THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN
Nore:—We regret the absence of reading matter in this article. In spite of many and faithful efforts to recall some event con-
nected with 1911’s bonfire our memory retains little save the fact that there was a bonfire. Doubtless it was like the above sketches
from the conscientious pen of our artist. For the rest, a call to arm3, transparencies which seemed trite, costumes which—to put it
mildly—seemed lacking in a certain gaiety, then the circus-ring with the ringmaster’s whip urging weary forms to feats of would-be
humour frought for us with nothing but Ortygian* gloom. For one brief moment we remember jak down and shamming dead—Oh,
the irony of it—but were once more roused to keep up the delirious antics. Next morning Alumne came to us and said tenderly, “It
was a good bonfire, the funniest in years.” We only smiled pityingly at them. Even Dr. Barton's lament over our failure to burn the
transparencies, (he intimated that it was not so in his day), roused no shame in our breasts. Whatever the spectators thought, what-
ever we thought, we can at least be sure that in this the last of our stunto-dramatic attempts we are immortal because we died aspiring.
—C, L. D., Ed.
*Hoby put this in. She majored in Classics. ’
