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Page 17 text:
Life ' s Loveliness HiFE has loveliness to sell, and with surprise we find among her wares objects so familiar that we have never thought of them as beautiful. In a crisp, stiff, white calling-card, in a newly wa»shed window, in a deep- grained, spicy-smelling board — in these things there is beauty. There is magic, too, in glistening, foaming soapsuds, in the far-off sound of a train-whistle, and in the blossom of a weed, all glistening with dew. The woods after a rain, the fresh, warm earth, sweet-smelling green things, the drip-drop of rain off the leaves, the flutter of little bird wings drying themselves, and the brush of dew against your face from glancing boughs — in these things there is beautv enough to make your heart jump with the pure joy of being alive. An autumn day is filled with lo eliness. You can hear it in the drowsy humming of the big. yellow bee and hear it in the crack of grasshoppers as they jump. (3n the street the elms send a dotted, swaying pattern of shade and sunshine. In the gutters there are rustling, crackling heaps of leaves, all red, and brown, and golden. A little gust of wind sends one scudding across the walk. The picket fence casts long shadows sprawling on the grass and you can smell the pungent odor of burning autumn leaxes, and see the blue smoke curl up into the golden boughs abo ' e. H. zi:l Davis ' 20. OHE greatest beauty the world has is the beauty of nature, but the casual observer passes it by. He sees in green grass and meadow flowers only feed for careless cattle to trample and destroy ; not the beauty of slender grass-blades and delicately fragrant, many-hued blossoms. Tumbling streams and mighty ri ers are nothing more than water. The great oceans are expanses of needless water that offer an incon enience in reaching other countries ; not wide-flung masses of wonder and grandeur. Fields of wa ing yellow wheat merely mean grain for the hand of the reaper and food in plenty for the winter; not a moving mass of golden beauty. How many of us miss the beauty of a tiny verdant valley hemmed in by marching hills, or of a single majestic peak losing its snow) ' spire in a billowing cloud? You sa ' the desert is not beautiful, that it is a barren waste of sand, but have you ever been out on the desert at night when the full orange moon hangs high in the deep blue sky? The most sordid surroundings can be transformed into beauty if we will but search for it under the surface. hat we do not look for, we do not see. Eloise McCle. ' We ' 20. [ 1- ]
Page 16 text:
A III b 1 1 1 o II ' Jlic ) ' A is rising Exquisite in her freshness, Unbounded in her promise. Inspired, to her. a welcoming (jrl(l Sends up an ardent greeting — SparkHng brilliance from a tree-girt pool, Steaming incense from the pulsing earth. Fragrance from the blossoms, dewj- fresh. And matchless greens, golds, rose and blues, .Ml winged things, their clarity of song. And I. rejoicing, asjfiring. hoiiing. Pledge infinite, unselfish l(i e. This is the Dawn. The wearied Day now seeks her sapphire couch. Clad in garments tattered, soiled. She falters from the pathless fields of heaven. To her. a sighing world Sends up a low farewell — Shades lustre from a tree-girt pool. l) ing fragrance from the bruised blossoms. And matchless colors, soft, subdued. Dull crimson, purples, silver, greys ; The winged creatures, drowsy, brooding cries. And I, hopes dimmed and aspirations lost. Remember only ain and finite lo e. This is the Xight. Tomorrow brings another Dawn. Ruth .McBkide ' 2U. 11- ' J
Page 18 text:
m A Request for S ni o k e F a i r i e s ;. ii ' .s ' ii-iK, your dictionary is incomplete. ' ! Diligently lia e I consulted y(jur works concerning Smoke I ' airies. Hut I find that you skip gayly from smoke drw w t.. to dry meat with smoke, to smoke-farthings, n. pi., same as pentecostals. without so much as hinting that these delightful little sprites exist. Surel}- vou have dreamed before a leajMng, crackling fire in blustering winter. Didn ' t you see frolicking Smoke hairies dancing in the curling, red flames? Ha e you never wandered forth in the nipping Xoxember air for the sheer io - of sniffing that pungent, burning fragrance that permeates the whole golden world? Oh, you must have seen them in the VaW. for Smoke ! ' airies are liberated when russet-red lea ' es are burned on the altars of Autumn. Jovousl) ' they troup forth, flinging wide an incense that makes the tyes sparkle and the pulse quicken. Lazily, then, they rise to the cloudless turquoise skies to look down u]ion a world drawing off her garments for a long winter ' s rest. Please, Mr. Webster, add this to your book; . ' moke I- airies, n. pi., delectable elfin creatures abroad in crisp, spicy weather. Ruth iMcBiuim ' 20. F r o 1)1 M y If 1 II d o w Water stretches wide before me — W (jnderful to me the story ater of the far-flung Bay. Which this water could relate: Brightlv shines the moon upon it. How the hardy old-world sailors Traces broad a siherv way ; Risked their lives, despising Fate, Commerce of a hundred cities Hraxed the unknown pathless oceans. Rides at anchor night and day. bound at last the Golden Gate. Ei.iz.Ai ' .i-iTH Thomas ' 5 1 M (I y 1 1 III e X-y w. s a blue and gold morning, and the little white house stood bathed in sunshine. Pink cherry trees swayed against the warm haziness of the sky, their blossoms softly falling. I ' rom the open kitchen window stole spicy fragrances — liot ginger-bread, and toothsome, juicy pies. ith dainty swir of wings, a tiny, ruby-throated humming-bird flitted from honey-suckle to trumpet- flower, from trumpet-flower to purple iris. Two fat little boys tumbled about good-naturedl - upon the green back lawn, v bile far abo e their heads a small, pink-clad figure, golden braids flying, swung high inin the warm, blue air. P.. Rr.. K. .Simpson ' 20. I 14 I -V.
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