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

Text from Pages 1 - 152 of the 1913 volume:

The Loyola College Annual PUBUSHED BY THE STUDENTS OF LOYOLA COLLEGE BALTIMORE. MD. JUNE, 1913 Baltimore City Printing and Binding Company S52 Equitable Building Page The Dirge of the Sea — Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6 i America and International Peace — George B. Loden, ' i6 2 ‘The Old Brass Band and Boyhood Days” — G. Alfred Peters, H. S. ’13 8 ‘‘Mutat Terra Vices” — George B. Loden, ’16 ii Beyond Price — Alumnus 12 When Nelson Met the Sophomores — Joseph J. Quinn, 16 13 Readers “Attention” — Ralph J. Sybert, 16 17 A Song of Spring — J. Bart Muth, ’16 19 Stevenson in Boyhood — Joseph J. Quinn, ’16 20 Stevenson in Death — Roger F. O’Leary, ’16 21 Stevenson the Proseman — J. Bart Muth, ’16 25 Death’s Sonnet — Ralph J. Sybert, ’16 27 Wonotah’s Atonemen t — Roger F. O’Leary, ’16 28 A Prayer — Andrew J. Harrison, ’14 32 Dickens’ Works and Catholicism — F. H. Linthicum, ’12 33 Pedantic Revelry — Joseph J. Quinn, ’16 43 All Hail! The Christ! All Hail! — Andrew J. Harrison, ’14 45 The Spirit of Christmas Poetry — Ralph J. Sybert, ’16 47 The Wolf that Howled at Midnight — Joseph J. Quinn, ’16 50 In the Forest Gloom — Martin F. X. Murray, ’16 54 Grains of Sense — Alumnus 55 Trolley Moods — Ralph J. Sybert, ’16 56 “The Hindoo’s Gratitude” — Erwin O. Ullrich, H. S. ’13 57 Quantockians and the College Campus 62 The Dramatic Short Story Passing 65 Page The Class of 1913 66 “Who Is the Secretary?” 69 Our Encore — Frederick L; Dewberry, H. S. ' 13 70 The Loyola High School Dramatic Club Banquet — August B. Haneke, H. S. ’13 71 A Psalm of School — J. Bart Muth, ' 16 71 Resolutions on Death of Andrew M. Giblin 72 Loyola Literary Society — J. Bart Muth, ’16 73 Senior Sodality Notes — J. J. Lardner, ’15 75 The Junior Sodality — D. Albert Donegan, H. S. ' 15 76 College Basketball Team — T. Aquin Keelan, ’13 78 The College Chronicle 80 College Mirror, Junior — J. H. Joyce, Jr., 14 88 College Mirror, Sophomore — E. B. G., ’15 90 College Mirror, Freshman — J. J. Quinn 90 Fourth Year — Leo H. O Hare, H. S. ’15 93 Third Year — R. Quinn, H. S. ’14 95 Second Year High School (A) — Herbert J. McCann, H. S. ' 15... 97 Second Year High School (B) — M. J. C., H. S. ’15 98 First Year High School (A) — W. D. W., L. H. S. ' 16 99 First Year High School (B) — J. D. M., L. H. S. ' 16 loi Jesuit Sons of Loyola of 1913 loa Alumni Banquet 104 Memories of the Past 107 I . tr:,.. ■ V ’ THE REVEREND WILLIAM J. ENNIS, S. J., President of Loyola College. Hogdla Ololl gf Anwaal 2Ilfp Sirg? of tlfp fa Moaning and sobbing thy heart away In runic rhythm a lonely lay, Dismal sea, dost thou never sleep. But croon forlorn and sorrow and weep? Dost thy heart repent thee thy fatal sport With the sailor laddies who ne’er reached port? Then mourn forlorn And sough on the shore. Sob in the deep, Curb thy turbulent waves Roaring wild o’er the graves Of the dead. Repentant and sad For the sailor lad, Sough, sob, weep. Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6. 2 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Am rira mh Hfnternattanal HAT this generation shall see International Peace an ac- complished fact, we firmly trust. The unmeaning waste of war is an offense to modern intelligence. Its mortality is weighed in the balance and is found wanting. Between civilized nations war has never settled the real question supposed to be at issue. No question is ever settled until it is settled, not by might, but by right. Brute force is not the measure of right. The issues of right and wrong are moral issues — they are not settled rightly by armies and navies. That men are parts and parcels forming the same body is today the view of all enlightened men of the world. Com- merce and political economy have proven in a thousand ways that the higher prosperity of humanity depends upon the higher prosperity of every individual and nation. The reforming work then, for the establishment of that serene and radiant future of peace, must begin with the indi- vidual. For the aspiring soul of a nation can rise no higher than its source, and its source is in the wayward hearts of the people. We want justice, not success, Thou shalt not kill, echoing and re-echoing, from Mt. Sinai down through the ages of sun- shine and gloom that have preceded us, stands out and will ever stand out to admonish, aye to haunt, him that steeps his hand in the blood of another. But the individual has realized and believes that honor no longer requires him to fight duels, determining not whose cause was right, but whose aim was straightest. So as this has been abolished, .as he firmly believes in tribunals rather THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 3 than in personal combat, therefore the nations, like the indi- vidual, should rest the discussions of their difficulties upK n courts of justice, abolish their mighty duelling, discard their arms, and wisely stop their murdering and their wild race to bankruptcy. Bankruptcy, aye this we may well speak of. At a ratio simply appalling the resources of this nation, as well as every other, are being absorbed by the expenditures on armaments and by the interest on war debts. Were we capable of appre- ciating its enormity, we would be staggered by the fact that last year’s account for armies and navies for the civilized world reached $2,250,000,000. But there are other facts of war even more serious than its incurable folly or its intolerable burden. There is its irreparable loss. War debts are a bur- den, but the loss that has no gain to match is the wanton and uncompensated waste of the manhood of the nations. War wastes the hard-earned money of the people, but its waste of blood, its waste not only of the brave men who die, but its incalculable waste of the whole generation of possible heroes who ought to have been but are not — that waste is wild and prodigal— THAT WASTE NEVER CAN BE GATHERED UP AGAIN. That great American citizen, Benjamin Franklin, is quoted as saying, “There never was a good war or a bad peace.” But notwithstanding, history tells us, that men are loud in their talk of war’s compensations. They argue that the natio n makes progress through the sur- vival of the fittest. But in war the Law of Progress and Sur- vival is reversed. The fittest do not survive; in the competi- tions of peace, the weak, the cowardly, the unfit, go to the wall, but in the fierce testing of the men on the march and on the battlefield, it is the strong, the daring, the courageous who FALL. 4 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL War’s insatiable call has ever been, “SEND US THE BEST YE BREED.” None but the best, the virile, the self-sacri- ficing will face the perils and endure the hardships for a great cause. The best go first. The best stand in the fore-front, the best are the first to fall, the FITTEST do not survive. And, if nations rise, by the survival of the fittest, so by the same inexorable law there comes national reaction and decay, when the fittest are destroyed and the parentage of the nation is left to the inferior and the unfit. The law works both ways. If it is a ladder by which the nation may climb to the higher levels of physical fitness and moral character, by the same ladder the nation may sink to lower grades. Many causes conspired to the decay and the destruction of the nations of antiquity, but one abiding and persistent cause was the continual and relentless wars, whose records make up almost all there is of ancient history. The wars of the Caesars were the slaughter time of Rome’s choicest sons. So with France — not even to this day has France recovered from the awful loss of her best blood in the Napoleonic war. The best were taken from mid-life, then from old age, then from youth. “A boy can stop a bullet of the Russians as well as a man,” said Napoleon. And all the way to Moscow the flower of France was strewn and withered before it came to seed. And what of these UNITED STATES? What has been war’s loss to this republic? For a young and peaceful nation to spend more than 67 per cent, of its entire annual federal revenue on armanents and war debts is surely an appalling situation. But what of our loss in manhood, in moral fiber, in genuine patriotism? A generation and a half ago, in your one great war, more THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 5 than 600,000 men of the North and more than 400,000 of the South, 1,000,000 of the youth and strength and hope of both North and South, died on the Altar of Patriotism and left no breed behind. PERHAPS THE SACRIFICE WAS NECES- SARY—PERHAPS NOT— BUT AT WHAT A PRICE! Dare you yet face with open eyes the human loss in that one war? The loss to the North is beyond measure. Old men weep when they recall the lads in their tens and twenties, the thousands of them who marched out with them and never came back. To take the seasoned soldiers and men past their prime, was loss enough. But ours was the slaughter of the innocents in the bloom of their young manhood. And in them were slaughtered the sons of their heroism, who ought to have been with us today, but WHO NEVER V ERE BORN ! Ah, tlie effects present themselves before us like the ghost of murdered Banquo. We are solemnly casting into the sea the treasure of our peo- ple, the product of our hands, the fruitage of the sweat of our brow, and yet we cannot point to a single act, moral, intel- lectual or physical, wherein we may be justified. As we have seen, mankind yields to two great influences — the intellectual, which affects his judgment, and the moral, affecting his sentiment. The world has ever strongly em- phasized the first and too often minimized the second as being effeminate and intangible. It has been the intangible, my friends, sympathy, love, honor, patriotic devotion, high unsel- fishness which has left its impress in every step of progress in individual or world development. On no other basis can the brotherhood of man be estab- lished and maintained, on no other consideration can Inter- national Peace be assured. From the treaty of Ghent sprang the fountains of English speaking history. Since that day these two mighty rivers of f) THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Anglo-Saxon life and influence have flowed steadily on side by side, never overflowing their banks, but in their onward course bound in the very nature of things to mingle their waters in the great ocean of common destiny and accomplish- ment. The common goal is quite apparent, the waters may over- flow and God forbid, wars may come to hinder and delay, but surely as the day is day, as right is right, and rivers flow to ocean, problems of universal peace will ultimately find solu- tion in the broadest and deepest unity of purpose. The only adequate SOLUTION that presents itself for assuring the observance of international obligations and the maintenance of peace is by the institution of a tribunal, to which shall be submitted all disputes among nations. This tribunal shall be vested with authority to initiate inquiry into questionable acts of international significance, and to be clothed with all the physical power necessary for enforcing its mandates. Each of the associated powers bear in their equal proportion the expense thereof, for the maintenance of the peace of the world. The spirit displayed at the Hague Conference was noble and fine, but there was a lack of real earnestness of purpose upon the part of those in authority. Once let the big men of the nations get together on this question and International Peace would follow speedily. This noble cause is one that calls with special propriety for American leadership, but our vigil will be of short length. The day of Universal Peace is dawning. It is nearer than many of us suppose. The progress of civilization makes it possible. The triumph of Christianity makes it sure. It is brought nearer by every victory of intelligence over ignor- ance — of law over force — of love over hate. It is helped forward by every sacrifice of self, by every martrydom to the cause of liberty and truth. Democracy calls to it — for only THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 7 in the days of peace can the people reign supreme. No nobler mission for our beloved country can possibly be imagined than to lead in the sublime inauguration of the world- wide reign of peace. Is not this, indeed, the fore-ordained destiny of the re- public ? When in the fullness of time, our country’s race at length is run, and she shall take her place in the long list of nations, that from age to age have been instruments in the divine mys- tery of human progress, shall not her epitaph record that, even as Greece gave the world Art, as Rome gave it Law, as Pales- tine gave it Faith, SO OUR GREAT REPUBLIC GAVE IT PEACE! George B. Loden, ’i6. 8 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL ©If? Srass Hattb aain Sayljaiiiii Saga J HAVE an almost “darky-like” affection for the brass band. When I make up my mind to take in a show I look first to the orchestra which is playing and then to the name of the company. I don’t know why I show this partiality — I love the shows as much as anyone — but I suppose it is a taste acquired so long ago that the date is too far off to remember. I can readily recall the first time I attended school and the first time I rode on the “cars,” but I am not aware of the time v hen the blaring notes of the brass band first charmed my ears. I liked the band in my childhood, v hy should I not now? Those pipes and peeps of the fife that sounded for all the world like a small sparrow trying to outcry a screaming loon? The thud of the bass drum and the monotonous umph! umph! of the trombone. But this was to me then the sweetest music — these little squeaks and thundering roars— this conglomera- tion of sound — the old brass band. I like to remember the little, wan postmaster bravely strugg- ling with the big drum on a Vv indy day, when every puff seemed as if it would blow him off his feet. The fat, perspiring German puffing and blowing on that most wonderful instru- ment, the bass horn, emiting sonorous music, for so we must term those sighs and groans his labor produced. I love the inspiring rat-ta-ta-tat of the kettle drums and the fifes, if possible, with its still more inspiring tune. But above all, I love the little brass band for the memories it brings, thoughts of childhood and of my younger days. How vividly do I recall the picnics in the woods, how gayly we marched to the music to the picnic grounds and how in the THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 9 evening we returned tired but happy. The entertainments! The Shows! The Fourth of July celebration! The circus! I was recounting to my brother last night some of these thoughts which had been caused by the passing of the brass band of the circus which had just entered town, and could not help remarking how times had changed and what a difference there was in our lives, when I noticed my companion close his eyes and appear as if looking into the past. ‘T wish we could enjoy those times again,” he said, “when we were children. I do not mean that I want a dirty, sticky little urchin of three or four, but there was a middle age,” as he dreamily wandered on, “in which I am sure we could enjoy ourselves more than at present. A show is but a show, now that you can go when you please. It used to be a great occasion. When we saved up pennies (and what a time I had making you do it those days ! ) we used to prepare weeks ahead and discuss over and over again just how we were going to enjoy ourselves. A show was worth seeing then when they came so infrequently.” “Do you remernber how we hoarded up our pennies till all the other boys called us misers, we spent so little — and all to see a performance of Uncle Tom’s Cabin in the village opera house? Do you remember how we talked about it between ourselves and could not settle just how much to pay for a ticket, and how we set out early in the morning of the event- ful day, fearing that we should be late, and how, when we finally arrived in town we proudly asked for a ticket and pompously handed in our money, and how we raced into the theater to get the best seat possible and how we impatiently waited for the performance to start? Do you enjoy all the sensations now? Or can the fine clothes which you now wear and are so careful to keep looking well give you half as much 10 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL pride as that old mink tail cap you brought with you, bought with your own hard-earned money and which you flaunted in the faces of your companions — a great luxury we thought it then? Now you are able to purchase any suit that pleases you, but I cannot see that you are half as much pleased with them as you were with that old cap ’ “How you offered excuse after excuse when you arrived home for spending more than you should have done for a certain suit; how you looked at the suit and considered the money and looked again at the suit — do you not recall those times with pleasure? Now, all you have to do is to walk into your tailor’s, order a suit to your liking and think no more of it.” “Then too, do you not remember the circus? How we stood watching with awe the feats depicted on the billboards — how we worked and slaved for the trainer to get a free pass, and how we scrambled and crawled over the bleachers to get in the front row? How we did laugh at the funny clowns and still funnier antics of the trick mule! With what open- mouthed amazement we watched the acrobats perform their ‘stunts’ in midair! What thorough enjoyment it was!” Fred is usually so quiet and taciturn that I am afraid to interrupt him when he once gets started, but I thought that a word of encouragement was necessary. “Yes,” I said, “I heartily wish that we could get back to the old times again, but, as you say, times are changed, so I suppose we will have to get along as best we can and endeavor to enjoy ourselves as much as possible. The shows may not be as pleasing as they once were, but they can at least serve to bring to mind remembrances of the day when they were a treat and a luxury. Yes, I long as much as you do for those pleasing inconven- iences of our childhood, and if it were not for our social posi- REV. JOSEPH M. RENAUD, S. J Vice-President. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 11 tion I would go to see this circus and sit on a hard ‘bleacher’ seat just for the sake of old times, but the dictates of society prevents me from doing it.” “But there! Look at that ridiculously small man steering that large drum around the corner, and that pop-eyed, red- faced German puffing on a horn that looks as though it were made for the giants to use!” G. Alfred Peters, H. S. ’13. “MUTAT TERRA VICES.” Apples failing. Snow birds calling. Silent, home and hill ; Summer bowers. Silver showers. And all the Master’s will. George B. Loden, ’16. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL I I V JIrtrp What would you take for that wee little mite You lovingly soothe into slumber tonight? For that rosy-cheeked face you press to your own, And you kiss the child lips of the man to be grown, For that chubby soft hand you as tenderly press As you tuck it away with a good-night caress; What would you take, mother? What would you take? What would you take for that sweet little smile, That breaks like the day dawn, devoid of all guile? For that Hash from those peep-eyes, overflowing with love Wirelessed to you mother, straight from above. For that voice filled with meaning, attuned to a coo, Metred to laughter’s sweet music for you; What would you take, mother? What would you take? Why should I ask you? I know you would not Part with your cherub, whatever the lot. Wealth’s no inducement, the mother and wife For the babe in her arms would sacrifice life; Yes, spurn the world’s treasures, repudiate pelf. For the child that she nurtures is dearer than self. Naught would you take, mother, Naught would you take. Alumnus. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 1.3 Whtn N lj00n the opbamareB J_J IGH up in the heavens hung a slice of golden moon. Over near Grant’s Hall a quintet of late-returning students were singing in low, sentimental tones while occasionally the tenor voice rose sharp and clear on the cool night air. It was the twenty-eighth of September. Two days before there had jumped off the rear steps of the 1.55 College Special a stylishly dressed youth v ith blonde hair, blue eyes and sunset cheeks that were the envy of every girl who sav them. He was evidently sixteen years of age and his name was Nelson. With him came his sister v ho resembled him v ith the same fair skin and tender features. He had rented tv o rooms in Chester Hall “just for comfort,” as he afterv ards explained, although for the past two days his sister had occupied one and remained v ith him until he v as settled in cheerful ease, for Jerry Nelson v as the baby of the family, v hich meant that he was hopelessly spoiled. Nelson had posed as a “bad character” to all those v ho had dropped in to see him. Tobacco pouches v ere scattered all over the room in a sort of inviting v ay v hile champagne corks v ere strung across the mantle piece in ostentatious profusion. About this time the sophomores had been at their hazing, contrary to all college rules and unmindful of the entreaties of the faculty. Thompson, a freshman, had been taken out the night before and given a glue bath in a horse-trough v hile Bender v as compelled to send a love letter v ith a delicious- appearing package of soot to Miss Nancy Winkle-spoon v ho v as an elderly spinster and an ardent suffragette. Ford, a classmate of Nelson, had v hispered to him that the sophomores had marked him for the night of the tv enty-eighth. No v on- 14 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL der, for Nelson had leaped into social popularity in a day and had even fluttered some immutable hearts that hitherto had remained unsusceptible to the gallantry of noble sophomores. Outside on the dew-moistened grass seven sophomores were sitting behind the hedge that encircles Chester Hall. “Are you sure his sister has gone?” inquired one. “Yes, dead cer- tain she took the 4.20 train this afternoon,” came an answer. Then followed a fracas of short duration which left them in doubt whether it was Nelson’s sister or the school teacher at Mountville who had taken the 4.20 train that afternoon. “Oh, let’s risk it,” said a burly sophomore, sizzling with expectation like the escape valve on a radiator. It was late and the corridor was as dark as the throat of a Numidian lion. “Room 44 at your command,” whispered a successful searcher who had been groping about and feeling the numbers on forty other doors. “Let’s go in one at a time all together,” said a humorously- inclined individual. “Oh, shut up and be serious,” growled one named Burlington, who was undoubtedly the ringleader. The window was up and the moon cast its beams on a luxuriant leopard-skin rug, giving the scene a weird effect. Over near the other end of the room was a bed and Burling- ton tiptoed slowly towards it. There on the bed lay a sleep- ing form with soft, effeminate features and arms as white as the pillow. He touched a hand and — it was a woman! At that moment she awoke with a cry of frightened alarm, bound- ed out of bed to the latchkey and rushed for the phone on the mantle-piece. The sophomores stood spellbound. “Hello, Exchange? Yes. Well, give me the police station, quick. It this the Captain? Well, I have seven burglars, what? Yes, seven, one, two, three, yes, seven, and I awoke and found them in my room this instant. One of them has a rope, evidently to lower my jewelry case. Yes, Chester Hall, THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 15 Room 44. Come quick.” Burlington sank to the floor on his knees. ‘‘Oh, please lady, please let us go. It’s all a mistake. We were looking for a little boy to take him for a walk.” “Going to what?” she asked wildly. “Take him for a walk, that is, I mean, to haze him,” replied Burlington with little hope of mercy. “Haze a little boy? Oh, you cruel monsters. What is his name?” “Nelson,” he purred sadly. “My brother,” she gasped and fell back upon the bed. “Oh, what is the world coming to. How lucky I was to save the life of my poor little brother from a gang of ruffians. Oh, I hope every one of you will get a life sentence.” “Oh, please, lady, do let us go. We are innocent boys and we meant no harm” — ‘ What?. No harm with that rope?. Oh, you cruel, hard- hearted man. How can you tell a lie when you face the gal- lows?” “Oh, dear lady, if you let us go, we’ll go to our mothers and”— “I hear them coming,” she shouted joyously, and Burlington, the husky sophomore, listened while a big tear rolled down his face and into his open mouth. “This will ruin our characters forever,” he said sobbingly, and he wiped his eyes with a huge, febrile hand. Burlington then resorted to prayer, entreaty having failed. “Oh, what will your poor mothers say when they see this in the papers? Poor men!” and she wept, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Poor men! I feel something softening my heart tov ard you. Some prayer of yours is being answered.” At this Burlington poured heart and soul into his intercessions and raced over different litanies, waylaying all distractions. 16 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL “Now, unfortunate men, I will grant you a half hour ' s liberty to telegraph to your mothers a sad farewell. Extend to them my heartfelt sorrow, but tell them to bear up well as they will meet their sons in heaven. Now go. The patrol will call for you at the telegraph office in a half hour sharp.” It is true that they appeared at the telegraph office a half hour later, is it not? Yes, it is not. When those sophomores felt themselves in pure, unsophisticated liberty they struck out for their rooms like escaped convicts swimming for a foreign shore. “Gee, but this false hair came near falling off when I jumped out of bed,” said Nelson to himself as he closed the door. “But of all successful plots this was the greatest. Just to think that that telephone wire leads under that old Demos- thenes instead of into a police station. By the way. I ' ll have to sneak that back in the dean ' s office and connect it up again before dawn.” And he chuckled and laughed and felt proud. Did it get out? Why didn’t you ask if it was up to the North Pole by lo o ' clock? Why, it raced and raged around college like wildfire and students v rote home for cheques to treat Nelson, others fought for his company and fabricated all kinds of excuses just to be seen conversing with him. And the vanquished sophomores resolved never again to molest pink-cheeked boys with blue eyes and delicate, fair- skinned arms. Joseph J. Quinn, ' i6. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 17 KtUntwxL ’’ AVE you ever noticed, as you traversed some tract of tangled, half-cleared woodland, in what a desultory manner certain berry pickers endeavor to fill their receptacles? On they rush, from bush to bush, after the fashion of the bob- bing humming bird, ever drawn further and further into the copse by a sort of mental mirage of more luscious berries on the bush beyond, neglecting the while the toothsome harvest which would be theirs did they but pause to draw aside the foliage on perhaps any one of the slighted shrubs. Their wonted reward is entanglement in some inadvertent morass, while their more staid companions saunter joyfully homeward with bursting baskets, a bulging guerdon for pleasant, re- quited labor. Much after this fashion do readers peruse their books. Some fancy that voraciousness atones for a lack of thorough- going study of them. They rush pell-mell through a book and straightway crush out its fertile seeds of thought in their minds by weighing them down beneath the burden of another mass of reading matter. Like the berry pickers, they run on and on without plucking the true v ealth of fruitage which should be theirs. Reading of this sort is not only most regrettable, but it is also unfair, both to the reader and to the author. When a writer takes up his pen to convey the message of his impressionistic heart through the mouths of the book’s char- acters, to the great world of his readers, he labors over his brain-child — the book — with a loving care of which the average reader has scarce the slightest conception. No trial is too onerous, no sacrifice too costly, which enables him to add one 18 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL more delicate touch to the intellectual Adonis to attract his prospective reader-guests. If we could but see the careful word-artist, travelling for days in the uncouth mountain fast- nesses to gain color for one more vivid touch to the beauty of his scene; if we could follow him for days into the fetid retreats of the slums, striving to place one more realistic speech on the tongue of one of his characters, then we would not rush so heedlessly by and neglect altogether the child which he has, with such infinite pains, dressed in gorgeous raiment. Merest justice dictates that we pause to gaze at the beauty of the work, that we should meet the pains-taking labor on the part of the author with correlative care and intelligent perusal on our part. Even more obvious is the careless reader’s unfairness to himself. When he has closed the book upon the last chapter and allows a space of time to elapse, in the meantime de- vouring a new mass of reading matter, and then endeavor to call to mind some profit gained from it, what happens? He finds that the matter lies, unassimilated, deep down in his mind, hidden under the layers of literature more recently taken in, while he has garnered practically nothing from those per- manent sheaves of gold that may be gleaned from every book worthy of the name. Such reading reminds one of the tale of the plutocrat who hired the most famous chef in all the land and then persisted in bolting down, unmasticated, the most delicious products of h;s skill. It is not to be inferred from the foregoing that we enlist our sympathies upon the side of the tiresome pedant who chortles in disgust at a ripping football story or rolls his eyes in horror when the hero tenderly takes the heroine into his arms, or of the consumptive bookworm who pores all his nights over musty tomes of antiquity — but this is upon the other end of the axis of extremes and belongs, properly, to another essay. What REV. JOSEPH I. ZIEGLER, S. J Moderator Alumni Association. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 19 we are endeavoring to bring out is the fact that the careful perusal of one book is worth more than the careless reading of half a dozen; that “quality, not quantity,” is an adage which holds true in literature as well as in other branches of endeavor, or, in other and more concise words, that the author’s dream of an ideal reader is one who reads “multum non multa.” Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6. A 0ng of g pn«g Welcome, faery Spring-maid, Welcome, silver shower. Welcome, golden sunshine. Welcome, baby-flower. Gone the storms of winter, Gone the sluggish snow; Beauty walks the woodland. Zephyrs are ablow. Welcome, faery Spring-maid, Welcome, silver shower. Welcome, golden sunshine. Welcome, baby-flower. J. Bart Muth, ’i6. 20 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Irurufliitt In IJPON the sunny slopes of a mountain town secluded in the Scottish Highlands, Stevenson spent his boyhood days. There it was among those silent vales and whispering forests that he set aglow the spark of genius which he kept bright through life with an ardent flame, only to be extin- guished in the far-away Southern seas. Like a flower he arose silently among the hills of Scotland, emitted a sweet aroma that can be inhaled by all his readers, and solitary he died on the distant island of Samoa. Prevented from mingling with other children by ill health, Stevenson in childhood developed a love for literature. Friends of his boyhood days were few, and even the truest found in him a listless companion. His disposition was such that it tinged even the gayest society with melancholy. But the days of boy- hood passed like shadows of a dream, and gradually merged into youth, the happiest period of his life. Travelers to Edin- burgh remarked that the indolent fellow with soft brown eyes seemed to have drunk the sunlight under Southern vines. Unlike other boys, Stevenson dreamed away his indolent young years. As a caged bird yearns to fly off into sunnier climes, the Scottish youth longed for distant lands. Wander- ing into a seaport town, he would watch the ships like specks in the ofling, blend into nothingness, and burning with a desire to be with them, would sit and weep on the sea-sprayed piers of Leith. Often, too, he would lean over the great brown bridge which connects the new town with the old and watch the trains smoking out from under him on a voyage to brighter skies. Stevenson was sent to college to continue in his father’s THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 21 ' ootsteps, that of an engineer. He had no calling for such a profession and gradually turned to the more fascinating study pf English literature. While the external course of his life seemed smooth, the ieeper current had a far more troubled stream. With the ihought of a great author in his mind, he would essay to mitate famous writers, only to have his articles returned as inavailable by the leading editors of the country. Undis- nayed, however, he continued his efforts without any appar- ent prospect of success. In the agony of persistent and patient abor he learned to write. It is perhaps to this persever- ince that he owes his facility of expression and pleasing style, vhich no author seems able to imitate. Stevenson looked back v ith joyous reminiscences upon the lays of his early youth. Although he traveled carefree :hrough many lands and over many seas, in later life the years nost dear and the days he loved the most were when he •oamed the hills of Scotland v ith his penny version book. In :hese early boyhood rambles he built his fascinating style vhich speaks to the poet that exists in every man and which las brought to tired men in cities a new vision of the won- lers of the earth. Great statesmen and great soldiers with all :heir toils have done less to help mankind than has Robert Louis Stevenson, for of all boons that man can bring to man lone is greater than to give vision to his eyes, impulse to his nind and love of the elemental life of which he is a part. Joseph J. Quinn, i6. S tfiipn0on in Sfatb pHE near approach of the eighteenth anniversary of the death of Robert Louis Stevenson makes it especially fit- :ing that we should recall his death and some of the incidents pf his varied and adventurous career. 22 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Stevenson was born in Edinburgh on the thirteenth of No- vember, 1850. His early years were marred by a disease which through his life dogged his footsteps, pursuing him from coun- try to country, and finally exiling him from his native land. Truly it may be said that death was ever at his heels. His first novel was a story of the Pentland Rising; his first success. Treasure Island. In all his novels he exhibited a kindly disposition towards Americans and Catholics. That he may at times, in spite of his kindly feeling toward the Catholic Church, misunderstood its actions or misinterpreted its rites, can readily be conceded. This occurred very infre- quently, however, and his defense of Father Damien places him immediately above charges of bigotry and makes him of especial interest to pupils of the Catholic schools. In 1889, after traveling from place to place, Stevenson’s health steadily grew worse. He resolved to exile himself from his native land. While taking a yachting trip he stopped at Samoa, and liking the place, settled there. It is with this period of his life, by far the most interesting, that we are chiefly concerned. It is here that Stevenson, the man, stands forth. From the beginning he loved the Samoans, both natives and half-castes. In these latter he took an especial interest, feeling that they were social outcasts, despised alike by native and white. To give them some social diversion, Stevenson offered them the use of his house for their parties and dances. Sad to relate, this well-meaning effort at social uplift failed on account of dissensions among the castes themselves. Steven- son did not, however, restrict his interest in Samoans to the half-castes. He took a general interest in all the natives, and was well beloved by them. They called him Tusitalla, or Tale-Teller. His efforts to befriend the natives were greatly resented by the resident magistrates of the allies, who held THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 23 Samoa in their grip. At one time he was threatened with ban- ishment by them. While in Samoa, Stevenson’s health had steadily improved, so that the news of his death fell like a thunderclap upon that country and later upon the whole world. Late in the after- noon of December fourth, 1894, Lloyd Osbourne was seen gal- loping hatless and coatless into Apia. It was at once sus- pected that Stevenson was ill. Two physicians immediately responded to the call, but from the first little hope was held out, and he breathed his last two hours later. Death had treated him kindly, coming in the form he had so often wished for — swift, sudden, and sharp. At the time of his death he was engaged in writing two new books, which promised to be numbered among his best — St. Ives and Weir of Hermiston. “Like a soldier charging home with victory on his lips, he was smitten by the long- threatening, long-delayed stroke of death” — thus writes one of his biographers, such great promise did the beginnings of these books hold forth. Still another view of the death is taken by a biographer who says: “The gods were unwilling that so bright a flower should fade.” As soon as Stevenson breathed his last, a body of faithful natives commenced to hew a path through the woods — an Alofa, or Road of Gratitude, as they called it. All night long the dense woods echoed to the sound of axes. No band of choristers could have chanted a hymn more pleasing to the romantic soul of Stevenson than was the steady thud of the axes wielded by the hands of the faithful natives, for whom he had done so much. Early in the morning the road v as completed, and the same day Stevenson was buried, high on the slopes of forest-clad Mount Vaea. The last thirteen hundred feet his body was raised by ropes. His tomb was erected by the natives on 24 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL the very spot where in life he was accustomed to seek for solitude and to dream. Far from turmoil and strife it stands, in the midst of ineffable grandeur, where the stillness is only broken by the song of the birds in the tree-tops, the whistle of the breeze through the forest, the far-away murmur of the sea. A fast-flowing brook burbles by. At times a primeval hush settles upon the forest, and we hear only the low hum of insects, like a soul in zephyrous converse with its Maker. The rustic bridge, which Stevenson himself had built, and which had often bent beneath his footsteps, was the only reminder of man. Here he lies. On the east side of the tomb was written his own favorite poem : “Under the wide and starry sky. Dig the grave, and let me lie ; Glad did I live, and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: There he lies, where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. And the hunter home from the hill.” On the western face was written, “The Tomb of Tusitalla,” in Samoan, followed by the v ords of Ruth’s speech to Naomi. Above are a thistle and hybiscus intertwined, fitting emblems of the two-fold influences that shaped his life — his barren but beloved Northland, and sunny, tropical home. The surrounding scenery is luxurious and superb. High above towers Mount Vaea, clothed with rich tropical verdure. Far below a lazy stretch of sea, with the white lines of the reef like v hitened teeth projecting above the surface. On one side the broad and placid Pacific, emblematic of his steady rise in the world of letters ; on the other, a turbulent, boiling inlet. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 25 reef-strewn, closely resembling his life as a man, his fiery, emotional nature, his noble and generous heart. And so we leave him where he ' ‘Sleeps in the sight and the sound of the infinite southern sea. Weary and well content.” Roger F. O’Leary, ’i6. teofnaan tljf groatman c gTEVENSON is one of those writers with whom the theme matters little, the writer everything.” His prose is precious for its own sake, like the prose of De Quincy and Hazlitt. Tv eny-some odd volum.es of essays, novels and fan- tastic romance he bequeathed to the autumn of the Victorian era, and it is with cheers that we follow him home with his golden sheaves, and hail him as a worthy husbandman, the last great proseman of the nineteenth century. Save in the gifts of health and religion, all the stars which shone on Stevenson’s nativity were propitious. He has a genius, a sanity and gaiety which blows throughout his vol- umes with the vigor of a highland breeze. As a stylist Stevenson ranks high among the writers of our tongue. His expressions are crystal clear, his sentences bal- anced, and his paragraphs run along smoothly and quiet like som.e runnel among the rocks of the moorland. It is to Ste- venson’s creative imagination that we owe many haunting phrases used in our language today: The sun galloping over the heavens” ; The quiet talk of the runnel over the stones” ; The day tiptoe on the threshold of the east.” Stevenson’s writings are readable not only at the dawn of our literary career, but also in the twilight of life, when the sun is low-setting. They are to us what the old Roman orator 26 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL claimed literature to be for him: “Haec studia adulescentiam alunt, senectutem oblectant, secundas ornant, adversis perfu- gium ac solatium praebent, delectant domi, non impediunt foris, pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur.” His essays are lyrical, and would have been more numerous had be continued to follow Sterne as a model, instead of Scott. In them we see prodigally scattered all the lyrical qualities of the man. The deep pathos lying just below the surface of all his works and covered by a light film of playful pleasantries and quiet humor may be seen in the lines of his own epitaph : “Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie ; Glad did I live, and gladly die. And I lay me down with a will.” Stevenson will ever live with warm affection in Catholic hearts for his valiant defense of Father Damien, the worker among the lepers of Molokai. When Dr. Hyde had so de- graded himself and stooped so low as to write foulest of lies about the martyr of Molokai, it was Robert Louis Stevenson, though himself of the religion of Dr. Hyde, who disputed clearly and logically those infamous untruths. Damien left his home, his affections — aye, even his native land, to become the angel of those on that leper isle whose rattling bones filled even the soil with filth. And so flinging aside every glint of hope, he became not only the spiritual adviser of these unfor- tunates, but their nurse, their carpenter, their consolation and their all. That an apology need be written for a man of such sacri- fice is deplorable, but eternal praise be Stevenson’s that when he saw the dire necessity of such an apology he did not hesi- tate to write. BOARD OF EDITORS. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 27 For the honesty and straightforwardness which he exhibited in the defense of Damien; for his glorious tribute to the Jesuits in “Across the Plains”; for his simple poetry and strong, clear prose, Robert Louis Stevenson will live and reign in many hearts, though he died with a thousand stories in his own. J. Bart Muth, ’i6. DEATH’S SONNET How often. Death, I hear thy pinions beat The mystic hushed air, in dead of night. When bearest thou a soul to heavenly light, A suppliant at the fearsome Maker’s feet. But ah! what horror chills emotion’s seat. When midnight, ’neath the Arktos’ silver light. Yields up my loved friend to thy stern blight. Thou bear’st him far. Death, alien shades to greet. ’Twas God who breathed into our mortal sod, And now reclaims the selfsame breath he gave ; A boon too great for man — base earth-born clod — To form a respiration for his God; Though God forms man but for the grave. He grants this priceless gift — a soul to save. Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6. 28 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Atau m nt J T WAS a warm, drowsy afternoon in mid-summer. The yellow sunshine flecked the hillside with specks of molten gold. Two Indians, their dusky faces alight with the animal joy of a good fire and a good meal, sat on their haunches in the midst of a secluded forest glen. Their faces were stolid and brutal, the lowest type of Indian. They had traveled from afar, Wonotah, the elder, was come to visit his mother whom ten years ago he had left to seek new lands to the westward where the white man was unknown. Long since had the little brown woman, her beady eyes alight with the mute tenderness of dumb oxen, been forgotten, until the outbreak of the smallpox in the far-off country. Fleeing before the scourge, he had ridden night and day toward his mother’s village. A boon companion, more selfish than Wonotah, if that could be, had accompanied him. Behind them all day long lurked the shadow of the smallpox. The conversation consisted of frequent grunts and monosyl- lables, varied with occasional gestures. The catch of the evening had evidently been plentiful, for five large trout hung broiling before the fire. When the shadows lengthened, a hush settled upon the two and they lapsed into slumber, a slumber disturbed by occasional moans and the scratch of their hands against half naked! bodies. As the night waned the scratching increased, flakes of skin fell off and they were bleeding. At length Wonotah awoke to feel the warm blood trickling down his cheek. Awakening his companion he pointed to his face which could be dimly discerned by the light of the dawning day. The other looked critically at him, his face, his body, his arms and legs, and THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 29 then muttered one word, after which they both fell silent. It w’as the Indian word for smallpox. Gravely, and with few words, they discussed the situation. It was a matter of hours only ere the other would develop the disease. Meanwhile they would ride to the village. If they fought their battle for life out here in the wilds the others might escape. No good would come to Wonotah even if he reached the village in safety, for there was none of th at mys- terious vaccine nearer than a hundred miles — but the desire for companionship was overpowering. Never in their selfish cowardly lives had they denied themselves anything, and they shivered when they thought of dying alone v ith perhaps days between them and the buzzards to eat their bones. All their thoughts on the matter were summed up in the final words of Wonotah, “We no die alone,’’ he had, “squaws nurse us.” Apathetically they sat on their horses and rode homeward. All about was peace and silence. Above the heavens were throbbing with a warm pink. Down through the pines they plunged, their mustangs pacing steadily. Only the dull thud of their horses’ hoofs broke the stillness. At times they plunged into gorges of impenetrable gloom. Wonotah swayed in his saddle. Finally they reached the outskirts of the village, passing over, with much clatter, the bridge spanning a brawl- ing stream that cascaded a few feet farther down into a mag- nificent water-fall. Below the waters swirled in shadowy whirlpools. Wontah’s gigantic frame reeled from fever as he crossed the bridge — the cool water lured him, his mustang stumbled badly, but he pressed on. A crowd of dirty chil- dren ran out to meet the newcomers. “Give us food,” they shouted. “We are hungry.” But when they saw Wonotah’s face they ran shrieking to their mothers. It was the last day of July, the darkest, dreariest time of all that dark summer. A fetid smoke rose from the gray reek of 30 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL the fields. The wind, bitter and raw for this season of the year, was beating harshly against the pueblos of the Indians. In the village streets the very dogs lay dead, and the horses, lean from hunger, had broken their halters and were wan- dering aimlessly in and out among the tents. Scarce enough of the Indians were left to tend the sick, the dead were left rotting where they lay. The smallpox had beaten relentlessly into man and beast alike. Wonotah tossed restlessly on his couch of fresh-strewn leaves. Around him knelt some Indian women, papooses strapped to back; beside him lay a very old woman, gnarled and wrinkled, She muttered wildly, but now and then a word could be distinguished; it was always Wonotah. The burning fires of fever sparkled in her small black eyes and shriveled her body. Not a bead of sweat stood out upon the awful dryness of her skin. Suddenly she rose upon the couch, and pointing to the sick man, began to speak in a clear, distinct voice, with a curious halt at the end of the sentences. “Wonotah,” she cried, “you bearer of a plague that will spread among our people, even to their extermination, heed a mother’s words. The deed you have done will haunt you ever, far from your people must you wander, so deserted that you will long for the darkest jinns of hell to speak with you, aye, even to curse you. The plague will spare you though it kill all others. All that I have foretold will befall you if you make not reparation. The Great Father has granted the prayer of a mother’s heart in willing that I show you the path- way out of the valley of suffering. In atonement, the atone- ment of death, will you alone find peace.” She ceased suddenly, her lips stopped their curiously de- tached utterance. With a low moan she sank back upon the couch, but her face was peaceful with the peace of another world. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 1 ol The Indians stood silently beside the bed of furs, their usually impassive faces working with unaccustomed emotion. At length one by one they strode from the tent. For many days Wonotah knew nothing. When he did emerge into a dim form of consciousness, atonement was his only thought, his muttered mumblings, his frantic shouts, voiced but the word. Meanwhile tidings of the smallpox had reached a white set- tlement a hundred miles to the south. They had sent doctors and medicines to the stricken Indians. Many days were they on the road, but there came a time, just as Wonotah was be- ginning to improve, when the little party of whites encamped outside the village. Word was brought to Wonotah that he was to be carried out to them. In an hour the bearers would come. The one idea, atonement, still filled his mind ; he would be taken to the whites, and thus bring infection to them, for, ignorant as he was, he knew nothing of the life-protecting vaccine ; they were whites, a people of alien race, but they too had mothers, mothers who had first known them through suf- fering, mothers whom they had killed, had they not? No, his mind was wandering, he alone had slain his mother. Thus ran his thoughts. Day by day he had heard the wail of the women mourning for some loved one whom he had slain. Always the words of his mother came back to him: “In atonement, the atonement of death, will you alone find peace.” Arising, he tottered forth, the very dogs in the street shrink- ing from him, so ghastly his face, so unearthly his mien. The white men, noting how weak he was, ran out to help him. He warned them away, and ther e was something in his eye that forbade disobedience. The afternoon sunlight dazzled him. Such a day as this had been his last afternoon in the moun- tains. Now he shivered with a racking chill, now the fevered blood ran through his veins like liquid fire, but still he tot- 32 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL tered on, his feet touched the bridge. Underneath the stream gurgled slowly by. The Indian stopped, his coarse lips parted a little, as if he were talking. The gurgle of the water seemed wonderfully loud. The deep pool at the end of the rapids was beckoning, beckoning. But no! he could not do that. “The Great Spirit of the black robes forbids it,” he muttered. Sud- denly his strength gave way, he tottered and fell through the bridge. A mighty splash, a spurt of foam, and all was still, all save the soughing of the wind in the tree tops and the babble of the water, running placidly down to the sea. Roger F. O’Leary, ’i6. A Pragpr A saddened eye, dull with remorse. Forbidden sights beguiling; O Lord, efface its conscious shame. Return its happy smiling. A mind distraught by world and self. Enslaved by hostile teaching ; Accept it, and becalm it, Lord, Direct it, vainly reaching. A sin-stained soul, receive it. Lord, A soul diseased and weeping ; Thou knowest how to heal it. Lord ; Restore it to Thy keeping. Andrew J. Harrison, ’14. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 33 Sick tia Uorka anJi O essential to human nature are the ideals of the Catholic Church ; so all-embracing her knowledge of man’s virtues and vices that it is almost impossible to portray human nature faithfully without introducing a certain amount of Catholic sentiment. The works, the greatest of non-Catholic masters of fiction and poetry, prove this assertion. We have only to analyze the writings of Scott, Dickens, Shakespeare, or our own poet, Longfellow, to find that they prove veritable mines of unconscious sentiment. This state- ment would most likely be emphatically denied by the authors themselves, whose attitudes are often prejudiced and bitter. To the greatest of all delineators of human nature, as was Charles Dickens, it would have been impossible to fathom the depths of the human soul and to sound the lowest key of human misery and despair, without drawing from the inex- haustible knowledge and breadth of view of the Catholic Church. As a result, Dickens, all, unconscious to himself, has woven in his stories a wealth of true Catholic sentiment. One of the most notable examples of this similarity of senti- ment is the great novelist’s Catholic-like compassion and ten- derness tqjwards the destitute and unfortunate.. His sharpest dart and bitterest sarcasm are always reserved for the foibles of the rich and exalted. This sympathy towards the lowly and humble bears a remarkable semblance to the love that the Church has always shov n for the more lowly of her children. Repentant characters are numerous in Dickens, and invaria- bly their return to grace is treated from a Catholic viewpoint. Weak and shallow Emily in “David Copperfield,” and poor unfortunate Nancy who, despite her evil surroundings, strove line nuYOl.A ANNUM. 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O k 0 ' ' ' • ' f ' ? iffr ' l ; ft ' O ' , Of.O M ft ft- fft 0- ■’■‘ft ft. ' ' ; ifft ' ! Ufn(,t f ' A A ' 0 ,t Of ' ft V ' ' . 0 ft Oft ' ' ' ’ f ' ' 0 0 ' 7 , Of.)’ , ' ■ ' ftifff. ' , 0fr %h f ' A 0 , .-. 0 ' , ' ; ' if ' f.t iff A i t ffi. ' iy O ' ; ' ; . ft r 7 i,f,y ft ,- ;z;«iOf ,Of O. A-if ' - ' t 0}i } ' if ‘f, .-■•, ft ' 0 70 : ■ f ' fO ' J ' , y-Tf ' f ' f , fin , . ft O, -. ■ ' 7 0 ft ' fiiifiy ' ft fftO ' 0 7 ' 7 Oft, ' y.if ' A U 0, t ' 0 V Aft , ' , ' fi ft ' ' , ' , ft Of ' ' ; 0 O ' ' O ' ' ' , ' � • f ft ' ft,.fA , ' 7� f ' V Zf) 7 ,f 0, Or , ' ) ■ . ? 0 ; ft ' 7 z f 0 ' ' ft ' . ' , ' 7 0 ft ft ft ; ' � Off ' 7 f ft 0, f . ' -:• ' . ft ; ' ; f , -ft ' •’ ft 0 0 ' , ' ,, ' ■, 7 ft, ft f O 36 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL tude he is careful to explain when he says: “However im- partially those disturbances are set forth in the following pages, they are impartially painted by one who has no sym- pathy with the Roman Church.” In all of Dickens’ long list of novels, with the exception of the one discussed above, he seems purposely to evade touch- ing on the Catholic religion and reserves it for his letters to air his personal views on the Church. This branch of his work, when dealing with the question of Catholicism is marked in general by a narrowness and bigotry entirely out of keeping with his breadth of view on all subjects and with the impartiality shown in his novels. Examples of this attitude are to be found in his “Pictures from Italy,” a series of papers contributed to the Daily News of London while the author was abroad. Many of them are blurred on account of a perspective, distorted by prejudice and ignorance. Dickens saw Catholic lives in Italy and witnessed the re- ligious exercises of her people without the remotest idea of what it all meant. As a consequence he exhibits an almost ludicrous lack of knowledge in describing the religious ex- ercises of the Catholic peasantry of Italy. A passage showing how deeply ingrained in Dickens was the traditional English bigotry against the Church is found in a letter written from Geneva to a friend in England during the Sunderbund Civil War: “I don’t kno v,” he says, ‘‘any subject on which this indomitable people have so good a right to strong feeling as Catholicism — if not as a religion, certainly as a means of social degredation.” The time-honored cry of the ignorant, concerning the Church attitude towards the social and mental advancement of the masses. It seems incredible that a man of Dickens’ broadmindedness and intelligence should make use of such old-fashioned fogyisms; and yet we THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 37 repeatedly find him employing the empty and oft-refuted calumnies against the Church, that have been the favorite weapons of the ignorant since the Protestant Revolution. In fact, Dickens sometimes approaches the downright super- stition of the lower classes of Protestants of his day who commonly credited the priests of the Church as being a cult in league with the evil spirit. He shows this in another pas- sage of the letter quoted above in which he says: “Their horror of the introduction of Catholic priests and emissaries into their towns seem to me the most rational feeling in the world.” His superstition regarding Catholic priests again comes to the surface in the “Child’s Plistory of England,” where in re- ferring to the Society of Jesus, we are informed that the peo- ple had a great horror of them “because they were known to have taught that murder was lawful if it was done with an object of which they approved” — the age-old fallacy of the de- famers of a noble cause, that with the Jesuits, “the end justifies the means.” The “Child’s History of England” from which the above quotation is taken effects the least credit on Dickens’ fancy of his works. It was undertaken without any historical re- search or experience, and as a consequence is filled with in- accuracies and misrepresentations of the Church. The author is particularly bitter against the Catholic Clergy, induced no doubt by his belief in every man’s right to put his personal interpretation on the Holy Scriptures, and the consequent denial of the need of any sacerdotal office in connection with Christianity, the right to which is so essentially connected with the fabric of the Catholic religion. Dickens’ own personal creed was at best vague and un- dogmatic. While a staunch defender of Protestantism when it clashed with the Catholic Church, his actual compliance with 38 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL the tenets of the former religion was loose and undefined. As he grew older, he seemed more inclined towards indifferentism, and the ‘‘Broad Churchman” view of Christianity which denied the right of any sacerdotal or sacramental system. In his biography by Forster he is quoted as saying: “I ex- hort my children humbly to guide themselves by the teachings of the New Testament in its broad spirit, and to put no faith in any man’s narrow construction of its letter here and there” — a stand that would seem to set him irrevocably against the Church of Rome, who not trusting to man’s fallibility and lack of knowledge, interprets the Word of God with an infallibility bequeathed to her by her Divine Founder, and obliges her chil- dren under pain of mortal sin to accept that interpretation. Dickens, by his words: “and to put no faith in any man’s narrow construction of its letter here and there,” declares him- self at variance with a fundamental law of the Church. He agrees with St. Thomas up to the point that the “sum- mum bonum” of life is “to do good and avoid evil,” and that man’s ultimate subjective end is to obtain perfect beatitude. But he goes no further. He does not agree with the great doctor of the Church that this end can be obtained only by the observance of the Divine Law as defined by the infallible teaching body of the Churches. Dickens denies the preroga- tive of any human power to restrict or direct the way in which Holy Scripture is to be understood and obeyed. Yet despite Dickens’ liberalism and general hostility to- wards the Church we must not imagine that his attitude is one of unvarying enmity. He is often contradictory and incon- sistent in dealing with the subject. Environment and the cir- cumstances attending the time of writing seem to have had a great deal to do in directing the trend of his sentiment, and on occasions he speaks of the Church with respect and even friendliness. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 39 It is not generally known that Dickens introduced the “Lit- the Sisters of the Poor” to the English people. On February 14, 1852, he paid a visit to their establishment in Paris at the Rue St. Jacques and so impressed was he with the good be- ing done that he paid a glowing tribute to the order in his “Household Wards.” This was spread throughout England and did an incalculable amount of good, as the great novelist was then at the height of his popularity and his every word was read with avidity by the English speaking people. We now come to the strangest incident to be found in con- nection with Dickens’ relations with the Church. It would seem that at one period of his life when he was groping in the darkness of doubt for a religion that would satisfy the cravings of his nature, he was drawn, despite his inherited prejudice, towards the Catholic Church. In the first volume of his letters, Dickens makes mention of the recurrence of a c-ertain dream in which the image of his sister-in-law, Mary Hogarth, always appeared. He first men- tions them in 1838 in one of his letters. Six years later, while staying at the old Peschiere Palace in Italy, he wrote to Fors- ter of the reappearance of the dream: “Let me tell you of a curious dream I had night before last,” he writes. “I was visited by a spirit .... I think, but I think it was not poor Mary’s spirit.” After talking with the vision for awhile he continues: But answer me one other question . . • • what is the true religion? As it paused a moment v ithout replying, I said : . . . . you think, as I do, that form of religion does not so greatly matter if we try to do good?.. Or, I said, .. .. perhaps the ROMAN CATHOLIC is the best. Perhaps it makes one think of God oftener and believe in Him more steadily?” — ‘for YOU said the spirit, full of such heavenly tenderness for me that I felt that my heart would break, — for YOU it is the best?”’ 40 THE EOYOLA ANNUAL While the Shepherd would most likely deny and ridicule the idea that these figments of a dreamer’s imagination would in- dicate a leaning towards Catholicism, the fact remains that dreams are but the reflections of our waking thoughts and actions, and as such, prove that at the time of Dickens’ life in which these dreams occurred, there must have been a constant subcurrent of thoughts suggesting that after all the faith of Rome was the true one ; that as he says in his dream : “perhaps it makes one think of God oftener and believe in Him more steadily.” His leaning towards Catholicism, however, was but transient. Prejudice bred of a long line of bigoted ancestors, together with a hopeless ignorance of the true dogma of the Church, prevailed in the end and caused him to revert to his old point of view. The liberalism of Thomas Arnold, of whom Dickens was an ardent admirer, did much to determine his final con- ception of Christianity, that “the form of religion did not so greatly matter, if we try to do good.” A general view of Dickens’ attitude towards the Church, as shown in his works, shows a tendency to avoid the subject. Scarcely an exception to this rule is to be found in all his long list of novels. Even in “Barnaby Rudge,” woven around an incident in Catholic history, he does not attempt to discuss the question of Catholic Doctrine, but confines his treatment of the poet entirely to the objective side of the Catholic persecution of 1870. In his letters he deals more freely with the subject of Cath- olicism and the prevailing note is antagonistic. The few ex- ceptions occur mostly during the period marked by the dreams mentioned in the foregoing. His one volume as a historian marks his most bitter attack on the Church. The “Child’s History of England” is anti- Catholic throughout and is the only one of his works in which xn (T) n JU l-t fb 1-1 0) w a rt 3 w W s; h- 1 o w o t- w w hQ g 5 W n rt Si 3 Q S • ►rj n M W a W g w 5. o Er 3 cr rti j-i GO rt o ►i (T� r+“ •-1 fu 3 a H •-1 T) (1} W 3 •-1 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 41 he sets out systematically to defame the Church. However, when we consider Dickens’ writings as a whole, and bear in mind the vastness of his literary output, what strikes us most is not so much the way in which he did as the way in which he did not treat the Church. Living in an age and country in which the prevalent feeling against anything savoring of Catholicism v as one of intoler- ance and bitterness ; when the public press reeked with abuse and invective against the Church, and added to this the fact that his early home environment was anything but conducive to friendliness towards Catholicism, the wonder is not that so much, but that so little antagonism against anything savoring of Romanism should be exhibited in his works. It is a fact to be deplored that a pen so potent for good and evil, a genius so brilliant, an influence so far-reaching, should have been lost to the Church, and that an attitude more amia- ble had not marked the relation between ‘‘Dickens’ Works and Catholicism.” F. H. Linthicum, ’12. 42 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL ONVERSATION is the tennis game of thoughts. Hidden deep down in every man is the desire to ex- change ideas. After we have toiled assiduously to cram some- thing into our scrapbags of knowledge, which we so fondly call our minds, there is that instinctive yearning to relieve the tension on our brains and freely dispose of the topics that are expanding the gray matter secluded in our cephalic cases. This can be done in conversation. The little drop of thought leaks down from the mind to the vocal box which acts as a sort of transformer arraying the thought in language. The little spark of thought then jumps across from transmitter to the receiver, hastens inward and upward to the brain where it is examined, remodeled and sent hustling back, forming a complete circuit. When a person can do this without short- circuiting the thought, he is pronounced a conversationalist. Wit is the electric spark of conversation. It is the play of summer lightning that tones its color and gives it a rose-rib- bon effect that makes people hang on to the sentences breath- lessly. With wit a commonplace subject can be made inter- esting, and people will let a pheasant dinner cool off listening to the speaker. Wit upholsters conversation and tufts it full of entertainment, but it should be always on tap and original. Conversation is a means of exercising a language. The Chinese do this very felicitously, while Italians race over their sentences hastily and rid themselves of them as if every word were hot and pepperish. The French linger long and lovingly on the last accent and bring it out as noticeably as did Bos- ton the world’s series. We Americans coagulate our words in lumps until foreigners have to stop us and cut apart the words with their ears before allowing us to proceed. THE EOTOLA ANNUAL 43 There is hardly any phase in life in which conversational power may not become of incalculable value. Unlike reading, there is reciprocity in conversation. A student may sit down and soak himself into a book for six hours and ten minutes without a reciprocal exchange of ideas, but in conversation we get something back for everything we give out, and in this way it differs from gold mine investments. Conversation touches the springs of thoughts, it clarifies our ideas on any subject by subjecting them to the fourth degree equation of free discussion. We often find as we endeavor to shed light to others that we involuntarily illuminate our own minds. The hardest part of conversation is in starting it. The weather, like the old Spanish dollar, passes ' everywhere, and it is still in use. But once we launch forth a sentence it will sow the minds of the conversers with other fertile thoughts ; the cross- ties are taken from the avenues of the mind and new ideas flash in from all by-paths. Every mind carries dormant germs of thought waiting for the contact of others to be warmed into life and conversation. Argument is the annihilator of conversation. True con- versation does not aim at effect or victory or combat of wits but should come clear and calm from the heart and unper- turbed by the vain desire of saying brilliant things. The higher the culture the less argument, and vice versa. Conversation should not be prepared, for if it is the mind has a pre-arranged limit and it will remain within bounds for fear of unskillful- ness in the handling of the foreign subject. Some desultory conversationalists keep us following their drift of thought like a beagle trailing a rabbit through brambles, and we need shock absorbers when v e turn the corners of different subjects. It is as dangerous to be precise in conversation as it is to permit an angora kitten to lap bichloride of mercury. If you think of 44 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL how you speak your hearers also will think of this and it will destroy spontaneity on both sides. A mania for absolute correct English is fatal, for if one tries to tidy up one’s sentences delicately and daintily, one will move through the conversation as a rheumatic fly swims through a can of New Orleans molasses on the sixteenth day of January. Persons afflicted with this painful ailment are as anxious about their speech as high school girls are of their sunset complexion. If perchance you misuse a word they will contract their eyelids into a knife blade and give you a cutting look and probably ask you for your authority for the use of the word in that manner. Joseph J. Quinn, ’i6. The strains of solemn music sound through heaven’s vaulted court, The hosts imperial kneel with folded wing, And ranged in awful splendor bow the mute adoring throng. While countless jeweled censers cease to swing. “Laudate!” cry the Seraphim in soulful harmony, “Laudate!” echo Cherubim along, ‘‘Laudate !” is the burden of the choric multitude ; “Laudate!” Praise! upwafts the angels song. Thrice, praise and glory, glory praise, supernal voices raise. The anthem swelling up the crowded height. Where triple throned, the Father from his pregnant heart of love. Sends earthward tidings redolent of Light! Below in borrowed purity the guilty earth lies bare. Old sin and dire hypocrisy concealed; Uphang the sword and arrow that have drunk fraternal blood. Green grows the v heat on Judas’ battleheld. 46 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL The arms of Babylonia clang no more on Jordan’s side, No longer onward press the Persian host; Old Sion’s holy turret sees no foe, nor martial strife, — A Heaven-born peace conjoining, coast to coast. Though mid Judaean fastnesses no cry of war is heard, A music, stranger far than clast of lance Or Roman broadsword, trimptelike affrights the slumbering night, Increasing, as the strain to earth advance. To God be glory, Peace to Men, — rings through the crystal sphere, In awful tones of never dying fame, How unto God in Judas’ town the Glorius Son is bom. In might coequal and in time the same. But though the first in Heaven’s court becomes the guest of earth Tho’ doctrines, customs, rules are shattered far. No applauding mob, or gilded triumph rivalling the sun. But beast and shepherd His rejoicers are. And these, — the ones that gaze upon the God and Man in One, The Babe incarnate of the Love Divine; Eternal God, and mortal Man Immaculate Mary’s Son, The Old Law’s Essence, for the New, the Sign. All Hail! The Christ! The Christ! All Hail! descend from heaven’s vault ; Messiah! Hail! returns the shepherd’s prayer. And louder sv ells the chorus, till the day star wakes the dawn. Proclaiming wide the birth of God’s own heir. Andrew J. Harrison, ’14. WHO IS THE SECRETARY? High School Play. . A THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 47 Eift Spirit of CHIfnotinaB Poftrg. “Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present for the Infant God? Hast thou no hymn or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode?” Strange and sad it is to perceive, as we scan the writings of the great master poets, that this solemn appeal of Milton’s for the Christ-child’s welcome, this inspiring keynote from the sil- ver-tongued singer of the Puritan age, has fallen upon deaf and unheeding ears ; that instead of being caught up, echoed and re-echoed by the myriad voices of his brother bards, it has rolled down the centuries bearing the lonely burden of its own plaintive appeal. Many are the poets we hear sounding on the lyre the trilling notes of the lark on high, and the cold silver tones of the night- ingale sweeping far av ay over meadow and woodland, but they touch no chord vibrant to the voice of that tender Babe whose universal call ‘‘swept over the valleys and mountains.” “Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird,” sang Keats to a feathered songster, yet had he no paean of praise for the immortal, regal Child-king from beyond the skies. Lord Byron, too, who sang of the fleeting and faithless lover of this passing earth, never quickened into poetic life this deathless and all-embracing Heart of Love. Gray sang of the long- forgotten, mouldering dead, yet he and Shelley too, remained mute upon the theme of the eternal Babe of Destiny. What magnificent masterpieces these inspired pens could have pro- duced upon a subject so sublime we are scarce able to con- jecture. Many are the poets we find touching the Christmas theme with wondrous rhythm, and lyric charm, yet, in the spirit of 48 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL their songs we hearken in vain for the faintest echo of the angels’ praiseful strains upon the hills of Judea. Theirs is a spirit of revelry, carousing and mercenary gift-barter inimita- bly removed from that heavenly carol of peace and good will. Displacing the Christ-child, Scott sings instead to the idol Bacchus : “England was merry England when Old Christmas bror.ght his sports again; Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale, Twas Christmas told the merriest tale.” Lowell and Dickens have also missed the spirit of that holy strain of Christmas-tide. Sings the latter: “A bumper I drain with might and main, Give three cheers for this Christmas old; And we41 keep him up, while there’s bite or sup. And in fellowship good we’ll part.” Kipling strives with his cynicism to dampen the ardor of our season of good will, and even the beloved bard of Avon him- self, sings falsely: “Most friendship is fayning, most loving mere folly. Then heigh-ho the holly, this life is most jolly.” But ah! how wonderfully different the sound, what a respon- sive chord is awakened in our breast when we chance upon one who has echoed the melody of sightless Milton’s song : “Welcome all v onders in one sight. Eternity shut in a span. Summer in Winter, Day in Night, Heaven in Earth, and God in Man. Great little one! whose all-embracing birth Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heav’n to earth.” THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 49 Who could forget Father Tabb’s exquisite little gem of preg- nant thought: “A little boy of heavenly birth, But far from home today, Comes down to find his ball, the earth. That sin has cast away. Comrades, let us one and all. Join in to get Him back his ball.” Father Faber is the author of a simple, sweet little lay of which the following excerpt indicates the loving tenor : ‘V e have waited so long for Thee, Savior, Art thou come to us, dearest, at last; Oh! bless Thee, dear joy of thy mother. This is worth all the wearisome past!” Coleridge, Ben Jonson, Adelaide Procter and Southwell have also offered up hymns of a Catholic tenderness to the sweet babe of Bethlehem. Looking back, however, through the misty valley of the past we see but a lamentable paucity of poems of any poetic proportions arising to take their place beside the mammoth bulk of Milton’s gigantic effort. Few are the poets who have even faintly echoed the message of Our Little King. It is only when we scan the pages of the w’orld’s literature of the latest Christmas-tide that there seems to have been an exception to the general apathy of the past. Now, as never before in the history of journalism, has literature of the real, the true Christmas atmosphere been given so m.uch space and attention in its columns. It appears, happily, that now at last, after the lapse of centuries, the poets of the time are awaken- ing to the justice of Milton’s appeal and strumming their dusty lyres, are beginning to resound the strains of the angels’ song, of “Peace on Earth, Good-will to men.” Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6. 50 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL (Sift Unlf ttfat Vitx Uh at iltiiintjjtil: J--J AVE you ever heard the howl of the wolf? The long- drawn, deep-toned howl, the hunting call, which as it rides upon the night air reeks of blood and makes children cling to their mothers’ bosoms. It has been years since I heard this story on the plains of Arizona. And well do I re- member the night with the camp-fire flecking ruby shadows on the bronzed faces of the ranchers, and the cold norther that made us huddle closer and draw the warm Indian blankets more snugly to our shoulders. I see again that wild scene far, far out on the prairie and again I hear the deep-voiced tones of the sturdy rancher as he told the story and paused between his sentences to listen to the distant roll of the hero’s hunt- ing cry. “A little blue-eyed girl was Helen, eight years old, and with ringlets of golden hair framing her pretty face. She lived in the little town of Bonita, nestled in the valley of Lafontaine. It was on her eighth birthday that a trapper brought her a little wolf to feed and care for. It was her only companion, and after school she would run home and play with it on the lawn behind the house. Ever since her birthday on November the tenth she had spent all her time teaching tricks to the little wolfie. But on Christmas Eve Helen was taken sick; the doctors came from Crossbow, but all in vain. At twelve o’clock the news spread through the village that little blue- eyed Helen had died. The wolf moaned pitifully and resi- dents down near the crossroads stopped to listen to the heart- rending cry as it pierced the echoes of the night and died far out on the prairie. And as the village clock struck twelve there arose such mournful notes as have never been heard THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 51 before. Have you ever heard the howl of the wolf? The plaintive howl that rises like a dirge upon the night, so full of sadness and despair. Two days later there was a fresh mound in the little grave- yard of St. Ives. Helen, the wolfs only friend, was gone. Not long afterward the wolf was missed, and his keeper averred he heard clinking of chains the night before, and he swore vengeance on the robber. The days passed on. Helen was soon forgotten. The zephyrs of springtime whispered in the soughing pines of the little Catholic graveyard. Occasionally a friend would wan- der there and place a Bower upon the spot where she was sleeping. Summer came and went. Autumn gave place to winter. And on Christmas Eve, when the children were dreaming of Santa Claus and the clock was pealing twelve, down from the mountainside came a dismal, piteous cry, dis- tressingly pathetic — the cry of the wolf, sad, lonely, melan- choly. In its voice was the sobbing of the sea; it was full of complaint and woe, and the old people of the village gazed into space, wondered and thought and thought. Years succeeded years, and just as sure as East is East and death follows life, every Christmas Eve there would roll down from the mountainside the howl of a wolf, a wolf in sadness and misery. ' And people would shake their heads thoughtfully and talk about the little blue-eyed girl of years back who had a little wolf-pet as a friend. That wolf had reached its full growth. Leader of the pack was he, that famous pack known from Thurmont to the moun- tain range up in Colorado, and even beyond that. Every night he would lead his band down from the hills to commit depredations on cattle. The pack became bold and were seen in daytime. Late that summer, on a September evening, fifty head were killed on the Bar AT ranch and left uneaten. Forty 52 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL more were killed the night later over on the SpantofP range. A reward was offered. Bounties were set up. Men tried and failed. The rewards were increased. Attention was attracted one morning by a poster saying that $5,000 was offered for the leader of the pack. Range-riding was put aside to try for the lucrative reward. And still men failed. Winter departed. Spring appeared. Years came and went, and still the wolf howled at midnight on Christmas Eve. Into the village one morning came Indian trapper John. He hailed from Saskatchewan, and his close-set eyes denoted sharpness, sagacity, alm.ost astuteness. He was a man who knew his profession. Although trapping in Canada was profit- able, still $5,000 was nothing to be overlooked, and he could at least make an attempt.. He received particulars from the cattle owners and v ent silently about his plans. He watched the wolves and learned their mates. By skillful handling of traps and a secret combination of scents he caught the leader’s mate, a white wolf with a tinge of dark near the haunches. She was the prettiest wolf of the pack. Autumn paled into winter. Winter blended into Spring. Up from the South came the gentle zephyrs that went hasten- ing through Nature’s dormitory with reveille call. The blue- bottle flies returned and the myrtle in St. Ives churchyard assumed a more vivid olive green. Springtime is love time, even Trapper John knew that. The wolves were fighting, a sure sign they were mating. Now vv as Trapper John’s time. He took the leader’s mate out to the plain near Dead Man’s Canyon. During the winter months he had lain a lasso near the canyon, so that it was now bleached and whitened and the wolves had grown accustomed to the harmless cowhide. He made an eight-foot noose and inside this he staked the white wolf mate to the leader. The other end of the lasso led to the canyon, where Trapper John could crouch behind a small THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 53 ledge. In this v ay he figured to capture the wolf and the $ 5 , 000 . It was a torrid day in May. The sand reflected the heat in clear, quivering flames, and the breeze had died to nothing. Noon came and the restless white wolf bit savagely at the bottle flies buzzing mordaciously at her body. Save for the drone of insects and the cascade of water far below in the canyon, all was still. The sun began his color play in the West, stabbing the sky with sabres of gold until it was flecked with crimson blood. Evening paled. The canyon was dark v hile a veil of dusk hung over the heated plain. A zephyr sprang up from nowhere. Another succeeded, still another, until they joined hands into a breeze. Listen! Have you ever heard the howl of the wolf? The gentle love howl, the dew from a thousand pastures is gathered in its softness, a thread of yearning and lonesomeness is hidden in its pulsa- tions. Listen! That’s the pack. That’s the leader. That’s the love cry. It fills the plain like a mist, it echoes and re- echoes, verberates and reverberates through the petrified silence of the canyon. The white wolf hears it. She throws back her head and in response pours out love notes that sv ell upon the ear and fill it with balmy essence. The leader hears it. He ansv ers, and down at the foot of the mountain there appear specks. Now the moon bows her head under a cloud and Trapper John gets ready. Again the leader answers and love prompts his mate to do the same. Fifty yards away the pack stops suspicious, but does the leader? Oh, no; love spurs him on. Suspicion is thrown aside and he stands within ten feet of the noose. Four feet more, and still he advances. Trapper John peeps from over the narrow ledge and awaits the moment. Now is your time — he is well within the noose, he is sniffing noses with his mate. Oh, how sudden is that swish of the “rope” — it tightens, the wolf leaps up into the 54 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL air, the “rope” grows taut, and — it relaxes! Trapper John has lost his balance on the two-foot ledge and plunged deep down into the canyon, never to be seen again, and the leader escapes to the mountains. — And after three hours gnawing the white wolf frees itself and joins him. Have you ever heard the howl of the wolf? The contented howl. Well, if you were there that night you would have heard it. Far up on the mountainside sat two wolves baying the moon, happy and contented. And as the moon is wester- ing on her course, blanching the prairie in silver, they emit their happy, care-free cry, and at it the cattle toss their horns, the night hawks rise higher in their ethereal domain, and the good people in the village of Bonita wonder if at next Christ- mas Eve the wolf will howl at midnight. Joseph J. Quinn, ’i6. IN THE FOREST GLOOM. Alone, weary and forsaken. Wings all bruised and torn. In the forest gloom, a little bird Sought, refuge from a storm. Huddled ’neath a bloomless birch. Its breast aglow with fear. Trembling and shrinking it lingered Till the heavens again were clear. Martin F. X. Murray, ’i6. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 55 (grains of Btme Fun is not foolishness. Many men live as if the body was made of flesh and the soul of asbestos. Be chary of repentance without restitution. Only great virtues can withstand great vices. There would be fewer failures if more men would get out of their own road. Truth is mighty, but lots of it is suppressed. Money and morads travel together until morals become ashamed of the company they keep. Sincerity is the quality that makes friends and holds them. Don’t try to go to Heaven by the back door — sometimes it is locked. Alumnus. 56 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL ®r0lbg Ul00 a Through the tortuous ways unsung, Through the mammoths high o’erhung, From the verdant woodland green, -a. From the still pond’s mirrored sheen, Thou dost bear a breath of green. To the distant woodland bowers. And the fields all fair with flowers, With thy drowsy, dreamy drone In a humming monotone. Like a bee deep-lade for home. Straightway cease thy low refrain, Like the distant hum of rain — And with fearsome eye of red In night’s city of the dead. As a bull, charge on ahead. Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6. LOYOLA LITERARY SOCIETY. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 57 (An Incident of the Sepoy Rebellion.) Part I. HE monotonous conversation was beginning to languish. The tobacco smoke hung in dense bluish curtains; the dull talk lay heavily on drowsy brains, and it was evident that unless somebody said something to rouse our oppressed spirits, we would silently, unconsciously, sink into oblivion. We had sat for hours, and the soft, comfortable cushions seemed to grow into the unmistakable, though less comforta- ble dimensions of an oak plank; we were bored; we were tired, and nobody showed signs of moving. “Cigars, please!” called someone. We all looked instinctively toward the speaker. Colonel McClure was an elderly man of about sixty and five years, or thereabouts, and remarkable for those gifts which attract the attention of men. He was a tall, handsome man, of generous proportions; bronzed, clear cut and decided features. Everybody knew, or wanted to know McClure, and when he spoke, the talking ceased. “It was a very singular occurrence,” he said, meditatively. Soon everyone was call- ing for the weeds, and settling himself more comfortable in the big settees, and Byers appeared with a brand new box of “Las Invincibles.” The situation was saved, McClure was going to tell a story. “I was a young subaltern,” began Mc- Clure, “serving with a small detachment in Punjab shortly before the outbreak of the Sepoys. “One hot, sultry night, I had just fallen asleep, after much restless tossing and turning, when I was abruptly awakened by shouts and cries, and the sound of a scuffle. Springing up 58 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL from my cot, I encountered the sergeant and two orderlies dragging a struggling man into the tent with much difficulty. ‘What’s the meaning of this, Stubbs?’ I called, ‘what’s up?’ On hearing me the sergeant looked up and cried indignantly, ‘this ’ere bloomin’ idiot of a hathen were sneakin’ on me beat,’ and he gave the tall Hindoo a malicious push in the back. Before I could collect my scattered wits and demand an ex- planation, the prisoner had thrown himself on the ground at my feet and cried in broken musical English, ‘O, mighty Sahib, believe me, I am innocent. I came but to ask of the white Sahib some medicine for my boy. He dies.’ By this time I was fully awake and in command of the situation, and, although I was certain the man lied, I somehow was moved by his plaintive appeal. The earnestness with which he ex- plained the symptoms of his son’s illness impelled me to trust him. Accordingly, I put into his nervous, twitching fingers the object of his quest, and bid him go. After thanking me with a soulfulness difficult to describe, and kissing my feet, he left without much delay, narrowly escaping a swift kick from the angry sergeant. Wearied, I sank into a sound sleep, thinking no more of the incident. Months later, however, it was called back to my mind so forcibly that it can never be effaced. It is indelible. Part II. “My temples throbbed madly; my brain seemed manacled, and my first feeble movements were accompanied by a hot, tearing pain. I muttered weakly. I cried painfully. I raised my heavy lids; I opened my blood-shot eyes. Oh. the sight of awful carnage ; it clutched and tore madly at my syncopating heart. In that rumbling, sweeping charge of furious, foam- dabbed, dashing steeds and flashing, clashing, naked sabres; the good and the brave were mowed in human harvest. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 59 “My leg felt as though the demons were tearing the flesh with fired pincers; my head was clogged with blood; my throat was parched and glazed and burning, the very soul itself writhed and tossed in agony. But God in Heaven spare me such a sight again!” “As I gazed a terrible head rose in curved lines above the motley soil. A beautifully terrible head. The long, slender neck swung gracefully in fantastic mazes, unfolding myriads of ever-changing forms and colors to my gaze; but one spark- ling diamond eye was ever steadfast, bright and gorgeous, gleaming in their midst, and still fastened with a cold fondness on my own. My own glance became intense; fixed also, but with a dreaming sense that conjured up the wildest fancies; terribly hideous, that wrapped my soul within a spell. I would have fled; I could not move. I would have grasped its jewel- bestudded head, but even as I thought, I stopped. I heard a wild, shrill scream from afar. I started. I knew that shriek; it was the cry of the tom-tom charmer. Such a scream seemed like a warning, and, though yet unawakened to full conscious- ness, it startled me. More than once in my survey of this strange, fantastic object I heard the shrill note. It came closer ; it came weaker, yet still carried the same note of warn- ing, and to my mind the same vague sense of an evil presence.” “But in all this time the glance was never taken from my own; there it grew fixed, a very principle of light. And such a light! A subtle, burning, piercing, fascinating gleam; such as gathers in the East at dawn, and binds us as we look — shooting, darting, directly in my gaze. I felt dizzy, for, as I looked a cloud of colors, bright, gay, many-colored like Persian drapery, hung about that ocular diamond which held me spellbound. My limbs grew stiff ; my blood congealed in � my closing veins.” 60 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL “And there it lay coiling and uncoiling its arched neck, which shimmered like a brazen ring, bright and lurid. The shrill note sounded again; it came from close by my side. I felt conscious of a dragging form; then my sense of discrimi- nation was defeated, for the dreadfully beauteous serpent’s eye still fastened on me, grew suddenly eager, and barbed fangs darted from the gaping mouth like tongues of fire. A warning to the victim of the blow to fall.” “Meanwhile the stillness became deathlike. The light even- ing breeze was silent. The serpent lay motionless, its eyes upon me. Suddenly its gaze grew cold and glassy, while flames of anger flashed in the venom puffs. A moment — and the deadly folds will be upon me, and the fatal fangs will strike, mingling the secreted venom v ith the life-blood in my veins. I felt terrified in the face of death. The serpent’s terrible play was at an end. I could not mistake the horrid expres- sion of the eye. I tried to scream, but my voice died av ay in a faint gurgling in my throat. My eyes were starting out of their sockets ; the huge jaws of the viper were unclosing above ; The long, tubular fangs charged with venom, protruding from the cavernous mouth hung poised, one burning instant — and then — as the death would embrace me — a form — the form of a man (gashed, torn and bleeding) launched through the air — passed me — and unto the poisonous, hellish jaws of de- struction.” “The terrible, rage-bristled, glaring snake, striking, buried its death-dealing fangs into a white-clad Hindoo.” “For a moment my perception was dazzled; my train of thought paralyzed, and my soul was dumb, buried in mys- tery. The man who had snatched me from the jaws of death — who received the poisoned teeth into his own wounded veins, rolled on his side. I started ; happy recognition in the other’s HIGH SCHOOL SENIORS. ' V ' , ' . THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 61 eyes searched my burning, feverish gaze. ‘My God,’ I cried, ‘the — ,’ and the tall dark man (whom long before I had done a turn) with a smile, a tear, a spasmodic twitch, lay dead at my feet.” Erwin O. Ullrich, H. S. ’13. L 4 y I J E Dl TO AL STAF F. 7 JOHN WEBER, ’13 Editor-in-Chief JOSEPH A. CAREY, ’13 ANDREW J. HARRISON, ’14 JOHN J. LARDNER, ’15 THEODORE M. HEMELT, ’15 JOSEPH J. QUINN, ’16 RALPH J. SYBERT, ’16 Associate Editors AUGUST J. BOURBON, ’14 Business Managers J. BOISEAU WIESEL, ’07 Alumni Editor AUGUST B. HANEKE, H. S., ’13 High School Editor (f uantorfetana a«i� JIjp Qlampua. HERE was a time when men of the college campus readily reconciled the reading of prosemen and poets with a liberal education. A volume of Shakespeare or Newman tucked snugly under the arm did not seem irrelevant. Times have changed of course. The hundred and one discarded dailies with sundry news, and tabulated scores of all the base- ball games in the world, sadly litter the campus now to an- nounce this fact. As an open protest against this seemingly collegiate disre- gard for culture and learning, and to awaken a love for 62 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 63 cherished traditions, through a fresh interest in living authors, the Quantockians sincerely subjoin some of the inspiring letters addressed to the Quantock Club of Letters during the past year. 2035 Chestnut St., Philadelphia. Dear Sir: — I have been out of town for the past few days and unable to answer your letter sooner. Don’t you find the number of books you are told to read, or advised to read, a trifle bewildering? They are as the sands of the sea, and the business of choosing is much harder than it was when I was young. As a matter of fact, we read what we could get, and seldom found a book too long, knowing we might not easily replace it. But if a book is worth reading at all, it is worth reading more than once. I have read Boswell’s Johnson three times, and Mr. Birrell intimates that once a year is none too often for its perusal. Have you found time for it yet? Sincerely yours. Santa Barbara, California. Dear Sir: — It gave me the greatest pleasure to learn that you liked the Crisis, and I hope you will always remember that those who have written books, and especially those who have worked over them long and lovingly, and send them out into the world, have their greatest reward in such letters as yours. Otherwise we must remain in the dark as to what our message has meant for those who have read it. And I am particularly glad when I have reached a young man in college because in the colleges lies the greatest hope for the future of our country. With kind regards to you and to the Quantock Club of Letters of Loyola College, I am. Sincerely yours. 64 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Doneraile, County Cork. Dear Sir: — It is always a pleasure to hear from my American friends, who have shown much sympathy with my work. I am par- ticularly pleased to find that the young graduates of your great col- lege are interested in what I have written, for I have always had the hope that my short essays, etc., would prove not only interesting, but stimulating to many whose lines of study would otherwise prove divergent from the thoughts that have occupied my mind. I have a conviction, and with it a hope, that the careful study of such books as ‘‘Parerga” and “Under the Cedars and the Stars” would form the grounds of a fairly liberal education. What I mean is, that for a young student, who would take up the allusions to science, literature, etc., contained in those books, and probe deeper and deeper until he (or she) had mastered that subject, this at least would form one element, one stone in the understructure, from which a fair edifice might arise. I need only add, and I hope I am not presuming too much in giving a dogmatic opinion on a very vexed subject — that I hope the Quan- tockians will pursue learning for its own sake, and for the end of rising to a high intellectual and moral stature; and that they will not adopt the utilitarian view of making learning merely subserve the lower needs of life — the mere snapping up of bread and butter prizes in the race of life. I am, dear sir. Yours very sincerely. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 65 Sramattr Ijnrt Paasittg J OSTLED ruthlessly about in the masses of fanatic fiction, that is the state and the place at the present of the occa- sional dramatic short story. Since the big doors solemnly closed upon the nineteenth century the erstwhile prophetic announcement of Miss Whar- ton, “the short story is approaching perfection,” seems silent and dead with the big, silent years of the past. In the late Victorian age the story was well on its way to perfection, but the sullen clang of the closing century-doors seems to have frightened the brave, for the story is sadly growing in bulk and hollowness now, and not in perfection and the strength of years. “Able-bodied and riotous short stories” is the materialistic cry of the age. Veritable prodigies they are of the dreaded days of Pyrrha. By their slave-luring names ye shall know them, “When Ragtime Came to China,” “Sassy Bill, De- ceased,” “The Power of Pie.” This is the stuff the distinguished editors of our popular magazines, guardians of the public taste, are offering to the world of letters. Stories that boisterously ignore the prim.al law of single incident. Stories with carloads of actors to usurp the time-honored role of character. Stories where horseplay, regrettably mistaken by some for humor, prances audaciously up and down the pages. Stories where climax comes swift and sudden in a voice abnormal with thunder. The scribbler must receive his fee, and the artist, too, for forsaking his art; so small wonder it is that the few simple laws of the story are laws of the past and the dramatic short story is passing. QN the eve of graduation from Loyola College we cannot help recalling the years spent in the High School, Memory brings back especially the year when first we entered Loyola. How backward we were then! How backward we all are when for the first time we mingle with those who are a few years our senior ! But gradually this feeling of timidity passes, and within the space of a few weeks we form lifelong friendships. The professors who taught us during the years 1905-1909 were very congenial, and under their guidance we were able to lay a firm foundation for our future work in the College. Father Purtell, S. J., will always remain in our memory. Through him the class was able to acquire that agility of mind which is so important in every branch of learning. His Latin and Greek declensions, and verb contests, will never be forgotten. Then there was Mr. Louis Young, S. J., who was noted for his discipline and the advice which he gave to individual students. During his year we waited eagerly for Thursdays when we were certain of having a picnic. If it was not some fair spot in the country which Mr. Young chose, then it would be some fishing expedition, and the class was always contented and gleeful if one of their number was successful in hooking a tadpole. 66 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 67 No one who was in the High School during the years 1905- igog will ever forget Mr. Duffy, S. J. He made friends at Loyola of all and the students sincerely regretted his departure. Like Mr. Young, Mr. Duffy had the usual Thursday outings. In his class “Trots” were scarce, and those who had them did not have the courage to display them openly. Under Mr. Duffy’s direction we became masters of the Greek verb and had Kaegis’ Greek grammar at our fingers’ ends. During our last year in the High School so many events took place that space forbids their narration. Mention must be made, however, of those dreaded Monday afternoons when the compositions were read along with their corrections. But we do not regret those days now for they have shown their worth a hundred times over. High School days over, we entered upon our College career. What a difference there seems to be! That nev body which we were so anxious to join while in the High School and on which we looked with reverential awe has at last opened its doors to us and admitted us to its ranks. Our first year in the College Department under the tutelage of Father Burkett, S. J., will ever be fandly remembered. Though we were but eight, having lost two members at the beginning of the year, the bond of union that existed between class and teacher was equal in strength to double our numbers. Sophomore year is indelibly imprinted on our memories as a bright, snappy year — a year filled with events of such a nature that June had rolled around almost before we were aware of it. In this year, one of the class lost his father, and now when we are gathered together perhaps for the last time in chronicling our Alma Mater, we take occasion to express our final sympathy to him in his bereavement. Junior year, we were philosphers! Worse yet, we were three! That class of forty youngsters in First Year High 68 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL had dwindled to three men in Junior. Though our numbers were small, we enjoyed a most pleasant year under Father Ooghe, S. J. The six years leading up to our Junior year had prepared us well for the acrobatic “stunts” that Father Ooghe took us through in his mental gymnasium. And now that we are Seniors we look back to our High School days with greatest awe then we looked on the Seniors as demigods so to speak. To us they appeared as Gulliver must have seemed to the Lilliputians, placed on a point far above them in height, yet here we are at last on that height to which as High School boys we looked up. It is with a certain amount of disappointment that the re- alization of our boyhood fancy does not come up to the ex- pectations they produced in us. We do not feel as the Seniors appeared to us when we were in the High School. Yesterday we were High School students, today we are at the end of our College career, about to enter upon a new life. So short seems to us the time from our entrance in First High to the present time in Senior. Nor do we feel any different now that we are in Senior than we did in the beginning. Perhaps it is due to our philosophy that we realize our insignificance, a fact brought to our observation by our able teacher. Father Brosnahan, S. J. Under his careful direction we have come to feel our deficiency as to our knowledge of things about us. Despite our limitations the entire year from Geology and Astronomy to Psychology and Ethics was a real intellectual treat, therefore it is with the deepest sense of gratitude to all our teachers for the harmonious development of our intellec- tual, moral and physical powers that we leave dear old Loyola. • ' V. ' fTv 1 — John Quinn 2 — Alfred Peters 3 — Frederick Dewberry 4 — Ferdinand Schoberg 5 — John Brennan 6 — Bernard Kelley 7 — Vincent Teano 8 — Martin Carey 9 — Hector Ciotti 10 — Russell Quinn 11 — William German 12 — Auj ust Haneke THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 69 HE High School Dramatic Club presented ‘ ' Who is the Secretary?” on the evenings of December i8 and 19, 1912. The play was well chosen and successfully produced. The amusing situations were w ell appreciated and generously ap- plauded. Frederick L. Dewberry played the difficult role of the Secretary admirably, and brought out the eccentricities of the character with skill and judgment. Martin J. Carey, as the boisterous and ill-tempered old Colo- nel, kept the audience in roars of laughter from start to finish. G. Alfred Peters was a typical German Professor, whose interest in Spiritualism helped to thicken the plot. John J. Quinn, the tailor who has aspirations to be a gentleman, sus- tained this difficult part very well. August B. Haneke and William R. German were well chosen for their parts and added considerably to the reputation which they attained in former plays. Ferdinand H. Schoberg and Russell J. Quinn made a handsome and youthful appearance as the “boys.” John F. Brennan as the butler, Vincent M. Teano as the colored servant, and Hector J. Ciotti as the sheriff, all added to the general excellence of the performance. CAST OF CHARACTERS. Rev. Robert Spaulding Frederick L. Dewberry. (“The Secretary.”) Mr. Marsland Bernard A. Kelley. (Who engages the Secretary.) Harry Marsland August B. Haneke. (His nephew, who lays the plot.) 70 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Colonel Cattermole .Martin J. Carey. (In search of his nephew.) Douglas Cattermole William R. German. (Who is not the Secretary.) Sydney Gibson John J. Quinn. (A tailor who wants to be a gentleman.) Professor Stockhammer G. Alfred Peters. (Who dabbles in Spiritualism.Q Russell I. Quinn. Ferdinand H. Schoberg. Rastus, Servant to Mr. Marsland Vincent M. Teano Sheriff Hector J. Ciotti. Mr. Stead, Landlord of Douglas Catter- mole’s Apartments Cuthbert. ) q£ Marsland. i Reginald, j Gardner . .John F. Brennan. Wnt J T THE request of the Holy Cross Lyceum and before a large and appreciative audience, the High School Dra- matic Club repeated their successful comedy, “Who is the Secretary?” on the evening of May 5, 1913. The players were well received, and the amusing situations were thoroughly appreciated. This was the third performance of the play, and it was characterized by skillful and natural acting which won for the actors well-merited applause. Frederick L. Dewberry, H. S., ’13. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 71 SJcgcla Srmnattr Qllub Banqurt QN Thursday evening, April 17, 1913, the Loyola High School Dramatic Club entertained the members of the cast of “V ho is the Secretary?’ ' at a banquet given at the Hotel Joyce. The elaborate decorations, the t empting menu, and the general spirit of good fellowship all helped to make the ban- quet a complete success and a pleasant memory. Rev. Father Wm. J. Ennis, S. J., President of Loyola College, presided, and addressed the members of the cast and extended to them the gratitude of the Faculty for their excellent work. August B. Haneke, H. S., ’13. A P 0 alttt of rlf0ol Lives of schoolboys all remind us. We can make our mark in time; And departing, leave behind us Names upon the desk in rhyme. Names that once perhaps another. Sailing through that Greek, insane, Be it only our young brother, Seeing it, shall note our fame. Let us then be up and doing Our Professor soon and late; With our pony still pursuing. Learn to prance at any rate. J. Bart Muth, ’16. 72 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Adopted by the Members of Class of Third Year High of Loyola College, 1913, on the Death of the Brother of Our Beloved Classmate, FRANCIS P. GIBLIN. January nth, 1913. WHEREAS, God in his infinite wisdom has deemed it wise to remove from the midst of his family Aniir m J®. O tbltn the Brother of Our Beloved Classmate and WHEREAS, We do fully realize the depth of his affliction, and appreciate the sorrow of his family in this hour of sadness ; therefore be it RESOLVED, That we the members of the Class of Third Year of Loyola High School, do hereby tender our deepest sympathy to our classmate and his family; and be it RESOLVED, That considering the same to be the best and noblest manner of expressing these, our sentiments, we do most heartily unite in having offered the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and in receiving One Holy Communion for the eternal repose of the soul of the deceased; and be it further RESOLVED, That a written expression of our condolence be placed in the Annual and that a copy of the same be pre- sented to the afflicted family. Joseph C. Garland, President, Frances L. Wiers, Vice-President, Edward S. Vaeth, Secretary, Committee. Requiescat in pace. SIngola ICttfrarg omtg. The Loyola Literary Society during the past year has nobly con- tinued that work so successfully carried on in the past in the develop- ment of the power of debate and public speaking. The members endeavored during the past year to uphold the high standard the society has ever held among the college societies. Debates were held weekly in the college library and were looked forward to with great delight by the members. Many subjects intimately relating to the interests of our Nation and our State were discussed. The Monroe Doctrine, Labor Unions, Tariff, Panama Canal, Foreign Immigration. The preliminary debates proved to be most interesting and all the contestants fought hard to win a place on the final debate. The four speakers chosen by the judges to represent the society in the final debate were: Mr. August J. Bourbon, ’14; Mr. Leo A. Codd, 16; Mr. Joseph A. Carey, ’13, and Mr. George B. Loden, 16. The subject chosen for the final debate was: Resolved: “That the United States Vessels Engaged in Coastwise Trade be Free from Toll in Passing Through the Panama Canal.” Mr. Bourbon and Mr. Codd spoke on the affirmative and Mr. Carey and Mr. Loden on the negative. The judges awarded the medal to Mr. Loden. We tender our sincere thanks to our Reverend Moderator, Mr. Michael F. Fitzpatrick, for his constant attentiveness to the society; also to Mr. John J. Weber, chairman of the Literary Committee, 73 74 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL for his untiring efforts in selecting subjects for our debates; and to Mr. T. Aquin Keelan, our President during the first term, and Mr. John J. Weber, our President during the second. The officers of both terms were: FIRST TERM. President, Mr. J. Aquin Keelan, ’13. Vice-President, Mr. Jerome H. Joyce, Jr., ' 14. Secretary, Mr. J. Vincent Brooks, 15. Treasurer, Mr. Ralph J. Sybert, 16. SECOND TERM. President, Mr. John J. Weber, 13. Vice-President, Mr. Andrew J. Harrison, 14. Secretary, Mr. J. Bart Muth, 16. Treasurer, Mr. Ralph J. Sybert, 16. J. Bart Muth, 16. SENIOR SODALITY NOTES. Devotion to Our Lady is strong in the hearts of the Senior Soda- lists. Every week finds the members gathered in the Chapel eager to pay their tribute of love to the Blessed Virgin. Throughout the year the attendance has been large and faithful. A short time after school opened some of the out-of-town members found it difficult to attend the meetings as regularly as they wished. The day of meeting was therefore changed from Tuesday to the more conven- ient morning of Saturday at eleven. New life seemed to be infused into the Sodality. The Eucharistic Ring, which was inaugurated last year in con- nection with the Sodality, still flourishes. One member receives the Holy Eucharist each day. The devotion bids fair to become a permanent institution at Loyola. The members of the Fourth Year High, the Seniors of the High School, were admitted to the Sodality at the beginning of the second term on the proposal of Fr. Moderator. Enthusiasm is often gen- erated by numbers, and so it happened in this case that the efforts of other members were greatly encouraged by the lively spirit that was breathed into the devotion. At present the Sodality is in a most flourishing condition and even considered as a gathering of students, is one of the most attractive societies of the College 76 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL This success is due primarily to Fr. Moderator. His weekly talks are listened to with genuine pleasure by the students and the lessons imparted are appreciated and treasured up in the hearts of the mem- bers. It is safe to assume that recollections of the Sodality will be among our sweetest memories when college days are over. OFFICERS FIRST TERM. Prefect, Jos. A. Carey, ’13. First Assistant, Wm. E. Mackessy, ’14. Second Assistant, Anthonv V. Buchness, 16. Secretary, John J. Lardner, ’15. First Sacristan, Andrew J. Harrison, 14. Second Sacristan, Jerome H. Joyce, ’14. Organist, Raymond J. Kwasnik, ’14. SECOND TERM. Prefect, John J. Weber, 13. First Assistant, Wm. E. Mackessy, 14. Second Assistant, Clarence G. Owings, ’15. Secretary, John J. Latdner, ’15. First Sacristan, J. Neil Corcoran, 16. Second Sacristan, Jerome H. Joyce, ’14. Organist, Raymond J. Kwasnik, ’14. J. J. Lardner, ’15. THE JUNIOR SODALITY. The members of the Junior Sodality during the past year have completed a record which they can look back upon with pride and satisfaction. This society is composed of students of the High School Classes and its object is to cultivate devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary. In the first meeting in September the following officers were elected: Frederick Dewberry, Prefect. Joseph Muth, ist Assistant. Albert Donegan, 2nd Assistant. John Quinn, Secretary. Raymond Wagner and Francis O’Toole, Sacristans. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 77 In the mid-year the Fourth Year High Class was elected to the Senior Sodality, and Mr. George S. Black, S. J., succeeded Mr. Joseph A. Huefner, S. J., as moderator. Another election for the second term took place, resulting thus: Joseph Muth, Prefect. Albert Donegan, ist Assistant. Edward Bees, 2nd Assistant. Edward Vaeth, Secretary. Francis O’Toole and William Didusch, Sacristans. Consultors: Edward Keelan, Lawrence Connolly, Raymond Con- roy, Michael Buchness, Ady Street and Edwin Cole. Organist, Herbert McCann. During the second term it was agreed upon that the day and hour of the meetings should be changed and instead of Friday at 3.00 P. M., the meetings are now held on Wednesday at 8.30 A. M. The Junior Sodality of 1913 has a larger membership than in all previous years. D. Albert Donegan, H. S. ’15. ATHLETICS COLLEGE BASKETBALL TEAM. The season 1912-1913 proved by far to be the most successful in the history of Loyola. The crowning feature of all was a decisive victory over Georgetown University, a victory which the Loyola followers had been striving after for the last five years. Another feature of the past season was the Northern trip, the first taken by any Loyola team. On the trip we met Lehigh University at South Bethlehem and City College of New York in New York City. The team entered immediately upon the collegiate schedule, the customary practice games having been eliminated. The opening game with the Alumni proved a n easy victory for the varsity squad and showed up to advantage our two new forwards, Corcoran and Scheurich, of last year’s High School squad, who replaced Peters and Pippen, last season’s star forward and defense. The trip came next. Two games were played and both resulted in defeats. Lehigh won the first game, 41 to 19, while the second, with City College of New York, ended with the score standing 25 to II. Coming to Lehigh as an unknown quantity, our pass work took the University boys by surprise. The large score was due in some part to an inferior court, but especially to the poor work of an amateur referee. The game in New York disclosed slow work on our side, the players being worn out by the morning’s travel. Fourth Regiment Armory was the scene of the first home game, our team entertaining University of Maryland. Victory came to our lot, 21 to 14. Gallaudet College was our next opponent. The contest followed the Christmas holidays and a lack of practice proved disastrous for Loyola, the Mutes winning out in the extra session of play, 19 to 17. Following the Gallaudet game, regular practice was held in anti- cipation of the Georgetown game in Washington. Our boys showed the results of their work. Our victory came as quite a shock to the 78 VARSITY BASKET BALL TEAM. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 79 Georgetown contingent, who were wont to attribute it to Dame Fortune. The score, however, tells the tale. The first half ended 19 to 2, in Loyola’s favor, the final whistle proclaiming Loyola vic- tor by the score 33 to 15. Baltimore Medical College and Hopkins University both fell be- fore the prowess of the Loyola quintet by large scores. A surprise party was handed us in Washington by the Catholic University Five, the latter winning, 35 to 21. Loyola was deprived of the services of Brooks, who was injured in the B. M. C. game, the injury keeping him out of the game for the rest of the season. The second contest with B. M. C resulted in a victory. Follow- ing this contest we lost two games to St. John’s College of An- napolis, and came out victorious in the George Washington Uni- versity game. The season ended with seven victories and six defeats. Those on the squad were: Corcoran, Joyce (captain), and Scheu- rich, forward; Cook, center; and Walsh, Brooks and Buchness, de- fense. The results of the games were: Loyola College, 31 Loyola College, 19 Loyola College, ii Loyola College, 21 Loyola College, 17 Loyola College, 33 Loyola College, 32 Loyola College, 43 Loyola College, 21 Loyola College, 25 Loyola College, 12 Loyola College, 20 Loyola College, 18 Loyola Alumni, 7. Lehigh University, 41. City College of New York, 25. University of Maryland, 14. Gallaudet College, 19. Georgetown University, 15. Baltimore Medical College, 19. Hopkins University, 19. Catholic University, 35. Baltimore Medical College, 20. St. John’s College, 34. George Washington University, 12. St. John’s College, 28. T. Aquin Keelan, ’13. 80 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL August 26, 1912. Fathers Brosnahan and Zwinge celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of their ordination to the priesthood. A low mass of thanksgiving was said at 8.30 o’clock by Father Brosnahan, which was attended by his family and friends from Washington, D. C., and by many of the parishioners. Rev. Fr. Rector spoke a few words. September 8, 1912. Today was the Diamond Jubilee of Father Boone as a Jesuit, for on this day sixty years ago he entered the Novitiate, at Frederick, Md. Owing to the personal request of our venerable jubilarian the day was spent quietly without any church cele- bration or demonstration. September 10, 1912. The College, High School and Preparatory Departments opened with a large attendance. There were numerous changes in the Faculty. Frs. John S. Keating, Matthew McCabe, James Cotter and Mr. Aloysius T. Higgins, being among those changed. They were replaced by Fathers William F. X. Sullivan, Michael Sheehy, and Mr. Michael F. Fitzpatrick. September 16, 1912. The Mass of the Holy Ghost to inaugurate the opening of the scholastic year and to implore God’s blessing on the College and its students was celebrated this morning in St. Ignatius Church. Today the Seniors returned and registered as students for the last time. September 18, 1912. Election of officers for the Senior and Junior Sodality today. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 81 September 30, 192. Officers of the Loyola Literary Society were elected and installed today. October 15, 1912. Rev. A. Leo Barley, of the class of 08, celebrated Mass in the Church this morning, at which the entire student body was present. At the end of Mass Rev. Fr. Ennis, in words of fond affection, touched briefly upon Fr. Barley’s college career within Alma Mater’s walls, and the dignity of the calling which he followed. In honor of Fr. Barley’s kindly visit a half holiday was granted. October 14, 1912. The evening courses are now in full operation with a total registration of 135. Those who attended the lectures this year will be given a certificate, of they so wish, stating the number and character of the courses followed. October 28, 1912. The retreat of the College students opened this morning. The exercises of the retreat were conducted by Father Sullivan of the High School Faculty. The annual retreat is one of the main events of the year at Loyola. Several members of the Alumni Association attended the closing exercises of the retreat this year, and received communion in company with the College students. October 31, 1912. The student body received communion at the close of the retreat. November i, 1912. Feast of All Saints holiday. November 23, 1912. Minor Logic specimen of the Junior Class held today. 82 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL December 5, 1912. Mr. David Goldstein, of Boston, lectured in the College Hall on Socialism, in its bearing on religion and the family. Several objections were proposed by Socialists in the audience and were effectively solved by the lecturer. December 18, 1912. “Who is the Secretary?” the Christmas play, was presented by the High School before two crowded houses. The success of the play was greatly due to the earnest work of Mr. Nevin, who coached the young Thespians. The cast included Martin Carey, Frederick Dewberry, August Haneke, Alfred Peters, William German, John Quinn, Bernard Kelley, Vincent Teano, Ferdinand Schoberg, Russell Quinn, John Brennan and Hector Ciotti. December 23, 1912. On the afternoon of this day the following Christmas pro- gram was given in the College Hall in the presence of the Faculty and student body; PRELUDE Orchestra. GREETINGS Leonard Cunningham, Prep. CHRISTMAS EVE” (recitation) John Conniff, Prep. “EX ORE INFANTIUM” .... William Golder, Third High. (By Francis Thompson) “ADESTE FIDELES” Kyle Golley, First High “A.” ' (Comet Solo) “POETS AND CHRISTMAS” . . . Ralph Sybert, Freshman. (Essay) “A WISH FOR YULE” Joseph Monaghan, First High “B.” (Story) “THE ROSARY” (piano) . . Herbert McCann, Second High. “HEAVEN’S MESSAGE” (Poem) Andrew Harrison, Junior. “LOOKING FORWARD” .... Russell Quinn, Third High. (Prophecy) Kyle Golley, First High “A.” (Cornet Solo) “STILLE NACHT” THIRD YEAR HIGH SCHOOL. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 83 “A CHRISTMAS THOUGHT” John Lardner, Sophomore. (Essay) ‘A CHRISTMAS PASTORAL” Fourth High. Scene: Hill Country near Bethlehem. Dramatis Personae : NARRATOR William Sullivan. ASRAEL Ferdinand Schoberg. LAEVUS John Farrell. ARISTOS Edward Bunn. ADDRESS Joseph Carey, Senior. FINALE Orchestra. January 13, 1913. Classes were resumed today. Repetition commenced with an examination in English Composition. January 27, 1913. Mid-year oral examinations began. January 28, 1913. The annual banquet o£ the Alumni Association was held this evening in the Emerson Hotel, commemorating the sixty-first anniversary of Loyola. Officers for the ensuing year were elected. January 31, 1913. Mid-year holiday. February 2, 1913. On Sunday, at 8 o’clock Mass in St. Ignatius’ Church, Frs. William F. X. Sullivan. Justin J. Ooghe and Henry W. McLaugh- lin pronounced their final vows in the Society of Jesus. February 3, 1913. In the afternoon a short entertainment was given by the students in the College Hall, in honor of the Fathers who had made their final vows. The program read as follows: The Jesuit, the Missionary, Augustus J. Bourbon; The Jesuit, the Edu- 84 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL cator, Joseph A. Carey; The Jesuit, the Soldier, Clarence G. Owings; “Come Follow Me,” (poem), George B. Loden.. Rev. Fr. Rector happily concluded the entertainment after a few congratulatory remarks by granting a half-holiday. March i, 1913. The announcement of the subject of the prize essays was made. The Board of Editors of the Loyola College Annual held their first meeting this morning. March 12th 1913. Second anniversary of Fr. Brady’s death. March 13, 1913. A lecture on the subject “Why Socialism is Opposed to the Labor Movement” was delivered by Mr. Peter W. Collins, for seven years Secretary of the International Brotherhood of Elec- trical Workers and for many years Editor of the Electrical Worker. March 19, 1913. Easter recess began. March 28, 1913. Classes were resumed. April 17, 1913. The Loyola High School Dramatic Club held its annual banquet at the Hotel Joyce this evening. The guests of honor were Rev. Father Ennis, Fathers Fleming and Purtell, and Messrs Huefner, Kelley, and Fortescue. April 27, 1913. The members of the Alumni Association received Holy Com- mimion in a body at the 8 o’clock Mass in the Chapel of Grace. After the Mass breakfast was served to the members in the College Gymnasium. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 85 May ist, 1913. The customary May devotions, consisting of an original paper by one of the students, extolling the praises and virtues of the Blessed Virgin, several hymns in her praise, and a prayer asking her to intercede for us, vrere begun today at 2.15 o’clock. This custom of doing something during the month of May for the Blessed Virgin’s honor, has become dear to the heart of the Loyola student. The shrine of Our Lady is constantly kept well supplied with the fragrant flowers; the boys living in the country bringing in wild flowers, while the city boys contribute money and buy hothouse flowers. The two combined make a very pretty daily offering to Our Lady. May 5, 1913 Repetition began today. The High School play, “Who is the Secretary?” was repeated at Holy Cross Parish Hall, Baltimore, under the auspices of the Holy Cross Lyceum. The part of Mr. Marsland was played by John Scheurich, who replaced Bernard Kelly. May 7, 1913. An entertainment was given at Loyola College Auditorium two nights for the benefit of The Knights of Columbus Scholar- ship, in memory of Rev. F. X. Brady, S. J., by ladies of the Loyola Club, assisted by members of the Alumni. May 12, 1913. Whit Monday holiday. May 14, 1913. The annual public debate of the Loyola Literary Society for the Jenkins Medal was held in the College Hall this evening. The subject of the discussion was: “Resolved, that United States’ Vessels Engaged in the Coastwise Trade be Free from Toll in Passing Through the Panama Canal.” The speakers were Messrs Joseph A. Carey, ’13, August J. Bourbon, ’14, Leo 86 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL A. Codd, ’i6, George B. Loden, i6. Rev. Louis Stickney, D.D., Dr. Charles O’Donovan, ex-’yy, LL.D. ’12, and Matthew S. Brenan, ex-’yg, A. M., ’03, acted as the board of judges of the debate. The medal was awarded to George B. Loden, ’16. May 24, 1913. Reception of Promoters of the Apostleship of Prayer and Sodalists was held after the 8.30 Mass. May 31, 1913. The Morgan Debating Society held its yearly debate today at I P. M. The judges were Rev. Patrick J. Dooley, S. J., Bro. John Gavin of St. Martin’s School and Mr. Michael F. Fitzpatrick, S. J. June 2, 1913. The members of Senior and Junior Classes attended disputa- tions in Scripture and Philosophy, which are held at Woodstock College today. They wish to use this means of giving thanks to Rev. Father Rector, of Woodstock College, who so kindly invited them to attend the disputations and to Rev. Father Rec- tor, of Loyola, for giving them the opportunity to miss a class on that day. They also are desirous of thanking the many profes- sors at Woodstock College for the very generous manner in which they were entertained. June 5, 1913. Annual excursion of the Loyola College Athletic Association to Tolchester Beach. Track and field events with large list of entries and prominent officials. Baseball contest between the Alco Athletic Club and the Loyola High School Team. June 6, 1913. Oral examinations began today, the final examinations of the year. SECOND YEAR HIGH SCHOOL. .• [ •- , -if . v.; ..■ ' . -j. .. . Vw f ' ■ ’H, • ' W ■ :r- ' % ‘: :iV ' -V : -V-f ■ -•■ -v ' • : ' ..■ -. • ■ ' ” ' ' ]■ 5 ' ••■■ ,. • u ■ ' •. ,- ' • ' ■ ' • ' ' , S ■ „M ' ■ - f, ' • ' ! ' ' . ■, .l.r ' ‘ . .IV r ' .-, •;.- ■. ,. T ' ■, = ' t THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 87 June 10, 1913- Graduating exercises of the High School. Prize night and elocution contest. June II, 1913. College prize night and elocution contest. June 13, 1913. His Excellency, the most Reverend John Bonzano, Apostolic Delegate, graciously consented to preside at the sixty-first an- nual Loyola commencement, held in the College Hall this even- ing. The Honorable Bird S. Coler, ex-Comptroller of New York City, made the address to the graduates on this occasion. JUNIOR CLASS NOTES. It pains me to begin with a criticism but I would not be satisfied unless I deplored the bad judgment of the editors in choosing me to write these notes. Precedent has decided that these notes are to be humorous. I tried to be excused on the plea that I could not fulfil this condition but to no avail. I take it for granted that you will at- tribute this excuse not to laziness but to a regard for my readers and a desire to obtain interesting reading matter for them. However, after this apology for departing from the customary form of these notes, I will proceed to give you a serious and straightforward ac- count of characteristics of which you know nothing. During one of the hot days this spring our professor of philosophy asked a certain member if “prime matter” could exist without form. This members had just been asleep but awoke in time to hear some one whisper that it would apply more to the feminine than to the masculine gender.. Gus repeated these words exactly and is still wondering why we all laughed. Notwithstanding the wonderful personality and brilliancy of our professor, the lectures at times become dull, and I am sure we would all follow the example set by Gus were it not for our friend Andrew. He entertains and distracts us by gestures which would do credit to any school of expression, but he gives us his word that he cannot sit still while hearing the expression of such beautiful thoughts. We really owe him a debt of genuine gratitude as well as a mere financial debt. I have often paid real money and seen a worse show. 88 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 89 Chemist, violinist, organist, linguist and reporter, our most versatile member has recently found a new field in which his efforts bid fair to result in achievements far greater th an any of which even he himself has ever dared dream. Raymond’s latest field has been conquering hearts, and I assure you he has already made great progress. If you don’t believe me keep your eyes open on the excursion. The Bishop, as he is called by all who know him, received this title in his younger days when his ambitions were in the right direction — but he has changed. At present he is our self-appointed representa- tive on all occasions, and officious to the last degree. I can only re- call one other who possessed such a great supply of officiousness and that was the famous T. R. Teddy got away with it, so here’s hoping the Bishop will be as lucky. J. H. Joyce, Jr., ’14. rfc.r SPOKTS Boc ' iine S SOCIAL jBR. COOK k Dietz EHis - ■PUZZLES oratory ■P ACE € GraVxam Hemelt L Cirri ' ® ' A-RT _ PA RMS k k Owin S Qvinn Any information about, or references to the above volumes will be cheerfully given by their living authors. E. B. G., ' 15. FRESHMAN. But here’s our classroom, a cheering cubicle. This is Mr. M. F. F. our professor who treated us gloriously and transcendentally the whole year through, didn’t he boys? That’s right, bring out that Parisian accent on the class cheer. E. F. B. — Don’t shake his hand too hard for it might affect his brain, and his brain is mighty precious to our classroom, too. J. C. B.— Goes home to the mountains every afternoon as usual, and assists his train in every morning. They have begun to publish schedules on the W. M. R. R. A. U. B. — The mathematical sharp. Can tear the heart out of a problem as enthusiastically as a barber deals out checks on Satur- day night. 90 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 91 L. A. C. — Six feet, one and one-half. Is a sort of barometer for measuring the class atmosphere. Would rather debate than eat two cream puffs and a piece of peach pie down at the “Why.” J. N. C. — Our Adonis. Since he’s been playing basketball the feminine attendance has increased marveously. Lives in the vitals of obscurity, in a town pitifully called Cylburn, and emerges from the forest every morning with an engaging and distracting smile. M. K. — Is reported to have a stack of gray brain matter concealed somewhere in his cranium, though rumors have it that it is now extinct. Never mind Matt., you’ll be the successor of Goldberg some day. J. P. K. — With that cacophonic cackle concealed in his throat. There is a whole poultry farm in miniature secluded in Jim’s vocal box. G. B. L. — Webster the second in flammiferous socks. If George v ere to give an emotional speech to The Sphinx it would weep until Sahara Desert was two feet under tears. J. F. X. M. — The most peripatetic gnat in college. Stands on the pannacle of pink-cheeked social popularity. He also receives much attention from professors. “Bed” doesn’t come into his vocabulary until the wee wee hours of the morning. M. F. X. M. — The matinee boy. A dramatic critic too. What he doesn’t know about theatres could be carved on a canary seed with a cold chisel and still leave space for his initials. J. B. M. — Broke his glasses thrice in three weeks. An all-around student with a deferential manner. Comes from the blue-tipped hills of Catonsville where people have to take ether to have their hair cut. R. F. O’L. — The circumnavigating conversationalist. Describes a graceful parabola when he is talking to you. He can draw a perfect geometric figure as easily as a person can pick a fly off a window pane with a boxing glove. J. A. S. — He lightens the w ork of the janitor at the Fourth Regi- ment Armory by sweeping the floor with the opposing team. 92 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL R. J. S. — Philosophic and serious. Looks back with a dim and tearful eye upon his records on the football field and prays for his victims every night. Can debate in a way that attracts attention from a deaf mute. J. J. Q. — Ouch!. Don’t shake so hard, old man, you know me well enough after receiving old acquaintances with this scintillating crowd of literary savants. What’s that? Yes, indeed, we’re so proud of ourselves that on graduation night we’ll have to put lead in our shoes to keep from rising up with pride. Call again, old fellow, you of the class of nineteen seven. And say, don’t mind those Preps when you go out. We have gotten so that we can order them about with iniquity. — J. J. Quinn. I I FIRST YEAR HIGH SCHOOL. Sj j ’;U- „ Vi-V- , v A- ODDS AND ENDS “The dawning of morn, the daylights sinking, The night ' s long hours, still find me thinking Of” — Arma virumque cano etc. “Education is a nation’s best defence.” Bursch believes in dis- armament. ’’Man may hold all sorts of posts if he’ll only hold his tongue.” Bob says just a little too much. Better let an argument with a teacher be one-sided. “For cooks must live by making tarts. And wits by making verses.” Our German Baron might make a better cook, and then, some chefs get good salaries. “ — A most blunt pleasant creature And slander itself must allow him good nature.” I have seen them livelier than Mike, but never with a broader smile. “As an actor confessed without rival to shine.” If they did not make him wear a wig he would shine more. That would leave his shiny spot exposed. “Every child must share life’s labor Just as well as every man.” So you’ll have to make the best of it, “Fenny.” 93 I 94 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL “He thought of convincing while they thought of dining.’ Herb has the distance record in the Morgan Debating Society. He talks in an endless chain. “Don’t look nor take heed of the man that is stuck, Be thankful you’re living and trust to your luck.” Advice to cur Boy Scout. “Would that he were fatter!” Jim didn’t like being called fat last year. I wonder how he will be struck with this insinuation as to his being lean. “You’ll never miss the water ’til the well runs dry.” So do it while you are back there Bunny. You might be moved up front some day. “Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Collossus.” Our giant left-fielder “Taught by the Power that pities me I learn to pity them.” Our c. f’s attitude toward opposing pitchers. His batting average was — Silence. “Full of the fire of youth.” Gerry is the most vehement of orators. “A little pain, a little strife, A little joy, and that is life.” To Alphonse the Unconcerned. “On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting, ’Twas only that when he was off he was acting.” Continuous practice helps Abe to perfect his art. “Frowns become not one so fair.” So out of respect for his beauty Sweeney always smiles. “An’ if your ’eels are blistered, an’ they feels to ’urt like, — You drop some tallow in your socks, an’ that will make ’em well.” Geraghty says it soimd all right, but that he will ride to the next inauguration. Leo H. O’Hare, H. S. ’15. UPS AND DOWNS Work well; study well; i. e. when neither interferes with pleasure. Years may come and years may go But Jug goes on forever. “Home.” How sweet the word to the tired Jug rats ear at about 3.50. “Wise men lay up knowledge” — that’s why we all study so hard. “He pores upon the brook that babbles by” Glen Morris. Our class-mate from Westminster came on time one morning. How did he do it? Oh! he didn’t wait for the train. The new beadle is. still backing the Giants. “ ‘Pijins’ and the world is mine.” — This from Catonsville. Hope is the virtue of youth. — So cheer up, Willie, the big leagues are still doing business. A Hibernian cadet has learned that sometimes the “little things” do count. Been the same height for ten years, and yet he thinks he’ll grow. He’s from South Baltimore. The Harmless One. He too is from South Baltimore. Nuf Sed. He blushes like the last rose of summer, is Prefect of the Sodality, and a poultry fancier. 95 96 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL The gentleman who resides on Lanvale Street finds it an ideal spot. Our Hamiltonian loves his brother down on the farm. So short is he that we can never tell whether he has short long trousers or long short ones. Which are they, Raymond? Our ex-beadle has never insulted diligence. He wants a job with no work attached. The Boy Scout’s lips move, but “all the air a solemn stillness holds.” Wagner is quite handy with a Dictionary. What does “Etymo logical phraseology” mean, Wagner? Does John know his Greek thoroughly? czkrbnldxmlghjski. No, gentle reader, that is not profanity. It is only John saying “sure!” Good goods comes in small parcels. So Ady all’s well. Snookie-Ookie-Ookums, the golden-haired angel, has a dialect all his own. His specialties: — Sowth, abowt, mowth, showt. � The Curfew tolls the knell of parting light, ’Tis time for us to say to you. Good-night. R. Quinn, H. S. ’14. SECOND YEAR HIGH “A.” I have sought for an appropriate title for our class, and I have selected “The Forty Holy Martyrs.” Forty we are in number, Holy in aspiration, and Martyrs indeed we are after passing through Second High “A.” The most notable event of the year was the winning of a half- holiday for selling the most tickets for the “High School Play.” The most lamentable event was that our Class President, Harry Bibby, deserted us at Easter to enter the commercial world. Prosit! Harry. As our class is large, it would take too much time and space to say a word about each man, but for information, I refer you to Mr. Nevin, S. J., who has every name on either the “Roll of Honor” of the “Roll of Dishonor.” It is to be regretted that the “Roll of Dishonor” is by far the more popular. People like to have their names published, and the “Roll of Honor” is published only once a month, while the other is a daily publication. Herbert J. McCann, H. S., 15. 98 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL SECOND HIGH (B). From the Eastern way, A boy named Gray Came to “Special” (to stay). Who sleeps whilst others work? ’Tis Albert Appicella, A boy who’s short. But quite a sport, just like any “fellah.” Now when you’re lacking of wit To fill out a short line. To get you plenty of it. See Charles S. O’Brine. From the great Northwest, Comes a little pest. One Robert Hoy comes to our nest. A swollen stream whose enormous size is shown by its plural — Rivers. A dweller of the region made famous by Irving. “Breathing like one who hath a weary dream” — Ryan. So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know the circus music went that way and Will will have to go — Trainor. From Special to Special Via Third High. M. J. C., H. S. ’15. PREPARATORY CLASS. i CLASS NOTES OF FIRST HIGH “A.” On September the eleventh, the joys and sorrows of First High ‘ ' A” began. It was truly a cosmopolitan class with representatives from Catonsville, Tuxedo Park, Embla Park, Roland Park, Forest Park Heights, Highlandtown, Avalon, Linthicum and Fort Howard. No other class can boast of such slumberers, Latin fiends and embryonic baseball enthusiasts. The first noteworthy event of the year was the election of officers for the first term: Richard Nash, President, John Hisky, Vice- President, McKee Lewis, Secretary. The officers for the second term were: Richard Nash, President, Thomas Lind, Vice-President, McKee Lewis, Secretary. After serious consideration we arrived at the conclusion that a royal blue and maroon pennant would embellish our class room. It occupies a conspicuous place opposite the door, and attracts the envious glances of other students. After we had been conducted through the dark and dreary portals of Latin and learned to lisp a few of its sounds, the prayers before and after class were recited in that language. During the month of March a short ejaculation was added, imploring special assistance in our studies from Saint Joseph. At the beginning of the second term a Latin contest was held between sections “A” and All above 8o per cent, were allowed to enter. Section “A” easily surpassed our rival “B,” while Edmund Sullivan, of Section “A,” carried off the individual honors. This day went down in the annals of First High “A” as a red-letter day. 99 100 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Shortly before the Christmas holidays ‘The Tales of Shakespeare” was awarded to our Latin shark, Spalding Reilly, for the most per- fect recitation in grammar. Our class does not lack musical talent. At the Christmas enter- tainment we were represented by our eminent cornetist, Kyle Golley. In the begining of March our champion handball artist became afflicted with a serious case of rheumatism. Deeming a change of climate necessary and all unmindful of our breaking hearts yearning for him, he left our sorrowing midst and joined section “B.” The class was composed of two confraternities, the Sigma Delta Sigma and the Delta Sigma Delta. To the former belonged all members who obtained an average above 75 per cent., while the latter, a truly peaceful community, consisted of members below 75 per cent. We quote an extract from the story entitled “Rescue,” vrritten by a member of the Delta Sigma Delta: “A man was hunting in the wilderness of Maine. Suddenly he was startled by strange sounds. He looked about, when lo! what did he see? It was a bear!” The following is an excerpt from a New York paper: “R. Nash, cf the Queen’s Club, broke 96 out of 100 targets at the shoot of the organization. His scores were 25, 25, 21, 25.” Keep it up, Dick! Our representative from Catonsville with the auburn tinted vertex is seen every day in our midst, diffusing brightness and good cheer to all. He has a bright future before him, as bright as his hair above him. The Venus of the class room! It was asserted that our Western representative could sleep and dream on a barbed wire fence. Another was reported to have chal- lenged a blade of grass for the light-weight championship. With its enviable record of 14 games won, i lost and i tied, the First High “A” quint claims the 95 pound championship of the city. The team was composed of J. Zink, C. Kearney, T. Lind, M, Buch- ness, K. Golley, J. Clancy, R. Nash and M. Flaherty. One of the humorists found the question “When our teacher smiles, why does Richard Nash?” difficult of solution. Another asks “If Hisky can float, will Cole Zink?” THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 101 We all hope that the end of the second year will find us as ambitious and as sociable a class as we proudly claim to be at the close of this very happy year spent in First High “A.” W. D. W., L. H. S. ’i6. FIRST HIGH After a chase through four coimtries, Detective Jericek, one of our local sleuths, captured a desperate Berger-lar. Officer Kelley, as he was patrolling his beat one night a month ago, saw a dark form come out of the shop of the Goldsmith, Kaspar Eokel. Knowing it to be a robber, he pursued him for some blocks, but the criminal escaped. A description was immediately telephoned to detective headquarters, the force became “as busy as Bees,” and Jericek was put on the job at once. The Goldsmith was found unconscious, a heavy work-bench pin- ning him to the floor. He was sent to Hopkins hospital where he died. Reaching New York the criminal heard of his victim’s death and boarded a ship for Holland. The sleuth, who was followed, was seen to land at The Hague by the outlaw, and the latter escaped to a town in Norman-dy, in France, and stayed a few days at the inn of Monsieur Dewees. From there he went to London, and the sleuth pursued. Arriving here on a Gray, foggy morning, our detective went to Inspector Herman Doyle’s office, Scotland Yard, Dowling street, and asked for his aid in the search. An inspector showed him the city, so as to come upon their prey. While thus occupied they learned that, falling in Love with a house-maid, named Queeny Elwood, the out- law was married that same day and had gone on their honeymoon to Coimty Monaghan, Ireland, the land of Thomas Moore. The sleuths, pursuing, unexpectedly came upon their man in an inn. He was taken into custody and brought to this city yesterday. Overcome by re-Morse, he confessed his crime last night in his cell at nine o’clock. J. D. M., L. H. S., ’i6. 102 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL StBmi uf Hxianla xif 1013 MARK J. SMITH, S. J. Among those to be ordained at Woodstock this year is a former member of the class of 96. After his early studies at Conewago, Penn., under the gentle but efficient direction of an aged gentleman, Mr. Ignatius Langley, who in his earlier years had been a member of the society, but who had to relinquish his hope of the priesthood on account of the failure and practical loss of the sight of his canonical eye, Mr. Smith came to ].rOyola in September, 1891. After his graduation in 1896 he took a position as private secretary to a leading Baltimore financier, and while thus employed began, October, 1897, together with a number of other graduates and professional men of the city, a course in political economy, taught at the college three evenings a week, and leading to the degree of A.M. Before the completion of the course, however, Mr. Smith entered the Novitiate at Frederick, Md., March 25th, 1898; and after the usual classical studies there and two years of philosophy at Woodstock, entered upon his Regency at George- town University, where he remained for three years, going from there to the college at Holy Cross, V orcester, Mass., for two years be- fore completing his final studies at Woodstock. His ordination to the Priesthood will take place on Saturday, June 28th, 1913, at the College of the Sacred Heart, Woodstock, Maryland, at the hands of His Eminence, Cardinal Gibbons. REV. JOHN DAVID WHEELER, S. J. REV. FATHER JOHN DAVID WHEELER, the son of John David and the late Mary Turnbull Wheeler, was born in Baltimore, February 19th, 1877. He received his early education from the Brothers of Mary, who were in charge of the school attached to St. Martin ' s Church, Fulton Avenue and Fayette Street. In 1893, Father Wheeler entered Loyola College, and after two years of preparatory work, began his college course at Georgetown Uni- versity. At the end of his freshman year he was received into the Society of Jesus, at Frederick, Md., August 15th, 1898. At the com- pletion of his noviceship and three years’ review of the classics. Rev. John L. Gipprich, S. J. Rev. Mark J. Smith, S. J. Rev. John D. Wheeler, THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 103 he began his philosophy at Woodstock College. He was assigned to Holy Cross College, Worcester, Mass., in 1904, v here he taught classics until 1908. In that year the new Jesuit College in Brook- lyn, N. Y., was opened, and Father Wheeler was sent to this insti- tution. He began his theological studies at Woodstock College in 1010, and by special concession he will be ordained with his brother. Father Thomas Jenkins Wheeler, at the Cathedral, June 17th. Father Wheeler will celebrate his First Solemn High Mass at St. Ignatius’ Church, on Sunday, June 29th, and he will be assisted by his brothers, the Rev. Thomas J. Wheeler, ’08, as deacon; Mr. Ferdi- nand C. Wheeler, S. J., ex-’o5, as sub-deacon; and Mr. Louis A. Wheeler, S. J., ex-’i2, as Master of Ceremonies. REV. JOHN LOUIS GIPPRICH, S.J. FATHER JOHN LOUIS GIPPRICH is a graduate of Loyola College, in the class of 1900. He was born in Baltimore, January 5th, 1880, in St. Michael’s Parish, and attended the Parochial School, where he was taught the primary branches by the Brothers of Mary, until he received is diploma in 1893. He entered Loyola that year, and made the full course of High School and College Studies, re- ceiving his A.B. in 1900. He entered the Society of Jesus September 3rd, 1900, and after the customary review of his classical studies was sent to Holy Cross College, Worcester, Mass., to teach sciences and mathematics, and later to Boston College, and Fordham Univer- sity, New York, where he taught, in addition to mathematics, German and chemistry. He made his philosophical studies at Woodstock College, and later studied privately at Loyola and attended lectures on physics and mathematics at Johns Hopkins University. He entered upon theology at Woodstock College in the fall of 1910, and with Father Smith, S. J., another alumnus of Loyola, class of 1896, will be ordained by His Eminence, James Cardinal Gibbons, the latter part of June. ALUMNI BANQUET. On January 28 the Alumni held the annual election of officers and banquet. That is the bald statement of the fact, for those who wish to know only the date. To elaborate upon the statement is a task indeed, as great powers of description are necessary to por- tray the enjoyment and pleasure occasioned by the event. To plunge as we learned in our Ars Poetica, in medias res, we might say that we had a great and glorious time. To describe the event in a more orderly and logical manner we might start by saying that the gathering was the largest, numerically, that we have ever had. There were present that night between one hundred twenty- five and one hundred fifty graduates and former students. The atmosphere was surcharged with that feeling of comradeship and of loyalty to Alma Mater which characterizes all the gatherings of our Alumni. The election was closely contested. Not, of course, because of any electioneering on the part of the candidates, for they were too modest to seek offices, preferring, like Cincinnatus of old, to have the offices seek them. The reason was that the nominating convention had done its work wisely and well, and had placed before us for our consideration a splendid list of candidates, candidates every one fitted for the honors to be bestowed by the Alumni. When the ballots had been collected and the votes counted the result shown was the following: REV. WILLIAM J. ENNIS, S. J., Honorary President. REV. JOSEPH I. ZIEGLER, S. J., Reverend Moderator. 104 MR. ISAAC S. GEORGE, President of Loyola Alumni. ..f f ■ .-a ■ V ' ; i ' - v- . ]: .4 ' ■ 7 - THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 105 EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. OFFICERS. ISAAC S. GEORGE, A.B. ’oi, President. MARK O. SHRIVER, A.B. ’02, First Vice-President. VICTOR I. COOK, ex-’o7, Ph. B. 08, Second Vice-President. L. FRANK O’BRIEN, A.B. ’08, Treasurer. W. HENRY NOETH, A.B. ’ii. Recording Secretary. CHAS. C. CONLON, A.B. ’06, Financial Secretary. DIRECTORS. 1912-14. CHARLES J. BOUCHET, A.B. ’87. J. AUSTIN FINK, ex-’83; A.B. ’93. JOSEPH C. JUDGE, A.B. ’96. 1912- 13. R. SANCHEZ BOONE. FREDERICK H. HACK, A.B. ’68. DR. CHAS. O’DONOVAN, ex-’77; L.L.D. ’12. 1913- 15...THOS. W. JENKINS, ex-’58. DR. MARTIN A. O’NEILL, A.B. ’96. MATTHEW S. BRENAN, ex-’79; A.M. ’03. Entertainment Committee — JOSEPH C. JUDGE, Chairman. R. SANCHEZ BOONE, M. S. BRENAN, DR. CHAS. O’DONOVAN, FELIPPE BROADBENT, ’76-’8i, ARTHUR LYNESS, A.B. ’12, JAMES S. C. MURPHY, A.B. ’09. Membership Committee — J. AUSTIN FINK, Chairman, CHAS. J. BOUCHET, VICTOR I. COOK, DR. M. A. O’NEILL, EDGAR A. C. CURRAN, A.B. ’10, A. BERTHOLD HOEN, ex-’83. FRED’K H. LINTHICUM, A.B. ’12. On the resignation of Chas. C. Conlon, because of ill health, the President appointed John A. Boyd, A.B.’96, his successor as Finan- cial Secretary. 106 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL Other Committees are: ALUMNI COMMITTEE ON COLLEGE INTERESTS. AUDITING COMMITTEE, MUTUAL AID COMMITTEE, ADVISORY COMMITTEE. After the mental stress and strain of choosing our officers from so great a list of candidates the inner man naturally craved refresh- ment. This was ready and prepared. We entered the dining hall and, “mirable visu,” what a delightful sight met our eyes. There was the speakers table awaiting our officers and distinguished guests and all about spread the small tables just large enough to accomo- date the groups made up from the little coteries of college chums. The walls about showed the glory of our Gold and Blue and took us back to those days when we fought on the athletic field and weaved those colors over our vanquished adversaries. Having been seated we looked at the very attractive menu and noticed that the speeches which were to be forthcoming were all problematical. We gave no thought to the speeches just then, however, for we re- membered and repeated with gusto the old line “Nunc Est Bibendum and also thought, “Nunc est edendum.” Having enjoyed the ma- terial portion of our banquet, we pushed back our coffee cups, lighted our cigars and listened to the very entertaining speakers whom the committees had provided. Hon. James J. Carmody, the first speaker of the evening, clearly showed the need of Juvenile Courts for rebuilding shattered homes. We next heard the Problem of Express Companies discussed by Congressman Lewis, the father of the Parcels Post. His problem consisted of the relation between the Express Companies and the Parcels Post. Then we listened to Mr. Ritchie, who spoke of the problems and difficulties which beset the members of a Public Service Commission. After Mr. Ritchie, Dr. 0 Donovan spoke of some of the problems of modern education and eulogized the scholastic system of training. Rev. Father Ennis, S. J., with a few well-chosen remarks on the excellent addresses of the evening, concluded the very entertaining and instructive program. At a late hour we bade farewell to one another and the Alumni Banquet of 1913, passed into history. THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 107 pmort a of tljf aaL ’ 65-70 Professor Thomas J. G rant, one of the most widely known and popular men in the section of Upper Marlboro, Md., died suddenly on October 21, 1911, from a complication of diseases. He had been ill for several days of pneumonia, but trouble with his heart developed and death came swiftly. Born in Balti- more, March 6th, 1855, he received his early education in Loyola, afterwards studying at St. Charles College and St. Mary’s Seminary. After graduation he adopted teaching as a profession and had been an instructor in Southern Maryland and in Washington City for thirty-two years. He was prin- cipal of the Marlboro Academy for twenty years. For the last four years of his life he had been connected with St. Patrick’s High School, Washington, D. C., where he taught mathematics. ’ 83-’84 The Free Lance in the “Baltimore Evening Sun” writes the following editorial on Joseph H. Callahan, who died August 21, 1912: Every Baltimore newspaper man whose service goes back to the nineties heard with sorrow last week of the death of Joe Callahan, who died on Wednesday night. Here was the sort of man who does credit to any profession, a square and straightforward fellow, a believer in his work, an upholder of all honest professional standards. I knew him best during the last years of the old “Herald,” of which paper he was City Editor. With the ship sinking imder his feet, he stuck to it manfully, resisting the easy temptations of his post, heartening and holding up his men, alert to the end for good work and good intent. He had a sharp eye for that peculiar combination of qualities which makes reporters, and he discovered, as the saying is, some of the best of the current generation — such men, for example, as Lester Rawls, of the “American,” and Robert R. Lane, late of the “Star.” If he had any vanity, it revolved around this fact. Nothing tickled him more than to hear that one of his old hands was going up the ladder. Joe became a City Editor in Baltimore at a time of great changes in the newspaper business. The old-time, underpaid, 108 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL good-fellow, booze-fighting reporter was going out, and a new generation of cleanly and self-respecting men was coming in. I believe that no newspaper man in the city was more en- thusiastic for that change, or did more, within his opportunities, to bring it ' about. The young men that he found for the “Herald,” almost without exception, were young men of educa- tion and high aims. A college man himself, he had a natural preference for members of that clan, but he was anything but a pundit, and no man could have been more hospitable to the beginner struggling from below. Joe faced his long illness like a man, in the face of con- stantly failing hope. So long ago as 1904 he was in bad health. The day of the great fire he was sick in bed, but he got out and tackled his killing job, and to it he stuck until he dropped in his tracks. Eighteen hours a day — and no surety that salary day was ever coming! Such men make the newspaper business worth while. They are not plaster saints. They are not fake martyrs. They don’t take their work too seriously. But all the same, they do it to the best of their skill and strength, honestly, faithfully and courageously, and so they make it the easier for every man who follows after them. A very pretty and thoroughly Catholic wedding took place in St. Ignatius’ Church Wednesday, March 26th, when Dr. J. Albert Chatard and Miss Alice Marie Whelen were mar- ried by His Eminence, James Cardinal Gibbons. Loyola offers heartiest congratulations. Leo M. Farber, 2741 St. Paul Street, died at the Mercy Hospital on October 16, 1912, following an operation for blood poisoning. Mr. Farber was the son of Mrs. Ella M. and the late John H. Farber. He was a student at Loyola, 1900-01, and a member of the class of ’03 H. S. Besides his mother, he is survived by four brothers, Walter M., John, Joseph F., and E. P. Farber. Thomas Jenkins Wheeler will be ordained a priest at the Cathedral, June 17th. Father Wheeler was born in Baltimore, September 29th, 1888, the son of John David Wheeler and the late Mary Turnbull Wheeler, the former for many years THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 109 well known in the financial world as cashier of the Drovers and Mechanics National Bank, and at present connected with the National Bank of Baltimore. Father Wheeler has four brothers, three of whom entered the Society of Jesus. Father John David Wheeler entered the society in 1898, and was followed in 1902 by Mr. Ferdinand Chatard Wheeler, professor of Latin, Greek and French at Brooklyn College, Brooklyn, N. Y., and in 1909 by Mr. Louis Anastasius Wheeler, at present student of philosophy at Woodstock College, Woodstock, Md. But one brother, Mr. Francis Aloysius Wheeler, took up a business career Father Wheeler joined the Archidocese of Baltimore in 1908, after his graduation at Loyola College in June of that year. His primary studies were made under the direction of the Brothers at St. Martin’s School in West Baltimore, and in 1900 he began his classical studies at Loyola College, where he remained until his graduation, excepting one year spent at Holy Cross College, Worcester, Mass. He distinguished him- self in his Senior year by winning the Jenkins’ Medal in public debate. Father Wheeler will sing his First Solemn High Mass on June 22nd, at St. Martin’s Church, where he and his four brothers were Sanctuary Boys. He will be assisted by his brothers, the Rev. John D. Wheeler, S. J., as deacon; Mr. Ferdi- nand C. Wheeler, S. J., as sub-deacon, and Mr. Louis A. Wheeler, S. J., as Master of Ceremonies, and it will be their distinction and honor to participate in the Holy Sacrifice offered entirely by members of one family. His Eminence James Cardinal Gibbons will honor the occasion by his presence in the sanctuary. ’08 Francis O’Brien, the present Treasurer of the Alumni As- sociation, was married to Miss Anita Kennedy on November 16. The ceremony took place in St. Ignatius’ Church and was performed by the late Rev. Denis I. McCormick, pastor of St. Joseph’s Church. The Faculty of the College occupied places in the sanctuary. Hearty congratulations to the bride and groom! ’12 At the annual convention of the American Association of Clinical Research, held during November, at the New York Academy of Medicine, Dr. Leonard K. Hirshberg, M. A. ’12. 110 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL was elected First Vice-President. Dr. Hirshberg is a frequent contributor to the popular magazines and is the author of many papers on medical and scientific subjects. 12 John J. Bowens and Edward Hanrahan have entered St. Mary’s Seminary. 12 Hopkins Medical Department is the choice of Fred Linthi- cum and Wm. J. Bowes. ’12 Commercial problems and their solution have engaged the attention and energies of James F. Russell and Arthur Lyness . ’12 “Joe” Hanlon finds his new home in New York, at Columbia University, an attractive place for an Engineering Course. 12 Jurisprudence at the University of Maryland is the guiding star of James P. Walsh. 12 Frederick T. Rose has cast lot with the “Meds” at B. M. C. ’12 Out in “Sunny Cal.,” J. C. Burke is a pedagogue in a Los Angeles High School. ’12 Louis A. Wheeler, S. J., will begin his studies in philosophy at Woodstock in the fall. ’13 Their future is a ? as yet unanswered. I (