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Page 72 text:
The Abbot Circle 19 2 7 Jllarfesi Marks are perfectly awful things! Just when I think I ' ve been quite wise, In happy mood, — heart in the skies With lifted chin, and haughty eyes Then, marks are perfectly awful things! When I have worked both hard and long; With care composed a theme or song To get a C seems truly wrong. Yes, marks are perfectly awful things! Are we now working just for A? And does this kind of study pay? Let ' s work for knowledge day by day, For marks are perfectly awful things! Ellen Faust ' 27 $arabi£e 3n 2000 J3. S. Charon jingled his golden oar locks in my face. " Now, where did you come from, Mortal? " " From Abbot Academy, " I replied meekly. Airplanes having been perfected, I had a notion I should like to fly in one to visit the Elysian Fields. Charon, upon hearingthat Abbotwasmy AlmaMater, im- mediately guided me safely across the miry horrors to the gate. There, I beheld all the faculty, angels, everyone of them! But, no, Mr. Howe was denied ad- mission for he had forgotten the name of the school; therefore Charon, in a state of suspicion, sent him away. Just within the gates sat Miss Baynes going over the heavenly allowances, and Miss Hopkins correcting the gold leaf file of inmates and visitors. Upon per- ceiving me, she exclaimed, " Why, are you here? What a surprise! " " Oh, no! Just visiting, Miss Hopkins. " Then my guide led me further into the great Paradise where Miss Johnson appeared and grasped my pulse in greeting. " I must see that you are carrying no evil into our land. You seem quite all right, but I shall give you a golden pill as a safeguard. " We left her regarding my rubberless feet skeptically. My guide threw a cloak over my shoulders, thus rendering me invisible. I was then left to wander about the cloudy vault at will. Suddenly Miss Bailey floated around a golden pillar. 64
Page 71 text:
The Abbot Circle 19 2 7 Boton Wfytvt tfte Wtt Jfolfe lUbe Down where the wee folk live Tis the prettiest spot in Spring Where the velvety moss grows green They mark their fairy ring. And there through the midnight hours, With laughter of silvery bells — (As they sip from their acorn cups The wine the humming-bird sells) — They scatter abroad sweet dreams On the wings of the wee fire-fly. Or sprinkle star dust around From their airship, a dragon fly. And when the dawn comes stealing, To their flow ' ry beds they creep And under a rose petal cover They pass the day in sleep. Louise Pope ' 27 £f)e H acreb Circle Do you wonder what that little old man walking down School Street and look- ing this way is thinking? Let me tell you. He is thinking what well-behaved, perfectly-trained, and considerate girls the Abbot girls are. He is watching us pour out of chapel and turn to the left, following the drive which circles around to the McKeen building. Not one girl has attempted to cut across that wide expanse of green lawn in front of chapel and yet it would be much the quicker way. just to " dive " across there to McKeen. Xot " since his day " has he seen youth so faultless. Can it be a mighty aversion to getting to classes? Some possibility in that, but little does the old man realize that that circle of grass is sacred, never so much as set foot on except on very, very gay occasions. Perhaps if he had come a little nearer he would have felt the hallowed atmosphere about it, for I think it is noticeable. Unaware, however, the old man goes on. feeling that. perhaps, after all, there is a little hope for the coming generation. Beatrice Stephens ' 27 63
Page 73 text:
The Abbot Circle 19 2 7 " Good morning, young ladies! " Circling the group, I discovered Miss Mason parting the cloud beneath her. I gasped. She dropped her spectacles through, and timed their downfall until they plopped into Pomps ' Pond. She beamed upon Miss Kelsey in triumph. " I knew it increased thirty-two feet per second, per second! " But Miss Kelsey heard not a word. She was absorbed in following the records of her first Abbot class since their arrival in the heavenly altitudes, and was quite delighted to find that one of the class had just been awarded an Honor " H " . Passing on, I heard a familiar phrase. " How many of you are quite sure, " and surely enough, there was Miss Ham- mond philosophizing in the midst of a group consisting of Miss Chickering, Mrs. Craig, Miss Burt, Miss Baker and Miss Robinson. These five then pondered on their own feelings. Miss Chickering was mumbling rather vacantly, " Was I, or was I not? That is the question. " Mrs. Craig was crooning French poetry to a golden furred pussy. Miss Burt, looking amongst the clouds, suddenly upset Miss Baker ' s golden easel, and cried, " Look, isn ' t that just like the sea? " Immediately, Miss Baker commenced to transform the top of the South Church into a foamy sea of azure blue. Gazing across a cloudy plain, I saw Miss Carpenter and Miss Ling aesthetic- ally interpreting some heavenly strains produced by Miss Friskin at a solid gold piano, and by Miss Nichols and Miss McDuffee bowing on their ivory violins. Mrs. Burnham was humming as she watched. A little aside Mrs. Van Ness was painting the dancing figures with the brilliant addition of fiery wings. Madame Riest was discovered, entirely happy that she had found some one who could understand her rapid loquacity. About noon, I came across Miss Butterfield and Miss Putnam preparing a gorgeous luncheon of golden baked beans and brown bread, with a goldfish salad as a relish. Miss Jenks, who forgot that animals have no souls, was searching every where for Pegasus before Miss Moses should find him. Faint aromas of coffee drew me to a choice spot where Miss Grimes was drawing buckets of coffee from a hidden well. At a tinkle on the dot of five o ' clock, the angelic host of faculty gathered around this grove, and were served all the coffee they could swallow. The sun had gone down so that the golden pillars lost their brilliant lustre. I knew I should be departing. At the gate, Miss Bancroft was sorting over the spiritual messages that were ready for flight. As I turned to get a last glimpse of those celestial fields, Mr. Scannell switched on the stars. L. K. 65
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