resent form of government, the most glorious decade of its entire history is also rounding out. For the sole purpose of great history, of high intellectual privilege, and of the blessings of poetry and other supreme manifestations of genius, is to produce fruit.
Noblesse oblige. And all that Thomas Shepard and the bringing hither of the college and the glorious storied days of the municipality, all that the Washington Elm and Craigie House and Elmwood and our cis-Atlantic Westminster at Mount Auburn might presage, have begun to fulfill themselves in that high place, as regards civic and ethical values, out into which Cambridge has been girding her loins to march, and unto the realization of which her plainest and humblest people, and her most intelligent and highly endowed, are alike consecrated.
Thus, moreover, was it, that when, four or five years ago, there broke into Cambridge speech—so suddenly, with such energy, and with such large significance, that these can hardly yet be re