Vox Clamantis in Deserto

We go to Harvard today. There will we are glad, be less money spent for essences of grain and grape this year, and perhaps a little more for beer. Which means that men will either be wearing elastic-sided pleats at waist-line level, or that there will be fewer men objectionable late Saturday when the only thing that can keep a man's grin together in that fact of his weariness is the sting of liquor. This is to the good.

It will be good getting down today. It will be good when the detraining mob in North Station starts singing "Dartmouth's in Town Again." It will be good to hear the long clamant wave of sound that will climax the kickoff and to hear the blunt barking roar that greets a touchdown. The crowd at a football game is always two teased Metro-Gold-wyn-Mayer lions. It will be good for a man to feel himself part of all the color, of all the good nature, of all, the expectant enthusiasm. It will be excellent to watch The Dartmouth take the CRIMSON in its annual touch classic this afternoon, after gathering for instructions around the cone of the extinct volcano which serves the CRIMSON as a skoal bowl, and which never seems extinct.

Above all other benefits conferred by the peerade is the fact that Harvard comes as a elyster to an emotionally costive college. The student thalamus has been charging like a storage battery since before the Lafayette game.

Old lady in the back of the room Young man, what is a peerade?

"Madam, a peerade is the spontaneous awareness of comradeship and romance which comes over a college several times in the fall and many times during the spring and the activities which demonstrate faith in these illusions."

We shoulder our dreams and-set out. The Daily Dartmouth.