Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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In Florence there are yards of lace, And miles of galleries we pace, To scan each picture ' s lovely face. Our stay in Venice ends too soon, We love St. Mark ' s, the wide lagoon. The gondolas, but best, the moon. The people, who live in t he sun Of this warm land, are full of fun. And never let a thing they ' ve done Disturb or mar their peace of mind. Why should they let a promise bind When there ' s a good excuse to find? The laughing peasants in the street. Ear-rings jingling, bare of feet, Are picturesque, but are not neat! There seems to be no middle class. The aristocracy we pass At every step. They ' re thick as grass. The women are of beauty rare. With limpid eyes and jet-black hair They have a really charming air. The men who are not strong are few. To army training this is due. For discipline they must go through. Weeks have slipped by, and it is time To bid farewell to this warm clime Of golden past and dreams sublime. The ship steams out, and the dying day Shows twinkling lights around the Bay, . Whi le the waves are lit by the sun ' s last ray. E.W.— VI. « A LAMENT As I was walking through the school cellar I was very much startled to hear a gruff voice talking; as I stopped to listen this is what I heard : It is very hard when one is not treated with proper considera- tion. I have stood in the sc hool garden for many years and given my shade to generations of Trafalgar girls and now to be chopped down for firewood. The very idea! I was rotten at the core, was 19

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tions. The funny, little, fairy-like man called Lob, who asked these people to his home in the country just in order to play with them, to send them into the Wood and see the results, brings about a happy re-union through his efforts between a husband and wife who have become almost hopelessly estranged. The play furnishes food for thought, and though it is very fanciful it has a double meaning and is quite unlike such light comedies as Peter Pan or a ' ' Kiss for Cinderella . Dear Brutus shows us a great truth more vividly than many a drama which confines itself solely to situations that are possible. It works out a familiar domestic problem in a charming manner, having nothing sordid or bitter about it. In it Barrie draws many appealing characters, particularly that of the artist ' s little daughter who might have been. She is a rather wistful little thing and we feel all along that a vague sadness hangs over her. This is given reality when the artist goes out of the Wood again — he has to leave the daughter there, where his glimpse into the life he might have had gave her life for a few hours. E.B.— VI. AD ITALIAM The editor requests of me, Since I have sailed across the sea, An article on Italy. Not being known as authoress. This wish affects with great distre ss One whom the gods in no way bless. Well, one sails o ' er the azure sea, (There ' s very little else to see) And lands in sunny Napoli. The beggars swarm in multitude: The customs officers are rude. And wildly gesturing guides intrude. After a hot and noisy night Disturbed by many an insect bite, The traveller welcomes back the light. Vesuvius is near Pompeii, We board the train and ride away After at least an hour ' s delay. Next we must visit ancient Rome, Climb St. Peter ' s lofty dome, And shiver through a catacomb. 18

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I? Well why did not someone come and put some cement in me? Or leave me alone? I could have lived for a great many more years! A voice which seemed to come from a lump of coal answered the log of wood. You would have come to the same end anyway. I was once a piece of a fine tree; but after lying under the earth for centuries I was dug up and for what? The same thing you were chopped down for! To keep these mortals warm! Ah me! seeing that the highest thing in life is service, if we can give that after we are dead, which few people can do, we should be satisfied and not complain. This conversation set me thinking and I became reconciled to the loss of the dear old walnut tree. G.B.J.— IV.A 3 20