"Mutatam ignorent subito ne semina matrem." When Protagoras came to Athens to teach in the university as self-appointed professor, or sophist, according to the fashion of that time, it was not to instruct Athenian youth in music or geometry or astronomy, but to teach them the art of being good citizens,--[Greek: Ten politiken technen, kai poiein andras agathous politas.] That was his profession. With which, as we read, Hippocrates was so well pleased, that he called up Socrates in the middle of the night to inform him of the happy arrival. We have no professorship at Cambridge founded for the express purpose of making good citizens. In the absence of such, may all the professorships work together for that end. The youth intrusted to their tutelage are soon to take part, if not as legislators, at least as freemen, in the government of our common land. May the dignity and duty and exceeding privilege of an American citizen be impressed upon their minds by all the influences that rule this place! Trust me, Alumni, the country will thank the University more for the loyalty her influences shall foster, than for all the knowledge her schools may impart. Learning is the costly ornament of states, but patriotism is the life of a nation. FOOTNOTES: [A] The History of Harvard University, by Josiah Quincy, LL. D., Vol. I. pp. 42, 43. All the facts relating to the history of the College are taken from this work. [B] The Office and Work of Universities, by John Henry Newman. [C] St. Augustine records his connection, when a student at Carthage, with the "Eversores" (Destructives), an association which flourished at that university. [D] Raumer's "History of German Universities." Translated by Frederic B. Perkins. [E] "C'est ainsi que peu a peu ils [that is, "les lettres"] parvinrent a sapper les fondements du pouvoir feodal et a elever l'etendard royal la ou flottait la banniere du baron."--_Histoire de l'Universite_, par M. Eugene Dubarle, Vol. I. p. 135. THE VOICE. A saintly Voice fell on my ear, Out of the dewy atmosphere:-- "O hush, dear Bird of Night, be mute,-- Be still, O throbbing heart and lute!" The Night-Bird shook the sparkling dew Upon me as he ruffed and flew: My heart was still, almost as soon, My lute as silent as the moon: I hushed my heart, and held my breath, And would have died the death of death, To hear--but just once more--to hear That Voice within the atmosphere. Again The Voice fell on my ear, Out of the dewy atmosphere!-- The same words, but half heard at first,-- I listened with a quenchless thirst; And drank as of that heavenly balm, The Silence that succeeds a psalm: My soul to ecstasy was stirred:-- It was a Voice that I had heard A thousand blissful times before; But deemed that I should hear no more Till I should have a spirit's ear, And breathe another atmosphere!