College of St Marys of the Springs - Yearbook (Columbus, OH)

Page 36 text:

Wu 1 wing p ,mug PWIQ li Qsvuf :snug V mac mug 1 N415 lg UN IIIQSSGQQ Of fl, I And I knew not cared not, where. N my little craft I drifted, ED ' 1 And I was happy, so happy That I lived in a world so fair. l-low long I drifted I know not, But a perfume divinely sweet Was borne on the balmy breezes And I sat erect in my seat. Then I saw bright lily faces Peeping over the water top: And a sudden intuition Made me know they bade me stop. the wdltl' lIilitS O lilies, I said. why stop me? Won't you make me some reply? I have felt your sweet attraction, Shining lilies, tell me why. Then spake the tallest lily, ln a voice of music rare, We stand for all that is purest, For all that is good and fair. From the slimy depth of the water, Our stainless blossoms grewg Then learn that your soul's pure whiteness Rests not with your lot, but you. MARGARET MCALLISTER, 'I 5. l.,-l...-.-1-1 i,-l...-.l-i-i mv EOS! Ponv I HAD a little pony and a classic name E51 'Q I he bore, And he carried me quite safely for a Through old Gallic fields I wandered where Great Caesar once had pondered Many a daring plan of battle, many a wile. I loved my little pony with his back of glossy brown. And I kept him out of sight of prying eyesg But at last came one who spied him, Though I'd tried so hard to hide him, ' And she calmly took away my cherished prize. Now I plod with drooping spirits through that dreary Gallic land In the footprints left by Caesar in the soilg But the ground seems very stony and I miss my little pony. And the days are full of weariness and toil. 31

Page 35 text:

KWIQL g l4l!l wuz I wuz li m r swag wma I W ' f' ' lx 1, W N :J KVM 'WVIJ 'lvl' , N pr. . 'KVI' f N lv , N VJ iff? , frK-5MQi,fri:b'+?4lrfsi:-E+?-ilffrivfi5'+1ii,fris59+'f4'frx. ?f+'s1sfri45!3.i,frx45d.fsi,frirl Life is glowing in its maturity, but everything is more quiet now than when we last viewed the scene. 'While the robin still chirps, his is now a busy song, for his mate and little ones must be provided for. Still, vivid flashes of red and blue are seen, and often snatches of a merry song are heard, but things seem filled with a quiet of responsibility. All troubles and cares can now be forgotten in the. soothing balm which Nature offers. Lying on the soft grass amid the flowers, in the cool shade of some tree, with face upturned to the azure sky, one could almost imagine himself dreaming away the hours in Arcadia. Again we view the same scene in autumn. A misty, purple haze enfolds the higher hills, the sun rises in clouds of red, and the east wind blows over the place. making the gor- geous, many-tinted trees rustle like proud dames in their rich silks. The dandelions, which before made the hillside so warm and cheery, have grown old and hoary-headed in their efforts to liven up this sinful old world. Still, here is busy, happy existence. The squirrels and other furry denizens of the forest are bustling about gathering stores for the coming winter, and the caw of the rooks and merry chatter of the blackbirds are heard, while above all. like a benediction over God's world. spreads the soft, calm, blue of the auttunn sky. Now, winter is here. The landscape is softly, warmly wrapped in a white blanket, in- stead of the yellow one which so recently enveloped it. The sun rises in pale colors, the palest violet fading into gray, orange blending with a faint rose-pink then deepening again, while each crystal of the dazzling whiteness, reflecting the sun's rays in many colors, is in itself a tiny rainbow. Each tree and bush wears Uermine too dear for an earl. Each twig bears its light burden, and with every motion of the limbs, the soft masses fall, once in a while half- burying some unlucky cottontail who goes scurrying away, convinced, like Chicken Little, that the sky is falling. A deep quiet pervades the whole atmosphere, and soothes the spirit of any weary mortal who may seek out his Mother Nature, and in pale letters across the still paler winter sky is inscribed the word Peace, The poet says, Happy is he who holds communion with Nature in all her varied forms. She is a teacher who approves our worthy actions and who reproaches our guilty consciences in her gentle and kind way, a friend, sympathetic in joys and sorrows, a mother in whose arms we may rest, and into whose willing ear. we may pour forth our inmost feelings. When troubles assail us, we feel nearer to our Creator when near to Nature, imbibing her quiet, unobtrusive teachings. She tells none of our secrets, betrays none of our confidences. They are safer with her than with our dearest friends, and until we earn a place in a far better land, and win far better friends, what more responsive and sympathetic comrade than Nature can be found? She is sufficient and powerful for those who would associate with kings, but more than sufficient, more powerfully sustaining for those who go humbly acknowledging their own ignorance and seeking to leam. Wfio will reject a friend like this? She is waiting just outside your door. Go, and find her and let her take you whithersoever she will: abide with her, until something of her own gracious spirit blends with yours, and spreads its sweetness in lives made better by your presence. l MARJORIE T. CAMPION. 'I3. 30

Page 37 text:

Dickens, the teacher The real teacher, like the real poet, is born, not made. His sphere of influence may be the classroom, the lecture hall or that great unwalled auditorium whose dome is the blue vault of heaven, but wherever it is, he labors under a kind of divine necessity of bearing to his world a personal message, he must give forth the truths he has made his own, or life for him has lost half its significance. Such a teacher was Charles Dickens. Story telling was as natural to him as song to the nightingale, and the teacher's instinct was no less a part of his natural endowment. Environment, too, added its impressiong the tragedies of his childhood were a training schoolg and so Dickens' works while full of interest and charm, are also replete with lessons in that art of arts--right living. The burden of Dickens' message to the world is: Be good for gooclness'sake, for the joy and happiness to be obtained from goodness. This is not high spiritual doctrine, to be sure, and has fallen under the severe strictures of no less a critic than Doctor Brownsong but after all is not Brownson sometimes an extremist? The public for whom Dickens wrote was not prepared for a more exalted doctrine, and loftier lessons would have fallen on unheeding ears--moreover the novelist does not deny the efficacy of supernatural motivesg and his attitude towards God is distinctly one of reverence. Human character and human institutions, both good and bad, furnished Dickens with material for his lessons. His teaching on its destructive side had wide rangeg wherever he saw an evil which he was capable of correcting, he did not hesitate to exert himself to the utmost to bring it to the bar of public justice. ln Nicholas Nickleby, for example, he bent the entire strength of his mighty pen to the exposition of the horrors of cheap boarding schools. lVlr. Creakle, the master of Salem House, was but one type of the brutal schoolmaster of his time. The description Dickens draws of the classroom may have owed its origin to certain similar scenes in the author's own childhood which was anything but happy. Nicholas not only shows his contempt for the Squeers' school, but his righteous indignation against its authorities by thrashing the teacher and in a very Dickens-like manner defending the poor, half-starved Smike. So effectual was the lesson here taught that half a dozen school prin- cipals threatened to sue the author for libel, but he calmly retorted, lf the cap fits, you may wear it. The villain of Dickens is not in the story to be a character, he has a lesson to teachg he is there to be a danger, a ceaseless, ruthless uncompromising menace. As a general rule, he is not only made black, but re-coated until there is no mistaking his evil shade. Yet the great novelist did not teach the doctrine of fatalism, for if he had, old Ebenezer Scrooge, the mean, miserly character of the Carols, would have ended very differently. On the con- trary, if Dickens can discern the slightest gleam of goodness in one of his bad subjects, he works and worries until he had devised some plan for removing the evil that is obscuring the soul'slight. Thus in the case of Scrooge, he charges three spirits to lead him to Christmas, Past, Present, and Future. The scenes called up have such a great effect upon the miser that he becomes a good friend, a better employer and a nobler man. Here Dickens enforced that beautiful lesson that we can extract sunshine from life if we only take the trouble to lift up the curtain that surrounds each others' lives. I 32