Humberside Collegiate Institute - Hermes Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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TH E H EVQWI Efn XXX Well, said Barnaby, if ye must know, Bess, it were-Stattord o' Dunsonf' Barnabyl Stafford-the highway- manl Nay, Barnaby, highwayman or not, Stafford be a gentl'man, an' ye'll not speak ill o' him in my hearing. He be a highwayman now, Bess, chuckled Barnaby, but where be Lady Evadne? An' if she be with Stafford-Bess, my lass, he'll be the most respectable gentleman in Eng- land, mark ee, afore she lets him loose. Ay. it were he, he persisted. VVere it, indeed? An' how know ee that P Because, said Barnaby, I sen' him there myself-an' Stafford o' Dunson be a man o' his word. -Nalzry Smith, V-fl. Moonlz'ght Shadows I paddled slowly o'er the surface of the long lagoon. The wistful trees about me were ensilvered by the moon: , , . - . p . - . lhe quiet surtace mirrored deep the light ot myriad stars VVhile shadows of the drooping trees lay traced in woven bars. The grim, black margins drifted past, enveloped by the night: The willows hanging o'er the edge. were washed in pale white light. No one was there to cheer: I had the stars for company- They were enough for I cannot tell the peace that came to me. -Palmer Barton, ll '-li. I!! 'ff ' -' z ff ,I ,ff . fff 42' .si 5,-E-Se f 42

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NNN we I-irzwsft' buxom landlady, came bustling up, to curtsy to my lord, and simper, She be awaitin', Lord Geoffreyg she be upstairs awaitinlf' There was a light patter of feet on the old oaken stairs, and suddenly Lady Evadne Gilbert was standing on the bottom step, one hand on the banister, the other over her heart. She looked very small and young and dainty, in her soft lace gown, the warm colour mantling her cheeks, her eyes sparkling under their shadowy lashes, her sunny, lustrous curls thrown back over her shoulder. In two strides Lord Geoffrey was by her side. Evadne, my darling, how beautiful you look! You are enough to make any man mad. She stood on tiptoe and slipped her arms over his shoulders. Geoffrey, dear, I couldn't wait another moment. Qh, dearest, is it really true? Are we really to be together at last? What a rage poor father will be in! I feel sure he will ,smash mama's best china when he gets my note at breakfast tomorrow. Suddenly she drew back with a half- frightened, shy little laugh. Geoffrey, what ails you? How strange you look-and your eyes, they seem to see right through me. Geoffrey, dear, do you love me? Say you love me. Oh, Geoffrey, I feel frightened. Frightened, sweetheart? Fright- ened-with me by your side ? Lord Geoffrey put his arms protectingly about her. I am very silly, Geoffrey, she sighed. Come, Bess, my cloak. The horses are waiting, Geoffrey F Giles hastened forward to unlatch the door, and as it swung open, a gust of cold wind blew into the room. Evadne shivered. Cold, my love ? ' And before any- one could prevent him, Lord Geoffrey had whipped up the crimson cloak and Hung it around Evadne's shoulders. A faint gasp was audible in the roomg Giles Middle-ton took his pipe from his mouth to stare, and old Denis Weatherby, the sexton, unthinkingly swore under his breath. Barnaby started forward, but Lord Geoffrey caught him by the shoulder and sent him spinning back. Then, with his arm around Lady Evadne, he stepped triumphantly out into the night, where the horses were stamping impatiently. The group in the inn, staring at one another in stupefied horror, heard the clatter of the horses' hoofs mingled with Evadne's silvery laugh, as they left the courtyard and rode out into the night. At the same time, they heard some- thing else-a low, clear whistle from the inn-yard. Barnaby, who had been standing with head sunk low on his chest, suddenly looked up with a startled expression on his face and a strange gleam in his eye. Then, silently and swiftly, he hastened out. About eleven o'clock the next morn- ing, Tim, the pedlar, and Robin, the village blacksmith, two old cronies, came upon the body of Lord Geoffrey Arlen lying on the edge of Marley Marsh, wrapped in a crimson cloak with a golden clasp. Apparently, he had been strangled to death. There was no sign of Lady Evadne Gilbert. Great consternation prevailed in the village. Bess, the landlady of The Red Dragonf, was particularly ex- cited. Barnaby, she exclaimed, coming to the door with a flagon of ale in her hand, Barnaby, do ee think-the young mistress could ha'-done it? Eh? No? Well, then, Barnaby, who were it P triumphantly.

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THE I-nzmmgfn Kms 5 The Sage of the Humber West of the river's winding way, By trailing paths if you should stray, Past shaggy brakes and bosky fells, The Hermit of the Humber dwells. ln the hollow of a small clearing, almost hidden from view in summer by protecting trees, bushes and wild clinging vines which elamber over it, a tiny red cabin modestly con- ceals itself from the searching eyes of the world. This is the home of the Hermit of the Humber, the illustrious Canadian naturalist, George Pearce, of whom we have heard so much yet know so little. Mr. Pearce is his genealogy that respects his ancestorsfl he said told me about his Both his father intensely proud of Give me the man fervently, as he own family tree. and mother were descendants of the wealthy English coal-baron, the Earl of Northumberland, and in ad- dition to this aristocratic connection with the Pierces of Northumber- land, his mother was the great granddaughter of Franklin Pearce, the fourteenth President of the United States, in whose house at Hillsbury, New Hampshire, George Pearce was born. The change in the name was made in accordance with a vow declared by the ancient Percies, that, should one of the fam- ily go into business, the name should he spelt Pearce. All this is inlin- itely remote, yet George Pearce still has one tie that binds in his family crest-the quarterly offering of the Northumberland arms, represented by a dove rising, wings extended. In Canada, Mr. Pearce, Senior, made his home at Trafalgar, and at the same time he was transferred from the Imperial Service to the Canadian Militia. George was sent to the Royal Military College at Kingston, where he endeavoured to live up to the high ideals of his hero -his father. Some years later, Mr. Pearce re- turned home to help his father in farm affairs, and while performing his duties there, he was possessed with a burning desire for nature study. This was no sudden out- break of longing, for all during his earlier years his interest in this subject had been intensely keen and had been encouraged by his mother who taught him how to preserve the skins of birds, of snakes, in fact of almost every animal. You know, Flo, it seems a funny thing to me now, but when l was only eight years old I had that pas- sionate longing to live outdoors and study nature, and my conception of a seventh heaven would rise before my eyes whenever my father used to say: 'Now, if you're really good, we'll take you to the museum at Torontof That was all l lived for. Finally the dream came true. On a cold Saturday morning in the mid-' dle of winter, l was dragged out of bed about three o'clock to find that l was going toiToronto. VVe set out in a box sleigh with the produce, c-abbages, carrots, potatoes in front, ourselves behind, protected from the intense cold by quantities of warm straw and heavy buffalo robes. Slippingi along in the face of the