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

Page 28 text:

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.

Page 27 text:

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.

Page 29 text:

THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 25 THE MYSTERY OF THE CHATEAU. All day long the July sun had been beating down mercilessly until even the shrubs and flowers seemed to be bending before his will. But it had not wilted the ardor of Jack Mandor, that versatile young traveler, always on I the alert for the new, the unique, the mysterious. For years he had wandered over the world seeking out-of-the way places, being supported by the income from a fund left him by a mysterious father whom he had never seen. As he approached a beautiful but uncared for chateau, surrounded by a score of stately elms, hemlocks, and willows, he stopped and turning to his guide said, “And well, Pierre, to whom does this chateau belong?” “Eh bien, monsieur, it’s a long story but”-And here he told of old Monsieur Frontignan who had many years before inhabited the chateau but who had suddenly disappeared leaving no trace behind him and no provision as to the disposal of his worldly goods. The rumor had spread that the house was haunted and he had been spirited aw r ay. Two years later a newly-wed couple, too sincere and trusting to harbor any suspicions or superstitions in their hearts had taken up their abode in the beautiful chateau. Only two weeks had elapsed before the young bride suddenly died, apparently suffering from no malady, af¬ flicted with no disease. Her husband followed her to the grave ere the tolling of the chimes had died away in the hills. From that day the chateau had remained deserted. “Well,” said Jack, with a loud burst of merriment, “guess I shall take a chance in living in it and ferreting out the spooks.” “Ah non, monsieur! you are mad. You will be killed!” “Oh, no, Pierre, don’t worry about me. I haven’t trained my muscles on the gridiron for six years for no purpose. It will take more than a spook to carry me off!” “Bon Dieu! Bon Dieu! Monsieur is out of his head,” cried out the hor¬ rified French guide and throwing his hands in the air ran off as fast as his legs could carry him. Chuckling with delight Jack proceeded to investigate. After gaining an admittance through the window he fearlessly lighted a match. A strange feel¬ ing came over him. The room was dark, damp, and gloomy. The house was admirably furnished but the air was heavy and oppressive. Nevertheless, Jack immediately made himself at home. Two w r eeks later Jack, still alive in spite of the fears of Pierre, returning from a little stroll around the magnificent grounds adjoining the chateau in the hot sun was mentally wishing for a glass of clear, ice cold water when he noticed in a little arbor of climbing roses a moss covered well which] he had never before seen. As he approached it the air seemed to grow oppressive and a sickening odor assailed him. For a moment he drew back sniffing curiously but being something of a detective, or rather having always hoped to be one, he approached the well and looking down into it saw nothing to make him uneasy, nothing to warrant such an odor. He had just tasted a rather small amount of the water when with a suddenness which made him start he heard the sound of a bell secreted some¬ where in the house. For hours Jack sought to find its location but finally gave it up as useless, feeling fatigued in mind and body. It was not long before his head began to feel heavy, his pulses lagged, and his nerves throbbed. He tried to pull himself