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scribed by Professor Bernadotte Perrin: "A teacher with more or less formal knowledge laid a small section of that knowledge before the pupil, usually in unattractive form, and compelled him to acquire it within a given time under pain of punishment." Professor Perrin notes that this "rude process," applied to all alike, regardless of aptitudes, fostered in the pupil "a confidence in his own powers, an expectation of conquest and a delight in it, a vigor and persistency of effort, which many of us miss in the products of the modern educational processes." But when the change did come, it was radical. In 1884 the amount of elective work in Junior and Senior years was enlarged, and the study of modern languages pushed back into the first two years of the course. In 1893 another change followed by which the only required study during Junior and Senior years was mental and moral science. Says Professor Schwab in the new Yale book of Lewis S. Welch and Walter Camp: "As compared with the meager opportunities for study offered in former years, the Juniors and Seniors alone are now offered

courses of instruction by lecture, recitation, or in the laboratory aggregating 300 hours during the week-enough to keep them busy for twenty years if they undertook to attend to all the courses." His conclusion is this: "Taking the figures for the courses from 1895 to 1899, it may be said that the typical graduate of Yale College has enjoyed an academic education consisting one-fourth of training in the classics; one-seventh in the modern languages; about one-tenth each in history, political economy, English, mathematics, and philosophy; about one-fourteenth in the natural sciences; and the rest a seasoning of Biblical literature, art, music, with a trace of physical culture and military science."

The modernizing of the Yale College curriculum was undoubtedly long delayed by the fact that by the side of the College there had sprung up another great undergraduate body in the Sheffield Scientific School (500 as against 1,200 in round numbers), pursuing many similar studies except for the classics, but with a course of only three years. This school, made possible by the benefactions of the late

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Joseph E. Sheffield, first conferred degrees in 1852. Its object has been, as Professor Hadley says, to be what its name implies, "a scientific school as distinct from a technical one. It has not attempted, as so many other schools have done, to teach a man things he would otherwise learn in the shop or the mine, but to teach him what he would not learn in the shop or the mine." In other words, like the college, the aim of the school has never been to make its graduates technically competent. It has been, in aim and purpose, a collegiate course. Its undergraduate instruction, as described by Professor Corwin in the new Yale Book, is arranged in ten distinct and parallel courses, among which the student is free to elect which he shall pursue, each being well rounded out with general studies, and each differing one from the other in subjects and instruments, but not in the general aim. These courses include chemistry, biology, civil, mechanical, and mining engineering, and agriculture. At the same time with Dr. Dwight's retirement came that of Professor George J. Brush, Director of the Sheffield School for more than twenty-five years, whose influence was dominant in shaping its career. To the choice of Professor Russell H. Chittenden, the distinguished chemist, as his successor, but one objection could be raised—that research was robbed to make an executive.

As was inevitable, the growth of a great body of undergraduates in "Sheff "under conditions absolutely different from those of the College undergraduates-especially in that they have been without compulsory prayers and without dormitory life (except in the mutual club life of the same society)—has created one problem of no little delicacy. It is not simply the problem of bringing the College and the Sheffield School into closer working relationsso as not to duplicate "plants" and to give every student of either department. the bes. there is at Yale-important as that is; but it is, further, the harder problem of determining how far the freer con ditions of the Sheffield School shall be introduced into the College as university unification develops. Indeed, this prob lem of unification now stands first in practical importance as the work of the departments-those of art, music, and graduate instruction more especially than

those of law, medicine, and theology— increasingly overlaps undergraduate work by groupings of courses and exchanges of students. This overlapping is a new feature of Yale life, as shown by the rather curious fact that the admission of women in 1892 to the graduate department as candidates for the degree of Ph.D. (of whom there were forty-one the last academic year), as they had been long before openly admitted to the Art School, made practically no impression at all on the great body of students. In this connection, though space does not permit particularizing on the creditable growth of the departments, it is but just to note that Yale's graduate department, requiring a pamphlet of almost one hundred pages to give, with explanations, the various courses, some in a single department numbering more than fifty, dates back to 1846, when disinterested professors sacrificed time stolen from their hours of leisure after hard class-room work in the College to give, as Professor Hadley says," advanced instruction to those who were pursuing science for its own sake, independent of the promise of diplomas on the one hand and of the restrictions of college life on the other." It is but just also to say that, throughout the evolution, the Corporation, controlled by a self-perpetuating body of ten Congregational clergymen of Connecticut, has given appreciative and stimulating sympathy to every change that promised larger results. The Yale Corporation is to-day the same theologically that it was two hundred years ago, though broadened in the last century by the admission of civic members, in the person of six State Senators, and in the latter half of this by the substitution for them of six elected members of the alumni. This is a fact not to be forgotten in apportioning the praise for whatever two hundred years of Yale have meant.

But what of this evolution, as it is seen on the campus, in the life of the great body of undergraduates? So far its most obvious evidence is in numerous re groupings, new lines of cleavage, fresh interests, associations, segregations, variety in place of uniformity, while the tradition of the old division on class lines still exists, though its importance is lessened. The long distinguishing marks of undergraduate life at Yale-loyalty, strenuousness in

competition, democracy-still distinguish it. "Fervet opus," says Professor Perrin, still applies, whatever the particular student activity. Some of these re-groupings come through the same intellectual interests, as in debating, which has taken on new life, largely through the personal efforts of Professor Hadley; journalism, with its most creditable daily paper and weekly and monthly magazines, in which editorships go by work done and not by favoritism; and in the special clubs, like the Mathematical Club, the Classical Club, the Modern Language Club, the Philosophical Club, the History Club, the Political Science Club, etc.-voluntary associations where undergraduates, graduates, professional students, and instructors meet to read and discuss papers on subjects of common interest. The college branch of the Young Men's Christian Association, known as Dwight Hall, includes in its leadership some of the most prominent men socially in the College, while its membership includes more than half the students in the undergraduate departments. It works aggressively. Committees meet the new students in the fall, warn them of dangers they are to encounter, and bring them, as far as possible, under the right influences. Those who are interested in mission work have established a settlement in the slums known as the "Yale Mission," for which an $8,000 building has recently been erected.

widely, but apparently inevitable under
modern conditions, is that of dormitory life.
Whereas not so many years ago few rooms
in the College rented for more than $3
per week, there are now sixteen rooms in
Vanderbilt at $10, and many others which
are above $7. In the older dormitories—
the "brick row " has practically gone-the
row"
rent is still from $2 to $3. The obvious
result of this price-difference is that the
richer men room more or less by them-
selves and the poorer men room more or
less by themselves. In justice to the Col-
lege, it should be stated that even at the
high price paid for rooms in Vanderbilt
the return is only about two per cent. on
the investment. It is also obvious, in
compensation, that the attendance of rich
students gives many opportunities, espe
cially private tutoring, for the poorer to
"work their way through."

What, then, looking at it all in the large, are the questions which most press as Yale passes into the third century? They have been admirably stated by Professor Hadley: "Can Yale keep its characteristics unimpaired amid increasing numbers of students and increasing complexity of outside demands? Can it preserve its distinctive features as a college in the midst of its widening work as a university? Can it meet the varying intellectual necessities of modern life without sacrificing the democratic traditions which have had so strong an influence upon character? Can it give the special education which the community asks without endangering the broader education which has produced generations of all round' men, trained morally as well as intellectually?" The best answer to these questions is the character of the man to whom Yale's future has been committed. It is indeed fortunate that the choice for President has fallen upon one who has the confidence of the great body of the alumni, who is thoroughly imbued with the spirit of traditional Yale, and who is alertly alive to the needs of the Yale of the future. That he does not himself fear for that future he made evident when he wrote of Yale that it still has "a respect for work and a respect for unselfishness— a respect for all that constitutes a gentleman in the best sense-that renders futile any attempt to make money take the place of character, or social institutions take

Of other associations more or less open to criticism, that of athletics, so often discussed, and of the Senior Society system, stand out conspicuous. For the first, despite objections, it may be fairly claimed that it has aided discipline, discouraged dissipation, and encouraged democracy. The second is perhaps more strongly debatable. The great object of college life at Yale is to be elected to one of the three Senior societies, each of which receives but fifteen men. As there are, on an average, about three hundred men in a class, the sifting by a process of natural selection, so long as the choice of these societies is made honestly and for claims well understood, substitutes another standard for that of wealth or social position. Against this must be set off the mistakes made in selections, resulting in cruel, lifelong disappointments. Another division line of newer Yale, deprecated very the place of social qualities."

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T

By Hamilton W. Mabie

best way to achievement. The keen intelligence and the deep feeling of the Scotch have found in the four universities something which has evoked their purest ardor and their most generous enthusiasm. In no country is force of intellect more deeply respected or education more highly regarded. The university is the goal of the Scotch boy's dreams; give him his St. chance at Aberdeen or St. Andrews or Edinburgh and he will ask no further favors of Providence or concessions from men.

HE older universities have deep roots, and reflect the ideas and habits of life of the people whom they have educated. The German, French, and English universities are in every way characteristic, of the three countries, and no one could find better points for the study of national traits than in the higher schools of learning; and this is especially true of the universities of Scotland. Andrews was founded in 1413, Glasgow in 1454, Aberdeen in 1494, and Edinburgh in 1582. Save the kirk, nothing has been so dear to the heart of modern Scotland as the university; not because the university stands for research, or the advancement of learning, or the pursuit of scholarship for its own sake; but because it has been and is the open door through which the aspiration of Scotch youth has found its

Everybody recalls the morning when Thrums watched the departure of the young competitors: "And now, ye drums that we all carry in our breasts, beat your best on the bravest sight ever seen in a small Scotch town of an autumn morningthe departure of its fighting lads for the

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