themselves into the work; then, as soon as possible, to divide this club into two clubs, which shall concern themselves with joint debates. And then it may be possible for Tufts to debate against other colleges. For us to enter the field of inter-collegiate debate would be an excellent thing. It would bring the College before the world, as a place where something is to be found besides a pretence of Athletics. It would increase College Spirit by giving us one more institution to awaken us to an interest in ourselves as a college community.

Last year I was present at the Harvard-Princeton debate, and I found there a battle between colleges which required something other than brute strength or bodily cunning. Those debaters fought every whit as fiercely as men fight on the foot-ball field. The two teams had undergone a course of preparation and training quite as exacting and thorough as athletic teams are subjected to. And when the debate was over and the victory awarded, the hearty college cheer which rang out would have done credit to any athletic field; there was rousing College Spirit in it. And when the defeated team stepped across the platform and congratulated the victors, there was exhibited a spirit of genuine manliness which is lacking in many an athletic contest. Any one who has ever been present at such a debate cannot fail to realize the good which may come to a college through its debating clubs.

Most of us, I suppose, are interested in the welfare of our College, and like to be proud of it. Every student institution which reflects credit upon the College adds to its dignity and greatness. We have before us the opportunity to build up such an institution here. The question is, are we too deeply sunk in that "idleness which aspires to strive"--but does nothing else; or can we arouse ourselves to rear a new success? The question cannot be solved by any one of us, but must be answered by us all as a community. A long time ago some one said that "What is worth doing at all is worth doing well." The saying is just as true today as it was then.

F. L. H., 'OI.

It was not the cheeriest place there back of the organ pumping away for the choir rehearsal. Nick had gallantly offered to help Mrs. Austin out for the evening in the absence of the regular assistant and, however rash his promise, he would perform it at any cost. Music was sweet to his ears, but he thought as he kept the lever in motion, "It's better to choose the place an' church music ain't much on week days 'cept at funerals an' sociables." And it was cheerless, too, for the March wind whistling about the eaves. and the efforts of the choir to attain harmony, were powerful factors of discord. Man and the elements were at war again on that Friday in March. Nick felt a sympathy for the old meeting house, for it seemed to know something was awry as well as he. For now and then a nail snapped in the frosty air, a blind banged itself against a clattering window, and a shiver of discontent seemed to shake its whole frame.

Before the organ, seated on the haircloth sofa, that served as benches, was the choir. Lewis Hartley, whom length of service, if nothing more, had appointed choir master, looked up sharply from the hymn book that he held before him.

"Mis' Austin, if you'll jest start that measure agin, so as we

can get the pitch," he said, interrupting the melody. "Mis' Martin seems tho' you'd ought to drop down a tone, an' you, Charlie Johnson, come in kinder slow on the 'blessin's.' Kinder pause 'n draw out the a-1-1. Mis' Gray 'n I'll take the lower parts,” he added in needed explanation. "There!" and he rose, humming the air to the time of the swinging “Church Harmonies." Just notice the swing of it and everybody be sure 'n stop together. Now Mis' Austin, all right agin." Mrs. Austin turned patiently, and the organ droned out the doxology. "Wall, thet's some better now; if we try it over jest before meetin', I gess it'll go. The other parts 'll do, and another trial 'll fix this; jest remember 'n git round a bit early." The singers began to collect the hymn books and make neat piles of them in the sofa corners. Miss Gray and Mrs. Martin, who had driven up from the River Road, put on their wraps and with fewer words of departure than usual, went out to the pung which Charlie Johnson had brought to the door for them. "Good night, Mis' Martin; I don't 'spose you want to keep the hoss standin' in the wind." "Good night, Mis' Austin," she called out from the aisle; "no, it don't seem quite Christianlike, and Charlie's waitin' for us." Nick, too, came from his confined station and stood unnoticed by the organ side.

"Mis' Austin," said Lewis in a confidential whisper after the others had left. "It's ben seemin' to me that this choir ain't singin' as it should. An' what's more, I b'lieve the fault ain't far to find. D'ye notice the soprano, Mabel Martin, ain't carryin' it at all. Her voice's kinder sprung. Now," he lowered his voice in caution, "I ain't the one to sow seeds o' discord an' there ain't none hates a church row worse 'n me. But we got to alter that soprano somehow."

"Lewis, you've said jest what I bin a-thinking! It wouldn't do to breathe a word to Mabel Martin; you know she's ben singing ever sence the Chase girl was married 'n went to the city. Mis' Gray sez she wuz kinder broke up 'bout that, an' she's techy 'bout her singin'. They're all bound up in her mind.”

"Yas, yas," assented Lewis, "I know how 'tis an' I dunno how

we kin manage it. But you kinder talk it round and see what the feelin' is."

"Nick is goin' to close up, ain't he?" he added, starting from the forgetfulness which his honest concern had brought him. Nick stood pulling on his ulster. "Yes, Nick was good enough to come down tonight," Miss Austin explained, "an' it's helped us out ever so much."

"We're mightily obleeged to ye, Nick, tho' I'm afeered ye ain't had much of a concert," said Lewis in self-deprecation as if to atone for anything he had unwittingly dislosed. If you're goin' long in the pung, I guess I'll walk with Charlie Johnson as fur as the store," and binding his muffler on, he hurried down the creaking aisle.

Mrs. Austin turned to Nick. "Nick, I hope you won't let none 'o what Lewis has said get to Mabel Martin's ears, seein' you go down to the Martins' now an' then." Nick promised, for his kindly nature gave itself readily to promises. "An' at the same time, you see how things are, Nick; she ain't so fresh a singer as she was once. There ain't a better soul livin'. There's ben some talk about it in circle meetin', but I donno what there is to do or say." Nick felt that it was all true. Personally, he knew Miss Martin's fine qualities, and gossip had spread the fame of her singing. He felt a keen sympathy for both sides, for the sensitive maiden lady and the afflicted congregation. And so he went about, closing the meeting house, closed the organ case, extinguished the lamps that burned unwillingly in the brackets, shook down the fire in the vestry, and locked the door upon the chilly darkness within. Miss Austin waited on the step while he brought the horse round to the door.

"I dunno where there's a better soul 'n Nick Judkins," she thought. "He's real good to come down tonight, seein' he ain't a reg'lar member. I'm glad he's stayin' at our house. The truth is, Nick held rather a peculiar position in the community. Years ago he had left his native Holland and come to follow fortune in the states. What whim of fate could ever have turned his way

to Leeds Centre, it is hard to say. That he had known of the existence of the town, was, indeed, mere chance. A statement in an agricultural paper that there was an opportunity for work for any well inclined man, had first turned him toward Maine. And so he came, and settled with no aim other than the indefinite hope of somehow bettering himself. He had "done chores," helped in haying, and had later taken an agency for a Chicago washing machine. This had given him an independent station in the community. People said he was "stoppin' at the Austins," for he made his headquarters there while he canvassed Minot and East Hartland. So the broad democracy of the place took him in as one of its own. He was looked upon as a "likely man," with that respect that Leeds Centre paid her citizens who met success outside the beaten path of farming. One who had set up in trade for himself was to be respected there. People liked good-natured, accommodating Nick, and he knew every one by the first name, and could smoke a pipe in anybody's kitchen and talk crops and town politics.

"Yes, Nick," she continued, as the pung lurched in and out of the "Thank ye marms,' "I don't 'spose you can help us out any, but 'twould be awkward to have any feeling over it; some people are so set in their way."

"Wall, Mis' Austin, if there was anything I c'd do, I'll do it, even to speaking to Mabel Martin, if you say so."

"Not a word," admonished the good lady, "I wouldn't have you do that for the world! The horse settled down into that reminiscent jog that was his wont when drawing the heavy wagon load home from meeting. It was a pity to disturb his Sunday mood and Nick let him turn the corner to the barn in the thought of a good half day's rest before him.

Clear it was on the next Sunday that Lewis had spoken the truth of the choir. Mrs. Austin had spoken to several neighbors about it and it was generally agreed she had found where the trouble lay. Nor were matters better off on Easter Sunday. The choir sang twice that day with "special music," at the morning