Marymount Secondary School - Hiamead Yearbook (Tarrytown, NY)

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Well, did you find it yet, Tommy? asked Mr. Crosspatch. Tommy looked at him hesitatingly. Well, continued the old man, why did you dare to come back here after I was so cross with you and your companions? Please sir, the Little God seemed to say to me when we were singing out there, that this was the place, and I thought I had better come and tell you what He said. Tommy stayed! It was the happiest Christmas ever spent by his benefactor whom we cannot call Mr. Crosspatch any longer, for his heart was now Hlled with that peace promised so long ago o'er judean hills, to men of good will.', RUTH SYLv13sT1aR, '38, Ad Majorem Dei Gloriamn N our History of Art Course, we came across a little verse which told us of the glories of the Parthenon. We may easily apply this to our own beautiful building, and with apologies to the author, say: Westchester proudly wears Butler Hall, as the finest gem upon its zone. The building was completed last year and is a tribute of admiration and loyalty to our beloved Reverend Mother General, who has laboured so successfully in the field of Catholic education. For many long years she has been the guiding light and the kindly counsellor of hundreds of girls, who have had the happiness of spending their school days under her gentle direction. Butler Hall is built of Indiana limestone in the Renaissance style, and occupies the highest point in the county. Its mighty dome, embellished with gold leaf and sur- mounted by a golden cross, is like an index finger pointing the way to Catholic educa- tion. This symbol may be seen for many miles, especially when it is flood-lighted. Then this glorious dome is visible in all its radiant splendour like a magic lighthouse to boats, as they journey up and down the mighty Hudson. The interior of the building with its multi-coloured pillars and marble staircase is most majestic. The rotunda has a host of admirers. The reception rooms, which in the winter evenings glow with the warm light of crackling log fires, are exquisitely fur- nished, and command a magnificent view of the lordly Hudson. The dining room is spacious and bright-its crowning glory is the observation window framing the wooded hills of the Rockefeller estate and looking down upon the twin lakes. The beautiful panels of French chateaux, designed and executed in the Marymount Studio, adorn its walls. I No description of the building would be complete without a brief mention of the chapel, which is modelled after the old Spanish mission churches of the New World. Its beautiful marble altar is outstanding in its austere simplicity, and the shrine of the Little Flower is as artistic as it is devotional. It is a very simple chapel, but one feels there the peace and quiet which only the presence of our Eucharistic King can shed around. Though only Academicians, we feel very proud of our Butler Hall, and although the day will come when we shall feel lonely at the thought of leaving our dear homelike Academy building, we know that within the stately walls of Butler Hall a warm wel- come will await the children of Mother Marymount down the hill. JANE GRAY, '39, Forty-five

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A Christmas Carol T was Christmas Eve, and Mr. Crosspatch was dozing comfortably by his cheery fire, when suddenly the soft sweet voices of some children outside broke in upon his dreams. They were singing Christmas Carols. Growling fiercely, he called james the Butler, and ordered him to dispatch with all due haste the young nuisances from the neighborhood, lest they should further disturb his peace of mind. James went about his duty, and almost instantly the singing broke off abruptly. There was a sound of light footsteps crunching on the crisp snow outside, as the children slowly passed his window in frightened silence. He glanced in that direc- tion-and sat bolt upright, speechless. A little face had turned momentously towards the window pane, just long enough to be glimpsed by Mr. Crosspatch. It was the living image of his little son, who had been dead for fifteen long, weary years! Memories of that sweet childhood crowded in upon him-the only memories capable of touching his hardened old heart. All the anguish of the lonely years flooded his soul, and Mr. Crosspatch wept! Mr. Crosspatch wept until exhausted with weeping, he fell asleep, and as he slept he had a wondrous dream- It was the first Christmas Night. Mr. Crosspatch found himself in a lonely country district, just outside the walls of a small town. The inhabitants of the latter were evidently celebrating some festive occasion, for the noise of merrymakingre-echoed faintly out among the silent hills. Suddenly he heard a little cry nearby-'twas that of a new born Babe. He turned, and found himself standing at the entrance to a dimly lit cave, but he had not time to examine further therein, for over the snow-covered hills a glorious light burst forth. Angels appeared in the sky singing the first Christmas Carol. Glory be to God in the highest, and on earth, peace to men of good willf' Mr. Cross- patch peered heavenwards and stood still in amazement. A little cherub hovered up yonder among the other jubilant angels, a little cherub whose face was the exact replica of his long lost son's. Then Mr. Crosspatch understood. God had but lent him one of His cherubs for a purpose, to be revealed to him this Christmas night.- A loud and angry voice awoke Mr. Crosspatch. It was that of James the Butler. I told you once to be off, now go! Like a flash, Mr. Crosspatch sprang from his chair and out into the hall. Gazing past the burly .form of the butler, he saw the same sweet little face raised pleadingly to his own. Wait, James, he said, bring the boy in here! and he led the way back into his room. The wondering incredulous James obeyed, then departed, gasping with amazement. Now little one, what is your name, and what are you doing out in the streets this cold night? asked Mr. Crosspatch as he settled the shivering, ragged little figure on a comfortable chair. Gradually he elicited this story from the faltering, timid child. His name was Tommyg he could not remember his father, but some time ago fit seemed to him a very long time agoj he had seen his dear Mummy taken away in a big box and she had never come back to get him there two big tears glistened in his childish eyesj. He had been sent to a big house where there were other boys who had no fathers or mothers, but he was so unhappy that he ran away and now he had made a plan of his own. He had prayed the Little God of Christmas to show him some place where he could live, and he thought that if he went with some boys who were singing carols he might find it. V For! ji-four

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PROGRAMME IN HONOUR OF THE FEAST OF SAINT IOSEPH Compliment .........,..,..,..,,....,..,..,..,.....,..............,.......,......,...........,..,. Chant de Fetc Lady Margaret Rose .......,,..,,. Betty .,..... Jane ..,........ Kate ,.,...,.,..... La Pelerine .... Une femme du Irish Airs ...... Irish Dance .. FRENCH PLAY Antoinette Corroon Student Body LES YEUX BLEUS DE LADY MARGARET peuple Music by the Marymount School Orchestra Anita de Zaldo Mary Yankauer Antoinette Coff Mary McGaughcy Sylvia Wheeler Betty Kennedy Jane Burke Junior Class Senior Class Les Yeux Bleus de Lady Marguerite ELON la tradition depuis longtemps etablie, Le Ccrcle Francais a presente a l'occasion dc la Pete de la Reverende Mere Generale sa piece frangaise le- Les Yeux Bleus de Lady Marguerite. Apres le chant de Fete, le rideau se leve et on voit Lady Marguerite installee dans sa chambre avec ses amies Rose, Kate et Jane. Betty, la vieille servante, leur raconte la guerison d'un aveugle qui a retrouve la vue en priant a la tombe de St. Thomas. Les jeunes Hlles se moquent de cette histoire. Lady Marguerite decide d'aller a la tombe de St. Thomas lui demander de remplacer ses yeux bleus par des yeux noirs. Le deuxieme acte montre encore les quatre demoiselles assises sur l'herbe, toutes joyeuses-la folle histoire de Betty les amuse encore Tout 51 coup ellcs apergoivent un vieux pelerin en route pour la tombe de l'Eveque de Canterbury. En reponse a leurs questions, il leur parle des bontes de St. Thomas. Touchees par ses paroles, les jeunes Hlles abandonnent leur idee incredule. Mais Lady Marguerite s'y obstine. Elle se precipite vers la tombe de St. Thomas, lui supplie en des termes moqueurs de changer la couleur de ses yeux, elle devient aveugle sur le champ. Nous sommes maintenant au troisieme acte. Les jeunes filles sont chez Marguerite quand on apprend du triomphe de la Croisade, et du retour du Pere de Marguerite. Celle-ci prend dans ses mains les violettes que Rose lui avait cueillies sur la tombe de l'Ev6que. Elle l'apostrophe au nom du Christ d'avoir pitie de son pere, et de la guerir. Sa priere est exaucee--elle recouvre la vue. ANITA DE ZALDO, '37. F o rt y-six