for all past epochs, is historical research-not only is no final consensus possible, but none is even desirable. For the fundamental fact of a literary work is not so much what the author meant to say, as what he is found to have actually said to the readers of past times, and what he says to us. Just as few honest people can entirely agree about a contemporary author, so scholars who study the Middle Ages or the Eighteenth Century, can rarely agree about Dante or about Voltaire. Nor should they: when they do, and when one of them seems to prove to demonstration any inclusive theory, then something must be wrong. Literature is too large, and each of its individual manifestations too personal, to submit to any but the most flexible classifications founded upon predominant characteristic.

And all this is strangely at variance with the type of problem that arises in language-teaching for practical purposes, and should serve to throw into clearer relief the reasons why long association with the latter type of work will almost inevitably unfit a scholar for the teaching of literature, or for any other research-subject. The dignity of work is most certainly not derived from the nature of the task to which one devotes himself, but from the manner in which the task is accomplished. Therefore, if it were customary— as it is not to require the teaching of literature as preliminary evidence that one could teach language, we should protest with equal earnestness, since the teaching of literature would be most likely to impair the instructor's usefulness as a teacher of language in the future. Successful languageteaching is far too difficult a task for a person lacking in the qualities of adaptability and breadth of view. The following may help to undeceive any who are of the opinion that our instructors in language are doing a simple or an easy work. Chekhof tells us, in one of his stories, of a young French woman who gained a livelihood in Russia by teaching her language to the children of well-to-do families. A university graduate who needs a working knowledge of French for purposes of research engages this young woman as his tutor.

"She opened Margot, which she had brought with her, and without introduction began:

'French grammar has twenty-six letters. The first letter is called A, the second B...'

"Excuse me,' Vorotov interrupted, smiling. 'I must warn you, mademoiselle, that you must change your method a little in my case. You see, I know Russian, Greek, and Latin well...I've studied comparative philology, and I think we might omit Margot and pass straight to reading some author.'

"The French girl looked at him in perplexity. Evidently the suggestion seemed to her very naive and ridiculous."

The story seems to show rather clearly how necessary it is that a language-teacher have a first-rate intelligence. But his point of view must nevertheless be entirely different from that of the instructor in literature. Without an early choice between the two fields, and the opportunity for exclusive adherence to the study chosen, no worthy results will be obtained in either.

The most common objection made to the suggestion of division of departments is the intrinsically illegitimate, but so-called practical, objection: Where is the money to be found? The present writer thinks that very little would be required. At most, a certain number of substantial fellowships might gradually be established for students of literature and linguistics, as the reason for them might become apparent upon the definite division of departments. Certainly the graduate departments would suffer no loss of enrolment, since we must guard ourselves from a possible invasion of beings like the young French woman of our story. And the most certain way to the accomplishment of this defence is to continue the requirement of the Ph.D. or its equivalent for advancement in the department of languages, since instructors in languages would thus be provided with that modicum of interest in the problems of literature and of linguistics which would enable them to offer such introduction into the problems of these subjects as might be found useful in an undergraduate department. However,

to require further research and productivity from an instructor in a department of language is to ignore the facts of the situation. Research is not productive or creative unless it is undertaken voluntarily; it is paradoxical to require re

search.

The present faculties should suffer as little derangement as possible. Provision could be made for the definite transference to one or the other of the new departments, of instructors or professors now unwillingly working in two fields, whenever their preference for and proved ability in one or the other subject might render their transference desirable to themselves or to others; no more could, or should be attempted. The immediately possible changes would work some improvement, and gradually the influx, into each department, of men with specialized interests would be bound to raise the standard of each.

Discomfort would result from such a change. But the discomfort would be temporary, and the sooner it is confronted, the sooner the present unfortunate situation will be changed. The brunt of all this will undoubtedly have to be borne by the young graduate student who chooses literature or linguistics, rather than practical languageteaching, as his life-work. The extent and difficulty of the material which he must master will in most cases delay his entrance into university teaching considerably beyond the time when the instructor in language should begin his teaching experience. For the instructor in literature and linguistics will become efficient not only thru teaching experience, but first, and for a long term of years, thru study. The language-instructor, on the contrary, can gain efficiency only thru classroom experience. The present writer believes that it is more than probable that prospective instructors in literature and linguistics would be happy to undergo the necessary discomfort of five to ten years of unpaid work for the sake of at last being certain of working entirely in a congenial and freely chosen field. Not only this; it is equally certain that in time the graduate schools would attract a larger number of students, and assistantships

to professors of literature or linguistics might become advisable for the university. Aside from the fellowships which would gradually come into existence, and aside from these assistantships, which would prepare the prospective instructor for his teaching career, most of these men would feel justified in making greater sacrifices than at present, when no assurance is given them that they can even after years of divided effort-devote themselves entirely to what they feel that they could do best. In any case, and regardless of temporary inconvenience, the larger universities should begin the work of reformation, by changing a situation which has become an anachronism.

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

HAROLD ELMER MANTZ

IV

AMERICAN IDEALS: HOW TO TEACH THEM

The entrance of the United States into the World War has brought forward the need of defining Americanism. It has also brought up the need of defining the meaning of loyalty. Who is the loyal American and who is disloyal? The answer to this question is plain and unequivocal. Loyalty to the United States means willingness to sacrifice all that one has of material goods or life itself, if need be, to preserve the state. No person can count himself loyal who gives his support to the country only as long as it is personally agreeable for him to do so. The genuine patriot will subscribe to the following statement, "I believe it is my duty to my country to love it, to support its constitution, to obey its laws, to respect its flag and to defend it against all enemies whatever the cost to me may be."

Any American citizen, who, on examining his own heart, finds that he is not ready for that complete sacrifice is not a good citizen. Such a person has no moral right to remain under the protection of the American flag. If he can not bring about a profound change in his convictions he should leave America and go to the land of his heart's allegiance.

When the country entered the war there was a good deal of anxious questioning as to the quality of the American spirit. We were like the swimmer of untested power who strikes out to reach the life-boat or the shore. We knew that we had to go on or go under. But the But the response which has come from the country in the midst of the national emergency does not mean that any new and previously non-existent patriotism has been called into existence. The fireman who enters a blazing building and carries someone out to safety is just as brave when he is merely waiting for the call of duty. In performing the act of service he simply demonstrates his bravery. National feeling and