At the north of Bearcamp Water; . ens of letters from all over our broadcountry, from Europe, Japan, Mexico, and fromdistant India, whence some Harvard soldier ofthe Cross writes to ask tidings of his almamater. In his day every John knew everyWilliam, and the roll of the University neverclimbed beyond the hundreds. Now the ques-tioner at my side wonders how near we shallcome to having three thousand students thisyear; while the prophet declares that in fiveyears or less Harvard will have distanced Cam-bridge and Oxford, and become the greatestEnglish-speaking University in the now
At the north of Bearcamp Water; . ens of letters from all over our broadcountry, from Europe, Japan, Mexico, and fromdistant India, whence some Harvard soldier ofthe Cross writes to ask tidings of his almamater. In his day every John knew everyWilliam, and the roll of the University neverclimbed beyond the hundreds. Now the ques-tioner at my side wonders how near we shallcome to having three thousand students thisyear; while the prophet declares that in fiveyears or less Harvard will have distanced Cam-bridge and Oxford, and become the greatestEnglish-speaking University in the now her students do not all speak Eng-lish. Aside from the scores of Americanyouths who hear only light-weight silver dollarEnglish at home, and who learn little that isbetter at school, there are many who come toHarvard from far-away foreign homes. Thetall Bulgarian with his dark eyes full of poetryand fire; the patient Russian Jew, exiled froma cruel land, and struggling night and day towin an education and a fortune in the home of. CROWLAXDS, FORMERLY THE OLD DOE FARM MY HEARTS IN THE HIGHLANDS. 159 the free; the dashing young Norwegian, withwinning, deferential manners and a light in hisblue eyes which speaks of his own glaciers anddark fjords; the gifted Japanese, absorbingphilosophy or science with such readiness as tomake his slower American competitor blushwith shame; the angular Armenian, with hiskeen, thin face and nervous hands; the self-possessed Costa Rican, the moody Icelanderand his taciturn but clear-headed neighbor fromNewfoundland, — all are beside me taking turnswith their American fellow-students in hurry-ing my wheel until the day is done. When the day is done, and pale sunset colorslie in the sky behind the witching iron traceryin the great western gateway, my soul goesnorthward again into that other October whenthe early snow melted, and the winds blew inthe fair Chocorua land. I go back to a gustyafternoon when we rowed our boat the lengthof the lakes and
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