Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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While I, unfortunate, must needs bear all That I may have sufficient food and clothes To keep me warm. Then he complains of what He calls my lack of interest in his art. Oh! lack of interest, forsooth! Do not I sif whene ' er he wishes it, that he May copy all the beauties of my face In whate ' er picture he is working on? He could not do without me, but would needs Go out into the market place to seek For models as that artist had to do — The one he told me of a while ago. And hark ye. Cousin ! he tries to persuade Me that we stole the money from the King, The money that we took to build this house, Or borrowed, rather, and which he will pay Again to Francis after he has worked A little longer at Madonna ' s head And realized the sum I want for it. But woe! I must do that which I do loathe, Must sit forever in that artist ' s room Bedabbled o ' er with paints and other things With which to smear my dress. I do declare I ' ve spoilt this fine embroidery that came Last week from Rome, upon a picture there Carelessly stood upon an easel low. He made much fuss about the worthless thing Nor noticed my distress about the robe. But now I vow I shall have two of such When he has earned the gold wherewith to bring The pretty things from Rome. Oh, must you go? Yes, you shall have the money soon enough. As soon, in fact, as Andrea ' s brush can paint The last fine picture. So, my Coz, farewell ! I go now to prevent all further waste Of time on that same lazy Andrea ' s part. Jane Howard, Form Upper VI. Our Monster At Traf there is a monster which we call the Magazine, It is coloured blue and white and its scales are silver vSheen; It has three misshapen heads, with flashing red eyes Three awful gaping mouths of extraordinary size. [16]

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could, in spite of mortal agony, issue commands and receive news of the battle while his strength remained. The one great relic which the Empire as a whole has of Nelson, his famous flag-ship the Victory on whose deck he fell wounded unto death, is being carefully preserved by the nation as a precious treasure. Nelson himself sleeps among England ' s glorious dead in St. Paul ' s Cathedral, but his memory is enshrined forever in the heart of every member of the British Empire. Jane Howard, Form VI. a. Lucrezia Why am I late? My cousin, I was kept By Andrea, my husband, in his room. My hand in his beside the window while He talked of things that interest me not; Complained of being summoned to his wife Away from idle pleasures there in France, While I dwelt here alone in poverty. He would not let me leave him till just now But praised my face, the colour of my hair. My eyes and all that ' s beautiful in me, Hopes, I presume, that I will sit for him Without a murmur all to-morrow morn, And until even if his work remains Unfinished e ' en till then — But this same work Will bring the money for your escapade ; And more besides, I hope, to buy the ruff His miser spirit has denied till now. Even since last month, I cannot tell what chance Has fallen o ' er the man — he called me Love, And promised faithfully to do the work Your friend wants painted for his corridor, Instead of quarrelling with me because He has no time for study. What will that Bring to his purse? Mere idle wasted hours That could be better spent in painting things That nobles knowing his great talent ; buy For good round figures ! Now he wastes the time By sitting gazing out on Fiesole Instead of working. But I know full well ' Twould worthless be to speak to him of it Wrapped as he is in his vain thoughts just now. Would I had never met the fickle one Who quarrels, the next moment seeking peace, [15]

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It has talons long and sharp, two switching lashing tails; And it fills the air at school with terrifying wails. Its appetite is enormous and difficult to appease, It ' s forever madly hungry, an incurable disease. We havt to feed it literature if we wish to keep it quiet, And it thrives and expands on this very queer diet. It loves to dine on poems pertaining to the spring, Sweetly perfumed florets, or birdies on the wing. ' ' Snapshots and drawings are in favour too with it. In fact the monster relishes any dainty bit. It ' s very fond of jokes and jests, providing they are bright, And hold an ounce of humour, clear to ordinary sight. It must be regularly fed; and for that irksome task Appointed ones in every form the contributions ask So diligent we all must be to keep the monster fed This attempt is for its breakfast. Farewell! Enough is said. Elizabeth Tooke, Form V. a. How Trafalgar Got Its Sixth (In feeble imitation of Rudyard Kipling) ' VTOW you must know, Best Beloved, that once upon a time there was no Sixth form. There was a first form, most awfully teeny-tiny and there was a Fourth Form most extremely scrawly-wawly. But there was no Sixth. At first, when the world was very young and all, you understand. Littlest One, they didn ' t need a Sixth. The little children ate their lunches mousey quiet and never threw paper behind the radiators. The Fourth form walked about on tip toe and never screamed; and the plaster in the Third form, room never fell down. But one day something happened. The Worst Child of All came into the school, and when I say the Worst Child of All I mean something very very bad. She was always late in the mornings. She carried ink from the Studio down to the Study and spilt it in a huge, black pool by the front door. She slid down the bannisters. But worst of all, best Beloved, she never listened very frightfully meekly when someone told her about all this. She always answered back quick as a flash. So one day there was a meeting — a grave growly-wowly meeting. And all the Heads sat there and they talked, and talked, and talked. They told all the things the Worst-Child-of-All had said and all the things she had done; but mostly what she had said. You see, she had said so very many things. At last the Wisest-of-AU spoke. Have you ever heard of cheek? she said, and all the others shook their heads and said ' ' No ! ' ' You see when the world was so young-and-all no little person dreamed of being cheeky. What the Worst-Child-of-All has, went on the most ' cruciatingly Wise Person, is cheek, and we must do something to stop it. [17]