APOLLO IN THE FOOTHILLS

The two editorials in the adjoining column invite comparison. No serious minded Harvard undergraduate can read them without asking his introspective self, "Am I an athlete--or an aesthete?" When he has decided whether the shelf-mark or the shoulder-pad is his birthright, he will undoubtedly realize that for a long time he has been very unfair to his antagonists, the shoulder-pads or the shelf-marks--whichever it is that he is not.

Apparently, however, the Battle of Hanover has not been as bloody and bigoted as the editorial would like us to believe. The Harvard man who has been scouting the Dartmouth aesthetes during their secret practice brings back many strange tidings. He reports that no Dartmouth man is considered to have written a "real" poem unless he has taken a sixty mile snow-shoe ramble up and down the mountains, and that nobody is worshipped as a football hero who cannot prove by his trousseau his impeccable taste in knickers, sweaters, and socks.

Be that as it may, the serious-minded Harvard undergraduate will be grateful to The Dartmouth for pointing out this canker to him, and, even more, for prescribing its cure. He has only to understand the other extreme, and then to mix himself up with it. He would be amply justified in demanding a debate between the Advocate and the Varsity Club, or a joint meeting of the Poetry Society and the Student Council.