lawyers and Vanderbilts. Here you have the man with keen eye, elegant person, overflowing with humor, standing beside the tall, liberated, black man, Cinque. "What do you say? They are like our millions whose ancestors were brought here by kidnappers. Would you have risen if doomed to slavery?" The crowd shouted "Yes!" What shall we do, disperse them, poor and ignorant, or educate them? The response was "Educate!" Then give us money and we will send them back-not slaves but missionaries.

Martin Cinque was tall, erect, with a noble brow, and, as it was learned from his nation, the son of an African chief, a very prince in his bearing, and was the mutinous hero of that day. From this sprang the Mendi-African Mission.

From a sight of the lions of that day, since so often described, I turned, taking a steamboat for New Haven, Connecticut. Yale. College I had chosen, but did not spend much time with professors and about the buildings, which seemed low and gloomy (less attractive than the elms), and they were, compared with their present splendor.

By the help of a rather free Vermont boy, I got a glimpse of the "wild ones," and of the costly scrapes and dangerous episodes of student life. To be rested and to read up for examination, I took the cars for Meriden, eighteen miles, it being my first railroad. ride. Here I found my favorite cousin, Miss Fitch, the ward of the venerable Rev. Erastus Ripley. He was merry, beguiling me with checkers and after-dinner games, varying the entertainment by an excited discussion as an anti-slavery man with a near neighbor, Mr. Booth, deacon and bank president. My situation came up on review-age, orphanage and aspirations-when my learned friend feared that the tone of student morals at Yale and the conservatism in the old courses of study would endanger the boy's future. Of course, he was a partisan radical.

"What are years in Latin and Greek to be in the next fifty years? Slavery is to be kept under, Texas kept out, church made bold and political platforms expurgated, and brave, good speakers will be in more demand than classic book-worms. Hear what that scholar of Yale, Dr. Grimke, of South Carolina, says: I prefer Sir Walter Scott to Homer. Then for smutty old poetry, give place to the Bible in Greek and Hebrew.' I agree with him. Lawyers are too plenty. Therefore give us a race of students with backbone and courage for the coming great days."

So I remember. And there was a mention of Mr. Hough, who had gone out as financier at Oneida Institute, near Utica, to help Beriah Green, president, one of the finest of scholars and grandest of men.

Said the venerable Mr. Ripley: "My son, I have placed money in that college, where there is a farm to use the muscle, and good professors with a high moral tone. Come, what do you say? I have no boy and I advise you to go there." My reply was that I knew no one. "I do, and will give you a letter to President Green; and if on trial you don't like it, I will pay for the journey." The hearty earnestness of the old divine captured me, and I was even then quite hospitable to his radical ideas, and said: "Write the letter and I will go." The journey was made by way of New York, and I left the steamer at Albany, taking a canal boat ride of one hundred miles for Whitesboro. I handed my introduction to Mr. Green, who was most genial and gave me a temporary stay at the house, where the winsome daughters did. much to mitigate homesickness and unrest with new school associations, the product of radical ideas and a new social birth of society.

Between our times and those of half a century ago, there seems only the comparison between the time of sowing and that of the harvest. Great ideas were getting rooted in the national soil. Radical reforms now measurably accomplished, were then under debate. Men lauded now, were then ignored and despised. The first prophets are never popular. Questions of reform, of temperance, and their kindred themes were then unsolved, even more than now. Restless minds were breaking loose from the dictation of conservatives upon the wrong side of morals. Compromises were in the air. The pooling of moral issues was the dominant business of the generation, at the expense of the truth. The great educational and benevolent organizations were too generally found upon the side of doubtful conservatism. The curse of slavery reached many indirect issues.

It was an heroic age an age in which principles of truth were striving for recognition in the lives of those bold enough to be right, rather than popular. Among the few institutions that dared to risk their success upon the carrying out of ideas hostile in their time, was the Oneida Institute, at Whitesboro, New York. It was the hot-bed of radicalism as it existed at that day. Many of its

ideas have become a part of the national life; while others are still on debatable ground. There was a heavy brain at its head; and there were great men back of it. The Oneida Institute was attempting the unsolved question of combining education with manual labor. Its chosen curriculum was in favor of the languages of the living, and sacred languages, rather than of the dead; it was too far ahead of the times. But whatever the question of its experiments, its avowed object was never lost sight of. It was the home of freedom; its pupils were trained for practical men in the coming struggles of the Republic.

The influence of such an institution was never lost upon the young student who turned his back upon Yale, to gain the advantages under such an instructor as the renowned President, Rev. Beriah Green. Added to his natural intuitions upon the side of freedom, were the instructions here received. The Institute lost its peculiar status a generation ago; but among those who sat at the feet of President Green, its principles have lived in power.

THE STUDENTS.

Such a motley company! Manual labor, and radicalism as to studies and slavery, had gathered a large school. Young casuists, others the wards of rich reformers, not to mention a class sent to a good place for safety fit subjects for rustication. I found in the study of the pupils object lessons related to the ludicrous. There were an emancipator's boys from Cuba; mulattoes removed from their sable mother illegitimates (said to be), under an alias; the high tempered Spanish student, Slingerland his name, whose slinging an iron poker at me left an impression; then an Indian, with that inelegant name, Kunkapot, the calling of which created a laugh; black men who had served as sailors, or as city hackmen, also the purest Africans escaped from slavery, of a class like the eloquent Garnet, the protégé of Joseph Sturge, the English reformer; sons of the American radicals, Bible students scanning Hebrew verse with ease, in place of Latin odes; enthusiasts, plowboys and printers; also real students of elegant tastes, captured by the genius of President Green. I do not know that there was a man looking fiercer by the wearing of a mustache, not then in fashion, or one failing to be guyed who had any foreign foppery airs. The most were real Democrats, save as to politics. Pedigree did