Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

Page 10 text:

feeling. She put out her sleek, white arms to embrace the deer, and found herself in the arms of the youth Lucydides, changed to a hind because he had aided one of Artemis ' nymphs to marry one of his friends. He had been rescued by the pure, innocent love of the chaste one ' s favorite. Selene, from above, found, to her sorrow, that Eros is not to be restrained, while Eros flew away with a satisfied feeling of work well done. Phyllis Preston, H9. MY SURPRISING DREAM As I was walking through the deep woods, one bright, sunny day, I heard a faint, crackling noise. I looked back of me and turned around three times, but saw nothing. Finally, looking down, I saw a large oak leaf lying on the ground. Some one seemed to be under it tn, ' ing to lift it up vdih short, little pushes. I lifted the leaf up and there I saw, stabbing it wath a stiff, sharp needle from a tree, a ver ' small fairy. He was no taller than a pansy. His eyes were blue, his nose was long and red, and his suit was of autumn brown. As soon as I lifted the leaf, he gave a little squeal, which caused another fairy to slip from behind a tree where he had been hiding, and hand in hand they ran down the flower and moss embedded path. I was just about to run after them, when I awoke and the birds were singing happily to the rising sun. Maybelle De Bois, L7. THE SOLDIER A soldier lay suffering all alone. He ' d a wounded arm and a broken bone. His face was white as a ghost ' s would be. And blackness seemed to be all he could see. He laughed as he stood before grim Death, And began to think of his sweetheart, Beth. A tear rolled down his white, white face. Then he seemed to fall into black, black space. He opened his eyes and it was light. But, what was that which glowed so bright? ' Twas a flag, his flag, the red. white, and blue That sailed on the breeze with brilliant hue. A happy sigh; the battle was won. And he closed his eyes — his da} ' was done. Elinor Ford, H8. A SHADY NOOK It was a beautiful little spot, hidden from view by tall, large hemlocks. It was near our woods and a little brook ran by it. The needles had fallen from the trees and made the most velvety carpet. Right in the center of this beautiful nook was a little spring. It was so clear that it looked like a bubbling bowl of crystal. Right by this little mirror was the largest and oldest hemlock, kno Mi to us as The Giant Hemlock. It spread its long, gigantic roots around the little spring, as if to pro- tect its loveliness. I don ' t think that anything in this world could be more beautiful than to lie on the needles, and watch the gentle breeze softly sway the branches, and listen to the gurgling of the brook. ' May Wilton, H7.

Page 9 text:

of all sorts; musical genius, wisdom and justice, strength and health. All the divin- ities had contributed to her store save Eros, and when Diana had left her seat in the council chamber to take her place in the heavens, he had said that his gift would come later! Ever morn and eve Artemisia (as she was called after her godmother) would go to the forest, and dance with the nymphs. The rest of the day she spent with Melode and Socliones, and was the very apple of their eye. One da} , going to the forest as usual, she was astonished to see all the gods appear before her. Juno began, Artemisia, daughter beloved of the gods, as a half-deity you are to adopt a creature to be sacred to you, and its patroness will be your friend and protector. The deities began to clamor loudly, Choose the peacock, the dove, the ox. Miner ' a and Cynthia alone were silent, the former looking at her from steel- gray eyes which seemed to say Remember your duty, Cynthia regarding her with a half A; istful, half expectant gaze. Eros was pleading, with rosy arms outstretched, Artemisia, daughter of the gods, choose love, love, love. She caught herself — she had nearly chosen his emblem! 0 divines, quoth Artemisia, the honor is great. -Allow me till the retiring of Phoebus tomorrow and I will be ready. Yes, we will wait, said Juno. That night the maiden ' s sleep was fitful and broken, for wondering who, who, who to choose, Diana or Eros — Duty or Love — she was asleep. While wrapped in Somnus ' robe, Cupid appeared. I have solved it, this exultantly, choose the hind. Thus you shall show your gratitude to your patroness, and yet serve me. How? You shall see. She opened her eyes, saw no Eros, and would have deemed the occurence an idle dream, had she not found a ros ' -tipped arrow on the coverlet. When her attend- ants were looking away, she, with a sudden sentimental emotion which she knew virginal Phoebe would censure severely, thrust it in the bosom of her tunic. O gods, I have decided that not to choose the godmother and protectress of my life would be most ungrateful. I know you will approve. With a sudden graceful movement she flung her gold girdle about the neck of the hind. The gods, having praised her for her able and unoffending choice, departed, all except Cupid, who remained invisible, hovering in the shape of a gnarled old oak. As Artemisia sat there, her arm was thrown about the hind. She had not be- fore noticed that it was so beautiful, with its creamy skin and velvety brown eyes. An arrow whizzed through the air. Artemisia, with a horrified exclamation, pulled it from the deer ' s soft hide, and was greatly surprised to find it tipped with rose- color. .Ah-ha, Cupid, she remarked, you are getting a worse shot every day, though I did have a narrow escape. The hinds gentle eyes seemed to be pleading with her. She gently kissed one of its small antlers. Eros brushed against her, and the arrow hid m her timic was pressed into her breast. It, however, gave her no pain, only a rosy, dreamy, deHcious

Page 11 text:

MY HOLY GRAIL When Sir Launfal started out it was the spring of the year and of his life. It is spring again! T ' is another knight that is starting in search of the Holy Grail. I am starting out in search of my Holy Grail. My Holy Grail is to be a successful banker. It will be a long, hard search and to succeed I must work, and work hard. The spring of the year is here and it makes one feel like work. It is one of God ' s ways of helping. There is a s aying that a successful banker is composed of about one-fifth accountant, two-fifths lawyer, three-fifths political economist, and four-fifths gentleman and scholar — total ten-fifths, double size. Any smaller person may be a pawnbroker or a promoter but not a banker. I must train myself while I am young and make armor that has twice as much strength as the usual armor. I am making my armor out of the richest and purest gold I can find. The helmet of my armor is to be strength to do what is right. The sword, bravery. The chains in my coat of mail are to be made up of honesty, kind- ness, generosity, courtesy, thriftiness and cleanliness. The spurs are to be made of cheerfulness, to spur me on. My surcoat is to be education. To make my surcoat I must study hard now, in high school, in college, and in the bank. Will I be a successful banker? Ah! I hop e so. But hope will not put me there. Work will. If I find, as Sir Launfal did, that my armor is not made out of pure metal I will change it as he did. Every day, with my armor, I plan to conquer some hard lesson to win the Castle of Education. Time must not discourage me. I must not give up hope. I will point to the successful banker and say, He did it; I ' ll do it too. It is m} ' firm belief that if I keep my armor bright and never let it get rusty, I will be a successful banker and leave the earth better than I found it. Roy Stephens, H8. BARREN LAND You said I should love the desert And revel in its vastness But my heart from all your desert bonds is free. I long for paths and woodlands. For vine-clad, trellised gardens, For rocks and sky and winds and shore and sea. You are so gray and silent — Your sharp and rugged mountains. Your lines are harsh and quick and wrong; my hills would never be. They dip in laughing dimples Of shadowed blue and purple, And roll between their valleys to the sands beside the sea. Your deserts are so sombre — So still — and non-responding, I beat light wings against my bars; oh, this captivity! No mists to soften hard, bold lines This blinding, brilliant sunlight — I thirst for wind-dipped sails, the foam- whipped, gray, gray sea! Betsy Alling, L9.