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THE CURTAIN RISES

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

All roads lead to Cambridge. From the ends of the earth returning students come. Sophomores, wiser and more important than they ever have been or ever will be again; Juniors, serence and confident now that half their task is done; Seniors, abased and apprehensive in the thought of approaching divisional examinations. But in whatever mood, they come, and that's enough. Harking back in tradition to the little provincial college of 1636, Harvard now enters upon its two hundred and ninetieth year, a great University, mighty in the service not only of America but of the world.

And as these heirs to a glorious past and spirants to an even more glorious future greet each other from Hong Kong and Havana, from Beacon Hill and Devil's Gulch, what a dramatic moment demanding the imagination of a Hugo to appreciate! As East meets West and North meets South, is there no master's pen to do justice to the event? There is not.

"Hi, Charlier!" "Lo, John!" "Have a good summer?" "Great! D'jou?" "Roaring! Damn good to see you again. Gotta be moving. See you later."

"You bet. S'long." And thus begins the Harvard year.

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