They always notice it. They always frown when they see boys living differently than they used to live; they always snort when they see men teaching things they were not taught. Their gifts to Harvard made this possible, and still they resent it. It is probably because every change makes them feel just that much less at home, and that annoys them. Then they see some classmates is the distance and they forget their annoyance. And together they all go into the Yard. Sometimes they don't even notice the legend over the gateway: "Enter to learn . . ."

Or if they do, they know it doesn't apply to them. It's the kid's turn now. They don't notice that more has changed than just the buildings, that now Harvard is educating a different kind of man to serve a different kind of function. In fact, they haven't really kept up with Harvard.

But Harvard has kept up. Harvard today is more conscious than ever before of the voice of the lower classes: " . . . one third of the nation . . ." It is more appreciative than ever before of the need liberal and enlightened leaders. It is more convinced than ever before that Henry Adams was right when he demanded that both sides of every issue be expressed. It is closer than it has ever been to its ideal of "veritas," for like a true democracy, it puts its trust in the common sense of the individual and offers him every school of thought from which to choose his own. Its classes contain men from more strata of society, its lecture rooms are the goal of more men, its prestige and influence are felt farther abroad than ever before.

And for the first time, Harvard finds itself hoping for a new kind of reunion: A reunion to which men come and learn about Harvard and its aims, and which they can leave, go into town and village, and fight for this new philosophy. Only this will make reunions truly worthwhile. Only this will enable graduates to obey the second half of the old command: ". . . go forth to serve."