THE CYGNET
COMMITTEE. Editor: M. SHELLEY.
Treasurer:
B.
HENDERSON.
Third Year Representative—V. A. Second Year Representative — M. First Year Representative — S.
BASILEWITCH.
M. EVANS.
BIRD.
THE CYGNET M ARCH 1932
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A prize is awarded to Miss J. Lapraik for her tango, but Miss S. Bird's delightful waltz deserves honourable mention, and the Committee enjoyed Miss Evans' spirited waltz and Miss Green's Victorian Valeta. • The two short stories and the two character-sketches entered are printed below. As there were no other competitors, a prize could not be awarded. TANGO Were I away, now Beside that bay, now In Molokai (0 Molokai, that lies so far). Within the charmed peace the never-ceasing ocean brings, I'd hear Hawaian guitar Strings Strum like water, Water drumming On a sheet of argent beaten twang-ling thin. And thou, the daughter Of mild-eyed. Chiefs who rule these coralline Atolls, and nacrous shoals, Would lie and whisper thine imaginings To me, who would but see, behind thine amber ear, Hibiscus red and white, twilight, and near Her, Tusitala, Smiling, crepuscular, Teller of tales. Until the twilight fails, And fireflies glitter over the lagoon When the young moon Rises to spangle us with silver scales. JOAN LAPRAIK.
WALTZ
(After the
Ma7111C?
of Miss Sitwell.)
Dancing Princesses In water-white dresses Sway in the forest of filigree leaves, The sun with his motes on each petticoat weaves Gold freckles Flower bells, Swart speckles Tourelles ; They flee his bold valiance With maidenly dalliance, With satyrs they flirt With fan, eye and skirt, Shake their laces Swift graces, And flutter their frills. Down by the jacinth-green nymph-haunted lake Cup spangled water their flame thirst to slake,
THE CYGNET The water-drops tinkle with thin silver din Aquarelle fiddle and drown'd mandoline. Jonquill and Moon Fiametta and June, Daughters of Kings Mimic water-stirred rings With their laughter And after Blond as gold daffodils waltz in the shade. Down green recesses Flee four princesses, Down the dark forest to amorous arms, Fleet dreaming, Far gleaming They're vanished Away. SUSANNAH BIRD. WALTZ Lazily lounging with loitering gait he loped from the corner and fixed up a date : ' Oh to-morrow we'll meet and meander about.' She maidenly-minded, adoringly blinded, blushingly said she would love to come out. Oh ! glasses were brought full of drink full of drink, and he drank and he drank till she said, Do you think that you ought to be quite so inconsequent dear?' And he mimsily murmured S'alright, never fear, I've a head That's been properly practised with beer.' But he wilted and drooped in an awful decay and his limbs were entrained in perpetual sway and he trembled and shook and his arrogant look was brought low in a nasty dipsodical way. Then she solemnly turned (though she inwardly yearned) and left the young rip for his folly to pay. But he tippled and tippled till sadly to say that night was his last ever-lasting un-ending sleep-day death !
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VICTORIAN VALETA. When the heat of day is cold, \Vhen the heart of spring is old, When the singingBirds are flinging Long farewell to copse and wold ; When the pride of life is past, And the leaves, blown down at last, Leave the swaying Boughs, decaying Underfoot, forgotten fast ; When the passion and the pain Merge beneath the earth again, We'll be sleeping In the keeping Of the sunshine and the rain.
Character Sketch She cannot cloak the hollow places of her understanding, nor snood the ill-cemented span of her narrow wit. The gratuitous small money of her smile may pass for currency among the million, her white and pink, her pretty ways, and bangle-jangling wrists, but thse ring false though flung never so confidently upon the cold, dispassionate counters of the great. The jaunty key of her armour-plated creed—massy and impregnable masonry stationed upon sand — troubles the celestial portals of the gods, fretting them open at times to disclose the calm heights of Olympus. There reclining, the high gods mark and wonder and are amused. Strong in inept earth-obsolescences she takes her stand (the high gods mark and wonder), urging her dun-hued background against their irridescent peaks, troubling their starry litanies, cleaving the thin, clear air with gnat-like importunings. Stories she tells (the high gods yawn) of how the earth-dwellers wearied of house-breaking and rapine, hearkened her potent gospels, and were saved ; of how strong men wept and were gathered in ; of how the chosen came together, ate of the pasture, drank of the running stream, held gentle converse, and were not afraid. The high gods left to appear incredulous. The lids of Jupiter were closed ; Mars breathed heavily, and Mercury ignited more incense. Earthwards faded the visitor. Ringing against the rafters and down the empyrean lift-shaft, echoed the laughter of the gods.
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Poem O all you grieving willows young and pale, That o'er the brook in patient sadness lean, And hopeless in the passing waters trail Your beauty's shadow, sorrowfully green, You mourn eternally uncomforted, nor sigh Upon the winds your secret, nor lament aloud, But crouching silently you wait ; and I Stand wondering, you weeping trees and bowed, And think when I behold your sadness sweet, Your huddled misery and dripping hair, Of her who cast herself at Someone's feet, And wept in penitential sorrow there.
Unhinged (With marks for inspiration to the Author of ' Of Unsound Mind.') The hard chipping sound of steel meeting ice struck my tuned ears before I rounded the corner of the hedge, winter-stiffened defensive of a row of naked cabbage stems. Dull, monotonous, crack, crack, crack ; then a shuffle of boots, a silence and a cough, a long sniff, and again the chinking of pennies of ice falling away. I went round, and saw him bent over the pool patiently hacking at-its defiant edges with a battered garden fork. His little eyes glanced sharply upwards beneath the eyebrows frosted over with breath, and he watched my coming. Very naturally (for it was barely six in the morning, and at that mindless hour one may say anything, or nothing) I said ' Good morning. What are you doing?' He looked suspiciously at me, and I knew at once that I should not have stopped. I should have walked straight on. I should have been past the gate and well up the rise of the bridge by now,. Descending on the other side. Looking out over the broad side of the ploughed field, with the lowhugged cottage well behind my back, safely out of sight. At last he answered, carefully and with conviction, glancing momentarily at the blank door of the cottage : Catching seals.' He leered towards me, his eyes conquering mine, and his beard smelling of sage. I blinked. Seals and sage? ' No. Seals ! No sage.' ' What do you want seals for?' I asked, fearfully. Another glance at the door, and he answered confidentially : Agnes ought to have a new coat. It's cold these days. Bitter cold. Poor little thing ! It bites her to the marrow.' Then he stopped short and looked back at the murky hole he had made in the fair bosom of the ice. I looked too. The water was black and rocking beneath the tongued edges. Something dark was bobbing and plunging gently in it. He lunged at it with his fork, full of suppressed ferocity of excitement. I looked at him pityingly, for I knew it was only an old waterlogged boot, half afloat. He did not get it, but with a sigh of sorrow watched it disappear under the ice again. It's always like that,' he said. Ten morning's I've nearly had that brute, but it always goes, and when the sun comes up, it blows its breath up at me. You wait ; you'll see.'
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He knelt by the hole with eager, sad eyes ; so did I, and we peered in silence, our breath rising cloudily around us to the tranquil air. Agnes came and went, a fat, wheezy woman, begging him to breakfast. He moaned and shivered as she shut the door. My head reeled with pity. Every morning, every morning—early. . . . ' Give her my coat,' I said. He took it and went up the paved path. I heard his nailed boots on the step, and the satisfied click of the shut door. The cabbage-stalks stood still unkindly at attention, and the chill sun came over the hill. The water below the ice was unmoved as I stared. . . . I went shivering home, wondering why there were clover leaves hanging in my hair.
Indignant Protest An outraged amazement I feel When I note the extravagant zeal Certain persons display To Show me the Way And promote my spiritual weal. Their presumption is really supreme ; They do not apparently dream That one may refuse To relinquish one's views, Incredible though it may seem. But no arguments cleverly spiced, I am proud to declare, have sufficed To imbue me at all With the sense of a Call, And no one has led me to Christ. B.H.
I LOVE TO DO PHILOLOGY, BUT, OH, MY BACK.
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I went to a Buchmanite meeting ; There was plenty of drinking and eating ; And I've heard it asserted Among those converted Were H ,G , and S
Nonsense or the Art of Conversation The function of man is to speak, and the function of speech is to conceal thought—or the lack of it. The highest use to which this function can be put is in the art of polite conversation, an art nowadays little studied, seldom practised, and never succeeded in. The cause of this is obviousno one knows how ; that is to say, no one knows the rules. But, someone will say, ' What are the rules? ' The first is the great art of being amusing without being burdensome, verbose without being tedious, smart without too much malice, sprightly without indecency, and never by any chance to say anything which can possibly bear a single meaning nor be remembered five minutes after the tea-cups have been cleared away. Although one should avoid all semblance of gravity or significance, yet conversation must have a subject, however trivial. In fact, the more trivial the better. But this subject, unhappily, is too often fallen upon by accident, or, when found, lost by inadvertence. In Ancient Greece, dinners—or, as they were called, symposia, a pleasing combination of philosophy and prostitution—were conducted upon the most strict and accepted rules. In charge of the symposium there was an officer, elected by the general consent of the guests (with perhaps some little deference to the wishes of the host), who was known as the symposiarch, or the ruler of the feast. Once elected, he became a complete autocrat over the tongues and stomachs of the company. He it was who announced in what proportions the wine should be diluted ; he it was who proposed what parlour-games, or tricks, should be performed for the delectation of the guests. But, this is my main point, he it was who directed the conversation, leading it without monopolising, changing it when necessary without tyranny. The crying need of the country's tea-parties, dinner-parties, cocktailparties and blinds is a symposiarch ; someone, that is to say, who will manage the conversation. He will be elected by general consent, and it will be his office to see that the conversation neither hangs too long and heavily upon one subject, nor, on the other hand, flits too inconsequentially from one banality to another ; to guard against the talk being unduly serious, and equally against its trickling like a desert stream into an arid puddle of mumbled commonplace. He must, without seeming to do so, propose topics, change topics, and steer the wagrom tongue back to a topic too lightly dropped. It will be the duty of the guests to bow implicitly to his ruling, to do all that is in their power to folio:iv/ or anticipate his wishes. Each one must realise that he is not the conversation ; on the other hand, each one must also realise that he did not come to listen or to sleep, but rather that, just as it is his duty not to talk too much, it is equally his duty not to talk too little. With a few simple rules of this sort and the good-will and endeavours of the company, conversation, even upon the weather, will become, as it
THE CYGNET should be, a graceful accomplishment, an elegant pastime, and a constant source of mutual refreshment, enjoyment and edification. We now feel it our duty to append a few warnings and recommendations for would-be conversationalists :— (i) Always talk shop if there is no one to talk shop to. (2) Let someone else be indecent first, and then be a little more indecent yourself. (3) Even the most eloquent and interesting speakers seldom hold a table entranced for more than twenty minutes. (4) Wine is the lubricant of society : don't suffer from over-oiling. 0. SHAPLEY.
Cynosure In Elliston's I saw a god ; Olympus' heights he plainly trod. His eyes were dark ; his lips were red ; A nimbus hovered round his head, And as he moved each languid limb Celestial radiance came from him. He sat him down upon a chair, And angel harpings filled the air ; A cigarette he took and lit— Ambrosial odours came from it. He ordered coffee—I expect a Welcome change from daily nectar— And then leaned back, as who should say, ' Ignite the incense straight away.' I watched awhile with dazzled eyes This visitant from Paradise, Regretting these degenerate days When none strike up a hymn of praise, Though Beings obviously Divine Still on the earth effulgent shine. And thus I gazed, until at last He went : and all the glory passed ; The gramophone's derisive hoots Replaced the sound of shawms and lutes ; The room was filled with ugly men ; Elliston's was itself again. I rose at last and went my way. I have not seen him since that day ; But till I lie beneath the sod, I never will forget that god. B. HENDERSON.
A Biography Professor Trevelyan Rode on a pillion. He said : I'll come home When I've written Garibaldi's defence of Rome.'
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A WELL-KNOWN RELIGIOUS LEADER PREPARES TO HAVE HIS QUIET HOUR
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The Thing in the Lift • The woman in green sat over the ghost of a fire. Her head was a mad morris-dance of were-wolves and vampires, Lucifer and the twaddle of psychic experiences. The others had all gone away laughing, leaving a friendly litter of tea-cups, and the ash of cigarettes ; the scattered cushions still held the imprint of their lounging bodies, and the air was full of the spent force of their experimental smoke-rings. They had all gone away laughing, but the woman in green was afraid. She had been afraid all along, afraid when they mocked at table-turning, afraid when they went away laughing, by twos and threes, holding hands, making merry at the expense of the dark, and the things that lay dormant in the dark ; and now most afraid, left alone in the uncertain firelight. Above all things the woman in green hated the unknown, and feared to venture even along its•outskirts, tempting the black depths within. The others had clearly enjoyed the .sensation of self-imposed shudders, sought out the bizarre, the sinister, the macabre, and were in no way deceived by its momentary appeal. They were thralls to its spell just so long as.occasion lasted, and then went away laughing. But the same evil genius which held the woman in green in the grip of a fearful joy at these gatherings, drove her, being left alone, beyond the ultimate pale of horror and horrible imaginings. The spent embers contracted ill the grate, rustling among themselves like live things. The woman in green started, and glanced over her shoulder at the hunched and menacing shadow of herself as it sprawled horribly along wall and ceiling, deriding her sick fear. The wicker-chair in the corner, where not long since one of the others had been sitting so light-heartedly, ground its teeth after the manner of wicker-chairs ; a nightwind flapped the hanging curtains, jolting the window-frames in their sockets, sure sign that the bodiless shapes of the dark were thronging up against the fragile window-pane, thronging up and in. . With an effort the woman in green got to her. feet, piled up the scattered tea-things, and shook the misshapen cushions. But her brain was busy elsewhere building fantastic sky-scrapers of fear, shaking the slight foundations of control. And under all the pretence of nonchalance, the dissimulation of indifference, beneath the superficial fear which would pass, and the anticipation of the embryo fear- which was to come, the real, the enduring graph of horror rose and fell in hideous fluctuation. For it was at night, and on such a night as this, that the dreams of the woman in green were made horrible by the thing in the.lift. Hastily she switched on the central light, the better to foil the evil of the lurking corners, to bring them into line with light and safety. Swifty, humming a little disjointed, trepidant song, she began to undress, filling the tooth-mug, winding her watch, hanging up clothes and turning back sheets with an interest and a concentration that deceived no one, nothing, least of all herself. At last she was ready for bed. The light out, and the last safeguard gone. But sleep knew the potent password this night, if never again, and swept in past the watchful and vigilant warders of the brain, to storm the drowsed body into submission. Less than one hour later the woman in green awakened with dry lips and wide eyes, instantly comprehending. Something, somewhere, three flights clown in the basement, was stirring in the old lift-shaft ; the old
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wooden lift, disused now except for the periodic conveyance of coal and luggage, was busy about something, somewhere. Very faintly, very far down, the slack ropes were being handled, the lift floor was grumbling up out of its long sleep, coming up, coming up to cut across the restless dreams, the fitful sleep of the woman in green, coming up to pause where the lift-shaft opened on the last landing at her very door, coming up to disgorge its load . . coming . . . coming up. She shrank deeper down into the bed, drawing the.clothes no and over her head, her short, spasmodic breathing filling the narrow confines of this her last sanctuary with the close, increasing atmosphere of panic. She clung to the hope that it had been a dream on which she had awakened, and knew that it had not. Then, very far down the lift-shaft, a faint rumbling than which there was no ultimate reality,, became audible, a sound so faint that it might have been the wind in the chimney, and was not. And now the groan and creak of the ropes grew and gathered strength upon the silence. The lift was coming up. Something with measured and purposeful hands—if hands it had—was pulling itself up through the night, coming nearer, nearer, past the first floor, not pausing at the second, but coming up, its goal the lonely horror of the corridor that led past her very door . . . and there the rumbling would give way before the more powerful terror of silence, the warped doors would fall back, the taut ropes tremble into place, and hang idle, idle from the fingers — if fingers it had — of the Thing in the Lift The next morning the woman in green was found dead on the warped boards of the lift as it rested, thick with the dust of disuse, where the liftshaft opened on the basement, three floors down. BRENDA GREEN.
The Violin Recital `A' with its plaintive chord rang out from the piano. There was a tentative touch of the four strings, a vibrating chord, and the hum in the room died down. The pianist, who had been carelessly thumping out the notes with one hand, suddenly changed his expression and bent over the keys. Soft, dark chords flowed from his finger-tips. The violin bow lifted, hovered, then kissed the strings sharply and sweetly. A silver streak of music shot from the bow and cut through the muffled atmosphere like an eel darting through dim waters ; faces wavered in the greenish light and the shining piano seemed wet. Drowning, Katherine fixed her eyes on the glistening window square. It was fringed with pointed leaves that dipped and danced like marionettes. They were mirrored in the 'dark pictures on the walls, and there more tremulously they dipped and danced, pirouetted and bowed. All the objects in the room were caught, and reflected there with a pretty distortion. The grossness, the broad angularity of faces and furniture was reduced to a slim uncertainty. Even the pianist's thin fingers were mocked by those attenuated wraiths in the polished wood of the piano, and the violinist's bow thinned to a rapier edge and danced like forked lightning on the picture behind his head. • The objects in the room about her darkened into insignificance. The mobile, glancing reflections grew brighter and wilder. Entranced, she was caught up by the bodiless shapes she contemplated and became a unit in the music-created world of pure form. MARY SHELLEY.
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Being in Praise of Night Out of the dying light Sheer from the heaven's dome A solitary lark, before the Night, Drops again home. And in her secure nest The lark, remote from her unfriendly skies, Finds happiness and rest And sings fulfilment that the day denies. So we, the long day over, Find with the friendly Night That lectures and the work we did not cover Are forgotten, the the light That too much learning cast upon our head Is neutralised, diffused and lost —in bed. M. GRIFFITH. •
Correspondence To the Editor of The Cygnet. MADAM, It is with some agitation and trepidation that I take up my pen in order to beg of you to spare me a few inches of your valuable space in which to express, with what clarity I may, my distraught and harassed feelings. I have of late observed a most curious phenomenon, which, taking place as it does in the heart of a splendid city renowned for its sanity and modernity of outlook, deserves the more attention and investigation. This lovely city, as is well known, is well supplied with water from sweet and gently flowing streams, on whose banks bird-life is prolific—a fact which may have some bearing on the following observations, and which accentuates the peculiarity of the phenomenon. It appears that in one of the exclusive communities with which the city abounds a fearful cult is practised, albeit unwillingly, by the greater proportion of its members—a cult whose fearfulness is but increased by the fact that it is practised openly and in the white daylight of the twentieth century. The root of the matter is that there exists among these people a strange Creature, which must be pacified and appeased in the same manner as the ancients of the East placated their gods and idols. Its likeness—although the community in which it has chosen its abode is settled at no small distance from the water —is that of an Aquatic Bird. Its neck is long, emaciated, its feet large and webbed, its colour greyish white, its wings still. small—for to all appearances it is but young. These characteristics I have observed, and yet it is but seldom seen. During the greater part of the year it exists in some secret shrine or grotto, as yet undiscovered by me, where it in all probability lies dormant, or in a torpid stupor, and small wonder ; for thrice during the year it appears in full magnificence, confounding its unwilling slaves by the splendour of its presence—but before these three appearances it must be FED•, fed till its maw is full, fed to the point of utter repletion. And here is the horror of this dire necessity : some week or so before the appointed day, the unhappy guardian of this avian monster must needs rush wildly forth among her colleagues, disturbing their erstwhile peace and studiousness, demanding Food, Fodder, Nourishment, for this vora-
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cious godling whom she serves. And is this food the usual food of waterfowl? No, no, she needs must furnish it with Time, Thought, Money— nay, she lets it pick the best Brains of her friends : it must be nourished, no matter how precious the jewels it consumes. And then, having caused disorder, distress, exhaustion, agitation, and having paused awhile in order to digest its glut and preen its feathers, it stalks abroad for one short Hour or so before withdrawing to its pristine coma. Madam, you must remark, considering what vagaries my language has undergone during this narration, how greatly I am agitated. I assure you that what I say is true ; and in the cause of Peace, Progress and Study, I call upon all Scientists, Ornithologists, Psychologists, Cult-collectors and Tutors to investigate these fearful facts without delay. I remain, Madam, etc., A VICTIM.
Prayer for Schools Candidates 0 Sacred Muse ! 0 Clio ! be thou kind. Give of thy store to those unsound in mind, And weary. To those who through the long nights have toiled In blood and tears ; and now by doubt assoiled, Sit idly ; Pen in hand and mind a blank, or worse, A teeming turmoil with one clear thought, a curse Full potent— A curse on Stubbs, his Charters, dates and kings, On Popes and maps, on documents and things Of that ilk. 0 Clio ! Help us now, we humbly pray. Lead our pens in righteous paths from day to clay, Fill all our empty minds so that we may Satisfy the Examiners,' if only in Group A. M. E. G.
The Scientific Mind : A Character Study Go,' said the Editor, and fetch me a character study of Miss Q. She has a scientific mind.' But I only know her by sight,' said the Contributor. ' You can make a few inquiries,' said the Editor. So the Contributor stepped outside, accosted the first person she met, and asked for information concerning Mis s Q. Miss Q ? ' replied the individual. ' I hardly know her. Serious, I should say. I heard her discussing theology at tea yesterday, and telling X that her views were unsound. Quoted Archbishop Z to prove it, too.' The Contributor made a note of it, and passed on to two more of her acquaintances. Q?' said the first. Very scientific, of course. Says my character is psychologically unsound.' Rather artistic, too,' said the second. Knows a lot about sculpture and Japanese prints. Ask her to show you her prints : one is supposed to
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be very good, but I prefer the other, which she says is unsound ' The Contributor hurried away. At the front door she met two more of her friends coming in. ' We have been to the theatre,' they said, with Q. It was a very exciting .play : she says it is dramatically unsound, but ' The Contributor stayed to hear no more. She proceeded despondently to the J.C.R., where she discovered a lady in horn-rimmed glasses reading the Times with quiet efficiency. Miss Q,' said the Contributor boldly, ' I hear you have some good Japanese prints. May I see them sometime?' Certainly,' replied Miss Q in a deep but cheerful voice. Come to my room and I'll show them to you now.' They went upstairs, and Miss Q displayed the prints with critical appreciation. This one,' she said, ' is good, but that is champion ! ' Out of the corner of her eye the Contributor noticed a water-colour of a donkey galloping madly across a palpably Irish meadow. Miss Q was describing an etching with eager but unbiassed interest. It is supposed to be rather good,' she said. ' I believe the composition is very sound . .
Homer and that Crowd Classical literature, Hermione, is something you have to acquire a taste for, but, like cross-word puzzles, it helps you to become a broader and a better citizen ; at least, it ought to. The beginning of Greek classical literature is buried in obscurity, but for your purposes, Hermione, classical literature begins with the mighty works of Homer. He was a blind poet who wandered about Greece reciting his verses to any unfortunate person whom he met. He generally had a band of minor poets with him called rhetors, who supplied the bits he couldn't remember. These poets are known as the Cyclic Poets, because they biked everywhere. Homer apparently suffered from sleepiness, as tradition tells us that he was liable to nod. The Iliad and the Odyssey are his chief works, two very long poems, one about Evelyn Laye and the siege of Troy, the other about Odysseus, who lost his address, and took ten years to find his way home. Both of these poems, Hermione, are well deserving of your careful study ; but ask-Father to get you an expurgated edition, that is,' one with all the Ethel M. Dell bits cut out. The next important section of Greek literature is the drama. The Greeks were very fond of plays, and often went to three in one day, but they didn't have to pay any entertainment tax, as we do. The theatres were in the open (something like the Wembley Stadium), but as it didn't often rain in Greece, the people were quite comfortable. The plays were either tragedies or comedies, that is, they were either about murders and mysteries, like Edgar Wallace's stories, or they were about comic animals. A man named Aristophanes wrote plays on Birds, Wasps and Frogs. The best tragic poet was Euripides, who hated women, and wrote in collaboration with Gilbert Murray. Although we have started with the poetical works, you must not suppose, Hermione, that the Greeks only wrote in verse : several of them produced fat volumes of prose. The philosophers in particular were prone to this pernicious habit. Fortunately for you, my child, most of their works
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have perished ; but there is one, Plato, whom we have to consider. He was a discontented Athenian who didn't like the government and wrote a book called The Republic,'_ in which he described an ideal state where all the people would be happy because they all learned mathematics and didn't know whom their fathers were. There is one other philosopher whom we ought just to note ; that is Aristotle. He is known as a practical philosopher, because he tried to tell people how they could do what they ought to do. But he is not much help, as he contradicts himself whenever he gets into difficulties, and even you and I never do that, do we Hermione? The last section of literature we have to consider is oratory. The Greeks didn't have lawyers, but certain men wrote speeches for the accusors of defendants to deliver in court. These writers are known as logog-raphers,' because their style is rather wooden. The most successful of these writers was Demosthenes, who made such rude remarks about the people he was attacking that they hadn't a chance. In one of his speeches, ' On the Crown,' he accused his opponent Aeschines of being an , Elementary Teacher, which was apparently not done.' So you see, Hermione, Demosthenes wasn't a nice man. After the time of the orators Greek literature languished, but you can see we have more than enough works left to reverence and appreciate. And remember, Hermione, vou can never be a well-educated young woman until you have studied classical literature. 0. M. SwEETINo.
Hockey Report All shortcomings of College hockey fade into insignificance beside the still incredible fact—we won the Cup ! What inspired us, I have not yet discovered ; probably our heroic practices at dawn, coupled with sheer desperation and determination to prevent the score rising above a score or so against us. The fact remains that for one day at least we experienced that unusual sensation in College hockey of playing together as a team, so that we can, I think, feel that the regular sacrifice of valuable fourth year time has not been altogether in vain. It is difficult to point to individual brilliance in the match itself, since every member of the team excelled herself. Our three United players exceeded even our expectations : Miss Burton, in goal, made one only too thankful that she was not at L.M.H., Miss Lippold performed marvels of speed and energy in mid-field, and Miss Hardie shot our two goals. Particular mention is certainly due also to Miss Sparks and Miss Crosland, who held the L.M.H. forwards from beginning to end, and whose marking, tackling and clearing must have been seen to be believed. It is a pity that the Second X.I were not equally successful, but, having beaten Somerville, they were defeated by the eventual winners, 0.H.S., chiefly owing to their ability to do everything except hit the ball into the goal. Congratulations to Miss Lippold on gaining her Blue, and to Miss Crosland, Miss Hearn and Miss Wallbank on First XI Colours. Very many thanks are due to Miss Burton, who has been a delightful Secretary in every way and whose keenness and energy have been largely responsible for a successful season. First XI.—J. Burton ; E. Crosland, J. Sparks ; E. Hearn, J. Lippold, H, Winter ; M. Downes, M. Hardie, I. Josephy, P. Wallbank, T. Bird.
I. AT
THE CYGNET
Lacrosse Report The actual match results of this term cannot be said to he encouraging, but we feel that there is ground for hope in the fact that we have actually compassed five matches, despite the pathetic dimensions of the Club. The day of triumph of the whole season was undoubtedly that on which we played L.M.H. True, we were beaten, but we had hardly hoped for any other result with such a formidable array of Blues and United players against us. There was, however, a feeling of determination that had its immediate effect in producing both a science and a dash that transformed our game, and gave us a fleeting but glorious glimpse of possibilities. As a team, we have undoubtedly improved since the beginning of the season. The First Year have learnt to adapt themselves to club play, which is always less orthodox than that of a school team. On the defence, B. Thorpe has been a steadying influence, and her reliable play has been much appreciated. H. Bone has tenacity and determination that will make her a good defence when she has improved her stickwork. M. Whittaker, at point, has done well in a new position. On the attack, D. Trollope has improved very much since the beginning of the year. M. Doveton, at centre, has been invaluable in keeping the team together. Of those left from last season, M. Phillips has, as ever, been the backbone of the defence, and E. Temple has given our attack an added and necessary dash. We are sorry to lose B. Lavington, who has been very valiant in goal. S. Goodfellow has had to re-adapt herself to defence after a short spell of attack play, and still has to recover the reliability whcih used to be a prominent feature of her game. R. Preston, at right-attack, has been a somewhat rare flower, but did some excellent work in tackling hacks during the last match. I should like to take this opportunity of thanking; J. Spinks (the exCaptain) for her interest and enthusiasm for everything appertaining to St. Hugh's lacrosse, and for playing so regularly for us, despite the many calls on her time ; and M. Phillips for her efficient work in the innumerable details that are the bane of secretaryship. M. LL. LEWIS.
Netball The standard of play has been much lower this term, as illness and several fixtures of United First and Second VII's have deprived both College teams of many members. Practices, consequently, have been held at irregular intervals, and have not been at all well attended, and the results of the matches have been disappointing. Lack of confidence more than anything else accounts for the defeats at London and Wantage. We have failed to start playing at full strength from the very beginning, and in the second half have become entirely disorganised. Though we lost the Cuppers in the second round to 0.H.S., the team rallied magnificently at the end and brought the total score to 14—io, although at half-time it was 9-3. The play next year should be good, as the Freshers have contributed both enthusiastic and valuable players. College Colours have been awarded to B. Betts, B. Green and J. Irwin for their consistently good play throughout the season. Finally, I should like to thank B. Green, Vice-Captain, and M. Woolf, Secretary, for their indispensible help. M. P. H. HOINWELL PRESS. OXFORD.
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