The organ struck into "Auld Lang Syne," and the lads sprang up and sang it lustily with hands clasped in the approved Scotch fashion.
"'Rule, Britannia,' Mr. Lloyd."
Again he obliged them and was rewarded by a rousing cheer, followed by cheers for the Varsity and the ladies, groans for the Proctors, who are the officers of discipline, and barks for their assistants, the so-called Bulldogs. In the midst of this yelping chorus the great doors were flung wide, and an awesome file of dignitaries, in all the blues and purples, pinks and scarlets, of their various degrees, paced slowly up the aisle, escorting their distinguished guests, savants of several nations, and headed by the Vice-Chancellor, whose array outwent Solomon in all his glory.
The top gallery was on its feet, but not in reverence. The organ-march was drowned in the roar of lusty voices greeting the Head of the University thus:
"Oh, whist, whist, whist!
Here comes the bogie man.
Now go to bed, you Baby,
You Tommy, Nell, and Dan.
Oh, whist, whist, whist!
He'll catch ye if he can;
And all the popsies, wopsies, wop,
Run for the bogie man."
The uproar was no whit diminished when presently the Vice-Chancellor was seen to be making an address.
"Who wrote it for you, sir?"
"Oh, that's shocking bad Latin."
"Jam! What kind of jam?"
"It's just what you said to those other blokes last year."