INDIANA UNIVERSITY, 1820-1920 CENTENNIAL MEMORIAL VOLUME ^-^^i: Copyright 1921 by INDIANA UNIVERSITY JUL -8 7. (2) e ^oJ Contents FOREWORD William Lowe Bryan. '84 5 PART I HISTORY OF INDIANA UNIVERSITY David Demaree Banta, '55 9 PART II THE AMERICAN UNIVERSITY: TODAY AND TOMORROW Jacob Gould Schurman 117 RESEARCHES ON SPIROCHAETA PALLIDA... Aldred Scott Warthin, '88 141 THE UNIVERSITY MEDICAL SCHOOL AND THE STATE Aldred Scott Warthin, '88 157 GRADUATE MEDICAL EDUCATION: EXPERIENCE WITH THE MINNESOTA PLAN Elus Potter Lyon 163 THE THOMAS JEFFERSON THEORY OF EDUCATION Samuel Moffett Ralston 179 THE STATE UNIVERSITY AND BUSINESS Evans Woollen 193 THE STATE UNIVERSITY AT THE OPENING OF THE TWEN- TIETH CENTURY Edward A. Birge 203 THE FUNCTIONS OF THE STATE UNIVERSITY Paul Shorey 223 THE OBLIGATION OF THE STATE TOWARD SCIENTIFIC RE- SEARCH James Rowland Angell 243 THE FUTURE OF LEGAL EDUCATION RoscoE Pound 257 A PRESENT NEED IN AMERICAN PROFESSIONAL EDUCATION. Robert Andrews Millikan 273 SPIRITUAL FRONTIERSMEN Francis John McConnell 281 THE SPIRITUAL IDEA OF THE UNIVERSITY Sir Robert Alexander Falconer 293 THE CENTENNIAL COMMENCEMENT. 305 (3) Indiana University \ i i \ ^ ^ Foreword The AMERICAN PAGEANT, Rs I sec it, has two movements. First is a descent. Whenever civilized men have gone far into the wil- derness to live, they have at first lost some part of their civiliza- tion. For an immediate illustration, take Indiana in the middle of the last century. Our people had the civilized mother tongue. But in 1840 fourteen per cent of the adults (38,600) could not read or write, and in 1850 twenty-two per cent of them (75,017) could not read or write. They had schools, academies, colleges, men and women of learning and cultivation. But in 1848 forty- four per cent of our people voted against free public schools, and in this county, the seat of this University, seventy-nine and four- tenths per cent of the people voted against free public schools. They had the law, the ancient law developed in southern and western Europe since before the Christian era, and some men learned in the law. But in 1852 our people wrote it into their constitution that a man might be a counsellor at the bar however ignorant, and they prescribed that in criminal cases a jury how- ever ignorant should be the sole judges of the law. They were not without the elements of art. They had music. They had the pioneer melodies that Riley loved to hear the Old Band play. We are not ashamed of the melody nor of the Band. But the great music was not there. The empire of Beethoven was as far from our people generally as the empire of Genghis Khan. The making of a home in America by Europeans since 1492 is the greatest event of modern history. But everywhere at first it involved descent. I have an opinion as to WHY civilization goes down and down in the backwoods. It is, I think, because the circle of great voca- tions, the learned professions, the sciences, the arts, the more delicate handicrafts cannot be kept up there on the highest level. There is not a living for those who follow them. The occasional genius may be there. But the circle of masters surrounded by a swarm of journeymen and apprentices is never there. The finer arts are lost. The children of the woods forget what their fath- (5) 6 Indiana University ers knew. And as they forget and forget they sink toward the barbaric life. Nevertheless in the American backwoods there were always conditions which made possible re-ascent. There was always the blood of the great races. There was always the potential capac- ity to do any sort of work which is possible for a man. There was always the potential hunger to resume the great occupa- tions at their best. There was sometimes, as I have said, the genius who came up out of the woods to win world recognition and show his neighbors a glimpse of the upward way. And so, as soon as it was possible, as soon as they had earned a little leisure, the eager children of the woods began to climb the upward ways. They began to hear from far the voices of the great masters in every vocation. They began to glimpse from far the vision of science, the vision of art, perhaps the vision of in- dustry not divorced from art or from religion. This is the thrill- ing second scene of our American Pageant, of our Indiana Page- ant, — this eager throng who will relearn all that the ancient East can teach and will then cheerfully dare in every vocation new ventures of which the East dared not to dream. WILLIAM LOWE BRYAN. PART I HISTORY OF INDIANA UNIVERSITY David Demaree Banta was born in Johnson county, Indiana, May 23, 1833 He attended Franklin College for a time, but later entered Indiana University from which he was graduated B.S. in 1855 and LL.B. in 1857. He was judge of the sixteenth judicial circuit, 1870 to 1876, and a trustee of Indiana University from 1877 to 1889, serving as president of the board from 1882 until his resigna- tion in 1889. In the latter year, upon the revival of the School of Law, he be- came its first dean, holding this position until his death in Bloomington on April 9, 1&96. Judge Banta was the author of A Historical Sketch of Johnson County y Indiana, and of a work entitled Making a Neighborhood, dealing with the old Shiloh Church neighborhood in western Johnson county. He also wrote a number of papers and sketches relating to local history and out-of-door subjects. (9) HISTORY OF INDIANA UNIVERSITY By the Late David Demaree Banta, '55 [The following six addresses were delivered by Judge Banta on successive Foundation Day from 1889 to 1894, during the time of his service as dean of the School of Law. These manuscripts are in the possession of the University, and the addresses were published one after the other in successive issues of the Indiana University Alumni Quarterly, beginning with the first issue of the magazine, January, 1914.] I. THE SEMINARY PERIOD (1820-28) In the act of Congress of April 18, 1816, providing for the ad- mission of Indiana into the Union, is found the germ of the Indiana University. Certain propositions were tendered by that act to the people of the proposed new state for "their free acceptance or rejec- tion", two of which related to education; and one was the proposi- tion on the part of the federal government to donate to the new state a township of land "for the use of a seminary of learning". The constitutional convention met at Corydon on June 18 following, and in nineteen days framed an organic law under which Indiana was admitted and her people prospered for thirty-five years. To the lasting honor of the members of that convention be it spoken, they accepted the proposition of Congress relating to learning in a spirit as broad and liberal as that in which it had been tendered. I need not stop to read to you the splendid tribute they paid to liberal learning, nor the pledge they made to faithfully execute the trusts imposed by the liberality of Congress. It is enough for me to present in their own words a summing up of the duties the people of the new state assumed in behalf of their schools. In the second section of the ninth article it is declared that "It shall be the duty of the General Assembly, as soon as circumstances will permit, to provide by law for a general system of education ascending in a regular gradation from township schools to a State University, wherein tuition shall be gratis and equally open to all." Whatever may be said as to the subsequent performance, the pledge given by the new state was as liberal as the most zealous friend of learning in all the land could have wished. The state stood committed by her organic law to a free school system that should begin in the district school and end in the University. On July 10, eleven days after the convention had adjourned, (11) 12 Indiana University President Madison designated the Seminary township. This town- ship, which in the subsequent organization of Monroe county be- came a part thereof, had been surveyed under the laws of the United States as early as 1812, and the notes of the surveyor were doubtless before the President when the selection was made, for it was appar- ent that a better selection could not have been made within the then surveyed limits as near to the geographical center of the state. The township chosen was well timbered and well watered, and its many productive farms of today attest the native fertility of the soil. To the framers of the constitution it was evident that the sale of any of the school lands at that time would be imprudent, so they provided in the organic law that none should be sold before 1820. The settled parts of Indiana at the time of the admission were confined to a narrow fringe of territory extending down the Ohio state line from Wayne county to the Ohio river, and thence down that river to the Wabash, and up that to Vincennes. The larger parts of what are known as eastern, southern, and western Indiana, and all of central and northern Indiana, were a wilderness. Less than a fourth part of the lands within the state had been surveyed, and to nearly all the unsurveyed parts the Indians claimed title. The southern Indian boundary line crossed the Wabash a few miles south of the present site of Newport in Vermilion county; and thence it ran southeasterly, crossing the west fork of White river at Gosport, and thru the territory now known as Monroe county, leaving fully a fouith of it on the Indian side, and struck the east fork of White river about midway between Seymour and Browns- town, whence it ran in a general northeast course till it cut the Ohio line east of the present site of Portland in Jay county. The white population of the state verged upon 64,000, and delegates from thirteen border counties sat in the constitutional convention. By a treaty made with the Delaware and some other Indians, in the fall of 1818, the southern Indian boundary was set back well up towards the sources of the Wabash river; and two years thereafter the door to all of central Indiana, then and long after known as the New Purchase, was thrown open to an anxious throng of hardy pioneer home-hunters. In spite of the manifold hindrances in the way of a speedy coloni- zation of the New Purchase, the settlers came in. It is a difficult matter for the people of today to gain an adequate idea of all they had to encounter; and yet without something of this, no one can rate at its true value the founding and maintenance of our beloved Centennial Memorial Volume 13 school here in the woods. Before the Indians had ceased to occupy, the advance guard began to invade the New Purchase ; and by the fall of 1820 the sound of the pioneer's ax was heard in every county watered by White river and its tributaries, from the "Forks" to its sources. The immigrants came by way of the Indian trails or cut "traces" thru the woods. Some came in wagons and some in sleds. Many packed in on horseback, and a few came on foot. In 1820 the census showed a population of more than 147,000, as against 64,000 of five years before; and by 1825 it had mounted up to a quarter of a million. These were all poor men — poor even for their own day. Most were able to buy forty, eighty, or a hundred acres of land at "Con- gress price", but there were comparatively few that could do more. What had they undertaken? To subdue the wilderness; to wrest from reluctant Nature a livelihood for themselves and their families ; to construct highways ; to build towns ; to establish churches and schools; and, in a word, to make a state. What had they to encounter? Who can tell! The story of their hardships never has been and never can be fully told. We have not time to dwell upon it here. Let us be content with a bare recital of some of the topics that would enter into the story. There was the forest — dense, damp, gloomy, unexcelled In its magnitude on this great forest continent of ours; swamps interminable where now are fruitful fields; wild beasts waiting to devour the products of labor; the late and early frosts; the annual floods; the want of markets; a financial revulsion more disastrous in its consequences than has ever cursed the people of Indiana since ; and the almost universal preval- ence of the autumnal and other sicknesses peculiar to a new country. From 1820 to 1825 the mortality in the state was appalling. In the fall of 1820 the sickness in the Blue river settlements was so grpat that there were not enough well persons left to nurse the sick ones. In 1822 an epidemic of fever broke out in the new town of Indian- apolis and carried oflf seventy-two persons, one-eighth of the popula- tion. In 1820 over one hundred out of the population of six hundred died in Vevay. Palestine, then the seat of justice in Lawrence county, was nearly depopulated; and in "most neighborhoods", says an early historian, "there were but few persons who escaped without one or more severe attacks of fever". "Death numbered his vic- tims by hundreds. The land was filled with mourning and the graveyards filled with the pioneer dead." Notwithstanding the United States surveyors had established the "lines and corners" thruout the greater part of Monroe county 14 Indiana University as early as 1812, the first pioneer's cabin seems not to have been built within the present county boundaries till some time in 1815 — a backwardness to take advantage of the public surveys that can be accounted for by the nearness of the Indian country. In that year David McHolland, a famous hunter and a "jovial fiddler", settled on Clear creek close up to the south boundary of the Seminary dona- tion. Others followed, a few the same year, more the next, and so on. In 1816, according to the local historian, the first white men's cabins were built on the after-site of Bloomington. Early in 1818 Monroe county was organized, and in April of the same year Bloom- ington was staked out adjoining the Seminary township on the north. The new town seems to have outstripped all of its inland com- petitors, a circumstance due mainly to the nearness of the Seminary towrtship. At the close of the year it contained 140 inhabitants, living in thirty hastily constructed cabins; and the number was doubled the year following. By 1820 the public square was cleared of the last of its native forest trees, the log courthouse was outgrown, and Colonel John Ketcham was at work on a brick structure which, when completed four years later,^ was esteemed so highly for its great beauty of design and excellence of finish that the county commissioners ordered that it should not be opened to the gaze of profane eyes save for certain specified purposes, one of which was "when any person shall want admittance for the purpose of acquir- ing architectural knowledge". Thus early was Bloomington vaunting herself on account of her educational facilities. The constitution, as we have seen, inhibited the sale of any lands granted for school purposes before 1820. That time was now at hand, and whatever the sentiment elsewhere might be, Bloomington was ready for the new State Seminary. The legislature was to meet in December and would last about six weeks. Monroe county was attached to other counties for representative and senatorial purposes, and it so happened that her people were not represented in either house by a citizen from their midst. In the lower house, John DePauw answered for them, and in the upper, Alexander Little, both from the same county, Washington. The men of Bloomington were not satisfied with this posture of affairs, and it is little wonder. There is no record — there is not even a tradition — remaining of any 'The courthouse was not entirely completed, inside and outside, until 1826. It was painted bright red, penciled with white, and was surmounted with a cupola containing a public clock. In 1856-58 it was remodeled by the addition of two brick wings. It stood in this form until its demolition in 1906, to make room for the present building of white limestone. Centennial Memorial Volume 15 meeting held by them to take counsel concerning the matter; but I have no doubt the meeting was held. At any rate the people deter- mined to have an agent from Bloomington on the ground — a member of the Third House, if you will. Whom should they send? Dr. David H. Maxwell. He had some legislative experience, having been a member of the constitu- tional convention from Jefferson county. He had a general acquaintance with public affairs and with the public men of the state, and above all he was plausible, concilatory, level-headed, and a good judge of human nature. This was the first service he was called upon to render an institution to the furthering of whose interests he was ever after devoted. For nearly forty years, of all men outside the circle of those engaged as teachers, he gave the most of time in its service, and to better purpose. So unremitting was he in his labors in its behalf, and to such good purpose were they directed, that it can better be said of him than of any other, "He was the father of Indiana University." The General Assembly was to meet on the first Monday in December, and mounting his horse the Bloomington agent rode over the hills the long and weary road to Corydon. No record, no tradition even remains to tell the story of what he did to secure legislative action in behalf of a state school. But was not the Bloom- ington member charmed as he listened to the reading of Governor Jennings' message? Said the governor: The convention has made it the duty of the General Assembly, as soon as circumstances will permit, to provide by law for a general system of education. The lands received for the use of the seminary of learning are vested in the legis- lature to be appropriated solely for that purpose, and it is submitted to your consideration whether the location of such institution upon or near such lands would not greatly enhance their value and enlarge the funds for a purpose so important. It is believed that the Seminary township situated in Monroe county would afford a site combining the advantages of fertility of soil with a healthy climate, as well as a position sufficiently central to the various sections of the state. To authorize the sale of a portion of these lands under judicious regulations would increase the value of the residue, and the sooner enable us to lay the foundations of an institution so desirable. This part of the message was, on December 11, referred by the House to a committee of seven, of which Mr. Ross of Clark was chairman, with leave to report by bill or otherwise. On December 31, twenty days after the reference, Mr. Ross on behalf of his com- mittee reported a bill to establish a seminary, which was read a first and a second time and then referred to a committee of the whole House and made a special order for the following day. But 16 Indiana University the following day came and passed and nothing was done with the bill. It was not till January 11 that we again hear of it. There was just then a pressure of the multifarious business that found its way into the legislative halls of the state under the constitution of 1816. There was an administrator clamoring for some sort of relief in the matter of his trust. The sheriff of Wayne county had a grievance concerning the public accounts which only a legislative act could set right. Sally Griffit wanted a divorce from her hus- band and there was no other tribunal to which she could go. Some- one prayed to be encouraged in the manufacture of salt, and the legislature was in duty bound to encourage him. The clerk of the Washington circuit court having been charged with a misfeasance in office, the House of Representatives preferred charges against him, and the Senate had to sit as a court to try the cause. A high- way being wanted to connect a new town in the New Purchase with an old one outside, only the lawmaking power of the state could authorize it to be cut out. A commission to locate the new capital of the state had to be appointed, and the toll to be taken by millers for grinding the farmers' corn must be regulated by law. So you can see a good excuse can be made by the House for the delay in acting upon the bill. On January 11, however, the bill was taken up and passed with "sundry amendments". Four days after we find it in the Senate in committee of the whole, when "some amendments were made thereto", one of which was to vest in the trustees of the Seminary the Seminary lands in Gibson county ,2 and the other was to strike from the bill the fol- lowing: "Provided that two thousand acres of land in Monroe county, above vested in the trustees, be forever reserved by said trustees as a glebe for the said Seminary and the use of the profes- sors thereof." This was on Saturday, but the final vote was not reached till Monday; and when it did come, how nearly the Seminary bill failed becoming a law will be known when it is stated that on the call of the yeas and the nays, five of the ten senators voted in the affirmative and five in the negative. The president of the Senate, Lieutenant-Governor Ratliffe Boon, gave the casting vote in its favor, and so the bill as amended was passed. The next day it was back in the House, and the amendment striking out the proviso concerning the "glebe" was concurred in, while the one vesting title to the Gibson county lands in the trustees •Reserved by act of Congress approved March 26, 1804; located by Albert Gallatin as Secretary of the Treasury, October 10, 1806. Centennial Memorial Volume 17 was rejected. Forthwith it was returned to the Senate. The celerity with which it was sent from chamber to chamber reminds us that there was a man on the ground especially interested in its final success. Immediately on its return to the Senate, Mr. Drew of Franklin moved that the Senate adhere to their amendments; which, says the record, "was decided in the negative and the bill was then passed". The next day, January 20, 1820, the day we cele- brate, it was signed by the governor and became a law of the land. The act which so narrowly escaped defeat provided for the organ- ization of a State Seminary at Bloomington. The first section named for its trustees Charles Dewey, Jonathan Lindley, David H. Maxwell, John M. Jenkins, Jonathan Nichols, and William Lowe — "they and their successors in office to have perpetual succession". They were authorized to meet in Bloomington on the first Monday of the following June, and select "an eligible and convenient site for a seminary". It was made their duty to appoint an agent to lay off and sell under their sanction any parcels of land contiguous to Bloomington, not exceeding 640 acres. As soon as the trustees should deem it expedient, they were to "proceed to the erection of a suitable building for a State Seminary, and also a suitable and commodious house for a professor". They were to report to the next General Assembly their proceedings, together with "a plan of buildings by them erected". This law is more remarkable for what it does not contain than for what it does. Its projectors evidently had little conception of the real nature of the work in hand. It left the future committed almost entirely to the wisdom of the trustees. The duties it imposed upon them looking to the real purposes of a seminary were to select a site, sell a section of land, and erect suitable buildings. Not a word in it about a school. And yet, I believe it was the very best law the legislature could have framed at that time. On the first Monday in June, 1820, which was the fifth day of the month, four of the six trustees met at Bloomington, in accord- ance with the requirements of the law, to select a site for the State Seminary. On that day the commissioners to locate a site for the state capital were traversing the wilderness between Conner's Prairie and the Bluffs on White river in the search of a suitable place. On the ninth the future site of Indianapolis was chosen. The Seminary commissioners were less fortunate. Two of the members, Charles Dewey and Jonathan Lindley, were absent; and as both were men of some consequence, Dewey especially, it was 18 Indiana University thought best to adjourn over to the "next month". "Accordingly on the day of July" the board met, every member present save Jonathan Lindley, and proceeded at once to select a section of land on the reserved Seminary township for sale, and to locate a site for a seminary. In their report made to the next legislature they say: "The site chosen is .... about one-quarter of a mile due south from Bloomington, on a beautiful eminence and con- venient to an excellent spring of water, the only one on the section selected that could with convenience answer the purposes of a seminary." Not to exceed three hundred souls lived in Bloomington at the time. Into the open doors of their cabins, clustering around the square, the early morning and late evening shadows fell from the native beeches and maples and oaks and poplars, still growing close around. One square south of the public square was the boundary in that direction of the town. Beyond that lay the thirty-six square miles of Seminary land, in which not a tree had lawfully been cut down. Hunters from the town and the scattered settlements around killed deer along its water courses, and bears and wolves prowled amidst its thickets. In any other direction the outlook was but little better. Here and there a little field had been chopped out around a settler's cabin, it was true, but in the main the wilder- ness still held sway. It was in July, and every green thing was thick with leaves. Those contrasting views of upland and lowland which please the eye of the Bloomington visitor today were envel- oped in shaggy thickets of green, and to this cause more than to any other, doubtless, is due the fact that the trustees, overlooking the sightly highlands to the east and the west, found a "beautiful eminence" in the narrow plateau next the Clear creek bottom. True, the "excellent spring of water" must not be forgotten in this calcu- lation, tho its fountain has long since dried up. It was the only spring on the section, they naively said, "that could with conven- ience answer the purpose of the Seminary", — as if the art of digging wells was not yet known! A plan of a building was agreed upon at this meeting of the board and reported to the legislature, and altho it has long since been lost, the board tells us in their report that it was "on the plan of Princeton College in New Jersey" — the historic Nassau Hall. I dare not in this presence enter upon any discussion of the finan- cial history of the Indiana Seminary. My time is too short for that. Nor can I make more than the briefest reference to the Centennial Memorial Volume X9 buildings that were ultimately constructed for the accommodation of students and a professor. Over twenty months passed away after the location was made before the work of building was actually begun. Two houses were agreed upon, one for the "reception of students" and the other for a professor's dwelling. This last, according to the old record, was to "be of the size of W. D. McCullough's house which he had rented to Thomas Allen of Kentucky, except that it was to be four feet longer", a statement by no means calculated to improve the temper of the searcher after historical facts. In a report made to the legis- lature at a subsequent time, by Dr. David H. Maxwell, he tells us that it was thirty-one feet long and eighteen feet in width, and cost $891. The Seminary edifice proper, we learn from the same report, was sixty feet long and thirty-one feet wide. It was two stories high, and when new was considered quite a pretentious building. It faced to the east, had a chapel and two recitation rooms on the first floor, and I know not how many rooms on the second. It cost $2,400. While the General Assembly was legislating the Seminary into existence, a young man, destined to be its first professor and to stay with it thru its Seminary life, and to be with it when it passed up into Indiana College, and finally to leave that college a disap- pointed and embittered man and write a book maligning his enemies and making sport of his friends,^ was taking his last year's course of lectures at Union College, under the celebrated Dr. Nott. This young man was Baynard R. Hall, After receiving his first degree at the commencement of 1820 at Union, he went to Princeton where he studied theology, after which he was ordained a minister of the Presbyterian church. Returning to Philadelphia, his natal city, at the close of his theological studies, he married and soon after set out with his bride for the New Purchase. This must have been some time in 1823. He had relatives in the New Purchase and out of it, one of the latter being the Rev. Isaac Reed, a brother-in-law, who lived in Bloomington, Another brother-in-law, John Young, besides other relatives, lived in the New Purchase a short distance above Gosport. *The New Purchase, or Early Years in the Far West. By Robert Carlton, Esq. (Baynard R. Hall). The first edition, in two volumes, was published by Appletons, Philadelphia, 1843; the second edition, in one volume. New Albany, Ind., 1855, by Mr. John R. Nunemacher; the third edition was edited by Professor James A. Woodburn, '76, of Indiana University, and published by the Princeton University Press in 1916 as an Indiana state centennial edition. For some account of this book see an article entitled "Life in the New Purchase" by James A. Woodburn, in the Indiana Magazine of History for December, 1913. 20 Indiana Umversity I do not certainly know, but I have reasons to believe, that it was the new State Seminary that led Hall into the Indiana wilder- ness. He was scholarly, and his brother-in-law, Isaac Reed, must have seen that if he were only on the ground when the time for the election of a professor came he would surely be the chosen one. At any rate Hall came, and on reaching the state he went to his Gosport relatives, where he remained until the Seminary apple ripened and was ready to fall into his open mouth. During his sojourn there he assisted his brother-in-law in a tanyard and in a country store. He hunted a good deal and became an expert marksman; preached some, went to log-rollings, house-raisings, quiltings, camp meetings, political speakings, and was, he himself says, "the very first man since the creation of the world that read Greek in the New Purchase". In November, 1823, the Seminary building had progressed so far toward completion that it was thought advisable to elect a teacher, and take such other steps looking to the commencement of educa- tional work as should be deemed proper. Accordingly, on Novem- ber 20, the board being in session, the Rev. Baynard R. Hall was elected such teacher "for the term of one year, the school to com- mence as early as practicable the next spring". Two terms per year of five months each were provided for, and the tuition fixed at five dollars per term, but was subsequently raised to ten. The teacher's salary was fixed at $250 per annum, the trustees reserving to themselves the right to pay more should the income admit of it — • a right that we believe was not exercised. One of the curious chapters of those times would narrate the low wages paid for all kinds of intellectual labor. The governor of the state received $1,000 per annum; a supreme judge and a judge of the circuit court each $700; a member of the General Assembly drew $2 per day, and legislated on Christmas and on New Year's days the same as on any other, except when they happened to fall on Sunday. Ministers, well educated and of excellent abilities, who received salaries of $300 were deemed well paid. The great majority were paid much less than this. The Rev. Joseph Tarkington and Joseph Evans, who rode the circuit in the Indiana district in the twenties, each received $63 for the year's labor. During the ministerial year of 1823-24, the Rev. Aaron Wood traveled, accord- ing to his diary, 2,250 miles, preaching 288 times, for a salary of $50. The author of Early Methodism in Indiana says: Our presiding elder, Rev. Allen Wiley, a man of varied learning, deep in theol- ogy, strong in faith, and full of the Holy Ghost, received that year (1830) as his Centennial Memorial Volume 21 portion of the sum total $20. My colleague, Rev. Amos Sparks, a most unique man, full of good common sense, of marked eloquence and power in the pulpit, and popular with the people, received for his portion, being a married man with several children, $175, a part of which was paid in dicker. Two years after the election of Baynard R. Hall, Lucius Alden, a Presbyterian clergyman of Boston, was elected principal of the Aurora Seminary at a salary of $300 .per year and accepted. His assistant, Stephen Harding, afterwa*"^- >i TTm'ted States judge in Utah, was paid, says an authority, 5 i>cr month, and $13 says another. Probably both are correct, the reference being to difTer- ent periods during his term as assistant. The simplicity of these times can be presented in no stronger light than thru the methods then in vogue in carrying on the ordinary business transactions of life. Money was seldom seen in the cabins of the people. Nearly all the business was done on the basis of exchange or barter. Ginseng came nearer taking the place of money among the early settlers of Pennsylvania and of West Virginia than any other article. Up to about 1787 it was a medium of exchange in use by all, more or less, but a sudden collapse of the Chinese market, in 1788, let the bottom out of it. In the beginning of Indiana's history peltries, and especially coon skins, were the most common medium of exchange. I have authority for saying that the coon skin "was often forced upon tax collectors and post- masters in payment of the law's demands". But the coon-skin era was about over when the first State Seminary professor was elected. His salary it was expected would be paid in good silver coins, mostly Spanish, brought in by the White river flat-boatmen — fips, bits, pistareens, quarters, half-dollars, and maybe a few dollars. Perhaps a part in "sharp shins", — that is, triangular pieces cut out of the larger coins by the country blacksmiths, and circulating among the people; but the greater part of the salary was to be paid in a paper currency, not much less fluctuating in value, if any, than a coon-skin currency would have been. But there was another salary paid to the professor, which it was not pretended was to be in money, true or false. The Presby- terian congregation of Bloomington engaged him at least a part of his time to preach for them at $150 per year, to be paid in "articles of trade". That meant the same as the Methodist circuit rider's "dicker" — corn, bacon, beef, venison, butter, potatoes, leather, feathers, buckwheat flour, labor, anything the subscriber had to give, and some things the preacher could not use. At this very time, and for a good many years thereafter, the schoolmasters of 22 Indiana Vmversity Indiana were quite generally paid, in part at least, in articles of traffic. Ah! the stuff that has been doled out to the old Indiana schoolmasters! When I read^ — and remember, too, — how most of them would thrash their scholars; how others would sleep during school hours; how one played the fiddle between recitations "for his own amusement", how another kept his bottle hid in a hollow stump hard by the schoolhouse; and how still another made his scholars work in his clearing during the noon hour, — I have it in my heart to forgive them, when I further remember the compensa- tion many of them received. Think of it! One dollar, or one and one-half, per scholar per quarter, and "board around", — one-half and sometimes more to be paid in such articles of trade as the patrons could spare, I read of an old-time schoolmaster who took part of his pay in dried pumpkin, and of another in whiskey. Corn, flour, buckwheat flour, bacon, turnips, and so on, were constantly dealt out as the price of learning. Young as I am, I can remember seeing a dripping side of bacon go out of my mother's smokehouse to the master who had been doing his utmost to lick me into shape during the preceding winter. I have heard it said that the Fathers were overhasty in setting the machinery of the State Seminary in motion. "Oh, if they had only waited till the land was worth $30 or $40 an acre, then sold it, what a munificent endowment it would have made!" was an exclamation I once heard. True enough. But what would have become of Indiana in the meantime? Never in the history of the state was there such a pressing demand for a school of higher learn- ing than when the trustees determined to open the doors of the State Seminary. The majority were doubtless unconscious of that demand. The people of the district who thought the sound-bodied man that applied for their school "a lazy, trifling, good-for-nothing, who wanted to make his living without work", preferring to him a lame school-teacher or one who was disabled by fits for manual labor, were no doubt on the side of that majority. But there was a minority that stood out in the light — a minority that saw and heard and knew and acted; and let us thank God for it, and not carp at them nor criticize them because they may not have done away back there the thing we might have done away up here. The time had now come for the opening of the State Seminary. What, if any, steps were taken to advertise the general public of the new school is not now known. There were not less than twelve or fifteen newspapers printed in the state at the time, and it is not Centennial Memorial Volume 23 unreasonable to suppose that notice was given thru the columns of some or all of them.* Be this as it may, on "the first day of May, at half-past nine a.m. anno domini 1824", the State Seminary doors were opened for the reception of students. On this May morning of the last year of the first quarter of a century now nearing its close, a fire was kindled upon this altar of learning that has never been extin- guished. During all the years that have come and gone since that May Day opening, every school day of each year has stood witness to the coming together of professors and students, and to recitation and drill in the classroom. That opening morning a heterogeneous crowd of youthful candi- dates for seminary learning greeted the young professor at the "new college", as the building seems to have been called from the beginning. It is remembered that many of the village school- master's boys forsook his unpretentious school that May Day, and with spelling-book and reader and ink-bottle and copy-book applied for admission at the "new college". But it was Greek and Latin only at the "college", and the boys with the spelling-books and readers and ink-bottles and copy-books soon returned to the drowsy hum of lessons in the town schoolhouse. Ten boys were left in the Seminary after the weeding out process was over, on that May morning, to begin at the beginning of a pre- paratory course of the Greek and Latin languages. These, the first to drink at the fountain of learning opened by the bounty of the state, were Findlay Dodds, James F. Dodds, Aaron Furgeson, Hamilton Stockwell, John Todd, Michael Hummer, Samuel C. Dunn, James W. Dunn, James A. Maxwell, and Joseph A. Wright. An interest attaches to these pioneers greater than any who have come after them. They were the first students of Indiana's school to feel the pangs of failure and to know the joys of success. They were the first to dream dreams of those lofty achievements among men that inflame the youthful mind with a desire to excel. What of the ten? All lived to reach manhood's prime, and a few went down into a ripe old age. All are now dead. Each in his chosen sphere rendered faithful and efiicient service to society. Findlay Dodds was a tanner. James F. Dodds, Aaron Furgeson, and Hamilton Stockwell were physicians. John Todd and Michael Hummer were ministers of the gospel. Samuel C. Dunn was first