Morris High School - Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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Efranalating latin THINK it is not unusual for many a Morrisite to begin his lessons at a late hour, and to begin them then only if a special inducement demands it. Being a llflorrisite, I often found it convenient to forget about mine until it was late. But to-day my mind was free from such trifles as lessons. I had prepared them all, and was now perusing at my leisure that very fine work by Mark Twain, 9 Q entitled A Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur's 0 Court. Though my feet were not on the table. N qR',,,,,l,flW and I had no cigar .in my mouth, I felt perfectly ,mllfl,XNml41NXM contented. Everything pleased me, even the loud ,lx',,tiill' My ' singing and terrible piano racket next door. 'E The wise Yankee was just matching his wits against the Magician Merlin when-a terrible thought dawned upon me: I had not done my Latin and there would be an exam. to-morrow. The innocent book was at once cast away, and hastily seizing my Caesar, I settled down to work. Like that famous gentleman whose book I studied, I came, I saw, but unlike him, I had not yet conquered. All went well for some time. I had managed to translate some of the text, master the constructions, and learn the declensions, in spite of those commendable musical efforts going on next door. But now the ambitious singers were climbing up to higher altitudes. My room fairly rang with the echo of their voices. Still I plodded along and read, Rogare ut ejus voluntate id sibi facere liceatf' VVhat could that mean? Putting my hands in my pockets, I stretched my body in as straight a line as the chair per- mitted, and gazed at the ceiling as if to find a solution there. But presently, instead of finding thersolution, I found myself whistling to the tune played next door. Thunders! What kind of foolishness was that? I must translate Latin! And with my head in my hands, and elbows on the table, again I pored over the book. The singing continued, the piano hammered on, and I kept on at the grind. Rogare ut-Bang! went the piano and higher rose the voices. Ah, Caesar was wise. That rogare must refer to the rogues who raised such a racket. Yes, that is clear. and it could not be other- wise. Tra-la-la- sang on the voices. Tinkle, tinkle, bang, bang, bang! answered the piano. I grew distracted. The Latin letters danced to the music of the laboring artists. Rogare, voluntate, liceat pranced before my eyes. Suddenly my thoughts cleared. I had an idea. O, the foresight of the great 14

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A POINTED ARTICLE UN TACKS Tacks often tax our patience, and the most amiable man living has at some period of his life hurled invectives at its head, or rather at its point. Yet it is also true that the rise of many a poor man dates back to a tack. Many an early spring also owes its origin to them. Like all things which have an uplifting influence on mankind, the tack is frequently derided, but no matter how much you may abuse it and hammer at it, it always keeps its head up. ARCHIE DAWSON, 2-4. P W Utne Happiness OT when we seek, Nor when We most desire it, Does happiness enfold us in her midst. lVIere merriment ?-Amiss! N Jrwnli my M1 'Tis not true happiness That makes a show of every wanton fancy. fill To serve a foe as friend, W And all our fellow-men, In thought and word and deed, ' N' T' And set at nothing empty praise: To harbour lofty thoughts- The fruit of Nature's charm, Is to be happy, truly, deeply happy. HARRY S. BERKOFF, YIS. 13

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TRANSLA TIN G LA TIN Roman! O, his adaptability to present circumstances! The volun- tate liceat could mean nothing but to voluntarily lick those aspiring musicians. Rogare voluntate liceat means to voluntarily lick the rogues, At last I conquered. My Latin was translated. Now I could peacefully resume my reading and sleep at night without a care. GEORGE GREENBERG, ,15. mar HAT a day! When comes another? I Hear the bugles sounding, mother! See how gaily rides my brother Off to war! See the sun from his sword glancingg See his plumed helmet dancing, As his foam-Hecked steed goes prancing Off to War! Now the battle banner's flyingg No time now for tears or sighingg Hear the frenzied people crying, 'On to warl' On to war and battle goryg Brother, win a place in story! On to war and age-long glory! On to warln Loud the merry bells are ringing: Hear the war-Worn victors singingg Spoil of conquest they are bringing Back from war. Hear the soldiers' joyful humming Rise above the martial clrummingg But-her brother is not coming Back from war. THOMAS MURPHY, ,I5. 15