(The Crimson invites all men in the University to submit signed communications of timely interest. It assumes no responsibility, however, for Sentiments expressed under this head and reserves the right to exclude any whose publication would be palpably inappropriate.)

Every day I walk by the huge, dumb, cement shell known as the Germanic Museum. For months it aroused in me no feeling but an ironic amusement, common, I fancy, to nearly everyone in Cambridge. But lately, since the last production by the 47 Workshop in Agassiz Theatre, when the achievements of the company were glitteringly spread out for us with the enervating waste in labor under present conditions hung up as a dingy background, the thought has haunted my footsteps, "Why not?"

Nothing more incongruous surely would be involved than the turning of a Soldier's Memorial Hall, built in church from, into a restaurant and a theatre, a fact which only visitors to Cambridge ever remark on. Technical difficulties connected with the endowment there may be; but nothing that so faithfully and ardently serves art and humanity as does the 47 Workshop can for a moment be held to twist the literal significance or to thwart the fundamental purpose of a museum. W. C. HOLBROOK '20.