"THE LOUD VOCIFEROUS BELLS"

The statement of Mr. Conant, the University bell ringer clears up several controversial matters in one swoop. There has always been a question as to just how many times the bell rings every hour; it now appears that this number is either forty-four or forty-six--depending, presumably on the physical condition of Mr. Conant. On Sundays, however, he spreads himself to the extent of 120 strokes; no doubt it requires at least that many to remind most students of the existence of the Chapel.

But seven o'clock requires the most difficult technique--the English stroke, which may appear somewhat complicated to the uninitiated. The number of strokes at this hour however is not specified and conflicting reports estimate it at from fifty to seventy-two. The significant thing about the seven o'clock bell is that the bellringer dislikes it at least as much as do the students. The average undergraduate soon acquires the habit of sleeping tranquilly until about eight-thirty, bell or no bell--but there is the poor bellringer, tugging away at the stubborn rope, shortly after the coldest hour of the night. And apparently, Mr. Conant is not too enthusiastic about it.

After all, the seven o'clock nuisance is only a relic of the Middle Ages--a reminder of the bright days when lads and maidens frolicked gaily out to the cow pasture several hours before dawn and had to be safely tucked away by the time the our few tolled--which happened to be several hours before it is considered correct to present one's self at any properly regulated dance. Those sensitive souls who have failed to become immune to the bell, curse its insistent clamor as heartily as the bell-man, doomed to incommode not only himself but a good many others. And those who now never hear the seven o'clock bell would face an eight o'clock peal with becoming equanimity.

Tradition is a wonderful thing--but many more inspiring traditions than a seven o'clock eye-opener have passed into oblivion. It is no longer considered quite the thing to demolish Mr. Conant's impregnable iron door and freeze the bell full of water--chiefly because it is no longer necessary to do this in order to avoid Chapel. But if it ever was desirable or necessary to arise at seven o'clock, that time like the days of one-horse shays and tallow candles, has fled. Pity the dexterous but unfortunate bellringer forever doomed to face the world while all of Harvard College lies sleeping.