Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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' God ' s in His Heaven, All ' s Right with the World ! — Browning. VERY few people possess the optimistic view of life with which the writer of these two short lines was endowed. Many there are who cannot understand how all can be right with the world while there is so much sin, sorrow and sickness. But sorrow itself can be beautiful as long as we remember the thought behind the words of Van Dyke: There ' s something happy on the way and God sends love to you. The grief and pain, that every man must experience at some time in his life, are sent to us by God to test our strength and will to cope with them. We fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake. Our hardships play as necessary a part in our lives as do our pleasure;s. For the soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears. Perhaps much unnecessary sorrow can be caused by one ' s outlook on life. When one has optimistic viewpoints, the world cannot help seeming rosier and happier. After all, says James Russell Lowell, the kind of world one carries about within oneself is the important thing, and the world outside takes all its grace, colour and value from that. And one gets so much more out of life through being an optimist and taking the brightest view of things. These lines of Herrick ' s show what an optimist is like. Give me a man that is not dull When all the world with rifts is full; But unamazed does clearly sing Whereas the roof ' s a-tottering; And, though it falls, continues still Tickling the cittern with his quill. Besides a sanguine disposition, it very often takes moral courage and strength to be optimistic. Charles Lamb had these qualities, and he faced the world heroically despite the tragedy which sad- dened his life and made him give up all thoughts of married happiness for himself. From this letter of his to a friend we can see the joy he took in the sweet things of this world. One passage in your letter a little displeased me, he writes; the rest was nothing but kindness, which Robert ' s letters are always brimful of. You say that ' this world to you seems drained of all its sweets! ' At first I had hoped you only meant to intimate the high price of sugar, but I am afraid you meant more. O, Robert, I don ' t know what you call sweet. Honey and the honeycomb, roses and violets are yet in the earth. The sun and the moon yet reign in heaven, and the lesser lights keep up their pretty twinklings. Meats and drinks, sweet sights and sweet smells, a country walk, spring and autumn, follies and repentance, quarrels and reconcilements have all a sweetness by turns. Good humour and good nature, friends at home that love you, and friends abroad that miss you — you possess all these things and more innumerable, and these are all sweet things. You may extract honey from everything. — Charles Lamb. There is another extract containing the same thought that we find in Lamb ' s letter. It is taken from the writings of George Borrow. — Life is sweet, brother. — Do you think so? — Think so! There ' s night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon and stars, brother, all sweet things; there ' s likewise a wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die? — I would wish to die . . . — You talk like a gorgio, which is the same as talking like a fool. Wish to die, indeed! Romany chal would wish to live for ever! [33]

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The Sky ' HE sky is a kingdom of ever ' changing moods; a kingdom as fascinating as the fairyland we 1 dream of in our childhood days. Its inhabitants, the clouds, are like the people of our own countries, of many different types. Sometimes they are brisk and cheerful, scudding gaily across the sky as if they had not a care in the world. Sometimes they are lazy, indolent little balls of white fluff, suspended motionless from the blue dome far above. At other times they are so close that they seem almost to touch the tree ' tops, as, black and sullen, they drag their weary way across the leaden sky. Sometimes one may see a prince, riding in state towards the lands beyond the blue, his chariot drawn by white horses with flying manes and tossing heads. And as we lie gazing up into the blue depths and watch the idle clouds, it is in the sky that we see our castles in the air. At sunset the sky is tinted a thousand different shades. Each cloud seems lined with fire, which runs in crinkHng tongues of flame around its edge, making the purple of the cloud seem yet more dense. The sun at last sinks to rest in a bed of crimson and yellow, reflected vividly in the water down below. And when the sun has vanished, the sky becomes a land of enchantment and mystery. Here reign ancient deities and kings and heroes of long ago. Myriads of tiny Ian ' terns wink and twinkle in a setting of velvety black. And over all the moon sheds her tranquil silver light, even more beautiful when she glimmers through the chinks of a cloud which has, for the moment, veiled her face. Without the radiance of the stars and the moon, the sky, on a cloudy night, seems to press down upon the earth and swallow the mountains and tree tops in its inky blackness. But perhaps the sky is most beautiful after the rain, when the sun bursts suddenly through the clouds and pours a golden flood upon the tree tops, while far, far up in the sky appears the rainbow, the fairies ' many-coloured bridge to earth. From the earliest days man has made a study of the sky. Many years ago it was believed that the heavens had a particular bearing upon the lives of men, and that certain stars were favourable to those born under their influence. Although this superstition has long been dead, man still studies the stars, for he has always something new to learn from this mysterious realm above him. Betty Hurry, Form Upper VI. On Beethoven ' s Moonlight Sonata O ' er the keys the player gently bends, Softly, softly drawing from the notes A wondrous tale, and to my soul there floats A dream . . . the pale moon from the deep sky sends Her limpid beams ... a Spirit now descends, It glides across the waters to the boats Which slumber gently on the quiet lake ' s breast — My aching heart lies peacefully at rest. Moonlight, thy magic spell is everywhere! It fills the heart of yon sweet nightingale: He sings with pathos to the whispering pines, I hear them crooning to the stars ... I dare Not breathe ... for God is smiling on the vale. My soul is still, it murmurs low, Peace reigns. Nancy Thacker, Form Upper VI.

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— In sickness, Jasper? — There ' s the sun and the stars, brother. — In blindness, Jasper? — There ' s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that I would gladly live for ever. And surely no one could help but agree with Borrow that the actual world is the best of all possible worlds when they see the illimitable beauty of the Nature which surrounds them. Greg gives us a glorious account of it all in words that are so wonderfully well-chosen and so full of suggestion and imagery that, were one altered, or some phrase left out for brevity ' s sake, the whole passage would undoubtedly be spoilt. Here it is in Greg ' s own words: Every sort of beauty has been lavished on our allotted home: beauties to enrapture every sense, beauties to satisfy every taste; forms the noblest and loveliest, colours the most gorgeous and the most delicate, odours the sweetest and subtlest, harmonies the most soothing and the most stirring; the sunny glories of the day; the pale Elysian grace of moonlight; the lake, the mountain, the primaeval forest, and the boundless ocean ; silent pinnacles of snow in one hemisphere, the marvels of tropical luxuriance in another; the serenity of sunsets; the sublimity of storms; everything is bestowed in boundless profusion on the scene of our existence; we can conceive or desire nothing more exquisite or perfect than what is round us every hour; and our perceptions are so framed as to be consciously alive to all. The provision made for our sensuous enjoyment is in overflowing abundance; so is that for the other elements of our complex nature. Who that has revelled in the opening ecstasies of a young imagination, or the rich marvels of the world of thought, does not confess that the intelligence has been dowered at least with as profuse a beneficence as the senses? Who that has truly tasted and fathomed human love in its dawning and crowning joys has not thanked God for a felicity which indeed passeth all understanding? If we had set our fancy to picture a creator occupied solely in devising delight for children whom He loved, we could not conceive one single element of bliss which is not here. Sallie Ward, Form Upper VI. The Florist ' s Shop THE joy of entering a florist ' s shop ! Mind thinks at once of the expense and halts, but Spirit slips gaily in and flutters among the flowers like a butterfly. An attendant approaches, and back comes Spirit. The cord was too short. Mind does not allow it to wander freely, for Mind is shy and very retiring, and feels large and uncomfortable among the delicate beauties. The attendant is kind and attentive, but still Mind refuses to be coaxed from his position of safety. After long cajoling he is enticed to come and examine, along with Spirit, this wonderful fairy land. The first confusion is over. Spirit and Mind are one. The chrysanthemums are smelt, fingered, then the price enquired; very reasonable, thinks Mind, a dozen will do very well. Spirit flutters and thinks how well they will look in that blue bowl, reflecting their splendours on the mahogany table. One dozen, if you please, and none of those withered ones. They will be quite dead by to-morrow. I am sorry, but everyone must take their share of withered ones, or how can this shop be maintained? With a cry Mind objects, and I am the silent watcher of one of the many internal struggles which go on frequently within me. I am helpless, for I am only the judge to keep order between the advocate and the defence. I am torn from one to the other. Mind often wins, but this time he has lost, and very badly he takes it. The chrysanthemums are bought, and are going to grace the blue bowl this evening. [34]