NEW ANIMALS FOR OLD

Legend hath it that in the days long since departed, one noble resident of Hollis Hall received executive permission to tother his favorite cow on sacred ground not far from his corner room. And, indeed, this could hardly be construct as strange when our renowned historians tell us that, all gossip to the contrary, Harvard's Yard, long criticized for its snobbish and aristocratic name, was once just what that name did mean. For in the days of much Latin and little English, all gootle and healthie colleges did have a central plotted upon which fed the domestic servants of all the local savants, and thus did the name of "cowyard," and later just "yard" come to grace the muddy bit of land enclosed by our older and more renowned dwellings. And rightly then did all good men and true feel that they had a just and honored right to herd their cows nearby.

But now to our Yard comes a new denizen of field and forest, a beast long since missing from urban confines. The how and wherefore of its appearance will always remain hidden in the shrouds of mystery, but as to its disappearance no stately veil shall long hang heavy there. Complacent bovines were once, and perhaps still may be allowed to roam gracefully through the greensward, and unmolested give their milk for Harvard, but birds and even beasts of other colors are ruthlessly driven from the protecting shelter, not, alas, out merely into the humdrum whirl of exhaust-filled urbanity, but straightway to meet the ill-aimed shots of citified big game hunters; allowed no longer like the cows to give forth their flowing liquid.

Skunks are pretty beasts, harmless unless unduly angered by crass attempts upon their lives; and, indeed, if let alone would doubtless lead a selfish existence with little thought of harm. But not to be allowed the freedom of our green is indeed a trial not easily to be withstood. If we let cows come to our lawn, why not let the gentle pussy of the wood; why must we moderns always be so eager to destroy each sign of placid sanity in our hurried life? And why, oh, why, have we no thanks for the Gentle beast who thus did give her life for science?