ELECTIONS

We are growing more and more settled about our elections now. Since the ballotbox outrage last year, elections have come and gone with a certain amount of lassitude. That is to say, there seems to be not so much of the strenuous whispering campaigning as has been the case in the past. It may be that we have become immune to the simple machinations of campus politics now that its supreme fruits have been shown us. Palaeopitus came and went in a quite short and easy way, and the air has since been serene. As far as we can make out, Hanover has been like that forevermore. It is a town of changing sameness, where every new sight of Dartmouth Hall makes it look like the gates of Heaven, yet where one may delight in all those things which have progressed to make the College the proud institution it is. One often hears the reports of the affection which alumni hold for the Alma Mater, and we accept it as very true. However, it always sounds like a half-apology for a lack of faith when these same alumni were here. That we flatly deny. One need do no more than to ride on the train from Springfield (or for that matter, from Montreal) to White River to appreciate our college-consciousness. Which reminds us: the freshmen this year have blossomed forth in caps which a beneficent Palaeopitus designed to fill their needs. They are grey and green, cut after the Yarmouth pattern, and are able to be worn with a jauntiness which was denied the previous puerile pots. Solidarity sans ignominy was the principle by which they were evolved, and a most successful job it is, too. They may be so arranged as to be passable on the squarest head, something which could not possibly have been managed before. Class cohesion is an accomplished fact already, we believe, for the caps shall undoubtedly acquire a sentimental value which one couldn't have felt for a cap which would make the gravest of us look like a pinhead. The sulky weather just now at matriculation proves their utility, too.