That excellent and stimulating publication, the Daily Dartmouth,

recently reproduced a portion of a student's letter, said to have been written by a senior during the last semester, which goes so directly to the root of things that possibly a word of further comment is justified. The quotation published reads as follows:

I am becoming more and more dissatisfied with the methods of college educational systems. No amount of vituperation could satisfactorily express my contempt for the childish regulations and departmental plans in force here. Many factors are justifiable only in grammar school discipline. I want a college that does not take the daily attendance in the manner of checking up tardy schoolboys; that does not go over the assignment minutely every day, placing '6' or '9' after your name; in which quizzes and hour exams are contemptuous relics of a bygone age; whose professors are intelligently enthusiastic and attempt to impart enthusiasm to their students; in short, an administration that takes for granted the fact that a man comes to college for an education, and not one that draws up a set of rules for the battle between faculty and students. I pity the poor high school graduate, sick of and disgusted with the prep school discipline and attitude of mutual hostility between teachers and pupils, who comes to college with the words 'liberal education' coupled with anticipation in his mind; and I pity the poor freshman looking forward to his upper class electives still blindly hoping to realize his ideal of education ..."

Without venturing either approval or disapproval, the Dartmouth remarks editorially that there is in the foregoing "food for thought." There is, certainly. The first thought that the average alumnus is likely to have is one of vague regret for the fleeting years. It seems but yesterday that we oldsters were writing very similar letters and regretting the poverty of our vituperative vocabularies. The sobering reflection suddenly recurs that some professors of our acquaintance wrote very similar letters at the selfsame `epoch of their lives. Whether we should write them with similar conviction now is a different matter. One is much surer of some things at 21 than at 50—to go no farther.

If there persist disciplinary methods which ignore the assumption that every student is an earnest seeker after truth, it is probable that there's a reason. It is possible that here and there the undergraduate conduct lacks sufficiently convincing qualities to warrant the assumption's being made at wholesale. Candor compels us, in the retrospect, to confess that it was so once, whatever may be true now. It is rather more easily seen after the lapse of a triple-decade than it is when one is actually feeling the halter draw as a student subjected to rules and regulations suggesting one's personal immaturity.

Meantime the adult does not escape. Does not the average tax-gatherer imply that all men are congenital liars and tax dodgers, withholding information like Ananias? As one goes through life one finds that the neglects of the few make necessary these unflattering suspicions of the many. It doesn't end with college days, and it doesn't become any more agreeable to those who are conscious that the suspicion is, in their own case, unjust.

Why do not all college professors assume that as a matter of course every student is in college because he thirsts after education, and that he will attend his classes regularly without being watched? Probably because they know perfectly well that every student is not in college because he wants an education, and also that a great many students, if not daily enumerated, will cut classes adlib. Of course this irritates those who would do no such thing and whose presence in college is due primarily to a hunger after the things intellectual and spiritual; but what would become of colleges, if they recklessly assumed as true of all students the things which we all know are not true of many, may be quite safely left to the imagination.

No alumnus, however, is going to be severely condemnatory of such undergraduate criticisms, because the time was when he uttered entirely similar ones himself. The alumnus, if properly constituted, remembers that he was young once. The somewhat more difficult thing is for the undergraduate to remember that one of these days he, too, will be older and may even be a professor—at which time this situation is fairly certain to present itself in an altered light. It is possible, of course, that modern pedagogy and the civil statutes relating to youthful responsibility have together bred up a slightly increased resentment of bothersome oversight than existed thirty years ago. This indictment has been made. Our recollection, however, indicates that in his junior year many a gray-headed alumnus felt precisely the same as does the student above quoted and resented the imputation that he had not yet put away childish things. It's the way of the world—at 21. Its way some 20 years after is something else again, as Montague Glass would put it.

Abundant sympathy will be felt for the plea urging a greater fulness for fraternity life in Hanover—if it be true, as is frequently alleged, that the tendency is toward making the fraternity an efficient mechanism for the pledging of new delegations. Just how this comes to pass, with the pledging season straitly beset by limits and rules, may mystify the older heads; but it is probable that some compelling reason exists since the allegation is repeatedly made. In theory the fraternity in college, like the club outside, is an organization of congenial men bent on the cultivation of some common interest which is partly social and partly intellectual. One reads that in practice this end is being lost to sight in the exaltation of the process of fraternity-perpetuation. Significant remarks that this is especially true "under the current system" may indicate that the main drive is against the present "chinning rules—to employ a word once familiar but now probably obsolescent.

The surroundings and incidentals of fraternity life in Hanover today differ markedly from those common in the era prior to the New Dartmouth. The diversions open to students are infinitely more numerous and varied, especially in winter which was once the period of hibernation and intensive fraternity life. It is hardly to be supposed that what satisfied the student of the '90s, in the way of a weekly debate on "England's Policy m India" and impromptu speeches on such enlivening topics as "The Taciturnity of the Dead", would suit now. Nevertheless there is abundant room for expecting the college fraternity to fulfil a certain mission as a club "in being," to which congenial spirits may repair for the genuine enjoyment of it rather than solely to perfect ways and means for pledging desirables for the next year's delegation. Engrossing and desirable as this phase of existence may be, we find it hard to believe that there can be infinite zest in making this the be-all and the end-all of dear old Eta Bita Pi.

The president of one of the Middle Western colleges has lately written a general letter to parents protesting against the provision of automobiles for students, directing attention to the fact that such possessions are not justified by the business of getting an education and in fact militate against that business by opening the gateways of temptation to the waste of a student's own time and that of his fellows. There can be small doubt of the justice of this protest. The possession of a motor is an invitation to seek the open road, and those capable of confining their pleasures to a seasonable hour and a reasonable radius are pretty sure to be few.

The question of motors for college students is one which is growing in perplexity for a great many institutions. Fortunately the rigors of a Hanover winter largely prevent the question from being acute at Dartmouth, although to some extent it does exist. The months in which motoring is feasible in or near Hanover are confined to perhaps two in the autumn and two in the spring—the period from November to May being so beset by cold and snows as to reduce the temptation to a minimum.

As a general thing, the MAGAZINE inclines to believe that the possession of motors by undergraduates should be dis couraged, even though, as above indicated. the opportunities for serious abuse of the vehicle are fewer at Dartmouth than in milder climates. The obvious fact is that no student needs a motor as an adjunct to his class work. Distancein Hanover, while greater than they were 40 years ago, are still very far from inconsistent with a healthful pedestrianism ; and on the occasions when excursions are justifiable it is doubtless more economical to hire a car than to maintain one of one's own. Those occasions are not so numerous, if properly apportioned. The fact that one may jump into one's own machine any afternoon and visit sites 50 or 100 miles away without much trouble is sure to tempt any young mar, into doing it oftener than is consistent with the fullest use of his collegiate opportunities, to say the least. On the whole the student who has no motor of his own will waste less time and less money than the student who does have one, and will probably conclude after attaining the requisite perspective that he was fully as happy.

Now and then, even a generation ago, there was an occasional student who owned a horse and carriage and cut more or less of a dash by driving this outfit about the Hanover streets, or down to Lebanon, or over to Woodstock. There was little envy of this luxury, as we re call it, because the expense was heavy and the average man was well content to club in with three others and procure a more or less decrepit equipage from one of the local livery stables when moved to venture from seven to 20 miles afield. The humblest modern motor, with its alleged equivalent of 27.3 horses and its cruising radius which makes Concord and Claremont almost as accessible as sylvan Woodstock was 30 years ago, puts the borse-age to blush. If motors ran no faster than did the late Mr. Hamp Howe's blooded teams, or if they offered no farther horizons than those represented by Moose Mountain or the hills of Norwich, motors would not be covete 1. But they do run faster and they do bring remote delights nearer, and the exhilaration of driving is greater in proportion as it is more dangerous. It is a good deal to ask of any immature student, remote from parental restraint and oversight, to assume the responsibility of a private lo-comotive engine, with possibilities so inconsistent with his sticking closely to his job. Decidedly it seems better to make the use of a motor a vacation privilege and withhold it during term-time, even in the colorful days of October and the budding days of May.

A recent experiment by the English department deserves a word of comment and, in the judgment of the editors, a word of hearty commendation as well. This is represented by a bulletin lately issued for circulation among the alumni in which is set forth a list of books, some current and some old, with a summary in the case of more recent works indicating their nature, in the hope of offering welcome suggestions to former students as to profitable lines of reading. It is manifest that a few will stand in no need of such suggestions. It is no less manifest that most of us do need them and it is probable that most will be glad to obtain them.

Reflection will probably convince the average reader that he is more dependent than he usually pauses to recognize on the chance suggestions of his bookish friends for the acquisition of fresh reading matter. The English department bulletin seems a very useful substitute for the casual conversation to which one more commonly looks for suggestions of new books to buy or borrow. It has the merit of being the product of men whose business is the reading of books and whose judgment is good. One may not justly expect to concur absolutely in their judgment, nor is that asked. A wide variety of literary works is suggested from among which the individual taste may pick and choose, with the certainty that whatever is chosen will not be trash, but will represent the best current production.

In addition there is a list of older books, going back to the earlier days, which should be extremely useful both as a guide to neglected reading and as advice in filling up gaps in such small libraries as the homes of college-bred men usually possess. In respect to this part of the bulletin there is the greater room for debate, because in so limited a compass there are certain to be omissions. A casual scanning of the bulletin impresses the present writers with the fact that so much appears to be left out—often something that one would cheerfully substitute for something that was put in. It should be said, however, that this is intended as but the first of a series of bulletins and that to exhaust the possibilities in a single issue would be as unwise as it would be impracticable to attempt.

The bulletin professes to be a sort of "college after college" affair, continuing to the alumnus certain services which in earlier days were available but often, alas, unappreciated and unavailed of. It is a novel form of university extension which will probably be continued or abandoned according as it is well or ill received. Our belief is that it will be well received.

Not long ago there was made to the alumni organization a suggestion originating with Mr. John B. Lawrence '82, that it was high time the external art of the college were embellished by the erection of a suitable statue of its founder, Rev. Eleazar Wheelock. This suggestion, which was taken under advisement and with some hesitancy because of the obvious difficulty of financing such an ornamental embellishment at this junction, deserves very serious thought. Dartmouth has no outdoor sculptural art as yet—aside from the admirable Greek stela which forms the memorial to Richard Nelville Hall who fell in the Great War. The College itself is the sole—and in its way, indeed, sufficient - memorial to Wheelock. The natural first response to the suggestion of Mr. Lawrence is likely to be, "si monumentum requiris, circumspice," But the fact abides that a notable statue of the founder, by some American artist of acknowledged eminence, would be a fitting adjunct, would enhance interest on the part of visitors, and would parallel. at Hanover similar memorials in most other college centres. It is obvious that no such thing should be undertaken save under the most competent direction and that none but the most accomplished sculptor should be sought—for there is nothing much worse than a bad memorial statue. It is also manifest that to meet the very considerable cost of such a monument some gift must be relied on, since the burdens of the alumni body are both great and increasing without such additions. Either some wealthy friend, or some class bent on making a reunion gift, must probably assume this task if it is to be assumed.

Dartmouth, mindful of her dead heroes as well as solicitous for the upbuilding of a race capable of- similar heroism hereafter, has just dedicated her memorial field—a notable addition to the physical plant of the college, as well as an impressive monument to the youthful soldiers who made the supreme sacrifice to their country in the recent war. The special memorial, of course is not the field but the Romanesque structure of red brick, steel and cement which should, for all future time, serve as a portion of the grandstand along the westerly side of the level tract long familiar as the scene of local and intercollegiate encounter in the line of sport. This is not the place for a technical description of this massive memorial—so constructed that it may be extended in future years at need without in the interim offering the appearance of incompleteness. We have called it Romanesque because that is its effect as you see it from afar, its long double rows of arches faintly suggestive of the ancient acqueducts which file across the Roman campagna—sug-gestive in a mild and diminutive way even of the Colosseum. It seems the sort of thing that should endure forever —a fitting quality in a structure intended at once as a memorial monument and as a thing of use.

Whether or not a memorial should ever be of utilitarian character has been the subject of much debate in recent years, some eminent authorities holding that it should not be. This opinion we have not shared. It is true that the utilitarian aspects are likely in the course of time to overshadow the memorial feature - as one suspects has been done for many years in the case of Memorial Hall at Harvard, and in countless other less famous memorial buildings elsewhere. Nevertheless there is also a virtue, as well as some vice, in the combination - particularly in that it brings quantities of people into regular daily contact with the memorial structure instead of leaving it most of the time neglected and aloof. Hopefully no man or woman will ever enter the arched structure at Hanover without a conscious thought of the brave young souls in whose honor it is reared. Hopefully, also, it will stand for a victorious record in peace, as well as in war—and as a constant inspiration to all who hereafter shall behold it.

In this connection the college owes a very distinct debt of gratitude and a very hearty word of appreciation to the several alumni whose efforts have gone to the making of this permanent addition to the athletic plant, as well as enduring memorial. These include Professor James P. Richardson '99, who originally conceived the idea; the late Gen. Frank W. Streeter '74, who was until his death chairman of the committee in charge and Judge William N. Cohen '79, his successor in that office; Homer Eaton Keyes 'OO, who first organized the campaign for funds, and George G. Clark '99, who has given both time and effort without stint to the successful completion of this enterprise. The magnitude of the" work and its necessarily great cost have entailed a heavy burden especially upon Mr. Clark—and the alumni should, we believe, lose no opportunity for expressing their heartfelt appreciation of his services in this direction.

Having thus taken abundant care of the athletic phase of her activities, we believe it to be proper for Dartmouth to accustom herself to face the stern necessity, which grows in intensity with the years, to care more adequately for the intellectual phase as embodied in the library. What immediate prospect there may be for the proper replacement of the cramped and venerable Wilson Hall we do not know, but it is so obvious that sooner or later something will have to be done that we like to recur insistently to the topic with the general idea of accustoming the alumni body to recognize this impending task. Unless some unforeseen benefaction removes the necessity, the erection of a proper and commodious library will probably become the ultimate subject of alumni contributions. Facing as we do annually the imperative need of recruiting the college resources through the alumni fund, it is doubtless unwelcome to be forever mentioning this necessity of the library; but the fact that it is unwelcome to think of further additions to our general duty cannot obscure, and cannot for very long even postpone, the undertaking of that duty. It may even be that our admirable athletic equipment will make our college plant appear lopsided to the exacting eye which sees in every college primarily an institution of learning, whose concern is principally with books.

The library of a college should be its centre and soul. Ours has long been outgrown. Those of us whose careers in Hanover covered a four-year period in the closing part of the Nineteenth Century remember the time when Wilson Hall was new and a source of genuine pride. Class pictures were taken in front of it. We showed it with a glow of satisfaction to visiting parents and friends. It was adequate—then. We boasted of its 70,000 volumes—if that was the number. It was lighted by gas which cost something like $10 per thousand cubic feet. No one can say the building is sufficient now, though supplemented by the Howe Library and though every foot of space is turned to account. It clearly must be replaced some day—and while we are far from suggesting that the time is at hand—we believe it to be wise to remember that the time is not far around the corner and that the contrast between our meagre library facilities and the effulgence of our gymnasium and its environing field is less and less to our general credit.

There has been more or less discussion at Hanover, both by word of mouth and in the college publications, of the real worth of pumped-up enthusiasm, such as may be generated at almost any temperature you which by mass meetings prior to an outstanding athletic event. This method of inspiring massed enthusiastics has been called in question by the Daily Dartmouth in a satirical editorial, which brought forth immediate retort from those who felt some disagreement—including the dean. The net result, we gather, is a vague conclusion that college mass meetings really do have their place; that not every human act—and least of all the human acts at an undergraduate age—can be regulated by sober logic; and that the tires of the athletic machine run best when inflated to a pressure just short of bursting, rather than dead flat. It may be added, however, that this MAGAZINE sympathizes to a mild degree with the editor of The Dartmouth, feeling that it was not altogether amiss to provoke this discussion although not approving all the conclusions which The Dartmouth suggested. The choice usually lies only between keeping both feet on the ground and sailing off into space, when the practical desirability may be to keep one foot on the ground and the other—what was it the bewildered rector said of the Church of England?—" One foot on the Rock of Ages and the other pointing to the stars!" We may not profitably overdo the matter of sober-sided seriousness of purpose in such matters as an impending college game, especially if what is needed is something to hearten the morale of the actual contenders. Organized cheering is likely to seem to the jaundiced eye a rather futile business, which Carlyle would never have approved and which bears no logical relation to the performance of the players. Mass meetings, summoned to vent their feelings in anticipatory wind, may not have the dignified look which one associates with the academic gown. But can we possibly do without them? Do we even want to, really ? The present writers most decidedly think not.

The eternal conflict between those who are terribly afraid the colleges won't be radical enough and those who are terribly afraid they will be too radical altogether, renews with each successive season. If, as is likely, the opposition of the two forces produces a satisfactory resultant in a direction roughly midway between excessive conservatism and overdone radicalism, most alumni will doubtless be well satisfied.

Meantime a word as to the possible psychology underlying the occasional efforts of so-called "Liberal" organizations in the colleges to insure the marketing of Liberal wares in rather sensational ways. It is often objected by alumni reared in a more conservative day that healthy-minded youth wouldn't want to hear the more objectionable specialists in untrammelled speech and that the persistent endeavor in most colleges to invite sporadic exhibitions of rapscallion oratory indicates a defect in the training. It is very unlikely that this is! what it really betokens. There is a very good chance that the occasional manifestations of this spirit are due to the fervent hope that it will produce a definite prohibition and thus lead to that glorious martyrdom on which the Liberal (with the capital L) doth chiefly feed.

The surest way in which any studentbody can be made radical in the more objectionable sense would probably be to adopt an arbitrary policy of rigid repression; and the surest way to inspire a healthy conservatism would very probably be to insure, not the complete absence, but rather a surfeit, of ultra-Lib-eral pap. Not without reason is the young woman at the candy-counter told to help herself freely! If the truth were to be told, no doubt the average Liberal would have to confess that, without evidences to prove that he had shocked the world by his .demands, half the fun would be gone.

Most of the rabid exponents of social emancipation live on the hope that some day they may be jailed for what they are pleased to call their "opinions," or for the emission of what they are no less delighted to term "free speech." It may be a cruelty to withhold this titillation, but there is a great and growing belief in many quarters that it will really have to be withheld. After all, the appearance of an overstrained protagonist of unwisdom here and there does comparatively little harm by contrast with what is usually done by seeming to be afraid of him—which exaggerates his folly and gives it the specious appearance of a menace.

The psychology of the undergraduate in such matters would prove an interesting study, and doubtless there is room for some enlightening book with some such title as "What Every Professor of Sixty Should Know." Among the more obvious things, which one likes to believe the professor of sixty already comprehends, is that there's little excitement in heckling those who persistently refuse to be heckled—or rather who omit to let the heckling bother them. It is fun to break rules—so much fun that now and then a great deal of hard work is cheerfully undertaken in order to do it, whereas a much less onerous task in the line of required duty would be evaded. Accurate estimate is impossible, but for a guess fully half the professional cals of this world, in college and out, are actuated by the principle that it is fun to shock people. The rebellion against social and other conventions is less concerned with any real harm that conventionalism does than with the bare fact that it is conventionalism. One is in revolt against being told this-and-that, or enforced to conform to a settled standard. What matters it if the standard be good, or that the dogma be well approved by human experience? Out upon the whole array! We propose to lead our own lives, intellectually and morally - and we rather hope some one will say we shall not do it, because that lends pungency and pepper to the operation! It might be rather stupid to be ignored.

Wherefore we believe it to be sound policy to let the Liberals go it, if they must, and maybe in the last analysis even insist that they let their lips and lives express the joyous doctrines they profess. Ten to one they'd soon get sick of it, especially in the cases where the whole thing is rather a sophomoric pose; and in the cases where the cult amounts to somewhat more than that, one might proceed with more justice to weed out the dead-wood. The blood of martyrs is the seed of the church, and the life's essence of social rebellion is opposition.

Having mentioned the growth of the material college, we may without inconsistency refer to a recent article published in the Nation (New York) from the pen of a distinguished Dartmouth graduate, Professor Fred Lewis Pattee, of the department of American Literature in Pennsylvania State University. In this very readable article Mr. Pattee deplores the tendency of the material to supplant the spiritual or intellectual in American university problems. Where Garfield picturesquely affirmed that the true college would consist of a log with Mark Hopkins at one end and a student on the other," it now looks very much as if the "log had unseated Mark Hopkins." In other words, colleges incline to stress other things far beyond the student and his teacher. The talented teacher is drafted to other tasks, becoming a college president or a dean; and the place he left is likely to be filled by less distinguished young men with reputations yet to make, whose great recommendation at the outset is that they will work for meagre pay.

There is so much of truth in what Professor Pattee says that a short summary may well do his paper injustice. It is certainly true that the ancient situation portrayed by Garfield has ceased to be. The modern president of a college of even moderate size does little, if any, teaching. The dean does equally little, if any. And the tasks of the administrator are certainly not tasks for which a clearly established talent for teaching young men necessarily proves one s qualification. If we understand aright the thesis of Mr. Pattee, it is that those who reveal genuine distinction as teachers ought to be allowed to teach; and that the function of the college as an education-place ought not to be lost to sight in the dazzle incident to highly developed material equipment.

Why is it assumed that because a professor is a consummate teacher he should be drafted away to become a college president—and thereafter do no teaching at all ? There is no logic in it and abundant instances of failure will easily occur to every one as evidence that many a good teacher is often spoiled to make a lamentably poor president. Why waste incomparable educators on the tasks of administration which could be as well, nay better, performed by men of no such high academic standing ?

Is it not, in short, true that we are undervaluing the thing for which our colleges primarily exist—to wit, the teaching they do ? We bestow the richer rewards on other functionaries. Professor Pattee complains that we induce good teachers to accept inappropriate tasks, by arranging the compensation so as to discourage a man's remaining in the work he does well, and paying him infinitely better to do something else - which possibly he does but ill. With all the amendment that has been made, it is still true that, comparatively, the teaching force of the country from top to bottom is underpaid. The zest of alumni is likely to be enlisted for other things— for the "log" rather than for Mark Hopkins. Mr. Pattee implies that the athletic instructor is the one man as to whose adequate remuneration and evident qualifications a real solicitude is felt—and there is at least enough of justice in this plea to leave a sting, even if it somewhat exaggerates the situation.

It does not necessarily follow that the administrative officers are overpaid. Few indeed would be so rash as to say so. The failure consists mainly in omitting to treat all elements proportionately, producing a lopsided development in which it often appears that we are forgetting what colleges really exist for. We have not forgotten, really. But, speaking of colleges as a whole, we have been so beset by the tasks of bringing the equipment up to the best obtainable standard that we have often bestowed more attention to the tools than to the workmen. Our colleges are admirably provided with laboratories, libraries, dormitories, gymnasia, athletic fields, apparatus. What they too often lack is teachers. That the teaching force is the really vital thing, as Garfield so tersely implied, we commonly overlook.

President Hopkins formally accepts the new field