does harm. I would almost give up a little of my love if knowledge
could be got in exchange."

Here, perhaps, you inquire, somewhat sarcastically, if no instruction
on these subjects was given at the "Institute." She opens wide her
astonished eyes. "Oh, no! No, indeed,--surely not."

"What, then, were you taught there?"

"Well, many things,--Roman history for one. We learned all about the
Punic Wars, their causes, results, and the names of the famous
generals on both sides."

Now, if a Bostonian were going to Europe, it would do him no harm to
be told the names of all the streets in Chicago, the names of the
inhabitants of each street, with the stories of their lives, their
quarrels, reconciliations, and how each one rose or fell to his
position. Acquiring these facts would be good mental exercise, and
from a part of them he would learn something of human nature. But what
that man wants to know more than any thing is, on what day the steamer
sails for Europe: is she seaworthy? what are her accommodations? is
she well provisioned, well manned, well commanded? are her
life-preservers stuffed with cork or shavings? So, if a man is going
to build a boat, you might show him a collection of fossils, and
discourse to him of the gneiss system, the mica-schist system, or talk
of the atomic theory and protoplasms. Such knowledge would help to
enlarge his views, extend his range of vision, and strengthen his
memory, but would not help the man to build his boat. He wants to know
how to lay her keel straight, how to hit the right proportions, how to
make her mind her helm, how to make her go; and he has been taught