formulas and curves instead; with the result that the world promptly relapsed into its primitive depths of economic ignorance. So soon as the professors retired from it, every economic heresy and delusion, which had been exposed and uprooted by Adam Smith, at once revived and flourished. In one generation economics disappeared completely from the public ken and the political world, and the makers of the peace treaties of 1919 were so incapable of understanding an economic argument that not even the lucid intelligence of Mr. Keynes could dissuade them from enacting the most preposterous conditions which rendered impossible the realization of their aims."

W. R. Harper and E. Benj. Andrews, two of the greatest teachers that universities have produced, were both great investigators we well as great teachers. A teacher must, indeed, investigate, as already pointed out, to be worth much as a teacher; and investigation must be continued to the last. Whether the results of an investigation are published or delivered orally to students is another matter. The most impressive words of President Harper and President Andrews were not put into books but spoken with all their enthusiasm and magnetism to students seated before them, whom they wished to set to thinking. It is significant that both Socrates and Jesus never wrote out any of their great thoughts which have so mightily influenced the world; they taught exclusively through the spoken word. Even Shakespeare, whom we think of as a writer, par excellence, never wrote his great dramas for publication. The plays were intended for oral delivery. The few which were published during his lifetime were printed in pirated editions from players' manuscripts stolen or otherwise abstracted from the playhouse by interested persons, and were without his personal revision. The great majority of the plays did not appear in print until seven years after Shakespeare's death in an edition published by some of his friends, on their own responsibility, from imperfect manuscripts.

In books personality is not so effective as it is face to face. Teachers, like poets, are born, not made; but they may be helped greatly by the right sort of contact with the great masters of the craft.

Teaching is an art-the art of imparting knowledge so as to inspire a desire to know and to investigate for oneself. That is what the great teachers herein mentioned did.

The other day I met a student who will take the bachelor's

degree in June. She remarked: "My education will then begin at my home!" She lives in Kansas. She lives in Kansas. She has acquired a desire to know and to investigate, and she has it all planned out how it is to be done. Her university course has been a start in the right direction, and has prepared her for further progress in what she desires to find out. Her preparation has been a great

success.

The call for better teachers in universities is beginning to be heard, though only faintly as yet. The experience of those who gain the great desideratum-the Ph. D.-is somewhat disillusioning. They realize that they have to learn the art of teaching after they have gained the degree that is supposed to fit them for a university professorship. Their students do not enthuse over the coldly presented lectures of the learned professors with whom the young doctors have studied. Those lectures have to be revised and put into language that will appeal to a generation of lively youths. If the universities desire better teachers, they must train them by better teaching in their own halls. The schools of education will not supply them.

Moreover, the universities will have to recognize the better teachers as doing work as difficult as, if not more difficult than, mere research, and certainly as important. And the remuneration must be as great. The universities have it in their power to produce what they want, whether great research, or great teaching, if they will encourage those who are able to perform the work, and if they will pay the price in cash and honor.

It is sometimes difficult for a teacher to know whether he is a success or not. All he can do is to do his best-to throw himself into his work with all his might, unselfishly, hoping for the best. He may not accomplish what he desires, but something entirely unthought of and unsuspected. I once had a girl in my classes for some years; I was never sure whether she was really interested or not, though she was faithful in attendance and did fair work. But after she was graduated she wrote me from a distant State a note of thanks and appreciation for what she said I had done for her. There was, she said, "a certain atmosphere" in my classes. I do not quite know yet what she meant-I did try to keep the room well ventilated! But of course I think she meant something else.

Another girl who has now been teaching for twenty-five years happened to sit behind me in a large audience a while

ago. She bent over and spoke to me; she told me of a chance remark I had made one day in class which she had never forgotten. She said nothing about a half-dozen courses she had taken with me; this one remark, it seemed, had helped her more than all the rest, though to me it seemed trifling. She was a serious student and fine personality. One never can tell what one may accomplish unwittingly. One should just do one's best; or, to change the figures, keep shooting-something may hit the mark.

One day in a crowded street a man jumped out of the crowd, grabbed my hand and said: "I haven't seen you in twenty years; you don't remeber me, but I do you. My name is Blank, and I want to tell you that I wish I had taken more Greek and Latin, for I made my best grades there, and I might have made. Phi Beta Kappa." I had forgotten his existence!

Another student, now a writer of distinction, after ten years of literary work tells me that a certain Greek course was the most valuable course that he took in his four years of university preparation for journalism, and that he found it worth while more for what the teacher put into it than for what the textbooks gave him. Evidently the teacher, whoever he was, was a real one.

It is easy to get on pleasantly with students, but their parents may be a nuisance, especially if they chance to be university professors and their wives. I sometimes think that this class of persons should be prohibited by law from interfering in the scholastic education of their offspring. Of course, this is an exaggerated statement, but in all seriousness I could name some who have been the ruin of their children in this respect. Educationally the children were a disgrace to their brilliant parents, as I frankly told some of them. They were so "smart" that the parents thought they didn't need to be taught. The students of extraordinary natural ability are the hardest to deal with; and, as a great business man has truly said, they rarely achieve lasting success. It is true that great ability should be a help to students, if they are blessed with it, but far more is due to the habit of never doing anything less well than one can; in other words, of doing one's best. It is the person who "keeps at it" and is always striving to do better that really achieves. The brilliant ones are likely to degenerate into loafers, if not worse.

In the "Hill-top College" the dullest man that I knew in a

He

certain class was the first of all to reach real distinction. His examination papers were always better than his term grades, because a week intervened in which he kept on working. took a divinity course, went to a small town in New York State to preach, and when he died, after ten years' work, he was so beloved by the people of that town that the other ministers in the town filled his pulpit on successive Sundays for the rest of the year.

If one likes to deal with pleasant young people, there is no more enjoyable occupation than university or college teaching. One keeps young and up to date; one has to be on the alert and always learning. "Only a teacher," instead of being a reproach, is a real distinction, the more so if one can be numbered among the superlatively great teachers-with Arnold of Rugby, with E. Benjamin Andrews, and with William Rainey Harper. Greatest, perhaps, among the rewards of teaching is the abiding friendship of many who consider that they owe much to a teacher's influence.

THE TINKER'S HUT

BY LLOYD MORRIS

EARLY two thousand feet up it stands on the bald top of

NEAR

a wind-stricken hill in the Welsh Marches. On three sides its crannied walls bulge blindly out beneath a roof scrabbled over with an ancient thatch; on the fourth, a filmy-blue window peers sinisterly on to nine giant boulders scarred with the rasure of ancient glaciers; and hard by the crazy door a few distorted sycamores sentinel a boggy pool over-slimed at the margin with. virent weed.

Here was the pitiful habitation of a vagabond tinker. From it he sallied with his woman, impelled by hunger to ventures on the world of men: crying through the country-side, pots and kettles to mend; and peddling a scanty ware. Here, at intervals, they returned, wayworn, and with a beggarly handsel that for a brief period from wandering should keep bare life within them.

What manner of man, as noon drew on to night, bowed sullenly beneath his pack and trudged dumbly through churlish weather up this desolate mountain-side; what trull plodded mutely after and followed through the mouldering door-come to rest at last, as the sun went down, in the harsh shelter of four blotched walls that was home?

A decrepit stool and narrow bench were furnishing that offered no comfort, only deject show and a rigorous amelioration, from the cold damp floor, whereon they could sit and eat an exact and scanty meal of hoarded victuals; and then break into. foul recriminations; hold brutish silence, or snicker at one another in the fugitive blaze of a twig fire; with no rag friendly curtain at the bleared window to screen the cruel hills stretched range beyond range to a last far-off profile jagging

of