Before we go home, now, we will give another Christmas story, modelled after the last, but none the less true. Several years ago there was a young Sophomore taking English A-2, which is a more advanced composition course than English A-1, as the numbers might indicate. This Sophomore had the enviable position of being Harvard reporter for several New York and Philadelphia papers, to which he sent a steady trickle of thin Harvard news.

One day the Mr. Kempton of that year assigned a theme, which was to be a treatment of some recent happening at Harvard as a newspaper might write it. Our Sophomore, cramped for time, handed in a feature-story he was also sending his bona-fide journalistic patrons.

Poor lad, he got his news-story back with a D--, inscribed, "This is the worst pretense at news-writing I have ever seen. No newspaper editor would even look at it." At a conference later this authoritarian view was amplified, the more so because the sophomore kept an heroic silence.

The same day the instructor read the Sophomoric piece in the New York Herald-Tribune (and it also appeared in some Brooklyn journals). He became at once a sadder but wiser man. At the next conference the student showed him the news-paper clippings of his work, asking for a new grade. But the English instructor shook his head sadly, saying, "There are editors. . . and editors."

* * *

Our Lowell House spy tells us that when Professor Julian Lowell Coolidge takes his Saturday night bath, he is entertained in the tub by a fleet of celluloid ducks. This sounds two good two be twue.