Sumer is Icumen in Lude Sing Cuckoo

To the Editor of the CRIMSON:

We have noticed with some displeasure the undue emphasis your paper has lately placed on Spring. Your esteemed correspondent, the Vagabond, seems to have been unable to hurdle the difficult barriers placed in his way by that estimable phenomenon and even your editorials have taken undue cognizance of what has long been taken for granted.

"Spring," we wish to point out, is a euphemism. It is not our intention to lean on authority, but Mr. Samuel Clemens was not the first to comment on the weather of Boston and its on-virons. Nor, indeed, was he the last; we, in our time have been moved to expressions of opinions which your estimable sheet would certainly not be safe in printing. If the vernal urge, whatever that is, is at any moment roused, it is in the next moment squelched by one of those inimitable gusts of Boston atmosphere. How anyone can really get spring fever in the cold clamminess of an April evening in (or near) Boston; how anyone can succumb to the charms of Boston maidens under the bare trees of Walden Pond is beyond our comprehension; how anyone can do anything with one of those Boston maidens even if he were to succumb is still more a matter for wonder.

In conclusion, would point out that we are not of the modern and lamented (by us) school of debunkers. We have the greatest love for all the beautiful things in life and the flowers, the birds and the trees are a never-ending mystery of enchanting excitement for us. In our time we have done our Bit; but just now we are cynics, made bitter by the vagaries of the so-called elements and by the approach of Divisionals whose wintry threats chill our marrow and send us to the movies, the theatre, and the Bottle for unsatisfactory relief.