of games played abroad. Important contests at a distance from home, or in a city not the seat of either contesting college, plainly lead to irregularities and to interference with study, and the effects of the excitement thus induced extend far beyond the day of the contest. The experience of the Harvard Committee on the Regulation of Athletic Sports has shown that students are candid enough to admit the necessity of reducing the geographical compass of their sports. The first principle of regulation is to subordinate athletics to study. The second principle is that every organization of every kind which goes before the public as emanating from a college, or bearing its name, shall present none but genuine representatives of that college, and shall do nothing discreditable to alma mater. The principle applies as much to theatrical and musical performances as to athletic contests. No man ought to be permitted to sing, to act, or to contest as a member of a college organization, if he is under college censure, or if he is a student only for a few months, or if he comes only to pursue his favorite amusement. At Harvard such men are now ineligible, either by Faculty regulation or by the action of the athletic committee; and the students second the policy. It is equally important to keep alive the feeling that the members of teams compete for the fame of their college, and not for any pecuniary gain to themselves : for this reason, students who have enjoyed a money profit from the practice of their sport must be excluded rigorously, although their regular standing as members of the college may be unquestioned. Here, again, so soon as students clearly perceive how and why professionalism degrades amateur sport, they heartily join in an attempt to keep out professionals. A third principle is that of publicity. No organization which, from its connection with a college, secures subscriptions from undergraduates and graduates, enjoys the use of college grounds or buildings, or appears before the public under the college name has any right to conceal its accounts, or to refuse to the authorities of the college a knowledge of its methods, its system of training, and the men who are to make up its teams. The system of irresponsible handling of large funds, of irresponsible selection of players, and of irresponsible diplomacy with other colleges is one which acknowledges only half the principle of freedom. A boy chooses his college, but abides by its discipline. A gt. ident chooses or accepts his studiested; but, in every college, his instructors require him to satisfy them that he pursues the work that he has undertaken. College athletic sports, as now conducted, are no longer private enterprises; much more than college societies they affect the good name and the efficiency of individual colleges and of college education, and the college authorities have a right to know what goes on. In applying the three principles above specified, — the subordination of athletics, exclusion of men not representative, and publicity, the coöperation of students is essential, and is freely given. There is no want of good will, but a "plentiful lack" of good business habits. Somewhere in the organization of a university there must therefore be authority to require the observance of rules laid down under the three principles enunciated; and the judicious application of such rules requires the expenditure of a great deal of time. The detail · will inevitably fall into confusion if not carefully looked after, for the simple reason that college students are boyish, thoughtless, and slack, and that college generations change quickly. The time necessary for supervision is well spent. if it brings young men to see the reasons for a punctilious standard in the selec tion and management of athletic teams. Penalties may be simple, and yet effec tive. To deprive a man of the privilege of taking part in athletic contests is often a memorable punishment to him and to his fellows; to deprive an organization of the use of grounds or buildings, for sufficient cause, will prevent the recurrence of the cause. Within the limitations suggested, students should be left to control their own affairs and to make their own arrangements, without being troubled by successive petty enactments. Regulations should be few; conferences should be many. In whom should the authority over athletic sports primarily be vested? The Harvard Committee on the Regulation of Athletic Sports is composed of nine members: three members of the Faculty and three graduates, all six appointed for a year by the Corporation and con firmed by the Overseers; and three undergraduates, chosen by representatives of athletic organizations. Its action may be subjected to revision by the governing boards. The combination has proved singularly harmonious; and the undergraduate members habitually show a spirit of open-mindedness and conservatism which reflects the best sentiment of the college. This is not a perfect system, but it is suggestive of methods which ought to prevail everywhere. Athletic sports and competitions and intercollegiate contests are an established part of the life of American colleges. The evils incident to them can best be met by judicious legislation, founded on a few reasonable principles, and by giving to students full freedom within these limitations. Albert Bushnell Hart. THE TOWN POOR. MRS. WILLIAM TRIMBLE and Miss Rebecca Wright were driving along Hampden east road, one afternoon in early spring. Their progress was slow. Mrs. Trimble's sorrel horse was old and stiff, and the wheels were clogged by clay mud. The frost was not yet out of the ground, although the snow was nearly gone, except in a few places on the north side of the woods, or where it had drifted all winter against a length of fence. "There must be a good deal o' snow to the nor❜ard of us yet," said weatherwise Mrs. Trimble. "I feel it in the air; 't is more than the ground-damp. We ain't goin' to have real nice weather till the up-country snow 's all gone." "I heard say yesterday that there was good sleddin' yet, all up through Parsley," responded Miss Wright. "I should n't like to live up in them northern places. My cousin Ellen's husband was a Parsley man, an' he was obliged, as you may have heard, to go up north to his father's second wife's funeral; got back day before yesterday. 'T was about twenty-one miles, an' they started on wheels; but when they'd gone nine or ten miles, they found 't was no sort o' use, an' left their wagon an' took a sleigh. The man that owned it charged 'em four an' six, too. I should n't have thought he would; they told him they was goin' to a funeral; an' they had their own buffaloes an' everything." "Well, I expect it's a good deal harder scratchin', up that way; they have to git money where they can; the farms is very poor as you go north," suggested Mrs. Trimble kindly. ""Tain't none too rich a country where we be, but I've always been grateful I wa'n't born up to Parsley." The old horse plodded along, and the sun, coming out from the heavy spring clouds, sent a sudden shine of light along the late winter they had to make the the muddy road. Sister Wright drew move. 'T was cruel hard, I must say, an' her large veil forward over the high if I had n't been down with my pleurisy rim of her bonnet. She was not used to fever I'd have stirred round an' done driving, or to being much in the open somethin' about it. There was a good air; but Mrs. Trimble was an active busi- deal o' sickness at the time, an' — well, ness woman, and looked after her own 't was kind o' rushed through, breakin' affairs herself, in all weathers. The late of 'em up, an' lots o' folks blamed the Mr. Trimble had left her a good farm, selec'men; but when 't was done, 't was but not much ready money, and it was done, an' nobody took holt to undo it. often said that she was better off in the Ann an' Mandy looked same's ever end than if he had lived. She regretted when they come to meetin', 'long in his loss deeply, however; it was impossi- the summer, -kind o' wishful, perhaps. ble for her to speak of him, even with They've always sent me word they was intimate friends, without emotion, and gittin' on pretty comfortable." nobody had ever hinted that this emotion was insincere. She was most warmhearted and generous, and in her limited way played the part of Lady Bountiful in the town of Hampden. 66 'Why, yes, Rebecca, of course we could stop," answered Mrs. Trimble heartily. "The exercises was over earlier 'n I expected, an' you're goin' to remain over night long o' me, you know. There won't be no tea till we git there, so we can't be late. I'm in the habit o' sendin' a basket to the Bray girls when any o' our folks is comin' this way, but I ain't been to see 'em since they moved up here. Why, it must be a good deal over a year ago. I know 't was in "That would be their way," said Rebecca Wright. "They never was any hand to complain, though Mandy's less cheerful than Ann. If Mandy'd been spared such poor eyesight, an' Ann had n't got her lame wrist that wa'n't set right, they'd kep' off the town fast enough. They both shed tears when they talked to me about havin' to break up, when I went to see 'em before I went over to brother Asa's. You see we was brought up neighbors an' went to school together, the Brays an' me. 'T was a special Providence brought us home this road, I've been so covetin' a chance to git to see 'em. My lameness hampers me." "I'm glad we come this way, myself," said Mrs. Trimble. "I'd like to see just how they fare," Miss Rebecca Wright continued. "They give their consent to goin' on the town because they knew they'd got to be dependent, an' so they felt 't would come easier for all than for a few to help 'em. They acted real dignified an' rightminded, contrary to what most do in such cases, but they was dreadful anxious to see who would bid 'em off, townmeeting day; they did so hope 't would be somebody right in the village. I just sat down an' cried good when I found Abel Janes's folks had got hold of 'em. They always had the name of bein' slack an' poor-spirited, an' they did it just for what they got out o' the town. The selectmen this last year ain't what we have had. I hope they 've been considerate about the Bray girls." "I should have be'n more considerate about fetchin' of you up," apologized Mrs. Trimble. "I've got my horse, an' you 're lame-footed; 't is too far for you But time does slip away with busy folks, an' I forgit a good deal I ought to remember." to come. "There's nobody more considerate than you be," protested Miss Rebecca Wright. Mrs. Trimble made no answer, but took out her whip and gently touched the sorrel horse, who walked considerably faster, but did not think it worth while to trot. It was a long, roundabout way to the house, farther down the road and up a lane. "I never had any opinion of the Bray girls' father, leavin' 'em as he did," said Mrs. Trimble. "He was much praised in his time, though there was always some said his early life had n't been up to the mark," explained her companion. "He was a great favorite of our then preacher, the Reverend Daniel Longbrother. They did a good deal for the parish, but they did it their own way. Deacon Bray was one that did his part in the repairs without urging. You know 't was in his time the first repairs was made, when they got out the old soundin'-board an' them handsome square pews. It cost an awful sight o' money, too. They had n't done payin' up that debt when they set to to alter it again an' git the walls frescoed. My grandmother was one that always spoke her mind right out, an' she was dreadful opposed to breakin' up the square pews where she'd always set. They was countin' up what 't would cost in parish meetin', an' she riz right up an' said 't would n't cost nothin' to let 'em stay, an' there wa'n't a house carpenter left in the parish that could do such nice work, an' time would come when the great-grandchildren would give their eye-teeth to have the old meetin'-house look just as it did then. But haul the inside to pieces they would and did." "There come to be a real fight over it, did n't there?" agreed Mrs. Trimble soothingly. "Well, 't wa'n't good taste. I remember the old house well. I come here as a child to visit a cousin o' mother's, an' Mr. Trimble's folks was neighbors, an' we was drawed to each other then, young's we was. Mr. Trimble spoke of it many 's the time, the first time he ever see me, in a leghorn hat with a feather; 't was one that mother had, an' pressed over." "When I think of them old sermons that used to be preached in that old meetin'-house of all, I'm glad it's altered over, so's not to remind folks," said Miss Rebecca Wright, after a suitable pause. "Them old brimstone dis courses, you know, Mis' Trimble. Preachers is far more reasonable, nowadays. Why, I set an' thought, last Sabbath, as I listened, that if old Mr. Longbrother an' Deacon Bray could hear the difference they'd crack the ground over 'em like pole beans, an' come right up 'long side their headstones." Mrs. Trimble laughed heartily, and shook the reins three or four times by way of emphasis. "There's no gitting round you,” she said, much pleased. “I should think Deacon Bray would want to rise, any way, if 't was so he could, an' knew how his poor girls was farin'. A man ought to provide for his folks he's got to leave behind him, specially if they 're women. To be sure, they had their little home; but we've seen how, with all their industrious ways, they had n't means to keep it. I s'pose he thought he'd got time enough to lay by, when he give so generous in collections; but he did n't lay by, an' there they be. He might have took lessons from the squirrels; even them little wild creatur's makes them their winter hoards, an' men-folks ought to know enough if squirrels does. Be just before you are generous:' that's what was always set for the B's in the copybooks, when I was to school, and it often runs through my mind." "As for man, his days are as grass,' that was for A; the two go well together," added Miss Rebecca Wright soberly. "My good gracious, ain't this a starved-lookin' place? It makes me ache to think them nice Bray girls has to brook it here." The sorrel horse, though somewhat puzzled by an unexpected deviation from his homeward way, willingly came to a stand by the gnawed corner of the dooryard fence, which evidently served as hitching-place. Two or three ragged old hens were picking about the yard, and at last a face appeared at the kitchen window, tied up in a handkerchief, as if it were a case of toothache. By the time our friends reached the side door next this window, Mrs. Janes came disconsolately to open it for them, shutting it again as soon as possible, though the air felt more chilly inside the house. "Take seats," said Mrs. Janes briefly. "You'll have to see me just as I be. I have been suffering these four days with the ague, and everything to do. Mr. Janes is to court, on the jury. 'Twas inconvenient to spare him. I should be pleased to have you lay off your things." Comfortable Mrs. Trimble looked about the cheerless kitchen, and could not think of anything to say; so she smiled blandly and shook her head in answer to the invitation. "We'll just set a few minutes with you, to pass the time o' day, an' then we must go in an' have a word with the Miss Brays, bein' old acquaintance. It ain't been so we could git to call on 'em before. I don't know's you're acquainted with Miss R'becca Wright. She's been out of town a good deal." "I heared she was stopping over to Plainfields with her brother's folks," replied Mrs. Janes, rocking herself with irregular motion, as she sat close to the stove. "Got back some time in the fall, I believe?" "Yes 'm," said Miss Rebecca, with an undue sense of guilt and conviction. "We 've been to the installation over to the East Parish, an' thought we'd stop in; we took this road home to see if 't was any better. How is the Miss Brays gittin' on?" "They're well's common," answered Mrs. Janes grudgingly. "I was put out with Mr. Janes for fetchin' of 'em here, with all I 've got to do, an' I own I was kind o' surly to 'em 'long to the first of it. He gits the money from the town, an' it helps him out; but he bid 'em off for five dollars a month, an' we can't do much for 'em at no such price as that. I went an' dealt with the selec'men, an' made 'em promise to find their firewood an' some other things extra. They was glad to git rid o' the matter the fourth time I went, an' would ha' promised 'most anything. But Mr. Janes don't keep me half the time in ovenwood, he's off so much; an' we was cramped o' room, any way. I have to store things up garrit a good deal, an' that keeps me trampin' right through their room. I do the best for 'em I can, Mis' Trimble, but 't ain't so easy for me as 't is for you, with all your means to do with." The poor woman looked pinched and miserable herself, though it was evident that she had no gift at house or home keeping. Mrs. Trimble's heart was wrung with pain, as she thought of the unwelcome inmates of such a place; but she held her peace bravely, while Miss Rebecca again gave some brief information in regard to the installation. "You go right up them back stairs," the hostess directed at last. "I'm glad some o' you church folks has seen fit to come an' visit 'em. There ain't been nobody here this long spell, an' they 've aged a sight since they come. They |