North Toronto Collegiate Institute - Howler Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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THE HOWLER, 1934 FRIENDSHIP There are many deep emotions that penetrate the soul That raise one's aspirations to such heights beyond control That no human calculation e're can estimate their worth. And most potent of these passions that circu- late the earth Is that complaissant quality of confidence in friends, That in its simple silence a link of kinship lends. There are many happy feelings resulting from success. Success in all true conflicts doth every victor bless. There's a joyous exaltation enters every human heart At victory, in a contest in which one played a part. The winner's gilded trophy for triumph in a race Is paltry when it's valued with the loser's friend's embrace. There are manifold temptations that test us day by day, And often we have fallen upon an evil way. There are many institutions that claim to guide one's life, There are countless gentle teachers to warn one of the strife, But when there comes real conflict and morals see defeat, A preacher may be helpful, but a good friend's hard to beat. There are many great perplexities and prob- lems to be faced That seem at first to stagger one, until he has been braced By some sound advice, accompanied by true encouragement, Page .S'e'uenty-Tlzree By council that is wise and just, without a sup- plement Of selfish deviation towards another's gains. VVhen all other counsel fails, a friend's advice remains. There are many, many sorrows that strike us down with grief, And from our many burdens we vainly seek relief. There comes to one some lonely night, a feeling of despair, The pain of mental agony, alone one could not bear. But when one pours his troubles forth into a dear friend's ear An understanding sympathy will banish every tear. There are many who will friendly be while things are running smooth. It's when, things all seem going wrong, that friends their mettle prove. For some but like our money, and others like our clothes, And some just like our name or rank, beware of friends like those. Friends of many kinds there be that come to you and me. It's often up to us you know, to say the kind they'll be. There are many, many changes wrought in a life by love. There's much to strengthen character in thoughts of friends above. There's a mighty power within us, of that there is no doubt. And every Christian friendship inspires it to come out, To blossom forth in beauty of character and face To make a world of peace on earth, good-will toward every race. John Newbold, 5-G.

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Page ,SiL Z't'1lfj F0ll1' AN EX-PUPIL LOOKS AT LONDON, ENGLAND Extracts from a Ictfcr from rlftzrgfarcz' C. D. zll'acKay who left Norflz T07'0IlfL7 in 1932 and has ,vinrc 116001116 a jvriwate secretary in LUIZCTUII, London is a fascinating place. Somehozi' it has a variety that is never stale. Iiach morn- ing I cross the Thames on a bus to my office, 'which is south of the river. The house where I have my digs is quite a piece north of it in a very nice district, and it is a half hour's drive down every morning. There the river lies in the early morning air, still and sleeping. The tide is half in, but a soft grey-blue veil lies over the dark water. It wraps the great bridges and spires and buildings in an enchant- ing mystery, so that they appear like the towers of a fairy city. It rests gently on the still sleep- ing fo 'ms of great barges and small tugs and the t. ll masts of the shipping anchorage along the shore. Then as you watch, it turns grad- ually to silver, and then to gold, as the gleam- ing fmgers of the sun snatch it from its resting place. You may see all this in a glance as you rush across the Battersea Bridge on the top of a large red bus, clinging to your lunch and your library book as the son of Nimshi takes the down-grade without braking, and non- chalantly slips the wheel of his huge chariot between a Shell-Mex oil tanker and a diminu- tive market cart, skids past three workmen on bikes, and draws smoothly up to the curb. And you descend, still grasping lunch and book, from your perch and your view of beauty, and slide expertly through the traffic to the drab grey street leading to a time clock and the daily round. But when that day is over, in part, and you have consumed a hasty lunch, you go and hook your elbows on the Fmbankment parapet, and watch the endless pageant of the river. The tide is full in and everything is busy. Tugs, dozens of tugs. Big tugs, little tugs, tugs of all sizes and shapes plying busily up and down with airs of the greatest importance and en- ergy. No one ever saw a lazy tug. A large tug passes going down river with three empty barges. A tiny little one with the entire rain- THE HOIVLER, 1934 bow in bands round her smoke stack is going up with six vast barges behind. On the off side is another of about the same size. So broad are their combined barges that it is tricky for them to pass under the smaller spans of the bridge abreast. Each tries to beat the other to it. The net result is a tie, and they scrape through together, fortunately without damage. The two barge masters shout at each other at the tops of their voices. Neither one has consumption, so the air is purple. Rainbow bands describes black and white funnel's an- cestors with a keen eye for detail, and an equal attention to the female line. Black and white responds with hair-raising biographies of rain- bow bands, progenitors and progeny unto the third and fourth generation and never once repeats himself. Finally rainbow follows a particularly blistering remark with See you at the Queens 'ead tonight, George ? Yus, you perishin' so-and-so and which-and-what, and if I beat you through Lambeth Bridge it's your turn too! And so they pass. A Dutch cargo boat, gleaming like a yacht in white and green paint,very neat and dignifiedg a battered, dirty coaster, badly in need of paint and repairs, her decks littered with rope and anchor chains, her squat funnels slanted to take the arch of the bridge, comes wallowing up river, very low in the water, but she'll ride high going down again. It is surprising that one never observes a clean coasting steamer. A Norwegein tramp is coming in to take on cargo at one of the great warehouses. Flour or something. Can't quite make out the name on the dock. Her anchor goes away with a great splash and there is much shouting and running to and fro on her decks. Several strings of coal barges are going up river, followed by a small French freighter. A smart sea-going cabin cruiser launch comes tearing down, the flag of the Thames yacht club showing. Somebody going for a trip. About fiveish, you pack up and start for home. If it is later, you see a new aspect of your beloved river. Night. The water is a band of black satin sewn with gold sequins and red. The water is silent, mysterious. Blacker shadows on the blackness, lie the ships tied up for the night. Slipping silently in and out of the bands of coloured light on the surface is a