Tedious brief tales of Granta and Gramarye

E. Joyce Shillington Scales 1919. Entrance Gateway, Jesus College.
TEDIOUS BRIEF TALES OF GRANTA AND GRAMARYE
BY “INGULPHUS” (ARTHUR GRAY, Master of Jesus College)
With illustrations by E. JOYCE SHILLINGTON SCALES
“Merry and tragical, tedious and brief: That is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.” A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons Ltd. London: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & Co. Ltd.
First Published, December, 1919.
For permission to reprint these tales, which originally appeared in The Cambridge Review , The Gownsman and Chanticlere (the Jesus College Magazine), the writer thanks the editors and proprietors of those papers.
In London lanes, uncanonized, untold By letter’d brass or stone, apart they lie, Dead and unreck’d of by the passer-by. Here still they seem together, as of old, To breathe our air, to walk our Cambridge ground, Here still to after learners to impart Hints of the magic that gave Faustus art To make blind Homer sing “with ravishing sound To his melodious harp” of Oenon, dead For Alexander’s love; that framed the spell Of him who, in the Friar’s “secret cell,” Made the great marvel of the Brazen Head. Marlowe and Greene, on you a Cambridge hand Sprinkles these pious particles of sand.
There is a chamber in Jesus College the existence of which is probably known to few who are now resident, and fewer still have penetrated into it or even seen its interior. It is on the right hand of the landing on the top floor of the precipitous staircase in the angle of the cloister next the Hall—a staircase which for some forgotten story connected with it is traditionally called “Cow Lane.” The padlock which secures its massive oaken door is very rarely unfastened, for the room is bare and unfurnished. Once it served as a place of deposit for superfluous kitchen ware, but even that ignominious use has passed from it, and it is now left to undisturbed solitude and darkness. For I should say that it is entirely cut off from the light of the outer day by the walling up, some time in the eighteenth century, of its single window, and such light as ever reaches it comes from the door, when rare occasion causes it to be opened.