To the Editors of the Crimson:
Gentlemen: Can you allow me a little space in your paper to announce to my Harvard friends that last night I declined the professorship recently offered me at Chicago.
It is a superb university which is rapidly rising there. Its millionaire founder, sagacious and self-effacing; its young, resourceful, and winning President; its capable Trustees, who, though two-thirds of them are drawn from a single sect, serve under a constitution which provides that "no particular religious profession shall ever be held as a requisite for election to any professorship;" its enthusiastic city, already contributing nearly half of its great endowment; its distinguished Faculty, selected from all parts of this and other lands, its commanding position in the middle region of the country, where it stands as a new Harvard, Yale, or Johns Hopkins, attending to that expensive highest instruction which the smaller colleges cannot of themselves supply; all these things must lead a lover of learning to welcome the new foundation as a splendid addition to the educational resources of the country, and may well make any man eager to serve upon its staff.
But long service in a single place begets duties to that place, duties strong if undefinable. And without disparaging other colleges, a Harvard man may fairly feel that there is something in his own university which renders it incomparable, potent over the future, compulsive of loyalty and of love.
Very truly yours,G. H. PALMER.