some lost sight of, whereby much unintelligent talk and a little sharp criticism arose; the fact, namely, that this did not purport or plan to be a gathering of all religious bodies, but only of the Evangelical Protestant Churches; and consequently no others had any reason for expecting to be invited. The bulky book before us tempts us to quote from all its seven hundred pages. To choose is well nigh impossible. In Dr. Henry van Dyke's address on "The Idealist Society" is the following: "What shall we say of the modern system of business and trade which those who know it best say is a state of war disguised as competition? Say, as Charles Kingsley said, that it is based upon a narrow, selfish, hypocritic, anarchistic, atheistic view of the universe,' and that it ought to be reformed. What shall we say of the modern industrial order, in which one man in ten is doomed to hopeless poverty, and the right to be happy is blotted out for thousands of families, each herded in a single room and hungering for daily bread? What shall we say of such an industrial system? Say that it is out of joint, and that the religion of Jesus was born to set it right. Say that the conditions of human labor and life must not be fixed solely by the commercial law of supply and demand, but by the Christian law, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor-whether thou employest him or he employs thee-thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' Say that the question of a living wage is a vital question, spiritually and morally as well as economically, and that the Church will never be satisfied until it is settled; that if any man will work, he shall also eat, and his children shall eat, and the gate of better days shall be opened to them. What shall we say of the modern social language which degrades the very word 'society,' or 'sassiety,' as the idle rich call it in their own corrupt speech--which degrades this word into a title for a few hundred people occupied chiefly with their own amusements, and which refers to the mass of mankind as 'the masses'? Say that it is a corrupt language which be trays a heart rotted with vanity and a mind made imbecile with falsehood. Say that the idle and selfish rich and their parasites, who spend life in the closed circle of costly pleasures, are really 'them asses' and that Society means the broad fellowship of all sorts and conditions of men in all their mutual relations, coöperating in common toil and learning one from another in common intercourse. Say also that the Church repents of every idle word of that false language of the House of Mirth that she has ever taken into her mouth. Say that she discards it and renounces it, and that henceforth she will speak the language of Jesus, acknowledging only those who do the will of the Father in heaven as her brothers and her sisters, and honoring men not for what they have, but for what they are and for what they do. **** The Church must condemn the enemies of society who are out of prison as well as those who are in. She must say to men: 'By goodness and mercy, by sobriety and purity, by integrity and fair dealing, by doing more good than the law requires and less evil than the law permits, thus only can you hope to enter the kingdom of heaven." Bishop McVickar of Rhode Island (referring to the folly of churches in using against each other the strength which should be directed against the common foe,) recalled hearing Dean Stanley once say that while Christians

were continually confessing themselves "miserable sinners," there is plenty of reason why they should confess on their knees that they are often miserable fools. From Bishop Fowler's address we take this tribute to President Roosevelt: "Strenuous Teddy', who is the foremost man of our time; forceful as a gladiator, intelligent as a Boston lawyer, quick as an athlete, bold as a brigand, wise as a philosopher, honest as nature, and as farsighted as a prophet, he has wrought the greatest achievement of modern times. By his candor and courage he has forced a peace between two nations, and has lifted the last civilized despot from his throne of absolutism and seated him upon a constitution.* * Let the denominations make a great treaty, a Federation, and join hands, and we can lift this nation into righteousness. Let William III and Edward VII and "Teddy' the First (and the last) join hands and they can dictate and enforce peace to mankind. Not a soldier anywhere on the face of the earth would dare lift his foot without their permission. Then the millenium would swing in through the big front door." Bishop Goodsell, speaking of "The Essential Unity of the Churches" said: "I know towns where the only dissident among the churches is one that stands stupefied and dying in the midst of brotherly vitality, whose Christly quality it denies. I know some great souls in all churches whose exuberant love and activity touch helpfully the whole Christian world. And I do believe that it is now possible for us so to federate that the world will not have to listen for separate voices in a Babel of utterance, but will hear one great strong voice, the united outcry of more than twenty Protestant denominations and of nineteen million Christian hearts." Dr. Buckley, speaking of the Religious Press, said that a Church paper must be Christian and denominational. It must stand for the essential principles of its own body and of the evangelical system. "It will not attack another Christian paper on its denominational peculiarities-unless that paper makes war on its peculiarities. In that case it will say like Saint Paul, 'I withstood him to his face because he was to blame.' My brethren, if Paul and Peter had that privilege, why should a humble worm like myself spurn it?" When Dr. J. W. Hegeman, (an Episcopalian) Field Secretary of the Federation of Churches and Christian Workers of the State of New York, was writing to clergymen of various denominations concerning possible federation for practical ends, one candid bigot answered: "There is only one real Christian church; hence we cannot federate with so-called churches. You, yourself, are damned and will go to hell unless you are immersed." The contents of this big volume are, in Carlyle's phrase, "significant of much."

METHODIST REVIEW

NOVEMBER, 1906

ART. I. THE SMALL COLLEGE

A GENERATION ago there were no real universities in America. At that time there were not even "big colleges"; at least they were not spoken of as such in contradistinction to the smaller institutions of collegiate rank. Except in that they had more students and more ample equipment in men and books (of scientific apparatus there was little), colleges like Princeton and Yale differed but little from colleges having fewer students. The term "small college," in its present conventional sense, was unknown. As late as 1876 Harvard College had but forty-two instructors and eight hundred and twenty-one students. In respectable educational circles there were recognized simply "colleges" and "poor colleges," the latter serving to distinguish institutions not in work and equipment up to the assumed standard of the time. Within the last third of a century the typical college has undergone a metamorphosis. Thirty or thirty-five years ago the college lacked many of the distinctive characteristics of the institutions of today. Coeducation was sporadic and, except by a few enthusiasts, was regarded as too Utopian for this wicked world. Students lived in college houses or dormitories, subject to parietal rules and Argus-eyed proctors or tutors. Both personal conduct and expenditure of money were subject to official oversight. The curriculum was a Procrustean bed upon which all were made to lie. Practically all studies were "required." During my whole college course I never heard of a student's petitioning for the slightest modification of his course. The average student went into the hopper and in due time came out of the mill-and I am not implying that the mill was not,

relatively speaking, a good one. There were not supposed to be any "soft snaps" in the shape of courses. There were instructors who could be "worked," but there were no courses in hymnology, or photography, or dramatic expression. About the only concession made to taste or lack of talent was in a remission of some of the higher mathematics and of Greek in favor of the person who expected to wear the cloth, or of the student who wished to get a little laboratory chemistry. There was plenty of Latin, Greek and mathematics, with homeopathic portions of rhetoric and English literature, which was not the real thing, but the study of a book supposed to give very briefly the "history" of the literature. Logic had a place, as well as mental and moral philosophy, which last the good boys did not need and which did the "hard cases" no good. Its redeeming feature was that it gave opportunity for some pretense at discussion when the more courageous would propound questions that would have delighted Duns Scotus or Thomas Aquinas. Utilitarianism, with its deadening influence, had no part in the college thoughts of the average student. Shortening the course was never thought of. The college library, though frequently very rich in general literature, was not a part of the working assets of the college at all. No student was ever referred to it for work or expected to use it. Of real teaching, whether by explication or suggestion, there was but very little, as we understand teaching in these latter days. Of hearing recitations from a printed book there was much. The drill-master was always in evidence, and sometimes he understood his business. Frequently, however, the professor did come into personal touch with students to whom he took a fancy and was a real inspiration to good work. To two college professors I owe an inspiration that has been deep and lifelong, though neither was a very efficient teacher. The teacher was not a specialist, though he was apt to be very much of a man. The president had some teaching to do, along with his disciplining and preaching, and knew something of the burdens and peculiar perplexities of the professor's life. Three years after graduation, as a matter of course, any alumnus who had not been sent up for felony was voted the degree of Master of Arts. If there were any graduate students they were persons who were reading a little more

Latin or Greek or doing harder mathematics than they had done as undergraduates. There was no change in method or aim. The student paid adequate fees-that is, he did not get something for nothing; a healthy condition of things that here in the West has been made impossible by the development of the state institutions. The all-sacred divinity who presides over modern athletics had no place in the pantheon of the boy of those ancient days. I cannot recall a single inter-collegiate game during my college course, though baseball was enjoyed and played as real sport by a large number of students. There was no gymnastics, for there was no gymnasium except what dumb-bells and Indian clubs afforded. Literary societies flourished in the best sense of the term, and fraternity combinations to appropriate all the offices were well-nigh unknown. There may not always have been much high thinking, but there was plenty of plain living. Dormitory apartments were of the plainest, without any of the "modern conveniences." The only luxury was a servant to build the morning fire, run errands and keep the rooms in a very indifferent fashion. Chapel prayers were early—as early as seven, frequently—in a room without much or any fire. Much of this reads like ancient history to the student of today. An institution such as I have described is, in the Eastern and more settled parts of our country, as extinct as the dodo. The old college must bear its full share of sins of omission, if not of commission. It lacked the peculiarly attractive features of the latter-day institution, but the student was not ever looking for some new sensation other than what was fairly scholastic. The curriculum was painfully narrow, but somehow it made men, and the old education is amply justified of her children. It is doubtful if as much can yet be said of the new. The student was not perhaps so much a man of affairs as the student of our day, but the boys were few who spent their best energy "in learning to color a pipe, train a bulldog, wear clothes that do not fit, play golf and run an automobile." The student of those days somehow got real culture and an interest in the things literary and immortal, and maintained at least decent regard for "the dead but sceptered sovereigns who still rule our spirits from their urns." If he thought less than the up-to-date youth about making a living, he somehow learned the