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'^ l is s E. S k il l e n .

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y ' Sports Editors -.

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Vol. IX .— Xo. S. NOVEMBER, 1916. PRICE 6d. a copy, or Is. per annum.

iEiittorial.

X is.siiing the last numbei’ of the ‘ ‘ Kookaburra ’ ’ for 1916. we feel the stress and strain through which the Empire is pa.ssing. and which every

individual is experiencing.We are now well embarked upon

the third year o f the greatest .struggle since humanity was humanity. And we are proud to say that the Sydney Teachers’ College continues to do her share in the great struggle, the re­sults of which will change the des­tinies o f the nations of the globe.

This issxie will be somewhat of a serious nature, as we wish to sadden, yet glorify, some of its pages by re­ference to those heroes oftheS.T .C . who have given their lives, upon the blood-stained and shell-torn battle­fields of Europe, in the cause of out- j’aged humanity and civilisation.

They have made a name for them­selves and the College which shall live in the annals of her history as

long as the" Sydney Teachere’ College endures. For generations to come there will be inscribed upon her walls, and upon the minds o f the students, the names and memories o f those who, when the Empire called upon them to make the greatest sacrifice it is po.ssible for man to make, did not hesitate, but went forth noblj- in the I)ath of duty.

Longer and longer becomes the list o f those students and ex-students who have answered the call, and longer and longer becomes the list of those who have given their all, for the liberty we enjoy, and who have fought and come out at a cost to which death itself would have seemed small.

To the parents and relations o f those who have fallen doing .so much for us and the freedom we enjoy, we extend our deepest and sincerest sympathy in their great loss.

When we retiect upon things such as these, it is our duty, as students of the College M'here these men have been educated, to do our best; many o f us, no doubt, are anxious to take a more active part in the great ■struggle, but if at present this is

THE KOOKABUKtlA.

impossible, we can do oiir part here, by striving to make ourselv'es worthy of the great and glorious sacrifice which these men have made.

4 ^ 0 l l n f I^ 0 n 0 u r .

Present Students now members of A.I.F.1914. ,

•GALVIN, A. St. C.♦GORDON, J.J

H ARRIS, R.HODGE, R.NEEDS, W. ,

*SKEVINGTON, f V W HARTON, L. W.

1915.AUSTIN, J.. P.BAKER, R. E.BENNETT, J. S. BOARDMAN, H.BOYALL, C. S.BROWN, A. W.CAUPIELD, J. W.CLARK, A. C.CROWTi’OOT, P. L.DAVIS, H. T.DAVIS, J. McL.DOUGLAS, A.DUNCAN, G. R.

♦DUNCAN, L. M. /FIZELLE. R. C.FLOYD, D. W.FLOYD, W. H.GIBBONS, D. P.GILES, A.

♦HANCOCK, E.HUNT, S. C.HUMPHRIES, H. S.

*J0HN8T0N, C. W .y MACRYANNIS, E. B. C. iMULLARKEY, K.SCOTT, G.SWAN, A. L.W HEEN, A. W. W ILLIAMSON, S.WOOD, P. G.W'OOTTEN, F. C.

1916.FORSTER, J. J.

GUY-JONES, J. H. JENNINGS, A . Y .JONES, F. B.MONTAGUE, N.REEVES, J. E.SHORT, D. bPRING, G.W EBSTER, II. F.W HITIN G, J. E.

Lecturers now Members of A .I.F. J . C. W RIGH T.

7a . K. CHISHOLM, B.A.Former Students now Members of

A .I.F .A D E Y , A. V.ALLAN , S. L.ALLEN, R. A.ARKINS, J.ARMSTRONG, F. E.ASH ER, J. H.A V E R Y . A. G.BACK , j .BAK ER. P.BARLOW , R.BARRY, W . J.BATES, S. C.BARNES, J. H.B E ATTIE , II. R.B E A TTY , J. G.B E AV IS, H. W .BIGNELL, S. L.

*BLACK, A. J . / .BLAK E. F.BOW ERS, H.B R AD Y, V.B R A Y , W. H.BREW ER. R.BRODIE. F.BROWN, O. S.BROW NLEE, W.BRUCE. W. E.BUNKER, A. G.BURLEY, N. W .BYRNE, C. J.BYRNE, D. P.

♦CAMPBELL, C. ^CARR. A. G.CARR. H. G.CATTELL, A. E.CATTELL, N. G.CHANTER. A . A. L. CHAPM AN, C. P. CHISHOLM, A. R.

TEE KOOKABURRA.

CHOPPING, L. D. CLARK. C. 0.CLARKE, W . T: COHEN, A. R.COLE, R.CONNELL, V. G. COSTELLO, M. J. COUCHMAN, A. E. COW PER. W . H.COX. H. D.CUMJIINGS, G. CUSACK. A . H.DALY, F.DALY, G. M.DALY. H.

-DANNEFORD, W. DAW KLXS, P. R.DEED. H. S.DIPLOCK, W. A. DINNING, L. L.DIVE, W. H.DOUST, A.DOYLE. J. C. DRUMMOND, N^ EMBURY. E.FIGTREE, E. R. FILSH ER, H. FLANN ERY, G. B.

-FLEMING, G. E V FO LK ARD , A. E. F O R D H A il, F.

*FORD, A. R . / FORSTER, C. R. FOWLES, A. G.FRASER. A. D. FRASER. D. FBEDERICKS, J. GALLAGHER, J. B. GARRETT, H. B. GILBERT, L. E. GILMORE. J. E. GREENLEES. GAVIN. GREENLEES. GEORGE. G R IFFITH S, W. GRIM SLEY. A.GUNN. J. E.GUEST. D.HALE, M. J.H ARRIS. R.HARRISON, C. H. HART, K.H ATTER. G .» /HENRY. C.HERNE. C. P.H ICKEY, A.

HILL. W . C.HOBDEN. A. .

*HOJEL, E. G . y HOLT, 0 . L. D. HOOD, G. E. C.HORN, J.HORTON, D. D. .

^HOWARD, J. A. HUNTRISS, A. H. INNES, A. C.

’■'INNES, J.ISON, A.JAMES, P.JARVIE, T.JOHNSTON, C.KAY, II. B.

^KILPATRICK , R. H. KNIGHT, N.LANG, H. 0 . LA VERICK . G. J. LEVY, i l . C. I.LOFTS, A . ^

*L 00M E S . A. R. LU XFO RD . A. E. McADAM. F. T.McA l l i s t e r , e . n . McA l l i s t e r , e . MacCALLUJI. j . a . ^IcDONALD. c . s .

-M cG RATH . M. E. *M cKERIH AN , II. G. ^

MeKILLOP. D. ileJIILES. J. MeMULLEN, W . H. McNAUGHT, C. A. McNIVEN, R. J. M AHONEY, J. T. MARKS. W . G. MARTIN, J. II. MASON, A.MEARNS. N. R. .DULLER, G.MILNE, II.M ITCHELL. J. .

-M OORE. E. E.MOORE. II. J. M ORIARTY. H. J. ,

-MORRISSEY, P. P. MULHOLLAND, W . J. MURRAY, C.MURRAY, J..MULNEY, R. C. NICHOLL, S. G.

-NOBBS. G. R. T. / NORRIS, H. M.

THE KOOKABURRA.

NORTHCOTT, H. W. O ’BRIEN, G. W. O ’CONNELL, J.ORilOND, J.PAGE. H. H.I ’ATTERSON, A. W .' PATTERSON, R.PAYN E. W.PERCIVAL, C. H.PERRY, J. R.PH ILLIPS. W. G.PIGGOTT, J. W.REED, P. P.REED, S. E.REID. J. H.ROBSON, M. ,

^ROGERS, E. E.*RYAN, J. B.

RYXH ART, E. W. SANDERSON, N. R. S^VNDERSON, W. J.SAMS. 0. J.SELLERS, L.SHANNON, E.

*SHERRING, A. J. ^SHIPP, P.SINCLAIR, W . A.SLAVEN, P.SMALL, K,SMART, D. II.SMITH, A. E.SMITH. E.STARTIN. W . T.STEELE, S. G.STEW ART, D. IL SWANSON, 0 , II.TAGGART, L. II.TAYLOR. H. A.TAYLOR. S. R.TAYLOR, V. H. .

■i-TAYLOR, W. T.TONKIN, W. H.TONKING, A. U.TOWNEE, 0. E.TURNER. W . II. UNDERWOOD, L. J. UNDERWOOD. G. S.W EISS. P. A.W HARTON, P.W ILLIAJrS. H.WOOD. R. R.WOODS. A.W RIGH T, A. C.

* Killed in Action or Died of Wounds.

ONE OF A U S T R A L IA ’S SONS.Chapter I.

H E p a t h woimd dimly iu and out among the bracken. The sunlight fell in emerald streaks upon the wide spread carpet of flowers of endless

variety and beauty, with which Spring had clothed the ground. The path— a fickle streak of white— made many fantastic curves, before it finallj' disappeared amidst the dark green of the bracken.

Everj^thing in the bush was re­joicing because it was Spring. Across the silent, scented path the sun­beams played, and. birds with bright plumage flitted from tree to tree, and, catching the sunlight, seemed to turn into streaks of light themselves.

Along this path came a young man, one o f Australia’s sons, a stalwart, well-formed bushman. The strength of }"0ung manhopd showed iu his easy stride and his strong, well-built frame. His sun-burued, purposeful face now wore a, very thoughtful ex­pression. His appearance would have proclaimed him about twenty-three j^ears old, but' he was only twenty.

Before him opened a glade clothed with many varieties of heaths and acacias— a tiny plot of Nature’s great garden. The youth left the path here aiid climlwd the little hill. The grass which he trod upon sent lip a rich perfume to mingle with the many bushland scents which al­ready filled the air.

The soft breathing o f ^Mother Earth was in his ears. He threw himself down among the cool grass at the foot o f an old gum-tree. His thoughts occupied him. and he took no notice of the scenery around him. For an ardent lover of nature as he was, this was a very unusual thing.

THE KOOKABURRA.

Prom his seat the land sloped down towards a silvery stream, fringed with fairy ferns, which gurgled delightedly over its rocky, uneven bed. A grove of young acacias, all veiled and dim with blossom, bent over the stream gaz­ing at their own beautiful images in the clear water. Flowers of many hues and shapes made the glade a fairj'land. and, to crown all. the birds sent their .sweet, wild, piping notes echoing and re-echoing among the hills. The bush was teenung with faint, far-away, indistinct, woodland noises which remind one of the myriad inhabitants with which Nature has populated the bush. The brook murmured on, heedless of the voices which issued from the rocks and trees around it.

“ W ill I stay, will I g o ? ” was the refrain echoing in the youth ’s mind. Ilis face was Hushed, his eyes were shining, his hands were clenched. “ W ill I stay; will I g o ? ” and the hills echoed, “ G o !” and the trees echoed, “ G o !” and the brook gurgled “ Go! go ! g o !”

He awoke to his surroundings. The wonder and Iwauty of it all gripped him hard and would not let him go. He gazed at the brook, the trees, the delicate tints of land­scape, and sky, and the scenery, gentle in its beauty, lulled his ex­cited mood.

Only an hour before news had ar­rived in this far-off farm that Eng­land had declared war. The youth went wild w'ith excitement. His one desire was to go, to fight, to show that dear old ilother England yet had sons in far-off climes who held her honour priceless. England had sons who loved her. “ Sons” brought to his mind his mother, his father. They were nearing the end of “ L ife ’s journey.” and the path to­wards the sunset was to them a peace­ful. gladsome trail. He was their only boy.

On the httle farm below the hill a tiny cottage nestled— his home— the abode of cheerfulness and love.

Then Nature cast her spell about him. The sun was failing in soft blue shadows, the chirpings of the birds were becoming fainter and fewer; and he knew it was time to go home. There W'as no worry or .strife in the world of Nature. There was no bitterness where she held sway. He rose and stole lightly homeward as if afraid to waken the flowers.

Chapter II.“ Yes, my laddie, you may go ;

your duty beckons. W e w'ould not bid you stay.” and he had gone. The loneliness did hurt at tinies, and they missed him more than thej could tell. The distant town where he was now in camp seemed to contain their all; They mis.sed him. he missed them; but his letters always cheered them • w'onderfully. He came home on a visit, and then the parting came. He bade farewell to his old as.sociations. He said good-bye to his parents, and it seemed to them as if all the light went out o f their lives with Jack. Next week brought a eheerj^ letter from Melbourne. Every time the mail came to the little town the mother waited at the gate for the postman, and never once did she re­turn empty-handed after his visit.

Travelling slowly across the plain was a khaki cavalcade. The column was formed of unmounted men, at­tended by mounted men, who rode on the out.side. They had been in Egypt three weeks now. The sun was be­coming fiercer and fiercer, until it became almost insupportable. The country assumed all the appearance of a desert, and this gradually closed in on them.

They plodded on.Grass and water disappeared, and

the e.yes o f the men rested on no­thing but reddish-brown sand, whicli swelled into long parallel ridges, higher and higher, and seemed to be

6 THE KOOKABVBBA.

a very long ocean of billows. How many changes this desert had seen! How many histories it had known! The men tramped on.

No sound or movement could be seen or heard around them, and the men’s boots and horses’ hoofs left not the slightest impression on the surface of the plain.

Objects appeared, moving swiftly along the skyline and approaching. Orders were given, and soon the Bri­tish soldiers were engaged in battle with their enemies. The crests of the sand billows were cut off and whirled on high in thick spi-ay. Blinding torrents of fine sand tlew in all directions.

To Jack, sand and sky seemed all at once to mingle in one red mass. He had been stunned. When he be­came sensible of his surroundings the din had lessened and it finally ceased

I altogether.The sands of the desert began to

close in slowly and cover up all signs of the recent struggle.

By-and-by the victors prepared for their return to camp. The hot blasts blew across the barren plain and bore clouds of sand with them, while the soldiers left the awful still­ness of the desert behind them.

Chapter IH.

Great excitement prevailed among the men on board the transport. The fair laud of France could be dis­cerned through the fog, as the sun scattered it on either side. To the soldiers’ disappointment they were not allowed to disembark till two days later.

A fortnight later they were “ fighting in France.” Jack was one o f the soldiers there.

In the little cottage in the hollow of the hill, far away in Australia, mother received the news, and prayed, as thousands of other motliers and wives did that day, for the safety of her boy. It would seem that her prayers were answered, for

Jack was in the. midst of the chaos and confusion of battle for four months before he was wounded.

“ Not very badly, mother, dear,” he wrote. “ Tell dad not to worry. I ’ll soon be all right again.” He was sent to England, more seriously wounded than he had supposed.

Summer had come again, and her dear voice reached him as he reclined on a couch on the verandah. He could see the long grass swaying in the meadow's and the beautiful covei-- ing of crimson heath bells on the dark soil.

Nurse brought his coat out and he and other convalescents were taken for a drive. The fragrant breath of summer came to him from the balmy hayfield, and her dear voice whispered to him through the rust­ling music of the trees. She seemed to move up from the valley and leave a flowery trail behind her. Her blue skies were mirrored in the sleepy river, and everj'thing united to do her homage. There was but one voice lifted iip in earth, exclaiming, “ Summer has come again.”

Jack ’s thoughts went back to the dearest cottage of all. nestling in the green flower-decked hollow. ^lother would be sewing while father read aloud, and the dear old doggie would be in front of the fire looking from one to the other and wondering when Jack would come home.

A fortnight later Jack was back in France helping his comrades w ith his bright smile and cheery words.

A letter came one day to the little Australian cottage. Its wording was brief, but long enough to wound two loving hearts.

The dear old doggie would now wait in vain for Jack’s return. The folks for miles around mourned his loss as only a noble man can be jnourned. No more woiild the stream in the glade sing its gurgling, musi­cal song to Jack.

To-day. it murmured and crooned softU’ over its pebbly bed.

TBE KOOKABURRA.

And afar off, rejoicing with all Nature because of the return of summer, the grass above a sleeping hero raised companies of soft, peace­ful spears and covered the little knoll with its grat^ul green enamel.

!^ISA B E L CARSOxX.Hereford House.

(K olU gf N o tw .

The cheerful faces of Frank Jones and John Reeves are much missed in the Common Room since their enlist­ment. We wish them good luck and Godspeed.

• * * *

The Christian Union has recom­menced its work at the College. Prac. teaching, however, puts it out of the question. Mr. Duhig has con­sented to be the representative.

There is a wilful waste o f chalk oit the chemo. fags ’ hats. W ho is the culprit ?

• * • *Poddy says it was only by accident

that he was on the Central Railwaj" Station prior to the departure o f the Alburj' mail the night after Here­ford appointments. Fall out lightduty men-------W here’s Fimmo?

• * • *

Is Mr. Knowles present? "Where was Tom?

* • * *

Did you see the new sentry at Liverpool? But where was his rifle?

# * * *It is a pity the year is so near

its close, for under the able guidance of Archie, the cricket team expected to do well.

• • * *

It is to be hoped that the futura students in a few years will see a new Common Room.

The close of this year will see the last of a few o f our friends, and the new year will bring in new faces. We wish the departing students everj' luck, and good reports from the inspectors.

• • * •

Exams, are aow ov«r. ami the pre­tended wails o f a few fags are pre­valent

’Tis said that L------- 31------- hasexhausted the library.

Is the Department going to raise our screw ?

* • * « Certain o f the Second Year women

students are to be commended for their powers as picnic organisers.

* « • * y Our heartiest thanks are due to

Dr. Allen, who donated the prizes for the short storj' and poem.

— C.V.F.

In parsing, a little boy saiJ that library was feminine gender. “ True.” said the teacher, “ in a par­ticular library.”

• • • •Who killed it? What? First Year

Debating Society.* • • #

Roll up! Roll up! absence from Correy’s is a criminal offence. Buy your tickets immediately from the members o f the Council.

&prti0tt N o t e s : S .

The heroes o f Section B have now arrived at the “ straits.” W e trust, however, that though the “ fearful coils” of Charybdis spin them round and round, they will not be over­whelmed by the whirlpools o f the finals nor daunted by the mist- wreathed slippei^' rock o f practice teaching, where lies the Scylla o f the student.

8 THE KOOKABURRA.

However, we have had a glorious time on the old ship S.T.C. The awe and trepidation experienced when we first embarked on our two years’ voyage are now things of the past. Storm and stress have been forgot­ten, anti only pleasant memories re main. “ W e thought ourselves a gal­lant crew.” Tlie thought still re­mains,. but now we must come down from the foretop and take our place in the foe ’sle.

For some time past the Section has been able to lie abed three days of the week owing to ten o ’clock lec­tures. Consequently on Tuesdays and P>idays it was difficult to revert to normal, and it was quite a com­mon thing to see persons who had answeretl ‘ ‘ present” stroll into an interestilig lecture on “ little fishes.” when it was quite half finished. Tiie said lecture must have been greatl.v enjoyed by the scalers.

Were any of the lecturers aifected l)y the variation? A feature of the last lecture morning was a “ sprint” between a lecturer and a student, al­though the former was quite unaware of the latter’s presence. Fortunately the morning was rather cool.

A word of advice to those who were nid-nid-nodding while the golden streams of knowledge were flowing past. Have a care when you are on the quarter-deck that your crew do not nid-nid-nod too.

Who followed the lecturer’s advice to observe the “ heavenly bodies.’ “ To direct observation we must first observe.” Of course, it,w as stipu­lated that “ the les.ser light which rules the night” was to be observed in solitude. But there’s no fj.in in astronomy imder those conditions. Better to go out on one o f the traw­lers and see the wonders of the deep. W ouldn’t it be ,a chance for the “ scalers” ?

“ Wednesday the best day of all.” Hexagonal trays and solids loosen the tongues. Of course, the work varied, so did the entertainments in

the shape of “ The Miisieiaus of Bremen,” solos, duets, and debates based largely on conscription. There were ardent supporters of both sides. What a pity no>votes were recorded! ■ A fter the memi)ers of the Section had worked themselves to a state of very high nervous tension, they were able to relieve their feelings by, “ a song to sing, o h ! ’ ’ although thej’’ were not able to knit while ' ‘ Rolling down to Rio'. ” “ When llaiden Loves” (singing) she cannot concen­trate on knitting; but she can on a “ serenade” or a “ lost chord ” which still remains to be found. “ When the Birds Go Xorth Again,” the “ Three Little ]\Iaids” who usually sat in the back seat during that hour will have been deposited at W’'omali- gomalimudgerigar, or somewhere back o f the Never Never, where they will i)robably see that wonderful little bird “ On a Tree by a W illow ,” or that “ Pretty Village ^Maiden” with “ A Pair of Sparkling Eyes.” But let us liope they may never come to sucli a pass as this.

I f they or any other members of the College are ever reduced to such straits, we extend the advice that they will “ Just Smile Through It A ll.”

A Jilerry Xmas to all the College and best wishes to all Second Year.

— “ M A C .”

(Conlrtbution.

SUNRISE FROJI TIIE BALD HILLS. '

Four o ’clock in the morning! The skj pulsated with vstars, the earth lay bathed in moonlight, as we left the sleeping city behind us, and strug­gled on and upward to the breezy heights beyond. The morning star hung low in the .blue-black heavens, a

.glowing lamp o f crystal light, the glory of the million worlds that swung above us. i

Leaving the road, we struck acros.s tlie dewy fields, the silence o f the

TEE KOOKABURRA.

night around us, the quickening scent of the eucalyptus breathing fresh life into all.

The world lay still in a strange glamour, wrapt in the “ light that never was on sea or land,” it seemed to us, the indescribable light that comes between darkness and dawn.

And now the command went forth : “ Let there be ligh t!” And there was light! ” It stole gradually on, lim­ning the objects around. The stars dinuiied to our vision and lost them­selves in the dying blackness bej^ond.

At last, after weary climbing, we reached the height to which we as­pired. As Moses stood and viewed the promised land, so stood we, gaz­ing on the grand panorama before us, for th e . sight of which we had fought against cold and weariness. The black mountains, set in gold, loomed out against the eastern hori­zon. The morning star still glim­mered above, faint in the {)aling sky. Bands of mist hid the plains below from our sight, as if a host of guar­dian angels kept-watch over the thou­sands of souls who we knew lay sleeping under that white canopy. Here and there a light twinkled from out the white expanse. To the left the mist spread itself in a dim sea, undefined, seemingly, without boun­dary or limit. Nearer to us it took a purer, Heecier look, and in the fore- groiuid wreathed and flung itself into the appearance of breakers on a rock-bound coast.

The gold on the horizon burnt to a deep red, the sky beyond shading from pale opal blue to the deep blue of almost blackness. The mist bil­lowed and heaved in vapoury mas-ses. Below us, the wooded hill to the left stood out in bold I'elief, the pools of water in the foreground smoked, with vapour. The mist would lift to show a church spire tapering upward, or a tall chinuiey redeemed from its native ugliness by the charm of dis­tance and the magic touch of the clinging mist. W e marked the course

o f a train by the swirl of smoke that sped onward out o f the very heart of this veiling pitrity, and shot in a long-ringed trail across the plain.

And now a disc of molten gold rinuned the ridge of the distant mountains. Some jays Hew out o f a briar bush with glad cries, anti perched in a neighbouring gum. They, too, were waiting. The thin disc broadened, and the li(iuid orb of the sun rose fully into view. W e gazed into his clear, translucent depths until he beamed fortli his rays, forcing us to turn our dazzled eyes elsewhere. The berries on the briar glowed crimson in the new radiance. The long, dried grasses at our feet bowed in rip])ling waves of gold be­fore the glory of his oncoming. Gradually the mist unfolded its wings, ready to speed its flight to the fathomless ether above. The city of Bathurst reared itself proudly from the plains, fresh and beautiful in the early morning. The warm beams of the sun fell upon us, and the vision of the dim land wrapped in its misty swaddling bands, as we had seen it before his appearing, seemed but a dream. As we gazed on his glowing majesty the sublime words of the Psalmist were borne in upon us as never before.

“ He is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. His go­ing forth is from the end o f tlie heaven, and his circuit unto tlie ends of i t ; and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.”

— E.E.W .

Ssnim o f QInUfgp SiifF.

It is now nearly two years since we “ Second Years” entered Black- friars. It was with mixed feelings that we first walked that path now familiar to us, and I do not think many of us anticipated the plea.sure

10 THE KOOKABVBBA.

which we have derived from becom­ing its inmates.

We rather dreaded meeting so many new acquaintances thinking that they would still be but acquain­tances when the course was finished, since two years is but a short time in which to make friendships; but such was not the case. Many of us have made friendships which, I am sure, will not die as soon as we are separated.

It is true that we haVe met the sterner side of College life. There have been exams., terrible enough under ordinary circumstances; but when followed by “ orals.” these are a trial indeed to the nervously in­clined. Then the practice teaching is another sore .trial; and, last, but not least o f these ordeals, is the “ Crit.” les.son. which almost gives one brain-fever. We must conclude that these are for our benefit, though as yet we cannot see it.

However, weighing the benefits of College life with its ills, the balance dips deeply upon the side of the former.

Almost as soon as we entered, we were welcomed at a picnic at Cor- rey ’s, and a feeling of unity and friendship was at once established, which has since been cemented by constant intercourse at other such picnics and social gatherings.

Jlore than that, we have been ad­mitted to a great brotherhood of teachers, and, when we go next year to make our own way in the world, we will be accepted by our fellow- workers as friends.

Our own views have undergone a change. Many entered College as a means to an end, and that end was the earning of a living. The second- arj' motive, then, was the influence which it would be in our power to wield upon the race. This has now become a primarj- thought, and we think only of our profession as a noble one, and a scope for us to spread our share of good and bright­

ness on the possibilities of the citi­zens to be.

W e have come to this view, partly from the new world of opinion opened to us through books, but most of all from the personal influence of. and intercourse with, the members of the staff.

These are our true friends, and there is no student who does not feel gratitude for the kindly guidance and help which they have given us.

W e cannot say enough to prove our gratitude to these friends of ours, and the unselfish way in which they have given up much o f their private time on our account; and we feel that it is a privilege indeed to have friends who sink self in our interests.

Through their efforts, we have been given pri\nleges to hear concerts, recitals, and plays to further our understanding of the work before us.

In developing a session o f school pupils into responsible men and'

A STUDENTis one who studies

A PHOTOGRAPHERis one who takes photographs

A Student Photographer

is one who skilfully produces artistic photographs

As sure as the magnetic needle­points to the north, so sure will' you find artistic photographs at

THECROWN STUDIOS

448 GEORGE ST., SYDNEY^

THE KOOK^BU^RA. 11

women, thej' have taken no mean part in the moulding o f the most important epoch of our lives. The College has not been behind other in­stitutions in men who have answered the call o f Empire, and these think o f their time in the College with pleasant memories.

We, who will shortly bid farewell to College, do so with regret, though we are anxious to take our places and apply our work; and we hope that the students of each succeeding year will appreciate the course as much as we Imve done. We hope that they will also have memories of new and pleasant surroundings.

— E.D.

C o m p r t t t i n n a .

The results o f the Prize Competi­tions are are follows

Short Storj^: “ One of Australia’s Sons.” Isabel Carson. Hereford House.

Poem: “ Australia’s Part,” Grace A. Bell.

A prize for “ Why the Kookaburrr> Laughs” was not awarded.

Jlr. Jacobs’ two short stories showed considerable skill and some sly humour. But anecdotes are not stories, and part of a story-test is concerned with the plot. Young writ­ers should remember that incident is mere material. Miss Goodwin ( “ Slip-rails of Gold” ) shows con­siderable ability. Her faults are over- luxuriance and a tendency to melo­drama. She has. however, a remark­able appreciation of the beautiful, and when she steeps her vocabulary in less violent colours, should do good work. In the quiet style. Miss Grace Bell and Miss Nellie Norman were not without merit. The former has not yet learned to knit her narrative well; the latter gave a sympathetic portrayal of child-life, but straggled her relation into disconnected epi­sodes.

The poem competition showed that several students have considerable- fire, but allow it to revert to impa­tience of metre and rhyme. The de­ficiency in this respect was marked. Miss Oldman chose a stanza v e rr happily. It requires a little modi­fication of structure, however, before­being quite harmonious.

The prize-winners are to be con­gratulated. Their utterance is, gen­erally speaking, simple and direct. The prize-story was not entirely the- best in point o f literarj^ merit, but it showed the best all-round commando f technique.

A U S T R A L IA ’S PART.To Australia, land o f sunshine,

Came the messenger o f war;And his voic« broke through our slumbers,.

L ike the m ighty cannon ’s roar:“ There is danger for the Empire,

From a mighty German foe.Who woulil take away our freedom,

Who would lay our banners low ;W ill you answer, O Australia f

W ill you hear your Em pire's calif Or will you stand by idle

And see your honour fa l l? ”And Australia made her answer,

When her bugle ’s piercing blast Called her sons, and from all corners

Eich and poor came hurrying fast.Came with eager hearts and fearless,

Came as brothers true and strong.Came to save their country’s honour.

And to right a mighty wrong.On the fields o f far-off Turkey,

On the slopes o f Lonesome P in e,They have proved A ustralia ’s heroes.

And their names immortal shine.They have fought the Turk at Anzae,

And to-day they face the H un ;And they call to ns to help them

As they drop out— one by one.Shall Australia heed their pleading?

Hear their bitter cry for aid?Hear the men who went to save her.

And her debt o f honour paid?Let her answer as a nation:

“ We will send, and send our all,While Australia lives, her honour.

By our will, shall never fa l l .” /— GRACE H . b e l l /

12

JTHE KOOKABURRA.

ROLL OF HONOUR

(1 ) Corporal H. J. Pierce, (2 ) Pte. L. M. Dunnan, (3 ) Pte. E. E. Rogers, ('I) Sergt. J. Gordon, (5 ) Pte. E. Hancock.

/ S.T.C. COUNCIL, 1916.rjack Row.— Mifses W iiglit, Sackraan, Mallaui, Rothwell, Hr. E. C. Holland, Missss Souter, Ualiii, Young, Phillips.

iVont How.— Mr. 0. Duliig, Miss Matthews, Mr. A. Spicer (S ec .), Mr. N. Holder (Dep. Pres.), Miss Cargill, Mr. P. Godfrey.Inset.— J. H. Guy-.Tones (enlisted), F’ resident.

»-CsCl

53

14 T H E K O O K A B U R R A .

®oU 0f l|0ttour. / Son Boyagp!

The war still takes its toll of Col­lege students and ex-students. We have regretfully to announce the deaths of Private L. M. Duncan. Ser­geant James Gordon, and CorporalH. J. Pearce. The former was killed on July 26, 1916. by a shell, which burst on the parapet from which he was conducting an observation after the fight for Pozieres. Private Dun­can was born on October 27. 1896. and was educated at Byron Bay Pri- marj" and Lismore District Schools. He entered the Teachers’ College in 1915. and became an Arts student at the University. His death will be deeply regretted by his many friends. His portrait is printed in this number.

We print also the portrait of Ser­geant James Gordon, a Hereford House pupil, the only son o f ]Mrs. James Gordon, o f Erskineville. Ser­geant Gordon has the honour of hav­ing enlisted among the very earliest volunteers, in August. 1914. His career was active and distinguished. He took part in the famous landing at Gallipoli, the battle of Lone Pine, and in the equally famous evacua­tion. He is, therefore, an Anzac of the Anzacs. On several occasions he was wounded, and though retired from the fighting-line more than once, he was eager to rejoin his comrades immediately on recoverj'. Eventuallj" he was sent to France, and after four months’ service was killed in action. This record of gallant and continuous service givas as much cause for pride as sorrow.

W e add also the name and por­trait of Corporal H. J. Pearce, who passed through Hereford House in 1914. He had been appointed to the Holbrook district, and from there en­listed in June. 1915. He died from wounds, a prisoner of v/ar in Germany.

We bid farewell to Lieut. J. C. W’ right, who. while he was among us, did such excellent service as art-lec- turer. Having enlisted some time ago, he secured his commission a.« lieutenant, and has now left for the front. W e must, unfortunately, have lost him in any case, for he had pre­viously accepted an appointment as Director of the Institute o f Art at Adelaide. W e can never suflSciently thank him for the stimulus he gave to the study of art at this College. His heart was as large as his abili­ties, and he gave both to his work ungrudgingly. He has left in Syd­ney an enduring memorial o f himself in the finely wrought statues which ornament the new “ Daily Telegraph’ ' buildings.

Corporal A. R. Chisolm has also boarded his transport, and a post­card from him says all goes well. W e remember his quiet personality and the flash o f the eye. which bespoke his enthusiastic love of his calling. W e wish him luck and a safe return to his duties.

&ludrnt Ifoniiurrd.

News has come to hand o f the fol­lowing military honours awarded to students and ex-students of the S.T .C .:—

/ Pte. Arthur W’ . Wheen. Militai^-- Medal (1st Year University student.

1915).y Capt. Raymund A. JL Allen, Mili­

tary Cross (ex-Universitv student. 1911-13).

/ Capt. Harold H. Page. Military Cross (College student, 190S-9, ex- President of S.T.C. College Council).

Arthur Wheen was among the most brilliant English students of his year. He topped the Essay list, and was distingui.shed by a rich and poetic

THE KOOKABURRA. 15

style. Captains Page and Allen are well known to many ex-stiulents for their frank and manly characters. To onr Anzae lads, honoiir and thanks, for their lustre is reflected on the College.

By the eonrtesy of Mrs. Hunt we can publish something of the career of Sinclair Hunt, of the 17th Bat­talion. 17th Et-inforcements. He left us shortly before Christmas. 1915. with J. A. MacCalhnn and Erie Han­cock. now unfortunately among the killed. He went to the trenches al­most immediately after reaching France, having previously gained the rank of CorpoT’al. He hfi« bad hnH fighting ever since, taking part in a i action where his battalion made a feint attack in order to distract the enemy’s attention from the main at­tack. It was in their big charge that a sniper hit Erie Hancock. Two military medals were won bv H unt’s section in this charge, and several men received stripes rn the field. Hunt speaks proudly of his Austra­lian mates, and regards them as the finest fighters in France.

Trench life has not been without its embarrassments. A shell ha.s twice blown some of his kit to pieces. He has had. too. some stern experi­ences. On one occasion a shell knocked him senseless while crossing Xo Man’s Land. He was left for dead, but recovered at night and crawled back to the trenches. The experience gave him some touches of shell-shock, and at the date of his last letter he was eri.joying a well-earned spell.

The deaths o f Erie Hancock and Elton Rogers remind us once more of our losses; and chiefly they force us.

in realising them, to remember what fine spirits have passed through this College. A few months ago they were among us, active and eager, pro­mising fine careers; now they have given those careers for an end they could not see, could not live to re­joice in. but which their faith has helped to accomplish.

As types, they had much in com­mon. yet presented individual differ­ences. Hanecck was the generous and chivalrous idealist, stung to indigna­tion by any tale of meanness or op­pression. responding to duty, how­ever hard, not sternly, but glow­ingly. His spirit was always in arms against the base; literally so he died.‘ ‘ I need not tell you, ’ ’ writes a friend, “ that his death, like his life, was that of a very' gallant gentleman.” How­ever ripe his years. Hancock would always have taken life with a boyish- spontaneity and a knightly braveness. Those pre.iudiees Avhich in most of us are the lamentable accompaniment o f maturity, he would never have known. He faced evil without sully, and without sully he died.

Elton Rogers was a man of cmiet fen'our. filled with religious devo­tion. No heavy solemnity or self- righteousness marred his nmnner. He abhorred nothing so much as parade, and w as never anything more than a silent didactic. His tone of speech was always subdued, both throxigh a natural gentleness and through this shrinking from all loudness o f asser­tion. Ills dominant note, that o f Christian sacrifice, appeared in his unobtrusive helpfialness. I should not like to speak overmiich o f a visit I paid his bereaved parents. The scene is one that I shall not easily forget. This I can say. that from them a constant strengtli. a vital in­fluence. has departed. Had he lived, he might eventually have declared for the church. As teacher or preaeher. he would have been an en­nobling influence.

I feel sure that I voice the feelings of the staff when I say o f these men.

16 THE KOOKABVllRA.

and of such others as have fallen be­neath the grim sickle, that their life and death have deepened for us the content of our calling as once we could never have iinasfined. >

TIME, 1916.

E stand at the foot of a well-wooded hill which slopes gently almost to the river. Some yards from t h e water the land

.stretches out as flat as a table, and ■forms a narrow promontorj', covered with bright green gra.ss and bordered with light brown rocks and loose stones, washed clean by the river.

We are here this morning, this bright clear morning. The sun pro­mises to be strong, but is not so yet. The sky is clearly blue. Swept by the wind and washed by recent rain, she shows to the eaith a spaiklingly clear blue face. In the sea. her mir­ror. her face is reflected.

Rain has fallen during the night, the trees are wet and the gra.ss upon which we .stand is wet, too. The sun, feeble as yet, glints on the foliage of the wet trees and mingles almost shyly in the wet grass. The air is clear, l)ut in the atmosphere is a certain disturbance, a rumbling and muffled sound, which fills us with gloomy foreboding.

But the rumbling and the beauty of the morning we forget, as we see a figure eraerging from the dense shade of the trees. She follows a path .which leads to the top of the long hill, but which must first wind almost to the water to avoid the thick wood.

Let us look at her intently. How' Slowly she walks. Her head and feet are quite bare, and her robe black, and trailing along after her, as she walks fearlessly along the rough track.

Her hair, thick, fluify, and golden, falls back over her shoulders dcwn past her waist. Golden as the sunlight itself it is, and very beauti­ful. With bent head and hands clasped before her, she walks as if praying. How sad a picture she makes. The path leads her towards us now, and we are able to see that between her clasped hands she holds a dove, whose w'ing is broken.

The road has turned tow’ard the top c f the hill, and as she turns she raises her head and looks towards us. Now v.’e see the face, a face of inex­pressible beauty, tear-wet eyes, and an expression of heartrending sorrow.

The drocping golden head is again turned, and she resumes her walk.

Slowly she reaches the top of the hill and gazes just for one brief moment on the other side. She has looked on the world at war. With a cry of horror, she turns her head. Now, her courage returning, she again turns her eyes upon the scene before her. This time she raises her arms, that she might liberate the dove. It flutters but a moment, and then— it falls. She stoops to pick it up and turns whence ■she had come. A few' shots fly past her, but they do not touch her, nor is she disturbed by them. She sighs merely that man should wish to be rid o f her. W e watch her, sad­dened to bitter grief by her sorrow and oppressed by her gloom. Again she comes towards us, this time her step is uneven, and a little quicker. Her eyes are raised to Heaven, and tears stream down her face.

As she nears us we hear her sing a sad little song, born of the deep misery o f her heart, her voice full o f tears.

TUB KOOKABUKKA. IT

“ Sad, ah! sad, that.man should,fight. And hate aud kill for love of m ight; My joy is killed, my hope is fled; My heaven-sent dove is dead, is

dead.”This time she does not look at us;

she turn.s, and we watch until the slowly moving figure is engulfed by the black shadow’ whence it appeared.

But the air has changed, the wind is chilly; clouds, black clouds are iu the sky, and bide the sun; the river is grey, and its angrj- little waves splash fretfully against the rocks.

— D. OLDMAX.

AFTER.

The trampled wheat smells sweetly, And now the gentle stream

That trickled through neatly Becomes once more serene.

The trees shake off the "powder That settled over all; -

The birds sing sweet aud louder By the wee waterfall. f

Out on the broken mountainAnd on the deep-searred plain.

And near the little fountain (Small birds frequent a g a in );

Only rude, rough, wood crossesThat mount some fresh-made mound.

Tell o f the arm y’s losses Upon that battle-ground.

— IPSE DIABOLUS.

THE HEATHEN CHIXEE.The billiard-table was a wooden

one, its pockets were lar^c arid gap­ing, and fearful and wonderful were the shots that were pla3'ed on it. The balls were never safe, but if a player hit the red hard enough there wan always a chance of one of them roll­ing dow’n somewhere. “ Hit ’em hard and smile” was the injunction always given to a novitiate by Jim the marker.

Jim was tall and gaunt, and what­ever else he may have excelled in, he could not play billiards, yet con­sidered himself an expert. He was

always cursing his hard luck, but whenever his play was commented on, always challenged anyone present for a tenner aside. This usuallj' sufficed to silence his critics.

The table, I have observed, was wooden; it had been specially con­structed for the localitj' (a northern New South Wales sugar plantation, on which all nationalities are to be found), and it was no uncommon thing on stumbling (you usually stumbled) into the billiard-room to find a “ four-hajided ” game in pro­gress between Bob Sam oa,. Peter Malay, Paddy O ’Halloran, and Bungaree.

One evening, wheji the room was full, a bland, helpless-looking China­man drifted in and timidly sat down iu the darkest corner. Jim spotted him immediately.

“ Hulloa. chaps!” ,,he shouted; “ here’s the bloke what shook the wild honey from Jack the B aptist!”

The room roared at trhis sally, and Jim favoured them with a huge wink.

“ You play billiards. Joh n ?” he continued.

“ All lil me playem littee b it.” said John w’ith a smile, while the marker handed him a cue, and two others pushed him up to the table.

Amid much laughter and chaffing the conditions o f the game were ar­ranged by the spectators. John was to play “ all in ,” and Jim “ nomina­tion game” (a big handicap on such a table). John won the first game. He played very l)adly, but Jim played worse, winking at the “ audi­ence.” as if to imply that he was “ running stiff.”

The second game he tried for all he was worth, but with vile luck, as the balls ran in all over the table and s(!ored to his opponent again and again. Although John still played badjy, Jim lost the game, and with it his temper, as the “ audience” were chipping him unmercifully.

“ I ’ll play him for a quid the same game if any o f yous’ll back ’im ,” he cried, and he slapped his

18 TEE KOOKABVRRA.

riimsj' on the table with a triumphant ■“ Cover that!”

There was silence in the room as he remarked, ‘ ‘ I ’ll tear him somewhat; iie ’ll think them Japses is after ’im .”

No one stepped forward, but all eyes were on John. He still smiled •on, and producing a greasy note from some mysterious recess in his bifurcated garment, placed it gently •on the other, with an “ A ll li! sup- posem you beatem me, no matter.”

* « « »Need I tell how John won the

game by more than half-way, mak­ing some wonderful shots (Jim called them tlukes), and how the challenge was renewed and how he won again? The boys were in roars, and Jim was -supporting himself between a cue and a " jig g e r ,” as John pocketed the stuff, and with an imperturbable -smile, remarking as he left the room:

"M e makem plenty fluke to- n i ’, me catchem plenty tin, bottom.”

IPSE DIABOLUS.

S>ortal 5fruia.

On a Wednesday afternoon early in the term, many of our students were present at a garden fete, held in the University Grounds, for the purpose of aiding in the buying of Christmas presents for the soldiers.

Lady Cullen opened the proceed­ings. Each faculty of the Univer­sity was represented by a stall. Whilst many of the visitors patron­ised the movies and the lecturettes, a band furnished delightful music. In the evening a concert, at which several renowned artists performed, was arranged. The fete was a huge success, £831 -net being cleared.

Recently the College has lost two very popular students, in John Reeves, king of the Common Room, and Prank Jones, a “ University w it,” who have nobly an.swered the tall of the Empire.

The “ Kookaburra” is much in­debted to John Reeves, the former Social Editor, for his valuable ser­vices. It is certain that certain mem­bers o f the fair sex will deeply mourn his loss.

We expect to see a few additional dancers at our next Council Social ( ? ) , and at Correy’s. owing to the number w'ho were taught by Jliss Edwards. Several good dances were learned. The “ Barn Dance” caused several spills and much merriment. The floor was not so good as it might have been, but the music (? ) .. . . How artistic!! and the piano . . . . D on ’t mention it.

The Hereford House gi’ounds pre­sented a pretty spectacle on Octo­ber Hth, when the Under Secretary opened a bazaar in aid of the Pio­neers’ Battalion Fund.

The ladies were seen busily flit­ting across the lawn in their endea­vours to sell tickets for raffles. Stalls were numerous, and well situated to catch the unconscious fly, who, at­tracted by the decorations, wandered in, and eventually entered a raffle. In the evening the grounds were illuminated by electric lights of varied colours, which gave the whole a picturesque appearance. As a re­sult of the work of the many en­thusiasts, the fund shall have bene­fited immensely. Our thanks are due to Mrs. Cole for her untiring efforts.

The farewell social of Hereford House was held at North Newtown School. There was a large atten­dance, including many from Black- friars. Those who could not dance played many delightful games in a room adjoining the hall. Mr. Til- brook was organiser of the games, and much of the fun attached thereto.

The hall was crowded with en­thusiastic dancers, and many were the sighs which were heaved at the close of a particularly good dance. Later in the evening many tired beauties, and no less tired dandies, patronised the games.

THE KOOKABURRA. 19

Prestutations were made to the section prefects who suitably replied. Miss Jepson, who is revered by all the students, received a handsome present from the departing students.

The M en’s Common Room is the home o f concerts ( ?) , both vocal and instrumental. Sometimes a peculiar wail and an occasional yell, with a bang of a tin, produce a harmonious, artistic whole, so much so, that the fags in the librarj- exclaim, "H ark ! the Herald Angels sing.”

When Larry brings his violin, so as to act as chief accompanist to the vocal society, under the ableguidance of A lf S------ b, there is aconcert indeed.

C O R R E Y ’S PICNIC will be held on the 2nd Decemlier. We want every student to be present. Tickets are now obtainable from members of the Council. Wie want this to be the greatest social success in the whole year.

(Contribirtiou.

AN AUSTRALIAN F O X HUNT.There were foxes in the hill, we

knew for certain, because we had heard them at night, and the hill was the only suitable cover for them, where a dense pine scrub struggled for light against huge gum-trees.

It was winter time, near the end of June, to be more exact. An ex­cellent time for fox catching, as at that period their fur is in its prime. A day was decided on. i ly two friends, Greg and Dick, and myself, were those concerned, and while I am mentioning names, I may as well give the other members o f the party. A yellow kangaroo-dog— the fastest we had— which answered to the name of Fly, two other greyhounds. Spec and Johnson, and a sheep-dog. Nigger.

A fter aboiat an hour’s walking a fresh breeze blew up, and this

brought us good news; we could smell the foxes. Anyone who has had any dealings with foxes will re­cognise this peculiar smell.

W e were in a thickly-wooded grass paddock when, in front of us, about two hundred yards off, a long, lithe form sprang from underneath a log.

The fox had a good start, so we let Fly and Johnson go ; o f course, Nigger was off, but he only got in for the finish.

P ly was leading; the chase was making for the hill. ‘ ‘ W’ e’ll loose him in the scrub,” said Dick, breath­lessly. We stood for a minute, and then started running to the left as fast as we could go. “ Go it, John­son !” “ Go it, F ly !” These were old hands at the game, and suc­ceeded in turning the fox, who was now making in such a direction as to come back to within three hun­dred yards of us. W e let the other two dogs go. Away they went, but not straight for the fo x ; they seemed to understand the point that F ly and Johnson were trying to work, that of keeping the fox out of the hill.

Again the fox turned, now almost straight towards u s ; this gave the fresh dogs a chance. The fox now became flurried and began a kind of skipping gallop, looking for an open­ing. The chase was passing when P ly dived and caught the quarry by the hind leg; they both bowled over; the other dogs closed in and things looked bad for the fox. B y this time Nigger had come u p ; he charged into the yelping mass, and immedi­ately began to howl. On hastening up we saw that renard had him by the leg, but he was soon relieved, and we got a good skin.

— G.A.S.

N APOLEO N ’S PAREW^ELL.

Dear land, T see thee fading from my sight. Thy grass-clad hills, thy sloping downs;

Thy snow-clad peaks, thine ancient towns^ All, all are gone, and soon will all be

night.

20 TEE KOOK ABU RK A.

Cannot my voice awake thy sires to arms 'VVho sleep content amid w ar’s strife?

Cannot the bugle call to life Those men for whom the battle had its

charms?Oh! leave me not to languish thus in pain ;

Wilt thou not strike one blow for me, Who made all Europe bow to thee!

To arms! and I ’ ll return to thee again.On rocky Helen's shore, I ’ll dream o f thee,

As when in E lba 's lonely land,I planned to reach thy golden strand.

To raise again the flag o f liberty.In vain, in vain, I can no more return,

This is the last long glimpse o f thee. That in this mortal world I ’ ll see;Oh! may the lire o f strength within thee

burn. /— CLARETsCE B. DUHIG.

October, 1916.

SECOND' Y E A R KIN DER­GARTEN.

This is the last opportunity we shall have the pleasure of tearing our hair over the “ Kookaburra” ; we shall leave to the loafers of Fii-st Year the joy of creating out of no­thing pages and pages of math'ial.

This is the last time we endeavour to make an idea, which we could easily express in a sentence, spread out over pages, and try to extract painfully coutributions from the idlers.

We feel, now that we have ar­rived at the end of our two yeare’ work, that we have a wide and use­ful knowledge on many subjects. AVe have studied, amongst others, at some length, highly entertaining treatises on subjects that will be of verj^ little use to us in our future careers; but that is a mejre detail, so long as they provide extra work for exams.

It maj' be said that our section is verj' well behaved, very, very quiet, and is also noted for being exceed­ingly tidy; we are sure INIiss Skillen says so, and that the amount of ad­vice and gentle hints she gives us does not in any way tend to wear away her voice. In fact, we are really a model set of students, and also very

intellectual; but none of our lecturers seem to realise the fact; one had the audacity to remark that we were “ only alleged kindergartners.”

irany people enquire why the girls o f Section C look so tired and •sleepy at 3 o ’clock on ^Monday after­noon. It is true that we should be looking fresh after the week-end. which is generally spent in a most enjoyable manner; but all our fresh­ness has departed ere the hour of three arrives. You have not to search very long before you find the rea­son. At one o ’clock we Hock to RoomI., to spend an enjoyable and moist hour at civics, but just as we are be­ginning to like the lecture, raucous sounds pierce our ears, and seem to issue from the men’s Common Room. W e are still undecided whether it is the Italian Grand Opera Compan.y rehearsing, some poor beast being murdered, or someone practising for a crit. lesson; wliile at times we think we must be within the elevating local­ity of the Stadium, judging by the sounds, still keeping in mind the select surroundings of Blackfriars. All this jarring in such a refreshing subject as Civics is very nerve-rack­ing, which makes us ver bored, and gives us the tired feeling— we receive the sleepy feeling during the next lecture.

W e are all crowded into a hot.. badly-ventilated room, and have about ten more students added to the section for this moist lecture. We are a well-disciplined clas.s. and do not attempt to make any noise; in fact, we have not the energy, but steadily start to blink and nod, and rely on a sympathetic comrade (livelier than ourselves) to give tis a poke before we actually fall oft our chairs. The lecturer seeni>s to have a fellow-feeling, for when he notices A LL heads nodding, he thoughtfully gives one short sharp clap, after which everyone gives a start, sits up straight, and makes yet another ef­fort to keep awake. No matter how far off in the land of nod we are. we

THE KOOKABURRA. 21

always manage to hear the bell in the dim distance, and do not hesi­tate to obey the welcome call.

Perhaps it is just as well that we only remain in College two years, as our faces and names become verj- familiar to the lecturers.

We have all suffered the agonies of criticism lessons, and now pass round the College with beaming smiles when thinking of the past. Our smiles change, however, when we con­sider the forthcoming exams., which are looming large in the near future. W e all hope to escape without any posts, which is rather a difficult mat­ter, and some of our leading lights are foolishly trying for two A ’s. Of course, they are sure to get them. We find consolation in diving deeply when brought to bay in an examina­tion room, for the deeper we get the less we know, writing in extravagant language what we do not understand and what we devoutly hope the exam­iners won’t also.

Cupid has been busy in the sec­tion, as a diamond ring is now visible on the third finger of a cer­tain member’s left hand. The first notification we had concerning the matter was during a crit. lesson, when the aforesaid member, while discours­ing to the class. Hashed the diamonds at our innocent eyes when gracefully waving the hand. Another member o f the rection seems to object to voluntary enlistment of students when there are plenty of men over 21 accepting Mr. Hughes’ invitation.

The time has come when we must say farewell and leave for a cold, cruel world beyond. There are times when we worrj' a little at the thought of how the College will go on with­out our leadership and example; but we are comforted when we remem­ber that we leave it in good hands— First Year kindergarteners will nobly strive to fill our place. We feel that if we wax sentimental about leaving we will break down alto­gether and flood the College with our tears. As it is. you may expect to see us on IfJth December kissing our most hated enemies and clutching a

damp handkerchief in a trembling hand. — A.R.

PARIS.(Originally printed in the “ Sydney M orning

H erald.” )I.

’Tis said, when Paris in her grief alone Felt the grey prowlers touch her sacred

walls,And shrank in horror from the hideous

thrallsThat laugh with Satan on the tortured

moan,A seer o f faith on the celestial zone, Upcast his eyes and saw tlie seneschals Of God, with that dread sword whose flame

appals.Thrust back the raveners, snarling and o ’er-

thrown.This, I believe, for when the V oid doth yawn And belches o ’ er the heaven, her coiled

Opaque, ,A counter-light is shed from the above, And, like the gold o f a serenest dawn. Above the monstrous rearings o f the Snake Burns uncontaminate with killing love.

II .For thou art o f the gods, Paris the fa ir ! The white and watching Ones have touched

thy spiresAnd made them shadows o f the altar-fires In the bright fastness o f the upper air. When the great shafts o f sunset lay there

bare,Aud oriflammes unfurl across the heavsn. Thou art a glittering breath, a thing up-

given.Thou art a monstrance lifted over i)rayer! Oh! city compassed with embalming flame, Whose lyre-built walls no eye hath ever

seen.May the re<l cherub-swords protect thy

towers!Be still the casket o f the p o e t ’s hours! What were we i f thy glory were a name And thou the wreckage o f a rape obscene?

III .In the beginning was the W ord made flesh. And in the end shall flesh again be God, When the last roughness o f the path is

trod.When the great Hand withdraws the final

mesh.But in our midway moil and poignant purge Our souls repeat the primal miracle.A fter the wan delights o f Asphodel Again inimingled in the fiercer surge.Thus the great Greeks, whose minds were

marble-white.Sweeten, O Paris, thy enduring fanes That give again the glimpses o f their brows Serenely arched above our mortal pains.Oh, where the clear Transcendent still doth

houseThere swings the censer o f the acolyte!

— L. H . ALLEN . /

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