TO THE EDITORS OF THE CRIMSON: -
IT seems to me that it is about time that something should be said in defence of that much-maligned creature the proctor. The violent censure and scathing sarcasm that have been hurled upon his defenceless head for weeks past have entirely destroyed his nervous system. He has grown prematurely old. I dare say that a close observer could detect a few straggling gray hairs in his head. No more do we hear the sound of the "squeaking boots" ; his manly tread is silenced. 'T is pitiful to see him moping on the corners with his brothers, or sitting with his face buried in his hands, heaving now and then a gentle sigh, as if remembering the happy days that are no more.
I see him at the end of the examination, after he has left his dark corner, slinking around like a beaten hound, scarce daring to collect the books; his face no longer wears a smile.
I have not the heart to finish the sad picture. Let us at least suffer him to end his days in peace.
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