patriotic impulse has swept away all selfish thought of their "bright prospects" and their "opportunities." They have forgotten that if they should stay at home and attend to business they might, by proper maneuvering, become congressmen, senators, bishops, professors, judges and other big things. They have thrown trimming prudence to the winds and have declared by their action their overwhelming love for their country and their willingness to freely give all they have and all they are for it. Foolish boys, say some of the calm thinkers who are coolly and cautiously trying to balance themselves and things in these unusual and exciting times. Noble boys, say those who are still capable of being thrilled by unselfish patriotism and who do not value matter above spirit. God's blessing on the Yale volunteers. They are fine young men indeed, and they are right in line with the highest spirit and the grandest record of their nourishing mother. One of the never-to-be forgotten events of this period was the great patriotic meeting held in College Street Hall on Friday night, May 20, 1898, when feeling rose to an unprecedented pitch and when hearts beat high with a reawakened love of country. The speakers of the evening were President Timothy Dwight, Dr. E. S. Lines, and Professor Bernadotte Perrin. Several members of the Yale Battery were in town at the time, and their appearance in uniform at the meeting provoked a storm of applause. All of the speeches were of a stirring character; but the following lines from the speech of Dr. Lines may be taken as representative of the entire assembly: Dr. Lines said, among other things: We send to-night from the old home to the great family of the sons of Yale, the assurance that the new men in our long muster-roll appreciate the need of the new time. Yale men are giving themselves for the country's service even as Yale men did in the war for Independence and in the Civil War, and are thoughtful and sober-minded. It is hopeful to see the college community stirred by the sense of responsibility to the country and brought to feel that sacrifices must be made for the State. A new generation of College men is learning how much the country means for them and that patriotism is more than zeal for party, fervid oratory, and display of flags. The war has touched the heart of the University and the response is worthy of her best traditions. One of the indelible events of this period was the decision of the United States Government at Washington to give to the wellknown liner "Paris," which was being transformed into an auxiliary cruiser, the name of "Yale." This act on the part of Washington touched the heart of every Yale man to the very core; for it was a most striking recognition, on the part of the Government, of the regard and esteem in which Yale was held by the country. Nor was the satisfaction over this fact lessened by the fact that another boat was named the "Harvard." It only added fuel to the fire of college enthusiasm, for it brought home the consciousness that, in the greatest of all struggles, Yale and Harvard were not rivals but partners. The concrete substance of Yale's appreciation of the honor which had been shown her by the country was at once forthcoming. By means of a popular subscription, a sum of money was quickly raised with which to buy a brace of guns and a set of colors for the "Yale." The guns were placed on board with due ceremony and formed an important and useful part of the Yale's equipment. It may come as a surprise to many to learn that the two guns which they have so often seen in the Trophy Hall of the Yale Gymnasium, and which may be seen there to this day, are "Handsome Dan" and "Eli," the guns that were given by Yale to her namesake and which were returned at the expiration of their term of usefulness. It is impossible to recount here, in detail, the names and the histories of all those who served their country in the SpanishAmerican War. However, during the short period of the war, 300 Yale men enlisted in the Army and Navy at the President's call for volunteers. Of this number, 215 were graduates and 85 were undergraduates. A remarkably large proportion of this number, over 25 per cent, or 96 in number, were commissioned officers. Out of this number there were two Brigadier-Generals, 3 Colonels, 5 Lieutenant-Colonels, 10 Majors, 21 Captains, and 55 Lieutenants. Five men died in the service of their country. The roll of honor is: Rodmond Vernon Beach, '87, Theodore Westwood Miller, '97. The truth is that the college period of life is the one in which pure ideals are most easily roused and the flame of patriotism evoked by danger to the country burns as intensely among college men as anywhere in the country. Their sense of obligation to sacrifice themselves is real. They then weigh less the cost than later on in life. So it has been in all our wars. So it is to-day in the enthusiasm with which the Yale Battery has been formed, and the eagerness and thoroughness shown in the drill and discipline of a difficult branch of the military art. The closing line in the great Yale song, "Bright College Days," is not a mere poetic sentiment, but expresses the profound feeling of the Yale Student body: "For God, For Country, and For Yale." YALE AND NEW HAVEN IN 1716 By ELISABETH WOODBRIDGE MORRIS Two hundred years ago the Connecticut lad who was bent upon gaining a collegiate education was met by a rather odd difficulty: the difficulty of deciding where his college really was. A college, or, as it was more modestly called, a "collegiate school," had indeed been recently established at Saybrook, but in the year 1716 its trustees, after years of wrangling, voted to remove it to New Haven. This vote, however,-hotly contested by a strong faction favoring Hartford,-seemed at the moment to have decided nothing. Its immediate effect was rather to let loose the centrifugal forces always present in a human institution. The Collegiate School became, not one, but three. Thirteen students did, it is true, assemble at New Haven, but fourteen were collected at Wethersfield, through the industry or at least with the encouragement of Timothy Woodbridge and the other Hartford-minded trustees. Here, under a particularly interesting tutor, Elisha Williams, they pursued their collegiate course, and in September of this very year 1716, on the same day that the New Haven students were celebrating their Commencement, the Wethersfield students celebrated theirs. While at New Haven four young scholars were receiving their degrees, one, up at Wethersfield, was receiving his at the hands of the recalcitrant trustee, Timothy Woodbridge. To complete the confusion, a remnant of the school, three or four students, stayed on at Saybrook, where the library also remained. Where, then, really was the college? The Connecticut scholarlads answered the question variously. Jonathan Edwards, in this very year of 1716, at the ripe age of thirteen, enrolled himself as a student at Wethersfield, and not until Senior year did he, with the rest of the Wethersfield group, permanently remove to New Haven. Other Connecticut lads, however, resisted the allurements of Wethersfield with its brilliant tutor, and of Saybrook with its imposing, if unused, library. Coming to New Haven, in the fall of 1716, what did they find here? They probably came on horseback, bringing with them their few books. Probably, too, they followed the "Pequot Trail," by that time the well-established post road between Boston and New York. And whether they approached from the East or from the West, they must, as they neared their journey's end, have come out upon much the same great stretches of green and tawny salt marsh that we see to-day, with cultivated fields farther inland, northward of the town, and the little square town itself set diamond-wise at the inner curve of the long harbor, its original outline still emphasized by the old palisade that surrounded it. As they entered by some gate near the east or the west angle (now the corner of George and York, or State and Grove) the inner plan or pattern of the town-eight squares about a central square-must have been similarly emphasized to the eye by the board fences that surrounded each square. Looking across these fences the boys could see the scattered farmhouses with their flower and vegetable gardens and their bits of pasturage. Between these lines of solid fencing the streets ran straight and level, but still thick-fringed with weeds and bushes, and beset with ditches, rocks, and stumps. At the market-place, which was not fenced, they could look across to the other side of the little town, for the square had been cleared of trees, though not of stumps, weeds, or geese. Near its center stood the little square hip-roofed meeting-house. On its College Street side was the little house which then lodged the Hopkins Grammar School, a slightly larger jail beside it, with pillory, stocks, and whipping post, and just beyond them the "county-house" and watch house. Near the west corner of the market place, our newly arrived scholars perhaps drew up before "Miles Tavern" (about where |