SO MUCH FOR THE ROPES

At the beginning of his Freshman year every college student, if he be of the true breeds, burns with enthusiasm and determination to accomplish great things. He is entering upon the last stage of his preparation to begin life on his own account. His plans are vague, but full of hope. The present is his immediate jewel. Four golden years confront him--years embellished in his imagination with the gilt and tinsel trappings gleaned from books on college life. And out of the brightness of the vision emerges a youth in cap and gown, a hale of glory about his head, a scroll of parchment in his hand. In the days of ancient Greece a youth with such a dream would have consulted the Delphio oracle to learn the meaning of the strange, portentous words the scroll contained. Today the Freshman needs no seer or prophet. The scroll is blank, for he himself shall write the words that give it meaning. That vague desire for greatness which seems to whisper of some latent genius; is as yet an unharnessed, a random, undirected urge. The great problem of every young man is to find himself, and college is the most likely place to make the discovery.

A new student at Harvard is at first bewildered by the size of the University, by the confusion of new faces, by the mass of pamphlets and papers dumped upon him, and by the willingness of everyone he meets to give advice and then leave him to go to the devil in his own way. A few weeks of the routine of college life will breed familiarity and confidence. But it sometimes happens that by the time a Freshman comes out of his fog, he finds himself swamped by the cumulative force of neglected studies. A Freshman's first duty, therefore, is to realize the seriousness of his college assignments and start right by organizing some plan of systematic study.

How to study is even more important than what to study. Fully half of every Freshman class do not know how to study. Study is not mere reading, neither is it memorizing. "Read to weigh and consider", said Francis Bacon. That is study as every student must learn, if the word "student" is to be more than a title of courtesy.

When a new student begins to feel at home at Harvard, he also begins to realize, what perhaps had never occurred to him before, that Harvard is not simply an institution of learning. Harvard is a great gathering place of men, and men are not all heads. If education be understood in its true and literal sense, it means complete self-development. Each new student, while making sure that his academic requirements are being met, should early choose some outside activity that is open to him. Success in these activities is usually dependent upon competition. Enter the competition, get acquainted with the men in your class, and keep primed for study by participating in their activities.

How much time can you afford to spend away from your studies in such extra-curricular work? No one can tell you. It is an individual problem and a problem that each student must solve if he is to attain his ultimate goal of self-discovery. It is a problem just as real in later life as in college. Most men live and die without ever knowing their capacity. Here lies the greatest benefit to be had from outside activities. The wise student will use them to this end, will make the proper adjustment between his studies and his other interests, and will get the most out of Harvard.