Now is the hour when all good Seniors should prepare to give the world a little time, for the world is weary. Liberal Lady Luck smiles invitingly, and old-fashioned Fate armed with a shot-gun grimly demands their intentions. There is a tide in the affairs of men. Last night when news reached New York that only thirty-two percent of the Senior class would have butter with their eggs, the bottom dropped completely out of the stock market, to be reassembled in the early morning hours by one old bull who said that it had all happened before and didn't really matter anyway.
To some, bear-taming is also suggestive of the stock market. Others who were forced to sell most of their automobiles last February would find bull-baiting more appropriate. Be that as it may. Surely it is neither kind nor dignified to ridicule an occupation chosen seriously and fraught with all the ardent idealism of youth. The chick that will emerge from the academic egg this June does not deserve a harsh rebuff. What if a few pieces of shell do grace its diminutive tail feathers! Think of the Big Bear and the Medium-sized Bear and all the little Bears that amble so quaintly through the nursery days! Happy childhood will seem so far away out in the great world that it seems a shame to tear this last tattered page from Mother Goose.