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

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LITERARY VIGNETTES “Richard Plantagenet desires no more fame than his good sword and lance may acquire for him.” “Malvolio’s coming down this walk.” “Prunella, get your needlework And bring your little chair: Assume the task you wish to shirk. And come and sit down here. ’ Front de Boeuf—“Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs.” “Who is it that can tell me who I am?” Fool—“Lear’s shadow.” “I’m nothing in the world but a poor Pierrot.”

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24 D. M. C. I. BREEZES THE APPROACH OF OLD AGE (A dialogue between Solomon and S. T. Coleridge, based upon the poems “Old Age” and “Youth and Age.”) Solomon—“Sweet is the light and pleasant the sun!” Coleridge—“Ay, the whole world is spring—like when we are young.” Solomon—“But darkness is coming, old age creeping on.” Coleridge—“It cannot be, cannot be that youth is gone When with’ring my body, shrinking my size, And tears taking the sunshine out of my eyes.” Solomon—“Bereft of my teeth, bereft of my sight, Like to the almond tree, my hair turn- eth white.” Coleridge—“Nay, friend, seest thou not that our Father hath made These changes in us a mere masquer¬ ade? If we believe it, Youth lieth beneath, Why think we are old, if age bringeth grief?” Solomon—“Old, age bringeth death when the pitcher doth break.” Coleridge—“Think rather of joys that Life’s blessings make. The ag’d are unwelcome like impov¬ erish’d kin, Then death is desirable, enter joyfully in!” Solomon—“Spirit to Heaven, dust back to earth, Man goeth to God who first gave him birth.” M.B., 53. A GLIMPSE OF GREEN GABLES —P.E.I. From the days of its discovery by the Cabots to its entry into Confeder¬ ation, and during the fifty-eight years that have intervened, Prince Edward Island has played its part in Canadian romance and achievement. It has given great names to Church and State; it has seen its exiles rise to fame in the Republic to the South; it has contrib¬ uted richly to, commerce, to the pro¬ fessions and to the prestige of our leg¬ islative halls; and last but not least, it has seen its sons and daughters rise to fame in the realm of literature. Among the most prominent of the lat¬ ter is Lucy Maud Montgomery, author of the well known “Anne” books. These books have their setting in this crescent shaped island—the smallest province of Canada—which was described by Jacques Cartier as a country where “all the land is low and the most beautiful it is possible to see, and full of beautiful trees and meadows.” Its aboriginal name Abeg- weit, meaning, “cradled on the waves,” most fitly describes it, as it nestles near the south side of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, in a bay formed by the concave coastline of New Brunswick and, Nova Scotia. Perhaps it will be interesting to journey along with one who has vis¬ ited the Anne country. Leaving Win¬ nipeg we travel eastward through Manitoba, Ontario,, Quebec and New Brunswick until we reach Cape Tor- mentine, situated on a picturesque point jutting into the Straits of North¬ umberland. Here our train is drawn slowly on what is known as the Car Ferry, which speedily bears us in a northeasterly direction towards the Island. As we draw near the port of Borden, P.E.I., we are struck by the appearance of the shore which makes an exquisite picture with its high banks of red sandstone standing out in contrast against the deep blue of the water and the verdure of the fields. As the rails have not, as yet, ad¬ vanced to Cavendish (the Avonlea of Miss Montgomery’s book) we shall continue our journey by automobile. Leaving Borden for the Northern shore, we traverse some of the most

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26 D. M. C. I. BREEZES charming country in the Maritimes, described in verse thus: Erin ne’er saw greener foliage, Winding red roads ever lead O’er the hills and in the valleys, Through the fragrant clover mead. After travelling about thirty-five miles, we hear the dull, heavy boom of the breakers rolling in from the Atlantic announcing to us that we have reached Cavendish. Turning off the main road we drive for about half a mile. In an orchard o.n our right is seen the foundation, which is all that remains, of the home of Miss Mont¬ gomery. A little further on is Green Gables, a large, white, gabled house with a verandah across one end with a door on the side of the house. This is the main entrance. Around the house are spacious grounds and many trees. As we walk down from the house we come upon a very shady and quiet trail, the silence only being broken by the gurgling of a little stream. It is a spot where one does not think, but rather dreams. It is, in fact, an ideal spot for love-making, this Lover’s Lane of Anne. Following on still further, we arrive at the Lake of Shining Waters—a glimmering green sheet of water on whose banks nymphs might dance blithely. As we return to Green Gables from here by another route, an historic spot meets our gaze. It is the quiet resting place of scores of unknown seamen whose bodies were washed ashore when one hundred and forty- seven ships were wrecked in one of the most terrific gales which ever swept this shore some sixty years ago. A short distance from the cemetery is a little old White one-roomed schoolhouse, where Anne, in a fit of temper unceremoniously struck Gil¬ bert Blythe (destined to become Anne’s future husband) over the head with a slate. If we enter the woods at the foot of the hill and search diligently under the dead leaves of the old year, we shall no doubt find clusters of star w ' hite and dawn pink flowers that have in them the very soul of all the springs that ever were, reincarnated in something that seems gross to call perfume, so exquisite is it. These are known as Mayflowers. After having glanced at this some¬ what inadequate picture of this para¬ dise, perhaps the reader will be able, in some degree, to visualize for him¬ self the remarkable setting around which Miss Montgomery centres her most interesting books. ARNOLD PURDIE, R. 58. “SIGNS OF SUMMER” I wandered through the woods today, Along a long, long lane Of fragrant flowers that softly lay Like dew-drops ere a rain. I strolled among the dandelions; I waded through the blaze Of yellow heads that nodded signs Of milder, sweeter days. Then suddenly upon the air I heard the song of bird, And music came from everywhere. The sweetest ever heard. I stopped, for there before me gushed A tinkling, silvery stream That swirled, and twirled, and hurled and gushed Right by with sparkling gleam. The reeds and shoots with lowered lips Caressed, the babbling brook, And drank the precious drops, by sips, From every shaded nook. The music stayed; the stream ran on, Ran on to join the river. The stream ran on, but ne’er was gone; It haunts my heart forever.