Havergal College - Magazine Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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26 HAVERGAL COLLEGE MAGAZINE and I looked anxiously at each other as shadows began to creep up the mountain and all the valley gradually receded into black- ness. They ' ll never come now, said Bert. But Curlie said he ' d come on the fourth day, I replied. Eight o ' clock and now darkness was everywhere. What might not have happened to them out there! Even now they might be lying at the bottom of a crevasse or somewhere in those dark, ghostly woods. O, the maddening inactivity of that last hour! For the fiftieth time Bert went to the edge and gave a shout. Suddenly from below came an answering call. For one moment the sudden change from sickening fear to hope struck us dumb. Then, with a shout, both of us dashed down the hill in the direc- tion of the voices. But we could go no distance in that inky black- ness and were obliged to return. Then for nearly an hour no answer came to our shouts, for they were now too tired to waste breath in calling. Just as we had given them up for the second time we heard a shout quite near at hand, and in a few minutes into the light of the camp-fire they came, two gleams of white ' teeth high up on two browny masses. There they were again, dirty, burnt, tired, soaked, but grinning. Did you do it? we shouted. She can ' t be done, they answered. Then such a babel as ensued over that delayed meal! How we waited on them, and how gratefully they ate! Then as they dried themselves over the fire we all talked together. We asked a thousand questions and didn ' t wait for the answers. I see them now, the bright fire-light on their faces, telling us of that fourteen hours on the mountain, almost wholly of ice, with huge seracs and caves and unclimbable, precipitous walls. At last exhausted nature had her way and wc went off to our tents. The next day we continued our willing service and lounged for the last time. From that point we hurried homewards, mak- ing two drives a day where possible, back to Robson statiori. There we heard for the first time of the monstrous war-clouds rolling over Europe, and as we sped eastward to take up again the responsi- bilities of life, the bright scenes of the past six weeks faded gently back into the peaceful gallery of memory, whose pictures are ac- cessible for all time M.S. Chivalry. I haven ' t any car tickets, Miss Spr-ng-t-, but I ' ll walk you home.

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HAVERGAL COLLEGE MAGAZINE 25 further accessories. All afternoon we toiled up the other side through dense shin-tangle. Suddenly, as I was making my way laboriously up a water-fall, I heard Bert give a great shout. In a minute he was snatching off my pack and leaping onward. We were home! 0, the rest and calm and peace of that camp-scene; the orderly piles of saddles, the stock of firewood, the plates and knives and large kettles. No more eating from one cup and a small spoon helped out by our pocket knives! But as we sat comfortably in Photo by Mary L. Jobe. CROSSING BIG SMOKY front of the fire eating our modest supper of fool-hen mulligan, we spoke feelingly of those other two making their way back over the worst part of the trail on a pure meat diet — no salt, no biscuit, no sugar — only the strength within them to support them. The next two days passed uneventfully. Bert searched for the cayuses and found them so wild that they ran away at sight of him. To me fell the washing and cleaning up. The fourth day found us up early, baking and stewing and getting ready the feast for our returning climbers. Then we made beautifully springy balsam beds inches thick. Next, Bert went up and brought down the horses so as to be ready to start off on the return journey next morning, now a matter of urgency. Then we sat down and waited. Hours passed by and no signs of them. Seven o ' clock came and no answer to our shouts. Bert

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HAVERGAL COLLEGE MAGAZINE 27 iv oger at tfje pall. (Being a hitherto unpublished essay by Joseph Addison belonging to the Coverley Papers, discovered in Manuscript by Christina LyallJ) Dulce est Desipere in Loco. — Horace. Having received an invitation from my old friend Sir Roger de Coverley to visit him, I arose at an early hour, that I might travel by the earliest coach to his country house. Upon my arrival I was met by the aged butler, who told me with due cere- mony that Sir Roger was visiting in the Parish, but that he had left many orders as to my refreshment and satisfaction. I then noticed for the first time the festive appearance of the house, which lacked its habitual dignity. While I was making these reflections and observations the old knight himself appeared and received me with the warmest of welcomes. He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of all my friends, and further informed me that they were looking forward with much pleasure to seeing me that evening. I must here observe the artful manner in which Sir Roger, who knew my dislike for all publick occasions, brought me, under the simple pretext of a quiet visit, to his annual country ball. But as I love the old man, I take delight in com- plying with everything that is agreeable to him, and accordingly after much discussion prepared for the evening ' s entertainment. As it is a great event, Sir Roger throws his spacious Hall open to all the villagers, from the lowliest yeoman to the haughtiest squire, and all gladly avail themselves of his invitation, for he is beloved and esteemed by all about him. Indeed, so great was his hospitality on this occasion that even the very old men had been invited, and upon their arrival Sir Roger had seen that they were supplied with a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco and a mug of beer, and also that their chairs were placed so as to afford a goo d view of the dancers. The young people, though, were making merry in various parts of the Hall, and my attention was es- pecially drawn to the centre of the room, where the dancers were lined in array to begin the Minuet. I then observed Sir Roger, who, in gorgeous apparel, was leading the figure with a pretty young thing of about eighteen years, with three small patches under her left eye. It has been known that as many as ten patches have been worn at one sitting, but for my own part I prefer one. However, Sir Roger seemed much pleased with her pretty coquetries, and ordered her with mock severity to hold up her head and fall back according to the evolutions of the dance. Indeed so pleased was he with her blushing curtsies that he ordered the dance to be played through three times, and after- wards saluted her with a kiss, and presented her with a fan decorated with cupids and garlands. When the dancing was at its height, my friend Will Wimble added considerably to the evening ' s mirth. He chanced to be