uated at Harvard in 1790 at the head of his
class, studied law, drifted inevitably into politics, held a number of
offices, which do not concern us here, and finally, after a remarkable
term as mayor of Boston, was, in 1829, chosen president of Harvard. The
work that he did there was important in the extreme. He introduced the
system of marking which continued in use for over forty years;
instituted the elective system, which permitted the student to shape his
course of study to suit the career which he had chosen; secured large
endowments, and, when he retired from the presidency in 1845, left the
college in the foremost position among American institutions of
learning. Edward Everett, who was president of the college from 1846-49,
was more prominent as a statesman than as an educator, and an outline of
his career will be found in "Men of Action." The third of the trio,
Charles William Eliot, whose term as president of the college covered a
period of forty years, is rightly regarded as one of the greatest, if
not the greatest educator this country has produced.

[Illustration: ELIOT]

Graduating from Harvard in 1853, at the age of nineteen, he devoted his
attention principally to chemistry, and, after some years of teaching,
and of study in Europe, was, in 1865, appointed professor of chemistry
in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The same year, a
revolution occurred in the government of Harvard, which was transferred
from the state legislature to the graduates of the college. The effect
of the change was greatly to strengthen the interest of the alumni in
the management of the university, and to prepare the way for extensive
and thorough reforms. Considerable time was spent in searching for the
right man for president and finally, in 1869, Prof. Eliot was chosen.

That the right man had been found was evident from the first. "King Log
has made room for King Stork," wrote Oliver Wendell Holmes, then
professor of anatomy and physiology at Harvard, to John Motley. "Mr.
Eliot makes the corporation meet twice a month instead of once. He comes
to the meeting of every faculty, ours among the rest, and keeps us up to
eleven and twelve o'clock at night discussing new arrangements. I cannot
help being amused at some of the scenes we have in our medical
faculty--this cool, grave young man proposing in the calmest way to turn
everything topsy turvy, taking the reins into his hands and driving as
if he were the first ma