Twelve gates admit respectable pedestrians to the cloistered precincts of the Yard, and day and night eleven of the twelve stand open, to all appearances guarded with no extraordinary rigor. Not so the twelfth. Religiously the watchdogs of the college swing shut at stroke of six the iron portals that front the Holden Chapel between Lionel and Mower Halls, and make them fast for the night with monolithic chain and padlock.
The logic of this precaution is elusive, but its inconvenience is inescapable. The residents of the northwest corner of the Yard are forced to detour, and like all detours the one which they adopt is rough going. It lies through the shrubbery between Lionel and Harvard. The partially secluded character of this corner and a somewhat diffident view of human nature may be the explanation of this locking of the twelfth gate, but such reasoning surely is not well-grounded or if so its application elsewhere is owed to consistency. "What boots it at one gate to make defense, and at another to let in the foe?" In all probability, however, the foe would not be appreciably abetted if all gates remained unshut whereas unquestionably great benefits would accrue to now detouring student and to turf and shrubbery as well.