Oakfield High School - Oak Leaves Yearbook (Oakfield, WI)

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JESSIE E. RIPLEY ETHEL E. McKNIGHT ALVIN C. EHRHARDT J1ARSHALL R. MOSES, Jr.

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A lunatic certainly does ordinary things in unusual ways and unusual things in ordinary ways, and at first these actions are sulphitic; but after they have been repeated several times they cease to shock or surprise us, that is to say, they have become Bromidic. An actor in vaudeville may play a part of life very familiar to us, and we are in doubt as to whether he is a clever performer impersonating someone or a crude amateur doing his very best. In a word, is he a Bromide or a Sulphite? Friends, we are all born with certain Bromidic tendencies and these ten dencies seem to manifest themselves most strongly in our youth. Where is there a boy who does not want to be like his chums and carry a jack knife with a chain on, and the girl who does not tease her mother to make her dresses longer because Mary’s are longer? However, a child displays just as many Sulphitic ten- dencies as he does Bromidic, for if anyone exhibits a sense of originality in saying or performing ordinary things in unusual ways, or unusual things in ordinary ways, it is the average boy or girl of tender years. With the disappearance of youth, age to some extent does away with these childish fancies, but in any case some trace of the tendencies is apt to remain, Parents and teachers, these little brains, though they be active and alert, need to be developed, and you are the overseers of this development. Carefully mold these young lives; like models of clay you can shape and frame them as you choose. In addition to developing in them a just sehce of what is right and good, arouse within them a spirit of originality, if you can. Away with the restraint of age and custom!. Let us be our true selves regardless ot society’s creed. May we build our castles of thought instead of dwelling within those of our predecessors. In other words, let us be able to think for ourselves so that we will not need to draw our conclusions from what the world says. If we want to see in the future, a man, who as an independent th’.wker, will surprise his fellow men with new theories and demonstrations of brilliant, original thought, we must cultivate the characteristics of that ideal in the child. In the beginning, teach him some of the basic facts of life: or perhaps arouse his curiosity so that he will be able to find out some of them for himself; stimulate him to take an interest in his surroundings, make him. observant; but above all, teach him to do his own thinking;so that when he plays his part in life’s drama, it will be original and not a repetition of what others have done. Ethel McKnight. CROSS QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS. Ques. Of what delicacy is Lilian very fond? Ans. Pratt’s Food. Ques. Why doesn’t Fred mind getting so near the fire? Ans. Because he is not afraid of Burns. Ques. What kind of a heart has Alvin? Ans. An Ehrhardt. Ques. Where does Lee keep his treasures? Ans. Underwood. Ques. When does George enjoy himself the most? Ans. In the “Summertime.” Ques. Why are Grant and Royal benefactors to humanity? Ans. They are Wells What makes Blanche valuable in the winter? Ans. Cowles. Ques. Who is the Marshall of our class? Ans. .Moses. Ques. What is the long and short of the Freshman Class? Ans. Jennie and Grant. Ques. What is the Sophomore’s pet? Ans. A Lamb.

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SHADOWS. The Veil Lifted From the Future! Pause! Enter! Ascertain! This startling announcement arrested my attention as I was strolling down the street. “The class of 1907” flashed through my mind. Ascending thr steps, I rang the bell. The doer was opened by a solemn porter who showed me into a small room hung with oriental tapestry. A handsome woman of eastern aopearance, arose and fixed upon me her large, unfathomable eyes. After some minutes of silent scrutiny, she led me to a large crystal which was half-filled with what appeared to be a semi-transparent liquid. “Watch closely and listen,” she said. Then she left me. I gazed into the sphere. Soon dark shadows appeared in the liquid; these began to assume definite shape. A large hall crowded to the doors. An entranced hush seems to hold every one breathless.. .Upon the stage, a slender young woman is rising from the piano. It was evidentlyt her magic touch that had cast a spell upon the audience. As she turns, a storm of applause breaks forth. I catch a glimpse of her face and an exclamation of suprise bursts from my lips, for it is—Jessie. Immediately the picture vanishes, I gaze intently and the second vision appears. A race course, an impatient crowd moving restlessly back and forth. A rumor seems to spread through its midst, for suddenly all press forward toward an enclosure. In this enclosure, a group of men stand around a black horse which is lying on the ground. A gray haired man kneels at its side. He now arises and, shaking his head, says, “There is only one hope left.” I can not understand the instant reply. A messenger is sent into the crowd., and after some time returns accompanied by a young man who carries a case in his hand. A sense of familiarity comes over me, but I do not analyze it. The young man kneels r.t the horse’s , side and after looking at it closely, works over the animal for some time, and arises. “Gentlemen,” he says, “Firefly is all right and will be able to tun her race tomorrow.” As he turns to leave, a shout of joy bursts from the crowd. “Underwood, Underwood! the famous surgeon,” responds from all sides. “Can it be?” I think and look closely at the young man. Yes, it is our Lee. A little cottage nestling among the trees. Roses and old-fashioned flowers make it a thing of beauty. At a table under the shady trees, sits the white clad figure of a woman. She has her back turned to me and is busily engaged in writing. I peep over her shoulders; “Bust and Busters,” a curiosity rousing title, “All the people of this world may be divided into two classes, Dust and Dusters,” that seems to strike a chord in my memory. I see several books lying on the table and glance at the titles, “Recognition” by “Nib,” “Poems” by “Nib,” “Maria Stuart.” Translation by “Nib.” “Nib,” I murmured, “Why, that is—” at this moment she arises and I see her face. My memory has not played me false. “Nib” is our dear Ethel. A hot, dusty court room, a strained attention, all eyes are fixed upon the prisoner, who, pale and hopeless, looks at the prosecuting attorney who, having finished what was evidently a convinc nc? sreech, sits down. All doubt see to have fled from the faces of the jury. Now arises a tall young man, and taking his stand before the judge, begins a last plea for the prisoner. As he pro-