Momence High School - Monesse Yearbook (Momence, IL)

Page 18 text:

16 The Monesse She’s a bonnie creature. And no one could be calmer Than Miss Palmer An her classes of lads and lasses. When o’er the: history scenes my memory wakes And fondly broods with miser care She but the impression strongly makes As streams their deeper channels wear. Euphonically She teaches Economically The breaches in the world of wealth. She: says, “Through efficiency The solution of the national constitution Would be in proper distribution.” For a Britton I’ll sing- an auld Scotch song As I hurry along-. To her mirth and g ' ood humor Which are coin in her purse And my admiration for her nae monarch can touch. To the tune of good music We’ll forgather with sorrow and care. We’ll be contented with little But happy with mair. So here’s to Miss Britton and there’s nothin’ more- fit-tin’ in Sunshine and rain Ojf all the teachers that I’d gently scan There’s one whio’d appeal to the heart of man And that is Miss Stone. Her art ranges from a Scotch scone To stewin’ a soup bone. The man is a drone who would leave her alone. She can sew and make a bow For her hat. So you know that She’s an artist, The very smartest In the line She’s fine. SO THESE ARE THE PLUMS FROM THE FACULTY PIE OF MOMENCE HIGH. “Pardon me if I am too loud.”—Ruby Lamport

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The Monesse 15 Until my veins convulse to keep up the gallop. Your patience, too 1 , I’d praise 1 , For days and day You watch our backward ways, Learning the maze of shorthand. To you I’d say, “Come what may, None but the brave deserve the fair.” When Christmas eve was drawin’ nigh Miss Williams pulled her Overland gears in high. Even though the wind blew as twad blown it’s last And the snow rose on the blast. She was far too wise to take Mr. Lee’s advice, But started on the long Wisconsin miles Through snowy lanes and slaps and stiles Despising winds that tossed her car like a quoit She arrived safely in Beloit. When asked how she said with a bow, “Avoiding wrecks Let the unknown quantity equal X Which was the RT. I wanted to go. Odin, a god, a seer, Chose the Valkir, Choosers of the slain To ride white cloud horses across the plain To choose heroes for Valkalla. Mr. Munson, to follow Odin’s example gave us a sample Of a Hero laden Norse maiden For French and Latin. So one matin When September had begun We saw Miss Mauritzson. Her face is always a rosy red, Her hair an aurora around her head. Once in a profound hush We saw the psychology of her blush. On a bloody battlefield where French and Latin reeled She was loadin’ Heroes of Odin Reflected bloodshed made her face red. Of all the airts the wind can blaw We dearly love the South, From there the bonnie lassie comes, From the land of flowers and dreams. There wild woods grow an’ streams flow An’ mony a hill between; And at night in the pale moonlight Fairies dance about, While Miss Coontz watches with calm delight Such linked! sweetness long out. In History There’s no mystery About our teacher. Prominence is my ambition.”—-Harold Liberty

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The Monesse 17 “I am one of the minimum essentials.”—Henry Beaupre