Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 19 text:

After a long, long time, my other son came home, mais sans un hras. He has left me and married a girl whom I distrust; but his little Jeanette is good and I love her. My story is nearly finished, and until I am called, I must live alone in this cabin. Pray God it may not be long. I do so want to see my brother Paul, and little Antoine, in Heaven. Elizabeth Tooke, Form Upper VI. Ode to Big Chief Mountain You stand, O sentinel of the plains, Majestic, triumphant and free. Monarch of peaks around you. Shrouded in mystery. You tower o ' er the valley and foothills. O ' er the forest, the lake and the stream. Semblance of strength and of freedom. Formidable, lofty, serene. What mystery surrounds you. Refuge of outlaw and thief? What secrets do you cherish, O home of the Indian chief? You have silently witnessed battles Fought ' twixt the Blood and the Cree; You have echoed the shouts of the valiant As they chanted in victory. Thus have you stood through the ages, A stoic without change. Pride of the western prairies. Big Chief, lord of the range. Jean Mack ay, Form Lower V. [17]

Page 18 text:

The Story of Marie Leblanc nVf NAME it is Marie Leblanc, and I am an old, old woman. I know not how to read, or how to write, but my grandchild Jeanette writes this for me. I have now seventy ' nine years, but I can remember — ah! — so well! when I was young and beautiful, and I lived with my father and my brothers and sisters out in the woods. Mon pere, he was a trapper, and used to be gone all day long with the oldest boys, and as e hon Dieu had taken our darling mother from us, when I had but ten years, I had to care for the little ones. I recall how heavy was Paul, the baby, who grew to be a fine tall boy and was taken by the plague. There are only three left of our large family, Jacques, who lives to the south (I shall never again see him), and Anne who married a smart young man from the city, and now is very rich. She sends me much presents, but never comes to see me (I think I shame her). Then there is myself. All my youth, as I have said, was spent caring for my family, and I was never able to attend the school, which was held in the village, seventeen miles from our home. I am not sorry for it, Jsanette is no happier than I am. So, when handsome young Pierre Cadieux came courting me, I had to send him away, for the youngest, Paul, had only five. I kept house for Papa for several years, but one day he was caught in an iccjam, and we never saw him again. The children were all gone but Paul, and that winter, while the snow tried to bury our cabins, the Black Death swept over the land, and mon petit Paul was taken from my arms. I recall well that morning, as Paul tossed on his cot, raving with the fever. I dug out my way from the door, and snowshoed to the nearest village for the doctor. When we came back, fortyeight hours later, my Paul was dead. When the plague came to me, I was glad. But I did not die as I had wished. Instead I married the doctor. He was a big man avec une harhe noire. I still have the marks of the plague upon my body and my face, my beauty was ruined forever. When I married I had twenty ' seven years. Ma foi, how I hated to leave my old home, although our new cabin had two rooms and was very comfortable. When I was married three years, and had two petits garcons, my husband got himself lost in the bli 2;ard, and I suppose he fro e. All the same I loved my children and I lived for the sake of them. They grew up to be big healthy boys, and how they were good to their mother, especially mon Antoine ! They sometimes went to school, un jour la semaine, peuuetre. My boys knew how to read and to write, but I confess I think it foolish. One day, Antoine, he came to me and said, Chere petite maman, far, far away they are fighting a big war, and I must go. I did not understand, but Antoine went. My other boy stayed with me until he was made to go, by the government, he said. Thus both my boys went to the wars, I know not where. Cependant, I lived as best I could, but I was getting old. In the winter my bones ached, and my breath came with difficulty. Then one day it was Spring, the snow was melting and the air was warmer; on m ' apporte une lettre. Of course I could not read it, but I kept it for a week or two, until little Georges Perrault came to see me and to chop my wood. He was able to read it for me, as he went to school. ' ' Antoine est mort ' ditnl. [16]

Page 20 text:

Miss Muffet {As Spenser might have written it) A lovely Ladie sate upon a stool In purple stole and golden vele ycladd, As framed in the waters of a pool, A goodlie meal of curds and whey she had; And therein paused with ydle pleasure lad To listen to the birdes sweete harmony: But suddeine loosed by a false Dryad A loathsome spider fell from out the sky, Eftsoones it forst Miss Muffett farre away to fly. Hazel Ahern, Form Upper VI. The Swallow Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow. What hast thou found in the spring to follow? ' ' ' Hylus, by A. C. Swinburne WHAT hast thou found in the spring to follow? A merry question to ask a swallow, as if a bird could know! Why! it ' s only instinct that guides it south, you will say. Maybe. But don ' t you like to think that perhaps animals have more sense of the beautiful than we have? They live always close to Nature, and I think are sometimes awed, happy, sad, and merry by turns, according to her moods. So let us try to imagine what the little swallow ' s thoughts are on its long quest for spring. When autumn winds begin to whistle through the tall, yellowed ferns, and over the cold streams, and around the blackened branches of the great trees, the swallow feels it is time to leave [ 18]