Central High School - Aglaia Yearbook (Manchester, NH)

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12 ,X- nearer, until it is booming away in front of me. A tingling sensation runs up and down my spine as the music nears me, and I find myself humming and my feet keeping time with the rhythm of a stirring march. I never feel quite so patriotic as when hearing a band play Stars and Stripes Forever for some other creation of Sou- sa'sj and seeing our colors float above marching men. If it is a large parade, I delight in hav- ing to push and shove my way through the throngs on the streets. Having finally found a place of vantage from which to view the parade, I like to look at the people around me and watch their excite- ment. When at last the parade has passed, I have all I can do to suppress my desire to run along with it. As it is, I rush away to the street on which the parade is to return, and there I see it once more, ex- periencing the same delight all over again. MARION LESTER AN OLD ARMY HORSE To look at jack from a distance, you could not see that he differed radically from the other horses grazing about. Ap- proach him cautiously until you are about ten feet away, and you will see, if your eyes are sharp, that his left flank bears the letters U S Cf, standing for United States Cavalry. Taking care not to excite the old boy, encircle him until the right flank is visible. There, you will be astonished by the maze of brands- brands of division, company, battalion, brigade, and what have you. All of these TI-IIC ORACLE marks are crossed out but one. Ist Div. signifies that his last services in the army were rendered to the First Division. When I first became acquainted with old Jack, I wondered about these crossed out brands. After a day of trying to make him work, I discovered the under- lying cause-he was so lazy that no one wanted him. Later I realized that his laziness might have been caused by lack of reward for his labors. I began to give him some salt or other delicacy after he performed a task, and presently laziness disappeared. His reasoning Cif horses reasonj was log- ical enough, wasnlt it? Why work if you don't benefit by it? He had several other characteristics that set him off from horses in general. While I could go into the pasture swing- ing a rope and walk right up to him, my uncle Cwho considered himself master of horsesj had difficulty in catching him, even though he held the rope behind him and uttered coaxing words. jack had one good quality which he carried over from his army training-his habit of obeying commands immediately. I didn't at first realize the value of this. It was spring, plowing time and Jack was pulling a plow which I handled. Lead- ing him was June, my little five-year-old cousin, keenly enjoying herself in the hazardous position which I had thought- lessly allowed her to take. All went well until suddenly, without warning, June stumbled and fell! Realizing how helpless I was-a full ten feet from her-I did the only thing possible. I shouted, Hjack! Halt! Whether he understood the importance of the situation or whether it was his old

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THE ORACLE A LETTER 418 Beacon Street Manchester, N. H. November, 1934 Dear Shirley, You say that your idea of a perfect day is one of utter gaiety and frivolous pleasure. Such a day is to my mind al- together too common in this hectic age and is inclined to leave a bad taste in one,s mouth. I should like to make my perfect day a search for peace - not merely a surface calm but rather that inward peace that passeth all under- standing. Curiously enough, to me such a peace is more often achieved through continuous, monotonous mo- tion, such as traveling on an onrushing train, than in a quiet secluded spot. So I would begin my perfect day at dawn -a cold, grey dawn-in the cabin of a small ocean liner. Salty fog wafting in through a porthole, the weird creaking of the vessel, at intervals the sharp fog- horn's piercing blasts, and the pitching and surging of the ship under me all are necessary elements in my awaken- ing. Up to the slippery pitching deck then, Qwith apologies to Miltonj, tramp- ing around it at least six times before partaking of a hearty English breakfast, even though many of the passengers express a preference for a messy con- coction beloved by the French but ab- horred by myself-onion soup. For the remainder of the morning, my book and solitary deck chair fthe other pas- sengers being appropriately seasickj beckon me. My errant fancy next wafts me to a Hawaiian beach-great expanses of daz- zling white sand, coupled with a color- 'l'5f'1i ful panorama of beach umbra.. various specimens of humanity clad in variegated bathing suits. Surely, per- fect peace can be found here, floating on one's back far from shore with eyes closed to blot out the blinding blue of tropic skies. The afternoon shadows deepen and lengthen. Twilight falls and I find my- self walking in the hushed stillness of an English garden, - the type of garden made famous by Yardley's perfume ad- vertisements. An invisible and far away pianist fdistance lends enchantmentj is softly playing one of Chopinls waltzes, and, as is ideal in such cases, the fount- ain dreamily tinkles an accompaniment. So much for the garden, a delightful place to linger for an interval but to pall in time upon a nature of rapidly changing moods. The inescapable de- sire to be moving reasserts itself and I finish my day in a roaring plane speed- ing over black landscape sprinkled with lights. Perhaps such a day would not ac- complish my perfect peace but it cer- tainly would bring me closer to that coveted ideal so difficult of attainment. Sincerely, GERALDINE DUNBAR PARADES A parade is one thing I can't resist. XVhether it is a large holiday parade or just the Snowshoers starting out for a Canada or Maine convention, the sound of a band lures me to the street. I love to hear the music faintly in the distance, then gradually becoming louder and

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THE OR army training, I do not know, but he stopped with one foot poised over the helpless child. Had that foot descended, it would have crushed the tiny body. From that day Jack had a larger place than ever in my heart. Lixwiuzxcrz Fox LISTENING IN There is a sharp click, a pause of thirty seconds or less, and then, a burst of words or music. I am now listening in on the radio. Having drawn up a comfortable ro:kfng chair and a chair for my feet, I r:-lax and prcpare to enjoy myself. Al- most instantly, I dream that I am direct- ing th: famous symphony orchestra which is coming in so excellently. To the superb melodies of a jazz band, I am floating with a very beautiful girl in my arms. Suddenly, the lilting tune ends, my pretty maid vanishes from my arms, as I am taken to the ringside of a champion- ship boxing match. I become tense and crouch over so as not to miss a single word of the sports announcer. The plunk, plunk of leather against body can be heard plainly. Then the excited roar- ing crowd of fans fairly makes the radio vibrate, as the champion is knocked out and the championship comes back to the good old U. S. A. The announcer is so excited that he can scarcely describe what is taking place. With a slight twist ofthe dial, I begin to shiver as I hear the eerie voice of the Shadow, who sees all and knows all. When the mystery is cleared up, I breathe a sigh of relief and then be- rate myself for being so foolish. A glance at the radio news tells me that a news broadcast is due, and I listen to the resume. Once again comes the throbbing ACLE 11 rhythm of a dance band, and I divine that pleasure which comes from good music. I have been given that delight which comes only to those who really listen-in. RIN-tx MVI.M.-Us WATER Water can inspire a poet, but what can water do for a man dying of thirst a hundred miles from nowhere, or to a man who is drowning two miles from the nearest shore? The poet sits leisurely on a patch of moss, rests his back against a tree, and looks dreamily into the miniature rapids of a mountain stream. After a half hour of meditation he writes a few words on a pad of paper, then repeats what he has written to the birds, or the brook, or it may even be the soft gentle breezes. And then out on the burning sands of the desert. The hot rays of the sun pour down on the never-ending sand dunes. Never a breeze, not even a warm breeze, stirs the stifling air. A man, half crazy, crawls on all fours. After a half hour of panting, crying, and clawing at his parched throat, he screams, yells, and goes through gestures of agony. If a sparkling brook were close by him, would he sit beside it and write poetry? And now in the middle of a beautiful lake a man, unable to swim, is trying desperately to tear off his clothes. As he starts to sink he lets out screams of hor- ror and madly moves his legs and arms in an effort to keep his head above the sur- face of the water. Water is all that he can see. He can't stop to admire the beau-