"Boylston Hall is a Plain, granite building of the style of architecture generally devoted now to jails" says an 1870 issue of Appleton's magazine. During that year, paradoxically, the building contained enough chemicals to blow the best jail apart; and a quarter century later exploded into "one of the worst fires in recent years."

Erected in 1857 through "the liberality of the late Ward Nicholas Boylston," it was the first University building used entirely for science. The two-story structure housed the Anatomical Museum and library, a lecture hall, and chemical laboratories. But Chemistry Departments inmates clammored for more space and in 1871, the University raised Boylston's roof to construct a third floor for more laboratories. When growing pains produced a glass-roofed extension of the basement, students referred to the addition as the "Crystal Palace."

The year 1923 marked a low in Boylston's reputation when a committee of Harvard graduates said that "its present state of dilapidation is almost beyond belief." But only five years later, Boylston was completely renovated. The University bindery moved into the "Crystal Palace" from Widener (where it was a fire Menace), the History I library was installed, and newly-constructed stacks held most of the present Chinese-Japanese library.

Boylston now houses the Harvard-Yenching Institute which coordinates exchange of information and students between the two universities. Since 1949, the Social Relations Department has occupied the second floor and a mezzanine balcony which is now littered with old texts. But on the third floor there are hearths and sinks reminiscent of chemistry days, while NO SMOKING signs are unusually large and conspicuous throughout the building.

It is fortunate, in a way, that the planners of Boylston sacrificed beauty for jail-house construction. The bequest, which provided that "said building (should be) of stone and properly secured against fire both from within and from without," prophesied a disastrous event.

On a warm July evening in 1896, a bicyclist passing through the Yard heard a and explosion. Investigating, he discovered smoke pouring from under the even of Boylston Hall and alerted two policemen nearby. Firemen soon arrived with hook and ladder but refrained from using water, which might have caused violent chemical reactions. They sent for a chemical extinguisher. When they tried to enter a top-story window, however, strong fumes forced a retreat. By the time gas masks arrived, an instructor had informed the firemen that it would be safe to use water. Meanwhile the fire had been left to burn merrily for over an hour, and five more trucks arrived to fight the blaze. After a brief bombardment of flying glass from disintegrating chemical bottles, firemen finally subdued the flames. Only the stone construction and internal brick partitions prevented total destruction.

In order to insure maximum safety in the future, the University decided to install fire escapes. Exact dimensions of the stairways sparked off a controversy, which was finally put in the practical hands of the workmen. They settled the issue by measuring the 200-pound female custodian of chemical supplies, and building the escapes to fit.