Boston, it has often been said, is in the last stages of decay--its ancient and vaunted "culture" gone to places where is will be more appreciated. Novels and magazine articles have been written on the subject, and trial cases have been fought in Boston's police court to establish the right of culture to be forced down decadent throats by authors and publishers of more learned cities.

Boston probably is not what she used to be--perhaps, if one may be permitted the ancient gag, "she never was". Still there seems to be encouraging signs of a turn for the better.

A bill is now before the State legislature to put an end to the arbitrary suppression of books by police sergeants; who have been called up it is said, by the Watch and Ward and asked to read and gasp "at page 256, the third paragraph, if they want to see real smut."

And to come down to things that happen more quickly than action by the legislature, this week sees the appearance in Boston of two men, eminently worth while, culturally speaking, who if box office returns are to be trusted, will fill two of the largest auditoriums in Boston--Emil Ludwig and Count Keyserling. That such visitors can rival "Bossy" Gillis as a drawing card shows that the spark of culture, at least, is not lacking, and proves once more the advantage which Harvard men enjoy over their collegues in institutions more richly endowed by nature but not in educational opportunity.