St Marys Academy - Chimes Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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Te ay are HE INDIAN SUMMER sunshine drifted through the multi-colored trees, creating a pattern of autumnal beauty. The creek flowed serenely by, broken only by the occasional ripple of a curious fish. The wide bridle path stretched before you and on either side the various colors of autumn, including a splash of late red and blue summer flowers, composed a masterpiece, a sym' phony of color. Wlioa, girl! The mare was restless. The crisp autumn air hlled her with a yearning to race, to match the speed of the wind. She was a tall bay mare, almost seventeen hands high, a picture of beauty and poise with a mane black as coal and a long graceful tail. She wanted to run and soon every fibre of your own body was Hlled with the same spirit and restlessness, but you checked your eagerness until you reached the straight-away. A long stretch of ground free from the hills and sharp curves, this was used for running horses. You knew that within, her powerful muscles wanted to stretch out but outwardly her impatience was shown only by the tossing of her finely chiseled head. As she pranced through the bridle path, her head high, she looked like a queen sur- veying her lands. Finally, as you round the bend, the huge pine tree comes in sight, the starting point of the straight-away. The mare senses it with you and quickens her pace. Before you let her free, you stop, dismount and nhigher your stirrupsf' Remounting, you walk her to the pine tree. She stands ready, awaiting only your command, upon which she speeds for- ward. The beauteous shades around you are seen no more as all blend into one green-brown mass. You thrill to the air biting your face and the a saw mms you Kulbleen Mane, '51 Doius Cooke. '54 stinging mane the wind has blown back. It brings tears to your eyes and menacingly seems about to tear you from the saddle. You bend lower hugging the mare's neck, urging her on to still greater speed. When she pulls on the bit, you let her go and she races ahead with almost incredible swift- ness. What a feeling of power and greatness comes with the realization that with the tightening of the rein and a pressure of the knee you can con- trol this fury surging beneath you! You glory in the feeling that you're almost flyingg at this moment you want never to stop. An encouraging word in the mare's ear is carried away and lost on the wind. Her beautiful, effortless stride carries you over the rough terrain. All too soon now you see through blurred eyes, the turn in the road that marks the end of the straight-away. You reluc- tantly gather the reins and tighten your knees. The mare gradually slackens her pace and the now calmer warm air dries the tears in your eyes. Once more the wall of green and brown takes the form of trees and bushes. The trail is no longer a long unbroken auburn line but gradually takes shape, an occasional weed patch or rut becomes distinguishable. You stop the panting mare and, loosening her girth, you run your hand along her sweating neck and tuck the wet fetlock in the headband. She nudges you affectionately and you give her the carrot she knows you have brought. With a final pat you leave her to rest while you sink under the great oak tree nearby and let the serenity of the woods engulf you. When the mare's breathing becomes easier, you tighten the girth once more and mount. You ride off towards the creek and the woods swallow you and the bay mare from view. A girl who never lirlenr In or .reekr for idle rbntfer, A girl who i.r attentive to every lilfle illdllff, Wfbo rerignr lverrelf to .rtudy wills liltle or no complainl, And drier her work for God alone and not io garner fume, A girl u'lm'.r uluwyx ready lo help will: any tails, You never have in max ber. just politely ark. A girl whair here to .rave her .mul and bring back :bore artray Ir the type of girl you're sure lo find at our own S.M.A.

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A Soldier 's Prayer T HE ROARING, CRACKLING sound of guns and cannons ceased at last. The night was calm and as a soldier relaxed, he cast his eyes toward the heavens. The sky seemed especially radiant with twinkling Stars and well it should be, for tonight was Christmas Eve. How different it was from the happy hours which his family had spent together each December 24th! As he regarded the grim faces of his comrades, he could not help wonder- ing if they all missed home as much as he. Rever- ently, he bent his head and prayed to God that he would soon be reunited with his family. At this moment a dispatch was sent out that his division was to return to the camp to rest after the many days of hard fighting. The soldiers gladly obeyed but almost all found it impossible to rest- Christmas Eve and so many miles from home. The barracks were located near a small town and the soldier, not being able to sleep, arose and wandered toward the village. As he strolled through the deserted streets, he suddenly heard faint strains of heaven-like music. Following the sound, he came upon the shattered remains of what must have been, at one time, a small cottage. The lonely soldier crept up and peered through a window. He was startled by what he saw taking place before his weary but hopeful eyes. There appeared a tiny room dimly lit by the flicker of a candle. This light revealed a man, woman and two children. He watched as they MARY Lou BRANN, '51 raised their voices in chant and then knelt in solemn prayer. The room was cold and bare, there was no Christmas tree with gayly colored balls or lights nor brightly wrapped presents to be found, nevertheless, an air of perfect peace and calmness reigned within. How different this was from his memory of Christmas Eve at home and yet, as he gazed at this humble family, he suddenly realized how very much like his own family they were. The woman's tired though kind face, outlined by soft brown hair, much resembled the picture he held so dear in his wallet, Then there was that characteristic anxious expression of the man that reminded the soldier so much of the day his father had come home after losing his job. And the pious little girl looked quite a bit like Sally, espe- cially when his younger sister opportunely acquired that angelic countenance after having done some- thing wrong. Picturing himself as the young boy in the scene, the soldier intently observed the family and imagined he was reliving a Christmas Eve at home. He must have remained for an hour or more, just standing there, in the cold of the night. Finally, the small candle was snuffed out and the little family went to rest their tired heads for the night. The soldier whispered good-night and lifting his eyes toward heaven, thanked God for this answer to a soldier's prayer. THE TYPICAL TRAMP IN ANY CITY PARK, along the streets, or near the railroad tracks one can find the shabby tramp. His favorite position is sitting, and near him usually are the newspapers he has used dur- ing the night as insulation. It's cheaper to sleep outside, he thinks. If you want to hear his story he will charge different rates. For twenty-five, fifty cents, or a dollar, he gives three different stories of his fall to ruin. He will panhandle on MARIE LOUISE RITCHOTTE, '51 street corners or in front of restaurants, beg from door to door, and in cold weather he will allow himself to be arrested for vagrancy and spend his thirty days in a nice, warm cell. He will steal and ride the rails to avoid the gendarmes. He is chased by dogs, sworn at by men, and ill-used in many ways, but he will go to any extreme to avoid gainful labor even though he has a twelve- hour day to do it.

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Lead Thou, Kindly Light THE STREET on which the Sommers family lives is a typical American block set off by a staunch column of trees along the margin of the road. They were planted, of course, by the bud- ding city of Roseland. The typical husbands of this town are much too' busy with office business, the wives, with other people's business, and the children, with monkey business to fiddle around with sowing seeds. Speaking about fiddles, we find the young hero of our story swaying in time to the terrible tune of his violin. A mass of unruly blonde hair covers his forehead as he bends to catch the misplaced notes and to watch the long, slim fingers run the bow over each string lovingly. All of a sudden the hair jolts back in place and a pair of startled deep blue eyes glance toward the vociferous voice coming from the other side of the porch. Honestly, Bill, if you don't stop screeching on that violin, I'm going to commit suicide. Oh, Peg, don't be such a grouch. How do you think I like it when those silly friends of yours start yodeling all over the place? That's different, sniffs Peg. You're telling me it's different! laughs Bill, his blue eyes dancing merrily. You make me sick, Bill Sommers, and I'm going to tell Mother right this minute. A flash of red pigtails, a temper to match them and a slam of the door mark Peg's departure. Well, what was that little gust of wind ? asks Jack as he mounts the steps by two's and plops into the already dislocated lounging chair. Oh, that bratty sister of mine is always complain- ing about something. This time it's my violin practicing. ' Oh, you know how kids are! states the six- teen-year-old jack. Hey, talking about practice, let's go down to the baseball field. The two boys shuffle lazily toward the play- ground, crowded with the spring-sport-minded teenagers. They mingle among the boys, exchange hearty greetings and accept an invitation to join the game. Shouts of Wow, what a catch! , Boy, is this ball hard! and We certainly need more practice, are heard besides the usual jabber and PATRICIA HARTSOUGH, '51 juvenile jubilation. Bill pivots to answer a far- flung question and fails to hear the excited cries of his teammates until he turns around and meets the ball head on. He sprawls inert upon the moist ground attempting to push away the deep fog clouding his head. His brain seems to whirl and whirl. An outcry that the doctor is on his way eases the pain somewhat. Slowly he revives as he breathes in the sharp aroma of smelling salts and feels the deft fingers probing his head. Dully he opens his eyes. Everything seems just blank. His hands go swiftly to his eyes pulling and pushing the lids apart. He tries to think. I must be dreaming, but no, I can hear the whispered remarks of the people standing about. I can distinguish the doctor's deep voice mumbling to a few close bystanders, 'He seems to be all right. No skull fracturel' Bill's wild hysterical sobbing brings the crowd closer to him. I'm blind, can't you see, I'm blind! The audience, tearfully, steals off. Bill has his first ride in an ambulance. After a brief stay in the hospital he returns home. Somehow it is different as everything is now- but here, we will let Bill tell his own story: I attended the Blind Institute. I wasn't like everyone else and worst of all, people pitied me- even my own family pitied me. I becamc bitter and morbid and moped about my room not wanting to see anyone. My buddy, Jack, continued to visit me the first few weeks and tried to relate the latest happenings at school and the newest football plays for this season's games, but I took it as mere sym- pathy and felt he would finally grow tired of me. For what could I do that he did? I couldn't play football. One day, my sister Peg, who had been all sugar and spice these days, brought my violin upstairs. 'Play something Bill. You haven't been prac- ticing for ages.' Spiteful1y I threw the violin to the floor. You stupid fool,' I shouted, 'how can I ever play? I can't see the notes. Get out of here! You're