Victoria College from Glasgow Street

Across a wooded gully looms Victoria, sturdy venerable pile—its bricks glowing warmly in the light from the long windows, black-roofed against the glare of the City's lights. Embodiment of so many traditions, in spite of your warm bricks and mellow windows you stand coldly remote and dignified. Students may come and students may go, they may glory in the recognition of you as their Alma Mater, they may exultantly "play the game" and spread your cultures and teachings afar, but you who inspired their exultation, remain aloof. Can these grotesquely fantastic figures, practising diligently to-night by lamplight on the plateau in order to gain honours for you in the fields of Rugby, can these small humans move you to a sense of pride in possession of such splendid youth? Can you not appreciate their delight in bringing to you, in humility, their gifts in the spheres of intellect and sport that you may mould them and build them up to your own edification?

You hold many secrets of many lives that arouse in a Fresher a sense of littleness, of individual futility, yet the awareness of this quality endears you to every student who loves you, as a symbol of learning, of seeking, of fulfilment.

Victoria, stand contrite! We know your aloofness to be a superficial quality. To the uninitiated only are you remote. Whoever has stood at your steps to gaze in silent wonder at the glorious panorama of the Wellington Harbour and distant hills cannot but have felt the essence of your spirit—the spell of your sturdy impregnability—the stedfast security folding about him protectingly like a cloak. Whoever has felt this warmth and sympathy realises indeed that you, who have seen so many enraptured by the view, can still appreciate the feelings of all who may yet stand so meditatively. Whimsical thought, Victoria, that you in your brooding tranquility should bear resemblance to the dignified Victoria of Kent Terrace.

—E.M.B.