Within a little time the alumni associations

will begin to hold their annual meetings, and throughout the land Dartmouth men will gather in this or that center, called together by common interest in the College, its men and its affairs. Dean West of Princeton has recently said at such a meeting of Princeton men: "I have little regard for the college man who does not enthusiastically care for his college. There are men in the world of learning and institutions in the world of learning which have a way of looking down on enthusiasm as something to be outgrown by men. The criticism is made that our college graduates and our professors also are in danger of being 'institutionalized,' that is to say, made partisans of their several colleges, and to be: come men lacking sympathy with rival colleges. I cannot believe in this view. If it be true with us here that we are men without enthusiasm for our college, then something good in us has died." It is probably true that there is no need to invoke enthusiasm among Dartmouth men; it is certainly true that the Dartmouth man who is without enthusiasm for his college is bereft of something important to the lives of most of the graduates of the College. The devotion of the alumni is proverbial, and it has been a powerful factor in the development of recent years. With the real interest which exists everywhere among its men in the affairs of the College, with the increasing occasions for Dartmouth men to meet together, through association meetings and lunch-clubs, the opportunity and the responsibility of the alumni to uphold the best in the College life is increased. The enthusiasm which stands behind the teams when they go into athletic contests is an admirable thing so far as it goes, but it is not a deep nor a permanent thing if it stops there. The enthusiasm which heeds the cry for aid to rebuild an ancient building or which listens willingly to the story of a new and imperative call, and the enthusiam which leads men to enter and to continue in the service of the College, against superior inducements elsewhere, are of superior quality. The power of the alumni in American educational institutions is each year becoming greater. It should also become each year more responsible. The ideals of the College and her serious work should never be forgotten. Full information should be sought and given, that alumni sentiment may be intelligent and thoughtful sentiment. This is the mission of the alumni associations.

"Dartmouth Night" gave the attendants the privilege, always so greatly appreciated, of again hearing Judge Cross. Perhaps this means more to the Freshmen even than to the others. The founding of the College in 1769 seems far away, but more than once has Judge Cross called attention to the fact that he actually did know many and might have known all of every class that ever graduated from Dartmouth College. So near are we brought to the beginning, through him ! And the duty which he laid upon a recent Freshman class can well be recalled to each:—Judge Cross entered Dartmouth in 1837, and now returns seventy-one years later. Some member of the class of 1912, returning to the College in 1979 can say that he personally had known a man who had known members of the first classes in Dartmouth College.

The modesty of Judge Cross has prevented any incorporation of his own record into the article concerning his class. A graduate of Dartmouth and of the Harvard Law School, he began practice in Manchester in 1844, From that time until the present he has continued the practice of law and has constantly illustrated in his own career those civic virtues which ought to distinguish a college man. In politics, in church work, in business he has been respected as in law. He has given much attention to and become an authority on questions of taxation and flowage. He has been in constant demand as a speaker and has delivered many notable addresses upon legal subjects. Throughout a busy life, however, he has constantly held the keenest interest in all that has pertained to the best interests of Dartmouth College. No alumnus brings to the College greater inspiration than he, and the love with which he regards the College is equalled by that which Dartmouth men feel for him.

The Harvard game brought the football schedule to a close. All things considered the season has been the most successful one in the athletic history of the College with the possible exception of 1903. In that year Dartmouth was defeated by Princeton, but won from Harvard and overwhelmed Brown. This year's team was not a better one than that which scored such a decisive victory over Harvard last year, after having gone undefeated through the season, but the schedule was much better. The team did its best, and won from Princeton. That a like result did not follow in the Harvard game was simply due to Harvard's great strength. It is difficult to see how those writers who review the season, even those obsessed by memories of the "big four" fallacy, can separate Dartmouth far from Harvard, who must be given first place. At any rate the season has passed into history, and the college name has been borne in a worthy manner by those who represented Dartmouth. This is enough.

The resignation of President Eliot from the administrative headship of Harvard University removes from active participation in educational affairs, the individuality that for nearly half a century has largely dominated them. The primacy of Harvard among American universities comes not merely by virtue of age, location, wealth, or inherent wisdom, but in considerable degree by virtue of the influence of a single great personality. It is possible to realize other similar institutions without reference to their leadership, to appreciate their mechanism without regard to its designer, to estimate the quality of their parts without considering the whole. This is not so with Harvard; for, as it stands today, that institution seems virtually the creation of one man, the very fibre of whose brain is inwrought with every element of its structure.

During forty years, President Eliot has been content to apply himself primarily to the needs of the University, satisfied to accept civic responsibility and to wield civic power as the opportunity allowed among what were to him major duties, but never for a moment seeking prominence in affairs that the University might seem to shine in the reflected glory of its executive. Hence time and devotion have, in the minds of many, merged the man and the undertaking which he so nobly fulfilled.

The debt which Harvard owes to its president is incontestably great: that which is owed by the educational world in general is more a matter of conjecture. His revolt against the Procrustean methods in vogue among the colleges of forty years ago has tended to produce the opposite extreme, whereby the sojourner in the halls of learning makes up his bed to suit himself,—as wide or as narrow as he likes and with assurance of agreeable softness. That the result is not altogether satisfactory is attested by a chorus of strenuous protest, unavailing, however, in the face of a determination at once unflagging and adroit. Possessed of a serene certainty of the justice of his own position, President Eliot has valiantly held the field against all comers.

In the end, no doubt, he will be looked upon as the prophet who led education out of the arid desert into a broad land of promise. Meanwhile a long process of systematization and adjustment must take place. We are coming to understand that the educational system of our forefathers, like most of their other building operations, made for strength, solidity, and endurance; and that the task of present and future generations will be to adapt the old models to new conditions rather than to evolve an entirely fresh set of patterns.

The death in recent weeks of two such men as Daniel Coit Gilman and Charles Eliot Norton makes large loss in the nation, and particularly so in the educational world.

To both the country is indebted for services rendered to intellectual, educational, and civic progress.

Mr. Gilman was graduated at Yale in 1852 and continued his studies in Berlin. In 1855 he returned to Yale, where he was active in the development of the Sheffield Scientific School, and professor of physical and political geography. From 1872 to 1875 he was president of the University of California. The achievement which will always be pre-eminently associated with Mr. Gilman's name is of course the organization of the Johns Hopkins University, to the presidency of which he was called in 1876. This was the first institution in the country to be established upon a plan comparable to that of a German university, giving regularly established courses leading to the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Post-graduate departments soon followed at other universities, for the time was ripe for a higher grade of intellectual training, but the credit of taking the first decisive step and thus supplying a needed impetus to the whole movement must be ascribed to President Gilman. He also established at once the publication of learned periodicals as an integral part of the functions of the new university, in the plan of which teaching and investigation were to go hand in hand.

The medical college at Johns Hopkins inaugurated a new era in training for that profession by requiring a bachelor's degree for admission. President Gilman was a remarkably sane thinker in educational matters, distinguished as much for the things he did not do, as for those he did. He did not go to work hastily, and whatever he established was incontrovertibly solid and successful. He showed keen discrimination in the men whom he associated with him as teachers and advisers. He spent money liberally for instruction, but sparingly for buildings; he was proof against the temptation of bricks and numbers. His enduring monument is the establishment of new opportunities and standards for advanced liberal and professional training in the United States. After twenty-five years of service President Gilman retired from the university and became the first president of the Carnegie Institute. His talents as a geographer had enabled him to perform important duties as a member of the Venezuela Boundary Commission, and he was president of the National Civil Service Reform League.

Different as President Gilman and Professor Norton were in personality and professional interests, their careers nevertheless touched each other in devotion to the civic uplifting of the country, as is perhaps best shown by the circumstance that both were among the founders of the Nation.

Mr. Norton was graduated from Harvard in 1846, and at first engaged in business in an East India house in Boston. As supercargo he made a voyage to Calcutta and gained his first experience of Europe on the return journey. The next few years were spent in study, writing, and a second visit to Europe, during which he formed a close friendship with Ruskin. It was under the influence of Ruskin's enthusiasm that he began the study of the fine arts. After his return from Europe Mr. Norton settled in Cambridge at Shady Hill, the town in which he was born and in which on the twenty-first of last month he died. He soon became a member of that well-known group of poets and men of letters which made Boston the intellectual and literary center of America in the middle of the last century. During the Civil War Mr. Norton contributed effectively by faith and works to the support of the Union cause. He served with Eowell as co-editor of the patriotic NorthAmerican Review and edited the leaflets of the Eoyal Publication Society. In 1868 Mr. Norton again went to Europe, this time for a stay of five years. In 1875 he was appointed professor of the history of art at Harvard, which was then, under President Eliot, entering upon a new order of things. He retired in 1898, but continued for ten years to aid by suggestion and advice various movements for the establishment of a higher intellectual, moral, and civic life in this country. Mr. Norton early became interested in Dante and published translations of "The New Life" and the "Divine Comedy," the latter a notable piece of English prose. His chief production in the history of art was "Church Building in the Middle Ages." Besides Mr. Norton's association with the Boston group of authors, his friendships among Englishmen of letters from Wordsworth to Kipling would have been noteworthy for an Englishman, and are without parallel for an American. It was but natural that he should edit other among things the Correspondence of Carlyle and Emerson, the Letters of Ruskin, the Reminiscences of Carlyle, and Carlyle's correspondence with Goethe.

It is peculiarly true of Mr. Norton, however, that it is quite impossible by enumerating his activities to convey an adequate impression of the significance of his life either for the immediate circle which he influenced or for his time and country. With a charm of personality and a depth of culture rarely to be met, he united a judgment of men and things which was no less sound for being frequently at variance with that of the majority at any particular time. He hated shams in patriotism, morals, and social life, but he strove at all times to make his criticism constructive. He was the foremost representative of a type of mind and heart especially needed and but too infrequently found in this great democracy.