MY LADY'S NICOTINE

At a season distinguished for the dullness of its news, when the reception of Miss Elder by the Portuguese authorities and the perennial vagaries of Prince Carol hold the headlines, it is small wonder that newspapers seize upon the information that Vassar seniors are building for themselves a smoking room. The first, and possibly the most logical comment, is "what of it?" On closer examination, however, a few quirks of the feminine mind appear; the room, to be luxuriously equipped by the smoking seniors, is for their use alone; no members of the lower classes, no guests, no masculine visitors. Well may they post a Keep Out sign reading This Means You.

Casting aside the superficial resemblance of such privacy to that of an opium den, one may wonder at it nevertheless. Smoking, among men atleast, depends for its existence upon its sociability; if it were considered proper to smoke only in absolute privacy the habit would soon disappear. Nor is the masculine smoking room usually a place of retreat from the world: it is usually one of hospitality, if not downright conviviality. To an old story, however, it will now be necessary to make an addition. The Princeton man lights first your cigarette and then his; the Yale man lights first his and then yours: the Harvard man lights his own and throws the match away: and the Vassar senior goes into the smoking room and locks the door.