Snow falls, windows fog, the holidays follow, and 2023 comes to an end. This year is fresh in our minds now, but in about a decade or so, articles published in this very issue might appear right here in the archives section of The Tattler. While you soak in the last few days of this year, take some time to read a few stories published around this time, various years ago.
December 1898
ADVERTISERS’ ALPHABET
A— stands for Angell, and Andrus and Church,
Their stores you will find on State Street you search.
B— for Brooks, Cush and Dean, Bentley and Bool
Should be Patronized freely by all in this school.
C— you will find represented to be
By the Ithaca Music Conservatory.
D— is for Dentists. The Howes you will find
Are dentists indeed of no very mean kind.
E— is for every one stingy and gruff,
Who don’t advertise. But of them ’tis enough.
F— here alone represented you see
By our Forest City Steam Laundry to be.
G— the good pens that Gillot always makes,
At all expositions the prizes he takes.
H— Hanford, Howes, Heggie and Hawkins and Todd,
As good advertisers as e’er the earth trod.
I— is for Ithaca, dear Forest City,
To all who don’t live here, we now extend pity.
J— is the Journal, that budget of news,
And also for James. He’s the man who sells shoes.
K— for the kind we don’t like to mention.
Since to give their description is not our intention.
L— without doubt represents Lent and Moore,
If you want good music, just go to their store.
M—monsters who on us their frowns e’er bestow
When seeking advertisements to them we go.
N— is for Norton, the man who you’ll find,
In fashions of printing is never behind.
O— on with the man—he whose name ne’er shall die,
Because in THE TATTLER his ad. meets your eye.
P— publications to which we all go,
When the names of wise merchants we e’er wish to know
Q— for the quacks who will now and then say—
“For my part, I think advertising don’t pay.”
R— stands for the Rothchilds who keep the big store,
Rascover and Remigton. Need I say more?
S— in our alphabet stands all alone
For Seamon who sells clothes for boys and boys grown.
T— This is the sign of Todd, Taber and Tree,
Merchants of Ithaca—good ones all three.
U— means ’tis useless to try to excel
The merchants of your town who advertise well.
V— means the victory these men will win,
Who to the editors hand their ads. in.
W—is Wortman who sells such good meat,
And too Herbert Wilson whose stock can’t be beat.
X—is for Xmas, and don’t you forget,
To look at our ads. ’ere your presents you get.
Y— is for young folks who purchasing should
Buy of these merchants whatever they could.
Z— means that zealous ’tis hoped you will be
In buying of these men from A down to Z.
January 2003
What Winter Activity is Best for You?
Take this quiz and find out!
By EMILY GASSER ’03
1) It’s senior year, and you’ve got two free periods in a row. Where are you most likely to be found?
- In the art room working on a new sculpture, or practicing in A building.
- Climbing at the Lindseth wall, or working out at Courtside.
- In H-courtyard talking with friends, or playing ping-pong in Activities
- Doing homework.
- At home, taking a nap.
2) Where did you spend your Winter Break?
- Seeing shows and museums in New York City.
- Cancun
- Visiting family in Boston
- In the library, finishing the mouse lab.
- At home in Ithaca
3) What was the last concert you saw?
- Wynton Marsalis or Herbie Hancock.
- Incubus
- Nonexistent at Wownet
- Handel’s Messiah at the State.
- Whatever was on MTV last night.
4) What kind of car do you drive? - Any Volvo
- An SUV
- A subaru station wagon
- I usually walk.
- I’d rather just bum rides off friends than bother with the 5-hour
5) Your favorite calculator game is: - Tetris
- Mars Patrol.
- Jezz Ball
- Your new calculus program
- Pac Man
6) Your customary lunch is: - Wegmans’ sushi
- Emma’s spaghetti and Gatorade
- Peanut butter and jelly
- Whatever your mother makes you, usually involving carrot sticks
- Cheetos
7) The last movie you saw was: - Frida
- Die Another Day
- The Lord of the Rings
- Harry Potter
- On HBO
8) Your feelings on skipping gym: - Usually just for sectionals
- Why would anyone want to skip gym?!?
- You go enough to maintain a B average
- You’d never dream of skipping any class (though you sometimes wonder if gym counts as a class).
- More often than not.
9) Your favorite gym activity is: - The weight room—you can go in the hall and do yoga
- European handball
- Soccer
- Volleyball.
- It doesn’t matter; you never show up anyway.
10) Your favorite class of the day is: - Ceramics
- Gym
- APES
- Advanced Math Seminar
- Lunch
If you picked:
Mostly 1’s: You’re the artistic type. I’d recommend making
snow sculptures. Men, women, mythical beasts, abstract forms, whatever. The more original, the better. (See the article on making snowmen in The Tattler).
Mostly 2’s: You’re already athletics-oriented, so you probably already have a favorite snow sport. Nonetheless, I’d recommend hockey, or, if you don’t mind breaking a few bones, try snowboarding.
Mostly 3’s: Everyone loves sledding, but for a change of pace I’d recommend stealing a tray from one of the Cornell lunchrooms to replace your usual toboggan. I also hear pizza pans work especially well. See the “How to Build A Proper Snowman” article for more ideas.
Mostly 4’s: Try something simple and classic like downhill skiing. The adrenaline will do you good. Or, if you’re especially prone to running into trees, cross-country is a nice, safe, alternative.
Mostly 5’s: Your best bet is hibernation. See Jacob Shiffrin’s article on fire building (in the Activities section) for advice on keeping warm and cozy
.
December 1914
The Christmas Cricket
D.S., ’17
As the tales of olden times tell us, the chirp of a cricket on the hearth foretells good luck. Even now, this proverb holds true.
Of all the hard things to bear, the worst in the world are these: to be lonesome and to be “down on one’s luck.” In his beautiful mansion, sat the greatest man of Wall Street—Lonesome Man. His wife had died from grief years before; his only son, a very promising youth, had been exiled from home. This act had broken the gentle mother’s heart, and also that of the great man; but he was proud and he would not for worlds have let the world know that he had been wrong in exiling his son for a petty offense.
Down the steps of one of New York’s meanest boarding houses stumbled Luckless Man. He seemed an old man,—he was so haggard. From lack of food his health had gone from bad to worse, and now, on Christmas Eve, turned out because he was penniless, he walked, or rather crept toward the big park to rest a while on the benches. He had resolved to end his wrecked life on Christmas Eve.
In the big house, sitting before the open fire, Lonesome Man was startled from his sad musings by the chirp of a cricket on the hearth; he called for his motor and went for a ride through the streets to see the Christmas crowds, hoping thus to break the monotony of the long evening.
As Luckless Man crossed the crowded avenue, Lonesome Man’s car suddenly shot out and ran over the stooping figure. Lonesome Man, who had under his gruff exterior, a very soft heart, ordered the unconscious man taken to his fine home.
The doctors discovered that Luckless Man was really very young and declared that if he became conscious, there was hope for his recovery. Lonesome Man sat and watched constantly at the bedside. As the night wore on, Lonesome Man began to think of his son, and prayed God not to let him come to an end like this. He repented his rash act in banishing his son, and prayed that he might meet him and so be able to aske his forgiveness. “Oh God,” groaned Lonesome Man, “what if my son should become so wasted, so poor, so wrecked! Let this man live and I will give him a chance to make good for my son’s sake.”
From the nearby church the chimes rang out sweetly, and then struck the hour —midnight—and Christmas morn was born again.
As the last stroke died away, the injured man’s eyes opened slowly. Gradually the light of recognition crept into them as they met those of Lonesome Man, sitting by his bed.
“Father,” cried Luckless Man.
“My son, my son! Thank God!” answered Lonesome Man.
Very distinctly on the hearth was heard the chirp, chirp of the little luck-bringing cricket.