We offer to the indignation of our readers the dreadful state of affairs below stairs in our precious Memorial Hall. We have long imagined that we upstairs were getting the food intended for Mr. S-II-v-n's hirelings, as we could hardly conceive it possible that worse food than was set before us was easily obtainable anywhere. However, this betrays a rank and horrible system of persecution and injustice. Imagine the hungry students, being fed on elegant cold slabs of colorless meat, while the poor waiters languish below on the parboiled trimmings! And think, too of the Caucasion slaves of the autocrat of the breakfast table having symposiums at ten or thereabouts! This is monstrous! How can we, who are deprived of the innocently frothing beer, sit quietly in our seats, while the steward's satellites are revelling in a symposium beneath our very feet? We have in vain tried to get the directors to change our own fare for the better; some inseparable obstacle has always stood in the way; so, it is perhaps too much to expect them to intercede for the waiters, who have certainly been ill-treated: but the ten o'clock symposiums must be stopped even if we have to have an open war with Mr. S-II-v-n to accomplish our end. Deleuda est Carthago.