File:Prickly Pear, The (1916) (14783541265).jpg

Identifier: pricklypearthe1916mont (find matches)
Title: Prickly Pear, The
Year: 1916 (1910s)
Authors: Montana Wesleyan
Subjects: RMC yearbooks yearbooks Rocky Mountain College History Billings Polytechnic History Montana Wesleyan University History Intermountain Union College History
Publisher: Montana Wesleyan
Contributing Library: Rocky Mountain College, Paul M. Adams Memorial Library, Heritage Archives
Digitizing Sponsor: LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation

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to this imma-turity of feeling, which cannot be wholesome, that gives rise to the cau-tions about too close and too constant associations, which young people sodeeply resent. They know their own innocence of intention, but they do notyet know life, they do not know that the dreamy moments when an allur-ing face seems to hide the dry page of geometry or of latin, are justso much stolen from the strength needed for preparation for the greatbusiness of real living and loving in after years. The old saying, Experience is a dear teacher, is never more truethan in youth. Why it should be necessary for two thousand generationsor children to cut their fingers in order to know that their parents areright when they say a knife is sharp, is one of the mysteries of humannature. Civilization would not be so slow in advancing if only each newgeneration might begin more nearly where the old left off, instead ofliving the same mistakes over again. —M. E. P. Page Sixty-Two T h e P r i c k I j/ Pear
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The Prickly Pear Page Sixty-Three %fft Bear Ben Margaret Michner CHARLIE and I had started in the morning and were riding slowlythrough snow which creaked at every step. We were already twodiscouraged hunters for, though it was still morning and therewas time for a good hunt, the snow was so crusted that we knewthe keen ears of the elk could detect us from afar. Charlie slapped his rifle disgustedly saying, What use are you today?I might as well have brought a shovel to make my path to the elk and thenhit the elk over the head with the shovel. I might as well have let youbring your old scatter fun and let you shoot pheasant. By this time we had reached the summit of the divide, there was nosign of elk anywhere. We decided to go home as luckless hunters—tobe the laughing stock of the camp, for Charlie had been so sure we wouldhave at least one elk. We had gone but a short distance when we met his lordship. Sir Fran-cis Burnett. He was a tourist at one of the tourist camps not far awa

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