To have or not to have a mascot appears to be the foremost topic of the day on the Harvard campus. Harvard bemoans the fact that the followers of John Harvard have no bulldog, tiger, mule. goat, or bear to help the Crimson flash in triumph on the athletic field, and suggests that any sort of a screech, howl, back, growl, bray, bleat, or crow would suffice.

The editors of The Crimson, typifying the austerity and the dignity that supposedly enwraps the Harvard man, apathetically remarks (sic) in an editorial that the lack of a mascot is cause for satisfaction rather than for regret. In part it says: "While other colleges were adopting an entire menagerie of appropriate animals, Harvard remained aloof and chaste, refusing parentage of even so mild a nature. Yale became big brother to a bull pup: Princeton mothered a tiger; but Harvard was the father only to a gentle wish that some day this foolishness might cease."

Despite the chilly, highbrow attitude of The Crimson in scoring "the silly antics of mascots," is it not human to have a pet, to cherish some symbolic creature? And does not the horse-play of the rival mascots and their keepers afford the spectators much good, wholesome amusement in the midst of a tense athletic struggle when opposing bloods are apt to become warm? Poor Harvard has not even the memory of a nice, docile, little bear like "Touchdown" whose presence was so helpful in 1915 when the Big Red Team administered a drubbing to the Crimson eleven. For the benefit of the agitators may we suggest for a mascot such dainty, playful animals as a gazelle an entellus, or a quagga. Or, to compromise, we suggest that a peacock be used to symbolize "fair Harvard." Falling in all of these proposals we recommend that Harvard lend an ear to those who would suggest a teahound. Cornell Daily Sun.