Ruperts Land Girls School - Eagle Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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28 RUPERT'S LAND COLLEGE MAGAZINE ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL St. Paul's is situated in the heart of London, at the head of Ludgate Hill. It is approached on the west by a wide strip of pavement on which stands a statue of Queen Anne. The immense building was built by Sir Christopher Wren. Leading up to it are flights of broad stone steps at the top of which are tall, beautiful pillars carved at the top. In the north tower there is a bell which tolls only at the death of certain great personages. It weighs about seventeen tons. In the south tower is the famous clock and in the centre the wonderful dome. Inside the cathedral there are many monuments of great people, and in the crypt the Painter's Corner, where the artists are buried. About three hundred and ten feet from the ground there is a gallery where, if one whispers, you can be .heard across the dome on the other side. The top is painted most beautifully by Sir James Thornhill. The cathedral is five hundred and thirteen feet in length and the breadth is two hundred and forty-eight feet. After walking up seven hundred and fifty-two steps, one reaches the balcony around the dome, where a marvellous View of London can be obtained. Books have been written about buildings, but this is only a brief account of one of the most beautiful in the world. BARBARA SELLERS -1- -1' -1- AN IDEAL COUNTRY COTTAGE If I were to have my choice of a dwelling, of a place in which to live, to love, and call my own, a place in which I could do as I pleased and be happy, in short, a home, it would not be one of the tall, brown city houses that I would choose, with their lifeless windows and unwelcoming doors, nor of the fashionable flats, with their air of formal conventionality, their over stuffed furniture, and their much advertised conveniences, nor yet of the comfortable suburban houses, standing in stiff, unalterable rows, looking for all the world like their owners, identically alike and equally smug and prosperously self-satisfied-the essence of dignified propriety, but I would go into the country, not as the tourist or Sunday holiday-maker goes, in a cloud of dust and a chaos of noise, shutting out both sight and sound of the beauty around them, but walking at my leisure, and then, where the grass seemed greenest, the flowers gayest,

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RUPERT'S LAND COLLEGE MA'GAZlNE 27 less time than it takes to tell, and I could not yet discern the various objects in the room. I got up hurriedly. Moving around was necessarily hampered, and while I was trying to reach the door I could hear the cry repeated at various intervals. It was alternated by sounds which made me think he was going under. Help! help! Cblub, blubl help! fblubD was heard all the time now. After stumbling over several articles, I finally reached my bedroom door. After struggling with it for several seconds, I managed to open it. Still the cry of the drowning person rang in my ears. Even this cry afforded me some comfort, because when it stopped it would obviously mean that help would be useless. Just as I opened the door and started down the verandah I heard the pitiful cry of Help! help! change to a much more hopeful one of, A light, a light! Looking across the Water I saw a light shining in the boat-house opposite our camp. Several reassuring voices called, Hold on, we're coming! Even as the engine of a boat started I could hear that the cry had changed again - this time to one of desperation mingled with fear: Quick, quick! Here I am! I--am-going! Other voices indicated he was going under. Apparently the would-be rescuers were having a hard time to find him in the dark. Where are you! It's all right, we'll find you. Hold on a minute longer! kept echoing across the water. Suddenly the engine of the boat stopped. The voices were lowered so that I could only hear a faint murmuring. Then, after what seemed ages, but what was in reality only a few seconds, the boat started up again and went back towards its own boat-house. Soon all was quiet and I went back to bed. It was hard to believe that what had happened was a real occurrence and not just a nightmare. The next morning I told everybody what I had heard. No one else had been disturbed by anything and all were in- clined to think that I had just been dreaming. However, when we went into Kenora that afternoon we heard that the swell of a boat had upset an Indian in a canoe just near Where we were staying. This was evidently what had awakened me. MARION O'GRADY 'I' 'I' 'I' P HAPPY SPRING Happy children playing, Daiodils a-swaying. Yellow butterfly, Just a little sky. GRADE I and KINDERGARTEN

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RUPERT'S LAND COLLEGE MAGAZINE 29 and the trees oldest and friendliest, there I would find a cottage-a home-where I would know that I would always live in contented happiness. And this cottage would not be too far away from, and yet not too near to some quiet pleasant country village with quiet, pleasant, country folk, and then again beyond the village would be a gay city, where sometimes, perhaps, I would go for a bit of merriment and gayer life, so as to be able to enjoy the quietness of my cottage when I returned, and not lose appreciation of its peaceful charms. And there would be a road past my gate, a white road winding across a green meadow, then losing itself in the woods beyond, like a weary traveller escaping from the heat of the dusty day to rest for a while by the cool of a woodland pool. Behind my cottage would be a wooded hill where cautious brown rabbits and soft wee brown birds would live and be the timid companions of twilight rambles, and where, in the springtime, the wild plum and hawthorn bushes would burst into a foam of white fragrance, a promise of the rich fruit and bright berries to come. And inside, my cottage would be as bright as the sun in the morning, and as cool as a breeze in the evening. There would be a small parlour, with soft chairs, sitting demurely with full chintz skirts, like old-fashioned ladies at afternoon tea, a neat kitchen with a brick fireplace whose ruddy glow would dance on rows of copper pans in winter time, and high cupboards with glass panes, showing cups on hooks, and shining plates on ledges. From a corner of this kitchen would be a flight of turning stairs descending to the bedroom above-a room, small like the others, but made gay with curtains tied back and bouquets of yellow flowers. And looking out of the windows of my house would be like looking at lovely pictures. The two low-windows in the front room would see the side garden and part of the bordered lawn in front. The kitchen casements would look on the vegetables and the woods, and the upstairs dormer windows would usher in the long gold finger of the dawn to wake me every morning. There would be window seats in the parlour, and ledges in the windows for plants in winter. A small fire place would keep me warm on autumn evenings, when I would sit in one of the cosy arm chairs which would rest on either side. The kitchen would have an alcove beside the fire place, with a white- scrubbed table top and white small chairs where my three meals a day would be eaten. My bed would have four white posts like sentinels in the night, and there would be two covered boxes in which to keep my gloves and hats. But, best of all, the garden! In front a velvet clover lawn with bright borders of nodding marigold and candytuft, and flagstone paths with tiny flowers and grasses