process. These two activities together, if taught in a field of students' interest, i. e., with "motivated" subject matter, are the best stimuli-or at least among the best-in a curriculum for developing what William James calls sagacity. This is the aspect of linguistic study which, being misinterpreted, was stigmatized as "formal discipline"; but, being rightly understood, is an ideal manifestation of the educative process. . . . The pupil's mind naturally seeks out relationships; it moves from part to part, and from part to whole. Therefore, in mere translation, the order should be to seek the subject and predicate at a glance. The other ideas in a sentence. are, generally speaking, intended either to qualify the subject or to condition its action. The consciousness thus fastens upon the whole as a unit, and likewise moves from the diverse parts to that whole. Practice in this procedure is the only way, in the end, to gain power in the performance of translating. Consciousness behaves in this way: it fastens on things and it moves between things. It is static and dynamic. If it ceases to be the one or the other, the result is insanity. Dr. Harper's so-called inductive method of teaching a language is not a method at all, because it fails to take into account this dual aspect of consciousness, and tries to hold ideas according to the order of words on a printed page, instead of according to the inter-relations among the ideas which those words call up; then to work out an orderly mosaic from a collection of little pieces. The result is a crazy-quilt instead of an orderly design. Like a crazy-quilt, it "works," but it has no significance, no harmony, no meaning; and it does not lead to any further power than making another crazy-quilt. Let the teacher thoroughly comprehend the behavior of the pupil's consciousness in these four particulars, and he can better harmonize the pupil's inner life and the world without, by helping him to a power over the instruments of intercourse between mind and mind.

It is the business of the school to make it easier and more certain for the pupil to get educated, than it would be for him to get educated without a school by haphazard contact with the world. This does not mean that he receives no education outside of the classroom. Rather, the classroom and school life enable him to make more intelligent use of the world in educating himself. The teacher is a highly useful and presumably intelligent item in the school's equipment. The teacher's personality is the chief asset (or liability) of the school. A pupil may be well educated by a

great teacher and no school system; to wit, Socrates and Jesus. But a great system without great personalities will not educate. Under the conditions of modern democracy, however, a big system is fundamental; it rests on the instinct of self-preservation. Thus it is that the resources for teaching Spanish are of two kinds : immaterial and material. Of the immaterial, we have considered the nature of the learner; let us now observe the requirements of the educator.

No teaching of Spanish or of anything else can be vitalized if the teacher is not enthusiastic about the subject. A teacher ought to feel that his work of teaching the language is an art, and he should take something of the artist's joy in his work. That attitude is more important than apocope and tense and diminutives. His culture should be such that the language as he uses it before his students is an expression of something worth expressing. That is the only way to make the students will to express themselves, directly in Spanish, or indirectly in their whole reaction to the course. Further, he should know other languages, preferably Latin and Greek, for the sake of a comprehension of Spanish itself; and, ideally, another modern tongue for the sake of a knowing, sympathetic attitude toward the pupils who are learning one. My personal stock of patience and my desire to follow my students in their mental processes are a direct result of my own struggle with a difficult Indian dialect.

Another immaterial resource of the school is public opinion, evinced by the faculty in a system of marks and credits, and by the students in recognition of their fellows' reputations. This is not a sufficient aim in itself, and yet it is a factor which is characteristic of group-study and should not be wasted as a factor in motivation.

As to material resources for teaching Spanish, the ideal asset is a colony of Spanish-speaking people. Students should talk with people who cannot speak English, and the conversation should be real. They should "mean" it. A fine example is a house-to-house canvass in the cause of Red Cross subscriptions or the sale of tickets to a school play or concert. Another good point of contact occurs in reporting a political speech or sermon (delivered in Spanish) for a real news story in the local paper. This has the advantage of being checked by readers, and is an example of perfect motivation. Further, things in themselves are stimulating.

Students enjoy handling South American coins and newspapers. Also, they respond to real work in composition, such as writing a Spanish advertisement for a local dealer, or corresponding with students in a Central American missionary school, receiving real letters with real stamps on the envelopes. Nowhere else is it so easy and so wise as in a language class to end that academic detachment from the living world, which has literally driven boys from the high school as soon a birthday releases them from an observance of the compulsory attendance law.

The material used in the classroom should be as varied as are the uses of language in life. If the teacher takes this view, much wasteful effort to inculcate a university attitude in a high-school student will be spared; the Spanish classics will find their due place as pieces of dignified literature which should be read carefully and known familiarly, as one reads and knows the classics in English; but not the warp and woof of a course compounded to meet an artificially created demand. This principle admits the use of plays, games, and singing, and the discussion of current events, even "small talk," debates, club usages, newspapers, and magazines from South America. These are the uses we make of language, and these are the instruments of linguistic intercourse; this is what language means in daily living. Therefore, the use of these things and of language to these ends is the nucleus of "vitalizing" the teaching of Spanish.

Finally, if the student is admitted to a share in the conception of Spanish not only as an asset to Americans for the reasons stated above, but also as a racial achievement, developed through nearly two thousand years of persistent national integrity, he will be further motivated by this consciousness of ultimate, cultural aim.

EDNA OAKLEY

UNIVERSITY OF NEW MEXICO

THE FIRST FOREIGN LANGUAGE IN OUR

SECONDARY SCHOOLS

To begin with, shall the first foreign language in our secondary schools be a dead language or a living language? To answer this question, we must go back and analyze historically the reason for the old position of Latin in the secondary schools.

In the early years Latin was absolutely necessary, as it was the only literary language. The teachers were largely monks and the instruction was from their mouths or the parchment. Latin was the only medium for studying any subject and this was true up to the time when printing came to be fully developed.

Then, too, there was the old English idea that the study of Latin was absolutely essential to the "British gentleman." There could be no education without a knowledge of Latin. The chief work of colleges and universities was training scholarly men for the church, the bar and the state. All these professions needed. or were supposed to need, a knowledge of Latin and Greek. They were thought to be indispensable for a study of ancient and modern. civilization, even though only the "delicacies" are lost through translation.

Latin was required for entrance to college and university, and the high school was thus forced not only to require Latin but to commence with it. Of course, this statement applies with more force to the English secondary school and the eastern (American) high school, as our western high school has, almost from the beginning, been more democratic and more practical. It has existed for itself and not for the college, as was the case with the two former types of schools.

Another reason for the preferred place of Latin in our schools was the argument that the Latin pupils were better taught and prepared than the modern-language pupils. This, true as it was, was due, not to the fact that Latin has the best disciplinary value, but rather to the fact that the Latin teachers themselves were the best and most systematically prepared and, naturally, turned out better prepared pupils. The study of modern languages, on the other hand, is comparatively recent and came about rather suddenly, thus finding a dearth of teachers, most of whom were ill

prepared to teach, and consequently the results suffered by comparison.

The whole end of education was thought to be "culture" and only through the ancient languages could this culture be had. Education, too, was for the few rather than the masses. This idea, of course, was perfectly natural in the old absolute form of government, where the common people were practically overlooked, or considered unfit to be educated. Greece and Rome were the models. Only through them could one really learn. We were worshipers of the past and thought that there was no education but the classical education. The A. B. degree required Latin, and Art was used only in the narrowest sense.

If one cared to study a modern language, it must of necessity be preceded by Latin, as only with such a foundation could satisfactory progress be made in the modern language. (I plead guilty to having told many of my German and Spanish pupils this very thing, Latin was the older language and must precede the modern language in sequence of study.)

Having given some reasons why Latin should be the first language in our schools, I wish to take up the greater part of this paper in proving, on the contrary (first), that the first language should be a modern language, and (second) that the particular modern language should be Spanish.

The whole idea of education has radically changed in the last thirty-five years. We no longer look at the well educated man as one of the long-haired species, who holds himself aloof from the world and is somewhat "queer." The modern education is practical and "does things." Science has come to be the main thing (Herbert Spencer prophesied this 70 years ago), and the Great War has accentuated this to a high degree. The real objects are now: (a) cultivation of powers of observation through the senses, (b) training in recording correctly the accurate observations, both on paper and in the retentive memory, and (c) training in reasoning on the premises secured.

This change in education is not intended to crush out the "idealistic." Practical education is the only foundation on which idealistic achievements can be raised; to neglect the practical ends of education is foolishness; but to recognize no other is to degrade humanity. Culture and civilization are by-products of life; but like some other by-products they may yield a greater return than