St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 18 text:

iinutfa Glnnqurat ALPH, will you attend to this? w envelope, liberally covered with postage 'WLQQZ ,fy stamps. On closer inspection they were French, and in the corner of the envelope was the address of a well-known private detective bureau of Paris. -- T he case isn't much. The story of a kid made away with-mother looking for Johnnie, and the office hot on the trail. I '1f'iAll'I'Ight, I'll go to it. And I opened up a long docu- ment, signed and countersigned. As I was unfolding the pages a photo fell to the Hoor, I picked it up, and studied theface for some time-the face of a French boy, with sparkling eyes, small, well-shaped mouth, curly hair. Where had I seen the face before? It seemed familiar! But to the letter. I stuck the photo in a rack on my desk, and turned to the pages. The story offered no startling circumstances- hardly enough for a good, bang-up detective tale. A boy of eight torn suddenly from a mother's bosom, lost for four years, rumors of an uncle, talk of a musical career, both, uncle,-musical career, included, traced to California. I folded up the letter and stowed it away in my pocket- book, took one long look at the portrait before pocketing it, and then donning overcoat and hat, set out for the scene of combat. A small boy, a harsh uncle, a musical career, and a poor mother in France upon her death-bed. Would I do my best? I thought of my own dear mother, and of the day long ago, when I knelt beside her bed, praying God to spare that gentle soul, and weeping-oh! such hot tears of grief- and mother passing away so peacefully, so piously into the presence of her Saviour. I felt her sweet influence upon me as never before, and that mother. dying far away in Paris, , in The district manager handed me a large 5 1 I 3 9 ...Q

Page 17 text:

TO A MATERIALIST 69 What mineral, what oxide dead, can brave, Like Washington, the cannon's thunderous roar? Or what reaction is there that can raise A shepherd girl, like Ioan of Arc, to save A nation from the bloody wave of war? Or can you bring Napoleon back to life Or else produce his strategy in weight? Such formula, my friend, is hard to state! Whence comes the pride and lust of Tarquin bold, 3 The honor of Lucrece, or sordid shame ' Of Cataline, or mother's ceaseless love For daughter fair, or son? What wondrous mold Produced a Shakespeare's or a Milt0n's fame, - Both potent kings whose sceptre was their pen? Were their great minds with keener vision blessed ' Because of liner chemicals possessed? 1 Have you not heard of Boone who braved the light Of wildsg who ope'd the path for pioneers i l To seek existence in this Golden Land? an Or Father Serra, great Franciscan Light Who heeded not elusive months and years, , Who spurned the pangs of hunger, scorned the heat l V . Of day, the black of night and irksome strife Of toil in foreign land, 'ere leaving life? A If you will pardon me, I shall attempt To give a definition where you fail: Man is a being from the hand of God,- Some matter rightly formed, but not exempt From spiritual soul that doth entail A A conscious passion of eternity. . Now there is God's own 'formula for man ,- Improve it,--weigh,--produce it if you can! , THOMAS FOSTERQ A

Page 19 text:

LOVEKS' CONQUEST 71 seemed to be calling to me in the accents of my own fond parent, to bring back to her embrace her long-lost son. In a reverie, I walked along Market street. Suddenly my at- tention was arrested by a huge street sign, advertising the Grand Opera Company, lately arrived at the Tivoli Opera House. ' Among the portraits of the stars was that of a small boy, a French lad, with sparkling eyes, small, well-shaped mouth, curly hair. In my rambles through town I had often seen thesame advertisement, the same .portrait, and passed them by unnoticed. But now I felt a thrill of joy. I could 'have shouted with delight, but I remembered that I was on a public street, furthermore, I was a cool, calculating detec- tive. Quickly I had out the photo, and compared it with the billboard picture. Feature for feature it was the same, from the curly locks falling lightly over the high, white forehead, to the rounded chin. Across the photo was written in cramped, boyish hand, Francois Mahe, whilst the billboard ad- vertised Achille St. Maurice-Petrovsky. At a flash my plan of campaign lay before me. Though of a very honest and upright disposition, I would, to the best of my ability, im- personate a dramatic reporter of one of the dailies, and under that character seek admission to an audience with the celeb- rity. With this in view I stopped at the Gpera House on Eddy street and purchased a ticket for the evening's per- formance. : 22 ae: :Q 2.2 4: ff if As the last, faint notes of the violin died away amid the hearty applause of the audience, the curtain rolled down on the first act of the opera. From the libretto I learned that the boy Achille would not appear during the second act, so I determined to begin the assault. In the guise of a reporter I was admitted at the stage door, and politely ushered to the room of the young violinist. My knock was answered by a quaint and timid Come in, and as I offered my card, the boy frankly extended his hand, and we became immediately the best of friends. My heart had warmed to the little fel- low, when I saw him on the stage, charming all by the grace and ease of his boyish actions. And more so, as I knew that