Loyola University Maryland - Evergreen / Green and Gray Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

Text from Pages 1 - 138 of the 1908 volume:

THE REVEREND W. G. READ MULLAN, SJ. President of Loyola College. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 3 fusion will reign and much of the effect of the comedy of the play will be destroyed. But identical as the “ Dromios ” are personally, in Mr. James’ clever handling, “ the merry, prank- ish, agile Dromio of Syracuse was an altogether different fellow from the “ slow, heavy and matter-of-fact Dromio of Ephesus.” The humor, too, of each character is distinctive, each within its own flavor and each within its own proper sphere. As ‘‘ Shylock ” in “The Merchant of Venice,” Mr. James presents a picture of a simple, but dignified man, whose anger is aroused by the jeers of a taunting, antagonistic race, and by the filial ingratitude of the unfeeling “ Jessica.” What is strikingly noticeable in his “ Merchant of Venice,” and what most modern actors are wanting in, is clear enunciation. As Mr. James is the only Shakespearean comedian of note, as we have remarked, since the days of James H. Hackett, so Mr. Mantell is the only really great American tragedian since the days of the immortalized Edwin Booth. Mr. Mantell is, indeed, a genius among geniuses, a man among men, an actor among actors, a gentleman among gentlemen. In “ King Lear ” Mr. Mantell attains the height of dram- atic art. “ King Lear ” is his most perfect effort. In this part he is without equal or rival. He is transformed into a feeble old man, still retaining, however, an air of loyalty. His gestic- ulations were not of the violent sort, and his starts were not sudden ; his movements were slow and languid. In every fea- ture of his face misery was depicted ; he moved his head in the most deliberate manner. His facial expressions were harbin- gers, as it were, of what he was going to say. “ King Lear ” is not a popular play with the actor, nor with the multitude, because “ the young,’ says Mr. James H. Hackett, “ who constitute the great majority of playgoers, are too inexperienced to comprehend the dotage of the aged and tender father, and to sympathize with his consequent afflic- 4 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL tions, — regarding ‘ Lear as they generally do, merely as an old despot, and his sorrows and sufferings as measurably de- served by his own folly and tyranny. Nor can youth have ac- quired knowledge enough of mankind to detect and appreciate Shakespeare’s exquisite art and profound philosophy in the drawing of ‘ Lear’s ’ madness, its origin, progress, and climax ; nor his frightfully faithful portraiture towards the fatal denouement of nature’s last and abortive struggle with extreme old age and bodily infirmity, to restore Lear’s mental balance, and re-establish his reason. Therefore, this play is better adapted to the understanding of the sage, and the scenes, especially, to the appreciation of experienced and scientific physicians, who have been accustomed to witness profession- ally and contemplate the subtle workings of the maniac’s mind.” The occasional bursts of anger of ‘‘ Lear ” certainly re- quire of an actor earnest and forcible ex pression, in order to realize fully to an audience the extent of Lear’s ” outraged sensibility. But anger which can find words should at the same moment obtain a comparative temperance, to give it smoothness. All the foregoing can be justly applied to Mr. Mantell’s “ Lear.” In the defiance of the storm — “ Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks,” Mr. Mantell puts forth that wild energy im- plied by the text, and demanded by the circumstances. Few will dispute the fact that Mr. Mantell ' s impersonation of ‘‘ Lear ” is his masterpiece. As Macbeth, in the tragedy of “ Macbeth,” Mr. Mantell presents the theatre-goer with a sublime peace of art. He does not mouth the lines, as many players do, and “ in the very tor- rent, tempest, and as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, he acquired and begot a temperance that gave it smoothness.” What is of great aid to Mr. Mantell is his rich musical voice. His physique and personal bearing are very distingue; his THE LOYOLA ANNUAL ,5 features are fully chiselled, and this together with a natural conformation of head, throat and chest, enabled Mr. Mantell to present a remarkable specimen of the type of Macbeth. He is true to nature in “ Macbeth,” and, consequently, cannot help but be successful. There have been several productions of “ Othello ” in our city during the past few years ; but in our opinion the portrayal of the Moor by Mr. Mantell far eclipses that of the other actors. He conceives the character of “ Othello,” not as an Ethiopian, but as a Moor; not as black, but as tawny. He meets all the requirements for the part of the Moor, because of his stalwart appearance, and a deep, resonant voice. These two essentials, linked with his subtle forethought, all combine to make his im- personation of the Moor a wonderful one. Mr. Mantell alter- nates the parts of “ lago ” and “ Othello,” but his delineation of the character of “ Othello ” is considered far superior to that of the Ancient. From the view-point of deep Shakes- pearean students, “ lago ” is usually conceived as a slender, graceful figure, with dark eyes and sinister smile; his step is cat-like, stealthy, serpentine and malevolent. Now Mr. Man- tell does not fulfil these requirements perfectly. His produc- tion of “ lago ” has a number of points of merit, particularly the humor, for ‘‘ lago ” enjoys his own malignity ; and the sardonic malevolence of the scenes with “ Rhoderigo ” and some of those with “ Othello” himself, were well conveyed. Mr. Mantell’s presentation of “ the melancholy Dane ” may be considered deserving of great praise. We have become fully convinced of the truth of what Schlegel says of the character of “ Hamlet,” namely, “ many of his traits are too nice and too delicate for the stage, and can only be seized by a great actor and understood by an acute audience.” “ Hamlet” is the most philosophical of all the plays of Shakespeare. The role of Hamlet is characterized by dig- nity, intelligence and melancholy. Indeed, Mr. Mantell in- 6 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL vests the role with a profound melancholy. He has the ease of a gentleman, the dignity of a prince, symmetry of features, and flexibility of voice. His eyes were large, brilliant, and penetrating. His action and gesticulation, though extremely easy and natural, were generally quick, energetic, and very earnest. His voice, when raised, did not become harsh and dissonant ; it was charming, musical, undulating. In the strictly declamatory portions of the character, Mr. Mantell seemed ‘‘ to have inspired the soul of ‘ Hamlet,’ its intel- lectuality and sensitiveness were wrought into transparent prominency. ' ’ Yet, Mr. Mantell’s “Hamlet,” though it en- raptured some, is not greeted by the audiences with as much enthusiasm as some of his other parts. “ Richard the Third ” is one of Mr. Mantell’s most popu- lar and invariably attractive parts. “ Shylock ” is another role in which Mr. Mantell is well received. His “ Shylock ” is an almost perfect presentation of this most difficult of all comedy parts. It has often been said that though the triumphs of the actor are immediate, they are not lasting. The result of his efforts is quickly gathered. He is conscious of and hears the thunder of applauding multitudes, while he is yet before the stage, but it is short lived as it is loud. The fame which re- wards the author, the painter, the sculptor, the poet, and the statesman, slowly ripens until it blossoms forth never to fade. Not so with the actor. When we say actor, we do not mean the ordinary run of men who are on the stage and are representa- tives of merely nothing. But the fame of a really great actor is not evanescent. Roscia is not forgotten; Garrick’s fame will survive memory; Kean and Kemble have a name written indelibly in time; Booth and Forrest have been immortalized. Tradition will preserve the names of Sir Henry Irving and Richard Mansfield. In every truly polished age, people learn- ed and those not so well informed, have taken great interest THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 7 in the reminiscences of the great actors. They condole with him in his disappointments and misfortunes ; they rejoice at his triumphs. Could Shakespeare return to this world and see how his plays were being performed, he would say, “ I see in Robert Mantell and Louis James the best exponents of several of the most difficult, yet delightful, characters that have trod the stage since my bones were laid to rest.” In years to come, when death has touched many of our readers, old gentlemen will say to the Shakespearean student and play-goer : “ I saw Mantell in ‘ Lear sir, he was the greatest Lear that the stage has ever had.” And when years have elapsed, we can safely say that the dramatic critic will de- clare that the true Lear passed with the passing of Mantell. L. Frank O ' Brien, ’08. MtUUh. How so othes the silence of the stars. When no profaning noise My soul’s rapt stillness mars! Anon, the swimming eye of tears Sees, — past the sight it blurs — The hushed dead love of years. Joseph B. Jacobi, ’01. 8 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL a a pmnfi and a iiet. (A Story.) D ick Powell was broke, “ dead broke and his allowance not due for ten days. There he sat, head in hands, sunk in our friend Bunyan’s “ Slough of Despond.” The room was bright and cheery, facing on the campus, and decorated with the college man’s usual abundance of pen- nants, pillows and well-seasoned pipes. Outside, a crowd of Sophomores listened to a lone Freshman’s attempt at a song. The unmusical tune floated through the open window, but failed to rouse Dick; he was watching his air-castles fading slowly away, — with a sort of grim pleasure — a pleasure such as the criminal feels when he sees that the axe is newly sharp- ened. The sun was sinking. As the magazine stories say, “ twilight was spreading her cloak over all,” and Dick was away under the cloak. Over, and over again he revolved the unpleasant situation in his mind. “ Jack Norris’ sister coming tomorrow, and Jack writes me to show her a good time. How in the mischief I can show anybody a good time in my present condition of ‘ frenzied finance,’ I don’t see. Just at present my total list of assets is a nickel, a penny, and a key. Board is paid up, and if that confounded Miss Norris had not appeared on the scene, I could have invested my nickel in a sack of tobacco and lived comfortably until Pa sends my allowance. As for the penny, — well I was going to keep it just to be able to say that I’m never without money. If I had only known this was going to happen I would never have — O but that’s ‘ spilt milk. It was too easy; I ought to have known something was going to happen. Well it happened all right; as I can testify. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 9 “ I wonder what kind of a looking girl Miss Norris is any- way. Jack is not a beauty by a long shot, and if she re- sembles him, I see where she — O but Jack is such a nice fellow, he doesn’t need to be handsome; may be she’s that kind. Anyway I hope she’s not one of those little things that just talk you to death — don’t give you a chance to open your mouth. At any rate I’m going around tomorrow night to look her over.” Next night Dick, carefully attired, rang the bell of the house indicated by Jack. He gave his card to the servant, asked for Miss Norris and was ushered into the parlor. Sev- eral minutes later, the portieres parted, and Dick beheld a very charming young lady who did not bear the slightest re- semblance to her brother. She welcomed him cordially and said she was very glad to meet Jack’s friend. It certainly was lucky Miss Norris could talk well. Dick was so flustered he could hardly speak ten words at a time, and spent his evening agreeing to everything the young lady said. Dick told me that it was only after he had said good-night, and walked away in the cool air, that he remembered having asked Miss Norris to go roller skating with him the next even- ing, and that he had likewise appointed a night the following week for the theatre. Miss Norris had very charmingly ac- cepted. Dick was overjoyed at the meeting, and was thinking pleasantly of the rink and the Academy. Just then a street car approached and Dick swung aboard. Thrusting his hand in his pocket to get the required nickel he encountered the mighty trio that stood between him and bankruptcy. His heart turned a somersault and so did Dick. He had forgotten all about the low ebb of his fortunes, and not waiting till the car reached the next corner, he jumped off immediately. After picking himself up and dusting off his coat, he felt in his pocket. They were still there — the nickel, the penny, and the key. 10 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Next day Dick approached his friends and asked for the loan of a five-spot. Every one of them was broke. Some had a key ; a few had a penny; not one of them had a nickel. Dick thought of all kinds of desperate remedies to fit his horrible straits. He even thought of boarding a freight train and leav- ing town, but at last resolved to “ sprain his ankle ” for the time being. That night Dick joined the “ Ananias Club.” He appeared with a very forlorn face telling Miss Norris of his misfortune and how it all occurred. Of course the trip to the rink was called off. Strange to say after they had been talking a while, Dick suggested that maybe a little stroll would not harm his ankle. If Miss Norris was surprised, she did not show it, and readily acquiesced. Dick reduced his limp as much as possible, and was enjoying himself immensely, when they passed a drug store. Now in these civilized days drug stores mean nothing to the feminine element but “ ice cream soda.” It was up to Dick to ask Miss Norris if she would have a glass. Then remembering that they charged ten cents at this par- ticular place, he immediately suggested ‘‘ a better place — down the street.” Dick knew that at the latter place the beverage was only five cents. Arriving at the store he ordered a soda for Miss Norris, but declined to order any for himself. He avowed, al- most with an oath, that soda never agrees with him. Here the first member of the trio parted from Dick. The nickel went for Miss Norris’ soda, which Dick half-famished watched her drink. Then, as Dick was hurrying Miss Norris past the candy counter, the latter remembered that she had a postal which she wished to mail to Jack. Here the second member of the trio went into the druggist’s cash drawer and Dick never saw it again. Fearing that Miss Norris might find another postal to mail, Dick’s ankle suddenly began “to pain” him, and he suggested a start for home. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 11 Miss Norris, of course, thought they had better ride; but as soon as they were out of the store Dick denied em- phatically that his ankle had ever hurt him, that is (remember- ing his fictitious sprain) enough to force him to ride. Why it was feeling better already. Besides, “ It was such a beautiful night.” In his excitement poor Dick did not notice that it looked like a shower any minute. At last Dick saw Miss Norris safe at her home, and went directly to his own room. He had gotten out of this scrape pretty gracefully, but for the life of him, he could not think of any excuse for the theatre engagement without arousing Miss Norris’ suspicions, if indeed they were not already aroused by his strange conduct tonight. He must get five dollars someway, and mighty quickly at that. Walking over to his desk he espied a letter. It was from Jack Norris; Dick began to wonder if the girl had sent a wireless to her brother on the oddities of his friend. ' ' Dear Dick,” it read. Hope you managed to get around and see Tess (so her name is Tess, is it?) and are showing her a good time. Knew that you would be willing to do that ; but from what I remember you were always broke at this time of the month, so I have sent you twenty-five. If you dare to send it back or mention it to anyone I will jump on you next time I see you. Bye-bye, Dickie. Your old chum. Jack. “ Well, I’ll be ” — said Dick naughtily; and if Mrs. Powell, — O but Tm getting ahead of my story. Anyhow the key was safe. Last time I saw Dick I asked him if he had ever told his pretty young wife about his well-filled purse the time she 12 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL visited town, and whose money had entertained her. — Dick said he never dared to. Nevertheless Mrs. Powell has something in her purse that Dick gave her as a luck-piece. What is it? Why it’s a key. In their poetic moments they will both tell you that it is a symbol of the key with which they unlocked each other’s heart. James S. Murphy, ’09. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 13 Ci e 01D attD ERE any of the old Romans permitted to take a peep into the world of today, and to study the lives, the pursuits, the ambitions, and the passions of present day peo- ple, they would not, I am sure, notice any great change in any of these particulars since their own times. Externally, no doubt, their flowing togas and sandals would contrast greatly with the dress of present day people. But were they allowed to see into the thoughts and minds of those about them, these old fellows would smile and nod their heads knowingly when they saw that many of the foibles, the desires, the passions, which they depicted so long ago, had survived two thousand years, and bade fair to survive as many more. The satirists in especial would, I think, find abundant ground for comparison between their own and the present times, and would recognize, both in the individual and the class, persons whose vices, follies, and eccentricities they com- plained of so loudly. The degraded state of society so bitter- ly lashed by Juvenal finds its counterpart in parts of the world today, and in many conditions of life. The influential Roman politician would feel very much at home at the meetings of a present day political “ machine,” and would find that politics have changed but little in twenty centuries. The only difference is the much grander scale on which politics are conducted now-a-days than in the “ palmy days of Rome.” “ Sejanuses ” are just as numerous today as when Juvenal threw upon paper that celebrated pen-picture, so well known to students of literature of the fallen political boss. A fall from power, a slip in control, and the “ hook ” is their fate. 14 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Good old jovial Horace, too, would recognize as friends that class whose motto is, “ Carpe diem,” and would hold out a welcome hand to those ‘‘ bon vivants,” who like himself, quaff the old Falernian (or its equivalent, which would probably be “ Budweiser ” or “ Schlitz ” now-a-days), and echo his words “ nunc vino pellite curas.” He would find that men were just as anxious to raise a cloud of dust in the race course ” (metaphorically speaking, of course, for the pres- ent day), as in his own times. In fact, very few of us would pass before his ken whom he would not recognize as an old acquaintance, and his smile would grow broader and broader as he realized that his views of human nature were in the main, true for the past, the present, and probably will be true for all time. I fear that our vaunted civilization would not dazzle the eyes of the ancients, were they permitted to revisit earth. For after all, mankind has changed but little, and the same passions, desires and ambitions animate him as did in the olden times, of which the Literary Classics are the most splendid relics. Could we realize how little the world has really advanced in the last twenty centuries ; did we understand in how many respects we still resemble the old Greeks and Romans, in how many of their vices and passions we share, we would not think so highly of our much boasted twentieth century. John H. T. Briscoe, ’10. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 15 fre i man picnic ' ' a la ' ' i onxer (With apologies to Lang, Leaf, and Myers.) S ING, O muse, of the loud-socked Freshmen, who wan- dered far from their ancestral hearth, e’en to the wide- famed land of Gwynn Oak. Tell me, O goddess, how some did ride the madly plunging trolley car, and some did hit the pike; yea from the wooden walls of Electric Park. Now the recreant Brown of Freshman came not forth at first, but was found only half-accoutred for the fray; and he did join the expedition. So came they all to the land of Gwynn Oak. And then they did disport themselves upon the plain, whirling the elusive sphere beneath Aurora’s eyes. But soon they went to prepare a frugal feast, so that they might feed their hunger with simple fare ; some indeed gathered sticks, lest they should have no flame to make hot their portion of cow. And when they were satisfied, being of good cheer, the light of battle shone in their eyes, and they were divided among themselves. For some forded the swiftly rushing river, and stood on rocks in the midst of the sour-faced stream, while others made dark plans upon the bank. Now the ox-eyed Dorsch, and the warlike Ayd advanced to the attack. Standing afar back from the seething rapids, they heaved huge stones into the wet liquid water and made the Freshmen on the rocks feel like unto wash-tub heroes, so splashed were they with the Prohibition beverage. Then Gal- ligher, he of the sad visage, spoke winged words unto each Freshman on the bank : “ Dog-face ! Come but to the water’s edge, and thou shalt receive a goodly drenching that will make 16 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL the Johnstown flood look like a South American revolution! ” So spake he, but the opposing heroes laughed in mockery. In vain did the immortals launch great timbers off the opposite shore; the river god wafted them far from the reach of the imperiled Freshmen on the rocks. At last Fortune tipped her scales anew, and smiled once more on the heroes. Anon they make a charge, and the terrible Neuner leads the thundering van, and after him came the noble Galligher waving his loud- sounding necktie, and after him all the huge lion-hearted host together with the god-like allies. Then the tawny-haired Dorsch was smitten with fear, so that he and all his men were more swift of foot than brave of heart. But the warlike Freshmen tracked him along the water’s edge ; and then the death struggle did e’en begin. So now the hefty Galligher laid violent paws upon the ox-eyed Dorsch, and the thrice mighty Neuner uprooted a towering tree, v hich, when he poised above his crest, the struggling Ayd did wrest from him and hurl over the other tree-tops. And the im- mortals shouted “ encore !” from across the stream. Even thus did they battle, heroes, warriors, and allies; until at the last the fighting Dorsch was forced unto the river and his men were overpowered. Then spake the victorious Freshmen, “ Into the wetness with the wretch ! Sacrifice him to the river god, that the cheesy old skinflint may be propitious to us.” And the despairing Dorsch started a piercing moan ; yea, twice he moaned like the last wail of the Republicans in Maryland, and then, shoved by relentless hands, dropped into the gurgling waves. Now the water rose up to meet him, so that the dark deed of revenge was complete. But the ox-eyed Dorsch dis- entangled himself from the river god’s embrace, and raged and fumed and smoked with vapor and sent up clouds of steam by the fire, like a Chinese laundry in full blast. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 17 And nigh on to evening the ever-to-be-praised Freshmen lifted their weary carcasses into lightning wagons, yclept trol- ley cars, and were carried even to their fatherland. Charles S. Lerch, ’ll. Out of the East, all tattered and torn, Out of that boundless. Godless bourne, Where the withering blaze Of the sky-king’s rays. Powders the bones of by-gone days. They come; they come — Seekers of gold. Sinewy, dun, all desert-tanned. Ranging the whole wide hunterland. Daring the mountain flood. Turned not aside by blood. Seekers of gold. Braver and nobler thou, — Humble, with peaceful brow, Toilest thy life away; Fairer than gilded ray ; Seeker of souls! James S. Murphy, ’09. 2 18 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Cribute of movv “ Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. Tears from the depth of some divine despair, Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. In looking on the happy Autumn fields. And thinking of the days that are no more.” (The Princess.) So sang Tennyson as he stood and looked back upon ‘‘ the days that are no more.’’ Do you ever look back, you who read this? Do you ever sigh for the past and drop a tear that unfolds from the blos- soms of memory? Perhaps not now, but when the Autumn comes,- — your great Autumn, you will look back upon the Springtime. As you reap the harvest a tear will fall, “ an erring pearl,” a tribute to the memory of the sowing. What the future holds we know not ; we do know the past, which, like wine, seems sweetened by the passing years, and sparkles in the sunlight of time. Time is a magician, who wraps about the past a tinsel of pleasure and makes it seem more beautiful than it really was. Even to the pains and struggles which then seemed so cold and dull he gives a glamor of delight. We drop a tear, an idle tear; in sorrow that we cannot live those old days over again. To the man of power and wealth, to the man in servitude and poverty, to the hard-hearted, to the good, to the sorrow- ful, to the happy, at all times, in all places, unbidden but wel- come, these memories come, and we pay their tribute of a tear. He who has attained to power and wealth looks back upon the days of his struggles, his heartaches, his disappointments; THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 19 he sees again the friends whom he has forgotten in his affluence, the enemies whom he has crushed in his might. Then by a miracle of Time he regrets the age-sweetened past; a tear steals down his hardened cheek ; half ashamed and from force of habit, he brushes it away and returns to the present. Upon him who slaves in hunger and in rags impartial memory also attends. He travels back through the years of his toil to the days of his youth, to the days when his future was flooded with the sunlight of hope, to the days when he romped carefree and happy. He remembers the little childish troubles, which seemed to him so terrible, so dark; he re- members his games and his playmates, his quarrels and his loves. As when the dark waters of the ocean are lighted up by the moon, casting a silvery roadway over its softly-breath- ing depths, so over his dark life comes the silvery light of memory; unknown a tear falls; he, too, brushes it away and faces again a hopeless future. Memory steals alike on the hard-hearted and on the good. The man of evil habits looks back to the time when he knew no wrong, when his life was pure and spotless, when he knelt at his mother’s knees and lisped the sweet prayers of child- hood’s kingdom. Strange to say he does not sneer nor smile in scorn; it seems so natural, so peaceful, that he regrets the present, longing for the past. How many years have passed since those days, how many years of erring life; he bows his head in shame; he weeps. No! not idle tears for him. And over across the way the good man, too, looks back, perhaps upon a picture much the same. He too, weeps and blesses the memory that brought those tears, tears which give strength to persevere unto the end. Of course, he who sorrows for a loved one falls under memory’s spell. A face that has crumbled to dust once more comes up to view, once more he hears a voice that has long since gone silent. There are laid before him scenes that have 20 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL been hidden for many a day behind the curtain of Time. Somehow or other, a lump rises to the throat, a mist is dim- ming the eyes, a tear falls unnoticed on his cheek. The pass- ing years will take away his sorrows, will heal his wounds, in his happiness memory will again come. She will lead him back to the days of his sorrow. With delicate and tender hand she will touch again the old wounds, will lay bare the old sores and all unbidden a tear will drop from his sorrow-dimmed eyes. At all times and in all places memory comes. She passes with soft, silent tread, and with sympathetic loving touch she tints the years gone by. She calls us back to scenes in the dim recesses of an almost forgotten past; she leaves behind a perfume of old lavendar and rose, and, best of all, — a tear. Edward K. Hanlon, ’09. puff ! (A Triolet.) The smoke wreaths curled, Fantasies sped; King of a world ! The smoke wreaths curled, Care’s tent unfurled, — Age and love wed; The smoke wreaths curled; Fantasies sped. Edwin B. Kelly, ’10. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 21 in fWcfeer ' (A Story.) Y es, sir, there are good men in plenty, and some of them are extra good. But, sir! You got to hunt a terrible long ways before you will run on another like Billy Lacaque, boss of the river, white water birler, handler of the bully boys from the Saranac. “ Billy was a man clear through from his caulked boots to the little, old felt hat that he used to stick on his head; and game ! why, say partner, he was so ‘ doggone ’ game, he didn’t know it! “ It all come about this way : Billy wanted the girl and wanted her bad, and at first it seemed like he was agoing to get her, too, but then ‘ handsome ’ Charlie Morris, sort of breezed in, and she sort of dealt Billy a cold deck, and turned her ’tentions all to Charlie. Billy aint say in’ nothing cause it aint his way to go clamorin’ around promiscuous like, sheddin’ his grievances on the public ear. You could see he was hard hit, though. “ That winter Smith and Fitzhugh, the greatest lumber- men north of the Great Lakes, having some ‘ eighties ’ to clear up on the little Red, had got together one of the finest logging crews that had ever been seen. Billy was foreman, and he did the choosin’, but old man Smith had come down and asked special to have Charlie put on the job, him being some con- nection or other. So Billy had him installed as barn boss. “ Well, all that winter it was the same old thing— work, work and then some more work, wrestling with the wilderness, fighting death in a thousand shapes. There was some got 22 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL carried back all that two hundred miles, in a bateau, crushed from all semblance of themselves by those terrors of the lumberjacks — the tops of trees. “ Billy knew his business. He had been on the river ever since he had been old enough, to handle a miniature peavey that his father had made for him. So by Spring he had about three million feet of lumber piled up on the skidways, all ready for breaking out at the sign of the first freshet. “ Charlie and he had been getting along fair-to-middlin considerin’ there was no love lost between them. Everyone expected him to make life sorter hard for Charlie, him being in his power to complete. “ Well, one morning early, Billy walked into the quarters in his driving costume, an’ lemme tell you, a finer lookin’ man never walked than Billy Lacaque, when he got rigged out in that same costume. He wasn’t handsome — his jaw was too square and set for that- — but he was fine. With a bright, silk handkerchief knotted ’round his brown neck, his chestnut hair peepin’ out in curls from under his hat; his stagged-off pants showin’ just a touch of bone and muscle, where they joined his caulkers; his broad shoulders and thin race-horse flanks, all made a picture that, seen once is never forgotten. “Well, sir! He walked in there and told the boys to ‘ allons,’ for she sure was comin.-’ The boys jumped, for a freshet aint agoin’ to wait for no one. As they stepped outside the shanty they heard her roaring. There had been an un- usual heavy snow that winter and there was going to be extry strong water now. “ The boys stood by to break out the skidways when it struck. It’s no easy job to break out a skidway forty feet high and a mile long with the power of an avalanche back of it. When they stick, and you have to walk right up under this wall, and pry and jerk with your peavy until they start, and then make your get-a-way with a thousand tons of board THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 23 thunderin’ around you — then’s the time you show what-fer kind of man you are. “ Well, after a bit, the river struck. Then the fun came, and what between the noise of the river and the breaking skids, a man couldn’t hear his conscience. “ Billy was jumping ’round like a flea on a griddle — bossin’, cussin’, swearin’, rarin’, tarin’, all in one breath. He made the boys hump. “ After awhile they got all the logs in the river and on their way; Billy up in front keepin’ ’em together to prevent jammin’ ; Charlie and a crew in the rear, rolling logs off shore, that had stopped ; big Vincent following in his bateau, dynamit- ing those that had sunk. Altogether they bid fair to bring this drive through without a hitch. “ The logs were about ten miles from town at Hell’s Jump, when the business between Billy and his rival came to a head, and it was time too, for I believe with a little more festering Billy would ’a knocked the top of Charlie’s head clean off with a pike pole. “Have you ever seen Hell’s Jump? Well, it’s the most God-forsaken place on the whole river. There is a long stretch of rapids that hurl themselves down on a ledge of rocks, stick- ing clear out in the middle of the stream. There is three heads in all; the two up-stream is sights; the water hits the first one- — that, is when the freshet ' s up,— and rises in a wall twenty feet in the air, and comes down on the second one with a roar that shakes your back teeth. The third rock is about as big as a good-sized table, three hundred yards from either bank, with the water going by at a rate that makes you dizzy to watch, with a four-foot drop at the end of the stretch. That’s the place ; and the Lord help anyone that gets marooned on that rock out there; he’ll either go crazy and jump in and swim, or starve. “ Well, the head of the drive had got here and Billy had 24 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL jostled them in order to shunt through, for there wasn’t any man dars’t ride through there. That is what we thought any- way. “Well, of course, bein’ so near town, all the folks turned out to see us make this last fight. Of course, she was there, and was certainly good to see. Her hair, all piled up on that pretty little head, blowing and dancing, looking, on the whole, like spun moonbeams; her blue eyes, as dark as the northern skies, laughing and peeping out from under long, silky eye- lashes ; that little mouth, now pouting, now bent in repose with a color that leaped and frolicked, tinging her cheeks and neck, made up a picture that I’d walk a long way to see. I under- stood then why them men were so tangled up and caught; I would ’a been too, if there had been any chance for me. “ My feelins sort of got the better of me. So, as I was sayin’, that Hell’s Leap certainly did look its part. “ Bein’ as all the girls was there, the boys had to show off. So it was first, ‘ I dare you do this,’ and ‘ I dare you do that,’ while all the time they was getting recklesser and recklesser ’till finally some young scamps tying logs together started to go through Hell’s Leap. “ Now, people had gone through on a crib, but it was mighty dangerous business. Well, these fellers started through — there were three of them, and Charlie was one. They went down that stretch like greased lightnin’, then they struck the rocks. I don’t know to this day how it was, but Charlie was thrown plum upon that table rock, and the other poor lads haven’t been seen since. Ground to pieces, I reckon, by the rocks on the last shoot of water. “We tried our durndest to get him off, but it was no go. We tried to float logs with ropes on ’em, to him but — ‘ nothin’ doin’. The men was clean scared to try it on a crib. He was too knocked around to jump a log, as it came through, and take his chances. Well, sir, we was plum stumped. All this time THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 25 Billy had been doin’ a heap of thinkin’. There was the man that he would have done anything to get rid of, gotten rid of for him, as you might say, by Providence, and he didn’t know whether to get him off, or thank his stars that he hadn’t had to kill him. “ Well, it had been three days and we was still loafln around, trying to get up some means to rescue him without onnecessarily exposin’ ourselves. Charlie was about ‘ all in ;’ he had just enough life to stand up, and that was all. He tried to holler once or twice, but the water was too loud. ‘‘ Well, on the third day she came down. To tell the truth, she had been there most all the time, except when her people forced her to take some rest, and it was easy seen that she was clean gone on ‘ handsome ’ Charlie Morris, now more a skeleton than the good lookin’, reckless Irishman he had been a week before. There was Charlie a-layin’ there, more dead than alive, and the girl near crazy. She came down to where the men were settin’, her face white and drawn. She spoke, and her voice sounded like a rasp on iron. “ ‘What are you goin’ to do for Charlie? ’ she asks for the eleven hundredth time. They looks down and says nothing; they don’t like the fix. ‘ Aint you goin’ to get him? ’ she asks terse and quiet. No answer. “ ‘ Men, for God’s sake get him. Don’t let him die out there. Get him for me, for me. Oh, I love him and I’ll go crazy if you don’t get him off.’ “We don ' t like it, for when she asks for anything they generally go after it. Then, becomin’ scornful, she rips ' em up the back. “‘You call yourselves lumberjacks, but you aint; they don’t act like this when their chum is dying. Where’s Mr. Lacaque? He’ll go. Won’t you? As Bill come up from where he’s been down by the river, studying a whole lot. ‘ Y es,’ he says slow. ‘ I’ll go, but I got to have my price.’ 26 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL “ ‘ What is it? ’ she says quick. “ ‘ YOU,’ he answers, steady and clear. ‘ If I risk my life for that man out there, who, God knows, I would sooner see die than come back here, it’s you, — or he stays there. “ She sorter starts and looks at him, as though she was dreaming. Then, givin’ a little laugh that was cut short in the middle and wasn’t good to hear, she says : “ ‘ Go ; anything, for he’ll die out there.’ Billy never said another word, but, turning on his heel, he goes up to where the logs is, and picking out a big one, jumps on and shoves her off. When he struck the first stretch of water he leaned for- ward like a circus-rider, swinging easily to the roll of the log. All this time Charlie, who had been looking and seeing what he had to do, waited until the log shot abreast, then jumped. He lit square on the log, but would have fallen off if Billy hadn’t grabbed him. Down they went until they struck the drop, then as their log dived, Billy picked Charlie up in his arms, jumped high and dropped as gracefully as a cat, on one of the logs that were floating in the pool. “Well, you oughter heard us holler! Billy never said a word, but with Charlie, who had fainted, lying in his arms like a big child, went up to where the girl was settin’ with tearless eyes and sweet face lookin’ at him. “ Layin’ the man down beside her he says, kinder sad : “ ‘ Take him, honey, he’s yours. For, as God is my Judge, I won’t deprive a girl of the man she loves, as you love him.’ With this he turns and starts up the river trail. “ ‘ Hey, boss,’ yells one of the men, ‘ aint you agoin’ to run this drive clar thro ? ’ “ ‘ To h — with the drive,’ says Billy. ‘ I’m tired, tired.’ “ Nor has horn, hair nor hoof mark been seen of him since.” Frederic C. Lee, ’10. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 27 Horace and xx egit tellers} ' HE advice of a classical writer may seem little adapted A to modern literature. Indeed there are few authors who would consider Horace a suitable teacher, although his “ Ars Poetica ’ contains principles of writing, nearly all of which are as applicable to the present day, as they were to the time when the masterpiece was written. It has been well said of this little work, that ‘‘ it is good taste reduced to principles.” V e find no rigid treatise upon the forms and art of poetry, no text-book on the intricacies of metre, but we peruse the careful, shrewd observations and opinions of a genius, the pre- cepts, taught by experience, of one of the greatest poets of the world. The poem is supposed to be a letter of advice to a father and his sons, about to enter the field of literature; com- mentators say it should be called the art of criticism, rather than the art of poetry. Pope has properly named his own treatis‘e, which is similar to it, an Essay on Criticism. The principles which Horace puts into verse, although handed down from Rome’s Augustan age, are not, like the crumbling pillars found in the ruins of the Eternal City, mere memorials of an empire, over the downfall of which many cen- turies have rolled. His sound advice reminds us of his own words, for it certainly “ wishes to be viewed in the light, and does not fear the sharp judgment of the critic.” It would be well if many writers of the present day model- led their w orks on his- teaching. To give an effect of color, “ often one or two purple patches,” says Horace, “ are tacked upon writings begun with a serious purpose and which prom- ised fine material.” The votaries of the purple patch system are very numerous at the present time — we catch glimpses of 28 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL them in the latest novels, in the magazines and journals, but nowhere are they so sure to be found as in the columns of a newspaper. The writers who are hired to amuse the populace by handing out line after line of commonplaces, think it neces- sary to bait their articles with some of these same “ purple patches.” The modern novelist as well feels at times a sort of moral obligation to suspend his “ thrilling interest,” as the advertise- ments call it, in order to indulge in an elaborate description, which he fancies would be envied by Sir Walter Scott. Truly do these aspirants bring in “ the grove and altar of Diana, the river Rhine and the rainbow,” when “ it is not the place for these things.” This is by no means the only example in Horace that can be directly applied to present literature. In fact we can hardly glance over a few lines of the “ Ars Poetica ” without finding some striking truth applicable to the modern profession of letters. In Horace’s words, “ Public material will become peculiarly your own, if you do not delay in the cheap and beaten path, or scrupulously render word for word as a faith- ful translator.” What a legion of modern novels follow the “ cheap and beaten path,” tread and retread upon the well-known road, until it is necessary to reach the public by another way! A good book is merely the progenitor of a long line of imitations, each one possessed of less merit than the one before. If it happens to be a detective story, the press is soon crowded with books of this type. The novel of the social problem repeats itself, and issues anew from the hands of every writer, just as the so-called moral question continually fills the pages of fiction in a slightly different form, and is all the fashion in the world of reading. Horace recognized one of the qualities of a great book, when he said : “ I shall write my song from well-known lore. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 29 so that everyone may hope to do as well, but shall strive much and labor in vain, should he attempt the work.” George Eliot’s “ Mill on the Floss ” is a story of common- place life in England, yet it would be hard to find its equal. What author appears more simple than genial Irving? No one, however, seems able to produce a second “ Sketch Book.” The imitators of Scott in the historical novel have met equal disappointment; they are represented today by a legion of sickly romances, not worth a moment’s notice. This is only one of the poet’s observations that holds true at the present time. Much could be said of many other pre- cepts given by the old Augustan poet. The lines in which he comments on the necessity of speaking or writing with con- victions, have an added meaning in connection with some of the present literature. “ If you wish me to weep,” says the “ Ars Poetica,” “ you must first be sad yourself.” This advice at first appears superfluous, but it is really needed in this age of artificial and extravagant novels. There is one line of the “ Ars Poetica,” that ought to be carefully studied by many writers of the day. When our fiction contains heroes and heroines, who resolve the great issues of life into Japanese puzzles, and take a distorted view of humanity, it is time to consider these words of Horace: “ Good sense is the principle and fountain-head of correct writing.” Allied to good sense is the “ multa lectio ” which the poet advises. Nothing is of so much value in developing an author’s taste and broadening his mind, as extensive reading of the best literature. Horace advocates the standard works of his time, for he says, “ Pore over the pages of the Greek writers by night and day.” His reproach to the earlier Roman authors for the little care and time which they devoted to their work, brings up another fundamental principle of good writing. The poet never 30 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL loses an opportunity of insisting upon “ plurima exercitatio ” — continuous exercise in composition. He warns authors not to publish a production, until they have made it as perfect as possible, like the statues over which the sculptor could run his finger-nail and not find an inequality. Many present writers might find this rule disagreeable, writers who dash off novel after novel with no thought of anything but their pecuni- ary value. They should remember these words of the com- panion of Virgil : “ When once the soul is rusted by the sordid greed of money, can we hope for the production of a book Vv ' orth preserving any length of time? ” A reflection of this kind leads to the thought of how few novels of the day enjoy anything more than a transient popu- larity. Whether such a short sway is due to their author’s “ rust of money ” or to other causes, it is certain that if Horace were alive today, he would not be content with saying, “ Mor- talia facta peribunt ” — “ All mortal deeds shall perish,” but would immediately add, ‘‘ and the six best sellers have the shortest life of all.” Perhaps our modern writers are chiefly at fault in making themselves slaves of the public, and catering to every whim of their readers. Of course, the book which gives the multitude the most pleasure with the least trouble to the mind, is likely to be the greatest success from a financial point of view ; but if an author wishes to perpetuate his work, he ought to think with Horace that a money-making spirit can never help him in this worthy endeavor. The Roman poet is not alone in this opinion, for Robert Louis Stevenson, of our own times, ex- presses the same truth. He refers to a writer who debates his profession only as a mercenary one, and says that if authors are taught to follow profit only, “ we must expect a slovenly, base, untrue, and empty literature.” It would be easy to fill a large volume by applying all of Horace’s precepts to modern literature, but our purpose has THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 31 only been to suggest the critical value of the “ Ars Poetica ’ when its advice is removed from the stage-setting of classical times. The temptation, however, is strong to quote one more line of the graceful poem, since it finds a parallel in the “Spectator.” “Were I always grave,” says Addison, “one half of my readers would fall off from me; were I always merry, I should lose the other,” while Horace’s words are: “ He carries every vote, who mingles the useful with the sweet.” True it is that great minds often run in the same channel. Charles S. Lerch, ’ll. Silent (A Sonnet.) Upon the weary earth soft falls the night. And o’er Heaven ' s calm demesne and wide Erewhile in glorious gold and purple dyed. She casts her mantle streaked with moonbeams bright, From slumbering man enshrouds the sun’s pure light. All save the moon with silvery stars allied. From earth their pride and pomp of grandeur hide; And night rules silent o’er the hushed sight. Alas ! When vacant night comes o’er the earth. When men of blameless life lie rapt in sleep. Vice creeps from cover, and to crime gives birth. Ennobled men a riotous vigil keep ; Base revelry stalks beneath the cloak of mirth. And nature’s foes a fatal pleasure reap. Clarke J. Fitzpatrick, ’07. Prefect of Studies. 32 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL %ont ; amateur j etecttoe (A Story.) I F there was one man whom newsdealers rejoiced to see ap- proaching, that man was Percival D’Arcy von Streslaus Jones. He would walk with head bent forward, eyes moving hither and thither (the effect being to make him appear some- what cross-eyed), and would affect a studied sharpness of speech. He bought every new detective story on the stand, — there are many,— and would do his level best to imi- tate each hero’s marvellous acuteness and bravery, and go him one better. There was one hair in Jones butter which Nicho- las Carter, Sherlock Holmes, Old King Brady, etc., etc., ad infinitum, could not remove. Jones was in love with one Anna- belle Rosalind Portia Smith, but that young lady did not re- turn his affections. She had not the slightest desire to pass the rest of her earthly sojourn with a freak who would be con- tinually deducing from dust that the house had not been cleaned and would make a nuisance of himself generally. One bright afternoon Jones walked into a drug store to use the telephone. Someone else was before him. This some- one seemed to be always before him (especially in the affec- tions of the previously mentioned Miss A. R. P. Smith). For one instant ‘‘ the green-eyed monster ” made Jones forget that he was Sherlock Holmes’ successor ; then he noticed that his rival, by name Charles Brown, was holding a most interest- ing conversation over the ’phone. It went something like this : “What’s that? ... Oh yes I it’ll be easy. No one will disturb us ; I’ve fixed that up . . . No, I won’t tell them our business, it might make trouble . . . Say, don’t forget any of THE GYMNASIUM. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 33 the stuff, and — what? How will you bring it?. . . .A satchel will be best; they won’t suspect anything. (Then Jones, alias Nick Carter, began to look wise) . . . They won’t know anything about us, so — . . . No! that’s too early; wait till it s dark. . . .Well, if there’s any trouble, the police will back us up ; I’ve fixed that too . . . (“ Graft hissed Jones in the regular Old Sleuth style) . . . Where is it? Why on Seventh Avenue, between X and Y Streets. All tenements there . . . Oh! it’ll be safe enough . . .Yes, we’ll burn them all out . . . (‘‘Arson, ’ gasped Jones, the boy detective.) . . . Tonight, remember . . . Sure! Good-bye!. . . ” Charlie Brown hung up the receiver and turned, to find Jones glaring at him. Brown started (Jones took note of that, of course), and then smiled. (“ A decidedly forced smile,” thought Jones.) “ How do you do, old chap? ” said Brown. Jones merely nodded and walked out, forgetting all about his own telephone call. It didn’t occur to him until afterwards that he should have donned an impenetrable disguise and shadowed the villainous Brown. The fact is that Jones had hardly left the drug store when he spied the matchless Anna- belle Rosalind across the street. Immediately all thoughts of Brown and his telephone message were forgotten; once more the eternal feminine had made a great hero neglect his duty. ❖ That night No. 1908 Seventh Avenue, between X and Y Streets, was gutted by fire, and two lives were lost. The evi- dence pointed to arson. If all thoughts of Brown had vanished from Jones’ horizon, they made a rather sudden appearance the next morning when he read this startling news in one-inch crimson headlines. 3 34 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Here was his chance! Opportunity wasn’t merely knocking at his door, — she was thumping there with both fists, with beautiful effect. Here was where Jones made Sherlock Holmes look like a selling-plater in a $20,000 handicap. And Annabelle, — how she would blush to think that she had even known Brown, and how she would, etc., etc. (I leave the rest to the more experienced imaginations of my readers). Jones determined to notify the police immediately. Of course. Brown was the culprit, the murderous, villainous wretch! Hurriedly wrapping up as many of his photographs as he thought the newspapers would need, he departed for the nearest police station. Of course, the Captain was amazed; in fact he was won- dering if he could handle Jones alone, or v h ether he had better summon the reserves. “ Do you think Brown has left town yet? ” Jones concluded. “ Of course such a hardened criminal might stay.” All at once the Captain gasped and laughed. Yes, sir! laughed and laughed and roared. This time it was Jones who speculated as to whether he could handle the Captain alone, or whether, if he got violent, he should call out the police and fire departments. At this juncture Charlie Brown entered. It was certainly an inspiring subject for one of Rembrandt’s masterpieces. Jones was leaning limply against a chair, looking at the Cap- tain, with popping eyes. The latter was lying back in his chair, roaring with laughter, while Brown, — well. Brown just stared. At last Jones noticed this late arrival on the scene. With a howl of glee he pounced upon him, to the tune of such en- dearing epithets as “ Murderer! ” “ Villain! ” “ Fire-Bug!” It was Brown’s turn to desire a platoon of police in case Jones became worse. “ What’s the matter? you idiot! ” he yelled. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 35 “ Let go of him, you chump ! ” chimed in the Captain. Idiot ! Chump ! and this to him, Percival Jones ! Then Brown demanded explanations. Ditto Jones. “He heard you telephoning yesterday,” said the Captain, “ and says you were planning to burn that tenement on Seventh Avenue.” “ He was,” blurted Jones. “ What’s more, he’s in league with the police. I heard him say he’d fixed you. You’re grafters, everyone — “ Let up,” said the Captain. Then he proceeded to show Jones that he had a case of fourteen-carat brainstorm. Brown was a Board-of-Health officer, and had been detailed to fumi- gate an Italian tenement on Seventh Avenue. Of course, the inhabitants thereof violently objected and he had called on the police to give assistance if needed. The fire was in another house and was caused by spontaneous combustion in a pile of paint-saturated rags left by some workmen the day before. Percival Jones began to feel as if he ought to discover a pressing engagement in a hurry. “ Well,” he said at last, “ ex- plain why you seemed so startled at seeing me when you turned from the ’phone.” “Who wouldn’t have been?” answered Brown. “You looked as if you wanted to murder me. But to show there are no hard feelings, Annabelle and I wish to invite you to our wedding.” Jones fled. It was not only the last straw; it was a regu- lar bale that had crushed the great Nemesis of crime. Edward K. Hanlon, ’09. 36 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL attD I T was a beautiful morning, in early summer,— a morning such as inspired our great American poet, Lowell, to write that oft-repeated line, “ Ah ! What is so rare as a day in June ! ’’ The sun spread its soft lustre through the half-open lattice of a northern room in W — Castle, and fell in tiny, golden lines upon the luxurious bed of Queen A— — . A beautiful baby-boy, with eyes like the blue of the heavens, and cheeks like red rose-buds on a summer evening, stretched his little hands from out an abundance of snowy whiteness towards the pale Queen, who returned the infant’s affection with a wan smile, that bespoke intense suffering. Though suffering in the flesh, yet what joy was in her heart. Here had been born into the world a future king, one upon whom all the great country of E would some day depend; fresh from the hands of the great Father, a babe to whom the ambitions and sins of this world were yet unknown. Raising his little, chubby hands, he seems to attempt to catch hold of the queen’s garment, and after three or four vain attempts he at last accomplishes his seeming purpose. For the queen, obedient to his wish, turns towards the babe and imprints a kiss of joy upon those cherry lips. What joy is in that kiss! The joy of true love, — a mother’s love for her babe. But that same soft, morning sun shines upon another scene in the great Castle of W . It is in the servants’ quar- ters. On a low, wooden bed, bare of all luxuries, with but a thin cotton comfort thrown over his withered body, an old man, a faithful servant of the King, is slowly returning to that Master who sent him into this world of joy and sorrow. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 37 By his side, a fond daughter is trying to comfort him in his death agony. He clutches at her clothing and calls with outstretched arms for consolation in this trial of death. A tear-drop trickles down her cheek, and falls spattering upon the old man’s arm. The sensation increases his terror. He clutches tighter to her dress. She in her efforts to comfort the old man imprints a kiss of sorrow upon his fevered brow. Suddenly, as if the kiss were a touch-stone, the old man lets fall his arm, and with a smile gives back his soul to that Master of Masters, the great God of Heaven. Edwin L. C. Leonard, ’10. ' Brofeeit family. (A Translation.) They took from me Theronoe, And laid her in the cold, cold grave. But I, though weighted down with grief. Endured, that I my child might save. But now an angry, jealous fate Has robbed me also of my child, And terror reigns within my heart Where lay before a sorrow mild. ❖ O listen, dear Persephone, And hear a father’s sad request; O take my darling little babe. And place it on its mother’s breast. Chas. H. Foley, ’ll. 38 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Eeti Blotter ti e JSubi? mn ti z IRa or ' (A Story.) I N a certain college in Baltimore, ' situated not far from C. and M. streets, there was once a very illustrious class whose members prided themselves on their powers of writing English. By the time this illustrious class had reached Fresh- man they had become quite conceited because of the many compliments that had been paid their power in the vernacular. They had written on every subject imaginable, as they thought, and began to look upon themselves as past masters in English. One day, however, the professor, perhaps with the intention of knocking the conceit out of his charges, gave them a nut to crack in the way of a subject for composition. The subject was, “ The Red Blotter, the Ruby, and the Razor.” No solu- tion was given. They were simply told to write a story under this mysterious title. In order to save their reputation, sev- eral brave attempts were made. The results were various and in some cases rather startling. These are some of the best submitted to your criticism. “ Have you heard,” said the amateur detective, blowing clouds of smoke, like Sherlock Holmes, “ of my greatest exploit? ” Seeing his friend lazily inclined to listen, he blew a wider wreath than usual, and started in : “ It was when I was visiting one of the large Western cities that I examined a house the day after a mysterious murder had been committed. The victim was without relatives or intimate friends. Al- though he seemed of good standing little more was known of THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 39 his affairs than of the deed itself. He was found in bed, pierced through the heart by some sort of blade, which the criminal had carried off with him, while nearby lay a razor unstained with blood. A crumpled red blotter, hidden among the sheets, was wrapped about a ruby of great brilliance. These were positively the only traces we could find in the room of anything out of the ordinary. ‘‘ We detectives, at first, might as well have been without clues, for those which we had only served to baffle us the more. Why the ruby had been left behind, and what the unbloody razor had to do with the crime, it was equally impossible to explain. However, after a minute search I began to think I was on the right scent. By means of the ruby, which I found did not belong to the dead man, I followed the trail to the poorest quarter of the city where, among the dens of criminals, I worked night and day with untiring vigilance. My efforts were at last rewarded with some success.” Here the speaker paused to see what effect he had made on his friend. As the latter was evidently much interested he continued his narrative: “ One night about one o’clock I was sitting in the upper room of a wretched little shop, a fit hole for as- sassins. I had every reason to believe that this was the haunt of those who knew far more about the murder than they would care to tell. My disguise enabled me to watch every- thing without being noticed myself. As I shrank back into the corner I noticed two suspicious-looking characters enter and take their seats at a battered table. How I could have been so careless, I do not know, but in some way the ruby, wrapped in the original blotting paper, slipped from my pocket to the floor where it attracted the notice of the two men. They seemed electrified by its appearance and after conferring together in suppressed excitement, they hastily left the room. In an instant I was silently following them. I tracked those 40 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL two, unknown to them, through every turn and winding of the wretched streets, until at last they plunged into a low doorway and disappeared from view. I crept in after them, but had not advanced three feet in the dark, when I pitched headlong through an open trap door, rolled down a shaking stairway, and fell in a dimly-lighted cellar, full of indistinct forms, that rushed about and struggled and sent forth volleys of oaths. It took me but a moment to regain my feet, yet three shots had already whistled past my ears. I instinctively drew my revolver and fired into the villainous crowd. One or two went down, but my six rounds were soon fired, and before I could reload, those howling demons were upon me.” The detective ceased talking, took a long pull at his pipe, and gazed at the ceiling. “Well?” cried his friend, who had been listening with intense interest. “ What happened then? ” “ Why I woke up,” said the narrator. His friend gasped as he fell back in his chair; he had not sufficient strength to throw anything at the amateur; he kept quiet for a long time and finally managed to gurgle: “You didn ' t bring the razor into that colossal lie.” “ Oh, yes,” the detective said ; “ you see, I had a close shave.” And his companion dropped his cigarette in despair. Charles S. Lerch, ’ll. The Professor now picked up the story of another would- be Conan and read: “ The chief of detectives sat silently before his desk on which lay a large ruby, a blotter saturated with blood, and a pearl-handled razor. When he had gazed at them for some time he pressed a little button on the table before him. In- stantly a private door opened noiselessly and Michael Mc- Ginty, better known as ‘ Mac,’ the chief’s best sleuth, stepped quietly into the room. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 41 “ ‘ Mac said the chief, ‘ do you see these articles? They were found near the body of a dead man this morning. His throat was cut from ear to ear, but there was no blood on the floor, which probably accounts for that on the blotter. We have discovered no other clues so far. See what you can make of it ! ’ “The detective gathered up the articles and left the room as secretly and silently as he had entered. As soon as he reached his private offlce he began at once to examine the articles. He washed the blotter in a basin of water until the blood had almost disappeared, and then he discovered, written across its face in reversed letters, the signature ‘ T. Roberts, M. D.’ He jotted this down in a note book. Then he examined the razor and ruby in turn, and could find nothing suspicious about them. He was about to lay the razor aside when he noticed several little pearl-like balls hanging on the edge. At once he suspected that it was poison, so he gathered them into a small vial. Then placing the ruby and razor in his pocket, he went out. Before leaving headquarters, how- ever, he submitted the substance to the chief doctor and found that it was deadly poison. “ His next step was to look at the city directory, where he found to his great delight the name of ‘ T. Roberts, M. D., 236 East 36th street.’ He immediately set out for the address mentioned, and when he arrived there, was met by the doctor himself. ‘ Mac ’ showed him his badge and explained that he wished to find out the nature of a substance he had found on a razor near the body of a dead man. While he was speaking he kept his eyes on the doctor’s face, and thought that he noticed a slight smile. The physician took the vial and after examining it for a short time, suddenly burst into a loud laugh. This convinced ‘ Mac ’ that the doctor knew some- thing of the case and he was about to arrest him and ask ques- 42 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL tions afterwards, when the doctor, seeing his intention, re- strained his laughter sufficiently to explain: “ ‘ The whole thing is a joke. There was no murder except one that was enacted for a moving picture machine. The chief came along when it was going on and thought it would be a good thing to play a joke on you. And my dear fellow ’ — “ But this was enough for ‘ Mac.’ He rushed out of the house and slammed the door behind him, and that was the last that was seen of him for several days. When he returned he said he had been in Boston looking up some friends, but the knovv ing smiles that passed around among his companions made him feel like going off on another visit.” Charles Foley, ’ll. The next interpretation of this mysterious subject is per- haps the best suited to its puzzling nature. “Hello! John, how are you this fine day? Don’t you know this day reminds me of the time ” — “ Hold on,” interrupted his friend. “ I guess I know all about the time I caught more fish than you could carry home. Let us have something new, will you? ” “ All right, but you needn’t get ‘ grouchy ’ over it. Did I ever tell you about the Red Blotter, the Ruby and the Razor? Well it all happened when we were out camping last sum- mer. We had just returned from an all-day’s fishing trip when one of the follows suddenly discovered that the next day was Sunday. Of course, we must all go to church the next morning, so after eating supper we set the alarm clock and turned in early. “ A few seconds afterwards, I discovered that I needed a shave and needed it badly. Knowing well that all the others needed it as badly as I did, I soon had them all out beside the tent. To our consternation only one razor could be found. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 43 At first we tried to shave by the light o£ the fire, but soon found that it flickered too much. At last one of the fellows who had a ring with a ruby in it, took us back of the camp “ where brooding darkness spread her jealous wings ” more ef- fectually than I had ever seen her do it before. However the ruby was placed where the ray of light from the only star in the heavens fell upon it, making a sort of search light. By means of this brilliant gleam of steady light we were enabled to shave with more or less ease, and we presented a more or less respectable appearance at church next morning.’ But where does the blotter come in? ” asked John. “ Oh ! we used that to dry up the blood when everybody had shaved!” James Clark, ’ll. These are the efforts, gentle reader. Absorb them with all the power of the blotter, if you will, but be not razor-like in your criticism, lest we blush the fair blush of the ruby of our story. W. P. B., Jr., 11. 44 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL INTRODUCTION. I 7HAT, Bobby! home from school, already? ” VV “ Yes, Grand-pa, it’s four o’clock.’’ “Well! well! how time flies. But what’s your hurry? Come in. Let’s have a little serious talk together. I am growing old — seventy-one next September, and you know we old fellows grow solemn at times. Your being in school has suggested some things I want to say to you. You see, an ‘ old codger ’ who has been through it, whose grown up children have been through it and who has a chipper grandson just in the midst of it is apt to have some personal ideas about school.” Bobby, somewhat non-plussed at Grand-pa’s grave man- ner, hesitatingly seated himself with a quizzical look in his eyes. Grand-pa began — “You are in the midst of your school experiences. You are concerned with teachers, principals and recitations. You are having history and geography, language and mathematics. At present I suppose it’s repetitions and examinations. Just now I am finishing up school; that great school, wherein it is ordained that all men must study — the school of Life. I have had my lessons — hard ones — to learn. My teacher has been Conscience, my principal, God. “You are happy in the thought of approaching vacation and soon your teacher will say, ‘ Good-bye, Bob ; I wish you a pleasant vacation.’ My holiday is coming too. I am not sorry, albeit school has been pleasant. Very soon the ses- sion will close. A few more strokes of the great pendulum; THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 45 Time will ring the bell — I feel his hand on the rope now — then —then, your Grand-pa will quietly ‘ pass out ’’ C. C. Rohr, ’09. “HISTORY AND GEOGRAPHY.” “ In this school of life, Bobby, I have had my ‘ history and niy geography,’ just as you have now, but mine have been dif- ferent and more complicated. You have to commit to memory the day on which our forefathers won that decisive battle which gave freedom to them and to their descendants. Yes, gen- erals and gallant heroes were included in the task. “ But, Bobby, my great history task has dealt with nothing like that. No, my boy, there is no comparison. My lesson has been, and is even still, my creation and its purpose. Why am I here and who has sent me? Perhaps it would be better to call it the philosophy of history. Have I been given a place here on earth amid so many mortals, good and bad, and has so short a life been allotted me, have so many pains and sufferings to be undergone, merely to serve and please earthly kings? No, I tried to learn that my goal is something higher, something nobler. “ My ‘ geography,’ too, has had a strangeness like my ‘ history.’ It neither deals with lofty mountain ranges, nor habitations of kings and princes, nor long and swelling rivers. It is of another world, a world where there is but one conti- nent, and I couldn’t begin to tell you all the beautiful things I’ve learned about it.” Martin L. McNulty, ’09. “LANGUAGES AND MATHEMATICS.” ‘‘ But the most beautiful and interesting of all my studies have been the languages and mathematics. Like yours, 46 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Bobby, my mathematics has its rules and precepts, but they differ essentially in this, that being related to God they carry with them an overwhelming superiority over everything else. The language I have been trying to study has been the voice of God communicated to me through my conscience. Like your Greek, Bobby, its acquisition has cost me much labor, but its rewards and fruits have by far exceeded yours. “ My mathematics has been the numerals, one, two and three, standing respectively for God, myself and my neigh- bor. The first, I trust, has constantly been uppermost in my mind, and all my hopes and struggles have been centered in Him to Whom I am so much indebted for all the bounties which He has bestowed upon me. The second numeral, standing for myself, is so closely allied with the first that it is inseparable from it. And the third, my neighbor, — ah ! Bobby, I have tried not to forget him, for he has always been God ' s image to me. — Doesn’t it all sound like the ‘ rule of three,’ my son? ” Joseph A. Wozny, ’09. “ RECITATIONS.” The old man was soon lost in the realms of boyhood’s happy memories. Occasionally, as some fond recollection rose before him a tear would steal into his eye and trickle gently down his cheek. Rousing himself after some time from his reverie, he turned to Bobby (who had, the while, been musing on the near approach of vacation time) and said : “ Bobby, I was just thinking about daily recitations. How do you get on with them?” Without waiting for a reply the old man continued: “Ah me! how different from yours are the ‘recitations’ I have had to make daily in the school of Life. Your teacher encourages you in your difficulties, but mine — and his voice THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 47 grew sadder — never solaces any of her backward pupils. AJways stern to those who habitually transgress her warn- ings, always gentle to those who hearken to her instructions, she makes the best teacher in all the world. When she repri- mands the stings and pangs she inflicts fill the soul with a remorse never to be forgotten, but when she approves there comes a satisfaction which fills the soul with untold glad- ness.” Bobby, though quite attentive, could not quite compre- hend the old man’s meaning and inquired : Grandpa, who is this teacher you’re talking about? Why grandpa, you don’t go to school anyway.” Hereupon the old man gently murmured : “ Conscience, Bobby, conscience.” And Bobby seemed to understand. William H. Kelly, ’09. “ RECESS.” Turning his young head he gazed thoughtfully out of the window. ‘‘ Well, son,” continued the old man, “ I see you are anxious to be off, but just one minute more. I suppose you think playtime is a fine thing and wish you had more of it. You’re right there, Bobby; we couldn’t get along without it. When recess starts you don’t think much about its ending until the bell rings. But did you ever notice, that the boys in the high classes don’t put their whole hearts into ‘ recess ’ the way you do? They seem to enjoy it, but their enjoyment is of a different kind. When they go down to ‘ recess ’ they sit around with their friends and sometimes, I suppose, they wish it were over. ‘‘ It’s the same way in the great school I’ve been speaking of, Bobby. In the ‘ low classes ’ of life’s school, where the young folks are, they regard only lighter enjoyments as pleas- ures, and when they end, as they surely will, what a shock they 48 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL receive. In the high classes where I am now, our best en- joyment is sitting around and chatting with the dearest, truest friends we can gather near us in the twilight.” Austin McDonnell, ’09. “ REPETITION.” ‘‘ In preparation for that examination of yours, which you tell me is coming on, I suppose you’re having what you call repetition. Now I’m seventy, — pretty old and about to go through the greatest ‘ examination ’ of all. So I, too, am having a ‘ repetition ’ and grown folks call it reminiscence. As you say, Bobby, you can’t expect a perfect mark, but there’s no harm in doing your level best. “ I like to sit here and con again the lessons of life. Some have been easy; some I’ve found pretty stiff. I did not think much later on of what used to nearly break my heart at first, of little quarrels, of little disappointments, of little loves. They were only the A B C’s of what was coming. Now I’m so high in Life ' s University that I even smile at what came later,— at the big quarrels, at the big disappointments, at the big love. I’ve tried to learn them all, all the lessons that the great “ Teacher ” gave me, but sometimes they seemed so far be- yond, that I’d almost quit. But well! I’d get them in the end. I’m taking a last look now, for soon the doors of the examination room will open. There’s one thing I know for sure — He ' s a square marker.” Edward K. Hanlon, ’09. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 49 “CONDITIONS.” “ But in regard to that examination question, let me im- press this idea deeply on your mind. Beware of conditions.” Take this little advice from one, who has been through the mill, and do not enter into your examinations with exag- gerated ideas of your own worth. Do not think that you ought to be victor without battle, and walk around from the beginning with those laurels about your head, which are to be twined there, if at all, only at the end of the campaign. Remember, that nothing is accomplished without labor. So courage, Bobby, and work hard, although the road is a long and laborious one, and the end is out of sight ; foot it bravely. ' In my preparation for the other world, many difficulties came forth to meet me. But through pluck and toil I think IVe conquered them. I know I’m going to be ‘‘ conditioned,” though, Bobby — but I can’t tell yet in what branches. I hope I’ve not slipped up in many things in life. And when I’m gone you must pray God every night on your knees that your old Grandpa will soon make up his “ conditions ” — and go “ home for good.” Joseph W. Tewes, ’09. “THE FINAL EXAMINATION.” “And so, boy, as a last word, you will go on through school, gliding peacefully along the river of Parental Love; receiving your little disappointments, accepting your meed of legitimate pleasure, until that crowning event of your career — your final examination. Oh, my boy, what thoughts that conjures up— the final ex- amination! Years have been spent in preparation, years of hard and burdensome study. Now your years of toil will be repaid; you will reap the fruits due your faithful application. 50 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Mayhap you will fail; some unimportant study has brought about your downfall. Well, cheer up, Bobby boy, keep up your courage, you have another chance to redeem yourself. But, don’t forget these words of mine, — our whole life is a continuous schooling; all in preparation for that goal of all our hopes — our final “ examination.” In our school, once the dread messenger. Death, has sum- moned up before the Great “ Examiner ” — there is no repeti- tion, for us failure means destruction. So live your life clean- ly, lad; spend every hour in preparation for your great day. But come, Bobby, I am getting tired philosophizing. Let us take a stroll in the park. Not so fast, my boy; these poor, old limbs are getting feeble— Steady ! ” Jas. S. Murphy, ’09. “Perjstco (A Free Translation.) I hate, my boy, a swell affair; For canvas back I never care. No longer in the cellar try To find that case of “ Extra Dry ;” But let us to the drug-store roam. Where crystal-clear the phosphates foam ; A simple drink of chocolate hue Your frugal master shares with you. Charles S. Lerch, Tl. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 51 €)lt! burgeon. (An Unrecorded Victory of the Spanish War.) S he trudged along with his regiment towards the heights of San Juan, the old surgeon of Company H was wrapped in deep thought. Surgeon Leonard was not in his usual jolly humor. He had fallen out of ranks, and was walking listlessly along the rough, newly-made road. His friends, noticing the melancholy air of their old companion, wondered whether he, too, was soon to fall a victim to the tropical fever. For several days past, his regiment had been engaged in many sharp and bloody skirmishes, and he had seen many of the men go down, some never to rise again. But this was not what was troubling the old surgeon. He had fol- lowed the army of the South from eighteen-sixty to eighteen- sixty-five, and had witnessed, without a tremor, scenes of carnage and bloodshed, in comparison with which, the sight that these two or three days had brought before him was a mere shadow. Som.ething had occurred during the last week that had greatly troubled him. He had heard several of the soldiers discussing the pleasing effects of morphine, and had noticed the effects of the drug on many of the men. If there was one thing which the kind old surgeon would not tolerate in his regiment, it was the use of morphine. He had a mortal fear of it, and was even loath to use it in the most extreme cases. But only last night he had witnessed a scene which caused his brave heart to tremble. V hile walking through the streets of the camp, he happened to enter the tent of his son. Captain Leonard, whom he was greatly surprised to find 52 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL lying on his cot in a deep sleep, for taps had not yet sounded. He approached him, and noticed the heavy, unnatural breath- ing. He knew at once that his son had taken morphine. The surgeon stood motionless, speechless. A pang of sorrow shot through his heart. Tears welled up into the old man’s eyes. ' With heavy heart, he left the tent and went out into the dark- ness of the night. General Wheeler had received orders to advance towards San Juan. The march began at dawn, and the gallant soldiers drove the enemy before them from one entrenchment to another, and by noon the few detachments of Spaniards were com- pletely routed; they fled into the nearby woods, and left the soldiers to resume their march unmolested. The old surgeon had been busily engaged in aid- ing the wounded, but when the excitement was over and the army had formed into marching order, his thoughts reverted to the scene he had v itnessed the night before. As he marched along, that thought was ever tug- ging at his heart-strings. His only thought was of his son. He had tried hard to bring him up well, and up to now he had succeeded. The Captain v as the only son. He had been watched carefully all his life, and as he grew, the old father lived his life again in that of his boy. In him, all his fondest hopes were centered. ' Were all his hopes now to be shattered? ¥ as his whole harvest to be ruined by the storm of one short night? This thought was overpowering. In the glorious future of his son, he had hoped to drown all the sorrows of his past life. Were none of his golden expectations to be ful- filled? His life, like ivy had been twined around the stalwart form of his son, and should the son fall, the father would fall with him. His iron heart was strained to the breaking point. The old man was awakened from his sad reverie by the roar of cannon. Raising his eyes, he beheld San Juan, looming up giant-like before him. Little time was spent in preparation THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 53 for the attack. A few hurried orders were given and then came the command to advance. In a few minutes the battle was on in all its fury. Up the hill our gallant soldiers charged in the face of a deadly fire. The old surgeon forgot himself in the intense excitement of the moment. He worked bravely among the wounded, while the bullets whistled about him like hail-stones, and saw his son, sword in hand, leading his men up the hill to victory. What he had suffered since last evening seemed a terrible nightmare. “ Would to God that it were,” sighed the old surgeon, and went on, passing from one poor soldier to another, kneeling down now and then to put his canteen to the parched lips of some dying soldier. The battle was raging fiercely; the guns bellowed with a deafening roar; the smoke hung blinding and dense. Surgeon Leonard had just bandaged the wound of one of his old comrades, and was standing erect. He looked about him. The next instant, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He was whirled about and flung to the ground. For a minute or two, the surgeon lay motionless, half dazed, but conscious still. Looking at his shoulder he saw a large hole which a bullet had made as it ploughed through him. “ My God ! help me,” gasped the surgeon. He looked about him, but could see very little. The dense smoke was suffocating. He cried again. “ Help ! Help ! ” but his voice was drowned in the din of battle. Again he cried, but in vain. His voice sounded strange and hollow. Rising, he tried to walk; but stumbled, staggered and fell. Again he raised his voice in a cry for help, “ My God, he — ” but he could not finish. The words would not come. There was a gurgling sound in his throat, and blood poured out of his mouth and nostrils. The blood in his throat choked him. For the first time in his life, fear shook that brave heart. The pain was terrific, and there was no help at 54 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL hand. He looked around him again and again. At last the medicine case caught his eye, where it was lying on the ground. He rolled over and over until he could reach it. The pain from his wound was steadily growing greater. Almost frantic he snatched wildly at the case, as a drowning man clutches at a straw. At a touch of the spring the case flew open. He seized some cotton, which he stuffed into the wound. His suffering was growing infinitely greater. O how he sighed for death to come,— -sweet death, — and free him from this terrible torture. A mist was clouding his eyes; but all at once the bright aluminum case of the hypodermic syringe flashed before his sight. At last, he had found relief. All his pain, all his suf- fering would now be soothed into calm and pleasant dreams. He took the syringe, and was about to inject the morphine into his body. He stopped. He thought of the promise, which he had made to his dying father, never to touch morphine. But surely he could break that promise, just once, under these ter- rible circumstances. Surely his father would give him leave, if he could see him now writhing in pain. He saw his father, as he saw him the night he died. That scene came before his mind vividly as if he had seen it only yesterday. He saw him as he sat before the log fire, dying, one of morphine’s many victims. His history crossed the surgeon’s memory, how he had been tempted to taste of the forbidden pleasures of morphine, and how he fell. It was a sad, sad history. In vain, he had tried to stop ; but each time his fall was deeper, until his defeat was complete. He remembered the kind words of warning, the smile which passed over his dying countenance when he received the plighted word of his son, never to touch the hated drug. All these thoughts passed before the surgeon’s eye, like a great panorama. Then the scene changed. He remem- THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 55 bered how he had struggled time and time again to ward off the attack of his deadly enemy, and how he had guarded all his friends, and especially his son, against its stealthy attack; how only a few days ago, the enemy had crept in secretly among the soldiers of his own regiment, and attacked his son. What kind of an example would he give to his friends, if they should find him in the clutches of his enemy? Besides he knew that, if he was once vanquished by his foe, his life would be only a continuous series of defeats. Such were the thoughts which ran through the surgeon’s mind as he held the syringe in his hand. Would it be victory or defeat? For one short minute, he hesitated. Then muster- ing all his courage, he took one look at the instrument, and threw it with all his force against a nearby rock. With a groan, he fell back, writhing in agony. His thoughts began to wander, and he knew no more. Pain had overpowered him. When he awoke, he was lying on a cot, surrounded by his son and several old comrades. The battle was over, and San Juan was ours. His wound had been dressed, and the great pain had subsided into a dull ache. They all listened with ad- miration to the story of the old surgeon’s temptation and vic- tory. A great burden was lifted from the father’s heart, when his son, with tears of repentance in his eyes, made a solemn promise never to touch morphine again. All was calm and peaceful now. As he lay there, in the cool, night air, the moonbeams lit up his smiling countenance. A happier man was not to be found in the whole army, for this day was his day of triumph. His old enemy was conquered and a glorious victory had. crowned his valiant struggle. Pain had conquered a time-worn body ; it could not conquer a reso- lute will. TT T -D T V. J. Brown, Jr., 10. 56 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL a iSetpjspaper T T 7HAT is the most famous year in history ? ” The aver- W age American boy will quickly reply, “Why, 1776, of course.” “Why?” “Because” — oh, well, you know the answer. “But, my son, what of 1492?” “Oh! that’s the year Columbus discovered America.” Thus, there are cer- tain years which stand out boldly and from which we reckon minor events. They are like the “ safety spots ” in certain games. We play all around them; our knowledge of history is centered in them. Of course, the discovery of America was an event suffi- ciently important to make any year famous, and 1492 must be set down in the annals in big, bold, black type, if for no other reason. But there is another. That old chronicler, Time, when he posted his diary for that year, made the following entry in small print (so small that the school-boy quite over- looked it; or, perchance, he copied it — forgot it almost im- mediately) : “ Wm. Caxton introduced the art of printing into England.” From the discovery of America sprung the great Re- public. The bird of Liberty, wearied from the buffetings of European monarchs, soared across the broad sea to Ameri- ca’s hospitable shore. Among its wooded hills she built her nest and reared her brood — the mightiest people on Earth. The art of printing, too, was destined, after many vicissi- tudes, to reach its highest perfection in the new land, as the American newspaper. It, too, has risen to unexampled heights of glory and power. The history and achievements of the one are paralleled in those of the other. The invention of the telegraph, locomotive and steamship was the greatest THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 57 epoch o£ their existence. Previous to those inventions the na- tion’s growth was slow and unsteady. Its trail was like a rough country road-— hills, ruts and bare rocks. Since, the road of progress has been a smooth, shining steel band. The little palisaded village on Atlantic’s shore has become the mighty city. The colony the empire; a domain so broad that when the bugler in the far off Pacific sounds “ taps,” his fel- low on the Atlantic is blov ing the ‘‘ reveille.” Old Glory is forever at the m.asthead. Before she has fluttered down with the dying rays at Manila, she is again waving defiance at Washington. To trace the growth of the newspaper is but to repeat the story of glorious progress. The tiny four-page weekly, with its belated news, has grown to the great daily of six- teen pages, flashing its intelligence across the earth. The little hand press, the wooden type, the printer-editor and the ink- besmieared devil have long since descended to the vale of memory. The “ printin-offis,” rendezvous for gossips and idlers, is now a lofty building — a very beehive of life and in- dustry— with wires to the four corners of the world. An army of editors, reporters, machinists and others divide the work. The giant sextuple Hoe, an intricate arrangement of flying wheels and cylinders, with almost human intelligence, cuts from great rolls of white paper, prints, folds and stacks 96,000 twelve-page papers every hour. Just think of it — 1,600 every minute, or nearly thirty-seven to the tick of a watch. It would seem that man had won his great race against time. The great press itself is an achievement worthy of any cen- tury. We have all smiled at Sam Weller’s extravagant reply, ‘Tf I ’ad a pair of double-million magnifying microscopes of hextra power, I might ’ave been able to see through two flights of stairs and a deal door,” etc. Had Sam been a creature of this century, he surely would have said, ‘‘ If I ’ad the eyes 58 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL of a newspaper,” etc., for in the newspaper we certainly have a microscope of double-million power. His extravagant fancy is now a reality. My Lady in her boudoir, along with her morn- ing cup reads of the social triumph of Mrs. A., wife of Ambas- sador A. at the Court of St. James, at the brilliant ball a few hours ago. Mr. Busyman, before he has swallowed his hasty breakfast, has read yesterday’s stock reports of the European money centres and the New York Exchange. A riot in Mos- cow ; a battle in Luzon ; a fire in Cape Town ; the hundreds of daily happenings from pole to pole are all served with the morning repast. The smallest hamlet is in touch with the entire world. It is now no uncommon thing to hear the ‘ knight of the store- box and whittle-stick ’ discussing foreign affairs with the same wise condescension that he formerly bestowed upon the weather and the crops. Truly it is a marvelous age and the newspaper is not the least factor in its development. In- deed, careful study will incline to the belief that it is the mightiest agent of civilization. The newspaper is the aurora of our day. Her chariot of intelligence, drawn by the bolts of Jupiter, rolls across our horizon radiating light. Mercury awaits her coming ere he starts upon his journey. Tubal Cain rests against his anvil until she appears, then beats out a sword or a plowshare at her command. Numerous examples of the power of the press can be cited. Greeley’s cry, “ On to Richmond ! ” in the Tribune, sent an unprepared army to defeat at Bull Run ; and that at a time when the modern paper was in its swaddling clothes. Again the call, “The Union at any price!” saved the nation when Northern hearts were sore and Northern will was wavering. The recent uncovering of graft in high places, the purchase of the Panama Canal and the numbers of other events and re- forms are due in a large measure to newspaper influence. Politicians and Statesmen frequently consult the great editors. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 59 Before any great public project is seriously contemplated, the attitude of the press is ascertained. Backed by the influence of journalism, a Statesman can safely defy constituents or ad- ministrations. Possibly the best proof of this potency is shown in the fact that political parties are abandoning to a large extent the brass-band methods of campaigning and substituting the paid ‘ad.’ From the public’s point of view it is a welcome in- novation. Away from the influence of ‘ardent spirits,’ (both animal and vegetable), and the spell of oratory, one can dispassionately dissect the logic before him in cold print. The Anti-Saloon movement, the most powerful of the present de- cade, owes its success to judicious advertising. Beyond ques- tion the free-silver issue was ‘ killed ’ by the moneyed inter- ests in their campaign of press notices. At this very time the same interests are trying to rehabilitate their shattered in- fluence over the public by a series of ads signed by Thos. W. Lawson and C. W. Post. Apropos of the above remarks concerning advertising we m.ight say that it is a powerful agent in business circles. It is a business maker, the child of modern business competition. Apparently it increases our wants. We see a thing advertised — something we have gotten along very well without — v e possess ourselves of it and wonder how on earth we have lived so long without it. — None have been quicker to recognize this fact than the so-called trusts. The best way to advertise is in the newspaper. Ads pay, not only the advertiser but the publisher as well. The newspaper has become a money- maker. The trusts have seen this also and already their tentacles are closing around the great dailies. The policy of the paper, so apparent in Greeley’s and Dana’s time, is now a mere figure of speech. Commercialism, cold calculations of dollars and cents has replaced all this. The people will get what they want, because it makes the paper a seller, nothing better. The great opportunity as a moulder of public morals 60 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL will be lost. The hireling editor dares not rake up this or that for fear of insulting Mr. So-and-so who advertises so ex- tensively. In the old days it was “ see the editor now it is, “ see the business manager.” There is a reason. A 16-page daily selling for one cent less than the actual cost of the white paper on which it is printed, must draw upon other resources than its circulation. However, things are not so bad as they might be. The enormous growth of advertising has enabled editors to choose among the things to print, to the exclusion in a large measure of ads that stood as a reproach to American standards. But to say something of newspapers without censuring them for publishing the nauseating details of the tragedies and scandals so frequent in the past two years, would be very remiss. Now the publisher’s excuse is, “ The people want them:” — a serious accusation. To fancy the great American public eagerly thirsting for low scandal is to fancy them like Vitellius with dilated nostrils, breathing in the putrid stench of Roman battlefields — sickening in the ex- treme. We deny the charge. The same sentiment which ex- cludes the early eighteenth century novel from the reading public can easily be invoked to the extirpation of the printed scandal. No man with a spark of that patriotism which looks to the future glory of his kindred can lend his approval to the debasement of the American press. If “ the daily ” fell into the hands of the man alone it would still be bad enough, but not so. Now take for example that fine family of Mr. Temple’s, an amiable wife and four bright children whom he idolizes and for whose welfare he would offer up his life’s blood at any time. Mrs. Temple, a frugal woman, and mindful of her husband’s toils, searches the paper for bargain ads to stretch the none-too-large income. Dot, Dorothea she calls herself, a lovely girl, will make her debut next season and now eagerly scans the society notes. Tom, a fine, manly fellow, goes in for athletics and has his eye on the sporting page THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 61 Every evening there is a race between Bob and Marie for the ‘‘ last edition,’’ Bob to see the score and Marie to see the puz- zle page. Imagine the effect on those five minds when they are confronted with a lurid head-line followed by an unspeak- able description. Picture Mr. Temple’s indignation if he were to realize its full influence on his pure family. But now, Mr. Temple, whether you live on Boulevard Avenue or on Narrow Street, it is “ up to you ” whether your wife and children are to wade through this mental slime or not. You cannot deny them the paper; but you can say the word and instantly the slime will cease to flow’. Do it now. Again we are confronted with the half-column, laudatory criticism of the clever Miss Clara and Mr. Laurence in ‘ We Three ’ at the “ Favorite ” this v eek. It is simply an exploita- tion of a play which to put it bluntly, is frivolous or down- right rotten. “ Stop ! ” cries the editor, “ you have overrun your space.” Again the power of the press. Well, to conclude, I once knew of a man who said, I am a signet, my environ- ment is the molten wax, I make my impression on it.” Whether this be true or not, I cannot say; but what does it matter? The illustration serves our purpose. The news- paper is the seal- — this great country is the plastic wax — the impression is deeply marked, even to the ‘ heel ’ of the die. Look out how it touches you! C. C. Rohr, ’09. ’Twas when fair Spring but lightly slept. She dreamed the stars rained down the while : Onv ard the morning hours crept; She woke, and lo ! the daisies smile. Joseph B. Jacobi, ’01. 62 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL of op ocleis. ESCHYLUS, who has been styled ‘‘ the father of tragedy,” was the first to give the word “ tragedy ” its present meaning. Before the time of Aeschylus a “ tragedy,” which means literally “ a goat-song,” had been a hymn, sung at the Dionysian festival, at which time a goat was sacrificed in honor of the Wine-god Bacchus. Sophocles, who wrote the “ Oedipus Tyrannus,” follov ed Aeschylus as a tragic poet, and though his sentiment and genius were less profound, he v as by far the greater tragic artist. In the Greek tragedy the scene is unchanging, and the machinery of the plot is so arranged that the stage is never vacant. The consummate skill which we find in the ancient tragedy, we find wanting in the construction of our modern tragic drama. The manner of disconnected development which the use of acts and scenes allow requires neither the genius nor indeed the tragic power displayed by Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides in constructing the most perfect of dramas. The fact or catastrophe which made the drama a “ tra- gedy ” by the old system was inevitable, and usually the ulti- mate fulfilment of an unpropitious decree of fate. Among the Greeks the catastrophe was unavoidable, and as the tra- gedy was a religious institution, the supernatural element had of necessity to be always present. We find Oedipus cursed, though he committed none of his crimes knowingly. Now in the modern tragedy, — and we shall use “ Macbeth ” as an example, — the downfall of Macbeth is caused by the crimes which he willingly commits. However, “ Macbeth ” is one of the fev modern tragedies which is allied in form of de- THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 63 velopment v ith the ancient tragedy. In both the ‘‘ Oedipus Tyrannus ’’ and “ Macbeth ” we have the decree of fate, and though in the “ Oedipus ” the decree is of evil portent, and in “ Macbeth ” it has a pleasing aspect, we note that the decree is the ultimate downfall of the two heroes. Before attempting to compare the two dramas it seems advisable to give a short account of the “ Oedipus Tyrannus.” Oedipus, the outcast child of unfeeling parents, is raised by Polybus, king of Corinth. Because of an oracle of Apollo he leaves Corinth and his supposed parents; for the god de- clared that Oedipus should kill his own father and marry his ov n mother. On the road to Thebes he meets a man with whom he quarrels, and slays him. Arriving at Thebes he solves the riddle of the Sphinx, whose ravages have long vexed the country. He then marries the wife of the former king, who had been killed by robbers. Some years later a terrible plague comes on Thebes, and to ward it ofi the murderers of the dead king m.ust be driven from the land. The story grad- ually unwinds itself: Oedipus is accused by the soothsayer Teirisias of being the pollution, and Teirisias’ words are veri- fied by the servants of Laius, the formier king of Thebes, and the servants of Polybus. Oedipus could not escape the decree of fate, for the man he had killed on the road had been no other than his own father, and the woman he married no other than his own mother. Oedipus grief is so great, when he discovers what he has done, that he deprives himself of sight with the brooches taken from the clothing of his wife Jocasta, who, when she learned of her calamity, had hanged herself. Oedipus when we meet him first is happy and care- free, and like Macbeth has won great honor. Oedipus has saved Thebes from the sphinx; Macbeth has saved Scotland from foreign invasion. Unlike Oedipus, Macbeth has no plague to deal with, but when he meets the ‘‘ weird sisters ” 64 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL his peace of mind is also destroyed. He now becomes ambi- tious ; though still the same brave, tender-hearted man, he suc- cumbs to the temptation to commit a deed, by which he hopes to gain dominion. In the hands of his subtle mate, he is but a puppet, and is easily won over, — this ambitious, wavering, avaricious, superstitious man — by his less imaginative and un- naturally brave wife. Oedipus has committed the worst of crimes, but he knows it not. The coming of the plague opens a long-festering sore. Apollo must be appeased ; the murder of Laius must be avenged. Oedipus, when he hears from Creon’s lips what Apollo’s oracle has declared, puts a dreadful curse upon the murderer. Macbeth’s sensitive imagination and superstitious nature, are his curse, although crime is the goad that pricks his con- science. Oedipus’ misdeeds, unwitting though they be, drive the tender-hearted, pious, noble and haughty king to his ruin. Sophocles never put into the mouth of Oedipus a word that would elicit pity for a thing that was not truly virtuous. Macbeth’s horrible crimes drive him to his ruin, but it is strange how we are moved to a liking of the brave general, the wavering husband, the amb itious thane. We can pity the man deceived by the hopes of vain reward, and finally driven to a frenzied courage, born of despair and bred of a guilty conscience, when he finds his die is cast, and that he has lost. As Jocasta endeavors to deceive Oedipus, so Lady Mac- beth deceives Macbeth. Jocasta, and Lady Macbeth are both ambitious, and unscrupulous, and both are desirous of increas- ing emolument, and in continual fear of dishonor. Jocasta does not wish Oedipus to learn his true parentage lest she should find herself the wife of a man of ignoble birth, good and loving husband though he be. Jocasta’s sense of guilt in marrying a practical stranger, who turns out to be her own son THE SPEAKERS AT THE ANNUAL PUBLIC DEBATE. Question: High License vs. Prohibition, THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 65 and the murderer of his father, puts the proud woman in such a state of mind, as to make her end her own unhappy life. It is her failure to recognize Oedipus, that brings such sorrow on herself and causes the downfall of Oedipus. That there is a bond of love between Macbeth and his wife cannot be doubted, and it is this love rather than her own ambition, that leads her unwittingly to work his ruin and her own. The desire that her husband should be great, as well as valiant, powerful as well as noble, gives her courage and strength to prompt him to murder the defenseless king. When she sees Macbeth’s power which she thought was firmly roted, which she had done so much to obtain, slipping from him, the nervous tension under which she labored suddenly relaxed, and this strong woman whom we cannot but pity is bereft of her reason. It is not in the nature of a woman to coolly plan a dastardly murder, calmly see to its execution, and then remain unannoyed by a consciousness of guilt. It seems to be that the suppression of this conscious- ness, and the brave dissembling in the presence of her con- science-stricken, highly imaginative husband, and confiding, unsuspecting friends finally turns her mind and causes her death. There is some resemblance in the characters of Creon and Banquo. Creon, being the queen’s brother, indirectly has hopes of the throne, Banquo by the prophesy of the witches has like hopes for his children. It is Creon who announces the ill- omened message from Apollo; it is Banquo who is present when the witches deliver the sweet-sounding predictions to Macbeth. When Oedipus has blinded himself, and h is reign is ended at Thebes by his own curse, Creon, crafty pagan that he is, aids him to leave the land, as he himself was nov to be king. The only motive that can be ascribed for Banquo’s re- maining near Macbeth, when Macduff had gone to England with the rest, was the vision of the throne which was to be his 5 66 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL children’s. Banquo had no desire to leave the man, whose demise might cause the realization of his fondest hopes. The witches of ‘‘ Macbeth,” seem not — despite the com- mon opinion — to be women who by the agency of the nether- world had power to do harm; they are not the long-nosed, crook-backed, wrinkled crones, — the sorceresses of the fairy- tale. They are the weird sisters, the goddesses of destiny, and as such, we can liken their prophesies to the fatal decree which came from the mouth of the Delphic Apollo. Creon’s character in some phases is like Macduff’s as in some it is like Banquo’s. Creon at first is a friend of Oedipus; no one could doubt that up to the murder of Duncan, Macduff was a friend of Macbeth. Macduff when he goes to England is accused of treason, and his wife and children are murdered, of which stain upon his honor he must purge himself by wreak- ing vengeance on the tyrant’s guilty head. Creon is accused of having bribed the old man Teirisias to accuse Oedipus. Of this accusation of treachery, Creon must acquit himself, not to avenge his wife or children’s death, but to save his reputation. Teirisias the blind and hoary soothsayer resembles Dun- can’s ungrateful sons, Malcolm and Donalbain. He refuses to relate the true story of Oedipus’ birth, and does so, only in fear of punishment. Owing to this reluctance, Oedipus thinks he is lying, when he does divulge the secret of Oedipus’ birth. Malcolm and Donalbain leave Scotland fearing that they will be suspected of their father’s death, — little thinking that the very act of doing so, would tend to proclaim their guilt. Malcolm knowing his own weak nature, and being irresolute, greatly magnifies his own vices so as not to receive the burden which would be his as ruler of Scotland. Teirisias fears to tell what he knows through his prophetic art, because he fears the consequences. The grave and reverend priest of the city is like Duncan. He appears for a short time at the commencement of the THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 67 drama, and though he is not killed, we see him but once. His appearance gives the spectators to understand the religious tendency of the drama, while the introduction of Duncan gives the audience to understand that “ Macbeth ” has to deal with the rise and fall of kings. We have nothing in the modern drama like the chorus. The chorus of the ' ' Oedipus Tyrannus ” was sung by a num- ber of Theban elders. Sophocles, unlike Aeschylus and Euri- pides, in the use of the chorus did not make it the principal, but rather a subordinate character of the drama. They were as spectators, and their words spring from the varied emotions which the action would naturally arouse in the audience. To dispense with the chorus in the continuous action of the tragedy was not compatible with the Greek conception of the drama. That Shakespeare v as familiar with the Greek tragedy is evident, and though it is a matter of doubt, it seems probable that in Macbeth,” Shakespeare copied the Greek manner of development. This is a plausible belief, though Macbeth ” is clearly a creation, depicting a nature unrefined by any religi- ous sentiment, and the Oedipus Tyrannus ” with which we have contrasted it, is purely the religious combined with the romantic. Cyril A. Keller, ’10. after. (A Sketch.) y WAS a delightful day in September; the scene, a country A station. At this interesting place our hero was waiting. O what a noble youth he was! A farmer’s son from head to foot. Because of the gentle fragrance of hayseed that emanated 68 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL from his presence, the most negligent observer could tell, that like Cincinnatus, he had followed the plough through all its ups and downs. Ri ght well might he be proud of his hat, which was an heirloom in the family. It had always been looked upon with reverence, and it was with a pang of fear and words of admonition that Hiram’s father had presented him (with what solemn ceremony can be imagined) with the hat on this very day, as he was starting out for college. Then again there was that beautiful red, cotton handker- chief that so became Hiram as a tie. It had been given him by his sister, who obtained it at the country store, in exchange for three dozen eggs. The rest of his costume, I need hardly describe. His shoes, of course, were too large, and daintily covered with a coating of the richest country mud. But ah! the brass ring ; it was the first time he had worn it, and every now and again he bestowed upon it looks of delight and wonder. He was a healthy looking youth, with rosy complexion, and face, round and ruddy like an Edam cheese. He had that sweet, innocent, simple look, seen so often on our rural friends, and which we all look upon with delight. Yet he had a cer- tain determined look that told he could succeed against great odds. Altogether, never did a more contented country “ Bump- kin ” leave home for college ; never a boy who had so many things to be proud of, as he who started for college that fair September morning. Lo ’tis the day after the commencement! The folks be- hold the engine’s approach, as thej wait on the platform. The engine, two freight cars, one passenger car and a caboose con- stitute the train. Who is this pale, supercilious dandy who alights, moving THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 69 in a cloud of tobacco smoke? It cannot be the slouchy, round- shouldered boy of a few months ago. Where is that ancestral hat, now replaced by a derby? Where is the healthy odor of hayseed, that has given away to “ eau de cologne? ” Instead of the cotton handkerchief, he wears a flashy, knitted tie, with a showy pin in it. The brass ring has gone, and is replaced by a gold seal ring ; and oh ! he carries the daintiest, frailest little cane ; wears such dear, little, darling shoes, that the folks open their mouths in wonder. Three suit cases, with his mono- gram, replace the oil-cloth bag. Ah, but these are not great changes for the worse. There is but one change that more than outweighs all the advantages he has received. The innocent, simple, frank-hearted look is gone. His face is no longer rosy, but pale and drawn; lines under his eyes tell the sad, sad truth, — they tell the story of a soul-change. Thus it is that one may begin as a diamond under a rough surface, but by too much polish, the value of the stone may vanish ; the value destroyed for the sake of the lustre. E. A. Curran, ’10. EDITORIAL STAFF. JOSEPH B. JACOBI ’01 L. FRANK O’BRIEN ’08 THOMAS J. WHEELER ’08 EDWARD K. HANLON ’09 JAMES S. MURPHY ’09 JOHN H. BRISCOE ’10 CYRIL A. KELLER ’10 CHARLES S. LERCH ’ll FRED. H. LINTHICUM, H.S. ’08 7 aitnxiar zbnt (A Sonnet.) A little debutante, so sweet, so fair. Now makes her bow to you. If she seem shy, Do not forget her youth. Be kind and try To pass her maiden blushes o’er. The glare Of public spotlight bright, to her so rare A thing, gives rise in her a wish to fly Once more the world. But no! she will rely Upon your kindness. Sure of that she’ll dare. This debutante who comes this year to you Will oft appear, we hope, to please and cheer. And help unite those now of Gold and Blue, With those of other years, no longer here. To cheer, to unify, to pleasure give. For this she comes, for this she means to live. Edward K. Hanlon, ’09. 70 K- Hanlon, ’OS); C. S. Lerch, ’ll; C. A. Keller, (Art Editor); F. H. IJntliicnin, H. S. ’OH; .1. H. T. Briscoe, ’10; J. B. Jacobi, ’01 (Alnnini Editor) ; J ' . J. Wlieeler, ’OH; J. S. Mnri)liy, ’09; E. 1 ' . O’Brien (Business Manager). THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 71 CtiitortaL OUR REVEREND RECTOR. O N the 25th of August, 1907, the Rev. W. G. Read Mullan, S. J., was installed as President of Loyola College. To those who knew him and had the interests of his new charge at heart, the appointment was a source of great gratification. For years past he had been bestowing on others the advantages of an acknowledged executive ability; in other fields he had been imparting the garnered wisdom of a life of study; in public and in private, by word and by deed, he had been dis- pensing a sweet charity that will ever be associated with the very mention of his name. By his present assignment, he had come unto his own at last, — to the city of his birth, to the halls of his old school-days, and Loyola v as to feel, what so many had happily felt before her, the touch of his guiding hand. In the very first months of Father Mullan’s incumbency, the college experienced the force of the new power that was di- recting it. Innovations were almost immediately introduced in the line of material improvement. Numerous beneficial plans were set on foot for the uplifting of every department in the curriculum, — all breathing his spirit, — and we were only biding the time of their complete and permanent fulfilment. But God, Who disposes all things sweetly, yet ever and anon in ways that are unsearchable, had decreed that we should but taste the sweetness of a joy that was not to be ours in full. Six months had scarcely elapsed, when an illness, which he had been secretly but strongly combating for some ti me, 72 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL obliged our new Rector to withdraw himself from the active duties of his office. Time wore on, — heavily indeed for us, — and brought with it alternations of hope and fear. At last a day came when we realized that Fr. Mullan’s condition had severed him completely, if not altogether permanently, from the post he had so lately come to adorn. The rest, it is not in our power to express. Dear Father Mullan, in the brief time you have spent in our midst, we have learned to know you, and to know you is to love you with the heart’s best love. To those of Loyola who were privileged to spend even so short a period under the in- fluence of your kindly words, and within the radiance of your gentle smile, your name will ever be mentioned with gratitude, and your “ memory will be in benediction.” For the welfare of Loyola, whose interests are so dear to you; for the sake of the Society of which you have been so devoted a member, and in which you are so universally esteemed; for the glory of the Church, which you have so faithfully served with the best service of soul and body, may your life be spared till some distant, later day when the abund- ance of your harvesting will stand beyond all earthly reckon- ing. We know not what the Providence of our Heavenly Father may have in store for you or for us. But on these pages, which owe their origin to your inspiration and support, we wish to assure you that you will ever be followed by the best prayers that can flow from the hearts of faithful children for so devoted and kindly a father. May God bless you and keep you always. An Editor. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 73 In speaking of Rev. Father Rector, it is impossible to forego mention of one who has been intimately associated with him in college work throughout the year. To the Rev. Prefect of Studies (1907-1908) Loyola cannot easily forget her indebtedness. His unsparing labors in behalf of the student- body should ever remain with us as a high incentive to noble things. And when we, the present generation of students, have passed from out these walls, one of the most grateful memories of our college days will be our recollection of Father Joseph A. Mulry, S. J. Hitherto Loyola has failed to publish a college maga- zine. It has not been from any fear that her students were unable to edit a publication worthy of their Alma Mater, but because of the lack of support and enthusiasm necessary for such an undertaking. Coincident, however, with the in- fusion of a kind of new life into College doings this year, there sprang up a desire for an “ Annual,” the probable forerunner of a more frequent publication. So irresistible did the desire become among the students, that it resulted in the magazine which we now submit to our many friends for kind and in- dulgent consideration. In it are contained some of the best literary efforts of the students. No faculty contributions are inserted here and there to fill up a conspicuous vacancy. The only articles not original, with the present students, are the contributions of Alma Mater’s older sons. Of course, it must be borne in mind, that this publication was ever under the direction and censorship of a professor ap- pointed by the “ powers that be.” To his efforts, to the willingness and labor of the Board of Editors and the Business Manager, to the enthusiasm and College pride of the students, together with the co-operation of the College authorities, is due the successful fulfilment of a desire so long burning in the heart of every true and loyal son of old Loyola. Thomas J. Wheeler, ’08. ¥ “ etjen earji (Reminiscences of an ’01 Man.) FTER having partaken of the various courses served up for several years at the intellectual banquet held in the halls of my dear Alma Mater, I feel as a consequence of drink- ing in so much inspiring knowledge, that I want to let some of the good things talk. And as I raise to my lips the glass of good fellowship, filled to overflowing with college spirit (s?), I cannot help growing reminiscent. Don’t think, however, that I am going to serve you with some post-prandial pudding. I don’t like pudding myself; I prefer more sensible dishes. You know pudding, in this case, means flattery. It is rather a popular dish nowadays, — almost as popular as padding, which is not a dish at all, but just “ bluff.” Pudding and padding ! jolly and bluff ! and there you have it! But excuse me! I was growing reminiscent, and now I find myself growing philosophic. But, what can you expect after a syllogistic siege with “ Russo ! ” — even tho it was back in 1901. God bless the mark! yes! and the year! and the class! and all the good fellows who got their sheepskin with yours truly! 74 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 75 It was a great class. There was “ Barney,” for instance, — a fine fellow! He’s a doctor now, God bless him! And he isn’t the only “ doc.” There’s villainous-looking Anton, who makes a keen-eyed dissecter. And, then, his pal, easy-going Mac, who pulls teeth and dreams of slag at Sparrows Point. Then we recall two honest lawyers, Ed. W — , and Ikey, who used to be a “ scatter-brain,” but who fell heir to a fortune, and graduated from Georgetown Law. He’s the same whole- souled fellow and we like to shake his hand. Isaac made a whole show of himself in the ‘‘ Mikado,” and we hope he will do it again some day. There was another Edward, who graduated with us, and is now (it is rumored), a member of the “Paint and Powder Club.’ As for Charlie with the crimpy, curly raven locks, — he is an important item in a well-known Baltimore business house. Finally, there was “ Jack,” the classic-looking member of the class, — who wore spectacles. Everybody thought he was going to enter a seminary ; but it is feared he will some day be subjected to a metamorphosis such as Ovid never dreamed of, — he may become his middle name, which is Benedict. There are a thousand pleasant memories associated with our college-days, but none more pleasant than that of dear. Father Dooley, who used to tweak our noses, pinch our ears and pull our hair, in order to elicit attention. He was a won- derful teacher. He actually made us fall in love with Greek. That kind and learned Father knew more Greek in five minutes, than we could ever hope to acquire were we granted the age of Methusalem. Going back a bit, there was motherly Father “ Mac,” who taught us algebra “ wi th the help of God and the police.” A layman taught us German, — the man who “ seed ” us misbehaving “ tru der door.” A layman also taught us French, — the man who told one. of the class that if he didn’t stop “ chumping ze pencil oop and down on ze desk. 76 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL making zat noise,” he would “ advertise ” him. Poor men ! they deserved ‘‘ Carnegie ” medals. And Father Ryan! Recently he celebrated his golden jubilee, and is still a member of the Loyola faculty. Many are the alumni who will feel grateful at the mention of his name. He is one of the many, whose teaching and influence remain with those whom they taught not only the arts and sciences, but also those precepts of religion and morality, which must ever abide with the sons of dear Loyola. Joseph B. Jacobi, ’01. (Introductory.) Lest we be accused of partiality in these notes, we wish to say that we should like to mention every alumnus that ever called Loyola his Alma Mater. That, however, is clearly im- possible. We belong to a younger generation that has lost track of the older boys, and we regret that many of them, through press of business, have not been able to keep in closer touch with us. We trust, too, it is understood that we deem it an honor and a privilege to have been assigned this pleasing task. Next year some older alumnus may be able to recall the more re- mote alumni, and be in a position to give more time and as- sistance to this labor of love. For our part, let these suffice : ’56 Dr. Edward F. Milholland is always a prominent figure at the Loyola Commencements, and we take this occasion to thank him for his loyalty. He is one of the most respected physicians of Baltimore. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 77 ’58 Charles B. Tiernan, a member of the legal profession, has recently recovered from an attack of severe illness. We hope he will continue well. ’59 Michael A. Mullin, another lawyer, has likewise recovered from a siege of sickness. We congratulate him. ’64 Thomas E. Brady, an estimable gentleman of the legal profes- sion, died last April. His death was an edifying one. He is survived by two sisters, to whom we extend our deepest sym- pathy. ’68 Frederick H. Hack, the esteemed president of the Alumni As- sociation, is a prominent member of the legal profession. We regret never having seen him enact the part of “ Richard III.” From all accounts, he had rare histrionic ability as a student of Loyola in the glorious past. Isaac R. Baxley is still a favored son of the Muse. He recently remembered his Alma Mater by sending her a dainty volume of his poems. His Jubilee Ode was a beautiful specimen of literary workmanship, as are all his poems. ’69 William A. T. Aiken held an important position as Super- intendent of testing materials in the New York Subway Con- struction Co. His appointment was unsolicited, and shows the capabilities of our old alumnus. ’71 Not long ago Dr. Alexander Hill, a Protestant all his life, received the grace of a death-bed conversion. — R. I. P. ’82 Rev. James F. Dawson, S. J., favors us occasionally with a visit, and preached in St. Ignatius’ on Holy Thursday night. Father Dawson is one of Loyola’s gifted sons, that the world at large knows not of. For years past he has been a member of the Woodstock College faculty, successfully and successively in the departments of Physics, Metaphysics, and Theology, — ap- pointments which speak wonderfully for his genius and versatility. ’87 Rev. Albert G. Brown, S. J., was appointed this year to the Jesuit missionary band. On Good Friday last, he preached the Three Hours’ Agony in St. Ignatius’ Church, thrilling and greatly edifying his audience. Charles J. Bouchet, a lawyer, is at the head of St. Ignatius’ Sunday School, in which capacity he is doing a grand and noble work, indeed. ’89 J. B. Joujin-Roche, who taught at Epiphany College, Wal- brook, is now practising law in the West. 78 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL ’92 Francis T. Homer is always a prominent figure at the Loyola banquets, and an interesting speaker. He is a member of the important law-firm, “ Willis and Homer.” Austin D. Nooney was engaged on the “ News ” till a visitation of typhoid fever, which attacked nearly his entire family, neces- sitated his taking a needed rest. ’93 James E. Murphy has embraced the journalistic profession. He is engaged upon the “ News.” We are glad to note that J. Austin Fink, of the legal profes- sion, has recovered from his recent illness. We see by the catalogue of St. Joseph’s German Hospital that Dr. William T. Riley is second physician at that institution, under Dr. O’Donovan. Dr. O’Donovan, by the way, was recently elected President of the Medical and Chirurgical Society, and we congratulate him. Although Dr. O’Donovan graduated at George- town in ’78, and left Loyola for that institution after he com- pleted his year in Poetry, yet we feel that we have a claim on him and we are proud of it. ’96 J. Aloysius Boyd is pursuing work of a legal character. Whilst he lived across the street from the college, he may be said never to have lost sight of his Alma Mater. How he delighted us in the old days, with his “ Falstaff ! ” Dr. Martin J. O’Neill, who for several years taught physi- ological psychology at Loyola, recently became a Benedict. We congratulate him. James L. Kearney, who taught at Loyola a short time ago, is now a successful member of the bar. Charles J. Kennedy, of the gruff voice, is a literary man, and has tasted of the charm of the West. We note that Dr. John C. Pound has become a very prominent physician of Southwest Baltimore. William T. Haydon, now a lawyer, still keeps in touch with Loyola, as a singer. He taught us in Special Classics, and we remember him gratefully. ’97 Herman I. Storck, S. J., is at Fordham, successfully finishing up his scholastic teaching. We’ve never forgotten his “ Hotspur,” it was grand. There are some in the Faculty now who frequently speak of his brother George, S. J., who left Loyola in ’93 and died a saintly death two years later. Another brother, William, who was here with us a few years ago, is also an S. J. Great family that! THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 79 ’97 Rev. William A. Toolen is assistant pastor of St. Pius’ Church, and very popular, — which doesn’t surprise us. Rev. John McNamara recently dropped in to see us, and tells us that there is as much need of strenuous missionary work in St. Mary’s Co., as in the wilds of Africa. God prosper your work. Father John! ’98 Dr. Thomas F. Lowe was resident physician of Georgetown University Hospital, and, we are informed, is now a practising physician. Joseph S. Didusch, Jesuit scholastic, in college days a great student of sciences, is teaching them now at St. Joseph’s College, Phila. Dr. J. Albert Chatard is a protege of Dr. Osier, and judging by his success, has imbibed some of the greatness of that medical genius. He is the professor of Medical Clinic at Hopkins, and Secretary of the Medical and Chirurgical Faculty of Maryland. ’99 Rev. Andrew C. Englehardt, or “ Andie,” as they used to call him, gives people “ H — 1 ” from the pulpit of St. Andrew’s Church, this city. I. Leo Hargadon, Jesuit scholastic, is still imparting his old good humor, as is his Reverend brother Frank, S. J., a student at Loyola, from 88-92. Leo is at Fordham “teaching the young idea,” and Father Frank is in Phila. We congratulate the latter on his recent ordination. ’GO Joseph A. Mooney, once a famous Loyola ball-player, is now in the shoe business with his “ paternal ancestor,” — as Prof. Tonry, Jr., used to say. John L. Gipprich, Jesuit scholastic, at one time pocketed many medals. He is now trying, in many a symposium at Fordham University, to solve for others such riddles as, “ the chicken or the egg?” Frank O. Goldbach, Jesuit scholastic at Georgetown, played Sebastian in the play of that name, and from all accounts will some day thrill us as a pulpit orator. George M. Brady graduated in law from Georgetown. He was toastmaster at the last banquet and amused us all by his sallies. Bernard A. McNally, has up till a recent date held a position as Justice of the Peace. We trust that political changes will be kind to you. Judge. 80 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL ’01 Joseph B. Jacobi taught for nearly five years at Epiphany Col- lege, Walbrook. For the past year he has been teaching the Preparatory Class of the Loyola High School, and a Greek His- tory Class. He is also assistant editor of the Catholic Mirror. It is hoped he will survive the publication of these notes. ’02 Rev. Lawrence Brown is making advanced studies at the Catholic University, He is often seen in Baltimore, at St. Martin’s Church, where he gives assistance. Mark O. Shriver studied successfully at Johns Hopkins Uni- versity and is now a busy man. Joseph A. Neumann is employed at the Commonwealth Bank. How’s “frenzied finance,” Joe? J. Elliot Ross, whom we remember as an inexhaustible speaker in the Debating Society, is now a scientific official in the Sur- veyor’s Department of the District Government. Rev. Walters T. McKenna is doing great work as assistant pastor at St. Patrick’s. ’03 Some of the boys went down to Woodstock during the year and saw John Murphy, ’03, and Greg. Kiehne, ’03— Frank Fen- wick, ’04, is there, too, and we hope to see one or all of them oc- cupying professors’ chairs some day at Loyola. Andrew Mihm is to be ordained in June. “ Andie ” was a great credit to his college, and we know he’s going to make a mighty zealous priest. ’04 Eugene F. Saxton, at one time editor of the Catholic Mirror, is now working on the new Catholic Encyclopaedia. Your edi- torials, Gene, spoke well for old Loyola. Bernard J. Wells, at one time editor and advertising manager of the Catholic Mirror, is now leading member of the law firm of Wells and Wells. Recently he was married to the sister of Mr. William T. Haydon, another alumnus. It’s all in the family, Bernard! ’06 John G. Barrett drops in to see us whenever Seminary life will permit. He is at St. Mary’s and we’re looking forward to his ordination. ’07 Clarke J. Fitzpatrick, who reflected so much credit on his Alma Mater by passing a special examination in Greek — the twelve books of Homer, — has been imparting his knowledge of Greek to the Special Class for the past year. He is likewise en- gaged as a news reporter on the Sun. Clarke’s career promises to be a brilliant one. We wish him every success. THE STUDENTS’ READING ROOM. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 81 ’07 J. Boiseau-Wiesel has finished his first year of Chemistry at Hopkins University. Keep it up! Charley Roche is at St. Mary ' s Seminary; one year over. Frank J. Ayd has finished his first year of medicine at the Col- lege of Physicians and Surgeons. John W. Regan has succeeded Mr. Jacobi as a professor at Epiphany College, Walbrook. James O’Donnell has finished his first year at Hopkins Medical. His brother, Thomas J., ’99, is a successful practising physician. In regard to some other old boys, -we should like to state that G. Strohaver, ’08, and V. L. Keelan, ’09, are in the Jesuit Noviti- ate. Paul Smith, who left us before graduation, is at St. Mary’s Seminary, together with Charles Morissey, who left Loyola after his Junior year. Of the Rev. Frs. Smythe, who have reflected so much credit on our college, Fr. Thomas is at St. Stephen’s, Washington, and Fr. James at St. Patrick’s, of the same city. Fr. Carroll C. Smythe is now assistant pastor at our ‘it. Martin’s. Joseph B. Jacobi, ’01. Ci e College oMlttf. ■ Mulry, S. J., Moderator. Officers. First Term. Prefect, Thomas J. V heeler, ’08 First Assistant, Joseph A. Wozny, ’09 Second Assistant, Vachel J. Brown, ’10 Secretary, L. Frank O’Brien, ’08 Treasurer, Harry P. Galligher, ’ll Sacristan, W. Paul Brown, ’ll Organist, William M. Nevins, ’10 Second Term. L. Frank O’Brien, ’08. Joseph A. Wozny, ’09 Vachel J. Brown, ’10. Thomas J. Wheeler, ’08. Harry P. Galligher, ’ll. V . Paul Brown ’ll. William M. Nevins, ’10. Consultors, James S. Murphy, John H. Briscoe, W. Henry Noeth. The Sodality of the Blessed Virgin is one of the oldest societies of Loyola, having been instituted at a time when the college was little known in the city. As years rolled by, and Loyola became one of 6 82 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL the chief seats of learning in and around Baltimore, one thing was ever noticed in her students, by the Catholics of this city, — their great devotion to the Blessed Virgin. This characteristic is traceable, we believe, to the influence of the Sodality. Composed as it is of the noblest and most faithful students, it has ever been a source of strength, and consolation. Here the sodalist learned the lesson that has proved an unfailing support not only at college, but also in after life, — that no one who ever sought the protection of Our Heavenly Mother was left unaided. Needless to say, the Sodality today is more vigorous than ever before, and, as it has increased wonderfully in numbers, may we not hope that it has increased, as well, in the fervor and piety of its members? L. Frank O’Brien, ’08. £iiteeit. All hail, my Mother! in jeweled garb bedight; Standing aloft a Queen upon thy throne, Beyond the golden skies’ resplendent zone ; Brighter than brightest star that shines by night ; Purer than snow aneath the sunbeam’s light; With rapturous harmony to earth unknown. The angel choristers their hymns intone And pour their melody o’er Heaven’s height. Oft might I wish my soul to fly to thee. But no! thine All- Wise Son hath bid me stay, — Stay and beseech thee ever keep me free From ill,- — my aching soul’s deep thirst allay. Forever and forever may’st thou be To me a guardian on my lonely way ! L. Frank O’Brien, ’08. Rev. John S. Keating, S. J., Moderator. Officers. First Term. Second Term. President, Vice-President, Secretary, Treasurer, L. Francis O’Brien, ’08 Thomas J. Wheeler, ’08. Wm. H. Kelly, ’09 Edward K. Hanlon, ’09. James A. Clark, ’ll Edwin B. Kelly, ’10. Edwin L. Leonard, ’10 James A. Clark, ’ll. The Loyola Literary Society has always been a source of great credit to our College. It was organized in 1857, having for its object the cultivation of eloquence by the practice of debate, and Rev. Joseph M. Ardia, S. J., whom death claimed but a year ago, was its first president. It was not until May 10th, 1881, that the first public debate took place. Four speakers took part and the medal was awarded to Mr. Jas. D. Cotter. The Judges on this occasion were: Messrs. A. Leo Knott, D. Cans, B. F. O’Conor, Thomas Whelan and Henry E. Mann, all of whom were men of prominence in their profession. So pleased were they with the debate, that they sent a letter of congratulation to Rev. Father McGurk, then the President of the College. The letter read as follows: “Your debate was very interesting, ably managed on both sides and gave gratification to us judges. We take occasion to add that the proficiency and attainments of the young combatants, gave evidence of a careful and efficient method of instruction, and reflect the highest credit upon the Professors of Loyola College. Such results are the best proof of the effectiveness of the institution which has fostered them.” Since that day the public debates, which have been of yearly occurrence, have all been as successful as the first. Many changes have taken place in the Society since its organiza- tion. The regular weekly meetings which, prior to this year, took place after school hours, are now held on Monday afternoons during 83 Prefect of Studies. 84 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL regular class sessions and membership is thereby made compulsory in the College department. Although in the original constitution we find that a critic should be elected each term, nowadays one is ap- pointed for each debate. Since the adoption of this plan, there have been far more interesting criticisms than we were accustomed to hear. The subject for debate is always some topic of the day, generally a political one. What fiery speeches are sometimes delivered when such subjects are being discussed can be well imagined. At our weekly debates there are always four speakers appointed two weeks in ad- vance. Each is allowed ten minutes for debate and two minutes for rebuttal. After this, the debate is open to the house. The speeches delivered from the house are mostly extempore and in the end the members themselves are the judges of the debate. With all this, the meetings are always orderly, conducted, as they are, strictly under parliamentary law. Has the Society accomplished the end for which it was organized? We have but to look about us in this city to find Loyola graduates who have made a brilliant mark in every walk of life. They are leaders in their professions and particularly by their power of good speech-making. This is due in a great measure, of course, to general classical training, but the power of imparting their knowledge and opinions fluently to others has come, we believe, from the training af- forded by the Debating Society of their old College days. Joseph A. Guthrie, ’10. CINCE the first year of its existence the aims of the Dramatic Society have been the highest possible, and the success of this year’s dramatics has not been behind that of times past. Our first production was a Minstrel Show, and, as it was the first performance of this kind ever attempted at Loyola, much work was necessary to produce it. Mr. A. M. Fremgen, S. J., had charge of the musical branch of the program, and considering the limited time at his dis- posal, accomplished wonders. The rehearsals of the end-men were under the direction of Mr. E. P. Duffy, S. J., and the training they received at his hands was most efficient, indeed. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 85 When the curtain rose, on the night of the performance, the audience at once showed by their applause their appreciation of the stage setting, the smaller attraction of the production. As the songs were rendered the audience became more and more pleased, while the ridiculous end-men kept everyone in smiles. The sounds of applause and laughter were reward enough to the students for their month’s hard work. Everyone admitted that the boys deserved great praise, and several went so far as to say that the Minstrel Show was as good as a professional one. But we would not aspire so high. We only wish to know that we have done credit to the name of Loyola and pleased our generous supporters. The memory of the Minstrel Show was still fresh in everyone’s mind when the students were called upon to begin rehearsals on a comedy called “ All the Comforts of Home,” to be given at Christ- mas. Practically the same students were chosen for the roles who had been most faithful at the rehearsals for the Minstrel Show. The in- structor for the comedy was Mr. E. P. Duffy, S. J. Under his able direction the rehearsals went on day after day, for over a month, and then, as before, the reward came on the night of the performance. The ease and grace with which the play was given would have done credit to a professional stage. From the time the curtain first rose until it fell on a happy climax, the audience was all attention. Nor do we think that their attention went unrewarded; the frequent bursts of laughter and generous applause told very plainly that Loyola’s patrons were being well repaid for their kindness in encouraging our Dramatics. W. Paul Brown, ’ll. ' T HE year 1907-08 was a noteworthy one for Loyola in many ways. A spirit of progress manifested itself in every branch, and athletics were entered into with greater zest than in the previous year. The football team unfortunately failed to make a very good record, although it contained much good material. The basketball squad, after sustaining the loss of its two star players of the previous year, and with only one of the original players in the line-up, turned out a light though fast team, which for the most part had to contend with teams much heavier than itself. The baseball team was also a good one, and was more successful in point of games won than either the football or basketball teams. Barring loss by players leaving school, the year 1908-09 should be one of the most successful in Loyola’s history. The College has many advantages for indoor athletics. She possesses a large and well-equipped g 3 minasium, with excellent facilities for basketball, indoor baseball and track work. The High School boys are members of a gymnasium class, directed by a skilled instructor. A set of marble shower baths has been installed during the past year, and a locker-room equipped. For these and many other im- provements the Athletic Association is indebted to the kind co-opera- tion of Fr. Rector, to the energy of the Rev. Prefect of Studies, Fr. Jos. A. Mulry, S. J., and to the self-sacrificing direction of Mr. C. A. Murphy, S. J., the moderator of the Association. The officers of the Athletic Association for the year 1907-1908 were: L. Frank O’Brien, ’08, President; Jos. A. Wozny, ’09, Vice-Presi- dent; John H. T. Briscoe, ’10, Secretary; Edward K. Hanlon, ’09, Treasurer. The captains of the various teams were: Football, Edwin L. C. Leonard, ’10; Basketball, John H. T. Briscoe, ’10; Baseball, William F. Braden, ’09. John H. T. Briscoe, ’10. 86 JUNIOR. W. B. Knuckle-ball Bill. Lightly shoulders experience o£ high- life in the Philippines. Spent several years there “ teaching the young idea how to shoot” (craps? No!) Gives the class an appearance of age and manliness. (Appearances are deceitful). Not exactly a gazelle, and the tropics have left him dark and sunburned, but we’re proud to have him on our visiting list. “ I tell thee, this aspect of mine Hath feared the valiant.” M. of Ven. ii, 1, 8. E. K. H. The Kid. Silver-voiced Eddie, the second Demos- thenes. Spouts an unceasing flow of mellifluous talk. Up to this year a model; gone to the dogs since he got a latch-key. Has b en seen on the streets even as late as 9:30 p. m. There’s a wild rumor afloat that he even goes to parties. Horrors, Eddie! But no matter what he does, he’s always busy on “ Prize-Night.” “ And lo, where youthful Edward comes.” Ill Hen. VI, 5. W. H. K. — Dweller in beauteous Orangeville. Dam.on.. Gazes into McN.’s limpid eyes with silent protestations of “ imdyed ” friendship. When he gets a strangle hold on a pencil he makes the sword look sick. Perpetrates extremely long and well-written essays. Gets high marks, — and earns them. “ I am for whole volumes in folio.” Love’s Labor Lost, i, 2, 191. A. McD. Says little. In his youthful days it took several pre- fects to watch him; hasn’t entirely reformed yet. Class treasurer and a good one. With him those “ For Bill Rendered ” affairs are not needed. Keen of sight (“ Eagle-eye ”) and fleet of foot. One of the best runners at Loyola. “ Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.” Love’s Labor Lost, v. 2, 261. M. McN. Does the Pythias role to W. H. K’s Damon. Has never yet been heard to smile aloud. Rises every morning and helps to pull the sun up. Never speaks except when spoken to and some- times not then (recitations for instance?) But Me. has made big strides this year. 87 88 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL “ I like your silence, it the more shows off your wonder; but yet speak.” Winter’s Tale, v. 3, 21. J. S. M. A fashion plate unto himself. Has rare (not well done) talent for Latin and Greek. Sometimes shows signs of life. Living example of good effects of the healthful air lying aroimd loose in the wilds of Walbrook. Still J. S. M. is a leader here and possesses much executive ability. “ A tall gentleman, by Heaven, and a most gallant leader.” 2 Henry IV, iii, 2, 67. C. C. R. The sleepless wonder. Works all night; studies all day. Generally wears an overcoat and a smile. Rumor has it that he’s in love. How Cupid does ensnare the young! C. C. R. is a marvel, though, when it comes to philosophy, and as for English, — why! his writing would draw tears from the Sahara. W. J. T. The Sport — the only one the class can support. Smokes “ Sweet Caporals ” out of “ Pall Mall ” boxes. Proprietor of the famous pedal appendages that few collars have escaped. Study? “ On the advice of counsel I refuse to answer.” Appointed to patrol Charles and Lexington Streets. “ Idle of the class.” ’09 would be pretty dull without W. J. T. “ Manacle thy neck and feet together.” Tempest, 1, 2, 461. J. A. W. What appropriate initials! A Sphinx in disguise (and it’s a mighty good disguise). Has large and much-used vocabulary, which he often lets loose without the slightest provocation. “ I will be a great man, thirty-five years hence;” well, not in the musical line. His voice has the sound of a scrubbing-brush on duty. His talents (and he has good ones) lie in other directions. “You have an exchequer of words.” Gentlemen of Verona, ii, 4. J. S. M., ’09; E. K. H., ’09. SOPHOMORE. (The Ten of 1910.) J. H. B. “ Right off the Farm.” A wholesome product of “ St. Mary’s” soil. Liked by all; leader of his class; a favorite of the professors. With all these blessings, still wears a 6 . Chief occupa- tion is study. No desire to shine in society. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 89 V, J. B., Jr., from Catonsville. Familiarly known as “ Crusty.” A hard worker, but always on his guard against long lessons. But what’s the use? Has lately developed a fondness for sentimental poetry and “ fluffy-ruffles.” it is never too late to begin; but some- times too late to make an end. E. C. C., from Roland Park; “Beau Brummel” of Sophomore. Has an abnormal Greek eye. Chief occupation, the burning of post-midnight oil. Studies after his social affairs. Chief purpose in class is whispering puns. Sometimes “ not so worse.” J. A. G., from across the Falls. Makes a specialty of forgetting unknown matters. A good rhetorician, but a better right-fielder. Reads Latin for a pastime. C. A. K. Beadle of beadles. Only purpose in life is the study of Greek. Quotes hidden authorities in contradiction to professor’s authorities. Can tell you the number of Cicero’s “ Ets ” and how old “ an ” is. “ Annual ” and class artist. E. B. K., from Mulberry street. “ Nuf Sed ” — if you will allow a “ Mulberryism ” — except when Mr. K. says it. E. K. L., from Harford County. “ The pokey-poet.” Authority on the care of Turkey Hens. Methodical in his walk. Probably due to his strolling with the “ brakeman,” sometimes known as the “ school teacher.” F. C. L., from Melvale. A shark on “ fifty to one shots.” A good “pony” rider himself. An artist in the telling of jokes. Chief occu- pation is tugging at his trousers. A good story-writer. — See the index. E. L. L., a former City College student. Always ready for an argument with the professor. Decided aversion to Greek for personal reasons. Always smiles when Mr. C — speaks. W. M. N., our only voter. Interested in the production of tract called “ Anti-Bluff.” Famed for those “ gory locks.” A mighty good bass singer. Edwin L. C. Leonard, ’10. FRESHMAN. T the beginning of the second term our professor, Mr. Miles O’Mailia, was transferred to Canisius College, Buffalo. By his kindness of manner and efficiency of method he had endeared himself to the members of the class, and we felt his loss keenly. Some day 90 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL before we tack on the “ A. B.” we hope to have him back with us again ; meantime we want him to know that he has the very best of our good wishes. Another change in the make-up of the class was made at the end of schools. Henry J. Wiesel had gone to the Jesuit Novitiate during the summer. We have missed his company and his leadership, but the honor done the class compensates for our loss. G. A. “ German marvel.” Comes first, alphabetically; not on speaking terms with study. Who ever saw him angry? W. P. B., Jr. Village beauty. Loud “ as to his ” socks and goes to bed early — in the morning. Burner of midnight oil. Stands high in class; he’s quite tall. Still P. waltzes up for testimonials. J. A. C. Class treasurer. Never grafts, because he never gets any money. Has a money box v hich has a hole in the top and — sh — one in the bottom. But James is big and popular. G. C. D. Music album and piano torturer. Whirlwind of the age. Can talk an arm off a cigar Indian. G. is nevertheless a mighty hospitable chap and keeps his promise. C. H. F. The Irish “ Katzenjammer.” A bright, good-natured vil- lage “ blood ” of sixteen or thereabouts. Writes a bold hand and comes second in his class. Everybody likes C., and C. likes every- body. Hence his success. H. P. G. Pride of “ Quid Sod.” Doesn’t know a pool cue from a stove-lifter — ? Sings a barber-shop tenor to F. K.’s Bay-Rum bass. Wishes Cicero were alive — so that he could kill him. But Harry’s the sunshine of the new room. J. E. G. Has thus far avoided lynching for making puns; son of rest; refuses to grow a beard, strange to say. Spasmodically sings and whistles the “ Beautiful Isle of My Dreams.” A good fellow, and will always help a “ pal.” F. X. K. “ The Wandering Jew.” Avoids the old town pump. Smokes everybody’s tobacco and becomes so used to asking for it that when he does buy some he gives it to somebody to keep. Frank is all right, though, and if he “ got busy ” could do mighty well. C. S. L. “ Village ” cut-up and cartoonist . Bears scars as result of his drawing, but still draws — brave lad! Spends his nights in studious seclusion — some nights. Still without C.’s brains Freshman would be an “ also ran.” Lives on doughnuts and St. Paul St. C. J. N. The German “ Katzenjammer.” Usually has his mouth full of words, but seldom uses them. Sleeps but three hours out of THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 91 twenty-four. Went to the dogs once, but came back. Great on picnics and Greek. Mind as quick as a burglar-alarm. W. H. N. College “ Hall Room Boy ” and soda water athlete. Aspires to 85, but being short is unable to reach it. Has a lawn- mower walk. Always looks like a gentleman and never belies his looks. J. P. W. Bard of Govans and Freshman Sphinx. Talks in spasms; a graphophone fiend and George Washington of Freshman. Hasn’t missed a class since the Johnstown flood and owes not any man. H. P. G., ’ll; F. X. K., ’ll. MEMORIES TO COME. When we’re old, you and I, and are broken, And the days of our youth have passed by, We’ll think of our words long since spoken, And the great deeds we boasted to try. We’ll remember the classmates about us. And the years in Loyola’s old halls. And though all should distrust us and doubt us. We’ll forgive when soft memory calls. Once again we will picture those faces. Once again to us chums will appear. And in fancy we’ll visit these places. College echoes once more we will hear. Do you think that we’ll ever forget you, That our love for you e’er will grow cold? No! WeTl cherish and never regret you, — You Loyola, — your Blue and your Gold. , Edward K. Hanlon, ’09. %t)c lopola Sigi) tfjool JJoiitDful poet. (An Appreciation.) P erhaps of all the harmless imbeciles that the law permits to roam at large, the most annoying is that long-haired, dreamy-eyed specimen of educated lunatic, who for some inexplicable reason has conceived the idea that he is a poetical genius. It is a noticeable fact, however, that in all cases of this kind, the appellation of “ poet ” finds its justification only in the romantic youth ' s own mind. Indeed it would be greatly to the advantage of those who are forced to be in his company, if the embryo genius would keep the knowledge of his talent to himself. But, no ! At every turn we are forced to listen to the scintillating and oftimes lengthy productions of his mighty intellect, which never fail to provoke a polite, but commiserat- ing smile. What a touching picture he draws, when in the words of one of his immortal poems he describes the hero standing be- fore his lady-love, his arms outstretched and every fibre of his Adonis-like body vibrating with the intensity of his emotion, as he pours forth his love-laden soul in a flood of rhythmic eloquence ! Again, with what masterly genius does he not depict the beauties of a summer sunrise, when the god of day lifts his head over the mountain tops, and spreads his gorgeous mantle o ' er the mist-enshrouded universe! Who can fail to observe the masterly way in which he enhances these very original subjects? 92 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 93 Perhaps this excessive and unhealthy devotion to the Muses is the most common form of lunacy to be met with in college-life. It is a familiar spectacle to see one of these young devotees sauntering along, lost in contemplation, when of a sudden he assumes a tragic posture, and for a few seconds glares around with demoniacal fury. Then these alarming symptoms disappear and are succeeded by a smile of angelic sweetness. How explain this phenomenon except by conjec- turing that some evasive rhyme has been captured? In class he sits for hours with a sad far-away look in his eyes, blissfully indifferent to the translation of the exploits of Achilles ; and when he is called upon to give a synopsis of the prelection, he innocently informs the teacher that at last Cicero has accomplished the almost impossible task of sending Homer into exile! Scarcely less inspiring is the genius after school. His classmates congratulate themselves, that at last they are rid of the class muse for a few hours. But even then they are not immune. Once more they are forced to listen to one of the poet’s masterpieces, and when there is a pained silence on the part of the audience, the offended author denounces them in round prose as a set of unpoetical idiots, unable to appreciate a poem that may be handed down to posterity. Perhaps surprise may be expressed that some of these ef- fusions do not appear in print. Alas I whenever one is sent to an editor, it is returned with a polite note to the effect that, al- though the peculiar merits of the poem are fully realized, it cannot go into print, because of the tender solicitude the editor has for the author ' s welfare. Fred. H. Linthicum, H. S., ’08. 94 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL J etamorp] o0f0 1908 a. T N the heart of Baltimore “ there stands an imposing edifice, surrounded on all sides by dwellings of more humble size.” As one enters this building, on the southern side, he beholds a counter, modest and plain in architecture, but “ beloved by all for the bounty it sheds.” Thither one day came a Mr. Loeb and with him, T. R., having laid aside his eye-glasses and big stick. They approached the S. P. C. A., the Arundell School, and many other dwellings, seeking food and shelter, ‘‘ but a thousand doors were closed against them.” “Yet one received them,” the humble lunch counter, and the bustling clerk behind it supplied them with the best, at the expense of the college. Phil Lemon, the lone guardian of the counter, had seen that humble structure, built and painted, and had now passed many an hour between it and the kitchen, and in carrying change to an office upstairs. He bore his troubles lightly, trusting the boys with many a cent’s worth, but had received nothing in return. Quickly grasping two chairs, and placing across these that beautiful red tablecloth, “ used only in times of festivities,” Phil bade the travellers recline. He then placed on the counter, before each, one of those cakes, which have become famous, on account of the longing for more you feel after eating one, — a “ honey suckle.” The courses following consisted of classical “ fig newtons,” small, round cakes, covered with the essence of lemon, chocolate cakes; crackers, mixed with the best of fruits, pretzels, and caramels. After the hungry pair had eaten all their stomachs would allow they became thirsty. How great was Phil Lemon’s surprise, when he saw a box of “ real ” THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 95 cocoa, and a pitcher, with a sign which read, “ pure milk,” written on it, appear on the counter. Both of these emptied their contents into the cocoa can. In a few minutes, curious Phil beheld two steaming cups of cocoa. After drinking a few cups, T. R. drew his glasses from his pocket, attached them to his nose and smiled through his teeth. Phil sprang back, amazed, with the word ‘‘Teddy” on his lips. Then T. R. told Phil he would grant him any favor he wished, on account of his kindness. After a few minutes meditation, Phil Lemon simply asked to have his counter improved. Next m orning, Phil beheld his counter changed into gold, beside which was an ivory machine, which allowed but one boy at a time at the counter. In large, gold, brilliant letters there hung a sign, “ No Trust.” What pleased Phil Lemon the most, was a full-dress suit. He was about to don this, when he found himself rubbing his eyes, and looking to the side, beheld somebody approaching with a new jug-book. He realized it was but a dream. T. A. Keelan, H. S., ’09. procra tmatton. (An Essay.) HERE is no habit more easily acquired than that of putting off. It steals upon you so quietly, you may long be unaware of its presence. At first your allotted tasks are deferred for a few moments ; then obstacles, real or imaginary, have a way of pushing themelves in ; there is another postpone- ment, and so it continues until put off becomes part of your- self. According to an old proverb, “ a stitch in time saves nine ;” but if you delay in taking the stitch, the work may have to be 96 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL done just when you long to be off enjoying yourself. It may cost you a good opportunity, or many a pang. And procrasti- nation is a brigand that robs not time alone ; it takes from your character its main stability, leaving you with your end- less delays, crippled, and unfit to fight the battles of life, and with your colors oftener in the dust than waving in the breeze. It is dangerous to put off until tomorrow. It may cause loss, annoyance or worry to someone, and it is your duty to be prompt. Besides, tomorrow is an unknown quantity with which it is hard to deal. For you, there may be no tomorrow, or if there is, you have chased butterflies, have been within reaching distance and they have escaped you. Your delay can ruin your chances of success. Even supposing you are the brightest and best, there are men about you, who with -per- haps less talent, but more ambition will outdo you, — and while you are droning, the busy bees gather the honey. Loitering brought disgrace on Mark Antony, and history often repeats itself. Think of the confidence a punctual person inspires. No trifling excuse is allowed to interfere with his duty. He is resolute and persevering, and will strive to overcome all obstacles in order to attain his purpose. It was the decision and promptness of Washington that won for him first place in the hearts of his countrymen; and it was the same sterling quality that made the humble Corsican soldier a ruler of kings. Reader, you are not going to allow the habit of putting off to interfere with your usefulness and success in life. If you have been a victim, begin right now to break its hold upon you. The fastenings may be strong, but nothing worth having is easily gained. They will loosen and in the end you will be victorious. Simply make it the rule of your life ‘‘ never to put off until tomorrow what you can do today.” J. F. Russell, H. S., ’08. THE SPEAKERS AT THE HIGH SCHOOL PUBLIC DEBATE. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 97 a College M y modesty would ordinarily prevent me from talking about myself, but the kind invitation of the Board of Editors of the Annual, tempts me to overcome my reticence and tell some of my athletic experiences. My story will sound a trifle unusual, but no one who knows my reputation for truthfulness will doubt of its veracity. My first important experience was in a baseball game, be- tween Loyola and Gonzaga College, a crack Washington organization, which took place at Oriole Park. It was in the ninth inning, with the score 7 to 4, in favor of the opponents. I stood at the plate, watching the eye-brows of the pitcher, for by this means I can tell what curve a pitcher is about to throw. The left eye-brow gave a sharp twitch, and I stood ready to meet a straight ball. It came — and went. As I turned first base I noticed the ball in the air. It was clearing the fence and going straight towards the face of a lady, seated at the window of her house, just behind the center field fence of the Park. Another moment and she would be disfigured for life. I turned out of the base line, ran to the fence, and leaped to the top. Pausing there for a moment, I leaped across to the lady, reached out my arm and caught the ball not an inch from her face. It was at the sacrifice of my home-run ; but no man with Loyola spirit, reckons the cost when a lady is in danger. I made amends, however, in the game with Boston College a few weeks later. The Boston players greeted with laughter my appearance in the box. “ He laughs best, who laughs last,’’ thought I, and my thoughts were soon realized. I had practised my vicious “ circle ball,” that is thrown like an ordinary straight ball, with the ‘‘ diabolo ” movement ; but when it comes just within reach of the bat, this ball then drops to the ground, at right angles to its former direction, and rolls 7 98 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL back into the pitcher’s hands. Needless to say, batting was over for the Boston College men, that day; but several dis- located their collar bones swinging at my unusual curve. In the next game, when I walked to the plate, the crowd in grand-stand, bleachers and on the field began to cheer. I acknowledged their ovation with a bow to all sides. But the crowd would not stop cheering. The Boston players grew frightened at the awful sound, and refused to play if it were not stopped. Half of the Baltimore City Police was sum- moned, and they informed the crowd that if the cheering did not stop, the game could not go on. They threatened arrest, but to no avail. At last, I myself walked to the centre of the field, raised my hand, and this brought the crowd to complete silenc e. All my achievements have not been on the diamond, how- ever. I remember well, how once I saved the name of Loyola in an important athletic meet. The regular shot-putter was sick, and the coach was in despair, because no other man had a chance against the champions of Georgetown and Fordham, that were competing. I, however, thought it my duty to offer myself. I did not stop even to put on a running suit, but walked out to the field, picked up the weight and hurled it over the high fence that inclosed the grounds, into a river about a hundred yards away. The weight in falling struck a sail boat and sank it. In ,the boat was an escaping convict, whose flight was stopped by the falling of my shot, so that I not only received the honors of the shot-put, but was presented with a handsome reward for the capture of the prisoner, a notorious burglar. The burglar, moreover, afterwards con- fessed the theft of a will, which was restored to its owner, a charming young lady, who insisted upon my accepting half of it, $50,000, having fallen in love with my manly form and features. Thus you see, how virtue is its own reward. Munchausen, H. S., ’09. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 99 THE JAPANESE WARSHIP AND THE TORPEDO. (Phaed., The Fly and the Mule.’ ) T he gunners on board a Japanese man-of-war were trying to find the range of a target, so they sent out a practice torpedo. Now this torpedo had been confined below decks for quite a long while, and, in consequence, had developed a fiery temper. As soon as liberty was given to it, the torpedo darted away. In a little while, however, it changed its course and made a quick return for the ship. When it came within hail- ing distance it said to the man-of-war : “ Why do you not get out of my way ? I am in an angry mood today, and unless you get away at once I will blow you to pieces.” To which the warship answered, calmly : My dear little Jap, I do not fear you; you are only a practice torpedo. The harm you can do is very small. But I am really afraid of that American fleet which I see in the dim distance. Therefore I ask you to make no threats.” Moral. Napoleon was a quiet man, or empty bottles make most noise. James Selby Barrett, H. S., ’10. THE GREEDY STOCK BROKER. ♦ (Phaed., “ The Greedy Dog.”) The following story has been handed down to bring home to us a lesson. Now the lesson is this: We deservedly lose that which belongs to us, when we strive to get something which belongs to another. 100 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Mr. W. Blythe Arnold and Mr. Franklin Hender- son were two prominent stock brokers in this city. The former, who was not quite as successful as Mr. Henderson, tried constantly to get ahead of his rival in stock speculations. So one fine day, when the busy tickers showed an active market, Mr. Arnold thought his chance had come, for Mr. Henderson was trying to corner the B. and O. In his anxiety to get the better of his rival Mr. Arnold neglected his opportunity to control the Western Maryland, on which he had set his heart. His too great anxiety to overreach another caused him to lose a small fortune in both speculations. Moral. Stung ! J. Albert Berger, H. S., ’10. AN INFLATED AMATEUR. (Phaed., “ The Conceited Daw.”) Will Muff was a bright, intelligent boy, who lived in Highlandtown. He could play ball better than any other boy in the village, but there was one thing wrong with him, — he had what is commonly called — a ‘‘ swelled-head.” One beautiful day, in August, he thought he would try to “ make good ” on some major league team. He applied to the far-famed manager of the renowned Orioles and was given a “ try out.” His first game was lost on account of his wretched playing, and for the first time in the history of Balti- more one of her players was hooted off the grounds. That ended Mr. William Muff’s professional career as a ball-player. He returned dejectedly to Highlandtown. But even here his place had been filled by another, and his services were needed no longer. Then one of the team, whom he had THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 101 “ knocked ” many a time, said to him : “ If you had been satisfied with us and with Sunday baseball, your picture would have been in the Baltimore News long before this.” Moral. It is a long way from Highlandtown to Oriole Park. Or Be satisfied with your own “ lot.” James Burch, H. S., ’10. THE CONCEITED TRAMP. (Phaed., The Conceited Daw.”) Lest it should please anyone to glory in the possessions of another, rather than in his own, Loessel has given us the fol- lowing fable: A tramp, swelled with empty pride, adorned himself with a tuxedo-suit, which he had stolen. Then, despising his fel- low-tramps, he secured admittance to the Maryland Club, in Baltimore, and mingled among its well-known members. These distinguished gentlemen soon found him out by reason of his unmannerly conduct, and had him ejected from the Club house. When this “ woe-be-gone ” had been cast forth from the Club, he returned to his fellow-tramps with sadness of heart. Here his life was still further made unhappy, when one of his fellow-non-laborers said to him : “ If you had been satisfied with our society and our club-life, and had been willing to put up with the small gifts that fortune gave to you, you would not have suffered this shameful disgrace. Moral. A place for everything and everything in its place. Frank J. Loessel, H. S., ’10. 102 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL THE ROBBER’S PARTNERS. (Phaed., “ The Lion’s Partners.”) There was once a band o£ robbers that caused much trou- ble among the hills of Maryland. A chief and three com- panions made up this band. One night, when they came to- gether in order to divide the booty of the day, the chief, play- ing with a smart-looking revolver, said to them : “ I am to have the first part of this booty, because I am your chief ; the second part you will hand over to me, because I formed the plan to get the booty; the third part I must have, since I en- tered the house first; and as for the fourth part of this booty if anyone of you dares to even touch it I will kill him on the spot.” In this manner the chief took entire possession of the stolen goods. Moral. Even in Maryland, to the victor belong the spoils. Harry Quinn, H. S., ’10. THE ATHEIST. (Phaed., “ The Stag in the Cattle Shed.”) An atheist friend of Sir Isaac Newton made a call on him one day in his study. There his eyes fell upon a large, magnifi- cent globe, which showed, in a striking manner, the workings of the heavenly planets. Filled with admiration at this masterpiece, the unbeliever congratulated the discoverer of gravitation on his great skill. He expressed great admiration at the ability of Sir Isaac to fashion so fine a piece of work. “You are mistaken,” the THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 103 scientist said, “ if you think that this is the result of my profi- ciency. No one made this globe, it simply came into being by chance.” The look of incredulity was seen on the face of the atheist. “ My dear friend,” continued Sir Isaac, “ you will not allow that this specimen before you was not made by the feeble hands of an ignorant man, and yet you dare to assert’ that this vast universe came into existence merely by chance, that no one made it or guides it now. Cast aside your bigotry and look with unprejudiced eyes at the wonders that the Al- mighty has made. Do this, my friend, and you will see what has been hitherto hidden from your cloudy mind.” Moral. He who seeks will find. Richard Williams, H. S., ’10. THE VASE AND THE CANDLE-STICK. (Phaed., “ The Stag at the Spring.”) On a mantel-piece, in one of the prominent residences in this city of Baltimore, were displayed many beautiful articles of chinaware. Among them was a very costly vase, which was very proud and kept aloof from the society of the other occupants of the mantel. One beautiful day, in the month of May, a China candle- stick got up enough courage to speak to the vase. The haughty vase paid no attention to it, and said : “ I don’t care for your company; you do not keep yourself clean.” While the proud vase was thus speaking, the master of the mansion came and accidently pulled off the cover from the mantel, which with its contents fell in a sorrowful heap upon the hearth. Now the vase was made only of thin china, and broke into fragments, while the heavy candle-stick came out of the wreck, safe and sound. Moral. “ Things that are ornamental, are not always useful.” George Tormey, H. S., ’10. 104 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL a Ceaci er ' J ream. W ITH a sign of relief the teacher saw the last boy leave the class-room. The day had been particularly trying; the mild weather must have had a bad effect on the boys, for, despite all his efforts, interest had waned with each succeeding lesson and he gave up in despair of ever seeing the boys become the men he would have them. Bond and Winters had missed their Greek, and been sent to “jug f the class ‘‘star” had failed in his Memory and to cap the climax during the translation of “ Viri Romae,” Heyward, the wit of First Year High, asked the boy next him, in an audible whisper, “ What’s the difference between Horatius and our society women? ” Being reproved, and made repeat his question aloud he gave the answer that, the former “ worked ” at the bridge, and the latter “ played ” at it. Sitting thus, buried in thought, the class-room, with its troubles seemed to fade from the teacher’s sight, and the future became present. With no thought of his strange surroundings the teacher found himself at a session of Congress; a sudden hush and in the speaker who takes the floor, he recognizes Howard White, who always broke down, ingloriously, in his elocution. Listening, almost spell-bound to his pupil’s eloquence, he noticed one of the pages whisper to a gentleman, who immediately left his place, as quietly as possible. As the teacher recognized Howard White’s great chum, Joe Brown, and thought of the many failures in his Latin declensions, he overheard a lady say to her friend: “ That is Dr. Brown, one of Washington’s most noted physicians; he never fails to respond to a sick call, whether the patient be rich or poor.” Leaving the Capitol, the teacher walked a short THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 105 distance and entering a church for a few minutes’ prayer, he found quite a number of people waiting near the confessional. As he remembered that it was the eve of the First Friday, he saw the name, “ Rev. J. F. Heyward, S. J.,” above one of the “ boxes. ’ Although in church, the mem- ories evoked by that name, caused a faint smile, and — “ Are his eyes deceiving him?” or “Is it Joseph Heyward, the lad of conundrum fame, coming down the aisle?” With a thought that the days of miracles were not passed, the teacher hurried to the station. While purchasing his ticket, he observed a gentle- man, whose features seemed familiar, seated in the office. Attracted probably by the close scrutiny, the stranger arose and came towards the window, and he recalled John Smith, the blockhead of the algebra class, now vice-president of the road, extending his hand to his old teacher. After a few minutes’ conversation they parted, mutually pleased at the chance meet- ing. Hearing the porter call, “ Express to Baltimore,” he hurried to the car. Lost in thoughts of his old pupils, he was dis- turbed by a tap on the shoulder, as the gentleman back of him said: “Pardon me, but are you not Mr. Hart?” “YeSj and you are Leo Norton, my boy with the red-headed temper.” Laughingly, Norton said that the temper was still red, though the hair was not as fiery as of yore. He was doing well in the real estate business, and cordially invited his teacher to pay him a visit. Conversing of old days, the time seemed very short, and when the conductor passed through the car, calling in a loud voice, “ Union Station, Baltimore,” the teacher started to his feet so suddenly that, — he nearly fell off the chair. He h ad been sleeping since three o’clock, and it was now five. Hurriedly closing the class-room, he walked home, saying to himself, “ Who knows — who knows ? ” Benton Cushwa, H. S., ’ll. 106 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL (A Story.) A YOUNG man, while passing down Eutaw Street, stopped at a second-hand book store to look over the assort- ment of books on the weather-beaten stand. For awhile he gazed carelessly at different broken-down volumes and was on the point of turning away when a dilapidated volume, hidden in the corner, attracted him. “ Where have I seen that book before? ’’ he thought. “Ah! yes. It is the self-same one that used to catch my fancy, as a child. The same print and old- fashioned pictures which I used to pore over in my grand- father’s library. ’ What a host of old memories this time-stained book stirred to life. The death of his grandfather, who was thought to have been a wealthy man, but whose fortune had never been discovered. The mystery of his will, which disappeared so completely that years of search left the matter buried in deeper mystery. The death of his own father, whose days had been spent in toil, and not in the luxury which men had predicted. His attention was sharply called back to the book, however, by the sight of a paper, between the leaves. It was old, too, old as the book itself. Time had browned the edges, and the pressure had creased it, almost to breaking. But one glance showed it to be a law document; and the heart of the young man pulsed high as he unfolded it. It was the last will of his grandfather, drawn up crudely and hurriedly, but signed by the old man himself and his old-fashioned attorney. And the message it bore aroused him. He was on the point of concealing the paper in his pocket, when the owner of the store appeared in the door-way, and stood looking directly at him. With an effort to conceal his THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 107 feelings from the sharp-eyed owner, he took the book to him and asked the price. ‘‘ Ten cents,” said the book-seller, and the young man paid the price, with a hurry that caused the seller to look after him in surprise. When he arrived home he locked himself in his room and unfolded the document that held his fortune. It was ad- dressed to the old man’s three sons, in words characteristic of the writer. “ In my land there is a fortune for the one can find it. It lies in the ground, and he who will dig for it must begin at the great oaks and work until he has laid bare two score feet of ground.” The eyes of the reader were wide with expectancy. At last he had found the way to the hidden treasure, which his father had died without ever seeing. “But I will find it and live the life my poor father was denied.” “ If labor can find this treasure, I shall be a rich man.” He spent his savings for tools and began his search. At the end of a week he had forty feet uncovered, but the only treasure discovered was the rich loam, that had laid fallow for years. For days and weeks and months he continued to dig, but nothing more was discovered, except an unusual ap- pearance of the ground near the great oaks. In disappoint- m ent he gave up his dreams of treasures and settled down to a life of sowing and planting, which, however, realized a large profit for him the very next fall. Eight years have passed, and the young man is still on the farm of his grandfather; but his fortune has been found, and he is now reckoned the wealthiest farmer in the State. Oil was discovered near the great oaks and the sum offered to him by the magnates for the site would have caused his grand- father to gasp. The grandson, however, does reverence to the memory of the old man who drew up the document, and blushes for his own dullness in understanding a message that was not written for dreamers. William Kearney, H. S., ’09. 108 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL ti e mil {(ftea (An Incident With a Lesson.) D uring the sixteenth century, there lived in a stately castle on a hillside in Italy, a young nobleman, known far and wide for his gentleness and piety. It happened one day that while he was engaged in a game of ball, and thorough- ly enjoying it too, the question arose, what it were best to do if suddenly, in the midst of the game, notice came from Heaven that the end of the word was at hand. Some of the players maintained that the safest course would be to rush to the chapel in order to be found in that holy place by the angel of death ; others declared that they would fall on their knees, then and there, and pray for God’s clemency. But when the time came for our young nobleman to express his opinion, he modestly made answer : “ I think I would continue playing, as if no interruption had taken place. For if everything that we do is directed to the glory of God, and to our last end, we honor God in it all, and therefore play as well as prayer must be pleasing to Him. How can death be terrible, if it finds us doing what is pleasing to God?” The nobleman who made this sublime reply, thereby astonishing his less God-fearing companions, was none other than that lily of purity and scorner of honors — the world- famous, Saint Aloysius Gonzaga. Here in college, if we would infuse such lofty motives into our everyday actions and even into those actions that appear to have little reference to God, what peace would we possess, and how little would death terrify us. Louis A. Wheeler, H. S., ’08. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 109 from fwrrotD to fame. HEN Rome was in danger of being besieged by the ▼ Aequians, the only man they thought could save them was Cincinnatus. The officers who came to announce his appointment as leader of the Roman forces found him ploughing in his fields, and when Cincinnatus saw them he called to his wife to bring him his toga, a garment used only on festal occasions. He was offered the dictatorship, and went out with twelve thousand men, defeated the invaders, and amid great rejoicing, marched triumphantly back to Rome, laden with the spoils of war. After this, having performed his duty to his country, he went back to his farm, despite the entreaties of his countrymen, who would have loaded him with high honors. As we glance down the long list of heroes whose names shine brightly in the histories of nations, we come across a sec ond Cincinnatus in our own, dear country’s history. When the news of the battle at Lexington spread through the col- onies, Putnam, too, was ploughing in his fields. Leaving his - oxen and plough, he mounted his favorite steed and rode to Boston. His later deeds and bravery have made him dear to every schoolboy ' s heart. There are many other men who, while their names are not written on the pages of time, have, nevertheless, by their almost incredible achievements, rendered themselves immortal to those who do not judge so much by the greatness of deeds, as by their quality. The names of Alexander the Great, Han- nibal, and our own George Washington shall endure as long as history, but they rather compel our admiration, and we en- joy those things which are near us, which we can grasp and 110 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL appreciate. The noble self-sacrifice which characterized the deeds of a Cincinnatus, a Putnam and a Commodore John Barry, is that which causes us to think of these heroes, per- haps with a greater secret admiration than we profess.. The deeds of an Alexander the Great teach us how to do ; those of a Cincinnatus teach us how to be. Great deeds of valor be- come obscured by the mists of time, but the lessons exemplified in the deeds of a Cincinnatus and a Putnam shall live forever. Now all these heroes are gone; only the memory of their achievements hands their names to posterity, and it is but the noble sentiment underlying these achievements that dis- tinguishes them from their fellowmen. Winfred I. Koontz, H. S., ’ll. (A Story.) E arly in the morning, on the second of February, a poorly dressed woman might have been seen shive ring on her way to the central police station of this city. She looked haggard and tired, while her wearied step told only too plainly its story of sorrow and of a night spent in sleepless anxiety. As she hurried onward a storm arose, and a strong wind blew cutting showers of sleet into her face ; yet she strug- gled with ever-diminishing strength through the deepening snow. With a sigh of relief she entered the station and gave her name as Mrs. Mary Johnson. She said that she was a widow, and that during the night her house had been entered, and her THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 111 only child, a blue-eyed, light-haired boy of eleven, had been kidnapped. Mrs. Johnson also stated that two men, dressed in black, and so masked that they were quite unrecognizable, had committed the abduction. The polic e were astounded at the story, and immediately telegraphed the description of the boy over the whole country, and set their best detectives at work to capture the criminals. All the next week there was no news of the boy, and the poor widow was nearly frantic with pain and apprehension. A month passed and still no news. The bereaved mother wor- ried until she became dangerously ill, and the doctors said that nothing but news of her son would save her. For twenty-four hours she lay in a state of torpidity ; then she lingered between life and death for two painful weeks. It was at this time that the longed for news came. Detectives in Philadelphia had obtained a valuable clue and had worked upon it until now. They were proud to send word to the widow that the boy had been found, and begged her to come to identify him. Immediately she began to re- cover and in a short time the doctor declared that she was fit to travel. On the train Mrs, Johnson’s hopes rose in proportion to the distance she covered. At last the time had come when she was to meet her child again. On arriving in Philadelphia she went straight to the police headquarters, and the boy was called in. But alas ! the poor woman’s hopes were shattered at one glance. It was not her son; though the likeness to him was quite remarkable. Blackest despair now settled upon her, and she knew not what to do. For the sake of a change, however, she went to a moving picture gallery and distractedly followed the scenes. The first was comic, but excited her interest very little. The sec- ond, representing a Spanish bull fight, aroused such excite- ment among the spectators that she gradually joined in the 112 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL enthusiasm. The third scene showed a fleet of small sailing craft at the oyster beds. In this picture two large, surly men attracted Mrs. Johnson’s attention. While they were hard at work, a child suddenly emerged from the hold of the ship. The widow waited for no more. Here was at last the child whom she had sought so long in vain, and for whose sake she had suffered such untold misery. The detectives were notified and they, after finding out where the picture had been taken, soon located the child. Lit- tle John solved the mystery of his abduction. He had over- heard the seamen say that they had kidnapped him in revenge for some injury his father had done to them, and had kept him on an oyster boat for concealment. Thus was John Johnson restored to his mother by means of that useful as well as enter- taining invention, the kinetoscope. Arthur A. Lyness, H. S., ’ 08 . atto mtth mh 9!t. H e was a robust chap, with a bright smile nearly always playing about his ruddy face. One great trait he had, was implicit trust in the opinion of his elders; so it was in Greek. He liked Latin, took delight in his native tongue, found pleasure in mathematics, but Greek, — he despised. It was part of the class-system, that after the professor had given an explanation in Greek grammar, the Greek-theme should be taken down. At the close of the explanation, a sul- len look took possession of that former bright face. Even low murmurs could be heard. He was willing to learn, but only because he was told to do so. His constant feeling was: THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 113 “ What’s the value of it, anyway? ” And so he went through college, cold to the words of those who knew better, that studying Greek would make a man of him, if not in mind (through his own fault) at least in character. Not long ago I walked into his office, which is located in the C Building. He is a lawyer now, and told me that often when the weary hours of law are over, he sits at home and takes up his “ Demosthenes ” with genuine pleasure. “ Don’t you know, James,” he said, “ I believe most of my success is due to Greek! It taught me how to use good, ac- curate words, and to this I attribute the force of my speeches. This power of choosing words has brought me many a compli- ment from the bench (and many a fee, too, from clients). “ And what a man it has made of me ! I see now, that everytime I accented those old, Greek words, my after career v as being accented, by learning the lesson of respect for the opinion of others. Those breathings, too ; they looked rough, but I believe they made my breathing in life smooth, by giving me the faculty of attending to little things! And those eu- phonic changes, that puzzled me so much, how they have helped me to solve many a puzzle in life. There are many changes in life to be made, and it is a good thing to know that the best changes are those that are euphonic, and follow the law. “ Stick to your Greek, boy, and some day your name will be with mine on the shingle outside the door ! ” James A. McElroy, Spec. 8 114 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL clasjjs tmom. W E all remember the story of Horatius. Standing on the narrow bridge, which barred the enemy’s ap- proach, he held them at bay while his few companions broke down the bridge. He fell with the bridge, and amid a shower of javelins, swam across to his comrades. He had saved Rome, and his grateful countrymen voted him a grant of land and a statue in the public square. Then there was Leonidas, who with a small band of Spartans withstood the vast army of Xerxes. Leading from Thessaly into Greece is the narrow pass of Thermopylae, bounded on one side by water and on the other by rugged ridges. Here the Spartans took their stand. Before assault- ing them, Xerxes ordered them to give up th eir arms. The answer of Leonidas was, “ Come and take them.” For two days the Persians stormed the pass, and it was only through the treachery of a Greek, that they gained the secret entrance to the pass and surrounded the Spartans. Leonidas and his soldiers fought until not a man was left. Such heroic courage is seldom displayed. Yet, we of modern times have Col. Fitzgerald and his brave Irish sol- diers, who for two days held Athlone bridge against Ginkle and his German army. During the administration of President Tyler, another instance of heroism occurred in the war for Texan Independence. Texas at that time was a part of Mexico, and naturally the Mexicans resolved to resist the insurgents. Santa Anna, with 4,000 Mexicans, crossed the Rio Grande and marched to San Antonio. Wm. B. Travis, with a band of 140 Texans, held the Alamo against them. The Alamo is an old Franciscan THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 115 mission-house. It consists of a church, hospital and convent, surrounded by a wall thirty-three inches thick. Hearing that the Mexicans were going to attack San Antonio, the Texans gathered in the mission-house. The lit- tle garrison compelled to man the defenses day and night, was exhausted after ten days’ fighting. At last the Mexicans broke down the ramparts and entered the inclosure. The Texans fought with desperate valor, but they were overcome by the enemy’s superior numbers. At length only five were left, and these by Santa Anna’s orders were slaughtered without quarter. Such are some of the heroes whose deeds have be- come familiar to us this year from the pages of our history and our classic authors. But there are others of another nation, unknown perhaps to worldly fame, who forget themselves, and live and toil for others. Their names may not be found in the “ Viri Romae,” but we know that they are written in a Book that will not perish. Edgar B. Graham, H. S., ’ll. “Put me off at Mentor.” AST September I boarded a train which goes over the “ Loyola ” tracks. I got on at a station called “ Prep,” and a place named “ Senior ” is my destination. The name of the train is the “ Loyola Accommodation.” The ground was rather rough at first and things didn’t seem clear to me, but now it has become smoother. There are eight more stations for the train to pass and I hope I do not have a break-down and remain overtime on the road. At every station you change cars, and generally conduc- tors too. Besides having the one long stop for every sum- 116 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL mer, there are shorter ones at Christmas, Easter and other times, that are like little coaling stations on a long run. Grown folks tell us that the coal is “ Energy Anthracite,” and it is gotten by the short rests. The scenery along the line is different from that of other journeys, for instead of beautiful meadows, wooded mountains and ploughed earth, there is nothing but blackboards, desks and such things. Often you run into little tunnels, and each one of them is called “Jug.” Though the whole journey is finished very slowly, time flies quickly, and some day I hope to be at the great “ Terminal.” Senior is the terminal. . The funny part of it all is that you receive your ticket at the end, instead of at the beginning of the journey. They call it a diploma. Now, not many who start on journeys like this ever finish them, yet I certainly hope that I’ll be one that leaves the “ Terminal ” with the big ticket tucked under his arm. J. Neil Corcoran, Prep. (A True Story.) O NE evening, just before Christmas last, there stood on one of the down-town corners, selling newspapers, a lit- tle chap, whom we shall call “ Dan.” It was a bitter, cold night, and he longed to be “ sold out,” so that he could go home. While standing there, a lady came up and bought a paper. She handed the boy a coin, and he skipped off with his heart full of joy. He had gone about four blocks, when he pulled the money out of his pocket to see how business stood, and to his surprise, THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 117 found that the lady had given him a ten-dollar gold piece. “ Dan hastened back to the spot where he had seen the lady, and found her standing on the corner. When he came up to her he held out the money and said, “ Say, Miss, you didn’t mean to give me this.’ The lady looked in her pocket-book, and found that she had made the mistake. She then took the money, gave him fifty-cents and asked his name, address and age. He said that he was twelve years old, and the oldest child in a poor and large family. Next day, the lady visited his home and found things as the boy had told her. Whilst at his home, the lady asked him, above all things, what he would want as reward. He said “ My favorite wish is to go to L — College.” The kind lady went to the college, not long afterwards, to make arrange- ments for the boy’s going there next year. When the lady congratulated the boy’s mother because her son did not act as many boys would have done, the mother simply, but sternly said, “ He knew better,” and saying this she pointed to a switch, hanging on the wall. All we say is that we hope this good fellow will be in First High with us next year. Edward Tormey, Prep. at (0rottttti o5 T) OB had just gone to bed. Not being sleepy, he was watching the door-knob, which, to his surprise, began growing larger until it developed into the form of an old man. Walking over to the bed, the old man asked Bob what he had for supper. “ Sausages,” stammered Bob. “ Ha! You’re just the boy I’m looking for,” cried the old man. Grasping Bob by the arm he started to the castle of Sausageville. 118 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Arriving at the castle the old man opened the door and went in. After passing through several rooms they entered a hall which was filled with sausages of every description. At the head of the hall sat the queen. On seeing Bob, she cried, “ So this is the cannibal who ate five of my subjects. He must die.” She then called the chief ministers, to decide how he should die. They all planned different ways, but none suited her, until a little sausage suggested torture by cutting out his teeth with a chisel. This method was adopted and the work of torture began. The fifth tooth was just cut out, when the old man cried, “ Time’s up.” Immediately the sausages vanished, and Bob awoke to find himself sitting in bed holding his jaw, which was throbbing with toothache. Afterwards Bob’s parents often wondered why he wouldn’t eat sausages. Joseph Scherer, Prep. A guileless lad to college went, A mother’s darling, he: At first five hours in study spent. Each day, this prodigy. But then, as year succeeded year. As years have always done — Shocking to tell, the darling dear. Cut five hours down to none! Fred. H. Linthicum, H. S., ’08. fitgj) cjjool i otes LOYOLA HIGH SCHOOL DEBATING SOCIETY. Officers of the Society. Moderator, Mr. Charles J. Hennessy, S. J. First Term. President, John J. Bowens, ’08 Vice-President, Casimir Losinski, ’08 First Secretary, Cornelius A. Dailey, ’08 Second Secretary, Jos. Voglein, Spec. Treasurer, Frederick Linthicum, ’08 Censor, Austin Brady, ’09 Critic, Joseph Hanlon, ’08 Second Term. John J. Bowens, ’08. William Kearney, ’09. Cornelius A. Dailey, ’08. Frank Loessel, ’10. Frederick Linthicum, ’08. Louis Wheeler, ’08. Casimir Losinski, ’08. In our old age we, of Fourth Year High, have seen one of our fondest hopes realized, the founding of a debating Society in the High School. That the members of our class were earnest partakers in this movement may be seen from the list of officers as given above. The Society is composed of members from the upper classes in the High School. Enthusiasm was soon enkindled in the hearts of our juvenile literary athletes and remained at a high pitch to the last meeting. Owing to the illness of our Moderator, the first meeting was not called until Nov. 11th, 1907. It was then the officers were elected for the first term. Of course, it was becoming that our first debate should bring to memory the orator of antiquity. And so the question offered was: Resolved, “ That Cicero did more for the welfare of Rome than Caesar.” J. O’Neill Dorsch, ’09, and Charles Kyzour, ’09, of the nega- tive, yielded the honors of the day to Edward Hanrahan, ’09, and William Kearney, ’09. From that day on, the debates were held every second Tuesday, at 2:30 p. m., and many timely questions came up for discussion. The Society closed the first term with a debate in the College Hall on February 21st, before the Faculty, the College and the High School. The subject debated was: “ Resolved, That the Criticism of the United States Navy Is Unjustifiable.” W. Kearney, 119 120 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL ’09, and C. Losinski, ’08, contended with F. Linthicum, ’08, and C. Dailey, ’08, for the victory. The decision was given in favor of the negative side, F. Linthicum and C. A. Daily, to whom were given costly editions of famous speeches. In the second term, points of order brought to light many unpre- pared speeches. The different authorities on parliamentary law were in constant evidence, which caused many an anxious moment to our much-honored Chairman, John Bowens, ’08. Our Constitution came into existence during this term and met with a favorable reception on March 10th, when it was adopted. In many ways the past year has been very successful for the members of the Debating Society, who are looking forward to the evening of the High School commence- ment, when they will entertain their friends. The question to be de- bated is: “Should the Railroads Be Owned and Operated by the Gov- ernment?” F. Linthicum, ’08, and C. Losinski, ’08, have been selected to uphold the affirmative, while E. Hanrahan, ’09, and A. Brady, ’09, will uphold the negative side. A gold medal will be awarded to the better debater on the winning side. The Society has done a great deal towards teaching its members elocution, speech-writing and parliamentary law. It has aroused in them, also, an interest in the questions of the day. For all this we extend our thanks to our Reverend Moderator, who, by his untiring energy, helped us to launch on a successful career the Debating So- ciety of Loyola High School. Joseph T. Hanlon, H. S., ’08. Critic, First Term. FOURTH YEAR HIGH. HE affairs of the class have been capably looked after by F. H. Linthicum, President, and John Kines, Treasurer. “ Liber Aureus ” or “ The Golden Book,” has special interest for the class. Specimens of English, Latin and Greek literature, manufactured by ourselves and averaging ninety-five per cent, or over, are preserved in it. At the close of school, the book is to be presented to Rev. Father Rector. Nov. 16, 1907, witnessed a test in Latin Prosody, given before the Faculty. It was attended with dash and spirit. Mr. Fremgen, S. J., did the quizzing, and every student was an honor to the class, al- though there was a little “ give in ” at the knees. An exciting time- THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 121 contest in reciting the forty rules followed, in which A. Hofmann broke the school-record, with a score of 5 minutes, 42 seconds; C. Losinski was second. A gold badge was presented to the successful contestant. A pleasant innovation at reading of marks for March, was the sweet singing of our L. A. Wheeler, and duets on violin and mandolin, played respectively by A. Lyness and F. Linthicum. The occasion was further made memorable by an essay on “The Value of a High School Diploma,” by F. Linthicum, and by some mellifluous Latin verses, by F. Rose and C. Losinski. Examination time is upon us, and there is no little trepidation. A diploma is the goal. True, “With brains, madam, with brains,” we can win, but brains scatter inopportunely and are hard to collect. Then, illness and accidents have handicapped a number, and con- ditioned men have obstacles to overcome. But, “ I know of no royal road to Geometry,” so we are trudging the highway, and hope to reap the reward in June. J. F. Russell, H. S., ’08. THIRD YEAR HIGH. HE class has been very fortunate this year, not having any acci ' dents at all. On December 21st we made rules and elected officers. Those who were chosen for the year are; Edward Hanra- han. President; Thomas V. Lally, Treasurer; Charles Kyzour, Secre- tary; William A. Kearney, Historian. There is a custom in our class of inflicting a fine of five cents on anyone caught chewing gum. Since that rule has been made the class safe is bursting. We have had several opportunities for distinguishing ourselves, and we have taken advantage of them. For instance; in the great raffle, last November, we did more in proportion to the number of our members, and in consideration of other impediments, than any class in the college. Why! we sold more tickets than the whole college department put together. But have you heard of our reputation in literary matters? When the High School Debating Society was formed, the first four speakers were all members of Second Academic. In the public debate, on February 22d, we had one representative of our class on the affirma- 122 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL tive side, Wm. A. Kearney. And in the public debate, on June 26th, we have two members, Austin Brady and Edward Hanrahan. When the names of the classes were changed, we became known as “Third Year High.” Now we are mighty anxious for the day to come when our name will be changed again — next time to “ Fourth W. A. K., H. S.. ’09. SECOND YEAR HIGH. V E must be a class that needs a lot of care; we have had three teachers this year. When our regular teacher, Mr. Hennessy, had to give up on account of illness. Father Prefect took us until another Father came down from Boston to guide us in the ways of learning. The days were busy ones, when the Reverend Prefect of Studies held sway in our class-room. He said he always kept his boys busy when he taught in Boston College, years ago. Under his successor the Greek verb caused us an awful lot of trouble and worry, but the busy days were not so full of brimstone, as before. Finally our first teacher returned and has kept on going ever since. Under his direction, many little plans were drawn up for class work, and for affairs outside of class-work. Among other things, such as class-pins, class-colors, class-yells, class-basketball and later on baseball, he helped us to get under way our class paper, “ The Loyolian.” But our Prefect of Studies said it would be well to give it up, and the College Annual was to have the right of way this year. Altogether the year has been very pleasant. We started off cheerfully, and we are ending up cheerfully. We are now looking forward to green fields, plenty of fishing and baseball. FIRST YEAR HIGH. I ' here have been so many battles fought and won in our class- room this year, that we want to tell the world something about them. John Kaspar won the “ Annual Declension Contest,” and Harry Casey was the winner of the “ Latin Verb Contest.” Andrew J. Harri- THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 123 son won the “ Immunity Contest ” of the First Term, with 1,495 “ immunities ” and also won the “ Composition Prize.” The “ Immunity Contest,” of the Second Term, is nearing an end, with August J. Bourbon as its most probable winner. His number of “ immunities ” is nearing two thousand. Among the winners of Contests, also, was Martin Stock, who won the “ Greek Alphabet Contest ” by “ hitting it up ” from alpha to omega in seven seconds. The class was presented with a beautiful banner of blue and gold, bearing our motto, “ Victory,” — by Mrs. Anderson, the mother of one of First High’s scholars. We here publicly extend our thanks to our generous patroness. The First Year High Baseball Team, which is managed by V. Brooks and J. Ganster, defeated the Preparatory and the Second Year High teams, by scores of 10 to 8 and 8 to 7, respectively. The line-up is: Ruppel, c.; Strcmberg, p.; Ganster, s, s.; Baummer, 1st b.; Quinn, 2nd b.; Brooks, 3rd b.; W. Hoblitzell, 1. f.; Burns, c. f., and A. Hoblitzell, r. f. The best thing of all about First Year High is that we never have very many delegates in the “ Jug Room.” Andrew J. Harrison, H. S., ’ll. PREPARATORY. FTER examinations, Franklin A — , the great doer of “ stunts ” in “ gym will leave for his home in Leonardtown, and Jackson S — will leave for the same place. We hope that they, together with J. D. G — , champion “ Diabolo ” tosser of Govanstown, will bring some new members, to swell the class of the First Year High. Here are a few incidents of the year, — just a few. One day, on being asked, “What did Samson do to the lion?” George B — , who did not know his lesson, glanced at the picture in the Bible History and answered, “ He pulled out it’s teeth.” A bad recommendation for Samson as a dentist, George! Having read some books about the Indians and cowboys, Slavins H — brought a cap-pistol to school. In the course of the day he had an argument with James O’T., and seeing himself coming out second best, he drew the pistol. Taking deadly aim, he was about to pull the 124 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL trigger, when our professor in mathematics came to the rescue. The “ duel ” was postponed. Ray W — , after a spell of sickness, returned to class, to the great joy of his fellow-students. It is very true in Ray’s case that corpulence is the sign of good nature. Henry D — is developing into the “ Albaugh ” of the class. Whenever he gets a chance, he is making paper stages upon which he places the actors. The contrivances are generally worked by a string. Last of all, we (the boys of the “Prep.” Class) wish to say that during the last year, we think most of us have learnt a mighty good deal. All the boys received the same attention, no partiality being shown to any one. All honor and praise and thanks to Mr. Jacobi! Jos. E. Scherer, Prep. The engravings in this book, including that of the cover, were designed and drawn by Cyril A. Keller, of the Class of 1910.