While ascending into the ethereal sublimities of intellectual adventure, the Harvard undergraduate's physical means of existence is crumbling beneath his palate. Artistically enticing as the preceeding may sound, the shocking fact is that the undergraduate's teeth are decomposing even as he reads Gibbon, Spengler, and Toynbee.

X-rays of the teeth of incoming freshmen have shown that almost five out of every six need dental care. While this may be attributable to the average Harvardman's disdain for the physical, a genteel Bohemianism, or perhaps even to actual cowardliness, the important thing is that something be done to restore a physical basis for Harvard's mental endeavor. As of yet, the University has not adequately met the dental problem.

At present, the Dental Clinic has two dental chairs, a hygienist, and a roentgenologist. At the beginning of the year the Clinic can accept all comers, but a few weeks later only those students with minor dental problems are taken. The rest are told to look elsewhere for help. The average student is hesitant to trust a strange dentist in a foreign city and tends to postpone his dental work indefinitely.

The Program for Harvard College specifies the addition of three more dental chairs. This program should be started before the fund is completed. The Harvardman's health is too valuable to be neglected. If prompt action is not taken to provide ample and convenient dental care, such well-known American expressions as "Flash that pearly grin, Tiger" and "You'll wonder where the yellow went" will assume bitterly ironic and tragic proportions.