Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. president and replied, “Thanks, aw- fully.” Then producing a piece of scrap-paper, and grinning at the waving trees, he rambled — As green as Pat’s emerald necktie, As fresh as a messenger kid: For Freshmen will be Freshmen, And do as they always did. What will the Sophomores do to them? Yes, what will they do, 0 quid! The Sophs will just be Sophomores, And do as they always did. What will their finish be. my friends ? Thus 1 close my little rid. For poets will be poets. And do as they always did. I I “Extinguish him!” thundered the president. He was promptly “extinguished” by six stalwart footballists. But there was a struggle. And in that struggle every- thing became blurred to the sleeping hero of this tale. With cries of “ A das! A has! every one rushed at his neighbor, and there was a lively melee, like a gigantic football game, with wails and shouts, a perfect hullaballoo. The dreaming Sophomore awoke, shuddered, turned over, and went to sleep again, muttering,— “The next time I play poker my name’s Cicero.” Zbc Bells of Sheathness Mlaoe. LESLIE II. GRANT. A tale, —I’ll tell. A tale, —I’ll tell. Thus ring, to this day, the bells of Sheathness Village, as they swing in the ivied, square-roofed tower overlook- ing the little square. But perhaps you are not acquainted with Sheathness Village. If you are, you will bear me out in my story; if not, I will try to enlighten you. Sheath- ness Village nestles in a green vale of pasture lands, with here and there an acre of oaks to relieve the eye, and is not more than a mile from the Sussex shore; so near, in fact, that when the southern gales are blowing, the “rote,” or low roaring of the beating seas, can be heard plainly by the villagers. “A tale—I’ll tell!” ring the bells; but though they iterate and re-iterate the promise, the telling is left to the inn-keeper of the “Three Trees,” almost under the shadow of the bell tower. The host of this quaint, sleepy hostelry is a harmless, amiable fellow, who, with- out much pressing, will tell you the whole story, with many embellishments of his own thrown in. I suppose nearly every old English village has its “village tale,” but this one is of especial interest to me, perhaps, because I enjoy such lore, and perhaps because it was told me on the very spot of its occurrence. The host, it seems, received this story from his grandfather by word of mouth, and he, in turn, from his grandfather, who was the host of the “Three Trees” at the time. One very stormy night in late Octo- ber the bells rang out the warning that a ship had gone ashore at Sheathness Hook. This ship was a large French brig. From the wreck but eight or nine persons were saved—an old Frenchman with his servant, and his daughter, a beautiful girl, a young English soldier, and four or five of the crew. The Eng- lishman swam ashore with the girl—the rest were saved by the townspeople. Most of the wreckage was claimed by the people, but several large boxes were proved to be the old man’s property, and were taken to the inn where he took lodgings. The English soldier proceeded on to London, but the French family remained in Sheathness. There the old man pro- duced from his rescued boxes a variety of queer bottles and flasks, and mortars and pipes which he (the inn-keeper) did not disturb, as they savored strongly of witchcraft. These things the guest set up in his room and worked there con- tinually, making queer powders and other such things.

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IO SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. to him that he was at a huge school gathering. His mood taught him that each of the four divisions was an under- graduate class. 11 is common-sense told him that grouped immediately about the stand were Seniors, that directly before it were Freshman, that the haughty ones were fellow-Sophomores, and the others just Juniors. But the nature of the exercises completely puzzled him. At length it seemed quite natural to query of a youth whose recognized leader- ship and unlimited self-confidence proved him to be no other than the president of the Senior class and master of cere- monies,— “ What sort ot a shooting match is this ? ” “ These,— O ignorant one,—these are the Woodbine exercises. Here, annu- ally, we gather black sheep into the fold, we welcome the Freshmen, as it were. Here, annually, the president of the Senior class hands down to posterity an oration. That,” he remarked, pointing to the large, black stage, “is the centre- piece. am the master-piece.” Just then everything became silent, and all attention was turned toward a solemn procession issuing from under the gloomy branches. A Sophomore and a Junior supported a large draped motto, escorted by a dozen hushed Seniors in lock step. Evidently “Quak- er’s meeting ” had begun. They paused before the pulpit, and raised the placard high above their heads. The president mounted the stairs, all the Seniors re- moved their hats, and the stillness be- came oppressive. At last, clearing his rhetorical throat, he began — “ My children, our first duty is to bid you welcome. It is done. It is our next to prepare you for the obligations you take upon yourselves by thus entering our classic halls and woody grove. Your first perquisite is a motto. Recognizing the fact that your inexperi- ence would render it difficult, we have consequently made the choice for you. Torches! ” At this, two flaming lights were held before the chromo, and the president gracefully reached over and loosed the drapery, declaiming,— “ Ignorance is bliss.” “ The Latin for which is er — er — £. Pluribus Unum, which you see engraved upon this canvas. It is your motto, 'lake it — keep it — live up to it — out- grow it. Marshals, do your duty ! ” The whole escort advanced, and the marshals unsmilingly presented the pon- derous daub to the only Freshman in long trousers, whose embarassment proved too great for words. Next, the other class presidents were called upon to volunteer advice. The sub- stance of the Junior’s remarks was just this — “ a little learning is a dangerous thing.” The Sophomore prated more extensively, yet said much less. Finally he unconsciously succeeded in creating the impression that if the last speaker’s words were true, Sophomores would never be very dangerous. Other re- marks were given and received, argu- ments were made and un-made, all out- lining the Freshman's position, obliga- tions, present uselessness, and hope of future value. Throughout all these ser- vices a serious, solemn, almost sombre vein had been sustained. It had seemed necessary to present to the Freshmen a calm, indifferent demeanor, a contrast to their own child-like maneuvers. The Senior president himself, by his taciturn and laconic sentences, discouraged any approach to light-headed clatter, and with his classical frown crushed all hys- terical chuckles. Again the Seniors resumed control. Again the master of ceremonies rose to the occasion. Again he addressed coun- selling words to the attentive throng. “ Colleagues, the dawn appears. Freshmen, at last reflective realization dawns upon your vacant minds. To accomplish this, to make you see your duty clear and give you strength to do it,— that is why we hold these brief sepulchral exercises. Now prepare yourselves for the worst. Among us is a strange phenomenon, a man out of place in his surroundings, with oily tongue but shallow mind, — gentlemen, it is with grave misgiving and severe apprehen- sion that I permit our poet laureat to spout. Cave canem. Nothing daunted this black-hearted individual rose. With both hands in his pockets he humorously bowed to the

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. The old man is described as tall, thin, and slightly stooped, wearing always a black gown and skull cap. Nearly all the time he remained m his workshop. But when mine host described the beau- tiful girl, he waxed as eloquent as though he had seen her with his own eyes. She was not very tall, he said, but as grace- ful and as lissom as a larch, with laugh- ing eyes and sunny hair and cheeks that rose-luies never equalled. Sometimes she assisted her father by writing down the results of his observations, some- times roamed about the meadows, sing- ing now and then a little snatch of some French song, for she knew not a word of English, and her father not much more than enough to make himself under- stood. The servant was a huge, broad fellow, as strong as an ox, and as stupid. Of course the curiosity of the country people was greatly aroused by these three strange foreigners. So much so, indeed, that the village lads sadly neg- lected the village maidens to get a smile or a glance from this beautiful French girl None dared approach her, how- ever, when her father was about, for he guarded heras a miser his hoarded gold. Through the long winter the old man worked at his seemingly never-ending task. From his room, the keeper said, came odors, as of sulphur, and net in- frequently was heard a small explosion. Less and less frequently did the French- man appear in public. His daughter, also, was with him more in the locked room. These mysterious doings began to arouse suspicion in the minds of the ignorant, superstitious country people. Some openly declared the strangers to be witches. She must have the “evil eye,” they said, else how could she so fascinate all the village lads ? And the sulphur smells that came from the work- room, were they not direct manifesta- tions of the Evil One? The two must surely be in league with “Auld Nickie Ben.” Once the keeper protested against these things to his guest. But the old man, instead of answering, so the story ran, made some strange passes before him with his hands, and led him out into the street by the sheer power of his eyes. This so terrified the poor host that he did not tell of it for some time. Cold winter softened and melted into spring, and the old man kept more fev- erishly at his work, for often the click of his mortar and pestle was heard far into the night. No visitors ever came to see the foreigners, save one—for one bright day the young Englishman came and walked in the fields with the girl until sundown, when they returned to the inn. The old Frenchman left his work long enough to come and bid the young fellow good-bye. He turned, and had nearly reached his room at the end of the hall, when the Englishman, who had long been looking with ardent eyes on his lovely companion, suddenly seized her in his arms and kissed her on the lips. She, half in pleasure, and half in anger, let slip a little cry. Her father turned, his face flushed with rage, and at a few short words of command, the burly servant sprang forward at the bold intruder. The latter stepped back in surprise at the sudden onslaught, but when he felt the heavy hand of the ser- vant on his shoulder, with a quick move- ment he seized him at his waist, then arching his back for the effort, hurled his astonished enemy straight over his shoulder, and sent him crashing down, half against the wall and half on the floor. At this exhibition of wonderful strength, the inn-keeper stood staring in the doorway, for he had been an eye- witness of the scene, and was just in time to get knocked sprawling down the stairway by the young officer, who bolted out for his horse, in time to escape a bullet that sung after him. Sometime after this adventure the keeper got sufficient courage to tell of the wonderful power that the old man had exercised over him when he had dared to protest against the mysterious doings in the work room. Of course this increased the feeling against the French strangers a hundredfold. Affairs reached a climax about a month after this time. The old chemist had been working day and night in his closed room, hardly stopping for food or rest At last he reached the end of his endurance and hurried dow.n stairs to sink down into a chair at the table and order food. “Another day and I will have it,” he murmured, and closed