THE NIGHT LUNCH

In the midst of the congeries of flaws, errors, and disagreeable but unavoidable institutions which distinguish this and every other University, Harvard possesses one minor atom which comes close to glory it is the Eliot House night lunch. This facility has been a success from the start, and for that it deserves commendation. The students grumble over the conduct of History instructors, over the state of the walks in the Yard, and over the tarnished statue of John Harvard; they vilify their professors, and heap contumely on the unbowed heads of the goodies; of all the aspects of the College to come under the basilisk undergraduate eye, only the night lunch has survived intact.

The food there is good not unnaturally, it is better than that in the dining halls. The appointments of the room are adequate, and it is sufficiently stanch to withstand the assaults of the bawdy crowd which sometimes overruns it. But the one feature of the place which distinguishes and crowns it is the service afforded by the attendants. These attendants have aroused the curiosity of all who meet them. They are not only courteous; they go out of their way to help their customers; they are always cheerful, in spite of the pressure which a hurried group puts often upon them. They are to be lauded as much for their superiority over the waitresses in the Houses and the waiters in the Square as for their intrinsic worth; in short, they are the nearest approach in the University to absolute perfection, and the only encouragement after an evening of study.