6 THE ACORN neither of us spoke but peace and love filled our thoughts, when a loud knock startled us, and strange voices were asking for Celia. No, it was not an uneventful day for our little Celia. There stood her patron and Madame Tresseau their eyes beaming with pleasure as he said: "We've been hunting everywhere for you. I must tell you about that picture. Do you know we've made $5,000 out of it for you and bribed your landlady into letting us see the others. All the city is talking about you." "I have promised to bring you back with us." added Madame. "Will you go? You will find that Miss Celia Ashton has become famous. Little child, why did you leave me? I could not find you at all. And fear I never should, had not Mr. Bretron come to me with your picture." Celia was excited but only for an instant. "No" she said at last quite decidedly, "I cannot leave Mother." "What!" both exclaimed "You give up fame to remain here? Mrs. Ashton, get her to see" but Mother herself spoke. "Celia, you must go. It will be so good to know my little girl has realized her ambition." "But Mother" "You can come and see us often and we'll come to visit you." "We'll all go Mother dear, then I'll not have to leave you. And Oh everybody, isn't this just the happiest Christmas since Christ was born!" Sarah M. Williams, '06 THE ACORN 7 The Old Year and New The shadows creeping slowly hide the day, The evening bells ring out o'er land and sea. The dying embers slowly fade away. The night bird screams from out his hollow tree. Covered with dim and slowly dying light, The old year marks the last of all his days. And round his hoary head and face so white, Sad features look with slow and anxious gaze. Love, Patience and Endurance all are there, With heads in silent meditation bowed. Each showing with a tenderness and care, Their part they gave to help this one they loved. See how the lines of toil and hardships dread O'erspread his face as Want and Care appear. But Happiness draws nigh his dying bed, And smiles away his sorrow and his fear. And Riches, not unmindful of her task, Prolongs his joy a few short moments then. For though his life had not been all he asked, He oft had been the happiest 'mong men. Oft do his features show a vague unrest, As though a thought of duties unperformed Send through his aged and enfeebled breast, A pang of sorrow for the task unlearned. Then oft, too, with a mild and healing way Sweet Memory doth smooth his furrowed brow. Then oft, perhaps, he hears the blissful lay, Which Music does his parting hour allow. So one by one with sad and drooping head, Each mourner slowly speaks his last farewell, And far across the white and glist'ning hills, Resound the echoes of the dying knell. The shadows deepen on the chamber Walls And all are waiting with impatient breath, So melancholy on their faces falls, Their hearts are beating to the march of death. Lo suddenly the door flings open wide, And strains of joyous music greet their ears. The Old Year, startled, rises on his side, He hears the notes of pealing anthems clear. A child of beauty, tender years, and grace Treads lightly to the group of mourners there. Sweet tenderness and purity of face Shine from beneath his locks of golden hair. Gently he passes by the weeping forms, Softly he lays his hand upon the bed. When from the crowd a sudden cry resounds, "Lo! he revives, he lives, he is not dead." Filled with the spirit of the new born air, The Old Year takes the child's small dimpled hand. Slowly he speaks, with faltering lips, a prayer. Prays for the new born year and all his band. Seeming inspired by some prophetic power, He speaks of mansions future men will build. Tells of the glories of each day and hour, Which by the coming year will be fulfilled. Speaking in tones that breathe immortal fire, He gives his blessing to his only child. Then as he breathes his last, the heavenly choir Seconds his prayer with th 'echoing chorus wild. Ring out ye bells the dawning of the day, Proclaim peace, happiness, good will and cheer. Ring out the sorrow hate and ill away Ring in the morning of the glad New Year. F. R.