You come from Wyoming, and you've rolled your own all your life. Never had a puff from a tailor-made, and you're not turning soft just because you go to Harvard. But listen, man, you can't roll them in Massachusetts. Not unless you buy a license for the manufacture of cigarettes. That is what Tax Commissioner Henry F. Long says, and he'll lift twenty-five dollars from you if you disagree. But that is not the point of this editorial.

You live in Houston, Texas, and you are a pigeon fancier. But you'd might as well toss your pouters into a pot, because you're not allowed to keep them. The law says so. If you did, they might fly over your neighbor's open well and drop something unpleasant into it. That's what the law says. But that is not the point of this editorial.

You have signed up for a class which meets on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Tomorrow you are going to trot over to University Hall as fast as your legs will carry you and change it to a Tuesday-and-so-on session. Why? Why, because there will not be a single holiday on a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday during the first half year. And there will be three on the other shift. That is what the Official Calendar for Harvard College, 1939-40, says. Well now, after all.