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to measure the achievements and count the victories of men of the mold of Charles W. Eliot.

The Second Founder of Harvard

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F any people should be judged by their best, the Puritans of New England can be understood only in the light of such a life as that of President Eliot. Certainly there was beauty, suavity, and symmetry in a culture under which his character came to flower. It is customary to speak of Puritanism as hard, austere, narrow, intolerant, unhappy; as indeed the denial of those ideals commonly called Grecian; but Charles William Eliot, son of the Puritans and student of the natural sciences, was perhaps the most conspicuous example in our day and Nation of that balance of character, that orderliness of mind, that capacity for serene enjoyment, which men associate with the Greek ideal. The end of his life, which came on Sunday of last week, at Northeast Harbor, on the island of Mount Desert in Maine, befitted the rest of it. It was the rounding out, the full completion of his years and his service.

If a nation is to be judged by the men it honors, America cannot rightly be understood without some knowledge of the man who was widely, almost universally, regarded as the Republic's first citizen. Sometimes it is thought with reason that America, as compared with the Old World, is underbred, undignified, prone to extremes of materialistic self-seeking and idealistic sentimentalism; but, whatever the defects of the American people may be, they have the capacity to recognize the leadership of one who was distinguished for his breeding, dignity, and poise.

At the age of thirty-two Mr. Eliot deliberately chose the profession of teaching. Perhaps he had made his choice before this; but it was then that he put the choice to the test by declining a remunerative position as mill superintendent. Three years later he became President of Harvard. What he accomplished in his Presidency was virtually the creation of the University that now is. That it is the greatest of American universities is due, not only to its inheritance, but also to its development under President Eliot. He may truly be said to have founded it anew. His achievement was thus summarized in this jour

nal in an editorial when his resignation was announced in 1908:

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During those forty years Harvard had grown from a Unitarian college to an unsectarian university, from an undergraduate population numbering 423 on the average in the five years 1861-5, to a scholastic community numbering 6,000, with as many teachers in 1908 as it had undergraduate pupils in 1868. Then it was little known outside of New England, now wherever Anglo-Saxon culture has found a residence; then, apart from its professional schools, its curriculum was mainly Latin, Greek, mathematics, and a little science, now there is no branch of liberal learning which it does not include; then it was a higher school whose President stood to the students in loco parentis, now as essentially a self-governing community as any in America; then with standards of graduation probably little if any higher than its standards of admission now; then dominated by a coercive institutional religion, now by a spirit of free individual religion in which all forms of faith and worship are alike welcome.

It has sometimes been said that in bringing about the change thus summarized his greatest contribution was in the development of what is known as the elective system. As a matter of fact, the elective system was simply an outward manifestation of President Eliot's faith in liberty as a fundamental in education, He did not believe in liberty for its own sake. He had no use for the kind of education that makes a fetish of "selfexpression." To him liberty was simply the element in which the will must live and grow. To him education was not reading, writing, and arithmetic, or their modern equivalents. It was not a device to make a democracy safe by educating its voters, or a nation secure by making its soldiers intelligent, or a people prosperous by making workers efficient; it was a means and a necessary means to make happiness general, to spread among the people "the enjoyment of the solid, human satisfactions."

Education, therefore, to him was a process "that lasts through life." It was directed toward efficiency, but only in the sense of that efficiency that makes for happiness. In an article published in The Outlook twenty-one years ago last July and delivered as an address before

the Schoolmasters' Association of New York he expressed this idea of the efficient life in these words:

Efficiency is the great source of private happiness and of public prosper

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ity-the exercise of power intelligently
and with enjoyment. Is not that true
of the life of every person here?
we not all get our real satisfactions.
through efficiency, including, of
course, in efficiency its condition,
physical and moral health, and its re-
sults, productiveness and serviceable-
ness? Is not our own personal healthy
efficiency in labor and service the
groundwork of our content with life?

To promote this efficiency he found one essential process in the development of the individual's will power. This he found to be possible not by compulsion but by the exercise of freedom. In education, therefore, Mr. Eliot was primarily a liberator.

But it was not to formal education that Mr. Eliot dedicated himself. It may be said that the Presidency of Harvard was, after all, an incident, though by all odds the chief incident, in a career that was given to the whole sphere of education in its widest sense. His selection of such master works of literature as he regarded conducive to a broad view of life which were collected and published as the "Harvard Classics,” his addresses before various gatherings on the widest variety of subjects from the politics of the day to religious ideals, and from the application of democracy to industry to the discussion of contemporary manners, and his many other public activities, made him a teacher of teachers, a leader of those ambitious to lead, a provoker of thought, a professor at large, and adviser and consultant to all who were busied with the affairs of the mind, from the humblest teacher in the lower grades of the common schools to the President of the United States.

And throughout his life he practiced what he preached. He found in his work "the durable satisfactions of life." He not only had no faith in arbitrary authority of ideas, whether educational, religious, or political, but never sought to exercise it himself. It was characteristic of him, for instance, that when he went before a legislative committee in Massachusetts to oppose the taxation of college property he did not speak with authority as one who knew what was right and was telling non-experts what conclusions they should reach, but rather laid before that body certain facts from which they could draw their conclusions as well as he. So when he discussed religious questions, as he often did, he was often apothegmatic but never dogmatic. He took pains to explain and define his terms. When he

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President of Harvard University 1869-1909, and President Emeritus 1909-1926. The photograph of this oil portrait of President Eliot from the brush of Charles Hopkinson is reproduced here by the courtesy of the Harvard Club of New York

spoke of religion, he made it clear what he meant by religion, so that if his hearers understood something else by the word they would at least not misunderstand him. He was precise in his use of language. The beauty of his style lay in its precision. No one in his day equaled him, no one in any day has surpassed him, in the framing of sententious inscriptions. He valued manners and taste as he valued all elements of a rounded and complete life. He was disturbed by some of the bad manners of modern young persons, and particularly young women, not because they violated conventions, but because they were impediments to the kind of life that can truly be enjoyed. He was not of a pugnacious disposition, but he never fled from controversy, and when engaged in it was as unsparing as he was always courteous and courtly.

He believed so thoroughly in what is called sometimes democracy and sometimes republican institutions that he coveted for all mankind the best. He was an aristocrat because he was a democrat. He believed in the people, and therefore he believed in the need for leadership. Freedom he believed included freedom in the choice of leaders. He could believe in the government of society through co-operation because he had faith in the powers of the individual. No European aristocracy could have produced him. For those whose faith in America may waver there is no better tonic than acquaintance with the mind and character of this great and distinctive American, Charles William Eliot.

Making Workmen
Capitalists

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HE process of communizing by the distribution of stock in corporations among consumers described more than once in The Outlook -but notably by Mr. Seitz in the issue of April 28-has had a further development in recent days through the extension of security distribution to workers. So considerable has this movement become that it is now the subject of a study made by Robert F. Foerster, Director of the Industrial Relations Section and Professor of Economics at Princeton, and Elsa H. Dietel, Assistant Director, and published by the University under the title "Employee Stock Ownership in the United States."

in ownership appears to have had the first substantial beginning about 1900, when the Illinois Central Railroad developed a plan for selling stock to its men. The National Biscuit Company followed suit. Then the movement took on considerable impetus, which has grown steadily in strength. The United States Steel Corporation, the Firestone Tire and Rubber Company, the International Harvester Company, and the Du Fonts were conspicuous examples. Profitsharing had been instituted earlier by Procter and Gamble, who also afforded a basis for acquiring stock by workers. Profit-sharing seems to have preceded ownership in numbers of instances and is still widely practiced. It lacks, however, the certainty and full responsibility that comes with stock ownership.

More recent sellers of securities to their employees have been the Dennison Manufacturing Company, the Standard Oil Company, Chicago and Brooklyn Edison Companies, and the Consolidated Light and Power Company of Baltimore. These were later supplemented by the American Telegraph and Telephone Company, the American Tobacco Company, the Eastman Kodak Company, the Loose-Wiles Biscuit Company, the Studebaker Corporation, the Texas Company, and the Niagara Falls Power Company. All these began the practice before 1921.

Since that year the movement has grown amazingly. The further list includes Armour & Co., the Radio Corporation of America, the Fleischmann Company, Great Western Sugar Company, Pacific Mills, Jones & Laughlin Steel Company, United Shoe Machinery Corporation, Yale and Towne Manufacturing Company of Stamford, Connecticut, Bethlehem Steel Corporation, General Motors, Brooklyn Manhattan Transit Company, United Cigar Stores, Corn Products Refining Corporation, National City Bank of New York, California Petroleum fornia Petroleum Corporation, Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company, International Cement Corporation, the Pullman Company, and the Western Union Telegraph Company.

This by no means covers all corporations that are opening their doors to their workers, but suffices to show the extent of the movement and its "communizing" character. That much of the initiative was taken on behalf of the "white collar" men is true; but, with the The movement to interest employees great rise of wages that has taken place

in the last decade, workmen have been placed in a position where many are better able to invest than members of the clerical and managerial forces. The marked thing about it is the fact that companies have come to the conclusion that they are democratic institutions— and this is the most remarkable social discovery of the age. Men whose minds run back beyond the coming of the twentieth century recall quite clearly the time when corporations had no souls, and when their employees had little more identity than numbers, to say nothing of possessing rights or interests in common with the owners. They were as wide apart as the poles. The "white collars" were no better off in this respect than the workmen. They were afraid of their lives. Officers and directors lived in a higher realm, to which but few of the underlings dared aspire. As for workmen, no one ever thought about them. It was left for the labor unions to lift them up into the daylight.

The unions, it would now appear, acted wisely when they shied off from profit-sharing and benevolent schemes for their betterment. They rightly regarded these as poor substitutes for decent wages and working conditions, preferring independence to peonage, and money in hand to pensions. The result of their standing out is visible in the new corporation policy, which takes every man in who is willing to come and assists him in some notable instances to finance his holdings. The reason for this may be found in the disappearance of industrial aristocracy in the United States. So it is that here in America, as a further development of true democracy, we are having a "communizing" of capital that takes in all classes. While anti-red propaganda as a remedy for imaginary "redness" has been peddled about, real redness has been drowned in the flood of good wages and chances to share as owners in great enterprises.

Most conspicuous among the "communes" is that of the Philadelphia Rapid Transit Company, where the employees own one-third of the capital stock of $30,000,000, under a pooling system devised by Thomas E. Mitten, head of the corporation, whereby a percentage of wages is divided monthly and turned over to the Mutual Benefit Association to be invested en bloc. It now represents a holding of about $1,500 for each man. The company has made it a recent practice to sell its stock also to car riders

when new issues required for expansion ions and from among less than one-twoare marketed,

What we are to welcome in the growing extent of this great change is the breaking down of another great barrier to opportunity, to a true democratization of industry that does not disturb organization, but makes it the servant and not the master of the employee. No Marxian theory ever developed so practical and sensible a method of adjusting the relations between the earners and makers of money. Continued, as it must be, in the very nature of things it will make the economic road in America very smooth."

hundredth of its population. At present
Federal employees are appointed from
the forty-eight States on a definite quota
basis. The right of citizenship in a State
is a much more valuable right than that
of casting a ballot in the District of
Columbia could possibly be.

Complaint is made, too, that the Dis-
trict of Columbia does not legislate for
itself, that "Congress is the Common
Council for the city of Washington." It

is difficult to see how Washington ever
could be given the right to legislate for
itself without an amendment to the Con-
stitution of the United States. That in-
strument, in enumerating the powers of

"Voteless Washington" Congress, lists this as Number 17:

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SYNDICATE writer recently suggested that all of the acts of Congress since 1911 are invalid because, in the Reapportionment Act of that year, the population of the District of Columbia was not deducted from the total population of the country before the apportionment was made. Therefore, he argues, Congress has not been organized since 1911 "according to the Constitution." He speaks of 500,000 "political orphans," the non-voting population of the District of Columbia.

There is, of course, no such thing as a non-voting population of 500,000 in the District of Columbia. Perhaps fourfifths of the residents of the District are citizens of the States. Such of them as are of voting age are qualified voters in the States. If some of them do not exercise the right to vote, they simply neglect a privilege, as do many of their fellow-citizens nearer the polling booths. As a fact, however, a large proportion of the residents of Washington do vote. Some of them go home at election time. Many others vote by mail. In so far as the population of the District of Columbia is made up of Government employees, there is no loss of the right to vote. In so far as it is made up of tradesmen and professional persons who prefer Washington to other cities, the right is renounced deliberately and in most cases cheerfully.

If the right of suffrage were extended to the District of Columbia and if all residents became citizens in order to exercise the right, we should have the remarkable spectacle of a Federal Government drawing practically its entire official personnel from one-and the smallest of its forty-nine political divis

To exercise exclusive legislation in all cases whatsoever over such district (not exceeding ten miles square) as may, by cession of particular States and the acceptance of Congress, be

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come the seat of the Government of the United States, and to exercise like authority over all places purchased

for the erection of forts, magazines, arsenals, dockyards, and other needful buildings.

That Federal employees in the District of Columbia should vote as citizens of the District of Columbia and elect

legislative representatives was no more in contemplation than that Federal employees in the Mare Island Navy Yard should vote as citizens of the Navy Yard reservation. That the "non-voting" population of Washington should be deducted from the total population before apportionment for representation in Congress was no more contemplated than that the officer instructors at West Point should be so deducted. We shall have to search further for a means of invalidating all of the acts of Congress since 1911.

Personality in Art
By LAWRENCE F. ABBOTT
Contributing Editor of The Outlook

OYAL CORTISSOZ, in one of his delightful papers in "The Field of Art," has set me thinking about the important part which personality plays in the popular estimation of artistic genius. In theory we are taught that artistic judgments must be based upon the principle of "art for art's sake." In practice we cannot get away from the influence of personality. Take the case of the French artist Ingres, about whom Cortissoz writes so ingratiatingly in the August "Scribner's." Ingres is one of the great names in the history of French painting. Cortissoz makes this clear and praises him for his perfection of design and draughtsmanship. He might be called a painter for painters. The reason why he has not made a greater appeal to the general public is perhaps found in the following pronouncement of an authoritative French critic: "He is distinguished by the perfection of his drawing and by the purity of his line; but his color is muddy and generally a little cold." So much for technical criticism. I do not know that Cortissoz's article, interesting as it is, would have given me an urge to hunt up examples of the work of Ingres. But when I learned elsewhere that Ingres originally intended to be a musician, played the violin with professional skill, and after he became a distinguished

painter was an intimate friend of Cherubini, Mendelssohn, and Franz Liszt, my interest in his genius was whetted. Here was a man who could ride two horses at once and ride them well. Ingres's great distinction as a painter led to his appointment as director of the French Academy in Rome, but his musicales in the Imperial city were apparently more talked about than his painting.

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NOTHER current magazine—the admirable "American Magazine of Art"-reveals the double genius of another great painter. Perhaps his intimates knew about it, but the general public will be surprised to learn—at any rate, I was that the late John Singer Sargent was an accomplished musician. This interesting news is told in an article by Grace Wickham Curran, who pleasantly describes a visit to Grenada, where she discovered a wine-shop and a vintner of a character truly and exclusively Spanish:

The master of the wine-shop led us, however, through another door and across a small vine-hung inner patio, from which opened a scrap of a kitchen. Everything was spotlessly clean, every utensil an antique treasure and we longed to linger and prowl into corners. A steep, almost ladderlike stairway led up past a wall hung with old Spanish rugs, brocades, carv

ings. On stair landing and over-door shelves were placed softly gleaming copper and brass jugs, old bowls and jars. We quite caught our breath as we stepped forth into the little upper room, a real museum and art gallery, with several pieces of fine old furniture and walls hung close from floor almost to ceiling with oil and watercolor sketches, drawings and etchings. Examining the signatures, we found the names of well-known French, English, and German painters and two or three American comrades of our own old Paris student days. All these had come and left souvenirs of their passing.

But with rare dramatic skill our host had saved the cream, the climax of our visit, for the last. A piano stood in a smaller room, opposite the door leading thither, and above it, with a special light arranged to show its beauties, hung a characteristic and beautiful Sargent water-color, equal to any we had ever seen in world museums. At one side there hung also a large black-and-white drawing, a portrait of our host himself, inscribed in Sargent's own handwriting, "A mi amigo." We questioned, "Do you realize that this water-color is a valuable painting?" "Ah, yes! Señores," he responded. "Es el mio." (It is mine.)

Then we heard the story of how Sargent was once detained at Alhambra by the illness of his mother, who lay in the pension Villa across the way. Every evening he used to mount the narrow stairway to these little rooms, where he lingered often till the small hours of the night, talking over many subjects with this sympathetic and adoring friend, and playing wonderful music on the piano. We may

be sure he did not omit from his choice many of those alluring Spanish compositions which carry such an undertone of ancient Moorish melody.

If the old proverb be true that a man is known by the company he keeps, does not this glimpse into a Spanish wine-shop and its tiny upper chamber reveal to us a whole chapter in the biography of the man Sargent? He shunned the whole world and was shy and inexpressive in the presence of dignitaries, but he opened his heart to this simple man of the people who shared his delight in all things beautiful.

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NOTHER

current periodical"Books," published in conjunction with the New York "Tribune"-calls attention to the revival of interest in the great French caricaturist, Honoré Daumier. There is a popular notion-somewhat justified, it is sad to say, by experience that poverty and painting are natural mates. John Singer Sargent was an exception to the rule, but Daumier's life confirms it. Daumier was a struggling lithographer, and the great volume of the work which he left consists of wonderful lithographs. He was not only an artist, but a satirist, and his ridicule of the bourgeois Government under Louis Philippe put him in jail for six months. He died totally blind at seventy years of age. During his lifetime he achieved a wide reputation-perhaps notoriety would be a better word—as a But it was not newspaper cartoonist.

until after his death that his merits as a painter and his transcendent gifts as a

Five Things Seen

draughtsman were recognized. He has been called the Michelangelo of caricature, a title which he might well share with Gavarni.

What interests me most about Daumier, aside from the Hogarthian humor and vitality of his work, was his friendship with François Millet. They were both poor, they were both engaged in portraying the lines and movements of the human figure in modern occupations and dress, and they both had high ideals about the worth and dignity of man. When Millet lived in Barbizon, Daumier used to be one of his most intimate visitors. Perhaps it was their common love of line drawing that drew them together. In one of his letters Millet describes his emotions on his first visit to the Louvre, fresh from a Normandy farm:

But when I saw that drawing of Michelangelo's representing a man in a swoon, I felt that was a different thing. The expression of the relaxed muscles, the planes, and the modeling of that form exhausted by physical suffering, gave me a whole series of impressions. I felt as if tormented by the same pains. I had compassion upon him. I suffered in his body and his limbs. I saw that the man who had done this was able, in a single figure, to represent all the good and evil in humanity. It was Michelangelo! That explains all. I had already seen some bad engravings of his work at Cherbourg; but here I touched the heart and heard the voice of him who has haunted me with such power during my whole life. This is personality in art indeed!

A Rambling London Letter by C. LEWIS HIND

ICTOR HUGO originated the title "Things Seen." Since his

time many writers have favored it, I among them. My first book, printed for private circulation in 1899, was called "Things Seen," and, being youngish then, I put the following from "Hamlet" on the title-page:

O, where, my lord?

In my mind's eye, Horatio.

"Things Seen" came to mind because I have five topics to touch upon in this "Rambling London Letter." Each is significant, and each might have run to a column; but, as empty columns are few, I group them (that is my humor) as "Things Seen"-I to V.

I

A LECTURE! It was delivered in the

House of Lords. I took some pains to procure a ticket because this is the first time a public lecture has been given in the House of Lords, and because the lecturer was my friend Dr. Robert McElroy, of Princeton, now Professor of American History at Oxford. He was invited to deliver the 1926 lectures of the

"Watson Chair of American History, Literature, and Institutions." In honor of the event, the Lord Great Chamberlain allowed the first address to be given in the House of Lords. The subject was "Permanent Conditions Which Have Influenced America in British-American Crises." It had been arranged that the

meeting should be in the Royal Gallery,

but, as the acoustics of that magnificent chamber are not good, the gathering was held in the Cartoon Hall. Viscount Lee of Fareham presided.

I do not propose to give an account of this remarkable lecture, which was delivered with vigor and point. It will be published. The idea of it was what interested me an American explaining America, in the House of Lords, to a distinguished British audience, which of course included the unemotional Ambassador, Mr. Houghton. Big Ben boomed periodically. It was a moving hour.

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