In Cap and Gown student journal

[Image In Cap and Gown surrounded by filigree]

Editorial "In Cap and Gown" has at last reached the dignity of its Fourth Year and consquently feels the responsibilities which are a necessary accompaniment to such an exalted honor. As a Freshman the magazine was treated with a consideration and respect which few freshies enjoy; as a Sophomore it told more stories, true and untrue, than any other self-confident and all-wise Soph; as a Junior it endeavored to prepare itself for the duties it felt must come with approaching years; and now as it looks forward to its fourth year work, it

speculates as to what it may accomplish, what impression it will make, and above alll what is to be its reception by its readers. The three years of its existence have not been spent in vain and like many another it has learnt that sympathy and hearty co-operation are necessary factors towards success. It is the prerogative of a Senior to command but "In Cap & Gown" recognizes that but a few are born to exercise this privilege and will content itself with begging [underline] for its readers' support - not however the support that pronounces "all very goo" and gives no material and practical aid. The magazine confesses that it has lost none of its love for gossip and promises to retell, faithfully and verbatim whatever you,

its readers, may please to tell it and trusts that you will often make it the recipient of your confidences.

[image decorative line]

[bold]R[bold]umor has it that not long ago a divinity student was asked to announce to his congregation that at the close of the service there would be a meeting of the Board, of the church in the vestry. Perceiving a stranger present at this meeting he approached him and said, "Sir, I don't think you are a member of this committee." "Oh" replied the intruder, "excuse me, but I understood that you called a meeting of the bored [underlined] and I was fearfully bored. You preached for forty-two minutes!

[two short drawn lines]

[bold] NATURE STUDY [bold]

Throughout all Canada I've been The grass of all its plains I've seen Our poets sing its beauty rare, Because its color here and there To brilliant green.

But go a thousand miles or two, Where murders happen - quite a few, Kentucky grass will meet your eyes, And give you quite a sharp surprise It's looking blue.

But Norman Grass is still ahead Of all that so far has been said. This fact is known to me and you - He is'nt [isn't] green - he's never blue, He's just well 'read'

[bold] AUCTION SALE [bold]

[Image book with THE on the front of it] writer being a freshman cannot remember the auctioneers of former times. Nor will he permit himself to judge of them from the boastful bluster of sophomores and others still highter up. All that he can say is that Hawkins was a good one, worthy of '09, and up to the traditions of so famous a name of old Devon.

I have found out that the auctioneer of last year was an ex-reacher, one who forsook the cat o'nine tails for the cassock. So is Hawkins. Why was he chosen to the great position? When I am a senior and have learned some metaphysics I may try to work out the converging and collusive forces

the Cosmopolitan, the Black Cat, and other cheap compilations of low class stories, specially prohibited by the Rhetoric professor. Altogether he must have been a very unpleasant churl and no gentleman for freshment to copy.

Mr. Hawkins, calculating that his position called for more than nicety, put on a wide smile as he took his stand amidst great plaudits, rubbed his hands, and out of the fulness of his cheek commanded the venerable senior of No. 6 to act as he clerk. Ah the braw lassie! You couldn't have hit the crowd in a weaker place. They simply choked and froze in their book as the clerk elect went forward with a dazed look to do the tyrant's will.

The Mr. Hawkins threw himself into the work. My memory fails me for all the clever things he said. But he did nearly everything that auctioneers always do, except lie. He was patriotic in selling the Canadian, and just as unpatriotic when it came to getting rid of the American publications.

Two ladies went out as Mr. Hawkins held up the Ladies Home Journal. "it makes me feel like Home Sweet Home myself" said the auctioneer. Just after that there was a long pause and hush, while the man behind the hammer waited rigid and alert for a bidder. "He's a little tiresome, ain't he?" said Mr. Millar, taking advantage of the lull to be-little a really brillian performance. The remark

was cleverly timed by the junior's jealousy & might have soured our estimate of Hawkins' work, if it had not been providentially followed and effaced by a veritable burst of oratory & wit. "The Philistines be upon thee Samson" almost forced the skittish little Philistine upon big Joe. By the way the Principal says he has no sympathy whatever with the drivel or the theology of Elbert Hubbard. Hawkins tried hard to get in a Punch on the General. He was quite dissatisfied with Coxie's way of not bidding, so worked off several jests on him; told him he needed a Punch to wake him up in the morning and cure his cold quickly. "Punch! English wit!" he cried. "Where's Whistles?" But the Englishman had left the room,

because he couldn't understand Canadians, nor calculate fast enough in nickels and cents. Mr. Hawkins made a touching allusion, I am told, to a former auctioneer called Horton, when he put up McClary's and asked whether it was a weekly or a monthly. He did not know whether Sunny Joe or Coxie had the better literary digestion. It is rather regrettable that the extreme frequence of Hawkin's reference to Love seems to argue a mind almost unhinged by the study of Romeo.

On the whole the sale was very enjoyable. Mr. Hawkins at least fought hard against time and tide. I may just here apologize for the especial silence of my own year. We are, in the first place very reticent, modest,

and retiring. Then besides some of our boys had got an idea that the whole thing has just a fakir's scheme to make money out of the freshmen. The auctioneer had no visible support in the shape of the actual magazines. It looked fishy.

'09 is a great year. Hurrah for '09, & for Hawkins

[bold] '09 [bold]

Professor [underlined}: (to student who is very closely examing something on his desk). "What have you got there. Student: (impudently) "Something very absorbing, sir!" Professor [underlined]: (angrily). "What is it?" Sudent: (smiling). "A piece of blotting-peper, sir."