To the Editor of the Smieraron.1 Sin, The article in
the Spectator of May 28th on " Rags " has spurred my memory. The writer tells the story of the Zanzibar Sultan's visit. I was not taking part in that per- formance, but was told the story i llll nediately after the event. The party were conducted up the very staircase in Trinity where lived the person who took the part of the Sultan, or rather of his Prime Minister, for fearing that the Sultan himself might not look enough like his photographs, a telegram was sent at the last minute announcing that His Highness had the influenza and that his Prime Minister would take his place. The party was escorted to the station, but they Ind no desire to expend the money or the time in returning to London. They therefore walked with slow dignity in their long robes to the very end of the Great Eastern platform at Cambridge Station, then suddenly picking up their petticoats they raced across the Great Northern line, out at that exit, and away in a cab to a house in Trumpington, where they changed and returned to Cambridge.
The only Cambridge rag in which I actually took part was an affair of Proctor and Bulldogs. Mr. Edward Bury, Mr. Geoffrey Aspinall and I, the first as proctor and we two as bulldogs, sallied forth one Sunday evening, having dressed in Lord Wodehouse's rooms. Our confidence was raised to the highest pitch the moment we emerged by the sight of one of our friends, who had arrived late to see us dress, bolting round a corner to avoid being caught smoking in cap and gown.
After making various arrests with comparative ease we met a spirited trio near the theatre. While the Proctor and Mr. Aspinall were dealing with two, No. 3 bolted, and I gave chase, somewhat impeded by two cushions tied round my middle to represent the normal Bufidogian stomach. I was on my victim's heels through the streets all the way to Trinity, where he got to ground with me above snapping at his brush. - Be it said to their credit, that when I returned panting, my companions kept their faces. If we had met a real Proctor, which unfortunately did not occur, we had agreed to go straight up to him and tell him that he was poaching on our beat and that he could go home !
Long before my time there was a good rag of a professional walker, who was to try to beat the record time from New- market to Cambridge. Well ahead of any previous record two undergraduates drove in a cab down the Barton road in walking kit, got out where no one could see them and walked as fast as they could step back to Cambridge, greeted with vociferous cheers by the following crowd. They escaped into the Pitt, and the professional arrived to find the crowd all gone ahead of him and the streets empty.—I am, Sir, &c.,
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