It is not every day that one can be an aesthete. A vagabond must watch the calendar warily, and when the fitting day arrives, pounce upon it. Bozo Snyder has left these parts to show his toothless grin to other audiences. There are those left, however, who still hold aloft the banner of culture, and the aesthete need not quite despair.

For Horace Greeley will lead a veritable parade of publicists and orators of his late lamented century into Harvard 2 at 10 o'clock. Syndicates and the radio have done for these--although we still have Dr. Cadman--and Professor Murdock may deliver a genuine obituary. But for my aesthetics--at noon, I mean to wander through the stone and plaster that line the corridors of Robinson Hall to hear Professor Edgell in Fine Arts 4a, discourse on Ammanati, della Porta, and early masters of the grand baroque which fills the heel of Italy.

The Art of Poetry itself is listed for discussion this afternoon, when Professor Elton takes up Horace in Comparative Literature 29. There is something very satisfying, too, about going into Sever 17 at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. To jam with hundreds in the morning through a narrow door is merely academic at best, but to enter Sever in such dreadful solitude as this is aesthetic.

Charles Naegele and Mr. Koussevitzki will conclude the day in Sanders at 8 o'clock. For Beethoven is on the program in F major, and Grieg, and Pierne and De Falla. It is a program worthy of them, and between the numbers. I shall sit and wonder how they light the as jets on the chandeller.