Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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THE CHIMES 11 fun to live in the woods an ' chase squirrels. There ' s that funny lookin ' poodle in the window across th ' street. Huh ! what a lazy animal he is. And stuck up too. Wonder if he does anythin ' l)ut sleep an ' eat. I ' m kinda sleepy myself. Gee, though, I haven ' t done anythin ' this mornin ' hut sleep an eat. Ho! Hum! Guess I ' ll crawl under the porch where it ' s quiet an ' have a few ' winks. Ho ! Hum! It ' s a dog ' s life hut a pretty good one, at that. A DAY IN LONDON Betty Bartington, ' 35 At last that day of days had arrived when I would he ahle to see London, a place of dreams to me, a fairy city, a Christmas-card town of small buildings and picturesque side streets. The train, a queer little toy but surprisingly comfortable, blew its tiny whistle at the last station, Waterloo, which finally loomed in front of my compartment window. Then out I stepped into the hurry and scurry of the station, which, like all other stations the world over, was dirty and smoky, and filled with human beings scampering like deer before the hound. After leaving Waterloo Station, I went to Westminster Bridge which spans the historical Thames. Though it is a miniature river, it has seen more of the romance of history than almost any place of its kind in the world. From the l:)rink of the bridge there could be seen to the left the stately and delicately-graceful Houses of Par- liament, and Big Ben. The former is of light-colored stone, darken- ed by the elements, with many slender minarets which are adorned with intricate masonry giving an air of stability and of l)cauty. Big Ben smiles down upon these, with an accurate and much loved smile that has placed this time-piece among the best known l)uildings of the world. On the right was tlie Victoria einl)ankment with the Thames ' boats moored to its sul stantial sides, and the roads leading to the heart of London. Behind Big Ben there soared the huge tapering- tower of Westminster Al)1 ey. I was anxious to enter this famous resting place of kings, cpieens, and honored people of every nation. I walked along l}riskly l]ut suddenly sto])]:)ed, looked down, and saw, drawn on the sidewalk, a picture of a sunset in the hills — - probably in Scotland. Who could foolisli enough to leave so beautiful a piece of workmansliip where it would soon l)e ruined l)v the foot-steps of hundreds of jieople? At last 1 fcnmd cmt that some of the poor artists of London, liaving attained |)ermission from

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10 THE CHIMES A DOG ' S LIFE Grace Reynolds, ' 37 On a silk cnshicMi on a gay window seat, in an imposing bay-win- dow in a more imposing house lies Precious. And Precious, as the judges in any of the leading dog shows can tell you, is a pedigreed French ])oodle belonging to Mrs. A. J. F. Van Smythe. Let ' s take a closer look at Precious and see what he thinks about a dog ' s life: Ho hum! what a lazy day this is. I feel just miserable. That stupid cook boiled my cereal too long this morning, and overdone cereal certainly does do things to my temper. If I can ' t have my breakfast just right, my whole day is spoiled. Well, James will be coming in to comb me soon. That ' s a help. I do love to be comb- ed. It ' s so soothing to my nerves. And I ' ve heard my mistress herself say that my nerves are delicate. But then, what can you expect in a neighborhood like this? That ill-bred dog that barks all day long from across the street, for instance. There he is in the yard now. Ugh! How disgustingly dirty he is! And he ' s always digging for bones. Oh ! Here comes my mistress. I do hope she ' ll pet me. Goodness knows I need a little pampering af- ter all I ' ve endured today. M-m-m ! It ' s nice to snuggle down in her lap and have her call me ' mama ' s p ' cious snow-drop! ' It ' s so com- forting to know that somebody cares about me. There! She ' s go- ing away. I might have known it. Oof! She needn ' t drop me down on the pillow so hard. I do believe I need some exercise. I might as well run around the room a bit Goodness, my wind isn ' t as good as it might be. Only one turn around the room and I ' m exhausted! Guess I ' ll have to take a nap. Hum ho! I cer- tainly am tired after all that exertion. And now- we introduce you to The Dog Across the Street. Un- der three or four layers of dust, dirt, and tangled fur he is a strange combination of terrier, collie and si)aniel. And as you might expect from tliis descrii)tion, his name is Pal. ' ' Hurray! What a wonderful morning! Makes me feel like a rousing run around the yard. AAdiee ! I ' ll have to hrush up on my somersaulting. I ' m getting so stiff in my joints I can hardly chase my tail any more. This exercise is making me hungry, by gosh. Hope my boy ' s mother doesn ' t try to give me some of those new- fangled dog biscuits for 1)reakfast. I do hate sissy food. Le ' s see, 1 should have a coupla bones buried around here someplace. Hope my boy ' s father takes me on that fishin ' trip with him. It ' s such

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12 THE CHIMES the city authorities, use the pavements as their canvas and in this way earn what little money they can from enthusiastic tourists, like myself, or the kind Fjii lish folk who so generously give their six- pences and pennies to needy ones. Hurrying past, I started toward the north entrance of the Abbey, luit I stopped to pick up two feathers that had dropped from one of the Westminster pigeons who make their homes on the crest of the massive walls. Having left the hurried people and the sunshine, I stepi-ed into the vaulted heights of the Abbey. Prisms of light peep- ed through the glorious rose window, filtered through the duski- ness of the atmosphere, and scattered kaleidoscopic sunbeams on the hollowed stone floor and in the carved crevices of the walls. Many, many people were there, but not a sound could be heard above the soft chords of the organ which was playing the postlude of the morn- ing service. yiy eyes were not accustomed to the dimness of the Abbey, but soon as I, in amazement, glanced from one seemingly intangible sta- tue to another, they all seemed to be beckoning me. I first answered the call of the poets ' corner where there are monuments to Burns, Chaucer, Tennyson, Browning, Shakespeare, Dickens, and many others. But then, an old wooden gallery aroused my curiosity. Upon mounting its well-worn stairs I saw the coronation chair on which kings for hundreds of years have received their oath and crown. On this famous chair, the next king of England will be crowned. On the day of tlie coronation it will be moved to the altar where Princess Marina and Prince George were married re- cently — an alter of red velvet and intricate wood carving. Then there was the small tomi) and statue of Queen ictoria — sixty years a queen. Having explored a few of the separate chapels, I entered the nave. The work on this |)ortion of the Abbey was begun in 376 ])ut was not finished entirely until 130 years later. In the center of the western end of the nave, there is a memorial to the ' ' Unknown ' arrior. ' ' In the grave is French soil; on it is a slate of black Belgian marl)le: by its side hangs the Congressional Medal of Amer- ica : above it is the Padre ' s Flag, a Union Jack used at ' imy Bridge. Having spent almost a day in this glorious shrine and not having see n half of the Al)bey. I reluctantly made my way to the entrance. I left its hallowed walls with an insistent desire to return again to its quietness, solitude, and holiness.