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

Text from Pages 1 - 88 of the 1924 volume:

Cbe ©ah, anb ITv? Commencement - THumber 1924 Special Notice to Members of the Glass of 1924 who expect to fit themselves for a business career: Following is a partial list of people known to you who were trained at, and placed by Interstate Commercial School, 224 Main Street, Milford, a branch of the School of Commercial Sciences. Ask any of them about the benefits of our courses. Get full information from the Principal, Edwin B. Hill. Telephones: Milford 971: Franklin 45-12: Woonsocket 1920: Woonsocket 14S6-W. KINSLEY BARNES Father Mendon CATHERINE BARLOW Dennison Co. Framingham GEORGE BROWN Packard Auto Co. Boston HELEN BURNS Herman Shoe Co. Millis DAVIS CARROLL Cliquot Club Co. Millis MAE CRAWFORD Milford Hospital HELEN GOWAN Lawyer Boston IDA GOULD Chas. A. Gould, Attorney Milford JOSEPH HAYES Draper Corp. Hopedale ALICE KEENAN Dennison Co. Framingham ANNA MAZZARELLI Father Milford MURIEL MILLER Knowlton Co. Upton DOROTHY MORAN Curtiss Coal Co. Milford AMELIA MONGIAT Dennison Co. Framingham HELEN DRISCOLL Shawmut Wax Paper Co. Holliston HAROLD SAESTROM Swift Co. Milford MILDRED TRASK Milford Savings Co. Milford RITA SWIFT Archer Rubber Co. Milford KEITH SWIFT Lincoln Sq. Garage Milford FRANCES SWEET Archer Rubber Co. Milford OLGA PETTERSON Draper Corp. Hopedale LOWELL COLLINS B. V. G. C. Woonsocket EDWIN F. TUTTLE United Fruit Co. Santa Marta, Col. MYLA THAYER Huckins Temple Milford EDWIN O’NEIL Shambow Shuttle Co. Woonsocket “CONGRATULATIONS AND ALL GOOD WISHES TO THE CLASS OF 1924.” WM. LAPWORTH SONS ADVERTISING SECTION. 1 Compliments of. WARD P. ROBERTS Service and Quality Market Compliments of. MEATS and PROVISIONS Sherman ' s Laundry It pays to pay for the BEST The Market Where You See It Ground HARRY B. TOROSIAN Compliments of DRY GOODS and GENTS ALEX IANNITELLI Furnishings 10 Central Street Tel. 32-R BARBER Milford, Mass. Compliments of Victory Textile Stores Miss Alma E. Sweet “Stylish Fabrics for Home Sewing Teacher of Pianoforte Cottons, Woolens, Silks, Domestics, Dress Goods Second Floor 59 School Street, Milford, Mass. 154 Main Street, Milford, Mass 2 ADVERTISING SECTION. LAMPING - NOLAN BEAUTY CULTURE 462 Boylston Street, Boston Established 1905. Telephone Back Bay 5174 Specialists in Marcel and Permanent Waving Specialists in all branches of the work AMPING-NOLAN School of Beauty Culture and Physical Upkeep. Day and Evening Classes— Summer Courses. Send for Catalogues and Visit our School. No obligation. THE ELITE MILLINERY Ladies’ and Children’s WEARING APPAREL SPECIALTY SHOP. 120 MAIN STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS Compliments of BURKE’S PHARMACY Compliments of Diamond Ice Cream Co. 8-10 School Street Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. THE OUTFIT 195-199 MAIN ST. Milford’s Largest Clothing Store Compliments of. GEORGE A. BARRY, Esq. Alfred B. Cenedella Attorney and Councillor at Law 3 Baker Building Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. BOSTON FURNITURE STORE THE STORE OF LOW PRICES Compliments of £)r. ]rc 0 rr£ fllMett ADVERTISING SECTION. 3 QUALITY LUNCH One of the best, cleanest, and most up-to-date Lunchrooms in the country Courteous attention paid to large or small parties. 191 Main Street, Milford, Massachusetts Compliments of. KELLOGG COMPANY WYZAN BROS. “THE DAYLIGHT STORE” Women’s Specialty Shop 8! Milford and Marlboro 150 MAIN STREET DRY GOODS AND FURNISHINGS Compliments of. Compliments of. 8 Madame Lebbossiere Roche Beauty Shoppe HUCKINS TEMPLE, Inc. Shoe Manufacturers a Telephone 773-J 443-J 5 and 7 Passenger Cars For Hire GILLON BROTHERS Taxi Service Weddings, Theatre Parties and Funerals Given Special Attention Milford, - Mass. 10 WESTBROOK STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS 4 ADVERTISING SECTION. Justice of the Peace Agent Orient Ins. Co. JOHN H. CUNNIFF 14 Spring Street, Milford, Mass. Representing Henry W. Savage, Inc. Real Estate 10 State Street, Boston, Mass. Established 1840 Telephone, Milford, 1040 FANCY CARNATIONS FOR ALL OCCASIONS at HOWARD’S GREENHOUSES 150 South Main Street Milford Gas and si ' V ■ : . ; Electric Light Co. 8 241 Main Street, Milford S. Mazzarelli Sons MACARONI MANUFACTURERS and BAKERS 8 Telephone Connection 1 7 Genoa Ave., Milford, Mass. Compliments of. COLLINS DRUG STORE The Rexall Store 201 Main Street Milford, Mass. King Brothers Opera House Block Milford FASIHIMM IPAM (OLiD’irjHiniEnss Compliments of F. TOSKES CUSTOM TAILOR Suits made in any style at Low Prices. Milford, - Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 5 FRED T. BURNS ICE CREAM AND CONFECTIONERY 270 MAIN STREET Joseph Morcone Importer and Dealer in Fine Italian Groceries E. F. ULLEY Jeweler Olive Oil a Specialty Cigars and Tobacco B 23 Main Street, Milford 202 Main Street, - Milford ALHAMBRA RUBBER CO. Compliments of. B PEOPLE’S 5 TO 50 STORE 1 32 Main St., Milford Manufacturers of Raincoats and Rubber Shop at the 5 to 50 Specialties BULLARD’S TIRE SHOP B Supplies, Accessories FISK TIRES 125 Central Street, Milford OPPOSITE THE TOWN HALL 6 ADVERTISING SECTION. Copyright 1923 Hart Schaffner Marx GET IT AT BRIDGES PHARMACY J. H. O’Grady, Prop. 8 !93 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Dress Well and Succeed WHETHER you are gaining or losing in the eyes of the world depends upon the impres¬ sion you create. Good clothes are an investment in good appearance At college or in business, a young man’s chances are greatly im¬ proved if he wears one of our Hart, Schaffner Marx Suits, which creates a good impression, and gives the wearer confidence. Larkin Brothers 220 Main Street Milford Compliments of. CAHILL’S NEWS AGENCY 1 86 Main Street, Milford, Mass, S. A. EASTMAN CO. Wood, Paper and Corrugated Boxes Milford, WERBER ROSE Milford, - Mass. Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 7 FREDERICK A. GOULD Hardware, Plumbing and Heating 16-20 Exchange Street Milford, - Mass. FOR Suits, Corsets, Coats, Summer Gowns, Waists and Sport Goods Go to M. F. Green’s Cloak Store 200 Main Street, Milford, Mass. SHEA BROS. Compliments of. Meats and Provisions 8 ARTHUR P. CLARRIDGE 808 1 2 7 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. MANNING’S SHOES WEAR WELL BROCKTON SHOE STORE KOH JOHN MAZZARELLI MILFORD DAILY NEWS Dealer in All Kinds of Established 1887 FRUITS and VEGETABLES The only Daily Paper in Milford Cigars, Cigarettes and Tobacco and the only Advertising Medium Candy for all this section of the State. 69 1 -2 East Main Street, Milford Sworn Circulation 4,650 8 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of Bread CREAM WIN-SUM VITAMINE BREAD BREAD BREAD ADVERTISING SECTION. 9 Carroll, Hixon, Jones Company Compliments of. CROWELL DeWITT Manufacturers and Provisions and Fancy Groceries Importers of 1 1 3 Main Street Straw and Body HATS Telephone 103-W M. CICCHETTI 8 Successor to N. W. Heath TAILOR Milford, - Mass. 154 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Best Wishes TEA ROOMS Halbert Lynn Keith, M. D. 8 8 Milford, - Mass. TRASK BROTHERS R. MARINO Dealers in High Class Tailor CYCLES and SUNDRIES and Real Estate Agent Agents for 8 EDISON PHONOGRAPHS 1 38 Main Street, Milford Milford, - Mass. 10 ADVERTISING SECTION. ADVERTISING SECTION. 11 MADER’S F. J. COLEMAN, Prop. CONFECTIONER Page Shaw Apollo Chocolates ICE CREAM, ETC. 256 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. JACBERN HARDWARE STORE Main Street Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. DALRYMPLE RYAN MANSION HOUSE GARAGE Milford, Mass. SEAVER’S EXPRESS Milford to Worcester Milford to Providence PHONES Milford 697-J Worcester Park 1512 Providence Union 1579 Compliments of. 2 r. H. 3. ©liver Compliments of M. J. CARBARY Class of 189f Compliments of.. New York Bargain Store DRY GOODS Furnishings and Novelties C. CHAFETZ, Prop. 63 Main Street Milford, - Mass. 12 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. JOHN E. SWIFT, Esq. Compliments of. DR. EARL CROCKETT Dentist Milford, - Mass. Compliments of...... WILLIAM J. MOORE, Esq. Milford, Mass. CROWN CONFECTIONERY CO. Home Made Candies and Ice Cream 149 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. JOHN C. LYNCH, Esq. Milford, - Mass. LUIGI A. R ECCHIUTO Successor to L. Grow Son Manufacturer of Wagon and Automobile Bodies of All Kinds Repairing done promptly and on Reasonable Terms 1 32 Central St., Milford, Mass. Tel. 245-M. NICHOLAS CASASANTE Teacher of Violin, Mandolin, Tenor Banjo, Guitar and Ukelele Studio, Exchange Building Room 12 Telephones 1044-W and 651- W Compliments of. p. ‘Koines Confectionery Main Street, Milford, Mass. BUCKLES CONFECTIONERY CO. ibome of ffamous QLemon anfc 14me 111 Main Street, Milford, Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 13 IDEAL THEATRE Matinees 2.30 Evenings 7.30 Home of Big Features If it’s anything good in the Picture lines we have it. Wm. P. Kane, Mgr. Compliments of. HIGGINS BROTHERS RESTAURANT Boston’s Largest Manufacturing Jewelers H. W. PETERS CO. (First in America on Class Rings and Pins) GLASS RINGS GLASS PINS INVITATIONS 8 5174-5178 WASHINGTON STREET BOSTON 32, MASS. H. HODGDON, Vice President. N. CERUTI Wholesale Foreign and Domestic FRUITS AND PRODUCE 1 6 Exchange Street Tel. Conn. Milford, Mass. Milford Battery Service Station WILLARD Headquarters for Automobile and Radio Batteries Honest, efficient service on all makes of batteries 6 Pine Street, Milford, Mass. ARtss flDar? IE. BIHntonlo Teacher of Pianoforte Harmony, Solfeggio and Theory 808 Studio Room 6, Ring Welch Building Phone 665-M 14 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. Economy Dry Goods and Millinery Store We specialize in the latest styles of ladies’ hats and turkish bathrobes. 71 Main Street, Milford, Mass. WILLIAM J. DILLON Dealer in Groceries, Fruit, Ice Cream and Confectionery 45 Depot Street, Milford, Mass. REYNOLDS’ V ictor-V ictrolas, Victor Records and Supplies Q. R. S. Player Rolls, Musical Instruments Sheet Music, Books and Stationery 1 96 Main Street Milford, Massachusetts Marinello Beauty Shoppe a 17 Exchange Street Milford, Mass. Phone 128-R LADIES’ WAIST SHOP 2 School Street Visit our new Dress Department t Hats Wearing Apparel EVA O’DONNELL Ernestine Harding Wilcox Teacher of Singing 31 Pine Street Milford, Mass. Get Your Plumbing and Heating Done by M. S. McMAHON Prompt Service at Reasonable Prices. Tel. 995-M 1 1 Court Street ADVERTISING SECTION. 15 F. S. ADAMS, President, H. S. CHADBOURNE, Treasurer A WORD REGARDING OUR PRICES A store which carries high-grade goods is often known as high-priced without in any way deserving the term. It is the penalty for keeping the best. We have now and then noticed this in our own case, although the goods, if compared grade for grade, will average lower in price than elsewhere. Second grade goods never masquerade here as the best, and the public should never forget that we have a reputation of which we are very jealous, and that we expect to be in business next year and the year after. Remember this when you are buying anything in our lines. H. S. CHADBOURNE CO. 168 Main Street, Milford, Mass. CLARK UNIVERSITY WORCESTER, MASS. 808 NOTABLE FEATURES Many advantages of the large university without its disadvantages: Specialization in graduate and undergraduate courses dealing with modern world problems and conditions through closely co-or¬ dinated work in Economics, Geography, History and Inter¬ national Relations. Chemical and physical laboratories equipped for graduate as well as undergraduate work. One of the finest psychological laboratories in the country. A proportionately large number of graduate students, tending to encourage serious work. Small enough to know all the professors and student body. A separately endowed library, unusually well equipped. TUITION One hundred and fifty dollars, payable in two installments. SCHOLARSHIPS Five available for high standing sub-freshmen. For further information address the Registrar. Compliments of. Compliments of. MOTOR EQUIPMENT CO. B. CERUTI The Automobile Store Complete Milford, Mass. Milford, Mass. 16 ADVERTISING SECTION. fVY HE Sunshine Soda Cracker that splits n tv?o without crumbling. Packed in the red package b} - r v.f i | i • i i )oos£- ViLES Biscuit (ompan Bakers of Sunshine Biscuits Compliments of ARCHER RUBBER CO. NIRO NIRO ELECTRIC HEATING AND LIGHTING CONTRACTORS Hardware Wallpaper Window Glass Home of Kyanize and Bay State Paint 67 MAIN ST., MILFORD, MASS. OS5 HEITIN BROS. Tailors and Cleaners Beacon Bldg. Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. DR. E. J. DIXON Dentist No. 180 Main Street, Milford, Mas3. Milford CLASS OF 1924 THE OAK. EILiY AND IVY Vol. XL. MILFORD, MASS., JUNE, 1924. No. L Published by the Pupils of the Milford High School. Under the Supervision of Miss Marion A. Ryan of the English Department. BOARD OF EDITORS. Editor-in-Chief—Harry Broudy, ’24. Business Manager—Earl Johnson, ’24. Associate Business Managers— Corinne R. Carlson, ’24. Bryant Hill, ’24. ASSOCIATE EDITORS. Mabel Gillman, ’24. Charles Innes, ’24. Frederic Knox, ’24. John Greenough, ’24. Business Management of this Magazine under the Supervision of Miss Mae E. Birmingham of the Commercial Department. Subscription Rates:—For the year, $1.00. Single copies, 15 cents. Address all communications to Oak, Lily and Ivy, Milford, Mass. EDITORIAL. BEING BLASE. Being blase is an unnatural condition. It has to be acquired as does a taste for olives or free verse. Sometimes, unfortunately, it grows on one. It may be the result of laziness, wealth, or severe disappointment in life. When a person is blase, he regards the world with tolerant indifference tinged with contempt. One in this condition will often pay attention to trifles, and ignore matters of weight. He may curse his valet for disarranging a tray, yet he is utterly indifferent to a robbery, a murder, or a war. The unfortunates thus afflicted may be assorted into various classes. First, there is the one who has nothing to do but play. To him the world is a huge sphere of earth inhabited by gentlemen and clods; the former he classes as tire¬ some, the latter as impossible. He frequents the theatre for the purpose of criticism and this criticism is de¬ livered in a refined drawl. He is, however, uninterested in the whole affair. This type is intellectually lazy, never allowing itself to think of anything more weighty than the condition of his hair or quality of his meals. His inherited wealth pre¬ vents his awakening from this revery, while his inherent brains save him from be¬ ing called stupid. The more human type is the one who has been disappointed in life, especial¬ ly in love. Such a disappointment not infrequently converts an active, energetic man into a lethargic, useless specimen of synical humanity. Personal disappoint¬ ment distorts his view of life. He thinks the unkind behavior of his beloved the 18 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. behavior of the sex in general. He loses faith in mankind and usually takes a fling at dissipation. This type, however, can be cured, for the affliction is only temporary. Pain can be forgotten and the better instincts of man cannot lie dormant in def¬ erence to a momentary disappointment. Then we have the intellectual blase. We find this type frequently among the modernists and realists. Those in whom emotions and thought eagerly seek ex¬ pression and find the usual mode inadequate. Their view of life and religion renders virtue as unnecessary and respectability as hypocritical. Knowing that their views are unshared by the majority, they resign themselves to the bonds of convention with that air of disdainful resignation so typical of the blase. Lastly and most amusing is the imitation blase. The genuine blase is some¬ times interesting; the imitation is always ridiculous. In this class belong High school students and college undergraduates. They affect a careless slouch, smoke cigarettes nonchalantly, neglect their scholastic duties, and adopt a knowing smile when referring to wine, women, and song. Now in every case the state of being blase is an unproductive condition. At its best it is a charming carelessness; at its worst, a disgusting laziness. In no case is it admirable. This type cannot succeed in any field of endeavor for the very reason that it does not wish to succeed. It lacks ambition to create or energy to reproduce and is consequently fruitless to the world. Although blase individuals do not realize it, they are retarding the civilization they criticise. Harry Broudy, ’ 24 . SALUTATORY. THE VALUE OF THE POET. In behalf of the class of 1924, I wish to extend to you all a most cordial wel¬ come. We are indeed pleased at the splendid opportunity your presence here to¬ night affords us to show the fruits of our endeavors. With the opportunity granted us by our parents and with the aid of our teachers, we are to-night prepared to per¬ form our duties and fulfill our ambitions. For the assistance and encouragement that have been given us during the past four years, we wish to-night to express our appreciation. Poetry had its origin in the creation of the soul. To outline the development of poetry would be to chronicle the pulse throbs of human emotion since the be¬ ginning of mankind. Long, long ago a savage in a rocky cave looked with love at his mate. He crooned to her and to the world a crude song of devotion. He compared the greatness of his love to the mighty sun and glistening moon. This praise, this glorification was the beginning of poetry. And when a huge boulder crashed through the roof, killing his mate, he grieved and lamented. Again he had translated his feelings into sound and this again was poetry. Thus he sang of love, of death, of war, of glory and of gods, and as he sang, his barbarous companions listened with rapt attention. For the moment, they abandoned their primitive surroundings and were transported to a higher plane by the inspired voice of their bard. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 19 So was born the poet. From that day till this his spirit has not left us. In every age, in every period of the world’s history, he chro nicled the joys, the suf¬ ferings, the success, and the downfall of souls and empires. He has clothed these chronicles with phrases of such beauty that his works have become imperishable. As Watson has said: “Captains and conquerors leave a little dust, And kings a dubious legend of their reign; The swords of Caesar, they are less than rust; The poet doth remain.” The poet has preserved for us a vivid picture of Egypt’s grandeur and of Babylon’s splendor. Homer’s “Iliad” has vivified for us the heroic and noble ideals of the Greeks. Cicero, Virgil, and Horace have bequeathed to us Rome’s mighty civilization. Rome fell, thrones trembled, but the works of its poets re¬ mained invincible to strife and time. And what has the poet striven to accomplish through all these ages? .Since the beginning of time, the object of the poet has been to reveal to the world the ideal relation between God and man, and between man and man. He points out to the world the beauties of nature and of life which its dull senses cannot perceive. He must study the mistakes that men have made and prevent their recurrence. To him falls the lot of convincing humanity that faith is rewarded and that sin is punished. It is his duty to impress the world with the existence of the Deity that “shapes our ends.” Truth depends upon the poet for its definition, for it is his duty to differentiate between the right and the wrong. To fulfill this purpose, the poet cannot be an ordinary man. He must be of a different clay; of a more durable, finer clay. Imagination must be an integral part of him. He must have the ability to project himself into the characters of others and to feel emotions foreign to his ex¬ perience. A poet describing Death must visualize the agony of the dying man. When he writes of love, he feels the joys and pangs of it; he imagines and experi¬ ences every delicate heart-throb and fancy of the lovers. His imagination must be limitless, extending even to the attempted visualizing of the supernatural. Has any poet as yet visited Heaven or Hell? Yet Dante described to us a symbolical Inferno, while Milton’s “Paradise Lost” leads us to celestial realms. In this they succeeded by the exercise of their extraordinary imaginations. It enabled them to grasp and conceive the broadest and noblest of conceptions. Still these qualities do not constitute all the essentials of the poet. Strength of imagination and vastness of conception are useless unless accompanied by an aptitude for expression. “For true expression, like the unchanging sun, Clears and improves what e’er it shines upon.” Words,—he must have thousands of them, know the shades of meaning of each of them, for the form of expression embellishes the thought. Like a crude lump of gold, a thought represents value, but how much more does it signify when the gold is fashioned into an artistic object such as a vase or a chain. Then the value is evident and likewise is the thought more impressive, more significant when expressed in the beautiful language of the poet. The poet has proved time and again that “the pen is mightier than the sword.” Poetry and literature in general have been important factors in the moulding of public opinion on important subjects. Fifteen or twenty years ago, the English Tommy, or private soldier, was held in little esteem by the people and the govern- 20 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. merit’s treatment of them was ungenerous. Reformers endeavored to improve their condition by instigating legislation, yet a poem written by Kipling accomplished more than their best efforts. He pointed out the value of the soldier. “It’s Tommy this an’ Tommy that; an’ chuck him out, the brute; But its ‘saviour of his country’ when the guns begin to shoot.” The latter line shows the hypocritical attitude of the nation towards its de¬ fenders. Thousands read the poem; thousands were impressed by it, and the British Tommy can thank Kipling for his improved condition. Children in the schools are inspired by poetry to patriotism while the soldier’s heart quickens at the words of the poet when set to music. Whittier’s poetry caused us to abhor slavery while the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” cheered our soldiers as they sought to abolish it. We are touched by the faith of the dead soldiers in “Flanders Fields” and the strength of the soldier’s courage in Seeger’s poem “I have 5 Rendezvous with Death,” while Amy Lowell’s “Bombardment” fills us with horror at the barbarity of war. In every walk of life we are influenced by what we read and through this, the poet can inject into thousands his knowledge, his ideals, and his nobility of char¬ acter. Yet despite the evident good that the poet has wrought, and the benefit he has been to mankind, he does not receive the appreciation that is his due. Living in an age of intense industrial activity where a man is judged by the material ef¬ fects he can produce, we are inclined to misjudge the poet. The word itself sug¬ gests to us a long haired individual with dreamy eyes and unstable emotions; a dab¬ bler unwilling and unable to do manual labor. Unless he acquires a fortune by his pen, we regard him as a failure. Because he writes sonnets t o a flower, we regard him as a weakling and as a rule we scorn him if he treasures his books. If he sings the praises of nature, he is out of his head. Reward comes only after death. This opinion we must recognize as a misconception. A glance at the lives of the great poets reveals the incorrectness of this view. Let us review the life of Milton. A man of genius working zealously for art and country, struck blind in the prime of his career and dying the greatest poet of his age. Although warned of his failing eyesight, he refused to neglect the pa¬ triotic duty he believed was his and continued to serve as secretary to the Com¬ monwealth until the Restoration, when he was able to take up his poetical labors. His eyesight, God’s most precious gift, torn from him, he did not despair or revile fate, but bent him self patiently to the task of seeing the light of God’s goodness through his darkness. Milton’s life is an example of the highest form of practical courage, the courage to fight against the temptation of despair. Many a man would have raged against fate and would have become a sour, miserable wretch, a canker to himself and to those around him. Or let us take Oliver Goldsmith, the divine vagabond. A man whom poverty tossed into all conceivable places and over all parts of Europe, and who never knew where the next meal was coming from or what his next shelter would be. Yet one whose faith in God and mankind never wandered. One who looked at ad¬ versity and laughed in her face; one whose company was esteemed by the wealthi¬ est and most cultured families of England. Alexander Pope, a cripple, poor as a church mouse, and sickly, wrote poems so b rilliant, so artistic that they have endured for years. This list of sorrows and struggles contains the names of many of our greatest poets. Their works are immortal because they were written with the blood of their own bitter experience. The poet’s existence is often a continued struggle with THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 21 life at its worst, and it is pathetic to consider that from the unhappiness and trials of many authors has come the poetry which, as Keats has said, must “be a friend To soothe the cares and lift the thoughts of man.” Millions are poor, millions are diseased, millions suffer at the hands of fate, but only the superman, only the man who is above the ordinary, extricates himself from the mire. Such a man is every great poet. The poet with his love for the aesthetic is God’s sympathetic listener. To him God is not obliged to perform miracles to prove his existence; for the poet under¬ stands it through the beauty of nature’s creations. Just as he perceives God’s hand in the lowdiest of insects, and plants, and trees, so he recognizes the divine guid¬ ance in Fate’s operations. As such he accepts them, as he would an eruption of the earth or a tidal wave. He bows with resignation to Fate’s commands and proceeds to do his best for the world. And to-day, in the twentieth century, at a time when civilization is supposed to be at its highest, we need the poet more than ever before. The struggle for hu¬ man existence is becoming harder every day. With the advent of every new soul the ratio between consumption and production is disturbed. Man can no longer feed himself with his two hands, so he employes machines to aid him, and still he must toil harder and harder to keep himself alive. Such a struggle is a fatal one; for in the pursuit of material well-being spiritual welfare is neglected. Long con¬ tinued labor deadens the aesthetic senses, and when these are dormant, people be¬ come sordid in their deeds and thoughts. The more sordid they become, the nearer to the animal they approach and this approach marks the decline of civilization. Ancient culture flourished only when the people had sufficient leisure to in¬ dulge their sense of the aesthetic. In “Cargoes” John Masefield shows us in a few well chosen verses the contrasts of three stages of civilization: Quinquireme of Ninveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and s-weet white ivine. Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus, Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores With a cargo of diamonds, Emeralds, amethysts, Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores. Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack, Butting through the channel in the mad March days With a cargo of Tyne coal, Road rails, pig lead. Firewood, ironware, and cheap tin trays. The last stanza gives us the true picture of this sordid, commercial age; dirty steamers loaded with coal, timbers, cheap tin trays, symbols of utter necessity, of ceaseless exertion and toil. 22 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. To temper this feverish haste, to ease the utter exhaustion it brings to nourish the poverty-starved souls, we need the poet. We need his clear vision, his calm philosophy, his character, tempered by his sorrows and trials and we need the soothing sounds of his various rhythms to ease our wearied souls. We need the poet to stand in front of us and absorb all the rude shocks of the world, and after he has done so to give them to us in a milder form clothed in beauty, and moderated by his own clear, sympathetic understanding. For these things we need the poet; and as long as civilization exists, he will not be lacking. Civilization began in him, grew with him, reached its glory with him, and will crumble into dust when he is no more. Harry Broudy, ’24. THE GULL. Sonnet. From out the canopied heaven soars the gull, A swiftly growing spot on yonder sky, Rudely piercing the rolling ocean’s lull With a defiant note and screaming cry. Now racing wildly with the roaring gales, He dizzily hovers o’er the billowing seas. His silv’ry pinions gleam like distant sails, As gracefully he beats the salty breeze. With glassy, bead-like eyes he scans the tide, Madly careens and like a comet shoots from his flight Into the seething froth. Now satisfied With laden beak, strives for the azure height, And proudly with his glist’ning, scaly prize Is lost to sight in glowing sunset skies. Lena Bragg, ’24. MARSTON WILLIAM I. Marston William I with flashing eyes and expressive tail heard the approach¬ ing footsteps of the alley tyrant and bolted for the thoroughfare with all the haste of an aristocratic prize-winning Boston Bull. He was just in time to be called into the tonneau of his mistress’s car after his short respite in the heaven of dogdom, the butcher’s scrap box. Marston William, though an aristocrat, had the general feelings of a plebeian. His long line of ancestry could be traced back to some master-dog of the early Bostonians, but pedigree to Marston William I meant nothing but a cage, a ribbon about one’s neck which afforded pleasure in chewing, a great many people and a constant chatter of human voices. Marston William I on chance occasions romped after another one of his fellows when his mistress was engaged, but was promptly called back when his departure was noted. A satin-covered pillow on the parlor floor was the favorite spot of his mis- THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 23 tress, who placed him there with whispers and cajolery which meant nothing of importance to this dog. Sleep comes to all of us in comfort and so, too, it came to Marston William I. Sleep brought dreams, beautiful dreams of the model dogdom. Cows were straying, waiting to be chased, cats strode listlessly about waiting to b e teased, the scrap box held its inviting cover open, fields in which to roam were plentiful. Such were his dreams and in the ecstasy of pleasure, his short barks, unconscious to himself, drew the attention of his mistress from her book. Marston William I had a regard for his mistress, but for one other there was a respect and appreciation. This was a man, a frequent caller at the house, who talked of business to his mistress and of his expectancy of success. This was his god, his idol. His caresses spoke of power, clean and muscular, but never yet had Marston William I romped with his adopted lord. A sharp bark, and ears cocked, fully awake he rushed to the door. Foot¬ steps, his footsteps, the master. The door opened and the dog leaped to greet him. A harsh, “Down, sir!’’ caused him to stop and look blinkingly at the “great” one. What caused that frown? Why such a harsh greeting? The dog’s troubled mind scented something wrong. His nice master in trouble! Impossible! But yes, it must be so. Those quiet tones in which he spoke to mistress. The in¬ decision, and was that a final no? The Great One refused and in trouble. How could “Shrimpy” help him? Oh! to have him speak to him as “Shrimpy” once again. The man went towards the door, opened it, paused hesitant, lingered a mo¬ ment and passed on, but not before Marston William I had gone out unnoticed to wait at the corner of the walk. The Great One came down the walk, sorely troubled, and did not notice Marston William expectantly awaiting a caress. It was some time before he did notice him and then, “Back home, sir.” The dog turned, trotted a few steps, stopped and turned again. He was walking ahead again. Straight towards the alley. The dog followed. Unnoticed the dog entered the alley with the man. That meat box looked inviting. Then the tyrant’s voice, “Sic ’em, Tige.” His first instinct was to run. He half turned, stopped, and then the fighting blood of those past generations came to the fore. His legs stiffened, back bristled, and he awaited the approach of the big, burly yellow dog. The brute dog leapt to seize this mere pup and dispose of him in a few short moments, but his jaws closed on empty space and a sharp twinge in his leg spoke for the keenness of the aristocrat’s teeth. “Clean him up, kill ’m,” so the tyrant yelled. It was then the Great One turned and noting the smaller dog, yelled to the owner of the larger dog to call the brute off. His request was greeted with a salient to the stomach. Something snapped. His arm went out, met flesh and drew blood. This was a new feeling of exultation. Forgotten were days of past obedience to the “tie that binds.” The lust of battle held him. The fight of the dogs ended, as most dog fights do, in one standing off and offering no attack and the other ready but unwilling. A crowd soon gathered. This was a novelty. The tyrant of the alley fighting with a pedigree dog. A swelling sea of blue mounted on the Great One’s eye and then fury itself seemed loose. His arms worked like pistons. With trip hammer blows he beat back his assailant to be robbed of his victory by the voice of the constable. “Boys, boys, not in public, settle it anywhere but on the street. At it again, Mulligan, you knave of a butch¬ er! It’s about time you received your dessert.” So the amiable officer ended the episode. The Great One looked about, called, “Shrimp, come here.” The dog leapt to the fore with spirit and they started towards home. The dog’s mind was im¬ pressed. What lightness of step! What new life! Here was his master in true 24 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. form. The Great One bent over and petted the dog, murmuring, “Good, old Shrimp, I’ve found myself at last. I’ve come out from my grave of books to stay. Did you see his nose? Good old boy.” The dog with the great bone which he had retrieved at the last moment from the scrap box arched his back for those fine caresses. Here was a master! They arrived at the house. He rang the bell. The mistress answered the door. “Why, Henry, what has happened? And William Marston with a bone.” Such a look of horror! The Great One spoke, “Here is your dog and I’ve come back to get .‘yes’ for an answer. I’ll not go without it.” “Why,”—it was over. That night on the divan the place of honor was held by “Shrimp” with two friends at his side in a world of their own. John Greenough, ’24. THE LACQUER BOX. The old man wended his solitary way along the narrow street and up the stairs leading to the squalid boarding house, unaware of the close scrutiny of two pairs of shifty eyes. The owners of these eyes stepped from the doorway opposite and one remarked, “Well, there he is.” “Yuh,” was the reply. “Will we try to-night?” “Yuh,” repeated his friend, “C’mon. I gotta see ‘Soapy’,” and the two de¬ parted down a darksome alley. The old man in the dingy hall fumbled with the key to his ill-kept rooms. He entered and locked the door, then crossed the room to an old-fashioned trunk in a corner. He opened it, and drew from it a lacquer box. He took something from his pocket which he dropped into the receptacle. He stood thus, apparently gloating over the contents of the box. Then he shut it and replaced it in the trunk and locked that. In this district where ordinarily no embarrassing questions are asked, the old man had been the proverbial thorn in the side of the public’s curiosity. He had no friends, no employment, yet he seemed able to eat regularly and his land¬ lady could testify that his room was paid for in advance. The denizens of this district, all of them intimates, if not friends of the police, had come to the con¬ clusion that the old man was a miser, and two of his neighbors were convinced that the lacquer box held his savings. Through the key-hole they had watched the old man playing with the con¬ tents of the box, always, however, with his back to them. Their avarice, con¬ trolled as long as possible, could no longer be resisted. They were determined to have this box with or without the old man’s consent. This was the night decided upon to try and obtain the box, and they had gone to get certain tools of their trade. The old man ate a frugal meal, went to bed and put out the light. Two hours later there was a faint shuffle in the hall. A creak, the door rattled for a second, then swung slowly inward. “Take it easy,” was heard in a sibilant whisper. There was a startled cry from the old man, which was broken by a dull thud. The sound of labored breathing and muttered curses were then the only sounds in the room as the men worked on the trunk. At last it was open and the box in their hands. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 25 Five minutes later the occupants of the house were aroused by piercing shrieks, the shrieks of doomed, or badly frightened men. When the police arrived they found three lifeless forms in the squalid room. Henry Van Buren, the eccentric naturalist, dead of a broken skull and his slayers lying one on the floor and the other across the rifled trunk which had held the lacquer box. Three venomous adders, Van Buren’s latest specimens, had slithered across the floor to the shelter of the bed to escape the feet of the curious who came to the scene. Francis McNary, ’24. HASTE. Sonnet. At break of day he rushes forth to fight. He wakes his men with hasty trumpet blast, And scorns to praise the rising sun. The height In distant mists is crowned with a fast And noble fortress. This he makes his aim. His warriors storm the gates. The wall is lost Before his quick assault. But then his fame Is shattered by the rising foe. The cost Is dear. His men fall back. He urges: all With no avail. They drop fatigued. Too late He pauses with regret that caution’s call He did not heed. You marvel at his fate! Then list to wisdom, lest you meet the worst: “To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first.” Marion Littlefield, ’24. EVENING. Sonnet. The sun is slowly sinking o’er the hills, And evening casts its shadows soft and clear; The moon slips from its amber clouds of frills, As one by one the silent stars appear. The birds with sleepy twitters go to rest, The flowers nod their dewy heads in sleep, As mother nature in soft coolness dressed With gentle tender smile begins to peep Into the dreaming bud and quiet nest. And then the night bird soars to meet the blue, With fluted note of ecstasy, his best, While guarding all is silver light and dew As evening’s curtain swaying in the breeze Becomes a mist in night’s sweet peaceful ease. Evelyn Wiggin, ’24. 26 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. DIFFICULTIES ARE THINGS THAT SHOW WHAT MEN ARE. Never was truth better exemplified than in the old adage of Epictetus that “Difficulties are things that show what men are.’’ We often make the error in believing that difficulties are things to be avoided, that they are unfortunate oc¬ currences and obstacles placed in our path to our detriment. How rarely we realize that they are really stepping stones to our success. Greatness could never be attained, if difficulties were not met and overcome. In sport, in business, in politics, in fact even in the commonest walks of life, it is the overcoming of diffi¬ culties that leads to success or happiness. A man who is afraid to face difficul¬ ties will live and die a nonenity and will soon be forgotten. We should have no sports such as baseball or football, were it not that diffi¬ culties were placed before us by the opposing players. It would not be greatly amiss if the dictionaries gave the definition of sport as the overcoming of diffi¬ culties. It is the almost unsurmountable difficulties placed in their way that causes men to travel to the very ends of the earth, to attempt the hazardous feat of climbing the towering slopes of Matterhorn or Mount Everett. The charm lies in the fact that the peaks are almost unattainable. Never was a man surrounded by more difficulties than our martyred presi¬ dent, Abraham Lincoln. Although hindered by poverty, lack of learning, and being reared far away from the cities where he may have been noticed more quickly, he learned in life that difficulties were merely stepping-stones that would lead him on to unbelievable success. And his name will go down to posterity as our greatest president, and one of the world’s most illustrious men. Honors of all kinds would be barren indeed, if they could be attained with¬ out difficulties. They could not be fully appreciated, if they came to us without effort or exertion. Without difficulties the world would be at a standstill and we should still be living the life of three thousand years ago, as there would be no invention. The whole life of the great wizard of electricity, Edison, is simply a history of a man who could surmount and conquer greater difficulties than other men. Education is to be achieved only by continually meeting mental difficulties. Study is the stepping-stone by which we finally reach our ambition and are able to take our place with the rest of our classmates on graduation day, feeling glad and happy that we have overthrown the difficulties placed in our way, fully ap¬ preciating the fact that we have accomplished our ambition and determination not to allow difficulties to deter us from our attainment and achievement. What credit, what glory would there be in graduation were it merely a matter of form? With everything made easy with no difficulties, what pleasure or pride would there be? Without difficulties ambition would be useless, as we should all have an equal chance to attain any object to which we aspired. Ambition may be defined as a grim determination to meet all obstacles or difficulties and overcome them. Let us ever remember that now we are on the threshold of real life, our difficulties so far from being over are just beginning. As we step forth from school into the more serious walks of life, let us remember that the training we have received here has qualified us to meet those difficulties and conquer them. It depends upon us alone how we accomplish this task, and what we make of ourselves, for truly our whole future hinges on the use of our difficulties. We shall be just what our difficulties make us, for “Difficulties are things that show what men are.” Alice Bottomley, ’24. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 27 THE LAST OF THE VIGILANTES. “There is so much bad in the best of us, And so much good in the worst of us, That it really behooves the most of us To speak very well of the rest of us.” The ladies met in Samanthy Allen’s sitting room, an upholstered affair with many knick-knacks and sea-shells, for their weekly meeting. This gathering was organized for the sole purpose of keeping peace and decorum in the community; in truth, it was sort of a vigilant committee, which inwardly was feared by the town in general. No one knew who was to be attacked next. If you had a “past” or a “secret,” it would be ferreted out by this gracious committee and you were ostracized from human society. These gentle ladies met weekly. This was an important meeting. Indeed, as they politely sat down, and po¬ litely every one avoi ded the horsehair sofa, there was an air of suppressed excite¬ ment, for to-day, to-day they had something to talk about and how they liked to talk! Samanthy, tall and spare, with a long nose and talkative chin, cleared her throat. Every one sat up expectantly. “We are gathered here to-day, as is our custom, to safeguard the morals of the community, and particularly to discuss the arrival of a parasite into our midst, one-” With this she stopped, at the request of one Mrs. Hoy, who was deaf and asked her to repeat. “WE ARE GATHERED”—she repeated loudly. Mrs. Hoy sat back in her chair, thanked her and calmly rocked to and fro. She knew this ritual by heart—why extend the suspense? Samanthy smiled frigidly, and once more- “-to discuss one ‘Madame Xenia,’ who has voiced intent to open a beauty parlor.” Impressive silence—breath-taking. “We will take measures at once,” said Samanthy crisply, “As we have suffi¬ cient material to act upon in form of records, etc.” She proceeded to narrate several minor incidents which invariably occur in the normal life of every woman in the universe. She continued: “She has been a manicurist”—a knowing wink passed over the top of the report. “Later a hairdresser” Silence. “Married.” A pause. “Separated.” Gasps, many of them. “Correct age, twenty-three.” With finality. “And this, my dear helpmates, concludes my report and brings us to that period when we shall interfere in the course of this intended ruination of the un¬ impeachable moral standing of the town.” Samanthy stopped and received the looked-for approval. The next meeting of the dear ladies would certainly be the deathblow to Madame Xenia. Thus they departed for their own hearths. Sunday the vigilant committee, true to form, occupied the foremost rows in the church. 28 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. The men prepared to sleep, and the women to keep them awake, as the ser¬ mon began. The theme of the sermon was: “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” All heads inclined slightly toward the committee pew. A silent, yet im¬ pressive interest strained the preacher to eloquence. For he had a motive in his selection of the text. He would show these women, who, under cloak of beatific righteousness, daily destroy the reputations of their neighbors. He realized that these blind, egotistical women were so far immersed in their own wickedness as to believe themselves impeccable. He struck at the very root of the evil. The sermon lasted fifteen minutes. Into these few minutes were -heaped all the eloquence, indignation, enthusiasm and contempt which the preached could entertain. Never had an audience been so moved. Mrs. Hoy, who had forgotten her ear trumpet (as was her custom on Sundays), was in a half-standing posture, en¬ deavoring to catch every word. And Samanthy—Samanthy listened with an air of complete misunderstanding. Her very appearance pleaded boredom. When all the other members of the parish were shedding unashamed tears, including the committee, Samanthy gazed coldly and disapprovingly upon them, and changed her intentions—not a mite. When she returned home, she sat down and meditated on the sermon. The doorbell rang, Samanthy started from her reverie, then quickly opened the door. “Miss Allen?” her visitor queried pleasantly. “Come, why, come in,” said Samanthy, puzzled and not overcourteous. Then- “Yes ?”—inquiringly. “Miss Allen, do you recall knowing Jarvis Trenton?” Samanthy paled, her chin trembled and she nodded almost imperceptibly as she replied: “I knew him once.” “Well,” said Xenia slowly, for it was she, “recently I have taken a course in a French hospital. It was there I met Dr. Trenton. We became friends, the best of friends; in fact, we were confidants”-(Samanthy’s hands gripped her chair)—“He asked me to tell you, Miss Allen, that he was still waiting for your answer; also that he had watched each mail for twenty years and had never given up hope, and really, he is quite handsome!” “He always was,” Samanthy said softly, her eyes far away. “And if you are not tired of listening, I have a confession to make,” said the girl, her eyes twinkling. “I told that queer woman, Petunia—(she happened to be a dear friend of Samanthy s) quite a story about my being a beauty expert. She simply devoured it!” Miss Campbell laughed, as if Petunia was the greatest joke ever; perhaps she was. Samanthy had lost her speech for a moment, and sat staring at her visitor. “I really must go, but, please don’t neglect Jarvis any longer, because he doesn t deserve it. With this Miss Xenia quickly left the room, and in a moment she was gone. Samanthy’s stiff pride broke down, and tears welled to her eyes, and she sobbed as if her proud old heart would break. Several hours later Samanthy emerged from her sitting-room a changed woman. Her harsh mouth was actually gentle, her nose seemed shorter and her lightly streaked hair, usually pulled back tightly, had escaped and was playing with sunshine. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 29 Suddenly she sat up. A step—who? At this time? A low, deep voice called hopefully, “Samanthy.” A soft, tremulous voice exclaimed, “Oh, Jarvis.” Catherine C. Mackay, ’24. ON PERVERSITY. Of all oddities there is perhaps none more inexplicable than the perversity of human nature. The incentives which instigate its existence are often as vague as the condition itself. It is prevalent among young and old. There is the childish perversity of youth which to a certain extent is justifiable, but the di¬ rect perversity of those of mature years is little less than a deliberate ignorance. This is admirably exemplified in the case where two persons will pass each other on the street apparently totally unaware of the other’s presence, while in reality they are cognizant of the other’s proximity. There is the perversity of two children who have harbored opposing views, who have clashed, and yet both peep shyly from obscurity, each waiting for the other to approach with a forgiving heart and smile. There is the perversity of lovers. An unintentional slight, a hasty word, or perhaps the whispering of gossip, and friction and unpleasant relations ensue. There is the perversity of the coquettish woman who trifles with numerous mem¬ bers of the opposite sex for the satiation of her vanity or for momentary amuse¬ ment, and then her airy rejection for some new attraction. Perhaps it is that indefinable craving for novelty. There is the perversity of old age,—fretful longings, supposed injuries, or the attribution of calamity to hard luck. But be it the perversity of the old, the young, or of any kind or manner, we all have been guilty of peryerse thoughts and acts. The thing is as old as Time itself. There is a certain inexplicable and unreasonable intricacy about it. I challenge anyone to prove that he has never been perverse. There are no exceptions. The disease is universal, and as far as I can tell, Science has not yet produced a remedy or a cure. Thurston Stowers, ’24. LAND ENEMIES. “That there skunk on the next farm went and shifted them stone piles over on to my land again.” Thus Mr. Timothy Gray described his neighbor and his re¬ cent activities. “Why don’t you get the law on him?” inquired his wife, “They’d put him where he belongs—stealing an honest man’s land like that!” “Now, M’randy, I tol’ you afore that when Tim Gray gets so old an’ feeble he can’t walk and defend his own lan’ against rascals an’ knaves like him yonder, he’ll call in a lawyer and not afore. I’ll show him tomorrer whose lan’ it is, You’d think he’d know by this time that I’ll fight to my last drop of blood. I’ve 30 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. moved them piles back where they belong four times already an’ if I ketch him movin’ ’em again, I’ll blow his head off’n his shoulders.” From the house sounded the dinner bell. Joseph Moore and his hired men trooped in to wash up. “Faith, that rat next door stole my land afore breakfas’, I guess, and we’ve been all morning moving the stones back to where they ought to be, delayin’ pick¬ in’ the apples. That critter’s makin’ himself a general pest. Jim said he got ravin’ because they said down to the store that his girl and Tommy was gettin’ pretty intimate. I’d ask Tommy about it, only I know no son of ours would have anythin’ to do with that hussy.” “I think you might settle about that land peaceably, Tim. It’s mighty lonesome here with never a soul to drop in to borrow a cup of sugar nor go visitin’.” Night found “Big Tim” hauling stones, thinking out loud as is a habit of men who are alone much. “He’ll take this as a final warnin’ that I mean business and he’ll leave my lan’ alone. I reckon he knows I’m a dangerous enemy by this time an’ not to be trifled with. That breeze smells like wood smoke. The big fire up north that Jack was tellin’ us about must be ragin’ still. If young Moore doesn’t leave Bet alone, I’ll blow his carcass full o’ holes. The big hulkin’ thief! Just a chip off’n the old block. Shouldn’t wonder if he could tell where the Widow Saunder’s pig went las’ week. I heard them say down to the store th’ other nigh’ tha’ she was meetin’ him on the sly, but I reckon they’ll shet their traps about associatin’ her name with that tramp’s agin. Gitup, Jenny, we gotta hustle up.” The next morning Joe was interrupted in his fields by an imperative sum¬ mons. “The big fire’s blowin’ down this way.” Joe and his son immediately left their work with all available hired men and went to fight. Big Tim also answered the call. They fought for hours with bucket, ax and shovel and with a west wind succeeded in stopping its progress south. The wind was driving it toward Brennon but the town was surrounded by a large grassy plain where the fire could be stopped, so Gray and Moore and their help were kept back to prevent the spread southward and because the others were annoyed by their everlasting distrust. The wind changed a little to the northwest and ran a spur between them and Brennon. Night brought a calm in which they fought with ax and shovel for conquest before the morning breeze. It came a straight north wind, sweeping red and black destruction on their homes. Forgotten was their feud. They fought the fire until they were blistered and raw. Their eyes were scarlet and almost blind from smoke, the tears washing furrows in their black faces. They retreated to the creek. It was their last hope. It was very narrow and muddy, but they might by cutting the trees on both sides and soaking them with mud stall it. For two days constant watch had to be kept over a mile of the creek for stray sparks. At the end of that time the fire had burned everything within reach. Anxiety relaxed and trouble began. For the first time in years they spoke directly to each other and not to their wives. “That land’s mine and I’m going-” Big Tim stopped. Over on one of the chopped trees Bet was sitting and Tommy beside her with one arm around her. “That beggarly upstart—” he began. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and he stopped. “Let’s give the land to them,” said Joe. Tim looked at him a moment and said: THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 31 “Give me your hand. I’m sorry. Tommy’s a fine lad.” They both winced as the raw flesh struck. Tim chuckled. “I guess he won’t be hugging her very tight yet. He’s sure got courage. He’s more raw than us. He’s a fine lad.” A week later a rap sounded on Mrs. Moore’s door. “Come in. Good mornin’, M’randy.” “It sure is, Faith. I came over to see if you’re got some sugar I could be borrowing for the weddin’ cake. I forgot to tell Tim to get it in town. There’s so much to think of having the wedding at such short notice. Lan’ sakes, I was engaged two years afore I stood up afore the parson and said ‘I will.’ But youth is always in a hurry and every generation’s worse.—Thanks for the sugar, Faith!” Eunice Morey, ’24. THE LURE OF THE WORLD. When the sweetly warming breath of spring Thrills the fiields of green, When the merry sun his good will beams On the peaceful, verdant scene, It’s then in the country I would be On the winding road and lane, By a babbling brook in some shady nook Where fragrance and beauty reign. When the mighty heart of the city throbs With endless quickening beats, When a love of life and work is born Through the hum of the busy streets, It’s then in the city I would be, A part of that hustling throng, A tiny cell in the mighty heart That moves the world along. When the rushing wind with a mocking roar Sweeps down from the crested heights, When the silv’ry moon fantastic gleams ’Neath the splendor of Northern lights, It’s then in the Northland I would be, When the moon peeps through the firs. As they wail and sway with yielding grace, How the soul with rapture stirs! When the full, rich light of the tropic moon Filters through the palms, Sweet music and fragrance on the breeze Float by and thrill and charm, It’s then in the Southland I would be Where Nature ever smiles, ’Mid the sensuous beauty and mystic air Of the carefree Southern isles. 32 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. When the dashing breakers leap and foam And the whirlpools toss and swirl, When the creeping waters lap the sands When the white-capped billows furl, It’s then by the ocean I would be, Near that rollicking, rolling deep, Where the moonbeams dance on azure waves Like nymphs on fairy feet. Corinne Carlson, ’24. A VISION. Ballad. Wearied and worn with daily cares I yielded to repose, And soon before my raptured eyes A lovely vision rose. I thought, while resting on my couch In evening’s silent gloom, I saw an angel’s lovely form; Its radiance filled my room. And as I gazed, it smiled on me, And beckoned me to rise; Astonished, I rose and followed her And floated towards the skies. The earth we left so far away; Like a mere speck it seemed, And heavenly radiance clear and bright Across our pathway streamed. At last before a gate we stood, A gate of purest gold, And there within, a lovely place All wondrous to behold. But soon the clear and shining light That round our footsteps shone Began to lessen and grow dim, And I was left alone. The vision faded from my sight And as I opened my eyes, I found that it was all a dream, This vision from the skies. Isabel MacLachlan, ’24. THE CAST FOR “THE TRYSTING PLACE.” THE CAST FOR “THE FAN AND TWO CANDLESTICKS.” THE CALL OF THE GIPSY TRAIL. There’s a gipsy trail a-calling me, A satiny ribbon of sand, That leads from a sunlit home in the west Through a laughing, happy land. I see the moonlit gipsy camp, The crackling flames of pine; And I smell the smoke that spirals up In a thin and silv’ry line. Cherry-red lips of a laughing lass, Dusky lights in her hair; The swish of her skirt and the smile in her eye, On the highway free from care. Strum-strum, strum-strum on the merry guitars, And the whirl of the gipsy dance; Clap-clap, clap-clap on the tambourines In a vale of sunny France. A fast, wild chase in the dead of the night, A race with the minions of law; Well-hidden rest in a glen by day, With a laugh for the prison’s maw. In the gay-decked fair ground’s beck’ning lights, The curious crowd makes way For the gipsy girl with her tambourine To dance the hours away. A wrinkled palm with silver crossed, And a tale of future days, In a rickety, weatherworn caravan cart To the tune of the gipsy lays. Oh, the flashing eyes of the ardent youth As he plays to his lady fair! Oh, the happy hours of sweet young love, When the spring is in the air! When the caroling lark is in the sky, And the primrose in the vale; When the carefree gipsies seek the sun O’er many a hill and dale. Oh, the gipsy trail’s a-calling me, And I can’t deny its plea; And I’ll carry none of my work-a-day world To the gipsy trail with me. For I’ll laugh, and sing, and dance, and play, I’ll be merriest of the band, And forget that there ever was a world Outside this joyful land. Mabel Gillman, ’24. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 33 THE SONG OF THE LARK. “I’m happy, so happy,” the little lark sang, As he soared toward the blue sky above, “For summer is here with garlands so bright, And the air is astir with her love. Oh, I sing to the wide, wide world below, And I sing to the stars above, But the song of my heart that I sing to my mate Is the song that best I love. I sing to the flowers of dazzling hues, I sing to the skies so blue, I sing as long as the daylight lasts, And arise again with the dew. I sing to the rills, to the vales and the hills, The meadows where cattle are lowing, I sing to the brook as it gurgles along, And I sing to the west wind blowing. I cheer the fallen, disheartened, and weak, I comfort the sick and forlorn, I spread out my wings and fly far above And peal forth my beautiful song. But ever anon I return to my mate Cooing alone in the nest, And the song of my heart that I sing to my mate Is the song that I love the best.” Dorothy Peckham, ’24. AS A MAN THINKETH. “Thought in the mind hath made us. What we are By thought was wrought and built. If a man’s mind Hath evil thoughts, pain comes on him as comes The wheel the ox behind . . If one endure In purity of thought, joy follows him As his own shadow . sure.” James Allen. 34 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. From out of thought is formed the mold from which man’s character is built. As he thinketh, so shall he be. Every act of man springs from the hidden seeds of thought. The act is the blossom and its fruits are joy or suffering. If a man is a possessor of a noble and God-like character it is the blessed result of per¬ sistent effort in right thinking, the result of long cherished association with divine and God-like thoughts. An ignoble character is the direct result of hate and sin¬ ful thoughts. Man is born with free will. It is his own choice whether his life will fol¬ low a pattern of joy and happiness built around strength, or whether he will fashion himself into such a weapon as will destroy him. The first road ascends to divine perfection; the other descends below the levels of a beast. Man is al¬ ways master even when in his lowest state. He has the power to find every truth connected with his life for the formation of his character. He is the builder of his own destiny, and through patient endeavor separates right from wrong, and by utilizing his experiences obtains wisdom. It is only the man that is persistent and will defy evil who can open the door of success. As a gardener cultivates his land keeping it free from weeds and devoting his energy to the growth of sweet blossoms and luscious fruits, so may a man tend the garden of his soul, weeding out the wrongs, rooting up the impure or profane thoughts and cultivating only flowers and fruits of righteous thinking. A man is not governor of himself until he is able to remedy the main defects in his char¬ acter. He must practice self-control and self-purification. He must not shun religion but must come closer to God, before the height of his cherished aspira¬ tions may be reached. Certain people believe that thought can be kept a secret but it cannot. Does not one of our leading writers say, “Thought rapidly crystallizes into habit and habit solidifies into circumstance” ? There can be no progress, no achievement without sacrifice and a man’s sacrifice is the development of his character upon the solid foundation of reso¬ lution and self-reliance. The more upright and noble he becomes, the greater will be his success, and more lasting and enduring the achievement which crowns with glory the result of effort, self-control, resolution, purity and righteousness of thought. Esther M. Fales, ’24. TO THE DAWN. Sonnet. When night casts off her mantle from the earth, The gorgeous sun peeps slyly from above, And spreads her myriads of hues with mirth, So grand, so fair, a message of God’s love. It sends a welcome greeting to us all. The birds awakening fill the air with song, The flowers lift their heads in answering call, And keep their fragrance sweet the whole day long, The dew drops sparkle on the verdant green, THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 35 And busy bees commence their daily hum. All nature in its bright and glorious sheen Awakes to greet the new day that has come. Thus all these wondrous tokens let us know That God thinks of His children here below. Alice Bottomley, ’24. THE STARS. Sonnet. O countless, twinkling amber eyes of heaven! That peer with mystic charm from depths of blue; The first pure glimmering lights by God’s hands given The wonder of creation to imbue. Each by the others’ winking gleam enhanced, Each but a crystal dot that glows by night, Yet is the wond’ring soul of man entranced By the baffling, awful secret of their light. What realms beyond those heralds of the even Are hidden from the little men below? What strange and unknown power to them is given, Celestial blossoms that in heaven grow When the sun-god’s splendid reign begins to fade? O matchless amber points in sapphire laid! Corinne Carlson, ’24. K. K. K. A detailed reckoning had failed to show Webb wherein he had erred. Yet another warning had come, its terror magnified by its brevity—nothing save three black K’s. That healthy color that comes with clean living faded from his cheeks. He was no coward, but his father had become obnoxious to the Klan, and since then nothing had been heard of him. Webb also knew that a fellow-boarder had returned one night horribly mutilated, refusing to disclose the identities of his cruel assailants. He went down the stairs and Mrs. John K. Knowlton, the owner of the boarding house, welcomed him to supper. Polly, who always tried to please, opened the conversation with an account of the rally which the Klan had held in Hampstead, a neighboring village, the night before. He started as though he had been struck and nearly choked on a morsel of meat. He excused himself, saying, “I had a hard day at the office, I feel tired.” Webb felt mentally ill until he remembered with a smile that he had an en¬ gagement with Polly for the evening. He hurriedly changed his clothes and 36 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. was putting on his collar when he noticed in a firm hand those eternal K’s again. They were written on the inside of his collar and no one else could ever see them. This thought added to the suspicion that there was a Klansman in the family. A glance in the mirror told him that he appeared to be of middle age, gaunt and al¬ most decrepit, while he knew he was only twenty-seven. He thought frantically that if there were some command with the warning he could easily follow it and satiate the desire of this monster, regaining thereby his health and self-confi¬ dence. He heard himself saying as in a voice coming from a distance, “Two please, in the orchestra.” The hall darkened and there thrown on the silver sheet was the picture of the reecnt meeting of the Klan taken unknown to the members. An icy hand clutched his heart, drained the blood from his face and left that chill feeling in his hands. A repulsive thought took hold of him. “Polly had insisted on coming to the pictures of the Klan.” Horror shook him—“If she were the member in the household”—he reasoned. She might be, for all the warnings were left in his room and Polly swept that floor on which his room was. He remembered her enthusiastic remarks at the supper table. All the time his love kept arguing in Polly’s favor and his distrust and fear argued against her. Webb realized she was talking. “Nice wasn’t it?” He agreed as the lights came on and announced the end of the show for the night. Polly noticed his silence in returning home and felt a deep pang when he neglected his good-night kiss at the head of the stairs and she could only believe that there was another girl. He hoped that once in bed his customary carefree condition would insure a good sleep, but he was disappointed. Every step of the policeman on his beat brought before his eyes vivid creatures, white robed, going about their nefarious business. A passing auto threw a light in his room changing his sapphire tie pin into a firey cross, the emblem of the hooded brethren. Each stab of fear brought Polly to his mind, a Polly not as before, graceful, laughing and happy but one with a hard, cold light in her eyes with a militant walk, stern, and uncompromis¬ ing. Morning found him pallid. He shook as he dressed and his lips were dry. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and choked his morning song. A side glance in the mirror told him that something must be done. He must get away somehow to Europe or South America to escape the Klan or his health and even life would be forfeited. His steps dragged but he hailed Mrs. Knowlton’s other helper, sent for the lady herself and paid his bill. He finished packing and closed his window. He could remember nothing that he might have left behind and so he went down stairs. He paused half-way, however, when he heard two voices. Bridget and Polly were separating the laundry. “No, that is not Webb’s.” “Oh, yes, it is,” answered Polly. “You know I always put his laundry in with Mrs. Knowlton’s and her mark is K. K. K.” She laughed light heartedly at the coincidence. Webb bounced back up the stairs, threw his clothes out of the suit case and rushed to the window just in time to see Polly emerge from the house. He threw up the window and cried softly, “Oh! Polly!” Fred L. Knox, ’24. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 37 THE OCEAN. Sonnet. Thou storm-tossed whirlpool of ten thousand wrecks, Where rules the hand of destiny divine Upon the poorest barks or richest decks, The proudest steel or humble craft of pine, To thee we bow our awe-struck heads, nor claim With mortal power to dictate to thy waves, Magnificent surpasser of man’s fame; E’en though, unharmed, thy depths he daily braves He cannot conquer thee, omnipotent; He’s but a toy for thee to mock in sport; Only must he worship thee, God-sent, From lowest hut to stately royal court, Divine expression of the master’s power, Unmoved, unchanged, from first to final hour. Mabel Gillman, ’24. LIGHT ESSAYS. Note:—The following were written in imitation of certain “airy trifles” by Belloc and other writers read in class. ON CROWS. Recently there appeared in a Boston newspaper an announcement that the Du Pont Powder Works would give a handsome prize to the person who shot the greatest number of crows, using their special gun powder. This item was of no small interest to myself, for I personally have made sev¬ eral attempts to get within shooting range of the bird mentioned. A discussion in our Gun Club of about a hundred members revealed the fact that out of the hundred hunters not more than sixty had shot crows, and the amount that were shot by the whole club would not exceed two hundred. It is needless to say that crows are very deceptive. Their store of wisdom far exceeds that of the wise old owl people talk about. For would not owls be very easy to shoot, if not protected by the state? I have seen owls fly about in broad daylight when they can see practically nothing. They fly perhaps a hundred yards at a time, flitting foolishly from tree to tree. To show just how wise a crow is, I will cite several cases where they have outwitted me. As one knows, or should know, the crows always travel in groups, sometimes of not more than three or four, and then often in much larger flocks. 38 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. It is very seldom that a flock of crows will land without posting a sentinel in some high tree. Then they feed in safety, for a crow does not go to sleep at his post even when there is apparently no danger. I have crept through briars and scrawny underbrush, lacerating my hands and body as well as my feelings only to hear the “caw, caw,” of the sentinel before I could really get within shooting distance. I have hidden in underbrush when I have heard them flying over head, only to find that they would not land. I have seen short accounts in the same Boston paper protesting against this campaign. I myself should not worry a particle over the fate of the crow, for he is more than endowed with wits to take care of himself. I do, however, admire the man who suggested such an idea. He probably works in the powder plant, for I fear they will get far more money out of the proceeds of the sale of ammuni¬ tion than the prize will ever be worth. As for the fabulous tales of shooting thirty of forty crows a day, this seems to me rather out of proportion to the facts when I consider my experience with the birds. I have a happy facility of not be¬ lieving all I hear or read, and so I shall continue to credit the sagacity of the crow and to spend my spare hours in activities pleasanter than the vain pursuit of the Du Pont prize. George Wilfred Griffin, ’24. VANITY. Vanity is only another of the inevitable and empty accompaniments of man on his short excursion through this vale of tears, and it occupies the same family tree with conceit, arrogance, and pride. Furthermore, it is the most ridiculous of them all. It receives its first impetus when the proud young mother triumphantly bears her cherubic first-born to the largest mirror in the house, and lisps to it: “See mother’s pretty, pretty baby. My, but isn’t he just the most booful, lovely-” et cetera, et cetera. You all know how it goes. And as soon as the infant begins to prattle, it dives for the mirror, kisses the reflected image of personal loveliness, pats it, and says, “Pretty baby.” Then when the child laboriously learns to struggle through “Mary’s Little Lamb” or “Tommy’s Pussycat,” and bashfully consents to recite it for the Ladies’ Aid, when mother is entertaining, it seems that he has reached the pinnacle of per¬ fection. Mother kisses her little boy; all the ladies gush and coo over him, and prophesy that at a future date he will startle the world with his marvelous pow¬ ers of declamation. His mother, with just pride, tells his father, and his brothers, and his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts, and he is lauded in turn by these. At the tender age of ten, he revolts from the art of expression, and becomes mechanically inclined. He constructs a kite, a huge, grotesque, newspaper affair, which actually flies. Father is overjoyed. He shakes the hand of his little man, and is tempted to write to Mr. Edison concerning his budding mechanical genius, but he decides upon second thought that his son must not find success under the patronage of the great. Mother is rather doubtful, but just as proud as father, and by this time the son has imbibed some of the spirit of his intimates, and is beginning to consider himself quite up to form in all respects. By the time he is a Senior in High School, his vanity is supreme. He is very good looking, and he knows it. He receives the unadulterated and enthusiastic THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 39 adulation of the opposite sex, regardless of race, color, or creed, and he accepts it as his due. He dances divinely, and woe to the social status of a partner who fails to follow him through all the intricacies of the latest fox trot! He is a good all-round athlete, and he is perfectly willing to tell you so. He is also willing to tell you that his haberdashery comes from a London tailor, but he neglects to add that his uncle is the tailor. He also neglects to tell about the hours his mother spends pressing trousers, washing silk shirts, and cleaning gloves and hats. Of course, she could not think of sending her boy’s things to the laundry. How the family is assured that Ferdinand, or Reginald, or whatever his name may be, is going to be the greatest matinee idol in history. Ferdinand or Regi¬ nald, or whatever his name may be, thinks so too. In fact he is quite sure of it. Then he goes to college, and flunks out with flying colors, that is, socially flying colors, and a little while later, you and I are in the big city, and we go into a large building, and there we see him in a large cage with many other Ferdinands or Reginalds, or whatever their names may be. They are all sitting on high stools, and they all wear green shades over their eyes, and they are all adding up end¬ less columns of figures. You and I are sorry for them and we hope that vanity will not make such fools of us. Mabel Gillman, ’24. ON THE FIRST SWIM OF THE SEASON. The first swim of the season! Wonderful! Especially when one repairs to the quarry hole to take the first plunge. The fact that there was frost the previous night deterred us not at all. We were determined that we should have the first swim of the season on a particular afternoon in May following a ball game, which we lost, of course. That may be why we went swimming,—to drown our dejec¬ tion at the defeat. We left our machine in the rear of the ice-houses. The ice-cakes looked so cool and bracing, that I loved the thought of a plunge into the icy waters of the quarry hole. We walked, and walked, and then we ran, and at the expiration of fifteen minutes and all my wind, the leader of the expedition announced in a Columbus-like voice: “There it is!” And there it was. Below us, its usual placid surface whipped by a biting little wind, lay the water in which we were going to disport ourselves. “We got¬ ta hurry,” was the next remark of our intrepid leader. It was the day of the High School dance and he had a date at half past eight. Good, I thought, and immediately proposed waiting until the following day. I did not want him to be late for the dance. My proposal was immediately and unanimously rejected with many comments on the steadfastness of my determina¬ tion to do a high dive before supper. After a little parley, during which articles of wearing apparel were being removed, I went to the water’s edge and stuck my hand in. The look of pained surprize on my face escaped my comrades, so I replied to a query that the water wasn’t bad. It was not bad, it was just abnormally cold. We lined up on the rock and made ready to jump in. I counted three and my friends jumped in. I went to my trousers to get my handkerchief and blow my nose. It might have interfered with my breathing. My friends came out of the water a violent red in color, just like lobsters in fact. I ventured the opinion that it must be cold. I 40 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. was informed in picturesque words that it was exceedingly cold and I was asked just how long I was going to stall around before making the plunge. Unwarily, I turned my back on the boys to look at the water. The next minute I was sail¬ ing through the air and then,—well, when I climbed out of the waters I, too, was a delicious strawberry color and we all decided it was time to go home. Personally I wished I had not .come, but the thought of the prestige we should have over the more or less unfortunate ones who did not go helped to make me forget the needlelike sensation that kept me dancing and hopping about, try¬ ing to warm up. F. M. McNary, ’24. ON OPENING A CAN OF SARDINES. Did you ever open a can of sardines? No? Then, in my opinion you have missed one of the most thrilling and interesting experiences of life. The ex¬ plorers who opened the long-buried tomb of King Tutankamen derived no more pleasure from it than that which I enjoy when I break the seals of a small can of innocent sardines. Perhaps I find some hidden pleasure in stripping the can of its multi-colored wrapper. For this seems to attract and fascinate my eye for no short time. Gor¬ geously painted either with a scene of some rippling stream in Norway or a large ship laden with pirates sailing in the deep Mediterranean, it seems to me as a last lingering reminder of former delightful days. And in case you have never heard of the suggestion, let me say that I once knew a man who took great per¬ sonal pride in his collection of sardine can wrappers. How contented was he to display them in his large albums resplendent in their painted glory when he was called upon to entertain the company! But soon I am desirous for new pleasures and with the utmost care I search for the odd-shaped key that is hidden beneath the wrapper. Perhaps I should add that if, by some unknown reason you have been deprived of a key, a screw-driver may be used to advantage. My breath begins to come rapidly and audibly. My hands tremble with ex¬ citement and overcome by the strain I seem hardly able to complete my task. Slowly the key turns, rolling back the cover, as the prophets of olden days turned back the veil of the future, disclosing before my eyes not a record of life to come but a tightly packed row of glistening sardines glimmering in pure olive oil. Grace Brown, ’24. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 41 ON CURLING-IRONS. Purveyor of feminine charms! That magic touch which transforms shaggy and unkempt locks into an array of dazzling curls in that mighty struggle with nature. When a curling-iron is being purchased the outstanding requisite is the “click.” If the iron clicks, it completes a feminine equation:— Iron + hair=girl + charm. It might be said that the whole existence of femininity revolves about a curl¬ ing iron. And when at that fatal moment when the work is in the last stages of development, the iron sputters, sizzes and is gone—mighty shrieks rend the air and the room is filled with clouds of gloom. The iron is gone. The curls are not complete. Beauty is foiled—charms are nill! The feminine person turns mechanic, electrician, inventor, anything that may aid in that work of art, the coiffure! How many times the irons are too hot! Then the little ends singe off, each with its portentous hiss—that subtle sound which invokes many tears and vehem- ous beratings for the unfortunate iron. Truly unfortunate to be heated, then cooled, and scolded,—to be cooled, then heated, then berated! Yet how gratifying is the result! A glance in the mirror, a heartfelt sigh, then the brow again becomes creased—for now, now r the rain softly patters against the window panes, playfully the leaves sway with sparkling raindrops. The face in the mirror is wholly changed. No longer are dimples and smiles,—black as night is that pretty face. The fateful iron bangs with a defiant clap on the floor. Of what avail is a curling iron against nature? The rain softly patters against the window-pane. —The air is damp,—thick, and damp. Catherine Mackay, ’24. THE COLLAR BUTTON. Of all the insignificant, trifling and yet indispensable pieces of metal, I be¬ lieve there is none more worthy of note than the aggravating little collar button. It is always in the wrong place at the wrong time. As far as illusiveness is concerned, it is unequalled. If it falls to the floor, and they usually do, instead of remaining where it falls, the dear little thing seems possessed to roll under the bed or the bureau. You hunt for it in open view, but it is not discernible. Then you drop to your knees and peer earnestly into the darkness underneath the bed. You imagine you see a faint glimmer representative of its whereabouts and you make a hasty move¬ ment to retrieve it, and your head collides with the bed-rail. For the time being the exquisite sense of pain robs you of all speech, but shortly you regain your abil¬ ity and mutter certain comforting but unconventional phrases. You stand rigid with a fierce, determined expression upon your features as you vow that you will find the offending button. First you attempt to ascertain the probable direction of its inopportune descent. The next logical step is to sur¬ mise its probable route after its fall. You try to effect a premature solution with 42 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. the assistance of geometrical proofs and by the appliance of various angles, but the attempt proves fruitless and ineffectual. You next drop something for an experiment to see in what direction the button might have rolled. Ah ! a cloud of hope appears on the horizon of your perplex¬ ity as the trial obje ct rolls down the register. You remove the register top with alacrity and cast your eyes upon its heretofore unknown contents. There before you are a handful of pins, two marbles, and a dime. Never in all your recollection did your exasperation reach such heights. For a moment a wave of cold calmness engulfs you, but the spell is short-lived, for the clock striking eight recalls your engagement at half-past. You are reminded of the terrible reality that the collar button, despite all your efforts, has not yet divulged its place of concealment. You wring your hands in abject despair, and gloom is supreme. Your patience, disposition, strength, and allotted time have all practically reached their limits. Anon your resourceful mind suggests that you utilize the power of metallic attractiveness contained in a magnet. So you crawl around the floor, poking into obscure corners and dark recesses, but of no avail. You might just as well call for it. You would undoubtedly meet with an equal measure of success. ! j ' At this time the vibrant tinkle of the telephone bell breaks in upon your solitude. You open the door to the next room, but that is as far as you proceed, for on the threshold under the door is the object of your quest and you uncon¬ sciously step firmly upon the unseen thing with your stockinged feet. You contrive by a supreme endeavor to suppress a cry of mortal distress. You reach the telephone somehow, lift up the receiver, and murmur a weak “Hello!” The answering voice fills you with consternation. It is She. You man¬ age to construe from her speech something about being inadvertently detained and deem it advisable to cancel the engagement. You utter numerous “yes’s” and “oh dears!” all the time carressing your injured limb. Finally she says “Goodbye” and you almost fall into a nearby divan. You survey minutely the injured foot. Outside of a pink spot it seems to be as well as ever, and after the use of various balms, salves, and other medicinal remedies, you breathe a sigh of relief. Then your eye accidentally falls upon the perpetrator of all your previous discomfort. You aver then and there that you will have it renamed appropriately to indicate its true character as a menace to human peacefulness and amity. You are somewhat abashed when you recall your inability to control your inner emo¬ tions. But then you defend yourself with the assertion that you are human. But be that as it may, regardless of circumstances and conditions, the most discon¬ certing incident in your experience is without doubt, the loss of a collar button, the only collar button in your possession on an engagement night. All hail His Majesty, the Collar Button, unsung, unhonored, but not unknown! Thurston Stowers, ’24. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 43 ON SAFETY PINS. What infinite joy sweeps over us, how quickly our furrowed brow smooths and our gloomy visage brightens when after rummaging through common pins, hair pins and beauty pins we finally grasp the object of our search, a safety pin. What a wonderful sense of security and ease flows over our soul and being. Such a relief we seldom feel from other sources. When we examine this little article it seems almost impossible that it should play so significant part in the needs of humanity. It is almost of priceless worth but unlike all other luxuries, it is found in the homes of even the poorest. Silver and gold may beautifully adorn our fingers and garments, but what practical good do they do? This little alloy of cheaper metal serves in untold needs of humanity. As for its uses, who can think of anything it cannot do? It takes the place of missing buttons and button-holes, takes in an extra fulness, supplies length to scantiness, holds on ties, seals severed seams, holds up a torn hem, pray what can it not do? Surely not much. It even opens letters and pickle bottles, buttons shoes, and no doubt could be the missing link in a Ford. As I wandered down our main thoroughfare a short while ago, I spied one of these clever devices wasting itself on the pavement. To be sure it was a shame¬ ful waste when the blessing it might have been is considered. I thought of the great sum of embarrassment, uneasiness, and doubt it might have warded off and it seemed almost a sufficient waste to call for investigation by our Co nservation Department. Most sorrowful of all is the fact that the inventor is unknown. What good is our hall of fame when the greatest genius of all is left out? Lena Bragg, ’24. THE VALUE OF BEING A VALET. Being a valet has taught me several jolly important things of which not the least is the manner by which everyone who matters attires himself. I fancy that a good many jolly beggars fancy themselves well togged but ’pon my soul, its quite ridiculous to watch them preen themselves. To commence, the jolly blighters wear dark suits even in the morning, this being a gross impossibility, doncher know? As the Right Honorable Earl of Sement once said to me, “Listen, James, blighty shame, nasty shame. Jolly well impossible these dark suits,—rotten, quite rotten, I assure you.” Or as Lord Tuy- vel once said, “James, my hose suspenders, yes, yes, the pink ones, although I fancy any color will do. Don’t mind colors anyway, except in suits. Tut-tut-except dark suits in the morning. Don’t be a mug, James, don’t wear a dark suit in the morning.” As to cravats, some wear quite smooth ones, really quite smooth. Foulard in a green stripe, or a pink spot. Quite smooth, really very smooth. To match the shirt, you know. I recall The Duke of Krepple as he came down for his marma¬ lade, toast and tea one morning, ’pon my word, with a pink foulard. Let me in- 44 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. form you he looked like someone, quite snarky, you know. ’Pon my soul, he was quite a little of all right. On waistcoats I can do no better than quote my lord Marquis Fetts of Chev y- Pursue whose appearance is quite top-hole. He said, “An ostentatious waistcoat, James, leaves one open to the suspicion that he wears a dickey. A quiet black waistcoat garnished with a small red spot is quite in place, in fact I fancy it quite well.” One of the most fastidious men I ever served was Viscount Perlemutter of Potash Manor who wore nothing but varnished boots even at lunch. While adjust¬ ing his dickey, he said to me, “Yellow boots! ! Eh! what? Yellow boots, you say. Quite snarky, I dare say, for janitors and porters. As for me, it’s Cheselby’s varnished leather every time.” Thus I am come to be quite an authority on what’s what in clothes that Who’s Who wears. To see me in my neat little dickey and my gray bowler hat, with a good spat on a varnished boot I am, even if I do say it, quite smart, quite in vogue. In short, my appearance is top-hole, doncher know? Harry Broudy, ’24. PUSSY WILLOWS. In the spring the pussy willows come softly stepping, creeping slowly. Just a tinge of spring in the air and they perk up their ears. Their hearts swell, and they burst from the small, silk-lined wrapping that is so thoughtfully thrown around them by Mother Nature. To be sure, she cannot stop too long to tend to them, for there are other tender things that must be tucked warmly in. The coming of these little shrubs makes one think of the coming of life. That, too, comes without sound. Who can tell which little branch will have the first pussy willow? There is One, of course, but He cannot tell us because life and all it contains is one huge, mysterious secret. There is something about a pussy willow that makes one want to protect little timid things. Perhaps it is the likeness of the fur, I cannot tell. There are those in the world who do not even know when these little creatures come out, much less care. And so they miss the pleasures of the spring. As their names suggest, pussy willows are like kittens. In their beauty, they are not evenly matched for some are large, and some are small. Gray, and white are all blended into silver. Their color is so quiet and peaceful that they soothe the eye. If one were to take some of them from their crib and paste them on paper, they would last for years without losing color or shape. They remain firm, so finely has Mother Nature woven their cloaks. If life could be as gentle as the pussy willow, sweet as spring, as strong and kind as nature, the world would be ideal. But it cannot be so and one must live; and so we do live the life that is set before us the best we can. • Evelyn Wiggin, ’24. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 45 ON AIR. What is air? I don’t know. There are so many things that are air and still can’t be air that I’m completely bewildered. I ask again. What is air? We are taught that it is composed of oxygen and nitrogen. Some people call it atmos¬ phere. But what is atmosphere? We often say, if treated distantly, that we have been received in a rigid atmosphere. We are told that nothing can float in atmos¬ phere, yet only recently I heard a very stout lady in describing a pleasant happen¬ ing say that she was up in the seventh heaven. In fact, she had been treading on air. How could a two hundred and fifty-pound woman be lighter than air? Then we also have hot air. Sometimes this is produced with the aid of a furnace, but the average High School male senior apparently needs no mechanical aids to manufacture the most marvelous fabrications. We often hear of a baseball pitcher going “up in the air.” How does he do it? Air can be changed very easily to another substance. Open a window and the air loses its identity and becomes a draught. I have always been told that fresh air is highly beneficial to health, but a draught is detrimental. When does air cease to become air and become a draught? When does a draught cease to become a draught and become air? Doctors tell us that fresh air is the best and surest remedy for colds of all descriptions, yet the same air called by another name is the substance that gives us the cold. Thus we are advised to take the same thing to cure us that gave us these ailments. How can this be true? Don’t ask me how. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. It is absolutely beyond my comprehension. Alice Bottomley, ’24. ON BORROWING. I do not think there is any greater pest than a borrower. Borrowers are the bane of my life. If they were once and for all eliminated from our midst, we should indeed be free, for then we might call our possessions our own. I saw an example of this just the other day. A boy asked his friend if he might borrow his pencil. Of course, the most polite thing he could do was to lend it to him. Very good. But when he had finished with it, he went cheerily away, the pencil clasped tightly in his hand. I have seen cases of this right and left. Let me tell- But I am prevented from giving you further helpful advice by the insistence of the owner of this pen that I return it to her. Some people certainly are in¬ considerate. I have had the fountain pen only a week, and it seems to me she might let me use it a little longer. Helen Baker, ’24. 46 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. MY OLD FELT HAT. One of the most convenient articles of clothing I have ever owned is my old felt hat. It is not much to look at, but I think gratefully of the service it has done me. Originally it was a green so dark that it was almost black. Now time, which has its effects on hats as well as other things, has faded it considerably. How¬ ever, it is still in use, much to the dismay of my mother, the disgust of my father, and the comment of the village in general. I tell them all that the only reason I still wear it is because it is so convenient. No matter what the weather, it is just the hat. If the day is wet, I just hang it behind the stove a while and it dries out. If I am hot with it on, I just roll it up and stuff it into my pocket. If I am working and it falls in the dirt, I just shake it and it’s all clean again. If I am out in the henhouse and forget the pail, it will hold two dozen eggs comfortably, and if I am camping, it will hold enough water to wash my hands in. How different from a cap which is too limp to carry water and a straw hat which is too stiff to roll up and put in one’s pocket. As I have said before, it is the object of much abuse around town. One young lady acquaintance who had never happened to see me except at church met me when I was returning from delivering a load of hay and as usual had my felt hat on. She asked me where on earth that came from, pointing to my hat. Then she burst into laughter. Then and there I decided that the hat must oe almost as bad as everyone said it was, so now I wear it no longer, although it is still doing good service as an excellent robin’s nest. Still I maintain that a felt hat is the most useful article I’ve ever owned. Richard Ambler, ’24. ON THE BEGINNING OF A SEA VOYAGE. If you are untraveled, you will find that the impressions and emotions at¬ tendant upon the early part of your first sea voyage are numerous and inclined to be complex. There are first the expectancy and excitement of perusing various circulars and illustrated pamphlets which proclaim the benefits and delights of a journey by water, and the superiority of certain steamship lines. This gives place to the hustle and scurry of packing which in turn gives way too late to frantic recollections of unlocked windows and forgotten hair-brushes All this, however, is swept aside by the delightful thrill which comes with the first step on the gangplank. Your first impression is one which affects the olfactory nerves; the pleasant ship odor, that of paint mingled with other smells, which seems to permeate everything. Then comes admiration for the whiteness and compactness of your cabin, out of which soon arises the problem of where and how your luggage may be stowed and yet leave room for the door to be opened and closed without difficulty. After a few moments upon the windswept deck during which exhiliration is the predominant emotion, an intense feeling of hunger pervades your being. Close upon this comes the call for dinner to which you respond with zest. Your THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 47 desire for food being realized, you soon entertain a vague dislike for the ship odor which at first seemed so pleasing. Your unpacking being concluded, you repair to the deck again and proceed to find a desirable spot to station your deck chair, this business usually being accomplished by jealous feelings directed against more successful competitors. Soon the striking of the ship’s clock, which before had been an object of vital interest, becomes a source of irritation, and the volume of Salt Water Ballads which you enthusiastisally brought along loses its flavor. The sea, which a moment ago had been so calm, now seems to have a grudge against you personally and becomes slightly, ah, very slightly restless. The child leaning against the rail before you innocently eating a banana becomes a subject for the practice of capital punishment. In short, gloom de¬ scends and takes the place of happiness, and as gloom and despondency are door¬ keepers to mal de mer, grief of mind soon gives place to intense grief of body. You become vitally interested in the date and hour of landing, and become vague in your conversation with the sprightly old lady in the neighboring deck chair, answering in flat monosyllables, becoming more and more taciturn, as your eyes cling with alarmed fascination to the increasingly agile horizon line, until pres¬ ently you are certain that the air of early evening does not agree with your con¬ stitution. Your berth seems most inviting and so, clutching firmly book and rug in one hand and with the other the rail, you endeavor to make a dignified retreat below. The boat with demoniac intent seems to have chosen this particular mo¬ ment to execute a number of intricate motions, and you cling like a limpet to the rail. Presently she becomes ingenuously well-mannered and you proceed upon your way down the heaving deck. You are in the act of congratulating yourself upon descending the staircase without difficulty and gaining your door safely, when your Waterloo approaches in the form of another sufferer suffering from mal de mer. If there is anything more conducive to seasickness than the sight of a fellow sufferer on the verge of the same malady, it is yet to be discovered. When, after blindly fumbling at the key hole, you finally open the door, you think seriously of demanding that the captain stop the ship, and put you on the nearest bit of stationary landscape. Once in bed you spend your time wondering when you ever considered sail¬ ing the briny deep. And from now on it rests with Neptune and your constitu¬ tion and will power as to the balance of your trip. Thus ends the beginning. Evelyn Hicks, ’24. THE BROOK. I was a little brook one time; I gurgled, leaped and sang. I ran through fields of brightest green, O’er little falls I sprang. I murmured through the quiet woods; I played around the stones; I watched the children in their play And heard their merry tones. 48 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. But now those happy times have changed; You know, I’ve joined the sea. No more the gay and nodding flow’rs; All that is not to be. For I must work and cease to play; It is my duty now To sail huge ships upon the waves, So to my fate I bow. Beatrice Nickerson, ’24. SPRING. Ballad. How welcome is the voice of spring! With life proclaimed anew, With song and joy on every side, And faith and hope renewed. Once more the fields are gay with flowers, Awake from slumber deep, And from their nook among the hills The modest violets peep. The babbling brook flows swiftly past, The glorious sun is high, The lacy trees sway gracefully, And song-birds chirp nearby. With everything alive once more Our sadness drift’s away; Again we answer spring’s sweet call And laugh the live-long day. How beautiful the springtime is With all its magic charms! We welcome thee again, O Spring! We wait with open arms. Margaret M. Gilroy, ’24. rHE CAST FOR “FOOD.” M. H. S. FOOTBALL TEAM, 1923. M. H. S. BASEBALL TEAM, 1924 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 49 THE RETURN. Ballad. A tired mind, a weary soul, A body weak with strife; A flashing thought, a happy plan, A brightening of life. A crowded street, a stuffy train, A straggling country town; A dusty road, a little farm, The smell of hay new-mown! A quickening heart, a throbbing pulse, The strength of a mighty ten; A hastened pace, a joyous shout— For I am home again! Marion Littlefield, ’24. TO CHILDHOOD. Sonnet. O precious gift of God so sweet and pure, With starry light of love divinely blest, Our God hath made none better, fairer, truer Than thy dear trusting heart by heaven caressed. Cherubic, laughing lips upcurled with joy, The ruby throne of reigning innocence, The touch of angels guides thee unalloyed, With sunny smiles thy trusting faith’s sweet essence. Thy eyes of crystal clearness, lovely blue, Are mirrors of fair heaven’s purity, Sweet emblems of a purpose firm and true, Gold promises of bright futurity. Those glorious days which ne’er again can be Shed joy and blessing with fond memory. Esther M. Fales, ’24. 50 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. TO THE HEMLOCK. Sonnet. O tree whose stately boughs are filled with song, Whose soul within the realms of Heaven lies, Dost thou upon this humble earth belong Or wast thou sent by God from Paradise? If thou couldst only from thy breast unfold The secret of thy mission—that He sends Or must it be forever still untold, Until the Son of God again descends? But though thy lacy beauty murmurs on, And whispers o’er and o’er the self-same words, Our spirits are too earthly for thy song, Which comes from God above—to us unheard. Or will there be a time when we shall see— And tree can talk to man and man to tree? Irene Morey, ’24. VALEDICTORY. THE NEW POETRY. The slogan of to-day is freedom of thought. The modern stage abandons many of the time-worn conventions that have long served the dramatists of many ages and is uniquely set in a singular spirit of unrestraint. Such universal freedom has cast its full reflection upon the literary world through the revolt in poetry which has for some time occupied the attention of readers and critics. The development of this outbreak against the accepted forms of verse has been gradual, but it is recently that a definite stand has been taken by advocates of a verse that defies the stringent principles of conventional poetry. Let us then consider the technique of standard poetry, which has become the subject of animated and often unreasonable protest on the part of the new writers. The reader is first attracted by the rhyme scheme, that is, the correspondence of final sounds at the ends of lines; a plan which lends artistic charm, emphasis to ideas, and a structural unity to poetic composition. There is a regular arrange¬ ment of the syllables in verse providing an even accent, which is known as meter, and the real harmony of poetry is the rhythm, that lilting swing which plays in every line. Good metrical verse is really like a well-played orchestra selection. As in orchestra music the steady beating of a drum may be heard keeping time through the more prominent harmony of the other instruments, so in verse can be detected the regular beat of the meter through the pleasing flow of the rhythm. Rhyme, meter, and rhythm are essentials of good metrical verse, and it is THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 51 toward the first two of these that the reformist is antagonistic. To him rhyme is a hampering burden which restricts and confines, driving the mind to the use of words for which it has no sympathy merely to achieve a similarity in the final sounds of certain lines. Truly it may be difficult to cater to rhyme and still cater to word sense. Even Milton, that master of sublime verse, spoke of the “trouble¬ some bondage of rhyme” and refrained from its usage in his masterpiece “Para¬ dise Lost.” Again, Dryden,’ who was for long a most ardent admirer of rhyme has been known to speak of “the slavery of rhyme” and of the choice of “that one syllable which often confines and more often corrupts the sense of all the rest.” Regardless of complaints against limitations forced upon word selection and arrangement through rhyme and meter, the greatest writers have succeeded in fol¬ lowing their demands and the results have been fully as gratifying as those in which rhyme and meter have been disregarded. Art is not art that is not dif¬ ficult, and it is the ability to employ beautiful words in spite of stringent rules that proves the worth of the poet. Masefield, one of our best-known modern poets, is content to abide by the old rules, and his poems are considered delightful by a large audience of readers. In the free verse ranks, however, we find such prom¬ inent figures as Amy Lowell, Edgar Lee Masters, Carl Sandburg, Siegfried Sas¬ soon and Walt Whitman, the pioneer in the new forms. Whitman was formerly a writer of metrical verse, but finding that few read his poetry but himself (with the exception of one poem), he resorted to the composition of free verse which gained him immediate recognition. Someone has said facetiously that free verse is neither free nor verse. But the fact is that it possesses some admirable qualities, or it would be entirely ignored. All elevated thought, all deep emotion is rhythmic. Consequently, all poetry whether it be metrical or free, is alike in that it has rhythm in the expression of emotion. Both free and metrical verse have rhythm, with the difference that in metrical verse the rhythm follows a fixed pattern or meter, whereas “vers libre” has no set accent. The vers librist protests against the use of meter because of the resulting necessity of inversion, or rearrangement of sentence order in many lines. Neither does the vers librist observe any necessity of rhyme scheme, which he claims hampers the usage of the exact word occurring to the mind of the poet. But free verse is not void of all rules. Though it is free in respect to rhyme and meter, it has its own laws, and the most important is the law of cadence, that is, symmetry of sound produced by a grouping that follows the natural rise and fall of the voice. Amy Lowell, in her most admired poem, entitled “Patterns,” has succeeded in effecting a beautiful symmetry through the repetition of cadences. The poem, it may be noticed, really follows a fixed pattern in that there are several lines of equal length and like rhythm. It begins: “I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. I walk the patterned garden paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. As I wander down The garden paths. My dress is richly figured, And the train 52 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Makes a pink and silver stain On the gravel, and the thrift Of the borders. Just a plate of current fashion, Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes. Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade, And I sink on a seat in the shade Of a lime tree. For my passion Wars against the stiff brocade. The daffodils and squills Flutter in the breeze As they please.” Patterns prevail throughout the poem: the blue and yellow, the pink and silver, the brocade of the dress, and in evident similarity in certain lines, for example: “In my stiff brocaded gown,” “Makes a pink and silver stain,” “Just a plate of current fashion” “Only whalebone and brocade.” Since there is neither rhyme nor meter in vers libre, the question arises as to whether it possesses any unity whatsoever. It does. The “strophe” is the unit of vers libre, and is a circuit of thought sometimes comprising an entire poem, sometimes merely a few lines, but in either case it holds the thread of the poem together and joins the cadences into a harmonious whole. “Irradiations,” a poem written by John Gould Fletcher, is a fine specimen of a strophe comprising an entire poem. It begins: “In the gray skirts of the fog seamews skirl desolately,” and after a description of the voyage of a ship, concludes with a line similar to the first emphasizing, “The swirling of the seamews above the sullen river.” It may then be understood that free verse often returns upon itself, repeating at the end of a poem the thought presented at the beginning. There is a division of modern verse writers known as the “Imagists.” As their name suggests, their aim is to create an image in their poetry, and to do this they insist upon the usage of common speech and the exact word unadorned. Free¬ dom is used in the choice of subjects and some of the subjects are indeed novel. Individuality, clearness and definiteness are essential in order that there may be none of the hazy uncertain ideas often presented in metrical verse, as is claimed by the modern poets. The Imagist does not insist that free verse is the only method of writing poetry, but regards it as a principle of liberty. An odd little poem, “The Fog” by Carl Sandburg brings out the idea of imagery: “The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city and then moves on.” THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 53 The noiseless movements of the cat well symbolize the silence of the fog. On the whole, vers libre or free verse is a momentous experiment. Some of it is indeed poor and boring, but as Mrs. Wilkinson, a poet and author of “New Voices” says, although there have been very few fine poems written in free verse, those few are so superior that it indicates that the medium of free verse is not to be despised. The free verse movement is a significant one to literature, and its outlook is favorable. Critics may scoff and radicals rave, but as Professor Phelps of Yale says, “There is no reason for attacking or defending free verse. True poetry is recognizable in any garment.” Classmates of 1924. We have every reason to be happy to-night. Our high school career has been successfully completed, and we have the world before us. The future is ours to fulfill and enjoy, and let us give it the best that is in us. At present, let us thank our former instructors for their aid and untiring ef¬ forts in our behalf and wish them the best of joy and good fortune for the future. Fellow classmates, whatever may be our station, wherever it may be that we shall be placed by destiny, let the glory of our Alma Mater ever inspire us. Re¬ member that our motto commands “Ever onward.” Instructors, undergraduates, and friends of 1924, may it not be farewell, but “au revoir.” Corinne Carlson, ’24. PROGRESS. Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; A proud and well-groomed man is he With kid gloves on his hands. A filling station broad and high Now takes the old shop’s place, And the smithy looks with greedy eye Each flivver in the face. He gets a profit on the gas That goes in every tank. That puts him in the wealthy class With money in the bank. As line on line of autos pass, Many stop for gas. His brawny arm rotates the crank That sends gas into the tank. F. M. McNary, ’24. 54 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. HUMOR COLUMN. SAFETY LAST. Lies slumbering here one William Lake; He heard the bell but had no brake.— At fifty miles drove Allie Bidd; He tho’t he wouldn’t skid, but did.— At ninety miles drove Eddie Shawn; The motor stopped, but “Ed” kept on.— Here he sleeps one Johnnie Fonker; He rounded a turn without a honker.— Down in the creek sleeps Jerry Bass; The bridge was narrow; he tried to pass.— Beneath this stone sleeps William Raines; Ice on the hill, he had no chains.— Here lies the body of William Jay, Who died maintaining his right of way.— And here’s what’s left of Samuel Small; He paid no attention to slow signs at all.— That ash pile there is Billy Hatch; He looked in his gas tank with a match. Ex. “At any rate, Mrs. Murphy, no one can say I’m two-faced.” “Faith, no, Mrs. Jones. Sure and if yer were, you’d leave that ’un at ’ome.” VIEWS OF INTEREST TO THE GIRLS. 1. When the bride promises to obey she waives her rights; but it isn’t a perma¬ nent wave. 2. If your complexion won’t behave, take it out and let the sun give it a tan¬ ning. 3. Woman is a problem, but it would take a lot of interest out of life if man could solve it. 4. Famous words of women: Let the dishes go until we get back. 5. A woman’s face is her fortune only when it draws a lot of interest. Ex. Customer: Salesman: “This skunk coat is very fine. Will it stand the rain”? “Madam, did you ever see a skunk that carried an umbrella?”— — Ex. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 55 Scene 1. MUSIC BOX REVIEW. Reynolds’ Music Store. Time: “From One Til Two.” “Margie” enters, escorted by “Dapper Dan.” She: “Leave me with a smile.” He: “Linger Awhile,” “You can’t make a fool out of me.” She: It’s not “Kissing Time,” “Dream Daddy.” He: “I’m sorry I made you cry” for “I love you,” “My wonderful one.” She: “That’s a lot of bunk.” He: Well, “I gave you up before you threw me down,” you’re just a “Second hand rose.” She: Its “Three o’clock in the morning,” so “Shuffle along.” Scene II. “Just for Remembrance,” “The Red Moon” shines brightly “Under the Old Apple Tree” where “Andy Gump” sits “Wondering” where “Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Shean” are. Enter “Barney Google.” Barney: “I took the $50,000” and “I’m Going South.” Andy: “I’m sitting pretty.” Barney: Want some “Hot roasted peanuts?” “Yes, We have no bananas.” Andy: “Why did I kiss that girl?” Barney: “You tell her I stutter.” Why don’t you, “Say it with a Ukelele?” Exit Andy and Barney in “The Covered Wagon” while “That Old Gang of mine” sings “It’s a Long, Long Trail” to our “Journey’s End.” Griffin, ’24. Person (looking at inebriate) : “How gauche!” Inebriate: “Fine. How goush with you?”— Ex. Visitor: “What small girls you employ in your dairy!” Foreman: “Yes, those are our condensed milk maids.”— Ex. CAUGHT. “Please, teacher, would you punish a chap for something he hadn’t done?” “Certainly not, Billy. That would be unjust.” “That’s all right, ’cause I didn’t do my home work.”— Ex. Schoolmistress: “Who can name one important thing we have now that we did not have one hundred years ago?” Tommy: “Me.” Lady: “I found a fish in my milk yesterday.” Milkman: “Er,-er, well, you see I can’t keep my cow from going in swim¬ ming.”— Ex. 56 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. S. S. Teacher: “Johnny, give a text out of the Bible.” Johnny: “And Judas went out and hanged himself.” S. S. Teacher: “Very good; can you give another,” Johnny: “Go thou and do likewise.” JUST WHAT HE WANTED. The lady shopper had ordered about everything hauled down from the shelves. “I don’t see just the right thing,” she decided at last. “I want to surprise my husband on his birthday.” “Well,” suggested the exhausted clerk, “Why don’t you hide behind a chair and yell ‘Boo !’ at him ?”— Ex. THE LITTLE CAT. There was once a young man who quarrelled with his fiancee and married another girl. His former lady love, says the Tatler, had a sense of humor and, deciding to “get even” with him, sent the bride a charming book to read on the honeymoon. It was Stevenson’s Travels With a Donkey. Radio Fan in London: “I believe I’ve got America. I hear a persistent sound, as if of gum chewing.”— Ex. Jones: “Where are you from, friend?” Smith : “I’m from Alabama.” Jones: “What part?” Smith : “All of me.” A VICTIM OF CRIME. Seeing a man who was training for the marathon race dash by, an old lady exclaimed, “Oh ! the poor fellow! Some mean thief has stolen his clothes and he’s chasing him.”— Ex. Mr. New Rich to dealer in antiques: “You can’t kid me. That thing isn’t two thousand years old. Why, it’s only nineteen twenty-four now.” — Ex. “Do you stand back of every statement you make in your newspaper?” asked the timid little man. “Why—er—yes,” answered the country editor. “Then,” said the little man, holding up a notice of his death, “I wish you would help me collect my life insurance.”— Ex. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 57 Student: “There must be some mistake in my examination marking; I don’t think I deserve an absolute zero.” Professor. “Neither do I, but it is the lowest mark I am allowed to give.” — Ex. Husband: “Any installments due on the house?” Wife: “No.” Husband: “On the radio?” Wife: “No.” Husband: “On the furniture?” Wife: “No.” Husband: “On the rugs?” Wife: “No.” Husband: “On the fur coat?” Wife: “No.” Husband: “Good. I have ten dollars we don’t need, what do you say if we buy a car?” LOYALTY PLUS. Phil: “I suppose you’ve read Boswell’s ‘Life of Johnson’?” Bill: “Not me, I’m a Coolidge man, first, last and always.”— Ex. Bones: “Say, Sambo, did you hear about my brother painting his Ford car a bright red?” Sambo: “Why no, I hadn’t heard about it; what made him paint his car a bright red?” Bones: “Why, don’t you know the law requires all tin cans containing gasoline to be painted red?” “I can’t keep visitors from coming up,” said the office boy dejectedly to the president. “When I say you’re out, they say they simply must see you.” “Well,” said the president, “just tell them that’s what the y all say.” That afternoon there called at the office a young lady. The boy assured her it was impossible to see the president. “But I’m his wife,” said the lady. “Oh, that’s what they all say,” replied the boy.— Ex. COMMUNISTS. “New coat?” “No, new room-mate.”— Ex. 58 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Teacher: “Why, Willie! Such dirty hands! Who brought you up?” Freshman: “De coal man in his wagon, Ma’am.”— Ex. She: “Oh, George, I saw a big fish—that long—under the ice.” He: “Nonsense, Grace! I’m quite sure it was your reflection.”— Ex. There was a thin maiden called Lena Who bought a new vacuum cleaner; But she got in the way Of its suction one day, And since then nobody has seen’a. — Ex. Wouldn’t it be funny IF:— Miss Fitzgerald and Miss Gilroy lost each other during the day? “Duke” Ambler failed to argue in every class? F. Leonard never got into trouble? Mr. Quirk forgot to ring the long recess bell? Griffin did not make Miss Ryan laugh the 4th period? Burke’s Conciliation speech was not taken up in the Senior year? Cahill started rolling his “r’s”? Miss Bottomley would shout? Neal should make some noise? McNary admitted ignorance? Cenedella lost an argument? McGregor and Hill should quarrel? Miss MacLachlan sat still? Safstrom didn’t grin? Cahill forgot to blush? Broudy failed to amuse the class with Oral Composition? All the teachers went on a strike? Knox couldn’t think of an argument? Miss MacLachlan and Miss Brown weren’t on speaking terms? McNary lost his “Slikum?” Miss Hicks were on time? Miss MacLachlan forgot how to whisper? Miss Gifford forgot how to draw? McNary couldn’t bluff his lessons? Miss Grayson forgot to powder her nose? Miss Peckham talked slowly? Miss Fales didn’t know her Stenography? Greenough lost his voice? Miss Littlefield flunked a subject? Knox recited with his hands at his side? Miss Anderson forgot how to flirt? Miss Ryan forgot the Genius sentence? ADVERTISING SECTION. 59 Miss Ray knew her History A? Miss Ryan didn’t laugh at a joke? Cenedella forgot how to bluff? Miss Pearsons would only whisper? Miss Wood would only refrain from vamping the boys? Will the end of the world be here WHEN :— Broudy stutters? Ambler concedes? Rule X is laid upon the shelf? Gum is sold at the lunch counter? One of the feminine students walks down the corridor without comb and compact ? Miss Mackay starts a campaign for the prohibition of gum? Miss Hicks becomes Speaker of the House? Miss Littlefield revolts against Math? Daly’s Spelling Book becomes obsolete? Hill deserts his patron saint, the flivver? Any class that ever enters Milford High surpasses the glorious Class of ’24? THE SORRY SONNETEER. Yo ho! my lads, for the sonneteer, He whom naught can faze, His mind, his brain, they toil in vain To merit glory’s praise. A word, a bird, they fail to rhyme; O sonneteer so true, Just cast your pen in pieces,—pray What then will the sonnet do? T’will haunt your soul with sly torment; Again the pen you lift, You have the pen O sonneteer, But pray, where is the gift ? The Muse, a maiden coy and sly, Was always staunchly true To Milton, Shelly and to Keats. Alas, not so to you! You write of love, and fear and joy, But then you must confess, Although it soundeth middling well It’s nonsense nevertheless. 60 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. So cast, my lad, your pen away, Ye poor young sonneteer, Address the Muse with sad adieu And seek a new career. Harry Broudy, ’24. ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Scene: A grassy plain. Mr. Ryan: Ho! Candidates, hither, assemble, make haste! Torosianus: Sirs, make haste! The coach calleth from afar. (Young swains to the number of eleven do hasten to Mr. Ryan. They are clad in canvas with hats of leather like unto those which horses are wont to wear.) Mr. Ryan: Let there be silence. (Silence is produced.) And murdered I am feared ye’ll be. Mr. Ryan: Ere that bloody sun shall sink Behind high West Street Your fates shall be decided, For to-day ye meet a spicy crew Of full blown size and strength. Murder in their eyes I see And murdered I am feared ye’ll be. Torosianus: Fear not, Sir Coach, Fear not! By my gray hair and leather wig I swear to bring back to you the pig. SCENE II. (The men stand shivering but ready, and a leather headed demon kicks at a leathern oval.) Audience: Seize it, seize it, lay hold of it. (Griffin lays hold of the oval and runs, but is caught and hurled to the ground.) Griffiin: Seven,—thrice,—twice four—ten. Dig, Sir Julius, dig, advance. (Sir Julius takes ball and runs.) Audience: Aye. How he runneth. Run, ye little angel, speed! 1st Cheerer: Indeed, he runs not so well. 2nd Cheerer: What say you, dolt? He runs exceeding well. 1st Cheerer: Aye—like unto a lame calf. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 61 2nd Cheerer: Sirrah ! commence! Officer: Silence, swains ! (Silence is produced.) Griffin: Sir Referee, look ye, yon maggot has smitten our men with his fists. Referee : Silence, wretches ! Play! Such things are wrong to say. SCENE III. Miss Mackay: Think ye we will conquer? Eastman: With the help of the gods mayhap. Miss Mackay: Have not our warriors striven? Eastman: To a degree, madame, to a degree. McNary: It seems as if someone hath annointed their fingers with butter. For in truth they cannot to save themselves hold the oval. Johnson: Methinks they are exceedingly bloody. T’is most sad. Miss Mackay: On the contrary ’tis most interesting when The ruddy gore tints their complexions. Audience: Ah, they come again! T’is the beginning of the end. Mr. Ryan: Sir Tuttle, lay hold heartily of the enemie’s limbs. Hurl them to the ground. Spare not! Tuttle: Noble lord, there shall be no economy. (Whistle blows, Safstrom kicks and ball is caught by opposing player.) Audience : Pursue, give chase, tackle him! (Player is hurled to the ground and is slain.) Officer: Behind the rope, knaves! What ho, rascals, back! 1st Cheerer: Woe is us. Thou hast missed the tackle. 2nd Cheerer: Say not so. 1st Cheerer: Alas, ’tis true. Then I die (falls in water pail and dies.) Perish, fragile shell! (slays himself.) Enter: The cheerleaders and see the dead bodies. Cheerleaders: We keep ye company! (Slay themselves.) nd Cheerer: 1st Cheerer: EXEUNT. Harry Broudy, ’24. 62 ADVERTISING SECTION. A LITTLE MAID. There was a little maid, Who wore a little bonnet; And she had a little finger With a little ring upon it. This pretty little maid Had a pretty little beau, Who wore a little hat, And gloves as white as snow. He said his little heart Long fluttered, tho ’twas small. He said he loved the little maid And no one else at all. She smiled a little smile, When he breathed his little vows, When he kissed her little hand With many little bows. By little and by little Her little heart did yield, Till little tears and sighs Her little fears revealed. A little while—alas! And her little beau departed, With all his little vows, And left her broken-hearted. Now, all ye little maids, A moral I will give you: Don’t trust to little men; They surely will deceive you. Grace Brown, ’24. SOME DEFINITIONS. Fly: A familiar summer boarder who mingles with the cream of society, gets stuck on the butter, and leaves his specs behind. Baseball: A game in which the young man who bravely strikes out for him¬ self receives no praise for it. Joke: A form of humor enjoyed by some and misunderstood by most; in England requiring a diagram, raised letters, and a club.— Ex. THE POWER OF SUGGESTION. Absent minded man (viewing movies of the guillotine) : “By George, that reminds me, I left my razor in the playroom.”— Ex. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 63 ATHLETICS. Our athletic endeavors of the year 1923-24 were of a very high caliber and the High School made an excellent name for itself in both football and baseball. Very few high schools of similar size have made such a success in these lines of athletics as that of which we can boast. At the blowing of the first whistle in September Captain “Jigger” Torosian and his boys began to win and chalk up victories. He was assisted by the other players, who proved to be a great combination. The line was practically impregna¬ ble with Tuttle, Alzarini, Morelli, Ferarri, Samuelson and Greenough, a wonder¬ ful group of hard workers, always in the fight and never giving up. The back- field was not lacking in any respect, for the unbeatable “Wussie” Griffin was play¬ ing quarter, Safstrom and Connors at halfback, and “Julie” D’Agostino, fullback. Safstrom proved to be a splendid kicker and D’Agostino and Connors great ground gainers and defensive backs. This team defeated Whitinsville, North Attleboro, Clinton, Bartlett High of Webster, Gardner, Maynard, Concord, and Marlboro. They were forced to play a tie with Hudson and to bow to the powerful Natick eleven. The remarkable success of this team is largely due to the coaching of Mr. Timothy Ryan, whose work with the boys made possible such excellent results. The school as a whole also contributed largely to its support, always backing the team in every way possible. With the Spring attention turned toward baseball. Mr. Berry got his boys out as early as possible and began to whip them into shape. There was a great hole to fill, due to the graduation of Steeves, Tighe, Raftery and O’Connell, but Mr. Berry proved himself master of the situation and succeeded wonderfully. The team began, as did the football team, by winning, and although defeat was mingled with victory, the right brand of baseball was there. We had reason to have that brand of ball with Safstrom and Connors both twirling fine ball, the reliable “Wussie” on the receiving end of the battery, a fine working infield com¬ posed of Catto, Captain Visconti, Alzarini, and Cahill, with a pretty outfield in D’Agostino and Davoren with either Safstrom or Connors. It was this team that turned back three greater Boston teams, Hyde Park, Malden and Brighton. That alone is enough to demonstrate the strength of the team. In spite of this strength we were forced to bow to our local rivals in the annual contest on Memorial Day, and Saint Mary’s conquered to the tune of 4-2, but this did not dishearten our boys in the least, for they went out in the weeks following and added to their number of victories. The students of Milford High School should be proud of the accomplishments of its teams in these two lines, and always aim to aid the teams and assist in any way to further and make better athletes at Milford High. Mr. Quirk, our Principal, is probably our greatest booster of athletics, for he scheduled and arranged all the games both football and baseball. The members of the teams as well as the student body wish to express their appreciation to Mr. Quirk for giving our school such a prominent place on the athletic map. Charles S. Innis, ’24. 64 ADVERTISING SECTION. To {he outgoing class of lltlfnri Utgl) v?e extend Our sincere wishes for a successful and prosperous future =3- OR some, school days are o er, The 4u ee R’s are of the past But here’s hoping whether here or there Our friendship, it will last. May your futures be as a serial, each chapter adding lustre to your Alma Mater and to yourselves until hen finally brought to a climax you ma ? remember with pride the letters you love M H igh$ 1 1 eroic uccessful Wifh a desire to always play our small part in anything of a community spirit we beg to remain Milford Op era House Joe B. Hurl, Manager iwjX ' tr.uiWim .out v ADVERTISING SECTION. 65 Compliments of. COURTESY, SERVICE, GOOD QUALITY DePASQUALE’S AND LOW PRICES ARE ALWAYS FOUND AT SODA WORKS Ac Volk’s Dry Goods Store 106 Main Street, Corner of Spring Milford, - Mass. Hardware, Plumbing, Heating, Farming Tools, Seeds, Fertilizers, Paints, Oils and Sporting Goods A. DePasquale’s Sons, Props. CLARK ELLIS SONS Milford, - Mass. Milford, - Mass Compliments of. Compliments of. DR. THOMAS J. NUGENT THE BOSTON STORE Dentist Dry Goods 8 8 Milford, - Mass. Milford, - Mass. CHARLES E. COONEY Compliments of. • Dry Goods 8 G. W. WOOD 222 Main Street, Milford 66 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. The Home National Bank Capital, $130,000 Surplus and Profits, $180,000 Commercial Accounts Savings Accounts MILFORD. MASS. JAMES LALLY HENRY VOLK Dealer in FLOUR Soloist and Instructor of GRAIN and the Violin HAY Tel. 5 7-M, Studio 35 Pleasant St. 9 Exchange St., Milford, Mass. Milford, Mass. Compliments of. Compliments of. BABY ROSE CIGAR CLIFFORD A. COOK Mfg. Compliments of. ELDREDGE SON T. F. FLANIGAN Wall Paper and DuPont Paints 42 Exchange Street - Milford ADVERTISING SECTION. 67 IDA LEE, ARTIFICIAL AND CUT FLOWERS Periodicals, Magazines, Confectionery, Cigars and Tobacco, Stationery, Sporting Goods, Daily and Sunday Papers, Ice Cream 90 MAIN STREET Tel. 348-W MILFORD, MASS. LEO DeFILIPPIS, Custom Tailor OVER A. P. GROCERY STORE 118 MAIN STREET, MILFORD George H. Locke 8 Lumber Builders’ Finish Doors Windows Blinds Asphalt Shingles Beaver Board 8 GEORGE H. LOCKE MILFORD William P. Clarke 8 Printer and Publisher General Commercial Printing Wedding Invitations, etc. 8 5 Hayward Place - Milford Telephone Connection KING ARTHUR FLOUR Best by Test Once Tried, Always Used J. P. CONNOLLY COMPANY AGENTS FOR HOPEDALE AND MILFORD 68 ADVERTISING SECTION. ZTbe (Lbarlcscratt Agrees 43 Exchange Street, Milford Books, Pamphlets, Commercial Printing, Color and Half-Tone Printing, Wedding Stationery, Embossed and Engraved Work. This Book was Printed by ZTbC GbfttleSCtaft iPtCSS For the Latest Styles in Coats, Suits, Dresses, Blouses and Sweaters go to VIRGIE’S Milford’s Largest Coat Suit Store 2 1 5-2 1 7 Main Street Milford, - Mass. HENRY F. BULLARD Dry Goods and Millinery 8 208-210 Main St., Milford, Mass. The Young Man JgVERY young man is, or ought to be, ambitious. There is no permanent success in business with¬ out intelligent handling of money. Let this bank serve you. MILFORD NATIONAL BANK MILFORD, MASS. Wm. S. Davis, Proprietor P H. Burke, Manager Telephone, 8656-M Century Billiard Parlor 808 LYCEUM BLOCK, MILFORD, MASS. 11 New Carom and Pocket Tables Best Equipped Room in New England ADVERTISING SECTION. 69 BREAD IS THE STAFF OF LIFE You pay 12c for a loaf of Baker’s Bread, of which the Farmer who raises the wheat, received less than 2c; the Miller who grinds it, and the Rail Road that transports it, receive about one half cent each; while the Baker who bakes it and the Merchant who sells it, get the remaining 9c. Why pay OVER THIRTY DOLLARS A BARREL for flour in BAKER’S BREAD, when you can get BETTER FLOUR and make BETTER BREAD by buying CORNERSTONE FLOUR FOR $8.50 A BARREL AT THE Henry Patrick Company’s Cash and Carry Store ITITTII r;f—Wl— —————i—■——— Compliments of.... Compliments of.... LOUIS PRATT DR. F. H. LALLY BARNEY COAL MILFORD GRAIN COMPANY COMPANY Dealers in Dealers in Free Burning and Leheigh Hay, Grain, Straw, High Grade Goal Mason’s Supplies Yards 31 Main St Phone Conn. 51 Depot St. Beach St. Phone Conn. 70 ADVERTISING SECTION. For Every Occasion Venetian Ice Cream “A Tait Bros.’ Product” a Sold Everywhere Adler Collegian Clothes They keep you looking your best Blue Serge Special Two Pants $37.50 Benjamin Harris THE FLORIST Potted Plants Cut Flowers Funeral Designs a Specialty ED WILCOX MEN’S SHOP Pine Street, Milford, Mass. Tel. House 307-M Store 1074-J ADVERTISING SECTION. 71 Miscoe Ginger Ale A Beverage of the Best Quality Manufactured Directly from Nature’s Pure Mineral Spring Water Try a bottle or a case. It is invigorating and refreshing. Note its snappy, pleasing taste. You will find it different from all others, be¬ cause of the fact of the high quality of the water and the ingredients used in its manufacture. ORDER A CASE FROM YOUR GROCER MISCOE SPRING WATER COMPANY When you want a real drink, ask for Miscoe. MENDON, MASSACHUSETTS - Telephone 756-J MISS CATHERINE MACKEY Teacher of BALL ROOM AND ESTHETIC DANCING STUDIO, 29 GROVE STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS Telephone 554-R WALTER W. WATSON PAUL WILLIAMS Funeral Director and Embalmer Insurance Broker 24 Exchange Street 4 Poplar Street Milford, Mass. Tel. 192-W Milford, Mass. Compltmentg of %. Xucbint Son 72 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. ALEX DiGIANNANTONIO Milford, - Mass. F. G. KERR Monumental Company Successor to A. C. Kinney ALL KINDS OF CEMETERY WORK GRANITE AND MARBLE MONUMENTS Tablets and Headstones Lettering a Specialty South Bow St., Milford, Tel. 521-W MILFORD FURNITURE CO. “We make a home Out of a house.’ ' Milford, - Mass. JAMES B. EDWARDS Undertaker and Embalmer Tel. Office 225-W House 225-R FULLER WILSON BOSTON AND MILFORD AT GRADUATION TIME Your friends expect your photograph Special prices to graduates W. A. Flannery Photographer 224 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. Dr. C. E. Whitney Milford, - Mass. WILLIAN SPECIALTY SHOPPE £053 The Home of Sport Togs and Millinery. EXPRESS M. M. CONNORS ADVERTISING SECTION. 73 B. VITALINI Dependable Coal Service ISOS Tel. 593-R Milford, Mass. O’NEIL GASELLA Manufacturing JEWELERS Medals, Frat. Rings, Sorority Rings Class Rings 110 HIGH STREET, BOSTON, MASS. Telephone, Congress 7965 J. A. TYLER Shoe Racks Casters, Etc. Milford, - Mass. J. F. HICKEY Insurance and Real Estate 224 Main Street Milford, - Mass. WOONSOCKET MILLS REMNANT STORES Milford’s Largest Dry Goods Store —OUR MOTTO— A Volume of Sales at Small Profits A visit to our yard goods and ready-to-wear department is worth while 91-95 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Also stores in Framingham and Whitinsville Compliments of W. P. JONES ELEC. CO. 213 Main Street, Milford, Mass. ESMOND SQUARE STORE Tobacco, Confectionery and Ice Cream Sunday and Daily Papers O. D. COSTELLO, Prop. Tel. 284-J. 74 ADVERTISING SECTION. H. M. CURTISS COAL AND LUMBER CO. 8 Shingles and Lumber of all kinds Flooring, Windows and Doors. 8 48 Pond Street, Milford Compliments of Waters Hynes 8 Milford, - Mass. J. MASTRIANNI BROS. First Class Shoe Repairing by Machinery Also Shining Parlor 83 1-2 East Main Street Milford, - Mass MONTI ROSSI Monumental Work Milford, - Mass. GRANITE AND MARBLE Statuary and Carving a Specialty Building and Monumental Work 58 EAST MAIN STREET, Tel. 845-W Residence, 8 Hayward St., Tel. 362-M Res. Tel. 94-R Stable Tel. 94-W ARTHUR J. HEROUX Undertaker, Embalmer and Funeral Director Memorial Square Stables, Auto Ambulance Service Milford, - Mass. Night calls, 3 Prentice Ave. H. MOHAMMED Central Bowling Alleys Cigars, Cigarettes, Confectionery JOSEPH MORCONE 23 Main Street Milford, Mass. Bonded Banker Steamship Agent Notary Public, Justice of the Peace ADVERTISING SECTION. 75 AVERY WOODURY COMPANY 212 to 214 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Interior Decorators, House Furnishers, Cut Glass SILVERWARE Berkeley Textile Company Compliments of. See us first MILFORD GAZETTE Include our store on your shopping tour Leading Textile Store in town Koatings, Dress Goods, Linings Compliments of. Silks, Woolens and Wash Goods. Milford’s Leading Textile Store DILLON BROS. 209 MAIN ST., Telephone 178-M Milford, - Mass. Tel. 544-M Office Hours 8-12—1-6 Dr. H. Ellis worth Morse Optical Specialist Suite 5, Thayer Building 219 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Patrick J. Lawless George H. Sweet A. H. SWEET CO., Inc. Registered Pharmacists Compliments of. W. J. WALKER 1 64 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Baker Block - Milford Prescriptions Carefully Compounded Milford Savings Bank, 236 Mam street, Mii rd, Mass. Open every business day from 9 A. M. to 3 P. M., except Saturday. Saturdays, 9 A. M. to 1 P. M. Deposits commence to draw interest on the TENTH DAY of Each Month. Dividends are payable on and after the Third Saturday April and October. 76 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of.... A FRIEND Compliments of. Compliments of.... A FRIEND WENDELL WILLIAMS Milford, Mass. DR. HERBERT W. SHAW “NAN ' S GIFT SHOP Dentist Gifts for all occasions S3 Hemstitching, Picoting, Plaiting, Covered Buttons Milford, - Mass. BEACON BUILDING MILFORD, MASS BOWKER CLOTHING CO. Compliments of. Home of Kuppenheimer Clothes DR. B. F. HARTMAN Mallory Hats Veterinarian Ralston Shoes . Selz $ Six Shoes Milford, - Mass. Milford, - Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 77 Compliments of. “Distinctive Women’s Apparel” a GORDON’S Fashion Shop CENEDELLA 1 62 Main Street Milford, Massachusetts COMPANY Compliments of. a WILLIAM A. MURRAY, Esq, M. H. S. 1907 Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. Headquarters for Everything Musical and Electrical DR. R. E. ELLSWORTH Electrical Construction Dentist BEACON SUPPLY COMPANY 1; 1 0 Main Street Milford, - Mass. Milford, - Mass. Established 1858 MICHAEL CLEARY Best Horseshoeing done at reason¬ able prices R. G. ELDREDGE, 40 Central Street, Milford, Mass. WATCHES, DIAMONDS, JEWELRY, E. H. NEISTEIN 182 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Junk Dealer 76 Depot Street, Milford, Mass, Call 1 1 -M Y. M. C. H. 78 ADVERTISING SECTION. You ride in an Auto Give your Mill its Auto-matic Looms The man or manufacturer who doesn’t keep up with the times may suddenly find himself badly handicapped. Draper Corporation HOPEDALE MASSACHUSETTS Southern Office ATLANTA GEORGIA Compliments of Beccia’s Spa, Milford CORNER NORTH BOW AND MAIN STREETS. Compliments of.... SPECIAL PRICES EACH WEEK E. E. GRAY COMPANY Premium Brand of Bread Flour, Fancy Pastry Flour, M. and J. Brand of Coffee, Gray’s Extra Brand of Coffee QUAUTY FIRST - ECONOMY NEXT EDWARD R. O’CONNOR. MURPHY’S MARKET J. T. M URPHY, Prop. GROCERIES and MEATS Compliments of A. B. MORSE Druggist 14 CENTRAL ST., MILFORD, MASS. Richard Healy Company 512 MAIN STREET, WORCESTER Outer Apparel, Hats and Furs For Women, Misses and Girls Exclusive, Refined and Correct For 42 Years, The Garment Store of Style, Service and Satisfaction