Tonight is the Junior Promenade. The class of 1926 and its chosen partners will swing to the rhythmic measures that once more liven Memorial. Once more will the dusty crannies and long-shadowed nooks reecho to light laughter and the patter of satin slippers on a polished floor. To each son of Harvard, the Prom--the prom of his own class--comes but once in a lifetime. But Mem has seen many--Mem has witnessed many a class at its revelry. Perhaps this is the basis of a warmer hold on old graduates than the memory of the numerous meals there consumed, in the days before dyspepsia became their unwelcome dinner guest.

This year's Prom is to pass into tradition at three o'clock. Last year's held rollicking career till four, and not too long ago the stroke of five saw the departure of the merry-makers.

Similarly, but not be mentioned in the same paragraph, the Freshman Jubilee had two of its precious hours lopped off ruthlessly a few years ago. Dances at the Union no longer reach well into the morning as was their wont.

Perhaps the polka, in ceding to the fox trot, has taken with it some of the charm of earlier days. Perhaps the bustle, the soft candle light, and the champagne punch, in fleeing before the straight gown, electrics, and lemonade, have also removed some of the grace that went with the quadrille. Or can it be that the efficiency of nowadays, as exhibited in the change from the graceful bow of invitation to the brazen cut-in, has enabled the present generation to get the same amount of enjoyment out of the dance in less time?