Ames, and James Bradley Thayer, who were also chosen by Eliot. In the Medical School the change, although not exactly of the same nature, was equally fundamental. Eliot himself has given among his published reminiscences a humorous account of the introduction here of adequate teaching to adequate students. In 1870 (according to Dr. H. J. Bigelow) some medical students could not write well enough to pass a written examination, and although some others (mainly by their own efforts) acquired good training, many of them went out into the world utterly unprepared for any sort of intelligent medical service. He changed all that. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes's tale of Eliot's perturbing attendance at the Medical Faculty meetings is well known. After a while one of the older professors rather angrily inquired the meaning of all the proposed innovations which ran so counter to tradition, and Eliot replied, 'I can answer Dr. Blank's question very easily:- there is a new president.' Thus in the Harvard Medical School as well as in the Harvard Law School he led the way toward higher professional standards. His interest in medicine intensified as the years passed; and he lived to dedicate the magnificent new Harvard Medical buildings to the service of humanity. Not less important for learning at large was the founding of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, which, under the title 'Graduate Department,' came into being in 1872. Probably a Graduate School, as a logical continuation of his educational scheme, had long been a part of Eliot's programme, but such a School appears to have been formulated at first in his mind chiefly as a means of securing advanced instruction, rather than of initiating young men into research and independent original investigation. This latter object was more energetically sought by Johns Hopkins in the years following 1876, when the first courses in that University opened. Afterwards Eliot became an ardent upholder of the conquest of new knowledge, thus exhibiting anew his power of growth. Although the new Department at Harvard was at first not completely organized, the plan bore immediate fruit, for in 1873 three men, C. L. B. Whitney, W. E. Byerly, and John Trowbridge, and, in 1875, Nathaniel Shaler, received the degree of Doctor of Philosophy or Science. Robert Grant, the first member of the Saturday Club to be thus distinguished, received the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in 1876. The extraordinary growth of Harvard University in depth and breadth, as well as in size, during his régime is the best concrete evidence of President Eliot's power. But all this, as well as much more, especially the story of his profound influence upon secondary education, and his far-reaching interest in American statecraft and world affairs is well known. Well known, too, were his stately, tall figure, dignified presence, and beautiful, deep voice. Less familiar is the more intimately human and sympathetic side of this outwardly austere personality. He was indeed a man warmly devoted to those near him in spirit, and found deep happiness in his domestic life. His optimistic interest in the coming generation was strengthened by his affection for his eleven grandchildren, all of whom grew to maturity. Sympathy and kindliness, as well as educational wisdom, were intensified by experience; for his life, although lived in a fortunate environment, was by no means free from serious trials. He was born with a handicap, a conspicuous birthmark, which in his childhood seemed to many a fatal bar to success. With the help of wise and strong parents he was able at an early age to subdue any consequences which might have arisen from this purely superficial circumstance. While a weaker spirit would perhaps have been crushed by it, his strong and brave nature was made yet stronger and braver by victory over the psychological effect of the ineradicable blemish. Abnormal near-sightedness not only prevented him from recognizing people on the street, and thereby added to the apparent reserve with which he was credited, but also often hampered reading. No oculist was able to give him perfect vision. In his early manhood a financial catastrophe overtook the parental family, but he rose wholly above it. In private life, after marriage, he bore 'without intermission considerable responsibilities, both family and professional, which involved anxiety, a sense of risk. . . . With fortitude he lived through the illness and early death of his first wife Ellen D. Peabody, to whom he was deeply attached, the tragic taking of his elder son, and later the protracted infirmity and death of his second wife, Grace M. Hopkinson, who was the beloved and sympathetic companion of his active middle life and waning years. Any one knowing Mr. Eliot intimately, especially during these times of trial, must have realized fully that his outward austerity concealed deep human feeling, and that he entered with keen appreciation, affection, and solicitude into the lives of all about him. Parents especially understand the satisfaction which he must have had in the highly successful lives of his two children. The elder son, Charles, although dying in the prime of life, had acquired eminence as a landscape architect; and the second son, Samuel A. Eliot, became the official head of the Unitarian Churches of America. To this organization their father was always devoted. True to his spiritual inheritance and his own impulse, President Eliot consistently advocated the liberal doctrines of Unitarianism which animated his life and work and found expression in more than one of his addresses. His own appreciation of the character of others is perhaps best seen in two books: the touching tribute to his son Charles, and the straightforward account of the life of John Gilley. The subjects of these two biographies, so different in heredity, environment, mentality, physique, and temperament, he equally understood — entering sympathetically into the mental attitude of each personality. - Unbending as he seemed to superficial observers, he could relax, and believed in sane relaxation. Himself a successful oarsman, daring pilot and skipper, and competent horseman and bicyclist, he advocated the cultivation of all possible kinds of skill — of brain, hand, eye, and ear. His discussion of the evils of contemporary football was quite compatible with interest in sane outdoor sport, and still commends itself to sensible people. Often he regretted that, although he was fond of music, his technical knowledge of it, as well as that of the fine arts, was almost negligible. Consistently, on many occasions he advised others to practise themselves in music and drawing, as well as to train every sense and other faculty to the fullest possible extent. He contended always for the 'durable satisfactions of life.' Any cause, educational, social, or political, which in his opinion tended toward the betterment of human life, received his warm support. A few authentic anecdotes concerning special occasions will serve to give a more vivid picture of his manner of thought and action. First may well come the tale of my own initial meeting with him, over forty years ago. Before coming to Cambridge from another college I had studied with profit his book on elementary chemistry, and on entering Harvard attended his address to new students; so that even then I had acquired great respect (bordering upon awe) for his power and wisdom, and wondered when it might be my privilege to meet him face to face. As it happened, that autumn Professor Cooke had decided upon conducting one of his advanced courses in the following rather novel manner: each of the six students in rotation had to give a lecture upon some special topic selected by the professor. To the students giving the lectures this practice was a highly valuable one; to the listeners the outcome was perhaps less fortunate. At any rate, in the late autumn, it fell to my lot, for a second time, to lecture in this course. For sufficient reasons, which need not be detailed, the youthful lecturer was not very well prepared; and the special topic of the day was uninteresting. Therefore at the appointed hour, somewhat anxiously he awaited with the other students the coming of Professor Cooke. The latter was late, but when he came he brought with him President Eliot! The President's kind and reassuring words to the now literally trembling neophyte brought balm to a suffering soul and made possible the execution of the lecture without the collapse of the lecturer. It appeared afterward that Eliot was interested in Cooke's plan, and wished to see how the scheme worked in practice. Nothing could have been more characteristic of his interest in educational methods and of his desire to discover at first-hand the merits of each idea. His personal kindness noted in the foregoing incident appeared under a different guise in his solicitude for the health of his friends. Not infrequently, before the days of the Stillman Infirmary, he took ill professors or even students into his own house so that they might have good care. His interest in young men, and his ever-present appreciation of the fact that it is they who are to be the standard-bearers of the future, were often manifest in yet another way. Not only in the University, but also in the several clubs and societies to which he was partial (especially the Saturday Club) his earnest concern about young new members to take the place of those passing away was always striking, and his comments on individual character and fitness were particularly illuminating. As an example of his extraordinary directness of mind the following incident is worth quoting. A quarter of a century ago a certain assistant professor received a rather tempting call to another university. Such things add spice to one's academic existence and sometimes have, as will be evident, a highly beneficial effect. In this particular instance, the recipient of the call had not brought the case to the President's attention, but was still thinking it over, when he received a message from the President asking him to be good enough to call at once. Dr. Eliot was at Asticou in Mount Desert, and the other was living not far distant. The young man, complying straightway, found the President on the broad veranda of his house. Immediately on seeing him, Eliot said in his calm, deep, gracious voice, after a brief, pleasant greeting, 'Professor Blank, you have ridden fast and are warm. The wind is cold. Please take a seat here out of the draft.' And then with a kindly smile: 'I have heard from X-that you have received this call. It is a very pleasant affair for everybody concerned. I have always thought that an occurrence of this kind is chiefly useful as an opportunity to improve one's situation at home. Now, what do you want?' After a brief conversation, the President spoke to this effect:'You are reasonable, and if possible, your wishes shall be granted. I will telegraph to the other members of the Corporation and you shall have definite assurance to-morrow. Those people at the other university deserve a prompt answer.' The next morning assurance came which kept the young professor at Harvard. In the President's following annual report he took the incident as a text for an illuminating discussion of the conditions desirable for a teacher who wishes also to be an original investigator. Dr. Eliot's power of getting immediately at essentials was shown in all his dealings in academic affairs. For six years under his presidency I frequently had occasion to go to him with matters concerning the relation of the Division of Chemistry to the Corporation, to the Faculty, and to individual students. A patient and attentive listener, he showed in all these many interviews remarkable clear |