The inculcation of a kindred spirit in all our colleges is devoutly to be wished.  It exists already in some of the older ones, especially in the New England States, and in not a few of the very recently-established ones.  But even where it does exist it has not full sway:  it does not set, as it should set, the keynote to college life in all its variations.  And in very many colleges it is unable to establish itself because of gross disorder.  Should this opinion seem harsh and sweeping, the reader, if a student or a graduate, has only to recall to mind the instances that he himself must have observed of discontent and disorder growing out of trifling causes and culminating perhaps in a “class-strike.”  Let him consider the waste of time, the ill-temper, the censorious, invidious spirit engendered by this fermentation, the loss of faith in the conduct, and even the honesty, of the faculty.  Can he conceive of anything more likely to frustrate all the aims of college study?  Yet in nine-tenths of the cases of public disorder it will be safe to assume that the dormitory system lies at the base of the evil.  Where it does not occasion the grievance, it furnishes at least the machinery for carrying matters to a direct issue.  Community of life suggests of itself community of action.  The inmates of a dormitory acquire insensibly the habit of standing by one another.  This is so evident that it needs no proof.  But an illustration of the workings of the dormitory system and its opposite in one and the same place will not come amiss.  When the Cornell University was founded, some of the trustees opposed the erection of dormitories.  Others, assuming that the people of Ithaca, to whom a college was a novelty, could not or would not furnish sufficient accommodation, argued that dormitories were an absolute necessity.  They carried the point:  the Cascadilla was converted into a large boarding-house for both professors and students, and the greater part of South University was laid out in student-rooms.  Both buildings were full.  This state of affairs lasted during the first year and part of the second.  Disturbances of various kinds were not infrequent; and although no one of them was very serious, yet in the aggregate they were a severe tax upon the faculty’s time and patience.  But before the end of the second year many of the students discovered that life in town was more comfortable, and accordingly they gave up their university rooms.  At the opening of the academic year 1870-1871 perhaps three-fourths, certainly two-thirds, were lodged in town.  The change was significant.  During the entire year, although individual students were disciplined for individual offences, the faculty was not once forced to punish public disorder.  This phenomenon will appear still more remarkable when we consider that meanwhile the so-called “class-feeling” had sprung up, and that students admitted from other colleges had endeavored to introduce certain traditional