SERMONS WITH STONES
The Ku Klux Klan, one reads, is dying out. Either this statement is false, and the invisible Empire still exists in all its potency, or some one in Cambridge has committed an anachronism. In either case, the merry days of melodramatic anonymous letters and stones east through windows have returned, not only in the mystery plays so prevalent now, but in real life. A group of undergraduates is warned against holding a debate: a window is broken, and a still more threatening note received; the Cambridge police come and stand guard around the beleaguered clubhouse; a weird series of events to take place on the calm banks of the Charles.
Apparently the type of practical jokers represented by those who cut down the Lampoon tree is at large again. This sort of thing is a little too obvious for even the more violent or sportive Klansmen to undertake. The joy of mystifying others is a great incentive to such blood-and-thunder tricks. The pleasure of seeing one's deeds acknowledged, even anonymously, and of causing annoyance and perhaps anxiety appeals to some. All in all, it is illogical to expect any bombs or poisoned daggers; in spite of which, the Liberal Club is enabled to uphold its reputation for the unexpected.