valuable sinecures, which made' him independently rich throughout his life. ' But we can not think long of Walpole without thinking, too, of Strawberry Hill at Twickenham. In 1748 Walpole puf- chased the villa, paying f,'I,356, los. for it. He tells us that in looking over some Old deeds he found that the ground on which it stood had been originally called Straw- berry Hill-Shot. Consequently he named 22

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El Crip to Stoke Ilbogis. One pleasant morning in july we took a carriage from Slough to Stoke Pogis, a distance of two miles, and, as many others have thought and said, the Erst half mile was tarne and uninteresting. But when we came to a finger-board showing that it was three thousand Eve hundred and sixty-eight miles to the Great Home Store of E. R. Hull 81 Dutton, a home-like feeling came over us and immediately we became in- terested in the long narrow road through which we were driving, and in the tall fir trees with their low brancheslsweeping the ground and swaying in the morning breeze. A small stone lodge whichlseemed to be a resting place for flowers, was the first bit of antiquity to greet our eyes on our arrival at Stoke Pogis. We were directed to the old, almost forgotten lychgate, and from there we took our course through the paths Gray had trod in the little church- yard, where 'many' unknown heroes sleep. Close to the west wall of the church is Gray's tomb, but for which Stoke Pogis would be unknown. In the same tomb sleeps the mother whom he so much revered. We entered the church as a thief in the night, by going up a steep outside stairway to the belfry, a weird sort of a place, where withered funeral pieces hung, the scent and blush long since gone from the rose. We descended into the church, said to be seven hundred years old, and suggested to the sexton that an inscription be placed near the armorial bearings and escutcheons of the Penns, stating that the church was built in the eleventh century, that the new belfry and front wall were put in in 1267, new side walls and roof in I304, rear wall and foundation in 1420, new in- terior and decorations in 1500, and new pulpit and seats in 1570 in an effort to pre- serve the original church. Something like this must be the true history of a church seven hundred years old. In one corner of the church a pew was pointed out, where Gray used to sit beside his mother and long to use his pocket knife on the bench in front,--a feeling which he bravely restrained, as we looked in vain for his carving of UT. G. The boyish in- clination to carve his name on wood may have lain dormant, until years later it found expression when he inscribed his name on the golden Roll of Fame. . p ELIZABETH C. CAMPBELL, ,99. CN!-'D HU 'HDVGHIUYC of H 'umillfm' IEVCIIMQ. One cold winter evening late in Decem- ber, when the wind was howling dismally outside and the logs were crackling cheerily in the grate within, I sat curled up in a large arm chair absorbed in one of Scott's fascinating novels. Every now and then a huge blast of wind swept past the door, rattling the shutters and windows. Even the old black cat purring among the cushions in the corner jumped down upon the rug in front of the grate and nestled about my feet, seeming to be very glad of my company. 2I The snow had fallen steadily for nearly the whole day, and now it lay banked up in gigantic drifts on each side of the walk. I was all alone in the house, excepting the maids and a young friend who was visiting me. She also was deeply absorbed in read- ing. Suddenly I heard a low sound. But I only shook myself and tried to be inter- ested in my book. Scarcely had my hero achieved his highest honor, when I heard it again, this time very distinctly. It was a long, low groan, seeming to come from just

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his villa Strawberry Hill. From that time on he was busily employed making over his villakin H into a Gothic residence which in later years developed into a verit- able treasure-house. Many rare and valu- able things were collected here, such as a tortoise-shell comb, studded with silver hearts and roses, which was said to have belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots, the red hat of Cardinal Wolsey, a clock given by Henry VIII. to Anne Boleyn, and count- less articles of similar value. Among many valuable and rare editions of books were the identical Iliad and Odyssey from which Pope made his translations of Homer. He set up a printing press at Strawberry Hill, its first products were Gray's Odes and The Progress of Poesy. From this press issued many volumes, a number of them from the pen of Walpole. But Wal- pole was not a success as a writer. His f' Castle of Otranto 'I is a weird story, very little read now. Gray wrote to him of it : It engages our attentions here fat Cam- bridgel, makes some of us cry a little and all in general afraid to go to bed o' nights. As for Walpole himself, we have hinted before that he was aristocratic and had a very good opinion of Mr. Vfalpole. His closest friends were women, but for the friends of his own class, Sir Horace Mann, George Montagu and Conway, he seems to have had a genuine affection. It is curious and interesting that he never wore a hat and was a great drinker of iced' water. Miss Hawkins in describing him says: His dress in visiting was most usually, in sum- mer when I most saw him, a lavender suit, the waistcoat embroidered with a little silver, ora suit of white silk, partridge silk stockings and gold buckles, rutffles and frill, generally lace. ,, ., ,, In his later years he was greatly enfeebled by the gout, which made ,him walk, warily. In a letter to Lady Ossory he says: Walk- ing is not one of my excellencesg in A my best days Mr. Winnington said I tripped like a peewit, and if I do not flatter myself, my march at present is more like a dab chick'sf' Thus we see the elegant Mr. Walpole. By his letters, which were edited and ready for the press at his death, we are best able to know and judge the man. As a letter-writer he was a success, and an inveterate writer he was. GRACE G. GILMAN, -,QQ CA!-1 ' El EiI6lTll11H. Percival DeWitt walked briskly down the street and turned in at the gate of a beautiful old house, standing far back from the road with a long green' sweep of lawn stretching to the street. He was on his way to a dinner party to be given by Miss Wil- lard in honor of her guests, Misses Maud and Helen Tracy, whom he had heard a great deal about from various friends, and whom he was quite anxious to meet. As a rule, young ladies never particularly in- terested himg he thought them afoolish, simpering set of dolls, though of course there were exceptions to this rule, and Grace Willard was one. As he entered rhe drawing room and glanced around he saw only one stranger, a tall, dark, slender girl, very beautiful and very graceful. Miss Willard at once came forward and introduced him to her friend Helen Tracy, who explained that, as her mother had been suddenly taken ill, her sister had been obliged to return home that morning, but would probably be back again in a few days, if her mother improved. Percival was for once entirely captiva- ted. Miss Tracy was charming, as uncon- scious of her beauty as achild, and over- flowing with life and spirits.. He hardly left her side all the evening, and departed