The Undergraduate Chair

'Tis right joyously we sit down to our task this month. The full early-term feeling of emancipation holds us tightly—once more the air about us doesn't grasp at us and demand that we get back to our books. The examination period was attended by just the sort of weather which should attend an examination period—dull, mushy, and uncertain. With synthetic gladness we welcomed it, too, for experience has shown us that marks vary almost in direct ratio with the. weather, and excellent skiing weather invariably produces a fatality somewhere along the line. Examination period is not entirely a grim and tight-lipped round, though there are several features about it which make it much more pleasant and bearable than it would be without them. There are, for instance, the daily organ recitals which are given in Rollins Chapel, these continuing for the duration of the period. Coming as they do at five-fifteen in the afternoon, they offer just the proper amount of respite from one's labors for the day. They are always well chosen and presented, and their popularity is attested by the large number of students present at every one of them. Then there were the unusually fine movies which the Nugget thoughtfuly provided for this tragic interim—it's hardly necessary to say that they were given all the attention they deserve. We wonder just about this time after exams what all the fretting and worrying was about, and prepare ourselves for the next ordeal with much banter and gay resolutions to think nothing of it next time, all of which, you will grant, means not a thing when it comes to that "next time."

Then there was the outraged '35 who had heard of the spring fashion of putting boardwalks across the campus and who wrote an indignant letter to The Dartmouth demanding, in the interests of his very wet feet, that they be put down now. At the time it was a very just request, for this no-winter-to-speak-of weather of ours had begun cultivating a southwest wind once more, and all we older sage ones felt rather sheepishly that perhaps the College ought to do something about it. Freshmen were scornful, sophomores filled with hopeless wrath, juniors were coining excuses, and seniors were stoical and worried as Carnival began to come upon us—and without ten square feet of snow in the town! This was the Monday before Carnival and the busy-bee Outing Clubbers whose chore it is to provide lots of everything for the failones lost their customary abandon as they set themselves to beautify a campus which couldn't possibly be made a whole lot more beautiful without a decent bath of snow. Wait—now that we have worked up suspense, let us tell you that the waking world on Tuesday morning found tons of snow crowding out of the sky; indeed, there was enough by night to insure a moderately successful Carnival, and the listless steps were no more.

Having tasted of success, however, they (we mean by "they" primarily the Outing Club chappies whose work without benefit of snow would have been both back breaking and to no very effective end, and to all those youths whose letters in the previous two weeks had exuded Hanover's snowfulness) wouldn't be satisfied with just a little, but prayed industriously to the gods that be—10, and behold, by the next morning five inches more had come to cheer them—and so a propersettingoncemore was given to Carnival.

As we look back on it, it occurs to us that each Carnival is just like every other Carnival, though we say that in no mean or deroga- tory spirit. In fact, we like it that way, for otherwise the week-end would come to be a round of those meaningless innovations which pall so easily. Carnival officially started Friday evening, after the regular tea-dances in the afternoon. Outdoor Night was held as usual on the golf course. Under the supervision of Otto Schniebs, the new ski coach, a pageant resembling the German schneefests was given. We think that it was swell, though our eyes had gotten rather glazed and the seat of our trousers practically bereft of feeling by the time it was over. There was a slight wait for the Queen of the Snows, a downright pretty girl, and we turned frozenly to look at the crowd, which looked as frozenly back at us. Sympathy is non-existent on Outdoor Night, of that we are sure—but we've never missed one ourselves, never intend to, and from the looks of the crowded stands, there are a good many people with the same idea. Fireworks and fancy skiers, mock battles and fancy skaters, Beauty's Court and frosty birds—'twas a grand time we had that evenin'!

BOTH PRIZE WINNERS Miss Betty Glendinning, of Scarsdale, New York, chosen Queen of the 22nd Dartmouth Winter Carnival, standing beside Theta Chi's Snow Girl, which won first prize in Snow Sculpture