Some mute, inglorious Milton should arise

To stem this tide of preciousness and plan

Whereby divisionals can ruin eyes

And make a skeleton of college man.

Some fellow wiser than the common lot

Should stand for cultured indolence and ease,

For, after all, it matters nought, God wot,

What kind of fringe bedecks A.B. degrees.

So when the Yard grass sports a splendid green

And wantonness beguiles from every nook,

No wonder that most happiness is lean,

When nonchalance must batten on a book.

Some mute inglorious Milton should come hence

And buy the whole damn works for twenty cents.

But as Milt Gross would say, "Dese Meeltons don't have no more de two bits, aient it Meesis Feetlebaum?." Which is rather true, for the price of verse is rapidly descending, in fact too much so. If one really wants to make money he should take divisionals and then write his Prisoner's Song and collect the price of two Morris chairs, one divan and golf course--enough for any man, more than enough.

The boys (you know, Archie and Freddie and the rest of the fellas) told me that if I really wanted to see life as is I should go to the summer school just once. So I said what I could and went up to University and asked J--. I asked for a catalogue and got one and brought it down to read. And, to quote a subtitle from Corinne Griffith's last--I was as breathless as listerine when I found what I could take.

For--there is an excellent little course in folk dancing, a delightful little twenty dollars worth of aesthetics But best of all is the course in apparatus. I have always wanted to take a course in that, that and prescription. Really I begin to see why the boys recommended this. Imagine how superior one would feel to know his apparatus--I suppose it has something to do with--well I really am not quite sure what it has to do with. But it sounds very easy. Though folk dancing has a distinct lure for me. I have ever been enamoured of the May pole, though vicariously. I really am not that kind--not quite pastoral--no.

Which reminds me of a letter I received recently from one of the--well just one of the only four or five hundred.

Dear Editor of the Crime--

Some of us girls is having a swell brawl over to Brattle Hall and we need the money for the orphans of Revere Beach and wood you mind just helping us with a notis. We have ast the club men and they are coming but what we want is not them but the ayleet who really pays for there fun and don't comeplane. If you will do this we will keep away from lampoon dances and try to act are age. your-s in hope,

Now, as Julius Tannen would say, "Come right up and help the girls to help themselves, boys. Every dog has his day but a cat has nine lives."