Regina Collegiate Institute - Souvenir Yearbook (Regina, Saskatchewan Canada)

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6th Consolation Prize Miss Cathro, III B And so the lad, in simplest garb arrayed, Reposed him in an angle of the wall ' Upon a wooden bench of rustic form. J ack Horner was his name, and often he Reclined upon this selfsame bench, and mused. But now he held, supported on his knees, A dish of goodly fare, wherein he sought With nimble hand, the fairest of the fruits, And, having found, he drew it forth anon, And quoth aloud with perfect courtesy, Good sir, I am anlhonest lad withal. . I .,,, BELIEVE IT OR NOT Naomi, the daughter of Enoch Was 580 years old when she married. Courage Ladies!! Rosenthal- Did you notice that when I asked her to go to the basketball game, she gave me a funny look? Bill- No, she didn't give it to you, Rosy-you always had it 27 Emma- What is the exact meaning of the verse beginning: Jack Spratt could eat no fat? Arnold- In simple terms it is as follows: Jack Spratt could assimilate no adipose tissue. His wife, on the other hand, pos- sessed an aversion for the more muscular portions of the epithelium. And so between them both you see, they removed all the foreign substance from the surface of that utiliatrian utensil, commonly known as the platter. Do I make myself clear. Emma-Perfectly. The lack of lucidity in these Mother Goose rhymes is amazingly apparent. 95

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3rd Consolation Prize Mr. McEachern, III A A pie! A Christmas pie! And nought betide- That's scarce a dish for princes, nor so rare But I should ask some relish to't, but stay! That was the dish Jack Horner ate, what time He lodged upon the corner-seat and plucked With thumb in dish, the ever luscious plum Which he consumed thereon, to taste, to eat, To eat, perchance to choke !-Ay, there's the rub, For who can say the plum will not call up The thousand natural ills that flesh is heir to? Yet Horner ate, and having eaten, still Pronounced himself contented with himself. Thrice happy man, that thus proclaims himself No slave of conscience, but is justified In his own eyes. 4th Consolation Prize Mr. McLeod, IV A I saw a little cottage lad, A Who in a corner sate, His happy face it made me glad- A Christmas pie he ate. What is your name, my little boy? f'Jack Horner, sir, said he, His face lit up with childish joy In sweet simplicity. He put his thumb Within the pie, In search of pleasant food, c And said, when he had licked it dry, Kind sir, I'm very good. 5th Consolation Prize Mr. Spencer, II D You can see Jack Horner sitting in the corner of the kitchen, With his little dish of pudding on-his lap, e If the dish you try to collar, then you bet your bottom dollar, That you'll find he aint indulging in a nap, For he shoves his little thumb in, when he hears a person comin', And he picks the biggest plum, that he can see: And he makes this observation, on the present situation- i Guess you Wonit find no one else as good as me! 94

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Galloway-See that chap coming out of the chem. lab.? that's Walker, our chem. shark. The poor boy likes girls, but he's so bashful, he acts like his own litmusf' Pratt-U Howzat? Q Galloway- Why, when he's with a girl he turns pink, and when he's alone he gets blue. MR. MATHESON AND MR. BROWN CWith apologies to Ed. Gallagher and Al. Sheanj Oh! Mr. Matheson, Oh! Mr. lVIatheson, ' Well, why look so melancholy, Mr. Brown? Our exams. are drawing near, There's my Waterloo, I fear, For I cannot tell an adverb from a noun. Oh! Mr. Brown, Oh! Mr. Brown, r Everyone will think that I'm. an awful clown- I am sure that I shall flunk. Bothwell says that I'm the bunk. In Palgrave, Mr. Matheson? No, in Chaucer, Mr. Brown. Oh! Mr. Matheson, Oh! Mr. Matheson, B You are looking like a battlefield in France, 1 Why, your face is really flat, You're as homely as a rat, And just look at those delapidated pants. Oh! Mr. Brown, Oh! Mr. Brown, Playing tennis with the dearest girl in town, VVhen I said, It's forty-love, Then her beau threw down the glove, The gauntlet, Mister Matheson? No, Boxing, Mr. Brown. -'CORWIN HUMBERT. FROM 'A WEYBURN CONTRIBUTOR HA cautious look around he stole, His bags of chinkhe chunk, And many a Wicked smile he smole, And many a wink he wunk. 96