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

Page 28 text:

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.

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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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D. M. C. I. BREEZES 27 On gauze-like wings of golden hue A butterfly flew over, It stopped to rest amid the dew, Then fluttered o’er the clover. I turned and waved fair Spring adieu, Although I was encroaching On her domain, at heart I knew Kind summer was approaching. J. McCRACKEN. THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SHINPLASTER To the forest, one day, a woodcutter came, carrying a huge axe. He marked one tree, destined to be many things, a main-staff on a ship, timber to build homes, paper to be read, and paper to be used for money. Crash! the first blow had fallen, then another and another. In a short time there was a rending split, and amid the sounds of crashing, splitting, tearing, the tree fell. After this tree had lain all winter, and passed through the seething waters on its way to. the mills in the spring, it was then in a proper state of seasoning to enable man, the lord of the universe, to ex¬ tract from its pulp the material neces¬ sary to produce the finished article— clean, white paper. A part of this paper is me. So you will readily un¬ derstand that much material, work, and preparation was expended in bringing me to a state of perfection. I am a shinplaster, and important; endorsed and vouched for by “The Controller of Currency” and “The Deputy Minister of Finance,” bearing on my face an excellent reproduction of Britannia. My valuation is twenty- five cents. I was created for the great purpose of service to mankind. Man, who had perfected me by many scientific pro¬ cesses, is entitled to my faithful serw- ice in improving conditions to the benefit of mankind. My destiny starts in one of our country’s great banks, passing there¬ from to the pocket of an old gentle¬ man who uses me as a gift to gladden the heart of a little lame girl in whose hand I crackle my appreciation of this kind act. The little girl con¬ tinues the act of mercy by using me to purchase a few lovely blooms to sweeten and brighten the sick-room of her mother. As the little girl leaves the flor¬ ist’s, a happy smile on her face, I contentedly rest in the till, awaiting a further opportunity of service. In a short time a boy who requires change selects me because I look so much like the bills his mother and dad use. Up to this time everything has been rosy but just here I experience one of life’s gloomy moments. Like a boy my owner is careless and drops me. Darkness overwhelms me, but I can hear voices. One belongs to the boy, and, crying plaintively, he is asking someone if he saw me. Another boy answers “No,” and I am astonished to learn I am under that boy’s foot. Receding footsteps grow fainter till they cease. Then, and not till then, does the boy move his foot. No one is in sight. Suddenly a dirty hand seizes me and I am crammed into a dirty pocket. Gone is the shiny look, for I am dirty from the boy’s boot, and the pavement. Gone is the crisp¬ ness, for I am crushed. Tiny wrinkles dot my whole face. I am an old shin¬ plaster now. A little girl picks me up, and I am used to start a bank account. So once again I enter the imposing struc- ure of the bank, and repose in the cashier’s drawer with my fellows. I could not foresee the horrible death which awaited me. Six o’clock chimes, and there is a bustle of excitement and hurry, the closing and locking of drawers, these diminishing gradually till all is silent.