Young men and maidens fair, old dames with canes to aid their limping gait, instructors with their non-so-pretty wives, an oh! so dapper House Master in a dinner coat and burberry, Cambridge hoydens, Freshmen wondering what it is all about, musty little people disgorged by the library to dust themselves off from their vigil among the books in the tombs, secretaries, to some dean--you don't know which,--but you've see them in University Hall--Radcliffe and debutantes on the loose--such is the group that gathers round the steps of Widener to hear the Glee Club under the evening sky.

These outdoor concerts are unique in Harvard. More than any free concert on the Mall in New York, they are cosmopolitan. They bring together the whole community in an endeavor to grasp some of the fleeting beauty of the spring tide. There are no speculators hawking tickets on the fifty, for there are no seats. There is no wild cheering, no drunken shouting, only the bursting applause rings out under the trees to punctuate the intermission. What emotions rise in the hearts of the people are unexpressed, but taken away into the night to add to their sense of beauty and joy in life.

The Harvard songs, sung by the University at the end, are of the kind as well, for on this occasion words are sung in unison by a whole group which rarely gets together at one time to hymn their alma mater. To the Glee Club, for welding the community into a unit and for filling the night with song, go the blessings of the College.