Saturday's game teaches us this about our Eleven. The men are full of pluck; they played with a determination and spirit that won them the commendation of the whole college. But they do not know the science of the game. The fact is simple, plain and palpable. We do not know how to play foot ball at Harvard. The team was equal physically almost man for man to the Princeton eleven. Our men were in as good training. They rushed harder, Yet, upon the whole, Princeton played all around us. Every man on the Eleven did far better than the college had any right to hope for. But it was through their pluck and muscle that they acquitted themselves so well, and not through their familiarity with the fine points of the game. It is this fact that they were so good in some respects while so poor in others that makes the college lose its equanimity over the result of the game. When we saw the eleven's strength and spirit thus come to naught we felt with Othello, "But yet the pity of it, Iago, O ! the pity of it."