St Margarets Academy - Dayseye Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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The Cafeteria (With profound apologies to Miss Amy Lowell.) There is At our school a Cafeteria. In it they serve Buns, Pickles, green-worted. Oh Henry’s chocolate-dipped And nutted. Eskimo Pies, silver-cool, Hot murmuring cocoa, Whirling In jade cups, fairy-tinted With roses And bizarre tracings. Girls dashing hither and thither. Restless, Staring. Flipping White-green books of dazzling truths. Bang! Smash! They go dashing to the floor Falling Down On other girls’ toes. Ping! Ping! The juice of steaming weiners Falling On the furry collar Of a coat! Perfume, Water- All in vain. The aroma Clings forever. Why do I eat them-Those olive buns? Maren L. Anderson Rondelet Am I good? I do not know—how should I know if I am good? I only know I try to be Sometimes I fail.—but still, I wonder.—wonder.—wonder if I am good. Elizabeth Henry [29]

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The Clock on the Stairs THERE ARE clocks, and clocks, and clocks; bedroom clocks, with their rose garlanded ivory faces; stately grandfather clocks that preside over the hall from the stair landing; noisy alarm clocks that always go off at the wrong time, (usually too early!) ; the Coo-coo clocks with their darling little birdies; and countless other clocks. The clock that I’m going to write about is the school clock on the stairs! I’ve got so used to always looking up at it as I climb the stairs, that every time I approach a staircase, I automatically look for the clock. It’s just an ordinary clock,—no frills, or carvings, just a plain conservative oak case, and a very white staid-looking face with black hands. How often I've wished, hoped, prayed that it would be just three minutes slow! But no, a big sign announces to all. “Naval Observatory l ime.” Other clocks can be obliging and run down, but this one? Never! It’s a self-winding clock! Some clocks can look friendly and sympathetic, but this one—! If there’s to be an interesting lecturer, it just seems to say 'Til see that he doesn’t stay a minute overtime!” And if your almost late—as sure as you’re born, the minute your foot touches the bottom step, its hands will simply jump—fly to the half hour, and how it seems to chuckle to itself, as you hurry up those stairs that seem so endless. If the bulletin board announces examinations, instead of looking compassionately down, it will leer at you as if it enjoyed your discomfort. Oh, these school clocks! Are they all alike? Who invented ’em anyway? Charlotte Stephens En Route for France “It was a beauteous evening calm and free,” And I leaned on the railing of our ship Watching so breathlessly between each dip The changing clouds that seemed to touch the sea. Then looking west, in its tranquillity, The silvery moon rose gently clear and bright. Oh. could there be for me more pleasant sight Than to watch her gracefully, (so it seemed to me). Bend down to kiss each wave we left behind! Then. too. the pretty sea-gulls black and white. Which first announce our welcome to a land. Love to rock far out o’er each wave sublime. But still keep in the bright moon’s golden band. Ah me! The wondrous beauty of that night! Cecile Leclercq 1281

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DAYESYE v The Atmosphere of St. Margaret's Academy I WONDER whether you have ever noticed that old houses often have an atmosphere which is peculiarly and indescribably their own? When you enter a house are you not instantly attracted or repulsed by an intangible something which seems to be the very essence of the place itself? It has always seemed to me that this is so. Why. even when I was very young. I remember that I was extremely sensitive to such impressions and could seldom be persuaded to enter a second time a place whose very walls and furnishings had seemed too cold, formal, or grossly utilitarian. I remember entering St. Margaret’s Academy for the first time, at the age of six. accompanied by my mother. It did not seem to me at all like any place I had ever seen before. It seemed far removed from the city, which, in reality, is at its very doors, for it breathed an atmosphere of gracious dignity and quiet content and that nameless charm which is always the chief characteristic of a place where a great many people have been happy. I was immediately fascinated by it. That feeling might, of course, have been the result of a too lively imagination, except that it has persisted and grown so that it now gives me a warm, comfortable feeling just to see the familiar red roof in the distance. Presumably a girl is always fond of the school which she has attended for a long time; but it would be a difficult matter to convince me that the eminently practical, modern building which is the average public school could ever command as deep or tender a loyalty as that which St. Margaret's pupils accord her. I have frequently had a thrill of pride, in passing through the corridors of one of the public high schools, at the thought that the Alma Mater which I would have to look back on had a distinctive beauty which it shared with no place else in the world. Somehow I have always fancied that the air of nobility and idealism which is so intimately a part of St. Margaret’s is the result of an intangible impression left of the best and finest qualities of every girl who has studied there, and of every Sister who has taught in its classes. Marion Murray Mr. George Benson Hewetson—An Appreciation. Deep is our admiration for the poetic genius and noble mind of our gifted friend and teacher. Mr. George Benson Hewetson. Those of us who were privileged to hear his interesting series of lectures given fortnightly throughout the year, have had a splendid opportunity to become acquainted with some of the greatest English poets. Mr. Hewetson always presents his subject in masterly English, and he possesses rare charm of delivery. Superseding all this is his ability to draw a strong moral lesson from the life and works of every author he presents. Throughout our lives, we will cherish the memory of this noble-hearted man. whose sincere words have inspired in us a desire for the higher and better things of life. Marie Weed 130)