"The general purpose of this paper," writes Richard Steele in his opening Tatler, "is to expose the false arts of life, to pull off the disguises of cunning, vanity, and affectation, and recommend a general simplicity in our dress, our discourse, and our behaviour."

Should a twentieth century Richard Steele visit Cambridge this spring, he would have little trouble in collecting material enough to fill several issues of the Tatler.

One of his papers might well be entitled "A Discourse upon the Corruption of Raincoats at Harvard University," and he could doubtless afford his readers no little diversion by describing a rainy night in Cambridge, and the students, who, happy in the consciousness of having made themselves conspicuous, parade the streets like sandwich men, bearing on their proud backs mottoes, initials, bleeding hearts, crimson "H's", and portraits of pretty ladies.

And in another essay, Steele could profitably deal with the young gentlemen who edit the Freshman Red Book at Harvard, and tell how they, in an effort to enliven their offering, filled what should have been a dignified history of the activities of a Harvard class, with page after page of miscellaneous snap shots, captioned by slang phrases and the nick names of class heroes.

Both these phenomena--for such they truly are at Cambridge--seem almost too trivial to mention. But they are significant in that they indicate a willingness on the part of students at Harvard University to model their manners and customs after preparatory schools and small-town colleges. Harvard's much-touted "individuality" has left its mark on students for nearly three centuries. But if it is now to yield so readily to the onslaughts of provincial collegians, the Student Council might just as well declare it at an end, rechristen the Yard, the Campus, and make the Freshmen start wearing skull caps.