Eastern High School of Commerce - Eastern Echo Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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ll W6 Could Choose G I wonder how many of us long to throw up this humdrum city life and do what we really want to do? Don't you sometimes feel as though city life were slowly strangling you? Have you ever experienced that restless feeling inside your breast, a helpless desire crying and struggling to free itself and become a reality? If you have, you know what I mean when I speak of the city as a prison. Perhaps you have also thought of a prison you'd enjoy. Will you bear with me, while I describe mine? A rugged mountain range majestically stands guard over one end of the valley, and then like a giant staircase it drops down on either side. On the other end a dense forest rises against a deep blue. cloudless sky. In the foreground stands a large log cabin. Chairs, couches, and tables are manufactur- ed from wood brought from the forest. Soft leather cushions make chairs and couches the acme of comfort. A bear rug in front of an open fireplace makes cold wintery nights a cozy delight, A short distance from the cabin there is a rather small. but deep creek. This basin was worn out of the rock, years ago, by an underground river and is now an excellent swimming hole. However, we must stay quite near the surface, for the water is rather cold at the bottom. For drinking water and to catch fish, we must climb a short distance up the mountain slope. An icy little river trickles over the worn stones, gathering force and volume, and tumbles down a five foot drop, creating a miniature Niagara Falls. It rushes on and then after a short distance it slows down as if infiuenced by the peaceful scene around it. It ambles lazily along until it finally disappears into a crevasse. We find indescribable beauty as, at dusk. the glorious sun sinks slowly down behind the mountains. Its dying embers, like a great tire, tint the snow-capped mountain peaks a blood red. At last its splendor fades and darkness closes down. When we return to this spot a short time later, we are equally speechless as her misty sister climbs steadily up into the vast dark Fifty-eight ur prison by YERNA SMITH, 2F sky. Again the mountain snow is tinted, but oh. how differently! The colours are soft and ingenious, as if a master painter had lightly passed his brush over the scene. Soft orange, splashes of silver, royal deep purple, and a delicate yellow form the colour scheme of our mountain guardians. The forest shines with a ghostly light and a soft breeze car- ries to us the heavenly odour of the pines. The little river rushes past like a Hood of disturbed quick-silver and dashes over the precipice, throwing up a misty veil that seems to have all the colours of the rainbow and more besides. The splashing water sparkles like a thousand jewels and babbles with joy as if it realized its own beauty. The lights of the cabin cast a reddish glare on the still creek, while the moon builds a silver roadway down the centre. But unlike the babbling, conceited little river, the creek bears her beauty modestly, and re- mains silent. Peace, contentment, beauty of Nature, we find all here. We find something to really thank God for. Now, I thank you for your kind attention. I hope perhaps you'll say, as my brother did: Say, you're stealing my stuff. Thats what I always wanted. 0 OUR HOMEWORK ll'ln1f keeps us in the whole night througlz? lilies us sad and makes us blue? Jlzzkes us mad and sulky too? Our Homework. I ll'!zat causes us to grunt and groan? To sigh so deeply and fu moan? To mutter in a nz0on'y lone? Our Hl7l7ICiE'l7l'k.' ll'l1f1f makes 115 stamp and fear our hair? Gives to our eyes that vacant stare? -Ind Causes us a jrmwl to wear? Om' H0n1CIL'ork.' WIARIAN WANGLAND, 451 EASTERN ECHO

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Bowers, while the lily adds the touch of quiet dignity. As summer mellows into fall, some of the flowers begin their long sleep, while in their place reign some of the hardier autumn blooms. Nowhere in tl1e colour scheme of nature is there a flower or bush which does not harmonize perfectly with the season in which it blooms. Thus, in autumn when the leaves turn golden yellows, flaming reds and warm browns, most of the flowers found - Q Concerning Youth f f fjllllflll' Essay, S61 ond Award Are we going to fight harder for peace, or are we going to let things go on as they are until there is a war? If there is a war, will we, the youth of Canada, fight, as did our fathers? These are two questions vital to the youth of to-day. We are always having the horrors of the last War, in which our fathers and mothers lost many dear friends and relations, in which many young people lost their fathers, brought to our attention. Yet, while this is being done, preparation is going on for a greater and more horrible massacre than that of 1914-18. Why should we, the young people of to- day, be made to throw away the hope, love and happiness that lies ahead, just because certain nations are acting like selfish people? Yet this is the most likely cause of the next war. Here is what I mean by nations acting like selfish people. One nation obtains a sub- marine, and some airplanes, the nation next door, hearing of this, immediately procure two submarines, and more airplanes than his neighbour. This goes on and on, hostilities becoming more and more apparent, until, finally, one nation, feeling itself superior, de- clares war. Other nations are immediately EASTERN ECHO blooming in the months of September and October are of vivid shades also. Marigolds. zinnias, perfect flowers. dahlias and chrysanthemums are examples of these gaily coloured Now, as we are drawing near the season when the last snows of winter melt away, and the first robin chirps his cheery message in some budding tree. we once again look forward to the colourful carnival of nature. by DICK RITCHIE, 2C dragged into the fray because of treaties and promises to be an ally to one of the warring nations: thus the world becomes embroiled in an indescribable orgy of warfare. The reason to-day for the lack of expan- sion in Canada is a want of a larger popula- tion, If this is the case to-day, what would happen to this country if all of her young people were sent forth to die on the battle- field? This reason alone should be enough to make any Canadian, man or woman, old or young, fight with all he or she possesses for World Peace . The other important question is: will we fight if there is a war? If Britain is involved the answer is, 'tYes , with a capital Any loyal British subject will naturally want to fight for the freedom of the Empire. Loyalty, however, is not the only reason we should fight, side by side with England. If England were defeated, what would be the next move of the foreign victor? The answer is obvious. The victorls next move would be the conquest of Canada. Why? Because of its vast quantities of undeveloped natural resources, and, above all, its great possibilities for population. Our motto should be, Fight primarily for peace, and Fight for the freedom of the Empire in any consequencef' Fifty-seven

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Poor Wee Nlousie ' ' Our house at Royal Oak was the kind one reads about in books described as Ha rambling old place covered with ivy . On each side was a wide field of tall grass wherein dwelt many tiny field mice. The little creatures were very friendly and often slipped in our side door for a little visit, regardless of the danger lurking there in the shape of two large cats. and hidden traps with tempting morsels of delicious cheese destined to ruin many a mouse. One night when I lay in bed thinking happened that day, which about what had had been Easter, I heard a peculiar scratch- ing coming from the corner near the foot of I turned on the bed light my bed. Quietly and fixed my eyes on my gaily painted waste-paper basket in fascination. Running around the top as if being chased by a cat, was a tiny baby field mouse. It looked harm- less enough, but I must confess that a mouse of any shape or size makes me shiver. No, I did not scream. Curiosity got the better of me and silently I Watched the strange antics of that small rodent. When it by BIARYBELLE IXIULLAN, ZH stopped. its small body quivered and jerked continually to balance itself on the narrow ledge of the basket. Piercing dark eyes darted alertly about the room. I held my breath when the eager eyes scanned me, but they didnt seem to realize I was not just another piece of furniture. Then it peered down into the darkness below. from whence came tempting smells at which a tiny nose wiggled with delightful anticipation. At last I understood what this venture- some small creature wanted in the privacy of my bedroom. In the basket were some half- demolished jelly beans and several egg shells. and that poor wee mouse was so hungry he disobeyed his stern mother's warnings and let his stomach lead him into danger. He kept up his little game of running, stopping for breath and running again until I was in a bad state of dizziness, even if the mouse was not. Suddenly I gave the bed a shake. The mouse looked startled and fled. The next morning a baby mouse was caught in the trap outside my door. Stock Figures in Fiction f f by ELs1E HILL, ZH To read. is to observe, and one cannot read an average of one book a week with- out observing that stock figures in fiction are not scarce. There are several of these popular CPD heroes or heroines, who have no doubt existed so long for no other reason than that they fit well into the story, and, with a different name tagged on. pre- sent a very interesting subject for a few hoursl reading, to make the book a little longer. Some person once observed that f'The Bible or Shakespeare was the beginning of fiction . Whichever it was, we can blame our choice for giving us such characters as are common to-day. The first stock figure EASTERN ECHO -and the most common-in my opinion would be the typical hero or heroine. This particular main character will continue to labour under great odds, with everyone turn- ed against him as a result of being accused of murdering the wealthy matron's tom-cat. or of not removing his hat in the elevator, until he reaches the final climax by resetting the mayors daughter-or the presidents, which is even bettereand being restored to his original position as chief buttonhole maker, By then the author mercifully decides to withdraw, and leaves the hero to his ulti- mate happiness. Sometimes the story is varied, and the hero is a thoroughly insignificant, ragged, unaspiring urchin, until one day, by Fifty-nine