Salem State University - Clipper Yearbook

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Philip. It was a cold rainy day in the late fall. The wind was blowing furiously, and the men and women, as they hurried home after their day's work, were beaten about at the mercy of its cruel, cutting blast. The electric lights glimmered and flickered in the growing dusk. A boyish figure, pitifully thin and wan, passed along the crowded thoroughfare. One hand clasped a battered and frayed violin-case, the other was thrust into his pocket, not for warmth, but in order that it might grasp the money, the precious money, that was to buy so many good things for Grandad, to make him well again. His childish heart grew sad as he thought of the patient sufferer lying so still, in the unfurnished desolate room he called home. As the rain came down upon the upturned face of the child it mingled with bitter tears which told how hard was the struggle he was daily making. Suddenly rousinghimself from his revery he grasped the shabby case more tightly, pulled the tattered cap down farther on his head, and walked more swiftly. Threading his way through narrow streets overtopped by crowded tenement houses, along hyways and alleys, he came at last to a door which he quietly opened. The room was cheer- less and forlorn but the lad thought not of this, his only thought was of the figure lying on a rude eoueh in the corner. Rushing tothe bed and kneeling down he asked, H A re you better, dear Grandad? The weary eyes opened and rested with a look of deep love and tenderness on the boyish face. H Yes, Philip, much better 5 then with a sigh of contentment! Play. Slowly the boy took the instrument from its case and pressing it lovingly against his cheek began to play. Strains of music, earessingly sweet and tender, filled the room. Vueouseious of time or of his grandfather's presence the boy played on and on, soothed by the charm of his own melody, until he ceased and looked toward the couch for the smile which was his best reward. A twang from the instrument, a shriek from the boy, and he threw himself on the bed. -f U my firandad, my dear flrandad, I love youg come back to your Philip. Solis shook thi- frauu- of the lad. Slowly, and still more slowly the sobs came until at last the ohild was still. The lire went out, the room grew colder and Colder, and the only sound was the beating of the rain against the window-pane, and the sighing of the wuul. G. A. B. '05. Model Remarks by Model Children. .X magnet, if la-I loose, will turn north and south. Shi- had a diamond and it falu-re-cl in the sun. 'I'Iu-u- wwf- so many piuuavlos in the royal tower that in the distance it looked lilo- iugmy' spike-s on top of a rock. Au i-xf'lanuatm'y sc-nlmwe is a surprising sentence, that is, when you say it quickly. Nlaluer is a solid, liquid or gas which eauuot oem-upy the same space at once. N

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To Miss Dodge, Breathing forth a gentle fragrance Like a dear sweetbrier rose, Scattering its bit of sweetness On each passing breeze that blows. Cheerful like the blessed sunshine Of an Indian summer noon, Making troubles fade and vanish And the whole world seem in tune. Brave and dauntless as the oak-tree Battling with the wind and storm g Should one bow before the Storm-God Weakly yield to Pain the palm? With a heart kept young and open To each human joy and fear, In the shadowy realms of book-land Or the land of now and here. Loving all things fair and holy, Striving that unseeing eyes May be opened to the beauty That about them hidden lies. Knowing with a certain knowledge That on one most glorious day Wrong shall be forever conquered, Right take up her healing sway. Such the gracious little woman Who has found a royal place In the heart of every school-girl She has strengthened for life's race When that race seems long and weary Rough the road and dim the goal, Then fresh courage shall be gathered From the thought of this brave soul

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The Disposition of New Ideas,-A Lesson in Pedagogy. What happens to a new idea? That is, what is its experience when it makes its appearance in the mind of a human being? The answers to such questions have both interest and importance. They are interesting because they involve a careful observa- tion of one's mental processes and often disclose the striking, not to say radical differ- ences which exist in human minds. They are important, because upon the treatment accorded to new ideas depend the amount and the kind of movement which individuals make on the line of progress or retrogression. It thus affects, in the aggregate, the position of the race itself. Our faculties of observation are constantly coming into intimate relations with the external universe. That universe reacts upon the faculties. Sensations and percep- tions result. An idea which has hitherto been unknown makes its appearance and claims hospitality and even residence. In the first place, one would endeavor to put such a stranger into his scheme of thought as it actually exists. He would try to interpret it in the terms of a language with which he is already familiar. If this attempt appears to succeed, the attempt would then be made to ascertain the relations which the new-comer sustains to ideas already possessed. This, of course, is merely to push the first attempt a little further g it operates both as an exploration and as a test: it is a continuation of the effort to 'rind a common friend. The discovery of a mutual interest greatly promotes the pro- gress of acquaintance when one meets a stranger. So, if any relation, friendly or otherwise, can be discovered between the new idea and some previous possession of the mind, the quality of strangeness is reduced, even if it is not altogether removed, and the pathway to future intimacy is opened. Such an attempt may discover the family 01' class to which the stranger belongs. We may even find that it belongs to some family or class with which we are already acquainted. Thus its heredity, its relationships, its blood-kindred even, may be dis- closed. A successful attempt of this sort will greatly increase our feeling of acquain- tance with it. Then comes our estimation of its value. We are already far past the field of per- ception proper and we feel that the mechanical portion of our work is completed. Men may agree up to this point and yet take widely differing paths thereafter. A lion is to all men a lion,-but when several men estimate the value of a lion, wide diversity is the only possible result. Bunker Hill monument is a towering pile of cut granite, whoever be the gazer, but the value of the shaft is one to an Englishman and quite another to an American. A forest yields the same rays of light to the gaze of an artist, a lumber-dealer, a shepherd, or a lover, but the estimates of its value will great- ly vary. What men are, as determined by all they have known and felt and done determines and explains their answers to the question, what is the value of this idea? It is worth- less, indifferent, or valuable, according as it relates itself to our universe,-that uni- verse which each constructs, interprets, and inhabits for and by himself. The recognition of such a process, constantly going on in every human mind, ex- plains many things that are more or less perplexing. It explains, for instance, the 9