ality, he has few opportunities to be alone. He is continually subject to interruptions, and when people do not come to him, his work takes him to them. College life accustoms one to the continual presence of others. It also teaches one who is in earnest how moments spent alone can be made to yield the most. With social engagements of every description, one is continually thrown in with fellow-men of many degrees of refinement and of varying tastes, congenial and uncongenial. How invaluable such experiences can be made in broadening the interests and in cultivating adaptability can be readily seen when the situation abroad is fully realized. Those among whom the missionary works will have a different education, if any, a different etiquette, and different interests from his own. If the missionary is adaptable, he prejudices the natives much less than one who cares nothing for social rules. Aside from this negative way of gaining influence and respect, if his interests are broad he can positively sympathize with his neighbors, and, from going over first to their ways of thought, can lead them to an interest in his all-important message. So much for work and life among the natives. Few missionaries, however, are left absolutely single-handed among thousands of natives. Generally small missionary centers are formed, and here it is that some of the severest testing of this quality of adaptability comes. "In a small party of men and women, each possessed of considerable individuality and force of character, and most of them associated in the work without any previous knowledge of each other or any personal choice, it is obvious that those whose habits and temperaments are mutually uncongenial must often be thrown into close and prolonged contact." Sometimes, in a great Eastern metropolis, these fellow-workers are numbered by the score. They meet in social and spiritual ways, and here are the opportunities for some missionaries unconsciously to do their greatest work. Many-and these are usually the college graduates-accomplish much more by their stimulating influence on other missionaries than by their direct work. This is due to the breadth of their interests and to the resources which a college education has developed in them. It is also due to their social ease and polish. These last-named qualities are usually considered superfluous in a missionary; they are accidentia, not essentia, of his genus. A very great misunderstanding in regard to what missionary work consists of is responsible for such a belief. More and more stress is being laid upon ability to deport oneself in polished society, as more and more the missionary is gaining the respect of the nobility and of the official classes. When transplanted among a critical people like the Japanese, a woman careless of European etiquette would inevitably arouse the prejudice of the wives of Japanese professors or officials, or of the parents of some of her pupils. The wife, for instance, of the governor of an important Asiatic province was called upon by a missionary who wore a bonnet which, though neat, would hardly have been deemed presentable in America because of the remote date of its compilation. Such an incident was not to be overlooked, and the governor's wife took the next opportunity to ask another missionary if that kind of head-gear was in style. In many cities the missionaries are obliged to send out and to accept invitations to banquets, which are given in the nearest approach to European style, and at which every action of the missionary, even to his use of knife and fork, is watched minutely that it may be imitated. Though a trying ordeal, that of attending a banquet, it is one of the effective ways of showing a kindly spirit toward, and of getting acquainted with, the upper classes, and is often a most influential and far-reaching missionary work. No one will deny that conversational powers are an immeasurable help in getting along in the world. The missionary needs them as much as the society woman. In fact, the woman who in one day must talk with the peasant, the school-girl, the Bible woman, and the governor's wife, needs more of a talent for talking well than the woman whose sphere is limited to one class. College life, especially perhaps in the dining-room, where one sits beside different kinds of personalities for a set time every day, is a maker of conversationalists-that is, when those who are being made rule out shop-talk. It takes a good deal of originality to talk on subjects interesting enough to keep one's neighbor from recurring ever to lessons and teachers, and it takes perseverance, too. How beneficial to health and to nerves, when on the mission field one can divert tired minds, and here again keep clear of the subject of routine work! I have spoken mostly of the advantage which a college education is to a missionary in his influence on natives and on fellow-missionaries. I have only touched upon the advantage 2 it is to himself in giving a wealth of resource. This latter point might be much elaborated, but suffice it to give one particular in which a college course is an invaluable precursor of missionary life. One missionary, who taught for eight years in a girls' school in Turkey, remarked that one of the great sources of refreshment to her during the monotonous years of being shut away from companionship, was the thought of her college experiences, her good times and her friendships. This is one of the things that all college graduates feel, but especially those who are far away from accustomed surroundings. If one should ask many missionaries individually what the special advantage of a college course was to each, the answer would be approximately that of a Wellesley graduate now teaching in Spain. She said: "My college life-training, studies, recreation, everything has been of the utmost help to me in introducing Christian methods and Christian education to women in Spain." In this brief survey of the things which are essential to the missionary and which he finds in a college course, emphasis has been laid on intellectual and social development. I would not exclude or depreciate the one most essential quality, spiritual vitality, without which other qualifications are reduced to the level of a mere machine without motive power. And yet it would not take much experience to enable an observer of modern missions to say, with one who had studied them: "It seems as if every occupation that is not wrong in itself has a bearing on missionary work." SARAH LYDIA DEFOREST. WATER MUSIC There's music calls Where the water falls, Hark thou, sitting alone, Hushing a low heart moan. Look where the sunbeams glance, And the misty water trembles by. There shalt thou see The merry, the free, The careless of whither and whence and why That cloud the blueness of mortal's sky. What is pain and what is a sigh! One flash of breathless joy, To lurk in the cool gloom,-then Flying into the sun With a wild, glad whirl again; To spatter the leaves in play, Who shadow our smiles with their dripping green, And we slide and spring And turn and fling Drops of rainbow brightness through sunny air. See, where the bubbles dance, Ring it out!— Joy! Joy! Joy! This is the voice that calls Where the trembling water falls. I listen and look as I sit alone, Till with its music that low heart moan Murmurs in quiet harmony: Sing on, gay spirits, as ye float by, To me the whither and whence and why GERTRUDE EMMA KNOX. SUNSET ON THE MESA All day the broad mesa had bathed in the light and warmth of the sun. And all day the myriad life of the treeless plains had rejoiced; and the fragile flowers, nestled close to the sand, or hidden in the windings of some arroyo, shed abroad the incense of their gratitude. But now the sun was sinking towards the great sweep of the Volcanoes. The cacti and Spanish bayonets cast long black shadows upon the white sand; and the rugged mountains to eastward stood revealed in all their naked grandeur. The little prairie-dogs no longer called to each other; the scolding owls were silent in their stolen nests; and the horned toads, that bask all day in the sun, scurried away to find shelter for the night. From the parched earth still rose the fragrance of the flowers. The sun rested an instant full on the long slope of the Volcanoes, transfiguring with a sheen of crimson the walls of the eastern cliffs. Between lay the bowl of the mesa, cold and gray, save where the thread-like gold of the river wound. Lower sank the sun; the crimson mountains deepened into purple. A halo of glory flamed on the western horizon, and from it rays of broadening light shot far up into the zenith, while all the sky glowed with translucent pink. The river flushed in unison. The sun was gone. The purple robe of the mountains melted into a toneless gray. Behind them the dove-colored shadow of night stole up the sky. More sombre grew the lonely plain; it seemed to cower before the chill approach of night. But the river still reflected the pageant of the closing day. Gradually the long rays of light receded before the encroaching gloom, and the sky faded from azure to turquoise, from turquoise to apple green. At last only a faint glow above the Volcanoes told of the sunset that had been. Away into the darkness the river traced its silver thread. The sighing wind was laden with the warm fragrance of violets. Towards the black wall of the mountains shone the camp-fire of some lonely herdsman; and the stars, kindred spirits of that vast solitude, stole softly forth to watch above it. RUTH LOUISE GAINES. THE POINT OF HONOR In these days of psychological theories, it would be suggestive, if not positively illuminating, to make a classification of books. which reveal personality on the basis of gender. The humdrum experimental psychologist would scout the possibility of |