University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD MUST ALL OUR TREASURES PERISH ? The flush of evening darkens into night Almost before the splendor of the sky — Its magic light Has fallen on the charmed watcher ' s eye And filled him with delight. The matin carol of the singing bird (Poured forth in glorious welconie to the dawn Has scarce been heard Echoing over meadow, grove and hill When on a sudden impulse he is gone And all is still. A fleeting hour Measures the span of life Of the most fragrant flower. And in the cruel strife, Waged by grim Time so ceaselessly on all Even the best r]iust fall. Friendships and loves must some day cease to be. (But shall they wholly perish ? J ot while the heart can cherish A tender memory. M. T. (Dooling, Jr., ' og.

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THE REDWOOD impressive and so dramatically efifective as to inspire in the beholder bewilder- ment and awe. It is a triumph of dra- matic ingenuity little short of pure in- spiration. How can I better conclude these notes than by quoting the author ' s ded- ication of his play — a play that is surely destined to be reproduced at intervals for many and many a year to come and to leave after it an aroma of incense as delicious to heart and soul as a memory of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass at Christmas or Easter Day: DEDICATION To the Rev. Robert E. Kenna, S. J., gentle playmate of my boyhood, cher- ished memory of my youth, and rever- end friend of my riper years, this work is affectionately inscribed, in tender recol- lection of the sweet long ago in Santa Clara College, and to reverently assist, in my humble way, the celebration of its golden jubilee. Clay M. Greene, 1868-69. Chari es Warrkn Stoddard, Ph. D. ' 03. TO A SONG-BIRD Happy and gay, Happy and gay, Ever merry this long life-day: And thy cheery song Bears me along To a land far away — To a land that is dear — Sweet yesteryear. A. B. DiEPHNBROCK, ' 08,

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THE REDWOOD AN EYE FOR AN EYE ' The short December day waned into evening. A cold wind blew steadily from the north causing the army bivouacked and entrenched to creep near to its camp fires and wrap itself in its blankets. From a fire far to the left came the sound of voices singing. The officers were making merry. Then after a time the singing ceased and from the midst of the group a young Captain arose and shook the ashes from his pipe. It ' s mighty cold tonight he said and yawned. W ell, good night, boys, I ' m off to see to the pickets. He but- toned his coat about him and walked out into the moonlight. Captain Allen was a young man and well liked by all. Every night, no matter how mean and disagreeable, he would visit his pickets and see that they were as comfortable as possible. Tonight he walked along thinking of the northern home where soon the Yule log would make bright his hearth and shine upon the faces of his loving family. He pictured it all, as he cautiously moved along, and with all the affection of his loving heart, yearned to be there. Suddenly he stopped and listened, then crept forward and stood erect behind a tree. What he saw there made him crouch back and draw his revolver. Then he stealthily looked again. There in the sand of a small creek knelt a man; before him on a flat board was stretched a piece of paper and beside him lay a revolver. He was rapidly tracing lines on the paper. Now and then he stopped and listened, then again he bent to his work and the pencil moved with rapid pre- cision. Captain Allen watched a moment, fascinated by the man ' s movements. No hesitation, no pause except to listen. Certainly the man was an ex- pert and knew well his mission. And his bravery! There he knelt alone, a spy, almost within the entrenchment of his enemies, making a chart of their works. He finished and he stopped to survey his work. It satisfied him and a smile slight but noticeable spread over his features; the smile of a man well pleased with a deed. He picked up his revolver and put it in his holster, gathered the paper, folded it and placed it safely in the bosom of his shirt. As he arose to go, Captain Allen spoke. All through he asked politely. The spy started, turned and unflinch- ingly gazed into the barrel of the Cap- tain ' s gun. After a moment he answered. Yes all through,— Bob! Jack! Allen ' s arm lowered. He stood motionless, paralyzed. As he gazed, seeing nothing but the face of his enemy, there rushed before his mind the memory of this man, who wore a