Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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LOTOLA COLLEGE REVIEW he —— А ———yR F VI Bergen beneath its immense twisted boom. ж ж ж Seigfrid, isn't it terrible!’ she said. Things like that always happen in those places, my sweet Olga. But tell me again, how much did they send you? ' Almost twenty-five thousand kroné, including insurance and the compensa- tion of the big company! It's so sad.” Don't think about it, dear Olga. Tell me, do you love ше?” | “You know I always did, Seigfrid.”’ Will you marry те?” “Oh, but not so soon,—after this.” Why that happened over a month ago! Besides he was nothing to you Olga, my child. C ould you care for a man who robbed me of my passage and fled to the Kanadas? Come, dear, let us forget him. I would speak to your father.” And so, arm in arm, they strolled back to the post-house. KENNETH J. MCARDLE, 27. Equality “us body of the lord апа of the swain, Of bim wbose life was spent in balls of gold, Of bim wbose walls gave entrance to tbe cold, Have both returned to dust from whence they came. x Forgotten now tbe pleasure and tbe pain, | He o'er whose corpse majestic anthems rolled , Lies stark as he o'er whom one poor bell tolled; Death honours not a laurel or a name. When time with sickle keen hath cut the cord, That binds the soul within its gaol of clay; When that soul unencumbered seeks its Lord, Then doth a titled body judgment sway? “а “ТУ УР ЕФЕ And so doth death, a lowly peasant place In bis grim throng, with kinghood face to face. JOHN SHERIDAN, 28. 49 |

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LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW —= the town, striding along with little else on his mind, when for the first time, with the exception of the camp accor- dion and the occasional mouth-organ, there came to him a sweet uu of music. А dance hall had lately been established in Billingstown. He did not care for the music, and he cared less for the women he saw there. What a contrast they made, thought he, to the lovely maidens of Fra Krakeroi! At the same time he bethought him of one, lovely beyond the rest, whose eyes were of deepest blue like the waters of Skager-Rak, and whose hair of gold hung in two long braids over her shoulders, Olga Borg, daughter of old Nels Borg, the owner of the post-house. Yes, he had loved her in his silent way, but what good was that without an öre in his pocket? She would have laughed, he reflected. But now, . . . what would she say now? He, Hans Bergen, was rich! Yes, rich enough to buy the post-house itself. And so he forgot Vangel. It was not like Hans to dwell on two things at once. The overalls too, were forgotten; instead, he purchased a writing pad. Then he went home and wrote to Olga. Simply he told her of his love for her since they had gone to school together; of how he wanted her to be his own good wife if she would have him. He was humble, yes, and had waited five years until he had money enough. Now he could even buy a post-house with a farm for her and they two could live so T there. Would she write soon and tell him her answer. Anxiously he haunted the post office for weeks, whimsically making excuses to himself for the delay. In his opti m- ism, never did he conjecture that Olga might not write at all. He was like a man with a new life before him. The scales of vengeance were lifted, and now he looked towards the future with eyes that were softened in the light of a new love and of a great happiness. — After а month ої anxiety Бе received an answer. It was short, but he did not mind that, for she agreed to marry him. But when could Бе return, she asked. She had missed him so much, she said. Hans was wild with delight. Only опе thing troubled him. At the end of the letter she added that Seigfrid Vangel had returned to Frà Krakeroi and she wanted to know why he too had not gone to the Kanadas. She would know when he returned, he assured himself grimly. He resumed his work with a zest that was hitherto unknown to him. He had ever been an untiring worker, but now he was no longer a stoic. Often he would sing at his work, cheering his men to greater effort. They began to love him for it. Another year passed. Hans now wrote to Olga every two weeks, always receiving a reply that gave him new dreams of home and of love. Slowly but surely he was coming to a decision to return to Fra Krakeroi and Olga in the Spring. Her letters were sweet to him, for they were so straightforward, so confiding that he felt the mightier in her trust of him. Occasionally she would mention Vangel. He had been up to the post-house to trade horses with her father, but that was all. Hans was glad of that, for Vangel might be thinking of . . . no, he wouldn't do that, mused Hans, so he forgot about Vangel again. Spring came, and with it a determina- tion to go home as soon as the ice broke up in the Saint Lawrence. But fate decided otherwise; he was never to leave Billingstown. Within a week he was moving a huge crane along the temporary tracks, when without warn- ing, a rail spread where the ballast had sunk into the mud beneath the ties. With a hiss of escaping steam and frantic shouts of a hundred men, the huge steel giant swayed and toppled over, pinning the lifeless body of Hans 18?

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LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW The Seniors Through Junior Eyes ANGLIN, Adrian. “А man he seems of cheerful yesterdays and confident fo-morrows. —WORDSWORTH. “Dick” ambled into Loyola eight years ago from the Queen City, where he received his primary education. Since then he has risen to be one of the leading lights of the class, a staunch member of the “Old Guard. In Rugby he was one of the best inside wings who ever turned out for the Loyola Squad, while in dramatics he has achieved remarkable success. He has been detected by his intimates in wooing the gentle Muse of Poetry, and successfully too, as his work will prove. On the platform he has figured prominently as a speaker,—as to his other activities, the list below bears evidence that in every branch he has given of his very best. One great fault, however, may yet prove his undoing. He has а “Special Delivery’’ complex, and once smitten is not the same Adrian for weeks—at least until he gets an- other. The number of friends he leaves behind him when he goes to continue his studies at Varsity, just nicely fills the college calendar. He takes with him our hearty wishes for his future success in life. Activities: Intercollegiate Football, 24-26; Junior Hockey, Mgr., 27; L.C.A.A. Exec., 27; ENZ, Vice-Pres., 27; Class Vice- Pres., 27; Dramatics, Sec. (27; Scientific Society, Exec., 26, '27; Debating, E ATI Rooters’ Club, Director, 26; С.О.Т.С., Reserve Officer, 26, 27; Review, Advertising, '26; Business Secretary, '27; College Baseball, 56, X7. Bannon, Moore. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition. —SHAKESPEARE. To begin, we feel it unnecessary to give any introduction to Moose Bannon, for if you don't know him now, you probably will before the month is out. Ever since 1920, when he came to us from St. Patrick's Academy, Sher- brooke, in short pants and freckles, we have never ceased to hear of his exploits on field and track. If the Monitor doesn't give him a headline, he is featured in the Gazete, so what's the use of worryingv—as Moose will admit himself. His popularity through- out the College can readily be judged by the important positions which he holds in the various organizations, both schol- astic and athletic. It is even whispered, sub rosa, that he had much to do with the Garden Party of last year (!). Asa student he is brilliant, ч | will go far in after life with such an exceptional memory as he possesses. Taken all in all, Captain of the football team, Class President, and all the rest of it, there is only one parting morsel of advice we wish to give you, ''Moose,'' Old Scout, same being: 1 away from Switzer- land, for the hills over there are long and hard to climb. Activities: Class Pres., '26, '27; Vice-Pres., 23- ча: Pres., СТЕР... ку: Debating, Pres. C.I.U.D.L., 27; Councillor, 25, '26; Inter- coll. Football, '22-'26, Captain, 27; Inter- coll. Hockey, 24-27; Intercoll. Track, '22- 25; L.C.A.A., Vice-Pres., 27, Councillor, 26; N.R.S. Sod., Master of Candidates, 26; Dramatics, 27. BARTLEY, Lawrence. “Verily, be is a true scholar, a soldier and a gentleman. Although it was only back in 1920, how long ago it seems since we used to remark with wonder a small curly- headed little lad staggering down the aisle at Commencement,—beneath the weight of the prizes he had won. Those days have passed and now we find “Larry” a ‘‘deadly serious” Senior, assuming a large portion of responsi- 4 IO k