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a part in my college life. I had signed up for a course called Comparative Literature, which was one of those cinch courses where you got two points for doing nothing. The whole football team and the entire staff of Jester--all the finaglers-- took this course. The professor fir it was named Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Dana. He was great nephew or maybe just a nephew of Longfellow. We had the first class with him, and the next day Dr. Butler kicked him out of Columbia because he was a pacifist. You see, the war had started. We were just about to be thrown into it. Here was Dana making very pacifist statements and joining I-didn't-raise-my-boy-to-be-a-soldier groups. If his name had been Smith or Jones, I don't think Butler or anybody else would have given a darn. He was just an obscure English teacher up at Columbia. But being named Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Dana, everything he said, the papers quoted at length. It took two lines just to print his name. And Butler was infuriated, so Dana got the heave-ho.

Now all we dedicated students rejoiced. “It will take them a month to get another professor.” We went to the next class expecting to see a little white notice on the door saying there would be no class until they got a new professor. But overnight they did dig up a new professor, and he was standing there when we came in, to our disgust, ready for action. His name was Raymond Weaver. He had a very deep, sonorous, mellifluous voice, and he was very precious. He had on one of those stiff long Arrow collars that met in the front, and he was a very formidable gentleman. We resented