On Leaving Centre.
It is with feelings not unmingled with regret - that, I believe, is the correct journalistic expression - that we look back upon our Centre career. As the time for bidding farewell draws near, we discover something warm and kindly in its normally chilly atmosphere, something sympathetic and inspiring in the pictures (some of questionable beauty) which adorn its walls, and we sigh that this is perhaps the last time we shall need to patch our overall sleeves, worn through by constant pressure of the elbows on its hard, uncomfortable desks. O, those overalls! Eternally requiring clean collar and cuffs, incessantly losing their buttons, always a trial - and yet, it will seem somewhat sacrilege to wear them out as mere keepers-clean of dresses - their inevitable ending, it is to be feared! Six years of overall-wearing endears one to it a little. We wonder how Saturday morning's singing will manage without us. Sadly, we fear! We find it difficult to imagine an Armistice Service without our presence; we cannot conceive how a concert will be at all possible next July without our aid; we do not relish the idea of being visitors on Sports Day. We recall the jolly times we have had together, the friends we have made, "rows" we have enjoyed, and "rows" we have - well, not enjoyed. Regrets for the life we are leading dim the glamour of the one we are about to enter upon. We would like there to be in our new abode, even a draughty vestibule or a chilly "glass-house," just to remind us of the home of our youth. We have dwelt in Centre for six years, disparaged it, reviled against its overalls, grumbled at its homework and poured maledictions upon its draughtiness, but those things seem now tolerable, nay, even desirable from this perspective. Goodbye, Centre! Be sure that to the end of our lives we shall bear