Recent criticisms by President Meiklejohn of Amherst College directed toward

the present status of college athletics seem to be little more than the filing of a bill of particulars in the already existing case against the exaggerated expenses and possibly exaggerated importance of intercollegiate sports. In an especial manner the president of Amherst has recommended "scrapping" the present system of paid coaches, which evidently seems to him not only to be overdone in itself, but also to lead to a diminution of the collegiate atmosphere attending such con tests. Naturally this suggestion has awakened more or less opposition, despite the fact that theoretically the recommendation has strong ground beneath it. The system of professional coaching is by no means novel. It has existed for a generation and perhaps for longer. It grew out of the more specialized sports, notably rowing, and spread to baseball before it reached football. But when it ultimately reached football it flourished gloriously, until in many universities a whole army of subordinate coaches, partly volunteer in character however, became necessary to the proper conduct of an intensive campaign. In its present estate the coaching of college teams forms a very distinct profession into which notable athletes annually make their way the country over, some of them to remain in that profession for life More than one Dartmouth graduate has found in the athletic activities of the various colleges a field at once agreeable to him and reasonably remunerative.

That the coaching business tends to be overdone, as do so many other incidents of college athletics, will not be very widely denied. That it deserves to be "scrapped" altogether will, however, be stoutly opposed. It is probably idle to suggest it. If we are to have intercollegiate sports at all—and of course we are—the rivalry produced thereby will infallibly suffice to keep coaching alive as an incident quite as essential as the uniform, or the actual implements of play. The one feasible reform would seem to lie in the avoidance of exaggerations, or in a possible determination to confine coaching to alumni solely. That it can ever be made a non-professional matter—that is, a purely voluntary service rendered by alumni for brief periods without pay—seems to us highly improbable. In saying which we have in mind football, especially. The coaching of baseball teams is almost universally a professional matter involving the services of big league players (usually no longer active) whose knowledge of their highly developed art is due to a long practical experience in the fastest company.

In a word, we find it difficult to go the length of agreeing entirely with Dr. Meiklejohn, although readily perceiving the abstract justice of at least a portion of his complaint. What he asks is not concretely possible, we fear, without amending the whole structure of intercollegiate sport to a degree not at the moment likely to be tolerated either by undergraduates or alumni. But the fact that the president of Amherst adds this element to the discussion is evidence of the growing importance assigned to the topic of reforming intercollegiate athletics ; and it has a direct bearing on the ways and means of curtailment toward which thoughtful alumni everywhere are turning their attention.

A wide measure of public interest seems to have been aroused by a recent letter of President Hopkins, replying to the curious demand of a certain religious sect that every teaching inconsistent with certain old ideas of theology be incontinently abolished from the college curricula.

Quite naturally, the president flatly refused to do anything so absurd. It seems unlikely that any criticism of that refusal will be made—unless it be that the president's letter treated the silliness of the demand somewhat more seriously than it deserved. There is room for a feeling that rather too much argument was devoted to convincing those who were from the start incapable of conviction. Nevertheless it is probably best to be entirely candid with the apostles of theological reaction and to make quite clear the reasons why such demands cannot be complied with, regardless of the effect upon the reactionaries themselves.

One notes in this connection that the redoubtable .William J. Bryan is being quoted to much the same effect as the premillennial Baptist brethren, his urgence taking the form of a wish that every teaching which relates to evolutionary development be abolished. It is all the same thing. Mr. Bryan is doubtless impressed by the well known feeling that modern science- is assailing the central pillars on which the Christian religion rests if it makes untenable the theories of Genesis concerning the creation of the world; and his remedy would he the forcible stifling of the scientific voice in the curious belief that thereby there must result a benefit to the true faith. The notion that God's truth has anything to fear at the hands of scientific examination is ancient and it dies hard.

We have spoken hitherto at various times of the functions which the higher learning has to perform with relation to religious concepts, summing it up by the statement that the chief end in view must be the reconciliation of faith and facts, nd that the essential work of theology is always to interpret God and his works a terms which the modern intellect will Lot instantly reject. That cannot be done, certainly, by resorting to the repressive tactics employed .in dealing with Galileo. 'E pur' se muove" will always be the mental reservation. Meantime it is well to bear constantly in mind the vast difference between religion and theology-i.e., between God's truth and man's imperfect notions of what that truth is. The latter will always be varying from age to age. The former will always be immutable- pace Mr. Einstein's abstruse qualifications and corrections for relativity. One fancies that God is not nearly so afraid of his own natural laws as are his divers dogmatic interpreters.

In any case the higher institutions of learning cannot well accede to requests that they give up all scientific teaching merely to satisfy the scruples of the few, and the only wonder must be that such a demand should be advanced in this late age of the world, with its quaintly mediaeval note sounding so incongruously in the ear.

The incidental interpretation of commentators, to the general effect that President Hopkins sounds the ultimate knell of denominationalism at Dartmouth, should hardly be required. The tradition of Dartmouth is New England Congregationalism; but as is usual with the colleges possessing such traditions, it long ago became a tradition merely. There is little occasion in any such case for the filing [of any formal decree of divorcement from the sectarian phase. Dartmouth was founded primarily to enable a distinguished Connecticut clergyman to spread the truths of religion as he then saw them to the Indians of the North—a function long since fallen into disuse. New occasions teach new duties. The college of today serves a much more practical purpose than it could do by adhering to a literal interpretation of Wheelock's initial purpose. Similarly, it was found necessary long ago to diverge from the narrow paths of New England denominationalism to broader and more generally useful avenues, the goal of which is, as before, the dissemination of truth as contemporary men see the truth.

Unfortunately that famous inquiry of Pilate remains unanswered. While the truth is admittedly constant, the degree of light wherewith to perceive it grows apace and compels frequent changes and corrections without notice. One has always to face the opposition of those who would hold some previous misconception to be immutable, no matter what a more intimate knowledge of the facts may reveal It is now quite clear that at Dartmouth there can be said to be no disposition to halt in the search, no willingness to defer to ancient misconceptions merely because they are ancient—and hopefully also no readiness to accept novel and rebellious doctrines merely because they are new and startling. Certainly it would be a mistake of the facts to assume that Dartmouth of today is a denominational institution first and a college of the arts and sciences afterwards.

Various thoughts occur to one in cotemplation of the opening of the annual drive for the replenishment of the Alumni Fund. First and foremost, naturally, is the suggestion of a need for the accustomed liberality, which one scarcely needs stress. The process represented by this fund is by this time sufficiently familiar to all of us. It represents an effort to take up the slack which all colleges find to be an incident to their finances, caused by the discrepancy between what education costs and what students can well pay for it, without the intensive effort which would be required to provide an endowment fund sufficient for our needs. What really happens is that we raise every year by subscriptions a sum that represents the interest on an endowment, instead of raising the endowment fund and having the college collect the interest.

The advantages and disadvantages of this plan have been recapitulated so often that they require no more than a passing word. The chief among the disadvantages —to wit, the annual recurrence of the call for aid—seems to us at least equally an advantage, in that it makes the College a continuing reality demanding personal interest; whereas the outright gift of a much larger sum to create a permanent endowment would in many cases mean charging off for good and all the personal intimacy of the alumnus, on the theory that he had done his bit and might be pardoned for diminishing his personal concern for the College.

It is not altogether a bad thing to have the responsibility of the alumnus annually renewed, so long as it is done endurably. It is the hope and expectation that, as years go on and as alumni more and more generally come to appreciate this responsibility, the individual burden may diminish because of a wider diffusion. In last year's canvass, about 57 per cent of the living alumni figured in the list of contributors. It is not too much to expect this to increase until at least per cent shall thus figure. The theoretical perfection, with every known graduate enrolled as a contributor in large or small amounts, may not be actually attainable; but the virtues incident to setting for yourself an ideal somewhat beyond the probable attainment are so well known that one need hardly emphasize them.

This, in turn, reminds us that there are alumni in every college who complain that they "never hear anything about the college except to get a request for a subscription." So far as Dartmouth is concerned, this situation would seem to be due mainly to lack of initiative in the alumnus. The whole aim and purpose of this MAGAZINE, for example, is to bring the College to the alumni no matter how remote, nine times in the year, without involving any expenditure beyond the trifling sum represented by its modest subscription rate. It is further the earnest desire and the hope of this MAGAZINE to make this a matter, not of mere duty, but of privilege and pleasure.

We should seriously doubt the value of any alumni magazine which alumni bought only because they felt themselves obligated by a duty so to do. It is much more in point to make the MAGAZINE so readable and so agreeably informative that its visits may be welcomed, and its cost gladly paid. That means, of course, that the utmost endeavor has to be made by this publication to be interesting—interesting if need be against the handicap of initial lukewarmness m the readerwhich is no easy task but is one which the editors of the MAGAZINE very gladly shoulder. What we want is. that you the average alumnus of Dartmouth, shall feel the College to be a vital part of your affairs in its appropriate degree, not because you ought to, but because you like to.

The alumnus who subscribes to his alumni magazine only because he thinks he should do it very commonly does not read the magazine when it arrives. It is upon this indifference that one has to make insistent and vigorous assault, by the none too easy method of producing nine successive, issues which shall be as gladly read as, let us say, the SaturdayEvening Post.

Of course it is too much to look for a deep personal interest on the part of a remote graduate who has been out of co lege 30 years in the doings of an undergraduate personnel wholly unknown. But the doings of the College as a college, the events which betoken its growth, the changes in its educational, financial, athletic or social policies, and the linking up of past traditions to those now forming should be of interest to any one who feels that his relationship to Dartmouth did not cease with the acquisition of his sheepskin and the boarding of the final coach to Norwich depot.

In addition to the facilities afforded by the MAGAZINE, we are very glad to remind our readers that the college now boasts a "Daily Dartmouth," to which alumni are cordially invited to subscribe in event they are desirous of keeping in such intimate touch with the news of the institution from day to day, or feel a natural curiosity to follow this notable evidence of college expansion. The mere fact that such a publication exists is in itself indicative of the surprising growth from older days, when a daily newspaper of the college was undreamed of save in the few days preceding Commencement. Abo, for the use of the various Dartmouth lunch clubs throughout the country there is now being regularly pre pared and mailed a Bulletin giving the very latest news of the College for the information of those whose habit it is to attend these weekly gatherings. Quite naturally the chief field of the local daily is found among those immediately on tie ground-but there must be many alumni whose association with Hanover is sufficiently close to warrant the regular perusal if the college newspaper.

In this connection, by the way, there nay yet be room for the development at Dartmouth of something like a school of journalism, with 'laboratory work thrown in. Professional journalists one may use an unpopular term) have in he past frowned upon schools of jourlalism, much as in older days practicing attorneys looked askance upon law schools. But there is no discernible reason why prentice hands at the newspaper game should not be trained in schools, especially if there be opportunity for practical work in the actual making of a newspaper. Dartmouth College, with some 2000 undergraduates and a large incidental population remote from any great town, is amply large enough to support a daily college paper devoted primarily to local happenings; and certain budding attempts to transcend the purely local field have been made which should promise well. As a result it should be quite possible to send out men to whom the technical aspects of news-gathering, editing and publishing are not altogether unknown.

Some curious results have been tabulated recently, tending to reveal an alarming discrepancy of judgment among such as mark examination papers in the various schools. How general this variation of judgment may be, and how typical the results given below, are subjects for doubt. But as the figures were first given by "The Quadrangular" in the BostonTranscript and are quoted without question in .a recent issue of the "Technology Review," they must be taken as significant of something sufficiently important to warrant a word.

The general purport of the revelations is that the same examination paper, if submitted to a great number of examiners, will be ranked so differently in the several cases as to raise some doubt of the usefulness of the examination, whether for the purposes of grading a class or for that of supplying an eligible list in the Civil Service. In a case of small divergences of judgment there would be no occasion for surprise. The trouble is that the figures given show variations as great as that between giving 28 and giving 92 on the same set of answers. Let us quote a paragraph or two:

"In one test a final examination paper in first-year high school English was graded by 142 teachers in 142 high schools. The paper was marked all the way from 64 to 98 per cent. Another examination paper of the same kind was rated by the same 142 teachers of English and the marks ranged from 50 to 98."

That, if it be a correct statement of what happened, makes one tremble for one's son in college, and grateful for one's own past. The same paper may mean a dismal flunk, or honorable mention! To be sure the examples cited relate to first-year high school English, where exactitude would be improbable; but variations between a beggarly 50 and a glorious 98 on a single set of answers seem to transcend the tolerable. Let us see what happens where the examination deals with something more nearly approaching the realms of the exact:

"A final examination in American history was graded by 70 history teachers; one teacher assigned it a grade of 43 and another 90; a dozen teachers rated it at 80 or above; and another dozen scored it as below 55."

But history, again, is a topic which is hardly to be rated as among the exact sciences. One should know more about the nature of the questions. Of course if the examination related to dates, such as that of the "discovery of America" (to give it the familiar description), or of the signing of the Declaration, or of the battle of Gettysburg, one could say at once whether the answer was correct or not. But history has to do with so many other things than mere dates, involving answers to questions which would admit of divers estimates on the score of their satisfactory character. Let us see how fares it with mathematical inquisitions:

"A final examination paper in geometry was scored by 114 mathematics teachers; as in the case of the English and history papers, it was marked on the basis of 100 as perfect. One teacher marked it as low as 28, and two marked it as high as 92. A dozen teachers marked it as 53 or below, and fourteen marked it as 83 or above."

One is tempted to ejaculate, "There, but for the Grace of God, goes yours truly!" If even mathematics teachers cannot tell whether a paper on geometry deserves 28 or 92, what is the remedy? Is there any standard whereby the teaching forces of this country can attain to a tolerable approximation of unanimity in estimating the pupil's work? If so, it is evident that it has not yet been applied—assuming such results as the above to be even fairly common. But are they? Is this amazing revelation the usual thing, or the rarely sporadic?

One should be very slow, we believe, to accept too hastily the conclusion that this always happens when a long list of examiners sit independently in judgment on a single paper of answers. It is clear that differences of a sort will surely be found; but it is difficult to believe that the divergence will show any such amplitude of arc as that between 28 and 92 in any paper referring to a science so capable of exactness as geometry. One can understand how teachers might quibble over the ranking of a paper within a 10-point margin, the paper being one which the exacting mind would call "rather poor" and the lenient mind "pretty good." But there ought to be a sufficient agreement to admit of knowing whether the examinee had flunked disgracefully, or passed with honors.

Incidentally one finds in it material strengthening the policy of judging admissions to Dartmouth by reference to the sustained work of the pupil through several terms, instead of basing it all on a rank attained in a single entrance examination.