THERE is a tone of conviction in the foot-ball editorial of the last Record for which we have the deepest admiration. We have eyed it askance, from this side and that, until we feel that it were indeed vandalism to tamper with anything so sublime. We bow with grave deference to its author, the complaisant editor who chuckles with delight at seeing in print more than a column of his nicely turned, choicely worded, carefully revised manuscript. We recognize in him a brother member of the press who sits high aloft beyond the pale of criticism, and casts his blunt weapons down at us. We are too greatly prostrated to attempt any palliation, and if we hazard facing him again, it is only to insinuate that in a future case even he, powerful conjurer though he be, must needs exert himself to introduce more blue and less crimson into his already falsely drawn picture. It does seem a little odd, now that we think of it, that "the eleven-men game was a concession originally to Harvard, made two years ago," when we recollect that two years ago, in the autumn of '75, We played Yale with fifteen men. It again seems a little odd that "she [Harvard] gave us no proper notification, official or otherwise, of the proposed change," when it was expressly stated in the challenge we sent Yale early in November, that we wished to play with fifteen men. With these trifling corrections we leave the matter.