Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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10 THE BEANKSOME SLOGAISr. stayed here some time for luncheon, but resumed onr trip in the after- noon, and, when at last we drew np in front of the hall, I could hardly realize that this quaint old building was actually the Brank- some which we had studied about at school. However, I stood up and declaimed dramatically ( ?) : The feast was over in Branksome Hall, the Lad3 e had gone to her secret bower. The others wondered a little at my enthusiasm over this particular ancient pile, when the whole of their country is so thickly besprinkled with just as old and, ' apparently, just as interesting castles as this one. They decided tJiat I must surely be a very keen admirer of The Lay of the Last Minstrel — and so indeed I am, but they didn ' t know (how could they, being Scotch, and unlearned in the manners and customs of this country) that Branksome Hall had been made famous, not only by the poems, but by its flourishing namesake in Canada. I gazed at the old building, and tried to imagine the Ladye gliding up the winding stair to the tower she guarded by word and by spell — the irreverent thought struck me that she must have been fearfully cold when she got up there, for these towers are remarkably draughty places. But perhaps she kept herself warm by word and by spell too. Who knows? The hall is built well back from the road. It is set high, and can be seen above the row of elms which fringe the estate by the side of the road. Four grey walls and four grey towers, over- look a space of flowers, and the silent wall embowers — probably some ordinary, everyday Scotch lord and his family! — whereas it used to embower the Ladye with her knights and squires and pages ! Such an anti-climax ! But travelling is full of such anti-climaxes. To visit an old feudal tower, famed perchance in story, and find, instead of clanking armor and clashing swords, a vegetable garden in the moat ! Or to go to a castle where the King of Scotland lived for cen- turies, and find in the banqueting hall some horrid soldiers cleaning their boots — that is death to romance. Many things may be romantic, but cabbages and modern soldiers certainly are not. For this reason it is a bit disappointing to visit these places, which books have made familiar to us, and find them not at all what our vivid imagination has pictured, but then it gives one a much more real interest in one ' s reading to have seen these places. The Lay of the Last Minstrel ' ' can never seem the same to me since I have seen Branksome and Newark Tower; and The Lady of the Lake has quite a new charm since passing Ellen ' s Isle and the spot where Fitz- james and Eoderick Dhu fought their famous duel. As a school- girl is said to have remarked, after visiting the graves in Westminster Abbey, They seem quite real to me now, for they must have lived or they couldn ' t have died. So at Abbotsford and at Ayr one feels

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THE BRANKSOME SLOGAN. 9 But, girls, this deals with the social side of our Association. We must not have any but the highest of ideals — let us strive for the best ! always keeping in mind the thought, what the school and its honored Principal require of us and do all we can to assist both in the work now being accomplished. Then, with this as a foundation, let us hope that this Association, little as it now is, may broaden and be of use and a credit to the school and the country we all love. The President. THE ORIGINAL BRANKSOME HALL This summer I had the privilege, which perhaps not all of you have enjoyed, of spending some time in the land immortalized by one of the greatest of all fiction writers. For, though to any reader of romances Walter Scott ' s land cannot be restricted to that com- paratively small stretch of country bounded on one side by the liberties of Berwick, on the other by the Solway Moss and known to history as the Scottish Borders; we feel that it has a perfectly legitimate claim to be called the Scott country, for, in one crowning sense, it is Sir Walter Scott ' s land — the land of his nativity; the land consecrated by his life, his herculean labors, his joys, sorrows and death. This is the land which he knew best and loved most, and though it all must needs be to any lover of Scott intensely interesting, perhaps one of the most attractive parts to me was my visit to the original Branksome Hall. As we were staying in Selkirk, which is a charming place situated right in the midst of this historical country, we had an excellent start- ing point for excursions to the many places of interest roundabout. It is, of course, an accepted fact that the roads of Great Britain are well-nigh perfect, and one can hardly imagine anything more delight- ful than gliding over mile after mile of these pavement-like roads with an ever-changing panorama unfolding around one, and with every turn bringing one to some new place interesting either in history or romance. The day we chose for our trip to Branksome Hall was an ideal one — just the least bit warm (hot, our Scotch friends called it), the sky blue and cloudless, the air soft, and the leaves and grass green, as air is soft, and leaves and grass green, only in Scotland. We sped south, following the winding Teviot, past hills glowing with the purple of the heather, past fine old estates and ivy-covered towers, under the overhangin.o branches of the magnificent old trees, up and down the gently sloping hills until we reached Hawick. This is a busy little manufacturing town, about an hour ' s run from Edinburgh, and it is almo t six miles from here that Branksome Hall is situated. We

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THE BEANKSOME SLOGAN. 11 that Scott and Burns must indeed have lived, and though, perhaps, the Ladye was but a creature of Scott ' s imagination, still Brank- some Hall is there, a very tangible reality. I couldn ' t help feeling glad that I was connected, if not with it, at least with its namesake here, and I echoed the response given to the school toast at our luncheon last year, Here ' s to Branksome Hall ; not so famous as Scott ' s Branksome, but it ' s not our fault if it isn ' t. Jean C. MacTavish. THE LADY OF THE LAMBS She walks — the lady of my delight — A shepherdess of sheep. Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white ; She guards them from the steep. She feeds them on the fragrant height, And folds them in for sleep. She roams maternal hills and bright, Dark valleys safe and deep. Her dreams are innocent at night; The chastest stars may peep. She walks — the lady of my delight — A shepherdess of sheep. She holds her little thoughts in sight, Though gay they run and leap. She is so circumspect and right; She has her soul to keep. She walks — the lady of my delight — A shepherdess of sheep. ' x4.LICE MeYNELL. My three little nephews, aged respectively six, four and three years, like all other little children, waken early in the morning, and some- times while away the time by telling stories. One morning Archie, the four-year-old, began : Once upon a time dere were three chickens. What were their names ? interrupted the eldest. Chicken Bloth ' proposed the Baby. . Plailie Chicken, suggested Archie, and Plailie Pire, added the Baby. So those three names were unani- mously approved — Chicken Broth, Prairie Chicken and Prairie Fire. It is not hard to guess in what part of Canada these children live.