Night And Day

Speaking about social service work, a young man in Summer School invited himself out to Chestnut Hill the other night, and was asked to bring along two friends. Being one of those people that advertisers like to talk about, he didn't have any friends, so he went out, got himself two taxi drivers in the Square, dressed them up, and rode out. The girls like them. The taxi drivers enjoyed it too.

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Knowing how sensitive educated people are it's remarkable how Boston and Cambridge newspapers insist on being stupidly comical. We read in the Cambridge Tribune of July 21: "With Paul Elmer More and W. C. Brownell he (inving Babbitt) represented what the modern mind is likely to symbolize as the ivory tower." Sounds like some well known Tutoring Bureau notes on Comp. Lit. II.

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At the University of Wisconsin Summer School they have selected a summer queen but the king is still to be chosen. Miss Mattmiller who halls from Helena, Montana, is "five feet, six inches tall, and has sweet charming personality that has won her the friendship of everyone that has met her." It's too bad the king hasn't anything to say about it.

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The University Museum which houses 250,000 birds, the third largest collection in the world, polsons them at the rate of 10,000 a day each summer to keep insects out. They have been troubled by a man in Honduras who sends up five crates full of skins once a month, although they told him last year to stop.

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Have you noticed the increase of hair on the face in Cambridge? Full fledged beards blow on the Charles afternoons, and many an academic moustache can stand the scrutiny of the six barber shop proprietors in the Square without feeling the slightest guiltiness about non-cooperation with Washington.

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If you are so unfortunate to live in the Houses and pay five dollars a week there, and you wanted to take a hot bath you have two choices. You could go to the Yard and sponge off a friend or you could go to your own bath tub in Kirkland. If you did the latter you would still have two choices, making hot water in a tin kettle or warming yourself up. If you did the latter there is only one sure-fire way, even if you make a wry face.

Ora Pro Nobis

Every Summer School has its famous characters. Among the most outstanding features in feminine reflections at the Union we find a stalwart youth with ebony mane popularly known as the Answer to a Maiden's Prayer. But the most vigorous attention and well-meaning conjecturers have produced no real results. Our unnoticing hero has formed no feminine attachment to allay the disquieting fears of our fascinated schoolmarms, and we are beginning to question whether there really existed a maiden's prayer, or whether the answer was short circuited. Here at least is a case where wire-tapping would be of more avail than wire-pulling.

Three Cheers for the U. S. A.

Those summer dog days are leaning us evening further to Germany. The Nakt Kultur set us a real example which, one introduced to America by Long Island Society, has come to be accepted in the more conservative spots as not outside cult, once confined to the private penthouse, and then to the dormitory regime has finally become accepted as a public enterprise at the Weld Boat House, the Cambridge Bear Mountain. It is a great pleasure to see nude humanity sporting on the planks, drinking in the beauties of nature and life-restoring violet-rays. Perhaps, if we are patient, this custom, instead of remaining a bathing and boating performance, will become a real cult, boasting a single purpose and a single underlying philosophy. A few stray scholarships for Neufahrwasser Students might even catalyze the process.

The Yellow Dove

Who is Hussy? What is she? that none of our swains have met her? That none of the girls have seen her. The red-headed Ruth with limpid eye exists as a real menace, a panther grimly lurking in dark corners, ready to spring from her lair only to capture the myriad of Harvard youths who have been vainly looking, longing, searching for the merest glimpse of those Eire eyes, those laughing lips, those daring dimples--all portrayed so accurately by the Boston Sunday Advertiser. Yet ah, that spring should vanish with the rose; the Harvard youths should wear that winter face! May the Foul Fiend fly away with that nasty photographer who has so carefully hidden his baggage under his arm.