Peterborough Collegiate and Vocational School - Echoes Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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THE Et-ZH - ES TA Scene on the Tlfawartba 'llalmes' HE scene which I have in mind is that of a storm on Stony Lake. It seems to me a rather difficult and somewhat useless task to attempt to describe a spectacle A0 marvelous and overpowering. However. since I have chosen this as my topic I will try to describe it to the best of my ability. I may say that there are few things so awe-inspiring to me as the subject of my composition-a storm on Stony Lake. About three oiclock in the afternoon of a day in mid-July. the sun is pouring down its warm beneheenee as usual. To-day it shines upon a calm. still lake, woods and marshes which are not pouring forth their usual melodious sounds varying from the deep-throated bass note of the bull frog to the blithesome song of the robin. There is a heavy, oppressive silence hanging over all-even the merry crickets seem subdued. Suddenly for no reason at all I look up from my book and see above Burleigh Falls about a mile to the west of our cottage a few sullen thunder-heads forming. These dark messengers speak for themselves. They begin to move towards our island which is well out in the middle of the lake about one mile east 'of Burleigh Falls, Slowly. very slowly. as if they are fighting some strong antagonist who. lind- ing himself overpowered. fights foot by foot a losing battle, they move onward. At last it seems to have been defeated. and the clouds move slowly on. increasing their speed until they come to the very door of the enemy, the sun. when with one gigantic effort it blots out this huge round ball of flaming light and heat and marches 011. Now is heard in the distance. the advance trumpcteers of the legions of storm, thunder. However. by this time a wind has sprung up and vast. whiteeaps are rising and falling and they cause resounding thuds on the rocks which seem but distant echoes of the thunder. Next are seen near the horizon brilliant flashes of lightning which light up the now dull. drab landscape. One sees next the rain in the distance approaching nearer every second. The storm now reminds me of a great musical symphony swiftly reaching its zenith point. Suddenly there is a great flash of lightning. an accompanying crash of thunder. a. great gust of wind, a spatter of rain, and the storm has begun. The waves rise and fall. the trees shiver. the rain lashes out., the thunder booms and crashes. the lightning flashes more brightly still. and the storm has reached its climax. After about fifteen minutes of what is virtually a tempest, the storm subsides and it settles down to rain steadily for about three quarters of an hour. Then the rain begins to lessen. the wind to die down and in the west the clouds are beginning to disperse. In a few minutes the sky is almost clear. Then out flashes the sun in its grandeur and t.here is seen in the sky a rainbow. God's promise to men. Truly this is a fitting grand finale of a magnificent spectacle. R. Yellanfl, IIIA. LQS..

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THE SCH. ES Now Alexander is a very persevering niud-turtle and an excellent example of what stick-to-itiveness can accomplish. His first. home was in a flattish dish. adorned with a lettuce leaf, Qfor shadel. Here I left him for about ten minutes and when I re- turned to look at him my heart sank, he was gone! From tl1e centre of a long table he had travelled away and was nowhere in sight! After some searching I noticed a dullish spot on the carpet. It was he, lying serenely on his back. He was restored to his dish and he looked so apologetic I was sure he wouldn't misbehave again. How- ever, the next time I returned he was making his way steadfastly towards the edge of the table. He certainly knows the meaning of try, try again. Next I borrowed a fragile-looking amber glass bowl, the colour of which I thought would blend nicely with my small turtle's complexion. I made a nice muddy bed for him and decorated it with shells to give it a more aquatic atmosphere. He has lived there ever since and has not had another attack of wanderlust.. One of the reasons for this is that hc has grown lackadaisical. I have discovered the reason. Soon after I got him he grew into a lazy habit of not moving even his eyelashes for whole days at a time, and everyone that looked at him exclaimed with horror, Oh, dear, he's deadly I would then painstakingly explain that he was hibernating. Once I was asked, - Does that mean that he's going to shed his shell? There are many advantages about l1avi11g a turtle for a pet. For example, they have never been known to bite the neighbours' children or to bark at visitors. They do not me-ow in a great many major and minor keys on the back fence at midnightg nor scratch the baby. Turtles do not make lady visitors scream, falthough some shudderl , as did some white mice my brother once had. Nor do they sing at the tops of their voices while grace is being said, as our two canaries are wont to do. and which was especially annoying when the curate came to tea. This story, as all good stories should. has a moral. You only have to know Alexander to learn it. He is going to live to be over a hundred years old. so experts say, and it's all because he doesn't let anything bother him. He just sleeps in winter and takes in all he can comprehend in summer. So the moral he suggests is thisv Take life quietly and philosophically, as Alexander does. and you shall probably live to be over a hundred years old. H ilda Thompson, IVb. H - . a ef' ' 2 - fire fe' is Z fy,-wafiili . ,. ,411 V W ' . If 4' Q-sis' . .ff MWWMW ft I tiff- 1 -151' i 'L -, . if f 1 .A .,.f ' 1.-.,,.-,-,,,c,gQ:-L,.1 sk 1 - ' 4- .- , , .A ,- e ' X ', .- A . V . g 44 - - 1- -gy-

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THEV ECH ES -4' J' 'L ' 'lr 'U Tv U'lZo.n's Weakness 'fbbie I was shy of all the girls, On the bench did Ascot sit, Their presence made me choke, A blanket to enfold him. But now I fall for looks and curls, He said if he got in the game, They always keep me broke. The whole team couldnit hold him. You take them to a picture show, But when he marched onto the field, To see their favorite play, He began to swagger, And when you reach the ticket box, A team-mate slapped him on the back-- You're the one to pay. You should have seen him stagger. They seem to take you hy surprise. He dropped low down upon his knee Just sweep you off your feet, To open up a hole, Even boys with strong will power, And once he got to moving Admit that they are beat. He travelled like a mole. Some prefer blondes, some brunettes, When he goes lumbering down the field, Some like them short, some tall, The other players sigh. V But there's no use denying it, A small opponent hits him a tap, I, personally, like them all. And he shouts: I'm going to die. Norman Wood, Form III I.A. K. Wood, Form III I.A Ebe 'iegenb of Glenbalougb From 'iliy That Lake Whose Gloomy Shore by Tom Illoorc AKE GLENDALOUGH is isolated by its sheer cliffs from the rest of Ireland: I it is in Ireland but not of it. The same sun that warms the rest of Ireland shines on Glendalouglfs locks, and legend says they are never warmed And it is truth that the same moon that silvers other waters the world over, gleams on Glen dalouglfs waters, and they lie sullen and black, imprisoned forever in their sullen and cold cliffs. Legend adds that the lurks flying over Glcndalough, fly hastily and in silence. Nature long ago gave up an unfair struggle and retreated, taking with l.er even the clover, and leaving behind barrenness and sterility. Glcndalough may be a romantic spot, but it is surpassingly gloomy and lonely. This is the legend of Glendalough. Among all the young saints who followed after St. Patrick. St. Kevin was the youngest, holiest and most ardent. Desiring only silence and meditation, he fied from all worldly cares and temptations to the gloomy realm of Glendalough. There on the bosom of a bold cliff, he threw himself down at even, to pray and rest, thinking that there at least no woman's smiles could ever haunt him. But the saint, being a saint, I suppose, little knew that nothing in Heaven or on Earth is a barrier to a woman if she be fond. For even as he sleeps and dreams of Heaven, Kathleen bends over him and weeps. In truth, it was from Kathleen he fled, Kathleen with her eyes of most unholy blue, who had loved him well and long and thought it not a sin to follow him whereler he went. For this reason she had followed him by day and night, unafraid over plains, burning in the noonday sun, over mountains treacherous to her unskilled feet, through forests that tore at her tender skin and sought, with their millions of