Volume 158 — ANOTHER HONOUR LIST.

(From an Oxford Correspondent.)

The list of the recipients of honorary degrees to be conferred by the University of Cambridge has already been announced. We are glad to be able to supplement it by information, derived from a trustworthy source, of the corresponding intentions of the University of Oxford.

The Oxford list is not yet complete, but the following names and the reasons for which the distinction is to be conferred may be regarded as certain and authentic:—

The Right Hon. Winston Churchill, M.P., for his strenuous efforts to brighten Sunday journalism.

Mr. Augustus John, for unvarnished portraiture and the stoical fortitude exhibited by him in face of the persecution of the Royal Academy.

Mr. Lovat Fraser, for his divine discontent with everything and everybody and his masterly use of italic type.

Lady Cooper, the wife of the Lord Mayor, for conspicuous gallantry in advocating the taxing of cosmetics.

Sir Philip Gibbs, for his generous recognition of the services of British generals during the War, and for promoting cordial relations between all ranks in the Army.

Mr. Wickham Steed, for his invaluable and untiring exertions in familiarising the public with Jugo-Slav geography.

All the above will receive the D.C.L. It is also proposed to confer the degree of Honorary Master of Arts on the entire body of Oxford road-sweepers, for their disinterested patriotism in accepting a wage on a par with that received by many tutors and demonstrators of the University.

Anna Pavlova.

Since I first saw her this year she has been a Sleeping Beauty (very wide awake) and a Chrysanthemum and many other lovely things. In Autumn Leaves, where her bloom is blown away by the fierce ardour of the Wind, and she is left to die forsaken, she recalled a little the moving sadness of her Dying Swan. It was a “choreographic poem” of her own making—to music of Chopin—and I think I have never seen anything more fascinating than the colour and movement of the Autumn Leaves and the “splendour and speed” of the Autumn Wind. This was danced by Mr. Stowitts, and it couldn’t have been in better hands or feet. M. Volinine is largely content to be a source of support and uplift to his partner, but in The Walpurgis Night he gave us an astounding exhibition of poise and resilience. In The Magic Flute (not Mozart’s but Drigo’s), Mlle. Butsova had a great triumph. She has all the arts and graces of her craft that can be taught, and to these she adds one of the few gifts that no training can confer—the natural joy of life that comes of just being young.

O.S.

“Food prices were coming down. Soap had already been reduced 1d. a lb.”—Daily Paper.

We tried it in 1917, but found it deficient in protein.

“You’re sure this is Wiltshire bacon?”

“Er—I wouldn’t like to guarantee it, Madam—not absolutely.”

“Where do you get it from, then?”

“Well, it comes from America, Madam.”