evidence and monument of intellectual activity--piling
itself up in vast collections, which it needs a lifetime even to
catalogue, and through which the uncultured walk as the idle do through
the British Museum, with no very strong indignation against Omar who
burned the library at Alexandria.

To the popular mind this vast accumulation of learning in libraries, or
in brains that do not visibly apply it, is much the same thing. The
business of the scholar appears to be this sort of accumulation; and the
young student, who comes to the world with a little portion of this
treasure dug out of some classic tomb or mediaeval museum, is received
with little more enthusiasm than is the miraculous handkerchief of St.
Veronica by the crowd of Protestants to whom it is exhibited on Holy Week
in St. Peter's. The historian must make his museum live again; the
scholar must vivify his learning with a present purpose.

It is unnecessary for me to say that all this is only from the
unsympathetic and worldly side. I should think myself a criminal if I
said anything to chill the enthusiasm of the young scholar, or to dash
with any skepticism his longing and his hope. He has chosen the highest.
His beautiful faith and his aspiration are the light of life. Without his
fresh enthusiasm and his gallant devotion to learning, to art, to
culture, the world would be dreary enough. Through him comes the
ever-springing inspiration in affairs. Baffled at every turn and driven
defeated from a hundred fields, he carries victory in himself. He belongs
to a great and immortal army. Let him not be discouraged at his apparent
little influence, even though every sally of every young life may seem
like a forlorn hope. No man can see the whole of the battle. It must
needs be that regiment after regiment, trained, accomplished, gay, and
high with hope, shall be sent into the field, marching on, into the
smoke, into the fire, and be swept away. The battle swallows them, one
after the other, and the foe is yet unyielding, and the ever-remorseless
trumpet calls for more and more. But not in vain, for some day, and every
day, along the line, there is a cry, "They fly! they fly!" and the whole
army advances, and the flag is planted on an ancient fortress where it
never waved before. And, even if you never see this, better than
inglorious camp-following is it to go in with the wasting regiment; to
carry the colors up the slope of the enemy's works, though the next