FIRE! FIRE!

Once again a slightly ever-enthusiastic pursuit of the Muse seems to have brought down Jovian thunder upon the unprotected head of Lampy.

Just why the Mayor should choose at this time to drag forth such musty bones from his political closet is a trifle obscure. Obviously the attempt would be but a feeble one if merely intended to make sweet and clean the name of Curley in the mind of the general public. Besides, elections are far away. Perhaps he feels that Boston supporters will look with approval on the stern chastisement of smart young Harvard fellers. And then, there is the remote possibility that the Mayor is mad.

But for members of the Lampoon the occasion can be only one of unrestrained jubilance. For nothing, not even an lbis, could have afforded such splendid publicity for the latest issue of the magazine. The sales should be tremendous, and when the Executive Board comes out of jail it should be able to retire comfortably on the proceeds.

Yet, lest joy be unconfined, it is only wise to bear in mind that a certain Mr. Enright once spent nine long months of hard labor for drawing funny pictures of the Mayor of Boston.