Every university has its own raison d'etre. Virginia wins football games, Yale trains popular song-writers, and Harvard nestles saugly by the Charles, For many centuries Harvard men haven't given a hoot about most things, but they have always hotly defended their right to nestle. New, the traditional nestling, which among other details depends on having a low, compact skyline, threatens to be violated, and no one is becoming angry. What has happened?

The story, to be brief, is as follows. Across the river, destroying the somewhat aesthetic composition of the Business School and the Stadium, a metal tower is going up. Rumor has it that the tower is for television or something of the kind, but there is no reason to believe that insidious little story. Surely there is enough madness in the world already without a misplaced francophile trying to rival the Eiffel Tower with the sole aid of an erector set, thereby destroying Harvard's architectural symmetry.

There are a number of solutions to the problem, none of which is in any way feasible. A crazed group of students, fresh from a rally, could destroy the thing, or perhaps a facade of red brick might be built around it, making it resemble Memorial Hall as much as possible. At any rate, it is important to keep one's television sets tuned and one's muskets ready. If the structure is viewed with alarm long and hard enough, it may fall down by itself.