That sleepless servant of the University, Mr. Frederick Meade, whose name is attached to all the miscellanea one receives at the beginning of the year relative to term bills and dining halls, has made a step of revolutionary significance in his campaign for More Mouths at Mem. By throwing open the gates of Harvard's gastronomic Elysium to the hoi polloi in petticoats--with the proviso, of course, that they find themselves suitable escorts--Mr. Meade has killed several birds with one stone; in fact, his name should be struck at once from the visiting list of the Audubon Society.

If the idea could be carried just a bit further, all roads leading to the Delta would be completely blocked during meal hours with clamoring would be diners. Consider the result if Mr. Meade were to procure the daily attendance, as he could for a trifling sum, of some local queen of the screen--always properly escorted--temporarily out of loose change. Consider the immediate change of atmosphere, the hushed and restrained conversation, the almost perfect technique of knife, fork, and spoon which would inevitably ensue. Consider the staggering spectacle of three hundred feeding students rising simultaneously to their feet upon the appearance of the lady of the day. Consider--but no. Why speculate on the impossible? Those grimaced Puritans who stare down from the walls would never tolerate such goings-on. Cotton Mather and the rest would revolve in their several graves.

For the present, patrons of Memorial must be satisfied with only an occasional extra-curricular visitor. And here again is a difficulty. She who first dares cross the threshold, like the man that ate the first oyster, will be the ultimate in concentrated courage. To face that unmasked battery of six hundred eyes will be no easy task. Mr. Meade may throw open his doors to ladies, But to get them to attend in paying numbers will be, as the Prophet observed, something else again.