Proclaim brotherhood, justice, and equal rights ever so much, men will nod acquiescence with a mental reservation of "but," significant of "Who are you? What can you do, or what have you done?" It is your current life's answer to these interrogatives that most interest people in this material world in your behalf. Only as we increase in commercial pursuits, ownership of property, and the higher elements of production through skilled labor will our political barometer rise. Upon these we should anchor our hopes, assured that higher education, with its "classic graces, will follow in their proper places."
Of the latter a humorous writer, in answer to the question from the president of an Eastern college, "Is there any good reason why our sons should not study the dead languages?" said: "While our sons are not on speaking terms with many live languages, it ill becomes them to go fooling around the dead and dying. I do not think it necessary that our sons should study these defunct tongues. A language that did not have strength enough to pull through and crawled off somewhere and died, doesn't seem worth studying. I will go further, and say I do not see why our sons should spend valuable time over invalid languages that aren't feeling very well. Let us not, professor, either one of us, send our sons into the hospital to lug out languages on a stretcher just to study them. No; let us bring up our sons to shun all diseased and disabled languages, even if it can't be proved that a language comes under either of those heads; if it has been missing since the last engagement, it is just as well not to have our sons chasing around after it with a detective, trying to catch and pore over it. You may look at it differently, professor. Our paths in the great realm of education of youth may lie far apart; but it is my heartfelt wish that I may never live to see a son of mine ride right past healthy athletic languages and then stand up in the stirrups and begin to whoop and try to lariat some poor old language going around on a crutch, carrying half of its alphabet in a sling. If two-thirds of the words of a language are flat on their back, taking quinine, trying to get up an appetite, let us teach our sons that they cannot hope to derive benefit from its study."
But Lord Rosebery, ex-Premier of England, in a late address before the University of Glasgow on "Questions of Empire," in the following, on action and learning, takes a serious view:
"There was a time, long years ago, when the spheres of action and learning were separate and distinct; when laymen dealt hard blows and left letters to the priesthood. That was to some extent the case when our oldest universities were founded. But the separation daily narrows. It has been said that the true university of our days is a collection of books. What if a future philosopher shall say that the best university is a workshop? And yet the latter definition bids fair to be the sounder of the two. The training of our schools and colleges must daily become more and more the training for action, for practical purpose. The question will be asked of the product of our educational system: Here is a young fellow of twenty; he has passed the best years of acquisition and impression; he has cost so much; what is his value? For what, in all the manifold activities of the world, is he fit? And if the answer be not satisfactory, if the product be only a sort of learned mummy, the system will be condemned. Are there not thousands of lads today plodding away at the ancient classics, and who, at the first possible moment, will cast them into space, never to reopen them? Think of the wasted time that that implies; not all wasted, perhaps, for something may be gained in power of application; but entirely wasted so far as available knowledge is concerned."
And in keeping with this line of thought, the "Washington Post," of Washington, D. C., in a recent issue, makes the following pertinent and truthful mention:
"Almost without exception, the colleges and universities are beginning another year with unusually large classes. Many of these institutions report the largest number of matriculates in their history. The aggregate attendance is unquestionably greater by thousands than that of any previous year. This is due in part to the prevalence of business prosperity and in part to the steadily increasing approbation of higher education for women, while the natural increase of population is also something of a factor. The 'Cleveland Leader,' speaking of the reports of large classes of freshmen all over the country, says:
"'That appears to be the best and most conclusive reply which the American people can make to those gentlemen of wealth and prominence who, like Mr. Schwab, of the Steel Trust, discourage higher education as preparation for the life of the business world. It is the solidest kind of evidence that the old love of knowledge for its own sake and the old faith in the beneficial effects of college training upon the youth of a country having such a government and social organization as this Republic has developed remain as strong as ever.'"
To which the Post replies:
"That is somewhat hasty and a probably erroneous conclusion. The "higher education" which Mr. Schwab discourages, the old-time classical course, has not grown in popular favor. The reverse is true. The demand for a more practical education in this utilitarian age has compelled the colleges and universities to make radical changes in their curriculum. The number of students who elect to take the old-time course is smaller in proportion to the population and wealth of this country than it ever was. Science, both pure and applied, takes a far more prominent place in collegiate studies than it formerly occupied. Many of the leading institutions of learning have introduced a commercial department. Everywhere the practical, the business idea is becoming dominant.
"While no intelligent man questions the value of classical studies or disputes the proposition that a knowledge of the classics is indispensable to a thorough understanding of our own language, the area of practical study has become so vast, by reason of new discoveries in science and the arts, that a choice between the two is compulsory to young persons who have their own fortunes to make. The old-time course of mathematics and classics furnishes splendid mental discipline, with much knowledge that may or may not put its possessor on the road to success in business. But the time required for that course, if followed by a three or four years' term of practical study, sets a young man so far along in life that he has a hopeless race with younger men who dispensed with the classical and went in zealously for the practical.