it in. Marse Ralph couldn't see, but he tried to feel about wid de han' dat wan't burned, so I tuk it an' laid it on de baby's face. De little t'ing was scart at fust, but I says quiet-like, Pore Marse Ralph! dear Marse Ralph!' an' it quieted down. "Marse Ralph's lips was movin', an' w'en I put my year down, I heard him say: "It's my life 't I've gib to you, baby. You mus' fill out my years!' "It's de Lawd's truf, missis, but de baby straightened hisself as if he was listenin' too. A mighty qu'ar, ole look come into his little face, an' befo' I knowed anything, he reached ober an' kissed Marse Ralph on de mouf. W'en I lif' him up, Marse Ralph was daid! "Missis!" - the old woman's tones grew low and intense, and her sunken eyes burned as she leaned forward to lay a bony hand upon my knee, "Missis, de soul o' Marse Ralph went into my Joe's body along o' dat kiss! "Joe wan't neber like none o' de oder brack chillun arter dat. He grew diff'ent he talk diff'ent, an' soon's eber he's big 'nuff to go round by hisself, he begin helpin', an' comfortin', an' takin' car' o' de littler ones, jes' like Marse Ralph! An' he jes' so mad, when somebody hurted any little, weak t'ing. "Well, den come de wa'. Dem was awful times. Marse Cunnel an' Marse Godfrey, dey went to de f'ont, an' my Randy's Aleck, he go 'long, an' not one o' dem t'ree eber come home alibe ! "W'en de wa' was ober, Miss Marie, she beg her mudder to go to Richmon' an' lib wid her, but ole Miss, she stick to de ole place. Den my Randy, she died o' grief. De brack fo'ks, dey was all free, to be sho', but I wouldn't 'a' lef ole Miss not for money. But arter she was daid, too, Joe an' I, we come norf to Po'tland, whar we had 'lations, an' dey got me my place here t' de hotel. Joe gets right smart o' work, an' we's done splendid, we has so! We's got dis yer home, an' Joe don' want me to work no mo', but, laws! I'd die 'f I cudn't work! But, missis "her voice falling once more, and the shadow deepening on her dusky face, "dere's a t'ing a-comin'!— I do' know how nor w'en-mebbe de Lawd 'll spar' me, an' it won't be in my time, but it's a-comin'! Missis, it's Marse Ralph's life dat my boy's libin'! it's Marse Ralph's y'ars dat he's a-fillin' out! Missis, he's sabed six lives a'ready, along o' dis coast! Dat's w'at his work is! Dat's w'at dey call him- 'Lifesabin' Joe!' But, sometime, de end's gwine t' come! He'll sabe a life, an' gib his own for it! De good Lawd help me, if I lib to see!" The old woman threw her checked apron over her face, and buried her head in her clasped arms. The tide was turning, and up from the shore floated a lingering, longing melody: "What of old Dinah and her grandson?" was one of my first questions, when, five years later, I found myself once more at the Point. "Dinah? The poor old creature died of pneumonia during the bitter winter which followed your last visit. But Joe? Surely, you should have heard. The papers were full of the story. It was he who performed such prodigies of bravery, when the schooner Lady Bell struck off Eagle Rocks, two years ago. He swam out with a rope in the teeth of the breakers, infused his own courage into the hearts of the poor people who had given up all hope, and made them obey him as if he had been some superior being. Ten had been brought off safely, and, with the eleventh in his arms a little child belonging to the boat's cook-Joe had just reached the shore, when he sank exhausted, the blood pouring from his mouth. He never spoke, and lived but a few moments. They buried him over there on the hill." Turning away, my feet took the path to the little cemetery, whose quiet western slope faced the eternal contrast of 'the never-resting sea. I found the grave easily, marked by a tall granite shaft, whose inscription recounted the gratitude of those who owed their lives to the self-sacrifice of the lowly hero. But between my eyes and the carven words came the vision of a dark face, wrinkled and old, its every feature quivering in the struggle of love and pride with mysterious foreboding. Had chance, alone, fulfilled old Dinah's prophecy, or was it, indeed, the soul o' Marse Ralph' which, after brave transmigration, had entered into rest? I THE PROFESSOR OF AMERICA. By Edward E. Hale, D.D. READ the literary addresses at Commencement with great interest. It is the period of the year when men of letters and philosophy, who have abstained from what is called political life, "take their innings"; and they denounce, with more or less severity, the proceedings of the persons who are in public administration. This gives a certain interest to what they say. There is an additional interest, and it is much greater, which comes from the atmosphere in which they speak. These addresses, on the whole, reflect the collegiate feeling; they show us how far the colleges are in touch with the country, how far they lead the thought of the country; and if in any regard they do not lead that thought, they give us ground for inquiring what the matter is. I have read thousands of these addresses, and of late years have read them with more and more question whether, on the whole, the American colleges really understand the drift of American life, and whether it be true that a student in college is for three or four years withdrawn from the regular currents of American life. It is constantly charged that there is a certain isolation in college life, that it savors a little of the monastery. A somewhat distinguished teacher in Ohio once said to me, "The feudal system dies very slowly, Mr. Hale; it lingers longer in the American colleges than anywhere else." I was very much amused at the time, and used to quote it as my standard story with regard to western iconoclasm. But the longer I live, the more apt I am to think it is true. I write this paper, then, that I may ask whether it would not be a good thing, in a first-rate university, to maintain regularly a "professorship of America." Would it not be a good thing to have one man in such a university whose business it should be to show to the young men, or the young women, who study there, how it is that their country is utterly unlike all other countries, how it is that even language which is appropriate to other parts of the "English-speaking world" is inappropriate here? Would it not be worth while, in the midst of studies conducted, fortunately, If, at a Commencement dinner, it were your fortune to sit between the valedictorian graduate of the day and his brother, a commercial traveller of four years' experience who had come to the dinner, you would infallibly find that the latter knew far more than the former about the makeup, condition, destiny, and dangers of America. He would probably be by far the more interesting of the two in conversation. Unless you, who sit between them, have had unusual opportunities to study America, he could probably give you points which would be new to you; and it is quite certain that he would have much to teach his brother. For, in truth, the make-up of a first-rate college staff does not look in the direction which implies wide or profound knowledge of America. The different professors have been selected for fitness in their specialties. Each of them, probably, has eagerly gone to England, France, or Germany, to perfect himself in that specialty. He should do so. Travelling in America is a very costly luxury,— much more so than travelling in Europe, and very few college professors can indulge in it. In a college which calls students from the Pacific, the Mississippi valley, the Gulf states, and the older parts of the country, the students themselves do. a great deal to help each other in this affair. But what is thus done is done without proportion or system. It is at best an accident, and the accidental element in it may lead to confusion or mistake. From such causes, and from many others easily observed, it shall happen that an American student leaves college with no such knowledge of America as a French student has of France, or a German student of Germany. Now the truth is that the difference between the social order of America and that of Europe is as wide as the difference between sculpture and painting, or the difference between a tree and a house. The social order of Europe still belongs to the feudal system, where different ranks depend on one head. The social order of America is organized on the democratic or co-operative system, where each member helps each other member, and from the whole the station or place of the individual is established. A fair enough instance of the difference was given in the Civil War. The national forces sustained a severe defeat, and immediately the public stocks rose in the market. A great German banker who was here said, "This is the strangest of nations. In any other country such a defeat would have knocked the stocks down. Here, not merely in the face of it, but because of it, they rise," Now that story shows, in a single detail, what is the difference between Europe and America. In a European war, such a defeat would have meant that the ruling family say of Italy, of Prussia, of Austria, or of Spain was worsted. Would the spirit of that family decline? Not at all; the family would be more eager to go on than ever. But those princes of the exchange who lend them money, how would they feel? There is the exact difference. They see in the defeat the incompetence of the ruling family; they hesitate about throwing good money after bad; and the stocks decline. In the American defeat, it is still the ruling family which has been defeated. But this ruling family is the People. The People sees that its preparation was insufficient. The People - really sovereign, for this is no matter of rhetoric - rises to the occasion. And just as every young prince in the ruling families of Brunswick and Prussia went of course into the army when Napoleon was ravaging their realms, so the People, because the People is sovereign, rouses itself with new vigor, the more critical the emergency. The men with money enter into the cause precisely as all the rest do, understanding by instinct that the People does not mean to have its throne shaken nor its sceptre wrenched away. I cite this as an illustration - but it is by no means the most important — of the absolute distinction between the methods of a pure democracy like ours, and those of any system built on the wrecks of the feudal system, as are most of the European systems, or trying the autocratic, as Russia and Turkey are trying it. This ought to be considered as a matter of course; but it is to be considered that many of our writers for the press were educated in Europe, and have not yet learned our language. I saw a leading journal of New York call Mr. Harrison "the ruler of this nation" twice, in its issues of last May. Now Mr. Harrison never called himself so; he knows better. He is the chief magistrate of this nation, which is a very different thing. And no man, not badly mis-trained by foreign education, would ever have called him the "ruler" of America. General Harrison has very large powers, as foreign nations on occasion might find; and, in a little way, he can direct the movements from garrison to garrison of an army of some thirty thousand men, and from port to port of a navy of some ten or twelve cruisers. But this does not make him the ruler of any individual outside the army or navy. He is in no sense the ruler of America, as Alexander is the ruler of Russia to-day. Yet you see these intelligent people speak of him in this fashion, merely from a certain analogy which results from his living in what is called the capital, and from his sending a message to Congress, as Victoria makes a speech from the throne. Now let us confess it in the ordinary American college there is no person whose business it is to explain to the pupil the causes for such distinctions. Indeed, so far as gentlemen have received their education in England, in France, or in Germany, no person has explained the causes of such distinctions to them. And if the professors in a college have been educated abroad, they have a certain difficulty in appreciating these causes themselves. But the truth, at bottom, is that the United States of America is a nation different from any other nation in the world. In affairs of government it is as different from other nations as Japan used to be from the world from which she had separated herself. For there must be an absolute social distinction between a government "of the people, by the people, for the people," as compared against governments of feudal makeup or origin. These distinctions are greatly confused, because the noble language which is our own is a language formed by Englishmen who had been trained under feudal institutions. It will therefore happen that the same word means one thing here and another in England. For instance, the central word of all, "The People," meant, to the poet Cowley, the vulgar and mean, in contrast with the good and great. With Shakespeare it meant what we still call the populace, the greater body of citizens, as contrasted with the smaller body of their rulers, just as in Roman law "senatus populusque Romanus" are contrasted against, each other. But with us the word People means quite another thing. It is "we, the People of the United States," who ordain the government and administer it. It is not a class; it is the whole, and this whole is sovereign. The People is the fountain of honor; this People is the origin of law, and maintains it. And with us any language which speaks contemptuously of this People is treason against the sovereign. This is a single illustration of the danger to be remembered all the time as we handle even the English language in which we are speaking of these central themes. Indeed, the word "Government" in itself is misleading, if it carry with it the idea of a Governor who, from above, imposes directions on a crowd below, as a Persian satrap might do, or a Roman pro-consul. The American idea of " Government " presupposes the prophetic announcement that "Your governors shall be from yourselves and your rulers from the midst of you." The magnificent term, "The Common Law," expresses it with great precision; it is the union of all for all, - not the direction of one, who knows better than the rest, or is stronger. It takes it for granted, as President Garfield said so well, that all the people is wiser than any one of the people. It is from an utter failure to appreciate the distinction between government in the feudal sense and government in the sense of a Common Law, that there spring all the trenchant satires upon democracy of writers like Carlyle, and I might, alas, say of almost all the European schools. Not of all, happily; for Tennyson understands how The common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe. In such a pure democracy every man's work is tested, and every one will be compelled to contribute. Thus the roads must be made. The roadmaster summons all, not any "laboring class," but all; every man must appear, and with his pick, shovel, ox, or cart, as the need requires. Woe to any poor dog of a cheating steward who says, "I cannot dig." The roadmaster, who represents the people, will try him, or will tax him enough for a fair compensation. A great deal follows on this absolute demand. First, a man is tested, fairly and squarely, before his fellows. All the men of his district see how well he can bear himself. And observe, this is not the unwilling service they render to a feudal lord, which comes out, in the end, in such a band as Falstaff's ragamuffins. This is service in presence of the sovereign who needs the work done. What is the good to me of cheating in the bridge, when it is my own horse or my own cart which will suffer when the bridge gives way? A man is tested, and his powers of lead, of command, and of obedience, are shown. More than this follows from the absolute demand which such a state makes for personal service from every one. leaders of the state may think very badly of the members. They may know they are ignorant; they may believe they are totally depraved, perhaps that ninetenths of them will surely be damned. But the state, as a state, has no opinion on individuals. The state sees that, whether they are capable of good or no, they are all capable of working on the roads, and she compels them. She sees they are capable of carrying a musket, and she compels them to do so. When time comes, she bids them march against Clinton and Howe, and they have to go. Cornwallis's turn comes, and they have to go again. The Now it is impossible for the state to assume all these rights without granting certain privileges. These men are incapable of good, you say, but it proves they are capable of fighting. They do not know their right hands from their left, you say; but they know how to die for their country. What follows inevitably is universal suffrage. It comes on this country unpredicted, not expected, not desired by the leaders among the fathers. But it comes, because it must come. The People could not compel the presence of the soldier in the field, and refuse his presence in the council hall. Here we should stop a moment to say what universal suffrage is, and what it pretends. The European writers, like Carlyle, are all wrong about this, and so are their pupils here. No one pretends that, in universal suffrage, the vote of the majority brings the absolute truth or the absolute right. That must come according as teachers teach well, as preachers preach well, as poets sing well, as persuaders persuade well, as leaders lead well. Ridicule is flung away, like that in Knickerbocker, repeated by every pessimist, which asks if you will give the charge of the state to a man to whom you would not trust the charge of your watch. Universal suffrage has never pretended in America to secure the perfect or ideal way. But it does pretend to gain the peaceful way. For it does show what the majority of those who express themselves prefer. It makes it certain, therefore, that they will not express their preferences by the use of clubs and paving-stones and barricades, —as, without this system, they are always wanting to. Simply, you secure Peace. The government may be wise or foolish, a government of liquor-lords or of saints; but it will be acquiesced in. There will be no House of York fighting a House of Lancaster, if you have fairly counted heads and hands, and are going to give another chance to count in another year. It gives you Peace. It therefore gives you the chance to govern yourselves. The people who own a church will govern that church. The Athenæum will govern the Athenæum. The Knights of Malta will govern the Knights of Malta. And every home will be an example of Home Government, as far as the father and mother of that home have drunk at the divine fountain. All -- Above all, in this empire of internal peace, you gain that self-government in which every man is his own master, directs his own life, and for himself looks to God. He comes from Europe a member of a clan, - he is a Sullivan or an O'Grady; he is used to be ordered by the Boss of some Club, or the Head Centre of some Chapter. But this dies out in a generation of America, if with an honest democracy you show him that the state, and the state only, can command his service, and that that service is perfect freedom. Universal suffrage gives internal peace. No Jack Cade, no barricades, no Coup d'état. For administrators, and for a policy, it promises, not the ideal and absolute best, but the average impression of the community, improved by the eternal law that Right is stronger than Wrong, and that Truth is mightier than Falsehood. Because its administrators are selected by the average vote of the community, the community does its very best to keep that average high. It extends education; it addresses itself to the cure of disease; it screens out criminals and paupers. For the rest, it bids the teachers teach, the prophets prophesy, and the leaders lead. These necessities, therefore, apply in the methods of universal education, and in its justification. Even the feudal governments have come so far as to say they believe in it. They give some sort of schooling to every one. But this is because they find that it is convenient for the upper class that the lower class shall know something. Thus it is a convenience for me at the station that the porter can read the label on my trunk. And so you shall hear dainty people in America, who ought to know better, assume that the business of the state is ended when the boy or the girl has been taught the three R's; for the rest, let them take their chances, according to the fortunes of their birth. But it is in no such half-hearted way that America looks upon education. state must have the average high. 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