Loyola University Chicago Loyola eCommons St. Ignatius Collegian University Archives & Special Collections 1905 St. Ignatius Collegian, Vol. 4 (1904-1905) Students of St. Ignatius College Recommended Citation Students of St. Ignatius College, "St. Ignatius Collegian, Vol. 4 (1904-1905)" (1905). St. Ignatius Collegian. Book 2. http://ecommons.luc.edu/st_ignatius_collegian/2 This Article is brought to you for free and open access by the University Archives & Special Collections at Loyola eCommons. It has been accepted for inclusion in St. Ignatius Collegian by an authorized administrator of Loyola eCommons. For more information, please contact [email protected]. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License. m '•c\<e:?^m^^^>; NON ^'^'ir ^ikm %;MiU»>^ >v. ; t. Jgnatius Collegkn Vol. IV Chicago, 111., Nov., 1904 No. 1 Ci)e (tontetnplation of Autumn. BOUNTEOUS nature has given to mortals a soulful love for A what is beautiful. The faculty exists in every human being, whether civilized or savage; but the degree of its develop- ment in any man may be said to determine the culture, in fact, the very civilization of the individual in question. It is born in every- one ; but in some, it is destined like the seed of the Scriptural para- ble, to die for want of nourishment. In others, it reaches, not per- fect maturity—for such an outcome is beyond the dwarfed capa- bility of humanity—but a sufficient degree of development to render its possessors genial and broad-minded men—a bulwark of morality and a credit to society in general. For the exercise of this faculty with which we have been so graciously endowed, there are, in nature, myriads of causal objects and occasions ; but among all of them, there can be found none more prolific of the beautiful than is the golden Autumn. The beauties of this season, it is true, may be screened from the view of the sordid man of the world ; but to the man of sentiment they speak in accents mysterious. The former may journey, day after day, through some forest or over some verdant meadow, amid scenes of natural beauty far surpassing the loftiest creations of the most fanciful dream. Yet to him nature will call in vain for the slightest mark of appreciation because the gift bestowed on him was a seed dropped among the thistles of selfishness, which throttled it in its infancy. But, let a man whose mind is free from the bondage of self- satisfaction behold the same scene of natural beauty. How different is the spectacle presented. He treads on a carpet of leaves, in which 2 THE ST. IGNATIUS COL,LEGIAN. his mere fleeting glance detects a combination of tints indicative of art superhuman. Let but a flower kissed by the roaming breeze nod its tiny head. It is an act that bids his dormant wits awaken. Let but the querulous note of a songster break the stillness ; or the babbling of a brook strike upon his ear ; it is an imperial clarion that summons forth his fancy, that sends his spirit soaring to imagi- native heights utterly beyond the reach of the man in the outer world. Perhaps the leaves slowly dropping from a weeping-willow are the tears which summer's recent death is coaxing forth; while the giants round about him bend in grief as some sequestered voice intones a requiem. His soul, tuned to vibrate in harmony with the mystic whisperings of nature, seeks, like a captive slave, to burst asunder the fetters that bind it to its earthly habitation. Ah ! gladly indeed may we walk in the train of the poet to ren- der a just homage to this creature of creatures. "To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beautv: and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away '] " > ' j')' Their sharpness ere he is aware." ' > Such a man the world says is a dreamer, a simpleton who feeds upon the airy offspring of a feverish imagination. But the world has ever laughed at what surpasses its narrow comprehension, and its laughter is as idle as the fitful autumn zephyrs, which toy with the fallen leaves. He is a poet, a priest of nature, a true worshiper of God. His thoughts, stored within the sanctuary of a noble, self- sacrificing heart, rise, like purest incense, to the Creator whose radi- ant smile he sees reflected m the little woodland bud. Yes. The world may jeer, the evolutionist may vaunt his superior intelligence and waste his worthless life in striving to extri- cate himself from the meshes of his own infantile theories. But the Christian idealist, the silent apostle, leads a life useful alike to him- self and to humanity ; and, realizing the truth and beauty of his own belief, has for the cynic only a pitying smile, or perhaps an occasional sigh—the wish of an unselfish heart for the unattainable. J. F. Rice, '05. THE ST. IGNATIUS COIrl^EGIAN. Ci)t ^kplarfe's ^ong. OME bards would sing of Cupid's sting, s Of Orpheus' charming lays, While Sonne the strife of mortal life In lyric song would praise, Alas! my heart, nor Cupid's dart Will praise, nor Grecian muse; My lyric soul will, to extol, A simpler subject choose. Ere shadows gray announce the day. Ere Phoebus scans the hills, Intent I list, as through the mist, Unseen the skylark trills. The silvery strain in rich refrain O' erflows the vaulted skies. Its pious mirth awakes the earth That wrapt in slumber lies. I love the swell of the evening bell. The ever-murmuring rill. The wanton ways of the wind that plays With the rose or daffodil; But oh, how gay the skylark's lay! How soft its music floats! My heart would fain the sweetness drain That fills the soulful notes. John G. Mielcarek, '06. THE ST. IGNATIUS COLIvEGIAN. a 3Bream ip a ila?? ^tutient. THE yellow flames piled up one over the other in the grate and threw a lurid glow around the room. The flickering shad- ows chased each other over the walls, resting for a moment on some little picture or queer ornament, and vanishing again as the fire blazed up and cast its light fuller into the darkness. The green wood on the hearth sputtered and cracked, as if it were trying tO' tell the story of its native forest and to picture the resounding blows of the woodman's ax as he ventured further into the darkness in search of wood. I had drawn a cosy chair close up to the blaze and stretched myself out at full length upon it, hoisted my feet to an exalted position on the table top and settled down for a good night's enjoyment. For a moment I lay gazing into the very depths of the fire, its heat scorching my face, and watched the fantastic shapes taken by the wood as it burned slowly to a mass of glowing embers. Here and there stood, alone and untouched, a tiny twig bearing two or three withered leaves, and proudly defying the advancing flames to touch it. But (alas for foolish pride!) the mighty log beneath would lurch like a storm-bound steamer, and carry with it the defiant twig to the flames. Deep in the center of the hearth burned a stout oak log, the flames dancing merrily upon it. Behind showed a broad gleam of fire in strange, fantastic colors, green and blue and deep scarlet and golden yellow, all jumbled together in one con- fusing mass. As I lay there watching this, the flames took on an almost liv- ing touch and mounting higher, seemed about to leap from the hearth. In the fancy of the moment I pushed my chair back a few inches to wait for developments. When I looked again toward the grate the scene had suddenly changed, and I saw before me through the fire a pleasant wood, the trees gaily decked in their proud scarlet and yellow of autumn and swaying gently in the soft evening breeze. The blue sky showed through the tree-tops and the golden sun sinking in the distance cast its long level rays beneath the branches, opening bright vistas of glory into the dim depths of the forest. In the center of the THE ST. IGNATIUS COLLEGIAN. 5 scene beside a fallen trunk and scattered among the leaves were a number of books alone and forgotten. The mould of many days was upon them and I began to speculate about their owner, whether he had strolled away and was lost in the forest or had met with some worse fate in this lonely spot, when horror!—there among the rest I dis- cerned the tattered brown cover of my own odious Yenni, the paper cover of the detested Caesar, and full upon me came the realization of the sickening truth—all mine. I would have forgotten the beauty of the forest in my disgust, but a louder soughing of the wind at- tracted my attention. I could hear in the distance the rush of a storm which in a minute swept across the scene in fury. I was so awed by the sudden change that I did not at first observe the queer action of a little whirlwind which had seized in its embrace the books and their bed of many-colored leaves and, without bearing them away, was spinning them in its vortex fast and faster until they seemed to lose their motion and to merge into a single form.