be done under proper conditions, systematically; the time devoted to the work must be adequate; I would even advocate that the subject be allowed to come before conventional geography and history and other unpractical subjects, assuming that the training is given in a practical way and with practical objects in view, not in the form of mere lessons learnt by rote; if taught in the form of mere didactic lessons it is as worthless as any other subject as mental discipline. Let me add that I would confine the teaching to a narrow range of problems but make it very thoro with reference to these.

Five-and-twenty years ago I made my appearance as an advocate of what has been dubbed the heuristic method-the method which entails putting the learner in the attiude of inquirer, in training the pupil to inquire always into the meaning of what is learnt. I believe it to be in principle the only true method of learning. The idea has found favor almost generally but the progress made in applying it has been slight— and this was to be expected, as teachers were few and far between who could carry the method into execution; moreover, so few teachers will allow their pupils to learn: they are too impatient and insist on teaching them and on doing the work of teacher and learner-in fact, in these days, the learner is a rarity; examinations have almost destroyed the breed. If here you desire that your children shall grow up virile men and women with some honesty of purpose left in them, you will end and not mend a system which is sucking the very life-blood out of the youth in the Mother Country-you will insist that your children shall be taught little but learn much.

When studied as a special object, chemistry, in particular, is one of the subjects which must be worked at long and persistently-mere technical skill counts for so much and so few seem to possess the ability to become skilful chemists; in no other science does the element of understanding and an indefinable power of appreciating the character of changes as they occur play so conspicuous a part-in no other science is the faculty of judgment more necessary. In practise, the chemist in works is constantly called upon to exercise his judgment—he is only too often called upon to judge from appearances of conditions which are deep-seated; he is everywhere the works physician in fact. It is therefore necessary that he should be highly trained and thoroly versed in the art of inquiry. The men who in my experience have been successful are those who have learnt to think for themselves and who have been capable independent workers-sufficiently broad-minded and sufficiently practised in their art to be able to turn their attention in any desired direction; I should add that they have been men who have learnt to read-a much neglected art. Much has been said and written of late on the subject of technical training which is of value as bringing out the various points of view; the problem is a very difficult one, owing to the great number of interests to be considered and more especially the very uneven and often inferior quality of the material to be trained. The great danger of specialized technical training is the tendency to make it too narrow. Success in practise depends not merely on knowledge of subject but also, if not mainly, on the possession of

certain human qualities which are not usually developed in the technical school and cannot be tested by examination-it is unnecessary to specify

them.

It is undeniable that in England for many years past chemistry has suffered from the recognized fact that there has been little money in it -parents have been led therefore to prefer other careers for their sons and the subject has not secured its due proportion of intelligence and is suffering in consequence. Too many of those who have entered works have had neither the intelligence nor-to speak plainly—the presence and manners that are required to secure confidence. The presence of men of gentlemanly bearing and instincts, who have received thoro training in science, is urgently needed at the present time in many of our manufacturing establishments, to take the place of foremen of the old type, who have learnt all they know in the works and whose conceptions necessarily lack breadth; it is almost impossible to convince such men that improvements are possible; too often they adopt a selfish attitude and advisedly retard progress.

In Germany the chemist and the engineer have been placed on an equality and required to work together, with results which are altogether satisfactory. We need to adopt a similar practise. Any attempt to fuse the two into one will meet with failure, I am persuaded; they are called upon to work from different points of view-they need to be in sympathy and to understand one another but their work is complementary. I have watched engineering students closely during years past and am satisfied that, on the average, they represent a type of mind different from that of the chemist-the tendency of the one is to be constructive and of the other to be reflective: the analytical work done by the chemist in the laboratory is but the means to an end in the same way that the work done by the engineer in the drawing office is. Our future engineers should study chemistry and chemists should study engineering, in order that they may understand one another and work together-not in order that they may supplant one another.

Requirements for a Good Medical Student

In his Commencement address delivered last May before the Medical School of Washington University, Dr. Charles S. Minot described a good medical student in these words:

The man who purposes to study medicine should have in high degree three gifts, not one of which is common among mankind, yet all of which he must have. The three gifts are: the power of reliable observation, intellectual endurance, loyalty.

If the estimate we have made of the needed capacities of a physician be correct, it follows that a good medical school can exist only with good students. Coins of full value can not be made of impure metal. We must, therefore, start with the consideration of the means to select students to the exclusion not merely of the bad ones, but also of the

mediocre. We must not attempt to mint doctors from merit basely alloyed. Examinations should have their main use, not as a means of admission, but as a means of exclusion, and the more men of low and middle rank that are excluded the better. One poor student damages a whole class. We should look forward to the exclusion of all men who fail to get high marks in the preliminary tests, so that there may be a reasonable probability that all who get in are capable of hard sustained mental work and of loyalty to their studies. The examinations ought, however, to accomplish more than this: they should afford evidence that the candidate has a natural power of observation, and that the power has already received some scientific discipline, and, finally, they ought to prove that the candidate has the preliminary knowledge of chemistry, physics, and general biology without which the pursuit of the medical sciences is impossible. It is a welcome sign of progress that these entrance requirements are being rapidly adopted by the medical schools of the country, and there is, I am glad to perceive, a steady advance toward uniformity. In my opinion, such a preliminary training, with the appropriate sifting of the unfit, can be accomplished by two or three years of college work-and it is not and can not be accomplished by requiring an A.B. degree (or its equivalent) unless that degree represents adequate courses in chemistry, physics, biology, French and German. Under the prevalent elective system, a man may become a bachelor of arts and yet be not only undisciplined, but also very ignorant of natural science. I have had to do with many such men, and can only say that they are so inferior at the start that only the most brilliant of them can overcome the heavy handicap. Indeed, I can not affirm that even the brilliant men are able wholly to repair the evil, for in the rush of medical study they have no time to make up their deficiencies in the preliminary sciences. They enter as cripples and as cripples still they are likely to graduate from the medical school.

Although observation is the foundation of knowledge, and no human knowledge is built on any other foundation, men of intellectual power are by no means always interested in observation. There are mathematicians who can scarcely be said to feel interest in any observations. I often recall with amusement a distinguished mathematician whom I would not have trusted to make an original observation beyond a simple measurement, and yet who condescendingly explained to a company of biologists that their science must remain inaccurate until its results were mathematically formulated. The reply might have been made to him that no mathematical result can be accuratey known until put in graphic form, so that it can be observed. The one half-truth is as good as the other. Our mathematical friend had still to learn that there is an accuracy in a complex visual image with which mathematics can not even distantly vie. We might construct a scale, with the anatomist at one end and the mathematician at the other; both alike depend on observation, but one seeks his accuracy chiefly in the renewal and extension of his personal observations-he loves first-hand knowledge; the other seeks his accuracy in the logical evolution of quantitative relations, and cares but little for the simple observations on which his

mathematics depends. Between these two extremes we must range those minds which enjoy and seek both observational and logical satisfaction, and who are often experimenters. Among experimenters there is a wide range in the degree of relative interest-on the one hand, in what can be directly observed, and, on the other, in the logical work following the experiment. Only those in whom the love of observation is predominant are likely to succeed as physicians. For the pure experimenter there is plenty of room in medical science, but he can hardly find his right opportunity in medical practice.

The natural observer differs both from those who, like the humanitarians, are satisfied by second-hand knowledge, and from those who prefer experimental work, by his insatiable craving for seeing, and, to a less extent, for hearing and feeling. His inborn need is to have direct contact with the phenomena. Nothing short of the personal acquaintance with the phenomena satisfies him. Now those students who while in college elect the humanitarian studies, and neglect the natural sciences, are extremely unlikely to have the observing faculty. If they are required to study chemistry, physics, and biology before they get to medical work they will be tried out, and those who have not the observer's gift, will learn their limitations in time to avoid becoming medical impedimenta.

The Autumn Academic Celebrations

There have followed in rapid succession the formal exercises attendant upon the inauguration of President Lowell of Harvard, President Nichols of Dartmouth, and President Bryan of Colgate. These will be followed within a few days by the formal induction into office of President Shanklin of Wesleyan University. The functions at Harvard, at Dartmouth, and at Colgate were all marked by dignity and impressiveness. Large and representative gatherings of scholars from both the United States and from Europe were present, particularly at the Harvard celebration. On each occasion the dominant note has been one of hopefulness and confidence in the vitality and progress of our higher education. Faults and shortcomings have been neither denied nor concealed, but the overwhelming preponderance of opinion has been that these faults and shortcomings can be, and are being, corrected. Here and there is heard occasionally a single voice protesting that our higher education is in bondage either to the unfortunate tribe of college presidents or to the horrid politicians or to the tyran

nical benefactors of great wealth. These protests reflect, however, an habitual state of mind, rather than any knowledge of the facts. American higher education is freer today than it ever was, and it is steadily throwing off whatever limitations of an earlier period it still suffers from.

It is plain, and the formal addresses at these academic celebrations have emphasized the fact, that the central point of our present-day educational problem is the college. It is nearly thirty years since Mr. Andrew D. White, then President of Cornell University, pointed out what would probably happen to the American college with the growth of the university spirit and ideal in this country, and it is more than forty years since President Barnard of Columbia, in a painstaking and widely influential study of statistics, showed that the college was losing ground when the growth of the population was taken into account. From that time to this the college problem has been under the most careful observation, and while very different solutions of that problem have been proposed and attempted, it is worth while bearing in mind that all these solutions have proceeded on the assumption that the college and college training are something to be saved, not sacrificed.

With all the manifest activities and problems of Harvard before him, President Lowell in his inaugural address selected Harvard College, and particularly Harvard College freshmen, for consideration. Those somewhat hasty critics who are in the habit of saying that the large universities overlook the college problem and forget the college freshmen might well have their attention drawn to this fact.