characteristic of the country as a whole. Let us consider the

events.

The drain on Yale's physical resources has enabled her to play a natural and honorable part. Thousands of men in service, brain power and science mobilized to combat German science, hundreds of officers trained and in training, a generous response to all bond, Y. M. C. A. campaigns, etc. Yale's material sacrifice, as emphasized by the glorious and steadily growing Roll of Honor, has been worthy of her best tradition. Thus far has the war pervaded the material side of college life. War psychology is a curious thing. It is not snobbish. It is exalted egoism. And such hysteria has touched our college life mildly. Everybody seems inclined, if possible, to make egregious asses of themselves. In a year when one would expect a closer union for common purposes, there have been more petty quarrels, more silly misunderstandings, more mean spirit in trifles than the College has ever seen. Discussions tend to become acrimonious, college politics are bitter, criticism. of anything is greeted with contempt. This is lamentable, but it is quite natural. It is war psychology.

The attitude nearly every individual unconsciously assumes is this: "I am patriotic. I believe that X is unnecessary and not consonant with the most efficient patriotism. B believes that X is perfectly harmless and perhaps useful. Therefore B is unpatriotic." And he comes out and declares in veiled and parliamentary terms that X is a menace to the nation and that B's motives are pacifist and unpatriotic.

Of course, in this analysis there is a measure of exaggeration. But on the whole, the fundamental truth is there. Anything affecting college life, such as the Prom. problem, extra-curriculum activities, the proposed R. O. T. C. schedule, has occasioned volumes of communications, editorials, and articles in the News. Poor taste has often characterized these discussions, bitterness always.

For Heaven's sake! let us keep a level head. We may not agree with each other, but there is no need for insulting the next fellow. We still have a sense of humor and a sense of proportion. Let us keep them intact. This war will last a long time. Many of us, perhaps, before it is over will be

sleeping a last deep sleep, rancor and discussion forgotten. And if the war ends soon, if peace once more calms the fever of our life, in the cold light of reason may we not all be revealed as fools?

Hardly a day passes now without hearing of some friend, some Yale man, who has passed the last great test. It makes us conscious that, while as patriots we must fight the Prussian, as Yale men we must uphold a fine tradition. Let us uphold it as gentlemen and let us recognize that intolerance and an intellectual reign of terror are not thinkable in a cultured community, and that criticism, even when unwarranted, is entitled to respect and to consideration.

John F. Carter, Jr.

WAR SECTION

THE WINGED TRAIL, II.

LETTERS OF A NAVAL AVIATOR.

December 30, 1918.

A couple of days ago, when I went in to get the keys of our villa, "chez Madame la chef de Gare," I found a sad little group stiting round the fire, madame, and her family. It was evident that something was wrong because they were all sort of sobbing and seemed to be trying to suppress their sobs, and to comfort madame. They had just got news that their only son had been killed at the front. Pretty tough, and pretty typical.

DEAR M.:

January 3, 1918.

We are all settled now in our chalet, and it is really most pleasant. On New Year's day we moved in and had a housewarming dinner party, which was a huge success. The Baron de H., his wife and two daughters, the Comtesse de P., E., S., T. and I were the distinguished personnel. We have hired a bonne for 50 francs a month, who is nearly blind, nearly deaf, lame, wears a wig, but cooks like a Delmonico chef.

We censor the men's mail, which is most interesting. I don't feel that I'm intruding on private matters, because I never look at the address or signature unless there is something to be censored. Then you just call the man and tell him what not to say.

We are, perhaps, as far from the front as possible, and yet still in France, but one of the men's letters read like this: "These Germans are dirty cowards-we are getting the

Kaiser's goat, all right. Every time the boys go over the top, the Germans throw up their hands and shout 'Kamarad,' and when they bring them in, they are as gentle as lambs."

Since arriving here we have learned to fly two new types of machines, and have had some bombing practice.

I am waiting eagerly to hear about your Christmas at home, because on Christmas day I enjoyed imagining it more than anything we did (although we had a very pleasant Christmas).

We have been doing some pretty chilly flying, but the fur combinations the Navy gives us are mighty good. I can't get one long enough in the Navy, so I am swapping the one I bought in New York for the Baron de H.'s, which is too big for him, and just fine for me.

When it gets dark at 4.30, and we knock off, it is most pleasant walking home to our château, which is 6 kilometers from here. When we arrive, we are given a home-like greeting by Madame de H. and the two kids, who are most charming. "Chiffon" has taught me chess, and as she is perfectly awful at it, we have most exciting games. At 6:30 we sit down to a delicious meal, which is tremblingly set before us by our staggering bonne, qui s'appelle "Berthe." Then we sit around the fire and smoke, and sing, and play games, and listen to the baron tell us stories of the front. I am again officer of the day and am learning to give commands in a more assured way. A few days ago it was so cold that most of the larks, of which there are thousands, froze, and we went out and gathered up a basket full. They are perfectly delectable, but not as good as the occasional "lièvre" that we get to eat, cooked in red wine. The men here show mighty good spirit and work hard, although there has been considerable suffering from the cold. I hear that New York had an awful cold snap.

From talking to French soldiers and officers, this is what their big idea is :-They are fed up-dead sick and tired of the business-crazy to quit—but at all events they will never consent to a patched-up peace-while there is a man left to fight-because they don't want to pass down as a heritage the possibility of a repetition of this hell. And they are all dead sure that they will break through eventually and inflict a defeat

such as has never been seen before. They are a solid, heavy, set, determined lot-and the great welling hope is the AmeriBut they don't expect that the Americans can learn the game in less than another year.

cans.

Well, 1918 has started and is going to be a grand year. If things are not over on New Year's day, 1919, at least the Germans will be seeing the writing on the wall.

I think about you all the time, and sing "it's home, boys, home, yes, it's home we want to be," but not before the curse is cleaned off the earth.

DEAR M.:

January 8, 1918.

Yesterday I went over to a big French air bombing school to look over some new types of machines and bombing sights. The French commandant who took us around, and was in the best of health, had had a very interesting experience in the beginning of the war. He was captured by the Germans in their advance-was tied to a tree and shot! Twelve bullets went through him, and they left him for dead-he was unconscious. A few hours later he came to in great pain, found that a bullet had cut his ropes, and he was able to crawl to a French farm house, where he was hidden and well taken care of. The Germans retreated, and now he is as good as new.

Our châlet is proving most successful, and our life in the time we are off duty is perfectly slick. I'm rapidly learning "Madelon," and "Les Soixante Quinzes" from O. and A. Loads of love.

January 21, 1918.

DEAR M.:

S. P. and I arrived safely in England last Thursday. This is a gorgeous English Naval air station on the North Seaand there is all sorts of war going on. It's tremendously interesting, and I shall find out what the censor doesn't mind letting through, and tell you as much as possible what is happening in my next letter.