Quite frankly, we are rapidly getting bored with those enthusiastic Freshmen who find a tasty repast for the athletic field in the young ladies from Miss Winsor's. Our Romeoetical complexes never have been satisfied by plump maidens, attired in healthy bloomers, who shriek with delight as they force their Lotharios to wallow in the mud. It is too reminiscent of the gentleman who told us the other day that he was fond of one girl when he was unable to tell whether she was male or female.

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They held one of these orgles during the weekend, and we found ourselves playing a rather prominent part. For yesterday we received a detailed account of the match from one of the players, who was quite insistent that it replace the New Hampshire game in these columns.

* * *

That put us on the spot. Maybe people think we like these games; at any rate, they must wonder at our constant interest in them. On this occasion we are asked to bring to fame the Freshman whose lovely, drooping eyelids carried his team to a 3 to 1 victory over the unhappy Sirens. We think it indecent.

* * *

Thus we announce a policy we may have concealed for some time. We do not believe that any Freshman should find romance behind a hockey stick. We think he should join us at the Country Club and in the Somerset where girls are at least maidenly. It is our belief that the President and the Corporation, would consider Mr. Greene's Tercentenary celebration much nicer if the menace of Winsor was quietly laid to rest. We certainly should.