IF ONLY

Bi only designs would draw themselves,
And paint brushes grew upon every shelf,
If we could mix colours as we've been told
And did not get them so awfully cold.

If only things didn’t fall on the floor,

And more than likely roll out of the door,

If there were not terrible things called exams,
And people were kind enough not to give slams.

Ah me! but if wishes all came true,
I don’t know what I’d find to do,

And things might work so blissfully,
I'd begin to think I wasn’t me.

¢

THE (ARTFOL” TOURIST

HIS is a more or less truthful account of a conversation
© held in front of the Harding Memorial in Stanley Park.
The participants were an art student and our friend the
tourist—a female of the species.
Tourist: ‘‘What is this large mass of concrete and iron which is
obstructing my view of the garden?”
Art Student (helpfully): ‘“This is the Harding Memorial.’’
| Tourist: ‘Oh! Did they erect this in memory of President Hard-
ing?”’
Art Student: ‘“Yes.” (Feeling rather unnecessary. )
| Tourist: “Can you tell me what the two figures represent?”
) a Student: ‘“‘One represents Canada, and the other the United
tates.”’
Tourist (evidently puzzled): ‘How can you tell them apart?”
Art Student (bored and brief): ‘‘By their shields.”’
Tourist (enlightened): ‘‘Oh, yes!” (Now thoroughly warmed
to her subject.) ‘‘Are the figures supposed to be men or women?”
Art Student: ‘‘Sapristi! Diavoli! Vermicelli! Etc. Page Senor
arega, perhaps he knows.”’
tenzied art student gives up art and life by plunging into pool at
foot of Memorial.

E, MCKECHNIE.
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