OFF WITH THE DANCE

The days of college life as it used to be "when Father was in college in the good old '80's" have gone down in history as the time when Harvard stood alone in its glory, when "college spirit" did not exist and when the undergraduates watched Yale trample over the University and then came home happy because the best team won and because the men of Harvard were true sportsmen. Be that as it may, down in our hearts we know that in the last few years, that is to say, just before the war, the University was at its best. Like our ancestors, we came home from Soldiers Field happy because the best team won and most of the time it was our team that was doing the winning. Now the war has changed things: the informals have done their bit, but athletics are more or less at a standstill, and this being the case we are more and more attracted to the bright lights of Boston, where we can rest up after a day of recitations by visiting movies, theatres and even dances. Mr. Storrow's new law has now permanently interned us in Cambridge. After ten we must make the Waldorf take the place of the Copley, and our imaginations must make up for other gaieties.

Things do look bad, but a little privation only reminds us that we are at war,--a fact we are often wont to forget. Moreover, the mid-years are coming nearer and nearer, and the new law gives us a gentle hint to do a little work; Mr. Storrow's restriction may even save us from the annual post-examination call on Mr. Cram. To make Boston deader than it is seems an unnecessary blow, especially with New York revelling practically as of yore. Still, coal must be saved and until warm weather comes our motto must be: Off with the dance, let joy be well confined!