Havergal College - Magazine Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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Havergal College Magazine HATTIE STARR O, the wildest of F resides is come from the West, Through all the wide border her looks were the best ; And, save her valise, she parcels had none, She rode independent ; she rode all alone. So big in proportion, she half filled the car — - There never was girl like the young Hattie Starr. She stayed not for teacher, she stopped not to phone, She mounted the street car, where steps there were none ; But ere she had reached the Havergal gate The teacher had found her and settled her fate, For a sharp-eyed young schoolma ' am had seen from afar The monsterous stride of young Hattie Starr. So boldly she entered the Havergal hall, ' Mongst teachers, and boarders, and scholars, and all. Then spoke the head mistress, her brain in a whirl : Remarkable conduct for one little girl; Now come you in peace, or our good name to mar — Please answer me quickly now, young Hattie Starr? She made a quick exit with head held up high, While the whispered remarks around her did fly ; She heard them and turned, with a pitiful sigh, A sad, dismal face and a tear in her eye ; She flew up the stairs ere the way they could bar, This poor, misunderstood young Hattie Starr. So green in her ways that she couldn ' t stand The harmonious new orchestra called Sousa ' s Band ; She ate peas with her knife, and her pass-word was (iee! That she was a fresh ' un one could not but see, But study was her pet aversion by far — This amusing, ridiculous, young Hattie Starr. One day she her lessons no longer could bear, Her hair she did puU, and her fists rent the air; She made for the window, and from it she swung, And ere one could stop her, to earth she had sprung ; In jumping the fence, she its framework did jar, And away down the street fled young Hattie Starr. There was fussing ' mong teachers, and pupils, and all, And they moaned her escape with many a bawl ; Next morn at the door they found her outstretched, And the Principal quickly a good doctor fetched ; They could not revive her, she ' d passed away far — Oh, weep for the fate of the wild Hattie Starr ! 47

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Havergal College Magazine We all went about sight-seeing in the curio stores, etc., had a few rides in the jinrickshaws, which were very amusing to us, and finally we thought we would have lunch at a Japanese restaur- ant. Here was the experience of our lives. First of all we were relieved of our boots (I ' m sorry to say that some of our party had holes in their stockings, which is excusable, as we had all been seasick; this is, however, a side show), and taken up to a table about six inches off the floor, with mats to kneel upon at the sides. Then we were given some raw meat and rice, and three of us shared a charcoal burner and a little frying pan. It was really awful, but a very interesting experience. At three o ' clock our boat pulled out and we stood on deck to watch the setting sun. Really, I had never believed that the Japan- ese were representing sunsets as they really are on their postcards, etc., but when I saw the sunset to-night I was convinced. The colours after the sunset were indescribable. Such rich red tints as we do not see in Western Canada. MY TONIC. (Dedicated to the Hoarders.) Who sympathizes in the Spring When I must take this horrid thing? Who really likes the oil of fish, Or hypophosphites, sweet and rich? Nobody. Who offers kindly in my place To drink it down with smiling face? Who runs to fetch in anxious haste Some sweets to take away the taste? Nobody. And who is sorry for my sake To see the faces that I make? Whoe ' er, if such a thing may be, Would drink the draught instead of me? Nobody. But who reminds me, though I ' m blue, That once again that Dose is due ? Everybody. 40

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Havergal College Magazine THE LADY OF SHALOTT In The Lady of Shalott, Tennyson has given to the world one of the most beautiful and musical poems of English literature. His descriptions especially are very real — so graphically are the scenes described that we immediately form the pictures in our own minds of the lady in the lonely tower, spinning by night and day, of Sir Lancelot riding by with his armour, and the villagers passing on the way to Camelot. There is something very fascinating in the mystery which sur- rounds the heroine. The poet does not tell us why this lovely woman is a captive in the isolated tower, or what spell she is under, but leaves it to our own imaginations. We are shown how strong is the craving for love and human companionship ; how the woman who was not moved or excited by any of the sights reflected in her mirror was aroused when she saw the knights riding two by two, or the young lovers strolling in the moonlight. Her death is very picturesque, and a fitting close to a strange, unnatural life. We see the barge floating down the willow-shadow- ed river, and on it, dressed in purest white, the Lady of Shalott singing her last song. And Lancelot, who has innocently been the cause of her death, when he sees her is strangely drawn to her, as she has l een to him. Altogether, this is a very beautiful little poem, full of musical rhythm and lovely thoughts. Kathlyn B. Hinton, Shell Form. MY VISIT TO AN INDIAN RESERVE MISSION. Two years ago I went to visit some friends on a ranch near McLeod. On Easter Sunday we got up very early with the inten- tion of attending service at the Mission Church of the Indian Re- serve, at some distance from the ranch. We drove about fourteen or fifteen miles over bare country, seeing a few cows and horses and numerous wild animals. Soon we came to a river, and as it is never safe to ford rivers in spring, our driver stopped to see where it looked shallowest. Just then an Indian boy came up and told us it was quite safe, and, to show us, laughingly went over first. It was a deep river, and we had to stand on the seats and hold up our provisions to keep them from getting wet, as the wagon was full of water. 48