Hartford Public High School - Classbook Yearbook (Hartford, CT)

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278 THE CHRONICLE for the welcome literature, and saying that usually they receive noth- ing but some old Ford jokes and a few Turkish cigarettes. Parts of his letters interested us greatly and we present them to you with the hope of their entertaining you. Modesty forbids our commenting on these letters: There is little enough to do for amusement in a held-hospital within the war zone, I mean to say that it is terribly boresome in the camp-that one becomes decidedly tired, don't you know, of sitting in the same chair, with'one's hands clasped, looking out of the same window at the same beastly bit of landscape. I shudder when I say the word 'landscape' and think of this desert waste compared with that Eden which is landscape with us at home. I shudder again as I look around this tent, at the loosely' hanging canvas, at the dust' and con- fusion on the floor-and when I sit and listen and strive to compre- hend the hopeless jargon of my tent-mates, once my enemieg in battle, but now, of a necessity, my companions in disability. Your American Red Cross holds no distinction among the wounded, but cares for all nationalities alikeg consequently in this little chamber I have as comrades three men, all of whom I should call foreigners, and who would probably term me the same. Such a con- dition would never do with us at home, you understand, but here in the field it is interesting and exciting to get into an argument with these men, even though you can't understand a word they say, nor they you. I have often wondered what the nations of Europe can see in their clumsy dialects, when compared with the beauties and ad- vantages of English. It is strange that they have not realized and adopted the convenience of our tongue. I think something should be done about it. VVell, anyway, we have had some intensely interesting discus- sions, in spite of our difficulty occasionally in ascertaining just what each one of us has been driving at. It does not come natural to a fight- ing man to sit and twiddle his thumbs in the very eyes of his enemy, even though both men are wounded 5 consequently one looks for an out- let of one's pristine enmities in the form of friendly word-battles. My companions enter into the spirit of the thing with the greatest fervor, we sit in opposite corners of the tent and attack each other with 'winged words' with as much vigor as I have seen used in some of the college debating societies at home. Each comes back in the rebuttal to tear down whatever points his opponent seems to have made-and

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THE CHRONICLE 277 touch with her. Jean Stratton Porter says, Nature can be trusted to work her own miracle in the heart of any man whose daily task keeps him alone among her sights, sounds and silencesf' Even if our daily task does not do that, if we are alone with Nature some time each week, she will work her miracle just the same, she will show us something grander than the excitement of full minutes and crowded days, something much more thrilling than a tense drama, for she will show us how to live. The majestic trees braving every storm, the flowers and plants slowly growing more beautiful day by day, will teach us her peace and contentment, will ,help us to be brave and patient, thoughtful, cheerful, and unhurried. Then we, too, shall begin to grow, we shall begin to find our- selves, and, learning how to live, we shall understand life better. VVe shall be better able to recognize what things are essential and what are really ,of small consequenceg and having once learned that, noth- ing can leave us destitute. If we have ourselves as companions, Na- ture as our friend, and high ideals to stand by us, we need fear nothing. NVe can be calm and steady in the face of any danger, and our friends will learn to depend on us and come to us for comfort and encourage- ment. For any one who really has a contented heart, who is always the same strong, dependable person, is a constant inspiration to his friends. just to be near him gives them some of his own hope and courage. I All that I have been trying to say is beautifully expressed in part of VVilliam Henry Channing's My Symphony, which well might be called The Contented Heart : To think quietly, talk gently, act frankly, to listen to stars and birds 4' bl' 4' with open heart, to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never. In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common. This is to be my symphony. ALICE W. BARsToW. HISTORY OF THE CLASS OF 1915 HEN the Red Cross appealed for packages to be sent to the soldiers in the trenches and field-hospitals, we sent a number of old Chronicles and Owl Annuals. We were very much surprised to hear recently from a wounded Englishman, thanking us

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