a cheap novel. "A ludicrous incident of his Worthington life," says one of his biographers, J. W. Shuckers, "fastened itself strongly in his memory. One morning the bishop and all the older members of the family went away, leaving the boy at home, with directions to kill and dress a pig for the next day's dinner." "I had no

great difficulty," said Mr. Chase, "in catching and slaughtering a fat young porker. A tub of hot water was in readiness for plunging him in preparatory to taking off his bristles. Unfortunately, however, the water was too hot, or perhaps when I soused the pig into it I kept him there too long. At any rate, when I undertook to remove the bristles, expecting that they would

come off almost of themselves, I found to my dismay that I could not stir one of them. In pigkilling phrase, the bristles were 'set.' I pulled and pulled in vain. What was I to do? The pig must be dressed. About that there must be no failure. I thought of my cousin's razors, a nice new pair, just suited to the use of a spruce young clergyman as he was. No sooner thought of than done. I got the razors and shaved the pig from tail to snout. I think the shaving was a success. The razors were damaged by the operation, however, but they were carefully cleaned and restored to their place. My impression is that, on the whole, the killing was not satisfactory to the bishop, and that my cousin did not find his razors exactly in condition for use the next morning. But the operation had its moral, and showed that where there is a will there is a way." This humble and grotesque experience in young Chase's life may very fairly be taken as an indication of the stuff that was in him. His will was indomitable, and whatever he set out to do, from that day until the day he laid down his life, was done.

Those were hard times in "The Ohio." "Prices of all provisions were low. Corn was ten and even six cents a bushel, the purchaser himself gathering it in the field. Twenty-five cents would buy a bushel of wheat, good and in good order. There were no good roads, no accessible markets, no revenue, and salaries were small. I have heard the bishop say that his whole money income as bishop did not pay his postage

bills. It took a bushel of wheat to pay for the conveyance of a letter over one hundred and sixty miles." So when the good bishop was offered the presidency of Cincinnati College, in 1822, he accepted the place as offering a means of deliverance from his hard and unprofitable post at the head of the diocese.

Salmon P. Chase entered the college as a freshman, but by extra study was very soon promoted to the sophomore class, in which he distinguished himself by his industry and application. His first public exercise was a year earlier, when he delivered an original Greek oration. "My subject," he says, "was Paul and John compared, Paul being the principal figure. What trouble I had to turn my English thoughts into Greek forms! The subject helped me, however, for it allowed me to take sentences from the Testament and thus abridge my labors!" The orator was highly successful, generously applauded, and received the commendation of his uncle, the bishop.

While sophomore in Cincinnati College a mischievous student set fire to one of the desks. Great was the consternation, and when the fire had been put out the tutor began, with the students ranged in the class, with, " Sophomore did you set fire to the desk?" "No, sir." "Do you know who did?" "No, sir." He reached the culprit. "Did you set fire to the desk?" Nothing abashed, his answer was, "No, sir." "Do you know who did?" "No, sir." Says Chase: "I saw I had to pass the ordeal, and determined to

The Chase Home at Keene, N. H.-Monadnock in the Background.

tell the truth, but not to give the name of my classmate, which I thought would be about as mean as to tell a lie would be wrong. The question came. Sophomore Chase, did you set fire to the desk?' 'No, sir.' 'Do you know who did?' 'Yes, sir.' Who was it?' I shall not tell you, sir.' He said no more. The case went before the faculty, and I heard was the subject of some discussion, but it was not thought worth while to prosecute the inquiry."

The hard times grew harder, and even the college was obliged finally to suspend operations for the time, and Bishop Chase went to England to raise means to establish a theological school. Young Chase returned to New England, where his loving and zealous mother thought that she could spare enough from her scanty store, added to whatever sums he might earn for himself meanwhile, to carry him through Dartmouth College. "How little I appreciated her sacrifices," he says, "and it is sad to think, and tears fill my eyes as I do think, how late comes true appreciation of them. Alas! hov inadequately, until the beloved mother who made them has gone beyond the reach of its manifestation."

Not long after his entry into Dartmout h College he met with another characteristic event, and also important as indicating the ruggedness of his character. Some difficult occurred, in which a friend of his, one Georg Punchard, a warm-hearted and generous fellow was involved.

Chase had nothing to do with