Forever and Anon

As we sat in class the other day we wondered why there was such a fraternal and personal hue and cry after various honours which in the long run came to signify nothing other than that the recipients would continue to be remembered here at college for some time after their departure. We hardly deplore this very human instinct, but we do reverently doff our caps to those more practicalminded persons who have made sure that their various fames shall not be lost sight of in the halls of Dartmouth College by meticulously inscribing in the woodwork of each desk as much family history, relationships, and sundry affiliations as can be conveniently put in a few square feet. We took the trouble in an English class the other day to put down all that could be made out in a single square foot—observations: DKE, Mame, j pilv, Sig Nu, LOVE is a LITTIe bi (it is presumed that bicycle is not the rest of the word), Northamp, do sheep weep?, dartmouth, R. McR. R., and (bracketed) June, Betty, Joan, N. (again we presume to offer the suggestion that the last name was Netty). While occasionally enhancing one's stay in the classroom by their succinct suggestivenessand have you noticed how afflicted we are by it?—they hardly conduce to legible nctetaking, and are absolutely abominable if one should desire to compose a suitable billetdoux. One of our friends suddenly announced his intention of dropping a course a short while back, and seeing the distraught look on his face, we hurried to ask the trouble. He explained in a trembling voice that the He who had occupied his seat before him was given to the perverted practice of rolling and racing shot along the desk before him. This, he continued to explain, had had to be done with the assistance of a few well-notched grooves which facilitated both direction and speed. Gently, as ever, we pointed out the advisability of moving aside a seat or two. Sadly now he led me to the room, where, without a word, he showed me the awful truth; it had been a whole row of racers! Moreover, proud initials planted under each division of the race track served to complicate matters even more. Ah, well, we could do nothing but console ourselves with the thought that Dartmouth intramurals had come of age and, aye, were even overstepping themselves. (We will take it as a special favor if we may be permitted to do any genealogical or otherwise research for any of our friends.)