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course of study, the one thing that I wish most to say is that the differences in different studies are of very small value, provided the student is interested in the studies which he pursues. Woman should take those studies which interest and move and form her. Man should take those studies which interest and move and form him. The studies should be different, not on the ground that the one is a man and the other a woman, but they should be different on the ground that each is an individual." Thus, at the very crisis of the discussion, the emphasis is adroitly shifted from the original question, and the paper closes without explaining to our satisfaction Dr. Thwing's views on the education of women or on this new problem of the scope and value of the elective principle in education.
In the January Forum, President Jones of Hobart College gives, in no uncertain tones, his opinion of the elective system, as carried to excess in so many of our colleges, where the student is allowed passively to follow the line of least resistance. "Any course disappointingly stiff is dropped for another occupying the same number of hours. 'When they persecute you in one city flee ye to another', is an injunction well laid to heart by those otherwise indifferent to the Scriptures; and sudden migrations from the Jerusalem of calculus to the Jericho of economics are not without their humorous aspects.' While by no means advocating a return to the iron-bound conditions of fifty years ago, Dr. Jones maintains that enough restriction must be placed upon the operation of the elective system to give symmetry and consistency to the college course, if the college is not to lose its place as a fitting-school for life.
In writing of the Cornell University Medical College, I realize afresh that to have two "alma maters" is an unmixed blessing. Though my mind's eye wanders frequently over "wavThe Cornell University Medical College ing meadows" and lingers among "purple shadows," it is no less capable of following the waves on Cayuga Lake, and seeing visions behind the " Western hills"; and though I loyally say in the words we have all learned so well,-"We have no yell," I yet feel contentedly at home among those who "yell Cornell." To know the strange personality of one college, as much as a finite being is able to know it, makes understanding another a little more possible, and, I believe, loving one college loyally necessitates loyally loving the second.
But you who know me, know my feeling for Smith. The others do not All of you, being awake and in this century and country, ought to know of the beginnings of life of the Cornell University Medical College in New York City. There were three factors in its origin. The first was a disagreement in the Medical College of the University of the City of New York, which ended in the transference of the allegiance of the majority of its faculty, trained in teaching and in working together, to Cornell. The second was a gift from Colonel Oliver H. Payne, to build and endow a Medical College, under the sole condition that it should be made second to none. The third was the life motto of Cornell, bequeathed to it by its founder, who said : "I would found an institution where any person can find instruction in any study."
The first class of the Medical College was graduated in 1899. The college now numbers three hundred and thirty-six students, including those who are taking the first two years in Ithaca. We are too young to talk of what we have done, and too modest to talk of what we are going to do, but we have a very friendly feeling toward other colleges and are very willing to be known
as we are.
To know us you must know our building; that will tell you both our reality and our ideals. It includes much, in the words of a certain card catalogue, from "Accidents to Esthetics." From the roof, one can look either through the glowing colors of the United States and Cornell flags flying bravely from their sixty foot poles, or straight into the court of Bellevue Hospital, or down the East River toward the lazily active ocean, or into the squalor of an east side city street through which an ambulance frequently rings its way. It is a building of light stone and brick, a city block in frontage, and a hundred feet in depth. There are two large entrances, one for dispensary patients and
one for members of the college. Entering either door, one finds himself in the midst of white marble tiling, rich dark wood, and space. If it happens to be after dark, the whole is filled by the most pervasive, soft, glowing electric light. The details of lecture halls and class rooms;-a dissecting room with polished floors and space for three hundred students; laboratories for undergraduate and advanced work, glowing with the brass of microscopes and the colors of chemicals; the dispensary waiting-room, and the labyrinth of rooms where the poorest receive treatment from specialists, free of charge ;-are more interesting in reality than on paper.
Just as you are asked, "How do you like Smith's?" we are asked, "How do you like your work?" and condoled with because it is" such a grind," and reverently complimented on our" sacrifices," and with confidential tone asked what medical students are like to work with. This time I am half inclined to answer, instead of changing the subject to the literary merits of "Eleanor" or the splendor of the present opera season.
In regard to the work itself, to quote from the official register: "The essential feature of the entire system is the division of the classes of the several years into small sections for recitations, demonstrations, laboratory exercises, dispensary visitation, and ward work in the hospitals." The significance of these words will be realized only by those who know the work of other medical colleges. Our work is practical from the start, our quizes, conducted as a recognized part of the college work, are models of applied pedagogy, and our professors are many of them known as authorities in the literature of their departments, and as skilled physicians in the hospitals with which they are officially connected.
And the students? In the fact that the work fills time, heart, and mind, is our joy and also our tragedy. A schedule filled from nine to six, Monday to Sunday, which includes only an escaped hour here and there for study, provides "Accidents" in plenty, but the "Esthetics," except for our building and our flags, must come "between meals," as it were. For the benefit of the more technical I would add that a working definition of Aesthetics is "the laughter and color and vision which transform grinding into life." I myself have not known a day of "grinding" since I began. The chief reason for that lies of course in the beauty and elasticity and dignity of the work itself, but is also due to the companionship of those who are working with the same interests. Moreover, a large part of the reason is made by the irresponsible spirits of those "wags" who are ever young, by the Cornell yells, and Cornell songs, and Cornell colors. The Medical Club, a very young organization, aspires to complete what is lacking in public spirit, loyalty, knowledge of other colleges, and opportunity for relaxation, and so to provide the perspective essential if work is to be done in the true play spirit.
The two most prominent points of interest in this life of ours to a layman are probably the constant presence of suffering, and the advisability of co-education in medicine. For the nerve and strength necessary to meet the first, the advantage of wide opportunities in general education and travel, and of largeness of character can not be overestimated, yet our course from the study of hard, knotty bones to the responsibility over life, is such a long,
gradual one that we are better prepared for that responsibility when it comes than the layman.
Co-education seems, abstractly, to be the rational method of preparation for those who are to work not in monasteries nor convents, but in the great, struggling world. In regard to the things which the outsider naturally thinks would be "unpleasant,” the most potent remark is that though some of us are men and some are women, all are alike human, and where human interests are concerned, the dividing barrier simply does not exist. The effect of a thing lies in its significance. The things we discuss are significant of suffering and the work to be done to relieve it, so it is no wonder the words concerning them are free from embarrassment and spoken as a matter of course. It is even thought that many of the tangles of society would untwist themselves were less stress laid on doing away with artificiality, and more on increasing reality, through common work and common interest among men and women.
An alumna always wants to give advice, so if you are thinking of studying medicine, my advice as to the preparation is for you to have a college education full to the brim of Latin and Greek, even if only for the sake of the etymology of our long words; of one science constantly, as training in scientific methods of study; and of literature, history, music, people, and fun, to provide portable inspiration. After that, take a good look at the world, through travel preferably. Then dive deep-but visit Cornell first.
STELLA S. BRADFORD '93.
The location of Bryn Mawr College is ideal: only ten miles from the heart of Philadelphia, the student may enjoy many of the privileges which the city offers and yet live in one of the most beautiful Bryn Mawr College country spots imaginable, — where athletic sports are secluded from the curious eye and lessons learned in the woods undisturbed save by the song of birds and the chirp of crickets. Not only did Nature do her prettiest for Bryn Mawr, but art and skill have combined in forming the nucleus for a group of college buildings which when completed "will be the finest in the world." From the beginning the trustees of the college have foreseen a large development and every part has been planned and built upon a broad foundation, for the future as well as the present, so that in the end-if end there be-a harmonious result will be obtained. Large architectural plans were made, which include everything a great university for women could desire-even a Spanish garden and a pleached walk-and these plans are being carried out as fast as the need is felt, since an actual need is usually quickly followed by the necessary funds. One or two of the college buildings are modified reproductions of castles in Wales and above the entrance to Pembroke Hall is displayed the Pembroke coat of arms. They are all built of gray stone, overgrown with the graceful ambelopsis and English ivy. The gray and green of springtime, pictured beneath the blue skies, rival the gray and crimson in the golden sunshine of autumn, until the campus seems an enchanted fairy land.
The first dormitory to be built was Merion, with large, square rooms and without closets. The trustees, who were Friends, said, "The young ladies
will need but two gowns, one for the First day and one for school wear. These can be hung on two hooks on the door." It was not long before wardrobes were added. Four dormitories have since been built with accommodations for about sixty students in each. In these, one student may have one room or two, or two students may have two rooms or three, as opportunity and purse permit. As it is earnestly believed that the greatest benefits of college life are obtained only by those who continually breathe its invigorating atmosphere, all undergraduate students, except the few who can live at home, must board in one of the college houses.
From the main college buildings the campus slopes charmingly down to a large apartment house for the faculty-aptly called Low Buildings-and to the basket-ball field. It may be that no part of the campus is dearer to the hearts of the students than this amphitheater, nestled among the green knolls, upon which each class yearly contests for the banner in basket-ball. In winter the field is flooded and converted into a skating rink. Four exercise periods are required each week of all students, of which one period must be spent in the gymnasium. The others may be taken in various ways, as drives, walks, basket-ball, golf, or tennis. The length of the period depends upon the severity of the exercise. Exercise conditions may keep a student from her degree and deficiencies must be made up as in any other department. The success of one poor student in making up fifty-six hours in one week, in addition to the required amount, has always remained a mystery to me.
Last May, the first effort to raise money for a Students' Building at Bryn Mawr took the form of a May day fête in which alumnæ, graduate students, and undergraduates took an active part. A large audience from Philadelphia and beyond gathered to see Elizabethan plays and picturesque scenes reproduced with skill and historic accuracy on the beautiful college lawn. It was a perfect success and furnished a large nest-egg toward the Students' Building. The fund was increased at Christmas time by the sale of calendars.
Since 1892, the trustees have left the government of the college, in all matters not purely academic, in the hands of the students. The students have accepted this responsibility as a sacred trust and have conscientiously and loyally worked for its fulfillment. So completely does this association hold control that unworthy students may be suspended or expelled from the college without advice from the trustees, president, or faculty. Self-government has a long code of rules which the executive committees and proctors enforce, if need be. Usually the students gladly obey. The penalty for breaking some of the rules is a fixed sum of money; for graver offences students receive written admonitions from the executive committee. Three of these warnings cost a student the privileges of the college.
It has always been customary for students to wear gowns during the academic hours at Bryn Mawr. The cap is not as generally worn, but appears upon occasions. A pretty scene occurs the night the freshmen receive their caps and gowns, about six weeks after the opening of the college. The freshmen, proudly arrayed for the first time in the insignia of their alma