Capping this year was whittled down to a shadow of its former self—no, that is slight exaggeration. it has so far been impossible to give the Extravaganza; and an all-wise Professioral Board has brought its professorial and judicial foot down with a resounding crash on all attempts at a procession for two years. But some things remained to us. There remained the Undergraduates' Supper. There remained the Graduates' Luncheon. There remained the Graduation Ceremony. There remained (ah, blissful memory!) the Ball. Yes, something substantial certainly survived from the wreck. We made do very well. Let us consider the events in order.

Undergraduates' Supper.

This sedate festivity took place in Gamble and Creed's rooms on the night of May 9th. Owing to the number demanding admittance it was necessary to use two floors; over one section of the participants presided Prof. Hunter, over the other Prof. Boyd-Wilson. The details remain rather hazy in our memory. The food was good, but the helpings were attenuated. The waitresses were very charming. The drink ran short early in the evening, and toasts, had to be drunk in goodwill and imagination. Speeches were made by the worthy Professors and by Brothers Martin-Smith and W. A. Sheat, and by several other worthy brethren whose names we forget, though not their eloquence. Other worthy brethren, again, sang and played and otherwise performed to our great content and gratification. We unaccomplished ones, on the other hand, could do no more than join in the choruses with voice and spoon; this also to our great content. The night passed quickly.

Graduates' Luncheon.

Again at Gamble and Creed's on May 10th. Rather more genteel than the preceding function, but very pleasant withal. The genial Mr. Fair presided with much grace and great bonhomie, and proposed the toast of the graduates of the year in a very happy speech. Mr. McCormick, that modest man, replied in a speech that was page 20 modesty itself. Mr. H. F. O'Leary, one of our legal luminaries, proposed "Victoria University College"; Mr. P. Levi acknowledged the compliment, being this time slightly more audible than he was later on in the afternoon. Professor Kirk, in his most smiling mood, praised "Past Students"; and Mr. G. F. Dixon, one of the heroic band who made us what we are, also very smiling, replied with the only piece of Latin he learnt from John Brown in the course of many years. It was a great day.

Graduation Ceremony.

Town Hall, May 10th, 3 p.m. (theoretically).Seats were early filled by doting fathers and mothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins, friends and casual passers-by attracted by the bustle and thinking the Social Revolution was at hand; all, apparently, under the impression that because a University function was timed to start at 3 p.m., it necessarily started at 3 p.m. About ten past three, the graduates' photograph had really and actually and finally been taken, and those heroes and heroines were enabled to form up in a long line and march downstairs into their places, solemnly and with ceremony, a little pathetic, something like a chain-gang. They were met by a wave of organised sound, which rose and fell at intervals throughout the proceedings. The programme opened with Gaudeamus and The Song of Victoria College, in the singing of which we noted a slight improvement from last year. The Chairman (P. Levi, Esq., M.A.) made a little speech. Mr. Levi's remarks were inaudible. The Sports Chorus was then attempted, it was ruined by the contemporaneous performance of some god-forsaken idiocy by the noisy rabble in the back seats. Granted that the Huntsmen Chorus front "Der Freischutz" is almost impossible to sing to the Sports Chorus words, and should be changed as soon as possible, is it too much to ask for a little respect towards one of the finest of our songs, one of which any college might well be proud?

At the end of this fiasco, Professor Easterfield, starred for the afternoon's entertainment, attempted to deliver an address. Unfortunately, the Professor is not very well known to the present generation of students, and his voice is not of the stentorian type: consequently his remarks, of a reminiscent type, were, like Mr. Levi's, largely wasted on the air. It was unfortunate, but inevitable. "Absent Friends" was then given with considerable vim. And then we had the privilege of seeing our own John Rankine Brown, elevated to the grand position of Vice-Chancellor of the University, confer upon eighty-five or so youths and maidens their appropriate degrees. Our Vice-Chancellor's gown of scarlet and gold embroidery was one of the features of the afternoon. He, too, endeasoured to make himself heard, but gave up in Chancellor-like disgust. Then the Final Chorus and a properly robust rendering of the National Anthem, and it was all over again.

But when will the Council learn to put up a speaker who can make himself heard above a reasonable amount of noise, whose sense of humour will not desert him on the stage of the Town Hall, and who will answer back retort for interruption debonairly and with alacrity? It may be all very well to roar like any sucking-dove in the lecture-room, but surely the Council has learned by now that at page 21 times something more is necessary? We are not defending noise at Capping Ceremonies qua noise; but what can you expect When speakers anyhow would be inaudible at a distance of more than a few feet?

The Ball.

Oh heaven! are we to adopt the cold tone of a chronicler and report the Ball in words, cold words, printed with ink and leaden type? It came at the end of a very full day, and its success was largely due to those earliest and high-minded souls who rose up early on that fateful morning, snatched a scanty breakfast, and arrived at the Town Hall circa 7 a.m. to do the decorating; and again to those who previously had with infinite labour and patienco prepared those same decorations. Multitudinous coloured streamers hung down from the big central chandelier, and were attached to the sides of the gallery; birch and fern and flags completed the mise-en-scene. The floor was smooth, the music adequate, the partners delightful, the supper perfect—all except the coffee, which was even worse burnt than usual—the conversation witty, the silences expressive, the general tone irreproachable. In fact, it was all a Great Success. We unfortunately omit mention of the charming evening gowns worn, and can only refer our interested readers to back numbers of those distinguished fashion journals, the "Evening Post" and "New Zealand Times."

Capping has come and gone once again. Sic transit gloria mundi. En avant, mes enfants—to 1924!