Warren High School - Hilltop Yearbook (Warren, MA)

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t ,. THE HILLTOP 11 ,ye ' , New England could enjoy a publication of their own. The magazine was described as being scholarly, conservative, and Uni- tarian. In summary this fact may be stated: the New England imagination had been roused by the tales of travelers and the gains of commerce, the revival of an- cient learning, the introduction of modern learning, the excitement of religious con- troversy. George Ticknor was the first person to figure greatly in this new rise of culture. Ticknor, a Dartmouth graduate and law- yer, and Edward Everett, a minister, went on a scholar's mission to Germany, armed with letters of introduction from the foremost men in America to the great men of Europe. As a result of his experi- ences and connections Ticknor was ap- pointed to the Smith Professorship of Belles Lcttres at Harvard, where he pre- pared to teach Popular Latin, Old French, Provencal, Spanish, and Portugese, by studying with most influential instructors in each of these foreign countries. All this was to have its effect on the rising gener- ations of American poets, so many of whom were to study under Ticknor. William Channing, born in Newport, Rhode Island, followed the infiuence of Ticknor. When he reached the age of twenty, the country was beginning to feel the Industrial Revolution C1760 - 18405. Channing was a Unitarian minister, and quite often preached about this new era in industrial development. He continu- ously pondered over these problems: how to destroy the worship of money, how to elevate the depressed classes, how to re- move the evils of competition, the union of' labour and culture, and slavery in the South. The ironing out of these problems came chiefly through his sermons and lec- tures. In harrowing the ground for life, he had harrowed the ground for literature - A country, like an individual, has digni- ty and power only in proportion as it is self-formed. Whereas Channing was the great poli- tical figure of the day, Daniel Webster was the greatest historical figure. No truer words were spoken than these, Webster was a Philistine in all but his devotion to the welfare of the State, his deep strain of racial piety, - this was the grand thing in Webster . His power of oratory was as great as that of Burke. He could invest a common murder-case with the atmos- phere of an Aeschylean drama. To make him a human individual, Webster had many faults. He spent money in a grand way, borrowing and lending with equal freedom. He was far from sober, or would have been if two tumblers of brandy had been enough to put him under the table. From Boston, across New England, across the nation, Webster's fame spread, as the years advanced. Noah Webster contri- buted his dictionaryg Daniel Webster con- tributed a personality buttressed with the kind of authority that could not be gain- said. The great literary figures of the day were Hawthorne, Thoreau, and Emerson. To enjoy fully Hawthorne's work we must know his four rules of life: to break off customs, to meditate on youth, to shake off spirits ill-disposed, to do nothing against one's genius. No other American writer had revealed a gift for finding his proper subjects, no other had so con- sciously pursued his ends. The chief char- acteristic of Thorean's work is his solid- ness. He cared nothing for society or the more elevated pleasures of life. If only writers lived more earnest lives, their minds would pass over the ground like ploughs, pressed down to the beam, like rollers that were loaded, not hollow and wooden, driving in the seed to germinate. The background of Emerson's works may be summed up in one sentence. Every- thing that ever was or will be is here in the enveloping now, he who obeys himself is a part of fate. Thus, through the pages of this book we have discovered that Brooks has pre- sented the background for this cultural era - from its swaddling clothes to its vigorous youth in the nineteenth century. Frank Keith '37 MY FIRST ROMANCE My first romance began in the little picturesque town my family moved to when I was four years old. It was a typi- cal country town, with its one movie-hall, its small country school-house, and its one grocery store, of which my father was the owner. I hated the thought of living there, because the people were rather un- friendly to newcomers. Gradually, how- ever, the ice was broken, and it was a

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10 I HE HILLTOP ing side by side were Siv and the Viking, two golden heads in the sunlight, two pairs of blue eyes looking down into the water, one pair slightly softened and one pair beautiful and kind. No one could have been more proud of anyone than the Viking was of the beau- tiful Siv, but she had not spoken one word in his presence since he had first seen her. He kept asking her to speak, but still she remained silent. Finally tiring of his con- stant pleas, she opened her lips to speak, and the sound of her voice was so horrible that for a moment the Viking was speech- less. She went on talking in that cracked, screeching voice. The more she spoke, the more angry the Viking became, until he became so angry that he called upon the God of Ice and Snow and told him to freeze her so that she could never speak again. The beautiful ship still sails the seas, the gold letters S I V are still on the sides, but up on the prow, standing rigid and still, is the frozen Siv, her golden hair still shining in the sunlight. Merle Bousquet '37 THE FLOWERING OF NEW ENGLAND By Van Wyck Brooks The Flowering of New England is the first in a series of books which Mr. Brooks is to publish on the literary history of the United States. The first book is devoted to the literary contributions of New Eng- land from 1815 to 1865. The author's purpose is to interpret the New England mind as it has found expression in the lives and works of the writers. Boston in 1815 was enjoying a period of prosperity following the War of 1812 with England. The wealth of the town, for it was then only a town, was mostly in the hands of the merchant-patricians who had made their fortunes in the China Trade. The Gilbert Stuart portraits lin- ing their walls showed thefr family pride. Boston people cherished Stuart not as a great painter, but as one who added to their pride in themselves. Stuart readily caught this pride in the faces of his sitters. The patricians reveled in high living, one of them having a wall of Chinese porce- lain surrounding his estate. In keeping with this Eastern accent many homes had Chinese servants in native dress. Their reading tastes were reflected in the stand- ard authors in their libraries. Bookcases were filled with thefworks of such men as Gibbon, Shakespeare, Milton, Addison, Pope, and Fanny Burney. These Hamil- tonian Federalists were an oligarchy con- trolling Boston. Their liberal views did much to break the Puritan tradition. Con- sequently, many questioned whether a Puritan commonwealth would ever be realized. Steadily towns sprang into existence with the introduction of machinery. Tex- tile, paper, shoe, and iron mills added greatly to the wealth of the Bay State. Lowell, Lawrence, Fall River, New Bed- ford, and Fitchburg all owe their existence to this rise in industrial development. Up to that time no one had arisen to sing of the legendary folklore of our country. This folklore abounded in tales of the wars, of Indian fights, of painted Indian faces at the farmhouse window, of great snow falls, of haunted bridges, buc- caneers and redcoats, Yankee maidens and Tory lovers, of shipwreck and battles, and of witches' hollows. Two hundred years had passed in preparation for a new cul- ture. As a result of this new culture, merchandise from the East was as com- mon as linsey-woolsey. Parrots, pet monk- eys, cocoanuts, and coral were omnipres- ent. When the tales of the merchant marine Boston tingled them dreamed became popular, younger with ambition. Some of of going to sea, others of being scholars. Boys who were too poor to go to the Latin grammar. In School bought their own spite of this new era European standards of culture were the criteria, but the fer- ment of a new indigenous culture was ris- ing. Religion still filled the horizon of the village people to the degree of mania. This atmosphere of gloom was not auspicious for the man of letters. Gradually, how- ever, Calvinism yielded to Unitarianism. From then on the countryside was deluged with an assortment of isms - Methodism, Congregationalism, etc. It was at this time of rising culture that the North American Review made its first appearance. Now the people of

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12 THE H ILLTOP pleasure to live there. The third day after we moved there stands out distinctly in my memory, for it was a very eventful one for me. The family next door, the Murphys, were one of the friendliest families in town. The members of the family consisted of Mrs. Murphy, a patient, gentle sort of woman, Mr. Murphy,'a man I never knew very well, for his business seemed to take up most of his time 3 Charles, an upright third-grader, and Bernard. Bernard was my first heart-throb, although it was not love at first sight. That memorable third day I was out in my back yard, 'and when I looked over my shoulder, I caught him staring wistfully at my sand pile. He was a red-headed, freckled, snub-nosed young- ster, with intense blue eyes, and as he stared at my sand pile and then back at me, he presented a pathetic, appealing picture. I stared right back at him, and soon he became bold enough to venture forth and smile shame-facedly. 'Tm Ber- nard, he said. I'm Irene, I ventured. There was an awkward silence, with both of us silently appraising each other. The silence was broken by a loud snicker from Bernard. My cat, a homely, crippled creature, but of whom I was extremely fond, had limped out, and to have anyone laugh at Limpy was a deliberate insult. With the im- petuousness of youth, I sprang up, and before Bernard knew what was happen- ing, my hand collided with his cheek in a resounding slap. Then I ran into the house, and left Bernard there, bewildered. Our romance had begun. I soon forgot my grudge, though, and Bernard and I became friends. In fact, our romance gradually flourished, and we became sweethearts. We were always to- gether. My recollections of ithose days are rather hazy, but a few adventures we shared stand out clearly. Most likely you cannot imagine what devotion there exist- ed between us. Through the streets we always walked, hand in hand-a rather amusing sight we must have been-a short, chubby girl of four and a sturdy lad of five. We had many interests in common. One was our love of singing, and another our love of school. We were too young to be allowed to go to school, but on visiting day we were the first ones there. We used to sing as we strolled through the streets foff pitch, most of the time, and never in harmony. .l There was one d '-LI shall never for- get. Bernard and I were taking our morn- ing stroll as usual. The day had a gloomy, threatening look, and our mothers had warned us to come back immediately. That day, however, there was to be a spe- cial singing class at the school, and we were headed there. The wind was coming up, and there were black clouds in the sky, but this did not disturb us. The singing finally began, accompanied by the patter of raindrops. Soon we were completely drenched, for the raindrops had changed to a real thunder storm, with lightning and thunder terrifying us. We started to run home, but the storm was too much for us. We finally stopped in a deserted doorway, and remained there for two hours, while our frantic parents searched all over for us. We finally got home, how- ever, and after a week's illness, we were the same again. Our escapades were many-from col- lecting flowers from neighbors and then selling them to looking for treasure in our back yards. I remember the severe chas- tising we both got on these occasions, especially when we made a deep hole in the yard while looking for the treasure. Finally our romance ended, when my family moved to another town. We had lived there a year, but during that time Bernard and I had pledged to be lifelong friends and sweethearts. The day I went away was a sorrowful one. As a token of remembrance he gave me a little fancy wooden box. I know we both felt like cry- ing, but we bravely kept back the tears. I cried myself to sleep that night, though. I have kept that little Wooden box through all these years, and it has been one of my dearest treasures. As I look at it, I smile, amused, at that red-headed, freckled, snub-nosed lad, and that short, chubby girl. I have not seen Bernard since that lazy day. Sometimes I wonder about him-wonder if he too remembers me and those romantic days. I'd like to see him, and talk over old times with him. I imagine it would be fun talking about that first romance together. Irene Baldyga '38