11345 ---- Team. EDUCATION AS SERVICE BY J. KRISHNAMURTI (ALCYONE) THE RAJPUT PRESS CHICAGO 1912 EDUCATION AS SERVICE INTRODUCTION In long past lives the author of this little book had much to do with educational work, and he seems to have brought over with him an intense interest in education. During his short visits to Benares, he paid an alert attention to many of the details of the work carried on in the Central Hindu College, observing and asking questions, noting the good feeling between teachers and students, so different from his own school experiences in Southern India. He appears to have been brooding over the question, and has, in this booklet, held up the educational ideals which appear to him to be necessary for the improvement of the present system. The position of the teacher must be raised to that which it used to occupy in India, so that to sit in the teacher's chair will be a badge of social honour. His work must be seen as belonging to the great Teaching Department in the Government of our world, and his relation with his pupils must be a copy of the relation between a Master and His disciples. Love, protective and elevating on the one side, must be met with love, confiding and trustful on the other. This is, in truth, the old Hindu ideal, exaggerated as it may seem to be to-day and if it be possible, in any country to rebuild this ideal, it should be by an Indian for Indians. Hence there is, at the back of the author's mind, a dream of a future College and School, wherein this ideal may be materialised--a Theosophical College and School, because the ancient Indian ideals now draw their life from Theosophy which alone can shape the new vessels for the ancient elixir of life Punishment must disappear--not only the old brutality of the cane, but all the forms of coercion that make hypocrites instead of honourable and manly youths. The teacher must embody the ideal, and the boy be drawn, by admiration and love, to copy it. Those who know how swiftly the unspoiled child responds to a noble ideal will realise how potent may be the influence of a teacher, who stimulates by a high example and rules by the sceptre of love instead of by the rod of fear. Besides, the One Life is in teacher and taught, as Alcyone reminds us, and to that Life, which is Divine, all things are possible. Education must be shaped to meet the individual needs of the child, and not by a Government Procrustes' bed, to fit which some are dragged well-nigh asunder and others are chopped down. The capacities of the child, the line they fit him to pursue, these must guide his education. In all, the child's interest must be paramount; the true teacher exists to serve. The school must be a centre of good and joyous influences, radiating from it to the neighbourhood. Studies and games must all be turned to the building of character, to the making of the good citizen, the lover of his country. Thus dreams the boy, who is to become a teacher, of the possibilities the future may unfold. May he realise, in the strength of a noble Manhood, the pure visions of his youth, and embody a Power which shall make earth's deserts rejoice and blossom as the rose. ANNIE BESANT. TO THE SUPREME TEACHER AND TO THOSE WHO FOLLOW HIM FOREWORD Many of the suggestions made in this little book come from my own memories of early school life; and my own experience since of the methods used in Occult training has shown me how much happier boys' lives might be made than they usually are. I have myself experienced both the right way of teaching and the wrong way, and therefore I want to help others towards the right way. I write upon the subject because it is one which is very near to the heart of my Master, and much of what I say is but an imperfect echo of what I have heard from Him. Then again, during the last two years, I have seen much of the work done in the Central Hindu College at Benares by Mr. G.S. Arundale and his devoted band of helpers. I have seen teachers glad to spend their time and energies in continual service of those whom they regard as their younger brothers. I have also watched the boys, in their turn, showing a reverence and an affectionate gratitude to their teachers that I had never thought possible. Though many people may think the ideals put forward are entirely beyond the average teacher, and cannot be put into practice in ordinary schools, I can thus point at least to one institution in which I have seen many of the suggestions made in this book actually carried out. It may be that some of them _are_, at present, beyond most schools; but they will be recognised and practised as soon as teachers realise them as desirable, and have a proper understanding of the importance of their office. Most of the recommendations apply, I think, to all countries, and to all religions, and are intended to sound the note of our common brotherhood, irrespective of religion or caste, race or colour. If the unity of life and the oneness of its purpose could be clearly taught to the young in schools, how much brighter would be our hopes for the future! The mutual distrust of races and nations would disappear, if the children were trained in mutual love and sympathy as members of one great family of children all over the world, instead of being taught to glory only in their own traditions and to despise those of others. True patriotism is a beautiful quality in children, for it means unselfishness of purpose and enthusiasm for great ideals; but that is false patriotism which shows itself in contempt for other nations. There are, I am told, many organisations within the various nations of the world, intended to inspire the children with a love for their country and a desire to serve her, and that is surely good; but I wonder when there will be an international organisation to give the children of all nations common ideals also, and a knowledge of the real foundation of right action, the Brotherhood of Man. I desire to thank my dear mother, Mrs. Annie Besant, for the help she has given me while I have been writing this little book, and also my dear friend, Mr. G.S. Arundale--with whom I have often talked on the subject--for many useful suggestions. J. KRISHNAMURTI. CONTENTS THE TEACHER I. LOVE II. DISCRIMINATION III. DESIRELESSNESS IV. GOOD CONDUCT 1. Self-control as to the mind 2. Self-control in action 3. Tolerance 4. Cheerfulness 5. One-pointedness 6. Confidence THE TEACHER In _At the Feet of the Master_ I have written down the instructions given to me by my Master in preparing me to learn how best to be useful to those around me. All who have read the book will know how inspiring the Master's words are, and how they make each person who reads them long to train himself for the service of others. I know myself how much I have been helped by the loving care of those to whom I look for guidance, and I am eager to pass on to others the help I have obtained from them. It seems to me that the Master's instructions can be universally applied. They are useful not only to those who are definitely trying to tread the path which leads to Initiation, but also to all who, while still doing the ordinary work of the world, are anxious to do their duty earnestly and unselfishly. One of the noblest forms of work is that of the teacher; let us see what light is thrown upon it by the words of the Master. I will take the four Qualifications which have been given in _At the Feet of the Master_, and will try to show how they can be applied to the life of the teacher and of the students, and to the relations which should exist between them. The most important Qualification in education is Love, and I will take that first. It is sad that in modern days the office of a teacher has not been regarded as on a level with other learned professions. Any one has been thought good enough to be a teacher, and as a result little honour has been paid to him. Naturally, therefore, the cleverest boys are not drawn towards that profession. But really the office of the teacher is the most sacred and the most important to the nation, because it builds the characters of the boys and girls who will be its future citizens. In olden days this office was thought so holy that only priests were teachers and the school was a part of the temple. In India the trust in the teacher was so great that the parents gave over their sons completely to him for many years, and teacher and students lived together as a family. Because this happy relation should be brought back again, I put Love first among the Qualifications which a teacher ought to have. If India is to become again the great nation which we all hope to see, this old happy relation must be re-established. I. LOVE My Master taught me that Love will enable a man to acquire all other qualities and that "all the rest without it would never be sufficient." Therefore no person ought to be a teacher--ought to be allowed to be a teacher--unless he has shown in his daily life that Love is the strongest quality of his nature. It may be asked: How are we to find out whether a person possesses Love to a sufficient degree to make him worthy to be a teacher? Just as a boy shows his natural capacities at an early age for one profession or another, so a particularly strong love-nature would mark a boy out as specially fitted to be an instructor. Such boys should be definitely trained for the office of the teacher just as boys are trained for other professions. Boys who are preparing for all careers live a common life in the same school, and they can only become useful to the nation as men, if their school life is happy. A young child is naturally happy, and if that happiness is allowed to go on and grow in the school, and at home, then he will become a man who will make others happy. A teacher full of love and sympathy will attract the boys and make their school life a pleasant one. My Master once said that "children are very eager to learn and if a teacher cannot interest them and make them love their lessons, he is not fit to be a teacher and should choose another profession." He has said also: "Those who are mine love to teach and to serve. They long for an opportunity of service as a hungry man longs for food, and they are always watching for it. Their hearts are so full of the divine Love that it must be always overflowing in love for those around them. Only such are fit to be teachers--those to whom teaching is not only a holy and imperative duty, but also the greatest of pleasures." A sympathetic teacher draws out all the good qualities in his pupils, and his gentleness prevents them from being afraid of him. Each boy then shows himself just as he is, and the teacher is able to see the line best suited to him and to help him to follow it. To such a teacher a boy will come with all his difficulties, knowing that he will be met with sympathy and kindness, and, instead of hiding his weaknesses, he will be glad to tell everything to one of whose loving help he is sure. The good teacher remembers his own youth, and so can feel with the boy who comes to him. My Master said: "He who has forgotten his childhood and lost sympathy with the children is not a man who can teach them or help them." This love of the teacher for his pupil, protecting and helping him, will bring out love from the pupil in turn, and as he looks up to his teacher this love will take the form of reverence. Reverence, beginning in this way with the boy, will grow as he grows older, and will become the habit of seeing and reverencing greatness, and so perhaps in time may lead him to the Feet of the Master. The love of the boy to the teacher will make him docile and easy to guide, and so the question of punishment will never arise. Thus one great cause of fear which at present poisons all the relations between the teacher and his pupil will vanish. Those of us who have the happiness of being pupils of the true Masters know what this relation ought to be. We know the wonderful patience, gentleness and sympathy with which They always meet us, even when we may have made mistakes or have been weak. Yet there is much more difference between Them and us than between the ordinary teacher and his pupil. When the teacher has learned to look upon his office as dedicating him to the service of the nation, as the Master has dedicated Himself to the service of humanity, then he will become part of the great Teaching Department of the world, to which belongs my own beloved Master--the Department of which the supreme Teacher of Gods and men is the august Head. It may be said that many boys could not be managed in this way. The answer is that such boys have been already spoiled by bad treatment. Even so, they must be slowly improved by greater patience and constant love. This plan has already proved successful when tried. Living in this atmosphere of love during school hours, the boy will become a better son and a better brother at home, and will bring home with him a feeling of life and vigour, instead of coming home, as he generally does now, depressed and tired. When he, in turn, becomes the head of a household, he will fill it with the love in which he has been brought up, and so the happiness will go on spreading and increasing, generation after generation. Such a boy when he becomes a father, will not look on his son, as so many do now, from a purely selfish point of view, as though he were merely a piece of property--as though the son existed for the sake of the father. Some parents seem to regard their children only as a means of increasing the prosperity and reputation of the family by the professions which they may adopt or the marriages that they may make, without considering in the least the wishes of the children themselves. The wise father will consult his boy as a friend, will take pains to find out what his wishes are, and will help him with his greater experience to carry out those wishes wisely, remembering always that his son is an ego who has come to the father to give him the opportunity of making good karma by aiding the son in his progress. He will never forget that though his son's body may be young, the soul within is as old as his own, and must therefore be treated with respect as well as affection. Love both at home and in the school will naturally show itself in continual small acts of service, and these will form a habit out of which will grow the larger and more heroic acts of service which makes the greatness of a nation. The Master speaks much on cruelty as a sin against love, and distinguishes between intentional and unintentional cruelty. He says: "Intentional cruelty is purposely to give pain to another living being; and that is the greatest of all sins--the work of a devil rather than a man." The use of the cane must be classed under this, for He says of intentional cruelty: "Many schoolmasters do it habitually." We must also include all words and acts _intended_ to wound the feelings of the boy and to hurt his self-respect. In some countries corporal punishment is forbidden, but in most it is still the custom. But my Master said: "These people try to excuse their brutality by saying that it is the custom; but a crime does not cease to be a crime because many commit it. Karma takes no account of custom; and the karma of cruelty is the most terrible of all. In India at least there can be no excuse for such customs, for the duty of harmlessness is well known to all." The whole idea of what is called "punishment" is not only wrong but foolish. A teacher who tries to frighten his boys into doing what he wishes does not see that they only obey him while he is there, and that as soon as they are out of his sight they will pay no attention to his rules, or even take a pleasure in breaking them because they dislike him. But if he draws them to do what he wants because they love him and wish to please him, they will keep his rules even in his absence, and so make his work much easier. Instead of developing fear and dislike in the characters of the boys, the wise teacher will gain his ends by calling forth from them love and devotion; and so will strengthen all that is good in them, and help them on the road of evolution. Again, the idea of expulsion, of getting rid of a troublesome boy instead of trying to improve him, is wrong. Even when, for the sake of his companions, a boy has to be separated from them, the good of the boy himself must not be forgotten. In fact, all through, school discipline should be based on the good of the boys and not on the idea of saving trouble to the teacher. The loving teacher does not mind the trouble. Unintentional cruelty often comes from mere thoughtlessness, and the teacher should be very careful not to be cruel in words or actions from want of thought. Teachers often cause pain by hasty words uttered at a time when they have been disturbed by some outside annoyance, or are trying to attend to some important duty. The teacher may forget the incident or pass it over as trivial, but in many such cases a sensitive boy has been wounded, and he broods over the words and ends by imagining all sorts of foolish exaggerations. In this way many misunderstandings arise between teachers and boys, and though the boys must learn to be patient and generous, and to realise that the teacher is anxious to help all as much as he can, the teacher in his turn must always be on the alert to watch his words, and to allow nothing but gentleness to shine out from his speech and actions, however busy he may be. If the teacher is always gentle to the boys, who are younger and weaker than himself, it will be easy for him to teach them the important lesson of kindness to little children, animals, birds and other living creatures. The older boys, who themselves are gentle and tactful, should be encouraged to observe the condition of the animals they see in the streets, and if they see any act of cruelty, to beg the doer of it very politely and gently, to treat the animal more kindly. The boys should be taught that nothing which involves the hunting and killing of animals should be called sport. That word ought to be kept for manly games and exercises, and not used for the wounding and killing of animals. My Master says: "The fate of the cruel must fall also upon all who go out intentionally to kill God's creatures and call it sport." I do not think that teachers realise the harm and the suffering caused by gossip, which the Master calls a sin against love. Teachers should be very careful not to make difficulties for their boys by gossiping about them. No boy should ever be allowed to have a bad name in the school, and it should be the rule that no one may speak ill of any other member of the school whether teacher or boy. My Master points out that by talking about a person's faults, we not only strengthen those faults in him, but also fill our own minds with evil thoughts. There is only one way of really getting rid of our lower nature, and that is by strengthening the higher. And while it is the duty of the teacher to understand the weaknesses of those placed in his charge he must realise that he will destroy the lower nature only by surrounding the boy with his love, thus stimulating the higher and nobler qualities till there is no place left for the weaknesses. The more the teacher gossips about the faults of the boys, the more harm he does, and, except during a consultation with his fellow teachers as to the best methods of helping individual boys out of their weaknesses, he should never talk about a boy's defects. The boys must also be taught the cruelty of gossip among themselves. I know many a boy whose life at school has been made miserable because his companions have been thoughtless and unkind, and the teacher either has not noticed his unhappiness, or has not understood how to explain to the boys the nature of the harm they were doing. Boys frequently take hold of some peculiarity in speech or in dress, or of some mistake which has been made, and, not realising the pain they cause, carelessly torture their unfortunate schoolfellow with unkind allusions. In this case the mischief is due chiefly to ignorance, and if the teacher has influence over the boys, and gently explains to them what pain they are giving they will quickly stop. They must be taught, too, that nothing which causes suffering or annoyance to another can ever be the right thing to do, nor can it ever be amusing to any right-minded boy. Some children seem to find pleasure in teasing or annoying others, but that is only because they are ignorant. When they understand, they will never again be so unbrotherly. In every class-room these words of my Master should be put up in a prominent place: "Never speak ill of any one; refuse to listen when anyone else speaks ill of another, but gently say: 'Perhaps this is not true, and even if it is, it is kinder not to speak of it.'" There are crimes against love which are not recognised as crimes, and which are unfortunately very common. A teacher must use discretion in dealing with these, but should teach a doctrine of love so far as he is permitted, and may at least set a good example himself. Three of these are put by my Master under the head of cruelties caused by superstition. 1. Animal sacrifice. Among civilised nations this is now found only in India, and is tending to disappear even there. Parents and teachers should tell their boys that no custom which is cruel is really part of any true religion. For we have seen that religion teaches unity, and therefore kindness and gentleness to everything that feels. God cannot therefore be served by cruelty and the killing of helpless creatures. If Indian boys learn this lesson of love in school they will, when they become men, put an end entirely to this cruel superstition. 2. Much more widely spread is what my Master calls "the still more cruel superstition that man needs flesh for food." This is a matter that concerns the parent more than the teacher, but at least the teacher may gradually lead his boys to see the cruelty involved in killing animals for food. Then, even if the boy is obliged to eat meat at home, he will give it up when he is a man, and will give his own children a better opportunity than he himself had. If parents at home and teachers at school would train young children in the duty of loving and protecting all living creatures, the world would be much happier than it is at present. 3. "The treatment which superstition has meted out to the depressed classes in our beloved India," says the Master, is a proof that "this evil quality can breed heartless cruelty even among those who know the duty of Brotherhood." To get rid of this form of cruelty every boy must be taught the great lesson of love, and much can be done for this in school as well as at home. The boy at school has many special opportunities of learning this lesson, and the teacher should point out the duty of showing courtesy and kindness to all who are in inferior positions, as well as to the poor whom he may meet outside. All who know the truth of reincarnation should realise that they are members of one great family, in which some are younger brethren and some elder. Boys must be taught to show gentleness and consideration to servants, and to all who are below them in social position; caste was not intended to promote pride and rudeness, and Manu teaches that servants should be treated as the children of the family. A great part of the teacher's work lies in the playground, and the teacher who does not play with his boys will never quite win their hearts. Indian boys as a rule do not play enough, and time should be given for games during the school day. Even the teachers who have not learned to play in their youth should come to the playground and show interest in the games, thus sharing in this part of the boy's education. In schools where there are boarding-houses the love of the teacher is especially necessary, for in them the boarding-house must take the place of the home, and a family feeling must be created there. Bright and affectionate teachers will be looked on as elder brothers, and difficulties which escape rules will be got rid of by love. In fact, all the many activities of school life should be made into channels through which affection can run between teacher and pupil, and the more channels there are the better it will be for both. As the boy grows older these channels will naturally become more numerous, and the love of the school will become the friendship of manhood. Thus love will have her perfect work. Love on the physical plane has many forms. We have the love of husband and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters, the affection between relatives and friends. But all these are blended and enriched in the love of the Master to His disciple. The Master gives to His pupil the gentleness and protection of a mother, the strength of a father, the understanding of a brother or a sister, the encouragement of a relative or a friend, and He is one with His pupil and His pupil is a part of Him. Besides this, the Master knows His pupil's past, and His pupil's future, and guides him through the present from the past into the future. The pupil knows but little beyond the present, and he does not understand that great love which draws its inspiration from the memory of the past and shapes itself to mould the powers of the future. He may even sometimes doubt the wisdom of the love which guides itself according to a pattern which his eyes cannot see. That which I have said above may seem a very high ideal for the relation between a teacher and pupil down here. Yet the difference between them is less than the difference between a Master and His disciple. The lower relation should be a faint reflection of the higher, and at least the teacher may set the higher before himself as an ideal. Such an ideal will lift all his work into a higher world, and all school life will be made happier and better because the teacher has set it before him. II. DISCRIMINATION The next very necessary qualification for the teacher is Discrimination. My Master said that the most important knowledge was "the knowledge of God's plan for men, for God has a plan, and that plan is evolution." Each boy has his own place in evolution, and the teacher must try to see what that place is, and how he can best help the boy in that place. This is what the Hindus call Dharma, and it is the teacher's duty to find out the boy's dharma and to help him to fulfil it. In other words, the teaching given to the boy should be that which is suitable for him, and the teacher must use discrimination in choosing the teaching, and in his way of giving it. Under these conditions, the boy's progress would be following out the tendencies made in past lives, and would really be remembering the things he knew before. "The method of evolution," as a great Master said, "is a constant dipping down into matter under the law of readjustment," _i.e._ by reincarnation and karma. Unless the teacher knows these truths, he cannot work with evolution as he should do, and much of his time and of his pupil's time will be wasted. It is this ignorance which causes such small results to be seen, after many years at school, and which leaves the boy himself so ignorant of the great truths which he needs to guide his conduct in life. Discrimination is wanted in the choice of subjects and in the way in which they are taught. First in importance come religion and morals, and these must not only be taught as subjects but must be made both the foundation and the atmosphere of school life, for these are equally wanted by every boy, no matter what he is to do later in life. Religion teaches us that we are all part of One Self, and that we ought therefore help one another. My Master said that people "try to invent ways for themselves which they think will be pleasant for themselves, not understanding that all are one, and that therefore only what the One wills can ever be really pleasant for anyone." And He also said: "You can help your brother through that which you have in common with him, and that is the Divine life." To teach this is to teach religion, and to live it is to lead the religious life. At present the value of the set moral teaching is largely made useless by the arrangements of the school. The school day should always open with something of the nature of a religious service, striking the note of a common purpose and a common life, so that the boys, who are all coming from different homes and different ways of living may be tuned to unity in the school. It is a good plan to begin with a little music or singing so that the boys, who often come rushing in from hastily taken food, may quiet down and begin the school day in an orderly way. After this should come a prayer and a very short but beautiful address, placing an ideal before the boys. But if these ideals are to be useful, they must be practised all through the school day, so that the spirit of the religious period may run through the lessons and the games. For example, the duty of the strong to help the weak is taught in the religious hour, and yet for the rest of the day the strong are set to outstrip the weak, and are given valuable prizes for their success in doing so. These prizes make many boys jealous and discourage others, they stimulate the spirit of struggle. The Central Hindu College Brotherhood has for its motto: "The ideal reward is an increased power to love and to serve." If the prizes for good work and conduct and for helping others were positions of greater trust and power of helping, this motto would be carried out. In fact, in school honour should be given to character and helpfulness rather than to strength of mind and body; strength ought to be trained and developed, but not rewarded for merely outstripping the weak. Such a school life will send out into the world men who will think more of filling places of usefulness to the nation than of merely gaining money and power for themselves. An important part of moral teaching lies in the training of the boy in patriotism--love of country. The above plan of teaching the boy to be of service in the little family of the school, will naturally widen out into service in the large family of the nation. This will also influence the boy in his choice of a profession, for he will think of the nation as his family, and will try to fill a useful place in the national life. But great care must be taken in teaching patriotism not to let the boys slip into hatred of other nations, as so often happens. This is especially important in India, where both Indian and English teachers should try to make good feeling between the two races living side by side, so that they may join in common work for the one Empire. Discrimination may also be shown in the arrangement of lessons, the most difficult subjects being taken early in the day, as far as possible. For even with the best and most carefully arranged teaching a boy will be more tired at the end of the school day than at the beginning. Discrimination is also wanted in the method of teaching, and in the amount of time given to mental and physical education. The care of the body and its development are of the first importance, for without a healthy body all teaching is wasted. It should be remembered that the boy can go on, learning all his life, if he is wise enough to wish to do so; but it is only during the years of growth that he can build up a healthy physical body in which to spend that life. Therefore during those early years the healthy development of that physical body must be absolutely the first consideration, and anything that cannot be learned compatibly with that must for the time remain unlearned. The strain on the boy's mind--and particularly on those of very young boys--is far too great and lasts far too long; the lesson period should be broken up, and the teacher should be very careful to watch the boys and to see that they do not become tired. His wish to prevent this strain will make him think out new ways of teaching, which will make the lessons very interesting; for a boy who is interested does not easily become tired. I myself remember how tired we used to be when we reached home, far too tired to do anything but lie about. But the Indian boy is not allowed to rest even when he comes home, for he has then to begin home lessons, often with a tutor, when he ought to be at rest or play. These home lessons begin again in the morning, before he goes to school, and the result is that he looks on his lessons as a hardship instead of a pleasure. Much of this homework is done by a very bad light and the boy's eyes suffer much. All home lessons should be abolished; home work burns the candle at both ends, and makes the boy's life a slavery. School hours are quite long enough, and an intelligent teacher can impart in them quite as much as any boy ought to learn in one day. What cannot be taught within those hours should be postponed until the next day. We see the result of all this overstrain in the prevalence of eye-diseases in India. Western countries set us a good example in the physical training of their boys, who leave school strong and healthy. I have heard in England that in the poorer schools the children are often inspected by a doctor so that any eye-disease or other defect is found out at once before it becomes serious. I wonder how many boys in India are called stupid merely because they are suffering from some eye or ear trouble. Discrimination should also be shown in deciding the length of the waking and sleeping times. These vary, of course, with age and to some extent perhaps with temperament. No boy should have less than nine or ten hours of sleep; when growth ceases, eight hours would generally be enough. A boy grows most during his sleep, so that the time is not in the least wasted. Few people realise how much a boy is affected by his surroundings, by the things on which his eyes are continually resting. The emotions and the mind are largely trained through the eye, and bare walls, or, still worse, ugly pictures are distinctly harmful. It is true that beautiful surroundings sometimes cost a little more than ugly ones, but the money is well spent. In some things only trouble is needed in choosing, for an ugly picture costs as much as a pretty one. Perfect cleanliness is also absolutely necessary, and teachers should be constantly on the watch to see that it is maintained. The Master said about the body: "Keep it strictly clean always; even from the minutest speck of dirt." Both teachers and students should be very clean and neat in their dress, thus helping to preserve the general beauty of the school surroundings. In all these things careful discrimination is wanted. If a boy is weak in a particular subject, or is not attracted by some subject which he is obliged to learn, a discriminating teacher will sometimes help him by suggesting to him to teach it to one who knows less than he does. The wish to help the younger boy will make the elder eager to learn more, and that which was a toil becomes a pleasure. A clever teacher will think of many such ways of helping his boys. If discrimination has been shown, as suggested in a preceding paragraph, in choosing the best and most helpful boys for positions of trust, it will be easy to teach the younger boys to look up to and wish to please them. The wish to please a loved and admired elder is one of the strongest motives in a boy, and this should be used to encourage good conduct, instead of using punishment to drive boys away from what is bad. If the teacher can succeed in attracting this love and admiration to himself, he will remain a helper to his students long after they have become men. I have been told that the boys who were under Dr. Arnold at Rugby continued in after life to turn to him for advice in their troubles and perplexities. We may perhaps add that discrimination is a most important qualification for those whose duty it is to choose the teachers. High character and the love-nature of which we have already spoken are absolutely necessary if the above suggestions are to be carried out. III. DESIRELESSNESS The next qualification to be considered is Desirelessness. There are many difficulties in the way of the teacher when he tries to acquire desirelessness, and it also requires special consideration from the standpoint of the student. As has been said in _At the Feet of the Master_: "In the light of His holy Presence all desire dies, _but_ the desire to be like Him." It is also said in the Bhagavad Gita that all desire dies "when once the Supreme is seen." This is the ideal at which to aim, that the One Will shall take the place of changing desires. This Will is seen in our dharma, and in a true teacher, one whose dharma is teaching, his one desire will be to teach, and to teach well. In fact, unless this desire is felt, teaching is not his dharma, for the presence of this desire is inseparable from real capacity to teach. We have already said that little honour, unfortunately, is attached to the post of a teacher, and that a man often takes the position because he can get nothing else, instead of because he really wants to teach, and knows that he can teach. The result is that he thinks more about salary than anything else, and is always looking about for the chance of a higher salary. This becomes his chief desire. While the teacher is no doubt partly to blame for this, it is the system which is mostly in fault, for the teacher needs enough to support himself and his family, and this is a right and natural wish on his part. It is the duty of the nation to see that he is not placed in a position in which he is obliged to be always desiring increase of salary, or must take private tuition in order to earn enough to live. Only when this has been done will the teacher feel contented and happy in the position he occupies, and feel the dignity of his office as a teacher, whatever may be his position among other teachers--which is, I fear, now marked chiefly by the amount of his salary. Only the man who is really contented and happy can have his mind free to teach well. The teacher should not desire to gain credit for himself by forcing a boy along his own line, but should consider the special talent of each boy, and the way in which _he_ can gain most success. Too often the teacher, thinking only of his own subject, forgets that the boy has to learn many subjects. The one on which most stress should be laid is the one most suited to the boy's capacity. Unless the teachers co-operate with each other, the boy is too much pressed, for each teacher urges him on in his own subject, and gives him home-lessons in this. There are many teachers, but there is only one boy. Again, the boy's welfare must be put by the teacher before his own desire to obtain good results in an examination. Sometimes it is better for a boy to remain for another year in a class and master a subject thoroughly rather than to go up for an examination which is really too difficult for him. In such a case it is right to keep him back. But it is not right to keep him back merely for the sake of good results for the teacher. On the other hand, a teacher has sometimes to resist the parents who try to force the boy beyond his strength, and think more of his rising into a higher class than of his really knowing his subjects. Unless the teacher has desirelessness, his own desires may blind him to the aspirations and capacities of the boys in his care, and he will be frequently imposing his own wishes on them instead of helping them in their natural development. However much a teacher may be attracted towards any profession or any particular set of ideas, he must so develop desirelessness that while he creates in his pupils an enthusiasm for principles, he shall not cramp them within the limits of any particular application of the principles, or allow their generous impulses--unbalanced by experience--to grow into narrow fanaticism. Thus, he should teach the principles of citizenship, but not party politics. He should teach the value of all professions to a nation, if honourably filled, and not the superiority of one profession over another. IV. GOOD CONDUCT There are six points which are summed up by the Master as Good Conduct. These are: 1. Self-control as to the mind. 2. Self-control in action. 3. Tolerance. 4. Cheerfulness. 5. One-pointedness. 6. Confidence. We will take each of these in turn. 1. _Self-control as to the mind_ is a most important qualification for a teacher, for it is principally through the mind that he guides and influences his boys. In the first place it means, as my Master has said, "control of temper, so that you may feel no anger or impatience." It is obvious that much harm will be done to boys if their teacher is often angry and impatient. It is true that this anger and impatience are often caused by the outer conditions of the teacher's life, but this does not prevent their bad effect on the boys. Such feelings, due generally to very small causes, re-act upon the minds of the students, and if the teacher is generally impatient and very often angry, he is building into the character of the boys germs of impatience and anger which may in after life destroy their own happiness, and embitter the lives of their relations and friends. We have to remember also that the boys themselves often come to school discontented and worried on account of troubles at home, and so both teachers and boys bring with them angry and impatient thoughts, which spread through the school, and make the lessons difficult and unpleasant when they should be easy and full of delight. The short religious service referred to in an early part of this little book should be attended by teachers as well as students, and should act as a kind of door to shut out such undesirable feelings. Then both teachers and students would devote their whole energies to the creation of a happy school, to which all should look forward in the morning, and which all should be sorry to leave at the end of the school day. The lack of control of temper, it must be remembered, often leads to injustice on the part of the teacher, and therefore to sullenness and want of confidence on the boy, and no boy can make real progress, or be in any real sense happy, unless he has complete confidence in the justice of his elders. Much of the strain of modern school life is due to this lack of confidence, and much time has to be wasted in breaking down barriers which would never have been set up if the teacher had been patient. Anger and impatience grow out of irritability. It is as necessary for the boy to understand his teacher as for the teacher to understand the boy, and hasty temper is an almost insuperable obstacle in the way of such understanding. "The teacher is angry to-day," "The teacher is irritable to-day," "The teacher is short-tempered to-day," are phrases too often on the lips of boys, and they produce a feeling of discomfort in the class-room that makes harmony and ease impossible. Boys learn to watch their teachers, and to guard themselves against their moods, and so distrust replaces confidence. The value of the teacher depends upon his power of inspiring confidence, and he loses this when he gives way to irritability. This is particularly important with young children, for they are eager to learn and eager to love, and only those who have no business to be teachers would dare to meet such eagerness by anger. It is of course true that younger boys are in many ways more difficult to teach than elder ones; for they have not yet learned how to make efforts, nor how to control and guide them when made. The teacher has therefore to help them much more than the elder boys who have learned largely to help themselves. The chief difficulty is to make the best use of the young energies by finding them continual and interesting employment; if the young enthusiasms are checked harshly instead of being guided sympathetically they will soon die out, and the boy will become dull and discontented. I have read that youth is full of enthusiasm and ideals, and that these gradually disappear with age, until a man is left with few or none. But it seems to me that enthusiasm, if real, should not die out, and leave cynicism behind, but rather should become stronger and more purposeful with age. The young children coming straight out of the heaven-world have brought with them a feeling of unity, and this feeling should be strengthened in them, so that it may last on through life. Anger and irritability belong only to the separated self, and they drive away the feeling of unity. Self-control also involves calmness, courage and steadiness. Whatever difficulties the teacher may have either at home or at school, he must learn to face them bravely and cheerfully, not only that he may avoid worry for himself, but also that he may set a good example to his boys, and so help them to become strong and brave. Difficulties are much increased by worrying over them, and by imagining them before they happen--doing what Mrs. Besant once called, "crossing bridges before we come to them." Unless the teacher is cheerful and courageous with his own difficulties, he will not be able to help the boys to meet _their_ difficulties bravely. Most obstacles grow small before a contented mind, and boys who bring this to their work will find their studies much easier than if they came to them discontented and worried. Courage and steadiness lead to self-reliance, and one who is self-reliant can always be depended on to do his duty, even under difficult circumstances. Self-control as to the mind also means concentration on each piece of work as it has to be done. My Master says about the mind: "You must not let it wander. Whatever you are doing, fix your thought upon it, that it may be perfectly done." Much time is lost in school because the boys do not pay sufficient attention to their work; and unless the teacher is himself paying full attention to it the minds of the boys are sure to wander. Prayer and meditation are intended to teach control of the mind, but these are practised only once or twice a day. Unless the mind is controlled all day long by paying attention to everything we do, as the Master directs, we shall never gain real power over our minds, so that they may be perfect instruments. One of the most difficult parts of a teacher's duty is to turn quickly from one subject to another, as the boys come to him with their different questions and troubles. His mind must be so fully under his control that he can pay complete attention to the particular anxiety of each boy, taking up one after the other with the same care and interest, and without any impatience. If he does not pay this full attention he is sure to make mistakes in the advice which he gives, or to be unjust in his decisions, and out of such mistakes very serious troubles may arise. On this point my friend, Mr. G.S. Arundale, the well-known Principal of the Central Hindu College, writes: "At frequent intervals, of course, boys come with complaints, with petitions, and here I have to be very careful to concentrate my attention on each boy and on his particular need, for the request, or complaint, or trouble, is sometimes quite trivial and foolish, and yet it may be a great source of worry to the boy unless it is attended to; and even if the boy cannot be satisfied he can generally be sent away contented. One of the most difficult tasks for a teacher is to have sufficient control over his attention to be able continually to turn it from one subject to another without losing intensity, and to bear cheerfully the strain this effort involves. We often speak of something taxing a person's patience, but we really mean that it taxes a person's attention, for impatience is only the desire of the mind to attend to something more interesting than that which for the moment occupies it." Boys must be helped to concentrate their attention on what they are doing, for their minds are always wandering away from the subject in hand. The world outside them is so full of attractive objects new and interesting to them, that their attention runs away after each fresh thing that comes under their eyes. A child is constantly told to observe, and he takes pleasure in doing so; when he begins to reason he must for the time stop observing and concentrate his mind on the subject he is studying. This change is at first very difficult for him, and the teacher must help him to take up the new attitude. Sometimes attention wanders because the boy is tired, and then the teacher should try to put the subject in a new way. The boy does not generally cease to pay attention wilfully and deliberately, and the teacher must be patient with the restlessness so natural to youth. Let him at least always be sure that the want of attention is not the result of his own fault, of his own way of teaching. If the attention of the teachers and the boys is trained in this way, the whole school life will become fuller and brighter, and there will be no room for the many harmful thoughts which crowd into the uncontrolled mind. Even when rest is wanted by the mind, it need not be quite empty; in the words of the Master: "Keep good thoughts always in the background of it, ready to come forward the moment it is free." The Master goes on to explain how the mind may be used to help others, when it has been brought under control. "Think each day of some one whom you know to be in sorrow, or suffering, or in need of help, and pour out loving thoughts upon him." Teachers hardly understand the immense force they may use along this line. They can influence their boys by their thoughts even more than by their words and actions, and by sending out a stream of kind and loving thoughts over the class, the minds of all the boys will be made quieter and happier. Even without speaking a word they will improve the whole atmosphere. This good influence of thought should spread out from the school over the neighbourhood. As those who live among young people keep young themselves, and keep the ideals and pure aspirations of youth longer than those who live mainly among older people, so the presence of a school should be a source of joy and inspiration to the surrounding neighbourhood or district. Happy and harmonious thought-forms should radiate from it, lighting up the duller atmosphere outside, pouring streams of hope and strength into all within its sphere of influence. The poor should be happier, the sick more comfortable, the aged more respected, because of the school in their midst. If the teacher often speaks on these subjects to his boys, and from time to time places some clear thought before them, which they all think about together, much good may be done. For thought is a very real and powerful force, especially when many join together with some common thought in their minds. If any great disaster has happened, causing misery to numbers of people, the teacher might take advantage of the religious service to draw attention to the need, and ask the boys to join with him in sending thoughts of love and courage to the sufferers. The last point mentioned by the Master is pride: "Hold back your mind from pride," He says, "for pride comes only from ignorance." We must not confuse pride with the happiness felt when a piece of work is well done; pride grows out of the feeling of separateness: "_I_ have done better than others." Happiness in good work should grow out of the feeling of unity: "I am glad to have done this to help us all." Pride separates a person from others, and makes him think himself superior to those around him; but the pleasure in some piece of work well done is helpful and stimulating, and encourages the doer to take up some more difficult work. When we share with others any knowledge we have gained, we lose all feeling of pride, and the wish to help more, instead of the wish to excel others, becomes the motive for study. 2. _Self-control in action_. The Master points out that while "there must be no laziness, but constant activity in good work ... it must be your _own_ duty that you do--not another man's, unless with his permission and by way of helping him." The teacher has, however, a special duty in this connection; for while he must offer to his boys every opportunity for development along their own lines, and must be careful not to check their growth or to force it in an unsuitable direction, he is bound to guide them very carefully, to watch them very closely, and, as Master has said, to tell them gently of their faults. The teacher is in charge of his boys while they are in school, and must, while they are there, take the place of their parents. His special lesson of self-control is to learn to adapt his own methods to the stage through which his boys are passing. While contenting himself with watching and encouraging them when their activity is running along right lines, he must be ready to step in--with as little disturbance as possible--to modify the activity if it becomes excessive, to stimulate it if it becomes dull, and to turn it into new channels if it has taken a wrong course. In any necessary interposition he should try to make the boys feel that he is helping them to find the way they have missed but really wished to go, rather than forcing them to go his way. Many boys have failed to develop the necessary strength of character, because the teacher, by constant interference, has imposed on them his own knowledge as to right action, instead of trying to awaken their judgment and intuition. The boys become accustomed to depend entirely on him, instead of learning gradually to walk alone. The teacher must be very careful not to allow outside interests to take him away from his duties in the school. Many teachers do not seem to realise that the school should occupy as much time as they can possibly give to it outside their home duties. They sometimes do the bare amount of work necessary, and then rush away to some other occupation which they find more interesting. No teacher can be really successful in his profession unless it is the thing he cares for most, unless he is eager to devote all the time he can to his boys, and feels that he is happiest when he is working with them or for them. We are always told that enthusiasm and devotion to their work mark the successful business man, the successful official, the successful statesman; they are equally necessary for the successful teacher. Anyone who desires to rise high in the profession of teaching must bring to his work, not only ability, but similar enthusiasm and devotion. Surely even more enthusiasm and devotion should be brought to the moulding of many hundreds of young lives than to the gaining of money or power. Every moment that the teacher is with his boys he can help them, for, as has always been taught in India, being near a good man helps one's evolution. Away from the school he should be thinking of them and planning for them, and this he cannot do if his whole mind, out of school, is taken up with other interests. On this, again, I may quote Mr. Arundale: "When I get up in the morning my first thought is what has to be done during the day generally and as regards my own work in particular. A rapid mental survey of the School and College enables me to see whether any student seems to stand out as needing particular help. I make a note of any such student in my note book, so that I may call him during the day. Then before College hours, before I take up any extraneous work, I look through my own lectures to see that I am ready for them. By this time students are continually dropping in with questions, with their hopes and aspirations, with difficulties and with troubles, some with slight ailments they want cured. I have a special little place in which to see those young men, so that the atmosphere may be pure and harmonious, and upon each one I endeavour to concentrate my whole attention, shutting everything else completely off, and I am not satisfied unless each boy leaves me with a smile upon his face." Unless a teacher works in this spirit, he does not understand how sacred and solemn a trust is placed in his hands. No teacher is worthy of the name who does not realise that he serves God most truly and his country most faithfully when he lives and works with his boys. His self-sacrificing life, lived amongst them, inspires them to perform their duties well, as they see him performing his, and thus they grow in reverence and patriotism. These boys are God's children entrusted to his care; they are the hope of the nation placed in his hands. How shall he answer to God and the nation, when the trust passes out of his hands, if he has not consecrated his whole time and thought to discharge it faithfully, but has allowed the boys to go out into the world with out love to God, and without the wish and power to serve their country? Boys, as well as teachers, must learn self-control in action. They must not so engage in other activities as to neglect their ordinary school duties. My Master says to those who wish to serve Him: "You must do ordinary work better than others, not worse." A boy's first duty in school is to learn well, and nothing should lead him to neglect his regular school work. Outside this--as it is best that his activities should be kept within the school--the wise teacher will provide within the school organisation all the activities in which his boys can usefully take part. If there should be any national organisation to which he thinks it useful that they should belong, he will himself organise a branch of it within the school and he himself and the other teachers will take part in it. For example the Boy-Scout movement and the Sons of India are both national organisations, but branches of them should be formed in the separate schools. Teachers should train their boys to realise that just as the home is the centre of activity for the child, so is the school the centre of activity for the youth. As the child draws his life and energy from the home, so the youth should draw his from the school. The most useful work should be done in connection with the school so that it may form part of the general education of the boy, and be in harmony with the rest of his growth. There should be in the school debating societies, in which the rules of debate are carefully observed, so that the boys may learn self-control in argument; dramatic clubs in which they may learn control of expression; athletic clubs in which control of mind and action are both acquired; literary societies for boys specially interested in certain studies; societies for helping the poorer students. It is also very important to give the boys an opportunity of understanding the conditions under which their country is growing, so that in the school they may practice patriotism apart from politics. It is very unfortunate that in India students are often taught by unscrupulous agitators that love of their country should be shown by hatred of other countries; the boys would never believe this, if their own school provided patriotic services for its boys, so as to give a proper outlet for the enthusiasm they rightly feel. They only seek an outlet away from the school because none is provided for them within it. Groups of students should be formed for various kinds of social service according to the capacities of the boys, and the needs of their surroundings: for the protection of animals, for rendering first aid to the injured, for the education of the depressed classes, for service in connection with national and religious festivals, and so on. Boys, for whom such forms of service are provided in their schools, will not want to carry them on separately. Boys have a special opportunity of practising self-control in action when they play games. The boys come from the more formal discipline of the class-room into conditions in which there is a sudden cessation of external authority; unless they have learned to replace this with self-control, we shall see in the play-ground brutality in the stronger followed by fear in the weaker. The playing fields have a special value in arousing the power of self-discipline, and if teachers are there who set the example of submitting to the authority of the captain, of showing gentleness and honour, and playing for the side rather than for themselves, they will much help the boys in gaining self-control. The boys also will see the teacher in a new light; he is no longer imposing his authority upon them as a teacher, but he is ruling himself from within and subordinating his own action to the rules of the game, and to the interests of those who are playing with him. The boy who enters the field with no other idea than that of enjoying himself as much as he can, even at the expense of his fellow-students, will learn from his teacher's example that he is happiest when playing for others, not for himself alone, and that he plays best when the object of the game is the honour of the school and not his own advantage. He also learns that the best player is the boy who practises his strokes carefully, and uses science to direct strength. Desiring to be a good player himself, he begins to train his body to do as he wishes, thus gaining self-control in action; through this self-control he learns the great lesson, that self-control increases happiness and leads to success. Another thing learned in the play-ground is control of temper, for a boy who loses his temper always plays badly. He learns not to be hasty and impatient, and to control his speech even when he is losing, and not to show vanity when he wins. Thus he is making a character, strong and well-balanced, which will be very useful to him when he comes to be a man. All this is really learned better in the play-ground than in the class-room. 3. _Tolerance_. Most of my Master's directions under this head are intended mainly for disciples, but still their spirit may be applied to those who are living the ordinary life. Tolerance is a virtue which is very necessary in schools, especially when the scholars are of different faiths. "You must feel," says my Master, "perfect tolerance for all, and a hearty interest in the beliefs of those of another religion, just as much as in your own. For their religion is a path to the highest just as yours is. And to help all you must understand all." It is the duty of the teacher to be the first in setting an example along these lines. Many teachers, however, make the mistake of thinking that the views and rules to which they are themselves accustomed are universal principles which everybody ought to accept. They are therefore anxious to destroy the students' own convictions and customs, in order to replace them by others which they think better. This is especially the case in countries like India, where the boys are of many religions. Unless the teacher studies sympathetically the religions of his pupils, and understands that the faith of another is as dear to him as his own is to himself, he is likely to make his boys unbelievers in all religion. He should take special care to speak with reverence of the religions to which his boys belong, strengthening each in the great principles of his own creed, and showing the unity of all religions by apt illustrations taken from the various sacred books. Much can be done in this direction during the religious service which precedes the ordinary work of the day, if this be carried out on lines common to all; while each boy should be taught the doctrines of his own religion, it would be well if he were reminded once in the day of the unity of all religions, for, as the Master said, every "religion is a path to the highest." An example would thus be set in the school of members of different religions living happily side by side, and showing respect to each other's opinions. I feel that this is one of the special functions of the school in the life of the nation. At home the boy is always with those who hold the same opinions as himself, and he has no opportunity of coming into touch with other beliefs and other customs. At school he should have the opportunity of meeting other ways of believing, and the teacher should lead him to understand these, and to see the unity underneath them. The teacher must never make a boy discontented with his own faith by speaking contemptuously of it, or by distorting it through his own ignorance. Such conduct on his part leads a boy to despise all religion. Then again there are many different customs which belong to the different parts of the country. People often exaggerate these and look on them as essential parts of religion instead of only as marks of the part of the country in which they were born. Hence they look with contempt or disapproval on those whose customs differ from their own, and they keep themselves proudly separate. I do not know how far this is a difficulty in western countries, but in India I think that customs separate us much more than physical distance or religious differences. Each part of the country has its own peculiarities as to dress, as to the manner of taking food, as to the way of wearing the hair, school boys are apt at first to look down upon those of their schoolfellows whose appearance or habits differ from their own. Teachers should help boys to get over these trivial differences and to think instead of the one Motherland to which they all belong. We have already said that patriotism should be taught without race hatred, and we may add that understanding and loving other nations is part of the great virtue of tolerance. Boys are obliged to learn the history of their own and of other nations; and history, as it is taught, is full of wars and conquests. The teacher should point out how much terrible suffering has been caused by these, and that though, in spite of them, evolution has made its way and has even utilised them, far more can be gained by peace and good will than by hatred. If care is taken to train children to look on different ways of living with interest and sympathy instead of with distrust and dislike, they will grow up into men who will show to all nations respect and tolerance. 4. _Cheerfulness_. No teacher who really loves his students can be anything but cheerful during school hours. No brave man will allow himself to be depressed, but depression is particularly harmful in a teacher, for he is daily in contact with many boys, and he spreads among them the condition of his own mind. If the teacher is depressed the boys cannot long be cheerful and happy; and unless they are cheerful and happy they cannot learn well. If teachers and boys associate cheerfulness with their school life, they will not only find the work easier than it would otherwise be, but they will turn to the school as to a place in which they can for the time live free from all cares and troubles. The teacher should train himself to turn away from all worrying and depressing thoughts the moment he enters the school gate, for his contribution to the school atmosphere, in which the boys must live and grow, must be cheerfulness and energy. The best way to get rid of depression is to occupy the mind with something bright and interesting, and this should not be difficult when he is going to his boys. Thoughts die when no attention is paid to them so it is better to turn away from depressing thoughts than to fight them. Cheerfulness literally increases life, while depression diminishes it, and by getting rid of depression the teacher increases his energy. It is often indeed very difficult for the teacher, who has the cares of family life upon him, to keep free from anxiety, but still he must try not to bring it into the school. Mr. Arundale tells me that he has made a habit of becoming cheerful the moment he enters the College gates, however worried he may have been beforehand, because, he writes: "I want my contribution to the school day to be happiness and interest, and by a daily process of making myself pretend to be cheerful when the College gates are entered, I have finally succeeded in becoming so. If, as I pass through the grounds to my office, I see any student looking dull and gloomy, I make a point of going up to him in order to exert my cheerfulness against his gloom, and the gloom soon passes away. Then comes the religious service, and when I take my seat upon the platform with the religious instructor, I try to ask the Master's blessing on all the dear young faces I see before me, and I look slowly around upon each member of the audience, trying to send out a continual stream of affection and sympathy." I have already said that boys watch their teachers' faces to see if they are in a good or a bad mood. If the teacher is always cheerful and loving, the boys will no longer watch him, for they will have learned to trust him, and all anxiety and strain will disappear. If the teacher displays constant cheerfulness, he sends out among his boys streams of energy and good will, new life pours into them, their attention is stimulated, and the sympathy of the teacher conquers the carelessness of the boy. Just as a boy learns control of action on the play-ground, so he may learn there this virtue of cheerfulness. To be cheerful in defeat makes the character strong, and the boy who can be cheerful and good-tempered in the face of the team which has just defeated him is well on the way to true manliness. 5. _One-pointedness_. One-pointedness, the concentration of attention on each piece of work as it is being done, so that it may be done as well as possible, largely depends upon interest. Unless the teacher is interested in his work, and loves it beyond all other work, he will not be able to be really one-pointed. He must be so absorbed in his school duties that his mind is continually occupied in planning for his boys, and looks upon everything in the light of its possible application to his own particular work. One-pointedness means enthusiasm, but enthusiasm is impossible without ideals. So the teacher who desires to be one-pointed must be full of ideals to which he is eager to lead his school. These ideals will sharpen his attention, and make him able to concentrate it even upon quite trivial details. He will have the ideal school in his mind, and will always be trying to bring the real school nearer to it. To be one-pointed, therefore, the teacher must not be contented with things as they are, but must be continually on the alert to take advantage of every opportunity of improvement. The teacher's ideal will of course be modified as he learns more of his students' capacities and of the needs of the nation. In this way, as the years pass, the teacher may find himself far from the early ideals that at first gave him one-pointedness. Ideals will still guide him, but they will be more practical, and so his one-pointedness will be much keener and will produce larger results. The Master quotes two sayings which seem to me to show very clearly the lines along which one-pointedness should work: "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might"; and: "Whatsoever ye do, do it _heartily_, as to the Lord and not unto men." It must be done "as to the Lord." The Master says: "Every piece of work must be done religiously--done with the feeling that it is a sacred offering to be laid on the altar of the Lord. 'This do I, O Lord, in Thy name and for Thee.' Thinking this, can I offer to Him anything but my very best? Can I let _any_ piece of my work be done carelessly or inattentively, when I know that it is being done expressly for Him? Think how you would do your work if you knew that the Lord Himself were coming directly to see it; and then realise that He _does_ see it, for all is taking place within His consciousness. So will you do your duty 'as unto the Lord and not as unto men'." The work must be done, too, according to the teacher's knowledge of the principles of evolution, and not merely out of regard to small and fleeting interests. The teacher must therefore gradually learn his own place in evolution, so that he may become one-pointed as to himself; unless he practises one-pointedness with regard to his own ideal for himself, he will not be able to bring it to bear on his surroundings. He must try to be in miniature the ideal towards which he hopes to lead his boys, and the application of the ideal to himself will enable him to see in it details which otherwise would escape his notice, or which he might neglect as unimportant. The practical application, then, of one-pointedness lies in the endeavour to keep before the mind some dominant central ideal towards which the whole of the teachers' and boys' daily routine shall be directed, so that the small life may be vitalised by the larger, and all may become conscious parts of one great whole. The ideal of service, for instance, may be made so vivid that the whole of daily life shall be lived in the effort to serve. 6. _Confidence_. First among the qualifications for the teacher has been placed Love, and it is fitting that this little book should end with another qualification of almost equal importance--Confidence. Unless the teacher has confidence in his power to attain his goal, he will not be able to inspire a similar confidence in his boys, and self-confidence is an indispensable attribute for success in all departments of human activity. The Master has beautifully explained why we have the right to be confident. "You must trust yourself. You say you know yourself too well? If you feel so, you do _not_ know yourself; you know only the weak outer husk, which has fallen often into the mire. But _you_--the real you--you are a spark of God's own fire, and God, Who is almighty, is in you, and because of that there is nothing that you cannot do if you will." The teacher must feel that he has the power to teach his boys and to train them for their future work in the world. This power is born of his love for them and his desire to help them, and is drawn from the one spiritual life of which all partake. It is because the teacher and his boys are one in essence, make one little flame in "God's own fire," that the teacher has the right to be confident that every effort to help, growing out of his own share in the one life, will reach and stimulate that same life in the boys. He will not always be able to see at once the effect he is producing. Indeed, the most important influence the teacher has shows itself in the growing characters of the boys. No success in examinations, in reports, in inspections can satisfy the real teacher as to the effect of his work. But when he feels that his own higher nature is strengthened and purified by his eagerness to serve his boys, when he has the joy of watching the divine life in them shining out in answer to that in himself, then his happiness is indeed great. Then he has the peace of knowing that he has awakened in his boys the knowledge of their own divinity, which, sooner or later, will bring them to perfection. The teacher is justified in feeling confident because the divine life is in him and his boys, and they turn to him for inspiration and strength. Let him but send out to them all that is highest in himself, and he may be quite sure that there will not be one boy who will not to some extent respond in his own higher Self, however little the response may be seen by the teacher. This constant interplay of the one life between teacher and students will draw them ever nearer to each other. They learn in the school to live together as elder and younger brothers of the one school family. By living a life of brotherhood within the small area of the school, they will be trained to live that life in the larger area of the nation. Then they will gradually learn that there is but one great brotherhood in all the world, one divine life in all. This life each separate member of the brotherhood is trying to express, consciously or unconsciously. The teacher is indeed happy who knows his own divinity; that knowledge of the divinity in man is the highest lesson it will ever be his privilege to teach. 15623 ---- Proofreading Team. JUKES-EDWARDS A STUDY IN EDUCATION AND HEREDITY * * * * * BY A.E. WINSHIP, LITT.D. * * * * * HARRISBURG, PA.: R.L. Myers & Co. 1900. To HIM Who, more than any other, has taught us how to afford opportunity for neglected, unfortunate and wayward boys and girls to transform themselves into industrious, virtuous and upright citizens through the most remarkable institution in the land, WILLIAM R. GEORGE, FOUNDER OF THE GEORGE JUNIOR REPUBLIC, THIS STUDY IS DEDICATED. R.L. MYERS & CO., PUBLISHERS OF Standard Helps for Teachers, Standard School Books. SEND FOR CATALOGUE. HARRISBURG, PENNA. PREFACE. Of all the problems which America faces on the land and on the seas, no one is so important as that of making regenerates out of degenerates. The massing of people in large cities, the incoming of vast multitudes from the impoverished masses of several European and Asiatic countries, the tendency to interpret liberty as license, the contagious nature of moral, as well as of physical, diseases combine to make it of the utmost importance that American enterprise and moral force find ways and means for accomplishing this transformation. The grand results of the movement in New York city inspired by Jacob Riis; the fascinating benevolence of the Roycroft Shop in East Aurora, N.Y.; the marvelous transfiguration of character--I speak it reverently--at the George Junior Republic, Freeville, N.Y., added to the College Settlement and kindred efforts merely indicate what may be accomplished when philanthropy supplements saying by doing, and when Christianity stands for the beauty of wholeness and is satisfied with nothing less than the physical, mental and moral conversions of all classes among the masses at home as well as abroad, in the East as well as in the West. A problem is primarily something thrown at us as a challenge for us to see through it. To solve a problem is to loosen it so that it may be looked into or seen through. Whatever contributes to the loosening of a problem by throwing light upon the conditions is of value in aiding in its solution, hence the publication of this study of the family of Jonathan Edwards as a contrast to the Jukes. A.E.W. Somerville, Mass., _June 1, 1900_. TABLE OF CONTENTS. Page. THE JUKES, 7 A STUDY OF JONATHAN EDWARDS, 15 THE INHERITANCE AND TRAINING OF MR. EDWARDS, 20 THE CHILDREN'S START IN LIFE, 29 MRS. EDWARDS AND HOME TRAINING, 37 CAPACITY, CHARACTER AND TRAINING, 41 AARON BURR, 44 CONTRASTS, 53 TIMOTHY EDWARDS, 61 COLONEL WILLIAM EDWARDS, 67 THE MARY EDWARDS DWIGHT FAMILY, 74 CHAPTER I THE JUKES Education is something more than going to school for a few weeks each year, is more than knowing how to read and write. It has to do with character, with industry, and with patriotism. Education tends to do away with vulgarity, pauperism, and crime, tends to prevent disease and disgrace, and helps to manliness, success and loyalty. Ignorance leads to all those things that education tries to do away with, and it tends to do away with all the things that education tries to cultivate. It is easy to say these things, and every one knows they are true, but few realize how much such statements mean. It is not easy to take a view of such matters over a long range of time and experience. A boy that leaves school and shifts for himself by blacking boots, selling papers, and "swiping" fruit often appears much smarter than a boy of the same age who is going to school all the time and does not see so much of the world. A boy of twelve who has lived by his wits is often keener than a boy of the same age who has been well brought up at home and at school, but such a boy knows about as much and is about as much of a man at twelve as he will ever be, while the boy that gets an education becomes more and more of a man as long as he lives. But this might be said a thousand times to every truant, and it would have very little effect, because he thinks that he will be an exception. He never sees beyond his own boyish smartness. Few men and women realize how true it is that these smart rascally fellows, who persist in remaining in ignorance, are to be the vicious, pauper, criminal class who are to fill the dens of vice, the poorhouses, and the prisons; who are to be burglars, highwaymen, and murderers. In place of opinions, it is well sometimes to present facts so clear and definite that they cannot be forgotten. R.A. Dugdale, of New York State, began the study of "The Jukes" family in 1874, and in 1877 in the twentieth annual report of the New York Prison Commission he made a statement of the results.[Footnote: G.P. Putnam's Sons, New York, reprinted this study in "The Jukes."] This brief summary of "the Jukes" is based upon the facts which Mr. Dugdale has published. "The Jukes" is a name given to a large family of degenerates. It is not the real name of any family, but a general term applied to forty-two different names borne by those in whose veins flows the blood of one man. The word "jukes" means "to roost." It refers to the habit of fowls to have no home, no nest, no coop, preferring to fly into the trees and roost away from the places where they belong. The word has also come to mean people who are too indolent and lazy to stand up or sit up, but sprawl out anywhere. "The Jukes" are a family that did not make good homes, did not provide themselves with comforts, did not work steadily. They are like hens that fly into the trees to roost. The father of "The Jukes" Mr. Dugdale styled "Max." He was born about 1720 of Dutch stock. Had he remained with his home folk in the town and been educated, and thrifty like the rest of the boys, he might have given the world a very different kind of family from "The Jukes." Max was a jolly good fellow and not very bad. He was popular and he could tell a good story that made everybody laugh. Of course he was vulgar, such jolly good fellows are usually vulgar. He would not go to school, because he did not like it. He would not stay in evenings, for he did not like that. He did not enjoy being talked to, but always wanted to talk himself, and to talk to boys who would laugh at his yarns. He would not work for he did not like it. He wanted to go fishing, hunting, and trapping; so he left home early and took to the woods. Max liked nature. He thought he was lots better than town people because he knew more about nature. He found a lovely spot on the border of a beautiful lake in New York State, where the rocks are grand, the waters lovely, the forest glorious. There was never a more charming place in which to be good and to love God than this place where Max built his shanty about 1750. But he did not go there to worship or to be good. He went simply to get away from good people, to get where he would not have to work, and where he would not be preached to, and this beautiful spot became a notorious cradle of crime. Nature is lovely, but it makes all the difference in the world how we know nature and why we love it. In 1874 Richard L. Dugdale was employed by the New York Prison Commission to visit the prisons of the state. In this visit he was surprised to find criminals in six different prisons whose relatives were mostly criminals or paupers, and the more surprised to discover that these six criminals, under four different names, were all descended from the same family. This led Mr. Dugdale to study their relatives, living and dead. He gave himself up to this work with great zeal, studying the court and prison records, reports of town poorhouses, and the testimony of old neighbors and employers. He learned the details of 540 descendants of Max in five generations. He learned the exact facts about 169 who married into the family. It is customary to count as of a family the men who marry into it. He traced in part others, which carried the number up to 1,200 persons of the family of the Jukes. The Jukes rarely married foreign-born men or women, so that it may be styled a distinctively American family. The almost universal traits of the family were idleness, ignorance, and vulgarity. They would not work, they could not be made to study, and they loved vulgarity. These characteristics led to disease and disgrace, to pauperism and crime. They were a disgustingly diseased family as a whole. There were many imbeciles and many insane. Those of "the Jukes" who tended to pauperism were rarely criminal, and those who were criminal were rarely paupers. The sick, the weak, and goody-goody ones were almost all paupers; the healthy, strong ones were criminals. It is a well-known fact in sociology that criminals are of three classes: First, those who direct crime, the capitalists in crime, who are rarely arrested, who seldom commit any crime, but inspire men to crime in various ways. These are intelligent and have to be educated to some extent. They profit by crime and take slight risks. Second, those who commit heroic crimes and find some satisfaction in the skill and daring required. Safe-breaking, train robbery, and some types of burglary require men of ability and pluck, and those who do these things have a species of pride in it. Third, those who commit weak and imbecile crimes, which mark the doer as a sneak and a coward. These men rob hen roosts, waylay helpless women and old men, steal clothing in hallways, and burn buildings. They are always cowardly about everything they do, and never have the pluck to steal chickens even until they are half drunk. They often commit murder, but only when they are detected in some sneaking crime and shoot because they are too cowardly to face their discoverer. Now the Jukes were almost never of the first or second class. They could not be criminals that required capital, brains, education or nerve. Even the kind of pauperism and crime in which they indulged was particularly disgraceful. This is inevitably true of all classes of people who combine idleness, ignorance, and vulgarity. They are not even respectable among criminals and paupers. There is an honorable pauperism. It is no disgrace to be poor or to be in a poorhouse if there is a good reason for it. One may be manly in poverty. But the Jukes were never manly or honorable paupers, they were weaklings among paupers. They were a great expense to the state, costing in crime and pauperism more than $1,250,000. Taken as a whole, they not only did not contribute to the world's prosperity, but they cost more than $1,000 a piece, including all men, women, and children, for pauperism and crime. Those who worked did the lowest kind of service and received the smallest wages. Only twenty of the 1,200 learned a trade, and ten of those learned it in the state prison. Even they were not regularly employed. Men who work regularly even at unskilled labor are generally honest men and provide for the family. A habit of irregular work is a species of mental or moral weakness, or both. A man or woman who will not stick to a job is morally certain to be a pauper or a criminal. One great benefit of going to school, especially of attending regularly for eight or ten months each year for nine years or more, is that it establishes a habit of regularity and persistency in effort. The boy who leaves school to go to work does not necessarily learn to work steadily, but often quite the reverse. Few who graduate from a grammar school, or who take the equivalent course in a rural school, fail to be regular in their habits of effort. This accounts in part for the fact that few unskilled workmen ever graduated from a grammar school. Scarcely any of the Jukes were ever at school any considerable time. Probably no one of them ever had so much as a completed rural school education. It is very difficult to find anyone who is honest and industrious, pure and prosperous, who has not had a fair education, if he ever had the opportunity, as all children in the United States now have. It is an interesting fact developed from a study of the Jukes that it is much easier to reform a criminal than a pauper. Here are a few facts by way of conclusion. On the basis of the facts gathered by Mr. Dugdale, 310 of the 1,200 were professional paupers, or more than one in four. These were in poorhouses or its equivalent for 2,300 years. Three hundred of the 1,200, or one in four, died in infancy from lack of good care and good conditions. There were fifty women who lived lives of notorious debauchery. Four hundred men and women were physically wrecked early by their own wickedness. There were seven murderers. Sixty were habitual thieves who spent on the average twelve years each in lawless depredations. There were 130 criminals who were convicted more or less often of crime. What a picture this presents! Some slight improvement was apparent when Mr. Dugdale closed his studies. This resulted from evening schools, from manual training schools, from improved conditions of labor, from the later methods of treating prisoners. CHAPTER II A STUDY OF JONATHAN EDWARDS The story of the Jukes as published by Mr. Dugdale has been the text of a multitude of sermons, the theme of numberless addresses, the inspiration of no end of editorials and essays. For twenty years there was a call for a companion picture. Every preacher, orator, and editor who presented the story of the Jukes, with its abhorrent features, wanted the facts for a cheery, comforting, convincing contrast. This was not to be had for the asking. Several attempts had been made to find the key to such a study without discovering a person of the required prominence, born sufficiently long ago, with the necessary vigor of intellect and strength of character who established the habit of having large families. In 1897 a professional scholarly organization--to which the author has the honor to belong--assigned to him, without his knowledge or consent, the duty of preparing an essay upon Jonathan Edwards for the May meeting of 1898. The study then begun led to a search for the facts regarding his family, and when it came to light that one of Jonathan Edwards' descendants presided over the New York Prison Commission when it employed Mr. Dugdale to make a study of the Jukes, the appropriateness of the contrast was more than ever apparent. In this study the sources of information are the various genealogies of families in which the descendants of Mr. Edwards play a part, various town histories and church and college publications, but chiefly the biographical dictionaries and encyclopaedias in which the records of the men of the family are chronicled. It would be impossible to follow out the positions occupied by the various members but for the pride they all feel in recording the fact that they are descendants of Jonathan Edwards. A good illustration of this may be had in the current announcements of the marvelously popular novel, "Richard Carvel," in which it is always emphasized that Mr. Winston Churchill, the author, is a descendant of Jonathan Edwards. Only two Americans established a considerable and permanent reputation in the world of European thought prior to the present century,--Benjamin Franklin and Jonathan Edwards. In 1736, Dr. Isaac Watts published in England Mr. Edwards' account of the beginning of the great awakening in the Connecticut valley. Here more than a century and a half ago, when the colonies were small, their future unsuspected and the ability of their leaders unrecognized, Jonathan Edwards "erected the standard of Orthodoxy for enlightened Protestant Europe." Who can estimate the eloquence of that simple fact? Almost everything of his which was published in the colonies was speedily republished in England. Of what other American philosopher and theologian has this been true? Here are a few of the tributes to Mr. Edwards: _Daniel Webster_: "The Freedom of the Will" by Mr. Edwards is the greatest achievement of the human intellect. _Dr. Chalmers_: The greatest of theologians. _Robert Hall_: He was the greatest of the sons of men. _Dugald Stewart_: Edwards on the Will never was answered and never will be answered. _Encyclopaedia_: One of the greatest metaphysicians of his age. _Edinburgh Review_: One of the acutest and most powerful of reasoners. _London Quarterly Review_: His gigantic specimen of theological argument is as near to perfection as we may expect any human composition to approach. He unites the sharpness of the scimetar and the strength of the battle-axe. _Westminster Review_: From the days of Plato there has been no life of more simple and imposing grandeur than that of Jonathan Edwards. _President McCosh, of Princeton_: The greatest thinker that America has produced. _Lyman Beecher_: A prince among preachers. In our day there is no man who comes within a thousand miles of him. _Griswold's Prose Writers_: The first man of the world during the second quarter of the eighteenth century. _Hollister's History of Connecticut_: The most gifted man of the eighteenth century, perhaps the most profound thinker in the world. _Moses Coit Tyler_: The most original and acute thinker yet produced in America. This is the man whose intellectual life has thrilled in the mental activity of more than 1,400 men and women of the past century and a half, and which has not lost its virtue or its power in all these years. England and Scotland are not wont to sit at our feet even in this day, and yet they sat at the feet of Jonathan Edwards as in the presence of a master when he was a mere home missionary, living among the Indians, to whom he preached every Lord's day. The birth of fame is always an interesting study. It is easy to play the part of a rocket if one can sizzle, and flash, and rise suddenly in darkness, but to take one's place among luminaries and shine with permanent brilliancy is so rare an experience as to present a fascinating study. Jonathan Edwards was twenty-eight years of age, had been the pastor of a church on the frontier, as Northampton was, for four years without any notable experience, when he was invited to preach the annual sermon before the association of ministers at Boston. Never since that day have Boston and Harvard been more thoroughly the seat of culture and of intellectual power than then. It was a remarkable event for a young man of twenty-eight to be invited to come from the Western limit of civilization and preach the annual sermon before the philosophical, theological, and scholastic masters of the East. This sermon was so powerful that the association published it. This was his first appearance in print. So profoundly moved by this effort were the churches of New England that the clergymen generally gave public thanks to the Head of the Church for raising up so great a teacher and preacher. Thus was born the fame of Jonathan Edwards. It is nearly 170 years since then. Science and invention, enterprise and ambition have done great things for America and for Americans. We have mighty universities, libraries, and laboratories, but we have no man who thinks more clearly, writes more logically, speaks more vigorously than did Jonathan Edwards, and we have never had such a combination of spirit and power in any other American. This mastery is revealing itself in various ways in hundreds of his descendants to-day, and it has never ceased to do it since his blood gave tonic to the thought and character of his children and his children's children. CHAPTER III THE INHERITANCE AND TRAINING OF MR. EDWARDS No man can have the intellectual power, nobility of character, and personal grandeur of Jonathan Edwards and transmit it to his children's children for a century and a half who has not himself had a great inheritance. The whole teaching of the culture of animals and plants leaves no room to question the persistency of character, and this is so grandly exemplified in the descendants of Mr. Edwards that it is interesting to see what inheritances were focused in him. It is not surprising to find that the ancestors of Mr. Edwards were cradled in the intellectual literary activities of the days of Queen Elizabeth. The family is of Welsh origin and can be traced as far as 1282, when Edward, the conquerer, appeared. His great-great-grandfather, Richard Edwards, who went from Wales to London about 1580, was a clergyman in the Elizabethan period. Those were days which provided tonic for the keenest spirits and brightest minds and professional men profited most from the influence of Spencer, Bacon, and Shakespeare. Among the first men to come to the new colonies in New England was William, a son of this clergyman, born about 1620, who came to Hartford, where his son Richard, born 1647, the grandfather of Jonathan, was an eminently prosperous merchant. Richard was an only son. The father of Jonathan, Timothy Edwards, was an only son in a family of seven. Aristocracy was at its height in the household of the merchants of Hartford in the middle of the seventeenth century. Harvard was America's only college, and it was a great event for a young man to go from Hartford to Harvard, but this Timothy Edwards did, and he took all attainable honors, graduating in 1661, taking the degrees of A.B. and A.M. the same day, "an uncommon mark of respect paid extraordinary proficiency in learning." This brilliant graduate of Harvard was soon settled over the church at East Windsor, Conn., where he remained sixty-five years as pastor. Who can estimate the inheritance which comes to a child of such a pastor who had been born in a merchant's home. In the four generations which stood behind Jonathan Edwards were two merchants and two preachers, a grand combination for manly and intellectual power. In this pastor's home Jonathan Edwards was born October 5, 1703. Those were days in which great men came into the world. There were born within fifteen years of Jonathan Edwards a wonderful array of thinkers along religious and philosophic lines, men who have molded the thought and lives of a multitude of persons. Among these intellectual giants born within fifteen years of Mr. Edwards were John Wesley, George Whitefield, Swedenborg, Voltaire, Rousseau, and Hume. In order to appreciate the full significance of Mr. Edwards' legacy to the world, it is well to study some conditions of his life. It would not be easy to find a man whose surroundings and training in childhood were better than those of Jonathan Edwards. The parsonage on the banks of the Connecticut was a delightful home. His parents and his grandparents were ideal American Christian educated persons. He was prepared for college by his father and mother. He was a devout little Christian before he was twelve years of age. When he was but ten years old he, with two other lads about his own age, made a booth of branches in a retired spot in a neighboring wood, where the three went daily for a season of prayer. He began the study of Latin at six and at twelve had a good preparation for college in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, all of which had come from home study. He not only knew books, but he knew nature and loved her. From early childhood to advanced years this remained true. He entered Yale college at twelve years of age. In a letter which he wrote while a college freshman he speaks of himself as a child. Not many freshmen take that view of themselves, but a lad of twelve, away from home at college could have been little more than a child. He was the fifth in a family of eleven children, so that he had no lack of companionship from both older and younger sisters. The older sisters had contributed much to his preparation for college. They were a never-failing source of inspiration. At fourteen he read in a masterly way "Locke on the Human Understanding." It took a powerful hold on his mind and greatly affected his life. In a letter to his father he asked a special favor that he might have a copy of "The Art of Thinking," not because it was necessary to his college work, but because he thought it would be profitable. While still in his teens he wrote a series of "Resolutions," the like of which it would be difficult to duplicate in the case of any other youth. These things are dwelt upon as indicating the way in which every fibre of his being was prepared for the great moral and intellectual legacy he left his children and his children's children. Here are ten of his seventy resolutions: _Resolved_, to do whatever I think to be my duty, and most for the good and advantage of mankind in general. _Resolved_, so to do, whatever difficulties I meet with, how many soever, and how great soever. _Resolved_, to be continually endeavoring to find out some new contrivance and invention to promote the forementioned things. _Resolved_, never to lose one moment of time, but to improve it in the most profitable way I possibly can. _Resolved_, to live with all my might while I do live. _Resolved_, to be endeavoring to find out fit objects of charity and liberality. _Resolved_, never to do anything out of revenge. _Resolved_, never to suffer the least motions of anger towards irrational beings. _Resolved_, never to speak evil of any one, so that it shall tend to his dishonor, more or less, upon no account except for some real good. _Resolved_, to maintain the strictest temperance in eating and drinking. Yale in the days of Mr. Edwards was not the Yale of the closing year of the nineteenth century. It has now 2,500 students and has had 19,000 graduates. It had a very humble beginning in March, 1702, the year before Mr. Edwards was born. It began with one lone student. The father of Jonathan Edwards had been greatly interested in the starting of the college. In 1701, Rev. Mr. Russell, of Branford, a graduate of Harvard, as was the senior Edwards, invited to his home ten other Connecticut pastors of whom nine were graduates of Harvard. Each brought from his library some of his most valuable books, and laying them upon Mr. Russell's table, said: "I give these books for the founding of a college in this colony." This produced a profound impression upon the clergymen of Connecticut, notably upon the graduates of Harvard. The first year the college was nominally located at Saybrook, but as there was only one student he lived with the president at Killingworth, now Clinton, nine miles away. When Jonathan Edwards, a lad of twelve, entered college, there had been, all told, only about fifty graduates. It was during the time that he was a student that the college took the name of Yale. The first year he was there the college was in three places at the same time because of dissensions among the students, and the very small class graduated in two places because neither faction would go to the other place. In all these agitations Mr. Edwards took no part. He simply devoted himself to his studies and followed the line of least resistance so far as taking sides in a senseless controversy was concerned. After graduation he remained at Yale two years for post-graduate work, mostly in theology, and then accepted an invitation to preach for the leading Presbyterian church in New York City; but after eight months he returned to Yale as a tutor and remained two years. At this time he was very severe in discipline, bending every energy to securing the right conditions for the most and best work. This is what he wrote in his diary when he was twenty-one: "By a sparingness in diet, and eating, as much as may be, what is light and easy of digestion, I shall doubtless be able to think more clearly, and shall gain time: 1. By lengthening out my life. 2. Shall need less time for digestion after meals. 3. Shall be able to study more closely, without injury to my health. 4. Shall need less time for sleep. 5. Shall more seldom be troubled with the headache." Mr. Edwards was twenty-three years of age when he was ordained at Northampton as associate pastor with his grandfather Stoddard, then in his 84th year, and the 54th year of his pastorate. Soon after this Mr. Stoddard died and Mr. Edwards became pastor in full charge and remained for twenty-five years. He was a great student and thinker. He rose at four o'clock and spent thirteen hours a day in his study. It is worth while to follow the personal intellectual habits of the man whose descendants we are to study. When he was ready for the consideration of a great subject he would set apart a week for it and mounting his horse early Monday morning would start off for the hills and forests. When he had thought himself up to a satisfactory intensity he would alight, fasten his horse, go off into the woods and think himself through that particular stage of the argument, then he would pin a bit of paper on some particular place on his coat as a reminder of the conclusion he had reached. He would then ride on some miles further and repeat the experience. Not infrequently he would be gone the entire week on a thinking expedition, returning with the front of his coat covered with the scalps of intellectual victories. Without stopping for any domestic salutations he would go at once to his study and taking off these bits of paper in the same order in which he had put them on would carefully write out his argument. In nothing did Jonathan Edwards stand out so clearly as boy, youth and man as in his sacrifice of every other feature of his life for the attainment of power as a thinker. Mr. Edwards has gone into history as a theologian of the most stalwart character. It is undeniable that he preached the most terrific doctrine ever uttered by an American leader, but this was only the logical result of the intellectual projection of his effort to make sacrifices in order to benefit humanity. As a child he sacrificed everything for health and virtue that he might have influence, and as a man he knew no other plan or purpose in life. His masterpiece is upon the "will" which he developed to the full in himself. The greatest religious awakening that the Western world has ever known was started in his church at Northampton, not over ecclesiastical differences, or theological discussion but over a question of morality among the young people of the town. It had to do with the impropriety of the young ladies entertaining their gentlemen friends on Sunday evenings and especially of their allowing them to remain to such unreasonable hours. And the issue which ultimately drove him from his pastorate, after twenty-five years of service, by an almost unanimous vote was not one of ecclesiasticism or theology, but of morals among the young people. He insisted upon vigorous action in relation to the loose and as he thought immoral reading of the youth of the town. As this involved some prominent families he had to retire from the pastorate. The views of Mr. Edwards on pastoral work reveal the singleness of purpose of the man as a student and thinker. He never made pastoral calls. He had no criticism to make of those pastors who had talent for entertaining people by occasional calls, but as he had no gifts in that direction he regarded it advisable to use his time in cultivating such talents as he had. Whoever wished to talk with him about personal, moral or religious conditions found in him a profitable counsellor. In his preaching, which was equal to anything America has ever known, he made no attempt to win his hearers by tricks of oratory or by emotional appeals, though he had a most fascinating personality. He was six feet in height, slender in form, with a high, broad forehead, eyes piercing and luminous and a serene countenance. In the pulpit he was graceful, easy, natural and earnest, though he had little action. He rested his left elbow on the pulpit and held his manuscript in his left hand while with his right he turned the leaves. In him were combined the intellectual and moral vigor which are calculated to make the progenitor of a great family. CHAPTER IV THE CHILDREN'S START IN LIFE The eleven children of Jonathan Edwards had an unenviable start in life so far as their environment was concerned. The oldest was still in her teens when serious trouble arose in the parish at Northampton. Mr. Edwards was pastor at Northampton for twenty-five years, and a more fruitful pastorate or a more glorious ministerial career for a quarter of a century no man could ask. He made that church on the frontier the largest Protestant church in the world, and it was the most influential as well as the best known. There began the greatest religious awakening of modern times. In his church, resulting from his preaching, began a revival which stirred into activity every church in Massachusetts, every church in the colonies, and most of the Protestant churches of Great Britain and Europe. After this long and eminently successful pastorate, Mr. Edwards preached a sermon about the reading and conversation of young people upon subjects of questionable propriety, which led to such local excitement that upon the recommendation of an ecclesiastical council he was dismissed by a vote of 200 to 20, and the town voted that he be not permitted on any occasion to preach or lecture in the church. Mr. Edwards was wholly unprepared financially for this unusual ecclesiastical and civic action. He had no other means of earning a living, so that, until donations began to come in from far and near, Mrs. Edwards, at the age of forty, the mother of eleven children with the youngest less than a year old, was obliged to take in work for the support of the family. After a little time Mr. Edwards secured a small mission charge in an Indian village where there were twelve white and 150 Indian families. Here he remained eight years in quiet until, a few weeks before his death, he was called to the presidency and pastorate of Princeton, then a young and small college. The last four years of their life at Northampton were indescribably trying to the children. Human nature was the same then as now, and everyone knows how heavily the public dislike of a prominent man bears upon his children. The conventionalities which keep adults within bound in speech and action are unknown to children, and what the parents say behind a clergyman's back, children say to his children's face. This period of childhood social horror ended only by removal to a missionary parsonage among the Stockbridge Indians, where they lived for eight years. Their playmates were Indian children and youth. Half the children of the family talked the Indian language as well and almost as much as they did the English language. In the years of aspiration these children were away from all society life and educational institutions, in the home of a poor missionary family among Indians when Indian wars were a reality. When Mr. Edwards accepted gratefully this mission church his oldest child, a daughter, was twenty-two, his youngest son was less than a year old. All of the boys and three of the girls were under twelve years of age when they went to the Indian village, and all but one were under twenty. When their missionary home was broken up five of them were still under twenty, so that the children's inheritance was not of wealth, of literary or scholastic environment, or of cultured or advantageous society. Everything tends to show how completely Mr. Edwards' sons and daughters were left to develop and improve their inheritance of intellectual, moral, and religious aspiration. In these years Mr. Edwards was writing the works which will make him famous for centuries. One of the daughters married Rev. Aaron Burr, the president of Princeton, then a very small institution. Upon the death of this son-in-law, Mr. Edwards was chosen to succeed him, but while at Princeton, before he had fairly entered upon his duties at the college, he died of smallpox. His widowed daughter, who cared for him, died a few days later leaving two children, and his widow, who came for the grandchildren, soon followed the husband and daughter to the better land. Mr. Edwards died at fifty-six, and his widow a few weeks later. Both died away from home, for the family was still among the Stockbridge Indians. The oldest son was but twenty, and there were five children younger than he. The youngest son was eight and the other only thirteen. To make the picture more clear it must be understood that to these six orphans, under twenty-one, there came at the time of their father's and mother's deaths two little orphans aged four and two respectively, Sarah Burr and her brother Aaron. Here was a large family from which father and mother, older sister and brother-in-law had been taken almost at a single blow, with two extra orphans to care for. And with all this there was no adequate financial inheritance. The inventory of Jonathan Edwards' property is interesting. Among the live stock, which included horses and cows, was a slave upon whom a moderate value was placed. The slave was named Titus, and he was rated under "quick stock" and not "live stock," at a value of $150. The silver was inventoried as a tankard valued at $60, a can and porringer at $47, and various other articles valued at $85. The chief material legacy was his library, which was inventoried as consisting of 301 volumes, 536 pamphlets, forty-eight maps, thirty unpublished manuscripts and 1,074 manuscript sermons prepared for the printer. It was valued at $415. If Jonathan Edwards did not leave a large financial legacy, he did impart to his children an intellectual capacity and vigor, moral character, and devotion to training which have projected themselves through eight generations without losing the strength and force of their great ancestor. Of the three sons and eight daughters of Jonathan Edwards there was not one, nor a husband or wife of one, whose character and ability, whose purpose and achievement were not a credit to this godly man. Of the seventy-five grandchildren, with their husbands and wives, there was but one for whom an apology may be offered, and nearly every one was exceptionally strong in scholarship and moral force. We have paused long enough on the threshold of the descendants of Jonathan Edwards. We have seen the estimate in which he was held by his contemporaries at home and abroad, and by close students of the history of his times. We have seen what he inherited and by what training and in what environment he was developed. We have also seen the terrible strain to which his children were subjected in childhood from lack of school privileges and pleasing social conditions. It remains to be seen what kind of men and women these children became with childhood disadvantages, but with a grand inheritance and the best of home training. Remember the size, ages, and financial condition of the family when the father died--the sons being aged eight, thirteen and twenty--and then consider the fact that the three sons graduated from Princeton, and five of the daughters married college graduates, three of them of Yale and one each of Harvard and Princeton. A man might well be content to die without lands or gold when eight sons and sons-in-laws were to be men of such capacity, character, and training as are found in this family. They were not merely college graduates, but they were eminent men. One held the position of president of Princeton and one of Union College, four were judges, two were members of the Continental Congress, one was a member of the governor's council in Massachusetts, one was a member of the Massachusetts war commission in the Revolutionary war, one was a state senator, one was president of the Connecticut house of representatives, three were officers in the Revolutionary war, one was a member of the famous constitutional convention out of which the United States was born, one was an eminent divine and pastor of the historic North church of New Haven, and one was the first grand master of the Grand Lodge of Masons in Connecticut. This by no means exhausts the useful and honorable official positions occupied by the eight sons and sons-in-law of Jonathan Edwards, and it makes no account of their writings, of noted trials that they conducted, but it gives some hint of the pace which Mr. Edwards' children set for the succeeding generations. It should be said that the daughters were every way worthy of distinguished husbands, and it ought also to be said that the wives of the sons were worthy of these men in intellectual force and moral qualities. Contrast this group of sixteen men and women with the five sons of Max and the women with whom they lived. In this group there was not a strain of industry, virtue, or scholarship. They were licentious, ignorant, profane, lacking ambition to keep them out of poverty and crime. They drifted into whatever it was easiest to do or to be. Midday and midnight, heaven and its opposite, present no sharper contrasts than the children and the children-in-law of Jonathan Edwards and of Max. The two men were born in rural communities, they both lived on the frontier; but the one was born in a Christian home, was the son of a clergyman, of a highly educated man who took the highest honors Harvard could give, was himself highly educated in home, school, and at Yale College, always associated with pure-minded, earnest persons, and devoted his thought and activity to benefiting mankind. Max was the opposite of all this. There is no knowledge of his childhood or of his parentage. He was not bad, as bad men go; he was jolly, could tell a good story, though they were always off color, could trap unwary animals skillfully, was a fairly good shot; but no one was the better for anything that he ever said, thought, or did. Jollity, shiftlessness, and lack of purpose in one man have given to the world a family of 1,200, mostly paupers and criminals; while Mr. Edwards, who never amused any one, who was always chaste, earnest, and noble, has given to the world a family of more than 1,400 of the world's noblemen, who have magnified strength and beauty all over the land, illustrating grandly these beautiful lines of Lowell: "Be noble! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own." CHAPTER V MRS. EDWARDS AND HOME TRAINING Much of the capacity and talent, intensity and character of the more than 1,400 of the Edwards family is due to Mrs. Edwards. None of the brothers or sisters of Jonathan Edwards had families with any such marvelous record as his, and to his wife belongs not a little of the credit. At the age of twenty-four Mr. Edwards was married to Sarah Pierrpont, aged seventeen. She had an inheritance even more refined and vigorous than that of Mr. Edwards. She was descended on her father's side from the choicest of the Pierrpont family of England and New England. Her father was one of the most famous of New Haven clergymen, one of the principal founders, and a trustee and lecturer of Yale College. On her mother's side she was a granddaughter of Rev. Thomas Hooker, of Hartford, "the father of the Connecticut churches," and one of the grand men in early American history. Personally, she was so beautiful and so noble-minded that at the age of thirteen she was known far and near for her Christian character and exceptional ability. While she was still but thirteen and Mr. Edwards twenty, he wrote in a purely disinterested way of the remarkable girl: "She is of a wonderful sweetness, calmness, and universal benevolence of mind. She will sometimes go about from place to place singing sweetly; and seems to be always full of joy and pleasure; and no one knows for what." Mr. Edwards was desirious of being married when he went to Northampton as associate pastor with his grandfather, Dr. Stoddard. Miss Pierrpont was only sixteen years of age, and she declined to be married until she was seventeen. He insisted, but she persisted in her refusal. Mrs. Edwards lived in her children. To her husband came honor and glory in his lifetime, but to her came denial, toil and care. At eighteen, this young, beautiful, brilliant wife became a mother, and until she was forty, there was never a period of two years in which a child was not born to them, and no one of the eleven children died until after the last child was born. It was a home of little children. Her husband had no care for the household and she wished him to have none. It was her insistence that he should have thirteen hours of every twenty-four for his study. Whatever may have been the contribution of Mr. Edwards to the inheritance of the family, they owed the charming environment of the home to their mother. This was a delightful home, as many persons have testified who knew it. I saw recently the diary of the famous George Whitefield, where he wrote that he sometimes wondered if it was not the Lord's will that he should marry, that he might thereby be more useful, and that if it was the Lord's will that he should marry, he wished to be reconciled thereto, but he did hope that the Lord would send him as a wife such a woman as Mrs. Edwards, whom he considered the most beautiful and noble wife for a Christian minister that he had ever known. If there be a more charming tribute to woman than this, I have not seen it. In view of the character of her children and their great success in life, it may be interesting to know how she brought up the children, of whom there were so many, and for which the schools did so little. This is the testimony of one who knew of her home life well: "She had an excellent way of governing her children; she knew how to make them regard and obey her cheerfully. She seldom punished them, and in speaking to them used gentle and pleasant words. When she had occasion to reprove or rebuke, she would do it in a few words, without warmth and noise, and with all calmness and gentleness of mind. In her directions and reproofs of matters of importance, she would address herself to the reason of her children, that they might not only know her inclination and will, but at the same time be convinced of the reasonableness of it. She had need to speak but once and she was obeyed; murmuring and answering again were not known among them. In their manners they were uncommonly respectful to their parents. When their parents came into the room, they all rose instinctively from their seats and never resumed them until their parents were seated; and when either parent was speaking, no matter with whom they had been conversing, they were all immediately silent. "Quarreling and contention were in her family wholly unknown. She carefully observed the first appearance of resentment and ill-will in her young children towards any person whatever, and did not connive at it, but was careful to show her displeasure, and suppress it to the utmost; yet not by angry, wrathful words. "Her system of discipline began at a very early age, and it was her rule to resist the first, as well as every subsequent exhibition of temper or disobedience in the child, however young, until its will was brought into submission to the will of the parents." It is needless to say that all this added materially to the good inheritance of the children. CHAPTER VI CAPACITY, CHARACTER AND TRAINING In view of what has been learned regarding Jonathan Edwards, his ancestors and his children, his grandchildren might have found some excuse for presuming upon the capacity and character which they inherited. In their veins was the blood of famous lines of noble men and women; the blood of Edwards, Stoddard, Pierrpont, and Hooker was thrilling in their thought and intensifying their character. They had inherited capacity and character at their best, but they did not presume upon it. If ever inheritance would justify indifference to training, it was in the case of the grandchildren of Jonathan Edwards, but they were far from indifferent to their responsibility. It must be understood that the "family of Jonathan Edwards" includes not only his descendants, but the men who married into the family and whose children became descendants of Mr. Edwards. At first this may not seem the proper interpretation, but there is no other that is legitimate. In the case of the "Jukes" Mr. Dugdale includes in the family both the men and the women who married into the family, but in the case of Mr. Edwards there is no call to include the women who thus came into the family, and it would have magnified the study needlessly. Until quite recently there has been no way to discover the standing of married women in American life except as we know the social, scholastic, and professional position of their husbands. In most families a son-in-law becomes a representative factor of a family. Therefore, whenever the "Edwards family" is spoken of it includes the sons-in-law, but it does not include the daughters-in-law, nor does it go beyond Jonathan Edwards to include his brothers and sisters or their descendants. The "Jukes" had no inherited capacity or training upon which they could safely presume. Their only chance lay in nursing every germ of hope by means of industry and education, through the discipline of the shop, the training of the schools, and the inspiration of the church. Did they appreciate this? Far from it. Instead of developing capacity by training, not one of the 1,200 secured even a moderate education, and only twenty of them ever had a trade, and ten of these learned it in the state prison. On the other hand, although the Edwards family inherited abundant capacity and character, every child has been educated from early childhood. Not all of the college members of the family have been discovered, and yet among the men alone I have found 285 graduates and a surprisingly large number of these have supplemented the college course with post-graduate or professional study. Just as the "Jukes" have intensified their degeneracy by neglect, the Edwards family has magnified capacity and character by industry and education. Among the 285 college graduates of the Edwards family there are thirteen presidents of colleges and other higher institutions of learning, sixty-five professors of colleges, and many principals of important academies and seminaries. Forty-five American and foreign colleges and universities have this family among the alumni. From this family have come presidents for Yale, Princeton, Union, Hamilton, Amherst, the University of California, the University of Tennessee, the famous Litchfield (Conn.) law school, the Columbia law school, and Andover Theological Seminary. Among these are such men as President Timothy Dwight, Yale, 1794-1817; Theodore Dwight Woolsey, Yale, 1846-71; Timothy Dwight, Yale, 1886-97; Jonathan Edwards (Jr.), Union, 1799-1801; Daniel C. Gilman, Johns Hopkins; Merrill E. Gates, Amherst; and Edwards A. Park, Andover. CHAPTER VII AARON BURR Undoubtedly some readers are already impatient at the delay in dealing with Aaron Burr. There was a time when it was the fashion to refer to Colonel Burr as sufficiently infamous to prove that heredity was of no appreciable value. As a matter of fact it is rather refreshing to have one upon whom the imagination can play. It simply intensifies the white light of the rest of the record. Colonel Burr was not a saint after the model presented by his father, the Rev. Dr. Aaron Burr, the godly president of Princeton; by his grandfather, Jonathan Edwards; or by at least 1,394 of the other members of the family of Mr. Edwards. There is no purpose to give him saintly enthronement, but it may not be amiss to suggest that the abuse of him has been overdone. Colonel Aaron Burr died at eighty after thirty years of the worst treatment ever meted out to a man against whom the bitterest enemies and the most brilliant legal talent could bring no charge that would stand in the eyes of the law. I have no purpose to lessen the verdict of prejudice, for the study of the Edwards family is all the more fascinating because of one such meteor of error. It must be confessed, however, that a study of the last thirty years of Colonel Burr's life makes one more exasperated with human nature under a political whip than with Colonel Burr's mistake. At forty-nine Aaron Burr was one of the most brilliant, most admired, and beloved men in the United States. For thirty years his had been a career with few American parallels. He had but one real and intense enemy, and that man had hated him all those years. Alexander Hamilton had never missed an opportunity to vilify Mr. Burr, and his attack had never been resented. Calmly had Aaron Burr pursued his upward and onward course, simply smiling at the vituperation of Hamilton. Could those two men have agreed, they would have been the greatest leaders any nation ever had. Their hatred was as expensive as was that of Blaine and Conklin in after years. Every age must have a political scapegoat, one upon whose head is placed symbolically the sins of the period, and after he is sent into the wilderness of obscurity it becomes a social and political crime to befriend him. There have been several such in our country's history, and there will be others. Aaron Burr suffered more than any other simply because the glory from which he departed was greater. On March 2, 1805, Aaron Burr, vice-president of the United States, and president of the senate, retired from the chair two days before his term expired. He made a farewell address, which produced a greater impression upon that body than any other words ever spoken there. Every senator was weeping, and for a long time no one could leave his seat or propose any business. It was a sight for the nation to look upon and wonder. For fourteen years he had been one of the most conspicuous members of that body. Aaron Burr's ultimate ruin was wrought by his colonization experiment in Louisiana. In popular opinion, there was something traitorous in that unsuccessful venture of his. In 1805 Mr. Burr paid $50,000 for 400,000 acres of land which had been purchased of Spain in 1800, before it passed to France and then to the United States in 1803. Of the motive of Colonel Burr we must always be ignorant; that he was not guilty of any crime in connection therewith we are certain, for the highest tribunal of the land acquitted him. President Jefferson and the entire political force of the administration were bent upon his conviction, but Chief Justice Marshall, as capable, honorable, and incorruptible a jurist as the country has known, would not have it so. Unfortunately, the brilliant arraignment by William Wirt was printed and read for half a century, while the calm rulings of Chief Justice Marshall never went beyond the court room. Why did a man of his capabilities, upon retirement from the vice-presidency, attempt, at fifty years of age to start life anew under such unpromising conditions? Because he was suddenly politically and professionally ruined. Ruined because he had killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel. Why did he do it? It is a long story. To make it intelligent, his life must be reviewed. After a brilliant military career, which began when he was nineteen and left him an heroic colonel, he studied law and practiced in Albany. At the age of twenty-eight he was a leader in the New York legislature, and was chairman of the most important committees, always with the people, against the aristocracy--an unpardonable mistake in those times. At thirty-four he was attorney-general of the state, and his great decisions were accepted by all other states. At thirty-four he established the Manhattan bank of New York city. He was the only man with the ability or courage to find a way to establish a bank for the people, and the solidity of that institution for a hundred years is an all-sufficient vindication of his plan. At thirty-five he was appointed and confirmed as a supreme court judge of New York state, but he declined the honor, and was the same year elected to the United States senate. He was re-elected, serving in all fourteen years. At the second presidential election Senator Burr received one vote in the electoral college, at the third he received thirty, and in the fourth received seventy-three. Jefferson also received seventy-three and the election was thrown into the house. This was in 1800 and Mr. Burr was forty-years of age. The choice lay with New York, which could be carried by no man but Aaron Burr. Alexander Hamilton was the leader of the Federalists. He also was of New York. It was a battle of the giants. These two men measured swords. The presidency of the United States was the prize both parties--the Federalists and the Democrats--were seeking. New York had always been with the Federalists. In this great struggle it went against Hamilton and for Burr. This ended the political career of Hamilton, and would have done so had he lived longer. He was one of America's greatest statesmen, but one of the poorest politicians. No one could get along with him but Washington, and when he died the political end of Hamilton came. Jefferson and Burr each received seventy-three votes for president, and Adams received sixty-five. New York had twelve votes, so that if she had remained with the Federalist candidate Adams, he would have won, seventy-seven to sixty-one. This defeat angered Hamilton beyond endurance. He and Burr had been deadly rivals for thirty years, first for the love of woman, then for military preferment, and later in the political arena. When Burr established the Manhattan bank, Hamilton's brother-in-law, inspired by Hamilton, attacked Burr's motive, with the result of a duel in which neither was harmed. Notwithstanding Hamilton's greatness, he was always in trouble with men and women. He never ceased his abuse of Burr, whose election as senator angered him. Later, when Burr was the choice of congress as minister to Paris, backed especially by Madison and Monroe, Hamilton succeeded in compassing his defeat. Again, when Adams had decided upon some important appointment for Burr, Hamilton succeeded in defeating him. This made Burr's promotion to the vice-presidency and his own downfall the more exasperating to Hamilton. Four years passed. Burr won high honor as president of the senate, and the party nominated him for governor of New York with practical unanimity. This was too much for Hamilton, who had nothing to lose by indulging his enmity to the full. The campaign against Burr was one of the basest on record. It was one of vilification. Being vice-president, he was at a disadvantage when it came to conducting the campaign, and he was defeated. There were many features of this campaign that were peculiarly annoying to Burr, and for the second time in his life he resorted to the duel, and Hamilton was killed. Had Burr died in that hour, history would have a different place for him as well as for Hamilton, but in his death Hamilton was glorified. The most preposterous stories, such as his firing into the air, were invented and believed. The time and the conditions were as bad as they could be for Burr. The North never condoned a duel that ended fatally, and then less than ever. I have no word of apology to offer for the duel. It was weakness, as it always is, and from it came all the ills that befell Aaron Burr. Censure him all you choose, and then look at the conditions of his childhood and wonder that he lived to fifty years of age before the lack of early care brought forth its fruit. Aaron Burr received as good an intellectual and moral legacy as any one of the 1,400 of the Edwards family. His father and mother, grandfather and grandmother would have given him as good an environment and training as any one of them enjoyed, but--his father died before he was two years old, and his mother, grandfather, and grandmother died when he was two years old, and he and his sister, four years old, went to live with his oldest uncle, Timothy Edwards, who was only twenty. This uncle was also bringing up two younger brothers aged eight and thirteen, and three young sisters. While Timothy Edwards made an eminently worthy citizen and reared a family of noble sons and daughters, he was not prepared at nineteen to support so many younger children and give a two-year-old boy the attention that he needed. At twelve years of age Aaron Burr went to college, and after this time he never had even the apology of a home, indeed he never had a home such as his nature demanded. There are three pictures of the child which satisfy me that the right training would have enabled Aaron Burr to go into history as the noblest Roman of them all. At four years of age he was at school, where the treatment was so severe that he ran away from school and home and could not be found for three days. At seven years of age he was up in a cherry tree when a very prim and disagreeable spinster came to call, and he indulged in the childish luxury of throwing cherries at her. She sought "Uncle Timothy," who took the seven-year-old child into the house, gave him a long and severe lecture, offered a long prayer of warning, and then "licked me like a sack." At ten years of age he ran away from the severity of his uncle, and went to New York and shipped as cabin boy. His uncle followed him, and when the little fellow saw him he went to the top of the masthead and refused to come down until his uncle agreed not to punish him. It is easy to see that his uncle aroused in him all the characteristics that should have been calmed, and gave him none of that care which father or mother would have provided him. At twelve he entered Princeton, and graduated with honors at sixteen. College life had its temptations, but he conducted himself with unusual decorum, and upon graduation went to study with an eminent clergyman. Apparently he expected to enter the ministry, but the theology of Dr. Bellamy did not commend itself to him, and even less did the spirit with which the theologian met his queries, so that for the remaining sixty odd years of life he would not talk about theology. Here was a brilliant lad, fresh from college, with the inheritance of Burr and Edwards, who might have been led into a glorious career, but was instead repelled, and went back to his uncle's home, with no profession and no plan for life, with no one to advise him. The battle of Bunker hill aroused Burr to patriotic purpose, and, though but nineteen, he started for Cambridge to enlist. He was stricken with fever, however, and before he was recovered he heard of Arnold's proposed expedition to Quebec, and, though he had better be in bed, he took his musket and walked to Newburyport, 30 miles, in season to ship with the troops. Two men were there ahead of him awaiting his arrival with instructions from his uncle to bring him back to New Jersey. This was too much for young Burr, who did not recognize the right of his uncle to interfere, and he expressed his mind so vigorously as to command the admiration of the soldiers and arouse the fears of the two messengers, who returned without him. This was the last of his uncle's interference. Who that reads of the childhood life of this orphan can wonder that he lacked patience under the severe reverse of political fortune at fifty years of age? That he is the one illustrious exception among the 1,400 need cause no surprise. CHAPTER VIII CONTRASTS It has already been emphasized that the Jukes always mingled blood of their own quality in their descendants, and that the Edwards family has invariably chosen blood of the same general tone and force. Who can think for a moment that the Jukes would have remained on so low a level if the Edwards blood had been mixed with theirs, or that the Edwards would have retained their intellectual supremacy if they had married into the Jukes. The fact is that in 150 years the Jukes never did mingle first-class blood with their own, and the Edwards family has not in 150 years degenerated through marriage. It is pre-eminently true that a mighty intellectual and moral force does plough the channel of its thought and character through many generations. It would be well for any doubter to study the records of thoroughbreds in the animal world. The highest record ever made for milk and butter was by an animal of no family, and she was valuable only for what she could earn. None of her power went to her offspring. She was simply a high-toned freak, but an animal with a clean pedigree back to some great progenitor is valuable independently of individual earning qualities. No more would any one claim that the Jukes would not have been immensely improved by education and environment, or that the Edwards family could have maintained its record without education, training, and environment. The facts show that the Jukes first, last, and all the time neglected these advantages, and that the Edwards family, with all its intermarrying, has never neglected them. The Jukes were notorious law breakers, while the Edwards family has furnished practically no lawbreakers, and a great array of more than 100 lawyers, thirty judges, and the most eminent law professor probably in the country. James Bryce in his comments upon America places one of this family at the head of legal learning on this continent. This was Theodore William Dwight, LL.D., born in New Haven, July 18, 1822; graduated from Hamilton College, 1840; professor there 1842-58. In 1858 he went to Columbia College, organized the law school and was its president for thirty-three years. Some of the most eminent official city attorneys of Philadelphia, New York and Chicago have been found in this family. Ex-Governor Hoadley, of Ohio, a descendant of Jonathan Edwards, is now the head of perhaps the leading law firm of New York City or of the country. When one studies the legal side of the family it seems as though they were instinctively and chiefly lawyers and judges. It simply means that whatever the Edwards family has done it has done ably and nobly. There is no greater test of intellectual majesty than that which the practice of law puts upon a man. When James Bryce pays his grand tribute to Dr. Theodore W. Dwight, president of Columbia College law school, it signifies more intellectually than to have said that he was president of the United States. None of the Jukes had the equivalent of a common school education, while there are few of the Edwards family that have not had more than that. Few were satisfied with less than academy or seminary if they did not go to college. There is not a leading college in the country in which their names are not to be found recorded. They have not only furnished thirteen college presidents and a hundred and more professors, but they have founded many important academies and seminaries in New Haven and Brooklyn, all through the New England states, and in the Middle, Western, and Southern states. They have contributed liberally to college endowments. One gave a quarter of a million as an endowment for Yale. In Yale alone have been more than 120 graduates. Among these are nearly twenty Dwights, nearly as many Edwards, seven Woolseys, eight Porters, five Johnsons, four Ingersolls, and several of most of the following names: Chapin, Winthrop, Shoemaker, Hoadley, Lewis, Mathers, Reeve, Rowland, Carmalt, Devereaux, Weston, Heermance, Whitney, Blake, Collier, Scarborough, Yardley, Gilman, Raymond, Wood, Morgan, Bacon, Ward, Foote, Cornelius, Shepards, Bristed, Wickerham, Doubleday, Van Volkenberg, Robbins, Tyler, Miller, Lyman, Pierpont, and Churchill, the author of "Richard Carvel," is a recent graduate. In Amherst at one time there were of this family President Gates and Professors Mather, Tyler, and Todd. Wherever found they are leaders even in college faculties. Those who know what Gates, Mather, Tyler, and Todd have stood for as president and professors of Amherst will appreciate what Jonathan Edwards' blood has done for this college. Of the Jukes, 440 were more or less viciously diseased. The Edwards family was healthy and long lived. Of the eleven children of Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, four lived to be more than seventy years of age,--seventy-three, seventy-five, seventy-seven and seventy-nine,--and three others were fifty, fifty-six, and sixty-three. Only one died unmarried, none died in childhood. The record for health and longevity continues through every generation. They have also done much to alleviate the sufferings of mankind. There have been sixty physicians, all marked men. Dr. Richard Smith Dewey was an eminent surgeon in the Franco-Prussian war, having charge of the Prussian hospital at Hesse Cassel. Dr. Sereno Edwards Dwight was a physician and surgeon in the British regular army. The physicians of the family have had important connection with insane asylums and hospitals. The legislative action of New York, by which the first insane asylum of the state was built, was largely the result of a physician of this family. The medical superintendent of the Illinois state insane asylum was another of the family. Eminent names in the medical annals of San Francisco, Chicago, Detroit, New York, Boston, and other cities can be traced to Jonathan Edwards. The Jukes neglected all religious privileges, defied and antagonized the church and all that it stands for, while the Edwards family has more than a 100 clergymen, missionaries, and theological professors, many of the most eminent in the country's history. America has had no more brilliant preachers and theologians than some of those that bear the names of Edwards, Dwight, Woolsey, Park, Ingersoll. There have been no more noted missionaries than this family has sent for faithful and successful work in Asia Minor, India, Africa, China, Hawaii, and the South Sea islands. Dwight's famous five volumes on theology are a product of a worthy descendant of Jonathan Edwards. Edwards A. Park, the longtime head of Andover theological seminary, whose vigor of thought, keenness of logic, and pulpit power are unsurpassed, was a descendant of Mr. Edwards. The family has furnished several army chaplains and one eminent chaplain of the United States senate. They have made many churches prominent for the vigor of their pulpit utterances. The famous Second church, Portland, Park street church of Boston, and many in New Haven and other Connecticut cities and towns as well as many churches in the Middle and Western States owe much to the descendants of Mr. Edwards. Not one of the Jukes was ever elected to a public office, while more than eighty of the family of Jonathan Edwards have been especially honored. Legislatures in all sections of the country, governor's councils, state treasuries, and other elective offices have been filled by these men. They have been mayors of New Haven, Cleveland, and Troy; governors of Connecticut, Ohio, and South Carolina; they have been prominent in the Continental congress, in the constitutional conventions of Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, Ohio, Illinois, and Wisconsin. They have represented the United States at several foreign courts; several have been members of congress; three have been United States senators, and one vice-president of the United States. The Jukes lacked the physical and moral courage, as well as the patriotic purpose, to enlist, but there were seventy-five officers in the army and navy from the family of Mr. Edwards. This family has been prominent as officers, chaplains, or surgeons, in the army and navy in the three great wars. In the Civil war they were at Shiloh, New Orleans, and with the Red river expedition, at Fort Fisher and Newbern, at Big Bethel, Antietam, and Gettysburg, on Lookout mountain with Hooker, with Sheridan in the Shenandoah, and were on the march to the sea with Sherman. One spinster of the family residing in Detroit expressed much regret that she had no husband. The reason she gave, however, was highly complimentary to the sterner sex,--because she had no husband to send to the Civil war. Having none, she paid the regulation bounty and had a man in the service of her country for three years in lieu of the husband she would have sent if she had had one. The Jukes were as far removed as possible from literature. They not only never created any, but they never read anything that could by any stretch of the imagination be styled good reading. In the Edwards family some sixty have attained prominence in authorship or editorial life. "Richard Carvel," is by Mr. Winston Churchill, a descendant of Mr. Edwards, and I have found 135 books of merit written by the family. Eighteen considerable journals and periodicals have been edited and several important ones founded by the Edwards family. The Jukes did not wander far from the haunts of Max. They stagnated like the motionless pool, while the Edwards family is a prominent factor in the mercantile, industrial, and professional life of thirty-three states of the union and in several foreign countries, in ninety-two American and many foreign cities. They have been pre-eminently directors of men. The Pacific steamship line and fifteen American railway systems have had as president, superintendent, or otherwise active in the management one of this family. Many large banks, banking houses, and insurance companies have been directed by them. They have been owners or superintendents of large coal mines in Pennsylvania and West Virginia, of large iron plants and vast oil interests in Pennsylvania, and of silver mines in Nevada. There is scarcely any great American industry that has not had one of this family among its chief promoters. Eli Whitney of cotton-gin fame married a granddaughter of Jonathan Edwards. Prison reform has found its leading advocates in this family. Wilberforce's best American friend was of this fold, and Garibaldi valued one of the family above all other American supporters. Whatever the Jukes stand for, the Edwards family does not. Whatever weakness the Jukes represent finds its antidote in the Edwards family, which has cost the country nothing in pauperism, in crime, in hospital or asylum service. On the contrary, it represents the highest usefulness in invention, manufacture, commerce, founding of asylums and hospitals, establishing and developing missions, projecting and energizing the best philanthropies. CHAPTER IX TIMOTHY EDWARDS To make more clear, if possible, the persistence of intellectual activity and moral virtue, let us study samples of the family. Take for instance the eldest son, Timothy. He was a member of and leader in the famous Massachusetts council of war in the Revolution, a colonel in the militia, and a judge. His descendants have been leaders in Binghamton, Pittsburg, Indianapolis, Bangor, St. Louis, Northampton, New Bedford, San Francisco, New York, New Haven, and many other cities and towns in New England, New York, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Ohio. From his descendants a Connecticut town, Chaplin, is named; Newark, Ohio, had a long-time principal, Jonathan E. Chaplin; Andover Theological Seminary had one of its most famous treasurers, Samuel Farrar; the American board of missions had one of its grandest leaders and secretaries, Dr. Elias Cornelius; the American Baptist Missionary Union had one of its eminent secretaries, Dr. Solomon Peck; the American Missionary Association had as its great treasurer, W.E. Whiting; the famous young ladies' seminary of Lenox, Mass., had for thirty years its great principal, Elizabeth Sedgwick; Boston had a prominent lawyer, a graduate of Harvard, William Minot; St. Louis had a leading lawyer, William D. Sedgwick; Antietam had in the list of killed the gallant Major Sedgwick; San Francisco recorded among her distinguished sons the long-time superintendent of the Pacific mail steamship company; the United States navy counted as one of her able officers a surgeon, Dr. George Hopkins; Amherst had as her most famous instructor Professor W.S. Tyler, D.D., LL.D., at the head of the Greek department for half a century; she also has the present brilliant professor of biology, John M. Tyler; Sheridan had as a brilliant colonel in the grand ride of the Shenandoah Colonel M.W. Tyler; invention claims the discoverer of the Turbine wheel, W.W. Tyler; Knox College has claimed as a leader at one time, as has Smith at another, Professor Henry H. Tyler. A detailed study of the family of the eldest son is suggestive. He was the sixth child, born in Northampton, 1738, when the father was thirty-five and the mother twenty-eight. He was but twenty years old when the father and mother died and the care of the family devolved upon him. He had graduated from Princeton the previous year but the responsibility of a large family prevented his entering upon professional life. Two years after the death of his father he married and removed to Elizabethtown, N.J., where he resided for ten years. In 1770 he returned to Stockbridge, Mass. Berkshire county was still on the frontier and was sparsely settled. The store which Mr. Edwards opened in 1770 was the first in the county. The settlers raised wheat on the newly cleared land. This Mr. Edwards bought and sent to New York, bringing back goods in return. In five years he became the most prosperous man in the county, buying and clearing a very large farm on which he employed as many as fifty men in the busy season. The outbreak of the Revolutionary struggle was a most inopportune time for Timothy Edwards; but for that he would have become one of the wealthiest men of his day. All business was suspended and he gave himself to his country's cause with intense devotion. He was at once appointed on a commission with General Schuyler to treat with the Indians; was appointed commissary to look after the supply of the army with provisions. From 1777 to 1780 he was a leader in the Legislature of Massachusetts; was elected to the Continental Congress with John Hancock and John Adams; was a colonel in the Massachusetts militia and a judge of probate. When the war broke out Timothy Edwards was worth $20,000, which he had accumulated in addition to all his other burdens. When the war closed he had nothing, and was $3,000 in debt to New York merchants. To understand what sacrifices he made it must be understood that when the government was in great straits he took $5,000 of money that was as good as gold and let the government have it, taking in return money that was of slight value. He also took fifty tons of flour to Springfield and let the government have it for paper money at par. There were no greater heroes in the Revolutionary war than such men as Timothy Edwards. He was nearly fifty years old when the war closed and he found himself the father of thirteen children and without property or business. Full of courage and enterprise he succeeded in supporting his family in comfort and in regaining a substantial property before his death, which occurred in the midst of the next war, October 27, 1813. It was not an easy thing to educate children in those times. When the Revolutionary war broke out his oldest child was but thirteen, and when it ended he had ten children under twenty-one. There were only three books in the schools at Stockbridge during the war, Dilworth's Spelling Book and Arithmetic and the Book of Psalms. From these the children of Timothy Edwards received their education and that it was a good training subsequent events show. The first born, a daughter, married Benjamin Chaplin, Jr., a graduate of Yale (1778), and for her second husband Capt. Dan Tyler, of Brookline, Ct., a graduate of Harvard. Her second child, Edward, became Register of Probate. Jonathan, the second born, had several children who became prominent in professional and business life. Phoebe married Rev. Asahel Hooker, an eminent graduate of Yale, and for her second husband Rev. Samuel Farrer, a graduate of Harvard, and for many years treasurer and financial agent of Andover Theological Seminary. Her children were noted men and women, graduates of Yale and Dartmouth, clergymen, theological professors, secretary of the American Board of Foreign Missions, and secretary American Baptist Missionary Union, prominent teachers and authors. Rhoda Edwards, another of Timothy's daughters, married Col. Josiah Dwight, of Springfield. Among their fifteen children and their descendants are the founder of a famous young ladies' school at Lenox; an author of "Spanish Conquest of America," and five other considerable works; clerk of supreme court of Massachusetts; a Boston lawyer, graduate of Harvard; an eminent linguist and graduate of Harvard; music teacher in New York City, educated in Germany; St. Louis lawyer, graduate of Harvard college and law school, who studied in Germany; major in Civil war, wounded at Antietam; hospital nurse in Civil war; graduate of Yale; graduate of Cambridge, Eng., and author of "Five Years in an English University;" a graduate of Amherst and Andover, and missionary in Southern India; lawyer in Springfield; eminent teacher at Northampton; leading physician at Northampton; leading physician at New Bedford; supt. Pacific Mail Steamship Company; merchant in New York; insurance manager, New York; author of "Greece and Roman Mythology," and five other important works; supt. Cincinnati, Hamilton & Dayton R.R.; a New York lawyer and graduate of Yale; author of "History of Virginia," and two other works; graduate Dartmouth and Andover; assistant surgeon U.S. Navy; and an officer in Civil war, who fought in thirty battles. Mary Edwards, another daughter of Timothy, married Mason Whiting, District Attorney of New York, and member of New York Legislature. In this family of eight children and their descendants are an authoress; a colonel in Civil war; treasurer American Missionary Association; Rev. W.S. Tyler, D.D., LL.D., a graduate of Amherst and Andover, professor of Greek for fifty years at Amherst; Col. Mason Whiting Tyler, graduate of Amherst, gallant soldier in Civil war; Wm. W. Tyler, graduate of Amherst, manufacturer of famous Turbine Water Wheels; Henry Mather Tyler, graduate of Amherst, professor of Greek at Knox College, pastor at Galesburg, Fitchburg and Worcester, and professor of Greek at Smith College; John Mason Tyler, graduate of Amherst and Union Theological Seminary, studied at Gothenburg and Leipsic, professor of Biology at Amherst and eminent lecturer. To William Edwards, another son of Timothy, oldest son of Jonathan Edwards, an entire chapter will be given. CHAPTER X COLONEL WILLIAM EDWARDS Fascinating is the story of Colonel William Edwards, grandson of Jonathan Edwards, the inventor of the process of tanning by which the leather industry of the world was revolutionized. In no respect did the intellectual and moral inheritance show itself more clearly than in the recuperative force of the family of Colonel Edwards. Attention has already been called to the remarkable way in which the father, Timothy Edwards, re-established himself and educated his large family after his great financial reverses in the period of the Revolutionary war, but the story of Colonel William Edwards is even a more striking illustration of this same power. He was born at Elizabeth, New Jersey, November 11, 1770. He was a mere child during the Revolutionary struggle. Before he was two years old the father removed to Stockbridge, Mass., and the boy grew up in as thoroughly a rural community as could be found. The school privileges were very meagre. No books were printed in the American colonies because of British prohibition. From early childhood he had to work, first as his mother's assistant, tending the children and doing all kinds of household work such as a handy boy can do. As soon as he could sit on a horse he rode for light ploughing and by the time he was ten was driving oxen for heavy ploughing and teaming. William Edwards was only thirteen when he was put out as an apprentice to a tanner in Elizabethtown, N.J. To reach this place the lad had to ride horseback to the Hudson river, about thirty miles, make arrangements to have the horse taken back, and take passage on a West Indies cattle brig to New York. It took him a week to get to New York. He then took the ferry for Elizabethtown. When young Edwards began life as a tanner it took twelve months for the tanning of hides. This was by far the most extensive tannery in America. It had a capacity of 1,500 sides. The only "improvement" then known--1784--was the use of a wooden plug in the lime vats and water pools to let off the contents into the brook. The bark was ground by horse power. There was a curb fifteen feet in diameter, made of three-inch plank, with a rim fifteen inches high. Within this was a stone wheel with many hollows and the wooden wheel with long pegs. Two horses turned these wheels which would grind half a cord of bark in a day of twelve hours. The first year William was at work grinding bark. All the pay received for the year's work was the knowledge gained of the art of grinding bark, very poor board (no clothing, no money), and the privilege of tanning for himself three sheep skins. The fourth half year he received his first money, $2.50 a month, which was paid out of friendliness for the Edwards family. Before he was twenty he set up in business for himself. He had saved $100; his father, still poor, gave him $300; he bought land for his plant for $700 on long credit. After years of great struggle he succeeded in business and developed the process by which instead of employing one hand for every one hundred sides he could tan 40,000 with twenty lads and the cost was reduced from twelve cents a pound to four cents. The quality was improved even more than the cost was reduced. When the war of 1812 broke out he had practically the only important tannery in the United States, but the war scare and attendant evils led to his failure in 1815. He was now 45 years old with a wife and nine children. He went to work in a factory for day wages to keep his family supplied with the necessities of life. By some misunderstanding and a combination of law suits his patents were lost to him. When Colonel Edwards failed in 1815 he owed considerable sums of money and nine years later the courts released him from all obligations, yet between the age of 69 and 75 he paid every cent of this indebtedness amounting to $25,924. The chief interest in Colonel Edwards centers in his children. When his failure came there were nine children, five boys and four girls. The youngest was a few months old and the eldest 19. Seven of them were under 12 years of age. In the first four years of their reverses two others were born, so that his large family had their preparation and start in life in the years of struggle. Nevertheless they took their places among the prosperous members of the Edwards family. The eldest son, William W. Edwards, was one of the eminently successful men of New York. He lived to be 80 years old and his life was fully occupied with good work. He was engaged in the straw goods business in New York; helped to develop the insurance business to large proportions; organized the Dime Savings Bank of Brooklyn, of which he was treasurer and cashier. He was one of the founders of the American Tract Society and of the New York Mercantile Library. He was a member of the State legislature for several terms. Henry Edwards was one of Boston's most eminent merchants and a most useful man. He had the only strictly wholesale silk house in Boston for nearly half a century. He was born in Northampton, 1798. At the age of fifteen he entered the employ of a prominent Boston importing house and began by opening the store, building the fires, and carrying out goods. By the time he was twenty he was the most trusted employee. He was a born trader. His brother in New York knowing that twist buttons were scarce in that city suggested that Henry buy up all there were in Boston before the dealers discovered the fact that they were scarce in New York and send them on to him. They cleared $500 in a few weeks. He was an earnest student. Not having had the advantages of an education he made up for it by studying evenings. They imported their silks from France which led him to study French until he was accomplished in the art of reading and speaking the French language. It is rather remarkable that learning the language in this way, he was able to go to France and out-rank most foreigners in Parisian society. An Edwards did not absolutely need the college and the university in order to be eminently scholarly in any special line. At the age of twenty-five he went into business as the senior partner of the house of Edwards & Stoddard on State street, Boston. It was the only house that made its whole business the importing of silks. At the age of twenty-eight he went to Paris to purchase silks and remained there many years. They did a highly profitable business for nearly fifty years. He received much social attention while in Paris. General Lafayette was specially friendly, and the families visited frequently. He was also highly honored in Boston, where he was a member of the city government--it was an honor in those days--for nine years, one of the trustees of Amherst College for forty years, a member of the Massachusetts legislature and received several important appointments of trust and honor from Governor John A. Andrew and President Lincoln. Boston had few men in his day who were more prosperous or more highly honored. Ogden E. Edwards was for several years at the head of one of the largest leather houses of New York City, eminently prosperous and of great service to the public. Alfred Edwards was founder and senior partner in one of the largest wholesale dry goods houses of New York for fifty years, known as Alfred Edwards & Co. Amory was for many years a member of the firm of Alfred Edwards & Co. He was also United States Consul at Buenos Ayres, and traveled extensively in South America. His nephew, Wm. H. Edwards, wrote of these travels. This nephew, resident at Coalbough, West Virginia, is the author of a famous work on "The Butterflies of North America," and also of an important work on "Shaksper nor Shakespeare." Richard C. Edwards was also a member of the firm of Alfred Edwards & Co. and shared the prosperity of the house with his brother. Rebecca T. Edwards, the eldest daughter, married Benjamin Curtis, a wealthy merchant in business in New York and Paris. She was married in Paris and General Lafayette gave her away in place of her father. Sarah H. Edwards married Rev. John N. Lewis, a successful clergyman. Elizabeth T. Edwards married Henry Rowland, an eminently successful and useful citizen of New York, whose children, like himself, have been honored in many ways. Ann Maria Edwards married Professor Edwards A. Park, D.D., the president of Andover Theological Seminary and the most eminent theologian of the day. Their son, Rev. William Edwards Park, of Gloversville, New York, is a preacher of rare ability. Rev. W.E. Park has two sons, graduates of Yale, young men of great promise. The ten children of Colonel Edwards lived to great age, and each of the sons was eminently successful in business, and all were highly esteemed. Each of the daughters married men eminent in commercial or professional life. None of them were privileged to receive a liberal education because of the great financial reverses that came to the father in their youth, but every one of them was closely identified with educational institutions and all were rated as scholarly men and women. CHAPTER XI THE MARY EDWARDS DWIGHT FAMILY After studying at some length the family of the eldest son of Jonathan Edwards, it is worth while to study the family of one of the daughters. Mary, the fourth child born at Northampton (1734), was married at the age of 16 to Timothy Dwight, born in Vermont (1726) and graduated from Yale in 1744. It is interesting to find a daughter of Jonathan Edwards marrying a Yale graduate, who "had such extreme sensibility to the beauty and sweetness of always doing right, and such a love of peace, and regarded the legal profession as so full of temptations to do wrong, in great degree and small" that he persistently refused to study law, though it had been his father's great desire. The conscientiousness of Major Dwight is well illustrated by this incident. There was a lottery in the interest of Princeton college, authorized by the legislature of New Jersey, and Dwight was sent twenty tickets for sale. He returned them, but the time required for the mail in those days was so long that they did not reach the destination until after the drawing. Major Dwight was notified that one of his twenty tickets had drawn $20,000 and all but one ticket had drawn some prize. Major Dwight paid for the one blank ticket and would not take a cent of the large prize money. This was worthy a son-in-law of Mr. Edwards, the progenitor of a family of mighty men. Major Dwight was a merchant in Northampton, a selectman, judge of probate for sixteen years and was for several years a member of the legislature. At the time of his death, 1778, he was possessed of 3,000 acres of valuable land in Northampton, and he willed his wife $7,050, and each of his thirteen children $1,165. At that time there were but five painted houses in Northampton and but two were carpeted. Of the fourteen children, thirteen grew up, and twelve were married; and their entire family adds greatly to the glory of the family of Jonathan Edwards. The oldest son, Dr. Timothy Dwight, president of Yale, said with much tenderness and force, "All that I am and all that I shall be, I owe to my mother." She was a woman of remarkable will power and intellectual vigor. She was but seventeen when her first child was born and was the mother of fourteen children at forty-two. The first-born, President Timothy Dwight, S.T.D., LL.D., born 1752, was one of the most eminent of Americans. He learned his alphabet at a single sitting while a mere child, and at four knew the catechism by heart. He graduated from Yale at seventeen; taught the Hopkins school in New Haven at seventeen and eighteen; was tutor in Yale from nineteen to twenty-five years of age; wrote the "Conquest of Canada," which was reprinted in London, at nineteen. This work was dedicated to George Washington by permission. At twenty-three, he was in the fore front of the advocates of independence. At twenty-two, General Washington appointed him a chaplain in the army, and personally requested that he accept. His widow received $350 a year pension because of this service. He was a member of the Massachusetts legislature and secured an important grant to Harvard university. He was offered a professorship at Harvard and could have gone to Congress without opposition, but he declined both, and at thirty-two accepted a country pastorate at Greenfield Hill, Connecticut. He remained there twenty-two years. His salary was $750. He also had a gift of $1,500 for accepting the call, a parish lot of six acres, and twenty cords of wood annually. This was said to be the largest ministerial salary in New England. At forty-three he was called from the country parish to the presidency of Yale. His salary as president was $334. Later he had $500, from which he paid $150 for two amanuenses which he required because his sight had failed him. He published fourteen important works. He was largely instrumental in organizing the American Board of Commissioners of Foreign Missions; the American Missionary Society and the American Bible Society. To him is largely due the establishment of theological seminaries in the country. For forty-six years he taught every year either in a public or private school or college, and all but one year of that time he preached every week and almost invariably he prepared a new sermon. When he died, from a cancer at sixty-five, the children insisted that the estate should be for the mother during her lifetime, and when she died there was found to be $26,000 although his salary had always been ridiculously small. The eight children were all boys, and all but one grew to manhood. Timothy was a hardware merchant in New Haven and New York for more than forty years. He endowed the "Dwight Professorship of Didactic Theology in Yale," which was named for him. There were nine children, grandchildren of President Dwight by his eldest son. Of these the eldest, also Timothy, was the leading paper manufacturer in the trust mill headquarters at Chicago, and his six children were enterprising and successful business men in Illinois and Wisconsin. John William Dwight was one of the leading manufacturers of chemicals in Connecticut. Edward Strong Dwight, of Yale, 1838, and of Theological Seminary, Yale, was for many years a trustee of Amherst and a prominent clergyman. J.H. Lyman, M.D., and Edward Huntington Lyman, M.D., were names that added luster to the family of President Dwight. Benjamin Woolsey Dwight, M.D., another son of the President of Yale, was a graduate of Yale and treasurer of Hamilton college for nineteen years. Among his descendants are Richard Smith Dewey, M.D., of Ann Arbor, in charge of Brooklyn City Hospital; charge of military hospital at Hesse Cassel in Franco-Prussian war; assistant superintendent Illinois State Insane hospital at Elgin. Also Elliott Anthony, of Hamilton, 1850; Chicago lawyer; city attorney; a member of the Illinois Constitutional Convention in 1862 and again in 1870; founder of the Law Institute, Chicago, and for several years the president. Also Edward Woolsey Dwight, who was a leading citizen and legislator of Wisconsin. It is impracticable to give the record of many of the distinguished members of such a family, but a brief notice of a few will give some idea of the standard of the family. Benj. Woodbridge Dwight, Ph.D., b. 1816, g. Hamilton 1835, Yale Theological Seminary, professor in Hamilton; founded Central Presbyterian church, Joliet, Ill.; established "Dwight's High School," Brooklyn; editor-in-chief of "The Interior" of Chicago, which he owned and edited; contributor to many magazines; author of several scholarly works; had the first preparatory school which placed German on a level with Greek in importance, and founded a large preparatory boarding school at Clinton, N.Y. He was a man of rare ability, character and success. Prof. Theodore William Dwight, LL.D., b. 1822, g. Hamilton 1840, g. Yale Law S.; professor Hamilton College sixteen years; dean of Columbia College Law S. from 1858 to 1892. James Brice of England placed him at the head of legal learning in the United States and said: "It would be worth an English student's while to cross the Atlantic to attend his course." Another eminent English lawyer, A.V. Dicey, in "Legal Education" wrote of him as "the greatest living American teacher of law." He gave a course of lectures each year at Cornell; was a member of the N.Y. Constitutional Convention in 1867; was a member of the famous committee of seventy in N.Y. City that exposed the Tweed ring; was president of the New York Prison Association and presided when Mr. Dugdale was employed to study the Jukes; associate editor "American Law Register;" was legal editor of "Johnson's Encyclopædia," and made many important contributions to the legal literature of the country. There have been few men of equal eminence in our country's history. President Theodore Dwight Woolsey, D.D., LL.D., b. New York City, October 31, 1801, was the grandson of Mary Edwards Dwight and great grandson of Jonathan Edwards; g. Yale 1820; studied at Princeton Theological Seminary and g. at Yale L.S.; studied in German universities; professor in Yale twenty-two years; president of Yale 1846-1871. Wesleyan conferred degree of LL.D. and Harvard that of LL.D. and S.T.D. all before he was fifty years of age. President of the Evangelical Alliance held in N.Y. City 1873, the leading American on the Committee for the Revision of the Bible. After resigning the presidency he continued to lecture at Yale until his death, 1889. There was no more eminent American in unofficial life from 1840 to 1890 than he. President Hayes once said that he was greatly perplexed at one time as to the line of public policy which he should pursue until it occurred to him that President Woolsey was the one American on whose judgment he could rely, and after consulting him his course was entirely clear and his action wise. He was the author of several valuable and standard works. Yale's first great advance was in the time of President Timothy Dwight, its second was in the administration of President Theodore Dwight Woolsey. When he became president the classes about doubled in size. He introduced new departments at once and endowments came in, such as had never been considered possible. The tuition was raised from $33 to $90; the salaries were greatly increased, graduate courses were introduced; many new buildings were erected and everything went forward at a radically different pace. Yale and American thought owe much to President Woolsey. He wrote many scholarly works. There were thirteen children born to President Woolsey. Of these, one daughter married Rev. Edgar Laing Heermance, a graduate of Yale and a useful and talented man; one of the sons, Theodore Salisbury, was a graduate of Yale, and professor of International Law at Yale. President Timothy Dwight, D.D., LL.D., b. 1828, g. Yale 1849, g. Yale Theological School, studied at Bonn and Berlin in Germany; was professor at Yale and president from 1886 to 1897. He has been an eminent American scholar for half a century. If there were but two or three such men in a family it would make it memorable. Yale gave him the degree of D.D., and both Harvard and Princeton that of LL.D. He was editor of "The New Englander." It is a singular fact that the three great advances which Yale has made have been in the times of the two Dwights and of Woolsey, all descendants of Jonathan Edwards. By the end of his third year the number of students had risen to 1365 and the sixth year to 1784. The gifts to Yale in each of the fifteen years of his administration were fabulous as compared with any past experiences, often above $350,000. President Sereno Edwards Dwight, D.D., g. Yale 1803, practiced law in New Haven; author of important books which were republished in England; became a clergyman at the age of twenty-nine; pastor of Park St. Church, Boston; was chaplain of the U.S. Senate; established successful boarding school in New Haven. Among his students were the two boys who afterwards made the famous Andrews & Stoddard's Latin Grammar. His literary work was extensive and valuable. Standing by himself he would shed lustre upon the names he bore, Edwards and Dwight. He was a tutor in Yale and was third president of Hamilton College. William Theodore Dwight, D.D., b. 1795, g. Yale 1813, tutor at Yale, practiced law in Philadelphia; became a clergyman; pastor in Portland; overseer of Bowdoin College. He was offered three professorships, which he declined. He was one of the religious leaders of America for many years. Hon. Theodore Dwight, b. 1764, lawyer. Editor "The Connecticut Mirror" and "The Hartford Courant;" member of Congress, where he won honors by successfully combating the famous John Randolph; secretary of the famous Hartford Convention; established and edited 1815-17 the "Albany Daily Advertiser;" established and edited the "New York Daily Advertiser" 1817-36; wrote "Life of Thomas Jefferson," and many other works of importance. There were few men in his day who occupied a position of such influence. Theodore Dwight, 2d, b. 1796, g. Yale 1814, eminent scholar, imprisoned in Paris for distributing the New Testament gratis in the streets; spoke seven languages; was the warmest American friend of Garibaldi and was authorized by him to edit his works in this country; was director N.Y. Asylum for the Blind, and of the N.Y. Public School Assn.; was instrumental in having music introduced into the schools of N.Y. City; was prominent in religious and philanthropic as well as educational work. In the Kansas crisis he induced 3,000 settlers to go to Kansas, and indirectly caused nearly 10,000 to go at that critical time. He edited at various times "The N.Y. Daily Advertiser," "The Youths Penny Paper," "The American Magazine," "The Family Visitor," "The N.Y. Presbyterian," "The Christian Alliance," and wrote several successful text-books and many literary and historical works. He was a leader in the noblest sense of the term. Nathaniel Dwight, M.D., b. 1770, surgeon in United States Army, practiced medicine in Providence; prepared the first school geography ever published in the United States; wrote many historical works; original advocate of special institutional care for the insane. After eleven years of ardent championship he saw the first insane retreat established. Henry E. Dwight, M.D., b. 1832, g. Yale 1852, g. Andover Theological Seminary 1857, studied in Germany and France and was an eminent physician in Philadelphia. Rev. S.G. Dwight, g. Union Theological Seminary, and was a missionary in the Sandwich Islands. Here are a few who can only be named: John W. Dwight, b. 1820, g. Yale, eminent divine and trustee of Amherst College for many years. Mrs. Rensselaer Nicol, of New Haven, a leader in prison reform and other philanthropic movements. Thomas B. Dwight, b. 1857, g. Yale, district attorney of Philadelphia and eminent lawyer. Sereno E. Dwight, surgeon in British army. James A. Dwight, b. 1855, in United States navy. Samuel H. Stunner was with Sherman in his march to the sea. Mrs. R.H. Perkins, b. 1819, eminent teacher, principal Duffield school, Detroit. William H. Sumner, officer in U.S. regular army. Thomas Berry, banker in Cleveland. General Robert Montgomery, of Pennsylvania. O.H. Kennedy, officer in U.S. navy. Fenton Rockwell, judge advocate and provost judge in New Orleans; officer in Civil war, and in many important battles. William R. Dwight, New York banker. George S. Dwight, large railroad contractor. William Allerton, leather merchant in Boston. Mrs. Egbert C. Smyth, wife of the dean of Andover Theological Seminary. Rossiter W. Raymond, eminent specialist, author, and lecturer. W.M. Bell, manufacturer, Allegheny. Colonel A.S.M. Morgan, U.S.A. J.E. Jacobs, insurance manager, Chicago. E.S. Churchill, Portland, Me., merchant. W.D. Bell, manufacturer, Philadelphia. George Collier, rich St. Louis banker. E.A. Hitchcock, tea merchant, Hong Kong. M.D. Collier, graduated from Yale; St. Louis lawyer. H.R. Bell, Chicago physician. D.W. Bell, Pittsburg lawyer. A.S. Bell, Pittsburg lawyer. George Hoadley, born in 1781; graduated from Yale; mayor New Haven; eight times mayor of Cleveland. W.W. Hoadley, born in 1814; Cincinnati banker. Dr. T.F. Pomeroy, Detroit. General J.H. Bates, U.S.A.; Ohio state senate. Governor George Hoadley, born in 1826; graduated from Western Reserve College; supreme court judge; president Democratic convention that nominated General Hancock for the presidency. Major W.W. Winthrop of the Civil war; graduated from Tale. Major W.T. Johnson, graduated from Yale; killed at battle of Big Bethel. Theodore Weston, graduated from Yale; civil engineer of Croton water works. J.M. Woolsey, born in 1796; graduated from Yale; capitalist, Cleveland. Sarah C. Woolsey is "Susan Coolidge." Mrs. Daniel C. Grilman, wife of the president of Johns Hopkins University, and formerly president of University of California. Samuel Carmalt, wealthy land owner in Pennsylvania. Dr. W.W. Woolsey, born in 1831; graduated from Yale; physician, Dubuque, Ia. T.B. Woolsey, flour merchant, New York. Samuel W. Johnson, graduated from Princeton and Harvard law school; New York lawyer. Woolsey Johnson, M.D., graduated from Princeton and New York Medical College; physician, New York. Theodore S. Woolsey, graduated from Yale; professor in Yale. Charles F. Johnson, graduated from Yale; professor United States Naval Academy, Annapolis. W.W. Johnson, graduated from Yale; professor Kenyon College. J.H. Rathburn, lawyer, Utica. J.O. Pease, merchant, Philadelphia. A.S. Dwight, lieutenant U.S.A.; killed at Petersburg. George P.B. Dwight, New York custom house. Henry E. Dwight, born in 1813; Southern planter. Theodore Woolsey Porter, b. 1799, g. Yale 1819, eminent teacher; principal of Washington Institute, New York City. Timothy Dwight Porter, M.D., b. 1797, g. Yale 1816, was in the New York senate and a successful practitioner. Imperfectly as these names represent the achievements of the descendants of Mary Edwards Dwight they do hint strongly at the vigor, character and scholarship for which the family of Jonathan Edwards stands in American life. There is another large family of Dwights, direct descendants of Jonathan Edwards, through his granddaughter, Rhoda Edwards, but these are not, of course, included in this list of Mary's descendants. Many of these are eminent men, and reference is here made to their omission, lest some one should think the facts regarding them were not gathered. A MODERN INSTANCE It was known that John Eliot Woodbridge removed to Youngstown, O., about one hundred years ago, but no trace of him was found until these chapters were in type when it appeared that this undiscovered remainder was a most important branch of the family. Congressman R.W. Taylor, of Ohio, chairman of the committee to pass upon the case of Mr. Roberts of Utah, is a descendant of Jonathan Edwards through John Eliot Woodbridge. His masterly treatment of the case is recognized throughout the country. Here is what the "Detroit Free Press" said of him at the time of the investigation: "In appearance he is not of the robust order of statesmen. With fair face, shoulders that he has always permitted to droop, indispensable eyeglasses, and hands that nine women out of ten would envy, modest demeanor, and kindly instincts, he is among the last of men that a casual observer would pick as fitting leaders where nerve, aggressiveness, and fearless determination must be joined with an ability to give and take in legal controversy. "But this passing judgment would be at widest variance with the truth. College mates of Taylor will recall the deceptiveness of this outward appearance. It concealed muscles of steel and a will that had only to be right in order to be invincible. He was the peer of any amateur baseball catcher in his day, and held the same enviable place as a student of the classics. He was the strong man for the D.K.E. initiations, and took the same rank in all scholastic competitions." Dr. Timothy Woodbridge, of Youngstown, was a graduate of the medical college of Philadelphia, and was one of the eminent physicians of Eastern Ohio. His grandson, Benjamin Warner Wells, of Chicago, was a graduate of Annapolis naval academy. He was Admiral Schley's flag secretary in the engagement at Santiago. Dr. John Eliot Woodbridge, Cleveland, is an eminent specialist in typhoid fever cases. Robert Walker Taylor was comptroller of the United States treasury for fifteen years. 18234 ---- A Girl's Student Days and After By JEANNETTE MARKS, M. A. (_Wellesley_) _With an Introduction by_ _MARY EMMA WOOLLEY, LL. D._ _President of Mt. Holyoke College_ _New York Chicago Toronto_ _Fleming H. Revell Company_ _London and Edinburgh_ Copyright, 1911, by FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 125 North Wabash Ave. Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. London: 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street _Inscribed to MARY EMMA WOOLLEY, LL. D._ _Introduction_ The school and college girl is an important factor in our life to-day. Around her revolve all manner of educational schemes, to her are open all kinds of educational opportunities. There was never an age in which so much thought was expended upon her, or so much interest felt in her development. There are many articles written and many speeches delivered on the responsibility of parents and teachers--it may not be amiss occasionally to turn the shield and show that some of the responsibility rests upon the girl herself. After all, she is the determining factor, for buildings and equipment, courses and teachers accomplish little without her coöperation. It is difficult for the "new girl," whether in school or college, to realize the extent to which the success of her school life depends upon herself. In a new environment, surrounded by what seem to her "multitudes" of new faces, obliged to meet larger demands under strange and untried conditions, she is quite likely to go to the other extreme and exaggerate her own insignificance. Sometimes she is fortunate enough to have an older sister or friend to help her steer her bark through these untried waters, but generally she must find her own bearings. To such a girl, the wise hints in the chapters which follow this introduction are invaluable, giving an insight into the meaning of fair-play in the classroom as well as on the athletic field; the relation between physical well-being and academic success; the difference between the social life that is _re_-creative and that which is "_nerves_-creative"; the significance of loyalty to the school and to the home; the way in which school days determine to a large degree the days that come after. These, and many other suggestions, wise and forceful, I commend not only to the new girl, but also to the "old girl" who would make her school and college days count for more both while they last and as preparation for the work that is to follow. MARY E. WOOLLEY. _Mt. Holyoke College_, _South Hadley, Massachusetts._ _CONTENTS_ A WORD TO THE WISE 13 I. THE IDEAL FRESHMAN 17 II. THE GIRL AND THE SCHOOL 25 III. FRIENDSHIPS 33 IV. THE STUDENT'S ROOM 41 V. THE TOOLS OF STUDY AND THEIR USE 54 VI. THE JOY OF WORK 61 VII. FAIR-PLAY 70 VIII. THE RIGHT SORT OF LEISURE 78 IX. THE OUTDOOR RUNWAY 88 X. A GIRL'S SUMMER 99 XI. FROM THE SCHOOL TO THE GIRL 107 XII. THE WORK TO BE 115 _A Word to the Wise_ We train for basket-ball, golf, tennis or for whatever sport we have the most liking. Is there any reason why we should not use the same intelligence in the approach to our general school life? Is there any reason why we should make an obstacle race, however good and amusing exercise that may be, out of _all_ our school life? We don't expect to win a game with a sprained wrist or ankle, and there really is no reason why we should plan to sprain the back of school or college life by avoidable mistakes. The writer believes in the girl who has the capacity for making mistakes,--that headlong, energetic spirit which blunders all too easily. But the writer knows how much those mistakes hurt and how much energy might be saved for a life that, with just a pinch less of blunder, might be none the less savoury. School and college are no place for vocal soloists, and after some of us have sung so sweetly and so long at home, with every one saying, "Just hear Mary sing, isn't it wonderful!" it is rather trying, you know, to go to a place where vocal solos are not popular. And we wish some one--at least I did--had told us all about this fact as well as other facts of school life. Anyway it should be a comfort to have a book lying on the table in our school or college room, or at home, which will tell us why Mary, after having been a famous soloist at home made a failure or a great success in chorus work at school. Such a book is something like having a loaded gun in readiness for the robber. We may never use the shotgun or the book but they are there, with the reassuring sense of shot in the locker. It is something, is it not, to have a little book which will tell you how to get into school and how to get out (for at times there seem to be difficulties in both these directions)--in short, to tell you something of many things: your first year at school or college, your part in the school life, the friendships you will make, your study and how to work in it, the pleasure and right kind of spirit involved in work, the quiet times, as well as the jolly times, out-of-doors, your summers and how to spend them, what the school has tried to do for you; and, as you go out into the world, some of the aspects, whether you are to be wife, secretary or teacher, of the work which you will do. Of one thing you may be certain; that behind every sentence of this little book is experience, that here are only those opinions of which experience has made a good, wholesome zwieback. I wish to take this opportunity to thank my friend, Mrs. Belle Kellogg Towne, editor of _The Girls' Companion_ and _Young People's Weekly_, Chicago, for her coöperation in allowing me to use half the material in this little book; also Dr. C. R. Blackall, of Philadelphia. _Camp Runway._ J. M. I THE IDEAL FRESHMAN Freshman year, the beginning year, the year of new experiences, new delights, new work, new friends, new surroundings; the year that may mean much to a girl, that may answer some of the questions that have lain long in heart and mind, that will surely reveal her more clearly to herself, that may make her understand others better and help her to guess something of the riddle of the years to come! What has the student done to get ready for this year? If she were going camping she would know that certain things were necessary to make the expedition a success. With what excitement and pleasure, what thoughts of jolly camp-fires, deep, sweet-smelling forests, and long days afoot, she would prepare everything. She would not let any one else do this for her, for that would mean losing too much of the fun. But the _freshman year_, what about the thinking and planning for that, also an expedition into a new world, and a veritable adventure of a vast deal more importance than a few days or weeks of camping? Would she enter forests upon whose trees the camp-fires throw many shadows, follow the stream that cleaves its way through the woods, go along the runway of deer or caribou or moose, with a mind to all intents and purposes a blank? No, her mind would be vivid with thoughts and interests. With the same keen attention should she enter the new year at school or college, and as she passes through it, thinking about all that comes to her, she will find it growing less and less difficult and more and more friendly. She will consider what the freshman year is to be like, think of what sorts of girls she is to meet and make friends with, what the work will be, what she may expect in good times from this new adventure, and, thoughtful about it all, make the minimum of mistakes and get the maximum of benefit. Here come some of the girls who are entering school and college with her--bright-haired, dark-haired, rosy or pale, tall and thin, fat and short, clever and average, desirable and undesirable,--in fact, all sorts and conditions of girls. Who is to be the leader of them all? She is the _ideal freshman_, a nice, well-set-up girl who does not think too much of herself, who is not self-conscious, and who does not forget for what she is sent to school. Despite the temptations of school life she uses her days wisely and well. She does not isolate herself, for she sees the plan and value of the recreative side of school-days. She is already laying the foundations for a successful, useful, normal existence, establishing confidence at the outset and not handicapping herself through her whole course by making people lose their faith in her. Our _ideal freshman_ may be the girl who is to do distinguished work; she may be the student who does her best; and because it is her best, the work, though not brilliant, is distinguished by virtue of her effort. She may be the girl who is to make a happy home life through her poise and earnestness and common sense. Whoever she is, in any event in learning to do her best she is winning nine-tenths of the battle of a successful career. It is she, attractive, able, earnest, with the "fair-play" or team-play spirit in all she does, true to herself and to others, whom every school wants, whose unconscious influence is so great in building up the morale of any school. Mark this girl and follow her, for she is worthy of your hero worship. This is the girl who goes into school in much the same spirit that she would enter upon a larger life. She is not a prig and she is not a dig, but she knows there are responsibilities to be met and she meets them. She expects to have to think about the new conditions in which she finds herself and to adjust herself to them, and she does it. She knows the meaning of the team-play spirit and she takes her place quietly on the team, one among many, and both works and plays with respect for the rights and positions of others. It is in the temper of the words sometimes stamped upon the coins of our country--_E Pluribus Unum_--that she makes a success of her school life. She knows that not only is our country bigger than any one of its states, but also that every school is bigger than any one of its members whether teacher or student. In a small family at home conditions have been more or less made for her, just as they are for other girls. Yet she knows that the school life is complicated and complex, and it is impossible for her to feel neglected where a more self-centred or spoiled girl fails to see that in this new life she is called upon to play a minor part but nevertheless a part upon which the school must rely for its _esprit de corps_. She goes with ease from the somewhat unmethodical life of the home to the highly organized routine of the school because she understands the meaning of the word "team-play." She has the coöperative spirit. Yet there are other girls, too, in this school which the freshman is entering. There is the student who errs on the side of leading too workaday a life, and in so doing has lost something of the buoyancy and breadth and "snap" which would make her associations and her work fresher and more vigorous. "The Grind," she has been called, and if she recognize herself in this sketch, let her take care to reach out for a bigger and fuller life than she is leading. And there is, too, the selfish student whose "class-spirit" is self-spirit; and the girl who is not selfish but who uses herself up in too many interests, dramatic, athletic, society, philanthropic and in a dozen others. She is probably over-conscientious, a good girl in every way, but in doing too much she loses sight of the real aim of her school life. To these must be added another student,--the freshman who skims the surface, and is, when she gets out, where she was when she entered--no, not quite so far along, for she has slipped back. She is selfish, relying upon the patience and burden-bearing capacity of her father and mother, as well as the school. No doubt every girl would meet her obligations squarely if she realized what was the underlying significance of the freshman year; the school life would surely be approached with a conscientious purpose. What a girl gets in school will much depend upon what she has to give. No girl is there simply to have a good time or merely to learn things out of books. Nor is she there to fill in the interim between childhood and young womanhood, when one will go into society, another marry, and a third take up some wage-earning career. No, she is there to carry life forward in the deepest, truest sense; and the longer she can have to get an education and to make the best of the opportunities of school and college life, the richer and fuller her after-years will be. Both middle life and old age will be deeper and stronger. Let us think about these girls, let us think about what it means to be a freshman, and so lessen our difficulties and increase our pleasures; let us have a big conception,--a large ideal always at heart--of what the _first year_ should be, and beginning well we shall be the more likely to end well. II THE GIRL AND THE SCHOOL Inside school or college the girl is in several ways responsible for the atmosphere. Merely in her conversation she can be of service or dis-service. It may be simply a good joke which she is telling, but if the joke misrepresents the school she will, perhaps, do lasting harm. If she is hypercritical--and there is nothing so contagious as criticism--she influences people in the direction of her thought; she sets a current of criticism in motion. A student frequently gives vent to an opinion that is only half-baked--it is well, by the way, to make zwieback of all our opinions before we pass them around as edible--about courses and instructors. She does not realize that some opinions to be worth anything must be the result of a long process of baking, that a nibble from the corner of a four months' or nine months' course will not, however understandingly it may be Fletcherized, tell you whether the course is going to be fruit cake, meringue or common soda crackers. She may think that she herself is so unimportant that what she says can't matter, or she may not mean what she says and be merely letting off steam. Nevertheless her influence is exerted. Some one showed an old lady, who had never been known to say anything in the least critical of any human being, the picture of a very fat man prominent in public life. She looked at it a moment, and then said sweetly: "My, isn't he plump!" If only there were more old and young ladies like that dear soul! There is another kind of conversation which may not be ill-natured and yet does harm. Idle gossiping, talking about things that are not worth while or speculating about affairs which are not our business and of which we know little or nothing. Akin to this is fashionably slangy conversation concerning the latest thing in books, magazine articles, trivial plays. For even the "tone" of school or college conversation a student is responsible. She can make her school seem cheap or cultivated. The remarks which visitors overhear as they go from room to room or from building to building are likely to indicate the "tone" of an institution. A catalogue may say all it pleases about a school but in the end the school is judged by the women it educates and sends out, even as a tree is known by its fruit. Cultivated, strong women are worth more in advertisement than all the printed material in the world, however laudatory. When a girl has received everything her Alma Mater has to give, she has no right to be untrue to its fundamental aims and ideals, or to misrepresent it in any way, either by what she says or by her own behaviour. Every student in a large institution is in a sense a pensioner. No student can pay for what is given to her. Is it not a poor return for her to be reflecting dishonour rather than honour upon her school? There is a certain social selfishness in the way some students take their opportunities for granted without realizing that there are thousands and hundreds of thousands of girls who would give all that they possess for a tithe of such riches. Also, because of the sacrifice which is being made for them at home girls are selfish in taking their school or college life carelessly. The school has to bear much of the responsibility for the individual failure. But of this the student who is failing rarely thinks. Parents hold an institution to blame if it does not do for their child what they expect it to do, when it may be the girl who is at fault. In the use she makes of her portion of inheritance, in the gift the school bestows on the student, there is a large social question involved. The school gives her of its wealth, the result of the accumulation of years and of the civic or philanthropic spirit of many men and women. This, if the girl's sense of responsibility is what it should be, she feels bound to increase and hand on. It is the old _noblesse oblige_ under new conditions of privilege. While she is still in school the girl discharges part of this obligation by realizing what is best for her school as an institution. A college or a big school is no place for vocal soloists. Its life is the life of an orchestra, of many instruments playing together. The student's sense of responsibility is shown by her attitude towards the corporate government and administration of the school. Instead of regarding the laws of her school as natural enemies, chafing against them, making fun of them or evading them if possible, she has a duty in fulfilling them. The consciousness of this responsibility is the very heart and soul of the student self-government movement, for it recognizes not only the obligation placed upon its members by an institution, but also the wide influence one girl may have on others. Student government knows that upper class girls can determine the spirit of the under classes. Even looking at the matter from the lightest point of view, respectful and law-abiding ways are always well-bred ways. When a student becomes an alumna she can discharge a large part of her great responsibility by realizing that it is not any longer so much a question of what her school can give her as of what she can give to her school. One thing she can always give it--that is, kindly judgment. And she can acknowledge that her ideas of what her Alma Mater is after her own school-days may not be correct. The school, sad to say, is sometimes placed in the position of the kindly old farmer who, hearing others call a certain man a liar, said: "Waal now, I wouldn't say he wuz a _liar_. That's a bit harsh. I'd say he handled the truth mighty careless-like." Schools find that some of their alumnæ handle the truth mighty careless-like. While she is still a student a girl's service to her school lies largely in her daily work, the mental muscle she puts into all that she does in the classroom and studies out of it. If because of her and a multiple of many girls like her, the college does not possess that _sine qua non_ of all the higher mental life, an intellectual atmosphere, it is the student's and her multiple's fault. "You may lead a horse to water but you cannot make it drink," may be an old adage, but it would be hard to improve upon it. You may set before students a veritable Thanksgiving feast of things intellectual, but if they have no eagerness, no appetite for them, the feast remains untouched. Energy and hunger of the mind, not the anxious hosts, will in the end decide whether that feast is or is not to be eaten. The school considers not only scholarship but also the sum of all that it is, its culture, its attainment, its moral force, as these elements are expressed in its living members, its students and its teachers--in short, its idealism. Idealism is having one's life governed by ideals, and an ideal is a perfect conception of that which is good, beautiful and true. If the girl's life is not governed by ideals, how, then, can the school hope to have its idealism live or grow? Frequently students think of the ideals of college or school as of something outside themselves, more or less intangible, with which they may or may not be concerned. Students cannot do their institution a greater injury than by harbouring such a thought, for if their sense of responsibility will only make the idea of the school personal, then indeed will the school be like that house upon which the rains descended and the winds blew but it fell not, for it was founded upon a rock. III FRIENDSHIPS Homesickness and friendships, how much and how vivid a part they play in the first year, or years, of school life! An old coloured physician was asked about a certain patient who was very ill. "I'll tell you de truf," was the reply. "Widout any perception, Phoebe Pamela may die and she may get well; dere's considerable danger bofe ways." I will tell you one truth about the first year of school life: friends there will surely be, and homesickness there is likely to be,--there is "considerable danger both ways." Even if a girl has never been away from home before, it is possible that she will not suffer from homesickness. It is probable, however, that the new surroundings in which the girl finds herself, and the separation from those who are the centre of her personal life, will bring on an attack of this most painful malady. It takes time to fit comfortably into the new surroundings, and meanwhile everything is strange. Homesickness is not to be laughed at, but it must be less deadly, less fatal than some people think it, or there would not be so many recoveries. Girls often weep when they enter school, and then after the long dreary years are really over, lived through, and the poor forlorn freshman is metamorphosed into the senior, they weep again. Is it not strange that these seniors who wept on entering school should weep also when leaving it? It looks in the end as if Phoebe Pamela were sure to get well. Yet the effort to get well requires a fine effort at self-control,--an effort every girl is the better for making, although it may take everything plucky in a girl to "back up" her intention to remain in school. The earlier the student considers this question of homesickness the better. Let her face its possibilities before she goes away from home, and make up her mind, if she is attacked, resolutely to overcome it. If it comes, let her never give up the struggle, for, by giving in, she will only lose ground in every way, morally, socially, intellectually. By her cowardice she will part with what she can never recover later. Many temptations follow in the wake of homesickness, and the most serious of all is to make friends too rapidly. It may be laid down as a rule that a friendship formed on this stop-gap principle, and too rapidly, is not likely to endure. Such a friendship is not a sane or a wise relation, for friendship is like scholarship: if it is worth anything at all it comes slowly. Impulsive, quickly forced friendships are not wise investments; the very fact that they come so quickly implies an unbalanced state of idealizing, or lack of self-control. This does not mean that one is not to form pleasant acquaintances from the very beginning of the school life. Acquaintanceship always holds something in reserve and is the safest prelude to a deeper and more vital friendship. There is no denying that there is great temptation to violent admirations and attractions in school. In the first place, in school or college the girl is brought into contact with a large circle of people who are immensely interesting to her. The whole atmosphere is full of novelty, of the unusual. Some of the students and teachers whom she meets for the first time represent a broader experience, it may be, than her own home life has given her. They are often new types and new types are always interesting. I shall say nothing of the idealism of friendship--it plays its part in other books. It would seem sometimes as if almost too much emphasis had been placed upon the making of friendships in school,--friendship which is, after all, but a by-product, the most valuable it is true, nevertheless a by-product of the life. Wholly practical are the tests of friendship which I shall give. In the first place a friend is too absorbing who takes all of one's interest to the exclusion of everything else: there should be interest in other people, other activities as well as in one's work. Such a friendship can only make a girl forget for what she has come to school. The new relation which disposes one to look with less respect and affection upon one's own people and home--and they, be it remembered, have stood the most valuable test of all, the test of time--cannot be a good influence. It may be said in general that an association which is developing the less fine traits in one's character, giving emphasis to the less worthy sides, should be relinquished immediately, even at the cost of much heartache. The heartache will be only temporary; the bad influence might become permanent. On the other hand, since friendship is giving as well as taking, one does well to consider the fact that if one's own part in it does not tell for good, there is just as much reason for stopping the friendship where it is. Some of these associations--and this is a hard saying, I know--which seem everything at the time are nothing, as the years will prove. A girl idealizes, and idealizes those who are not worthy. Inevitably the day comes when she laughs at herself,--if she does not do worse and pity herself for having been such a goose. Only a few of the friendships made in school are destined to endure. One of the foremost of those that last is founded on similarity of interest. Perhaps it is the girl with whom one has worked side by side in the laboratory,--a relation formed slowly and on a permanent basis. Many of the best of friends have come together through community of interests, and this is a type of friendship for which men have a greater gift than women. There is still another type which develops because of some conspicuously noble or fine quality which proves attractive. Hero worship, this, which enlarges one's self through the admiration given to another. Then there is the friendship based on a purely personal attraction, with mutual respect and self-respect as its dedicated corner-stone. This does not mean that one cannot see any faults in the friend, or know that one's own are seen, without losing affection. There is always something flimsy and insecure about a friendship that simply idealizes. Any relation should be all the stronger for a frank acknowledgment of its imperfections. If a girl cares enough she will be willing to admit her own faults and wish to make herself more worthy to be a friend. And, finally, there is what might be called the lend-a-hand friendship,--the relation that springs into existence because of the need which is seen in another. It is not fair to make a packhorse of one's friend or to turn one's self into the leaning variety of plant, but it is fair and wise and right, if one is strong enough to accomplish the end in view, to lend a hand to another girl who is not making the best of herself. Have a good time but do not swear eternal allegiance in this first year to anybody, however wonderful she may seem. Hold yourself in reserve, if for no other reason, then on account of the old friends at home, whether they be kin or no-kin, for they have been true. And remember, as I have said before, friendship is like scholarship and must by its nature come slowly. IV THE STUDENT'S ROOM There has been a general improvement in student rooms, yet many rooms to-day have altogether too much in them: too many pictures, too many banners, too much furniture, too many hangings. The great fault of most rooms is this overcrowding. If we were only heroic enough to make a bonfire of nine-tenths of all they contain we should see suddenly revealed possibilities for something like the ideal room. One serious and obvious objection to the overcrowding of rooms is the hygienic. I am tempted to say that this is the most important objection: indeed, since health is more important than wealth, I will say so. A girl has neither the time nor the ability to keep so many articles in a room clean: and while she is busy attending to her studies, some cherished ornaments are not only laying up dust for the future, as a more regenerate life will lay up treasures, but also breeding germs, perhaps collecting the very germs which will take this girl away from school or college. Besides, bric-à-brac not only gathers dust and breeds germs but also wearies the nerves. It makes one tired to see so many things about, and tired to be held responsible for them. Without realizing it, we resist the amount of space they occupy and in their place want the air and sunshine. Subconsciously, most of us long to get rid of our bric-à-brac and then pull down the draperies that keep out the sunlight. The simpler the window draperies in a room, the more easily washed, the better and more attractive. For wholesome attractiveness there is no fabric that can excel a flood of warm sunshine. Any girl or woman who has curtains which she must protect from strong light by drawing down the shades is guilty of a household sin whose greatness she cannot know. That same sunshine, freely admitted, will do more to cleanse a house than all the soap, all the brooms, and even all the vacuum cleaners ever invented. The so-called beauty of a room should always give way before the hygiene of a room. Not only should the room be sensibly furnished so that it may have plenty of air and light, but closets should not contain articles of furniture which belong where the air can reach them. There is a difference between a room that is not orderly and one that is not clean. A room that contains unclean articles in drawers or closets, unclean floors, unclean rugs and hangings and unclean walls, should not be tolerated for an instant. If a girl turns a combination bedroom and study in school or college into a kitchen, if an ice-cream freezer occupies all the foreground of this place she calls home, and chafing-dishes with cream bottles, sardine tins, cracker boxes, paper bags full of stale biscuits, fruit skins, dish-cloths and grease-spotted walls, all the background, it is impossible to have a clean room to live in. The Golden Rule applies to rooms as well as to human beings and should read, "Do unto a room as you would it should do unto you." And not only for the sake of health should this Golden Rule for Rooms be observed but also for the sake of the college or school. The room that belongs to us only for a time should be as thoughtfully cared for as if it were our own personal property. There is something inconsistent, isn't there, in educating a girl in high thinking and fine ideals, if she is willing to live in a room that for uncleanliness many a woman in some crowded quarter of a city would consider a disgrace? Such contradiction in mind and surrounding is out of harmony with all one's ideal for a gentlewoman. Not only beauty is restful, peace-giving and peace-bringing, but so, also, are neatness and order. Orderliness helps to fit one for work. There is undoubtedly some connection between surroundings and one's mental state. In themselves disorder and confusion are irritating. The sight of a dirty child crying in the doorway of an untidy house suggests some connection between the wretchedness of the child and the squalor of the home. I often think of William Morris, the great craftsman and charming poet, who had much at heart the happiness of all people, especially the poor, and his exclamation, "My eye, how I do love tidiness!" To him, to the artist, it was, as it is, beautiful. George Eliot had to put even the pins in her cushion into some neat arrangement before she could sit down to write. Disorder wastes not only one's feelings and health, it also wastes one's time, for a lot of this commodity may be lost in looking for books, wraps, gloves and other things which are not put away properly. School ought to be a training for the life afterwards. That is why we go to school, isn't it? Why should a girl indulge herself in habits which will make against her usefulness in the life of the home or in whatever circumstance she may be? There is a certain disciplinary value in order. Every great military school has recognized this. Laxness in the care of one's room may mean the habit of laxness in other and more important ways. Disorderliness indicates a certain tendency in character, and if a girl allows that sort of thing to go on she is very likely to show it in other ways. Untidiness in any of one's personal habits--and what could be more personal than a room?--should be taken up and corrected even as one attempts to correct any weak point in one's character. Do you know what is always--that is, if it is in it at all--the most beautiful thing in a room? It is something which the Creator meant all mankind should have, rich and poor, old and young alike; it is something beyond the buying price of any wealth. It is the sunshine, more beautiful, more valuable than expensive hangings that shut it out. Perhaps it is partly because it is inexpensive, God-given to all people, that housewives frequently draw their curtains against it. If they had to pay more for it than for carpets and hangings, you may be very sure that a great many husbands and fathers would be overworking in order that their families might buy a whole display of sunshine instead of tapestries. Do you know what is the most helpful thing you can have in your room, the article without which you cannot live in it at all, no matter how fine the rugs and bric-à-brac may be? _Air!_ Air is the one thing which is almost instantly and absolutely indispensable to human life, for we breathe it in not only through our noses but also all over our skin. Every hundredth fraction of an inch of our bodies is feeding upon air, and the purer that air and the cooler the better and more invigorating food it provides for the skin surface as well as for the lungs. The mind, for it is housed in the body and its tenant, must depend for its vigour or tone upon the fresh air in school or college study. Even a very good head cannot work well set upon an anæmic body which is suffocating for want of good clean air. If you wish to do your best work and keep well, the first thing to do is not to open your books but to open your windows. After that the books and a reasonable number of hours of continuous study. American audience halls, pullmans, ordinary coaches and public buildings of all sorts, especially libraries, are notoriously overheated and unventilated. It is the intelligent American girl and woman who, beginning with the home, will correct this evil. The schools are, on the whole, in the forefront of the fresh air movement, especially the public schools. As every one knows, the public schools are establishing open air rooms for their children who need them. Although there is much to be said about what a room should contain to make it attractive, it should never be forgotten that sunshine and fresh air are more beautiful and more priceless than anything else which it can hold. The first object in furnishing a bare room is to make it habitable,--that is useful. Take the kitchen, for example, and usefulness is practically the sole object in fitting it up. And the curious thing about it all is that it cannot help being beautiful in a homely, motherly way, for it exemplifies one of the strongest elements of all beauty and that is _service_. The kitchen may be a very humble place but if more women would make a study of their kitchens and then take thought, it is likely that the rest of their houses would be in much better taste. A thing that is useful, even as with some well-worn homely old woman who has led a good and helpful life, always acquires a beauty of its own. It may be hard for girls to see this but it is there, and in time it will be seen. Just as it is essentially more beautiful to have a clean, strong body rather than a pretty face and a body that is not what it ought to be, so is it more truly beautiful to have articles of furnishing in our rooms, in study or kitchen, that are of indispensable genuine use. Take the gaudy ambitious study one girl has made for herself. It is defaced by the presence of articles of no value at all in the world of needs; there is nothing in it that is genuinely beautiful and nothing that is substantially useful. The furniture is almost too cheap to stand on its own legs, and the colours would certainly never wash and not even wear. This room is a junk-shop of new, useless, unattractive objects of no virtue,--in short, a most unpleasant place in which to live. Have you ever considered what gives even the simplest clothes for distinctive occasions a beauty of their own? It is fitness. And it is this same fitness which tells so much in furnishing a room. It might be said of certain dresses that they "go together," that is, they are harmonious, they belong together, they have, like some people, the beauty of agreeing with themselves, and a very desirable sort of beauty it is. Just as clothes are an expression of the people who wear them, so are rooms an expression of the people who live in them. No well-bred girl cares for tawdry, cheap, over-ornamented clothes. She is made uncomfortable even at the very thought of having to wear such things. She should suffer just as much discomfort on the score of a cheaply furnished (and by "cheap" here I do not mean inexpensive--whitewash and deal intelligently used may create a beautiful room), overcrowded and over-ornamented study. What is the meaning of the room which is your school centre for the time being? It is an intimate place where a girl may have her friends and good times; it is a retreat and it is a workshop. It is the girl's home centre away from home, the place from which she will lead her life, in its expression attractive or unattractive, like her or unlike her. To intend that this room in beauty, in cleanliness, in order, shall be the best expression possible of the girl's best self is the ideal to set for the school study. Get good materials and good colours. They need not be expensive. Remember that colours have to go together just as furniture has to do so. To have styles of furniture that clash or colours that do not harmonize will negative any care which the student may have taken in the selection of individual pieces or materials. To have too much with which to fill the room is a good deal worse than not to have enough. Much better it is to have a few things which are just what they should be than to have too many and those undesirable. To get a desk, if a girl can afford to do so, that she will be glad to keep her life long is a good beginning, and a comfortable chair that will be made doubly precious by all the school associations woven about it. And let her be careful about pictures for her walls and not crowd them with cheap and "fashionable" trash. Above all, let her remember that good taste, simplicity, careful selection, will do more to assure her the possession of an attractive room than all the money in the world can do. V THE TOOLS OF STUDY AND THEIR USE A girl ought to take up her study with the same sense of pleasure as that with which a strong workman enters his shop, knowing his tools and able to use them. Having good tools and knowing them is certainly part of the joy of work. And what are the tools the student must use? Well, for the average student, the one that is first and most important is _Good Health_. The mind is not as clear if the body is not in good health, clean within and without. The second set of tools consists of a different sort of equipment and apparatus, tools with which a girl must become familiar and which she must know how to use--_Books_, _Library_, _Laboratory_ and _Classroom_. Why shouldn't a student be just as able to use her books as a carpenter his plane or saw? One couldn't expect a fumbling carpenter or a clumsy seamstress to accomplish much work or good work. There are times when a girl need not claim to know anything but she must, at least, know where to find what she wants to know. This is the first lesson in the use of books; without knowledge of them or love for them, the student can't get along at all. And beyond this somewhat mechanical use of books there is a deeper and larger lesson to learn; to know that a book is not merely a page of print where information may be sought but that it is a mirror in which one finds the world, its wisdom, its joy, its sorrow, its divine adventures. Robert Southey, the friend of the poet Coleridge, has written beautifully on the subject in a little poem called "His Books." Another tool in the student's workshop is _Previously Acquired Knowledge_: that is, what one has in one's mind. Some people's minds are junk-shops. But a junk-shop is better than an empty shop. This previously acquired knowledge, if used rightly, becomes the tool of later courses, the servant of later years. Our stored-up facts--many of them--have not been an end in themselves. How could they be? For example, such things as paradigms and formulæ and long lists of names and dates, are tools pure and simple; but the student in the workshop must have them or she will be like a carpenter who had much to do but on coming to his bench found no tools there and so was idle all day. A fourth tool for the girl in her study--one that cannot be deliberately acquired, as information or apparatus or even health can be--is _Experience_. This is the most valuable tool of all--one's experience of travel, with people, in responsibility, in love, in joy, in sorrow, in any kind of work. The girls who are the most interesting in the classroom are the girls who are not contenting themselves with apparatus alone but whose minds are flexible with experience, who bring all of themselves, their life, to bear upon the work. A certain well-known minister had prepared a sermon for his usual Sunday engagement, but half an hour before service another text came into his mind. He could not forget it, so he jotted down notes and preached the new sermon instead of the one that had been prepared. This sermon made a great impression on all who heard it, and the minister himself said of it that some people would declare that it had been thought out in half an hour, but that really he had put fifty years of his life into it. The sharper and better the tools, the finer the character of the work. If experience has been observed and retained, and previously acquired knowledge is ready for service, and hand and mind know how to use books, and the student is in good condition physically, then the excellence of that girl's work in the class and out can be guaranteed. And now what are the uses of the work which these tools can accomplish for us? Coleridge wrote in his poem, "Work Without Hope," "Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve, And Hope without an object cannot live." The only hope that can last is hope that is not wholly centred in ourselves, but has some thought for others and our service to them. Work devoid of inspiration and ideals, work done merely for one's self, study pursued with only a degree as an end or for the sake of "pay" as a teacher, turns school and college into a market-place, a place of barter, where in exchange for so much energy and so much money we may acquire a certain position and livelihood. Only that work in which one has the consciousness of being, or becoming, useful to others, brings joy that will endure. What do we think of the minister who is without a sense of consecration? The responsibility of the student or the teacher is quite as large, the opportunity for service quite as wonderful. One of our greatest English poets, William Wordsworth, exclaimed: "I wish to be considered as a teacher, or as nothing!" The calling of the teacher, of the student, has through all time been thought a high one,--one that has drawn to itself fine and unselfish spirits. The life of the student, no matter how necessary to the world its market-places are, never has been and never can be a life of barter, of trade. The wealth that comes to the student should not be an exclusive possession. It may be bought at a large price but it can never be sold. It must be given away, or shared, for it is wealth which carries with it a sense of social responsibility. It is enjoyed for a double purpose, not only for the sake of the happiness it brings to us but also for the sake of the joy or help it may bring to others. Millions of girls covet the opportunities that come to a few in school and college, many of them who far more greatly deserve this privilege than we. Indeed, what have most of us done to merit the right to all that we have? The only way in which we can show our sense of justice is by taking our privileges as something to share with others. The girl who has health, pleasant surroundings and work worth doing, has all a human being has a right to expect. She ought always to be happy, always rejoicing in her work and always eager to divide her wealth with others. The redeeming feature of royalties has been their sense of responsibility for their subjects! In great disasters, or calamities, their first thought has been to go to the relief of the people. The King and Queen of Italy are noble examples of this courage and unselfishness. In America the only "privileged" class is the highly educated. It is they from whom _noblesse oblige_ must be expected, who will show in all emergencies their sense of responsibility, who will share all that they have with others. A girl will be happy, she will grow, she will be a leverage power for good with those among whom she lives, only in so far as she uses her tools of knowledge in the service of others, and shapes all that she does towards some humanly useful end. VI THE JOY OF WORK If one is in good condition, the exercise of any physical power is a pleasure. It is a pleasure to run, to sing, to dance, to climb mountains, to row, to swim; it is a pleasure to shout for nothing else than for the pure joy of letting off surplus energy. In the world of animals, the horse and dog, to take only two illustrations, abound in this enjoyment of physical energy. The horse paws the ground and snorts and whinnies and loves the fastest road pace you will let him take. The dog leaps in the air, jumps fences, barks, and races around madly, sometimes after nothing at all. But the highest power of which human beings are possessed is not the power of the body. It is the power of the mind. Yet many of us throughout our school and college life not only do not wish to use this power but even rebel against it. "What," some girls are saying to themselves, "enjoy the work of a classroom? Who ever heard of such a thing!" Yes, just that. And if we don't enjoy the work of a classroom, even an indifferently good one, there is something the matter with us, or the subject should not have a place on any curriculum. Every mental exercise should be full of the keenest pleasure, of intellectual pleasure. Our schools and colleges to-day are very much richer in the joy of everything else--in beautiful surroundings, in freer and fuller athletic and outdoor life, in a more varied and delightful social life--than they were fifty or even twenty-five years ago. But it is a question whether the joy of intellectual work has kept pace with this joy of life in its other aspects. Sometimes it almost seems as if intellectual eagerness were in inverse ratio to the ease and fullness of the opportunities we have. At least many fair-minded girls have seen the predicament in which the teacher is placed. The man who makes a vase for the use and pleasure of others may rejoice not only in his own workmanship but also in the thought of the service and delight he is giving to others. That is, his pleasure is twofold. The teacher who is deprived of some response of joy in the work he is doing is a workman deprived of his rights. To those girls who are thinking of becoming teachers this should be a sobering thought. Missionary teachers, with their students eager to get anything they have to give, are not to be pitied. Our schools and their groups of teachers in isolated and uncultivated parts of the West and South are not to be pitied. Even if education is with them shorn of much that gives it charm, the opportunities that come are prized. Students and teachers have intellectual joy in the work they do, and without that the greatest university in the world might as well, or better, be a district school, for then the work done would be truly useful. It is the teacher who has to put much of her time and energy into making a subject superficially attractive enough for a student to elect it, who is to be pitied. A classroom full of blasé girls whose minds need to be tickled before there is the least expression of intellectual mirth upon their faces, is an ordeal not lightly to be met except by the professional joker or academic tumbler. Girls often become impatient with themselves, and that is one reason why there is so little joy in work for them. Think of Helen Keller as a famous example of this joy in work under the most adverse circumstances. What could be greater than her handicap? Shut away from the world by deaf ears and blind eyes and, for a while, by inability to speak, she has nevertheless shown a keenness of pleasure and intellectual acquisition that shames us who have all our senses in their fullness. Think of her patient, unremitting delving, of the digging up, up, up to get to the light which most human beings are privileged to enjoy with no effort at all! The mind that accepts this wealth with no thought, no sense of responsibility, is a trifler with riches that are about us for God-given purposes. Think of the way in which Stevenson and John Richard Green and George Eliot rose above their ill-health and did their work in despite of it! Perhaps some of us have superb health and have never made any conscious effort to use that gift for a high end. Girls grow impatient with themselves when they wouldn't be impatient with a little child. Yet the mind has to be trained even as we train a child; it has to be brought back and back, again and again to the thing to be done. After the asking of a simple question, oftentimes a whole class will look confounded, because they have some strange notion that thinking means getting hold of something very far away and difficult to grasp. All that the first effort in thought denotes is taking a hold of that which is nearest and following it up. It is the old story of Theseus following his clue of thread, the slender thing in his hand, by which he was guided out of the labyrinth and to the broad sea of adventure. There are difficulties in the doing of any work that is worth while. It would be a poor adviser who painted the student's way as a path of roses. First and foremost, one's own inertia interferes with the joy of work. Some one has defined the lazy man as one who doesn't want to do anything at all, and the indolent man as one who doesn't want to do anything that he doesn't want to do. Then, too, there are certain allurements and distractions in school life which are a hindrance to our joy in an intellectual task. And there is the very natural disinclination to the drudgery involved in all hard labour. No work that is worth while is without drudgery. Lack of encouragement from older people is one serious difficulty some girls have to meet. There is a type of older person who is sure that using the mind will harm that precious article. And, finally, there is our inexperience, our own lack of comprehension, our own purposeless and formless lives. Joy in work should not be altogether conditional upon one's sense of ease or upon what is called success. Seeming success is not always success. Often the most valuable lessons come from failures. Robert Browning, the poet, speaks again and again of the noble uses of failure. Let me quote one stanza from one of his greatest poems, "Rabbi Ben Ezra": "Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!" You can't learn to walk if you haven't tumbled down a good deal in doing it. It is often failure that means ultimate success. Of course if a girl keeps on saying: "Oh, what's the use?" about everything she does and all her failures, there isn't any use. In weak moments that sort of thing can be said of every great and worth-while experience, of love, of joy, of sorrow, of work. But a girl who allows herself to take this attitude is a "quitter," and doesn't know the first principles of playing the game. Part of the joy of work consists in the mere delight of intellectual exercise, delight in thinking a thing out. That is the way we develop ourselves mentally, just as we develop ourselves physically through sports. The mind that thinks is capable of deeper and broader thinking. Thinking begets thought. A muscle that is left without exercise softens and finally atrophies. The same is true of mental muscle. If this strength is left unused it is gradually lost and cannot be recovered. Mental concentration, the thought that is so strenuous that everything else is shut out, strengthens the mind. In this wonderful old world no new land has been discovered without physical effort. There is no country of the mind which can be entered without a similar effort. And there is another and very important joy in work--the sense that one is being equipped for the work of the world, for usefulness. The mere feeling that one's powers are being developed brings joy with it. There is still another joy which every one of us must covet--the sense of entering into the intellectual riches of the world, its wonders of science and art and letters, with the feeling that we have a part in a great treasure, a treasure which, unlike gold and precious stones, men have never been able to gauge or to exhaust. Such gold and silver as we take from that adventure cannot be lost or stolen from us. It remains with us to the very last, and with it no life can ever become really poor, or dull, or old. VII FAIR-PLAY Few students realize how closely a classroom resembles a commonwealth. To most of us it seems a place into which we go to have a certain amount got out of us, or put into us. This conception of the classroom is unworthy the modern girl who has, otherwise, a fine understanding of the meaning of team-play, of playing all together for a common end, a game or a republic united by a tacit compact. Does the average student feel responsibility for the game of basket-ball or lawn hockey which she is playing? The first thought of the girl in answering this is that it was a foolish question even to ask. Of course she does. But for her classroom? No, that is a different sort of game, in which the responsibility lies all on the shoulders of the instructor. It is a one-woman or a one-man game, and very often the students are but spectators, cheering or indifferent, approving or disapproving. The pupil does not hold herself accountable for this game; it is the teacher who makes the class "go," who extracts from each student the information bottled up in her, together, often, with a good deal of carbon dioxide,--a process difficult and hard as drawing a swollen cork out of a soda-water bottle. Finally, with a sort of noble rebound of effort, the exhausted instructor is to put a vast deal of information back into the girl before the student claps her book together and rushes pell-mell to the next classroom, there to be similarly uncorked, if the teacher has learned the art and her mental muscle is sufficient. Such a conception of a classroom is not fair-play. The teacher, like the coxswain of a college crew, may have rowed over the same course and she may know it well enough to cover it in the dark; she may have won distinction upon it, may be the fittest person in all the states of the Union to cover it again, but if she has not a good or a winning crew to coach, she will never win any race, even the shortest. No instructor has shoulders equal to such a multiple burden as coaching, steering and doing all the rowing, too. To play any classroom game in this spirit is to be dead weight for every one else embarked upon the same adventure. It is not fair-play. By such an attitude on the part of merely one student in the class, every other student associated with her loses, for the girl who will not lift her own weight the others must carry. If that student were playing in that spirit on the basket-ball team, do you suppose that the coach, or the captain, would let her stay on? Not for a moment; off she would go and very much humiliated, too. If it is a discussion, the touch and go of the whole recitation will depend upon the presence of the team-play, or fair-play, spirit in the course. The instructor may do her best but if there is no play-the-game in that classroom, she might just as well fold up her tent, like the proverbial Arab, "and silently steal away." It is not that any recitation need be a brilliant affair--if most of them depended upon that for existence they would scarcely exist at all--but there must be an honest, earnest, responsible effort to make the best of the hour. Good will inevitably come from the clarifying effort to express thought, and the leading from thought to thought as the work goes forward. The basket-ball team cannot win, or even play, unless all the members are playing together. Each one is needed despite the fact that she may not be one of the chief or best players. Just so does the class need all its students. If a girl is only average, it is not fair-play for her to sit back and do nothing; neither is it fair-play for her to monopolize the attention if she happens to be more than commonly able. It is not fair-play to laugh at the girl who is at a disadvantage, or to appear bored. It is unfair to the individual, to the classroom in general and to the instructor. The least she can do in this class game is to give her whole and her courteous attention. Think of all the practice games in which the average athletic team takes part. What can be said for the student who comes into the classroom unprepared to lift her own weight, unprepared to help others? When one comes to think about it from the fair-play point of view there is nothing to be said for her. Nor is it fair-play for a girl to allow herself to get into such a state physically that she is unable to study. How often and often have fudge-heads--due to an application to too much sugar and not to books--sitting row after row killed a school or even a whole college! Before a class tempered by fudge and not by wholesome outdoor living and conscientious devotion to work, the teacher might better put away her notes and close her book. Nothing can happen through or over that barricade of fudge-heads. And it is not fair-play to cram because of time lost, or for any other cause. The only end of cramming is that the student soon forgets all that has been learned. Alone by normal, slow acquisition and all the associations formed in such learning can information come to us to stay. It may not be particularly wicked to cram if one has plenty of time to waste, but it is foolish unless one has. There is a kind of gossip in which a girl takes part, made up of snap-shot judgments of the classroom, idle carping about some little unimportant point, expression of wounded vanity and unfair talk, which may mean a tremendous loss of prestige for a really admirable course; it may mean that girls, who would naturally go into it because of their liking or gift for the work, do not go or go in a critical and unsympathetic attitude. If there is a complaint to be made about any course it should be made to the responsible person concerned, and that is usually the teacher. Anything else is not fair-play. In the classroom the instructor is the "coach" of the game and she is the person with whom to talk. It is needless to say that if a girl is putting nothing into a course she cannot expect to get anything out of it, or to complain because things do not "go." If she wants them to "go" why does she not help, and have the profit of taking something away from the work as interest on her effort? A girl gets dividends only from work into which she has put some brain-capital. And the people at home? Is it fair-play to them, when they are making sacrifices of money or of happiness to keep the daughter at school, for her not to put good work into her study and play her part faithfully in the classroom game? So many things have to be taken into consideration of which we are not likely to think. There is the girl herself, the other girls with whom she is working, the instructor, the people at home, the institution that is providing an expensive equipment or plant through the philanthropic efforts of others or the taxation of the public. If the girl does not play her part fairly, there is a rather big reckoning against her, is there not? VIII THE RIGHT SORT OF LEISURE The right sort of leisure ought to help as much in the development of the girl as the right sort of work. If it is leisure worthy the name, it will bring refreshment; it will not leave one physically and mentally jaded. Neither mind nor body should ever be exhausted because of the way in which freedom has been used. Leisure is as important to work as work is to leisure. A person who has not worked cannot appreciate freedom, while the one who has had no leisure is not best fitted for work. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy;" it is just as true that it makes Jill a dull girl. The girl who works all the time, not realizing the importance of free moments, becomes fagged in body and mind. She is a tool that is dull, and would do well to remember that even a machine is better for an occasional rest. Some mistaken ideas about leisure have grown up, making it difficult to say anything on this subject without being misunderstood. Stories--whole books of them--about "spreads" and more or less lawless escapades in school and college, have given girls and other people, too, the impression that this is the sort of thing school leisure is. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Midnight feasts may occur in school, and most of us, unless we are too good to be average girls, have taken part in them. But such stories are vicious, for they misrepresent the life by suggesting that eating inferior and unwholesome food is the real freedom most girls desire. There is something repulsive in the very thought. Feasts that leave a girl with a coated tongue and a dull head and Monday "blues" do not fairly represent school or college leisure. Good times that interfere with good work have no place in ideally free hours. But, indeed, the odours from the chafing-dishes do suggest that some of the girls are trying to put into literal execution the wish of a great German professor in Oxford. The professor, eager to try a dish he saw on the hotel bill of fare, but with his English and German verbs not quite disentangled, said to the waiter, "Hereafter I vish to become a Velsh Rabbit." Perhaps becoming a Welsh rarebit represents the height of some girls' ideals, but this is hard to believe. The possession of leisure depends to a great extent upon the will power. The girl who has never learned to say "No," who has no power of selection, cannot expect to have any hours for her own use. She is quarry for every idle suggestion, every social engagement, every executive "job" which pursues her. The girl who engages all her time socially cannot have a sense of leisure, for she turns her playtime into but another schedule, to be met as inexorably as her academic courses. Her days become a formidable array of "dates," often stretching ahead for weeks. Even if girls are not determined to have it for themselves, they should give to others some opportunity for freedom, and should respect their possible desire for solitude. The girl who engages or annexes every particle of time, her own or that of some one else with whom she comes in contact, is making leisure an impossibility. The girl who leaves no margin cannot hope for even the spirit of freedom. Many students excuse themselves for much executive work in school and college on the ground that it is done in their leisure. That girl is a goose who allows herself through any sense of self-importance, or irreplaceable usefulness, to be so involved in executive work that all other aspects of her school life are slighted. If she refuses to be swamped by such "jobs" she can have the happiness of reflecting that probably some girls who need the training far more than she does are doing the work. To every girl will come the opportunity right along for "managing"; club and social work will bring it, and a good-sized family will bring it as nothing else can. But school leisure she will not have again. The whole aim of the school is to enrich the lives of its students, and it knows all too well that that student who does not keep for herself the leisure upon which body and mind and soul must feed is indeed poor. There is one way in which leisure is very generally misspent in school--and alas, outside, too!--not in managing one's own affairs, but in managing and discussing the affairs of others. At such times the remarks may be superlatively pleasant, but they are more often superlatively disagreeable. It may be said with truthfulness that they are almost never moderate or just. Everything is all black or all white, with no gray. It makes one think of the little girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead: "When she was good, she was very, very good, And when she was bad, she was horrid." But, alas! the poor wretches discussed are not allowed even the natural and somewhat happy human alternation between badness and goodness. No, indeed, they are monsters of a desperate character--they may at the moment be broken-heartedly conscious of their own faults--or they are shining six-winged angels. And, woe! this sort of thing comes almost as hard upon the angels. They can't endure it; so much goodness breaks down their wing arches, and the glorious ones crumple together like tissue-paper. And upon the girls busily engaged in creating angels of loveliness and gargoyles of ugliness, this sort of conversation works havoc. It does not invigorate them, it does not inspire them. It belittles their minds--thank fortune, that making kindling wood of the characters of other people does do this!--and stunts their finer feelings. This sin, that they "do by two and two," they pay for one by one. Gentle and considerate feelings are lost, time is wasted, a vicious habit,--almost no habit is more vicious,--is acquired. Such gossip can never become a pure enjoyment; it remains at the best an ignoble, discreditable excitement. Rolling these sweet morsels under their tongues, a taste for ill-natured or exaggerated comment fixes itself in their mouths. Even if they have consciences that, like good mothers, will occasionally wash their mouths out with soap, they retain the disturbing memory of unkind, coarse, or foolish words. Yet school should be the last place in which to indulge in idle talk. Such indulgence is against all the idealism of student life. Idle or meddlesome talk never helps any one, either the one who talks or the one who is discussed. If you have anything to say about other people, and if going to them will help you, the only friendly thing to do--it is not an easy thing--is to speak to the people concerned. If we really knew how to put ourselves in other people's places, no unkind, unfriendly words would ever be spoken again. There would be things hard to bear said--rebuke or reproof are never easy to receive--but nothing unfriendly. Think how idle, ill-natured talk flows around the world, and then think what a different world it would be if there were none of it! It is to human life what the blights, the scales, the insect pests are to tree and flower. Fortunately, as people grow older they come to think themselves less infallible, and as they grow wiser they become more tender and more lenient in their judgments. In companionship whose leisure interests are good there is a sense of freedom filled full and running over, of minds and hearts doubly rich, of good times doubly jolly. But on the whole, girls have too little absolute solitude; there is scarcely a girl in twenty, except the "dig," who is alone at all. One trouble with dormitory school life is that it fosters leisure-wasting and time-wasting "gang" habits. A girl so surrounded never wants to be alone a moment, either indoors or out. With such, the blessing and blessedness of solitude should be learned, for solitude rightly used makes strong men and women. The woman who has leisure has a grasp upon time, is master of it instead of being mastered by it. It is the girl whirled around in a squirrel cage of pointless weekly and Sunday engagements who is oppressed and mastered by her lack of freedom. And then there is the hard-pressed future; we must lay up some leisure for that. The time when one is most hurried is the time when one most needs the sense of freedom. The story of the old Quaker lady who had so much to do she didn't know where to begin, and so took a nap, is profoundly full of wisdom. When the old lady woke up she found she had plenty of time after all, not because she had done anything but because she had come again into a leisurely frame of mind. Leisure means neither a blank mind nor an empty hand. It means a holiday taken with an eager mind, with eyes keen in their delight and knowledge, with hands capable of some beauty or some use. All of us have leisure to think, but not all of us think. Some of us, if friends come in unexpectedly, will quickly pick up something and pretend to be busy. When Watt sat by the fire watching the steam from the teakettle lift the lid, he was not precisely idle. The powerful, indispensable steam-engine was the result. One reason, aside from all religious considerations, why we need a quiet Sunday, is that we may have that sense of freedom which feeds mind and body, and even the crumbs of whose profitableness have made the world rich in great inventions, in great pictures, in wonderful books. IX THE OUTDOOR RUNWAY After Nebuchadnezzar came in from eating grass there had taken place in that potentate a great change for the good. One of the factors in this betterment may have been the grass itself. The grass-cure has always been popular and always will be, for it is just as good for the tired mind as it is for the tired body. Nowadays every big school and every college provide a grass-cure for students who are out at elbows with their nerve sleeves, or who have not sufficient muscle to make them fit, or who are overworking or need toning up in any way. There is more and more recognition of the fact that a school course which is taken at the expense of health is not worth having. And side by side with this wholesome admission has come a great awakening in the last fifteen years to the curative value of the _outdoor runway_, whether that runway be a field track, energetic walking in a park or campus, or a cross country run. Some girls--and there are more girls of this type than there are boys--put in their outdoor life as a stop-gap. It is inconceivable that this should be true, yet it is true. Apathetically the students have exercised sixty minutes, considering this minimum quite sufficient. Not a particle of zest do they reveal in the exercise taken. They do not seem to know or they do not care that the fields and woods should be full, not only of health and all that goes with it, including success, but also of the best of friends who all have their good points worthy of notice and imitation, in quick leap, cheerful voice and blithe song. What are sixty minutes in this great outdoor runway? Not a tithe of the twenty-four hours and at best only half of what the minimum should be. Exercise should be taken even if nothing else in the school life is. And I say this advisedly, for health is the basis on which not only the future of the woman's life must depend but also that of the race. Good health, the inheritance of it, its maintenance and increase, neither the girl nor her parents can ever hold as too sacred a trust. That it is a sacred trust the schools are recognizing more and more, and provisions are being made, especially in the public schools, for the defective in health as well as for the strong. The outdoor school, at first an object that attracted universal attention, is now being taken quite for granted. Foolish the girl who does not learn to take the outdoor runway for granted, too, and go out to it in high spirits to learn its wisdom, to take part in its joys and to receive its health. It may be accepted as a new axiom--the more exercise the less fool. Strong, able muscles, steady nerves (and let us remember that nerves depend for their tone on the muscular condition), a clean skin open at all its pores and doing its eliminative work thoroughly, and clean strong vitals make up the kind of beauty within the reach of all womanhood, and the physical beauty which she should most desire. The day is coming when our ideal of what is physically perfect--not spiritually, for Christianity has carried us beyond anything that Greece ever knew--will be more like the Greek in its entirety, its emphasis upon the harmony of the whole body. The body is a mechanism to be exquisitely cared for--self-running, it is true, and yet in need of intelligent attention. Think of the care an engineer gives his engine, and it is by no manner of means so wonderfully and so intricately fashioned as these bodies of ours on which our happiness, our working ability, even our very goodness depend. Health as a safeguard to one's whole moral being is coming into more and more recognition, and not only as a safeguard but also as a cultivator of all that is best in us spiritually. There are people very ill, or permanent invalids, whose great victory it is to be among the saints of the earth, but that it is easier to be good when one is well no one will deny. Every big school has now its class or classes in corrective or medical gymnastics, in which stooping shoulders, ewe necks, curved spines, flat insteps, small waists and narrow chests are rectified as far as possible in the limited hours of the school days. The time is coming when parents will consider it a disgrace to allow their children to be physically undeveloped. The physician, always in advance of the community for which he cares, sees how grave in moral or intellectual import physical defects may be. The educational world, alive to new messages for the reconstruction of its educational ideal, begins also to place more and more emphasis upon the physical care and development of its students--and not by any manner of means for physical reasons only but because the whole girl or the whole boy is better spiritually and mentally for having a body that is strong and well. The whole being keeps better time, just as a watch does, for having clean works. No one has the right to shut out the fresh air or the sunshine; no girl should remain undeveloped physically through lack of exercise when she could, through exercise, make herself strong. Even to abuse her feet, the important centre of many important nerves, by tight shoes, is wrong; so is it to rack her spine and upset or throw out of position all the delicate and wonderfully fashioned organs of the abdominal cavity by the wearing of high French heels. Undoubtedly, however, American motherhood and girlhood represent something more and more intelligent; indeed, in physical culture women are beginning to keep step with men, and it is upon this fact that school and college depend in their splendid efforts to make the sum of feminine vitality, despite the pressure of modern civilization, plus rather than minus. _The more exercise the less fool_; and it is worth remembering that the daily exercise, the plunge into cool or clean air, as well as the plunge into water, is a wit sharpener, and will do more for a student in the long run than "digging" possibly can. _Mens sana in corpore sano_ may be an old saying but it is still new enough to be repeated with vigour to certain people. Let us get out-of-doors and have our wits sharpened and see more, and do more, and be more! No one can permanently starve her whole body for the want of fresh air and exercise, which are the body's birthright, and expect to have a clear head or do well-balanced and helpful work in the home, or in school, or in some wage-earning career. If the girl attempt this impossibility she will be like the frog which jumped up one foot and fell back two. She will get to the bottom soon enough, the bottom of the class or the bottom of her health account, but she will never get to the top of anything. Any success, if by chance it should come to her, resting on a basis of ill health or indifference to her physical fitness for living and working, will be like the house built upon the sands. Before the girl is twenty, before she is twenty-five--the earlier the better--she should recognize this fact and begin to establish her life on the bed rock of health. It is true, too, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that the country boy and the country girl are more resourceful than their city cousins. Out-of-doors they have had to use their wits and have not been spoiled by all the appliances of city life. Out-of-doors, too, they have made invaluable friendships with bird and squirrel and rabbit and deer, friendships whose intelligent wood-life has taught them much. Self-reliance is one of the lessons of the outdoor runway; and wisdom and inspiration come from it when they are needed. About this truth the work of the poet Wordsworth is one long poem. Again and again he writes of the perfect woman shaped by the influences of nature. Of her he says: "Three years she grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower On earth was never sown; This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. "'Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The girl in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle and restrain. "'She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm Of mute, insensate things. "'The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. "'The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face!'" No one can afford to neglect all the spiritual influence of nature, and the only way to receive it is to go to nature. Purity of mind, a clean conception of God's creative plan, a more active intellectual life are all there for the girl who will seek them. She cannot afford _not_ to go back to nature for these helps, for every woman is in some sense a burden bearer, and she must needs know all she can of what life means in order to bear these burdens well. There are various kinds of outdoor life, some one of which is within reach of every human being, even if they are cripples. Probably most girls when the outdoor life of school and college is spoken of think that athletics is meant. That is one part of the outdoor runway, and since it is provided in every school, and insisted upon, but little about it need be said. It is doing its work with more and more inspiration, as the response to its ideals comes in. And it does something more in every well-equipped school than merely make a girl use her legs and arms: it gives her a large, sane ideal of health and provides her with the means of keeping well. There is no more useful profession for the woman seeking one that is useful as well as remunerative than physical culture. There is another aspect of the outdoor runway of which less is said. I mean gardening, or the care of live stock of some kind, or bee culture. This is practical remunerative work which for the girl living at home and going to school should serve famously as a grass-cure; it would keep her out-of-doors with profit to both her health and her purse. And then there is another kind of grass-cure: the outdoor life out-of-doors, to be taken in long country walks, in fishing expeditions, in picnics, in camping or wherever roads, hills, meadows and brooks lead. Finally, there is the outdoor life indoors. This life insists upon windows open to the air and open to the sunshine, and this life every one of us may have all the time. X A GIRL'S SUMMER Any girl who settles down to a summer with the idea of doing nothing, or in an aimless, not-knowing-what-to-do-next fashion, lessens her opportunities for pleasure. Pleasure is not idleness, although in the minds of a great many people who have not thought very much it is. The right sort of leisure is full of opportunities for doing interesting things. There are some girls who look upon their summers as an escape from the slavery of their school year. There are others who think of their summers as something to be endured until they can go back to the more or less selfish freedom of the school. Neither is the right way. The summer ought not to be an entirely frivolous season, neither ought it to be too workaday. If a girl has work to do, everything should be so arranged as not to deprive the vacation of its recreative side. On the other hand the summer should be all the happier because of a definite object to be accomplished. Something is wrong with a girl unless she finds both summer and winter full of opportunity and pleasure. No one can possibly do all the delightful or useful things which may be done in a single summer. In these months there is opportunity for growth just as in the winter--perhaps more opportunity physically. And intellectually there is much to be seen and observed. For the girl who can, it is well to plan to be out-of-doors as much as possible. For some, there are opportunities for camping, for long walks, for gardening, to learn how to do certain physically useful things, to row, swim and ride. Only an extraordinary emergency would deprive a girl of all the out-of-door exercise which she needs. If she isn't able to be by the sea or in the mountains, in almost all cities there is opportunity for exercise and games. With a short car ride she can go to golf links, to tennis courts, into the country. In many semi-citified homes there is space for a girl to do some gardening, one of the most profitable of pleasures, good for the girl and good for the home. Many homes would be much more attractive if there were more of the garden spirit in them. But if there is no chance for this, there can always be physical culture, an opportunity to build one's self up in health, to live sanely and wisely, to get plenty of sleep, and to take corrective exercise. In physical culture a girl should find out what she most needs--almost any gymnastic instructor in school or college would be glad to outline work--and then in ten or fifteen minute exercises develop herself along those lines. For the girl with means there is the chance for travel, a splendid opportunity to cultivate many virtues of which the young traveller seldom thinks: patience, adaptability, seeing the bright side of things. Travelling may be made a very important part of education. It is too bad that some people of limited horizon take it simply as a chance to aggrandize themselves, something to boast about and with which to bore their friends by repeated accounts of what they did "abroad." The great Doctor Samuel Johnson, the compiler of the famous dictionary and author of "Rasselas," heartily disliked young travellers, for, he said, "They go too raw to make any great remarks." Travelling, if it is what it should be, is an educational opening. In this way can be gained a background for history, for literature, for sociology, and a vivid and living knowledge of geography. Merely running about with a guide-book will not achieve these ends, although a guide-book is a very important asset: sympathy, trying to understand what one sees, will. Travelling takes away provincialism because it broadens the outlook. In a very real sense the world becomes one's home. The girl who is not able to move about or actually travel may travel in books. She should be ashamed to read what is harmful or merely cheap, but further than that it may not much matter. Let her read the Little Books, if she wishes, and the Great Little Books. As surely as the magnet swings towards the pole will the Great Little Books take her to the Great Big Books. She will be drawn on and up in her reading, and will have cultivated a love for reading which is far more important than perfunctory knowledge of the classics. Just as any books that are good point towards books that are better, so should the good work of a girl's school year be turning her mind towards the future and her work as a mature woman. In the summer she has time to assimilate all she has done, to get her bearings, and to plan wisely for the year, or years, to come. For a girl of strong physique the summer vacation gives an opportunity to add towards what she is going to do eventually; to specialize in some line of work, to take a library, or scientific, course. Many girls, however, who wish to spend their summer in this fashion ought not to consider it, for they are not strong enough. It is well for them to remember that it is the quality of work that counts rather than the quantity. Often the quality of a girl's work for an ensuing school year depends upon her freedom from study during the summer. Students should be very sure, if they undertake work in the summer, that it is not done simply from a nervous desire to go on regardless of the quality of the work done. But for those in perfect health this is an opportunity to try their powers in different ways in order to discover what it is they really wish to do. A summer so spent may keep many a girl from slipping into teaching just because it seems the only thing she can do. Such a salvation will be twofold, for it will save not only the girl, but also a profession overcrowded with loveless followers. There are so many needs to be filled by a woman's work that it is her duty to look for some vocation for which she is truly adapted, to get out of the ruts of those professions into which women flock because they have no initiative. Often a girl thinks only of what she will do with her own summer without thinking of what she will do with her mother's or her father's summer. For nine or ten months they have been thinking of what they could do for her. Sometimes girls do not realize the actual need of help and of companionship which those at home feel, and the older people are too unselfish to force this need upon their juniors. Between the unselfishness of those who are older and the self-centredness of those who are younger, there is often sad havoc made in a home. A girl who, after a year's absence and all that has been done for her, can't adjust herself to those who need her, has still something to learn. If older people cannot do without the buoyancy of the young, the young cannot very well afford to forget the mother and father who have much, although no word may be didactically spoken, to teach them. Let the girl take her summer not only as an opportunity to grow closer to her family but also as a chance to learn home-making, to train herself in the practical things of the home. This practical training is often a very valuable supplement to the school work. The time is passed when the learned woman who is unable to do anything for herself is the ideal--if she ever has been that. The inability to make a home for herself, to do all the necessary things daintily, detracts from a woman's power. In practical ways a woman should be both dainty and capable. Parents, as well as girls, sometimes forget or do not clearly recognize the fact that no school, no college, can take the place of the home, that schools are not primarily schools in home-making, but rather schools of general education. The summer is a good time for the girl to find her place again in the home life, and for both parents and children to rejoice in the pleasures of the home--pleasures and opportunities which no institutional life can give. XI FROM THE SCHOOL TO THE GIRL What the school is able to do for the girl depends very largely upon the girl herself. The majority of people with whom she comes in contact do not take that into consideration, and the school is held unfairly responsible for the girl. All any school can do is to use the material it finds. Some one has said, with harsh but true emphasis, that a college does not make a fool, it simply helps in the development of one. As an illustration of its limitations, a school sends out two girls from the same class; one girl it is proud to have taken as a type, the other it is sorry to have represent it. Yet both have been under exactly the same influence. Students do not realize how fearfully at their mercy a school is, or that, so far as reputation is concerned, it is they who make or mar its credit. If the school training is worth anything at all, it makes the most of unpromising material. Its really discouraging experience is not with the girl of limited ability who gives her best and so in some sense gets the best, but with the student who doesn't give her best and who, because of her own indifference, is always misrepresenting the training she is receiving. No school ever wishes to have its ideals confused by a vulgar display of wealth or by loud or conspicuous behaviour. Yet many a school, with ideals all that they should be, is misjudged in public places because of some thoughtless or unreliable girls. This doesn't seem like fair-play or team-play, does it? The fineness of life ought to be felt and expressed in student behaviour. Yet how often it is not! Another way in which the ideals of a school or college are misrepresented is by lack of intellectual integrity. Any school informed with a large spirit wishes to meet its students on a platform of absolute trust,--a platform which makes precautions against dishonesty unnecessary. Just so long as a school must be vigilant in order to keep a few students from unfair behaviour, just so long is it prevented from meeting them all on a basis of absolute trust. Why should girls excuse themselves for classroom dishonesty? What would they think of a girl who cheated in basket-ball? Would they condone that? Until student government has recognized absolute intellectual integrity as a part of its ideas, it will not have achieved its end. The rock on which all scholarship is founded is honour. Lack of honour is fatal to its ideal. "Cribbing," often excused by people who do not stop to think, is the small beginning of a big evil. Many a large institution is like an anxious mother, not always infallible in wisdom, but personally interested in and eager for the success of the individual. A successful girl brings credit to her school, for she demonstrates, as nothing else can, the fact that the school is achieving its purpose in service to the community. How much this encouragement is needed, girls do not realize, for they do not know all the difficulties which institutions, especially technical and collegiate, have to meet in sending their students out into the world. In finding a position for a student, the school has to consider the whole girl. It may care greatly for an attractive personality and yet see that its possessor is lacking in qualities of faithfulness and accuracy, and that with its utmost endeavour it has never been able to correct these faults. On the other hand, the school may have those students whose manners, whose dress, whose personality, whose spelling, whose awkwardly expressed notes, whose lack of promptness, make against success in any capacity. Another point for which the school looks in recommending its students is physical fitness, which shows itself in many different ways: in voice, in carriage, in attractiveness, in staying power. One teacher who had an excellent record as a student and was, besides, a fine girl, had so unpleasant and absurd a voice that her students were in a continual state of amusement and would learn nothing from her. A great many teachers have lost in power because of a poor voice, strident, or lifeless, or husky, or falsetto. A poor enunciation, or words that do not carry, are ineffectual means by which to reach a class, to hold a customer, or to introduce one's self favourably to the interest of others. For a girl who is going to have any part in public life--and most girls do nowadays--a good voice is an absolute essential. And it is well for us to remember that the voice is not something superficial, but that it is the expression of that which is within. Another way in which physical fitness shows itself is in the carriage. A girl who carries herself with erectness and energy brings a certain conviction with her of fitness for many things, of self-respect, of ability, and reveals in her bearing something of her mind as well as of her body. We are always tempted to think a person who "slumps" physically may slump in other ways. A good carriage, good voice, and strong, clean, digestive system are far more important than beauty of features. There is another matter at which the school in placing its students must look. To be a desirable candidate for a good position a girl need not be expensively gowned, but she must be daintily and freshly dressed. Immaculate shirt waist, a plain, well-made skirt, with good shoes, stockings and gloves and a quiet, pretty hat, are all any woman needs in meeting her business obligations. And that daintiness which she shows in her dress she must show in her person too, in clean skin and finger-nails, good teeth, and smooth, attractively arranged hair. It is very important for the interests of a school, as well as for the individual, to place its students advantageously. To have them succeed widens its sphere of usefulness and influence and opens new channels of service. Every college puts itself to considerable expense in looking out for the interests of its students, for the glory of a great school lies not only in the people whom it collects into its midst, but even more in those whom it sends out. A girl has no right to go so lightly through her school life that she fails to see in it all the self-sacrifice and effort and ambitions that have gone into the building up of what is her privilege and opportunity. In so far as she does this she fails in the team-play spirit. Why should a girl think that she can spend her father's money, or the means of her school, thoughtlessly? What would happen to her if she did this with the funds of her basket-ball team? Yet girls waste the resources of their school by carelessness with its property, a carelessness that collectively mounts up into thousands of dollars, and never once stop to think how difficult every big school finds it to make ends meet. Before it is too late, at least now that she is leaving school, let her stop to realize that a great deal of the work for an institution is along the line of self-sacrifice, in the gifts given, in the work of its administrators and teachers. This unselfishness means a financial loss, for business ability might be invested in more lucrative ways; it means a social sacrifice, for there is a certain kind of impersonality which is demanded in work that deals with a continually changing community; it means risk in the great strain put upon physical and nervous strength; it means forgetting one's self; for the true teacher is willing to be forgotten when she has served others. What a school may accomplish for its students is its only compensation for all this self-sacrifice. XII THE WORK TO BE One of the qualities a girl who has completed her school or college life needs to show for a few months more than anything else is the quality of adjustment, for she will find that she must continually adjust herself to new conditions whether they be of the home or elsewhere. All the time through school she has been in some sense a centre of interest. Her class has been an important factor in the academic life. When she has gone home it has been as a school or college girl, and she has been of interest because she brought that life into the home. But now the attitude of others towards her is different. She ceases to be the centre of attention, and for her a day of serious readjustment is at hand. Perhaps in her own estimate she has seemed even more important than she really was. She is likely now to swing from a sense of self-importance to an injured feeling of insignificance, and to a conviction that people can get along quite as well without her. Up to this time when she has gone home she has been an honoured visitor. But now that she is at home to stay, instead of becoming the centre she is merely part of the family circle with its obligation of doing for others. Her presence in the household is no longer a novelty. The swift change from a highly-organized, methodical life to the life of the home where there is not so much method, is hard for a girl. One reason it is difficult is that while she may be accomplishing a great deal that is useful, she seems to be doing nothing and to get nowhere. She feels as if she were in the midst of a conflict of duties. In school she has had implanted in her the idea that she must accomplish some definite thing, and between this objective and the irregular demands of the home there appears to be more or less clashing. She is confronted by a problem not easy for any one to solve: how to keep her definiteness of aim and work, and yet not be self-centred. Oftentimes when a girl fails to adjust herself to the home life, her family and friends feel that she is rather selfish in her desire to carry out her own aims rather than to give them up for new demands. Frequently the family is as much to blame for not realizing that the girl needs to be helped back into the old life as the girl is for not being able to help herself. In the home the spirit of team-play is much needed. Quite as much as the girl, the family has a lesson to learn in the art of adjustment and in remembering that this grown-up child isn't just the same individual she was when she went away several years ago. They need to realize that the girl may be able to give more to the home life than she ever did before, but that it will be given in a somewhat different way. While she is learning the difficult art of finding her place again, a great deal depends upon the individual girl, not only in the home but in the community at large. Sometimes she needs to be reminded that although she may have had more advantages than those left at home, that doesn't necessarily make her a superior person. A girl who is inclined either to pity or to admire herself too greatly should give herself a vigorous shaking. In the long run she will find it easier to do that on her own account than to have others do it for her. The friends at home, or in the church, or in the town, with education of a different kind coming to them, may have quite as much and more to give her than she to give them. One indicator of a really cultivated woman is her power to adapt herself to the circumstances in which she is placed. A gentlewoman never calls attention to the difference between herself and somebody else. The woman of broad culture is the one who makes everybody feel at home with her. If a girl's education has been worth anything at all, it should give her not a superior, set-aside feeling, but a desire to be more friendly and useful wherever she may be, and, not placing too much stress on externals, to look for essentials, to get the full value from every person and from every experience with which she comes in contact. Girls go to so many different kinds of homes that it is unlikely that they will meet the same sorts of difficulties. There is the girl who goes into the society home, where it is impossible for her to carry out her ideals without conflict with its social standards. On the other hand, there is the girl who goes into the very simple home where all the stress is upon the domestic side of life. And there is the girl who has to provide part of the family income. Very likely she has the hardest problem of all. She enters upon some new work, and nine times out of ten the way is not made easy for her; she is a novice with all the hardships that come to the novice. Perhaps in the beginning she has met a very real perplexity in hardly knowing what line of work to take up. She has no particular interest, no especial talent, no brilliant record, no powerful friends, no money with which to establish herself. With her it must be as it is with thinking: she must seize hold of the thing nearest her. What seems to her a temporary and unsatisfactory expedient will in many cases open out a path leading to something much broader. At least she may remember this as consolation: that even that experience of uncertainty, of indecision, is a part of education, and out of it, rightly and bravely met, will come some richness for her future life. The beginning of a work, teaching or anything else, may have to be rather irksome, indeed, may be exceedingly difficult,--an experience that will perhaps test staying power to the utmost. When it is too late to give due appreciation we realize that the work in school which was planned for us and arranged with our physical and mental well-being in view was, after all, not so hard as we thought it at the time. We wish that we had enjoyed our leisure more and complained less. From the point of view of fatigue, as a secretary, a clerk, a trained nurse, a teacher, a social worker, the burden may be so great that the girl is disheartened. She is all the more disheartened because, knowing that a useful life is a strong, steady pull, the way before her seems interminable. If she carries her whip inside her--this counsel is not for those of us who are lazy--she does well to remember that there is a point beyond which fatigue should not be borne, that is, when it overdraws her capital of health and nervous energy. Raising pigs is preferable to a so-called high profession when pig-raising is happily joined with a reasonable amount of health and security. The pigs and health together can always pay mortgages and buy necessities for those dependent upon us and for ourselves. The high calling without health is like a wet paper-bag: it will hold nothing. The girl meets with another difficulty in finding out that in almost any line of work a great deal of time is needed for the mastery of what seem the simplest principles. No one wants the girl who hasn't had experience, and nobody seems disposed to take her and give her that experience. However, we all find some one who is hardy enough or kind enough to try us; and as every year now there is more effort put into finding the work girls are most suited to do, there is no excuse for slipping into teaching as a last resort. Not unnaturally we sometimes distrust ourselves, especially in taking up an occupation to which we are not accustomed. And in her new work the girl, uncertain of her ability to master what she has undertaken, is placed in a position in which she has the encouragement of neither the school nor the home. Before, she has put much of the responsibility for her work and life upon parents and instructors. Now she has to be her own judge and pass judgment on herself and her work. She has, too, not only to lift her own weight but the weight of others as well. As she longs for coöperation, good will and encouragement the value of the team-play spirit has never seemed so great before. * * * * * We do not need to be told to remember the happy and easy experiences of life. No girl forgets them. What we do need is some one to tell us where the hard places will be, to warn us, to stiffen our courage and to point clearly to the uses of hard work and adversity. And although this may seem like placing another straw on the poor camel's back, it is now time to say that in her life-work, whether it be in her home or outside, a girl should be very clear in her mind what her aims and purposes are. If she is working solely for the praise and commendation of others, she will often be grievously disappointed. Not in recognition does real reward lie, but in the work itself. If she wins great popularity she is likely to find that there is nothing that shifts so quickly and is such a quicksand. If material wealth is her sole object she will harden into the thing she seeks and add but another joyless barbarian to a modern world congratulating itself that barbarism is a thing of the past, and yet presenting the spectacle of a mammon worship such as has never been seen before. If gold is her end, and not the means to a nobler end, then she will find herself constantly sacrificing higher issues to that, and lowering her one-time ideals. Truly the woman who marries solely for the comforts of a home, the woman who teaches, or nurses for "pay" alone, has her reward, and that is in self-destruction. She is a carrier of barbarism, not of culture; of disease, not of health; of tribulation, not of joy. The only real reward there can be lies in the idealism, the joy, the strength of the work done and in a mind and heart conscious of having done their best. THE END _JOHN T. FARIS_ Author "_Winning Their Way_." "Making Good" Pointers for the Man of To-morrow 12mo, cloth, net $1.25. _Dr. J. R. Miller_ says: "Sixty intimate messages to young men and boys on the things that make for success or failure. Bright and short and full of illustrations from actual life, they are just the sort that will help young men in the home, in school, among associates and in business. Everywhere is the suggestion of the necessity for Christ if men would build up fine character and make life worth while." _JEANETTE MARKS, M. A._ A Girl's School Days and After Introduction by Mary K. Woolley, President of Mt. Holyoke College. 12mo, cloth, net 75c. 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"Shows in most helpful fashion things one should strive for and guard against, things he should leave off doing, as well as others he should put on. It is a pleasant thing to read and it should be a potent factor in leading one to an appreciation of the real beauty and opportunity that lies 'west of fifty years.'"--_Chicago Tribune_. _MRS. NEWELL DWIGHT HILLIS_ The American Woman and Her Home 12mo, cloth, net $1.25. The author shares with her gifted husband the power of both entertaining and influencing people with the pen. The remarkable interest awakened lately by Mrs. Hillis' articles in "The Outlook" has inspired this helpful book. FICTION _WILFRED T. GRENFELL, M. D._ Down North on The Labrador Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.00. A new collection of Labrador yarns by the man who has succeeded in making isolated Labrador a part of the known world. Like its predecessor the new volume, while confined exclusively to facts in Dr. Grenfell's daily life, is full of romance, adventure and excitement. The _N. Y. Sun_ recently said: "Admirable as is the work that Dr. Grenfell is doing on the Labrador coast, the books he has written, make his readers almost wish he would give up some of it to write more." _CLARA E. LAUGHLIN_ The Gleaners A Novellette. Illustrated, decorated boards, net 75c. Again Miss Laughlin has given us a master-piece in this story of present day life. Millet's picture, "The Gleaners," is the moving spirit of this little romance and, incidentally, one catches the inspiration the artist portrays in his immortal canvas. "The Gleaners" is issued in similar style to "Everybody's Lonesome," of which the _Toronto Globe_ said: "One of the successful writers of 'Good Cheer' stories for old and young is Miss Laughlin, and whoever reads one of her cheery little volumes desires more." _PROF. EDWARD A. STEINER_ _Author of "The Immigrant Tide," etc._ The Broken Wall Stories of the Mingling Folk. Illustrated, net $1.00. Professor Steiner has the story-teller's knack and uses his art with consummate skill in this collection, where will be found dramatic tragedy and profound pathos in strong contrast with keen humor and brilliant wit, all permeated by an uncompromising optimism. No man has probed the heart of the immigrant more deeply, and his interpretation of these Americans of tomorrow is at once a revelation and an inspiration: a liberal education in brotherhood. _A. D. STEWART_ Heather and Peat 12mo, cloth, net $1.20. "This is a very delightful story, told in the broadest and most fascinating Scotch language. 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A realistic story of native and mission life in India; a story dealing with the stress of famine and the pathetic condition of India's child-widows. _MRS. MAUD JOHNSON ELMORE_ The Revolt of Sundaramma With an introduction by Helen B. Montgomery. Illustrated by Gertrude H. B. Hooker. Net $1.00. Sundaramma, a Hindu maiden, is the heroine of this story which relates her revolt against child marriage and her flight from such slavery. _NORMAN DUNCAN Author of "Dr. Luke," etc._ The Measure of a Man A Tale of the Big Woods. Illustrated, net $1.25. "The Measure of a Man" is Mr. Duncan's first full-sized novel having a distinct motif and purpose since "Doctor Luke of The Labrador." The tale of the big woods has for its hero, John Fairmeadow--every inch a man whom the Lumber Jacks of his parish in the pines looked up to as their Sky Pilot. Human nature in the rough is here portrayed with a faithfulness that is convincing. _ROBERT E. KNOWLES Author of "St. Cuthberts," etc._ The Singer of the Kootenay A Tale of To-day. 12mo, cloth, net $1.20. The scene of action for Mr. Knowles' latest novel is in the Crow's Nest Pass of the Kootenay Mountains of British Columbia. To this dramatic field he has gone for local color and has taken every advantage of his wide knowledge, picturing life of every phase in his most artistic style. _HAROLD BEGBIE Author of "Twice-Born Men_" The Shadow 12mo, cloth, net $1.25. A new story by the novelist whose study of regeneration, "Twice-Born Men" has made the religious world fairly gasp at its startling revelations of the almost overlooked proofs of the power of conversion to be found among the lowest humanity. His latest work is a brilliant study of modern life which will maintain the author's reputation. _RUPERT HUGHES_ Miss 318 A Story in Season and out of Season. Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net 75c. "Is there any excuse for one more Christmas story?" "Surely nothing has been left unsaid." "The truth, perhaps." "The truth?--about Christmas! Would anybody care to read it?" "Perhaps." "But would anybody dare to publish it?" "Probably not." "That sounds interesting! What nobody would care to read and nobody would dare to publish, ought to be well worth writing." _J. J. BELL Author of "Oh! Christina!" etc._ The Indiscretions of Maister Redhorn Illustrated, 16mo, cloth, net 60c. The thousands who have read _Wullie McWattie's Master_ will need no introduction to this Scottish "penter" and his "pint o' view." The same dry Scottish humor, winning philosophy and human nature fairly overflow these pages. 24082 ---- None 12594 ---- CREATIVE IMPULSE IN INDUSTRY _A Proposition for Educators_ BY HELEN MAROT 1918 TO CAROLINE PRATT WHOSE APPRECIATION OF EDUCATIONAL FACTORS IN THE PLAY WORLD OF CHILDREN, INTENSIFIED FOR THE AUTHOR THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE GROWTH PROCESSES IN INDUSTRIAL AND ADULT LIFE. PREFACE The Bureau of Educational Experiments is a group of men, and women who are trying to face the modern problems of education in a scientific spirit. They are conducting and helping others to conduct experiments which hold promise of finding out more about children as well as how to set up school environments which shall provide for the children's growth. From these experiments they hope eventually may evolve a laboratory school. Among their surveys the past year, one by Helen Marot has resulted in this timely and significant book. The experiment which is outlined at the close seems to the Bureau to be of real moment,--one of which both education and industry should take heed. They earnestly hope it may be tried immediately. In that event, the Bureau hopes to work with Miss Marot in bringing her experiment to completion. THE BUREAU OF EDUCATIONAL EXPERIMENTS, 16 West Eighth Street, New York City. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. PRODUCTION AND CREATIVE EFFORT II. ADAPTING PEOPLE TO INDUSTRY. THE AMERICAN WAY III. ADAPTING PEOPLE TO INDUSTRY. THE GERMAN WAY IV. EDUCATIONAL INDUSTRY AND ASSOCIATED ENTERPRISE CREATIVE IMPULSE IN INDUSTRY INTRODUCTION A friend of mine in describing the Russian people as he observed them in their present revolution said it was possible for them to accept new ideas because they were uneducated; they did not, he said, labor under the difficulty common among educated people of having to get rid of old ideas before they took on new ones. I think what he had in mind to say that it is difficult to accept new ideas when your mind is filled with ideas which are institutional. The ideas which come out of formal education, out of the schools, out of books, are ideas which have been stamped as the true and important ones; many of them are, as they have proved their worth in service. But as they represent authority, they pass into a people's mind with the full weight of an accepted fact. The schools, the colleges, and the books are not responsible primarily for the fixed ideas; every established institution contributes fixed ideas as well as fixed customs and rules of action. The schools and colleges circulate and interpret them. The movement for industrial education in the United States is an illustration of this. The ideas which we find there have not sprung from schools or colleges but from industry. The institution of industry, rather than the institution of education, dominates thought in industrial education courses. It is the institution of industry as it has affected the life of every man, woman and child, which has inhibited educational thought in conjunction with schemes for industrial schools. No established system of education or none proposed is more circumscribed by institutionalized thought than the vocational and industrial school movement. Educators have opposed the desire of business to attach the schools to the industrial enterprise. They have rightly opposed it because industry under the influence of business prostitutes effort. Nevertheless, hand in hand with industry, the schools must function; unattached to the human hive they are denied participation in life. Promoters of industrial education are hung up between this fact of prostituted industry and their desire to establish the children's connection with life. They have tried to meet opposing interests; they have not recognized all the facts because the facts were conflicting, and their minds as well as their interests, institutionally speaking, were committed to both. This was the impasse we had apparently reached when the war occurred; it is where we still are. But ahead of us, sometime, the war will end and we shall be called then to face a period of reconstruction. The reconstruction will center around industry. The efficiency with which a worker serves industry will be the test of his patriotic fervor, as his service in the army is made the test during this time of war. All institutions will be examined and called upon to reorganize in such ways as will contribute to the enterprise of raising industrial processes to the standard of greatest efficiency. The standard of mechanical efficiency as it was set by Germany was one of refined brutality. During the progress of the war, the significance of that standard is being grafted into the consciousness of the common people of those nations which have opposed Germany in arms. It is the industrial efficiency of Germany, uninhibited by a sense of human development that has made her victories possible. It is that efficiency which has kept a large part of the world on the defensive for over three and a half years. Germany's military strategy is, in the main, her industrial strategy; it represents her efficiency in turning technology to the account of an imperial purpose. But those organizations of manufacturers and business politicians who believe that the same schemes of efficiency will function in America will call upon the people after the war, it is safe to predict, to emulate the methods which have given Germany its untoward strength. While it is these methods which have made much hated Germany a menace to the world and while the menace is felt by our own people, the significance of the methods is but vaguely realized. It is probable that after the war it will be said that it was not the German methods which were objectionable, but that it was their use in an international policy. Before the time for reconstruction comes, I hope we shall discover how intrinsically false those methods are; and how untrue to the growth process is the sort of efficiency Germany has developed. I hope also that we shall realise that a policy of paternalism has no place in the institutional life of our own country. Before the war these German methods bore the character of high success, and they had a large following in this country. There are indeed many thousands of men and women in the United States, who, while giving all they most care for, for the prosecution of the war against Germany still support industrial and political policies and dogmas which are in spirit essentially Prussian. The professional Reformer here in America is not even yet fully conscious that German paternalism (a phase of German efficiency) is the token of an enslaved people. The German educational system as much if not more than its other imperial schemes has been instrumental in developing the German brand of industrial efficiency. The perfection in Germany of its technological processes is made possible as the youth of the country has been consecrated and sacrificed to the development of this perfection in the early years of school training. Parents contribute their children freely to an educational system which fits them into an industrial institution which has an imperial destiny to fulfill. Each person's place in the life of the nation is made for him during his early years, like a predestined fact. American business men before the war appreciated the educational system which made people over into workers without will or purpose of their own. But the situation was embarrassing as these business men were not in a position to insist that the schools, supported by the people, should prepare the children to serve industry for the sake of the state, while industry was pursued solely for private interest. Their embarrassment, however, will be less acute under the conditions of industrial reconstruction which will follow the war. Then as patriots, under the necessity of competing with Germany industrially, they will feel free to urge that the German scheme of industrial education, possibly under another name, be extended here and adopted as a national policy. In other words as Germany has evolved its methods of attaining industrial efficiency, and as the schools have played the leading part in the attainment, the German system of industrial education, private business may argue, should be given for patriotic reasons full opportunity in the United States. If the German system were introduced here, of course it is not certain that it could deliver wage workers more ready and servile, less single-purposed in their industrial activity than they are now. It was in Germany a comparatively simple matter for the schools to make over the children into effective and efficient servants, for, as Professor Veblen explains, the psychology of the German people was still feudal when the modern system of industry, with its own characteristic enslavement, was imposed, ready-made, upon them; the German, people unlike the Anglo-Saxon had not experienced the liberating effects of the political philosophy which developed along with modern technology in both England and America.[A] [Footnote A: Thorstein Veblen.--Imperial Germany and the Industrial Revolution.] First, then, it is not certain that the system of German industrial education would succeed; and, second, if it did succeed it is not the sort of education that America wants. America wants industrial efficiency, it must have efficient workers if it holds its place among nations, and American people will prove their efficiency or their inefficiency as they are capable of using the heritage which industrial evolution has given the world. But what shall we use this efficiency for? For the sake of the heritage? For the sake of business? For the sake of Empire? Business knows very clearly why it wants it, but as a rule most of us are not clearly conscious that we need, for the sake of our expansive existence, to be industrially efficient. We are not even conscious that industry is the great field for adventure and growth, because we use that field not for the creative but for the exploitive purpose. It is the present duty of American educators to realize these two points: that industry is the great field for adventure and growth; that as it is used now the opportunities for growth are inhibited in the only field where productive experience can be a common one. Shortly it will be the mission, of educators to show that by opening up the field for creative purpose, fervor for industrial enterprise and good workmanship may be realized; that only as the content of industry in its administration as well as in the technique of its processes is opened up for experiment and first-hand experience, will a universal impulse for work be awakened. It is for educators, together with engineers and architects, to demonstrate to the world that while the idea of service to a political state may have the power to accomplish large results, all productive force is artificially sustained which is not dependent on men's desire to do creative work. A state as we have seen, may invoke the idea of service. It might represent the productive interests of a community if those interests sprang from the expansive experience of a people in their creative adventures. In the reconstructive period educators may have their opportunity to extend the concept that the creative process is the educative process, or as Professor Dewey states it, the educative process is the process of growth. The reconstruction period will be a time of formative thought; institutions will be attacked and on the defensive; and out of the great need of the nations there may come change. Educators will find their opportunity as they discover conditions under which the great enterprise of industry may be educational and as they repudiate or oppose institutions which exclude educational factors. It is for educators to realize first of all that there can be no social progress while there is antagonism between growth in wealth (which is industry) and growth in individuals (which is education); that the fundamental antagonisms which are apparent in the current arrangement are not between industry and education but between education and business. They must know that as business regulates and controls industry for ulterior purposes, that is for other purposes than production of goods, it thwarts the development of individual lives and the evolution of society; that it values a worker not for his potential productivity but for his immediate contribution to the annual stock dividend; or if, as in Germany where his productive potentiality is valued in terms of longer time, it is for the imperial intention of the state and not for the growth of the individual or the progress of civilisation. CREATIVE IMPULSE IN INDUSTRY CHAPTER I PRODUCTION AND CREATIVE EFFORT As a human experience, the act of creating, the process of fabricating wealth, has been at different times as worthy of celebration as the possession of it. Before business enterprise and machine production discredited handwork, art for art's sake, work for the love of work, were conceivable human emotions. But to-day, a Cezanne who paints pictures and leaves them in the field to perish is considered by the general run of people, in communities inured to modern industrial enterprise, as being not quite right in his head. Their estimate is of course more or less true. But such valuations are made without the help of creative inspiration, although the functioning of a product has its creative significance. The creative significance of a product in use, as well as an appreciation of the act of creating, would be evident if modern production of wealth, under the influence of business enterprise and machine technology, had not fairly well extinguished the appreciation and the joy of creative experience in countries where people have fallen under its influence so completely as in our own. It is usual in economic considerations to credit the period of craftsmanship as a time in the evolution of wealth production that was rich in creative effort and opportunity for the individual worker. The craftsmanship period is valued in retrospect for its educative influence. There was opportunity then as there is not now for the worker to gain the valuable experience of initiating an idea and carrying the production of an article to its completion for use and sale in the market; there was the opportunity then also as there is not now, for the worker to gain a high degree of technique and a valuation of his workmanship. It is characteristic of workmanship that its primary consideration is serviceability or utility. The creative impulse and the creative effort may or may not express workmanship or take it into account. Workmanship in its consideration of serviceability oftentimes arrives at beauty and classic production, when creative impulse without the spirit of workmanship fails. The craftsmanship period deserves rank, but the high rank which is given it is due in part to its historical relation to the factory era which followed and crushed it. While craftsmanship represented expansive development in workmanship, it is not generally recognized that the Guild organization of the crafts developed modern business enterprise.[A] Business is concerned wholly with utility, and not like workmanship, with standards of production, except as those standards contain an increment of value in profits to the owners of wealth. It was during the Guild period that business came to value workmanship because it contained that increment. In spite of business interest, however, the standard of workmanship was set by skilled craftsmen, and their standards represented in a marked degree the market value of the goods produced by them. [Footnote A: Thorstein Veblen; Instinct of Workmanship, pp. 211-212.] While the exploitation of the skill of the workman in the interest of the owners of raw materials and manufactured goods, had its depressing and corrupting influence on creative effort, the creative impulse found a stimulus in the respect a community still paid the skill and ability of the worker. It was not until machine standards superseded craft standards and discredited them that the processes of production, the acts of fabrication, lost their standards of workmanship and their educational value for the worker. The discredits were psychological and economic; they revolutionized the intellectual and moral concepts of men in relation to their work and the production of wealth. As machine production superseded craftsmanship the basis of fixing the price of an article shifted from values fixed by the standards of workers to standards of machines, Professor Veblen says to standards of salesmen. It is along these lines that mechanical science applied to the production of wealth, has eliminated the personality of the workers. A worker is no longer reflected in goods on sale; his personality has passed into the machine which has met the requirements of mass production. The logical development of factory organisation has been the complete coördination of all factors which are auxiliary to mechanical power and devices. The most important auxiliary factor is human labor. A worker is a perfected factory attachment as he surrenders himself to the time and the rhythm of the machine and its functioning; as he supplements without loss whatever human faculties the machine lacks, whatever imperfection hampers the machine in the satisfaction of its needs. If it lacks eyes, he sees for it; he walks for it, if it is without legs; and he pulls, drags, lifts, if it needs arms. All of these things are done by the factory worker at the pace set by the machine and under its direction and command. A worker's indulgence in his personal desires or impulses hinders the machine and lowers his attachment value. This division of the workers into eyes, arms, fingers, legs, the plucking out of some one of his faculties and discarding the rest of the man as valueless, has seemed to be an organic requirement of machine evolution. So commendable the scheme has been to business enterprise that this division of labor has been carried from the machine shop and the factory to the scientific laboratories where experiment and discovery in new processes of technology are developed, and where, it is popularly supposed, a high order of intelligence is required. The organization of technological laboratories, like the organization of construction shops to which they are auxiliary, is based on the breaking up of a problem which is before the laboratory for its solution. The chemists, physicists, machinists and draftsmen are isolated as they work out their assigned tasks without specific knowledge of what the general problem is and how it is being attacked. Small technological laboratories are still in existence where the general problem in hand is presented as a whole to the whole engineering staff, and is left to them as a group for independent and associated experimentation. But even in such cases the technological content does not necessarily supply the impulse to solve the problem or secure a free and voluntary participation in its solution. Those who are interested in its solution are inspired by its economic value for them. In all technological laboratories, either where the problem is broken up and its parts distributed among the employees of the laboratory, or where it is given to them as a whole for solution, it is given not as a sequence in the creative purpose of the individuals who are at work on it, nor is its final solution necessarily determined by its use and wont in a community. Problems brought to the laboratory are tainted with the motive of industry which is not creative, but exploitive. The tenure of each man employed in production is finally determined not by any creative interest of his own or of his employer but by whether in the last analysis, he conforms better than another man to the exigencies of profits. If profits and creative purpose happen to be one and the same thing, his place in an industrial establishment has some bearing on his intrinsic worth. Under such circumstances his interest in the creative purpose of the establishment would have a foundation, and he himself could value better than he otherwise would his own part in the enterprise. The economic organization of modern society though built on the common people's productive energy has discounted their _creative potentiality_. We hold to the theory that men are equal in their opportunity to capture and own wealth; that their ability in that respect is proof of their ability to create it; a proof of their inherent capacity. It is a proof, as a matter of fact, of their ability to compete in the general scheme of capture; their ability to exploit wealth successfully. While the prevailing economic _theory_ of production takes for granted men's creative _potentiality_ there is no provision in our industrial institution for the common run of men to _function_ creatively. There is no attempt in the general scheme for trueing-up or estimating the creative ability of workers. In the market, where the value of goods is determined, a machine tender has a better chance than a craftsman. The popular belief is that the ability of workers has native limitations, that these limitations are absolute and that they are fixed at or before birth. This belief is a tenet among those who hold positions of industrial mastery. Managers of industry for instance who control a situation and create an environment, demand that those who serve them meet the requirements which they have fixed. They do not recognize that industrial ability depends largely on the opportunity which an individual has had to make adjustments to his surroundings and on his opportunity to master them through experiment. A factory employee is required to do a piece of work; and he does it, not because he is interested in the process or the object, but because his employer wants it done. In Anglo-Saxon and Teutonic countries, where people have fallen most completely under the influence of machine production and business enterprise, and where they have lost by the way their conception of their creative potentiality, work is universally conceived as something which people endure for the sake of being "paid off." Being paid off, it seems abundantly clear, is the only reason a sane man can have for working. After he is paid off the assumption is his pleasure will begin. A popular idea of play is the absence of work, the consumption of wealth, being entertained. Being entertained indeed is as near as most adult men in these countries come to play. Their Sundays and holidays are depressing occasions, shadowed by a forlorn expectancy of something which never comes off. The capacity of the French people for enjoying their holidays is much the same as their capacity for enjoying their work. This, no doubt, is a matter of native habituation. But however they came by it, it has had its part in determining the industrial conditions of France. The love of the people for making things has resisted in a remarkable way the domination of machine industry and modern factory organization. The French work shop, averaging six persons, is as characteristic of France as the huge factory organization with the most modern mechanical equipment is characteristic of American industry. As the workers in these shops participate more intimately in the fabrication of goods they come more nearly to a real participation in productive enterprise. This close contact with the actual processes of production gives the workers a sense of power. A sense of their relation to the processes and their ability to control them engenders courage. Indeed it is the absence of fear, rather than the absence of work, that determines the capacity of men for play. It was not accidental that the movement of the French workers for emancipation emphasized a desire for control of industry. The syndicalism of France has expressed the workers' interest in production as the labor movements of other countries have laid stress exclusively on its economic value to them. The syndicalists' theory takes for granted the readiness of workers to assume responsibility for production, while the trade unionists of England, Germany and the United States ask for a voice in determining not their productive but their financial relation to it. It is the habit of these other peoples to credit the lack of interest in work to physical hardships which the wage system has imposed. But the wage system from the point of view of material welfare has borne no less heavily on the French than on other workers. It is also difficult to prove that the physical hardships of modern methods of production are greater than the hardships of earlier methods. The truth is that neither hardships nor exploitation of labor are new factors; they have both, through long centuries, repressed in varying degree the inspirational and intellectual interest of workers in productive effort. It is not the economic burdens which followed the introduction of machinery and the division of labor that distinguish these new factors in industry, but the discredit which they throw around man's labor power. They have carried the discredit of labor in its social position further than it had been carried, but this is merely a by-product of the discredit they cast on the skill and intellectual power which is latent in the working class. In this connection the significant truth for civilization is that while exploitation of labor and physical hardships induce the antagonism between labor and capital, modern factory organization destroys creative desire and individual initiative as it excludes the workers from participation in creative experience. The new discoveries in inorganic power and their application to industrial enterprise are possibly more far reaching in their effect on the adjustment and relationships of men than they have been at any other time in the last century and a half. Whatever the world owes to these discoveries and their applications it cannot afford to lose sight of a fact of great social significance, which is, that people have accepted mechanical achievements, not as labor saving devices but as substitutes for human initiative and effort. They have not, indeed, saved labor to the advantage of labor itself, and they have inhibited interest in production. Outside of business enterprise and diplomacy--the political extension of business--mechanical devices have lost the surprise reaction and resentment which they originally set up. As a competitor with human labor they have established themselves as its fit survivor. The prophesy of Theophrastus Such seems to have been already fulfilled, and any new machine added to those already in power in the Parliament of Machines can scarcely add to the worker's sense of his own impotency. The business valuations which were evolved out of craftsmanship and which were further developed under the influence of the technology of the last century and a half, emphasized the value of material force, and repressed spiritual evaluations, such as the creative impulse in human beings. Modern industrial institutions are developed by an exclusive cultivation of people's needs and the desire to possess. They are developed independently, as we have seen, of any need or desire to create. The desire to possess is responsible for the production of a mass of goods unprecedented and inconceivable a century and a half ago. The actual production of all of these goods is unrelated to the motive of men's participation in their production; the actual production in relation to the motive is an incident. The sole reason for the participation in the productive effort is not the desire for creative experience or the satisfaction of the creative impulse; it is not an interest in supplying the needs of a community or in the enrichment of life; it is to acquire out of the store of goods all that can be acquired for personal possession or consumption. There is no more fundamental need than the need to consume; but for the common run of men as a motive in the creation of wealth, it is shorn of adventure, of imagination and of joy. The ownership of many things, which mass production has made possible, the intensive cultivation of the desire to own, has added another element to the corruption of workmanship and the depreciation of its value. Access to a mass of goods made cheap by machinery has had its contributing influence in the people's depreciation of their own creative efforts. As people become inured to machine standards, they lose their sense of art values along with their joy in creative effort, their self regard as working men and their personal equation in industrial life. Where the motive of individuals who engage in industry is the desire to possess, the rational method of gaining possession is not by the arduous way of work but of capture. The scheme of capture is a scheme whereby you may get something for (doing) nothing; nothing as nearly as possible in the way of fabrication of goods; something for the manipulation of men; something for the development of technology and mechanical science; and high regard for the manipulation of money. "Doing nothing" does not mean that manual workers, managers of productive enterprises, speculators in the natural resources of wealth production and manufactured goods, as well as financiers, are not busy people, or that their activity does not result in accomplishment. They are indeed _the_ busy people and their accomplishment is the world's wealth. Nevertheless the intention of all and the spirit of the scheme is to do as near nothing as possible in exchange for the highest return. _The whole industrial arrangement is carried on without the force of productive intention; it is carried forward against a disinclination to produce_. I have said that industry was shorn of adventure for the common man. Adventure in industrial enterprise is the business man's great monopoly. His impetus is not due to his desire to create wealth but to exploit it, and he secures its creation by "paying men off." Commonly he is peevishly expectant that those he pays off will have a creative intention toward the work he pays them to do, although in the scheme of industry which he supports the opportunity provided for such intention is negligible. An efficiency engineer estimated that there is a loss in wealth of some fifty per cent, due to the inability of the business man to appraise the creative possibilities in industry. When exploitation of wealth is referred to, those who own it are generally meant. But exploitation of wealth is the intention of the worker as well as of the business man. To get, as I have said, something for (doing) nothing is the dominating _motif_ in the industrial world. It is supposed to reflect the self-interest of individuals, to reflect, that is, their economic needs. This motive of circumscribed self-interest during an era of political and industrial expansion has been adopted by philosophers as the guide as well as a clue to conduct; it was hailed by them as a sufficient and complete motivation for wealth creation; they used it as a basis of a theory for race progress resting solely on the efforts of men to satisfy their material needs through their ability to capture goods. This motive together with the possibilities which machine production opened up for wealth exploitation, gave birth to the dismal science of Political Economy; it suggested the materialistic interpretation of history, and brought to earth utopian schemes of brotherhood. Political science is dismal because it is an interpretation of dismal institutions. It may be ungenerous to speak slightingly of institutions which have yielded such great wealth, which have transformed inert matter into productive power and brought in consequence the whole world into acquaintanceship and rivalry. It would be ungenerous if it were not for a fact which has become poignant, that the exploitation of wealth and undigested relationships are to-day the outstanding menace to civilization. The present world conflict has made it clear that relationships cannot remain undigested; that they are not in their nature passive. They are either integrating in their force or disintegrating. Socialism has undertaken for two generations to prove that exploitation, carries with it its own seeds of destruction. The position of the socialists is passing out of theory and propaganda through the hands of diplomatists, into statutes. Both the socialists and their successors would eradicate exploitation by repressing it. The socialists would repress it by shifting ownership of wealth from individuals to the state, while the diplomatists, through the same agency, would regulate those who own it. It is an historical fact as well as a psychological one that you do not get rid of traits or institutions except as you replace them with something of positive service, or greater competitive value. The institution of capitalism exists not because of its predatory character, but because in spite of its exploitation it _promotes_ industry, and labor and other industrial technicians do not. As our industrial institutions have grown out of a predatory concept instead of a creative one, as capture has been rewarded rather than work, as the possessive desire has been stimulated and the creative desire has been sacrificed, as employers of men and owners of machines have engaged in production because of their interest not in the process or in the use of the product, but in the reward, as wage workers have hired out for the day's work or continued during their adult life in their trade without interest in its development, because like their employers they wanted the highest cash return, wealth exploitation has come to be synonymous in the minds of men with wealth creation. A creative concept which could survive and inhibit the predatory concept must rest on such elements of creative force as are now absent from our industrial institution. It is almost axiomatic to say that a system of wealth production which cultivated creative effort would yield more in general terms of life as well as in terms of goods, than a system like our own which exploits creative power. It is obvious that the disintegrating tendency in our system is due to the fact that production is dependent for its motive force on the desire to possess. It is also obvious that a rational system of industry which sought to give that desire among all men full opportunity for satisfaction would also undertake to cultivate the creative impulse for the sake of increasing creative effort The result would be an increase in production. As logical as this observation may be, it is not so obvious how such a social transformation as this implies, may be effected. Every advance in wealth creation which has become an institutional part of an economic system has been impelled and sustained by the material interests of people who at the time held the strategic position in the community. The world has progressed, or retrogressed, as the most powerful interests at any time adjusted the institutions and customs governing wealth production to their own advantage. As the controlling interests in our present scheme are the business interests, it is the business man, not the workman, who directs industry and determines its policy as well as the general policy of the nation in which it operates. It is to the advantage of private business run for private gain, to control creative effort for the purpose of appropriating the product, and to inhibit free creative expression as an uncontrollable factor in the enterprise of exploitation. The appalling and wanton sacrifice of life which are incident to the evolution of machinery and the division of labor seem to demand at times their elimination. In weariness we are urged to retrace our steps and go back to craftsmanship and the Guilds. But it is idle to talk about going back or eliminating institutionalized features of society. We cannot go back, we have not the ability to discard this or that part of our environment except as we make it over. The result of this making over might be vitalized by methods which had belonged to earlier periods, but neither the methods nor the periods, we can safely say, will live again. Neither our own nor future generations will escape the influence of modern technology. It will play its part. It may be a part which will lead away from some of the destructive influences which developed in the era of craftsmanship and which dominate the present. But a society too enfeebled to use its own experience will not have the power to use the experience of another people or of another time. It is beside the point to look to some other experience or scheme of life and choose that because it seems good, unless the choice is based on a people's present fitness to adapt that other experience or other scheme of life to their own experience. The proposition to revert to an earlier period suggests nothing more than the repetition of an experience out of which the present state of affairs has evolved. Nor is there ground for the hope that in time institutions and relationships will be regulated on principles of altruism. It is not apparent indeed that such regulations would yield even the present allowance of happiness incident to our own immature method of capturing what wealth we can without relation to social factors. As unfortunate as we are in pursuit of that blind method, it is safe to predict that the world would be a madder place than it is to-day if every one devoted himself to doing what he believed was for the good of everybody else. The hope of social revolutionists that private business would overreach itself and defeat its own purpose, grew out of the expectation that its tribute exactions would draw the subjects of capital together in a common defensive movement; that the movement on account of its numbers would overturn business and that in place of private management democratic control would be instituted. Some such outcome, sooner or later, seems inevitable if civilization is scheduled to advance. The labor union movement, unlike the political socialist revolutionary movement, undertakes in its operation to supply labor with a certain working content, which the administrative scheme of industry has excluded from the experience of its workers. But this content is not sufficient to stimulate the imagination of the trade unionists with the thought that the world of industry is the field of creative adventure. Their conception born of experience is not so flattering. It would be a brave man who would undertake to convince the twentieth century adult wage earner, involved in modern methods of machine production, that his poverty is less in his possession of wealth than in his growth and in his creative opportunity. The industrial changes which the labor movement proposes to make are on the side of a better distribution of goods. A better distribution would have a dynamic significance in wealth production, if the actual increase which labor secured in wages and leisure were a real increase. But exploiting capital provides for such exigencies as high wages by increasing the price of products, thus reducing the wage earners' purchasing power to the former level. High wages fail to disturb the relative portion of capital and labor even more than they fail to affect the purchasing power of the worker. It is often suggested that if the state assumed control of industry the blight of business could be removed. But in the transfer we would not necessarily gain opportunity to enjoy the adventure which industry holds out. Industry as a creative experience, it is safe to predict, would be as rare a personal experience and as foreign an influence in social existence under state management as it is under business management. The state would curb the amount of wealth exploitation possibly, but would not alter the universal attitude toward wealth production, which is to take as much and give as little as one can get off with. Although political socialism may be the economic sequel of private capital there is no foundation for the belief that it will of itself induce creative effort or stimulate creative impulse. The faith back of the socialist movement that desirable attributes like the creative impulse, which men potentially possess, will begin to operate automatically and universally as soon as there is sufficient leisure and food for general consumption, is blind and historically unwarranted. The signs are that a socialist state would lean exclusively on the consumption desire for production results, just as the present system of business now does. Neither fat incomes nor large leisure have furnished the world with its people of genius. In spite of the inhibiting influence of exploitation, they have come, what there are of them, out of intensive application to some matter of moment. Possibly they would come, and more of them, from the work-a-day world under socialism with the inhibiting influence of organized exploitation removed, but more of them would not insure a democracy in industry or elsewhere. Nothing insures that short of a strong emotional impulse, a real intellectual interest in the adventure of productive enterprise. The creative desire is an incident or a sort of by-product of the economics of socialism as it is of classical economics; neither one nor the other depends on its cultivation. Either is capable of achieving mass production, but neither insures a democratic control of industry, neither provides for growth, for education in the productive process. A democracy of industry requires a people's sustained interest in the productive enterprise; their interest in the development of technology, the development of markets, and the release of man's productive energy. It happens that in machine production and in the division of labor there are emotional and intellectual possibilities which were non-existent in the earlier and simpler methods of production. As power latent in inorganic matter has been freed and applied to common needs, an environment has been evolved, filled with situations incomparably more dramatic than the provincial affairs of detached people and communities. Although this technological subject matter, rich in opportunities for associated adventure and infinite discovery, is not a part of common experience, it exists, and if called out from its isolation for purposes of common experimentation, it is fit matter for making science a vital experience in the productive life of the worker. Industry under the direction of business will not open up the adventure with its stimulating factors to its subservient labor force, unless it happens that the present methods fail, in time, to carry forward industrial enterprise on a profit-making basis; or unless labor develops the power which springs from desire for creative experience, to undertake the direction and control of industry. The present is better than any time earlier in the history of technology for the development of a concept of industry as a socially creative enterprise. As craftsmanship extended and intensified an interest in personal ownership, it magnified the value of possessions; as it deepened the desire for protection of private property and the strengthening of property laws against human laws, it was not a _socializing_ force. While the craftsmanship period strengthened personal claims on workmanship and interest in it, mechanical power and division of labor have impersonated industry.[A] In the labyrinth of mechanical processes and economic calculation it is not to-day possible for a worker to think or speak of a product as his. He has no basis for ownership claims in any article; even the price is arranged between buyer and seller and he is not the seller. An article owes its existence to an infinite number of persons and its place in the market to as many more. [Footnote A: Thorstein Veblen--Instinct of Workmanship, Chapter V.] A worker's claim to the product of his labor is merged in an infinity of claims which makes the product more nearly the property of society than of any one individual. And this merging of claims which has resulted in the submerging of all wage workers, has set up the new educational task of discovering the possibilities for creative experience in associated enterprise. While an article manufactured under business conditions is the product of enforced association, we have in this condition the mechanics of a real association. As it now stands, the association is one of individuals, with the impulse for association and for creative effort left out. The interests of some ninety workers associated together in the making of a shoe are not common but antagonistic, except as they are common in their antagonism to the owner of the shoe on which they work. They hang together because they must; their parting is the best part of a working day. And yet the practice of dividing up the fabrication of an article among the members of a group instead of confining the making of it to one or two people, opens up the possibility of extensive social intercourse, and has the power, we may discover, to sublimate the inordinate desire for the intensive satisfaction of personal life. Although the division of labor has given us a society which is abortive in its functioning like a machine with half assembled parts, it offers us the mechanics for interdependence and the opportunity to work out a coördinated industrial life. CHAPTER II ADAPTING PEOPLE TO INDUSTRY--THE AMERICAN WAY As machine power rivalled hand work, promoters of industry until recently relied for its advancement on the perfection of technology, giving little thought to the perfection of labor. It was confidently assumed that labor, out of its own necessities, would adapt itself automatically to the new requirements of the machine, and to the shifts of business interest. When it was discovered that there were limitations to labor's voluntary adaptation under the conditions laid down, intelligent business in America decided that the responsibility for realizing labor's adaptation or "labor's coöperation" as they call it, must be assumed by the management of industry and that that management must be scientifically worked out and applied. Scientific management is scientific as it subjects the labor operations on each job, each specific job to be performed in a factory, to a testing out of the energy consumed; to discovering how to secure labor's maximum productivity without waste of time or energy. It is scientific as the manager's state of mind towards the physical and psychological reactions of the workers is one of inquiry and a readiness to accept, as facts of mechanical science are accepted, the reaction of the workers. A scientific manager, or engineer as he is often called, bears the same relation to the labor force in a factory that an electrical engineer bears to the electrical equipment. If his attention to the emotional reaction of the workers is less detached than scientific standards require, it must be remembered that he is trying to make adjustments which must first of all meet definite business conditions. Where the reactions of the workers interfere with the whole scheme of business administration, (and interfere they ceaselessly do), he has to substitute measures which are not strictly speaking scientific. On these occasions he adopts humanitarian schemes, which are generally spoken of as welfare work. It is the introduction of these schemes which look like a "slop over" from science to charity, that makes it difficult for outsiders to tell just what scientific management is and what it is not. Mr. Frederick W. Taylor, the founder of scientific management, was capable of scientific detachment in studying working men in relation to the specific job. He was able more notably than others had been before him, and more than many who have followed him, to extend the impersonal state of mind, which he enjoyed in the study of inorganic energy, to his study of human energy. Mr. Taylor's interest did not emanate from sympathy with labor in its hardships; his interest was centered in an effort to conserve and apply labor energy with maximum economy for wealth production. Mr. Taylor awakened the consciousness of industrial managers to the fact that the energy of workers like the power of machinery is subject to laws. He demonstrated that it was possible in specific operations to discover how the highest degree of energy could be attained and the largest output result, without loss through fatigue. He showed how efficiency could be enhanced by transferring the responsibility of standards of work from the workers to the managers. He formulated, as a business and industry doctrine, that a definite relation between the expenditure of labor energy and the labor reward could be established; that the wage incentive, if applied to labor in relation to energy expended, would yield, or might be expected to yield increased returns. These incentives, rewards, stimuli, which employers could apply would produce, he stated with unscientific fervor, the workers' initiative. The inability of Mr. Taylor and other scientific managers to distinguish between initiative and short lived reaction to stimulus is simple evidence that their scientific experiments were confined to comparisons which they could make between a yield in wealth where the stimulus to labor is weak, and a yield where it is strong. They will not discover what a worker's productivity is, or might be, when incited by his impulse to work, nor will they secure labor's initiative, until they release the factors, latent in industry, which have inspirational, creative force. The attitude of Mr. Taylor and his followers, however, differs from that of the ordinary manager who maintains an irritated disregard of the disturbing elements instead of accepting them and, as far as is consistent with business principles, allaying or cajoling them. The significant contributions which scientific management has made are in line with the experiments originally introduced by Mr. Taylor. They call for the study of each new task by the management, for discovering the economy in the expenditure of labor energy before it is submitted to the working force; the standardizing of the task in conformity with the findings; the teaching of the approved methods to the working force; the introduction of incentives which will insure the full response of labor in the accomplishment of the task. Beside the standardizing of tasks and the relating the wage to the fixed standard, scientific management has made intensive experiments in the scheduling of the various operations to be performed, which are divided among the working force, so that no one operation is held up awaiting the completion of another. It has shown in this connection that work can be "routed" so that the time of workers is not lost. The most successfully managed factories also plan their annual product so that employment will be continuous. They have discovered that the periods of unemployment seriously affect the personnel of a labor force and they estimate that the turnover of the labor force which requires the constant breaking in of new men is an item of serious financial loss. The Ford Automobile Works at one time hired 50,000 men in one year while not employing at any one time more than 14,000. They estimated that the cost of breaking in a new man averaged $70.00. To reduce this cost, they instituted profit sharing, as an incentive for men to remain. Other factories have estimated the cost of replacing men from $50.00 to $200.00. A rubber concern in Ohio has a labor turnover of 150 per cent. In connection with the effort to reduce the turnover in the labor force the management of well organized factories takes great care to estimate a worker's value before employing him. The policy of transferring a man from one department to another where he is better suited yields evidently valuable results. In factories where there is effort to hold labor, to make employment continuous, the turnover has been reduced in some cases to as low as 18 per cent. Generally, however, it is still high; frequently as high as 50 per cent, and 50 per cent is still considered low, even in factories which have given the subject much consideration. There is a tendency in developing the mechanics of efficiency, as they relate to labor, to establish for machine production standards of workmanship. Long and weary experience has proved that wage earners under factory methods and machine conditions are not interested in maintaining standards of work. The standards which are set by the scientific management schemes of efficiency are not, to be sure, the qualitative standards of craftsmanship but they are qualitative as well as quantitative standards of machine work. The tendency to establish standards should have educational significance for workers. It would have, if the responsibility for setting standards as well as maintaining them rested in any measure with the workers; it would have, that is, if the workers had the interest in workmanship, which as things now stand they have not. The point in scientific management is that efficiency depends, wholly depends they believe, on centralizing the responsibility for setting and maintaining workmanship standards, on transferring the responsibility for standards of work from workers who do it, to the management who directs it done. I have learned of only one manager who realizes that although the factory workers are not to be trusted to maintain standards, a management nevertheless will fail to get the workers' full coöperation until it arouses their interest in maintaining them. The manager is Mr. Robert Wolf, who illustrated this point at a meeting of the Taylor Society in March, 1917. In describing the process of extracting the last possible amount of water from paper pulp, he said: "Our problem was to determine the best length of time to keep the low pressure on, as the high, pressure is governed entirely by the production coming from the wet machine. After having determined that three minutes of low pressure ... gives maximum moisture test, we furnished each man on the wet machines with a clock and asked him to leave this low pressure on just three minutes. As long as the foremen kept constantly after their men and vigilantly followed them up we obtained some slight increase in the test; but it required a constant urging upon our part to focus the attention of the men upon this three minute time of low pressure.... We realized finally that in order to get the results we were after, it was necessary for us to produce _a desire_ upon the part of our men to do this work in the proper way ... so we designed an instrument which would give us a record of the time lost between pressing operations, also the number of minutes the low pressure was kept on. It took us something over a year to perfect this machine, but after it was finally perfected and a record of the operations made, we found that the men actually were operating at an average efficiency of 42 per cent, and our moisture test was running about 54 per cent. Our next step was to post a daily record of the relative standing of the men in the machine room, putting the men who had the best record at the top of the list, in the order of their weekly average efficiencies. (The efficiency of low pressure, which proved to be the most important factor, was computed by calling three minutes of low pressure 100 per cent and two minutes either way 0 per cent.) As a result of simply posting this record our efficiencies rose to over 60 per cent and our moisture test increased a little less than 1 per cent. Some of the best and most skilled men had an efficiency of over 80 per cent, but quite a large percentage of them were down below 50 per cent. We therefore decided that it was necessary to have the foreman give more detailed information to the men as to what the machine meant and how their efficiencies were obtained and to put the instrument which did the recording into a glass case in the machine room where all the men could see it. Each foreman took a portion of the chart and one of the celluloid scales by which, we obtained the efficiencies and explained in detail to each one of the men how their records were calculated. As a result of this, our efficiency rose from 60 per cent to 80 per cent in less than four weeks, and it has remained at 80 per cent ever since--(ever since being over two years)--enabling us to get a moisture of over 56 per cent."[A] [Footnote A: Bulletin of the Taylor Society--March, 1917.] This was accomplished, Mr. Wolf told them, without resorting to piece work or bonus or any of the special methods of payments, their men being hired by the day throughout the entire plant. Mr. Wolf accomplished the result by giving meaning to a meaningless task, by letting the men see for themselves how they arrived at results, letting them see the different processes of getting results and knowing on their own account which were the most valuable. There may be other managers who appreciate the value of letting men in on the experimental effort of getting results but it is not the practice to do so and it is opposed to the idea of transferring the responsibility from the workshop to the manager's office or laboratory. Because of this practice the educational value of establishing standards of workmanship is lost so far as the workers are concerned. Mr. Wolf's criticism of orthodox scientific management and his conclusions are illuminating; they are indeed revolutionary in nature as they come from a manager of a successful industrial enterprise: "Our efforts, ever since we began to realize the workman's point of view, have been not to take responsibility from him. It is our plan to increase his responsibility and we feel that it is our duty to teach him to exercise his reasoning power and intelligence to its fullest extent. There is _no advantage gained by stimulating a man's reasoning power, and through this means his creative faculty, if the management relieves the man of the responsibility for each individual operation_. The opportunity for self expression, which is synonymous with joy in work, is something that the workman is entitled to, and we employers who feel that management is to become a true science must begin to think less of the science of material things and think more of the science of human relationships. Our industries must become _humanized_, otherwise there will be no relief from the present state of unrest in the industries of the world. "In this connection it might be well to observe that our experience in the pulp industry has been that instructions which go _too much into detail_ tend to deaden interest in the work. We realize fully the value of sufficient instructions to get uniform results, but we try to leave as much as possible to the judgment of the individual operator, making our instructions take more the form of constant _teaching of principles_ involved in the operation than of definite _fixed rules_ of procedure. It is necessary to produce a desire in the heart of the workman to do good work. No amount of coercion will enlist him thoroughly in the service. "The new efficiency is going to reckon a great deal more with the needs of the individual man; but in order to do this, it must have some philosophical conception of the reason for man's existence. _It is beginning to be understood that when we deny to vast numbers of individuals the opportunity to do creative work, we are violating a great universal law_." Scientific management is sacrificing educational opportunity latent in the realization of workmanship standards in the same way that machinery sacrificed it. They both curtail the workers' chance to discover first-hand what the processes of fabrication are, the processes in which they are involved; they must adopt ready-made methods of doing their work, they must accept them out of hand without questioning, or chance to question, their validity. Workers endowed with good health and moral vigor resist these attempts to put something over on them, irrespective of their good or evil results. The workers have resisted machinery not only because as individuals they were thrown, out of jobs for a time or lost them permanently, but because the machine imposed on them a method of work, of activity over which they had no control. Scientific management has undertaken to gather up whatever bits of initiative the machine had not already taken over and to hand back to the workers at the bench directions for them to follow with a blind ability to accept instruction. It is incredible to factory managers that workers object to being taught "right" ways of doing things. Their objection is not to being taught, but to being told that some one way is right without having had the chance to know why, or whether indeed it is the right way. This resistance to being taught, it seems, is nothing more nor less than a wayward desire of a worker to do his own way because it is his way, and of course from the managers' point of view, that is stupid. It is stupid, but the stupidity is in the situation. What does this waywardness of the worker to do his own way suggest? Not that he has a way worth bothering about but that he wants to exercise the quality which all industrial managers agree he does not possess--his initiative. Now a man who has the desire to exercise initiative and does not know how to put anything through is not only a useless person in society but the most pestiferous fellow in existence. Allowing that he is does not mean that he has not the power of initiative or that he could not have learned to put this initiative to good use, if at any time in his manhood or youth he had been taught to use it, instead of being required to follow the accepted ways of doing things without having had the experience of trial and error. Schools and factory management give workers scant opportunity to discover whether they have initiative or have not. Mr. Wolf finds that "while it is possible, under certain conditions, to compel obedience, there is no possible way in which a man can be compelled to do his work willingly and when he does it unwillingly he is far from being efficient. He must have the opportunity to enjoy his work and realize himself in its performance." "In our plant," he remarks, "we never made it a practice to determine arbitrarily standard methods for performing an operation, for we believe that the men who are actually doing the work have generally as much to contribute as the foremen and department heads in deciding standard practices; and because we give the workman the chance to have the most to say about the matter, he is willing to conform to the standard, because it really represents a concensus of opinion of the men in his particular group." It is significant in this connection to remember that he does not pay the men by special methods to get the return. "I am not necessarily opposed to piece work or task and bonus methods of payment.... We have been able to obtain splendid results without resorting to a system of immediate money rewards." He thinks it is better to pay the workers liberally so that they "can forget this economic pressure and do good work because of the joy that comes from the consciousness of work well done." Scientific management like ordinary management as a matter of fact does not want to cultivate initiative in the rank and file of workers; it would like to find more of it; and its eternal expectation is that enough of it will rise out of the oppressive atmosphere of the factory system to supply its limited needs. Scientific management especially wants this, as it must have more foremen and teachers to carry forward its advanced schemes of organization. But every manager will tell you that industry does not produce men with sufficient initiative to fill these positions. Their estimates of the number of men found in industry who have initiative varies from one to five per cent. The rest they believe are born, routine workers. They speak of their limitations as native. Managers do not stop to consider that their judgments are based wholly on the reaction of the mass of wage workers to the special stimuli which they offer. They say also that high school and college boys show up very little if any better in respect to initiative than the lower school product. The truth is that schools and colleges are more concerned with passing on the standards of an older generation to a younger, and the younger that generation is the less it is entrusted with opportunity to make its own first hand inquiries. That is, the lower schools which deal with a generation at its most plastic time, furnish the higher schools with minds inured to the pressure of accepting subject matter without independent inquiry or curiosity. Factory management like college and school management, instead of depending on the subject matter to interest the workers, instead of opening up to them the factors of interest in industrial enterprise, has adopted incentives for getting the required work done. Enlightened school practice, out of long failure to get the children's initiative by the artificial stimulus of rewards for work done, now depends upon the content of the subject matter and the children's experiments with it, to develop their desire to do the work. The practice of depending on school rewards instead of interest in subject matter is largely responsible for superficial knowledge and lack of ability to think as well as to act. As schools fail to incite the interest of the children they train them to put through this and that task and reward them for it without having added to their power of undertaking tasks on their own account. Indeed, as they fail to give them the chance to do that, they actually decrease whatever power they may have had. The doing of tasks in factories for the sake of rewards, gives the workers experience in winning rewards. As they are interested only in the reward, they carry away no desire or interest in the work experience. As the method of doing the work is prescribed in every detail and their only requirement, under scientific management, is to follow directions with accuracy, they are trained to do their tasks as the children in school are trained. They are trained in routine, and to do each task as it is given. This is not education, it is training to do tricks. The worker does not take over what can be called experience from one task to another. He forms certain motor habits, called skill. But under the efficient methods of scientific management the acquirement of this skill is robbed even of the educational value that it had under the unscientific method of factory work, which within its limited field, left the worker to discover by trial and error what were the best methods of getting results. Moreover, the standards of workmanship which scientific management sets up are not the worker's own standards; he has had no part in the making of them or in deciding on the comparative merits of the results. He accomplishes the results as he follows directions, not for the sake of the result, not for the sake of good workmanship, but for the reward. As I have said scientific management has given the subject of incentives the same careful thought that it has given to the study of lost energy. The two important incentives for inducing the response of labor to productive enterprises which scientific management has carried forward in their applications, are wages and promotion. The general assumption is that the wage as an incentive has no limitations, except the physical limitation of a human being in response to stimulus. And surely it is true that the chance to "make money" is to-day the most powerful stimulus in use. But thoughtful managers of industrial enterprise tell you, incredible as it may seem, that the worker's objection to applying himself to his task is not invariably overcome by anticipation of the wage return; he will slack or be perverse or throw over a job in the face of opportunities to earn as good a wage or a better one than he can get elsewhere. It is well known that workers joint unions in the face of opposition of employers and at the risk of losing permanent positions. A resourceful manager in one of the most intelligently managed plants in the United States told me that women were less susceptible than men to the wage incentive. He found that many of them are content when their wage covers a sum which represents for them their personal requirements; that they cannot interest them in trying for more. On that account the manager takes up the case of the individual girl to see if her ambition to earn more money cannot be stimulated. They find sometimes that a mother requires her daughter to give in her whole wage at the end of the week and that the girl has no pleasure in the spending of it; they visit the mother and persuade her to let the girl keep a proportion of her wage and point out to the mother that she is limiting the girl's ambition. They also find girls who have entire control over the spending of their wages, who are without ambition to earn over and above a certain sum because that sum will meet their own recognized needs. The case of these girls the management tries to cover by encouraging them to save for vacations and other purposes which they offer by way of suggestion. In both of these instances the management undertakes to create new wants or ways of realizing wants which were not recognized by the workers themselves. The satisfaction of these wants may or may not be in the direction of extending experience and expanding contacts. But that is neither here nor there. The point is, the manager of the industry has used an incentive for increasing production which has no relation to production itself. He is forced to do this because he fails to make the process of production a matter of interest to the worker. The processes of production do not of themselves as we know compel the workers' application or stimulate their desire for productive enterprise. It is in the nature of the case impossible to increase the wage incentive indefinitely. One large and scientifically managed plant has made remarkable provisions for staving off the time when the dead line is reached. They have taken stock account of the labor power they require, the amount of energy which each worker possesses, for the purpose of evaluation and payment. They have undertaken to cover as separate items each condition which affects a worker's relation to his job. They rate as separate items the worker's proficiency, reliability, continuity in service, indirect charges, increased cost of living, and periods of lay-off; they rate him according to the number of technical processes he is proficient in, whether or not he is engaged on more than one; they rate him if he attends the night school connected with the factory and shows in this way a disposition to learn other operations than, those he already knows. Why, they wonder, does only ten per cent of the force take advantage of the school and what, they are eager to find out, can they do further to secure the men's coöperation. For "coöperation," they say, "in a special way deserves credit, since it is unexpected ... certain well defined acts of coöperation will bring extra reward." Their rewards so carefully calculated did not seem to enlist response as spiritual in its nature as coöperation. It seemed that they had reached "the dead line" where wage stimulus fails to draw its hoped for response. To get from the workers the highest efficiency the scientifically managed plants pay for a task a stated rate based on piece or time; if the task is performed within the time set and the directions for doing the task as laid out by the management, are followed, the worker receives in addition to the regular rate, a bonus. Mr. H.L. Grant, while working with Mr. Taylor, discovered that there was weakness in the system of paying bonuses, and the weakness was not overcome until he devised a method of paying the workman for the time allowed plus a percentage of that time according to what he did. This method he declares constantly induced further effort and overcame what they discovered was the weakness in a flat bonus. As fair or as superior as this bonus may be in relation to the prevailing rate in the market, managers say that the workers are apt in time to fall below the standard as their work becomes routine, unless the incentive after a time is increased or changed in character. In other words the wage incentive is like a virus injection. The dose is not continuously effective, except as the amount is increased or altered. A usual method of keeping alive the financial incentive is profit sharing and schemes for participation in profits, but they are rewards of general merit and bids for continuity of service; they have no direct relation to the workers' efficiency and compliance with standards which distinguish the wage rewards of scientifically managed plants. Promotion, the incentive second in importance to the wage incentive, is of assistance in postponing the time when the dead line for the worker is reached. Nothing better illustrates the limitations of promotion in this respect than the fact that in factories where the turnover is the lowest, the opportunity to promote the workers decreases; it falls in proportion to the length of their term of service. That is, chances for promotion are the lowest in factories where conditions otherwise are favorable to the worker. In the factory where the turnover is only 18 per cent the management says that promotion is a negligible factor. Where the turnover is high there is greater opportunity in plants scientifically managed than in others to promote men, as the scheme of organization calls for a larger number of what they call "functionalized foremen" and teachers in proportion to the working force. It is as I have said, on account of the necessity of these positions in the general scheme that managers of factories are interested in finding more men who have initiative, than industry under their direction has produced. Before scientific management was discovered, business management and machinery already had robbed industry of productive incentives, of the real incentive to production; a realization on the part of the worker of its social value and his appreciation of its creative content. All that was left for scientific management to gather together for its direction were bits of experience which workers gained by their own experimental efforts at how best to handle tools. Their efforts it is true were not sufficiently great in this direction to promise progressive industrial advance. The margin for experiment which was still theirs was not sufficiently largo to insure continued effort inspired by an interest in the work. When we have taken into full account the repressive effect of scientific management on initiative, we may well admit an advantage: educationally speaking, the repression is direct. The workers are fully aware that they are doing what some one else requires of them. They are not under the delusion that they are acting on their own initiative. They are being managed and they know it and all things being equal (which they are not) they do not like it. The responsibility they may clearly see and feel rests with them to find a better scheme for carrying industry forward. The methods of scientific management are calculated to incite not only open criticism from the workers but to suggest that efficient industry is a matter of learning, and that learning is a game at which all can play, if the opportunity is provided. Scientific managers have hoped that their plans to conserve energy and increase the wage in relation to expenditure of energy would meet little opposition. They also have hoped that the paternalistic feature of welfare work would allay opposition. But I am not inclined to include the welfare schemes in a consideration of scientific management; they have little light to throw on what educational significance there is in the efficiency methods which scientific management has introduced in industry. The playgrounds attached to factories, the indoor provisions for social activity, the clubs, while not having an acknowledged relation to the scientific management of the factory and while repudiated by some managers, are a common feature of plants which claim to be scientifically managed. There are scientifically managed plants which object to the recreational and other features which have to do with matters outside the province of the factory, on the ground that it is a meddling with the personal side of people's lives. "A baseball game connected with the factory," said the educational manager of a certain plant, "has the effect of limiting the workers' contacts; it is much better for them, as it is for every one, not to narrow their relationships to a small group, but to play ball with the people of the town." It is significant that this concern deals with the union and conforms to its regulations. Whether this more generous concept of the workers' lives yields more in manufactured goods than one that confines the activity of the workers to the factory in which they labor, scientific management, so far as I know, has not discovered. The very nature of the welfare schemes suggests that they are inspired more out of fear of the workers' freedom of contact than launched on account of comparative findings which relate strictly to the economy of labor power. The policy of leaving the workers free, it was clear in the instance just cited, had been adopted out of a personal preference for freedom in relationships. The introduction of clinics, rest rooms, restaurants, sanitary provisions, and all arrangements relating directly to the workers' health have a bearing on efficiency and productivity which is well recognized and probably universally endorsed by efficiency managers, even if they are not invariably adopted. Scientific management wants two things; more men in the labor market to fill the positions of functionalized foremen, more men than modern industrial society has produced; and it wants an army of workers who will follow directions, follow them as one of the managers said, as soldiers follow them. It wants this army to be endowed as well with the impulse to produce. It may by its methods realize one of its wants, that is, an army of workers to follow directions; but as it succeeds in this, as it is successful in robbing industry of its content, and as it reduces processes to routine, it will limit its chances to find foremen who have initiative and it will fail to get from workers the impulse to produce goods. During the last four years, under the stress of a consuming war every stimulus employed by business management for speeding up production has been advanced. Organized efficiency in the handling of materials has increased the output, as increased rewards to capital and labor have stimulated effort. But the quantitative demand of consumption requirements is insatiable. It is not humanly possible under the present industrial arrangements to satisfy the world's demand for goods, either in time of war or peace. It was never more apparent than it is now, that an increase in a wage rate is a temporary expedient and that wage rewards are not efficient media for securing sustained interest in productive enterprise. It is becoming obvious that the wage system has not the qualifications for the coördination of industrial life. As the needs of the nations under the pressure of war have brought out the inefficiencies of the economic institution, it has become sufficiently clear to those responsible for the conduct of the war and to large sections of the civil population, that wealth exploitation and wealth creation are not synonymous; that the production of wealth must rest on other motives than the desire of individuals to get as much and give as little as particular situations will stand. In England and in the United States, where the individualistic conception of the industrial life has been an inherent part of our national philosophy, the governments, with cautious reservations, have assumed responsibilities which had been carried in normal times by business. Because business administration had been dependent for its existence on a scheme of profiteering it is not in the position where it can appeal to labor to contribute its productive power in the spirit of patriotic abandon. But governments as they have taken over certain industrial responsibilities are in a better position to make such appeals to capital as well as to labor. The calculable effect of the appeal to capital to assume the responsibility is in the long run of passing importance, as under the present business arrangement that is the position capital occupies. In other words, the appeal will mark no change in capitalist psychology as it promises to do in the case of labor. The calculable effect on labor psychology may have revolutionary significance. It is quite another sort of appeal in its effect from the stereotyped and familiar one of employers to labor to _feel_ their responsibility. That appeal never reached the consciousness of working men for the reason that it is impossible to feel responsible or to be responsible where there is no chance of bearing the responsibility. Experiencing responsibility in industry means nothing more nor less than sharing in the decisions, the determination of procedure, as well as suffering from the failure of those decisions and participating in their successful eventuation. As the governments in the present case have made their appeals to labor they have carried the suggestion of partnership in responsibility because the government is presumably the people's voice and its needs also presumably are the common needs and not the special interests of individuals. It is hardly necessary to point out that it was not the intention of government officials who made the appeal to excite a literal interpretation; they did not expect to be taken so seriously and up to date they have not been taken more seriously than they intended by American labor. All they mean and what they expect to gain, is what employers have meant and wanted; that is labor's surrender of its assumed right to strike on the job, its surrender of its organized time standards and its principle of collective bargaining. But when officials speak in the name of a government what they mean is unimportant; what it means to the people to have them speak, and the people's interpretation of what they say, is the important matter. These appeals of the governments in this time of war to the working people have the tendency to clear the environment of the suggestion that common labor, that is the wage earning class (as distinguished from salaried people, employers and the profiteers pure and simple) are incompetent to play a responsible part in the work of wealth production. A responsible part does not mean merely doing well a detached and technical job; it means facing the risks and sharing in the experimental experience of productive enterprise as it serves the promotion of creative life and the needs of an expanding civilization. As the appeals of the governments at this time bear the stamp of a nation's will, its valuation and respect for common labor, there is the chance, it seems, that they may carry to the workers the energizing thought that _all_ the members of the industrial group must assume, actually assume, responsibility for production, if production is to advance. Equally important in the interest of creative work is the power of these appeals to shift the motive for production from the acquisitive to the creative impulse. In the midst of the world's emergency, driven by the fear of destruction the nations have turned instinctively to the _unused_ creative force in human and common labor, that is to the ability of the wage earner to think and plan. If the response of labor is genuine, if with generous abandon it releases its full productive energy, it is quite certain as matters now stand that neither the governments nor the financiers are prepared to accept the consequence. If labor in answer to these appeals gains the confidence that it is competent to carry industrial responsibility, or rather that common labor, together with the trained technicians in mechanics and industrial organization are competent _as a producing group_ to carry the responsibility, one need we may be sure will be eliminated which, has been an irritating and an unproductive element in industrial life; I mean the need the workers have had for the cultivation of class isolation. As the workers become in the estimation of a community and in their own estimation, responsible members of a society, their more rather than less abortive effort to develop class feeling in America, will disappear. Under those conditions concerted class action will be confined to the employers of labor and the profiteers, who will be placed in the position of proving their value and their place in the business of wealth creation. On this I believe we may count, that labor will drop its defensive program for a constructive one, as it comes to appreciate its own creative potentiality. * * * * * Judging from recent events in England, where the government appeals to labor have had longer time to take effect, it seems that new brain tracks in labor psychology have actually been created. English labor apparently is beginning to take the impassioned appeals of its government seriously and is making ready to assume the responsibility for production. The resolutions adopted by the Labor Party at its Nottingham Conference in November in 1917 covered organized labor's usual defense program relating to wage conditions. The Manifesto which was issued was first of all a political document, written and compiled for campaign purposes. But the significance of the party's action is the new interpretation which it is beginning to give industrial democracy. It is evident where state ownership is contemplated that the old idea that industry would pass under the administrative direction of government officials, is replaced by the growing intention and desire of labor to assume responsibility for administration whether industry is publicly or privately owned. The Party stands for the "widest possible participation both economic and political ... in industry as well as in government." In explanation of the Manifesto, the leader of the Party is quoted in the Manchester Guardian as saying, that when labor now speaks of industrial democracy it no longer means what it did before the war; it does not mean political administration of economic affairs; it means primarily industrial self-government. * * * * * Perhaps an even better evidence of the intention of English labor in this direction is the movement towards decentralization in the trade union organization. This movement, known as the "shop-stewards" movement is essentially an effort of the men in the workshops to assume responsibility in industrial reconstruction after the war, a responsibility which they have heretofore under all circumstances delegated to representatives not connected directly with the work in the shops. As these representatives were isolated from actual problems of workshop production and alien therefore to the problems in their technical and specific application, they were incapable of functioning efficiently as agents of productive enterprise. This "shop stewards" movement recognizes and provides for the interdependence of industrial interests, but at the same time it concerns itself with the competent handling of specific matters. Such organization as the movement in England seems to be evolving, the syndicalists have contended for as they opposed the German idea of state socialism. But the syndicalists in their propaganda did not _develop_ the idea of industry as an adventure in creative enterprise. Instead they emphasized, as did the political socialists and the trade unionists, the importance of protecting the workers' share in the possession of wealth. They made the world understand that business administration of industry exploited labor, but they did not bring out that both capital and labor, so far as it was possible for each to do, exploited wealth. That was not the vision of industry which they carried from their shops to their meetings or indeed to their homes. Their failure at exploitation was too obvious. An interesting illustration of what would happen in the ranks of the syndicalists if the business idea of labor's intellectual and emotional incapacity for functioning, gave way before a community's confidence in the capacity of labor--we have in the case of the migratory workers in the harvesting of our western crops. The harvesters who follow the crops with the seasons from the southern to the northern borders of the United States and into Canada are members of the most uncompromisingly militant organization of syndicalists, The Industrial Workers of the World. On an average it takes ten years for these harvesters to become skilled workers and these men, members of this condemned organization, are the most highly skilled harvesters in the country. On account of their revolutionary doctrines and their combined determination to reap rewards as well as crops, they are considered and treated like outlaws, and outlaws of the established order they are in spirit. When the owners of the farms of North Dakota realized that their own returns on the harvests were diverted in the marketing of their grain, they combined for protection against the grain exchanges and the elevator trusts. While developing their movement they discovered that the natural alliance for their organization to make was with the men who were involved with them in the production of grain. And as the farmers have accepted the harvesters as partners they have formed in effect a coördinated producing combination. Without finally settling the problem of agriculture, they have strengthened the production group and eliminated strife at the most vital point. In the period of reconstruction the industrial issues of significance to democracy will be whether or not management of industry as it has been assumed by the state for the purpose of war shall revert after the war to the condition of incompetency which the war emergency disclosed or whether state management shall be extended and developed as it was in Germany after the Franco-Prussian War. Fortunately, these evidences of a new interest of labor in industry as a social institution, give us some reason to hope that we shall not be confined to a choice between business incompetency and state socialism. The evidence of the desire on the part of the labor force to participate in the development of production is the factor we should keep in mind in any plans for democratic industrial reconstruction. It is inevitable that an effort to open up and cultivate this desire of labor will be regarded by the present governing forces with apprehension. The movement of labor in this direction is now looked upon with suspicion even by people who are not in a position of control. The general run of people in fact outside of those who recognize labor as a fundamental force in industrial reconstruction, conceive of the labor people as an irresponsible mass of men and view their movements as expressions of an irresponsible desire to seize responsibility. They are the men who are not experienced in business affairs and therefore cannot, it is believed, be trusted. The arguments against trusting them are the same old arguments advanced for many centuries against inroads on the established order of over-lordship. But over-lordship has flourished at all times, and in the present scheme of industry it flourishes as it always has, in proportion to the reluctance of the people to participate as responsible factors in matters of common concern. Corruption and exploitation of governments and of industry are dependent upon the broadest possible participation of a whole people in the experience and responsibilities of their common life. It is for this reason that we need to foster and develop the opportunity as well as the desire for responsibility among the common people. After the war, it is to be hoped that America will undertake to realize through its schemes for reconstruction its present _ideals_ of self-government. As it does this, we shall discover that the issues which are of significance to democracy are of significance to education; for democracy and education are processes concerned with, the people's ability to solve their problems through their experience in solving them. If America is ever to realize its concept of political democracy, it can accept neither the autocratic method of business management nor the bureaucratic schemes of state socialism. It cannot realize political democracy until it realizes in a large measure the democratic administration of industry. CHAPTER III ADAPTING PEOPLE TO INDUSTRY--THE GERMAN WAY Statemanship in Germany covered "industrial strategy" as well as political. Its labor protection and regulations were in line with its imperial policy of domination. Within recent years labor protection from the point of view of statesmanship has been urged in England and America. The waste of life is a matter of unconcern in the United States so long as private business can replenish its labor without seriously depleting the oversupply. It becomes a matter of concern only when there are no workers waiting for employment. The German state has regulated the conditions of labor and conserved human energy because its purpose has been not the short-lived one of private business, but the long-lived one of imperial competition. It was the policy of the Prussian state to conserve human energy for the strength and the enrichment of the Empire. Whatever was good for the Empire was good, it was assumed, for the people. The humanitarians in the United States who tried to introduce labor legislation in their own country accepted this naïve philosophy of the German people, which had been so skilfully developed by Prussian statesmen, without appreciating that its result was enervating. Our prevailing political philosophy, however, that workers and capitalists understand their own interests and are more capable than the state of looking after them, stood in the way of adopting on grounds of statesmanship the German methods. The American working man has never been convinced that he can get odds of material advantage from the state. His method is to get all he can through "pull," good luck or his superior wits. He could find no satisfaction like his German brothers in surrendering concrete interests for some abstract idea of a state. He could find no greater pleasure in being exploited by the state than he now finds in exploitation by private business. The average American values life for what he can get out of it, or for what he can put into it. He has no sentimental value of service, nor is service anywhere with us an institutionalized ideal. We judge it on its merits, detached perhaps, but still for what it actually renders in values. In conformity with American ideals, wage earners look to their own movements and not to the state for protection. Their movements require infinite sacrifice, but they supply them with an interest and an opportunity for initiative which their job lacks. The most important antidote for the workers to factory and business methods is not shorter hours or well calculated rest periods or even change-off from one kind of routine work to another. As important as these may be, reform in labor hours does not compensate the worker for his exclusion from the directing end of the enterprise of which he is a part and from a position where he can understand the purpose of his work The trade union interference with the business of wealth production is in part an attempt to establish a coördination of the worker which is destroyed in the prosecution of business and factory organization. The interference of the union is an attempt to bridge the gulf between the routine of service and the administration, and direction of the service which the worker gives. I do not intend to imply that the labor movement is a conscious attempt at such coördination. It is not. The conscious purpose is the direct and simple desire to resist specific acts of domination and to increase labor's economic returns. But any one who follows the sacrifices which organized workers make for some small and equivocal gain or who watches them in their periods of greatest activity, knows that the labor movement gets its stimulus, its high pitch of interest, not from its struggle for higher wage rates, but from the worker's participation in the administration of affairs connected with life in the shop. The real tragedy in a lost strike is not the failure to gain the wage demand; It is the return of the defeated strikers to work, as men unequipped with the administrative power--as men without will. There could be no greater contrast of methods of two movements purporting to be the same, than the labor movement in Germany and in the United States. The German workers depended on their political representatives almost wholly to gain their economic rewards. Their organizations made their appeal to the sort of a state which Bismarck set up. They would realize democracy, happiness, they believed, when their state represented labor and enacted statutes in its behalf. If Germany loses the war the chances are that the people may recognize what it means for the people of a nation to let the title to their lives rest with the state; they will know perhaps whether for the protection they have been given and for the regulation of their affairs and destiny they have paid more than the workers of other countries, who, less protected by law, suffered the exigencies of their assumed independence. How much the German people depended upon the state and how much their destiny is affected by it is illustrated better by their educational system and its relation to industry than by any labor legislative protective practices or policy. George Kerschensteiner, the director of the Munich schools, in his book on "The Idea of the Industrial School," tells us that the _Purposes