The Vagabond is disillusioned. In fact, he's terribly fed up. Here he is, a denizen of these Cantabridgian shores for countless lunar episodes. And looking out tonight on the drizzling raindrops trickling slowly earthward, hindered only by the ecstatic effulgence of the glittering celestial pyrotechnics imbedded in the Moslem minaret effect down Lowell House way, he like the Preacher, is firmly convinced that All is Vanity (note influence of Bible exams.) Why should he, after all these chimerian days of unappreciated amateuristic guidance, waste any more time advertising interesting lectures by interesting professors, if any?

And there you have it. History is being made at this instant. Pointblank, this columnist is thinking seriously of turning professional. In his morning mail was a communication from Cook Tours, Inc., urging him, in lieu of his present unlucrative occupation, to join the Inc.

So he will, at least for the moment. What with a double holiday on the horizon, the Vagabond feels that something ought to be done to get the undergraduate out of the local excavations. His mail stated that no remarks about such commonplaces as New York Night Clubs, Wanderings amid the Widener Turnstiles and such ilk would be tolerated. The letter expressly stated that this column should discuss "Quaint, Quotable, and Out-of-the-Way Spots Having an Aura of Originality."

Now there's Smith. Turn to your left at Ware, proceed with decorum (the latter is a necessity) and swing proudly into the home of Cal Coolidge, Columnist. Once there, practice saying "Oh, really", and you have the pith of any conversation likely to intrude on the campusian walks of America's Greatest Women's College. So saying, the Vagabond will leave the shades of Sophia Smith with a parting admonition to the effect that the entertainment consists mostly of absorbing the cleverest, catchiest, and downright distinctive set of rules governing any herd of femmes congregated anywhere. To make the game a bit more interesting this writer will give a slight hint just to get the ball rolling, so to speak: Don't kick any bottles over. Penalty double in this case.

According to the Vassar Miscellany, a charming little object d'art flourishing on the Poughkeepsie lawn, what Vassar needs among other things is a School for Men. The Miscellany in bold bad letters advocates the idea with such remarks as "there are many weighty arguments for male suffrage" and "the educational advantages Vassar offers, in addition to no uncertain social prestige, have formerly had geographical limitations." The Vagabond sort of liked the last quotation, though the editorial prose rather impeded, yea, even obscured any true inkling of the subject matter.

Of course, if you're at all chauvinistic, there's Radcliffe. But one rather overdue super patriotism these days what with the Legionnaires in full swing about the Bean City. Wellesley, no doubt, might provide relaxation for Sunday and Monday.

Or if the reader is as bored with this column as the Vagabond, the special round trip rates to Montreal are envogue. And this ought to fill the column anyway. If it doesn't, a book review will turn the trick.