The Undergraduates' Supper.

At Heidelburg they would have been blond young Nordic gods feasting on weinerschnitzel and yellow lager and white wine from the Rhine, jubilant beneath the great medieval timbers at their release from the frantic striving after kultur, singing lieder lustily and sentimentally, and closing with a fervent "Gaudeamus." At Oxford, in Judas' Quadrangle, under the cold scrutiny of the marble emperors, they would have been splendid young aristocrats, indulging for once in the vulgarities of roast beef and good-fellowship, but conscious to the last, as they rose to toast their King and Country, of their sacred heritage of English tradition and English good-breeding. And at Yale or Harvard or California, slim, elegant and shining young people would have ranked the table, all speaking together about nothing in tones of strained enthusiasms, and afterwards settling down businesslike to tangos and rumbas from a hot jazz band.

(Editor's Note: The writer has evidently been seeing too many musical operettas and reading too much Max Beerbohm, Berta Ruck and Link-later.)

(Author's Note: I have not.)

Well, so what? We too had an Under-graduates' Supper.

But in the muddled exaltation of Capping Week nobody seemed to notice or to mind very much. Given the ardours and ecstasies of four weeks of preparation for and three nights of extrav., a ceremony, a vacation, and the whole evangelical atmosphere, and the attitude of your average undergrad. to the Supper becomes patient resignation. In this the sensitive discern something poignant and pathetic. But the function Goes On.

And this year it Went On as usual. After the vulgar business of eating had been more or less adequately disposed of, some three hundred students—this year's graduates and the cream of the remainder—ensconced in Gamble & Creed's Courtenay Place Dining Hall settled down to the grim business of listening to speeches. What had been a festive atmosphere with colour and grace and light-hearted banter, became co-extensive with the tomb. Only occasional interjections taken up by the mass and chanted as a chorus (our own form of folk-art)—such as the "As you will no doubt recollect" that greeted our leading economist—indicated that we remained, if somewhat discouraged, practically irrepressible.

Of the constituents of a formidable toast list we recall the loyal proposal "The Prof. Board" by Mr. Diederich, suitably, nay traditionally, re-plied to by Professor Gould; "The Graduates," by Mr. Bannister, neatly parried by Mr. Mc-Naught; "The Stud. Ass.," by a Professor Murphy singularly chastened and hardly recognisable as the Cyclops of the Commission, with the compliment smoothly returned by Miss Forde; "Absent Friends," by a wise-cracking Mr. P. J. Smith; "The Ladies," by Mr. Bishop, who didn't propose throwing them into the horse-trough, countered in a natty little toast by Miss Helen Dunn.

After the oratory, the company was kept in order by songs from Mif. Davies and Hallam Dowling. Mr. Mountjoy contributed two ever so cute musical monologues. And, after the triumphs of the extrav., it was as inevitable as "God Save the King" that Redmond Phillips should be stormed once again for "Do Something Stark" and "Naked and Unashamed," the Athanasian Creed, the Blue Laws and the Welfare League notwithstanding.

What had really been a highly successful and highly enjoyable evening—after all we can't be cynical at the expense of truth—concluded with songs, and on a certain note of levity. And the dance at Margaret O'Connor's that followed was one of the pleasantest affairs we remember.

* * *

The Real Business.

The Procession and the speeches at the Capping Ceremony are reported with delightful zest at page 99.

* * *

The Capping Ball.

Perhaps the spirit of our age revolts at anything in the nature of a ceremony. Perhaps we knew in our innermost hearts that true scholarship is a rare thing, and so felt vaguely uncomfortable in the sombre cap and gown that are meant to be the outward sign of the inward wisdom and freedom. Or perhaps we had heard too many speeches, too many good wishes and wise injunctions concerning how best to meet life with the weapons at our command.

page 32

At all events it was a relief to drift up Cuba Street away from the grim old Town Hall, and enter the more convivial atmosphere of the May-fair Cabaret. Life, at times is too real, too earnest. Our regard for knowledge and the dispensers thereof is a sneaking one, or, to put it more graciously, we are shy, and hard put to it sometimes to express in fitting terms our sentiments concerning these things. But our modern vocabulary abounds in words such as "snappy," "corker," and "ripping," which somehow are just the words to express our genuine and spontaneous enthusiasm for the colours which assail our eyes, the amazing ragtime produced by the High Hatters, the jostle and movement of the gay and girlish girls and the manly young men.

The little painted tables and chairs look inviting. One sinks to rest thankfully, and a demure maiden places ginger beer and glasses upon the table. Oh marvellous and potent beverage to brighten eyes and revive the spirits of the flagging! The world, forsooth, is a merry place, and once more we see the value of common things. The young men even examine aspidistras and pot-plants with unusual interest.

But it was fine fun, and those guests must have felt grateful to the good souls who had worked for our pleasure and entertainment.

One strange note—not discordant however! In the grey and early hours when the day was yet young a minion of the Law, complete in helmet and uniform, is seen to stroll through the corridors. "Constable," said a young man, "just mind my girl while I go off to get something!" By the benign expression on the face of the minion, we know that our innocent merriment was sanctioned by the might and right of the Law. So what can the public say now!

* * *

And back in Heidelburg ....