Villa Maria Academy - Trumpet Yearbook (Erie, PA)

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Washington Irving Wasliringtoii Irving is America's pioneer in the field of general literature. His mother was a gentle English woman, his father a stern Scotch Presbyterian. He was the youngest of eleven children and it is said that he inherited the best traits of each of his parents, although he was very lazy and in many ways resem- bled his later character, Rip Van 'Winkle, in that he never took life seriously or saw the necessity of work. In his outward appearance he was a man of medium height, rather stout of build, with dark gray eyes and delicate eyebrows, a straight handsome nose and shapely head. He was a humorous, modest, genial, sunny man, with a very sensitive nature. He was also very generous as can be seen by the fact that when writing a history of Mexico he learned that the blind Prescott was planning such a work, he courteously abandoned the field and Prescott never knew what a sacrifice Irv- ing made. Among the many of Irving's works are: the Sketch Book, Life of Ylfasli- ington, the Alhambra, the Life of Columbus, and the Knickerbocker's His- tory of New York. 77 I1'Vl11g,S Knickerbocker's History of New York was issued anonymously and was advertised as having proceeded from a small, elderly gentleman in black coat and cocked hat. He received 963,000 for this work. In point of rank the world has long since given Irving an eminent place among men of letters. He entered into the departed glories of the Moors and re- peopled the Alhambra as no other writer has done. He described Westiiiiiistei' Abb-ey with such simplicity and feeling that Charles Kingsley, himself a master of English prose, felt his own pen fall powerless. He loved the ancestral halls, the lanes and hedges of England as few of her native sons. He entered into the life of Abbotsford and made Walter' Scott his friend for life, and yet, all claim the scenes of his greatest works are near at hand and at home. He is to the Cats- kill mountains and the lower Hudson what Scott is to Trossachs, to Edinburgh and Tweed. The Alhambra, Westminster Abbey and Abbotsford might have been described by another, but no other hand but I1'Vl11g,S could have painted Sleepy Hollow. No other eye could have seen Ichabod Crane as he saw him. Irving was born in 1783 and died in 1858. He traveled abroad extensively and wrote many of his works in Europe. One of the finest tributes paid to him is a poem by Howell: To a true poet heart add the fun of Dick Steele, Throw in all of Addison, minus the chill With the whole of that partnership's stock and good will. Mix well, and while stirring hum o'er as a spell, The fine old English gentleman, simmer it well Sweeten just to your private liking--then strain That only the finest and clearest remain, -qi lie-

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The Best Alms Oli The crisp November morning had dawned bright and clear and already famous Broadway was thronged with traffic. Its sidewalks were alive with humans all hurrying to their respective duties. Faces-hundreds of faces-sad faces, joyous faces, faces on which time and care had left their imprint, faces reflecting prosperity and poverty, young faces and faces robbed of youth. All of these received casual glances, but one, the face of a middle aged man which commanded a second glance. His face radiated pros- perity, his step was light and elastic and he was dressed with meticulous care. What was the cause of this happiness? W'hat made his face radiate such joy and peace? Were we to look into his mind we could easily realize his happiness. This was the trend of his thoughts :--- t'By Jove, this is a wonderful morning! I surely feel happy, and why not? Am I not a successful broker, have I not a comfortable home, a beautiful and loving wife and two of the sweetest, sturdiest children on the face of the earth? Ah, indeed, who wouldnit be happy? thought he as he turned into the doorway of a famous brokerage company-but. wait! Standing in the doorway, there was a pencil vendor grasping his pencils and tin cup in one cold hand and vainly endeav- O1'l1lg to keep warm by holding his thin and worn coat close to his undernourished body with the other. The broker's heart expanded with pity at this sight, and stuffing his hand into his pocket, he drew forth some change and dropped it into the cup at the same time informing the man to keep his pencils. This he did every morning until it finally became somewhat of a habit. A year had passed and the broker was sitting in a swivel chair before a desk in his large and well furnished office. Business had lulled for a time and he was musing. His mind traveled to the pencil vendor in the doorway. He began weav- ing a romance about the poor fellow's life. Perhaps he had a wife and children, too. With a pang he realized that they would not be well supported if they de- pended entirely upon the vendor-'s earnings. The man should have a better posi- tion, but, indeed, was he not encouraging the man's condition? He was lowering the man in his own conscience, making a beggar out of him by not accepting the pencil he had paid for. The next day, as he dropped the usual change into the man's tin cup, he said, You know, my friend, I have been giving you charity and you are a mer- chant! W'hy, I have been doing you a great wrong! From now on I am going to take the pencil that I pay for. The vendor looked into the broker's eyes. No, there was no sign of mockery in them and slowly a light dawned over his face. In a few months the vendor had opened a stand in the lobby of that broker- age house. It was a great step forward and he accredited his success and pros- perity to the man who had called him a 'Kmerchant. Years have passed since that November morning when the broker for the first time addressed the pencil vendor, but the light in his eyes is even brighter and his step lighter for he realizes that true happiness consists in service-first to God, then to His creatures. J. s., 'aa 'ti 64 it

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Let it stand ont of doors 'till a soul it receives Froni thc warm, lazy sun, loitering clown thro' green leaves And you'fl find a choice nature, not wholly deserving A nanie neither English nor Yankee-just Irving. A. S., ,34 020030 Spring When the bluebird builds his nest In the budding trees above, The robin sings his best To his inate a song of love. VVhen the earth pours forth its treasures And glance o'er the field's bright green, They arise from their wintry beds And give tidings of glorious Spring. Wheii the earth pours forth its treasures Upon this world of tears, The breezes blow their ineasures And carry away our fears. When the merry brooks are rippling Through meadow, as they sing, Their winding waters giving A song in praise of Spring. When the sun shines down again, TiVith its brightening golden rays, It opens each and every flower And brings back joyous days. The long, cold days have passed, The stoiins and winds no longer jeer, For the very breeze and atinosphere Prove to us that Spring is here! o. ef., 132. 'ri 66 Er