St Margarets Academy - Dayseye Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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

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 26 text:

Our Music Building Thy memory be as a dwelling place For all sweet sounds and harmonics. UR dear old Music Building hath charms to soothe — charms all its very own. The Building is a symphony in itself, harmonious in its complex rhythm of doors and windows, its dormer lights, its creeping vines without: its high walls, its exquisite carvings within. Dimly seen through the silence that lies between now and then, something has woven a magic here that links us to girlhood days. Here we first timidily touched the keys: here we gave our recitals: here in fear and trembling we waited our turn to play for Scionti. And so from the beginner's pound to the artist's finished touch, those strains will ever resound in memory's hall. Truly. The song is ended but the melody lingers on.” Virginia Libby.