THE
DECEMBER, 1916.
No. 224
SCHOOL LETTER. HAT can the modern scribe find upon which to exercise his literary talents ? Can he head his paper with a classic quotation from the Greek or Latin tongues ? No ! the day of the apt quotation has passed. No longer can eloquent Cicero bring relief to his followers. The world no longer gazes rapt upon his cunning phraseology. His hour is passed. The " summum bonum " of a School Letter now is a quotation from the original Slavonic or even an extract from some famous poet of the Steppes, where roam the nomad tribes which claim the Czar as lord. So, thought we, only this way is left to us ; we must produce some eastern sage's words. But, as so often happens, the cup so full of brimming glory was destined never to reach our longing lips—it would take six months for the printer to procure the type. Therefore the project was perforce abandoned. Many topics present themselves for notice in a " revue " of the term. We have had an interesting though mild attack of Zeppelinitis. This, however, was of short duration, though there was a certain modicum of excitement in the experience. Pictures of huddled figures hurtling down the steps into the cellars of the School present fertile fields for discussion. One is inclined to wonder what would have happened if a bomb or some other interesting object had fallen near the School. There would certainly have been a shower of protests from some angry parent—it was entirely the Head Master's fault ; Professor