drew her around to his knee. His eyes opened, still shining from his dream. "In Athens," he said, softly, "I dreamed I saw thee walking. All around thee were beautiful statues, and behind one of these thy old father hid, winking his eyes like a fool. Hark!-a breeze brings the music of harps and of maidens singing. Here poets like David of old lift up voices of praise. Over there noble thinkers speak fearlessly out, for there are no Russian censors. And all these thy friends, by so beautifully living, grow beautiful themselves in thoughts and feelings, in face and voice and figure." He kissed her. "So I dreamed thy beauty grew," he whispered. "There was one terrible fault," said old Isaac, and now his big brows contracted. "In Athens only a few could grow beautiful. Most of the people were only ugly, unhappy slaves; they staggered under burdens or bent over tasks from daylight until dusk; for them all the light of day meant toil." Isaac controlled himself sternly, his left hand gripped the chair, his eyes stared into darkness, and his old voice shook as he cried: Slaves! His "On this life the great Aristotle looked! And then he wrote down-'It must be so! . . . Most men must be slaves! Until the shuttle shall move itself! ... But if that... happy time ever comes! Then all-all men may be free !'" voice dropped. "Then thy beauty might grow; thou shouldst not work all day by me; thine eyes should not fade, but shine and sparkle; thy voice should sing and laugh; thy form should not grow crooked, but graceful as the form of Queen Esther; and thy thoughts-thy thoughts should grow up as freely-as roses grow .. When the shuttle moves itself." held her close now, for his deep shaking voice had made her cry softly. "Jonathan tells me strange rumors from America. Strange tales." He held her silently in the darkness. "There you might be happy," he murmured. Happy." Above these two, but far out of their reach, the stars gleamed life and beauty. Below and around them two dark gray rows of huts-mud -toil-persecution-slow death. He Three months passed, and again one evening at dusk Isaac bent straining to finish the last seams on a coat. Yetta worked beside him. The song she had sewed to all day she still sang in catches, but her voice was now thin and tired. Soon it stopped altogether, and she bent over closer and closer as the darkness stole down. Then she looked up, saw short Jonathan coming from his hut, and ran in to bring out the big chair. But Jonathan could not sit down; he was too excited; he had a letter which he struck again and again with his hand. "This!" he cried, "this proves I was right! From Jacob!" Old Isaac looked up slowly-his left eyelid drooping more than ever. "What Jacob?" he asked. "Thou must remember!" said Jonathan, looking over the edge of the letter. "Ten years ago he lived three huts from the crossway." Isaac knit his brows. But Jonathan was impatient-" Jacob -the swiftest tailor-the first man here who sewed on the Sabbath. You can't remember? Why, his boy died of a bad back. You sat up those two nights to rub it." Old Isaac's eyebrows lifted. "Oi-oil Poor little Samuel! His father made him sew all day when he was six years old." "Jacob's heart was small!” cried Jonathan. "His mind was sharp and thin like his body; his fist was always tight!" "Thou shalt not curse a deaf man,' said Isaac, quietly, quoting the Torah, with a twinkle. "If he was here to listen he would not care! He is too happy! Listen! From here he went to Podolia, and from there, five years ago, to New York. There already his girl grows rich, free, beautiful! Listen-she goes to school and to vau-vau-day-ville concerts, and has fine clothes. men. He has a factory with sixty They work only from eight in the morning till three in the afternoon, and long, strange journey, with his scant money, was a fearful problem. Three months later Isaac and Yetta stood in the doorway of Jacob's factory on Broome Street. Isaac felt the whir and buzz. He stared at the long table; on each side fifteen men, almost boys, bending; with elbows jerking back and forth, backs swaying, heads bobbing, eyes straining, fingers jumping, all racing. He Soon Jake saw them at the door. hurried over impatiently and looked at the old man for a moment. Being short, he had to squint up. He snapped through his nose, "Vot you vant?" Tall Isaac stared down-amazed and bewildered. Happy, beautiful, free, noble. Jake was only fat. "Vell? Vy don't you speak?" cried Jake. "Vell? Vell? Vy not?" "It must be," said Isaac at last in Yiddish. "The voice is the same. Thou art Jacob. Thou art changed in ten years." Old Isaac bent and stared close a moment, but then shook his head. "Too old--too old," he said, sadly. "I should have gone with Abram." He sat down. Jake squinted harder. Then he "Come back when the light is gone," he rattled in Yiddish : "What-ten yearssaid, and Jonathan rushed off to another Russia-yes-yes-Isaac! The dreamer hut. Isaac worked ten minutes, bend--the Cohen [descendant from Aaron]ing, aching. Then he stopped, with his old head cocked to one side. "Many thousand coats in one day," he murmured. "Oi-oi! Oi-oi !" He worked and then stopped again. "His girl beautiful clothes -school-fine concerts-noble music. I wonder now what vaudayville means." So the old man worked in the dark. Late that night he told little Yetta to go to bed. But she could not sleep, and came softly to the hut door. Isaac sat staring at the big moon, his beard bowing slowly up and down. After a long time she heard him whisper out into the night. She bent closer. "Happy," he whispered. "My Yetta-happyhappy!" At daybreak she came again. His face looked haggard and old, but his eyes were young and glad, and he seemed to grow stronger and younger with the daylight. "We will surely go," he told her that morning. His voice continued husky and his brows grew very nervous, for to that old man the glad to see you! And the girl-pretty, "Work! Save ! That's how ! I came to New York with a wife and one girl ten years old. I worked in a sweatshop; so did my girl-you bet-till the truant officer made her go to school; then I told my wife she must have no more children." At this Isaac drew back, for by the Talmud it is a terrible offense for a woman to prevent her fruitfulness. "Had to do it!" snapped room. Jake. "With a big family you can never rise out of the common crowd. Work? I worked faster than all in the shop; Saturdays I worked like a Christian, Sundays like a Jew; I made in rush season eighteen dollars a week; in dull, four dollars; more dull weeks than rush: average, nine dollars. Save? I got free board for my wife with her brother, who made eleven dollars a week; he is a fool and is still poor. Then I got the inspector of a half-orphan asylum to come to my "Take the girl," I said; "her mother has become a bad woman." " The girl they had for three years. I paid for her one dollar a week, three dollars for my own bed and board, one dollar to my wife for clothes-four dollars saved. The money grew. My wife died from consumption-poor woman!-and cost me sixty-two dollars, for I buried her good. But I got all back by saving. I was happy again. In two years I rented machines and a small shop. In two years more I rented this factory. Here I am. I work no more; I make others work; I know all their tricks, for I have been through the mill; I get every cent's worth out of them. So I am rich. I make two thousand dollars a year, I spend twelve hundred; my girl is sixteen; we have a big flat; we go once a week to Keith's, once a month to the Third Avenue Theater; always American plays; I want for my girl no Yiddish theater. In high school she takes prizes; she is smart and shrewd; she is pretty, she dresses elegantly. We try for a good husband; she knows what I want. When she bought last month a big hat for twelve dollars, I said 'All right.' 'Papa, it will pay,' she said." Here Isaac squeezed Yetta close to his side. She looked up and smiled, though she was 'frightened. Isaac was still bewildered. Jake looked disappointed at getting no congratulations. "So we are happy !" he cried. "Happy!" old Isaac repeated. He stared round the big, dark, whirring room, and then back to the racing table. "The machine that moves itself," he said at last. "Wilt thou show me how it works?" Then they came to the table. "Counting buttonholes, pressing, fell ing, and all," Jake told him, "it will take over fifty people to make a coat. Each does one seam; it beats the old hand sweatshop to death; look how they come!" The coats were tumbling right up the table, one row on the right side, one on the left. Each worker grabbed it and shoved it under his machine. Whir-r-r! Then on. Every man was always shoving or grabbing and so rushing his neighbor. Old Isaac's brows began moving up and down. "Thousands in a day," he said. "But the men- -their faces are old and tired, though they are only boys. Why do not older men work?" "Speed! Speed !" snapped Jake. Boys for speed. Old men are no good!" He felt Isaac's hand tighten on his arm and looked up. His eyes grew kind-for Jake had a good heart. "Old men like you can work over there," he said, pointing to a dark corner where nine old men in three groups were pressing coats with hot irons. But Isaac still looked hopefully at the table. "There is an old man," he said. Jake followed the pointing finger to the foot of the table-the last place on the left-hand side. Yes, at the easiest work," he said. "Just one seam on a pocket, and even then he is too slow; he must soon be discharged; he stops too much. Look at him! He is stopping now!" Jake hurried down. The slow old man never saw him, but stared up at Isaac. Then he pushed his wet hair back; his hollow face flushed red; his eyes grew bright. Suddenly Isaac cried out and ran down the room, while the other old man sprang up. They hugged each other, talking so low that no one could hear, though the workers all stopped and listened hard. Only once they heard Isaac sob, 66 Abram, Abram," till his voice broke. Then Jake helped the two old men to a corner by an open window, came back wiping his eyes, but saw his men loafing, and shouted, "Vell, vell? Vy not?" Abram cried when he saw Yetta, for his own girl had taken consumption from him. They talked an hour; from him they learned the dark side; the nine men out of ten; the men who are not quick nor shrewd like Jake-slaves all to the machine. At last Abram went, shaking, back to work, and old Isaac came to Jake at the table. His face had changed. It was wild, his brows bent down, his eyes flashedeven the drooping lid was up. "The machine has not made men free!" His voice was husky, but so bitter that several men stopped work quickly and looked up. "Most men are worse off than before." "Well," cried Jake, "how can I help? I was quick, I worked, I saved, I bought machines. The machines work for me, not for all. The machines belong to me." "And the men belong to the machines !" old Isaac suddenly cried in a loud voice. 66 help? I myself belong to a machine the big store. I bid against other contractors; I must bid low or get no work; too many men like me have gone into the business; we bid each other to death." But old Isaac was too wild to listen. "The men belong to the machines !" Now he was shouting and swaying. "It is wrong! Wrong! The shuttle moves itself! The time has come! All men are-free-free! And their children— Yetta-" He fell suddenly. "Yetta !" On the floor his old face grew slowly quiet. And two hours later, when Isaac was dead, old Abram led Yetta to his tenement. She spoke not a word. Her eyes were quite dry. Only now and then "Well," cried Jake, "how can I she shivered slightly. T tion. Athletics and Education HE wisest of our intellectual ancestors have always felt that athletics was a part of educaPlato drew a picture of the beautiful and brilliant boy Charmides coming from the athletic field, taking a seat beside Socrates, and talking with him about "Moderation," or the perfect harmony of the powers of mind and body. Some eighteen hundred years later, Vittorino da Feltre, one of the most successful of the men who in his day were trying to free education from pedantry and bring it again into relation with life, established a school at Mantua. His teaching force included masters of riding, fencing, and ball-playing, and his scholars were compelled to exercise every day in the open air at some game or contest which required training and skill. Besides this, in vacation they were sent hunting and fishing or taken on walking trips to the mountains. In the middle of the seventeenth century, John Milton, who had won an international reputation as a scholar and writer, took private pupils at his house in London. He bitterly regretted that in his boyhood he had been allowed to weaken his health and hurt his eyesight 66 by intemperance in reading. He was proud of the skill in handling a sword he had acquired at Cambridge. Therefore, when he described an ideal of education for gentlemen's sons who might look forward through influence to commands in the army or offices of State, he said that their day's work ought to be divided into three parts, as it lies orderly, their studies, their exercise, and their diet." Three hours and a half each day, including time for rest, ought to be given to learning to handle weapons and horses and to military drill as infantry and cavalry. In vacation the boys ought to be escorted all over England on riding parties, taken out in boats, and given some practical knowledge of seamanship. The prominence of athletics in our institutions of learning cannot, therefore, be explained by sarcastic references to the power of fads in modern American life. Moreover, the wisdom of the past, when it suggests that athletics is a part of good education, seems to be supported by the experience of the present generation. Just about thirty years ago athletics began to receive from college students a larger degree of attention. Within ten years the change in that respect was marked, and it was the opinion of older men who had the best chances to know the life of students that this change caused an improvement in student morality, and worked toward the repression of vice and the increase of self-control. And yet, in spite of these things which every one who discusses athletics and education ought to keep in mind, no reasonable and dispassionate person, young or old, who knows what is going on in the world outside of a very narrow circle can avoid the suspicion that something is wrong about the present practice of athletics at our institutions of learning. The most striking phenomenon connected with the athletics of our universities in the Middle and Northeastern States is the series of football matches played every fall in the four weeks preceding Thanksgiving. Descriptions of them are a prominent feature of the columns of the leading metropolitan papers during the first weeks of November. An equally prominent feature during the last week of November is a succession of editorials denouncing them. The denunciations of the press have never been so widespread nor so strong as this year. Some of the writers label the matches as "lapses into barbarism, as "stimuli to brutality." The mildest of them, pointing out that in the great chorus of comment the "critics who think every feature of the game repulsive are in the ascendant," dissents from this judgment, but admits that "some grave faults seem to be increasing rather than diminishing." These newspaper comments represent a public opinion so strong that for the sons of universities to ignore it is fatuous. Even those of us who have been wont to find the greatest pleasure in playing or watching football ought to be willing to discuss the question whether, as at present practiced, it is the kind of athletics which is part of a good educational sys tem. And the fair beginning of such a discussion is to point out that a great many ridiculous exaggerations are uttered about the evils of the game. It makes one who has known a number of football players flush with displeasure to hear them characterized with a sweeping judgment as a set whose " manners and morals do not belie their hideous exteriors." Surely the framer of such a judgment has not enjoyed the pleasure of meeting at dinner from time to time members of teams. Had he done so, he would have found in five minutes that they were not what his prejudice pointed them, but courteous young gentlemen whose common sense kept them simple in spite of the absurd adulation which surrounded them. And yet, if we sweep away all these exaggerations of men who never get nearer to the game and to players than the grand stand of a big match, whose play they do not thoroughly understand, have we proved that football as now practiced is just the sort of athletics which is part of a good education? On the contrary, to escape from the excitement of a big match and think quietly about it makes us conscious of certain features of modern football which prevent it from being as useful in the life of a university as it used to be and as it might again become. These things are none of them distinctive of university life. They have come in from the outside. They are the result of certain unfortunate tendencies which now beset American life. This is certainly true of certain marked material evils which are often charged against football. Gambling is no more a result of football than betting is a result of Presidential elections. And so those subtler evils which do give grounds for just protest from men who like football are not the native product of university soil. Seeds have come in from the outside, and through the carelessness of graduates and undergraduates they have grown into a noxious crop of weeds which is a disfigurement to the fields of university athletics. One of the evil features on which a true bill against the present practice of football can be based is hard to define. Its results are plain. The most striking of them is suggested by a New York paper when it points out that fifteen boys and men have been killed at football in |