The end of university will mean farewell to Toronto for many students. This, on behalf of them, is a good-bye message to the third-fastest growing city in North America.

Good-bye subway. Sometimes it has seemed odd that a city of more than a million people, the heart of a mighty growing country, should point with its greatest pride to a four-mile hole in the ground.

Good-bye blue Sundays, with Eaton’s windows blindfolded, and the heart of a booming metropolis as quiet as a mausoleum. It will be strange to meet people who are not ashamed of their municipal laws.

Good-bye cocktail lounges. Toronto must be the only city in the world where people think they are intelligent drinkers because they have stood at bars and drunk their way through the wine list, never savouring, scarcely enjoying.

Good-bye Le Chaumiere, Hop Sam’s, the Sign of the Steer, Larry’s, Winston’s, Fuji Matsu, the Dell, Angelo’s, the Edison. May you get a clientele that knows how to eat.

Good-bye Gerrard street. May your offspring reach success, hang their pictures in our National Gallery, find a side-walk café where snow doesn’t cool the coffee, shave their beards.

Good-bye Crest, and Royal Alex, and Avenue and Circle and Hart House and Radio City. Keep up your fight. You are winning.

Good-bye Bay street. May your denizens discover that Heaven is not on the 27th floor of the Bank of Nova Scotia Building.

Good-bye Jarvis street. May you wipe your nose.

Good-bye Grey Cup days. We will miss the shocked and envious gaze as Toronto watches jolly Westerners merrily defiling the altar of her beloved Royal York.

Good-bye St. George street. A goodly portion of our youth goes laughing hand in hand down your autumn evenings.

Good-bye street-cars. May your gentle women passengers find out that men are not trying to push them out your windows. May your drivers be calm, and your fares rise faster than our fees.

Good-bye taxi drivers. May future generations develop a rudeness vitriolic enough to answer your remarks.

Good-bye Bloor street, slick, scurrying, groomed and cold. May your October air still echo with our cheers. May the King Cole waiters learn that everyone is 21 at heart.

Good-bye university. You have been fine.

Good-bye Toronto.

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