A Senior with the temerity to usher in his week of Divisionals with an evening of musical comedy can scarcely be considered to have the stability of judgment necessary for a critic. Yet that Senior, to whom the only distinguishing mark of vacation has been the absence of the morning CRIMSON (advt.) from under the door, fortunately requires only the barest modicum of acumen to realize that "Merry Merry" is far above and beyond the humdrum level of musical comedy average. In this day of striving for the "bigger and better," it is something of a relief to discover a producer content to concentrate on the "better" at the expense of the "bigger." "Merry Merry" is of the intimate, clubby musical comedy genre made popular by its predecessors, "Little Jessie James" and "My Girl." The cast is so small that we all feel pretty well acquainted by the middle of the first act, and the atmosphere so friendly that we are sure it would be quite permissible for us to try our hand at the bassoon for a few minutes. The chorus can hardly be called a chorus, for the young ladies--there are, strange and wonderful to tell, no young men--all contribute extensively to the dialogue as well as perform most amazing individual and collective Terpsichorean tricks.

"Merry Merry" is, in fact, preeminently a dancing show. It is for her dancing that Miss Marle Saxon has, temporarily at least, usurped that corner of this Senior's mind ostensibly reserved for the Scotch imitators of Chaucer. When she sang, in a pleasingly pretty fashion, we found our inner brain pondering, despite ourselves, on the virtues of Dryden's prose style. When she spoke, in a delightfully mellifluous drawl, we could not entirely forget the family life of Milton, but when she danced--divisionals, oh yes, when does that examination come, and if so, what of it?

Even Miss Saxon, however, wins only second honors for the evening in competition with Mr. Harry Puck. For Mr. Puck is indeed a rara avis, a musical comedy hero whom the male members of the audience can with equanimity listen to their female companions admire. Besides failing to arouse that on-well-it-takes-all-kinds-of-people-to-make-a-world feeling so common in the contemplation of musical comedy heroes, Mr. Puck sings most satisfactorily, maltreats a piano outrageously, even to the extent of landing on the keys in a nose dive while in the throes of a jazz number, and clowns through numerous comedy scenes which owe their hilarity largely to his naive portrayal of the nice young man who "lives at the Y.M.C.A. in Brooklyn." Moreover, he is credited with the direction of the dance numbers, which should in itself be enough honor for one man.

The most memorable musical number is the sentimental "It Must Be Love," sung first over a subway turnstile (not in the rush hour), after the nice young man has paid the nice young lady's fare with his last nickel. Others are Mr. Puck's "I Was Blue," and the vaudeville troupers' patter number, "We Were a Wow in Worcester,"