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

Text from Pages 1 - 98 of the 1926 volume:

Commencement 10 umber 1926 School of Commercial Sciences WOONSOCKET Interstate Commercial School MILFORD Compliments of WARD P. ROBERTS Service and Quality Market MEATS and PROVISIONS it pays to pay for the BEST The Market Where You See It Ground WE WASH EVERYTHING BUT THE BABY SHERMAN’S LAUNDRY 32 Exchange Street, Milford, Mass. Tel. 252-M ADVERTISING SECTION. 1 Compliments of. GREEN STORES, Inc. JULIO ZORZI Instructor of 186 MAIN STREET VIOLIN, CLARINET 5c to $1.00 SAXOPHONE Ring and Welch Building Room 6 Compliments of. Compliments of. Samuel Marcovitch LARKIN BROTHERS CENTRAL BATTERY SERVICE STATION Auto and Radio Batteries a Specialty 50 Central St., Telephone 1024 BULLARD’S TIRE SHOP Compliments of. Supplies, Accessories ALEX IANITELLI FISK TIRES OPPOSITE BARBER THE TOWN HALL Compliments of. WHITE BROTHERS Miss Alma E. Sweet New Bath House Teacher of Pianoforte at Swimming Hole, Lake Nipmuc 59 School Street, Milford, Mass. 104 Lockers for Ladies and Gentlemen 25c 2 ADVERTISING SECTION. LAWRENCE MILLS Compliments of. REMNANT STORE THE OUTFIT Compliments of. 195 MAIN ST. H. W. SMILEY 226 Main St., Milford, Mass. Milford’s Largest Clothing Store THE ELITE MILLINERY Compliments of. Ladies’ and Children’s WEARING APPAREL SPECIALTY SHOP. GEORGE A. BARRY, Esq. 120 MAIN STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS Compliments of. Alfred B. Cenedella BURKE’S PHARMACY Attorney and Councillor at Law 3 Baker Building Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. A Good Place to Trade lc to 99c Store BOSTON FURNITURE STORE THE STORE OF LOW PRICES 1 77 and 1 79 Main Street, Milford 80 MAIN STREET Compliments of £)r. flIMett 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. WYZAN BROS. PATRONIZE Women’s Specialty Shop OUR Milford ADVERTISERS • Compliments of. Compliments of. a Madame Lebbossiere Roche HUCKINS TEMPLE, Inc. Beauty Shoppe Shoe Manufacturers a Tels. 1300-R, 1300-W, 1155 Est. 1914 G1LLON BROTHERS Taxi Service and Baggage Transfer Milford, - Mass. Weddings, Funerals and Private Parties Given Special Attention Buick Seven Passenger Sedans DAY AND NIGHT SERVICE Washing, Greasing and Polishing Cars 4 ADVERTISING SECTION. FANCY CARNATIONS S. Mazzarelli Sons FOR ALL OCCASIONS MACARONI MANUFACTURERS at and BAKERS HOWARD’S GREENHOUSES 8 150 South Main Street Telephone Connection 1 7 Genoa Ave., Milford, Mass. Joseph J. Fahey Firestone Tires - Accessories MANNING’S SHOES Vulcanizing WEAR WELL Gas Oil Supplies Lincoln Square Tel. 1258-M Milford Gas and Compliments of. Electric Light Co. Dr. C. E. Whitney 8 241 Main Street, Milford Milford, - Mass. SPECIAL MODELS IN HIGH SCHOOL CLOTHES NARDUCCI- MARSH Famous Orchestra also Sport Trousers and Sport Sweaters King Brothers Clothiers Opera House Block New England’s Popular Dance Music For Prices and Full Particulars write to Nicholas A. Narducci, Mgr. 28 North Street, Milford Telephone 1323-M ADVERTISING SECTION. 5 FRED T. BURNS ICE CREAM AND CONFECTIONERY 270 MAIN STREET ANTONIO MARCELLO MORIN’S STUDIO Dealer in All Kinds of Special Price on Graduation GROCERIES FRUITS and VEGETABLES Cigars, Cigarettes and Tobacco Candy PHOTOGRAPHS 69 1 -2 East Main Street, Milford 1 54 Main Street, Milford, Mass. ALHAMBRA RUBBER CO. George H. Locke 8 8 Manufacturers of Lumber Builders’ Finish Doors RUBBER SLICKERS IN ALL THE LATEST COLORS Windows Blinds Asphalt Shingles Beaver Board 8 8 125 Central Street, Milford GEORGE H. LOCKE MILFORD 6 ADVERTISING SECTION. Nonquit Shoe Store Men’s Quality Shoes at $5.00 and $6.00 154 Main Street, Up one flight Compliments of... JOHN F. DAMON Motorcycles and Bicycles Wheel Goods, Accessories Sporting Goods A. FRANCESCONI INDIAN AGENT MAIN STREET, MILFORD, MASS. Telephone Get it at BRIDGES’ PHARMACY Hood s Old Fashioned Ice Cream “The Flavor is There!” Kodak Supplies, Candy Prescriptions accurately compounded J. H. O’GRADY, Prop. 193 Main Street Milford, Mass. S. A. EASTMAN CO. Paper and Corrugated Boxes a Compliments of. CAHILL’S NEWS AGENCY Washington Block 206 Main Street, Milford, Mass, U A Good Place to Trade” WERBER ROSE Milford, Mass. Milford, Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 7 FREDERICK A. GOULD FOR Suits, Corsets, Coats, Summer Hardware, Plumbing and Gowns, Waists and Heating Sport Goods Go to 1 6-20 Exchange Street M. F. Green’s Cloak Store Milford, - Mass. 200 Main Street, Milford, Mass. SHEA BROS. Compliments of. Meats and Provisions ARTHUR P. CLARRIDGE a aoa 127 Main Street, Milford, Mass, William P. Clarke Compliments of. a BROCKTON SHOE STORE Printer and Publisher aoa General Commercial Printing Wedding Invitations, etc. a MILFORD DAILY NEWS Established 1887 Removed to 11 Fayette St., Milford The only Daily Paper in Milford and the only Advertising Medium for all this section of the State. Telephone Connection Sworn Circulation 4,700 8 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of read CREAM BREAD WIN-SUM BREAD VITAMIN E BREAD ADVERTISING SECTION. 9 Compliments of. Compliments of. ARCHER RUBBER CO. CROWELL DeWITT Provisions and Fancy Groceries SOS Milford, - Mass. 1 1 3 Main Street Compliments of. HEITIN BROS. Tailors and Cleaners Milford, - Mass. Telephone 103-W M. CICCHETTI Successor to N. W. Heath Compliments of. DR. E. J. DIXON Dentist CASEY BUILDING 167 Main Street, Milford TAILOR 154 Main Street, Milford, Mass. NIRO NIRO ELECTRIC HEATING AND LIGHTING CONTRACTORS Compliments of. SALLY’S TEA ROOM Hardware, Wallpaper, Window Glass Milford, - Mass. Home of Kyanize and Bay State Paint Compliments of. 67 MAIN STREET, MILFORD DR. F. H. LALLY TRASK BROTHERS R. MARINO Dealers in High Class Tailor CYCLES and SUNDRIES and Real Estate Agent Agents for Truant Officer EDISON PHONOGRAPHS 8 138 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Milford, - Mass. 10 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of the Hopedale Manufacturing Company ADVERTISING SECTION. II .-.-•fv y • . . ’ • • Grief BAY PATH INSTITUTE of Spkingpield Massachusetts yiJ7 Commercial Subjects Oldest Normal Commercial Departm e n t in AewEnfilawl Catalog s end. for MADER’S F. J. COLEMAN, Prop. Compliments of. G. L. DALRYMPLE MANSION HOUSE GARAGE Milford, Mass. SEAVER’S EXPRESS Milford to Worcester Milford to Providence PHONES Milford 697-J Worcester Park 1512 Providence Gaspee 7479 Compliments of SNOW’S 1 2 1 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of CONFECTIONER Page Shaw Apollo Chocolates ICE CREAM, ETC. 256 Main Street, Milford, Mass. M. J. CARBARY Class of 1891. HENRY L. SCHULTZ Electrical Contractor � 244 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. New York Bargain Store DRY GOODS Ladies’ and Children ' s Apparel G. GHAFETZ, Prop. 63 Main Street Mass. Milford, 12 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliment of. JOHN E. SWIFT, Esq. Compliments of DR. EARL CROCKETT Dentist Milford, - Mass. Compliments of WILLIAM J. MOORE, Esq. Milford, Mass. Compliments of CROWN CONFECTIONERY CO. 149 Main Street, Compliments of. JOHN C. LYNCH, Esq. Milford, - Mass. LUIGI A. RECCHIUTO 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. Peachy’s School of Music Instruction on Violin, Mandolin, Tenor Banjo, Guitar and Ukelele Special Attention given to Beginners Open the year round Studio, Daily News Building Tel. 1044-W or 939-R Compliment, of. p. IKoines Ice Cream and Confectionery Frankfort a Specialty Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. LOUIS PRATT Milford, Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 13 IDEAL THEATRE N. CERUTI Matinees 2.30 Evenings 7.30 Home of Big Features If it’s anything good and new in the Picture line we have it. Wholesale Foreign and Domestic FRUITS AND PRODUCE 1 4 Central Street Wm. P. Kane, Mgr. Tel. Conn. Milford, Mass Compliments of. Milford Battery Service Station WILLARD HIGGINS BROTHERS Headquarters for Automobile and Radio Batteries RESTAURANT Honest, efficient service on all makes of batteries 6 Pine St., Milford Compliments of. Compliments of. W. L. J. F. POWER CO. notes flDan? E. IDiSntonlo Plumbing and Heating OIL-O-MATIC a OIL BURNER Estimates Free Compliments of. a Milford D p M Associated Branch Stores Telephone 1 32-J The Home of Trustworthy Products 157 Main Street Telephone 74 122 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Free Delivery 14 ADVERTISING SECTION. £an £ mb Jflowere ANNIE LAWLESS STORE Telephone 372-M Flowers Telegraphed Anywhere ANGELO MAZZARELLI Dealer in Groceries, Fruit, Ice Cream and Confectionery Telephone 1225-W 77 East Main Street, Milford WILLIAM J. DILLON Dealer in Groceries, Fruit, Ice Cream and Confectionery 45 Depot Street, Milford Compliments of. GLOVERDALE STORES 180 Main Street T. F. MOORE, Manager REYNOLDS’ Victor-Victrolas, Victor Records and Supplies Q. R. S. Player Rolls, Musical Instruments Sheet Music, Books and Stationery 196 Main Street Milford, Massachusetts Eva O’Donnell’s Shoppe We carry a most complete line of gowns, regular and extra sizes Millinery and Wearing Apparel 2 School Street Telephone 433-R Ernestine Harding Wilcox Teacher of Singing 31 Pine Street Milford, Mass. “NAN’S GIFT SHOP” Gifts for All Occasions Hemstitching, Covered Buttons, Art Goods Beacon Building Milford, Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 15 F. S. ADAMS, President, H. S. CHADBOURNE, Treasurer. Sporting Goods For Most Any Use H. S. Ghadbourne Go. 168 Main St., Milford Compliments of. John L. McTiernan STUDEBAKER SALES AND SERVICE MILFORD, MASS. M. S. McMahon HEATING AND PLUMBING 11 COURT STREET TELEPHONE, MILFORD 1125 It Pays to Consult McMahon Compliments of. MOTOR EQUIPMENT CO. NASH AND PACKARD GARAGE The Automobile Store Complete Milford, Mass. Compliments of. B. CERUTI Milford. Mass. 16 ADVERTISING SECTION. Biscuits THOUSANDS of people k are changing to Sunshine Soda Crackers. Have you changed yet? fOOSE ' Y lLES glSCUIT g)MPASW Bakers of Sunshine Biscuits Compliments of Compliments of.... A. ROSENFELD WENDELL WILLIAMS Milford, Mass. DR. HERBERT W. SHAW CLINTON L. BARNARD Jeweler Dentist B Milford, Mass. Genuine Hand Colored H a nfcson platinums” 148 MAIN STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS Opposite the Opera House 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. CLASS OF 1926. THE OAK, LilliY AJNiD IVY Vol. XLI MILFORD, MASS., JUNE, 1926. No. 1. 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—Jacob Broudy, ’26. Business Manager—Edward L. Mitchell, ’26. Associate Business Managers— Marie Celia Apicella, ’26. Florence J. Mainini, ’26. Edward V. O’Sullivan, ’26. ASSOCIATE EDITORS. Mildred F. Crandall, ’26. Ruth E. Volk, ’26. Alfred E. Alzerini, ’26. Albert L. Knox, ’26. Business Management of this Magazine under the Supervision of Miss Mae E. Birmingham of the Commercial Department. Single Copies, 15 cents. Address all communications to Oak, Lily and Ivy, Milford, Mass. EDITORIAL. LOCAL DEALERS. There has always been prevalent in the High School the impression that local merchants are incapable of supplying school needs. It has been mani¬ fested in no particular class, for it is apparently one of the innumerable unwritten laws which the students follow out of their inexplicable respect for a precedence. They take it for granted that since an article is purchased out of town, it is vastly superior to a similar article purchased in Milford. Previous to last year, class rings were purchased directly from the manu¬ facturers. A great deal of confusion resulted, due to the great number of samples submitted by the various firms. Controversies arose frequently, for the winning ring, being chosen from among such a variety, rarely won by a satis¬ factory majority. And since each ring amounted to six or seven dollars, the transaction involved several hundred dollars worth of business which went to an out-of-town firm. Yet there were at the time several jewelers in Milford fully capable of supplying the graduating classes with satisfactory rings. These jewelers not only helped pay for the maintenance and improvement of the school but also liberally supported every high school activity, athletic or social. If financial aid was needed in order to make a football season a success, these dealers in con¬ junction with the other local merchants were ready with their support. Yet when the very students who derived the benefit of this generosity had the oppor¬ tunity of showing their appreciation, they refused to avail themselves of it. In- 18 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. stead they furnished some manufacturer in Attleboro with several hundred dollars worth of business. When local jewelers were finally requested to submit samples, it was found that not only was the variety fully as good as that of the larger firms but that much less confusion ensued, for there were fewer samples submitted, since only those most appropriate to the needs of the class were presented. It is pleasing to note that this once prevelant tendency toward out-of-town purchasing of high school necessities has been partly done away with, for at present all athletic equipment as well as sweaters and rings are furnished by local dealers. But the presence of this tendency was recently evidenced in the matter of an orchestra to furnish music for a class function. The local orchestras suitable for the occasion were overlooked in favor of one imported from Boston at a price greatly in excess of that submitted by any other band. The question of hiring a local orchestra in order to allow local players to have the engagement was not even considered. Whether or not the music was worth the excessive price is in question, but there is no question that it was not worth the resent¬ ment aroused in certain quarters. A public institution such as the High School should be chary of inciting animosity, especially in those who support her acti¬ vities so liberally. This tendency, although in itself harmless, may have far-reaching and per¬ nicious effects; and the sooner the incoming classes realize their duty to the community and to its merchants, the sooner will they have the whole hearted ap¬ proval and support of its citizens. Jacob Broudy, ’26. SALUTATORY. In behalf of the Class of 1926, I wish to extend to you all a cordial welcome. We are gratified at the opportunity presented to us this evening to show you the results of our efforts. After four years of striving we are now ready to fulfill our ambitions. For the aid and encouragement given to us during the past four years we wish to express to you, on the eve of our graduation, our sincere ap¬ preciation. THE NOVEL AS A TYPE. The novel is a comparatively recent type of literature, yet one which enjoys an almost unrivalled popularity. This popularity has exerted itself over e short period only, as it was not until the nineteenth century that the novel took a prominent or predominant part in literary life. The popularity of the novel is due in large measure to the fact that the novel adapts itself to so large a range of readers and that it covers so vast a ground in the imitation of life. Its popu¬ larity is universal. It is not confined to any one country or any definite section of the earth, its wide and almost limitless scope giving the novel a worldwide ap¬ peal. Indeed the novel has become the companion of civilization; wherever civilization is, there is the novel. According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, “the novel is a study of manners or customs, founded on an observation of contemporary or recent life, in which the characters, the incidents, and the intrigue are imaginary, and, therefore THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 19 ‘new’ to the reader, but are founded on lines running parallel with those of actual history.” It is a picture of real life and manners, and of the times in which it is written. It gives a familiar relation of such things as pass every day before our eyes, such as may happen to our friends or to ourselves. The perfection of the novel is to present every scene in so natural and easy a manner and to make them appear so probable as to deceive us into a belief (at least while we are reading) that all is real, until we are affected by the joys and distresses of the persons in the story as if they were our own. The novel is the o nly branch of literature which may be cultivated with fair success without any real distinction or skill, and yet for the moment may exer¬ cise a powerful and far-reaching purpose. However, a great novelist, who is indeed a rare individual, produces a work which is as admirable in its art as the finest poetry. A good novel is like an exquisite piece of poetry, for with each reading, we appreciate more thoroughly the beauty of the creation. The novel has been put to many and varied uses. It has been made the vehicle for satire, for instruction, for political and religious exhortations, and for technical information; but these are side issues. The direct purpose of the novel is .to amuse or entertain by a succession of scenes painted from nature, and by a thread of emotional narrative. Since the first novel, “Pamela,” was written by Samuel Richardson, the printer, in 1740, the novel, as a type of literature, has expanded into five or six distinct groups of forms. These forms are: novels of incident, novels of character, novels of purpose, historical novels, humanitarian novels, and psycho¬ logical novels. Each of these types is marked by some certain and definite char¬ acteristic which serves as a means of differentiating it from the other types of novel. In a novel of character, the chief interest is directed to the portryal of men and women, that is, the story is a study of men and women. A well-known example of this type of novel is the “House of Seven Gables.” The novel of in¬ cident is one in which the portrayal of men and women is secondary, the chief interest being directed to what takes place. The novels of purpose are those which are written to expound some theory or principle. These are made use of by the moralists and philosophers. The historical novel is a story of adventure, a realistic sketch of manners of other days. Sir Walter Scott’s novels are the best known and most widely read examples of this type of novel. Scott hit upon the type of novel “elastic enough to contain in everything in fiction which pleases,” and he therefore appealed to various orders of minds. His novels combine the romantic, the mysterious, the adventurous and a sketch of manners. One of the best of the historical novels is “Ivanhoe.” It is a story of the life and adventures of a young Saxon hero about one hundred years after the con¬ quest of England by William the Conqueror. The characters are fictitious, but there is a background of historical truth. It is also a study of the relations of the Saxons and Normans of the time. The humanitarian novel was the popular section of an extensive humanitarian literature which appeared after the publishing of the “Old Curiosity Shop.” This humanitarian literature was propaganda written for the purpose of causing the betterment of the wretched conditions of the time. Dickens’ stories are the finest examples of this type of novel. His novels exerted a tremendous, far-reaching, and lasting influence. In fact, Dickens be¬ came, as one writer remarked, a sort of a professor of humanitarianism, and the medium through which he taught and expounded his sympathetic and progressive doctrines was the novel. In the United States, one of these novels which exerted 20 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. a tremendous influence was “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” a slightly exaggerated portrayal of slavery and the treatment of slaves in the South. The psychological novel is one in which what takes place is explained by the thoughts and feelings of the characters in the story, or in which one person exerts an influence on another. “Silas Marner,” a picture of English country life in the early nineteenth century is an example of the psychological novel, al¬ though it is better termed a problem novel. It is, as you may recall, the story of the change in the Weaver of Raveloe from a recluse and one who hates and is suspicious of his fellow-men to a happy man through the love and influence of little Eppie. Thus we see the working out of the theme of the influence of one individual upon another. Each of these types of novels has popularity with different classes of read¬ ers; each has its fine points. However, there are certain novels which find in¬ stant and lasting popularity with all classes of readers. One of these novels is the “Vicar of Wakefield.” It is a story of the simple country life of a vicar’s family in the eighteenth century. For the “Vicar of Wakefield” Goldsmith took his material from the scenes of everyday life and transformed it with his own imagination. The simple narrative has for its back¬ ground a complete picture of 18th century rural life, and contains an attack on the prison laws and discipline of the time, an example of liberty and patriotism, and a message of hope for the wretched in the example of courage on the part of the Vicar. The whole novel is pervaded with an atmosphere of unbounded hope and faith in the infinite goodness of God. The litttle family is persistently dogged by misfortune: their new house is burned; the young son is thrown into prison because of debts which he is unable to pay and one of the daughters is abducted and disgraced. Yet through all these trials, the Vicar’s hope and faith and trust in the boundless goodness and wisdom of God still persist. It is a novel which is bound to have an uplifting effect on the reader. Yearly in America the Pulitzer Prize is awarded “for the American novel published during the year which shall best present the wholesome atmosphere of American life and the highest standard of American manners and manhood.” A recent winner of this prize was Booth Tarkington’s “Alice Adams,” writ¬ ten in 1922. It is the simple narrative of the trials of the daughter of a moder¬ ately well-to-do American family in a small-sized community. The events which take place might well have happened to any American girl in similar circum¬ stances. Alice longs for the fine clothes and the advantages of the more prosperous members of her set. On going to a dance and not receiving attentions from the young men present, she takes a seat in a secluded nook, and makes an attempt to look as though she were waiting for her escort twho had absented himself for a moment and might return at any minute. Booth Tarkington has received many compliments for his understanding of the attemept to conceal her anxiety on being a wall flower. When she has practically become engaged to the catch of the season, her brother is arrested on the uncovering of a shortage in his accounts. The result is the breaking up of the match. At last Alice is obliged to give up her plans for social celebrity and enrolls in a business college. Once again we see a simple story placed on a background of a study of the manners of tthe day. It is novels such as these which bring this type of literature the great popu¬ larity it now enjoys. David Charles Kavanagh, ’ 26 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 21 IN THE HUT. (This story won the fourth prize of $15 in the 1926 Seventh Annual Short Story Contest conducted by the Boston Traveler. 1425 stories were submitted in the contest, which was open to all High School students of New England. A story by Jacob Broudy appeared in the list of twenty-five “Stories of Distinction,” selected by Mr. Rugg, Traveler Editor, for especial commendation, and stories by the following Milford High School Seniors were listed among the 125 “Honorable Mention” stories: Miss Estelle Harlowe, Miss Ruth Despeau, Miss Blanche Marcus, Miss Eva Ramee and Edward L. Mitchell. The stories by Miss Harlowe and Edward Mitchell are printed in this issue.) In the outskirts of a little Russian village stood the hut of the Widow Kom- insky. Within the dingy dwelling sat the Widow with her only son clasped in her embrace. This was in 1860, at the time when a law of Russia required that each city or town give up yearly a certain number of boys between the age of fourteen and twenty to train for military service. Mrs. Kominsky had been warned that at six o’clock that day they were coming for her boy, the most precious thing in her life. “Dimitry, they’ll not take you away from me,” she sobbed. “The good Lord will help me find a way to keep us from being parted.” Dimitry, a delicate youth of fifteen, looked up and answered through his tears, “But mother dear, money is the only thing that would save me from the guards and there is no way to get it.” “They’ll never bring you back to me. The work is only for husky lads,” she moaned. “But, Dimitry dear, they shall not take you from me. The good Lord will show us a way.” Ill luck had seemed to be the Widow Kominsky’s portion ever since her husband’s death. And now her most sacred possession was to be wrested from her. Over and over in her mind ran the words, “They shall not take him; they shall not take him.” Minutes passed but the grief-stricken woman did not move. The boy rose and walked to the window. The thought of leaving his be¬ loved mother, his sole companion because of frequent illness, to go into severe military training with strangers filled him with fear. Terror and anxiety were clearly depicted on his thin face. Finally the woman rose with a joyful cry. “Dimitry, my boy, they will not take you! I have a plan.” She then proceeded to unfold her plan eagerly. At one point the boy suppressed a shudder and said, “Mother, I am afraid.” His mother quickly replied cheerfully, “Fear not, my dear. The Lord has devised this plan for me.” It was near six o’clock. The three guards marched noisily up to the hut. One of them knocked loudly on the door. A woman’s sobs and weeping could be heard from within. On receiving no answer but the continued wails of the woman, they opened the door. As the soldiers entered, they stepped back in sur¬ prise at the unexpected sight that met their eyes. In the dim twilight was the bent figure of a woman, weeping over a mound of white on the floor. On either side of the mound were lighted candles that cast a deathly light over the room. “Madame,” began the spokesman of the guards, “We have come for your son, Dimitry Kominsky.” The grief-stricken woman lifted her eyes and in a 22 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. trembling voice cried, “A greater Power has taken my boy from me. My son has gone to serve a greater Master.” Her weeping then began anew, as she bent over the body, disregarding the presnc of the soldiers. The guards after a moment’s pause turned and departed. As their footsteps died away, the woman’s sobbing ceased and she jumped up. Going to the door, she latched it and glanced cautiously out of the window. “We are safe,” she said in a hushed voice. “Come, Dimitry.” But the white mound did not move. Thinking that her son had not heard her, she exclaimed cheerfully, “Have no fear, my dear. They have gone.” But there was no movement from the figure on the floor. Bending over her son, Mrs. Kominsky pulled away the sheet. As she did so, a cry escaped from her. As if in a daze, she began to shake her son, calling his name frantically over and over again. But the form remained motionless. Slowly the truth dawned upon her. The terror and suspense had been too great a strain for the delicate Dimitry. With a stifled cry, she sank to the floor. Outside dark night had descended. The rain poured down furiously and the wind howled around the little hut. In the morning, a villager found the two bodies, the son clasped in his mother’s arms. Bessie Pressman, ’26. LITTLE JOE The city clock had just finished striking the hour of 11, when any one who happened to be passing the Fireside Orphan Asylum on the outskirts of Brook¬ lyn, might have seen a rope of rags, knotted securely in different places, lowered from a window on the second floor. Soon a face appeared and the body of a child became visible. He quickly slid down the rope and when he reached the ground, darted into the shadows and made his way toward the wall. As he reached the sidewalk a man rounded the corner. The child jumped behind a nearby tree, but too late, for the man had seen him. When the man reached the tree, he placed his hand on the child’s shoulder. “Well, sonny, what are you doing here this late? Does your old man know you’re out?” he said. “I ain’t got no old man. Please, mister, let me go. I don’t wanta go back!” “Back where? Did you say you ain’t got no father nor mother? You’re kinda young, seems to me, to be running wild at this hour.” “I said I didn’t wanta go back to that awful place. I can take care of my¬ self, sir, ’cause I’m past nine. If my mother was here, she’d want me to go shift for myself, too, ’cause she always said experience, or something like that, was a grave teacher.” “Well, how would you like to come bunk with me? My old woman will give ya a bite to eat.” The two figures moved slowly down the street. Upon inquiring the man found out that the child’s name was Joe Stanley and he told him in return that Joe might call him Fred. Finally they turned into a dark alley. The child clutched the man by the coat after he had stumbled over a drunken body. Soon the man opened a door and taking the child by the hand, he led him through a room where men were drinking, gambling and cursing. In a remote corner even a fight was being staged. They entered an inner room where a stout, red faced woman sat reading by the light of a kerosene lamp. She glanced up. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 23 “Say, Kit, put your paper aside for a couple of seconds and get the kid a bite to eat, .will ya? He can bunk with me.” Kit called little Joe ,to her and Joe realized that he had found two friends. •In a .short time Kit and Fred Scrutz had grown to love Joe. Something worried the little fellow, however, although he did not mention it. He had noticed that four or five nights a week Fred went out and sometimes didn’t return until nearly morning. One. night when Joe entered the back room he saw two men and his Uncle Fred, as he now called him, seated around a table. The three were bending over a paper and as he ' entered; one said, “What about the kid there? He could get through this cellar window, go up the stairs, open the door and let us in.” “No!” said Fred Scrutz. ' . . . “Oh, the devil!” answered the other, “What do you care if he knows you re a thief. What in h—‘do you care? He’s no better than you.” After much arguing, Scrutz reluctantly agreed. Joe suddenly realized why the man he had trusted had gone out nights. He knew also that it was wrong for him to do his uncle’s bidding, yet, if Fred had not taken him in, what would have become of him? He owed obedience to this man! Later he would beg his uncle to give up this life. The next night two men and a child might have been seeen walking cau¬ tiously up the driveway of a fashionable house. They proceeded slowly and carefully until they reached a low window. After looking around, one man took an instrument from his pocket and opened the window. A few minutes elapsed and then a door was opened cautiously and the two men entered. They pro¬ ceeded into the kitchen. A small stifled cry of pain came from the child, whose arm had bumped against the stove. A hand was quickly placed over Joe’s mouth to prevent further sounds. The house was again silent. Scrutz looked at the piece of paper with the flashlight and the two, followed by the child, moved toward a cabinet in the next room. After a drawer had been opened, Scrutz took from his pocket a bag, in which he began to silently place silverware. Crash! He had dropped a knife and the sound echoed throughout the house. The two men made their way, with silent haste, to the door, leaving the bewildered child standing alone. Soon a step was heard on the stairs and the boy groped his way to what appeared to be a sofa. Hastily he crawled behind it just as the room became flooded with light. A man appeared in the doorway, revolver in hand. Behind him stood a young girl. They advanced slowly looking in the closet, behind chairs and every possible place but the sofa. They disappeared into another room and then in a few minutes reappeared. Slowly they advanced toward the sofa! The man seated himself. “Surely, father, you had a nightmare. There is absolutely no one in the house,” the young lady said. “Maybe so, but I was sure I heard something. Let us go to bed then.” The two started for the door, and Joe, thinking they had departed, started to move from his cramped position. A revolver shot rang out! Three days later a child’s funeral moved slowly toward the cemetery. An observer might have seen a man who had recently responded to the name of Uncle Fred, his head bow r ed, standing on a corner, whi le tears trickled down his cheeks as the short procession moved on. Estelle Harlowe, 26 . 24 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE ETERNAL LURE. “Au revoir, ma femme!” Emile Gautier spoke with a jauntiness which belied his three score years as he strode off with his husky son Jean. Bound for their profitable claim on Silver Creek the Gautiers, father and son, side by side, were a picture of contentment. The Gautiers had done well since the lure of the yellow metal had first led them to Silver Creek. Beginning with scarcely enough for their three meals a day, they now owned a snug little cottage where the family of four, Emile, Marie, his plump wife, Jean, and pretty little brown-eyed Louise. Silver Creek folks even went so far as to say that Papa Gautier was quite wealthy. Several months before the Gautiers had taken in a boarder, not because of the money to be paid, which was trifling, but because Silver Creek was a good forty miles from the next settlement, and as theirs was the only house in the village which could accommodate him, they gave him a room supposedly for one night. The next day he had lingered around, making no attempt to leave. That evening at the supper table at the psychological moment just as Papa Gautier had concluded saying grace, he had asked to stay, telling them that he had secured a job at a neighboring lumber camp and would like to remain for a time a mem¬ ber of their household. Had the Gautiers known that he, George Ferguson, was wanted for at least three charges in the States, Marie Gautier probably would have fainted and the notorious Ferguson have been booted out the door. Weeks passed. Late summer faded into fall and signs of the rapidly ap¬ proaching Canadian winter were already felt in the penetrating winds, as flocks of geese honked their way across the leaden skies. Ferguson had already heard of the Gautiers’ prosperity and one evening in December he overheard a conversation between Emile and his wife. “Look! ma chere Marie,” Emile was saying as he held up a leather pouch, “This will make a fine wedding gift for our boy Jean, when he marries the nie e of Monsieur le Cure, n’est-ce pas?” “Ah, oui,” assented his wife happily. Ferguson’s mind, ever on the alert for gain, quickly conceived a daring scheme whereby he might appropriate the earnings of the Gautiers and then live royally for some months in a distant city. The next Sunday he would harness the Gautier dog team while they were at church, and be far on the trail before they returned. Capture was doubtful, as Gautier’s team was the fastest in Silver Creek. Sunday morning, the day of days, Ferguson chuckled as he thought of these stupid provincials who did not trust in banks, but preferred to keep their money under floor boards. “Church this morning, monsieur?” inquired Emile politely of his boarder, anticipating the excuse which Ferguson weekly offered. “No, mon pere,” said Ferguson, “My arm aches where I twirled it yester¬ day.” He smiled cynically as he watched the preparations of the family to de¬ part. They donned their heavy wraps as he shook his head. Little Louise, anxious to be off, scampered ahead while rosy-cheeked Marie followed with her husband and son. As soon as they were out of sight beyond the small but dense pine grove which lay between the Gautier cottage and the village, Ferguson dressed for the trail, harnessed the dog sled, and removed the money from its hiding place. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 25 “What luck! What luck!” he muttered, realizing that the sum was in excess of his fondest hopes. As he held up the bag with an appraising eye, he was startled by a step out¬ side the door. The door was thrown open and Marie, breathing heavily, hurried in. “I forgot to take—” she began . “Mon Dieu, what have you there? Emile! Jean!” she screamed, as with a cry of anguish she flung herself upon the man. Her efforts to seize the money were futile and she was flung aside. Ferguson started for the door, but Marie, seizing Emile’s hunting knife from the table, inter¬ cepted him. With a curse he drew a gun and fired point blank. Marie crumpled into a heap, a stream of crimson oozing th rough the bosom of her dress. Ferguson never reached the coast as he had planned. When he had been two days on the trail, a blizzard overtook him and while he was skirting the high bluffs that rose from the swift little stream called “Lost Creek,” the dogs lost their footing and vainly scrambling for a hold, slid over the bluff, carrying the over¬ turned sled and the precious gold with them. After wandering about for several hours, Ferguson stumbled on to an old trapper’s cabin. Half frozen and his mind bordering on insanity from rage over the loss of the gold, he managed to get a fire going in an old rusty stove. Jj The snow-laden wind with a desolate moan swept by. Two days had elapsed since Ferguson had blundered into the cabin, and the storm still raged. Melted snow for drink, no food, wood nearly gone, fear of pursuit, memories of lost gold,—all this had its effect on the man who moved only to replenish the fire. The stove hummed and seemed to be trying to drown out the voice of the man’s rattling breath. “Ha! Ha! Marie Gautier, you devil, trying to knife me!” His red-rimmed eyes stared vacantly around the room. Just then the stove sputtered. “Are you laughing at me, you hellion? Here I have been feeding you for two days and myself starving. I’ll starve you now!” ' The fire burnt low, the room grew cold. “I’m warmer now than ever,” raved the maniac. The morning found the cabin, its chimney smokeless, buried in snow. Inside a man lay with his lips open and ashen pale. His unkempt beard failed to hide the evil that lingered on his face. Edward Mitchell, ’26. THE BLIND GIRL OF METZ. N estled in the hills of Switzerland lay the quaint little village of Metz. The majority of the male inhabitants of this village were mountain climbers and guides to tourists, and the women made fancy articles, for which they found ready sale. The younger set of this village were light hearted and gay, and among them were Mary and John. A deep affection between these two young people had grown to such an extent that they had become betrothed. John, being a guide, was in the moun- 26 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. tains the greater part of his time, but on one particular summer day he regretted having to depart, as Mary was quite ill. The setting sun was casting shadows upon the mountains when John went to bid Mary good-bye. From outside the sick room their voices could be heard in low murmurs. “It is a case of necessity, John, and you must go,” said Mary. “But when you are so ill, I would rather be here with you,” he replied. “That cannot be. You must go and with the Lord’s help I shall soon be up and will pray for your speedy return.” “Goodbye, Mary dear, nothing shall keep me from you when I return.” So saying, he kissed her and quickly left the quaint dwelling. With the coming of the night Mary’s condition became critical and the doctor was summoned. Outside the quiet room the anxious father waited. “Is she better? Will she see?” asked the father as the doctor came out of the room. “She will never again see light,” the physician answered slowly. From within a groan was audible and it was known that Mary realized her condition. “Father, father,” cried the pitiful voice and the father went in to comfort his stricken daughter. The months passed and Mary was able to be up. This day her brother Ted had taken her out to the hills. When he had gone, Mary could control herself no longer. “Oh, God help me,” she prayed, “help me to face John when he returns. Now I can never be his, although his last words were: ‘Nothing can keep me from you.’ With this thought I am comforted.” She arose and went back to the cottage in which more sorrow awaited her. From outside deep sobs could be heard, and filled with fear Mary went in. “What has happened?” she asked. The doctor quietly answered, “Mary, your father has died.” At this news Mary fell unconscious and for weeks she lay helpless from the shock. One day after she had recuperated, her brother took her outside of the lonely cottage. From the lowlands below music floated merrily up the mountain side, and the cheerful voices of girls singing reached the ears of the couple. “Ted, do you hear the music?” asked the sister. “Yes, Mary. It is a celebration for Jeanne Rheim,” answered Ted. “A celebration for Jeanne? It cannot be or we would have been invited. How I wish John would return so I might hear his voice and know that he is is well. Is it not time for his return?” There was no response. “Ted, are you listening to me?” anxiously asked Mary. “Yes, Mary, I am listening.” “But you do not answer me. Has John returned?” The boy arose from his seat near the door and put his arms around his bejoved sister. “John,” said Ted, “returned a month ago.” A pause followed. “Then what is the reason for his delay in coming to see me?” asked the sobbing girl. “Jeanne and John are to be wedded on the morrow and that is the reason why we did not receive an invitation to the celebration,” answered Ted. After a moment Mary said, “Run along, Ted. I wish to be left alone.” THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 27 Alone she meditated and then said, “To think I believed and trusted him and now to have him desert me without saying goodbye.” Early the next morning Mary arose, dressed, and went to the door. She could feel the warm rays of sun on her face, and was glad the day was fine. , “Ted,” said the sister, “dress in your best clothes and hurry, as we are go¬ ing to the village. When you are ready, call me.” Mary left the room and entered a closet. Feeling on the top shelf, her hand came upon a small stiletto which she thrust inside the bosom of her dress. “Sister, are you ready?” asked Ted. “Yes, Ted, we shall go to the church.” In the village everyone was astir. The maidens sang and danced, but in a certain hut a young man sat in deep thought, ashamed of himself and ashamed to face the world. Why had he deserted Mary? He was a coward, a weakling who allowed his father to end his happiness. Then the ringing of the church bells aroused him, and he left the house. Amidst the ringing of the bells Mary and Ted seated themselves near the altar of the church. The bright rays penetrating through the stained glass rested on Mary’s bowed head. The altar was aflame with light and when the bridal couple came down the aisle a shaft of sunlight danced before them. Astonished glances were cast on Mary, but during the ceremony she did not move. Toward the close Mary arose and walked to the altar. Immediately John went to her, but she held him off and said, “As long as you do not want me on earth, I shall await you in the hereafter.” She drew the dagger from her bosom and was about to thrust it into her heart, but a Stronger Power stayed her hand and she sank down lifeless upon the altar steps. As the sunbeams danced before him the second time, John, overcome by grief and remorse, and ignoring the weeping Jeanne, carried the beautiful form of Mary out of God’s House. In a cottage of Metz, John, now an old man, still lives with Ted, who is happily married, and in the hearts of both men many cherished memories of a beautiful girl are concealed from the world. Catherine Coyne, ’ 26 . THE MARTYR. The lightning flashed, the thunder crashed, and the wind howled dismally. Indeed the very elements semed to re-echo the fear of the people within the village of Merga, for they were in danger of being attacked by the infamous Turks and Kurds, who enslaved their prettiest girls, killed brutally the men of the village, the women and even the helpless children. Already on the outskirts loomed the savage Mohammedan troops. Should they submit easily? But no, the clear, commanding voice of Levarn, the blacksmith, was heard. “Assemble ye in the Church ! Quick, lose no time.” Regardless of the storm, all made a frantic rush to the Church, thinking that perhaps a way might yet be found to avoid this grave danger. The women wept, and wrung their hands. Men, white-faced, looked with despair at the faces of their loved ones, and the little children seeing the distress of their parents, wept also. There was one girl who did not join the sorrowful 28 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. demonstration of her companions but remained calm with a thoughtful look in her brown eyes, and waited to hear the words of her sweetheart, who said: “Listen, friends. Tears will not tovercome this danger. Let every man take his gun and be ready to withstand the attack, and remember he is fighting for justice. Let the women and children hide in the cave at the east end of the village. Here, Marcus, you will close the entrance.” Marion came quickly to Levorn’s side, and said, “I will not go with the rest of the women ; I will remain with you. I can shoot.” In spite of the young man’s protests, she remained firm. The men had not collected too soon, for when they had stationed them¬ selves behind some holders, they perceived the Moslems advancing at a furious pace. Then Levorn’s cry was heard, “All ready men; Fire! ” Several of the Turks fell from their saddles and the rest quickly dismounted and throwing themselves on the ground, prepared to overcome the small group of courageous Armenians. For an hour the firing went on incessantly, and Marion saw that unless aid was secured within a few hours, her people would be exterminated. She must get aid and going over to Levorn, she said, “Give me your blessing, Levorn. We may not see each other again.” Not dreaming of w’hat was in her mind, he gave her his blessing. Going to her house, the girl put on some Turkish garments and slipped away in the darkness. Two hours later the diminished numbers of the heroic little band saw a force of three hundred men who came galloping up behind the Turks and quickly drove them from the field. The men were so happy that they hugged each other and danced for joy, crying, “God be praised!” Levorn, going up to the leader of the men who had so timely arrived and saved them, thanked him and asked who told him of the attack. The man made the following response. . “A beautiful girl, mortally wounded, dragged herself into the village and with the words ‘Merga, Turks’ fell down dead.” The joy of the people was changed to sorrow when they realized what a sacrifice the girl had made for them, and Levorn, raising his white face to the sky, exclaimed with emotion, “God bless this martyr Marion.” Esther Rosen, ’ 26 . A FEW B’s. Yes, indeed, the Clark family surely did need more money. Though Allan had had a raise three times in two years, still it did not seem to cover all the little things that growing children such as Billy and Betty required. Beside that, Helen and Allen themselves liked new things once in a while. Helen was thinking all this over while idly turning the pages of a magazine. Then she noticed “it.” She could surely do that and earn some money to help along. “It” was one of those pictures in whose scene one must pick out all the characters beginning with a certain letter, this particular letter being B. Helen began immediately and by dinner time had twenty-five words. The minute Allan opened the door she exclaimed, “Oh, Allen, I have found the nicest way to help. Just see this, and I love to do it, too.” Allan, of course, was very skeptical. “It’s only an advertisement for ‘Doctor Beebee’s Balmy Beverages’. ” THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 29 “Yes, but there are some wonderful prizes, from two hundred and fifty dollars down to five dollars. Just imagine what I could do with two hundred and fifty dollars!” “Huh,” sniffed Allan, “is dinner ready?” From that time on the family lived on If Billy lost his hat, it was sure to be, according to Mother, on the “back bannister” newel. If Betty mislaid her blue ribbon, it was found on the “best bedroom bureau.” Even, Allan teased, they lived on “beef, beans and biscuits with a change of beets, bacon and buns once in a while.” Helen woke up nights to think of more B’s and she kept a pad and pencil under her pillow to write down any that came to her. “Are you sure the man hasn’t got a bunion or isn’t concealing a bedbug ?” asked Allan sarcastically one particularly trying evening, when all the answer he could get in his conversation was an absent “What?” “Bunion? Bunion?” repeated Helen, “Oh that’s an idea! The boy is fall¬ ing off his cart and he’ll surely get a bump .” “Heavens!” exclaimed Allan. “I always wondered why we called the children, Billy and Betty. Now I know. Soon you’ll snub the Smithes and Gayles because their names aren’t Boswell and Burpee. I’ll file a petition im¬ mediately, to have ours changed if you like. Let’s see, you could be Belinda or do you prefer Bedilia? And I could be Basil—or Brutus. Then our sur¬ name might be-er-let’s see, Burbank or Bologna—” “Bologna! That’s just what I was trying to think of. The dog is chew¬ ing a bone, but the cat is eating bologna,” interrupted Helen. “Oh dear,” moaned Allan. “No use trying to have any fun in this house, while that thing is around.” Every night recently Allan had been late for dinner, but Helen hadn’t noticed it and indeed had found an extra few minutes to spend on her precious puzzle very welcome. Then came the day when all puzzles must be sent to the judges. The prizes would be awarded in a week. Helen was so certain that she would win the two hundred and fifty dollars that the suspense did not bother her much. Strangely enough, however, Allan seemed irritable and almost cross at times. The great day came. Helen waited impatiently for the morning delivery. No letter arrived for her. Allan telephoned that he would not be home to lunch. In the afternoon the expected letter arrived. Helen held it to the light be¬ fore opening it. “I can’t see the check, but I guess it’s because the paper is so thick,” she mused. She opened it expectantly but no check dropped out. She read the letter carefully. “We regret to inform you that your solution was not one of the prize win¬ ners. However, we are very happy to state that each participant will receive one dozen bottles of Doctor Beebee’s Balmy Beverage.” The directions for this patent medicine seemed to indicate that it was ex¬ cellent for everything from heart disease to corns. Helen possessed a sense of humor and she was forced to laugh through her disappointment. Allan came home from the office early that night. Just as he reached the door the parcel post man stopped in front of the house. Helen came out on the piazza. “Will I leave this package right here?” he asked. “I’m very busy this afternoon delivering all these medicines. Will I leave yours here, too, Mr. 30 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Clarke? It is addressed to your office, but if you wish, I’ll leave them right here.” Allan started. “You might as well,” he said sheepishly. “Did you honestly send in a solution too?” asked Helen, when the express man disappeared around the corner. “After all the fun you made of me!” “Well,” said Allan, avoiding the direct question, “let’s celebrate our com¬ mon defeat by going out to dinner.” As the four started down the street, Allan looked at Helen and asked teas- ingly, “Shall we have boullion, bluefish, and brownbread?” “Well, I should say not!” answered Helen smiling. “Let’s have pork, potatoes, and pie.” Evelyn Moore, ’ 26 . THE LAST OF THE HOUSE OF MITTLEFITZ. The wind howled, the rain spattered in through a broken window, and a shutter creaked methodically as it swayed with the wind. A lonely house peopled only by hollow sounds and a stray cat. The house stood outside the boundaries of the village and had the repu¬ tation of being cursed. Years ago an embittered, neglected old man had breathed as his last words a vow that the last of his line should come to a violent end in this house. Thirty years had passed since that dreary night. Now once more the house was to be inhabited by a Mittlefitz. Carl Mittlefitz was return¬ ing from the East to view the deserted home of his family. It was dusk when a tall well-groomed man passed through the bepuddled village to the gray weather-beaten house on the other side and the ancients of the corner store shook their heads ominously as he passed. The tall man continued on his way, apparently undisturbed by the whipsers and pointed fingers. The stranger reached the house just as night was coming on and passed through the weed-grown yard to the unpainted door with its tarnished old knocker hanging by one screw. The door was not locked but warped in its frame and gave way with a crack like a pistol shot, when opened. The man started, laughed grimly to himself, and entered the dusky hall on hesitant feet, muttering to himself. Again he started as the door slammed to behind him and still more reluctantly he viewed the crooked hall. He might have been heard to ob¬ serve, “A hall like this is enough to give any house a bad reputation.” He talked continually as if to keep up his courage. Fear of the old house had been instilled into his mind by the recent reading of an account of the death and the dying message of his grandfather found in his own father’s diary during a recent illness due to disordered nerves. As he slowly crossed the hall, something soft rubbed against his leg. If he had been a woman, he would have uttered a suppressed scream, but being a man, he simply emitted a frightened grunt. “Oh! Hello, puss. Where did you come from? You don’t look over robust yourself. Well, what do you say? Shall we have a light? Perhaps it will steady these shaky nerves of ours. “I should have known better than to think of entering and inhabiting a cursed house without strong nerves and against my doctor’s orders. Well, here’s a candle, not a very long one but I guess it will go for a few minutes.” THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 31 To the cat, “Come on. Let’s explore this old shack.” For the next hour the man explored, started and jumped by turns. To make matters worse the candle suddenly sputtered and died without further warning. It had started to rain harder and the shuttter began to creak louder than ever. By the dim light of many flickering matches the man reached a couch and lay down, determined to rest from his long tramp, curse or no curse. For hours it seemed, he lay with wide open eyes, the wind howling and the shutter creaking. Suddenly he thought he heard a step in the room above, then on the stairs and again in the upper room. With groping hands he reached the stairs and in a loud but shaky voice called, “Who’s there?” No answer. He stumbled up stairs, pausing at every step to listen. Once more with sputtering matches he explored the upper floor, going into every cupboard and corner and discovering nothing but that he was the victim of his own imagination. The return trip to the couch was uneventful, but still no sleep came. With every passing minute the wind howled more loudly and the shutter creaked more insistently and the body of the man became tense and yet more tense until only his brain remained painfully alert. Suddenly without warning a pair of staring eyes appeared before his face and something cold ran over his chin. With a gasp the man’s body relaxed and his eyes closed. A thump as the cat jumped to the floor. Not a breath stirred in the room. Only the shutter creaked on to break the silence. Grace Jenks, ’ 26 , FATE. Middleton is one of the many little Canadian towns near the U. S. border. It consists of one general store and nine or ten little shacks, dignified by the name of house. As one approaches the town, one is struck by the absence of the hustle and bustle so noticeable in the other small border towns. This ap¬ pearance is deceiving, however, for underneath the surface of quietness runs a swift current of evil. In Middleton most of the big bootlegging deals are made. In one of the little houses, three men were seated at a table, engaged in earnest conversation. One of them, who seemed to be the leader, was now speaking, “One more load safely through, then I’m going to quit.” One of the others, a little rat-faced fellow, spoke for himself and his com¬ panion, “We’re satisfied as long as we get our share.” “You’ll get half to split between you.” “We’re going to split even all around, like we always have.” “Say, listen, I picked you guys up when you were down on your luck and half-starved and gave you a chance to make a little easy money. To-night, I’m taking the big risk, so I’ll keep half for myself. If you don’t like it, get out. There are a lot of other guys who are looking for a chance to make a little money and have a drink or two on the side.” “Oh, all right, it’ll do this time but-” “Let’s get down to business. You two will take the trucks and go meet George at the usual place. Be sure the trucks are in good condition and don’t drink more than half a truck-load on the way back, either.” “What about the new cop at Medton? He’s liable to give us trouble.” “Don’t worry about him, I’ve got his number. Two thousand will make him deaf, dumb, blind, and paralyzed for the night.” 32 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. “You’re sure of that?” “Of course. If you get in trouble, though, leave the booze, take the opium and get back here. There’s less danger here.” “All right.” “Get out now. I’ll meet you at the same place across the border and don’t try the double-cross; it doesn’t pay.” “Come on,” said the little rat-faced fellow to his companion. The two got up and left. The leader, Thomas Strayton, for such was his name, sat there and wondered. He wasn’t as sure of that new cop at Medton as he pretended to be— they might not be able to get the booze through—the men had been less ready than usual—he felt they might try the double cross. At last he said, “Well, I better start. I’ll take that opium—it’s been here long enough—they’ll be waiting for it.” He went out, stepped into a high powered car and was off in a cloud of dust. After he had gone about five miles, he stopped the car and got out. A man stepped out of the darkness. The opium changed hands; nothing was said. Strayton stepped back into the car again and was off. As the car pulsated evenly along the road, Strayton thought of the life he had left behind him when he came to this God-forsaken country. He thought of how an unjust accusation of theft brought against him had compelled him to flee across the border to Canada. A desire for revenge welled within him. Then he came to the narrow road over the mountain, and he turned all his attention to driving. At the foot of the mountain his henchmen awaited him. He said, “Did you get through all right?” “We got the load through, but we had a scrape with the new cop at Medton. He is deaf, dumb, blind and paralyzed for good now.” “You killed him! You fools, we’ll sure be caught now.” “Don’t worry. Anyway, we got two thousand more out of it and we’ll keep it, too.” “All right, keep it, but you’d better start moving, if you don’t want to get caught.” “You’d better be off, too for they think you’re responsible for the killing.” The sound of a car came through the darkness. One exclaimed, “That must be the sheriff.” They were off into the night. Tom jumped into his car and started back over the mountain road. He urged the car to its greatest power; at times the car seemed to leave the road. The sound of the pursuing car became fainter and fainter. A spirit of elation seized Strayton. As the car sped on up the mountain road, Strayton thought aloud of plans for the future. “I’ll get my money and work my way to New York, no one will know me. I’ll go to Europe and stay there for a while. I’ll be able to live like a prince on the money I’ve made. But I’ll come back and then I’ll get even with those dirty crooks who made me leave my home town. They’ll wish they never seen me-” The car was rocketing up the steep grade. Suddenly at the very top of the mountain the engine stopped dead. Strayton fumbled under the seat for a search¬ light to see what was the matter. A curse escaped from his lips—he couldn’t find it. He started to get out. His foot caught and he stumbled. He pawed vainly for some support, like a drowning man clutching at a straw. Then his body hurtled forth into space. David Kavanaugh, ’ 26 . 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. ‘THE END OF THE RAINBOW. THE VALIANT. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 33 HIS OWN ACCUSER Mrs. Gardner tapped impatiently on the table with her jewelled fingers. “I have spoken to you three times, Nephew Charles,” she said sharply, as the butler placed before her a dish of rare fruits. “I beg your pardon, Aunt Mary,” apologized the young doctor, withdrawing hig gaze, which had wandered to the shadowed corners of the room. “I asked you, Charles, if you thought your medicine was helping me,” she said. “I do not feel improved.” “You are looking quite well, my dear aunt,” he answered evasively. During the remainder of the meal they conversed in a desultory manner. Mrs. Gardner soon excused herself, complaining of a slight headache, while the doctor departed for the library. Could he, he asked himself over and over again, could he do this thing which had continually tempted him since his aunt’s sickness? She was old. Perhaps— but no, her people were noted for their health and for their longevity. He needed the money for Helen, a young actress and his secretly affianced wife, who had an insatiable desire for beautiful and expensive things. He clutched his hands con¬ vulsively at the thought of the fortune which would be his if he only dared act. Nervously he started to pace the room, all the while the temptation grow¬ ing on him. He stopped abruptly at the voice of a servant: “Beg pardon, sir, but madam wishes to know if I may carry her medicine to her now.” “No, tell my aunt I shall bring it to her myself.” With this answer he hurried to his laboratory, where he prepared a liquid, hesitating but slightly before he dropped a bit of powdered chemical into the wineglass. His nerves tingled violently as he watched her drink the preparation, and still more when, with her eagle eyes upon him, she remarked wryly that, some¬ how, it tasted differently to-night. He quickly attributed this to some disorder which as yet had not righted itself. Daily this preparation was given to the patient, who grew slowly weaker. In the meantime this nervous strain was telling on the doctor. The sight of another physician, of a police officer, even the sudden appearance of a servant or a nurse in his laboratory, caused him to start with fear. At night his mind fancied such happenings and his dreams became so frightful that he would often wake up in a cold sweat. No longer was he able to bring the medicine to his aunt, for he saw, while others did not, the emancipat¬ ing hand of death slowly, but surely, grasping her throat. One week during the hunting season the doctor was invited to the country home of a friend. Knowing that the deadly powder had started its work, he decided with alacrity to accept the invitation. The first few days of this visit were restful in a physical way in compari¬ son with the weeks which had preceded. They were a torture mentally. During the suggestive darkness of the night his fevered imagination would practice frightful tricks on him. Fantastic and vividly fashioned forms would clutch at his throat and slowly press and strive for surer grasp. His heart would pound violently and render more realistic the grasping, choking sound that furthered his fear. And then he would break free of the clasp and gasp with terror. But he was in a wing of the house with none near to give that sense 34 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. of security which comes from companionship. The vision would finally leave him painfully fatigued and worn to the point of death. Only dawn brought relief from these maddened visions. Never for a minute could he get away from the fruits of his crime. Times there were when he almost rushed home to administer an antidote but his feverish desire, his great greed for gold, for money, came back a hundred fold. Wednesday a telegram came from Craig which read: “Mrs. Gardner dead. Will await your arrival. JENKINS ’ With great difficulty the doctor steadied himself sufficiently to explain the cause of his departure to his friend. When he arrived home, he met Jenkins who relieved him of his luggage and asked the doctor if he cared to speak to the coroner. “ Iwill talk to him in a few minutes.” He fled to his room, half-crazed at the thought of an autopsy and drank a draught which within an hour would mean his death. During the short sixty minutes he lived again the agony of weeks. When Jenkins appeared to attend his needs he sprang up screaming, the light of death already in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to kill her, I swear I didn’t!” At Jenkin’s astonished glance he continued, “I couldn’t help it, I tell you I poisoned my aunt.” “Why sir, Mrs. Gardner was struck and instantly killed by an automo¬ bile Tuesday evening.” Mildred Crandall, ’ 26 . AT NIGHT. Night had fallen on the old Bowdoin shack and the Bowdoins, father and son, were as completely imprisoned as if the Great Wall of China had been erected about the building. But neither of the Bowdoins cared greatly if they were separated from all humanity. It merely gave them time to discuss the only thing either cared for. As usual the son Bruce opened the discussion. “Father,” he said. “What?” “It isn’t right to have it out there in the woods with only you knowing where it is.” “What’s ‘it’?” There was only one reason for this question. Jed Bowdoin did not need to give the reason verbally. His very action exhibited the avarice which his mouth denied. He was tall and lank as a scarecrow. His body, however, served to accom¬ plish only one purpose besides holding his shabby clothes. It held up his head. And such a head for such a body! Very large and very cruel. It seemed to be entirely covered by a mouth which apparently had never given way to a smile. This seemed to dominate the entire man. Hardness and frugality were the messages sent from this mouth! The eyes seemed to resent their oblivion, and from their extremely small apertures send forth a message of suspicion and distaste for all friendship. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 35 His son Bruce, however, was little affected by these features. His own, although twenty years younger, seemed cast from the same mould. He looked steadily at the older man and said, “You know quite well what I mean—the money. You killed my mother with your beastly thrift to get it. Now if you die with it hid, no one will ever get it.” “Well, what do I care if no one does get it?” “You old miser, do you mean to tell me you don’t care if it’s lost?” “What do I care? That does me no harm, but if you learn where it is and escape with-” Here Bruce broke loose with an exclamation of disgust. “All right. . Try and keep your money. I’ll get it!” The discussion which grew in angry vehemence lasted until the Bowdoin bed¬ time, and the two returned without bidding each other a goodnight. Bruce woke up with the first rays of dawn and discovered that his father was still continuing the struggle in his mind. A chuckle came from the sleeping man, followed by the words: “The young fool! He thinks he’ll get it. But he won’t. The old boundary oak, three limbs up. He’ll never find it!” But Bruce needed no more. He instantly arose and silently dressed by the first light of day. He dressed, not as a son should in his father’s home, but as the thief moves. Having arrayed himself, he quickly left the house and sped from the hut. If Bruce Bowdoin’s soul had contained any music, it would have escaped then. His life’s ambition was realized. He knew where the Bowdoin hoard was. His blundering feet actually seemed light. He walked with as blithesome a step as a merry heart in a clumsy body can cause. Even the most brisk of walks seemed slow. So he ran. Not as a man runs, but as the clumsy bear. He was walking briskly and running alternately now. But soon the boundary oak came to view. He now sped forward as rapidly as possible and followed the path only when he could not possibly break through the underbrush. Arriving at his destination, he tore at the small underbrush until he reached the oak. Clumsily scaling the timber the miser had used to climb to the height of the limb, he looked in the bag contained in the rift in the limb. Ten thousand dollars now belonged to Bruce Bowdoin. He slowly climbed down the tree and although his father had told him many times just how much money was in the hoard, he counted it. Possibly there might have been in Bruce’s mind some little thought telling him to return with the hoard to the hut. If there was, it was dispersed by the sight of the money. No work of art or nature could have so entranced Bowdoin as these coins and bills. The large and leering mouth threatened to smile. The fingers reverently fondled each bill as it was counted and the sullen eyes actually appeared to radiate a fierce pleasure. Bruce Bowdoin had found a god to wors hip! He took the bag of money in one hand and faltered only a second on the path leading home. He turned and walked toward the village railroad station! That brief action meant something. The Bowdoin nature apparently held some good! I doubt if this moment’s irresolution really amounted to affection, yet it showed that money was not the only interest in his life. The money, however, steadily drew him forward he knew not where, away from the revenge of the miser. Just to leave the village was the objective now! So when the milk train stopped at the little station that morning, a passenger was received whose mind was bent on only one thing. To take his new found 36 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. treasure where it would be completely his. Speaking to no one, he slumped into a seat and racked his mind for definite objective. Slowly the plan took form. A shabby room in the neighboring city. A job in the factory. More money! Thrift, industry, words instilled in his very soul flashed through his mind. Never a thought of spending, merely thoughts of added accumulation. And yet it was only right that Bruce Bowdoin’s thoughts should be of thrift, because unconsciously he was merely carrying on a mission. As Bruce’s train sped on to the city, so the soul arose from the body of a broken-hearted old miser lying at the foot of the boundary oak and sped to a land where gold and silver are counted as naught. Arthur Snow, ’ 26 . YAKOUP BEY’S HERITAGE. Of the five hundred people who had been driven from their peaceful Armen¬ ian homes in Beyrout into exile, only fifty survived when they reached the out¬ skirts of the little Arab village, of Bab. From here no one could tell where next their cruel Turkish guides would lead them. Their sufferings were stamped on their faces and death to them would have seemed a friend. For two days they had been traveling without food or drink. Now in the midday heat it was impossible to continue walking with their feet all blistered from the hot sands, although their merciless guides urged them on. The scorch¬ ing sun, however, proved to be too much for the Turkish soldiers also. They stopped the caravan about ten yards from a spring, right under the direct rays of the sun, while they themselves sat down under the shade of a mulberry tree near the spring. Oh, the pity of it, for while the wretched exiles were dying of thirst, ten yards away were the cool soothing waters of the spring. At last an old woman could endure it no longer. Crawling on her hands and knees, for strength failed her, she drew near enough to attract the attention of one of the guides who was watering the horses. “Effendi,” she cried pitifully, “Water, give us water. We are perishing from thirst.” “Get out of here, you old hag,” shouted the subdia. “Allah grant that you all croak so that we may be rid of you.” “Please,” she pleaded, “the spring will not dry, if you permit us to drink. Are we not even as good as this animal? Have you no pity for those young ones ?” “Don’t mind her,” cried another of the guides from his comfortable seat under the tree. “Get back!” he added, aiming a stone at the old woman. As she fell back in despair, a beautiful young girl broke away from the group crying, “You brutes, you unbelievers!” Then falling on her knees, she tenderly helped the old woman to rise. “Ah, my pretty gazelle!” said the subdia, coming toward her. “You will still defy your betters, will you? But by Allah, you shall know who is master before long,” and seizing her by the wrist, he pulled her towards him. She sought vainly to match her strength against that of her cruel captor. At that moment a voice cried, “What do you want from those unfortunate people?” THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 37 Turning, all saw a handsome young Turkish officer in colonel’s uniform coming toward the spring from his carriage which had just drawn up. Immediately the guides stood at attention and one answered, “Nothing, Effendi, it is that they have been bothering us for a drink of water.” “Well, why don’t you let them have it?” replied the young colonel sharply and turning toward the miserable people, called to them, “Come, drink all you want. No one shall harm you.” His poor listeners at first thought some trick was being played on them, for no Turkish officer had any kindness toward them, but when he called a second time they ran to the spring like famished creatures and some in their eagerness fell into it. Yakoup Bey, the young officer, who was on his way to Aleppo, stood near the tree and watched the group, fanning himself with his fez. It was then he saw a pair of large jet black eyes looking at him. Miriam was watching him with gratitude shining in her beautiful eyes, but when she saw the young man begin to stare at her, she mingled with the crowd. Yakoup Bey then ordered that what food there was in his carriage to be set before the starving exiles and after a few words to the guides to be more merciful to these unfortunate beings whom destiny had placed in their hands, was driven away. A half hour later the caravan was just leaving, when Yakoup Bey re¬ turned. It had become such an accustomed thing to carry off a girl or woman from these exiled groups that when Yakoup Bey told the head guide that he wished to take a girl with him, no questions were asked. Yakoup Bey beckoned to Miriam to come. The girl drew back and with¬ out taking her eyes from him, hid behind an old woman. “Come, my child,” called Yakoup Bey, “do not be afraid of me. I shall not hurt you.” “Yes, go, my daughter,” said the old woman to Miriam. “It is better that you go with him who is kind, than with one who may be a beast, but remember, my child, never lose faith in your religion.” The poor girl, urged by all her friends to go. timidly offered him her hand. He took it, whispering in her ear to cease her fears, for he was taking her to Aleppo to his aunt, where she would be safe and he should be as a brother to her, if she wished. As they rode along, Miriam became more and more assured, as he offered her no indignity. Instead, to divert her thoughts, he told her of a golden casket containing valuable information, given him by his dying uncle to be opened only upon the occupation of Aleppo by a European nation. Yesterday the city had fallen into the hands of the British and now he was to unlock the casket. “Ah, Miriam. I wish,” he exclaimed ardently, but as she shrank back, he added hastily, “Do not fear. I will never harm you.” Later as Yakoup Be y’s gracious aunt made the unfortunate Miriam wel¬ come, the young officer opened the casket. He read aloud the document testify¬ ing that he was not Turkish but the son of a famous Armenian poet, and then turned with shining eyes to the wondering Miriam. Zaroohje Noorjanian, P. G. 38 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. PLUCK AND LUCK. A day rarely passes now without the newspapers relating at least one case of business advancement so notable as to grip the public’s imagination. In nearly every case, it is a comparatively young man who has been elevated to high rank and a position of honor and trust. In any case, there is a keen and justifiable curiosity, not only as to the personality of the new business figure but also as to the means by which promotion has been won. The readiest explanation among those who comment on the news of the day, and often the most comforting to themselves, is luck. Such is the modern and most soothing way to dispose of the other man’s success. “He was lucky.” It is behind this phrase that the unsuccessful take refuge, instead of honestly paying the tribute which belongs to a successful man for his rise in the world. Nor can any philosophy of life wholly rule out the use of that extenuating and self-satisfying phrase. Emerson said that all successful men agreed in one respect: they were causationists. “They believed that things went not by luck, but by law; that there was not a weak or cracked link in the chain that joins the first and last of things.” A specific example of this occurred in one of our Western states. Each rancher started out with one section of land. Now, some of these owners are hanging on to their sections with difficulty, others have added two or three sections, and still others who had no more property or no better opportunities to start with, now own forty or fifty or more sections. Some would say that these men had better luck. Count it luck if you will. They seized the opportunities that were afforded; they bought and sold to a little better advantage than their neighbors; they an¬ alyzed situations and took risks. It was pluck and courage and grit, not luck, that brought success to these men. Chance had not been banished from the universe. However, we must be very sure that the man who has risen to the top has none of the qualities calcu¬ lated to put him there, before we cry out that good luck did it. Mainly, it is the mental attitude that makes for success in affairs. It is going ahead without fear, regardless of fortuity. Luck may be regarded as just one more ally, or it may be brushed aside as contrary to the orderly working out of law and forces, or it may be looked upon as inconsequential. In any case, the result is the same.. David Kavenaugh, ’ 26 . MY FRIENDS. What a great benefit books are to men, and how few realize this fact! The average person seems to feel it a task to make the acquaintance of these ladies and gentlemen, living in cloth houses. I shall never forget the mixed feeling of sympathy and awe I once had toward a young girl who gave up her library card after declaring that she had read all of the worth-while books in the estab¬ lishment. I was impressed with the vast amount of knowledge this sixteen-year- old must have. The great ones of the ages have spoken to her. And yet I THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 39 wonder if sympathy is not to be expected. How would she pass a lonely hour ? One can only have the extreme pleasure of discovering Dickens once. I wonder if all these books had meant to her what my books have meant to me. When I say my books, I do not mean those books whose cloth and paper bodies I own. I have a great many more books than I have ever paid for. Once a friend lent me a copy of James Barrie’s “Courage,” and I read it with delight. I returned it, but if the owner sinks it to the bottom of the Red Sea, I still own that book. If my best human friends pass me by with noses pointed to the zenith, I may go home, remove my gloves and in perfect comfort enjoy the wit of the companions of kings. Shakespeare wrote plays the monarchs of Europe have enjoyed, and yet before my own fireside I may be entertained by the Bard of Avon. If I have the grandest of all gifts, imagination, Mark Anthony will seem real to me. The Gobbos will cause me to laugh as no flesh and blood friend could. Idle pleasure is not all there is to be gained. The great men of history will make known their secrets to me. Benjamin Franklin in his Autobiography says, “Young man.” That means me. So my books are my greatest inspira¬ tion. The average High school boy can never hope to number among his ad¬ visers the great men of the world, ancient and modern. For that matter the President can never obtain more advice from Benjamin Franklin than I can. Both of us can use what he left in his books. So I say, my friends give me the best of advice on how to live a useful and happy life. What more can one ask of a friend? Last but not least comes the fact that books bring knowledge. I hate the idea of obtaining knowledge from books as one might shoot rabbits. I would not read a minute history of Pompeii. I would go with “The Last Days of Pompeii” and live for a few hours in the buried city. Here indeed is a great value of books. I never expect to go to London. I have not read extensively of European travel. And yet when I open a Dickens book, a London fog falls about me and the drab old city unfolds before me. I have heard it said that a dog is man’s best friend. It is said that he cares not for turns in fortune. I ask that you consider books for the second place at least. They are the mighty voices of the countless ages speaking, and they care not w r hether we hold a high or lowly position in life! They are our friends. Arthur Snow, ’ 26 . GOOD MUSIC VS. JAZZ. “The sacred tongue of God is Music.” More than two thousand years ago the beauty and sacredness of good music was voiced by Confucius, the renowned Chinese sage. The records of the power of music are found in all the countries of the world. In literature and history we find the power of music celebrated. Even in the Bible we find a mute testimony of its effect, for it tells of King Saul and how he commanded David to play on a harp for him to quiet his agitated mind. Throughout the ages we find the learned and the great recognizing the great benefit of good music to the people of the world. Four hundred years ago Martin Luther said, “Music removes from the heart the weight of sorrow and the fascination of evil thought.” 40 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Not only musicians and poets and peace-loving men have paid tribute to music, but even our great -soldiers have recognized its power. Napoleon once said, “Music is the art to which lawmakers ought to give the greatest encourage¬ ment.” The words of these men have shown to us that music has a great in¬ fluence on the minds of all, and that it serves to bring out that which is best in us. But was it the loud, clanging jazz that wielded such great power? Did some jazz song serve to soothe the agitated mind of King Saul? Was Martin Luther thinking of some wild, syncopated ragtime selection when he showed his respect for music? It was the works of our great music masters—Beethoven, Haydn, Shubert, and Mozart which wielded great power over the people of many lands. But now ragtime predominates in the lives of the majority of people. The lack of appreciation of real music is very clearly shown in the youth of today. All they ask for is some jazz; they “hee-haw” at a concert and call it dry. They call jazz real music, and good music “dead and dry.” Even the older people in many cases fail to derive any enjoyment from a concert. This is true because when young, all they heard was jazz; they had not the opportunity to hear good music; Either they were too far away from musical centers, or they lacked the opportunity to attend concerts. And so jazz is what influences them and it has no beneficial influence. As Toscha Seidel, a gifted violinist said, “It is the good music that brings out what is best in us.” Good music moves our higher emotions and soothes us. On the other hand, ragtime often brings out the lower and coarser side of our make up. Many people, however, are beginning to realize that classical music is far superior in its benefits and influence to ragtime. They are spreading the ideal of good music throughout the country. By the success of the many musical clubs organized throughout America, the fact that good music, which they pro¬ mote, is better than jazz is being well established. Classical music brings out our refinement and our higher ideals. Is the child who lives on the East Side and frequents dance halls and hears nothing but the clang of jazz music benefited by it? When a mother wishes to sing her child to sleep does she sing some song like “Oh, Katharina” to him? She soothes the child by singing a soft lullaby. Walter Damrosch and Ernest Schelling have done a very noble deed in making possible the symphony concerts for the children of New York at a mini¬ mum price. Now both poor and rich children alike can benefit by the works of great artists. If these men have thought that the influence of good music on children was worthy of so much work on their part, then surely classical music must be worth while. If jazz was as good as classic, then would they not have offered a jazz program to the children of New York? Jazz music is like cartoons, whereas the works of great masters like Saint- Saens, Dvorak, and Beethoven, or the works and playing of Paganini, Kreisler and Heifetz are like the paintings of Rembrandt, Raphael or Vandycke. Car¬ toons are interesting for a short time only. Soon they are forgotten and new ones take their place. So it is with jazz numbers. The hits of last month are forgotten and new ones have taken their place. If the ragtime pieces were good, would they be forgotten so quickly? But not so are the works of our great music masters. Will people ever forget Beethoven’s “Minuet in G” or Handel’s “Largo”? These works are immortal just as Raphael’s “Sistine Madonna” and the “Madonna and The Child” are. Good music, like the plays of Shakespeare, is immortal. But jazz like the “snappy” stories and the ephemeral best sellers lasts only for a day. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 41 Although Paganini has been dead for almost a hundred years, has he or his works been forgotten? But has anybody remembered who wrote or what the jazz hits were of three years ago? Surely then, if it is the classical music which has lived, then this is the better music. Ruth Volk, ’ 26 . A SPRING REVERIE. There is something in the springtime That my heart cannot resist. I long to ramble o’er the hills With every care dismissed. I long to be the babbling brook That trickles down the hill, Among the weeds and waterplants, Free to move at will. I yearn to watch the happy birds A-building their spring nest; And the squirrels gaily gathering nuts With ne’er a pause for rest. I long to pluck the dainty flowers Awakened from their sleep: And in the cool and marshy bogs To hear the young frogs peep. I’d love to lead the gypsy life And camp beside the road, And scorn the unromantic folks Who have a fixed abode. I’d stop my gypsy wagon at A different place each night, And sing the songs of Romany About my campfire bright. But I cannot follow my desires; My longings are in vain, For down the weary path of life I must move on again. For I must earn my board and keep, My wardrobe’s state is dire; And I can’t gather many coins Beside a gypsy fire. Evelyn Moore, ’ 26 . 42 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Xigbt Essays Note:—The following were written in imitation of certain by Morley and others read in class. “airy trifles” A DEFENSE OF INSANITY. Has the reader ever been insane? If not, I sincerely sympathize with him, for I think that most people have at some time or other enjoyed the incompar¬ able pleasure of being entirely insane. To-day is a bright spring day. Skies are blue, lawns are green, and the birds are singing. My friends and I are maniacs. We shall wander through the country-side this afternoon; we shall shout when an unhappy member of the party slips in a puddle. (Mud puddles are prevalent at the same time as this particular brand of insanity.) Perhaps you say we should sympathize with him, for soiling a bright new spring suit is not a laughable matter. But we are not amenable to the rules of reason,—we are maniacs! Beyond a doubt the reader is insane. He would not have read as far as this if not, and everyone is slightly touched in the early summer and spring¬ time. Now let us join forces. Like my friends, I am sane eleven months of the year. I do not wish to do anything in the remaining month to embarrass my companions and myself the other months. But I should like to indulge my weak¬ ness from the middle of May to the middle of June without creating trouble. You and I will join with other congenial souls, and form a Society for the Advancement of Insanity. You may be President. Your first duty will be the printing of membership tickets. They will be as follows: “The bearer is entitled to indulge his malady during the following space of time. He shall be allowed to sing at all times and places. In case of odd behavior, he will be given absolute peace and privacy.” There’s a reason for those rules. The space of time will have to be filled in. Of course, everyone can’t be on their spring spree at the same time. Some must be sane to run the world. Food must be raised and transported, school taught, and the government controlled. And everyone would not desire the same period of insanity. There are various times that create the desire in dif¬ ferent people. Listen and take your choice. Springtime needs no description. We’ve all watched the white clouds in the blue sky. But Summer on a lake in a canoe! The waves lap, and the craft rocks, you are alone and the stars shine. Are you not mad? If not, try another night. It is just freezing weather, but you are warmly wrapped. A big red moon is over your head, about ten yards over it, sharp skates beneath your feet, and you glide over the ice as easy as the swallow swoops through the summer air. If you could benefit by the protection of Society for the Advancement of Insanity, you would yell at the top of your lungs, and whether you have a voice or not, you would sing. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 43 Because of the temptation I demand protection for us mad men and women, i. e. the entire population of the world. For one month in all the year we should not be required to be rational. So let us unite under our President, President Reader, and join in a spree of insanity. Let us jump over the meadow brook, and throw stones at the bending willow branches, for we are in a mad, mad world. Arthur Snow, ’ 26 . ON EARS. ✓ _ Have you ever wmndered, while sitting in church, just how to keep awake during the sermon? Well, let me suggest a sure remedy. Just gaze around and center your attention on the ears of those estimable persons surrounding you. If you have ever tried this, you will probably agree with me that ears are very in¬ teresting things. There are all kinds and sizes: large, medium, and small; flappy ' and stiff; pointed and round. Ah, how one is moved with pity to sit behind a person whose ears resemble sugar scoops hitched to the head! I once knew a man whose ears were pointed in such a fashion as to give him the ridiculous appearance of an elf. So quizzical did his ears make him look that everyone refused to take him seriously. Did you ever wonder why the Creator, in making us, didn’t simply leave little holes in the sides of our head through which the sound might pass? Well, I once thought of that, and decided to look into the matter. I drew a picture leaving off the ears—and oh, the effect was heart-breaking! It was almost as bad as leaving the dates off a calendar! So, Unfortunate Ones who are not blessed with beautiful ears, let me offer to you the same bit of consolation some¬ one once gave me in regard to my nose,—“No matter how bad it is, it’s better than none at all.” Then again, you can cover your ears, but I can’t cover my nose. And yet how little attention these important organisms receive. We never read in beauty articles of exercises to limber up and soften the muscles of the ear. No, the only thing we consider them worthy of is to carry around the mon¬ strous burdens of earrings, which have been so much in fashion until recently. Ladies and gentlemen, please be more considerate of your ears. (By the way, I’m glad mine are covered.) Miriam Claflin, ’ 26 . DOGS AND THEIR MASTERS. Our experiences with dogs have been many: some interesting, others ill¬ uminating, and still others painful. In all our experience we have yet to hear a dog owner admit that his dog bites. So certain are they of the fact that they do not even wait for one to inquire.. “Oh, come on,” they shout jovially, yet with a trace of condescension, “he won’t bite.” Yet the animal may be standing within a yard of the victim, its body tense, eyes gleaming greedily, licking its chops in anticipation. Some in- 44 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. explicable tenet of its code forbids it to charge upon the victim. But let the unfortunate caller pass an imaginary boundary line and he is lost! Every instinct within him cries out in warning. The dog is ferocious, a man eater. The fact is as evident as the murder-inspiring smile upon the face of its owner, who stands in the doorway like a blithering idiot and shouts, “Come on, he won’t bite.” Then the unfortunate victim, goaded to desperation by that challenging smile, plunges boldly forward. What ensues depends entirely upon the youthfulness and athletic ability of the victim. If he is able to break a world’s record in reaching the doorway, he bears out the master’s statement that the dog wouldn ' t bite, but if he has no extraordinary ability as a sprinter, he is likely to regain consciousness some moments later to hear the dog owner say tri¬ umphantly, as he reaches for a fresh bottle of arnica, “Now see, Terry doesn’t bite. He was only playing.” We have never known it to fail. The master cannot be made to admit that his dog is vicious. If asked to swear on a mountain of Bibles, he would solemnly that his Rex, Rover, Bowser, Flossy, or Methusalah never, never bites, except of course ,an occasional postman. We once had an encounter with a sheep dog that served to crystallize our views on the subject. Having business with the head of the house, we strode resolutely up the front walk, striving for once to appear forceful and business¬ like. In this we were to some extent hindered by the sudden appearance around the corner of the house of the largest, most ferocious dog in the world. In fact, I have never been able to determine how he escaped the notice of a representative of Barnum and Bailey. There he stood directly in the path, shaggy legs braced, tail erect as a second lieutenant, his yellow eyes gleaming vindictively. From his cavernous mouth issued low, rumbling sounds and his white fangs were very long and very sharp. We stopped. “Nice doggie,” we said rather doubtfully. The ill bred animal did not even deign to answer. “Lo, Rover, old boy,” was the next formula attempted accompanied by a warily extended hand. We saved our fingers by a movement whose speed we have never seen dupli¬ cated. We had practically decided upon a dignified and honorable retreat when the door opened and the object of our visit appeared in the doorway. “Come right along,” he called cheerfully, “Don’t mind Oscar.” We adavnced one step. So did Oscar. The brute’s long, red tongue crept out eagerly. We could swear that he had had no food for a week. Our common sense advised us to pocket our pride and retreat. But there stood a supposedly honorable man who smugly assured us that his dog did not bite. Alas being young and having a beautiful trust in human nature, we believed him—and advanced. With a roar of joy the monster leaped to meet us and with the great¬ est relish imaginable he sank his fangs into our thigh. Mildly pained at this breach of faith, we stopped abruptly and looked at our host, mutely demanding an explanation. “Oscar,” called his master in pained reproof, “I’m surprised.” Then brightening perceptibly, “Oh, I see, why he’s only playing with you. “Ha! ha! Some dog.” “Yes,” we sadly agreed, as we felled first the dog and then the master, “some dog.” Jacob Broudy, ’ 26 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 45 POSTAGE STAMPS. What a wonderful thing a postage stamp is! If we write a letter here in Massachusetts, and send it away out to Washington after affixing a necessary stamp, we need fear nothing more. Thousands of men are guarding that little stamp, willing to give up their lives for it. In ten days, if our correspondent is prompt, we read the answers to any questions which we asked in our letter. All this for four cents. Again we remark, “Marvelous.” We think that there is no more to be done. Perhaps this is so. To me, however, one thing is lacking. At one time, when I made known what that one thing was, I had forcibly to restrain some friends who were frantically trying to arouse a sleepy central to give them the State Insane Asylum. But I did not fear. Dear me, no. (Do we seniors not know that “Genius creates”? Is it not for those under us to reproduce? Of course, it is.) So, my plan, which may revolutionize the postage stamp market, is simple. We never think of the adhesive substance which is necessary to stamps. We never say, “Give me a stamp with glue on it.” Why not? Because we know that it will be there without asking for it. Then we wet the stamp, some of us who have a keen sense of taste grimacing. Why should we do that? The answer to that question is the foundation of my plan. There should be no taste on a stamp which will cause a wry face. Therefore, why not flavor the stamps? If one has a liking for clove, merely step to the stamp window and say, “One clove two-cent stamp, please.” Do the same thing if you like peppermint, or winter green, or any flavor. Do you not really believe that this would be a boon to American citizens? W. Thomas Templeman, ’26. ON THE MOSQUITO. Of all the maltreated beings, there is no other that receives such unjust treatment as the mosquito. Just think of the times you have crushed a friendly, frail little fellow that sought to rest a moment on the comforting warmth and security of your leg. Such a beautiful well balanced little creature! Didn’t you ever watch him, or maybe it was a “she,” trying to amuse you by gracefully standing on its head? Ah, if you only knew the sacrifice, the heartache these little fellows go through! At all hours of the night you will find these tiny creatures out seek¬ ing food for the mosquitolings that are to come. Through Stygian swamps, mazes of forests, across wind swept water they fly in their unending work for their posterity. What should you think if while killing to feed the hungry mouths at home you were suddenly flattened, squashed, ground into dust, just because you were answering nature’s call of self-preservation? Ah, such playful little creatures, forever tickling one, here, there and everywhere! But they receive nothing but a vicious cuff. They are killed, maimed, tortured, and pursued. There is no escape. My friends, in the middle of the night have you not heard a delightful little tune sung right in your very ear? A tune that sounds like the note of a 46 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. distant harp at sundown, a soothing mellow melody? Several singing together far surpasses mere man’s finest choruses, their vibrant little notes blending like a spoonful of mustard and a good hot dog. And then when you cruelly knock them away, a plaintive note is mingled in their song, a note that speaks of sadness, the note of an outcast. Many an hour have I sat and gazed into the face of a mosquito, as its merry little eyes twinkled and its long slender Roman nose wrinkled mischievously at me. The mother mosquitoes always have a hard time with their babies, because t he little ones persist in sticking their noses into leaves, bits of wood, and even stones. She then has to show her offspring how much better it is to shove its proboscis into a fat juicy worm or a snail, or fly behind a cow’s left ear. Al¬ ways the left ear, because a cow can reach with her tail farther to the right than to the left. Once I saw a mosquitoling stumble and fall down three steps. Its mother with a cry flew madly after it, only to find after reaching her infant’s side that it was dead, the little soul having flown to the happy hunting ground. As the grief stricken mother burst into tears, wails of grief floated up to me and my heart was torn with sorrow. The tears of the bereaved mother and my own flowed as one. In fact, my sorrow was so great that my tears formed a little pool of sympathy at the parent’s feet and in a moment of desperation and hysteria the mother jumped in and was drowned. So, my dear folks, when a playful little fellow perches on your cheek, tickles a little bit, give him a laugh, a helping hand, and as the Good Book says, turn the other cheek. Amen. Edward Mitchell, ’ 26 . ON HAIRPINS. I often wonder if other girls think as much of hairpins as I do. ’Tis true I have only had the pleasant experience of using them for four years now, but even in that short time I have realized their value. Nowadays girls do not need them with their bobbed hair. But as I did not have my hair bobbed (parental opposition interfering), I still carry around a boxful at a time. Now, dear friends, do not laugh when I say a boxful. It is an actual fact! I have been asked by some fellow classmates if I do not feel topheavy carry¬ ing around so many hairpins and they like to count them. But I really need them all, as it is very annoying to have my hair out of place and locks flying into my eyes. It is much better to stick an “invisible” in here and there. Truly, I cannot see any beauty in bobbed hair, but suppose it is convenient. I know of one time anyway when I think it must be delightfully comfortable. I refer to putting on a hat! How exasperating it is to put on a hat and in a short time feel a sore spot in some region of your head caused by a hairpin press¬ ing into your scalp. One time I was in church and found the sermon very interesting but alas, I felt a hairpin pulling and I could not relieve it without taking my hat off! I could not keep my mind on the sermon after that and thought oh, if only I was somewhere where I could take my hair down! I made up my mind I never would use that hairpin again after the way it treated me. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 47 I have a variegated collection of hairpins. Some are large, some small, some bone, some wire, some invisible and I even have bent ones so they’ll be sure to stay in place. Each hairpin has its own place and the way I dress my hair it could not change places with its neighbor. Mornings when I am doing my hair, preparatory to coming to school, the call comes from below. “It’s 7.30, girlie. You’ll miss the bus!” “Be right down!” I answer with my mouth full of hairpins. I put my hair up once—it does not satisfy me; I try again— and again take it down! Watching the clock with one eye and with the other eye on the mirror, I try for the third time. Success. What a relief! I run downstairs, hustle through my breakfast, and am there just in time for the bus. But such a hurry and bustle and all on account of a little insignificant hairpin! Eva Ramee, ’26. RUBBERS. I’m not overfond of rubbers. In fact, I dislike them. There is nothing quite so distasteful to me as to cover a pair of ' lovely shining slippers with stupid looking, unromantic rubbers. Time after time I have hastily glanced out of my window to see the sun just drifting behind clouds, and time after time I have hurriedly dressed. How often I have thought I’d fool my rubbers and escape from the house before the rain came tumbling down. But I have never succeeded, for the rain was always merrily on its way and I had to turn regretfully to the hall closet where my rubbers awaited me with a hateful little smile on their faces. They tantalize me with their dull blackness. But white rubbers—how well I recall having happily dressed in a new white costume on a wintry day, and laughing while careful hands drew on little white rubbers. I liked them then—I liked the smooth satiny whiteness of them. Then there are brown rub¬ bers the sight of which recalls memories of little sturdy tan school shoes. But black ones! I have already said how much I dislike them. When younger, I had a habit of casually leaving my rubbers in different places—“losing them,” I called it. But when the next rainy day came around, there were always brothers to the pair I had so conveniently misplaced, grinning up at me from the rubber box. I’ve hidden them—but someone always seemed to find them. Of course, all this was long ago. Now on a rainy day I draw them on as a matter of habit, but never without a shudder. Haven’t you ever planned going to a certain place, looked forward to it, and dreamed about what you would wear? And purchased a new pair of es¬ pecially pleasing slippers—and in the end you were compelled to wear rubbers! Then you must dislike them, too. Kathryn R. Cooney, ’26. Father’s method of working problems in algebra: “Ask your mother. Can’t you see I’m busy?”—Ex. 48 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE PLEASURES OF LOAFING. I wonder how many of my illustrious readers are followers of the grand, noble, and ancient art of loafing. Undoubtedly, some of you are Past Grand Exalted Rulers of some good-sized lodge of the C. O. L., otherwise the Care¬ free Order of Loafers. Although I am not a thirty-third degree member of this organization, I have had abundant opportunities to become acquainted with the unsurpassed pleasures of the art of loafing. Indeed, to be a member in good standing of this order is in itself an unbelievable pleasure. There is a certain unequalled joy in leaning against a telephone pole or hold¬ ing up the side of a building, knowing that one is free from responsibility for the continued safety, well-being, and existence of the aforesaid telephone pole or building. A still more advanced, though still carefree position and pleasure in the C. O. L. is lolling on a park bench. Here breathing in the fresh air and getting the benefit of the sun’s rays and the refreshing effect of the cool breezes, one is fully repaid for being a member in good standing of this renowned or¬ ganization. To stand on a street corner, watching the countless masses of people slow¬ ly treading their way along the main thoroughfare produces certain inexplicable, mysical, involuntary, exotic and intangible thrills. This, to a person who has not even a speaking acquaintance with the C. O. L., is puzzling. To a member, however, it is the nearest approach to Utopia yet discovered. Loafing, especially when one is solvent and not financially embarassed, is, indeed, a pleasure, a great pleasure, a superlative pleasure. It stands out among the other fine arts as a real and flawless diamond stands out among imitations. It produces those seemingly unattainable ecstasies of which hundreds of poets, famed, unknown, masters and novices, have written. To be at one’s leisure, to have no pressing and urgent duties, to be one’s own lord and master is conducive to the very quintessence of exuberance and delight. Loafing is, in short, one of the noble and grand arts in which innumerable people are proficient and well-versed. Here’s hoping, dear reader, that you and I shall some day, be Grand Exalted Rulers in that well-represented, and extremely popular organization, the Care¬ free Order of Loafers. David Kavanaugh, ’ 26 . ON CATCHING THE LAST TRAIN. Have you ever found yourself with four minutes to catch the last train home and an unknown distance between you and the station? No? Then you’ve missed a most thrilling and delightful experience. You and your friend emerge from the theatre hastily. You look around in bewilderment. How strange everything looks after dark! It is a mystery to you which way to turn, but your companion is confident. She knows the way. You walk as fast as is possible without attracting attention. Your friend turns you into a narrow street. Then begins the race that means as much to THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 49 you as the Marathon did to DeMar, if not more. You are now both panting. What sharp little pains play around in your tight shoes! Your companion has slowed down and is inquiring of a little girl. A second of rest, and then you find yourself following your chum back the way you came. You turn a corner, then another, and another. What are the intricate turns of a labyrinth compared to this! You run on and on. Then zip! Yes, that’s always the way, you feel your stocking on a slow downward journey. Another burden is now added to your woes; you grope for your stocking and hop along after your friend. You hear her voice, “pain—side!” But you still limp on. You then begin woe¬ fully, “I—t-o-l-d you s-o. I—I know we w-o-n’t ca-tch i-t.” No answer, but soon there is a broken laugh of triumph. You are at the station at last. What joy, relief, triumph sweeps over you as you see your train! Now you under¬ stand why the victorious jockey wears such a broad smile when photographed after the race. It is fully four minutes before the train starts. Your watch was fast. Then your thoughts wander back to the movie. You wonder if it was the hero or the hero’s brother who really killed the heroine’s guardian. Bessie Pressman, ’26. ON MASCOTS. Have you a mascot? You haven’t? That’s strange. Mascots play such an important part in the lives of most people that I think it is quite fitting that they should be discussed. Has anybody seen my kitty? Why, yes, here it is on my shoulder, hanging by one leg. A short while ago the fad of wearing floral designs on one’s coat or dress was replaced by that of small chenille cats. Some are of a single flashy color, with large glassy eyes, while others are composed of various combinations such as red and green, black and orange, and a few more sombre ones of black and white are seen. Some have large ears and huge tails, while some have small ears and no tails. The more exact young lady sews this animal on by each of its four paws, allowing it to stand erect, with its back curved, or to sit down leisurely, perched on the edge of one’s shoulder. The less precise flapper pins it on by one leg and allows the other three to fly to the four winds. I can’t possibly imagine what some of we girls would do if we didn’t have these petit pets in which to confide. One can confess her most precious secrets, and like the dainty daisies, “they won’t tell.” And, of course, these little things must have names! These vary, according to the baptizer, from Hannibal to Buster. These little kitttens bring good luck to the wearer. Pardon me! I mean all those excepting the black ones, which we know, especially if we are superstitious, signify the direct opposite. But why discuss these little creatures at length, for who knows? Maybe while I am writing this article, these animals are going out of style and are be¬ ing replaced by some fad more hideous! Oh you fuzzy, wuzzy shoulder cats! Rita Mawn, ’26. 50 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. ON THE CATERPILLAR. One summer’s evening, as I sat in my cool garden, I watched a small cater¬ pillar as he crossed the walk beside my chair. I cannot explain the way in which I was overcome with the idea that even a caterpillar has his own importance in this wicked world. A caterpillar reminds me of a beautiful, black and brown Angora Cat with¬ out legs. His fur is as fuzzy as that of the chestnut burr. His architectural construction is long, low, and narrow, like a tunnel on a narrow gauge railroad. The manner in which it winds up into a cocoon and comes out of the exit, as a butterfly, reminds one of a modern sausage making machine. I request all my patient readers to stop and consider the mode of travel of such a creature. We shall diagnose the erysipelatic movements of this tractor¬ like creature over the ground. The manner in which this species of worm travels, over, under, and through all obstacles of large and small dimensions reminds one of Mr. Henry’s Fords for five dollars down and the “rest when you catch me.” The style with which it climbs trees, flowers, shrubs and human beings is fascinating, and worthy of the tireless study of the great scientists who invent steamshovels. His nerve control of the backbone is marvelous. This should be noticed very carefully by the round shouldered high school student. It might possibly be of great interest to the Charleston fiends of Milford. The humps which this amorphorus creature produces by marcel wave action while traveling reminds me of my visit to Cairo. I visited Cairo about thirty years ago, and during this time I saw many camels. The humps of these animals are somewhat similar to those of the caterpillar. I note they are of the same latitude and longitude with a slight variation in thickness. From my personal survey of the dromedary and chatepelose skeletons I note little if any difference in the structure of their anterior and posterior median fis¬ sures of the spine, which ratifies my above statement, that they have humps of the same pattern. The water capacity of the locomotive of the desert exceeds that of the gaso¬ line tractor of trees and shrubs by a few thousand gallons. As I have said before, the caterpillar hump is produced by travel. The camel hump is produced by consumption, a disease studied by learned medical professors for years. We marvel, as we stop to consider the creation of the animal world. Here is an example of two animals which live thousands of miles apart and yet have so much in common. The caterpillar’s lack of popu larity in comparison with that of the camel is noticeable. We hear of people walking a mile for a camel, but we never hear of walking a mile for a caterpillar. Robert Taylor, ’ 26 . There was a young student named Bobby, Who rode a white horse for a hobby. One day, with a vim It fell over on him, And that was the end of poor Bobby. E. C. B. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 51 3lw iJfomortam GEORGE E. STACY Born, 1834. Died, 1926. Member Milford School Committee 60 Years. Chairman Milford School Committee 25 Years. Eulogy Delivered by JUDGE JOHN C. LYNCH Elected Chairman of Milford School Committee 1926. Relatives and friends of George E. Stacy: We are assembled to-day to honor the memory of a man who won his place in this, his beloved town, by his integrity and fidelity to her every task. When the inhabitants of a town cease for a few hours their gainful occu¬ pations, while the last rites are performed over the body of a deceased fellow citizen, when for a time the trader ceases to trade, the mechanic or laborer to work, in order that they may express in some way their sorrow for the loss which has come to the town in which they live, there must have been characteristics in the deceased which inspired not only admiration and respect, but also a feeling of love and affection. Born in the town of Mendon, of sturdy stock, guarded and guided by their watchful ministrations, he grew to stalwart manhood. Possessed with the example of his forbears, he gave to his town his best service, serving her on her Board of Assessors and on her Board of Education. My first memory of our beloved friend goes back to my boyhood, when in the presence of a devoted father I entered his door to purchase school supplies; I can see him as if of yesterday, an outstanding figure with kindly face and pleas¬ ing manner as he passed over the counter my then wants and needs. Time passes, and in the year 1900, it was my great privilege and honor to sit as a member of your School Board with him, of whom I had heard so much and from that time until now I always received inspiration in the con¬ templation of his great service. Year after year elected as Chairman, year after year gladly giving of his time and energy to problems of education always as Chairman of the Board he typified in an exemplary way his ability to rule im¬ partially, indulgent toward the opinion of his fellow committee men, always ready to yield his own when convinced that it was right so to do. He was a man who steadfastly clung to the old fundamentals, yielding re¬ luctantly to the later and more modern methods of education, but once shown their merits was ready to carry on to the end, that our children would be the beneficiaries. His gratuitous service for over fifty years on your Board of Education, I daresay has never been excelled, if equalled. To-day, his labor is ended, his Book of Life is closed, but Oh! how much can we drink from its pages, what example to the Youth of this and every com- 52 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. munity, yea, to all mankind! What a lesson he has taught us all! Fifty years’ service dedicated to the formative period of life, the education of the youth of our community. What contrast to the greed of life! His motto was, “Not what he could get from his fellow men, but what could he give to make his life better and nobler.” He was a man of simple habits, his great enjoyment being his fraternal associations, to which he gave much of his time and was held in high esteem and honor by his brethren, as is best shown by their presence here to-day. He was faithful to duty, incorruptively honest; he possessed magnetism, tact, and breadth of view, and placed a higher value upon character than upon success. Our departed was greatly loved by all who knew him. He was simple- hearted as a child, and his rugged, sturdy, kindly spirit shone in his face and in his walk. His unfailing courtesy, his unaffected kindness, and his considera¬ tion for the welfare and the failings of others, leave with those who knew him best the sweetest of recollections. Now he has passed into the dim valley and shadow of Death, but Oh! how many fragrant and precious memories he has bequeathed to us! Such men never wholly die, for “The memorial of virtue is immortal,” because “It is known with God and man. When it is present men take example at it; when it is gone, they desire it; it weareth a crown and triumpheth forever, having gotten the victory striving for undefiled rewards.” As an earnest of the love and respect for our departed, a few years ago, this town erected a beautiful school house and through the suggestion of his fel¬ low members of the School Board and as a token of their personal appreciation of his work, it was named the George E. Stacy School. There it stands, always reminding us of the example and fidelity to duty of the Grand Old Man of our town. The coming generation, as they look upon it, will receive new inspiration and they will realize that not merely the acquisition of money, but the path of Duty is the way to honor and glory. Built of granite, it cannot be more en¬ during than his virtues. Let the genius of the architect give it form and beauty, it cannot be more beautiful or nobler than his characer. Yet even this monu¬ ment many moulder and crumble into dust, but so long as we shall maintain the institutions and government which made his career possible and so long as we shall maintain the character of our civic government upon the high standards which he set, we secure and perpetuate the name and fame of George E. Stacy. Yet shall he live in all he wrought, by precept speaking still; And long as noble deeds our souls with love and pride imbue, His name beloved shall fill our hearts, with fond, inspiring thrill To live like him for greater ends, brave, loyal, just and true. O noble life! whose sorrowing end but brings to clearer view A town’s loss, a race’s grief, a people’s love sincere! Auspicious death! Which in our souls but shrines that life anew, A life to love and follow, a rare memory revere! THE OAK LILY AND IVY. 53 In m ntnriam MARY G. CONDON Born, 1901 . Died, 1926 . Teacher in Milford High School 1923 — 1926 . A noble woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort and command; And yet a spirit, pure and bright, With something of angelic light. — Wordsworth. Of the friends and contemporaries of one who has, however unbelievable it may seem, left the familiar ways of life for all time, I ask, in memoriam, a short interval of introspection. Deeply sorry we all are, but if this sorrow should serve to make us more worthy of the gift of life that is left to us, if in some small degree it should ennoble us, turn us back to the ideals and aspirations so many of us are forget¬ ting, would she ask a higher tribute? She worked and lived consciously for all that is highest and best in life, and with attainment in view had to relinquish her bright ambitions in the glory of her youth. Should all this be in vain? In commemoration, let us imbue our¬ selves with a little of her noble spirit and carry on. Can we not be kind as she was kind? Good as she was good? Strive to keep our ideals as she strove to keep hers, and maybe some day, leave as she leaves—a memory like a shining light in the hearts of those who knew and loved her. A Classmate, FAITH. Like a life line to the drowning Is faith to souls in need, All care will cease, sorrow take flight If faith’s sweet words we heed. Imagine one of your loved ones Hov’ring twixt death and life ; Then trust in a higher power Sustains you through your strife. Through faith our deepest wounds will heal And dearest dreams come true; Through faith we cast aside our fears And face our life anew. 54 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. So cling each day to faith and hope In everything you do, Believing right will win o’er wrong; Then faith will bring you through. Mildred Baker, MEMORIES OF MOTHER DEAR. When night is come and day is o’er, And I sit down to rest, Of you I think, oh, mother dear, The one whom I love best. The thought of you, my mother dear, Is cheerful as a song. It is a restful melody After the day is long. I wish for bygone days and hours To sit upon your knee, And hear again those lullabies That were so dear to me. N You were so kind, oh, mother dear When I did something wrong; You looked at me so sad yet sweet, But never scolded long. Now as the hours have passed to days And days have passed to years, The thought of you still fills my mind, To leave not, mother dear. Atea Perri, ’ MEMORIES. In twilight when the shadows fall And stars send forth their gleams, I leave this world of broken hopes To tread a path of dreams. Beside the broken garden wall I read my book of dreams; It comes from out my childhood Amid the pale moon beams. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 55 Memories fill the mystic night With broken hopes and trust, Of friends and love and youth of old, All vanishing like dust. My begging hand is empty—see, My eyes are filled with tears. I try to clasp my memories, But they all flee with years. I’ll read my book no more! Alas! It leaves too great regret, For fitful longings fill my soul. Ah, ’tis hard to forget! I’ll bind it with a rusted lock, I’ll hide it in the past; A lone and silent grave of mine Of joys too being to last. The pines shall be the sentinels Of this, my buried loss, And at the head for old time’s sake I’ll place a wooden cross. Irene SanClemente, ’ 26 . TO THE OAK. SONNET. Oh, mighty tree that guards the woodland path, Thy strength appalls me as I watch thee here. The angry winds and violent boistrous wrath Of numerous storms that sweep the earth each year Have left thee free from harm. Thy limbs are seen To tower high above each humble mortal. When nature clothes thee in its verdant green, They form for me a lovely gorgeous portal. And oft in childhood under it I’d dream, And sometimes wonder if the fairies dwelt In realms above that roof of leafy sheen. But now in awe of thee I’ve often felt, For in thy strength I see expressed the might Of Him, Our God, who teaches us the right. Bessie Pressman, ’ 26 . 56 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. LIFE. Bent and broken, old and sore, I wander through the years, For trouble seems to dog my steps: My worldly lot is tears. It was the summer of my life, And I was free and gay; I felt that joy and mirth and love Would banish care away. Sweet June, as pure as she was fair, The idol of my heart, Would tell me then adversity Of life must be a part. And in a manner jocular I’d tell her to be glad, For mirth must ever be with us, And we should not be sad. But there came a day she could not laugh, I could not banish fears. The Angel Dark had visited us And left to me—just years. And now began my life anew Without my darling bride, A life of dreary loneliness Without her at my side. The years were just one long, long daze; The visions drove me mad. For when I felt most sorrowful, She laughed, and seemed most glad. I grasped, I reached, I felt for her, Till I must tear my hair,. For when I closed my groping hands They clutched the naked air. The passersby would gaze and stare; For me they felt no pity; For who cares what befalls a man In such a busy city? My pain is dulled and soothed now, And all my anguish spent. I await with calm and Angel Dark; She will be heaven-sent. Grace Sibson, ’ 26 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 57 HOME. SONNET. There is in this wide world a little spot, A sylvan nook that’s peaceful and so sweet, Where all the early birds, I’ve often thought, Elected this retreat wherein to meet. The fragrant flowers of spring, the budding trees, A gentle hand, a lovely smiling face Bring back to me the dearest memories Of golden hours that Time can ne’er efface; Of wintry evenings spent beside the hearth, Of summer days beneath the cooling shade Of verdant trees that fringed the sunlit path— A leafy arch that Nature’s hand had made. Though far away in foreign lands I roam, To me there’ll be no fairer spot than Home. Eva Realini, ’ 26 . I REMEMBER. I remember, I remember My childhood blithe and gay; How God looked down upon me, And blessed me in my play. I remember, I remember My father bent and gray; And how my blessed mother Would soothe his cares away. I remember, I remember My faithful dog and true: And all the love he gave me I read in his eyes of blue. I remember, I remember The fir-tree in the wood; How high it seemed to tower Before me where I stood. I remember, I remember The sweet song of the bird; At morn at my bedroom window The call I always heard. Eva Ramee, ’ 26 . 58 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE BIRCH TREE. A BALLAD. Beside the door a slender birch Had stood for many a year. No hand had e’er caressed the tree In fall or winter drear. On summer days the youths would climb Upon each nimble limb; Its twigs were often broken off To satisfy a whim. The ice and snow were laden on The tree one winter’s day; A mighty blast then shook its limbs, And soon its strength gave way. When summer came, no friendly shade Was cast beside the door. The youths would then lament and say, “Our shade tree is no more!” It oft is so with our dear friends. We do not see their worth, Until their life is at an end And they have left this earth. Bessie Pressman, ’ 26 . TO THE RAIN. SONNET. O what a joy a glist’ning drop of rain To parched lips and hungry earth can be, While falling on the upturned face of he Who walks beneath the desert’s deathly bane. And when to burning, blistered earth there came The gladdening sound of rain upon the tree, In Nature everywhere what ecstasy Was shown o’er hill and dale, in field and lane. When on a hot and breathless summer’s day The thirsting leaves hang drooping wistfully, And tired, dusty feet the cool shade seek, How like the lovely, fragrant blooms of May The summer rain does seem, as joyfully It showers its blessings on the proud and meek. Char les Cox, ’ 26 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 59 HER SOLDIER BOY. She stood beside the broken gate, As down the lane he went, While in her eyes a great light glowed, Which hope and faith had sent. Though he was all she ever had, With smiling face and heart She gave him to her country’s call That he might do his part. But as he disappeared from sight, Her eyes began to dim: The sunlight of her happy home Had gone away with him. Upon that firing battle front Her loving boy, they said, Had fallen in that gory fight, A bullet in his head. A little cross now marks his grave Beneath some foreign sky, But in her heart he’ll always dwell, For there he’ll never die. Eva Realini, ’26. DRAMATIC CLUB REPORT. The David Garrick Dramatic Club has done very creditable work this year under the able supervision of Miss Sadie O’Connell. Although only a small number of meetings have been held this year due to various, unavoidable reasons, commendable results have been accomplished. At the first three meetings of the club the time was spent in technical work. Then rehearsals began on plays. On April the twenty-second a public performance was given, at which the following one-act plays were presented: “Shutting O’ the Door,’’ “The End of the Rainbow,” and “The Valiant.” Rehearsals for “A Marriage of Convenience,” the first four-act play at¬ tempted by the club since its beginning four years ago are in progress now. The Club is in possession now of three sets of scenery and drapes which were recently purchased. With the money realized from the public performance this year a curtain fund has been started with which the Club hopes to pur¬ chase a dependable curtain soon. On Friday evening, June 4th, many members of the David Garrick Club attended a delightful presentation of Goldsmith’s play, “She Stoops to Conquer,” which was given in Bates Hall in Boston by the members of the senior class of the Academy of Speech Arts. It was due to the former affiliation of Miss 60 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. O’Connell with Mrs. Maude Gotchell Hicks, the director of the Academy and a former member of the faculty of Emerson College of Oratory, that the Club was tendered the invitation. This year the following officers have served: President . George Pyne, ’26 Vice-Presidentt ... Anna Heroux, ’26 Secretary • •. Katherine McKenna, ’26 Treasurer . Mary Craig, ’26 In June of this year a one hundred dollar Repertory Theatre Bond was purchased by Mr. Quirk, Mr. Riopel, Miss Swift, Supervisor of Music, and fourteen of the High School teachers. The theatre tickets attached to the bond have been presented to the David Garrick Club, which contributed five dollars toward the bond. It is hoped that some of the townspeople will feel interested enough to pur¬ chase another bond and thus give more students the opportunity to attend a performance of the Repertory Theatre, Boston, where many standard plays are splendidly given each year. Ruth Volk, ’26. (WITH APOLOGIES TO IRVING BERLIN.) Remember the night, the night you crammed For history, remember? Remember you learned of wars and kings For history, remember? Remember you learned each president His party, his term, its main event; Then to the exam you bravely went, But—you forgot to remember. George Pyne, ’26. There was a young man of Kilkenny Who used to save each little penny. When one day he died His poor brothers cried, For they found that his coins were not many. W. T. T. 61 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Htblcttcs FOOTBALL. With the opening of school in September, 1925, all things seemed to point to the development of a highly successful football team. We were again fortu¬ nate to procure the services of Mr. Albert “Hop” Riopel as coach. Graduation had taken some stars as Gilmore, Broderick, Davoren, Adams, York, Clough, and O’Neil, but we still had these letter men left to pick from: Pyne, Alzerini, Mitchell, Bowen, Consoletti, and D’Agostino. The news that Shaw and Fras- cotti were coming back to take a P. G. course and incidentally play football was hailed as another indication of a winning club. But from the very first things didn’t work out as expected. Sickness among players and at home, sprained tendons, collar bones breaking with uncanny fre¬ quency, and even death visiting the home of a member of the squad tended to make it a less successful season than was hoped for. The first game of the season was played on Town Park, September 26, with Waltham. The home boys seemed unable to get started and were playing with practically no team work. Waltham took the honors of the day with a 13—0 score. October 3, our boys journeyed to Hudson and in a cold drizzle of rain and on a field that resembled a golf course played a scoreless tie with that team. Those that were there will bear out my statement that the wetness of the day failed to dampen the ardor of either teams or spectators. October 7— “The sun that brief October day Rose cheerless over hills of gray” and by noon snow flurries and rain made it necessary for a cancellation. This game was to be with Natick, our old rival, and the postponement was quite a disappointment. Saturday, October 12 we again were away from the local field and were the guests of Marlboro High. Coach Riopel had finally managed to get the team running smoothly and we were ready to tackle anything. Marlboro was trounced 19—0, but a shadow was cast over our victory, when in the first half of the game both D’Agostino and Catto had to be helped off the field with broken collar bones. This, of course, eliminated these two warriors for practically the remainder of the season. A scoreless tie was played here on October 17 with St. Peter’s of Worcester, a recent addition to our fooball card. This game furnished thrills galore. On October 24 we played at Northbridge and suffered a heart-breaking de¬ feat of 9—6. In the last minute of play we had about one and one-half yards to go, but fate, or shall we say, the whistle, intervened and the game was over, victory snatched at its budding-. Framingham on October 31 was our next objective. This was the first time we were to play them since 1922, when “Billy” Wise (now of Holy Cross) led their attack and trimmed us 24—0. But time passes and strange things happen. We gained the long end of an 8—0 score. 62 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. On November 4th, Wednesday, we played our cancelled game with Natick and with one of the finest teams of which Natick has ever boasted she trounced us 26—0. Attleboro defeated us 18—0 at Attleboro on November 7th. This was the poorest exhibition in football that Milford put up the whole year. The game should have been ours, but the backfield seemed to be hampered by invisible force. Our Captain “Red” Alzerini served as a last minute inspiration and tore off some brilliant blood-quickening plays, but his assistance was in vain, as the game was practically over. Gardner came here November 14th, and a hard fought game resulted in a 7—7 tie. Worcester Trade next invaded our territory and managed to get a victory of 7—6. This team was of considerable more weight than our team and we did well to hold them at all. Thanksgiving turkeys and the last game of the season! Rather a hectic day. Clinton was our holiday guest and came here with a determination to win, we having beaten them 3 to 0 the previous year. Both sides managed to battle across the line, but neither was able to kick the extra point and a 6 to 6 tie resulted. The members of the squad that exerted their umost for the school and com¬ munity are: Captain Alzerini, Pyne, Consoletti, Mitchell, Bowen, Grayson, A. Shaw, Gardetto, Ferrucci, D’Agostino, Lombardi, Catto, and Frascotti as letter- men and Grady, R. Shaw, Merrilees, Lufty, McLaughlin, Birmingham, Ruggierio, Lynch, Tosti, Carlson, Murray, Mason, and Salvia. A splendid banquet was tendered the team and coach at the Elks’ Home on December 15th through the kindness of the Chamber of Commerce and the foot¬ ball supporters of Milford. Many notables were present including Mr. “Jake” Turner, star cen ter of Harvard, and Mr. Frederick V. Astergren, football coach of Malden High. Mr. Frederick W. Fitzsimmons acted as toastmaster. Edward Mitchell, ’26. BASEBALL. The high calibre of baseball and sportsmanship found in Milford High School was continued through the 1926 season by the able coaching of Mr. Riopel. By graduation last year the team lost the services of Davoren, our fight¬ ing catcher, O’Neil, our first string pitcher, Cahill, the hot corner guardian, D’Agostino, hard-hitting left fielder and Gagliardi, utility infielder. These po¬ sitions were filled by the utility men of the 1925 season. With the coming of baseball weather much attention was turned to the open¬ ing game with Hopkinton. In this game Peterson and Merrilees, freshman bat- tery, proved their worth as battery men. Hopkinton was defeated to the tune of 7—1. Milford then entered the Midland League through the untiring efforts of Coach Riopel an d Mr. Quirk, our Principal, after having remained out for a period of three years. The opening league game was played in Milford with Westboro. Westboro went down to defeat before the heavy onslaught of the Milford batters. Milford led the league by winning five consecutive league games and proved that Milford has the fighting spirit to win the Midland league pennant which has not been captured since 1915. Milford lost to Marlboro in a hard-fought game and then were still tied with Marlboro for first honors. The team has two more league THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 63 games to be played and if both are won, Milford will capture the Midland league pennant. In the first game with Natick, our old rival, Milford was defeated, but things changed in the second and Natick was defeated by the score of 10—1, a defeat which Natick will long remember. Milford defeated such teams as Natick, Hud¬ son, Maynard, Westboro, and Hopkinton, suffering defeats to Framingham, Marl¬ boro, and Clinton. The annual Memorial Day battle between St. Mary’s and Milford High was called off on account of rain but is to be played on a later date. The fine pitching of Catto, our captain, and Peterson kept Milford in the league race while the batting of Alzerini has broken up many a game. Milford had a fine working infield in Shaw, Crandall, MacLachlan and Alzerini while the outfield was taken care of by Higgiston, Lombardi and Cunniff with Webb, Bowen, Abretti, Murray, and Ferrucci ready to get in the game at any moment. Milford has made a record in baseball and football to be proud of. Much credit is due to Mr. Quirk, our principal, for his ceaseless efforts in helping and arranging our schedules. Alfred Alzerini, ’26. VALEDICTORY. GEORGE ELIOT, THE GREATEST WOMAN NOVELIST. It is said that in the field of literature woman has been the equal of man only in the novel. As we name over our great English poets ,such as Shakespeare, Milton, Spenser, and Chaucer, we can think of no woman who might be added to the group. In the field of the novel, however, we have George Eliot, standing equal with Dickens, if not preceding him. The novels of George Eliot “are primarily works of art, and George Eliot herself is artist as much as she is teacher.” It is interesting to note that Goerge Eliot, the greatest woman novel¬ ist, was born only a few miles from the birthplace of Shakespeare, the greatest poet the world has ever produced. Such is the position of this 19th century woman novelist, who has been pictured to us as an “accomplished linguist, a brilliant talker, a musician of extra¬ ordinary skill.” She has been described as “all genius and culture.” That she had no great physical beauty is indicated by the statement that “people who did not like her used to say that she looked like a horse. It was true as far as this: That the portion of the face below the eyes was disproportionately long and narrow.” Those, however, who knew her well and liked her, when speaking of her invariably mentioned her “soft, sweet, low voice.” Visitors were always welcome in her home and enjoyed their afternoons there, because, as one said, “without a trace of pedantry, she led the conversation to some great and lofty strain. Of herself and her works she never spoke; of the works and thoughts of others she spoke with reverence. She was an excellent listener and eager to hear.” Another friend, speaking of her love of music, remarked: “Music was an absorbing passion with her. She played brilliantly, but she played only for a few chosen friends. After either performing or listening to fine music, she was 64 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. frequently completely unnerved, unable to command herself, and more likely to break down in tears than to talk calmly.” Her literary ability should be honored all the more because her entire edu¬ cation, except for three of her childhood years, was obtained through her own efforts. She made an extensive study of classics and at the age of twenty had a large collection of fine books. Her education was somewhat like that which Samuel Johnson obtained in perusing the volumes on his father’s book shelves. Although deeply absorbed in several branches of study, George Eliot did not become unpleasantly masculine. O ne admirer has said: “I must repeat that George Eliot was intensely feminine, though more philosophical than most women. She shows it to the best purpose in the subtlety and the charm of the portraits of women unrivalled in some ways by any writer of either sex.” Perhaps even more important is the knowledge of the human heart which she displays. An enthusiastic critic wrote: “This is not an acquired knowledge. It was born with her and in her. It is genius. It is a gift which is Shakespearian in quality—one might, perhaps, as well be frankly true to himself and out with his thought. It is finer than Shakespeare. In quantity it is less, but in quality it is more.” In all of George Eliot’s works there is a very noticeable tendency to analyse the motives of her characters. “In the analysis of human motives she stands first, and it is very doubtful whether any artist in fiction is entitled to stand second. She reaches clear in and touches the most secret and the most delicate spring of human action.” A delightful feature is given to all of her books by “her enthusiasm for altruism, and her zeal for humanity.” George Eliot’s childhood years in the country gave her the exact knowledge of English rural life which she portrayed later with such skill. Her rustic characters, indeed, are so vividly pictured that they are real people to us. In all of her works we find “an intense sense of reality. Her characters are substantial, living people, drawn with a Shakespearian truth and insight. Like ourselves, they are subject to change, acted upon by others, acting on others in their turn; moulded by the daily presence of things without.” All of these characteristics we find in “Silas Marner,” which is probably her most read and best liked book. This book was written with the same moral purpose which is seen in her later productions, but there is only a slight evidence of the philosophical teaching which “makes her later novels somewhat heavy and dull.” We find a few examples of this, however, even in “Silas Marner,” such as her explanation of the folly of relying on chance. The theme of “Silas Marner,” which has been called her most artistic work, is well expressed in a few lines written by Wordsworth which appear on the title page of the novel : “A child, more than all other gifts That earth can offer to declining man, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts.” The following outline of the narrative of the novel shows the skilful manner in which George Eliot combined its main plot and sub-plot: The story is of a young Englinsh weaver, who, by the drawing of lots, had been wrongly accused of stealing a sum of money. Silas Marner, the weaver, unable to bear the remem¬ brance and shame of this charge, left his native town and found his way to Raveloe. Like all people from distant towns, he was treated suspiciously and his popularity was by no means increased when the people learned that he used 1925 FOOTBALL TEAM. IcJK ' v M v 3 ■? ' ■ s |T Wflp ' - . gr«kf M -NT ■ jSp£5Ay, ' 2|E| m BlljSja 1 i r £ — , _ 1 1 ' :• 1926 BASEBALL TEAM. THE SHUTTING O’ THE DOOR.” 65 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. leaves and herbs for medicinal purposes. In the eyes of the inhabitants this meant that he had illegal communication with the devil. But he was allowed to take up his abode in a deserted cottage near a stone pit because of the skill of his weaving. Having but little in common with the people of Raveloe, and desiring to forget his former life, Silas spent most of his time at work in the loom. Living alone and eating but little, Silas had few expenses, and the money which his weaving brought in was growing in bulk and value. Growing upon Silas so gradually as to be almost imperceptible was the de¬ sire to increase his little hoard. Finally this desire grew so strong that every night before going to bed he would take his money bags from under two loose stones in front of the fireplace and amuse himself by staring at the gold with his nearsighted eyes or by running his hands through it. When his candle burned low he would replace the bags and put the sand about the stones. Among the families of Raveloe were two of notable importance: The Lam- meters and the Casses. The former consisted of Mr. Lammeter and his two daughters, Nancy and Priscilla; the latter consisted of Squire Cass and two sons, Godfrey, and Dunstan. It was well understood in Raveloe that Godfrey was to marry Nancy sometime in the future. Dunstan, a rather lazy, shiftless fellow was a source of trouble both to the Squire and to Godfrey. Through the knowledge of Godfrey’s secret marriage Dunstan had been able to secure blackmail from his older brother for some few months until finally Godfrey had to return some rent money paid him for his father but which he had given to Dunstan. In order to procure the money God¬ frey sent Dunstan to sell his horse at a race in a nearby town. After obtaining a good bargain for the horse, Dunstan insisted on riding him in the race. During the course of the run, however, Dunstan staked his horse on a picket and had to abandon him. Of course, he could not collect the money and while walking home, he thought of other methods of procuring the money. As he was passing the stone pit, the light in Silas’s window caught his eyes and the thought flashed into his mind that Silas must have a good deal of money somewhere and so he went to the door, thinking probably that he could borrow the money. When he knocked on the door, it opened of its own accord and he found himself alone. He immediately searched for the money and soon found it. He took the two bags and went off with a joyous step. When Silas returned from the village, he found the stones out of place and the money gone. The loss of his money and his sorrow over it softened the hearts of the people and they began to pity him rather than show suspicion. While the annual Christmas celebration was going on at Squire Cass’s, a stumbling form approached the house of the weaver. It was that of Godfrey’s wife whom he had secretly married. To lighten the pain of the cold she took the last remnant of opium in the phial she carried in her dress, but before she reached the Squire’s, complete unconsciousness took possession of her. A little cry of “Mammy” rose from the bundle on her breast as her hands dropped to her sides. The bundle moved and the blanket fell from it. Little feet toddled toward the open door of Silas’s cottage where he stood waiting to hear the New Year’s bells. Silas was not aware of the presence of the little girl until he turned from the door toward the fireplace. With a choking cry he put forth his hand to touch the pile of gold there as he saw it through his nearsighted eyes. Was this his gold returned, he asked himself? But when he touched it, the gold moved and took the form of a little girl. 66 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Led by many “Mammy” cries and the direction of the child’s arms, Silas finally found the crumpled body in the snow. He went immediately to the Squire’s where he knew he would find the village doctor. When he returned he was accompanied by the doctor, Dolly Winthrop, and Godfrey Cass, whose inter¬ est was aroused by the description of the woman. The next week there was a pauper’s funeral and the wife of Godfrey Cass was laid away, the latter feeling that he would lose Nancy, if he acknowledged his wife or his baby. Under the tender care of Silas, Eppie, as the baby had been named, grew up to be a fine girl, trained in all household matters by the kind Dolly Winthrop. Silas became a regular attendant at church, having been persuaded by Dolly that it was best for Eppie to go to divine service. Godfrey and Nancy Cass were blessed with no children of their own, and each time Godfrey saw Eppie he grieved that he had not claimed her as his own that night she was found. He asked Nancy to adopt her, but Nancy replied that if God had wanted them to have children, he would have spared their own little one. Nothing had been seen of Dunstan and Godfrey was still worshipping his God of Chance that everything would come out all right. •Having installed a system of irrigation on the farm using the water from the stone pit as a source, Godfrey walked that way one Sunday afternoon when the water in the pit was low. While standing on the edge of the pit, he saw the last of the water run out and there wedged between two stones was the skeleton of a man. It was identified as Dunstan by the watch and the horsewhip. Strewn about on the botton of the pit was Silas’ money. Stirred by this discovery Godfrey decided to make a complete confession to Nancy. She then agreed that it would have been right for them to adopt Eppie and that night they went to call on Silas and Eppie and tell them who Eppie’s father was and to claim her as their own. But the mutual love of Eppie and Silas was so strong that neither wanted to part with the other and Godfrey was disappointed in his desire. Thus Godfrey was punished for not claiming Eppie when she was a child. The story ends with the marriage of Eppie and Dolly Winthrop’s son Aaron. One of the most noticeable characteristics of the story is its truth to life. “Nowhere in its pages are we jarred by the intrusion of the grotesque or the un¬ real. In Silas Marner as in all her other books, George Eliot shows a strong sympathy with her characters. She excuses Silas for his losing of faith and she sympathizes with Godfrey in his worship of Chance. According to her custom, she analyses with minuteness the motives of the characters, such as those of Dunstan for stealing the money of Silas, and the cause of Nancy’s refusal to adopt a child. She shows her skill in the portrayal of women in the character of Dolly Winthrop a simple God-fearing woman whose life was made up of kind deeds. Her character can be easily seen by the words she spoke to Silas in regard to faith. “And all as we’ve got to do is to trusten, Master Marner—to do the right thing as fur as we know, and to trusten.” Her humor is seen in her characterization of Mr. Macey, the parish clerk, and of the men who gathered daily at the Rainbow to drink and talk. The ending of the story is wholly logical. How unnatural it would be if Eppie should decide to leave Silas and go to live with Godfrey and Nancy, after Silas had tended and cared for her all her life! Before George Eliot attempted the actual writing of novels, she thoroughly prepared herself for her task. In the preparation of “Daniel Deronda” she read THE OAK LILY AND IVY. 67 more than two hundred books to fit her for the description of the Jewish char¬ acters the novel contains. “Daniel Deronda” is probably her second best work. It is a story of Jewish life and customs. To write this she “acquired an extended and profound knowledge of the rites, aspirations, hopes, fears, and desires of the Israelites of the day.” Joseph Jacobs in his “Protest against the Critics” says: “The first thing that it is natural for a Jew to say about ‘Daniel Deronda’ is some expression of gratitude for the wonderful completeness and accuracy with which George Eliot has portrayed the Jewish nature.” Among her other works are “Adam Bede,” “Scenes of Clerical Life,” “The Mill on the Floss,” “Romola,” and “Middlemarch.” George Eliot made several attempts at poetry, but they were not especially successful. The admiration with which this remarkable woman has been regarded by famous critics is shown by the following words, written by Whipple: “Leaving out of view the peculiar powers which make the great novelist and fastening our attention on the understanding alone, it is obvious that George Eliot might hold, in one corner of her broad brain, all that portion of Scott’s intellect which dealt with the philosophy of history as distinguished from its picturesqueness, in another comer, all that part of the intellect of Dickens which, in dealing with political economy, was proned to substitute benevolent sentiments for inexorable laws; and in still another comer, all that portion of the intellect of Thackery which pene¬ trated beneath the social shams he pitilessly satirized to the principles which make society possible.” Classmates of 1926: We have gathered to-night to receive the reward of our four years of study. This may be our last meeting as a class, so let us take this opportunity to thank our teachers for their generous and untiring efforts in our behalf and wish them the best of fortune in the future. Fellow classmates, as this is the end of our school career, it is the beginning of life. Let us meet it, loyal to our school, loyal to our class, and loyal to our¬ selves, remembering our motto: “Loyalty in Everything.” Teachers, undergraduates, and friends of 1926, we bid you a fond farewell. Albert Lee Knox, ’26. FRUGALITY. Everyone has heard the old maxim which states that it takes a good man to acquire a fortune, but it requires a better one to keep one. Thousands have labored and striven in order to gain a small fortune, and then fall into the trap of a get-rich-quick scheme, set by some financial wizard. Hence they are not so well off as those who “spend as they go,” never saving a penny, but re¬ ceiving pleasure nevertheless from spending it. Usually a man that knows the amount of labor he has exerted in order to attain his bank account is more able to retain it, than he who has never saved a dollar, and is left a sum of money by inheritance. The poorer classes are often likely to envy the wealthy, for, as they think, with so much money one would only have to eat, sleep and be merry. However, 68 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. it should be realized that it required considerable frugality and labor on some¬ one’s part to build up those millions; and, as a rule, this qualification is passed down through the generations of the family. Furthermore they should not only be credited for their skill in building up a fortune (if done honestly), but also for their ability in retaining it. One of the Vanderbilt youths is a good example of this, because of his ambition of working his own way through Yale University. The boy has “money to burn,” as one might say, but is frugal enough to earn his own college fees, a feat which many a youth has failed to do. On the other hand, people who acquire large sums of money through a lucky turn of the stock market, or through similar means, seldom retain it for a great while. As the old saying it, easy come, easy go. Thomas W. Lawson was a good example of this. He attained an enormous fortune on the stock market, and built himself a magnificent mansion. At his death he was almost as poor as when he started. Hence we see that frugality includes not only the act of economy, but also retaining what is economized. Cecil Wadleigh, P. G. HUMORS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. We’ll begin with a box and the plural is boxes, But the plural of ox should be oxen not oxes; Then one fowl is goose , and two are called geese, Yet the plural of mouse should never be meese ; You may find a lone mouse or a whole nest of mice, But the plural of house is houses, not hice; If the plural of man is always called men, Why shouldn’t the plural of pan be called pen ? If I speak of a foot and you show me your feet, And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet? If the singular’s this and the plural is these, Should the plural of kiss be nicknamed keese? Then one may be that and three would be those. Yet hat in the plural would never be hose: We speak of a brother and also of brethren But though we say mother, we never say methren; The masculine pronouns are he, his and him, But imagine the feminine she, shis and shun. So the English, I think, you all will agree, Is the most wonderful language you ever did see.—Ex. There was a young man from Seattle, His Ford made a noise like a battle, But he drove it too fast, The front tire didn’t last, He now has not even the rattle. M. C. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 69 THumor Column WOULDN’T IT BE FUNNY IF— Miss McKenna did not smile at the boys? Blizard stopped talking about Whitinsville ? Porotti forgot his History? Kavanaugh flunked in Math? Poet’s Corner in Room 8 English A became historical ? Miss Holbrook would stop blushing when called upon? Templeman did become a singer? Mitchell failed to have an excuse for oral composition? Snow came to school on time? Macchi became a poet? Miss Indursky didn’t ask questions? Miss Murphy didn’t have her hair curled? There was more than one mirror in the cloak room? Miss Claflin didn’t know her History? Miss Rosenfeld forgot to smile at the boys? Snow forgot his excuses? Miss Crandall didn’t talk so fast? Miss Apicella lost her smile? Marcus forgot to giggle? Miss Ryan lost her temper? Miss Murphy stopped talking for one minute. Miss Mainini was on time? Porotti became excited? Mitchell wasn’t popular? Miss Craig forgot to smile? Alzerini wasn’t popular? Miss Reardon forgot to giggle? Alzerini got really angry? Catto should remember his ‘ings’ ? Ruggerio didn’t try to amuse the girls? Miss Despeau used slang? Templeman wouldn’t argue? Miss San Clemente failed to prepare her lessons? Miss McKenna remained a whole period without whispering? Webb was in a hurry? Richards failed to smile? Macchi did not have something to say? Catto did not smile at the girls? Julie kept out of trouble? Carchio stood still when talking? Conlon shouted? Miss Coyne didn’t smile? Harris couldn’t interpret the lines? Miss Mainini had a pencil? Miss Cooney arrived at 7.30? Miss Parks didn’t want to know all about it? 70 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF— Miss Reardon stopped talking? Miss Mawn didn’t prepare her lessons? Miss Spadoni wasn’t sympathetic? Miss Warren didn’t get excited? Miss Mainini wasn’t popular? Miss Indursky was late? Miss Ramee didn’t do her exercises in Expression? Broudy got excited? Cox didn’t know his History? Templeman lost his voice? Gardetto wasn’t inquisitive? Jacobs forgot to ask questions? Miss Anna Murphy forgot her lunch? Miss Lancisi kept silent a whole period? Someone answered “unprepared” in Expression A? Geometry were dropped from the course of study? Miss Erickson were not reminded to speak louder? Miss Perry didn’t know her lessons? Miss Murphy wrote legibly? Miss Lancisi stopped talking? Miss Despeau forgot how to sing? Miss Pressman didn’t know her shorthand? Miss Warren forgot to giggle? Miss Parks would talk slowly? Miss Cahill would shout? Miss Sibson could not answer a question? Miss Indursky did not hold her breath? Miss Mainini pronounced her ings ? Cox didn’t know his English? Knox flunked English A? A SLIGHT PRECAUTION. Son—“Can you sign your name with your eyes shut, daddy?” Father—“Certainly!” Son—“Well, shut your eyes and sign my school report.”—Ex. GRAMMATICAL NOTE. Publisher In your story I notice you make the owl hoot ‘to whom’ instead of ‘to whoo.’ ” Author—“Yes, this is a Boston Owl.”—Ex. “What are they playing now?” “Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.” “Oh, dear! Have we missed the other eight?”—Ex. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 71 LOVE PROBLEM, NOT GEOMETRY. O, MLE what XTC I always feel when UIC. I used to rave of LN’s eyes, 4 LC I gave countless sighs; 4 KT, 2, and LNR, I was a keen competitor; But each now’s a non-NTT, 4 U XL them all, UC.—Ex. A certain young blade of Seattle Went forth with a black bear to battle; But alas for his pride, His shots all went wide, And the bear chased him back to Seattle. J. B. Roses are red; Violets are blue. They’re both much too expensive For a girl like you.—Ex. There was a young man from Tallahassee By chance, got a “crush” on a lassie; But she, wed to fame, Wouldn’t change her maid’n name; So he lives for a golf-ball and mashie. M. F. C. Of all the sad surprises There’s nothing can compare With treading in the darkness On a stair that isn’t there.—Ex. LIKE SOME OF OUR STORY WRITERS. She:—“Joe tried to write a book, but had to quit.” He:—“Why, what was the trouble?” She:—“Well, on the fourth page the hero swallowed an insult and choked down his anger, on page six he dropped his eyes and his face fell, and on page seven he was struck dumb with wrath and Joe was afraid he was too crippled by then to have as a hero, so he just quit writing.” 72 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. GRANDPA. Grandpa is stretched in the hammock, His legs hanging over in space; Grandpa is peacefully sleeping, A newspaper spread on his face; Grandpa is snoring serenely, There seems to be peace in his breast; His hands are contentedly folded, And a wasp has just lit on his vest. The insect approaches his collar, It dallies a while here and there, It finds its way under his paper, And Grandpa is up in the air. His legs are entwined in the branches, The buttons are torn from his vest— You can tell by his words and actions That grandpa’s no longer at rest. Eva Ramee, ’26. There was a young fellow called Smarty Who sent out invites to a party. So exclusive and few Were the friends that he knew That nobody was there except Smarty. B. I. P. HIS SENTIMENTS. New Office Boy:—“A man called here to thrash you a few minutes ago.” Editor:—“What did you say to him?” New Office Boy:—“I told him I was sorry you weren’t in.”—Ex. Professor:—“I am going to speak on liars to-day. How many of you have read the twenty-fifth chapter of the text?” Nearly every student raised his hand. Professor:—“Good! You are the very group to whom I wish to speak. There is no twenty-fifth chapter.” First Lad:—“Why, my father dropped twelve stories, and it never hurt him.” Second Lad:—“You don’t say so. How did that happen?” First Lad:—“He’s an editor.”—Ex. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 73 WHY STUDY? The more you study, the more you know The more you know, the more you forget The more you forget, the less you know So why study? The less you study, the less you know The less you know, the less you forget The less you forget, the more you know So why study?—Ex. VERY DIFFICULT. Obesity Doctor:—“Have you been keeping to the diet I prescribed for you?’’ Very Fat Patient:—“Oh yes, doctor, but it’s hard to get through my regu¬ lar meals as well.”—Ex. OLDER NOW. Boss:—“I thought I told you two weeks ago that you were not old enough for the job.” Boy:—“That’s why I came back again.”—Ex. There was a young miss of Fall River Who went to ride in a fliver; The brakes gave away On a cold rainy day, And they found her at last in the river. F. D. “We editors may dig and toil Till our fingertips are sore, But some poor fish is sure to say, ‘I’ve heard that joke before.’ ” “Your son must be the idol of the family.” “Yes. He has been idle for twenty-one years.”—Ex. Ralph:—“I have a Roman nose.” Alfred:—“Yes, it’s roamin’ all over your face.” 74 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. SAD EFFECTS OF SPRING. The farmer leads no EZ life, The CD sows will rot, And when at EV rests from strife His bones all AK lot.—Ex. THE UNHAPPY MEDIUM. Householder:—“You’re a big, healthy man; why don’t you go to work?” Tramp:—“Madam, I’ll tell you my trouble. I’m an unhappy medium.” Householder :—“Whatever’s that ?” Tramp :—“I’m too heavy for light work and too light for heavy work.” —Ex. AN EYE FOR BUSINESS. If the truth were known, it would probably be found that it was a plasterer who first suggested the Charleston as a ballroom dance.—Ex. f r There was a young man from Iowa Who thought he would imitate Noah. He had a small boat, But alas, got afloat And he isn’t seen any more. R. C. M. He:—“Did you hear about the scientist finding two skulls of Columbus, one when a boy, and the other when a man?” ' She:—“No. Let’s hear it.” She:—“I bet you are on the football team.” He (proudly):—“Well, yes: I do the aerial work.” She:—“What is that?” He :—“I blow up the footballs.”—Ex. A damsel whose name was Irene Was quite tall and exceedingly lean. Her form was so slender A slight breeze would bend her, And sideways she couldn’t be seen. A. E. B. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 75 HIGH FINANCE. “I’ve just been to the bank.” “Draw out any money or put some in?” “No.” “Well, what did you do?” “I filled my fountain pen.”—Ex. RESIGNATION. Customer—“Have you the same razor you used on me yesterday?” Barber—“Yes, sir, the same identical one.” Victim—“Then give me gas.” SHAMPOOED. Cop—“What’s the idea of stalling on the Main street?” Fair One (absently) :—“I just had my car washed, and I can’t do a thing with it.” CLASS EVENT. Miss Ryan, reading—“A fish is man’s best pal. Is the author serious, Carchio?” Carchio (dreaming)—“Yes, mam.”. Corporal:—“Hey you! Why haven’t you shaved?” Private:—“There were six others using the mirror and I think I shaved some¬ body else!”—Ex. He:—“ ‘The Last Days of Pompeii.’ Wonder what he died of?” She:—“Didn’t you hear about it? It was some kind of an eruption.”—Ex. Compliments of • ••• Compliments of ••• A FRIEND Thomas’ Hairdressing Room F. E. MANN AND COMPANY INSURANCE AND REAL ESTATE RING WELCH BLDG. MILFORD, - MASS. Compliments of •••• Excel Beauty Shoppe Anna Laquidora 76 ADVERTISING SECTION. Hkmarfra aoa Another year has rolled away, Another mile-stone passed, Another class now bids a fond fare-well. Your High school soon will be a dream, A dream to just recall And what the future holds no one can tell. ’Tis strange to sit and write this year And sadly retropsect The losses that will sort of dim the cheer. We should have smiles of happiness, But let us give a thought To those who would be smiling were they here. Among the pages of your book, As you sit and read them through; You’ll find two names perpetuated there. But it can’t be wrong to mention Those two fond names again, For you’ll find them in the lines most everywhere. One in the blush of her girl-hood, Another in sweet old age, Both called to eternal “recess” there above, Called by the master of teaching. Their “study” period o’er; They’ve left behind a legacy of love. Beneath a blanket of orchids One lay as we said good-by; It was just that her “vacation” time was here. No more problems to confront them, No more earthly cares or woes, They both are with Almighty never fear. Seniors, I know you’ll forgive me If I’ve used the page this year To recall the two who helped you gain this day. They both loved your Alma Mater, Oak, Lily and Ivy, too, And they’ll read it with the “Master” far away. There was another who read your book, Whom this year called away; He found pleasure just to dedicate this leaf. A student and a scholar, May I ask for just a thought For an unknown friend, whose stay on earth was brief. So this is a page of memories, Of memories that are dear, That will never be erased by Father Time. Fare-well you class of ’26, May I wish you all God-speed; Let’s not forget for the sake of Auld Lang Syne. JOE B. HURL, ADVERTISING SECTION. 77 B. VITALINI Dependable Goal Service 808 Tel. 593-R Milford, Mass. T. E. MORSE GO. 5 South Bow Street Painting and Decorating Paints and Wall Papers for Sale RICE’S CLOTHING STORE Central Street, Milford J. A. TYLER Manufacturer of Shoe Racks Screens, Sawing and Planing J. F. HICKEY Insurance and Real Estate 224 Main Street Milford - Mass. Compliments of. Woonsocket Mills Remnant Store All kinds of yard goods and dry goods Latest dress patterns a Specialty 91 and 95 Main St. Milford 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. 78 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. VOLK’S Where quality is higher than price Volk’s Dry Goods MELVIN SAND CO. 1 06 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Tel. 61 9 Hardware, Plumbing, Heating, Farming Tools, Seeds, Fertilizers, Paints, Oils and Sporting Goods a CLARK ELLIS SONS Cedar Street, Milford, Mass. Milford, - Mass Compliments of. Compliments of. DR. THOMAS J. NUGENT Dentist BENJAMIN LANCISI H Milford, - Mass. CHARLES E. COONEY Compliments of. Dry Goods a G. W. WOOD 222 Main Street, Milford ADVERTISING SECTION. 79 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 Wall Paper T. F. FLANIGAN t and DuPont Paints 42 Exchange Street Milford 80 ADVERTISING SECTION. XEbe Cbarleecraft flbress 43 Exchange Street Books, Pamphlets, Commercial Printing, Color and Halftone Printing, Wedding Stationery, Finest Correspondence Papers, Embossed and Engraved Work. This Book was Printed by ZbC Cbarl€0Ctaft P XC0B We Are Happiest Then I T is a pleasure for us to have you consult us about any one of your financial problems. And if we are able to ren¬ der you a service we are truly happy. S3 MILFORD NATIONAL BANK 5 £eu) c51 (Codes of Sunny Colors and Youthful Styles in Coats , Dresses , Hats For Women and tisses Virgie-Earl Company 2 1 5 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of Nolan Brothers An Old Bank with a Young Spirit ADVERTISING SECTION. 81 The Henry Patrick Go. ' J ' HIS business is large enough to furnish the largest variety, the best quality, and the lowest prices, to everybody. It is small enough to give the individual attention of the owners of the business to everyone. Its system of Profit Sharing, continued now for over forty years, insures the personal interest of each one of its thirty-six salesmen in serving the public. During its fifty-seven years of business life, it has acquired an enviable reputation. Compliments of. A. B. MORSE Druggist Try Johnson’s Parlor Coach on your next party and make it an enjoyable trip MELINE BROTHERS Wholesale and Retail Dealers in Wallpaper, Paints and Hardware 35 Central Street Milford Tel. 535-W Milford Grain Company Dealers in Hay, Grain, Straw, Mason’s Supplies a Beach Street Phone Conn. 82 ADVERTISING SECTION. “ROSY CHEEKS” Some Bushway Ice Cream every day for lunch will bring them. Contains vitamines for better health, makes strength, not fat. ' eg Patronize your school luncheon ADVERTISING SECTION. 83 P. Eugene Casey “The man who makes everybody happy.” Compliments of. Dr. William J. Clancy MILFORD, MASS. Compliments of. Joseph V. Carey M.H.S. 1914 Compliments of. DR. B. F. HARTMAN Veterinarian Milford, Mass. Phone 1266-R MILFORD DYE HOUSE CLEANSERS, DYERS, TAILORS The only dye house in Milford or in the radius of 25 miles doing business direct with the public and the public only. Work called for and delivered M. T. HAYES JERRY’S Tel. 1034 98Main St. Tel. 1213M25 Cedar St. Harris’ Flower Shop Potted Plants Cut Flowers Funeral Designs a Specialty Q T. F. COLBERT Pine Street, Milford, Mass. Store 411 -W LEO DeFILIPPIS, CUSTOM TAILOR OVER A. P. GROCERY STORE 118 MAIN STREET, MILFORD 84 ADVERTISING SECTION. Miscoe Ginger Ale A Beverage of the Best Quality Manu factured 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 MISSES MAY AND CATHARINE MACKEY Teachers of BALL ROOM AND ESTHETIC DANCING STUDIO, 29 GROVE STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS Telephone 554-R For your health eat good fruit The Tampa Fruit Company 176 Main Street Milford, Mass. Harry B. Torosian Sons PAUL WILLIAMS Insurance Broker 4 Poplar Street Tel. 192-W Milford, Mass. Compliments of % 4 Xucbltll Son ADVERTISING SECTION. 85 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 Real Estate Bought and Sold 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 EXPRESS Compliments of. JOSEPH H. DOYLE, Esq. AT GRADUATION TIME Your friends expect your photograph Special prices to graduates W. A. Flannery Photographer 224 Main Street, Milford, Mass. W1LLIAN SPECIALTY SHOPPE Everything for Milady Marjorie M. Connors Compliments of. Alfred J. Oliver, D. M. D. Compliments of aieian er ©UBiannantonlo IlMlfora. flDass. 86 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. CENEDELLA COMPANY £5 Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. DR. R. E. ELLSWORTH Dentist Milford, - Mass. C ompliments of.... J. F. CATUSI, Esq. Compliments of. JOHN BEGIAN TAXI Tel. 1111 “Distinctive Women’s Apparel” GORDON’S Fashion Shop 182 MAIN STREET Milford, Massachusetts Compliments of. WILLIAM A. MURRAY, Esq M. H. S. 1907 : Headquarters for Everything Musical and Electrical Electrical Construction BEACON SUPPLY COMPANY 117 MAIN STREET Milford, - Mass. Louis Vilensky Junk and Cattle Dealer 17 Green Street Telephone 24X Milford, Mass. E. H. NEISTEIN Junk Dealer 76 Depot Street, Milford, Mas Call 1 1-M WILCOX’S HAND MADE ICE CREAM WHOLESALE AND RETAIL The Old Reliable Store Formerly the Gillon Spa ADVERTISING SECTION. 87 AVERY WOODBURY COMPANY 212 to 214 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Interior Decorators, House Furnishers, Cut Glass SILVERWARE Berkeley Textile Company See us first Include our store on your shopping tour Leading Textile Store in town Koatings, Dress Goods, Linings Silks, Woolens and Wash Goods. Milford’s Leading Textile Store 209 MAIN ST., Telephone 178-M Tel. 544-M Office Hours 8-12—1-5 Dr. H. Ellsworth Morse Optical Specialist Suite 5, Thayer Building 219 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. W. J. WALKER Baker Block - Milford Compliments of MILFORD GAZETTE Compliments of DILLON BROS. Milford, - Mass. A. H. SWEET CO., Inc. Registered Pharmacists 1 64 Main Street, Milford, Mass, Milford Savings Bank 236 M. in str.e t , MMc-d, m... 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. 88 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 Builders 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, - Mas . Night calls, 3 Prentice Ave. Compliments of. Zorzi’s Collegians JOSEPH MORCONE 23 Main Street Milford, Mass. Bonded Banker Steamship Agent j Notary Public Justice of the Peace Our Purpose To serve you efficiently at all times Collins Drug Company The Rexall Store Milford, Mass. SPECIAL PRICES EACH WEEK Compliments of.... E. E. GRAY COMPANY Premium Brand of Bread Flour, Fancy Pastry Flour, M. and J. Brand of Coffee, Gray’s Extra Brand of Coffee QUALITY FIRST - ECONOMY NEXT 2 STORES 20 EXCHANGE STREET 23 SCHOOL STREET Compliments of. Compliments of.... Dr. R. E. Ellsworth A. Rosenfeld RICHARD HEALY COMPANY 512 MAIN STREET, WORCESTER Exclusive Frocks for Class Day, Prom and Graduation ‘Priced in Moderation Richard Healy Company Extends its sincere best wishes to the Class of 1926 Richard Healy Company 2 ADVERTISING SECTION. LAWRENCE MILLS Compliments of. REMNANT STORE THE OUTFIT Compliments of. CENTRAL BOWLING ALLEYS Best Alleys in town. Open all sea¬ son to ladies and gentlemen. 195 MAIN ST. Milford’s Largest Clothing Store THE ELITE MILLINERY Compliments of. Ladies’ and Children’s WEARING APPAREL SPECIALTY SHOP. GEORGE A. BARRY, Esq. 120 MAIN STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS Compliments of. Alfred B. Cenedella BURKE’S PHARMACY Attorney and Councillor at Law 3 Baker Building Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. Compliments of. lc to 99c Store BOSTON FURNITURE STORE 1 77 and 1 79 Main Street, Milford THE STORE OF LOW PRICES Compliments of 2 r. fiorr£ flIMett