Carnegie Mellon University - Thistle Yearbook (Pittsburgh, PA)

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eZjYIP- flYflPPYAY-AY u W THE FOURTH ANNUAL PATRON’S DINNER. +M4 “Some for the Mentions in the School; and Some Sigh for the Patron’s Dinner yet to come; Ah, take the Feed and let your Values go, Nor heed the distant Juries drowsy Hum.” (the Rubaiyat of the Atelier). Perchance, Gentle Reader, you have heard of the Joys of Spring. Spring in the Country, a Glorious Symphony in Greens and Blues. Spring in the City, where the Sign of the Goat beckons from behind the Swinging Doors. Spring, when Italian Ladies cut the Greens from out Our Lawns, and the Voice of the Poet is heard in the Land. But have You, Gentle Reader, as You may have wandered from Rigi to King, from Archie to Rags, gazing with Wonder and Envy at the Works of their Well Trained Fingers, have You, I ask, heard of the Greatest Joy of

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CH ARETTK WEEK.

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Spring, the Mere Thought of which wakes the Drowsiest Draughtsman from his Winter’s Lethargy as would a tack placed on his Stool by an Office Boy Mischievous, the Mere Mention of which brings a Smile to even Griffith’s Face and maketh Ally to break into Song? Say You have. For only those Who are as the Ancient Mummies of Egypt have not heard of the Annual Patron’s Dinner, dedicated to Our Most Noble Horny and executed by Your Most Humble Servants, We’uns. Oodles of Joy! Hans Wagner outdone! Bacchus triumphant! To say it is a Feast of Reason and Flow of Soul would be a far too Prosaic Description of this most Epicurean, Bacchanalian, Appolyonic Shindig, where Medals are distributed to the Fleet of Foot, where Speeches are made anent the Growth of Art and Culture throughout the Land, where the Burden of the Weary Draughtsman is forgotten in the Soft Strains of “Yip—Ay—Addy”, and where most Marvelous Posters by Sparks in Fiery Reds and Gold adorn the Walls of Donegal. The Chariot Race about the Tables filled to overflowing with all the delicate Viands of a Hemisphere, done to the solemn chant of “She Had a Yellow Ribbon”; the more picturesque and artistic Snake-Dance about the guilded banquet Hall, stirs the Blood, quickens the imagination, makes the Lucky Mortals forget the existence of a ball called Earth. All of the myriads of Stars and Moons and Comets pause in wonderment at the newest blaze of Glory appearing so suddenly in their midst, and watch as the Signs of Brilliancy and the Effervescent and Scintillating Shots and Beams of Wit strike a High and Mighty Note. Then the Lights in the Hall grow dim and flicker, and as the Wonder Sounds subside leaving the surrounding countryside to the Crickets and Natives. It is a sleepy-eyed Aggregation that assembles in the Paradise of the Aesthetic to greet the following days with hushed reminiscences and a longing for the next Patron’s Dinner.