Eight o'clock chapel : a study of New England college life in the eighties

Front matter

be EIGHT Se slog “CHAPEL val f “~ oo i)

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An account of New England college life in the fruitful and picturesque decade of the 1880’s

Foreword

Tuts book, we are frank to admit, has to do with a time that is now out of fashion. Yet it was a time of great beginnings — perhaps the most interesting and fruitful period in the history of higher education in the United States — a period which deserves far more attention than it has received. The new psychology has taught us so much in regard to educational theory and practice, and the present age has introduced so many and so great improvements, that we are in danger of forgetting the pioneers who, forty years ago, had the vision and courage to leave the beaten road of educational theory and to break new paths which their successors have still farther extended. This the educators of the eighties, especially those of the New England colleges, certainly did. There were great teachers in those days. By personality and moral earnestness, rather than by high specialization, were they great. We trust that our sketches of men like Charles Eliot Norton, William Graham Sumner, Charles Edward Garman, Arthur Latham Perry, E. Benjamin Andrews, and William DeWitt Hyde, inadequate as they are, may be read before one challenges our rating of those years.

We have sought to guard against the illusion due to distance — a fault to which college men are peculiarly prone. ‘Beware the reminiscing alumnus!’ remarks a friend. A professor with whom we have corresponded, in calling attention to certain improvements in college morale, confesses that too easily we become ‘lauda-

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FOREWORD tores temporis acti.’ On the other hand, there is the bias of the closer view, resulting, as so often happens, in an overestimate of the present and a belittling of the past. Feeling this to be true, we have tried to steer our course between the two dangers; we have been close observers of the college life of the present time, as we were participants in that of forty years ago.

To gain in detail and to give to the book the authority of personal experience, we have limited our subject to the leading New England colleges of the period under discussion, and not only that, but more strictly to the New England colleges for men — Harvard, Yale, Dartmouth, Amherst, Williams, Brown, Bowdoin, Wesleyan, and Tufts — though the last two were for a time coeducational. The women’s colleges and the coeducational colleges offered other conditions which we have not attempted to set forth except incidentally.

When it comes to acknowledgments, we scarcely know how to express our sense of obligation — so many have been ready to help. The list includes some forty persons — busy professors in the colleges dealt with, who willingly answered a most exacting questionnaire; prominent alumni in every walk of life, who expressed an interest in our work and compared notes with us; college librarians who opened up their stores of historical memorabilia and stood ready to guide our investigations in a most generous way. Toward them all we feel a debt of gratitude which anything we can say here only feebly expresses. While one or the other of us had the advantage of personal experience at three of the colleges in the list — Amherst, Dartmouth, and Yale — in respect to the others we have relied upon

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FOREWORD the help of their own professors and graduates. Several of these have aided us by a reading of the sections of the book relating to their own institutions. We feel under special obligation to the following friends:

Harvard: Professors Byron S. Hurlbut and Edward C. Moore; Messrs. E. L. Gookin and Milton E. Lord, of the Widener Library; former President Charles F. Thwing, of Western Reserve University (Harvard, ’76); Judge Alonzo R. Weed, 87; Mr. John A. Blanchard,’g1.

Yale: Professors Benjamin W. Bacon and Albert G. Keller; Librarian Andrew Keogh; Miss Anne S. Pratt, Reference Librarian; Reverend Samuel C. Bushnell, 74; Mr. Martin Welles, ’82; Mr. William R. Moody, ’*91; Mr. William G. Low, Jr., ’97.

Darimouth: Professors John K. Lord, Edwin J. Bartlett, Herbert D. Foster, John M. Gile; Librarian Nathaniel L. Goodrich; Assistant Librarian Harold G. Rugg; Dr. Benjamin Tenney, ’83; Mr. Henry H. Hilton, ’90; Dr. Gilman DuBois Frost, ’86.

Amherst: President George D. Olds; Professors Benjamin K. Emerson, William J. Newlin, Paul C. Phillips, Harold H. Plough, Harry deForest Smith, and John M. Tyler; Librarian Robert S. Fletcher and Assistant Librarian Mark P. Kiley; Dr. Howard A. Bridgman, ’82- Dr. Alexander D. Noyes, ’83; President Edward S. Parsons, of Marietta College (Amherst, ’83); Mr. Arthur H. Dakin, ’84; Mr. William S. Rossiter, ’84; Vice-President James H. Tufts, of the University of Chicago (Amherst, ’84); Dr. Allen E. Cross, ’86; Mr. Charles F. Marble, ’86; Mr. Stuart W. French, ’89.

Williams: Professors Carroll L. Maxcy and Henry D. Wild; Librarian Dr. W. N. C. Carlton; Dr. William R. Campbell, ’76; Mr. Harry S. Stearns, ’81; Dr. Harry P.

FOREWORD

Dewey, 84; Mr. Henry W. Austin, ’88; Dr. George L. Richardson, ’88; Rev. Carroll Perry, ’90.

Brown: Dean Otis E. Randall; Professor Walter C. Bronson; Librarian Harry L. Koopman; Professor George G. Wilson, of Harvard (Brown, ’86); Professor Gerald B. Smith, of the University of Chicago (Brown, ’Q1).

Bowdoin: Mrs. William DeWitt Hyde; Dean Paul Nixon; Librarian Gerald’'G. Wilder; Mr. Edgar O. Achorn, ’81; Mr. George F. Cary, ’88; Professor Daniel Evans, of Harvard (Bowdoin, ’90); Judge Harry C. Fabyan, ’93; Mr. John Clair Minot, ’96.

Wesleyan: Dean Frank W. Nicolson; Professor Morris B. Crawford; Mr. Ferris Greenslet, ’97.

Tufts: Mr. Ira Rich Kent, ’99.

Librarians: Reverend Frederick T. Persons and Miss Emma E. White, of the Congregational Library of Boston; Mr. W. R. Spofford, of the Library of the University Club of Chicago; Mr. E. D. Tweedell, of the John Crerar Library of Chicago.

The preparation of the book has proved a pastime in the midst of more serious, or at least more pressing, pursuits, and the writing of every page has been a labor of love. However the book may be received, our reward is in the happy recollections which have come back to us out of the by-gone years.

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Contents

I. THE EIGHTIES I II. THE NEw ENGLAND COLLEGE 10 III. Tae New Epucation 40

IV. REPRESENTATIVE TEACHERS AND ADMINISTRA- TORS: HARVARD — YALE — BROWN 67

V. REPRESENTATIVE TEACHERS AND ADMINISTRA- TORS: DARTMOUTH — AMHERST — WILLIAMS —

Chapter I The Eighties

To the younger generation of to-day the eighties seem but a slight remove from antiquity. The World War occupies the foreground of history; back of that all is remote, and the eighties are three full decades back into that shadowy distance. Yet there are living men who remember the eighties as a time of real, vital activity, and — in spite of its deficiencies — as a time when many of the things that we call modern had their rise.

We are to examine particularly the New England colleges in the eighties, but first of all it will be worth while to consider the background and to recall in general the life and atmosphere of that period.

At the beginning of the decade the reconstruction of the South had been completed. President Hayes, after a stormy administration, attacked by the spoilsmen of. his own party and scorned as a pretender by all good Democrats, had conscientiously finished his work and had been consigned to political oblivion. Ex-President Grant, having made a triumphal journey around the world, had yielded to the solicitations of his friends and had consented to have his name placed before the Republican Convention as a candidate for reélection for a third term. That picturesque figure, James G. Blaine, of Maine, ‘the plumed knight,’ as Robert G. Ingersoll

I had dubbed him, believing that his failure to receive the nomination four years before entitled him to receive it now, strove against Grant and against John Sherman, Hayes’s Secretary of the Treasury, and went down to defeat, dragging with him both of his competitors. Garfield was nominated as a compromise, was elected, and began an unquiet administration which was cut short within four months by the bullet of a disappointed office-seeker.

The West was as yet largely unsettled. There was but one line of railroad — the Union Pacific — across the continent. This had been completed with impressive ceremonies some ten years earlier and was afterward followed by the Southern Pacific in 1881 and by the Santa Fé and the Northern Pacific in 1883. At the beginning of the decade a few frontier towns stretched themselves along the one trans-continental road and along the older wagon trails, but for the most part the country was still uninhabited, and the last of the native herds of bison still roamed over sections of Texas, Kansas, and Montana.

In the West the cowboy was king and rounded-up his herds on lands unfenced and often unclaimed. He was not only king, but also judge, jury, and prosecuting attorney. If a ‘rustler’ or cattle thief molested his herds, he took matters into his own hands and promptly meted out punishment. In the ten years between 1876 and 1886, vigilantes on the cattle ranches of Nebraska, Wyoming, and Montana are said to have shot more men than have been legally executed since that time in any six States of the Union.? Life was cheap on the plains, and it was no uncommon thing still to find

t Sparks: National Development.

THE EIGHTIES gangs of half-drunken cowboys ‘shooting up’ a frontier town for the mere love of adventure. As late as 1882 President Arthur was obliged to send federal troops into Arizona to check these lawless bands.

On the Pacific coast the Chinese question was disturbing the peace of the laboring man, and Dennis Kearney on the ‘sand-lots’ of San Francisco was inciting his hearers to make the city warm for the Orientals — which they promptly did. The Indians, after suffering fifteen years of systematic deception and robbery at the hands of government agents and making spasmodic efforts to assert themselves by means of massacres and uprisings, were at last pacified and allowed themselves, as in the notable cases of the Nez Percés and Poncas, to be driven about from reservation to reservation whenever their lands became valuable to the white man. It was not until the latter part of the decade (1887) that the Government began to treat the Indians as individuals and to allot them lands in severalty.

At the beginning of the eighties the country was on the crest of a wave of prosperity. It had recovered from the panic of ’73, and — thanks to the two bountiful harvests of ’79 and ’80 and a corresponding shortage of crops in Europe — business of every kind was advancing with arush.'t Specie payment had been resumed in 1879, and the danger of an excessive silver surplus had been happily averted by the increased demands of trade.

With prosperity came its attendant speculation. Jay Gould loomed on the financial horizon — the juggler of railroads and wizard of high finance. Small

* Noyes: Forty Years of American Finance.

lines were absorbed, and railway ‘systems’ began to be talked about. Before this absorption of the smaller roads began, the railways of the United States were in the hands of more than fifteen hundred different companies and their patronage came from a large number of small shippers.t But conditions soon changed. Combination followed combination, and the railway interests of the country were soon controlled by an oligarchy of which Gould was the master spirit.

What happened to the railroads also happened in other lines of business. It was the beginning of the trust era. The first of the great corporations was the New Jersey Zinc Company, chartered in 1880; the second was Standard Oil, organized in 1881 and chartered the year following. The same year (1881) saw the merger of the Western Union and American Union Telegraph Companies.

A minor result of the combination of railroads was the adoption of standard time. At the beginning of the decade each railroad used its own time and generally followed the local time of the towns and cities through which it passed. A traveler going from Boston to Washington, if he would follow the time-tables, must set his watch five times. Another result of the absorption of the smaller railroads was the replacement of iron rails with steel, making traffic safer and more rapid.

The development of the railroads led to an increased demand for iron and steel, and this brought about the extension of the Marquette iron mines and the opening of the Gogebic and Menominee regions. Refrigerator cars were introduced, and fresh — that is to say un-

* Poor: Manual of Railways.

THE EIGHTIES salted — meat was first shipped from the stockyards of Chicago to the Atlantic seaboard.

To keep the railroads in check, river traffic was encouraged by the Government, and appropriations were made for the improvement of the Mississippi and other midland streams. Captain Eads, a few years before, had finished his jetties at the mouth of the Mississippi and had compelled the great river to dredge its own channel. This made New Orleans practically a seaport and greatly stimulated the commerce of the South.

Labor troubles occupied the attention of the country during most of the decade. The historic railway strikes of 1877 had stirred up elements that refused to be quieted. The Knights of Labor, existing as a secret organization since 1869, abandoned its secrecy in 1881 and took an important part in the labor controversies of the decade. The American Federation of Labor was the outgrowth of a workingmen’s convention held in Terre Haute during the same year (1881), though the organization was not formally accomplished until 1886. It is estimated that in the six years between 1881 and 1886, inclusive, nearly four thousand strikes occurred in the United States, involving 1,323,000 employees, both men and women, and entailing a loss of nearly sixty million dollars to the strikers, and thirty-four million to the employers.t The causes of these strikes were, first, the rapacity of the employers, and, second, the growing realization of the power of organized labor. The situation becomes clearer when we read that in 1877, at the time of the first great railroad strikes, freight brakemen and firemen on the Baltimore & Ohio road received an average wage of $1.50 to $1.75

t Wright: Industrial Evolution of the United States. 5 per day, and that in 1880 woollen-mill operatives received $1.24 a day, shoemakers $1.76, printers $2.18, carpenters $2.42, and masons $2.79. Farm laborers averaged $1.31 and board.?

It was an era of reform, at a time when reform was sadly needed. The spoils system, which had run riot during Grant’s administration and which Hayes had tried in vain to curb, became an issue in politics. President Garfield’s assassination was taken by many as a direct result of this system, and soon after his death President Arthur revived the Civil Service Commission. Grover Cleveland was elected mayor of Buffalo in 1881 on a reform ticket, and governor of New York a year later on the same issue. Women’s rights were seriously discussed. Local option became an issue, and the two States of Maine and Kansas went ‘dry.’

Religion, hide-bound for centuries, was beginning to feel the liberalizing influence of modern thought. Evolution was spoken of in whispers by Christian people who were troubled at the apparent conflict between the teachings of science and the Church. Henry Drummond’s ‘Natural Law in the Spiritual World’ attempted to bridge the chasm and thousands of readers gave a sigh of relief to feel that science and religion were not incompatible. Henry Ward Beecher was filling Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, to its doors, with crowds anxious to hear the liberalizing doctrine of the spiritual life applied to daily affairs. In another Brooklyn church — the Tabernacle — T. DeWitt Talmadge was trying to do much the same thing in a more spectacular way, winning applause from the multitude and being criticized as a buffoon by both orthodox and

Wright: op. cit. |

THE EIGHTIES unbelievers. Phillips Brooks, in Boston, was preaching a gospel of sanity and good will to men, and Joseph Cook was lecturing to audiences which would listen spellbound to his theological disquisitions. The Revised Version of the New Testament appeared in 1881.

Literature was making itself felt as a force in life. Boston was then the literary center of America. Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier, Emerson, and Holmes were still living and writing. Bryant had been dead but two years. The theater was at the height of its influence. Edwin Booth and Lawrence Barrett were playing Shakespearean roles, Joseph Jefferson was giving his inimitable impersonation of Rip van Winkle, Joshua ‘Whitcomb was appearing nightly in ‘The Old Homestead,’ Mary Anderson and Modjeska were dividing honors as stars of the first magnitude.

So much for general conditions; but if we ignore these and look simply at the things which any chance visitor might see with a reasonably good pair of eyes, there would appear sights to which the present age is unaccustomed. On Broadway, for example, the stranger would see fashionable ladies enveloped in a confused jumble of flounces, loops, bows, and streamers, which spread out behind into a train that swept the sidewalk. It was immodest in those days for a woman to show more than the tips of her shoes. He would see dandies with flowing side whiskers, known familiarly as ‘burnsides,’ after the name of the military hero who popularized them. He would see heavy mustaches that seemed always in their owners’ way. Men drank their coffee through a hole in the top of a partly covered cup, in order to save these prideful things from immersion. Hair was esteemed more highly then than now, and in

1880 even a beard was not areproach. The fashionably dressed man, besides his hirsute adornments, affected plaids from three to four inches in each dimension. The trend of dress at that time seemed to culminate in an effort to be seen. Perhaps it was in line with the expansion and vigor of the age.

The visitor would see high bicycles in Central Park and on Riverside Drive — their riders perched perilously upon the topmost point, inviting fate. He would see "buses jolting over the cobble-stones of Broadway, and, if he had the hardihood, he might, upon payment of five cents, ride in one of them — at the imminent risk of dislocating his neck. Or, if he wished to go uptown, he might take a West Side elevated train drawn by a steam locomotive, and go as far as Fifty-Eighth Street.

He might use the telephone, which was then considered a novelty, and might talk with a friend even as far away as Elizabeth, New Jersey. He might smoke his cigar of an evening under the glare of the sputtering arc light in front of the Astor House. The arc light, too, was a novelty, and it was thought that electricity would soon displace gas as a means of lighting — a prediction which was rapidly fulfilled; for a young inventor named Edison was experimenting with the incandescent lamp and within a few years it came into general use.

The visitor would see no automobiles or electric cars, though both these conveyances began to appear during the decade.t He would see no Bartholdi statue and no Hudson River tunnels, but would assuredly be asked

1 The first trolley car was put into commission in 1882, the first electric light in 1879, the first CoEDone t in 1877. Muzzey: 7 he United States of America, vol. I.

THE EIGHTIES to show his admiration for the Brooklyn Bridge — the first of these great structures — which was then nearing completion.

On the whole he would find himself in the midst of a time of great beginnings. Inventions, building, transportation, business, were receiving a new impulse and entering upon a period which has extended to the present time. If the World War had not drawn its mark across our history and made a new dividing line, we should think of the eighties as being the beginning of our modern American life.

Chapter II The New England College ©

IT was more apparent in the eighties than it is to-day that the New England colleges are the quintessence of New England character and life. Having emerged as a fairly distinct type of educational institution, they took a laudable pride in maintaining the prestige arising from that fact. There is such a thing —a composite thing, to be sure, but none the less real — as the New England College. The name has become generic. It suggests a certain type and arrangement of buildings, a certain educational and religious tradition, a certain atmosphere of culture, a certain charm of student days. Parents in the Far West who scarcely know the difference between Harvard and Yale, Williams and Amherst, and to whom Bowdoin and Bates are little more than names, yet desire to have their sons, at least one of their sons, educated in a New England college. We have heard of a fond father who made the tour of the older colleges of the group, called on the presidents, quizzed the deans, observed the boys along the streets, and plodded through the various buildings, before fixing upon the institution which should have the privilege of receiving his precious boy. Probably the boy knew where he was going all the time.

Some one ought to discover a symbol for the quite intangible something which pervades these New England schools. The inimitable Mr. Leacock has done as much for Oxford. In his book, ‘My Discovery of England,’ we see him conversing with Oxford dons,

IO wandering through the quadrangles and closes, watching the students at work and play, dining in the great halls and even nosing about in the ancient kitchens, in the hope that he may penetrate the mystery of Oxford’s life. Little, from the standpoint of America, does he find to commend as making for educational efficiency, yet Oxford, he acknowledges, is a ‘huge success. Where lies the secret? His whimsical conclusion will be recalled: ‘Viewing the situation as a whole, I am led to the conviction that there must be something in the life of Oxford itself that makes for higher learning. Smoked at by his tutor, fed in Henry VIII’s kitchen, and sleeping in a tangle of ivy, the student evidently gets something not easily obtained in America. And the more I reflect on the matter the more I am convinced that it is the sleeping in the ivy that does it.’* The charm of this suggestion will appeal to any one who has enjoyed even for a single night the hospitality of an Oxford quadrangle.

But the English ivy is not for us. First of all, it refuses to flourish on New England college walls, and that in spite of the orations and poems and hymns of graduating classes from most ancient times. Alas! the more hardy Japanese variety has for the most part taken its place. Moreover, we need a symbol of our own, something sui generis, a product of New England soil — robust rather than clinging. The elm is a better symbol of the New England college — Ulmus americana — which flourishes in New England meadows and along New England highways as nowhere else in all the world. Graceful in contour, tough in fiber, shading ancestral homes, forming Gothic avenues of green for t Leacock: My Discovery of England, p. 110. - II college halls — what more appropriate emblem can be named! They sing at New Haven, ‘’Neath the elms of dear old Yale,’ but Yale can be allowed no proprietary rights in this tree. Cambridge has elms of no small reputation; they grow in rare perfection in the Connecticut Valley; they flourish in the Berkshires; they cast their beneficent shade in Rhode Island and in Maine. Around what other object gather so many memories of New England college days!

THE COMMON ORIGIN AND PURPOSE When Williams College was celebrating its Centennial in 1893, the orator of the occasion, Dr. James H. Canfield, went back three centuries to the Protestant Reformation to explain why Colonel Williams was led to plant a certain type of school in the wilderness of northwestern Massachusetts. The historical accuracy of this judgment cannot be challenged; but where is one to stop in tracing through Anglo-Saxon history the source of the New England college idea? President Eliot, in his ‘Harvard Memories’? bids us read the inscription on ‘Johnston Gate,’ the principal entrance to the Harvard Yard, if we would understand the motive which led to the founding of the first college on American soil. The inscription is a quotation from ‘New England’s First Fruits’ (written in 1643) and refers to the establishment of Harvard College in 1636. It is worth citing in full.

After God had carried us safe to New England, and we had builded our houses, provided necessaries from our livelihood, rear’d convenient places for God’s worship, and setled the Civil Government; One of the next things we longed for, t Page I.

I2 and looked after was to advance Learning, and perpetuate it to Posterity ; dreading to have an illiterate Ministry to the Churches, when our present Ministers shall lie in the Dust. And as we were thinking and consulting how to effect the great Work; it pleased God to stir up the heart of one Mr. Harvard (a godly Gentleman, and a lover of Learning, then living amongst us) to give the one halfe of his Estate (it being in all about 1700£) towards the erecting of a College, and all his Library; after him another gave 300£ others after them cast in more, and the publique hand of the State added the rest; the Colledge was, by common consent, appointed to be at Cambridge, (a place very pleasant and accommodate and is called according to the name of the first founder) Harvard Colledge.

It was, indeed, a happy thought to inscribe these words in such a place. Johnston Gate reminds us of the close relationship between the college of the New World and of the Old. Standing there one thinks of Old Cambridge and how the ideals of English culture were transferred bodily — if one may so speak — to the new soil. It is a striking fact, commented upon by historians, that between 1630 and 1649 no less than a hundred university men emigrated to the wilderness of New England. Of these some seventy — John Harvard among them — were from Old Cambridge, and brought with them its atmosphere of progress and of adaptation to a rapidly changing world. Such a preponderance of educated, characterful men is unparalleled in the history of colonization. From the start, New England was a college-led community, and its leaders lost no time in proclaiming their purpose to the world, since only six years elapsed between the settling of Massachusetts Bay and the founding of Harvard.

Johnston Gate also suggests the high idealism of the enterprise. They were concerned for an educated ministry in the Church. Harvard to-day takes pride in this fact. Her attitude is significant of many things in New England’s development, but particularly in this evolving of the college idea. The motive broadened through the years as other professions came to share with the ministry in the direction of public affairs. Yet the purpose remained the same, to bind education with religion and to direct both toward the highest welfare of the State. The Johnston Gate, in a way, may be considered the entrance to every college campus in New England. I

From Harvard the college idea spread throughout the New England area and with more rapidity than one could expect. A treatise might be written on the beginnings of higher education of New England, by way of showing how the colleges and academies, one and all, are rooted in John Harvard’s suggestion of 1636. It will be found that Harvard’s claim to be the mother institution of the land rests on substantial foundations of fact.

As for Yale, it is known that the plans of the early settlers of New Haven in 1638 included the establishment of a college on the Harvard plan, but that Massachusetts objecting on the ground that New England could not support more than one such institution, the idea was abandoned. The actual Yale dates from 1700, when ten of the Congregational ministers of Connecticut, all but one of whom were graduates of Harvard, at a meeting at Branford launched a collegiate institution by the simple process of each making a gift of books for a library. A charter was granted by act of the Colonial Assembly, in 1701, and these ten ministers and their successors were made the trustees of ‘The Collegiate School of Connecticut.’ As in the case of Harvard the primary purpose was declared to be the training of young men for the ministry.

Williams College was founded in 1793, as a result of the will of Ephraim Williams, a man of affairs of western Massachusetts, who became a colonel in the French and Indian War. Not being a college man nor one conspicuous for piety, it is not superficially apparent how Colonel Williams’s school grew out of the traditions of Harvard and Yale. The connectional element, however, is found in the fact that nine of the original thirteen trustees were graduates of Yale, the leading professors were Yale men, while the curriculum was adopted almost bodily from the New Haven institution, circumstances of large significance in the subsequent development of the college, as Professor Arthur Latham Perry, in his history of Williams, takes pains to point out.

From Williams, by a process of excision rather than by reproduction, came Amherst. The withdrawal of President Zephaniah Swift Moore with fifteen of his students (nearly one third of the enrollment) in 1821, to become head of the new college in the Connecticut Valley which had grown out of Amherst Academy,’ established a connection which has been maintained with increasing intimacy through the years. No two American colleges are more alike. Harvard — Yale — t ‘Amherst Academy was founded in 1814, and soon attracted pupils from all over the state....In 1820 the trustees voted to raise funds [to establish a college] and erect a suitable building — which is the present South College. ...In May, 1821, Rev. Zephaniah Swift Moore was elected president.’ Professor John M. Tyler: Address at the Amherst Centennial.