order to bring about these results, we are to train in what leads to virtue, in what is useful for ordinary life, or in abstract science.'

These are the questions which have formed the basis of discussion during the last quarter century among those interested in education, except that education for the development of character has been less talked about. Could any modern writer state the questions more aptly or in fewer words than Aristotle?

Is education to have for its object the training of the intellect, or is it to aim at the development of character, or is it to undertake both objects? And, if the character is to be developed, what are the formal means which are to be used in this development?

These questions have been asked anxiously since systems of education had their beginning. In our day they seem to have settled themselves, so far as the practical efforts of the universities and colleges are concerned, by a process of exclusion. It is tacitly assumed at present that education-like all other training-has for its end the acquisition of power. In order to acquire quickly, the whole effort in modern education is directed toward the training of the intellect.

There is no disputing that the educated man has in the world, by reason of his education, a higher potential. Is it equally true that he has, on the average, a stronger and higher type of character? Is the college man broader in his sympathies, more tolerant, more courageous, more patriotic, more unselfish, by reason of his life within the walls of a university or a technical school? Are the men who come each year in ever increasing thousands from the college doors, prepared to shoulder more than their proportionate share of the burdens of the state and of the country, or are they provided with a training which will enable them more easily to escape its obligations?

It is, of course, not easy to compare the relative moral worth of men and say that one class is, on the whole, more useful than another. But, whatever our system of education is doing or is leaving undone in the development of character among its students, the state is saying, in terms which are

becoming every day more emphatic, this: However desirable it is to train the mind, when it comes to the service of the state (if, indeed, the same is not true in all service), character is above intellect. It is vastly important to the state that her servants shall be quick, keen-witted, efficient; but it is absolutely necessary that they shall be honest, patriotic, unselfish, that they should have before them some conception of civic duty and proper ideals of civic virtue. Give me men, intellectual men, learned men, skilled men, if possible, but give me men.

This is the old story. It is the lesson which every age preaches anew to the age about to follow. Shall we ever learn it? Will it ever come to pass that in our system of education the development of character will go hand in hand with the development of intellect, when to be an educated man shall mean also to be a good man? Probably no one looks upon Plato's ideal republic as the basis for any effort in practical politics. Nevertheless, it ought to be true that civic virtue should be a part of the life and of the environment of our seats of learning, and that men, along with the training of their minds, should grow into some sort of appreciation of their duties to the state, and come to know that courage and patriotism and devotion rank higher in this world's service than scholarly finish or brilliant intellectual power.

When we look back on our own history as a nation we can but realize that in the crisis of our national life this truth has been forced home to us. In the darkest hours of the revolution it was the courage, the never failing patience, the unselfish devotion-in a word, the civic virtue of George Washington that was the real power upon which the people leaned. In the agony of our civil war, when the fate of the nation trembled in the balance, the character of Abraham Lincoln -his devotion, his hopefulness, above all his knowledge of the plain people and his faith in them-counted more than all else in the decision. Neither of these men was the product of university training, nor did he grow up in an academic environment; but each had the training of a school where devotion to the state was the cardinal virtue. When next a great crisis comes, no doubt there will be a Washington or a Lincoln to meet it; but will he come from a university?

When Washington came toward the close of his life he thought deeply over the dangers of the new state and the necessity for the cultivation of a spirit of intelligent patriotism. As a best means for inculcating this spirit he conceived the idea of a great national university. One of the main objects of this university was to afford to the youth of the country the opportunity for acquiring knowledge in the principles of politics and good government. The idea was a splendid one; and while, in my judgment, the need for a national university no longer exists (unless, indeed, one is needed to teach the principles of good politics), Washington's idea that the university is a place which should train not only the intellect but the character, that it is a place where the student should find an atmosphere adapted not only to the development of accurate thought but also to a wise and tolerant spirit, that in the university he should gain not only intellectual strength but also a just conception of his duty to the state, was a right view. And until this is recognized-until we bring into our college life and into our college training such influences as will strengthen the character as well as the intellect, until the time shall come that the educated man shall by reason of his training be not only more able than his untrained neighbor, but also more patriotic, more courageous, better informed concerning the service of the state, and more ready to take up its service-until such a spirit is a part of our system of higher education, that system will not have served the ends which education should serve in a free state and for a free people.

DEMOCRACY AND EDUCATION.

BY VIDA D. SCUDDER.

[Vida Dutton Scudder, associate professor of literature of Wellesley; born Dec. 15, 1861, in Southern India; graduated from Smith in 1884, and continued her studies in Paris and Oxford; she is prominent in the formation of college settlements; she is the editor of Macaulay's Lord Clive, Introduction to the Writings of John Ruskin, Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, and the author of The Life of the Spirit in the Modern English Poets, The Witness of Denial, Social Ideals in English Letters, and Introduction to the Study of English Literature, etc.]

Copyright 1902 by Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

The separation of the working classes from the general intellectual life of the country is evident at a glance. Our formal educational system furnishes less and less of the unifying force expected from it; for in the grades in which it meets the needs of the wage earners it too often drives other people away. In college or university, on the other hand, the son or daughter of a workingman is about as rare a phenomenon as a Japanese. Both are found, both are exceptions. This fact is the more striking because our universities are far from being the exclusive homes of privilege. Everyone connected with them knows how large a proportion of students are wholly lacking in the traditions of the intellectual life. They come to us to receive those traditions, and the smaller American college, at least, is often forced to postpone the promotion of the higher scholarship to the diffusion of a general culture. But among the hungry crowds who press to our offered feast the working people are not found.

Of course we cannot expect them there, since grim necessity demands their presence elsewhere; but it is a little disappointing to find that the popular movements which expressly aim to bring what education may be to busy people at home equally fail to attract them. These movements, with their fine vitality and disinterestedness, have opened a new delight in the intellectual inheritance of the race to many thousands, but by their own confession both Chautauqua and university extension stop short of the manual workers. "University extension has not become the means of elevating so

called workingmen," writes a representative of this admirable movement.

Nothing is easier than to acquiesce in this state of things as a law of nature. Indeed, so great is our need of a sound scholarship in America, so great our danger of intellectual cheapness, that we are almost tempted to wish ourselves less rather than more democratic; dedicated to the sound training of the few rather than to spreading our mean attainments among the many. Yet here we must draw a distinction. Scholarship is for the elect, but the powers that can scale its austere heights are not bred in a wilderness. The word culture suggests a true analogy; the wide plains whereon the race at large must live should not be brown and arid; nor is that country beautiful or good for habitation in which small plots of green are dotted in an unkempt plain, but that which presents wide and friendly stretches of fertile verdure, subdued by common human effort to common joy and need. American life must foster scholarship and culture alike; culture, if for no other reason than that scholarship may abound.

How may we share our intellectual inheritance with the laboring classes? The question presses and difficulties are many. One general truth we must face at outset and conclusion-a truth very simple, and therefore difficult of practice; in order to promote the common life, it is necessary to live the life in common.

For ignorance of this truth many an admirable educational effort is doomed to failure. Large schemes, initiated by theorists, carried out at arm's length, can never avail to overcome the intellectual isolation of the workers. Nor is it enough to annihilate material distance, while the spiritual distance endures. Almost every working class district possesses a number of educational enterprises regarded by their would-be beneficiaries with distressing indifference. Too often the neighbors refuse to frequent our reading rooms or to attend our municipal lectures. The writer well remembers carefully preparing, at the request of the city, a lecture on socialistic literature in the middle ages-and it was a good lectureonly to be confronted by an audience consisting of eight little Italian girls, two melancholy teachers, and the school janitor.