South High School - Tiger Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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6 THE ADAMS HIGH SCHOOL OBSERVER. flavor of the mind. Man could not direct his way by plain reason or support his life by tasteless food; but God has given us wit and flavor and brightness and laughter, perfumes to enliven the days of man's pilgrimage and to charm his pained steps over the burning snarl. Sydney Smith. Tke assiz Society. AX I’M BEK of pupils desirous of forming an amateur .science club met in A room on the third of Xov. At this meeting a committee was appointed to draft a constitution. They reported on the tenth and their report was accepted with a few alterations. 'This meeting was most lively; two or three persons trying to have (he floor at the same time. Others were weary because a few monopolized the talking. All this war of words was caused by a motion to carry on the election without delay. It was decided at last to hold election on the 17th of November. At this meeting there ware about thirty pupils present, twenty-five of whom are charter members of the society. The officers elected are equally divided between the Senior and Junior classes. The other classes were well represented. With such a showing the Agassiz association of our school will not fail to be equal to that of any in the city. AN ACTUAL PROBLEM OF BUSINESS LIKE. AN YOU SOLVE IT? Mr. Jones, of Jamestown, Dak, failed with assets that would pay but 10 cents on the dollar. Among 11is creditors was a Mr. Brown, of Minneapolis, to whom he owed $1,000. Jones wrote to Brown offering him his note for the Si,000 bearing 12 per cent interest payable in advance. The offer was accepted and Jones gave the note and ?120 interest. At the end of the year. Jones sent Brown $300.00 to be applied to the reducing of the note, reserving enough to pay the 12 per cent interest in advance on the reduced note. Required the amount of interest to be applied. fit Skakspear’s Home or Skak-spear's Day. Selected. THERE are a variety of reasons why the twenty-third day of April might be regarded in our calendars as “Shakspeare’s Day.” We have many red-letter days marking the birthdays of great men and women, and recording transactions of national or world-wide importance. Why not a red-letter day for Shakspear? We celebrate the birthday of Washington; we set apart a day for the decoration of the graves of our heroic soldier dead; we make some kind of jubilation on the Fourth of July, and, at the behest of our more or less pious Governors, we eat turkey, and are grateful on Thanksgiving Day. All this is well, but could not we and tbe whole world of thoughtful men and women spare one day in the year for remembrance of the most wonderful genius of the ages? Surely, gratitude for the priceless legacies be has left us as well as admiration of bis matchless skill demand that William Shakspeare should not be forgotten. I am not unmindful of tbe fact that Shakspeare is almost as much of a myth as Homer’s. We are a little better off for facts concerning our modern poet. Shakspeare was horn on the 23d of April, 1564, and died on the 23d of April, 1616; the anniversary of his death. There is, therefore, as it seems to me, special reason why the twenty-third of April, should he called “Shakspeare’s Day.” Unhappily, we know very little of the hard of Avon, and the stories and anecdotes current concerning him are a little apocryphal. Did he ever hold horses in London, I won-

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THE ADAMS HIGH SCHOOL OBSERVER. Poets' Coriver Tre You tjv Earnest? ONCE in the day time dreary, While we pondered weak and weary O’er many a quaint and curious chapter of Ciceronian lore. Suddenly there came a squeaking Ah if some one gently creaking, Creaking o’er the school room lloor. • 'Pis the boots” we gently murmured Squeaking o’er the school room floor! Simply that and nothing more. LOSE this day loitering, ’twill be the same story To-morrow, and the rest more dilatory. Thus indecision brings its own delays, And days are lost tormenting over days. Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute; What you can do, or dream you can, begin it; Boldnees has genius, power and magic in it; Only engage, and then the mind grows heated; Begin, and then the work will be completed. —J. Wolfgang von Goethe. ------x ——- ■ Sjvow. Selected. THE snow came whirling through the air. Covered the branches once so fair. Covered the valleys, clothed the hills. Covered the frozen streams and rills. Robbed the flelds of their verdant tinge. Hung on the hedge a fantastic fringe; Down it came whirling through the air. Whirling and dancing here and there. Now it came falling thick and slow. Flakes of a solemn, lingering snow; Then it came edying light and soft. Borne on the wings of a gentle breeze. Played it around the spreading trees: Merrily played with their branches bare. And settled down in contentment there. Or, seeking a home oz the ground beneath, Re|»osed on the fields or barren heath. [ T$ad Spell. THE woman was illiterate— In s| elling she did fail— And. when her house she wished to sell, She wrote, “This House for Sail.” Then on the door she tacked the sign, And to her housework went. The while a stranger saw the words, And spelt with merriment, Hearsays. “To-morrow is too late; live to-day. What makes life dreary is want of motive. George Eliot. Never a day is given, but it tones the after years, And it carries up to heaven its sunshine or its tears.” Character is like the bells which ring out swnet music, and which, when touched accidentally even, resound sweetly. Our fireside conversations, our thoughts as we pass along the streets, our spirit in the transaction of business, all have some amount, small though it he, of moral value. —Goul-born. We cannot iinp ove ourselves, we cannot assist others, we cannot do our duty in the world, except by exertion, except by unpopularity, except with annoyance, except with care and difficulty.—Dean Stanley. To be worth anything, character must be capable of standing firm upon its feet in the world of daily work, temptation, and trial; and able to bear the wear and tear of actual life. Cloistered virtues do not count for much.—Smiles. “Thin house for sail!” he laughed and laughed With snicker and with roar; And when the woman heard the noise She came unto the door. ‘ When will your house set sail?” he asked. As wickedly he grinned. “ At once.” the woman laughed in scorn, “If you can raise the wind,’ ’ —Ex Wear your learniug like your watch, in a private pocket, and do not pull it out merely to show that you have one. If you are asked what o’clock it is, tell it, but do uot proclaim it hourly and unasked, like the watchman.— Lord Chesterfield. Genuine and innocent wit is surely the

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THE ADAMS HIGH SCHOOL OBSERVER. der, while the gentlemen went into the old Globe theater to see the play? Did he ever notice, while strolling with Ben Jonsou along Cheapside. u little fellow with a wonderful head of hair, playing at the corner of Bread street, little -John, son of Milton, the Scrivener ? Who can tell? There are a thousand things we would like to know hut never can. No Boswell dogged the steps of Shakspeare, and, though the great dramatist was a voluminous writer, he kept no diary, such as Evelyn and Samuel Pepys kept, or we might be very rich just where we are poorest in the matter of Shakspearean lore. We want to know more of his young life, of his courtship and marriage, and when, and where, and how the fire of his unexampled genius first began to burn? Where did he acquire the knowledge his plays evince? What were his methods of study and composition? Did the wonderful tides How freely and unbidden from his pen? or was he often to be found, like the Greek oracle upon the tripod, “Agonized and full of inspiration.” Much as we may desire this knowledge, we can never have it. But though we may uever know much about the gathering of the gems, we may be thankful for the treasures. Shakspeare made the whole world richer for all the ages, but the world has not yet learned to worthily appreciate the gifts of her great benefactor. He has created kings and queens greater t han ever wore the purple, or swayed the bauble scepters of empire; he has crowded our life with grand companionships; he has unlocked the treasure-chambers of heart and mind, and made the poorest man among us a millionaire in the realm of heart and mind and feeling; and yet the day that saw his birth, and the day that bemoaned his departure to that “bourne whence no traveler returns,” are alike forgotten. These considerations 1 press upon me the more forcibly from the 1 remembrance that twenty years ago this very day I went with all the world and his wife, down to Stratford-on-Avon to do honor to Shakspeare on the three hundredth anniversary of his birth. On the evening of the 22d of April I heard the “Merry Wives of Windsor’ played in Birmingham. I took a late train to Coventry, and was just in time to join a torchlight procession, at Peeping-Tom corner,—where to I this day a model is to bo seen of that too curious youth who gazed on the heroic Godiva years and years ago. There was a grand display of fireworks, and at twelve o’clock at night a merry peal clashed out from St. Michael’s Tower; and then great silence fell upon the city of “three tall spires.” I was up betimes on the morning of the memorable day, and it was decided that we should drive byway of Leamington and Warwick, and return by Kenilworth. We were a merry party, and the day was just such a day as can only be seen in England in the earlyr spring-time. The hedge - rows were whitening with hawthorn blossoms, and the air was fragrant with violets. It was just such a day- as Shakspeare describes. “ When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady sinocks all silver-white, And cuckoo birds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight.” The journey down was a perfect enchantment, and just as the tower of Stratford Church became visible amongst the tall old elms, the bells began to chime, and the music lloating along the undulating meadow lands was enough to inspire a poet with a song. The sky was cloudless, one boundless pasture of faultless blue, the lark seemed bent on beating out its life in song; all nature was in harmony with the jubilance of the hour. The quiet little town was thronged with such a gathering as it never saw before and may never see again. The whole world was represented in that little hamlet by the Avon. Lords and ladies of high degree, rulers of the land, dignitaries from foreign courts, all ablaze in