effective, and as a consequence the gas industry soon was itself in danger of being outdistanced by its competitor, electricity. As a result, more and more attention was given to similar developments in the gas field, until today we find the showrooms of the gas company as marvellous in their beauty as those of the electric company, and vice versa.

In general, therefore, the average home has several available ways for improving its lighting, both in efficiency or effectiveness and in a purely artistic way as well. First, perhaps, in the order of its availability is the opportunity to use the most efficient lamps on the market. These are obtainable locally; these lamps should next be shielded so that the bright filaments or mantles are absolutely not in the line of vision from any part of the room; and finally, through the choice of suitable wall papers, not solely on a basis of colors and patterns, but with due regard to the reflection coefficients from ceilings and to the softness desired by the eye from wall hangings, a cheerfulness may often be given to a room which was formerly gloomy, thus transforming it into a space of warmth and charm.

We have spoken briefly of the vast influence of the use of electrical energy on modern civilization and of the growth in some of the fields of electric power. "Do it Electrically" and "If it isn't Electric it isn't Modern" have become familiar phrases. One indication of almost universal application of electrical energy throughout the world is the existence in the United Engineering Societies Building in New York City of a Society for Electrical Development. Just now we can still see the large posters issued by this society, showing the modern Aladdin pressing the button of the switch and summoning the genie electricity to his side. From December 2d to 7th was designated as the time in which to celebrate this year throughout the entire country America's Electrical Week. Here we have a significant indication of physical and intellectual forces at work trying in many ways to improve the conditions of life in this generation. To each individual, however, is given the responsibility of deciding how far he will go towards an acceptance of the advantages in full and in the most effective manner.

THE SOCIAL VALUES OF HISTORY

BY ALBERT E. MCKINLEY

Professor of History

I wish to speak today upon the value which a knowledge of history has in our several communities. And I wish you to consider with me how a respect for the past has influenced local and national events, and how it has been and is of practical value even in the every-day life of the man of affairs.

And at the outset let me state what I mean by history. There have been about as many definitions of history as historians, and many a student of the past has felt himself called upon to give his views upon the matter. Some of these definitions have been cold and scientific; others have been warmly sympathetic; some have been logical, theological, geological, biological or anthropological; while others have been imaginative and even poetic. For our purposes this afternoon, and reserving to each of us the right to frame a more philosophical definition at our leisure, let us think of history as the record of what man as a social being has thought and said and done. This excludes the style of research and literature known as biography, except in so far as the individual man's acts have influenced in a large way the life of the society in which he dwells.

But human society is made up of men and women and children; and it is proper for us first to look at certain principles in the life and development of the individual before we note the forces at work in society as a whole. Our friends the psychologists tell us that we have very few pure sensations; that once a sensation has been experienced it leaves an impress upon mind and brain, so that the second and third time it occurs it is no longer a simple sensation, but one tinged with the memories of the past. Out of this mingled body of sensation and memory comes the ability to refer new experiences to our previous life.

And from these many and varied experiences and memories arise the intellectual powers of apperception and conception on the one hand, and of mental or muscular habits on the other.

It is unnecessary, however, to use the language of the psychologist to call attention to the large part which experience and habit hold in the life of every one of us. Poets and dramatists long before the advent of modern psychology composed their songs and plays to illustrate the good and the evil of habit, and the danger of heedlessly defying experience. The wise saws, fables and legends of every language point the same moral: "As the twig is bent, so the tree is inclined;" "Experience is a good but a stern teacher;" "A rolling stone gathers no moss;" "A burnt child dreads the fire." From Aesop and Confucius down to Benjamin Franklin, Artemus Ward and George Ade, the worldly wise have been seeking to find expression for what the psychologists would name the apperceptive basis of muscular and intellectual activities. It is patent that the ordinary man has great respect for experience, and especially that he demands from those about him a measure of expertness which is a result of long habit.

If habit and experience thus play such a large part in the life of the individual, is it thinkable that they should not equally have a place in the life of man's institutions? Is it conceivable that each man should be guided by a knowledge of his past, and that society, made up of these men, should not be influenced by a knowledge of its history? If, with Macaulay, we call history the "essence of innumerable biographies," shall we not find that the essence contains the same principle as its component parts?

A recent writer has likened history to a line drawn on paper by a moving pencil. The past is the line already drawn, the present is the moving point, and the future is the undetermined direction which the pencil will take the next instant. The analogy is an interesting one, but the author, Prof. Woodbridge, neglects an important fact when he makes the future movement undetermined. He might have carried his analogy further and have shown how a moving pencil or any other moving body has

its future course determined partly by its own past rate of speed, and partly by the new influences brought to bear upon it. Let us suppose that instead of a pencil drawing a line he had likened history to the wheel-tracks made by a rapidly moving automobile. The past is the track in the road; the present is the moving vehicle; but what is the future? We all know that, barring the unlooked-for cataclysm from outside forces, the future marks of the wheels will be determined by two factors; first by the influence of the weight and speed of the machine-what the physicists call momentum; and secondly by the will and skill of the driver. The driver cannot ignore the weight and speed of his machine nor the direction from which it came. He cannot turn it on a right angle without danger of a catastrophe. When he makes up his mind to change his course he can round a corner safely only by considering the momentum of his car.

Human society is not far different from such a vehicle. Always it brings from the past the momentum of previous life and experience. Always in the present conscious guidance is making choices of new roads and new avenues for the future. But the new change in direction is impossible without the momentum of the past. And in most cases the new direction is a compromise between the old forces and the new ideal of conscious endeavor.

This is of course simply stating in terms of twentieth century locomotion the old doctrine of the antagonism of conservative and radical. Every stable society has its respect for the past. Every permanent organization builds upon the facts and experiences already known. But every progressive society is continually making new adjustments to meet new conditions and new environments. A rational progressive society uses the product of the past to meet these new needs. The automobile driver may ignore the momentum of his machine and attempt to turn sharply from his course. If he does not fatally injure himself, he at least will wreck his car, and while he may pursue his way upon the desired road, it will be on foot, perhaps with crutches, and not in the vehicle. So it is with society.