Milford High School - Oak Lily and Ivy Yearbook (Milford, MA)

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 23 ON A LOVE OF BOOKS. “The love of books is a love which requires neither justification, apology, nor defense” —Langford. When a man admits a love of books, he unconsciously shifts about for some excuse, some apology. Why? Why should a love of books require apology? I know not, yet he uncon- ciously makes excuses for this feeling. It is not altogether strange, however, that he should do this. The booklover has always been looked upon by the world at large with a smiling tolerance. To the man of the street the booklover is a rather queer person, more to be pitied than scorned. It is useless to defend this love to one who does not sympathize. He has never tasted the joys that come from perusal of a good book. He is outside the pale: his is the loss. I often think what a dull existence it must be for those who have no love of reading. Surely reading must have a great affect upon character. Show me the nar¬ row, biased, bigoted man and I will show you the unread man. But a man who has read widely and wisely will have a broader view of the world about him. The booklover’s world consists not of four drab walls. His world is a limit¬ less land of castles, knights, and ladies fair, of strange and different peoples. His world has no horizon, no limit, yet it is contained between two covers. It lies upon printed pages within a book. It seems impossible to describe the en¬ chantment of a book. I can only pity one who has never felt it. As years go by, I realize how I have been aided and enriched b y reading. To me a book is a gateway into a strange new land. One need only to swing back the cover to expose the wonders and glories of another people. It is my belief that a wider reading by the people of all nations would be a greater and more effective peace-insurance than the League of Nations. Every nation has its individuality and this individuality is expressed in its literature. If the people of every nation would read the books of others, they would gain an insight and understanding of the character of the countries. If they could feel with other peoples, the greatest cause of war would be eliminated,—misunder¬ standing. To prove the truth that reading brings understanding, I will quote a personal example. One of the most abused people of the world is the Negro race because it has practically no literature. I must confess that I had very little sympathy for the Negro. There is very little in our history of daily contacts to cause it. How¬ ever, I was advised to read “Up From Slavery” by Booker T. Washington, the great Negro educator. When I took up the book, I did so with very little inter¬ est or feeling for the Negro. When I set it down, I had a new view of the black man; I was won to the Negro cause. Lack of knowledge is the cause of the black man’s oppression, for who knowing his valiant fight against ignorance could but respect him? Take reading from an educational standpoint. In my mind our educational system will never be a complete success until it makes a booklover of every student. Let a teacher pick from her class those whom she considers brightest and they will be those who have read. They have the greatest background to work upon; they have the best means of working.

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22 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. stinct told him that he must not delay—that he alone could turn away a tragedy in the little home. Finally, greatly troubled and trying to decide what the Master would have him do, he started for the house. Surely the Master loved the wee baby in the cradle far more than the wooly flock on the hillside. In a moment Caressant had reached the house—but alas! Poor dog, you are too late! The baby has been dragged from the cradle and the cruel fangs of the wolf have completed their terrible crime. As Caressant rushed into the room the wolf turned savagely upon him but Caressant was quick, and his avenging teeth sank deep into the throat of the murderer. The dog and the wolf fought fiercely, and Caressant received a cruel gash in his own throat, but on his side was right and revenge, and finally Cares¬ sant was the conqueror, but not, however, until they had fought their way out of the house at the back door. Then leaving the dead wolf on the ground at the foot of the steps, Cares¬ sant went back into the house and lay down beside the body of the little baby to defend it until the Master and the Mistress should come home. Surely the Master would understand and say he had done right to leave the flock, that he might try to save the wee person whom the Master loved so much. Yes indeed, the Master would understand—he had always understood before. Before long as the first shadows stole across the slope the man and wife came, ar m in arm, through the path in the woods. They were tired and foot-sore as usual but happy, for they sensed no danger. This evening for some reason perhaps to see the sunset, perhaps to see if all were well with the flock on the hillside—I know not why—they entered the house by the front door. What a sight met them! On the floor their baby covered with blood and very still—and, ah yes, with his beautiful coat smeared with blood—Caressant. With a cry the mother snatched her child—but the Master gazed horrified at Caressant and seeing the blood on the baby and on the dog, believed Caressant to be the murderer. Oh, Master! Can you not read the truth in those eyes turned so trustingly to you? Can you not fulfill the confidence in the depths of those eyes that the Master will understand? But the Master takes his gun. He has not read the message, and so still trusting and faithful unto death, Caressant lies dead by the hand of his Master, beside the baby for whom he fought so bravely. When the man dragged the body of his faithful dog out the back door, he saw the dead wolf. Then the truth overwhelmed him, and he sank down beside the body of Caressant and sobbed as strong men scarcely ever sob. Oh that he had read the meaning in the eyes of this friend, or at least trusted him a little longer until the truth was known. To-day there are two mounds side by side on the slope facing the west; and, erected by the Master and his neighbors, there stands in everlasting memory of Caressant, a beautiful monument thirty feet high of fine marble, and on it is en¬ graved the story which I have told to you. Mary Comolli, 1923 .

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24 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. The pupil without imagination is practically hopeless as an educational pos¬ sibility. Imagination is a thing that must be developed early. The boy that has read “Robin Hood” and “Treasure Island” and “Swiss Family Robinson” has enriched his imagination wonderfully. Later he should read Poe to get a grasp on mystery. Wells’ books on other planets and the future are a wonderful stimulus to the imagination. Consider the unread man. He has no background. He sees only the obvi¬ ous; he cannot see ahead or beyond. He is in truth ignorant for he knows not the way of others. Let us examine the man who has read. He has a broad back¬ ground of useful knowledge. He has a vivid imagination to give originality to his thought. He has a polished style and manner. There can be no controversy. Love of books is an emotion which can be praised more easily than described by the intellectual. Boyd Lewis, 1923. ON WORK. Work is the birthright of the human race. It is not a curse, but a bless¬ ing; for happiness is the crown of work. The value of an object is generally measured by the amount of work required to obtain it. Things that are easy to gain depreciate in value, and we lose our desire for them. When I was little, I had a great desire for a particular kind of candy. All the money that I obtained, either through work or coaxing, I spent on this candy. One summer I had occasion to visit my aunt who has a small candy store. I was allowed all the candy that I wished, and I became so sickened of my favor¬ ite candy that I have not tasted it since. Similarly wealth and idleness do not bring happiness, but pall upon one. Discontent, planted in each human heart, is only satisfied when we work and strive to gain an end. Every day we read in the papers of people surrounded by all luxury who are bored with life even to sacrificing that boon bestowed in them by God. Work heals all wounds. We have not time to think of sorrows and troubles when we are working. I was talking one day to a young girl who worked hard in a shoe factory, and I asked her if she did not become tired of her life, and whether she did not wish to change her lot with someone who had more luxuries than she. She answered, “We all long for luxuries, but still I am happiest when I work hard¬ est, for I have not time to be discontented.” Unless one has been at the bottom of the ladder it is impossible to realize the joy of ascent, and the higher one climbs, the more glory one wins. A heathen philosopher is quoted as saying, “Time and I against any other two.” The coming ages are ours, and we all desire to make something of ourselves. This will require hard work. Longfellow expresses this thought gloriously in this quotation: “Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.” Blanche Rooney, 1923.