Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1902-07-03

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no control he is soon drifti< drift.
ing like falling leaves df<fen By a
winters storm perhaps S The end
caught up as drift-wood. hence q
pose perhaps on the ped al Of de
bauchery or regret, loozIng with
tired aud blood shot eyes Azck ward
along the road be came.
Other days at the old hanestead.
How their silyery bellel annents
seem again 30 ring ouf heEr msrry
chimes. telling & sves il innol
csnt pieasnrcs: u TIE Sabbath morn
THAT day so tedious 10 the trifiing
Of earth) so full OF repose and calm
ness to the earnest and heavenly
minded, when we assembled and lis
tened TO that old story of love which
will never end whilst the morning
stars sing together
Whatsprings. what what
golden autumns then'were ours. The
whole year was one gush of glad
ness. On rippled the golden hours,
on flowed the tide. The old home
stead, how like an aged mourner il
seems to sit as though tired and wea-
ry of life, or as pale sweet nun tel
ling her beads to the night winds,
days in and around which grim Wis
aged care had not thrown its murky
and chilling vapors over light and
joyous hearts, ere the baser passions
of our nature had waged success
full warfare and left traces of their
blackened and triumphant march on
the purity and innocence OF the soul.
The old homestead; in the dark old
house which had sheltered us through
so many anxious years and from
which we had looked out upon the
future and pondered of the great
untried world outspread under
the clinging stars. How eloquent
seemed the old armchair and the
little rocker by its sidel How many
tender "reminiscences cluster around
those happy hoursl How touching
and dear their thousand associations
How feeble is language to describe
their guileless pleasures Days in
which hope put forth its earliest
buds and kindled its tiny leaflets in
a little false, flickering ray-for how
many young heart has dreamed
hopefully of the future which, alas
contained nothing but q grave?
Other days! days of rounding and
ripening manhood-days in which
ambition kindled its first fires, and
imagination built her jasper walls;
when with laudable purpose and
lofty aspirations, coupled with a
resolution and daring. which dread
ed no barrier nor shrank from no
responsibility, we became immured
within College enclosures; segre-
gated from the whole worldl The
mental anxiety and agony of the
long, fretful. toiling, narrowing
hours, the rigid discipline, the seem
ingly monntonous routine OF studies
and amusements. Yet these dark
and ponderous clouds had their sill
yer lining. What gay and shapeless
dreams ofttimes cheered and attend
ed US. The castles we constructed,
the forts we stormed, the forums we
shook, the laurels we gathered, the
multitudes we harangued until the
welkin seemed to ring with the ap-
plause and shouts behold the
mani"
IL however these dreams vanished
under the touch of the cold breath oi
q stern reality. there was ever much
remaining OF the practical and hope
ful to soften and brighten the fleet
ing hours Of college days. Who
among US have forgotten their quiet
rambles along the classic and cool
ing shades of some favorite walk
! where we delighted TO gather the
choicest gems and place them in a
jeweled box to be used in s.,ne try
ing emergency-the hours we spent
with those grand old masters Of re-
search and thought How our ideas,
chiselled from such intellectual
quarries seemed to grow and ex-
pand with stronger and more sig
nificant meaning as did those oi
Pygmalion until he imagined he
saw the product of his chisel live
and breathe. Who among us would
or can forget the grand and exhil-
arating elimination of ALL Com
mencement Day'-the gladest,
sweetest day of all-one freighted
with JOY. sparkling with beauty. re-
dolent with the aroma of the choicest
flowers OF the rarest parterres, as
well as that which was born on
every breeze from the near alcoves
of nature.-all mellowed and rein
ed under the assemblage Of beauti.
full. graceful and intellectual woman
hood.
Other daysl Dreamy days, days
Of love. How softly as an angels