Those who bewailed the death of the Ibis tree failed to notice that another gallant sapling had fallen before the axe of unpopularity. The Bay Tree Radcliffe's liaison with the Advocate, was no mose . . . is no more.

But college literary magazines spring eternal from the female scribe. So like a Phoenix from the ashes of the Bay Tree (pardon the metaphor) springs the new Radcliffe magazine, sponsored by that carefree little journal, the News.

Fresh from the printers it came to your humble correspondent and he read it with the avidity of a tabloid fan. For he thought that he might catch some faint echo of the missionary work done by the Harvard faculty among those who live beyond the Sahara. He was mistaken.

"Half Way Down", a play in one act, supposedly a curtain raiser, proves that at least one Radcliffe soul has found the sawdust path to salvation better than the primrose avenue to disbelief. Ann, a shop girl whose diction approaches Thirty Third Street to retreat to Park Avenue, meets Father Time in the ringed arena of keen dialectic, vide Bruce Barton, and wins by faith alone. "There is a God", she cries, and all the little birds fly home to their nests and old father sun winks at little Johnnie Skunk.

"Heritage" is not quite an accurate synopsis of "Lord Jim". Perhaps this is due to the influence of Haldeman-Julius. One never knows. Furthermore one Mildred Nickerson Smith '28 believes in Emily Dickenson to the extent of a reference and a delightful line--"The birds sang so happily that spring morning."

But what do you suppose, my children? Some naughty, naughty little girl went right up to the library table and read Harper's. If you don't believe me, read "Jane", a story told in the Socratic manner.

Now every periodical of this kind must have its "poetry". "Rivers of Babylon" is perhaps the best. Most of it shows little real spirit. "Revolt" has two excellent lines. And that is that.

But I sincerely beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen of the Browning Club; I have taken too long in expressing . . . May I quote from the editorial which launches--no, one doesn't launch a tree, does one . . . but this isn't a tree any more!

"Does any one conscientiously oppose a Radcliffe literary publication. The time has come and passed for such to speak; she must now and forever after hold her peace. Does any one conscientiously desire such an institution? Most certainly; the suggestion is like Sylvia: "All the swains commend her."

And later--"Self expression is a necessity of life, even the austere and reserved Francis Bacon grants. The age of repression, at last in its grave, has been succeeded by an outburst of activity in all fields. Votes for women: colleges for women: short skirts for women: these are among the immediate results. . . Radcliffe is agog to welcome genius in literary guise."

And latest "College spirit is strangely out of date here in Cambridge. But when we travel homeward during the holidays, who does not feel a twinge of pride in naming her school . . . in defending it against a collegian brother? 'A prophet is not without honor in his own country', and school spirit finds fertile soil in all undertakings such as this publication would surely be. Here, then, is an unlimited Alaska: and unplowed West; an ungrazed Australia. The tools are at hand; the fields stretch before us; where are the ploueers?" Well, where are they?