There has dwelt in our midst a body of men of whom we all are proud. For four months we have listened to the bugle calls in sombre Holyoke and seen two hundred men stand eternally at attention in front of Widener. We have cheerfully journeyed to Boston to the sound of their "taps" and gone to bed as "reveille" was blown. As we left Cambridge for vacations we saw these cadets trudge by and as we came back they were still trudging. They seemed automatons endlessly marching from class to drill and back again; and, watching them we have wondered how they lived through a Cambridge winter with special tortures added by the Navy Department. Tomorrow these Cambridge mariners are leaving the good ship Holyoke for service on the Atlantic. They have had to undergo worse labors than Hercules ever dreamed of, and now laden with new uniforms and much knowledge they depart.

The CRIMSON wishes them the best of luck in their battles with the Boche and the elements. They have graduated from a new war-time Harvard without feeling any love for the University. We do not blame them for any hard feelings they nurse towards Cambridge and we refuse to tell them that they are now Harvard men. Still as they go they carry with them our admiration and as we in the future climb on a transport we hope to see at the helm one of the men who for many a day has gloomily tramped the board walks of the Yard.