superintendent at home. He was over thirty years. of age and a member of the senior class, and thus had his whole college life been wasted! Now, no one felt the burden of conviction more than did he. It weighed upon him so heavily that he could scarcely sleep at night. The Spirit gained the victory in the end; but it was not without a terrible conflict, which resulted in a change in all his life's plans. He felt the call to preach, and at last yielded. His life became one of great useful

ness.

Many other instances of the power of the Spirit upon the students might be given, but these few will suffice to exhibit the prevalent misery and gloom. There may have been some who did not feel, in their heart of hearts, that something dreadful was impending; there may have been some who were entirely untouched by any uneasiness; but they were few. It could be recognized on the faces and in the tones of voice and in the actions and general bearing of the students; some unwelcome visitor had come, and his presence was thus evinced.

VI

THERE was no loud talking on the campus. That was unusual.

The voice is an indicator, often, of the subjective states, and yet it may be cultivated, whether we are conscious of it or not. It is a musical instrument that may be in tune as far as the note is concerned, but at the same time the quality

of the note may not be the best. A harsh, nasal voice, for instance, may sing in tune, but we do not want it to hush us to slumbers. Unfortunately teachers take hold of the voice and train it when the owner is not conscious of it or able to object. It may be a nurse, or a household servant, or a nervous relative, with an unpleasant voice; the little innocent is an apt pupil, and it grows up with an unpleasant voice, simply because it is a mimic. We say: "What a shame! A beautiful child, but its voice is a deformity. What freaks nature plays!" Freaks, indeed! Sometimes the family is blessed with a grandmother. The dear old soul is a little hard of hearing, and the habit is formed in the family of raising the voice for her sake, and thus the voice of the little one is spoiled. Unfortunately, the college campus is not the best place in the world for a sensitive ear. There are heated argument, and loud calls, and guttural laughs, and usually a great deal of confusion.

But in the face of all these circumstances it is possible, even at college and on the campus, to train the voice aright.

Scott and Grandison were seated on a bench that encircled one of the great trees of the campus, where they were having a conversation on just this subject. Said the latter: "Do you notice how quiet it is? The fellows are all here, and many of them are talking, but their voices are low. You might almost think that some one was sick or dead. I have noticed it ever since last

Sunday. These meetings, for some reason, are having a tremendous effect on the fellows."

"Yes," replied Scott, "I have noticed it. If the meetings do nothing more than quiet the fellows down while on the campus, they will have been a unique success. I sometimes wonder how the citizens living near the college stand the racket. I understand they miss us dreadfully at vacation, and are nearly driven crazy when we return."

"Did you ever think on the subject of voice cultivation? I do not mean the singing voice, but the ordinary every-day speaking one. When one once discovers a defect, it is the easiest thing in the world to get rid of it. The main thing is to put one's will on one's voice. Of course there are other things that get into it and help it. Suffering has much to do with modulating it; so has sympathy and love; but, above everything else, true refinement will soon or late put its impress on the voice. I said true refinement; not the modern polish or veneer that they put on the outside. to cover up defects; the unrefined self will show itself by means of the voice through all the artificial polish they can put on, just as a knot on a rough pine board will show through the varnish on top."

"Why, Grandison, you ought to lecture on the voice throughout the country. I believe you could do an immense amount of good, to say nothing of the money you might put in your pocket. But just what do you mean by putting one's will on one's voice?"

"I wish some one with authority would lecture the American people on this great topic, and teach them that it is not the climate that is at fault, but bad training. They are nervous and busy, and the tones of their voice are influenced by these facts, and the poor little innocent children start to form their voice with that kind of an example ringing in their ears. Ugh! Is it any wonder that we have harsh voices? As to the will, I mean that the first thing a man has to do is to want to do better, and to make up his mind that he will. The voice may be changed by the will alone, if practicing is under the category of the will; and you will readily agree that it requires much volition to train for anything that is worth while."

"Yes, you have made that very plain; but how about the suffering and the sympathy and the love getting into the voice?"

"Nothing easier to answer. If a man will permit, his loves and his sympathies may become potent masters in the training of his voice. You have heard the celebrated Dr. Young speak, have you not? You know that remarkable voice of his, famed not only for sweetness and winsomeness, but for power and richness and strength. A friend of mine recently questioned him in regard to his voice, asking him if he were not particularly grateful to God for his magnificent endowment. 'Well,' he replied, 'I suppose I ought to be, for he gave me my children, and he endowed me with a tender heart.' 'What in the world have your children to do with it?' 'Every

thing, up to a certain point. When I was a young man my voice was so harsh and disagreeable that I was constantly ashamed of it; people would turn around on the street when I passed to see who could be making such horrible noises. When my children came, I noticed that they would shrink when I spoke; a fact so distressing to me that, whenever I came in their presence, I softened and modulated my voice the very best I could. It was a constant effort. My present power is the result of years of that kind of practice. Whatever there is in my voice to-day of beauty or of power, I owe it directly to the love I bore my children, and, secondly, to an indomitable will.'"

"That reminds me of a story Kenneth told the other day. His father entered a grocery where he was accustomed to deal, and was approached by a new clerk, apparently fresh from the country: tall, coarse, rawboned, awkward in every motion, and with a voice like a steam sawmill. Just at that moment the telephone-bell rang, and the young man was wanted at the 'phone. His first words were 'Hello, hello, hello!' several times repeated in his great harsh voice; but instantly his tones changed, and he began to speak in a soft, gentle, almost sweet voice. The change was so marked that Mr. Kenneth could not refrain from an exclamation of astonishment, which was heard by an old clerk, who laughingly remarked: 'O, Sam's terribly in love, and that's the way he always speaks to his sweetheart; he 's talking to her now over the wire.""