Cedar Grove Academy - Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

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When Winter Comer WgQR,yr Jg5gY VISION which will long remain in the minds of the students of C. G. A. greeted them when they returned to school one December morning. In a few short hours a mass of barren trees and fields had been changed fl- into a fairyland of ice and snow. Our Lady's shrine had become a picturesque grotto, and the tall cedars appeared as harpers hoar with beards that rest on their bosoms. An arch- way of sparkling boughs extended over the front avenue. The tulip tree, in regal ermine clad, stood like a queenly mistress spreading her jeweled arms to earth and sky. The gates that never close looked more inviting than ever with their icy fretwork. Beyond the driveway loomed the building, glistening and serene in the winter sunlight. Such was the picture which the hands of the Master Artist had painted. I-low many pupils who were thrilled with the exquisite grandeur of the scene paused to consider, as they lightly brushed the snow from their coats, the wonderful formation of each little flake? Away up in the northern part of Vermont lives a man who for years has made a scientific study of snowflakes. He has viewed them under the microscope and found in them rare hidden beauties. Every crystal is a masterpiece of design and no design is ever repeated. This is one of nature's miracles. When the snow melts, its design is lost forever without leaving any record behind. Usually the flakes are hexagonal in form, the six sides being exactly alike even to microscopic details. Most people think the very large flakes are the most beautiful, but that is because the crystals are large enough to be seen with the naked eye. When examined under the microscope these large flakes are usually imperfect. Some of the finest are only one-twentieth of an inch in diameter, yet the microscope shows them to be marvelous in design. When we contemplate the delicate beauty of a snowflake, with true humility we acknowledge that God is unapproachable in the magnificence of His work. The Winter Girls, '17, '2.9. SI

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Sfmy Leaver From mf heme ookf There were ten plagues in Egypt, but the eleventh and worst does not take lace there but everywhere. It is a family reunion. Everyone from little Archibald, aged two months, to Grandfather with his snow white locks, makes his appearance. All talk at once, Grandfather shouts because his hearing is not as good as it used to be. Little Willie spends what time he can spare from banging on the new piano in pulling Cousin Gwendolin's hair and decorating the newfurniture wit the marks of his sticky hands. But still everyone is happy-everyone but the hostess. Need I say it? The one thing which she enjoys most about the family reunion is the hour when the last forty-second cousin has departed in his collegiate flivver or Pierce Arrow, and the remains of the peanuts have been collected from the rugs. J. H., '17 IF Ili ll! September, 1916, brought to the hearts of fifteen Seniors the attainment of a long cherished desire. Ever since our freshman year we have tread softly and spoke in subdued tones as we passed the graduates' classroom. Times without number we cast envious glances at those dignified ebony chairs. Now, behold! we the Class of '17 have come to the realization of our dreams. At last we find ourselves the occupants of that sanctum sanctorum the threshold of which we had no sooner crossed than our dizzy heads were encircled by the traditional halo of learning. Even when Time's relentless fingers have chiseled wrinkles on our brows and tinged our bobbed heads with silver, we shall recall, with a feeling of trepidation, that eventful morn in the fall of '16 when we entered that enchanted room where school books allure, where tongues utter wisdom, and where youth weaves dreams. M. H., '17 1 if 41 Once a year-and I'm certain most of us think that this is once too often-even the bravest students of music at the Grove are overcome with fear at the sight of a Man. Answering your inquiring look, I am going to tell you that this formidable person-the only one of our acquaintance who has the faculty of putting us into a renzy-is none other than the well-known Professor Romeo Gorno, the examiner from the College. Yea, verily, dear reader, he puts us in a frenzy. For months before his visit, we study harmony and transposing, and practice scales, sonatas and ear training. Finally dawns the fatal day. With hands like chunks of ice, and hearts beating in six-eighth time, we tremblingly approach the scene of our execution. The door opens, we salute the lord high executioner and try to keep our equilibrium by frantically waving our arms as we feel the rug gliding along with us. We reach the piano. The examiner tries to Iput our fears to flight by a few friendly remarks. hese fall faintly on our ears li e the last earthly sounds heard by the drowning. We begin to play. Bach, Beethoven, Scarlatti and other great Masters rush over the keyboard in a strange sort of whirligig. Then we begin to gurgle a few sounds which are meant to show our proficiency in ear training . In our lucid moments during this ordeal-if we are blessed with any-we are devoutly hoping that our teacher is not within hearing distance. After we have given several amazing exhibitions of our originality, we strike a few chords which end in a wailing dimin- 51