Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 32 text:

AN INTERLUDE For easie things, that may be got at will, lkmmg Q X 1 nw S Wa QW ' Q9 lg 'A F 304- -- iii' 'if wi-le.-,-evwf ,. om, -X 0 .me 'mim i' av .Ifxi 1 ff fx tw Q F' ' . f - i ...Qi ht, ' -xi ,..' -' 'V 5 I V. 1 . : if PQEQ Q, Most sorts of men doe set but little store. HE touched the old walls reverently and her eyes eagerly scanned each object in the room: the old fashioned pictures, worn furniture and faded carpets. ln one corner, stood a piano, scarred with long years of service. She seated herself upon the rickety stool and with caressing fingers, played the old twilight melodies. The keys responded to her touch as the heartstrings of a friend. The happy voices without were as a faint echo of bygone days. Memories crowded thick about her, memories of the time when she, as a child, wove fairy tales from the patterns on the walls and carpet, clasped in hers the hands of bright faced children as they stepped to the tune of a nursery song, and when the soft voice of a mother lulled, into forgetfulness, her childish sorrows. The sound of her name broke the revery and with aching heart, she started to obey the summons. lt was home and she was leaving it. The sunbeams, glinting through the window, had summoned her to brighter lands, the stars had lightened paths of glory, breezes whispered to her words of fame. The narrow walls oppressed her. Beyond lay fields of action where she might gain renown. She had felt ashamed of the old fashioned furniture and quaint portraits on the walls. Her music-loving soul had longed for the fuller vibrations of a new piano. Now they were as loved ones whom she might never see again: and the thought that she had wronged them dimmed the bright promise of the future. Q Q Q HE body is a trust from God, to be rendered back to him when it has fulfilled its function of advancing the soul to a higher plane. He who neglects and abuses his body in the pursuit of knowledge is violating that trustg thus impeding the progress of the soul.

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IN PRCVENCE his wife, and both had but few more years on God's green earthg and he prayed him to let him live on in the house of his fathers. But Gui d'Uisel brake in roughly, demanding the forfeited lease of the good Marquis' ground, holding out his hand to take it. Then Laurent stra' htened somewhat and held up his white head and answered that he would not yield a liiade of grass off his holding. So the page, skilled somewhat in arts of learning, read aloud in mighty tones the terms of the writ which my lord had given Laurent yestere'en, showing the pendant seal of the marquisate. When the great troubadour heard that he must pay an hundred byzants out of his own store, he grew most haughty, and bit his lips so that the marks of his teeth showed white against the blood risen in his face, but he dared not disobey that seal. He looked at those companions who had come with him, and saw that they smiled somewhat, but still he drew forth a broidered pouch and therefrom counted an hundred round hard byzants, which he dropped in the roadway at the goodman's feet. Then, giving spurs to his horse he turned him and galloped back toward Vaqueiras. Thereupon all the village people went to the house in the woods, in the valley where Laurent had lived for many years, and his fathers before him, and there was feasting there like on a Saint's clay, with honey and wassail bread, and apricots dried in last summer's sunshine, all washed down with the sweet red wine of Provence. Thither the page Aubanel followed them and joyed in their rustic revels, and he drank again from the cornel cup, of the water of the cold brown brook, and presentl towards the even, he went away, and as he trod on the leaves in the greenwood this old melody came into his mind and he chanted it happily, in ancient Provence: A 'By a lone and leafy brake I did on my way A sad shepherd overtake Who in grief did say- 'Love, alaok for me And the shafts of calunmy For my ladye Sorrows evermoe Which doth give me woe.' mg Only the rest of the ballad was lost in the still even air, as he fared farther and farther away.

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APARABLE If Iliff' -TN 'Ng HERE was once a boy, who used to ramble about all day 9 J Pa um Q--fe 4 long. And he had a pencil, too, that was his constant companion. These two used to wander all day long, in Ekgjg? company with a smile of the kind that never comes off-nay, uwwtfx 4 Edt not even in his sleep was that smile absent long. And the pencil .used to write down. the things -which they saw, and l J J 6 X. 49, YZ the smile beamed on the things which it wrote. Now there i V QW was in those days, in the land in which those three lived--the S X' 4 WA 'Q t9n wii L' boy, and the pencil, and the smile-a weekly paper, known far and wide as the Church Weekly, because of the smile that helped produce it. Now the pencil was wont to write up all of the things which they saw in their rambles-and the smile beamed upon them. And then those sage remarks of the pencil would be printed in the great paper, and the smile beamed upon them. And the students who read the paper came to be familiar with the boy, and with pencil, and with the smile-and the smile beamed upon them. Now it came to pass in that year that they were holding a great senior election to elect a president. Now the boy, and the pencil and the smile went to this great election. And it came to pass that someone said of the boy, Let us make him our president'-and the smile eamed upon him. Then they voted, and it so happened that the most of them voted for the boy, and that they made him their president. And the smile beamed upon them, and is beaming on them now. Q i Q Q .SUCH TRICKS HATH .STRONG INAOINATIGN HINK of existence without imagination: think of life without its livin dreamsg hurl into oblivion your silver-lined clouds of promise, and see what a thorny, strag ly path lies before you. Imagine the ambitious youth without his air castlesg rob Sie err' man of his hopes of betterment. What an empty fallacy Life would be! How blinndiy we would grope our way in the future. Would Life be worth living?