modern doctors of divinity. When the long-looked-for day arrived
for him to throw his arms around his father and mother and bid them
good-by, he should have mounted a camel, like a youth of the Holy
Land of old, and taken his solemn, tender way across the country
toward Jerusalem.




V


One crisp, autumn morning, then, of that year 1867, a big, raw-
boned, bashful lad, having passed at the turnstile into the twenty-
acre campus, stood reverently still before the majestical front of
Morrison College. Browned by heat and wind, rain and sun; straight
of spine, fine of nerve, tough of muscle. In one hand he carried an
enormous, faded valise, made of Brussels carpet copiously sprinkled
with small, pink roses; in the other, held like a horizontal
javelin, a family umbrella. A broken rib escaped his fingers.

It was no time and place for observation or emotion. The turnstile
behind him was kept in a whirl by students pushing through and
hurrying toward the college a few hundred yards distant; others,
who had just left it, came tramping toward him and passing out. In
a retired part of the campus, he could see several pacing slowly to
and fro in the grass, holding text-books before their faces. Some
were grouped at the bases of the big Doric columns, at work
together. From behind the college on the right, two or three
appeared running and disappeared through a basement entrance. Out