In answer to our first question, it follows that the student entering with the maximum of French should be able, before graduation, to get enough advanced courses to give him an intelligent grasp of the literature as well as the language. In our better-equipped colleges this is undoubtedly the case. Harvard, for instance, would admit him to a course (French 2) in French Prose and Poetry, which includes some "composition," to be followed by (6) a General View of French Literature, (8) French Literature in the Eighteenth Century, (9) French Literature in the Seventeenth Century, (16) Comedy of Manners in France, (17) Literary Criticism in France; and in some of these courses the linguistic aspects would be considered in the form of "themes," "reports," etc., while the student could choose (5) Advanced French Composition for that special purpose. Other colleges (e.g., Johns Hopkins, Chicago, Stanford) offer the same or similar opportunities. So that, although titles of courses are often deceptive, the general plan of offering (1) an introductory course in which both the language and the literature are treated, (2) a survey-course in literature, leading to (3) various courses in literature after 1600, and supported by (4) at least one specific course in language, now constitutes the normal collegiate "major" in French; and, on the whole, it would be difficult in the present circumstances to devise a better plan.

It is obvious that the success of any plan depends on the thoroughness with which it is carried out, and this in turn depends on the qualifications and energy of those who have the matter in hand. That contingency does not concern us here. But what is worth noting is that the fourth point mentioned above,—the specific language part of the "major"—might be strengthened, especially since some excellent institutions omit this consideration entirely. The danger of falling between two stools is never greater, it seems, than in treating both language and literature. An instructor who is bent on elucidating the range of Anatole France's thought naturally has little time to deal adequately with his rich vocabulary, his deft use of tense, the subtle structure of his phrase—and yet who can be said really to "know" such an author if he be ignorant of either side of his work? "Thought expands but lames," said Goethe—unless it is constantly controlled by fact. In order to give the undergraduate that control, it is essential that he should be placed in the position everywhere to verify his author's thought. How difficult it is to bring even the best of our undergraduates to this point I need not discuss. But at least once in the process of his work he might be held to a stricter account than elsewhere. And if we ask ourselves by what method this can best be accomplished, I believe the answer is by some special course in which the language of several representative writers is treated as such.[90] The point could be elaborated, particularly in view of the present-day tendency to dwell unduly on so-called realia, French daily life, and the like—all legitimate enough in their proper time and place. But enough has been said to show that excellent as the present plan is, it could without detriment enlarge the place given to linguistics. In this bewildered age of ours we are forever hearing the cry of "literature," more "literature": not only our students but our teachers—and the connection is obvious—find language study dull and uninspiring, oblivious to the fact that the fault is theirs and not the subject's. Yet, as we observed above, French is "hard," and its grammatical structure, apparently so simple, is in truth very complicated. Manifestly, to understand a foreign literature we must understand the language in which it is written. How few of our students really do! Moreover, language and literature are ultimately only parts of one indivisible entity: Philology—though the fact often escapes us. "The most effective work," said Gildersleeve,[91] "is done by those who see all in the one as well as one in the all." And strange as it appears to the laity, a linguistic fact may convey a universal lesson. I hesitate to generalize, but I believe most of our colleges need to emphasize the language side of the French "major" more.

As for Italian and Spanish, few of the colleges as yet grant these subjects the importance given to French. For one reason, entrance credit in Italian is extremely rare, and neither there nor in Spanish, in which it is now rather common, owing to the teaching of Spanish in the high schools, does it exceed two units. Some work of an elementary nature must therefore be done in the college; indeed, at Amherst neither language can be begun until the sophomore year—though fortunately this is an isolated case. Further, even when the college is prepared to teach these subjects adequately, it is still a debatable question whether they are entitled to precisely the same consideration as their more venerable sister. It is unnecessary to point out that such great names as Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Alfieri, Leopardi, Carducci, Cervantes, Calderón, Lope de Vega, Benavente, e tutti quanti, are abundant evidence of the value of Italian and Spanish culture. They unquestionably are. Where the emphasis is cultural, it would certainly be unwise to neglect Italian, since the Renaissance is Italian and underlies modern European culture in general. On the other hand, Spanish is, so to speak, at our very doors because of our island possessions: it is the one foreign language which calls for no argument to make the undergraduate willing to learn to speak, and Spanish literature, especially in the drama, has the same romantic freedom as English literature and is thus readily accessible to the American type of mind. Pedagogically, thus, the question is far from simple. But while it is impossible to lay down any fixed precept, it seems worth while to remember: that the French genius is preëminently the vehicle of definite and clear ideas, that in a very real sense France has been and is the intellectual clearinghouse of the world, and that potentially, at least, her civilization is of the greatest value to our intellectually dull and undiscriminating youth. From French, better than from Italian and Spanish, he can learn the discipline of accurate expression, of clear articulation, and the enlightenment that springs from contact with "general ideas." Moreover, we must not forget that the undergraduate's time is limited and that under the "group system" some discrimination must necessarily be made. Granted, then, that, all things considered, the first place will doubtless be left to French, the question remains whether the attention given to Spanish and Italian is at least adequate. And do the colleges extract from them the values they should?

As a general proposition, we may take it for granted that the college should offer at least four units in each of these subjects. For Spanish, certainly, the tendency will be to make the proportion larger. But two units devoted to learning the language and two devoted to the literature may be regarded as essential, and are as a matter of fact the common practice. Several illustrations will make this clear. Johns Hopkins offers: in Italian, 1. Grammar, Short Stories, etc., 2. Grammar, Written Exercises, Selections from classic authors, Lectures on Italian Literature; in Spanish, 1. Grammar, Oral and written exercises, Reading from Alarcón, Valdés, etc., 2. Contemporary Novel and Drama, Oral practice, Grammar and Composition, 3. The Classic Drama and Cervantes, oral practice, etc., History of Spanish Literature. Illinois: in Italian, 1a-1b Elementary Course, 2a-2b Italian Literature, nineteenth century; in Spanish, 1a-1b Elementary Course, 2a-2b Modern Spanish, 3a-3b Introduction to Spanish Literature, 4a-4b Business Correspondence and Conversation, 5a-5b Business Practice in Spanish, 11a-11b The Spanish Drama of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, 17a-17b The Spanish Drama of the Nineteenth Century. Harvard: in Italian, 1. Italian Grammar, reading and composition, 4. General View of Italian Literature, 5. Modern Italian Literature, 2. Italian Literature of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries, 10. The Works of Dante; in Spanish, 1. Spanish Grammar, reading and composition, 7. Spanish Composition, 8. Spanish Composition and Conversation (advanced course), 4. General View of Spanish Literature, 5. Spanish Prose and Poetry of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries, 2. Spanish Literature of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries.[92]

Since Spanish and Italian fall into the department of Romance languages, in order to make up his "major" the student is at present compelled to combine them with French. On the whole, this arrangement appears to me wise. To be sure, the deans of our colleges of commerce and administration will say that, granting the greater cultural value of French, the business interests of the country will force us nevertheless to give Spanish the same place in the curriculum as French. And the more radical educators will affirm with Mr. Flexner:[93] "Languages have no value in themselves; they exist solely for the purpose of communicating ideas and abbreviating our thought and action processes. If studied, they are valuable only in so far as they are practically mastered—not otherwise." I have taken a stand against this matter-of-fact conception of education throughout this chapter. I may now return to the charge by adding that the banality of our college students' thinking stares us in the face; if we wish to quicken it, to refine it, we should have them study other media of expression qua expression besides their own (that is what Europe did in the Renaissance, and the example of the Renaissance is still pertinent); that if Mr. Flexner's reasoning were valid the French might without detriment convey their "ideas" in Volapük or Ido (I suggest that Mr. Flexner subject Anatole France to this test); and that instead of being valueless in themselves, on the contrary, languages are the repositories of the ages: "We infer," said Emerson, "the spirit of the nation in great measure from the language, which is a sort of monument in which each forcible individual in the course of many hundred years has contributed a stone." In other words, however great the claim of Spanish as "a practical subject" may be and whatever concessions our schools and colleges may make to this fact, I still believe that Spanish should be subordinated as a college subject to the study of French. In principle we may admit the Spanish "major," as in fact we do at present with the Italian "major"; but some knowledge of French on the part of the student should be presupposed, or if not, it should be a required part of the Spanish sequence. This may seem extreme, but in reality few students would wish to proceed far in Spanish without some French, and, practically, the knowledge of one Romance tongue is always a great aid in the study of another.

Thus we see that, with the addition here and there of an extra course (where the college is not up to the standard as we have outlined it), and an added stress on the advanced linguistics, the present curriculum in Romance apparently provides an excellent working basis. If properly carried out—and the success of all teaching depends of course ultimately on the teacher—it ought to fulfill all legitimate needs, so far as the strictly collegiate aims are concerned.

A word is now in order as to its fitness for those students who are planning to take Romance as a profession. Normally these students would coincide with those who are taking up "special honors" in Romance languages; and for the latter group most of our colleges now make special provision—in the form of "independent work done outside the regular courses in the major subject and at least one other department during the junior and senior year (Wisconsin)," or as Amherst states it, "special work involving collateral reading or investigation under special conditions." In general, this gives the candidate certain professional options among the courses listed (in cases where the college is part of the university) as "primarily for graduates." In this way the student is able to add to his "major" such subjects as Old French (Chicago), Introduction to Romance Philology (Columbia), Practical Phonetics (Chicago), a Teachers' Course (Wisconsin), etc. Personally I am of the opinion that the day has passed when any of our graduates who has not at least a Master's degree in Romance should be recommended to a teaching position. But evidently any such hard and fast rule is bound to be unfair, especially since a large percentage of our students is compelled to earn a living immediately upon graduation. Thus here again—as in the elementary courses as now given in the colleges—we are confronted with a makeshift which only time and continued effort can correct. In the meantime the value of such professional courses depends to a very marked degree upon the success with which they can be carried out where they are counted toward a higher degree (M.A. or Ph.D.) the difficulty is not so great, since their introductory nature is self-evident; but where they conclude, so to speak, the student's formal training the difficulty of making them "fit in" is often sadly apparent. At any rate, in this borderland between cultural and professional studies, where the college is merging with the university or professional school, the necessity for the able teacher is a paramount issue. If the transition is to be successful, the obligation rests upon the teacher so to develop his subject that the specializing will not drown out the general interest but will inform it with those values which only the specialist can impart.

And now as to our final consideration: What particular advantages have the Romance tongues to offer as a college subject? An obvious advantage is: an understanding of foreign peoples. The Romance languages are modern. They are spoken today over a large part of the habitable globe. We stand in direct relations with those who speak them and write them. Above all, a large share of the world's best thought is being expressed in them. The point requires no arguing, that translations cannot take the place of originals: traduttore traditore, says an excellent Italian proverb. If we are really to know what other nations think,—whether we accept or reject their thought makes little or no difference here,—we can do so only by knowing their language. And the better we know it, the greater our insight will be. To speak at least one foreign language is not only a parlor accomplishment: it is for whoever is to be a citizen-of-the-world a necessity. There is a Turkish proverb that he who knows two languages, his own and another, has two souls. Certainly there is no better way to approach a nation's soul than through its language. But, in the second place, the Romance tongues have certain artistic qualities which English in a great measure lacks. The student who has intelligently mastered one of them has a better sense of form, of delicate shades of expression, and—if the language be French—of clarity of phrase: what Pater termed netteté d'expression. He learns to respect language (as few Americans now do), to study its possibilities in a way which a mere knowledge of English might never have suggested, and to appreciate its moral as well as its social power: for French forces him to curb his thought, to weigh his contention, to be simple and clear in the most abstruse matters. In a famous essay on the Universality of French, Rivarol said: "Une traduction française est toujours une explication."

And lastly, in themselves and in the civilizations they stand for, the Romance tongues are the bridge between ourselves and antiquity. Since the decline in the study of Greek and Latin, this is a factor to be seriously considered. It is the fashion today to berate the past, to speak of the dead hand of tradition, and to flatter ourselves with the delusion of self-sufficiency. To be sure, the aim of education is never to pile up information but to "fit your mind for any sort of exertion, to make it keen and flexible." But the best way to encompass this is to feed the mind on ideas, and ideas are not produced every day, nor for that matter every year, and luckily all ideas have not the same value. There are the ideas of Taine, of Rousseau, of Voltaire, of Descartes, of Montaigne, of Ficino, of Petrarch, of Dante, of Cicero, of Aristotle, of Plato; and in a moment I have run the gamut of all the centuries of our Western civilization. Who will tell me which ideas we shall need most tomorrow? Evidently, we cannot know them all. But we can at least make the attempt to know the best. And incidentally let it be said that he who professes the Romance tongues can no more dispense with the Classics than the Classics can today afford to dispense with Romance: French, Italian, and Spanish are the Latin—and one might add the Greek—of today. But to return to our theme: to deny our interest in the past is to throw away our heritage, to sell our mess of pottage to the lowest bidder. If the Romance languages have one function in our American colleges, it is this: To keep alive the old humanistic lesson: nihil humani a me alienum puto; to the end that the modern college graduate may continue to say with Montaigne: "All moral philosophy is applied as well to a private life as to one of the greatest employment. Every man carries the entire form of the human condition. Authors have thitherto communicated themselves to the people by some particular and foreign mark; I ... by my universal being, not as a grammarian, a poet, or a lawyer." The college course in the Romance languages should prepare for a profession, but it must first help to prepare thinking men and women.

William A. Nitze
University of Chicago

Footnotes:

[85] The quotation is from Emerson, Nominalist and Realist.

[86] I make no attempt in this article, written before 1917, to treat actual teaching conditions: the premises are too uncertain.

[87] The above statistics are from C. H. Handschin, The Teaching of Modern Languages in the United States, Washington, 1913, pages 40ff.

[88] I cite the following figures: (a) Entrance: Harvard 16½, Amherst 14, Wisconsin 14, Columbia 14½, Colorado 15, Illinois 15, Chicago 15; (b) Collegiate Degree: Harvard 17½ "courses," Amherst 20 "courses," Wisconsin 120 "credits," Columbia 124 "points," Colorado 120 "hours of scholastic work," Chicago 36 "trimester majors." It is certainly desirable that our colleges adopt some uniform system for the notation of their courses. Johns Hopkins, at least, is specific in explaining the relationship of its "125 points" to its "courses"; see page 262 of the University Register, 1916.

[89] At Chicago exactly ¼ or "at least 9 coherent and progressive majors" must be taken in "one department or in a group of departments." But Chicago also requires a secondary sequence of at least 6 majors; Columbia requires three years of "sequential study—in each of two departments." Illinois, "a major subject (20 hours)" and "an allied minor subject (20 hours)."

[90] An excellent manner of procedure is that outlined by Professor Terracher in his interesting article in the Compte rendu du Congrès de Langue et de Littérature Française, New York (Fédération de l'Alliance Française), 1913.

[91] From Johns Hopkins University Circular, No. 151.

[92] It will be noted that throughout the amount offered in Spanish exceeds that in Italian. This is to be expected in view of the boom in Spanish studies. Moreover, most colleges now allow two units of entrance credit in Spanish, and 7 and 8 above, under Harvard, are half courses. Columbia is, I believe, the only college accepting 2 units of entrance credit in Italian; but I have not examined the catalogues of all our colleges.

[93] Publications of the General Education Board, 3, 1916, page 13.

XXII

According to one's point of view, there is as much to be said in favor of the classical as the modern languages. Without doubt, their growing neglect in our institutions of learning is deeply to be regretted; however, its causes do not concern us here directly. The study of modern languages is, relatively speaking, so manifestly in the ascendency, that a return to the emphasis that was formerly laid upon Latin and Greek is hardly imaginable. The choice between several modern languages must very largely be determined by personal preferences and purposes. So much, however, can safely be said, that an intelligent reading knowledge of German and French is the least that should be expected of a college graduate. For, while in theory the humanistic importance of modern language study is the same for all languages, it rises, in practice, proportionately with the cultural level of the foreign nation—German and French obviously taking the lead in this regard.

I am optimistic enough to assume it to be generally granted that the study of a foreign language ought to be started early in life—say, at the age of twelve. While hardly challenged in theory, this desirable condition is far from being carried out in practice. Probably the time will never come when colleges will be able to dispense with elementary courses in modern foreign languages—not only for those who enter without any linguistic preparation, but also, and perhaps preëminently, for students who are taking up a second foreign language in addition to the one (or two) started in the preparatory school. Thus, the starting point of the modern language course in college is easily fixed: it must begin at the very rudiments of the language. Nor is it difficult to state, in general terms, the purpose of the most advanced work of the undergraduate curriculum: it must consist in adequate linguistic skill, literary knowledge and feeling, and cultural understanding to such an extent that the college graduate who has specialized in German may safely be intrusted with the teaching of German in secondary schools. At least, this holds good for the majority of institutions; a small number of colleges devote their whole effort to cultural training, and some of the larger institutions, particularly in the East, find it possible to postpone most of the professional preparation to a period of graduate work. But on the whole the average well-equipped college includes the training of teachers as one end of its foreign-language work. Ordinarily, such mastery of the subject as would prepare for teaching cannot be gained within the four years' college course. Rather, it might be said to require the average equivalent of something like six college years, with the understanding that not much more than one fourth of the student's time be devoted to German. This implies that only under uncommonly favorable conditions should students be encouraged to specialize in a foreign language that they begin on entering college.

Thus, the peculiar conditions of modern language instruction bring it about that a discussion of its organization in college must deal with a six years' course: elementary instruction must be offered to those entering without any knowledge of German; courses of a sufficiently advanced character must be provided for those who enter with three or four years of high-school German; and there must be advanced work for students who intend to make the study and teaching of German their life's work.

In this six years' college course three divisions are clearly distinguishable: an elementary division devoted to such linguistic training as will enable a student to read with fair ease texts of moderate difficulty; an intermediate group during which literary and cultural appreciation should be developed, and an advanced group intended for the professional preparation of prospective teachers of German. These three divisions may be approximately equal, so that each of them covers about two years, with four or five hours a week. For graduation, all students should be required to present the equivalent of the first period for two languages (either classical or modern), one or both of which might with advantage be absolved in high school. The second division should be required of all students for at least one foreign language. Colleges of high standing may find it possible to exceed these requirements; no college should remain below them.

The first or elementary division should, at least for one foreign language, be finished before the student is admitted to the college. All that can reasonably be expected from this part of the work is a study of the elements of grammar, the development of a good pronunciation, a fair working vocabulary, and some ability to read, speak, understand, and write German.

The second group should include, in the main, reading courses to introduce the student to what is best in German literature, but no general theoretical study of the history of literature need be contemplated. Besides, it must offer such work in speaking and writing as will develop and establish more firmly the results gained in the first two years, and an appropriate study of German history and institutions. Each of the three aims might be given about one third of the time available, but they may overlap to some extent. Thus, writing and speaking can be connected with each of them, and historical readings and reports may furnish a part of language practice.

The third group, intended for the training of teachers, must contain a course in the method of modern language teaching (connected with observation and practice), an advanced grammar course, and courses in the phonetics and historical development of the German language. These courses are indispensable for teachers, but will also be of advantage to students not intending to teach.

The first group is frankly of high school character. It is best to admit this fully and freely, and to teach these courses accordingly. Through greater intensity of study (more home work and longer class periods), the work of three or even four high school years may be concentrated into two college years, but the method cannot differ essentially. The way of learning a new language is the same, in principle, for a child of twelve years and a man of fifty years; in the latter case, there is merely the difficulty to be overcome that older persons are less easily inclined to submit to that drill which is necessary for the establishment of those new habits that constitute Sprachgefühl. It is a fallacy that the maturer mind of the college student requires a more synthetic-deductive study of the language than that of the high school student.

It is sad but true that many college teachers are more reactionary in questions of method than the better class of high school teachers. The claim that elementary work in college requires a method different from that used in the high school is one symptom of this, and another symptom of the same tendency is the motto of so many college teachers that there is no "best method," and that a good teacher will secure good results with any method. At the bottom of such phrases there is usually not much more than indifference and unwillingness to look for information on the real character of the method at which they are generally aimed: the direct method. The regrettable superficiality appearing in the frequent confusion of the "direct" with the "natural" method is characteristic of this. I am, of course, willing to admit that what nowadays is termed the "direct method" is not the best way possible, but that it may and will be improved upon. However, it is not one of many methods that, according to circumstances, might be equally good, but it represents the application of the present results of psychological and linguistic research to the teaching of languages and distinctly deserves the preference over older ways.

The first demand of the direct method is the development not only of a fair but of a perfect pronunciation—not so much as the independent aim, but as an indispensable condition for the development of Sprachgefühl. It is immeasurably easier to obtain good pronunciation from the start than to improve bad pronunciation by later efforts. In the teaching of pronunciation a slight difference in the treatment of children of twelve years and of college students might be granted: young children are generally able to learn the sounds of a foreign language by imitation; students of college age can hardly ever do this well, and careful phonetic instruction is absolutely necessary with them. Whoever wishes to keep aloof from phonetic terms may do so; but not to know or not to apply phonetic principles is bad teaching pure and simple. The use of phonetic transcription, however, is a moot question. Its advantages are obvious enough: it insures a clear consciousness of correct pronunciation; it takes up the difficulties one by one: first pronunciation, then spelling; it safeguards greater care in matters of pronunciation in general. The objections are chiefly two: economy of time, and the fear of confusion between the two ways of spelling. The writer admits that until a few years ago he was skeptical as to the value of phonetic transcription in the teaching of German. But the nearly general recognition of its value by the foremost educators of European countries and the good results achieved with it by teachers of French in this country caused him to give it a trial, under conditions that afforded not more than an average chance of success. The result was greatly beyond his expectations. Neither he nor, as far as he knows, any of his colleagues would contemplate abandoning phonetic script again. Without wishing to be dogmatic, I believe that this at least can be asserted with safety: on purely theoretical grounds, no teacher has a right to condemn phonetic transcription; those who doubt its value should try it before they judge.

In the writer's opinion it is best not to use any historical spelling at all during the first six or eight weeks of college German. If the confusing features of traditional orthography are eliminated during this period, it will be found that there results not a loss, but an actual gain in time from the use of phonetic script. Nor does the transition to common spelling cause any confusion. The less ado made about it, the better. It is a fact of experience, that students who have been trained in the use of phonetic script turn out to be better spellers than those who have not—simply because this training has made them more careful and has given them a clearer conception of the discrepancy between sound and letter.

That elementary grammar should be taught inductively is true to an extent, but often overstated. It is true for the more abstract principles, such as the formation of the compound tenses, the formation and the use of the passive voice, and so on. But attempts at inductive teaching of concrete elements of mechanical memory, such as the gender and plural of nouns, or the principal parts of strong verbs, are a misunderstanding of the principles of induction. It goes without saying that thorough drill is much more valuable than the most explicit explanation. It holds good for college as well as for high schools that there is but very little to "explain" about the grammar of any language. Unnecessary explanations rather increase than remove difficulties.

The use of English is another debated question. As far as the teaching of grammar is concerned, it is unessential. If inductive drill takes the place of explanations and abstract rules, the question is very largely eliminated from practical consideration. In those very rare cases when theoretical discussions might seem desirable, it does not make much difference whether a few minutes a week are devoted to English or not. The question assumes greater importance when the development of the vocabulary is considered. In this, there are three fairly well-defined elements to be distinguished. The first vocabulary, say, of the first two or three months should be developed by concrete associations with objects and actions in the classroom; the use of the vernacular has no justification whatever during that time—not on account of any objection to an occasional English word or phrase, but simply because there is no need of it, and every minute devoted to German is a clear gain. After this, the vocabulary should be further developed through the thorough practice of connected texts. If they are well constructed, the context will explain a considerable portion of the words occurring; those that are not made clear through the context form the third division of the vocabulary and can without hesitation be explained by English equivalents. In general, the principle will go rather far that the use of an occasional English word is entirely harmless, but that English sentences should as much as possible be avoided in elementary work. Connected translation, both from and into English, must absolutely be excluded from the first year's work, for the chief purpose of this year is not only the study of grammar and the development of an elementary vocabulary, but, even more than that, the cultivation of the right attitude toward language study. Reading should be our chief aim, and speaking a means to that end, but the student must be trained, from the very beginning, to understand what he is reading rather through an intelligent grasp of the contents than by fingering the dictionary. In this way he will become accustomed to associating the German sentences directly with the thought expressed in them, instead of indirectly through the medium of his native tongue.

A great deal of misunderstanding is frequently involved in the emphasis laid upon speaking. There can hardly be a more absurd misinterpretation of the principles of the direct method than for college teachers to try to "converse" with the students in German—to have with them German chats about the weather, the games, the political situation. This procedure is splendidly fit to develop in the students a habit of guessing at random at what they hear and read—a slovenly contentedness with an approximate understanding. Both teacher and students should speak and hear German practically all the time. But this should be distinctly in the service of reading and grammar work, containing almost exclusively words and forms that the student must know, not guess at.

At the end of the first year a college student ought to have mastered the elements of grammar and possess good pronunciation and an active vocabulary of about six hundred or eight hundred words. If the second year is devoted to further drill on grammatical elements and to careful reading, its result ought to be the ability to read authors of average difficulty at a fair speed. During the first year all reading material should be practiced so intensively that an average of a little more than a page a week is not exceeded materially; but toward the end of the second year a limit of six or eight pages an hour may well be reached. By this time, translation into good English begins to be a valuable factor in the achievement of conscious accuracy; but it must under no circumstances be resorted to until the students have clearly obtained the habitual attitude of direct association between thought and sentence.

It is little short of a misfortune that there exists no adequate German-German dictionary (such as La Rousse's French dictionary). It would not be very difficult to write such a book, but until we possess it the irritating use of German-English dictionaries and vocabularies will be a necessary evil.

The hardest problem of the second year—and this is progressively true of more advanced work—is the uneven preparation of the students. In large colleges it will often be feasible to have as many sections as possible at the same hour, distributing the students in accordance with their preparation. Where this is not possible, special help for poorly prepared students is generally indispensable.

The literature group is as distinctly of college character as the elementary group is admittedly high school work. It is here, in fact, that the best ideals of the American college find the fullest opportunity. This is true both for the teacher and for the student. In the elementary group, pedagogical skill and a fair mastery of the language are the chief prerequisites of a successful teacher. In the second group, other qualities are of greater importance. While a certain degree of pedagogical skill is just as necessary here as there, it is now no longer a question of the systematic development of habits, but of the ability to create sympathetic understanding, idealism, depth of knowledge, and literary taste—in short, to strive for humanistic education in the fullest sense of the word. This is true not only for colleges with a professedly humanistic tendency; the broadening and deepening influence of foreign language study is nowhere needed more urgently than in technical and other professional colleges.

Speaking and writing must no longer stand in the center of instruction in the courses of the second group, but their importance should not be underrated, as is done so frequently (it is a fact that students often know less German at the end of the third year in college than at the end of the second year). At least during the first year of this group, a practice course in advanced grammar, connected with composition, is absolutely necessary. The grammatical work should consist in review and observation, supported by the study of a larger reference grammar (e.g., chapters from Curme's grammar, to introduce the students to the consistent use of this marvelous work). In composition, free reproduction should still be the main thing, but independent themes and translation from English into German—which would be distinctly harmful in elementary work—are now valuable exercises in the study of German style. It would be wholly wrong, however, to make linguistic drill the Alpha and Omega of this part of the college course. The preparatory years should have laid a sound basis, which during the college work proper should not be allowed to disintegrate, but the fact should not be lost sight of that the cultural aim must be stressed most in the second group.

To reach this aim, a familiarity with the best works of German literature is the foremost means. German literature affords a scant choice of good and easy reading for the elementary stage: Storm, Ebner-Eschenbach, Seidel, and Wildenbruch are justly favorites, but absurdities like Baumbach's Schwiegersohn are, unfortunately, still found in the curriculum of many colleges. In contrast with the small number of good elementary texts, there exists an abundance of excellent material for the second group. Aside from the classical poets, the novelists Keller, Meyer, Fontane, Raabe; the dramatists Hebbel, Grillparzer, Kleist, Hauptmann; poems collected in the Balladenbuch or the Ernte present an inexhaustible wealth, without our having to resort to the literary rubbish of Benedix or Moser or the sneering pretentiousness of Heine's Harzreise.

The details of organization will vary greatly for this group, according to special conditions. But in general it may be said that during the first year of this period about two hours a week should be devoted to the continuation of systematic language practice as outlined above, and three hours to the reading of German authors for literary purposes. Nor should this consist in "reading" alone. Reading as such should no longer present any difficulty, if the work of the elementary group has been done well. Special courses should be devoted to the study of the modern German novel, the drama, and the lyrics, and to individual authors like those mentioned. In these detached literature courses the principal endeavor must be to help the students to understand and feel, not so much the linguistic side of the texts read, as the soul of the author, and through him the soul of the German nation. Reading must become more and more independent, the major part of the time in class being devoted to the cultural and æsthetic interpretation of what has been read at home. It is evident that in this, the most important part of the German college work, all depends upon the personality of the instructor: literary and human understanding cannot be instilled into the student's mind by one who does not possess them himself, together with a love for teaching and the power to create enthusiasm.

All other requirements must be subordinate to this—even the instructor's mastery of the language. No doubt, in theory it would be most desirable that German be the exclusive language of instruction throughout; but in literary courses practical considerations will so often speak against this, that no sweeping answer to this question seems possible. For the chief aim must not be overshadowed by any other. If poor preparation on the part of the students or a deficient command of the language on the part of the instructor makes it doubtful whether the cultural aim can be attained, if German is the language of instruction, English should be used unhesitatingly. This implies that for this part of the work an instructor with a strong personality and an artistic understanding, although lacking in speaking knowledge, is far preferable to one who speaks German fluently but cannot introduce his students to the greatness of German literature and the spirit of the German people.

On the other hand, written reports in literary courses should always be required to be in German; it is also a good plan to devote a few minutes of each period to prepared oral reports, in German, on the part of the individual students. Where systematic practice in the colloquial use of the language is desirable for special reasons, a conversation course may be established in addition to the main work, but literary courses are not the place for starting conversational practice with classes that have been neglected in this respect during their preparatory work.

The second year of the literary group should offer a choice between two directions of further literary development: about three hours of each week should be devoted either to a course on the general history of German literature, or to the intensive study of one of the greatest factors in German literature—such as Goethe's Faust. In large institutions both courses can probably be given side by side, the students taking their choice according to their preference, but in most colleges an alternation of two courses of this kind will be preferable.

The method of instruction is determined by the students' preparation and the teacher's personality, in literature courses more than anything else. Obviously, lectures (in German, where circumstances permit), extensive, systematic reading, written reports, and class discussion are the dominating features of such courses.

Some knowledge of German history and institutions is an indispensable adjunct of any serious work in German literature. Probably in all colleges such instruction will be incumbent upon the German departments, and it is rarely possible to combine it with the course on the general history of German literature. Therefore, a special course in German history and institutions should be offered during the second year of the literature group.