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 down to the lowest of his subjects, and continued to hold that position until the period of the Tokugawa Shôguns, when it was supplanted in the intellects of the educated class by the philosophy of Choo He. The practise of pure Shintô was kept alive for one or two centuries at the Mikado’s court, and at a few Shintô temples which might be counted on one’s fingers, but finally degenerated into a mere thing of forms, the meaning of which was forgotten, while the forms themselves were perverted.

In addition to the Riôbu Shintô, there arose at least three other schools; namely the Yui-itsu Shintô invented by Yoshida Kanetomi about the end of the 15th century, that of Deguchi Nobuyoshi, Kannushi of the Gekû temple in Ise, about 1660, and the Suiga Shintô of Yamazaki Ansai (b. 1618-d. 1682). The first of these is chiefly founded on the Buddhism of the Shingonshiu, the second explains the phenomena of the divine age by means of the Book of Changes (eki or I-king); the third is a combination of the Yoshida Shintô and Choo He’s philosophy.

From these few remarks it may be inferred that the successive waves of Buddhist and Chinese doctrine which had passed over Japan during a period of more than a thousand years had considerably transformed the belief of the people, and if the only means of discovering its original nature were an analysis of the teaching of the above-mentioned sects, and the rejection of whatever bore traces of a foreign origin, the task would necessitate a wide knowledge of Buddhism in both India and China, as well as of the Confucian philosophy, and perhaps of Taouism. But fortunately, there exist independently in the Kojiki, the Manyôshiu, the Nihongi, the Kogo-Shiui and the Norito, abundant materials for the student of the divine age, and it was to these hooks that Mabuchi, Motoöri and Hirata devoted their attention. Together with Kada they form the revivalist school of pure Shintô. I propose to give some account of their lives and works, and the views held by them as to the essence of Shintô.

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 are outstripping us in the race for commercial superiority in the far East." These advantages of a liberal and university education, widely diffused, are not to be directly aimed at, for, like happiness, they are likely thus to be lost. They are to be secured as the indirect but sure result, so far as the university is concerned, of the attainment of its direct aim in the highest scientific culture of the greatest number possible, and especially of all those placed in positions where they are trusted and followed by the people.

Choice by the pupil as to what he will study, and as to where and of whom and how far he will study it, belongs of right to the university idea. The university itself, however, must decide how much of secondary education the pupil shall have in order to admission to its freedom, and also how much of the highest scientific culture he must attain to win the mark of its approval as his alma mater. Beyond these restrictions, the more generous the freedom permitted and encouraged the more worthy the compliance of the university with its own ideal. In so far as professional studies constitute an integral part of the instruction of the university, since the degree conferred upon the student of them is a guarantee of a certain amount of scientific culture of a particular kind, such studies may be prescribed. Yet even in these cases the same end and method must be adhered

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 clerks in the office. Four clerks might have come, and neither singly nor altogether would they have dared to forge upon him—perhaps they would have been afraid to receive him even in the lock-up house.

Once the neighbours drove into Prague with wheat, and took Bartos with them as cashier. Bartos stopped at the tolbooth to pay the duty. How could the collector know that it was Bartos, the grave-digger! He paid no attention to him, and made as though he counted. “How much will it be?” cried Bartos with such vehemence that the paper fell out of the toll-collector’s hand. “Come, come, we will have no bullies here”, said the toll-collector. “A thousand curses! you are the bully”, said Bartos, and nothing more. The toll-collector also said nothing more, but his hand trembled with rage as he gave Bartos the change, and thus it happened that one “desetnik” fell on to the pavement outside his office. “There is a ‘desetnik’ missing”, says Bartos. “You have it on the ground”, says the tax-collector, and nudged himself into a certain amount of valiancy. “I pick up nothing from the ground”, says Bartos. The toll-collector must even shuffle out of his office, pick up the “desetnik”, and give it into Bartos’s hands. “There now I have all”, said Bartos, and as he quitted the tolbooth muttered loud enough for the toll-collector to hear, “I will teach people to throw money on the ground.”

Another time he went to an office for the purpose of drawing a sum of money and the cashier happened to be a new-comer, and thus did not know Bartos. This official said that he had the money at home in his house, that Bartos might go on in advance, and that he himself would follow him directly; Bartos went into the house. But the official did not come for a long time and Bartos began to grow impatient, and when the cashier did come he began to talk to his wife and did not notice Bartos. Bartos rose from his seat and began to open the windows in the room, he opened them all. The official begged to know what he was about. “If I have to wait,” said Bartos, “I must have fresh air; stinks are not for me.” Then the cashier’s wife began to interfere, and shrieked out, “Look at the red-hair’d ruffian!” “Yes, look at him,” retorted Bartos quickly, “and then look at Madame’s sweet double chin.”

This silenced the official’s chatter, and indeed his good lady’s, who hastily threw a handkerchief about her neck; after a few minutes Bartos had the money counted out to the last kreuzer.


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 to with the utmost possible strictness. A theological seminary or medical school where freedom of instruction and learning is not regnant cannot become a proper part of a genuine university; it must remain of the nature of a sectional, or monastic and ecclesiastical, school.

It is chiefly because the German universities most worthily realize the ideal of the highest free and scientific culture that they are confessedly superior to all others,—confessedly, on the part of the most thoughtful and well-informed educators under rival systems. "The danger of France," says M. Renan of its university, "consists in this: we are becoming a nation of brilliant lecturers and fine writers." "It is," says Professor Pattison, of England, "as if our universities were destined only to teach in perfection the art of writing leading articles." No one, however, would for a moment think of implying what is involved in remarks like these with reference to the poorest German university; for every university in Germany, by its theory and custom alike, undertakes worthily to realize this admirable ideal.

Supposing that those upon whom falls the task of developing the American university have grasped the right conception, the actual attainment of the ideal will inevitably encounter many difficulties. They have certain problems before them which are embodied in hard matter-of-fact. No amount


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 Once he came to a lawyer’s office, and there they wished to put him off with a paper scrawled over with pot-hooks, telling him to come another day. “And, pray, why should I come another day when I am here to-day”, answered Bartos testily. “What is that?” said the official. “That I will not stir hence until my business is transacted.” The official shouted to a clerk. Just as he had uttered the words Bartos stepped up to the table behind which sat the official, and said tartly, “A clerk on me! Here I am if you want me. Then he struck the official’s table such a blow with his stick that it set all the pens and pencils skipping, and shouted, “Am I then come to look for justice at some booby’s office!” Hereupon all the official staff rushed in pell-mell, but as soon as they saw Bartos they whispered something to their chief, whom the affair had compromised, and in five minutes Bartos’s business was transacted. It is to be understood that now none of the clerks were forthcoming, and if they had come it would have been just the same.

If some of my readers think these answers and sayings of Bartos somewhat rough and boorish, I cannot help it. But still I say that he only paid folks in their own coin, and that he only paid them out in this manner when they as good as braved him to do so. But if the brutalities and all the insulting expressions were noted down, which in previous times (every one knows how long ago I mean) the officials permitted themselves to use towards the people, a pretty large column might be compiled. Also it came to pass sometimes that the neighbours grumbled in the presence of Bartos about the brutal behaviour of the officials. “It is a curious thing,” said Bartos, “I have had no fault to find with them now for a long time.”

Once he came to an office and the official was smoking. Bartos also drew out a well-filled pipe and lighted it. “Do you think you are in the servants’ hall?” objected the official. “Yes,” answered Bartos, “here is smoke as if from a lot of stable-boys”, and they passed it over.

In other respects Bartos was, as we have said, intrinsically good-hearted, and even not without humour. About a hundred paces from the burial-ground stood several pear-trees which belonged to the neighbours of Frishets, but they allowed Bartos to take the fruit in requital for his various services, so that Bartos might say the pears were his. Once, on a Sunday afternoon, thinking that Bartos was not at home, two lads climbed into the pear-tree and shook off the fruit into bags. But, as it fell out,


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 of fine writing or generous planning will do away with the necessity of encountering these problems one by one, and of giving them a progressively better and better practical solution. The whole condition of education in this country, as it stands in the minds of the people and in the existing educational institutions, from highest to lowest, is concerned in the development of the university. I shall treat of only two of these problems. But these two are perhaps the most difficult, and they are so closely related to each other as to constitute in some respects one and the same problem. They are, the present condition and future development of the secondary education of the country, and the constitution and fate of the American college.

No one would contend that the secondary education in this country is in a satisfactory condition. It is undoubtedly lacking in thoroughness, in balance, in organic unity, and progressive character. By the "secondary" education I now mean such education, in addition to that primary education required of every one by the State, as the university must require for admission to its privileges. But—as has already been pointed out—the whole circuit of secondary education is at present, in this country, divided into two sections, one of which lies in courses preparatory for college or for the highest-class scientific school, and the other in the curriculum of the college or of the scientific school.


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 Bartos approached. The lad who saw him first jumped down and cried out to the other to make haste for Bartos was coming. But the other one dawdled. Just as he was about to spring down Bartos ran under him, caught him by the collar, so that the lad found himself treading the air with both feet. While continually threatening him with the whip, his captor only said, “I’ll teach thee to dawdle another time”, and then he let the lad go scot-free.

Just as people told stories about Bartos as the country Hercules so also they had to tell about him in his character of sexton. More than once they had seen him weep while he dug a grave, and more than once they heard him hold mysterious communication above an open grave. More than once they had seen him sitting on a grave as though he were holding intercourse with the dead. But not perhaps with this or that dead man, but with all whom he had known.

He used to visit them in succession or according as he missed them, and felt sorry for them. “I must go to Klimoff,” he would. say, “just now I feel so sorry for him.” And then he reminded Klimoff of all sorts of things—where he had walked with him, where they used to ramble together, when they had gone to hear the band play, and so forth. When this recapitulation was quite at an end, he would say, “And now it is your turn, Klimoff, to tell me how you get on down there.” After this he listened for a moment, and when no reply came, he made as though he had heard an answer, and said, “Ah! yes, that is just what I thought. How curious! Ah! ha! so it is like that down there. Ah! well! how different it must be when it is like that”, and so forth.

He had a very special set of reflections when after seven summers some one’s turn came to be exhumed. When he had delved down to the coffin, he rapped on the lid, and shouted, “Are you there, Vaclav!” After this he answered himself for the dead man, “I am.” “Come then, creep out”, he said again for himself; then with the greatest care he raised the lid of the coffin and, beholding the corpse which looked as if swathed in spider’s webs, he said, “And pretty dainties thou dost get down there! What a figure thou art! Thy own children would not recognize thee if ever they were to meet thee! And not to have a rag on! Shocking! Pray, when did you comb yourself? And what is the fashion your head-gear follows? Nowadays we never wear it thus. To think of combing it thus.” And so on. Then again he ran through the dead man’s past life with him, and


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 This latter section is supposed to constitute the "higher" or highest education. Neither of these two sections of what, in its entirety, virtually represents the secondary education of the country—the education which must be required in preparation for the university—is in a satisfactory condition.

No one who is acquainted with the subject would think of claiming that (with a few exceptions) the high-schools and academies and other places for fitting youth for college are doing their work in a satisfactory way. This fact, however, is by no means wholly due to fault or deficiency on their part; indeed, education is so much of an organic unity that, if any of the stages or elements of it be defective, the deficiency is felt throughout all the subsequent growth of the entire organism. The secondary education is so unsatisfactory partly because of the condition of that primary education on which the secondary must be built. For, here again, no one acquainted with the subject would think of claiming that the public and private schools which start the process of education are in anything like a satisfactory condition. Probably the average public school of the primary grade is, on the whole, more effective than the average private school of the same grade. But what is the condition of the public schools of the primary grade in this country? To speak the truth plainly,


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 here it pretty often came to pass that Bartos wept; just as if he had only then laid the corpse in the grave. Generally this exhumation concluded thus, “It is not well with thee down there; they have patched thee together but poorly. Alas! I fear thou wilt not hold together much longer.” After this he touched the corpse, which thereupon fell to pieces into bones and a few Iclods of earth.

This man, just as he was compassionate towards the dead, was yet a hundred times more so towards the living. There was no grief for which he did not feel compassion, there was no misfortune which ever failed to touch his heart. But it was not perhaps the spurious compassion which is assumed to win general admiration; rather was it the compassion which, if possible without parade and bustle, is succeeded by compassionate deeds.

Once they brought a coffin to the burial-ground slovenly nailed together. No one followed it to the grave save one little girl three years of age. In the coffin lay a kind of a servant-girl—they called her Katchka. She was an illegitimate child, and the little girl who followed her to the grave was also illegitimate. How could any honest soul come to such a funeral?

For the nonce, Bartos had to play the priest. He repeated a few prayers over the grave, and when the little one wept over the coffin, he said, “Sprinkle it, little one, sprinkle it: maminka will sleep the lighter; for the tears of a child are the fairest waters of purification.” When he wished to lower the coffin into the grave he saw that there was to help him only one servant who had driven the dead Katchka in an open-ribbed wagon. “Is there no one here but thee?” inquired Bartos angrily.

“And who, then, would come to the funeral of such a ”, said the servant, and leered in a very saucy manner.

After this Bartos was silent, and filled in the grave over the corpse. When the grave was filled in, the little girl plaintively lamented that she had no one to go to, and that no one wanted her in the village.

“And why does no one want her”, asked Bartos of the servant.

“And who, then, would trouble his head about her, about such a”, said the servant again, and once more leered in the same saucy way.

“What dost thou mean by ‘such a one', thou boor!” retorted Bartos on the servant. “Did any other than He who created thee, create her? Wilt thou make thyself her judge, because she came


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 they are in many cases too much managed by political powers that have no kind of fitness for the work, and the instruction is too much given by immature girls who have themselves received no thorough education and who, far too frequently, teach only as a makeshift until they can secure release by way of marriage.

How, then, can the best and truly progressive secondary education be built upon a foundation laid by such hands under such circumstances? Substantially the same things are true, however, of a considerable part of the secondary education itself; only in this case the managing political powers come into contact with certain subjects which strike them with somewhat of the mysterious awe which belongs to all unknown subjects, and with a few teachers who make themselves felt as strong and thoroughly educated persons alone can. But, even in those subjects which are more especially selected as the knowledges and disciplines whose acquaintance must be made in a generous way before the youth can be ready for the freer and higher scientific culture of the university, the few really fit teachers must spend much of their time in teaching the pupil what he should have been taught long ago, but has not learned, and in helping him to unlearn a large part of what he has been taught. How can such a secondary education compare for a moment with that


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 given by teachers every one of whom has had a thorough education, and arranged in courses intelligently selected and organically united by the highest learning and skill?

The other section of the secondary education of the country—viz., that which lies within the curriculum of the college, or the highest-class scientific school—is also as truly, if not as largely and obviously, in an unsatisfactory condition. The best fitting-schools, whether academies or highschools, are not infrequently better off, with respect to the character of their teachers, pupils, courses of study, and means for handling their courses, than are the greater part of our so-called colleges. Still, almost all the colleges are constantly making important changes for the better. No doubt the colleges of the first rank are, considering the material from which their pupils must be made, on account of the unsatisfactory condition of the early part of the secondary education, doing excellent work. I think it would not be extravagant to say that the American colleges are now giving to the average pupil a more thorough education than is bestowed upon any but their honor-men by any of the universities of Great Britain. But these colleges, too, are prevented, by certain conditions which lie partly within and partly outside of themselves, from doing the best work in the way of continuing the secondary education. Accordingly,


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 into the world thus and not otherwise? Thou knowest, forsooth, who is such a one, and who is not such a one.”

And then he gave the servant a trifle to salve his wounded pride. “Well, they all say it”, observed the servant apologetically. “All such boors as thou”, retorted Bartos. And then he turned toward the little girl, and inquired what they called her.

“Staza”, said the little damsel.

“You shall never go with him again, little Staza”, said Bartos, and took her by the hand. “You shall stay here with me and maminka. Would you like?”

“I should like.”

And from that day forth Bartos adopted little Staza as his own.

She had been with him six years and called him “tatinkatatínek [sic]”, and so she was nine years old when Loyka’s Frank brought the measure to Bartos, in order that by it Bartos might delve the grandfather’s grave.

T was a dreary mission for Frank to carry to the cemetery the measure for his grandfather’s grave. Hitherto he had not in the least realized that it was a burial-ground. He had been there when somebody was being interred, when they sang hymns to him, prayed above his coffin, and wept for him. But what effect have all such ceremonies upon a mere child? Issuing from the burial-ground he sees the laughing green fields, the flowery hedgerows, he sees the weasels run along the hedgerows, and forthwith yon grim cemetery is forgotten, and is no longer the truth.

But now he was carrying thither the measure for his grandfather’s grave. So, then, after all it was the truth. And then he saw how the crosses glowered above the wall into the surrounding district, how in the centre rose the red cross into the air, and on it the white-iron figure of the Christus; he saw, too, where dwelt the grave-digger and where was the bone-house-so, then, all that world of greenery around him was no longer true, only the cemetery spoke to him. Its speech was like the speech of some direful ogre; Frank scarcely understood the words, and was filled with a kind of vague horror at which the heart within him died away and his throat was half-choked with sobs.


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 the best approach to a true university education which they can make at present is by way of offering certain elective courses as a part of the later years of the college curriculum, and by inducing a few pupils to gather for the purpose of pursuing so-called "post-graduate" courses. But in many cases (at least, with the exception of three or four institutions) these graduate (better so called than "post-graduate") courses are without satisfactory beginning or ending.

It is obvious, then, that the progressive reorganization of our secondary education—a subject full of many difficult practical problems—is an indispensable prerequisite or, rather, accompaniment of the development of the university. But since part of this education now lies, and for a long time to come must lie, within the college curriculum, the reorganization of the secondary education is connected with the fate of the college itself.

I will now briefly indicate the lines along which the work of reorganization should proceed. The entire secondary education should, as far as possible, be made into a connected and organic whole; and the aim should be to have it finished at the end of what is now sophomore year in the colleges of the first rank, or at the end of the entire required curriculum of the scientific schools of the first rank. It should be arranged in two great courses, both of which should be, in respect of all their


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 During the long period amounting to nearly three hundred years which elapsed between the downfall of the Hôjô family in 1334, and the final establishment of the Tokugawa family as de facto rulers of Japan after the death of Hideyoshi (Taicosama) in the end of the 16th century, Japan had been the scene of constant civil wars and rebellions. The Ashikaga family, which established itself at Kiôto with a branch in the Kuantô, was utterly unable to control its unruly vassals, and the capital of the Mikado was frequently delivered up to fire and sword. In 1467 and during the six following years, it became the battle-field of the rival retainers of the Ashikaga family, and the greater part of the city was twice burnt to the ground. The loss to Japanese literature by the destruction of books is said to have been immense. Apart from the immediate effects of civil war, learning must necessarily have decayed during a period when the profession of the soldier was the only honourable calling, and every man was obliged to be constantly under arms for defence or attack. Nobunaga, it is true, restored peace at the capital and in the surrounding provinces, but civil wars still went on in the more remote parts of the country, and he had to be perpetually in the field against rival chiefs. Hideyoshi, who succeeded him as the chief military leader, did much to facilitate the pacification of the Empire. He broke the power of the Môri family, conquered the turbulent daimiôs of Kiushiu, annihilated the Odawara Hôjô who ruled over the Kuantô, and then despatched his warriors to fight and die in Corea.

The fruits of these efforts were reaped by Iyeyasu, whose power was virtually rendered absolute by the victory of Sekigahara, and who became Shôgun in 1603. During the remainder of his life, with the exception of the two short campaigns against Hideyori’s partizans in 1614 and 1615, he lived tranquilly at Sumpu in Suruga, the modern Shidzuoka. His chief pursuit seems to have been the collection of old manuscripts, and it is chiefly owing to his exertions that what remains of the ancient literature has been preserved. The Sumpuki, quoted by

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 studies—what, how much, and what order—carefully prescribed. Both of these great courses should include all the four kinds of knowledges and disciplines which are considered as indispensable parts of a liberal education, and as necessary preparation for the range and freedom of university studies. But these knowledges and disciplines should be taught in different proportions by the two courses. The course which leans toward, or places the emphasis upon, language and the humanities should comprise no less of mathematics, and even more of the physical and natural sciences, than it now contains. It should comprise more, not less, of the classical languages, of both Latin and Greek, and of the literature and antiquities which belong to these languages. But these languages should be taught very differently from either that petty but strict way or that pretentious but loose way which have too much predominated hitherto.

The other one of the two great courses in this bifurcated secondary education should place the emphasis upon mathematics and the physical and natural sciences. As a condition of entering the higher scientific school there should be required no less of mathematics and the natural sciences than is now required, but there should also be required much more knowledge of literature and of at least one of the classical languages. The thorough study


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 of at least one of the classical languages should be an indispensable prerequisite of beginning the university education, because the study of language and literature is an indispensable requirement of beginning such education; and no other languages than Latin and Greek offer anything like the same advantages for the study of language as the medium of the spirit, and for the study of the spirit that moves in such written language as has escaped the envy of time.

It should not be objected to this plan that it will necessarily postpone too long the time at which the secondary education may be finished. For, given men of the highest cultivation to arrange and to teach the studies of the earlier portion of the secondary cultivation, and there will be no difficulty whatever in bringing youth, at the average age of seventeen, to the point where the college or scientific school now receives them. This is none too early for a boy to be as far advanced and as well trained as our students now are at the close of freshman year in the institutions of the highest rank. At least two years within college, and at least three years in the scientific school, will be required for a long time to come in order worthily to complete the secondary education. The aim and method of these years should be precisely the same as the aim and method of the preceding part of the secondary education; the studies, also, should be largely the same.


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 Into both of these great courses, whose primary aim is to teach the pupil to know himself and the world by enforcing "the general training and invigoration of the mind," there must enter at some time the other two of the four kinds of knowledge and discipline which compose a liberal education. These are, the knowledge of the individual human mind, and the knowledge of the development of the race in history. The former should include the subjects of logic, psychology, and ethics; the latter should comprise an outline sketch of general history and a more special study of one or more epochs or nations, in order that the pupil may have some real experience of the spirit and method of genuine historical study. Both courses of the secondary grade should include these subjects, though possibly in different proportions. With the right arrangement and better teaching of the entire secondary education, there would be no insuperable difficulty in accomplishing at the average age of nineteen or twenty all that I have indicated as necessary in preparation for the university education. Indeed, the pupil thus trained should be quite as well fitted for that freedom in research and learning which is the way to the highest scientific culture as the average graduate, at present, of our best scientific schools and colleges.

During all these years of secondary training no pretence should be encouraged in the pupil that he


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 is accumulating new and rare knowledge. Both teacher and pupil should understand that the latter is under the former as his pœdagogus, to lead him to the higher freedom which is coming. Any attempt prematurely to introduce the methods of the university education, or to lower the standard of the education preparatory to it, will be prejudicial to the development of the true ideal of the university. For example, to lower the standard of minimum requirement for admission to college will have the effect of degrading the high-schools and academies which now fit youth for college, and of either diminishing the whole amount of the secondary education or crowding more of it into the college curriculum. It will doubtless, also, increase the inefficiency and carelessness of both pupils and teachers in reaching even this lowered standard. The similar attempt at Oxford resulted so that, in 1868, Mr. O. Ogle wrote to the vice-chancellor: "The standard has been sensibly lowered, and the proportion of plucks has sensibly increased." Moreover, to convert the college into an imitation of the university—especially in its earlier years, when its pupils and instruction are not, and cannot be of the university order—will secure only the temporary satisfaction which the bestowal of titles sometimes brings; it will postpone rather than hasten the realization of a worthy ideal.

The second difficult practical problem which


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 must be solved in order to the development of the American university is the fate of the American college. How this problem must be solved has already in part been indicated. Such of the education now required by the college as can justify its claims to be required at all in preparation for the advanced and free scientific culture of the university must be retained as a prescribed part of the secondary education. Such of the college curriculum as is now modelled after the university idea must be withdrawn from this curriculum, remodelled, and united with the so-called "post-graduate" courses; and the whole thus formed must be enlarged and raised to the standard of this idea. It will at once be objected that this plan will divide and alter the present constitution of the American college. I reply, precisely so; this is what must come to pass in the development of the university. But letit be observed that the destined passing away of the present constitution of the American college in no respect detracts from its past services or alters the propriety of adhering closely to its best elements in their present combination until the better arrangement of both our secondary and our higher education can be secured. Nor is a change of the present constitution of the college equivalent to an abandonment of the idea of college education.

There can be no doubt that the curriculum of


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 the American college is to-day in a condition of exceedingly unstable equilibrium. Such a condition is by no means wholly due to intelligent objections to this curriculum; but neither is it due to wholly irrational objections. The amount and kind of studies now required by this institution can by no means be clearly justified. The permission to elect, with respect to the amount and kind of studies to which it applies, is plainly given in many cases as a matter of accident or of temporary convenience rather than as a conclusion based on reason and experience. The result is that the present position of the curriculum of the American college is anomalous; and the higher the grade of the college whose curriculum we examine, the more anomalous is its character. Such a condition cannot be regarded as anything better than the best temporary expedient,—a creditable makeshift devised in the effort to advance, but not to advance too fast or in the wrong direction. Inevitably, those institutions which have admitted most of the university principle into their college courses have obtained the largest mixture of the secondary and the truly higher education.

At the same time that a variety of elective courses has been introduced into the college curriculum of our institutions of the first rank, the same institutions have been making the effort to develop a true university education outside of and farther up than


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 The reverend gentleman was interrupted by a messenger, who informed him that the Charity Commissioners requested his presence at the inn, where they were holding a sitting.

"The Charity Commissioners!" exclaimed the reverend gentleman, "who on earth are they?"

The messenger could not inform him, and the reverend gentleman took his hat and stick, and proceeded to the inn.

On entering the best parlour, he saw three well-dressed and bulky gentlemen sitting at a table, and a fourth officiating as clerk, with an open book before him, and a pen in his hand. The churchwardens, who had been also summoned, were already in attendance.

The chief commissioner politely requested the Reverend Doctor Folliott to be seated, and


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 the college curriculum. In other words, they have instituted graduate courses open only to those who have the requisite amount of secondary education. The development of these graduate courses has encountered several almost insuperable obstacles. The most hard and obstinate of these obstacles are the following: the prevalent low esteem of the highest truly scientific culture; the excessive estimate of what is called "practical" in education—of bread-and-butter studies (Brodstudien); the poor condition of the secondary education, and so the impossibility of offering the best to even the graduates of most of our colleges; the impatience of our American youth and of their guardians, that is quite opposed to that quiet continuous growth which the noblest learning and mental discipline must undergo, etc.

It appears that those colleges which have found themselves in condition to enlarge greatly the university part of the college curriculum are, as a rule, the ones which have also done most to provide graduate instruction. But thus far even these institutions have been obliged to leave the two halves, as it were, of a possible university instruction, separated by the graduation from all study of most of their pupils at the close of the college senior year. These institutions must as rapidly and completely as possible unite the two thus far separate halves into a unity of the university


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 kind; for it is to these institutions that the country should look for the development of the genuine university.

The methods by which the accomplishment of this combination of the post- and the ante-graduate elements of the university shall be brought about cannot, of course, be described speculatively in detail; but some hints concerning them, and concerning their probable working, are clearly in place here. I wish, in the first place, then, to call attention again to the inseparable connection which exists between the development of the secondary education, both within and without the college curriculum, and the management of that curriculum so as to develop the university education. And now let us suppose that the earlier part of the secondary education has been rearranged and thoroughly well taught; it will thus become perfectly feasible to put into the last two years of this secondary education—the two years corresponding to the freshman and sophomore in our colleges of the first rank—all the required work in physics and natural science, in history and literature, in logic, psychology, and ethics, which constitutes the staple of the instruction at present given in the junior and senior years of the college curriculum. Let the first five or six years of the secondary education be well arranged and well taught, upon the basis of a sound primary education, and let the last two or three


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 years of this education comprise subjects now reasonably required in our college curriculum, and let these last years be organically connected with the preceding five or six years, and then it will be perfectly feasible to prepare the average American youth at nineteen or twenty for beginning a true university education. Indeed, let the secondary education be properly reformed and duly elevated, and then the youth who has well accomplished it will be better fitted to enter upon a university education than is, at present, the average youth of twenty-two who has just graduated from a, first-class American college. And the youth of twenty, thus well educated in the secondary stage, will be more likely to desire to have a university education. If he sees before him the offer of three or four more years of training and research, in subjects and under teachers that he may select with perfect freedom, he will probably wish to accept that offer. If he or his guardians have wealth or a competency, he and they will certainly be more ready to spend the money as well as the time upon his higher education, when 1t becomes clearer in this country what the best scientific culture means for the individual and for society. If he and his friends be poor, he will be more likely to be willing to struggle hard and to deny himself, somewhat as large numbers of German students do, in order to enjoy this highest


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 culture. The choicest and most promising of these youths thus engaged in a university education may also be expected to do creditable original work, and thus enrich the scientific knowledge and literature of the country; and to institute valuable courses of instruction, and thus enrich the teaching of the university. And, in my judgment, it will be far worthier and more profitable for the country to raise at first a few, and then a larger and larger number, by the steps of a thorough, enforced secondary education, to the level of a genuine university culture than to bring the name of university culture to the level of those who are really only low down in the secondary stage of education.

This department of more general philosophical and scientific studies, to which the educated youth of twenty is invited, should be placed parallel with the courses in the professional schools in order to form the whole circuit of university education. Such relations should be instituted and maintained between it and the more strictly professional schools of the university as that each shall assist and enrich the other. In this way, on the basis of a secondary education attained at the close of what corresponds to the present sophomore year, the young man in the advanced academical courses should have the privilege, not only of selecting such of these courses as are most nearly akin to


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 his future professional life, but also of beginning the professional courses themselves. The young man in the professional school should also have the opportunity of enlarging the scope of his professional studies by free access to all the more strictly academical, the philosophical and scientific, courses.

But the question must be answered: What of the youth who has chosen to gratify his supposed aptitude for the knowledges and disciplines that deal with external nature, and who has therefore chosen the other one of the two courses into which the secondary education was supposed to become bifurcated? Is he to meet in the university courses on an equality his fellow-student who has gone by the other path and passed through the college curriculum? Yes; but only in case he and his teachers have complied with certain conditions. In other words, the secondary education now given by the scientific courses in the highschools and academies, and by the succeeding courses in the scientific schools of the first rank, like those connected with Yale and Harvard universities, must enlarge and strengthen and amend its curriculum in order to fit its graduates for a true university education. It must enlarge and strengthen itself by requiring of its pupils much more of literary, linguistic, historical, and philosophical study, without diminishing at all its


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 in mathematics and in the physical and natural sciences. It must amend the spirit of its instruction by putting away all contempt for classical and historical and philosophical learning, and all that pride which leads men to refuse the name of "science" to any knowledge but their own. Here, again, it appears that the problem of the development of the university in this country is largely the problem of securing a satisfactory secondary education.

Finally, it is plain that the development of the university in this country involves a marked and permanent differentiation into two classes of the higher educational institutions now in existence. The vast majority of the "colleges," so called, in this country should be content to remain colleges—that is, places which make no pretence to carry men beyond such secondary education as is preparatory to a genuine university education. To improve the secondary education which they impart, and to make it somewhat worthy of the idea connected in the minds of our people with the word "collegiate," may well satisfy their highest ambition. On the other hand, there can be no doubt that the great majority of the institutions now called "universities" should renounce both the name and the pretence of the thing. Only those few institutions that have already acquired large resources of famous men and established


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 courses and equipment for the highest instruction, and that can hope to draw from their own and from other colleges a sufficient constituency of pupils already trained in a thorough secondary education, should strive to develop themselves into universities. Large means for scientific research—libraries, museums, observatories, etc.—are indispensable for this development. A complement of professional schools, with their faculties, is also, if not indispensable, at least highly important. I venture to assert that not more than a half-dozen (?) universities should be developed in the entire country during the next generation, and that no new institutions to bear that name should, on any grounds whatever, be founded.

It is within lines such as I have drawn above, and by keeping in view the right high ideal while also grasping with a firm hand the hard practical conditions and limitations of the ideal, that the American university should be developed. All the details no man need undertake to arrange beforehand with authority. But every effort may guard against certain errors. And on this point let us recall the significant saying of Lotze: "There are no errors which take such firm hold of men's minds as those in which inexactness of thought and lofty feeling combine to produce a condition of enthusiastic exaltation."


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can be no doubt that the present generation is experiencing a marked disturbance of opinion and practice in the matter of education. Other periods of sharp and sudden revolutionary action have occurred in this, as in all human affairs. But the reasons for the marked character of the present disturbance are not difficult of statement. We must indeed recognize a current wide-spreading dissatisfaction with everything belonging to the existing order, which, since its sources are somewhat hidden, we may attribute to the Zeitgeist—the inexplicable or unexplained mental drift of the age. But the enormous recent growths of all the sciences, the strong practical tendencies which urge the cry for what bears visible fruit in education, and the extremely varied interests represented in modern culture, are the more obvious causes of the prevalent disturbance.

Thus far it has been the schools of the higher and the highest learning which have chiefly felt the pressure of the oncoming of the so-called "new


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66

And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk,

To still my beating mind.

Pro. Come with a thought!—I thank thee, Ariel: come!

Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure?

Pro. Spirit,

We must prepare to meet with Caliban.

Ari. Ay, my commander; when I presented Ceres,

I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd

Lest I might anger thee.

Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these

varlets?

Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;

So full of velour that they smote the air

For breathing in their faces; beat the ground

For kissing of their feet; yet always bending

Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor;

At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears,

Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses

As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears

That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd through

Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns,

Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them

I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,

There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake

 164 with a thought: quick as thought

167 presented: impersonated

180 goss: gorse

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54 education." Under this pressure these schools have largely changed the nature, increased the amount, and developed in variety the studies of their curricula. But the signs are only too plainly manifest that similar demands will be made upon the schools which lie lower down in the stratum of the secondary education.

Indeed, as it seems to me, upon no other stage of education is the burden of making all things "new" destined to fall more heavily than upon the fitting-schools of the country. By "fitting-schools" I mean such as fit pupils for the colleges and first-class scientific schools; and any educational institution or more private enterprise, in so far as it undertakes such preparatory work, is entitled to be called by this name. The intermediate position which every such school is, by its very nature, compelled to occupy cannot fail to confront it in the near future with a number of most serious problems. Back of the fitting-school, or rather at its base, lies the primary education, with all its many flaws, accumulated follies, and marked deficiencies. In this earlier stage we can expect little yielding to the pressure of the new ideas of compass, variety, and choice in education. The limits of change possible in such matters for the primary schools of the country will remain comparatively small. No variety of elective courses, and very little attempt at increased breadth, can


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 enter here. Whatever improvement is made at this stage must simply be in the way of securing more thorough and genial training of the child in the few subjects with which all education begins, and which every pupil is alike required to know. These schools, then, may be spoken of as the nether-stones of our mill of education; they will stand immovable on the lower side of the instruction of the preparatory schools. Or, to change the figure of speech, they will entail upon the preparatory schools all the deficiencies, follies, and weaknesses, of which they are themselves seized.

I have just spoken of the primary schools, with their imperfect but very stable work of laying the foundations of a common education, as the nether mill-stone on which the fitting-schools have to lie. But on the other side are the colleges and higher scientific schools; these have for years been steadily increasing the gross amount of their demands upon the fitting-schools, and now, under the influence of the new ideas of education, they seem likely to impose yet heavier burdens by a corresponding increase in the variety of these demands. The higher institutions may, then, not inaptly, be compared to the upper mill-stone in the educational mill What is to prevent the preparatory schools from being ground fine between the nether and the upper stones? And yet between the two is the natural and only place for these schools.


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1911] would be well—therefore at midnight, when poor ‘Bones’ had continued in pain for twelve hours and showed little sign of improvement, I felt my fleeting sense of security rudely shattered.

It was shortly after midnight when I was told that the animal seemed a little easier. At 2.30 I was again in the stable and found the improvement had been maintained; the horse still lay on its side with outstretched head, but the spasms had ceased, its eye looked less distressed, and its ears pricked to occasional noises. As I stood looking it suddenly raised its head and rose without effort to its legs; then in a moment, as though some bad dream had passed, it began to nose at some hay and at its neighbour. Within three minutes it had drunk a bucket of water and had started to feed.

I went to bed at 3 with much relief. At noon to-day the immediate cause of the trouble and an indication that there is still risk were disclosed in a small ball of semi-fermented hay covered with mucus and containing tape worms; so far not very serious, but unfortunately attached to this mass was a strip of the lining of the intestine.

Atkinson, from a humanly comparative point of view, does not think this is serious if great care is taken with the food for a week or so, and so one can hope for the best.

Meanwhile we have had much discussion as to the first cause of the difficulty. The circumstances possibly contributing are as follows: fermentation of the hay, insufficiency of water, overheated stable, a chill from exercise after the gale—I think all these may have had a


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 Their difficulty is also greatly increased by the fact that they can scarcely hold most of their pupils long enough to do a thoroughly good work with them. The fact that the pupils come crude and unformed to such schools, even in all matters of the most elementary training, is coupled with the greatest haste on the part of the same pupils to pass through the intermediate stage of education, into the freer, larger, and more varied intellectual (and social and athletic) activity of the college.

And now let us consider separately each one of the three kinds into which the general grade of schools called "preparatory" may he divided. The case of the public high-school as a fitting-school is, under the present circumstances, exceedingly peculiar. Indeed, the very existence in the future of the public high-school in this country, not only as a fitting-school, but also in any shape whatever, cannot be predicted with much confidence. But at present the attitude and relations of the different schools of this grade toward the colleges vary greatly. In a few public schools the preparation given for college or for the scientific school is as good as can be obtained anywhere; in a somewhat larger number the influences are on the whole in favor of a truly liberal education. But in a very large and, I fear, increasing number of cases, especially in the West, the influence of


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 Rh

by me of another dreadful Earthquake which happened afterwards in this Island in the Philosophical Transactions, Numb. 209. p.77.

Thunder is here almost every day in the Mountains, with the Rains there, so that any person in the Plains may hear it, as well as see the Rain. It does not so ordinarily accompany those Rains that come from the Sea, although when it does 'tis very violent, and has, on the several substances it meets with, either animate or inanimate, the same effects as follow Thunder in Europe.

Lightning for the most part precedes Thunder in this Island, as elsewhere: and if it be fair Weather, especially in the hottest Seasons, it lightens almost all the night over, first in one part of the Sky or Horizon, out of some Clouds, and then out of others opposite to them, as it were answering one another, as it happens often in the Summer in England, &c. and gives occasion to people of fancy to foretel strange Wars, &c. when they please, making these Apparitions in the Air, Soldiers in Battalia, &c.

Falling Stars are here as common as elsewhere.

If the Seasons of the year be to be counted from the Spring of Vegetables, the Spring will be after every Season or great Rain, every thing then springing up after much Rain, so that during the time of such Rains is reckoned the Winter time. But they ought rather to follow the nearness or distance of the Sun, and so they will have the same time for the Seasons as in Europe; and indeed although the visible effects are not so plain, having the Sun when most distant so near them; yet that those times are more to be counted so than any others, is plain from this, that in the months of November, December and January, the time of the Suns greatest Southern distance from them, a great many Trees shed their Leaves, although they are destitute of them, neither all at a time, nor for many weeks, the warm Sun, even then, when farthest off, cloathing them speedily with new Garments. In the months of February, March or April, is the best time for planting Yams or Perennial Beans, they then, viz. in the Spring, taking better Root, and thriving more than at other times. Besides the Dog-days, or the time near them, are, as other where, very infamous for their sultry heat.

Their Agriculture is but very small, their Soil being as yet so fruitful as not to need manuring or dunging their Land, although they begin to lay by their Dung for future use, they seeing by the example of their Neighbours in Barbados, that they may need it. And even they themselves here have in some places fail'd of Sugar-works, as near the Angels, where the ground had been cultivated or manur'd before their coming to the Island. It was, and is among several, the custom to burn their Trash, which is the Marc or re-


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 the public schools is decidedly adverse to a truly liberal education. In some places the teachers of the public schools constitute as a body a kind of organized monopoly, secretly or actively employed in keeping out of all vacated positions every college-bred man, and exercising all possible influence to depreciate a college education. I have personally been cognizant of a system of public education, inaugurated in a large city, where, in the higher grade of instruction the pupils were taught at the public expense to dissect cats, to accept in toto Bain's psychology, and to despise the Christian religion; but not one of them could learn a word of Greek without the expense of a private tutor.

With the present uncertainty touching the ultimate fate of the high-school before my mind, I have only two remarks to make upon its use as a fitting-school. First: The tax-payers and voters are not likely to consent much further to multiply the variety of optional courses to be taught in the high-schools at the public expense. Second: If they are not forced by political influences greatly to restrict the amount and variety of instruction which they at present aim to impart, the high-schools of the better quality in the larger places will probably see the propriety of continuing instruction in the classical languages.

In speaking of the public high-school as a fitting-school, it is not necessary to espouse either of two


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 Hirata, mentions a large number of works brought to him from various parts of the country, some from Kiôto, and and [sic] others from Kamakura, and a few from the monastery of Minobu San in Kôshiu. Before his death he gave directions that the library of Japanese and Chinese books which he had formed at Sumpu should be divided between his eighth son, the prince of Owari, and his ninth son, the prince of Kishiu. The former received the greater part of the Japanese books, the latter the Chinese books. Under the direction of the prince of Owari were composed the Jiugihôten and Ruijin Nihongi. One of Iyéyasu’s grandsons, the famous second Prince of Mito (1622-1700), known variously as Mito no Kômon sama, and Mito no Gikô (Mitsukuni was his nanori), also collected a vast library by purchasing old books from Shintô and Buddhist temples and from the people. With the aid of a number of scholars, amongst whom tradition says were several learned Chinese who had fled to Japan to escape from the tyranny of the Manchu conquerors, he composed the Dainihonshi, or History of Great Japan, in two hundred and forty books. This book is the standard history of Japan to this day, and all subsequent writers on the same subject have taken it as their guide. He also compiled a work on the ceremonies of the Imperial Court, consisting of more than five hundred volumes, to which the Mikado condescended to give the title of Reigi ruiten. To defray the cost of producing these two magnificent works the Prince of Mito set aside at least 30,000 koku of rice per annum (some accounts say 50,000, others 70,000 koku).

While the study of ancient history thus received powerful impulse from men of high position, there manifested itself in amongst the lower ranks an equal desire to cultivate the native literature. Two of the earliest who turned their attention to this subject were the Buddhist priest Keichiu and the Shintô priest Kada no Adsumamaro.

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 tenable theories as to the basis on which our system of public education rests. If this system rests solely on the principle of self-preservation, one must hold that the high-schools of the country, as at present constituted, have no right to existence whatever. It may be argued that the preservation of the state requires that every citizen should have an elementary education; but it cannot be shown that to impart a little algebra, and a little chemistry, and a little music, and a little drawing, etc., is a measure of public safety.

But suppose one to hold (as I have little hesitation in holding) that states, like noble individuals, and like God himself, should not be satisfied with doing what is necessary to the bare preservation of existence. Let our theory be, that states, in the long run and wide extent of their being, should strive by collective action to nurture intelligence, intellectual variety, and beauty of multiform and high development, in as many as may be of their citizens. This they should do, both because it pays and because it is intrinsically noble. Let the theory of public education be a generous paternal theory. But even with this theory the work of expensive specialization of education at the public cost cannot be carried beyond a certain limit. That limit, it is the opinion of most thoughtful and observing persons, has been already reached, and perhaps passed. Still, it is my contention that


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 if the generous theory is to triumph, and the highly specialized high-school is to stay, no other of its courses have any better right to remain than those in the classical languages. There is no good reason why a high-school should teach its pupils to dissect cats, to accept Bain's or any other psychology, to read music and draw a little, etc., and at the same time banish Greek and Latin from its curriculum.

The case of the largest and best-equipped academies needs, in the prospect of largely increased demands that they shall furnish a more extended and varied preparation for college, scarcely any detailed consideration. Such schools will probably in time succeed in meeting well whatsoever demands are made upon them. If it should become necessary, they may perhaps develop into miniature colleges with curricula composed of several score of different courses, among which the youths who frequent them, of ages from twelve to eighteen, may exercise their option. That they would in this way really lay more satisfactorily the foundations of a truly liberal education, or even of one likely to fit men for success in the different businesses and professions, I cannot believe. And surely the burden of meeting these new demands would be very great,—too great for more than a very few of the more fortunate fitting-schools to succeed in carrying it.


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 The case of those more private enterprises which have hitherto furnished some of the best candidates for admission to our colleges requires even less of detailed consideration. This class of fitting-schools simply cannot comply with the conditions required by the full and consistent development of the "new education." The demand for instruction in German or French staggers a school of this kind; the demand for a curriculum including various percentages of physics, chemistry, more advanced mathematics, etc., would destroy it.

In general it is pretty obvious that the evolution of the new education, if it goes on in the directions in which its present indications are pointing, will bring upon the fitting-schools of the country such a severe application of the laws of natural selection that only a few of the fittest to survive will really succeed in surviving. At the same time, if they all survived, and were ultimately found reorganized in a form best to exhibit the type followed by this process, the result would, in my judgment, be far from satisfactory. For the true principle of the secondary education does not call for the offer of a great variety of studies, either prescribed or elective, but for a thorough and long-continued discipline in a very few judiciously selected and representative studies.

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 Keichiu was the son of a samurai in the service of Awoyama, the daimiô of Amagasaki in Setsu. He was born in 1640 and early distinguished himself by an excellent memory for poetry, having, as it is said, committed the Hiakunin shiu to memory in the space of ten days, when he was only five years of age. At the age of eleven he became a neophyte at the monastery of Miôhôji at Imasato near Ôsaka, much against the inclination of his parents. Two years later he shaved his head and removed to the famous monastery of Kôyasan in Kishiu. In 1662 he became an inmate of a monastery at Ikudama near Ôsaka, but finding its proximity to the city disagreeable, he absconded, leaving a verse behind on the wall. From this time he travelled much in the central parts of Japan, studying Buddhism, Sanscrit, Chinese literature and poetry, and Japanese history; but his favourite occupation was the study of Japanese poetry. In 1680 his former teacher, the abbot of Miôhôji, died, and left directions that he should be succeeded by Keichiu, who accepted the charge simply for the sake of his mother who was living at Imasato. About this time the Prince of Mito above alluded to invited him to Yedo in order to complete a commentary on the Manyôshiu which had been commenced by Shimokowabé Chöriu. He declined the invitation, but pleased with the Prince’s love for ancient learning, compiled a similar work for him called Manyô-daishôki in twenty volumes, with a complete commentary in two volumes. After the death of his mother he left the monastery, and retired into private life in a small cottage in the neighbourhood of Ôsaka, whence the repeated invitations of the Prince of Mito failed to draw him. He died in the year 1701. His published works relating to poetry and general literature number sixteen, and he is said to have left a quantity of unfinished manuscript behind him.

Besides Keichiu and Shimokawabé Chôriu (1622-1684) Hirata mentions Nashimoto Mosui as one of the

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 American higher education, must come mainly from the accomplishment of two results. The first of these is the careful organization of our entire system of education, upon the basis of an improved primary education, and in accordance with the principle of a natural twofold division of courses of prescribed studies in the secondary education. The second is a closer and more intelligent alliance between the two parts of the secondary education.

One thing greatly to be desired and striven after, as affording needed relief to the preparatory schools, is an improvement in the primary education. No one acquainted with the facts needs to be told how faulty is the knowledge of the most elementary subjects possessed by the average child of twelve or fourteen, whether he has. been trained in a public or a private school. How blundering is his use, in speech, reading, or writing, of his mother-tongue! With how little real notion of what our good planet is, in structure and aspect, has he learned long lists of unpronounceable names of mountains, rivers, and cities—not to say hamlets and villages! For how many years has he struggled with the fundamental mysteries of number, and spent his time wearisomely in doing "sums," the like of which are not to be found in real life upon this earth, and, as we trust, not in the heavens above! And yet how often


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 does he stand stupid before the first demand to answer any practical question in arithmetic that requires a new combination of the "rules"!

As touching the general interest of the people, and the salvation of the nation—so far as its education tends to its salvation—nothing is more important than the proper and efficient conduct of the primary education; and, as well, in the particular interest of the preparatory schools, few things are more important.

It is, however, to a systematic arrangement of all the courses of instruction taught in the years of the secondary education that I look with most confidence for lessening the difficulties and enlarging the success of the fitting-school. At present there appears to be no little danger of bringing the same trials and defects upon all the work of our academies and high-schools as those under which fell the orthodox college curriculum of some years since. But are there no principles which may enable us to classify the bewildering number of possible studies, and thus to select a few which shall alone serve to form the staple of a sound secondary education? I believe that such principles exist.

There are four classes of subjects about which the human mind strives to obtain, and a wise system of education aims to impart, a truly scientific knowledge. These are: first, the world of


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 "nature," so called in the restricted meaning of the term; next, language, as the vehicle of the mind, and that product of choice thought and language which is literature; third, man as mind, with his ethical, religious, aesthetical, social, and political being all included; and fourth, human history, as the complex resultant of all the interacting forces involved in the first three classes of subjects. Now the secondary education should impart a goodly amount of clear knowledge of each of these four great subjects; and, of course, also of the peculiar mental discipline derived from the pursuit of each.

It should be at once admitted, however, that the aptitudes and tastes of human beings differ, and that some of their differences are very persistent, radical, and sure perpetually to recur among great multitudes of individuals. It can perhaps scarcely be claimed that men are born with an aptitude and a taste for geology, for astronomy, or for psychology and ethics. But it seems likely, if not certain, that some men do more naturally incline to those pursuits which require objective observation, to the studies of external nature, and others to the studies of the mind as known in self-consciousness or as expressing itself in language. This fact suggests, at least, the necessity for a bifurcation of the prescribed studies of the secondary stage of education. Not far from the beginning of this


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 stage, therefore, I would have an opportunity provided for a division in the courses of prescribed study. On the one hand, I would have the emphasis laid upon the study of language and of the so-called humanities; on the other hand, the emphasis should be laid upon mathematics and the natural and physical sciences.

But one thing more of this same general kind is sadly needed. Perhaps the most serious defect of the system of liberal education now prevalent in this country is its lack of a truly progressive character. It is full of fits and starts. It is too disjointed and fragmentary. This is partly because there are no settled principles of procedure, fixing the order and amounts of the studies; and partly because there is no power which can secure teachers that know precisely what they are expected, fitted, and permitted to teach. The consequence is that the different years of school-life too much resemble the different successive sessions of our legislatures. Milton somewhere describes the process of legislation as "hatching a lie with the heat of jurisdiction." Fortunately, the process also consists in killing the brood of lies already hatched by previous legislation. Now the process of education in this country is by no means so bad in this regard as the process of legislation; but in certain respects the former too much resembles the latter.


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 Let it now be supposed that we have so far made progress toward the millennium as to have some of these evils largely remedied. And surely this is not an extravagant or hopeless supposition. The preparatory schools would then receive their pupils, thoroughly well instructed in certain elementary branches, at the average age of twelve or thirteen years; that is to say, their pupils would already read, write, and spell in the English language easily and correctly; they would have finished arithmetic; they would have learned the principal facts touching the structure and position of the earth as a planet, and touching the natural and political divisions of its surface; they would be familiar with the outlines of the history of their own country. The instruction of the preparatory school should then extend over a period of about six years more; that is, from about the age of twelve to about the age of eighteen. It should be thoroughly organized, not with a view to furnish a large number of courses, whether prescribed or elective, but with a view to impart a thorough and progressive training in a few great and representative subjects. It should be bifurcated so as to prepare men with a general scientific culture which places the emphasis either upon a knowledge of language and the humanities, or upon a knowledge of mathematics and the facts and laws of nature.

In the foregoing way it would be possible, I


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 first who vindicated the style of the Manyoshiu against that of the modern school. His works are extremely rare. The efforts of these three men were, however, confined to the department of poetry, and the credit of having founded the modern school of pure Shintô belongs to Kada.

Kada Adzumamaro, as he is most commonly styled, was born in 1669 near Kiôto, his father being the warden of the shrine at Inari between Kiôto and Fushimi. From his boyhood up he was fond of study, and devoted himself to antiquarian investigation. He thus acquired an accurate knowledge of the ancient national records, the old laws, of which only fragments have been preserved, the early prose and poetry and the chronicles of the noble families. Though absolutely without any one to point out the way to him in these researches, he was nevertheless enabled to make many valuable discoveries. When considerably over sixty years of age he went to Yedo, where his reputation came to the ears of the government, and he received a commission from it to revise and edit the ancient texts. After residing at Yedo for some years he returned to Kiôto, and the governor of Fushimi presented him with a considerable sum of money as a reward for his labours. It is said that the commission came in the first place from the Mikado, who was obliged to communicate with his subjects through the Shôgunate, and that the money-reward came from the same source, but there is no documentary evidence of this.

Kada had long cherished a scheme for the establishment of a school for the study of Japanese language and literature, and he sent in a memorial on the subject to the authorities at Kiôto, probably to the machibugiô, or to the Shôgun’s Resident (shoshidai). But he died soon after (in 1736), and the project was never carried out. The Kijinden indeed says that the necessary sanction had been given, and that Kada had already selected a spot near the burial-place of the Higashi Honguanji, but Hirata (in the Tamadasuki) thinks that this so-called sanction,

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 of the fitting schools of the country. A closer and more intelligent alliance must somehow be effected between the earlier and the later parts of the secondary education. As the case now stands, this is equivalent to saying that the colleges and advanced scientific schools on the one hand, and the preparatory schools on the other hand, must enter into a closer and more intelligent alliance. The connections existing in reality between the instruction of the last years of the preparatory school and the instruction of the first years of college are much more intimate than those existing between any other parts of our entire system of education. As the courses of instruction in almost all our colleges are now arranged, and as they probably will be arranged for a long time to come, the youth passes from the preparatory school to the college with no break whatever in the character of his education. He continues the study of the same subjects, in about the same way, for two years or more longer. His staple daily tasks in the earlier part of the secondary education were the classical languages and mathematics; they are the same now that he has achieved the distinction of passing under the college curriculum.

And indeed there is no good reason why the character of the instruction should be greatly changed when the youth enters college. There is


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 if ever given, was not formal and official. Kada’s memorial has lately been published in a separate form by Hirata Kanétané and can easily be obtained. It is a most vigorous protest against the utter neglect of Japanese learning for Chinese which had up to that time been almost universal.

It is usually stated that Kada, shortly before his death, gave orders to his pupils to destroy all his manuscripts, on the ground that they must contain many errors, and be therefore calculated to mislead students, while the good which might be in them could easily be discovered without their aid. Hirata Atsutané repeats this story, but it is stated, on the authority of Atsutané’s son Kané, tané, that the Kada family still possess several boxes full of unpublished writings of Adsumamaro. It may be doubted, however, whether they are of much actual value, seeing that their author was the first who attempted to elucidate the meaning of the ancient books, and as Atsutané says; ‘we can see from the works which Kada published during his life-time, such as his commentaries or the Manyôshiu and Jindai no maki, that he had good reason to be dissatisfied with the conclusions which be had reached.’

Kada’s views may be briefly stated as follows: “Learning is a matter in which the highest interests of the empire are involved, and no man ought to be vain enough to imagine that he is able by himself to developedevelop [sic] it thoroughly. Nor should the student blindly adhere to the opinions of his teacher. Any one who desires to study Japanese literature, should first acquire a good knowledge of Chinese, and then pass over to the Manyôshiu, from which he may discover the ancient principles of the divine age. If he resolve bravely to love and admire antiquity, there is no reason why he should fail to acquire the ancient style in poetry as well as in other things. In ancient times, as the poet expressed only the genuine sentiments of his heart, his style was naturally straight-forward, but since the practice of writing upon subjects chosen by lot has come into vogue, the language of poetry has become ornate and the ideas

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 nothing magical about the age of eighteen, or about the fact that the youth has got into a school called by a different name from the one he has left. The real determining factors in the question of the subjects and the method of his study are the amount of his maturity and of his general scientific training.

The details of an orderly and progressive arrangement of the entire course of study during the years of the secondary education might fitly occupy the attention of a committee of experts. Such a committee should be chosen in part from the colleges, and in part from those fitting-schools that are most influential and most interested in the improvement of classical and scientific study. Any plan proposed by such a committee would be an incitement, though not a mandate, to better things. Moreover, it would be likely in time to commend itself to other colleges and fitting-schools not participating at first in the plan. It might result in affording great relief to the fitting-schools, and in largely increasing the efficiency of their instruction.

In conclusion it is well to notice that some such plan as has just been proposed seems to afford the only rational relief obtainable from the growing evils of that system of "cramming" which everywhere prevails in modern education. A "bitter cry" is being raised on all sides, not of the "


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 " but of those who are gathered into our elaborate, hard-working educational institutions. Parents, teachers, pupils, all join in the cry. The excessive specialization of modern life has invaded the schools of the land from lowest to highest. There is no doubt of the existence of a certain evil, and of more or less suffering under it. But whence is the remedy to come? Not from fewer hours of study per day, or months per year, or years spent during the entire process of education. Certainly not from attempting to impart a yet more shallow knowledge of the great number of studies already entering into the courses of instruction in all our schools. The remedy must be sought in the removal of such of those causes of the evil as admit of removal; and these are mainly two: the variety of subjects unnecessarily crowded into the few years devoted to education, and the poor character of the instruction.

That much of the school-time of youth is now wasted through excessive variety and injudicious arrangement of the studies, and on account of unskilful teaching, is proved, alas! only too well, by the experience of every intelligent observer. An illustration or two may not be out of place at this point. Not long since, an educated man made the attempt to assist his son in the preparation of the daily lesson in English Grammar. For some time the boy, who was twelve years of age, and


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 nearly ready for the high-school, had been settling into a condition of despair over this particular study. Meanwhile the boy's use of the English language had been, under the influence of the public school, steadily deteriorating. After rummaging a big text-book for more than an hour the father succeeded in discovering among the socalled "exceptions" what he considered the probably correct answers to most of the questions composing the lesson of the following day. These questions were afterward taken to a distinguished scholar, a student and teacher of language and philology. He could not answer them in any terms which would have satisfied the teacher of the boy or the author of the text-book on Grammar. They were then shown to the very highest authority on such subjects to be found in this country, to a gentleman whose attainments in the science of language are celebrated by the world of scholars. His answer to these questions was a strain of unmixed invective against teacher, text-book, and school-system which could tolerate such wasteful folly in instruction.

But such waste is by no means confined to the primary stage of education. Some years ago a professor of Greek in an Eastern institution visited the recitation-room of a Western college, where a class of sophomores were reading a play of Aristophanes. Only one of the class—and this


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 forced, thus producing a laboured appearance. The expression of fictitious sentiment about the relations of the sexes and miscellaneous subjects, is not genuine poetry.” Kada, true to his own principles, never wrote a line of amatory poetry. We can readily understand his contempt for the modern versifiers, when we recall the picture of licentiousness which some of the verses in the popular collection called hiakunïn shiu present. What in English must be disguised wider the name of love was too often mere sensual passion indulged in at the expense of the most sacred domestic relations. During the middle ages it seems to have been the practice for persons skilled in the trifling art of making stanzas of thirty-one syllables to assemble at drinking parties, and to draw lots for subjects to write about. The 67th stanza of this collection contains an allusion to this custom.

Atsutané has a note in the Tamadasuki the object of which is to refute the common notion that Keichiu, Motoori and Mabuchi ought to be considered the ancestors of the antiquarian school, to the exclusion of Kada. The cause of this notion is that the men who entertain it are merely versifiers and take verse-making to be an essential part of the labours of the antiquarians. Keichiu, who was a Buddhist priest, certainly did some service in editing the Manyôshiu, but to praise Mabuchi and Motoori for their poetry alone is to misapprehend the real character of the work they performed. This consisted in the revival of Shintô, and poetry was merely secondary with them. Kada’s memorial proves that he was the founder of the school of Pure Shintô. Mabuchi was his pupil, and Motoori in his turn the pupil of Mabuchi.

Kada had no children of his own, and adopted his nephew Arimaro (1706-1751). Arimaro came to Yedo, and taught his uncle’s views with some success. He was particularly learned in that branch of Japanese archæology which deals with the ancient system of Government under the Mikados, and having attracted the notice of

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276 with the Empire's subsidies. Targitius was sent in 580 to receive the tribute, but immediately after the envoy's departure Baian started with his rude flotilla down the Danube and, marching over the neck of country between that river and the Save, appeared before Sirmium and there began to construct a bridge. When the Roman general in the neighbouring fortress of Singidunum protested at this violation of the peace the Khagan claimed that his sole aim was to cross the Save in order to march through the territory of the Empire, recross the Danube with the help of the Roman fleet, and thus attack the common enemy, the Slav invaders, who had refused to render to the Avars their annual tribute. Sirmium was without stores of provisions and had no effective garrison. Tiberius had relied upon the continuance of the peace and all his available troops were in Armenia and Mesopotamia. When Baian's ambassador arrived in the capital, the Emperor could only temporise: he himself was preparing an expedition against the Slavs, but for the present he would suggest that the moment was ill-chosen for a campaign, singe the Turks were occupying the Chersonese (Bosporos had fallen into their hands in 576) and might shortly advance westward. The Avar envoy was not slow to appreciate the true position, but on the return journey he and the attendant Romans were slain by a band of Slav pillagers — this fact casually mentioned gives us some idea of the condition at this time of the open country-side in the Danubian provinces. Meanwhile Baian had been pressing forward the building of the bridge over the Save, and Solachos, the new Avar ambassador, now threw off the mask and demanded the evacuation of Sirmium. "I would sooner give your master," Tiberius replied, "one of my two daughters to wife than I would of my own free will surrender Sirmium." The Danube and the Save were held by the enemy, and the Emperor had no army, but through Illyria and Dalmatia officers were sent to conduct the defence. On the islands of Casia and Carbonaria Theognis met the Khagan, but negotiations were fruitless. For two years, despite fearful hardships, the city resisted, but the governor was incompetent, and the troops under Theognis inadequate, and at last, some short time before his death, Tiberius, to save the citizens, sacrificed Sirmium. The inhabitants were granted life, but all their possessions were left in the hands of the barbarians, who also exacted the sum of 240,000 nomismata as payment for the three years' arrears (580-582) due under the terms of the former agreement which was still to remain in force.

It was during the investment of Sirmium that the Slavs seized their golden hour. They poured over Thrace and Thessaly, scouring the Roman provinces as far as the Long Walls — a flood of murder and of ravage: the black horror of their onset still darkens the pages of John of Ephesus.

In the year which saw the fall of Sirmium (582) Tiberius died. Feeling that his end was near, on 5 Aug. he created Maurice Caesar and gave


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 one a young lady from Massachusetts—made any serious attempt at a correct translation of the short lesson for the day. The teacher was evidently much embarrassed by the presence of the visitor, and at a loss as to what should be done with his pupils or their lesson. After considerable floundering he seemed to gather his classical learning for a supreme effort. This resulted in his propounding with due solemnity the following question: "Is the change from the stem math to the stem manth a phonetic or a dynamic change?" The class stared, but remained silent; the teacher looked even more embarrassed than before; the Eastern professor broke into a cold sweat through fear that the question might be referred to him—for he could not have answered it. The same question was asked a second time with deliberateness appropriate to so grave an inquiry; the result was unchanged. Then, after another long pause, this episode terminated with a solemn asseveration from the teacher: "It is uncertain." And so the hour dragged on. In all probability, no member of this class had been so trained as to recognize infallibly the simplest grammatical construction, or to translate at sight the simplest passages with a fair degree of accuracy.

Finally: we have no right to flatter ourselves that there is anything peculiar in the quality of the American boy which will enable him to dispense


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The Fraternity and the Undergraduate

 * "The Fraternity and the Undergraduate" (1917), an essay by Thomas Arkle Clark
 * The Fraternity and the Undergraduate (1917), an essay collection by Thomas Arkle Clark

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440 class. The domination of the nomads appears most clearly among the Bulgarian Slavs who to-day are named after their nomadic masters the Altaian Bulgars. After the destruction of the Avar kingdom by Charles the Great, the Bulgarian kingdom extended from the Balkans to the Moravian Carpathians. The Serbs and Croats also founded mighty States. In the Middle Ages the Slavs of Dalmatia were dreaded pirates, and even the tiny Slav peoples of Macedonia and Greece kept the Romans occupied with many wars. But even at the beginning of the seventh century the commercial town of Saloniki obtained grain from the Thessalian Slavs. Led by the Avars, the Slavs pressed into the Peloponnesus, and the report was long believed that the Avars occupied the Peloponnesus for 218 years so that no Roman durst enter it. According to Constantine Porphyrogenitus the Croats of the tenth century could put 60,000 horsemen and 100,000 foot into the field. But as the Slavs were a foot people, such a very strong cavalry must refer to the Avar and Bulgar ruling class, which at that time stood out clearly from the Slav peasantry in Dalmatia; and to this day the name of the Khagan Baian denotes to the Croat the highest state official, the Ban, Banus (in Constantine: ), just as the name of Charles the Great — Karl — denotes to all Slavs Kral, the king. The Old Servian State also had a strong body of cavalry, in connexion with which it must be noted that numerous nomadic Roumanians with horses and sheep, but without agriculture and ox-rearing, were, and still are, to be found in Servia and the other Balkan countries.

The Roumanians, Slavonic Vlasi, Vlakhs, are Romanised Altaians, probably Avars and Bulgars, for a still older nomad people could not have survived the wild Bulgar-Avaro-Slavonic storms which raged for a century over the Balkan peninsula. Like all mounted nomads the Bulgars and Avars were intent on cattle robbery (baranta), and so the indigenous wandering herdsmen specially suffered, for herds of sheep are not quick-footed enough to be hidden in time from mounted robbers. With the loss of his herds the wandering herdsman inevitably perishes as he cannot acquire new herds, and the acquisition of single animals would be of no use to him. The vegetarian peasant can better secure himself since he does not depend on cattle but on the soil, which the robber cannot destroy, and seed-grain is more easy to obtain than a herd of cattle.

The nomadic Vlakhs lived along with the peasant peoples of the Balkan peninsula and gradually adopted their language and became denationalised for a second time. They further attained to their highest prosperity as wandering herdsmen in Turkish times, after the fall of the Slav States effaced the customs barriers with a tithe on the import and export of sheep and horses; the herdsmen could thus graze summer and


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In this second volume of essays on fraternity life I have brought together the papers written during the past two years. The connections between them is not always close, and there has been no thought in my mind of covering the whole field of fraternity activity. Six of the papers have previously been published: "The Chapter Letter" and "Building a Chapter House" appeared in the Alpha Tau Omega Palm; "Vaudeville and Photo Plays" was published in Banta's Greek Exchange; "The Man Who Does Not Join," in the Carnation of Delta Sigma Phi; "Rushing and the Rushee," in Delta of Sigma Nu; and "The Future of the Fraternity" was delivered as an address before the twenty-sixth biennial Congress of Alpha Tau Omega.

March 10, 1917.

Reprinted 1923.


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The history, the organization, and the purpose of a college Greek-letter fraternity are about as vague in the mind of the average native of my state as are his ideals of Greek life and customs in the time of Sophocles, and I do not believe that the natives of my state are in great degree more ignorant than are the citizens of adjacent states. Unfortunately the large majority of those who have written about fraternities, more especially those who have written against them, have had very little first hand information. What they say ought not to be given too much weight in discussing fraternities. Their invectives remind me of an experience of my undergraduate days.

The state university which I attended was, in fact, a pretty orderly, quiet, steady institution whose faculty almost to a man held no unorthodox views, but placed the highest ideals before us and themselves worked in the churches as regularly as taxes. There could not have been a safer place theologically to send a boy. Most of us went to church and the Y. M. C. A. meetings regularly and said our prayers without molestation as we had done at home. Among the religious denominations throughout the state, however, an opinion had be-