One man whose personality is irrepressible to the Pretogo in its over-ready enthusiastic vitality is one "Pop" Parry. Every day of the school year, Pop's hurrying form is always to be sen going to a practice or a meeting of some nature. And always he has a cheerful, beaming pan that would bring a smile out of a stiff laid on a marble slab. It is due mainly to this man's talented efforts that Weber has her present standard of good music. He has worked day and night on musical compositions of his own, which he has donated to the school. In his own unassuming way, he has developed a really outstanding band, and has presented it in this and other states with the most worthy acclaim for its splendid work. Yet, while he is recognized to a certain extent for his accomplishments away from here, it seems as though Weber has accepted his laurels with superb indifference. Hence, here's to a worker - a man whose even disposition and sunny, disarming smile make it a pleasure to work with him. A luscious lass is Hansen "Dale" A swell kid - a languescent frail. Altho her abode is Brigham's lot, She's no hairbrained, gibbering tot. A worker she, and nicely too. She's not a cat - she doesn't mew. President Tracy: "Weber College will live to stagger the nation!" J. Marvin Gealta: "It's better to have halitosis than to have breath at all!" Fie on you - you old skillet! Parker "Sparky" Woods On the shores of fair Hawaii, Island mid the big sea water Swayed on cutie, fair Kahala, Torso swoiving - softly swaying to the tune of human neighing, Caconymic sounds a braying From the cataclysmic mouth Of "Sparky" Parker Woods. All alone was he, this demon With this she of lissome phiz She a dancing wraithlike Mick To him a luscious cling whiz. By now our "sparking" plutocrat Just had to up and speak, For within his heaving bosom Turmoil reigned and cried and beat! Thought he - 'tis love a stiving To be whispered, roared or slurred, (But now he sorrows grievously 'Twas not love - 'Twas muchly worse.) Thought he in lambent retrospection To my laplet her I'll sweep, And there in honeyed Byron terms I'll croon so low and sweet, "Geewhillikons, lambkin, your a darb." The curtains! Curtains! Please! But o - me, alas, and alackady! Everything went just well, 'Till upon his knee this fair doll said, "Well what have you to tell?" Once again our brown-eyed ogre Felt that strain upon his chest, And so his secret to unfold He oped his mouth to do the best. Hellenmaria! I must say this Though my gentliness rebels, 'Twas not love, sweet love he spoke On the sands of the brimming brine, That chesty pain of his cut loose! He burped like a blasted mine! Now you can see why Woods is lonely Why he doth moon and softly sigh, But if once his ham hand glom me, Boy! I'm comin' thru the rye! I laff!