having lighted on some mathematical works in the library of Sidney, could find no one to interpret them. The books, says his biographer, were Greek, - I mean unintelligible to all the fellows." The spirit of observation, experiment, and research, was rarely apparent; discipline by masters and tutors took precedence of the inspiration of professors. When we consider this origin, still more when we recall the poverty of the colonists, and still more when we think of the comprehensiveness of the university ideal, even in the seventeenth century, it is not strange, that, before the revolution, American colleges were colleges, and nothing more. Even degrees were only conferred in the faculty of arts. In 1774, when Governor Hutchison was discussing colonial affairs in Lord Dartmouth's office, Mr. Pownall asked if Harvard was a university, and, if not, on what pretence it conferred degrees. Hutchison replied "that they had given Masters' and Bachelors' degrees from the beginning; and that two or three years ago, out of respect to a venerable old gentleman they gave him a doctor's degree, and that the next year, or next but one, two or three more were made Doctors. . . . After so long usage he thought it would be hard to disturb the college."

It is a significant fact that at the beginning of the revolution, in 1776, George Washington was made a doctor of laws at Harvard, and, at its close in 1783, John Warren, a doctor of medicine. From that time on, there was no hesitation in the bestowal of degrees in other faculties than that of arts.

I need not rehearse the steps by which the schools of medicine, law, and theology were added to the college; cautiously, indeed (as outside departments, which must not be allowed to draw their support from the parent trunk), and yet permanently. It is a noteworthy fact that the example of Harvard and Yale in establishing theological schools has rarely been followed in other places, even where schools of law, medicine, and science have been established. It is enough to add that professional education was organized during the first thirty or forty years of this century, in a much less orderly way than that in which the colleges were instituted.

The third period in the development of higher education was the recognition of the fact, that, besides the three traditional professions, a multitude of modern vocations required a liberal training. In consequence of this, came scientific schools, often, at first, adjacent to the classical colleges, and sometimes on independent foundations, many of these schools being aided by the national provision for technical instruction and by other noteworthy gifts,

We are now fairly entered upon the fourth period, when more attention than ever before will certainly be given to the idea of the university, — an idea long dormant but never dead. The second decennium of this century was but just begun, when a university was chartered in Maryland; and before it closed, the first of the western universities, endowed by a gift of the public lands, was organized in the county and town of Athens, O., precursor of the prosperous foundation in Michigan, and of like institutions in other parts of the old north-western territory. Early in this century, Americans had frequently gone abroad for medical and scientific training, but between 1820 and 1830 many turned their eyes to Germany for historical and philological study; and the line which began with Everett, Ticknor, Bancroft, and Woolsey, has been unbroken to this day. Through these returning wanderers, and through the importation from Germany, England, and Switzerland, of foreigners distinguished as professors, Lieber and Beck, Sylvester and Long, Agassiz and Guyot, and their compeers, the notion of a philosophical department of a university, superior to a college, independent of and to some extent introductory to professional schools, has become familiar. But the boldest innovation, and the most influential, was the work of one whose name is perpetually associated with the Declaration of Independence and the University of Virginia. It was in 1826 that his plans assumed form, and introduced to the people of this country-not without some opposition the free methods of continental universities, and especially of the University of France.

Thus, as years have rolled on, the word 'university,' at first employed with caution, has been reiterated in so many connections, that it has lost its distinctive significance, and a special plea must be made for the restoration to its true sovereignty, of the noblest term in the vocabulary of education. Notions injurious and erroneous are already abroad. Poor and feeble schools, sometimes intended for the destitute, beg support on the ground that they are universities. The name has been given to a school of arts and trades, to a school of modern languages, and to a school in which only primary studies are taught. Not only so, but many graduates of old and conservative institutions, if we may judge from recent writings, are at sea. There are those who think that a university can be made by so christening it; others who suppose that the gift of a million is the only requisite; it is often said that the establishment of four faculties constitutes a university; there is a current notion that a college without a religion is a university, and another that a college without a

curriculum is a university. I have even read in the newspapers the description of a building which will be, when finished, the finest university in the country ;" and I know of a school for girls, the trustees of which not only have the power to confer all degrees, but may designate a board of lady managers possessing the same

powers.

Surely it is time for the scholars of the country to take their bearings. In Cambridge the anniversary so soon to be celebrated will not be allowed to pass without munificent contributions for most noble ends; the president of Yale college, who this day assumes his high office with the unanimous plaudits of Yalensians, is the representative of the university idea based upon academic traditions; the voice of Princeton, like a herald, has proclaimed its purposes; Cornell has succeeded in a litigation which establishes its right to a large endowment; the secretary of the interior has commended to congress the importance of a national university, and a bill has been introduced looking towards such an establishment; the Roman Catholic Church, at its recent council in Baltimore, initiated measures for a university in the capital of the nation; while on the remotest borders of the land the gift of many millions is assured for promoting a new foundation. Already, in the Mississippi valley, men are laboriously unfolding their lofty ideals. It is therefore a critical time. Wise plans will be like good seed: they will spring up, and bear fruit a hundred-fold. Bad plans will be like tares growing up with the wheat, impossible to eradicate.

It is obvious that the modes of organization will vary, so that we shall have many different types of universities. Four types have already appeared, those which proceed from the original historic colleges, those established in the name of the state, those avowedly ecclesiastical, and those which are founded by private benefactions. Each mode of organization has advantages which may be defended, each its limitations. If the older colleges suffer from traditions, the younger lack experience and historic growth. The state universities are liable to political mismanagement: ecclesiastical foundations are in danger of being narrow. Under these circumstances, I ask you to consider the characteristics of a university, the marks by which it should be distinguished.

It is needless before this audience to repeat the numerous definitions which have been framed, or to rehearse the brilliant projects which have been formed by learned, gifted men; but I hope it will not be amiss to recall some of the noble aims which have always inspired endeavors to establish the highest institutions of learning.

Among the brightest signs of a vigorous university, is zeal for the advancement of learning. Another phrase has been lately used, the 'endowment of research.' I prefer the other term; for it takes us back to the dawn of modern science, and connects our efforts with those of three hundred years ago, when Francis Bacon gave an impulse to all subsequent thought, and published what his recent biographer has called the first great book in English prose of secular interest, 66 the first of a long line of books which have attempted to teach English readers how to think of knowledge, to make it really and intelligently the interest, not of the school or the study or the laboratory only, but of society at large. It was a book with a purpose, new then, but of which we have seen the fulfilment."

The processes by which we gain acquaintance with the world are very slow. The detection of another asteroid, the calculation of a new orbit, the measurement of a lofty peak, the discovery of a bird, a fish, an insect, a flower, hitherto unknown to science,' would be but trifles if each new fact remained apart from other facts; but, when among learned men discoveries are brought into relations with familiar truths, the group suggests a law, the law an inference, the inference an experiment, the experiment a conclusion; and so from fact to law, and from law to fact, with rhythmic movement, knowledge marches on, while eager hosts of practical men stand ready to apply to human life each fresh discovery. Investigation, co-ordination, and promulgation are not performed exclusively by universities; but these processes, so fruitful in good, are most efficient where large numbers of the erudite and the acute, of strong reasoners and faithful critics, are associated for mutual assistance, correction, and encouragement. It is an impressive passage with which the lamented Jevons closed his Principles of science.' After reminding the reader of the infinite domain of mathematical inquiry, compared with which the whole accomplishments of a Laplace or a Lagrange are as the little corner of the multiplication table, which has really an indefinite extent, he goes on to say that inconceivable advances will be made by the human intellect unless there is an unforeseen catastrophe to the species or the globe. "Since the time of Newton and Leibnitz, whole worlds of problems have been solved, which before were hardly conceived as matters of inquiry. In our own day, extended methods of mathematical reasoning, such as the system of quaternions, have been brought into existence. What intelligent man will doubt that the recondite speculations of a Cayley or a Sylvester may possibly lead to some new methods, at

the simplicity and power of which a future age will wonder, and yet wonder more that to us they were so dark and difficult?"

Let me draw an illustration from another science which will be acknowledged as of transcendent importance even by those, if such sceptics there be, who have no confidence in transcendental mathematics. Cohnheim, the great pathologist of Germany, whose death occurred in 1884, declares, in the introduction to his 'General pathology,' that the study of the causes of disease is absolutely without limits, for it touches upon the most heterogeneous branches of science. Cosmical physics, meteorology and geology, not less than the social sciences, chemistry, as well as botany and zoology, all bring their contributions to that branch of pathology. So, with all his knowledge and ability, this leader in pathology restricted his own work to the study of disordered physiological functions. But what prevention of suffering, what sanitary alleviations, what prolongation of life, may we not anticipate in future generations, when man thoroughly understands his complex environment, and adapts himself to it?

In the accumulation of knowledge, as of other forms of wealth, saving must follow earning. So among the offices of a university we find the conservation of experience. Ignorant as the nineteenth century appears when we survey the long category of inquiries now held in abeyance by mathematicians, astronomers, physicists, chemists, and biologists, by ethnologists, philologers, historians, and publicists, let us ask how much man has advanced since the ages of stone, of iron, and of brass. Such books as Tylor's and Morgan's, such observations as those of Livingstone and Stanley, show us what man is without a history ; what society is where no storage is provided for the lessons learned by successive generations, and where the wisest and best are content to pass away, leaving no sign. It is the business of universities, not only to perpetuate the records of culture, but to bring them out in modern, timely, and intelligible interpretations, so that all may know the laws of human progress, the dangers which imperil society, the conditions of advancing civilization. Experiments upon fundamental laws such as the establishment of home rule, and the adjustment of the discord between industry and capital-may destroy or may promote the happiness of many generations. That mistakes may not be made, historical politics must be studied, and what is this but the study of the experience of mankind in endeavors to promote the social welfare? As there have been great lawgivers in the past, whose codes have been put to secular tests, so momentous experiments have

run through centuries, and involved the welfare of nations, - experiments which have been recorded and interpreted, but which call for still closer study, by the wisest intellects, before their lessons are exhausted. Can such researches be made in a moment? Can they be undertaken by a knight of labor? Are the facts to be gathered in a circulating library? Or must we depend upon scholars trained to handle the apparatus of learning? Gladstone and Bryce and Morley may or may not be right in all the subordinate features of the measures which they are advocating; but their influence at this very moment is resting on the fulcrum of historic knowledge, the value of local self-government. Hamilton, Jefferson, Madison, and Marshall were far from being inspired' when they initiated the constitutional measures by which the United States are governed; and there is abundant evidence to show that they were students of the past experience of mankind in confederated politics. The compact of the Mayflower was reduced to writing within the sheltering arm of Cape Cod; but its ideas are those of men who knew the laws of Moses and Solomon, and who had seen in Holland, as well as in England, what favors and what hinders the development of civil and religious liberty. Within the shadow of the University of Leyden, a stone marks the spot where John Robinson lived, taught, and died; and the name of Elder Brewster of the Mayflower has been recently discovered among the matriculates of Peterhouse. Cambridge. In our day the pioneers of 1849 carried with them to the remotest shores of the continent ideas which soon took the form of laws, customs, colleges, schools, churches, hospitals, unknown under the Mexican sway; but they had learned these ideas in the historic schools of the Atlantic seaboard.

The universities are the natural conservators of educational experience, and should be recognized as the guides of public education. In a better state of society, means will be found to make the men of learning in a given generation responsible for the systems of primary teaching; giving potency to their counsel not only at the end but in every stage of scholastic life. Upon text-books, courses of study, methods of discipline, the qualifications of teachers, the value of rewards, honors, and examinations, the voice of the universities should be heard. The confusion and uncertainty which now prevail are indications that in schools of the lowest as of the highest grades, re-adjustments are needed which can only be wisely directed by those whose learning embraces the experience of many generations. The wisest are none too wise in pedagogics, but they are better counsellors than the ignorant.

Dr. Lieber, in a letter to Secretary Seward, at the close of the civil war, presented a strong plea for the reference of international disputes to universities. Reminding the secretary that their authority had been invoked upon internal controversies in France and Germany, he asked, Why not refer to them in international affairs? The law faculty of a renowned university in a minor state would seem, he says, "almost made for this high function, and its selection as a court of international arbitration would be a measure worthy of England and the United States ;" and he risks the prophecy that "the cis-Caucasian race will rise at no very distant day to the selection of such umpires, far more dignified than a crowned arbitrator can be."

Among the offices of a university, there is one too often undervalued, or perhaps forgotten, the discovery and development of unusual talent. I do not speak of genius, which takes care of itself. Nobody can tell how it comes to pass that men of extraordinary minds are born of commonplace parentage, and bred in schools of adversity, away from books and masters. Institutions are not essential to their education. But every one who observes in a series of years the advancement of men of talents, as distinguished from men of genius, must believe that the fostering diet of a university its plain living and high thinking'

- favors the growth of scholars, investigators, reasoners, orators, statesmen of enduring reputation, poets, and discoverers. Such men are rarely produced in the freedom of the wilderness, in the publicity of travel and of trade, or in the seclusion of private life; they are not the natural product of libraries and museums, when these stand apart from universities; they are rarely produced by schools of a lower grade. Exceptions are familiar; but the history of civilization declares that promising youth should have the most favorable opportunities for intercourse with other minds, living as well as dead, comrades as well as teachers, governors as well as friends. It declares that in most cases talents will seize opportunity, and opportunity will help talents. Just now, in our own country, there is special reason for affirming that talents should be encouraged without respect to property. Indeed, it is quite probable that the rich need the stimulus of academic honors more than the poor: certainly the good of society requires that intellectual power, wherever detected, should be encouraged to exercise its highest functions.

Cardinal Newman (in a page which refers to Sir Isaac Newton's perception of truths, mathematical and physical, though proof was absent; and to Professor Sylvester's discovery, a century and a

half later, of the proof of Newton's rule for ascertaining the imaginary roots of equations) says that a parallel gift is the intuitive perception of character possessed by certain men; as there are physicians who excel in diagnosis, and lawyers in the detection of crime.

Maurice, the greatest theologian of our day, was so strong an advocate of university education, that he suggests a sort of quo warranto forcing "those who are destined by their birth or property to any thing above the middle station in society, and intended to live in England, . . . to show cause why they do not put themselves in the best position for becoming what Coleridge calls the clerisy' of the land."

Devotion to literature will always distinguish a complete university. Within the academic walls you may always find the lover of humanities; here in perpetual residence, those who know the Athenian dramatists, the Augustan poets, the mediaeval epic writers, Chaucer and Shakspeare, and the leaders in literature of every name and tongue. In the class-rooms of the university, successive generations of youth should be presented to these illustrious men. The secrets of their excellence should be pointed out; the delights of literary enjoyment should be set forth; the possibilities of production in our day should be indicated; and, withal, the principles of criticism should be inculcated, as remote from sarcasm and fault-finding on the one hand, as from prostrate adoration and overwrought sympathy on the other.

It is common in these days to lament that the taste of the public, as indicated by the remorseless self-recording apparatus of the public libraries and the glaring indications of the book-stalls, is depraved; but it is well to remember that many counteracting influences are vigorous. Never was Shakspeare read and studied as he is to-day; never was Chaucer so familiar to the youth at school; never was the Bible so widely read; never were such translations accessible as are now within reach of all. In all this, the power of the universities is felt: give them the credit. But let us hope that in the future more attention than ever before will be given to the study of literature and art. Fortunate would it be if in every seat of learning such a living teacher could be found as a Wordsworth, a Tennyson, a Browning, or a Lowell.

Among the characteristics of a university, I name the defence of ideality, the maintenance of spiritualism. There are those in every generation who fear that inquiry is hostile to religion. Although universities are the children of the Christian church, although for a long period the papal

sanction was desirable if not essential to their establishment, although the earliest colleges in this country were strictly religious, and although almost every denomination in the land desires its own university, there is an undercurrent of talk which shows that the influence of the higher education is often regarded in certain circles as adverse to spiritual and religious life. If this were so, many would prefer to see the academic walls fall down in a night, and the treasures of the ages reduced to smoke and ashes. But fortunately, indeed, there is no such danger. Alarmists are cowards. That piety is infantile which apprehends that knowledge is fatal to reverence, devotion, righteousness, and faith. As the most recent utterances of science point more and more steadily to the plan of a great designer, as the studies of psychology and of history confirm the doctrine, at least as old as Solomon, that righteousness exalteth a nation, so we may affirm that the two essentials of Christianity, on which hang all the law and the prophets, - the love of God and the love of our neighbor,- are enforced and not weakened by the influence of universities. We may also rest assured that institutions devoted to the ascertainment of truth as the ultimate object of intellectual exertion, and to the promulgation of truth as an imperative moral obligation, are not the harbingers of harm. Individuals will err; generations will labor under false ideas; domineering intellects will dazzle for a time the ordinary mind; error, like disease, must be clearly understood before the mode of correction can be formulated; but there is no better way known to man for securing intellectual and moral integrity than to encourage those habits, those methods, and those pursuits which tend to establish truth.

Near the close of his address before the University of Munich, at the celebration of its jubilee in 1872, a great theologian, Dr. Döllinger, referred to the perils of the times in words which were received with prolonged applause. "Who knows," said he, "but that for a time Germany may remain confined in that strait prison, without air and light, which we call materialism? This would be a forerunner of approaching national ruin. But this can only happen in case the universities of Germany, forgetting their traditions and yielding to a shameful lethargy, should waste their best treasures. But no, our universities will form the impregnable wall ready to stop the devastating flood."

The maintenance of a high standard of professional learning may also be named among the requisites of a university. So it is on the continent of Europe, so partially in Great Britain, so it should be everywhere. The slender means of our

fathers compelled them to restrict their outlays to that which was regarded as fundamental or general education; and so it came to pass (as we have already been reminded) that professional schools were established in this country as independent foundations. Even where they are placed under the university aegis, they have been regarded as only children by adoption, ready enough for the funds which have been provided for academic training, but without any claims to inherit the birthright. The injury to the country from this state of things is obvious. The professional schools are every where in danger of being, nay, in many places they actually are, places of technical instead of liberal education. Their scholars are not encouraged to show a proficiency in those fundamental studies which the experience of the world has demanded for the first degree in arts. It is well known that many a medical school graduates young men who could not get admission to a college of repute. Ought we, then, to wonder that quackery is popular, and that it is better to own a patent medicine than a gold-mine? It was a wise and good man who said that there is no greater curse to a country than an uneducated ministry, and yet how common it is for the schools of theology in this country to be isolated from the best affiliations! Lawyers are too often trained with reference to getting on at the bar, and find themselves unprepared for the higher walks of jurisprudence and statesmanship. The members of congress and of the state legislatures annually exhibit to the world poverty of preparation for the critical duties which devolve upon them. I am far from believing that university schools of law, medicine, and theology, will settle the perplexing questions of the day, either in science, religion, or politics; but, if the experience of the world is worth any thing, it can nowhere be so effectively and easily acquired as in the faculties of a well-organized university, where each particular study is defined and illuminated by the steady light which comes from collateral pursuits, from the brilliant suggestions of learned and gifted teachers. Moreover, science has developed in modern society scores of professions, each of which requires preparation as liberal as law, medicine, or theology. The schools in which modern sciences are studied may indeed grow up far apart from the fostering care of universities; and there is some advantage doubtless, while they are in their early years, in being free from academic traditions but schools of science are legitimate branches of a modern university, and are gradually assuming their proper relations. In a significant paragraph which has lately appeared in the newspapers, it is said, that, with the new arrange