IF WINTER GOES

During March Harvard begins to grow somewhat restless. No longer do the section meetings hold their charm for the student who has to attend them. Sometimes he even wishes he had not enjoyed himself quite so much during the winter. The cold that he had to guard against then can only be found now where the sun never penetrates--and he shivers in his seat in the halls of Sever. He is impatient of the slow-melting ice on the Charles. It is time the grass began to grow green, be thinks--and lapses into the traditional dreams of the young man when spring should be here.

Perhaps his initial sniffles of spring fever are somewhat justified. Spring may be almost here. The Lampoon has indulged in its annual hoax. The Advertiser is printing more and more love scandals in its daily columns. Even the Dean feels the effects now that he has almost finished with the results of the Mid Years. The last has been heard of the Prom and its inevitable crashers. Somewhere vaguely ahead are the April Hours. Yes, perhaps the student is right, and spring is not very far over the horizon.