THE FRESHMAN GIRL "WHITHER?" LIBRARY PRESIDENT MARY E. WOOLLEY "Where are you going?" That may seem a strange question to ask Freshmen who not only know where they are going but have already gone! It is a question that frequently comes into mind when I am waiting in the station of a great city, watching the endless procession of travelers. There are many types: the well-equipped, with luggage perfectly appointed, reservations secured in advance, competence and confidence actually radiating from them; the huddled group of immigrants, their possessions in bulging bundles or tin trunks, bearing the stamp of the Old World as unmistakably as if they were labelled; the late comer, the commuter, snatching his evening paper as he runs, in his flight barely missing the vague person who does not know just when her train does go or from what track and "wobbles" around trying to find out. Yes, they are all there, sophisticated and unsophisticated, competent and incompetent, and many others not so easily labelled. "Where are they all going?" It would be interesting to know the answer indicated on the railroad tickets, but there is a deeper sense in which that question is asked. There are times that are like milestones along the highway that we call life,, when we must stop and consider how far we have travelled, or where the road leads. Entering college is.one of these times. It would be interesting to call the roll of Freshmen, the thousands upon thousands of them in college and university, and ask whither they are going, for what they are in college. What a variety of answers there would be! Yet in a real sense, all these students, the thousands of them, are in one of two groups, the group of the "workers," or the group of the "slackers." That last word was frequently used during the War and always as a term of reproach. "He's a slacker," the note of scorn reverberates even now. The word is much less frequent, but the type, alas! has not disappeared over the horizon. There is no community free from him, or her. The slacker is ubiquitous. He- I am using the pronoun in the generic is found in the home and in the shop, on the farm and in the office; even the classroom is not free from his presence. sense To qualify for the honorable fellowship of the workers involves certain definite steps. The first is the best possible preparation. The best possible preparation is something more inclusive than training for some particular vocation, important as that is. One of the compensations of advancing age is the realization that nothing ever learned comes amiss. The occasional over-caution of the student not to learn anything that is not "required" is a misconception which will dawn upon him in later years. A second step is to give the best of oneself to one's work. Last June I read a characterization of Vice President Dawes. "General Dawes a one hundred per center" was the heading of the article, which went on to say, "Dawes is the kind of man who, when he is sold on anything, is one hundred per cent sold on it." "Most of us are born seventy-five per centers," the writer adds. To put one hundred per cent of oneself into one's work is a modern way of expressing what the wise man of old had in mind when he said: "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." That remark brings one face to face with some startling questions: "What is my one hundred per cent? Is it what I have given people the right to think it is, or is my real one hundred per cent far in excess of that?" "What is my one hundred per cent possibility in the physical line and am I attaining it?" There is a physical development so perfect that the pictured form brings to the beholder a sense of refreshment centuries after the life of the original; I have in my room a photograph of the Hermes of Praxiteles, a work of the fourth century before Christ, which has helped, by its perfection of beauty, to give rest to many a weary hour. It is not, however, perfect physical development that I have in mind, but, rather, physical fitness for one's work in life. The physical examinations at the time we entered the Great War revealed the appalling fact that of the young men of draft age about twenty-five per cent were physically unfit to do the work of the world. Like all forms of education, the development of the physical involves the element of self-denial. It means exercise when we feel lazy, self-restraint when self-indulgent, the leading of a rigorous, self-controlled, wise, and pure life. There are times that are like milestones along the highway that we call life, when we must stop and consider how far we have travelled, or where the road leads. Entering college is.one of these times. It would be interesting to call the roll of Freshmen, the thousands upon thousands of, them in college and university, and ask whither they are going, for what they are in college. What a variety of answers there would be! Yet in a real sense, all these students, the thousands of them, are in one of two groups, the group of the "workers," or the group of the "slackers." That last word was frequently used during the War and always as a term of reproach. "He's a slacker," the note of scorn reverberates even now. The word is much less frequent, but the type, alas! has not disappeared over the horizon. There is no community free from him, or her. The slacker is ubiquitous. He I am using the pronoun in the generic is found in the home and in the shop, on the farm and in the office; even the classroom is not free from his presence. sense To qualify for the honorable fellowship of the workers involves certain definite steps. The first is the best possible preparation. The best possible preparation is something more inclusive than training for some particular vocation, important as that is. One of the compensations of advancing age is the realization that nothing ever learned comes amiss. The occasional over-caution of the student not to learn anything that is not "required" is a misconception which will dawn upon him in later years. A second step is to give the best of oneself to one's work. Last June I read a characterization of Vice |