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Page 10 text:
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THE STONEHAM HIGH SCHOOL AUTHENTIC for inspiration. At last his work is completed. An immense niche, thirty- two feet, nine inches high, is hollowed out of solid rock — there the colossal lion, carved from native granite, over- looks the lake of the Four Cantons. An indefinable look of pain, mingled with defiance and patience in his eyes, with broken spear-shaft in his side, he lies upon the royal escutcheon of France, still maintaining a hold. The little lake at the foot of the cliff prevents too near approach, while the seams of strata give a realistic touch. The grand simplicity of the subject with that soul- ful human quality perpetuates forever the masterpiece of Thorwaldsen. Carlyle says: “Let the traveler as he passes through Lucerne, turn aside to look at the monumental lion, not for Thorwaldsen’s sake alone. Hewn out of living rock, the figure rests there by the still lake waters, in lullaby of tink- ling ranz des vaches, the granite moun- tain dumbly keeping watch all around, and though inanimate, speaks.” Anna Dewhurst, ’24. Frequently we are awakened by the telephone ringing. We arise, jump in- to slippers, and placing a receiver, made of rubber, to our ears, answer the ring. If it is dark, we press the elec- tric button, having hard rubber as a switch handle. While washing, we may use a rubber plug to keep the water in the wash bowl. If it is raining, we must have our rubbers and raincoat before going out. We jot a few notes on paper with our newest fountain pen made of hard, pure rubber. Going to the garage, we usually make sure that our tires are not soft. We enter and leisurely sit upon a soft cushion seat of imitation leather, which in reality is nothing more than a rubber composi- tion called “fabricoid.” In this short period of time rubber has played a very important part in our lives. It is one of those conven- iences to which little attention is paid, yet without which we would feel at a loss to replace. Warily has rubber crept into the routine of civilization and has so imbedded itself, that we may omit rubber only at a loss to our personal comfort. Eubber is produced from the latex of the Havea Braziliensis which is na- tive to Brazil, Paraguay and Uraguay. This latex is sort of thick, milky look- ing sap coming from between the in- ner and outer bark, containing pores, which, when tapped, bleed profusely. The tapping is done usually in what is known as the herring-bone system : that is, slight cuts are made in the bark which meet in a main channel through which the sap from all the cuts run and finally is collected by means of a faucet cup. The Havea is only one of the many milk producing plants which grow wild native, amongst which are the Manihot Glaziovii, Castilloa, Cerra, Ficus Elastica Landolphia Kir- kii. The rubber industry is a compara- tively recent one, and there are now two methods in vogue for obtaining the raw product. The old method by which the so-called natural rubber was obtained from South American coun- tries; and a recent method, (inaugu- rated abouc 1902) known as the plan- tation method, used mostly in Ceyion, Sumatra and Malay Peninsula. The old method in use prior to 1902, was altogether different than that of today. The capital invested mostly in the United States had no real connec- tion with the industry until the rub- ber reached United States ports. There was almost no connection between the producer and the capitalist. Today, the large rubber concerns own and maintain their own plantations andar( in direct contact with the source at all times. Just picture the innermost recesses of the Amazon river — a tepid, torrid region, overgrown with luxurious veg- etation — and unused to contact with modern civilization. Also imagine a constant temperature of 90-115 degrees F. and you can easily convey to your minds the characteristics of the first source of rubber. The port of Manoas, situated some two or three hundred miles along the interior, is the hub around which the rubber production revolves, whereas the port of Para from which we de- rive our name of Para rubber was the port of exportation as it still is today. In obtaining the rubber under the old method, eight or ten natives enter the jungle under the guidance and di- rection of an assistant superintendent, 8
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Page 9 text:
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THE STONEHAM HIGH SCHOOL AUTHENTIC Stark, you know, who once in the face of the enemy said to his men, ‘‘They are ours tonight or Molly Stark is a widow.” Washington and his staff were often seen in the old home and many a coun- cil of war was held in the secrecy of the summerhouse. General Lee then took up his head- quarters in the old mansion, whose ech- oing corridors suggested to his fancy the name of Hobgoblin. The Koyall mansion came in 1810 in- to the possession of Jacob Tidd, in whose family it remained for almost fifty years. A frequent visitor in the home of Mistress Tidd was her brother, William Dawes, who performed the same deed as Paul Kevere on that memorable April night. The old house now has been taken over by the Royall House Association, an organization which has made it pos- sible for us to see today the wonderful carving of balusters and columns, se- cret panels which open at the right touch, pictured tiles in the quaint fire- places, an old tea chest which figured in Boston’s famous tea-party and scores of precious relics of Colonial days. So the old house stands, surrounded by lofty trees, stored with precious memories, dreaming of the future and of days long done, ready to welcome you and me and all those who wish to recall the days and the deeds of our I forefathers. I Margaret Patch, ’24. of Picture, if you will, young Bertel Thorwaldsen as he listens eagerly to Old Jan, the best story-teller in all Co- penhagen. The old man takes the boy with him into the Indian jungle, made hideous at night by the cries of savage animals. He tells of a native guide sighting a magnificent creature, the king of all beasts. The lion, even as he lunges forward to protect his mate and cubs, to guard the safety of those he holds most dear, is pierced full in the breast by a javelin. Something far wdthin the soul of the young boy responds to this story, and over and over again Old Jan must re- peat his jungle tale. The 10th of August, 1792, all Paris is in a tumult. A frenzied mob moves upon the Tuileries. Poor, weak King Louis submits to the will of his turbu- lent subjects.“ Marchons,” he says, and royalty leaves the Tuileries forever. Behind are left only the Swiss Guards, paid mercenaries, “ye were but sold to him for some poor sixpence a day, yet would ye work for your wages, keep your plighted word. The work now was to die and ye did it.” Alone, the Swiss face the insatiated revolutionist. They stand firm. This is not their quarrel, Louis is no king of theirs and he has forsaken them like a king of “shred and patches.” Yet it is their duty to defend. Volley after vol- ley they fire; cannon are captured; the stricken mob is checked; the day is won. But no, orders come from the king to cease firing and the Swiss Guards obey. The issue is inevitable, granite Swiss on one side, all Franco on the other. Terror and fury rule the hour. Exposed to the entire fury of the populace, some of the Swiss find protection in flight, but most of the brave defenders are massacred, butch- ered without mercy. For what a bitter and fruitless cause the Swiss have spent unavailing devotion ! Nothing is more ghastly in history than the terri- ble and pitiless slaughter of the Swiss Guards during the French Revolution. While this fearful struggle is still vivid in memory, an officer of this loy- al guard, who has retired to his home in Lucerne (a district most noted for j its mercenaries) determines to erect a ! monument in his gardens to his unfor- i tunate comrades. All Switzerland fa- vors commemorating her children and the subscriptions are generous. Next to find a sculptor of such skill that the loftiness of the subject can be justly portrayed. Instantly comes the reply as a question, “Who but Thorwald- sen?” And so the greatest sculptor of the time, once the blue-eyed lad of the Copenhagen shipyards, is summoned to Lucerne from Rome. As Thorwaldsen meditates upon a theme worthy of such courage, he re- calls once more the story told by Old Jan of the lion, who though mortally wounded would still protect with his life his mate and cubs. Thorwaldsen has never seen a live lion and he goes to old masterpieces
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