As more students joined, and members graduated, the society expanded to include graduate students in 1888, and faculty members beginning around 1890, mostly to accommodate members who attained these positions. The meetings came to entail certain traditions, especially during the first open convocation of the year, where a banquet was often held. The dishes on the menus were written in their two-part Latin botanical or zoological names, according to the Linnaean system. The toasts for the banquets were equally entertaining: on 21 November 1891, a banquet was described thus in the Records of the Sem. Bot.:
"The Chancellor"    Roscoe Pound, Toastmaster
Response by the Chancellor
"The Sem Bot & the Department of Botany"    Dr. Bessey
"The World We Live In"    J.G. Smith
"The Perfessor"    J.H. Marslaud
"Boys"    Prof. Bruner
"CANIS PIE!!!"    The L.W. (A.F. Woods)

After the toasts, "A feeble attack by some lits was ignominiously put to flight, the lits losing their hats, and at the close of the banquet a magnificent UNDULATOR was sent forth upon the midnight air."

The Undulator & Canis Pie

The Undulator and its meaning were described in by Edith S. Clements "Our Botany Trip" in 1909:

When the long wailing notes of the Sem. Bot. undulation rose on the June air, heads were thrust from windows of the oncoming train in startled surprise, and even the townsfolk stopped to listen. Etiquette demanded a like response, and after scrambling aboard with much laughter and some curses at encumbering luggage, we rushed to the rear platform and sent wavering back towards the disappearing lights of the city those same mournful notes so intimately associated in our minds with aspirations towards scientific attainment, and huge sectors of mince pie:

Peye-eye! Ca-nis! Peye-eye!
Whoop-ee!
Show! Me! A! Lit!
Non-cum-dipteris-
dor-sal-i-bus-
afflicti--s-u--m-u-s!

"I like that song,' said Babe as we sought our Pullman seats and sat down to recoer from the hurry and excitement. 'It makes little prickles run up and down my spine. But what does it mean anyhow?'

"That, my dear child,' answered Dad [R.J. Pool], who hopes some day to be a professor in the University, 'represents the learned way in which the learned members of the most exalted Botanical Seminar of the University of Nebraska express their articles of faith. 'Pie-well, er-that's merely pie-not 'pie-eye' you understand; it's necessary in order to chant in the approved Gregorian manner, though it's quite unlikely the monks of that day were acquainted with pie...'

"Poor things, murmured Nell. "No wonder they retired to monasteries and invented such doleful wailings."

"Canis," continued the lecturer, ignoring the interruption. "Who remembers enough Latin to tell what that means?"

"I know. I know, teacher," cried Nell, waving her hand in the air. "Can-is, can-e, can-em, dog. But where does the dog come in?"

"In the pie, of course, though it tastes better under the name of 'mince-meat,' which is the regulation filling for the pie consumed at our high and mighty feeds. 'Show me a Lit.,'" continued Dad, "means that if a scientific student means a member of a literary society on a dark night, the latter should jolly well look out. But the gist of the whole matter, Little One, lies in the final statement which, though here appearing in purest Latin, means in vulgar parlance that 'there are no flies on us,' the truth of which assertion we are one and all pledged to maintain to the bitter end."...