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Page 22 text:
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nocturne CITY, THE GREATEST CONCENTRATION of the results of man's efforts which exists, leaves many different impressions in the minds of its creators, but to me, the most vivid impression is the one I get from a city at night. At night the city is a different world. At night the noise is stilledg the dirt and filth are concealed under a blanket of darkness, and the city becomes a fairyland of light and shadow. The buildings, cold, forbidding, and massive by day, are now but a dark background for a myriad of lighted windows. The long aisles of blackness which are the streets are a shadowy unknown. The streetlamps, so inc-onspicuous by day, become glaring beacons. A streetcar is, by night, a noisy little island of light and life, which comes and then goes, leaving everything as it was before. Have you ever seen a city by night reiiected in a harbor? There the lights are given motion by the ripples of the water, and the city becomes an ever- changing pattern of flashing lights and black shadow. Rain may come with the night, and the city will appear even m-ore beautiful. When there is rain by day, there is grayness, but at night the wet streets and sidewalks reflect the lights and the city is iridescent. The people by night are nothing like the people by day. By daylight, every person is an individual, his features are different and his clothes are different from those of his fellows. At night every man loses his individuality and becomes just another shadow, with but one thing to distinguish him from the inanimate shadows of the city. He has motion. He is a slowly moving silhouette, then he steps into the cone of light from a streetlamp, is, for a moment, sharply outlined, and then disappears into the darkness beyond the light. But the magic of the night cannot last forever. The sky lightens and the stars and moon fade out. Shadowy black masses begin to take on form, the lights pale, then morning comes, and the beauty and mystery vanish with the night. -PETER VAN ROYEN A THOUGHT The other day a thought struck me, Why do lemmings drown at sea? But another strange thing, And it 's just as dim, Why do humans bend to their every whim? O 'Brian Boru. Eighteen
disgrace OHN CARRICK wAs SITTING in the Headmaster 's office. He sat in the straight hard-backed chair before the large formidable desk. His hands were moist and clammy as he held them tightly on his lap. He had an unusually queer feeling in the pit of his stomach, almost like the feeling or sensation that he always g-ot before playing in a game for the school. His mind raced rapidly, bringing back memories of the past three years. He hadn't like private school life at first. He had been shy, and many of the fellows who were now his pals had taken it for aloofness. As time went on, he had become friendly with many of the boys, and he had begun to take an interest in school life. By the end of John 's second year he was considered one of the leading members in the senior group. He had played for the first rugby and hockey teams, acted in the school's dramatic productions, and sung in the chorus of the operetta. John knew that he was now an accepted member of the school and he was happy and proud that he went to Raleigh College. His mind turned again and again to the past. Oh, how well he remembered the weekends when he and the fellows had had those roaring parties in the city. All these memories and hundreds more he recalled as he sat there waiting. Now his confident happy life lay shattered around him and he was left alone to face the penalty. What had they called him ?- a disgrace to society . The do-orhandle slowly turned and he heard muffled voices talking outside. The door swung open and Mr. NValton, the Headmaster, walked in. John shot a quick glance at him as he walked to the desk. His yellow, pasty face, with small, darting, close-set eyes sickened the boy. The short brusque steps he took, swaying his middle-aged spread which he carried like a pregnant woman, seemed only to increase in Johns mind the seriousness of his situation. The Head, who had taken over this year, had long antagonized John, and the boy felt that Walton's feelings were mutual. If it had been their old Headmaster, John wouldn't have felt quite so badly. But he had been killed in an automobile accident last summer. His death had left John stunned, for he had looked up to him as a wise teacher and a good friend. The Head looked over his shoulder and said: f'I7ll be With you in a moment, young man. Picking up a letter from his desk, he walked out. Alone again, This waiting, John thought, was driving him crazy. He wished it was all over. He didn 't know what to do. He shifted uneasily in his chair, looking first at his hands, then his feet, then back to his hands He glanced up at the pictures on the wall. Some of them were old and faded and the people were dressed in suits typical of the 1920 's. Others were more recent and he knew several of the boys wh-ose photographs now hung in honour on the Headmaster 's wall. NVere they accusing him too ? Nineteen
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