"GONE ARE THE DAYS"

Life is, after all, shadows in a shadow world. The concrete of today is the worm food of tomorrow. Here in the cloistered clusters of the University the status quo deceives. Some sanguine to another says, "At last the permanent--the permanent." He taps Lis pipe upon the steps of Widener and is one with time, with eternity.

Yet even here changes come, and there is disillusion. Such, indeed, is the case of the steam shovel at the corner of Mt. Auburn and Dunster Streets. The gentlemen of 1930 were shocked yesterday to find their sole, sound, secure amusement gone--one shadow of this shadow world gone hence. The Yard Cop who joined blue coated friends of the local gendarme gendre in watching wistfully the "little grains of sand" rise to their climax, descend is now a pessimist. The shovel has gone.

But there will be other shovels. When Pegasus wings and muses buskin off, there will come the welcome biss of perhaps a firmer representation of man's greatest feat the steam shovel. And man ever quick to have faith, will discover the unity in multiplicity, the permanence in change and the class of 1930 will again have amusement.