The average college journalist is seldom possessed of sufficient nerve to attack abuses which through long standing have become recognized as unassailable and beyond the student's reach. With the advent of warm weather we may expect to hear a few smothered imprecations over matters which, though to the freshman eye enormous evils, have become perfectly adapted to the Harvard condition of calm, admiring and independent indifference. It is needless to say that we refer, not to the pump, it is true, nor to that summer boarder, the mucker, who like the poor, is always with us, but to the "state of the yard." Coolness and audacity are necessary to approach this subject, but necessity is even more powerful than imprudence. One of the notably weak spots of the yard is that beautiful, sloping, inclined, hollowedout, well watered and ever-mud-adorned stretch of path from Weld to the library. We will not claim that we have here a right to use the rather sweeping term, "Scylla and Charybdis," but that does not alter the fact that a wet day causes this particular piece of walk to resemble closely the famous bog in which the victim sank deeper the more he struggled. If the college could furnish to the passer bathing suits, or even a raft, the trouble would be obviated, but as it is we can only cry to the Lares of our grandmother as we cross the seething flood. It is rumored that a life line is to be stretched along the dangerous passage. Until, however, some of our suggestions can be adapted, let us have at least a plank walk.