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Page 31 text:
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THE NORTHLAND ECHO 23 Gnosrs 1 SHOULD LIKE TO gg-g,1Y'.y, MEET gg: . Betty McGonegal, Form V Do you believe in ghosts? NVhile with apparent scorn I say quite emphatically, 'No,' I must confess that my fingers are invariably crossed. And in those darkest hours before the dawn when awakened by a creaking step or a howling wind, I lie shivering with horror in bed. Ghosts are very real things to me. The ghosts I should like to meet are not those mysterious spirits that the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle described, gliding through ancient castles moaning and sighing amid the rustle of silken skirts and the clanking of chains to visit upon human beings thc sorrows and misfor- tunes of their eventful lives. Those vengeful ghosts are not the spectres which I fear. The ghosts I should like to meet are the ghosts, not of real beings. but of inanimate objects on whose very presence the imagination of the world depends. You don't have to look for the ghosts I should like to meet, or spend a night of terror in some haunted house to meet one: they are all around you. For example, there is first the ghost of a chance, that hovers above the earth flitting nervously here and there, always ready to pounce upon a critical moment when time seems to stand still in expecta- tion. The ghost of a chance is like an elf, delighting in mischief, laughing glee- fully when some pessimistic individual happens to say despairingly, I haven't a ghost of a chance to succeed! Then there is the ghost of a tear, along with the ghost of a smile and the ghost of a sigh. These are very rare and beautiful ghosts. The ghost of a smile is a whimsical one that appears in the most unexpected places, utterly ravishing in its suddenness. The ghost of a tear haunts the most cherished memories in a person's life, hiding secretly until it suddenly appears from nowhere in all its radiant beauty. The ghost of a sigh. a quiet little ghost, is the rarest one in my imagination. Finally there is the ghost of a dream - a tall mysterious ghost that glides noise- lessly throughout the world holding in its possession all the wishes and the dreams of man. These are never terrifying and aveng- ing ghosts, but friendly and real appari- tions. They are the ghosts I should like to meet. it ttf.. Ev: ' I 'I' THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS Ezio Cappadocia, IIIA Collegiate Today, when Democracy is engaged in a war for the healthy continuation of its existence, it is more than ever import- ant for us to realize what Democracy is and what it should mean to us. ' A thot'- ough analysis of Democracy would require a greater amount of space than that at our disposal. I shall deal, there- for, only with these four aspects of the subject: ti! The fall of post-war Democracies in Central Europe, tiib The concurrent growth of Paci- fism in the western Democracies after the war, tiiii Democracy and its relation to minority opinion, tivb The future of Democracy. In recent years, we have seen the fall of many post-war Democracies in Cen- tral Europe. Their collapses were caused first by the failure of the Western Democracies to help these newly estab- lished Democracies, secondly by the fear of capitalists and industrialists within the new Democracies that a social revolu- tion against the misery and poverty of post-war period would take place, if it rigid system preventing this were not established. Last of all, however, the collapses were caused by the inability of the people living in these countries to use Democracy. since Democracy is the rule of the people, rule which depends upon
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Page 30 text:
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22 THE NORTHLAND ECHO gling cheesecloth had dipped into the glowing smudge. From this tragedy sprang the begin- ning of the present Village of Callander. Mr. Morrison built a better cabin on the site of the present Callander Hotel and several years later he had the town site surveyed. In his new log home he con- tinued to live and to use it as a small inn, to which came surveyors, prospec- tors and future settlers. In 1884 George Morrison moved across the street and founded the general store which is run today by his son, Kenneth. It has been changed and enlarged considerably since that time, for it was, like the other two Morrison dwellings, constructed of rough pine logs. At this period in Callander's history the bulk of the settlement was not, as might be expected, at the town itself but at the Wisa Wasa Falls, about three miles south and west. Here was located Booth's loading station from which logs were sent on their way to Lake Nos- bonsing, the Ottawa River and finally the mill at Ottawa. Nevertheless, Callander Proper had a larger population than had the settlement of North Bay some nine miles to the north. The railway, as always, was accom- panied by many new settlers so that the tiny community grew steadily and in 1885 Mr. White established his hotel, the White House, on the lakeshore near the present barber shop. Also the next year in 1886, the first municipal elections were held, with the result that George Morrison was selected as reeve while on the coun- cil were Messrs. Darling, Wessel and Swale. Mr. Morrison selected the name Cal- lander for the community because of his father's birthplace in Callander, Scotland. Some years later the name was changed to Eastport and though the post office continued to be Callander, the station was known by the new name. This arrangement proved unsatisfactory and after considerable discourse, the town again became known by its present name. Callander was on the verge of its greatest prosperity. In 1893 the John B. Smith and Sons lumber company moved its mills from Frank's Bay, at the entrance to the French River, to its pres- ent location at Callander. The McBurncy mills followed soon after it and for the first time in its history Callander knew real prosperity. As the demand for men could not be met by the scanty popula- tion. lunrbermen from all over the district came in droves to obtain work and homes. Wages were high, poverty was unknown and the population of the busy little centre reached an all-time high. Even at this brightest moment, tragedy again cast its shadow over Callander. The steamer Fraser, loaded with men bound for the Davidson and Hayes' win- ter lumber camps at Frank's Bay, was burned completely just off Goose Island. About 30 men perished that autumn day and only about a dozen survived. These managed to climb aboard a scow which was trailing behind the boat. Others lowered the lifeboat but it became caught in the paddle-wheel and was dashed to pieces. For weeks bodies were found along the lakeshore, especially in the marsh near Smiths' lumber mill. This was the grimmest event in the entire history of the town. Callander continued uneventfully as a quiet lumbering village until the depres- sion following the Great W'ar, when the nearby timber limits became exhausted. Good luck had not, however, entirely for- saken her. With the birth of the Dionne quintuplets on May 28, 1934, a new and utterly different era began. Callander, the drowsy little settlement, became world-famous overnight! Tourists flocked to the Dafoe Nursery, souvenir stands and refreshment booths sprang up on every street corner, and at last Callan- der's dirt roads were paved and improved. Every available building was converted into a hotel or restaurant and cabins were as numerous as flies. Most of the actual profit, however, has been made by outsiders who come in with their sou- venirs and post cards and disappear southward with the last American license plate. Three years ago gold engraved brooches were presented to the five sis- ters by the burgh or town council of Callander, Scotland. It may be easily understood how the present and future of Callander is bound up with those chil- dren, who, six years of age this May, dwell in their quiet nursery, unconscious of the fame that they have brought to their home and family. They have intro- duced the American public to the grow- ing tourist centre of Northern Ontario and will continue to do so if the quin- tuplets are not moved, as has been suggested. It is an interesting fact that, at the present time, in 19-10, Kenneth Morrison, son of George Morrison, has stepped into his father's place as reeve of North Himsworth township. May he carry on just as successfully as his father and serve the village his father founded through who knows what new phases of history yet to come.
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