Villa Maria Academy - Trumpet Yearbook (Erie, PA)

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The Autobiography of Ninety-Nine Four- Fifths Per Cent Pure or Ivory Soap 050 To Proctor and Gamble I owe my start in life. This kindly Company backed me up with many reliable references and even fitted me out in a beau- tiful coat of pure snowy white. Thus, they sent me out into the world very well equipped. I left my friend, Proctor and Gamble, one bright. morning and boarded a fast freight train. There were many companions, travelling with me and we had a most sociable and jovial time. Finally the train reached my destination. I was all excited and thrilled to see the crowd that swarmed at the station. They all seemed to have their own duties and were busily engaged in executing them. But I felt equally as important because I too was going to represent a certain large business concern in New York. As I left the train I was greeted by a representative of this concern who had brought a large truck in which to convey me to my new po- sition. I stayed with this company for several days. Eventually some strangers came and made it known that they would like to transfer me from the place where I was to their own store which was situated in a little village a few miles off. I eagerly assented because I knew that I should have the pleasure of be- coming popular in a small town. As, indeed I did. - When I arrived at the little village, my new employers took me to their store. It was a quaint old building and pleasant indeed. I believe it was called general store and this name was most appropriate for it seemed to me that there was just about everything one could wish displayed there. I was told that my duty was to be that of a model. I was placed upon a shelf in a very prominent position. There I poised very dignified proud and happy. On one side of me sat someone whom I learned was known as Kirk's Flake Soapf' But I thought my grey wrapper was decidedly more attractive than his so I really did not notice him a great deal. I remained on this shelf for some time. 'When a small boy came into the store and purchased me. I grew sad because I had 'to leave my position-but one can not always be satisfied. ' The boy very thoughtlessly stuffed me into his deep pocket and there I remained very disheartened. At length we reached his home, where he presented me tohis mother. The woman removed my beloved wrapper and placed me in a pan of piping hot dish water. I enjoyed this dip and bounded around in sheer joy. However, when I left the dish-water I noted that I was much thinner. Soon the little boy came over and placed a. pair of very dirty hands upon me. I was annoyed at first, but when he placed me in the water, I was again happy and skimmed over the top of the water. After many days of much the same routine, I became alarmed for I was aware that daily, in fact, hourly, I was becoming thinner and thinner. Finally I realized that I was but a shadow of my former self. One day I was placed in a large vessel of pleasing, warm water. I floated around just as usual. Suddenly I felt myself ,going-going-going-alone to!! And so, I simply faded and at length wasted' away into my glory, Thus my life's work wasted away into one large bubble of complete satisfaction. H. B., '31, at 72 ie-

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My Virgilian Dream It was an evening in early autumn, just outside the little village of Andes in the year 54 B. C. The great golden harvest moon Shining down through the interlaced boughs of the trees made intricately designed patterns upon the soft grass. Standing beside a small smoothly-flowing stream, a tall dark-skinned youth in the toga. of young manhood, and a fair, almost. blonde maid, an unusual thing in an Italian, sadly contemplated its silvery surface. A E We must partf' the youth was saying. Perhaps it is for the best. My father is old, and he has paid dearly to educate me thus fa1'. It Will break his heart if I go not on to Milan. Thou knowest I am not strongg and poetry, it seems, must truly be the lot designated for me by the gods. But remember Carissima in all that l may write, as in all that I have written, you are the in- spiration, the good, and the beautiful. I shall think of you always as waiting here for me. May the gods forever keep you, and now farewell. Thirty-five years passed. On September 22, B. C., Publius Virilius Mare, unquestionably the greatest of Roman poets, a favorite of the gods, and intimate friend of emperors, died at the age of fifty-one. His secretary at Home in going over Virgil's papers discovered a poem, Carissima,', and noted underneath f'SeparationH. This secretary to Whom Virgil had dictated all his poems per- ceived that never before had he realized the true genius of his master. This one poem, though not particularly long was greater by far than even the Aeneid , for it contained the deepest, yet most elevating emotion of Virgil's life. That. evening on his way home, the secretary was set upon by robbers. The next morning his lifeless body was taken from the Tiber, and with him, for the paper had disappeared, died the greatest of the great Virgil's work. E. M., '31, ' Virgil Virgil, Virgil, from the heights, Vllhere you saw those wondrous sights, Travels, dreams and apparitions- The then-deceased in clear-viewed visions! Long and lengthy, clear described, Hou' small Troy the Greek defied. How it ended in their fall, How they built another wall. How another city founded, 'Till at last their power was bounded. Far off corners of the earth, How only stars could mark Romels girth, Your writing each and every trial In the best poetic style, 'Cause you left this Latin learning, The midnight oil we must keep burning. llfe must study, study hard To learn your poems, Ancient Bard. Yet we thank you for your songg But did it have to be so long? E. M., fsi. aa: n is

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Decoration Day Oi!! Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest On this field of the Grounded Arms, Where foes no more molest, Nor sentryls shot alarms! Ye have slept on the ground before And started to your feet At the cannonls sudden roar Or the Cl1 ll1117S redouloling beat. 7 7 But in this Camp of Ileath No sound your slumber breaks Hereris no fevered breath, No wound that bleeds and aches. All is repose and peace, Untrampled lies the sod, The shouts of battle cease, lt is the truce of God! Rest comrade, rest and sleep, The thoughts of men shall be As sentinels to keep Your rest from danger free, Your silent tents of green NVe deck with fragrant flowers, Yours has the suffering been, The memory shall be ours. T. L., 131. 0l0030 A Maiden's Thoughts 030 VVhat see'st thou, gentle maiden, Vilhen you walk in the woodland hower, Wlieix the breezes blow full laden lVith the odor of trce and flower? Wlhat- thiukest thou, gentle maiden, lVhen you sit 'neath a shady tree And thoughts of the present fade To give place to a future free? What dream'st thou, gentle maiden, lVhen you sleep in your downy hed? Thoughts that make you afraid Or cause life to glow in colors red? V. s., -v '-my 1, no 4