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To the Editors of the CRIMSON:

Owl, a good friend of my friend Christopher Robin, dictated this letter to me and asked that it be published. He is rather upset about the whole affair.

I hope that his sarcasm doesn't hurt anybody too much. Sometimes he is cross and short and sometimes he is kind. At present he is cross and short.

If anyone has a suggestion concerning Owl's problem, Owl would appreciate it if you would let me knew about it, and then I can tell him. John Dixon '49   Harvard Yard   Friday

Well! This is a fine state of affairs.


I come to look for a home and I am accosted by many uncouth persons. They haven't got Brains, any of them, only grey fluff that's flown into their heads by mistake, and they don't think. One even has the audacity to inquire whether I am a female or a male. Don' the silly! Of course I do.

My home in a tree in Hundred Acre Wood was blown down on such a blusterous day as this. Thereupon an acquaintance did a Noble Thing. Since I didn't intend that what happened to my Uncle Robert should happen to me, I accepted the Noble Thing he allowed. He permitted me to have his old home.

The acquaintance wasn't happy about his Noble Thing, and as much as I abhor the little runt I decided to return his home to him. Besides, my best friend CR and his Astute and Helpful poot friend of Very Little Brain, suddenly left. They went on the very top of the Forest called Galleons Lap and haven't been soon since. If anyone has information concerning their where-abouts let me know. Anyway, with CR gone I decided to leave the Forest and find a home elsewhere.

I came here. It could be better. Instead of Six Pine Trees there is only one decent pine tree. I can't find a Thoughtful Spot. People gape at me and say, "There yoy are." They are vulgar. Warn them to stand back.

You want to know what I am doing? I am looking for a home. That is the problem. And I am going to call it "THE WOLERY."

Go away, I'm thinking.

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