One cannot help wondering if Dean Pound would be so eager to extend the Law School course to four years, if he knew the grim tragedies that confront students on every side under the present three-year arrangement. Though the following tear-jerker won a $10. prize in the "Traveller" Love Letter Contest, its writer can scarcely feel repaid in cold cash for a loss so inestimable.


My Darling:

You've gone and it's finished. I can see you love him dearly. To you, my sweet, go every happiness your beautiful heart deserves. To me--well--there's nothing left. The present is a thing dead--an automatic force that drags me along. The future--it doesn't exist. How can it? You were the future. All my high ambitions, our golden plans together, were twined around you. You cut the bonds--they crumpled into a purposeless heap.

You were so loyal, so kind in telling me before others did--no deceit. And yet it was so tenderly conveyed. Then how can I be other than honest. Must I get conventionally drunk and hypocritically paint the town? My friends tell me I'm a fool. Where's your pride, they say. It's lost in abject adoration that will last forever.


If you should ever change, my darling, if ever plans go wrong, come to me, I'm yours forever.

Sent in by


Harvard Law School,

19 Perkins Hall, Cambridge.

N.B.: Investigation shows that the unfortunate name is a misprint for C. Wolf. Would that our discovery could alleviate his sufferings!