As can be gleaned below, John Farrar, Yale graduate and editor of "The Bookman", is alarmed for his college and for Princeton. Harvard hath charms, he finds, but he does not know why. It is really not such a surprising phenomenon.

A Harvard undergraduate who enters the Princess ballroom of the Somerset to experience the chaste pleasure of his first Friday evening, and next year rises higher to coming out parties in the gilded salon above, and proceeds to the ocean of engraved cards of Junior year takes a fairly thorough course in the social graces. He learns to sit down without thought of his coat-tail; he has to be able to tell what he thinks of Koussevitsky; he learns the proper interjections into a discourse that is beyond him. Quite naturally then, he comes by all Mrs. Post and Mr. Hubbard might teach him.

And so he has an advantage even over other young gentlemen who start fashions in men's harberdashery, for the Princeton man cannot wear his swanl sport suit to the dinner table, not the Eli his fawn-colored flannels. Until the New Haven debutantes can persuade Chapel and High Street debutantes to give dinner parties, and until Princeton can move its Gothic walls within twenty minutes of Sherry's or the Bellevue- Stratford, the gentle sons of Harvard will continue to enjoy their advantages.

In brief, Princeton has the New Jersey countryside, and Yale has Savin Rock, but Harvard has only Back Pay--and Brattle Hall. Each has its advantages, and they differ. Mr. Farrar is only carning at the inevitable.