Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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22 .LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW Milo in Action or Alice-out-Aliced Nisi oculis videritis insidias Miloni a Clodio factas.” ... 6. “бі haec non gesta audiretis, sed picta videretis, tamen appa- reret uter esset insidiator. .. . 54. “А briliant instance of enargeia, ex- claimed the Professor. “Let us see its purpose in Oratory, its peculiar fitness for the end aimed at. —Dennis fell asleep! Suddenly there spread out before him a dusty Italian road, dazzling in the sunlight. Dennis was a-dreaming. There advanced rapidly down the road from a slight elevation one of the smallest creatures Dennis had ever seen,—a Ro- man without a doubt, but— “Ат I awake? said Dennis. Pinching himself, he admitted reluctantly that it was no dream. Тһе traveller perceived a wisp of straw blocking the road. “Сап I make it?” he muttered anxiously. Then, gath- ering his strength he ran swiftly over the intervening six feet and leaped safely over the obstruction. But fresh perils awaited him. Six inches from where he came to earth, lay what Dennis thought to be a wheel-bar- row turned on its side. From behind it sixteen heavily-armed gladiators jumped forth. (“Hoplites!” cried Dennis, proud of his technical knowledge, “for they are all wearing the oratorical precautions. ) Meanwhile, ( interim cooed Dennis іп delight) the gladiators had seized the traveller—‘‘Thtop!”’ cried the leader, “and thtate the counterthign !” “ “Milo delendus' , pompously said the other. “Т know thee, Sextus. I bring fleet news to Clodius that his friend, Cyrus the architect, is dead.” “Hurrah!” began Sextus,—“I mean boo-hoo, alack and alath! the weary world! —Whhile he spoke thus, he had been eagerly leading the messenger around the far end of the wisp of straw; and now they were out of hearing of all but the alert, nid-nodding Dennis. “I really mean hurrah; for your methage ith in code and tellth uth that Milo ith at hand.” Then he shouted to his men, “Back, minionth! to your lair. Let the danthe prothede.” R Ten minutes after the ambush had been re-set, sounds came on the summer breeze of sweet children’s voices singing that popular marching song of Imperial Rome, “Colonel Bogey.” It was Milo's “trouble- some 1айузтаїйз and pampered pages” advancing, with laughter in their voices, towards a terrible doom. Soon they ap- peared over the ridge, tripping lightly and waving small Union Jacks. In the midst of that young band, Dennis marvelled to see a bald-headed midget with long purple moustache. This personage was to play a most important part in the sequel. It chanced that this was the spot chosen for the mid-day lunch. Each went about his appointed task eagerly; and all was ready when, with bells merrily jingling, up drove Milo and Fausta. They were seated in the usual raeda, whose only true replica (found at last by Dennis in a dream) we are delighted to disclose to an ignorant world. Milo, already munching a sandwich, was about to step out of this regal equi- page when his wary eye sensed danger. He turned carelessly to his wife. “Keep smiling; look behind me, for me- thinks “A spear-point gleamed from yonder bat- tering-ram.” Fulvia, with a bright laugh, impulsively embraced him.—“Yov’re just a dear when you fall into blank verse. Then hysterically, “Ів there danger? Let me gather my children to my bosom! Oh, why was I ever born? And you would insist on my coming. “Courage, dear one! us. He is here!” “Here? Mais non! Rome.” “No dear. See yon sage, with the pur- ple moustache, spreading the caviare on the asparagus? See, he stealthily samples it and wipes his approving lips? That is he, disguised as a freedman.” In her joy, she cast discretion to the winds. “Ноо, hoo! Tully!” Annoyed and disgusted at her folly in this moment of danger, the greatest ora- Cicero will save He is asleep at

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LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW 21 cludes with perfect consistence that no judgments of the pure reason are valid and that the sciences built upon them are worthless. With these sweeping assertions, Kant closes his criticism of the pure reason and leaves us with the ruin and wreckage of our intellectual structures strewn about our heels. If the ideas we have of God, the soul and the universe are not objective, that fact should sound the death-knell of morality. Religion should be shovelled off as useless, and decency and self-respect should be dragged off after it. But he hastens to mend the damage he has done and shows us how, face to face with these new conceptions of things, still the moral order remains unbroken. How- ever, our purpose in this essay is to expose merely Kant’s doctrine without en- tering into the discussion of his moral sys- tem. Summing up therefore what has pre- ceded we conclude that, considered coldly and impartially, subjected to a close and careful scrutiny, Kant’s system stands out as it really is, a clever and ingenious fabrication, a wonderful display of the powers of the human mind, but never a system of philosophy verified by a true conformity to fact. The very principles ж жж Che Shepherd is Mead Another shepherd called to rest, His weary watching o’er! His work is done, and with the blest He lives for evermore. His flock he tended faithfully Through stormy days of war, And in their troubles willingly With them their sorrows bore. And when the dove returned to land, Not less he watched his fold; But guided it with steady hand And prudent words, yet bold. Seen will he be no more on earth, True Father to the weak— True counsellor, whose golden worth Our mourning hearts shall seek. Rest to thy soul, Father and Pope, Upon the eternal shore! Pray for thine orphaned sons, who hope To be with thee evermore. H. P. PHELAN, ’25. which he took for granted and yet on which his whole system is based, are false. The principle of gravitation, which is strictly universal in its truth, and yet, as Kant admits, is derived from experience, is alone enough to refute him. It is not on these grounds, however, that we wish to question him, but there is a greater flaw in his sytem, which becomes apparent upon closer examination. It is nothing else but that the system which he so carefully built up is one monstrous, un- palatable contradiction. His aim was to find out how far our intellects could at- tain truth, but he did this by means of his own reason, whose veracity he doubted. Surely it is a contradiction to announce a fact as certain; and then to state that the means by which he proves this are them- selves not to be trusted. Surely it is a bla- tant and appalling contradiction to say that our reason cannot be trusted; and then to deliberately prove this fact by that same human reason. If (as he asserts), we cannot trust our reason, then we most certainly cannot attempt to use it to prove its own worthlessness. If our mind can- not attain truth, then surely it is the most glaring folly to prove an abstract truth by it, and “a fortiori to attempt to build up a system upon it. GERALD Bray, ’22. к= El GRAVE OF LIEUT. RODOLPHE LEMIEUX, M.C., LEGION OF HONOR, LIGNY-SAINT-FLOCHEL

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LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW 23 tor the world has ever seen (as the Amer- ieans say of anything) pulled so violently at his moustache that it came loose. Then was the eat out of the bag, and the sauce in the fire, had he not with great presence of mind hidden his head in a wine-jug. He came out, again fully disguised, but those near him heard him snap out heated words about 4... feminae . . . esse videantur. This soliloquy was interrupted by an ominous occurrence. From behind the wheel-barrow (“battering-ram, forsooth ! sneered Dennis) suddenly leaped the glad- iators and rushed towards the carriage. Others, as stoutly prepared, appeared from the rear of the happy cavalcade and with shouts of “Etsi vereor !” attacked the water-carriers, who were just entering the camp, weary and hungry. In the latter band of footpads, Milo blanched to see Clodius. “Тһе die is cast,” he called up to his wife. “Не or I must die. Pass me my aposiopesis. Take it from its sheath for me. i Then disaster swooped down upon them like thunder-clouds upon the Caspian.— “O Milo, I left it at Rome. I had to find room for that roll of silk, so I threw the aposiopesis into the garage.” Milo's rage was Titanic, but he nobly restrained it because of a woman's pres- ence, even though it was only his wife. “Very well, then; you can do the fight- ing And he stepped into the carriage, unrolled the offending silk and curled up beneath its protecting rustle. “You brute!” was all she said, in unim- passioned tones. She gathered her failing strength. Her vigorous mind fully grasped the danger of the situation.—Would Cice- ro save this cowardly husband ?—and, if he would, could he? Alas! she caught a glimpse of him vanishing at a swift trot among the trees. She counted the assailants—39; she counted those who stood faithful—6. Then with a harsh laugh, she cried out, “Not for nothing have I passed my vaca- tions with Cleopatra! .Come on, Mac- duff!’ Her plans were lightning-fast in conception and execution. She forced her sulking husband to give up his cloak and sandals; then put them on one of her faithful henchmen, and sent him fleeing through the woods. Thirty-eight lusty Roman voices took up the hue and cry; the thirty-ninth—Clodius—had sprained his ankle and was directing operations from a boulder on which was written, “26 miles to Rome. Use Pears’ . - When the last gladiator had vanished into the forest, Fulvia took up a large toasting-fork (to which—gruesome detail —still clung a turkey's gizzard) and with cautious tread advanced upon her crippled foe. And soon she had done that—we speak not as praising her, but merely for the sake of historical accuracy—soon she had done— neither with the assistance nor under the eyes nor with the knowledge of her master—that which every man worthy of the name would wish his own wife to do in like circumstances. Then she re- turned to the carriage, calmly gathered up the reins, and with a non-committal “Сіа- up! moved West. Dennis gasped—in admiration, yes; but in horror, too. He looked again; but all was dark. He could see nothing. He could hear nothing but the melancholy voice of one who was saying:—''Once again, you have no imagination. Whenever I try to develop in you that atrophied faculty, you fall asleep. One hour in jug!” LEO SKELLY, 724, THANKSGIVING DAY—LOYOLA 7—BISHOP'S 4