grind of the day's work, that in teaching literature we are teaching the highest and most universal expression of the meaning of life. Literature in the schools cannot be something less than its real self; it cannot be merely a gymnasium for "training in English"; the great life revelation, the "precious life blood of the master spirits," cannot be dealt with in any mechanical way; it cannot be comprehended in definite bounds as dead things are. Let us believe, then, in this peculiar character of literature among the other school subjects. Our mathematics and science deal with the dead material world-literature with the life of the immortal spirit; our history is the record of men's deeds-literature the record of what he thinketh in his heart, whence all deeds spring. Other studies teach but the surroundings of the human spirit, the stage, as some one has said, upon which humanity acts; literature deals with the actor himself.

If, then, literature in the schools is to be itself, and not something else, the primary object in teaching it will be to bring to the student the import of the book as a book, to lead him into acquaintance with life as revealed by the master spirits.

In the second place, as to composition. As I said before, the practice of composition is the counterpart of the study of literature. It is the complementary phase of what is really one great life subject. And just as literature is something more than a body of material for training in English, so is composition something more than going through motions that count for nothing in themselves. The composition should be real just as the book should be real. In any real composition the student gives expression to his own thought and feeling about life. It is his art, his creative act, his prophecy-the precious life blood of his spirit. The impulse to expression is of one and the same kind whether in the great artist or in the school boy or girl. Shakespeare, writing Macbeth, and John Jones, of the firstyear class in high school, writing an account of a game of shinny-each is seeking to express something that he knows and feels about life. Each has the artist's problem-to think through his material for his own individual sense of the gist and unity of it, and then by selection and shaping and choice

of language to body it forth so that others may see and feel it as he does. John Jones, in his degree, is engaged in the high endeavor of all art, expressing what he thinks and feels about his own world, delivering out of his own experience his personal message to his fellow man.

And so, just as literature is the highest form of knowledge that the student can receive, so is composition the highest form of activity in which his mind can engage. In his other studies the student is receiving facts, and dealing with them from a point of view that is comparatively predetermined and impersonal. In algebra or physics, for instance, the train of one student's thinking will not be essentially different from that of another. In the study of literature even, while the act of the mind is freer and more personal, it is still a response to another's thought. In composition, on the contrary, the student's mental act is not to receive, but to give; not to respond, but to call forth response by the utterance of his own personal word. And the special virtue of that utterance shall be, not its conformity to the thought of another, but its subtile difference from the thought of all others; the endeavor of the mind must be to express just that individual sense of fact which no other mind could possibly have. Composition then, if it be real, is the typical act of personality. It is the act capable of representing most directly whatever individual quality and power the soul may possess.

Now if we accept this doctrine, and live up to it, that English in the schools, focusing in the two vitally related main branches -literature and composition-is the great life subject, we need not concern ourselves overmuch regarding its seeming uncertainty and indefiniteness. It is the uncertainty and indefiniteness that pertain to life itself. If the student, by the aid of our teaching, has caught up into his life the message and inspiration of a single great book, and has won some measure of confidence in his own power to affect others by the expression of his ideas-then, I say, our work is crowned with success. The result may not be so definite as his mastery of the elements of chemistry or geometry, but it is greater and higher, because it touches more directly the life of his immortal spirit. And if

English in the group of secondary school subjects appears to be an untamed creature, never quite at home in the routine and wholesale methods of the school, let us believe that in that regard it is nought but itself, spiritual and free, and that, nevertheless, it can be for character building the most potent force of all.

From this view of English as the life subject certain broad inferences as to the methods of teaching may be plainly drawn. I would point out briefly the following:

soever.

First, as to literature; it should be the aim of teaching to help the mind to receive in the fullest measure it is capable of, the thought and the power and the beauty of the work in hand. The chief help will be given through the teacher's personal sympathy and suggestion rather than from any methods whatBut apart from this, with regard to the methods that are usually employed in teaching literature-such as notes, dictionary work, analyses, outlines, or any sort of accessory studies or exercises-it should be kept distinctly in view that these are means to an end; to wit-the student's fullest possible possession of the literary work itself. And let them be used with due moderation. It is better to let many things go unexplained than to so interrupt and burden the student that he shall lose the fresh human interest of the book itself. It is better that his observation of structure and style should not be forced too much, but be brought out gradually, lest in an overstudy of the form he should lose his hold of the substance. It is true that all such studies and exercises furnish what we call training in English; but in the long run that training need not be less effectual for being made accessory always to the immediate life message of the book under consideration.

Moreover, I believe it is wrong in principle to make the work of literature a point of departure for excursions into other fields -history, mythology, botany, geography or what not-as these may be suggested by the text. It interrupts and diverts ; the game is not worth the candle. Whatever the student already knows in other fields, let him enrich his understanding of the book; and whatever further helpful knowledge he can obtain readily and under the spur of

draw on naturally to

his interest in the book, without becoming conscious of it as a pursuit apart-that much it is expedient for him to obtain, but

no more.

Finally, in any teaching of a work of literature, great care must be taken that the student receive the due impression of the work in its totality. The whole is more significant than any part. In respect to this point, literature in the schools is at some disadvantage because of the necessity of piece-meal study; it is easy to over emphasize passages from day to day and lose the force of the whole. A sense of the meaning and power of the work as a whole had better be in the background of the teacher's mind in all the planning of the study from the very start. And in this connection, I would say that my experience has been that it is often a most valuable exercise at the end to ask the class to frame a precise statement, in a limited number of words, of the central idea or theme of the work that has been read. This is a searching discipline and infallibly interesting, and it clarifies and enforces, in a remarkable degree, the student's impression of the work as a whole.

Turning now to composition-the counterpart of literature in the general life subject-the broad bearing of this doctrine upon methods is also plain. It is easy to put too much emphasis on correcting mistakes and not enough on the life character of the work. A production that is faultless and, at the same time, dead, should never satisfy a teacher of composition. The ideal composition is something more than a group of properly constructed paragraphs, each formed of properly constructed sentences, each containing properly chosen words. If the whole thing is an artificial thing, a mere exercise, a sham battle and not a section out of life, no matter how faultless it may be, the thing is a failure. Its main educational object is missed.

A most fundamental concern of the teacher, then, according to this whole view of the nature of composition, will be the assignment of subjects. This matter demands that the teacher shall possess unfailing appreciation of the student's range of interests and ideas. The mistake is frequently made of assigning bookish and difficult subjects that will "make little fishes try to talk like whales." The subject must be something that the

student is interested in from experience, or else something that he will be naturally interested to look up. The student's experience and observation of life outside of books, to my mind, is the proper field for half or more of the composition subjects. But, naturally, the subjects will frequently be drawn from the student's current study of the classics or from other reading; and with regard to these, it is necessary to so plan the work that the matter shall actually pass through the alembic of the student's brain and not issue forth as a mere recast of what he has read.

Moreover, the composition must not only be a real expression of the thought and feeling of the writer; it must also be written for real readers or hearers. The student should not work with the dull aim of merely meeting a demand of the course. It is needful to cultivate in him the sense of his classmates and teacher as a real audience, so that his effort shall be put forth with positive view of interesting them in what he has to say. This sense of an audience is necessary to complete the condition of the mind's creative act, and the student who possesses it will have the strong natural motive for endeavoring to make his work what it should be.

It is with reference to reality and naturalness in discourse that the practice of oral composition is so indispensable. It accustoms the student's mind to the fact that all discourse is essentially the same, whether spoken or written. It is well for him if he can learn to either relate an incident before his teacher and classmates, or write it for them to read, with the same naturalness of manner with which he would tell it to his parents at home. The nearer he can approach to that faculty the better is his foundation for an individual and effective style.

The conception of a composition as the expression of real thought to a real audience, determines that, in the student's discourse, whether oral or written, just as in the work of literature, the fundamental matter will be the unity of the whole. The principle of unity is the primary principle of construction in any work of art. Accordingly the student's endeavor in approaching his subject should be first, to apprehend it in his own special sense as a unit; in other words, to find in it his working