THE IMP.
December, 1927.
Editor : K. M. ABBOTT.
Committee :
Third. Year Representative—E. M. CHALLANS Second „
H. DIXON.
Treasurer : J. DICK.
THE IMP ' No. 26.
Michaelmas Term.
1927.
EDITORIAL.
T
HE Imp appears in mourning this term, to symbolise the almost unbroken gloom of its contents. We have learnt to expect the poetically-minded to incline towards graves and worms and epitaphs; but now even the prose-writers have caught the infection. So altogether a sombre colour seemed most suitable. No one seemed inclined to attempt an improvement of the Imp's cover; but there were quite a number of entries for the short story competition, which was very kindly judged by Miss Morrell. B. H. Alexander's ' The Warning ' was an exceptionally good story ; but it was unfortunately disqualified because of its length. So the prize has been given to E. Scott-Houston for ' Life—You Know.' c't
LIFE—YOU KNOW. I'm tired of monkeys. Let's go to the reptile house,,' said the small boy, seizing the man's hand impulsively. Right-ch'a littl'un.' People stared curiously at the very long thin man, with his shabby clothes and aenemic face, and the sturdy fair-haired youngster, as they walked hand in hand round the Zoo. ' What's your name, please? ' asked the small boy. Wal—supposin' yer jist calls me h'Albert, little chap.' Oh—oh, Albert, look at that giraffe ! ' Albert was beginning to feel vaguely worried. He had made a very special appointment for this afternoon, to meet Millie Higgins, the daughter of one of the keepers. Near the h'elephants, Albert, and fer 'eaven's saike I won't be kept waitin'.' Jimminy, that was some gal, had her eye on what was proper, and time an' things like that alright. Then the problem occurred. Albert looked down at his companion helplessly. What was his folks doin' lettin' the HP chap run aroun' like this? A tortured look came over his large ungainly face and he swung his head on one side, like a dog. Hey, wot did-jer say yer ma was wearin'? ' I don't know, Albert. She said I could run around for a bit, and then I got lost and— ' His round chubby face betrayed no signs of concern.
THE IMP Hey, y'know—liP chap—maybe she'll be worryin' for yer ! ' Albert glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to four. He had arranged to meet Millie at the hour. • The boy beamed up at him. ' I like " chap "—I don't like Albert—lets's--let's go for a ride on the camel, old chap? ' Wal— ' began Albert dubiously. When, just at that moment, round the bend of the terrace, appeared the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was small and dainty, with a large floppy hat, and very high-heeled patent shoes. As she came closer, he noticed that her eyes were a very clear shining blue, which seemed to dance out of her face, and when she smiled she displayed a flash of white even teeth. Mums,' shouted the small boy, rushing at her. Come and just look what I've found. It's Albert.' The little chap's mother held out her arms= My precious ! 'Then, looking up, she noticed Albert leaning awkwardly against the wall, fumbling at his cap, and she smiled enchantingly up at him. Have you been looking after him? That was nice of you. He often runs,off like that, and I was just beginning to feel nervous.' Albert was transfixed, His eyes assumed that loose, disjointed expression, characteristic of him. But Mums, darling, Albert—I mean old chap an' me were just going on the camel, and he says he knows a man who—' A flicker of amusement hovered in Mrs. Steele's very blue eyes, as she shook a speck of dust off her coat. I'm afraid not now, dear. I've promised we'll meet Auntie Edith for tea and we must go right away.' Thank you so much. It was She looked at Albert again. kind— ' Tears sprang in the little boy's eyes. But Mums—Albert and me— ' Come along, dear. Don't be such a nuisance,' and firmly taking- his hand she turned and walked away. But still Albert stood there, and his gaze followed them until they had vanished round the bend, and still Mrs. Steele's blue amused eyes seemed to be gazing up at him, and a faint perfume clung suggestively in the air. He could not remember ever seeing anything so lovely. His mind was dazed. An' fancy her bein' the liP chap's mother an' all.' With a sigh, he roused himself from his reverie, and slowly paced back, under the archway. Almost within sight of the elephant house, he stopped and shook his long, loose frame impatiently. No—Millie could wait. He didn't feel sort of sociable now. Hey—h'Albert—h'Albert—wotcher doin' h'anyway, it's past four—an' here I've been waitin' all this time and it's a shaime—' Albert swung round angrily. What—oh it's you, Millie ! ' Yus o' course—didn't-che knaow? ' Wal—oh, crikey, let's go to the monkey house.' E. S.-H.
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THE CRIME. When you were gone away, My lover, the chance was so That I walked alone in the wood As the day burned low ; And a young ghost, white and small, Spoke by the covert-side : I too—it was long ago, And at last we died.' But our parting was very close, And solitude all too new To share in the still grey wood With anyone but you— With even so frail a ghost, Whom the rising moon shone through. Even so frail a ghost, Pierced through with the first moon-shine, Might sever the threads of dream That moored your soul to mine. So I turned from the small white ghost As though I had not heard ; I sent it back to the dark Without a word. To you it should have come, My lover, who never could Hurt even a small white ghost In a twilight wood. E. M. C.\(N.'14
EARTH AND A DAUGHTER OF EARTH. CURES
:
The western sun sinks low, Fast to the Ocean wave fly the Sun-God's horses. The earth crieth for sleep As my arms for thee, dear daughter. All things rest from the labour ; Poppy and clover and cornflower, Tangled and heavy with dreaming, Drowse in the furrow. You, only you of my daughter§ Fleet of foot as the hind is ; Fly through the dusk with laughter Singing the songs of the mornin'g-, The songs of the Spring, in harvest.
ek,ov1/4„s.
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THE MAIDEN : Well may I sing For my heart singeth within me. Hinder me not dear mother For I go to meet my lover In the field of poppies. CERES : It is the season of harvest And the old men sit in the sun, Still in the sun in the hour of life's fulfilling . . . THE MAIDEN : I too seek for fulfilment ; Hinder me not dear mother, For I go to seek my lover In the field of poppies. CERES : My arms are wide . . . Sweet is the rest the Earth giveth her children. Sweet has your lover found it ; He is quietly sleeping . . . You need seek for him no longer In the field of poppies. K. A.
PANACHE. It was dawn, the King of Latavia awoke from a short sleep unsought by himself, but imperiously snatched by nature. The Council of the People., with conscious magnanimity, had accorded him the privilege of passing his last earthly night alone, and of interviewing his Queen without witnesses in the morning. She was not to share in the day's ceremony, for she was the daughter of a powerful neighbouring state, and the dictator of the moment had a head for affairs. Sounds of a city awakening jarred and nervously expectant came from the square below, and after a glance at a street clock opposite his window the King rose, dressed, and shaved carefully in cold water. A sudden murmurous hush in the square was succeeded by the sound of wheels and the hoof-beats of a single horse. Military steps and voices were heard, and the accoutrements of a great door set in motion. After an interval footsteps followed, ascending the stairs with the gait of a light foot that draws a heavy train, though the Queen had worn her last train a full week before. As she stood before the King's door she was seen by the stenographer stationed beneath a ventilator in the adjoining room ; and he, following an impulse which up to the time of his subsequent execution he never adequately explained, rose and made his way to a room at the opposite end of the building, where he remained until arrested. Thus it happened that the King's final reflections on an eventful life became the sole property of his wife. Human nature,' he observed in the course of the half-hour, ' is all right in the main. It's hard to love the beggars—they won't let
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you—but you come out quite kindly disposed. to them in the end. This business won't last, you know. I can feel the country sickening to the soul with it all, even now . . . No, dear ; not so soon as that. I shall have been " rocked round in earth's diurnal course " (the King was an old Harrovian) for some time. They wouldn't send me a priest afraid of conspiracy—thank heaven. Isn't it typical of Man's lazy mind that I should offer up thanks like that, mechanically, to an idea I'm in the midst of rejecting ? I'm not such a weak fool as to pretend I don't know this is our last meeting —ever . . . Do you remember when I was knocked on the head once playing polo? One moment I was stooping for the ball, and the next I was on my bed, with everyone standing round in a devil of a scare. I tell you, there was nothing between. That made me think a bit : but one's job remains the same„ thank God. (Yes, I know. That, too.) After all, here we are together, and whatever happens when we go west (why west, I wonder?) where our mutual responsibilities end, one's bound to cheer things up for the other as far as in one lies. By which I mean that you're the one person in this world to whom I'd say what I just have. I don't suppose you remember one morning when we sat in the window and watched the peasant girls coming out of High Mass? And even oneself ; their faces make one ashamed sometimes—the children especially—as though it were a betrayal to be less than a demigod. You're different you've a right to know all of me—but I've been what I am too not to feel in loco parentis till the final exit. They'd fear most mostbitterly what I believe—I did myself at first sometimes—and though I'm not afraid any longer, I'm damned if I'll let them go under before they can swim. No, the last thing I'll do for them will he to throw them a good fat pair of water-wings. That's my job.' I see,' said the Queen, " In manus tuas, Domine "—something of that sort? ' More or less,' said the King. The execution was no hole-and-corner affair. It took place, like that of an earlier royal martyr, outside his own palace, and the King was even allowed a final address to the people. These errors of iudgment were a source of bitter recrimination when it was too late. The King's speech was one of those rare things which in their naked selves join poetry to history without the aid of any intermediate Thucydides. Many of the listeners could have recited it afterwards from memory, though it was not short ; and to-day fragments of it may be found scattered like a wild flower ' all over Latavia ; in books of devotion, on the plinths of war memorials, in the most impassioned sermons of the greatest preachers. It has been translated, too, into most foreign languages (though its importation into Russia is a capital offence) and has been bound in a bijou suede edition for drawing-room tables. It is recorded that at a certain political function a sneaker thought fit to sneer at it, and that his own son rose in his place and struck him on the mouth.
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Silence, and then a sound like wind retreating from a great forest, sank upon the rattle of the volley ; and the counter-revolution was a matter of weeks. A little later still, the King's son was ceremonially crowned amid frenzied rejoicings. Before the close of his extended reign a profound national feeling brought to bear on the Vatican achieved the canonization of the victim. Tourists visit before anything else in the capital his magnificent tomb with its simple but beautiful epitaph : Per Fidem.' E. M. C.
THE GARDEN. Who said God walks in Gardens knows not mine, No ghosts of children swing upon its air ; But other ghosts among the tangles creep Of mine. Long, long ago, a lady and the devil Walked in my garden, and my garden still Strives to shake off the horror of that coming, Strives in an agony, but never will. Long, long ago, a lady lived where I live ; Fair, excellently fair, was she within, But one she loved who only saw her foulness— Who only saw the foulness of the skin. Them where the little summer arbour crouches, Prayed she the devil in a wild despair, Crying, that he might take her holy spirit So he would make her outward features fair. Lovely the lady when her prayer was granted, Fair as the garden that she paced within ; Foul was her soul with a deep, branded foulness, But fair, most excellently fair her skin. Often thereafter paced she in my garden Ever with some fresh lover at her side, Dreadful the end of all that lady's lovers, Often as fell her flowers, her lovers died. Ever as some new lover walked beside her A third paced silent on her other side, Often as fell her flowers died her lovers, And with the last flower, she, the fairest died. I dare not ever walk within my garden Lest I should walk, the devil at my side. Lo, I am foul, and he I love sees only Fairness of feature. Heaven be my guide !
M. T..
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A GROTESQUE. Alison was in circumstances fraught with the utmost physical discomfort and repugnance, having spent fully eight hours in a third-class French railway carriage, on a hard seat (the carriage was full, so she could not move)—and in a close, putrid atmosphere. Gone was her earlier attitude of self-reproach for having lost her return ticket, and, to make matters worse, missed the earlier express train from Paris. Passing, tool, was the succeeding attitude, of regarding it all as an experience of reality such as is essential to one's spiritual development—a poor, makeshift consolation at the best—and instead she was wondering acutely how much longer she could contain herself, without attacking her neighbours viciously, or screaming out aloud. Again she surveyed her fellow-travellers, no longer with curiosity or interest, but with deep, intense loathing. There was a greasy little drunken soldier, who was now asleep, and snoring deeply and regularly in his corner. While awake, he had annoyed Alison by his attentions, then, finding her offended, turned to a woman by his side, who coquettishly encouraged his advances. She was swarthy, and nearly forty, yet wore a white, embroidered summer dress with black sash and bows, and round her white sun-hat was draped a long black scarf. Worst of all were her arms, browned and blistered by some unaccustomed sun. These she was continually rubbing to loosen the parched skin, which she then peeled off in long flakes. On her shoulder, another man leant, also asleep. Very probably, not her husband,,' thought Alison—` and a meatbutcher of a very degraded kind . . He did not snore, but his head jerked about with the movements of the train, uncannily, as if not joined to his body ; and when it lolled back the dark, decayed teeth in his mouth were visible, and the black, hairy pits of his nostrils. Moreover, he smelt of garlic. The train stopped at Vimy, and four workmen in blue faded ' blouses ' got out, and in their places came an old shrivelled hag of a woman, her daughter, sunk into the red obesity of middle-age, and a deformed boy, piteously pale and idiot. The opening of the carriage-door brought a breath of fresh air, which lasted, however, no longer than the famous ridge remained in sight ; then grey, monotonous country again rolled relentlessly by, and the pent air continued its oppression with a more than physical power. Alison next tried to find some relief for her eyes ; she had gazed at the wooden seats until lines of yellow and black seared her very
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brain with their blank regularity. She shut them, but sleep was impossible. The smell of garlic, and the rhythm of snores only became more insistent. Swift thoughts rushed through her mind ; of Zola ; of grey, tidal estuaries ; of vast seas of thick, oozing slime ; while on the chords of her brain one insistent word was beating—` macabre„' ` macabre," macabre.' She felt herself becoming mad. She must do something, anything,—for ! Open the window !—jump out . . . air!—and she stood up with a start, and opened her eyes wide. A quiet evening had drained away the mists and clouds of a murky day, and they lay in the west, very distant, and pure and serene. They were pale and ethereal grey, against a paler blue sky. The sun, hidden below the horizon, gleamed only on the silver arabesques of their edges. Suddenly, between this sky and the watcher in the train, swam the crest of a war-shattered hill. It was topped with a crown of dead, eerie trees, in fantastic silhouettes. Where the long bark was stripped from their sides they gleamed strangely white, like bones . . . or the chill flesh of dead mortals. Alison sat down again and watched them, and laughed ; for they were like human skeletons. Yes, they were human skeletons, disporting themselves in innumerable strange manners—leaping, squatting, or sitting ; one waving gaunt arms in the air, as if pretending to be a windmill ; another lying on his back, and kicking his legs with frenzied joy ; another even standing on his hands ! . . Gone was the ' macabre ' from Alison's mind ; in its stead she acclaimed that grotesque which underlies all things, as the grotesque skeleton must, in her fellow-travellers, underlie that ` macabre.' of flesh, as the veins do in the leaf, the branches in the tree, the strange peaks and mounds which hid under the treeclad hill. It seemed to Alison, in her teased perversity of mind, that the grotesque is the sinister, primeval mirth of Nature, the laughter of Dalna and Pan. Secure in knowledge of this terrible, lonely jesting, she forgot her hideous companions, the putrid air, the hard seat, smiling to herself with infinite joy as the rhythmic train sped on to the North, and into the dark and calm of night. W. E. S.‘,
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MONSTERS OF THE HISTORY SCHOOL.
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THREE THINGS. There are three things that cannot fail, Three things that Science cannot kill— The song of a bird in a green hedgerow, The song of the wind on the hill, And the twilight lanes of evening where the white sheep go. There are three things that cannot die, Three things a man may trust till the end— The first of these is the hate of a foe, The second the love of a friend, The third the'dim hills of evening where the dreamers go. There are three things that cannot lie, Three things that comfort us in pain— The mantling green of earth's quiet breast, The soft caress of slanting rain, And the white peace of evening when tired men may rest. P. H.'
LITERARY REMAINS. Professor Blodger intends to dispose of some of his priceless collection of relics—chiefly of Shakespearean interest—thereby offering unparalleled opportunities to the amateur literary connoisseur. 'We append a few examples from his catalogue :— Lot. I.
Front tooth (very keen) of the winter wind.
3. Unique copy (edges slightly damaged by water) of the Sermons in Running Brooks. 9.
The stump, about an inch and a half long, of the candle which Macbeth extinguished at the words ' Out, out, brief candle.'
12.
The draught of vintage ' Keats longed for—genuine old Canary from Prof. Bodger's own cellar. Completely cooled.
rg. The original mantle russet, faded on the shoulders — in which Dawn walks o'er the top of yon high eastern hill.' is. Ditto —blue, slightly moth-eaten — which the shepherd twitched on the way to fresh woods and pastures new.' 20.
The earth cloth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn.' Two of these cast-off skins, cured and stuffed.
THE IMP 29 Varied assortment of souvenirs, i.e., sands, ignoble things, etc., dropped from the ruined sides of Kings,' and collected by an American friend of Prof. Bodgers while on a visit to Europe. 32. The Dug-worm (preserved in spirit) which palated the beggar's nurse and Caesar's.' 33• A handful of the bleeding piece of earth,' carefully collected and preserved by an interested observer of the actual event. 37. The dial-point on which Hotspur's life moved—blunted and slightly out of order, but can be repaired. 40. What is believed to be the earliest known motor car—the chariot instinct with spirit ' in which millions of angels rode. W. E. S
NICOLETTE. Tramping through Inferno, I stopped in wild surprise To see you tripping lightly On the way to Paradise. ' Angels help. you, Nicolette, Why come you this way round? There's a way of roses for All lovers Heaven-bound.' You said no word beyond the word Your downcast eyes would tell, But turned about and walked with me • The dreary road to Hell. R. M. G. C.
THINGS WE WANT TO KNOW. r. Whether the morning coffee in College' institution has arisen from an economic, social or industrial policy? 2. Whether it is to impress or propagate Freshers that the ' food problem' has been more successfully dealt with this term? 3. Whether Kate' thinks anybody is worth it? 4. Whether anyone has anything to ask the College officers relative to the .performance of their respective duties? 5. Whether we now have a super-gong? 6. Whether we regret being deprived of an opportunity of displaying our piety at supper on Sunday?
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Mr. McCarthy's play was on the whole, we think, a good choice, though our very inadequate stage must have made the large cast doubly hard to manage. One can have nothing but praise for the producing, and the play depended for success very largely on it. It was as devoted and enthusiastic as the author himself could have asked, and it had in addition a certain erudite flavour the result, we know, of long burrowings in the library. The architects and costume experts caught the same zeal, and so we had buildings that matched
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Louis XI and dresses that really went with candle-snuffer towers and did not merely content themselves with a general flavour of antiquity. The crowd was an admirable body in many particulars, from its blue chins to the realistic police work in the last scene, and its energetic members knew when to efface themselves—a rare virtue. We are grateful that we never felt it necessary to laugh, only to stop laughing. For some unknown reason to chuckle repeatedly in the wrong places did not give one the usual painful sense of guilt. It is certain that when the audience mistimed its mirthan0 it quite often did—the fault lay with Mr. McCarthy. We liked Villon. He made us aware all along how much he was enjoying himself, and handled a sword like Ben Battle. Hugette was never unsure of herself and never made us feel embarrassed in a very difficult part ; her. rival, Katherine, brought
home to one the advantage of mediaeval dress, when a woman's head-dress doubled her height and a man's doublet reduced him by half. But it was not only her clothes that made her impressive. Miss Pope was kinder almost with Louis than he deserved. She had a trick of voice that made some of his remarks unmistakably attractive. To say that the play was remarkably well cast may not be complimentary to the scoundrels, but does not alter the fact. •
VALE AMOR. Dear, my heart tells me I must let you go. . . . I tried to grasp your beauty with both hands, . To hold it closely to my throbbing breast. Can love like mine be useless?' loud I cried, Rebellious ; and Fate's sombre answer came, Useless to her the love that like a flame Consumes your being to its inmost core, Weakens the firmest fibres of your soul. Let her pass from you like a lovely dream ;
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THE IMP Loosen the hands that know their impotence.' So I must lose you ; if I cease to snatch At your elusiveness, perhaps those two Scourges of passion, jealousy and desire, That drive me, like Orestes' furies, from Hell on to Hell, will let me rest in peace, And, in the barren desert that will be This world without you, I shall find some place To grant my wearied soul tranquility. J.H.
VERSAILLES. Grey sky, grey autumn day, And the grey silhouette Of a stately palace Home of kings. Red and gold in a golden twilight Mournful trees bend down to the lake, Sheltering the cold purity Of marble nymphs. . . . Rustle of silk on the dew-drenched grass, Whisper of laughter and song. The thin, high note of a violin That slips like a sigh in the wilderness. White arms, white shoulders. Sweeping minuets, Light rhymes of love. . . . Courtiers pass With a laugh on their lips And the scorn of death in their eyes. The light fades ; and the fallen leaves Lie heaped in deserted corners. The empty palace waits With blinded eyes weeping its former beauty. The water lapping in the sullen lake Runs softly like a sob that is lost in the shadows. And the black night draws near, Sombre, sinister, dread ; Like a mob of rushing men Dark shadows gathe.r round. And the noise of wheels in the park, The creaking noise from afar, Is like tumbrils that draw their dead Through cobbled streets . . . And the night drips blood.
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FRIENDS. What would life be without the stars and trees? Without the warm red crackling glow of embers Dying on the hearth ? Without the cool breeze Fluttering through the dusk that still remembers The hot beaten brightness of the sun? How should we live without the pulsing throb Of Life? Without the warm, quick touch Of friendly understanding hands, which rob The world of loneliness and heap so much Of tenderness on deeds but half begun?
CLOVELLY. Clovelly in Devon's so lovely it stretches and tires the heart, Just as Clovelly's street, Its cobbled, steep little street, Lovingly tires the feet. Its little white houses go blinking down to the sea in a row, And the New Inn verandah is stifled with roses widely a-blow ; The clematis stars the wall of the house with the lopside arch That winks and then echoes your laughter just as you pass the porch. It all stands so shining and proud, with its blue-green backcloth of trees, Always alert and alive, but always taking its ease. . . . It rained that day in Clovelly, grey veil on thin grey veil Running in red-sandy trickles, in and out down the street, Melting into the sea, spread out like a crumpled sheet, Where rode, far out in the harbour, one high white spike of sail. .
But then . . That awful American woman (Oh ! that awful American crowd !) Dared to say in a voice that oozed with molasses Isn't Clovelly just sweet.' Just sweet? Clovelly? Blast her ! I could have taken Clovelly in giant hands And torn it Across and across Like a sheet of white paper And rained it Down at her Ridiculously high-heeled Feet.
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We, oh God ! with infinite labour create One lovely, inviolate thing— Inviolate, since create Of our own imagining. But you toss off like a pearl from your endless string A real thing, lovelier far, For the world and his vulgar wife to see (They lie like swine in the filthy mire of their own vulgarity), To eye, and paw, complacently, Such as Clovelly. Pah !
ST. HUGH'S COLLEGE HISTORY SOCIETY. President—Miss HOBHOUSE. Vice-President—Miss STAVE. Secretary—Miss GENT. The Society has this term a membership of over seventy, among whom we are very pleased to welcome Miss Glover and Miss Downie, and several of the First Year are members. There have been two meetings held this term. On November zst some members gave a reading of Drinkwater's ' Mary Stuart.' At the second meeting on November 8th, Miss Ady gave a lecture on Castiglione's " 11 Cortegiano "—a Study in Renaissance Courtesy.' The third meeting took place on November 29th, when Miss Langfield read a paper on ' Brasses.'
GAMES REPORTS. S. H. C. L. C. Captain—M. B. PHELIPS. Vice-Captain—M. BONE. Lacrosse this term has been seriously hampered by lack of players. It has been impossible to have a complete college game, but luckily we have been able to combine with St. Hilda's and Lady Margaret Hall. The freshers and a few others are to be congratulated on their enthusiasm in spite of these difficulties. The team as a whole lacks speed and co-ordination, partly owing to need of practice together and partly to the weakness of the attacks. The defences play a good steady game, although a permanent goal is badly needed. Hard and accurate passing must be cultivated by everybody. The team this term is : — Buick, Beattie, Bone, Osborne, Helps, Zveqintzov, Mercer, Johnson, Lace, Duthoit, Phelips, and Robertson.
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CRITICISMS. BUICK.—Very good, reliable defence ; she times her intercepting
well. BEATTIE. —Plays a good defence game and uses her head well, but
is not sufficiently accurate or speedy. OSBORNE.—Her catching has improved latterly ; she shoots well,
but needs to combine more, pass sooner and run faster. HELPS.—An energetic and useful player, she still wastes time by
diverging from the goal, and her catching is erratic, due to keeping only one hand on her cross. LACE.—A steady attack, she needs more dash in her play and should pass more often. ZVEQINTZ0V.—A very good and reliable defence. ROBERTSON.—Her play is often spoilt by bad timing ; she must be far quicker on the ball. DUTHOIT.—Shoots well ; she must be quicker to seize every opportunity of getting free, and not go out so far on the wing. JOHNSON.—Plays a very energetic game ; her catching and shoot-
ing are quite good, but she must keep more to her place on the field. MERCER. —Her intercepting and catching have much improved ; she must be far quicker in her movements. Buick has won her colours.* (*All the team wear ties, and badges lire colours.) MATCHES. Practice match, v. O. H.S. v. Reading University v. St. Hilda's lf )7 L.M.H. 1) If v. Somerville v. Multman's Green
Lost, 4— 8. Lost, 4-14. ,, 3-12. 4. Drawn, I—I I. Scratched..
S. H. C. H. C. There are over fifty players this term, of which a large number are freshers, who have proved themselves to be exceptionally keen. This would be even more gratifying if there were space for more practices. M. Zveqintzov and M. Beattie are an asset to the First XI and have played consistently well in matches. I should like to thank the Secretary for arranging matches on other days than Saturday, which has enabled us to play more often as a full team.
THE IMP The First XI has won most of its matches, but there is still room for improvement. All the forwards should try to pass ahead, and not squarely. Both inners shoot well, but should rush more, and the right inner should be more careful of her passing, a criticism which applies to the team as a whole. The wings are fast and have played well. W. Reynolds plays adequately in her new place. There is little to be said about the halves, except that they should vary their passing and try to make better use of free hits. The latter applies also to the backs. The goalkeeper has played well. The Second XI has had three matches, and has won one, lost one, and drawn one. Its chief faults are lack of speed and inaccurate passing. M. Vincent and C. Duthoit have played well. For the present the teams are as follows :First XI.—g. Roberts ; Lb. Welch ; r. b. Beattie ; 1.h. Zveqintzov ; c.h. Helps ; 1.11. Scott ; l.w. Reynolds ; Li. Murrell ; c. Stave ; r.i. Ratcliffe ; r.w. Fulford. Second XI.—g. Punter ; Lb. Vincent ; r. b. Gray ; 1.h. ,Hatton ; c.h. Kirby ; r.h. Aiken-Sneath ; /.w. Kirkby ; Li. Owen ; c. Chapman ; r.i. Mott; r.w. Duthoit. MATCHES. First XI. Oct. 22. v. Headington School (a.) Nov. io. v. Cricklade Ladies (h.) 12. v. Milham Ford (a.) ... 71 19. v. Malvern Abbey (a.) . 17 24. v. Home Students (a.) . Second XI. Nov. 3. 12.
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Won, 5-2. Won, Io—I. Won, 7-1. Drawn, 3-3, Lost, 2-3.
v. Somerville (h.) ... Lost, 1-4. v. St. Mary's, Wantage (h.) Won, 6-4. Drawn, I-4. v. Home Students (o.) . L.L.S.
• S. H. C. B. C.
The Boats Club is at present suffering from the loss of most of its cushions, paddles, poles, which have been missing since the vacation, owing, presumably, to someone's carelessness in not locking up the boathouse securely. The Committee, therefore, appeals to all who use the boathouse to be most particular to leave it locked, that is, all doors properly fastened, whenever no one from College is going to be there immediately.
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The Freshers are very keen ; three of them—Misses Huse, Alexander and Vincent—were awarded their sculling half-captaincies this term. Of the Second Year, Miss Morley has been awarded her half-captaincy in sculling, and Misses Elliott, Goss and Page have been proposed for theirs. Miss Hensman has been proposed for her sculling captaincy. Practice for the Junior Fours Rowing Competition next term has begun ; there are several promising rowers among the freshers, though the four is composed at present mainly of second years. B. MOTT (Capt.). S.H.C. N.C. Captain—P. FULFORD. Vice-Captain—L. LEONARD. Secretary—C. HAVERGAL, The general standard of play is considerably above that of last year, largely owing to the keenness of the First Year and its number of promising players. The lack of a good court has been a drawback, and many games have had to be scratched through the weather. As a result we have not had many matches. It is hoped that the enthusiasm of the Club will continue next term. The matches played were :— v. Headington School. First team won, 21-12. v. St. Helen's, Abingdon. First team won, 17-13. Second team lost, I1-7. FIRST VII.
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VINCENT (g.).—A reliable, energetic player ; defends and intercepts well. BROWNE (d.).—Combines well with the goal and attacks, but is not quick enough in returning to her place. JOEL (d.c.). —Quick and alert, but her passing is sometimes erratic. *LEONARD (c.).—Has all the qualities of a good centre. HUSE (a.c.).—Has adapted herself well to this position ; she must be careful not to run with the ball. *HAVERGAL (a.).—Gets free well, but must be surer of her shot. (* Colours.) SECOND VII. The combination in the Second VII needs improvement. The defences need to mark their opponents more closely, and the attacks to get free more by..dodging in front and not behind. All
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players are apt to run with the ball and to be careless of their passing. OXFORD UNIVERSITY WOMEN'S JIU-JITSU CLUB. After the display in the J.C.R. at the beginning of term by some of the more expert members of the men's branch of the Jiu-Jitsu Club, the art has been taken up with much enthusiasm by several from the College. So much so, that now we make up half the number of the elementary class, and have hopes that we will be transferred to the advanced class next term, thus making room for any other students who feel inclined to enter into the mysteries. M. RATCLIFFE, St. Hugh's Secretary.
:;o1 YIVELI PRESS, ALFRED STREET, 07CFoRE,
CONSTITUTION OF THE COLLEGE MAGAZINE. I.—That the Magazine shall be called '
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2.—That the officers of the Magazine shall be an Editor and a Treasurer, elected by the J.C.R., and an elected representative from each year. 3.—Contributions shall be accepted or refused by the decision of the majority of the Committee, the Editor reserving the right of the casting vote. 4.—The Committee shall not be held responsible for any opinions expressed in the Magazine. 5.—Nothing of intrinsic merit shall be excluded on account of views expressed therein. 6.—The anonymous character of contributions shall be respected when required. 7.—Contributions are eligible from the Senior and Junior Common Rooms, past and present. 8.—The Committee shall be empowered at their discretion to invite contributions from anyone not a member of the Colleg-e.