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with hot tears blinding her eyes. She ran to the stone-heap and flung the china with a crash upon it. Then with a heartbreaking cry, she dropped upon the ground.

“Oh, I wish I had my own mamma," she sobbed.

“ What's the matter ?” asked a voice.

Lettice lifted her tear-stained face. Ann Lawton stood looking down on her curiously.

“I just-wanted my own mamma,” she said in a choking voice, and buried her face again among the grasses.

“Why don't you make believe ?" asked Ann, contemptuously mindful of their last conversation.

“It's no use," the child sobbed, brokenly. “I don't want a make-believe mamma,-I want-my truly one," and the tears came again.

Ann looked down timidly. Tears were almost unknown to her ; they were so babyish ; she hardly knew how to treat them. The little figure on the grass lay quivering in the attempt to control itself. The pitifulness of the half-stifled sobs found its way into even Ann's matter-of-fact heart, and a sudden wave of sympathy swept over her face. She dropped on her knees beside the child, and put her arms around her. “Don't cry," she whispered.



To-day I went into my true love's room,
And all was there untroubled, as of old.
The quaint, dull tapestries and carven wood
Were burnished with the sunset's ruddy gold ;
And there I saw my true love's broideries
Unfinished, and her sweet-toned lute unstrung,
And careless laid upon the window-seat,
Where she had left it with a song unsung.
Then through the oriel a little breeze
From the rose gardens wafted me a breath
Of summer's fragrance, such as she herself
Had hoped to breathe in heaven-after death.
And my true love, my own dear love, was gone ;
Yet without tears I went into that place
Where last I looked on her-I could not mourn,
Remembering the smile upon her face.


Something that falls upon us with a chill
At high-noon time; a thing that turns the day
To hideous grimace and mockery ;
Something that laughs in hiding with a sound
That freezes up the soul,—it lurks close by,-
A thing we dread to hear and dare not see,
Which darkness could not hide nor silence still,
Whose noise is never heard, whose sight remains
Unknown to us ;-and yet the fear of it,
Abiding since the day when life began,
Is branded on the souls of all mankind.




The years of the average student in a woman's college are taken from that period in her life which is of most importance in its bearing on her future. She is making experiments, and her experiments are along two lines : first, in the adoption of ideals, and second, in the adoption of means by which to realize those ideals. Indeed, all our life may be said to be a series of experiments along these lines; but naturally, the experimentation is most pronounced and varied in the formative years, before the plastic character of youth has hardened in the mold of habit. And the experiments have the greatest influence on life if they come in the latter part of the formative period, when the imagination—that factor of prime importance in the shaping of ideals-has been modified by experience and reason from the lawless fancy of childhood to a far-sighted and inspiring force. With the importance of these college years in mind, we come to ask what ideals the student finds here ready-made for her acceptance or modification, and what helps are offered her for their realization.

The college has a double choice of ideals to make, one for itself as a corporate body, one for the individual under its care. The college, realizing that it exists for its members, tries to benefit each individual by granting to each as much liberty of self-development as is compatible with the interests of a community of students. Thus the college seems to find its ideal in flexibility in organization : organization there must be, if there is to be order; and flexibility in custom and curriculum is a necessity, if the habits, tastes, and needs of hundreds of differing students are to be consulted. Smith College as an organization is working toward this ideal; the changes which an undergraduate has seen in the past three years have tended toward its realization. If, in song last year, some of the classes memorialized themselves as “victims of experiment," it was more to indulge a sense of humor and a love for classification than to indicate the failure on their part to see the progress of which the “experiments” were signs.

Throughout its existence, the guiding policy of this college has been freedom from tradition. Precedent here or in other colleges has not been considered a sufficient reason for any custom or requirement. Tested by a standard of value rather than of age, however time-honored, such things as class and college yells, class enmities, hazing, and the academic cap and gown-in spite of widely differing opinions—have been found wanting. In our organizations, too, we differ from our sister colleges; we have no intercollegiate fraternities, not even the Phi Beta Kappa, and our Association for Christian Work is not affiliated with the World's Student Christian Federation. Yet we do not take pride in this isolation for its own sake ; quite possibly, even probably, time will show that our policy has been carried to an extreme: but should that ever be, this same policy of freedom will be found as effective in breaking away from the errors of our own past as in avoiding those found in the past of other colleges. We do believe that in general this policy has been fruitful of great advantage to the college, and as its beneficiaries, we are grateful that its life began and has so long continued under the guidance of one master personality, of force sufficient to oppose the current of tradition, or turn its power into new channels of greater utility.

Even by this time, the college woman has not outlived the period in which she herself is regarded as an experiment; a statement of her value still calls forth in many places a raised eyebrow

or a shrug. Colleges for women have nodor abt produced prigs; they have produced blue-stockings, and s'işometimes unhelpful and unlovable women ; and the peculiariti sies of individual temperaments, accentuated perhaps by abnormal conditions, have been interpreted as the undersirable results of a college education. But in such cases the college Fnas been misunderstood. If you would find the ideal of this college, do not seek it in a woman's form with a man's intelleyut and a man's tastes; the best of public opinion scouted suc'n an appearance as a phantom of horror before it had a chance to become a type: nor will you find it in the professional. woman; the college has long since left behind that period in its career when it was regarded as a training-school for specialists. The ideal of our college for each of its students is the attainment of intellectual womanliness.

The intellectual factor of a college training is much more farreaching than to include only the courses taken and the books studied. It includes all the forces which go to stimulate individual thinking. Students do not come to college to “finish” their education. I know of no phrase better expressing precisely what it is not the purpose of the college to do for any one. The college fails in its intellectual aim if the formal education of its class-room has not begotten at least the seeds of an intellectuality which will find its nutrition in all the experiences of the future, and grow more and more toward the independence and impartiality of deep and high thinking. This type of intellectuality assimilates to itself ; its knowledge is not put on like a garment, but is incorporated, unlike that of an old man who once remarked that he had studied English grammar forty years before, and then added, “But I hain't had no use for it

The true intellectuality outlives the memory of dates and formulæ, and is not dependent on particular surroundings; it is subjective, tested by its ability to thrive on one end of a log without a Mark Hopkins on the other end. It is not, however, for this reason visionary and unpractical. It is not akin to the schemes of Gilbert's Girl Graduates, who would fain extract sunbeams from cucumbers and teach pigs how to fly. On the contrary, it is of great value in life, for while it candidly refuses

“ To recognize in things around
What can not truly there be found,"

it has the power to infuse into these things new ingredients which may transform them.

Our college has before it the difficult task of distilling this essence of the intellectual out of the means of education at its hand. The most apparent of these means is the ordinary lecture or recitation, attendance upon which is rigidly required. In the face of this requirement, however, this college realizes that the adjustment of the mind to routine work under outside compulsion carries with it the danger of leaving the student without the will or the self-application to work when the pressure is removed. Realizing this, the class-room seeks less to teach facts than to cultivate the philosophic attitude of mind, the scientific spirit, the sympathetic moral interest,-qualities which can not be crammed for an examination, nor divorced for the summer vacation. In granting its students the liberty of pursuing courses in art and music on the same basis as that of the usual academic studies, our college shows an appreciation of the basal unity of culture; and in the changes soon to go into operation,-changes in accordance with which the conferring of the A. B. degree is not limited to students of Greek and the higher mathematics,-this college has taken a long step forward, proving its realization of the truth that not the object of study, but the quality of the studying, makes the student.

The college has other means than the purely academic for stimulating the intellectual life,--the campus houses. There in her fellow-students the student meets herself multiplied or divided, with additions and subtractions of abilities, ambitions, experiences. Her condition, the circumstances of her fellow-beings, the vicissitudes of life, force themselves on her thought, and give her as knotty problems to solve as any that she meets in the class-room. On being told how many students there were here, a visitor once exclaimed, “How much talking there must be !" Talking-yes, there is much of it ; and it is one of the most valuable means of education that the college can boast. Amid much conversation that is flippant, amid much that is purely recreative, there goes on incessantly an exchange of thought, a broadening of outlook, an increase of human interest, which can not be measured as a stimulant to the intellectual life.

But I said that the ideal of our college for its students was intellectual womanliness. The intellectual is after all only the

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