Man's Life Is A Progress, Not A

I Am Ashamed To See What A Shallow Village Tale Our So-called History Is. How Many Times Must We Say Rome, And Paris, And Constantinople! What Does Rome Know Of Rat And Lizard? What Are Olympiads And Consulates To These Neighboring Systems Of Being? Nay, What Food Or Experience Or Succor Have They For The Esquimaux Seal-hunter, Or The Kanaka In His Canoe, For The Fisherman, The Stevedore, The Porter?

When We Quarrel, How We Wish We Had Been Blameless.

Our Best History Is Still Poetry.

In Excited Conversation We Have Glimpses Of The Universe, Hints Of Power Native To The Soul, Far-darting Lights And Shadows Of An Andes Landscape, Such As We Can Hardly Attain In Lone Meditation. Here Are Oracles Sometimes Profusely Given, To Which The Memory Goes Back In Barren Hours.

If The Colleges Were Better, If They Had The Power Of Imparting Valuable Thought, Creative Principles, Truths Which Become Powers, Thoughts Which Become Talents, - If They Could Cause That A Mind Not Profound Should Become Profound, - We Should All Rush To Their Gates: Instead Of Contriving Inducements To Draw Students, You Would Need To Set Police At The Gates To Keep Order In The In-rushing Multitude.