158 AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER. 
autumn sparkled in the rays of the rising sun. 
Skies of blue, forests of fire, fields of snow, — 
those were the delights of that matchless Octo¬ 
ber dawning. 
If the wheel grows too noisy I come back from 
these visions to my desk and its papers, and 
open dozens of letters from all over our broad 
country, from Europe, Japan, Mexico, and from 
distant India, whence some Harvard soldier of 
the Cross writes to ask tidings of his alma 
mater . In his day every John knew every 
William, and the roll of the University never 
climbed beyond the hundreds. Now the ques¬ 
tioner at my side wonders how near we shall 
come to having three thousand students this 
year; while the prophet declares that in five 
years or less Harvard will have distanced Cam¬ 
bridge and Oxford, and become the greatest 
English-speaking University in the world. 
Even now her students do not all speak Eng¬ 
lish. Aside from the scores of American 
youths who hear only light-weight silver dollar 
English at home, and who learn little that is 
better at school, there are many who come to 
Harvard from far-away foreign homes. The 
tall Bulgarian with his dark eyes full of poetry 
and fire; the patient Russian Jew, exiled from 
a cruel land, and struggling night and day to 
win an education and a fortune in the home of 
