Lincoln High School - Quill Yearbook (Jersey City, NJ)

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The Gypsy Fortune-Teller Without her resplendent Home on wheels, Mirror-sided and brightly painted, Sits the Gypsy fortune-teller. Her brown face is wrinkled And her lusterless black eyes Peer from beneath her scarlet bangled shawl Thrown carelessly Over her greying strings of hair. Yellow-drest, and with sunken palm Outstretched At passers-by, Whinning thru toothless jaws, Cross my palm with silver, pretty Missf' Marjorie Harris CSQQI5 Farewell With eyes that are misty and with dry throats, we come to a time when we bid our last farewell to our Alma Mater. Here we have struggled and felt discouragementg here we have conquered and known triumph. Golden memories linger and episodes-brief flashes-make parting hard. Oh, we have a gay smile and have a terribly grown-up air about the whole affair, but underneath there is a tugging of the heart strings that will not be quieted. Separate paths we each must choose, and alone we start our trip into a relentless world. Kind to some and harsh to many, we'll not have the chance to dream our dreams undisturbed. For the last time we meet our friends under the clock and have a comradely chat in an agreeable group. Graduation Day, a day of gladness, we go to meet the world confident and unafraid! Now, with a gay wave of the hand and, a tremulous smile on the lips, we go, and the corridors echo softly after our dying footsteps, good bye, good bye! Gladys Crotbers 113 ... A Y

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Dusk In The Woodland O, I would wander in the woods at dusk With the wind caressing The star-gleams in my hair, And have the odor of balsam and pine Drug me as I walked, A lone traveler in a deserted world. Then as I grew weary I would throw myself down On the moss beneath some guardian tree And, listening to the music of the woodland, Fall dreamlessly to sleep. Marjorie Harris 659915 How Do You Do? I-Iow do you do, Miss Blank? That is the time-honored formula for acknowledging an introduction. I like to consider myself a socially correct person, so I too simper sweetly and say, How do you do, Miss Blank? Imagine what would happen if I really received an answer to this question or if I myself, attempted to answer it. There never is an answer, of course. At least I've never gotten one, nor should I expect one according to the conventions of society. I might just as well say, Abracadabra, Miss Blank, this at least is more pleasing to the ear than How do you do. And in addition, it would relieve me of that nagging feeling that I might sometime get an answer. Last night I gave way to an impulse. I doubt whether my victim will want to know me after this. But I am afraid I don't care. I've had the supreme joy of giving a full and impassioned reply to How do you do. First I said, I do as I please-when I'm able. Then I shifted abruptly and asked, How do I do what? Inspired as I was, I did not wait for an answer. Ignoring a flabbergasted look, I proceeded to give a detailed account of my operation, my diet, and my other hobbies, in short, I discussed myself thoroughly. It wasn't until I had finished that I regained some of the milk of human kindness. I escorted my guest to the sofa, brought her a glass of water and an aspirin, and drew the shades. Doubtlessly I shall go on saying How do you do, but within me it shall be Abracadabra -it is safer. 112

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X 'gg ,X W ASTOLAT, November 7, 560 DEAR GUINEVERE: You are probably very much surprised to receive this letter from me, the I.ily Maid of Astrolat. I hope you do not consider me impudent for writing to you, the Queen of Camelot, but I am afraid you have been given a wrong impression, and I should like to explain. This morning I happened to overhear a conversation between my two brothers. They were speaking of the affairs at Camelot, and remarked- that people were linking my name with I.ancelot,s. They also said that you were very much disturbed about it. I am distressed to hear this because I know that Lancelot loves you and I should not want him to be unhappy. Lancelot stopped at Astolat on his way to the jousts because he had lost his way. He borrowed a shield and asked me to care for his own until he returned. I fell in love with him and because I did not know the ways of men, I led myself to believe he loved me although he did nothing to encourage me. When he was ready to leave, I asked him to wear my favor and he accepted only after I had convinced that it would add to his disguise. He had never before worn anyone's favor. As you know, Lancelot was wounded at the joust. I then nursed him back to health, with the help of the hermit. Wlien he was well, he again stopped at Astolat to get his shield. He requested that I name something he might do to thank me for helping him. I asked him to marry me. He explained that this was impossible as he had no intentions of ever marrying. He was willing to give me land and riches if I married a poor man, but as I wanted no one but him, I refused. I hope I have made you understand the situation. You see, it was my fault, so please do not hurt someone who does not deserve to be so treated. Your sincere friend, ELAINE Berlba Rvidnzillvr. 114