Kouts High School - Kostang Yearbook (Kouts, IN)

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21 of a funeral knell. It does not matter how revised the taste may he. music itself is sure to gratify the sense and the soul. The low hum-like music of the Chinese satisfies his ear, the skin drum and rude life satisfy the African, while the more acute sense of the Italian ear feasts upon the exquisite notes of the harp and violin. The deep echoes of the Alpine horn awaken a feeling of home, country and liberty that cannot he crushed in the heart of the Swiss. The Scotch Highlander engaged in foreign service [lines for his moun- tain home, its lovely towns and lofty crags, when he hears the well remembered notes of Lochabar Ne Mare. And even our own native born Whittier, whether amid polar snows, Arabian sands or the sunny plains of Italy, feels his soul moved to its very center when forever through the breeze comes the echoes of that song of all songs, “Home, Sweet Home.” How often when we are sad and weary with the cares of the world and when moments like these come to every one of us, we can sit by the ever cheerful fountain of music and drink our souls full and feel relief from sorrow. Music possesses a great influence over tlie lower animals. We read of a party of young people having assembled for pleasure on the side of a mountain near Lake Maggiers, Italy. One of the party took a flute and began playing. A flock of sheep and goats that were grazing at the foot of the mount flocked around the musician and stood in motionless delight. He ceased playing, the flock stood still and the shepherd could only effect a retreat of the flock with clubs and stones. Stephen says he once saw a lion leave its prey to listen to music. The stag, elephant, reindeer and antelope are all said to be susceptible to music. The excitement of the horses and hounds when they hear the hunter’s horn, is well known. The old farm horse in the whiffle-tree answers with a cheerful neigh for the welcome call of his master’s dinner bell. Tf it lias such charms for the lower animals, well may its influence be over the human race, whose sensibilities, fond asso- ciations and tender recollections can be awakened by its bewitching spell. No wonder it mingles itself in all our pursuits. Tt quiets the babe on the mother’s breast as she sings her soothing lullaby. It rouses tin patriot’s zeal, it stirs up the spirit of revelry or raises it to devotion, it calls the religious devotee to worship, it prompts the philanthropist to his generous work, the freeman to the temple of liberty, the friend to the altar of friendship and the lover to his beloved. Tt strengthens, empowers and elevates them all. The world is full of music, for sweet is the milkmaid’s song as she plies her task, its cadence falling alike upon her own ear and that of the creature that supplies her pail. The roar of the winter’s blast through the naked boughs of the forest, the jingle of the sleigh-bells, the laugh of the pleasure party, the shout of the school bov: in the summer the gentle whispers of the breeze, the song of the birds, the rustle of the leaves, the neighing of horses, the

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MUSIC. HAKESPEAKE says, “That man that hath no music in his soul nor is not moved by the concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. The motions of his spirit are as dull as night and his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted.” This seems a hard expression of Shakespeare, yet were we to can- vass the world over to find a man that has no music in himself, would be to search one out of ten thousand. There are but few mortals that are so hardened to all that is pure and holy, that some gentle strain sometime in their lives will not awaken a deep and holy feeling within them. Show me the person whose heart music can never move to emo- tion and I will show you a person upon whom the prayers of a father, the tears of a mother, or the caresses of a sister would have no more effect that the golden sunlight upon earth’s deepest cavern. Why weeps that convict in his dark stone cell? Ah, he is hearing a well remembered melody of his innocent childhood, or the song in which he and his sister, now dead perhaps, used to join voices, or the old solemn tune his father used to play on the instrument. For what is that weary exile in a far distant land sighing? For home? Ah, some popular air falls upon his ear, recalling the play-ground of his happy youth. Music, what is it? The first account of it on record was at the laying of the foundation of the earth. When the earth was made, its rocky spires thrown up, its forest harps all strung, its ocean organs tuned, the earth raised its everlasting anthem to the chorus of the skies. Music means not merely sounds adapted to particular emotions, a set of notes, a warbling voice, or a strain of melting sweetness; it means not only this, but more. A single word or expression may be full of music and stir the pulses to new and better emotions or lift the soul to higher joys. The harmony of a well rendered life is most graceful music. If only sounds were music, how many would be denied that delightful solace. Some there are that can not sing or even play an instrument, yet their natures are the finest harps from which unheard melodies are constantly ascending. Music makes up such a part of our nature that so completely surrounds us in this vocal world of ours that its influence begins at the cradle and ends only at the grave. It wel- comes at the opening morning of life and sobs softly at the close of out- earthly existence. The cradle song and the funeral dirge are the over- ture and the finale. The stem warrior yields to the influence of music, a blast of the trumpet and whole armies rush forth to die, a peal of the organ and countless numbers kneel in praver. Oh, the bewitching spell of music, what heart does not feel relief from sorrow at the chimes of merry bells; what heart does not feel a sense of sadness at the toll

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lowing of the cattle, the bleating of sheep, the nunhle of the reaper, the murmur of the brook and sweet echoes returning from rock to glen, when all is silent, not even a leaf astir, is music asleep. Music, the very word thrills with melody. Sing it to the wind, sound it on the timbrel, pick it on the harp, tune it on the lyre, roll it on the organ, blast it on the bugle or peal it on the trumpet. We have said that music welcomes at the opening morn of life and sobs softly at the close of our earthly existence, the cradle hymn, the funeral dirge. And is that all ? Xot all? Not if the books tell the truth. Music itself will awaken the world on the day of resurrection. The trumpet shall sound and the dead will be raised. Thus, when it sounds, may we hear sweet refrains of music in that celestial home bevond the skies. MABELLE PAUL, ’13. OCCASIONAL ADDRESS. HE Kouts High School for our education Was constructed by some good citizens of our nation. The materials, though weathered and bad, Are the best that for money could be had. If the Seniors echo its standard charm They will stand shoulder to shoulder and arm to arm. As for Seniors we’ve got the old company yet, The same jovial, odd, tragic, comical set, And considering they were Freshmen in ’()!) You will agree, “They have done fine.” Our professor (himself and his speeches) We shall never forget what he teaches. And this season, everything wasn’t for fun. So we had to engage Mr. R. M. Robertson, Who was employed this season to teach Physical Geography and well-trained speech. He your taste for ludicrous, humdrum or sad, There is enough in each class to be had. So much for teachers, building and all. Now tor the Seniors, who do not return next fall. We do not know what awaits us. But in God is our trust. In taking leave we’ve only to sav, May others come to K. H. S. in the self-same wav. KATHERINE DRAZER, ’13.