Polytechnic High School - Polytechnic Student Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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Over hill, over dale, Through bush, through brier, Over park, over pale, Through flood, through fire, I do wander every where, Swifter than the moon's sphere, And I serve the fairy queen, A To dew her orbs upon the greenf'- Ah, the Boy knows! Puck! Robin Goodfellowli' he cries, springing from his hiding place. ' Alas! the fairy host vanishes at the mortal sound. There is only the gentle Avon, fiowing along in quiet peace, and the soft lapping of the water against the reeds. SUNSET IN IMPERIAL VALLEY Alfred Bennett, S'I6 The sun was setting and its level rays made the tawny bare cotton stalks show bronze in the soft fading light of that hot summer's day. A golden haze --the heritage from warm, dusty days-still hung in the air. It served to screen the glare of the descending sun and to deflect the yellow light into at soft shimmering over the fields. Above this source of light tens of thousands of little clouds, as light and fleecy as swan's down, some dazzling bright, some rosy-colored, some, far to the east, already purple, streamed across the pale sky in the mystic igure of a vast wing, as if a great archangel hovered below the horizon, pointing one jewelled pinion to the firmament, the other down and un- seen in his low flight. - Lost in the wonder of this vision in the heavens, I seemed to be carried far-from my surroundings into a supernatural realm. This angelic wing taught me that although we in our ceascless toils have forgotten the guiding presence of God from whence we came, nevertheless the sheltering wing of our Heavenly Father watches over and protects us at all times. I wish now as I did then that more men could or would see God in Nature and have a conscious knowledge of the omnipotent power of the divine Spirit. THE UNKNOWN Lucie Coen, W'l6 One cold windy afternoon in bleak November four men were sitting in big, comfortable chairs in one corner of a fashionable club room in Chicago. After discussing the stock market, the policy of the present administration, and vari- ous other subjects most interesting to men, Blair broke in. I see in this afternoon's paper that there is a big gold rush in Alaska, nearly equal to the stampede in the Klondike about fifteen years ago. By the way, Wymer, didn't you go in that wild panic to the frozen north years ago? Wynier laughed his big, hearty laugh and sank deeper into his chair. UI should say I did, he said, and I thank my lucky stars I'm sitting here today. Gad! I had some queer experiences and narrow escapes. Tell us about them, his friends said in chorus. Tell us one of your queer experiences, said Blair, we all have 'narrow escapes' There was a scraping of chairs and a scratching of matches before the men were settled and Wymer began his story. Upon arriving in the Klondike region, my partner and I filed a claim and 30

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worth Castle. Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, is coming and he will see her. For days he has listened in his father's shop to tales of the old men. Evening after evening he has cajoled his mother to tell him stories of the Good Queen, her beautiful ladies and gallant courtiers. Now the day has come. The old gate keeper has found a place where the Boy and his mother may see the glorious pageant while his father leaves them to perform those services due from the Bailiif of Stratford. As they wait, nothing escapes the observing eyes and quick ears of the eager Boy. He must needs ask the burly porters a thousand and one questions on as many subjects. Who is this? Why does he do that? Can he go up those stairs? What will he find there? What are those men doing? Have they ever seen the Queen? ls she so very different from his mother? Does she like boys? Can he go down and play in the stream? Have they ever seen fairies? And so on, until the porters are well-nigh exhausted. Hour after hour they Wait. The day is fast approaching night when a great hush goes over the throng, then a growing rush of applause. High above, from an upper casement, the Boy watches, spell-bound. The sight is far more gorgeous than he has ever dreamed. He hardly dares draw a breath for fear the scene may vanish. The Queen-how wonderful she is! She is actually talking to the Earl of Leicester, whom the Boy has once seen riding in the hunt over the meadows near Stratford. Elizabeth's long train of courtiers stretch away as far as he can see. Now she is within the castle 's walls. She is crossing the long bridge lighted bright as day by the glare from the torches. She stops, and barges, like bits of fairy land, float out into the stream, bearing pretty maidens and sending forth balls of fire which . . . Shot madly from their spheres To hear the sea-maid's music. But at last it is over. Such a holiday! Will there ever be another so magnificent? ' SF ik ilk Il! Il fl: if The Boy has slipped away into the twilight after supper with his old friend Fangs. Under the greenwood tree, VVho loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet birds' throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. He lies on the bank of the dreaming Avon. The warning note of the curfew Hoats up the river and falls on unheeding ears. The wonderful harvest moon has risen, slowly, above the farther bank, and fills the wood with long ropes of ever shifting light and shadow, like fairies at play. Suddenly the Boy gazes in wonder. They are fairies! They come trooping in from behind tree and bush, from under fallen boughs, and across the green. In rapture, he watches them dance as daintily as a summer breeze. Now they pause, each fairy balances herself airily upon a fragrant blossom, a blue violet, a primrose, or golden daifodil. But who is that gay elf who suddenly appears in their very midst? 29

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built our cabin before the long, dreary winter set in. As my partner thought he ought to return to Dawson for fresh supplies before the trail was closed up, he started off bright and early one morning. I didn't mind being left alone as I had a gun and enough supplies to last me a few weeks. At times it became monotonous and lonely with nothing to do but read books which had been read many times before, or perhaps write in my diary. The stillness settled down on one like a damper and I would catch myself looking up continually from my reading and listening, expecting to hear I knew not what. But the howling of a wolf afar off calling to his brothers was all I ever heard, until one day I did hear a voice hallooing. Running out of my cabin I saw two men-, one an Indian guide, the other a white man, standing by a sled. The sled was covered with blankets, but I could tell there was something under- neath them. On examining further I saw the something to be a young man in the last stages of a terrible illness. 4'The white man spoke up then. It seems that they had come from a boat which was anchored in the river five miles from my cabin. The young man was suffering from typhoid fever and, as it was impossible for anyone on the boat to nurse him, the captain thought they had better find some one on land who could care for him. The Indian had told them of me and offered himself as guide to my cabin. There was nothing for me to do but take the poor chap in. After making the invalid as comfortable as possible, the men departed. I must say that I was stumped at first, and at a loss what to do, but fortunately I had had some experience with typhoid and knew the fever had to run its course. My patient became quite fond of me and always called me iNurse.' Most of the time he was delirious, but in one of his sane moments he told me his name and gave me the address of his mother who lived in the States. In spite of my efforts to keep him alive he finally died. It was hard work making a coffin for him by myself and when I did finish it, it was a little short. As I pushed him into the coffin, his mouth fell open, giving a grotesque expres- sion to his face. This unnerved me so that it was some minutes before I could go on with my work. Somehow I cou1dn't get the thought of that poor fellow out of my mind and the picture of him lying in the bunk crying out in his delirium for his mother haunted me day and night. Three or four days after I had buried my patient I woke up in the morning feeling very queer. During the day I would catch myself listening intently, and as I gazed out over the frozen country, it seemed as if I could almost hear the deep silence. As night came on, my nerv- ousness increased and a little earlier than usual that night, I crawled into my bunk. How long I slept I never knew, but I awoke and sat up suddenly in bed. It was in the gray dawn of morning. I distinctly heard some one call, 'Nurse' The voice seemed right beside me. I don 't know why, probably because of the fright, I yelled out, 'Wl1o's thereil' As if in answer the call came again but farther away, 'Nurse, Nurse' It was the voice of my patient. Wymer paused at this point in his story just a second. There had been an ejaculation from one of the men and the others had let their cigars go out, but they had never taken their eyes off Wymer's face. The soft murmur of voices from different parts of the room came to them now and then. The story con- tinued. I jumped out on the cold, pine floor. A shiver went through me from head to foot. I rushed into the other room of the cabin just in time to see the door slowly close. How I reached my bunk again I never knew nor will I know how 31