Our attic, situated at the extreme top of the building, has many fine
qualities. The arrival of a really heavy rainstorm fills one’s ears with
the noise of roaring waters, the proper inspiration when composing
Indian legends. Whilst the creaking of the snow-laden roof covers
one with the dust that has been collecting in the ancient timbers for
that dark purpose. If an occasional venturesome spider decides that
the quickest way to reach his destination, is to drop on some handy
Art student below, we, of course, are highly delighted, as you would
be. The pleasure in stepping ona dead mouse is scarcely lessened by
finding that yours was the painting it chose, with admirable taste,
to take internally, thus causing its untimely decease. From the artisti-
cally obscured windows, one may obtain a glorious view toward
the lumber mills, for which our smoke crested city is famous the
world over.

In honour of our favourite playground, the attic, which other estab-
lished schools have denied their students, we send forth this eulogy,
asking only that it may long remain in our memories—and may it
remain long only in our memories.

MARJORIE PARK.

ODES 10. AL

I drew, I designed, I got feelings,

I struggled and strove for success.

The faun and the slave gave me glasses

From straining eyeballs in distress.

I studied perspective and lettering;

I froze in an attic of ice!

I lunched from a magenta saucepan;

I followed the teacher’s advice.

At the close of the years to bring triumph,

Success from high heaven was sent:
contract to sing Harry Lauder

With my perfect Glasgow accent.

ROWENA GROSS
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