TOWARDS the close of John Adams's administration, in the spring of 1829, workmen were excavating a cellar on the northeast corner of Main Street and Chapel Avenue; and soon there rose an oblong, two-storied, massive edifice, with thick walls of rough gray stone, and a slanting roof, surmounted by a high wooden cupola or bell-tower, on which was perched an equally tall weather-vane. The architect was 'Squire Farrar, who, obsessed by a craving for simplicity, had created a style that was all his own, not Grecian or Gothic or colonial, but essentially "Farraresque." Bare, somber, and unrelieved by ornamentation, the building resembled a jail or tomb, and seemed to be at once the strongest and the ugliest structure ever produced by the hand of man. This Stone Academy, which frowned so grimly at every passer-by, was the only school hall known to several generations of Phillips boys.

The Stone Academy, however, was originally designed as a home for what was in that day a unique institution --- an institution which, like the building, was mainly the conception of the versatile 'Squire Farrar. The story of the "English Department," or "Teachers' Seminary," ---the two titles were used almost indiscriminately, --- has about it some decidedly interesting features, especially in the contrasts which it presents. Andover, already distinguished for at least three successful first ventures in the field of education, was now to be the scene of another experiment. Upon the old and conservative Puritan Academy was to be grafted a strange, exotic growth; an emphatically modern system of instruction was to push its way resolutely into the holy precincts of classicism. The new institution was to be a composite: normal school, scientific school, business and commercial school, agricultural college, and other less significant elements blended promiscuously into one. It was amorphous, heterogeneous, crude; but, grotesque though it was, it had qualities which could not wholly die. As a matter of fact, it was not unlike the scheme originally planned by Samuel Phillips, Jr., before he came under the influence of Pearson's masterful mind; but in the year 1830 it certainly had little in common with the Phillips Academy over which Principal Adams so haughtily presided and in which the boys seldom wandered far from texts in Latin and Greek.

When His Honor William Phillips died in 1827, he left to Phillips Academy the sum of $15,000. No restrictions were given regarding the use of this money; but 'Squire Farrar had been consulted by the testator, and knew his wishes, which happily coincided with his own. On October 31 a committee of the Trustees reported that, as the existing funds were sufficient for the support of the Academy, the Phillips legacy ought to be used to establish an "English Classical School," to be independent of the Academy. On September 23, 1828, 'Squire Farrar was authorized to erect a separate building, and he, with Principal Adams and Dr. Wisner, was instructed to prepare a plan for such an institution.

During the early nineteenth century many people of a practical turn of mind were questioning the wisdom of putting all boys through the same classical mill; and progressive educators, aware of the common sense behind the language of the critics, were considering seriously the advisability of arranging a curriculum which would "prepare for life" and fit young men "to enter at once in the various occupations of men of business." The object was apparently to provide a reasonably adequate education for the many who could not go on to college. The plan obviously involved a fairly wide choice of subjects, substantially as in the modern "elective system"; and it also necessitated, not only the abandonment of many courses considered indispensable in the ordinary academy, but also the introduction of new studies of a radically different nature, subjects of a kind which could be of practical value after school days were over. In other words, the new institutions were to be broadly "vocational" as contrasted with the older "classical" or "cultural" academies. The businesslike aims of the advocates of such schools unquestionably made an impression on 'Squire Farrar, who was himself a man of a shrewd, hard-headed type.

Another important movement of this same period was concerned with the problem of training teachers for the common or grammar schools. Many young men, unfortunately without the means of acquiring a collegiate degree, were eager to secure the kind of instruction which would enable them to qualify as teachers in the lower grades. For them courses such as those offered in Phillips Academy were often a waste of time, and they demanded a curriculum not far removed in aim from that of our present-day normal school.

The originality of Farrar's plan is shown in the fact that it proposed to satisfy the demands of both groups; he resolved to combine under one head two distinct institutions --- a technical high school and a normal school. In the first catalogue this purpose is explicitly stated: --

The most prominent object is to educate Instructers [sic] of common and other schools. Another object is to educate practical men, for all the departments of common life.

The project was rapidly carried out. The Stone Academy was paid for, partly from the accrued income of the Phillips legacy and partly from the sale of land owned by the Trustees in Maine and Canada, the entire cost being $10,352.90. On June 29, 1830, when the building was nearing completion, the Board voted to put the "English Department" into operation, and it was formally opened in the following September. A Principal was found in the Reverend Samuel Read Hall (1793-1877), a Congregational minister, who, in 1823, in Concord, Vermont, had opened a "Teachers' School," apparently the earliest normal school in the United States. For the work in this institution Mr. Hall prepared a course of Lectures on School Keeping, published in 1829, which made up the first textbook on pedagogical subjects printed in this country. 'Squire Farrar, a keen hand at a contract, was able, not only to secure Mr. Hall as the organizer of his project, but also to arrange matters so that the Trustees were relieved of any financial responsibility. Mr. Hall was to be paid no stated salary, but was to be allowed to hold the entrance and tuition fees of his students, and to fix the amount of these fees. His income, therefore, would depend entirely on his ability to develop a large and flourishing school. Although the Teachers' Seminary was to be for the most part separate from Phillips Academy, its affairs were to be administered by the same Board of Trustees.

The new institution opened without friction. The first catalogue, published in the spring of 1831, named eighty registered pupils, of whom forty-eight were from the town of Andover. Students were allowed to attend for any length of time from one term to six years; tuition was "to vary with the studies pursued ---from four to eight dollars a term." There were four terms of eleven weeks each, "commencing in December, March, June, and September." The building, it was announced, was furnished with a magic lantern and several hundred slides, an electrical machine, globes, and maps, and was soon to have "Pneumatic Apparatus."

The features already pointed out are sufficient to indicate the unusual character of the school. In other ways, however, its peculiarities were even more conspicuous. By 1832 the course of study had been arranged in accordance with the wishes of Mr. Hall and 'Squire Farrar. Students were divided into three groups: the "Teachers' Class," evidently an attempt at a normal school; the "General Department," where young men were "preparing for life"; and the "Model School," in which children were the unsuspecting victims of the incipient pedagogues in the "Teachers' Class." The curriculum included twenty-six separate subjects, among which Latin and Greek were not included: six were mathematical; several were scientific; and many, such as land surveying, civil engineering, moral and intellectual philosophy, evidences of Christianity, general history, the art of teaching, and civil government, can be classified only as miscellaneous. In addition special instruction at extra expense could be secured in French, German, philosophy, astronomy, chemistry, and electricity. An effort was made, apparently, to satisfy every longing of the human mind. The teachers were not to be "public hackneys in the schooling trade," --

Who feed a pupil's intellect with store
Of syntax truly, but with nothing more.

All knowledge was to be their province. Mr. Hall, an academic "Pooh Bah," must have been regarded as both omniscient and indefatigable. He did, it is true, have assistants, but their talents were more limited: Lionel Tenney, for instance, was Teacher of the Model School; Hanning G. Linburg was Teacher of French; and Thomas D. Smith taught the "Carstairian System of Writing." Two "theologues" were also employed, one of them as Instructor in Vocal Music, a subject instruction in which, it is stated, is gratuitous.

Mr. Hall, in the leisure torn from his variegated duties, was an inveterate textbook-maker. His Arithmetical Manual (1832), his Grammatical Assistant (1833), and his School History of the United States (1833) were prepared especially for his own classes, but had also a wide sale elsewhere. He also contributed articles to educational periodicals, and spoke frequently at teachers' meetings all over New England. Frederick A. Barton (1809-81), Mr. Hall's first assistant from 1831 to 1837, was the author of volumes on trigonometry and land surveying, and found time also for a course at the Andover Theological Seminary which led to his ordination. There were no "slackers" on the faculty of the Teachers' Seminary.

Contemporary verdicts on this new movement in education were, on the whole, highly favorable. A writer in the Annals of Education for August, 1832, gives a full account of the school, from which extracts deserve quotation: --

School books of a good character are selected, and the most improved methods of instruction adopted. But, while books and apparatus and hard study are deemed indispensable to thorough and efficient progress, much is accomplished by familiar lectures, giving the student ample opportunity for asking questions, suggesting doubts, etc. No attempts are made to hurry through a science for the sake of having gone through it; but constant, and, as it appears to me, successful efforts are made to teach everything to which the pupil's attention is called, thoroughly.

In both departments of the school, there is nothing of that routine of mere memory work which is so often witnessed in our schools. Those methods are pursued, generally speaking, in every exercise, which give employment to the whole intellect, and not to certain favored faculties merely, while the rest are suffered to lie neglected.

In both departments of the institution every branch is pursued, as far as possible, independently of every other. By this is meant that every study has its appropriate hour and space, and when that hour arrives, it is exclusively attended to. In the higher departments, the exercises for every day of the week are written down plainly and minutely, and a monitor rings a bell at the arrival of the time for every new exercise. So exact is the order, and so accustomed to it have the students become, that, so far as discipline is concerned, it matters little whether the teachers are present or absent, provided the monitor performs his duty.

The higher branches of the mathematics, geography, grammar, history, composition, drawing, philosophy in its various divisions, chemistry, political economy; indeed everything to which the attention of the pupil is called, is pursued, so far as I could ascertain, in the same rational and thorough manner, as spelling, reading, and arithmetic. Not only is everything rendered intelligible, but interesting; and the thinking powers of the pupil are called into useful activity. During my visit a course of chemical lectures was commenced by an assistant, which promised to be highly practical and useful. Music is taught in the Seminary, and a hymn is also sometimes sung in connection with the religious exercises.

But what rendered this Seminary most deeply interesting to me, was the conviction which I was unable to resist, that all its methods, and plans, and processes, were eminently adapted to the development and formation of character. As a place of instruction, it justly ranks high; and I do not believe it has been too highly appreciated. But as a place of education it has still higher claims. Knowledge of the best kind is successfully circulated by the best means; but the capacity and disposition to make the best use of Knowledge is regarded as of still more importance.

This last paragraph indicates that the Teachers' Seminary, although in many respects decidedly different in aims from Phillips Academy, had maintained the traditions and spirit of the parent institution.

Notwithstanding the public approbation which it deserved and received, the Teachers' Seminary was not at all profitable to Mr. Hall, who was far from pleased, therefore, with the financial arrangement imposed upon him by the Trustees. On May 14, 1834, a committee issued a printed appeal for funds, stating that their available resources had been exhausted in erecting buildings and buying apparatus. The response to this urgent call was unsatisfactory, and by the close of 1836 only some $29.00 had been collected. In 1835 the Trustees voted to call the school the "Teachers' Seminary," and to abandon the term "English Department"; they hoped by this step to draw attention to the value of the course to young men planning to become teachers in the common schools. At the same time the curriculum, designed primarily for these advanced students, was made to extend over three years, the classes being called Junior, Middle, and Senior. Each year, also, was divided into three terms, with the anniversary exercises taking place the first week in July. The subjects pursued were still of a miscellaneous character. The number enrolled in 1835 was 190, of whom 114 were in the "Teachers' Department."

THE BRICK ACADEMY NOW THE DINING-HALL

THE STONE ACADEMY

On April 18, 1837, Mr. Hall, who had been getting more and more disgruntled, sent in his resignation, and went to Plymouth, New Hampshire, to found a similar school. On June 14 the Reverend Lyman Coleman (1796-1882), then Principal of Burr Seminary, Manchester, Vermont, was named as Hall's successor, and he accepted the position, with the provision, however, that he should receive a regular salary of $1200, and thus be freed from any business relations with his pupils. Mr. Coleman at once restored the former title of "English Department," and substituted for the old statement an entirely new outline of the curriculum: --

The course of study occupies three years, and is designed to be substantially the same as a course of collegiate education with the exception of the ancient languages. Those who may wish to pursue a more limited course, may attend any of the recitations in the regular classes for which they are qualified; and to those who may wish to pursue a more extended course opportunity will be offered.

At this date the number enrolled was only seventy-four.

In the autumn of 1839 Mr. Coleman, evidently ambitious to make the organization somewhat less chaotic, modified it along new lines. There was a "Teachers' Department" in three classes, Junior, Middle, and Senior; there was a "General Department," designed to meet the wants of those "who desire to pursue a more limited course"; and there was also a "Preparatory Department," for boys of from eight to fifteen, "taught by students from the higher classes of the Teachers' Department, under the special supervision of the Instructor in the General Department." This scheme, which harked back to Mr. Hall's original plan, was evidently successful, and by 1840 the school, with one hundred and fifty-four pupils, was regaining its prestige. In this year Mr. Coleman seems to have evolved a new theory of the purposes of the institution: --

The plan . . . is that of an English High School, occupying an intermediate grade between our common academic institutions and our colleges. The object of this system of instruction ... is not to hurry the student through a superficial course, teaching a little of everything and nothing to any good purpose; but to lead him to begin a thorough course of mental discipline, and to pursue it as far as circumstances will permit. To such as continue with us a sufficient length of time it offers essentially the advantages of a college education in the several departments of English literature.

It will readily be seen that the Teachers' Seminary was rapidly turning into an English high school, like the famous institution in Boston, and that the time was coming when it was to have more in common with Phillips Academy.

Throughout this period the school as it was actually conducted was considerably different from what it appeared to be on paper. Students attended classes very irregularly, and the printed registration was far from affording an idea of the number of pupils who remained through the year. In 1839, from seventy-five to a hundred of the students were employed during the winter as teachers in some of the small district schools around Boston. Divisions were formed to suit the wishes of the students, and not at all in accordance with the advertised plan. The curriculum varied from month to month; occasionally a new subject, at the suggestion of an eager group of pupils, would be introduced experimentally, and other courses, for which there happened to be then no particular demand, were temporarily dropped. The students themselves, so far as we can determine, resolved what courses they wished to pursue, and their desires were gratified by their instructors.

The value of the buildings and equipment in 1839 was estimated at over $30,000. The Seminary possessed a chemical laboratory in the basement of the Stone Academy, and a good supply of apparatus; a room fitted out with "philosophical apparatus," for experiments in what we now call physics; an extensive cabinet of minerals to illustrate the study of geology; a complete field set of instruments for practical surveying and civil engineering; and a library of eight hundred and fifty volumes. The Preparatory Department was located in a separate wooden building near the Stone Academy. An adjacent farm, under good cultivation, gave students working their way a chance to earn money by manual labor, and also allowed tests to be made in experimental agriculture. This farm furnished much of the food for the boarding-house, where most of the students took their meals, the price being in 1839 about $1.25 a week. The six English Commons dormitories were occupied by eighty or ninety scholars, the charge for rent being three dollars a term. All those who boarded in Commons were required to labor at least two hours a day on the farm.

The instruction in "Scientific and Practical Agriculture" was given by Alonzo Gray (1808-60), who came in 1836 to the Teachers' Seminary as an assistant. He soon wrote a textbook on the subject, in which he devoted much attention to the analysis of soils and the application of chemistry to agriculture. It has been said that, with the possible exception of Troy Polytechnic Institute, the Teachers' Seminary at Andover was the first school in America to offer courses of this kind. Not for at least twenty-five years were there any regularly organized agricultural colleges.

The tuition fee, which was subject to fluctuations, was normally fifty cents a week, collected in advance. As in Phillips Academy, arrangements were made for the lending of money to indigent boys, and there were also opportunities for them to earn their board at private houses in the town.

Mr. Coleman as a teacher was certainly efficient, and his assistants, Mr. Gray and William Harvey Wells(1) (1812-85), were far abler than the assistants in Phillips Academy at that period. In 1842 the school had grown to two hundred and one, the largest number since its foundation. But the prosperity was apparent rather than real. The available funds had always been small, and, notwithstanding efforts toward "retrenchment and reform," debts accumulated. Furthermore, those connected with the classical Academy were inclined to look with contempt on the Teachers' Seminary, and to underestimate its value. Mr. Coleman in after days wrote, not without bitterness: ---

The high and deserved reputation of Phillips Academy, its overshadowing influence, its total lack of sympathy and cooperation, served to cast into shades and distance the Teachers' Seminary, and to give it the air of an abandoned orphan rather than a cherished part of the venerable institution.

'Squire Farrar, who had resigned as Treasurer in 1840, no longer possessed paramount influence on the Board; moreover, his initial enthusiasm for the Teachers' Seminary was waning. At any rate, he made no objection when the Trustees decided that, mainly for motives of economy, the Seminary must be merged with the Academy, and that the two schools must be continued under one system of administration. Mr. Coleman and Mr. Gray were discharged, "for want of means to retain them." On August 12, 1842, the two institutions were formally joined, the Teachers' Seminary becoming merely the "English Department" of Phillips Academy. The catalogue for 1843 contains a division of the students into two departments, Classical and English, which have since that date remained coordinate.

The actual changes resulting from the merger in 1842 were not at all radical. For many years --- in fact, until Dr. Bancroft's time --- the Principal of the English Department continued to be an officer with distinct authority of his own, and to some extent removed from the jurisdiction of his nominal superior, the Principal of the Academy. The classical pupils continued to treat superciliously the boys on the English side. The carefully planned curriculum arranged by Mr. Coleman was never actually put into practice, and the standards continued to be low. There can be no question that the English Department was actually neglected by the Trustees ---especially during the administration of Samuel H. Taylor, who made no attempt to conceal his indifference towards the work and aims of the nonclassical school.

'Squire Farrar's experiment, in spite of its defects, its inconsistencies, and its unavoidable failures, did, in the end, contribute an important element to the educational system of Phillips Academy. Since 1842 there have been two separate courses of study, one classical and the other scientific. Because of this arrangement Phillips Academy was able, when the great scientific colleges came into prominence in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, to prepare its students to meet their requirements. To remain exclusively classical, to refuse to recognize the spirit of the age, would have been then to court disaster. The Scientific Department in the school to-day, as it has developed from the crude Teachers' Seminary, is certainly not out of harmony with the scheme of education planned by Samuel Phillips, Jr.

BEFORE the unfortunate John Adams had started upon his forlorn pilgrimage to the West, the Trustees had agreed upon his successor --- a pale, slight, scholarly young man named Osgood Johnson, who had been, since 1829, Adams's most reliable assistant. One or two of the Principals have, perhaps, been overpraised; Johnson, on the contrary, has never received the appreciation which he merits. His career was brief, and his premature death prevented the consummation of many of his plans; while he lived, moreover, he was so constantly hampered by ill health that he had only rare opportunities of displaying his real ability. Thus his few short years in Phillips Academy, followed and overshadowed by the long and vigorous administration of Samuel H. Taylor, have been ignored, sometimes even forgotten, by the annalists. Johnson was neither robust nor aggressive; but he had intellectual keenness, unsullied ideals, and a magnetic personality. He was a sensitive, high-strung gentleman, a student and a poet, whose active untiring mind literally burned out his frail physique, --

A fiery soul, which, working out its way,
Fretted the pigmy body to decay
And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.

He was rated as one of the finest classical scholar's of his time. Confronted with the rougher work of ruling over Phillips Academy, Johnson faced his duties with enthusiasm and willingly put his genius into harness. It was a sad stroke of fate which brought him to his death before he could see his achievement approved.

Osgood Johnson, son of Osgood Johnson and Fanny Abbot, was born September 9, 1803, in the West Parish of Andover. Graduating from Phillips Academy in 1823, he went on to Dartmouth College, where he took his Bachelor's degree, summa cum laude, in 1828. For a year he remained at Hanover as a tutor; then came an invitation to return to Andover as assistant in the Academy. It was not long before Adams came to depend largely upon Johnson's extraordinary gifts as a teacher, and, when the Principal resigned, it was almost inevitable that Johnson should be appointed in his place. For a little over a month he served as Acting Principal, and on January 1, 1833, he was tendered a permanent position, which he accepted in a letter read before the Trustees on March 20. Before this he had married Lucretia Bly, of Hanover, New Hampshire. In 1831 he had moved with his family into the Samaritan House on Chapel Avenue, where he resided until his death.

It was Johnson's untoward plight to be weighted from the very opening of his administration with too much responsibility. 'Squire Farrar was determined that the system of financial management already inflicted upon Mr. Hall of the Teachers' Seminary should also be applied to Phillips Academy. The basis of the scheme was that the Principal should receive as a salary the tuition of the scholars and should, out of this sum, pay the expenses of his assistants. Farrar had obviously two objects in view: first, to stimulate the Principal to activity in increasing the number of paying students; second, to insure the Trustees against financial loss in case of any marked falling-off in attendance. It is enough to say of the proposition that it practically compelled Johnson to assume the functions and obligations of business manager as well as of teacher and administrator. Fortunately, he was altogether too honest to resort to unscrupulous methods in enlarging the school; moreover, he was independent enough to protest manfully against the arrangement, which he considered to be both unjust and dangerous. He accepted the contract, it is true, but only at 'Squire Farrar's urgent request; and when it had been tested in operation, Johnson submitted to the Board on several occasions his well-grounded objections to it and to the theory upon which it was based. Finally, on April 28, 1834, the Trustees passed a resolution, which, by guaranteeing him one thousand dollars a year and his house, practically nullified their previous action. As matters worked out, the Farrar policy was ultimately abandoned, and Johnson was paid simply his specified salary. Since that date the Principal of Phillips Academy has been relieved of the responsibility of attending to the financial problems of the institution.

As a teacher Johnson was remarkably efficient. He governed without harshness, but with perfect self-control, through the love and respect which he inspired in his pupils. His methods were quite unlike those of Pearson and Adams. Quiet, but always searching and thorough, he was quick to detect faults in preparation, and he had a gift of restrained sarcasm, with which he was accustomed to wither those who failed to meet his severe requirements. At the same time he delighted in any exhibition of accurate scholarship or of literary skill in rendering the classics into idiomatic English. He rarely carried a book into the classroom, but did all his instruction from memory, ---

He never resorted to bullying or to browbeating, nor did he administer any form of corporal punishment. Isaac P. Langworthy, one of his pupils, has left an excellent description of his methods: --

As a teacher, I never knew one more thorough, lucid, patient, or inspiring. I never saw him disconcerted. He was always self-poised, awake to every emergency; and having full command of his varied and broad resources, he could meet every exigency incident to his responsible position with most admirable tact and skill .... When he became Principal, he at once began the gradual elevation of the standard of scholarship, keeping it abreast, if not in advance, of the best Academies in the country.

William H. Wells, instructor in the Teachers' Seminary, was much impressed with what he heard of Johnson: --

Mr. Osgood Johnson did not teach any after I went to Andover, but the whole atmosphere was long fragrant with delightful memories of his fine classical culture and taste, and his great excellence as a teacher.

Of those who have written of the Principal, not one mentions him except with deference and kindliness, and nearly all refer to his "gentle, winning way." To him the words of Holmes are aptly applied: --

A loving soul to every task he brought,
That sweetly mingled with the lore he taught.

Johnson, who was no innovator, made little change in the daily schedule. Chapel exercises were still held in the Brick Academy, with much the same programme as that used by Adams. Dr. John P. Guiliver has given his vivid reminiscences of a morning service about 1835: --

No sooner was that wooden foot heard in the entry than we were all hushed. Every eye was fixed upon him with respect as he entered. Levi Wilder at the upper end of the room stopped tuning his violin. We rose in silence, while Mr. Johnson pronounced a brief invocation, uniformly asking that our morning devotions might be performed as "seeing him who is invisible." Then followed a few verses of Scripture, so read that a hidden radiance was made to flash out from its depths, as when a skilled lapidary holds before you a gem, so adjusted that all its inner light beams upon your surprised vision. Then came the hymn; and was there ever such reading of a hymn? With feeble voice, but with distinct articulation and melodious cadence, he would read such a hymn as, --

Oh, could I speak the matchless worth!

till the silence became oppressive, and the tears would start in spite of us. Then Wilder would draw his bow very gently for the final preparation, and lifting his head as high as possible, to make up for his lack of inches, would start the "service of song." And what singing that was! We had just passed through a powerful revival in which nearly every member of the two Academies had been hopefully converted. We all sang as well as we could. Then followed the prayer. If anybody had failed before to perceive Mr. Johnson's wonderful elevation both spiritual and intellectual, one of his prayers would be enough to inspire a respect bordering on veneration. He transported us into that unseen world, where he seemed habitually himself to dwell.

It may be that this picture is somewhat overdrawn; but there is other evidence also that Johnson often lent a profound emotional significance to matters usually treated with conventional dullness.

The most striking incident of Johnson's administration was undoubtedly the so-called "Anti-Slavery Rebellion," which for a time seemed likely to disrupt the Academy. In the year 1835 the problem of negro slavery was, thanks to the efforts of political agitators, already a burning issue in New England. William Lloyd Garrison had established his Liberator in January, 1831, and for a time he was met with sympathy and aid from prominent clergymen. When, however, he commenced to assail the Colonization Society, formed by those interested in foreign missions with the purpose of transporting American negroes to Africa and of Christianizing the African countries, he became unpopular with those orthodox churches which had been contributing money and missionaries to help the colonization plans. Several professors in Andover Theological Seminary took a conspicuous part in opposing abolition, and their attitude extended to those in authority over Phillips Academy. Rules were passed in the Seminary and the Academy forbidding the formation of any anti-slavery society. The ostensible reason was that such organizations would bring odium on the institutions, and keep away Southern students.

Late in 1834 Garrison brought to America George Thompson, the brilliant English anti-slavery orator, whom Sir Robert Peel once described as "the most eloquent man in or out of Parliament." In the course of a lecture tour of Massachusetts he met with some rough treatment from hostile mobs, but succeeded also in arousing some enthusiasm for his cause. In 1835, desirous of confronting the Seminary professors on their own ground, he came to Andover, and applied for permission to speak in the Seminary Chapel and in the South Church, but was refused in both cases. He finally found a hall in the town, and there, despite the maledictions of Professor Stuart and the prohibitions of Mr. Johnson, many "theologues" and "cads" (as the academy boys were frequently called) attended the meetings. At a five o'clock gathering in Bartlet Chapel on Sunday afternoon Professor Stuart, after referring in a scathing voice to a lecture announced by Thompson for that evening, said: "I warn you, young gentlemen, I warn you on the peril of your souls, not to go to that meeting to-night." It is certain that these adjurations and threats did not prevent Thompson from being greeted warmly by a large audience whenever he chose to make an address in Andover.

The crisis in Phillips Academy came when a student named Sherlock Bristol, somewhat excitable and pugnacious in temperament, disregarded the Principal's specific command and, at one of the Wednesday afternoon speaking contests, delivered an inflammatory harangue against slavery. The effect of his oratory was sensational, and the act could not, of course, be ignored. At the chapel exercises the following morning, with all the students and teachers present, Johnson arose to condemn in solemn fashion Bristol's alleged insubordination. When he began, in slow and measured speech, to rebuke the disobedient pupil, the excitement was intense. Johnson finished by dismissing him from Phillips Academy; and then Bristol, who had sat passive under the arraignment, arose with much self-control and asked to be allowed to defend himself. Johnson, however, his face perfectly white with suppressed passion, ordered him to be seated. Bristol afterwards entered Oberlin College, and ended his days in comparative obscurity as pastor of a small church in southern California.

On July 11, a few days later, the anti-slavery students, indignant at the treatment accorded to Bristol, met to form an abolitionist society, and presented a petition to the Principal asking for his sanction. Their demands having been refused, they gathered on July 15 in the Academy Hall and marched in a body to Indian Ridge, where, under the tall pines, they opened their meeting with prayer. A terrible thunderstorm which broke over their heads did not dissuade them from their purpose. They made a permanent organization with Bartholomew Wood of Newton Centre, as President, appointed several committees, and prepared a lengthy remonstrance which was signed by eighty-eight members. This petition was also disregarded, and the society, convening again on July 22, voted to present another document asking for an "honorable dismission" from the Academy. This paper, a copy of which still exists in the archives, was signed by fifty students. Johnson's reply seemed to these courageous members to be indefinite and equivocating, and a large number, accordingly, submitted written resignations and left town. Of the forty or more who took this decisive step, only two were minors; the others were citizens, of voting age, a few of them nearly as old as Johnson himself. One of them was David Thayer, afterwards a distinguished Boston physician. When he returned thus unexpectedly to his home in Braintree, Richard Salter Storrs, a pro-slavery advocate, said to him, "You ought to be made to go back and beg pardon on your knees." His father and grandfather, however, applauded his conduct. Of the total number of "rebels" only two or three ever reentered the school; the others, who were practically graduates, readily found their way into various colleges. Several of them, as men more than middle-aged, actually took part in the great Civil War, of which their own little "rebellion" was merely a prelude.

Before Johnson's administration closed, the Commons dormitories so familiar to Phillips alumni had been built and were being occupied. This step marks a change of policy highly significant in the history of the school. In order to understand it clearly it is necessary to return to the year 1830, when the Trustees, at the instigation of the indefatigable 'Squire Farrar, determined that it would be wise to allow students a greater degree of freedom. Up to that time the boys, even when not occupied with recitations, had been obliged to sit with their books before them in the Academy Hall. On June 28, 1830, the Trustees voted that certain boys "of orderly deportment and studious habits" might be permitted to study in their own rooms during portions of the day. This policy, with minor modifications, has been followed consistently ever since, and is to-day an integral part of the "Andover system."

Out of this resolution of 1830 grew logically a further extension of the theory behind it. It had never seemed advisable to the Trustees to put into operation that provision of the Constitution authorizing them to erect a "large, decent building, sufficient to accommodate at least fifty scholars with boarding, beside the master and his family"; but several members were now convinced that the hour had arrived for housing as many boys as possible in school dormitories. 'Squire Farrar, who was never really happy unless some addition to the plant were being projected, was especially eager in his advocacy of this scheme, and, exerting his extensive authority as Treasurer, he proceeded to take the necessary measures. By August, 1834, under his direction, five "Academic Halls," as they were originally called, were completed in their location on the north side of Phillips Street, and one more was added before the year closed. By the autumn of 1835 the row of "Latin Commons," as the boys of Dr. Bancroft's time knew them, were occupied by students. In 1834, also, a similar group was begun for the Teachers' Seminary, and within two years six "Teachers' Halls," or "English Commons," were ready, placed in a line parallel to the Latin Commons, and about a quarter of a mile to the north. The total cost of these dormitories was $17,999.11, an average of $1500 apiece.

THE LATIN COMMONS, ON PHILLIPS STREET

THE ENGLISH COMMONS

'Squire Farrar, who boasted of being his own architect, was a frank utilitarian, with a practical man's contempt for beauty as an end in itself. The new buildings thus preserved in their general outlines that unadorned simplicity characteristic of the packingbox. They were all framed on the same model, like a row of tenements; clapboarded, wooden structures, three stories high, painted a rusty yellow, with small windows and a wide door in the middle of the street side. The interior arrangements, however, were reasonably convenient and commodious. On each floor were two suites, composed of a study and two bedrooms; thus each building was fitted out well for twelve occupants. The floors were connected by narrow, winding staircases, from the strategic points of which it was easy to throw water on students coming up. The rooms were heated by stoves, for which each resident secured his own fuel; and the ashes, sometimes with the glowing embers clearly visible, were usually hurled recklessly down the cellar stairs, regardless of the danger of a conflagration. How the Commons lasted for nearly seventy years with only two destructive fires is an unsolvable mystery. Toilet facilities were, to say the least, primitive. Bathrooms were unknown everywhere at that period, and the only lavatory was the Commons pump, from which the more fastidious carried a daily supply of water in buckets or milk cans to their bedrooms. The furniture, never too sumptuous or plentiful, became more and more battered as it passed from one destructive generation to another. The Commons were certainly far from luxurious, and the boys who lived in them were not pampered. It must be added, however, that even the most despondent victim was unlikely to complain of not receiving his money's worth, for the rent of the rooms was fixed at one dollar a term; and when, in 1856, this was raised to three dollars, the old rate was still kept for "scholarship boys."

The erection of the Commons involved, as we have said, some vital changes in school government. Phillips Academy had now embarked upon the policy of housing boys under its own roofs. One immediate result was a decided addition to the amount of personal liberty allowed to the boys. Under the scheme in vogue in Newman's time every student, no matter how mature, had to conform to many petty and vexing regulations; the new system, although it provided for an instructor resident in Commons, practically left the occupants to themselves. As a matter of fact no teacher lived in Commons until 1847, and the boasted supervision amounted merely to a perfunctory inspection once a week by a callous member of the Faculty. As the hour of this visitation was usually known well in advance, it was not difficult for the boys to prepare matters so that the instructor should gain a favorable impression. Naturally the enforcement of strict discipline outside the classroom was almost impossible, for the Commons boys could wander out, day or night, whenever they chose, and could stay practically as long as they liked. They were, indeed, as independent as if they had been in a college. This plan of placing students on their own responsibility had much to recommend it, and, under the stern necessity of caring for themselves, not a few youngsters grew strong and self-reliant. Life in Commons, however, was not adapted to the weak, the immature, and the unstable.

On August 6, 1836, great crowds assembled in Andover to watch the first locomotive on the Andover and Wilmington Road steam down the old track, across the foot of Phillips Street, into the station, eight miles away from its starting-point at Wilmington, where it joined the Boston and Lowell line. This Andover and Wilmington Company, incorporated on March 15, 1833, by a group of Andover business men with a capital stock of $100,000, was the first link in the system now operated by the Boston and Maine. The coming of the railroad was to open up a new era for Phillips Academy. Before 1836 young men frequently overcame almost insuperable obstacles in trying to reach the school. William Goodell in 1811 walked sixty miles, from his home in Templeton to Andover, carrying his trunk on his back. David Kimball, a printer's apprentice at Concord, New Hampshire, walked, on his twenty-first birthday in 1812, forty miles in one day to Andover Hill. In 1815 Samuel Marsh, of Danville, Vermont, "being desirous of preaching the Gospel, left home for Andover, going most of the way on foot, a distance of one hundred and sixty miles." James W. McLane, of the class of 1825, afterwards a distinguished Biblical scholar, rode to Andover from North Carolina on horseback at the age of twenty-one. There are other similar cases recorded, especially during the administration of John Adams. But there were, of course, very many who, living at an even greater distance from Andover, hesitated to come to Phillips Academy because of the poor transportation facilities and the time consumed in making the journey. For such as these the advent of the steam train helped to solve the problem. With the extension of railroad lines to the west and south came an expansion for the school which, to a man of the older generation, like 'Squire Farrar, was almost unbelievable.

Principal Johnson, although a young man, was never really well. A maimed club-foot made him so lame that he could barely crawl from his home to the Brick Academy; furthermore he had in him the seeds of tuberculosis, which, after he had undertaken his onerous new burdens, gradually but inevitably wore him out. His mind, as frequently happens in such cases, was extraordinarily keen and vigorous, but his will could not drive his wasted body to its work. Yet even with his infirmities he was a wonderfully impressive figure. Dr. Gulliver's description of him will bear repetition: ---

I first saw Johnson while, slowly and limpingly, he was making his way from the door of the old Brick Academy down to his chaise. His pallid face, surmounted by a domelike brow, with his large spectacles and a peculiar spiritual expression, gave me the impression, to a degree I never got from any other man, that what I saw was not the man, but that his real self was out of sight, behind those glasses, and that white, placid face, and that great coat and muffler which he wore. He had a club-foot also, which struck the sidewalk with a thud at every step, and alternately raised and depressed his form as he walked. The lout ensemble made a great impression on my boyish imagination. His infirmities added to his dignity, and the whole effect of his appearance was to inspire the idea that some supernatural being had been born lame, like Vulcan, and unjustly cast down from Olympus.

As he grew more feeble, he was compelled to relinquish much of his classroom duty. His students, however, felt that they could not give him up. Some of them would come each day to lift him from his house to his carriage, and others supported him to his seat in the recitation hall. Early in 1837 the strain became too great, and he was forced to keep to his bed. For a few months William Augustus Peabody(1) (1816-50), then a theological student, took charge of the Academy, evidently with much success. Johnson unfortunately did not rally from the attack, but became gradually weaker, and on April 17, 1837, he sent in his resignation to the Trustees. One of the last acts which he performed was to send fifty dollars to the Foreign Missionary Society without a signature. He died May 9, 1837, and was buried in the Chapel Cemetery, where a monument, erected at the expense of his students, bears a commemorative inscription composed by Professor James L. Kingsley, of Yale College. He left behind him much writing in prose and verse, all of which, at his request, was burned by his wife.

During her husband's prolonged illness Mrs. Johnson was his faithful nurse. After his death she continued to occupy the Samaritan House, being given her rent as compensation for her services in acting as matron and caring for invalid students. She also took boys as boarders, and, through this and other ways of earning money, managed to bring up her five children. Of her three sons, one died in boyhood; another, Osgood, became principal of the Cambridge High School; and the third. Alfred, was killed while gallantly leading a charge at Missionary Ridge in 1863. Mrs. Johnson, according to her contemporaries, was "an extraordinary woman, gifted with splendid health, with rare practical wisdom and efficiency."

The Trustees felt at the time that Johnson's loss was almost irreparable. The letters of all those, teachers and pupils, who have written of him strike but one note --- that of eulogy. Dr. Barrows, speaking in 1875, when Johnson had been dead nearly fifty years, said: --

I have never met the man, I have never read of the man, who taught Pagan literature with so much of the Christian head and the Christian heart. I venerate his memory. As his strength went and his days in the classroom were shorter, and his voice feebler, there was a tone, there was a power to that reading of the Scriptures, those remarks, those prayers, that private conference. The pupils who were under his charge will never forget the man in that respect.

He is, in fact, the only one of the Principals of Phillips Academy of whom no one has said a word of condemnation or criticism. No doubt if he had lived longer, the general opinion of him might have been modified, for he would have been compelled to face problems the solution of which could not have satisfied everybody. His administration was so short that he had no opportunity to effect changes of any importance in the school, but he left behind him a scholarly tradition which will not be altogether forgotten.

WHOEVER undertakes to discuss the life and character of Samuel Harvey Taylor in critical fashion, with an eye to his faults as well as to his virtues, still, over forty years after his dramatic death in the Academy hall, incurs the risk of being assailed on all sides. Macaulay once said in a letter: "A stranger who writes a description of a person whom hundreds still living knew intimately is almost certain to make mistakes; and even if he makes no absolute mistake, his portrait is not likely to be thought a striking resemblance by those who knew the original." This danger is all the greater in a case where there are many varying opinions, where the hero excited strong admiration and aroused lasting animosities. With the Phillips boys of Dr. Taylor's day there was no middle ground: either they revered and obeyed him as a personality almost superhuman, or they disliked and obeyed him as an unmitigated despot. Every student had some decided attitude towards him, and he was an unfailing topic of conversation in every home on Andover Hill. That this interest and this diversity of feeling have not disappeared is soon discovered by those who have talked with Dr. Taylor's pupils. One fact is indisputable. Dr. Taylor was a strong man, a natural leader. "All vague, uncertain, visionary, and vacillating conditions were far removed from his mind," wrote one of his students, the poet, John Albee. A feeble or indecisive master could never have been so much execrated and so much admired.

For nearly thirty-four years, from 1837 until 1871, Dr. Taylor ruled in Phillips Academy. His mere word was law; his position was that of a sovereign whose power is unimpeachable. Parents in those days spoke of sending their sons, not to Andover, but to Dr. Taylor. The Trustees deferred to his will. "If I have ever seen anywhere any semblance of despotism and absolute monarchy," once said Dr. Alexander McKenzie, "it was Phillips Academy under Dr. Taylor." He left his stamp so enduringly upon his pupils that at Commencement time, when alumni begin their reminiscences, his spirit still seems to walk abroad upon the earth. Such a man cannot be treated lightly, or dismissed with a few casual paragraphs of approbation or censure. For good or for evil he moulded Phillips Academy according to his will. Because of this fact, his aims, his methods, and his achievements need careful consideration, and judgment should not be passed without evidence which is both weighty and accurate.

He was not always the stern figure of alumni tradition. "I remember well," said Dr. Gulliver, "when Samuel H. Taylor first appeared in our recitation room, blushing like a girl, and conducting his class in an apologetic, deferential manner, which stands now in an almost ludicrous contrast with his well-known decision and promptness." The boys had then to be very careful not to frighten him by an abrupt question. At this date, however, the future autocrat may well have been somewhat timid, for he was young, inexperienced, and in a subordinate position. He was born on October 3, 1807, in Londonderry, New Hampshire, of Scotch-Irish parentage, his father being Captain James Taylor. The boy was named Samuel Harvey, after the famous hero of the siege of Londonderry, Ireland, described so vividly in the pages of Macaulay's History. Like many another country lad he had no small share in the management of his father's farm; but a sudden fall from a wagon, which diminished his powers of physical endurance and compelled him to abandon heavy outdoor work, decided his destiny, and led him to turn his attention to books. He studied with comprehension and persistence at Pinkerton Academy, and prepared himself for Dartmouth, where he graduated in 1832 with high honors, despite the handicap of being obliged to spend part of each winter teaching in district schools. With his eye fixed on the ministry, he went direct from Dartmouth to Andover Theological Seminary. It was at this period that Osgood Johnson, who had heard Taylor highly recommended by some Dartmouth professors, urged the latter to become an assistant in Phillips Academy, and finally induced him to remain with him a year. At the end of that time Taylor declined to continue in that position, although his classes held a mass-meeting and passed a unanimous vote requesting him not to leave. He then returned to Dartmouth as a tutor, but did not give up his connection with the Seminary, from which he graduated in the class of 1837. Johnson, before his death, had suggested Taylor to the Trustees as his successor; and on July 25, 1837, the latter accepted the proposals made to him. He regarded the offer of $1000 and a house as altogether too tempting, especially as he was about to be married. On December 8, 1837, his wedding took place, and he brought his bride, Caroline Persis Parker, to Andover, where they commenced housekeeping in the south half of the Double Brick House. In 1838, when his probationary year was over, Taylor was voted a permanent appointment as Principal.

More than any other Principal before his day, Taylor was burdened with a multiplicity of responsibilities. In one of the earliest of the annual reports which he submitted to the Trustees he said, without any complaint: --

My time has been almost exclusively employed in the discharge of my duties in the Academy. I have spent between four and five hours of each day in the schoolroom. I have conducted the morning devotions, at which one-half hour is spent, and most of those in the evening. In addition to giving instruction to my regular classes, I have attended from time to time the recitations of the other classes, and have frequently heard these classes at my recitation room. This course has been taken that I might become better acquainted with the progress which each student was making in his studies. The examination of the different classes from time to time has given me an opportunity to point out to individuals in private any faults that might need correcting, as well as to apply the spur when it seemed to be necessary. Such a course requires much time, but I think it is attended with the happiest results.

Unaided by any clerks he carried on the necessary correspondence with parents and with prospective candidates for admission. Matters of discipline were constantly coming up for decision, and it was his business to warn and punish each offender. But his main work was that of a teacher, indeed the chief teacher in the school. During the year 1842-43, for instance, he gave instruction in Cicero, Virgil, Sallust, Xenophon's Anabasis, Homer's Iliad, ancient geography, and ancient history.

As the prestige of Phillips Academy increased under his able direction, the attendance grew correspondingly. The absorption of the Teachers' Seminary in 1842 more than doubled the student body. The three hundred mark was passed in 1845, and the enrollment continued to grow steadily larger until 1855, when it reached a maximum of three hundred and ninety-six, a total not surpassed until 1892. For the instruction of a school of this size the number of teachers engaged was never adequate. In 1855, for example, five men were in charge of the three hundred and ninety-six scholars, an average of seventy-nine boys to each master. Even in 1870, after Dr. Taylor had been making a strenuous campaign for reform, there were only seven instructors in a school of two hundred and fifty-six students. The pressure on the Principal was made more onerous by the general incompetence of his assistants. The Trustees, hampered at every turn by the lack of a proper endowment, were unable to pay reasonable salaries, with the inevitable result that they often found it very difficult to secure satisfactory teachers for the subordinate positions.

It is tribute to Dr. Taylor's genius that Phillips Academy, in spite of the embarrassing situations arising from the overcrowding of its boys, continued to gain in numbers and steadily broadened its constituency. The tendency is best illustrated by statistics drawn from three typical years. In 1837 there were 120 students, of whom 56, or about 47 per cent, were from States outside of Massachusetts, and 18, or 15 per cent, were from outside New England. In 1855 there were 396 enrolled, of whom 169, or about 43 per cent, were from other States than Massachusetts, and 75, or nearly 19 per cent, were from other districts than New England. By 1871 the proportion had changed: of the 228 boys registered, 155, or about 68 per cent, were from beyond the boundaries of Massachusetts, and 123, or over 53 per cent, were from outside the New England States. Phillips Academy, in other words, had grown under Samuel H. Taylor to be a great American school, reaching into the Far West and South, and even to foreign countries, for its scholars. One cause of this was, as we have already seen, the improvement in transportation and communication. People learned of its system of organization, of the opportunities which it offered for poor boys to work for an education, and of its high moral tone. But they heard also of Dr. Taylor's reputation as a teacher of the classics, and of his success in keeping even the most vicious boys under control. The expansion of Phillips Academy could never have taken place if he had not been able to inspire public confidence in himself and his methods.

The new Principal was neither an innovator nor a reformer. Early in his career, it is true, he did effect some modifications in the course of study. For three years he labored until, in 1841, he had divided the school into three separate classes: Senior, Middle, and Junior. He then published for the first time in the catalogue a programme for a three years' course, of which it is sufficient here to say that it still contained almost nothing but Latin, Greek, and mathematics. When once this curriculum had been prepared, Dr. Taylor remained indifferent to progressive tendencies in education, until his indifference left him perilously near stagnation. His scheme, at a time when important changes were everywhere being made in college and school curricula, was practically unaltered until the great revision undertaken by Dr. Bancroft.

Somewhat obstinately, Dr. Taylor chose to ignore the revised demands of the colleges. He preferred to pursue his own independent path, regardless of the entrance examinations of higher institutions. As a result Phillips Academy went comfortably on its way, gradually, but quite unconsciously, getting more and more out of touch with the spirit of the age. The Principal was, moreover, a man of decided, and often ungrounded, prejudices. One of these, which grew upon him especially in his later years, was an undisguised dislike for Harvard College, which led him to use his influence in preventing Andover graduates from going to Cambridge and which kept him from modifying his curriculum in order to meet the Harvard requirements. His attitude was occasioned by several motives, one of the chief of which was the fact that Harvard in that period was a Unitarian college. One alumnus writes: --

There was a deeply rutted road to Yale, and it was the only road in sight. There was no record of any one ever graduating from Andover and going to Yale with "Uncle Sam's" recommendation who failed to get in. In 1867 Andover did not prepare for Harvard; in Latin and Greek she offered only about half the amount required for that college.

Thus it was that the institution founded and fostered by Harvard men came at last to be known as a Yale "feeder."

The testimony of the men who sat under "Uncle Sam" proves that, within certain definite limitations, he was a teacher of real genius. He devoted himself almost entirely to the Senior class, his work being mainly in Latin and Greek. It was his custom to hold two recitations a day: one immediately' after morning prayers, the other at 3.15 in the afternoon, evening prayers being held at 4.30. It was a peculiarity of his to spend one week on nothing but Greek, and the next on nothing but Latin. At the end of the term each scholar was asked to grade his division, putting himself at the bottom of the list, and the decision of the majority was usually accepted as a fair rating, unless, as sometimes happened, a conspiracy was formed to vote a dunce into the highest place. All examinations were oral, and the final test of the year was held in the presence of a committee of the Trustees.

Dr. Taylor's uniform method in the classroom was to select his victims by means of cards, arranged in haphazard order. After the slips had been slowly shuffled and the fatal name drawn, his gruff, stentorian voice, in a tone curiously prolonged, would ring out,

"Allen! Grammar!" and the pupil would step out before the class to recite, like a lecturer in a hall. "Uncle Sam" always began with a review of the previous day's work, upon which he demanded absolute and fluent accuracy; indeed, it was not unusual for him to ask a boy to recite from memory an entire "grammar lesson," keeping him on his feet sometimes for half an hour and bewildering him with a running fire of questions. It was not his policy to waste praise or commendation, but his delight when a scholar did exceptionally well was often manifested in a smile of approval. When the review was completed, advance lessons were taken up; in these the Principal was far more lenient, and he was ready to give full explanations of difficult constructions.

His emphasis was particularly upon exactitude and definiteness. His advice to young teachers was, "Always make special preparation for each day's lessons. I have taught Virgil for thirty years, but I have looked over every lesson invariably before going to class." He wished to do all thoroughly, and, with this in mind, refused to accept slovenly thinking or careless translation. The first task which he assigned in the Iliad was only seven lines long, but his minute elucidations were such that new students were given an insight into proper methods of work. President Charles F. Thwing writes of Dr. Taylor's system: --

A translation had to be right. I still recall a certain phrase in the Anabasis which had to be rendered "how, the battle eventuated." He knew the value of words, and he tried to teach us, ignorant, careless youths, such a truth, linguistic and esthetic.

Passages such as this were handed down year after year by tradition, and greeted as veritable friends by each succeeding class. A story told by another graduate offers an interesting illustration of his procedure:

One day, on a review in the Æneid, the line "Forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit" was translated with a slight mistake, et being translated and instead of also. "Uncle Sam" roused up at once. "Sufficient, the next." The next did no better. Down went man after man on the instant. Meanwhile Dr. Taylor grew more and more wrathful. His face became red and swollen; his eyes flashed with pent-up indignation. More than half the class had fallen, and my turn was near. I knew what the trouble was, but I became excited and lost my head a little. The best scholars had gone down, and it seemed as if Dr. Taylor was about to rise from his chair. My time came, and I began unconsciously with that fatal and. "Sufficient," he shouted. It was the first time that I had ever been floored in that way, and I resented it. "Et means also," I exclaimed indignantly, for he had not allowed me to finish the sentence. "Sit down," he roared like a bull of Bashan. But my words had drawn the lightning, and in a moment the sunshine came. He paused until the room was still as the grave, then deliberately translated the line, emphasizing the also, and told the next man to proceed. As the diplomatists say, "the incident closed."

Instances of an even harsher treatment of those who failed to meet his precise demands are familiar to every alumnus of that day. A youngster named George Blodget, writing October 5, 1850, after he had been in Phillips Academy a week, said: --

If a fellow is late a minute, or absent, he is marked and reported. If he loses his place and cannot tell where to begin to read, or what word they are talking about, he is marked as an entire failure.

Dr. Taylor once said, "My saddest task is to deal with men who attend to generalizations and neglect details." In some respects, probably, he went to the other extreme. Many have pointed out that he overemphasized enclitics and paradigms, missing the literary quality in the analysis of technical trivialities. It is true that he did have a gift of illuminating obscure lines with quotations from the English poets, especially Milton; but he was more at home with cases and tense forms. His efforts to stimulate poetic appreciation were only intermittent. Nor did he encourage general reading outside the classroom. The school library in his day was small, inadequate, and hard to utilize.

An inevitable consequence of Dr. Taylor's system was that timid or easily frightened pupils were often unable to do themselves justice. One such student thus describes his sensations: --

I was not at all adapted to his teaching. I was probably the most bashful boy that ever succeeded in living. Dr. Taylor's teaching was entirely oral always on the stage --- and whenever he would roar my name, and I would jump up before him and the class on the high platform, I was always so scared that I hardly knew what I was saying, and my book trembled so that I had to put my forefinger on the place in order to see the text at all. As soon as I got to Harvard with its written examinations, and where the instructors in the Freshman year were mostly young men who did not sit on a towering platform and who did not roar at me, I did infinitely better than I could do at Andover.

The fact seems to be that sturdy, independent natures flourished under the Principal's none-too-tender usage; clever boys, too, could often anticipate his pet questions, by consulting some annotated edition of the year before; but sensitive, shrinking students went before him with trembling and never felt at ease. Now and then a brilliant scholar like Franklin Carter, afterwards President of Williams College, or a mature and conscientious student like William A. Mowry, later a well-known educator, won his respect and was treated nearly on terms of equality; but men such as these were the exception. The situation has been well put by John Albee: --

Under Dr. Taylor's powerful discipline, it is true the weak sank down at once, the mediocre struggled bravely awhile; the few maintained the unequal fight, until, like the Indian's slaughtered foe, his strength passed into theirs.

The system was also defective in that it placed too much stress on mere memory work. Many doubtless recall George Borrow's description in Lavengro of his early training in Lilly's Latin Grammar:

At the end of three years I had the whole by heart; you had only to repeat the first two or three words of any sentence in any part of the book, and forthwith I would open cry, commencing without blundering and hesitation, and continue until you were glad to have me leave off, with many expressions of admiration at my proficiency in the Latin language.

Many of Dr. Taylor's boys undoubtedly had much this same kind of ability, thanks to the untiring drill of their master. Furthermore it is said that he allowed too little freedom to the individual minds of those who were under him. They moved always in shackles, and their wills were bent to his. Dr. Taylor was the product of an age which, to quote Herbert Spencer, "unavoidably cherished the notion that a child's mind could be made to order; that its powers were to be imparted by the schoolmaster; that it was a receptacle into which knowledge was to be put, and there built up after the teacher's ideal." The unusual or eccentric boy had no rank in the Principal's scheme of things.

After all, however, even present-day theories of pedagogy are not impeccable, and Dr. Taylor, with all his roughness and intolerance, did accomplish one desirable end --- he made an impression upon his boys. He convinced them of the value of thorough scholarship, and demonstrated the dignity of honest labor. At times, in divisions where earnest and willing students predominated, he created extraordinary enthusiasm. Professor Edwards A. Park once said: --

The scene in his recitation room reminded one of a torrent rushing onward to the sea; one wave not waiting for another, but every wave hastening forward as if instinct with life.

President Thwing points out that Dr. Taylor developed self-reliance: --

The general mood or atmosphere of the school in pursuing this course was work. There were no easy steps, no easy lessons, no first aid to the injured. In fact there was no aid of any kind, and no one was supposed to be injured, so strong was he to be and to bear. The boy who used a translation was tabooed by fellow students, as well as by teachers. One learned his lessons day by day, almost hour by hour, and learned them thoroughly.

The students were taught to give nothing but their best, and some of them never forgot the instruction.

Although Dr. Taylor knew his classics well, he was not widely versed in other fields, chiefly, however, because he had no leisure in which to gratify his tastes. In his devotion to Latin and Greek, and his belief in them as the best basis for an education, he yielded to none of his contemporaries. Said Professor Park: --

He was conscientious in the belief that classical learning is important for the welfare of our republic .... He therefore believed that he was discharging the duties of a good citizen and patriot, when he was holding up a high standard of classical learning.

More than one textbook appeared in exemplification of his theories. In 1843 he published a Guide for Writing Latin, translated from the German of John Phillip Krebs. A year later, in collaboration with Professor Bela B. Edwards, of the Seminary, he produced a Grammar of the Greek Language, based on the famous manual of Dr. Raphael Kühner. Taylor's Elementary Greek Grammar, compiled from another of Kühner's handbooks, appeared in 1846, and ran into over twenty editions. The Honorable W. W. Crapo remembers that, in 1845, proof-sheets of this volume were used in class as fast as they came from the press. Methods of Classical Study, including a series of characteristic questions on Latin and Greek texts, was published in 1861; and in 1870 appeared his last book, Classical Study; Its Value Illustrated by Extracts from the Writings of Eminent Scholars, with an introduction in defense of the study of the ancient languages. In these volumes he expressed and amplified the principles which he emphasized in his classroom. Models of minute and scrupulous accuracy, they show intensity of analysis but little breadth of vision, and thus confirm the judgment formed of their author by a keen critic of his system: --

Dr. Taylor had a thorough, heartfelt, unaffected belief in the efficacy of classical literature as the great educating force, with a partial failure to understand the developing power of other studies.

Aside from these books, Dr. Taylor delivered several addresses on educational subjects. Of these the most important was a lecture in 1865 before the American Institute of Instruction, on The Method of Teaching Latin to Beginners. This treatise was later published in pamphlet form.

Dr. Taylor, like Principal Adams, had a vital interest in the morals of Phillips Academy, and made faithful attempts to convert the boys. His reports devote much space to these matters. In 1847, for instance, he writes: --

During the winter term there was much more than the usual earnestness on the subject of religion; I have rarely witnessed a more happy state of feeling among the professors of religion, and it is with devout gratitude that we hope that eight or ten were savingly converted.

In 1852 he calls the attention of the Trustees to one of those outbursts of religious enthusiasm so common in that period: --

In the early part of the autumn term, while Dr. Lyman Beecher was preaching in the Chapel, the school was visited by a very powerful revival, which resulted in the hopeful conversion of more than fifty of the members of the school. The work was of greater power than any I have been familiar with in any literary institution.

These "revivals," especially those conducted by Dr. Beecher, were received with the utmost seriousness. Even as late as 1870 the Principal writes: --

During the latter part of winter, and the early part of the summer term, there was much more than the usual religious interest in the school, and twelve or fifteen are thought to have been converted.

An alumnus of the class of 1856 says in response to a question: --

In those days the Academy was noted for its religious interests and powerful revivals. The students labored for such results, and experienced them. On Sunday evenings each class held its separate prayer-meeting, and besides these there was a general prayer-meeting each week for all the students.

Religious services were held very often. In addition to the regular daily prayers in the morning and afternoon, there was compulsory Biblical instruction every Sunday morning before church. The boys were divided into groups and assigned to the various recitation rooms, where students from the Seminary acted as teachers. The "cads" were also obliged to attend church services in the Seminary Chapel, where they were assigned the rear seats. "Uncle Sam" sat behind them on a platform sufficiently high for him to get a clear view of the entire body. Many of the students complained of the wearisome nature of the exercises, which, conducted largely by the Seminary professors and intended primarily for the "theologues," were often replete with doctrine and dogma hardly comprehensible to boys of sixteen and eighteen. One compensation, however, was Professor Park's Judas and Peter sermons, which he delivered frequently, to the intense delight of the Hill.

Some enthusiastic boys taught in the Sunday Schools of the mill villages in the vicinity. Bishop Leonard, of Ohio, remembers escorting Elizabeth Stuart Phelps to such a meeting every Sunday afternoon and assisting in the instruction. All such activities among members of the Academy were sure of being sanctioned by Dr. Taylor. Despite some evidence to the contrary, it seems clear that the moral atmosphere of the school during these years was beneficial and wholesome. Students were ashamed to lead anything but clean lives. The presence of Andover Theological Seminary, then at the height of its influence, did, perhaps, morbidly affect a few pious boys; some of these, in their zeal to make converts, did at times overshoot the mark; but, everything considered, it must be admitted that Phillips Academy was justly praised for the effect which it produced upon young men who had been formerly unruly or irreligious.

"Uncle Sam," moreover, was noted far and wide for his methods of discipline. As no Faculty meetings for the discussion of school problems were ever held, he settled every difficulty which arose in his own autocratic manner, usually without consulting any of his colleagues. It was his custom after morning prayers were over to deliver short philippics against cards, smoking, novels, dancing, and even the desultory reading of good literature, or any other relaxation which, he thought, tended to enervate minds occupied with the severities of Latin and Greek. "Notice these points, young men; weigh them well," he would say in his deep, sonorous voice, as he expatiated on some moral precept. He would then draw from his vestpocket a slip of paper, saying, as he read from it, the ominous words, "The following individuals are requested to remain." The innocent majority then filed out to recitations, leaving behind the unhappy "individuals" to await disconsolately their private interview with "Uncle Sam."

That conference was not likely to be a pleasant occasion. It has been maintained by some of those who knew him best that Dr. Taylor was really a shy and shrinking person, who, in order to conceal his timidity, resorted to bullying. It is said that he never, either in his own office or before an audience, looked anybody directly in the face; his eyes shifted continually behind his gold-bowed spectacles, and he appeared to be talking either to the floor or to the wall. His voice, under some circumstances, could be gruff and harsh, and his stalwart figure added impressiveness to his rebuke. Believing in the doctrine of "total depravity" as applied to boys, he usually tried to overawe the culprit and, by means of a variation of what police now call the "third degree," he attempted to induce him to confess. Corporal punishment, although sometimes employed, was used but rarely, the mere threat of suspension or expulsion being dire enough to be effectual. In his aim of inspiring terror he was seldom unsuccessful, and students were always in fear of his reprimand. In some conspicuous cases, unfortunately, his judgment was at fault.

Bashful and unoffending youngsters were often frightened nearly out of their senses by being called up unexpectedly and warned that, if their conduct did not improve, they must expect a severe penalty. "Sensitive boys," said Professor Churchill, one of his friends, "were sometimes unnecessarily wounded by his intense expressions concerning comparatively small transgressions." Another critic writes: --

Dr. Taylor was austere and forbidding, and the principle upon which he worked was to esteem every boy guilty, until he could prove himself innocent. This was made evident from the fact that he would directly accuse innocent lads of practicing even criminal acts of which they were entirely guiltless. It was certainly browbeating, and terrifying to a boy just entering his 'teens to be arbitrarily and summarily disposed of by a man of such tremendous powers as Dr. Taylor.

It was part of the Principal's nature that he should hate levity, even of the most harmless kind. He once summoned to his room a fourteen-year-old boy, a studious and quiet lad, and growled at him, "Robinson, you're on the direct road to hell." The boy, naturally white with fear, begged to know his offense, and "Uncle Sam" finally said, "You're reading too many novels." The young fellow had not seen a novel since he had come to Andover Hill, and protested vigorously against the false accusation; but Dr. Taylor, unwilling to retract, sent him away with a sharp admonition. This case reveals one of the Principal's weaknesses his lack of a sense of proportion. He rarely took the trouble to distinguish between grave and trivial errors in conduct. It was his simple doctrine that boys should be taught to obey, no matter what the order might be.

Dr. Taylor was easily goaded to rage by any signs of opposition, and was relentless towards those who showed themselves proud and high-spirited. On the other hand, if a culprit manifested signs of penitence, the Principal was quick enough to forgive. Like Dr. Pearson, he was obstinate, and would never admit himself to be in the wrong, even when the facts were clearly against him. An interesting example of this is told by Mr. Albert Warren, of the class of 1863: --

We had in our class a member by the name of F. K. Smyth. Some of the family had been at the institution before, and they pronounced their name with a long y. After some weeks in our Senior year," Uncle Sam," probably thoughtlessly, called upon Smyth to recite, and called his name Smith. We had no Smith in the class; so there could be no doubt whom "Uncle Sam" meant. Smyth did not rise, and "Uncle Sam," instead of admitting the error and calling him by his proper name, persisted in calling him Smith---but Smyth paid no attention to the call. Finally "Uncle Sam" said, --- "Smith will leave the room!" --- which Smyth inconsistently did. Afterwards he and "Uncle Sam" had it out: Smyth insisted that "Uncle Sam" knew his name, and refused to answer to any name but his own. Things looked bad for a while, and we did not know but that Smyth would be obliged to leave the Academy for disobedience.

The boys felt, and apparently not without reason, that he used dubious methods in order to ascertain what was going on among their number. The stories told of his ubiquity are little short of marvelous. Dr. Alexander McKenzie, in speaking on this subject, once said: --

There was nothing he did not know. There was no wall so silent, there was no bedroom so secret, there was no midnight so dark, there were no recesses of the mind so obscure, that the thought of any boy was not known to him; and oftentimes when we came up in the innocence of an artless life, supposing that we had walked alone, there came that momentous sentence after morning prayers, when every boy awaited the words that should come next, --- "The following individuals are requested to remain."

It is said that he often lay hidden behind trees or in dark corners, hoping to detect some misdemeanor. Professor John L. Taylor, Treasurer of the Academy, who knew Dr. Taylor intimately, stated without reserve that the latter employed student spies, who were paid for making reports to him. "Dr. Taylor prowled around nights to catch mischief-makers," says the Honorable Charles Sumner Bird. In partial justification of such methods it may be urged that the school was so large and the corps of teachers so small that the students could not be properly supervised, and that, consequently, no more legitimate way could be found of hunting down serious vices. It is a fact, also, that, after Dr. Taylor's reputation was established, many unruly and refractory boys were sent to him, as if his measures of discipline were a last resort. The result of thus allowing the school to take on some of the features of a reformatory was not always satisfactory; yet, everything considered, "Uncle Sam" was remarkably successful in taming even the most unmanageable of students. To do this he had to outwit the boys, his natural antagonists; and to outwit them he resorted, not only to cross-examination, but also to espionage.

It would be unfair to leave the impression that Dr. Taylor was universally disliked. He won the strong affection of many of his students. One of these writes of him: --

I never saw in any mind such a sympathy with the right intentions of others, whether these intentions were struggling against obtuseness, early disadvantages, or the pressure of poverty.

Another characterizes the Principal as "the most generous and helpful of men." Dr. William A. Mowry, in his entertaining volume The Reminiscences of a New England Educator, speaks emphatically of the wholesome moral influence which Dr. Taylor exerted on those who came to know him intimately. Unfortunately only a few --- and these generally mature, scholarly, and religious young men --- met with this kind of consideration from Dr. Taylor; with students of this exceptional type, who could meet him as man to man, he was often a favorite. It is also true that to alumni on their return to their old school he was usually effusively gracious, as if his sternness were merely a pose intended to awe and subdue the undergraduates. It must be added, too, that some of the more violent expressions of dislike of "Uncle Sam" and his methods emanate from unruly boys who richly deserved their punishment. But it is difficult to explain away the emotions of many refined and highly intelligent men who have never been able to forget that he accused them unjustly, wounded their feelings, and checked their natural sympathies. It is also impossible to deny the fact that many of his ablest students, men who have won their way to high positions, look back with a kind of horror to certain episodes connected with "Uncle Sam" and Phillips Academy. A distinguished college President, in his final estimate of Dr. Taylor, says:---

The further I move away from the years of "Uncle Sam," the more heartily do I appreciate the worth of his teaching, and also with an equal heartiness do I have an increasing detestation of the methods he used as Principal in the formation of young manhood among us boys. It may be well for some boys to be kept in terror, but I am sure that, as a method of permanent academic government, it is not good for either growing souls or growing bodies.

During his entire administration Dr. Taylor occupied half of the Double Brick House on Main Street. His wife, a quiet lady, was beloved, but took a share only rarely in the social life of the town. His three sons(1) did not inherit the ability of their father. The Principal himself, although he did not have the wide variety of interests possessed by either Dr. Pearson or Dr. Bancroft, found time for some other pursuits. It is strange that he took very little part in town affairs, even during the critical period of the war. He was an active member of the Oriental Society, President of the Board of Trustees of Pinkerton Academy, and a member of the Board of Trustees of the Adams Female Seminary in Derry, New Hampshire. In 1851 he edited a History of Londonderry written by his father-in-law, the Reverend Edward L. Parker, prefacing it with an excellent memoir of the author. In 1854, through the influence of his friend, President Wayland, he was honored by Brown University with the degree of Doctor of Laws. On March 8, 1856, he started on a foreign tour, with leave of absence from the Trustees; in the course of this trip he visited France, Egypt, Palestine, Greece, Italy, Germany, and England, returning to America in time for the opening of the Academy in the autumn. He was frequently invited to lecture on his experiences in the Holy Land.

In personal appearance Dr. Taylor was short and stocky, and, in his later years, decidedly corpulent. On his return from Europe all the students were at the station to meet him; just as the train came to a full stop, a shrill voice cried out, "Here he comes. I saw the end of the car go down." As luck would have it, "Uncle Sam" within a second or two stepped out of that very car, and was greeted unexpectedly with yells of delighted laughter. Being somewhat tormented with gout, he usually walked with a slight limp, and, when the attacks came on, he was likely to be even more irritable than be was normally. He wore gold-bowed spectacles, behind which his steel-blue eyes constantly shifted. His voice was low and resonant, but, when he grew excited, it rose in pitch and possessed great carrying power. His portrait in Brechin Hall, considered to be an excellent likeness, represents him as be must have seemed in his prime: firm, stern, self-confident, and domineering.

Many are the anecdotes told of Dr. Taylor's career as lawgiver and judge in Phillips Academy. The Honorable Nathaniel Niles once, at an alumni gathering, related the following story: --

One Saturday evening, near the close of the term, I made a brief strike against my lessons and in favor of more society and a drive to Ballardvale with one of Andover's fairest daughters. That strike made me trouble. Monday morning, after prayers, Dr. Taylor named an arbitration committee to settle our differences upstairs. He was the committee. It took us one minute to agree upon his settlement, and, like Moses on the Mount, I descended amid thunders and lightnings and took the commandments with me. My excuse to him was that I took it for granted I could go if I had learned my lessons. His reply was, "Sir, you take too many things for granted!"

One incident is illustrative of the Principal's shrewd way of keeping in touch with student pranks: --

One night there was to be a party at the Fem. Sem. Of course those boys who, through their sisters, cousins, or aunts, were to be guests were the envy of every boy in school. Two boys "not expected" at the entertainment conceived the idea that perhaps it would be an evidence of gratitude to heave a cat through one of the windows, which were open on account of the temperature. Carrying it in their arms, they were making their way to Abbot, when they met Dr. Taylor. The evening was intensely dark, and, there being no street lights, Dr. Taylor did not recognize the boys. He started after them very rapidly; both parties broke into a run, but the Doctor was handicapped too heavily; as he accelerated his gait, theirs broke into a sprint, and they outdistanced him. When the boys reached Abbot, they found the grounds so thoroughly patrolled that they had to give up their plan, and walked up the hill to a vacant lot next door to the house Dr. Taylor occupied. They concluded that they would watch his methods; so they seated themselves on the fence, and waited. In a few minutes Dr. Taylor's door opened, and the boys tumbled over backwards into the pasture lot, where, lying flat upon the ground, they entered upon their watch. As stated before, the night was intensely dark. Dr. Taylor walked slowly out of his yard, turned down the street, and stopped under a tree, where he was completely invisible in the dense darkness. Here he stood over an hour to nab any boy that happened to pass, or perhaps to overhear a conversation. However, the boys that evening were giving his house a wide berth, and, after waiting an hour without accomplishing anything, he went back into his house.

The Honorable Noah H. Swayne, of Toledo, Ohio, gives almost the only reminiscence which shows any sense of humor in the Principal:---

You may remember that, after passing the hotel on the main street and walking out about half a mile, you come to a fork in the roads with a big rock at the junction. Beyond this on a stone wall one of the boys, who was out in study hours, sat waiting for a companion who was to join him in the violation of the rules of the school by a country excursion. He happened to look down the road and saw "Uncle Sam's" head over the top of a slight hill, approaching the resting-place. He immediately tumbled over backwards and hid under a barberry bush, believing that he had not been seen. "Uncle Sam" walked slowly up the road, seated himself comfortably on the stone wall, and began to eat barberries. The situation became so ludicrous that the boy burst out laughing, and "Uncle Sam" joined him in the laughter, and, giving him a very mild reprimand, sent him back with no other penalty for the violation of the rule. I think he would have sat there almost all day if the boy had not laughed.

The years immediately following the Civil War saw sweeping changes in educational theories. In 1869 Charles W. Eliot, just elected President of Harvard, began to introduce the long series of educational reforms with which his name is associated. College entrance requirements, especially those of Harvard, were being subjected to a much-needed readjustment and codification. With the establishment of elaborate technical institutions like the Sheffield Scientific School and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology the cherished system of classical studies was put, to some extent, on the defensive. Darwin, Huxley, and Wallace, with their epoch-making discoveries, were the heralds of a new age, in which the very foundations of tradition were to be shaken. Dr. Taylor's curriculum of Latin, Greek, and a smattering of mathematics was already antiquated. That he himself was conscious of the wisdom of concession is indicated by his recommendation in 1870 that "the two lower classes in the Classical Department should have one recitation each day in such English branches as may be thought most necessary." But he was hardly the man to be actively in sympathy with the course which events were taking: he deliberately closed his eyes to the desirability of introducing modern languages, of devoting more time to the study of mathematics, history, and English, and of providing instruction in the elements of science. The hour had arrived, however, when no obstructionist, no matter how influential, could long stand in the path of progressive tendencies. The curriculum, which for forty years had remained practically unmodified, was sadly in need of a thorough revision, and Dr. Taylor, had he lived, would have been compelled reluctantly to yield. Destiny, however, determined that he and his system should disappear together.

One of Dr. Taylor's virtues had been his punctuality. He once said, "I have been late at my school but once in thirty years, and then I was on the threshold when the bell struck the hour." According to his usual custom he left his study on Sunday morning, January 29, 1871, at five minutes of nine, in order to be prompt in meeting his Bible class in the Academy building. The day was stormy and cold, and he had complained of a tightness across his chest; but he put duty before his own comfort. He walked a few steps into the entry, staggered towards the railing near the stairs, and then sank down heavily upon the floor. His scholars hastened to his aid, only to find that death had taken place almost instantaneously. For some years he had known that he was suffering from a rheumatic disease of the heart, but he had not allowed it to interfere with his academic obligations. The boys, bewildered and shocked, quietly dispersed, and an hour later the body was carried to his home.

The funeral services were held on Thursday, February , in the hall of the Academy building, which had been draped in black. The casket was escorted to its place in the Chapel by the Senior class, ten of the number acting as a guard of honor. A great throng was present at the funeral. Professor John L. Taylor read Scriptural passages, after which Professor Edwards A. Park delivered the commemorative address, a masterpiece of eulogistic eloquence. A long procession was then formed to the cemetery, where President Smith, of Dartmouth, spoke briefly. The student body passed resolutions mourning the loss of "a faithful friend and instructor." A committee of the alumni drew up a memorial, expressing their appreciation of "the great and invaluable services which, as a teacher, scholar, editor, and author, he has, during a life of energetic activity, rendered to the cause of liberty, education, and culture in this country." Professor Churchill, on the Sunday following Dr. Taylor's death, preached an appreciative sermon in the Seminary Chapel. By a vote passed February 27, 1871, the Senior class agreed to prepare a memorial volume, containing Professor Park's eulogy, Professor Churchill's sermon, and other material giving reminiscences of the deceased Principal. A fine tombstone was soon erected to his memory in the cemetery, with an inscription composed by Professor Park. A bronze tablet in the Academy building marks the spot near which he fell.

Dr. Taylor was, as his epitaph points out, a "man of mark"; but it is only fair to suggest that he has often been wrongly praised. Those who have called him "the Arnold of America" have utterly mistaken the character of both teachers. The famous Head Master of Rugby, "cheerful, and helpful, and firm," developed self-government among his boys, sought their friendly cooperation, gained their love; Dr. Taylor ruled by fear, and held his pupils to the letter of the law. Dr. Arnold, through changes in the curriculum and the installation of notable reforms, gave a stimulus to English education which is even to-day working as a leaven; Dr. Taylor not only lacked the progressive spirit, but, so far as the course of study is concerned, left Phillips Academy almost precisely where he found it. Dr. Taylor, so far as he can be compared to any one, was not unlike Dr. John Keate, the "flogging Head Master" of Eton from 1809 to 1834, who, concentrating within his diminutive frame the pluck of ten battalions, --- according to Kinglake's well-known description in Eothen, --overcame the laxity which his feebler predecessors had tolerated and literally whipped the Eton boys into submission to his will. Both men were fine teachers; both had qualities which nearly every one instinctively admires; but neither had, like Dr. Arnold, a lifelong interest in the progress of educational reforms. Allowing for the inevitable differences in the rules and customs of the two institutions, the spirit of the Eton of 1825 must have been much like that of the Andover of 1850.

The truth is that Dr. Taylor belonged to an age which had already passed. The classroom practices which he employed so successfully could not be used now; his scheme of punishment would not be tolerated to-day. Unlike Pearson, Pemberton, and Adams, he was fortunate in the time of his death. Feebleness, decrepitude, or senility seemed with him to be impossible, and it was as if, rather than bend to the storm, he rendered up his life in a protest which he at heart knew to be unavailing.

Times have altered, then, since those stormy interviews in "Number 9," and the world has grown out of sympathy with many of Dr. Taylor's aims as well as decidedly critical of his system. But it will never do to forget that in both his faults and his virtues he was representative of that Puritan New England where Phillips Academy was founded. His sternness, his relentless dislike of frivolity and hatred of evil, his scrupulous thoroughness and accuracy, his steadfast adherence to the letter of the moral code, his confidence in the efficacy of conversion, his absolute trust in his own infallibility, --- these are qualities which belonged to Bradstreet, Winslow, Jonathan Edwards, even to Samuel Phillips, Jr., himself. In Samuel Harvey Taylor, even more perhaps than in Pearson or Adams, Puritanism existed almost unalloyed --- as it will seldom in our day be met with again.