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Page 93 text:
19 3 2 The Abbot Circl THE WORKHOUSE WARD By Lady Gregory The last, but by no means the least, of this delightful series of plays was " The Workhouse Ward. " It was quite the most hilarious bit of acting we have seen here in a long time. One will always remember its wit, dialect, and flying feathers. Mike McInerney Betty Weaver Michael Mirkell Margaret Walker Mrs. Donahoe Annette Robin We congratulate you, Senior-Mids. 89
Page 92 text:
The Abbot C i r c I 19 3 2 Senior -Middle Plays HEARTS TO MEND By Harry A. Everstreet On January 19, 1932 the Senior-Mid class presented three plavs. The first of the series was " Hearts to Mend " , a Pierrot and Pierrette Comedy. The love of Pierrot and Pierrette had lessened and their hitherto happy life is endangered. However, a tinker, skilled in the art of mending hearts as well as pots and pans, made them happv once again. This plav was greatly dependent on the pantomime which was executed in a most pleasing manner. Pierrot Pierrette Tins-to-Mend-Man Ann Cole Alice Shultz Mariatta Tower THE VALIANT By Holsworthy Hall and Robert Middlemass The second play, " The Valiant, " is a story which everyone knows. It is just one more poignant proof of the power of filial love. The acting in this play was highly commendable and surpassed our highest expectations. We were all convinced that, in truth, the valiant taste of death but once. Warden Holt. Father Daly James Dyke Josephine Paris Dan .... Wilson, an attendant Katherine McDonald Helen Rice Carolvn Guptill Catharine Campbell Ruth Mailey Marcia Gavlord 88
Page 94 text:
The Abbot Circle 19 3 2 Contentment It was after ten one hot summer night in August — or rather it was a hot night everywhere but on the water. The sky was covered with stars — some shining brightly, others seeming to twinkle in and out in the distance. The mast-head lights of many boats swayed silently back and forth, as they were rocked by the incoming tide. From the club-house on the nearby shore the faint music of an orchestra drifted to me over the water. I imagined myself dancing to that orchestra, and yet was glad that I was not. Lying on my back on the forward deck of the " Wanakah " , I was superbly happy; I was contented; I forgot my worries, and I lazily took notice of a beautiful night on the water. In the city it would be unbearably hot, but out here where I was a cool breeze fanned me at intervals — just enough to keep me cool. The moon was full — a very beautiful sight and, as I watched it, it seemed to sway back and forth in the heavens, when, in reality, it was the boat which rocked. The tide was almost full. I could hear the waves lapping up against the rocks on the shore, although where I was the water seemed almost still. A few ripples here and there were the only evidences that the tide was really coming in. I could hear voices — ex- cited and happy, I supposed — mingling with the distant music. There is nothing in the world like a silent evening on the water to carry distant sounds distinctly for long distances. I could almost understand what they were saying, but I soon tired of trying to listen and turned my attention to a small sailboat, a cat boat, which had suddenly loomed up beside me out of the darkness. I could hear only the ripple of the water as the waves lapped upon the bow, as the little boat glided silently through the water. A beautiful sail — so graceful and so silent ! Suddenly in the distance, around the cove, came the rhythmic chug-chug of an outboard motor. Nearer and nearer it came, until finally it scooted past me and as quickly passed into the darkness as the chug-chug became softer and softer. Finally I could hear it no more. Soon a large rather bulky looking rowboat came toward me. In it were three old grey-haired fishermen who were coming home after a whole day out in the cove. They were singing, although rather off-tune, to themselves. I think they were singing something about " Sweet Adeline " , although I could not dis- tinguish the words. I wondered how many fish they had caught, and how much patience they must have had to stay in the cove all day. They disappeared, and the plop-plop of the oars grew fainter. I lay dreaming for a while, thinking of nothing but my contented state of mind, of my complete isolation from a hurrying world, and of the wonderful though simple happenings about me. My attention was roused for a minute. From the boat next to mine came the plop-plop-gurgle of bottles being thrown into the water. I concluded that the crew on the " Mabe II " were enjoying themselves. At different times during 90
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