all expressed
her, and presto, the whole-hearted one is my friend. Her poet is now her
father, brother, comrade,--what she chooses, and all she chooses.

At one time, before we were well out of the Arboretum, our eyes met, and
there was something so sad and mild and strange in the burn of her gaze
that I felt her frank spirit was unveiling itself in an utterness of
speech. But I have become too much spoilt by mere length of living to be
able to remember back and recognise what young eyes mean when they look
like that. From London to Palo Alto is a short trip, if at the end of it
you meet a Hester. Yet I am sad. The mood crept on me the moment we grew
aware that evening had come, and we stopped a little in front of the
arch to observe the night-look of the foot-hills. Lights had begun to
appear in the corridors of the quadrangle, and here and there in a
professor's office, while Roble and Encina looked like lit-up ferries.
There was a spell of mystery and promise in the quiet which was deeper
for being suggestive of the seething student-life just subsided. It was
a silence that seemed to echo with bells and recitations, and babble and
laughter and heartache. I fell into thought. One generation cometh and
another passeth away. There is no respite. March with time and find
death, mayhap, before it has found you. As years ago the flamelet of the
street-lamp, so now these outposts of the colossal embryo of a world
derided me and seemed to point me out and away. The evening grew chill
with "a greeting in which no kindness is."

"Your coming has been announced in every class, and your lecture is on
the bulletin-boards. After that, can you be depressed?"

The light words were spoken low, as if doubtful whether they could be
taken in good part, and they came with something that was like music.
Was it the voice or some inexplicable feeling? I turned in wonder. Her
head was raised, and in the indistinctness I caught that sweet look of
hers which besought me, and which I answered without knowing to what
question.

I owe you a great happiness. Good-night.

DANE KEMPTON.

XXXIII

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME

STANFORD UNIVERSITY.
Wednesday.

Last night I delivered my address to the student body. Behold the chapel
crowded to the doors, aisles and window-seats crammed, and faces peering
in from without, those of boys and girls who had perched themselves on
the outer sills. A student audience is at the same time most cr