Daniel McIntyre Collegiate Institute - Breezes Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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32 D. M. C. I. BREEZES baking. No wonder, we began to feel enormously hungry for our dinners! Quickly we made our adieux and with happy hearts went home to plan what wonderful chocolates we would turn out at our next Domestic Science lesson. We have had that lesson, and each girl has gone home laden with a whole pound and a half boxful, made and paid for entirely by herself. Miss Dowler thought they were wonderful, too! And Mr. Campbell thought they were Picardy’s. Don’t you wish you had been around that day? —Olive Vogel, Room 52. IRISH HILLS To dream of Irish hills Is the loveliest thing in the world— The Irish hills where primrose tints The whole earth there, with colour pale As fairies’ wings, and sunlight glints Across the stream, and through the dale. To dream of Irish hills Is the loveliest thing in the world— The Irish hills, where each June night The good “wee folk” in dresses made Of petals, yellow, mauve, and white, Are dancing ’neath pale Luna’s shade. To dream of Irish hills Is the loveliest thing in the world— The Irish hills where Beauty walks In gown of gracious greens and blues, The hills where Beauty even talks, (If you can hear) and shows her views. To dream of Irish hills Is the loveliest thing in the world— Shure! the Irish hills have caught my heart, With their long, dim woods where shamrock grows, With their feet in the sea, and their topmost part Still far away, sweet, and tinted with rose. To dream of Irish hills Is the saddest thing in the world— The Irish hills, whose cool, soft rain, Whose sweet, dim sounds, and shadows pale T’ll never feel nor see again. Och, Erin! for a ship and sail! —C. C. The army was crossing a bridge and Pat got out of line. “Fall in.” said the commander. Pat looked at the water and said: “Too deep.”

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D.M. C. I. BREEZES 31 A VISIT TO THE PICARDY FACTORY QN November 30th, Grade IX. Practical Arts girls, accompanied by Miss Kathleen Dowler, visited the Picardy Factory. The visit was planned in order that the girls who were making their own chocolates for Christmas work in the Domestic Science, would be able to compare home methods and facilities with commercial ones. The girls had already had their first lesson on making fondant. Fondant is the usual foundation for all soft centres of chocolates. Each girl had bought a pound of sugar and the project was to see who could manufacture on first trial a pound of fondant of creamy consistency. This was stored away for a week, then flavoured, colored, and formed into a variety of shapes. The next step was to melt some specially pre¬ pared sweet chocolate, and dip each centre, with the aim of turning each out, shiny and brown and well formed like those on the market. The object in visiting Picardy’s, therefore, was to see how this is achieved. There was much to see! First a batch of clear taffy, cooling, which was punched a few times; coloring was added, and after a few turns over a hook, the whole was run through a machine, which turned it out into neat and glistening ruby-red beads, threaded on a cord ready to cut into lengths to grace the Christmas tree. All around were tables full of candy in various stages. Pecan- clusters, walnuts, nougatine, creamy fudge, marshmallows, eocoanut centres, as well as hard candies, and ginger fudge—all before our eyes. These were being cut and moulded into numerous shapes by girls or men who worked skilfully and quickly. We were too late to see the fondant mixed. That usually is done in the morning, in order to complete before eight, the process from raw sugar to the finished chocolates. We looked at the fondant machine which beats one hundred pounds at a time; and then we remembered how tired our arms were after beating one pound. This was one way in which the commercial equipment was superior to ours. Next there was a whole room of chocolates. Think of it! Boxes to the right of us; boxes to the left of us; boxes all around us; packed and being packed with chocolates. At a long table sat women dipping chocolates all day long by hand, pound after pound. Each had her trough of melted chocolate, and each had a tray on which to drop them, as she gave a final professional twirl or twist to the top. We wondered if we could be half so skilful! We did not even know, as yet, how to hold our dipping forks! As a final delight, Mr. Gribbens presented Miss Dowler with a box of chocolates to share with the class. They were ' handed to Thelma Franklin, who had made a nice little “thank you” speech on behalf of the class for the courtesies they had been shown. It was too late to see the cooks at work in t ' he bakery, but we were shown the equipment, including the huge ovens. We caught inte resting glimpses of freshly baked tarts and cakes, and patty shells awaiting

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D. M. C. I. BREEZES 33 THE SCOTT COUNTRY PE GENTLY some of the classes in the school have had the pleasure of hearing a lecture by Mr. Florence, on the “Scott Country.” This lecture was illustrated colorfully and pleasingly by many interesting and beautiful slides—these portraying both Scott’s surroundings and those of his poems and novels. In the first slide Walter Scott appears more like a kindly, comfort¬ able, country gentleman than a poet and author. Yet there is some¬ thing even about his picture, which hints at that determination of char¬ acter that was made so noticeable by ' his misfortunes in later life. The second slide shows Edinborough Castle, built high up on a rough rock in the centre of the city of Edinborough; t ' he next slide gave another view of the city with the castle and Scott’s monument in the distance. Following these were pictures of Holyrood Palace and Abbey, Smailholme tower—where Scott spent so many years of his childhood—and the tower of Selkirk, which is itself a poem with its quaintness and its memories of wonderful deeds of former inhabitants. These beautiful, picturesque, and even rugged, wild scenes give one a slight idea of how Scott was able to reflect in his poetry so much of the roughness, wildness, simplicity, grandeur, and beauty of his country. Next followed slides of the places prominent in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel”: Newark Tower, where the minstrel tells the tale; Branksome Castle, the stronghold of the Scotts; Melrose Abbey, that Scott describes so vividly through the minstrel, and the beautiful east oriel in the abbey, in front of which Michael Scott and his magic book were buried; Ilemitage Castle, from which some of the clan came at the call of their chieftain; Roslyn Chapel, of which Harold sang in the “Ballad of Rosabelle,” and the Eilden Hills that were, as the minstrel tells, once one, till cleft in three by the magic power of Michael. Then came a beautiful view of Tantallon Castle and the bass rock far out in the sea, that are depicted in Scott’s poem. Next was Mar mion, and in the Land Debatable, a gypsy village with the queen’s funny thatched roof cottage that is known as her palace; also a very beautiful, rugged, mountainous spot along the border, with a rushing roaring, mountain cascade well named as “Hell’s ’Hole,” to add to its charm and wildness. Finally there were some slides of Scott’s residences, and the beauty spots in their vicinity, including a beautiful picture of Abbotsford and the study there, where Scott wrote nearly all his novels; a picture of Scott with one of the dogs he always had with him, and Dryborough ' Abbey, where in the north transept on Saint Mary’s aisle, he is buried; and last the beautiful monument of Scott that holds in its niches statues of many of the characters immortalized by the writer’s genius. —Phyllis Paterson. No sooner do our most famous flyers accomplish one long journey than they begin planning another. If they stay on the ground more than a few days at a time their feet begin to hurt.