University of San Francisco - USF Don Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 11 text:

T II I F R E S 11 M A X . 9 “‘Xmrlrru ahtrtrrn” (0 |li! gallant fellow Freshmen, 'Trusty sons of right. Let's never cease repeating ( )ur old class slogan “light.” We'll plant upon the heights of fame ( )ur standard white and green. Till all the earth with one accord Acclaims “nineteen thirteen.” Hurrah! Hurrah! for T’reshmen. Hurrah! for the gallant few. The bravest in the college To light for red and blue. I ler llag we’ll keep a waving. Well venerate her name. We’ll give our latest drop of blood To win her glory’s fame. Edward M. (VXeii.i..

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8 T I! I : I K KS II M A X . of the cellars of the Rheiins champagne vineyards a highly lucrative venture. Chambers—A has! the mercenary motives of our modern times. There is no art save that which works alone for the production of the beautiful. The epic poet of these clays is little thought of. yet it is from him alone that the literature of this Western hemisphere has anything to expect. It is not a trade as are the crafts today miscalled painting and criticism, which are in reality onl means of livelihood. Is there a man among you who puts into his work all the virgin purity of his inspiration? Do you. ah Jcharlatan color-slingcr. put upon your canvas only those figures which your eye has detected as beautiful in nature! Is the taste of the buyer ever divorced from your mind? Would von paint your sea pink if that was the impression its hue gave you. when you knew that the uncultured mind of the low-browed purchaser could see in it only green? You speak of food. Are not the pangs of hunger sweet to him who writes of hunger? This very morning I have composed an hundred verses, each as perfect as ever sprung from the immortal mind of Milton. I have achieved what no man of my time has ever approached, and you would have me glory in the shame of art gone wrong. Tis true. I have not eaten well for years, but feasts of soul have been to me but common diet Each day I dine upon Parnassus with the bards of every age. And you would talk of earthly fare. Lyle (in disgust, lapsing into th vernacular)—Aw. cut out the heroics and get the Swede off the roof. If I keep this money in my pocket much longer I’ll get to love it so well that I will not he able to part with it. Chambers—Alas! 1 fear me that I must yield. The cruel pangs or relentless hunger press me hard, and like the wise warrior retreating before a greater force seems to yield while he does but gather strength: I eat the dead-sea fruit of misused art to stem awhile the flood of weakness nature imposes. When strong again the labor I’ll attack, and as the lean weeks follow the fat ones, again I’ll sink into the divine stupor, and once more properly inspired. I’ll duplicate my former triumph, aye! perhaps surpass it. and once again the world shall know that genius is not dead! Descend, oh mime of Muneker! cringing servitor of the box-office—’tis well that Ilulsmams knows you not. I»v all the laws of beauty and of order, an all-provident government had long ago exterminated you and all vour clan. Xelson (mechanically)—Madame Te trazinni opened last evening— Lyle (impatiently)—Cut out the “shop”! Come on down town ! Eor one night, at least, we live! Xelson—to the largest lions. that ever— The trio starts down stairs. Chambers—And it will take a week to get properly hungry again. Lyle—You had better say that it will take a week to get properly fed again. Xelson—filled a San b'rancisco— Sound of scuffle as critic is squelched bv his comrades. Curtain. Jos. E. Foley.

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IO T II K I R KS II M A X . aljr Unkmumt I IF Arizona sun sent its torrid rays quivering and listening upon the waters of the Colorado. ()n either side stretched a wide vista of sand, fringed by a long low range of blue j)eaks, forming as it were a vast amphitheatre of burnished gold. 1 lerc and there along the river bank were grouped a few scraggly cottonwoods, while the sand lay bare its bosom to the unmerciful beams of the sun. save where the cactus rose in disordered array. W illiams, half overcome by the gleaming golden rays, impatiently dug his spurs into the pony’s Hanks, anxious to reach the foothills and overtake the author of that small brown cloud of dust dead ahead. Here and there along the road lay the whitened carcass of some animal, and once or twice he detected the bones of a human being bleaching in this desert waste, a mute testimony of the days of old and the wagon trails of the 40crs. As his lithe body rose and fell in unison with the pony’s lope, the vents of the previous years rapidly arose in his mind. I low his father and mother had died and he had come west to start life anew in this desert region. I low he had gradually risen in the eyes of its citizens, had secured the nomination for sheriff, and now his success or failure depended upon that gray cloud ahead; for screened by that enveloping curtain of dust rode Jim Lawton, terror of the desert, murderer, rustler and thief. Only last night he had shot a man in cold blood and made his escape. Williams, anxious to secure a strong foothold in the esteem of his fellow citizens, had offered to track the bad man and bring him to justice. And now, as he loped along with his quarry in plain sight, he endeavored to formulate some ru e by which he could capture Laxvion. (iradually as the desert receded and the mountains loomed higher and higher the distance between the two men short-ened. I le now entered a twisting, squirming depression guarded on either side by the lofty dunes that threw a molten mist down upon his face. As he turned a sharp corner he startled and immediately reined in his pony, for not more than fifty yards in front of him, with his back to his pursuer. wa Jim Lawton gazing at his broncho’s hoof, an anxious look spreading over hi face. Quick as a flash Williams gun was out. and as the reprobate turned his head he found himself confronting a piece of blue steel that flashed wickedly in the sunlight. At the command of Williams he threw his belt and gun on the ground and leaning lazily on the pony’s flank gazed calmly into the others eager, excited face. For the first time Williams had a good look at the man. and as his gaze fell upon the other’s tanned and weatherbeaten features, he gave a start, for there was something strangely familiar about the poise of that head, the decisive mouth and steel gray eyes. When and where he had seen the man before was a problem he could not solve, and he sat pondering in the saddle, his thoughts going back to days of yore. In the meanwhile Lawton pulling out his tobacco pouch, had deftly rolled a cigarette. His hand now traveled through his different pockets searching for a match. All at once there was a report, a blinding flash, and Williams’ gun lay in the sands at his feet, while in Lawton's hand rested a small revolver. Laughing grimly he spoke with a soft