faith, was at Harrodsburg, Kentucky. The name of it was "Daughters' College." Mattie's brother and father, justly proud of her attainments, and still resolved to encourage her in her desire to become thoroughly educated, sent her to Harrodsburg to be instructed by John Augustus Williams, the President of "Daughters' College."

Boarding among strangers, now far from home, Mattie found accentuated both her spirit of self-reliance, and her attitude of reserve toward others, two traits always shown in her childhood. The six years at Harrodsburg served to strengthen and deepen her already-preconceived ideals. John Augustus Williams carried on the work that Joe Myers had begun. The Harrodsburg President was as devoted to learning as the Lancaster professor; and he had farther penetrated its depths. He was, indeed, a remarkable man, one who magnified the dignity of his calling, always conscious that the better he succeeded as a teacher, the greater would prove his blessing to the lives of others.

On Sunday we may follow the college girls to church. There goes Mattie Myers, in her solid-green woolen dress, her wonderful suit of hair arranged as plainly as such a wealth of heavy brown will permit. We see the neat and unpretentious hat from under which appear the serious brow, and the eyes always bright and intelligent. We note her reliant step; her form, too thin; her face a little weary from over-hard studying.

Shall we not enter this church on Main street, and watch the young ladies as they seat themselves in a bright oblong of femininity, if not of beauty?

We shall certainly do so, if we are young ministerial students, attending the University! Unfortunately, young Oliver Carr cannot enter with us, for he is still over yonder at May's Lick; but never mind—he will presently be coming down to find out what Latin is like! What happy fortune has brought the University for young men into the same town that affords a college for young ladies? That, too, we shall presently understand.

At any rate, here sits Mattie Myers, decorously listening, it would appear—we hope she is not thinking about her studies—while Dr. Robert Richardson, or Robert Graham, or Robert Milligan—all teachers at the University (among whom "Robert" seems a favorite name)—preaches and preaches. About what? Why, about what we must do to be saved, to be sure. And Mattie listening eagerly—for of course she listens—finds that these distinguished men agree entirely with her father, that what we must do to be saved is very much like what Peter declared we must do—nay, is exactly what Peter declared, to the very words. Far, indeed, is it from the mind of this thin, erect girl in the dress of solid-green, and under the hair whose splendor refuses to be concealed—far is it from her mind that any young man of the Kentucky "froglands" is ever to enter her life as an integral part!

Pres. Jno. Aug. Williams. Daughters College. Harrodsburg Ky

Little time is there for day dreams for this child!—Little time, and no inclination. Study—ever deeper and more persistent study for her; late hours after the lamps are out, sitting in the window with long hair streaming, borrowing favor from the moon—that means spectacles in no very short time! Study—ever more absorbed, and absorbing study, at noon-recess, in early morning, on holidays—till the form grows thinner, the face paler; and, indeed, she had better have a care, or all this will come to an end, with pain and disappointment!

The sermon is nearly ended. Are you sorry you missed it? An hour and a quarter, already! Do the school girls move uneasily in the straight-backed benches? Let us hope they are entertained by this searching examination of sectarian "positions." How new that church building seems to them! Why, it was finished only a few years ago—that is to say, in 1850. There was a time when two bodies of believers met in Harrodsburg; one organized by the followers of Barton Stone, who called themselves "Christians", another the "disciples" who had followed John Smith and John T. Johnson out of the Baptist church. The Christians met from house to house; the "disciples" in the old frame building at the corner of South Main and Depot streets, nearly opposite the public square. Each body was suspicious of the other till, one day, they found out that they taught the same things, believed the same truths, were, in short, blood-brothers of faith and practice. So they came together and formed the church which Mattie is attending. She comes every Sunday; and every Sunday you will find, if you examine her closely, that she is a little paler, a little weaker. Working too hard! The end must come if this is kept up, year after year.

We find the girl subject to an unappeasable hunger for facts. Is she not to devote her life to teaching her sex? Now is the time to store the mind. John Augustus Williams spurs her on, leads her into untold scientific difficulties; lets her realize how little is her strength; then aids by teaching her to help herself. One thing he does not help her do—that is to husband her physical forces. As he stands before his "daughters" in chapel he hammers away at this idea:

"Teaching is woman's profession and her natural vocation. No lady can claim to be well educated, therefore, or trained for her proper sphere in life, until she has learned to teach, and to govern the young. The learning which prepares her for the school-room, prepares her at the same time for the highest social and domestic position. No time is lost by such a training, even should the student never become a professional teacher."

It is no wonder that the enunciation of these ideas strengthened the girl's resolutions. Here was the most learned man she had ever met in daily life, a polished speaker, a graceful author, a correct translator; one who reads the pages of his manuscript, "The Life of John Smith," that his class may parse it;[1] a preacher, too, who pointed the way back to Pentecost. Wisdom flowed from his lips, and his lips proclaimed teaching the "natural vocation" of woman.

And the way in which this teaching was to be done—in a word, his conception of what an education means—that justified his dictum. He said over and over again:

"You have an infallible criterion by which you may determine the success of your own and your teacher's labors. If you feel in your heart a greater susceptibility to truth, a livelier appreciation of the purely beautiful, a profounder regard for virtue, a warmer affection for the good, and sublimer devotion to God, esteem your labors as eminently successful; but if your attainments, varied and extensive as they may be, are to render you less amiable in disposition, or less pure in thought—less charitable to your fellows, or less devoted to God, then have we labored in vain, and your learning, also, has been in vain."

To such a teacher as this, every year is a book written full of sweet influences,—books far deeper and more permanent than any work of the pen. The girl understood this; that is why her determination to be a teacher grew and ripened; not to impart facts but, by means of facts, to inculcate the love of learning and of truth. She wanted to come into touch with the world, and to send