a mission for Harvard and for mankind which those times demanded. They came to teach the gospel of fun, —the glad tidings of a good time and good cheer, — that, next to godliness and cleanliness, cheerfulness is the third great duty of man, to show by an object lesson, that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Some of their pupils in succeeding generations may possibly have overlearned the lesson, and demonstrated the reverse of the rule, that all play and no work makes Jack a fool. But that is not the fault of the Founders.

"Let me recall the state of the College in 1795, when the cornerstone of this our temple was laid. It was a hundred and fifty years from the founding of the College, and you know too well how grim and terrible life there was in the first century one demnition grind' all the time, as its founders meant it should be, and when the yoke of the Mathers had been broken, and better times had come, how busy our Alma Mater was in the process of gestation before the time of the Pudding, in breeding heroes for the State in the coming days that were to try men's souls, when she graduated such men as Warren and Otis and Hancock and the Adamses, you all remember how she suffered like the rest - yes, more than the rest — when those deadly days of peril came. Why, there were men present at the foundation of the Pudding whose fathers had seen the College buildings converted into barracks for the colonial soldiers, and the College green white with their tents. There were buxom matrons in Cambridge, who, as maidens, had seen the handsome Virginia General unsheathe his sword under the shadow of the old elm as he took command of the New England troops. Or, as Lowell put it, always using the right word in the right place, "he had come to wield our homespun Saxon chivalry ;" and Lowell further says, that long after 1795, the iron hooks from which had swung the hammocks of Burgoyne's captured red-coats could still be seen on the interior walls of old Massachusetts Hall.

"But better days had come. Those days of want and famine and pestilence had passed away. The long dark hopeless days of the Confederation, almost more perilous than the war itself, had been struggled through. The Federal Constitution, after a hand to hand fight in almost every State, had won the day. Washington was President, Jay had just brought home from England the great treaty that had founded the freedom of American commerce. It was a time of brighter days, — the dawn of a new era for America, the time of a new departure for Harvard.

"Peace and plenty had returned. This idea of the students at Harvard not having had enough to eat must have originated in a dyspeptic dream. As I said before, it was the soul that was starving. They had been cultivating their brains at the expense of that nobler element. There had never been any fun at Harvard. They had been taught that knowledge was power; but what was that power worth without the temper and the hearty spirit to enjoy and to use it. The founding of the Hasty Pudding Club capped the climax of what Brooks Adams has called the Emancipation of Massachusetts. The College was growing and flourishing, and this Club was thenceforth to be the apple of gold in that plate of silver. Our first allegiance is always to the College, but here is the cord that binds us by a closer tie. And I think there is hardly

a man of the four thousand whose names are on our rolls, but would say that the happiest memories of the happy days of youth cluster around the kettle and the bowl.

"And now, brethren, has the harvest responded to the vows and the prayers of the Founders? Has our play in the Pudding in these hundred years hurt or hindered the work we had to do at Harvard? Has it not rather taught us to play while we play, and work while we work, and to find our best pleasure in the midst of our severest duties yes, and to get all the entertainment out of our work as we go along, which I consider one of the cardinal duties of man?

"I am always accused, at Harvard dinners in New York, of speaking by the Catalogue. Let the names upon the Pudding catalogue of this century tell; let us see if, by the mingling of play with work, anybody has suffered. What say you to this? Did Channing and Buckminster and James Walker and Phillips Brooks, did they lead their followers into the divine pastures with less of inspiration itself because they had disported themselves in former years in the Pudding?

"Did those great historians, Bancroft and Prescott and the recently lamented Parkman, contribute any less delightful lessons to their countrymen because they had gathered around the crackling fire which made our kettle ring? Did not our great orators, such men as Wendell Phillips, Charles Sumner, Edward Everett, and Robert C. Winthrop, owe something of their fame to their training in those debates that in their day constituted the entertainment of their brethren of the Pudding? Our two great poets, Holmes and Lowell, were their lips touched with less divine a flame because they had first learned to lisp their numbers to their brethren in this Club, in whose records they are imperishably recorded?

"Did they lose any rank among the Poets of the English tongue because they first tried their fluttering wings within our walls, and drew their boyish inspiration from the bubbling bowl? Was Washington Allston's contribution to American art less valuable because he served as our Vice-President and Secretary and Poet, and left in our registers his earliest drawings? And, finally, were our young heroes, Porter, and Revere, and Wilder Dwight, and the Lowells, and Robert G. Shaw, less valiant in life or less glorified in death because they had worn the buskin and the skirts upon our mimic stage? To all these questions the speaking echoes of a century answer No!

"A single word, before I close, about an incident in the Club's history in the hands of my own Class. I have heard that to-day we should have had an oration and a poem worthy of this unique occasion in Sanders Theatre, but it was not found convenient to disturb the curriculum for half a day to admit us to that most inspiring hall. Alas, it was not always so! Tempora mutantur, et nos cum illis mutamur. In 1851 the Club was made most heartily welcome within the College walls. We had two rooms of our own in Stoughton and wanted more, and we were sent up with our petitions to the loveliest and the dearest of all the Presidents, Jared Sparks, who got his education at Harvard, but warmed his heart at our imperishable kettle, and well do I remember how he received us: 'Want more room, do you? Are n't two rooms enough?'

'Well, no, Mr. President, we're terribly crowded.' there?' 'Why, we have all the fun we can.' Well, take it, take all the room you want!'

'But what do you do 'Oh, that's it, is it?

"And so, may it ever be! I do not claim for the Hasty Pudding Club all the success that has come to Harvard. But it has helped, it has mitigated the austerities of the century's journey. When we find the cream of the College in its ranks, and its members ever stanch and true to duty in all great deeds, all great services, all great sacrifices and triumphs for the common good, we can bespeak for it another century of good cheer; only let us keep it sweet and pure and wholesome, as it has been hitherto. So will it continue to be an influence for truth and good morals in Harvard to the end of time!"

Mr. Choate called up during the evening the following speakers, who spoke extemporaneously: W. E. Russell, '77; G. S. Hale, '44; H. L. Higginson, ['55]; J. B. Thayer, '52; Charles Thorndike, '54, "to whose efforts more than to any other man the collection of subscriptions for the Pudding Club-house is due;" J. C. Ropes, '57, who described the two crises of the Club - in 1876, when it had to move out of the College Yard, and in 1881, when it set to work to get new quarters; Austin G. Fox, '69; G. W. Green, '76; and E. J. Wendell, '82.

Next was read the following

ODE BY BENJAMIN A. GOULD, '91.

For once the Book of Time turns back its leaf,

And once again the oldest here are boys,
Fired with the hot ambition of their youth,
And pulsing once again to old-time joys.

Ah, dear old Mother, old, yet strangely young,
With Godlike power to stay the haste of Life,
Thy children kneel together at thy shrine,
And in thy presence sink their daily strife.

The years roll back, and show the happy days
When we were young, and thou as young as now;
When fair the Future stretched before our eyes,
And Life was full, and Courage strong as thou.

How light the hours that sped at thy command
When Mind communed with sympathetic Mind,
When Friendships sprung, that through the chafing years
Have left no scar of wounded Faith behind!

Those Memories still are dear as were the times

When the great World showed but its rose displayed,

When hotspur Impulse guided head and heart,

When Themis ruled and laughing Thespis swayed.

And when perchance for us the restful grave
Has stilled the music of the youngest tongue,
Our children's children, gathering once again,
Shall praise thee, Mother, then as ever young.

At the conclusion of the Ode, "Fair Harvard" and "Auld Lang Syne" were sung, cheers were given for Mr. Choate and the Hasty Pudding Club, and the gathering broke up.

The truth and the

whole

truth.

THE UNIVERSITY.

SOME ASPECTS OF HARVARD'S GROWTH.

The correspondent who asks, "Why does n't somebody tell the truth in the Magazine?" doubtless has no intent to suggest that lies are a staple ware on these counters. He probably has a gloomy hope that depressing things are left unnoticed. Suppression is not commonly considered a Harvard fault. The Harvard. man looks upon his Alma Mater not as a kindly old girl, who has once given him a warm corner, and must never have her feelings hurt by criticism, however well deserved. Harvard men are brethren, rather than sons. To them the University is a great society of fifteen thousand members, of whom only thirty-six hundred are resident; criticism of Harvard is, therefore, only criticism of other men, that is, of members of the same society. Of course the officers of the order for the time being "catch it" with the rest. Silence when things go wrong is not a Harvard trait; concealment is still farther from the College's spirit of publicity. Members of the Universal Harvard Club may, therefore, be assured that the University is getting on very well: its reputation out of doors is shown by 1,150 applications for membership this year; entrance fees accumulate in proportion. No burrowing evil is at work: students and Faculties, coaches, advisers, and critics, are all in the same comfortable boat. Very likely the Magazine might make a more effective choice of more characteristic truths. But it is a ticklish business to handle perishable news, already filtered through the colanders of the national daily newspapers, and likely to become obsolete while the Magazine is going through the press. All that can be done is to select those truths which seem most clearly to set forth the multifarious and expanding Harvard life, the real sentiment of the University.

Harvard sentiment.

Hereupon arises another difficulty: who knows what Harvard sentiment is? Within the University there are two very distinct groups among the 2,100 undergraduates there is one sentiment; among the 1,500 professional students there is clearly another sentiment. Harvard graduates in the professional schools have their point of view; graduates of other colleges in the same schools have another; non-graduates still another. In the College proper there are so many eddies that no man outside of it knows what is prevailing sentiment, and indeed no one man inside of it. That which is true to-day may be untrue four years later; hence the graduate is no longer confident that his recollections serve him. Even the recent graduates have