Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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The Branksome Slogan 23 A Morning Symphony A dank, grey mist hung heavily over the blue-green water in the haze of the early morning. A damp breeze blew in off the sea, rusting the slimy- rooted reeds that stood deeply waving their slender blades, which as the breeze slackened, slowly straightened again. The sound of the waves breaking against the rocks farther along the beach mingled with the scream of the gulls as they sailed over the water watching, with their sharp little eyes, for morsels of food as the tide turned. The haze shifted slowly, as the sun came up, slanting weak rays of pale golden light across the shadowed sky. Soon pale gold turned to deepest yellow, tinting the edges of the brown rocks with rims of burning orange. Inland, along the shore where the rocks sloped, making a way to pass along the edge of the sand, was a cottage with a thatched roof and clean, white-washed walls, covered with rambling roses. A faint spiral of grey-blue smoke twisted out of the chimney and disappeared in the clean, sharp air. Suddenly, the large wooden door of the cottage opened and a little girl came down the broad, stone steps, swinging a water-bucket. She was a child of perhaps eleven years of age, fresh as the dew, her healthy young skin tanned with the summer sun. She put the pail down under the spout of the pump and began to swing the big iron handle with strong, easy movements, soon filling it to the brim. An elderly man, leaning on a knotted, w ooden cane, now came to the door of the tiny house. He had long white hair that was growing thin, and a white beard that moved up and down when he spoke. His eyes were bright with the twinkle of good nature, but his face was deeply seamed with age. For a moment, as if from habit, he stood with his right hand shading his eyes, gazing far over the sea ; then he turned and smiled gently on the child. ' ' Nice fresh mornin ' , little one , he said kindly to the girl as she came back towards the cottage, labouring with the heavy water-bucket. Aye, granddad, that it is , she answered in a full round voice, lifting her child face to the radiant sky. A new day had begun. BARBARA SPENCER, Form IV B.

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THE STARS Small, twinkling lamps? To me they seem All-seeing, cold, sharp eyes That pierce the Soul — a stony gleam Of gems in velvet skies, An awesome sight, and terrible. So vast, So distant, and so set — that sapphire deep — But Beauty leaves her mark there to the last Oh God, behold Thy Work ! So let us sleep. SUSAN GOULDING, Form III A. A POOR MAN ' S POSSESSIONS A heart I have, that thrills to light, And Life, wind, scented bowers, The naked stars, the moon — that bright Pilot of midnight hours. A voice I have, that lifts in praise Of all things Nature-born — The rustling trees a song can raise At red dawn — dew-eyed morn. And eyes I have, that see these things Beyond a muddied world, Where gaunt grey buildings tell of kings. And nations ' flags unfurled. A soul I have, a memory For treasures — seeds now sown ; This is enough for me to keep As it is all I own. SUSAN GOULDING, Form III A. THE MOON A midnight breeze is but A silver whisper of the Moon — That pale, sweet lady who reigns o ' er deep skies, And looks with saddened scorn On Life, with tears on Love, and soon Sinks to a weary sleep as dark night flies. SUSAN GOULDING, Form III A.

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24 The Branksome Slogan The Calgary Stampede Every year, in July, cowboys from Canada and the United States compete at Calgary in a great stampede. At this time, the North American champion- ships are held in bucking-horse riding, in calf-roping and in many other types of cowboy skill. The Stampede lasts for a week, and it is a gala time for all concerned. Every morning at ten o ' clock, Montana Indians, in full war- feathers, parade on horse-back, before the chief hotel. They are fine-looking Indians, very unlike the run-down type which you find on some reserves. They are dark- skinned, with high cheek-bones and black hair, and resemble, in almost every respect, those which used to fill the West some year ago. One rather dis- appointing fact to discover is that they smoke cigarettes. Promptly at two o ' clock every afternoon, the stampede programme begins. The day we saw it, they held several bucking-horse riding contests which were very exciting. At the sound of a gong, a horse and rider burst into the arena. Then ensued a battle between horse and rider in which sometimes one and sometimes the other was victorious. The cowboy, his large hat in one hand, held the rein in the other, and since there was no saddle, it seemed really miraculous how he could stay on for so long a time. Next came the wild steer decorating; the idea was to place a ribbon on one of the horns of a wild bull. The steers, however, objected strongly to such feminine adornment, and it proved difficult to carry out the task. Some- times an animal, becoming very angry, would jab at its tormentor with its horns. Then the cowboy would rush from the scene at full speed, closely pursued by the snorting, fiery-eyed bull. An interesting feature of the evening performance was a cowboys ' chuck wagon race. In travelling on the ranges, the cowboy outfits use chuck wagons which are almost the same as the old covered wagons of frontier days. In these wagons they can eat, sleep and even cook. They are very compactly built and are equipped to the last detail. The race was run over a circular course and the wagons had to round it three times. In the middle of the race one wagon lost a wheel and upset. However, nothing was lost except the race. If you have never watched the Stampede, I should certainly advise you to try to do so, sometime, as it is a novelty worth seeing. GWENDOLYN PLANT, Form V. Miss C. (to pupil who has been away) : Well, if you haven ' t done this exercise, I expect you to take it down as we- take it up. What is the modern generation coming to? — the girls think of noth- ing but the boys, and the boys think of nothing but themselves!