Kouts High School - Kostang Yearbook (Kouts, IN)

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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.

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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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IN AFTER YEARS. ]R finishing my course of study in the Kouts School, my «test ambition was to study music in America, then later tinisb my education in Europe. At that time, this seemed me to be only a dream of which I dared scarcely think. In a few years, however, 1 had prepared myself at last to cross the great Atlantic and see what Europe held for me. In the meantime, Russell, who had always been our musician, even in high school days had also worked, and as I was about to leave he very calmly told me he was to accompany me. The first year in Europe we spent together merely in sight-seeing. Then we were both ready for work. Russell’s work went along nicely and soon he was composing and in time was known in all parts of the world as one of the greatest of the music masters. When I had studied to my heart’s content 1 decided to leave my renowned cousin and return to my own land. Scenes and faces all seemed strange and unfamiliar to me until by chance 1 caught sight of a face, lighted with smiles and a pair of eyes