When it comes to talking of Virginia, the Vagabond is on sure ground. Brown is an unimposing place the Rockefellers graduated from: Cornell is a co-ed place where his Uncle Jack used to stroke the crew; Army is a uniformed place which is Navy's Yale; Dartmouth is an informal place where the Winter Carnival is held; Princeton is a formal place where they don't have much fun; and Chicago is a fairly new place which the Rockefellers have a hand in, too. This much the Vagabond knows about the colleges whose teams have held the Saturday spotlight here this fall. But little Virginia is just a nice, Southern place which is much closer to his heart, and he would write of her as he knows her.

Charlottesville is one of those small towns whose innocuous drowsiness no Northerner can ever quite fathom, and whose charm no New England town can ever quite equal--for a Southerner. Charlottesville is Virginia, and Virginia is Charlottesville. There is no escaping this cycle. Further south, in the Carolinas, the college boys are required to drink a jug of "so'th'n cawn" to prove they are gentlemen and scholars. Ther is no necessity for such measures at the University of Virginia. It is considered an insult even to intimate that a Virginian could not master such a meagre portion of the brew on which he has been raised.

But on their campus,--the most beautiful in America, bar none--Virginians take their education in small doses. On the side, they learn a lot about guns and dogs and horses and history and co-eds. They find time to be in the vanguard of those who popularize such dance madnesses as the Big Apple and the Shag, which later ooze northward to fame. They learn how to talk general culture in a drawling, modulated voice that makes what they say sound authoritative. They learn that Richmond is the real hub of the universe. They learn that amatory adventures in parked cars are considered by the local constabulary as "cohabitation." They learn to care not when crass outsiders label their school a country club. With a wave of the hand they point out the facts: Is not our law school one of the best in the country? And to Vag they said: Did not one of your own famed Harvard graduates of '37 choose to come here and study with his beautiful young wife these past two years? They speak the truth, Vag admits. Moreover, these lads can dish it out. They walloped their neighboring rivals, the University of Maryland. They can take it too. Columbia romped over them last week, and this week they're the "breather game" opponents of the Crimson.

But Vag knows these Johnny Rebs. They'll be good to watch even in defeat, They're trained to take such things in stride down Charlottesville way. Vag only hopes his willowy Wheaton girl, who hails from Wisconsin, will understand their tactics. And his, too.