Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR saved its people. Since then, upon each anniver- sary of that day. the boys are given full liberty to call the Bourse their own. A new Stock Exchange is being built, and doubtless the same liberty will be given upon that date. Amsterdam has most beautiful parks, fine streets bordering picturesque canals, and yet others with gardens and great modern houses; an attractive glass-covered arcade, filled with pretty shops: a Zoo far beyond that of Rotterdam : a museum filled with rare art treasures, public institutions of every sort, streets full of quaint old houses and odd little shops, and a Jew's quarter, where wonderful bar- gains in old silver and copper may be picked up. The city is built upon ninety small islands, and nearly all the structures rest upon spiles, the palace, it is said, having fourteen thousand beneath it. The dam upon the Amstcl river, built seven hun- dred years ago. gives its name to the city. The one way to get a true idea of Holland is to make a trip through some of its side canals, to its small towns, and to the unique island of Marken out in the Zuider Zee. Small pleasure steamers make the journey in a day, and lock upon lock lifts the boat higher and higher, till the great Zuider Zee is reached, with Marken three miles away lying low and flat upon the water. Through the lower canals, protected by low dikes, are odd little towns, one of them called Brock, the cleanest town in the world. During the summer all the cows are out on the broad, level pastures, and the stables are clean as wax. with lace curtains at the windows, and here are stored the various kinds of cheese that make the town famous —a sort of cheese exhibit going on all summer. Marken is being ruined as a place for pleasant visiting, as its people—who are entirely fisher folk —have become so fond of money they will even sell their household gods for a price. Once the chil- dren were shy, quiet, old-fashioned, little people, NATURE'S CARNIVAL. By Birtha Phillips Marvel. UEEN NATURE held a carnival— Farewell to Summer’s reign; And bade as guests the merry months, Attendants in her train. Fair June, with crown of roses. Came first to shed her tears. That all her charms were faded. Forgotten with the years. She spoke of birds and twilights, And laughed about her fields, But truly sighed when leaving— ’Tis then real sorrow yields. And golden glowed the July guest. And warmly gave her greeting. Her ardent smiles no chill allowed, But ah! her smiles were fleeting! For soon she knelt at Nature’s throne, And laid her treasures there To be bequeathed to other months In other years, more fair. 11 but now they are greedy for silver, and rush to pose before every camera they see. while a babe in arms will howl with rage if he docs not get a share of the Dutch small coin. The women go to Amsterdam among the old shops, and buy up odd pieces of china, which they will chip a little and rub in the sand, later selling as old family bits that they pari with almost in teats. Up to ten years of age, the boys and girls dress exactly alike, except that upon the back of the hood of the boy—or the girl—there is a sort of rosette. Which is which only a Dutchman can remember. The houses at Marken arc full of really fine old china and carved wood settees and dressers. The beds are built into the house like the bunks on a ship, and each is piled high with home-made lace spreads and ornamental pillows. There are two settlements, one near the landing, the breakwater and the shelter for the fishing boats, and the other over in the middle of the island. In the last there is a school, and it is quite an interest- ing experience to visit this, and to hear the fresh young voices sing with force and sweetness the Boer National Hymn, for they sing tins as often as their own hymn. Nearly always a fresh breeze awaits the small boat just outside the breakwater, and it is an excit- ing sail back to the locks that drop us down to Am- sterdam lying on a great open basin. This last is to be entirely filled, and hundreds of acres of good land will be added to the city. The Dutch say. God made the sea; we made the land. and truly they have. The windmills are used to move the water into and out of the canals, so that they are always fresh and safe, so far as health is concerned. Holland is a great and rich country, although so small. Great in the strength and honesty and wis- dom of her people, and rich in her foreign posses- sions. where she rules with prudence and wise care. Next o’er the scene a hushed sound Reminds one of the sea, The quiet winds, the leaping wave, And August bends her knee To kiss the hand of Summer-time, And wish her oft return. When Augusts of the coming moons May sweeter lessons learn. September lingers, and regrets To loose the arms that hold Sweet Summer in the Year’s embrace— The Year that’s growing old. And then all three do whisper o’er The joys that they have known, And breathe a prayer for memories To be their very own. They whisper yet more silently, ’Till Summer sleeps profound. And then steal out into the past, While their good-bys resound. And Nature’s guests have taken flight; The feast that she has spread Lies waiting for another gaze— Her Summer maids are dead.

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10 SOM HR VILIJC HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR magnificent reception salon, rooms for various games, and a good and attractive theatre, together with a dozen shops where pretty souvenirs are sold —all this comprised in the Kurhaus and under its direction. A ride by train of a few minutes brings one to the old University town of Leyden. Nearly four hundred years ago the town sustained a remarkable siege from the Spaniards, and, as a last resort, the Prince of Orange broke the dikes and let in the water so quickly that over a thousand of the enemy were drowned, while it happened that the wind took a fleet of two hundred boats from Rotterdam to the very gates of the city, and so gave them the help they needed to save the town. Of course they suffered during this period, the people of Leyden, and the Prince of Orange offered with its acres upon acres of fields where tulips and other flowers arc raised to send broadcast through the world. At one time tulip bulbs were so valu- able the Dutch used them as money. The city has a grand old kirk, bare of ornament, as all these arc, except for the models of some of the war ships that led the Dutchmen to victory in the old days, these being suspended from the roof by long iron rods, and to this day the sight of these ships causes the hearts of all true Hollanders to thrill with joy and pride. A superb organ, one of the best in Europe, stands in this old kirk, and its music rolls through the vast space as waves from a sea of melody. The fish market crowds up to the walls of the kirk, and in Rotterdam and The Hague little shops and houses are built on all around the kirks, ex TYPICAL TYPES OF HOLLANDERS. them either a release from certain taxes or a uni- versity, and it proves the standing of its people to know that they chose the university, which has al- ways occupied a high place among the educational institutions of Europe. The buildings are simple, and entirely lacking in the perfect appointments that mark our own uni- versity buildings, the white walls here and there bearing sketches of crayon that are clever indeed, and that are very old. On either side of the door of the room where the examination papers are looked over, there are these sketches—on one side a young man triumphant, wildly waving a paper that says he has passed, and on the other side a poor, forlorn fellow, who had dropped into a chair to mop his streaming eyes, and limply holding the paper that says he has failed. 'I'he house of John Robinson is not far away, close to the fine old kirk, and this house is a Mecca for the feet of all good Americans. The way to Amsterdam lies through Haarlem. actly as barnacles fasten and grow on the sides of a ship. Amsterdam is a fine city, its chief activity center- ing at The Dam. where is the Royal Palace, the Old Kirk, and the Bourse. The old man who is chief guardian of the palace has quite an idea ttf wit. and as he shows visitors from our country the throne room, he points to the throne, and says, Here sits our queen. In Holland we have only one queen, while in America every woman (with a sweeping bow) is a queen.” Queen Wilhclmina spends little time at this palace, and it is small cause for wonder, as it is a bare, grim place, set directly on the public square. Opposite is the old Bourse, or Stock Exchange, and upon one day in the year the boys of the city hold high carnival within it, for it is wholly given up to them. Several hundred years ago, some boys playing at its doors heard plans for a secret attack by the Spanish upon the city, and their speedy report

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12 SOMKRVILLF HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR A DAUGHTER OF APOLLO. By Harold S. Libby, L., '04. T TTT was a «lark night. The moon was r fy ifr1 struggling with the clouds, now bath- iwl W ! ing the mountains in a silver light. and now sinking in darkness. 1 ' ■ urged my horse on, hoping that the light which flashed faintly before me might herald a shelter for myself and my steed until the elements should permit me to resume my jour- ney toward Rome. My hope was fulfilled. The light proved to he in a small hut which the moun- tains hedged in dismallv. I dismounted, and. knocking at the door, shivered in the cold, as I waited for some response from the occupant. The door was at last opened by an old man. clad in the habitual raiment « f the Italian peasant. I craved shelter, which he at first refused, but finally granted, and I entered the hut. which was built of logs, loughly hewn, and bound together with a pliant and tough reed. Inside, the walls were bare, and there were many chinks between the logs, which, were it not for the bright fire that gleamed in an open clav stove, would have made the hut a decidedly cold habitation. The peasant made haste to prepare me a frugal supper. As he did so. the door opposite the corner in which I was sitting in the shadow opened, and a young girl entered the room. She was dressed in a white mantle, which hung to her feet and trailed in wavy folds about her. She sat down on a low bench near the fire, not noticing that a stranger was in the room. and. resting her face upon her hands, apparently sank into a reverie. I studied her face as the taciturn peasant busied himself near the fire. It was an attractive face, shaded bv black hair, which hung about her shoulders and gave her a wild, fantastic appearance. Her eyes were brown, large, and expressive, with a mournful expression in their depths. In one hand she held a lyre. and. suddenly breaking from her lethargy, she struck its strings, and in a sweet voice began to sing. As I listened, a thrill as of an electric shock shot through mv brain. Deeply susceptible to music as I was, I had never been moved thus before. The wild tones rang out in the small room, and each one cut my heart like a knife, thrilling me with a strange sensa- tion. but whether of joy or woe I knew not. Had my mind felt the influence of a soul stronger and purer than my own? As quickly as she had begun to sing, she changed the theme. In mournful ac- cents. a dirge rang out. the sad. restless cry of a broken heart. I could bear it no more, and in agony I bade her stop. The harp almost fell from her hand, as she quickly arose. I saw the fright- ened look upon her face, and the fluttering of her breast as she gazed at me. The old peasant made haste to reassure her. and. finally composed, she sat down once more upon the bench. “Fair maid.” I said, thy singing is surely the gift of Apollo, but its mournful strains awoke un- pleasant and sorrowful memories of days which I would fain forget. Hast thou no more joy- ous songs which bring happiness to the heart and gladness to the soul, songs such as our emperor the blessed Nero loves to hear?” At the mention of Nero's name she turned pale, but after a moment replied. “The emperor hast truly the blessed taste of Apollo. Indeed, I have such songs. They are not suited to my melancholy nature, perhaps, yet 1 could sing them even unto Nero, did he so command me.” ‘ 1 am journeying to Rome to-morrow,” I said. Wilt thou come with me and sing before the em- peror? Thou shalt be rewarded as none have been before. Nero himself shall place a diadem of myrtle upon thy brow.” She sat thoughtful for a moment, and then re- plied. I have a friend at the imperial city who will bid me welcome if I may thither journey with you. I trust you to lead me before the emperor, and I will sing to him of the noise of battle, and he will exult, of the dance of the nymphs, and he will laugh, of the funeral, and he will weep. I will draw tears from his eves,’ tears }f jov and sorrow.” She arose, and, drawing her mantle about her. prepared to leave the room. Hast thou a name as sweet as thy voice?” I asked. She answered simply. Tis Fulvia.” Fulvia.” I murmured, as she left the room, “may the gods keep thee.” It was night in the palace of Nero. On low couches around an immense table in the room of state reclined many men and women: the men in white togas, the women in ornamented gowns of white, with their hair garlanded with flowers. Nero reclined on a separate couch at the head of the table. Unlike the others, he was dressed in a blue toga, and on his large head was placed a crown of flowers. He sipped his wine occasionally, while he conversed now and then with Seneca, who sat on his right, and with the other members of the com- pany. To this room I led Fulvia with her lyre, having previously requested permission of the emperor, and waited with her until the emperor, tired of talk- ing. should call for music. I filled a wine bowl for Fulvia, but she would not drink. In silence she sat. her eves fixed upon the face of Nero, while one hand shaded her face from the unaccustomed light. Suddenly the emperor set his half-emptied wine bowl aside, and said. Where is the maid who was to sing to me? Twas thou, Laeca, who brought ;o my ears the tale of a mountain nymph with the music of Apollo. Where is she?” “She is here. Caesar. I said. and. taking the girl's hand, I led her into full view of the company. The emperor did not look up. “Sing.” he said. And the girl sang. Again I felt the benumbing in- fluence stealing over me. I felt that I was being