No one can deny that the demand for competent women to fill this position far exceeds the supply. Not one such school but hundreds all over the country are needed. Certificates given by these schools will be of far more value than any ordinary recommendation. Moreover this will be a direct benefit to the nurses themselves from an economic point of view. Their increased efficiency will enable them to demand wages high enough to more than counterbalance any expenses in their training. Such a training school has, I believe, never been opened; the one in Philadelphia will be, as soon as the funds necessary to carry it on can be raised.

Could children have the care of such trained women as will be sent out by these schools, infant mortality would sensibly diminish while the benefit to the entire com munity would be incalculable.

Editors' Table.

So invincible is the spirit of conservatism even in this age of change and progress, that in spite of the fact that scores of college journals are-issued monthly, weekly-yes, daily, we still hear from time to time the question, "Are not the under graduate publications worse than useless? Do they not become a source of direct injury both to students and to the institutions they insufficiently represent?" We should think that the very enthusiasm of the editors over their work, and the ever increasing respect for Faculty and college government as fostered and set forth by these student papers would themselves render a convincing answer; but when to those arguments may be added the ever potent ones of the awakening of interest in fellow institutions and their methods, the promotion of sympathy and good-will

between them, the increase of knowledge regarding all college life gained by means of the exchange system, and the incalculable benefit derived by the individual members of the board from their experiences, surely conservatism must acknowledge itself vanquished.

It was the diversity of occupation, the necessity for turning his hand to any and everything which developed in the Yankee his proverbial and subtle quality of “knack.” An analogous condition of affairs will produce the same result in the college life; and the greater the variety of duties undertaken and well performed, the greater will be the adaptability of the graduate to the changes of after years.

We venture to say that the literary editor who has struggled to extort essays from unwilling writers, to return rejected articles without injury to the self respect of aspiring contributors, to decipher and rearrange illegible manuscript, who has been obliged at the last moment to fill up yawning columns with her own thoughts, has undergone an amount of discipline not to be ignored; that the business editor who has safely piloted her frail craft through the eddies stirred up by delinquent subscribers and by obdurate non-advertisers, who has successfully negotiated with printers and after the last bill is paid, has in her keeping a comfortable surplus, is not likely thereafter to be troubled by the evil results of procrastination or inaccuracy.

That these experiences fall to the lot of an extremely limited number is to be deplored, but not to be accepted as a reason why they should be enjoyed by no one.

An extended defence of the college periodical, however, is not at present our purpose. We wish rather to emphasize the sad perversity of human nature which shows itself when the student takes up her pen for the last time in the capacity of editor. Never before were the manifold advantages of her position so deeply impressed upon her mind. Never before did the brightest side of her experience so

persistently keep its face uppermost. Her dreams of literary fame may long since have proved themselves but phantoms and have vanished; but the memory of hours of peaceful work, hard though some of them may have been, is very dear to her and for the first time she realizes that they are over.

It is with such thoughts as these, that we, the editors from '88, prepare to quit the sanctum and throw open its doors to our successors. It is for this reason, '89, that our welcome to you is not all untinged with sadness. But none the less for this we heartily wish you all success in your undertaking. We would offer you every encouragement through the first few months before you, for we know that you will inevitably meet with difficulties. When these are over, we do not doubt that you, too, will enjoy the pleasure which is equally sure to fall to the lot of every editor. Before all else, the hope that the MISCELLANY may know none but prosperous days and that its sphere may ever broaden is in the heart of each of us as we say, "Farewell."

One of the interesting experiences which come to us as we go on in our college course is the gradual discovery of the mutual relations and interdependence of the different branches of knowledge which we are pursuing.

In our childhood we thought of no connection between our arithmetic and geography except that both had to be studied. Indeed, between our elementary studies there was little direct connection. They were merely starting points for lines of study which were afterward to con verge and cross each other.

In the high school period of our education we had our languages, science and mathematics. Our ideas had broadened somewhat; we began to see how much is involved in

any one department of learning, for we were studying different languages, different sciences, and different branches of mathematics.

Not until we entered on our college course, and perhaps not even until we reached the latter part of it, did the meaning of "the search after Truth," and the idea of Truth as a unity into which every kind of true knowledge blends, come to us with any great force. The further we go in any line of work, the more we feel the need of knowing something of other lines, for we find them to be so inextricably connected with that one. In studying science, philosophy, or ancient languages, for instance, we find a knowledge of modern languages almost indispensable, since much the best thought on these subjects is not accessible in our own language; history and philosophy have had great mutual effect upon each other; while physics, chemistry, physiology, mineralogy, and other branches of natural history are all indissolubly connected, and contribute each to the other's perfection. One of the great advantages of our new curriculum is to be found in the opportunity which it offers us of taking a greater number of studies, and by so doing of discerning more clearly these mutual relations which exist among them, and of laying a broader and more even foundation for any work which we may wish to do hereafter. This thought of the unity of Truth, which thus becomes more distinct in our minds, does much toward making us receptive of all knowledge and toward teaching us not to despise it, no matter under what guise it may appear. To have learned this lesson from our experience is to possess a liberal education.

There is an old legend of a tiny cluster of violets which grew at the foot of an oak tree in a great forest. So dense was the shade that all the day long only one feeble

ray

of

sunlight could reach them, and this it could do only by dextrously dodging through the clinks between the leaves. Early in the morning it fell on the ground some distance from the flowers, but as the day wore on it crept nearer and nearer and before nightfall it had touched every blossom, lingering tenderly a moment on each pretty face, and thus all shared alike its warmth and brightness. All went very well until one of the violets began to say to herself: "Now, there is only this one little sunbeam and when we all share it, each one's portion is so very small. If only I could get it all, how warm I should be! What a beautiful blue my petals would grow to be, and how much larger and finer than all the others I should soon become! If I reach out as far as I can and hold my head up, I can catch it before it has time to get to the rest, and keep it. I can do it; why shouldn't I? They all have the same chance if they think of it." So the next morning she quietly crept as far away from the rest as she could and raised her pretty head, and presently she caught the golden sunbeam in her blue chalice and held it there, and her sisters shivered in the cold and wondered why it did not come.

For a time the selfish violet fairly revelled in the warmth and brightness, but by and by her head began to droop, her poor eyes were dazzled by the unwonted glare, and the beam grew very warm indeed. The dewdrop which was to furnish her moisture for the whole day was all dried up, her throat was parched, she was too weak to creep back to her place, and all the while the beam was growing hotter and hotter. Poor violet! she was almost dead with exhaustion when a gay youth came whistling along the path; and suddenly his heavy heel came down on the poor little violet's head; and she lay there all bruised and crushed and quite dead, half buried in the soft earth.