University of San Francisco - USF Don Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 27 text:

The Dreamer Kenneth Doyle, High School, ’24 In an attic dimly lighted, Dreamy-eyed and growing gray, Lulled by wiles of airy fancy Droned a man the livelong day. In the future, never present, Was the masterpiece he'd write. Morning’s hours gave place to noonday Noonday glided into night. Changing years roused no endeavor, Till upon a listless day Passed his soul to his Creator, Faded thus his dream away.

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TIIE MIRROR 19 pie have no affiliation whatever with any religious creed. What the world needs to-day is a return to the old, fundamental principles. It has set up purely human “Leagues of Nations” and “Peace Conferences,” and they have fallen with a resounding crash. It has sought morality without religion and found it to be a sham. The State has tried education without religion, and found that the most highly educated are sometimes its most unworthy citizens. The world needs to have the rising generation rightly trained by their parents, with less regulation by the State in matters that do not belong to it. There must be a realization on the part of the people that there is a danger which threatens, not only their liberty of conscience, not only their rights as parents, but the welfare and the very life of our country. If all American citizens were vigilant of their prerogatives; if any encroachment on their natural and constitutional rights were strenuously resisted; then there would be no fear of the opponents of religious liberty, of the enlargement of the power of civil society, or of the autocracy of the State. The Mirror Neil McCallion, Laic, ’25 Too oft we see our neighbor’s life Reflected in a glass That makes of e’en the fairest form A shapeless, twisted mass.

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The Derelict Eustace Cullman, Jr., ’25 I. HE shipping master climbed over the port rail of the good ship “Lady Louise”, his broad, leathery face aglow with honest satisfaction. “Here they be, Captain Bellnay, and as fine a crew as ever I’ve shipped”, he called out enthusiastically, addressing his remarks to a short, intelligent-looking man who was leaning against the opposite rail in company with a huge giant of a mate. After the master came the crew, “as fine as he had ever shipped.” It was the typical complement of an outgoing American deep water vessel—the motley gang of nut-browned, tar-stained foreigners, in their canvas sea jackets, smirched with the accumulated grime of many and distant voyages. Each, as he climbed onto the deck, tossed with a sailorly heave, his clothes-bag upon the dunnage pile, and then joined his shipmates by the capstan as they stood waiting patiently to be counted. Captain Bellnay and the mate looked the crew over with evident disgust. “Where did he round up that nest of wharf-rats?” exclaimed the captain, irritably. “There’s not a first class sailor in the bunch, if I’m a judge!” The mate slowly turned the quid of tobacco over and over in his mouth before replying. “A rotten deal”, he said, “a gang o’ lubbers sure. But time, an’ patience, an’ a be-layin’ pin can round ’em out.” Already the shipping master was approaching with the lists and his receipts. “Tally ’em off, will you, Cap’ll Bellnay? Here’s the names.” The captain took the list dubiously, and with lowered brow approached the crew. “Answer your names as they are called”, he said roughly, “and then form along the rail.”