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

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22 D.M.C.I. BREEZES literary {Department THE MAUSOLEUM OF MARUSJA BOGUSLAVA Editor’s Note —It may be of interest to the reader to know that the writer of the following began her study of English only four years ago when she came to Canada from Russia. Among the impressive sights of the Crimea is the mausoleum of Marusja Boguslava. Marusja Boguslava was a Russian peasant girl, who, against her will, became the wife of the khan of the Tartars. A few years after their mar¬ riage Marusja committed suicide by throwing herself down from a steep mountain. The top of this mountain was then crowned with a beautiful mausoleum in which Marusja’s body is buried. The mausoleum much resembles a Russian church, only it is much smal¬ ler, and perhaps still more elaborately decorated. The outer walls are grey and weather-beaten, for they have faced many a storm during their long years of existence. The windows, however, are just as colorful as they probably ever were, the designs in beautiful colored glass have not changed. The steps that lead to the large and heavy door, are worn hol¬ low. The door, or rather the gate, is of strong metal and is so heavy that it takes considerable strength to open it. The inside of the mausoleum is flooded with a peculiar, dim light which comes from the sun’s rays through the colored windows. At first one cannot recognize the articles in the mausoleum, but when the eye be¬ comes used to the light, the first thing it will discern is a beautiful momu- ment which heads the grave of Mar¬ usja Boguslava. This is the only ob¬ ject in the airy room. The walls, how¬ ever, are decorated with Tartar writ¬ ing. This writing is supposed to be the story of Marusja’s tragic life. Before Marusja was captured by the khan, she had been bethrothed to one of the Cossack leaders, who. did not fail to undertake many desperate attempts to rescue her, but was pow¬ erless against the mighty khan. How¬ ever, he was not discouraged and was determined not to rest until he had freed her from the harem. Years passed by and at last the faithful Cossack’s efforts were crown¬ ed with success. The khan was con¬ quered: his castle stormed; and Ma¬ rusja was free to go with her former lover. But time had, changed her. She was the khan’s favorite and beloved wife and had learned to return his love. She was also the mother of two children, and going with the Cossack meant parting with the khan and her

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D. M. C. I. BREEZES 21 rely very much on his own skill and artistry to produce a good painting on the canvas. In interpreting a piece of music, the conductor has to do the same, if the orchestra is lacking in instruments. Miss Kinley, through her excellent musicianship and ability as a leader, has been very success¬ ful with our orchestra. P.P. MEMBERS OF THE ORCHESTRA Back Row—Sydney Cohen, Robert Brown, Vic Taylor, E. Dettman, H. Ludman, G. McLean, G. Johnson, William Smith. Second Row—Ed. Kerr, S. Costantino, L. Cassey, Eileen Sinclair, Betty Rollins, Alma Feaveryear, K. Ross, M. Loutit, Ken. Martin, Don Brereton, Ken. Pidgeon. First Row—M. McPhail, Doris Stokes, Gordon Urguihart (Sec.), Miss Kinley, Pearl Palmason (Pres.), Tom Cottier (Vice-Pres.), Gladys Smith, Marjorie Moyse. ADVERTISING SALES COMPETITION Without the unstinted efforts of our advertising sales teams this biggest and best “Breezes” would not have been possible. We have pleasure in announcing that the Advertising Sales Competition was won by a girls’ team, Myrtle Campbell and Norah Bennett of Room 58, whose fine co-operation and persistence gave zest to the con¬ test. Sid Buckler, 18, and Clair Ham- mill, 58, were spirited competitors all the way, and won a very close second place. Alice Parr of 51 made a score that merits honorable mention. Oth¬ ers who assisted materially in the campaign are Grace Smith, 53, and Ron. Turner, 19. The individual championship is awarded to Myrtle Campbell for her initiative in getting new business, number of calls made, and for her prompt, cheerful and tactful persist¬ ence and general business efficiency. In many respects selling advertis¬ ing is the most difficult and valuable work entering into the production of a year book, and we all feel indebted to these students who have energetic¬ ally and skilfully won the much ap¬ preciated support of so many adver¬ tisers.

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D. M.C. I. BREEZES 23 children, probably for ever. She had no choice: the Cossack had fought for her freedom and she must follow her former lover; but rather than leave those she now loved most she made the tragic leap. MARY HUBERT, R. 47. WOODLAND WINTER The West’s gray light heralds now the night, Low bow the woods in mantling white, The leaden skies do darker grow And from the north the chill winds blow In wintry flight. With snow-white shroud are the maples bowed While fall the flakes in a driving cloud Dimming the distant mantled hill On the crest of the winds so shrill And loud. The tall pines throw from their boughs the snow, In eddying gusts to the drifts below, And lone is the road by the forest’s way Heaped with flakes of the dying day In continual flow. Bitter the cold the cruel winds hold As cracking boughs in the woodland told The dread frost bites thru the laden air While beneath the snows is the hidden hare In slumber rolled. O’er the frozen stream the alders lean Divested of the summer’s green, Their slender boughs with leaves no more Are mantled white in winter hoar With icy sheen. To the frosty sky is raised the cry Of famished wolves in the wood, hard- by. Fast sweep the snows thru tangled brush While rage the winds with furious rush And mournful sigh. Shrill is the wail of the whistling gale On its frosty breath the dark clouds sail, And drives the white snow to the road far below, And the dim woods pale. The pines forlorn in the sighing storm Their hoar arms sway and white their form, Yet harsher the moan of the w inter’s blast Whose vesper shades show day is past, And night is born. CLAIRE SKELLY INSPIRED BY A RECENT VISIT TO A “CLOSE” RELATIVE O little piggie in thy pen, I hear thee grunt approval when Thy snout’s immersed in mash. ’Twould be indeed a foolish act, Thy interest from it to distract, An act, ’thout doubt, quite rash. O didst thou think when thou wert born A dinner plate thou wouldst adorn? What’s that I hear? Thou never? When thou wert young in piggish health, Thou thought not of the butcher’s stealth, Which thee from joy didst sever. Although thou art but dupe to man, His admiration thou canst fan, When hunger be his fate. Cavort and gambol day and night; Gain weight, grow fat, so. that I might My hunger satiate. JOE McCRACKEN.