THE TURNING OF THE TIDE

Spectators who sat on the Princeton side of the stadium on Saturday said that one of the most exciting features of the afternoon was the perfect frenzy of the Harvard stands which provided a display of spirit not observed here for several years. After seasons of being routed by every first-class college it met on the field, people wondered if, even in the event of unexpected success, Harvard could stand up on the benches and go mad in the best traditions of the football world. Saturday's performance proved that it could.

No one who saw the game could call it anything but a Harvard victory. The fourteen-fourteen figure was for the scoreboard alone; the second touchdown was the royal flush, and no one could call the Crimson hand. The battle waged by the team in the face of the most discouraging odds has brought applause from even the most partial observers of Princetonian sympathies. The first touchdown was no tricky pass or dramatic run. It was fought for, inch by inch, and showed more than any one thing what the Harlow team has now become. The new spirit was shown again in the trench warfare which marked the third period. Time after time Princeton reached Harvard's three--yard line, only to be pushed back onto less dangerous ground. From such skirmishes it was unreasonable to expect perpetual success. The defense couldn't work every time, and Harvard proved to be the pitcher that went to the well too often, as Princeton made its second touchdown.

The events of Saturday should allay any doubts as to the interest of the students in the university's most popular sport. Any speculation as to whether the playing of the team was improved by the cooperation of the undergraduates or the unlooked for burst of joy was evoked by the superior performance on the field is to revive the argument of the chicken and the egg. Saturday's game has shown that there was nothing chronic in the team's previous ill luck, and that football played as a clean sport has lost none of its interest or effectiveness.