(Ed. Note-The Crimson does not necessarily endorse opinions expressed in printed communications. No attention will be paid to anonymous letters and only under special conditions, at the request of the writer, will names be withheld. Only letters under 400 words can be printed because of space Imitations.)

To the Editor of the CRIMSON:

Awoke betimes with the little men making great din. (Zounds, what a rake I am!) Betook me to the CRIMSON and read the Vagabond, the little men fairly screaming. Off to hear Professor Spooch lecture on Icelandic Philolgy. Fascinated, I found myself muttering those famous lines: ... Full many a flower is borne to blush unseen.

And waste its fragrance on the desert air..." Ah, Rjskjsky, whose rapier thrusts well mirrored the follies of the Icelandic soul. Then to my attic to nibble on Liederkranz, after which L-, Q-, P-, Shorty, and a St. Bernard named Herman rushed in and fairly dragged me away. (Gad, but am I popular!) Off to a Lithuanian picnic and feasted on pine-smelling borsch and gemutlichkeit gefuilte fish. Sweet Lithuania, haven for the true liberal! Apple-cheeked maidens dancing the traditional sklav-sklav and reminding me of my Love. Later to the attic, whisked my tails from under the mattress, and off to the Somerset to meet Sadie Saltenglotz. These Boston debs! Later wandered in the moonlight by the banks of the Charles. Oh Emerson! Oh Thoreau! Teary parting with my Love; then briskly home to browse drowsily in my Aldine Gongora and nibble sleepily at my Liederkranz.

Definition of the Vagabond" an institution to gratify one exhibitionist a year. J.M. Cunningham '38   A.T. Selson '37   A.M. Rosenbloom '37