Harvard's perennial satirist got into action yesterday, when he circulated around the square hundreds of small paper covered volumes entitled "Sonnets of a Sorehead," taking a number of lusty but goot humored swats at many prominent figures of the University, from President Lowell and Professor Baker to the statue of John Harvard, and the CRIMSON.

The identity of the sorehead is unknown. On the cover of the book it is announced that the author, is "Hollis Randolph Thayer-Smith," while the publisher is declared to be the "Pessimistic Society of Cambridge." But that he finds much to scoff at in Harvard and her professors is apparent from his score or more of sonnets, written in more than passing verse, which appear in his little volume.

At Professor Baker the sorehead seems particularly sore. Of him he writes:

What though thy name is George, art thou not Esau,

Who sold his birthright for a bawdy prize?

Thy actions may seem right to other eyes;

But not to those who've seen the things that we saw.

Vain man, didst thou suppose thou hadst the power

To dictate to the gods that rule above?

What glory could thy mind be dreaming of,

That thou desert'st the shop at this late hour?

The evil that men do lives after them,

The good is oft interred with their bones

So sang our bard in real dramatic tones.

Why hast thou, then destroyed this precious gem?