Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)
- Class of 1929
Page 1 of 110
Cover
Pages 6 - 7
Pages 10 - 11
Pages 14 - 15
Pages 8 - 9
Pages 12 - 13
Pages 16 - 17
Text from Pages 1 - 110 of the 1929 volume:
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XQPZZ1 MQ? ciaw, 2 ?P!feWf.w USIV EEEZMQNS NA A SUMMER 5528 CMM Cylacla gmc wt HQ0!Zz'!!e QQMVS , alzisfe Best's newest cotton success OTTONS are love- lier than ever this season- and Best's have chosen one ofthe most exquisite, a Mille Fleurs flowered batiste, printed from wood- blocks, for this charm- ing Summer Nada, copy of Chanel's cape- shoulder frock. Nasturtium or morning glory colors, green with yel- low, white with brown. Mis- ses' sizes 14x to 20.- 25.00 PARIS PALM LONDON Q 0 BEACH Fifth Avenue at 35th St N Y THE ARGUS of JUNE, 1929 is respectfully dedicated to Dn. JAMES M. KIERAN President of Hunter College THE AIQGUI P4 HUNTEIQ CDLLEGE .. HIGH SCHDUI. .. GI JUNE 1929 lf? Editor-in-Chief . . THE AIQEIJI HUNTER COLLEGE HIGH SCHOOL LOUISA M. WEBSTER, Principal New York, June, 1929. STAFF Associate Editors .... . Art Editor ..... Annex Editor . . . Clara R. Steinhardt Alice Kalousdian Grace Glanz . . . .Carolyn Baumbach nonanaeon nan. Annex Business Manager . . . . . . . Business Manager BUSINESS STAFF :caanaoeaaouuaouanoanauqso .nn Circulation Managers . . . . . . . Advertising Manager . . . . . Cornelia Newton . . .Dorothy Berger . .Felice Brenner Marie 0'Hara Goldie Margolis Rebelyne Wirnpie Lucille Cohen . . . .Nettie Barbash Bertha Sherman Gertrude Polin Louise Ruhl Assistants ..... - - - Sophie Keller Lillian Mac Nulty Dolores Cash FACULTY ADVISORS Literary . . . ............................. Iona M. R. Logie Dorothy L. Bush Financial . . . .... Elizabeth Draper Page Four Page Five THE FATHER NEW Czar ascended the throne, and it was ordered that this solemn event be observed through the cities and towns of Russia by fitting celebrations, tokens of the people's joy. Little Marie sat in her comer, moping. It was the third and last day of the Coronation Celebration and more than anything else in the world she wanted to go to the town, four miles away, to see the fireworks and all the splendor. She knew there was no possibility of her going. Everyone was much too busy to take her. Yet she hated to see the dark creep up slowly and gradually extinguish the foolish little hope that would persist. To be taken to see the celebration meant a great deal to the little girl. The Russian winter is long and monotonous. Nothing ever happened. Oc- casionally Marie would get hold of some fairy stories, but this was so rare that her thirst for romance and light and beauty was never really appeased. From the time her father had first told her that there was to be a Coronation Celebration, from the time he had first prophesied its glory and brilliance she had been able to think of nothing else. Her whole being was filled with the desire to see it. So now, on the evening of the third day Marie sat in her comer watching the dark come slowly, all the childishness draining out of her face, her hands at her throat, trying to keep back the sobs. The candles, placed in the windows of every house in all the Russias in honor of the new Czar, flicker in the faint gusts that come through the cracks of the door and windows. They throw strange fingerlike shadows on the bare walls and are reflected again and again in the row of brightly polished copper pots hanging above the huge brick oven. The elaborately sanded floor glows in the ruddy firelight. Marie's mother, a big woman with great natural intelligence written on her high forehead, shrewdness in ber eye, and strength in the well-developed. muscles of her arm, stands over the fire stirring some broth. Except for the crackle of the flames and the sound of the iron spoon grating against the side of the pot, the room is still. Footsteps crunch on the gravel outside of the house, and mother and daughter raise their heads. The door swings in on its hinges, and Marie's father and three stalwart brothers enter, weariness showing in every line of their bodies. The boys, like their mother, are tall and strong. The father is a small man. He teaches the little boys of the neighborhood and leaves the tilling of the land to his sons. His eyes are dark and round and scared, his nose thin and acquiline, his sensitive mouth almost hidden by a long beard. This, surely, is no fit mate for the mother. lt is true that Marie's mother despised weakness and she often teased her husband because he was so small and puny. Yet she loved his gentleness. She felt a fierce pride in his learning, and even in his lack of sense for the practical. The father was a scholar, and this austere uncultured woman was proud of it. Now as he came in slowly, he was utterly weary. The little boys had been very trying and his head ached miserably. Page Six They all sat down at the table and the Father droned out the prayer. The candles in the window glirnmered tauntingly. They signified all that he was opposed to. Yet he was forced to light them and place them in the windows of his house. His? God! how tired he was. Soon supper was over. It was quite dark. Blessed be the darkness for then the weary may rest. The Father was too tired for even the beloved books. He went over to his bed and began to pull off his long boots. Presently he felt two buming eyes upon him and looked up. His breath came short. He neven could hear to see any child unhappy. To see his little daughter looking at him so miserably, so hungrily, upset the man tremendously. What could be wrong with the little one? The Mother had seen the thoughts flit across his mobile face and as always, read his heart. Marie wants to go to the Celebration, she said. You remember, we had promised to take her but there has' been so much work lately, that I could not. There was a pause. Every fibre in Marie's body was taut. Then silently, the little man pulled on his boots again. The mother pro- tested. Do not take her, Father. You are tired and besides, it is quite late alreadyf' But Marie knew that her father was going to take her and the world grew suddenly beautiful. She ran to fetch her best holiday cape and shawl. With trembling fingers she arranged them carefully. The blood danced in her veins. How she loved these holiday jaunts with her father. On such trips he made an ideal companion. She knew that under the cover of the friendly darkness he would lose his usual timidity. Then he would confide in her all his hopes and ideals, and she, not understanding half he said, would nevertheless get a glimpse of his deep love of mankind and his ardent faith in it. She took a joyful pride in these confidences and it was with a happy heart that she ran to join her father at the door. Goodbye! Goodbye! and they were on their way. At heart the Mother was glad to see them go. Have a good time, she called after them, and climbed into bed to dream her unimaginative dull dreams while Marie and her Father were actually on their way to see the Celebration. As the child skipped along happily beside her father she could not imagine how anyone could sleep on such a night. The warm velvety Spring air caressed her while the friendly moon lit the way and the stars twinkled companionably. The little candles in the windows of the houses beckoned, Onward, onward to the Coronationf' Their radiance seemed to sanctify her pilgrimage and make it holy, for little Marie could not know that those same white candles bore the curses of the people upon them. Indeed, to her the whole world seemed transformed by the magic of the night. Tonight as the tall young grass waved in the wind and softly whispered greetings it seemed the understanding, mystic, fairy-world that was her father's rather than her mother's common-sense one. And it came to pass that in his little child's joy the Father forgot his weariness. He told Page Seven her the wondrous stories of long ago that she loved so well. He answered all the questions that Marie could ask about the 'why and the whereof' of the things they passedg explained the meaning of the mile-post and the habits of the little gray Held mice that scurry through a still night. Freed from the inhibitions which governed him at home, freed from the dominance of his qapagble spouse, the little man waxed eloquent. It was rarely that his truly remarkable personality was given full play and Marie glorified in this holiday-bent, eager, eternally young father. By and by a note of apprehension entered his voice. The light from the fireworks should have long since been visible. He could not seem to put his mind on the stories he is telling. Into the highway, and the darkened town came into view. lt stood silhouetted in black against the silvery moonlight, the houses clustering about the fat domes of the church. There was no glare of rockets no noise of fireworks. It was a city of the dead. Tears of disappointment welled into Marie's eyes. It was plain that the Celebration was over. Silently the little girl and her father wended their way to the market-place. They passed noisy, jolly groups of men and women, and now and then a drowsy little child whose sleepy eyes were filled with the wonder of what they had seen that night. The two reached the square. Firemen were playing a last stream of water in a huge arc, across it. It was the end of the Celebration. Marie stumbled on the dead shells of rockets strewn on the cobble stones. Bunting hung limp and drooping. The town clock struck twelve and Marie hung tightly onto her father's hand. Again and again the stroke reverberated across the fast-emptying square. Somehow, Marie reached home that night. She dimly remembered being carried part of the way, great girl though she was, in her father's arms. She remembered that he had stumbled again and again from sheer weariness. She remembered sweet words of comfort and sympathy. She was very young and her disappointment loomed large before her, yet she never forgot the truly heroic patience and the great love that dried those childish tears, the divine sympathy of her father. Rita Guttman, A8 H O K K U Raindrops, dripping down My window pane, tantalize A parched plant within. Marion. Kletchka, B8 Page Eight AN INTERVIEW WITH DR. KIERAN Newly Inaugurated President of Hunter College S soon as we had shaken hands with Dr. Kieran, and received his cordial greeting, we knew that there was nothing austere or pedagogic about the new President of Hunter College. His charming manner set us completely at ease while we listened to his pleasant, flowing talk. 'There is nothing much to tell about my boyhood, he said. I have lived right here in New York and watched the city grow up. I remember we boys would go to what is now Columbus Circle and pick luscious cherries and apples, or we would visit the numerous picnic grounds then scattered over the city. Sometimes we took the horse trolley to the race tracks which were right next to the site of our new college buildings. When I graduated, I taught for a time in my own school. Later I was principal of one of the largest schools in the city until I became connected with Hunter College where I have been for many years. I think that Hunter College is one of the finest women's colleges. It's scholastic standing is unexcelled and is constantly becoming higher. Wllile I heartily approve of all the changes made in the college during the past years, there are several new projects I intend to carry out. I believe all city teachers should have a fine college training and intend that Hunter College still be primarily a school for future teachers, but I realize that 600 of the girls now going to Hunter do not intend to teach. For these girls, and as a protection for those who might be unable to find vacancies for teachers, we will have a business course. Our pre-medical and pre-law courses will continue, and should there be a demand for any new subject, we will probably install it. However, the scholastic standing of the girls taking the business course will have to be as high as that of pupils studying the general course. The new college buildings will accommodate 10,000 pupils, and in order to give more seniors an opportunity to teach in the High School, Hunter High School will be enlarged. In the new buildings, some of which we hope to use in 1930, there will be tennis courts, a gym, and a nearby golf course, and probably the social life at college will be increased and changed, but I prefer to leave this change to the girls themselves. HI approve of the new judicial system you have installed, only so long as it is obeyed by a large Majority of the girls. If not, it will undoubtedly lower the morale of the student body. However, if it is successful and strengthens the character of the girls, it would be very helpful. Education, you know, is but a preparatory aid to future life. The time passed so quickly and pleasantly that an hour had gone by before we realized it. Since Dr. Kieran is a busy man, we rose to go reluctantly and asked if he had any message for the High School. A message, he hesitated a minute, Why-young people should not expect to have too long a vision. If they do not look too far ahead, but do the things nearest them faithfully and well, they will probably succeed and be able to accomplish greater things in the future. Also I am very much interested in the high school and hope to visit it personally very soon. Grace Clanz, A7 Page Nine PROPHECY OF THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER-Arlington Page Ten Whence comes the whiteness of this land? The whiteness of that Roman dome, Saluting God? The columns stand Like waxen candles in a shrine. Mere slabs of marble stone can shine Like angel wings. The tomb of death Is white with life, and cool with breath Of Southern winds. The tomb can pray- So pure it is, so glad, today. Whence comes this whiteness? Pilgrim man! A voice that blessed the words it touched, Rose like a prayer and prophecy. It is my spirit, purged by death. I am the Unknown Soldier-I Have fought, have died, and now on high, I am the whiteness of the sky. I am the light that shines upon The Capitol, the wreathed tomb. I am not in the tomb, he said, I am the whiteness of the tomb. When men have filled their hearts with light, When all the Earth is only white- Then shall war cease, Then shall Earth hold Eternal Peace. Alice Kalousdian, B8 .1 .T.,-W .Y W-.. ' Vw .mx G f 7, A ing., 5 , ,, 1 vzmaiffvi A f,1,i'QE171 ,X ' Lwi,-. 'f 4-Eff , y A ww V . X - 5 , rf f x 1 w rw ,Q-sg Sa sf' 5.35, . , K Y ,Jeux ,WM Ligjig jg: vxxigm K x X' vf??Xi+Ffvf gf ggfffw- sk x Y 'H gm,-, g.wf,zsv I I if 'Q ff? if v F7-1' -Jn I ,fi , 1.1 7 N , . ,,wM2 Lfr ,Am- 1 1 1 i 1 Wx I ' rrqf-. AQ.. 'X-11a 1 j ml A i I ,J' .-1,1 'mf ,g'.1' 14 :..f..5:E - V u H , .zzrjmji 3? P r 'Hi' c 11- if - f,.:l,QL1. 21, 1 Eg La J .1 ,LW 1, fi uV,r'5',L- m G1 if - 51' . ' I+ m 11 I fl. .au .1 , vw, ,fqnp .L , L ,..., 4 Jn. L u PQ ,, .. i Q' R, -. n LF5 F'-' 'Q .7 -:QL A GLIMPSE OF R. L. S. IN SARANAC HIS house looks like every other little white cottage in Saranac, and yet a glamour seems to surround it, as if Robert Louis Stevenson were still sitting at his desk, dreaming of the land across the seas. It is!! on a small hill and follows the conventional architecture of all the Saranac bungalows which are built for comfort, not for style. In spite of this, the tall, majestic Adirondacks in the background and abundantly leafed trees around the house make the scence a very attractive one. The Stevenson memorial on the door says that Master of Ballantrae , A Christmas Ser- mon , Pulvis et Umbra , The Lantern Bearers and other essays were written here, you therefore enter the cottage with pictures of graves dug by candlelight and tin bullis eye lanterns jumbled in your mind. The inside is the essence of simplicity in furnishing, but a veritable treasurehouse in curios. Here are pictures of R. L. S. alone, with his wife, and with his friends, there are letters which, alone, reveal his true strength of character, a glove, a pin, a pen, all are objects of fascination to the followers of Long John Silver and David Balfour. And joy of joys, in an unobtrusive glass case is the far-famed velvet jacket, the bane of his friends and the ridicule of others. It is not hard to picture R. L. S. with his flowing hair, deep dreamy eyes and long face in this atmosphere. The desk at which Stevenson wrote stands in the ante-room. It is a very plain piece of furniture, yet what secrets it could divulge if it chose! There are some of Stevenson,s own works in the book-case. How tempting it is to sit down here and relive the adventures of John Hawkins or wonder again at the sublime courage of Aes Triplex. You take a hasty glance at the littered bedroom which is not always open for public eyes, at the fire-place, one of the few comforts of Stevenson's exile, you sign the visitors' book with a feeling of reverence-here have stood August St. Gaudens, Will Low and other immortals, you go out, free from an atmosphere that transported you to other times, you drive through the streets of Saranac lined with similar houses. But this Hunter's Home of R. L. S. is one of the last things you see as you leave this little hamlet. Lorraine White, C5 HOKKU PREPARATION A man is nurtured By woman,s sweetest life-milk To learn to eat grit. Sarah Lederman, A8 Page Thirteen BACK STAGE-FOURTEENTH STREET ITH the feelings of a little girl beholding the dawn of a glorious adventure, I started out for the Civic Repertory Theatre and an appointment with its director. I said to myself, Oh, you will see Her at last! Peter Pan with his tumbled hair and heart-rending smile .... Hilda Wangel with her free, strong adoration for the master-builder. .Hedda Cabler, that pale, cold woman who bade her lover kill himself beautifully, and who killed herself at last because she could not live beauty .... You are going to see Masha, the dearest and saddest of the Three Sisters .... Oh, you are going to see Eva Le Gallienne! What will she be? These words sang in my mind as a trembling hand pushed open the tall iron door that shuts the life of the stage away from prying eyes. I found it hard to ask in a steady voice where Miss Le Gallienne's dressing room was, but the man who guarded the door was sympathetically aware of my feelings, and with a kindly smile he guided me through a narrow hall filled with boxes and barrels, cardboard posters and mirrors. We stopped before a green door with Miss LeCallienne tacked unobtrusively upon it .... I would have to wait twenty minutes, the man said- Oh, I'll wait! I murmured, looking at the door and trembling. And while I waited, I learned a great deal of the private life of an actor. Since it was a matinee of Peter Pan, I saw pirates clumping out, poor weak pirates whose feet swam in boots twice the right size, and whose ferocious scars both melted from the heat of flannel shirts and dripped miserably down hot cheeks. I saw one of them stop to knock at a door, from which came forth Wendy, sweet Wendy in her frilly nightgown, with a long Russian cigarette in her hand. I saw Mrs. Darling invite a gentleman to dinner on Sunday afternoon as they should not have any more tiresome rehearsals , and Mr. Darling begged the cabmen to be sure to put his kennel very securely up against the wall, so he could crawl out without moving it. I saw too the lost boys come trooping out of their dressing-rooms in respectable suits and Eton collars, meet their governesses, and go sedately home where they probably forgot Peter Pan entirely. And I even heard the gay Peter Pan himself sigh and ask for his pipes in such a weary tone that I was shocked. Waiting, I ran the gamut of all emotions, from the first amazed unbelief to at last open amusement at their everyday lives. Suddenly I knew by the crowd of people Hocking in that the perfor- mance was over, and with cheeks that would burn and hands that would tremble and a heart that would not stop pounding, I went in to greet sun- tanned Peter, who squeezed my hand and grinned cordially at me. Then she was Peter Pan? Down I sat beside a big dressing-table, a couch, and closet full of hats, coats, costumes, and watched her change from Peter Pan to Miss Eva La Gallienne. Under my very eyes she took off the tan and some of her exuberance with it, confessing that sometimes she was Page Fourteen very tired after playing Peter. One must be very quick and lively and gay to do Peter, she said. It doesn't require much more. When I asked which role she preferred, she said quickly I should like you to see The Master Builder. I like doing that best, Andi seeing her, one does not wonder, for she is free, courageous, like Hilda Wangel. Determined, youthful, her personality in many ways coincides with that of the girl who loved the Master Builder. It's not very hard to succeed, she told me. Just keep on working, working, and working, and never mind what people say. Let only your own ideas guide you .... and you'll reach the top! And then I found her not the vague, glamorous romantic actress I had dreamed of, but someone courageous, determined, noble and more satisfy- mg. Cornelia Augusta Newton, Bg3 INTERIM Sing to me- Your voice is harsh and ugly, But your eyes Are pansy velvet Teaching sweet oblivion To mine. Sing to me- Your song is raucous, grating, But your lips Are young and eager And their scarlet warmth is mine To take at will Or leave. Sing to me- I hate you, You are vulgar, clinging, stupid, But- I need your song- F or I am lonely. Mignon Audrey Bushel, A8 Page Fifteen INTERVIEW WITH FAITH BALDWIN 66 E'VE been chasing false alarms all moming, Miss Baldwin said as she welcomed us into her charming home. My six- year old has been sending in fire-alarms and we've had the whole company here. It's been quite an exciting Sunday morning. I don't know much about high schools or high school girls. I'm writing a story about high school girls, but I'm setting it in the country because I feel that city girls are so sophisticated. fWe began to feel a little self -consciousj. It's dilhcult to remember my school days. I went to school here in Brooklyn and then to a finishing school. When I came home I didn't have much to do, so I wrote lots of abominable verses. My father threatened me with all sorts of things if I published them. I didn't till I was eighteen and the book was well received, much to everyone's wonder. That same year I went abroad. When the war broke out, I retumed, and spent my time at Camp Mills, where I published a small newspaper for a club of girls, and or- ganized dances for the boys. It was quite a job and I hated it-especially the paper, but I did it. Soon after that I became engaged and went down to Florida. From there I sent my first novel which was lost in the mail and as I never keep copies, it just wasn't till one day it turned up, and after many adventures was published. When I returned from Florida I was married-but not to the one I was engaged to, she added hurriedly. We struggled on in a small flat. After my four kiddies were born I began to write again-novels now. First I had a job writing continued stories in newspapers. Terrible stuiiil But it was real experience and it taught me a lot about writing. Then I began writing serials for magazines. One of my latest, Ali- mony has just ended in 'Cosmopolitanh One Incredible Year is now running in 'Good Housekeeping'. At this point, our conversation was interrupted by a childish wail from somewhere in the upper regions. That's one of the twins, slightly annoyed at something, Miss Baldwin said nonchalantly. I realize, Miss Baldwin continued calmly, that I don't write best- sellers. I really don't try to. I want to write books that everyone will enjoy-an amusing, interesting novel and nothing more. Miss Baldwin told us she wrote in the house, surrounded by all sorts of noises, with the family all around her, the telephone and doorbell ringing frantically. She writes right on the typewriter and is so used to it that she says she wouldn't be able to write if she had to use long-hand. fShe's a two-fingered typist, howeverj. She showed us the library, where she works. It is on the ground floor. Three of the walls are covered with open book shelves, one section containing all her own books. In the centre is her desk and a comfortable chair. On the walls are many pictures, a darling one of her two oldest, and the original paintings of her first book jackets. Do say a prayer for my grass, she said as we were leaving. Bemice Stamilman, Ag8 Page Sixteen PETER PAN IN SILENCE N Kensington Gardens its was twilight-in Kensington, London, that merry daytime abode of sunny babies, white-clad nurses, and throngs of gay, careless little boys and girls. It was a strange, hostile twilight whose gray shadows made shapeless blurs of the trees and statues. An eventide loneliness breathed from deserted walks and lawns. Chill breezes whispered faintly, Rest .... Rest. It is such a trouble to be happy! Into this cool, hostile twilight wandered Alice, a little fair-haired six- year old, escaped from her nurse and coming, as a dauntless few had before her, to explore the regions of fairyland. Yet what a world of seeking lay behind those wide blue eyes. In and out she threaded her way, stopping every once in a while to shake her head in despair. '4Dear, how queer it looks! she murmured. When Bobby and I came through with Nurse, it was different, and much nicer. But I mustn't lose my way, because I must find Peter Pan, I must! And in other parts of the garden, the very same Peter Pan was sur- veying his dominion with impatient eyes. H'm. They all say they love me, these children. But not one of them has the courage to stay behind after closing time to really play with me. I did, once, when I was a real boy. Oh, I was a clever one, then! And wouldn't I show those boys some fun, if I were back again, wouldn't I just! Now you must know that though the fairies loved Peter Pan very dear- ly-indeed the queen secretly worshipped his golden curls and gleaming teeth, they rather distrusted him. He was such a queer, mischievous fellow that they feared to let him out among the children, as he had pleaded, in case he might grow suddenly tired and assume his own form toj join in the fun. That was something they could not permit. The queen herself, in all the splendor of her elfin velvet and ermine, had warned him. We have decided to grant you plea, Peter Pan, because we are all very fond of you, as you know. 'slndeed and I thank you, Lady Queen, Peter bowed humbly before her. But there are certain laws to be obeyed, the Queen continued, trying to be stem though smiling graciously at Peter's bow. One of these laws is that a fairy must never be seen in his or her original form, by a mortal. And after all, you are a fairy, aren't you, Peter? Indeed and I am not! Peter answered indignantly. I had a real mother once, and she was ever so much prettier than any of your fairies! Be still! The Queen was regal, sharp. Then abruptly descending, she asked almost shyly, Prettier, even than the Queen? Way! said Peter tactlessly. Well, resumed the queen angrily, you cannot say you are a real boy, so we consider you a fairy. And you are never to move from the statue which we have decided to give you. If you do move, or utter a single sign or word, you will be punished by having to remain thereafter in that form forever! All these days a wearisome duty he had found it to obey, never more wearisome than tonight. He fretted and fumed and watched the big London Page Seventeen clock so closely that he could almost see it tick off the minutes. Suddenly his attention was arrested by a soft rustling as of autumn leaves, and out of the tree-darkened paths a little girl stepped. That strained, seeking expres- sion was gone from her eyes, and instead, relief and joy shone out. It would be hard to tell Peter's feelings as he watched her. She was an awfully little girl, he thought rather contemptuously, and she couldn't be very brave, for she had been crying. But it tickled his vanity to think she was one of the children who did care enough to stay behind and speak to him. Oh, Peter Pan, she was saying, Pvc been so afraid I wouldn't find you. Everything is so dark and still-and queer. I know the fairies must be watching, for I saw the end of a wing disappear around a bush. Do you think they are angry at me for coming after closing hours? But I had to see you, Peter. They said you couldn't talk any more .... the children did. They said you are just a stone statue, and it's all make-believe that you ever lived at all ...... and they don't believe .... Oh, Peter .... they don't believe in fairies! She bent forward in hushed expectancy. So I came myself, Peter, to hear what you would say, so I could go back and tell them that you are alive. Please talk to me, Peter! The moon shone on her fair hair and tear-wet lashes, and it turned her little face to a silvery whiteness that made her eyes very large and dark blue. Peter, generous, impulsive soul, was moved. Dear me, she is a nice little girl, even if she does cry, he said to himself, and I wish I could talk to her for just a minute, Then remember- ing the long forever of the queen of fairies, he shuddered and stayed silent. Breathlessly Alice waited. 'iWhy Peter, are you angry at me too? Peter hated at that moment the fairy queen and her laws. He thought it was a shame that Alice should have to go away believing him a statue, when he was really such a clever fellow .... She was crying brokenheartedly now. Oh, Peter, tell me they were wrong. You can talk, can't you? Say that you can! Peter felt a lump rising in his throat when he heard the imploring note in the tiny voice down there. No one could call him anything but careless, no one could call him wise, yet he realized how much it would mean to Alice if he refused to speak. Within him surged a flood of heroism which made him oblivious to consequences. He stepped down from his pedestal with a noble air. Of course I can talk, little girl. Pm. ap great fellow, I am. I' can do almost anything you ask me to. I killed five pirates and ever so many Indians, 'n I can fly higher than any of the fairies, 'n I'm chief of the army in the Neverland, and he hopped up and down on one foot and grinned broadly at the blissful Alice. Oh .... she breathed joyfully. And in the sweetness of her over- whelming admiration Peter quite forgot the great sacrifice he had made. Comelia A ugwsta Newton, Bg3 Page Eighteen WTWISTVERSATIONM Much have we heard of conversation and of many folks well versed in that art. How little have we heard of Twistversation, one of the many unappreciated arts. Scientifically the first point to consider is: What is this utwistversa- tion? That is where the art comes ing it is so artistic that it defies defini- tion. Let us however do the best we can. Twistversation is the art of involuntarily speaking in a manner utterly unintelligible except to the initiate, i. e. to those afflicted with the same malady. There, have I called an art a malady? At that, it is rather unfortunate to ask your favorite member of the faculty if she minds racking bywarcls in the trains, when you mean riding backward. There is both definition and illustration of twist- versationf' Next in consideration are the acquisition and practice of said art. As to the first, it cannot be acquired. It is no less than a gift of the gods in capricious mood. By the same token, it cannot be practised consciously. It just comes out-and it runs in families. Mine is an authority on the subject. Now to take up what people say when they have spells of this,-mixing initial letters, tacking whole syllables elsewhere, and so on. In Lab my friend one day asked me what difference it would make if our experiments were not accepted. Very poetically I replied that our larks would be mower. Fix up m and l for yourself! Looking for rooms with a friend, I had occasion to ask a question of a tenant in a certain apartment house. When she informed us that all those apartments were lovely , my friend replied agreeably, c'Yes, we've just been halking through the walls! Of course there are the famous poets, Sheats and Kelley, and in the matter of poetry, the following gems: What made that runt frank ran fall down? -or, as Kipling actually wrote it: What made that front rank man fall down? And I remember quoting, all unsuspecting: Blessings on thee, little man, Barefaced boy with feet of tan- The result of Twistversation are manifold. Friends of the afflicted think her amusing, a little crazy, and certainly pitiable. But the artistic malady may make her famous overnight, if the night happens to be one on which it is at work. V Marion 0'Connor, B8 Page Nineteen Page Twenty PRESENCE I cannot see an autumn leaf of burnished gold, Unthinking of the gold that is your hairg My memories dispel not in November's boar cold- . . . .For you are there. I cannot see an azure sky disturbed by rain, Unthinking of your troubled eyes in their blue lair. Tranquillity, I try in dusty sunbeams to attain-- . . . .But you are there. Violets you kissed one day, and daisies trod upon- All colors. . as an antidote. .enchancing grayness of despair In this dejection colorless you will be gone. . . . .But you are there. Perchance if I should seek the alien solitude, The hush of dim cathedrals, unfamiliar prayer, Then you might leave me in this holiness to brood- . . . .But you are there. I stumble heedlessly o'er miles of barren earth. A joyless laugh rings hollow through the air. Perhaps you will take pity on my mirthless mirth? . . . .Still you are there. And now, life's ever-fleeting span relaxed to earth, And beauty, life and love no longer fair- In death a lonely grave fulfills my need- . . . .You are not there. Mignon Audrey Bushel, .48 ENVY A wind That beats the malice-foam On hearts of rock. A lash That whips the victim Into hate and fury. A goad To wreck the peace of Mind and heart. Jane Hastings, X6 THE LEGEND OF THE CLIFF-NEAREST-THE-STARS. lone traveler stood out against the dark blue sky, near the edge of a cliff. Far below him, in the valley, he could see lights flickering and dancing like fireflies. A bell tolled in the distance, softly, sweetly, gently as though ringing a lullabyg the echo answered, softer, sweeter, more gentle, fading in the distance. One by one the lights in the valley fluttered out until there remained only the light of the stars in the calm sky. Vaguely the dark outline of pines on a neighboring cliff swayed to and fro. From the edge of the farthest cliff the crescent moon rose, gliding up to point over the top of the mountain. As the traveler watched, the peace of the mountains stole over him, covering him, resting him. And all at once he felt at home here in the mountains of Italy. Resuming his upward path, he found almost at the top, what he sought. In the dim moonlight he regarded the building before him, of field stone, rough-hewn and untrimmed, it perched on the edge of the cliff. And as though not already high enough, it had been built on piles. Beneath the house lay dim forms of sheep. A small wooden sign suspended from a window proclaimed the building a hostelaria. Climbing the stone stairs at the side, the traveler heard-it. The long grass on the mountain side above his head rustled gently as if someone walked there. He looked up, but could see nothing. A black cloud hid the moon, plunging the whole region into darkness. A cold wind swept the valley. As the traveler continued to ascend the stairs, again he heard the sound, more plainly, as though nearer. Thinking that someone must be headed for the cliff, the traveler called out in the soft mountain dialect, Watch out! Cuardalv The steps paused, seemed to turn toward him. The wind rushed through the valley, moaned, returned, sobbing. Then all was still again. The traveler felt certain that someone was looking at him, watching him closely. Again the wind sobbed, more sadly now, as though there were no hope for peace and quiet. The footsteps kept on, passed him, the chill breeze made him draw his coat more tightly. Beneath the house the sheep 'stirred un- easily, and lambs bleated as though frightened. The footsteps now reached the cliff 's edgcffand were lost in a final shrill sob of the wind. F rightened, the traveler climbed to the top of the stairs, gained admit- tance to the inn, and invited the innkeeper to have a glass of warm wine with him. They spoke at first of affairs in the village, then the traveler said: I heard footsteps in the long'grass beside the stairs. I wonder who could be walking there? The innkeeper asked, his ruddy face paling, You heard it, too? Of course, I heard. What does it mean? F or the people-it bodes ill. We shall have a storm tonight. What is this-a legend or something-? A legend, signorf' And with considerable persuasion he was soon started upon the legend of the cliff-nearest-the-stars. :of wr 4: ak 1: 4: ar 4: Page Twenty-om The tiny village perched precariously on the mountain side was wrapped in night and stillness. In the hostelaria all the windows were dark save one, through which a candle gleamed dully. The one street of the village was deserted. From the shadowed side of a house slipped a figure merging into the shadows and again starting forth stealthily down the street. As the form neared the lighted window of the inn, at the far end of the village, it paused, and passed like a wraith. At the outskirts of the town, it stepped into the starlight, to reveal itself as a young girl dressed in the gay skirt and bodice of a shepherdess. A gaily-flowered shawl covered her head, hiding all her hair save those few curls which had escaped. In the dim light one could see the beauty of her sparkling eyes, petal-like skin, and sweetly curved lips. Turning to the village for a moment, she airily blew a kiss toward it, then removed from a bundle a small pair of wooden shoes, slipped into them, and began to climb the mountainside. When she reached a small, sheltered recess, she called out softly. The leaves rustled, a man's voice whispered 6'Margherita, and she was clasped in her lover's arms. Down from the mountainside above them came the sound of someone slipping on a stone. The lovers did not hear it. But Beniamino heard their voices and stopped, glad to overhear another's secret. From where he stood, he could watch the two beneath the full moon which rose slowly in the blue-black sky. All the silver beauty of the night was lost on Beniamino, who saw only Margherita, proud daughter of the village's richest man, in a secret meeting-place with her lover. What gossip for the towns-folk this would make. The man in the glen below him moved, and the silver insignia on his uniform gleamed in the moonlight. Beniamino gasped. A soldier! He stared more keenly. An Austrian officer! Well he knew the uniform of the hated conquerors. An Italian girl with an Austrian oflicer-Smiling in satis- faction, Beniamino continued on his way to the village. The tale of the lovers' meeting was next day on everyone's lips. Never had such a subject been offered to the town. The men waiting to go forth to harvest ripe chestnutsg the women in their homesg the barefoot children all knew and talked of Margherita's lover. One old woman in search of further news approached the girl herself, who stood defiant in her doorway. Suddenly the old woman stopped, and with fear in her face, made the sign of the cross. From far below in the valley the shrill sound of a bugle was wafted up on the clear morning air. Again the sound-silence-the bugle and the far tapping of marching feet. The villagers shouted The Austrians! The fathers, pulling their children with them, ran to their own doors. As the army marched into the village street, their red-trimmed blue uniforms covered with fine dust of a long journey, their leader advanced and harshly addressed a grim-faced man in the nearest doorway. Where is the head man of this 'charming' village? The man regarded him silentlyg then raised his hand and pointed to a stone house at the left of his own. It was Margherita's home. Page Twenty-two 1 ! 4 I 1 . , , by , pa 1 . .mp . Y f' 1 . 3 4 . ,,. ff .MRI w. 2 'W . up r lf . 4 ,AN q, If .. I' Y Y.- , 1 r 1 1. .., .L rf I 1 .. K . 'E' I u ,..i n ' A ,l.L. 'Ffa . ..ilL,' .' 4 S :fi . ,- .Ti . ,RTL - if .U N' N .4 I-734. 11.1 4 1' .M PM 1. ra .,' STQ-1154 v 4 'U ' r , ' rg ' f V -I Q if F . . ,Q -...Jn -wifi lei 11 . V' , ,.. S, .E .. f I., , , , 4' L.. 'f'..',2'!1 . isa' F s.. 1 L . ! v., 'Gi 4.-H. K' I-.' 1 ,an ' , flir- fl n y' 1' 1552 Lb- r I , .qw -if .p . --f 4 .4 wg.. ' .5 Tlnxx U , 'i 'hid 41' ' n A 1 ,M .1 IQ, 'IJ' 5 - -x n. ,.. 4 ,:,, A I' V0 J.. T' ,. -r New ' ... u ...W ,. h. .- ' .ftn - A, ..- u'b! 'l ' 3-4' ' . 1--sr ' L 4 V v 'A . 1 Highs. , - - - ,-,-:-W I .V . H: .. '- 5- lr. Q. uf. . .1.L,l'1, .i, '-,H lu - ' 5 r-1 .-If II .. r1.4 ' The dapper ofiicer grinned sneeringly and said. Sociable lot, aren't you! If you weren't so hard to get to, up here in the mountains, you might have learned manners long ago. Again the townsman regarded him stonily and raised his arm to the next house. Reddening, the oflicer strode to the doorway and demanded of Margherita, May I see your father, my pretty? A tall, elderly man pushed his way front, gently pushed the girl inside, and said I am her fatherf, I command you in the name of the Emperor to surrender the Duke of F orestaf' For barely a second the older man hesitated. The Duke of F oresta? You are surely mistaken. With my daughter and old Giovanni I live alone. Stop that. We know he is here. Will you give him up to me without a struggle, or must we kill you? Bring him outf' From within the house a second elderly man appeared. Though he wore the brown breeches of the peasant, with a gay shirt of linen and a sash of fringed silk, and a knitted cap with bright wool tassel, he seemed higher in station than the average villager. When Antonio, Margherita's father, tried to force him back, he shook his head and said to the oflicer: I am the Duke of F orestaf' Charmed sneered the oflicer. My Duke wears peasant garb now. Ah, the fortunes of war!-But we must not tarry-Bind him men. To the downcast Antonio the Duke said as the soldiers bound him and marched away. Grieve not, my friend. You are not to blame. I thank you for the help you gave. In silent consternation the crowd of villagers watched their beloved ruler disappear. Then one turned sharply to Margherita and pointing cried Traitress! Margherita drew back into the doorway. Her father pushed the door shut, and with blazing eyes faced the crowd. He held up his hand for silenceg thelpeople, used to obeying him, obeyed him now. In his excitment, Antonio slipped into the old mountain dialect: Ye would accuse her? What know ye of her? Know ye surely that she was betrayed-? Ye shall not take her. In the crowd there rose cries of Kill her, traitressf' 'Try her! Try her! Aye, she shall be tried! Gray and old, Antonio agreed. Go to your homes. She shall be tried-Tomorrow-by the Elders. They met, the council of the Elders, to try Margherita. To try her in the presence of Pietro, who had seen ninety harvests, and Luigi, along with his son who had lost an arm fighting the Austrians, and old Andrea, whose wife and child had been killed by Austrian bombs. Pale and drawn of face, Margherita sat with her father, while the council droned on and on, on to a foregone conclusion. When the delibera- tions had wearied all, old Pietro stood up and said in his brittle, cackling voice: Have you anything to say, little one? Page Twenty-five Though the village padre urged her, she said nothing. Though her father besought her with tortured eyes, she remained silent, immobile, weary. Then tonight, pronounced old Pietro, you die as a traitress. You shall hurl yourself from the cliff-nearest-the-stars. And they watched her that night, watched her walk slowly to the grove of trees near the edge of the cliff, heard her footsteps rustle the long grass, heard a dull, far-away splash as of a body falling into the lake below. And all night they heard the wind wail along the mountainside, heard a storm rage about the valley. In the morning the chestnut groves were devastated, stripped. A huge boulder had crashed down in the storm upon Antonio's house. His body they found lifeless in the ruins, and yet breath- ing, that of Giovanni, the Duke's old servant. To the padre, just before be died, he told how he had betrayed his master to the Austrians, for money. The young Austrian officer, Margherita's lover-the townsmen beard it so reported, had been killed by a huge rock in its ruthless passage, down the storm-scarred mountainside. And of all these lost ones, Margherita alone returns, walking through the long grass, gently taking her way to the edge of the cliff-nearest-the-stars, and always just before a terrifying moun- tain storm approaches. Victoria M. Scaglia, B7 SONNET TO YOUTH The smell of fresh brown earth in spring is youtbg The call a breeze wafts thru the atmosphere, The whispering of universal truth, The melodies of birds, a magic tearg The sadness that a moment lasts,-O life! A pebble breaks the brook's smooth calm with talk Or laughing shouts that prick as with a knife- Sweet thoughtlessness-'tis youth, a short brisk walk, And strength that- fills each tingling nerve, bright eyes, Red blood, the wish to live! The young tree's grace, A smile, the product of a million sighs, The joy, the thrill, the will to head the race. All this is youth, its moods, its Hag unfurledg Simplicity-its claim before the world. Sarah Lederman, A8 Page Twenty-six ARTHUR GUITERMAN R. Guiterman's complete ease and charm dissembled any qualms we might have felt. With the help of surprisingly few questions, we learned quantities of interesting things, only the most important of which will appear here. Mr. Guiterman was born in 1871, in eight years he had already begun writing poetry. Altho his family ties were close, he received little encouragement concerning his poetry, due to reticence rather than indifference. His early poems were serious, the first important ones being The Call to Colorsl' and The Rush ofl the Oregon, both inspired by the Spanish American War. He was one of the first of the pioneer poets who dared to drop the unnatural forms set by the contemporary standards. In 1896, his protest against blasting the Palisades was copied from a local paper by the New York Times. Subsequent contributions of his founded the famous South East corner. An editorial in another paper encouraged contributions and in 1899 he had the thrill of his life when the Criterion accepted and paid for one of his poems. A few of the publications to which Mr. Quiterman has successfully contributed are Life , '6Century Magazine , Scribner's,', Harper's , The Youth's Companion , American Magazine , Saturday Evening Post , and The Outlook . He was an in- timate friend of the famous Joyce Kilmer and is well acquainted with all the best-known and most interesting writers of the times. During luncheon he disclosed many private opinions and fascinating stories. In case you are interested, he dislikes tea, typograhpical elisions, free verse of all sorts, and tardiness. He is fond' of talking, ballads, talking, originality, talking, and correct English. And oh yes, did I mention talking? He is Phi Beta Kappa, a good athlete, and an interesting companion. He does his writing in a medium sized room which is filled with typewriters, copy and blank paper. Its mural decoration is a neatly framed story, told by two letters and a card. The letters are polite rejections of a poem from two well- known magazine. The third is a copy of the poem as it has been decorated and gamished-it is now one of the most famous of its type! When we were leaving, Mr. Guiterman apologized for having talked too much. This is, at worst, a doubtful fault indeed, and we cannot help but wish it were one with which more famous people were afflicted. Mignon Audrey Bushel, A8 Page Twenty-seven AFTERWARDS If it should be my lot to die in youth, With no ambition conquered or fulfilled, With nothing worthy I could leave behind, A memory of one who strove in vain To clamber o'er the stones of weary life, My prayer is this: that when I so depart, This soul-rent body be not marred, becoming Beautiful in death, etherial, may it not be Draped in shrouds dark-hued or black, But silken lace and golden cashmere soft. These eyes not closed by mortal fingers crude, But open wide to look on all about With steady gaze, tranquillity disturbed By nothing, now that all this life is done. . . And unashamed to stare at one Who pity now may give, not mocking smiles. . Lila Pollock A2 STORM A flash Of jagged gold, A rumbling darkened sky- The lashing rain! The trees Shaken by the wind, Bending distorted bodies- Terror! A cat Caught in the rain, Gingerly stepping in puddles Disdainful! lane Hastings X6 Page Twenty ezght I--DAWN Aurora wakes and stretches out her arms, And tears the veil of darkness in the actg And then she gently yawns, And rising, spills her garments, many-hued, On the transparent floor of heaven, And then we mortals looking at the sky, See the bright heralds of the dawn. II-EVENING The sun-god flees, and leaves across the skies, A trail of beauty, a master hand revealing, Such beauty as brings tears into our eyes, And to our hearts a peace and joy all-healing. Across the busy city, silence fallsg A silence in which man to his true mate speaks low In Godls sweet language only souls can hear. Wearily the world wraps 'round its tired self Its mantle dark, and soft night falls. Grace Inman, X8 DIDO'S DEATH Death came for the queen, Thrice raising glazed eyes Dulled by death's mist sheen She looked at the skies And remembered dreams- Pain, a city wall, Turrets, busy scenes And love--that was all. Weary, sad, forlorn, 'Her Majesty' yet- Ascending from earth-Mourn! Death and Beauty met .... Sarah Lederman, A8 Page Twenty-nine ON READING THE DICTIONARY ROBABLY the last adjectives most people would think of applying to the perusal of a standard dictionary are exciting and inviting. Yet to the more imaginative not only are these true but they also find it a volume filled with mystic formulae. They find it not a book which limits by defini- tion but stimulates by suggestion. If you take up your lexicon with the intention of looking up a word- say Chasseur . You see that it means huntsman, but you permit yourself to glance down the page and you see Hchastel' and 4'Chastise. You won't have much difliculty in constructing your story. The tale of the young girl who meets the handsome hunter in the forest and loves him despite the inevitable wrath of her father may appeal to youg others may prefer ,the chaste wife, the chance encounter with the chasseur and the subsequent fury of her husband. There are many other combinations of words, some of which are amusing. Look up Homer and you will find honey , honeysuckle , honeymoon , Honolulu home and hooey l The shortest story in the world! And still another. Tho this one is more grue- someg in-law, innuendo, inquest, inquiry and inquisition. Doubtless, now, when someone asks you, What is the longest book in the world? you sniff and do not answer, The dictionary, as you did when you were younger. But there is so much truth in this joke that bad as it is, you are inclined to forgive it, you are scarcely inclined to think of so stolid a thing as a standard dictionary as a magic carpet, yet by the mere sound of some words we find ourselves transported to strange places. Do not the words saxaphone , harem , canteen and minuet bring definite pictures to your mind. The beauty of it is that each tale is of your own composition and therefore pleasing. And of course your vocabulary to be practical shows your choice of reading matter. It frequently happens that when you refer to the dictionary for one word you see lured on by ten others. Several are sure to remain in your mind, generally the original one is not among them. Helen Oberstein, C6 TO SHINE IN USE As swords were made to fight with, So souls were made to fight with. We need a cause to fight for With soul, just as with sword. Alice Kalousdian, B8 Page Thirty NOCTURNE EN years-almost eleven since he had left this same room. Ten years-making the difference between a boy and-almost a man. Richard had come home. He stood on the threshold of the room that had been his in 1918, the room he had left for France and drums and bugles and bally-hoo, the room he had forgotten, locked away in the cupboard with those other things that hurt. It was the same as he had left it-the sunlight playing thru the yellow curtains and on the creamy walls, sending shafts of beams over to the bookcase, making bright pools of maple light on the well-waxed floor. There was the rug, chewed a bit as to the end, fa memory of a perky terrier frisked across his mindj and the small mahogany bed, with its bright yellow cover. Dante and Beethoven still flanked the Winged Victory on the glistening top of the low bookcase. And there was a yellow canary Q surely not his gallant Coeur de Lionlj teetering and chirping at the stranger in his domain. It seemed but yesterday he had left, and here was his castle holding out its arms to him as if he were still the boy who had gone. It was, for an instant, an attack in an unguarded quarter, a breath-taking something ached in his throat, and a voice swelled from within, crying, Why?- Why?-Oh, God!--Why? That voice-for almost ten years it hadn't spoken-he had smothered it pretty thoroughly that first year in the hospital, and through the years had drowned its poignancy in a scintillant cynicism. Only a moment, then his well-schooled mouth twisted one corner and he gave a little bored laugh. He walked over to the window and stood, with his empty sleeve brushing the sill, looking out. He had forgotten, watching the sun in Italy, on the Riviera, in Spain, that the sun painted the streets of New York like this. Now he remembered, saw the familiar tracing of the cold autumn sunshine on the grey walls of the big apartment on the corner, saw it run in calm, preoccupied beams over the heads of the five little Dutch houses opposite. The street was placid, usual, unchanged. Here was something that had remained in his world of chaos. Ten years before the street had been the same, the room had been the same. A shy boy, with eyes deep with dreams, lost in the lovely maze of music, had studied there. He had stood at that window and watched the sun's painting, or the rain's sweeping line of march, and seen music and beauty. And when the sun had just set over the Hudson, when the sky was purpling crimson and the first stars were beginning to glimmer and the curb lamps were beginning to glow, he had played his beloved violin here- some tune to satisfy his mood-but most often the sweet Minuet in G, of Beethoven, or, torn by some grief that eighteen knows, played his own Nocturne He wondered if the distinguished-looking man with the twirled mus- tache, and the little girl with the brown curls, still lived opposite. They had Page Thirty-one been friends, although the other two had never seen him and scarcely knew him. He had seen the brown-locked one often, racing and playing with a golden-haired child and several boys-but he never knew them. His mother did not approve of playing in the street, but he hadn't minded-not much, with his books and music. Now, he was too old and sometimes, when the childish shrieks pierced the air, shrilly happy, he wished that he could have been like that, and played and shouted-like that one young Indian, the captain. But he was eighteen, and they weren't more than eight or ten, so he only noticed them incidentally. But one day Colden-locks moved away. Stark tragedy for Brownie! Richard, looking down on the weeping children, clasped in each others arms, almost wept in sympathy. Finally the car and trucks departed and a forlom Brownie sat down on the little Dutch stoop, and cried with the great catch- ing sobs of a baby. Richard wished someone would comfort her. Where was the gallant band, where was the dashing captain, where was her father with his trim twirling mustache? The street was quiet with late afternoon shadows. Suddenly Richard drew his magic bow across the strings, and the little fairy-like Minuet danced down to her. For a moment she didn't hear, but slowly her head lifted, and she listened, still catching deep sobs. It was the first time she had heard a violin and Richard played everything that was elfin and hauntingly sweet and delicately beautiful. He played and she listened--with only the interruptions that came from the Main Street of the world, just around the corner. And when her father came home, he found her sitting on the cold stone, her face tear-streaked but rapt. Richard saw him lift her tenderly, and knew he was explaining the fairy music and comforting her in her loss. After that, whenever he saw her sitting quietly, he would salute her with Minuet,' and play for her some- times. Soon she noticed the slmset serenade and almost every evening found her listening shyly in the shadow of some window. lt pleased his fancy to charm her and he never knew of the disappointment when he failed to play. But he had forgotten her, forgotten his music, beauty, dreams, ,when a miracle had torn him away from all his ideals and had filled his mind with War. He had left his cloisters, had joined an outfit, fought in France,- and lost his arm. lt had been a hard fight after that-his, parents were game, though, and helped him fight. They didn't understand that the only way he could was through that shell with which he had surrounded himself. It had been pretty easy to keep up that front during those ten years abroad and he had dared to come home. He gave a little laugh at himself--he was getting sentimental again. He looked out at the street that had stayed the same, at the little houses opposite, a man was going up the stoop, and yes, it was the man with the twirling mustache, only it was white now. Brownie still lived across the way! At that moment the sun touched the Hudson. Richard turned, almost ran out of the room. He broke into the living room and drowned his thoughts in the Hood of syncopation that was blaring from the loud-speaker. as wk wk it wk 4: :tr Page Thirty-two Richard awoke to the matins that Coeur de Lion II was thrilling. It was much too early to get up, and that fool bird was murdering all thoughts of sleep. After a few minutes he yawned sullenly and got out of bed. He'd been such an idiot last night! He stretched languidly over to the window. People still got up early, then. The street showed more activity at the ungodly hour of eight A.M. than it did at night. He was about to turn away when the door of one of the little houses opened, and-was that Brownie? Tall, lithe, with hardly a wisp of those brown curls showing from under that smart little hat. She had some books on her arm and she gazed down the street expectantly. She must be eighteen now herself, a college girl! Suddenly a roadster swept up, a youngster opened the door and Brownie was off. Richard knew the boy, it was the captain of the band of ten year before. He looked at the street reproachfully, it had changed, it had played him false. xxxmxxx It was nearly five that afternoon when Brownie slowly came down the street. She could hardly see, for all the sunshine. Her eyes were full of tears and she leaned wearily against the stone before she went in. She looked at the sky purpling with the sunset and tried to dry her tears before Daddy should see her. Richard up in the window where he had waited for her return felt a mighty rebellion rise within him. It was his slmset hour-it was his Brownie standing over there crying, and here he was, a useless cripple, with nothing before him, except empty years of hearing others play, of seeing others comfort his Brownie, of seeing others do the things he had dreamt of. Through a blur of tears he saw the sun's last rays linger on the wom case of his beautiful, betrayed violin. He took it down reverently, took out the instrument. His last reserve was flung to the winds,-he caught it to his breast with a sob. The long-silent strings murmured a soft chord. He laid his cheek against the satiny wood and then caught his breath in wonder. Through the violet light that now Hlled the street, came the sobbing, throbbing song,-his own Nocturne, coming to him across the years. Who-? What-? Suddenly he knew! He laughed a half hysterical laugh from the depths of his gladness. Brownie was playing his Nocturne to him! Brownie had been carrying on for him! As the last notes quivered plaintively on the air he leaned far out the window, clutching his violin to his breast, longing to call out frantically: Brownie, Brownie, l'm back, I'm back here with you and the street that will never change! I'm whole again! Brownie! see me!,' Brownie saw, heard the silent call perhaps. For a moment there was a quivering stillnessg then elfin-wise, the Minuet in G came dreaming across to soothe and greet the tired ears, to find the waiting heart. Clara R. Steinhardt, Ag8 Page Thirty-three RADIO INTERVIEW E were escorted into the broadcasting room just three minutes before Philco went on the air. As we crossed the threshold, our eyes viewed a never-forgetable picture. Dark red curtains hung from the high ceilings against the walls. The orchestra was seated in the center of the room facing a platform on which stood Harold Sanford, the musical direc- tor. To his left on a lower level were two microphones. Before one was Henry M. Neely, Philco's Old Stagerf' and before the other was Jessica Dragonette and Collin 0'Moore. In the far corner of the room, M. J. Cross was announcing into another mike that this was uStation W ,I Z, broad- casting the Philco Hour of Old Theater Memories. Then, with a hello everybody we were taken back to the old days by the beautiful song Mem'ries', sung by Miss Dragonette. It seemed strange that such a tiny thing ffive feet two inches, could embody such a powerful and yet sweet voice. As she sang she seemed to breathe beautiful melodies into the hearts of every individual of her radio audience. She was not in the room, but in the homes of all who were listening. After the brief half hour was concluded, Miss Dragonette took us to the reception room where we had a better chance to view the charming lady. Her hair, exquisitely blonde, falls in rippling waves on her forehead and is caught gracefully at the nape of her neck. The yellow of her velvet wrap reflected the light vividly to her hair that frames her soft, grayish-brown eyes, which are clear and large. But about her self, In a quiet and sincere manner, Miss Dragonette told us just a little about herself, letting a tolerant smile play around her mouth. Despite the fact she is so well known, her attitude is unassuming and her poise is admirable. I have only been in this city since I left school, four years ago. I studied at Georgian Court in Lakewood, N. J. When I came here I entered the theatre. Miss Dragonette had a solo part in The Miracle and played Kathie in The Student Prince. In the Miracle she was not visible to the audience, but sang the part of an angel above the clouds. In this role she was com- plimented by Feodor Chaliapin, the famous Russian Basso. I received letters from all over the world, from the sick and the needy. These letters mean all the world to me, she said, it makes me so happy to think that I bring them happiness. When I sing, I sing to them. I feel that I am with them, singing to each one. This is especially true, for as she sings, she uses gestures as if they can see her. She is oblivious to all that goes on in the room. Her thoughts are with her audience. I have sung ever since I was a child, yet I have only studied since I have been here in New York. I am still studying. Miss Dragonette says her ambition is to he the greatest radio artist, but she is already one of the radio's Hall of Fame. As we left her, she gave us each a red rose, a fragrant remembrance of a delightful evening. Bemice Stamilman, Ag8 Pon Thirty-four IMPRESSION DE NUIT LONG the southernmost rim of Manhattan Island I walked, listening to the water beat rhythmically against the rocks, and suck into the hol- lows of the rotting wharfs in little swirls and eddies of sound. The night above was intensely black, varying into shades of darkness, yet the clear lights on water, earth, and sky made the scene a vivid etching in black and white. Blue-black the waters turned as they receded, shading into the coal blackness of the sky. Far-off lighted ships glided over the horizon and sailed into the borders of the heavens like great jeweled phantoms. To the east, three diamond braclets encircled the dusky arm of the river, and a thousand stars above reflected in the water from a thousand launches gay with lights. Away across the bay shone the Statue of Liberty clothed by night in white sanctity. The black, formless sky flowed along the angles made by her two rays of light, and the night was an enormous jeweled tent upheld by the great white hand. Within were priceless treasures, rows of colored gems, shimmering shafts of laughter, and a beautiful rose cloak of romance. But the dawn came piercing this hiding-place, and looted all the treasures with his gleaming sword. Grace Clanz, A7 HAVEN A sweet and gentle nun is Night, Who does the fiercely blazing light Of day with kindly shadows veil. At evening, stepping slow and calm, Her mission soothing brows with balm- By little lanterns silvery pale She sees a world o'errun with careg And yet from pain and grey despair To raise us, never does she fail. Each morn she leaves a world rebuilt, Refitted once again to tilt With Chance,-and though we lose, to learn That our significance is nought, W Our joys and sorrows dearly bought. And when our spirits ache and burn, And tumults rage within our hearts, To heal the wounds of cruel darts To Night compassionate we turn. Hazel Grace Boger, Bg4 Page Thirty-five PET ABOMINATION SUPPOSE everyone has some pet abominations. As I am no exception I have several, of which there is one I particularly dread,-little sister's birthday. By resting a few days I prepare myself for this much- dreaded day. Who wakes me up early that day? Who has done nothing but advertise her birthday for a month in advance? Why, little sister, of course! She doesn't let anyone forget that her birthday is coming. All of our neighbors are aware of the fact that their little lady friend is going to have a big day. She is nine now-quite grown up! I can think back to that remote time when birthdays meant so much in my life, and having had similar experience, can sympathize with my petite soeur. However, sympathy is lacking when we are in the midst of a typical Ciceronian sentence with which we have been struggling for the last fifteen minutes and along comes little sister to sweetly remind us not to forget to buy her something for her birthday. Someone may ask, Well, what about little brothers? All I can say is that I haven't had any experience with little brothers, since I have only one big one. But I don't think they can compare with little sisters when it's a question of birthday nuisances. It is encouraging to know that my pet abomination will not be long lived, for soon my little sister will no longer be little and I shall have no Ciceronian sentences to have interrupted. Ethel Sankows, B6 INTANCIBILITY A verdant woodland is my mind to me, A cosy nook in which, on beds of pine And hemlock, racy, fresh, like wind-tossed hair, I rest my weary cells, each stepped in thought, And, watch the clouds, pure fairy fleece, float on Through space and time. They know not walls nor hours: And I with them am free, untrammeled by The tug of earthly ties, and I exist But in a thought. Pulsation is an age, I tread in fairy rings with ecstasy Sublime, unfettered, from the flesh detached. I- know myself, and I am one with that lllimitable power pervading All. Elizabeth Ash, A4 Page Thirty-six ALGERIAN MARKET-PLACE G6 HOU sayest that the Spanish prisoners are to be sold in this mar ket-place today?,, Yea, and may the dogs have evil masters! As the two Algerians conversed, a tall Moor mounted the platform and signalled to another to drive forth the prisoners from a nearby shed. Ten of them the driver flayed unmercifully in the direction of the auction block. All about, among the blank, white walled houses with slanting roofs, the narrow, broken streets or alleys were thronged with eager, shouting swarthy men. Look ye! shouted the auctioneer. Here is a fine specimen, clean, strong-built. He can carry loads, he is well-behaved, can perform great labors. How much am I offered? Ten! - Twenty f - Thirty I -4'Fifty ! Fifty? Fifty? He is worth more! How much amfl offered? '6Seventy! The animal is not worth more! Seventy? Seventy? More? .... The animal is thine for sev- Comes the sonorous call to prayer. Haya Alla salat! Haya Alla Fa1ah! The auctioneer's sentence is unfinished. Business is suspended as the multitude of white clad, turbaned Moslems turn toward Mecca and bow in prayer. Four hundred years later. The Arab quarters of Algiers. The same marketplace, the same blank walled whitewashed houses with roofs slanting toward each other, the same dark, filthy, broken, steep stairs in the crooked alleys. On the block the auctioneer cries, Look ye, look ye! How much am I offered? Ten ! - Twenty ! Thirty ! Fif ty ! Fifty? How much more am I offered? Seventy! Seventy! The animal is worth no more! Seventy? Seventy? No more? .... The animal is thine for .... There comes the sonorous call to prayer. The sentence is left un- finished, business is suspended, while the multitude of white-clad, turbaned Moslems turn toward Mecca and bow in prayer. Four hundred years .... and the Arab marketplace is unchanged, ex- cept that the sale is of camels, not slaves. Rose-ellen Halrnos, A4 LIGHT Each one of us Has a light within him. Children carry stars, Lover's carry moons, The old bear sunlight, The strong bear the sun. Yet we all go searching for candles In other people's homes ' Alice Kalousdian, B8 Page Thirty-seven A WINDOW IN THE LITTLE CHURCH AROUND THE CORNER LTHOUCH the Little Church around the Corner or Church of the Transfiguration is one of New York's smallest, as many people pass daily through its doors as through those of our greatest cathedrals. And why do they?-to see the lich-gate at its entrance, and the windows dedicated to the memory of famous actors. The windows dedicated to Edwin Booth, one of the foremost inter- preters of Shakesperian characters and founder of The Players, is the first to the left of the entrance to the transept. It is very large, and Gothic- arched. The scene in the upper half represents a histrionic student seated under a violet canopy, and fixing his troubled gaze on a white mask in his hand. Bareheaded, he wears a long mantle of fine sienna shadings, one corner thrown carelessly over his left shoulder. Underneath, in emerald letters on a dark blue blackground stands Boolh's favorite quotation from Hamlet: As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards Has ta'en with equal thanks. In larger letters at the foot of the window is the dedication: To the glory of God, and in loving memory of Edwin Booth, this window has been placed here by The Players -l898. Virginia Gargiulo, B7 YOUTH AND OLD AGE When I was young I used to satisfy The first whim that I got. Now I am old- I think before I act- But I still choose The first whim that I get. I suppose I have not grown much yet. Alice Kalousdian, B8 Page Thirty-eight A5S.EDlTOFL ALICE. KALOUSDIAN Ass. EDITOFR GRACE GLANL BUSINESS MGR. FELICE BRENNEFK E DITCR ' CLARA KSTEINHARDT ADVERTISING MGP.. NEJTI E A R G U S S T A F F Page Thirty-nine 1 Gli N PIRAL ORGANIZATION President-ETHEL LEITNER.. Vice-President-LILLIAN COHEN Secretary-FRANCES VVIGDERSON Treasurer-BETTY LUND lfiglzfh Tvrm-Frances Wayne, Pres.: Grace Bollenbaclier, Jeannette Flicker, Louise Ruhl. Smwzflz Ylllflll-l.CUl1OI'C Kelter. Prc'.v.,' Doreen De Vries. Josephine Per- fetto, Clara VVir111an. .S'I'.l.'fll Term-lflorence ilosephson. Prz's.,' Doris W'eil, Gertrude lipstefn, Sophie Keller. lfffflz Tvrnz-lfstlier Leitner, Pres.: Lillian Friecl, Sylvia Roclinsky. l:0lH'fll Tarn:-Hlileanoi' Goldman, Prz'.v.,' lfclith Greenlnxt. Pearl Perlman. Third' Term-Millie Futterinan, Prvs.: lflizalmetli Ruhl. Nettie Sclineicler. Sr'c'n1m' Trrm-Frances Strauss, Prf'.v.,' Louise -lacolms, Frances Crosby. First Term-Alice VVren, Pres., Minnette Scherzer. Chairman First Term. Big Sisters-BERNICE STAMILMAN. .qfllllifllf Mvmlmr of Hoard nf G0'Z't'l'lIOI'S-X'lOl.E'l'A JOVE. Chief Justice-GRACE REICHGOTT. Slg1l'lG-GRACE BOLLENBACHER. ATQMS-CLARA STEINHARDT. Wlmfs Mfhllf-JESSICA DENENHOLZ. S. A. F.4FRANCES WAYNE. T rajfic Squad-Louisa RUHL. Sanitary Squad-VIRGINIA GARGIULO. Big Sisters-LILLIAN COHEN. Page Forty JUDICIAL DEPARTM ENT Chief fMSfiC6-GRACE REICHGOTT Faculty AdUiS07'-MISS STOLLAK General Organisation Members-ETHEL LEITNER, LILLIAN COHEN, FRANCES WIGDERSON, BETTY LUND. Judges-Eighth Term-GRACE REIGHGOTT .Marslml Seventh TGTWZ-MARGARET GRENNAN Sixth T87'11'l1GERTRUDE EPSTEIN Fifth TFVIII-ET.AINE SENCER Fourth Term-DOROTHY LAMB Third TGVWV-ALICE BARHO Second Term-FRANCES CROSBY -XYIOLETA jova Sz fb-.Marslzal-ELSIE SPORN Page Forty-one BOARD OF GOVERNORS Faculty Membcrs-IVIISS SNYDER, MISS DRAPER, MISS GUNDER. Student MzfmIwrs- ETHEL LEITNER, LILLIAN COHEN, FRANCES WIGDERSON, BETTY LUND, VIOLETA J0vE. E k C SIGMA GAMMA PI President-GRACE BOLLENBACHER Financial Secretary-LILLIAN COHEN Faculty Advisor-MISS BENEDIX Eighth T67'?21-VIOLETA J0vE, LILLIAN KENT, JESSICA DENENHOLZ, ALICE KALOUSDIAN, MARIE O'HARA, GRACE REIGHGOTT, BERNICE STAMILMAN, CLARA STEINHARDT, FRANCES WAYNE. Seventh T6T771iMARGARET GRENNAN, FRANCES WIGDERSON. Sixth Ter-on-FLORENCE JOSEPHSON. Page Forty-two 1 STUDENTS' AID FUND Faczzltrv MvmIwrs-Clmirzzzu11, Miss SNYNER: MISS NORTON: MRS. Bonus: Miss FIELDS. Sfzrfhvzf .IIUIIII7t'l'X-M-CfllIII'IlIlIII, FRANCES NVAYNE: Domanx DE Yxmcsg IQLSIE SPORN. BIG SISTER ORGANIZATION Clldifllldll-LII.I.IAN COHEN Faculty Ad-visor--Miss COAN Chairman, First Term Big Sisters-BERNICE STAMILMAN Page Forty-thrbiz ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION l,1'I'.Tifll'lIf1lD0REEN DE XIRIES SI7L'l'f?flll'J'-IQOXEE VVARD Vim' I'n'.vifim1f-I2r.s1E SPORN 7'l'PlIS1lI't'I'-AIAE HIRI x1ELs'r121N Faculty Adzfisor-Miss ROOT ' WHATS WHAT Editor-JESSICA DENENIIOLZ h Associate Edif0fS-TALICE KALOUSDIAN, DOROTHY PEARLSTEIN Literary Advisor-Miss BUNKER Financial AdUi50f-fMISS DRAPER Page Forty-fowr DRAMATIC CLUB Prr'siu'm1t-MARIE O.HAR.k SFf7'Ufl7f,X'-RITA GUTTMAN Vice P1'C5idUl1f--FLORENCE Ross 7'l'f'GSll7'C7'-NIARION HEPNER Faculfy Aflz'isor-Miss BICINTOSH ORCHESTRA Prmirlent-SvI.v1A GLASSMAN Director--Miss ROSENTHAL Page Forty-five . ' .,-f' +- , PM . if ' en. - 4 .mn . ,K ' f-ffm ' la Mwwvt .MWW WV. . . ,. as N.. - N... .W ...mpwww-0 N -.-. - V.-.-V,-......, 5 . ,.,+ I ,.,,, ,sv-,M , h , MLM MM .Q ',usuw..,.,...s...........mM,0....a....,.....i ..,s.l,., . s. .....,W4.h . X. ., .,M,M - ..,.....M.a................,....,,..,.,-., V. .. . M. ,wma-.ws-w,.m.... . . H A ,..,.. A . .M ... , A . ...,...,. it W-.am-m-wq,a,..,..a.,W,,.,,,.,, au: lm. , ' M-wvvwwfsf-Af' ' ' 'W 'LI N Barfksmsmsww ff--W-ww . - -ff .5 M My - si-V . . Q, ' ' , f -. -1 ,L w ,,.4f.-,QAM 3 ,, SENIOR HALL OF FAME MostPopular... .. Best All Around .... Most Reliable .... Biggest Grind . . . Peppiest ..... Prettiest ....... Mos! Likely to Be come Famous.. .. Most Literary ............. Most Charming . . . Biggest Baby . . . Most Dignifiefl . Most Athletic . . W ittiest ..... Best Dressed . . . Always in Dutch Page Forty-six . ...Q . . . .Evelyn Smythe . . . . .Lillian Cohen Bernice Stamilman . .... Muriel Cutler . .Jessica Denenholz . . . . . .Florence Ross . .Alice Kalousdian . .Clara Steinhardt . . . .Marie 0'Ha1'a Minnie Warshavsky . . . . .Ethel Leitner . . .Jeanette Flicker . .Clara Steinhardt . . .Frances Wayne . . .Thelma Murray SENIOR CELEBRITIES Page Fm'ty-seven M Aci RUCHGOU LRNXC5 SVNXL My W J ,Z CMC: Lip' Jovi ACH QXO EQ mi P L 'K-ww, - . -3,3 ' . L ..v3jM,f x V , f , fn V. Anifiiigi-QW V A fm. , 4 . M . ,jg ,,,,:i,,a: 2 . t X I ' ' Mg , ' - , , W ggi A U - -zy j?-3 .if ' Q l W -41, 3:53, - .A D P J A , Q, . . .V ..,,3dQfaviA:A. , . - ' V- ., Y MJ,-fs W . - lui' .mf Ti 'X 'vs ' . . - - '4Q'1gxy,,,,. ' My -V K5 , if fftiiil , if Slip I f '. ' V 'l'fv M5315 x . Hn- ' , Q . fri, k, W .L 5 , mn ffsk., - V Y- - ' ' , ff -5 L fi - ww ' Q iw L A M X f 1 , X TK I l ..- ' 1 V A v I 1 Q ' , . Q. I J ,S , ' 1 . , 1 ' ' ' ' A ' ' . I . f I' , . , . X' , 'V 1 . ' V ' Page Forty-eight ALSOFROM, KATE Our Chick. APPEL, NANCY ':0f Manner Gentle, Of Afection Mildf' BACHELIS, ELIZABETH An Exceptional Canseg Prudence and Caution with Dirnples. BAINE, EMILY Towards Whom Are Your Dreamy Gazes Bent? BALSER, ESTHER Naught Venture, Naught Have. BARBASH, N ETTIE To Set the Cause Above Renown- To Love the Game Above the Prize. j Page Eurty- ,ine Page Fifty BARBERIS, ADELIN E '6And the Elements So Mixed in Her That Nature Might Stand Up And Say to all the World This is a Womanfl' BARTH, BETTY A Fairy Child. BERGER, ROSE She Stoops to C0nquer. ' BERMANT, RUTH Sound.' Sound the Clarion, Fill the Fife! To All the Sensual Proclaim! One Crowded Hour of Glorious Life Is Worth an Age Without a Namef' BOEHM, MADELINE 'glnstructed by the Heightening Sense Of Dignity and Reverencef, BOLLENBACHER, GRACE Statesman, Yet Friend to T ruth! Of Soul Sincere In Action Faithful and in Honor Clear. BRAVEMAN, RUTH Portrait of a Madonna. BRIDGETT, KATHLEEN Happy is the Home That Shelters Such a Friendf' BUSHEL, MIGNON T here Buds a Promise of Celestial Worth. Wit, Eloquence and Poetry. CASH, DOLORES How Near to' Good is What is Fairf' CASSIDY, ROSEMARY With All the Attributes of a Florence Nightingale- and More. CATTOGIO, LUCY W ho Does the Best His Circumstance Allows, Does Well, Acts Noblyg Angels Could Do No More., Page Fifty-one 3 A Page Fifty-two COHEN, LIBBY 6'0ur Content is our Best Having. COHEN, LILLIAN '6G0od Humor Only Teaches Charms to Last, She Makes New Conquests and Maintains the Past COHEN, MAMIE 6'W'ork Well Begun is Half Enrleclf' COMERFORD, MYRA To a Man Full of Questions, One Should Make No Answer at All. CUTLER, MURIEL Always Ready With Her Smile, Or to Stop and Chat Awhile. DANISH, LILLIE V ivacious, F ull of Song and Laughter. DAY, ANNA Simplicity, A Child. DE LEON, ANNE Impossible to Ruffle Annel Tranquillity and Good Nature! DENENHOLZ, JESSICA 's 'cWhy, Then, the World is Mine Oy I With My Sword Will Openf, DIAMOND, SHIRLEY I Disagreef' DONLAN, CHARLOTTE It is Hard to Please Everybody, But One Who Tries. DONOVAN, GRACE 6'She,s Pretty to Walk W ith,- And Witty to Talk W ith,- And Pleasant to Think Upon. ter, Which H ere's Page Fifty-three Page Fifty-four DOWNING, KATHLEEN Oft Does 'A Maiden Blush Bepaint Her Cheekf DUANE, DOROTHY 60h Sleep, it is a Gentle Thing Beloved from Pole to Polef, EDER, DORA A Good Illustration of: Maids Should Be Mild and Meek, Quick to Hear and Slow to Speak? FEIT, GERTRUDE Who Scans the Earth May Find a Golden Purse Who Looks Around Will Find a Universe. FLICKER, JEANETTE Our Viking! GELBWACHS, ESTHER Silence is the Greatest Ornament of a W oman- Thus You Are Well Adorned. 3 GINSBERG, SYLVIA Even Our Noblest Nature's Are Most Creclulousf' GLOSTER, TERESA She Doeth Little Kindnesses Which Most Leave Undone or Despisef, GOLDBERG, FANNIE An Active Little French Doll. GREENE, ROSALIND A Merry Companion is Music on a Journey. GREENSTEIN, NAOMI ' A Comrnanrling and a Sweet Control. GUTT MAN, PEARL W e Meet Thee Like a Pleasant Thought, When Such Are W antedf' Page Fifty-five V' 1, ,fu I e tl- I -f 1 , Page Fifty-six GUTTMAN, RITA alt is Not Doing the Thing We Like to Do, But Doing the Thing We Must Do that Makes Life Pleasant. HEPNER, MARION Beautiful as Sweet Young as Beautiful and Soft as Young And Cay as Soft and Innocent as Gayf, HOCHBERG, GERTRUDE 'iCome, Pensive Nun, Devout and Pure Sober, Steadfast and Demuref, HOLLREISER, ALICE '5Sincerity Gives Wings to Power. HORWITZ, HILDA Charm, Neatness, Tact, Moderation-Thais H HYMAN, DORIS Alexander Himself W as Once a Babe! ilda INMAN, GRACE T here is a Pleasure in Poetic Pains That Only Poets Know. ISAACS, DOROTHY Wisdom, Goodness-and a Giggle. JOVE, VIOLETA Dux Fernina Facti. KAHN, HELEN Her Mind a Sun So Bright T hat Thru Her Hair it Shines. KALOUSDIAN, ALICE In freza dum fluvii current, dum montibus urnbrae lustrabunt convexa, polus dum sidera pascet, semper honos nomenque tuum laudesque manebunt, quae me cumque oocant terraef' KANOWITZ, MINNIE Never Give In if You Can Still Find an Argument. - Page Fifty-seven Page Fifty-eight KANOWITZ, RUTH How Many Pleasant Faces Spread Their Light on Every Side. KAPLAN, ROSE Would That Little Flowers Were Born to Live Conscious of Half the Pleasure That They Givef' KATZ, DAISY Uh Let Me Serve Some Lofty Dream and Make '93 My Desperate Fight. KAUFMAN, LIBBY Interestingly Silent. KENT, LILLIAN A Little Savage With a Famous Smile, A Merry Heart That Sings Thru Every Trial. KIMMERLE, HELENE Common Sense is Nota Common Thingf' KINZLER, HAZEL Calamity is Man's True T ouchstonef' KIRSH, RUTH When Une Keeps Silent as You Do- What Can We Find to Say of You? KLEIN, SYLVIA Ulf What Must Be Given is Given W illingly, the Kindness is Doubled. KLETCHKA, MARION Charmingly Serene-Like a Cameo. KRETCHMAN, RI-IODA ':Diligence is the Mother of Good F ortunef' KRIEGLER, GERRY Gerry Sings, She is W itty, too, Sheas a Nice Girl to Have About You. Page Fifty-nine Page Sixty KRUSE, FRANCES Small Projits and Sweet. KUSS, ALICE Sweet Smiles are Thine, and Kind Endearing Charms LEDERMAN, SARAH She Has Found Tongues in Trees, Books in Running Brooks, Sermons in Stones, and Good in Everything. LEITNER, ETHEL Who to Himself is Law, No Law Doth Need Ojends No Law and is a King Indeed. LEVINE, SARAH Possum quia posse videntur. MacNULTY, LILLIAN She Puts Up with Small Annoyances Great Results. 39 33 to Gain MCDOUGALD, ELIZABETH A Creature Not too Bright and Good For Human Nature,s Foodf, MCELROY, ETHEL It is the Quiet People Who Are Dangerous McGIRR, EDITH She,s Cot Eyes of Blue Dimples--Sweetness Thru and Thru. MAHER, MADELINE Calm, Undisturbed She Looks Out o MANTEL, MARIE T he Motives of Her Spirit Were Dull And Her Ayfections Dark as Erebusf' MARCUS, LILLIAN Our Debutantev -A re You? n Life. as the Night Page Sixty-one Page Sixty-two MENDELSON, ANNA Charming Curls, Blue Eyes, A Child She is- But Yet Wise! . MICHAELS, CAMILLE Merry Eyes and Flashing Vitality. MURRAY, TH ELMA 'GI Volunteerf' MUSURILLO, MILDRED I Was Never Less Alone Than When by Myself NEVIN, MARGARET A Mind Embellished is a Noblest Possession. N EUER, EVELYN Evelyn Possesses Much of That Mysterious Cement of the Soulg Sweetener of Life and Soldier of Society-Friendshipf' O'CONN OR, MARION . . . .and Hectic Spots F lushed Her Smooth Cheek .... H O,HARA, MARIE Beauty, Charm and Brains Conspired Yea, Verily, To Form the Perfect Girl Desired- Result-Marie. PEARLSTEIN, DOROTHY 'glfirtue Alone Outbids the Pyramids,- Her Monuments Shall Last When Egypt's Fallf, PLAVNICK, FRANCES Fair and Gay, and Bright as a Flower. Y RAPPAPORT, BEATRICE Your Brain is the Nearest Gold M ine-Keep Diggingf REICHGOTT, GRACE UH er Preaching Much, But More Her Practice Wrought A Living Sermon of the Truths She Taught? Page Sixty-thre 0 ,: E,-..L'f' W, A Page Sixty-four REUBER, ADELE A Little Absence Does Much Good and You Are Conspicuous by Your Absence. ROSENBLUM, BLANCHE Experientia docetf' ROSS, FLORENCE She Has 'That Fatal Gift of Beautyf That Never Lets Her Act Her Age, She Never Has the Time for Duty- Her Heart and Mind Are on the Stage. ROWLAND, LILLIAN Someday She'll Cast Dreams to the Ground And Dance Away Upon Some Vagrant Wind. RUBINSTEIN, IDA Good Nature and Good Sense Are Ever Your Companions RUHL, LOUISE True As the Needle to the Pole, Or As the Dial to the Sun. SANZON E, LAURETTA Silence Has Many A dvantages. SCHER, RUTH Zealous and Modest. SCHROEDER, HELEN The Habit of Making Knowledge Power i SCHWARTZ, FRANCES A Peaceful Man is Blessed. SHERMAN, BERTHA Nature Has Given Us Two Ears, Two s E jiciencyf' Eyes, and But One Tongue, That W e Should Hear and See More That W e Speak. SHMULEWITZ, HELEN Sweet Mercy is Nobility's True Indication-', Information Bureau, She is, too, at th e Inclination. 1 r Page Sixty-five Page Sixty-six SHULAKOFF, OLGA She Always Knows the Answer, But is Afraid to Commit Herself. SIEGEL, DOROTHY ulngenio stat sine morte decusf, SILVERMAN, JANET Nothing in Excessf, SIMONSON, ELOISE Ever sweet and Neat and Trim, Always Full of Fun anal Vim. SMYTHE, EVELYN Capricious, Sincere, Cay and a Coorl Fellow Wizhal SPERO, JOSEPHINE Si petite, mais comme vous parlez. SPIEGEL, GRACE A Good Head and Industrious Hand Are Worth Gold in Any Land. STAMILMAN, BERNICE How Poor, How Rich, How Abject, How August, How Cornplicate, How Wonderful is Man! STAMLER, LILLIAN Nothing to Blush F or, Nothing to H idef, STEINHARDT, CLARA Great Talent Has Always a Little Madness Mixed Up With Itf, STERN, ANNA 'Music Has Charms Alone for Peaceful Minds. STRAUSS, SOPHIE Knowledge This Man Prizes Bestf, Page Sixty-seven 1 V 1 Page Sixty-eight SUCHOVOLSKY, LILLIAN She Always Has a Smile For You- Why Don,t You Add a Word or Two? SUMNER, CELIA uShe'd Undertake to Prove by Force Of Argument, a Man's no Horse, She'd Prove a Buzzard is no Fowl, And That a Lord May be an Owl. SUSSMAN, MILDRED The Master Mind. ' SYRING, HELEN Helen Has Dramatic Talent, She Argues too, You Know, Some Day W hen You Hear About Her- Remember--We Told You So! TOLEDANO, GLADYS '6With Thee Conversing, I Forget All Time TRILLING, HARRIET' I Wish I Liked the Human Race, I Wish I Liked Its Silly Face, And When Fm Introduced to One- I Wish I Thought- W hat folly F un. VOGEL, JESSIE '6Here Still is the Smile That No Cloud Can Overcastf, WARSHAUER, RITA Luna, Diana, and H ecate. WARSHAVSKY, MINN IE Minnie H a-H a Minnie Boo-Hoo. WAYNE, FRANCES W hat Winning Grace! What Majestic M ien! She Moves a Goddess and She Looks a Queen. WEBER, ELLA '6Variurn et mutabile semper ferninaf' WEINGART, SARAH ANN Ars gratis artis. V Page- Sixty: Page Seventy WEINSTEIN, ANNA MSoftness and Sweetest Innocence She Wears. WEISS, BLANCHE Here's a Little Rivulet, Babbling Alongf, WEISS, ELEANOR Who Has More Soul Than Me, Masters Me, Though He Should Not Raise a Fingerf, WISE, ELSA As Calm, Aloft, Serene as an Evening Star. WOLFF, JEANETTE 6'Her Voice Was Ever Soft Gentle and Low-An Excellent Thing in a Woman WOODLETON, EDITH Dreamer! Summon Your Wandering Sheep! ZUCKER, STELLA ulfirtue Alone Makes All Men Noble. SENIOR CLASS SONG. Tune-Marine Hymn We're the senior class of '29, And We're always at the fore. Our girls are bright and true and fine. To uphold the goals of yore. First We train our minds as we are taught Latin, English, Math and French- Then We follow up this growth of thought Vllith a zeal that none can quench. Chorus Make Way! For we are coming! Ready to play our parts. Make Way! For we are humming The tune that's in our hearts! Rally ,round to Hunter's hattle cry All ye daughters fair and true! For to carry on our standards high ls a task we leave to you. We have found here inspiration. love, And a happiness divine. Hunter High has gladdened many days For the class of ,29. Page Seventy-one 's'x. F ,. V14 ww- yt , 3,5 W2 , YK f fa A., :,jfgf3,,1 yu? 'Wig P mi-Q! :NAL 'f Q . 1 N 1 , w as .mf . J w 'S .M 1 Y x 1- ' Q5 .. 5 Y X 4 , . TM-5' 4552. - K .V 15,714 4 ,Ln .. 5 4 'Q 35 Avi Q Y - ,iv ,mi 1' Fm ,M ..3wQ r ,W mx ,Q f ix Q, 7, ' N52 :wi aff' 'xv 'Y LW f Page, Svventy-ffvn 4 LETICIA HE room was silent, except for an occasional crackle of pine tar and the faint singing of the black kettle swung over the fire. The odor of burning spruce mingled with lavender. The ruddy glow of the fire was reflected by the burnished brass candlesticks on the mantel and by the bright brass knobs on the highboy. At the other end of the room? in a huge, four- poster bed of mahogany, a handsome old lady, with hawk eyes, a strong mouth, and pure white hair, lay quiet among the immaculate spreads. Cool determination was in her eyes, it was evident that she had passed through long physical illness, now to be quiet only to combat new problems. It was apparent from her expression that one problem, already appeared, was not settled to her satisfaction. Money and property she had, independent of mortgage or assessments, and the thoughts of an illness as severe as that she had just passed and hardly weathered, made her consider the settlement of the small Bassett fortune. She had been unable to make a final decision before a pretty yolmg girl entered, carrying a tray of hot tea, marmalade, and savory toast. Aunt Leticia, your tea, said the girl, placing the tray on the table beside the bed. She bent over and deftly arranged the pillows, and helped the old lady to a comfortable position. At that moment she became the possessor of a small fortune. Rebecca, said Aunt Leticia in her most imperious manner, it's yours. What is, Aunt Leticia? The money. But I don't understand-in That's perfectly all right, you don't have tof' said Aunt Leticia. But in the evening, when Rebecca came up to replenish the fire, the old lady explained the matter more kindly, and gave her niece a parting kiss, as much of a surprise to Rebecca as the sudden inheritance. The formal legal proceedings, however, were necessaryg and they next day a council of four was held in the parlor, Mr. David Gray, lawyer and counsellor to the family, Dr. Semus Porter, physician, as witness, Aunt Leticia, and Rebecca. For some time, Gray and Aunt Leticia argued. He did not seem to be winning. Mrs. Bassett, don't you see that setting a small part of the money aside for your support until death is necessary as well as advisable? I don't. Remember, you are relying on your niece for support. And suppose, suggested Cray, suppose Miss Bassett has a change of-heart? I have had Rebecca since she was ten years old, for eight long years. I know she is incapable of-that. But suppose someone changes it-for her? continued Gray. Enough, returned Aunt Leticia. Rebecca is a Bassett, a Bassett, Mr. Cray! Page Seventy-three Firmly believing her niece invulnerable to the influence of another will, Aunt Leticia cast aside the advice of an experienced lawyer, for faith in a family trait. The Bassett household, when Dr. Porter declared Aunt Leticia as well as ever, resumed its routine. Rebecca again tripped down to the general store with a little can for the oil. fLeticia still used whale oil lampsj. A dignified, dark-eyed old lady in a rusty bonnet watered the purple hearts- ease and the yellow wallflowers that grew in the front garden. The garden and the home were the puritanical old woman's pleasures. Secretly, how- ever, she enjoyed the pleasures her Becky had, for she had always led a solitary life before Rebecca's coming, her only companion an aged spaniel, Monk , too old to do anything but sit on a cushion beside the fire. But Rebecca's life no longer consisted of simply getting oil for the lamp. She had now many friends, some among a group of artists visiting the town from an art colony near by. Especially did she cultivate the friendship of a Howard Lattimer of Lyme, an art student who had come to Saybrook to secure patrons for a new academy at old Lyme. As yet, he had not been successful, but he continued to be a visitor at the Bassett home. Not pleased with Rebecca's choice, her aunt, however, kept silent. Rebecca had blindly transformed what might otherwise have been called Howard's avarice-into practical frugality, his artistic ability she had magnified into a virtue. Leticia was not surprised when in June, Rebecca said she was going to marry Lattimer. Nothing left for an aunt to do but to give advice, promptly disregarded by Rebecca. They were married in the white church on the hill, whose steeple you first see from the harbor. Leticia was there in her rusty black gown and shawl, smelling faintly of lavender. More than ever, she looked grim and foreboding, she tried to pierce Howard Lattimer with her black eyes, he with steady suavity blunted her glances, and made her angry without reason. Rebecca was charming in her simple dress, and Howard the perfect groom. They went to live in Old Lyme. Howard had killed two birds with one stone, but only Leticia knew it. The dead heat of the summer was followed by a drizzly autumn. A damp chill settled over Aunt'Leticia's house. Her heartsease had withered, and only sturdy geraniums were left. Old Monk, the spaniel, fell into lethargy deeper than before. Candlesticks lost their brilliance, dust could be seen on the polished tables. But once a week, when Rebecca visited on Thursdays, the old 'cheer and energy returned to Aunt Leticia. Early she rose that day, and spent all her emotion in housecleaning. She dared not have Rebecca when she felt at her best, for her tongue might say what her mind thought. So she weared herself by scalding the iron pots, and washing the spaniel in hot water, hot within an inch of his life, and wishing all the time that a certain Lattimer man were under her relentless hands. By the afternoon, a tired old lady was meek enough to discuss amiably her niece's plans for removing her home at Lyme, or to hear about Howard's ideas on progress in art. Page Seventy-four One Thursday in November, no amount of work could drive the re- sentment from Leticia's heart. It was against her grain to have to rely on Rebecca's weekly visits to get money. Previously, she had refused to accept a lump, sum, for she had never thought of Rebecca's marrying. She could still have part of the money transferred to her own name, but pride and the remembrance of 'Suppose someone changes it for her? kept her from seeing Lawyer Gray about it. How unlike the old Rebecca this, one was, today! Pale and thin, hurt and bewildered, shadows under her eyes. You know, Aunty, said Rebecca, finishing a cup of broth, Howard is economical-He is so full of his project, the art academy. Leticia had a lurking suspicion that Rebecca knew she was second to the project. 'Tm so glad, continued the girl, with the same pleading look, that you approve of Howard's plans, because today I've given up something that meant a lot to me, just because he showed me the advisability of the plan. I expect you did right, said Aunt Leticia, thinking of a new hat her niece had wanted, but had not bought. I have signed-your money-I mean my money-over to Howard, Rebecca announced with a frightened smile. You see, his project-- 'gYou did what? I said I- I heard you the first time. Poor Becky. Mr. Gray was the lawyer, I suppose? Oh no, Aunty. Howard say's he's too old-fashioned in the way he- Oh, I see. It seemed almost humorous that she would sit there in her own kitchen and be told that her source of income has suddenly been-She might denounce Howard-But the thought of Rebecca-the face of Rebecca stopped her. There were Thursdays in the winter, when Rebecca could visit her aunt. She had caught cold, walking with Howard down to East Lyme in the rain. They might have taken a jitney, but Howard preferred to save the unnecessary expense. When he came one moming alone to Leticia's door, she knew the truth, and told him coldly to spare himself the pain of telling. Though her grief at the girl's death was paramount, her hatred of Lattimer was second only to that. Her niece was buried-f rom the little white church whose steeple you see from the harbor. Of course, Mrs. Bassett, Lattimer was able to say, you cannot expect me to continue Rebeccais little notion of supplying you with money. I have many needs of my own. I am starting a- I know that quite well, Mr. Lattimer. I shall not ask you to supply me with money weekly. A more practical plan would be to set aside a small sum from my estatef' You mean from the money Rebecca signed over to me? Exactly Our lawyers can talk it over next week- Page Seventy-five And they did-in a battle with sides ridiculosuly unbalanced. Aunt Leticia, grim as a marshall, with Mr. Gray-against Howard Lattimer and the calm Mr. Jackling. The law was on Lattimer's side-and Lattimer would give her nothing. When she had proudly, quietly conducted the men to the door, the room was silent but the crackling of tar on the hearth, and the faint song of the iron kettle. A pile of letters she sorted, each graciously inviting her to stay at a relative's home. One last letter she held firmly at the last. Yes, Monk,', she said to the old spaniel lying by the fire. I have been granted admission. You don't understand? It means this, Monk, the State Asylum has had the kindness to receive me. On what grounds? In- san4+I was insane to have signed over my money to Becky dear--I wonder, Monk, if you can come too? The firelight caught and made brilliant one tear that had fallen on Monk's head. Just one. Margaret Grennan, B7 HOPE A stormy sky--and a moon- And the world is a far off place. I am dreaming up' there in space, On the wings of fancy. The clouds are like black cloaks Where danger lurks-unseen. The moon with its silver sheen Is the Spirit of Hope. And I am a speck of dust, Blown by the winds of the air- Helpless. Then why do I dare To be happy? It is the moon. Roxee W ard, B5 Page Seventy-rim . THIS BIOGRAPHIC AGE Or Life as It Might Have Been A model biography such as any girl might write fwith the and of a, dozen class-mates collaborating, each with her respective pet anecdote, joyous or sad, long or short, but all authentwcj CHAPTER I UP FROM THE CRADLE N November 25, 1914, a great misfortune occurred in the Berger family. It was Thanksgiving Day and there was no turkey. Indignant and outraged, my brothers demanded the why and wherefore. From a reliable source they learned that in lieu of the gobbler a little sister had arrived. How disappointed they must have been at the substitution! It was, however, the only sister they had, hence their supreme sacrifice of the dayg to do without turkey. Only two things differentiated my infant days from those of a thousand others. One was Mrs. Flynn, an old Irish-woman hired to perambulate me every afternoon. Alone, she talked a great deal of baby talk to meg with the result that my baby speech was decidely Irish in flavor. The other phenomenon was an adventure in learning to walk. When I was eighteen months old, Mrs. F. one day brought me in from a promenade and absent-mindedly set me down while she removed her hat. On my feet indeed, I gave a joyful shout and proceeded to display a hitherto-unsuspected ability. I ran straight from one end of the room to the other, with a sur- prised and laughing family at my heels. Viola! And so avoiding the crawl- ing, tumbling age, I learned to walk. CHAPTER II BACK TO FATHER-fthere usually is onej A distraught father rushed into the American Consul in Vienna. He was destined to be my grandfather. It was not this however which accounted for his frenzy. My son! He has been kidnapped! Stolen! Oh, you must find him! When sufficiently quieted, he told the Consul he was Herzig of Vienna, at which they all looked upon him with more respect. His younger son had been kidnapped by his tutor and taken to America. An alarm was immediately sent out, and a letter dispatched to the Consul in New York, with instructions to search for a black-bearded man, five feet seven inches tall, and a boy of ten, Edward Herzig, brown-haired, four feet tall, and wearing a black velvet suit and a sailor hat. Another letter went to some cousins in New York, who were to take care of the boy, should be be found there. Page Seventy-:com And thus my father came to America, was met at the dock by the Con- sul, and taken to his cousins' home. As he did not want to return to Vienna, he lived on with them as their son, for they had no children of their own. Tutored until he was sixteen, he was then ready for college. But Edward did not care to go, and when he found out that he was expected to, he decided to run away. Early in the summer of 1897, if yoir had been loitering near his cousins' home, you would have seen a boy quietly open the door, look to right and left, and scurry quickly down the street. And although he cor- responded with his cousins, he never saw them again. He now set out to do what he had always wanted to--travel. He worked at odd jobs for a year or so all over the United States. While in the South, he received a letter one day from his elder brother whose wife had a sister in New York. In the letter was a picture of the young lady, with whom Edward at once fell in love. Immediately he journeyed to New York, met my mother, and two years later they were married. CHAPTER III FRIENDS ALONG THE WAY I-School-mates. Hattie was her name. She sat in the same double seat with me, and she had braids. Small affairs, but tied with ribbons behind each earg and her little head was correctly bisected by the parting from nape to crown. After sitting with me one whole day, Hattie took me aside and whispered: Who's your most 'nintimate friend? I had no idea what kind of friend that was. Haven't you got one? queried Hattie. I shook my head. Let's us be 'nintimate friends! suggested Hattie, and I, though small in knowledge was large in faith, and willing to be anintimate friends of hers This meant we were to walk about the school yard at recess with arms tightly clasped, and to be everlasting confidantes and examples to each other. II-Old John the Coachman A slight figure, a furrowed face, kindly brown eyes twinkling, that was old John the Coachmanf, He drove the little children to and from Sunday School in a wagon drawn by two brown horses. Td some whom he fancied, he gave the privilege of sitting on top with him, all the way home. He liked my sister and me, and often let us ride there when the weather permitted. Sometimes he allowed us to hold the reins, fwhen almost all the other children had reached their respective doorsj. For even though he passed and repassed our home a dozen times, he always kept us till the very last. More often than not, old John had some small surprise for us,-a bar of chocolate, a book, a little box of candy. One Sunday it was some balloons, and at the end of the trip, longer than usual because of heavy at- Page Seventy-eight tendance that day, a hurried exclamation: Sorry, kiddies, but you'll have to walk from the stable, I have a funeral on at one o'clock, and it's now half-past twelve. Plainly we said that we didn't care for walking home, whereupon John agreed to take us home in a funeral coach. When mother, anxious because we had not yet arrived, looked out of the window, she beheld her two children proudly stepping out of a funeral coach, each with a balloon in one hand and a candy box in the other. Old John no longer drives the children, a large motor bus takes them to and from Sunday School. And what has become of the old friendly coachman, no one knows. CHAPTER IV SPORTS AND THIS AND THAT The rain was pouring down in sheets, splashing as it struck the ground. Two children, engulfed in heavy black raincoats, rubber boots and rain hats trudged slowly up Murray Hill, Flushing. Their short arms were filled with bundles, dripping wet where they were exposed to the rain. Half way up the hill, one of the paper bags in the younger child's arms went rolling into the mud, spilling a dozen breakfast rolls into all available puddles. Nevertheless, the children bent over, picked up the rolls, stuffed them into pockets, and proceeded slowly homeward. I was that younger child, aged four, and learning that minute what a disgusted expression on my brother's face could convey as to the uselessness of a girl- I also remember with great distinctness the day when brother decided to make a tennis court. Yards and yards of string he collected, and instead of white paint, used this to plan out the court. We tried it out. All went well until, chasing the ball, I tripped over the string and pulled the whole court apart. Then, from brother, a long and wordy speech about girls. But to get on to the sport of sports, horseback-riding. When a very small child, I was given my first merry-go-round trip on a gaily prancing horse. From that day I loved horses, until years later I was allowed to throw a leg over the saddle of a real horse. In that first riding-lesson went my aunt's shining black boots and jockey cap, my brother's shirt and tie, my sister's gloves, my own treasured breeches, and the help of all the family combined. I knew all about the correct way to mount, and was prepared to surprise all with this superior knowledge of horsemanship. Unfortunately, as the animal was very tall, I had to submit to standing on the kitchen chair while mother held the stirrup and my aunt the bridle. From this undignified perch I awkardly threw a leg over the restless, dancing horse. No sooner was I nicely settled than I discovered myself on backwards. The horse and I went for a ride in op- posite directions. As this would never do, and one of us would eventually give in, I wasted no time in argument, but quickly slid down to the kitchen chair. The next attempt was more successful, except that the horse, becom- ing bored, walked off and left me posed precariously with one leg in the air. Page S eventy-nine At last mounted, I had a chance to look around. At first sight the head of the beast appeared the longest part, but lol when I turned about, the tail apparently stretched many more miles to the rear than the head to the fore. My aunt, however, began at once to lead the horse around the field. Ah! thought I-this horseback riding is easy! The next day I rode alone, and my aunt on her horse beside me. My own mount could not have eaten for weeks, judging by the effect on his appetite made by the lovely green lawn on each side of the path. He made a bolt for the nearest front lawn, and proceeded to see how much he could consume before being, summoned to his work. My aunt was unable to get off her horse to come to my rescue, for the front lawn, if, she rode over to me, would be ill-treated by the hoofs of four additional feet. Calling out to me pull that bridle! she saw my horse career around in a circle and return to the favored business in hand. Vlfhen I pulled the opposite bridle, the animal set his trademark on all possible parts of the lawn, and even attempted to mount the front porch. At this I rebelled. It was too much! But before I did something desperate, my aunt persuaded a passer-by to hold her horse, and came over to manage mine herself. Before the day had ended, however, my beast had twirled on his hind legs like a ballet dancer, showing utter disregard for me nearly sliding off his tail, had dashed madly for a brook, suddenly dropping his head to drink, while I almost pitched over his nose, and as we approached the stable, had galloped all the way home. Deep in my heart, I did not blame the animal for his hurry to lose me. CHAPTER V HSCHOOLDAYS, SCHOOLDAYS- My sixth year of school I spent in Nevada, where we had the principal as teacher for both 6A and 6B, in the same room. She was a nice lady, except for certain f avoritisms. Her favorite boy, for instance, sat behind meg and when one day I wore a certain dress with buttons all down the back and sleeves, this lad slowly pulled every button off my dress. Though I was out and out mad, the teacher said kindly, Is that nice, Arthur? , and proceeded with the lesson. In all matters pertaining to the East, I became, in Nevada, an authority. One teacher, raving over the Palisades, described them as huge trees turned to stone. To me she turned to verify that. I rejoined Yes , because I couldn't think what else to say, and not because I agreed. One fact remains to be told, as to why grammar is to me among the mysteries of knowledge. In the year of our introduction to the subject, we had a teacher who was a Bermuda fan . She had been there the preceding summer, with the result that all we heard was Bermuda, Bermuda, Bermuda. Whenever Miss B. sat in the high chair, called for a glass of water, and settled herself to speak, we knew it would concern Bermuda. We, however, would take out storybooks, and read while she talked to the air, of Bermuda. And so when the fifth year had ended, we were acquainted but vaguely with three grammatical names: noun, verb, adjective. End of Volume I Page Eighty STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL It is the infancy of Dorothy Berger, A3, that is recorded in Chapter I of our unique 'ccomposite biography. Alice Herzig of F4, contributed Chapter II. Ilza Berry of Bg3 recalls in Chapter III her Hnintimate friend at school, and Marie Sklenar of B3 commemorates Old John the Coachman. Marjorie Rothwell has regaled D3 with varied anecdotes from her youth- ful biography. fChap. IVJ Eleanor Straehl remembers more grammar ,than those Bermuda lessons would lead one to expect. fD3j :sf Pk :If Pk af :sc Alice Kalousclian wrote her lovely poem to the Unknown Soldier while at Washington during the senior trip. Bernice Stamilman of Ag8, who contributes the interview with Jessica Drag- onette, intends to devote her life to music. Sarah Leflerman of A8 wrote the Hokku, which is a Japanese form of verse, for the Spring Poetry Festival. , LAST MINUTE DISPATCH Hunter 'wins first prize and three other awards at the inter-high school French Contest. At the annual inter-high school French Contest given under the auspices of the Society of French Teachers in America in cooperation with the Cen- tral Committee cf French Societies in New York, in which 125 candidates from 30 high schools took part, Hunter students received the following awards: First Prize fgold medall: ALICE KALOUSDIAN f silver medaljz GERTRUDE F EIT fsilver medalj: VIRGINIA CARGIULO Qbronze medaljz DAISY KATZ Page Eighty-one IUMMEIQ ICI-IDOL MERCHANTS and BANKERS, BUSINESS and SECRETARIAL SCHOOLS Exceptional Courses SENIOR SECRETARIAL ACCOUNTING 8z BUSINESS JUNIOR SECRETARIAL ADMINISTRATION STENOGRAPHIC STENOTYPY QMachine Shorthandj Special Features Day and Evening Sessions. Executive Training and Office Appliance Department. Business English and Correspondence made major subjects. Evening Shorthand Speed Club. Individual promotion and advancement upon merit. llc-gin any time with equal advantage. Free employment and replacement service for graduates. Courses represent experience of 39 years. Fully registered by State Board of Regents. Member National Association of Accredited Commercial Schools. BETTER SCHOOLS-WORTH SEEING 122 EAST 42ND STREET Telephones: Lexington 2406-7 ST. NICHOLAS AVENUE AT l8ls'r STREET Telephone: Wadsworth 9719 S. C. ESTEY, Director Patranize Our Advertisers COLLEGIATE SECRETARIAL INSTITUTE 41 EAST 42nd STREET NEW YORK CITY SECRETARIAL TR MNING IN A DISTINCTIVE SCHOOL FOR A BUSINESS ENVIRONMENT S. E. BROWN, Director Telephones: MURRAY HILL 7510-7511 Patronize Our Advertisers CHIDNOFF STUDIO ? OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER FOR THE H1929 ARGUS 2-- -4' ALL PHOTOGRAPHS MADE PERSONALLY by IRVING CHIDNOFF Patronzze Our Advertisers A Packard Business Training LASTS FOR LIFE AND PAYS DIVIDENDS EVERY DAY Established Registered 1 8 5 8 Regents This beautiful fireproof school building owned and occupied by the Packard School contains every modern facility for safe and satisfactory study. A school of business and secretarial training for high school and college students. Courses in accounting, bookkeeping, secretarial work, advertising, salesmanship, also special courses. Day and Evening Ses- sions and Summer School. Known to three generations of business men as the outstanding busi- ness school in America. Its graduates are always in demand. Come in and talk over your program with our vocational counsellor. The Tankard Gommervial efclaool LEXINGTON AVENUE at 35th STREET NEW YORK CITY Send for Literature Telephone CALEDONIA 7139 Enroll Now Patronize Our Advertisers r The surest and quickest way to reach an execu- tive position in business is to starts as a Secretary or Accountant. If you want to make that start doubly sure, and get a preparation that will enable you to advance more rapidly, get an Eastman- Caines training. An Eastman-Gaines Training represents a mark of value on business-trained services established hy seventy years of success in its chosen field of endeavor. Secretarial Business and Stenographic Courses Write or telephone lHarlem 05185 for descriptive circular EASTMAN-GAINES SCHOOL LENOX AVENUE 81 123rd STREET NEW YORK, N. Y. Patronize Our Advertisers LE 9 i, EsJ WW REACHYOUR GOAL of uv N 'JJ X i t 7 75WlE, 4 MORE UICKLY . ,Li A - , W. W.-. 5. :U 2-7 fm-J -it flip' Summer Day High School this .luly 1 to Aug. 23 All High School Subjects 2'-JT' ig as . ' l A-T Q ff f fi lml 5, 4 Jlsumx f ZW!! X '- ff 'Q HM. I ' 1. Q l M9 Registered by the Regents and approved by the Board of Education Regents examinations will be conducted ln the SCHOOL-AUG. 19 to 23 '- Write for Booklet K. of C. SUMMER HIGH SCHOOL 790 Seventh Ave., N. Y. C. Tel. Circle 1068 Certificates issued upon completion of satisfactory work will be recognized by your school. A Lx-lriiulc K. OF C. DAY BUSINESS SCHOOL 799 SEVENTH AVENUE, NEW YORK, N. Y. Telephone : CIRCLE 1068 Problem An excellent Day Busi- ness School, centrally located for a boy and girl of immature years. It must teach all branches of commercial education 5 meet the needs of the boy and girly give helpful voca- tional advice and take a personal interest in their welfare. Solution You ask me, a Catholic Mother, why I sent my boy and girl to the Knights of Columbus Day Business School? Well, I shall tell you. In the heart of every Mother there is the God-given desire to see two things accomplished: First, her child's soul saved 3 second, his success assured. Suc- cess cannot be reached without educational preparation, and real education comprises not only book-learning but also character building, the inculcation of honest principles and the adoption of a right perspective on the world in general. These, I found existing in the K. of C. Day Busine s School, and I am proud of my boy's and girl's achievements there. They have gone forth from that school into the business world ready for whatever work was assigned them and capable of adhering to their sound Catholic principles. Those are my rea ons. Patronize Our Advertisers omp zments 0 W Aflwwm AG3 B 3 X3 1 Xa 11 A DJ E3 G E4 F4 AG4 I BG4 X4 - A4 B4 .Q . C4 DIEGES SL CLU ST - Manufacturing Specialty fewelers 1- Class, Fraternity, Club and Society Pins, Rings and Keys, Medals, Prize and Loving Cups, Plaques and Trophies, etc. WE INVITE CORRESPONDENCE PER- TAINING TO SPECIAL ORDER WORK Compliments of A Friendly Bank THE PUBLIC NATIONAL BANK SL TRUST CCMPANY Patronize Our Advertisers MR. S. A. BREWSTER, Managing Director PRESENTS The Kells Business School for Girls, Inc. CChartered under the laws ot New Yorkl FRANK G. GAGE, A.B., Principal ftormerly State Examiner of Commercial Education! featuring STENOGRAPHY BOOKKEEPI NG T YPEWRITING SECRETARIAL CALCULATING MACHINE Cast of Features: . Established 35 years. . For young ladies only. Isaac Pitman and Gregg Shorthand. . Individual plus group instruction. . Free Placement Bureau. . Practical training in the school office the Director. 1 2 3. 4 5 6 as DAY AND EVENING SESSIONS Write tor Special Free Booklet- SB0ll'l'l-IAND IN AN HOUR Short Courses for Hunter Graduates. 2105 SEVENTH AVENUE AT 125TH STREET Phone: Cathedral 8727 secretary to EEEEFQMQUQ 000 ' W C on? West lmust' 4, lraneolo - Sth .Avenue at SIM Ot. Patroniza Our Advertisers Your Every Wish R Is nothing more than a desire for SUcCEss, but success DEMANDS prepartion! Be prepared to meet the call of A business promotion with a specialized business course at K THE DRAKE SCHOOL. Enroll now and SUCCEEDI Catalog On Request DRAKE BUSINESS SCHOOLS, INC. New York: Tribune Building, 154 Nassau Street Telephone Beekman 4840 Bronx: Keith's Building, Fordham Road and Grand Concourse Also Brooklyn and. Jamaica If you are planning to become a private secretary, learn s H o R T H A N D IN oNE MoNTH TYPEWRITING from Professor Miller, who taught Shorthand 8z Typewriting at Columbia University Five Years, whose text books are used by thou- sands of students in High Schools and Colleges and who has trained hundreds of secretaries. ILLER INSTITUT OF SHORTHAND 1405 BROADWAY, AT 42ND STREET Plone Wisconsin 9330 Evening course 'requires 10 to 12 weeks. Patronize Ou'rAdvertise'1s Brown School of Commerce Develops Stenographers who take speedy, accurate dictation and alert eflicient Private Secretaries who meet the exacting demands of big, business executives. Our thorough, practical, modern training prepares for higher type, better paid positions in shortest time and with a satisfying thoroughness. - Each student receives the personal attention of a friendly, patient instructor, actual experience and free placement service. 1-Tiili. T-i--. Send for UCARVXNG A CAREER. BRoWN ScHooL OF CoMMERcE 25 WEST 45-rn STREET NEW YORK CITY JOHN J. BROWN, LL.M., D.C.L., Director Established 1853 The Corn Exchange Bank WILLIAM AND BEAVER STREETS and 66 Branches Located in all Parts of the City of New York -if--1+ CAPITAL AND SURPLUS ............ 533,000,000 -1---+ Letters of Credit - Foreign Drafts Cable Transfers - Tra'ueler's Checks -r--+ Trust Department to act as Executor, Trustee, Guardian or Agent qv---+ SAFE Dr-:Posrr VAULTS NIGHT Dnrosrrony SYSTEM .pl--4. AccoUN'rs RESPECT!-'ULLY SOLICITED Patronize Our Advertisers Compliments of THE ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION Of H. C. H. S. Compliments of THE FIFTH TERM Patronize Our Advertisers Compliments of THE FIRST TERM PETITE PLACEMENT BUREAU 503 FIFTH AVINUE Entrance 42nd St. Vanderbilt 1083 STENOGRAPHERS BOOKKEEPERS TYPISTS CLERKS OPERATORS ETC. VVe can always place competent office help. Beginners and Experienced. UNITED STATES Secretarial School Twmty-Seventh Your 527 FIl'l'H AVI., at 44th St. New York, N. Y. AN exclusive school devoted to SECRETARIAL AND BUSI- NESS TRAINING, limited to those with the proper cultural background. Day and Evening classes. ENROLL NOW FOR THE SUMMER TERM Call, Write or phone for catalog IRVING EDGAR CHASE, Director TEL. VANDERBIIII' 2474 Patronize Our Advertisers Any shorthand system will do if you don't use it! But only the best system is good enough for the ambitious stenog- rapher. Lffyg Shorthand leads in simplicity, accuracy, and speed. Gregg is the choice of 97? of the public school systems teaching shorthand. The World's Shorthand Champion writes Gregg. Only the best is good enough for you. Write us for free lesson. Qzggg Qubliaviing Q, Il WUI! 4761 Shit! Tllbbhlllll Brfllf na B I R D ' S BUSINESS INSTITUTE BlRD'S SCHOOL BUILDING 150th STREET AND MELROSE AVE also 416 EAST 189'rH STREET CCorncr Park Avennej SHORTHAND TYPEWRITING SECRETARIAL COURSES BOOKKEEPING DAY AND EVENING CLASSES GEO. WOLF, Principal Registered by the Board of Regent: BRONX DANCING SCHOOL 2927 THIRD AVENUE tabove Woolworth's 151st Stat 31-d Ave.J Phone Melrose 4791 Classes in BALLET, TAP, ACROBATIC AND BALLROOM DANCING Fox Tnor Rrmucmc Warxrz Cnltssss ARGENTINE ron Wow-:N etc., taught Private Lessons without appointment All Graduates of this school are eligible foradmission to Pacelnstitute -a nationally known and distinctive professional school of technical training in Business Administration Accountancy Secretarial Practise Classes for beginners at Pace Instituto prepare high-school graduates for imme- diate earnings. Many Pace graduates are now treasurers and controllers of large corporations-others are in successful accountancy practise. Field trips to the offices and plants of the largest organizations in New York City are conducted especially for day students in the Accountancy School and for day students in the Secretarial School. Stlrdonh and Parents are invited to confer with tho Registrar. Dly School - - Evening School Pace lnstitute 225 Broadway New York Patronize Our Advertisers Avete, Comites, nos relicturae vos salutamus CLASS OF JUNE, 1929 Compliments of THE SEVENTH TERM Compliments of THE SIXTH TERM Compliments of THE HISTORY CLUB of H. C. H. S. fatronize Our Advertisers ISAAC PITMAN 81 SONS General Publishers 2 WEST Folvrr-FIFTH STREET New York Survival of the Fittest 53 passed the last examination for Supreme Court Reporters in New York and Brooklyn. Almost without exception they were writers of Pitman Shorthand. 9 of Every 10 Reporters throughout the English-speaking world write PITMAN SHORTHAND Insist on learning the system that will enable you to fill the best paid positions anywhere. PITMAN SHORTHAND is taught in more than 300 schools in New York and vicinity. Easy to Learn Easy to Write Easy to Read Telephone Chelsea 2678 F. A. BERNHARD 81 CO. PENNANTS - BANNERS - FLAGS All Kinds of School 8z College Emblems 175 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK CITY Follow the Crowd to KALOS LUNCHEONETTE CONFECTIONERY and ICE CREAM PARLOR 1800 THIRD AVE. NEW YORK lCor. 100th Street! Phone Atwater 6228 CARNEGIE HALL PHARMACY N. BARETSKY Sz CHAS. LANGER, Chemists LUNCHEONETTE 8: SODA 1235 PARK AVE. AT 96'rH ST. New York GRAFUNDER CONFECTIONERY 1491 LEXINGTON AVENUE 1Near 96th Streetj '1' his Issue of Uilrgus printed complete by AlLlLlElD SUPPLY COMPANY ... DDINTEIQS ... 11 2 WORTH STREET Phone womh ozsz-ozss Pwtrvnize Our Advertisers Tm. Mumuw HILL 58294 B. Home 19956 HORN VOCATIONAL AGENCY High class positions for graduates and college girls available at all times 503 FIFTH AVE. NEW YORK CITY 1Cor. 42nd SLD If It's Paint We Have It ATLAS PAINT 81 VARNISH CO Jos. wnxum, Prop. 126 EAST 116'r1-I STREET New York Mobililate vigct zfirisqne adquirit Eundo LATIN CLUB TELEPHONE LEHIGH 5792 LEVINE BROTHERS HIGH GRADE Furniture AND Carpets 1991 THIRD AVE. NEW Yonx fBet. 109th 5 110th Streets! PHONE ATWATER 8661 HARRY STEIN Hardware and Factory Supplies 1838 SECOND AVE. NEW YORK lCor. 95th Streetl Umvmnsrry 54900 14901 Eltablhhod 189.9 M. BUDA 81 SON Plumbing and Heating Supplies 1800 LEXINGTON AVENUE New York IDEAL PRINTERY 1789 LEXINGTON AVENUE LBHIGH 1182 Compliments of THE WHAT'S WHAT Patronize Our Advertisers w'w :vx- ' ,i -. :. .- an N. up 4' .. , ,, 4, --. . .--vp en- -1 :ww I 1 -HTC-'Y'16F.'I' - F--' , . , :-1.--'-.s.H ..-ff-1 fw gr-... -T L: -- .-- --. -- Q- . . -. . ---- '?f'F --ff H: H ': 'W- ' -ff :- - 4 , , 'Fr-M wh: ,,:' -1,--2 Q .,v4',- WMV., L' ,i 3 , -3- '- 1- ' ' . 1 - ' . V .. .,, .,,, , .:. .N 3' V . S' . ak' 1 - ...,. .. ...-- wx-5-:-:-:Q-:-Q:-:-2-:sa 0' fy , -' A1952-V5'ggi'j:5:23'5:Z1:j-2:535:3: 5:-3. A u ' - W ..... .-. f ---- - --fin f '--in-94 -5-4-514 ' l3 l:21 - '.-1 :51. 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