SOLDIERS AND HUSBANDMEN

If Harvard men want to maintain themselves in their present precarious usefulness to Radcliffe, they must see that abnormally large buttons are issued to the cadets this week-end. The cogent critique printed elsewhere in this issue of the CRIMSON points to these brass protuberances as the one flaw in the otherwise enchanting make up of the men from West Point. Apparently the only hope lies in making these buttons large enough to balance the captivating effect of the gold braid decorations, each with its story of hard work and romantic adventure.

Something must be done to make the girls a little more contented with the fate that brings fifty per cent of them to Harvard husbands. A careful analysis of the recent pronunciamento brings to light the fact, concealed by long rhapsodic animadversions on the oadet's medieval atmosphere of chivalry, that Harvard men never learn to pick up their rooms.

Such a long look toward the future is as unexpected as it is revealing. But it is to be said in Harvard's defense that not even the original exponents of chivalry picked up their clothes without the thoughtful assistance of someone.

A word about psychology may help to make Radcliffe's frustrated longing for things that cannot be a little less hard to bear. The word "complex" is bandied about the critique in astonishing fashion, but it proves a most unfortunate point. Complexes are only to be feared when they are repressed and the healthy airing of these matters is always to be encouraged. It is the people who never speak of so-and-so that probably have so-and-so working in their sub-conscious to a disgraceful extent.