would still be at his elbow to test and be tested, masters of the autumnal wisdom that was coming to be his own, from the autumn of old Rome, of life, of the world," and ask ourselves where we could find more minute acquaintance with a people and its customs than in Macaulay's words: "The burning sun, the strange vegetation of the palm and the cocoa tree, the rice-field, the tank, the huge trees, older than the Mogul Empire, under which the village crowds assemble; the thatched roof of the peasant's hut; the rare tracery of the mosque; the drums, the banners, and the gaudy idols; the devotee swinging in the air; the gorgeous palanquin of the prince and the close litter of the noble lady." We are tempted to conclude that the essayist comes after the dramatist, the novelist, the poet, the historian, not because he is an imitator, but because he needs their experience, and the wealth of knowledge which they transmit, because, after a tour of inspection along literatures "ways that are dark," he should be able to say with Ulysses:

"I am part of all that I have met."

This cursory glance back over the paths trodden by essayists shows the adaptability of their works to the needs of a world in which pursuit of gain seems to have dethroned pursuit of knowledge, in which

"Every door is barred with gold and opens but to golden keys." To the man in whose mercenary sight "time is money," the essay brings brevity; to the weary laborer who feels the full force of the Almighty's decree, "In the sweat of thy brow," it brings

that lightness and gaiety which alone present an inviting appearance to the dust-begrimed son of toil; to the inhabitant of the rural district it brings a conversational style which renders him oblivious to his own loneliness in the presence of the versatile intellects of other days; to the denizen of the crowded metropolis it offers simplicity and naturalness, the only garb in which the large majority will accept a participation in the knowledge of modern events, or in

"The glory that was Greece

And the grandeur that was Rome."

P. F. DOYLE.

The Holy Cross Purple.

VOL. XI.

JANUARY, 1901.

EDITORIAL.

"STUDENT ACTIVITIES."

No. 5.

At last the young man who goes to college to have a good time" and to avoid the "old fashioned'' occupations of students-study and hard work-is provided with a new pretext for the course he elects, or rather a nice way of stating the old pretext. He need not say, in so many words, that those "old fashioned" occupations interfere with recreation and innocent amusements; he may use a more euphemious expression. When he writes home to his father for permission to "drop Greek," for instance, or when he is preparing arguments calculated to bring over the prefect of studies to his views, he may assign as his reason "a desire to avoid conflict of lecture hours with various kinds of student activities." Yes, and he may add, ""Tis a way they have at Old Harvard."

At least, this is one of the reasons suggested by the Harvard Pedagogical Seminary, in a circular letter addressed to university students to ascertain the reasons of the students for their choice of studies under the elective system. The college youth who is not inclined to study

has never been at a loss for ingenious devices to avoid it, but here is a really novel, up-to-date suggestion. Why should the professor's lecture hours be allowed to come in conflict with our student activities? We thank thee, professor, for teaching us that phrase. You have given us a light that will brighten the path of the athletic managers of the future. Now they can easily get good athletes on the college register and arrange a real nice course for them, so selected as to avoid conflict of lecture hours with various kinds of student activities."

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The old fashioned" idea was to give the lectures the right of way and to preach to us that our student activities should not conflict with them, but "nous avons changé tout cela."

In the preparation of our debates, it would be an egregious error to give our attention wholly to the work of composition or marshaling of arguments, to the entire subordination or even disregard of elocution. Of course, rhetoric needs no commendation here; everybody knows and admires its tendency to produce accuracy of communication and to correct or prevent that looseness of style which is apt to be developed in one who merely gives utterance to his thoughts in such manner as they may arise; but in no sense can it be said to supply or take the place of vocal expression.

Wherever vocal expression as such is disregarded certain evil defects are sure to follow and mar the delivery; it may be self-consciousness and repression, or academic restraint or the