IN THE WIDENER LIBRARY

Along with the perpetual alarmist, we must "view with apprehension" a recent tendency in our midst. The honorable and gentlemanly custom of removing hats in Widener is becoming obsolete. The handkiss of salute, the lady's curtsy, and the gentleman's obeisance--each in turn has passed into the realm of anticuities; now it would seem that this last vestige of gallantry is to join the forgotten throng.

One is tempted to distort this small offense into a sign of the world's decay, and to philosophize thereon--"O tempora! O mores!" But let it suffice to point out why the slight on Widener especially is deplorable. The Library stands as a memorial, the cenotaph of a young scholar and enthusiast of books. By this simple yet significant act, the uncovering of the head, we pay our humble respect to his memory.

But beyond the honor to this dead fellow-student, we are doing a greater homage--to the thousands of masterminds represented under that roof. Next to the church, a library is the most sacred of public buildings. Not instinct nor formality, but the prempting of spontaneous respect, should make us remove our hats when we enter its precincts.