St Joseph Academy - Jomara Yearbook (Yakima, WA)

Page 62 text:

Fzjfty-four THE AURORA i VAGARIES CF FASH ICN At this time when the world at large is in a choatic condition, and no one order of things is firmly established, one power alone asserts itself and authoratively imposes its commands upon its subjects, composed from the mass of women and not a few men. This strange power is fashion-ever clinging and new, but ever forcing obedience on each of its fanciful votaries. Where is the realm of this queen? Paris, the capitol, of France, is the center of fashion to the civilized world, but where fashion came from directly is quite a mystery. Still we are going to try to recall her progress from nearly her first appearance, through her gradual increase, to our own times. Among the principal legends of France is the following which attributes to that country and its gay capitol in particular, the right to rule the world of fashion. Centuries ago Jupiter called a Congress of nations at Olympus. Each country was to send a repre- sentative who could ask one favor for his country, which Jupiter promised to grant if he deemed it reasonable. The inherent vanity of the French prompted them to send as their delegate a beautiful woman, who straight way asked that her land be allowed to be the queen of fashion. Jupiter, greatly amused by the extraordinary request, assented. In the beginning it was easy to devise new syyles, but as it is a woman's privilege to change her mind, frequently, what suited her one season, oddly, did not the next. And so eventually all the original ideas were used up. What remained? Why, fashion, un- disturbed, decided to re-adopt the styles of previous decades. And so it is, ever so often, we have a revival of the styles of other days. Dame Fashion is a fickle Hirt, one might say in paraphrasing a certain well-known saying of long standing. She is more changeful than an April day and equally as ex- hilirating if not taken too seriously. Her various moods are a never ending source of delight to her faithful slaves, and an illimitable well of sorrow to those who only wish to be. We stand aside and view the beautiful dame, as she pursues her capricious career. Now she is tall, slender, and willowy, her dark clothes cling closely to her lythe form. Her luminous eyes are circled with a dark and sinister shade of green. Her lips sport a gorgeous carmine hue, while her cheeks display the pallor of a woman who has suffered. Around her neck is draped a string of barbaric beads. Suspended from her cars are ear- rings of rare and unusual workmanship. The nails of her white hands are long and pointed and beautifully red. Her fingers are covered with rings which Cleopatra might have envied. Dame Fashion elects to be a vampire. But hehold! She is changing. She is becoming less tall, less slender. Her long black drapes are giving way to folds of billowy, pastel-hued lace. Her eyes have lost their green circles and langurous expression, innocent of decoration they sparkle with frank sincerity. Her lips are less violently red, and her cheeks are suffused with a delicate pink. A long string of pearls encircles her pale throat, and the dull luster of similar jewels can be perceived at her eartips. Her hands are still white, but the nails have been modified to a round contour, and as the light catches them they glisten pinkly. Their sole adorn- ment is a simple diamond, the size of a walnut. As we gaze she changes. Ah! well, we had expected it. She is again slender, nay, lean. A severe boyish looking tweed suit has supplanted the folds of lace. The skirt is frankly short. Evidently, woman has brought the economic question into her dress, and conserves on the material. Woman's skirt, instead of ending where it should, really ended where it ought to begin. In charming contrast to her somewhat sombre costume, is her colorful animated face. Between her lips, scarlet with the color which her outdoor exercise has, no doubt, induced, a cigarette is firmly held. Her white blouse meets her firm little chin, and is ornamented at the throat by twin streamers of narrow black ribbon. Her slim hands are delightfully tanned. Except for several signet rings of various in- itials, she wears no jewelry. i Suddenly her lines again change-but we know what is coming-another meta- morphosis, this time. Dame Rumor encouragingly predicts that fashion will be most generous, kind, and tasteful to Miss '24. Our gratitude to fashion! For the American girl, although her motto may seem- One might as well be dead as out of style, -is be- coming weary of the yolk, and beginning to rely more and more upon her natural in-

Page 61 text:

T H E A U O A Fzfty-three n TO 'MOTHER ,MARY . Mother, at dawn I've watched the sun to rise, I've seen the darkened heagens change- to tinted skies, In the myriad colors shone,a power, wise and good- And then, I've thought me,-Mary, of thy beauteous Motherhood. At noontide, when the sunlight bespoke a perfect day, I've gladly brought my joys to you, O Queen of May! At eventide, when Hitting shadows hovered here and there, I've crept to you with little griefs, O Mother Fair! And then, when twinkling starlight, did herald silent night- I've longed to thank you for your love, O Mother of Delight! Then, as at evening, flowers nod, and close their petal hues, E'er let me, Mother, close my eyes, with thoughts of you. -Dorothy Ernsdorf, '24 OUR BLESSED MOTHER MARY There's a shady nook, near a babbling brook, Where the limpid waters flow, Where the sunbeams play thru all the day And the breezes softly blow. Where the whole day long the birds in song With their thrilling heaven-born tune, Where the lilies blow, in the tender glow Of a warm May day noon. There 'mid nature's bowers of scented flowers Stands our Blessed Mother's Shrine, Clad in a robe of blue, of delicate hue Is the Christ Child's Mother and mine. In Heaven above, she must be fair, Our Mother of love and grace, And I love to dream what the vision will seem, The day I shall see her face. -M onaclaire Earl, '24 OUR LADY OF THE DAY O Mother, keep dawn's timid grey For untaught hearts that yearn to pray. And with the sun's first golden glance Tip thou thy mercy's, gleaming lance. The morn which dews of vale quick sup Make day all sinners' shriving cup. When past hot noon, there floats a cloud Be that thy peace to care allowed. To sunken eye's resplendent train Wrap thou our hearts in prayer again. The twilight's silent, silver wage Pay bounteous rest to tired age. But in the night, when lamps are low Around us all thy mantle throw. , -M ary M aher, '24

Page 63 text:

THE'AURORA Fifty-five genuity. Too faithfully has she followed others' tastes. As a result of this worthy de- termination, the Europeans are marvelling at and complimenting the almost complete independence of The American women. Of course in every good thing there is a wee bit of bad, so perhaps that is why the women of our country so willingly consigned their long tresses to the barber's shears. Daughters, mothers, maiden aunts, and grandmothers have had their hair bobbed, until, according to one male critic, they all look alike-from the back. If Solomon, who so wisely commented on vanity, or Mr. Thackeray, who made it the underlying thought of one of his works, were alive today they would doubtless be amazed and properly shocked at the seemingly universal vanities of fashion. Today one would have to be as blind as the proverbial bat not to observe that women are fast losing their sense of modesty in dress. To be modest according to their view is a sort of self-ostracism. They imagine that those who uphold modesty bind themselves under some religious jurisdiction. They are absolutely wrong, for modesty implies noth- ing more or less than a decent reserve and piety. There are fashions in vogue today that shock even the worldly, who make no pretense of virtue. It is deplorable to see so many women making a god out of these extreme styles. No artistic excuse can be alleged for some of the costumes seen in public places. Whenever anyone upholds the present styles on the plea, of fashion, he should be recommended to take a course in the art of the masters. What a hideous contrast are the semi-nudities of the height of fashion to the graceful flowing lines of the modest gown! If the women who wear these things, which they themselves term dresses, could realize the sin of which they make themselves the occasion, no doubt they would not allow themselves to be carried away by the craze of fashion. RUTH HOWELL, '24 MARY MAHER, '24 SCI-IOQL SPIRIT It isn't your school-it's you. l If you want to live in the kind of a school That's the kind of a school you like, You needn't slip your clothes in a grip And start on a long, long hike. You'll find elsewhere what you left behind, For there's nothing that's really new, It's a knock at yourself when you knock your school, It isn't your school-it's you. Real schools are not made by students afraid Lest somebody else gets ahead, When everyone works and nobody shirks You can raise a school from the dead. And if while you make your personal stake Your schoolmate can make one too, Your school will be what you want to see, It isn't your school+it's you. --Selected.