"MY SON EMMET--"

The open season for collegiate introspection is in full swing. Not long ago New Haven students came out of the fog and found just where they stood on vital questions of the day. Now Dartmouth's seniors have resorted to the ballot to discover what the dope on this college business really is. There must be a lot of satisfaction in knowing for certain what is what. No excuse then for not being in the mode. Besides, such decisions lend a feeling of solidarity and make for college spirit.

And this time an echo of the joy is felt in Cambridge. For the voting seniors have taken the edge off the old song, "Don't send my boy to Harvard". Next to the college on the hill, Harvard is chosen closest to the hearts in green. Yale is Dartmouth's keenest rival: the Indians picked Smith as their favorite woman's college. In the choice another significant note is discernible in the balloting, for Dartmouth men may justly claim the virtue of consistency.

Now that the Hanover undergraduates know who is most likely to succeed in life, what man's tailor to patronize, and whose brow in truth is the highest they can hurry back to the normalcy their self-imposed psychoanalysis interrupted. For this introspection should prove the sole lapse in the life of an otherwise healthy New Hampshire extravert. Remembering to respect the local chief of police, to elect Biblical History next semester, and to shun the study of physics like poison, Dartmouth men can get back to their favorite topic, women, women, women. When it is recalled how far up in the woods Hanover is, the sons of Eleazer may be forgiven this last innocence.