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

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26 VERGENNES HIGH SCHOOL LAUGHS FROM THE LATIN CLASS Robert Larrow, in Latin IV—“Iphi-tus was bowed down by the weight of his grandfather.” Mary Bourget—“I upp’d and passed out.” Francis Little—“- gilded decora- tions of our forefathers.” Robert Larrow—“I lost my head and picked up my arms.” Miss Maxham—“Describe the underworld.” Francis Little—“As it was then?” From an English XI Paper— Sewall was “an author whose work was like a widow in old Boston.” We also learn from English XI that “Poe gambled and drank hearty.” Miss Booth, talking about chairs, “See what a difference proportion in legs makes.” Question—“How deep should a cellar be? Below what line?” Ellen Pecue—“Below sea level.” Question—“What is one of the layers of the sidewall of the house?” Dorothy Leonard—“The ridgepole.” In Home Economis XII, talking about dishes: “What are they doing with china now ?” Doris Dugan, thinking of History—• “They’re fighting.” George Blakely in English XII— “Bunyan married a poor girl like himself.” “We learn from one member of the Junior Class that Cooper’s fame rests on his “Leather Tale Stockings,” and from another that he created the original character of “Long Tom Casket.” In Home Economics XII—“Where would you start if you were housecleaning in your mind?” Mr. Carter tells us that Rose Roy is still searching for Silas Marner. Improvements in Rome— Helen German—“They fixed nice places to park the cars.” Charlotte Miner (reading “Evangeline”)—“-and in accents disconsolate answers the whale of the forest.”

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BLUE AND WHITE 25 THE ROYAL ROAD OF ROAMERS Robert Ryan, ’31 We have read much on the affairs of men of history. Let us concentrate on the life of roamers. Most of us know little of them aside from the fact that they gather no moss. What is this substance called moss? If it is money, the accusation is very true. If it is personality, it is not. Why not join a band of wandering wastrels and investigate? We come upon them seated in a for--est. The weather is very beautiful and invigorating to us, but upon them it seems to have an opposite effect. A little fireplace has been built, about which they are lounging and eating their evening’s repast. In answer to their questions we tell them we have -eaten, but will join them for the night. After lunch one of them takes from a -case a violin and plays for a while. We note that the player is an accomplished violinist and chooses surprisingly fitting selections— compositions to spring and other pastoral numbers. The background, which is supplied, consists of leafy trees, a murmuring brook behind us, and birds in the woods all about. These sounds, combined with the playing, create a responsive chord between us and them. I even envy them. This is the life they follow while I work day after day in an office. After the playing ceases another rises, and with his back to the leaping tongues of flame, he faces the group. He lectures in a manner which would have done justice to any speaker I have heard, touching lightly on many varied topics—people who made modern things possible, great statesmen, the administration. We can see that he is a very well educated man who has a great mind that is his own, giving him leave to speak as he sees and thinks. Presently the Roamers prepare themselves for sleep. Soon we, too, drop off into slumber. The next morning we realize that we have slept more soundly than we ever have before. Our friends are preparing to move as we awake. The forest is beautiful. Birds are flying about without a care, as are the men without a care. No display of temper. They live in utter harmony as if all were brothers. They are from all parts of the world and of all nationalities. We soon depart to go our way as they go theirs. We ponder within ourselves, wondering at the sense of toiling when they follow such a carefree living. What a revelation are their ways! Gifted intellectuals and lowest mortals, traveling the Royal Road as Roamers with minds and consciences at peace with the universe.

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BLUE AND WHITE 27 PUPPY LOVE Helen Jarvis, ’33 “Beautiful, charming, lovely, bewitching, dazzling, tantalizing—Oh words cannot describe her!” thought Tony as he watched the proud beauty jealously. He was seated in a window-on one side of the street, and she was in another on the opposite. All that night the flame in Tony's enamoured heart, fanned by absence and longing, grew stronger. The next day, at the identical hour as on that previous, he was stationed at his post in the window. He could hardly restrain 'himself from rushing out and clasping her, his Cleopatra, his Des-demona, in his embrace. His heart soared in transports of esctasy as he again beheld her exquisite platinum loveliness. He scarcely dared breathe. Ah the bliss of it—to be so near, and yet—so far! His nails fairly dug into the chair. His whole form was tense. He saw nothing else. Nothing else mattered. If only he dared speak to her! But it would be sacrilegious for a perfect stranger, no matter how smitten by the sentiment which caused the Trojan War and so many another, to address one so lovely. Nevertheless, longing, yearning, he daily hovered near the window until she should appear. The cruel fire deep within his soul grew fiercer and fiercer. But, as Rome fell, so must many of our loftiest aspirations fall to the dust with a crash. Alas, one day early in spring, when the thrush trilled the perfect melody of love, there appeared in the place of his idol, his Venus, a snippy looking red-haired stranger. Oh! The dreadful thought of it! Would he never see her again? Will he? Who knows? What does it matter? Tony is only a love-smitten curly Spaniel in a boarding-house window ; his vision of loveliness only an albino Pekinese in a limousine; and that terrible newcomer, a Pomeranian pup.