as a moral reform and many others do not, and still more illegitimate to teach such a supposed moral reform under the guise of teaching scientific physiology. We hold that it is illegitimate for State Legislatures to determine the details respecting text-books and curriculums and in so doing to set at naught the substantially unanimous judgment of expert educators. But The Outlook does not need to restate its position, which, both in editorials and in the book review to which the Woman's Christian Temperance Union takes exception, has been given in detail; it simply reiterates its fundamental posiion, at the same time granting to its critics larger space than it takes for itself.

The Spectator

While taking the Saguenay trip last summer, the Spectator encountered a fellow-traveler whose method of travel inter

ested him. He was a man who had an

once

aversion to reaching a given point by land when it could be reached by water, and he showed a note-book pasted full of odd time-tables and announcements of sailings, secured long in advance, at considerable pains. It included, for example, boats that ran only once a week or a fortnight. Fitting in carefully these various schedules, an itinerary had been constructed by which "thousands of miles of water" along the upper Atlantic coast―" hundreds" would have been nearer the truth, probably-could be covered with only an occasional land-break, like the still inevitable short railroad break in the long continuous trip by trolley. The Spectator's acquaintance had passed his vacation for three or four summers in this way, he claimed, leaving New York by boat, and cruising around Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and the St. Lawrence region-being picked up by a passing ocean steamer, for instance, for the voyage from Halifax to Quebecsecuring constant variety of route, as the same line was seldom taken twice, visiting many quaint oddities overlooked by the conventional tourist, meeting out-ofthe-ordinary people, and encountering the charm of some so-called experiences, but finding a freshness and interest everywhere, and spending but a comparatively

small sum, as boat-travel is always relatively cheap.

The ingenuity of the scheme recalled to the Spectator the happily chosen title Mr. Lewis M. Iddings gave to some readable run-about magazine papers, "The Art of Travel," though in quite a different way from Mr. Iddings's use of it. For Mr. Iddings's art of travel meant the art paths, as, for example, in the bit of adof avoiding discomfort in following beaten vice always to be ahead of or behind For the Spectator's acquaintance it meant the crowd, and "escape the rush."

A New Tread in an Old Track "-to quote the felicitous title of an unfamiliar book of travel-or, perhaps better, the discovery of a new track where many have trodden, of the unfamiliar in regions labeled familiar, of the places where the crowd does not go, although passing close by. Whatever the meaning one reads into the phrase, it suggests at once the obvious fact that travel in modern life is becoming a commonplace, and that to enjoy it one must study it as an art. The

artless traveler in the old “book of trav

els," whose record of what he saw and heard was once so full of interest, has passed, with his almost forgotten fellow, the artless or naïve letter-writer, who, paradoxically speaking, flourished in the days when letter-writing was an art. only endure the talk of the "distinguished

We

traveler" now for the sake of the artistic

pictures his stereopticon can throw upon

the screen.

Travel has been always accepted as a completing touch to an education (for, in the familiar line of Shakespeare, "homekeeping youths have ever homely wits "); never more so than to-day, when one can almost say there are "facilities" for reaching the North Pole. Yet, after all, what does the average person get out of ordinary travel? how much does he "benefit by it," as the phrase goes? This thought has been pressed home upon the Spectator by the genial ingenuity of Sir Walter Besant's "Atlantic Union" for that sort and condition of American cousin who goes abroad without letters of introduction, and therefore without a chance to get at what Sir Walter calls "the native point of view."

These Americans see only the outside of England and English life, what is to be found in Baedeker, what suggests itself from hotel happenings, visits to show places and resorts, and observations of street scenes-impressions often absurdly misleading. as Sir Walter Besant amusingly illustrates by incidents of personal encounter with the traveling American. It is a case, as Sir Walter points out, of Horace's change of sky without a change in the point of view, or of Emerson's theory that one brings back from travel just what one had taken on starting-the old prejudices, in short, being often confirmed rather than removed by seeing England with one's own eyes.

Perusal of Sir Walter's prospectus recalled to the Spectator the comment of a German engineer whom he met one evening at a well-known New York club. This club preserves the roof-tree theory that those under it are for the time acquaintances a theory that makes for the amelioration of social conditions when people chance upon one another without formal introduction. In the center of the club dining-room there is a long table where the conversation is general, any stranger who sits at it being privileged to join in the talk, while those who wish to "flock by themselves" can choose seats at one of several small tables. The spirit of this common table, while not obtrusive, pervades the club-house, relieving it of that air of "stiffness" which to a stranger often makes a big metropolitan club the lonelist place in the world. The German was praising this delightful feature of the club and contrasting his at-homeness with his experience in other large cities of Europe, especially London, to which his profession constantly called him. He had been a member of a certain London club, he said, for about thirty years, and had probably used it, often for weeks at a time, every year of the thirty. There was a certain Englishn.an, an habitué of the club, whom he believed he had never missed seeing. The two were constantly encountering each other, sitting at near-by tables in the dining-room or reading their newspapers in adjoining chairs. That Englishman's face was as familiar to him as that of a member of his own family.

Yet he did not know the Englishman's name. Indeed, they had never even nodded to each other in all the thirty years of their chance encounters, although he himself had hardly escaped an involuntary nod, coming suddenly upon the Englishman after an absence.

Another in the group told of a club in London which was as "sociable" as the New York club. There was one difference, which interested the Spectator. When the American's English friend introduced him at the club, which was made up of artistic, literary, and professional men, the Englishman said: "Your share of the cab is a shilling, and you will pay two shillings six for your dinner, which is served table d'hôte. You are, of course, privileged to come here as much as you please while you stay in London, but you will have to pay for everything at the time, as there is no signing of tickets, and no one member or guest can pay for another." To the American, odd as it seemed, the custom at once commended itself. He was put under obligation for nothing except admission to the camaraderie of agreeable men, which of itself was a sufficient obligation. The conspicuousness of equality in the matter of cash payments, the feeling that one could not "treat" or be "treated," really put the club life on closer conditions of contact and brought the guest within the circle from the very moment of crossing the threshold.

A cautious writer in the London "Spectator" has said, in discussing some effects from "the shrinkage of the world" due to increased travel, "it is by no means certain that the globe-trotter gains much by his trotting "or the people of the globe, for that matter. The trouble is, indeed, that, as the Spectator himself has in a way already said, too much of modern travel is "trotting." Broadly, then, to revert to Mr. Iddings's phrase, the "art of travel" may be the art of not trotting. And this was the art of the Spectator's Saguenay traveler who found time to seek out the unvisited nooks and corners of Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and the St. Lawrence region.

1.-LOVE

The angel said unto them, Fear not.

All heaven is hushed in silence strange and tender;

White on the soundless streets the light is lying.

Ten thousand thousand faces bow their splendor

To listen for a new-born baby's crying.

Fear not! the days of fear are done, Though God is great, and ye are lowly. The Morn of Mercy is begun,

Though ye are vile, and God is holy.

Fear not, though ye have waited long;

His loving-kindness waiteth longer. Fear not, though fierce your foe and strong;

The Saviour born to you is stronger.

Fear not; good news of bliss we bring;
All glory unto God be given!
For He is born to be your King

Who is the light of earth and heaven.

All earth is thrilling to the solemn story, Hushed in its farthest haunts of dread

and danger,

We have seen His Star.

The dawn was pure across the paling sky Whenso our hearts looked up and wondered, waking;

What voice of God beyond that glory high? What answer in the silver light outbreaking?

(Morning, and noon, and night,
Across the desert white,

Our way lies out before us, bare and
burning;

But since our eyes have seen His Star of light,

Our feet shall know nor faltering nor returning.)

The solemn sun moved onward to the west, The flaming noon above the palm-trees dying.

Chapter VIII.-Teaching School in a Stable and a Hen-house CONFESS that what I saw during my month of travel and investigation left me with a very heavy heart. The work to be done in order to lift these people up seemed almost beyond accomplishing. I was only one person, and it seemed to me that the little effort which I could put forth could go such a short distance towards bringing about results. I wondered if I could accomplish anything, and if it were worth while for me to try.

Of one thing I felt more strongly convinced than ever, after spending this month in seeing the actual life of the colored people, and that was that, in order to lift them up, something must be done more than merely to imitate New England education as it then existed. I saw more clearly than ever the wisdom of the system which General Armstrong had inaugurated at Hampton. To take the children of such people as I had been among for a month, and each day give them a few hours of mere book education, I felt would be almost a waste of time.

After consultation with the citizens of Tuskegee, I set July 4, 1881, as the day for the opening of the school in the little shanty and church which had been secured for

its accommodation.

The white people, as well as the colored, were greatly interested in the starting of the new school, and the opening day was looked forward to with much earnest discussion. There were not a few white people in the vicinity of Tuskegee who looked with some disfavor upon the project. They questioned its value to the colored people, and had a fear that it might result in bringing about trouble between the races. Some had the feeling that in proportion as the negro received education, in the same proportion would his value decrease as an economic factor in the State. These people feared the result of education would be that the negroes would leave the farms, and that it would be difficult to secure them for domestic service.

The white people who questioned the wisdom of starting this new school had in their minds pictures of what was called an educated negro, with a high hat, imitation gold eye-glasses, a showy walking-stick, kid gloves, fancy boots, and what not-in a word, a man who was determined to live by his wits. It was difficult for these people to see how education would produce any other kind of a colored man.

In the midst of all the difficulties which I encountered in getting the little school started, and since then through a period of nineteen years, there are two men among all the many friends of the

school in Tuskegee upon whom I have depended constantly for advice and guidance; and the success of the undertaking is largely due to these men, from whom I have never sought anything in vain. I mention them simply as types. One is a white man and an ex slaveholder, Mr. George W. Campbell; the other is a black man and an ex-slave, Mr. Lewis Adams. These were the men who wrote to General Armstrong for a teacher.

Mr. Campbell is a merchant and banker, and had had little experience in dealing with matters pertaining to education. Mr. Adams was a mechanic, and had learned the trades of shoemaking, harnessmaking, and tinsmithing during the days of slavery. He had never been to school a day in his life, but in some way he had learned to read and write while a slave. From the first, these two men saw clearly what my plan of education was, sympathized with me, and supported me in every effort. In the days which were darkest financially for the school, Mr. Campbell was never appealed to when he was not willing to extend all the aid in his power. I do not know two men, one an ex-slaveholder, one an ex-slave, whose advice and judgment I would feel more like following in everything which concerns the life and development of the school at Tuskegee than those of these two men.

I have always felt that Mr. Adams, in a large degree, derived his unusual power of mind from the training given his hands in the process of mastering well three trades during the days of slavery. If one goes to-day into any Southern town, and asks for the leading and most reliable colored man in the community, I believe that in five cases out of ten he will be directed to a negro who learned a trade during the days of slavery.

On the morning that the school opened, thirty students reported for admission. I was the only teacher. The students were about equally divided between the sexes. Most of them lived in Macon County, the county in which Tuskegee is situated and of which it is the county-seat. A great many more students wanted to enter the school, but it had been decided to receive only those who were above fifteen years of age, and who had previously received some education. The greater part of the thirty were public-school teachers, and

some of them were nearly forty years of age. With the teachers came some of their former pupils, and when they were examined it was amusing to note that in several cases the pupil entered a higher class than did his former teacher. It was also interesting to note how many big books some of them had studied, and how many high-sounding subjects some of them claimed to have mastered. The bigger the book and the longer the name of the subject, the prouder they felt of their accomplishment. Some had studied Latin, and one or two Greek. This they thought entitled them to special distinction.

In fact, one of the saddest things I saw during the month of travel which I have described was a young man, who had attended some high school, sitting down in a one-room cabin, with grease on his clothing, filth all around him, and weeds in the yard and garden, engaged in studying a French grammar.

The students who came first seemed to be fond of memorizing long and complicated "rules" in grammar and mathematics, but had little thought or knowledge of applying these rules to the every-day affairs of their life. One subject which they liked to talk about, and tell me that they had mastered, in arithmetic, was "banking and discount," but I soon found out that neither they nor almost any one in the neighborhood in which they lived had ever had a bank account. In registering the names of the students, I found that almost every one of them had one or more middle initials. When I asked what the "J" stood for, in the name of John J. Jones, it was explained to me that this was a part of his "entitles." Mcst of the students wanted to get an education because they thought it would enable them to earn more money as school-teachers.

Notwithstanding what I have said about them in these respects, I have never seen a more earnest and willing company of young men and women than these students were. They were all willing to learn the right thing as soon as it was shown them what was right. I was determined to start them off on a solid and thorough foundation, so far as their books were concerned. I soon learned that most of them had the merest smattering of the high-sounding things that they had studied.