The following letter was received by carrier pigeon at the Crimson office late night. Since the bird was very tipsy, and had a distinct order about him, the character of the writer of the epistic was held by the editors to be dubious at best, but since the Crimson never endorses sentiments appearing over a correspondent's signature, it was argued that ho harm could come to the children from the appearance of the letter in print.

Dear Sir:

I am a Yale man have had little opportunity to investigate amusement facilities in greater Boston. What I am wondering is this--how do your good people spend their Saturday evenings and, in particular, this evening immediately imminent? Perplexed.

Dear Perplexed:

Well, it's a long story. You might go to one of the many soirees being given in town; we wouldn't personally, but then, you might. Likewise there is the theatre, but since there are no available theatre, tickets (no, not even at the drug store on the corner) you will find little solace in it. Anyway, every play here was tried out two years ago in New Haven and was unanimously booed by the Student Council. The movies are open--wide open--if you care for that sort of thing. We recommend with reservation Hoot Gibson and without reservations, Hoot Gibson's horse. And then there is the Public Library; possibly you could pick up something there; only remember you're a Yale man and Yale men don't do that sort of thing.

But after all, these are transitory. You ask our advice--here it is: go to bed, It's the only place in Boston tonight where there is no cover charge.   The Crime.   R. T. S.