It was a superb Saturday afternoon From the moment that the first French Horn strains echoed from Appleton Chapel back to the band arrayed on Widener steps till the crowd followed Mcl Holmes, his baton, and his orchestra over the Lars Anderson Bridge into the ever ever land that is Cambridge on a triumphant Saturday night, there was never a doubt but that a wonderful time was had by all.

Mr. Bingham has a wonderful time. For the first time since the Holy Cross game he could contemplate the forty dollars in the bank represented by a pair of upright, non-demolished goal posts. Then too, he was able to gleefully anticipate the long green from additional Yale game applications that Saturday's victory will surely bring in.

Happy Harlow-E'en

Mr. Harlow had a wonderful time. He watched his amateur athletes serve, in a most professional manner, a certain dyspeptic Boston columnist a dish of his own words--something about somebody resigning--without even a bicarbonate chaser.

An unnamed but swivel-hipped gamin had a wonderful time. Between halves he raced the entire length of the field, stiff-arming windmills and shunning imaginary tacklers, to score on the only long run of the day that was not called back. He completely baffled the tricky defense set for him by the Cambridge gendarmerie.

Mascot Romps

Nineteen guys in Crimson jerseys had a wonderful time. They played a very fine football game. And it was a riotous Crimson dressing room that elected Jim Feinberg Yale game captain. In contrast the only member of the visiting contingent that seemed to have enjoyed himself at all was the Brown Bear. The mascot gamboled ever the Stadium turf in a much more impressive manner than anyone else who came from Providence that afternoon.

The thousand men of Harvard had a wonderful time. After it was all over they marched, sang, deuced, and shouted their way back into the gray and gold dusk of Cambridge Towne and a mood of complete reenchantment. Princeton was a long week in the past: Yale only a short week in the future.