The February “Bachelor of Arts” has an article on “The Yale Prom [From the Girl’s Point of View].” It is signed by “Florence Guertin.” In the second paragraph we read: “Skirt the ballroom with boxes; place in them hundreds of pretty girls, typical American beauties from all parts of the country; offset these by a fringe of diamond-decked chaperones; confront them with a solid phalanx of _white-shirted_, handsome, muscular young men, and you have a rough sketch of the outward aspect of the Junior Promenade.” “White-shirted!” Why, Florence! Is the Yale Prom such a barbarous, uncivilized affair? This out-Poteats Mrs. Poteat, who said she had rather send her son to hell than to Yale (she was not a Harvard grad., either). Our moral sensibilities are rudely disturbed by this vision, but we struggle on for a few paragraphs not knowing what awful disclosure Florence will make next, till we heave a sigh of relief when we read: “Yale University teaches one thing not down in the curriculum: it teaches a man how to dress. The majority of students could pass a hundred in this course.” From this we are led to infer that the solid phalanx of handsome, muscular young men had something else on beside white shirts, and that there was more regard for the conventionalities of modern civilization at New Haven than Florence at first would have us believe. But why “white-shirted?” Did Florence expect that Yale men would appear in their dress suits with colored shirts? Or perhaps she thought they wore sweaters. I do not know how it may be with other Epicureans, but I find the complete dominance of daily journalism, the stage, and a certain class of magazines with a million readers apiece, by the Fractionally-attired Female of the variety stage or of society, is becoming distinctly nauseating. [Illustration] To get the semi-nude fleshly female thrust upon us in bulk at every turn, day after day, awakens a fierce revolt in some masculine minds against this insane worship of the Triumphant Harlot, which is fast growing to be the principal characteristic of modern civilization. It is getting to be a nightmare to all who cherish any intellectual and moral ideal aims in life, and instead of increasing the witchery of woman it makes her a loathsome vacuous symbol of the corrupt millions who are groaning and praying for a Utopia of unrestrained bestial content. I hope they may never throw off the yokes that keep them tame--and out of my neighborhood. This degradation of the stage and literature is enough to create a race of Epicurean misogynists. Mr. Edward Sanford Martin, in a department called “This Busy World” in _Harper’s Weekly_, expresses his strenuous disapproval of the Bibelot movement in contemporary literature, and of the aims of the FLY LEAF in particular. He says: “The FLY LEAF is a periodical of the New--not to say the ‘Fresh.’”