GUIDES OF THE MUSE

From many, many mouths has come the plaint that Harvard takes things of the intellect too seriously, to the exclusion of the collegiate heroism of romance. The charge has gone unanswered, while Harvard continued on its path. Erring the University may be; but one feels somewhat less inclined to subscribe to such a belief, as time brings no great disapproval of her methods, but rather an access of those once doubting.

When the Glee Club, a few years ago, left the safe and easy road of college singing organizations, and ventured to cut its own way through a jungle of opposition, active and passive, the scoffers were many. The purpose of a glee club was to keep up the college spirit, by a hearty, full-throated chorus of football and Alma Mater songs, with a few compositions regarded as sufficiently light and gay to please the ears of a gathering of people not overly interested in music.

The possibility of a group of undergraduates turning to serious music was hooted down as futile, and even worse, as unfitting. Unpleasantness was bound to result; the self-imposed ostracism of the University Glee Club from the intercollegiate organization brought more accusations of snobbishness; but the ideal was chosen, the standard set, and for better or worse Doctor Davison led his group on its unique way.

Thursday finds yet another innovation, when Harvard and Yale send their glee clubs to Symphony Hall, for a joint concert. The ancien regime of banality in college music has suffered much of late; there have been signs of insurrection among many of those once satisfied with it. The concert Thursday appears, Janus-like, at a time when the past shows no little success, and the future augurs well. The colleges, and through them much of America are growing up to good music. Inevitably they must strike false notes as they move, but still they progress, and their pace has been considerably accelerated by such undertakings as Doctor Davison's.