Prologue Welcome, welcome, all ye freshmen who have come to write your name Welcome, welcome, Nineteen Twenty four, John Harvard may be proud Seize the torch where Time has flung it, guard it well and jealously; To this welcome from old Harvard then may Lampy add his own: IKE the grass of eternal springs that waxes cheerful greeting. Those first few days, when Coop and Sever and Terry sound strangely alike; when Max's inviting smile seems reassuring, and the Yard has wholly swallowed up the earth, then thou of Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-Four art to be pitied. Enjoy, while yet it may be enjoyed, the beginnings of this new life, for it is said that, after the dust has been shaken from the Royal Palaces on the Charles, grandma's picture hung, banners hoisted, and a moderate number of cigarette butts scattered upon the otherwise bleak hearth, Freshmen lose their charm. Be that as it may, Lampy sings loud his welcome, even drowning in a bottle of ink the chuckled observation of the Ibis: "O pueri, you have much to learn." ONDER in University Hall sits in stale solemnity the College Office. And from Mount Auburn Street the Jester wags a sorrowful ear at its machinations. How often during the past two years have come from that same office speeches, script. and C statements praising Harvard's recovery from upsets, minor and major, occasioned by the recent war! Paradoxically, the College Office remains the only part of the University which has not swung back to the serenity of old peaceful days. For scholarly pursuits, from Lacedaemonian literature to Swiss Psychology, have shaken off the bands of military coercion; courses have galloped back into the curriculum unscathed by temporary suppression. College publications not so fortunate as Lampy (who was able to continue uninterrupted during the period of the war), recovered immediately and are now as healthy as ever. Athletics follow the worthy example. Since September's first dawn the Jester has smiled his approval upon hardy football artists who wander daily to the Stadium for practice. Why, oh, why, is the College Office encrusted in its chaos, even now unable to find its course on the compass of Cambridge peace? There is no S.A.T.C. to flurry it, no naval unit to nag at its principles with new disciplines and methods. What though the rest of the world be still in varying degrees of confusion, surely Cambridge is sheltered. But perhaps peace and order are thought a sin when so many nations are in turmoil. Else how comes it that one branch of the Office writes to a certain sub-Freshman that he is admitted to college, while another orders him to pass further examinations and to enter under the shadow of a condition? It is possible to believe that sympathy for unfortunate Belgium and northern France is a reason for inefficiency in Massachusetts. Did the Turkish treatment of Armenia prompt last spring's sweeping gesture which, when the final marks in one course were found too high, lowered them all one grade. Lack of coördination appears to be the chief psychic source of these manifestations; and the Jester sighs for the student disappointment which it unjustly causes. He wonders if there is no one but the infallible Terry who knows how the undergraduate stands. It is interesting to imagine that who may awake on the eve of our graduation to we are all at the mercy of some somnolent Dean find that we have broken Rule 99, Paragraph X (of which we have never heard), and that we are irrevocably unworthy of a degree. Know thyself, O Office, and let the College know thee as thou wert! T SEVEN o'clock on Friday, October the first, Lampy will lift the heavy latch of his Checkered Chamber and bid enter all Freshmen, Sophomores and Juniors who feel inclined to push a punful pen or enliven unblemished paper with ink from an artistic brush. In other and harsher words, he invites those who can write or draw to call at the Lampoon Building and bring, if possible, samples of their wit. Satis est. |