CONFIDENTIALLY

The recently advertised appeal by a New York opinion analysis institute for young recruits to its staff is yet another indication of the sudden recent interest in that indefinable intangible--public opinion. As if the Freshman's life were not full enough of forms and questionnaires, the Crimson has thrust upon the weary first year man a lengthy quiz in re the one thing he knows least about, his courses. Some justification is patently necessary; herewith it is presented.

Although Freshmen are notoriously unfamiliar with their academic surroundings they are as Seniors when compared with the timid individual who next fall will enter these sacred precincts. No sooner has each poor, benighted lad gone through the ordeal of Board exams than he is besieged with printed matter from the college of his choice. Completely unnerved by the exams, he diligently reads the reams of material with which the denizens of University Hall flood the mail. These loyal members of Harvard's official staff all through the winter repress their urge for self-expression knowing that with the first spring robin will come the chance to draw a detailed "Letter to Incoming Freshmen."

The net result of all this reading matter is, if a random sample may be trusted, complete confusion by the time late September rolls around. Into this slough of despond the Crimson is endeavoring, as it has always in the past, to throw a faint ray of light. Unfortunately the Freshman members of the staff are very few and therefore the Crimson must rely upon its poll to get an accurate undergraduate opinion upon the courses normally open to Freshmen. This is the way in which '43 can pass on its heritage to '44, and if by the third page the task begins to pall, think only of the effort required to tally the results; it may be a bore for you, but it's a pain in the neck for us.