Cinderella Warner tripped gaily out of Harvard to pose for the Daily Record, a little paper in Boston, and to write of her escapades and escapes in the Harvard Union. Since then the subway rider wearily rocketing his way homeward, has been delighted by the slightly bovine features and Pepsodent smile of Little Kay peeping coyly at him from some twelve pictures. For the literate portion of their customers the Record has provided Kay's own simple story told in her own simple way; and it is hard to see how even the most hardened can help but feel a slight tugging at the heartstrings, can restrain a large, hot tear from forming in each eye as this simple tale of woe unfolds itself.

Poor Cinderella! She expected great things of life. And now all her illusions have been so rudely shattered; Harvard has feet of the commonest clay. Even so she tried heroically to serve; she even went to such lengths as secretly to bring the boys what they ordered. All this, despite the fact that some of them were so inconsiderate as not to ask her to marry them, and that only one of them tipped her a dollar. We are sorry that Kay's faith has been shattered; but all great spiritual experiences come only at a high cost. And this one has given the world something that has beauty, a beauty that burns with a hard, gem-like flame. Its perfection is marred by only one thing; we wish to God that the Record would get a better ghost writer.