KANSAS COLLECTION BOOKS
Life at Laurel Town in Anglo Saxon Kansas by Kate Stephens

OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS

IV

Men such as Professor David Hamilton Robinson gave the university conservative strength in those days -- men rooted in right, loyal to the university, not lobbying with whatever board controlled its administration, not among those constantly casting a hook afar to see what seemingly better float they could pull in, but standing by the simple, indeterminate conditions they had accepted with their call, making the university's interest their interest, its democracy their democracy, their character its character; not egotists, not prigs, not mental light-weights, but men of full merit and rounded development.

Such was the university's first Latinist -- honest, loyal, sincere, ever and abundantly radiating simple, luminous kindness; the soul of him recalling a mellow-ground meadow, overspread with sunshine, supporting healthful, pleasant airs and fruitful harvests, of use for everyday wont and everyday living.

It was the fine habit of Professor Robinson to open


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his classes' work of a morning by telling a story in Latin; he meanwhile striding up and down the lecture-room, often measuring turns of the tale by wheeling a pencil between right thumb and forefinger, or by stroking his rufous beard with his left hand. Doubtless he looked upon such beginnings as excellent for familiarizing our ears with a language not commonly spoken, and as zest-givers, catching our attention and rapidly inducting us into another environment. His open, serene countenance must still stand before many eyes; his quiet, mellow voice still sound in many ears, rehearsing some world-important matter, or perhaps a local happening, for instance, T.C.'s Horribiles,* or ln Re T.C.. Never a man enjoyed humor more.

T. C.'S HORRIBILES.*

Jam noctis media hora. In coelo nubile spissa
Stellos abstulerant. Umbrarum tempus erat quo
Horrenda ignavis monstra apparent. Pueri tum
Parvi matribus intus adhaerent. Non gratiorem
Noctem fur unquam invenit. Sed qui veniunt post
Hanc aedem veterem? Celebrantne aliqua horrida sacra
Mercurio furum patrono? Discipuline?
Non possum! Tuti in lectis omnes requiescunt!
Estne sodalicium studiosorum relevans se
Magnis a curis? Sed cur huc conveniunt tam
Furtivi? In manibus quidnam est vel sub tegumentis?
O pudor! Et pullos et turkey non bene raptos!
Vina etiam subrepta professores alicujus
(Horresco referens) e cella! Dedecus! Est nil
Tutum a furibus? En pullos nunc faucibus illis
Sorbent! Nunc sunt in terra, tum in ictu oculi non
Apparebunt omne in aeternum! Miseros pullos,
Infelices O pueros! Illi male capti
A pueris, sed hi capientur mox male (O! O!!)
A Plutone atro!
Forsan lapsis quinque diebus, cum sapiens vir


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One morning Professor Robinson met a class with account of the making at his home of some wine. Possibly he detailed the process to illustrate a verse of Horace, or to show old Roman usages and customs. Whatever the incentive he told his story. There, you would suppose, the pleasure ended.

Presumptions based on general experience always proved inadequate when T.C.s were by. The Professor's Latin formulae worked in fermenting minds, and roused memories in several members of that disbanded fraternity. Now, and now only, they forgot the exhortation to right living with which Judge Stephens had prefaced the last T.C. supper.

Omnes hos juvenes ad cenam magnificenter
Invitavit. Tempore sane adsunt. Bene laeti
Judex accipiunt et filia pulchra sodales,
Hos furtivos. Ad mensam veniunt. Juvenes cur
Tam agitantur? Quid portentum conspiciunt nunc?
Protrudunt oculi quasi ranarum! Nihil est in
Mensa praeter turkeys! Unus quoque catino!
Solum hoc, praeterea nil?

IN RE T. C.

Quatuor youths ad suburbs venunt,
Quatuor lads their cursus tenunt
Versus granger's domum.
Nunquam stop to rest their pedes,
Nunquam find sequestered sedes
Sub the shades arborum.

Saepe look in partis omnis,
Fearing quidem, waked from somnis,
Eos sequiturus.
Gallus from some far off tectum
Tuba sounds with great effectum,
Putit day futurus.

Mox they reach a procul valley
Round a fallen truncus rally,
Nubes expecterunt.
Turn with corles faintly beating,
Nunc advancing, nunc retreating,

Castris repererunt.

Now ad portum Crito venit
Captures hostem, duos tenet,
Whispers "Cave Canem."
Wild the pugna, charge they fecunt,
Wilder tamen viam makunt

Homeward primam lucem.


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"Their old ardor returned," wrote Professor Robinson, "and they fairly burned to get hold of those wine bottles. It would be the best joke of their lives.

"A few evenings after two of them called at the professor's house, they seemed in especially happy mood, telling stories, joking and laughing almost immoderately. Finally one of them, producing some music, offered to play it. With a big crash he began. And such playing! He ran, and galloped, and cantered, and jumped up and down the keyboard until the old house fairly rattled from chimney-top to cellar -- epecially the cellar. Then college songs were roared with equal force and energy. This went on an hour or two, when the guests withdrew, with many expressions of pleasure at the delightful evening they had passed.

"The professor and his wife were a little surprised at the call of these young men, who had never called before, and especially at their rather long stay and boisterous conduct. Still they were glad to receive the visit, and retired greatly pleased to think that these T.C.s, lately so wild, were now disposed to give up their disreputable practices and cultivate the graces and amenities.

"In the morning, on opening the house, many evidences of burglary were plainly visible in fact, too plainly visible. The hoe and axe and pieces of candle were left near the cellar-window in plain sight, as if


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courting investigation. It was soon found that the cellar had been entered, the wine taken, and a note left in its place.

"The professor, for obvious reasons, never mentioned his loss, but the boys thought it too good a joke to keep."*

Pranks such as these colored and individualized student-days at Laurel Town in the eighteen-seventies. Their childlikeness witnesses reaction of youthful spirits from strain, relief-seeking in play -- reversions to our race's younger years when a Rob Roy's rule sufficed,

             "the simple plan
That they should take who have the power
And they should keep who can;"

unconscious returns, we say, to ancestral action when our people's moral nature had not evolved to the social heights of forming their government and fitting their life to laws of their own making.

And the same ebullience that had stolen the turkeys and industriously read Plato, Tacitus, Shakespeare and Goethe; that had pilfered the Latin professor's wine and figured the orbit of remote planets --

*This chorus from "University Legends" gives the gist of the note. Professor Robinson upheld prohibition then coming to the fore in Kansas politics:

"Oh, the doleful, doleful ditty
      If a man should break his pledge!
So we'll drink up all your wine, and
      Save you from temptation's edge."


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the same effervescing strength prompted unwearied muscles, one Hallowe'en in the eighteen-seventies, to keep the night when wizard and witch in "hellish legion sally."

Unseasonable chill, housing folks and leading them to hug their fires, had hung over Laurel Town all that afternoon. Finally dark grey clouds fell low, and shut in the evening.

"The wind blew as 'twad brawn its last
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast. .
That night, a child might understand,
The de'il had business on his hand."

Just the weather for a self-sacrificing brotherhood bent on protecting their townsmen from seditious spirits! The circling year, the students told themselves, had brought a majestic Druid festival. Laurel Town customs would not permit community-fires in gratitude to the Sun-god for bounties of harvest. Yet at least they might endeavor to ward off sin-stained ghosts wandering and warring that night in battalions.

Bells, the boys reasoned, have through thousands of years had the fame of inspiring terror in such imps as would ride each gale. The clamor of bells has been reported a prophylactic and saver of souls from the evil eye that would peer from every raindrop.

Their first duty was to master the town's bells. They must climb several towers. Self-immolation only


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could save the little city from legions of limbo, of all the year loose that one night.

No height so readily met their advances as the square tower of the old Unitarian church. Its rough-hewn stone afforded foothold and the roof-ridge easy entrance. A messenger of remarkable silver tones hung in its belfry. To this the young devotees made their way, and after fastening cords to the bell's tongue they tossed ropes to their aiders and abettors below. They then descended to the shrubbery across the street. From this vantage they pulled the bell's clapper against its bronze cup till every weary townsman within hearing of it, cried, "How can Satan cast out satan!"

A wild night, friends.

Enthusiasm seized, and woke to daring, slender, shrinking shreds of youths. For instance, Frank MacLennan became so obsessed that he hastened to pull the house-bell of a ledger-studying hardware merchant he had never seen.

Answering the door-bell's ring a woman's gentle voice sounded from a second-story window; "What is wanted ?"

Frank, standing on the porch of the house, explained that he had come on business which required a personal answer. Shortly the front door opened and an anxious voice invited him to go up stairs.

The young derring-doer ascended and boldly entered the room of the merchant. Advancing a few


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steps toward the bed, he said in unshrinking accents that he had to have the immediate advice of a specialist; "I want," he continued, speaking slowly and clearly, "to know the price of thermometers."

The hardware man threw back the covers and sprang from his bed. A dim, reflected light showed a kicking foot speeding through the air. But Mac had anticipated the attack. His spare body was already half way down the stairs, and the only unimpeded thing that reached him was the merchant's roar, and reiterate call, for that East Indian coin of infinitesimal value known as a dam.

Yet one more sortie these youthful dynamos made, when a commencement week came to hand.

A few months before, the Chancellor, General John Fraser, had married a young lady of Laurel Town, whose strength of character no wise abated from Puritan forebears, more than one of whom had been president of Harvard College. In lesser qualities than character, in a captivating person, in graceful figure, smiling face, glancing grey eyes and fluffy chestnut curls, Mrs. Fraser was also gifted.

Commencement neared, we say. Therefore through Fraser Hall's open doors poured visitors who had come to Laurel Town to witness the festival and were delighting themselves with such sights as Professor Snow's famous fossils. Their will to see everything at hand led them even to glance at a human skeleton


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hung in the physiology lecture-room. Its jointed bones had served an instructor for illustration during the last academic year, and now, locked in glass closet, awaited a next call to duty.

Among other sight-seers three students went sauntering from room to room. Pausing here for some interest, examining another there, they came at last to the cupboard of the skeleton. At once they grouped close, as if in discussion, and while one fitted keys and tested the lock, the other two shielded his movements. An on-looker might have thought they were tracing the line of tibia, or fibula, through the glazed door.

"Here's a key that will unlock it."

"Tie it with the one that opens the lecture-room door."

"Put it in your back pocket."

"Twelve o'clock that night, then."

"By the box-elder."

"Don't forget the card-board."

Two nights later three students, clad in odd raiment, raised a window in the basement of Fraser Hall. No noise awoke the janitor.

They walked softly up stairs, unlocked the doors, unhooked the skeleton, and clasping it close in arms, crept still higher up the building. A weltering moon lighted their way till they reached the loft.


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Then came gruesome work -- the stub of a candle, and peering into stuffy darkness which had no end.

"Whose skeleton was this, anyway?" asked one as they groped forward hugging the bones.

"What did it do while it wore flesh on earth?" queried the second, "What name did it answer to?"

"How did it come to its business of educating sophomores in the articulation of their bodies instead of lying decently and comfortably in the ground?" continued the first. "Did its owner forfeit his life for some crime?"

"Gee whizz! Let's get out of this!"

"You growling! Huh; You got us into it."

Cheek by jowl with a skeleton once a man's, creeping over loose boards of a loft in semidarkness, feeling forward toward a broad circular opening in the middle of the floor -- all this they had not put in their programme.

"Here's the rim of the hole."

They tied a rope to the hook fastened in the skull. To the bones of the feet they hung a card about eighteen inches square and stretched the skeleton along the curved edge.

Then they turned and scuttled to the basement window through which they had entered.

A soft, teeming night of early summer lay over hill and low lands. Winds forerunning a June dawn


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blew upon the campus. In the east shone the morning star.

But freshening day, instead of cooling, strengthened their fever, and before separating they drew lots to determine who should carry their labor to its end.

Commencement day came.

The all-seeing sun did not look upon a happier people. Work of a hard year now quite done. Hours full of the buoyant joy that commencement alone knows aged, academic sobriety forgets its anchylosis and is one with supple, jocund youth. Chancellor himself vividly happy. The grace which brightens women of university towns during commencement sitting signally upon the Chancellor's wife.

So passed the day. Night fell. A band of the United States Army still discoursed music in the crowded aula; when through the opening in the ceiling made for a central chandelier, the physiology-lecturer's skeleton came circling down to the rhythm of a Strauss waltz -- swinging slowly in broad rounds over the assembled people. A card dangling from its heels bore the legend PREX.

At first few saw the waltzing death's head and those who did met it in amazed silence. Then, when they had pointed it out to others, a murmur of disapproval rose. Finally, sense of the inconsequence of the conceit stole over the throng.

Trying moments, these, to the gallant general! At


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the end of so perfect a day! And so successful a year! Yet his canny Scottish wit stood steadfast, and when Mrs. Fraser, with the confiding air of faculty-wives, smilingly asked; "What does Prex mean?" -- without a moment's hesitation the Chancellor answered; "Faculty."

Thoughtless sport! Rough-house tomfoolery; but cleanhearted. The hatchers of the joke admired the Chancellor. They had merely misdirected indomitable high spirits, Anglo-Saxon seeking for adventure the racial temper that urged to the ships of Humphrey Gilbert, the Hawkinses and Francis Drake, laughter-loving, imagination-driven youths of three hundred and fifty years ago; a rectal temper that, in our own years of 1917 and 1918, filled countless transports to France with American boys whose record negatives the chart of every psychologist; imperturbably jovial, rivaling one another in making light of danger, independently constructive and recklessly courageous in rushing to daring action.


V

Still not all were giants in those eighteen-seventies. When our marvellous professor of English Literature listened to a call to Philadelphia, the administrative board chose to his place a man graduated from a fresh-water college in Massachusetts; an oxlike creature of


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solid, somewhat coram-nobis figure, with smiling eyes packed in adipose tissue and a ruddy, refulgent countenance whose shine no classroom disaster ever extinguished.

Some fate, inexplicable in the New England of his youth, had forgotten the exhortation Paul addressed the faithful Thessalonians, "Study . . . to do your own business, and to work with your own hands," and had projected his adolescence into the study of books. His peculiarity was that he had never been able to learn.

In his senior class this man had a parcel of youngsters more or less Wertherian -- Goethe's majesty and manysidedness at that hour and for us were very real -- youngsters again not merely gifted with the amazing self-confidence, which is a guardian daemon of the young, but conscious of their own mental grasp.

Every class hour brought what vaudeville argot calls "a scream." One day our instructor spoke of Grote, the historian of Greece, and identified him with Grotius.

"Hugo Grotius, the Dutch publicist, lived in the seventeenth century," put in one of our number, "and George Grote in London in the nineteenth."

"Why," ejaculated our Holofernes, "I thought Grotius was the Latin form of his name! Yes, well, I'll look it up."

Another of his chronologies told that Confucius studied Aristotle.


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When we took up "Paradise Lost," the unique equipment of our new instructor fully declared itself, telling us in a sort of casting up of breast-works or trench digging before an enemy, as it were, that he "believed the Garden of Eden story, and would prefer to be made of clay to descent from Plato's beatified oyster." In wordless courtesy we asked no questions about Plato's oyster.

Then, the better to impress his position upon us, he added, "I believe I believe in the actual existence of Adam, Eve, the serpent and its wickedness in the Garden of Eden, five thousand years ago, and truthfully depicted by Milton."* Credo quia absurdum.

Any radicalism lurking in our midst could not misinterpret his endeavor to forestall theories of evolution we might be pleased to advance, or propositions that we were dealing with poetic myths.

People of to-day who see principles of evolution accepted by and a strong pillar of orthodoxy, can not, I repeat, realize the fervor of those taking sides in earlier days for and against the new evangel -- then kept constantly before the world, as I have said, by publications of Darwin, Wallace, Huxley, Tyndall and others.

One day, in our analyses of "Paradise Lost," one of us suggested that the poem had as its basis a purely Manichean conception. "Manichean" proved a cork-

* These quotations were written down at the time, and are word for word exact


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er. When, however, our guide found what the word connoted, he contemptuously rejected the offer.

Another time, upon our going from Milton's word-description of deity to painting, and speaking of the great Italian, he asked in Michelangelo had really painted Deity

"I would not paint a picture of God," he exclaimed with downcast eyes and a shudder. "I would be deterred by a sense of the wickedness of it."

He had but one year of sitting outwitted by youth-fervent truth-seekers at the University of Kansas. A pastorate called him. In Hartford, Connecticut, fenced round by pulpit authority, his smiles were able to thwart opposition gendering against him. Of his successes the golden-mouthed Orator of Yale University, William Lyon Phelps has told.

Individual treatment of Milton's religiosity and poetic genius have startled students elsewhere for instance, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. But we in Kansas were trail-making, shaded by a university not two hundred and fifty, in fact not ten, years old; with nothing in our hands save a few books, but in our heads intellectual vigor and in our hearts will to find the best thought and written about subjects we had undertaken

Still, from our study of the sonorous Puritan we may have got as much as students sitting In sight of John Harvard's statue and listening to a lecture, a part


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of which,* marked by a humor all its own, follows -- of the lecturer, Professor Barrett Wendell, sitting on a low table, one knee curving over its corner, his right hand swinging a slender steel chain which described a circle at its end with a bunch of keys, and winding the chain over forefinger, first to right and then to the left: --

"Personally I do not like Spenser, and Milton is to me excessively unpleasant. Milton is trying to be a Puritan and an artist at the same time, and the two things do not, and can not, coincide a conscious moral purpose minus any effort for artistic effect.

"To my thinking 'Comus' isn't in it with 'The Faithful Shepherdess.' A fellow like Milton that has bored me with 'Paradise Lost,' and 'Samson Agonistes,' I have absolutely no use for. When I read Milton, as I have to, I read him for study, not for enjoyment. I feel that Milton is rhetoric, just as Spenser is rhetoric. Take 'L'Allegro,' 'Comus,' etc.; these are rhetoric, jolly good rhetoric some parts of them. I should guess that 'Lycidas,' and some few of Milton's sonnets, were some of the most spontaneous things he ever did. He certainly wasn't spontaneous in 'Samson Agonistes,' although he spoke out with a certain resonant bang. No one can be spontaneous who constructs a Greek tragedy on the plan of a Hebrew story."

*Taken down in shorthand.


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VI

Those earlier, less organized days in Kansas, things material were more meager than now. Memories of the War Between the States, its chastening sorrows, still fresh, thankfulness for renunciations, for untellable sacrifices that had seemingly made our institutions permanent, warmed every heart.

The people of the state who had fought were, in large, knit in blood and gifted with Anglo-Saxon traditions and the spirit that formed our government and our English speech. A notable percentage of Celts had come, for the wave of Irish immigration had been rolling over the Atlantic close to a generation. And with the Celts' racial adaptability and cleverness, they were merging, though keeping the sparkle of Celtic blood, with Anglo-Saxon pioneers.

In those days, also, people of the German current sought the state's rich soil -- a few owing to the German unrest of the eighteen-forties; other thrifty, staid soil-tillers from Prussia, Hanover, Bavaria, many smaller states; and Austria, and Switzerland. A share of Scandinavians, too.

Also drifted in a quota of Jews, who seemingly united themselves with the general life; at least you saw and heard little of the idiosyncrasies which for centuries have made that people "boarders" in whatever country they have wandered to.


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Then, again the commonwealth had served as asylum for fugitive Negroes before and during the war; and now men, women and children fled to its bounties from hardships they deemed unbearable. One winter they came in carloads and destitute of every necessity. Old, Free-State folks' helpfulness, even to giving of self still remained a spiritual treasure in Laurel Town, and housewives quick with pity for whomsoever they thought wronged, hastened to gather raiment for shivering bodies and to prepare food for empty stomachs.

In years succeeding the War Between the States, we say, fame of the opulent and idealistic soil of Kansas -- the state's fight for freedom, the state's abounding lands -- circled the earth and brought many from afar. Bohemians in colonies. Mennonites from Russia, too, men of rough, austere faces, and stalwart forms clad in sheepskin coats and high boots; women, with kerchiefs and shawls and countenances of meekness and resignation, wearily tending round-eyed, docile children.

They all sought liberty. Democracy is positive, it points out how alike men are. Aristocracy, they had learned through suffering, is negative, it emphasizes men's difference. Coming from Europe because of spiritual revolt against conditions thrust upon them there, they brought a soreness that had struck to their very marrow. But in pursuit of working into concrete


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life a principle to which they had given their hearts, they brought also the indescribably splendid spirit of sacrifice for an idea -- a gift given comparatively few coming to our shores this last half century.

If some of these immigrants, unable to comprehend what we Americans had forged in the fire of battle before they came if they had no spiritual insight into what we meant to do with our possessions; if they became Americans in name only; if they had none of our great traditions, not a spark of that intellectual enlightenment and Anglo-Saxon constructive imagination that set up and maintained our Government; if they had no sense of the spirit that settled over our people after the sacrifices of the War Between the States -- if, not understanding modernity, not generative of ideas and lacking present-day outlook; if for a generation or two not comprehending our institutions -- many of these immigrants had at least that marvellous spur, singleness of heart, also courage and persistence, and they made good in many ways and weights; they caught and carried on devotion to exalted ideals of the earlier settlers.

So it happened that when the Anglo-Saxon state-builders who had forged forward into the wilds where now stands Kansas, and had given the strength of their bodies to making the nature they found a shelter and support for later people when the fiery chariot of their spirit, a "chariot of fire and horses of fire," bore


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these Elijahs heavenward, many differing folks, carrying many different bloods and traditions, took up their fallen mantles.

Differing ideas inflooding must bear vast meaning to a state's institutions. And to its university founded by Anglo-Saxon pioneers on Anglo-Saxon Puritan ideals; not within the first generation, may be, but when the inflooders' children's children shall discover treasures offered within its walls.

For a decade after the War Between the States race-sentiment resurgent from battle-fields -- American sentiment -- had force in studies at Laurel Town.

Students inclined to seek the serenities of ancient thought, to enlarge the present by going to the past and re-living the life of mankind; in the faith that the truest method of gaining ideas and sentiments worthy of assimilation lay in analyses of old Greek and Latin writers. "It is in that golden stain of time that we are to look for the real light, and colour and preciousness." Ruskin voiced a conviction of theirs that they should not imprison themselves in their own age. And Shelley, "Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts, have their roots in Greece."*

These reasonings of ours foreran Sir Henry Maine's famous definition which restated Shelley's; and Dr. Osler's cogent particularizing:
"One of the marvels, so commonplace that it has ceased to be marvelous, is the deep rooting of our civilization in the soil of Greece and Rome -- of our dogmatic religion, practically all the philosophies, the models of our literature, the ideals of our democratic freedom, the fine and the technical arts, the fundamentals of science and the basis of our law. The Humanities bring the student into contact with the master minds who gave us these things."


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The university, poor in all but hopes and ambitions, met their needs. At its beginning somewhat after the expanse, mental temper and discipline of a college of the Atlantic slope, it gradually developed into a group of schools. One subject after another pushed open its doors, bearing claim for settled, benefactive residence on the ground that learning as a whole, and the amelioration of human beings in all life's relations, should be a democratic university's field, not alone, as back in the centuries and in colleges less intimate with the people, ancient classics and theologies, with mathematics, and possibly law, as ancillaries. This broad plea accorded with the ideals of the university's founders. They had doubtless wanted to make impossible overbearing of those literary and linguistic studies that degenerate into weak dilettantism and a self-complacent phrase-making which is the other half of sterility of thought. Even in the days when they wrought they heard criticisms of a salt-water college, Harvard; "Nothing to stimulate or develop the perceptions, and everything to suppress instinct and enthusiasm: one learned neither to see nor to feel." Warping and drying and then wrapping the intellect in spices, preserving merely a mummified semblance, the founders meant definitely to avoid.

Recognition not only of the whole field of human knowledge, but also practical applications of that knowledge as an ideal of university teachings, brought


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tremendous changes. It set aside old Greek and Latin studies as essentials for a student. That, in one way, made the university more democratic; it meant the triumph of the utilitarian spirit; so far as it had then revealed itself. In another way the new order effected less democracy, for no longer could the institution train its students to the same universal standards, give to all the same way of looking at life, the same broad foundation, the same solid companionship.

The new precept manifested, too, a further negative -- that students might fail to gain historical perspective, might fail to acquire substitute for the stably grounded regard and reflective knowledge of human institutions that the old classics, rightly taught, to those fitted for their teachings, instil -- a vision essential to peoples of a democracy, for what futurists without wisdom of the past build is a structure on sand.

The brave, old idea conceived in our English word learning, the calling to ourselves as chiefest study man, and man's life in the centuries, thus anaemically fading, students would come to differ from those of earlier years. Many a one had suffered stern, hard necessity -- off-spring, we have said, of the folk coming to our country after the War Between the States, not of English speech, not of Anglo-Saxon blood, often filing their claim for land and settling to wrest their livelihood from the soil; a student who had been like a calf between two pails of milk, legends and tradi-


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tions of his parents, traditions and legend of the people who had made this country desirable for his family to come to and stay by.

He might seem incapable of reverence for the mighty feats of our earlier generations, might rarely soften into gratitude for remembered travails of institutions which protected and supported him, of even the very language he spoke. "Forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before," in this like the fiery practician we call Saint Paul, he might appear to think the earth and mankind did not exist before his advent -- that was not his business -- and to have little interest whether they went on after his exit.

At the university numbers increased of men and women eager for utilitarian studies merely; seeking to gain money-making knowledge, "useful information" solely; to learn only what would help them to speedy, easier winning of practical things of life. Thought of fundamental brain-work in company of the forgers of the humanities, study for disciplinary and aesthetic values to lift high intelligence to yet greater heights, could seldom enter the estimate of such matriculates; not because they lacked native ability, native insight, but because of the narrowness to which their lives had been constrained, because of the impatience and impetuosity of youth -- utilitarian needs having controlled their destinies, we say, withholding


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knowledge of and taste for the refinements of the humane order.

Manifestly this zeal for the practical would give students a sobriety, a certain staidness, would hinder reversion to the broad youth-prolonging stand of our Anglo-Saxon race, its shy, rollicking humor -- that abundance and splendor of imagination which Sir Walter Raleigh embodied when he said he "shot at another mark than present profit." A young academic who had already gained knowledge of competitive business would naturally carry less effervescing spirits than the earlier students.




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