The annual Senior picnic has been and gone. Yesterday morning a noble body of 325 Seniors separated themselves from their studious tasks and wended their way to Nantasket, where the festive day was celebrated with great rejoicing. Amid the curses of all Cambridge a noisy drum and a squeaky horn traversed the streets of our noble city and awoke its sleepy inhabitants. There was no question in the minds of all, but that the Seniors were loose for the day. After some weird and wonderful music by this voluntary band, Kanrich's bunch of tunemurderers arrived in the Yard and were soon joined by the aught-sevens, dressed in every variety of costume from pajamas to red caps and downs. Every one received an official badge and a producer of music(?) and the whole army marched around Cambridge and through Memorial Hall, where it narrowly escaped annihilation from a volley of buns and other deadly missles.

Finally the party was embarked on the King Fill-up and proceeded to Nantasket, where the usual program of events took place. The clams went down with evident enjoyment, and vast quantities of liquid refreshment were consumed. The water was so cold that the Seniors were unable to take their annual bath, except for one hardy individual, whose desire for cleanliness overcame him. The home trip was disastrous, but the Seniors finally arrived in Boston after severe losses.