Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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YANCEY LITERARY SOCIETY

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High School Pupils Nothing that the mind of man can conceive is at once as complex and yet as simple as a high school pupil; he rarely studies, and yet he scoffs at the frivolously inclined students of private schools; he wears his handsomest clothes to school, but is disgusted by the crowds of very fashionably attired people who throng the streets; he considers himself quite devout when, in Lent, he abandons the pleasure of eating sweets, but he spends his father's money, his own, and all his friends' in buying peanuts; he gazes dreamily out of the windows all day long, and when he is brought back to earth is amazed and indignant that in all his hurried course of life he cannot be allowed to have a few months of quiet, thoughtful meditation. The average pupil enters high school with the impression that life is a “grand, sweet song;” he is no longer a child, he has developed wonderfully since that disagreeable period in the grammar school. Nothing is too great for him to undertake, he feels that he could conquer the world with one hand. What a man of the world he is! With what a careless air lie saunters homeward in the afternoons, slings his Latin down (lie always carries his Latin home, it has such a dignified appearance), and casually inquires if “there's any food in the house. His impressions change, it is true, but something of that Freshman very superior wisdom clings to him for four years. He never quite overcomes it; it is shown in his treatment of the childish Freshmen when lie himself has long since passed that stage ; in his attitude toward his new teacher, that little girl who didn't know a smart boy when she saw one; in his conduct on the street-cars when the conductor politely requests him to calm himself. He is a twentieth century Beau Brumnicl. a gentleman of leisure; he rises on school days at half-past seven, musing on what a bore it is to be obliged to leave his comfortable bed, and thinking pleasantly of his delightful evening the day before. Going down to breakfast, finally, lie is indignant that bis waffles are cold, and informs the cook that if he had anything to say about the matter, there’d be a new chef in the kitchen. And yet, with all this, it is pleasant to note what a sublimely happy person lie is. He rare In frowns, lie is cheerful under almost any conditions, and if he has learned nothing else, he at least knows that a merry heart docth good like medicine. and that he must laugh with the world, if he desires to be happy with it. KATL SMITH. '1'.

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Somewhere Somewhere the tide wave turns, Somewhere a beacon burns, Somewhere there is light for the dreary, Somewhere there's a race well run, Somewhere at the set of the sun But it's weary, the waiting, weary. Somewhere there’s a harbor calm, Somewhere are the breezes balm. Somewhere there’s a shore not dreary. Somewhere there’s a shore of light. Somewhere at the fall of night— But it’s wearv, the waiting, weary. Somewhere my ship may land. Somewhere on a sunlit strand, Somewhere there’s a day more cheery. Somewhere o’er the rolling wave, Somewhere the storms cease to rave But it’s weary, the waiting, weary. —r. E. w. Every breeze that stirs the glade Has some sweet joy to bring us: Every bird hid in the shade Has some sweet song to sing us; Every cloud that sails the sky Has golden beams for living; Every heart that breathes a sigh Sighs only when repining; Every star that greets the night Is hope without misgiving: Every man is giv’n the sight To see the joy of living: Every song of night and day Is Nature’s gladness voicing: Everyone has some small way To set the world rejoicing. —P. E. W. 27