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 see things out of proportion, and that he should not at once recognize the fact that for him the real day's work is his college work—the assignments which from day to day he will jot down in a friendly note book, as they come from the lips of his various instructors. Other things may be important, but they are only incidental.

A few months ago I saw a body of Scotch Highlanders—five thousand of them—marching away to war. They were farmers, clerks, laboring men of all sorts who had left their regular work, their friends and their families to take up the business of war. Most of them have since met death upon a foreign shore. For many of them there was much joy and comfort and love left behind; for all of them there was sacrifice and privation and the danger of death ahead. But all of these hardships were for them a part of the day's work, and they were going to it with firmness and courage and with faces set. No doubt their minds were