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of its corps of instructors have been officers, detailed either temporarily or permanently to the duties of teachers. While civilian instructors have always constituted a part of the teaching staff (ranging from 36 per cent to 13 per cent-about 22 per cent at present) the executive and disciplinary authorities, heads of departments, ranking instructors, and all instructors in strictly professional branches, have been naval officers. This preponderance, required as it is by the vocational character of the school, has resulted in a notable tendency toward conservatism, and a necessary adaptation of methods to the teaching personnel.

These results are very evident in the handling of recitations. The classes are all large, since there is no specialization or choice of studies. In none of the courses, however, is the more or less discredited lecture system at all generally employed. In time of peace there are plenty of instructors, and it is thus possible to divide a class in any particular subject into "sections" of from eight to fifteen men. In the classroom the function of the teacher is not so much to impart knowledge as to hear recitations and give each man a mark. Blackboard exercises, papers, and oral recitations are the ordinary routine. The midshipman is given a textbook, required to study it, and expected to reproduce with considerable fidelity the knowledge thus obtained. That he is thus "thrown upon his own resources," and forced to clear up difficulties for himself, is considered one of the great merits of the system. But it seems doubtful whether there is any special virtue in learning from a book, or in subordinating a good teacher to the rôle of recorder of marks. In scientific studies especially, much is lost by substituting memory work from a book for the concrete investigations of the laboratory or shop. But neither long hours in the laboratory nor wide "outside reading" in the library are easily provided for out of the crowded schedule of the academy day, a considerable part of which must be given to professional drills and exercises. A better defense of the system may be found in its requirement

of definitely assigned tasks, studied day by day—a method which is at least an improvement over the traditional college scheme of loafing thru the term and "cramming for exams."

Marks are an affair of importance, and the system of marking is correspondingly elaborate. It is on a scale of 4.0, with 2.5 as a pass-mark. Daily marks are averaged to give the mark for the week, and the names of those below 2.5 are posted. Weekly marks are averaged and combined with an examination mark to give the final for the month; and the monthly marks are again averaged and combined with that of the semi-annual examination to give the mark for the first half-year. The average of the marks for the first and second half-years, multiplied by a coefficient which indicates the relative importance of the subject in the curriculum, determines the student's final standing in the subject. Merit rolls, showing the relative standing of every man in each subject, are posted every month and printed at the end of the year. The grand final merit roll, based on marks in all subjects, including conduct and efficiency as determined by drills and practise cruises, determines each midshipman's rank among his classmates on graduation, and affects his relative standing, pay, and promotion thruout his career.

One can imagine the mingled fright and indignation of the college teacher at the suggestion of his foregoing the pursuit and dispensation of wisdom for the sake of gathering these mental statistics, and at the idea of reducing the stimulus to knowledge and virtue to the basis of a competitive cash prize. This at least would be one way of regarding the results of the marking system. The midshipman is made to realize only too keenly that every time he idles away a study period, or is caught in a corner smoking, his delinquency is recorded in a big book, and counts tangibly against him. Under these circumstances, the pursuit of knowledge and virtue becomes a very practical business.

But looked at more favorably, marks may be regarded

merely as a definite index of accomplishment, and the fairest method of grading ability. Furthermore, it is open to question whether college faculties, in saving themselves the labor and red tape of an elaborate competitive system of exact grades, have devised any better means of getting practical results. As evidence to the contrary, it may safely be asserted that the average midshipman works harder at his books than the average boy in college. It is said, to be sure, that a kind of trades-unionism has developed with unwritten agreements that no "savoir" shall set the standard of accomplishment too high, and that unless a man is on the ragged edge of failure he ought not to work out of hours. But in general there is plenty of hard studying at the academy; and it is unfortunate only that such fine energy and industry should not always be directed to the best effect.

The discipline of the intellect, as educational writers from Cardinal Newman down have wisely insisted, is more to be desired than knowledge in se; and the success of an educational system ought therefore to be judged partly by the intellectual powers it supplies and fosters. It has already been suggested that the recitation method develops the memory at the expense of the reasoning faculties. The student is led to remember rather than to think. He feels that he will get more credit for giving the exact date, names of ships and commanders, losses, etc., at the Battle of Trafalgar, than for talking intelligently, but a bit vaguely, about the important lessons in naval warfare to be derived therefrom—and this in spite of the efforts instructors may make to put the emphasis the other way. All the machinery for the exact measurement of knowledge exerts the same influence, for it is infinitely easier to find out how much a man knows than it is to test his ability to use what knowledge he has to good effect. It is easier to measure the quantity of coal in the bunkers than it is to gauge the exact horse-power of the engine and its ability to withstand long strains and sudden shocks. For that matter, it is easier to supply the coal than it is to improve the

engine. However difficult to remedy, the deficiency is felt when younger officers enter upon advanced professional studies, where critical, analytic, and judicial faculties are essential, and the sheer power of accumulating facts no longer suffices.

But every educational system is open to criticism on this score; and the distinction is rarely drawn wisely between the burden of knowledge that must be carried in one's head, and the vast remainder that is more conveniently left stored away in books. In other words, it is not so essential to have information as it is to know where to get it and how to use it. One does not memorize a logarithm table; nor is it necessary to know the United States Constitution by heart in order to understand and apply its principles.

To counterbalance the defect mentioned, the academy system encourages industry and application, and develops a confidence that no task is too difficult to be mastered by resolution and hard work. These qualities are probably more desirable in a junior officer than habits of questioning, criticising, and thinking for one's self. In general, and in so far as the development of character may be separated from the development of the intellect, it may be said that military education succeeds in the first at the expense of some sacrifice in the second; whereas in colleges the tendency is the other way about. While a larger measure of success in both directions is surely not beyond the range of possibility, it would of course be extremely unwise for either system to adopt off-hand or by wholesale the methods of the other. Nor is it the writer's purpose to venture suggestions of this nature. His aim has been rather to outline and direct attention to a scheme of education notably divergent from accepted educational formulas, yet carried into practise with a very fair degree of

success.

ALLAN F. WESTCOTT

U. S. NAVAL ACADEMY
ANNAPOLIS, MD.

IV

HORACE: AN APPRECIATION

In the midst of what the orators call the tottering of empires and the crumbling of civilizations, it is comforting to believe that there is something cumulative in the efforts and achievements of the human spirit-a certain permanent residuum that can not be torpedoed or blown up with nitroglycerine. At this particular time it may be difficult for us to go as far as Emerson and say:

One accent of the Holy Ghost

The heedless world hath never lost,

but nevertheless we all believe in the torch race of intelligence, and we rejoice that some torches kindled in far antiquity still burn. With a certain reverence we speak the names of Homer, Plato, Vergil, Horace. We honor them as apostles of sweetness and light and as torch bearers in the great race. This afternoon for a few minutes we would pay tribute to Horace as a torch bearer. As a text we read his own prophecy concerning his literary achievement: "I have builded a monument more enduring than bronze and loftier than the pyramids of kings, a monument which neither the wild fury of the east wind's blast, nor the innumerable succession of the years, nor the flight of time can destroy or overthrow. I shall not all die; a great part of me shall escape the goddess of death. My glory ever new shall increase with the praise of posterity, so long as the Pontifex and the silent Vestal shall climb the Capitol." This prophecy would seem immodest if it had not been more than fulfilled. The Pontifex and the silent Vestal are a romantic memory; their form of worship has been superseded by a new religion whose votaries still honor the prince of pagan poets. We smile with him as he predicts that Turks, Africans, Hyperboreans, Rou

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