MARGARET CRAVEN 1 It is essential to the maintenance of the Cambridge spirit that there should be no melodrama.

Into that placid and speculative air real life tumbles with a resounding shock and the many souls that have been building, these many years, with careful elaboration, walls of defence and protection find themselves suddenly naked and indecent before the world.

For that army of men who use Cambridge as a gate to the world in front of them the passage through the narrow streets is too swift to afford more in after life than a pleasant reminiscence.

It is because Cambridge is the bridge between stern discipline and pleasant freedom that it is so happily remembered; but there are those who adopt Cambridge as their abiding home, and it is for these that real life is impossible.
Beneath these grey walls as the years pass slowly the illusions grow.
Closer and closer creep the walls of experience, softer and thicker are the garments worn to keep out the cold, gentler and gentler are the speculations born of a good old Port and a knowledge of the Greek language.

About the High Tables voices softly dispute the turning of a phrase, eyes mildly salute the careful dishes of a wisely chosen cook, gentle patronage is bestowed upon the wild ruffian of the outer world.
Many bells ring, many fires are burning, many lamps are lit, many leaves of many books are turned--busily, busily hands are raising walls of self-defence; the world at first regretted, then patronized, is now forgotten.