Abstract The Mercury May, 1907 HELP THOSE WHO HELP US. The Intercollegiate Bureau of Academic Costume. Cotrell & Leonard, ALBANY, N. Y. takers of CAPS AND GOWNS To Gettysburg College, Lafayette, Lehigh, Dickinson, State College, Univ. of Penn-sylvania, Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Wellesley, Bryn Mawr and the others. Class Contracts a Specialty. Correct Hoods for Degrees. GOOD POSITIONS FOR COLLEGE MEN. Last year practically every college man on our lists was placed before September 1st,—over 1500 iu all. The demand is greater this year, the opportunities better! One Amherst man whom we placed in business three yeais ago is now earning $8^000 a year. Shall we take up your case with some of the 20,000 employers we serve? Write us today stating position desired, teaching, business or tech-nical work. Offices in 12 cities. H^p&©(9BS, THJK vVJT/O.Tjr/> HUUAJVlZJITiOJY OJ? Htt.lM.V \l UHtli lilts. HOTEL GETTYSBURG, Headquarters for BANQUETS. Electric Lights, Steam Heat, All Conveniences. 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Old Instruments Eschangel WEAVER ORGAN AND PIANO CO., MANUFACTURERS, YORK, PA , U S A. ■•A * '•!■■ :v. •i- 'j' ••!■■ * 'V. M- "•i*" Ti. M- ~v. ■•!; 'V. w "it 'V. •1' 'V. t Students' Headquarters —FOR-HATS, SHOES, AND GENT'S FURNISHING. Sole Agent tor WALK-OVER SHOE ECKERT'S STORE. Prices Always Right Tlje Lutheran Puilictttion Society No 1424 Arch Street, PH.LADtLPHIA, PA. Acknowledged Headquarters for anything and everything in the way of Books for Churches. Colleges, Families and Schools, and literature for Sunday Schools. PLEASE REMEMBER That by sending your orders to us you help build up and develop one of the church in-stitutions with pecuniary ad-vantage to yourself. Address HENRY S. BONER, Sup't. T H E HERCORV The Literary Journal of Gettysburg College. VOL. xv GETTYSBURG, PA., MAY 1907 No. 3 CONTENTS 'REVERIES OF A BACHELOR"—A Criticism FRANK W. MOSEK, '07 m THE VALUE OF ROUTINE—Essay G. E. WOLJE, '09 THE FLOWING TIBARE—Song REV. GEORGE C. HENRY, '76 80 POE ^WIZARD OR CHARLATAN W. WISSLER HACKMAN, '08 81 THE KING'S RESOURCES HESSE, '09 85 OPHELIA AND HER MAID AFTER THE PLAY GEO'. W. KESSLER, '08 89 THE AMERICAN IMMIGRATION QUESTION-Oration 91 E. E. SNYDER, '09 EDITORIALS EXCHANGES 95 96 66 THE MERCURY. REVERIES OF A BACHELOR. FRANK W. MOSER, '07. ^ITERATURE is a "positive element" of civilization, a keen reflector of internal conditions and passing phases. u In different countries it exists at different times in'va-rious ways, now as a "passive taste" and again as an active tendency toward new development. American literature arose amid the stern realities of an experimental republic and de-manded all the strength of the giant intellects that were guid-ing that republic. It was natural that the first development should be theologieal. For a long time the mental life of the colonies was identical with their religious expansion. At a later period oratory flourished and many illustrious names were enrolled under its banner. Then, after the new govern-ment had acquired a firm foundation and records were being made in civil and political life, history arose and occupied the center of the stage. Finally, amid an era of prosperity, when men's minds were no longer forced to dwell eternally on the struggle for life, a taste for the literature of daily life became prevalent. The unique characterizations of Queen Ann's time could scarcely help but have their influence on American minds. The "Spectator," the "Guardian" and the "Tattler" soon had American imitators and from the first this kind of production was eminently successful. "The Lay Preacher" was the first American venture along this line and this was quickly followed by such homely tales as the "Legend' of Sleepy Hollow" and Joe Neal's "Charcoal Sketches." Brought up in the atmosphere of these several evolutions and subjected continually to the influence of the men of belles-lettres of his age, it is small wonder that Donald G. Mitchell should turn to writing what he himself calls 'a collection of those floating reveries which have from time to time drifted across by brain." The inscription upon the title page (edition of A. L- Burt, New York,) is admirably chosen. "It is worth the labor— saith Plotinus—to consider well of Love, whether it be a God, or a divell, or passion of the mind, or partly God, partly divell, partly passion." It is in truth a delightful species, * Winner of the Graeff Essay Prize. THE MERCURY. 67 easier to define by negatives than by positives. It is not an autobiography, though portraying strongly the traits of the man, his freshness and vigor ; not a volume of essays, though it contains many utterances of that distinct type ; not fiction, though sometimes far more suggestive than fact. It is a book of revelations, but also a book of conditions, of subtle thought, keen observation, shrewd humor, and poignant pathos. With it all there is a perfect freedom that makes it seem, as Edward Quillian says, part of "Those sun-dyed fancies, airy reveries, Freaks of imagination, waking dreams, Ephemeral fantasies of playful hues," which may "Fade into nothing if uncropt, and die forgotten," or may 'Become heir-looms for after times." The first reverie, "Smoke, Flame and Ashes" was published in the "Southern Literary Messenger" and met with such suc-cess that he was inspired to write others and finally to publish the whole in book form in 1850. The success of the book is clearly revealed in the fact that from its issue in 1850 to 1854 more than seventy thousand copies were sold and in the first six months alone the author received royalties amounting to four thousand dollars. The style and language of the book are complex. The former fluctuates from sentimental musings on connubial joy to the most violent outbursts of grief and intermingled with both is a didactic element that made him scratch upon the "handle to the little bronze taper.holder that meaning passage of the New Testament—Nut yup lp\i rai—the night cometh." In language also there is a curious mixing of homely, ever5T-day words with classical expressions. He shows a wonderful power of word-painting and every syllable in some of, his pas-sages seems to blend to the nicest shade with the harmony of the whole. The reveries themselves are four in number. The first is over a wood fire ; the second by a city grate, filled first with sea coal and then with anthracite ; the third over a cigar, lighted successively with a coal, a whisp of paper, and a match ; the last a meditation over a rural scene concerning 68 THE MERCURY. morniug, which is Past ; noon which is Present ; and even-ing, which is Future. The reverie over the wood fire is marked by a mocking note that jars rather painfully upon one's sensibilities and makes one feel all out of sympathy with the phases of life as he de-scribes them. The ground tone of the whole, as made mani-fest in the climax,' is sorrow. The events stand out like a white steeple against a stormy cloud, which, like sorrow, per-vades the whole seen-. It almost seems indeed as if, like the pre-Raphael painters, he had fashioned the background and then filled in the steeple. The author makes himself pain-fully felt in the delineation of domestic sorrow, but he pro tracts it line upon line until the reader impatiently recoils from what takes the shape of a morbid anatomy, an almost wanton empiricism in matters of life and death. After a brief prologue, necessary to a proper setting of the reverie, he plunges boldly into the stage of smoke—signifying doubt—by exclaiming, "A wife? Yes, a wife: and why " Then in a bald "I calculate" spirit he proceeds to view the situation and lets his thoughts run broadcast into'all possible conditions, like the wanderings of Munchausen, which never-theless he disclaims as the proper way to secure the object of these dreams. He begins with a sordid and quite commonplace dissertation on wives in general. A possible Peggy, for example, is intro-duced, who immediately fills up your house witli her plaguy relatives up to the fifth degree who overrun the household and nose into everything. There is the maiden aunt, and the father-in-law, and dear "mamma-in-law," and the dirty-nosed nephews, and the fidgety old uncle, who may have promised his fortune to his dear Peggy. But this brings up an un-comfortable thought. Peggy will talk then of her fortune and her purchases. Awful ! But infinitely worse if 'there is poverty in the home. What could Peggy not do if only she had the means. And then behold by a sudden transformation she is metamorphosed into a fright who comes down to break-fast with an awful mass of uncombed hair and such infernal slippers. Your coffee is cold. No matter You should have been up before. And then such chops and nauseating butter, but Peggy hopes you have better sense than to raise a storm THE MERCURY. 69 ab >ut a little rancid batter. Or Peggy may be rich and care nothing for you, or she may love you but drive you mad with her continual chatter on "divine Dante and fnnny Goldoni." But the fire .suddenly blazes out and darts up the wide chimney in a cheerful flame. You have done it. Here you are, settled in a sentimental vein and ready to take a wife. How fine it would be to have a sweet girl seated in that chair by your side. She knows and loves your moods. Your joys and sorrows arc hers too. She understands them all. Your friend dies ; she will take his place : Your mother, sister ; she will be your all. In sickness it is her hand that soothes, and her falling tears that chase away for a moment the chill of death. It is her voice that bids you hope, and when hope is gone that tells your virtues. But as dies the flame and only ashes remain, so desolation enters the soul. How you watch her step lest it lose its vigor ! With what joy you behold her blooming cheeks or with what anguish view the quickened breath ! Then death strikes and you lay to rest your little daughter. The blow is hard, but she comforts. Again the fell reaper comes and your boy, your idol, is gone. Tears, aye and more tears, for the wife over whom your whole love broods is failing. She revives and you hope, but the spark soon goes and with it her pure spirit. Then the undertaker and the smell of varnish, the darkened room and the empty fireside, and it is over. There are the bitter ashes of despair and from the heart goes up the cry to the God who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, "Oh God, be kind." The whole thing is treated in a manner that he ascribes to the undertaker, a man who has done his work very nicely, very nicely indeed, but has no heart for your feeling. There is an incongruous mixing of varnish odors with the cry that goes like incense up to God. In the preface he speakes of an "honest journalist" who avows that the reverie could never have been written by a bachelor. On the contrary it is full of the spirit of bachelorhood, a mocking spirit of insincerity that hovers about heart-moving scenes but never enters into their inner essence. It is not that the catalogue is not complete nor that it is of the washy sentimental type, for the author is without doubt a keen and sharp-spoken writer. But he asks 7° ' THE MERCURY. us to use yards of cambric when in reality he strikes the notes heavily and not like the soft hand of the master "wandering over the idle keys." The second reverie—by a city grate—partakes much of the nature of a classical essay and is full of fine thoughts and rounded, ringing sentences. A garret in the city furnishes the setting for the reverie, a garret with loose casements and shattered roof, swept by the bitter wind of the night, a deso-late place indeed for the pouring forth of such home thoughts. Yet such is the mood of the reverie that one instinctively rec-ognizes that its author is a man born with a feeling for atmos-phere. There is a delightful quaintness and originality about it, together with a picturesqueness that is distinctive and rare. Neither would you imagine the author of such healthy senti-ment a semi-invalid in early life, troubled with pulnion.iry diseases of a serious character. In the first half the flirt and the coquette are treated un-der the simile of sea coal, which burns so flashily, now dying, now flaming up, yet ever consuming quickly. So is the flirt, a pretty play of expression and make-up but lacking inner warmth and steadiness. Quite a number of love allusions from literature are introduced, apparently as an antidote to Bulwer's Caxtons where first heart flights are described as "mere fancy-passages—a dalliance with the breezes of love, which pass and leave healthful heart appetite " Shakespeare through Desdemon. and Cordelia ; Homer through Hector and Andromache ; Milton through Adam and Eve, paint the pic-ture of a love that needs no sea coal beginnings. Then under the spell of a quest for the Magisterium, not of gold or youth, but of life, he introduces a category of authors with the times for which and the persons for whom they are best adapted. This is worthy of a high place in literature for its interpreta-tions are most excellent. For every condition there is some work, from the time when you feel at peace with all the world and can read such good fellows as Sterne and Fielding, to the time when the soul experiences the uplift of a higher power and can soar with Milton and Isaiah to the very gates of heaven. But alas for this sensibility struggling under povertv of diseases, and worse far when such a soul is cruelly dis- THE MERCURY. 7' turbed. Then the flaming passions make the boldest dread. But the flirt "She dwells in proud Venetian halls. Midst forms that breathe from the pictured walls." But too late she finds that "When the Lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead." The heart sheds forth its beams to thrill and guide the life but let the heart grow coarse and cold, its radiance gone, the poor soul goes struggling blindly through the world, concealing the darkness within by flashings without, and woe to him who enters such a life. With cold and hollow smiles, life's bliss away, where sure he thought to touch the harp and hear the pealing anthem swell the note of praise, now hears but empty and discordant cries. A noisy laugh and then—Oh well read one of Jeremiah Taylor's sermons, as Marvel says, and you will cure. Yours not the first nor last. Great pity that. A little different is the coquette who adds,spice to the wine but knows when to stop and does not ever play. Quite a vision ends the first part, spoiled by the noisy entrance of the maid with the anthracite, the fuel for the second half' of the reverie. The atmosphere of the second part is different. Not now do chasm and abyss yawn deep with varied cries and tumultuous sounds ringing up their steeps, but now to music as "from flutes and soft recorders" arise the hymns of peace, the sym-phonies of home. There is an allusion, very brief here, to the Miserere at Rome which is later brought out more fully. This whole section may be considered as summed up in the single paragraph descriptive of the Clitumnus from the Tus-can mountain to the sea. Such is the spirit of the scene, a steady soul that goes from love to more love, tender and true, with the veil of modesty and the cheering eye. Years chill not the heart but only made its beating the more plainly heard. And then life too gone, and now that it is gone it seems to have been of a thousand years. Is it gone really ? Its skirts seem hovering on the horizon—and then that other life, no longer feared. Age, Old Age, Death, Life. Four- dreams within a dream-. THE MERCURY. "Childish, childish." do you say? But is it true that the child is father to the man ? Then must the man not lose a single vision of those dear, dim, delightful remembrances, far off and remote of objects quick or dead—whether instinct with love and intelligence or but of the dead sod that once was to him the light of life. Blended then was being with all it saw and heard of the beautiful and grand, "but as the same creation with the grass, the flowers, the streams, the trees, the clouds, the sky, its days and nights, bound by one invisi-ble chain," and this was life. To me this reverie, while on the style of the first, is vastly different from it, entering into one and thrilling as the other cannot. But he spoils it by adding at the end a doubt whether a married man with his sentiment made real is as happy as a bachelor. A cigar furnishes the motive for the third reverie. Cigars were made to be lit of course and so—here is a coal. Puff, puff ! But the coal is dead. No hope of lighting a cigar with a dead coal and no more hope of firing a life from a cold heart. Here—this time the coal is alive and soon the cigar is well alight. Its first taste is like first love. The 3111110° then de-scribes this first love stage with all its machinery of sighs and jack knives and moonlight and what not. Oh, but it passes? Certainly. As the cigar goes out without puffing, so love dies from neglect. Perfidious Louise. Next time be more careful. This time try a wisp of paper. It will light again surely, unless it is burned entirely away. So the heart will kindle again, more slowly perhaps, but soon in a full glow that puts to shame the first blaze of boyhood. This time it is Nellie, such a bundle of heart and charms. This time also love is steadier, with no "Jacques-like" meditations in the forest, but with a steady admiration that fights its way through crabbed guardians and wild oats recollections and heartless previous plans, fired with a love that makes every day bright and every one pleasant and satisfactory. Clandestine meetings for a.while and then—separation. Strange how a cigar does require con-stant puffing. A letter or two, discovery, prohibition, dark-ness, business and—Nellie has really returned, married and introduces her husband and two children. A bachelor for a second time ! Well, well, and the cigar is clear out. There is still some left, so try again. The skein is not all THE MEKCURY. 73 spun. This portion opens with the exclamation, "I hate a match" and the same spirit is manifested all through. Matches are only for use after coals are dead and tapers exhausted. And so he describes a match, quite a proper affair too, where everything is serene and orderly and every one says, "What a splendid match." Oh yes, apparently. But soon the se-renity and fineness of it get on his nerves and he wanders back to the old bachelor quarters to spend the time. His only joy is in the boy who brightens his home. Then sickness and nurses and finally one tear, one bound of the heart and then —it is out, wholly burned away and cannot be lit again. This reverie is quite an entertaining one, giving a faithful picture of too many marriages, but it has no great depth. It is indeed a "symphony of palatable notes" but not a 'grand triumphal strain." At a single bound one rises from the plane of the third reverie into regions high and grand. In the third there is the feeling present that the author is moving inanimate pawns about, so as to present a series of plastic poses for the delec-tation or instruction of the world. In this last one however there is an intense personality pervading every page, a keen sympathy that amounts almost to a psychic bond between au-thor and reader. But although thus intensely personal there is no sense of a human soul indecently laid bare, even to us who hide our emotions in every way. The difference between the third and this can be expressed in the single word life. One instinctively feels that here is something real. Did we not know the massive type of man the author is we might easily believe a woman's hand had penned many of the lines, so effective are they in causing our understanding to turn sympathetic somersaults. In this reverie he transports one into the midst of a Spring day, under the loved oaks of a once cherished home and there, within sight of the wild stream and the old hills, with the pleasant music of the bluebirds ringing in his ears he falls into a trance—"to sleep, perchance to dream," and hears anew the "rustling of Time's curtains." He reaches here a height far ■beyond any to which he has hitherto attained in the book. His wonderful genius for word painting comes out strongly •and every sentiment, whether of joy or grief, is more natural 74 THE MKRCURY. and moving. But this reverie owes not a little of its power to the influence of Dickens. The latter in his "Christmas Car-ols" introduces a retrospection of life through the forms of ghostly messengers called Past. Present and Future, who transport the dreamer from place to place, reviewing and re-visiting old scenes and hearing the well-remembered voices speak again as in the past; In a similar way Marvel divides his reverie into cantos of morning—which is Past, noon— which is Present, and evening—which is Future, His style too is very similar but he uses a classical, historical, and geo-graphical vocabulary that is distinctly his own. It is morning and the same golden sunlight that has moved the lips of Meinnon to song through the ages is flooding the valley. Morning brings up the past, that rich dream land where the once familiar figures move as of yore. Through the veil they seem to move so softly and so sadly—Bella, the seven year old cousin, and the gentle mother with her sweet smile, and the tall, hard-faced uncle who pores over his books and—yes that is surely old Tray following there. What a noble fellow he is ! Oh, the familiar faces ! What a holy world they form ! Childhood is the time of impressions and in confirmation the author illustrates boyish sentiment by several leaves from the past. Love, Pride, and Grief are described in simple, touching words with an incident illustrative of each. Then before you are aware he whisks you away from the old home and the cheerful fireside into the scenes of a cloister life, if such be a fit word to describe the "tall, stately building," with its moldy basement and box-like rooms. Here centers the ex-perience that furnishes a comparison for all the future. "Old Crikey," and the long row of boys, and the pretty Jane and Sophia and the exhibition at the term's end all flit by like a moving panorama and ere you are aware "with three cheers for the old school'' it is only a memory. At this point quite suddenly he carries you over the sea into scenes of foreign lands. First there is the Fatherland with its Great Charter and Charing Cross, and little cottages where the hostess brings out the best pot of jelly, long stored in some out of the way place. Then there is Scotland with its Castle Stirling and that highland gem—Dunkeld. The sun still T.HK MERCURY. 75 'moulds to beauty many a mouldering tower" but in the semi-darkness the ivy looms portentous and the rising wind sighs wierdly about the turrets. With an odor of new-mown hay and a farewell look at old Devon he is "over hill and dale" until the Eternal City rises to the view, with its great dome, wrung from the people's blood looming huge and black against the Southern sky. Eurica, the fair, is the theme at Rome and the carnival and then—the Appenines, the wild hills with the sound of floating vesper bells and the shepherd's call. The Praeneste of Horace is disposed of in a few words and then back to Rome and Enrica. At this point occurs one of the choisest bits of de-scriptive writing in the work, an excellent example of the emotional style. One can almost feel the rise and fall of the' singer's voice in the words of the passage. " the sweet, mournful flow of the Miserere begins again—growing in force-and depth, till the whole chapel rings, and the balcony of the choir trembles ; then, it subsides again into the low, soft wail of a single voice—so prolonged—so tremulous, and so real, that the heart aches, and the tears start—for Christ is dead. Lingering yet, the wail dies not wholly, but just as it seemed expiring, it is caught up by another and stronger voice that carries if on, plaintive as ever—-nor does it stop with this— for just as you look for silence, three voices more begin the lament—sweet, touching, mournful voices—and bear it up to a full cry, when the whole choir catch its burden, and make the lament change into the wailing of a multitude—wild,, shrill, hoarse—with swift chants intervening, as if agony had given force to anguish. Then, sweetly, slowly, voice by voice,, note by note, the wailiugs sink into the low, tender moan of a single singer—faltering, tremulous, as if tears checked the utterance ; and swelling out, as if despair sustained it." There is one remarkable characteristic of the past and that is its lack of vain regret. To most writers the past is a time full of things that might have been, a rather sad and gloomy picture. To Marvel on the contrary it is a bright picture of joy and only once does he speak of the "might-have-been" side. And so the past is past and noontide's blaze is in the-zenith. He opens the Present with a beautiful sentence, "the Past 76 THE MERCURY. belongs to God ; the Present only is ours." The action in this section consists wholly of revisiting old scenes and is characterized by his most composite manner -the alliance of sagacious raillery and pathetic sentiment. First the early friends are looked up and some are fouucTgoue and some broken. The culmination conies in the news of the death of Isabel which strikes like a cyclone shock. Passing on he di-rects his unused steps to the old school, only to find the old faces gone, save a few whom some peculiarity of appearance of manner discloses. The familiar haunts too have changed and the fence with the long list of names carved on it is al-most rotted away. The hand of Fate has scattered the col-lege classmates in many a clime but the old place looks almost the same, and the same sort of sermon to the same sort of sin-ners, delivered in the same way, makes a paradox of that verse of Dr. Watt's which likens heaven to a never-ending Sabbath. The tender letters composing the packet of Isabel are treated with a most sympathetic understanding and the trembling hand trails off into the silence of eternity at last like the passing of a wandering cloud. This section is a fine ex-ample of the author's chief forte, the delineation of a moving-sorrow. And so "noon wanes and the shadows of evening lengthen upon the land." The evening is truly "a great land," with its swiftly mov-ing lights and shades and into this future land he paints in bold relief "the hopes and fears of all the years." It opens with joy, entwined with just enough disappointment to fully bring out its happy character. A chance meeting with Carry brings to a center all the love that has long been striving in the heart for exit. But a condition of legacy interferes until all is happily settled by the introduction of Enrica, the Roman girl, again. Carry is his now, his forever and the cup of hap-piness is full to the brim. Travel is sweet now for you see old scenes anew through her eyes. The magnificent Juras, Mount Blanc, Geneva, Venice, and Rome are visited and de-scribed. Then home with its sweet memories, a calm, joyful quietude most welcome to the spirit. The substantial, wide-spreading cottage soon holds new forms and childish voices ring out- in glee. Under this division there is some fine healthy writing. Home, peace and sanctity are reverently THE MERCURY. 77 described—and so we come to the time when "the sweeping outlines of life, that once lay before the vision—rolling into wide billows of years like easy lifts of a broad mountain range —now seem close packed together as with a Titan hand ; and you see only crowded, craggy heights like Alpine fastnesses, parted with glaciers of grief and leaking abundant tears." Marvel cannot end without one more portrayal of sorrow in the death of the boy Paul, and so at last life reaches the end of the lane up there. Toil where we may in mill, or mart, or home, our lives close at the end of the lane up there. In my discussion of the book I have aimed to give expres-sion to the thoughts and feelings that have arisen within me as I read its pages. Others will doubtless disagree and see beauty where I can 011I3- experience a feeling almost of aver-sion. To me the alternate reveries seem vastly different, the second and fourth soaring high above the others in excellence of expression and reality of feeling. In depicting them I have endeavored to use a style corresponding to my estimate of reverie, stilted and unnatural in the first, real and impressive in the second and fourth, and light and frothy in the third. With this I close a long but pleasant task. ANTHONY. THE VALUE OF ROUTINE. G. E. WOLF, '09. SURELY there is no one who is not at once impressed, on reading the Mosaic record, with' the regularity and system that characterized the beginning of things. Upon noting the regular course of action continuously adhered to in all creation, who is there that can fail to recognize that routine is indispensable to highest attainment ? Manufacturers, merchants—business men in all lines—have found it. absolutely necessary, in order that the wheels of in-dustry may be successfully propelled, to make use of routine. Schools and colleges and universities, in conducting the great work of education, find routine essential. But how few comparatively the individuals who, in their 78 THE MKRCURY. private life, have made routine the invaluable asset that it is. On the other hand, how many there are who are ready to cry out against it. People speak of it as stupefying ; and so it is, if we do not apprehend its real meaning ; but if we should realize that through it we can do more work in less time, and have more time left for the development of our1 highest selves, then we would at least refrain from speaking of it disparag-ingly. As we look about us, we can readily see that the efficient people in the world's work are those who know their business and do it promptly and perseveringly ; who when one piece of work is finished can direct their attention fully to the next item, and perform that. The efficient student is the one who has as nearly as possible a definite time for every portion of his work ; who knows beforehand what he is to do at four o'clock or. at eight o'clock. He it is that has most time for work and most time for recreation and play. Some educators say, "Do not make a child read until he finds the need of reading, and learns for his own pleasure. Do not enfeeble his mind by forcing it." There are many students—and some of us may be among the number—who declare that the}' cannot learn geometry or psychology or any branch that requires severe intellectual processes ; and, with-out giving the subject a fair test, they prefer to take up some-thing more congenial, again a case of deeming it unwise to enfeeble the mind by forcing it. But one might well answer, "Do not enfeeble the mind by letting it go undisciplined." Very probably some of us here have had our eyes opened to the selfishness of our position, assumed because from childhood we have had our own way far too much, and not one of us relishes the consequent embitterment. Away with" the senti-ment that prompts a father to deal too leniently or lavishly with his son ! Away with the enervating luxury of the pres-ent that many an educator of today uses to atone for the un-fortunate conditions of the past ! Far better would it be to get into a child as early as possible the habit of doing things, and to teach him, whatever he does, to do it just as well as he can ; to get him into a habit of thoroughness as an end in it-self, of thoroughness for its own sake. ' 'Soon he would find being thorough exceedingly interesting, and that over against THE MERCURY. 79 the pain of working when he may feel sluggish can be matched the pain of failure to do what ought to be done." We are all agreed, I believe, that industry is an element of effective human life, yet alas, how many of us yield to the temptation of allowing industry to become a mere matter of caprice? If we are disciplined to routine the chances are that . we will be freed from this temptation ; there will be no desire to wait for perfect mental and physical conditions before we settle down to the work we may have to do ; much loss, through indecision, would be averted, and the valuable ele-ment of time conserved. If routine is not forced upon us it were best for us to force it upon ourselves, or we shall almost certainly find ourselves in a shiftless condition. "I know a person," says Prof. James, "who will poke a fire, set chairs straight, pick dust specks from the floor, arrange his table, snatch up the newspaper, take down any book which catches his eye, trim his nails, waste the morning anyhow, in short, and all without premed-itation, simply because the one thing he ought to attend to is the preparation of a noon-day lesson in formal logic which he detests, anything but that !". It is really surprising how per-sistent men are in their endeavor to get away from the train-ing that fits them for life, how they strive to persuade them-selves that what they long to do is nobler and of greater worth than that which it is their duty to do, and which they must do if they expect suceess in what they long to do. It has been said that the great thing in all education is to make our nervous system our ally; instead of our enemy ; that it is to fund and capitalize our acquisitions and live at ease upon the interest of the fund ; and that to accomplish this we must turn over to habit (through routine) as early in life as possible as many useful actions as we can. "There is no more wretched human being than one in whom nothing is habitual but indecision." Some people say that the result of routine is precisely what we do not want, since it makes persons mechanical and robs them of that delight which should accompany a less exacting course. But there are others who think that our happiness is largely dependent upon our cheerful acceptance of routine— •on our refusal to assume, as so many of us do, that the daily 8o THE MERCURY. round of work and of duty is a sort of slavery. If we can pet ourselves to think of routine as an, invaluable "labor-saving invention," then we shall not despise it; we shall do more, we shall not fail to make use of it. %j^ t£&*^& H THE FLOWING TIBARE. Tune—"In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree." Dedicated to all Students of Pennsylvania College. GEORGE C. HENRY, '76. AIL ! Hail ! to thee our gentle loving mother, From near and far thy children greet thee true, Their hearts they ne'er can give unto another, They greet thee with the waving Orange and Blue. From westward where the Golden Gate is beaming, From eastward where old Plymouth Rock lies bare, From northland and from south with love's light gleaming, They cross with eager step the old Tibare. Chorus. Oh, pleasant :t was to be there By the side of the flowing Tibare ! Now we gather once more with the students of yore, And linger mid scenes rich and rare. Tho long are the years since the morn When as "grads" from thy rolls we were torn, It is pleasant to be in this good companie, By the side of the flowing Tibare. In boyhood's days when verdant, young and callow, We came upon this smiling campus green, Fond memory still those sweet, old days doth hallow And holds them steady in a light serene. For stretching miles of mountain, lake and river Can ne'er our souls from Alma Mater tear. Nor years nor cares effect our hearts to sever From days we spent along the old Tibare. THE MERCURY. 81 Three decades had thy history run unbroken Since first old Pennsylvania Hall stood white, While trained powers and high hopes were the token Thy sous took forth in moulded manhood's might. T'ward Susquehauna from Potomac's station War's tide in sixty-three had crept to thee ; Thy name is linkt forever with the nation Contending there for starry liberty. Farewell, dear Mother Gettysburg, thy finger Invites us oft to scenes once lightly trod ; With spirits loyal, faithful, fain we'd linger Who have made glad the City of our God. When on yon ridge our ways again will sever, Our gaze turns towards thy walls embowered so fair, Farewell, dear Alma Miter ! Live forever The days we spent along the old Tibare ! POE : WIZARD OR CHARLATAN. VI. WHICH? CONCLUSION. W. WlSSWBR HACKMAN, '08. _ T is with a sense of perturbation bordering well on appre-hension that I approach the obsequies of this venture. I would fain take refuge in Dr. Johnson's subterfuge and label this closing word : "The conclusion in which nothing is concluded." This custom of epiloguizing which is but a nice way of spelling apologizing, has fallen into sad neglect in these days of voluminous introductions and self-defensive prefaces ; so that it is with a genuine reluctance that I ap-proach a task which should have been discharged long ere this tardy date. Yet I embolden myself with the fond belief that, after all, most printed prefaces are written postscripts. Be that as it may, I cannot well pass by a last chance at self-vindication— at least to myself. As I contemplate the sub-stance and form of the five departments of this study, to which this is the conclusion, I am struck more and more by the vastness and difficulty of the task and the contrasting pettiness of the effort. There are extenuating circumstances. 82 THE MERCURY. Utter unpreparedness I will not admit ; for who that has given the matter of Poe any serious consideration and has sought after some solution has not been struck by the faucity of material, the uncertainty of data, and a general shrouding of mystery and conflicting rumor that—if they do not quite baffle research,—-at least seriously discourage it. ,• When I consider how really little we know about this singu-- lar figure in American letters, how distiuguishingly contra-dictory is that little we do know, how various are the inter-pretations put upon his literary phases, and how irreconcilable they all are, I well nigh dispair of ever arriving at any satis-factory or conclusive explanation. I vaguely foresaw this ; it has been driven home to me in a manner startling and ine-radicable as I have continued through these discussions. There was from the outset an alluring mystery about this man which courted investigation while it evaded examination. Following its beck it still, mirage like, hovers across the foot-hills. Shall we follow on ? It is for you to decide. Too long have we been gadding among the bones of Europe and the East; unearthing relics commiserating ourselves upon the baldness of our literary topography at home, not noting that whilst we have been pottering and snuffling among worm-eaten hierogliphs abroad our own geniuses have grown ancient in neglect. Let no one say with us commercial enterprise has throttled literary tradition, that we have no shrines without the market place. Let them turn to Poe ; a literary god wor-shiped abroad, weed-choked with neglect at home. It is well that we remember that here at our very doors awaits for so-lution a literary mystery as subtle and elusive as the most ab-struse unraveller could wish for. Nor will it long lie unattended : we are coming more and more to a realization that much of our literary devotions are clue our household gods ; there is a homeward tide of literary interest. Already are there unmistakable manifestations of this movement so long deferred. I joy to feel the throb of the new interest, to be in the van even if it be but as a dis-armed tenderfoot among the pioneers. I may at least escape by insignificance the arrows of the mighty and save my crest from envious scalping knife. This matter of Poe is not a trivial thing ; it is a problem grown beyond the idle tamper- THE MERCURY. 83 ing of school-boy essaying ; it is become a matter for men, men whose efforts may, I trust, end in greater certainty than mine. Nor shall I rest, nor I trust you, with this slight at-tempt at unravelling the mystery of the most unique perso-nality in our literary history. My efforts have been crude : forced to produce these arti-cles under circumstances uncongenial and averse ; they mani-fest too much the marks of a style immature, of over-hasty production, and a lack of that happy clearsightedness which may focus its vision on the very essence of a matter and point-ing clearly to the very kernal of difficulty say, "Lo ; here it is !" and you see. However, whatever accusations may be brought against me as to a certain overeffusiveness, overwording, or lack of charity, it will, I trust, be admitted that I have made a sincere, if not a happy effort, at solution. But what shall that solution be, what shall my decision be ? Poe ; wizard or char-latan? Which? I would gladly put off answer to some later and maturer time. The evidence is, I assure you, not all in-far from it ; whatever the decision be.it must be subject to a higher jurisdiction, which may confirm it and which may not. Yet in view of the evidence in hand we can arrive at some conclusion. I think we may safely say he deserved the title Wizard. I sincerely believe Poe was capable of a grandeur-he but gave glimpses of, but from the full attainment of which he was prevented by combinations of Fortune protract-ingly malignant : combinations often beyond Poe's control ; some of which lay in the law of birth, others in a faulting training from childhood, and again those arising from the pe-culiar conditions of unliterary contemporary America. For other misfortunes Poe himself was largely responsible—how much is hard to determine. Fate seemed ' to corrspire with the peculiar genius of his character to render his life a shrouded mystery. There is hardly a single other American man of letters concerning the personals of whose life we know so profoundly little ; and this is all the more striking when we consider the recency of his life, his lifelong association with men and women who should have been well able to preserve the details of a life spent—not in a hermitage—but among them. Even his death is a matter so dark and with details so uncertain that we might well take 84 THE MERCURY. refuge in the epitaph of that ancient leader whose bones may repose on lofty Horeb and say, "He was not." A life of tragedy, penury, and missappreciation, crammed with hunger and bitterness, the objects of his love blasted be-fore his eyes ; he is indeed not unworthy of our deepest sym-pathy. Let not however, pity bias judgment. I have en-deavored to try the case without prejudice ; let me conclude in like spirit. Middle courses are difficult, we are too apt to vap-orize into senseless and worthless eulogies or to descend to coxcombish c.rping. While I consider Poe capable of the greatest, I cannot but see that he, alas,'too often descended from the throne to the pedestal; to meanslight-of-handary ; or worse, to indulge in bursts of self-defiling mud flinging. Let us, however, judge a man by his best rather than his° worst. Read for yourself his works; following, if you please, the rough plan running through this series, and when you have done this ask yourself, is this man sincere? Clever he un-doubtedly is, but is he great, large ? Is his assumption of immen-sity, depth, intensity and mysticism part and parcel of a lit-erary genius of the highest and truest order of a Wizard, or the mere concealing skirts of a Charlatan wherewith to be-dazzle the common herd ? That it is the latter I 'can hardly admit. That a power which descends to turn water to wine may therefore not raise the dead is as logical an argument as to assert that Charlatanism or even buffoonery disproves Wiz-ardry, though I do admit it does discredit and in a measure degrade it. Thus I leave the problem with you. After all each should labor on his own conclusions. Predigested food is no doubt of service to invalids ; but if generally indulged in future ages should no doubt be left sans dents—a sad predicament for those who would feed direct from the tree ! I forthwith surrender Poe to the gentle mercies of your several judgments. As to a certain uncertainty in the last article concerning Poe's acquaintanceship with Leibnitz I beg to offer the follow-ing statement : Poe was conversant with the philosophy not only of Leibnitz and Plato, but with the whole Aristotelian and modern schools of philosophy and metaphysics, but his attitudes are disturbingly ecpaivocal. The subject is too in-tricate for discussion here. THE MERCURY. 85 THE KING'S RESOURCES. HESSE, '09. J7T THRONE is not the requisite of royalty. A king is JTA. not made by either crowns or the exigencies of states-men. A king is not made at all, but like the poet and the artist, he is born. Men crowned have been puppets ; men uncrowned have made the path over which the progress of the race has advanced. To call Chas. I a king and Cromwell a commoner is a paradox. A king is one who can, and the es-sence of royalty is will and character. To be royal of soul is to be king, whether the brow wears a diadem or is crowned with the grime of toil. It is quality of soul that determines a man's worth. The field of the king's activity is no longer the Garden of Eden, but the great broad earth. Here are the monuments of his striving, here are his unlimited resources, here is he master of bird and beast and every living thing. Here, too, does his will dominate nature, and he uses her forces as his servants. The warm sunlight flows in life-giving streams upon the earth, and she, in turn, responds to man's industrial touch. Great forests fall to serve him who is overlord of the wild beasts, they so long stood in grandeur to protect. Iron and coal, the king finds securely deposited in great mountains. The rich soil yields grain in abundance, and delicious fruits hang on bending bough. The rain falleth upon the just and unjust :ilike, for providence in no way discriminates. Even the rich fool has unlimited scope for his avarice, and can be thwarted in his purpose only by a power superior to nature. The amassing and centralization of resources makes kings of common men, kings who stamp their likeness on the char-acter of the people, and who perform Herculean projects, the building of colossal structures, or the marching with invincible forces against a hostile people. Does not the history of na-tions disclose men whose rank and power were vested in phys-ical force ? Do we not gaze in wonder at the sumptuous pal-aces of oriental sovereigns, and almost discredit the fact that an army consisting of millions was at the disposal of a Xerxes ? But, we have other examples of concentrated power in the 86 THE MERCURY. hands of military heroes. Cseser and Bonaparte rose to the dizzy height of renown, but, where are they now ? Down the well trodden path of fame they took their way, leaving but the ruins of great Empires, the destruction of the kings' ac-cumulations. However, by man's abuse the supply is not ex-hausted. Land and sea, mountain, plain, and forest yield an ever increasing and richer bounty. But over and above all this there exists another power that moves and actuates all truly kingly men, a power that limits the avaricious use of material and renders each and every man a true king in-a loftier and grander sense. Nor does history lack numerous instances which paint true pictures of this grander kingship. "The golden age of Pericles," reveals the character of the man and his people. Aspiring to the sublime in art, and fostering true sentiments of patriotism, they gained a wealth and perfection that has never been surpassed. Even the powerful Artaxerxes did not, in defiance to that little kingdom, dare to spread a single sail upon the waves of the blue iEgean. Leonidas is today admired by everyone whose heart burns with a spark of true patriotism, for he possessed that which is the prime requisite of all earthly power, a sublime and unflinch-ing fidelity to honest conviction and known duty. Moses showed these qualities by following with simple faith the voice of the great "I Am." During his forty years of training for a great work,' all nature was his teacher. Out on the rugged hilltops he heard the bleating of sheep and the song of birds, and through deep meditation discerned the meaning of the voice that spoke out of the burning bush. Gideon in a no less degree displayed resourceful ability. Was it other than confidence in a great cause that gave him heart to advance with the noble three hundred ? Could selfish instinct, backed only by physical power, ever have impelled a warrior to perform deeds so great ? No, the hand of the Un-seen consecrates to great tasks only those who can draw from resources greater than mere natural power. It is the realm within the man that furnishes this power, power that is in-finitely greater than the power of alliance with many nations. It has been a law through all the ages that the stronger are to rule the weak. But wherein lies this strength ? What THE MEKCURY. 87 constitutes the field of resources from which this power comes? While no two men can enjoy exactly the same en-vironments and achieve the same degree of success along a certain line there is the possibility of developing one, five, or ten talents, and a record is kept, for our growth in personality marks the efforts and conquests of the inner man. In this realm, high mountains, deep waters and pleasant pastures also lie before the king. They, and all they contain belong ex-clusively to him who cares'to conquer. David, the shepherd boy, was such a conqueror. Living the life of a shepherd, he early learned to play euchautingly upon the harp and to use with dexterous accuracy the shep-herd's sling And, with all accomplishments, acquired ascend-ency over self. With that perfect armor, a firm and abiding religious faith, he courageously and fearlessly faced the wiles of the desert, and as a mere youth dared to meet in single combat one who held at bay the entire army of King Saul. Where can you find a more noble example of true kingship? To him the earth yielded abundantly, and at no time did he oppress his people. While natural blessings were his, he failed not to conquer the dominion of his inner life, the most re-sourceful of all realms. Over the portal of the temple at Delphi the oracle was written, "Know Thyself," or,'in other words, so subjugate and rule thy faculties, that every function of self may become as familiar as the scenes of thy native land. This is wisdom at its highest ! It was through this acquaintance of self and its consequent self-mastery that the masters of the ages wrought this work— the sculptor, the painter, the musician—Phidias, Michaelang-elo, and Mozart. Every feeling and emotion of the great musician, developed into a vivid conception, was, after long years of persistent trial, given form. He, taking advantage of the physical realm, applied the natural laws of harmonious sound and left to the world that which is rightfully classed with the true and beautiful. As for Michaelangelo, we could as easily think of the sun sinking in the west hi the evening, never to rise in the east in the morning, as to think of his life's work ever losing its power. The aesthetic sense of all men is touched by the ^grandeur of the Olympic Zeus, but 88 THE MERCURY. Phidias alone reaped the triumph of personal struggle, triumph of which he left a record in gold, ivory, ebony and'precious stones. These men, together with countless others wrought their life's work in that light that cometh not from the natural sun. They, in so far as man's impeding earthly nature could be sub-dued, achieved permanent glory. But, in our admiration for these, can we evade the pitiful sight of other countless mortals gathering wood, hay and stubble, and striving to gain permanent joy from mother earth alone ? To perform a work that will live is indeed a noble ideal, but to rear colossal pyramids is to tell the simple story of material wealth. How tragic the story of Alexander the Great ! It presents us a man in profoundest humiliation. He wept for more worlds to conquer, but neglected the conquest of that most resourceful field, a conquest that would have made his kingship everlasting—the conquest of self. But the world has moved forward. Today the possibilities of what will come to the king are limited only by his willing-ness to loose self in the quest of knowledge of self and of things. The world of science and art.lies before him. It is for him to go up and possess the land and acquire thereby an immortal throne. When the heart of the king beats in harmony with the pur-pose of the Unseen Power, then will the work of his hand and mind abide across the revolving centuries. But these pur-poses of the Unseen Power make for righteousness and sur-vive through inordinate ambition, like any other evil thing, "Wounded, writhes in pain and dies among his worshipers/" Oh, that the king could more fully realize the vastness of the two realms that lie before him, realms unlimited in their resources, boundless in their prospective possibilities, inestim-able in the measure of bliss which they afford the earth in its fullness and God in His Omnipotence. THE MERCURY. OPHELIA AND HER MAID AFTER THE PLAY. (An hitherto unpublished scene from Hamlet.) GEO. W. KESSLER, '08. A ROOM IN POEONIUS' PALACE. ENTER OPHELIA. OPH.—Ala's-, poor world, what flower hast thou blighted ! A blossom so sweet, with color fresh and trim. How, as twinkling heaven by gaudy sun unlighted Hast scattered sweet reason that didst abide in him. Rich thoughts dwelling in his fervid brain, Like deep-sweet music flowed forth anew ; Till strongest passion blasting them in twain As stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew. The fair sun illumines earth with whitest light, Yet in my soul dwells darkest night. Where now shall heart seek consolation, Resting once on trusty word Of lip's sweet treasured information Eucompass'd by wisdom's worthy lord. ENTER MAID. How now, world's precious comforter, Hast from the play thou lately come, Or didst to his recent illness minster And 'company the good queen at home? Maid.—O misery on't ! the wise gods seal mine eyes ; The king some violent passion doth endure. He hath onset Hamlet with two spies, To dispel his madness with some dreadful cure. Oph.—I fear disaster for this play's suggestion In the king's mind was deep imprinted ; His distempered act to quick commission, Thus provert wrath in him full vented. Passing strange he became afflicted, At Gonzago's death in stage set garden, As of foul murder he were convicted. Maid.—Thou shouldst have seen him harden ! 9°. THE MERCURY. Opli.—Such behavior did the king misfit, And for Hamlet it were worse yet That he did furnish-cause. Maid.—Thoughtst thou not his madness impert, When in thy lap Hamlet would have lain, Throwing himself before thee in the court ? Oph.—His mind was sadly overwrought In the court today. I would believe some fearless plot He wove into the play. Maid.—Be it so, if thou wilt so have it. Oph.—Saw you my lord after the play ! Maid.—No, my lady, 'cept as he did willfully sit With young Horatio, intent upon delay. Oph.—Get thee hence,— Convey this letter to the palace And wait answer to its contents. Maid.—Ay, Ay, most worthily, your grace. [Exit .Maid.] Oph.—Oh Prince Hamlet, heed this warning now ! Let heart be merciful, and too severe. Frown'st not with sorely troubled brow, When this, mine message, fall 'pon thine ear. The image I loved to view in thee, And for lack of trust neglect to say That thou hast all in all of me. In mine own love's strength, seems to decay. Me thinks my mind from sympathy Raves mad like't in thee doth live ; Wild upturned is reason's quality Vaiu beckoning Hamlet love to give. The sparks of fire lend thought no light, Madly toss'd by brain—sick rude desire, As reason's last flame turns darkest night. Avast! Mine eyes are blurred, my brain doth tire f [Exit Ophelia, deranged.} THE MERCURY. 91 AMERICA'S IMMIGRATION QUESTION. E. E. SNYDER, '09. al RUTHFULLY has it been said, that, "Westward the star of empire takes its way.'' Just as truthfully may we say, "Westward flows the tide of immigration." With a continually increasing swell, it casts its burden upon our shores in such great numbers that they almost threaten to engulf us. The number of immigrants is steadily and rap-idly increasing. From 1820 to 1850, the number was less, than 2 1-2 millions. The decade from 1890 to 1900 saw 5 1-4 millions coming into our country and more than five millions have come during the last six years, 1906 alone having fur-nished over one million. Thus they continue to come in ever-increasing numbers, filling our mines, slums and manufactur-ing establishments ; seeking homes, freedom and wealth ; and bringing with them ignorance, debauchery and crime, until the American may well say with anxious inquiry, what are we to do with them? Coincident with the westward course of the immigrant is the eastward movement of the center of emigration. From 1820 to i860 more than 50 per cent, of our immigrants came from the British Isles, while another 40 per cent, came from Scandinavia, Germany and France. The ma-jority of these people were near kin to the Americans. They compared favorably with them in general culture ; in eco-nomic efficiency and in moral and religious training. The process of assimilation was rapid and in a few years they be-came well qualified citizens of U. S. The great majority of the present immigrants are from Southeastern Europe, from Italy, Austria Hungary and South-ern Russia. Their native tongue is quite different from ours. Their economic efficiency is low and their moral and religious training is far below the American standard. Forty percent, of them are illiterate ; only two per cent are professional men whilst nine per cent represents the proportion of skilled labor-ers. This means that ninety per cent of this vast horde, pour ing into our social organism, represents a social poison of vile, uncultured and uncouth humanity. The gap between these people and the true American is great. They represent classes in culture and progress which are in glaring contrast to our 92 THE MERCURY. American spirit. Their modes of life are wholly unlike ours, and their aims and ideals are entirely different. Hence the process of assimilation is necessarily slow and difficult. These immigrants land in New York with an average of $16 per capita. They are unable to get far from port even if they should desire to do so, but very few desire it. Consequently they pour in large numbers into our great industrial centers ; into the states of New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Con-necticut, Rhode Island and Pennsylvania. The percentage of foreigners in our country has increased less than one per cent, during the last half century, yet in the above named States, they comprise one-fourth of the entire population. In our own State today there are more than two million foreigners com-pared with one million in 1900. And of these two million, less than one per cent, are professional men and almost fifty per cent of them are illiterate. More than this, they settle in colonies or groups and thus certain portions of the country are completely controlled by them, while others have compar-atively few. They flood our mining districts in great num-bers. In many of our mining towns eighty per cent, of the population are foreigners. And their manner of life is so dif-ferent that few indeed are the Americans who care to remain in a colony of "Hunkies" or "Ikies." In their native homes they are clean and healthy. On board ship they acquire hab-its of filth and slovenliness. This mode of living clings to them, requiring many, many years of residence here before they become clean, respectable, desirable citizens. Why do they come, we ask, and the answer is varied and difficult. The prime cause is probably an economic one. Two-thirds of our immigrants come from farming communities. Their average wage is only about one-fourth what they can earn in our country ; their hours are longer and the work is more difficult. Again, as in the case of the Russian Jew, they come seeking freedom from the political oppression and unjust taxation of their own land. Some, especially the Austrians and Germans, come to escape the enforced military service de-manded by their respective governments. Many are ambitious and seek a country where life holds greater opportunities ; where labor is better rewarded ; and where caste and class are unknown. And a great number, especially the poor, the ig- THE MERCURY. 93 norant, and the weak are induced to come to this land of wealth and promise by the catching advertisements of the various steamship companies. Unfortunately the character of the immigrants, as a class, has a very dark side. As has already been stated, the ma-jority are low-born and illiterate. Wherever you find the im-migrant, especially the Slav, the Italian and the Lithunian, you find also saloons in great numbers ; in some instances one for every fifteen electors. Many of the immigrants spend al-most theii entire earnings for drink, reserving just what is necessary for a bare living. Beer and whiskey are to them what tea and coffee are to the American. Escaping from the restraints of the strict and rigid laws to which they were for-merly subjected, they, by continual use of intoxicants, sink into a condition that is akin to savagery. Again they are un-clean. Their houses are mere hovels. They are herded to-gether in great numbers, sometimes as many as twenty or thirty in one small shanty. They know nothing of sanitary conditions and the foul air and stench arising from such sur-roundings are sickening. A family will often have as many as fifteen boarders, and such homes are often, yea far too often, filled with scenes of drunkenness, profanity, and deeper vices. It is impossible for children born and reared amid such surroundings to take advantage of the opportunities for moral and physical development which America offers to every child. Thirty-five percent of the children die before they are five years old and decency and morality are impossible in such homes. But we would not describe the immigrant as entirely bad. He has, along with his numerous objectionable qualities, many commendable traits. With some exceptions he comes to us in the prime of life, having a strong healthy body, com-paratively free from disease. Physically, he is the peer, if not the superior of our average American. These people are sturdy, ambitious and brave. They willingly go into our mines, our furnaces, our subways and our ditches, regardless of the fact that daily they see one or more of their fellow-workers crushed, burned or mangled. True part of this may come from their ignorance and their stolid natural tempera-ment, but not all. They freely do the work that the respect- 94 THE MERCURY. able American will not touch and thus become a necessity in some departments of industry'. Then, too, it must be ob-served, that the immigrant as a class loves his home and family and seeks earnestly to provide and care for them. The)' send their children to school and ardently desire to see them educated that they may be able to start in life on a higher plane than their parents. The young especially study the customs and fashions of the Americans and seldom does it require more than the life of one generation to completely Americanize them. They will undergo hardships which the American could not endure. They will persevere, where we would be hopelessly discouraged. But all these traits com-mendable though they may be are overshadowed by the de-generating tendencies of the immigrant. Thus we haye portrayed the immigrant as facts and statis-tics have shown him. Crowding into our country they come in astounding numbers. They cluster together in"colonies for economy and company. They bear many noble and com-mendable traits, yet these are completely obscured by their many vices and faults. Their children fill our schools. Their men our streets, saloons and prisons. By their labor they have aided wonderfully in our industrial and commercial develop-ment. In the past, thousands of them have become good citi-zens. Thousands will doubtless become such in the future. Yet we have not and cannot answer the question, what must lie done with the immigrant ? Can we as a nation stand the strain ? Can our great industrial states assimilate them when they already form one-fourth of the population. Can we, a nation whose safety lies in the average integrity and intelli-gence of its citizens, continue to progress with the phenom-enal strides that have characterized our past, under such an incubus? Will we be able to maintain our pure and noble principles of government, founded on the freedom and equality of man, while Europe pours upon us, her ever increasing tor-rent of criminals and illiterates ? This is our question True, the wealth of the world is in our hands and her pro-ducts lie in profusion about our feet. Our hills and valleys teem with schools and colleges. Our country abounds in churches and Christian institutions. Our national spirit has fostered altruistic principles. On every side we find noble men and women, who are willing to sacrifice time and wealth, and even life, if necessary, to uplift their fellowman. All these have done and are doing a mighty work. But can even they assure us of the future. The question before us is ap-palling. National welfare, yes even national existence may depend on our answer. What shall it be? what will it be? T H E H[RCURY Entered at the Fostoffice nt Gettysburg as second-clans Mutter. VOL. XV GETTYSBURG, PA., MAY 1907 No. 3 Editor in-Chief EDMUND L. MANGES, '08 Exchange Editor ROBERT W. MICHAEL, '08 Business Manager HENRY M. BOWER, '08 Ass't Bus. Managers LESLIE L. TAYLOR, '09 CHARLES L. KOPP, '09 Assistant Editor MARKLEY G. ALBRIGHT, '08 Associate Editors PAUL E. BLOOMHARTM'09 E. E. SNYDER, '09 Advisory Hoard PROF. .1. A. HIMES, LITT.D PROP. G. D. STAHLEY, M.D. PROF. J. W. RICHARD, D.D. Published each month, from October to June inclusive, by the joint literary societies of Pennsnaylvia (Gettysburg') College. Subscription price, one dollar a year in advance ; single copies 15 cents. Notice to discontinue sending THE MERCURY to any address must be accompanied by all arrearages. Students, Professors and Alumni are cordially invited to contri-bute. All subscriptions and business matter should be addressed to the Business Manager. Articles for publication should be addressed to the Editor. Address THE MERCURY, GETTYSBURG, PA. EDITORIALS. WE wish to call particular at-tention to the coilege song in this issue of our publication. It is very often the case that by chance happenings we are forcibly reminded of some long felt need. This song comes to us as a very forcible reminder, not necessarily, of a need but of a branch of college activity in which we are sadly lacking. There are few colleges these days which do not have their book of college songs, yet we 96 THE MERCURY. must; say that we are one of the few. We more than hold our own among the colleges in other things, why not equal if not surpass in this too ? This fact does not prove that Gettysburg students lack col-lege spirit. To find the cause or the reason why we do not have such a book is a difficult task. We may attribute it partly to indifference. There is great wealth of talent among the various students, so why not become active and make this condition better. What few songs we have now, it is necessary to say, are of a high type and the only fault there is to be found is that they are not sung frequently enough. This latest song is an excellent one and we could in no other way show our kind appreciation of the author's effort than by singing it frequently. EXCHANGES. With our Exchanges this month came the advent of Spring, and it is evident in many of the Exchanges as the subject of this vernal season occupies quite a little space. "The Havefordian" as a whole is very good. The article entitled, "When the Colonel Lost" deserves special mention. It is well composed, and although the plot is simple, yet it is interesting. F ooling iu the study-room. L ate for classes. U nnecessary excuses. ~ N othing prepared. K now no lessons.—Ex. The MERCURY bids farewell to th^e retiring staff of the Al-bright Bulletin. Much credit is due the editors for the ad-vancement of the Bulletin. Character and Characteristics of Robert Burns as Reflected in his Poetry, advances its stand-ards still further. The Touchstone comes to our desk a welcome guest with its goodly number of fine articles. Uncle Hi's Wisdom is characteristic of "David Harum," with his coy ways and apt applications of homely principles. PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS. Fl/fJNTTUFiE Mattresses, Bed Springs, Iron Beds, Picture Frames, Repair Work done promptly. Under-taking a specialty. - Telephone No. 97. IE3:_ ZB_ Bender, 37 Baltimore St., Getty*burg-9 Pa THE WINDSOR HOTFX 1217-2 FILBERT ST., PHILADELPHIA. HEADQUARTERS FOR STUDENTS THOROUGHLY RENOVATED, REFURNISHED, AND REMODELED. FKANK M XCHEIBLEY, Manas r. Graduate of Lafayette College 1898- D. A. Kuppo I. E. Enterline. THE "R k I" STORE 36 Baltimore Street, Next Citizens' Trust Company, GETTYSBURG, PA. SUNDAY SCHOOL LESSON HELPS AND SUPPLIES, P. ANSTADT & SONS, Publishers, Book and Job Printina of all Kinds tortte for Prices. YOR K, PA, PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS. Conklin's Self- 0011 Filling F Ol For busy people. No bother. Tills itself. Cleans itself. No dropper. Nothing to take apart. Nothing to spill. A dip in ink, a touch of thumb to nickel cres-cent and the pen is full, ready to write. All the best dealers everywhere— Stationers, Druggists, Jewelers—handle the Conklin Pen or can supply it if you in-sist upon having it. Costs no more than other fountain pens of best grade. 100 styles and sizes to select from shown in our catalog furnished free upon request. Any make or style of fountain pen repaired promptly. USE COIVKLHV PEN CO. 514-516-518 Jefferson Ave., Toledo, Ohio. Sole Manufacturers Conklin Self-Filling Fen PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS EMILZ0THECOLk^tEM3 ENGRAVER, DESIGNER, AND MANUFACTURING JEWELER 722 Chestnut St, Phila. SPECIALTIES : MASONIC MARKS, SOCIETY BADGES, COLLEGE BUTTONS, PINS, SCARF PINS, STICK PINS AND ATHLETIC PRIZES. All Goods •rdered through G. F. Kieffer, CHARLES S. MUMRER. IH. I hl.lt MJV FTTR1TXTT7RE, PICTURE FRAMES OF ALL SORTS REPAIR WORK DONE PROMPTLY I WILL ALSO BUY OR EXCHANGE ANY SECOND-HAND FURNITURE NO. 4 CKAMBERSBURG STREET, GETTYSBURG, PA. D. J. SWARTZ, DEALER IN COUNTRY PRODUCE, GROCERIES, CIGARS AND TOBACCO. GETTYSBURG. SHOES REPAIRED 115 Baltimore St., near Court House GOOD WORK GUARANTEED. -IS-J. I MUMPER Your Photographer ? If not, why not? 41 BALTIMORE ST , GETTYSBURG, PA. 8EFT0N I FLEMMING'S LIVERY, Baltimore Street, First Square, Gettysburg, Pa. Competent Guides tor all parts of the Batilefi.-ld. Arrange-ment* by telegram or !■ tter Lock Bex 257. PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS. HENRY KALBFLE1SCH new line of all grades of CIGAKS, PIPESJOBACCOS, &C. Pool Parlors in Connection. Chambersburg St., Two doors above Eagle Hotel. GETTYSBURG . The Most Popular College Songs A "welcome gift in any borne. The Most Popular College Songs - - $ .50 50 New College Songs - .50 Songs of ALL the Colleges . . - 1.50 Songs of the WESTERN Colleges - . 1.25 Songs of the EASTERN Colleges - . 1.25 SCHOOL Songs with COLLEGE Flavor . .50 Songs of the Flag and Nation ,50 100 New Kindergarten Songs . 1.00 New Songs for College Glee Clubs . . .60 New Songs for Male Quartets . .50 Songs of the University of Pennsylvania - 1.50 Songs of the University of Michigan - - 1.25 Songs of Washington and Jefferson College - 1.25 Songs of Haverford College - 1.25 New Songs and Anthems for Church Quartets, (Eleven Numbers) each .10 to .30 HINDS, NOBLE & ELDREDGE, Publishers 31-33 35 West 1 5th St. New York City , COMPILER IMPRINT ON JOB WORK MEANS TASTY WORE CAREFULLY DONE. MENU CARDS, WINDOW POSTERS. DANCE CARDS LETTER HEADS, ENVELOPES, TICKETS, Programs of all kinds. Everything the College Man wants in Paper and Ink. Specially designed work. .Latest Effects in Paper, done in Colors along lines of College Men's Associations. Catalog and Book work. The Gettysburg Compiler will keep old and new students in touch with town and college life.
