In 1796, Richter was living at Hof, in the house with his mother. He sat at his writing-desk in the same room where she was busy with household occupations and composed his humorous, pathetic, and grotesque sentences to the music of the broom, the dish-pan, and the spinning-wheel. Those harmonies were quite unlike the music to which Goethe listened, according to the story in his letters to Frau von Stein as he developed the ‘Iphigenie,’ quite unlike the music under whose inspiration Schiller essayed to rewrite the Fiesko at Oggersheim, of which Streicher tells us in the naïve narrative of Schiller's flight Richter was fully as sensitive to harmony as either Goethe or Schiller, and his improvisations on the piano became afterwards one source of his personal power over refined minds. But there was so great a capacity for higher music within him, that he was sometimes able to forget the discordant noises about him, and many of these higher notes which he struck are so pure and sweet that his critics are apt to overlook the disadvantages of his surroundings. That he himself in some moods keenly felt these limitations is plain enough from his writings. Even the household noises could not always be ignored, and were plainly now and then no inconsiderable disturbance to that serenity of mind necessary for the flight of his imagination. In ‘Siebenkäs,’ which is, as a whole, a pathetic account of his household relations, the fifth chapter containing the recital of Siebenkäs' efforts to adjust the domestic noises to his mental moods gives a clear insight into the difficulties under which Richter wrote the ‘Quintus Fixlein’ and the ‘Siebenkäs.‘

It is evident that the study of the modern languages is to occupy a larger place in education in this country than ever before. The intercourse of people with people, political, social and literary is becoming constantly more intimate and we may anticipate in the future a more cosmopolitan spirit in the relation of nations. The arbitration of differences, arid friendly consultation in questions of disputed rights bring into a union of sympathy and genial interest states which have hitherto stood apart. Science has brought nations into immediate and personal connection, making the intellectual progress of one the possession of the other, while commerce and the facility of an interchange of citizenship unite them by mutual interests. These tendencies are separate from any questions touching the usefulness of the study of modern languages as a method of discipline and the culture which is to be obtained from contemporary literatures. They indicate indisputably certain new demands on education which must be met: they are facts patent to the observer as well as the scholar. Instruction in our colleges must take, if not a new, at least a changed direction from the enlarged intercourse of nations. We are brought to ask the question, not what has the past to give us, but what contribution has the living thought of each nation to make to its neighbor, what results of study, what intellectual discoveries, what special gifts from national tendencies and traits has each to impart. The very nearness and sympathy of nations politically causes each to present problems which every student of contemporary thought must investigate. These facts carry their own weight apart from any literary considerations. The question of a cosmopolitan spirit in literature, or of a world-literature is not involved in these views of the growing importance of the study of modern languages. We might urge with great imperativeness the necessity to every scholar, to every educated man, of a knowledge of the literature of Europe of the present day, no literature now stands alone but affects every other literature, and the subtle thought of one nation colors the intellectual life of every other. Without then touching upon the relative value or the proportionate time which should be devoted to the classics and modern languages, we are met by these facts which emphasize the position which modern languages must assume in every carefully adjusted college curriculum. Conceding then the importance of linguistic study, the question arises, what considerations are of force in determining the order and methods of linguistic study in our schools and colleges.

The design of the present article is a discussion of some points of special interest in the factitive construction in German and its comparison with that of the same case in the cognate languages; this will best be attained by an historical tracing of this construction as far back as possible and expedient, and by showing its later and special development on German soil. Clearness will necessitate a discussion of the nature and functions of this case and its relations to the accusative (to which it is now more nearly allied) and to the other cases. Inasmuch as the factitive case forms part of the predicate it will involve the consideration of the predicative idea, or the relation of subject, verb and object to one another, since these three ideas, according to Becker, the idea of action expressed by the verb, the idea of being, either as agent of the action, as in case of the subject, or as objective and terminal point of the force of the verb, as in case of the passive object, form when united that antithesis of action and being out of which the sentence is developed. The intimate relation of the active subject and passive object appears in that “what is predicated of the subject as an action, may be predicated of the object as suffering,” whenever it becomes subject, but always so that it forms a direct antithesis to the real agent. Both are again intimately connected with the verb as its support or immediate complement and modifier. The subject, however, always represents something general and indeterminate while the verb, either in itself or with its complement or modifier, i. e. the predicate, is specific. It would appear, then, that the verb contains not only the idea of motion or the active force in the sentence, but it also unites in itself the additional idea of substance, not necessarily appearing as substantive, but rather in the motion which of itself forms the synthetic bond between the subject and this substantive element of the verb. These two elements of the verb, the substantial or predicative and the verbal or copulative, form the predicative idea of every sentence. Whenever the verb contains more of the substantial element it becomes firmer and self-supporting and we call it intransitive, but when the verbal element predominates and the substantial element is to a greater or less degree eliminated, then the verb seeks support and durability in a new substance, the object becomes the necessary complement, and we call the verb transitive; hence the frequent transition from one State to the other (cf. Rumpel in Hübschmann Zur Casuslehre, p. 59.). The very nature of the transitive verb requires an immediate complement for the completion of its sense, which the self-reliant intransitive verb can dispense with, though capable of modification by an added substantive. Still a third class of verbs, which do not form a complete thought even when qualified by an object, require besides the regular object an additional complement or modifier for the completion of the predicative idea. This may properly be called the verbal objective to the object; it is also called essive or predicative case, better known as the factitive. The nature of this additional complement, its relation to the regular object and the verb must claim our attention for a moment before we proceed to special cases.

At a meeting of Natural Science Men, held a couple of years ago at Berlin, the question which I have proposed to ourselves was discussed. Much to the surprise of the adherents of Darwinism, Prof. Virchow maintained, that the doctrine of Darwin should not be taught in any institution lower than the University, that it should not enter the text-book of natural history used in a school of any grade from the volks schule up to the Gymnasium and Realschule. I am not able to judge whether Virchow's view is too conservative in the field of natural science. But it is possible in any branch of learning to set before students theories and generalizations when they ought to be fed upon the old, hard and dry facts and laws. This method is the more vicious; the newer these theories and the vaguer these generalizations. But when the latest results consist of new facts and new laws of language well established, conservatism in the adoption and in the teaching of them becomes a great fault and a great injustice. I admit, that there is danger in going too fast and too far in adopting and teaching the new results, but in the department of Modern Languages as in many other departments the danger lies in the other direction, not merely in ultra-conservatism in appropriating and digesting the new results, not merely in ignoring them, but in unpremeditated, unconscious, down right ignorance of them.

Some years ago a German teacher published a pamphlet the object of which was to show that Latin and Modern French syntax could be taught by the same rules. The idea was not a bad one, for there are certainly a great many points in which Latin and French usage resemble each other very closely, but unfortunately the points of difference are so numerous that it would be utterly impracticable to teach a boy Latin and French at the same time without completely confusing him. On the other hand, if a student is already well grounded in the fundamental rules of Latin syntax, constant reference to the same must be regarded as a valuable help in teaching Modern French, particularly if the additional element of the Old French can be drawn upon for comparison.

The possibility of bettering the present curriculum in English literature will depend in great measure upon the proportion of time allowed to it. So long as the classics and mathematics retain for themselves the lion's share of time and interest, the hopes of our professors of literature will never become unduly exalted. If I may express myself with thorough frankness, the customary quota of English literature, say less than two hours per week for less than two years, is so insufficient that I cannot look upon it as capable of improvement. The study will remain perforce hurried and superficial. Now the course that I have in mind is one of two full hours (better three) throughout three entire years. It is the course which has been required since 1880 for the B. L. degree in the University of Cincinnati, viz., three years, three hours a week. The classical students are now (beginning with 1884) compelled to take two of the three years, and the Scientifics one year. Perhaps this last requirement will be hereafter raised to two years.

It may be of some importance to the professors of French in the United States to know something about the history and form of that language as used in the Old French settlement of Louisiana. It is a well-known fact that the descendants of the French in the colonies have always retained the language of the mother country. In America, as, a general rule, the children of Germans, of Spaniards and Italians know very little of the speech of their fathers, while we see Americans of French origin retaining the language of their ancestors as a mother-tongue down to the fifth and sixth generations. The same thing can be observed in Canada and my friend, Prof A. M. Elliott, has shown with what tenacity the Canadians have clung to their original language, and how the French element, contrary to the general law of the philosophy of history, seems to be absorbing the English population to such an extent that the country tends to be “Frenchified,” and that a Jones or a Smith speaks French better than the language of his ancestor, the English conqueror, or of his father, the English settler.

In discussing a Modern Classical Course for our colleges, I wish to begin with a word in reference to the nature of education. By so doing, I hope not only to prevent the cry of low utilitarian views, but also to lay a solid foundation for the discussion that is to follow. I accept the definition of Comenius that education consists in complete human development. Man comes into the world endowed with certain physical and mental capacities. These are at first in a germinal or undeveloped condition; but they contain within themselves large possibilities and a strong impulse toward development. The object of education is to lead the several parts of man's nature to a harmonious realization of their highest possibilities. The finished result is a complete manhood, the elements of which are a healthy body, a clear and well-informed intellect, sensibilities quickly susceptible to every right feeling, and a steady will whose volitions are determined by reason and an enlightened conscience.

It is now customary among the most advanced students of modern education to divide the area of collegiate studies into the three great departments of Science, Philosophy, Language and Literature. Although within the sphere of a liberal training there are some studies not strictly included in this division, it is for all practical purposes a convenient and comprehensive one. It is with the last of these three departments that the present paper will deal. We mean by English,—the English Language and Literature as including, also, the subject of English style and criticism. The place of English as thus defined among other collegiate branches is one of the many open questions before the educators and the educated public of to-day. It is a question so prominent and so urgently pressing for discussion and adjustment, that it must in some way be met. In the recent Modern Language Convention held at Columbia College, N.Y., it elicited special interest and clearly indicated the drift of modem opinion regarding it. It is the object of the present informal discussion to say a word on its behalf, if so be the department of English in our American Colleges may be more truly appreciated and a more generous provision be made for its needs.

The part of grammar which, with the exception of French and to a certain degree of Italian, has been almost entirely neglected in the study of the Neo-Latin idioms, is, we need not hesitate to say, syntax; for the more or less extensive treatises which we find devoted to it in the available grammars, intended mostly to serve practical purposes, cannot meet the expectations of the scholar nor yet always those of the practical learner. A scientific statement of the syntactical forms of the Spanish language, for instance, has as yet not been attempted, unless the Diccionario de construccion y régimen de la lengua castellana, por D. Rufius José. Cuervo, the first number of which, recently published at Paris, we have not been able as yet to obtoin, prove to be such an one. The numerous practical grammars intended to teach modern Spanish almost uniformly base their rules of syntax on the language of Cervantes, thus confusing two widely different epochs and presenting constructions and terms which are now obsolete. Even Paul Foerster's excellent “Spanische Sprachlehre” is not always reliable in stating the age or the extent of use of a construction. Thus, to give only one instance, in treating the uses of the preposition de with the infinitive, § 486, 27, he represents the construction: ‘hacerse de rogar’ as unusual, and leaves one to infer that it occurs only in Don Quijote, whereas it is the usual construction, found again ‘Galatea,‘ 1. vi : La mal camarera tan comedida como hermosa, sin hacerse de rogar, cantó de esta suerte; used two centuries and a half before Cervantes by Don Juan Manuel in the Conde Lucanor, cx. xvii:

again by Luna in the Lazarillo de Tormes, p. ii, c. 11: Hícelo, sin hacerme de rogar; and so on, up to the present time, where we find it, for instance, in the ‘Escenas Matritenses’ by Mesonero Romanos: La vieja se hacia de rogar; in Fernan Caballero: El no se hizo de rogar (Familia de Alvareda, p. 21, Brockhaus ed.). Considering this neglected state of Spanish syntax and the vast material waiting for a systematic arrangement, we need not be surprised that many of its peculiarities should have been insufficiently treated, while others have been entirely overlooked even by the master of Romance Philology, Friedrich Diez, and those following in his wake. One of the constructions not mentioned in Diez' Comparative Romance Grammar, nor in any of the special grammars of the several Neo-Latin idioms, though in Spanish at least it is frequent enough to thrust inself upon one's notice, is the use of the singular of concrete nouns for the plural in a collective sense, commonly termed the collective singular. It is the purpose of this paper to call attention to the existence of this construction in the Romance languages, and particularly in Spanish. As neither the time nor the material at hand permitted us to extend our researches over the whole of Spanish literature, ancient and modern, we had to content ourselves for the present with the study of the most important works of the former, inclusive of the time of Cervantes, using for the modern language some of the better novelists. We regret especially not having been able to adduce late and mediæval Latin for our present presentation of the subject, but hope to do so in the near future.

To the student of English literature from a merely popular point of view, this work of Mr. Gosse's, cannot fail to commend itself. Its mode of treatment is pleasing— the style is lucid, the narrative is lightened by the judicious introduction of biographical sketches and entertaining reminiscences. Despite its many agreeable features, it lacks both the depth and breadth of philosophic or scientific investigation, and the critical student of our literary evolution, will lay it aside, with a mingled feeling of disappointment and regret. The volume contains a series of lectures delivered before the Lowell Institute, and the Johns Hopkins University, during the. season of 1884 and 1885. The restraints that are naturally imposed by the presence of popular audiences, will no doubt serve in some measure to account for the superficial manner of dealing with the subject, which is a distinctive characteristic of the work.

Not long ago, the president of a famous American college, writing in praise of Greek and Latin as the basis of higher instruction, classed the study of Anglo-Saxon with the study of Icelandic or of Quaternions. All three were “intellectual luxuries.” If such is the judgment of so prominent and learned a man, what will that robust personage, the “ average citizen,” impatient as he is of all that is recondite and out of touch with the practical, say to my subject and the implied connexion between an intellectual luxury for colleges and the every-day fare of our ordinary schools? Considerable divinity doth still hedge the college, and what is done there:

In an article on the Factitive in German, read at the last Convention of the Modern Language Association, I touched upon the adverbial case, but could not, for want of space, give that attention to it which the subject deserves. It is now my purpose to treat more at length the adverbial relations and their influence upon the government of the verb. But since the boundary between the functions of the adverb and the adjective is somewhat vague, so much so that it is often difficult to decide whether the adverb or the adjective would be more appropriate in a particular case, it will first of all be necessary to settle the real functions of the two words; to discover, if possible, the distinction between an adverbial and an adjectival modification of the idea expressed, whether that idea be verbal or substantival, or (thirdly) the compound idea formed by the union of the verb and substantive. In my former article I stated that the adverb expresses some of the vaguer relations of the factitive, but did not intend by that to deny its capability of expressing accurately the factitive relations. “A predicating judgment,” says Becker, “always forms the basis of the logical factitive; it is therefore most perfectly expressed by the adjectives, but since da, wie, so are often used predicatively this same relation is also expressed by these.” I also showed in my treatment of the factitive that a modifier often performs a double function in serving both as an attribute or modifier of the passive object, and at the same time qualifying the verbal idea. In expressions like Sccrates venenum laetus haurit, invitus dedi, nemo saltat sobrius, tardus venit, in which the English imperatively demands the adverb, the Latin as imperatively the adjective, a careful analysis will show that the modification is neither adjectival nor adverbial, but stands on the boundary between the two.

The paper I have ventured to lay before the Association on this occasion very likely needs an apology. The questions it raises have none of the interest that attaches to questions in pure scholarship: they are simply practical questions in pedagogy, and must be answered in the light of experience. Besides, as they concern chiefly the course at school, they may seem even mis-addressed when proposed to a body of college professors.

The following few remarks bear on the modern Wallonian Dialect, especially that of Malmedy, as compared with Modern French. They are intended to show that this dialect (as indeed is generally the case with dialects) is in the main far more advanced in its linguistic development than the literary language, while in some cases, however, it may appear more conservative.

Nothing is more suggestive of the present contusion of ideas concerning the means and ends of language study than a comparison of two articles in a recent number of Education. Here we have a distinguished teacher of modern languages claiming, substantially, that French and German may, upon occasion, take the place of Latin and Greek in the college curriculum, provided they are taught by the same methods and with all the thoroughness and accuracy characteristic of the teaching of the classic tongues by the best teachers. On the other hand, we have an experienced instructor in Latin and Greek, advocating that the instruction in the classics can be improved by the introduction of certain methods, which, although the writer seems reluctant to admit it, are more commonly employed by teachers of modem languages than by those of the classic tongues. The impartial observer would naturally be led to think that either class of teachers can learn from the other and that, consequently, the necessity for reform is not all on our side, as some of us have modestly believed.

The present struggle for university reform in Germany to give to the Realgymnasia the same rights and privileges as are held by the Gymnasium proper, bears so much resemblance to the reform which is taking place in this country and which this Association has at heart to promote, as a part at least of its mission, that I have thought a glance at the question would not be entirely without interest at this stage of our development. The leading features of the discussion in Germany and in the United States are as nearly identical as the differences of the school and university systems in the two countries could admit. The primal cause at the bottom of the controversy in both places is the same, that is, monopoly; the principles fought for have been the same, namely, equality of rights: Lehrfreiheit, Lernfreiheit and Studienfreiheit; the pivotal point about which the whole movement has taken place and is taking place is the selfsame in both, that is, the cutting out of the existing system some disciplina in order to give room, in accordance with the demands of modem culture, for another or for other disciplinae which are held to bear a more direct relation to our present life.