The French war of the same year had its effect upon the college, and when in 1707 Rector Pierson died, it was found impossible to support a resident professor at Saybrook. Consequently the senior class was sent to Milford and placed under the Rev. Samuel Andrew, while the other classes remained at Saybrook with two tutors. At this time Yale College extended from the senior class at Milford to the juniors, sophomores and freshmen at Saybrook, a distance of forty miles.
In 1714, the death of the Rev. James Pierpont, who may be regarded as the founder of the college, struck another blow at its prosperity. At the same time complaints about their accommodations from the Saybrook students made it evident that if the college was to become a permanent institution, some active measures were required. At a meeting of trustees in 1716, after a protracted discussion, and not a little to the dissatisfaction of Hartford, it was decided to locate the college permanently at New Haven. Hartford was appeased by building there a new court house, and the scattered students were gathered at New Haven, which that day became a college town.
Among several donations to the college, the most generous was that of Elihu Yale, a former resident of New Haven, and at the time a wealthy London merchant. In view of his munificence, the trustees called the new building which his donation had enabled them to complete, Yale College.
It would be superfluous for our purpose to trace the history of the college from this permanent foundation in 1718 to the present time. Among its presidents we find such names as Elihu Williams, Ezra Stiles, Timothy Dwight, Jeremiah Day, Theodore D. Woolsey and Noah Porter—grand men of the orthodox school, some of them rigid and severe in administration, but all respected and honored. The character of the presidents is an index to the institution, which has developed under the severe discipline of New England. The students who of late years have come from distant states have modified the general character of the college, but have not destroyed the old influence. The recognition of religion, which in some universities has well-nigh disappeared, still holds its own, and the same bell which, in years gone by, summoned sleepy and half-dressed students to the murky chapel, at five in the morning, now, at a more convenient hour, assembles in the handsome “Battell” those who have come to college from every state in the Union. Thus the old New England régime makes an impression upon the rising generation of the whole country.
It is not within the scope of this article to consider the development of the college curriculum; but, perhaps, in view of the radical changes which the Yale faculty have introduced for the college year 1884-’85, it may not be out of place rapidly to sketch the innovations. In 1786 the requirements for admission were “Virgil, Tully, and the Greek Testament.” This is characteristic of the college, which has always been remarkably conservative in its devotion to the classics. Charles Francis Adams’ oration at the Harvard “Phi Beta Kappa” dinner two years ago, aroused no little antagonism in New Haven. President Porter has written several articles defending the classics, and when Matthew Arnold and Lord Coleridge addressed the Yale students, both congratulated the institution upon its attitude toward the ancient languages. Heretofore Latin and Greek have been compulsory during both freshman and sophomore years. But under the new system German and French may be substituted for a portion of the classics. To the senior and junior classes even greater liberty is given. They are offered between twenty and thirty elective courses; so that now, instead of turning a whole class out of the same mould, the college permits men to select those studies which they find attractive, or which will best prepare them for their pursuits in life. Thus in one year Yale has made very rapid strides, and now stands a “golden mean” between the conservatism of the past and the rashly radical tendencies of the present. So much for the origin and curriculum of Yale.
It is not the instruction alone that makes a college course desirable. The associations, friendships, and experiences in the college community are also important factors. It has been well said that a college is a miniature world, with its successes, failures, and temptations as real as those of the world without.
It is impossible, in an article like the present, to do more than give a few of the peculiarities of Yale. The writer disclaims any attempt to analyze critically the influences and tendencies of the college, but aims merely to present a few facts concerning its students, buildings, class spirit, and every-day life.
The college catalogue shows that in the academic department the classes average one hundred and fifty students. In the Sheffield Scientific School the aggregate number is about two hundred and twenty-five. The other departments swell the total to between ten and eleven hundred. It is probably unnecessary to state that co-education is not “dreamed of” in the Yale philosophy. The warm affection which the faculty feel for the dead languages seems only to increase their coldness toward the gentler sex.
Yale is eminently a cosmopolitan institution. When two years ago state clubs were being formed at Yale, some one remarked that if the same experiment were attempted at Harvard, there would be two clubs, one from Boston, and one from the rest of Massachusetts. While this statement is by no means true, it suggests the sectional character of the other New England colleges. A few figures will sustain this claim. In 1883-’84, out of 824 students in the academic and scientific departments, only twenty-nine per cent. were from Connecticut. There were nineteen men from California, six from Colorado, seven from Georgia, fifty-one from Illinois, thirty-three from Ohio, twenty from Missouri, and sixty-five from Pennsylvania. Almost every state, and many of the territories, were represented, and the very fact that Yale draws its men from so many widely different sources has an important influence upon the character of the students. The swift-coursing, tingling blood of the West is infused into the old, staid, New England institution, which restrains, modifies, and directs it. The enthusiasm of Yale is due in a great measure to this western element. There is a whole-heartedness about Yale students which you will find in no other eastern institution. Nor is money at Yale the basis of social standing. A man may command any position which he has the character or ability to attain.
It is generally supposed that in a large institution the numbers in a class prevent that personal contact with the instructors which smaller classes afford. This objection can be easily answered. Let us suppose that a freshman class numbers one hundred and fifty students, and that the curriculum includes five studies. The class will be divided into five sections of thirty men each, and will recite to five instructors in order. There are fifteen recitations a week, so that every member of the class recites three times a week to each of these instructors, and that, too, in a class of only thirty. This affords all the “contact” that either instructors or instructed need or desire. The divisions are arranged according to excellence in scholarship at the end of every term, so that each division has its own standard of attainment; hence the diligent are not retarded by their more leisurely classmates. Recitations and examinations are marked upon a scale of four. When one’s average standing falls below two, he is given the choice between leaving college or entering the class next below. This unpleasant experience is known as being “dropped.” For irregularities and tardiness in attendance, the penalties are inflicted in the form of “marks,” which have no influence upon scholarship standing. The penalty for “cutting” chapel on a week day is two marks, on Sunday, eight. As these marks accumulate, parents are informed by “letters home” when a certain limit is approached, which varies in the different years—more latitude being granted to seniors and juniors than is enjoyed by the lower classes. For seniors, the first letter comes at thirty marks; the second at about fifty; and the third, if there be one, informs the parent that his son has incurred sixty marks, and has been suspended for six weeks. This is “rustication.” The unfortunate retires to Milford, where he pursues his studies in interesting solitude. This marking system has many “defects,” which are especially patent to the down-trodden student, but it certainly has the merit of securing method and regularity in college duties. Other colleges, notably Amherst, have adopted new methods for which they claim great superiority over the archaic system. But it is safe to say that the Yale faculty must be thoroughly converted before they will discard the old system, which has been for years the bone of contention in every Yale debating club.