he has absolutely no affiliation. When we speak of a grind ordinarily, instantly there arises before our mind a tall, thin, poorly developed individual, with a lean and hungry look. Neither his manners nor his general appearance are attractive; and though he has a careless attire, it is not that "sweet disorder in the dress" which Herrick praises. He cannot possibly be called a cultured man; he would make but a sorry figure in society. But every one must be judged by his motives; and it is precisely this that condemns the grind. His one thought is of his marks. He is a slave, not the intelligent pupil, of his books. He trains his memory but dwarfs his mind, and his aim is so low, his purpose is so pitiful, that perhaps the disfavor into which he has fallen is not wholly undeserved. He never studies to raise his intellectual life, but his stand. Such is the grind; we would not undertake his defense for a moment. Thanks to the elective system, he seems to be dying out, and though we are told that not until the final day will "the grinders cease because they are few," it is to be hoped that the genus will soon become extinct in New Haven, at least.

It is with relief that we turn to his opposite, a totally different being-the grind (for so we must call him) of this article. He comes to the University with the primary purpose of studying, of reading, and of thinking; of making this his one object, yet not isolating himself from his fellow men, nor withdrawing from the life and movement of the class. He wishes to be broad and educated in the highest sense. He realizes that the time is short. Soon he will be in the active life of the world, with little or no opportunity for self-improvement. And so he spends many hours in the library and in his own room. Within the last decade there have come to Yale a new class of men, men who specialize in some branch of work. They will study Political Economy or History in its minutest details, in a way which might remind us unpleasantly of the genuine grind, did we not remember that they have a praiseworthy purpose. In their professions, or as teachers, they will need this special training, and so they have an enthusiasm which has no connection with the Professor's marking book. These two classes are then included under the grind who is to be defended: the man who wishes general culture, and the man who specializes. We can easily recognize, with a little reflection, the differences in these men, and it is hoped that the distinction is perfectly clear between the ordinary grind and the grind (for so we must call him) to whom alone we have refer

ence.

That a defense is necessary in the strict meaning of the word, is manifestly an absurdity. That a man who enters Yale must expect to be ostracized if he studies too much, is utterly ridiculous. Yale, as an institution, moves slowly. She does not gather her forces and sweep from one strategic point to another. Every inclination in college sentiment is therefore of high importance. If we will be perfectly frank, we must admit that there is a tendency to look down on the grind, as that term is here used. It is human instinct to cheer for a cut. We owe it to our depraved nature that it is easier to be lazy than industrious. And in speaking of natural depravity, we might remark in passing that the strongest argument against co-education is that when woman did actually lay hold of the Tree of Knowledge she brought destruction to the whole race.

But, admitting that college men are of the earth earthy, and enjoy recreation and rest as well as the remnant of humanity, still this does not excuse in any way the slightest tendency to treat our grind with disrespect. That a tendency exists is seen by the fact that a man will never acknowledge that he has studied. It is not from a mere desire to appear brilliant, but from a lofty disdain of intellectual labor that we hear the repeated phrase “I have merely glanced over the lesson." This means anything from a quarter of an hour to two hours' work, and is always so interpreted. When a man says that he has not studied, we rarely believe him, and it is now a question how one could express himself if it were an actual fact. The salutatorian of a small but well known college, on being introduced to a company of ladies, made a profuse apology for his having taken that honor, and protested that it was entirely unanticipated, or he would have avoided it. The high stand man at Yale, though secretly proud of it, is always ready to excuse himself and to throw out mysterious hints as to how he deceived the faculty. We find but few men who are willing to talk rationally for any length of time on anything that approaches the intellectual side of college life. The college gossip, matters of the moment, of absolutely no importance, engross our attention, and the number of serious conversations the average student indulges in could be easily counted. The subject of desultory reading, of throwing away the time on worthless books when the University Library is open to us, can only be alluded to. These points may seem trivial; they are not. They mark a tendency which, if it becomes strengthened, is sure to be harmful for the best interests of the University.

It is very unfortunate that the advocates of this side of college life invariably have their fling at athletics. This not only betrays a want of tact, but is harmful. It tends to make separate classes in the University, whereas there should be but one class. Athletics have won the position they occupy because they have inherent good. To a greater or less extent they will always have their part in the undergraduate world. It is not only foolish, but useless, to oppose them, and those who would seek a more decided atmosphere of learning will not gain it by attempting to pull down athletics but by creating a new sentiment which will elevate our grind.

But there is here, as indeed there is in almost every aspect of our life, a principle involved. It will be an unfortunate day for us when we look down on honest work of any kind. There is scarcely need of introducing here an extract from some Sophomore composition on the Rewards of Labor or the Dignity of Toil. We well know that many of us who are not now injuring ourselves by outwatching the bear or unsphering the spirit of Plato, will within a year or two be hard at work in the various professions. We would have but a poor opinion of a man who trifled with medicine or the law. But to many the college is the professional school, nor will they have another chance to perfect themselves. It can not be said that Yale graduates are ashamed to spend several consecutive hours "grinding" on a case, or planning some business venture. If we expect to become grinds ourselves at some future hour, how can we have the least feeling of compassion towards those who have merely anticipated us by few years.

This matter is an extremely delicate one, and the writer does not wish to be misunderstood. That men come here simply because of our athletic supremacy, and that it is difficult to find a genuine student is utterly opposed to the idea of this article. That Yale can not produce scholars of the highest order has been refuted by the Past. The Future will show that her graduates can still maintain her honor. But we do not have the "love of learning" to any dangerous degree, and there is undoubtedly a movement which is opposed to it. Yale is unique; she is one large family. If the statements of undergraduates can be relied upon, the average Yale man is thrown into closer contact with his class, than is the student in our sister Universities. He is fitted for intercourse with his fellow men in a peculiar way because of his peculiar life. We are here to prepare for the future, and many honestly think it is more beneficial to spend less time with books and more with

It is a fair question as to which plan is the better. With these men we have no quarrel. We only ask that our grind shall have a place freed from the slightest suspicion of ridicule or unpopularity. We do not all come to Yale with the same purpose. But there are many men who feel that these four years are the critical ones of their lives; that in them they are to gain inspirations and impulses which will be felt long after they have left the college walls. And if we consider their case impartially, we must admit that there is nothing narrow nor unattractive in it. And these are the grinds, in the true sense. We will ever be proud of our athletes, we will often live over again with pleasure the social life of the dormitories and campus. But after all Yale will be remembered and maintain her position through the men of learning and culture who have gone out from under these elms to take their part in the world.

Edward B. Reed.

SWEET PHANTASY.

Thou beckonest me, sweet, pensive Phantasy;
Though thy face, 'tis ever hid from me,

Yet fair, I must believe, it is to see
As is the slender hand, which o'er

Thy virgin shoulder beckons me

On to that Future land that ever lies before,
Moving my soul to lofty, noble choice

And discontent with this low present here,
With longing for that far country and for thee.

And I have followed thee,

With strange yearning, unheeding were my footsteps,
At even, when the day with dewey, slumberous kiss
Enters her home just past the reddening west,

When the parting gates, bright glimpses of the Future show,
Then I have followed thee.

Beyond the meadows, above the hill along,

While from the blue and hazy vale below

Mounted full soft the chapel vesper song,

I hastened on,

And seemed but to o'ertake thy fleeting step and touch thee,
Yet did not.

Forever, just before my pleading grasp,

Thy snowy, fluttering draperies melted into evening mist,

And thou wert gone,

But should I still obey thee, still pursue;

What may the guerdon be and is it true?
Wilt thou thy face disclose in its fair purity
And I the Future see, not as the Present,
Tear-stained, wearied, worn,

But as thou art, sweet maiden Phantasy?
Yet why seek I this undeserved boon,
The past, e'en it was far too good for me.

William A. Moore.