St Hugh's College, Oxford - The Imp, Summer 1923

THE IMP,

Summer, 1923

EDITOR : M. COOK. COMMITTEE : Third Year Representative.—N. CLIVE-SMITH. Second Year Representative.—H. Moss.

First Year.Representative. I. SUIRIGLEY. TREASURER N. HEWINS.

:

HUMANITY IN THE LAP OF FATE. J.

M. PETERS.

THE IMP No. 13.

TRINITY TERM.

1923.

EDITORIAL. The Editor notes with pleasure that the. Imp is getting to be a little steadier on its legs and takes this opportunity of wishing it the best of luck and progress in the future.

There has been no lack of material for the present number to which three past members of St. Hugh's have nobly contributed.

Our grateful thanks are due to Miss Mi. D'alston and Miss A. Burnett (past editors), and MRss J. M. Peters for their kindness in sending contributions.

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COMPETITIONS. ' The Frog, The Willow and Alxlu Mohammed.' Prize 5/-.

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A SCHOOLS STORY. The room seemed under water, and the thick-set figure near the window bore! no small resemblance to the round-eyed creatures which inhabit that element ; moreover, it appeared to consume greedily the sheets of white opaqueness spread out on a level with its nose. The green light quivered and shook, a sweetness of flowers was upon it ; beyond the window lush grasses beat and gleamed, and lilies moved delicately ; but the fish, true to type, gulped and gulped, with goggle eyes at gaze. Sheet after sheet slid across the table to as swift demolition, till the last one paused,

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and did not finish its journey. Was it the: memory of some uncaptured evening, Some ringed pool, some fly unbearably brilliant?

Almost the fish gleamed as it rose. More, it was rapidly becoming a man,.

The: Professor interviewed his wife in great excitement. He had discovered something quite extraordinary in the last candidate's: paper, he must inform his colleagues at once : the great Law of Vocalic Metamorphosis. must have been formulated at last it was climacteric. That was the expression he used, and it impressed his wife so: deeply that she ceased to urge the claims of civilization. The Professor ran bootless and dinnerless down the leafy summer road. There was a Conference of Examiners.

The Professor's: discovery fell like a stone into the pool of expectancy, but he watched: in vain for the spreading circles of excitement.

It proves: nothing—nothing,' complained one of them at length. The candidate has merely taken as proved the hypothesis we have all been working upon for years:. Bluff, my poor friend! And here is damning evidence,' his finger fell on the written words: As a certain learned authority has said may be the case.' What learned authority? The deduction is clever enough—the parallel between the Lithuanian ouei and long Digraph is particularly pretty—but without the Law, useless!

If you can produce the learned authority to tell us of hiss discovery, we shall believe the formula we all seek for is found at last.'

The Professor's: slippers slapped disconsolately on the pavement as he shuffled home. After all, they were right. He must produce the learned authority. He would .never ask his name of the candidate; that would be too base a betrayal of his own way of life. How bitter it vas to: have to leave the protection of his dear and revered masters:, the Germans:, High, Middle and Low, and seek for information among these modern Central Europeans:. Early next morning the Professor placed an expensive and standing order with hiS bookseller for all modern works of philology in whatever barbaric tongues, from whatever savage pens. That same morning a youthful candidate sought vainly to transcribe: the elusive formula for Vocalic Metamorphosis which had stepped so unexpectedly into his brain in the Schools just forty-eight hours ago. For ten golden moments he had seen it clear upon the tables of his earnest soul, had worked his deduction, and cited his imaginary authority, not daring to reveal that sudden and miraculous vision had been vouchsafed to his truly scientific imagination. And for that act of cowardice he went unhonoured to his grave, for he never remembered the formula, and there were no Transformed Vowels to make memorable his headstone.

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Through many Junes, when the buttercups swam above the meadows, and the willows with trailing fingers sought to stay the elder's silent' and inevitable journey, the Professor, yearly more fish-like, gorged for a full week upon candidates' platitudes.

But there was a flaw in the rice-paper. Too often his colleagues asked him if he had found the authority for the Law of Vocalic Metamorphosis, whispers grew to rumours, his favourite pupils asked to specialize in Vowels, intelligent questions were asked him in lectures. Things grew from bad to worse, he was acknowledged peculiar, his wife preferred to live in. London, his servants were more and more transitory in character, his house littered higher and higher with ephemeral works on philology. The imaginary Authority became a shiny monster, a super-Grendel in the flu-lands of his bewildered imagination. Cycles of yearn wheeled to completion. The Professor was nearly old. Perhaps he may be forgiven if that earlier evening came back to him with special poignancy when he found a paper decorated with Transformed Vowels in Anglo-Saxon attitudes. Bitterest of all, in Gothic Characters at the foot was printed : The Law of Vocalic Metamorphosis.' Long lines of Consonants in national costume seemed to parade across and across his vision, the ghost of Grimm arose and gibbered. The sweat stood out on the Professor's forehead, and like Macbeth' of old, he made strange faces. ' The Law,' he shrieked, ' The Law. I made it. I am greater than Grimm,' and fell across his table among the scattered sheets of examination papers. The liquid light scarcely stirred, the scent of rank lilies filled the room, in shadowy corners books, monstrously draped in cobwebs, stood as mossy stones lie in deep pools. There was no movement. The fish was dead.

HELEN BURNETT.

LAMENT FOR YOUTH. Here, upon a chilly stone, Warm Youth laid his quiver down, Heard within a horned shell Echoes of the phantom bell, At the margin of the sea Smiled, and fled away from me.

In the swaying sea of sleep Lulled from living, covered deep, Sporting with the silver fishes Youth forgets his ancient wishes, Charmed by music never heard From the throat of mortal bird,

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THE IMP. Once upon the uplands wide Youth and I roamed side by side, Now he views a stranger scene, Caring not that woods are green, That by waters morning-cold Summer wakes the marigold, Youth my lovely lover was, Often in the river-glass Gazing in the sunny weather We have made our vows together, Laughed to see ourselves the same, I the spirit, he the frame.

Now in weedy garb of age I must tread another stage ; Youth, my friend and lover, gone, Facing dread decay alone, Learning that the truth is this, Body mine, and spirit his.

Fickle Youth, thy new loves wait, Heritors of my estate.

Unto them I here resign All of thee that once was mine.

They for me will breathe a sigh, Pity me, and pass me by.

MARY DALSTON.

THE ESSAY : AN OXFORD EVIL. Though the Royal Commission has sought, and found, many abuses in our ancient University, I know, and I speak from considerable experience, that the greatest: evil in Oxford is the system of Essays. Perfectly normal persons, who would otherwise do no work, and be useful and pleasant members of the community, suddenly are afflicted with Essayitis. When this happens—and in most cases it occurs once a week—the person in question immediately moves as it were in a different sphere from the ordinary mortal, and takes on a superior attitude, as those who have been vaccinated do towards the poor wretches who haven't (they think) been brave enough to face the mysterious ordeal.

But to return to the symptoms of the mal de l'Essaie. One of the strangest is that the sufferer takes pains to announce his affliction to all the world, and glories in it, till his self-righteousness drives his friends to distraction.

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Though not afflicted with the ESsay myself, I dread it as the plague, for when my friends are smitten, life is a burden to me.

It usually happens when I am feeling particularly sociable and hilarious, and desire a pleasant companion. I burst into a room, words of invitation on my lips, when. a familiar and ghastly sight meets my eyes—a huddled figure scribbling feverishly amid piles of enormous library books.

If I am wise, I slink out quietly, and with spirits somewhat damped, seek a companion elsewhere. Sometimes, however, I am foolhardy. I address jocular words to the said figure, beg it to cast care aside and come and play tennis. The response may be of two kinds, both equally upsetting for me. Either there isn't any at all except a grunt, or there is too much, in the shape of missiles hurled at my now shrinking form.

Quite crushed and powerless (Essays are an excuse for any:thing) I depart and, my spirit broken, can do nought but apply myself to my own work, and long for the time when my friend will be over the attack, for once the Essay is polished off, the sufferer has a violent reaction, and is in the mood out of which I was squashed by her rudeness.

But now positions are reversed—her gloom. has descended upon me, and I cannot join in her relief and reactionary bliss.

Truly mine is a sad lot, for when one's friends are in number as the days of the week, no day is free from this awful danger.

Have I not said that the Essay is the greatest evil in Oxford, the one blot upon our happy lives?

AN EVENING AT THE ' GOLDEN GLADES ' CABARET. We can recommend to those on the eve of Schools, or to anyone else for that matter, no. more refreshing and delightful entertainment than that provided at the ' Golden Glades' Cabaret last Thursday evening. Unhappily, this establishment did but spring into being for a single night : by the following morning all outward and visible sign thereof had disappeared. It will be long, however, before the memory of it fades from our minds: Perhaps the most notable performance of the evening was given by Signor Limpuccio's marionettes. We understand that such wonderful precision of movement is only to be attained by the use of electricity, and as we were warned that a hitch might occur, we were not surprised when the King fell down or Prince Charming missed his sleeping Princess' lips and had to be hoisted in their direction by the producer and his assistant. Of course, this system of working puppets is still in its infancy. Doubtless in time we may expect to be spared these at present unavoidable

THE IMP. catastrophes. We should like to offer our warmest congratulations to the reader behind the scenes for the magnificent way in which she managed her voice : we overheard several quite heated arguments between members of the audience concerning the number of persons reading.

Though we do not in general approve of young children being kept up after their bed-time to show off ' to admiring grown-ups, we must admit that John and Betty were a charming pair, and sang their little French duet delightfully. We should have liked to have heard more of them, had we not been afraid of turning their heads by a surfeit of applause.

The atmosphere of mystery pervading The Defective Detective ' made our flesh creep. We held hands as the sleuthhound donned a false beard preparatory to telling some dreadful piece of news, and we felt our hair rise slowly on end when a figure that had entered on all fours stood upright to• reveal no less august a personage than the Archbishop of Canterbury. We knew then that we must be prepared for something really stirring and terrific. Our minds were gripped, and remained so until the final unravelling of the plot.

The entertainment closed with the singing of some cleverlywritten topical verses, set to familiar tunes. We recognised with joy the ever-welcome music from the Sullivan operas, and the hits regarding tennis courts, eggs, &c., were greeted with acclamation.

Altogether a thoroughly enjoyable show, in the most agreeable surroundings. Entertained, well fed, and contented, our only regret as we left the cabaret was that the performance was over.

K.C.M. My heart cries Sing,' but what to sing?

The air is full of scent of rain And sweet damp earth—the scent of spring— I know no song, and yet again My heart cries ' Sing.'

THE FROG, THE WILLOW, AND ABDU MOHAMMAD. An ancient tale whispered by Ahmed the water-carrier to the letter-writers of Stamboul.

Which tale may he opened with a double key, and pertaineth in no small degree, not only unto the dwellers in the Khalif's garden, but also unto the discreet virgins who pursue their learned studies under the protection of the Blessed Hugh of

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Avalon. For are there not certain maidens, strong and gentle, who delight exceedingly in the livableness of life, and certain maidens, who, striving to destroy this faith, consume their youth in libraries and ancient buildings, collecting and classifying innumerable corpses of little brown butterflies?

Long years ago, when frogs could sing like nightingales, and when willows had not yet learned to weep, somewhere between Rhoda Island and the Euphratees lay a tangled, misty garden where it pleased the Khalif Omar to grow pointsettias and watermelons. There were other things in the garden, though, besides pointsettias and water-melons : fearful dragon orchids and bloated purple cacti which crept in and out among the orange groves— hairy fat spiders, and long spotted caterpillars crawling in the date palms—and beady-eyed cobras who, rustling through the waving graSses, blinked lazily at the cockatoos in the banana trees above them. In the middle of this warm, buzzing garden there was a lily pond, very deep, very dark, and very weedy, bordered with mud and bullrushes, and shaded by a fair green willow who ticked the reflections on the face of the water with her slim golden catkins.

Deep down at the bottom of the pool, among the beetles who could not swim and the bubbles which were not yet ready to burst, there dwelt a frog—cold, youthful ,-andl unsophisticated—who, remaining in the weeds with his elderly uncle during the noonday heat, was wont to rise to the surface in the early morning to snap at the stray inexperienced mosquitos who, leaving their relations humming noisily in the bullrushes, often yentured far too close to the water's edge.

One morning in Ramaddan he awoke very early, and rose bubbling and gurgling through the duck-weed. He saw his face among the reflections—and he thought it worth while to hoist himself on to an extra large lily leaf to study this phenomenon more closely. How clean he was ! How beautiful and green and polished ! How comfortable within, too !—for had he not breakfasted that morning on may-flies washed down with bubble juice?

He looked at the cocoanuts, the pumpkin beds and the azalia bushes ; he listened to the booming of the bumble bees, the humming of the daddy-long-legs, and the whispered murmur of the waving grasses; he breathed in the strong scent of the clove berries and the eucalyptus trees and the moist green smell of the foliage—and, rejoicing in the essential livableness of life, he began to sing to the willow—a wonderful, dreamy song about the sticklebacks and the water boatmen and the Khalif's cucumbers, which silenced the buzzing of the fat, winged insects as they flopped clumsily among the peach blossom. It was an elusive, clear, cool song, and the whole garden held its breath to listen—and the willow listened too, stretching • out long slim fingers towards the

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singer until they dabbled. among the reflections. But the bullrushes were tall and woolley ; and she could not see his protruding eyes, his gaping throat, and his webbed toes. She pictured within herself some raven-winged bird of passage resting to paddle among the iris-roots.

As the sun rose the song trembled, and died away into the rushes. The singer, perceiving a juicy caddis grub in the mud below him, dived gracefully from the lily leaf, leaving everwidening circles on the face of the water to show where he had disappeared. But the next morning he came again—and soon he began to come every morning; and the Khalif's garden grew accustomed to his song and always hushed itself when the first clear notes rose upward through the mist.

But there was one who rejoiced not in the early morning serenade; for Abdu Mohammed, silent and black and occult—a wizard-dweller in the mountains of Arabia—had chanced to discover the garden where it pleased the Khalif Omar to grow pointsettias and water-melons. And Abdu Mohammed blinked his wicked little eyes and chuckled softly to himself. Now it chanced that the Khalif Omar was warring in the plains of Sharon, and Abdu Mohammed wrought much havoc among the pointsettias. He stole the melons. He made faces at the chimpanzees. He taught the parrots to utter his own foul tongue.

He tickled the poor blind worm. He fished for stickle-backs.

He ate the figs. And, most horrible, he collected little brown butterflies.

One evening, as the days lengthened, coming by chance upon the weedy lily-pond, his eye fell upon the willow. He saw the smoothness of her leaves—heard the rustle of her boughs—smelt the pollen in her catkins—and longed to. carry her away to his gloomy home in the yellow mountains of Arabia. But the willow would not go; and so firmly clung she to the. bank with her strong roots, so low over the water did she incline, that Abdu Mohammed was defeated in the contest.

Now it so happened that Abdu Mohammed, for all his craft and wickedness, had never been defeated before ; and he resolved to know what inducd the willow to cling thus passionately to the edge of the pool. So he hid himself up a date palm, and watched the whole night long . . . But the garden was heavy with sleep, and although Abdu Mohammed watched all the night long, nothing did he see. But with the dawn, the little frog kissed his wrinkled elderly .uncle, and leaving him to doze among the minnows, rose to his lily leaf, and began to sing... . . . Abdu Mohammed crept back to his home in the mountains of Arabia, and pondered deeply.

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Late that night, when innumerable golden stars were winking at the sleeping parrots, when Little blue shadows were dancing on the melon beds, and great black ones were lying like pools of ink on the trunks of the trees, Abdu Mohammed left his home in the mountains of Arabia and made his way stealthily through the Khalif's) cucumber trees until he reached the lily pond. Softly he stole along through the shadows until he was standing breasthigh among the bullrushes. . . . Now Abdu Mohammed carried with him a long curved knife, and in the space of the closing of an eye the sighing grasses were falling silently in piles all around him.

Early next morning, when the dewdrops yet glistened cold on the sugar cane, the frog, blinking at the first tiny sunbeam which penetrated the haze enfolding the lily-pond, emerged bubbling from the watercresses, and was startled by the down trodden bullrushes lying in piles on the printed mud. And then it was he saw the sleeping willow, who stood completely revealed. In awe and admiration he goggled at her, and as he goggled he began to sing—a happy, sentimental little song, full of compliments and pretty metaphors, and as the first watery notes, echoed through the undergrowth, the willow awoke. She unfolded her leaves. She shook out her long brown catkins and, as was her wont, bent over the water towards the unseen singer. But that morning it was no long-throated swan, no vivid pheasant, that she saw, no raven-winged bird from Egypt—but a goggle-eyed, bow-legged, web-footed little creature, young and green, and utterly oblivious to his uncouthness. The broken-hearted willow bowed her branches to the surface of the water, shed a cloud of golden rain among the dancing shadows, and wept most bitterly.

And, then it was that to the simple, kindly little frog, who only yesterday had been so happy in his wetness and greenness and shininess, and had rejoiced so exceedingly in the beauty of the Khalif's garden, came the knowledge that he was not good to look upon. The beautiful melody gave way to a broken, cracked, tragic little song as he flopped heavily into the water. And he never sang again. Nor will he ever sing again while Abdu Mohammed, with the little eyes and the high curved finger-nails, continues to creep through the Khalif's garden, ever seeking to destroy the faith of the simple-hearted in the livableness of life, and to add to his collection of little brown butterflies. .4•

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THE IMP. CONFESSIONS. When your plates disappear and your knives have all gone And you've asked several people to tea, And you're wondering who to heap blessings upon, You can always be sure it is me.

Whenever a crisis is- very acute, Then to show my compassion on you I play on the 'cello, the fiddle, the flute ; My fire irons are musical too.

And I was the villain who stole your best shoes —Yes, I saw your pathetic appeal— And- perhaps you may see them again, if I choose, When they're nicely worn down at the heel.

When a book from the library quite disappears —But I blush as I scribble these lines— Though a hardened old sinner I almost shed tears When I see them extracting the fines.

Oh, this is a country where wickedness thrives —I once was a virtuous soul— But now I'm the plague and the curse of your lives., And I think- it is best on the whole.

THE MUSICIAN. We met him at the Theatre door—the Early Door. Although it was to open two or three minutes later, he was the only person there before us. For the show was English Opera, and in spite of the efforts of reviewers, it was no great success.

He wore a shabby bowler hat and a worn overcoat; boots the worse for wear, but immaculately clean ; beneath the greasy collar of his coat ;hone a white shirt-front and a bow-tie; yet he carried a paper bag in his long hands, and he ate the food from it in a way which proclaimed his hunger, though he made desperate attempts to control his appetite.

It was a fine old face, straight mouth, finely-curved nostrils, well-set eyes alert with expression, but it was thin and worn for all its bravery, and one glanced away suddenly afraid to read too much.

Then he spoke and decided for me, if I needed convincing, that he was a rare personality. His voice, soft in tone but almost pathetic in its eagerness, said-

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Have you heard this opera, miss? ' ' No.' Ah, this is my third time,' he said.

And I shall come again ;' I shall come many times more.'

Then it is good. I wondered, since so few peOple are here.'

He shrugged his shoulders.

English Opera,' he said, smiling, and threw away his paper bag.

I wondered if he; had gone without a dinner to come to it.

They go to the Coliseum or the Alhambra. Well, I suppose it's their affair, but there is no tragedy so pathetic as that of missed opportunity.'

4 We went in at our leisure, but the spirits of Penelope and myself rose as we began to anticipate something worth hearing.

I like that man,' said 1, for he had stayed at the back of the theatre to smoke.

I can see he pleases you,' said she, with a twist of the mouth. Penelope apes the cynic at times. We munched chocolates in silence, I trying to give the man a history—Penelope, well, she herself must tell you what she was thinking. As soon as the orchestra crawled in, back cam e our man and sat down _ with a sigh of content.

Music,'. said he, is life. You think so? ' For the minute I believed him, but I knew I should give the greater part of my attention to his delight.

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Even so, I was scarcely prepared for the transfiguration that followed. At the first notes of the orchestra, for they were as magical to him as those of the Pied Piper to the children of Hamelin, his old body became suddenly erect and young. His eyes wore that look which betrays the visionary. He was in Italy laughing in the sunlight with the gay singers, sighing with the lovers in the blue moonlight, coquetting with the fair lady, brooding with the villain. He was tragic at the moment of tragedy, pent with rapture at the joyful ending.

But the intervals,' you say, surely he came to earth then.'

Oh, he left his seat, to smoke : but it was the shell of the man, you understand, his spirit and mind were with the music.

Once in a moment of recognition he turned to me and said' It is charming. You think so? ' But we were forgotten, consigned to a world which just then. was as distasteful to him. as a Punch and Judy show to the primmest of Victorian aunts.

And when it was over? ' Ah, then he stole out of the theatre still a ghost, I think, for I could not have spoken to him then.

Was the opera so good?'

Heaven knows. But I knew that for one of the audience it had been as a draught from the spring of eternal beauty.

I watched him steal away in the blue and gold of the London dusk, and half murmured aloud' When music sounds all that I was, I am, Ere to this haunt of brooding dust I came, While from Time's woods break into distant song, The swift-winged hours as they hasten along.'

Then I laughed, and grabbed Penelope by the arm.

Tea,' I said, come on.' And all through the meal we talked nonsense as if we were afraid of reality.

MARY H. BENSON.

MY FALSE PARTNER. (With apologies to the old song

False Phillis.)

Exact to appointment, I went to the court To meet my fair partner and have some good sport ; But judge of my language, my rage and despair When I found on arrival no partner was there.

I waited awhile, which increased but my rage— With players you know every moment's an age—aI sighed and I cried and I looked far and near, But in vain was my looking—no partner was there

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THE IMP. To wait any longer I thought was in vain, So I trudged thro' the grounds to my room back again, When oh ! to my grief, on a court that was near I beheld my false partner with others was there !

I glowed with resentment and proudly passed by, When there—doing nothingyoung Joan caught any eye; I told her my story—she! banished my care, Bade me go to the court, she would surely be there.

' IMPRESSIONS OF THE IMP.' The Imp upon the cover sits, And never shifts his place : And though the paper changes hue He keeps the same old face.

Yet there are some so, Impudent That even now they scheme To set another in his place— Imprudent though it seem.

But I would say to these, a task Impossible they foster : For whomsoever they set up Would still be an Imposter.

A judge Impartial I would be, But yet I am inclined To think that they, howe'er they try Will no Improvement find.

For my adherence to the Imp I'm quite Impenitent; I will not change my view, for I'm Too Impious to relent.

Impatient reader, I implore Indulgence for this theme ; Impending doom I would allay, And leave the Imp supreme.

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THE IMP. CLUB REPORTS. CRICKET. C aptain—S . ANDREWS.

Cricket has had a quiet but enjoyable season. Every Tuesday enthusiasts, not many but keen, may be seen practising vigorously at Lynam's. Several of the First Year show much promise, but despite their valuable assistance, Somerville managed to win the final cupper by 4 wickets, after we had beaten St. Hilda's by g wickets. No other matches have taken place, owing to the demands of tennis and swimming, and to the diffic ulty of finding dates which suit other schools and clubs. The team consists of M. Slaney, M. Lagden, V. Fowler, B. Nickalls, D. Monk, P. Deards, C. Rygate, S. Andrews (Capt.), E. Barry, C. Messent and M. Harvey. Ashford, Weston and Steel also played in one match as reserves.

BOAT CLUB.

President—Miss MILLS. Captain—N. HOARE. S ecretary—J . PATERSON. The weather has not favoured boating this Term, but a great many people have got private boats, and our Boathouse is quite a passable rival to Timms'.

There was a General Meeting of the Boat Club early in the Term, and it was decided that the standard of half-captaincy should be lowered, and that half-captains should be allowed to take out beginners. This resulted in a good many qualifications as half-captains of punting and canoeing.

Sculling is not an enjoyable pastime in the summer, but we hope that there will be a revival of sculling-next Term, especially as we do not want to let the standard of rowing go down, and some knowledge of 'sculling is necessary before one begins to row.

S:H . C. L. T. C.

Captdin—ML LAGDEN. Secretary—P. DEARDS. Eleven ist Six matches were arranged for this Term, including five with men's colleges. Two were scratched, one away Cheltenham and one with Wadh,am. The znd Six unfortu-

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nately have been able to play only three out of five matches.

Practice games were played early in the Term with both of the 0. H. S. Sixes.

Both teams have shown a great lank of steadiness; as a result of this the ist Six were beaten by, L.M.H. in the semi-final round of the Cuppers by 5 matches to 4, after beating S.H.H. in the first round. The 2nd Six were beaten in the first round by 0.H.S. I ST SIX. "M. Lagden ist couple. *V. Leys *M. Slaucy 2nd couple. *P. Deards J G. M. Barkerl_ 3rd couple.

C. GrosvenOrJ 3u, * Colours.

2ND SIX. P. Pritchard ist couple.

B. Nickalls V. Fowler znd couple.

M. Cook 1 N. Clive-Smith 1 couple.

M. Cartwright I 3rd CRITICISM OF I ST Six. Owing to the small number of college matches played before Schools it is difficult to criticise the play of the ist Six. V. LEys has added to the number of her brilliant shots, especially back-handers, but her returns of comparatively easy services are very uncertain.

M. STANLEY is an invaluable member of the Six, chiefly because she is so quick on her feet, and can play equally well at the net or on the back line.

P. DEARDS has some excellent strokes, though she is too apt to send out overhead shots through taking them too close to the net. Her footwork is uncertain, but she has improved this Term.

The standard of the 3rd couple is at present well below that of the znd. G. M. BARKER is a good player on the back line, and fairly steady. C. GROSVENOR should try to improve her backhand, which at the moment is very weak. They have the makings of a steady couple, but lack decisiveness generally in their play.

M. LIAGDEN, Captain.

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20

THE IMP. SWIMMING CLUB.

President—Miss SHARPE. Secretary—Mass AWDRY-NICKS. Treasurer—Miss BRYANT. • Although prevented by the cold weather from any practise in the Rhea, the teams have been able to swim regularly at the Merton Baths:. The polo team is still very inadequate, owing to the impossibility of fixing up enough Colleg-e games. It again beat Somerville in the final inter-collegiate match, by three goals to one. The St. Hugh's team was :—Goal, Monk ; backs, Bonner, Wickham ; half-back, Awdry-Nicks; forwards, Andrews, Sharpe, Smith. 'due to the absence of one of Somerville's; team It wasthat we were able to win from them the Challenge Cup. The results of the Cupper were :too Yards..—f, Sharpe (S.H.C.); 2, Simpson (S.C.). Time, 95 secs.

5o Yards.—J,: Awdry-Nicks (S.H.C.); 2, Hughes (S.C.).

• Time, 39 secs.

1st Team.-1, St. Hugh's (Sharp; Dormer, Bonner, AwdreyNicks) ; 2, Somerville.

2nd. Team.—t, Somerville; 2, St. Hugh's (Andrews, Brooke, Bryant, Cook).

Style.—t, Somerville; 2, St. 'Hilda's.

Diving.—I, St. Hugh's (Sharpe, Bonner); 2, Somerville.

We beat Milham Ford last week. Other matches have been arranged with Malvern College, Malvern Abbey School, Queensgate School and Francis Holland School.

THE DEBATING SOCIETY. . The Trinity Term is always somewhat unpropitious to debating societies:. Only one meeting of our Society has been held this Term, though another is contemplated. On Monday, June 4th, the House met to discuss the motion : ' That novels do more good than harm.' The speakers for the motion were Miss. Marr and Miss Wace, and against the motion Miss Limpus and Miss Awdry-Nicks.

At the end of the debate the Rev. Charles. Bradley made some remarks on public speaking, and gave several useful hints on delivery. He stressed the importance of good position, modulation of voice, expression of face, and effective pauses.

The motion was carried by 16 votes to 9.

21

THE IMP.

Some members of the Society speak well, but most lack the fluency and confidence which comes with practice. It is to be hoped that St. Hugh's will strong]y support the O.U.W.D.C.— the inter-collegiate debating club which has just been formed.

CLASSICAL SOCIETY. The • Classical Society has only had one meeting this Term, on May loth, when Gilbert Murray's translation of the Rhesus ' was read. On. June 6th, a large party of members of the Society and others went to the afternoon performance of the ' Medea.'

LITERARY SOCIETY.

President—M. COOK. Secretary—A. PERCIVAL. Treasurer—H. HAGGETT. The activities of the Literary Society have not been much in evidence this Term. In anticipation of hot weather and the superior attractions of tennis and the river, only two meetings were arranged. At the first, which took place in the third week, Miss Everett read a most interesting paper on Icelandic Sagas.

The second meeting did not take place owing to the absence abroad of Professor Ker and Mr. Bridges whom, it was hoped, would have come to address the Society.

L'ENVOL Though you must go where cities thunder And smoke-palls close you under, Or pass beyond strange seas and go To a dim land of snow, Or where parched desert sand Stretches; on either hand—.

Yet shall a river's mystery Of shadows, and the history Of three delirious Oxford Junes Linger yet.

In many moons You shall. not forget.

M. C.

22

THE IMP.

CONSTITUTION OF THE COLLEGE MAGAZINE. r.—That the Magazine shall be called ' THE IMP.' 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 College.

TIlE HOLY WELL PRESS, OXFORD