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

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1 THE I'IElQlVIQf SIU XNN A Mesyage from Mr. Edmunds Harrow is chiefiy noted for being built on a hill, and for having Byron as a pupil. Humberside, too, is built on a hill, but it is feared that she will be the mother of a great many poets. A hill denotes more or less effort Cgenerally lessj but it is doubly easy to descend when the trials of the day are over. Longfellow took El deathless page Cyou C311 get Whole book- lets of them at Ed. Elliotys for 15 cents Cthey last longer when they are left blanki il and traced with the gold nib of a fountain pen Cthere being no ink, as pro- fessors are so ab- sent-mindedj Th e heights by great men reached and kept, VVere not attained by sudden fiight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. This applies to both institutions. lt could not have referred to Hum- berside's ancient rival Harbord because the latter is on the dead level ln skimming over the works of this same poet. we find what might be frequent references to Humberside. NVhere he describes the personifi- cation of great and sustained effort in A Village Blacksmith he may have been thinking of one of her hard working teachers. He says, His hair is crisp, and black, and long. ' In that day, historians tell V us, the instructors at Harrow, who had crisp hair, always wore it short, so that is ruled out absolutely. Not contented with this, he took a penful of green ink and wrote This poem starts in Quebec Avenue and the level of upper Ullxcelsiorf' the middle of works up to Clendennan by the end of the second stanza, and th c 11 asccnds the creaking stairs, verse by verse, at some risk, and finally finishes up in the Art room with a flourish. Cli- matic conditions indi- c ate Humberside tpossibly the Parlia- ment Huildings at Ottawaj. It is said that the waters of the foun- tain of knowledge taste sweeter at Humberside than anywhere else. That may be, but I know they do not taste that way over on High Park Avenue. And now I find the messenger of the Greek gods, breathless an! panting, at my elbows, asking for my message to my young friends, the boys and girls at Humberside, just like an impertinent young printer's devil asking for copy. scribbled anyhow, and on almost anything. Here it is, boys and girls, in tele- graphic form: Keep right on climbing.

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THE l'1EVQWlEf 'Here food for you. Storm soon over now. Your pa, he come for sure tonight.' He bundled his scarf around his ears, pulled on his mittens, and adjusted his snowshoes. 'Good-byel' he said. 'You tell mother Chief Bigwin look after little boy.' I managed to stammer 'thank you'. and watched him set out at an easy jog-trot over the snowy drifts. Then, worn out with hunger and excitement and anxiety, I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, someone was bending over me, saying, 'Dear little fellow, welll never leave him alone like this again., But look, where did he get that knapsack ?' I woke with a start to find my mother and father hovering over me. Mother kissed me over and over again, while with tears in his eyes father said they had been afraid they would find me frozen. When I told them about my visitor, they stared at one another. 'Those Indians are uncannyf said my mother, 'they always seem to know when someone is alone. Good Chief Bigwin, I'll never be able to repay him. just think what might have happened to you if he hadn't come'. So that, concluded Mr. Elder with a reminiscent sight, was how an Indian saved my life. I guess hardship was pretty well mixed with romance in Canada fifty years ago, said Mrs. Brown thought- fully. -Ainslie .MacKimz0n, V-A. Fire Glow Firelight flickering on the walls, Mystical wraiths of enchantment, Friendly shadows hovering near, And pussy, a ball of contentment. Curled on the hearth-rug with head drooping low, Bushy tail tickling his little wet nose, Yellow eyes watching the swift-curling fire, That glows like the heart of a deep-blushing rose. Pictures of dreamland in saffron hue, Castles of old where the red fire flashes, Long-steching fields of the poppies of Lethe Where the lamb-ent Hame dies in the ashes. Snow-feathers drifting against the panes, And the weird wind-woman prowling without, But inside the cheerful, crackling blaze, And the wavering shadows Hitting about. -Nan-cy Smith, V -A.

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THE Har-alvlgfn ' if 1, fa? X We Passion Play at Obemmmergau For the past year, the attention of the reading and travelling public has been directed towards the little village of Oberammergau, where, in May of this year, the famous Passion play will again be presented. Oberammergau is a village of about seventeen hundred inhabitants, situ- ated in Bavaria, in the foothills of a range of the Alps. Above the village towers Mount Kofel crowned by a large cross covered with zinc. A river sweeps down from the mountains through the village, its banks adorned with beautiful gardens and quaint houses. Many of the latter have walls frescoed with scenes from the Passion Play, while nearly every house has a cross upon the roof. lt is almost three hundred years since the great plague ravaged the valley of the Upper Ammer River in Northern Bavaria. During the plague, two hundred inhabitants of the little village perished. Then, as is often the case when calamity comes upon a people, the terror-stricken villagers turned to God, and vowed that, if he would spare them, every ten years they would represent, in dramatic form, the life and death of Christ. The plague abated, and ever since, with a few exceptions, the Passion Play has been produced every ten years, from May till October. The original play was written in the year sixteen hundred and sixty-two by monks living in a monastery near the village, and is now a prized possession of the village Burgermeister. ln the churchyard is a fine bronze bust of Father Daisenberger, their one-time pastor, who died in eighteen hundred and eighty-three. He revised the play, and induced the villagers to build a large open-air theatre instead of acting in the churchyard as had been their wont. The music was composed in the year eighteen hundred and fourteen by a schoolmaster of the village. This drama is not a picture of the whole life of Christ, but only of His last few days, which are known as the Passion Week. The play itself con- sists of eighteen acts and several tableaux. Each act is preceded by a selection from the orchestra of fifty members, and an anthem from the chorus of forty-six members, which gives the theme of the act. After the chorus, a short scene from the Old Testament is presented as a back- ground for the main act of the Passion which follows. The performance starts at half-past eight in the morning and continues for eight hours, time being allowed for lunch. The main roles are those of the Christus, the Twelve Disciples, the Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene and Martha. The characters of the Christus and Virgin Mary are the most prized, and every mother in the village prays that her son may be chosen to portray the Christ, or that her daughter may play the part of the Blessed Virgin. The actors are chosen by a com- mittee consisting of the village priest. the Burgermeister, the council and several members elected by vote. These actors must be natives of the village, of the best moral character. and able to enact the role for which they are selected. In all, seven hun-