The class of moral philosophy is not for the few, but the many. Some professors do not mind what becomes of the nine students, so long as they can force on every tenth. Calderwood, however, considers it his duty to carry the whole class along with him; and it is, as a consequence, almost impossible to fall behind. The lectures are not delivered, in the ordinary sense, but dictated. Having explained the subject of the day with the lucidity that is this professor's peculiar gift, he condenses his remarks into a proposition. It is as if a minister ended his sermon with the text. Thus: "Proposition 34: Man is born into the world--(You have got that? See that you have all got it.) Man is born into the world with a capacity--with a capacity----" (Anxious student: "If you please, professor, where did you say man was born into?") "Into the world, with a capacity to distinguish----" ("With a what, sir?")--"with a capacity to distinguish----" (Student: "Who is born into the world?") "Perhaps I have been reading too quickly. Man is born into the world, with a capacity to distinguish between--distinguish between----" (student shuts his book, thinking that completes the proposition)--"distinguish between right and wrong--right--and wrong. You have all got Proposition 34, gentlemen?" Once Calderwood was questioning a student about a proposition, to see that he thoroughly understood it. "Give an illustration," suggested the professor. The student took the case of a murderer. "Very good," said the professor. "Now give me another illustration." The student pondered for a little. "Well," he said at length, "take the case of another murderer." Professor Calderwood has such an exceptional interest in his students that he asks every one of them to his house. This is but one of many things that makes him generally popular; he also invites his ladies' class to meet them. The lady whom you take down to supper suggests Proposition 41 as a nice thing to talk about, and asks what you think of the metaphysics of ethics. Professor Calderwood sees the ladies into the cabs himself. It is the only thing I ever heard against him. PROFESSOR TAIT. V. PROFESSOR TAIT. Just as I opened my desk to write enthusiastically of Tait, I remembered having recently deciphered a pencil note about him, in my own handwriting, on the cover of Masson's "Chronological List," which I still keep by me. I turned to the note to see if there was life in it yet. "Walls," it says, "got 2s. for T. and T. at Brown's, 16 Walker Street." I don't recall Walls, but T. and T. was short for "Thomson and Tait's Elements of Natural Philosophy" (elements!), better known in my year as the "Student's First Glimpse of Hades." Evidently Walls sold his copy, but why did I take such note of the address? I fear T. and T. is one of the "Books Which Have Helped Me." This somewhat damps my ardor.