The casual visitor from Wichita or Waltham looks with ill concealed dismay upon the luxurious peace of the Farnsworth Room. To think that mere students should enjoy such cushioned learning fills his heart with envy at the mightiness of things. Jaundiced he turns from the rows of glittering vellum and retreats to the shadows of the marble colonnade.
Little does he know the truth. All is not peace within this genial square. For the pipes of Pan--a tin pan--suddenly shock the literary browser with their metallic wails. And then, like locusts on a drowsy summer day, every steam pipe in that crewhile haven of peace pipes up to swell the radiator chorus, and the pandemonium of a boiler factory fills the sanctuary.
Not once does this happen, but again and again. The plumbing in Farnsworth is an old offender. If there is no other remedy, why not sacrifice luxury to comfort and move the reserved volumes to some retreat in the basement where at least there is quiet?
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President Lowell at Home
