One hundred and forty-three years ago a broken line of men and women marched over the hard cobblestones and sharp rocks of the highway towards a suburb of Paris. Thin rags hung about them for clothes, their shoes showed great holes, and the filth of a century clung to them like a disease. On every animal face there was a snarl and a sneer that represented the discontent of a thousand others, and the lines and hollows that only starvation can leave distorted their features. They hardly knew where they were going, yet they dreamt that each painful step they took would bring them nearer to food, to the Baker and the Baker's wife.

Today a line of motor lorries stretches itself out over macadam highways. The occupants are clad warmly from head to foot, and some of the women wear fur coats. They can joke and sing because they have just had coffee and doughnuts provided them at the last town, and someone will look after them tonight. The procession of trucks, for which $100 each has been paid, is flanked by motorcycle troopers who will escort them to the next city, and there they will be feted and photographed. They call themselves the "Hunger Marchers."

TODAY

11 O'Clock

"Religious Poetry," Professor Munn, Sever 11.

MONDAY

11 O'Clock

"Oregon," Professor Baxter, Harvard 1.

12 O'Clock

"Fluids in Motion," Professor Black, Jefferson 250.

"Ancient Architecture of Magna Graecia," Professor Conant, Robinson Hall.