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

Page 96 text:

---f fn- W- W- - 11.7.-si .ig-1 - - - -Y 4 A - - THEM BCH. ES winters Eoucb The hills, that once were gay with flowers, Are covered now with a blanket of snow. The trees, that once had leafy bowers. rf With snow-laden branches are bending low. The woodland path I used to follow, No longer hides my wandering way But shows each step, firm, elear and hollow, Printed in snow and there to stay. The rabbits have put on their winter fur, And changed it from brown lo snowy white. Wlhile over the sparkling drifts they spur Searcely seen in their coats so light. The rushing stream can no longer flow. Blithely in sight of the human eye. R f' 'sa ' But leisurely wends its way below f' X, A winter blanket from on high. ,Z N A- Huff: IJIIVIIIIH. Form lll H. A. TAN. Tfxmateur Goes Skiing OW well I remember my first experience on skiis! The night was cold and crisp. There was no wind to hamper our progressg but the consistent criss- crossing of my skiis obliterated for the present, all thoughts of being a great skier. A bark!-then a growl awoke me to the present. I saw my friends hastily making for the steep hill ahead-I tried to follow. My skiis once more became entangled and l fell over in a crouch, supported in this posture by the shoe harness. I regained my balanceg but, alas! the large eollie was right behind. With a backward thrust of my ski-pole, I gave myself a push. Suddenly, I could see space ahead, and knew I had reached the hill. hIy skiis seemed to float. Managing to keep my balance, I landed with a bump. Almost simultaneously and without warning, away I went soar- ing into the air again. The spraying snow was blinding and the tang of the crisp air seemed to choke me. Again. leeling a peculiar sensation in my 'Kinnards I knew I was landing. What will be the result? I asked myself. For worse or for better, I do not know. Later, when I woke, I heard David say:- Boy, Itlaurice, you took the ski-jump like a veteran. Yes, like a vegetarian, I replied and sank back to think of the pleasant time I could have had at home. Jlazzrice Giarrlino, IIe Industrial Arts. -33..

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THE ECHQPIS W za 'jawn Lord, when my life's bright flame grows dim, One thing I ask: That I may lie upon a hill Where breezes blow, The fragrant cedars incense spill, Pines murmur low. VVhere skies are very near and blue, And clouds are white, And, like to sentinels, peep through Thy stars, at night. Marion 0. Brown, QB Academic. fllfow a Small 5502 Spanos Tfis 'Day ' LEEPING . . . Waking up and shouting at the sun . . . Playing with his cloth elephant and his string of buttons . . . Shouting at his mother and telling her to get up because her baby boy is hungry . . . Crawling around the kitchen floor and getting into the catfs dish. Getting into the lower part of the cooler and throwing the milk bottles and oranges around . . . Taking his milk and cereal like a good boy . . . Playing in his pen in the sun- shine . . . hlaking a bee line for the cat, treating it rough and patting it like a good boy, and stopping very quickly when the cat says something sharp to him . . . Tearing ai nasturtium leaf to pieces . . . Picking up a pea and carrying it around in his fist . . . Paddling across the floor on his hands and knees, head down like a colt pulling a cart . . . Pulling on a curtain and being astonished when the curtain flies up with a snap . . . Giggling at the cat . . . Chewing on his zwieback and getting it all soggy . . . Yanking at his father's necktie . . . Pushing his teetertot for whatever you call the thingj getting it caught and yelling . . . Making funny noises . . . Splashing half of his bath water on the floor . . . Eating his lunch nicely . . . Rubbing his eyes. . . Taking his nap and waking up too soon. Playing in his pen . . . And yelling when strangers come up the front steps . . . Drinking his orange juice, violently refusing his tomato juice. Chewing on a rubber ball . . . Putting his foot in his mouth fwith or without shoe.l Pulling himself up in front of the radio. turning its knobs increasing the volume till it yells at him. and getting right out of there . . . Waving his hand when you tell him not to . . . Not waving his hand when you tell him to . . . Taking his cod- liver oil like a good boy . . . Laughing at himself in the glass . . . Pulling out base plugs and trying to get them back again . . . Chewing a cord to pieces . . . Being adored by all the family . . . Trying to make his big sister laugh . . .Rubbing his eyes desperately . . . Going off to bed on his mother's shoulder . . . Yawning most en- gagingly .... Sleeping . . . How parents spend their time: VVatching the small boy. H With apologies, L. Dominik, III I.A. -37-

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WE BCH - ES Ghz Tream 'Grail I would like to sail down a dream trail, Thronged with fancy golden ships To where a friend would wait for me, With roses in her hair, and laughter on her lips. Down that magic trail of moonbeams, Where the silent dreams Hy free To where, amid the roses That friend would wait for me. By my side merry shapes are thronging, And their breath is on my cheekg And their merry voices whisper Thoughts of this friend for whom I seek. For her lips are like the rosebud's, On her cheeks their blushes blow, And her hair is clouded shadows W'here bright tints of twilight glow. So 1,111 coming down the dream trail, Where the silver moonlight drips To where my friend will wait for me, With blushing roses in her hair, and laughter on her lips. Adelia Sargent, III Commercial. Charles Ticlxens emo Tlfis Novels HARLES DICKENS was born in Portsmouth, England, in the year 1812. He was unfortunate in receiving little education because his father was lodged in debtors' prison. However this detriment did 11ot mar the quality of his books. On the contrary, it gave him a wonderful opportunity to develop his own style of proseg because had he been better educated he would have developed a style modelled after earlier authors, and this would have lessened the intriguing fascination of his novels. Dickens wrote many of his books in an effort to bring about much-needed social reforms in England. Oliver Twist was written to throw a light on the woes of orphans in the parish work-houses, and to reveal the haunts of crime in London. Nicholas Nickleby exposes tl1e dreadful mismanagement of Yorkshire private boarding-schools, in which the boys were mercilessly caned and treated little better than animals, by the depraved and malicious wretch, Wackford Squeers, in order to satisfy that villain's evil desire for pleasure. The Christmas Carol has done more than anything else in the whole world to bring happiness and pleasure into poverty- stricken homesat Christmas. Little Dorritv exposes the evils of imprisonment for debt. Dickens was also endowed with a marvellous and unrivalled sense of humom: as is portrayed in Pickwick Papers' and Sketches by Bozf' In his unparalleled romances Charles Dickens brings tears and laughter to his readers. Old Curiosity Shop blends the pathetic pictures of Little Nell and her ' -39- 2