THE POTPOURRI OF AGE

Dean Edgell's spirited defense of the jarring hits of questionable architecture that dot the Yard comes as a grateful balm to most loyal sons of John Harvard. Too often in the pat has it been necessary for Cantabrigians to hand their heads when confronted with photographic reproductions of the splendidly conceived structures that adorn the campuses of other more recent universities to the West and South.

It is perfectly true, as Dean Edgell points out, that many of the buildings are unspeakably bad from an aesthetic standpoint. The Boylston Laboratory for example, has many times crushed out joy from the hearts of happy mortals coming down from examinations; and the dark front of Sever has its seasons of appearing gloomily prophetic. But in spite of these architectural miscarriages, the ensemble, especially to a Harvard man, is distinctly attractive. The University did not blossom into being overnight; it has been spreading and adding to itself for almost three centuries, and its very heterogeneity is a living reminder of the past. The afternoon sunlight, glinting through the leaves in summer against the red brick of Massachusetts, besides recalling memories of rugged Continentals, also brings to mind a picture of General Burgoyne, pacing his narrow quarters in Apthorpe House after the battle of Saratoga. And a certain individuality in the execution of Emerson is unavoidably reminiscent of the old Concord sage, a quotation from whose works, according to a sight-seeing tour conductor, appears over the door.

Older generations have come and long since passed, save for college records and dusty class rolls, into their nameless obscurity; but each one has contributed its share to the physical and spiritual aspect of the University. And if at times a few features of their work do not seem to have been constructed with an eye to the possible standards of their successors, it does not necessarily follow that the memories they recall are in any way less appealing.