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SMAD. An Organ of Student Opinion. 1932. Volume 3. Number 2.

Hurly Burly

page 3

Hurly Burly.

"Lord, give us power!" bellowed a brawny evangelist of the old school, so loudly and with such "damnable iteration" that it was a marvel the timbre of his voice wasn't splintered, until an exasperated listener piped up with:—

"Lord, he's got power—give him ideas!"

How many of us, and how oft, have yearned to call upon Jehovah in like fashion when the "ubiquitous interjectors," as Pen euphemistically terms them reduce the defenceless night to a shuddering pulp with their high-power exhausts!

Of course, no one wants our official gatherings to be conducted under a pall of fat smugness and squalid gloom—the sort of thing "Smad" would have to report like this:—

"A low murmur of cultured interest softly caressed the air as the Honourable-Mr. Muggs, after clearing his throat in that engaging manner of his, began an edifying address to the new graduates; the evening was quite un-marred with unseemly levity, the only blemish—which is deplored—being the dropping of a programme by an irresponsible undergraduate at a particularly solemn juncture.

"After the offender was ejected. . . . . . "

No! A hoot for that sort of sodden stodge—no one outside a Home for the Tame could think of wanting it—but, as you chaps will all agree, there is a happy and witty medium between the silence and sedateness of a middle-aged slug and the bloodcurdling yells of the Hounds of Hell; so what about a little cleverness and brightness of wit at our College gatherings instead of the stereotyped and now. alas, conventional boos! yahs! and cat-calls and countings-out that are chucked about indiscriminately with how prodigal a hand!

None of us want it to be thought that the Mail with the Muck Pake must have dumped his spoils into the Old Clay Patch.

No speaker with any sense of humour and good-fellowship minds a few bright interjections—in fact, most seem to like it — so long as they are treated as men by men and are given a chance to sneak a word in now and then. Hut no one is going to be bluffed twice into standing dumb like a damned fool in front of a congealed mass of squealing pork. Doubtless the first wag to boo and yell at a public gathering was voted a great wit, and the delightful irrelevancy and naivete of the notion must have tweaked the fancies of all—but it soon palls, doesn't it? After all, when you've heard one boo you've heard the lot, and yearn for fresh woods and pastures new—and it does seem as if these uninspired jungle noises are the blustering self-expression of minds too timid to grapple with coherency.

It would be a good thing, and also a memorable one. if interjectors as a body would only adopt "Speak, but hear!" as their slogan, and treasure it in their lusty, gusty bosoms.