“As I look back over my life thus far,” he continued, “I think of nothing that so fills me with pleasure as the planning of these sieges, the revolving in my mind of plans for scaling the walls of the fortress; of gaining access to the inner soul-life, and at last seeing the besieged party won to a fuller appreciation of himself, to a higher conception of life, and to the part he is to bear in it. The principal guards which I have found it necessary to overcome in gaining these victories are the parents or guardians of the young men themselves. I particularly remember two such instances of capturing young men from their parents. Both of those boys are to-day educators of wide reputation—one president of a college, the other high in the ranks of graded school managers. Neither, in my opinion, would to-day have been above the commonest walks of life unless I or some one else had captured him. There is a period in every young man’s life when a very small thing will turn him one way or the other. He is distrustful of himself, and uncertain as to what he should do. His parents are poor, perhaps, and argue that he has more education than they ever obtained, and that it is enough. These parents are sometimes a little too anxious in regard to what their boys are going to do when they get through with their college course. They talk to the young men too much, and I have noticed that the boy who will make the best man is sometimes most ready to doubt himself. I always remember the turning period in my own life, and pity a young man at this stage from the bottom of my heart. One of the young men I refer to came to me on the closing day of the spring term and bade me good-bye at my study. I noticed that he awkwardly lingered after I expected him to go, and had turned to my writing again. ‘I suppose you will be back again in the fall, Henry,’ I said, to fill in the vacuum. He did not answer, and, turning toward him, I noticed that his eyes were filled with tears, and that his countenance was undergoing contortions of pain. “He at length managed to stammer out: ‘No, I am not coming back to Hiram any more. Father says I have got education enough, and that he needs me to work on the farm; that education don’t help along a farmer any.’ “‘Is your father here?’ I asked, almost as much affected by the statement as the boy himself. He was a peculiarly bright boy—one of those strong, awkward, bashful, blonde, large-headed fellows, such as make men. He was not a prodigy by any means. But he knew what work meant, and when he had won a thing by the true endeavor, he knew its value. “‘Yes, father is here, and is taking my things home for good,’ said the boy, more affected than ever.