With the repeat performance of the original "Rule Britannia" tonight, the Adams House Musical Society will close its concert, its season, and its short but brilliant career. For over a year it has provided music rarely heard, from early madrigals to the one Gilbert and Sullivan opera nobody over hears. It has proved that music seldom heard can be fun to hear and fun to perform. Now it graduates.

The ideas, the money, and the energy behind the Adams House Musical Society have come, for the most part, from one man: William Perry. From the "Band-Aides," who sang orchestral selections like "The Light Cavalry Overture," Perry evolved the nucleus of the group. For its first concert last April, he added chorus and orchestra and produced a program of English glees, canons, and catches. The chorus had a good time, and the audience left humming "Which is the properest day to drink?" indicating a liking for both form and content. In the following months, the Society tried Gilbert and Sullivan's "The Grand Duke," Strauss' "The Gypsy Baron," rare Mozart, a tribute to Queen Elizabeth, and several concerts of chamber music, all in the tradition of music seldom heard. Perry's search for suitable scores took him to Widener, to Boston, and then to libraries in England and France.

In a sense, the "Adams House Musical Society" is a misnomer. Only the administrators -- Perry, Walter Ginkel, and George Hersey--are from Adams. The choruses and orchestras for the concerts were drawn from the University at large, because members of the Society felt that the challenge presented by concerts of unfamiliar music would be too much for a group limited to one House. Healthy fractions of the Glee Club, the Pierian Sodality, and the Radcliffe Choral Society have been used in most of the large concerts. For "The Gypsy Baron," the Society imported Polyna Stoska from the Met. "The Gypsy Baron" was the organization's most ambitious production, and its most serious setback.

The financial failure of "The Gypsy Baron" was attributed largely to Harvard's indifference to opera in general and Strauss in particular. But the failure was due not only to community apathy to the unsophisticated Strauss; it was also due to an attempt at lavish production which had only unpolished results. Polyna Stoska did not draw her money's worth. "The Gypsy Baron" was fun, but it was still the Adams House Musical Society, this time all dressed up.

Money for all the productions of the Society came from the contributions of the individual members and from a small House committee grant, since (with the exception of "The Gypsy Baron") there has never been an admission charge for any production. Money, however, was not the organization's chief problem. Rehearsing a compete orchestra and chorus was difficult because most of the members also performed in other organizations which also claimed their time. Scores were not easy to come by and had to be copied by hand from those in Widener or in European libraries.

An Adams House concert is a Perry production in every detail, from finding the scores to printing the programs. His energy has been consistently amazing; his enthusiasm has been shared by his performers and his audiences even when the results have not been completely smooth.

Perry's musical diggings have been more than refreshing concerts or delightful evenings. They have been a genuine contribution to the local musical scene--something unique, and not likely to be seen again for a while. The Adams House Musical Society brought unusual music to a large number of people. In making them familiar with unfamiliar music, it became an institution which will be sorely missed. Now, at its end, it has become a reminder of the old Emersonian saw about an institution being the lengthened shadow of a man.