done, and who really accomplished it during the next hve years. The
school was one of the earliest efforts for women's higher education in
the Mississippi Valley, and from the beginning was called "the Mount
Holyoke of the West.'' It reflected much of the missionary spirit of that
pioneer institution, and the proportion of missionaries among its early
graduates was almost as large as Mount Holyoke's own. In addition
there had been thrown about the founders of the early western school
the glamour of frontier privations, and the first students, conscious of
the heroic self-sacrifice made in their behalf, felt that each minute
of the time thus dearly bought must be conscientiously used. This inevitably fostered an atmosphere of intensity, a fever of preparation
which continued long after the direct making of it had ceased, and
which the later girls accepted, as they did the campus and the buildings, without knowing that it could have been otherwise.
There was, moreover, always present in the school a larger or
smaller group of girls who consciously accepted this heritage and persistently endeavored to fulfill its obligation. We worked in those early
years as if we really believed the portentous statement from Aristotle
which we found quoted in Boswell's "Johnson" and with which we
illuminated the wall of the room occupied by our Chess Club; it remained there for months, solely out of reverence, let us hope, for the
two ponderous names associated with it; at least I have enough confidence in human nature to assert that we never really believed that
"there is the same difference between the learned and the unlearned as
there is between the living and the dead." We were also too fond of
quoting Carlyle to the effect,
" 'Tis not to taste sweet things, but to do
noble and true things that the poorest son of Adam dimly longs."
As I attempt to reconstruct the spirit of my contemporary group by
looking over many documents, I find nothing more amusing than a
plaint registered against life's indistinctness, which I imagine more or
less reflected the sentiments of all of us. At any rate here it is for the
entertainment of the reader if not for his edification: "So much of our
time is spent in preparation, so much in routine, and so much in sleep,
we find it difficult to have any experience at all." We did not, however, tamely accept such a state of affairs, for we made various and restless attempts to break through this dull obtuseness.
k At one time five of us tried to understand De Quincey's marvelous
"Dreams" more sympathetically, by drugging ourselves with opium.