It is difficult to believe that Ernest Bloch will be celebrating his seventy-fifth birthday on July 24th. His steady flow of new works, his lively letters and firm handwriting, his active life at his home on Oregon's lonely Pacific shore—all these suggest a man much younger in years. But Bloch's life has been grandly full, varied and fruitful. He has known successes and failures, happiness and pain. His perpetual concern for human beings and humanity at large, maintained in sojourns in the cities and solitudes of many countries, has reaped its reward in the vitality and wisdom of his old age.