If you discount the upper windows of Wigglesworth--which is not such a good idea in the spring--the only building opening both into and out of the Yard is Wadsworth House. A yellow frame structure on Massachusetts Avenue, it serves as the University's architectural glad-hand and as the home of the Harvard College Fund.

And as befits its other functions, the snappy little building also houses the University's Geistgauge.

Perhaps you have never heard of the Geistgaugue?

Ahah. Vell, zit iss zee creation ov Professor Heinrich Zultz, late preceptor ov Kulturblat in Bonn.

Harvard's model is (naturally) the prototype. Due to Zultz's untimely death, the instrument is unique. It was acquired in the late 20's by a devoted alumnus and donated to the College. It is kept in a locked room on the third floor of Wadsworth House. Only three men are allowed access to it and their names are known only to the Corporation. It operates roughly on the principle of a seimograph. It measures class spirit.

It would be irresponsible for the CRIMSON to suggest that anyone but the three Keepers completely understands the operation of the Geistgauge. It is an instrument of tremendous delicacy and complexity. Nor has any reporter actually seen the machine.

Nevertheless, this newspaper has obtained a relatively complete transcript of the Class of 1966's freshman year. Extensive research has produced the following interpretation.

On the Path

The first noticible manifestation of class spirit occured on Saturday, October 22, 1962. The football team was at Columbia and word had just begun to spread that it had won.

Six freshmen, standing in a group outside Lamont, thinking about going to eat dinner, were joined by a seventh, who said, "Hey, ya hear, the football team won."

The four others who had heard said, "yeah, great, huh?"

The two who had not said, "Hey, great."

There was a pause. The freshmen did not actually know each other very well. By junior year they would probably avert their eyes when they passed on the path. But just at that moment Dr. Harold Martin, who was then the Director of Gen Ed A, walked past the group.

"You mean the head of Gen Ed A?" another asked. "That's the guy," said a third.

For a moment the group looked after the man, warm in the knowledge that all seven of them were supposed to read "Bartleby the Scrivener" that weekend. Then they turned and headed for the Union. And under a quiet eave in Wadsworth House the Geistgauge throbbed.