THE COLLEGE

THE pothole season has arrived, and with it a late February thaw, setting Hanover awash with melting snow. Students leap like mountain goats from one dry oasis to another, while the faculty, sensibly protected by B. F. Goodrich and U. S. Rubber, pursue a more sedate if sloshy course. It is reported that the frost line is four feet down this winter, which portends a rather spectacular mud time before long. Seasoned residents view all this with equanimity, relishing it as a topic of conversation and stoically letting their thoughts dwell on the break-up of winter and the joys of spring implicit in the present mess. The other point of view, largely student held, is concerned with the here and now and is couched in terms hardly fit for the ears of ladies and children. It is another familiar and recurring phase of the Dartmouth year, and the only surprising thing about it is that it seems to have arrived so soon after the President's convocation address.