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Show THE O. H. S. TIGER, NOVEMBER 15, 1922 Page 3 LITERARY "CAUGHT" A characteristic of our teacher was toptoeing round the room in search of some wag that delighted in dis¬turbing the class. One day she was gliding from desk to desk with her usual gracefulness, giving us our marks on our note books. I kept my eye on her for some time this par¬ticular day, so as to make sure she would not be near when I began my hub-bub, because I felt that if I had any more substracted from my already-low mark I would surely fail. Finally as I glanced around the room, she was no where to be seen. As she generally stepped from our room into the hall, I was under the impression that she was in the hall now; so I arose, filled my lungs so full of air that I was in misery and then shrieked as loud as my vocal organs would allow, "Where's Gran¬ny?" The main object for so doing was to get the attention of the rest of the class so as to give them all a chance to enjoy some of my would-be wit. Just as I uttered this very short phrase, I turned my head and saw her standing at my left, ready to grade my note book, which, by the way, was far from being complete. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, that changed it from a medium color to a very bright crimson; I could feel great drops of perspira¬tion coming out upon my forehead; but she only smiled down upon me and said, "Is it too warm in here for you, my dear?" —Richard Douglas. -O-H-S— REGRETS "Every moment of regret weakens the soul for its daily combat." —Anna R. Brown. I wonder why the word "regret" was invented? Is there any need for it? It is only an uncultured, unneces¬sary word of explanation. In the world of reality, there is no occasion for regret except by one who is a waster, pure and simple. If some great rail train could stop to think for a second about the wear that every inch of its wheels produces, it would never get anywhere. Every time we re¬gret anything, we drop a stitch, we miss a breath that is going to take that much off the very end of our lives. There are few of us but what regret about three-fourths of the things we do, and what good do we receive from it? Not a bit. It only tends to change our gentleness to crabbiness. Mistakes will enter our lives so long as there is life. Some¬how the glory of human expression seems to be wrapped up in the fact that though a man may blunder, he still may right himself; for instance, he may stub his toe or fall down but he still has the remaining power to smile, to raise himself again, and pass on. Why should I regret writing this? Regrets belong to the past; and the past is something that is dead and buried. "Let the dead past bury its dead." —Burrel Rubenstein '23. —O-H-S— THANKSGIVING DAY Thanksgiving Day, as instituted in New England, may have gained im¬petus in the fact that while the Pil¬grims lived in Holland before coming to America, they were accustomed to observe the manner in which their Dutch friends celebrated, on Oct. 3, their deliverance from the Spaniards. After observing for ten years this Thanksgiving Day in Holland, it is not much wonder that after they had come to America the Pilgrims should establish a time of thanksgiving and rejoicing for their first harvest, which had yielded so well. The first winter in America had been a hard one, and more than half their number had died. In the spring of 1621, their seed was sown, and throughout its grow¬ing was watched most anxiously. They realized that on this first harv¬est depended their lives and the prosperity of the little colony. When the harvest was gathered in October, it was large and beautiful, and Gov¬ernor Bradford ordered a three days' feast and celebration, to which were invited Chief Massasoit and other Indian friends. Wild turkey, geese, ducks, and water-fowl, fish, especially cod, and shellfish, barley loaves, corn bread and vegetables, no doubt, formed the chief viands of their feast, not to the five deer brought in as on of¬fering by the Indians. By a great many persons this cele¬bration is believed to be the first Thanksgiving, from which we date our celebration of the day. Some well-known writers deny its reli¬gious origin, one saying: "There is no record of any special religious service during this week of feasting." But little did the Colonists, while feasting and making merry, think of the hard times ahead of them. The year 1622 was filled with misfortune. Many new Colonists came from Eng¬land without provisions. The Colo¬nists, however, were optimistic and thought that their bountiful crop would be sufficient for all. The harvest that fall did not yield so well as the year before, and the Colonists had neither heart nor food for a second week of feasting. Late in July, 1622, after a drought, Captain Miles Standish returned from a little voyage with food. The Col¬onists thought it only right in ac¬knowledgement of these blessings to hold public services of prayer and thanksgiving. On the 30th of July this thanksgiving was held. We may justly claim this feast as the origin of our Thanksgiving Day, not only because it was both a religious and a social celebration, but also because it was the first time in the history of America that the Governor ap¬pointed a day for Thanksgiving. Ever since, it has been the custom for the President of the United States to set aside a day for giving thanks. Most people are optimistic, al¬ways hoping for the best, and when they do so they are really thankful. There are, and always have been, pessimists, people who are always crying about something, but they always cry alone, for it is only when people laugh that the world is with them. But even these unfortunate people, when it comes to turkey and cranberry sauce are apt to smile. Every year new problems arise, new trials and tribulations will con¬front us, and we can never tell what or where we will be on the morrow. To-day we may be sailing the calm and peaceful sea of joy and pros¬perity. To-morrow may bring us to the awfullest maelstrom of war and havoc. This year is not unlike that of the first Thanksgiving. The world has been plunged for some years into a state of complete chaos. Social rev¬olutions, economic upheavals, even war have disturbed the calm of the earth. Although the world has not gained its complete composure, after its dissipation, a great deal has been accomplished toward the peace and calm of all nations. If we stop and think of all the things which call for gratefulness, we will agree that Thanksgiving was never more appropriate than now. —S. F. —O-H-S— FIRE The last rosy hue in the west was being blotted out by the swiftly- inclosing, velvety blackness of night. As if in answer to the nightly call, a chill north wind began to moan about the old weather-beaten house, and the shutters creaked in ghostly accompaniment. The red-hot coals of the slowly dying fire in the old smoke-blackened fireplace flickered now and then, sending weird fantas¬tic shadows to all parts of the bare, desolate-looking room in which night was fast taking refuge. Although seemingly lost in fancy, the wrinkled old man, who sat there before the fire, was keenly sensitive. A bitter smile played about his face, so deeply lined with care, worry, and disappointment. His age-dimmed eyes gazed moodily into the fire as if finding there the object of his bitter thoughts. He drew his chair closer to the fire; a shudder shook his wasted frame; but he did not re¬plenish the almost exhausted coals for there he saw his own life his¬tory. In youth, like the newly-kin¬dled fire which had once spluttered and crackled, sending little tongues of flame in an effort "to reach higher twigs, the spirit of ambition had been kindled in him. He was constantly striving toward that one end, his hopes were always reaching toward the realization of that ambition. Suc¬cess had come to him just as the fire had fought itself into a blaze. The world had called him a great author. His book had been ap¬plauded everywhere. The highest and inner-most circles of society had welcomed him with open arms. Everywhere his personality had been felt, for he was pointed out as an exceptional man. The first book, however, was writ¬ten only to pave the way for a sec¬ond. Into this he put the best he had; his ideals were woven with the skill of an artist and he denounced the corrupt life around him and stood rigidly for the right. Like all truly great works it was not appre¬ciated by the majority of the people, because it required study to under¬stand it and appreciate the half- hidden pearls of truth. Therefore, the glory he had once kindled began to fad^. Defeated in his one great effort, he, like the coals of fire, was still vainly trying to give light to the darkened world; but like the coals which had grown duller and duller, his strength, too, became ex¬hausted. With a start, he realized that the flame had disappeared en¬tirely. Then the smile lost its bit¬terness and one of infinite pleasure took its place. "But the energy, in the form of heat, released by the burning of the wood, was not lost—it did not die," thought the old man. "Like Arthur, 'I pass but shall not die,." —Irene Hales. —O-H-S— AN ODE TO WINTER How fast the time of year does fly, 'Twixt blossoms of spring and cloud¬ed sky; How fast the youth of life is past, As into an old age we are cast. From spring, when birds and brooks are near To gloomy winter, dark and drear. Oh what is life but mortal strife, Burdened with bitter trial and pain. Oh what is life but mortal strife, From spring to winter, and over again. —Sam Freedman. —O-H-S—- CADETS BEING INSTRUCTED IN RI£LE MARKSMANSHIP Sergeant Halloway is in charge of the instructing of rifle markmanship in the cadet battalion. Co. "A" and Co. "B" have each been instructed in the first steps of the art. The cadets are taking to the new course offered them very enthusiastically and it is hoped that four or five first class rifle teams can be picked from the batallion. With as much material as this to work with the Hearst Trophy would be cinched right off the start with the effective aid of Sergeant Halloway. Everybody try to get on that team! —O-H-S— "HOLY COW" Tune—The Trail of the Lonesome Pine. In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Vir¬ginia Lived a cow by the railroad track: She was a nice old cow, with eyes so kind, But you can't expect a cow to read a railroad sign. She stood in the middle of the track And the train hit her right in the back Now her horns are in the mountains of Virginia And her tail is on a lonesome Spine. —S-H-O— CONVENIENCES OF A MODERN HOTEL WE NEVER SLEEP, HOTEL OPEN DAY AND NIGHT RULES AND REGULATIONS Board, 50c per square foot. Meals extra. Breakfast at 5, dinner at 6, supper at 7. Guests are requested not to speak to the dumb waiter. Guests wishing to get up without being called can have a self-raising flour supper. Not responsible for diamonds, bicycles or other valuables kept under the pillows, they should be deposited in the safe. Hearses to hire at 25c per day. Guests wishing to do a little driv¬ing will find a hammer and nails in the closet. If the room gets too warm open the window and see the fire escape. If you are fond of athletics, and like good jumping, lift up the mattress and see the bed spring. Baseballists desiring a little prac¬tice, will find a pitcher on the stand. If the light goes out, take a feather out of the pillow—that's light enough for any room. Anyone troubled with the NIGHT¬MARE will find a halter on the bed¬post. Don't worry about paying your bills, the house is supported by its foundations. If the bell in your room won't ring, wring the towel. —By a Disgusted Office Boy. —O-H-S— R. O. T. C. SIDE STEPS The Lieutenants had a test the other morning; we hope some of them will know something now. One of the questions in the test was: Define "Head," (meaning head of a column). Mont Hendershot's definition read something like this: "The head is the place where every man is supposed to carry his brains." Some of the cadet officers wish that sophomore girls had been elig¬ible for sponsors. We wonder what attractions the sophmore class has to offer. Marcus Mattson says that his Com¬pany is too large to be handled con¬veniently. We think that "Shorty" Ross should be appointed as Mattson's assistant. Ed Swensen says that Miss Booker is the best sponsor in the unit. We winder why he thinks this way. Printing for all occasions at DEE practical printer Lunches McKay’s School supplies Sperry Products in every home Sperry Flour Since 1852 |