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Balanced Colors Selected by Measurement 





The following supplies for exercise and instruction 
in this system are for sale at our Boston stores. 




SPHERE - 2 in. diameter 
“ 5 in. 


by A. H. Munsell 


Charts A and B 

Drawing Supplies 

Artists’ Materials 

Drafting Instruments 




WadsWorth HoWland & Co. 




bostonI \ 

“Don’t ask impersonal questions,” said the March Hare. 

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Centre of Vision 

Vol. IX. Boston, Massachusetts, March, 1911 No. 5 








. 1913 




Associate Editor 

Staff Artist 


Alumni Editors 



Art Editor 


Business Manager 


The Sunny Side of the Street 


The Center of Vision is made and'gotten out by the students of the Massachusetts 
Normal Art School as a prayer - partly for help, partly for thanksgiving. 

io cents a copy. 

75 cents a year in school. 

$i.oo per year by mail 






It was der t’ird Friday of der mont’ wen I sailed past der 
Nut factory and inter der main office—followin’ der indian sign 
wot wns passed me on Newbury St.—wid de intentions of takin’ 
a peep at der joint. 

In dis office were all kinds of funny lookin’ jugs and a rookie 
what looked as dough he’d lost his last bean on a sure ting was 
holdin’ down der desk. Anudder’ boob what heid smoked optics 
on his breeser and er porky-pine hair comb and had der look as 

i _ 

dough hed kept up a correspondence wid Beetrice Fairfax was 
keeping der attendance. 

After some minutes she (ex-cuse me) he slipped me der look 
and said in er sweet feminine voice—“What can I do for you?” 
“Oh/’ says I, kinder careless like, “I wanter trow me glims over 
de burg fer awhile.” 

Then he leads me ter where a bunch of hods and Johns wus 
drawing wid tin wishbones wen der Johns wasnt piping der 
chips wat passed. We den floated down der hallway were was a 
statue of a big guy wid a plate—a head waiter—and a pair of 
In jins dat I tot was a cigar ad. into der modelling room were der 
skirts was trowin’ clay an makin’ eyes an ears an sometings was 
draped till it got on me nerves like a graveyard. 

Den we went up stairs. On de level it wus dat dark you’d 
have ter get some brilliant oils ter see der masterpieces on der 
walls and ter keep from steppin’ on der lovin’ couples. 

Soon we heard an awful noise and walked in on Borneo and 
Juliet. All de guys beat it wen we took de cue till we went out. 


In der next room we bumped into a guy all dolled np in kids. In 
here dey were paintin’ from flowers dat looked as dough dey done 
service at Lincoln’s funeral—no kiddin’ an’ it got my goat, how 
dey could make a pretty picture out av a cross between a morgue 
and a florist’s shop. 

Dey next runs me into a room were dey were drawin’ Frank¬ 
lin on a jug. Looked bad! In dis room believe me dey was der 
swellest lookin’ dames wat ever swished a silk skirt on asphalt 
pavement, and only two lonely lookin’ pikers in dere wid dem. 
We den strolled inter der School teacher factor# were dey all 
looked alike tor me. A few fairys were floatin’ round practicing 
dat icy stare and some were makin’ furnicher outer paper. I 
went out of der quick on der level. 

We den went to der Portrait class were dey spent dere time 
enhancing them walls wid extra bits of paint and der coats dey 
wore would make er Donnelly billboard sick! 

From der we hit der room where tree floosies were kiddin’ 
wun poor conine dat was tryin’ to do der paintin’ act. 

From dere we went to de top an gee wat a racket. Wen we 
slipped der treshold wat a sudden silence. All dem fresides did 
der nobly busy act. Gee I never seen so many bottles layin’ 
round careless like—-and dey so young—soon a bell rings and wat 
a rush for der hash counter. 

I did a little ful patterin’ mysel’ an wus rewarded wid a 
couple ov prunes and er glass ov milk. Soon I hears der pianner 
an goes up-stairs to were one blonde chip tildes der ivories while 
the brods do a maraton and oh nuts may be dey didn’t travel some 
till 12.30 when der bell again breaks der spell and did I stay?—* 
Never—believe me—dats wen I beat it. 


Within five minutes’ walk of the Normal Art School there 
are at least half a dozen galleries where free exhibitions are 
usually held and changed every other week. In spite of this 
fact there are many students of this school, especially freshmen, 
who are in ignorance of their existence. This fault should be 
corrected, for sometimes fine canvases by great masters are 

But before visiting these galleries why not first visit the 
Art Museum, pick out several modern canvases that you like 
and then go and make a comparison, thus comparing the known 
with the unknown quality? While at the Museum be sure to 
see Dennis Bunker’s “Girl with Red Hair.” 

We have, however, been extremely fortunate in the quality 
and quantity of the most recent exhibits, the names of Decamp, 
Reynolds, Lawrence, Raeburn and Homer being headliners. The 
best and the most interesting show is that of our teacher in por¬ 
traiture, Joseph Decamp, who has seventeen canvases at the 
St. Botolph Club. Here is shown his well known portrait of 
Theodore Roosevelt that we saw last year. Probably his best 
work shown is “The Blue Cup,” which is much better than his 
“Mandolin Player” at the Museum. “The Fur Jacket” and 
“The Pink Feather” also are masterpieces. 

Before Decamp, Charles Grafly and Daniel Garber exhibited 
at the same gallery. Grafly’s work was sculpture and among 
his subjects were Tarbell, Paxton and Decamp. The likeness of 
Decamp was very good. 

Daniel Garber’s landscapes were interesting, especially “The 
Grapevine/’ which was finely composed and simply painted. Did 
everybody notice the shadow on the wall? 

At the Museum nobody should have missed seeing the work 
of the late Winslow Homer. His three oils, especially the two 
owned hy the Museum are wonderful in every respect, but in 
quite a number of cases, his water colors, while we cannot criti¬ 
cise his color or workmanship, are poorly composed. This fault 
casts a shadow over the unfortunate picture which we cannot put 
aside. Some of his water colors, however, are as good as his oils. 

Arthur Spear held an interesting exhibit at the Copley 
Gallery. “By Candle Light” attracts the most attention, being 
finely composed and having a very flesh-like look, but it is not as 
vigorously painted as “Mildred,” or “The Brook in Winter.” 

At Doll & Richards’ Miss Jane Peterson recently exhibited 
a number of landscapes, of which, the two beach scenes still 
remaining are probably the best. Her work was pleasingly 
simple in color technique and design. 

On February 25 a collection of “Old Masters” took Miss 
Peterson’s place. At last we have a chance to see a LeBrun, we 
hope not one of her best, but the only one in town. There is also 
a Reynolds, a Lawrence, and a Raeburn. 

The Raeburn was not so interestingly designed as his “Mrs. 
Cruickshank,” Mr. Frick let us see. It might easily remind one 
of Gilbert Stuart’s “Washington,” at the Museum, in color and 

In the small gallery at Doll & Richards’ there is a collection 
of the work of a number of artists. There are two desert scenes 

by Charles Furlong, a former graduate of the Normal Art. These 
are executed in his well known style. A camel in one should 
interest ambitious anatomy students. 

Paul Dougherty (pronounced Docerty) reigned for two 
weeks at the Vose Gallery. Paul spent last summer at Land’s 
End, Cornwall, and these canvases are the result. They are 
all sea scenes, most of them with wonderful sunlight on the water 
and on tire clouds, but very similar to one another and. to his 
last year's exhibit. After painting so many similar scenes his 
work must be rather mechanical. It would please us if he would 
only paint some good dry land. 

The one canvas that attracts the eye at Kimball’s is 
Whistler’s “Coast of Brittany.” Those who know “The Little 
Rose of Lyme” should recognize this as a Whistler at first sight. 
The rest of the exhibition was a collection of landscapes by about 
forty-nine different artists. - 

At the Alumni Rooms Messrs. Hibbard, Dunbar, Smith and 
Stevens exhibited. Hibbard’s landscapes are fine^ and show as 
much promise as his portraits did last year at this school. 

Harold Dunbar, another graduate, had a number of good 
water color landscapes. 

Howard Smith’s illustrations, which have been reproduced 
in Harper’s Magazine, looked familiar. 

On February twenty-seventh Harry Hoffman opened an 
exhibit of Spanish scenes at the Copley. The largest, “Sunset,” 
has a very interesting sky. Spain must be a very beautiful 

An exhibition of art students’ work was opened March 1st 

at the Boston Art Club. Miss Beatrice Whitney’s “Gold Girl,” 
which won first prize, won it very fairly. While not drawn as 
well as some of its rivals, it was composed much better—this very 
important good quality apparently having a great influence on 
the judges. 

Sam Brown’s life drawings were the best work from this 

It is rather a sad sight to see the old Art Museum being 
torn down, but we should be consoled when we visit the new 
building. The new Museum is very handy to the Huntington 
Avenue ball grounds. 

It will be very fortunate for both the city and Mr. Dallin if 
his “Appeal to the Great Spirit” is bought and placed in the 
Fenway, as it undoubtedly will. This is a masterpiece by a 

Stuart Urquhart. 

“Farewell,” I said to my masterpiece, 

“Soon the faculty’ll scan you o’er 
“And you with an ‘E’ 

And a star, I’ll see, 

Behind the office door.” 

Ah the wishes and expectations 
And the hopes of youth, they soar 
For my drawing fine 
Was left to pine 
’Till Granbury swept the floor ! 

G. L. F. 


The fruitless search of the Lonesomeman, 
As he travels along with sightless look, 

Is a heartless hunt, and he never can 

Be helped by word, nor touch, nor look. 

He seeks and he knows he ne’er can find 
The balm for an unseen wound; 

But he wanders about among his kind. 

And makes no sigh nor sound. 

His very wound remains unseen 
By himself or friends or foes; 

That a cureless sore there’s always been, 

Is all he cares or knows. 

With keen-edged steel he probes within 
In search of a sign to guide; 

He lays bare flesh and bone and skin 
For the thing that tries to hide. 

He wanders on o’er the river bed. 

With hope for sight of course; 

But the sinking sun it’s mad’ning red 
Throws o’er the traveler’s course. 

Up tiresome steeps, through day and night, 

To find the hidden ore 

Whose molten glow once flashed on sight 
Will heal the strangeful sore. 

Within, without, he makes his quest 
For wound, for balm, for both; 

But neither finds, nor comes to rest 
In soothing, woody growth. 

He fain would sleep, but moaning wind 
His senses goads to life; 

He fain would wake but cannot find 
The end for nightmare’s strife. 


Oh, Lonesomeman, whence from his spell 
Which comes, nor warning gives? 

Sent down from Heaven, or up from Hell? 

And neither dies nor lives. 

No mirage seen; no groundless hope 
To cheer the darksome way; 

Just blindsome search and faithless grope 
Forever and a day. 

The Lonesomeman plods slowly by 
In a road that has no end; 

No answer to the ceaseless “Why?” 

Just “’Lonesome” to the end. 


New Rochelle, N. Y., Feb. 27.—When Detective Joseph 
Fanelli of the New Rochelle police saw George Evison, who said 
he came from Mamaroneck, step from a Mt. Vernon trolley car 
early yesterday morning with his pockets bulging the detective 
thought he had captured a burglar returning with a good haul. 

At the police headquarters the man’s pockets were found to 
contain needles, thread, patches, a razor and a strop, a shaving 
brush and soap, a stocking full of tea, a mirror, a paper parcel 
containing butter, eight onions, a plug of tobacco, several pieces 
of ribbon, a whisk broom, a silver watch and chain, several 
women’s side combs, a small bag of buttons, a bunch of shoe laces, 
a pipe, a special policeman’s shield of Suffolk county, a small 
broiler made of copper wire, a cold chicken, several pieces of 
bologna sausage, a napkin, a nail file, a half-used cake of face 
powder, a box of matches, a pair of scissors, a wash cloth, a jack¬ 
knife, a box of drawing pencils and crayons and a small sketch 
book containing rough sketches of landscapes and street scenes. 

Evison told Judge Samuel F. Swinburne that he had been 
on a sketching tramp through Westchester county. He was 
allowed to go. 

“Hully Gee !! !” A hundred and twenty-eight dollars; think 
of it. When the income of the state is only counted by millions 
and annually at that. When you feel despondent and worthless 
and want a real sixteen-to-one lining for your clouds, just think 
of yourself as a $512 investment; perhaps more if you have 
taken an unfair advantage of an innocent, unsuspecting state and 
staid more than four years. That is actually what each one of 
us costs the state. And in return we should do our best to 
deserve it. Of course you can’t expect Sarah Bernhardts on 128 
per—even if genius isn’t a question of dollars and cents, but at 
least we needn’t take every cold day as a pretense for loafing. 
a aturally nothing but mediocrity can be expected of one who 
bleeps from twelve to six (while genius burns) but it wouldn’t 
do any harm to consentrate (accent on second syllable, please). 
Perhaps “fifteen years from now” when the sinking fund has 
swamped or is paying a dividend we won’t mind. “I don’t care! 
I don’t care” (which is apropos of nothing). Exit. 

The thermometer had gone up four degrees by that time, 



Miss B., drifting into Mayor’s studio—“This is the warmest 
place I’ve struck yet.” 

An Inmate—“Yes, because there is so much hot air in here.” 

We beg emphatically to explain that this was on neither 
Tuesday nor Thursday. 

We regret sincerely that Miss Bacon is no longer a member 
of the Junior class. 


’’Don’t fiddle—don’t fiddle.” Helen, one violinist in the 
family is quite enough. 

We have learned conclusively that it was a shock and not a 
blow, as commonly supposed, which killed father. 

We welcome Brother Larkin back—Judging by his neckties 
his vacation must have included an extensive tour of Italy. 

The Centre of Vision candy sale was a most over-powering 
success and we wish to extend our thanks (somewhat belated, 
’tis true) to all for their enthusiasm and generosity. 

To quote Mr. Munsell, “The actions of the upper and fore 
arm are strikingly different”—Not bad! 

Mr. George declares that Gladys’ apron is not Munsell yellow 
but prison-cell yellow. Of course he knows! 

Walter believes, if the sacrum resembles a keystone it must 
at least be a skeleton key. 

Mr. Kelly, being regaled with an account of a fire in a 
settlement house, inquires how it started, “Was it lamplight, a 
gas light or an Israelite ?” 

In return for which we wish to say that, judging from the 
impartial way in which he paints five dollar curtains and thirty- 
seven cent tapestry, he has no sense of color value. 

We who have survived two years of conceit effacing “slams” 
and heart-rending criticisms, hardly appreciate being “handled 
with kid gloves.” 

In English class—Walter, giving the principle parts of the 
verb go,—“Going, going, gone.” 

Ethel also think “hired, tired, fired,” is a natural sequence. 

If it’s in Emerson’s essay ask Mr. Bates, he can tell you. 

Mr. Munsell says that animal exuberance is a good thing, 
as is family pride and gum chewing. He acknowledges the 
spiritual influence of prize fighting and talks of color istic cock¬ 
tails. What is this world coming to! “Facalis est descensus 

“Here comes the veteran.” 

“Yes, he does look like the battle of Gettysburg.” Mr. 
Kelly, intruding—“Oh, I say! remember what Sherman said 
about war.” 

Glad to see the way Normal Art responded to the student 
exhibition, weren’t you ? 

Olive—“Was that your head on my shoulder, Leslie?” 

Leslie—“Would it were.” 

Kelly—“Wood it is.” 

Let Shakespeare rhyme no more, 

Let Garrick moulder in his tomb; 

And John Craig hide behind the door, 

To give our Juniors room. 

Since making so successful a debut into M. N. A. S. society 
—for the Costume Party, our first “attempt” was a success, wasn’t 
it?—we who before have lacked courage to appear before the 
public eye are daring to vetnure even into the Centre of Vision! 

Some one wants to know if there’s something the matter 
with our class—or if we’ve simply not waked up to a realization 
of our own importance. We’re asleep—by all means! 

To be carefully considered and answered by future school- 
ma’ams : 

Is it highly proper to chew spearmint gum ? 

Should a girl have more than one beau ? 

Are we making a mistake in taking the public school course ? 
We’ll never get more than an outside view of that Descriptive 

• . „ • vv 

Well, Bruce, it’s about time for the hot-beds to show signs 
of life. Which came up—corn or beans ? 

It is rumored that the gentleman at desk 15 is a connoisseur 
of those beautiful red-fashioned flowers—Bleeding Hearts. 

In the modelling room—“I’ve just been downstairs to put 
my nose in the clay-bin.” And again, “It’s time to wash up.” 

Some of us are interested in that bearded man! 


There is so much criticism, just criticism I must admit, 
about the Centre of Vision, so much lack of spirit on the part of 
the editors and lack of interest on the part of the subscribers that 
it seems to me that some radical change should be made. Being 
one of the editors myself I can hardly be accused of malice when 
I say this and having been on the paper for two years I may say 
that I know whereof I speak. The whole trouble I think is not 
with the editors, though each one have their faults as well as their 
virtues, and I wish it borne in mind that I am not referring in 
any thing 1 may say to this particular board but I am speaking 
in a general way of results that have grown out of long existing 
conditions. Occasionally of course for a year or two there may 
happen to be a particularly good board and the thing will go on 
with a certain swing, the editors enjoy it and bring their best to 
it, their intimate friends read it and it is just as likely to please 
the general mass of students as not. It is merely a matter of 
personality. But for the most part the editors find, and particu¬ 
larly after their first year, that they are “up against” a hopeless 
task. Struggling to pay the expenses, struggling to get up inter¬ 
est, struggling for contributions, and finally struggling to regain 
their own fast falling enthusiasm without which the thing will 
never get together. For example, the January number was two 
solid months late in appearing. During that time just exactly 
three people outside of a few intimate friends, inquired about it 
to me at all. This treatment naturally aroused us to renewed 

effort to hurry the magazine up. 

We all of us on the magazine know just exactly how it ought 
to be run. We can every one of us “fish up” innumerable ideas 
any of which would improve the magazine immensely, but we 
don’t improve, nor make it pay, nor even get it out on time. The 
reason is mostly that the officers of the magazine are of the 
senior class and necessarilv the little magazine has become of less 
importance to them. They see how little effect it has in the 
school, how much valuable time it takes from the school work, 
how impossible it is for it to pay under the present plan and they 
have other infinitely more important things to think about. You 
see seniors really need their time for other things, and they ought 
to have it. You will appreciate this more and more as you ap¬ 
proach seniority, though it may be incomprehensible to you now. 
If you haven’t the bread and butter question leering at you 
around the corners you have the anxiety about diplomas which 
troubleth not the freshman, or else you are really making a mad 
endeavor to learn a little something before you go. At any rate 
it is very true that after the first month or two you grudge every 
moment that you must spend on the Centre of Vision. This is 
no sort of an attitude for a successful editor. I don’t believe 
there is a senior in the school who could be persuaded or hired 
to take the editorship now. 

As to the expense, take this year and last, as a particular case. 
For five years the Centre of Vision has been in debt and for five 
years the debt has been increasing. We had a play last year to 
pay it off. This took lots of time and trouble and enthusiasm 
and did not succeed in paying the complete amount. If we had 

the time or the enthusiasm to get up another play this year if it 
went off with the success of last year’s we might finish off the 
debt. But this is too many ifs. As a matter of fact none of us 
have time for a play this year, or anything else, and we are losing 
money on the paper all the time. Positively this is immoral— 
to go on incurring bigger and bigger debts and not raise a finger 
to help it. But can you blame us. All but two people on the 
board work for their living outside of school and they can’t stop 
that to get up a play, or anything else. If we tried to run the 
paper more cheaply imagine the hurt howl and dreadful things 
you would have to say about our stinginess. Well, the whole rem¬ 
edy is to my mind to turn the paper over to the only class that 
ever shows any interest in the matter at all. Mr. and Miss Fresh¬ 
man, if you want the paper for your own to run after all the 
things I’ve told you about it. I’ll do my level best to help you get 
it, and here are some of the reasons. The freshman class started 
the paper in the beginning. Mr. Andrew is responsible for that 
statement. And how it got away from them I don’t know. This 
would not be reason enough if it were not that they also seem to 
want it and to be fully capable of running it, and better I think 
than any other class. They are fully old enough,—the average 
age of the freshman .class is a fraction over twenty and the aver¬ 
age board of editors this year is twenty-one. They will bring 
enthusiasm, freshness, in every sense of the word; there will be 
no possibility of the paper getting in to a rut or becoming “man¬ 
nered.” Their entire class will subscribe from loyalty, which is 
more than can be said for the senior class, and the sophomores 
from jealousy, the juniors from curiosity and the seniors from 

compassion. The faculty from a desire for a little innocent 
amusement will read it in private and chuckle and patronize it 
gravely in public, as always. 

There is another alternative if we are afraid to trust this 
vast project to the children, and that is “popular election” of 
officers each year instead of each board selecting the editors to 
follow them. The whole point and the only point of this ram¬ 
bling discourse being that interest in the paper is all that is 
needed to make it succeed, that if you elect your own editor you 
will be interested even if he is a poor editor. 

Well, something must be done or else the paper dropped 
which may after all be the solution. Then the debt might be 
gradually paid and in time a wide-awake class would start it up 
again and the whole story gone over, for after all there is no way 
to stop humanity from rushing severally and together into vast 
projects that they can’t carry through and that are much waste 
lying around in people’s way and mussing things up. It is a 
blessed vision to imagine a time when nothing will be wasted, not 
even an ounce of energy, and just now is the time when we waste 
so much that might be used well. We study the wrong things, 
read the wrong books, start in the wrong profession and marry 
the wrong people, and generally get ourselves mixed up with the 
landscape to no purpose. After we get quite old we discover 
what we really are like and what we should have studied and 
read and loved to get the very best out of us, and then we have to 
begin all over again. However, how are we to find out. And 1 
dare say it often turns out that when we think we are studying 
one thing we are learning quite a different one and maybe the 

poor, decrepit, feeble, Centre of Vision may teach some of ns 
not to run our heads against a stone wall too long. 

Patrick arrived home much the worse for wear. One eye 
was closed, his nose was broken, and his face looked as though it 
had been stung by bees. 

“Glory be !” exclaimed his wife. 

“Thot Dutchman Schwartzheimer—’twas him,” explained 

“Shame on ye!” exploded his wife without sympathy. “A 
big shpalpeen the loikes of you to get bate up by a little omadhoun 
of a Dootchman the size of him! Why-” 

“Whist, Nora,” said Patrick, “don’t spake disrespectfully of 
the dead!”—Everybody’s Magazine. 

A good many years ago, in the State of Iowa, there was a 
small boy hoeing potatoes in a farm lot by the roadside. A man 
came along in a fine buggy and driving a fine horse. He looked 
over the fence, stopped and said: “Bub, what do you get for hoe¬ 
ing those potatoes ?” 

“Nothin’ ef I do,” said the boy, “and hell ef I don’t.”— 
Saturday Evening Post. 



We have just had that student attitude thrown at us again! 
We hate it. It’s too suggestive of rather large-mouthed, scrawny, 
pin-feathery individuals sitting in a ring waiting expectantly for 
the worm of artistic knowledge. If there IS such a thing as 
student attitude (and the carpenter has his serious doubts) why 
isn’t there such a thing as faculty attitude? There might be, 
now mightn’t there ? 

Perhaps it is this attitude that prompts some of the actions 
of our own teachers. 

Do you suppose that is the reason why “someone 5 ’ on discov¬ 
ering the loss of a certain article of furniture the other day, 
bounced into our studio on a still hunt for it, discovered it, de¬ 
claimed about it, aired a remarkable vocabulary—literally tore 
the atmosphere and then departed, haying shredded, nay, almost 
dessicated our maidenly feelings. 

Do you suppose that accounts for the gentle deprecating 
smile we receive when we “trespass” or the kindly permission to 
do wild and hitherto unheard things in and out of school hours. 
Perhaps that is why a certain stern and awe inspiring person 
melts into smiles at one’s approach only to feign sternness and 
demand in a loud voice “WHERE IS MY butterscotch?” 

Perhaps this same attitude propells “someone else” into our 
studio to stand blithely between us and our painting and finally 
to dart off with our choicest bit of bric-a-brac which we fondly 
hoped to paint in our next group ! 

There is someone else who shoos us away from delightful 
tete-a-tetes and last conferences with a ferocious assumed frown 
and then comes around later to invite us to be in some “play¬ 
acting” or to tea where they feed you on big shiny pink pepper¬ 

It might account for the fact that certain people have been 
seen perusing a French anatomy book, that the Centre of Vision 
play last year was a financial success, that in a very simple but 
beautiful group'we find a certain statue which is not M. N. A. S. 
property, for the fact that fifteen of the tickets to our recent and 
glorious junior play that we sold in school were not sold to stu¬ 
dents, for the fact that in spite of our inability to see the shapes 
of things and the character to distinguish the ground line from 
the vanishing point of shadows and to realize that the femur 
is not miraculously hitched onto the lumbar vertabrae—we still 
five and have our being and the teachers tolerate us—for our 
faculty attitude—let us be thankful. 

And just a word about YOU. When the editor so kindly let 
me “run” this month’s Centre of Vision I said to mvself, “Now 
I’ll show him there certainly is something funny about this 
whole business; and so I went to the nine people who usually 
hand in their stuff—you know about reflected lights and what 
Kelly said to Flewkie on the stairs and the farm—and said “stuff 
must be in by Thursday”—and then fared forth on a still hunt. 
First I tackled the instructors; one was entirely too busy to write, 
the sensation of having his name in print was evidently no new 
one; in fact I have a feeling that he was peeved because I asked 
him; the second one said “He would—if”—but he didn’t. Not at 

all discouraged I made a mental list of students and continued my 
search. I had hard work to find any one to write the art notes, 
but bless his heart, the boy who wrote The Hard Guy’s visit 
actually worked up some enthusiasm over it. He seemed pleased 
to think he could do it. The next person I asked for a poem. 
She raised her eyebrows and “doubted if she could do it. She 
only wrote when the muse was attentive.” I have a feeling that 
this must have been the muse’s week out. And last but not least 
I tackled a boy and asked for anything. 

“No,” he said decidedly, “I’ll not write for the Centre of 
Vision because it is run by a clique—it is not representative of 
the whole school.” 

But, I said, if you write for it won’t it help to make it more 
representative of the school? Yes, but all the same I won’t do it. 

Now that, dear friends, is logic, masculine logic which we 
poor feminine things are not supposed to comprehend. 

And as a result this month’s Centre of Vision is still run by 
the same clique and it isn’t my fault. If you people’s con¬ 
sciences are so dulled that month by month you can see four peo¬ 
ple publish a paper—a representative school paper with your 
name on it—and all you do is to sit back and mentally thumb 
your noses at it and accuse it of cliqueness, why, you just come 
round later and we’ll tell you what we think of it, “Your” 
school paper. 


Tremont and Boylston Streets 


New Chiffon Dresses, 23.50, 29.50, 35.00, 42.50 
New Marquisette Dresses, 19.75, 22.50 and to 41.50 
New Crepe de Chine Dresses, 22.50, 24.75, 26.50, 35.00 
New Lingerie Dresses, 16.50, 21.50, 32.50, 48.50 
New Crepe Meteor Dresses, 45.00 and 52.50 



Under the direction of the 


First Course.Drawing, Painting, and Composition 

Second Course.Modeling and Design in the Round 

Third Course..Constructive Arts and Design 

Fourth Course.Decorative and Applied Design 

Fifth Course.Teaching of Drawing in the Public Schools 

and Methods of Supervision 

Bradley’s Standard Water Colors 



Are More Extensively Used in Public Schools 

Than all Others 

Send for new illustrated catalog 


120 Hoylston Street , !Boston 

E, O. Clark , Manager 

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limrtm mb 

Class Pins Medals 

Prize Cups 


(Eumplmmtty of a