I am not a self-made man. I doubt if any man is. I guess I was born

with a love for books. I did not make that. I learned to read, so I

have been told, by bringing a book to my mother and asking her the

names of the letters and what they spelled. I recall with a pleasure,

that has never lost its peculiar charm through the years, a visit at

the home of a neighbor when I was not yet three years of age and the

placing in my hands of a blue covered book with pictures of birds and

animals in it. The feeling of delight, the thrill of joy, the profound

impression of that one day and incident have never left me. I love a

book still. Just to feel it, let alone peruse it, is like caressing a

loved one.

I possess, I always have possessed, an unusually good memory. I did

not make that. I was naturally observant. No credit can accrue to me

from that source. I loved to learn. Some grammarians may differ with me

in the use of the word “love,” but let them; I do not care, it may be

because they have never loved in that way. I must have inherited that.

I was passionately fond of music. Another day stands out across the

years as memory travels back, when as a boy of eight or nine years of

age I traveled from the little log cabin on the farm where I lived to

the nearest town, three miles away, with a pail of blackberries on my

arm which I peddled from door to door. In my travels I found myself in

the vicinity of a group of fine brick and stone buildings which I knew

instinctively was the State Normal School and from within the walls of

that building there floated strains of heavenly music. It may have been

some pupil practicing scales, I know not; but this I do know, it was

celestial to me, and I see that boy in poor, shabby clothes, but neat

as mother’s love could make them, barefooted, tired, dusty, standing

there with the big tears running down his cheeks, his heart filled with

an inexpressionable longing to be able to play like that, and with it

a desire to go to school and obtain an education. I did not make that

desire.

And then at the back of and under and through all the woof of every

man’s life, if he be not blind, he can see, or if he be not dishonest

and will acknowledge it, there ever runs the warp of the wonderful

influences of other lives and the strange providential guidings which

do more than anything else to make men and women.

Supreme among these influences, as in most men’s lives, was the

influence of my sainted mother, whose self-sacrifice for her boy, who

so many times was so unworthy of it, has been the most potent factor

in helping me achieve whatever of real success I may have attained.

My mother was a widow left with six children, five of whom were at

home. The youngest was a girl less than two years of age, another was

under four, and I was not yet six years of age. We moved at the time

of her widowhood from the city to my grandfather’s farm. Grandfather

had died and grandmother was left with no one to care for the farm. My

brother and I were the farmers. He was fifteen years of age and I was

about six. The country school was a mile and a half from our home. I

went winters rather irregularly, for the cold weather and deep snows of

northwestern Pennsylvania in those days made it well-nigh impossible

to attend regularly. In the summer there was the farm work which

prevented my getting the benefit of the summer term. But I studied

and read not with any definite aim, but just because I liked to study

and read. Grandmother’s death and the sale of the old farm when I was

about eleven years of age, left the mother with nothing but her bare

hands to support her growing family. I went to work on a farm and the

outlook for an education was anything but reassuring. I still continued

to get some schooling at the little country school during the winter.

The summer that I was fifteen I was working in the garden of the pastor

of the little Christian church, which I attended, and he told in the

neighborhood that he had found a diamond in the rough. I have never

questioned the latter part of that statement as applied to me, but have

always felt that the good old man’s vision must have been somewhat

impaired by his years. However that may be, he resolved to see if some

way could not be devised for polishing the rough specimen.

Soon after this he retired from the active ministry and went to live

in the town of Yellow Springs, Ohio. At this place the Christian

denomination had a college known as Antioch College.

One day our little family was thrown into excitement by a letter from

the afore-mentioned pastor, the Rev. Joseph Weeks, saying that he had

procured for my mother the position of cook for the college boarding

club and an opportunity for me and my sister, next younger than I, to

work our way through school. After much deliberation and many councils,

it was finally decided that we go. That was a happy time for me. The

impressions which crowded thick and fast into my life at this time can

never be erased or forgotten. The wonderful journey, the great stone

building, the dormitories, the beautiful campus, the teachers, and the

dear old library. Oh, the library was best of all.

On my arrival I went to work in the dining-room. It was my duty to fill

the water glasses on the tables before each meal and then to assist

in clearing the tables at the close of each meal and to help in the

washing of the dishes. I also carried coal and water for the kitchen. I

spent one happy year there and I do not think that my teachers during

the nine months that I was under their training and polishing ever

discovered any diamond-like qualities about me except the roughness.

Overtaxed with the work, mother’s health broke and we were forced to

leave. It was a bitter disappointment to me. I, as the oldest at home,

felt that I must try to do something to help care for the rest of the

family. Then came days of darkness and struggle. I could find no work.

Finally a farmer, taking advantage of my desperate condition, hired me

for the munificent salary of six dollars per month. At one time during

this period I walked twenty miles to the city of Erie and hunted for

work as faithfully as I knew how to look for work in a great city, but

found none, and was forced to walk back again disheartened, only to be

told by a penurious relative where I had been staying that “I had not

tried to get work.” I hope God has forgiven him. I believe I have, but

it still hurts when I think of it. Then I walked fifty miles to the

city of Ashtabula, Ohio, stopping at the towns on the way, in some of

which I had acquaintances, and tried to find work, but without avail.

Finally, finding myself in the city friendless, homeless, penniless,

night came on and I crept under a sidewalk hungry and thoroughly

disheartened, and slept. In the morning somewhat rested I walked to a

neighboring town where a cousin of my mother’s resided; there I got a

dinner and a good night’s rest. From there I journeyed back home.

But the darkest day will have its dawning and the longest lane its

turning, and that fall again the way opened and I entered the Old

Waterford Academy at Waterford, Pa. Here I did janitor work the first

year, in the Academy, and earned what extra money I could around the

town by splitting wood and doing odd jobs during my leisure hours. The

second year I obtained the janitorship of the graded school. By dint

of hard work, carrying seven studies each term, I completed the three

years’ course in two years, graduating in 1889. Then I felt that on

account of my mother and sisters I could not remain longer in school,

but must look after them, which I did until the death of my mother and

the marriage of my sisters. During these years I had varied experience,

working at shoveling dirt on the streets of Erie, unloading lumber

barges at the docks, as attendant in the State Hospital for the Insane,

teaching school, driving a team in the lumber woods as a lumber jack,

working three years at printing, two years in a general agency of

fire insurance, as secretary of Young Men’s Christian Association and

physical director of same, and finally, entering the ministry.

After the death of my mother and after someone else had relieved me of

responsibility for the care of my sisters, I felt the need of further

preparation for the work to which I had been called. I felt that I

was too old to attempt a college course, and decided that if it were

possible I would like to take a course in the Moody Bible School at

Chicago. I did not have the money to do this, but felt that some way

would open. God almost miraculously opened a way, and I became director

of the religious and club work for men and boys in a social settlement

in Chicago where the salary was sufficient to aid me in doing this very

well. Thus I was able to graduate from the Moody Bible Institute, the

best school I know of for the training of Christian workers.

I would like to say to any young man or woman, anywhere, I can think of

but two things that need stand in your way of getting a thorough school

training. One is, health so poor that you cannot attain it, or the care

of others which may demand your time and energies to such an extent

that you cannot devote either to the pursuit of knowledge. To such let

me say that there are lessons to be learned under these circumstances

of equal value with the training of the schools, and the curriculum of

no school, college or university can furnish them. Your loss will not

be without its compensation. If you meet the disappointments cheerily,

bravely, and strive to make the most of life and learn your lessons

from the school in which you are ever being trained, the great school

of life, you will grow into a broader, deeper, tenderer, nobler man or

woman.

It is not so much poverty and environment that will keep boys and girls

from an education as it is lack of vision, desire, determination,

perseverance.

I am not at all anxious about the boy or girl who has these qualities.

They will succeed in the great race of life, if upheld by a strong

moral purpose at the back of it all. It is the boy or girl who, having

the advantages, the opportunity, the means for an education, has not

the vision, the desire, the purpose, that needs our sympathy and

anxious thought.

_Burlington, N. C._

RICHES MORE OF A HANDICAP THAN POVERTY

WALTER P. LAWRENCE, A.M., LITT.D., DEAN OF MEN OF ELON COLLEGE

Early in September, 1890, I arrived at Elon College about a week

after the opening of the first session of the College. I had in money

and other resources that I could turn into money less than $100. My

purpose was to stay until my money gave out--perhaps I could get on by

supplementing it with odd jobs until well on into the spring. It was

my ambition to be a teacher in an academy or high school. I felt that

to rub my elbows against college walls a few months, at least, would

eminently satisfy my ideal of preparation.

Well, that was a wonderful $100. It opened doors, revealed vistas,

heightened ideals, increased the tension of life until since the day

I entered college I have lived in a different world. The College was

young--had no traditions, casts or cliques among its membership. As

a subfreshman I was allowed to possess my soul in peace and live my

life as leisurely or as diligently as I pleased. I chose soon after

getting into the college current to live as diligently as possible. I

meant to make the freshman year and the substudies also while my money

lasted. I succeeded. By the time my money was gone--about the first

of April, 1891--a long vista of a complete college course had burst

invitingly before me with “graduation” in letters of fire at the end.

What should I do? I was penniless, and knew no one from whom I could

borrow. I had been reared, the son of a country minister, in a back

section, sometimes called “backwoods,” where life was pure but simple

and easy-going. Everybody was poor, and a college bred man a curiosity.

Having grown to manhood under such conditions, I felt keenly the

struggle now going on between poverty and the newly awakened ambitions

in my life. But there was nothing to do but to accept the inevitable.

The situation, I kept to myself. I felt it a disgrace to be penniless

amongst many who seemed to have abundance; so I kept my troubles to

myself until I was about to leave, when to my surprise, Mr. Tom Strowd,

with whom and his excellent family I had boarded, offered to credit my

board account until the end of the session. Another gentleman, Mr. P.

A. Long, offered to give me a job of carpenter work during vacation.

The results were, I finished the session on the strength of credit with

people, all of whom were strangers to me when I came to the college.

The carpenter work in the summer and of afternoons and Saturdays until

late in the fall, together with more credit on college expenses in

the spring, got me through the sophomore year. The severe strain of

working my way and keeping up my studies threw me into a fever in the

late fall, which lasted several weeks, and it was with difficulty that

I passed my work in college. At commencement, however, I had put the

sophomore year behind me with a fair record, and the burning letters

“graduation” were perceptibly nearer than a year ago, yet I was almost

as near out of debt as then.

This summer I taught school at Cedar Falls, a little manufacturing town

in Randolph County, N. C. While here I fell under the kindly interest

of the wealthiest man of the town, Mr. O. R. Cox, who, after learning

something of how I had made my way thus far, offered to lend me such

sums of money as I should need to get through the next two years. The

remaining two years went smoothly along. I was in good health and

supplemented the loans from Mr. Cox with what I could earn by various

kinds of self-help; for I borrowed as little as possible.

These two last years were filled with work and many gratifications

also, for the literary society and the religious organizations gave me

what honors they had to bestow. I was president of the Y. M. C. A.,

was sent to Y. M. C. A. conferences and conventions; was teacher in

the Sunday School and later superintendent. I represented the literary

society several times, twice at commencement, and other times in public

debates. I was the valedictorian of my class on Commencement Day,

and on the same day was offered a position in the English department,

with privilege to prepare myself for the place by university study. I

have, therefore, supplemented my college course by special study in the

University of North Carolina, Yale, and Oxford.

It is trying and positively discouraging many times for one to have to

make his own way through college. The experience has put the conviction

in me, however, that the young person appearing at the threshold of a

college course is more seriously handicapped if he has too much money

than he who has none at all.

_Elon College, N. C._

THE WILL AND THE WAY

REV. ROY MCCUSKEY, A.B., S.T.B.

I had a great desire for an education. This desire was the outcome

of two strong convictions--that my place in the world’s work was to

be in the ministry of the Gospel; that I could never render the best

service in that capacity without a thorough education. When I was ten

years old my mother was left a widow. Father bequeathed to his wife

and children a noble character, but no estate. I early learned the

lessons of industry and frugality, and these combined with some native

determination, made the venture of securing a college course at the age

of eighteen rather easy. I was not afraid to work, nor to suffer.

I was a stranger to the faculty and student body. Moreover, I was a

stranger to college ways, so my first step was to borrow enough money

to put me through at least part of the first year. I found some janitor

work that year. It helped, but not much. The next summer I worked in

a grocery store, and when the term opened in the fall, I was back

with a little money and plenty of nerve. During the second year more

janitor work occupied my spare hours until the spring when I organized

a boarding club, and remained as manager of that for the next two

years. This partly paid my board, but room rent, tuition, and clothing

were to be provided. Each summer I sought employment. One vacation was

spent in a tin can factory; another in the Y. M. C. A., as an assistant

secretary; another in doing my first preaching in a schoolhouse in

the outskirts of the city of Wheeling. I had to do almost three full

years of preparatory work, and my work was so irregular that I scarcely

had a “class” until my senior year in college. Through the kindness

of the faculty, I was permitted to do some work during vacation, pass

examinations at the fall opening, and receive credits. I thus made my

full course in economics.

The first money which I had borrowed was long overdue, although I had

kept the interest paid. The note called for settlement, so after I had

been in the struggle for four years, I asked for an appointment at the

fall conference of our church and was sent to a circuit that paid $500.

I served it for one year out of school. I felt more than ever desirous

to finish my education, so I made preparations to return to college

the next fall. The officials of the churches which I had been serving

made it possible for me to return to them while carrying the regular

work in my studies. Pastoral work was not demanded, and each week I

traveled something over two hundred miles on the railroad, going to

and from these churches, or rather, the station nearest the churches,

and then walking from five to ten miles and preaching three times on

Sunday. This was hard on the purse and the pulse, so the next year I

asked for churches nearer the college. I got them. A job lot of them

at that--just eight, with an extra preaching place tacked on! What I

lost in railroad mileage, I gained in foot travel, beautiful mountain

scenery, and good atmosphere. In June, 1908, I received the bachelor

of arts degree, and in September of the same year entered Boston

University School of Theology, from which I was graduated in June,

1911. My expenses were met here by preaching in a small church on the

south shore of Cape Cod. With all my working I needed more money than I

could earn, and the only resort was borrowing, which I did from my life

insurance company, and from the board of education of the Methodist

Episcopal Church. In all, I have spent nine full years in college and

seminary work with a fairly good record in studies, and received no

help except from my own labor. Having the will, I made the way.

_Shinnston, W. Va._

KEEP GOOD COMPANY

PROFESSOR M. A. MCLEOD, A.B.

Being the son of an invalid mother and a Confederate soldier who

received a wound that permanently disabled him, I did not attend

school but five months till I was twenty-one years of age. Believing

that education is to agriculture, commerce, society, professions,

government, and Christianity what the sunshine and the rain are to the

vegetable kingdom, and what Christ is to those who believe on Him, I

decided to try to cultivate the mind of myself and as many others as I

could.

When I left home, I had one dollar. “Keep good company, and may God

bless you,” were the words which my mother gave me. By the time I had

secured work, I had spent my dollar, but held on to the advice, which

did me more good than all the gold of California would have done me. I

was willing to do any honest thing to educate myself. I plowed, cooked,

walked four miles to school, worked on Saturdays and during vacation,

drove a wagon, rang bells, studied fifteen hours every twenty-four, and

taught school.

_Broadway, N. C._

THE DEMOCRACY OF A COLLEGE

HON. EDWIN G. MOON, PH.B., B.L.

I finished preparatory school in June, 1891, and was in debt. I taught

a district school during the following season, paid the debt, and then

taught another year in the preparatory itself. In the fall of 1893 I

had accumulated about $150.

I had previously decided to enter the University as soon as I could,

and in September I went to Iowa City with what cash I had and became a

freshman. At that time I did not know how I should be able to sustain

myself during the year, but proposed to remain there as long as I

could and not to leave until I was compelled to do so by physical

necessities. In those days board was a good deal cheaper than now, and

clubs furnished the necessaries of life for $2.50 a week and the room

cost us $6 a month, which sum was divided between myself and room-mate.

Along toward Christmas the necessity of purchasing a number of things

that I could not figure on before, in the way of clothing and supplies,

made it obvious that my funds would be exhausted long before the spring

vacation of my freshman year. I had previously been looking around for

a place to earn part of my expenses and finally secured a job as a

waiter at a restaurant. In this manner I cut off the weekly expense for

meals, as my meals were furnished at the restaurant as compensation for

my services. Aside from this my expenses remained the same.

I finished that year with some money to spare and invested something

in an outfit to enable me to earn money in the sale of stereoscopic

views. The summer of 1893 was exceeding dry and times were very hard

and this venture proved an expensive failure. At the end of three weeks

from the time I started my money was gone and I had to get back home

and start into something else. I finally got a job of looking after the

insane patients at the Poor Farm at $25 a month and went back to the

University with about $50. The second year was the hardest I had at the

University, and, in fact, I had to borrow $100, which I secured from an

old gentleman to whom I was a stranger, but to whom I was recommended

by several students.

I had realized the necessity, from previous experience, of looking

ahead for employment, and so when the spring vacation came I had got a

job in the University library which I think paid me $2.00 a day, and in

addition thereto I was janitor for the Y. M. C. A. building and also

for one of the churches. The janitor work I did at night. This work

I carried through the summer, managing still to do the work at the

restaurant, which was light during the summer, but which paid for my

meals. This gave me ample funds to begin my junior year. In the fall of

that year I found an opportunity to write editorials for a local paper,

which paid me $5.00 a week, so that I was able to quit the restaurant

work. I was able to pay something on the loan that year, although not

very much. This work on the newspaper I continued as long as I was in

the University and it finally was the means of my finishing there in

1897.

I was a little in debt when I finished the course, but had another year

yet in school before I could be admitted to the bar. I concluded to go

to the city where I could get some business experience in a law office

aside from training in school. So I went to Chicago and got a job in

a law office at $5.00 a week, and attended a night school. Previous

experience had taught me that the bare necessities of life do not cost

so very much. I refunded the loan that I had secured while at the

University and got $50 more. By securing a room that was large enough

for three of us at Chicago, and which in addition had an alcove with

a gas stove in it, where we could prepare part of our meals, I found

living inexpensive.

After finishing the law school there, I remained a year working in a

law office during the day and in the Crerar Library at night, until I

had sufficient funds to pay all of my debts and to come back to Iowa

and pay a few months’ rent for an office. I began business in my

present location in that manner and have continued there ever since.

In 1906 I went to the State Senate as a representative of this

district, and there found as colleagues five boys whom I had known

at the University. Two of them had supported themselves while at the

University by work similar to mine. One of them was janitor of a

church and the other had been a waiter at a restaurant. I cannot say

that I regard the experience as involving any great hardship. I never

felt at any time, while I was at the University, that this employment

which was obligatory was of any disadvantage to me, except that it

took more time than I wished to devote to work. My experience is that

there is more of a democratic spirit in universities and colleges than

is found elsewhere in the world. Such work as I did could have been

done by any able-bodied student, and I am quite certain it never would

prove disadvantageous to his social standing. I believe that if I had

it to do over again I could do the same thing to better advantage.

While expenses are now higher than they were, compensation for labor

is also a good deal higher and employment is much more easily found

than during the years from 1893 to 1897. The question as to whether a

collegiate education is available to every young man in this country

I think is entirely dependent upon the question as to whether it is

desired. I have no doubt that the experiences of many whom I knew at

the University, which experiences were similar to mine, could be

duplicated in almost any of the larger institutions of the country.

_Ottumwa, Iowa._

OBEYING THE CALL

REV. J. F. MORGAN, A.B.

When I was about fifteen years of age I was converted and joined Big

Oak Christian Church in Moore County, North Carolina. At the age of

about seventeen I felt the divine call into the gospel ministry. I

made known to the Lord my willingness to obey the heavenly vision.

But I could not see how I could prepare myself for so great a work as

I did not have any money. Neither was my father able to help me in a

financial way. I was then working at public work and the money that

I earned was being used to help support the large family to which I

belonged, there being nine boys and four girls in our family.

However, I told my father of my desires and how that I desired to

become a preacher some day. He told me that if I could make my own way

through school he would let me go then, even though I had not reached

the age of my freedom. I appreciated this kindness of my father very

much. He was always good to us boys, and so was mother. But they were

poor and I knew they needed my wages, at least until I was twenty-one.

I knew I was no better than my other brothers, and I also knew that my

father was not able to treat us all so nicely as to let us quit working

for him before we were twenty-one years old. Hence I felt it best to

work on with him until I reached that age, which I did.

On my twenty-first birthday the “boss man” paid me off and I carried

the money to my father and gave it to him. I then began to work for

myself and to plan to go to school. I worked at a shingle mill for two

months, saving in that time about $30.00. I then left home for school.

I had about fifteen dollars when I got to the first school I attended

which was Why Not Academy in Randolph County, N. C., it being conducted

at that time by Professor G. F. Garner. Here I kept “bachelor’s hall,”

doing my own cooking and cutting wood on Saturdays to help defray my

expenses.

While here I began to correspond with the President of Elon College,

Elon College, N. C. This institution belongs to my own denomination

and I decided that I wanted to study there. I had no money with which

to pay my expenses, but I had some good friends who loaned me enough

money to start to college on. So I entered Elon College. I was timid,

dull, and embarrassed, but I know God had called me to a great work and

that call included a preparation. I was willing to make the sacrifice.

Those things with which I busied myself in the afternoons were chopping

wood, cutting corn, and cleaning off the town cemetery. I kept up this

work for the first year. The second year my conference licensed me to

preach and I was called as pastor of two churches. After this I made my

way through college by doing pastoral work. It was hard on me, but I

believe it was God’s way of helping me through college.

My college career was one of hard work and much toil. In fact it was a

miracle that I got through at all. And I am convinced that if a man has

a noble purpose prompting him to strive for an education, he can get it.

_Elon College, N. C._

DETERMINATION AND STEADFASTNESS WINS.

J. R. MOSLEY, L.I., B.S., M.S., PH.D.

My observation and experience has been that anyone who is anxious

enough for a knowledge and culture to be willing to sacrifice false

pride, and do well whatever his hands find to do that needs doing, can

easily go through college, and even take advanced university training.

It is not so much a question of money as desire, determination and

steadfastness. The only exception is where one is bound by higher

duties, such as caring for parents, or any call from the Divine that is

direct and immediate.

When I started to college in the fall of 1889, I only had, of my own

making, a little more than enough money to buy necessary clothing and

railroad fare from Statesville, N. C., to Nashville, Tenn. I had stood

the competitive examination for a scholarship at Peabody College for

Teachers and that paid two hundred dollars a year in addition to free

tuition.

Major Finger, who was then Superintendent of Education for North

Carolina, wrote me that while others had won the scholarships open to

North Carolina for that year, I was prepared to enter the sophomore

class at Peabody, and that if I would pay my expenses one year, he

would, upon the recommendation of the President, appoint me to a

scholarship which would be good for two years. When mother saw my heart

was set on going to college, she said, “Rufus shall go if we have to

sell the creek field.” As I was the fourth child of a family of eight

children, and as we were not through paying for the whole farm, I could

not accept such a sacrifice.

When I told Mr. R. G. Franklin of Elkin, N. C., of Major Finger’s

offer, he said he would be one of three men to lend $50.00 each.

Col. A. B. Galoway of Elkin, and Mr. James Bates, near Capps Mill,

joined him in furnishing the strictly necessary money for the first

year. Father stood my security, and he and Col. Galoway and Mr. Bates

have gone where such unselfish goodness and generous faith are fully

appreciated and rewarded. Only Mr. Franklin lives for me to thank and

bless for his faith and helping hand when both were so much needed. The

good mother still lives, and has increasing joy and hope in life, and

all of her children rise up and call her blessed.

During the first year at Peabody we had a short vacation in February,

and I went out as an experimental book agent. I found that as trying

as it was on the agent as well as the people, I could make money as

a canvasser. Sometime in the spring Dr. Payne, President of Peabody,

recommended me for a scholarship, and Major Finger gave me the

appointment. This I held for two years until I received my bachelor’s

degree. The summer vacations were all employed in canvassing or

collecting, and I became a good enough collector for a publishing house

at Nashville to pay me $70.00 a month and expenses. Apart from my

strict loyalty to my employer and hard work, I regret this part of my

life, for I have seen for a long time that the selling of even Bibles

to the poor at high prices on the seductive installment plan, is a

form of business that is not righteous enough even to use as a means

for getting an education. As the true light breaks upon us, we can do

nothing that is not necessary, right and beneficent.

During the first three years at Nashville, I received on scholarship,

made by summer work and saved enough money to pay back all I had

borrowed for the first year and to take one year’s graduate work at

Nashville. My expenses had been considerably increased on account

of rather poor general health and the loss of time and expense of

three spells of sickness while I was canvassing or collecting. Being

prominent in college life, and having too much of the pride for the

finest and most sensible economy, also caused my expenses to be more

than were strictly necessary. Indeed false pride has been my expensive

weakness and has stood most in the way of a life in strict harmony

with reason, love and the spirit of truth.

Before I had taken my master’s degree at Nashville, I was offered

a fellowship in the Wharton School of Finance of the University of

Pennsylvania, that paid $160.00 a year, the necessary university

expenses. But I had my heart set on going to the University of

Chicago. President Harper told that they would do as well by me as the

University of Pennsylvania, so I entered there as a graduate student

in 1893, the year of the World’s Fair at Chicago. I got to see much of

the exposition during its last month without harm to my class work. I

was given work as an assistant in the library, which called for cutting

leaves of new books and magazines, putting the library stamp upon

them, and carrying them to the departmental libraries. I was also an

assistant in one of the departmental libraries. A dear college friend

and professor at Nashville, Mr. A. P. Bourland, gave me such aid as

was necessary until I received a fellowship that paid me $320.00 a

year. The fellowship was awarded by Professor Harry Pratt Judson, now

the president of the University. A short time after receiving this

fellowship I was offered a professorship at Mercer University, Macon,

Georgia, and the way was open for me to continue my education as a

teacher and as a student as long as I cared. For two years it was

arranged for me to teach at Mercer half of the year and spend the other

at the University of Chicago, where I taught one class and continued

my work as a student. The third year I taught six months at Mercer and

spent the spring semester at Heidelberg, Germany. The following year

I taught about seven months at Mercer, and went to Harvard for the

closing lectures of the spring term and for the summer work.

Before the sixth year of my work at Mercer had closed, I was told by

Chancellor Hill of the University of Georgia, that with my consent

he would go before the board of trustees and recommend the creation

of a new chair, the character of which would be determined largely

by preferences, and he would recommend me to fill it. As inviting as

it was I declined the generous offer, and in a short time resigned

my position at Mercer for the quest of health, truth and the larger

freedom along the lines of study and activity.

_Macon, Georgia._

MAKING ONESELF USEFUL

REV. W. J. NELSON, B.A., M.A., TH.M., TH.D., PH.D.

I was the oldest of a large family of children. My father had no

income, save what he made on a small farm, and a little corn, flour,

meat and other produce with a dollar now and then, which he received

for full time pastoring two or three churches. The district schools

where we lived were poorly equipped and managed, and ran only a few

months each year. Until I was thirteen years old I got the best these

schools could give. But with a growing family without a corresponding

growth in my father’s income, at thirteen, to aid in the support of the

family, I was forced to give up my schooling and do mill work when I

was not working on the farm.

All I had learned up to that time was reading, writing and a little

arithmetic. Since the nature of my work did not require that I keep

up my writing and arithmetic, I soon forgot both. But the thirst to

know about things and people caused me to read all my spare time. My

father himself was a college-trained man. He worked hard on the farm

or elsewhere all the week and preached every Sunday, never faltering

in spirit. But sometimes he would fail in strength of body. Though

he never complained, I could often see that hurt look on his face.

This was caused by the financial depression which followed Cleveland’s

administration, the covetousness of the people he served and other

circumstances, which were depriving him of giving his children the

educational advantages enjoyed by the children of those whom he served.

All this time I was longing for an education, and saw the disadvantage

to which the lack of it was placing me. My father would each year

promise me that the next year I could go to school. But when the time

came I would have to stay and work and let the younger children go or

let a note on a new schoolhouse, a new church house or Howard College,

at Birmingham, Ala., be paid. The fortitude of my father, that look on

his face, the rainbow promise that some day I should even go to Howard

College, and the thought that I was helping him care for the others and

keep my sisters and younger brothers in school, made it easier for me.

But many times I bathed my pillow with tears till the tired body forced

sleep, all because I could not go to school like my boy companions.

Thus I toiled on until I was nearly eighteen years old. My body was

already stooping with toil, my hands hard and horny. I had forgotten

how to write. I knew not how to figure, except a little “in my head.”

But still I read. This only increased my thirst for an education. At

last the promised rainbow now appeared just ahead. Next year I was

going back to school. And I was to stay there till I had finished at

Howard College. But again my father failed me because others failed

him. I did not get to go. This was my severest disappointment, and but

for a move my father made it would have been almost unbearable.

This time he resolved to sell his little home and go West to try life

all over again. We moved to Texas into a frontier section where there

were not even at that time the small school advantages back in Alabama.

It took all the little home brought to get us out West. We had to

start again from the very bottom. The second year my father bought a

piece of undeveloped land. For five years I stayed with him, helping

him to make sure a home for him, mother and the children. His health

was fast breaking by this time. For the first three years there was no

opportunity for schooling. I was by that time twenty-one years old, too

old for free tuition, and I had no money.

The winter of the fourth year I had one month of a breathing spell

which brought to me an opportunity. My father told me of six acres of

very fine land he wished opened and if I could get it cleared I might

have all it made. Meantime the trustees of a little district school

two miles away needed some wood for the school and offered to take it

as tuition. So here was my chance. During the day I went to school,

furnishing wood for tuition. After school hours and at night, by the

light from burning brush, I cleared the land. It made three bales of

cotton, the proceeds of which I saved for my future education. The next

year I hired to my father for ten dollars a month and my board. This

money I also added to my schooling fund. The following winter I got

another month schooling at the little district school, again furnishing

wood in payment for tuition. I again hired to my father for twelve

dollars and fifty cents a month, saving every cent I could.

Things were now getting easier at home. Our new home was paid for.

The land was very fertile. My father’s health was much better. Many

settlers were coming in. A good district school was being developed.

Most of my brothers and sisters were getting the free schooling. Some

of my older sisters were being sent away to school. I was now nearly

twenty-three. I had taken advantage of what I had. The little school

where I had gone for a month each of the two preceding winters was not

a graded school. This had made it a little less embarrassing for me.

For fear the teacher would hold me back, I had carried a copy-book

in my pocket without his knowledge, that I might the sooner learn to

make the letters of the alphabet. I had learned how to use figures

up to common fractions and how to spell a few simple words. With the

exception of these two months’ schooling it had now been about ten

years since I left the schoolroom, ten years of the best part of my

life for acquiring an education--from thirteen to twenty-three. But

after this added waiting and hoping of a little over five more years,

my rainbow again appeared as from a sudden burst of sunlight on a

receding cloud.

My chance had at last come and I was going to use it. It came in this

fashion: It was one March day just after the noon hour I had started

to the field, when there came to me a letter from the principal of a

boarding school which had both a graded and high school department.

He wanted someone to live with him and do his chores for board while

attending the school. The crop was started, and, of course, to leave at

this time would disconcert my father and his plans for the year. But

there were only a little over two more school months in that session.

And if I would go then I could have the place as long as I wished it.

If not, someone else might take it and my chance would be gone. My

father saw the opportunity for me and acquiesced.

With the money I had saved and this opportunity to work for my board, I

now left home and began my schooling in earnest. I entered this school

in the low sixth grade. However, having a strong body and willing

mind, I carried eight studies while the others carried only four. In

the two remaining months of that session and the two following years

I completed the high school course. I graduated with honors, was

valedictorian, and received the faculty medal for the highest grades

made in school my senior year. The week following the close of school

I passed an examination for a county teacher’s certificate.

But to do all this I had to work. For my board in that home, I had all

the wood to cut, water to draw, fires to make, garden and yard to keep,

horses and cow to care for, fences, etc., to repair and many other odds

and ends to do. In order to prepare my school work I did not retire

till ten and arose again at three or four, getting only from five to

six hours’ sleep out of the twenty-four.

There is one little incident connected with my stay in this school that

might be worth mentioning, as it shows how I met one of the greatest

difficulties which a young man just entering school at my age has to

meet. As I have said, I entered this school at the age of twenty-three

in the low sixth grade. Those in my classes were children about twelve

and thirteen years old. You can imagine how I felt, a big awkward

young man twenty-three years old in classes composed mostly of little

children from ten to twelve years younger. But my embarrassment was

intensified when one day a little twelve-year-old girl made fun of the

way I was trying to work an example in common fractions. I felt hurt;

I closed my book and quietly walked to my seat. A cousin of mine was

teaching the class. She caught the look on my face and saw that it was

not that of rebellion, but that I was only hurt, embarrassed, and was

trying to conquer. I shall never forget the kind look she gave me,

as she said, “Will, you are excused, if you wish to go.” Her remark

was not only a rebuke to that member of the class, but it helped me

to conquer. I took my books and went to my room resolved to show this

little girl that, “He laughs best who laughs last.” And I did. When I

started she was almost a grade in advance of me. But I finished one

year ahead of her with honors while she hardly got through a year later.

I had been working heretofore during the summer vacation months that I

might be able to return to school each winter. But as I was to teach

the coming winter, I spent the summer studying at the North Texas State

Normal, Denton, Texas. To do this, I now for the first time borrowed

money, fifty dollars, from a friend of mine, a banker, who had once

struggled for his education. He had been watching me and gladly came

to my help and voluntarily offered all the money I needed. With this

fifty dollars I was able to take the summer normal course. At the close

of it I passed an examination for a state teacher’s certificate which

entitled me to teach in any of the public schools in the State.

On returning home I was given the home school where four years before I

had learned to figure and write, paying for my tuition with wood. The

salary was forty dollars per month and the length of session was now

six months. This seemed like a big salary to one who had never before

received more than twelve dollars and fifty cents per month. But it

was not the salary, it was the opportunity that I now saw further

to pursue my studies and to instill something of the same spirit and

enthusiasm in others, that now meant so much to me.

I had once hoped for no more than the mere knowledge of how to read

and write and figure, which this little district school had in former

days given me. But with that knowledge had come a broader vision and

the ability and opportunity to pursue that vision--that of getting a

high school education. And now I had reached that goal, had gone to the

state normal and held from the State a recognition of the right and

ability to pursue this still greater vision of giving knowledge and

inspiration to others, how could I ever wish or hope for more?

But it chanced that that very summer my rainbow again moved out just

ahead of me. I attended a district Baptist association. Dr. S. P.

Brooks, president of Baylor University, was there and made a speech

on education. Here I heard how he had once been a section hand on a

railroad. And now he was the president of a university, and with a

great heart was telling me and others how we needed that college and

how it really needed us as instruments through which to bless the

world. Oh! That was almost another world’s message to me. My vision

again broadened. The rainbow of my boyhood days again appeared.

I did not get to talk to this man. I was half-way afraid of him or

revered him. But I did not need to talk to him. I had heard him and

he had inspired me. I returned to my home with new hopes and soon

formed new plans. I would work hard till the opening of my school to

pay off the fifty dollars I had borrowed. Then I would save all that

I made teaching that session that I might go to college the next.

Yes, I wanted to be faithful to my former vision and purpose to teach

that school. But at the same time I would make it a stepping stone to

something higher.

But I was prevented from doing this. Just about two weeks before my

school was to open, a preacher from a near town came to me and asked

me if I wanted to go to Baylor University. I readily told him I did.

“Would you go?” he asked. I replied, “I would if I could.” But that

seemed impossible. I had no money. My father could not help me. And,

besides, I was under obligation to teach that school. He offered to

help overcome all these difficulties if I would only go. I afterward

saw that his main purpose was to see if I wanted to go, and would if I

could.

He himself had worked his way through Mississippi College and the

Seminary. Without my knowledge, he and his church had watched my

struggle for an education. Ofttimes in former days I had sold him and

other members of that church, not knowing who they were at the time,

many cords of wood and watermelons to help pay my way in school. I had

now stopped and was going to teach. They were afraid this would mean

the end of my own school days. Thus he came in behalf of his church

to ask me to go on at once to college. If I would do so they would

furnish me ten dollars per month. I saw the trustees of the school I

had contracted to teach. They were unselfish and sympathetic toward me.

Glad that I had this opportunity, they released me on condition that I

help secure a teacher in my place. This was easily and satisfactorily

done. I renewed the note at the bank, and with the money I had made

since my return from the Normal and the first ten dollars from that

church I made preparation, and bought my ticket for Waco, Texas, to

enter Baylor University. After I had bought my ticket I had but fifteen

dollars. I felt that if I could only get there I could work for my

board, and with the promised ten dollars a month I could pay all my

other expenses.

When I reached college there was but one person in all that city,

student body and faculty, that I had ever before seen--Dr. Brooks. And

he had never before met me. I could not get there till the night before

matriculation began. Then I could find no opening or home where I could

work for my board. They had all been taken. Dr. Brooks saw my anxiety

and disappointment. He encouraged me to hope and hang on. And I did.

I made arrangements with a students’ club for a month’s board,

matriculated as subfreshman and got down to work. I saw that Dr. Brooks

was very busy. Therefore I never went to him with my troubles. But he

would sometimes overtake me on the campus or call for me to come to

his office and would encourage me. Once while on a trip somebody sent

by him fifteen dollars to help me hold on. I do not now know where

it came from. I was able also to get five dollars per month from a

students’ aid fund. I have often felt that without this it would have

been impossible for me to stay. For at the end of the first month there

was still no place open for me to work. And so it was from time to time

for the first year. When I would hear of and go to see a place someone

was just ahead of me. Then once or twice the church would fail to send

me the ten dollars. How I ever stayed out that first year I can hardly

realize. It seems like a nightmare at times as I look back on it.

I had no money to renew my worn-out clothes. And in those days I became

an artist with a needle. I could put as nice a patch on the elbow of

my coat sleeve and elsewhere as any woman. And when the feet of my

socks would no longer hold darning, I would cut them off and sew two

legs together, sew up one end, and wear them that way. And at the wash

tub, there was not in all the South a black mammy that could beat

me. I bought me a set of smoothing irons and with the exception of

my collars and occasionally a shirt I ironed all my clothes. I also

pressed my coat and trousers. And by pressing now and then for others I

would bring a twenty-five cent piece to my depleted purse. But there

were homesickness and heart aches. There was no going home Christmas

and other vacations. And more than once my hope was almost gone. And

ofttimes when my room-mate had gone to sleep I would slip away into the

darkness to the old Baptist Tabernacle, that once stood where the First

Baptist Church now stands, and pray till far into the night for God to

help me hold on and to open up some way. I well remember one morning

after a night of wrestling, my room-mate approached me and asked if I

needed any money, saying that his parents had sent him more than was

necessary for his immediate needs. I told him my condition. He gladly

lent me enough to pay up my board for another month.

This ended my first year. The delayed check from the church enabled

me to return home, where I spent the summer at hard work. I had had

a taste of college life. I had also tried my mettle, and was now

determined to finish. The church again promised to continue its help.

Therefore, I came back that fall, but with a more hopeful outlook.

Soon after my return I found a good home three miles out from the

college where I could work for my board, and also some clerical work.

I notified the church that I could get along without their help,

thanking them for what they had done for me and asking that they help

someone else as they had me. This they did. The nature of the work I

did in this home was very much like that I did while in high school. I

continued to work here for three years.

After staying in this home a year and at the close of my freshman

year, the pastor of the East Waco Church, where I worshiped and taught

an adult Bible class, had to give up his work because of ill health.

Though I had never been ordained, but had tried to preach a few times,

the church asked that I supply the pulpit till they could get a pastor.

I agreed to do so. They paid me ten dollars per Sunday for my service,

which lasted for six months. But I continued working for my board,

fearing to give up the place lest somebody else would have it when I

got through with the church. Besides, by doing this, and with that

forty dollars per month for six months, I was able to pay the fifty

dollars I owed the bank, provide myself with some necessary things,

continue my college work during the summer term and have enough to

return for my sophomore year.

However, all this work was not done without some embarrassment,

especially at first. This family for whom I worked were in good

circumstances financially and were members of that church. Ofttimes

on Sunday morning after I had done their chores, dressed in my blue

“Carhartt” overalls, I would hitch their horse to the carriage for them

to go to church. Then I would put on my best clothes and go and get in

the pulpit and preach to them. But these proved to be some of the best

friends I ever had.

Thus, by means of plenty of hard work, it was made easier for me to

stay in college. When I ceased my service for the East Waco Church I

was called to serve a small suburban church for one-half time for ten

dollars per month. After a while they increased this to fifteen. In my

junior year I was called to another church, sixty miles out from Waco,

for the other two Sundays at twenty-five dollars per month. At the

close of my junior year I gave up working for my board, devoting all my

energies to my college and church work. Also at the close of my junior

year I was awarded the first holder of the M. H. Wolfe scholarship of

two hundred and fifty dollars to be used during my senior year. During

this year I had smooth sailing.

At the close of my senior year I was awarded the E. L. Marston

scholarship of two hundred and fifty dollars to Brown University,

Providence, R. I. I again spent my summer working hard and then

borrowed two hundred dollars that I might supplement this scholarship

and go to Brown for my A.M. work. I had become so accustomed to

working during both school and vacation that I might stay in school,

I continued to do so while in Brown and on through my seminary year.

After taking my A.M., I returned to Brown for a second year of

postgraduate work. This last year I made an average of ninety-five

dollars per month while also carrying on my university studies.

The next year I went to the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary,

Louisville, Ky. The first year I was there I finished the Th.M. degree,

and pastored a half-time church outside of Louisville. I returned to

the Seminary a second year, completed the class work and stood the

examination for the postgraduate Th.D. course. I expect later to submit

my thesis for that degree.

Through it all I got a full share of college and seminary life and

spirit. The knowledge, inspiration and visions of life were but a part

of what I got. There were also close friendships and insight into human

nature. I also had my part of college fun and got my share of class and

student honors. It was not necessary to be, as some may think, a mere

grind.

Thus I have told you the story of how I got my education. I was

twenty-three when I left home to begin in the sixth grade. I was

thirty-three the day before I received my Th.M. degree from the

Seminary. And one year later I left the schoolroom with a younger

spirit, a broader vision, better equipped to continue my place in the

service of humanity and God.

During it all I borrowed only two hundred and fifty dollars. At the end

I had paid this back and paid for fifty acres of land. My father never

helped me a cent. He was not able at first. But he did appreciate my

struggle, and late in my college course came to me and said that he

was in better circumstances and if I ever got to where I could not go

myself to let him know. I never got to that place. He asked for the

pleasure of making me a present of my first college diploma. I gladly

gave him this pleasure. The departure of that hurt and disappointed

look on his face, in knowing that I was somehow getting what he wanted

me to have, has repaid me a thousand times for all the struggles I have

had to make unsupported by him.

You may think that my being a minister and the salary from preaching

made it easier for me than it would be for others. But this is not

necessarily true. For if you will note, the work that I did was the

work that anyone can do and it was up to and through my high school,

subfreshman and freshman years in college that I had such a hard

struggle. And it was after this time that I ever received a cent for

preaching. Moreover, for two years of my time at Baylor I had to

pay my tuition, one year by working in the Library, the other with

a scholarship. And at Brown University no free tuition is given;

preachers and all pay alike.

There is a college education for every man. And all that is needed

for the acquiring of such is an uncompromising desire and purpose and

strength of body and mind.

_Rock Hill, S. C._

A FAITH “DIVINELY SIMPLE”

REV. S. F. NICKS, A.B.

Orange County, North Carolina, was my native home, where I was reared

on the farm in a home of limited means. There were eight of us children

who grew to manhood and womanhood in the old home.

Our advantages for an education were unusually poor, being only that of

the old free school which at the time ran from two to three months in

the year and ofttimes we did not get to attend all the time. That old

free school was all that my brothers and sisters ever had the privilege

of attending. Father provided a good honest living for the home, but

was not able to send his children away to school.

I was not willing to stop with only the advantage that little school

afforded. At twenty-one I had fifty-four dollars, and with that I

entered the Siler City high school and remained there for three

five-month terms. While there I did my own cooking, cut wood, made

fires and swept the academy for my tuition. I then taught one session

of public school at $20 per month. I then entered the Caldwell

Institute of Orange County, N. C., and was in school there two years.

The first year I boarded with a widow and did enough work to pay my

board and received my tuition there for work that I did in securing

students.

In the fall of 1899 I entered Trinity College, where I remained four

years, graduating in the spring of 1903. While in college the work that

I did for paying expenses was mostly during vacation. By this time I

had become quite a successful salesman. I traveled every vacation,

selling books, pictures, etc. The goods that I handled were always of

a helpful nature, and as an evidence of this fact I traveled the same

territory for five different summers. Every summer I made enough to

pay my expenses in college the following session, and when I graduated

I was in better circumstances financially than when I entered. The

last summer I was promoted as general agent for books and had several

sub-agents working under me.

Now I have briefly outlined how I worked my way through high school

and college, while there are many other ways not mentioned in which I

earned small amounts, such as cutting hair, mending shoes and cleaning

clothes, I desire to say that the working my way was not all; I can

remember how well I managed--making a little go a long way; learning

the value of a dollar and knowing when and how to spend it to the best

advantage. All this is due to my keeping a book account of all my

expenses. I kept an itemized account of everything, even to my postage

stamps.

I shall never forget the kind words of encouragement from Dr. W. P. Few

and others while I was in college. Dr. Few, now president of Trinity

College, is truly a friend to a poor boy.

In conclusion I desire to say that my working and managing my way

through school has been of untold value to me in other ways. I have

never had work that paid any fancy salary, but have always been able to

lay aside a little every year. The Giver of all has helped me to manage

that little so that it continually grows and multiplies and shall ever

be dedicated to the Master’s use.

_Milton, N. C._

ONE WHO KNOWS IT CAN BE DONE

Perhaps during no other period of civilized history is the excuse for

a boy’s not obtaining at least a college education so unfounded and

unacceptable, to those of us who have traveled this very same road, as

it is to-day. About us everywhere are great schools and institutions

of learning with their various departments supported by State and

individual endowments, eliminating the once felt great college expense,

and placing the best within the reach of us all.

This fact, however, is not apparent to everyone, and it is for this

reason the writer has been induced to say just a word of encouragement

to the boys on the farm and to those who have seen a very little of

life.

First of all, allow him to assure you that “no one knows the

possibilities of a newly born babe,” and one must remember that our

greatest statesmen and thinkers at one time could scarcely read, as

well as that the most famous musicians once knew not the musical scale.

Just so it is with the boy in the remotest district of the country. He

may have the making of a Lincoln or be able to rise to the position

of a King. Therefore, we see, “Everyone is the architect of his own

fortune,” and the only three necessary requisites are health, strength,

and a sound mind.

It has been the writer’s great pleasure to have lived in every walk of

life from the boy on the farm to one in the greatest cities of both the

United States and Europe and it is not through hearing or fancy, but

with personal authority he can speak.

There is a greater appreciation for the working college boy to-day

than ever before. Even the greater institutions like the University of

Chicago, Illinois, and Wisconsin, as well as all the State Universities

of the South, have in their enrollments not only boys who are earning

their way, but boys who are leading their classes and represent the

strongest types of young manhood we know. One almost comes to feel

that, though the path is a bit more rugged, self-help develops in

the college boy, as in the football player, a keener sense of duty;

gives to him a firmer confidence, and leaves no obstacles that he by

constant, honest effort cannot surmount.

Oh! what the writer would have given to have known this when he was

a boy! He was reared on a farm and had very few of the opportunities

enjoyed by the boys in the remotest districts of the country to-day.

There must have been an inborn instinct to try for an education,

because no forms of business or other like inducements ever claimed any

part of his mind. He remained on the farm till he was seventeen years

of age, going three months to school in the summer and doing what he

could with his books himself at odd times. Finally his brother gave him

a cotton patch. The cotton, when sold, netted him $85. With this money

he went away to a boarding high school where he came in contact, for

the first time, with teachers of some influence and moral strength.

He remained at this school five months and had to return to the farm

because of no more money.

From the farm he went to work in a general store, thinking perhaps this

was a quicker and shorter way, but found this a difficult task, too,

to save any money ahead because of such small wages. All this time

there was an ever increasing desire to go away to school, “money or

no money,” but lack of experience made him afraid. From the store he

went out from town to town as a picture agent and it was here perhaps

that a bit of self-confidence was first gained. All this time the one

purpose and desire was to save money for college, but sales were not

successful enough to warrant his going into what seemed impossible

to the inexperienced mind. Finally, one day he came in tired out and

discouraged feeling that to be a picture man was to be of little force

in the world. He clearly saw that, first of all, one must be educated.

Acting upon this conclusion he boarded a train for the State University

of Louisiana, which was to open in ten days. He first set about

finding out whether boys without money could earn their way by work.

He told the President that all the money he had was $65, but that he

had come there determined to enter school. This determined spirit made

the President offer some encouragement by advising the young student

to register and try. He did far more than this by saying he would give

the boy the name of a newspaper editor who wanted some boy to assist in

managing the circulation of his paper.

With this small spark of hope, the young student settled down to

study and to try to meet the entrance examination, which he himself

thought he could not pass. The necessary “mark” was made to enter the

subfreshman department, however, and he was finally enrolled and became

one of the boys.

He worked every afternoon in this newspaper office, seeing that the

papers were delivered promptly, collected for the paper and solicited

new subscriptions. Thus he made his expenses for the entire year. This

did a great deal to encourage him. After spending the following summer

looking after the horticultural gardens, he returned the next session

and carried papers as an ordinary newsboy, and passed his freshman year.

After this year a scholarship was granted him by the University, which

made his expenses possible during his sophomore year. During his junior

and senior years he assisted in the zoölogical laboratories at the

University and taught the sciences at the city high school, which more

than paid his expenses to graduation.

During his summers he worked as “tick agent” for the Bureau of Animal

Industry, Washington, D. C., and in this way saved sufficient money to

begin a medical course, which he saw no chance of completing at the

time. Luck came his way, however, and he met every obstacle for two

years and finally borrowed money from a friend to finish his medical

course.

One finds a course in medicine somewhat more difficult to work through

than a college course, but after one has gone through college these

difficulties are easily met.

Finally, allow him to say that all any boy needs to obtain an education

is money enough to pay his railroad fare to the school he wishes to

attend; after he reaches there, if he is in earnest, someone will show

him a way.

The writer does not wish to disclose his name for personal reasons,

but anyone interested can get his address from the author of “College

Men without Money,” and letters written to him concerning how to work

through school will be answered with pleasure.

_Mississippi._

DIFFICULTY AND WILLINGNESS ARE ENEMIES

REV. C. H. ROWLAND, A.B., M.A., D.D.

On the 10th day of September, 1895, I arrived at Elon College to do

five years’ work in order to receive a diploma from that institution.

It seemed like an impossible task. A well-worn trunk held my

belongings, which consisted of a preacher’s coat of long standing. My

purse contained the whole amount of six dollars and seventy-five cents.

It might be of interest to say that I was nearing my twenty-seventh

birthday, and had been a licensed preacher for four years. There is no

need to tell why I was at college without money, for I have already

said, that I was a preacher, and the Scriptures say, “Not many wise men

after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called.”

It was Dr. Smith Baker, of Maine, who said, “In the ministerial

profession, four-fifths of the ministers worked their own way by

doing all kinds of work from sawing wood to teaching school.” I was

not one of the class who sawed wood, neither did I teach school, but

I preached, just simply preached. I have not asked those who heard

me what _they_ called it, but _I_ called it “preaching.” I always

believed that if a young man had brains and energy he could obtain

an education without much help from anyone but God. My trouble was, I

wanted enough money before I went to college to “put me through.” I

suppose, if I had been so favored with money, I would not have been

worth “putting through.”

That was a ride never to be forgotten on that September morning, when

I left my home to drive thirteen miles to Raleigh, N. C., to take the

train for Elon College. A widowed mother at home--practically no money

in my pocket, and five years’ work to be done in college. My little

bark was on a stormy sea, but I had decided to use the oars with all

my might, and if I went down I would be breasting the storm. If it had

not been for the prayers and sacrifices of a Christian mother, and the

encouragement of a devoted cousin, who lived with us, I should have

failed. That same mother is helping her boy to-day by her prayers,

although she has passed her four score years, and has been an invalid

for many years. When I arrived in Raleigh, I was met on the street by

an uncle, and he asked, “Where are you going?” I said, “I am going to

Elon College.” He turned and walked with me down the street until he

came to a drug store, and then he said, “Come in here for I want to

give you something.” We went in, and he asked for a box of soap, and

he purchased a box containing three bars of soap. He had it wrapped

nicely, and we walked out, and then he said, “I want to give you this

for service and a symbol; keep yourself clean.” I do not know which he

thought I needed the most, the soap or the advice, but I know that both

were timely, and I feel sure I profited by the incident.

My first day at college left me almost penniless, for I paid five

dollars as a matriculation fee, and the remaining one dollar and

seventy-five cents was invested in second-hand books, except a few

cents retained to pay postage in writing to my mother and my girl. That

first week at college was a long one, but at last Saturday came, and

I dressed and went to the depot to go to my Sunday appointment fifty

miles away. I met one of the professors on my way to the station, and

he asked me, “Where are you going?” My heart sank within me, for I

did not have a dime in my pocket, but I said, “I am going to fill my

appointment.” Just before I got to the depot, for I “walked and was

sad,” I met a preacher. He looked kind, but preachers are generally

poor men to borrow money from, but I said right out, “Brother ----,

loan me one dollar until Monday.” That preacher had the real money,

and it might have been his last dollar, but he handed it to me. It

took almost every cent to pay my railroad fare, and nothing with which

to return. That was one time I acted on faith. The church which I was

serving at that time held a conference on that Saturday afternoon, and

one of the brethren asked that they pay up just a little better, as

“their pastor was in college.” They paid me a little more than a dozen

dollars that day, and I am sure that I preached better than usual on

the following day. I received one hundred dollars from that church that

year, and paid twenty-five of that to the railroad for transportation.

That college year was not far spent, when another church called me to

become pastor at a salary of fifty dollars for the year. I had resigned

two churches before I left home, as they were so far from the College

that they took more of my time than I could give, and the expenses were

more than the salary paid. My brother gave me most of my clothes, and

all the help he could, and my churches paid other bills. The vacation

was spent in evangelistic work for which I received a small amount.

The second year was even more gloomy than the first, for the hired man

at home had failed to make good. Someone had to be found to take his

place, and it seemed for some time that I would have to be the man.

After arrangement was made for home I began my second year at college

with one more church, and that one was much nearer and it was to pay

one hundred and twenty-five dollars as a salary.

It may seem like a small matter to preach three Sundays in each month,

and attend school, but it is hard on all--the professors, the student,

and the people. With three churches I began the third year, but in ten

days after I returned to the College I had the misfortune to shoot one

of my feet, and a part of the foot had to be taken off, and one-half

of the year was lost from college. It seemed that the way was now

blocked entirely, and that my college days were at an end; but mother,

my faithful cousin, and I put our heads together, and we decided to

move to the College. When we arrived at Elon College, Christmas of

1897, I was still pastor of three churches, but my expenses were so

much increased that I took the fourth appointment at a salary of

seventy-five dollars for the year, making my salary in all three

hundred and fifty dollars. The remainder of my time at the College I

preached every Sunday, with few exceptions.

It does look like a reflection on those churches to tell of the small

amount paid for preaching, but the thing that startles me is, how

they were ever able to pay what they did for such preaching. I hope

they feel that they were giving themselves to save a poor preacher in

college. The amount received for preaching did not meet our family

expenses, but we took a few boarders, and received a little from the

farm, and the rest I borrowed. The last year was a test of faith also,

for my strength was hardly equal to the task of keeping up with my

classes, and looking after home duties, and preaching every Sunday,

and trying to make up some work missed while lame from my accident.

Work was piling up, churches were paying poorly, grades were poor, and

the breaking-point almost reached, and it was my senior year. I would

not let myself think about failing to receive my diploma, but the way

was dark. The commencement time was coming, and money was getting more

scarce, and bills more frequent. One day a real friend came to me and

said, “A man trying as hard as you are needs help,” and she handed me

a sum of money. I wept, and she wept with me, but I saw through those

tears light that I had not seen before.

The day of graduation came on the 14th day of June, 1900. It was a glad

day, and a sad day, for I felt that I had almost reached the goal, but

I knew that I had not gotten all that I ought to have gotten out of my

college course. I thought people would ask me about my grades, but not

one has asked me about them yet. I find that folks are not interested

in what my grades were, but what I can do.

One thing I learned by being at college without money, and that

was that money is not essential to character. Money cannot cover

up badness, neither can poverty hide goodness. It is not a matter

of how little money you have to get through college, for the money

is the smallest part of a college life. The less money the better

in some cases. It is not so much money as it is great Faith, and a

Determination.

_Franklin, Virginia._

FAITHFUL IN LITTLE THINGS

HON. C. G. SAUNDERS, A.B., LL.D.

My father, George W. Saunders, was born in England, June 3, 1837. His

parents emigrated with their children and settled in Oneida County, New

York, in the spring of 1852. My mother, Mary E. Walker, was also born

in England and came with her people in the forties to the same county

in America, and I presume they should properly be placed in that large

class of people who were “poor but honest”; my maternal grandfather,

Thomas Walker, became a prosperous farmer, and lived to a very old

age. Shortly after his coming to America, my grandfather, William

Saunders, became an invalid and my father, being the oldest of a large

family, was compelled to assist in earning a livelihood for the family

and so was deprived of early educational advantages. He was a man of

strong natural talents, of strict integrity, and was commonly known

as a “hard-headed old Englishman.” He became a very successful farmer

before his death and “passed over the grade” financially just as I

became of age. My sainted mother was a plain, home woman who loved her

family and her God, and who devoted her life to her family of eight

children and her husband. I was the oldest child, and was born on the

10th day of April, 1861, in Oneida County, New York. In 1868 my father

removed to Iowa City, Iowa, where he was a railroad foreman for five

years, and during those years I attended the graded school when I was

not sick. In the spring of 1873 my father concluded he did not desire

to rear his boys about a railroad, and so settled upon an eighty-acre

farm, near Stuart, Iowa. At this early age, when I was puny and weak, I

was forced by the financial condition of the family to enter upon the

active duties of the farm. Many a day have I plowed, when I did not

possess sufficient strength to pull the plow around the corners, and

lifted it around by getting the handles upon my shoulder. In the spring

of 1876, my father saw that he could make only a bare living upon his

small farm, so he sold it and removed to Vail, Iowa, and settled in the

rich and fertile valley of the Boyer River. At this time he had about

two thousand dollars, a weak body, and an ambition to achieve success.

An injury sustained while in the railroad employment incapacitated

him from doing the heavy work of the farm, but it did not impair

either his ambition or his energy. I worked from seven in the morning

until sundown on the long summer days behind a heavy team. Mother

sympathized with me, but father never realized that the toil was beyond

my strength. He was a firm believer in the doctrine of “hard work” and

that “Satan finds mischief still for idle hands to do,” and governed

himself accordingly. He loved his family and did the best for them that

his means permitted.

The county was new and people were all poor, but the land owners

characterized the others as “poor renters.” For four years we were in

the latter class. I completed the country school, in the spring of

1877, and then desired to enter the Vail school, the course of which

did not extend beyond what would now be classed as the eighth grade.

We lived three miles from town, and as my people could not afford to

pay my board in the village, I was necessarily compelled to live at

home and go horseback to school. When I was about sixteen, I determined

to become a lawyer and so informed my people. They treated the

announcement as a boyish whim, and later discouraged me from entering

upon such a course. Father urged that I might become one of those

“educated fools” and mother, who was a devoted member of the Methodist

Church, quoted to me that passage of Scripture, “Woe unto ye lawyers.”

Books to the amount of about seven dollars were required if I should

enter the Vail school and that was a large sum of money in our large

family. The turning point in my life came on a cold December day in

1877. I had taken a load of hay to Denison about eight miles away.

All the way there and back I was pondering over the question of an

education. When I drove into the yard after returning from town,

father came to assist in putting away the team. I was stiff with cold,

but I said, “Father, I am going to Vail to school after New Year’s.”

He retorted, “Where is the money to come from for the books?” I said,

“Father, you spend six dollars per year for chewing tobacco” (his only

bad habit), “and you can afford that much to send your boy to school.”

I went to school two and a half months that winter and likewise the

next two winters. I then secured a second-grade certificate and taught

a county school the two winters preceding my twenty-first birthday.

Each winter I taught a four months’ term--wages $30 per month the

first winter, and $35 the second. The first winter I walked three

miles across the prairie, cared for a team at home and acted as my own

janitor at the schoolhouse. This was the awful winter of 1880-81, when

the snow was four feet deep on the level. There were no roads that were

available to me, and I made my own path. I saved one hundred dollars

that winter and a like sum the following winter, so when I attained my

majority in April, 1882, I had two hundred dollars. I had never had

an overcoat and I did not possess even a trunk. I owned a colt that I

sold for fifty dollars. That summer I worked on my father’s farm at

a wage of twenty dollars per month for five months, and on September

15, 1882, I started for Drake University with $350, a suit of clothes

and a trunk. I had thought by day and dreamed by night of a college

education, and now the dream was to become a reality. As the train

whistled at the station, father grasped me by the hand and, with tears

streaming down his face, said, “Boy, I have opposed this all the time,

but I guess you are doing the right thing.” That was the first word of

encouragement I had ever received from my parents to proceed with my

education.

My room, partially furnished, cost me four dollars per month when I

shared it with another, and board was $1.75 per week in the “club.”

We did not fare sumptuously, but we had sufficient wholesome food to

keep us in good health. I did not earn any money during the first fall

and winter, but in the spring I seized an opportunity to earn three

dollars per week by sweeping six rooms, carrying the coal for the same,

and ringing the bells for all the classes and the college bells from

6 A. M. to 9 P. M. A watch was necessary for my work, so I took part

of my hard-earned wages and bought a watch which is now a treasured

possession. The following summer I worked upon the home farm and

returned to Drake in the fall. I did janitor work during my second year

at the same scale of wages. I also spent many of my Saturdays grubbing

stumps out of a lawn near the University. In the spring of my second

year I worked Saturdays on the streets with a shovel, receiving $1.50

for eight hours’ work. In the spring term of my second year, some of my

college chums found that my return was doubtful: hence they elected

me steward of the boarding club for the succeeding year. This paid my

board and room rent during the third year. In the summer following my

second year, I assumed the role of book agent. This experience was not

very successful, netting me only about seventy-five dollars for my

summer’s work.

When I entered Drake University, I had two years of preparatory work

to do. I carried five studies for three years, reciting daily in each.

This was possible because we had eight class hours of forty-five

minutes each. As I approached the end of my third year, some of

my teachers urged me to return for another year. I found that by

carrying six studies all the year I could graduate classical, and on

the last Sunday night before commencement I determined to return,

notwithstanding the fact that my purse was empty. I worked again on

the home farm in the summer vacation, and returned in the fall with

sixty dollars and an assurance of a loan of one hundred dollars from

my father. The University had agreed to take my notes for the tuition

of my senior year, so I returned in the fall of 1885 not knowing how

I should get through the year, but confident that in some way I would

earn some money and complete the course. The evening I returned to the

University, the secretary of the faculty offered me the editorship

of the college paper. Frank Morgan, of blessed memory, assumed the

business management, and we divided two hundred and forty dollars

between us as the profits of the venture. A personal friend, who was

as poor as I, with me rented a furnished room in which we kept “bach.”

I shall not state the amount it cost us for fuel, coal oil and food,

but it was much less than the expense of boarding in the club. I edited

the paper, carried six studies, and broke down about two weeks before

commencement. I did not take my final examinations, but was awarded my

degree upon my class standing. I had borrowed the promised one hundred

dollars from my father, had given my notes for my tuition, and when we

made our final division of profits arising from the paper, I had sixty

dollars in my pocket and my college degree.

Between the winter and spring terms of my senior year, I applied for

the principalship of the high school at Manning, Iowa. For six weeks

the board was in a deadlock and then it elected the other applicant.

It was a bitter disappointment, as such positions were not numerous

and most of them were then filled. I planned to teach two years and

then pursue the study of law. About two weeks before commencement, I

was offered the principalship of a two-room school just outside the

corporate limits of the city of Des Moines. But I saw, however, that I

could immediately take up the law, and so about July 1, 1886, I entered

the law office of C. C. Nourse and in the next fourteen months I read

the junior year of the law course laid down by the State University.

In the fall I took charge of my school, but I read law nights, mornings

and Saturdays. I was fortunate in securing board at a very reasonable

price. By close economy I paid all my debts and had about one hundred

and fifty dollars left when the fall of 1887 came. I then entered the

State University of Iowa, passed the examinations of the junior year,

became a member of the senior class, and graduated in June, 1888.

Such in brief is the story of my struggle for an education. I have

written it with the hope that it may encourage other young men and

young women of limited means to make the effort that I made to open

the gates of opportunity. While the expenses have increased, the

opportunities for employment have multiplied in a much greater ratio,

and I am fully convinced that any young man or young woman, with fair

health, may secure a higher education if he has it in him and is but

willing to pay the price of toil and sacrifice.

Some may inquire, Did it pay? Within one hundred feet of where I

performed janitor work, Drake University in 1900 conferred upon me the

LL.D. degree; three times have I been elected to the State Senate. The

State Bar Association has honored me with its presidency.

_Council Bluffs, Iowa._

FROM JANITOR TO COLLEGE PRESIDENT

REV. W. W. STALEY, A.B., A.M., D.D., LL.D., EX-PRESIDENT OF ELON COLLEGE

I have been asked to tell _why_ and _how_ I worked my way through

college. Because there was no other way to get through college, but to

work through, gives the reason _why_.

My father, John Tilmon Staley, was a school teacher. He died of typhoid

fever at twenty-eight, when I was five.

My mother married Archibald M. Cook three years after my father’s

death, and was the mother of eight children: three Staleys and five

Cooks.

At the close of the Civil War, emancipation left us nothing but land.

In 1866 my uncle, Lieutenant J. N. H. Clendenin, proposed that if I

would work with him on his farm he would send me to Dr. W. S. Long’s

school in Graham the next winter. My stepfather said he was not able to

send me to school, but he would give me my time. I worked on the farm

that summer and entered school January 17, 1867, and walked three miles

to school that term.