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

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D. M. C. I. BREEZES 13 up to the name children called him, and not a finer friend could be found in all France. The rich and poor alike loved him, and a word of praise from his lips was valued more than the praise of a king. Grand-pere Joli’s life, however, was by no means free from trouble and worry. Except for one daughter, Olivine, he had no living relatives. They had lived happily together, even after Olivine married. Before many years had passed, her husband died, leaving Olivine with a little daughter Yvonne, to care for. Still another change came into their lives. One night Olivine flew into a fit of rage over some trivial matter, and taking Yvonne, set out on foot for the home of her mother-in-law. There she was badly received, but try as he might, for two long years, Grand-pere Joli could not locate the two he loved so well. One day a crusader brought news of the tragic death of Olivine, and the disappearance of Yvonne. The news crushed the old man. He shut himself up in his little home. No longer could people go to him for sympathy; no longer could the blind beggar, or the lame dog expect food or tender care. The man who had loved all, now hated the sound of a human voice, and the sight of a neighbor’s face. For several months the peace and joy of Beaute were marred. One day Grand-pere Joli set out in a round about way for the shore of his much loved river. He had gone only a short distance when he happened to glance over by the roadside. There, to his surprise, a small girl, clad in beggar’s clothes, lay sleeping peacefully, her head resting against a huge dog, who appeared to be keeping watch over her. Grand-pere Joli gasped in amazement. He had seen many beggars in his day, but never a child, who had obviously been travelling a long way, and whose sole companion was a dog. The old man tip-toed nearer. Then he gave a cry of joy. It was. Yvonne! Joy transfigured the face of Grand-pere Joli. Tenderly he lifted the child in his still strong arms, and bore her triumphantly home. The townspeople rejoiced. The story of how, on her death bed Olivine had told Yvonne the way to Beaute, was told and retold. Peace and joy once again made the people of the town as happy and kindly as before. —Evelyn Moir. MR. HARRY IRVINE ON SHAKESPEARE BOUT the middle of last March the National Council of E ducation brought to Winnipeg Mr. Harry Irvine, who, as our readers probably know, is one of the world’s foremost authorities on Shakespeare. Those who missed his wonderful lecture at St. Stephen’s Church, regardless of how much they have heard about it, can have only a very faint concep¬ tion of their loss. Mr. Irvine is extremely well qualified for this work, for, being a graduate of Oxford, we cannot imagine his being without a student’s knowledge of Shakespeare, and, being an ex-actor, he must also be acauainted with ' him from that angle. Obviously it would be difficult to find a man more capable in this line of work. He first told us that it was his principal desire, in ' his lecture that

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12 D. M. C. I. BREEZES Series of Comics by America’s Best Cartoonist—Leonard Hicks—Get Your Copy Now.” After a delightful (or rather amusing) hour of reading these comics, Miss Phelps went to court. There was to be a trial, and she hart been ordered to report the case. The courtroom was crowded to the doors. The prisoner, very downcast in appearance, was in the box. Then Canada’s greatest criminal lawyer, Marguerite Ross, K.C., rose. Miss Phelps gazed. Why that famous lawyer was one of her old school chums! After the trial the reporter went home. She had a hard day’s work to do on Monday. She must go to a lecture given by Llewellyn Johns, M.P. This was for the benefit of young orators, as Mr. Johns was himself a brilliant speaker. Then, too, she had to visit the Toronto Univers ity. One of the Professors of English, Miss Margaret Ashley, was running an article in the Toronto Star entitled, “The iStudent Mind.” She must make arrangements with Miss Ashley to continue the articles. Then our young reporter remembered that she had to interview a famous ediotr. Off she rushed without her supper. As she entered the editor’s office, she saw a young woman, who was evidently waiting for an interview. Miss Phelps recognized Miss Frances Fox, leader of the Women’s Conservative Party. The two women talked together for several minutes, until the door of the inner office opened, and out came the editor, Miss Cherry Crawford. After an hour’s talk with the noted editor, Miss Phelps went home to bed. The following day being Sunday, our heroine decided to go to church. She had never been to St. Luke’s Anglican Church, and so thought she would enjoy a change. Bishop Lloyd Bruce, M.Sc., M.A., Ph.D., D.D., gave a very inspiring sermon. He talked of the wayward¬ ness of the younger generation. As he concluded ' his sermon, the organ began to play. Miss Phelps came to with a start. Why, where was Bishop Bruce, where the organ, the courtroom, her office, the opera house? Then she saw the dentist’s face. Why, of course, it had all been a dream. A few minutes later, the young woman left the office, needless to say, much happier. —M. Ross, 22. —M. Ashley, 56. GRAND-PERE JOLI ' J ' HE little French village of Beaute nestled at the bend of a narrow river in southern France. The inhabitants were not numerous, but the same families had lived the simple, out-door life of the village for many years. Kindliness was their most outstanding characteristic; and people far and near began to honor and respect the peasants for this. Many journeying on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, went out of their way to spend the night in Beaute, where they were always sure of a welcome. The kindest of all the inhabitants was Grand-pere Joli. He lived

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14 D. M. C. I. BREEZES evening, to bring Shakespeare before us as a man, and to eradicate the impression that he was a genius whose works were to be placed in a prominent place in a library, and left to gather dust. He succeeded wonderfully, partly by the obvious method of relating something of the great dramatist’s humble youth, but, we think, chiefly by the more novel device of telling us the circumstances connected with the writing of his first play, “Love’s Labour Lost.” Mr. Irvine seemed to favour “Othello” above Shakespeare’s other works, and he gave some good reasons for doing so. Happily for the Grade XI. students present, considerable time was spent on “Hamlet.” His opinion that Hamlet is not a philosopher may be of interest to some of the inmates of the D.M.C.I. Several other of the more outstanding plays, including comedy, history, and tragedy, were discussed. Mr. Irvine frequently recited long speeches, besides giving many minor quotations, from the plays reviewed. This was done with great effect, for he was able to bring into play the acting ability which he spent a considerable period of his life in acquiring. We must confess that during the recitation of Mark Anthony’s famous speech over Caesar’s body, we were momentarily transported to ancient Rome, and were genuinely startled on coming back to real life. We confidently believe that some hundreds of Winnipeg citizens and students learned more of Shakespeare during that evening than they knew before, and if Mr. Irvine ever comes back to our city with the purpose of lecturing, we think that he may count on seeing most of his last audience again. —H. Johnson. IS THE WORLD GETTING WORSE? NO! W ' hy should it be? As far as I can see neither the younger generation nor the older generation is showing any sign of physical or mental decay. Life is continuing its serene, inevitable course with perhaps only a little more excitement than before. One small portion of the world that is evil cannot corrupt the whole universe, and such things as petting parties should not be considered indications of per¬ manent degradation. Why, older people, themselves, admit that they can remember when “Underneath the Mellow Moon,” “two w.ere com¬ pany.” Was not this the beginning of what has just gone a little far¬ ther today? Of course! Life is primarily just the same now as it was then, and whatever changes there are will in time, together with other past history, fade into the background, and fresh worries will appear to vex the minds of pessimists. The faults of the world, as most people view them, seem to be con¬ centrated in the large cities. Crime, as reported in the newspapers, is no doubt appalling and the lurid details certainly lose nothing in the telling, but, should you judge a whole city from its worst aspect? Let us consider, for a moment, Chicago—that much maligned American city. Can you judge the standards of its population by the misdeeds of a few individuals? Will “Big Bill Thompson” be just a comet or