"SPOUT, RAIN!"

Water, water almost everywhere and not a drop too much to drink! The piteous cry has resounded through Cambridge during all this week of "gala festivities". Portly undergraduates and graduates have been dwindled to emaciated shadows; it is not inconceivable that some unfortunates disappeared under the confetti shower of Tuesday in nameless but heroic graves.

Still events pursue their inexorable path. It is remarkable that the week has passed off so successfully and no small honor is due to the members of the University and especially to their faithful friends. There was but one noticeable mistake to mar Class Day. That was the program of songs which the Glee Club offered in its concert on the steps of Widener. There are few who do not know by experience or by report the ability of the club. But to sing old or new classics before an audience particularly in the mood for a program of old and new Harvard songs was to court criticism; and to sing them out-of-doors where they were often inaudible and the pianissimo effects completely lost, was an offense against artistry which contrasts strangely with the club's high reputation. With full respect to Dr. Davison's remarkable work, and to the talents of the men who took part, it must be admitted that the singing was the one disappointment in an otherwise glorious week.

There still remain things to be done. The boat race must be rowed today and the baseball game must be played tomorrow. The sky has been searched with powerful telescopes but not a cloud has been seen to break the viciously brazen arch of the heavens. Yet even if the sun continues its merciless glare and the asphalt becomes a sea of tar, the shadows of Harvard rooters will throng to the arenas of sport to cheer on their teoms. . . . "The rest is silence".