RAIN
I love to hear upon the walk
The rain that comes on nights in spring,
So warm and soft and pattering
It seems to fairly talk.
It tells me of arbutus shy,
That hides in moss beside a tree,
Of crocus and anemone
That peek out at the sky.
It fills with earthly scent the night,
And glistens on the new green leaves;
It drips and drips from shining eaves
And sparkles in the light.
Mary Brackett, ’26.
TROUBLES OF AN AMATEUR
MARY had been assured that “Dolly” was absolutely dependable, would not shy, had a kind and gentle disposition, and was easy to manage; but now she was actually gazing upon this amiable annihilator, the courage oozed out of her suddenly pounding heart and her eyes widened with fright and suspicion. She wished now she hadn’t been so desirous of tempting fate on such a seemingly ferocious and unnatural brute.