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

Text from Pages 1 - 184 of the 1914 volume:

Ualttmorp. iiar la« 1914 p 5 ? ?• III f . 3 1 Baltimore City Printing and Binding Company 3o2 E inital� ]e Bnildiiig (54426 JUN 2 « ms OInutrntH . Page The Class of 1914 — William E. Mackessy, ’14 9 Farewell! — George B. Loden, T6 15 The Reasonableness of Peace— Jerome H. Joyce, Jr 17 I’m Sad Tonight— Ralph J. Sybert, T6 23 Jim’s Mistake — August J. Bourbon, ’14 24 “The Tale of a Broken Career” — H. Raymond Peters, H. S., T4.. 29 A Triolet — Leo A. Codd, ’16 33 Song of the Wind — Arthur F. McCollough 34 The Battle of the Six 35 Death in the Desert— J. J. Quinn, T6 40 Ihe Cycle — George B. Loden, ’16 43 Valhalla — Ralph J. Sybert, ’16 45 A Famous Jesuit Astronomer— Wm. F. Sauer, ’15 46 Sonnet — Sleep! — Arthur F. McCollough 48 Orator — George B. Loden, ’16 50 What’s Her Name? — Leo A. Codd, ’16 52 God, To The Soul of a Mother — R. J. Sybert, ’16 53 To the New-Born— K 55 The Jury’s Verdict — Joseph Garland, H. S., ’14 56 “The Lane of Musing” — John Stirling Heyde, H. S., T7 58 In the Fire-Place — J. O’T., ’17 59 Editorial Staff 61 Advertising Staff 61 The White List — =R lph J. Sybert, T6 62 The Menace — Leo A. Codd, ’16 63 Sex Education — B. V., ’16 66 Feminism — ’15 66 The Movies — R. J. S., ’16 67 Poor St. Francis — C. J. G 68 The Old and the New 69 Lift Up Your Arms — G. J 71 The Piscatorial Pastime— Joseph J. Quinn 72 The Angelus— John W. Farrell, ’17 74 Father John J. Ryan, S. J. — Roger F. O’Leary, ’i5 75 Father Young — R. A. F 76 P ' ather William P. Brett, S. J 78 Notre Dame de Bon Secours — James O’Toole, Jr., ’17 79 Strange Devotus — William F. Sauer, ’15 80 May, The Month of Mary — Ferdinand H. Schoberg, ’17 82 My Friend — J. Ambrose Quinn, ’15 83 Page The Scriptic — W. P. D 84 The Chronicle — Leo A. Codd, T6 85 The Story That Lay Buried — Herbert R. O’Conor, ’17 90 On the Death of George D. Poinsett — Stewart Fenwick, ’17 94 The Volturno — Henry J. Casey, H, S., ’17 95 The Voice of Money and the Canal Problem — Roger O ' Leary, ’16. 96 The Lawyer’s Client — Russell Quinn, H. S., T4 99 A Street Car Incident — James O’Toole, Jr., ’17 103 That Baby! — Roger F. O’Leary, ’16 104 What’s in a Tear? — Roger F. O’Leary, ’16 107 Beauty Questions — Ambrose Quinn, ’15 108 Alumni Association, Loyola College no Alumni Notes — C. A. K., To in In the Dying Embers’ Glow — Joseph J. Quinn, T6 113 Flow the Strikers Got Their Demands — James O’Toole, Jr., 17. . . . 115 Clansmen — Leo A. Codd, ’16 120 Cyclones — Joseph J. Quinn, ’16 121 Sodality of the Immaculate Conception 123 The League of the Sacred Heart 123 The Sodality of the Annunciation 125 Association of the Holy Childhood 125 The Sodality of the Holy Angels 127 Loyola Debating Society 129 Morgan Debating Society 133 “Bachelor Hall” — Martin F. X. Murray 135 Talking it Over — W. W. W., ’16 137 Loyola Wireless Club 139 The Students’ Library 141 Ihe College Basketball Team — August J. Bourbon, ’14 143 Football 148 Baseball — John Buchness, ’15 149 Track — John Buchness, ’15 150 Senior — A. J. Harrison 151 Junior — C. G. O., W. F. S 153 The Passing of the Royal House of Junior — A. B., ’15 154 The Mind of the Tramp — ’16 155 The Great Side Show Now Going On! — J. J. Q., ’16 157 “Kink of the Freshies” 159 My Place — S. A. H., T6 163 Fourth High — Russell I. Quinn, H. S., ’14 165 Third High— R. W., H. S., ’15 168 Second High — G. S., H. S. ’16 169 Special Class — J. L. Hodges 169 Class Notes, ist A High — E. J. A. N., H. S. ’17 171 First High B 173 First Prep. — M. M 177 Amalgamated Association of Third Preps 179 Second Prep. — S. P 180 ull)p (EuUpgp. REV. WILLIAM J. ENNIS, S.J President. THE PREFECT OF STUDIES AND MODERATORS. AUGUST J. BOURBON, President. jyM A Eogola ®oUfae Annual. 1 J (i;hf (£1300 of 1914. I N September, of the year 1906, almost eight years ago, our class, the class of 1914 was formed. Looking ahead, the eight years of study we were to follow seemed a terrible ordeal, our now fast approaching graduation a goal, that perhaps, might never be reached. But now those all-too-short years have rolled by, and the race is almost run. Close before us looms the goal of our endeavors ; and it is with hearts full of gratitude to “Alma Mater,’’ and the kindly men of learning who have labored so unceasingly to train our minds and wills, that we are now preparing to fare forth into the busy thor- oughfares of life. When in 1906, we first entered Loyola, the present First Year High Clas.s was known as Fourth Academic, and here it was that we began our course of studies. To Father M. A. Purtell, our teacher in this first year, is due a debt of gratitude for the thoroughness with which we were introduced to the study of the Greek and Latin classics. His methods, though always kindly, never relaxed in strictness. Forty strong were we in this delightful class, and forty “stronger” were we in will and intellect on our first commencement day. Due to the illness of our professor, Mr. Charles Henessy, now Father Henessy, our second year was not as peacefully spent as the first. During the absence of Mr. Henessy, how- ever, we had the great good fortune of being under the tutor- (9) ANDREW J. HARRISON. age of Father Richard A. Fleming, our present prefect of studies. Pleasant were the months we spent under Father Fleming’s guidance, and productive, too. The class of the Third Year High was a momentous one for us, marking, as it did, the entrance of four of the present mem- bers of the class. Jerome H. Joyce, Jr., made his appearance in our midst in September, and in February three others, August J. Bourbon, Andrew J. Harrison and Raymond J. Kwasnik were advanced from the lower class. Mr. Edward P. Duffy, soon to be made Father Duffy, spent his first year with us in this class, and immediately created the remarkable feel- ing of good-fellowship that so truly marked our scholastic life until his departure for Woodstock at the end of our Freshman year. Under his direction, many and enjoyable were the specimens and class contests held in English and Latin; and v e even ventured to present a Greek playlet in the College Hall for the edification of our less enlightened school-fellows. Seventeen we numbered the following Fall, when we took upon ourselves the mantle of dignity proper to High School seniors. The terrific jolt that our pride — and about half ou persons suffered, in our memorable elevator mishap, did not impair our scholastic powers. Fourteen of our number were awarded High School Diplomas. Throughout our High School course we had made an enviable reputation in every line. In athletics, our basket- ball team held the undisputed championship of the College for two years ; no opponents worthy of our team could be found in College or High School; and in H. Walter Ganster, Jr., we had the best weight thrower in the school, and, indeed, in the South. Two of our members, Andrew J. Harrison and August J. Bourbon, corralled many of the special prizes for class and composition work. And finally, to cap it all, we were the first High School class to produce a Benedict, John Borchers leaving us at the end of the Third Year to “take unto himself a wife.” Our Freshman year was quietly, but just as successfully spent. For the first time in years, the Alumni Prize of $25.00 for the best literary essay went to a freshman, Andrew J. Harrison, while the General Excellence Medal for the College Department was given to another member of our class, August (II) WILLIAM E. MACKESSY. J. Bourbon. The following year in Sophomore, under Father John S. Keating, was interesting and enjoyable, our pro- fessor contriving to make our stay with the orators, Greek, Roman and English, one that will stand out always in our memory. At the close of this year, we lost another member of the original class, in the person of Harry J. Quinn, who entered St. Mary’s Seminary. Through sundry other causes, the other “charter” members of the class, had, one by one, fallen by the wayside, so that now, with the departure of Harry Quinn, there remained but one of the original forty, the writer of these notes. Our science courses, presided over by Mr. Joseph M. Kelley, in physics and mechanics, and Mr. J. Boiseau Weisel and Father Henry McLoughlin in chemistry, gave us many pleasant and many decidedly unpleasant hours, but we flatter ourselves we were able to get a good insight into the theories and facts of present day research. But the real treat of our last two years was the course in philosophy, presided over by Father Justin J. Ooghe and Father Timothy Brosnahan. In all departments of the sub- ject we received a thorough training, — much too thorough for some of us; but we took it, and feel lots better for it. Nor did we let our devotion to philosophy take the edge off our appetite for other scholastic honors. In Junior, Mr. Harrison carried off the General Excellence and Historical Essay med- als, and Mr. Bourbon the Alumni Purse and the Christian Doctrine Medal. And last, but decidedly not least, Jerome H. Joyce, Jr., won the Maryland Peace Associa tion Oratorical Contest at McCoy Hall on March 27, beating out the repre- sentatives of Georgetown and Johns Hopkins Universities, and St. John’s College, of Annapolis. This year another surprise awaited us; for, on February 22, Raymond J. Kwasnik, the class musician, answered the call of the little God of love, and brought to a climax a romance that had its origin in Germany two Summers ago. Here’s health and long life to him and Mrs. Kwasnik. And now we are about to finish our course, and take our places in the busy world outside. Though but five in number now, the old class spirit is still as strong as ever. “Loyalty to Loyola,” shall be our watchword in after life; and, God willing. RAYMOND J. KWASNIK. we shall continue to be loyal to her and her interests, and shall live to help her on in her mighty work. To “Alma Mater’’ and her professors, dear to us from long association, we pay a fond farewell. May their memories remain ever fresh within our minds, and may they, in turn, still continue to cherish the same pleasant memories of the class of 1914. William E. Mackessy, ’14. jFarpuirll ! Time’s up! The last bell Peals out The sad parting knell Of doubt — Give me thy hand, for well I know Through sun or shade, through weal or woe. Through breathless calm or heavy blow. On land — as ocean billows flow — Thy manhood kind will ever show A friendship true where’er you go — Fast friend of my youth. Do well ! Old friend of great truth. Farewell ! George B. Loden, ’16. JEROME H. JOYCE, JR alip i8paaanablettP00 of pparp. Speech delivered by JEROME H. JOYCE, JR., Winner of the Maryland Intercollegiate Oratorical Peace Contest. O much has already been said here and elsewhere on the subject of International Peace that it would be difficult and perhaps presumptuous to attempt to select a phase of the question which has never been treated before. However, there is one particular aspect upon which too much stress cannot be laid, namely: The Reasonableness of Peace — The Logic of Peace. This specific viewpoint penetrates to the very heart and sinew of the whole question, and can be treated and under- stood without the perusal and citation of tiring statistics. The peace movement, as we all understand it, is an organ- ized endeavor to substitute arbitration for force in the adjust- m ent of international problems ; to do between the nations what has already been done within the nations. And it is my pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, to endeavor to show you that this would be a reasonable and just means of settlement. During the ages when barbarism held sway, when one man offhandedly wronged another, the only redress was in physi- cal combat. As likely as not the aggrieved party was subject to the indignity as well as the pain and suffering of defeat and the loss of the object causing the contention. But in the present era of civilization, when one man infringes on the rights of another, the injured party does not employ the (17) unreasonable and foolhardy method of the aborigines to re- cover his property or honor. The modern man refers the con- troversy to a neutral third party who has delegated authority to act as judge; the arbitrator weighs the arguments of the two men and gives his decision in favor of the one whose rea- sons are the weightier. In this way (except in rare cases), the contending parties receive the respective treatment they de- serve. In other words justice has been meted out, and it was dispensed, not by chance or by the demonstration of power, but by due consideration of the merits of the case. This mode of settlement is worthy of rational creatures. And, ladies and gentlemen, I cannot insist too strongly upon this: We are rational creatures. When beasts, irrational animals, have grievances against one another they resort to bloody conflict. This is the means used by the lowest grade of the animal king- dom. It gives birth to all the vile and degenerate passions of their nature, those of the instinctive murder, hatred and re- venge. AND ARE WE TO MAKE USE OF SUCH MEANS AS THESE, TO SETTLE OUR GRIEVANCES? ARE WE, WHO ARE RATIONAL BEINGS, THE CHOSEN AND HONORED OF THE CREATOR, MADE TO HIS IMAGE AND LIKENESS, SELECTED FROM ALL HIS CREA- TURES, AND ALL WHOM HE COULD IN POTENCY CREATE, TO RECEIVE THIS MARK OF DISTINC- TION— RATIONALITY— WHICH PLACES US IN AN EXALTED POSITION IN HIS CREATION OF THE WORLD,— SHALL WE REJECT THIS WONDERFUL GIFT, THROWING IT BACK AS IT WERE IN THE FACE OF OUR MAKER, CRYING, WE WILL HAVE NONE OF IT? WISDOM ANSWERS NO. A just feeling of pride takes possession of us; for we realize that we are the chosen of God’s creatures. And we can give no better or nobler outward expression of our appreciation of this sublime gift than by employing it in the adjustment of international problems. Proceeding to a wider and more serious plane, namely: In- terstate Controversies, we find that the same process of settling disputes prevails. The contending parties again refer their differences to a third party and are almost invariably satis- fied with the decision. What aspect, think you, would the geographical map of the United States present were it not for this means of dis- pensing justice? We may with impunity declare that it would not be what it is today. Innumerable controversies would have arisen between the different States and, if these had been settled by war, some states would have annexed others, and from this, it is even within the realm of reason to contend that our government today would be divided. However, our Supreme Court, that exalted and upright tribunal, which has stood the test of years, settles these questions to the best of its discerning justice. THIS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IS WHAT PREVENTS CIVIL WAR IN A NATION, AND THIS SAME MODE OF PROCEDURE SHOULD PRE- VENT IT AMONG NATIONS. Our next step brings us to the most serious and dangerous phase of the question, one which we should dread and avoid as we would any impending personal calamity, that is : In- ternational Disputes. The method in vogue at present of settling these questions, has a certain element of the barbaric. The contending parties argue the matter among themselves, and if neither is honest enough to admit the rights of the other, the argument is decided in the din and blood of battle. This style when used between individuals, is held up to ridicule, deemed foolhardy and unjust, and then punished by the very law which the nations refuse to regard as affecting themselves. If this is unreasonable for the individual, when one person is wronged, how much more unreasonable is it to subject a whole nation to the uncertainty and consequent danger of settlement by armed encounter. I need not ask you to think, ladies and gentlemen, of the awful hardships to be undergone, of the starvation and agony of the wounded soldiers, of the thousands of brave and valua- ble citizens who are lost, to think of the burdens to be carried by the wives and children of the soldiers, their anguish of mind lest their loved ones be suffering, their physical discomfort and want of the bare necessities of life, to picture wom.en and children rendered widowed and fatherless and destitute of their means of support, or, to consider the more sordid side, the enormous expense and the reduction of business and com- merce, to realize that the question after all is decided by might. not right, — I say I need not dwell on these things, for they all have been ably pictured to you many times within these very walls. A fallacy extant at present, is that there is one moral law for men and another for nations. It does seem absurd on the very face of it. But, ladies and gentlemen, we cannot afford to laugh at it, for this is the principle upon which many of the rulers of nations are acting, in these days of boasted civili- zation. They force the nation to do things which they in their personal lives would discountenance ; they forget that the nation’s responsibility of making and keeping peace in its re- lation to other nations is the same as that of the individual to other men. The principles which govern the life and conduct of one are equally obligatory in the case of the other ; the moral law is as unbending, the conscience as imperative, when a man voluntarily compounds his deeds with those of other men, as when he acts alone. Whatever in principle is a crime for a man, a fortiori, would seem a crime for a nation; and we all know that battle and war, except in the case of un- just aggression, are wrong for the individual. The doctrine of the founder of Christianity, was one of eternal peace— the absolute antithesis of war. Hence what greater proof do we need to show the error of the accepted attitude of civilized nations with regard to war as a fitting weapon to settle disputes. Unless Christianity has altogether ceased to mean conformity to the principles of Christ, how can that attitude be called Christian? When we reflect on the life and teachings of Christ, the full violence of the contradiction between what He said and did, and what Christian nations say and do, strikes the hardest. FOR HERE OUR CRASS INDIFFERENCE IS NOT IN RESPECT TO CEREMONY, OR SYMBOLIC RIGHT, OR IN REGARD TO SOME TABLE OF MOSAIC REGULATIONS; OUR DERELICTION IS NOT EVEN ONLY FROM THE LIV- ING LAW DIVINELY TRACED ON THE TABLETS OF THE HUMAN HEART, BUT FROM THAT SOVEREIGN AND ETERNAL WORD WHICH ONCE AT LEAST HAD BREATH IN THE LOVELINESS OF THE LAW- GIVER’S OWN LIFE. But, ladies and gentlemen, let me treat this question from (20) a purely philosophical standpoint. It is an axiom of philoso- phers that a good end never justifies a bad means. Just as such an end never justifies such a m.eans, neither does such a motive; this is an accepted doctrine of philosophers. No mat- ter how good or beneficial the end to be attained, or how upright and holy the motive which actuates the deed, if the means we employ are bad, then we are prohibited from acting. Hence, as war is a means, no matter how good the motive which actuates it, or how uplifting the end to be attained, all that is necessary to show it offends against the teachings of philosophy is to prove that it is a bad means. But, ladies and gentlemen, from the arguments advanced already this evening, have we not done this? We have seen that it is against jus- tice, that it violates the moral law and disregards the teachings of Christ : and what greater proof could we ask to show that it is a bad means and hence unreasonable — for reason should be the very rock upon which philosophy is founded. There is one case, however, when war is not ethically wrong : namely, in the case of unjust aggression. When a man forci- bly enters our house we are allowed to use armed resistance, for the intruder is an unjust aggressor and our existence is threatened. However, as we have endeavored to show through- out, that the same law which binds men also applies to nations, we must remain consistent. The same law applies to nations ; hence if one nation finds itself the object of unjust aggression, it is allowed to use armed resistance. In this case alone it was justifiable. In conclusion let me say that lasting peace eventually de- pends upon the following conditions: INTERNATIONAL PEACE CANNOT BE HAD UNLESS THERE IS PEACE IN EACH NATION; NATIONAL PEACE IS IMPOSSI- BLE WITHOUT PEACE IN EACH STATE IN THAT NATION; PEACE IN THE STATE DEPENDS UPON PEACE IN EACH UNIT OF THE STATE, OR THE HOME AND FAMILY; PEACE IN THE HOME IS AB- SURD WITHOUT PEACE IN EACH INDIVIDUAL HEART— AND THIS, MY FRIENDS, SUPPOSES A SPIRIT OF TRUER CHARITY, GREATER LOVE, FOR OUR FELLOW MEN, AND A CLOSER APPROACH TO GOD. (21) THE TRISTIC. v I n 3’m aii (Eonigl)!. I’m sad tonight — Aglow on high, wan planets dog the moon, And tortured winds my open shutter rack, And vainly beat, like madding seas against The myriad corals’ tiny sepulchres. Below the ghastly conclave of the clouds. That solemn roll, so phantom-like and gray They rave and beat — as beats my heart tonight, Against the ghastly thought that tears my breast. — For I am sad tonight. I’m sad tonight — O sad ! so sad and drear ! — and awesome strains, Like those stupendous planet choirs, to mate A-down illimit realms of void; as sobs The mighty sea, when ’round his vasty heart The ice-pack grips — sobs he and ble nds his wail With the moaning dirge of the fleeting wind above. That mute white faces fathoms deep behold Of sailor lads — these strains my heart-beats sing, — For I am sad tonight. I’m sad tonight— All nature wails with me ; as plaints the bird That sees the snow-cloud hide the cherished nest Of offspring fledged, alas! too late; as sobs The cage-pent desert lion, head twixt paws. While far on free Iberian plains his mate God-speeds her plaintive lonely call to him That stirs his mighty heart — Oh! friend, mock not. For desolation gnaws my soul — weep, too. For I am sad tonight. Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6. (23) 3im’B iHialakp. JT in the cool evening air Jim whistled softly, “One more scrape and out you go. Whew ! and the worst of it is that he looked as if he meant it. Well, I suppose it will be the straight and narrow for me until Commencement Day, or fond papa will be welcoming back a prodigal son in place of a bud- ding young lawyer.” And with such cheerful thoughts running riot through his brain, Jim Conry, Senior, sprinter and “good fellow,” started aimlessly across the campus towards the town whose lights were twinkling in the distance. His visit to the Dean’s sanctum, the fourth in as many months, had left a rather vivid impress on his mind, and he wished to have plenty of time to think the matter over before returning to his room to undergo the good-natured guying of his room- mate. For the first time in his young life Jim was really worried. Somehow or other, it seemed to him that misfortune had been camping steadily on his trail during this, his last year at school. Thick and fast the troubles had been falling upon him, and now they threatened to bury him completely, and rend asunder entirely all his bright hopes of a brilliant law career. All his little irregularities — his “failings,” he called them — during the year had, in some manner, found their way to the ears of the Dean, and had contrived to. “put him in bad,” as he expressed it, with the school authorities. Deep down in his heart he admitted that they were justified in their stand. But what was the use of living if a person could not have a little fun occasionally. Taken all in all, it seemed to him that the Dean was magni- fying his offenses far beyond their true limit. For instance, why make so much fuss over his last bit of foolishness? All he had done was to touch the lighted end of his cigar to the stump of a brindle pup’s tail, as the dog stood pugnaciously on the edge of the College swimming pool; and if the dog, in the first paroxysm of excitement, had jumped into the water, (24) dragging his young mistress along, and interfering seriously with the big inter-class relay, why, it wasn’t really his fault. The thing was done merely on the impulse of the moment; and how was he to have known that the brute would misbe- have so badly. Unfortunately, his previous trips to the office, for similar misdeeds, had militated against him. Hence the peremptory warning. Emerging, after various detours, into one of the main streets of the town, he was surprised to see, a little distance ahead of him, a group of Sophomores, seemingly intent upon a mission of great urgency. His curiosity aroused, he deter- mined to follow them closely, to see what new deviltries they were about to perpetrate. Two squares down the street the crowd stopped and held a short conference, whereupon a large touring car drew up to the curb nearby, and one of Jim’s Sophomore friends, a youngster named Dick Nealy, jumped out. On the arrival of the newcomer the others suddenly disappeared, slinking around the corner towards the main en- trance of the Opera House, the largest theatre that the town boasted. Still in the dark as to their plans, the Senior crept up past the now stationary automobile and hid in the shadow of a doorway, from where he could get a good view of most of the revelers, and, at the same time, listen to their conversation. His curiosity was soon allayed. Hardly had he taken his place in the dark recess when one of the “Sophs,” seeking as- surance of their plo t’s success, whispered loudly to Nealy, asking if everything was sure to be O. K. “Are you sure he’s in there, even?” he asked. “Oh, he’s in there, all right,” responded Nealy; “but he won’t be there long. Nan promised me she’d have him out here on the pavement at nine o’clock, just after the end of the first act. She’s as anxious to succeed in this as we. Since Clayton has been made president of the class he’s been insuf- ferable, and Nan thinks it about time that some of the conceit were taken out of him.” In a flash it all came to Jim. The Sophomore class banquet was set for the following evening, and what was more natural to suppose than that the banqueters desired to have Clayton, the cock-sure head of the Freshman class, as their special guest. But who Nan was, and why she should be in the plot, was beyond him. (25) But Nealy went on explaining. “I had a deuce of a time getting her consent to this, because, though she is my cousin, and is always anxious to help me out, she likes Clayton quite a lot, and she was dreadfully afraid that he might come to some harm at our hands. I finally managed to convince her that it would do him a world of good to be kept prisoner for a day, and made to grace our festive board as an unwilling guest. Anyhow, to make a long story short, she finally prom- ised to get up some sort of an excuse for leaving the theatre, so as to give us a favorable opportunity. With the auto we’ll be able to get him out home in five minutes, and no one will be the wiser. Gee ! but won’t his class be sore tomorrow when they find he’s gone.” And all the crouching students chuckled in silent glee. In the short space of silence that followed Jim happened to glance up the street along which he had just come, and, of a sudden, the danger of his position flashed upon him. For, marching down the pavement, two by two, were the eight policemen that constituted the ”C’’ division, the reserve squad of the town. He groaned aloud, “Oh, what a fool,” he said to himself. “Not an hour since I left the Dean’s office, facing expulsion, and here I am right in the midst of what will prob- ably prove the most exciting event of the year. No possible chance to escape, or to warn the fellows ; our only hope is that everything will be quiet while they pass. Otherwise — good-bye diploma.” and he crouched back in the shadows. Tramp! Tramp! It was coming nearer . In another min- ute they would be at the corner. Oh, if everybody would only remain still ! But such was not to be. Suddenly Nealy’s voice came to him. “Sh-h! Here they come now. She’ll step aside just as they come out the door. And, Riordan, be ready with that handkerchief, so he won’t make any noise.” Again the silence, broken only by the steady tread of the policemen. Another thirty seconds. “Right, fellows; quick now,” and the crowd was on the Freshman president, bearing him to the ground, and attempting to squelch his outcries with the handkerchief. One startled glance, and the police turned with a rush, drawing their clubs as they ran. In their pre-occupation the struggling classmen did not see their danger; but a wild shout (26) from Jim, as he dashed from his shelter into the street, gave them warning. Instantly they gave up their endeavors and sought safety in flight, scattering to all points of the compass. But Conry heeded them not. He was running to save his diploma; and never in all his career as a sprinter had he made better time than he did that evening. On and on he went, dodging through streets and by-streets, his breath coming in painful gasps. And it was not until he stumbled into his room in the senior hallway, ten minutes later, that he ’dared to look around. Luckily, the coast was clear. He had gotten safely away. In bold type on the front page of the Daily Gazette the story of the attempted capture confronted him next morning. According to the account, only two of the crowd had been gotten by the police, but it was known that all the others were members of the same class as these two, and the guardians of the law had hopes of picking up more of them during the day.” “That lets me out,” thought Jim, gleefully. “No one saw me at close range, and there ' s absolutely no reason for my being suspected of participation in the affair. For once in my life I’ve been lucky.” And he looked the world fearlessly in the eye as he fared forth to the dining hall. Two hours later, returning from a trip down town, he elected to pass by the Opera House, to review the scene of the row that had almost been his undoing. Across the street he saw his roommate, Charley Morton, and he hastened to catch up with him. But just as he was about to cross the narrow roadway a steady hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, turn- ing, he looked into the calm grey eyes of a burly bluecoat. “Come with me. You’re wanted around the corner here,” he said. Visions of a diploma vanishing on the wings of the air flitted through Jim’s excited imagination. “Not on your life,” he responded. “You don’t get me,” and with a violent twist of his shoulder he was off, galloping across the street at a ten- second clip. The roar of the astonished policeman awoke the neighborhood; and as the fleeing student cleared the gutter on the opposite side he saw, all too late, that another guar- dian of the law blocked his way there. A desperate lunge (27) to the side, and he was free again. But as he sprang to safety his foot caught in a straggling root, and he pitched for- ward heavily, his head hitting the trunk of a sturdy oak as he fell. A dull pain enveloped his system, and then all was still. Fifteen minutes later he came to in the accident ward of the town hospital. A short distance away from his bed a white- capped nurse stood talking to a big policeman; close beside him Morton fidgeted nervously, his face white and anxious. “Thank goodness you’ve come to,” exclaimed his room- mate. “You’ve given us an awful scare. What were you trying to do, anyhow — break all speed limits?’ “It’s all up with me now,” moaned Jim. “No happy Com- mencement Day for mine.” “Why, what’s the matter?” said Charley. “You’re lucky you have a head on your shoulders after the fall you got. Why won’t you get a diploma?” “The Dean told me last night that the next scrape I got into I’d be fired. And here I am — arrested. That’s worse than any of my previous stunts.” You idiot, you’re not arrested! That cop is as much at sea about your actions as I am. All he wanted you for was to complete a coroner’s jury to pass on a poor fellow who was run over on Cedar street this morning. He was greatly wor- ried over your accident. Said if he had known you were as anxious as that to be let off, he would not have asked you to serve. Why didn’t you ask him to let you off?” But Jim answered not. Under his breath he was giving vent to his outraged feelings in explosive style. He didn’t dare open his mouth — such language would never do for a respectable hospital. August J. Bourbon, ’14. (28) “ullfp oialp of a Irukptt (Earwr.” I F, by any chance, O kind reader, you may be a sufferer from melancholia, then, I earnestly implore you, drop this epistle as though it were a burning brand. Read it not; it may bring on a severe attack of that dread affliction. For this is a sad, sad story written by a disgraced, despairing man. It tells of a successful career cruelly wrecked at its highest pinnacle of glory. Have you a weak heart? Do you suffer ill-effects from depressing stories? If not, then take heed to my woeful tale. I started my career following the profession of my fore- fathers. Now it happens my fathers before me were, above all, gentlemen — also, as a sort of side line, they were ex- perts in that art vulgarly named by some as “thievery.” Indeed, it was a matter of pride that no one of my ancestors was ever known to sully the nam,e of his people by perform- ing any labor or in any manner making money by working for it. So, as the last of my line and to uphold the honor of my people, I also must needs be a thief and a first-class crook. Yet I hasten to disillusion you as to my noble profession. I was not a low, every-day crook — one of the common garden variety, as it were. No, never! As I have noted before, I was, above all, a gentleman. The very thought of my robbing a grocery till or snatching a widow’s pocketbook would have filled my soul with an intense disgust. I was strictly a gen- tleman thief also. I operated in only select society circles. Indeed, I was as well known and as popular in society as was the mayor himself. Moreover, I was as little suspected of being a crook as was the lord bishop. Doubtless you have read, now and then, glaring accounts of the “strange disappearance of Lady So-and-So’s famous pearls,’’ or the “mysterious theft of Mr. Somebody’s renowned painting.’’ For the most part, these missing articles found their way into the possession of your humble servant. It took the cleverness and shrewdness which only a gentleman can possess to land each article and to get rid of them to ad- vantage. But I was ever and always successful. There was never a glance of suspicion cast upon me. Fool that I was, I believed I merited my success. I actually boasted to my- self that I was the cleverest, most successful man in my art. Like all fools, I fell with a sickening crash from my pinnacle of success into the bottomless pits of disgrace and despair. Let us come to the sad end of this tale of blighted hopes and a ruined career: I had been residing as a guest at the residence of the Count Von M . It seems my honest blue eyes and manly char- acter had endeared me especially to this household. The family consisted of the little German count, his terribly stout wife, and a daughter terribly stouter than her mother. Now this daughter was about the homeliest representative of her sex I have ever gazed upon. And the horrible thing about it was I knew she had landed on me as her future husband! I avoided that creature as I would the smallpox ! The rest of this dolorous tale follows quickly. There came a stranger into the circle of society — Jennings was his name — who claimed a distant relationship to the countess, and was accordingly installed as a guest at our house. That evening, at a theatre party, this man Jennings displayed a ring set with a gem — the largest I had ever seen in my life. As I stared at him carelessly waving the thing in the light, i t was with difficulty that I restrained a mad im- pulse to snatch the stone and escape in the excitement. Stroll- ing over to him, I asked pleasantly what precautions he took to guard such a treasure. I could almost swear he shot me a glance of suspicion, but, nevertheless, I received all the in- formation I wanted. THE RING REPOSED AT NIGHT IN AN OLD-FASHIONED SAFE IN HIS ROOM. (30) That night my impatience gained the better of my prudence, and I decided to get the stone immediately. Attired in paja- mas and bathrobe, I easily gained access to Jennings’ room. I listened to his heavy breathing, then went to work. To open the safe was child’s play; by the touch system I opened it in fifteen minutes. I had obtained the plush case, made sure of the ring, and was turning away, when, hearing a low laugh, I turned to face the supposedly sleeping Jennings — and also a threatening automatic ! I laid down the plush case ; I knew I was beaten. Jennings laughed again! “See here, my friend, suppose you take a look at that stone,’’ he suggested. Bewildered, I took up the stone and examined it closely. Suddenly I gave a choked gasp. That stone for which I had madly risked my career and lost was not worth the case it lay in! It was pure, unadulterated glass! Jennings smiled at my amazement, then seeming to come to a decision, he bound me quickly with cord he had ready and glided noiselessly from the room. “Gone to get the police,” thought I. Yet I waited there fully two hours before I heard a commotion and — not the police, but the awakened family piled through the door, led by Jennings, who to me seemed strangely ex- cited. “I just surprised him stealing my ring,” he gasped, “and he had these, too, when I caught him,” he added, and, before my amazed eyes that villain displayed a handful of the family jewels he himself must have stolen a half-hour before! I was so stunned my brain reeled ! The family stood around gazing at me in a sort of awed pity. “Oh, did you really take these. Jack?” asked the corpulent daughter, looking more hideous than ever without her make-up. “Yes,” murmured I, weakly; what use was there to deny it? Yet it seemed they could not, and would not, accept the fact that I was a thief. Then suddenly the count, who had lapsed into silence, raised a mighty shout. “I have it,” he cried excitedly, “he ' s a kleptomaniac! The poor boy can’t help stealing!” With thankful shrieks the whole family accepted his state- merit, and instantly they were all crowding around, offering words of sympathy, trying to cut my bonds, and altogether treating me like a baby who has fallen down a flight of stairs. All, indeed, but Jennings. “Don’t let him go,” he cried wildly, “he’s as sane as you are ; I know he’s a thief. What’s more, I’m going for the police !” He ran excitedly from the room. Then began the count’s daughter to sob. (I have said “sob,” but even in my dazed state I was reminded of the escape-valve on a yard engine). “Oh, father, what can we do? He’ll bring the police and try to arrest dear Jack,” she wailed. Of the rest I have only a dazed recollection. I cared not what happened after that. My career was ruined; I had dis- graced the name of my family. The crazy turn of events must have affected my tired mind. I remember I did every- thing I was told to do ; I answered dully when spoken to, and, indeed, I took no interest in what was said. Fifteen minutes later I was aroused from that semi-con- scious state by the count slapping me on the back and shout- ing in my ear: “Congratulations my boy!” I heard his far- off voice chuckling: “Well, daughter, you can feel safe now. Let the police come if they will ; your husband would hardly steal jewels from his own wife and mother-in-law!” A horrible suspicion came to me. I looked around me. There standing next me with her hand in mine and an idiotic smile on her homely face, stood the count’s daughter, while in front of us a neighboring clergyman in a bathrobe was closing his book with a yawn. Oh ye immortal gods ! They had married me to that ele- phantine specimen of a human. With a choking shriek I sank into a merciful oblivion. There is but one more thing to tell. That man Jennings, who caused all my woes, never returned. It may be noted he carried away with him, in his excitement, all the family jewels he had “taken away from me.” THEY also failed ever to re- turn. As for me, I am but a living wreck; I have disgraced my name and my profession. For three horrible years have I been a married man. There is no escape. They have given me an ex-prizefighter as a valet and “nurse.” He watches (32) me with a hawk-eye. Escape is impossible. I have tried over and over again to run away — even to murder him. But that devil incarnate merely overpowers me, tries to soothe me, and smiles indulgently on my attempted crimes. I swear wildly I am sane; I beg piteously to be sent to prison. All are of no avail. I am doomed! All the days of my life must I be an insane man — a klepto- maniac — or else be strictly honest! H. Raymond Peters, H. S., ’14. A cTriolrt. They say the world’s a stage. Where foolish men are acting. Some play their parts in rage. They say the world’s a stage; While others play the page. In love and bliss contracting. They say the world’s a stage. Where foolish men are acting. Leo A Codd, ’16. § 0110 of tl|p UtnJi. To rush over seas and winding leas, Is joy, indeed, to me. And I have my home where the white sea foam. Tosses and laughs in its glee. Ho! Ho! Where the white sea foam tosses and laughs in its glee. As gaily I sweep o’er the briny deep, I chuckle in glee, with the waves. And blithely I’ve laugh’d at storm-tossed craft, Whose crews go down to their graves. Ho! Ho! At storm-tossed craft, whose crews go down to their graves. And often I gloat, on a ship’s “long boat’’ Whose devils with hunger sigh; While swiftly I swoop on a sinking sloop. They hunger and thirst and die. Ho! Ho! On a sinking sloop, they hunger and thirst and die. To rush over seas, and winding leas. Is joy, indeed, to me, And I have my home, where the white sea foam Tosses and laughs in its glee. Ho! Ho! Where the white sea foam tosses and laughs in its glee. Arthur F. McCullogh. 0li f IBattlp of ll|p S ' ix. J T was a fight and for that reason was interesting, all inter- national peace movements to the contrary notwithstanding. It was a fair fight and for that reason was edifying and it was a close fight, and for that reason was exciting. Finally, it was an intellectual and vocal struggle, and for that reason added education and inspiration to its other above most excellent attributes. Of what am I speaking? Of the Georgetown-Loyola Inter- collegiate Freshman-Sophomore debate held in the Loyola Auditorium, in the presence of the college faculty and over one thousand of the public under the judication of three most prominent Maryland citizens, and upon a subject affect- ing to the social and moral depth the two great main divi- sions of the human race, the subject of “Woman Suffrage. ' ’ The battle opened with a few adroit and jocund shots from the versat ile chairman-judge, directed mainly at himself. The first Georgetown warrior then took his position and began a volley of explanation and argument that had telling effect. Activity, conviction, pugnacity were his. He laid down the plan of his triumvirate and defended particularly his own and did that with earnestness and grasp — but was it not a little too unsimple and prolix? He finished with the applause generous of the thousand public. The first Loyola man then rose. His movements were unfree and his delivery somewhat cramped, but to a thinking listener there was intelligence and conviction strong in all his words. He was argumentatively simple and expositionally broad and clear. He inspected each word of the question and soundly and eloquently opened it, heart and frame, to the audience. 1 RALPH J. SYBERT, ’i6. “Thus we see, ladies and gentlemen, how widely different in their very nature are men and women, and we see there- fore that they can never be made identical. A woman must remain a woman and a man must remain a man if there is to be such a thing as a family. And if they must remain dif- ferent, then their rights must remain different. Mark me! I say not unequal rights but different rights; the rights each suited to the nature of each so that the rights of each may be suited to the nature of the family and consequently suited to the nature of the state. For, ladies and gentlemen, the family and not the individual is the fundamental unit — the basis of state government, of national government, of uni- versal government!’’ This speaker progressed as he continued and he ended with power. The second Georgetown battler shook up the fire a little with his rapid enunciation and, in periodic bursts of enumera- tive facts, sent a glow of enthusiasm through his adherents among the audience. His repetition was somewhat unim- (36) pressive, from the mere fact that it was a repetition and his activity was uncurbed at climaxes. The battle, however, was turning a little toward the lossive for Loyola when her second champion entered the lists. His blows were strong, sweeping and centred. He held the lis- teners, pleased them, argued to them and with a voice want- ing neither depth, resonance nor point poured volley after volley into his opponents and comforted the Loyola followers to the full. Listen to the way in which he led up to the speech of his colleague which was to follow: LEO A. CODD, ’i6. “I have shown you that Woman Suffrage is a failure where it has been tried and that the non-partisan woman wields the sceptre. But even now suppose that the ballot did help and better her political condition. Yes, make it perfect! There is something deeper and nobler and a thousand times more fundamental in a woman and in a nation than a woman ' s civil welfare. Aye, there is her moral good! I have said nothing of the family, the basis of all government and society, nor of the home, the heart, centre and life-blood of a nation. (37) No, I leave them all for another more fit than I to discuss them. But I do say this : The ballot in the hands of a woman is daily doing its deadly work. Evidence substantiates it; reality proves it. It is daily tearing her down from the lofty pedestal where nature and Christianity have placed her and whereon she has swayed the world for ages back. Give the ballot to every woman in the United States and she becomes a fallen idol, a corrupt queen and a pitiful shadow to minister to the needs of a vigorous and thriving republic.” Then the third Georgetown warrior came forth and swept the pennant of victory fluttering midway. He opened up with a telling appeal to the audience “to put aside all prejudice and sentiment,” and the roar of applause he received certainly proved their docility. However, after the first heart-rush of his ringing voice, and particularly toward the end of his speech, the mind was not as fully convinced by his eloquence as at first. The last Loyola man now stepped out and to the followers of Loyola who had expected him to make a glorious charge he responded well. H ' s recent sickness, however, prevented GEORGE B. LODEN, T6. (38) his usual outbursts and swells from having their full force and rise. He was impressive, indeed, as he said: “If the wife and mother is required to leave the sacred precincts of the home and attempt to do military duty when the state is in peril, if she is required to leave her home from day to day in attendance upon the court as juror and to be shut up in the jury room from night to night with men who are strangers, if she is to attend political meetings, take part in political discussions and mingle with men at political gatherings, if she is to take part in all the unsavory work that may be deemed necessary for the triumph of her party — how is she, with all these heavy duties of citizen, politician and officeholder resting upon her shoulders, to attend to the more sacred, delicate and refining trust in which God has placed her? Cannot she do both? No! A thousand times no! No more than man can.” After a brief rest the hand-to-hand conflict began. It was hot, fast and heavy and brought the crowd to continued ap- plause. The first Loyola man was slow but thought was in his speech and he gave evidence of future formidable polemic power. The first Georgetown man was filled, flowing over with argumentation, demand and appeal, proving himseU the best speaker of that side for the evening. Dramatically and well in the midst of his fire, he walked over to the Loyola table and thrust his authorities upon it, telling them to “read them at their leisure.” The second Loyola man smilingly turned the pages, then rose and, with the coolness and wit of John Sharp Williams, discredited in a few words every one of the authorities, drew forth round and round of laughter and applause, and then in an eloquent burst of indignation de- fended his own third man against the attack of his opponents. His speech was the climax of the evening and proved him. not only the finest orator on the floor but one from whom Loyola can expect the greatest of futures. His smile so vexed the second Georgetown man that he confused his speech and did not do as well as he had done in his principal address. The last speakers for Loyola and for Georgetown reiterated the arguments of their main speeches, each using all the finest eloquence he could summon with the honors about even. The judges decided two to one in favor of Loyola and we (39) think they decided as judges should — with justice. George- town was the more argumentative, active and practical ; Loyola the more concentrative, powerful and moral. It was not a good debate. It was an inspiring debate, and the Georgetown champions have not only the respect and high admiration of Loyola — -they have her love ! in tlyp Ipsfrt. great sun rose as a ball of burnished copper. Vultures arriving from nowhere wheeled lazily overhead in circles, narrowing, expanding, alternately large and small. The leading man stumbled, flinging up the sand as fine as powdered snow. Three times he stumbled, and throwing up his hands, he shouted in a coarse, dry-throat voice: “My God, it’ll never do ! His companion reached his side. “Here, take a drop. Bill, old fellow, our chance is slim, but we still have it. ’ That evening, the sun sank in the sand like a bruise in the distant West. Next morning the same sun rose in the East, clearer, lighter, as if the night had refreshed it. But through the long night the two men never dosed their eyes. The man knelt beside his comrade, feeling the weakly, throbbing pulse under the hot skin of his wrist. Occasionally he wet his lips parched with fever, roughed with blisters. Morning came, bringing with it the vultures and the sun — nothing else. The same sand, the same chalky-white buffalo skull on the dune to the West. The companion of the sick man marked that it was set toward the West; the eyes that once dwelt within those bony sockets, had probably taken their dying glances from the distant sand-and-sky horizon line, and he looked at the sick man, listening to the wheezing rattle in his throat, and at the canteen; and he, too, took a glance at the distant sand-and-sky horizon line. The sun looked down at them all day from a sky of garish glass. It coasted down the western sky slowly, as if the gray haze were impeding it. Then, as it touched the sand, a silent cosmic explosion took place, and streaks of crimson and clots of gore flecked the distant sky. And the vultures left with the sun disappearing — silently, mysteriously. (40) “One pint more” the sick man was told, and he groaned and sank his fingers and hand up to his wrist in the hot, seeth- ing sand. That night seemed longer than the preceding ones. The faint pink flush of dawn seemingly would never come. Three days had gone and the sun rose on the fourth, and with it came the vultures, waiting ! Waiting! Ever-wheeling, watch- ing and waiting! That afternoon the man grew worse. His tongue lolled, his bloodshot eyes matched the color in the veins of his cheeks. His stomach felt as if an unquenchable fire were ever smould- ering within it; and the keen-eyed vultures winged and waited. They had seen men time and time again walk on the parapet of death, and it — the death — came on the same way every time. And the red, red sun burnt itself crimson that day, and with its Hell-fire red, sank out of sight into a pool of burning blood. And the vultures seemed to linger longer than ever. “Bill, old fellow, how about it. You have only one day more. I’ve calculated it. You can’t hold out.” “No!” his voice scorched out. “No! I’ll die first.” And his comrade threw the black tarpaulin over the white porce- lain object near the provision box. Night came on. It was the hottest yet. The sick man fell into a restless doze. His comrade slipped off to the white porcelain object. He broke the sealing wax and placed it in his pocket. Reaching for the canteen he held it to the mouth of the porcelain object, and the side of the canteen slowly expanded. From the provision box, he procured a small glass vial and emptied its contents of red powder into the canteen. One day more,” the man said to himself, “Why I can hardly last myself, much less poor Bill. I hate to do it, but — besides he’s using the juice. Bill was breathing hard. “What’s it, Jun? Wha’t it? It has’nt come to the worst — “Come on old fellow, it’ll relieve you,” and he forced it into his mouth. The liquid gurgled and went to the stomach. Then the sun arose. The vultures were back early. One man lay as a corpse ; the other melted the wax in his pocket. and sealed the porcelain object with a die he had purloined from “The Club” in Randsburg. The blue bottle flies were already beginning to come. They alighted on the body of the man, and his comrade watched them and waited for the sun to sink. The vultures wheeled lower and lower, waiting for the living man to go. And he, restless, eyed the plain for another dune. One death was enough for one dune, and so he looked for another to the North and South. Sand! Sand! Sun and Vultures! The largest of the unwary birds alighted on the buffalo skull on the dune to the West. “No!” said he “if two must die on this dune, then two on that” and at the report of his ’45, a stream of crimson spurted and coursed down the sides of the chalky skull. The other vultures circled higher and saw the great, red sun, like a scarlet tablet, go down on both men for the last time, in the death-taking Mohave desert. Suddenly the man arose, and with his back to the setting sun, saw a speck in the East approaching slowly. And the Sun sank from sight with a weary bloodshot eye. Night came on, and a fire twinkled on the sands. The man hummed a low, merry tune. The flies had left, but already an odor was arising from the body. Midnight came, and the alert ear of the man caught the sound of wagon wheels on the sand. “Get up!” he shouted to his companion. “Get up! they’re coming!” and the form moved, yawned and sat up, his breath reeking with a queer odor. Soon the wagon drawn by six mules arrived. Out jumped a party of men, laughing, joking, smoking. “How are you, boys?” they shouted. “Did you feel it?” “Oh, it was easy as a stay at the Waldorf-Astoria!” “Yes, it may have been, but let’s see that water jug.” The porcelain object was shown to them. “Well, I be darned, still sealed boys! Wal, I reckon we might as well pay the bets.” And in the light of the desert fire they paid each of the men $400.00. As they were driving home to Randsburg, a full moon came up in the East, beckoning to them. (42) “Well,” said one of them “When I bet a man again that he can’t live in the desert five days without a drop of water and only one gallon of whiskey to drink, well, I reckon I’ll think twice. How ’bout it boys?” And the comrade of the once ill man smiled as he felt the die in his pocket, and laughed as he heard the empty red pepper bottle rattling in the provision box, and roared when he clutched the $400.00 in his pocket. And the moon smiled from her plush-like cushion of blue, where she reclined as a queenly orb of silver, the front wagon wheels creaked, the mules’ heels clacked together, the sand sifted against the wagon cover, and the men sang bold, clear songs while the desert was blanched in silver. J. J. Quinn, ’16. Sllir i jjrir. Day is dawning. Morning yawning. Noon is now astir. Night is waiting, Earth is aching To rest and start anew. George B. Loden, ’16. (43) REV. RICHARD A. FLEMING, S.J Prefect of Studies. UalI]aUa. Where, think ye, lies the poet’s land? In what dim star-land far twixt God and man? White hails majestic, flowered Elysian dells. Think ye are whence his high rapture swells? What wondrous craftsman his sweet lyre shaped? On celestial shore by the star-tide scraped — Made of the moonbeams’ silvery strand— Near to the angels such melody’s planned. How’s fashioned that land in delectable realm? Where his bark of the soul, with idling helm. Cleaves channels unchartered o’er summery mains. While the whispering breeze harps immortal refrains. A-down from those flowering meads wings his soul, A-tremble with rapture out of heaven ' s blue bowl. Loaned us by God, too immortal for mortals. Does his lyre, hushed on earth, flit back to those portals? Gleams a tear on the cheek of the motherless babe. Then out with the lyre, o’er the pitiful grave Flit poet-and-child-soul with wail and with tears O’er the darksome abyss of disconsolate tears. Love’s God-given wonder is sealed with a kiss. Unheeding poor worldlings stir not at such bliss, — Lo ! the harp of the poet with cadence aflame Swells the leap of each heart-throb to a deathless refrain. But where, think ye, lies that poet’s land? What wondrous craftsman his sweet lyre planned? Would that that exquisite bourne I might know. And souls wiser in beauty than mortals below! Ralph J. Sybert, ' i6. (45) A iFamnua Jfsutt Aatronntnfr. Off in the year eighteen hundred and eighteen, under the azure skies of sunny Italy, in the quaint and picturesque town of Reggio, was born a child named Angelo. The parents of the child were simple and honest peasants, who did all in their power to bring up their child and give him a Christian education. While at home Angelo’s mother taught him the home art of knitting and plying the thread; but as he grev his childish ambitions widened to greater things. His love for books and his desire for learning prompted him to apply for entrance into the Society of Jesus. After a short while his hopes were realized, and the peasant mother, with a tear of joy, was embracing her son, bidding him a tender and mother-like farewell. Angelo Secchi then set out for the eternal city, where he entered the Society of Jesus on Novem- ber 3d, 1833. And it was in the same city that he was or- dained priest of God. Angelo, now Father Secchi, a tall, noble Jesuit, set out for America by order of his superior, and after a voyage of hard- ship and storm, arrived in the States, worn and sick— taking up his duties, however, at the Georgetown University, at Wash- ington, D. C. After teaching here Father Secchi acquired a reputation for his attainments in astronomy and physics, and for this reason was called home to become the director of the Roman College. After a short time, through his untiring labors, a new observatory was erected on the vault of St. Ignatius. Here he taught, studied and won a world-wide reputation as an astronomer, meteorologist and physicist. Among his many works is found a complete revision of the catalogue of double stars, a voluminous production which re- quired years of labor and study; which, however, was printed seven years after its completion with ten thousand double stars. Together with this. Father Secchi made valuable ob- servations regarding the physical condition of Saturn, Jupiter and Mars; by repeated investigations the spectre of Uranus (46) and Neptune were discovered. Among Father Secchi’s lunar investigations and discoveries we find what is known as a micrometical map of the moon’s crater. This work was highly appreciated by the scientific world, and so great was its production that the Society of London had many plates made from it, and distributed them to those interested in astronomy. Of all the works of his on astronomy none won greater notice than his observations of the sun, treating of the physical protuberances and all other data. In the year 1870 Father Secchi took part in an Italian expe- dition, and in the face of all the unfavorable circumstances which attended the voyage he made observations of the eclipse of the sun. This, together with his discovery of the Flash Spectre, brought him both fame and a large sum of money which was awarded by the Italian government. Associated with Father Secchi’s works on astronomy we find many instruments which he has invented, and which are held in high repute at this day. Besides the heliospectro- scope and others, there is one instrument known as the me- teorgraph, a delicately complicated piece of work recording with great accuracy the temperature, the curves of atmos- pheric pressure, together with the relative humidity of the atmosphere. For this invention he received from Napoleon a large gold medal and the insignia of the Officer of Honor. From the Emperor of Brazil he received the honor of the Order of the Golden Rose, and many other similar signs of appreciation were shown to Father Secchi for what he did for astronomy. Though we do not see such names as Secchi, Algue and other Jesuit astronomers strung through the scientific maga- zines, it is good for us to know that there are, and have been, many of them. These are men who labor with a higher motive than fame or lucre. Wm. F. Sauer, ’15. (47) S omiPt — Slppp. Of all the forces strange which on you creep, Weird visions they, which come at ev’ning hour. There is a monster strange of weighty power. Who bringeth visions from the mighty deep. Bright many colored dreams which rise and leap. As doth the vaned rainbow of the shower. When Phoebus on the falling rain doth lower. This drowsy, jolly monster’s name is “Sleep.” Of these essences, there is another Most hideous and most terrible to see; He is of this entity a brother. But no companion of his wholesome glee. No visions are there in his reeking breath. And shun him all because his name is “Death.” Arthur F. McCollough. AUGUST J. BOURBON, JEROME H, JOYCE, JR GEORGE B. LODEN LEO A. CODD MARTIN F. X. MURRAY ©ratnr. As the black thunder-clouds of conflict sweep over the as- sembly, we see a finished orator rise to take his first stand amid the applause of that vast human sea, and we see him silence the maddening roar of waves, first to a murmur and then to a dead calm — by the mere raising of his hand to op- pose the selection of a certain member as temporary chair- man. We see him calmly, but dauntlessly, declare that he was opposing the man on the ground that he represented principles of re-action, and that the re-actionaries intended to force him upon the assembly “to open a progressive campaign with a paralyzing speech that will dishearten every man.” We now see him raise his eloquent voice in a second appeal on behalf of a resolution attacking the foremost capitalists of the nation and — again he is defeated and hurled aside from his chief desire, but his sway and magnetism is increasing on every ballot! We see him once more lift up his ringing tone in his third powerful protest when the roll was being taken on the fourteenth ballot for the nomination supreme ; we watch him change his vote from one nominee to the other, and we stand in awe at this — his last, most powerful, strategic and most successful move — a finishing double blow of defeat for the favorite candidate and of victory for the new. We cry aloud, “This man is the Power of the Party!” But after all, whether he won for this candidate or whether he defeated that, or whether his hand alone held the reins of the great assembly, even his bitterest enemies must admit that he is, and has always been, a truly great orator, both in the flesh and in the spirit. The success which he has pursued, he has abundantly enjoyed, and the great object of his career has been not to seek office, not to win party triumphs, but to enlarge the people’s vision with a new conception of social obligations — all by the power of voice. He has sought not so much to gain the enactment of democratic laws as a change in the very stuff democracy is made of by the power of his (50) voice. And of the new political ideas which have been promul- gated in our time, more have been shaped by him, or, at least, passed on by his ringing cry, than have come into being from any other single human voice. Everybody knows whose familiar image and superscription has been stamped on coin annually borrowed from his mint. The publicity of campaign expendi tures, election of senators by the people, system of direct nominations, initiative and referendum, and all the advantages of direct government based upon the complete confidence in the people — all these eclectic issues from whatsoever source derived were articles of the orator’s faith when that man’s creed knew them not. It is a safe assertion that in the making of the American nation today out of the materials of twenty years ago the orator has been the largest personal factor. AND IF THIS BE TRUE, HE IS INDEED A SUCCESSFUL AND A GREAT MAN! It is said, and it is true, that both preached the same gospel. But this man preached it first and sowed the seed. The other preached it afterwards and reaped the harvest. But he that sowed the good seed, though others reap, is the Good Hus- bandman. And so whatever may be said he has stood as no ot her man for his faith, and he deserves credit for it. He is by far the strongest, boldest statesman of today, a man who has showed himself unwilling to sacrifice his PRINCIPLES to his AMBI- TIONS, a man who will cause ten out of every thousand young men to lead different lives, because he lived before them. So I think the American people may well eulogize him in his own words that he so dramatically uttered when he thought his career was consummated at the close of the St. Louis Convention. “There are some of you who will say I have run my race. There are many who will maintain I have fought my fight. BUT THERE IS NOT ONE MAN HERE WHO CAN SAY I HAVE NOT KEPT THE FAITH.’’ George B. Loden, ’i6. (51) ®l|at’0 er 5Jamp? There’s a quaint little story that’s never been told In a ' way that people ' would read it. It’s the story that’s told and often re-told And whispered and sung, yet never grows old. The tale about something — a wonderful thing That has brought all the joy this world can e’er bring. It has caused all the sorrow and caused all the pain, And then to describe, one tries- — tries in vain. It’s the story that each one must tell to one’s self. And tell it as only one can to one’s self. And listen and wonder and listen again: It’s man’s sweet affection for man’s fellow-man And man’s fellow — wom an? Ah! that’s not the word. Yet can’t supply it, ’Twere useless to try it. For when you tell the story, her name’s never heard. Leo A. Codd, ’i6. (52) (So . ®n (liljr S nul of a iiHotlfpr. ' j ' HE soul of a woman, the faithful mother of children, winged its way through the limitless void beyond the universe and stood at length in terror and trembling, with veiled eyes, before the dazzling splendor of God’s almighty tribunal. God looked upon her benignantly and, in His mighty tones, reverberating beyond the outermost limits of space, judged her with this. His soft impeachment : “Woman, this My judgment, before the awful doom of which all men wax fearful until their numbed hearts suck their quaking bodies pallid, I now pronounce upon you in the form of three articles — articles such as men, in the craving for order which I have instilled into their intellects, make use of in those puny tribunals which earthlings know as courts. Hear ye then My eternal sentence ere ye pass on forever unto thy deathless destiny, and raising thine eyes say that thou art guilty. Article i. First of all thou wert a woman. And a true woman thou wert. Like the sweet chiming of far-away vesper bells was the bewitching atmosphere with which the dignity of thy noble soul enveloped thee. The gaunt abodes of pain; the dreary dungeon where imprisoned wretches dragged away the golden hours of life in dismal, despairing loneliness : the filthy precincts of abject poverty, where, in the blinding sun of summer, the vermin-haunted denizens rend each his neighbor for the very bit of space wherein to breathe — all these have known, from thy tearful sympathy, the grace of respite for a saving moment — the drop of Lazarus which soothed the flames of hell. Men, cynical with the bitter sophistry of mature years, have quitted thy company with boyhood’s ideal again restored. Girls and callow youths have drawn from thy conversation ideals where none worthy of the name before existed. None has known thee but to lead a worthier life. (53) Article II. Then thou wert a wife. And how many a night, dumb with dread, didst thou await thy husband, lest thy children might behold the shameful sight of their besotted father’s late returning. Then thou didst with all a woman’s jealous love woo him away from his deadly temptation. When the days were dark and cheerless, with thy soft arms about his neck, thou didst buoy up, with the stout oak of hope, his heart from sinking deep into the Stygian pool of despond. When I called him suddenly to Myself, didst thou, gather- ing thy children in thy embrace, while thine eyes were yet dark with washed tears, meekly bend low thy neck beneath the yoke of weary toil-filled future years, and bade My Will be done. Article III. Finally, above all, thou wert a mother. Nor didst thou shirk the heavy cares and sacrifices of that holy state. For when other women, on pleasure bent, glided with measured motion and carefree laugh about the gilded ball- room, then thou didst sit at home beside the couch of thy pain-racked offspring; thy ear, sharpened by the pangs of solicitude was bent low through the dreary watches of the night, to hear the faint moans of the tender sufferer. Then, through the lengthening years, how oft thy heart grew sick with apprehension when thou noted some boyish tendency to ill, so that thy fair face was early creased with anxious lines, and thy golden hair prematurely changed to grey. Thy soft white fingers grew thin and mis-shapen whilst thou strove with toiling hand and brain to keep thy sons at learning’s gate. Then old friends passed thee by and turned aiway their eyes and sneered, nor smiled to thee, for thou wert sere and care-worn and they yet young and fresh and glad. Then thy heart bled. But now I have read the record of thy deeds in thy soul. As thy deeds have been, so shall they be requited. STAND YE UPON MY RIGHT HAND, WHERE ARE ASSEM- BLED THOSE WHO WILL ENTER MY PRISON, BOUND WITH THE GOLDEN FETTERS OF LOVE. There thy husband awaits thee, and hearts can bleed no more. R. J. Sybert, ’i6. (54) TO THE NEW-BORN. Beautiful Pearl from the Shell Divine, Beautiful Babe, I love thy soul! Beautiful Mother from Heaven, come. Clasp this pearl on that breast of thine (55) Jury’s ' Hn• irt. It wasn’t a night that might be classed as good for a ghastly deed. It had rained off and on all day ; but towards evening a brisk wind rising from the west cleared the skies of storm clouds. At night the moon shone forth, illuminating rifts of passing clouds, and giving to the earth a daylight brightness. As I walked along the path that borders the top of Emerald Hill Park, thinking that I was the sole visitor in the place, I was surprised to see a figure skulking along the walk, girding the hill lower down. While his presence inter- ested me somewhat, I did not give him further attention until hearing a movement behind me I turned and saw him not a yard away. As I turned he hailed me thus, “Say, cap, you ain’t got a match about you?’’ I replied by handing him several. He fumbled through his pockets for a while, then somewhat disgustedly said, “I must a lost that butt,’’ and then, “You couldn’t give me a dope could you, cap?’’ I agreed that I couldn’t. “Never mind, then,’’ he concluded indifferently. But as I was going away he again hailed me. “Say, cap, did you know ‘Bob’ Jenkins’’ As I tried to recall the name he added, “You know the fellow they found dead one Christmas morning down in Randolph street.” “Oh, yes, I knew him,” I replied. Indeed I remembered him well, now that the incident had been mentioned. For returning home from the first Mass one Christmas morning five years ago with a companion, we found a man lying on the ground at the entrance to a machine shop with his skull crushed beneath a huge cannon-shaped implement used in placing masts in vessels. After a while it was learned that the (56) man was “Bob” Jenkins, a fireman on the “Sidney Arthur,” a seagoing tug. “Why do you ask me?” I questioned. “Well,” he answered, “you know they called a jury, and they, the jury, mind you, says ‘it’s plain as day that ’e slipped on the ice in the gutter, an’ when he seen he was failin’ he grabbed the ‘ram’ to ketch hisself, an’ then the thing toppled over wid ’im.’ Ain’t I right?” I offered no objection to his statement. “But that ain’t what I want ’a come to,’’ he continued. “I’m goin’ to give it to you straight.” We were nearing the steps that lead down to Randolph street. My companion, noting this, asked me to go down with him to the place where the accident occurred, saying that the surroundings there would help him describe what hap- pened five years ago. To this I assented. “It was just this way,” he began, when we had obtained the proper setting. “Me and ‘Bob’ had just hauled up at Cube street wharf in the old ‘Sid,’ after a two weeks’ swing up the coast with lumber barges hanging to the stern. Bein’ Christ- mas eve, the old man advanced us some cash. Well, sir, me an’ ‘Bob’ lined up to ‘Andy’ Dugan’s place on Ship street, an’ met some o’ the boys. We had a corkin’ good time. Bout one in the mornin’ ‘Andy’ cleared deck. Me an’ ‘Bob’ took the ferry to the foot of Monahan street. Just as we was cornin’ ’long there by ‘Bob’s’ boardin’ house (here he pointed out the house) ‘Bob’ began to rare about me bein’ crooked wid ’im in a poker game. I said ’twasn’t so. Then an argument started. ‘Bob’ got hotheaded an’ made a pass at me. I ducked an’ swung him one on the chin that knocked him off his pins. Just as ’e was goin’ down he grabbed that ‘ram.’ What happened then, you know. As for myself I blew out to the coast, took to the pipe in a Chinese dive on Runt street, an’ hev been dead to the world ever since. But I had to come back to Baltimore again, somethin’ kep’ callin’ me. Maybe it was this,” he said, laying his hand on the ram. Then he added fiercely, “I was a fool for blowing myself to you. Ketch me livin’ behind bars when a little crack will do the trick.” With that he swung viciously at my unguarded face. As I dodged I caught a glimpse of glistening steel. But even as (57) he swung he slipped on the ice that had lately formed in the gutter. As he fell he caught hold of the “ram.” The next morning the jury assembled by the coroner gave a verdict of accidental death. “Jim” Sturn’s unclaimed body was buried the next Monday in Potter’s field. Men around the shore often talk about “Bob” and “Jim,” and the similarity of their deaths, but none know the circumstances of either. Joseph Garland, H. S., ’14. • ' (lllir IGanr of iKuatny.” Walk with me all who love nature, so that we may find hidden in a lonely lane beauties unsurpassed in an art salon. For, after all, what does the salon hold but copies of Dame Nature’s work done in oil, charcoal and water colors? Alas! we do not find the glorious tints which fresh air, sun and rain can give us. See before us the steep hill around which our lane winds — brown, crimson, green and gold, arranged by nature’s hand in clusters, as best she can with so many huge rocks to interfere. Cold, gray and stern, they seem to say, “We are all you lofty, haughty trees have, on which to build your roots and keep your upright figure, and yet you never deign to look at us. You bow and dip to strangers, tossing your bright dresses with all the grace of a dancer, while we, who are your foundation, are left for strangers to admire. But the higher the castle, the greater the fall. As the winds and rains of Autumn rob you of your gold, you are left awk- ward and straight, so that in winter you bewail your plight in sighs and moans every time a storm blows across you.” Watch the little brooklet! Merry little fish dash back and forth, keeping all the while a strict lookout for worms which dangle on a hook. Can the finest imitation in oil give us the grace of these little happy fish? Nor did any artist ever reach the height where he could imitate the tiny ants in their huge houses of sand. With a diameter of more than ten feet, piled about four feet high, live these busy little things. Hundreds of them go in a march, making a long black string which never seems to end, carrying (58) in their mouths provision which they place in those huge piles of sand, entering deep inside by means of a little round hole. These little doors are perfect, and hundreds in number. We watch with amazement these little travelers’ system, and won- der at the perfect work of anything so small. Time goes so rapidly that we find ourselves watching the sunset — a great ball of fire slowly sinking beneath the hill. It is sending its crimson rays out into a sky of turquoise. Peaceful and calm the dying beams shoot out, casting a reflec- tion on the brook, whose rippling water is an evening prayer, calling to our mind a stanza which we now borrow: Oh! solemn ye bells of the Mission, When the sun sinks low in the west; Pealing the Angelus Holy, Lulling my soul to rest. John Stirling Heyde, H. S., 17. IN THE FIRE-PLACE. In the glowing fire-place a boy Sitting upon an old man’s knee. Sees castles rise and laughs with joy. As he marks the flames that upward flee. In that fire-place an old, old man Who holds the boy upon his knee. Sees his castles built so gay in air, — And mourns their crumble silently. J. O’T., ’17. (59) EDITORIAL STAFF. — V ' EDITORIAL STAFF. T — J 14 14 EDITOR-IN-CHIEF AUGUST J. BOURBON, BUSINESS MANAGER EDGAR B, GRAHAM, ’15 REVIEWING EDITOR LEO A, CODD, ’16 CLASS EDITORS ANDREW J. HARRISON, ’ WILLIAM F. SAUER, ’15 CLARENCE G. OWINGS, ’15 RALPH J, SYBERT, ’16 JOSEPH!, QUINN, ’16 HERBERT R. O’CONNOR, ’17 ALUMNI EDITOR CYRIL A. KELLER, ’10 ATHLETIC EDIT(JR JOHN BUCHNESS, ’16 HIGH SCHOOL EDITOR GEORGE E. RENEHAN, H. S.’14 Jfd ADVERTISING STAFF COLLEGE EDGAR B. GRAHAM, ’15 HERBERT R. O’CONNOR, ’17 HIGH SCHOOL CHARLES COOLAHAN, ’17 CORNELIUS BYRNES, ’17 EDWARD ROSENBERGER, ’17 HENRY CASEY, ’17 HARRY GRAHAM, ’17 JOSEPH McCOURT, ’17 LACY BRADLEY, ’17 JOHN HEYDE, ’17 PREP. HOWARD CANN JOSEPH KING (6i) psychological moment when its flagrant besmirchment threat- ens to cause our youthful republic to hang her head in shame in the family circle of nations. The occasion is the attempt to capitalize all that is base and degrading in human nature by exploiting the indecent drama under the thin disguise of teaching us the evils of the downward path. The remedy is the “White List” movement launched by Mgr. Lavelle and fostered by the active assistance of Cardinal Farley. The plan in brief is the publication of a regular list of those plays whose decency commends them to an unpharisai- cal board of censors. The disgraceful blots on the theatrical firmament will be completely ignored, as an attack on a play of this type delights no one more than its press agent. Hence no index expurgatorious will be compiled. A moment’s intelligent reflection will convince the most skeptical of the soundness of the Catholic Church’s opinion that the so-called “White Slave” dramas have no weight on the right side of the balance of morality. These plays were conceived in the brains of their authors and born under the ministering hand of the producer by the light of the golden glow that percolates through the bars of the box office win- (62) dow. They spring from nothingness into notoriety fostered throughout their mushroom existence (for the most part) by men who have no standing as judges of morality, no call from God to the high office of teaching, and, as is well known in several instances, men whose efforts in the field of social and religious endeavor have been in the past on the downward trend towards DISORDER and DECENCY. And water does not rise higher than its source. Granted then that the “White List” is a step in the right direction, what can we do to further it here in Baltimore? Three of the leading newspapers of New York have already accorded the movement their hearty support and applause. A similar movement is being launched in Chicago. It rem.ains for us then to uphold the reputation which Baltimore has ever held as a city of clean morals. A stirring appeal will soon be made to the people of our city. Will we answer it? We have merely to open our hearts and extend our hands to Mgr. Lavelle and his movement, each frequenting only the performances of known decency and doing all in our power to persuade others to do so. In a city of the importance of Baltimore on the theatrical map, the obstacle of an aroused sense of public decency might well become the dam to divert the black current of obscenity into the oblivion which is its true home. That is the only way to eradicate the curse — wound the promoter in his most vulnerable spot — his POCKETBOOK! Turn his profits into a deficit and you set him running in wild alarm ! And the effect of such a salutary lesson in Baltimore could not but have an incalculable good effect in the various other cities in the theatrical circuits. Ralph J. Sybert, ’i6. aljp iHpttarr. J ECENTLY ’’The Menace” celebrated the third anniver- sary of its birth at Aurora, Mo. Three years old and a fat bouncing youngster, always up to mischief and, when his puerile antics fail to bring success, ever ready to snap and (63) growl the more. A word about this menace is surely in order on its third birthday. Doubtless “The Menace’’ has been thrown in your door- way by some secret but solicitous friend who feels that you have not the right conception of the tenets of “Romanism.” If you have not as yet received your complimentary copies of “The Menace,” do not fear — you are on the list and several copies are scheduled to fall into your hands. Usually a birthday is a time of congratulation, but we seek in vain a quality worthy of greeting — save one ; it has never altered its initial policy and we congratulate “The Menace” on its steadfastness. On its first issue “Popery” was attacked as none ever dared attack it before ; Calvin’s jeers and Luther’s taunts faded as the stars before the sun when Aurora first presented its wonderful sheet. In its latest issue, the College of Cardinals is still the “vile bunch’’ that it was three years ago, ex-priest and renegade Catholic still contribute to its columns and the weight of three winters upon its young head seems to stimulate its growth rather than retard its progress. And now after three years, its gait is about established; its readers now will not increase nor will the coming years augur for its advancement. The telling shots of “The Menace” have all been fired ; what explodes now or hereafter is but a slight portion of the big idea that went up in SMOKE and smould- ered for two years. During all this time, debate has followed debate ; attack has answered attack and debate and attack have rolled themselves into a huge bundle and mercilessly tumbled into the deep rut of oblivion. Eminent Catholic periodicals throughout the states have answered and refuted the scurrilous and immoral attacks upon Catholicity, but it is an assured fact that those who read “The Menace” hear only its claims and know not that the question is at least a two-sided one, or, if it is one- sided, that side is not the one with which they are familiar. Consequently the enigma now is not ways and means of refuting “The Menace” — its objections were advanced and re- futed hundreds of years ago — but a suitable and effective method of stamping out this pest. Not because Catholicity fears a threat — nineteen hundred years prove that she does not- but because there are some persons so blind to the facts (64) of history that any degrading attack, true or false, makes some impression and such impressions continuing for three years are bound to attract the less cultured of the third estate. Like every newspaper “The Menace’’ has a class to whom it dictates. It tells that class the Church has ever opposed the advancement of science and that class forgets that Pasteur lived in its own generation. “The Menace” will say that no Catholic has the interests of America at heart, but it will not tell its readers that one of the first marines to sacrifice his life upon America’s altars at the recent storming of Vera Cruz was one Daniel Aloysius Haggerty. Each new issue of “The Menace” contains some indecent attack upon Catholic nuns, yet the whole world knows the worth of the man and woman trained by the Catholic nun and it knows, too, the sweet consolation that she brings to sick and dying, as she keeps the silent watches of the night. Should this paper entertain some controversial point, none v ould welcome its publication more heartily than the Catho- lic Church. If there is a doctrine misunderstood, point out the objection in a manner that the most innocent could read it and then be open to conviction. But when truth is dis- regarded and lies are perpetrated in such obscene language that a decent man — much less a woman — shrinks from them in disgust, then it is high time that the Catholics of this coun- try lodge a complaint with authority and demand rights that should be accorded- — without complaint — the largest creed in the nation. That right is that “The Menace” be excluded from the mails. The Catholic Church has never complained that she has no representative in the President’s cabinet; she has never thought the Postmaster General ought but most just; she has never dared mention Church and State in the same breath. No! Catholicity is far more humane than “The Menace” thinks. But consider. The Secretary of the Navy issues the decree that all intoxicating liquors are to be ex- cluded fromi the Navy on the ground that it will be for the benefit and betterment of all. Would not the Postmaster- General do a perhaps more imperative service to the nation if he prohibited such a poisonous intoxicant as “The Menace” (65) from entering our mail-boxes? Only the abuse of alcohol is wrong, but even the use of such a sheet as “The Menace’’ cannot be justified. We shall not answer this question now. If “The Menace’’ dies in its infancy, the question needs no answer. But if it lives to have a birthday cake with four candles, the question answers itself. Leo A. Codd, ’i6. S rx Ouration. |T depends upon how you view it. Think of Innocence as that quality by which a boy shows his ignorance of the evil habits of his fellows, when suggestion of those evils is made in conversation, and you may laugh at him, as doubtless you have done — not to your honor. Think of it as that quality by which a boy reveals to the listener the most beautiful thing he can behold in nature — a soul pure, clear from vice, stainless as a lily, open as the heaven, round and shining as the sun, straight and undistorted as a race-track; then you will lift your eyes in admiration and look upon him with a joy and deep reflective gladness that can be received from no other source. Then you will say, when someone mentions it to you in conversation, or you hear it from the lecture plat- form, or you read it in the newspaper — that no, no, it is not right, this sex-education. It is pouring black liquid upon the white garment; it is distorting the straight; it is glooming the light; it is contracting and stricting the open. “God give us something pure. Let not the fleece be spotted, and let not the acid of the first forbidden fruit, the knowledge of good from evil, drop into the souls of all of us. Hold off the hand that is pouring it — at least from the souls of some, that we may have something in this hole of darkness and sin to remind us of Thee and Thy Spotlessness.” B. V., ’i6. iFemintant. ever told woman that she was becoming more import- ant, that she was progressing and uplifting because she was now mingling in business and politics and legislation? ( 66 ) Because a man has a thousand dollars more than his cousin, is he morally better than that cousin, or only financially so? Does it really make a great difference in the character of a ' man which party is in power, and whence did legislation get the right or power to direct the movements of our souls? Just as soon as men and women learn that a man’s corrup- tion is from his heart, and not his pocket, that he reforms by a strong motion of his will, and that this faculty is not situ- ated in his stomach or brain, that morality is as definite as law, but a little deeper than the mere power of our fickle intentions — then women will go back to the homes they are leaving and take up their children and consecrate them to the Author of all good, curb their passions, ennoble their affec- tions, and nurse them with their own milk of love and devo- tion. What a beautiful thing it would be to hear all our great men say that they owed all their character to the Pure Food law or the Anti-Vice Bill, and not to their mother. ’ 15 - (ihr iHouica. J WENT into a “Movie Palace” the other day, and saw de- picted on the screen a boy of the species “noble young hero” subjecting himself to the delectable process of “getting a job.” The negotiations occurred somewhat in this wise: Boy makes neatly turned speech requesting position; wealthy employer gazes at boy keenly, immediately recognizes latent nobility, and offers boy fabulous salary to prepare to take over business when he (wealthy employer) dies ; boy, with manly blush, protests that salary is too large; wealthy employer waives depreciating hand and offers to double salary, etc., etc. With no more fidelity to common sense and with as large a proportion of asininity are a vast number of moving-picture films freighted. It could not be otherwise, for from a business wherein the most sordid crimes and most flagrant breaches of convention are capitalized for the benefit of its promoters, horse-sense, and virtue and right and sensible standards of living cannot be expected to emanate. (67) No one familiar with the situation pretends to hold that moving-pictures in general are conducive to good. What an unmixed blessing it would be did the general run of moving- picture habitues realize how little importance from a moral or ethical standpoint the author attaches to his own brain- children- — the films. For few realize how very many people there are throughout the whole world today who are going about their work infected by the ‘‘movie”-propogated disease, “distended imagination.” People who should be perfectly normal and rational get into the habit of gazing upon scenes wherein the standards of life, of love, of morality and of religion are all awry; where calf- love finally triumphs over world-old rules of right living, and where everything in general is measured by a system of false weights and of measures all askew. What a powerful impetus for good the moving-picture could be, a moment’s reflection tells us ; what impetus they actually are affording, the “distended imaginist” all too clearly demon- strates. R. J. S., ’i6. Poor ifranna. JF we keep on reading the poetical outbursts of litterateurs and the florid sweeps of newspaper reporters upon the mention of the name of the Assisi, we will begin to think he was an ancient John Burroughs or mediaeval Bliss Carmen, or even a cloistered Carnegie, and not a Catholic saint who was canonized only because he led a most strict and austere life, founded a community whose principal tenet is to despise the goods of the world and gave himself to them as a model of a man who had absolutely no affection for the flowers, fields or birds or men of this earth for their own sake. If he had he would have been a traitor and not the beloved of his Master. He saw the sweetness and beauty and goodness of God in the song of the birds and the color of the flowers and the suf- ferings of man. He did not see the disgusting, blasphemous and idolatrous sensual deity that so many of those who praise him cherish or the idle admiration that others have. His ( 68 ) principles are absolutely the same as austere St. Bruno or ex- acting St. Ignatius or celestial Aloysius. He is a Catholic saint and not a pantheistic poet or otiose voluptuary or senti- mental feminist or emotional vice-crusader, and it is a pity that even Catholics (from reading so many non-Catholic books) are acquiring a perverted and silly and dangerous view-point of so holy and saintly a character. C. J. G. Uiljf ®1! mib tlrp Nm. I T is very laughable but also very sad to hear someone say, ' ‘That’s a new book! I’m going to read it.” It is almost as laughable and sad to hear someone else say, “That’s a modern novel. It can’t be any good!”. Creation was new at one time, or, rather, before time, and isn’t Creation good? Sin was new at one time, and is sin good? Books, like everything else, must have some beginning, and bad books and good books are issued today. I do not say that the best method of acquir- ing good taste in literature is not to read the certified masters of the past. I think it is. But I do say that anyone who re- pudiates a book flatly and all books almost utterly that are new has not the proper appreciation of the old masters, who derived their genius and matter from the life around them, and for that very reason — namely, that they interpreted life— -are re- garded as real masters. We do not read books because they are full of print and uncertainties and haze, but because they are vivid with life and reality. There was not so much pathos in English vulgar life till Dickens discovered it. There is plenty of it in the Cumberland Mountains, and John Fox has found it. There is poetry in a rat if a poet sees it; in fact, much stronger pathos because m.ore absolute than in the mouse Burns saw. Father Tabb said a flower was bald and nobody laughed. A dirty old wagon under the touch of an artist becomes sublime. An autom obile or a typewriter or an ice-cream freezer or any old (69) thing, provided you have a poetical eye, can be made poetical. Poetry is in man and not matter. A good book (if you look up the dictionary) means a good book, and not a new book or an old book. (70) ICift lip our Anus. Lift up your arms and fight for your faith, You men of Catholic mold, You men of God’s household. While the Socialist wields his wild hot pen. While the Anarchist plots in the dark of his den. And the atheist laughs at our God of men, — Are we to stand weak and cold? Lift up your eyes, and look for your faith. You men of Catholic mold. You men of God’s household. When the sinners are scanning the world for sin. When the presses are searching to feed it in. And the money-men pierce human hearts it to win — Are we to be blind as of old? Lift up your hand, and strike for your faith. You men of Catholic mold. You men of God’s household. Hear the hammer of labor loud-clanging its rights Hear the clash of close shields in Masonical rites. Hear the thud of death-blows in political fights, — But our arms, they rust and mold. Stride into line, and March for your faith. You men of Catholic mold. You men of God’s household. See the devils upswing their red legions from Hell; See the angels wheel downward, their tumult to quell. While Christ, and our Father and Mother cry “Well!” Organize! March! Ye Men! Ye Bold! Ptaralorial Paatimp. ' HE piscatorial pastime is the art of taking $8 worth of time, $6 worth of tackle and the advantage of the boss’ good nature and catching a ten-cent fish, a $50 attack of rheumatism and an incalcuable amount of thunder when you arrive home ! Along in June when summer glides perspiringly up the land and thunderstorms prance nervously across the sky and ren- der us a few bass selections, we are reminded by the long, hot, sudorific days raising the mercury in thermometers and the price of ice in cities, that fish are unfolding the petals of their appetites and engulping worms in a way that makes the average man look forward to a holiday as an ascetic Monk to Heaven. Pause, please! Just a momentary hesitation before pro- ceeding on my path toward inveterate imbecility. Allow me to place you in a state of differentiation from the abject and proletarian multitude entangled in the chapparal of ignoratio eleuchi by informing you that fishing is not a PASTIME. It’s rather a KILLTIME. Time is ignored shamefully by fish- ermen. The bustling bee, the active ant and the sedulous squirrel, each in turn, should be a great rebuke to the fisher- man. At the moment of departure on fishing trips men take TIME by the neck, squeeze it into the small vial of oblivion and throw it down the drain pipe into the waters of Lethe, as they sneak out of the back door. If the ordinary man bothered about time when fishing he might be tempted to take a watch along with him or go home when night fell if he didn’t catch a fish. This, however, would be a monstrous mistake. Fish don’t bite until they see that a man has triple-plated, double-distilled patience, then they hurl themselves at the hook and advance upon the bait in great hosts, and unless a man uses remarkable discretion and re- mains cool-headed and dispassionate he will wreck the liga- (72) ments of his arm removing fish out of their aqueous habita- tion. In pristine days when steel fishing rods were as unusual as radium scarfpins are today, people fished with worms alone. The twentieth century, however, rushed in with a cloud of inventions and, as it gradually cleared off, disciples of Isaac Walton learned that a deposit of artificial flies had been left in certain firms in New York. The artificial fl.y is three times as large as a Broadway shirt stud, but twenty-three tim_es more expensive. After weeks of careful preparation it is thrown into a miniature Mississippi and the fisherman wearing “Pres- ident” suspenders and a Presidential smile, chaperons it down stream for sixty odd miles, walking on snags, slippery stones and forbidden property and disentangling his line from roots, submerged timber and submarine forests and eventually HIM- SELF from the meshes of the law. As we can see, this pas- time has laborious mountain climbing reduced to a decimal fraction. It would be perfectly fatuous to deny that men go fishing to catch something. This, however, is extremely easy. Any man who can’t catch malaria — or his trousers, when leaping a fence and in exceptional cases the synonym of war when he returns home, doesn’t deserve the abject appellation of the fisherman. Joseph J. Quinn. (IJl|p Angplua. The deep-toned sound of the Angelus Is heard afar and near, Bidding us turn, bidding us turn To the God we love and fear. O’er the woods, the marsh and the meadows, Into the country far, It recalls to us the Saviour And His Birth told by a star. Even in the smoke-filled city Its joyful note I hear. Far o’er tower and housetop It soundeth full and clear. I grieve that the custom vanishes — That the faithful Catholic ear No more is rapt by the sound Of the bell-note full and clear. Would that the custom raise itself Out of the dust of time. To remind men of their Saviour, With its deep-toned chime. 74 ) John W. Farrell, ’17. iFatl)pr iloljn 3. ®ya«, S’. 3 . Father John J. Ryan, S. J., stationed at Loyola since 1902, passed to his reward on Tuesday, December i6th, at St. Agnes’ Hospital. He had been gradually sinking during a two months’ illness, and while death was not expected quite so soon, it did not find him unprepared. Father Ryan was born in Ireland on July 31st, 1843. The date of his birth was the feast of St. Ignatius, and it was on the same day fourteen years later he entered the Jesuit Order. At the age of six he was brought to this country and to Bal- timore by his parents. After two years spent at Loyola as a student, he entered the Novitiate at Frederick in 1857. the same month Fathers McGuirk, Smith and Morgan, all to become Presidents of Loyola, entered the Society. Father Ryan took his first vows in 1859, and two years later completed his juniorate. He then spent three years as a stu- dent of philosophy at Boston College. After another three 3-ears as teacher in Holy Cross, Worcester, the then Mr. Ryan came for the first time to Loyola in 1868, and for three years took charge of the classes of physics and chemistry. In 1871 he returned to Woodstock, and, finishing his course in theology, was ordained priest in the summer of 1873. During 1873-1874 the new priest completed his theological course, and was ordered to Georgetown, where he spent the next four years. A year at Boston and two at Worcester fol- lowed. During the latter period Father Boone, now sta- tioned at Loyola, was the President of Holy Cross. In 1880 Father Ryan suffered a nervous breakdown, and did not resume teaching until i8go, when he returned to this city and to Loyola. Four years were spent here, after which he taught at St. Joseph’s College (Philadelphia), Georgetown and Gonzaga College, Washington. In 1902, Father Ryan returned to Baltimore and lectured on Astronomy, Geology and Political Economy until he recently became incapacitated by his illness. (75) As head for eleven years of St. Agnes’ Reading Circle, he became well known to members of the congregation, and wherever known the kindly qualities of his nature made him esteemed. Father Ryan was well known to all classes in this city. His striking figure was almost as well known along Calvert street as is that of His Eminence on Charles street. The writer since his earliest boyhood well remembers seeing Father Ryan making his daily trip up and down this thor- oughfare. Many personally unknown to him who were resi- dents of Calvert street, or who frequently traversed it, had learned to respect him, and had become accustomed to doff their hats in salutation to the aged priest. Though retaining his classes up to last June, Father Ryan had never fully recovered in strength and robustness from the nervous breakdown suffered in 1890. During the last two months spent at St. Agnes Father Ryan again demonstrated a nobility of nature, and the nurses often commented on his exemplary patience. He sank gradually, and death came after a peaceful day at half-past three in the afternoon It is difficult to do justice to his character or the fruitful- ness of his labors ; God only can reckon and rew ' ard them, V e can but trust that his first Christmas in another world found him elevated by the same Lord whom on each earthly Christmas he never failed thrice to elevate at the altar. May he rest in peace. Roger F. O’Leary, ’16. fouttg. At 7.45 A. M. on the 13th of October, Rev. Thomas J. Young, of the Society of Jesus, died at the Mercy Hospital, Baltimore, of typhoid pneumonia. The death of Father Young came as a great shock to members of his order, among whom he numbered many devoted friends. He had just com- pleted the long training of the Society of Jesus, and stood on the threshold of a splendid career of usefulness in the service of God and of his Church. (76) Father Young was born in Ireland in 1873, and when two years old was brought to this country by his parents. The family settled in Boston, Mass., and there the young boy grew up, receiving his education in the Quincy School and in Bos- ton College. He entered the Novitiate of the Society of Jesus in Frederick, Md., in 1894, at the end of two years took his first vows. Flis philosophical studies were made at Grand Coteau, La., and St. Louis University. For five years he taught at Holy Cross College, Worcester, Mass. He went to Woodstock College for theology, and was ordained there by His Eminence, Cardinal Gibbons, on July 30, 1909. Two years were spent at Brooklyn College, one year at the Novi- tiate, and finally he came to Loyola in August, 1913. UCCESS is the cry of the age and its goal; yet not m.any of the age know more than its elementary significance. Let us be thankful that here in our midst we lately saw suc- cess achieved in the life of him who has gone from amongst us. Here was a man, a man in its highest sense, Vv ho had not finished his second score of years. The best of his life was still before him, — the part in which he would do things that the world might reckon with. He is called away with his sturdy and willing arms upraised to pluck the first fruits blushing in his corner of the Vineyard. Shall none of those fruits be his? Yes ; a thousand times, yes. He had planted the seed by a life of hiddenness ; he had trimmed the vines with shears of sacrifice ; he had trained the arbors in measures of self-dis- cipline; he had watered the blossoms with constant prayers. Others in days to come may garner the vintage and press it. But up before the Master of the Vineyard, that wine will draw its eternal strength out of the life and death of him who was summoned away in the noon-time. In the Day of Reck- oning, many are they who will lay hold of his form and say, “You, — you gathered me unto Abraham’s bosom.” Father Young, God rest your noble soul! R. A. F. (77) MilUam |i. Sr tl, 3. p ATHER William P. Brett, S. J., the ninth President of Loyola College, died at the Carney Hospital, Boston, Mass., on Sunday, February 15th. Coming to Loyola in August, 1899, Father Brett taught philosophy for one year, an d in the following summer, August 26th, 1900, was appointed President of the College to succeed Father John Morgan. His tenure of office was, however, a very brief one, less than ten months, for in June, 1901, he was most unexpectedly trans- ferred to the rectorship of Woodstock College to replace Father Villiger, whose failing health had compelled him to retire. Yet, during this short stay, he was recognized both by his students and the people of the parish as a man of unusual intellectual gifts who gave his best energies to every task he undertook. Fie was an eloquent speaker, and his sermons are still recalled by many, as are his timely talks on Wednesday evenings to the Sodality, of which he was the Director for one year. Born in Boston, November 26th, 1852, he was educated at Boston College, and in 1871 entered the Novitiate at Fred- erick, Md. After finishing the usual studies of the Jesuits, he was ordained at Woodstock by His Eminence, Cardinal Gib- bons, on August 29th, 1885. Three years were spent abroad in special studies in philosophy and theology. On his return to this country he was for seven years at Woodstock College as professor of philosophy, and subsequently of theology. After living for three years in Washington and Philadelphia, he reached Loyola in 1899. Father Brett was rector of Wood- stock from 1901 to 1907, and was then transferred to Boston College, where he filled, until shortly before his death, the chair of philosophy. Falling seriously ill in January, to save his life, it was decided that an operation was necessary. He failed, however, to recover. Surely those whose lives he helped to influence by his teaching and example will not for- get to remember him in their prayers. May he rest in peace. (78) Hotrf lamp bp Ion prours. O Lady of Blessed relief, We hail Thee once again; True solace in each bitter grief, Blest comfort in our pain. Too oft’ we falter in the path, Or idly turn away; Lo ! In the dreadful day of wrath, Be Thou our guide and stay. Be with us in life’s daily cares. When mists obscure the light. And onward the sad pilgrim fares Through murky clouds of night. Be with us in joy’s rosy glow — O ! most we need Thee then To bid in purer channels flow The restless thoughts of men. Be with us — O ! with bated breath, This priceless boon we crave, — Be with us at the hour of death; Then, mother, come and save From the foul demon’s cruel power, The souls Thy Son redeemed — The souls He gave thee as a dower, — For which His life-blood streamed. To wash away the work of eld. The dark, defiling stain That rested on the spirits held By Satan’s fettering chain. Receive each beating of our hearts. Each slowly laboring breath, Befriend us. Mother of our Lord, In the dread hour of death. James O’Toole, Jr., ’17. (79) A g ' trangp Seuatua. And thus thy memory is to me Like some enchanted far-off isle In some tumultuous sea — Some ocean throbbing far and free With storm — but where meanwhile Serenest skies continually Just o’er that one bright island smile. It is, indeed, strange to observe throughout the works of Edgar Allen Poe, a singular and strikingly beautiful line of thought which characterizes every sentence. From a man whose life was dissipated and wreckless one would not expect to find such gentle and superb language. Poe, in spite of all his troubles and failings, always loved the beautiful and sub- lime ; all his stories and poems ring with a tone of purity. If there were nothing else we could see worthy of praise in the v ritings of him, this alone, namely, his keen appreciation of beauty and clean thought, would stand as a lasting merit of praise and honor. The hymn of the Mother of God is only one specimen of the author’s sense of the beautiful. What subject could he have taken more appropriately to express his feelings when there was question of purity and beauty? The hymn is a short appeal to the Blessed Virgin, in which he recalls the bright sunshiny days when his soul was guided by the hand of a watchful mother, and begs that his future be blessed with that same grace that was ever present to him when “the storms of Fate” o’ercast his former days. The hymn thus: At morn — at noon — at twilight dim — Maria ! thou hast heard my hymn In joy and woe — in good and ill — Mother of God be with me still! When the hours flew brightly by, And not a cloud obscured the sky. (8o) My soul, lest it should truant be, Thy grace did guide to thine and thee ; Now when storms of Fate o’ercast Darkly my Present and my Past, Let my Future radiant shine With sweet hopes of thee and thine. As this poem is, in its simplicity, so imbued with that devo- tion to the Blessed Lady, which is a distinction enjoyed by Catholics, Poe, no doubt, got his inspiration from conversa- tion with his Catholic friends. As his home in New York was near Fordham University, Poe often strolled over to the college and spent hours in conversation with an old Jesuit Father who took pity on his suffering soul. Notwithstanding the fact that he is known to have had a morose disposition, and was disagreeable to nearly all who knew him, certainly his talks with the priest must have waxed interesting, when he could exchange ideas on subjects philosophical, poetical or on whatever branch of learning the theme of conversation chanced to hit. Perhaps it was through this intercourse that Poe was prompted to write on such a sublime thought— The Mother of God. Throughout all the poems that same simplicity and purity are intermingled with a mellow tone which rings clear with all that is noble and elevated, and it is this, if nothing else, that characterizes Poe as a poet and superb writer. William F. Sauer, ’15. (81) iiatr, ®lfp HHontlj af ilarg. Each fairest flower now ’gins to blush In the sun’s glad golden ray, This is the month of May, and — hush! Of Mary, Queen of May. O Mary! look upon us here Who raise a suppliant cry To thee. Check thou the glistening tear That flows from saddened eye. O Mother list with mother’s ear To all our tales of woe. And give us comfort, bring us cheer, Wherever we may go ! And, Mother, on that dreadful day When life and we shall part. Be near, our trembling fears allay — Thy gracious aid impart! Ferdinand H. Schoberg, ’17. (82) MY FRIEND. A FRIEND he is, through all my joys and sorrows. Where others fail me, he is ever at my side, ready always to do my bidding. He neither borrows or lends, yet he is always will- ing to listen patiently to my tales of financial distress, and to assist me in my search for capital new. Partial or biased he never is; when others look askance, he is ever at my com- mand. He is of a large family, renowned and reputable ; yet withal he hearkens ever to me, no matter how lowly the sta- tion I occupy. Unassuming in appearance, and without a bad habit, he is, indeed, a good example for the younger genera- tion. He is never in love, but is always a prime favorite with the fair sex. If, in my rage, I address him as an enemy, there are no hard feelings. In times of dark distress all I have to do is raise my hand, and his far-reaching arm will help to dispel the clouds that hang over me. Who is this wonderful friend, say you? My telephone. J. Ambrose Quinn, ’15. (83) THE SCRIPTIC. I (Drawn from life.) W. P. D. I (Chrntttrb. Being an unadorned narrative of the happenings at Loyola during the year 1913-1914, told here with a two-fold object, that those who are not of us may know how fate has chanced upon Loyola’s pathway, and that we, who have been partly responsible for such happenings, may have a mute reminder of the milestone just passed. September 15. With the largest attendance in the history of Loyola, the classes of the College, High School and Preparatory de- partments opened today. There were three new faces among the Faculty, that body being augmented by the arrival of Fathers Young, Parker and Delihant. September 20. Inauguration of the various Societies and Sodalities in the College and High School. September 22. The Mass of the Holy Ghost was celebrated this morn- ing with the students of all the departments in attendance. The Seniors returned today, and entered upon their final year of College life at Loyola. September 30. Evening Courses began. October i. Holiday granted on the enrollment of the three-hundredth student. October 13. The entire student-body recited the Rosary in the Church for the speedy recovery or the happy death of Father Young, (85) the Professor of Sophomore class. Father Young was re- moved to Mercy hospital on the thirteenth of this month, suffering from Typhoid-Pneumonia. Mr. Joseph Morning, S. J., joins the faculty as professor of Second Year High School. October 14. Death of Father Young at Mercy hospital. October 16. Funeral of Father Young. Office of the dead was chanted by the Faculty and visiting clergy at 9.30, followed by a low Mass of Requiem, celebrated by Rev. Father Rector. His Eminence, the Cardinal, pronounced the Absolution. October 28. Retreat began under the direction of Father Delihant, of the High School Faculty. October 31. The closing exercises of the retreat. Father Dilihant celebrated the Mass at 7.45, and all the students were in attendance. The exercises in the church were followed by breakfast in the Gymnasium, where covers were laid for 280. Good cheer abounded, and speeches were made by Rev. Father Rector, Father Prefect and the Class Presi- dents. November 18. Turkey Raffle held in the College Auditorium. The pro- ceeds, $325.00 were given to the Literary, Scientific and Athletic Associations. November 25. St. Catherine’s Day. Senior and Junior Holiday. November 27-30. Thanksgiving Holidays. ( 86 ) December 2. Annual Alumni Theatre Party held at the Academy of Music. The performance, “Milestones,” was enjoyed by a large and representative audience. December 3. Half-holiday in honor of St. Francis Xavier. December 5. Father Goughian assumes the Professorship of Sopho- more and College Evidences. December 16. Death of Father Ryan, at St. Agnes’ Hospital. Father Ryan was professor of various classes in the College for many years. December 19. Funeral of Father Ryan. Chanting of the Office of the Dead, and a low Mass of Requiem, celebrated by Father Rector at 9.30. Interment was at Woodstock, whither a number of the College students accompanied the remains. December 23. An informal entertainment was given by the students in honor of the Faculty and also to mark the beginning of the Christmas recess. The Programme. March College Orchestra. Essay — “The Cave and Modern Sanitation” .. Clarence G. Owings, ’15. Recitation — “The Burning Babe” Mulvey Wright, i P. (Vocal Accompaniment, Clark Corcoran, i P., and Marshall Finnan, 3 P.) Class Song — “Ebekay” Second Preparatory Recitation — “God to the Soul of a Mother” Martin F. X. Murray, ' 16. (Composed by Ralph J. Sybert, ’16.) Sketch — “The Three Troopers” Oswald Norman, 2 H., Charles Coolahan, i H. A., Leon- ard Cunningham, i H. B. Sketch — “Christmas Shopping” (Composed by Roger O’Leary and Joseph Quinn, ’16.) (87) Characters. The Atte ntive Uncle John Farrell, ’17 The Intrusive Son William W. Colder, 4 H. The Wealthy Nephew Thomas A. Murphy, 3 H. Address — “Greetings” Jerome H. Joyce, Jr., T4. Rev Father Rector closed the entertainment with words of greeting from himself and all the Faculty January 16. Great interest caused throughout the city by the first public announcement of the removal of the College to Guil- ford. February 2. An informal reception was given in honor of Fathers Delihant and Parker, and Brother McGrogan, who, this morning pronounced their final vows as members of the Society of Jesus. Addresses were given by Jerome H. Joyce, Jr., of the College, Russell J. Quinn of the High School, and Richard Schaefer of the Preparatory Department. In honor of the occasion. Rev. Father Rector granted the following day as a holiday. February 25. Georgetown-Loyola Intercollegiate Debate. The College Auditorium was filled to overflowing, and much applause greeted the judges’ decision, giving the victory to Loyola. Following the debate, the speakers of both colleges were given a banquet at the Hotel Joyce by the Reverend Pre- fect of Studies. March 10. The annual banquet of the Basket-Ball team was held at the Hotel Joyce, accompanied with speeches and toasts. March 17. Holiday in honor of Rev. Father Provincial’s visit. May I. The customary May devotions began today. ( 88 ) May 13-14. On these evenings, Loyola acquitted itself nobly in the presentation of the annual play “Bachelor Hall.’’ Commen- dation of the boys’ work, and Mr. Nevin’s untiring efforts, was evinced by the large and appreciative audiences that attended the performances. June I. Whit Monday. Holiday. June 8. Annual Track and Field Day at Tolchester Beach. June 12. The final oral examinations began today. June 15. General Communion, followed by breakfast in the “Gym. ' June 16. High School Elocution contest and Graduation Exercises were held this evening. June 17. College Prize Night and Oratorical contest for the Lee Medal. June 18. Sixty-second Annual Commencement. Leo A. Codd, ’16. (89) otlft torg ®ljat ICay iJurtpii. J ALIGHTED from the Pullman, reluctant to give up its few comforts for the altogether comfortless local which was due in an hour, and which was to enable me to continue on my journey. I had ridden for many monotonous hours through an un- changing country, and had often yearned to set my foot on firm ground again. But even now as the Pullman sped away I sighed to find myself in one of those isolated tracts situated far out on the Western prairie and styled by the courtesy of the railway, a way station. I looked around for some minutes to get the lay of the land, my observations being rewarded by the sight of a solitary cabin several hundred feet from the station platform. I was homesick, almost afraid, so lonely was the place, and I started for that cabin in search of company. As I did so the door of the cabin swung back, and a man with the tan of the open West upon his face, with eyes that had now a haunted, terri- fied expression, now one of utterable sadness and helpless res- ignation in them, came forth to greet me. There was something unusual about the man — some indefi- nable mixture, it seemed, of the student and the nomad about him, some outcroppings of culture and education that could not remain submerged beneath that exterior — an exterior that from a cursory glance spoke only of the life of the plains, and of him who shunned the social amenities of life. I was not surprised, then, when, after a conversation of some minutes, in which he gave me a chance to analyze him as a man learned and brilliant, he consented, with some little urging on my part, to tell me the story that lay buried from me. This story I knew was of a life of more than passing interest. It was so long, he told me, since he had seen any- one just like me that he felt almost glad to unfold the tale. It had pressed him down for years, torturing him ceaselessly and causing him to feel that he wanted to tell it to someone (90) who would believe in him, and who would be ready to help him by sharing the secret that he had striven in vain to keep unto himself. Here is the story as he told it to me, bereft of the interruptions or the digressions into which he entered from time to time in recounting it: “I have not always lived here and in this way,” he said. “Some fifteen or twenty years ago I was a student at a large university in the East. I was taking a post-graduate course in chemistry, and roomed with a fellow named Cole, who was pursuing a course in physics and medicine. Cole’s mind ran along the lines of mysterious draughts and potions with un- usual properties, and many times I was the victim of his ex- periments. Yet I considered it a fair exchange, inasmuch as he helped me in my researches. “So it was that one night he asked me to join him in his laboratory to try the effect of a dark liquid with him. I fol- lowed his instructions. We sat down at a table, directly fac- ing each other, and looking intently at each other. It was a part of Cole’s fun never to tell me what to expect. Indeed I enjoyed the suspense, knowing that his experiments were never harmful. I drank the liquid as he directed. “In about fifteen minutes drowsiness overtook me, and in a few minutes more I was unconscious. How long I remained so I do not know. When I awoke I was too stupefied to note the time. Stranger, be patient with me for what I am about to tell you is ‘passing strange.’ Gradually rousing myself after a time, I looked at my hands, and then gasped with sur- prise. On one of my fingers was a ring. — A ring on my hand, and I never wore one before. I l ooked at my feet. — Patent leather shoes, which I despised, were on them. I looked across the table, and there facing me was myself, or rather the body of myself. Or was it I? If not I, then who? As I sat staring across the table my body arose — the body across the table — and remarked : “ ‘Well, old pal, suppose you await my return. Read this.’ “Before I could think, speak or move, the body tossed a note to me and hurried from the room. I opened the note and read: “ ‘Dear Dick — Our bodies were interchanged by the potion. Temporarily I am in your body and you are in mine. Stay in (91) the room and I shall return in about an hour to straighten us out. After that, I am sorry to say, I shall be compelled to leave you suddenly and for some time. Yours, COLE.’ “I placed my hand to my head in distraction. I tried to believe it all a dream. No, I was awake. I paced nervously up and down, and, unable to shake off my fears, rank the bell. The bellboy rapped, and at my invitation came in, asking ‘Mr. Cole did you ring?’ This was more than I could bear. I dismissed him. “Alone again, I thought and thought. ‘Mr. Cole’ I mused. ‘I’ll consult the mirror.’ Yes, I was in Cole’s body. I was positive that it was I. Yet there were Cole’s hands. Cole’s cat-like eyes. Cole’s lanky, drooping figure, and above all, or rather below all. Cole’s patent leather shoes. “I yelled curses upon Cole’s head. I began to fear for what the future held for me. I trusted Cole, but was he worthy of it . At last I became calm, and decided to quietly await twelve o’clock, the hour at which Cole was due. “I, that is, we, sat down; we crossed Cole’s lanky legs, placed a cigarette in his mouth, and began to puff away, the while I tried to drive thoughts through his befuddled brain. I sat there for sometime. Then I fell asleep. Suddenly I awoke with a start. I heard a noise, and looking around I discovered my own body standing beside me. I cannot ade- quately describe to you my delight at once more beholding my familiar self. I looked haggard and ill-used, and had in my hand a glass of that same dark liquid. The look in those eyes were peculiar. A thought flashed through my brain, or, to be more exact, through the brain I was using. Was Cole the man I thought him to be. He had always seemed to be upright and honorable. Was he? “Further meditations were cut short by the command, ‘Let’s drink. The glass was thrust into the hand, on one finger of which was the ring. We again faced each other and drank. Unconsciousness once more. Then slowly I awoke. Yes, there were my hands. The ring had gone — so were the patent leather shoes. I was myself. I breathed a prayer of thanks that all was well, and then I looked at Cole. O God! his face was livid. The muscles were tense, the features dis- (92) torted. I grasped his hand. It was cold and clammy. Cole was dead. “The telephone aroused me with its unearthly ringing. ‘Hello, hello, is this Cole?’ Unwittingly I answered ‘Yes.’ Well, Ralph Staley is murdered, and Dick White was the last one seen to leave his apartments. White is additionally im- plicated by the presence of his watchfob in Staley’s room. Find him if you can.’ “My hand instinctively sought my waistcoat pocket in search of the fob. It was gone. Then — Staley! Ralph Sta- ley! Cole’s enemy. A love affair. How often I had heard Cole say he would like to see him dead. The details of the whole crime instantly flashed upon me. Cole had discovered a potion, had interchanged ourselves, murdered Staley, and had tried again to transmute our bodies, and thus escape jus- tice, leaving me to suffer the penalty. But ‘man proposes and God disposes.’ His weak constitution had failed him under the unwonted strain, and he died in the midst of his perfidy. “For me a legal defense was helpless. Not a court in the country would believe my story, while nine-tenths would hold me for a double murder. I packed my belongings and fled. Since that time I have traveled around the world a dozen times. I have camped out like this a hundred times. I have struck gold and made a fortune. But what good is it? The horrible truth ever follows me, and compels me to be a wan- derer, suffering the curse of Cain, though innocent of the crime of Cain. This body is accused of murder, but my soul before God is innocent. These hands have murdered, but I myself am no murderer. “But listen: There’s your train. Stranger.” Herbert R. O’Conor, ’17. (93) (0n tlje Spati} of (Sporgp 0. PatnapM. Praise to him, the first to fall, In battle with unhonored foe. Who answered first the bugle ' s call; His death’s a triumph — not a woe! Mortal man was made to die. His not to choose the when and where. Praise him who heard the battle’s cry. And hearing, answered — dying there! Proud and sad his father is To list the story and the fame, Of that warrior son of his Who shed his blood — in the nation’s name ! Oft may that father still attest. With tearful eyes the story, Quam dulce et decorum est. Pro patria — mori! Stewart Fenwick, ’17. (94) (Htfp Bnlturna. ’Twas in the autumn season, in Great Britain’s busy docks, When that good ship Volturno pulled away from foreign rocks, On a fair day in September, by the amber sunlight kissed. She started on that fatal voyage, for our metropolis. Four days had passed since she set sail, and the waves were rising high. The moon was slowly peeping from a dark and frowning sky. When suddenly a voice was heard, and face of young and old Turned quick upon a fireman, who, black with dust of coal. Had rushed on deck and in terror yelled, “There’s fire in the hold!” The captain heard; his face turned pale, but a man full brave was he. He ordered his crew as best he knew, to fight to set them free. In the midst of flames on the burning ship he arranged them all about. And saw that women and children were the first to be rowed out. Hot water boiled about his feet, and he for freedom crave; But he stayed — the last to leave the ship, as it sunk into its grave. In these wild seas the small boats rocked, and some were strained and sunk, But others sailed, till a ship they hailed, and were placed in warm, dry bunk. Among these few were the Captain and crew of that noble ship which went down. And they in love thanked their God from above that they were not also drowned. Henry J. Casey, H. S., ’17. (95) a[l|p Unirp of HHoopg attii tljp (Eanal Problm. M ONEY talks! It has always talked. It has talked so loudly that the expression has passed into an epigram, so continuously that the pages of history are mere phonographic records of the reproduction of its voice, and at the present time, it speaks in clarion tones. It is not surprising, therefore, to find the power of money intertwined with most of the im- portant movements of our time, still less so to trace its con- nection with a movement that deals directly with money itself. In no policy at the present time has this pernicious power been so actively manifested as in the matter of Panama Canal tolls. From every viewpoint the canal deals with MONEY. In itself it is a MONEY channel, linking not only the waters of the Atlantic and Pacific, but joining too the resources of Occi- dent and Orient. Flowing side by side these currents sweep onward. We speak of the stream of commerce, and commerce means and is MONEY. Every regulation of money interests those who control this factor, and so it is that mierely phy- sically speaking the Panama Canal is of paramount interest to the forces of MONEY. But the canal has another and far more important interest for the group of financiers in whose hands are the threads of industry. In a broad way, the canal problem centres in the inter- pretation of a clause in the treaty, but there are many actors behind the scene who obscure the issue. There is William Randolph Hearst throwing into the scale the enormous circu- lation of his far-flung journals ; there is Speaker Clark, a war-horse of Democracy and badly shaken by that same over- throw ; there is the power of big business in the modern sense, symbolizing the ruthless crushing of competitors, the power of bribery and the lobby, and there are numberless demagogues “against the government men,” who strive to rise on the fall of others ; lastly, there is a large party of Anglo feriacs who oppose on principle everything English. It is confusing influences such as these that render it doubly (96) difficult for President Wilson to confute the sincere believer in free tolls. The mere fact that there exists a disagreement with a treaty power is sufficient for a thorough investigation. It is a question of international good faith and not of the relative stre ngth of armies and navies or of old-feeling more than a century past. The object of a treaty is to avoid force of arms. The United States by its dictatorial treatment of foreign powers, and especially Latin-American nations, previous to the present administration, has fallen lamentably in inter- national esteem. Our word as a nation is no longer as good as our bond; our foreign relations have been carelessly and thoughtlessly handled. “Rightly or wrongly,” says Senator Lodge, of Massachu- setts, “the nations both of the old world and new have come to believe that we are not to be trusted; that we make our international relations the sport of politics and treat them as if they were no different from domestic relations. ' ’ The ETHI- CAL result has been a prejudice against the United States in quarters where she needs favor most. The MATERIAL re- sult is the disappearance of our merchant marine from the seas and the passing of the ever-increasing trade of South America into the hands of the Germans. It is in order to prevent us from once again being taunted with the stigma that we make might, right, that President Wilson has made a stand for the repeal. It is in order to rehabilitate us with our fellow nations and thereby do more to revive our maritime commerce than could be accomplished by any subsidy. When all arguments are completed there still remains the primeval principle of the battle for the spoils. The Democrats are an overwhelming majority, but within that majority there is an acting minority, a minority that has existed ever since the birth of the party, a minority that exists in every party. Since their overthrow at Baltimore they have been playing a game of “watchful waiting.” The tariff had already been over- whelmingly ratified by the country, the currency, too, bore the stamp of popular approval; the wheels had been oiled, the ground had been fertilized for both these measures. Then suddenly came the President’s dramatic appeal for neutrality in tolls. It implied a recognition of a mistake; it was a conces- (97) sion to a country to which thousands of new-made Americans are bitterly hostile; it involved at least a technical breach of a party platform; it was suddenly put forth and would neces- sarily be acted upon suddenly. There would be little time for analysis. Immediately the Hearst’s, the Clark partisans, the anti- Bryan men and the jingoes leaped to their guns ! Here was the longed-for opportunity to discredit the President, who was far too democratic and straightforward for most of them. The lion lay down with the lamb. Ship subsidy men linked their fortunes with Hearst mobocrats. Joining the sincere believers in free tolls, they made a formidable body. The cry of British domination was raised; the British betrayal was blazoned forth, much as every act of religious leniency at a certain period of history was called a cession of the papacy. So far, in the House of Representatives, the hue and cry has not prevailed. Reason has triumphed. By the time this article appears the Senate may have acted and the whole issue come before the bar of the American people. Meanwhile the caldron seeths, the puppets leap. No question has in- volved issues of more dramatic possibilities, financial, in- dustrial and therefore political — perhaps the most dramatic is the reappearance of the MONEY power, the power of combi- nation. For the last eight years administration after adminis- tration has waged war against the ruthlessness of their meth- ods; Republicans, Democrats and Progressives have united in prosecuting them through their Attorney Generals. Broken into fragments by the Sherman act they were seemingly crushed, but in reality only biding their time. In June of 1912 they raised their heads to lower them before the implacable honesty of two men. Throughout the triumphant early months of the present administration they waited; with publicity as represented by the newspapers entirely against them, they were helpless ; with the majority of the dominant party against them, they were helpless. To change the attitude of the papers, to overthrow the dominant section of democracy — this was essential. The hostility to the administration evinced by many leading newspapers is significant; the deficit in the Democratic National Committee is significant. Once again MONEY talks! Roger O’Leary, ’16. (98) site IGamyer’a (Elient. ENTLEMAN to see you, sir,” announced Hobbs to his master when Robert Summers and I entered our apart- ment on Brook street. ‘‘In the waiting room?” asked Robert. “He ia, sir, and very nervous,” was Hobbs’ reply. Summers raised his eyebrows slightly and entered the consulting room. Bob turned to me and said: “Come in, Dick, it may be worth your while. Then to Hobbs : “Show him in.” Before continuing with the story, it would be well to know that Robert Summers was a private detective. He was six feet in height and built in proportion. His firm mouth and chin told of a strong will power; his high, broad forehead and piercing blue eyes, of a natural astuteness of mind. He had an income on which he could live comfortably. For the last five years he and I had lived in our apartment on Brook street. I, too, had some money, and together we enjoyed life in our own way. At different times I recorded some of the cases that brought out his quick perception and keen mental faculties for unraveling (with the most intangible clues) re- pulsive crimes, while the police were trying to find a motive. The following case is an example : The gentleman who followed Hobbs into the room was tall and of a commanding aspect. He introduced himself as Roger Quirke, a lawyer. “I am Robert Summers, and this is my friend and colleague, Richard Morris,” said Bob. “Won’t you be seated?” As the lawyer seated himself. Bob continued: “Now, Mr. Quirke, tell us the entire story. Be brief, but do not omit any detail that may in any way materially alter the case.” Mr. Quirke began : “Three months ago a medium-sized gen- tleman of dark complexion and slender build called on me. It was ten o’clock on September twenty-fourth, to be precise. This gentleman asked me if I could let him have a room in my house, adding that I would be well repaid for any trouble that he might cause. He stated that, although at present he was ( 99 ) physically perfect, there was a great danger that overshadowed him, but that this would in no way revert on me, as the matter was purely personal. Believing him to be partly unbalanced by some serious mental strain, I assured him that I would be glad to help -him, either professionally, or as a friend. His fate, he said, was inevitable, if a certain thing occurred. After about an hour’s conversation with him, we went to my house and I let him have the second story middle room. I found him to be a quiet, self-possessed fellow who traveled much and who would tell of what he saw during his travels. “We became close friends, and all went well until November nineteenth. On the evening of that day he came to me and asked if I would object to his having a burglar alarm on all the windows and new locks on the doors. I told him that I did not mind, and straightway he had it done. This com- pleted, he was quite himself again. Last evening, after dinner, he and I were recounting the happenings of the day, as was our wont. I related a curious incident that occurred late that afternoon, soon after I had reached home, and while he was out for his customary stroll. I will not recount to you the incident which caused him so much anxiety. “Just as the clock struck half-past four, a lady and two gentlemen were announced by my man. I often do business with my clients after hours and the call excited no suspicion. The lady was nearing forty; the gentlemen were about fifty and thirty-five respectively. The lady was well dressed, and to a casual observer she would appear to be nearing thirty, but her hands and the very faint lines in her face didn’t belong to a woman of thirty; the elder of the two men was short and stockily built ; the younger was tall and lithe ; both were beard- less. The lady introduced them as her brother and her nephew. Then she asked if they might remain in the library while she discussed her business privately with me. I complied with her request and led her to my den. She told me that she did not trust her brother or her nephew — she handed me a deed for some real estate which they had been urging her to buy — she feared that it was fraudulent, and in the course of her story, she became fearfully unnerved, and finally went into hysterics. I ran to another room and called up a doctor. When I returned the lady had left. I hastened to the library and found her (loo) companions too were gone. I called the man, and asked him if they had passed him. He said that they had, and that he thought that the lady was sick for the men had to almost carry her to their car and that they had driven down the street immediately. This morning when the maid carried his coffee to him she called him several times, and received no reply. She then rapped loudly on the door. Her knocking awoke me, and I hastened to find the cause for it. On learning the trouble I listened at the door. From within came only the omnious ticking of a large Dutch clock. A chill gripped my heart. What if the inevitable, as he called it, had occurred? Step- ping back a few paces I flung myself at the door. There was a sharp snap as the lock broke, and I found myself gazing upon the ghastly countenance of my client. His mouth was open, as if it had been forced that way. In his wide staring eyes a look of mingled fear and hate lurked even in death. His pallid features were horribly distorted. I grasped a chair for support, or I should have fallen. Turning, I staggered from the room and summoned the doctor. He came in about fifteen minutes. I had explained to him a little over the ’phone, and now I led him to the room. The doctor gasped, and, trembling, placed his stethyoscope to the breast of the dead. Then his body became tense. He breathed deeply for a minute, then said: ‘This is a case for a detective, not a doctor. This man died of inhalation of gas.’ I asked him to stay there and see that nothing was touched until I had seen you. He agreed, and I came immediately” — the lawyer mopped his perspiring brow nervously. I handed him a glass of Scotch, and Summers rang for Hobbs. “Bring the car to the door immediately,” he said. When Hobbs appeared, “We will do all we can for you, Mr. Quirke,” said Bob, helping him to the elevator. Getting into the car he rode quickly to the lawyer’s residence. Upon entering the death chamber Summers pulled his mag- nifying glass from his pocket, examined the body, the bed and the room. He went to the window, threw it open. A loud Clanging was heard all over the house. It was the burglar alarm. Summers smiled and threw open the other window. This time there was no alarm. The wires had been (lOl) cut. The window sill was curiously carved. A thick vine covered the side of the house. Slipping his hand into a cav- ity, Summers drew out a bag. He examined the contents of the bag, then said to Mr. Quirke : “I will be back at three o’clock. If nothing unforseen occurs, I shall put the police on the trail of the murderers. I think that you will find that your man has disappeared.” I passed a memorable afternoon with Mr. Quirke, trying to convince him that Bob would do just as he said. At three o ' clock precisely Bob Summers entered the residence of Roger Quirke, the attorney-at-law. He smiled reassuringly at Quirke, and said, ‘T will tell you all that I know.” “Do you remember,” he began, “the theatre robberies prev- alent throughout the country fifteen years ago? Well, the watchman in one of the theatres was killed. The job was done by the Flemingway gang. The crowd was caught, and Parks turned State’s evidence. Two of the gang went to the chair; four others, three men and a woman got fifteen years. They avowed to avenge the death of their pals. “Your client, Mr. Quirke, was Parks. He knew if the gang ever found him he would die. That is what he meant by the inevitable. On November 19 he heard of their release; he asked you about the burglar alarm. Two weeks ago the boy that you had for a year left you, and another applied almost immediately. Yesterday two men and a lady came to see you, and left abruptly. That is, all but the old gentleman, who hid himself in the Dutch clock. Not, however, before he cut the burglar alarm. Last night, by the aid of the vine and a rope, the young fellow and the woman came through the window.” At this point Summers drew from his pocket the bag that he had taken from the window sill. From it he drew four trunk straps, two pieces of rope, a rubber hose, which at one end had the form of a funnel, and at the end of the funnel two narrow straps. “Having entered the room,” continued Summers, “they proceeded to bind and gag Parks. Parks could neither move nor call for help. They then tied the tube to his nose, at- tached it to the chandelier, and turned on the gas. When they were quite sure that Parks was dead they untied him, (102) turned off the gas, and having put the room in perfect order, they left by the window. The police are on the trail. Whether or not they land them does not concern us. Come, Richard, we must bid Mr, Quirke good-bye.” In our apartment he told me how he recognized Parks. He told me of the chaffed wrists and ankles, of the cut on the temple, of the long scratches made on the bed by the buckles of the straps, of the cloths on the lips of the dead man that remained after the gag was removed; of the rubber fiber on the chandelier, of the fresh scratches on and in the Dutch clock; of the broken vine. All combined had solved the mys- tery of the Lawyer’s Client. Russell Quinn. H. S., ’14. A STREET CAR INCIDENT. (A Triolet). She left her Latin book behind. Upon the seat we chatted in. To meet again had she a mind? She left her Latin book behind. Suspicion were a thing unkind; Perhaps but careless she had been. She left her Latin book behind. Upon the seat we chatted in. James O Toole, Jr., ’17. ulljat 1!5aby! QOLLY was crazy about animals, while I hated them, espe- cially slimy, creepy ones. The maraudering “Tom’’ was ever welcome to her chamber door, while my intercourse with them consisted solely of nightly volleys of tin cans, old shoes and cold water into their howling midst. We had many squabbles upon the subject, squabbles nearly always ended by the abrupt departure of Dolly, and followed by a reconciliation some days later with zoology tabooed. It was after one of these squabbles more acrid than usual that I decided to put Dolly’s affection to the test called “acid.” Psychologists know that there is nothing more painful to the sensitive, nothing that quenches the flame of enthusiasm sooner than ridicule. It was upon this knowledge that I built my plan. One very dark evening (but a fine-drawn thread of watery moon rode in the cloud-flecked sky) I placed a very small bit of whimpering canine in Dolly’s vestibule. Around the dog’s neck was a minute piece of cord, its end in the hand of a friend who merged himself with the shadows in a nearby doorway. Some more friends, boys and girls, were stationed at the end of the square. My duty was to ring the bell, and then to rejoin my companions. Dolly would, no doubt, an- swer the bell, and, on finding the dog, would, according to custom, attempt to take it indoors. Then my friend in the nearby doorway would “get busy.” When Dolly stooped to pick up doggy, friend would take a pull at the cord terminat- ing around doggy’s neck, and doggy would naturally jump back. Dolly would follow, and the friend would emerge from the vestibule, and appear to be sauntering down the street, but all the time jerking the dog. Each time as Doily was about to lay hands on the dog he would be jerked from her grasp, and finally Dolly, still following, would arrive triumph- antly in our midst, when we would close around her and give her the “merry ha! ha!” If her love for animals could with- stand this test, it was surely triple-plated. She could hardly even speak of animals hereafter to any of her friends without this humiliating incident being brought up. The plan worked well. Dolly fell into the trap, followed the dog and plunged into our uproarious midst as “per sched- ule.” She must have guessed the author of the joke, but if she did, she kept quiet about it, and in two weeks’ time I had forgotten the whole affair. Not so Dolly, however! The mind feminine is subtle, and Dolly was merely biding her time. A month after the occurrence I was surprised, and, I may say delighted, to hear Dolly’s voice over the ’phone. She said that she had called me up to tell me she was going to take a trip to the country, and had I any objections to coming along as her escort? Of course I hadn’t, and I said so, but I was puzzled when she added that she was not going solely for pleasure, but that her main object in view was to visit a friend and get a tadpole. I asked her where she was going to get the tadpole, and she replied airily : “Oh! you’ll have it at the end of the trip, all right. There’s a pond full of frogs near my friend’s house.” On reaching her home I found her ready for departure, but with a little white bundle in her arms which contained, so she said, a baby that Mrs. Brown, a friend of hers, had asked her to take for an airing. I relieved her of the infant, and we set out. I was disappointed at the addition to our party, but the babe was little trouble. Occasionally it gave a jerk, but it was very quiet, and I soon became accustomed to it. Arriving at the suburb, we alighted and plodded up along a hill to a house wherein abode her friend. She greeted us cor- dially. I shook hands with her, excusing my left hand, as I was holding the baby solicitously with my right. Dolly and the mistress went into the house, while I trotted obediently to the stream which gurgled about a hundred yards from the house. It was full of frogs ; all around me they croaked and splashed, for the dusk was fast approaching— but I saw no tad- poles. At last the darkness settled down, and I was about to give up my search, the more so because I feared that the baby which I had laid down on a mossy bank would catch cold from the dampness, when a light footstep sounded behind me, and there was Dolly, lantern in hand, eyes brimming with merriment. The yellow gleam of the lantern invested her face with a peculiarly roguish appearance, like some yellow manikin bobbing at me from behind footlights. “Have you found the tadpole yet?” she asked, smiling the while. I replied in the negative, and added: “You have proven a false prophet, Dolly, for you said I would have it at the end of the trip, and in this stream there are nothing but full-grown frogs. Next time take my advice, look into things more closely, and then we will not come on a fool’s errand.” This last I said a little pompously, I fear, but my punishment was close at hand. “You goose,” she cried, “I said that you would have the tadpole at the end of the trip, and so you shall. Open that bundle you have carried so faithfully.” Not understanding what the baby had to do with the dis- covery of the tadpole, I nevertheless obeyed. Sure enough, there was the baby inside, a slimy, green, bullet-headed, frog- eyed baby tadpole. Roger F. O’Leary, ’i6. (io6) !®t|af0 tn a arar? Y OU’VE all heard of widow’s tears and Willie’s tears, of old maid’s tears and orphan’s tears, of baby’s tears and boozer’s tears, of chemist’s tears, H2O chloride and chubby’s tears, H. O. G. porcine; no doubt you know the “tears, idle tears’’ stuff which some poor poet scratched off when the price of salt went up two cents a pound; but, after all’s said and done, what’s a tear? Mamma spanks Willy, Sammy jilts Lucy, Lucy spurns Tommy — all cause for tears and breach of prom- ise suit, Willie’s suit being otherwise breached, however. The fair young girl, betrayed by the heartless villain, slumps slowly through the beautiful fish-market, wrapped in a vise- like cape and remorse, now and then dabbling at the drops of “aqua” upon her crystalline cheek (tears). When your best girl throws you down, when you fumble the ball on the five-yard line, when the cashier takes a honeymoon to Europe on your money, when you strike out with three on — you wonder at the tiny drop of moisture that trickles down your cheek. But cheer up, old chap, it may only be a rain- drop after all ! Roger F. O’Leary, ’16. iSpautg (fupBtiona. Question — Where is beauty bred? Answer — In the feet or in the head, In the crinkles of the clothes, Or the dimples near the nose— Where is beauty bred? Question — Is beauty ever worn? Answer — Yes, lightly plastered on at morn. When the cheeks are very sere, And the color’s meager mere — Then is beauty worn! Question — When is beauty fled? Answer — Surely when the day is dead And the eyes are in repose. And the powder’s off the nose,-— Then is beauty fled! Ambrose Quinn, ’15. (108) ISAAC S. GEORGE, A.B., LL.B President of the Alumni. Alumni ABanriatton, ICoijola (EuUpgp. BOARD OF GOVERNMENT FOR 1914. Rev. William J. Ennis, S. J., Honorary President, ex-officio. Rev. Joseph I. Ziegler, S. J., Moderator. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. Officers : Isaac S. George, A. B. ’oi, LL. B., President and Chairman. Mark O. Shriver, Jr., A. B. ’02, LL. B., ist Vice-President. Victor I. Cook, ex-’oy, Ph. B. ’08, LL. B., 2nd Vice-President. John A. Boyd, A. B. ’96, LL. B., Treasurer. Joseph A. Carey, A. B. ’13, Financial Secretary. T. Aquin Keelan, A. B. ’13, Recording Secretary. Directors : 1912- 1914. Charles J. Bouchet, A. B. ’87, LL. B. J. Austin Fink, A. B. ’g6, LL. B. Joseph C. Judge, A. B. ’96, LL. B. 1913- 1915. Thomas W. Jenkins, ex-’58. Martin A. O’Neill, A. B. ’g6, M. D. Matthew S. Brenan, ex-’79, A. M. ’03. 1914- 1916. Charles O’Donovan, ex-’77, LL. D. ’12, M. D. Charles R. Whiteford, ex-’oo. Charles S. Grindall, H. S. ’67, A. M. ’96, D. D. S. Chairman Entertainment Committee — Mark O. Shriver. Chairman Membership Committee — Victor I. Cook. (no) INURING the past year, the twenty-fifth of its existence, the events of interest to the Alumni Association of Loyola College have been such that every member can point with pride to the work of the Association. The added impetus given to the activity of the Association, due wholly to the reorganization of the Society in igii by Father Ziegler, S. J., and his earnest co-workers, can best be appreciated through the chronological relation of the events of the past year. A “Smoker” was held November 5, 1913, and it was attended by several hundred of the “old boys.” The athletic events of the evening were much enjoyed. A buffet lunch was served in the Reading Room, which was beautifully decorated for the occasion. The annual “Smoker” is the outgrowth of the “Reunion” first held during the Presidency of Father Mullen. On December 2, 1913, the members of the Association anvd their friends enjoyed a performance of Arnold Bennett’s “Milestones” at the Academy of Music. The theatre benefit, now an established event of the season, was voted a success by all. The Nomination Convention for the selection of officers for the coming year was held on January 14, 1914. Advance sheets of the Alumni Directory were sent to all members after the meeting, so that the final edition of the directory for the coming year may be as nearly correct as the careful re- vision of interested officers and members can make it. The General Election of officers was held on January 28, 1914. At this meeting the revised Constitution of the Asso- ciation was read and passed. This was followed by the voting, and an address by Father Ziegler. Resolutions were adopted. (Ill) by which a financial committee of the Alumni Association was appointed to confer with Father Rector on ways and means in event of the proposed removal. The Banquet held at the Belvedere on February ii, was attended by a large and representative gathering of the “old boys,” who enjoyed the evening as only reunited schoolmates can. The speaker of the evening, the Hon. Morris Shepherd, United States Senator from Texas, was received with rouni on round of applause. A natural orator, the Senator from the Lone Star State, held his hearers spell-bound with his treat- ment of the subject “Christian Citizenship,” save when spon- taneous applause caused them to express their appreciation. Seldom has the Association heard so gifted an orator, and the thanks of all must be voted to the Hon. Joseph P. Tumulty, to whom the Association is indebted for the Senator’s presence. The other speakers of the evening who gained much praise, were Mr. Thomas K. Le Brou, toast-master, Mr. William J. O’Brien, who responded to the toast “The Future Loyola,” and Mr. Lee, who acted for Mayor Preston, who was unable to attend. Father Ennis, S. J., the Reverend President of Loyola, spoke of the removal to Guilford, and the enthusiasm of those present, gave conclusive proof that when the time for action comes, the support of the Alumni Association will not be wanting. In April, the Hand-book and Directory was sent to the members. It contained valuable information regarding the Association. It includes a list of all the members, both living and deceased; origin and foundation of College in 1852; names of those who organized the Association on November 7, 1889; a list of the Presidents and Prefects of Loyola College since its foundation; and a sketch of the Alumni Association from its beginning, twenty-five years ago to the present. The greatest and final event of the year, the Memorial Mass and General Communion, took place on May 17, 1914, and the large number of members present, showed that influence of their training by the noble followers of St. Ignatius was still as strong in them as when they were students of “Loyola.’ C. A. K., ’10. (112) 3lu tlip 0yiitij lEuihrrs’ (Slnm. LJUGE shadows in fantastic pantomine play upon the wall. Shifting, distorting, arranging themselves now here, now there—they dart, glide and return. Once in a while they tire of their in cessant motion, and come to rest upon the great gray wall. Now, for a moment, one can see the dark outlines of a rocking-chair traced upon the gray, and in it the figure of a man, with pensive pose to his slightly bent head and — but the shadows have again recommenced their dizzy antics. Upon the hearth lies the collie dog, sleeping, enjoying the warmth of the blistering hickory logs, inhaling the delightful aroma arising at every sizz and puff of vapor. Ever and anon the heap of logs falls lower, sending up a host of bright-eyed sparks, and the dog, opening his eyes, watches them until the red gives way to black and gray. Now the shadows have once again come to rest upon the great gray wall. And there outlined we see the man, the chair, and upon its arm a girlish figure with arm across the shoulders of the man. But again the shadows dip and dodge and travel, each back and forth, each in accordance with the flame. Now the low murmur of the man’s deep voice breaks the silence — broken only before by the sizzling, crackling embers. At the question the girl leans forward gazing into the croon- ing fire — in her the light of love vies with that of hope and happiness. And yet her gaze is that of one who sees, but does not understand, of one that knows and yet clings to a fleeing doubt. It’s the little town of Beaufort that the fire pictures before her. There it basks in the evening sunshine — the westering sun kindling the window panes into scintillating flashes of light. She almost hears the vesper melody of the robin from the grove of the fragrant pines, and the thrush singing its evening refrain from the uppermost limb in the sycamore. Ah ! what a picture to dwell on — the home town framed in her memory. How sweet and cheering is the recollection of our home town when we have long been absent from its bosom ! See it there as it sleeps in the sundown flow, em- bosomed in the emerald of the surrounding hills. But the girl sees more than this — she sees the sweet face of her mother. But under the sweetness are the lines of care and the gray streaks in her hair tell too plainly the troubles of her married life. She recalls her mother when her own little sister died, and how she wept for nights and days, and her eyes grew red and swollen, and from then she thought she saw the lines grow deeper — the wrinkles m,ore pro- nounced— her hair more streaked with gray. Her mother seemed to be always suffering, and yet she told her that she, too, when a girl, never had any care, but roamed through happiness from day to day, stopping only to drink in the sun beams. Then when she was dying — the suffering she under- went — the pain of those last few nights — the torture — any- way, was this the so-called happiness of marriage? The hickory logs sank lower ; a cloud of sparks leap up- ward, throwing a glow on the firelight picture of the girl. She is once again a child. With a toss of her golden curls she steals up the path to the little house down by the cross- roads. Soon she is listening to the grievances and trials and troubles of Madge, the spinster of the village. How she dwells on her vicissitude ! And she brings tears to the eyes of the little golden-haired girl by telling her of the troubles of the “hard old world.” She can stand it no longer, and rushing down the path and up the road, she runs to her little home smothered in roses, and into her mother’s arms, to be deluged with kisses. Now before her eyes the village gives way to the crackling fire. The man has been watching her all the time with love in his eyes and affection and pride in his heart. “Well, dear,” he whispered. “Yes, Dodo,” she answered, and kissed him on the cheek. “Very well, dear, it is joyous to me, and now my happiness shall begin, and yours, too. But when shall I arrange for it. because I’m to bear the expenses. Of course, you must see to the veil and trousseau, and so on.” “When do you suggest, Dodo?” “Oh, you had better consult — ” At that moment the doorbell rang. A young, handsome fellow appeared in the hallway. “Ah, here he is now!” said the father affectionately — known to his daughter as “Dodo,” and he arose and left the room, smiling — for his happiness had begun. Joseph J. Quinn, ’i6. ifinui ihr g ' tnkrrs (Sot (tlirtr Brmauiia. YRUS MARTELL,the great farm implement manufacturer, was hot and angry; hot mainly because it was the middle of August; secondly, because he was angry. But, indeed, he had good cause for anger. The men in his shops had declared a strike, and a committee would come to see him in fifteen min- utes. He strode the room impatiently, pufhng on a fierce- looking cigar, kicking the desk every time he chanced to pass it ; he had expected to play in a foursomie at the club that very afternoon, and he was forced to break the engagement. He rang for his secretary, and that young man — the scion of one of the first families of the city — replied promptly. “Has that committee comie yet?” Mr. M. asked him. As the secretary was about to answer him Mrs. Martell, very much excited, rushed into the room. “O Cyrus !” she cried, throwing her corpulent body into a chair, “I was driving the runabout to town, and just at the city limits I struck a little girl. I took her to the hospital in my car, and there she is now. Oh, wha — what if she should die!” The very thought of such a calamity forced Mrs. M. to break out into a volley of tears. “Why, Mrs. Martell, don’t let anything like that worry you. Now, if you go to the hospital and see the father (I suppose he is there now), and talk financial recompense with him, why there won’t be any law difficulties at all. I know that kind of people. They live like dogs in those cheap kennels on the city line, eat like rats, and lose all the finer sensibilities of (115) human nature, and all they want is money. They would sell their souls for it. This bunch that’s coming to see Mr. Mar- tell in a few minutes, they’re the same kind. I, Mr. M., wouldn’t give them an inch, no sir, I wouldn’t.” “You have said enough. Grey. I can attend to them my- self. Go and see if they have come yet.” Then he turned to Mrs. M. “Go on down stairs, my dear; I will join you pres- ently.” “The committee has come, sir,” announced the secretary, re- entering. “Very well. Grey; show them in.” Then as his wife was going out he patted her reassuringly on the back. “It will turn out all right, Marjorie.” As she was leaving the room, the committee was entering, and they stood aside deferentially as she passed. The men were tall and homely, every one of them dressed in their working clothes. They were without doubt the most unkempt visitors that Cyrus Martell’s office had seen in some time. “Well, what can I do for you?” Cyrus commenced. “I suppose you know, sir, that we, the members of the shops, have decided to strike unless the demands we ask in this paper are granted to us? (At this point of his speech he laid a neatly typed paper on Mr. Martell’s desk). “They are not impossible for you to grant; this we know, sir, because it is only after much deliberation that we took the step. We will come for your answer in the morning, sir.” At this, as if it were a pre-arranged signal, the men turned to file out, but Cyrus stopped them. “How is it that you have just come to a realization of your position? Why did you not strike last year or the year be- fore?” “Indeed, sir, you may be sure that we are not striking be- cause we wish to quit work. The price of meat is much higher this year than it was last year or the year before, and as we were barely able to struggle along last year, we will surely fall by the wayside this one unless we receive a slight advance in salary.” Cyrus meanwhile was studying the speaker; he was evi- dently educated, and deserved to have a higher position than (ii6) the small one he now held. His face was pale and a trifle drawn, his hair black and curly, his voice and enunciation well modulated, and Cyrus judged that he was the force behind the strike. Then he turned to the men: “I will see you at nine-thirty in the morning. Good day.” As he was gathering up his papers his wife rushed into the room, holding out a newspaper for him to read. Therein he saw that a child had been struck by an automobile, and had been taken to a hospital, where an operation was performed in the hope of saving her life, the child’s chances of recovery being most dubious. “Come, Cyrus, we must go to the hospital at once and see this child. Suppose she should die ! I would be a murderer.” It was not long before they reached the hospital, and Mr. Martell ' s card soon procured an interview with the head sur- geon. The doctor told them how patient and charming the little girl had been, and that her name was Brewster; that she was in a room now on the second floor. (Mrs. Martell had made arrangements that the child should have flowers in her room at all times). They ascended to the second floor and entered the room. It was delightfully cool, in comparison with the street ; dark blue blinds prevented sportive sunbeams from menacing the solemnity of the sick room, and sweet breezes blew in from the windows, open a trifle from the bot- tom. Upon the bed lay the merest wisp of a girl. Her face was as white as wax, and her large, soft dark eyes looked won- deringly upon Mrs. Martell as she entered. “How are you feeling, my dear? Are you in any pain?” she added, anxiously. The child shook her head negatively, being too weak to speak. Then an orderly appeared at the door to inform the surgeon that the child’s father was on the lower floor, pacing up and down like a madman. “Show him up. You want to see him, don’t you, Mr. Mar- tell?” “Yes, yes. I will wait in an adjoining room. Send him in to me in a few minutes.” Mr. and Mrs. M. passed into the next room. Then quick, impatient steps sounded in the hall. A man entered and flung himself on his knees beside the bed. At the sight of him a happy flush lit up the face of the sufferer. Her lips formed the words “Daddy,” then her tired lids drooped over her eyes, and she fell asleep. “You needn’t stay here; go into the next room so you won’t disturb her; there is a fine chance now that she will recover shortly, since she is sleeping.” The man, trusting in the latter part of the message, passed into the next room, where Cyrus addressed him with a characteristic purr in his voice that he always used when not sure of his ground. “My good man, I am sorry from the bottom of my heart. You know things like this can — ” He stopped, surprised to find that the girl’s father was the spokesman of the strikers’ committee. He wet his lips nervously and went on : “If there is any money consideration you want, I would be only too glad to assist you.” “Money!” the man sneered, as he indignantly faced the man- ufacturer, “money — you offer me money! That is all you think of, and you think that everybody is like yourself. What good — what good is money when there is a life at stake? Would it bring back the soul that is fled? Would your poor money bring back the soul of my baby to this earth? Would your money bring happiness to me, when I am left alone with the corpse of my dead child to watch? Would it bring back the light of my life, who danced with glee in the evenings when her daddy came home? I remember, on winter nights, when the world seemed dark and forlorn, I was grieved and disappointed with life until I saw my Daisy, radiant with joy that her father was home. That was all I had to live for, and now you, — you with your paltry money, offeiing me that in place of the light of life. To the devil with you and your money.” He sank into a chair, sobbing like a child. Mrs. M.’s face was wet with tears to see the tender love of this strong man for his little girl. She took the shamed Cyrus by the arm and led him from the room. The next morning the committee arrived promptly, and were received with great courtesy by Mr. Martell. “My dear men,” said he, “I have read your paper of de- mands, and have decided to grant them all.” Mr. Martell was a changed man. It was usually his cus- (ii8) tom to receive his employees with the utmost coldness, and this morning they were treated like friends. What had hap- pened? To say the men were surprised would be too gentle a term; they were astounded. They expressed their thanks and were filing out when Cyrus, beckoning, said: “Just a minute, Brewster. Kow is the baby this mroning?” Better?” “Yes, sir, thank you, a great deal better. The doctor told me this m.orning that she would be running around in no time at all. I hope, sir, that you will pardon my hasty words of yesterday. I was mad with grief. You see, we are all alone in the world, we two, and, indeed, are all the world to each other.” “Yes, yes. That’s all right; I understand. Just wait a minute,’’ said Cyrus, turning to his desk and writing some- thing on a piece of paper. “Here, read this and take it to Harris, the head clerk; he will tell you what to do then.” Brewster read: “Give Brewster Davis’ job as shipping in- spector. C. M.” “Why, Mr. Martell, what have I done that you should do all this for me?” “I’ll tell you, Brewster. You have taught me a lesson that I, with all my money, could not pay you its face value, and that is — the love of my fellow-men. Good day, sir.” James O’Toole, Jr., ’17. (119) CLANSMEN. They tell of yore of a bloody war that was waged by the Ku- Klux Klan, When the peace of home and the peace of bone was robbed of man by man — That out of the heart of the dying South The cry was carried from mouth to mouth, That men were needed and men from the South, Enrolled in the Ku-Klux Klan ! Oh, the fight was long, but the men were strong — these men of the Ku-Klux Klan; And they fought for home and they fought for bone as only a Southerner can! The sons they loved had joined the fray; The mothers sobbed and passed away; Their daughters, too, were taken as clay From the men of the Ku-Klux Klan! ’Tis hard to fight, to fight and lose, like the men of the Ku- Klux Klan— They lost their home and they lost their bone, but the bloody race they ran ! And years, long years, have since passed by; The South has wept with a heavy sigh For the men that died in their mighty tiy, For the men of the Ku-Klux Klan! Leo A. Codd, ’i6. (I20) (Cy Untia. A CYCLONE is a prolonged sneeze caused by a hot current of air bumping inquisitively into a warm stratum of vapor. About this time of the year, when the apple trees are pipping into blossom and mosquitoes are maxixing on the surface of lakes, the cyclone begins getting frivolous with itself, and a person out West who leaves his house at lo o’clock is liable, in ten minutes’ time, to find himself wrapped around the upper limb of a sycamore tree and unconsciously picking clock- hands and piano keys from his complexion. People travel 2,000 miles to gaze upon a Swiss sunset or Niagara Falls, but a sane man wouldn’t travel 200 feet for a cyclone — unless he wished to escape it. Cyclones should be fitted with brakes and ripping cords so as to avoid the necessity of digging down through barns and houses to a No. 6 voice, buried beneath, said owner having a bird cage around his neck and his baby’s shoe on his left finger. Write to your nearest Senator and have him work up the idea. Tornadoes have voracious appetites, and hence consume great quantities of piano stools, hat racks, canary birds and ink bottles. It takes two minutes for a healthy tornado to chew up and masticate a steam radiator, but an ordinary cyclone can swallow an acre building in less time than it took President Wilson to choose W. J. Bryan as a member of his Cabinet. Joseph J. Quinn, 16. (121) THE COLLEGE SODALITY. g uialitg of tije immarulatr (Ennrrpltoii. This sodality comprises all the students in the college classes, and meets every Saturday morning at 11.15. At the meetings the recitation of the office of the Blessed Virgin, a hymn in her honor, and a short instruction on some phase of Christian life constitute the exercises. There is a monthly reception of the Sacraments of Fenance and Holy Eucharist, OFFICERS: Prefect, August J. Bourbon, ’14. First Assistant, John J. Lardner, ’15. Second Assistant, Roger F. O’Leary, 16. Secretary, J. Neil Corcoran, ’16. Sacristan, John W. Farrell, ’17, Consultors, Raymond J. Kwasnik, ’14. William J. Sauer, ’15. Ambrose J. Quinn, ’15. Joseph A. Buckley, ' 17. ulljp IGragup of S’arrrii part. • HE principal work of this devotion is to put the spirit and heart of Christ into the lives of the students. The leaflets of the League are distributed monthly to its members, and a short explanation of and exhortation upon the monthly inten- tion is given by the Rector after the Mass which is celebrated every first Friday. At present, one hundred students of the school are fully certified members. PROMOTERS. Raymond J. Kwasnik, ’14. Ralph J. Sybert, ’16. Joseph C. Garland, H. S. ’14. M. Spald ' ng Reilly, H. S. T6. Norbert T. Marley, H. S. ’17. Mulvey Wright, ist Prep. John Flannery Clarence G. Owings, ’15. Ferdinand H. Schoberg, ’17. Norwood C, Kelly, H. S. ’15 Mitchell Rose, H. S. T6. Cornelius Byrnes, H. S. ’17. Joseph King, 2nd Prep. 3rd Prep. (123) THE HIGH SCHOOL SODALITY. (ihc oiialUy nf U]r Aiuiunriation. The Sodality of the Annunciation is composed of students from the High School classes, who, from devotion to the Blessed Virgin, meet every Friday afternoon to recite her office, sing hymns in her honor and listen to a short exhorta- tion from the moderator. Each week an account is kept of the number of certain pious works performed by each sodal- ist, such as communions, visits to the Blessed Sacrament, beads, etc. ; a special intention being announced for each week, such as love of parents, desire of purity, assistance in studies, etc. The sodality numbers twenty-eight. OFFICERS : Prefect, Edward S. Vaeth, H. S., ’14. Assistant, D. Albert Donegan, H. S., ’15. Secretary, John McCarthy, H. S., ’14. Sacristans, W. Ady Street, H. S., ’14. Charles O’Brien, H. S., ’13. Consultors, Francis Giblin, H. S., ’14. Alfred Wilson, H. S., T6. Michael Buchness, H. S., ’16. Charles Coolahan, H. S., Ty. Afiaartatton af tltr oly Qlljiliilfnoii. ' HIS Association has for its main object the propagation of the faith in pagan lands. Each certified member, by paying his annual dues of twelve cents, co-operates in saving from death and sin the thousands and thousands of children that in pagan countries, like China, are cast away and neglected by their parents, and die unbaptized. These small donations are the means of procuring holy Baptism for those abandoned little ones, and help to make of them craftsmen, teachers, doctors and priests, who in turn will all spread the blessings of the Christian religion among their countrymen. THE PREP. SODALITY. COLLECTORS. William E. Mackessy, ’14. William F. Sauer, ’15. Eugene F. Baldwin, T6. Edward B. Bunn, ’17. William P. Didusch, H. S. ’14. Hector Ciotti, H. S. ’15. Mitchell Rose, H. S. T6. Joseph Monaghan, H. S. T6. Thomas Moore, H. S. T6. Lacey Bradley, H. S. ’17. George Bullen, H. S. ’17. Leo Kernan, Prep. Orlando Reese, Prep. Leonard Bees, Prep. cTltp g obalilu of thp linly Angtls. The Sodality of the Holy Angels is made up of students from the preparatory classes, and has the same practices and devotions of the Junior Sodality. This Sodality (and also the Junior Sodality) during the latter part of the Lenten season held stations in their chapel instead of the usual Sodality services. It numbers over thirty members. OFFICERS : Prefect, Mulvey Wright, First Prep. Assistant, Joseph King, Second Prep. Secretary, Clark Corcoran, First Prep. Sacristans, Leo Kernan, First Prep. John Morris, Second Prep. Consultors, Arthur Coniff, First Prep. Howard Cann, Second Prep. John Flannery, Third Prep. (127) COLLEGE DEBATING SOCIETY. Iloyola Bpbathig S nrirty. past year ushered in a new and promising era in the activities of the Debating Society. At the outset, the Lit- erary Society of former years was abolished, and the students of the College were invited to form a voluntary Debating Society. The plan was enthusiastically received, a new Con- stitution was drawn up, and the present organization was formed. The year has been particularly successful, and the accomplishments of the members truly gratifying. One of the principal events of the year was the debate with Georgetown. The question was : Resolved, “That the Right of Suffrage Should be Extended to the Women of Maryland.” Loyola’s representatives, Messrs. Ralph J. Sybert, Leo A. (129) Codd and George B. Loden defended the negative side of the question. The opposing team consisted of worthy represen- tatives of the Gaston Debating Society, of Georgetown Uni- versity. On the evening of the debate, February 25, a large audience listened with keen enjoyment to the arguments advanced in favor of Woman Suffrage and against it. The masterly skill which Loyola’s representatives displayed in handling their arguments, and in refuting those of their oppo- nents in rebuttal, won the admiration of all. THE DEBATE. Resolved: “That the Women of the United States Should be Allowed to Vote.” Presiding Chairman: Isaac S. George, A. B., Loyola, A. M., Georgetown. Temporary Chairman: Jerome H. Joyce, Jr., President Loyola Debating Society. THE DEBATERS. The F reshman-Sophomore Society of Georgetown. Negative: The Freshman-Sophomore Society of Loyola. THE JUDGES. His Honor, Mayor Preston, A. B., St. John’s, James R. Wheeler, LL. D., Loyola, Dr. Charles O’Donovan, A. B., Georgetown, LL. D., Loyola. PROGRAM. Orchestra. First Affirmative — Thomas C. Mee, Woonsocket, R. 1. First Negative — Ralph J. Sybert, Relay, Md. Second Affirmative — J. Thacher Morris, Troy, N. Y. Second Negative — Leo A. Codd, Baltimore, Md. Third Affirmative— Frank J. Anderson, Syracuse, N. Y. Third Negative — George B. Loden, Baltimore, Md. Orchestra. REBUTTAL. Decision of Judges. No less praiseworthy are the efforts of the members in their weekly debates. It is here that the real work is done, and the training in public speaking secured. Some of the ques- tions debated this year regarded “Sunday Base Ball, ” “Wil- (130) son’s Waiting Policy,” “Prohibition” and many literary topics. The Society has in no way departed from the high stand- ards set in the past. Events this year attest the fact. The students and friends of Loyola were delighted to see Mr. Jerome H. Joyce carry off the prize at the Oratorical Contest held at Johns Hopkins, for which five of the leading Colleges and Universities of the State competed. Loyola continues to send forth men who rank among the foremost, and who reflect credit on their Alma Mater. Much interest was displayed in the preliminaries this year. Intensely in earnest, everyone worked hard to secure a place on the Public Debate. The Judges, Fathers Fleming, Cough- lin, McLoughlin and Mr. Kelly, chose Jerome H. Joyce and August J. Bourbon, of Senior, and Martin F. Murrray and Leo A. Codd of Sophomore. Moderator, Mr. George S. Black, S. J. OFFICERS. FIRST TERM. President, Mr. Jerome H. Joyce, Jr., ' 14. Vice-President, Mr. Andrew J. Harrison, ' 14. Secretary, Mr. John J. Lardner, ’15. Treasurer, Mr. Ralph J. Sybert, ’16. SECOND TERM. President, Mr. Jerome H. Joyce, ’14. Vice-President, Mr. August J. Bourbon, ' 14. Secretary, Mr. John J. Lardner, ’15. Treasurer, Mr. Ralph J. Sybert, ’16. MEMBERS. Jerome H. Joyce, Jr. August J. Bourbon, William E. Mackessy, John A. Buchness, Theodore M. Hemelt, Francis A. Ruppert, Leo A. Codd, John A. Sheurich, William F. Sauer, Eugene T. Baldwin, J. Neil Corcoran, George B. Loden, Ralph J. Sybert, Anthony V. Buchness. (131) Andrew J. Harrison, T. Joseph Birch, Ferdinand H. Schoberg, Martin F. X. Murray, John J. Lardner, Clarence G. Owings, HIGH SCHOOL DEBATING TEAM. ifluryau Srbatuty orirty. ’ HE Morgan Debating Society can regard the past year as the best in its history. With increased membership, genuine enthuisasm for the success of the Society was more than ever apparent. Spirited debates were often followed by voluntary debates just as spirited when the question was opened to the house, and at times the number of members wishing recognition at once, embarrassed the chairman. That the subjects debated were timely and interesting, was no small help to the year’s success. Such propositions as whether or not the Panama Canal will be worth the cost of construction to the United States, whether or not Greek should be abolished at Loyola College, whether or not the railroads should be allowed their petitioned increase in transportation rates, whether the Borough Plan be good for the city, whether or not the Monroe Doctrine should be abandoned, all in them- selves should awaken the eloquence of less oratorical gentle- men than the members of the Morgan Debating Society. A unique feature of the debates, has been that in only one or two cases did the affirmative best the negative. OFFICERS. First Term: President, Joseph Garland, H. S. 14. Vice-President, Martin Carey, H. S. ’15. Secretary-Treasurer, Russell Quinn, H. S. ’14. First Censor, Raymond Conroy, H. S. ’15. Second Censor, Francis Wiers, H. S. ’15. Second Term: President, Joseph Garland, H. S. ’14. Vice-President, Russell Quinn, H. S. ’14. Secretary-Treasurer, Francis O’Toole, H. S. ’14. First Censor, Francis Wiers, H. S. ’14. Second Censor, W. Ady Streett, H. S. ’14. (133) ' HE question for the public debate is as follows: Resolved, “That President Wilson should have recognized General Huerta as President of the Mexican Republic.” Affirmative — Raymond Peters, H. S. ’14, Francis Giblin, H. S. ’14. Negative — George Renehan, H. S. ’14, Russell Quinn, H. S. ’14. 1 “BACHELOR HALL.” On the evenings of May 13th and 14th, the dramatic clubs of Loyola College and High School produced “Bachelor Hall,” a farce-comedy in three acts. Hon. Geoffrey Myrtleton, M. C. (From Rambleton) Jerome H. Joyce, Jr. He finances The Fatal Shot Deacons ' Jervis 1 Constituents of ( Edgar B. Graham I Elisha Bassett ( Myrtleton William F. Sauer They see The Fatal Shot Bert Vance, M. D. (Nephew of Myrtleton) .. William R. German He stars in The Fatal Shot Vere Lee (Amateur Author and Manager) . . . .Martin F. Murray He wrote The Fatal Shot - Pinkerton Case (Another Sherlock Holmes) . . George B. Loden He is hit by The Fatal Shot Ensign Jack Meredith (Acting under orders). August J. Bourbon He reports The Fatal Shot Paul Wilton Dick White Bert’s College Chums Herbert R. O’Conor James L. O’Toole They do their zvorst in The Fatal Shot Jasper (Butler at “Bachelor Hall”) D. Albert Donegan He Fires The Fatal Shot Col. Van Styne (a doting father) John A. Scheurich He assists in The Fatal Shot Clarence Van Styne (The Colonel’s son) John J. Quinn lie spoils The Fatal Shot Officer Dorsey (Of the District Police) James Considine He has nothing to do with The Fatal Shot As a vehicle for displaying the histrionic ability of the cast, the comedy proved to be a happy selection, and under the masterly direction of Mr. William A. Nevin, S. J., the play was given such a skilful and brilliant rendition, that it imme- diately scored another well-deserved triumph for the dramatic club and its untiring moderator. In the extremely difficult role of Pinkerton Case, George B. Loden gave a performance that was remarkable for its smooth- ness and versatility, and Jerome H. Joyce, Jr., delighted with a vivid characterization of a wealthy old gentleman. In the twin but unlike roles of the deacons, Edgar B. Graham and William F. Sauer invested their characters with all the dignity befitting such exalted personages, while the reporter was played with sincerity and conviction by August J. Bourbon, William R. German and John A. Scheurich won fresh laurels in the roles of Bert Vance and Col. Van Styne, and D. Albert Donegan was delightfully droll as a negro butler. The remainder of the cast performed the parts allotted them so skilfully, that although their characters were but of minor interest, nevertheless they proved a powerful asset in making “Bachelor Hall” a success worthy of Loyola. Martin F. X. Murray. (136) talking it (0urr. Said William to Old Woodrow, As they crossed their legs in state, “What think you of the morrow, “Thinkest will be aught of sorrow, “Which from work surcease may borrow?” But Old Woodrow smoked sedate. Then Big William started gestures. Waxed pathetic o’er their fate, “They will all await our coming, “There’ll be deathless, noiseless humming, “Yea! Perchance may turn to slumming.” But Old Woodrow puffed elate. Then Big William silent, waited, - As O ld Woodrow ’gan to spout. “If the field’s too wet for golef, “And the sun’s too hot for lolef, “Stop the war, and watch them holef,” And Big William’s smile grew stout. W. W. W., ’i6. (137) THE LOYOLA WIRELESS CLUB. LOYOLA WIRELESS CLUB. Y ' HE Loyola Wireless Club was reorganized last November for its second year of existence. Though several former members found it impossible to continue, the addition of new members raised the numbers to eleven. The purpose of the Club is to afford opportunity for gaining practical knowledge of an important and fascinating invention. To learn the code used by telegraph operators, and to become proficient in its use is the most difficult task a beginner has to master, and to this the first efforts of the Club were successfully directed. Every morning before class, the Club members meet for prac- tice, which patiently and constantly held, is the only means of acquiring accuracy and speed in reading. The code once mas- tered, attention was turned to the construction and manipu- lation and care of the instruments used for both receiving and for sending radiograms. The college station is amply equipped for the purpose Club members have receiving sets of their own construction at home, and several small sending sets are being made. A government license is necessarry for the operation of a send- ing set, and the members of the L. W. C. are confident that they can pass the examination required by the government. The officers of the present year are : President, W. Ady Street. Vice-President, Albert Schuele. Secretary, William Didusch. Treasurer, James Duffy. The attention of readers of the Annual is called to the Club. Their interested inspection of the college station is invited, and it is hoped that increased membership next year will further and render permanent the work already begun. (139) THE LIBRARY OFFICIALS. (liift S tubrnl’a Sithrarjj. OFFICERS : Theodore Hemelt, ’15, Custodian. Librarians : William J. Sullivan, ’17. George E. Renehan, H. S., ’14. Joseph C. Garland, H. S., ’14. William W. Golder, H. S., ’14. William D. Wickham, H. S., ’16. Edward Rosenberger, H. S., ’17. Recent improvements have made the library more attrac- tive this year, and the large addition to youthful Catholic fic- tion has considerably enhanced its value as an educator. The moderator has been solicitous in putting all volumes in order and keeping strict catalogue. Many plans for still further beautifying and improving the library are fructifying under his able administration. (141) THE ARENIC. Drawn by William P. Didusch, H. S. ’14. AT riC NOTES THE COLLEGE BASKET-BALL TEAM, JNCLUDED among the list of opponents for the College team during the season of 1913-1914 were many of the best College and University squads of the East and South, making the schedule probably the hardest that any Southern team was called upon to face. Yale University, University of Virginia, Lehigh, Manhattan, Navy and Georgetown were among those that graced the Blue and Gold schedule; and the remarkable showing made by the Loyola players against the older and more experienced teams, easily ranks our Col- lege five among the foremost teams of this section. Of the thirteen games played, seven were won and six lost, and 418 points were scored against 408 for the opposing teams. By far the most note-worthy and successful game of the season was that with the Yale University, of New Haven, Conn., which took place at the Richmond Market Armory, on December 23. Owing to the fact that this was the first visit a Yale quintet had ever made here, the contest attracted a great deal of attention, and was given much space in the local papers. In spite of the proximity of Christmas, and the absence of ail the medical students from the city, the crcywd that thronged the spacious Armory for the occasion, was the largest that had ever witnessed a game there, or at any other hall of the city. Nearly one thousand spectators were gath- ered in the gallery and around the playing floor. The result of the game, 41-29 in Yale’s favor, was a source of deep gratification to the Loyola supporters, as it showed conclusively that the collegians were practically on a par with the much-touted Northerners. As later games proved, the Loyola men did not, by any means, show their best form in this contest, but they were right in the game at all times, and forced the Yale players to go their limit to win. THE COLLEGE BASKET-BALL TEAM. The second “big” achievement of the season was the Uni- versity of Virginia contest, on February 28, which closed the local season. Up to the Loyola game, the Virginians had lost but one game out of thirteen, and were universally conceded the collegiate championship of the South. The Blue and Gold team, with five successive victories to their credit, went into the game resolved to win, and how close they came to real- izing their hopes is shown by the final count, 33-34 Stickley, the visiting forward, and Strickling, at centre, two of the tallest m_en that faced the Loyola squad this year, put their team at a big advantage, and they were enabled to get a six- point lead in the first half, 18-12. Coming back strong in the second period, the home team gradually decreased the lead until, with but a few minutes to go, the score stood at a tie. But the honors of the day were not destined for Loyola, as “Luck,” the Virginia defense, true to his name, registered the winning point a minute before time was called. The season opened in the College “gym” on December 6, with the Alumni quint, led by “Big Six” Stanley Cook. The “grads” were in poor shape, however, and the game was a romp for the collegians, 36-6. The following week the team made its annual Northern trip, but met with little success. Neither Ullrich, at centre, or Krieger, at defense, were able to accompany the team, on account of injuries, and both games were lost — the first on Friday night, to Lehigh University, at South Bethlehem, Pa., and the second, the following evening, to Manhattan College, at New York. George Washington University was the first of the college squads to visit this city, and their meeting, which took place in the college “gym” on December 20, was truly a thriller. At the close of the second half the score stood 24-24, and an extra period of five minutes was necessary before the Loyola team was returned the winner, 28-27. Three days later, Yale was met at the Armory, following which activities were stopped for the holidays. The old jinx— Gallaudet — was the first to greet the team, after the holidays, and they lived up to their reputation by nosing out a heart-breaking 22-21 victory. Loyola played a very poor game, and deserved to lose. Another game was dropped the foUo .v ing Saturday, at Annapolis, when the (145) J. NEIL CORCORAN, ’i6, JOHN A. SCHEURICH, ' i6 1915 — Captains — 1914- Middies, regarded as one of the best of the whole country, registered a 66-22 win over the Loyola quint. The only con- solation in this game, from a Loyola standpoint, was the fact that the Blue and Gold team scored the greatest number of points against the sailors of any team that visited Annapolis, with the exception of Yale. Ihen the team hit its proper stride, and did not stop until the Virginia game. Georgetown was defeated at Washing- ton by a 13 to II score; the Maryland Agricultural College was sent down to an ignominious 84-13 defeat; St. John’s was beaten 33-19; George Washington University was handed its second defeat, 33-21 ; and finally, Manhattan College, which team had previously beaten Loyola at New York, was dis- posed of to a 48-34 tune. The two contests scheduled with Mt. St. Joseph’s College for February 4 and 18, were can- celled by the Irvington management, and the second St. John’s game, set for February 21, was called off by the Annapolitans, owing to a wholesale suspension of their students for a “hazing” stunt. The Virginia contest, on February 28, brought the season to a glorious conclusion. Aside from the good scores made, one of the best features of the team’s success was the good impression they made on the visiting teams by their courteous and sportsmanlike treat- ment. The Yale men admitted that they had never experi- enced a fairer set of officials than those who handled the games here. St. John’s, Maryland “Aggies,” Manhattan and Vir- ginia were of the same mind regarding the reception here, and “Pop” Lannigan, the well-known coach of the Charlottesville team, in expressing his satisfaction at the treatment accorded his men, was not slow to voice the hope that in the future a two-game series between Loyola and Virginia would be an annual affair. Much of the credit for the team’s success is due to Coach William Scheurholz, whose experience and knowledge of the game helped greatly to whip the team into such excellent shape. A banquet of appreciation was tendered the squad by the Faculty at the Hotel Joyce, on March 10. Speeches were made hy everyone, from the moderator down, even to the assistant-manager, and each member of the team, and their guest of honor, “Stanley” Cook, enjoyed himself immensely. Following the festivities, J. Neil Corcoran, of the Sophomore class, was elected to captain the team next season. Captain Scheurich led in the scoring for the year with 13 1 points, while Corcoran was a close second with 123 points. Ullrich came next with 70; Krieger had 52; Joyce 28, and Quinn and Buchness brought up the rear with 8 and 6 points respectively. The record : Loyola, 36; Alumni, 6. Loyola, 19; Lehigh University, 66. Loyola, 19; Manhattan College, 48. Loyola, 28; George Washington University, 27. Loyola, 29; Yale University, 41. Loyola, 21; Gallaudet College, 22. Loyola, 22; United States Naval Academy, 66. Loyola, 13; Georgetown University, ii. Loyola, 84; Maryland Agricultural College, 13. Loyola, 33; St. John’s College, 19. Loyola, 33; George Washington University, 21. Loyola, 48; Manhattan College, 34. Loyola, 33; Un iversity of Virginia, 34. August J. Bourbon, ’14, Manager. FOOTBALL. ' HE past season, several of the high school and cobege students, by working together, succeeded in organizing a team which made a very creditable record. Five games were played, and the Loyola colors were lowered only once. The Loyola team scored thirty-nine points, and their opponents twenty-five. The first game was played with Towson High School, at Towson, on October 10. Sullivan crossed the Towsonites goal line for the only score of the game. The second contest v as with the Marston School team, on October 17, at Mt. Washington. The most noteworthy incident of the game occurred at the end of the first half, when the Loyola team (148) held the Marston players for four downs on the one-yard line, and kept them from scoring. A touchdown in the sec ond half, gave the victory to Loyola. The third game took place during a heavy rain, on October 24, with the Dunham School eleven. The Dunham players were better able to keep the ball from slipping from their fingers than the Loyola representatives, and won out 13-0. The next team encountered was the Rock Hill College Reserves. The game was played on October 29, at Ellicott City. After a lively contest, Loyola came out ahead by a 13-6 score. The final game was played November 5, with the McDonogh School, at McDonogh. Scores by O’Conor and Kelly decided the game, the final count being 14-6. During the season, the team was made up of the following players: full-back, Kelly; half-backs, Quinn, Sybert and Lind; quarter-back, O’Conor; ends, Considine and Allen; tackles, Sullivan, O’Brien and Buchness; guards, Lindsay, Owens and Conroy; center, Bokel. BASEBALL. y FTER the lapse of several years, Loyola is again repre- sented by a varsity baseball team. The schedule which Manager William German has arranged for the team, is a pretentious one. Among teams which will be met are those of Rock Hill, Gallaudet, Maryland Agricultural and Mount Saint Mary ' s Colleges. At the time when these notes went to press, Loyola was barely defeated in its opening game with Polytechnic Institute by a i-o score. The defeat would have been staved off, had not a seri of errors occurred at the end of the ninth inning, when the “Tech” boys were able to score. On April 29, Loyola met Baltimore City College. The City College boys, with victories over some state teams had hopes of winning from the Loyola nine, but the masterly pitching of German, and a three-base hit by Scheurich with the bags full in the third inning, gave the game to Loyola. We hope by the time the Annual is out, many other teams will have gone down to defeat before the nine of Loyola. John Buchness, ’15. TRACK. ' HE colors of Loyola have not been seen very frequently on the cinder track in competition with other institutions of learning. However, every year we have a set of games at Tol- chester Beach for Loyola College and High School students exclusively. The date decided upon for the meet this year is June 8. Last year, fifteen different events were contested, and the prospects are very good for a successful meet this year. John Buchness, ’15. T 0 L C H E S T E R (150) MN grntor. Of all the types of faces, Of all the types of figures, Of adamantine genius. And intelligences meagre — We’re the most unsuited body That ever did commingle; In nature we are kindred. In characteristics, single. Of seven that compose us. One to warfare disinclines; Deplores the old delusions Of a heavy firing line — “We will conquer, foemen,” quoth he. With eloquence and reason. And our dreadnoughts will be chartered For excursions, summer seasons!” “Aye, Christian is the spirit That the age will soon assume ; It hearkens to the portents,” A second sayeth “of final doom !” Aye, ye’ll feel the sting of pity And pangs of sorrow too ; And ye’ll rue the counsels wasted, — “Don’t provoke me or I’ll show you!” “Remove the glasses perching Your nasal bridge above; And the falsity of your dicta Will be be easier to remove !” This from one whose genius broade ns O’er the campus journalistic. May the splendor of his neckties Bring him sweet ties nuptialistic. (151) “Hark! Clouds bedim the noon-tide, Loud roars the sky’s artillery, And unpropitious tempests Submerge the world and me.” ’Tis impolitic his reveries To reveal to eyes unfeeling, But who can check the fancy That comes to one a-stealing? Now, enterprise induced him To go abroad a-calling; No sooner had he landed Than into meshes falling. So our Lochinvar is sighing In thought of distant Posen; Why, many a man avoids with fear The path that he has chosen ! But not all of our number Are such deluded creatures ; There are those that sit and listen But are never heard as preachers. And while most are idly prating Over irridescent hope ; These barricade their portals Ere their senses, too, elope. Yet oft opposed in tendency We shout with one acclaim. Honor to the men that taught us, — ’Rosa, Amo, Luo’ — Fame! Honor those that found us children ! Honor those that trained us men! Honor those that made us Christians ! — May we ne’er dishonor them. A. J. Harrison. ( 52) diuutnr. M OTWITHSTANDING the profound dignity provoked by the weighty atmosphere of philosophy, we deem it our duty to make it known to our fellow-students and friends that philosophy cannot overwhelm the wit and good humor which is a counterpart of all our class mates, even the most studious among them. Franz Ruppert, our member from the Sorbonne, boasts of making his mark in college. All those who doubt, may be convinced by examining the ceiling of the laboratory, where about ten grams of potassium chlorate repose in blissful idle- ness. One of our large manufacturers has been considering the bestowal of a medal upon Franz as the champion lead exterminator of the East. With all our delinquincies in the mental field, we bow to none where beauty is concerned, for with Johnnie Buchness as trump, we are confident that Apollo earned his reputation by his premature setting. What is life without good cheer, and what is good cheer without Pop Hemelt? Warranted to smile and argue with that same earnestness which pervades his whole being. Herb Ellis’ fnustache lends that dignity which is remiss because of our indisposition to follow his example. However, we appreciate his good will. “Mr. Quinn, how do you know that you are alive?” asked our professor. “Because I eat,” retorted Mr. Quinn. “How do you know that you eat?” “Because I see the food disappear.” (153) “But suppose a cat came and took it,’’ replied our professor, getting more intense every moment. “Mr. Quinn declined to answer, and said it was not in the notes.’’ C. G. O. W. F. S. Class Editors. allfp Passing of tlfp Sogal i|ousf of Junior. The first in line, and in his prime. Is J. A. B., the flun-KING; Number two, may he have his due, Is J. H. E., the COO-KING, Followed by the bald-head guy. Dear Edgar B., our jo-KING. The next in reign, who scorneth shame Big T. M. H., the drin-KING. So debonnair from party gay. Appears M. K., the win-KING, With sombre hue in black and blue Comes J. J. L., the boo-KING. That butterfly with bluish eye. Is C. O., the good loo-KING. The one right there, with curley hair. Is J. A. Q., the bump-Kin(G) ; Although his name’s a bitter shame, Girates W. S., the thin-KING. Sedate by gait, and always late, Who’d say F. R. is hoo-KING? A. B., ’15. (154) SUff Mittb of tlf? Qlramp. I was walking down the high-way, Judging of the men I saw. Wondering what their thoughts and feelings, What their passions, what their law. Sudden ’fore me spied I vagrants. Two who walked, or rather swung. “Drink and vice,’’ I muttered, scanning Face and rags “is on their tongue.” As I sped by to escape them. And their filth, the one said “Jel, Shoes aint now no good fur walkin’.’’ “Nope,” the other, “shoes is fell!” ’i6. (155) igiG. THE GREAT SIDE SHOW NOW GOING ON i STEP RIGHT IN! ONLY A DIME! HAVE A LOOK! gTEP right up, ladies and gentlemen, to the little end cage and see what you will see. The only two-legged lamb in existence, captured six years ago on the hilly hill-slopes of Mt. Washington, gazing at a spark plug. Its eyes grew weak from looking for punctures, so we have supplied it with glasses. See them, Johnnie! Now step right over to your left, my friends, and gaze with awe on the only original man and mathematical-eating animal in the cubicle. We opened its head last year in search of water on the brain, and we found (don’t get startled, ladies) it was spanned by the bridge of asses! Well! Well! Well! Here you are, the longest biped in existence! Cage marked in red! (there you are, sir). Caught in 1909, on Calhoun street, memorizing “Dont’s for Debates.” By poking a government question through the bars, it will display the fiercest of teeth and smiles, and has been known to attack with the utmost confidence the greatest of animals. Now step right over here and see the only President that has survived tw o terms. He escaped from his enclosure one day (157) and was found six months later in Cylburn, drinking butter- milk and figuring out the candle-power of the phosphorescent tank on the posterior of the lightning-bug. Well! Well! Well! The great Punch and Judy Show, fun for the children! See Judy’s watch with the hour of nine removed. Hear Punch on his own Towsontown hills calling “Wolf!” Hear Judy in the public hall, giv ing an emotional speech. See the handkerchiefs being wrung, dried, pressed and restored to their owners. Here you are ! Here you are ! See the beautiful snake charmer with the blue ties and blond hair, and the look of anxiety. Winds them around his neck in the elocution contest. See it move! Has charmed better things than snakes. Now, right over here, on this next platform, we have the celebrated contortionist and fire-eater, “Cobalt.” The only mortal with the “scoop” slant. Sits on his bunsen burner to extinguish it. Next, my friends, you behold the strongest man in the two hemispheres. Feel his muscle! Strong on basket-ball, strong on Demosthenes, strong on the elocution roar, strong, strong, strong on the old man’s part in plays. Ah ! Keep away, keep away ! Hear him howl ! See him walk up and down the platform! Wild! Wild! Wild! from the wilds of Relay, caught in the midst of its forests, frighten- ing the school children. Fought for two months but is now prospering on the food he wouldn’t eat, “Raw elocution bis- cuits.” And now, ladies and gentlemen, last and greatest of all you behold me to whom you have listening. Have a look ! Have one more! Quick! All over! The show starts again imme- diately after the big performance in the main tent ! J. J. Q. ’i6. “KINK OF THE FRESHIES.” A PRODUCTION IN THREE REELS. . BY THE FRESHMAN CLASS. CAST OF CHARACTERS. THE KINK: (Who would rather roll one than sit in state). W. J. S., Class President. THE PRIME MINISTER: (Assistant to the Kink. He can laugh). W. A. S., Class Vice-President. THE ROYAL TREASURER: (Weighted down by the enormous cares of such a great sum of money) . . . .M. J. R., Class Treasurer. CALIBAN : (The pugilistic pretender to the throne. He battles. J. J. Q., Deposed President. JUDGE: (His assistant in crime.) (HE RAN for Vice-President). J. J. L., Class Debater. HERBERT : (The handsome musician, v ho voted for Cally Co.) H. R. O’C., Class Musician. LES GENDARMES: (Protectors of the Kink, and keepers of order). J. S. K. and S. F., Class Beadle and Class Baby. THE ROYAL EXECUTIONER: (Likes nothing better than a murder) T. J. B., German poet of the Class. THE SOLOIST: (Sings so low you can’t hear him). F. S., Class Consul to South Baltimore. EXTRA ADDED ATTRACTION THE WHIRLING DERVISHES. SYRUPOFFIGS E. J. B. SMATTERPOP J. J. F. MIGGLEEMUP J. K. CREMEDEMINT W. J. K. WRITTEN AND PRODUCED BY J. O’T., JR., 1917. ( ' 159) igij. REEL I. Scene I.— Throne room in the king’s palace. Time. — Lots of it. Kink enters throne room, commanding P. M. to give him the makings. Rolls one, and mounts his throne in room No. 28. Rings for les gendarmes to summon the R. T. The R. T. enters in court costume of Louis XII period, and does steps to the throne, bends his knee and shows the amount of the revenues collected from the Freshies. To show his approval of the R. T. for his excellent service, the Kink gives him a cookie. R. T. smiles his approval, seats himself at the foot of the throne; then through the windows waft the waltz strains form the St. Paul St. Orchestra. The Kink, charmed, summons his whirlings, rolls another one, and settles hi mself to watch the dancers “trip the fantastic toe.” In the midst of this happy home scene, Caliban rushes on, shouting and gesticulating. The whirling dervishes flee for safety to the Lapslicorum. (Reel II will follow immediately). REEL II. Scene I. — Same as Reel I. Tim.e. — More of it. Caliban, quailing in the clutch of the guards (les gendarmes), craves permission to state his case. The soft-headed Kink magnami- ously permits him. Then Cally, old chap, informs the Kink that he should abdicate in his (Cally’s) favor. The Kink, surprised, asks him why, and Cally, the great, replies: “Because it is logical.” “Away to the dungeon with him!” cries the Kink, and poor, weak Caliban is perturbed by the rough handling of the terrible gendarmes. To sooth his royal-troubled nerves, the Kink rolls another one, and summons Herbert, the handsome musician, and the royal executioner to play before him. Herbert at the piano. Executioner with the violin. Whirlers re-whirl! In a corner, an animated sleep is taking place. (Reel III will follow immediately). REEL III. Scene I. — Same as the preceding. Time.— All that’s left of it. Kink, seated on his throne rolling one. Prime Minister rolling one. Enter Mooney Scoop, a valet, from Kingdom No. 28. Attempts to reach the Kink with a bomb, but is ruthlessly slaughtered by the inexorable gendarmes, and fed to the imprisoned Caliban. Enter Judge, followed by all tho company. He turns to the Kink and begs permission to address the assemblage on behalf of his colleague. Immediately he starts to speak — a great hubdub arises, and he, in (161) anger turns to the Kink: “I would like to appeal on a point of order, your majesty, there is so much noise that I can scarcely hear myself talk.” “Well,” replies the Kink, “You are not missing much.” The Judge, surprised at such brazen affrontery, even from the Kink, faints away. Scene II. — Royal Gardens, Monument St. at St. Paul. Enter the soloist, who starts off in a marvelous manner, singing: “We Love Our Liberties.” Whole company coming in on the chorus. Then, as the assemblage grins at the v itty remarks of the Kink, Soloist loses his nerve and hits a few bum notes, and is condemned to be executed; is carried off to the executioner by les gendarmes. Then Cally and Judge are brought out to be executed by the Kink’s order. Whirlers come on. Another sleep is started. John Welch enters, laden with dead flowers, and favors in the form of cabbage and tomatoes for the company. Final: Putting up the co-ordinate blackboard. QUICK, Curtain. piare. Will you tell me, gentle reader, As you wander o’er this book. Turning page and turning picture, Why at me you startled look? Am I not a poem worth reading, Is my metric system wrong? Are not beauties hidden in me, Likest not the Muse of Song? Ah! Thy smile, I see it broaden, — And thine eye-lid’s drooping rim ; You are right (but more’s the pity), I am but a “filler-in!” S. A. H., ’i6. (163) FOURTH HIGH. J IND peruser, this is a chronicle of momentous importance. It is an unostentatious display of the doings of a day in Fourth High, unembellished and unexaggerated. Prepare yourself for the fast approaching ordeal — then precipitate yourself precipitately into our midst. Having accomplished the aforesaid feat, permit us to lead you into the class-room. The bell has rung; the Pater and Ave recited. A scraping of feet and slight earthquake ensue the prayers, as twenty- nine horse students fling themselves into their wooden saddles. That is, all but the Platform Student, who reclines gracefully and disconsolately within easy reach of the iron hand of our Teacher. Class starts with a rush — Prosody is the first victim ! A spasmodic outburst by ex-beetle Giblin is effectually sup- pressed in a few, several minutes ; he is the second victim. But time, tide and Fourth High wait for no man, and Virgil re- places Prosody and Giblin. A weird translation of “Neptune appearing near the Slippery Island with his head encircled by a dripping skillet” is the result of five minutes’ agony by Francis Leo Augustus O’Toole. For references and reasons why any word should be in any case, mood or tense, see Joseph Enclyclopedia Haneke, last seat, aisle near the door. Next, the immortal Cicero denounces the nefarious plans of the seditious Cataline. The eloquence of Cicero elicits from Eddie Vaeth the following soliloquy — “Such acts of unbridled licentiousness and premeditated incendiarism should be stig- matized.” (Editorial Note: — We think that Cataline was the father of the suffering arsonettes. P. S. — If a militant learns what we think — Kindly omit flowers). From the Cyropaedia, we learn how truly great Cyrus was. He was kissed four times in the same place by a male relative, and yet lived to sack Babylon. Golder says: “President Wilson was a football coach. I quote St. Nicholas Magazine, page ten, column one, paragraph two, line four, first word.” This is about as connected as Willie usually is. A tap on the door by John, with a notice, fails to rouse beetle Didusch from his siesta. However, the HIGH SCHOOL, 1914. peaceful slumbers of William are rudely broken by a gentle reminder (a slight tap on the head with a freight train), which puts to flight his somnambulistic propensities, and we get the notice. This reminds me of another Will with whom we are acquainted. Glorious Will Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice” is cleverly enacted. The caste — Male: — William. “Shylock” German. Watts “Antonio” Forman, John “Bas- sanio” MacCarthy, Edward Swissen “Gratiano” Vaeth, Ady “Lorenzo” Street, Francis “Salerino” Giblin, Berthold “Laun- celot Gobbo” Hoen, Joseph “Old Man Gobbo” Garland, George Renehan, alias “Prince of Arragon,’’ alias “Prince of Mor- occo,” alias “Duke of Venice” (George is a princely fellow, and a noble Man), Vincent “Stephano” Teano. Female: — Ray- mond “P ortia” Peters, Wagner “Nerissa” Riley, Joseph “Jes- sica” Hoffman. Staged by Francis “Frohman” Wiers. Cos- tumes furnished by John Krager. Orchestra Leader, Raymond “Sousa” Helldorfer. Scene shifters, Joseph Muth and Louis Roche. Then friends, a horrible catastrophe overtakes us, namely — the ringing of the recess bell. Woe are we! We must absent ourselves from class for fifteen minutes. Downcast and de- jected, we cast one last long lingering look toward our much- loved books, and reluctantly depart. Gentle reader, you are thoroughly acquainted with the daily routine of Fourth High. Russell I. Quinn, H. S. ’14. THIRD HIGH. JN the first term, owing to the pressing demand on our time, we were unable to elect class officers, but we made up this deficiency in the second term, and elected President, Thomas A. J. Murphy; Vice-President, David E. Fisher; Secretary, Edward Keelan; Treasurer, Albert Donegan; Moderator, The Professor; ist Censor, Alfred A. Wilson; 2nd Censor, Ray- mond Conroy; ist Janitor, Eugene Morris; 2nd Janitor, John Czyz; Door-keeper, Hector J. Ciotti. Owing to sickness ( ?), the President resigned after holding his office for one week. The Vice-President immediately suc- ceeded him, and Albert S. Schuele was elected to succeed the Vice-President. After much delay, deliberation and red-tape, we finally de- cided on Green and White as our Class-colors, but even then we had to have a vote as to whether it would be Emerald green or Olive green; Emerald at last won out by a vote of II to 10. D. Albert Donegan has volunteered for the position of Brigadier-General to Huerta, and Edward Jacobi is consider- ing following him. The entire class is also considering the matter — that’s as far as most got on class-pins. By the way — Who built Panama Canal? Some people think Col. Goethals, but we know that it was done by our famous class-mate, Mr. Charles Kastner. R. W., H. S.’i 5 . (168) SECOND HIGH. QN September 15, we resumed our journey along the dark and dreary paths of knowledge. The election of officers: President, Thomas Lind; Vice- President, Allen Dunn; Secretary, James McCabe. The same officials were re-elected for the second term. Don’t think our class lacks musical talent. We were rep- resented at the Christmas Entertainment by our eminent cor- netist, Kyle Golly, and our soul-entrancing violinists, Herb Williams, Joe Monaghan and Ed Sullivan. Second High A closed its basket-ball season with an en- viable record, defeating almost all the teams that opposed it. The players were C. Kearney, M. Buchness, K. Golly, J. Clancy, M. Flaherty and B. Harrington. The most notable event of the year was the exhibition of our knowledge of Phaedrus in the college hall, at the reading of marks in March. Ramsay Barry assisted by reading a paper on George Washington, and we were granted a half- holiday for our entertainment. Our Latin shark, Spalding Reilly, received a prize for Latin recitation, while Joseph Monaghan received a prize for Or- thography. G. S., H. S. T6. SPECIAL CLASS. I PECIAL class numbered fifteen at the beginning of the first term, but at the beginning of the second term our num- ber was reduced to nine. The officers are: President, Wilmer Love; Vice-President, Mitchell Rose; Secretary, Frank Weatherly; Treasurer, J. Lee Hodges. Our president’s chief intellectual study is the “Movies.” He is engaged at present in writing a scenario, entitled “Will you be Mer Love?” Why are we the only class in the school with a stained- glass windowed-door? Ask the architect who built the old college. J. L. Hodges. (169) HIGH SCHOOL A., 1917. that fair Summer morning, September 15, while the sweet songs of the birds chirping in near-by trees, echoed through the corridors of Loyola, the renowned members of our class first congregated under Father Delihant. We have indeed spent a very pleasant year under his kind direction. We feel confident our class ranks as high as any First Year ever did. (And breaks ranks as often!) We could not do justice to our class and omit the name of Coulter, our first-class scholar, comedian, actor and athlete, and lover. Abell, our star cartoonist, has taken to another field — composition. Fie also speaks French, and is interested in poetry. (So was a certain professor). Mr. Sweeney’s presidential powers are sometimes upset by a Latin intonation which comes from behind. (Proper place for those intonations). (171) If our elocutionists do not know “The Arrow and the Song” by heart, it is not the fault of the other section! They ought to “shoot” something else in the air. Handsome Heyde and Charming Coolie, Midget Marcin, Nodding Bees, Giant Considine and Allen, Little Charles and McNamees; Sombre Knop and simple Marley, Wandering Clark and Bullen huge; Merceret, Rohley and McGarvey, Smiling Casey and Old Scrooge. What a bunch, and what assortment! Sounds like some old-freaks collection! Let us shake our hands, dear brothers. Just gaze upon that other section! E. J. A. N., H. S. ’17. (172) FIRST HIGH B. gOYS! If you ever have the occasion to parse P. B.’s name, parse it as follows : P. B. is a common noun of the lowest average, exception to ail rules, half of a number, a hopeless case, and subject to fits. Our motto is: — “What First High A’s is not! (173) HIGH SCHOOL B., 1917. One day the professor of Second High A visited our class- room for a friendly chat, and since then L. C. A. wears a much smaller neck-tie. There is only one thing our base-ball team lacks, and that is a water-boy. Come on Harmon, here’s your chance ! He is fat and he is rosy — but so spry! Who is? Rosenberger. He is long and he is dozy — but so dry ! Who is? Bullenberger. He is sweet and he is cozy — but so shy ! Who is? Byrnesyberger. Who are those who lift their noses And severely strike their poses And sedately wear their clo(th)ses? First High A?ssinine! Who are those who hate the breezes And so dearly love the sneezes Of each other’s stair-gang wheezes? First High A-bel-ine ! See the Harmon-Kelly-Ayres-Feeney-Peace Association. See how lovingly they stretch forth their hands to one another, and how nothing can prevent their ardent embraces ! Hear the burning words that fall from their lips. See them set each other on fire. See the professor’s fire extinguisher! Who is that little boy with the smiling, innocent face and the golden hair? That is Fuzz, Jr. He causes even more trouble than Fuzz, Sr., that nice, quiet gentlemanly boy in front. (175) FIRST PREP. o □] FIRST PREP. HE Latin Contest, the great prize of the year, was won by Leo Kernan. He showed so much knowledge of this ancient language, that w e hope to soon see him shaving. The spelling contest was won by , (we cannot say, as the printer took the copy right out of our mouth). Spell- ing is only a matter of ar- ranging small bits called letters in the way they were first given out by some officious fool. Who says through isn’t spelled “thru?’ ' Read the Literary Digest. There is only one thing that keeps Hartka from falling out the window — he is too lazy to stand up ! Little tricks in class-room. Little airs so grand. Make the teacher walk around. And old Beachy stand! We would not have such a good time on if It weren’t for the presence of John and Arthur Coniff ; And what bird ever gave in the fields such sweet hummings As we hear from Alex and his brother John Cummings? We certainly have missed Father Purtell during his illness, though we are very grateful to Father Prefect for giving us so much of his valuable time. M. W., ist Prep. THIRD PREP. AMALGAMATED ASSOCIATION OF THIRD PREPS. JN the beginning of the year, by the advice of our professor, we instituted an association called The Whats, for the pur- pose of everything we (or anybody else) could think of. OFFICERS OF THE WHATS. Grand Chief Interrogation Point John J. Flannery. Second Chief Interrogation Point Fletcher Harrigan. Grand Councillor of the Outer Which Marshall Finnan. Grand Councillor of the Inner Which ........ Leonard Bees. High Muck-a-muck and Shouter Charles Frainie. The Big Mark L. Shetaitis. The Who Twins J. and W. Taymans. The Where Twins A and L. Rodgers. Lord High Sweller W. Flaven. Lord High Pouter . . . . J. Gorges. Lord High Kicker . . D. Harmon. The Whats meet every Saturday afternoon, and try to find something to do. Not finding anything to do, they put out a few officers, get some new ones (who have been in before), and collect the dues, 5 cents. The dues are the only things that remain the same in our club. They are always dues ! During the year, we had a good many interesting bouts, “Spuds Harmon ’ and “Spickles Frainey” putting up a good exhibition. Our class president has a bout with his “bang” all day long. If his voice comes from his shoes, who bought the shoes? Are we supporting the Annual? Are we? Ask the classes that didn’t! SECOND PREP. We’re the boys from Second Prep, We have all to lively step. Prefect says “we’ve too much ‘pep’.” If we play out in the yard, The High School says “we play too hard. For fifty police their lives to guard. If within the house we steer. Like brothers clinging close and near. The call is then “Get out of here!” Can’t we please stay any place? Must our feet forever race? Some one come and pity our case ! S. P. (i8o)