For seniors "the time is come" when bright college years with pleasure rife will soon be over. This is an observation, which the Walrus might make with considerable sentiment to his friend, the Carpenter, were he alive today. It is undoubtedly true just as most sentimental and Walrus-like things are true. This is probably why they are sentimental.

The time is almost conie, as the Walrus was saying, for the Baccalaureate Sermon, the Class Day Oration, the Commencement Address, and even for the Phi Beta Kappa Oration. All the senior quarter of the college will soon celebrate a little sentimentally--its bachelorhood. And yet this brief, final period of celebration, following four years of supposed cerebration, only goes to emphasize the fact that for most men the cerebration part of a college career is of much less importance than appears on the college catalogue. What a man remembers when he is out of college is the football games, the parties he has thrown--perhaps, and the more "collegiate" part of the bright years. Jones or Smith, in founding a Harvard Club in Kalamazoo or Hong Kong, does not found it upon an astronomy book, useful as that article may have been to him in college. He founds it, quite sentimentally, on the memory of the "Bright college years".

The impressive list of Harvard Clubs, printed in this morning's CRIMSON bears silent witness. More of such clubs are being founded constantly, and many larger ones such as the Harvard-Yale-Princeton Club of Chicago, are being added. Singaport has its single and now famous representative. These clubs, although many of them are inactive and many more meet only at times of Harvard-Yale football games, help give an echo to the "Ten Thousand Men of Harvard", as it is sung every year. They give a point to the songs and sermons, and sentimentality which come every class day week; and they turn quite paradoxically sentimentality into sense.