Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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RUBY HEATON CURTIS HARPER ALICE JONES “The Last Leaf”—A Paraphrase Only once before have I seen him pass my house; and now again I hear the pavement-stones resounding as he. bent with age and worldly cares, feebly walks by, tapping with his cane. I have heard that when he was young and strong, long before he was touched or blighted by fatal time, there was no youth more courageous or valiant to be seen by the » ld town crier as he went his round. But as lu- walks now through the streets, looking at every person he meets so forlornly, shaking his feeble head, and muttering to himself, he seems to say. They are g0h«•. Moss-covered tombstones mark the resting place of the loved ones of his vouth. and all the names he used to hear have for years been carved on the cold, cruel tomb. . Mv grandmama has told me—she is long since dead and gone—that he when young and handsome had a Roman nose and a ruddy, healthy glow upon his sun-tanned check. h. but now that he has been grasped by Father Time, his nose is sharp and thin, and it almost meets his pointed chin. He is bent and stooped and his laugh is pierced by a melancholy crack. I know I should not sit here and laugh as 1 look at him. It is really a sin. But his old three-cornered hat and peculiar breeches are all so queer and out of date. Xow. if I should live to be the last and withered one of my generation, the last leaf upon the tree, and should live when all else was young and bright, let them smile, as I am doing, at the old fashioned bough where I alone remain. —Harry J. White. 13.

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tic was around her waist. Still uncomprehending, the Girl sat looking at the moss, pressed in where she had lain. Then the truth dawned on her. A Dream, she said curiously. “Was it a Dream? It must have been. The Bohemian gypsy’s words came to her. “The Practical Man knows how to play, said the gentle voice. The Girl's cheeks burned crimson. For a long while she sat. head buried in her arms, striving to quiet the rapid beat of her pulses. Then she rose, took the flowers from her hair, removed the scarlet tie from her waist and then very, very slowly climbed the hill. The Girl paused in the shadow of the trees. The Practical Man sat on the moss, his book flung aside, his eyes fixed on the sunset. Very softly the Girl called his name. He was on his feet in an instant, coming toward her with rapid, eager strides. The Practical Man was still the Practical Man but the look in his face was changed. And the Girl looked into his eyes and knew that the end of the Adventure did not lie outside the wall. —Irene Waldhorst, 14- PAGE ONE-EIGHTEEN. When all the school is young, lad, And all the I 'reshies green, And every book is new. lad. And all toward knowledge lean: Then hey f«»r pen ami pencil, lad! The midnight oil to burn : Young beads must study hard, lad. For everyone must learn. Young heads must study hard, lad, For eveyone must learn. When all the school is old. lad. And all the Freshies frown, And every hook is torn, lad, And e'en the clocks run down; Creep slowly to your place there. The wearv ones among; Oh, may you find one pass there You’ve worked for all along. Oh, may you find one pass there You’ve worked for all along. 20 —Vivian Slaton.

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In the Woods Before Sunrise I he gray light of dawn had scarcely appeared when a youthful Izaak alton. rod case in hand, alighted at the terminus of an out of town car. It was a morning typical of early spring, cool. damp, cloudy. A light shower had fallen during the night leaving everything with a delicious freshness. I he youth smiled contentedly, yawned a hit and began the ascent of the hill, beyond which lay one of the finest trout streams in Alabama. Fifteen minutes of brisk walking through the dripping underbrush was amply rewarded bv the view from tlie top. Spread out before him lay a small range of mountains, covered with sombre, dark blue pines and soft, velvet green, newly foliaged oaks; the color of these trees harmonizing almost perfectly in the mellow light. Just blow him a narrow strip of light green willows and beeches, broken here and there by the light orange of a clump of maples or the snowiness of a blossoming dogwood, marked the course of the stream. Above, the low filmy clouds could he seen moving slowly to the north until they reached a point where they were lost in the distant foggy mountains. It was indeed a restful scene and the angler appreciated it. As lie stood enjoying the beauty of all this a single mocking bird flew to the top of a slender hickory and burst forth in song. Almost at the same instant a dozen other birds began to sing. These songsters increased until the woods were alive with feathered musicians. The familiar notes of the wood thrush, the faraway coo of a mourning dove, the shrill whistle oi a startled yellow-hammer and the harsh call of the blue-jav, brought back to the youth the memories of the time, not long passed, when he was only a barefoot country bov. listening to these same birds in the woods at home. He glanced at bis watch, picked up his rod case, and started down the hill. As lie did so a frightened chipmunk raced madly to the mouth of bis den. squealed defiantly and disappeared. Halfway down the bill a rabbit burst from cover and sped away through the bushes. Finally, the little creek was reached, a comfortable seat selected near a deep, clear pool and the angler prepared to enjoy life and wonder whv people do not visit the woods before sunrise. 2' —Jesse Smith. '14.