Ranking with the H.A.A. as one of Harvard's less exclusive clubs is the Harvard Cooperative Society. In former days, that ancient and rather misinterpreted tradition of the Society, the Dividend, gave the organization a solidarity which dues-paying members of swankier clubs rarely felt. Nowadays the callow student regards his $1.76 annual salary as a mere wage for the trouble of eternal searching through his pockets for a coop card.

On Wednesday Mr. Cole, the Club President called a meeting of the members in Harvard 1, and of the thousands in Radcliffe, Harvard, and M.I.T. only one solitary person displayed enough business initiative to attend the meeting.

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The editors of the Critic, having sold some subscriptions, are bravely facing the consequences. They have six (or less) issues on their minds which must be gotten off; a large job for three boys, busy enough with the worries of getting a degree. So they have sent out a call for help, asking for articles, jokes, photos, questionnaires, material for questionnaires, questions for other helpers to help out on.

They asked one lad for a poem, and he replied enthusiastically that he was making a long satiric poem for them, after the manner of Dryden. The editors waited a long time for further news of the great work; were told that the poem was becoming difficult, and only half completed. The poet had struck some snags that never bothered Dryden, but was told to keep on and encouraged. After a few days strenuous wrestling with his verses the student telephoned the Critic office. He joyously told them that all his difficulties were over; he had solved the problem. No, he could not bring the poem over, he had torn it up.

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We have remarked before on the strenuous pastimes of A. Lawrence Lowell, President emeritus. Many Harvard boys pride themselves on their prowess during Marblehead Race week, on their skill in trimming a lib, or on their strength on the main sheet, leaving their Socratic mentors in the Yard to find them new questions for the winter bluebook season. But they do not leave Dr. Lowell behind. Harvard's honored ex-president spent three days of July cruising from Mr. Desert Island in Maine, to Marlon on the Cape, and had so much animal spirits left when he arrived there that he insisted on rowing the rest of the schooner's crew around the Harbor in a dinghy. Exercise is essential to Dr. Lowell; walking on land, rowing on water.