Needles click and inches of skirt or sweater grow under flying fingers, as Radcliffe goes yarn-minded. They are to be seen everywhere, these knitters, whisking their work out of roomy chintz bags, on the steps of Agasaiz, in the Writing room or Lunch room, even in the library with their eyes glued to a book as they knit, and possibly even as to whisper it in the back row at a ecture.

As the college feverishly prepares to appear in knitteds, the deep significance of the trend is apt to escape us, as we superficially exclaim over so and os's fancy sweater.

How refreshing it is, after all to see Radcliffians engage in such a flagrantly geuinine pursuit. Secure in the knowledge that we have finally lived down and buried our reputation of the dark ages, we can now knit mittens and pet the college cats without fear of being called potential old maids.

Also, the realization may come to the more internationally-minded observer that if Hitler, the Japanese navy, the French Cabinet, and Mussolini decide to have a war, at least the next American doughboys will be assured of professionally knit, expertly fitting sweaters, and socks with nicely turned heels from the knitting needles of Radcliffe and her sister colleges. --Radcliffe News.