10 those who believe what they read in the papers and what they hear from the pulpit, college boys and girls are no longer human beings: they are symbols. Whether symbols of growth or decay depends upon the source of what it would be fantastic to call information. Such catchwords as "flaming youth," "younger generation," "youth movement," have sapped the vitality of popular discussion. Collegians are immoral, degenerate, atheistic, if the speaker is a fundamentalist hell-raiser. They are aspiring to new spiritual heights, returning to original Christianity, if certain types of uplifters have the floor.

The newspapers furnish lurid tales which the pulpit-pounders seize with ghoulish gloating. They play up drinking orgies, petting-parties, co-ed bandits, undergraduate criminals. There is a hint of joy-ride about every collegiate automobile accident. No student may commit suicide without being reported as bewildered or disillusioned by his courses in philosophy or psychology. In many minds the Leopolds and the Loebs are the classic examples of the advantages of a modern liberal education.

To immorality and atheism is added political indiscretion. The patriotic societies are continually in a flutter over the alleged fact that the student is going Bolshevik. Even Calvin the Silent once wrote an article on radicalism in the women's colleges.

The students are scarcely better treated by those who are, or say they are, friends. College presidents-most of them are fond of paternally reproving the boys and girls for neglecting the higher and finer things of life. The tune of these utterances is changing gradually as new blood enters the administrative fraternity. President Little of Michigan, President

Hopkins of Dartmouth, Dean Gauss of Princeton, and a few others have turned the search-light in another direction.

Inspirational writers, Y. M. C. A. secretaries, and a cult of "liberal Christians" are fond of patting the youngsters on the head and announcing condescendingly: "Youth's all right."

All this pother obscures the fact that normal individuals are the subject of discussion. Generalities are useful for headlines and sermon topics, but useless as aids to understanding when knowledge goes no further. It seems safe to say that students are neglecting their home-work in Bolshevism for the sake of pleasanter social diversions. The colleges are more nearly hothouses of adolescent flirtation than hotbeds of radicalism. Undergraduates are probably as concerned with the transient pleasures as are their elders. They are possibly a little more honest about it, and certainly less hampered in their pursuits by the demands of daily living. They can scarcely be expected to love learning in an atmosphere tainted by the odor of decayed knowledge, when "Do!" and "Get!" command the age. Beyond that it is not safe to go on the basis of press reports and popular interpreters. The investigator so often finds exactly what he is seeking to prove his point.

II

CERTAIN observations gathered from a group of students may serve to lend a different perspective to the picture of what goes on in the undergraduate mind. With no panacea to ballyhoo for, with no preconceived notions to fortify, I attended the second congress of the National Student Federation of America, held at the University of Michigan. Here gathered representatives of 194 colleges located in 40 of these United States to consider the state of their academic health. The enrolment of these colleges

totals 410,000 students. They range in size from universities such as Columbia and Michigan with more than 10,000 to Hiram College with 300, and others even smaller.

The National Student Federation is perhaps potentially the most significant association of undergraduates ever to form in this country. The congress was held under the auspices of neither church nor party. It had little in common with the conference which met later in Milwaukee with the benediction of the Y. M. C. A. and the Y. W. C. A. where the topic for discussion was "What Resources Has Jesus for Life in Our World?" It had no connection with the conference in New York fostered by the League for Industrial Democracy addressed by prominent Socialists, Norman Thomas and Morris Hillquit.

The set speeches before the congress were made by Doctor Stephen Duggan, director of the Institute for International Education, President Henry Noble MacCracken of Vassar, Professor Alexander Meiklejohn of the University of Wisconsin, and President Clarence C. Little of Michigan. The Federation then proceeded under its own steam, held meetings at which only students were present, and discussed, mirabile dictu, their own affairs. It is interesting to note that this organization grew out of a student conference on the World Court held at Princeton in 1925. Having said their say on the court-an indorsement of American adherence the undergraduates considered the question of continuing the Federation. They decided that there was place for a national organization, but also saw that its concern should be with matters nearer home. To them it seemed that more could be done for international co-operation by fostering understanding between American and foreign students than by passing resolutions on the World Court. They saw that the development of intelligent student opinion might be worth more than any official programme. They believed that encouraging enlightenment on their own campuses might be of more value than an attempt to reform the world.

Even with these worthy aims, a certain atmosphere of an undergraduate Rotary

Club hovers about the Federation. Despite disavowal of cure-alls, the official pronouncement sounds a bit solemn. It was only when the delegates assembled and the student meetings started that the air cleared.

Each college or university sent one accredited delegate. Coeducational institutions were allowed one representative of each sex, each having half a vote. Many colleges sent other students as observers. Selected by student governments or whole undergraduate bodies, these representatives came as near a real cross-section of American collegians as it is possible to assemble. They were by no means intellectual giants. There were no greasy grinds and only a few owners of Phi Beta Kappa keys among them. They were campus politicians, athletic heroes, prominent fraternity and sorority people, and a large number of the hardworking participants in campus activities who are always designated for conventions. These young men and women came from all sorts of homes. There were negroes as well as whites. They spoke the American language with all kinds of twangs and drawls. An Oklahoma University senior as he tumbled into my taxicab at Ann Arbor station complained bitterly of the cold with fine disregard of all the "r" endings. My other companion tossed off this little snap as not a patch on the winter they were going to have. He was from Niagara.

A captain of the Harvard football-team and the quarter-back of the University of Washington eleven, who received AllAmerican mention, entertained me highly during the small hours of the morning in one of the aisles of grease which cater to hungry Michigan students, with a discussion of the fine points of football.

One co-ed, exceedingly good to look upon, related an amusing story of blundering legislative persecution of a staid old professor for alleged radical utterances. "Are you one of these campus radicals?" I asked. "I'd just as soon be," she replied. "But there's nothing in being radical these days. Every one else is."

Her remark is fairly indicative of campus sentiment. The students are not swinging any farther to the left. The theories of Marx and Moscow offer no

Elysian Fields for the student mind. Academic authorities, at the tail-end of the intellectual procession, have now ceased to be horrified at expressions of opinion which may be called liberal. So student revolts are largely confined to minor matters, such as compulsory chapel, disqualification of athletes, and attendance regulations. Of course the protest against militarism bobs up occasionally, and college publications are now and then suppressed, but largely on the grounds of taste.

The spirit of inquiry dominated the congress. It is true that the president brought the civic-club atmosphere with him to the opening meeting. Fired by evangelistic zeal and carried away by his own eloquence, he talked twice as long as he should have. It is also true that in bidding farewell at the induction of new officers, he concluded with the Lord's Prayer. Still, some sort of zeal is necessary to carry on such an organization. He has enough sceptical minds on his executive committee to winnow the kernels of ideas from his flow of oratory. "I'm not sold on this organization," one man remarked in reply to a request for an honest opinion. "I've come to question the worth of all extracurricular activities. They require too much work." This came, not from a disappointed officeseeker, but from an editor of the daily and member of the student council of one of what used to be the Big Three universities. It is an attitude not uncommon among those of some intelligence who have achieved eminence in campus affairs. He and the editor from another of the Big Three worked together amicably, although these two universities no longer meet on the athletic field. They had nothing of the preacher in them. In fact, they threatened the president with bodily harm if he injected the name of deity into his opening address. An assault was almost committed in error when he said "godfather."

Of course many of the delegates came for the ride. Others, especially those from the smaller denominational institutions, came with little idea what it was all about, and suffered somewhat from an inferiority complex in the presence of students from big universities whose football teams are featured in the press.

A congress such as this one is an excellent antidote for the booster spirit. In the committee meetings students from all sections had their say. They discovered common problems. The men and women from the Pacific coast were able to see that Princeton, Harvard, and Yale, Wellesley, Vassar, and Smith do not produce snobs and, in their turn, they showed that they were not born among cowboys and Indians.

III

PRESIDENT MACCRACKEN in his speech remarked: "In this generation young men are considered by their elders to be old enough to furnish food for powder, and old enough to command squads and companies of other men in the crucial time of war. . . . Then they are old enough to be respected when they criticise classroom methods in their college."

...

These students were not slow in taking the president at his word. Their committees on the choice and methods of teachers, the nature of the curriculum, and athletics revealed interesting ideas and brought forth important facts in their discussions. Liberal opinion had already preceded them in many of their conclusions. They had nothing startlingly new to offer. Beyond the clarifying of ideas, whatever benefit was derived went to the smaller and more isolated colleges. The remarkable thing was the readiness of students to recognize their own failings and the shortcomings of the whole system. They recommended the spread of the practice of criticising objectively their courses and instructors. They advocated action against the suppression of teaching freedom, and an investigation of the salaries of athletic coaches in relation to that of teachers.

I was surprised at the honesty exhibited in the committee on athletics. Most of the delegates spoke out and had something to say. They cited instances of pressure brought to bear by business people of the town to secure winning football-teams. A west-coast football star condemned the commercial aspect of the Tournament of Roses game at Pasadena. They saw that the real function of athletics had been lost sight of, that "athletics for all" was only a shib

boleth, that college football had become a huge gladiatorial spectacle in which eleven men represented their college and played for unbelievably high stakes-the endowment fund, enrolment, prestige.

One lad from a small college in Ohio told me pathetically that he did not know what they were going to do at his institution. There were only about enough athletes to make up a football-team. This team had not won a game in three years. Attendance at the games did not support other athletics as it does in most colleges. Yet they feared to give up their place in the conference where they were always beaten and drop to a league of colleges nearer their own size because of the loss of prestige it would entail. To drop football and other intercollegiate contests altogether and concentrate on in tramural sports was well-nigh unthinkable.

These lads, from colleges large and small, showed the serpent's tooth to the old grads by declaring that alumni interference in college athletics is objectionable. This remark, they said, was aimed at "the great body of alumni who demand winning football-teams, and through unethical methods secure athletes for the teams of their alma mater."

IV

It would be absurd to claim that the congress reflected the opinion of 410,000 students, or even a majority of them, for the reason that the majority of them probably have no opinion. Recognizing this, the Federation adopted no resolutions. They are not marching up to educational authorities with the announcement that "we represent 410,000 students and we want thus and so done." The delegates are to develop opinion on their own campuses. They are not attempting to wield the big stick, even if they could. Even so, it is going to take intelligent steering to keep the Student Federation off the rocks. At present the offices have to be moved about from year to year. Everything depends upon the interest and enthusiasm with which the undergraduate officials pursue their duties. The inevitable trend is toward a central office with a paid secretary. While this would undoubtedly be mechanically more

efficient, it would in all probability lead to gradual fading of undergraduate participation, with the result that the secretary would become director of policy. From this point the road to uplift and the big stick is short. Already the Federation has been solicited by lady lobbyists to join some thirty other organizations in protest against the government's imperialistic policy. What, one is tempted to ask, would a Federation lobbyist represent except his own opinion?

The Federation Congress, however, does reveal the fact that our splendid isolation has little appeal to American students. Through co-operation with student unions in other countries, the Federation is arranging tours and making it possible for students intending to live in Europe for a time to have quarters in the homes of European students.

What conclusions may we draw from all this? There is no reason for believing that our students have suddenly seen the light, and have become completely intelligent in the course of one college generation. But, if you had been there, you would have seen what a fine, clean-cutlooking crowd they were, and you would, I think, have been a bit encouraged by their attitude. They are taking advantage of our mistakes, and they will go a step farther than we did. They will, that is, if they receive a sympathetic hearing from college authorities. Some educators will inform these students that their ideas are all very nice, but they "don't understand the problems of administration." Met by this attitude generally, the congresses may well rebound from the Scylla of academic adamant into the Charybdis of social carnival. The boys and girls not inclined to bigger and better Bolshevism will turn to gathering rosebuds and lovely lilies for the scandal-sheets to paint with loud yellow daubs.

In the meantime, those who are alumni may better understand the situation if they:

1. Stop worrying about what the younger generation is coming to.

2. Be less jealous of athletic prestige and social customs, and give more thought to the establishment of intellectual traditions.

3. Get acquainted with a few of the young college men and women of to-day.

T

HE occasion was the fourth birthday of Miss Patricia Bellamy, of New York. The tables in the dining salon had been joined in banquet fashion; all the guests of the house-barring not even my husband and me, newcomers that afternoon and total strangers to every one present -had been included in the celebration; and the candle-light and the shadows of fine-leaved pepper-trees moving across the windows, wavered over as odd an assortment of the aged and the decrepit, the worn and the disillusioned-relics of depleted health, depleted hopes, and depleted fortunes seeking the palliatives of milder climate and favorable exchange in this little hôtel pension in the south of France-as ever arrayed themselves in their best and foregathered as the festive playmates of a little girl.

They took their cues from the young Frenchman who, with the diminutive guest of honor, occupied the head of the long board. A little man with a slight, waxed mustache mounted on a round, guileless face, he looked, in spite of accomplished grooming and an accomplished manner, as though he had left his youth and his compulsory military training not many minutes behind him. As the party progressed from alphabet soup to fancy ice-creams, it grew evident that spontaneous play was natural to the Frenchman. He improvised games, communicated zest, and finally staged a table race between the animated bugs, which had served as favors, with the chocolate doll of the centrepiece for a prize, in which his excitement was so infectious that the little girl wound up her own self with one wildly gyrating arm and the old lady with the paralytic hand across from me was

near tears because her striped beetle did only stationary circles.

With the presents, the youngster could no longer be contained in one chair. Throughout the dinner she had been in constant small motion, like the candlelight and the pepper-tree leaves, but now her capering delight was pretty to see. She was a singularly unspoiled child: a creature in miniature with soft, pale curls, a pale mobile little face-a cheek that smiled in its contours before her lips began-and with tentative, confiding little ways. The climax of an affectionate medley of offerings was the gift of the Frenchman—a tiny jewel of a wrist-watch.

"For Patsy? It tick-tocks all by itself!" she squealed.

"Ah-and does one not expect it of a watch?" he chuckled. "It pleases you, ma petite?”

Patsy crowded closer and lifted her face, and the little Frenchman's tenderness, as he kissed her on both cheeks and then on the pursed lips, was so palpitant that it suddenly occurred to me to wonder: "Is he Mr. Bellamy? Is he her father?"

"Oh, no; that is Monsieur Pithou." The Englishwoman at my left further enlightened me: "Patsy has no father; the mother is a young grass widow, not present to-night."

"Oh! Then monsieur is interested in the mother," I ventured. "Well, certainly he is interested in the child.”

"You hear it, Mis' Delancey-Mis' McCosh-Ma'am Deux ?" Patsy offered, skipping from the old lady with the paralyzed hand to a shy Scottish spinster with a face sadly reminiscent of George Arliss, thence to a Frenchwoman of dignity and refinement, whose smooth black hair, startling in its lustre, was now her one surviving beauty. "You hear it ticktock, Mis' Wingate?" she asked of the