"IF YOU HAVE TEARS--"

One would not think that the Yard is about to burst into bloom. Trunks stand at each entryway, and express trucks career and careen along paths where on ordinary days only a desultory laundry cart is now and then to be seen. The dingy, white lumber heaps that desecrate the greensward beneath them and the elms above, give no inkling that they will look much better in company with twilight and Japanese lanterns. Now they add a minor crudity to the normal grotesqueries of the Yard.

But such is the Yard to which the under-classmen will say "Farewell" (if they are so formal), and in truth the deserted and departed aspect of it will fit the mood of many, alike those who have received postals and those who have not. In the next few days, most of them will glory in the air of decay in which they perform the last rites and, between jumping on recalcitrant trunks and stuffing odd laundry cases, will heave the sighs of relief that indicate. "It is all over". One hopes that the return will be solaced by the arts of summer.