St Matthews High School - Samascript Yearbook (Conshohocken, PA)

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Fickle Nature Entreaty Poets have lauded Nature’s moods. Her beauty and her splendor; Have sung of trees and wind and stars In verses soft and tender. And I have read of dreamy broods, That through the woodlands trickle, But I am firm, when I contend That 7Nature’s way is fickle. For who can tell me why the breeze That gently isses clover. Will turn into a hurricane And blow an oa tree over! Or why the rain that puddles up The fields for thirsting squashes. Will wait until the work is done, Then rudely sprinkle washes! Ho, no my friend I still declare Though Mature is beguiling, You cannot quite depend on her, No matter how she's smiling. Harry Cassel ’42 Disill usion I've often seen the shadows. Take leave of moonlight beams, And watched the little pixies. In my midnight summer dreams. And once I strode out hoping. To catch them at their play. But only saw the twinkling stars. Chasing them away. Ella Marie Fondots '42 My Lookout My window is my lookout. At night from it I see A world of magic people. Whom no one knows but me. They live in fairy castles. Beyond the moon and stars; They serenade the breezes. With silver-stringed guitars. They play along the milky way. Until the night is done; Then through the door of daylight, They tip-toe one by one. Catherine Shaffer '43 THE MIRROR Have we loved in vain, my dear? Can’t we brave the weather? Strange, the way is hard and long When we’re not together. I remember other days Filled with joy and gladness; They were happy times for me— How they bring me sadness. Wait! and listen to my plea Do not let me mourn here; Take me with you all the way To the end of life, dear. Marie Entenman '42 Spring The angler starts to shine his rod; The earthworm trembles ’neath the sod; The robin builds its dainty nest; The possum wakes from winter rest; The trees put on their dress of leaves; The swallows nest in dusty eaves; The meadow lark begins to sing— Of course, you're right—the time is spring. William Johnson '43 Life I dream of wars and dragons bold. And chariot wheels of solid gold. I dream of castles in the air, And perfumed ladies, tall and fair. I dream of knights with dashing steeds, Who worship me with noble deeds. I dream and dream and wish and wish— Meanwhile, I slowly dry each dish. Ella Marie Fondots '42 T wenty-five

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Parting Today beneath bright s ies of spring My heart is wearing rue, For here a little hour ago I said good-bye to you. We may not share tomorrow love, But we had yesterday; And I shall treasure joys we new In this our fleeting May. The brilliance of a rainbow Far flung across the s y; And in the tranquil twilight The wood dove's mournful cry; The sheen of crystal dew drops Flashing from hill and plain; And fields of fragrant clover Trembling after rain; The far off song of church bells Lulling the boisterous breeze; And opal shades of evening Falling on restless trees Are mem'ries that will bridge the miles Though you have crossed the sea; And in the garden of my heart You will I{eep tryst with me. Helen Maguire '42 Goodbye I will not write about the war. But ma e my little rhyme A monument, however poor. To ever fleeting time. How silently the hours pass; How lovingly we treasure The baubles in this earthly house We've built for our own pleasure. How quietly we slip away When time's brief reign is done To find beyond life's darkest hour That day has just begun. Teresa Marie O’Connor '42 Spy Wednesday Spy Wednesday in Jerusalem And people roaming 'round. Were searching streets, and lanes, and roads. In hope that Christ be found. A day in nineteen forty-two— A dar forbidding day; The way was cold, and damp, and raw, 'LJeath s ies so grimly gray. I heard a nocl(ing at my door, A sound both slow and wea ; A lonely beggar stood without With aspect sad and mee . Into my house, this beggar came, Who had not where to go; He ate the bread and meat I served, TJor told me of his woe. As day sped swiftly on to dar , The stranger sought to share My household tas s—he built a fire— He helped me mend a chair. And as he bade farewell to me. And passed into the night. The peace that filled my humble home Was li e a radiance bright. Spy Wednesday on my calendar, I wondered could it be, That He whom all the world once sought. Had spent the day with me. Joseph Vincent Reilly '42 Roads Earth’s roads sweep across the mountains And twist to the valley’s end And over these winding highways A stream of pilgrims wend. Some wal along gay and carefree, And some stumble on through woe; But all at last reach the narrow gate Through which each man must go. Doris Reed '42 THE MIRROR Twcnty'four

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Square Bathtub IDO NOT know whether or not you have considered the subject, but I cannot see why the square bathtub has not gained more widespread popularity. You so seldom hear of anybody's owning one. Square tubs dwell almost completely within the realm of advertising, yet I cannot understand why, for a square bathtub certainly has advan-tages over its elliptical competitors. I know, for the old type bathtub has caused me many maddening hours. I shall now state my grievances. As I step into a warm bath and reach for a cake of soap, the slippery little thing worms its way out of my hand and makes a straight dive for the water. Giving me a dirty look, it sinks slyly below the waterline. My hand immediately sets after it in hot pursuit, grabs impulsively for it, but misses. The soap is not to be taken without a struggle. The hope of capturing it by surprise inspires me to sneak up on it from be-hind. My hand advances closer, closer, closer. The water is greatly disturbed by the impact of my hand as it endeavors to “nab” the slimy, white object, but the culprit leaps into the air with much more force than you would think possible in an insignificant little bar of toilet soap. It sneers at me, and makes straight for the H20 again. By this time my temper is fast losing ground, but I can still control it. I sit pensively for a while, laying plans for a fresh offensive. “What would Napoleon have done in a similar crisis?” is my arch-thought. Had that noble man been living today, he might have thought of an air-raid. Such a maneuver might do just the trick. At this juncture, the palm of my hand is raised parallel with the naughty little “hunk” of soap. I have no knowledge of what plans the soap is making at this time. I, however, am certain of my next move. Silence reigns. Once more the unfortunate water must suffer the impact of a surprise raid. The hand clashes down over the slithery solid, which by the way of retaliation, slips out from under it, shooting once again into space. The after effect of this defeat, however, is far more disastrous than the foregoing one. When the soap slipped from under my palm, it left a slimy trail which forced my arm to give way, thus giving me a very spectacular fall. My pride is now deeply wounded, but my determination is by no means exhausted. Once more the plotting commences. The light of intelligence again begins to glow. Why not get a dinner fork and jab the sinful soap? It may not be “cricket, but it would be effective. A cursory glance around the bathroom, however, reveals the fact that there is no fork to be had and that a substitute cannot be found. Maneuver number three is definitely out. I renew my earlier “sneak up behind and clutch method,” but without success. At last I must admit defeat. I now let the water out, pick up the erring bar of soap, chisel grips for my finger, and then refill the tub. All this exercise takes its toll of a man. A constitution like mine cannot stand the strain. I am worn out. On such a momentous occasion as this, the dream of a square bathtub is closest to my heart. Just think, a square bathtub! In such a device a bar of soap could go just so far and no farther. Though it might evade me for a while, sooner or later I would corner it in one of the right angles formed by the walls. O joy! At this point, I make the final decision to visit the shops in search of a tub that will satisfy my qualifications. In the end, I shall probably be forced to write to the various bathroom supply concerns for aid. And I am ready to wager that it will be just my luck to receive a reply from all of them stating that they all are “out of square bathtubs,” and that “priorities have forced them to quit production of them for the duration.” Oh well! I can dream, can't I? Louis Moore THE MIRROR T wcntysix