college is sadly inadequate, because its means are not fitted to its ends. In very few of our large colleges does the elementary work receive the care its importance deserves.

The great college can draw the best teachers away from the small colleges. In this regard the great college has an immense advantage. It has the best teachers, the best trained, the best fitted for the work of training. But in most cases the freshman never discovers this. There is no worse teaching done under the sun than in the lower classes of some of our most famous colleges. Cheap tutors, inexperienced and underpaid, are set to lecture to classes far beyond their power to interest. We are saving our money for original research, careless of the fact that we fail to give the elementary training which makes research possible. Too often, indeed, research itself, the noblest of all university functions, is made an advertising fad. The demands of the university press have swollen the literature of science, but they have proved a doubtful aid to its quality. “Get something ready. Send it out. Show that we are doing something." All this never advanced science. It is through men born to research, trained to research, choicest product of nature and art, that science advances.

Another effect of the advertising spirit is the cheapening of salaries. The smaller the salaries, the more departments we can support. It is the spirit of advertising that leads some institutions to tolerate a type of athlete who comes as a student with none of the student's purpose. I am a firm believer in college athletics. I have done my part in them in college and out. I know that "the color of life is red," but the value of athletic games is lost when outside gladiators are hired to play them. No matter what the inducement, the athletic contest has no value except as the spontaneous

effort of the college man. To coddle the athlete is to render him a professional. If an institution makes one rule for the ordinary student and another for the athlete, it is party to a fraud. Without some such concession, half the great football teams of today could not exist. I would rather see football disappear and the athletic fields closed for ten years for fumigation than to see our colleges helpless in the hands of athletic professionalism, as many of them are today.

This is a minor matter in one sense, but it is pregnant with large dangers. Whatever the scholar does should be clean. What has the support of boards of scholars should be noble, helpful, and inspiring. For the evils of college athletics, the apathy of college faculties is solely responsible. The blame falls on us; let us rise to our duty.

There is something wrong in our educational practice when a wealthy idler is allowed to take the name of student, on the sole condition that he and his grooms shall pass occasional examinations. There is no justification for the granting of degrees on cheap terms, to be used in social decoration. It is said that the chief of the great coaching trust in one of our universities earns a salary larger than was ever paid to any honest teacher. His function is to take the man who has spent the term in idleness or dissipation, and by a few hours' ingenious coaching to enable him to write a paper as good as that of a real student. The examinations thus passed are mere shams, and by the tolerance of the system the teaching force becomes responsible for it. No educational reform of the day is more important than the revival of honesty in regard to credits and examinations, such a revival of honest methods as shall make coaching trusts impossible.

The same methods which cure the aristocratic ills of idleness and cynicism are equally effective in the democratic vice of rowdyism. With high standards of work, set not at long intervals by formal examinations, but by the daily vigilance and devotion of real teachers, all these classes of mock students disappear.

The football tramp vanishes before the work-test. The wealthy boy takes his proper place when honest, democratic brain effort is required of him. If he is not a student, he will no longer pretend to be one and ought not to be in college. The rowdy, the mucker, the hair-cutting, gatelifting, cane-rushing imbecile is never a real student. He is a gamin masquerading in cap and gown. The requirement of scholarship brings him to terms. If we insist that our colleges shall not pretend to educate those who cannot or will not be educated, we shall have no trouble with the moral training of the students.

Above all, in the West, where education is free, we should insist that free tuition means serious work, that education means opportunity, that the student should do his part, and that the degree of the university should not be the seal of academic approbation of four years of idleness, rowdyism, profligacy, or dissipation.

Higher education, properly speaking, begins when a young man goes away from home to school. The best part of higher education is the development of the instincts of the gentleman and the horizon of the scholar. To this end self-directed industry is one of the most effective agents. As the force of example is potent in education, a college should tolerate idleness and vice neither among its students nor among its teachers.

THE NEW DEFINITION OF THE

CULTIVATED MAN1

BY CHARLES WILLIAM ELIOT

To produce the cultivated man, or at least the man capable of becoming cultivated in after-life, has long been supposed to be one of the fundamental objects of systematic and thorough education. The ideal of general cultivation has been one of the standards in education. It is often asked: Will the education which a given institution is supplying produce the cultivated man? Or, Can cultivation be the result of a given course of study? In such questions there is an implication that the education which does not produce the cultivated man is a failure, or has been misconceived, or misdirected. Now, if cultivation were an unchanging ideal, the steady use of the conception as a permanent test of educational processes might be justified; but if the cultivated man of today is, or ought to be, a distinctly different creature from the cultivated man of a century ago, the ideal of cultivation cannot be appealed to as a standard without preliminary explanations and interpretations. It is the object of this paper to show that the idea of cultivation in the highly trained human being has undergone substantial changes during the last century.

I ought to say at once that I propose to use the term

1 Reprinted from Present College Questions, by special permission of D. Appleton & Co.

cultivated man" in only its good sense in Emerson's sense. In this paper, he is not to be a weak, critical, fastidious creature, vain of a little exclusive information or of an uncommon knack in Latin verse or mathematical logic: he is to be a man of quick perceptions, broad sympathies, and wide affinities; responsive but independent; self-reliant but deferential; loving truth and candor, but also moderation and proportion; courageous but gentle; not finished, but perfecting. All authorities agree that true culture is not exclusive, sectarian, or partisan, but the very opposite; that it is not to be attained in solitude, but in society; and that the best atmosphere for culture is that of a school, university, academy, or church, where many pursue together the ideals of truth, righteousness, and love.

Here some one may think: This process of cultivation is evidently a long, slow, artificial process; I prefer the genius, the man of native power or skill, the man whose judgment is sound and influence strong, though he cannot read or write the born inventor, orator, or poet. So do we all. Men have always reverenced prodigious inborn gifts, and always will. Indeed, barbarous men always say of the possessors of such gifts: These are not men; they are gods. But we teachers who carry on a system of popular education, which is by far the most complex and valuable invention of the nineteenth century, know that we have to do, not with the highly gifted units, but with the millions who are more or less capable of being cultivated by the long, patient, artificial training called education. For us and our system the genius is no standard, but the cultivated man is. To his stature we and many of our pupils may in time attain.

There are two principal differences between the present ideal of cultivation and that which prevailed at the begin