Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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fir ing and colorful picture as would delight the eye of any Raphael. Throngs of women, perspiring, weary, tired, petulant, clamoring around a much-advertised bargain counter. With wild animal in- stinct, they shove each other ruth- lessly, snatching and discarding the articles on the table. Large, bulky ladies with wheezy move- ments push and elbow their way closer. Angular persons squeeze into incredibly small openings, amid groans and muttered phrases. Exasperated salesgirls hurry .to and fro, answering endless in- quiries, counting change, and eX- changing misiitting garments. The hot, stuffy atmosphere reeks with nerve-wracked, fatigued humanity. At the theatres, in dance halls, on streets, at bridge parties, on the boulevards, one sees them. Crowds, some pleasing to see, some excit- ing curiosity, some repeuanf, some pitiable. All members of one great Fraternity, all under one Protection. Solitude, which poets often eulogize, is all very well at times, but it may be depressing and even terrifying. There is something about a crowd, vivid, pulsating with life, that attracts like a mag- nate. There is a feeling of com- panionship and freedom when mingling with a crowd, to feel that everything is alive, to have every nerve tingling with anticipation. They are found everywhere, of every race,-crowds. 7 E. HARRIET DONLEVY 30 IT MAYBE CALLED TRITE-BUT- f'I'm on the shelf, saving myself for you. Alas! and alack a day! How weary the hours are. How dreary everything looks to me. How true are the words, Pride goeth before a fall. For I have fallen, ah yes, fallen so low that I fear I can never rise again. Lying here, day after day, no one noticing me, nobody caring whether I am here or not. And but a year ago, I was at the height of my popularity. THE PILGRIMH gggh gg, How I was sought! By kings, presi- dents, and beautiful princesses. They came miles to see me. The papers were filled with my exploits, and I was happy. Happy-what an empty-sounding word that is now to me! I am Hlled to overflow- ing with words-but what empty words they are now, to what they might have been. Lying here, I have had a chance to think things over, and it all comes back in a rush, that evening in the royal palace in a small country in Europe. I was lying on the beach in the park thinking of my visit to this delightful spot with the lovely Princess Vera. Lovely did not de- scribe her. Her beauty was ethe- real, a tall, slender, willowy girl, golden-haired, and blue-eyed-she seemed to me the lovliest girl in the world, but of course I could not tell her so. Was she not a princess? She was sitting on the grass by me, with her hands clasped in her lap, and her eyes fixed unseeingly ahead of her. She did not need me, so I settled back in comfort, con- tent to watch her. Presently I saw her lift her head, and fiing back the mass of rippling curls with one white, slender hand. Her eyes were intent on a small foot-path, leading into the forest. Suddenly she was on her feet in one supple, graceful movement, poised and eager. I looked toward the path, and saw emerging from the cool. green woods, a tall, slim giant of a boy. He was as dark as Vera was fair, with a look of love and fealty in his eyes. I wondered-. Have you the message? asked the Princess in her low, melodious voice. Give it to me. She stretch- ed one hand to him. She had forgotten me and he did not realize that I was there, so I decided to be an extremely in- terested spectator. The lad made a deep obeisance. Dear Princess-I have failed I he said in a low tone. Failed ? the word rang through the quiet of the summer afternoon, in a tone of mingled horror and contempt.

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THE PILGRIM 3 4 ' -F' x C - ,,, 'X' In L..S.L,..nL ETHER-WAVE MUSIC Professor Leon Theremin gave a recital of his ether-wave music in Carnegie Hall on March second. He has given several public demon- strations heretofore, and now plans a recital tour. He played Tschaikowsky, Schumann, Bach, Handel, Schubert, Raphael, and others, utilizing four instruments and instrumentalists in combina- tion and separately. Facing an instrument which resembles a radio receiving set, Professor Theremin makes passes with his hands and evokes music on his higher-pitched instrument corresponding in tone to that pro- duced by the violin. Here for the first time we have an instrument for the making of music without the usual accessories of strings, horsehair, reeds, and the like. Professor Theremin states that it is comparatively easy to play. One wonders what influence on the musical world these instru- ments would have if they were manufactured a la Ford at reason- able prices. Would they tend to displace such instruments as the violin? In order to play upon the average instrument, particularly upon the violin, the player must expend hours and hours upon technic. This has been the Water- loo of thousands who have essayed to explore the musical seas. If this obstacle could be removed, if the reformer could express his crav- ing for music at once, what would be the result? It would seem that such an in- strument would find a ready sale. The modern trend is to make the acquisition of knowledge and skill as painless as possible. We have always felt that, for music to have a real meaning to people, they should participate in making it, thereby exercising the ego. One of the reasons for the wide-spread use of the automobile is the fact that anyone can learn to drive one. And that much of the pleasure of riding is in driving cannot be de- nied. Therefore an instrument that anyone can play upon might prove a boon to music. H. BEAUREGARD '30 CROWDS At the fashionable resorts, one sees them, eager, restless people in search of that intangible thing, Pleasure. With their faultless speech, impeccable dress, and lux- urious environment, they aptly typify the often-scorned yet in- fluential wealthy class. Crowds of them, ineffective and selfish. They throng to the famous watering- places of Europe, to the vast stretches of sandy beaches lined with lounging, sun-tanned idlers, to the cool, green mountains, and to the white-capped Alps. Crowds of them, slovenly women, indolent men, and unkempt chil- dreng they are found in the stuffy tenements overflowing with hu- manity. They exist in the slums of every city, with barely room to move, slouching along the squalid pavements. The average individ- ual recoils from them,-yet they are happy. Here French rubs shoulders with Russian, Italian laughs with the jocular Irish. There are no barriers such as nationality and creed to these people. They mingle with perfect equanimity in their crowds. Crowds of little children, ra- diant and laughing, smelling fresh- ly of clean soap and water, playing in a broad. shady park. Their high- pitched, clear voices ring out as they jostle one another, or tumble on the soft grass. Fond mothers gather on benches to keep guard a.nd chat with neighbors. These cherubic youngsters form as pleas-

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THE PILGRIM 5 The boy bowed his handsome, black head. Failed, he repeated quietly. Oh, Gaylord! have you failed me, too? Sobs shook the slim figure, and she covered her quiver- ing face with her two, slender hands. Princess Vera- began the youth leaning toward her. She stood up suddenly, regally beautiful. Go!!' She spoke but the single word with such a world of scorn and disgust in her voice, that the lad turned pale, and, making an- other deep obeisance, vanished through the trees. In an abandon of misery, she threw herself on the mossy grass. Suddenly she leaped nimbly to her feet and came toward my seat. You can help me--you-, she cried in her thrilling, husky tones and snatched me into her arms. Then she set off across the field, taking me along with her. Coming to a small house, she knocked on the door and cried, 'Tis I, Vera. Enter, said a sad voice, and we complied at once. I have brought Magnolia with me, to cheer you up, darling, said the Princess, tenderly kissing the old ladyis withered cheeks. I began to feel foolish. Was this all Princess Vera had been making the fuss about? Was this- Why, here comes a girl who looks exactly like Princess Vera- it is she! Will she look? Will she know me? She does-! She's com- ing this way with Jenkins-she is! She is speaking! I am looking for a certain book, I forget the name, but the cover is white-with magnolia blossoms on it. The author? Let me see. John --Jone-a simple name-I have it -John Smith-yes, John Smith. Here it is, Madame, said Jenkins. 'Magnolia' is the name. She ran her finger quickly thro- ugh the pages, until she came to this, To Vera-with love--from Gaylord. This is my book! she cried. The words to a song popped into my head at this minute-- I'm on the shelf, saving myself for you. Yes, it's true, I'd been saving myself for this without knowing it, but now-now- Life is pretty good, even if you are only a book. MARGARET BROWN '30 TRIALS OF A STUDENT What do you say, Alec? Will you go to the show with me to- night? You can do your book re- port some other time, after the show, for instance. Say, brother, who do you think I am, the Prince of Nighthawks? I have to get up tomorrow morn- ing at four-thirty in case you don't know it. Oh, you should worry. To- morrow is Friday and you can sleep from eight P. M. to ten A. M., er-that is, if you aren't stepping out. You know what I mean ? Yeh, but this blooming, blasted book report. I just got the book this afternoon. A five-pointer with four hundred and ninety-seven pages-and it's due tomorrow. Oh, I'd like to invent a form of punishment for that English teacher. Just for spite, I'm going to the show. That's the way to talk, old man. Come on, it's quarter of eight now, and we'll miss half of the first pic- ture. We now drop in at Alec's home just after he has come in. Chuckl- ing to himself over the comedy that he has just seen, he is seen lying on his bed gazing at page twenty-six of the Biography of Ivan Zavanovichf' Ten minutes later he has advanced three pages backwards to the picture of Ivan's daughter opposite page twenty- three. Having gazed at Ivan's daughter and admired her beauty for all of half an hour, Alec de- cides that it would be much more comfortable to undress and get in- to bed where he can lie on his back and proceed with the torture of reading. This he did, but, having read for a while, the softness of his bed and the peculiar actions of his eyelids finally overcame his ability to read longer. Through the air shot a