Some four hours before the umpire yells "Batter Up" this afternoon to start the annual Harvard-Yale baseball game, the Rev. Nathan Wood, Paster of the First Baptist Church, Arlington, will deliver the invocation to the Radcliffe graduating Senior Class. An ambitious scribe might well draw an analogy here and point out that with the advent of joint instruction, Radcliffe is finally coming into the big leagues; that Harold L. Ickes is warmed up and will deliver the pitch,--and that the Radcliffe Class of '49 is fielding the largest number of married students in history.

But the Class of '49 can be discussed in other terms. As the speaker will probably make very clear this morning, the Class of '49 is an unusual one; but it owes its distinction to more than the fact that some 40 percent are being graduated with honors, or that the only summa cum laude is now away on her honeymoon. This is the Class that was nurtured on joint instruction, brought up in classrooms where the woman in the seat on the left was in here proper and rightful place. The Class of '49 was among those officially admitted to the Harvard Classroom, and it developed for its Alma Mater a new place in the sun, a welcome belongingness. Radcliffe, so long considered a peripheral part of the Cambridge scene, finally became essential to the Square community.

With the change in the Radcliffe position there has come a new attitude toward the Annex Commencement. Functioning members of the Joint Education Program, Cliffedwellers have come to be viewed as participating students who in general, unspecified ways, follow the same rules as their Harvard colleagues and are just as likely to end up with a degree. Taking the same courses, the same exams as the men from the Houses, Radcliffe students evidently can be graduated too. This is indeed a change from the days when those in the Annex were considered part of the local scenery, appearing in time for football games, and disappearing after the Yard Concerts--a group that spent its days taking notes and its nights playing bridge, using odd moments to snare men and write papers. Where this all led to nobody knew, or seemed to care--gone by the end of May, Radcliffe was always back in September and the faces seemed pretty much the same. Now it turns out that some graduate in the spring, and the event is not incredible.

So the unusual Class of '49 has made its mark on the hither edge of the Charles. No longer is the Radcliffe Commencement unbelievable, no longer is joint instruction a practice only of state universities. There is no telling what contribution '49 has made for the future; for the present, bear in mind that this class has had a more complete education than its predecessors, and that upon it will rest the responsibility of proving that joint education is a paying proposition intellectually as well as financially for the school across the Common.