dropping away, sent him sprawling on his face, to cut his hands on the rocks. But at each fall he scrambled up quickly and pushed ahead.

In half an hour he splashed across the icy brook at the head of the ravine. Beyond this he was sheltered from the wind by a ridge, and so made faster time, clambering up slippery ledges, and jumping from one wet rock to another. As he passed under the crags where he had killed his last mountain sheep, he saw their tops sway and totter between the scudding clouds.

"Keep still, can't you?" he called up excitedly. "Don't you see you're spoiling my aim?"

Then he came to his sober senses.

"That sort of thing won't do," he thought, hurrying on his way again. Any second he might hear the roar of the avalanche. “If I don't get there in time, I can never face people, whether I tell about it or not! I'll have to stay here alone. Heavens! I couldn't stand it now!"

As he rushed over the broken rocks at the foot of the cliff, he

heard the water running down in streams. He started at every unusual sound of the wind, thinking tensely of the snow that hung above. Finally he saw the tent through the rain, and reached it at a reckless run.

"Come out quick!" he yelled, panting, sticking his head in at the opening. "You're right under the slide!"

The man nearer the opening dropped his hunter's guide-book in surprise, while the other sat up on his couch of knapsacks and blankets. "What's that?" he exclaimed, staring at Tom's streaming hair and rough beard.

"I say there's a snow-slide over here! The rain starts it; it's a wonder it hasn't dropped already."

One man had jumped outside the tent and was looking up into the rain in the direction Tom pointed.

"What, from the cliff?"

"Yes! Don't stop to pack things up, you in the tent there."

Tom started off at a full stride, and the others snatched up their guns and followed. They knew they could come back all in good time if nothing happened.

Tom led them a race along the base of the cliff, then slackened his pace, stopped, and turned to listen. His companions eyed him incredulously.

"It's coming!" Tom shouted, with an uncanny look in his eyes, as if he could see right through the rain.

The other two looked at him and at each other.

A whirr in the air above was followed by a thundering roar and crash that shook the ground for several seconds.

"It's a good thing you came," one of the men ventured, after a short pause.

"Yes," Tom murmured slowly, "there's something in that."

Tom was glad to reach the railroad again. Every fresh contact with civilization, on his way east, added a reassuring balance to his mind; there was no danger of lapsing into a trance while he held a time-table in his hand. By the time he reached the damp, eastern air of Portland, he felt comparatively confident in himself. And already one of his interests in social life had revived very keenly.

Within three days, therefore, he was paddling a canoe up the sound at Mount Desert.

"It was a dangerous experiment," he was saying, as he drew his paddle out of the water. "I can't afford to risk living alone again. Will you-er-help me out, Mildred?"

Louis Grandgent.

Editorial

The resignation of Professor William James from the Faculty removes from active college life one who has long been one of Harvard's most brilliant teachers and America's greatest philosopher. His personality has endeared him to the many undergraduates who have been privileged to study under him; his work has brought him a reputation in Europe as well as in America that is as rare as it is firmly based.

Professor
James

The MONTHLY begs to express to Professor James its sincere regret at his resignation, and the hearty wish that he may long enjoy, in health and every happiness, the rest he has earned so well.

The leader in the present issue brings a strong defence for our much-discussed and much-abused athletic conditions. Athletics, the writer says, are essential to a man's best development,

The Question and give him morally, as well as physically, a strength

of Athletics

of backbone which he can in no other way achieve so well. President Roosevelt's address in the Union on Feb. 23, strongly emphasizes the same point. "As I emphatically disbelieve," says the President, "in seeing Harvard or any other college turn out mollycoddles instead of vigorous men, I may add that I do not in the least object to a sport because it is rough. Rowing, baseball, lacrosse, track and field games, hockey, football, are all of them good. Moreover, it is to my mind simple nonsense, a mere confession of weakness, to desire to abolish a game because tendencies show themselves, or practices grow up, which prove that the game ought to be reformed. . . There is no real need for considering the question of the abolition of the game. If necessary, let the college authorities interfere to stop any excess or perversion, making their interference as little officious as possible, and yet as rigorous as is necessary to achieve the end. But there is no justification for stopping a thoroughly manly sport because it is sometimes abused.

The President's words and the leader speak for themselves. If water is impure, we do not give up the use of it. We mend the pipes. Nor do we cease riding in the cars because rude men step on our feet; nor retire from life because there are those who steal our ducats when the umpire is not looking. But the reforming committee has a serious. problem in hand; there are on both sides men of strong convictions to whom the question of intercollegiate sport is vital. The committee has our sincerest sympathies.

versus

American

In a recent communication to the Crimson, Professor Kuno Francke took exception to the statement in President Roosevelt's German Sport address, that physical prowess could be attained only by intercollegiate athletics, and expressed the opinion that such contests between universities should be abandoned. He based his argument on the fact that in Germany physical prowess is attained in the sport of duelling, without any contests whatever outside the university. The conditions in the two countries are, however, diametrically different. In America tradition has firmly implanted the desirability and necessity of college spirit. This spirit depends, of course, on many things beside athletics; but it is athletics, and especially it is the enthusiasm roused by the great annual contests with Yale, that foster and strengthen this spirit and unify the various elements among graduates and undergraduates. Without this college spirit, the university would stagnate. The men it graduated would feel no loyalty; they would not return to teach, as many do often at a sacrifice; most important of all for the material welfare of the university, they would not give their millions as they do now. A reform that will kill college spirit will be a bitter blow at the welfare of Harvard.

In German universities this college spirit does not exist. A student studies at three or four universities and feels a special loyalty toward none. The sport of duelling, which Professor Francke brings up, is carried on between clubs, and fosters exclusiveness and often snobbishness-exactly opposite tendencies to the democracy, which President Roosevelt believes is so splendidly encouraged by our forms