St Margarets Academy - Dayseye Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

Page 24 text:

I £ « u ---- “9 - ytsvE Our Porte-Cochere “What is this life if. full of care. We have no time to stand and stare?” A UNIQUE view of dear old Main is from the north side, where stands our inviting porte-cochere. This little snap of it registers two mental pictures —a gay past, and a dear past. Three score ago. or more, it was the entrance and the exit for the elite of our City, brought by prancing steeds to grand receptions. These were the pioneer days, with no Tea Rooms, no Athletic Clubs—neighborly days, when homes and hearts were big. Then came Saint Margaret’s: the atmosphere changed. Sweet, happy school-girls, in simple uniforms. have replaced the society guests. Many times a day they pass in and out this way. in search of the golden grains of knowledge which they are gathering from various studies. It is this dear scene that wakes the flame like incense grains on memory's altar. Marie Morgan. 20

Page 23 text:

 The walls are full of music drawn From twitterings in the eaves at dawn. V HEN the great snowstorm came to our Campus. it found itself un-molested at South Main, where it plied its artful craft in building shapes fantastic. It left a scene of wondrous, alabaster beauty. Our cameras caught it. In summer, the south view holds two very interesting features—Woodbine covers the entire wall, even trespassing on the rich red roof, and climbing the massive chimneys. This vine is the sparrows' Paradise. Here they sport, and spat and sputter, three seasons of the year, rousing the Nuns ere the matin bell for prayer, and chasing the welcome robins from their holdings. But the greater attraction is the little flickering flame, seen through all the windows, bowing and trembling before the King of Kings, consuming itself in vigil through the crowded day. and the lonely stillness of the night. Jeanne Halloran. South Main Snow-bound 19

Page 25 text:

77)i 7)ayes e Class Building Snow-Bound “A bitter chill it was! The owl for all his feathers was a-cold. WHEN in the future, time and care may have dimmed dear school day scenes, this page will call up many precious memories of happy days at Saint iMargaret’s. Here we spent our freshman and sophomore years: here we heard the speedy clicking of machines, preparing for the commercial side of life: here we received our gymnastic training: here our feet often tripped to merry music: here we marveled at the courage and sacrifice of hardy pioneers. God’s very own people: here we quailed at the shots 'heard round the world ; here we watched aghast the smoke of battles, and wept for the fallen hero. And here these humble walls mutely listened, as we tried to orate like Cicero, or sing like Virgil. But our eyes are misty now. We quietly close our Memory Book and try to hum a happy song, until we are more alone. Mary Meyer. 21