because they were to be used. Those languages were, so to say, the vernacular in divinity schools. The writer's grandfather was accustomed to assign a lesson of twenty or thirty pages for discussion on the next day, and the students were expected to discuss the theology, not the Latin construction. One can not repeat too often or too emphatically that Latin and Greek were the all-important elements of the curriculum because they were to be utilized, just as arithmetic has its place in primary instruction. The incessant chatter, which one hears now, about the intellectual strength gained by study of the classics would have excited derision on all sides in those days. When Latin and Greek lost their utility, American colleges should have seized the opportunity to remodel the curriculum throughout; but the opportunity was neglected and the curriculum became a series of compromises between the old and the new, developing at length into aimless election or narrowing groups, the one encouraging shiftlessness, the other tending to weaken the reasoning power. College officials were roused to indignation several years ago by criticisms offered by two prominent business men; the outbursts in some instances were so violent that one might suppose that these philistines had invaded a holy of holies. But one must be judicial. Much of what those critics said is inaccurate, having been accepted on information and belief; but that which they stated as of their own knowledge was true and is true—and too many of the statements were made as of their own knowledge. Every college professor, whose observations extend beyond the walls of his classroom, knows that the criticisms contain only too much that is true. The aimlessness of broad election and the narrowness of groups are destructive.
The able president of one of the best American colleges is reported to have said:
A college is an institution where young men and young women study great subjects under broad teachers in a liberty which is not license, and a leisure which is not idleness with unselfish participation in a common life, and an intense devotion to minor groups within the larger body, and special interests inside the general aim; conscious that they are watched by friendly eyes, too kind to take unfair advantage of their weakness, yet too keen to be deceived.
The concluding phrase, "yet too keen to be deceived," must have been penned by one who has forgotten his student days. It will be read with delight by college graduates and will give new sense of security to undergraduates. This example of admirable English and inspired imagination has been of much service to canvassers for so-called colleges and has received more than favorable comment in several addresses. It has been the theme of many a commencement oration and has given zest to many a baccalaureate sermon. But, as presented by its author, it is defective. If he had said the "ideal college," no exception could be taken to the statement; it would be absolutelv correct. But
