At this the first tears rolled down Ramona's face. She looked piteously at the ladder up and down which she had seen Alessandro run as if it were an easy indoors staircase. "If I could only get up there!" she said, looking from one to another. "I think I can;" and she put one foot on the lower round. "Señorita ! Holy Virgin!" cried Juan Can, seeing her movement. Señorita! do not attempt it. It is not too easy for a man. You will break your neck. He is fast coming to his senses." The simple Alessandro caught the words. Spite of all the confusion and terror of the scene, his heart heard the word, "Señorita." Ramona was not the wife of Felipe, or of any man. Yet Alessandro recollected that he had addressed her as Señora, and she did not seem surprised. Coming to the front of the group, he said, bending forward, "Señorita!" There must have been something in the tone which made Ramona start. word could not have done it. 66 Señorita," said Alessandro, "it will be nothing to bring Señor Felipe down the ladder. He is, in my arms, no more than one of the lambs yonder. I will bring him down as soon as he is recovered. He is better here till then. He will very soon be himself again. It was only the heat." Seeing that the expression of anxious distress did not grow less on Ramona's face, he continued, in a tone still more earnest, "Will not the Señorita trust me to bring him safe down?" Ramona smiled faintly through her tears. "Yes," she said, "I will trust you. You are Alessandro, are you not?" แ "Yes, Señorita," he answered, greatly surprised, "I am Alessandro." HABEAS CORPUS. [Sonnets and Lyrics. 1886.] MY body, eh? Friend Death, how now? Why all this tedious pomp of writ? Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow For half a century, bit by bit. In faith thou knowest more to-day Than I do, where it can be found! Has not of kith or kin a trace To the good body once I bore; Look at this shrunken, ghastly face: Didst ever see that face before? Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; Mistaken pity in thy heart For timorous ones that bid thee wait. Do quickly all thou hast to do, Nor I nor mine will hindrance make; I shall be free when thou art through; I grudge thee naught that thou must take! Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one, I grudge thee this right hand of mine; Nor played me once a traitor's part. I see now why in olden days Men in barbaric love or hate Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways, The symbol, sign, and instrument Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife, O feeble, mighty human hand! O fragile, dauntless human heart! Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine (Unfinished here.) Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; Her last poem: 7 August, 1885. Daniel Coit Gilman. BORN in Norwich, Conn., 1831. TWELVE POINTS IN RESPECT TO UNIVERSITY EDUCATION. [From his Inaugural Address at Johns Hopkins University, 22 February, 1876.] ᎪᏞ LL sciences are worthy of promotion; or in other words, it is useless to dispute whether literature or science should receive most attention, or whether there is any essential difference between the old and the new education. 2. Religion has nothing to fear from science, and science need not be afraid of religion. Religion claims to interpret the word of God, and science to reveal the laws of God. The interpreters may blunder, but truths are immutable, eternal, and never in conflict. 3. Remote utility is quite as worthy to be thought of as immediate advantage. Those ventures are not always most sagacious that expect a return on the morrow. It sometimes pays to send our argosies across the seas; to make investments with an eye to slow but sure returns. So is it always in the promotion of science. 4. As it is impossible for any university to encourage with equal freedom all branches of learning, a selection must be made by enlightened governors, and that selection must depend on the requirements and deficiencies of a given people, in a given period. There is no absolute standard of preference. What is more important at one time or in one place may be less needed elsewhere and otherwise. 5. Individual students cannot pursue all branches of learning, and must be allowed to select, under the guidance of those who are appointed to counsel them. Nor can able professors be governed by routine. Teachers and pupils must be allowed great freedom in their method of work. Recitations, lectures, examinations, laboratories, libraries, fieldexercises, travels, are all legitimate means of culture. 6. The best scholars will almost invariably be those who make special attainments on the foundation of a broad and liberal culture. 7. The best teachers are usually those who are free, competent, and willing to make original researches in the library and the laboratory. 8. The best investigators are usually those who have also the responsibilities of instruction, gaining thus the incitement of colleagues, the encouragement of pupils, the observation of the public. 9. Universities should bestow their honors with a sparing hand; their benefits most freely. 10. A university cannot be created in a day; it is a slow growth. The University of Berlin has been quoted as a proof of the contrary. That was indeed a quick success, but in an old, compact country, crowded with learned men eager to assemble at the Prussian court. It was a change of base rather than a sudden development. 11. The object of the university is to develop character-to make men. It misses its aim if it produces learned pedants, or simple artisans, or cunning sophists, or pretentious practitioners. Its purport is not so much to impart knowledge to the pupils as to whet the appetite, exhibit methods, develop powers, strengthen judgment, and invigorate the intellectual and moral forces. It should prepare for the service of society a class of students who will be wise, thoughtful, progressive guides in whatever department of work or thought they may be engaged. 12. Universities easily fall into ruts. Almost every epoch requires a fresh start. A COLLEGE TRAINING. [Address at the Opening of Adelbert College, Cleveland, Ohio, 26 October, 1882.] SKE KEPTICS in regard to higher education may point to Shakespeare, with his little Latin and less Greek; to Franklin, the philosopher and statesman, with his homely English and poor French; to Grote, the historian of Greece, who had no academic life; to Whittier, Howells, and Cable, our own gifted contemporaries, and to many more writers who never went to college; and I confess that such examples seem at first to show that colleges are not essential to literary culture. But we must remember that our institutions are not devised for an oligarchy of intellect, but for a democracy; not for a few royal dignitaries, but for a throng of faithful workers. In a recent biography of Spinoza you may meet this pithy saying: "The secret workings of nature which bring it to pass that an Eschylus, a Leonardo, a Faraday, a Kant, or a Spinoza is born upon earth are as obscure now as they were a thousand years ago "; and if this be admitted, surely, colleges are not to be built up and maintained for such extraordinary phenomena. We call these men gifted; we say they have genius; we except them from rules. They will win. renown under any circumstances, hindered but not repressed by acting parts in a theatre like Shakespeare; or setting type in a printing-house like Franklin; or managing a bank like Grote; or learning the trade of a bookbinder like Faraday. It is neither for the genius nor for the .dunce, but for the great middle class possessing ordinary talents, that we build colleges; and it can be proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that for them the opportunities afforded by libraries, teachers, companion ship, and the systematic recurrence of intellectual tasks are most efficient means of intellectual culture. Mental discipline may indeed be acquired in other ways; the love of letters is not implanted by a college; the study of nature may be pursued alone in the open air; but given to each one in a group of a hundred youths a certain amount of talent, more than mediocrity and less than genius-that is to say, the average ability of a boy in our high schools and academies-it will be found in nine cases out of ten that those who go to college surpass the others during the course of life, in influence, in learning, in the power to do good, and in the enjoyment of books, nature, and art. Mental powers may be developed in other places-the mechanic's institute, the mercantile library, the winter lyceum, the private study, the gatherings of good men, in the haunts of business, and in the walks of civil life, but not so easily, nor so systematically, nor so thoroughly, nor so auspiciously, nor so pleasantly. With all their defects, colleges are the best agencies which the world has ever devised for the training of the intellectual forces of youth. A good college gives training in the arts of expression as well as in those of observation; it not only favors the acquisition of knowledge by its students, but it shows them how to bring forth their knowledge for the benefit of others. This function of a college has not always been sufficiently developed. The learning of appointed lessous, the memorizing of rules and dates, the solution of problems, and the observation or performance of experiments, all this is undoubtedly good discipline, but it is not enough. The scholar should be able to express himself clearly, neatly, and fitly, and there are very few, indeed, who can do this without long and careful practice. I have talked with some of the leading publishers of American books, regarding the manuscript submitted to them, and I have spoken with editors of the very best magazines, and from both these sources, which are doubtless perfectly well informed, I receive the same impression, that this country is now prolific in writers, but that the number of trained literary men who can write well, and make of literature a profession, is very small. There are many who are eager to print their effusions; there are few who are willing to elaborate their work, rewriting, rearranging, pruning, condensing, shaping until the best form possible is attained. It is a mistake to suppose that writers who win the highest renown are commonly hasty, that they dash off what they say by a stroke of genius. The biography of Dickens shows what pains he took to secure even the right proper names; for example, note his choice of the title "Household Words." Pages of his proofsheets which I have seen show how carefully he revised every paragraph. The very last proofs of "Peveril of the Peak" (owned by President White) show that a romance of Walter Scott received the master's final touches |