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Elizabeth dropped the box and ran blindly into the arms of the ayah, who had followed her charge with a sun hat.

"It was a lie!" she cried, "My father read a lie out of the Bible-my coongu is still dead and smells!" and broke into incoherent grief.

The ayah was terrified. She thought her nursling had a sunstroke, and spent hours in bathing the hot little head. Of the mental shock she had no conception. Elizabeth submitted to her caresses philosophically. She was naturally a silent child. At last she stirred and put the arms aside.

"Don't bother, Archie," she said, "I don't care, only-" and she stiffened her small body. "I'm not going to believe anything any more," added the little Pagan.



I made a song for my heart to sing
When the world was lulled asleep,
And the voice of night in a whisper light
Breathed over the starlit deep.

And the song I made for my heart to sing
Was sweet as a song may be,

For in every note the secret I wrote
That gladdened my life for me.

Then someone came to my window there,
Someone who wandered near,

And he said, "The strain of that sweet refrain,
The world would pause to hear."

I have proved, alas, that his words were true,
For everyone lauds my name,

But life seems long since my heart's sweet song

I sold to the world for fame.



To-day marks the reign of the iconoclast. Everywhere is the stir of new beliefs and the foundation of new creeds, with the subsequent tearing down of the old ones. The enthusiasm of the image breaker is in the air. We are brought up and we live by criticism. Destruction, not construction, is the cry of the hour. We admit it with fear and trembling, even as we watch for the downfall of our secret idols. And we watch with reason, for already some of our most cherished treasures have gone. They have fallen not because they were base or idle. Their only failing may have been that they stood in the way of the throngs that never content themselves with room enough, or destruction enough. We see the leveling process going on about us, and we long for the naïve days one reads about; the days of fancy, and of error, when nobody worried over facts. And so we almost forget that many of the shattered pedestals upheld gods we heartily detested.

In the general process of destruction we have exploded not only so-called facts, but theories, ideals and standards. Chief among the ruins we may number many criteria of judgment, standards by which men have judged, and have themselves been judged,-behind their backs. Manners, clothes, wealth, fame-they have all served their turn, and still continue to prejudice us on occasions. But we admit the shallowness of such distinctions, and we would be glad to feel that, at least in spirit, they are gone with our superstitions and our sins against the higher criticism. If the destructive process has accomplished one thing more than another, let this be said of it: in all the confusion we have still the memory of the good that has gone down, and in place of the bad we have room to create something better. It is for us who are younger, to live and work for the future.

We who are students have a larger opportunity to see how

small a part any superficial standards of criticism ought to play. A college is no respector of persons, and we come more and more to take the attitude of the college toward each other. We have time to learn that polish does not mean worth, that wealth is not synonymous with ability, that merit is not a question of society membership. It is true that we know all this, and that we are perhaps broader in our criticisms than we would have been otherwise, but it is none the less true that we do not live up to what we know. We judge foolishly, and criticise hastily and harshly, simply because we want something to say, and because we are too careless to find out what we are talking about. If criticism is to be countenanced at all, it must certainly be made honestly, and with some knowledge of the facts.

If we are to judge honestly, on what basis shall it be? The truly academic answer would be achievement. It is on this basis that we are necessarily judged from the point of view of the college, and it is often on this basis that we criticise each other. The common remark is—“Do you know her?" "Yes, she did such and such a thing." Then some day we find a person who has not managed to do very much. A person who has striven continually, and been kept from achievement by obstacles which would have left the most successful utterly incapacitated for work. Then we say, achievement is a practical basis for judgment perhaps, but after all it is effort that counts, effort and honest work. We say it, and if we would believe it and temper our criticisms accordingly, we would be building anew in the room that has been given us to use as we will. We would cultivate our better natures by a broader sympathy, and our common sense by some knowledge of what we were talking about, and above all, we would lessen the number of the unrecognized girls in college.


It is with great pleasure that any who knew of the Edwards Memorial Exercises, held in Northampton last summer, will welcome the publication of the addresses delivered on that occasion, by Mr. H. Norman Gardiner, M. A., Professor of our Philosophical Department, who acted at that time as chairman of the Edwards Memorial Committee. The book is entitled "Jonathan Edwards: A Retrospect", and is introduced by an account of the exercises which attended the unveiling of a bronze memorial tablet in the First Church, and which took place on the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of Edwards' dismissal from the Northampton pastorate. The circumstances and the significance of that event are discussed in a later article, with the complete account of Edwards' connection with Northampton, by Dr. Rose, now pastor of the First Church. The other addresses are :-"The Place of Edwards in History", by Rev. Alexander V. G. Allen, Professor in the Episcopal Theological School, Cambridge; "The Influence of Edwards on the Spiritual life of New England", by Rev. Egbert C. Smyth, Professor in the Andover Theological Seminary; and "The Significance of Edwards To-day", by Rev. George A. Gordon, Pastor of the Old South Church, Boston. The interest and value of these addresses are such as their titles, and the names appended, would suggest. Each treatment deals with a significant feature of Edwards' character or work, and short as the articles are, a surprisingly comprehensive view of the eminent American divine can be gained from them.

Although the attitude toward the subject of these addresses is, in every instance, frankly critical, he is given an exceedingly high place. He is called "A Unique Genius in American Letters"; "perhaps the only American intellect that deserves a place among the ranks of the world's great thinkers", and the impression made through such judgments is deepened by the

passages quoted from his works. Specially noticeable, as is pointed out in the introduction, is the connection of Edwards' name with that of Dante. The comparison is full of suggestion, and by bringing into clearer light the poetical and imaginative qualities of Edwards, prompts to a kindlier criticism than he has often received. The discussion of Jonathan Edwards in this little book is completed by an article on "The Early Idealism of Edwards", originally an address given by Mr. Gardiner before philosophical students at Wellesley and at Smith. It is a careful study of Edwards' philosophy, emphasizing the originality shown in his lofty idealistic conceptions.

A reading of "Jonathan Edwards: A Retrospect ", will be of value to many, in whose minds his is a name of great, but unknown, significance, and especially grateful will be those whose interest is aroused through it, and their desire stimulated for a more complete acquaintance with his character and a more thorough knowledge of his writings.

The first introduction to college periodicals is very like the first experiences in college itself, when no one is well known, and the general impression is a confusion, wherein the likeness due to similarity of age and interest only accentuates the innumerable differences. But gradually individuality appears, and monotony vanishes; not only faces, but personalities, become recognizable; mere fellow students have changed to acquaintances, friends.-and so it is with college magazines.

The Yale Literary Magazine ingratiates itself at first meeting by a very noteworthy poem, headed, "On Reading a Volume of Love-letters". The verse is unusually smooth, and the theme, though poetically treated throughout, offers perhaps the conclusive word in the discussion over the publication of love-letters, which has received much attention in literature of late. For the poem, after a suggestion of the impiety of daring "to rend in twain the sacred veil," concludes thus:

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