Standing in Westminster Abbey, Sir Roger de Coverley found himself seized with a great desire to sit on the throne which had held so many kings, just to see how it felt. After he had done so, he was perfectly satisfied, and spent the rest of the day giving forth snatches of history as they came into his mind.

And tomorrow at Fenway Court the artistically inclined of the University could wish no more delightful companion than Sir Roger himself. He would undoubtedly insist on walking through the gardens in the role of an Italian tyrant, discoursing the while on the greatness and license of the court of the Medicis. After puffing up the stairs, admittedly the stout English gentleman again, a great Flemish tapestry room would transform him into a portly burgher. Yet the sight of an Elizabethan fireplace would make him the happiest of all. Sinking naturally into the nearest eighteenth century chair, despite signs to the contrary, he would muse away an hour culled from England's past.