ter. The educational frauds which many of these institutions perpetrate should no longer be tolerated. No new college ought to be chartered unless it has a proper endowment at the start. And, in a majority of our States, no new college should be chartered at all. Forces should be concentrated upon institutions already in existence.
But what has all this to do with the relative merits of the classics and science? Quite obviously, much. Since, on account of this foolish division of forces, most of these colleges are inadequately endowed, they are compelled to work short-handed. One professor has frequently several branches to teach. Not long ago, in one of our Western colleges, a man was elected "professor of natural philosophy, astronomy, and the theory and practice of preaching!" In the majority of cases there is a chair of Latin, a chair of Greek, and then—a chair of "natural science!" Each linguistic professor is to some degree a specialist; while the one who teaches science is perforce compelled to be a smatterer. He is expected to teach half a dozen dissimilar branches, each one being a life-work by itself. He is to be omniscient on about $1,000 a year. Of course, in such a condition of things, the new education must suffer. No man living is able to teach properly more than one science. Indeed, some sciences, as, for example, chemistry, need to be subdivided into several different specialties, under several distinct teachers. Except by specialists, no truly scientific education can be given; since each instructor has to deal with a constantly-growing branch, and not with a fixed, completed study. The teacher must keep up with the growth of his particular science, or else drop into downright incompetency. He who is overworked by teaching several subjects cannot properly keep up with any one.
It is plain, then, that this scattering of educational forces is lowering to the character of the teacher, and that this effect is more evident and more mischievous in the wide realm of Science than in the comparatively narrow kingdom of the ancient languages. In still another way is the character of each college reflected in that of its professors. A Catholic institution will employ only Catholic instructors; a Methodist or Episcopalian university will seek out Methodists or Episcopalians; and so on. Instead of selecting teachers on the basis of capacity, the basis of belief is commonly chosen. The exceptions to this rule are rare, and are to be looked for chiefly in some of the older Eastern establishments, such as Yale, Bowdoin, Dartmouth, Union, and Columbia. This principle cannot fail to work mischief. A professor, and especially a professor of any science, should be elected because of his ability as a teacher, his knowledge, and his moral worth; not for his opinions upon some abstract theological dogma. A man may believe in sprinkling, and yet be competent to teach the chemistry of water even in a Baptist university.
One other consideration bearing upon the character of the teacher
