Vergennes Union High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Vergennes, VT)

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14 THE BLUE AND WHITE. a small part of her unusual ability in writing poetry. Since the rising generation will need a new history, Miss Roscoe will travel abroad while preparing it. The whole world will honor Richard Miller when he plants his foot within an inch of the north pole. A vacant position in the Boston Conservatory of Music will be filled by Miss Hoffnagle. All the wealthy ladies of Chicago will wish to purchase their hats of Miss Tatro, a milliner in that city. Bristol will find the secret of perpetual motion, and we will all be glad to know that Miss Porter is stenographer for the President. When we visit Washington we call at the leading dry goods store, which bears the name of Robert Miller Co. Miss Grandy will be a dean in a great western college, and Miss Bristol will be a disappointed creature with all hopes vanished. Stories, Humerous and Otherwise. Metrical Translation from Virgil. The Festive Evening. Now, when the feast is done, and quiet reigns in in the dwelling. They bring out the golden bowls and fill them full to overflowing; Then, through the length of the halls, comes the clanior of many voices, And the lamps from the fretted ceiling, conquer the night with their brightness. The jewelled wine-bowl of Belus, heavy with golden carving, A bowl the descendants of Belus were wont to use at their revels, Dido, to honor the strangers, has brought to its place at the table. Holding the bowl aloft, she speaks in the silence that follows, Grant that this day to the Tyrians, Trojans alike be auspicious. Bacchus, thou giver of gladness, be present, and good mother Juno; And you, my Trojan subjects, rejoicing, throng the assembly.” She speaks, and into the bowl, she pours an ample libatii ai. With the tiiis of her rosy lips she sips from the brimming wine-cup And passes it on with a challenge, to Bitias sitting beside her, Eagerly takes he the bowl, and drinking deeply and freely, Passes it on to the others. The crested Iopas comes forth And plays sweet songs on the lyre; Iopas whom Atlas had taught. He sings of the wandering moon, of the course of the sun through the heavens ; Of whence came the race of men and of beasts, of the rain storm and fires ; He sings of the shining Arcturus, of the stars, of the rain, of the twin-bears, He tells why in winter the sun e’er hastens to touch the blue ocean, And why the nights are so long. The Trojans and Tyrians applaud him. Dido, far into the night, still talks of various subjects And drinks long draughts of love. She asks of Priam and Hector; Of how the son of Aurora had come, what arms he had carried: She asks of the great Diomedes, his horses, and mighty Achilles “Nay, rather, O strangers, disclose the treacherous plot of the Grecians. Tell from the very beginning your labors and wanderings endless, For seven long winters and summers you have roved o’er the face of the waters.” Julia M. Woodman, ’u6.

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THE BLUE AND WHITE. 13 —disregard Woodman’s gesticulations, gyrations and frequent pauses for breath and also Harris’ pauses for refreshments from the tip of his pencil. If Alden reaches the land of day-dreams within 5 minutes after entering Latin class how long will it be after the Geometry class is called before he is wide awake enough to correctly pronounce “respectively.” (Take into account the fact that Field, who sits next him, is of a sociable turn of mind.) If the habit which Davies has contracted early in life—that of eating at all hours, especially when the teacher’s back is turned—continues, at what age will he become a confirmed dyspeptic ? (Find out how often Julia Woodman intends to bring fudge to school, and let this be considered in working out the answer.) If David and Jonathan should be allowed to sit side by side, how much eye-strain per day would be avoided ? Recipes. Into one pint of Romanticisms, stir two cups of frality, and half a cup of sweetness, then add two thoroughly beaten goose eggs, an ounce of sociability, a pinch of seriousness, and a dram of common sense. Flavor with a teaspoonful of good looks, stir to a stiff mixture, and bake in a quick oven. —(Julia) Carter Biscuits. The other day in (Fair) Haven 1 picked up this receipe for boiled fresh (Mack)erel. First see that it is wrapped up in something beside itself. In preparing take one fresh (Mack)erel, cover with a coat of contentiousness, pour over a cupful of overweening vanity, add a teaspoonful of diluted knowledge, also a pinch of borrowed talent or perhaps a good quantity of barbarous ruralization. Then salt for two years and it will be all done. (Alden.) I also learned of another dish called (Fair) Haven cod (cad.) To prepare, take a large lump of bumtiousness, peel off. several soft layers bombast and coxcomberry and stew with extract of pretty maids. While boiling, add several pinches of rascality, opprobrious scurrility and poltroonery. The result will be a cad. Bright Things in the Class Rooms. Caesar remained sober in order that he might turn the Republic upside down. In Harris’new, revised Greek grammar, coward is an adverb. Harris when reading this in the paper says; “Why I never saw that before !” One of the Virgil class has noticed Cassandra’s “disleveled locks,” also her “countryland.” Principal parts of ardeo are, ardeo, ardere, arsi, arsus. Meaning is to be in love. Willard, ’08, is becoming so fond of Greek that he even letters his geometry figures by use of the Greek alphabet. In English, Miss Reed, “Who invented the cotton gin V” Stone, “1 know, it was Abraham Lincoln.” Principal Parts of verbs. Go, gone, went, set, set, seted. One day in Latin one .Miss Heald remarked thus: “Alden,—when will you learn that everything is not dear ?” Ambitious Freshmen. (By a member of ’09.) The freshmen class of ’09 have high ambitions to rise in the world. We shall not be surprised to find Fisher located as President of a Life Insurance Company, salary $100,000, also Field a celebrated Doctor, standing at the head of his profession. Taft, who is quick and sweet tempered, will be a great lawyer. Miss Marshall has already shown

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THE BLUE AND WHITE. 15 Cliffords Christmas. The Honorable George H. Mitchell stood at the window of his office, watching the busy crowd surge by. Happy faces they were, most of them, for it was Christmas eve, and the joy of Christmastide shone in bright eyes, and sounded in merry voices. But the Hon. Mitchell was thinking of his great empty house on the finest street of the city, and realizing that he was all alone. No loving wife awaited his home-coming with glad welcome; no happy children would wake the house in the morning witli merry shouts as they gleefully explored their Christmas stockings. As lie gazed, the sights and sounds of the noisy city went out, and he saw the little white farmhouse where, in his boyhood days, he had spent many happy hours with his brothers and sisters. A humble home it was, but blessed with the spirit of love and contentment. From this home he had come to the city, the goal of his dreams, and bent all his energies to the accumulation of wealth. He had realized his ambitions; he was one of the richest men of the city ; but, looking back tonight over those years of toil, he felt that they had been empty years, that he had missed the best of life. “Fifty years,” he murmered, “and my life is empty! empty!” The firm lips almost trembled, and the keen eyes under their shaggy brows held a weary look as he turned to the door and passed out, almost stumbling over a small boy sitting on ilie steps. ‘‘What are you doing here, my boy,” he said, not unkindly, “Why don’t you go home?” The boy looked up quickly, and something in the thin, eager face reminded the man of—what? He groped blindly through the corridors of memory—“Ah, yes ! of little Clifford, the frail darling of the home, who had stayed with them only four short years. But this little lad was clad in thin tatters, and shivered in the keen, wintry air. “Why don’t you go home, my boy?” repeated the Hon. Mitchell, his heart going out strangely to this waif who stirred such tender memories. “I aint got any, mister.” “No home ? Ah, then, you shall go home with me and we will spend Christmas together.” “Really mister? Really honest?” For answer, the Hon. Mitchell lifted him in his arms, and, joining the throng soon leached his own house. Ringing the doorbell, he was admitted by a servant. He passed hastily to the drawing-room where he deposited his burden in a great arm chair before the fire. Bewilder- ed by the warmth and light, the boy gazed wonderingly about the room. “Say, mister !” he broke out, “Do you live here all the time ?” The Hon. Mitchell smiled. “Do you like it?” he asked. “Like it, mister, its heaven !” “What’s your name boy ?” “Clifford.” ihe man started. “How singular!” he muttered under his breath, then aloud, “But your other name? Clifford what?” “1'ain’t got any other; leastwise, I never heard of none.” The Hon. Mitchell regarded him thoughtfully. “Well” he said suddenly, “lets have something to eat,” and, carrying Clifford to the dining room, where dinner was already served, he rang for the housekeeper. “Please lay another plate for my little friend here,” he said and placed Clifford in a chair opposite his own. The waif gazed in ecstasy as he was served with hot roast beef of a delicious brown, potato with steaming gravy, and beautiful white bread spread with golden butter. And the mince pie ! Clifford thought lie had never seen anything so nice before. As he watched the boy eat the man’s depression disappeared ; he felt quite cheerful. It was a pleasure to watch the changing expression of the childish face, and to answer the eager questions. At the end of half an hour they had become fast friends, and the Hon. Mitchell, holding the boy on his lap before the fire told him fairy tales that made his eyes shine with delight; then he told him the Christmas story, to which the child listened with rapt wonder. Lastly he told him how the children hang up their stockings ou Christmas eve and find them filled with toys and sweetmeats in the morning. “And shall I hang up a stocking?” cried Clifford eagerly. With a sudden tide of passionate yearning, the Hon. Mitchell hugged the child to his hungry heart. “Indeed, you shall,” he said earnestly, “tonight, and next Christmas, and the next; for you shall stay with me, and keep the gloom from my home. What do you say, little Clifford? Will you live with me and call me Father?” “Oh !” cried Clifford joyfully, “Can I really? How happy we shall be!” Then they hung up the stocking and Clifford was put into a wonderful, soft, white bed. With a blissful sigh, he closed his eyes as his head touched the downy pillow, and was lost in dreamland.