When on Commencement mooring the Sheriff of Middlesex Country comes slowly forward in front of the platform, pounds his aword three times up on the boards, and says "The assembly will now come to order," a distinct odor of the past pervades the impromptu behind Sever. For the words spoken now for many years by Sheriff Fahburn were spoken on the came occasion by his predecessors for more then a hundred years before his day. The calling to order of the "assembly" of black-gowned students, their families, and the customary "puellae" is one of the oldest of Harvard traditions.

Not many "traditional" customs here, however, date back any great distance. To be sure, the tintinabulation of the college bell at the hour of 7 o'clock in the morning has been recurring daily for untold ages, and the college Yard has been a Yard for nearly 100 years and never once a Campus; but most of the collegiate Idiosyncrasies of Harvard are still in comparative infancy.

Humor and Pathos in Rinehart Case

Take the famous Rinehart tradition, for instance. The sleepy Senior roused from his slumbers at midnight by the wailing echoes across the Yard wonders if there was ever a time when a Senior might put his head out of the window of a Yard dormitory and shout the magic word "Rinehart" without anywhere from two to 20 other Seniors growling or roaring or barking the same word in reply. There was such a time, and that only about 30 years ago. The pathetic tale of the lonely student who heard other students being called by friends, but was never called himself until he went out under his own window and shouted his own name, is a story based on tragi-comic fact. The story spread quickly; its pathetic aspects were soon forgotten, its humor remembered; finally its very origin became somewhat obscure. Many are the vociferous young men who make hideous the soft spring evenings without knowing why they do so, without realizing why the syllables of "Rinehart" should be echoing from Holworthy to Grays.

Rinehart Outs Gibson Girl

Before the Rinehart custom began, however, there was another means of getting students to put their heads out of the windows and shout. All through the nineteenth century, whenever there came across the Yard a woman, be she young, middle-aged, or old and wrinkled, the cry went forth "Heads Out!" and windows were flung up as other students took up the shout. With the coming of the Gibson girl to the "Annex"--in other words Radcliffe--and the end of the Victorian age, the number of female figures in the Yard increased so much that this custom became impractical.. It wanted for several years; and then came Rinehart to replace it altogether. Imagine the situation today had the tradition been maintained; the Yard would be a spot of incessant uproar day and night, and overemphasis on either athletics or studies would certainly be averted.

There is No Cow

Other traditions have been allowed to die. Professor Copeland, as Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory, is allowed to keep a cow in the Yard; but unfortunately he does not do so. To serenade the Professors' daughters and pretty girls of Cambridge is no longer an fait. Still other customs remain in altered from. There is still a tree orator on Class Day, though there is no tree. And the confettl battle in the Stadium on the same day is but the mild aftermath of the great struggle around the tree. In the space which now composes the Bollis-Harvard-Idonel-Bolden Chapel quadrangle grew the tree, and around it sat in a low grand stand the ladies, who cheered as vociferously then as now. Ten feet up the tree a wreath of flowers encircled the trunk, and to get a small bouquet of these flowers was the dearest ambition of every Senior. Caps and gowns were cast aside, and the oldest possible clothes were worn. It was every man for himself, and the struggles were tremendous. Sometimes men grouped together, and on the shoulders of four husky men stood one light one, snatching enough flowers for all, while frantic classmates tackled the big men and yanked the small one's shirt from his back ... And now, in this soft age, men merely pelt confetti at their girls, and are pelted in return.

Personality Plus

Personalities, on the whole, form the chief traditions of each college gen- eration. Professor Sophocles, with his cockerels and pullets in his study, each named after a Professor's wife, is not entirely forgotten. Miss M.R. Jones, known as Mr. Jones, keeping shop in the Square with a sign in front of her cakes and confections: "Gentlemen will not, others must not, touch," and John the Orangeman are still historic figures. But there are more modern notables to take their places. Max Keezer, supersleuth, will not soon be forgotten, and the historic remark of Arthur Clement: "The patrol wagon was the only safe place in the Square," will go down through the years even as Mr. Jones's sign. And to uphold professorial traditions, Professor Whitney is strenuously preparing himself against the day when, Professor Merriman's energy failing, the duty of teaching history by action as well as by word will fall upon him.

One curious thing about Harvard customs, or at least about the stories that have become traditional, is that they are invariably founded on fact, and not only that, but they are in main accurate and devoid of exageration. Perhaps in some future age old tales will be told how Professor Kittredge personally horsewhipped every man who dared to have a cold, and how, on the President's daily walks, the scuffings of the Presidential dog marked the spot where the next College building was to rise. But no Harvard's motto will still be "Veritas.