call experience to add to your stock, a poor exchange for the
generous feelings that time will take away. We have no intention
of giving you your share. Look around and see how much share Youth
has now that the war is over. You got a handsome share while it
lasted.

I expect we shall beat you; unless your fortitude be doubly girded
by a desire to send a message of cheer to your brothers who fell,
the only message, I believe, for which they crave; they are not
worrying about their Aunt Jane. They want to know if you have
learned wisely from what befell them; if you have, they will be
braced in the feeling that they did not die in vain. Some of them
think they did. They will not take our word for it that they did not.
You are their living image; they know you could not lie to them, but
they distrust our flattery and our cunning faces. To us they have
passed away; but are you who stepped into their heritage only
yesterday, whose books are scarcely cold to their hands, you who
still hear their cries being blown across the links--are you
already relegating them to the shades? The gaps they have left
in this University are among the most honourable of her wounds.
But we are not here to acclaim them. Where they are now, hero is,
I think, a very little word. They call to you to find out in time
the truth about this great game, which your elders play for stakes
and Youth plays for its life.

I do not know whether you are grown a little tired of that word hero,
but I am sure the heroes are. That is the subject of one of our
unfinished plays; M'Connachie is the one who writes the plays.
If any one of you here proposes to be a playwright you can take this
for your own and finish it. The scene is a school, schoolmasters