THE CRIME

It has often been remarked by men of letters that a cold and wintry clime tends to discourage the poetic spirit, and that many a melodious bard in embryo has been frozen to an early silence by inclement weather. Shelley, Keats, and Byron, they say, flew like birds from foggy England to a land where pomegranates bloom at Christmas, and so must all young men who seek the favor of the Muses. Be this as it may, however, it is an undoubted and indisputable fact that the lines proudly gleaming in print below were inspired by the pedestrial slushiness Cambridge has suffered of late. Whatever their poetical pretensions may be, they were found last week pinned with appropriate annotations to the Dunster House bulletin board.

* * *

Immortal Lines Penned by the Bard of Dunster House After a Noctunal Excursion Across the Court of Same.

The names emblazoned here below

Of persons good and true

And e'er to criticism slow--

These do bid you

Charon of the mighty Charles' flow

That when the wintry winds do blow

And grounds be covered o'er with ice and snow

The cellar doors unlocked to keep

So we through its labyrinths may creep

To blessed soothing and refreshing sleep.

* * *

The other morning an advanced student in English Literature had handed a piece of his work to Professor John Livingston Lowes. The Professor became deeply engrossed in the composition; but suddenly remembering that he had a luncheon engagement, he looked up from the manuscript to ask, "What time is it?"

"Twelve," answered the student after consulting his watch.

Silence reigned for a minute. Then, with a perplexed expression on his face, the Professor looked up and asked, "O'clock?"