Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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But in the sad, honest eyes is betrayed the suffering of years. Sihe came to Boston in the seventy-fifth year of her life to plead for one thing only, and that is the welfare of the Rus- sian people. There are four million little children in Russia who are motherless and fatherless, without care, opportunity or even food. So she came to America to get aid in the great cause of humanity. Here is a Russian noblewoman whose love for her land was so great that she was sent into exile because she insisted upon teaching peasants to understand their circumstances and abolish tyranny. So when still a handsome young woman she was sent to Siberia. When she came out of exile, thirty years later, the brown hair was snowy white, the beautiful face was wrinkled, haggard, old — Her son, for whom in her long period of exile, she had yearned and prayed, had been adopted by another woman who posed as his mother. When he learned the truth, instead of being proud of his brave little mother, he disowned her. So he sent her, who had come to him as the only living relative on earth, away — childless; but not friendless. Every American adores her, loves her. What greater sacrifices has any woman made than this woman has made for the land she loves? None! LUCY BAILEY, ’19. THE GREAT AWAKENING. Mr. Richard Stone sat back in his large arm chair and began puffing ' on his pipe, while the logs on the fire-place in front of him cracked and sent forth a large light which illuminated the entire library, where a merry laugh or kind word was never uttered. Mr. Stone’s face was covered with wrinkles and seemed to cry out for the want of a smile. His small, dark eyes looked forth as if their very glance would send up in flames every object which they beheld. This man was mean, narrow- minded, a helpless miser. His very countenance showed us this. The ser- vants in his home feared him. His bell when heard by them made them tremble and wish they were dead, instead of hav- ing to face a beast like their master. Mr. Stone would not have lived in this won- derful mansion and employed many serv- ants if his position had not required it. The only thing lie worshipped or regarded as if human, Avas his money. The more his large Leather Mill produced for him each day, the more he desired. If he pos- sessed all the money in the world, he would grumble because there wasn’t more. He ivias more furious this evening than he had been for a long time. The very furniture in the room seemed to crouch aAvay from him, the pictures on the Avails seemed to be froAvning at him. He was wild, and nothing could calm his temper. “I Avill not put fire-escapes in my mill!” he exclaimed. “My slaves, Oh James where are you?” “Yes, sir, here I am, sir,” said the frightened seiwant. “Do you hear me, I will not install fire- escapes in my mill. Oh, God, AAhat an ex- pense ! To think people A r ould have the nerve of writing me this letter. Here, on this very paper I hold in my hands, I am told to put fire-escapes in my mill ! It makes no difference if the Avorkers’ lives are in danger. That is their look out, not mine. Do you hear James?” “Yes, sir,” ansAvered James, aa t 1io had nothing to do in regard to the letter, but received the punishment for it. “Leave me, James,” cried Mr. Stone, “before I knock your very head off.” “Yes , sir,” replied James. Mr. Stone let forth an ugly laugh, a 20

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“Oh God! Will I ever reach there?” Morning dawned clear and bright. What the darkness had hidden, the day- light revealed. A road — which bore no semblance of what it was intended to be — torn, and full of shell holes. Trees with their trunks and branches broken, lay stretched across the road. But not only the road had suffered. All that the eye could see was easily described in one word — slaughter! Slaughter of nature’s handi- work, and slaughter of human beings! Dim and unreal it seemed, but the filmy haze of smoke, receding in the distance, served to recall one actual fact — and it needed not the dull, resonant roar of can- nons to remind one that they had caused all this havoc. Then suddenly the noise in the distance vstopped. It seemed as if, like a tired child, the guns had ceased their noise, and gone to sleep, — and stillness reigned supreme in this place of desolation and destruction. Unnatural? Yes, But it seemed as if this very stillness was a fitting dedication to all the bruised and dead things caused by the onward rush of war. The scene w,as only one of the many appalling results. Then slowly there came drifting, as it were, along the remnant of a road — a van. A large covered van — but bow welcome a sight to eyes that might watch and weary for it. Only a Red Cross ambulance — but how emblematic it seemed of the great and merciful work which inspired many to do their best ! Nearer and neared it came. Stopping and starting, picking the way as best it could, and meanwhile the two men in it carried on a conversation thus : “Where to, Ned?” “Just over to the field hospital.” “What for?” “To get Cameron. Got some awful wounds last night. Practically shot to pieces. Not much show for him.” “How did it happen?” “He had to carry an important dis- patch over to field headquarters. His machine was pretty well broken up, but he had to come, and there was no way but along this road, so you see that he came right through the barrage which was going on this morning before that battle started. I think the dispatch he brought was concerning the enemies ’ posit ions. I guess what he did practically saved the day.” Thus a desultory conversation was car- ried on; short, brief, and concise, until the van drew up in front of a large frame building. The two men jumped out, pulled out a stretcher, and entered the hospital. Soon they came out — but their stretcher was empty. “Another gone West” was their mu- tual thought, but of their actual feelings they showed none. Such things were hourly occurrences to them, — but what of his folks at home? For them — one com- forting thought : “Peace he had ' gained, And his question was answered. But the price he had paid With his life — unafraid ! Ah ! He died gloriously ! His country to save.” GEORGIA E. REID, ’19. MME. CATHERINE BRESHKOVISKY OR THE LITTLE GRANDMOTHER OF THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION. I had the fortune, or better, the honor to hear Mme. Breshkovisky speak at Trem- ont Temple this winter. Hers is a face never to be forgotten. The calmness of her manner is wonderful, the expression of the hands, which are continually mov- ing is most unusual, her voice is sweet and low, her smile winning and childlike. 19

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laugh which was forced, and did not come from the heart. He laughed because he was so very angry. He was almost driven mad by the letter which told him of the danger that so many young men’s lives were in. He laughed because he tri- umphed. A few ' months later he went through his mill to see his slaves at work. Yes, his slaves. They earned every cent they re- ceived. The conditions under which they were working v r ere indescribable. They were shut in like rats. The sun had tried its best to throw a stream of light through the dirty windows, but it was im- possible. Mr. Stone walked through his mill, now and then he let forth a cry at one of the employees for looking at him or perhaps for not working as hard as usual because of his lack of physical strength. ‘ ‘Fire ! Fire !” cried a man. “It can not be possible !” exclaimed Mr. Stone. The men ran to and fro as if mad. Be- fore many minutes smoke appeared in every direction. ‘ 1 Save me!” cried the money-maker. No one heard him. He was left help- less. For once in his long life money left his mind. The flames were rapidly eating up the Leather Mill. The sparks iseemed to cry out “Revenge! Revenge!’’ Mr. Stone’s large fur coat soon became the victim of {he flames, and before many minutes the great money-man was in the hands of re- venge. As his life was gradually leaving him his only wish was, that he had in- stalled the proper conveniences in the mill, but it was now too late. “Wake up, sir, wake up, you are dreaming,” cried James. “What!” exclaimed Stone, “can it be possible ! ’ ’ “Yes, you v r ere dreaming,” said James, who trembled for fear that lie would re- ceive a good scolding because his master had had a bad dream. “Oh, James,” said Stone, “call this firm up immediately and tell them to put fire-escapes in my mill and also other im- provements.” James did as he was told, thinking his master had gone mad. No, it ivas true. Mr. Stone had received his lesson through a dream. He was re- born and started life over again with a new conscience and with new 7 ideals. CORA H. BENEDIX, ’19. MARGERY MOORE. Margery Moore is a poor, bent wrinkled old woman, without a relative in the world. Day by day she sits alone by her hearth and patiently knits and dreams of her happy and sad by-gone days. She dreams about herself when she was young. Nobody would ever think that this wrinkled old woman was ever young. Her mother and father petted their youngest child, her brother and sister kindly smiled on her, and young Will Grey, the neigh- bor’s son, was her ardent admirer. She dreams of all the different parties, entertainments, church suppers, and husk- ing bees she attended with him. She was very pretty, proud, and gay in those days. She remembers the first time she met Will. It Avas at a husking bee of one of her chums. ITowr bashful Will was when he asked her if he could walk home with her ! Will Grey was a fisherman. He left his childhood home and joined a colony of fishermen on Cape Ann. From here he was to go to sea. It was a bright spring day when Will sailed for the distant bay. Margery went to the wharf with him. After the boat started she went home and sat by the window in her little room and watched the white sail out of sight. 21