Monterey High School - El Susurro Yearbook (Monterey, CA)

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EL SUSURRO When hrst I heard this wierdly sound, I did not pause to learn From whence it came, or what it was, But homeward I did turng With flying feet and streaming hair, I sped the forest throughg And never stopped to look behind, Till home came into view. Sometimes since, I have listened there, And laughed at my haunted pines, That sent me scurrying through the woods, O'er brush and tangled vines. And even now I must confess, I should not like to be Left on a dark and stormy night Alone, by that same tree. -GRACE KLAUMANN, '18 ,'1il,, me in t e , K W it to x ..... ... 23

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EL SUSURRO The Haunted Pines Q I love to wander in the woods, And trail the forest stream, And pluck the Howers from shady nooks And watch the waters gleamg And sit down on the rocky -ledge, Nearby the waterfall, And listen to its murmuring voice, b And hear the wood folk call. I love the haunts of solitude, Where naught but Nature callsg More lovely far these forest scenes, Than any marble halls! The song of bird. the laughing brook, The whispering trees that bend: ' Are sounds rnost welcome to mine ear, ,If shared with some dear friend. But all alone I feel so small, And frightened at each sound, That comes from bird, or brook, or tree, VVhen no one else is 'ronnd. And even with a friend along, I've frightened been sometimes, At ghost-like voices of the woods. That seem to speak of crimes. Iive even felt my heart stand still- Each hair rise up with ease, At nothing more to frighten me, Than rubbing of two trees. But, oh! VVhat doleful sound it made, Like dying groans and sighs, Of some imprisoned soul in pain, VVho to break its fetters tries. 22

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EL SUSURRO Her Ride Q Gee, whiz! How I hate Latin! Blamed old stuff! Never can get it! Two, four, six, eight more lines before I'm through, and got a raft of English to read besides, and Miss Watson asked for these ever- lasting history note books tomorrow. -Mine's simply miles behind. Say! I'll be glad when I'm through High. No college for mine, grumbled Mabel Eaton, as she pondered over a particularly difficult sentence in Cicero. Not that she was putting her mind very enthusiastically upon the translation before her, but she so wanted to finish reading V.'V.'s Eyes before going to bed, and her father always insisted upon his scholars, as he called his three High School children, being in bed by ten o'clock. Bum qucm Pompeius Icgat-us sempfr indicavit, et quibus rrrat-. What can that be? She turned over to the vocabulary, finding the meaning of the new words, then carefully cribbed them in very faint pencil marks above the Latin. But when the 'words had all been found, the meaning was as vague as before. Again she counted the lines-eight more to be done. Oh, well, I just can't get that now. I'll go on to my English, and maybe I'll have time -to find that stuff in the morning. She closed the volume of despised Latin, placed it emphatically on the other side of the table, and reached for her English book. Mabel, said her father, without glancing up from his writing at his end of the family study table, do you know where my old account books are P Why, yes, dad, mother said she'd put them in the attic. I'll go hunt for them, she added, only too glad for an excuse to leave the despised studying for a few moments. She pushed her chair back from the table, left the room, hurried up stairs, and arriving in the upper hall, opened the doorway leading to the attic stairs. She counted them as she went-fourteen-and even then, knowing the exact number, felt hesitatingly for another step bei fore wallcingforward into the inky blackness. Pity they didn't fix a switch by the door, she muttered as she groped unsuccessfully for the light with one hand held high above her head, while she warded off contact with immovable objects with her other. But finally the cord came into her hand, she felt the end, then ' 24