St Johns College - Yearbook (Annapolis, MD)

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iikuzlsc ui- b XIX. We shall soon no more assemble Where we here so oft have done, Resting, talking, sleeping, basking, 'Neath the balmy Southern sun. XX. Here we've fought each other's battles, Striving always to excel. Hoping, trusting, always feeling, That the future would be well. Q xxx. Yet we have one year to follow, And that one too soon will pass Then farewell, my dear old classm Here we'lI meet no more a class. 4 li if 4- 4: Ik 4: 4- 4- xxn. Ninety-nine, may she long prosper ng, -1 Q1 1 BRS Q lk ? Try, my boys, to do what's right 5 And where'er you go, do honor To the garnet and the white. n .df s 'V ' f

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VII. VVe all thought that if we ever To the upper class should come, Then we'-d make them pay us dearly For the damage to us done. VIII. But before we reached this honorg just about the first of May There happened quite an incident, About which something I shall say. IX. Late at night, when Profs. were sleeping- Or, at least, we hoped they were 3 Round about the halls of Pinkney White-robed figures 'gan to stir. X. Out upon the campus, marching To the beat of rife and drum, We and all the upper classiizeu To the Phantom Drill were come. XI. At the end of this there happened Something that will ever stand In the heart of each one of us As a victory great and grand. XII. Ninety-eight was made to suffer 3 Ninety-nine, although so green, Showed the Soplfmores they were made of Something they had never seen. 150 XIII. In the cane rush we were victors. There our greenness was all right 3 And those nasty, pesky Soph'mores Bit their tongues, and swore outright. XIV. But we soon became the 'wise fools, ' And some others took our place 3 We were now made upper classmen, With the harder work to face. ' 'cv Still as Soph'n1ores we succeeded, Never fearing blow nor strife p Always striving in our battles Fora place in after life. S xvi. We passed through from there to Juniors Bade farewell to wise fool days 3 At the same time bidding farewell To our 'wise and foolish ways. XVII. Now we sit and ponder often, Thinking sadly of the time When we must say farewell Tommy, And go seek another clime. XVIII. As we look and think and ponder, All before us seems a dream 3 And the world, with all its darkness, Broad before our eyes .does gleam.

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c.7lze 3rtz'st 77anbruglz. 'l-'I'-l l l H l ! I' HE squalid apartment was only lighted by a tallow candle, and the artist sat alone, resting his dejected head on a badly polished table. There was little furniture in the room, and absolutely nothing pertaining to comfort 3 but the man with bent head cared naught for this. He was thinking of many things--things which might have been, but were not, and he only was to blame 5 thinking of himself, tossed ruthlessly about on life's stormy tide, ruined by his own perverseness ! His crushed hopes and aims, where were they ? His spurned, unnoticed work, where was it ? He thought of his future- no light glimmering in the distance far ahead, for the light he had passed, and could return to it no more. A woman was that light, a dazzling illumination 5 so bright as to have blinded him 5 and he, thinking to accustom himself to it, sank into the refuge of darkness. But the blackness of vice is too strong for us all. The man could not return, for he had no power but to be whirled on and on. They had played together years ago, Claude Vanbrugh and his fair sweetheart, Doris. He had been her favorite champion 3 she was his only love 3 then, now and would be forever. But as they had grown older a great gulf had gradually yawned between them, which became ever wider and deeper and darker. He, led on by a false light at the bottom of the abyss, descended day by day, step by 152 step, leaving her waiting above. From there he had tried to gain great aims, to be famous, to be an honored man. Alone he had struggled, friendless, except for Doris. The other light was not a friend. He had painted many pictures, and had held the golden cup filled with sparkling nectar, when the false glow shone out mock- ingly, alluringly, and dashed the prize away, so that it fell into the eager grasp of another ready waiting. The artist had been cruelly wronged and deceived, but for many days he knew it not. It was the face of his dead mother which brought the truth before him. In a dream he saw it all, and, waking, he loathed the light, turned from it to Doris, now so very far above him., Called to her, only to be mocked at: painted for her, only to be ridiculed. Vanbrugh sat thinking of his past with bent head and clasped hands. Oh I to be here, miserable an'd wretched l To be nobody, to have nothing, to have tried and failed 3 to have grasped and lost l The bitterness stung him, and he wept so that his tears fell fast upon a painting lying before him on the unpolished table-not that of Doris-blurring the eyes and the curling hair, erasing the mouth, washing out the rosy cheeks, extinguishing its brilliancy forever from the artist's mind, and he re- membered it no more. Then a great desire came upon him. Once again the brush dashed quickly on a can-