Reading Memorial High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Reading, MA)

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2 THE PIONEER. We cordially invite every member of the High School to contribute to the columns of the Pioneer. Not one of us can afford to lose the opportunity for improvement which this will give ; and we are sure that no better chance can be found for laying the foundation of a journalistic career. Is not the abilit} 7 to write well as much of an accomplishment as the ability to read Latin and Greek? Should a student neglect anything so important as this? We trust that those who are endeavoring to make the most of their course of study will give the matter attention. THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES. This interesting story, written by Hawthorne while residing at Lenox, was given to the world in 1851. The scene is laid in Salem where are now many houses which claim to be the original “ House of Seven Gables.” This edifice was situated on Pyncheon Street. The whole outside was ornamented with quaint figures and the seven gables, pointing toward the sky gave it a proud, imposing air. The main entrance was between the front gables and was very wide. When the great house was built, at the appointed time, friends gathered from far and near for a sort of consecration. Alas! thus early in its history death crossed the threshold, for Judge Pyncheon at this gathering was found dead in his study. Some of the characters are very interesting, they are so strange. Let us look at Hepzibah on that eventful morning preparing her toilet before entering her shop. Hepzibah Pyncheon was, in every sense of the word, an old maid. She was tall and thin and always had a scowl on her forehead which seemed to those who did not really know her, as a bad omen. Before emerging from her room she makes a very careful toilet. Ah ! poor soul, she thinks she can make herself look better, but no amount of fine clothing can ever make Hepzibah look beautiful. Often one can hear a deep sigh escape as she moves to and fro. She opens and closes every drawer in her tall, old- fashioned bureau; she looks at the back of her dress to see that every fold is smooth and now, after kneeling beside the bed to ask Divine help for the day, we think she is ready. Why does she not leave her room, then? One thing more must be done ! Soon we see her turning a key in the small lock of a secret drawer. She takes out the small miniature of a young man. Who can it be? We have never seen the original, but if we had, we could not forget those lovely eyes and the firm, delicate mouth. Did Hepzibah ever have a lover? But no matter, let her indulge in this one pleasure of her life. She gazes at it long and tenderly and then carefully returns it to its place, and now Hepzibah Pyncheon crosses the threshold looking stern and harsh. But perhaps she does not feel so, poor soul, she has had a hard life shutting herself from the world, and now, in her old age, she realizes that she is poor and must earn a living. So she has fitted up a room for a shop in one corner of the spacious mansion. She has for sale many things to please and delight a child. She takes her place behind the counter trembling and eagerly awaiting the first customer. We leave her there with our best wishes, poor old soul. Phoebe was a lovely girl. She could hardly be called beautiful yet she was very interesting, like a child, yet womanly in appearance. Her brown hair which curled in pretty ringlets shaded her face tanned by the sun, while a ruddy, healthful glow showed she loved the air. Haw¬ thorne calls her half dozen freckles “ friendly remembrances of the April sun and breeze.” “ She was graceful as a bird ” and carried sun¬ shine wherever she went. The next morning after her arrival she helped get breakfast, for Phoebe had great tact and could be useful any¬ where. She stepped about quickly, humming some tune, making everyone feel lively and happy. She was the bright spot in poor Ilepzibah’s life. At first I had no patience with Clifford, who could only admire the beautiful, but when I saw how he had been wronged my heart warmed to defend and help him. Phoebe was a great com¬ fort to him. I was very much interested in the chapter telling about the death of Judge

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The Pioneer. Vol. I. No. i. READING, MASS., FEBRUARY, 1892. Price, 5 Cents. THE PIONEER. Issued on the 15th of every month during the School Year. Editor-in-Chief, . Bernard Barrows. Associate Editors :— Chester Kingman, Lucy Poore, Marion Prentiss. Business Manager . N. H. Hawes. Assistants: — G. H. Clough, Alice Eames, Grace Parker, H. L. Hill, Mabel Robinson. Five Cents per Copy. Advertising rates furnished on application. For sale at the various News Stands. Students are cordially invited to contribute to the columns of the Pioneer. Articles intended for publication , and all commu¬ nications relating to the Literary Department of the paper , should be addressed to the Editor-in-Chief Articles must be ' written on only one side of the paper. TENS AND ZEROS. Why all this toil, this constant strain Upon the mind, this tax upon the brain? O! “ ’Tis the strife for rank, for fame,” You say; “nor ease nor health outvalues name. For this, we study day and night; For this, we struggle with our mind and might: Farewell, all things that hold us down — We upward press to vict’ry and the crown.” But what avails this little gain, If after all your labor and your pain, When onward through life’s path you go, No longer tens, but zeros then you sow ' . We do not say, shun honest fame, Or reputation good, or spotless name: But are these wholly found in books, By him alone who delves with haggard looks? Then envy not the book-w’orm w ' ise, If all things else escape his narrow eyes; For life’s stern path must soon he trod, So make not schoolroom rank and fame your god. C. E. EDITORIAL. In assuming the editorial management of the Pioneer for the ensuing year, we make no pro¬ fessions as to what we are going to do, for indeed, we hardly yet know ourselves. A com¬ plete plan of action is not perfected in a week or a fortnight. All we have to say is that whatever lines of work we may decide to begin later, we consider ourselves pledged to certain principles. To make the paper the representative of the Reading High School, and always outspoken in her interests ; to stand for what we consider the highest and best in school life; to criticize impartially, to form our convictions honestly and to express them fearlessly ; these we maintain are conditions binding on us on account of our position. In conclusion we think we have a right to ask one thing, namely : that the students themselves will take an active interest in the paper. The editors will do their best, but it will be impossible for them to act successfully without the coopera¬ tion of their schoolmates. As the winter wears away and mid-year rapidly approaches, we all begin to look forward a little to the pleasanter days of spring, and the closing weeks of the year. Especially do the Seniors begin to realize that they have started on the “home stretch” as a class for the last time. They will soon begin to prepare themselves for the momentous occasion which they have been long anticipating. After finishing their studies here, a large portion of the class intend to take examinations for entering some college, and further prepare themselves for their work in life.

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THE PIONEER. 3 Pyncheon. Hawthorne leaves us for such a long time in suspense before we know whether the Judge is dead or not. The story of sweet Alice Pyncheon was very sad. Maule was cruel to hold her by his power. Wherever she was, if he said “Alice, dance,” she would immediately dance a jig. It finally killed her and no man was more miserable than Maule on the day of her funeral. He only meant to humble her not to kill her and she was dead. But before we leave them all let us look at the House of Seven Gables on the night of the return of Hepzibah and Clifford. The sun is setting and lights up the old house making it look really beautiful. Holgrave and Phoebe are talking together and very happy, for Phoebe has given him hand and heart. What a different scene in the parlor! The Judge sits in a chair, his stern, hard features even more stern and hard in death. They soon hear a noise as if a door was opening, and before Holgrave can open it Clifford and Hepzibah walk in, “ Thank God, my brother, we are at home,” says Hepzibah and they all truly rejoice in that happy reunion. Now we reluctantly leave them, having much enjoyed their short acquaintance. I see no real harm in reading such a story as this except to a nervous and easily excitable person. Hawthorne excels in his descriptions of persons and scenes. His adjectives are very well chosen and his English of the smoothest and best. I became so much interested that I could hardly leave it. Any one who has not read it ought to, for it is a standard work. I think Hawthorne’s chief idea in writing was to show that the wrong doing of one generation lives in all successive ones. Nowhere else is to be found t such moral power combined with an aitistic finish so perfect. His province was narrow, but wdthin it he was master. Cashier — “Do you know when double entry was first used?” Book-keeper—“Yes; when the animals entered the ark two by two.” Caller—“Doesn’t it worry you to think of your daughter on the ocean ?” Old lady—“Lands sakes, no. She can swim.” A RAINY MORNING IN THE ATTIC. Many days of my summer vacation, spent at my grandmother’s in an old country farm house are remembered with great pleasure, but I recall one which I enjoyed more than all others. A pouring rain prevented a picnic which I had been anticipating with great pleasure, therefore I fear I was rather stormy as well as the day. After w r andering aimlessly through all the rooms of the house seeking comfort, I went to the attic for consolation as was my custom at home. I thought I had come to a very interesting place as I stood on the top stair and looked around me. Such a collection of antique furniture I had never seen before. There was the old spinning wheel which had spun my grandmother’s wedding dress, some beautiful brass andirons which are held sacred because George Washington sat be¬ fore them when he spent the night with my great grandfather during the revolution. I went and sat down in an old fashioned chair having the most beautiful tidy that I ever saw, a perfect cobweb. Opposite me le aning against the great old-fash¬ ioned chimney was a rusty old gun, which, though not the “the sword of Bunker Hill,” was the gun which my great grandfather used so valiantly in that battle. Right beside me was an old chest of drawers, one of which was open a little way showing a package of old letters. I eagerly seized these for I am very fond of read¬ ing such literature. The first I opened was writ¬ ten to my mother by one of her harum-scarum schoolmates. It read as follows :— June 17th, 1827. “Dear Maud,— In my last letter I told you that mother was going away and her maiden aunt was coming to keep house for us. Well, mother left us early this moruing and Aunt Martha soon appeared carrying a great carpet bag and green umbrella. I saw her coming up the street, so went to receive her with due ceremony. She had just reached the gate as I opened the door, and these were her first words of welcome : ‘ Don’t stand there let¬ ting the flies in, I’m not so weak that I can’t open the door ! Probably you have left the milk boiling over on the stove and the bread burning