Bloomington High School - Aepix Yearbook (Bloomington, IL)

Page 33 text:

THE AEGIS 31 March 13th. All my hopes are blighted. Father found my story and said he wouldn't have me thinking of such slush to say nothing of writing it. March 24th. I don't know what I can do, for this is Friday, the last day of Spring vacation and I haven't had any fun yet. I know I can 't write a story. People say that if once you give up, it is much easier the next time to give upg but what is the use of trying to do the impossible? That would be wasting time! I used to think I should like to be an author and get lots of letters from an admiring publicg but now I know better. There is no admiring public, only teachers or fathers or-something like that. SPRING-TIME FRANCES MITCHELL. When Springtime bursts with her blossoms, After the winter so drear, And the gay feathered folk fill the forests, 'Tis the loveliest time of the year. The wildflowers bloom in their radiance And the wood is a carpet of blue With the sweet clumps of violets nodding In their shady beds washed by the dew. The dainty hepaticas blooming In ravines so shady and deep Are the very first signs that sweet Springtime Has wakened the tlowers from sleep. The gay little brooklets come rippling Thru the dark and leafy dells, And the song of their joy is reechoed By the fragrant, fresh blue-bells. Then, Jack-in-the-pulpit, so haughty And Sweet William, so humble and true Have sprung from their green, leafy couches For their share of Springtime, too. How oft we have gone to the Wildwood To gather the sweet treasures there, And have found the white, waxy triliums With their fragrance and beauty so rare. So the birds and the flowers rejoicing With their fragrance and music divine, Make us, too, join the glad carol To welcome the happy Springtime.

Page 32 text:

30 THE AEGIS PAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A BUDDING AUTHOR JULIA HENNINGER. February 27th. Write a story. Those words mean sadness and tearing of hair to me. No! As I think about it, I don 't believe it will be so very hard. Spring Vacation will allow me to finish it properly. Now is the time to start. Sharpen a pencil, get a pad, arrange the cushions, place a plate of fudge conveniently near, and invoke the Muse. The Muse doesn't answer, so I'll wait awhile. 'lk 'lk 'lk if 'lk ll' It would seem that something isn't just right today 5 and, as there is plenty of time tomorrow, I'll wait. Meanwhile I'll look over that new magazine. I may get some inspiration. February 28th. O, dear! I didn 't get any inspirationg and I'1n afraid I am a procrastinator. H 'Tis never too late to mend. So I will start at once. What shall I write about? Something I understand real well, and it must be original too. The State Championship nearly fulfills every requirement but it couldn't be very interesting. A story about Spring would be very interestingg and-and-well if is the best, I think I'll try it. ' THE SPRING. The earth is awakening after a long winter's sleep. I hear the robin's sweet songsg and on banks of streams, pussy willows are showing their buds. O, that is too dry. I have heard it all before-. Almost always the best sellers are love stories, and they are interesting to high school students, too. I don't know whether to have the hair of the heroine Cher name is Loreleij black or auburn. Spun gold hair is nice, too, and is popular. She has a very magnetic personality. Every one is in love with her, from old Uncle Joe, who was eighty-eight last November, to Jimmy, our youngest newsy. And, then, a blond giant comes upon the scene and Lorelei falls in love with him. The rest of the people hate him for taking away their joy and pride. Pshaw! His hair must be dark, for blondes don't fall in love with each other. He can have Irish blue eyes and be a star athlete. There should be a mystery to my story. He can't understand why she goes off by herself so many times a week, and they have their first quarrel over it. However, the trips remain a secret until one day he reads in the morning paper that she has just finished a wonderful painting. I'll outline that story.

Page 34 text:

32 THE AEGIS INTO THE GRAND CANYON. LEROY YOLTON. My! How nice it seemed to step out of the pullman and breathe the fresh mountain air. Here the four of us, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, Miss McClure and I were at Grand Canyon, Arizona, on the rim of that Titan of Chasms. The summer morning was clear and comfortable and Mr. Thomas went imlnediately to the Bright Angel Hotel to make arrangements for our trip down the Canyon. We had come all the way toi do the Grand Canyon and this afternoon we were to descend the Hermit Trail. The Canyon at this point is thirteen miles from rim to rim, and almost a mile deep, nearly as deep as Pike 's Peak is high. Before you are hundreds of square miles, all below your eye, containing scores of great mountain peaks and gorges cut out of solid stone. But only those who have been there will believe me! The walls of the whole canyon are most beautifully tinged With yellow, orange, red, purple, and green, from the deepest shades to the most delicate tints of each. Over it alll is the blue haze so often seen in mountain pictures but distrusted as a bit of imagination on the part of the artist. Late in the afternoon, the effects are even heightened by great shadows of clouds moving over the Canyon. At one-thirty, we started in an open carriage along the rim and after an eight mile ride under the boiling sun, we arrived at the head of the Hermit Trail. There, we left the carriage, got our jolly guide, and started down, mule-back. The trial is about four feet wide except at the turns in the zig-zags where it is probably six. On the outside is a low ridge of loose stones about six inches high to keep the mules in the path. I have been on scenic railways and roller coasters, but these turns are more thrilling than either. Those mules have a way of their own in turning those curves. They seem mischief incarnate as they walk up to the very outward edge of the curves and there plant their fore feet. Then, it seems, they untelescope their necks a few yards to nibble a sprig of plant while they are waiting till their hind feet catch up with their front feet, for they cannot turn round until they do. Then, as they swing their heads around and out over the chasm, you think surely you will fall down, down, down those hundreds, even thousands of feet. But their heads are swung over the trail and they start on to the next turn, all the time laugh- ing inwardly at your fear. There is no danger to your life at all, for the mules value theirs far more than they do yours, and, indeed, it is even safer to ride a mule than to walk.