1940

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T he W atch T ower is a member of the Catholic Scholastic Press All-Catholic Honors

Association, The Columbia University Press Association, The National Scholastic Press Association, The International Quill and Scroll, and the Empire State Press Association. It is published by the Seniors of the Academy of Mount St. Ursula to Improve literary standards and to chronicle interesting happenings at the Academy and among the Alumnae.

^ n n n n i 'r ,

A\edalist

1940

(inters noN^

(Magazine f

) Membct)

ÂĽ iu t Class Honor Rating

ACADEMY OF MOUNT ST. URSULA AIarion A venue and B edford Park Boulevard N ew Y ork , N . Y.

Pa/ie TITLE PAGE TABLE OF CONTENTS STAFF A N D DEDICATION PATRONS FRONTISPIECE SERVIAM (Editorial) ......................................

P E R S O N A L S ......................................................

FROM ME TO M E ...........................................

NATURE'S C Y C L E ...........................................

S N O W D E S C E N D S ...........................................

O N S H A K I N G H A N D S ................................

E X C H A M P ......................................................

H O W D Y ............................................................

BUBBLES IN A P O O L ......................................

LADY IN DIS TRESS...........................................

H O .................................................................

SPENT DAY ......................................................

A NEW S P R I N G ...........................................

C O N T R A R Y ......................................................

ALL IN A D A Y ................................................

JUST F R I E N D S .................................................

A PRAYER FOR D A I S Y ................................

A JO U R N E Y D O W N MELODY LANE . . .

HE FOUND I T .................................................

N I G H T S .............................................................

SEASONS OF THE M I N D ................................

C O R R IG A N , THE CONSCIENTIOUS C O O K , TODAY'S C H A L L E N G E TO A M E R IC A N YOUTH A PLEA FOR L I F E ...........................................

THE SUSPECT O N M AIN STREET . . . .

A C H I L D H O O D M E M O R Y ...........................

S C H O O L DAY M E M O R I E S ...........................

LUCIFER'S I S L A N D ......................................

SPRING'S A R R I V A L ......................................

P R O M E T H E U S ................................................

THE TALE T W I S T E R ......................................

DEAR 1940 ......................................................

A B O Y ...........................................................

THE SEA— LAND OF M Y S T E R Y .....................

FATHER F L A N A G A N ......................................

W H Y 1 DO NOT BELIEVE IN W A R , . .

W H O A M 1 ? ................................................

I M P O N D E R A B L E S ...........................................

THE TRAVEL CLUB ...........................................

C H R O N I C L E ......................................................

V I G N E T T E S ................................................

TURNING THE L E A V E S ...........................

A D V E R T I S E M E N T S ......................................

D I R E C T O R Y ................................................

Rose Senese Jean Dorchak Ann Hughes Rose Senese Moira Brennan Ada Carloni Elizabeth Brennan .

Clarice T. KoeMer Dorothy A. Krauss Elizabeth Brennan Barbara A. Marschall .

Elizabeth Brennan Audrey Dooley Patricia Kiernan Geraldine Hubbard Margaret U. Kavanagh Jean H. Dorchak .

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Catherine J. Minnock Joan Kelleher Rose M. Senese Rose M. Senese Margaret U. Kavanagh Moira Brennan Margaret U. Kavanagh Moira Brennan Ann Hogan Rose Ann King Anne Hughes .

Grace Looram Moira Brennan Moira Brennan Rita Donleavy .

Lorraine A. Moore Moira Brennan Patricia Kiernan

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. .

. . . . .

6 7 29 32 32 33 34 35 36 37 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 61 62 63 64 64 65 66 76 85 96 98 112

THE STAFF Editor-in-chief C larice T. K oehler

Assistant Editor Rose M. Senese

Associate Editors Literary M oira G. Br en n a n

Poetry Elizabeth M. B ren n an

Chronicle B arbara A. M arschall Sodality Lorraine A. M oore

To Him Whose Master intellect hath cleared a path through devious ways; Whose wisdom hath been to us a light Whose counsel hath been an angel guide,

Drafnatics C atherine J. M innock

Athletics Jean D orchak

Personals M argaret U. K avanagh ,

To Him Whose tutelage New vistas hath unfolded, stretching far beyond our wondering eye; Whose word Hath made us queens of strange realms with borders verging onto the Increate!

Chairman Committee M arjorie H oerman A udrey D ooley G eraldine H ubbard Joan K elleher Irene H ans

Managing Editor M arie Paladino

Business Manager Rose A n n e K ing

Assistant Eileen McGirr

To Him We dedicate this work . . .

Of good if there be aught, we found in Him The faults are ours alone.

O ur Patrons M r.

and

M rs Ernest J. Braca M r, and M rs. James A. Brady M r. and M rs, A lfred Bornstedt M r, and M rs. Edward Conbov M r, and M rs. Patrick j. D onleavy M r. and M rs. John A. D ooley

M r,

and

M r.

M r,

and

T he

M rs. M ichael G. D orchak and M rs, James E. D ougherty M iss Catherine Fleming M rs, Margaret G raul M r. and M rs, Richard G reen M r. and M rs, D. H anlon M rs, Jo h n H ans H eide Family M ajor and M rs. John R. H ubbard M r, and M rs. D aniel J. K avanagh M r, and M rs, Frank L. K ing

M r. A dolph E. K oehler M r. and M rs, B ernard J. Looram M r. and M rs. T homas Lynch M r. and M rs. H arry F. Ly n n M r. and M rs. Peter J. M cD ermott M r, and M rs, J.ay J. M cD onald M r,

and

M r,

M r.

M rs, Page M cG irr M rs, Jo h n K. M cG uire M r. and M rs, James M cN amara M r. and M rs, A lbert T. M innock M r. and M rs. W illiam R. M oore M r. and M rs. M ichael O ’Connor

and

M rs. James Paladino M r. and M rs. D esider Schoen M r, and M rs. A lbert C. Schroff M r. and M rs. James P. Senese M r. and M rs, W illiam Sheil M r. and M rs. Frank A. V achio M r, and M rs. Joseph A. V olk and

V ery R everend M other M arie

de

St . Je .v n , O.S.U.

Prioress General, Ursulines of the Roman Union

>erviam lERVIAM, the theme of the 1940 W atch Towt.r, we would like to hold, conjures a woman at once of military vigor and yet of retiring gentleness. Under the stimulus of her inspiration we arc cosmopolites with passionate devotion to our country, lovers of our human friends, and women of incisive understanding of human sorrows anrl struggles. The history of Catholic I’aith is strong with complete hold of the turmoil of the centuries and beautiful in the imagery of medieval pageantry. Her heroines foughr a valiant fight against the depression and conflicts of daily life, the pride and weakness of those about them, with banners and trumpets and gallantry that wrenched victory from defeat.

Would that we might catch some of Louise Imogen Guiney’s militant enthusiasm for action, her spiritual courage and assurance, her great zest for life!

Her Catholicity was her true evaluation of life, her courage, her integrity, her ( hristian humility. Had Miss Guiney been a member of a recent convention which exam.ined into the leisure habits of youth, would she have complacently departmentalized her school work and the Catholic Apostolate? What would have been her response in a modern literature or history class when a book report is assigned? Is it not probable that Rene Bazin, Helen C. White, Sheila Kaye Smith, et ah, would have served her purpose in zealous duty to her Catholic legacy? Perhaps a few additional studies would find their way to the desks of the faculty! Why not translate Serviam into reading Catholic authors for entertainment and intellectual cultivation? There is time for a host of useless things, but no time for the Queen’s Work, the Catholic Worker, As the Morning Rising, Mere Marie of the Ursulines, or Enter Three Witches. Precious moments are squandered waiting for a date, a dentist’s appointment when one might be perusing—after the mode of dentists—several issues of the Catholic Digest.

Serviam—Write! with the faith that moves mountains. Shake off hesitancy and indifference and play a contributing role to a Catholic Daily and a Catholic News Syndicate. We may be victims of our age, subject to all the faults and errors of the civilization in which we live. It has been a cumulative weakness since the Fall and we may be prevented from remedy by indifference. But we have a position as Catholics which is invulnerable from which to satirize. There are, of course, preliminaries. We must recognize our own incongruities and absurdities We must not duplicate in our­ selves stupidity, ignorance, vanity, or hypocrisy. An enormous goodness still lies in human motives. A finely tempered, delicate observance of the spiritual comes with Catholic living; a self-sufficient security by its sublimity and power, yet withal very simple and human. Why not incorporate such in the melody of verse, in the chaste recital of an editorial, in the clever articulation of modern prose? Capture the charm of Mrs. Borden’s W'hite Hawthorne, the beautiful and apparently effortless style of the author of the great trilogy Altar Steps, Parson’s Progress, The Heavenly Ladder, which describes the progress of Mark Litterdale, and Compton Mackenzie toward Catholicism. Literature and the drama are especially rich in possibilities for the true Serviam because the public is reached in leisure time. Individual initiative can devise interesting new phases of life or more vital and fresh aspects of older forms. Opposition from without and within, in addition to the ever changing conditions are challenging the very best use of our gifts. By the aid of our unquenchable thirst for adventure, by free use of the imagination, by the dedication of our talents, in the spirit of the angelic Serviam, we can save Christianity, as against the usurper who would pluck it out root and branch.

[6} T he W a tc h T o w e r

G la rice c llia rp S ^ o e h le r St. James Protestant Episcopal Church From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To: Finch Junior College Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 2 Dramatics 3, 4 Editor-in-Chief of the Watch Tower Gold Medalist in Annual Oratorical Contest, sponsored by the American Legion Clarice, songful, studious, and sincere is our capable editor whose wide travels have supplied her writings with substance and color.

God grant us a vision of unity, law observance, patriot­ ism and peace. A\ay we be given the moral strength to place in the firmament o f human destiny the stars of faith in mankind, unselfish courage, and loyalty.

W e. the senior class, the class o f 1940, pledge our every effort— we pledge our lives to the fulfillm ent o f this great task and ask Divine guidance that we may be given strength to press fo r­ ward toward this goal W O R L D PEACE. —

orraine CCnne V I oore St. Ann’s Parish To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Prefect 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Basketball 1, 2, 3, 4 Riding 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Associate Editor of the Watch Tower Winner of Second Prize of Fifty Dollars in the National Essay Contest, sponsored by The Peace House. Winner of Honor Award for Poetry from Young Catholic Messenger Lorraine is as lovely as her name. To Lorraine went, by \ote, the highest rank in student groups, prefect of the sodality. Her zeal has found an outlet in her parish sodality.

Dramatics and science are fascinating to her. God bless you, Lorraine!

[7 }

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\

s,vne marij

K in d e r

Our Lady of Mercy Parisli To: Mount St. Vincent Ciollege Sodality 1, 2, 3, -4 Vice prefect 4 Mis.sion (iommitlee 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, Pre.sident 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Secretary 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 1, 2 Dramatics 3 Riding 3, 4 Class President 3 Class Vice-President 1, 2 Class Treasurer 4 She is a perfect pupil, pluperfect pal, and a future per­ fect social worker. God bless you, Irene!

l l l a n j CCgnes Q ^onisteJf St. Philip Neri Parish Prom: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To: Misericordia Nursing School Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Our quiet, dignified, reserved Mary leaves the blue serge for a nice, white, starched nurse’s apron! Success to Mary, the fourth of the Eornstedt family to dwell at Mount St. Ursula.

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ndCd

St. Simon Stock’s Parish From: P. S. 89 To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Librarian 1, 2, 3 Secretary 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 W'atch Toiver Staff Mary, stylish, affectionate, and lovable is an earnest stu­ dent. Her hobby is song.

[8 ]

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mcine

\Jirginia QircicL ciaij

St. Philip Neri Parish From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Riding 2, 3 Marie has endeared herself during these long years to Mount St. Ursula whose doors opened to her in primer days. Marie is beautifully deferential and steadfastly earnest.

Her best love is French.

&lizal:>etk llT a r g (B ren n a n St. Brendan’s Parish From: Saint Mary’s Priory, South Australia To: Business School, South Australia Sodality 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 3, 4 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Riding 3, 4 Poetry Editor of the W^atch Tower Betty is a potential tennis champion whose greatest thrill was witnessing three Davis Cup Series. Her poetry is born of a fine sense of rhythm and inspiration.

l l l o u a Q u t U e ® rennan St. Brendan’s Parish From: Saint Mary’ Priory, South Australia To: Business School, South Australia Sodality 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 2, 3 Riding 3, 4 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Basketball 2, 3, 4 Varsity 4 Treasurer 4 Watch Tower Literary Editor Bedford Park’s most-popular-contest girl will ever be remembered for her intellectual ability, spontaneous tit-fortat and "Going riding Saturday?’’

[9 ]

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\^ir(jiiuci C ( lin e (B roclencii Our Lady ot Mercy Parisli From; ()iir Lady of Mercy LLgh Sciiool I'o: Ursuline College of New Roclielle Sodality 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Dramatics 3 Virginia's songs are a joyous carillon, as it were, of cowslip bells. Her gracious reserve is her loveliest attribute.

Success to you, Virginia!

C flita E ile e n

®

urns

Our Lady of Mercy Parish From: Our Lady of Mercy High School To: Business School Sodality 3, 4 Glee Club 3 Athletic Association 4 Rita is reticent, gentle, and industrious. Her friendship is a grace. Success to you, Rita!

CCdci J C i l l Kin G a i •/,o n i Our Lady of Mercy Parish From: Our Lady of Mercy High School To: New York Institute of Dietetics Sodality 3, 4 Glee Club 4 Athletic Association 4 After these years of food for thought, Ada our future dietician turns to thoughts of food. Success to you, Ada!

[10]

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3^^[elen ^2)orotliy[

G o ii Idoij

St. Philip Neri Parish From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Winner of the Second Prize of Fifteen Dollars in Annual Essay Contest, sponsored by New York Chapter of Professional Engineers Helen breaks the monotony of most boring moments by her "literal” loquaciousness, her joyous laugh and her spontaneous wit. Her scholastic achievement is her pride.

Success to you, Helen!

[PatncLa CZnn C o n Ion St. Brendan’s Parish From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 2, 3 Basketball 1, 2, 3 Riding 1 Class Treasurer 2, 3 Class Secretary 1 Dramatics 4 Patricia is heir to a professional career. Her piano execu­ tion has received commendatory distinction.

n i a n j [ f l it a

O o n le a v t j

St. Barnabas Parish To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 1, 2, 3 Varsity 2 Class Treasurer 1 Dramatics 3 Rita, adventurous, athletic, and agile, is an eager sports­ woman and sports fan.

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

C in n C iudreij Cl^ooleij St. Nidiolas of Tol entine I’rom: Holy Spirit To: ManliattanN'ille College O Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Wdiiner of First Prize in Literary Description and First Prize in Essay Contests, sponsored by Everyday Reading; of Fourth Prize in Editorial Writing in Contest similarly sponsored for high schools; and of Honor Award for Cartoon-Essay from Young Catholic Messenger Audrey, serious, studious, and sincere has a musical nature.

^ecin d^Celen CDorckak St. Frances of Rome To: Hunter College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Recording Secretary 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Vice-President 3 President 4 Basketball 1, 2, 3, 4 Varsity 2, 3, 4 Class President 2, 3 W^atch Tower Staff Jean is a carrier of trophies. A second-prize winner of the Cardinal’s Christian Doctrine Contest of 1936; a twenty-five-dollar essay prize winner in 1937 in the Audu­ bon contest; the holder of the highest average for three years in high school are some of the laurels won by our dynamic Jean.

{Virginia n i a r y Q dougkertg Our Lady of Mercy Parish From: Walton High School To: Mount St. Vincent College Sodality 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 2, -T 4 Glee Club 2 Riding 3 Class Vice-President 3 W’atch To wer Staff Virginia, laughing and girlishly fascinating is essential to groups scholastic, social, athletic. Do you remember her thrill on Mission Day when a patron gave her five dona­ tions, all at once? Oratory and music are her interests.

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[P atricia jL o iiise S g a n Our Lady of Refuge Parish To; Hunter College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Basketball 1, 2 Athletic Association 1, 2 Riding 1 Patricia’s hobby is ice-skating. Her favorite study is litera­ ture. The profession of teacher attracts her ambition.

n i a n j CCgnes QpitzQeralcl gen Our Lady of Mercy Parish From; Our Lady of Mercy High School To; Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 3, 4 Athletic Association 3, 4 Dramatics 3, 4 Watch Tower Staff A winning graciousness by nature affects in our Mary Agnes excellent powers of dramatization of personality, famous and familiar, when occasion demands. Mary Agnes is vibrant joy.

n j a r g a r e t [P atricia Q a lla g k e r Our Lady of Assumption Parish From; Saint Augustine’s School To; Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Riding 2, 3, 4 Dramatics 3 Margaret is the vivacious, black-haired, dynamic indi­ vidualist of Senior class. God bless you, Margaret!

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lllarij (bchlh (^mul Our Lady of Refuse To: Business Sdiool Sodality 1, 2, 3, ■1 Treasurer 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 3, 4 Class President 1 Cdass Vice-President 2, 3 Recipient of Scholarship to Woods Secretarial School Our modest anri reticent Mary is expert in rifle practice and diligently industrious for the general welfare. Success to you, Mary!

^lizaLeth Ginn

riffin

Our Lady of Mercy Parish To: UrsLiline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Councillor 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 1, 2, 3 Dramatics 3 Riding 3, 4 Class Treasurer 1, 2 Betty radiates joy in the classroom and at social functions.

Few of us will forget the ever-audible "Irene”. Her devo­ tion to Sodality interests was rewarded with a gold key.

Success to you, Betty!

& ileen CPati'icia

3~(anlon

Our Lady of Solace To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Corresponding Secretary 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 1, 2 Dramatics 3, 4 Class Treasurer 1 Class Secretary 3 Class President 4 W'atch Tower Staff Eileen’s candor and courtliness have added to her popu­ larity as our Class President and favorite orator.

[14]

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3 ,'ene

n i a r g a r e t M .a ns

Our Lady of Victory Parish To: Columbia University School of Dietetics Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Riding 3, 4 Class President 3 Class Vice-President 4 IPO/cA Tower Staff Cheerful and complacent Irene, our Titian-haired culinary artist, is proud of her angler’s trophy.

m argue rite

(eiim em an [P atricia P (Tie

St. Nicholas of Tolentine From: St. Nicholas of Tolentine High School To: Holy Cross Business School Sodality 4 Vivacious "Patsy” has all the qualities of a perfect friend.

She enjoys boating and swimming more than any other recreation. God bless you, Marguerite!

ma rjorie S>/inor P(ioerm an Grace Lutheran Church From: Private tutoring To: Concordia Collegiate Institute, Bronxville Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 3, 4 Watch Tower Staff Marjorie is aglow with an heroic idealism. She is gay and serious, meditative and ardently resolute. Her joy is an art. We are so grateful that she is on our staff. Her de­ votedness was as high as the sky! God bless you, Marjorie!

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C (nn

6sielle 3~(ocjan

St. Mary'.s l^ari.sh To: Manhattanville College Sodality 1, 2, 3, d Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic A.s.sociation 1, 2, 3, 4 Riding 2, 3, 4 WaU h Tower Staff Ann, dainty, devoted, and dutiful, has achieved here exxellence in her .scholarship record that augurs well for her career in social service.

Q eralch n e S /e a n o r ^(iil:>l:)arcl St. Nicholas of Tolentine Parish From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To: Trinity College, Washington, D. C. Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Basketball 1, 2, 3 Varsity 2 Class President 1 Class Vice-President 2 Dramatics 3 Riding 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 lY'atch Tower Staff Sprightly, “Jerry,” with her mischievous dimples always in play, finds fun on the bridle path, on the golf course, in the classroom, in fact everywhere.

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St. Frances of Rome Parish From: P. S. 16 To: Misericordia Nursing School Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 There is “glory” in her future as there is “glory” in her name. Our Gloria is a future Florence Nightingale. God bless you, Gloria!

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n j a r i e Q ^eatrice

Lint

St. Jerome’s Parish To: Business School Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 2, 3 Recipient of a Scholarship to Monroe Secretarial School A cosy corner, a comfortable chair, plus a ^^ood book and you need look no farther for tiny, tenacious and true Marie.

n ia r g c ir e t U r s iila m ^ a v a n a g h Our Lady of Refuge From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To: Manhattanville College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Dramatics 3, 4 Class Treasurer 3 Associate Editor of the Watch Tower Margaret is "Mount St. Ursula’s own’’ and rightly are we proud of her. Generous, genial, and gay, Margaret is a lover of music, the theatre, and books. The staff is earnestly grateful for the hospitality of the Kavanagh’s home where our meetings were held.

§oan

111Cine

3 i.e lle k e r

Our Lady of Refuge Parish To: Hunter College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Mission Committee Chairman 4 Glee Club 1 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Treasurer 4 Dramatics 3 Basketball 1, 2, 3, 4 Watch Tower Staff Capable, cheery, and conscientious, "Kelley’’ is always grandly administering the intricacies of a secretary’s report, the complexities of mite boxes, or a program for a panel discussion. Success to you, Joan!

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T h e W a tc h T o w e r

fP a l ricia (^ra ce

9{ lerncin

Our Lady ol Mercy Parish To: Mount St. Vincent College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Librarian 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Ba,sketball 1, 2, 3, 4 Riding 2, 3, 4 Dramatics 3, 4 Class Secretary 1, 3, 4 Patricia is a philosopher with thoughts of the ideal and a firm hold on the real. Pat does not tolerate compromise.

Her friendship is a magnet and a reward. Success to you, P at!

f R ose CXnne

mg

St. Brendan’s Parish From: Saint Brendan’s High School To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 4 Athletic Association 4 W^atch Tower Business Manager Although Rose has been with us only a year, her con­ geniality, adaptability, and intellectual gifts, have made us truly proud that she is "one of us.”

S ta in e

3^ranees 3 ilersg

Our Lady of Refuge Parish From: Academy of Mount St. LJrsula To: Packard’s Institute Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3 Elaine, serious, serene, and sincere, is equally partial to studies and golf.

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o ro tkij CCnna Ui^rauss From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To; Ursuline College of New Rochelle Glee Club 2, 3 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball A.ssociation 1, 2 Riding 1, 2, 3, 4 "Dolly” has musical fingers and a scientific mind. She is joining the ranks of nurses. Success to you, Dorothy!

Q ra ce ® orothea J i iooram St. Theresa’s Parish From: St. Frances of Rome To: Trinity College, Washington, D. C. Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Riding 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Grace nearly tops the Seniors F Q. list. Her keen intelli­ gence can fully relax in hours of diverse sport.

ueronica

n ja r g a r e t C ln n jL g n c k

St. Philip Neri Parish From: P. S. 46 To: Hunter College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Dramatics 3 Veronica is Eileen’s little sister but quite independent >n her claim to fame. Her scholarly character, her courtesy, and her artistic gifts on the canvas and at the keyboard make Veronica an ideal candidate for academic graduation.

God bless you, Veronica!

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B a r b a r a C in n e

111arse h a ll

St. Philip Neri Parish I'rom: St. Simon Stock I ’o: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, d Cdee Club 1, 2 Athletic As.sociation 2, 3, 4 Manager 4 Basketball 1, 2, 3 11 atch Tower Staff Barbara is the eftcient A. A. Manager. Her spirit of comradeship is all joy and sercice. "Bob” has unusual literary gifts.

J l,ore ace

n ic irie n ia r t i n

St. Gabriel’s Parish From: St. John’s To: Katherine Gibbs Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Florence enjoys a reputation of excellence for cocoanut layer cakes. Her gentle friendliness and deep loyalty have made our four years happy.

marte

C a roline llTascetta

Our Lady of Refuge Parish To: Hunter College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 1, 2, 3, 4 Varsity 2, 3, 4 Captain 4 Marie’s discerning eye and logical mind find kindred aspiration in her ideal, Marie Curie. Athletics mean athletics when Marie is there!

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& liza ljetli CyCnn lU cC D erm o tt St. Brendan’s Parish To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, Athletic A.ssociation 1, 2, 3, 4 Dramatics 3 Poise and beauty evoke Betty whose great pleasure is at the piano. Success to you, Betty!

^ o a n [fio se llTcC D on a Icl St. Simon Stock’s Parish From: Our Lady of Mercy High School To: Delehanty Business School Sodality 3, 4 Class Secretary 4 Joan, serene and tranquil, has a wide circle of worthy friends who have great confidence in her success. God bless you, Joan!

S ileen SJirginia n i c Q u r St. Paul’s Parish, Yonkers From: Nathaniel Hawthorne Junior High To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 2, 3, 4 Eucharistic Crusade Provost Glee Club 2, 3 Riding 3, 4, Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Basketball 2, 3, 4 Varsity 3, 4 Class Vice-President 4

.

Our Eileen, lovely and lovable, is versatile, friendly, and energetic. You know what her achievement was as guard.

By the way, did you ever try dodging her mite-box.^ [21}

T he W a tc h T o w e r

ircjinia

111 o n e in^cQuire

St. Brcndan’.s l^uish To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sotlality 1, 2, 4 Glee Club 2, 3 Ba.sketball 1, 2 Riding 2, 3 Athletic As.sociation 1, 2, 3, 4 Cla.s.s Treasurer 4 Vivacious Virginia enlivens our school day. Her favorite relaxation is dancing. May the years bring abundant bless­ ings to Virginia.

W in i f red

3i a t h n jn 11lcB^(a le

St. Simon Stock Parish To: Secretarial School Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2 Gentle, creative "Winnie” plans to use her artistic talents as a fashion designer. Winifred is of the opinion that today’s innovations in hats may be traced to Mother’s pots and pans. Success to you, Winifred!

lllanj Vu:9in ia

l l l c U a n ia ra

Our Lady of Mercy Parish From: Our Lady of Mercy High School To: Hunter College Sodality 3, 4 Glee Club 3, 4 Athletic Association 4 Mary hopes to write new glories in the history of music at Mount St. Ursula. Mary is genuine and grandly loyal.

Success to you, Mary!

[22]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

C cithei ine g o a n

111in n o ck

St. Mary's Parish, Mount Vernon From: P. S. 80 To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Chief Librarian 4 Athletic Asscxriation 1, 2, 3, 4 Class Secretary 4 Associate Editor of the Watch Toivev "June”, this dainty, debonair, and delightful lady enjoys dabbling with paints and playing with words. God bless you, Catherine!

>'9in ia l l l a n j l l l u l Ligan

V u :

St. Brendan’s Parish To: Katherine Gibbs Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Riding 3, 4 Virginia loves song of lips and of the heart. Both eager­ ness and ardor characterize Virginia at work and at play.

Success to you, Virginia!

X,eonora uverouLca I M o ia n Our Lady of Mercy Parish To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 4 Leonora’s gentle ways and lyric voice make for her perfect welcome among us. Success to you, Leonora!

[23]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

f R ita CLcjne^

& e on n o r

St. Philip Ncri Parish To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 CJlee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 1, 3 Amiable and alert, Rita is the holder of the highest 1. Q. in Senior. Her favorite study is literature; her pastime, any sport; her hobby, mystery stories. God bless you, Rita!

Qrcice Qiernaclette G o f o o l e Holy Family Parish To: Business School Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Sodality Literature Committee 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Vice-President 2 Vivacious, dark-haired Grace is at her .smiling best on a rainy day. Geometry is her favorite subject, dancing her favorite pastime. Success to you, Grace!

mcine C (n n a

[Pa la d Ino

St. Mary Star of the Sea Parish To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Class Treasurer 4 Managing Editor of the VTatcb Tower Marie, persevering, patient, and prudent, is the embodi­ ment of service. Her enthusiasm always made Mission Day a success for Class 1940. Marie’s special interests are in Literature. She will join her sister Helen as a resident student at C. N. R. God bless you, Marie!

[24]

T he W a tc h T o w e r = : :

rJ^oretta Q ertn icle [Po\K>er Our Lady of Mercy Parish To: St. Joseph’s College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2,’ 3, 4 Vice-President 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Vice-President 4 Basketball 1, 2, 3, 4 Varsity 1, 2, 3, 4 Dramatics 3 Class President 1, 2 Class Vice-President 3, 4 The minature whirlwind will always be remembered running through the corridors with devotedness, dashing about the basketball floor with eagerness, giving her un­ divided attention in the classroom with dutifulness. Loretta is pleasingly deferential and wonderfully kind. God bless you, Loretta!

(bchn a ja iie V V uirg in ia U ieilLU St. Francis Xavier Parish From: P. S. 83 To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Librarian 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 2, 3 Riding 2, 3, 4 Class Secretary 2 Ednajane is an enthusiastic student of science and mathematics. Her hair is an enviable glory. Did you see her blush? God bless you, Ednajane!

Z i t a (^keresa S c klo e n Our Lady of Refuge From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To: Manhattanville College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 1, 3 Zita is an ardent aspirant for laurels in music Her natural genius makes it a fair promise. Zita is ucugnuuuy delightfully a perfect girl who incarnates joy and grace. God bless vou, Zita! 'liClllL

l a u i v - u

i

[25]

Tfie W atclh T o w e r

(ju-h)ara

C ecelia

cSc/iroff

St. Brendan’s Parish From: St. Brendan’s Higli School To: Ursuhne College of New Rochelle Soilality 4 Athletic Association 4 Barbara joined us in Senior year. Her scholastic efforts are crowned by a partial scholarship to Ladycliff College by competitive examination.

ose llTarcjarel (Senese St. Philip Neri Parish From: Saint Catherine of Genoa, Brooklyn To: Harriett Mills School Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Librarian 4 Athletic As.sociation 1, 2, 3, 4 Assistant Editor of the \l"a/ch Tower Winner of Second Prize in Short Story Contest sponsored

by Young Catholic Messenger Intellectual, ingenious, and petite, "Sneesy” is about to enter upon her immediate preparation for her career as an instructor of America’s little ones. Rose loves writing and kindergarten work. Rose is our excellent Assistant Editor and can tell you all the troubles of "Copy.” God bless you, Rose!

r n Line I ^ o a n S h a lle ij Our Lady of Mercy Parish From: Our Lady of Mercy High School To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Muriel, meek, modest, and merry, is a matchless maid.

God bless you, Muriel!

[ 26] T he W a tc h T o w e r

m a m'*1/ r% e ,'esci S h e l l Our Lady of Mercy Parish To; Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Mary, our Irish lass, sweet, shy, and smiling, will long remember her last fall’s experience on the "Iroquois.” God bless you, Mary!

d im e

oris V ach lO

St. Ann’s Parish From P. S. 80 To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Class Secretary 1 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 W'atch Tower Staff Anne’s sparkling vitality has made her popular in the social world while her journalistic ability promises to make her eminent in the world of letters. God bless you, Anne!

oro tk ij

a tkn erine V o lk

St. Francis Xavier Parish From P. S. 83 To: Ursuline College of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3, 4 Athletic Association 1, 2, 3, 4 Basketball 2, 3, 4 Riding 2, 3, 4 Dramatics 3 Class President 4 Dorothy has had that sincere regard for her responsibility as president of "seventh term advanced” that we are con­ fident she will have for her duties as future Supervisor of Nurses. God bless you, Dorothy!

[27]

TIhe W a tc h T o w e r

f k u t h l l l a r i e W h iU ikier St. Brendan’s Parish From: Academy of Mount St. Ursula To: UrsLiline Ciolle^e of New Rochelle Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2 Athletic Association 3 Watch Tower Staff Our Ruth, generous, gracious and gifted, can persuade the most stubborn piano to send forth lovely melodies.

God bless you, Ruth!

CDorotliij (Bci r/)(ira IJanncicone Our Lady of Victory Parish, Mount Vernon From: P. S. 103 To: Barnard College Sodality 1, 2, 3, 4 Glee Club 1, 2, 3 Athletic Association 4 Our Dorothy, mightily serious and earnestly compre­ hending, has chosen a man-sized job, journalism. God bless you, Dorothy!

G e c il

3^eller

From: Walton High School To: New York University Sodality 4 Athletic Association 4 Cecil, our French linguist, a pleasant, persevering, and pretty lass, is a future instructor in home economics. God bless you, Cecil!

[28}

T he W atvch T o w e r

From Me to Me b y Mose Senese A young girl wrhes to herself— promising that the true meaning of Serviam” will be a vital part of her future.

Our author claims that any similarity to persons living or dead is merely coincidental, but we ivonder.

EAR DOTTY; Seems sort of silly writing to yourself, doesn’t it Dotty? Especially when you ve already rehearsed the very words you’re going to say. But, just in case you won’t remember the promises you made to yourself, and just in case you ever come near weakening again. I’m writing to you, putting down in black and white all the things you aren’t going to do any more. You know, like be­ lieving the pretty things that young men (especially tall, blond, young men) tell you, and waiting anxiously for letters. Today, Dotty, absolutely for the last time you’re going to review the whole wonderful, exciting adventure of last summer, and then you’re going to erase it from your memory for good.

To begin at the beginning, do you remember how you hated the farm when you first saw it? ' Stuart’s Mountain Breeze Farm,” the advertisements had sounded so nice, and then . . . the awful truth. The "beautiful” tennis court (that was the first thing you noticed because Dad had bought you a new racket) didn’t even have a net! And to top it all, there was a cow walking calmly and contentedly over it! The farmhouse itself needed a new coat of paint, and the rickety steps leading to the porch certainly were due for repairing. But the mountain in the background was like a prettily painted backdrop, all green and lovely. The golds and greens of the trees, and the sweet music of the h ib den birds made the surroundings seem like a picture postcard come to life. Nature had treated the farmhouse badly, but she made amendment by keeping the background beau­ tifully breath-taking.

Mrs. Stuart came out to meet you, and then she called her son Bill to take you up to the cottage. Bill was tall and handsome, but Bill was twenty-six. He took your bag, and as you walked up the hill, he smiled down at you and said, "I’m sure you’ll like it here.” Suddenly everything seemed so different. Why a tennis court with a cow on it was really picturesque, and the graceful green background was truly enchanting; you knew that already. Yes, the summer was going to be fun. You felt it then—when Bill said— "you’ll like it here.”

Remember the cottage Dotty? "Robin Rest” was the name Mrs. Stuart had given it.

It was a bit shabby, but the pretty rock bordered path, and the trees all around it look so small and dainty. And every once-in-a-while, a robin really came and rested there too.

The view from the porch was lovely too. As you looked down you could see the daisy patches, and as you looked up you saw those tall trees that made the mountain seem so green. You and mother worked so hard to make the cottage look as nice as the one you had seen in "Good Housekeeping,” but soon everything was under control besides the friendly trees and birds, there were many friendly people to start the summer off happily.

Then the first big night came. The fellows and girls had all decided to spend the evening at the pavilion. The pavilion was the "play house” for everyone on the farm.

Bill .sold soft drinks, and a band played there on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Well, you went down and started to dance. And while you were dancing, you saw Paul. Paul was in the orchestra. He played the clarinet and the saxophone. He was .so good looking. His [2 9 }

T he W a tc h T o w e r

trew cut was jlisI be^'innin^' to ^row back and his brown liair was a mass of tiny curls.

He wasn't very tall, but you didn't mind, because you aren’t so tall either. Remember, Dotty, how you felt you just had to speak to him? So you went up to the bandstand and asked him to play "Stardust” and "Moonlove.” He smiled, and said, "I'll see what I can do.” He had such a lovely smile, as ^listenin^ as one of those tooth paste ads. Then he asked if you were new at Stuarts, and when you said yes, he smiled again and .sort of whispered, "I’m sure you'll like it here." If you had felt It to be true when Hill said It, you knew It was true then, didn't you? Now you were certain you would like It "here."

Then Dotty, you wrote to Florence and Jeanne, and told them all about Paul.

'I'ou said his name was Paul Smith, and he was a musician, and he talked to you often, 't'ou invited them up for a few weeks, you really did want to see them, but you wanted them to see Paul even more.

The next "event" was the time you went swimming with Paul. The name of the lake was "Sylvan,” and you thought it was the most beautiful lake you had ever seen.

It was like a sheet of pale green Ice, surrounded by an even greener edge of moss banks and bushes. Everything was just fine until Paul began talking about his "trip." He told you that he and another friend, Richard Perry, were going up to the Adirondacks for a few weeks. You could feel your heart drop then couldn’t you Dot? But you consoled yourself, that two weeks wasn’t really very long, and then, the girls were coming up soon.

But you weren’t so gay on the trip back were you?

Well, Paul went away, and Florence and Jeanne arrived. Your life was really com­ plete (at least you th.ought so then). Your best friends were with you, Paul would soon be back. Life was grand. Then. . . .

On August 25, you and the girls went down to the pavilion. Paul was there and there was someone with him. Some tall, blond fellow, with broad shoulders. He was very ordinary looking though, and you were much too excited at seeing Paul even to notice him. The girls thought Paul was handsome too, and there were three hearts beat­ ing faster when he came over to the table. There were introductions all around, and his friend’s name was Richard Perry, his companion on the "trip.’ ’He was called Rip though because his initials were R. 1. P. Paul had to get back to his clarinet so he left, and Rip went over to talk to Bill. You spent the next few minutes telling the girls that even though Paul’s father was one of the wealthiest men in town, and even if Paul did have everything he wanted, he still chose to work in the band. You all thought it was very noble, and were just discussing Paul’s bravery when your cousin Jack came over and asked you to dance.

Remember Dotty, the way Jack danced? He had just learned a new step and he had wanted to try it out on someone. You were the victim tonight as usual, but you didn’t mind because you would pass the bandstand, and Paul. 'Well, the two of you started to dance, and just as you came near the bandstand, Bill called you. He wanted to know if you and the girls would like to go swimming with Paul, Rip, and another fellow. Of course you said yes, and since Rip was standing right there you smiled up (you had to look up so far) at him. That was when he asked you to dance. You said, "Of course, the next one.”

Well, the next dance came and so did Rip. The band played "Moonlove” and some­ thing hit you. All of a sudden Paul didn’t matter any more. No one mattered any more.

All you knew was that you had the funniest, nicest feeling inside, and you didn’t care about anything. You felt as though you had known Rip for years. He talked about school, French, and the trip. That was for the first two dances (there were three to a set) and you were just getting ready for the third when the orchestra rattled out the "Jumpin Jive" and Rip looked at you and laughed. He said, "I’m afraid I’m not a jitterbug, at least not publicly." So you and he left the dance floor, and sat at a table near the band­ stand. The girls were looking at you, Bill was looking at you, Paul was looking at you.

But you didn’t even see them because—Rip was looking at you. You both ordered cokes, [30]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

and went right on talking. Rip said that he wanted to be a naval architect, if he could ever pass Vergil. He had a crew cut too, only his stood up straight all around. You were just thinking how wavy it must have been before he had it cut when you noticed that it was just after twelve o’clock, and you .had promised to be in the cottage by eleven!

You called over to the girls, and mumbled something to Rip about seeing him "to­ morrow” and the three of you raced up the hill. In a few minutes you were all in bed, and you told the girls about Rip. They said that you were just plain fickle. But you knew didn’t you Dotty, that this was different. You felt different. This, at long last, was . . . it.

Oh what a tomorrow that was! You had such fun! Rip sat in the back of the car with you and Flo. Paul was driving, and Jeanne and the other fellow sat up front. Rip was so funny you wondered how he ever could be serious. He really started everything —and soon the whole six of you were laughing and talking like a sextet of old cronies.

Sylvan Lake looked like a sheet of blue today, a quiet blue, like the color of the sky on a spring day. Everyone went swimming and you noticed that Rip nearly looked hand­ some in lastex trunks the same color as the icy water. You all went rowing, and the boat was so old that it had to be returned. The afternoon passed all too quickly, but later you were glad, because the best part was at night. It was a silver night wasn’t it Dotty? The trees shone silver around the silver water, a silver moon laughed, and silver stars smiled out of a glistening silver sky. Even the hot dogs and soda bottles shone silver in the moonlight. The road, on the way home was like a silver ribbon. And even the poor old farmhouse seemed silver as it stood on the silver grass among the silver hills. All the way home you could feel your heart making little purring sounds, couldn’t you Dotty?

The next day it was swimming; the next, dancing, swimming again, dancing again, movies in town, and fireworks at the Lake. Those nights were gold, bright, shining gold.

And then, came the last night . . . the night before you had to leave for home. Rip told you that he didn’t intend to wait until the next summer to see you again. He said that he wanted "Moonlove” to be a special song, for just you and him. He asked for your address and promised that the day after you would reach home, you would have a letter from him.

Then you left. . . . And the day after you were home. . . . You got a letter! Rip said he was coming down on Sept. 2^ . . . and he came down! You went to Broadway and you saw' Glen Miller and Artie Shaw. Rip made you promise to listen to Glen Miller every Tuesday, and he said he would listen too. He held your hand in the movies and said he wished to live in New York. He wanted to go to the World’s Fair, and even though you knew it was getting late, you went. Rip had to catch a train at 2 A.M., so after he had deposited you at your door, he rushed to catch it. Dad was a bit angry, but you didn’t mind; Rip was worth it.

Then Rip wrote more letters, long, sweet ones. Mrs. Stuart invited you up for the Thanksgiving holidays but you couldn’t go. But one of the girls who had been up there in the summer did go. She told you she had gone to a dance given by Rip’s high school and that Rip was there. He was with a tall, dark haired girl, whose name (of all names!) was Dotty! That was when you remembered that Rip had to go out with other girls; after all you went out with other boys didn’t you? But after that, somehow the moon didn’t laugh so much and the stars didn’t smile so much for you. But he still wrote, so you didn’t care too much.

Yes, Dotty, you still have those letters. The eight page ones that came at first, then the four page ones. Then he didn’t answer for three weeks, and now—Rip hasn’t writ­ ten in two months. And today, for the sixtieth time in sixty days you’ve looked in the mailbox, only to be disappointed. You know you promised yourself that if he didn’t write by last Monday, you’d give up hope. So, today. Dotty, you’re going to end the whole story. You’ve got work to do—there’s a W atch T ower to be put together, Serviam, you’ve got to do your part. From now on Dotty, strict attention to duty. No more thoughts of Rip. He’s just a memory—but such a memory!

[31]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

Just remember lliat tlie next time you think the love-bu^ has bitten you, to take out these lines tlial you wrote to you, anil read them over. Tlien perhaps you won’t believe tliat liot dogs are silver, and that people always mean what they say, and perhaps you’ll realize that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder.

Sincerely, D otty

I wonder. . . .

F'\S. \ ’ou torgot to say his eyes were brown, or were they blue.

S N O W D E SC E N D S A n n H ughi -.s

The snow descends with a whimpering childlike moan.

From their nests three little shivering birds have flown.

And in the sky in wintry solitude.

In whitelipped state, the moon all pale, subdued.

And far aloft, like a crystal lantern shone.

Across the heavens diamond stars are sown The moon in puzzled splendor all alone.

Hence flees away by winging stars pursued.

The snow’ descends.

In night’s w'hite purity to all unknown.

Save one who calls this wintry night his own.

It softly snows in quiet, pensive mood.

It’s stillness like a sylvan interlude.

The snow descends.

NATUKE^S C Y C L E Jean D orchak

Sweet and simple sighs Under w'illow trees.

With the soft replies Whispered by the breeze; Scented summer’s sway— Would it only stay!

Skies are vaults of blue Flecked with downy white Earth, so warm to you.

Quivers in her might; Nature’s harvest sw'ells.

Forth her bounty wells.

Autumn now is here Reaping summer’s toil; Winter, cold and sere.

Strives to hold the soil; But the warmth of Spring Makes rebirth the king.

[32]

TEe W a tc h T o w e r

O n Shaking; H ands Iby E ose Semes© Even a ludicrous reminder can show one that service also applies to social life.

The author admits she has exaggerated, she hopes, not too much.

AYBE the Greeks had a word for it, but the Chinese certainly know how to do it. Shake hands, I mean. One Chinaman will bow and smile to another, but he shakes his own hand. It may be a queer greeting, but it certainly is a prac­ tical one. But in America, unfortunately we don’t quite see the Chinaman’s point of view, and we go on suffering and swearing at our various offenders.

Take the "bonecrusher” for instance; you know he’s usually the life of the party type of fellow. He takes your hand in his and just to prove that he’s really glad to see you, he grips your "manus” with such heartiness that only for the sake of etiquette you refrain from calling out in pain. After his little demonstration of the ju-jit-su you quietly retire to a corner and carefully count your fingers, and feel around for broken bones or torn ligaments. Usually after you have returned to the company of the others, you manage to slip out before the "bone crusher,’’ who has every intention of bidding you farewell with another "handshake.” And the next day the first thing you do is to visit a doctor and have an ex-ray taken of your hand, just to convince yourself that no harm has been done. This "bone crusher” is usually a practical joker. He pats you on the back with such a blow as to make you feel weak for days after. He likes to give people the hotfoot and trip them up when they’re carrying a glass of water. He’s as good natured and as big hearted as his handshake, but for safety’s sake avoid him.

Then there is the "hanger on” type of fellow. He’s the one that has so much to tell you that he hasn’t time to let go of your hand. He takes your hand and swings it up and down as he talks and talks. After a while your arm begins to feel like a pendulum working vertically, but there isn’t even a bare chance that you could possibly get a word in, so you have to suffer both the conversation and the handshake. Then suddenly he remarks that he has "forgotten” to release your hand. You act surprised and laughingly agree. But now it is time for him to leave and so he takes your hand again and begins his former process as he says goodbye. He’s the fellow who never knows when to stop talking and doesn’t realize that you might like to say something once in a while. He’s to be avoided because after a little experience with him you walk along the street swing­ ing your arm up and down, and—it is embarrassing to have people stare at you, isn’t it?

The most annoying of all the handshakers is the "jelly fish.” He has to exert himself so much in order to put his hand in yours that you feel that you have to help him lift his arm up and put it back in place. His hand is so limp in yours that you suddenly wonder if you might possibly have "dishpan” hands or some dread disease. He just thinks that everyone is too contaminated to touch, and lets them know it, too. He probably faints at the sight of blood, has a weak mind, a weak laugh and a weak character. 'Whatever the "jelly-fish” may be characteristic of, he’s about the most annoying individual you could possibly meet up with. The only thing to do is to give him the same kind of handshake that he gives you, and maybe he’ll begin to wonder if he might have something wrong with him.

When the war in China is over I’m going to take the first boat over and then people won’t think me queer if I choose to shake hands with myself. Either that or I will petition the government to send the various offenders over there, where they’ll have to try out their antics on themselves. [ 33 ]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

Exckam p b y M o ira B r e n n a n H/s fighting hcwdi were his victory and his glorious defeat.

Moira thinks that there is sonielinies niore service in death than in life.

M sorry, O ’Hrian, hut you’re too old. You’ve had your day but now it s ended.

The fighting game is for young men, men young enough to stand up to punishment and Jim, I don’t have to tell you that you can never fight again; your power’s gone, Jim; the game’s too tough for you. No one will ever forget you for the great fighter you were, but let them remember too that you had sense enough to step aside when your youth was gone.”

For hours these words had been burning deeper and deeper into ex-champ Jim O'Brian’s ears. Everywhere he looked, he saw them burning like live red coals, shouting to him that he was a champ no longer. "You’re too old,” the river mocked. ' You’re through,” the trees whispered, "You’re finished,” the train wheels sang. "Your day is done,” the wind shrieked. As if in a dream he had been walking about the city hearing the fight promoter’s words in every voice in every sound, until now, when the sun had set and the quiet evening breeze came down through the trees that lined the deserted river path, those voices seemed to rush at him condemning him, laughing at him, scorn­ ing him and pitying him.

As he passed a bench he suddenly became conscious of the great weariness that possessed him. He slid down upon the seat and, supporting his chin upon his cupped hands, he stared vacantly at the slow moving river that wound through the city. All was quiet, silent in the hush that follows the rush of the day, when the evening begins to lengthen into night, when the last birds seek shelter in their hidden nests. Here and there the first lights blinked in the settling shadows and a few people began to appear strolling in the dusk. But still Jim sat, oblivious to his surroundings, only the sluggish movement of the river caught and held his eyes. It seemed to him that it was a vast screen upon which was being unfolded the story of a life. The first scene showed a small tousled-headed boy fighting uproariously in a free-for-all on a village street in Ireland. Suddenly a woman darted in among the squirming bodies and pulled out the tousled-headed boy. Soundly she boxed his ears and then marched him down the street to the small church where with a running stream of words on the wickedness of small boys and the worry they cause their good mothers, she ushered him into the church to ask the dear Lord’s forgiveness.

The next scene showed the same boy about ten years later. He was in the gym­ nasium of a boys’ school and he was fighting for the school championship. Quickly and decisively he won, and from then on the picture was of the boy grown to manhood, a manhood gained by training hard and fighting successfully. The silent watcher by the river seemed to hear again the acclaim of the crowds, the harsh clang of the bell, the excited reporters; he seemed to feel again the sweat pouring down his heaving chest, the handclasps of congratulation, the exhilaration that throbbed in his fighting heart after each victory. But the river flowed on, unfolding its story. Jim O’Brian saw himself getting gradually older, not perhaps in looks, but in fighting; the crowds still acclaimed him, but he knew it was only because he was an old favorite, some one who once had been great. As the river rolled by, Jim stumbled to his feet and started again the endless walking that he had been doing all day. His great hands clasped and unclasped, his well built powerful body seemed to sag, his blue eyes usually so keen and bright were misted to cloudy grey, his face scarred with the marks of past fights, was dead and empty, his [34]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

generally laughing lips were clenched between strong white teeth, his tousled hair fell upon his clouded brow.

Gradually his stumbling aimless feet took him away from the river toward the shopping center of the city, through the now crowded streets filled with people going out to enjoy themselves, people who had no time for a big man with a still, grey face.

Soon he left the bright night life behind him and he came to the darker, meaner side of the great city. He passed through the narrow streets where the lights grew dimmer and farther apart, where evil-looking, smoke-filled taverns cast a faint glow of light on the pavement. Shabby men slouched by, cheaply dressed girls swung past, but none paid attention to the shuffling man. Down here, where poverty and crime ruled jointly, the night might mean a life and one must take care of oneself. On and on O’Brian walked until he came to the deserted docks that bordered upon the waters of the city port. Up in the black sky the moon shone in all its yellow glory, casting a glittering pathway upon the evil sluggish black water. As Jim started out over the bay to the silhouettes of the ships that lay at anchor he heard hurrying footsteps resounding on the cobblestones.

Listlessly he turned his head and he saw a man swiftly crossing the street that disappeared into the shadows cast by the houses that huddled down on the water front.

Stumbling in his haste and casting furtive glances about him the man walked on. Out of the darkness three figures leaped and with a despairing cry the man sank back upon the stones. As he fell his coat flew open and there gleaming in the moonlight Jim O ’Brian saw a white clerical collar, surmounted by an agonized face. In a flash the watcher knew the unfortunate man was a priest with a pix in his pocket and a pix meant money to any petty thief who could waylay anybody who had valuables and so when night came they prowled through the streets with greed in their hearts and a knife in their hand. As he realized these things Jim O ’Brian with a fight on his hands and faith in his heart rushed to the defense of the priest. Savagely he fought, glorying in the feel of the hard punches, forgetting for a while the words, "I’m sorry, O ’Brian, but you’re too old.” When the bewildered thugs got over their first surprise they leapt grimly on the intruder. Silently but with deep intent three men fought one, three knives battled with two hands, knife gashes mingled with broken bones and there onto the cobblestones, rich red fighting blood flowed with thieves’ blood. With skill and power born of desperation, Jim drove off the attackers and as he watched them go, his knees crumpled, his hand went to his heart and slowly, mortally stabbed, he sank down upon the blood-drenched stones. The priest, who had by this time sufficiently recovered to stagger to his feet, dropped on his knees beside the still figure. Gently he lifted the tousled head and as the blue eyes smiled up again at him, he heard, "They said I was through but they were wrong; they said my day was done, but they forgot the last blush of the sunset; they forgot that once again the sun flames in a final burst of glory and then is gone. I did that, didn’t I, Father? I did that!”

Eloquent in his last speech, the exchampion died there on the dark cobblestones.

The priest raised his hand in absolution, the moon illuminated the still, forever sleeping face, and the sea seemed to sing again the praises of Jim O’Brian, exchamp.

A d.v Carloni

O my, little freshie, shy, awe-stricken face.

We are rightfully proud that our school you do grace.

Be not afraid, we’re as tame as young deer, Collapse not when welcomed with loud ringing cheer.

Banish your dread; respond to our call.

We gay lordly seniors were once coy and small. [,^5}

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

Bubbles In A Pool b y E liz a b e th Bremnain / here is depth of thought in a shallow rnin pool Betty thinks as she tvalks a)id hey thoughts are deep.

WALKED along a country road alone. The sky was silver blue, full of great tears as it it was grieving for the follies of this world. Gentle rain of autumn fell sottly on the earth below, soothing it. Suddenly I stopped, I must have seen a falling leaf or a glittering rain drop caught my eye and I found myself gazing into a pool of shimmering water.

I was fascinated. Many times have I seen a pool of rainwater on a muddy country road or a wide city boulevard, but this was ditferent. As I watched I saw bubbles forming, dancing around in gay abandon. Then a sadness stole over me, for as I watched those silver fragile bubbles broke. No noise, no fuss; just silence, and the bubbles disappeared.

As it was a rainy day my thoughts were not particularly frivolous, gay or of no consec]Lience, my mind was wrestling with the problem of life. These bubbles! Couldn’t we humans be bubbles? After all, we are only fragile barks tossing or sailing on the sea of life. Our lot can sometimes be quiet, peaceful and happy, but there is always the alternative unhappiness, sorrow and disturbance.

We come upon this earth a helpless babe, not able to do anything for ourselves.

We are petted, loved, and the wondrous miracle of our life begins. The years pass.

We all have a child’s unending curiosity; each day we learn something new. Then, when our childhood has gone, we are alone—alone to fight for existence and to wrest from life exactly what we give to it.

But those bubbles broke so easily. One moment they were perfect miniatures of beauty floating around in a pool, then they were gone. That is our fate; along our life we trip, not knowing what the future holds, but hoping it is happiness. Then we break and are taken from life, and then we face an unknown eternity. We meet our destiny.

The world lauds and admires great men. Sometimes they are not recognized in life—only glorified in death. Fame is a whimsical joker. It dogs the footsteps of some, never quite reaching them. It is at the doorstep of others waiting to claim them for its own. The life of the former is unquestionably sad, because it is the endless struggle to fulfill a vanishing dream. However, the lives of such men are made richer by their hard experiences. What a fickle world we live in. On top today, forgotten tomorrow. Genius lives perhaps next door, we scoff at him and put him down as stupid or fanatical. Only when the thief, Death, robs this world of the genius, when we mortals cannot bring him back, do we appreciate him. But no matter, the genius in following his dream was spiritually happy in his secret heart. Dreams then consume their lives making them beautiful and immortal. Do we realize that our life is a dream? All that we do is a step in the direction of the fulfillment of those dreams. Some dreams are paltry and not worth fighting for, others are so big that they are glorious even in thought.

I started to write of fame. Now I realize as I write, perhaps the world’s idea of fame is not always best. But that the dreams we lay on the altars of our hearts are our ambitions, the really great gifts perhaps not always realized but remaining ever hidden in our hearts keeping us mindful of them. I think it is these secret dreams that are the essence of a great man. It is these hopes and ambitions that make them great, only this shallow, artificial world does not see that. . . . I found myself gazing at a pool of shimmering water thinking deep thoughts of life.

[36]

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Lady In Distress b y C la ric e T. K o e h le r Only through hardship and discouragement can one find the true signifi­ cance o f "Servian!.”

The author believes that opportunity to serve God and fam ily comes fre­ quently during school life.

AINSVILLE is a pretty little town,” mused Judy Sims as her dreamy eyes wandered lazily past the school grounds and rested upon Main Street, where life was buzzing beneath spring’s balmy veil. "Fifteen more minutes and I’ll be free—if only we could hurry and murder Ceasar! I wonder why Shakepeare’s dramas are gory with murder when there is so much to live for. For example, my future, college, an opportunity to study journalism, to be an author, to write stories that dramatize the American Way, to realize my great ambition!

I certainly am lucky to have Great-Aunt Amelia willing to bear the cost of my tuition at college. It would be impossible for Father to do so. He has Mother and the two boys.

I wish Dot and Kay could join me, but they have no Aunt Amelia.”

Just then my thoughts were put to flight by the jangling dismissal bell and I returned to earth with a thud. The usual mad scramble for books, clothing, and the door ensued; from this I emerged unscarred, and accompanied by two faithful class mates.

Spring with its chirping heralds had arrived, and with it thoughts of graduation, hence the conversation during the homeward tramp centered about our school activities and my college career, a source of envy to my classmates.

It seemed that my cup of happiness was brim-full. Perhaps it was a little too full, for no sooner had my home showed its amiable bulk than the door opened and there stood Bub. Immediately he broke into a run, scurrying toward me as fast as his small legs would permit, all the while shouting at the top of his voice, "Aunt ’Melia’s sick.

Aunt ’Melia’s sick.”

"Sick? How sick. Bub?” "I dunno. Uncle John ’phoned an’ said she had a stroke. Is that bad?” queried the five year old.

"Oh, Bub, what if she should die! Once she said she didn’t believe in making a will. Bub, pray she won’t die! Why think of it, I might not be able to go to college, then what? Just pray. Bub, the Lord will surely hear our prayer.”

For days, thereafter, I spent my moments praying and telephoning my Mother’s brother for news of my kindly old Aunt’s condition. Despite the family’s persuasion.

Aunt Amelia would not make a will. "Finals” were drawing near and I was forced to apply myself whole-heartedly to cramming, although I could not help wondering if it were folly to strive for high marks when the probabilities now were that I would never attend college. Youthful optimism, however, buoyed my spirits and I continued my fervent supplications.

Graduation arrived, and with it news that Aunt Amelia had made a will, not recently, but several years ago. "How con.soling,” I sighed, and I was immediately sub­ merged in my last minute preparations with carefree zest. "Perhaps I have been a little selfish in considering only my career . . . I must be on the stage in five minutes. Is my hair in place? I simply must look my prettiest, for the whole family is here, even Dad and Ned. I will have to give that brother of mine .something to boast of.”

[37]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

"W'li.xt is Judy’s mischievous Bub doing back stage?” wliispered a fellow graduate.

To my surprise, tlicre he was, blusliing ro.se-red, while he wormed his way through white gowns and chattering girls. "Here Sis, I couldn’t wait; it’s a telegram; congrajcrlations,’ I’ll bet.” Hastily, I tore the envelope and brought forth its contents.

AUNT AMELIA DEAD STOP WILL CAN NOT HE POUND Sd’OP GOOD LUCK S'l’OP. UNCLE JOHN. "Girls, the curtain is going up.”

Amid the flutter that ensued I had only time to whisper. ' Don’t tell Mother, and I marched onto the stage.

No, Mother must not know until afterwards,” I determined as I hastily summoned my sweetest smile. Throughout the ceremonies, memories of somewhat lordly boasts of my college opportunities kept Hooding my mind until the bishop’s solemn, "MiSS Judith Sims” almost evaded my notice. ’’Others are receiving .scholarships, and I am not even going to college. Well, I guess I had better continue that policy of not letting my right eye know what my left is doing, or something of that sort.”

Graduation was over, but my troubles were just commencing. ”How can I make some money,” I mused as I sat dejectedly on the front porch steps, my head cupped in my hands, and my face clouded by a frown.

Suddenly—an idea! "Why not open a tea room? The house is situated on a rather popular highway, and perhaps I may set tables on the front porch and lawn. There are some in the attic, and I can purchase a large umbrella. Of course I’ll have Ned help me with the painting; orange and green might be a nice combination. Now that that is settled, what shall I serve, and how much shall I charge?”

When I decide to do a thing, I do it in a hurry. Just so with this tea room which came to maturity three weeks later. Business was not so good, but then the place was practically unknown, as my family and friends were the only advertisers. Toward the end of August customers began to flock to the Will-o-Wisp, necessitating an increase of three assistants. When the opening week on the college calendar arrived my assets totaled a petty eighty dollars as compared with the staggering sum of three hundred dollars.

Just before closing time one evening Mother called me aside. "Judy, Uncle John’s lawyer telephoned and said the will has been found. We are to assemble in his office at three o’clock next Thursday.”

This was almost too good to be true. The intervening days passed with streamlined speed in a sunburst of joy.

Thursday afternoon found Mother, myself, and brothers sitting tensely in antique straight-backed chairs, listening anxiously for our names. Yes, they were there. "To my niece, Louise Barkly Sims, I bequeath $15,000 to be used in educating her sons Edward Jay, and Robert Victor Sims.” That was all, nothing of Judith!

"Why had Auntie told me she would send me to college, when all the while she meant Ned and Bub?” The tears began to pour, bitter, heart-broken tears burdened with a sense of betrayal and almost of hate. "Yet, what right have I to enjoy the luxuries and pleasures of college life while the rest of my family are home, stinting and saving to buy life’s necessaries? In four years more, Ned will be eligible for college. No, Aunt Amelia is right as usual. My place is at home, doing my share to lighten the family’s burden, and helping repay my loved ones for their innumerable sacrifices for me.”

Thus I realized that only in service to others can I find happiness and blessed contentment.

[38J

TIhe W atclh T o w e r

H

z

O

b y D o r o th y A . K rau ss W 'ater or JrUO— you can’t live without It. Dorothy well realizes— the simple things— are the necessary ones.

HE scientifically-mindcd student may refer to that universally diffused liquid as H^O, but the great majority of individuals call it by its common appellation —water. Although everyone does not know that water is a colorless, odorless, transparent fluid, consisting of two volumes of hydrogen to one of oxygen, they can tell you something of its appearance, and attempt to say, in their own words, that it has the perfected powers of thorough saturation.

Their knowledge of this fact is due, in all probability, to some past unpleasant experience, for I do not think there is a human being who can truthfully say he has never been caught in an unexpected shower. It is at this time that the great powers of H^O are revealed in all their glory, and the victim is reduced to the state of super­ saturation, indeed.

If asked their opinion about water and its value, a great many people would forget all the favorable qualities and usefulness of that universally diffused liquid, and relate some past disagreeable occurrence, "when they were drenched to the skin.” Still others would tell about the destructive power of HjO in the form of floods, and proclaim that such are the cause of the greatest percentage of lives lost by various calamities. Only a few would describe water as indispensable, for only a small minority of the populace realize its great value. In truth, the human race could not get along without H ,0.

It seems that many things of this world are taken for granted by the great majority of individuals, and one of these is the subject of our discussion, water. When a per.son becomes parched with thirst, he automatically turns on the faucet, and takes it for granted that his glass will be filled with water. But suppose this did not happen—suppose the tap was dry. Then, and only then, would he realize the great value ofwater.

Let us imagine, for example, an immense apartment house is all aflame, the alarm is sent in, fire engines rush to the scene. In the midst of shouts, and clashes, and clangs and all-around confusion, the firemen climb the huge ladders with their cumbersome hose, the hydrant’s valve is opened, the pressure released—but alas, there is no water!

A great catastrophe indeed, and no one is able to do anything to remedy the situation.

Boys shout, women faint, some firemen try to repair the pumps, others throw sand and all available fire extinguishers upon the burning building, but the conflagration rages on.

There is, without doubt, one thought in the mind of every individual present—water, if only there was a means of obtaining water. Anyone who has ever witnessed such a scene would surely place a high value upon water, and call it indispensable.

Whether we walk in the rain, hear about floods, drink a glass of water, or witness a fire, H 2 O is directly an advantage or disadvantage. If it weren’t for water, one could not eat. The rain (that same rain which is considered by many as an imposition) is an essential factor in the growth of all vegetation, which, in turn, feeds the populace. Our only other source of food, the animal population, could not exist without vegetable matter, and fish need water in which to swim. Therefore, it is by all means a truthful statement that human beings could not exist without H^O. But, that dear, cool, universally diffused liquid is also a means of comfort, pleasure and sport, (and when heated it is quite effective in getting the dirt off baby’s face).

There is nothing more delightful in that unendurable warm season than a cool, refresh­ ing swim and for those who do not care for this sport, cold showers or brook wading [ 39 3

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

arc ^ood substitutes. 1-isliin^, sailing, and tlieir sister-sports are dependent upon H.,0.

The great ocean-liners and the joyous times and happy vacations spent in traveling aboard them besides the business carried on by their means, would naturally cease to exist if water did the same.

Water is our existence, our beauty: it is the splendour of our lakes, the lace of our water-tails, the crest of our surf, the purifier of our bodies; without it we should die, dry and ugly as the torrid desert.

SPEN T D A Y E lizabeth B r en n a n

The wind scuttled down the tiny street Frisky sun jumped up and down Folk went by on winged feet It really was a gusty town.

Up above was a world of blue The wispy clouds skipped to and fro Each had a busy task to do Tore set of sun, when they must go.

A day is spent above, below Rest, calm peace is brings The whole wide world, sweet sleep will show A resting man, to God he sings.

[40]

T he W a tc h T o iy e r

A N ew Sprin b y B a rb a ra A . M a rsc b a ll Pat had room for hope and love— Mickey had them both to give.

"Bob” can always, in everything, keep the best part till the end, as she does in this short story.

AT sat quietly in the deep armchair, her slender hands lay listlessly in her lap.

It was spring, the time of the year when the world is new and sweet and bursting with life, the grass is green, the buds are full and the air is warm.

Pat thought over the past year, "So this is what it is like; I can’t believe it, it must be a dream. It was only a year ago today that Dad told me we were going to sail for Vienna. I couldn’t sleep for nights just thinking about the coming trip. Dad didn’t tell me why we were going, but what did I care; it was a change, it was a chance to meet new people. I might even . . . no, I must not even think about it. The day came and we left that cozy little house, my piano, my flowers, the ones that Nat had planted for me; but I would be back, why I just had to come back . . . it was my home, you can’t stay away from home forever.”

The whistle blew impatiently and the boat easily glided from the dock. Dad had his arm around me, as if to comfort me. Now began my new life. What would be the out­ come? The next day I began to meet people. With a few long strides a slender, bright­ eyed girl of about seventeen stood before me. She said, "Hello, my name is Joan, but everybody just calls me Mickey. What’s yours?” "Hello, my name is Pat. You don’t know how glad I am to meet a girl my age. This makes everything perfect now, except for one thing . . . ah, ah . . . I guess I’m not very good at meeting people. I never know what to say.” "I used to be that way but I guess I just sort of grew out of it.”

That was Mickey. I found that nothing ever daunted her; she was always so happy. I guess I was just sort of a pessimist.

The next day was rather windy but I put on my camel’s hair coat, tied a kerchief around my head and started out to brave the elements. Dad didn’t think it was wise, but out I went. Mickey was waiting for me on the upper deck, we linked arms and began walking to and fro, for now we were like old friends. "Don’t you love days like this?” said Mickey cheerfully. "Just listen to those waves; they look like crumbling mountains.

It’s beginning to rain, but let’s not go inside; I love to feel the rain on my face, don’t you?” Well, the storm lashed the ship during the whole trip. Of course the older people were bored with playing bridge and so were rather glad when we landed, but not Mickey and I ; we enjoyed every minute of it, although I must admit the sight of food did make me a little sick.

Dad and I drove to our hotel in Vienna. I had tearfully bid goodbye to Mickey.

Although she didn’t say much, her firm handshake told me all. From that day on we have been carrying on a heavy correspondence. Mickey had put something into my life; it was her cheerfulness, her optimism. Her gay laugh ripples through my mind when­ ever I think of her. Vienna wasn’t all I had expected, for I had hoped to be listening to waltzes the day long. It was the day we arrived that Dad thought it wise to tell me why we had come. It came as a shock to me but I thought of Mickey and what she would do if she were in my place, so I squared my shoulders and smiled, for Mickey had given me courage to face the future. We remained in Vienna for several months.

Those were hard months for me, but the day had arrived for our return voyage home [41]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

. . . 1 wanted to lau^li, no . . . cry. Oh, I tiidn’t know wliat I was doing. I was so liappy; so happy to be going liome . . . to niy home.

Tliere was no Mickey on the boat tliis time, but 1 guess I wouldn’t liave been very sociable anyway, for I was in a daze . . . everything was going to be all right . . . but was it? 1’hcre was still that one thing, that great thing that overshadowed everything else. It .seems impossible, but I had almost forgotten all about it in my excitement. The Statue ot Liberty greeted us and the boat docked. After rushing through the crowds we finally made our train. The train seemed to creep, but then we arrived . . . home.

I rested for several days, for the excitement had sort of gotten me clown. My life certainly has been full of exciting days, but this one was the greatest of them all. It is all over now, and here I sit. I had never realized what a beautiful room this was. The new spring covers are on the furniture, gayly flowered chintz drapes hang over the crisp white organdy curtains that softly blow in the warm breeze. What a brother Nat is, for he has taken care of my flowers. Wliy, they are all about the room. This is my first spring.

It was her first spring. Her eyes greedily drank in all the beauty and why shouldn’t they, for she could see now; the operation in Vienna had been a success. Today they had taken the bandages from her eyes. Yes, it was truly spring, the spring of her life; for she was in a new world, a world that she could see for the first time in her life, anti Mickey, her true friend, had helped give her this—this new world—for she could see for the first time.

CONTKAEY Elizabeth B r e n n a n

Contrary are the leaves on trees In summer green and lovely But winter comes, and oh, the trees Are bare and sadly ugly.

Contrary, oh, the heavens be The laughing skies all azure bloom But suddenly a storm we see.

The tears fall, and all is gloom.

Contrary all we humans are We laugh at life, it goes aright We cry, and our bright star Is gone, our sky no longer bright.

[42]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

All In A Day b y A ll d re y D o o le y Nature, jrom mornhig until night is continually serving a dependent ivorld.

Audrey’s fine sense of appreciation for beauty is readily seen in this picture painting essay.

THIN veil of mist gradually rose from the sea. It was dawn. Somewhere, out upon the horizon, a soft pink glow tinged the waters as a halo. The color splashed across the sky as brighter and brighter came the light. The symphony of the day had begun in a whispering tone, but now it was rising to a cres­ cendo of glorious contrast while the great burning disc made its way into the background.

The music of nature is shouting, "It is morn, it is morn! Hail the new day!’’ The scene is alive with riotous color. The ocean sparkles while its tiny, white crests play upon the sensitive strings of imaginary violins. The ever-changing hues of the vast blue ceiling form the steady beat of drums, while the sun in all its radiance comes forth as a trumpet to herald the hour. Pelicans and sea-gulls fly about in rhythmic variation to the surroundings. The pitch descends and eases out into a moderato. By noon the sky is pale; its drums are quiet. The sun no longer heralds; the crests merely keep tempo. The gulls have flown away. The harmony is smooth, monotonous except for the whispering of the waves.

It is about three o’clock. Some ominous note is blurring the music. A wind is rising.

It sighs, brushing its fingers lightly over the strings of a minor key. The sparkle has left the waters. From its oily depths unrest is felt. The cellos are taking up the theme. The sun goes in. Great black clouds appear. Their drums are rumbling, yet softly. The white caps still play on the sea but their key is changed. The tone is expectant, quivering, tense.

Suddenly is heard a clap of thunder—the harmony breaks! The ocean roars and becomes a boiling turmoil. Its giant voice cries out deep and resounding. The foamy crests grow large and menacing with the furious manipulation of swelling tones. Faster, faster! louder, louder! The water crashes down upon the shore; lightning zig-zags across the vivid sky. The sounds are deafening!

A terrific crash! Discord!—then silence. The theme has been broken. Once again nature takes up her instruments. Quietly, she resumes the melody, attempting to gather volumie. But the theme has been interrupted. She is exhausted. The cellos and drums fade to the background. The winds cease.

It is night. Through the drifting clouds a silver moon gleams. The sea, the strings of the violin, is giving forth a soft, sweet melody. A light breeze stirs a swaying rhythm.

The music is peaceful, dreamy—as though angels were serenading. Softly, it fades into silence. The symphony has ended.

Somewhere in the heavens the morning star appears—a prelude. Nature’s orchestra under God’s conduction once more takes up her instruments, the sea and sky and winds.

T b e W a td h T o w e r

Just Friends b y P a t r ic ia K ieream To/// s//clde//ly reaT/zes that "They also serve who o//ly sta/id a//d wail.”

Our literary Pat has a u//iqi/e style for creati/ig a hu//ia// at//tosphere i/i her work.

HE only thing about Tom tliat was considered out-of-the-ordinary was that lie was endlessly and insufferably pugnacious. At the present moment he was doing nothing to offset this popular opinion as he reluctantly answered the summons of the inevitable bell, meanwhile indignantly nodding his head in assent to Joe's proposal—the old lot back of London’s store at three o’clock.

For the past ten minutes he had coupled thought with the heating balm of action, but now he had only his thoughts to enable him to bear the brunt of a depressing hour of English.

"Let’s see now. First I’ll answer a question. That always helps. Not as good as asking one, but it does give the impression of interest, at least. Well, I can’t waste time waiting for an opportunity. That was a good party last night. In fact, it was very good until joe— Wish he’d ask a question. There’s one, since I have nothing to lose— The astonishing thing is just how much I did have to lose. Of course, the best of us couldn’t sense the connection between question and his version of the answer. Wonder why people go to the trouble of masquerading their questions. "Masquerading” reminds me of Joe. If only Ann would see him as he really is. Naturally, I couldn’t tell her.

She’d think I were jealous. Well, maybe I am. Sure, I am. I’m jealous of his perfumed hair and the way he nurses that so-called beard. Still, I’m glad I’m not he, even con­ sidering Ann’s position. At least I have my youth. Say, that’s not bad. Why didn’t I tell him that.^ That would be a good retort. But why waste words when you have two fists? Which reminds me, I didn’t know he could hit so hard. Probably had a horse-shoe in his hand, just for luck. He’s the type.

What are we doing anyway? Oh, we’re still reading about Franklin. Surprising how anything like his "Autobiography” could be considered good literature. It is something like that, that makes a man believe he can write. They say, though, if you read between the lines, you can see how his youth is reflected in his later years. I guess that’s the way with everybody. God help Joe, if it is.

Now there’s something to think about. I’d like to see Ann and Joe and all the others, say, about ten years from now, Ann and Joe particularly. Ann still wants to be a lawyer. A criminal lawyer, at that. That’s hard to imagine, but I guess one needn’t.

She’ll never be one.

Joe is different. He knows what he wants, and I shouldn’t be sore at him. They say he’s entirely different with his friends. Just a second, Tom, for this is no time to get sentimental about Joe. Hope he’ll be a good loser this afternoon. But, so help me, if he takes the attitude, "Little boy, just what good did it do, I’ll”— There’s the bell again. I’ll try to get my homework done in this study. You know, my party tonight. Joe’s not coming. That’s no way to act. Just kidding myself. Sure, I’ll have Ann, but I know I wouldn’t if Joe were there. But you can hardly half kill a fellow because of a girl and then practically give her to him.

What’s this—a note—from Ann? What does she mean, she’s not going? That [44]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

settles it, I’m not going either. I asked her two months ago. And I know Ann. "When she makes up her mind, it’s made. Of all the . . .

What? Sure, I did French. Haven’t I done French and everything else since the last report, just to have this party? Well, there’s no use thinking aboutit anymore.

Imagine, I work like a slave. I waste time on Joe regularly; I even didn’t take Jeanne to the Senior Prom when Ann was in Pennsylvania for Christmas Week. And what do I get?

Talk about the words of some woman or other that rocked an Empire. These seven words have done more than that to me. If I had asked Joe this morning this wouldn’t have happened, but now I can’t. Ann would think . . I always knew people should act on impulse, and this certainly proves it. Some dayshe’ll be sorry, and I’ll probably be nice to her. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be a good sport, butI’ll see that she knows it.”

And Tom and Ann and Utopia were once interlinked.

A PM A Y EE F O R D A IS Y G eraldine H ubbard

I got a bump on the top of my head ’Cause Daisy pushed me outa bed And she spilt the cream on mamma’s new hat But I was the one that got scolded for that.

Today I was naughty and couldn’t leave the house ’Cause Daisy woke baby up, chasin’ a mouse And Daddy says Santa Claus won’t fill my socks With candy and toys but with ole dirty rocks ’Cause yesterday I cut a little yeller curl Off’n little sister’s baby girl But it’s me that Dad and Mamma spanks For all of Daisy’s playful pranks.

So please, dear God, help Daisy be good To keep out of mischief, and if you could Don’t let her be naughty ever again Now dear Jesus, that’s all. Amen.

[45]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

A Journey D ow n M elody Lane b y M a r g a r e t U. IK avanagli Beethoven, Liszt, cunl W'ngner— like all great composers have served their people, tiseir country, their /Master, and the ivorld.

Margaret's niiisical jingers could pen only musical ivords.

OMH, let LIS take a journey skyward on tlie wings of song and visit awhile in the Musicians l-’aradise. How smoothly we glide through this spacious world which is the final abode of so many famous composers whose memory is kept ali\e on earth by their music. This is their world, their home, their final rest­ ing place, d’he music which fills the air acts as a stimulant which keeps urging us on and tells us there are many surprises in store for those who hurry cpiickly.

Listen! Do you not here the strains of the melody which spells out "Welcome” in silvery notes and bides us enter? Let us tip toe softly so as not to disurb the great artists who are at work writing the music for the greatest opera of all "Life Eternal.”

The clouds roll back and we are escorted to our cushioned seats by the regal and stately Knights of the Round Table. The curtain rises and unveils the opera Parsifal by Wagner. The idea for a drama founded on the basic fact of Christian theology and its reaffirmation on the stage first came to Wagner in 1857. He based his opera on the ancient legend of the Holy Grail, the cup from which Christ drank at the Last Supper. Because of its theme, Parsifal, particularly the Good Friday music is heard frecjuently during the Easter season. There was always Parsifal waiting for him, as inevitably to be composed as anything else in a true artist’s life is predestined for creation. It might also be de­ scribed as Wagner’s first, and his final confession.

The next thing which attracts our attention is the carving over the doorway of the ivy covered chapel, which reads: "Music gives the world a fresh vision of higher things. This celestial art trains the will; educates the senses of hearing and sight; cultivates the voice; aids in the study of language; quickens the memory; forms habits of accuracy of instant decision and of concentration.”

Through the brightly glistening windows of the chapel come the strains of Shubert’s "Ave Marie” as if sung by angel voices. We are tempted to stop and stay awhile but arc attracted by the sound of childrens voices singing the beautiful music of Victor Herbert’s "Babes in Toyland.” He played for us on the drops of dew some of the hit songs of his operettas, and talked to us about how different they sounded in this wonderland of song.

The time is growing short and the musical symbols are telling us that the end of a perfect day is slowly coming to a close. The chapel bells softly toll the hour, the mighty organ is playing the "Lost Chord,” and the famous composers are becoming fainter and fainter as we bid adieu. The clouds are rolled back, night is falling over the entire nation, the birds have gone to rest, the music of the day has ended, but the Musicians Paradise will live forever and ever. There music in their world lives but in our world it is just a dream. So until our next journey skyward, remember you have not heard the greatest opera of all, until you hear and partake in the opera called "Life Eternal.”

[46]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

H e Found It b y J e a n H . D o rc h a k To a sick little boy— there can be no substitute for a faithful puppy, fean, our talented scholar, finds there is alivays inspiration in the theniea boy and his dog.

HE pale glow of the late winter’s day cast its cold rays upon a row of white beds lining the sterile walls of the Cranston Childrens’ Shelter and illumined the wan face of Johnny Jordan. Johnny was an eight year old cripple and he was extremely tired of lying there so long. It was exactly six months since the nurses had permitted him to walk about.

"Am I ever going to walk again? Maybe I can’t anymore and they’re trying to hide it from me,” he mused.

Yes, maybe he was right; maybe he would never walk again; maybe he was going to die. This was all true because nothing could rouse him from the apathy into which he had sunk, from that strange listlessness which made his legs into pieces of insensate wood. Now he looked up disinterestedly as the doctor, followed by a strange woman entered the ward. The lady, tall and robust, regarded him in turn, but curiously though not unkindly. She seemed to think that sickness was an alien force, and, who was this weakling who had succumbed to it, anyway?

She bent over him closely scrutinizing him now. "I wonder what she wants,” Johnny asked himself. He was not long in finding out. She wished to take him home, not because she liked him, but because of the fifty-dollar monthly salary attached to his care.

Waiting only long enough to ascertain that Johnny was the boy assigned to her, Mrs. Hurley, for that was her name, hurried home again. The very next day he arrived swathed in layers of blankets with his crutches beside him.

Mrs. Hurley gave him plenty of care but not the warmth of love, the warmth for which his heart yearned. It was just duty-care. She was being well-paid for it and so she gave it.

As the days ripened into weeks, Johnny grew slightly better. He even took a few halting steps across the floor but his face remained sad, pinched, and worn. Childhood had seemingly passed him by; the sedateness of middle-age had cast its mantle over him. He was an old child.

Mrs. Hurley did not mean to be unkind and in a vague manner she realized that unless something were done, he would never be well. Accordingly late one night she went Out and returned with a nondescript cardboard box punctured with tiny holes.

This she held rather gingerly before her, finally setting it carefully down upon a kitchen chair. She did not untie the light cord wound once around it but went immediately to bed.

Next morning when Johnny painfully swung himself into the "cook’s domain,” and greeted her with a prim "Good morning, Mrs. Hurley,” she pointed to the box, "Open it. It’s for you.”

When he did so, he saw crouching in the middle of the box a black and white mongrel puppy. It was a lovable dog with just the tiniest tip of an ecstatic tongue show­ ing in its roguish face. "Is it really for me? I may keep him always,” queried the little fellow? Upon seeing her nod of agreement, the boy seized the pup and steered himself into the garden, deliriously happy.

Breakfast did not interest him and strange to relate she did not insist but went about her household duties with a self-satisfied look. Her scheme was beginning to work [47]

T h e WatcSh T o w e r

already. "He scein.s very contented with Ids puppy. I tldnk tliat will give him something to think about instead of his poor twisted body,” she half whispered to herself.

For a time Mrs. Hurley’s plan did work to perfection. Johnny’s eyes lost their pensive glow and his new-found zest for living made him hop about more vigorously; he was getting better. But, one sad day, when he was not at home an accident occurred, and his dog. Scrubby, was killed. Mrs. Hurley never told him the true fate of his pet but had .said, ”1 guess he ran away,” in response to his cpiery, ’’Where’s Scrubby?” " I’hen he didn’t love me,” screamed the little boy and stumbled quivering with wracking .sobs to his bed. He would not be comforted, and, when he finally ceased his hysterical weeping, he said positively, ’’You’ve lied to me. Why Scrubby couldn’t run away from me! He loved me; I know he did. I wouldn’t run away from him and he just couldn’t run away from me!”

Once more johnny lapsed into his former lethargy and daily he grew weaker. His cheeks were ashen but his eyes glowed with a strange purpose. He seemed to see beyond, tor by this time the obses.sion for his dog had eaten into his very fibre of being.

It was now two weeks since Scrubby’s death. It was night as a small figure clad in a white nightgown crept haltingly down the stairs. ”I’m going to find him,” he whispered softly to himself. I’ve just got to find him.” Noiselessly he stole to the door, opened it, and stepped bare-footed out into the cold.

Down the frost-covered road, he stumbled, an odd figure with his crutches beating a tattoo upon the frozen earth. There, just ahead in the road, only a little bit farther on, was Scrubby. "Scrubby, wait for me, wait for me,” he panted. But, the little dog kept on, straggling from side to side. Johnny staggered from side to side, too, and soon he fell. He lay on the brown earth, his tiny face streaked with tears. "Scrubby,” he called again, "please come to me.” Questioningly the dog turned and walked into his out­ stretched arms. A celestial smile trembled on his lips, and then, it quivered no longer but was fixed. Johnny was dead and the moon shining down played softly over him in making a silvery ladder for his spotless soul speeding Home.

Mrs. Hurley and others, too, claim that it was not a real dog there in the moonlight, but the lad’s angel thus disguised to lead him to his heavenly Father "Who would teach him, amidst heavenly joys, to forget the pains he had suffered here.

i

N IG H T S Those summer nights that knew no rest Of beauty like a silent flame, Those fragile nights of moonlight pressed Against the shadows when we came Through darkness to the dropping moon; I think you will forget all this And when the shadows fret our noon I think you will regret all this.

For to the castle of your pride You go, as if you never knew Cold beauty on the other side Of moons where sorrow never blew.

Remember only when you go: That is not moonlight there, but snow.

[48]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

ieasons O f T he M ind b y C a tb e rin e J . M im nock Is there a greater object o f service than the human mind?

Catherine’s fru itfu l mind is ivell equipped to write o f man’s intellect.

H most Gracious God, I thank Thee for my mind.” In an act of thank.sgiving we utter these few words, for the great and fruitful gift we have received from the Supreme Giver. If it were possible to envision the fruitfulness of the mind with which we have been endowed, we would be overcome with gratefulness and awe. This, of course, is true of every one of the gifts of God, but it is emphatically true of that intricate and intangible thing which we call the mind. The mind is something that we might examine in its functions and changes through a comparison withthe seasons of an ordinary year. Each year has four seasons;spring, summer, autumn, winter. Let us endow the mind with four seasons: spring, summer, autumn, winter.

Oh, the sweetness of spring. How we all love it. Spring, itself, is characterized by simplicity. Is there anything more simple, not in an idiotic manner, but in a pure sense, than the springtime of the mind ? It is then that the mind is awakening, blossom­ ing into the blooms of understanding and faith. We commonly term this development as "attainment of the age of reason.” Fathers and mothers must have within themselves iTiuch intuition of the Fatherhood of God to give tone to their teaching. It is from fathers and mothers, as they are in themselves symbols of God’s almighty power and unmeasured love, that the first ideas of Him can best reach the minds of little children.

With Jesus and Mary, what is there in the whole world of which a Catholic child should be afraid?

As spring bursts forth into the whirl of summer, so, too, our minds burst forth into a period during which we believe that we are thoroughly enlightened and there is nothing too deep for our "experienced and developed” minds. Psychologists term this period "adolescence,” and have much to say concerning it. In these years each morning brings its message "Onward,” each evening asks "Whither?” and the morning answers "Onward again.” We are then the discoverers of our lives. Our world is new every day, Then a fading takes place, that is the fading of summer into autumn, a time of sadness and melancholy. The adolescent mind suddenly realizes that it is not as worldlywise as it was accustomed to believe. It is sadly disappointed, but courageous. It realizes that there are still greater things to be learnt and absorbed. It now sets its course to a quest of exploration and discovery. These are our years of exuberance in action. We are beginning to know, not to guess; to judge, not to feel the answers to our questions.

Finally this quest of exploration and discovery becomes something of the past.

In fact, the present becomes the past, for the mind has entered its winter and all is the past, reflection, and the supernatural future, expectation. It is a stage w'hich those who have reached would not exchange for anything that has gone before—now that life consists more of answers than of questions. The mind has completed its cycle, a cycle of a God-giving supernatural life.

Corrigan, the Conscientious Cook b y J o a n K elleher Service very ofle/i means sacrifice— sacrifce always means happiness.

Only ’’Kelly" our class philosopher, could pen a story so hiwiorous, yet so fa ll of wise counsel.

WONDER what Lulu will say? It would be very wrong to say "think,” you know, when I am speaking of Lu. She speaks and thinks simultaneously ,Lulu does, and her opinions and ideas are always as spontaneous as a water fall.

How luxuriant it would feel to be as smart as L u! But then I suppose it would be a rash improbability to even wish for such an extravaganza, for you know Lulu would always have an advantage of age over me. There are some eleven months between the hour she saw the dawn and my first minutes face to face with a day.

Lulu, by grace of her age and brain is a freshman in college. When she isn’t preoccupied with books or beaus we make sure that she isn’t afflicted by boredom, for you see Lu is our most confident and consistent consultant, she shares our hops, despairs, hunches, joys and sorrows. We, the troubled confidant tell all, Lulu knows and sees all, and between us we learn a "lot” and keep a "lot” of secrets, besides.

Well, I was on my way after school one day to make one of my pre-explained calls at "Corrigan Courthouse.” (It was christened thus because of the nature of our visits and partially because Lu’s last name happens to be Corrigan.) The news I had to tell "Judge” Corrigan was of such capital importance that I had not waited to drop by books at home but had trotted off immediately in the general direction of the Courthouse. Terminating my marathon in true Gates fashion, I tripped up the porch steps, eliminating any neces­ sity to announce myself further by ringing the chimes.

"Are the steps safe to use after that bombardment?” Not waiting for any answer, the voice in the open doorway far above me continued questioning, "Doesn’t your mini­ mum capacity ever exceed Hervey-Allen-width books?”

"There’s Margaret Mitchell or Encyclopedia Britannica,” I answered the sarcastic soprano, in much the same manner as it had asked. "Greetings Lucretia.”

"Greetings Gates and the name is Lu. Gather up your library and pick yourself up.

Oh, there’s no need to dust yourself off. The path and porch have just been hosed.”

"Ah w'ell. I’ve often heard tell I was all wet, but my 'Cp doesn’t make a habit of sitting in puddles. Lu, make haste to the councilroom. What I have to tell you will ex­ plode me if I don’t start talking in ten seconds flat.”

"The judge is anxiously awaiting your words of wisdom.”

"Well you know the con---------,” the judge let me proceed no further.

"Lor goodness sake stop your dripping and sit near the fireplace. Excuse the inter­ ruption. Now, commence,” decreed the judge.

"Remember how eager Prunella was to buy that gorgeous Persian lamb? Lamb would be fitting for Prunella; she’s meek to the extent that she never even says, 'baa.’

Well she saw her chances broaden when the big 'America the Beautiful’ essay contest was announced. '$510. marked down to $480..’ and the first prize was five hundred dol­ lars! If there is one thing Prunella does well, it’s writing an essay. Then and there she [50]

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made up her mind that the first prize would be hers. Prunella’s determination fairly shocked us but when we recalled the Persian, the shock wore off faster than the after effects of a pink lemonade. Well, Prunella convinced herself easily enough and I guess the judges didn’t need much convincing after they had compared the other entries with Prunella’s masterpiece, for to the immense surprise of everyone except the author. Pru­ nella received heartiest congratulations and the five hundred dollar check. We all had visions of a pert blond head protruding proudly above a luxurious black fur coat, but Prunella differed and she had a bigger and better surprise in store for us. Lu, you proba­ bly knew that the publication of the Senior Annals was quite uncertain. Well from this noon on, it is definitely on its way to the printer. Lu, Prunella gave the entire check, un­ cashed to our yearbook!”

I paused too excited, aw'ed and breathless to continue. For the entire period I had been speaking. Lulu sat listening with a smile of satisfaction. To ascertain that I was not seeing things, I asked, "You don’t seem very surprised?”

"No.” "You mean you knew. She told you?”

"No.” Was this all Lulu had to say? Had Prunella’s startling vision, so different from ours, made no impression upon her?

Lu might have read my mind, for when she spoke again, after an unusual moment of thoughtful silence, she said, "Yes, strange as it seems, the great chatterbox Corrigan has not much to say this time. Prunes and I are sort of sisters under the skin, I guess, the big difference being she puts her wisdom on paper and I just let mine fly.”

"Prunes! It has come to that!” I exclaimed softly in satisfactory admiration. Prunes!

It has a nice sound and is so much easier to say than Prunella. Prunes! I am sorry I did not think of it four years ago.

"Ah yes. Gates, it took more than the customary thirty minutes to bring Prunella to the boiling point. Me, I could eat 'dried Prunes’ but within the hour she will be pre­ pared for your whole-hearted 'consumption.’ Yes, Prunes at last has cooked.”

Here, the story should have ended. It did as far as Lu was concerned, and I lived in fearful expectation that it had ended for me. But before another week had slipped by, my fears were tossed overboard. When I think of the circumstances involved in my discovery, I shiver to think how accidental it w'as and how nearly I came to being left in the dark for the rest of my life.

I was taking an old jacket to our laundress to see if she might make further use of it when my mother reminded me to go through the pockets. Horrors, there was the crumpled note "the late Prunella” had dropped at a "meeting-with-council” so many weeks before at Lu’s. She had read it and I thought she might want it, but I had forgot­ ten to give to her. What prompted me to read it, I will never know. In Lulu’s straight hand these words were hurriedly written;—

"Dearest Prunes, We are much the same, you and I. Everyone knows what I am thinking. Why not inform the world, or at least Americans of what you are thinking. Show us a five hundred dollar vision of "America the Beautiful.” Don’t think I am rude, please, but others seemed to have forgotten that 'still waters run deep.’ Remind them.

Faithfully, Lu.” I will never be sorry I read it.

[51]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

1

T oday’s Challenge T o A m erican Y outh b y R o se M . S e n e se YoHtl) desires to serve —// ctsks o)ily to he shown the wcty.

1 his vehement, hut convincing defense of youth is typical o f Rose’s down to earth" style o f writi)ig. * HIS "Youtli” bLisincss was ^ettin^ me down. But tlie other day, when 1 went into Viking’s Drug Store for my usual "after class coke” I talked it all over w'ith Rip. Rip is a soda jerker after his school hours, and one of my closest friends. Whenever I have anything real serious to discuss I always go to him; we sort of think tire same w'ay. Well, Rip and I figured it all out. And we’ve boiled it all down to this, "the challenge to youth” is . . . to challenge youth.

It sounds sort of silly at first, but it really isn’t. At least Rip and I don’t think so. Before I start explaining, let me say something about Rip and me. W e’re supposed to be"typical” of American youth. We wear saddle shoes and beer jackets. Rip has a crewcut, and I w'ear funny bow's in my hair. We both go to school (Rip is paying his ow'n way through college), we’re interested and talk over what we learn. We like movies, dances and football games. So you see, when we figured this youth problem out, w'e sort of felt W'e were speaking for all youth.

Well, we decided it was like this. Right now there are articles and articles about '"\^OLith,” its courage, its frankness, and all our other complexities. We’re pretty much in the new's right now. But we’re not really frank. We don’t really say what we mean.

We simply say what we’re not expected to that’s all. As for being courageous, why we’re really scared stiff. When we think that the future problems of keeping wages high and taxes low will fall on us we w'ish that we could climb back into the baby carriage. But don’t get me wrong. We’re not really afraid to go out and "set the world on fire,” it’s just thinking about how to start the blaze that gets us all upset. That’s why Rip and I think that the greatest challenge to youth is challenge. You see, we’re so anxious to go Out and get rid of all our fears that we’re liable to go about it in the wrong way. And then, when we see all sorts of things about "The Greatest Foe of Youth—Propaganda,” "Youth’s Future Problem, Race Prejudice,” well, we get all excited. Take Propaganda for instance. We see a challenge in propaganda, and we’re so glad to have a dare put to us that we set to work, full of enthusiasm and sincerity, we write and talk about propa­ ganda. We damn it, and decide that everything that even looks evil, is propaganda. You see, we forget that it can be spread from the most innocent sources. We were so busy challenging the top of the problem, that we forgot to look underneath. We were so excited that we didn’t figure the problem out fully. Just challenge youth . . . that’s all we need, and we’re off. The youth of today, as Rip and I see it, is conscious, terribly conscious, of the future, and, since we’re lirfng in a fast moving, fast thinking world, we’re just naturally fast moving, fast thinking, and fast acting, too. You see, we don’t stop and figure things out.

Rip and I know we’re always ready to take a dare. There isn’t a young person today who isn’t. We like to be on the go all the time. We dote on anything and everything that seems exciting, organizations, slogans, clubs. And so we’re pretty easy bait if .some­ one puts something before us that might prove adventurous.

[52]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

W e’ve got a lot of things to face, hard, bitter things, but then, we’ve got a lot of good things to look forward to also. We know that we’ve got to fight "isms.” But we want to know how to fight them with our own "ism,” Americanism. We know religious persecution is facing us. We want to learn how Liberty can help us. We know that there’s going to be a great unemployment situation for us to solve. Show us how we can defeat it with the bright new fields opening to us today. Yes, it’s going to be oretty tough going when we start to work.

What we need is a little push. Just help us get into the ring, and then watch us fight! We need someone to show us both sides of the story, the good, as well as the bad. We need calming down and we know it, but we need some help in doing it. You see, we’re pretty proud, we youth. We want to make as grand a success of our "genera­ tion” as our ancestors did of theirs.

Well, that’s the way Rip and I see it. We think that if people would stop chal­ lenging us for a while, and give us some good sound advice, we’d really be on the right road. Youth is primarily interested in what those "voices of experience” have to say. When we see a Freshman struggling with an algebra problem, we show him how to do it, the best way, but we prove to him that it’s the best way. That’s what Rip and I think Youth needs, the best answer to the algebra question.

When we’d finished talking this "Youth” business over, suddenly it didn’t trouble me any longer, because somehow, I felt that Rip and I had struck the right answer. The "challenge to youth” is . . . to challenge youth.

A P L E A F O E LIFE Rose M. Senese

Dear Lord, the time is wrong.

And my day too full of light.

There are many souls more fit To walk with Death tonight.

You see, my soul holds very dear The things of every day.

The blush upon a rose, a bubble in a pool, Dear Lord, I love them so!

Heaven would be too grand for me.

With its splendid halls and blessed folk.

And I’m a little bit afraid I’d speak Too loud, or clip an angel’s wing.

But, Dear God, if You think that I’m Prepared to grace Your Home, Then quickly take my soul to Thee!

But, if You please, I’d rather stay.

[53]

T h e W a tc h Toiv'er

T he Suspect O n M ain Street b y M a rg a re t U. K a v a e a g h /*l boy's love for his niother is ihe essoice of midying service. Let it never he said he did)i't try.

Oar author realizes that this is a theme ivhich never grows old.

S told to a visitor from Richmond by Silas Tatcher, Shadow Brook’s newscaster.

"The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night.”

Such was Shadow Brook on the evening of September 12, 1907. The mountains of Virginia are diversified by hills and valleys and gutted by noisy, rapid streams. In a valley of Rockbridge County lies the Cjuaint and c]uiet town of Shadow Brook.

This town, a few miles from Bradsaw’s Lumber Camp, is governed by the Cornby’s and McDonald’s, as they are the two families in this pine paradise since the golden days of 1801. Judge Cornby’s great-grandfather founded the town and Sheriff McDonald’s great-grandfather, named the town. It seems that the day he set foot in this quaint and quiet paradise he had a strange experience. The story goes, that while sitting on the bank of the brook at dusk, he saw the shadow of a man reflected in the rapids. Putting his hand to his holster he quickly turned around to face the invader, but instead was face to face with a lonely Virginia pine. That is why the town was named Shadow Brook.

On the evening of September 12, 1907 at about seven o’clock this story takes place.

Few persons were strolling along Main Street, the same figures every night. There was Miss Louella Pinchpenny, the librarian, with an armful of books walking home to her little cottage on Pike’s Lane. She was always smiling, not sharing her cares with any.

Then, there was Pierre, the town barber. Fie had just closed his shop as I passed by.

"Come in to-morrow, and I’ll fix you up, you’ll look like a million.” "Thanks, I will see you to-morrow.” Fie loved children and would always allow them to play in front of his shop. Indeed on a certain day all the town’s children could have a free haircut!

In front of Doyle’s Drug Store was one, lean of stature, who stood gazing at the bank across the street. That was Jed Fiughes, the Constable. I could tell, there was trouble brewing by the frown between his brows. His face was so dark it looked as though it were carved in bronze. Plainly a fighting man, he turned quickly at the sound of my voice.

He was watching another, a sort of stranger, "a night owl.”

About seven forty-five, the watchman closed the blinds in the bank windows. The watched entered the bank! "Johnny Cornby, what are you doing at the bank at this hour?”

"Well, Mr. Clark, I just wanted to start a bank account with the m.oney. I’d saved.”

"I had two dollars but I wanted it to be a surprise for mom, so I dared not come in till now.” Jed knows, he has been watching me. I don’t want Mom to know!

"Well, I guess you deserve a bank account, what name Johnny?”

"John Washington Lincoln Cornby.” proudly boyish.

[54}

T he W a td h T o w e r

A Cliildliood M em ory b y M o ira Bremmaii The spring country side, the secret lakes, the bush flight serve as a memory of chddhood.

The ivriter finds great beauty in her memory.

HE fall leaves, dusty gold, red and yellow and brown, shifted and rustled with the wind, but we, a group of seniors, settled comfortably on the grass, were oblivious to the beauties that surrounded us, so interested were we in our dis­ cussion. Do you know what that discussion was? No? Well, I will tell you.

We, in our last year of high school, were recalling the most vivid memory of our childhood, and as each girl told her tale, a strange wistfulness for the long dead days when she was but a tiny child, stole over her face and lighted her eyes with memories. As I listened I saw a red leaf float in loneliness to the ground and that color, blood red, scarlet with the season of the year, recalled a memory that had lain deep in my heart, silent for many years, but now I recall it vividly again. If you will listen I will tell it to you.

We were staying at a great sheep station, situated in the low mountain ranges that run along the coast of Queensland. For a week we had been excitedly waiting for the great adventure, an all-day trip through bush country, country that was to us wild, romantic, thrilling and mysterious, country that had once sheltered the lawless bush­ rangers whose ghosts, they say, still roam about when the moon is full and the dingoes, that is the bush dogs, howl. At last the long-awaited day arrived, and as the grey dawn was brightening with the first blush of the sunrise, we started out. The morning air was fresh and sweet with a nip of autumn that made it invigorating. Eastward toward the sunrise the car sped, and soon, brilliant in its risen splendor, the great lord of the sky wiped the blue-grey from the rim of the distant hills and washed them with a lustrous gold. Tht morning light callers, the kookaburras, those quaint laughing birds of the Australian bush, filled the air with their song of laughter.

Around us in this autumn morning the gum trees were going through their yearly process of renewal. These mighty trees, native to Australia, differed from those of other lands in that they shed their bark in the fall but retained their evergreen foliage.

Stripped of their armor these towering, age-old gums stand, bare to the sun and the wind, but there is no Australian who does not love them for they have stood in silent, unending vigil over the rolling plains, the sprawling lowlying hills, the quaint animals, the beautiful birds and flowers, the brooding waters; in fact, the gums are the guardian of this Southern land, unbending and proud through every storm, flinging their challenge to all the elements.

As the day wore on, and the land was bathed in sunlight, we glorified in the rolling, fresh, green country, the pretty flowers that held bright faces to the sun, the glorious blue sky and the white fleecy clouds that reminded us of the lambs that frolic in spring­ time. At noon we stopped by the roadside, built a small fire, boiled the "billy” which is used instead of a kettle for making tea by the people of the bush, and being young and healthy, we all enjoyed the impromptu meal. As we sat on the grass a flock of sheep moving in a haze of dust was being driven across a nearby paddock. We watched the "jackaroos” on their fleet horses with the trained sheep dogs skillfully manouvering the sheep together, driving them forward until the flock disappeared, leaving only trampled imprints in the dust to tell that they had passed. Soon we were once more on [55]

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our way to tlie mysterious lakes about whitii we liad heard so imicli. At tliree o’clock in the afternoon we reached the lakes. Eachan and Tetral they were called and a v/ilder, lonelier place can not be imagined. They were situated high in the hills and no one has ever found the inlet or outlet to either of them. They are apparently bottomless and the water level never rises or falls. No birds Hy around their shores, no fish have ever been found in the still waters, no animals come to drink there. They are shunned by all.

Silent and .secretive, they lie in their unsounded depth, a mystery of nature, eery and brooding, sad and forgotten, cloaked in the mysteries of the bushland. As we stood upon the shore tew words were exchanged and even we children, usually so talkative, were silent, feeling in our childish hearts the deadness that lingered over the desolate waters, still in their cold peace. As the wind blew colder and the sun began to sink in the west, we started our trip back. The sky blazed with the glory of the dying sun, and I looked back upon the lonely waters and saw them blood red, scarlet in their reflection of the western .sky. After the sun had gone night descended swiftly, and out in the black velvet of the sky we watched the moon rise, young and shy, trailing her maiden way through the star-decked heavens. Spanning the sky in a glittering arc, the Milky Way sprinkled the night with stardust.

Now we were passing through a phantom forest, a forest of ringbarked gums, gums that had been drained of their sap until they stood like tragic ghosts, white in the light of the yellow moon. I’ar away, re-echoing the loneliness of the night when the sun has gone, a dingo howled, and ere I closed my childish eyes in sleep I saw, hanging low in the sky, the beauteous star formation of the Southern hemispheres, the brilliant lights that form a cross, the Southern Cross, symbol of peace and of beauty that surrounds the far off land whose gleaming shores may one day welcome me again.

M argaret K avanagh

I wistfully gaze o’er my childhood.

To think of my first day in school.

How lonely and sad it did seem then.

So different from home, and such rule!

The rest of my time, to the seventh Passed well with its many diversions, The eighth was the worst—seven years I’d rehearsed.

For this bright little knowledge-excursion.

To high school and all its fine glories, I joyfully travelled my way.

Deciding to win all the honors, (I’m still without one to this day!

Now in my last year at high school Ah, great home of wisdom and knowledge, I hope and I pray that I see the great day.

Of my gallant brave entrance to College.

[56}

T he W a tc h T o w e r

Lucifer’s Island b y M o ira B reim ain "I hey had played together, and they went down to the sea together.

The ivriter thinks there is the lesson of patience to be learned from the sea.

ILENTLY as the first snow fall of winter and sweepingly as the bitter autumn wind as it scatters the last leaves, came the storm that changed the sea from a restless, ominous grey to a rain-lashed, wind-whipped, ugly green menace.

The curling sprays flung upward against the black sky. The waves became racing walls of destruction, hurtling down upon the helpless ship as the savage hordes of old, crushing, destroying, sucking down, down through the tumbling, heaving water. Floundering and tossing, blinded and helpless, the ship struck the uncharted rocks and as she was sinking the passengers jumped or were thrown in mad fear into the angry water. The wind screamed and raced, the rain came down in slashing torrents and a sm.all pup, gasping and spluttering, swam like a cork high on the crest of a wave, deep in the valley formed by the walls of water. His brown eyes, glazed with terror, wildly he twisted and turned, as the waves bore him away and threw him upon a sandy shore of a lost island.

For a long time he lay there, his sodden coat clinging to his heaving sides. Then he slept. Now and again he woke and whined fitfully as he felt again the all-embracing clutches of the heaving ocean. As the dawn came softly in across the sea, bringing peace after the storm, the pup awoke, the only figure in all the wide expanse of sea and sky.

There was one tree on the island standing bravely beside the opalescent lagoon; only a tree, a lagoon, the sand, the sky, the limitless sea and a small pup. As he ran around to the other side of the sandbar, for that’s what the island really was, he stopped by the foam line and wonderingly licked the face of a child that lay still on the sand.

He could not have been more than six and his small fists were clenched as though to grasp the life the sea had taken. Cocking his head quizzically to one side and wagging his short tail, the pup barked joyfully as if to waken his master again, but the white lids did not flutter, the generous child lips did not smile. The morning breeze ruffled the damp hair and sun shone down upon the sleeping face. For a long time the pup lay there, now and then staring intently at the boy but more often staring out across the sea with puzzled eyes, watching the clouds in the sky chasing each other, for all the world like carefree children out for a run upon a far-reaching plain. The sky was a warm, clear, bright blue, fresh and clean after yesterday’s rain. The sea that had been a light green had gradually changed until it reflected exactly the color of the sky, so that far, far out on the horizon they seemed to blend until they were one, the blue of the sky embracing the blue of the sea. The breeze was sweet and refreshing, laughing with the tiny wavelets that danced to the shore, sighing in the palm fronds so that the long leaves swayed slightly as a dancer’s arms might wave in a Grecian dance.

Toward noon the pup, feeling the pangs of hunger nagging him on to search for food, left his post beside his one-time playmate and wandered around and around the miniature island. But there was nothing to find, nothing but the dirfting, sifting sand that seemed to be a contented child playing all alone lost in the dreams that only a child can dream. When the sun was straight overhead the pup lay down and slept until late in the afternoon.

When he awoke again the light had died, except a long way out in the west where the sun had set, a faint streak of color creased the heavens. Softly and steadily the night [57]

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came on. A velvet tropic ni^ht witli a full, yellow, low-hanging moon an intensely black sky and a myriad of stars like thousands of eyes gleaming out of the darkness. Most predominant was the Southern Cross, like a beacon in that lonely waste of murmuring ocean and arching sky. Only once in the long night did the pup awake and as he did the moon shone directly on the child’s body illuminating the lifeless face, etching the sprawling limbs so that the pup with a whine of terror turned his face to the moon and howled in the passionate anguish for the world he had once known. But again he selpt and when he next opened his eyes the sun beat down with blazing force upon tlie sand.

Restlessly the pup roamed again, dragging more and more as he traced and re­ traced his pawmarks that made a single track upon the otherwise undisturbed waste.

As the heat grew with the day and the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, the pup's tongue lolled from exhaustion, hunger and thirst. Not a breath of air stirred, the sea was a glas.sy, staring, glazed blue, the sky was a hard, metallic azue and the heat hung in waves over all. In all that wide expanse nothing stirred, all was still, even the pup showed little sign of life, he lay sprawled, utter dejection manifested in his dulling eyes, his straggling coat. His tongue lolled, his heavy eyes stared out across the sea. The sun beat down upon him. Suddenly his eyes began to gleam, they were filled first with cunning and then with wild desperation, .so that in a mad burst he rolled and twitched on the sand, barking and growling in crazed abandon, then with a last insane scream the pup turned and raced straight into the sea. Far, far out he swam, his eyes glittering savagely with fiendish joy, his teeth bared, a small mad dog against the restless sea.

When the dawn next came stealing, turning the world to a breathless rose, down by the foam line on the sand of a lost island a boy and a dog lay in endless dreamless sleep.

• *-*-*'*-»» •

S P R IN G 'S A R R IV A L A n n H ogan

I love the stars and I love the moon, And the cloudlets drifting by; I also love the lake’s clear blue And where scarlet robins fly; Too long has my heart awaited The leaf of shadowy March Too long grim winter slated April-green in frozen starch.

[58]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

b y Rose Airme K in g F/re, sometimes destructive is necessary and beautiful.

This essay is the fruit of much research and careful organization.

IRE is a thrilling, magnificent, picturesque element which has proven itself both an asset and a menace to man. Fire is .so vital, so forceful, and so significant that it is chosen to describe the greatest of all forces, the glowing fire of faith. It has tingled the blood of nations for centuries; it has made, and is making history. Occupied as we moderns are, this colorful, flaming dancer never fails to fascinate us.

In a sense fire gives us all something in common, though we little realize it. Even now, somewhere at the South Pole, Richard E. Byrd is probably warming his icy hands over a flaming log. As the chill thaws from his bones, the dot-dash of a radio operator in the Adirondacks comes over his wireless set. This young man, high in the mountains, keeps a watchful eye on a pan of sizzling ham and eggs as he busies himself with his homemade wireless while awaiting the arrival of the 6:20 from New York. The fireman of the 6:20, striving to maintain his record of never having been late, shovels on coal and livens the fire to a furious heat. His wife at home is cooking dinner while the children toast marshmallows in an open field. Thus on and on the circle goes, and perhaps not one of these people realizes how the crackling flames bring him so close to his fellow men and the men and women who for thousands of years have depended upon fire for their very existence.

History books say that the first discovery of the ancient cave man was fire, but the Greeks had a myth for it. According to mythology, there lived a god, Prometheus, who stole fire from the heavens and brought it to man. He was known as the great benefactor, the fire-bringer. We can be certain that this was not the case; yet for centuries man feared and worshipped fire as a god. Then he learned to use it as a weapon and a slave. First in cooking and simple household tasks, and then into industry came this great monster, fire. Perhaps it is incorrect to say monster, but in a way the term is fittingly applied; for as it made its path of creative progress, it left behind destruction and the cinders of centuries of plans and labor. Soldiers stormed great cities, murdered the masses and sacked everything they could grasp, set massive and magnificent buildings to ruin, and burnt a path of savage devastation with their new weapon, fire. Thus Caesar swept his way through nations, conquering and ravaging as he went.

Caesar the soldier used fire for wars, but Caesar the man spent many a happy evening at camp planning with his aides by the light of the dancing flame. Napoleon and the great men who have succeeded him have felt the warmth of the flaming logs tingle their faces on a chill winter’s evening. Even amid the splendor of the brilliant European courts the rainbow-colored kindling has waltzed, bewitching, warming and fascinating kings.

Scholars of Greek have studied for centuries about Prometheus, who brought to man the great gift fire, and then was left for the vultures to devour. They have given such thoughts to their lighter moments, but in the serious hours they have pondered over the wealth inherited from a truly divine Prometheus, a burning flame of charity and love which has woven an intricate pattern of human fellowship. This Prometheus was Christ who, like the prefiguration of the Greeks, was sacrificed on the altar of injustice. Christ is the true Prometheus, the Fire-bringer and the Life-giver of man.

[59]

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T he Tale Twister b y A n n e Hti.^Ihes AM ordinarily a rather phlegmatic person, not prone to climbing telephone poles, cutting paper dolls, or chasing milk-wagons. I am also a friend and lover of humanity. But if there is anything that will send me streaking to the nearest igloo, the Story-Stealer is it. Let me explain.

1 am, in a mild sort of way, a story-teller. Story-telling is to me something more than a hobby, it is an Art. I love story-telling. My happiest moments come when 1 can collar a sufticiently pliable listener, buttonhole him for an hour or longer, relating. But, alas! my life is being made consistently miserable by that species of pest which now swarms over the country like a locust-plague. I refer to the StoryStealer.

I was in my element. The small group of three was looking at me large-eyed with breathless wonder. The story was growing into something awesome and horrible, and yet with a strange charm.

"Dark shadows gathered in the corners, but I jell distinctly a Presence in the room, intangible, hardly real, and somehow unaccountably sinister. I thought. This Thing is Evil.’ My thoughts grew giddy, my blood congealed, my hands felt like ice, the walls reeled and whirled before me—’’ "Wait a minute. I just thought of a perfectly devastating joke. What did the Swiss mountaineer say when he slipped on the ice? Alp. Alp. Ha! Ha! Ha!” He broke into uncontrollable laughter, and I into tears. Where was my delicately worked-up atmosphere, my suspense, my plot? Dissipated like a summer shower.

It took me a month to recuperate.

I was still feeling a little shakey, like a motorist who just resumes driving after an accident. I encountered a small audience.

"The mild, inoffensive little man was stretched out on the operating table. The doctor took out his scissors and scalpels, and the little man looked wistfully up at the surgeon and said pleadingly . . .”

"Promise you won’t stuff me with bread crumbs! Oh! I know that one,” said the Pest.

It was a year before I fold another story.

I was just beginning to tell stories again. My audience was very attentive—except one. You know what I mean.

"It was a dark, rainy night. The rain was pattering softly against the windowpanes and the wind was. . . was . .

"Clanking,” said the Pest, helpfully.

I ignored him.

"Soughing like a sick child. I was sitting on the .

"Mantlepiece.”

"Window-seat when I saw a lurid amber-colored glow from the door. It was a—” "Bottle of floor-wax.”

"A ghost!!!” I screamed. I pounced on him, pulled out a handful of his hair, and chased him so far that he had to ship aboard a Chinese junk to get back.

Oh, reader! If you care to steal all my worldly possessions, you can have them.

If you care to mop up the floor with me, go to it. But please, oh, please, I beg you, don’t spoil my story!

[60]

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D ear 1940 b y G ra ce L ooram The joys a>2 ci anxieties o f 1940’s student life are motivated to varying tempos by service.

The writer feels that school life can be service put to song.

EAR 1940, You are fashioning your life upon a melody. You formed the song with careful discrimination and much practice, as a composer writes his music. It seemed very beautiful to you, and you could never quite make your real self come up to its perfection. You played it in your mind when you were happy, that it might make your joy greater, and you listened to its strains when sadness or disappointment came upon you, so that from it you might gather strength and faith once more. But as more sadness came into your life, your melody slowly changed. It became not just one melody, but there grew into it other sad or grave strains that gave it poignancy and depth, and these remained with the first, forming one great harmony.

This now became your pattern, and you played it in your heart, and worked toward it as an ideal.

Then suddenly your melody disappeared, and a crashing discord carried you, as a wave of the ocean might, up a steep mountain, and looking dov/n its grey sides, you were frightened, until from out of the strange sounds about you, your own melody floated, and you looked up, for it came from beyond the mountain. Though the road was steep, you climbed steadily, till reaching the top you saw spread out below a beauti­ ful valley, and your melody grew in volume until it filled your ears and your heart and your mind. So you traveled through the valley enjoying its peace and tranquility. But again discordant notes hushed your song; struggling on, you found once more your melody and a new valley.

Other discords shall come your way, and always out of their harsh tones, your melody will rise triumphant, until one day when you reach the top of a very high mountain, the discords shall have become a part of the melody and the whole symphony of sounds will soar into your soul, lifting it to heights supreme.

A BOY M oira B ren n an

He lisped his prayers and climbed into bed.

He knows God will forgive the prayers left unsaid.

He had a busy time today—he was captain of the team And they had played at pirates in the park down by the stream.

The drooping bridge had been the captain’s private deck And he did stride the beaten boards with proud and stiffened neck But when the sun had gone the lusty crew were done They left their day of make-believe of battles and of fun Just now above the blankets a tousled head is peeping His hard young fist is doubled, his eyes are closed—he’s sleeping.

[6 1 ]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

T he Sea—Land O f Mystery b y M o ira B re n n a n 1 Lie sea serves iLse land, bill the land Lsatoivs not its mysteries. Moira loves the sea but warns of its treachery.

ROM the first faint flickering of life on eartli, tlie land has been constantly changing; men and races have come and gone, great cities have been buried in the dust of forgotten ages; they have disappeared, new fads and fancies, new inventions, new people have fought and struggled, pitting their feeble muscles against the clinging strengtli of nature; sometimes they have won, sometimes they have died and their bones have bleached and worn and re­ turned to the dust from whence they came. But through all ages onething has remained unchanged; and men call it the sea.

They have sung its praises, upholding its beauty, condemning its treachery. Great men and ships have struggled to brave its raging fury; some of them have never returned and down on the eerie depths, the wrecks of the ships lie, washed by the silent waters, hidden in the "graveyard of ships”. But there were other men who sailed across its breast, laughing at it, gaining the goal which they have sought so long; and thereby opening new countries, new trade routes, causing more ships to sail the Seven Seas.

Ah yes, the sea has done much for the land, onto which, they say, it is gradually creeping, eating away the cruiTibling coastlines. It may be slow, but the sea is patient, it has time to wait. That is its treachery. It seems to hold and ponder and then reach out its long, white curling fingers, twitching with cold death, and another life is taken, another ship is gone.

White sand, rippled and smooth; rocks old and worn, their ageless eyes turned to the sea; shining, brown seaweed strewn on the shifting sand, wet and clinging like woman’s hair flying wet in the wind; pretty shells, all colors of the rainbow, scattered just beyond the foam line left by the dancing waves. This is a picture painted by the sea. From its garden it has selected wet green and brown grasses, small delicate shells and thrown them up on the beach while its playful fingers push them farther and farther away and then as the tide comes in, it sweeps them up again and takes them back to Neptune’s garden. They say there are beautiful cities under the sea, cities of strange people and strange things, living in a strange green world.

The voice of the sea, that strange enchanting voice that cannot easily be forgotten, has sung its lullabies, its victory songs of anguish, its dread songs of storm, for millions of years at the foot of stone walled castles, at the doors of small summer bungalows, and always it has been the same; in summer light and playful, in winter brooding, sad and lonely; in autumn storms, wild, triumphant and powerful.

Who could not love the sea? The sea that has given us so much, that has taken so much away, but yet, it is the sea and no one man has ever conquered it. What would a sunset be without the sea? The bla2 ing red of the sky finds new glory in the reflection in the sea; the still water makes a carpet, a path for any ship to sail upon, out toward the sun. The sea is the voice that bids the sun goodbye, that sings softly to the first evening stars, that serenades the young May moon, when she first climbs timidly up through the sky.

Just as for countless ages the sea has throbbed and lived, unchanging and un­ conquered, outliving great kings and great races so shall it continue, while it gently laps against the crust of the land even when the white has vanished, living only in the age­ less dust that like the sea is silent, refusing to yield its secrets, jealously guarding its treasures.

[62]

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F ather Flanagan b y E ita D om leavy The biography o f Father Flanagan, founder of ’’Boys T ow n,” could be xvritten in one word. Servit.

Beside.s having visited ’’Boys Toivn,” Rita has personally interviewed Father Flanagan several times.

HERE is no such thing as a bad boy.’’ Father Edward Flanagan entirely personi­ fies his famed motto. As Mother and I entered his picture-covered, sun-lit office we were surprised at the similarity, in manner and coloring, between Father Flanagan and Spencer Tracy, the great actor, who gave an excellent portrayal of Father on the screen in the motion picture "Boys Town.” What impressed us was the boyish simplicity and kindness which characterizes this well-known benevolent priest. He is exceedingly tall, with hair thinned on top and tinged with gray at the temples. His eyes fairly sparkled with good humor. These qualities undoubtedly account for his success as a minister of God carrying on Christ’s charitable mission on this earth. We could easily understand how he can extend his protecting arm and shield all unfortunate, homeless boys regardless of their creed or color.

We were privileged with an interview with Father Flanagan because my uncle was a classmate of his and my Mother’s family attended the same parish church as his back in Ireland. After they had talked for a long while about old acquaintances, Father told us of his struggles and hardships in raising such a monument of Christian charity as Boys Town.

He was born in the County Roscommon in Ireland in the late 1880’s of devout Catholic parents, one of eleven children. Father Flanagan was educated in the same parish school as my mother at Drema Temple and continued his studies at Summerhill College in Sligo, Ireland. From there he came to this country and attended St. Mary’s College at Emmetsburg, Maryland, and St. Joseph’s Seminary at Dunwoodie, New York.

A year later he went to Rome for further study, but a break in health necessitated his return to the United States, where he worked for two years. Father finally returned to Europe and was ordained to the holy priesthood in Austria in 1912. He returned to the United States to serve for nearly five years as a parish priest in Omaha, Nebraska.

While performing his clerical duties, he found time to establish a shelter for the poor derelict men of Omaha. He disappointingly found out later that these men were not entirely honest in their acceptance of this charity, and he was forced to discontinue this benevolence.

This did not discourage him, however, for in the Christmas of 1917 Father Flana­ gan borrowed ninety dollars and rented a large home in the city of Omaha. This was the first step in the establishment of the home now world-famous as Father Flanagan’s Boys Home.

Then through the donations of many good-hearted people he obtained the present site of Boys Town, a large, fertile tract of Nebraska’s prairie land eleven miles outside of Omaha. Today beautiful buildings, built brick by brick by the love for the least of God’s brethren, "His little ones,” cover this land. Here the boys who would otherwise be homeless have the best of physical and educational opportunities. Many of Father Flanagan’s boys have attained notable places in life. Could there be anything more pleasing to God than this institution, raised in the heart of America for His honor and glory!

[63}

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W hy I Do N ot Believe In W ar b y L o rra in e A . M o o re \\”hdt better way bs there o f serr///g God than by foster/ng peace and the brotherhood of nia)ik 'ind.

Lorrahie kaiows well the true meaning of service. IGe are proud to feel that the fifty-dollar award which she gained for this essay was cheerfully donated to the W'atch Tower.

DC) not believe in war and I would not willingly participate in war except in defense of the soil of my beloved United States of America, for wars settle nothing, A war for democracy is a war for Totalitarianism if such a war means suspension, even though temporary, of man’s prerogatives for self-government in our midst 1 I do not believe in war wlien war is only anotlier marketable commodity, a substitute, an ersatz product, for the real war men should be waging within our borders against crime, poverty, strife between capital and labor, and racisms!

I do not believe in war that is blinded in objectives by a strange myopia that is the resultant of a denial of the Fatherhood of God which alone gives sacredness to the brotherhood of man 1 I do not believe in war which flaunts Justice as it pillories Truth, by asserting the necessity of world hate and carnage in the face of the progress of the tools of modern statecraft for arbitration, conciliation, mediation and open covenants.

I do not believe in war while our magnificent resources and supplies can be rushed to threaten minorities and outraged peoples; while our spiritual leadership and material aids can help subdue the merciless exploitation of civilized and God-fearing peoples.

I do not believe in wars that are bred, not of high patriotism, but of war-mongering.

I am an American who points with pride to the monument of liberty, the Declaration of Independence. I am an American, an ardent lover of America’s and traditions. I am an American who exults in our great Constitution which has proved its wisdom in these one hundred and fifty years of 'ts existence and under whose glorious standard have been exercised federal and state powers in the excellent amalgamation of the national and popular principles of government with civic competency.

As I am an American, I demand guarantees coextensive with my ideals of a virile patriotism and my irrefragable reverence for our institutions. Whenever war may demand my participation, that war must be for the greater achievement and the greater progress of all nations that what we have enjoyed in our heritage of liberty "may not perish from the earth.’’ That war must be a war against civilization. That war must threaten the sacred soil of the United States of America.

•A I? M oira B r e n n a n

The day is done, the world is now at rest I lie quiet, no feet tramp on my breast.

The birds are gone, the sun has sunk from sight, The stars are out, the trees are still, it’s night.

A sweet wind stirs and from the earth I’m brushed "Who am I?’’ you ask. I am the dust.

[64]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

iby P a t r i c i a K i e r n a n A s varied as the characteristics of man can he the lea'ss of service.

Pat j flexible vocabtdary enables her accurately and forcibly to set forth her ideas.

L’RPRISING, isn’t it—the obscure peculiarities and hardly-worthy-of-mention characteristics which a man possesses and quite unwillingly suffers to become evident, knowing he shall thereby expose himself to the arched-brow cynicism of his fellow human beings. But try as he might to suppress these behind the demeanor of an ordinary man, they will eventually come to the fore and throw a new light upon him that his companions may better see his true self. Ines­ timable and equally unrecordable is their number, but at the present moment there is one that comes to mind and prompts these musings.

Have you ever attempted to fathom the dark recesses of a person’s affability (or dis­ cover if he has any) by listening to the way he approaches and attacks that most defense­ less product of a genius’ imagination, the bell? If you have, you have undoubtedly heard the pompous blast that accompanies the equally pompous man, and the fastidious tinkle of that exemplification of femininity. You have heard them, you have answered their summons, the while preparing yourself for either of the extremes. These two are in a category all their own because they are just that—extremes, and because they constitute the tolerable aspect of the bell-ringers. But there are others—the intolerable four-fifths.

Of these, there is the trickster, the one of the well-known ritual. You know, two short ones, and then a long. Little need be said of this personage except that he received this unwelcome habit either by being affiliated with the, "Who goes there, friend or foe?” ceremony, or that he is monarch of order.

Then there is the abrupt connection between finger tip and bell which for the first three or four times of its being executed defies even the most attentive and cooperative ear. When at last the vibration (for it can hardly be called a sound) is realized, the hearer, more as a reaction than as a willful action, immediately attempts to re-establish himself in the kindom of the reverie he may have been enjoying, meanwhile easing his conscience by attributing the sensation to imagination, for he knows that, failing these precautions, he will very soon be in the presence of the man of affairs,—the "death” to the ordinary and unsuccessful soul—the man in a hurry.

But perhaps, when personified wind and storm emits his ear-splitting peel the climax has been reached, for Mister, "a thing worth doing is worth doing well,” has arrived. Incidentally, he is not unwilling to mar his entrance by chanting his preferred adage, or any other, for that matter.

Still another of the quoting species is the impatient being who accompanies the interval between his actual arrival and heralded one, v/lth foot-shuffling and whistling, or any other companion of "never waste a second.”

The moral of this story, as of every one of its type is, "Keep away from the person with the scrutinizing eye of an essayist,” or even more important, "guard your most highly-acceptable and routine action from him.”

[65]

Tihe W a tc h T o w e r

T he Travel Club 7’ was a warm .summer’s day last June when tlie chattering members of the Travel Club met aboard a bulky Hudson I7ay Liner. As they took their places beside the railing, the ship slipped from its mooring and commenced its lazy sail up the picturesque Hudson. With a balmy, perfume-scented breeze tickling their girlish faces and scattering their neatly combed hair; with the blue, majestic Hudson gleefully lapping its way to the Atlantic through .scenic, green-carpeted Palisades, past imposing mansions and spacious farms, memories of former voyages scur­ ried through their minds and soon found vent in animated conversation.

Moira led off with reminiscences of her homelanri, Australia. Betty, Anne, and the rest of us quickly chipped in. For with such a celestial background who could help think­ ing of Nature in foreign lands and the service it offers to God’s creatures the world over.

The result was a discussion of world travel which we later put into essay form and entered into the Club’s Records. Moira’s FROM ANGASTON TO SYDNEY was first in line:

FROM A N G A ST O N TO SYDNEY

By M oira B r en n a n

I was born in the quiet, little, sunburned town of Angaston which is about fifty miles up the gulf of Saint Vincent in South Australia. It was a small wine town where the smoke curled lazily to meet the still sky and the vineyards crept to the hilltops and lingered there while the dusty grapes ripened in the yellow sun. But once in the early spring when the hills were covered with golden wattle and the kookaburras laughed at the sunrise, when the gum trees stood tall and fresh and green making a towering shade along the dusty roads, we moved to Adelaide, the 'garden city of the South.”

We lived about five miles from the city and when we were young, sometimes on Friday nights, we’d go on the rumbling trolley car to the city with Mother. It was a great treat for us to see wide King William at night, to pass the businesslike post office with its great clock booming away the hours, to go by the town hall, down past the cathedral to Rundle street where all the shops were filled with hustling, bustling people, talking, laughing, buying and selling. Then we would go home through the quiet night, under the brilliant stars, back to our house near the foot of the hills.

I think that we loved the hills best of all for in the spring their lanes would be carpeted with delicate white almond blossoms and the slopes would be covered with brilliant yellow "soursobs,” purple Salvation Janes and red, glowing heath, with the lacy fern called maiden hair and the tiny star shaped four o’clocks, the strange little flower that folds its petals in the early afternoon. Then in the summer we could see the

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creeping bush fires burning steadily on the hills at night and as we lay on the grass in the cool of the night and watched the stars, we could smell the smoke as it was borne on the breeze that came in from the sea. In the winter the hills were lost in the mist but in the summer they’d be clear and brown again and amidst the glowing colors we’d see the green gums that never change. But when I was twelve we left the contented city that set like a bouquet of flowers amidst its bowl of green hills, and we travelled the long road along the coast to Melbourne, the busy harbor city with its narrow, twisting side streets, its wide boulevards, its great railway station, its traffic lights, its quiet parks and wide beaches and rolling surf. Then we passed on again to Canberra, the young capitol of my brown country. Canberra is something like Adelaide in that it is set among a ring of distant blue mountains and it is riotous with the hues of its flowers and leaves.

Our house was at the foot of Mount Ainslee and in the summer we’d carry our lunch in a knapsack and climb to the top and we’d sit there and gaze out over all of Canberra. "We could see the white sprawling houses of Parliament, the green and white manor of the Governor-general, the shopping center of Forest, the new national museum, the old suburbs and the new, Mount Stromblow that is covered with a million pine trees and far away we could see the Cotter River. At night we used to watch the sun set over the snow-capped mountains. The snow would become a living, glowing gold and the red disk would sink. The light green .sky would gradaully grow dark and then softly out of the west the stars would come, the crickets would chirp and the mosquitoes would hum, and a long way off the night rain whistle would scream faintly. But when the roses around the town hall were beginning to bloom and the waxen tulips in front of Parlia­ ment House were breaking, we left the quiet growing city and went to Sydney, the thriv­ ing metropolis of our nation. Tall buildings rose to meet the sky, crooked, little streets broadened into wide thoroughfares, men and women hurried on their way, life throbbed in the heavy traffic, a gigantic bridge of steel spanned the busy harbor, where ships from all the world over gathered. Then on August the thirteenth, at four o’clock in the after­ moon we sailed away bound for America, and as I watched the shores glide by I saw again the wattle on the hills, the dew in the morning, and the faces of those I loved and I hoped it would not be long ere I saw them again.

SY D N E Y -T O -V A N C O U V E R

By Elizabeth B r en n an

The pier was thronged with people, some going away, others, their friends, wish­ ing them a cheerful or tearful "bon voyage.’’ The myriad coloured streamers swayed in the light breeze and formed a fragile arch between passengers and well wishers. I stood on the deck of the Aorangi and gazed at this crowded Sydney Harbour and was bewil­ dered. I had never before been on a boat and here I was ready to set sail for America.

Slowly the boat slipped from its moorings and dived into the deep blue waters of the

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Faciric, Slowly she steamed up the world's most beautiful harbour. Slowly I realized I had left my natix’e laml, Australia.

W’e were four days on the ocean, we saw continuously ^reat stretc'hes of blue, mysterious water. To the landdubber not seeing land for a long time is a strange sensa­ tion. On the third night out we watched the pale moon rise over a great expanse of water, the next morning we woke to the strange sounds that are characteristic of docking. We peeped through our port holes and caught our first glimpse of Auckland. At about nine o'clock we were permitted to go ashore. Auckland from my impression was fan-shaped, the main street ran all the way down to the sea. It was vary narrow there, but gradually as we approached the busy section of the town it spread out. Unexpectedly, though more often than not, we wandered down tiny side streets. Here we were more than fascinated.

We peeped into busy little shops that sold Maori goods and dark smiling Maoris greeted us. But soon the clay ended and the fog-horns of our ship called us home.

Again we set sail for four more beautiful lazy days. One day we were called to the captain’s deck to see Three Kings Island. We were so far away that we saw’ only three, dark, huge mountains towering to the sky. Here they say live cannibals and once long ago Blessed Julian Eymard went there to preach the Truth and died a martyr. Another day we passed nearby a deserted coral island. It was really beautiful with its miniature azure stagnant lagoon. Nothing ever lived there. At last we saw land again. This time we saw tall palms w'aving in the breeze and great banana trees with their fruit up side down. We drew' near the dock and lo and behold we saw an extremely tall Fijian, ar­ rayed in a fantastic police uniform, with feathers dancing on his head and no shoes, parading up and dow'n the wharf. All the lithe curly haired natives seemed terribly excited to see the ship. We w'ere just as excited to get ashore and visit this strange island. At last the plank w'as lowered and w'e w'ent ashore. Hardly had w'e set foot on the ground when we w'ere bombarded on all sides by native taxi-drivers begging to take us to see the sights. Gradually we got out of that predicament and walked slowly and admiringly to the town. We saw' great big dark women selling all kinds of native goods. When we came to the park in the middle of the town we sat on a bench to admire the view'.

"Hullo there,” said an English voice and standing before us was a w'oman.

She said, "You are travelling.^ Let me get you a driver, I know these boys, I can make them do anything, you see I’ve been here many years.”

She called a cab and argued a few minutes. The driver consented to her commands, she turned to us and said, "Hop in and he will take you w'here you want to go.”

We drove for miles through unbelievable beauty. The only way I could describe it was exactly as the postcards w'ould picture it. We came to the top of a hill and there belore us w'as a native town. Tiny, black, scantily clad children rushed to meet us. The chief appeared and nothing w'ould suit him but that we visit his hut. We went inside and saw a room the walls made of hard mud and the floor strewn with native made rugs.

He handed us some kind of drink, an awful concoction, we had to drink it or he would be disappointed. Soon we were outside and we wanted to take the children’s pictures but the only way we could, w'as to throw' some coins at them and as they dived for them snap the picture. Then our visit was over and we had to leave these happy people. We W’ent back to the ship full of all the wondrous things that we had seen.

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The next stop was Honolulu. We reached this world famous place after a week of sailing. It was late afternoon when we reached the Hawaiian island, we stayed on board that evening and the next morning we were ready to see the sights. A jolly, fat Hawaiian came up to us and asked permission to escort us around his native land. He drove up to the Pali a place from which, in olden days the Hawaiians hurled their enemies into the sea. Today far below we see prosperous, fertile farms, and on the sea, glass-bottomed boats used at night for the thrilling spearing of fish. We visited the famed Waikiki and saw native girls strumming their plaintive guitars. Everybody in Honolulu is friendly.

A man passing us on the street put a leis, a wreath of exquisite flowers, on my brother’s neck and laughingly said "Aloha,” which means practically anything. We saw the world's most gorgeous flower, the magnificent, blood-red blossom called the "flame flower.”

Honolulu is an indescribably lovely place but it has become too Europeanized. As we sailed away from its harbour we threw our lais back into the water, and watched them breathlessly to see if they would drift back for it is a legend that if the wreath goes back the owner will return to Hawaii. The haunting strains of the native guitars wafted over the water and we said a sad "Aloha” to the island paradise.

About a week passed and we came to British Columbia. We could stay there only a few hours for we were late in arriving, a fog had delayed us. However the next morn­ ing we awoke to sunshine and glimpsed America for the first time—we had arrived after a voyage I will never forget, at Vancouver.

FROM NEW YOF^K TO THE WEST INDIES

By A n n e V achio

For three and a half days there was nothing but the endless crested waters of the Caribbean Sea before us. We were constantly watching for the sight of land ; on the fourth day our expectation was realized. At seven o’clock in the morning, as we gazed from our tiny windows, a most beautiful scene met our eyes. There, with the morning sunlight gently throwing its rays upon the swaying palm trees and drifting sailboats, lay the Puerto Rican Islands in all their glory. The first islands seemed austere and isolated with only ruins and gigantic palms guarding the majestic .splendor of the sunrise. The water surrounding them was a .shimmering green, which made a resplendent contrast with the gold of the tropical sun and the cloudless blue of the skies. On the waters were a few sailboats, looking drowsy indeed as they slowly sought their way through the glis­ tening blue. In about an hour, the ship was docked at the main island of Puerto Rico.

As we left the gangplank, the first object that greeted us were bags upon bags of sugar cane read for market. In a little while, we were to tour the island by car.

Driving along the main streets, we came upon the luxurious mansions of the Ameri­ cans dwelling there. Though their homes were well-built and impervious to the change­ able tropic weather, they seemed as delicate as the lush hibiscus that bloomed around

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tlicin. Continuing our tour, \vc drove liigher and liiglier into the mountains, wliere we \iewed the liabitats of the lowly pea.sant.s. lire mode by which they build a house is an amazing one, since most of them are situated on a steep mountainside. They do not leave one with the impression of strength, but appear as if one gust of wind would erase them from the face of the earth.

The Puerto Ricans make use of their natural resources. So much so, that even the sides ot the mountains are cultivated for agricultural usage. At two o’clock in the after­ noon, all work ceases, and if you happen to be driving along a road, it would not be at all unusual to see the driver of a truck leave his vehicle by the roadside, and lie down in the grass for his afternoon "siesta.” All along the roads, little bare-foot boys are seen driving oxen, pigs, and horses homeward toward eventide or to market in the early morning. The.se are a friendly people. They greet tourists with a cheery smile, a happy welcome and the inevitable cry for money. When your visit here has come to an end, the memory of its tropical beauty and gaiety remain with you forever.

Our next port of call were the Virgin Islands, where the tropic earthy feeling of Puerto Rico was displaced by a c|uiet orderliness. All along the streets, women sell highly colored and decorative jewelry, at varying prices according to the su.sceptability of the customer. Here, the native women carry baskets of clothes and flowers on their heads, since the supposedly weaker sex does most of the manual labor. In St. Thomas there is a castle which was built by Bluebeard, a pirate who constructed it at a strategic point in the mountains so that he might sight ships and loot them. This occurred in the age of piracy, but now the castle has been converted into a hotel, which is reached by over a thousand steps.

When the time came to leave this glorious province, our hearts were heavy indeed, for though it is an American possession, St. Thomas is reminiscent of old England, with its antic]ue silver and historical background.

Sad as we were to say goodbye, our grief was consoled by the thought of our com­ ing excursion in Bermuda.

There is quite a difference between Puerto Rico and Bermuda. The atmosphere of Puerto Rico is dominated by typical latin color, which sweeps you along with a gay and exciting tempo. Bermuda, however, leaves one with a different feeling. Here its drowsy ponies and equally drowsy drivers, make one yearn for the peace and contentment they en)oy. On this island are found the outstanding perfume shops of the entire islands.

This is one spot that is simply overflowing with beauty. Anyone who has had the opportunity of visiting the Crystal Caves will agree with me. Mother Nature seems to have outdone herself with profusions of exquisite blooms and icy shrubbery. These coves have been there for thousands of years, and were accidently discovered by two little boys who had dropped their ball into one of them. It seems the one who went into the caves to recover his lost possession came upon this beauteous work of nature. This cave con­ sisted of crystal formations and pure water. Only when one sees such art worthy of God, do we realize His power and goodness. This excursion brought the cruise to a close.

And so goodbye to my glorious summer in the West Indies. Though we never meet again, your natural beauty will be like an old friend—always in my heart and thoughts.

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VIA THE CANAL

By C larice T. K oehler One hot summer’s day several years ago we boarded the S.S. Virginia at New York.

W'e were going to see America, the West Coast, the Canadian Rockies, and the Great Lakes. The route from New York to California led us past Havana, Cuba, Colon and Cristobal, Panama, through the Panama Canal, and thence to Panama City and Balboa.

After three days’ voyage from New York, the Virginia docked at Havana, an old Spanish city which still retains its ancient atmosphere amid modern surroundings. Our sight-seeing cab carried us along palm-shaded, congested boulevards, past the famous Morro Castle, and into the older district of the city. Here we saw white-clad natives, wearing tan straw hats, driving ox-drawn carts loaded with sugar cane, bananas, or pine­ apples. After winding through several alley-like streets of fifteenth century Habana, we arrived at the Cathedral. In this massive stone sanctuary with specially designed and stained windows lie the remains of Christopher Columbus. We traversed that part of the city where centuries ago Cuba’s wealthy dwelt. Today this is a commercial district; the old homes, some still retaining their coats of arms, are used as stores. Continuing our drive we arrived at the cemetery. Here it is customary to rent plots for a specified number of years. At the end of this period, if the rent is not paid, the cemetery authori­ ties excavate the bones and stock them in a large enclosed yard where they are burned.

The colored headstones and markers which indicate the disease of which the person died, are usually reused. Completing this tour, we visited the Presidential Palace in the floor of which is set the largest piece of black onyx in the world. Besides innumerable por­ traits of former Cuban rulers and heroes, it contains a Romanesque garden of Scotch heather. From here we motored to the rural, jungle-like interior and then returned to the ship.

A few days later we anchored at the twin cities of Colon and Cristobal where I was both amazed and amused at the antics of small native boys in bathing trunks. These youngsters jumped into the dirty water and swam and dived after pennies the passengers threw to them. Floating about the steamer were flat-bottomed boats in which stood native food venders proclaiming their cargoes of fruit and vegetables.

With the preliminary inspection over, the Virginia entered the Panama Canal and proceeded to the Gatun Locks. These reminded me somewhat of a steel-walled, twolane highway with a long island between, and on each side. On these run "trolley” tracks which are really mule-car tracks. These mule cars, two on each side of the ve.s.sel tow it through the locks by attaching themselves to the steamer with steel cables. The locks consist of immense solid iron gates which slide together as a ship approaches. After a pair of these have clasped firmly at either end of the ocean liner, the high walled space between bigins to fill with water. When the vessel is raised sufficiently, the forward locks open and it passes on to another set. There are three steps to each group of locks. Re­ suming under our own power, the ship glided by Gatun Lake and through a narrow steep-banked challen.

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On these hanks, which are young mountains, grow banana anti stigar cane planta­ tions amid sweet-smelling, tropical vegetation. Scattered here and there, almost liidden by towering green palms lay the natives' thatched roof huts. Throughout the channel the varied and dense "jungle” vegetation which lines the shore anti clothes the islands, lieadlands and hills, often interlaces with the vines and brightly colored blossoms, thus making this eight hour voyage a picttirescpie experience. \Vc then proceeded to the Miraflores Locks, and into Panama City, another SpanishAmerican town.

Upon entering its part, my attention was drawn to two hills. The one reminded me of a town in Westchester, while the other made me think of Havana. Later, while drivin;.; through the city, 1 learned that one was the American residential district of Panama City, wtiile the other was the native section of Balboa. In Panama the houses have no screens or even glass in the windows, the inmates are protected from the few insects by blinds. The inhabitants of Old Balboa literally live on the streets. Their homes are wooden, thatched roofed stalls surrounded by high wooden fences. In this section every­ thing seems dirty, the streets, the unpainted shacks, and their crowded interiors with their unkempt dwellers. Old Panama boasts of just about everything from the Bishop’s Palace and the ruins of Santo Domingo Cathedral, burned by Morgan in 17.57, to fruit and vegetable venders, and balconied houses in snake-like, beggar-infested streets. There are shops of all sorts, many of them operated by Hindus and Chinese as well as by the natives. Of course Uncle Sam’s soldiers and sailors can be seen wandering about the tele­ phone-wired automobile-littered avenues in which Spaniards in American clothing attend to their daily chores. After a day’s tour of the cities, we headed for the S.S. Virgima wearing Panama hats that did not look a bit like their American cousins.

We were sailing once more, this time for California and the Official commence­ ment of our Western trip.

FKOM NEW YOE^K TO FLOKIDA B y Catherine M innock

Everyone knows Florida, whether they’ve ever basked beneath its celestial blanket of blue or just read the advertisements in the Sunday papers of "where to go next.”

Everyone knows Florida as being the place to go in order to "get away from it all.” And, of course, everyone knows its city, Miami, for the country has sung of the "Moon Over Miami” for some years now. But I shall endeavor to introduce you to the parts of Florida and Miami with which not everyone is acquainted.

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Modern Miami is a veritable Garden of Eden, June weather prevailing throughout the year. Miami Beach, a separate municipality across Biscayne Bay from the city of Miami, is directly on the Atlantic Ocean. It is connected with the mainland by three causeways which have their terminus in the northern, central and .southern sections of the city. Miami is nearly 300 miles further .south than Cairo, Egypt.

The vegetation is tropical, the cocoanut palm, royal palm, mango, pineapple, banana, and many other trees and plants of the tropics growing prolifically. Bayfront Park is on the shore of Bay Biscayne along the southern terminus of Biscayne Boulevard. The gamut of the palm family, the Traveler’s Palm, the Washington Palm, the Palmetto Palm, and Apron Palm is spread in prodigious quantity over the curbs and parkways of Biscayne Boulevard. About fifty miles .south of Miami is Royal Palm State Park, comprising 4,000 acres of tropical jungle, preserved in primeval beauty as a sanctuary for America’s only tropical flora and fauna. A delightfully attractive suburb of Miami is Coral Gables, where imposing Spanish entrances and homes with lavish floral adornment convey the atmosphere of "Old Spain.”

One of Miami’s many famous sporting classics in the Bay Biscayne Regatta, where noted international power boat racers meet every year to battle for supremacy over this renowned course. Yachting activities start early in the season and reach their climax when hundreds of craft gather along the picturesque Flamingo Regatta Course for the annual Miami Beach Regatta late in March.

A sea as blue as the richest sapphire beckons you to spend a sunny afternoon in the Gulf Stream. Fishing boats ply out to the gulf stream every day with am.ateur Izaak Waltons. There is nothing tame about battling with the denizens of these sub-tropical waters, and in the excitement of bringing in that elusive, finny rascal that is trying to get away with a good hook, line and sinker, minor troubles are apt to disappear. Imagine the glee of landing a game sailfish after a thrilling battle, or catching a bonita or any one of the strange fish that inhabit the Gulf Stream. Through the clear waters of the reef a few miles south of Miami are mirrored rare beauties of subsea life, amazing forests of giant coral jungles, of sea-fans and plumes. The deep purples and vivid reds of their hues standing out in sharp contrast to the pure white sand with its patches of green and blue sea-grass. Through the branches of these coral trees gracefully swim the fish that defy description, in color and shape, odd and colorful denizens of the watery depths that are as diverting as flowers.

Motoring here is a delight. Three great causeways to Miami for a drive along the ocean; across the Everglades on the Tamiami Trail through the most fertile agricultural region in the world and the home of the gay-garbed Seminole Indian; through suburbs where attractive homes carry the atmosphere of old Spain; through Cocoanut Grove, noted as the site of many extensive estates; through the Florida Keys on the famous new Over Seas Highway. Such are the sights of every popular Florida—the state whose every breeze is scented with the sweetness of orange blossoms and the strength of salt-water.

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FROM NEW Ti'ORK TO ITALY

By M arii ; F ai .adino

My family left New >'ork aboard tlie S.S. Coule d'l Savo'ia on June 18, 1938, at New \'ork. \X'c went ashore at Cannes, I'rance on June 26, after a short stop o\'c-r at Naples. On August 19, we had returned to New York City after a most eventful trip abroad. Any account ot those wonderful days must necessarily be inadecjuate anti, I am confuicnt, my narration shall be sad for Europe’s memories make one nostalgic. The very essence of delight was experienced in our audience with His Holiness, Pius XI on luly 22. A party of newly-weds had just been received. They are very dear to His Holiness as an alloaition of thirty minutes can testify.

His Holiness, robed in a white soutane with a moire belt was accompanied by an escort ot Noble Guards and Chamberlains. Beside him sat the presentday Pope Pius XII. To each of the e isitors. His Holiness gave his ring to kiss, then blesses each one present and those for whom a blessing is reejuested, and indulgences any religious articles one may have. The severity is not as in former times, although Americans may regard it still, very exacting. American youngsters in socks are not admitted to Rome’s great basilicas and one-fourth inch in sleeve length less than the regulations demand, can post­ pone your access to the Sacred Tribunal.

Italy is all one imagines of beauty—with its blue skies and blue seas enclosing the quiet little fishing villages along the Riviera, luxurious hotels towering on the hills.

Orange and lemon groves and vineyards clings to the slopes of the high ascene drives of Amalfi and Rapallo. Tall purple irises, dark Cyprus trees, and a profusion of roses, golden gorse and grey olive trees cover the wild landscape stretching toward the distant blue hills. Men and women in gay colors work in the fields. White oxen plod along the road. The cities and walled towns are rich in beauty of church, cathedral, and monastery, with art relics centuries old. Florence, Perugia, Orvdetto, Sienna, Padua, Assissi are so rich in treasures that it seems impossible to leave Italy at all. The superb palaces of Venice rise in dignity along the Grand Canal on either side of our slowly moving gondola.

We traveled at night under the soft splendor of the moon and embraced a silence that was sweet. Rome still pulsed with the excitement of Hitler’s visit. German military bands were giving concerts under the walls of the Colosseum. Men were at work digging Pompeii and Herculaneum. We dared even the crater of Vesuvius and risked our lives heating American nickles in the lava.

Our party was regarded with kindness everywhere and courteous and scrupulously fair treatment was experienced at hotels, on railroads (luxurious first class compartments) and in motor cars. We met lads of twenty longing to be sent to Spain when they joined the Army. "Credere, Combattere, Obedire” are some of the counsels painted in enormous signs at every turn of the road.

Detail of grandeur would render my article a volume. The crowning glory of all Rome is the Dome of that Master-Hand, Michelangelo. You gaze up for -400 feet be-

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wildered at the prodigious cupola. Everything is vast; statues are colossal; pictures are enormous.

The Ursuline Generalate was included in our travels. The building is modern. VC'e were received by Very Reverend Mother de St. Jean, and Reverend Mothers Marie de St. Albert, de St. Henri and de Lourdes, all Americans.

Other interesting features of my unforgettable summer were had in Southern France.

But of that another time . . .

Thoughts of Rome are most precious; the Alps, the catacombs forty-five feet under ground and freezing; countless shrines, myriad saints, and His Holiness, the human representative of God’s authority on earth. Stolid though we be, we were in tears, brim­ ful of tenderest of tenderest emotions when kneeling before Christ’s Vicar. O Roma, the beginning of joys, the source of every spiritual blessing.

Thus ended a most interesting and enlightening exchange of travel talks inspired by the beauty of an American River.

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vChronicle 'I ' h e s t a f l o f t h e Watch Tower w i s h t o e x p r e s s th e ir sin c ere a p p re c ia tio n of the m a n y k in d p e r­ m i s s i o n s e x t e n d e d t h e m in c o n n e c t i o n w i t l i t h e i r d u tie s d u r in g th e year, also th e ir g ra te fu l reco g ­ n itio n o f th e serv ices of th e s tu d e n t b o d y in th e ir c o o p e r a t i o n in t lie w o r k o f p r e p a r i n g m a t e r i a l f o r p u b lic a tio n , th e ir p r o f o u n d g r a t i tu d e to th e advisors and editors for th eir g e n e ro u s d o n a tio n s o f t i m e a n d e n e r g y ; t h e i d d e e p i n d e b t e d n e s s to f r ie n d s an d p a tr o n s f o r th e ir liberal linancial an d d e v o te d m o ra l s u p p o r t o f th is v o lu m e .

lincouragem ent, ad m o n itio n , an d counsel ever r e a s s u r i n g o v e r h i g h h o p e s s u r g e n o w in r e t r o ­ s p e c t a s w e , c l a s s o f 1 9 ‘10, b i d f a r e w e l l T o Rever­ end Mother M. Seraphine, w h o s e m a t e r n a l g r a ­ c io u s n e ss s u r p a s s e d itself in o u r S e n io r D a y of R e c o l l e c t i o n a n d C o m m u n i o n B r e a k f a s t ; T o Rever­ end Mother Mary Carmel, w h o s e fi rs t f e w m o n t h s a t t h e h e l m o f h l o u n t S t. L h 's u l a h a v e b r o u g h t uS to h a rb o r, th o u g h w e o ften d rifte d b e tw e e n the S cylla a n d C h a r y b d is of p r o c r a s t i n a t i o n ; To- the Faculty,— a n d h e r e w e n e e d a g o l d e n p e n a n d t i m e d e f y in g g r a n i t e to g iv e c o u r a g e to o u r s e n ti­ m e n t s ; to t h e f a c u l t y — w h o s e l i v e s c l o s e t o C h r i s t , s tr o n g a n d fu ll, lifte d h e a rts all a l o n g th e w ay .

A v e an d V ale.

• IN

M F .M O R IA M

A l l k n o w ' t h e k n i f e - e d g e o f a v i o l e n t -w in d b lo w in g a ro u n d th e ed g es of a m assiv e skyscraper.

O n e i n s tin c tiv e ly se e k s its g i a n t w a l l s t h a t a r e as a h a r b o r - w a ll to fight a g a in s t. N i n e t e e n - h u n d r e d th irty - n in e e x a c te d a la rg e fo rc e o f n e w confi­ d e n c e a n d n e w re so lu tio n s as th e m o o rin g s at M o u n t S t. U r s u l a s u f f e r e d s e v e r e s t r a i n s . T h e fin e a n d d e l i c a t e b e a u t y o f s t r e n g t h in a f o u n d a t i o n as v e n e r a b l e as 1 8 5 3 in M o r r i s a n i a , N e w Y o r k , ( 1 8 9 2 , a t B e d f o r d P a r k ) g a v e s t ) m e t h i n g o f i ts s a f e b a l a n c e i n t h e p e r s o n o f Mother AI. Thomas.

O.S.U. F o r n e a r l y t w e n t y y e a r s M o t h e r g u i d e d th e d estin ies o f O u r L ady o f M e rc y S ch o o l. F o r th re e years M o th e r w a s S u p e rio r here. T h e b e a u ­ tifu l w i n d o w s in th e c h a p e l a r e a m e m o r ia l o f h e r p ro g re s siv e c o n s tru c tio n o f beauty.

L o w ' c l o u d s o f n i g h t w 'e r e s t i l l h o v e r i n g q u i t e c lo s e a b o v e o u r r o o f as o u r n u n s w e r e w i t h ste a d y s p e e d a n s w e r i n g t h e c a l l o f t h e m o r n i n g S a c r ific e w h e n Mother AL Immaculala. O.S.U., p a s s e d silen tly in to the d a rk n e ss o f th e valley o f d eath o n A ll S o u ls D a y . A f te r six y ears as P rio ress, M o th e r had been ap p o in ted to reassu m e the c h a r g e o f t h e A c a d e m y . I n t h e offi c e h e r p r e d e ­ c e s s o r h a d b e e n iWother AI. Imelda. O.S.U.. w h o closely id en tified w ith th e d e v e lo p m e n t o f th e A c a d e m y f o r n e a r ly th i r t y y e a rs , h a d as te a c h e r a n d D ir e c tre s s , m o b iliz e d all in te re sts o f th e A c a d e m y i n t h e s e r v i c e s o f t h e b e s t i n .s c h o l a s t i c sta n d a rd s a n d social o rg a n iz a tio n . O n th e e v e n in g o f D e c e m b e r 1 2, O u r L a d y ’s D a y , i n r e s i g n a t i o n an d sadness, u n fu lfillm e n t an d tr iu m p h . M o th e r s m ile d c o n s e n t to th e in e ffa b le m u s ic o f th e M a s t e r ’s, " V e n i . ”

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o p en ed on O cto b er n in eteen th and w as conclu d ed w i t h a M i s s a C a n t a t a in h o n o r o f t h e H o l y P a t r o n ­ ess o n h e r feast.

H o w a p p e a l i n g is St. U r s u l a o f B r i t i a n t o t h e l e a r n e d l a d i e s o f t h e c e n t u r i e s . S t. U r s u l a , t h e p a tro n sa in t o f school g irls a n d o f th o se w h o s t r i v e to t e a c h t h e m ! A q u a i n t b i o g r a p h e r d e ­ scrib es h e r th u s: "S h e w as n ot only w o n d e rfu lly b eautiful and g i f te d w i t h all th e e x t e r n a l g r a c e s o f h e r se x , b u t a c c o m p l i s h e d in a l l t h e l e a r n i n g o f h e r t i m e . H e r m i n d w a s a p e r f e c t s t o r e h o u s e o f w 'isd o m a n d k n o w le d g e : sh e h a d re a d a b o u t th e stars a n d th e c o u rs e s o f th e w i n d s ; all th a t h a d e v e r h a p p e n e d in t h e w o r l d f r o m th e d a y s o f A d a m s h e h a d by h e a r t ; th e p o e ts a n d p h ilo s o p h e r s w e r e to h e r w h a t c h i l d i s h r e c r e a t i o n s a r e to o t h e r s ; b u t a b o v e all s h e w a s p r o f o u n d l y v e rse d in th e o lo g y a n d sc h o o l d iv in ity , so t h a t th e d o c to rs w e r e c o n ­ f o u n d e d b y h e r a r g u m e n t a t i v e p o w e r s . . . . ’’ W i t h h e r fa ir a n d g lo rio u s c o m p a n y of eleven t h o u s a n d v ir g in s s h e u n d e r to o k a j o u r n e y to th e holy sh rin e s th r o u g h o u t E u ro p e , a n d w as m ira c u ­ lo u sly c o n d u c te d o v e r th e ro ck s a n d s n o w s o f th e A l p s by six a n g e ls , " w h o w e n t b e f o r e th e m p e r ­ p etu ally , c le a rin g th e ro ad s fro m all im p e d im e n ts, th ro w in g b ridges o v er m o u n ta in to rren ts, and e v en at n ig h t p itc h in g ten ts f o r th e ir s h e lte r a n d re fre sh m e n t.”

A n d in w h a t a c o m e ly m a n n e r d id th e elev en th o u sa n d m e e t th e m a rty rd o m w h ic h they h ad s o u g h t , a t th e h a n d s o f fierce b a r b a r ia n s " w h o r u s h e d u p o n th e v irg in s as a p ack o f g a u n t a n d h u n g r y w o lv e s m i g h t fa ll o n a flock o f m ilk w 'h ite l a m b s ! ” W h a t -w o n d ers th a t t h e m e d i e v a l a r t i s t s u f f e r e d a n x i e t y i n t h a t it w a s i m p o s s i b l e t o d ev ise an y m e a n s by w h ic h th e w h o le fa ith fu l c o m p a n y m i g h t b e r e p r e s e n t e d — in t h a t t h e r e w e r e several th o u sa n d s to w h o m ju stice c o u ld n o t be d o n e . It m a y b e s a id , h o w e v e r , t h a t th e d o c ile , u n ­ ro m a n tic p ie ty on th e faces o f th e ten B ru g es w h o m H a n s M e m l i n g m a n a g e d to d e p ic t w ith in th e s h e lte r o f S ain U r s u la 's ro b e, leaves o n e s o m e ­ w h a t g ra te fu l fo r th e lim ita tio n s o f art!

O c t o b e r t w e n t y - s e c o n d is t h e feast of St. Cord u l a , o n e o f S t. U r s u l a ’s c o m p a n i o n v i r g i n - m a r t y r s .

O n O c t o b e r t - w 'e n ty - th ir d , t h e f e a s t o f t h e e l e v e n Ursuline Martyrs of Valenciennes w a s c o m m e m o ­ rated. " M i d scoffs a n d je e rs A ll p a g a n threats F o r fa ith a n d tru st, O u r m artyrs bled

they labored, defied, fo r C h ristia n schools and died !"

T h e sto ry o f th ese m a rty rs beatified by o u r H o ly F a t h e r P o p e B e n e d i c t X ’V , o n J u n e 13, 1 9 2 0 , w a s t o l d i n t h e W a t c h T o w e r , 'V ol. V . , N o . 1.

T h e fiv e S u n d a y s i n h o n o r o f St. Angela w i l l open w ith fo rm al prayer on D ece m b e r 27. T h e o rd e r o f p ra y e r fo llo w s: 1.

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A f e e l i n g o f a w e a t t h e r e a l m e a n i n g o f Christ­ mas a t h o u g h t o f o u r m i s s i o n s , a p r e p a r i n g o f o u r

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h e a rts fo r th e D iv in e B ab e of B e th le h e m , th e b u i l d i n g o f C rib s in e a c h h o m e - r o o m , g if ts f o r th e p o o r , r e h e a r s a ls o f o u r p lay , e a g e rn e s s to h e lp o th e r s , a n t i c i p a t i o n o f o u r p a r ty a n d joy e v e r y ­ w h e re m a rk e d th e days b efo re C hristm as.

w i t h m a r r ia g e in Italy to A m y . A ll g ir ls feel d is ­ a p p o in te d w h e n J o refu ses L aurie. D o y ou re­ m e m b e r h o w h e r a c e d d o w n t h e s t a i r s " a s if f o r his lif e ” a f te r sa y in g g o o d b y e to all b e f o re le a v ­ i n g f o r E u r o p e t o f o r g e t Jo.-' D o y o u a l s o r e m e m ­ b e r h o w h e t u r n e d b a c k o n c e m o r e " O h , J o c a n ’t y o u .- '” D o y o u w o n d e r n o w ?

And Aunt M arch our d elightful Margaret Kavanagh, h o w d i d y o u d o i t ? Y o u w e r e a m i r a c l e o f a c tin g fo r you alm o st m a d e us believe y ou w e r e d o w n r i g h t crotchety.

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Reverend Raymond R. Soggin, S.J. i n t h e a n n u a l s tu d e n ts ’ retrea t. It w a s a m o st in sp irin g p e rio d o f p ray er. O u r d irecto r, th e R e v e re n d S u p e rio r o f A u r ie s v ille , N e w Y o r k , w a s b o r n in th e B r o n x w h e r e h e also b e g a n his p rie s tly career. A f t e r several years of p a rish d u ties F a th e r e n te re d u p o n h i s m i s s i o n a r y l a b o r s in t h e P h i l i p p i n e s w h e r e f o r th re e years he w a s sta tio n e d at M a n ila . F or a n o t h e r e ig h t y e a rs h e c a r r ie d o n his w o r k fifteen m i l e s o u t s i d e t h a t city, as M a s t e r o f N o v i c e s a n d T e r t i a n s in a M o n a s te r y o f o n e h u n d r e d J e s u its , M a n y O r i e n t a l s w e r e in th e s e classes. T h e sto ry is a l o n g o n e w h i c h w o u l d d e s c r ib e t h e a c tiv itie s a n d zeal o f 2 0 0 0 s tu d e n ts in th e C a th o lic co lleg es a n d sch o o ls f o r g irls th r o u g h o u t th e Islands. M a n y b e c o m e a s p ir a n ts in th e se v era l r e lig io u s o rd e rs w h e re over on e h u n d re d professions occur a n n u ­ ally.

Father Soggin l o v e s r e t r e a t s . I n t h e P h i l i p p i n e s h e f r e q u e n tly d ire c te d th irty d a y retrea ts, g iv in g five ta lk s a d a y . T h e r e tre a ts in o u r p a r t s m u s t p r o v e l e s s s t r e n u o u s t h o u g h t h e i n t e r v i e w e r is c o n f id e n t t h a t th e y a r e n o t less a f l a m e w i t h love o f G o d a n d o f H is law .

— C. K.

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H a n n a h , g o o d Lorraine Moore, y o u w e r e s u r e l y t r ie d ! O n ly o u r gen tle, brow n-eyed L orraine w o u ld b e p a tie n t u n d e r so m a n y v ic issitudes, n o t t o s p e a k o f p a r t i e s a n d p i c n i c s , ’W i t c h e s C u r s e a n d P i l g r i m P r o g r e s s , M e g ’s t w i n s a n d A m y ’s a r tist a m b itio n . It w as y o u w h o h e a rte n e d th e w o r ­ s h i p f u l s t a r o f J o ’s h o p e s . D i d y o u n o t s p e n d h o u r s lis te n in g to h e r m e lo d r a m a s w r itte n in th e a ttic ?

C o n f e s s ! Y o u a r e f o r g i v e n f o r Vivienne Thomas, a l o v a b l e t o m b o y , ( o n l y o f f s t a g e , h o n e s t l y ! ) is so d e lig h tf u lly s p irite d th a t w e ch e e re d w h e n she r e c e i v e d h e r f irs t c h e c k a n d d a n c e d w i t h g l a d n e s s w h e n h e r h e a r t w a s f i ll e d W'ith t h e W 'h o l e s o m e n e s s o f Carrie Lowe ( w ' h o b r o u g h t t h e h o u s e d o w n , t o o ! ) in th e ro le o f th e G e r m a n m u sic ia n .

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T h e Sodality of Our Lady is r i c h i n s y m p a t h y , im ag in atio n , m oral sen sib ility a n d vision, in c h e r i s h i n g th e id e a l w d th in u s, as a r e s u lt o f th e in te rp re ta tiv e d iscourse of Reverend Vincent Campbell, Reverend Alfred Barrett, S.J. T h e R e v e re n d s p e a k e rs h a v e h e lp e d u s to reco n cile o u rselv es to th e d e m a n d s of th e G re a t E d u cato r.

T h e stu d y club, th e so d a lity m eetin g , the panel d isc u ssio n d o n o t ta k e th e p la c e o f life as e d u ­ cators, b u t they do m a k e us conscious of the best in o u r s e l v e s a n d o t h e r s . C r e d i t s b y n o m e a n s s a n c ­ tify us. 'V irtu e in te r p r e t e d as th e s im p le a n d i r r e ­ p r e s s i b l e s a t i s f a c t i o n w i t h t h e g i f t o f lif e , is m e m o ­ r a b l e p r a i s e o f G o d . G r e e t i n g e a c h d a y w i t h jo y , m a k i n g e a c h d a y e l a s t i c , s t a r r y , a n d i m m o r t a l is tru e ed ucation.

PLAYED

D u r i n g t h e w i n t e r o f 1 9 3 9 , Little Women o f L o u is a M a y A lc o tt a n d d r a m a tiz e d by M is s P h e lp s w as p r e s e n te d by a cast of ele v e n p rin c ip a ls. T h e story, fa m ilia rly k n o w n a n d fo n d ly lo v ed fo r n e a r ly t h r e e - q u a r t e r s o f a c e n tu r y is o f s i m p l e d aily life o f fo u r g irls in a N e w E n g la n d fam ily h o m e , o v e r w h i c h Mary Agnes Fitzgerald p r e s i d e d w ith h e r characteristic "jo ie de v iv re ” a n d c o n ta ­ g i o u s g o o d h u m o r . H e r fine t r a i n i n g o f r i g h t e o u s ­ n es s in t h e w ill to se rv e h e l p e d th e g ir ls to s a c ri­ fice e v e n t h e i r C h r i s t m a s D a y b r e a k f a s t f o r G o d ' s p recio u s po o r. G o o d M rs. M a rc h w o u ld never h a v e c o m p r e h e n d e d th e m o d e r n d iv o rc e o f ch arity f r o m f a i t h a n d h o p e , n o r its a lo o fn e ss f ro m w a rm th an d asp iratio n .

• O u r h u m b le g ra titu d e a n d en th u sia stic a p p re c ia ­ t i o n , w i t h d e e p r e s p e c t a n d e s t e e m , w 'e lls f r o m t h e h e a r t s o f a l l S o d a l i s t s t o Reverend E d w a r d Kellenberg, T w ’o d r a m a t i z a t i o n s o f t h e L i f e o f J e s u s C h r i s t w 'e r e m a d e e x q u i s i t e l y p o i g n a n t in th e te n d e r a n d d ev o tio n al e x p la n a tio n of o u r R everend speaker.

It se e m e d as t h o u g h the sh a d o w s h a d lifted a n d tim e w a s ro lle d aw ay.

O u r a d o r a t i o n w a s o n e w i t h t h a t o f t h e a n g e l s as G o d ’s m a j e s t y , h o l i n e s s , a n d l o v e w e r e m a g n i f i ­ c e n tly to ld f ro m B e th le h e m to C a lv a ry a n d b e y o n d , t h e A s c e n s i o n . ’'X d i a t s h a l l b e o u r e c s t a s i e s o f d e ­ l i g h t o n t h e f ir s t v i s i o n o f o u r d e a r Q u e e n a n d M o t h e r , t h e f i rs t s o u n d o f h e r v o i c e , t h e fi rs t caress of h er m ate rn a l e m b r a c e !

T h e A n n u a l R osary P rocession w as h eld on M a y 31. R a in m a d e th e o u td o o r p a g e a n t im p o s ­ s i b l e . R e v e r e n d ’S X 'ill ia m H a n l e y o f f i c i a t e d .

N o t h i n g d u s ty o r o b n o x i o u s w a s e v id e n t in th e f i n e s e n t i m e n t o f Ann Patricia Kane, s i x t e e n a n d a s p i r i n g t o b e a p e r f e c t l a d y . S h e is n o u r i s h e d a n d s u p p o r t e d by th e id e a lis m o f h e r e x c e lle n t m o th e r a n d h e r m a r r i a g e w i t h L a u r i e ’s t u t o r , Grace Reale s e e m e d j u s t r i g h t . T h e f i rs t w e d d i n g in a f a m i l y is a g r e a t e v e n t a n d G r a c e k n e w i t ! B e t h , t h e s h y little o n e o f th irte e n , th e sa in t o f th e fa m ily w as p l a y e d b y Oradell Shelley w h o s e m e l o d i o u s L i e b e s t r a u m e lin g e rs y et in lo v e ly to n e a n d c h a r m . E v en th e stern R e v e re n d M r. M a rc h th e g r a n ite c o m p le ­ m e n t o f m o th e rly M rs. M a rc h a n d ste rn ly p o r­ t r a y e d b y Elizabeth Brennan, s o f t e n e d i n t h e f l o w o f m e m o r y w h e n B e t h ’s s o f t f r a i l t y t o o k h e r f r o m t h i s v a l e o f t e a r s . Clarice Koehler w a s t h e e x ­ cellent a n d c h a rm in g c o q u e tte th a t A m y w as. H e r speech a n d g race m ad e h er p erfo rm an ce a p lay ­ g o e r ’s j o y ! "'X'e s u s p e c t t h a t s o m e t h i n g m o r e t h a n

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t ile tlu iii Dehcilii!^ Sm idy s p o k e o n v a r i o u s p h a s e s ot ( a th o lic A c tio n to th e S e n io r s tu d e n ts .

Captain William E. Haskell, Jr., A s s i s t a n t t o t h e P re sid e n t o f the N e w Y o rk H e ra ld T rib u n e d is ­ c o u r s e d e l o q u e n t l y o n N e w s p a p e r VC'ritin,i; a s a C .a re c r . H i s p e r s o n a l i t y l e n t s u c h v e r v e to h i s d i s ­ cu ssio n th at th e S en io rs f o u n d th em se lv e s n ew ly a n i m a t e d to hijth e n d e a v o r . H is le tte r fo llo w s : D ear M other: I w a n t to t e ll y o u a g a i n h o w m u c h I e n j o y e d b e in g at y o u r w o n d e r f id sch o o l, an d I c am e aw ay i m b u e d w i t h t h e f e e l i n g t h a t I h a d b e e n in a v e r y b e a u tif u l, holy p lace. 1 d id so e n jo y th e m e e tin g a f t e r I ,u ave m y t a l k , a n d y o u r g e n e r o u s h o s p i ­ tality.

I a m e n c lo sin g tw o sh eets of facsim ile n e w s ­ p a p e r s a n i l I w i s h y o u w o u l d g i v e o n e o f t h e m to M rs. J o h n A faher w h o req u ested o n e fo r you a n d o n e f o r her.

W i t h all b est w is h e s to y o u a n d y o u r c o lle a g u e s a n d y o u r Hock, b e lie v e m e V e ry re sp ec tfu lly yours, ^X■lLLIAM li .

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AssistJHl to the Presidetit New York HeriAld Tribune • D e a r M o th e r: I c a n 't b e g in to tell y o u o f m y e m o t i o n s at th e trem en d o u s d istinction that you and yours have c o n f e r re l o n m e in th e s p ir itu a l b o u q u e t w h ic h J receiv ed th is m o r n in g o n m y r e tu rn f r o m th e holid ay s.

I re a lly feel th a t I a m u n w o r t h y o f su c h d is ­ tin c tio n a n d I w a n t to tell yo u h o w h u m b ly a n d g ra te fu lly I ap p reciate w h a t you have done.

T h e b e a u t i f u l p a i n t i n g I w dll k e e p a l w a y s i n a c o n sp ic u o u s p lace w ith a g re a t deal o f g ra titu d e a n d a p p r e c i a t i o n n o t o n l y f o r it s o w m a r t i s t i c b e a u ty b u t a ls o f o r w h a t it r e p re s e n ts .

I d o h o p e th a t I m a y b e a b le to s e rv e y o u o r th e O r d e r s o m e ti m e to try to show ' m y a p p r e ­ ciation.

H u m b l y a n d re sp e c tfu lly yours, NX'i l l i a m E . H

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T h e $ 1 0 0 l irs t p r i z e in t h e n a t i o n a l e s s a y c o n ­ test f o r C a th o lic h ig h sc h o o l a n d a c a d e m y s tu d e n ts c o n d u c te d by M rs . J. S e rg e a n t C ra m , f o u n d e r of th e P e a c e H ou.se, I I 0 t h S tre e t a n d E if th A v e n u e , has b een a w a r d e d to J o h n J. B u r k e , o f 1010 N X 'a s h i n g t o n S t r e e t , D o r c h e s t e r , M a s s . , a j u n i o r s t u d e n t at th e B o s to n C o l l e g e H i g h S c h o o l, T h e t o p i c w a s " ' X ' h y I D o N o t B e l i e v e in W a r a n d W o u l d N o t W i l l i n g l y P a r t i c i p a t e in A n y W a r E x c e p t in D e f e n s e o f th e S oil o f M '' B e lo v e d U n i t e d S tates o f A m e r ic a .”

T h e w in n e r of th e secotid p riz e o f $ 5 0 w as Miss Lorraine Anne Moore, o f 4 4 E a s t 2 0 8 t h S treet, B ro n x , a se v e n th te r m s tu d e n t at th e A c a d e m y o f M o u n t St. U r s u l a , 2 0 0 t h S t r e e t a n d M a rio n A v e n u e , B ronx.

T h e w in n e r o f the th ird priz e w as M iss M a r ­ g a r e t M c G a rv e y , o f 136 -0 6 2 4 1 st S treet, R o sed ale, L o n g I s l a n d , a s e c o n d y e a r s t u d e n t a t St. A g n e s A c a d e m ic S ch o o l at R o c k v ille C e n te r, L o n g Islan d .

T h e w in n e r of th e fo u rth p riz e w a s M iss C laire J o h n s to n e , o f 3 30 U p p e r T e rra c e , S an F rancisco, C a l . , a j u n i o r s t u d e n t a t S t. R o s e A c a d e m y o f S an F rancisco.

T h e f i f t h p r i z e w i n n e r w 'a s E d w i n F r e e m a n o f 1301 S o u th C o ro n a , D e n v e r , C oL , a s o p h o m o r e s t u d e n t a t t h e S t. F r a n c i s d e S a l e s H i g h S c h o o l of D enver.

E n t r i e s w 'e r e r e c e i v e d f r o m s c h o t ) l s t h r o u g h o u t th e L lnited S tates. T h e h i g h s ta n d a r d a n d g r e a t n u m b e r of th e essays m a d e th e d e c is io n very d ifficult. M r s . C r a m w is h e s to p a r t i c u l a r l y t h a n k th e S isters a n d B ro th e rs f o r th e ir h e lp a n d c o ­ o p e r a tio n . M rs . C r a m h o p e s to h a v e a n o t h e r c o n ­ test s h o r tly w h i c h w ill b e b a s e d o n a m o r e de fin ite p eace angle.

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T h e b itin g ta n g of a u tu m n days called fo rth t h e s p i r i t w h i c h m a k e s p i g s k i n s fly a n d c h e e r i n g fa n s rise as o n e to g r e e t a su c cess fu l play. A m o n g t h e g l o w i n g s p e c t a t o r s , Eileen "Mickey” McGirr,

Lorraine Moore, Joan Kelleher, Irene Bender, Betty McDermott, a n d Mary Shell s h o u t e d t h e m ­ s e l v e s v o i c e l e s s i n e v e r y g a m e . Mary Braca, Mary Sraul, a n d Anne Vachio a l w a y s p l a y e d s a f e w i t h

askell

Assistant to the President New York Herald Tribune T H R E E 'X 'IN S C H O L A R S H I P S A w a r d s a t A c a d e m y o f M o u n t S t. U r s u l a a r e Announced T h e A c a d e m y o f M o u n t St. U r s u l a , 2 0 0 t h S t r e e t a n d M a rio n A v e n u e , the B ro n x , a n n o u n c e d yester­ day th e a w a rd o f sc h o la rsh ip s to th ree y o u n g w o m e n on th e basis of c o m p e titiv e e x a m in a tio n s a t th e A c a d e m y last S a tu r d a y , A p r il 2 0 th .

Miss Anne Marie Murray o f 2 6 6 5 G r a n d C o n ­ co u rse, a s tu d e n t at th e A c a d e m y , receiv ed the M o u n t S t. U r s u l a A l u m n a e S c h o l a r s h i p , Miss Eliza­ beth Barbara Boarman o f 3 4 0 E a s t 1 9 8 t h S t r e e t , a s tu d e n t at O u r L ady o f R e fu g e P a ro c h ia l School, w 'o n t h e M o u n t St. U r s u l a L e a g u e S c h o l a r s h i p .

Miss Mary Boylan o f 2 9 1 0 D e '' K 'i tt P l a c e , a s t u ­ d e n t a t t h e H o l y R o s a i y P a r o c h i a l S c h o o l , w 'a s t h e w i n n e r o f t h e M o u n t St. U r s u l a A c a d e m y S c h o l a r ­ ship. " A l l a r e f u l l s c h o l a r s h i p s e n t i t l i n g t h e W 'in n e r to f o u r y ears' t u i t i o n , ” th e a n n o u n c e m e n t said.

— The Netr York Times. A p r i l 2 7 , 1 9 4 0 .

a p e n n a n t f o r F o r d h a m a n d a p i n f o r St. M a r y ' s .

T h e y c o u l d n o t lose.

■W hen T h a n k s g i v i n g c a m e r o u n d t h e l o c a l f o o t ­ ball se a so n drew ' to a r e lu c ta n t close, a n d b a s k e t­ ball, h e re to fo re lu rk in g in th e w in g s, v e n tu re d o u t i n p r i m a l g l o r y . B a s k e t b a l l h a d b o t h it s f a n s a n d it s p l a y e r s w i t h t h e t w o m o s t e n t h u s i a s t i c "Mickey" M eSirr a n d Marie Mascet+a. fans H a r d l y le s s v e h e m e n t w a s t h e i r s t o r m a n d d a s h o n t h e c o u r t W'ith o n l y Loretta Power t o e q u a l t h e m i n t h e i r s p l e n d i d d i s p l a y o f e n e r g y . Moira

Brennan, Peggy Garvey, Claire Durr, Kay Daly, "Chippy" Mozzolla, Peggy Waters, a n d I g a v e o u r all o n th e v a rsity .

W h e n t h e fir s t p e l t i n g s n o w s t o r m c a m e t o lay e rm in e b lan k ets on B ro n x P a rk H ill, th e frosty a ir ra n g w ith th e sh o u ts o f sle d d in g parties.

Madge Kavanagh w a s a l w 'a y s o n t h e b o t t o m o f t h e h e a p a n d l i t t l e "Sneesy" b a r e l y h e l d o n t o t h e runners.

Moira Brennan's v i b r a n t s h r i e k s a n d m erry re p a rte e k e p t the c ro w d in g ales of la u g h ­ te r . H e r s i s t e r Betty f o l l o w e d h e r l e a d t o s u c h g o o d p u r p o s e th a t th e y c o u ld h a r d ly b e dis-

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in g , g iv in g stro n g s u p p o rt to th e g e n eral d in a n d h a p p y co n fu sio n . O n ly th e sw ift sw o o p of d a rk e n ­ i n g e v e n i n g c o m p e l l e d t h e m t o l e a v e t h e h i l l in so litary sp le n d o r. J u s t th e m o o n s p r in k lin g silv er p a t h s o f l i g h t u p o n t h e s t i l l y s n o w r e m a i n e d to keep the slo p e d ista n t com pany.

E v en th e chill o f w in try days c o u ld n o t k eep o u r b u o y a n t n a ta to rs fro m th e w a te r. In o u r in ­ s i d e p o o l s , Grace Looram, "Jerry" Hubbard, Aud­ rey Dooley, a n d Rita Donleavy s h o t t h r o u g h t h e t r a n q u i l w a t e r s . "Jerry" is v e r y w e l l - p r a c t i c e d in th e g e n tle art of p u s h in g a h esita n t d iv er fro m t h e b o a r d . S h e a n d Grace f o r m e d a d i l i g e n t d u o in w r e a k i n g h a r m le s s m is c h ie f in th e p o o l.

T h e w i n t e r w i n d s b l e w co ld , a n d o u r lakes f r o z e , a n d i c e s k a t i n g c a m e i n t o i ts o w n . T h e r h y th m ic cla s h o f steel b l a d e u p o n ice s e e m e d th e p l e a s a n t e s t s o u n d t o h e a r . Betty McDermott c a m e to p r a c tic e th e a r t a n d w a s h e r fa c e re d . It seem ed th at th e w in d w as particularly p u n ish in g a n d sh e w e n t h o m e w ith a b rillia n t w in d burn.

T h e s t i f f b r e e z e w a s m o r e k i n d l y t o Rita Donleavy a n d Mary Shell w h o l e f t w 'i t h j u s t t h a t h e a l t h y g lo w o f ch eek w h ic h co m es fro m ro llic k in g play i n t h e o p e n . Lorraine Moore, o u r S o d a l i t y P r e f e c t , Joan Kelleher, Marie Mascetta, Ada CarlonI, a n d I w e n t t o V a n C o r t l a n d t w h e r e w e t a u g h t t h e ic e to r e m a in in t h e p r o p e r p la c e w i t h r e s p e c t to o u r p e r s o n s . "Mickey" McGirr p r e f e r r e d t h e f r o z e n s u r f a c e o f T i b b e t t ’s B r o o k b e c a u s e i t w a s le s s c ro w d e d . " A ll th e m o re sp ace to fall in ," w o u ld r e m a r k th e cy n ical listen er.

T h e l a s t " g o o d ” d a y s o f a u t u m n a n d t h e fi rs t o f s p rin g sa w th e rid in g club en jo y in g a canter o n t h e b r i d l e p a t h . Moira Brennan a n d Lorraine Moore w e r e a l w a y s a s k i n g , " W h o ’s g o i n g r i d i n g th is S a tu rd a y ? ” T h e ir tw o m o st c o n stan t fo llo w e rs w e r e "Jerry" Hubbard a n d Grace Looram.

A p r i l a r r i v e d h e r e a n d w i t h it C la s s D a y . T h e F r e s h m e n b e g a n th e p a r a d e o f classes w ith an X f o r m a t i o n fin ally s e ttlin g in to an F. T h e i r p a le b lu e a n d w h ite g a v e th e m a very d ain ty a p p e a r­ ance. N e x t cam e th e S o p h o m o res w ith a D ru m M a j o r le a d in g th e ir g re e n a n d w h i t e forces. W i t h b a to n tw ir lin g a n d h e a d h e ld h ig h , sh e led th e m to th e tu n e o f th e B e e r B a rrel P o lk a. In p erfect ste p th ey m a rc h e d d o w n th e g y m ro llin g a barrel b e fo re th e m , e n d in g th e ir p a ra d e in th e cen ter w i t h a class c h e e r. I m m e d ia te ly f o l l o w i n g w e r e t h e J u n i o r s in p e a c h a n d b lu e . T h e i r m a r c h te r ­ m in a te d in a la rg e J w h ic h b ro k e u p w h e n th eir d o g m asco t ran fo r th e sid e lin es. L ast o n th e p r o ­ g r a m w 'e r e w e S e n i o r s c l a d i n a q u a m a r i n e a n d " o l d . 'VC'e p a r a d e d o n t o t h e f i e l d t o t h e t u n e o f t h e D e a t h M a r c h . H a r d l y h a d w e f o r m e d o u r S, w’h e n t h e S e n o r m a s c o t , F e r d i n a n d t h e B u l l , l o p e d o n to th e c o u rt w ith a b u n c h o f flow ers clen ch ed b e tw e e n his p a p ie r m a c h e jaw s. F e rd in a n d k ick ed u p h is h eels an d , h a v in g sm e lle d th e flo w ers h e ld by t h e le a d e r, h e w a s r e m o v e d w i t h difficulty d r a w in g th e e n tire S e n io r f o rm a tio n a fte r him .

T h e F re sh m e n a n d th e S o p h o m o re s lin e d u p f o r th e o p e n i n g g a m e o f b a s k e tb a ll. T h e ball surged u p and d o w n th e co u rt w ith zealo u s p l a y e r s h o t o n i ts t r a i l . F i r s t u n d e r o n e b a s k e t a n d th en u n d e r th e o th e r th e b a ttle rag ed . T h e F re s h m e n sc o red tw o p o in ts on fo u l sh o ts, o n e b y Josephine O'Connor, t h e o t h e r b y Terese M it­ chell. A t th e clo se o f th e h a lf th e sc o re s to o d tw o a l l w i t h t h e S o p h ' s b a s k e t m a d e b y B e t t y Burke.

T h e n t h e S e n o i r s a n d J u n i o r s t o o k t h e fie ld .

T h e S e n i o r s l o s t t h e f irs t s c o r e w i t h a m a g n i f i c e n t t a l l y b y Mary Thellusson f r o m f a r l e f t c o u r t . I m ­ m e d i a t e l y w e r e t a l i a t e d w i t h a b a s k e t b y Marie Mascetta. T h u s t h e p l a y r o c k e d b a c k a n d f o r t h , th e sc o re at th e h a l f six to f o u r in o u r fav o r.

A g a i n , t h e F r e s h i e s a n d S o p h s w e n t f o r t h to th e fray. D e s p ite h e ro ic resistance, th e S o p h s sc o re d tw o a d d itio n a l b ask ets to w in th e g a m e six to tw o .

T h e S e n i o r s a n d J u n i o r s t h e n c a m e o u t to f i n i s h t h e i r r e m a i n i n g h a l f . Helen Mitchell, Mary ihellusson. a n d "Chippy" Mozzolla s t r o v e t o s t e m o u r c o n q u e r in g tid e to n o avail fo r th e S e n io r guards, Mickey McGirr, Moira Brennan, a n d Lorraine Moore w e r e t h e i r m a t c h . O n t h e o t h e r h a n d t h e J u n i o r g u a r d s , Peggy Garvey, Peggy Waters, a n d Kay Daly c o u l d n o t s t o p o u r f o r ­ w a r d s , Marie Mascetta, Loretta Power, a n d m e .

F r o m six to f o u r th e sco re w e n t to elev en to f o u r w i t h each f o r w a r d c o n t r ib u tin g to o u r ad v an ce .

T h e S e n i o r s a n d S o p h o m o r e s h a d w o n t h e fi rs t lap o f th e series. T h e f o llo w in g F rid a y f e a tu re d th e dau n tless Sophs a g ain st the d eterm in ed Seniors.

T h e S o p h o m o r e s r e c e i v e d t h e b a l l w i t h Betty Burke a t c e n t e r . D e s p i t e a l l t h e i r e f f o r t s , t h e y l o s t th e ball b e fo re th e o n s la u g h t o f o u r re g u la r g u a rd s. T h e basket w as n ev er in any real d a n g e r a n d th e sc o re at h a l f w as f o u r te e n to n o t h i n g in o u r favor.

T h e n , t h e S e n i o r s r e v e r s e d i ts t e a m w i t h t h e f o rw a r d s p la y in g g u a r d s a n d vice versa. I m m e d i­ a te ly th e S o p h s to o k a n e w lease o n life a n d u n d e r Barbara Moran's l e a d e r s h i p , t h e y g a i n e d f o u r p o i n t s . Moira a n d "Mickey" e a c h c o u n t e r e d w i t h a b a sk e t m a k in g th e to tal o f p o in ts earn ed in th e th ir d q u a r t e r ev en . By th is tim e o u r e r s t­ w h ile g u a rd s w e re p retty g o o d fo rw a rd s b u t the p resen t g u a rd s w e re eith er ju st n o g o o d or the S o p h o m o re s w e r e to o sm a rt. A s o n e o f th o se g u a r d s , I p r e f e r t o t h i n k t h e l a t t e r . In a n y e v e n t , Barbara s c o r e d a n a d d i t i o n a l f o u r p o i n t s i n t h e l a s t q u a r t e r w h i l e Lorraine Moore t a l l i e d a n o t h e r tw o fo r o u r team .

W h e n t h e final w h i s t l e b le w , th e sc o re re a d tw 'e n ty -tw o to e ig h t. T h e S e n io rs h a d r e t a i n e d th e b ask etb all tro p h y they h a d w o n th e p re v io u s year as J u n i o r s .

R a in y A p r il g lid e d in to su n n y M a y a n d m y ria d s o f w h ite a n d scarlet te n n is balls s u d d e n ly b lo s­ s o m e d f o rth . T h e s p h e re s sa ile d t h r o u g h th e air n o t to th e s p o t in itia lly d e s ig n a te d b u t r a th e r d o w n th e slo p e s o f N o r t h H ill. S ix teen p lay ers, w o u ld -b e e m b ry o A lice M a rb le 's faced each o th e r on e ith e r sid e of an im a g in a ry n e t on o u r sin g le co u rt. A p p r o x im a te ly ten o th e rs to o k th e ir sta tio n on

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T h e n c a m e th e g r e a t classic o f o u t d o o r hall.

T h e h a l l is n o w q u i t e l o p - s i d e d , h u t n o m a t t e r , it saw days o f g re a t g o o d fun.

A delin e R . P asternac .k , S p e e c h D e p t . , T h o m a s Jefferson

Anne Vachio h a d a b e a u t i f u l s t a n c e a t h o m e p la te . O u r o n ly w is h w a s th at s h e w o u l d h it m o r e t h a n a o n e a n d a h a l f b a s e h it, f o r it w a s really e x a s p e i a t i n g to see h e r p u t o u t m id w a y b e t w e e n first a n d s e c o n d . Loretta Power c o u l d c e rta in ly se n d th e ball fo r a lo n g rid e w ith n e v e r le s s t h a n a t w o - b a g g e r in h e r t u r n a t h a t . Rita O'Connor h a d a w i c k e d e y e f o r t h e b a l l , a l w a y s b e a t i n g it t o Irrst a n d o f t e n t i m e s to s e c o n d . Mary Riche w a s a n o t h e r d e t e r m i n e i l p l a y e r a n d w h e n s h e c o n n e c t e d s h e d i d it in a b i g w a y . If y o u e v e r trie d to sp e a r o n e of h er long d riv es, you w o u ld k n o w w h a t I m e a n . "Jerry" Hubbard n e v e r d i d a n y t h i n g h u t b u n t , b u t , s t r a n g e to say, th e p i t c h e r n e v e r c a u g h t o n to h e r s t y l e . Irene Bender w a s s h y o f a f a s t i n s h o o t b u t in a p i n c h s h e a l w a y s d e l i v e r e d . Pat Kiernan h a d t h e h a b i t o f s m i l i n g a t t h e p i t c h e r in a " p r e t t y , p l e a s e ” m a n n e r w h i c h a l m o s t a l w 'a y s w o r k e d . Grace Reale w a s a l w a y s confident a n d w ith g o o d reason fo r sh e n ev er f a i l e d to m a k e a s i n g l e . S h e w a s a l s o a n e x c e l l e n t first-b asem an , c a tc h in g m o st o f th e w ild th r o w s by o u r " e x c e ll e n t " fielders. T h e n , I c a m e . I w a s a l w a y s p r o n e t o p o p p i n g f lie s, t h o u g h s o m e t i m e s I d i d h it a m e a n d r iv e ju s t o u t s i d e th e fo u l line.

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1 1, 1 9 4 0

M o th e r M . S erap h in e A c a d e m y o f M t . S t. U r s u l a 20()th S tre e t a n d M a r i o n A v e n u e B e d fo rd Park , N e w Y o rk C ity D e a r M o th e r S eraphine; R ecently I h a d th e p riv ile g e o f ju d g in g th e oratorical co n test sp o n s o re d by th e A m erican L e g i o n i n w h i c h Miss Clarice Koehler, o f M t . S t.

L Irsula p a r tic ip a te d . A s I r e m a r k e d a t th e tim e it WTXS p a r t i c u l a r l y d i f f i c u l t f o r t h e j u d g e s t o m a k e a d e c is io n b e c a u s e a ll o f t h e c o n t e s t a n t s w e r e so g o o d . H o w 'e v e r I d o th i n k th a t M is s K o e h l e r m a d e a n e x c e p t i o n a l l y f in e p r e s e n t a t i o n o f h e r subject a n d th a t p o te n tia lly sh e w a s th e best of th e p articip an ts. A s I to ld h e r th a t e v e n in g I t h i n k t h a t s h e h a s a p a r t i c u l a r l y fine v o ic e w h i c h is c e r t a i n l y m o s t a d a p t a b l e t o r a d i o . I t h i n k t h a t if th e m i c r o p h o n e h a d b e e n u s e d at th e c o n te s t M iss K o e h le r w o u ld h a v e m a d e a fa r b e tte r im ­ p ressio n u p o n th e ju d g es. H e r c u ltu re d v o ice w a s h a n d i c a p p e d by th e siz e o f th e a u d i t o r i u m . In all o t h e r re s p e c ts s h e a ls o m a k e s a v e ry fine i m ­ p ressio n . I d o th in k th a t th e y o u n g lady h as a b r ig h t f u t u r e b e f o re her.

In c lo s in g a l lo w m e to a s s u r e y o u th a t y o u m a y b e v e r y p r o u d o f t h e f in e i m p r e s s i o n t h a t y o u r re p re s e n ta tiv e m a d e at th e o ra to ric a l co n test.

au d i­

H ig h

Sincerely yo u rs,

R eginald T. K e n ne d y

School e PARENTS'

St.

DAY

HELD

T h e fo llo w in g p ro g ra m

ON

MAY

24,

1940

w as p resen ted :

A Pageant of Love

T h o m a .s C os t e l l o , M t . S t. M i c h a e l H i g h S c h o o l J oyce E n s l i n , C h r i s t o p h e r C o l u m b u s H i g h

E l d e r l y W o m a n ................................... M ar ion K le m en s C h i l d .......................................................... E li zab eth B urke M o t h e r ............................................................... A n n e K o p p e l C h i l d r e n ..................................................... A ngel a M urray E il e e n R eilly E la in e D iserio Prom G i r l .......................................................... M a r jo r y G erosa H i g h S c h o o l G i r l ...................................... F rances R usso C o l l e g e G i r l .................................................................... P atricia B yrne C o l l e g e G r a d u a t e .......................... T hhrese T i n n e i . ly N u n ......................................................................... S us an B raca Bride ..................................................K at h ry n R eilly Virgin ........................................D or o t h y Rochf ord N arrator ................................ Beverly P r o t z m a n n

School

Bo a r m a n , F o r d h a m

L egion

O rato rical C ontest

U rsu la

H ig h

his

•

K e n n e t h D e M ail le , S t. N i c h o l a s o f T o l e n t i n e

M ar.s h al i . J .

and

A m erican ism C o m m ittee

School

J ohn D u n n , A ll H a llo w s H ig h School C larice K o e h l e r , A c a d e m y o f M o u n t

Tucker

M arcus S p ir o , Chairman.

Speakers

H ig h

Tom m y

B ronx C o u n ty A m erican

Avenue

C ha r l e .s D u n l e a v y . T h e o d o r e R o o s e v e l t

by

W illiam G. F o e r c h , Chairman,

ATTENDS

in

fu rn ish ed

M iles D. K e n n e d y , Commander,

CONTEST held

D irecto r, N a ­ C o n feren ce o f C h ristian s an d Je w s

o rch estra.

COUNTY,

to riu m o f P ublic School N o . 70, W e e k s a n d 1 7 3 rd S treet, B ro n x , N . Y ,

School

R eginald T. K e n n e d y , R e g i o n a l

M a y g r e w w a r m e r a n d s p o rts d e te r io r a te d in to s tr o lls a r o u n d th e circle. T h e stro lls h a lte d in to s c e n e s o f s t i l l l ife . B u t , s u m m e r , r e a l h o t s u m m e r , w ill see s w im m i n g a n d b o atin g , fishing a n d p ic ­ n i c k i n g . T h e " O u t - D o o r G i r l " is n o t d e a d ; s h e m erely sleepeth.

J e a n H e l e n D orchak

M OUNT

H ig h

\X 'ii.L iA M G . F o E K t . l i , V i c e - C o m m . , B r o n x A m e r i ­ can L egion

P re p a ra to ry

School

K e n n e t h Lu t z , B a r n a r d S c h o o l f o r B o y s J e a n n e B egley , St. B a r n a b a s H i g h S c h o o l S hir l ey Rosenb erg , J a m e s M o n r o e H i g h S c h o o l H arold Sc h n e i d e r , E v a n d e r C h i l d s H i g h S c h o o l J acob St e i n , H i g h S c h o o l o f S c i e n c e A lfred J o h n H e n r y , S t. S i m o n S t o c k H i g h School

J o h n H iggins , M a n h a t t a n C o l l e g e H i g h S c h o o l J os ep h C h a l l , D e 'OC'itt C l i n t o n H i g h S c h o o l A r t hur G ali .ig a n , M t . S t. M i c h a e l H i g h S c h o o l

When Moonbeams Softly Fall...........................................E . C h a r l e s M arie F iorito

[80]

T he W a tc h T o w e r ~

X IN G U

D a ly , L a u re D a n a h y , E le a n o re E b o li, M a t h il d e E d w a r d s , E d n a ja n e E sp o sito , A n n e E ustace, K a t h ­ e r in e F lynn, R o sem ary F rick, R o se m a ry G a lla g h e r , D o ris G alleg h er, K ath leen H o lb ro o k , P eggy K elle­ h e r , A g n e s L o w , J o h a n n a M a l a z z o , J o a n M s E n e r > ', K a th e r in e M e a n y , M a ry L u ise M o le , Jo a n O 'B rie n , L aurette O ’C o n n o r , M aryann O 'R e illy , M ary P e n z a , D o r i s P e r a z z o , D o r o t h y P e t r e l li, H e l e n P e tretti, M a r io n P o w e rs, L e o n a R izzo, H e n r ie tta R u e p p e l, D o lo r e s S cholle, M a r ie Stauble, J a n e t 'W a ls h , E ile e n Z in g g , M a ry Z w e ife l.

Comedy in One Act

By T ho m as S eller A u t h o r i z e d D r a m a t i z a t i o n f r o m E d i t h 'NX’h a r t o n ’s s t o r y o f t h e s a m e n a m e . P r e s e n t e d b y s p e c i a l a r r a n g e m e n t w i t h D r a m a t i s t s P lay S ervice, N e w Y o r k C ity.

Characters M rs.

M rs.

M rs.

M iss M iss M rs.

O sric

B allinger................................... E il e e n H a n l o n L e v e r e t ............................................. C larice K o e h l e r P li n th ...............................................M ary G raul E ucharistic C rusaders V a n V l u y c k ............................................................... B etty B r e n n a nP a t r i c i a B r e s l i n , A u d r e y B u r n s , U r s u l a C a r l y l e , L a u r a G l y d e ............................... P atricia C o n l o n C o n sta n c e C a rro zza, F lo ren ce C o rm ach io , M a r ­ Fanny R o b y......... M ary A gnes F itzgerald g u e rite C ostello, V io la C ro n in , C la ir C u llin a n , D ane

( a d istin g u ish ed w o m a n novelist) M argaret K avanagh

Je an D o lan , M aro ly n D o n o h u e , L aure D anaby.

A g n e s D o o le y , E le a n o r E b o li, E d n a ja n e E sp osito, A n n e E u stace, V i r g i n ia F ly n n , R o s e m a ry F rick, R osem ary G a lla g h e r, M a ry G e h an , K athleen, H ic ­ key, K a th e r in e H o g a n , L ucy H o o la h a n , D o r o th y H ew so n , O liv e Jo h a n n , V irg in ia K earns, Peggy K elleh er, Jo a n K erw in , G race K iernan, H elen K le in , A g n e s L o w , E le n o L u p o , M a ry M a c N a m a ra , J o h a n n a M alazzo, Jo a n M cE nery, M a ry M c G la d e , H elen e M cH cgh, K ath erin e M eany, B eatrice O 'B rie n , Joan O 'B rie n , K ath erin e O 'C o n n e ll, H e l e n O ’C o n n e r , J o s e p h i n e O ' C i n n o r , M a r y a n n O ’R e i l l y , V i r g i n i a P a a r , M a r y P e n z a , D o r o t h y P etrelli, M a r io n P o w e rs, V ir g in ia Q u in n , D o lo r e s S c h o l l e , P a t r i c i a S c h r o fF , H e l e n S h u b i c k , M a r i e S tau b le, M a rio n S u lliv an , A n n e T h o rn to n , Ja n e t y X 'a ls h , E i l e e n Z i n g g .

A M aid ................................................... R ose S enese N a ira to r .................................C a t h e r in e M i n n o c k

Time:

The

P resent

May D a n c e ................................................. G rade T w o Spring D a n c e ........................................................ G rade F ive S o u v e n i r d e S e v i l l e ...................................... G rade E ight W'ho 'VChll B e Q u e e n ? ..........................L ittle O nes • R E C E P T IO N

HELD

ON

MAY

28,

1940

1. Processional 2.

Coronation of Our Lady Lor raine M o o r e , Prefect,

w ith C o u rt of H o n o r: Iren e B en d er, M a ry Braca, M a rie B rady, E liz a b e th B re n n a n , M o ira B rennan, V irg in ia D o u g h erty , B etty G riffin, Ann H o g a n , M a rg a r e t K a v a n a u g h , P a tric ia K iern an , C a th e rin e M in n o c k , V irg in ia M u llig an , M a rie P a la d in o , R ose Senese, A n n e V achio.

3.

THE

1940-1941 H . M itc h e ll C. D u r r M . W aters A. W ed lo ck M . G arvey

Prefect First Vice-Prefect Second Vice-Prefect Recording Secretary Financial Secretary C h a ir m a n of C o m m it t e e

E. E. J. L.

H an lo n M c G irr K elleh er Pow er R. K i n g G. H ubbard M . M ascetta 4.

5.

6.

7.

Our Lady’s Eucharistic A V ssions

J. L a u ria P. H a lle y G . M a tth e w s M . V acc arin o M . L illis R. R yan M . G eary

Literature Social Publicity^ Membership Ceremonials of Reception Blessing of Insignia Promises Act of Consecration Ave Maria .......................................... C lasses 1 9 4 3 Benediction of the Aiosl Blessed Sacrament Recessional Celebrant, R everend J o h n C. M ul c a h y

PRESENTS

T h e re w ere fo u r perform ances an d each one w a s p r e s e n t e d w i t h e q u a l s u c c e s s , a n d o w i n g to th e h a rd w o rk a n d in sp iratio n o f M iss W in if r e d M a r s h a ll, all w e n t s m o o th ly a n d a c c u ra te ly d u r i n g each p erform ance.

T h e la rg e ch o ru s d id th e ir p a rt sp le n d id ly , m a k ­ i n g a c o l o r f u l b a c k g r o u n d o f s o n g a n d d a n c e in s u p p o r t o f t h e cast. T h e p r in c ip a ls a re in d e e d w o r t h y o f p r a i s e f o r t h e w a y in w h i c h t h e y f u l ­ f i ll e d M i s s M a r s h a l l ’s h i g h e s t e x p e c t a t i o n s . V i v i a n T h o m a s as t h e D u k e a n d D o r i s P e r a z z o as his D u c h e ss m a d e an h ila rio u s c o u p le a n d th e tw o slig h tly b e w ild e re d g o n d o lie rs as p o rtra y e d by L il l i a n N e m e t h as M a r c o a n d M a r i e F i o r i t o as G u is e p p i, c o u ld n o t h a v e b e e n b etter. P a tric ia

A spi ra nt s W o r t h y o f R e c e p t i o n I n t o t h e Sodality o f O ur L ady " A true Child of Mary will never b e lost.”

—

CLUB

G O N D O L IE R S

W h e n t h e s p r i n g c o m e s t o M o u n t St. U r s u l a a n d M a y b rin g s th e flo w ers a n d g re e n leaves th e m e l o d i c s t r a i n s o f m u s i c a r e h e a r d r e s o u n d i n g in t h e a u d i t o r i u m . I t is l i k e a h o m e c o m i n g b e c a u s e it s e e m s t h a t G i l b e r t a n d S u lliv a n h a v e a m o n ­ o p o ly on th e G le e C lu b p erfo rm an ces. T h is year it w a s " T h e G o n d o l i e r s , ” a gay, lig h t s to ry o f love, m a id e n s a n d s o n g . T h e b r ig h tly d re s s e d g irls w i t h t h e ir la u g h in g eyes a n d b r illia n t flo w ers a g a in dance a n d w a it for the light-hea rted, w ife ­ h u n t i n g g o n d o lie rs. T h e p o m p o u s D u k e o f P lazaT o r o , w i t h h i s d i g n i f i e d D u c h e s s a n d t h e i r sw’e e tv o ic e d d a u g h te r , p ass in re v iew . T h e s u r p r is in g l o v e s t o r y o f C a s i l d a a n d L u i z is t o l d i n s o n g s o f love a n d so rro w . T h e h a p p y g o n d o lie rs sa u n te re d o n th e ir w a y w ith a so n g o n th e ir lip s a n d love in th e ir hearts. T h e h a p p y e n d in g a p p ro a c h e s an d th e t r i u m p h a n t finale r in g s o u t joyously.

Installation of Sodality Officers

1939-1940 L, M o o r e I. B e n d e r B. G riffin J. D o r c h a k M . G raul

GLEE THE

St. Alphonsus de Liguori

M a rjo rie B o h len , G erald in e B olger, R e g in a B o rn ste a d , P a tric ia B reslin , U r s u la C a rly le, R o se­ m ary C arroll, C onstan ce C arrozza, D o ro th y C o n ­ lon, M a r g u e r ite C o stello , V io la C ro n in , M a rg a r e t

[81]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

S a n f o r d , L o y o la G u ilto y le , O r a d e l l S h e lle y an d M a rg e r y H u n t e r g a v e tiieir u su a l c h a r m in g p e r ­ f o rm a n c e s . S p ecial p r a is e s h o u ld b e g iveji to th e L r e s h m e n w h o , in t l i e i r fir s t y e a r o f l i i g h s c h o o l , e n a c te d so a d m i r a b l y t h e i r v a r i o u s roles. In all, th e Cilee f d u b p r e s e n t a t i o n w a s a suc cess w h i c h w d l lo n g b e re m e m b e re d by b o th th e s tu d e n ts of th e A c a d e m y a n d th e p a r e n ts o f th e g irls.

1 he Mount St. Ur\uLi Glee Club o f fic e r s a r c a s fo llo w s : D ir e c to r, 'X 'in ifre d M a r s h a l l ; P re s id e n t, Iren e B en d er; V ice-P resident, L oretta P ow er; S ecretary , P a tric ia K iern an , L'lbrarutnu M a r y B raca, K a t h e r i n e M i n n o c k , P d n a j a n e R eilly, R o se Senese, O rad ell S h elley .

Bm'niess Committee: I d iz a b e th G riffin, C h a ir m a n , assisted by: G e r a l ­ d in e B olger, M ary B o rn ste d t, H elen Conboy, M ary M c N a m a ra , M a ry I.o u ise M o le , L o re tta O C onnor, M arie R o d ier, H en rietta R ue ppel, M u r i e l S h a l l e y . Publicity Committee: H e l e n P e t retti, H e n r i e t t a R u e p p e l, M a r i e S ta u b le , O liv e Jo h a n n , fie ra ld in e B olner, H e le n M c H u g h , A n n e M u rra y , D o r o th y P etrelli.

O n M a y 8 th a n d lO tb th e G le e C lu b p r e se n te d T h e c a s t is a s f o l l o w s :

The Gondoliers.

The

Duke

of

P laza-T oro

(a

G rendee

of S p ain f

K a t h f r in e F l y n n a n d V ivie nn e T ho m as l.u iz

(h is

atten d an t)

O live J o h a n n a n d M ary J ane L awlor D o n A l h a m b r a D e l B o l e r o ( t h e G r a n d I n c i m 's i t o r ) M argaret T oreey

{Venetian Gondoliers) M a r c o P a l m i e r i .........................................L illi an N e m e t h G u i s e p p i P a l m i e r i ...............................P atricia S anford and M arie F iorito A n to n io ................................................. H e l e n M ullig an Francesco ........................................... M ar ion P owers G i o r g i o .............................................................. A n n e H ughes A n n i b a l e ................................................................................................

T h e D u c h e s s o f P l a z a - T o r o ................ D oris P erazzo Casilda (h er d a u g h t e r ) ......... L oyola G uil fo yl e and M ary J an e M c C a n n ( Contadine)

Gianetta

...........................................U rsula C arlyle and O radell S he ll ey T e s s a .......................................................... M argery H u n t e r and D or o t h y H ew so n Fiametta ........................................... P atricia B reslin and L aure D a n ah y Vittoria .............................. K a t he r in e O 'C o n n e l l G iulia ...................................................A udrey B urns I n e z ( t h e K i n g ’s F o s t e r - M o t h e r ) . . J o a n O 'D w yer

Chorus of Gondoliers and Pages: J . A r c h i b a l d , I. B e n d e r , A . B l i n n e , S. B r a c a , R . B u r n s , R . C o l ­ l in s , F . C o r n a c h i o , V . C r o n i n , C . C u l l i n a n , M .

D iC a n io , M . D o n a h u e , M . D o y le, M . D w y e r, M .

E d w a r d s , E . E s p o s ito , R. F a g a n , J . F is h e r , V .

F ly n n , R. F ric k , F. F rie d , D . G a l l a g h e r , M .

G e a ry , E. G riffin, E. H a r k in s , A . H e ith o ff, D .

H i c k e y , K . H i c k e y , L. H o d g s o n , K . H o g a n , L. H o o l a h a n , A . H u g h e s , P . K i e r n a n , J . K i r w i n , R. K o p p , D . L a n n o n , M . L a w l o r , E. L u p o , M .

M c G la d e , M . M c N a m a r a , K . M e a n y , T . M itc h e ll, M . M o l e , L. N o l a n , H , O ’C o n n o r , C . O ’N e i l l , M .

O ’R e i l l y , E. R e i l l y , K . R e i l l y , D . R o c h f o r d , E. R o g e rs , E. S lin ey , A . T h o r n t o n , T . T in n e ll y , J. 'W^alsh, E . ■'X^eishut.

Chorus of Contradine: E. B ra d le y , C a irn es, A .

D . Bayer, R. B o rn ste d t, V . B r o d e r i c k , I. B r u s t , P . B y r n e , J .

C a rlo n e, U . C arlyle, G . C o n n o r, M .

C r o w l e y , A , D o o l e y , E . l i b o l i , A , F . u s ta c e , A F o rz e -a l, M . G a l l a g h e r , M . G e h a n , M . G e r o s a , P H a n ra h a n . K. H o lb ro o k , G . H u n t, V . K erns, F K eatley , M . K e lle h e r, H . K lein, A. Low, J M c lin e ry , M . M c N a m a r a , M . C, M c N a m a r a , I M a g e e , J. M i l a z z o , C . M i n n o c k , M . M o r r i s , T M u n r o , A . O ' B r i e n , B. O ’B r i e n , J . O ' B r i e n , I O 'C o n n o r, V. Paar, M . P enza, M . P e rn ico n e, D P e t r e l l i , L. P o w e r , E. P r e s t o n , B, P r o t z m a n , V Q u i n n , M . R o d i e r , F. R u s s o . R . S e n e s e , M . S h a l ­ le y, H . SliL ibik, M . S t a r r s , M . S t a u b l e , D . V o l k , R. 'VX'hite, E. Z i n g g , M , Z w e i f e l . ^ M . B.

REVEREND

M OTHER

PR IO R E S S G E N E R A L

RETURNS T h e A c a d e m y o f M o u n t St. U r s u l a w a s g r e a t l y h o n o r e d b o th last y e a r a n d th is y e a r by t h e v is it o f V e r y R e v e r e n d M o t h e r M a r i e d e S t. J e a n M a rtin i, P rioress G e n e ra l o f th e U rsu lin e s of th e R o m a n U n io n . S he w a s a c c o m p a n ie d by R e v e re n d M o t h e r St. A l b e r t , F i r s t A s s i s t a n t G e n e r a l in R om e, and M o th e r M a rie de L ourdes, G en eral P ro c u ra to r o f th e M issio n s. M o th e r G e n e ra l has b e e n v i s i t i n g t h e v a r i o u s U r s u l i n e s c h o o l s in b o t h th e U n i t e d S tates a n d C a n a d a , v isits t h a t h a v e i n ­ c l u d e d Q u e b e c , ’W ' a s h i n g o n , C a l i f o r n i a , M o n t a n a , T e x a s, L o u isian a, an d C u b a . B e cau se o f p a ssp o rt tro u b le , M o th e r G e n e ra l c o u ld n o t o b tain p e rm is­ sio n to visit M e x ic o . M o t h e r G e n e r a l has b een th e h ead o f th e U r s u lin e O r d e r since 1926. In M a y o f last y e a r th e s tu d e n ts o f th e A c a d e m y a tte n d e d a n d to o k p a r t in a r e c e p tio n f o r t h e P rio re s s G e n e r a l. A f e w day s la te r M o t h e r G e n e r a l left to c o n t i n u e h e r v is ita tio n s .

M o th e r M a rie de L ourdes g rad u ated fro m N e w R o c h e lle C o lle g e in 1 9 2 4 a n d t a u g h t in th e sc h o o l u n til 1927, w h e n s h e w e n t to B a n g k o k , S iam , to b eco m e th e S u p e rio r of M issions. M o th e r w as later c a lle d to R o m e a n d m a d e P ro c u r a t o r G e n e r a l.

R e v e r e n d M o t h e r S t. A l b e r t b e f o r e b e i n g a p ­ p o in te d F irst A ssistan t w a s s u p e rio r of an U r s u ­ lin e s c h o o l in N e w O r le a n s . T h i s s c h o o l w a s th e f i rs t a c a d e m y f o r g i r l s f o u n d e d i n t h e U n i t e d S tates. ( T a t l e r , N .R .C . M a y , 1 9 4 0 ) T h e P r i o r e s s G e n e r a l a n d R e v e r e n d S t. A l b e r t r e t u r n e d t o t h e A c a d e m y o f M o u n t St. U r s u l a o n P e n te c o s t S u n d a y a n d to th e g r e a t joy o f h e A c a d e m y n u n s stayed a w e e k , le av in g on F rid a y , M a y 17, t o c o n t i n u e h e r t r a v e l s a n d v i s i t a t i o n s n o t o n ly in th is c o u n tr y , b u t a ls o in S o u th A m e r i c a a n d A f r i c a . H o w e v e r , M o t h e r G e n e r a l is not expected to leav e A m erica u n til th e late su m m e r.

DAY

OF

R E C O L L E C T IO N

REVEREND

PAUL

CONDUCTED

HANLY

BY

FURFEY

R e v e re n d D r. P au l H a n ly Furfey, h ead of th e D e p a r tm e n t o f S ociology at th e C a th o lic U n iv e rsity o f A m e r i c a , 'W a s h i n g t o n , D . C., c o n d u c t e d th e exercises o f th e A lu m n a e - S e n io r D a y o f R e tre a t on S unday, M a y 26.

M i s s a R e c i t a t a b e g a n a t n i n e o ’c l o c k . A f t e r t h e G o s p e l a b rie f e x p o s itio n o f th e m e a n in g , m erits, a n d f ru its o f t h e d a y w a s g iv e n in o r d e r to o r i e n t a t e t h e o f f e r i n g o f t h e d a y f o r G o d ’s m e r c y o n o u r f u t u r e a n d in r e p a r a t i o n f o r t h e i n j u s t i c e s o ffe re d H is S acred H e a r t by a g u ilty w o rld .

A t eleven, th e m o r n in g c o n fe re n c e w a s d e liv ­ ered on th e V irtu e s of C hrist, th e S on o f J o s e p h

[82]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

th e C a r p e n t e r a n d M a r y a V i l l a g e M a i d , L ily of Israel.

T h e V i a C r u c is a n d R o s ary w e r e p r a y e d in p r i ­ v a te by th e re tre a ta n ts. S p iritu a l re a d in g w a s h ad f o r fifteen m in u te s d u r i n g d in n e r . P e r s o n a l c o n ­ su ltatio n w ith th e R e v eren d D irecto r w as p o s­ sib le d u r i n g fre e tim e.

A t tw o -th irty th e h oly v irtu e of C h a rity w as the o b ject o f a fo rm a l d isco u rse.

H o l y H o u r w a s th e s u p r e m e m o m e n t o f the d a y ’s s p i r i t u a l a c t i v i t y — c u l m i n a t i n g i n m e d i t a t i o n a n d h y m n a n d B e n e d ic tio n o f th e M o s t B lessed S a c r a m e n t . ’'OChth t h e i n s p i r i n g p e r f o r m a n c e o f M o t h e r M a r y L o y o la , O .S .U ., at th e o r g a n , th e N u n s ' C h o ir p re se n te d th e fo llo w in g p ro g ra m : A d o r o T e D e v o t e ................................ L.

D e n ie s , O . S . U .

M a g n ificat S o lem n is— G re g o ria n A r ra n g e d by

CiRO G rassi .R everend A . Y o u n g , C . S . P .

O J e s u M i .......................... R everend F . Z wyssig , S . J .

O

E sca V ia to ru m . .

T an tu m

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T R ID U L IM

OBSERVED

O n th e h o ly days o f th e N o v e n a in p re p a ra tio n fo r th e F east of Pentecost, th e A cad e m y prayed w ith th e A rc h d io c e se o f N e w Y o r k f o r v o catio n s to th e r e lig io u s life in c o n te m p l a t i o n a n d service.

R e v e r e n d R a y m o n d S c h o u t t e n , S.J., D e a n o f th e S c h o o l o f S ocial S ervice, F o r d h a m U n iv e r s ity , o p e n e d t h e fir s t d a y w i t h p r a y e r , c o n f e r e n c e a n d B e n e d ic tio n o f th e M o s t B lessed S acram en t. T h e second day w as m ark ed by an in fo rm al p resen ta­ tio n o f th e r e lig io u s life by R e v e re n d M o t h e r J o a n o f A rc, O .S .U ., P ro v in c ia l o f th e U rsu lin e s.

O n th e th ird day R e v e re n d M o th e r M a ry C a rm el, O .S .U ., P rin c ip a l, g a v e a d isc o u rs e o n th e L ife of M ary, V irg in an d M o th e r.

C. Y . O .

IN V IT E S

M OUNT

ST. U R S U L A

O ver th re e hundred stu d e n ts in u n ifo rm p a r a d e d in th e a n n u a l m a n if e s ta tio n o f h o n o r to M a r y o n M o t h e r s ’ D a y , M a y 12. T h e f r e s h m e n w o n th e p riz e fo r p erfe c t a tte n d a n c e ; so p h o m o re s, fo r fo rm atio n .

F lash !

A s w e go to S e n e s e ’s p r i z e f o r

press, n e w s arriv es o f R o se a s h o r t s t o r y f r o m t h e Young Catholic Messenger, A u d r e y D o o l e y ’s f o r a n e s s a y f r o m Everyday Reading, a n d M a r g a r e t K a v a n a g h ’s p r i z e s u b s c r i p t i o n f o r The Catholic Digest f o r o n e year.

A ls o , J e a n D o r c h a k e a r n e d fifth p la c e in th e N e w R o c h e lle c o m p e titio n sc h o la rs h ip e x a m in a ­ t i o n ; Z i t a S c h o e n is p r e p a r i n g f o r a n a u d i t i o n in a s c h o la r s h ip e x a m i n a t i o n in m u s ic at M a n h a t t a n v ille C o lleg e.

A lso C lass 1 9 3 6 at C o lle g e ( 1 9 4 0 ) a g a in ac­ crues aw ard s w ith A lice K earn ey ( M o u n t St. V in cen t) in L ite r a tu r e ; V e ro n ic a M c G ly n n at M a r y m o u n t in M a th e m a tic s , S ciences a n d L a n ­ guages; C a th e rin e D uress, V irg in ia C ronan, E le a n o r H ein s (1942) and Jean P ro tzm an n ( 1943 ) t h e D e a n ’s l i s t a t t h e U r s u l i n e C o l l e g e o f N e w R o c h e l l e ; A l i c e K e a r n e y o n t h e D e a n ’s l i s t a t M o u n t S t. V i n c e n t ’s ; a n d M a r y K e l l y , P h i B e ta K a p p a at H u n t e r C o lleg e.

THE

FUNERAL

OF

A

FAD

T h e sm a ll g r o u p w a lk e d slo w ly a r o u n d th e c a m p u s in a m e lan ch o ly p ro cessio n . N o o n e spoke, o r if s o m e o n e d id , it w a s o n ly to la m e n t th e d e p a r tu re o f h e r b elo v ed one. O n e o f the m o re b a d l y a f fl i c t e d s o b b e d s o f t l y , w d i i l e t w o o t h e r s k n o w in g ly c o m fo rte d her.

T h e n th e p ro cessio n h a lte d b e fo re a sm a ll to w e r o f sticks w h i c h h a d ju s t b een ig n ite d . S adly, each g i r l f i le d p a s t t h e a l t a r o f s a c r if ic e , c a s t a l a s t lo v in g g la n c e at h e r in d iv id u a l w o rn -o u t pet, an d flu n g it in to t h e c o n s u m in g flam es. T h e y c o u ld h e a r t h e f a i n t a g o n i z e d c a l l o f J i n g l e B e l l a as s h e w a s k n o c k e d a b o u t b y o l d d i l a p i d a t e d S a d L. Shoe. S h a rp ie C o lla r h a d tim e o nly fo r a q u ick sc re e c h as s h e c r i n k l e d a w a y to h e r d o o m . B e a R. Ja ck et suffered fo r a lo n g w h ile, b u t she finally s u c c u m b e d to th e i n te n s e h e a t. E v e n J i n g l e B e lla h a d b e g u n to b e afflicted; s h e r o lle d f ro m s id e to s id e a n d t in k le d w ith p a in u n til s h e h a d m e lte d so m u c h th a t h e r in sid e s ro lle d o u t, a n d s h e w a s a s m u t e a s h e r o p p r e s s o r . S a d L. S h o e , w h o tu r n e d a n d tw is te d in his a n g u is h . S u zy C u e w a s n o t very b rav e a b o u t th e m atter, fo r she s c r e a m e d in t e r r o r as s h e c r u m b l e d i n t o t h e a sh e s.

F in a lly th e r e w a s n o th i n g left b u t a f e w g lo w in g e m b e r s . T h e g i r ls t u r n e d q u ie tly a w a y as t h r o u g h th e a ir flo ated th e last f a in t n o te s o f th e S w a n S o n g of th e S h arp ie Fad. — P atricia B yrne

O B IT U A R Y I t is w i t h d e e p r e g r e t t h a t t h e f a i t h f u l f r i e n d s of M iss Suzy Q a n n o u n c e h e r u n tim e ly d eath , w h ic h w a s d u e to o v e rw o rk . M iss P o rk p ie , a p r e tty y o u n g lady, w ill o ccu p y th e late M is s S u z y ’s h o m e . S h e , h o w e v e r , d o e s n o t k n o w if th is w ill be h e r p e r m a n e n t o r te m p o r a ry residence.

A n y o n e w i s h i n g to p ay his resp ects to o u r d early belo v ed , s h o u ld a tte n d h e r fu n e ra l ser­ vices, w h i c h w ill b e h e ld a t A s h c a n C e m e te ry to ­ m o r r o w at n o o n . T h o s e o f y o u w h o w is h to se n d flo w ers m ay m ail y o u r d o n a tio n to th is d e p a r t­ m ent.

T h o u g h h e r life w a s sh o rt, a n d sh e c o n stan tly m e t abuse, M iss Suzy co u ra g e o u sly carrie d o n h e r w o rk . N e v e r once d id she u tte r a single w o rd of c o m p l a i n t . It is t o o l a t e t o r e p e n t f o r t h e i n j u s t i c e w e h av e caused her, fo r th e su fferin g s w e have h e a p e d u p o n h e r . A l l w e c a n d o is f e e l d e e p l y d e p r e s s e d , f o r a l a s , s h e is g o n e !

— F rances R usso

C O N G R A T U L A T IO N S T O OF AWARDS

W IN N E R S

Everyday Reading Magazine Essay Contest F irst

P rize:

P attern for G en iu s E. E. K in sle y A udrey D ooley H o n o ra b le M e n tio n : M o ira B rennan, G erald in e H u b b a r d , R ose Senese, A n n V ach io .

Editorial Contest F o u rth P rize:

A udrey D ooley

Young Catholic Messenger P oetry

A w ard:

L orraine M oore

[83}

" T h e W a tc h T o w e r

Carl00)1— Essay Ausnds

S F .N IO R S T O L !R

A udrey D oo ley M argaret K avanagh Prize:

Rose S enese

Projefsioiial Enj’ineer\— New York Chapter E.\say Cotitest

( if slightly

S eco n d P rize, F iftee n D o lla r s :

H e l e n C on bo y

The Peace House of New Yo>k Etsay Cotitest S eco n d Prize, Fifty D o lla rs:

Lor raine M oore

Scholarships M ary G ra ui .

School

M arie H u n t M o n r o e S e cretaria l S ch o o l

(and

B arbara Scu r o e f ( P a r t i a l ) L adycliff C o lle g e

R o c h elle

T h e P rin c ip a l A c a d e m y o f M o u n t S t. U r s u l a D e a r Sister: I a m p leased to in fo rm you th a t o n e o f y o u r stu d e n ts, H e l e n Co n b o y , h a s b e e n a w a r d e d se c o n d p riz e fo r h e r essay on th e topic, " W h a t Q ualifications D o Y o u C o n sid e r M o s t Im p o rta n t F o r A n E n g i n e e r ? ” in t h e a n n u a l e s s a y c o n t e s t c o n d u c te d by th e B ro n x C o u n ty C h a p te r o f th e N e w Y o r k S tate S ociety o f P ro f e s s io n a l E n g in e e rs .

T h e f o l lo w in g s tu d e n ts w e r e a w a r d e d certificates o f m e rit: R o se Senese, D o r o th y A . K ra u s, P a tric ia K iern an , and V irg in ia M u llig an .

several o th e r s .)

Q u a i n t M o u n t V e r n o n , w i t h i ts o l d w o r l d g r a c e a n d c h a r m , it s w i d e g r e e n p a s t u r e s , r o l l i n g l a w n s , an d m em o rie s o f the F a th e r of O u r C o u n try , w as to us th e f u lfillm e n t o f o u r e x p e c ta tio n s . D r i v i n g th r o u g h A r l i n g to n ce m e te ry , w i t h its th o u s a n d s o f u n n a m e d to m b sto n es, w e p a sse d th e m ajestic to m b o f th e U n k n o w n S o ld ier, w ith a se n tin e l fo rev e r p a c i n g b e f o r e i ts w h i t e p o r t a l s . O n t h e w a y t o th e Fran ciscan M o n astery we drove through G e o r g e t o w n , w i t h i ts n a r r o w s t r e e t s a n d b e a u t i f i d univ ersity .

B o ro u g h P re sid en t Ja m e s J. L yons w ill p resent t h e a w a r d s in t h e V e t e r a n s ' A s s e m b l y H a l l , B r o n x C o u n t y B u i l d i n g , o n F r i d a y e v e n i n g , J u n e 14, at 8 :3 0 .

B ronx C o unty C h a p te r w o u ld w in n e rs of th e aw ards p resent a n d w o u l d b e p l e a s e d to h a v e a s of th e facu lty an d stu d e n ts o f g e th e r w ith th e ir fam ilies a n d presentation.

sin g in g .

T h e n e x t d a y , F r i d a y , a f t e r M a s s in S a i n t P a t r i c k ’s, w e j o u r n e y e d f o r t h t o t h e B u r e a u o f P r i n t i n g a n d E n g r a v i n g a n d s t a r e d l o n g i n g l y at the th o u sa n d s of do llars b e in g m a d e b e fo re o u r e y e s . In t h e s t a m p d e p a r t m e n t , t h e h e a r t s o f m a n y sta m p collectors m u st h a v e b eat faster. P e rh a p s th e m o st e x c itin g visit w a s th a t to th e F e d e ra l B u r e a u o f I n v e s tig a tio n . W e p a s s e d t h r o u g h J. E d g a r H o o v e r ' s o ffi ce, w e s a w t h e f i l i n g r o o m in w h i c h m i l l i o n s o f c r i m i n a l fi le s w e r e k e p t , w e th rille d w ith e x p e c ta tio n as w e w a tc h e d F e d e ra l A g e n t K e n n e d y d e m o n s tr a te his s h o o t i n g a b ility in t h e s o u n d p r o o f r i f l e r a n g e .

J ea n D or ch ak ( F i f t h P l a c e ) C ollege of N e w

off k e y )

L ate th a t a f te r n o o n w e s to p p e d at th e U r s u lin e A c a d e m y at W i l m i n g t o n , D e l a w a r e a n d all w e r e d e lig h te d by th e h o sp ita lity o f th e U r s u lin e n u n s a n d by th e b e a u ty o f th e ir c a m p u s . A f te r p a s sin g t h r o u g h p i c t u r e s q u e M a r y l a n d w e finally a r r i v e d in th e C a p ito l ju s t as th e lig h ts o f th e city b e g a n t o t w i n k l e in t h e d u s k . A m i d s t o u r o w n g r e a t e x c ite m e n t w e w e r e a s s ig n e d to o u r r o o m s at th e A nnap o lis H o tel. W h e n d in n er w as o v er w e h u r r i e d to th e C o n g r e s s io n a l L ib r a r y w h o s e m a g ­ nific e n c e a w e d us to sile n c e . T h e s i g h t o f th e C a p i t o l d o m e a b la z e , le ft u s b r e a t h l e s s . T i r e d as w e w e r e s u p p o s e d to be, w e still h a d e n e r g v e n o u g h to h o ld an h ila r io u s p a r ty in r o o m 4 0 3

H o n o r a b le M e n tio n : P atric ia K ie rn a n , D o ro th y K rau ss, V irg in ia M u llig a n , Rose Senese.

'X 'o o d 's S ecretaria l

D . C.

M ay second d a w n e d , d u ll and cloudy, slightly d a m p e n in g th e sp irits o f th e six ty -o d d n u n s a n d g i r l s w h o w e r e e m b a r k i n g f o r N X 'a s h i n g t o n . H o w ­ ever, as th e tw o g r e a t G r e y h o u n d b u se s sp e d o n t h e i r w a y a n d as w e le ft t h e city b e h i n d us, o u r s p ir its a n d th e d a y b r i g h t e n e d so t h a t by th e ti m e w e reached P h ila d e lp h ia fo r lunch.

P laym ates h a d b een p ra ctically w o r n o u t by o u r e n th u s ia s tic

Short Story Co)itesl Second

W A S H IN G T O N ,

A fte r v ie w in g the q u ie t s p le n d o r o f th e M o n a s ­ tery w e sa w th e C a th o lic U n iv e rsity . H o m e , d in n e r a n d m o v ies a n d o u r day w a s c o m p le te , h o w e v e r, not b efore w e had a h a m b u rg e r g ath erin g (after tw elv e, o f c o u rs e !)

like to h a v e th e o n th a t o ccasion m a n y as p o s s ib le y o u r sch o o l, t o ­ frien d s, at th e

N e x t day th e w in d b le w cold b u t as w e g a z e d en rap tu red at the L in c o ln m e m o ria l a n d the ■ W ^a sh ington m o n u m e n t w e f o r g o t t h e d a y a n d o u r s u r r o u n d in g s in o u r a d m ira tio n . A n n a p o lis w i t h it s t r a d i t i o n s , g r e a t b u i l d i n g s a n d u n i f o r m e d m id sh ip m en , w elco m ed us on o u r w ay h om e. A fter l u n c h in B a ltim o r e ,— w i t h its w h i t e s to o p s ,— w e really fe lt th a t w e w e re c o m in g h o m e. N o t h i n g d a u n te d , w e sta rte d s in g in g a g a in , u n til as w e cam e th ro u g h N e w Jersey a n d sa w the fam iliar, g l itte r in g lig h ts o f o ld N e w Y o r k , o n ly soft, r a th e r sleepy, m u r m u r s b r o k e th e silence. A s w e neared th e M o u n t, th a t th o u g h it w a s d a r k s e e m e d to w e lc o m e us, th e r e w a s a m a d s c ra m b le t o g e t t h i n g s t o g e t h e r f o r , a t la s t, a f t e r a n u n fo rg etab le experience w e w ere h o m e !

— M . B.

If it w o u l d b e p o s s ib le f o r y o u r sc h o o l to f u r ­ n ish so m e m u sica l talen t, vocal o r in stru m e n ta l, I sh o u ld a p p re c ia te y o u r le ttin g m e k n o w at o n c e so th a t I c a n arra.nge th e p r o g r a m .

T h a n k you very m u c h fo r y o u r co o p eratio n .

Y o u r s resp ectfu lly ,

J os e p h B. D iam on d

Chairman of Essay Comfittee

A s w e g o to p ress, w e w is h to e x te n d a f e w w o r d s o f c o m m e n d a t i o n t o M i s s V C 'in ifr e d M a r ­ sh a ll.

[84}

Tihe W a tc h T o iv e r

lerio b y E ilee n E lan lo n OI HI NG costs less and is of more value in both social and business life than good manners.

At the beginning of mankind, there welled in the soul of man an intense loneliness. He began to seek his own kind. Nature taught him companionship.

This is where conversation first proved itself important and it has been doing so ever since. Conversation brings one into contact with society. In its broader, finer sense, society means people as a whole—human beings—fellowship.

Various external conditions, circumstances of life, have divided society into grades or castes; but society remains fundamentally the same: the whole word of human fellow­ ship to which we all belong.

The new ettiquette does not look with favor upon stilted speech, upon studied pronunciation and unnatural expressions. The first law of good speech is to say the natural, spontaneous thing in the natural, spontaneous way. On one point all authors are agreed: the final test of a lady or gentleman is the faultless pronunciation of words.

In conversation, if you are in doubt as to the correct pronunciation of a word, do not use it. Substitute some other word of which you are sure. Perhaps the best way to eliminate objectionable words and phrases from your speech is to talk slowly and deliberately. Self discipline and association with cultivated people will refine and improve the speech.

Vida Sutton, writing in the American Magazine, says: "Though our voices can be made excellent instruments for revealing our best selves, either we neglect them or we deliberately clutter them with deceiving affectations. Most of us are more concerned with our appearances than with our voices: yet it is undoubtedly true that others judge us more by how we speak than by how we look.”

N o t So Seriously b y W i n i f r e d M c H a le F course, everyone knows how hard it is to break the ice and become at ease with strangers. We don’t pass around a peace pipe to show our amiable inten­ tions. No, that’s uncivilized and unsanitary. But there are many who grab for a glass and gulp down a fieryliquid. They begin to glow with heat and warmth, and the glue holding their tongue meltsand they begin to talk.

Perhaps they begin with the weather or make a comment about some other trivial affair. Anything to start off. But the effort necessary usually depends upon the persons engaged in it. If you are trying to talk to someone half frozen with fear or shy­ ness you’ll never get anywhere, especially if you are half frozen yourself. But if you hap­ pen to beone of those nice, fat, happy sort of persons who just ramble on abou tanything and don’t care whether you are interested or not, the situation is quite simple. You just let them "gush.” If their manner of telling things is intere.sting and they don’t repeat themselves too often, you are captured by their self-satisfied spirit and carried along. Of course if you are lucky enough to meet somebody who is interested in the same things as you are there’s no problem at all.

[85]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

Violets b y M a r g a r e t U. K a v a ria g b 1' was at the annual I'low'cr Sliow of tlic "Junior Gardening Club of Glc-n Gove,” tliat I was awarded my first prize. Wliat a thrill it was, just like your first trip skyward. I really never expected it for my miniature ganlen of violets was so simple. After the exhibition, I went over to the judge and asked him why the garden w'as awarded the blue ribbon. Looking down at me, as he was six feet tall, he said, "It is always the simpler things in life that make living worth while. Also your plants showed careful training and careful planning.”

Last fall 1 decided to pursue gardening as a hobby. I thought the garden could stand a little more color so I decided to plant violets, my favorite flower. I was allotted a minute piece of land to start off with but it grew larger and larger, in due time. In this stretch of land, I planted my first violet seeds. 1 chose the common blue violet, with its heart-shaped leaves, and its pale blue to deep purple flower, which is perhaps the best known and the most loved of all. The five petals are somewhat irregular, and the lower one is spurred at the base. There is a saying: ". . . purple violets lurk, With all the lovely children of the shade.”

Just before the cold wave set in I purchased a glass case to place over the bed. In December, I had large bulbs put in the little house to give the plants heat so that they would grow steadily and the roots would be firm. Although the frost may be a danger to new plants, it sweetens the soil and keeps it in excellent condition.

The first signs of life appeared on the first of May. What a joy to see the first buds peeping out from the shelter of mother earth’s arms! By the third week in May my small but regal garden was in full bloom. Everything was just perfect, even to the last bud.

June was making its entrance on the calendar and that meant only one thing— the Flower Show. My neighbors kept telling me to enter my violet display, but I thought it too simple. Well, after a while I thought there is nothing to lose, so to the Flower Show we went. I transplanted a patch of blue violets into an old-fashioned garden surrounded by a white picket fence and a small sign reading "Welcome.”

Who could have imagined that that little garden would win a prize and a blue ribbon at that? I have had the thrill of my life. To 1940, and to the bluest of blue violets!

b y E ile e n M c G ir r cold, bitter biting wind blew unmercifully, whipping the faces of the excited fans with a wild fury. As the pigskin was flung far down the field coldness was forgotten in the ensuing commotion. Voices were raised to a higher pitch urging the players on to greater glory with cries of "Touchdown, touchdown.” Reluctantly the crowd reseated themselves grumbling, groaning, criticizing, and then turning their eyes once more toward the field of action. Now filled with the desire to help their teams they commenced to stamp their feet again in unison while shouting in a bloodthirsty manner, "Hit ’em again, hit ’em again, harder, harder!” Settling down quietly the crowd comments on the slowness of the game when befire their eyes a man in blue bolts down the field toward the goal. A wild scramble follows as he streaks over the goal line. The game is over—the hypercritical crowd surges homeward cheering and praising, tired but happy after their hectic afternoon.

T

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[86] T he W a tc h T o w e r

Remembering b y R ose A n n e K in g ANCY rocked back and forth in an old chair that knew almost as many years as she. She just rocked and rocked, smiling to herself all the while, oft times causing the town folk to wonder if in her old age she was becoming childish.

She declared, "If I can pay for my room an’ keep, it’s nobody’s business where I lir e or what I do so long as I’m peaceable like.’’

Even at seventy, Nancy made a pretty picture as she sat in Cary’s pew on Sunday, her little lavender bonnet shading delicately carved features. She never uttered a harsh word except when people tried to tell her how to manage her affairs. Perhaps they meant to be kind, but she didn’t want them to help her; she wanted to help them.

That was exactly what she had done in her younger days, but for five years or so she hadn’t been allowed to do a "blessed thing’’ for herself. Now all she did was sit and dream. She never used to have time to think about Tom and the fun they had so long ago; she suddenly was living in the past and in memories of her children.

They were all so kind to her, and all so happy. Billy was out in Arizona and his huge ranch drew the four hundred from every corner of the country. Bill Jr. didn’t do much except spend time and his father’s money. Meanwhile he attended college in New York. But Nancy knew he was a fine boy, for although she hadn’t seen him in years, he didn’t wait for Christmas to write to her; his letter was there in the mailbox e\ery month. Soon he would practice law with her "little” boy, Jim, who had made a name for himself as New York’s "most honest and fearless attorney.” Jim’s children were still tots. She took out their pictures when neighbors visited, proudly displaying them time and again. Oh, yes, they were fine boys. She admitted to a few friends that they sent her handsome sums each month, enough to keep her like a queen; she sent all but the little she used to the orphans in the next town. Yet she did so long to see her boys again, but she understood, they were very important, busy men.

So Nancy sat by the front window, rocking and waiting for Christmas, just staring with dim blue eyes that scarcely noticed the falling snow flakes as they danced by. While she reminisced, a limousine followed by a shining roadster drew up before the house.

Out poured a group of laughing men and women, boys and girls who merrily trooped home, to Nancy’s !

b y C la ric e T. K o e M e r LITTLE to the left of the thonged boardwalk stands a grinning balloon vender A undauntedly shouting his wares. Above his white, cloth cap his palette-hued "rubber bubbles” jerk indignantly. His flattened, squatty appearance suggests that he might have been compressed from six foot one to five foot three. Glancing down his tarnished, tan visage, the observer notes a pair of long, skinny, precautiously secured arms, one firmly clutching a maze of strings. His broad trunk is snuggly encompassed by a white, spotless, broadcloth jacket partially concealing a brown leather belt which marks his trouser line. Baggy as these are, they in no way remedy the diamond-shaped space between his knees. Elis shoes are brown, miniature canoes, badly smudged by pre­ occupied promenaders who think him as ethereal as his balloons.

Here he has stood, here stands, and here he will stand, summer after summer, ped­ dling his gayly dancing wares with undying interest and enthusiasm.

[87]

T be W a tc b T o w e r

W o rn O ut b y Jean H. O o rcb ak AVE you ever seen a slioc-box? I tlo not mean tlie cardboard affair in whicli all new shoes are packed; ( mean a wooden one on castors, part of tlie furniture whicli is kept out of si^ht in some out-of-the-way place. Into it arc tossed, helter-skelter, one upon the other, the shoes too good to be thrown away, and yet not suitable for regular wear.

1 knocked one over the other day and amongst the browns, blacks, and whites shone one bright cherry-red spot. Two red shoes tied together! I took them up to gaze upon them, battered, cracked, weary shoes. Memories . . .

They were not always red. I painted tliem with red enamel for a Washington’s Day party. I wore a white ballet costume with red paper cherries scattered over its billowy skirt. Around my waist, under a white sash, I had tucked miniature cardboard hatchets.

Everyone who danced with me claimed one as a souvenir. The night sped away on magic wings as my high-heeled sandles carried me through happy hours.

Before their dip in paint, they had been brown to set off the green of my favorite taffeta dress. Those brown shoes carried me through my first Lindy. I was very slow to learn that dance and it may well be that they had something to do with my success that night.

One night, I lost a heel while running down the stairs. Poor little shoe! It reminded me of a mortally wounded ship which rears it prow skyward before lunging downward into the murky w'aters. Yes, poor, crippled shoe, so incongruous with its toe high in the air! The cobbler replaced the heel and it seemed as new' as ever.

Well, they grew old. It was then I painted them. Once more they w'ere pretty and shining and sleek, but the false coat cracked at last and the brown show'ed through.

One day into the shoe-box they went, and now . . .

They shall no longer remain among that low'ly crow'd. Into the furnace they go, where the all-enveloping flame will consume them.

b y R o s e Seinese ERHAPS he sits there yet—the silver haired old gentleman with the sparkling blue eyes and the spun sugar mustache, who gave so freely of his humble, homey philoso­ phy. This aged fellow, perhaps he was tall, for I never saw him stand, would sit from early morning until past sundown in front of the village postoffice.

He knew' everyone, at least he seemed to, for he gaily called "Howdy” to each, passer-by. The little boy with the chocolate on his face would come to "Old Jack” w'ith his problems, and the gentle old lady in her sombre black bonnet would shyly seek his advice. In his high-pitched, time w'Orn voice this venerable gentleman had a simple solution for each difficulty. Nearly all who came to him were weary and sick at heart, but all who went away were relieved and smiling.

Yes, perhaps he sits there still, for he seemed ageless as he leaned back in his broken chair, sucking his pipe and proudly blowing smoke rings for the w'ide-eyed children. If he is not there, 1 am certain that the familiar old chair and the pungent odor of his favor­ ite tobacco w'ill always remain.

P

[ 88}

T he W a tc h T o w e r

A N oble O ld Lady b y R o se A n n e K i n g N Steuben County is a thriving little town where life goes on serenely; seemingly unmindful of the great state of which it is a part. During the summers I spent in that child’s dream of paradise I found pleasure in walking along the main thoroughfare, meeting the villagers and farmers who came to market shortly before midday. One morning as I was busily examining the nick-nacks in the window of Murph’s "Barber, Jewelry and Gift Shop,” I was surprised by the clatter of horses. Small as it is, this progressive little town seldom hears the neigh of a horse. It was needless to guess who was coming, for even before I turned my head, I could picture him prancing down the avenue, his raven coat glistening in the sun, and behind him, an old gray carriage, its wheels creeking over the hard stone road. I could expect all this, for Mrs. Randall who dared to be called old fashioned (and prided her­ self on it) had become somewhat of a legend because of her eccentricities. I had long anticipated her visit to town; the villagers had painted such vivid pictures of her Vic­ torian beauty.

As the Randall carriage came to a halt, I saw plainly the "wealthiest woman in the county.” (Her wealth was not gold, but friendship.) There was a strange absence of wrinkles in her face; her eyes sparkled with the challenge of youth. Benevolence lighted her whole countenance, almost outshining her downy, silver hair. She spoke softly to the coachman as he helped her alight. This dear lady seemed a vision of the past in her wideskirted gown, large hat and lace gloves—a study in lavender. She bowed her head slightly to passers-by and smiled radiantly on the children as she walked slowly and erectly along the path.

What was the purpose of her rare visit to town? Whom w'ould she grace wdth her beauty and honor with her presence? She had come to select her household needs for the fall sea.son, for her, the binding duty of an efficient household manager.

b y G e r a l d m e H x ib b ard sure is a hard test. I w’onder w'hat the fifth one is. S’funny how that mag­ nolia tree sheds its petals so quickly. It only started to bloom last week. Last week . . . what a hard week that was, studying for all the exams. Say, what am I thinking of, this is the e.xam. Who cares when Bryant lived? What if he did write a poem when he was seventeen. Jeanne wrote one when she was seven and I bet it’s got it all over his. Ohwell! Why don’t they ask me some­ thing I spent half the night studying (or craming). Look at the girls across the street jumping rope. Lucky people. No more tests for them. Oh well, only two more weeks ofschool, then vacation. When school is over maybe I can get a few extra hours of sleep in the morning. But the best part of it all is the cabin in the mountains. Canoeing down that creek last summer was lots of fun, And when Louise stood up to take her sweater off and fell in the lake! The mountain trip wasn’t so successful but I bet we reach the top this summer. Maybe our packs were too heavy. I wonder how old Hiram and his shaggy dog are. It’ll be fun seeing them again. Say, that isn t the answ'er to the fifth question. Only ten minutes to go. I’d better think fast. Now let s see, was it Shake­ speare or B)TOn who . . .

T

h is

[89]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

D inner at Eight b y M a rjo rie H o e rm a n T was one of tliose deluxe affairs. Everyone was on liis ^uarJ as to which fork and spoon. The table was tastefully arranged; snowy white napkins, carefully folded on each plate. After the usual formalities, we sat down to dinner. (The natural reaction of most people, after sitting down, is to flip open the napkin.)

That is what I did, but therein lay the greatest error of my life.

Ordinary napkins respond to the gentle flipping motion, and unfold gracefidly. Horrors! Something crispy brown popped out of mine, spun across the room and narrowly missed striking a pompous personage on the head. One of those long uncom­ fortable silences began. My liostess introduced politics and asked my victim if he thought the President was going to run for a third term (my victim probably thought—no, just run.)

1 was afraid to look. My face was a horrible peony red, I knew. Nobody had referred to the incident, but I saw the butler pick up the crisp brown something and leave the room. A few moments later, to my chagrin, he returned and placed a crisp brown roll beside my plate. Light! The roll had been ingeniously tucked into my napkin, and I had flipped it out at my poor unsuspecting victim.

Set on the right of the hostess, I was the first to be served. We had pumpkin pie for dessert and of course I had to take the first piece. The same butler balanced the pie dish for me while I tried to "extract” a piece with some semblance of finesse. Finally, the pie was on the server and I was about to place it onto my plate when, somehow, it executed a double .somersault in mid-air and landed face down on the plate.

I thankfully escaped from the room, my hands tightly clasped together, fearing that their slightest movement would endow some comestible thing within sight with special acrobatic tendencies suddenly to catapult across a table or otherwise disport itself unseemingly.

b y G ra c e ILooram OW often we use this familiar term, yet until now, it has been nothing but an ex­ pression, as it is defined, "applied to the school from which one has been gradu­ ated.” But now, to us, the class of the Academy of Mount St. Ursula, in the year 1940, the words Alma Mater have a deep, a telling significance.

It grows upon us that we have reached a long desired goal; that we have been received by the cherished company that waited for our coming; that treasures of the past are part of our own lives, now we are alumnae, now that we have an Alma Mater.

Four years ago the hope that we would enjoy this hour of triumph first dawned in our minds. During the long weeks and months that stretch between that day of hope and this day of realization we have grown to understand, to love all that the school of our choice signifies. It is with deep gratitude and laudable pride that we proclaim today our Alma Mater, the Academy of Mount St. Ursula.

May this sincere gratification that we experience in expressing our pride and joy in our school, our Alma Mater, prove to be the abiding love that will keep the lessons learned within the halls of Mount St. Ursula ever our "guiding star.” May the years to come bind us closer and closer to our school, to its ideals, to its life of Faith and Trust.

H

[90]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

Digsini b y C a th e rin e M ininock HIS 'back to Mother Earth’ idea is certainly a revealing one. Here I am digging, digging, digging, and for what? Only to find an old pair of suspenders, just the thing to hang a very tired person to the nearest tree; and so many, many rocks that I am beginning to wonder if the other end of England’s famous Rock of Gibraltar is about to present itself in my back yard.

These few words are part of the conversation that took place between me and myself, as I was preparing my garden this spring. At last the earth was ready to receive the seeds. These I dispersed gleefully, because I had now reached the end of a most back-breaking task—but it was worth it, for in a few weeks my yard would be trans­ formed into a "Living Fairyland of Flowers’’—so the advertisement had read.

The weeks flew by while I read book after book, unmindful of my developing garden. Then one day it suddenly "dawned’’ upon me that I was the proud possessor of a garden. Then I reached the back yard. There, not a "Living Fairyland of Flowers’’ presented itself, rather a "jungle’’ of "just things,’’ growing in every possible direction.

Where had all these greens come from? Ah, this is my Living Fairyland of Flowers.

As I fought my way through the plants, I noticed that my Petites Fleurs would make one think they were competing with the Empire State Building. An optical illusion, huge, red flames seemed to be enveloping the home of Dad’s new car, were only the "flames" of my Gannas.

I was so disappointed over my garden that I went back into the house. As I sat dejectedly pondering the situation, I concluded, "Oh, well, perhaps I’ll have better luck next year, maybe then. . . .’’

b y A im e V acM o kUIET and darkness reigned over the freight yard, the bulky cars casting weird shadows in the light of the moon. Peeking around the corner of the calab o ^ stood Joe ready for his annual free trip to the sunny South. His appearance resembled that of a bedraggled clown as he waited there with a wide grin on his face, though goodness knows he had nothing to grin about,—missing teeth and in desperate need of a haircut and shave. His clothing was tattered, torn and unkempt, the red plaid patch in his trousers remained the dominant feature of his entire outfit. Joe’s hat, which was supposedly worn to shelter his head from the elements, was filled with holes and would hardly protect him on a rainy day or any other day for that matter. But there he stood smiling cheerily, his worldly possessions wrapped in a bandana and flung over his shoulder. As "a shadow passed in the night he inquired, "Is this the Florida Limited?’’

[91]

T b e W a tc h T o w e r

Musini b y V ir g in ia D o u g h e r t y T ’S lunny the way the damp air makes my liair soft and curly. Usually it’s just plain straight. It would look nice now—when there’s no one here to see it.

The beach looks so pretty at dawn -like an endless dc.sert—it’s puzzling how sand can be so beautiful. "Teddy” looks lost in the vastness of it. I wonder if he’s a real thoroughbred- he really doesn’t look like one- Dad says he is part poodle and part wire-haired terrier. He doesn’t care what he is, I guess.

Well, here’s what I’ve been, waiting for. The clouds look like the curtains in a theatre—moving back—so that the center of the stage can be seen. There it is! Today it looks like a great golden orb—sort of reminds me of the watch Dad gave Mother yesterday, all bright and shining. The sun always looks so new— I wonder if it will ever grow dim--as the years grow on, I mean. Did I say I thought the beach looked like a desert? Right now it looks like a little golden island.

There go the sea-gulls again. I’d like to see one of them close-up sometime. The waves look terribly furious this morning. I guess 1 don’t blame them—it’s really too bad that people can’t seem to get up early once in a while and see the sunrise.

Nature’s so wonderful—but sometimes people don’t realize it. It’s sort of like coming to the theatre late—when you miss the sunrise. You see the play but you’ve missed the best part of it.

It’s too bad school opens tomorrow. I won’t be here then. But I guess a sunrise in the city is just as pretty as at the beach. After all—it’s the same fun. Here, Teddy . . . here, Teddy. Where did he go now? Some day I’m going to teach that dog . . .

Tetldy, come here, Teddy . . .

b y V ir g in ia D o t ig b e r t y OOR boy, poor boy, dear little Shanghai. Shanghai was a very rare species of bird found only in China, which accounts for his unusual name. He was a colorful creature with red and blue plumage and a long fanlike tail. Shanghai was as proud as a peacock of his attractive appearance. He was an average size bird with an oval head and a long beak. Due to the fact that I got him on such short notice, my new found pet had to temporarily stay in a smaller cage than he was accustomed to. As a result his tail extended beyond the confines of the enclosure.

On this fateful night, we had company and one of the guests brought her little poodle. During the course of the evening the dog became restless and began to wander about the house. Suddenly we heard scuffling and barking eminating from the other room. We arrived there just in time to see a cloud of feathers floating to the floor. Such a calamity; poor Shanghai looked as though he had lost his last friend, while the dog looked quite sheepish and guilty. Then I realized that Shanghai was bereft of his tail and what a sight he was. The shock was too much for him and he suddenly collapsed and died in a few minutes.

He certainly was in a sad state. His little heart had been beating like a trip­ hammer and he had a hurt, puzzled, distraught yet pained look on his face, that you laughed and felt sorry for him at the same time. Whenever I see a bird now ,I think of the dying expression on Shanghai’s face. Poor Boy! Poor Boy!

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[92]

Tb,e W a tc h T o w e r

O n Getting U p in the Mornini b y H e len C o n b o y LOVE to stay in bed in the morning. Do you know anyone who enjoys this most pleasurable pastime? Bed never seems so enjoyable as it does when it's time to arise. The mattress, pillow and covers seem to rise and swallow one.

The sun, streaming in through the window, makes everything comfy and warm.

Nothing matters but to close one’s eyes to finish that perfectly wonderful dream.

There are many methods of arising. There is the procrastinating, funeral process by which the sleepy person hopes to make time stand still. There is the one-eyeopen, ' just one minute more” method, employed by those who never have enough sleep.

There is the playful mischievous plan, whereby the clever one pretends not to know it was .so dreadfully late. There is the light, cautious movement which the young boy, creeping out for an early morning fishing party, uses to avoid the creaking of the bed spring, which may awaken his parents. Then, of course, there is the joyous hop, accom­ panied by a song and caused by anticipation of a happy event. There is the brisk accom­ plishment of something unpleasant that must be done.

The dread that one entertains for the morning rising has been cleverly set to music and words in Irving Berlin’s immortal, "Oh, How I Hate To Get Up In The Morning.”

Everyone who has ever wished to remain abed a trifle longer can sympathize with the poor soldier who felt like murdering the morning bugler.

A Windy Day b y M o ira B reneain wintry sun began to rise behind the wispy clouds that had gathered after a night of merciless rain. As the light fluttered over the pale rain-washed sky the wind stirred. Straight in across the sea, bringing the stinging tang of the salt it swept. Ruffling and curling the incoming waves, whispering among the tumbled rocks and scottered seaweed clusters, shrieking over the sculptured dunes and calling in mad delight to the old, deserted house, lost in the sand hills, it swept over the beach. Up the overgrown drive, through the broken, faded shutters that banged and wailed in dismal dispair and through the still empty rooms it whirled, awakening the echoes that lingered there.

Up the creaking stairs it danced, along deserted corridors that were shrouded with haunting memories of the past and then out into the garden that grew in wild and glorious confusion, the wind scampered.

Outside the ageless trees thra.shed and writhed, bowing low to the ground, sweep­ ing high to the sky, tossing in fury, sighing in swaying deep-toned gusts, as the taunting wind ran to and fro, high and low in bewildering madness. It whipped the leaves in the tree tops, it swept them from high sweet singing to tortured depths as from an agonized soul. Down through the moaning grass it ran, through the tangled, twisted vines whose loosened tendrils danced helplessly, whose few blossoms were torn apart by the wind and the loose petals were scattered along the walks.

Then as a child, tired of its joy, the wind gave one more mad swirl and it was gone toward the hills to the hidden valley where the winds die.

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[93]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

Ipring Morniii! b y C a t h c r ie e J. M i m i o c k I GHI NI NG flaslies and strikes. Thunder rumbles throut>li dark skies. Sleepy eyes open and do.se. It is too early to rise. Why not open the eyes and look out? Surprise would be strange. Has not every morning been thus for a week?

The same splashing, that did the awakening, greets one as doors are repeatedly but cautiously opened and umbrellas slide up. They are leaving for Mass. Futile endeavors to protect one’s self from the elements! The little umbrella is just as protective closed as opened, since the wind veers forcifully around, driving the rain before it. The sky is still rather dark, but that is to be expected.

The venturer keeps on the pavement. At least her rubbers keep the soles of her feet dry, while hose and skirts become drenched. She would not walk on the grass anyway; the pavement is wet enough, and she is satisfied merely to watch the little streams that border the walk. She reaches the avenue quickly. True, the irresponsible wind helps.

The buds on the trees have opened. Promising young beauties, the trees, point the way to the circle. It is sad but true, the beautiful pink and white blossoms have turned brown.

I'rost must have done the deed, but was the night that cold ? One lone magnolia is guarding the closed white buds.

Silence fills the chapel except for the measured breathing and the occasional sigh of the drenched.

Mass is ended. All file out. Prudent ones, prepared, venture into the rain. For hours one sees, hears, feels the elements, and again, one is not conscious of the weather.

Occasionally one makes an incompetent observation about the weather. It is futile. In any case the weather-man is not perturbed. Time speaks for itself and passes.

The day is over. A pale gold moon lights the way down the avenue. Beams of light, filtering through the lacy young leaves, seek out the limpid rain drops. Strange, beautiful shadows of the trees on the grass look bewitching. The air is pure and fresh.

One arrives, and the door opens and closes for the last time.

Presently the day is finished. Sleepy eyelids close. There are no lights, no noise.

So the ear drums still ring? Do not let them. Sleep quickly, for soon the moon will disappear while the clouds prepare for a renewed attack in the morning. After all, it is only to be expected during the equinoxes in the spring.

[94]

T he W a tc h T o iy e r

N ietit b y D o r o th y A . K rau ss ^ HAT is night? To some it is a horrible darkness, with evil spirits and "bug-a’’ boos” peeking around every corner. Children are afraid to walk alone in the inky blackness; they imagine that every shadow is some terrible creature which is going to pounce upon them. Even some older folks tremble at the thought of staying alone at night, and wouldn’t walk the streets if you paid them.

On the other hand, night is the time of gaiety and celebration for many.

After a tiresome day, club-members congregate and parties commence. How often I have been told, "What a wonderful time we had last night! And, no doubt, the statement has been made, time and time again, in your presence. It seems that restaurants, night clubs, theatres, and movies, and all amusement spots are crowded at night. This is proof enough that there are many who enjoy, and in no way fear, its blackness.

Then there are those romantic individuals, who would literally be lost without the night. The moon is such an important thing in their lives, and it shines only at this time.

The dweller in London or Paris has his own opinion about night at present. From sunset to sunrise he has to be satisfied with doing nothing, or else stumble around in the blackness. His night is truly a period of darkness, and he hates the very thought of the ending of another day.

Poets tell us that night is something beautiful and serene. They see the whole world asleep, under protection of some Divine Being who see all and says nothing. The poet gazes into the heavens alone and counts the stars, and follows the light of the moon on some silvery lake. This is night to him, and he loves it.

But night also assists the evil eye. Houses are robbed of all their valuables, people are slain in cold blood—night is a friend of the underworld. Its darkness is a muffler of crime.

Night, as I see it, is a cozy bed, a soft pillow', plenty of fresh air—and then, oif to sleep. It is a beautiful dream, and a beautiful time to dream.

But, everyone to his owm opinion.

[95]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

T urning the Leaves T H E O L D C IU R IO S IT Y S H O P

By C HARI.ILS DICKENS Rei’ieued by Amie Hughes ^'oii open (lie book, expecting sometliing bizarre, strange, possibly connected with missing jade rings or a poisoned dart, Well, you’re wrong! "The Old Curiosity Shop" has nothing to do with its title. It tells of how a child anti her grandfather are buffeted by the worltl. And they arc buffeted very well, Nell is a sweet, simpering little in­ genue, her grandfather negligible, the plot tlitto. What makes the book well worth read­ ing is Dickens—and Swiviller and Quilp.

Dickens always seems to me to create a world of his own out of the caricatures of people.

A Dickens character is a thing apart—his subordinate characters, that is. He is not a man; he is a tradesman, a lawyer, or a bodysnatcher first, and a person afterwards. This is a peculiarity of Dickens, and one that en­ dears him to thousands of people, myself among them. Here Dickens is typical—ro­ bust, jovial, sentimental, and sometimes re­ vealing, with that mastery he has of simple, restrained pathos. Dickens, in other words, is Dickens, and if you like Dickens, you will like "The Old Curiosity Shop.’’

•

SE N S E A N D S E N S IB IL IT Y

By JANE AUSTEN Revieu’ed by Pdtricia Byrne A delightful novel of the late nineteenth century, "Sense and Sensibility” combines a pleasing comparison of the temperaments of two sisters, with a touch of homely humor.

The chief characters are Elinor and Mari­ anne Dashwood, who embody the spirits of sense and sensibility respectively. Elinor, with an air of quiet calm, stifles her feelings and disappointments so that Marianne, with her highly developed sensibility, does not become too excited or griefstricken. Both girls are disappointed in love, but the dif­ ferent ways in which each bears her trial supplies interesting reading matter.

The author is singularly adept in charac­ ter portrayals, and her keen powers of pene­ tration lend the book a freshness and charm that is all its own. Like a mellow afterglow

b y tJhe S o p .h o m o re .’s you will fiml "Sen.se and Sensibility" richly tentler and warmly stimulating--a book de­ serving first place on your honor shelf.

•

JO A N O F A RC

By JULES MICHELET Rei'/ewed by Prances Russo It was an era of fighting and low morality.

At no time in history had humanity sunk to such low levels of debauchery and crime.

The state was shattered by the Hundred Years’ War, and even the Church was in such a deplorable condition that there were two Popes.

Into the midst of fighting and destruction came a liberator, a patriot of Erance, a saint of God. The fearless Maid of Orleans mus­ tered the straggling remnants of the French Army into a fighting force and led her ranks to a triumphant victory. Never once did she waver in her determination to snatch France from an ignominious defeat. Never once did her heroic heart falter; never once did she even for a moment yield to despair. Always onward she pressed, the flag of her country held aloft; onward, onward, until the entire world sounded her triumph—a triumph that was soon poisoned with bitternes.s—the bit­ terness of man’s ingratitude.

The story of Joan’s capture, conviction and execution has been told often; it is a story that has stained red the pages of his­ tory. Her death, an ironic tragedy, was, ironically, sweet to her. She felt instinctively that God would never call her on a blood­ stained battlefield; no, she would die for­ lorn and alone in foreign hands with a funeral pyre for her bier, and seething flames for her mourners. Half delirious with pain, she saw a tremendous flaming cross, that grew and mounted—and following it her stainless soul passed into heaven.

The outstanding characteristic of Mr. Michelet’s glorification of Joan is not, un­ fortunately, restraint; he is dazzled with admiration for his heroine that not infre­ quently he becomes over lavish in his praise of her. At the end we realize, however, that Joan is not only a saint, but a heroine as well, a true heroine whom not only France, but the whole world, will long remember.

[96]

T he W a tc h T o w e r

T H E M IL L O N T H E L L O S S

By GEORGE EEIOT

W U T H E E IN 'G H E I G H T S

By EMILY BRONTE

Reviewed hy Patricia Byrne

The Mill on the Eloss” gave me many hours of delightful reading. It was a simple tale of common people who found great beauty, love, and tragedy in their everyday lives. It helped me to readily understand the feelings and hopes of persons. Poor hunch­ backed Philip aroused my deep sympathy.

When he sat still in his chair watching the other boys run and jump, knowing that he could never participate in active sports, is it any wonder that he was so sensitive to any allusion to his deformity? When he ad­ vanced in years, he probably realized that no woman could love so repulsive a creature.

How natural it was, then, for him to cling to Maggie’s love which, though it had sprung from pity, was the only beautiful thing in his life!

A dry, subtle humor was supplied by the attitude of the Dodson sisters, especially Aunt Glegg. Their visits were very painful to the Tulliver children and, indeed. Mister Tulliver himself held no particular affection for his sister-in-law. They continually up­ braided "poor, weak Bessy,” the children’s mother, for having married so ignorant a man. The many faults they found in Mag­ gie and Tom were always attributed to their Tulliver blood. Their mother listened sub­ missively to these comments, resigned to awful fate of having a daughter who was neither fair nor beautiful.

The sad unforgettable scene at the close of this charming story lent much beauty to it. The great flood, worse than the other one, still taled about in the surrounding countryside, had come. Maggie had secured a boat and was rowing with all her strength to the mill to rescue her beloved Tom. Gone were the memories of that bitter quarrel that had separated brother and sister for so long; gone were the now insignificant dif­ ferences that had recently been so impor­ tant. She found Tom, and rowed toward the town, but the whirling current caught them in its clutches, and they clung together as Death came onward. Slowly the keel of the boat reappeared, but brother and sister had gone to their heavenly home together—"in death they were not parted.”

Reviewed by Lillian Nemeth

Behind every page of "Wuthering Heights” lurks a tale of grim horror and inevitable doom. Like the smouldering embers of a fire that at length bursts forth into a furious flame, Heathclitf’s passion when he discovers that his Cathy has wed another, fumes into a vengeance that is deadly in its hate. With delicate artistry the tale unfolds, and the desolate loneliness of the moors is painted as only a Bronte can paint. The thundering vigor of the narrative as it nears its tragic climax heightens its dramatic intensity. The book is definitely a tribute to Emily Bronte’s talent and genius.

V A N I T Y FA IM

By WILLIAM THACKERAY Reviewed by Virginia Mnrtha

A stirring, vibrant living picture is painted for us by the able artist Thackeray in his novel, "Vanity Eair.” A gripping, throbbing tale of life is this, with its joys, its youths, its petty hurts, its maturity, its hopes, its tragedies! Under the author’s skillful pen the Victorian Age, with all its richness and color lives for us again. The characters are drawn with a sympathy and insight that make the work truly an admirable one.

With singular ability, Thackeray creates a cast of characters so deep in their com­ plexity, so diverse in temperament, so rich in variety that they constitute an absorbing story in themselves. And what an engrossing tale it is, with its unscrupulous Rebecca, its lovable Amelia, its gallant Sir George, its swaggering Joseph Sedley. With deep in­ terest we watch Rebecca spin her web and ensnare her unsuspecting victims; with ten­ der sincerity we comfort Amelia on the loss of her husband and the departure of her son. Although at times the story becomes involved and infinitely heavy, the author struggles valiantly onward and strikes a re­ sounding climax—a climax that will forever be a memorable one.

[97]

T h e W a tc h T o w e r

[98}

Earnest Thanks to Friends of Ours

Eciniest Thtviks to Vriejids of Ours

CoD/pIinients o f â– Compliments o f

MR. and MRS.

A FRIEND

WALTER B. WHITAKER

Compliments of

MR. and MRS. ALEXANDER HOGAN

[ 100]

Reliable! Individual! Courteous

Phone;

P h o n e R O selle 4 -0200

H ig h la n d Falls 8 2 6

QUALITY—SERVICE—ECONOMY S hovels

-

T ren ch

EUGENE P. READING

C om pressors M ach in es

-

Pum ps

C oncrete

-

C ranes

M ixers

Construction and Industrial Equiptnent

THOMAS V. DOHERTY CONTRACTOR WALNUT STREET AND B. & O. R. R. ROSELLE, N. J.

B r a n c h O ffice a n d Y a r d : 140 an d E X T E R I O R

P h o n e : M E lro s e 5-3777

STREETS, B R O N X , N . Y.

FORT M O NTGOM ERY

MOUNT ST. URSULA ALUMNAE ASSOCIATION

[ 101 ]

NEW

YORK

Let These Pages Be Your Shopping Guide

Now Is The Time To Join A Truly Beneficial Order University Circle, No. 36

LADY FORESTERS OF AMERICA C o m m u n ic a te w ith KATHRYN

C.

A.

H F .ID E ,

B R O N X , N . Y.

2789 B R IG G S A V E N U E

Coiupl'imeiits of

Secretary

AMERICAN POVAR CORP. BOTANICAL MARKET W

alter

H ig h

Sim

o n sen

G ra d e M eats

P o u ltry , G a m e , Sea F o o d

.385 E A S T

200

STREET

BRONX,

P h o n es: S E d g w ic k 3 -6 7 5 7 — 3-6758

N. DREWSEN DELICATESSEN AN D GROCERY

ConipTinients of

Birdseye Food 26 E A ST

S. H. BURSTEIN

200 STR EE T

P hone: F O rd h a m 4-2114

BRIGGS AVENUE PHARMACY E

241

dw ard

S o sk in , P

E A ST 200 S T R E E T

P ho n e: F O rd h a m 4-7990

j i .G.

B R O N X , N . Y.

KINGSBRIDGE GARAGE

P h o n e: F O r d h a m 4-6290

FORDHAM ELECTRIC CO.. Inc.

2614

E v e ry th in g Electrical f o r the H o m e Refrigerators, W ashing Machines, Ranges Vacuum Cleaners, Radios Movie Cameras an d P ro je c to rs Film Rental L ib rary 2563 W E P S T E R A V E N U E Hlock No rth of Fordliam Road Plione: I 'O rd h am 4-6900

U N IV E R S IT Y

AVENUE

B R O N X , N . Y.

[102}

N.

Y.

Patronize Our Friends W ho Patronize Us

Stiiiichircl of Distinctive Excellence

BATCHELDER, SNYDER. CO. DIEGES & CLUST

PACKERS

17 JOHN STREET

NEW YORK, N. Y.

Producers of Fine Goods Wholesale Only Official Jewelers to the Class of 1940 Academy of Mount St. Ursula

Beef, Mutton, Lamb, Veal, Pork, Hams

WILLIAMS OIL-O-MATIC O IL

BURNER

Installed in ACADEMY OF MOUNT ST. URSULA

NEW YORK OIL BURNER CO.. INC. FA 4-4300

CANAL STREET, MOUNT VERNON, N. Y.

MODERN FUEL OIL CO.. INC. CANAL STREET

MOUNT VERNON, N. Y. Supplies Fuel Oil to

ACADEMY OF MOUNT ST. URSULA Phone: FAirbanks 4-4300

[ 104]

Let These Pages Be Your Shopp'nig Guide

KLARMAN HARDWARE

i

E sta b lish e d 1913

QUIGLEY and McDERMOTT D istrib u to rs of F lard w are

Cafe and Restaurant

-

P ain ts

-

H ousew ares

E le ctrical a n d P l u m b i n g S u p p lie s

j

E d iso n M a z d a L am ps 198

STREET

and

B R IG G S

AVENUE 2 7 5 9 V i’E B S T E R A V E N U E

Phone:

F O rd h am 4-9536

Phones:

T r y o u r S pecial S teaks

FO rdham

BRO N X , N. Y.

4-2115— 4-2116

i |

Compliments of

ERWIN A. HAMBURGER

WALTER B. COOKE, INC.

New York State Retail Wine and Liquor Store 390

BEDFORD

PARK

j

Funeral Directors

BOULEVARD BRONX

B R O N X , N . Y.

M ANHATTAN

BROOKLYN

QUEENS

V i'E S T C H E S T E R R IC H M O N D

L ic en se N o . L -1 0 9 5

1 Phone:

F O rd h a m 4-2412

Oldsniobde

R A ym ond 9-1900

|

"For The Very Best See A l's”

La Salle

AL'S RELIABLE BRONX BOULEVARD GARAGE. Incorporated 42 56 B R O N X

BOULEVARD

Truit and Vegetable Market O rd ers D eliv ered P ro m p tly

31 E A S T 2 0 0 S T R E E T

B R O N X , N . Y.

Wall Lin oleum

Sink Tops F o r Y o u r D r u g Needs P h o n e OL inville 2-3261

G. C. LEGGIERE Contract D ep a r tm en t n ri'E R IA L

L IN O L E U M

j

P h o n e: S E d g w ic k 3-7614

P h o n e; F A irb an k s 4-1900

Asph alt Tile

C o rn er of V illa A v en u e

& CARPET

361 EA.ST F O R D H A M R O A D

GERKEN'S DRUG STORE

CO., Inc.

l i R O N X , N. V.

204 S T R E E T and H U L L A V E N U E

li R O N X , N. Y.

S Ed g w ick 3-2600

DOBLIN'S BOOK SHOP

ANTON'S QUALITY MARKET

Social a n d Commercial S tatio n ery

C H O IC E

311 E A S T K l N C S I i R l D G E RO A D li R O N X , N. Y. H eadquarters f o r Books, Greeting Cards Sch ool and R e q e n ts’ Rci'ieiv B o o k s

!\feats * P ro v isio n s - P o u ltry 294 E A S T 204 S T R E E T

IIRON.X, N E W Y O R K

IMione: K Aym ond 9*8575

P h o n e : OL inville 2-2566

[ 105]

Open E ven in g s

i

[ 106]

Standard of Distinctive Excellence

JOSEPH J. VERDICCHIO

Compliments of

ROBERT V. SABATINl

WILLIAM L MAHER Counselors at Law

COLLEGIATE OUTFITTING CO..

Incorporated

•

e

210 EAST 116 STREET NEW YORK

20 WEST 33 STREET NEW YORK CITY

1

Phones:

L E h ig h 4-2698

R es. L E h ig h 4 -1 2 9 8

Consolers of A\ary

CONVENT OF THE SACRED HEART

WATERS FUNERAL HOME

U N IV E R S IT Y

2597 GRAND CONCOURSE

AVENUE

and

174 S T R E E T

B R O N X , N . Y. P h o n e s: R A y m o n d 9 -6 0 0 1 — 9-6002

M o t h e r C a t h e r in e O 'C o n n o r , Directress

G.

Funerals moderately priced to meet every

U.

K av an ag h , President

individual requirement P h o n e S E d g w ic k 3-0693

BEDFORD PARK BOULEVARD

•

Florist

Fresh Cut Flowers and Plants Daily

B ranch: S A M U E L J . > X 'A T E R S F o rm e rly B oyd & Y 'a te rs

690 T IN T O N M E lro se

AVENUE 5-0159

4 E A ST 200 ST R E E T

B R O N X , N . Y.

F oot o f both Je ro m e and C o ncourse S ubw ays

[ 107}

1

[ 108]

Let These Pages Be Your Shopping Guide PEGGY-CAROLYN SHOP P hones: R A y m o n d 9-8848

Ladies' and Children's linear

A D iro n d ack 4-8749

Lingerie, Hosiery, Robes, Gloves, Etc. 362 B E D F O R D P A R K BL V D .

N e a r D eca tu r Avenue

B R O N X , N. Y. R egulation Blouses

BLOSSOM FLOWER SHOP. INC. CHARLES' QUALITY MARKET CH O IC E M EATS— PR O V ISIO N S—POULTRY

Quality Flowers

2769 W E B S T E R A V E N U E B R O N X , N . Y. N e a r 198 S treet

T homas K egan

P h o n e : R A y m o n d 9-6157 P h o n e : F O r d h a m 7-5324

“ F low ers for All Occasions”

ST. JAMES FLOWER SHOP

F l o w e r s b y W i r e t o A l l P a r t s o f t h e NX'orld

C harkalis B ros.

387 ] i E D F O R D P A R K B L V D .

M e m b e r F .T .D .

N E W Y O R K C IT Y

E ast 200 Street, N e a r W e b s te r A v en u e h'lowers by W ire

ALEX. HEYMANN

2539 WEBSTER AVENUE

Delicatessen and Grocery Birdse ye F ro sted Foods N o rth w est C orner F o rd h am Road, B R O N X , N . Y. 383 B E D F O R D

PARK BLVD.

B R O N X , N . Y.

P h o n e : SEdgwick 3-5213

Compliments of

GREAT NATIONAL MILLWORK & LUMBER CORP. MILLWORK — LUMBER — HARDWARE — PAINTS MASON MATERIALS — ROOFING MATERIALS Largest Distributors of

SHEET TILE AND ACCESSORIES in the Bronx W AREHOUSE:

MacQuesten Parkway at South Street, Mount Vernon Office and Yard Phones:

Office and Yard Phone:

OL inville 2-1800—2-9729

N ew Rochelle 5858

WEBSTER AVENUE & GUNHILL ROAD

788 MAIN STREET, NEW ROCHELLE

[ 109 ]

Patronize Oiir Priends W'ho Patronize Us

P hone: F O rd h a m 4-8836

HASTEDT'S Confectioner and Luncheonette Home Made Ice Cream and Candy

2779 W E B S T E R A V E N U E

NEW

Y O R K C IT Y

SUNSWEET PRUNE JUICE T e le p h o n e O rd ers D eliv ered

P ro m p tly

JOHN BOCCHINO Fancy Delicatessen Groceries and Fruits 285

E A ST 203 S T R E E T

N e a r B riggs A v e n u e

F O rd h a m 4-9528

ROSENHAIN'S FORDHAM ROAD at CRESTON AVENUE

Luncheon

Dinner

A La Carte

Cocktail Lounge Tidbits 5 to 6 in the Afternoon Catering for Every Occasion

Never Closed

[110]

BRONX

Reliable! Individual! Courteous

DELAR STUDIO ROCKEFELLER CENTER

OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER FOR THE 1940 WATCH TOWER

BEST W ISHES to the Academy o f M ount St. Ursula

THE CONW AY PRINTING COMPANY 416 West 33 Street New York City Union Printers

Printers of the Watch Towei

CHickering 4-2645

[111]

CLASS OF JUNE, IR E N E M. B E N D E R 2 5 2 5 Grand Concourse

M A R G U E R IT E P. H EIN E M A N 2 5 1 5 U n iv ersity A venue

W IN IF R E D K. M cH ALE 2130 T iebout A venue

M ARY A. BO R N ST ED T 2 9 8 3 P erry A venue

M ARJO RIE E. HOERM AN 2 9 5 7 B ain b rid ge A venue

M ARY V. M cNAM ARA 2 4 8 6 T iebout A venue

MARY R. BRACA 2 1 2 1 Grand Concourse

A N N E. HOGAN 3601 W ille tt A venue

C A T H E R IN E J. M INNOCK 102 Sherw ood A venue, Y onkers

M A R IE U . BR A D Y 2 9 8 6 B riggs Avenue

G ER A L D IN E E. H U B B A R D 120 W est 183 Street

LO R R A IN E A. MOORE 44 E a st 208 S treet

E L IZ A B E T H M. BRE N N A N 312 E ast 200 S treet

M ARIA G. H U N T 4721 R ichardson A venue

V IR G IN IA M. M ULLIG AN 3250 P erry A venue

M OIRA G. B R E N N A N 312 E ast 206 S treet

M ARIE B. H U N T 377 E a st 141 S treet

LEONORA V. NOLAN 2430 M arion A venue

V IR G IN IA A. BRO DERIC K 2 5 5 5 BainOridge Avenue

M ARGARET U. K A V A N A G H 2789 B rig g s A venue

R IT A A. O’CONNOR 251 E a st 20 3 S treet

R IT A E. B U R N S 2374 W eb ster A venue

JOAN M. K E L L E H E R 365 E a st 197 S treet

GRACE O ’TOOLE 2244 C liatterton A venue

ADA L. CARLONI 355 E ast 187 S treet

PA T R IC IA G. K IE R N A N 2376 W eb ster Avenue

H E L E N D, CONBOY 300 H ayw ard Avenue, F leetw ood , N. Y.

ROSE A. K ING 3060 D ecatur A venue

M ARIE A. P A LA D IN O 605 M inneford A venue, City Isla n d

P A T R IC IA A. CONLON 3051 D ecatur Avenue MARY R, DO NLEAVY 2 33 E ast 238 S treet ANN A. DOOLEY 2 3 2 8 U n iv ersity A venue

E L A IN E F, K L E R SY 283 4 V a len tin e A venue CLARICE T, K O EH LER 2927 V a len tin e Avenue DO ROTHY A. K R A U SS 432 4 C aryenter Avenue

LO RETTA G. POW ER 365 E a st 193 S treet ED N A JA N E R E IL L Y 1834 N arragan sett A venue ZITA T. SCHOEN 356 E a st 198 S treet B A R B A R A C, SCHROFF 308 E a st 209 S treet

JE A N H . DORCHAK 825 E a st 231 Street

GRACE D. LOORAM 2333 L odovick A venue

V IR G IN IA M. DO UG H ERTY 2 6 0 0 D avid son Avenue

VERONICA M. A. LYNCH 3006 D ecatur A venue

PA T R IC IA L. EGAN 2 7 1 5 D ecatur Avenue

B A R BA R A A. M ARSCHALL 265 Bedford P ark B lvd .

M ARY A. FITZG ERALD 365 E ast 193 Street

FLORENCE M. M ARTIN 3718 H enry H udson P arkw ay

MARGARET P. GALLAGHER 3070 R oberts A venue

M ARIE C. M ASCETTA 283 5 B ain b rid ge A venue

MARY E. GRAUL 2 8 0 0 B ainbridge Avenue

E L IZ A B E T H A. McDERM OTT 300 R esevoir P lace

E L IZ A B E T H A. G R IFFIN 2 4 8 6 M orris Avenue

JOAN R. MCDONALD 410 E ast 182 Street

E IL E E N P . HANLON 1659 H erin g Avenue

E IL E E N V. M cGIRR 258 D evoe A venue, Y onkers

DO ROTHY B. YANNACONE 300 G ram atan A venue, Mt, V ernon

IR E N E M. H ANS 1338 C lay A venue

V IR G IN IA M. M cG UIRE 327 E ast 206 Street

CECIL M. ZELLER 7 Thom pson Street, Crestw ood

ROSE M. SE N E SE 2936 B ain b rid ge A venue M U R IE L J. SH A LL EY 2656 D ecatu r A venue M ARY T. S H E IL 2544 V a len tin e A venue ANNE D. VACHIO 3331 B ain b rid ge Avenue DO ROTHY K . VOLK 1236 P aw nee P la c e M. W H IT A K E R 309 M osliolu P ark w ay

ruth

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