IN 1931, Institute affairs directed me to South America, and when my good friend, Dr. Leo Rowe, the Director of the Pan American Union, learned that I was going there, he arranged that I lecture on American Civilization at some of the universities of the West Coast. I afterward lectured at the universities of the East Coast also. When another friend, Edgar Ricard, one of Mr. Hoover's right-hand men in carrying on Belgian, German, and Russian relief during and after the first World War, learned of my intention, he suggested that as Mr. Hoover had gone around South America during the period between his election to the Presidency and his inauguration, he might be willing to make suggestions about my visit. I had met Mr. Hoover once and though I did not expect him to remember me, he received me at the White House at Mr. Ricard's suggestion.

In the midst of our discussion about aspects of my visit, Mr. Hoover asked, "In what language will you deliver your lectures?" I answered, "In English. I don't know Spanish." The President expressed his great regret at that fact and assured me that the value of my lectures would be reduced fifty per cent by my delivering them in English. He expatiated on this point to such an extent that finally I said, "All right, Mr. Hoover, I'll deliver the lectures in Spanish." "I thought," said the President; "that you said you didn't know Spanish." "That's true," I answered, "but I still have sixty days before I sail.''

I returned home to New York, consulted my friend, Professor Federico de Onís of Columbia University, and secured the services of a young Spanish teacher to give me lessons The teacher came to my house every morning at nine o'clock for fifty days and drilled me in the pronunciation of the Spanish language. He did more. He translated my five lectures into Spanish. After the first two weeks, each morning I read aloud to him one of the lectures and he corrected my mistakes. At the end of the fifty days he assured me that I read them very well and that I should be understood easily by any Spanish-speaking audience. This view was confirmed by my reading the lectures aloud to Spanish-speaking friends.

I felt fairly confident of success because I knew that the Latin American professors followed the practice of the professors in Continental Europe in reading their lectures to their classes instead of discussing the subject with them, as is customary with us. Everything went well. As my teacher had prophesied, the audiences evidently understood and appeared interested. Alas, at every university where I lectured, inconsiderate people came up to me after the lecture to discuss various points! However, I had learned the military principle of the strategic retreat and always had at my side a national who could speak English as well as Spanish. Moreover, the upper classes in Latin America nearly all speak French, and when absolutely necessary I fell back on mon faible français.

Nor was the need of discussing the lectures the only obstacle I met. My first lecture was at the Instituto Nacional at Panama, now the University of Panama. When I had finished the lecture the courteous Rector said, "Dr. Duggan, I noticed you speak Castilian Spanish." "Yes," I replied, "I try to; that was what I was taught." "I wouldn't if I were you," he answered. "Most Latin Americans don't try to and will smile at your doing it and might think you affected. It would be as if a Middle Western audience in your country listened to an English professor talking with his Oxford accent. For example, we do not refer to this institution as the 'Instituto Nathional' but pronounce it as a Frenchman would, the 'Instituto Nacional'." It was good advice. Only in a few places somewhat removed from the current of affairs, like Bogotá, did I find much use of Castilian Spanish. I gladly confined my efforts to Latin American Spanish. Moreover, just as at home, I encountered a good many corruptions in speech. When I reached Buenos Aires I found there many people calling "calle" (street) "caje", and referring to their ex-President Irigoyen as "Irigoshen". Buenos Aires has a large foreign population: Italians, Basques, Englishmen, Germans, and others. It may be that this fact explains the variation.

I flew from Panama to Barranquilla, where I stayed two days with the representative of the Standard Oil Company. I had expected to go up the Magdalena River to Bogotá, a long and tiresome trip of some ten days or two weeks, provided the boat did not get stuck on a sandbar. He suggested the possibility of my flying from Barranquilla to Barranca Bermeja, far up the Magdalena and the center of the Standard's oil fields in Colombia. I gladly accepted, for I had been greatly impressed by the engineering feat of piping the oil from that place in the midst of a tropical forest to Cartagena, where I afterward observed the process of pumping it into ships for export.

It took only a few hours for the courteous representative of the Standard Oil and myself to fly on a hydroplane to Barranca Bermeja, where we landed on the river. From the dock. a railway and a motor road lead to the oil fields, a distance of five miles. There I found an astonishing settlement, a place of about 2,500 inhabitants, of whom about 500 were foreigners, including Americans, Englishmen, Germans, and others. In the settlement were two schools for children, one for instruction in Spanish and the other for instruction in English, and a Catholic and a Protestant church. There was good provision for recreation, including tennis courts and an excellent moving-picture theatre. There was a savings bank and a general store for the purchase of anything from a needle to a set of furniture---and at fair prices. The agent there showed me his accounts and explained the rate of wages received. As far as I could see, the people of the settlement were contented. They were obviously better clothed and probably better fed than the other workers in the neighborhood.

Now, my liberalism is sufficiently old-fashioned to be always suspicious of Big Business. I know something about the evil practices of the corporation pirates in the early days of American penetration in the Latin American countries, about the bribing of their politicians and the financing of revolutions. I was acquainted not only with the tirades of American radicals familiar with Latin America but with the fine study of the history of the machinations of the Standard Oil by Ida Tarbell. But, as I have already said, this book is a statement of my own experiences and impressions, and certainly at Barranca Bermeja I saw no evidence of coercion of workers, nor cheating nor unfair practices generally.

I arrived in South America nearly two years after the beginning of the economic depression of 1929. The depression had hit Latin America particularly hard. Many Latin Americans blamed us for a great part of their troubles, especially for withdrawing practically all credits after having, before the depression, almost begged them to take loans. The attitude of Latin Americans toward the United States had stiffened considerably and Latin American students in particular were bitter in their denunciation of "Yankee imperialism". Since then American corporations have tried in various ways to conciliate the governments and peoples of Latin America, but with only partial success. In fact, I am of the opinion that now, instead of American corporations taking unfair advantage of Latin American governments, the reverse is true. Our State Department is sometimes hard put to defend even the just interests of American corporations.

One of the best plans adopted by American corporations to increase the good will of the Latin American peoples toward them is to bring bright young South Americans to the United States and employ them in the home offices so that the young men will learn the corporation's methods while they are at the same time learning English. They are then given places in the offices located in their native lands. This is an excellent idea, for these young men are almost invariably friendly to the United States upon their return home and remove some of the prejudices against Americans which are based on ignorance.

Part of the road from Barranca Bermeja to Bogotá was very precipitous and circuitous, and along it the automobile I had hired moved so rapidly as almost to fill me with terror, but the chauffeur took it with the greatest sang-froid. Bogotá is situated at a height of some 8,500 feet surrounded by mountains. It is quite isolated and except for the fact that it is the capital of the country would be out of the current of national affairs.

I delivered one of my five lectures on American civilization at the National University and it seemed really to interest the students. Most of the students had queer notions of United States civilization but probably no queerer than the views held by students in the United States concerning Colombian civilization. Colombia is one of the few Latin American republics where democracy has taken real root. The prolonged period of Conservative control was broken in 1930 by the victory of the Liberals. Led by the new President, Dr. Olaya Herrera, they introduced many progressive measures. Later under Presidents López and Santos the separation of Church and State, the improvement of educational facilities, and the construction of many new roads were evidences of the reforming spirit. While some resentment remains over the Panama Canal incident of 1903, I found most of the Colombian people with whom I came into contact happily disposed toward the United States. I would have liked to stay more than a few days in the city because of the kindly attitude of its citizens, but I was due in Lima within a week. When the boat arrived at Callao, I was met by a representative of the embassy and a representative of the university and taken by them in an auto the short distance to Lima.

I had one very interesting personal experience at Lima. Arrangements had been made to have me deliver lectures at the University of San Marcos, the oldest university in South America, older by eighty-five years than Harvard. But shortly before I arrived the dictator, Leguía, had been driven from power. There had been a revolution in the university also and the students were largely in control. They had elected a new Rector, Dr. José Encinas, whom I found a delightful man. I told him I feared that the arrangements for my lectures might have fallen through but he assured me that they held. I said to him, "Dr. Encinas, would it be possible for me to meet about twenty of the most anti-imperialist, anti-American students in order to discuss relations between Peru and the United States?" "Yes," he answered, "there will be no difficulty. The men who represent the student body on the University Council are the most anti-imperialist and anti-American students. I'll invite them. But yours is a rather astonishing proposal. Would you mind my being present at the meeting? I would like to see what happens." I assured him I would need him because of my poor Spanish. It chanced that a professor of history, Dr. Victor Andrés Belaunde, was also present. He had been exiled in the early days of the Leguía regime, and I had circuited him among our United States colleges and universities to lecture on Latin American affairs.

I should note here that university students in South America are thoroughly familiar, because of their deep interest in politics, with the evil practices formerly pursued by some of our economic exploiters in that continent. But their resentment at "Yankee imperialism" had been kept at fever heat by the occasional pilgrimages made around South America by such scholars as Manuel Ugarte and Alfredo Palacios of Buenos Aires. They delivered vehement protests against the attempts of the Colossus of the North to control the destinies of the Latin American peoples.

So behold us, the three men at one end of the table, myself between Dr. Encinas and Dr. Belaunde, and about twenty students along the sides! I began by explaining why I was there. I said I had come to learn as much as I could of their civilization so that I might go back to my own country better qualified to interpret it to my own people. I finished by saying that before I returned, however, I would like to know what they thought of my country. Immediately there was an outburst. One student shouted "Wall Street", another "the Monroe Doctrine", another "the Panama Canal steal", another "the Platt Amendment". Each one gave voice to his particular bête noire in our relations with Latin America. The spiritual atmosphere was very low but nevertheless I had a delightful time. I said to the student who had shouted "Wall Street", "Do you think we Americans are in love with Wall Street? We hold most of the views you have of Wall Street. Do you think it is fair to condemn us all for what you think are the evil traits of a few?" To the student who had shouted "the Monroe Doctrine" I said, "There is no doubt that the United States engaged in some imperialistic adventures under the pretense of the Monroe Doctrine. But the record isn't all bad. When President Cleveland invoked the Monroe Doctrine in the dispute about the boundary line between Venezuela and British Guiana, he was challenging the most powerful empire in the world to protect a small and weak country. And though the Monroe Doctrine was not invoked when Napoleon III sent an army to Mexico to set up an empire under Maximilian during our Civil War, its spirit was. The invasion was called off when our President, after the war, mobilized veteran troops near the Rio Grande. That was what really saved Mexico." So I went around the table discussing in the frankest manner with the students each of the topics mentioned. And as we discussed, the temperature rose and we parted shaking hands most amicably. Needless to say the whole affair would have been impossible without the linguistic assistance of the Rector and Professor Belaunde.

During the week at Lima while I was delivering my lectures, I was informed that a Convocation of the University was to be held to which Mr. Deering, the American Ambassador, and I were invited. What was my surprise and delight when there was conferred upon me the honorary degree of Litt.D. Moreover, I learned afterward that this action was taken upon the motion of the student members of the University Council. I have a number of honorary degrees but none I value more than the one conferred by the University of San Marcos. I have often wondered whether ulterior motives would enter as much as they sometimes do into the conferring of honorary degrees by our own colleges and universities if representatives of the student body had a voice in the selection of persons to receive them. I remember meeting one day on the street in Baltimore my old master, Frank Goodnow, after he had become President of Johns Hopkins. I asked him how the campaign for additional funds in which the university was just then engaged was making out. He answered, "Not so happily," and then jokingly, entirely jokingly, he added, "An LL.D. for a hundred thousand, Duggan."

While I was at Lima, I did not fail to visit the Inca Museum that contains relics of Inca civilization which have been dug up since that civilization was destroyed by the Conquistadores. The Museum was under the supervision of the distinguished archaeologist, Dr. Tello, who afterward took me' out to the immense graveyards at Pachacamac and in a few minutes dug up a partial skeleton. He did this to demonstrate what had been happening in recent decades. The peasants of the neighborhood had become aware of the treasures, in the graves and took to archaeological research on their, own. This proved so profitable in the early days, as the result of sales to rich tourists, that the graves were in ruins by the time of my visit.

Before leaving Lima I was asked to deliver a lecture at the little university of Cuzco. As I was going to Cuzco anyhow to see such remains of the Inca empire as are still in existence there, I gladly agreed. I flew across the Peruvian desert to Arequipa in the company of a delightful gentleman by the flame of Carlos Gibson, one of the many descendants sprung from unions of nationals and Englishmen whom one finds all over Latin America. He put himself to considerable inconvenience to serve me and took me to the place where practically all foreigners who visit Arequipa stay, namely, at Quinta Bates. ("Quinta" means a small estate, usually with kitchen garden and orchard.) Mrs. Bates, a charming old Scotch woman, had developed in the course of time an admirable inn on Anglo-Saxon lines. The food, the rooms, the refreshing bath with plenty of hot water, the lovely garden were all thoroughly British. The old lady had a cold when I arrived and she insisted on my having a glass of "whoskey" with her. Now I like wine but I do not like hard liquor and when I saw the size of the glass of "whoskey" poured out for me by Mrs. Bates my heart sank. I unquestionably lost caste with her when she saw the small amount I swallowed.

During my brief stay at Arequipa I inquired whether the Shippee-Johnson expedition had been seen there, and was informed it had. This expedition had been organized by the American Geographical Society to take aerial photographs of the Andes. I have forgotten whether it was my good friend, Dr. Isaiah Bowman, the Director of the Society, or his able assistant, Dr. Raye R. Platt, who gave me letters of introduction to the expedition, should I come across it in my travels. Imagine my delight when on the evening of my second day at Arequipa there appeared at Quinta Bates an aviator belonging to the Shippee-Johnson expedition. I presented my letters of introduction and told him I was bound for Cuzco. He said, "It will take you two days and a night to go there by rail but if you want to fly with me over the Andes at an altitude of 16,000 feet, we shall leave here tomorrow at 10 A.M. and arrive there in three hours." I gladly accepted the invitation. Next morning we left the beautiful, snow-clad Mount Misti behind us at Arequipa on our flight over the Andes at an altitude almost 1,000 feet higher than Mont Blanc! The aviator pointed out to me the old Inca trail between the mountains with some of the ruined block houses, still visible. The flight was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life.

When we landed at the rather primitive airport some distance from Cuzco, the Indians---Peru is about 20 per cent white, 32 per cent Mestizo, and over 45 per cent Indian---from the neighboring fields crowded about the airplane peering at us as we descended from the cockpit. As I drove from the airport to the city I saw reproduced several times a picture of Palestine as described in the Bible in the days of Christ, namely, groups of Indians threshing their grain with the flail and winnowing it by throwing it into the air for the wind to blow away the chaff and let the grain fall to the ground. As yet the machine has invaded remote Latin America to but a slight extent.

I had hardly arrived in Cuzco when I received a courtesy call from the Mayor and the Rector of the little university. They assumed I knew no Spanish, which was practically true. They knew that they knew no English. That was absolutely true. So they brought with them the Rector's daughter who was supposed to know English, and that was only relatively true. But she began well. She said, "I saw your picture in the paper this morning." "Did you?" I answered. "Is it as homely as I really am?" "Yes," she answered, and was obviously quite unaware that a "no" would have been equally devastating. An English woman who was standing near by, highly amused, said, "What a mean thing to string an innocent girl in that way!" The girl was fortunately unconscious of any intention on my part to have fun at her expense, for I afterward overheard her say to her father, "Es muy simpático, el Yanqui."

From Cuzco I several times went out into the surrounding country to visit some of the Indian villages. If the picture presented in Prescott's Conquest of Peru is at all accurate, the fall in the status of the Indians since the Conquest is deplorable. They live in hovels, in unsanitary surroundings, ignorant of hygiene, devoid of medical assistance, illiterate and intensely suspicious of strangers. For four hundred years they have been exploited by Church and State. The Church did a noble work at first in protecting them. But Peru was a long way from Spain, the voyage took months, the discipline of the local clergy was hard to maintain, and by the end of the sixteenth century the Indians were practically without protection. I could readily appreciate the origin of the sad, plaintive, melancholy music and songs of the Indians of the Altiplano. A fine young American research scholar whom I met on the ship that carried me to Peru, told me he was going to the Altiplano to make records of the sad tunes of the Inca Indians. I have since been told that they have been published, but I have not heard them. In the United States, preservation of the Negro spirituals by securing records of them before their disappearance is an undeniable contribution to our civilization. The plaintive tunes of the Inca Indians were the product of the same cause as were the Negro spirituals ---slavery. It is to be hoped that those tunes may some day occupy a place in West Coast civilization similar to that which the spirituals do in ours. That is not true today. Though the revolution of 1930 which ended the Leguía regime was the result chiefly of economic causes, it was hastened unquestionably by the propaganda of the proscribed Aprista party whose leader, Haya de la Torre, was in exile. One of the planks of his platform of reform was the enfranchisement of the Indians, to be secured primarily through education and their incorporation into the national life of the country. Practically nothing has been accomplished in this respect, for the Apristas have continued to be an illegal party and few others are interested in improving the conditions of the Indians. Haya de la Torre, who was the idol of the students, was also the bitter enemy of "Yankee imperialism". However, because of the adoption by the United States of the Good Neighbor policy, in the face of the greater evil of totalitarianism he has become a strong advocate of hemisphere solidarity.

I can well understand how and why the Indians of the Altiplano became sun worshippers. It is difficult for anyone who has not visited the region to realize the part played by the sun in the life of the inhabitants. The penetrating cold that falls upon the Altiplano as soon as the sun disappears is most depressing. The revitalizing influence which accompanies its rise is very marked. My own experience testified to this. We Americans read with considerable pride of the way in which our fathers frequently walked miles to and from school in order to get an education. I do not know how far the students of the University of Bolivia at La Paz must walk, but they certainly suffer hardships of another kind. I delivered one of my lectures to them in the first period of the day when the sun had been up only a short time. I lectured wearing my overcoat and was filled with sympathy as I watched the students trying to take notes with their hands red from the cold. I could but wonder how they pursued their studies after sunset.

I was fortunate enough to be invited to be the guest at La Paz of the American Minister, Mr. Edward Feeley, whose residence was furnished with one of the few central heating plants in the city. My stay in his home is one of the pleasantest memories of my visit to South America. I must briefly digress here to express my admiration for our ambassadors, ministers, and consular officials in Latin America. I found them intelligent, efficient and courteous, always speaking the language of the country in which they were stationed. This is in marked contrast to the political hacks who were frequently sent to the South American countries before World War I in payment for political services at home.

Bolivia is the most Indian of all the Latin American countries. The Indians number more than 50 per cent of the population. They have become race-conscious but they have not yet found the leaders to galvanize them into action as have the Indians of Mexico. They too lost their lands to the Conquistadores in the sixteenth century and a few of their leaders have followed with keen interest the efforts of the Cárdenas government in Mexico to create ejidos out of great landed estates. It is also significant that Bolivia was the first South American state to follow the example of Mexico in expropriating the property of foreign oil companies. Bolivia was part of the Inca Empire, as were Ecuador and Peru and a portion of Colombia. The whole area to the south of our southwestern boundary down to Chile is still inhabited mostly by Indians, whose ancestors lived under communal conditions. The poor, illiterate Indian peon knows little of the history of his people during the past four hundred years, but tradition plays a part in his life as in the life of all subjugated peoples. It is interesting to speculate as to what might happen if race-consciousness were revived in that enormous area. However, outside of Mexico, there is little evidence of its existence yet. The stimulus will have to come from others than Indians, and few others want to change the status quo.

As I had hoped to see somewhere a country in process of revolution, I was unfortunate in arriving in Chile shortly after the Dictator, Ibáñez, had been driven out. The students of the University of Chile took an important part in the driving out process. I was again impressed, as at Lima, with the political influence of the student body and their radical program. One of the influential administrators of the University arranged for an interview with the president of the students' association and I have seldom heard anywhere as frank talk even among faculty members. In discussing the aims of the students, the young president turned to my companion and said, "For example, you, Professor X, are an excellent teacher of your subject but you are no good as the Director of the Institute, and you have got to go." And go he did!

All the countries of South America are favorably disposed to the assimilation of white immigrants. This has been true of Chile ever since the country won its independence. The first President, and a good one, was General O'Higgins, whose name indicates his ancestry and to whom the finest monument in Santiago was erected. But it is Englishmen in Chile who best illustrate the assimilating process. They did not usually settle in colonies but as individuals who threw in their lot with the country and became citizens, married among the upper classes, and often assumed places of leadership. Persons with names such as Edwards, Foster, Mackenna, and Simpson have in many cases been Chilean citizens for several generations. They speak excellent English and are very proud of their British ancestry but are even prouder of their Chilean citizenship. The Germans are more prone to settle in groups and do not assimilate so readily. But it is not only Englishmen who remain proud of their ancestry. I asked our ambassador to Chile, Mr. Culbertson, to give me an introduction to a conservative leader of the Church with whom I might discuss religious conditions, and he gave me a letter to Mr. Silva Vildósola. Mr. Vildósola, who had just retired as the editor of Chile's chief newspaper, El Mercurio, told me that there had recently arrived in Santiago a number of American students, all Jews, who wanted to study medicine at the local university. He said he could not understand the reason considering that in the United States were some of the finest medical schools in the world. He hoped it was not due to anti-Semitism. "It is true," he continued, "that I am a pillar of the Church, but I am of a family of Jews driven out of Spain by Philip II and I am as proud of my Jewish ancestry as of my Catholic religion." Suppose Hitler had heard him! Spanish Jews who became Catholics were called "Marranos", and I have met them in several other parts of the world where they had settled and had sometimes become influential.

I paid a visit to Mr. Alessandri, who had recently been voted out of the presidency of Chile and was at a later time voted in again. At that time he was the leader of the radicals, and spoke with great frankness and with what I thought moderation about Chile's social problems. First of these problems was the position of the inquilino, i.e., the peon, which had changed little for generations on the great estates of central Chile. The peons were practically bound to the soil and dominated by the landowner. It was difficult to bring about improvement of their condition because the political control of the country was largely in the hands of the old landowning families. Alcoholism, and the extreme poverty and wretched living conditions of the urban poor are also major problems. A problem having at times international repercussions was the relation of the Chilean workers in the nitrate fields and copper mines to the foreign, chiefly United States, industrial corporations. These workers and the rotos of the cities are much more radical than the peons on the estates. They have been influenced by Communist propaganda and often go on strike. Legislation on industrial relations in most of the South American countries is usually very favorable to the workers. Nearly all the industrial corporations are foreign owned and controlled and no native objects to their footing the bill in industrial conflicts. And, of course, such legislation makes the government popular with the workers.

World War I forced upon the consciousness of all people, as never before, the fact that scientific invention may be applied to destructive as well as constructive purposes. The scientific discovery of synthetic nitrates during the first World War almost ruined Chilean economy. Up to the time of that discovery Chile had been the chief source of nitrates for fertilizing purposes in peace and explosive purposes in war. Her export tax on nitrates had furnished most of the revenue of the government and had enabled the hacendados, the great landowners of the central valley who controlled the government, to maintain their semi-feudal social system. But with the revenue from nitrates drastically reduced, in turn diminishing foreign exchange for the purchase of manufactured goods from abroad, the Chileans were of necessity driven to manufacture for the home market. These manufactures are only in their infancy, but already a small middle class and a larger working class have developed in Santiago and elsewhere, forming an opposition to the hacendados and their peons whose votes the hacendados control. The latter have been compelled to tax themselves to a certain extent, but there are still other resources which enable them to avoid the drastic taxation which would otherwise be necessary, viz., the huge mining interests and the slowly recovering nitrate interests, both of which are practically wholly foreign controlled. But the lines of battle are slowly developing, the hacendados forming the core of the conservatives, and the adherents of industry and mining together with the professional classes, the opposition. And in the forefront of the reforms demanded by the latter is the break-up of the great estates.

I found the Chileans a most attractive people, virile, alert, and progressive. Though they inhabit one of the smaller states from the standpoint of population they lead a vigorous cultural life and send students to United States colleges and universities under the auspices of the Institute of International Education far beyond their proportion according to the number of people. All three institutions of higher education, the National University, and the Catholic University at Santiago, and the independent University at Concepcion, do excellent work.

One of the best influences in Santiago in developing a better understanding between Chile and the United States is Santiago College for Women. When it was established in 1886 as a secondary school comparable to a liceo, it was probably the first institution in Latin America to give women a vision of a broader and deeper life. It was chartered by the Regents of New York State and has recently been elevated to the status of a junior college. It made its way to success against much local prejudice at first, but it is now largely attended by the daughters of the socially elect. Its success is chiefly due to the remarkable work of its Directora, Miss Elizabeth Mason, formerly Dean of Women at Goucher College, Baltimore. Miss Mason was aware that a woman's college in Chile would need to be more conservatively administered than the average woman's college in the United States, and moved forward cautiously. Today the scholastic, physical, recreational, and character-building activities of the College are as high as those of any junior college in the United States. The result is that Santiago College has made a deep impression upon the life of Chile and its Directora has become one of the most respected and admired educators of the country and beloved by the alumnae of the institution.

Chile owed a good deal of her progress to the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914. Up to that time the whole West Coast of South America was largely out of touch with modern movements. The Canal awakened the region by making it easily accessible to western Europe and the eastern United States. The Latin Americans generally hold the view that the Canal was obtained by the United States through shady and imperialistic measures. Certainly I doubt the morality of some of the measures and I have always regarded the $25,000,000 afterward paid by the United States to Colombia, because of the secession of Panama, as "conscience money". The Canal is but another illustration of the problem that has always bothered decent men, namely, ought men seek to realize a desirable objective by dubious means? There can be no doubt of the remarkable service rendered not only to the people of western South America, but to the people of the whole world, by the building of the Panama Canal. It seems to me, however, that we were all becoming rapidly convinced of the great need of the Canal and that its early building was inevitable. Theodore Roosevelt was perhaps in too great a hurry when he "took" the Canal. When I am visiting a foreign country I do not like to have to discuss an action of my own country of which I cannot be proud.

I left the beautiful capital of Chile with real regret. As the train ascended to go over the Andes to Argentina and as I watched the city disappear in the valley surrounded by snowcapped mountains, I was filled with admiration. It was a fine sunny day; but, alas, when we arrived at Los Andes, the last stop before going over the mountains, it was pouring rain and very cold! It must not be forgotten that the seasons in South America are reversed. It was August but it was still winter there. Word had been telegraphed down from the crossing at the top that the railroad was blocked with immense drifts of snow and that there would be no train service until the way could be cleared. No one could say how long the wait would be. Not long before, the Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII) had been forced to wait a week. Rooms in the nice little inn at Los Andes were very cold and the only method of heating was to have a brazier brought in. This I did, but after nearly smothering from smoke I fled. The rain ceased the next day and it was warmer. During the remaining two days of our enforced stay at Los Andes a Chilean student who was on his way to a United States university and I explored the surrounding country in one of the funny little cabriolés drawn by a very bony horse. Our third night we had a great celebration with wine and song in which everybody, natives and foreigners, participated. An Englishman and I sang "Annie Laurie" and "Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes" and all the others sang la, la, la, as we all do when we do not know the words. The Chileans sang more hilarious songs to which the Englishman and I la, la, la'd. Then we told stories and jokes to one another in Spanish and English which practically none of us understood but at which we courteously laughed with great gusto.

The next morning we began our ascent on the railroad, and passed under the top through a tunnel banked high at the entrance with snow and ice. The whole scene crossing the mountains was unforgettable, and the railroad is a testimony to the courage and foresight of the Chilean and Argentine peoples. The descent on the Argentine side was quite rapid and we soon reached Mendoza, the center of the Argentine wine country. The next morning I walked to a lovely park outside the city to see a fine statue of San Martin, who made the almost incredible march across the mountains, liberated Chile, and aided in consolidating independence for the Spanish colonies in South America.

The ride across the Argentine plains resembles traveling across the Russian steppes or our own prairies. All are dusty and tiresome rides. The country is wholly flat and unattractive. One is glad to see on the horizon every now and then an estancia surrounded by tall trees which serve, I suppose, to give shade and to break the wind. One can understand why the cattle barons who own thousands of acres of these fertile lands prefer Buenos Aires or Paris as a place of residence. The cattle barons form the ruling caste in Argentina, despite the existence of liberal groups in the large cities and radical and socialistic elements in Buenos Aires. Fortunately, the Ley Sáenz Peña passed in 1912 secured the secret ballot to the Argentine people. It serves as a slight brake upon the control of the landed magnates who naturally form the conservative element in the country as they do everywhere in Latin America, if not in the entire world.

Buenos Aires is the second largest Latin city in the world, being surpassed only by Paris. It has a population of two and a half millions, one-fifth of the entire population of Argentina. I do not think it is as beautiful a city as Santiago in Chile or Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. It resembles an American city of the first class, with some beautiful public buildings and many fine private residences. I think the Opera House is the finest opera house I have ever seen. There the great German, Italian, and French operas are frequently performed, at which the most notable European artists are heard. The people of Buenos sires resemble ourselves---alert, vigorous and aggressive. It is a cosmopolitan city like New York with many immigrant groups. About one quarter of the population of Argentina is either Italian or of Italian ancestry, but I did not hear as much Italian spoken on the streets as one does in New York. I had a good many friends in Argentina because I had been responsible for bringing to the United States quite a number of students upon scholarships, and also some visiting professors. My friends were very kind to me and did a great deal to make my visit a success. I was particularly indebted to Judge Alfredo Colmo of the Supreme Court of Argentina and to Dr. Enrique Gil, a distinguished lawyer who introduced me to the chief clubs and took me to the cattle show, which is the great Argentine social event of the year, like the Horse Show in New York.

I was very anxious to spend a few days at an estancia and Dr. Gil secured an invitation for me from a gentleman who was of the third generation of an American family that had settled in Argentina. I spent a good part of a day traveling by rail to his place and when he met me at the station he asked, "Did you notice the name of the last station before this one?" "Yes," I answered, "I was quite surprised." The name was Duggan. "Did you notice the people who got off there?" "Yes," I answered, "I thought they were a very nice looking lot of people." "Well, Dr. Duggan, they have the same name as you but they differ in one important respect. They are very rich and I presume you, as an American professor, are not." Those Duggans had an enormous estate. Among the family are some of the celebrated polo players who come to New York every year and almost invariably win the games from the American players. It seems that about a hundred years ago their ancestor landed at Buenos Aires intending to settle to the south, in Buenos Aires province, but was persuaded by an Irish priest to go to the north where land could be obtained for almost nothing. The family gradually extended its holdings until now they are among the richest people in Argentina. One of those Duggans married the most beautiful woman in Argentina, and after his death she became the wife of the Marquess of Curzon.

My host was a charming gentleman who drove me around his estate and explained its administration. He was particularly proud of a beautiful little Catholic chapel erected for the family and for workers on the estate. His ancestor, who had emigrated to Argentina, was a Protestant. He was probably an intelligent person who, finding no Protestant church in which to worship, attended Catholic services and in course of time became a Catholic. This has been true of a large number of early Protestant settlers. The reverse process often happened with early Catholic immigrants to the United States who settled in remote rural regions where no Catholic churches were to be found. Such change in either direction would be natural for people of a deeply religious nature but not of a strictly sectarian attitude.

Most Englishmen I met in Argentina were usually of a fine class, intelligent, courteous and proud of their ancestry. They frequently inter-married with the Argentines and became patriotic citizens. In Buenos Aires they numbered about 25,000 and many of them live in a purely English suburb called Hurlingham. They control a good deal of the foreign commerce and first-class retail trade of Buenos Aires. They have a fine Anglo-Argentine cultural center at which distinguished Englishmen of letters and publicists make addresses to audiences composed not only of Anglo-Argentine but of the intellectuals and the socially elect among the native Argentines. The English have been in the past a popular group of foreign descent with the estanciero class. I had personal proof of this shortly after my arrival in Buenos Aires. André Siegfried, the author of America Comes of Age, and I have been good friends for many years. It so happened that we began lecturing at the South American universities at the same time and frequently crossed each other's path. That happened at Buenos Aires and we were both invited to spend Sunday at a delightful home in the suburbs. At dinner I was seated at the hostess' left and M. Siegfried at her right. The conversation gradually turned to the interesting question of racial and national characteristics. The hostess closed the discussion by saying, "My own view is that the finest type of man in the world is an English gentleman." It was not the most tactful thing that might have been said when a French gentleman sat on her right and an American on her left, but it did reflect the general attitude of the socially elect at that time among the Argentines. With the passing years I believe a much more critical attitude has become general.

When Argentina was cut off from Europe during World War I, she turned to the United States for most of her supplies of manufactured goods, but not for all. She started her own industries and today provides most of the textiles, shoes, clothing, glass, cement, furniture, beverages and other consumers' goods. With the passage of time many Argentines became convinced that their country would never become the great power of their dreams unless they became self-sufficient through industrialization. They have practically no coal, iron, or other minerals and not enough oil for their needs. But neither Italy nor Japan has these requisites for industrialization. Both those countries, however, have large populations and though exports of manufactured goods are essential to their position as great powers, the domestic market is of primary value. Argentina has a population of only 13,000,000 and outside of Buenos Aires most of the people have a low standard of living. It is questionable, therefore, whether it will ever be able to develop a self-sufficing industry, as in fact few countries have. But the movement toward industrialization has awakened the agricultural interest in their own defense. The landed magnates who furnish the millions of tons of grain and the thousands of tons of meat for export do not intend to relinquish their control of government to the porteños of Buenos Aires. And outside of Buenos Aires and a very few other large cities, Argentina is still living in the nineteenth, not the twentieth century.

I shall write more fully of education in the Latin American countries at the close of this chapter, but I wish to say a special word here about education in Argentina. The Argentine educational system is one of the best in Latin America and in the early days was influenced by our own education. Few people in the United States know of the splendid career of one of Argentina's most notable presidents, Domingo Faustino Sarmiento. In the late 1840's while returning from an educational mission which he had undertaken in Europe at the request of the Chilean government, he became a friend of Horace Mann and an admirer of his educational ideas. As President, he introduced into Argentina from the United States a considerable number of normal school teachers imbued with Mann's principles. The result was a reorganization of Argentina's system of elementary education which put it at once in the forefront of Latin American school systems. Sarmiento was afterward appointed Minister to the United States and became a great friend of Lincoln. While returning to Argentina he was elected President. He is justly regarded as one of the finest figures in the history of the American republics.

One educational experience in Buenos Aires made a deep impression upon me. My good friend, Dr. Ernesto Nelson, who was in charge of the work in secondary education, invited me to the Normal School of Living Languages. In this school children begin learning English, French or German in the ABC class, learning not only to read it but to write it and especially to speak it. Practically all the instruction is in the language studied. They continue this practice until the close of their secondary school career. I spent an entire morning at the school, visiting the various classes. The group that interested me most was the graduating class, whose members were destined to become teachers of English. When I entered the room the students, all girls, were engaged in discussing George Eliot's "Mill on the Floss". They were not only discussing its literary values but the philosophy behind the ideal of life presented, and the discussion was all carried on in admirable English. Not a word of Spanish was spoken.

Now the teaching of modern languages in our country is one of our major educational failures. The number of schools and colleges from which students graduate who can speak or even write a foreign language is so small as to be negligible. In some American colleges it is possible for a student to begin a foreign language one year, a second foreign language the next year, and even a third the following year. Moreover, the student can in many schools and colleges drop the study of a foreign language at the close of almost any year. A reading knowledge may be obtained, though even that is not always accomplished. The explanation of this is not far to seek. We are a country of immense area inhabited by people who habitually speak only English. There is no feeling of a need to know foreign languages. It is altogether different in the countries of Europe west of Russia. The largest of them, Germany, could fit inside Texas, with plenty of room to spare. The inhabitants of some of the smaller European countries could not travel in any direction for a hundred miles without crossing a frontier. A knowledge of foreign languages is, for them, a necessity. With more than a million students in our colleges and more than eight millions in our secondary schools, it may be impossible to demand that everyone teaching a foreign language must have lived a year, or at least spent a summer vacation, in the country of the language which he teaches. In most of our states persons of foreign birth may not teach in publicly supported educational institutions until they have become citizens. Hence competent teachers of foreign languages are not easily found for our public schools and colleges. But at least we might adopt some modification of the Argentine plan for students looking forward to teaching a foreign language as a career.

This discussion of language teaching leads naturally to some mention of the splendid work that is done at Buenos Aires by the Instituto Cultural Argentino-Norteamericano, whose president is the distinguished scholar, Dr. Cupertino del Campo, the former Director of the Museum of Fine Arts at Buenos Aires. The aim of the Instituto is the fostering in all possible ways of cultural relations between Argentina and the United States. It is well housed in an excellent building for its purposes, has a fine library, primarily of books on American civilization, and provides lectures and musicales for its members. It forwards its objective with excellent films secured from the various departments of our federal government and from private agencies. One of its most important functions is to teach English, and today there are more than 3,000 persons studying English under its direction. Sections are organized at different places in the city, one for business men, another for physicians, still another for engineers, etc. The Instituto is the Argentine Center from which a large number of our scholarship holders come north to study in American universities. In the last few years similar cultural institutes have been established in the capital and the chief cities of each of the larger Latin American republics.

It is impossible to overestimate the influence of the movies in the spread of a knowledge of English in the Latin American countries. To help in understanding the story there are always captions in Spanish, or in Portuguese when American movies are shown in Brazil. But the people are very prone to watch for idioms in English. I was watching a movie one night in Buenos Aires in which an actor used the words "very well", which were naturally translated "muy bien". I overheard a young girl on the seat in front say to her neighbor, "Did you get that? 'muy bien' is 'very well' in English." No doubt she picked up other English expressions in the same way.

Though university life in Latin America is devoid of sports, that is not true of life generally. In Argentina, tennis, football, polo, Jai Alai, and other sports are freely engaged in. Sunday afternoon is a time for thousands to turn out to attend soccer football games. The Latin Americans have not so good a sense of real sportsmanship as have the Anglo-Saxons, probably because sports form a more recent ingredient in their civilization. At football games not only are opprobrious epithets in frequent use but fist fights often take place, as was true in the earlier history of baseball in our country. I attended a football game at one of Buenos Aires' big stadia and witnessed a phenomenon wholly new to me. When a speaker makes an address to an enormous audience in our country, if the people present approve, they not only clap and stamp but whistle. Now while I was in Argentina the campaign for the presidency was going on and naturally candidates liked to take advantage of every possible opportunity to advance their cause. A football game was a splendid opportunity, and at this particular game General Justo, the candidate of the conservative elements, was introduced "to say a few words". The few words were colorless enough but he was received with a whirlwind of whistling which I took to be a form of approval. I was astonished when my companion, General Justo's own son, informed me that it was an emphatic form of disapproval.

I spent a month in Argentina visiting various sections of the country and becoming acquainted with the different attitudes toward life of people in the different sections. Even in the more remote places new ideas and mores were creeping in and causing friction. I made similar observations during short visits in Paraguay and Uruguay, before sailing to Brazil.

Santos is the great port from which most of the coffee crop of Brazil is exported. It is not an attractive city and upon arriving there I did not tarry but went directly to São Paulo, the greatest manufacturing city south of the Rio Grande. It has a population of more than a million people including a large colony of Italians, smaller numbers of Syrians, and other foreigners. As so often at home, I was struck by the prominent part played by many of these foreigners in the busy life of the city. Most of them had been poor peasants or workers at home, but given an opportunity to put their native abilities to use, they had risen to places of influence. Many of them, unlike the majority of Brazilians, are good technical workers and they control to a large extent the varied manufactures of the city.

São Paulo is the capital of the state of that name, and there the great coffee planters control the political and social life of the state. Brazil is a federation with some of the features that existed in North America before the adoption of the Constitution in 1789, and the chief political problem for a long time has been states' rights vs. federal control. São Paulo resembles the Virginia of our early history, which dominated our political life during the first thirty-five years of our republic. São Paulo, however, has much greater power and influence in Brazil than Virginia ever had in the United States. The second great state of the Brazilian federation is Minas Geraes, and during the past generation it had been customary for a Paulista president to be succeeded by one from Minas Geraes. When in 1930 the Paulista President, Washington Luis, tried to secure the succession of another Paulista, Minas Geraes obtained the support of the third most important state, Rio Grande do Sul, and staged a revolution which put Getuho Vargas of Rio Grande do Sul in the Presidency. São Paulo did not yield, however, and two years later civil war ensued, resulting in the defeat of the Paulistas. In contrast with what happened in the Reconstruction period following our Civil War, the State of Sao Paulo was speedily restored to its place in the federation. Under President Vargas the unitary state has become dominant. When his term of office expired he assumed the dictatorship, overthrew the constitution and replaced it by one with strong centralizing tendencies. As long as he has the support of the army, the dictatorship will probably last.

I found the influence of the United States to be quite pronounced in the city of São Paulo, and it was a good influence. One of the finest medical schools and hospitals in the world was being aided there by the Rockefeller Foundation, and its Director, Dr. de Paula Souza, was one of the influential men of the community. And it is not only in São Paulo that the Foundation has rendered splendid service to the people of Brazil. As the result of its researches and field work in cooperation with the Brazilian government, one of Brazil's greatest plagues, yellow fever, has been stamped out. The Foundation cooperates with the medical authorities of the country in many other ways. One of its best activities is the bringing of well-selected research students in medicine and public health to the Rockefeller Institute in New York, where they receive admirable training.

São Paulo is the seat of Mackenzie College, an American institution chartered by the Regents of the State of New York. It is supported chiefly by the tuition fees of the students but receives some contributions from friends in the United States. It gives the regular academic instruction of an American college, but wisely appreciating the need in Brazil of a more practical education, it emphasizes technical instruction and has an admirable engineering school. The college has always tried to conform to the requirements of the Brazilian educational system and because of the fine results of the education it provides, its graduates receive professional degrees similar to those given to the graduates of State institutions.

Accompanied by the Commissioner of Education of São Paulo, I undertook the all-day rail journey to Rio de Janeiro. We were met at the station by the Rector of the University of Rio and a group of professors and officials, nearly all of whom had secured their graduate instruction in the United States. I knew some of them personally and all of them as a result of correspondence. They formed the real progressives in the higher education of Brazil. They were all pro-American and devoted to the political, social, and educational ideals of the United States. This was not true, however, of the Rector, who in his intercourse with me did not disguise his love of and preference for French culture. It is hard to overestimate the influence of the French Revolution upon the Latin American peoples in their reaction against the absolutism of Spain. French philosophical ideas, French political principles, French literature, French civilization and culture became the sources from which the Latin Americans drew inspiration, especially during their formative years. Practically all members of the upper classes speak French fluently and French books are found in every cultured home. When children are sent abroad to be educated, in normal times they go to France. Sorbonne professors deliver lectures in French Institutes, which are found in many of the large cities of Latin America. All this is particularly true of Brazil, and. when I lectured in Rio de Janeiro it was in French. Most Brazilians do not speak English and though they do understand Spanish they do not like, as a matter of pride, to be spoken to in Spanish. When a foreigner does not understand their native tongue, they prefer to be addressed in French.

The Brazilian system of education is not so good as the Argentine. Outside of a few large cities like São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, the teaching staff is not well trained and the equipment is poor. The fine group of progressive scholars mentioned previously begged me to associate myself with them in drawing up a prospectus for a training school for teachers which was much desired by the Minister of Education. They thought the occasion of my visit would make opportune an appeal to the government for a grant of funds for that purpose. We spent almost a week in drawing up a plan for the school---the curriculum, the standards for the teaching staff, the needs of the technical library, the qualifications for entrance, the scholarships to be competed for throughout the country, in short, every proper requirement of a good teachers' college. Then, the Director of the Dom Pedro II Liceo, Dr. Delgado Carvalho, who was influential with the government, and the Minister of Education accompanied us on a visit to President Vargas. The President was enthusiastic and sent at once for the Minister of Finance, who stated that the treasury could not afford to spend the considerable sum needed for the establishment of the school. The President insisted that the money must be forthcoming and our group left the conference quite jubilant. Alas, the school does not yet exist! This was but one example of the lesson I learned in Latin America, viz., that a promise made by a politician in favor of an important activity is not necessarily to be relied upon. That is true in our own country also, though probably to a less extent.

When I arrived in Rio de Janeiro I found I was to be the guest of Mr. Edwin V. Morgan, the American Ambassador to Brazil, whom I did not know. Mr. Morgan, who was a wealthy man, had been Ambassador to Brazil for twenty-one years when he was retired in 1933. He occupied a fortunate diplomatic post, for throughout its history Brazil has been a loyal friend to the United States. He was greatly loved by all Brazilians, for he had made himself almost one of them and was far better informed as to the history, geography, resources, literature and institutions of Brazil than any but a few Brazilians. He had a place in the diplomatic history of Brazil similar to that of Mr. Bryce and M. Jusserand in the diplomatic history of the United States. Before he died he repeatedly expressed his wish to be buried in Brazil and was buried in the summer capital of Petropolis. The Americans in Brazil were not so enthusiastic about Mr. Morgan as were the Brazilians. The business interests maintained that in matters of controversy he looked out for Brazilian interests as often as for American.

The fact was tat Mr. Morgan was intensely interested in Brazilian culture. His knowledge of it was profound. When he took me to visit the Foreign Minister, he drew my attention to a large and beautiful rug in the ante-room and named the distant place, which he had himself visited, where it was woven. Then he showed me a magnificent escritoire and dilated upon the wood from which it was made and the forest from which the wood came. We made a circuit of the room so that Mr. Morgan could show me the pictures on the walls. He knew every detail of their history and value. It is easily understandable why the Brazilians loved him.

A great deal is written in our magazines about the lack of color prejudice and the non-existence of a color-line in Brazil. Certainly there exists no legal discrimination as in some States of our country. But it is a fact that at all the social gatherings I attended no Negroes happened to be present. Indeed even at such a semi-social and public gathering as my lecture at the embassy, I saw only one Negro, whom I afterward met and found to be a fine scholar and gentleman. However, if there be any distinction in Brazil between people of different races and colors it is by no means so openly declared as with us. I was taken one day by a university professor across the bay from Rio de Janeiro to Nichteroy to get a good view of Rio, and I happened to mention the alleged non-existence of race discrimination in Brazil. Probably as a kindly warning to prevent my saying anything that might hurt a sensitive person, he said, "You know, Dr. Duggan, I have Negro blood in my veins." I should not have known it. There was no indication of it in the color of his skin or the appearance of his features. I wonder how many persons in our country with Negro blood in their veins would publicly avow the fact if it were not at all evident. The problem of large masses of Negroes and whites living in the same community has received different solutions in Brazil, the Caribbean area, and the United States where that condition exists. The prominent Brazilian sociologist, Gilberto Freyre, has made a thorough study of it for Brazil. It ought to be similarly studied in the other areas.

I like the Brazilian people immensely. To me they resemble the French more than does any other Latin American people. They are kindly and courteous and few have any of the aggressive qualities of the Argentines or ourselves. Perhaps they are not sufficiently endowed with the determination to exploit wisely the immense resources of their great country. It is larger than the United States, excluding Alaska, and has a population of over 40,000,000---about one-third of the population of the whole of Latin America. We Americans boast that for more than a hundred years we have had an unfortified frontier between our country and Canada. It speaks well for the peaceable character of Brazilian statesmanship that Brazil borders every one of the South American countries save Chile and Ecuador, and has had no war with any one of them since the Paraguayan war of 1865-1870. Brazil seems destined to play a great rôle in the future of the southern continent.

I bade good-bye to André Siegfried on the dock at Rio de Janeiro, he to return to France and I to the United States. I thought he seemed saddened by the obvious increase of our cultural influence and the recession of French cultural influence in Latin America; for he is frankly not an admirer of our civilization. As I sailed home I could not but reflect upon the relations of our country with the Latin American republics. At the time (1931) they were certainly bad. The imperialistic policy pursued by the United States in the Caribbean during the previous twenty years, and the insistence that only we had the right to a voice in the interpretation of the Monroe Doctrine, caused the United States to be regarded in Latin America with suspicion, distrust and resentment. Fortunately, two years subsequent to my visit President Franklin Roosevelt dedicated his administration to the Good Neighbor policy and at successive Pan American conferences the patience, the obvious sincerity, and the broadmindedness of Secretary of State Cordell Hull won the Latin Americans to cooperation. Today our relations with the Latin American countries are founded upon a spirit of mutual good will. Nothing could have been more fortunate, because the totalitarian wave that swept over practically all Europe might have engulfed Latin America or certainly parts of it, had the old attitude of distrust and dislike toward the United States persisted. Instead, our State Department has attempted to develop a policy of hemisphere solidarity with a large degree of success due to the cordial cooperation of the great majority of the Latin American republics. It may eventually prove, however, that some of the Latin American countries are not impervious to Fascist propaganda.

The Western Hemisphere, in the large, is made up of only two great civilizations: the Iberian (Spanish and Portuguese) and the Anglo-Saxon.(4) Although these two civilizations are now united in a most important resolve to make this hemisphere a haven of peace and to arrange for its adequate defense, they differ from each other in many ways. I should mention here that I know of no two highly civilized countries which differ more in language, race, religion, traditions, legal systems, and attitude toward life than France and England. Moreover, no two have had a longer history of mutual conflict. Yet a common danger knit them together and the alliance was only dissolved by force, by the German conquest of France.

It is true that all the nations of the New World seem now to realize that they are confronted by a common danger which threatens to destroy their peace and retard the development of their immense resources. Hemisphere solidarity is unquestionably their best safeguard. But hemisphere solidarity is primarily dependent upon mutual understanding and there is very incomplete understanding between the two parts of the hemisphere, the Anglo-Saxon and the Latin American. Each is very ignorant of the civilization and culture of the other and that ignorance must be overcome. The chief remedy is personal contact. It is hard to understand people with whom one has never come into touch. Personal contact on a large scale is difficult. Throughout history the lines of travel have been east and west, not north and south. Until war commenced in 1939 citizens of the United States and Latin Americans voyaged to Europe to visit the monuments of the civilization which are their common cultural heritage. Moreover, it takes twice as long to travel from New York to Rio de Janeiro or to Lima as it does to go from New York to Europe, and it costs correspondingly more. Hence, though the scenery of some parts of Latin America is equal to anything in Europe and though the remains of ancient civilizations such as the Mayan, Inca and Aztec are deeply interesting, it cannot be expected that our tourist traffic with Latin America will ever assume anything like the dimensions of our tourist traffic with Europe. Nor is Latin American tourist traffic with the United States likely to become as great as its traffic with Europe. The political tensions of the past few years and the present war, however, have turned many tourists to the Latin American countries and that movement may increase with time.

Commercial and financial relations are bound to expand, but they do not necessarily lead to better understanding. Next to personal contact the most important remedy is wider and deeper cultural relations. The more that students and teachers from the Latin American countries study and teach in our institutions of education and the more they become familiar with the great strides we have made in music, literature, art and the higher things of life generally, the more will they remove the misconception existing among many in Latin America that our civilization is but a brutal materialism devoid of spiritual values. And the more that United States students and teachers visit the countries of Latin America and become aware of the vigorous and progressive civilizations that are developing there, the more will they help to destroy the attitude of disdain and superiority which so many North Americans have held in the past. What has been said of students and teachers is equally true of publicists, journalists, men of affairs, and professional men.

It is unfortunate that at present so few in the upper strata of Latin American society speak English with any degree of fluency. It is equally unfortunate that so few of our distinguished scholars and men of affairs can speak Spanish, Portuguese or French fluently enough to deliver lectures or addresses in those languages. It is noticeable, however, that the language obstacle is rapidly being overcome. This is true in the field of literature also. In 1939 the most influential publishers in the United States cooperated to send to South America three libraries of their most important publications, to the number of 2,500 volumes---one library to Rio de Janeiro, another to Buenos Aires, and a third to Montevideo. The books so generously donated were put into the public libraries of those cities and already are being widely read.

Although a person catches the spirit of a work of foreign literature better when he reads it in the original, in most cases he will secure a knowledge of it faster if he reads it in a good translation into his own tongue. During the past few years some of the finest masterpieces of American literature have been translated into Spanish and Portuguese, and some masterpieces of Spanish-American and Brazilian literature have been translated into English. One of the most efficient agencies for the spread of a knowledge of United States civilization among the Latin American peoples is the Reader's Digest. It translates its articles into Spanish and Portuguese, and adds a few in each issue by writers in Latin American countries. It now has attained the amazing circulation in Latin America of more than 1,000,000.

Since the United States gained its independence it has developed a new civilization, based upon England's but different from it and, as Europe has learned in recent years, not a provincial imitation of English civilization. The same thing is true of the countries of Latin America since they became independent of Spain and Portugal. The prophecies of Spengler and Keyserling as to the downfall of Western civilization probably apply nowhere, not even to Europe. They certainly do not apply to the Western Hemisphere. Europe may be old, tired, and pessimistic. The Americas are young, virile, and optimistic; theirs is a new land with vast natural resources to be developed and great empty spaces still to be filled. Despite differences in race and civilization the people of the United States have much in common with those of the Latin American countries. Some thinkers in both continents believe in the possibility of the development of a new civilization in this hemisphere, with Latin elements contributed by Latin America and Anglo-American elements contributed by the United States, a civilization founded upon those inherited from Europe but different from them. The realization of any such possibility is very distant. In the meantime, the peoples of the United States and the Latin American countries can learn to know and understand one another better, to respect and admire the culture and civilization of one another more fully, and to cooperate in enterprises for the improvement of themselves and of humanity.

The great interchange of students and teachers between the United States and the Latin American countries that has taken place in increasing numbers in recent years naturally suggests making a comparison between the systems of higher education of the United States and of Latin America.

The students of Latin American countries, many of whom are sons of politicians, are intensely interested in politics and in the conduct of government. Generally speaking, Latin American students are far more radical than our students and sometimes cooperate with workers in labor strikes and other forms of workers' movements which are productive of better social conditions. Politics with them takes the place of athletics with us and they not only have a deep interest in the political and social problems that confront their countries but they actually know a great deal about such problems. The university, its professors and students, wield more influence in the political and social life of a Latin American country than with us. The government always gives careful consideration to the probable attitude of the university upon any new policy and the views of the university professors and students upon a political situation carry great weight with the people. In a number of the universities the students have secured representation upon the university council.

Until recently our college students have not been seriously interested in the political, economic, and social problems that confront our country. Since the beginning of the recent economic depression, however, there has been a gratifying change in that respect. Moreover, the establishment of student councils in all our best colleges is a splendid step in preparing students for participation and leadership in the life of a democracy. In some colleges the entire control of student activities, including the matter of discipline, has been turned over to the student councils. In others, they participate even in the organization and administration of the curriculum. As in life generally, this situation is to a great extent a matter of atmosphere and morale. For unfortunately student politics in some of our colleges is characterized by the worst features of manipulation that exist in our municipal politics.

When Latin American students consider a situation intolerable in a university because of the presence of an utterly incompetent professor or a political rector, they go on strike and the university is shut down until the persona non grata is removed or a compromise reached. By means of the strike, students have also sometimes initiated and carried to a successful conclusion movements for modernizing antiquated courses and methods of instruction. But students go on strike for other reasons and sometimes their interference in public affairs has been admirable. Most of the revolutions of 1930 began in student uprisings. In Santiago de Chile they led the movement against the Dictator Ibáñez in 1931. When Ibáñez resigned as the result of the strike of physicians, engineers, teachers and finally labor, the provisional government wisely kept the carabineros in their barracks because they had been his favorites and had fired upon the people. For three days the students helped to maintain order. They directed traffic and rendered other services to the government in a most helpful manner. There was no such looting in the city as there had been in Boston in 1920 when as the result of the police strike, the citizens were without protection. The episode is one of which Chileans may really be proud. Unquestionably the fall of the Machado regime in Cuba was as much the result of student activity as of any other single factor. In this case, after having tried for more than two years the ordinary methods of agitation to secure necessary political reform, the students formed a secret organization and resorted to terroristic activities.

But not all student strikes are of this admirable kind. Some are caused by an insistence upon interfering in matters of university curricula and administration, owing to such demands as that an unpopular professor be dismissed, a vacation extended, an examination superseded, or courses duplicated or eliminated. In some universities the regular work is frequently interrupted and the university shut down for months. This is sometimes followed by sympathetic strikes in the other universities, secondary schools and even primary schools of the country, lasting until the dispute in the original strike has been settled---nearly always to the satisfaction of the students. Some of the dictators who feared student uprisings have closed universities even for a year or longer. It is obvious what a hindrance this is to a student's education, especially in a professional faculty. In the United States if a student were to return home and announce that he was on strike, his father would probably tell him that his education was ended and that he must earn his own living. But that is just where the difference in attitude toward life is shown. In the Latin American student's home, going on strike would be considered part of the individual's independence. Furthermore, the patriarchal tradition is still so strong that no one would consider expecting a student to earn his living under the circumstances described. In fact, few opportunities exist to enable him to do so. The only way that a young man can secure the coveted title of "Doctor" and a place in official life is by graduating from one of the faculties of the national university. Very few private universities are empowered to grant degrees. This has, at least, the advantage of preventing ill-equipped institutions from imposing badly trained graduates upon the public, as is still the case in the United States.

Political professors and even politicians outside the university are sometimes behind student movements. Certainly politics ought to be driven out of educational affairs and particularly university affairs. A people that witnessed a few years ago the dismissal of an upright superintendent of schools on the demand of a political demagogue who happened to be Mayor of Chicago, or the dismissal of professors from their chairs in the state university by a stupid governor of Mississippi, understand that need. But those occurrences are not usual in the United States and bring a storm of disapproval and usually retribution upon the offenders. It is not so in most of the Latin American countries. The peoples of those countries might, in fact, profit by our experience in this matter. In addition to arousing public opinion to the necessity of the independence of the university, some of our states have adopted two measures that go far to take our state universities out of politics, though by no means all the way out. These universities have been placed under the control of a Board of Regents which is usually made up of well-known citizens who serve entirely outside of the state government and are assured a definite tenure. Minimum support has been provided for the universities by allotting a certain number of units in every dollar raised by public taxation for university purposes exclusively. These provisions appear in state constitutions and can be changed only by vote of the people. Unfortunately, such ideas are alien to the Latin Americans, and tradition plays a much larger part in their civilization than in ours.

How the product of the Latin American university compares with our own is difficult to say. It is almost like comparing incommensurable quantities. The critic of the American college insists that the student is lacking in intellectual discipline and is too much "spoon-fed". I believe that is largely true. Moreover, there can be no question that the American college student pays too much attention to athletics and extracurricular activities generally. But at least these teach him the necessity of self-effacement, of cooperation, of accepting defeat gracefully. The friendly and even intimate relationship that exists between teachers and students in a well-organized American college is also one of the finest aspects of American higher education. And fortunately, the aim of character building in most colleges has survived the cynicism of the decade after the World War. The American ideal of training body and mind, and not only intellect but will and emotions as well, is an approach to the old Athenian ideal of the "rounded" man as the objective of education.

The liceo, colegio, and university in Latin American countries present a sharp contrast in these respects. Those institutions pay little regard to the students' physical, moral or social welfare. They are places of intellectual discipline only. They emphasize the student's individualism and he is already individualistic by racial and social inheritance. It is probably true that at twenty-one the Latin American has a keener intellect, knows more, and has a far more mature outlook upon life than the North American of the same age. He is probably possessed of more polish and social grace. But it is doubtful whether he has as much initiative, creative spirit, sense of responsibility, and consideration for inferiors.

The Latin American university is almost everywhere a national institution directly under the control of the government, which provides practically all of the budget. Universities are not autonomous as we understand educational autonomy in the United States. Lacking even the partial autonomy of our state university under its separate Board of Regents, the Latin American university often becomes a pawn in the play of national politics. A distinguished official of one of the countries said to me in the course of a conversation, "There is little in common between your country and mine, but there is one thing: we both have politicians to take care of. Your government is so big with so many departments and bureaux that you can provide for them rather harmlessly. We have to put some in the university."

The Latin American university is always located in a city, always the capital city if there is but one university in a country. Moreover, its main building and center of administration is likely to be on the principal avenue along which surges the daily life of the people. The building is often a converted monastery and still preserves its cloistral appearance and arrangement. Other parts of the university are frequently scattered about the city in buildings made over for university purposes. There are no dormitories, no campus, no shady walks, no commons. The students live at home or, if they come from other parts of the country, with relatives or in boarding houses. There is no gymnasium, athletic field or tennis court, because athletics form no part of university life. Nor is there any chapel. Religion is generally excluded from the curriculum and though most professors and students are nominal Catholics few participate in religious activities. There is always a central hall for educational gatherings, public addresses by visiting celebrities, and student agitation. There is seldom any social center for there is little social intercourse. The university is a place for intellectual discipline and political activity. The feeling of loyalty toward Alma Mater which is so strong a characteristic of the American alumnus seldom exists among the alumni of the Latin American university. Hence the generous gifts which an American university receives from its graduates are almost unknown in Latin American countries.

The Latin American university does not attempt to equip the student for life in the broader sense. It is practically everywhere organized as a vocational institution to provide for the professions and the government service. It is essentially, therefore, a loose collection of professional schools, generally free to the graduates of the liceo, the secondary school. Except in the most progressive countries, it is fair to say that the chief aim of the average graduate of one of those faculties is to secure a government position. It is a question whether the objective of very many American college graduates, namely, of preferring to go into business to make money is much nobler than that of securing an easy berth in a government job. The Latin American political objectives will, to a certain extent, explain the astonishingly large number of candidates studying law or medicine. In Buenos Aires the number of students studying medicine at the university was 4087 in 1941. Argentina, moreover, has three other universities with medical faculties. The fact is that a large part of the students do not intend to practice their profession. Graduation from one of the faculties gives the coveted title of "Doctor" which marks a man at once as above his fellows. In our "practical" civilization the title carries little weight outside college walls. The graduate of a university faculty in Latin America may finally land in a small government job in a provincial town, but he is a somebody. Money is just as highly regarded in Latin America as in the United States, but it hardly has the place in public esteem that honors have. The situation just described is roughly parallel to that which obtains in the graduate schools of our own great universities. They are to a considerable extent filled with students who seek the degree of Doctor of Philosophy not as an evidence of competent scientific research ability, but for its usefulness in their quest for a job of teaching in a college.

University teachers in Latin America in the faculties of law, medicine, and engineering are nowhere full-time professors, and even those in the faculties of letters, science, and education are often engaged in professional work. The theory is that a man so engaged is better qualified to teach the subject. The salaries of such professors, because they teach only part time, are not large except in the most advanced universities. However, they are fair for the few lectures the men give. In fact, many of the professors in the universities hold their positions as a matter of prestige and give little attention to their teaching duties.

Chiefly because of the slower economic development of Latin America, scientific education, so necessary in the commercial and industrial life of today, has made little progress compared with that in the United States. The libraries, laboratories, apparatus, and general equipment which are necessary for scientific instruction and are found in practically all of our universities are to a large extent missing in all but a few Latin American universities. The lecture method is everywhere the prevailing method of teaching. Our discussion and quiz methods are conspicuous by their absence. Science cannot be taught by the lecture method alone, and in any field this method lends itself readily to slipshod work. In some of the Latin American institutions there is fine teaching in science, but it is not typical. The result of this attitude has been that young Latin Americans who have come to the United States for advanced technical training have usually found themselves handicapped by a lack of necessary scientific preparation and of acquaintance with laboratory methods. The great economic expansion that has taken place in the more advanced countries of Latin America since the first World War is causing a demand for greater emphasis upon practical subjects and methods in the educational system. Moreover, this movement has received stimulus from the policy of the large American corporations that are active in those countries, in employing properly qualified natives in preference to foreigners. This is not the result of pure altruism, however, because some of the Latin American governments do not allow foreign corporations to operate unless they agree to employ a certain number of qualified nationals for high positions and usually all the required laborers.

The liberal education provided by the faculties of philosophy and letters and by the law schools, which in many countries are the real liberal arts colleges, is very effective along the lines which the Latin Americans themselves admire. This is shown by their extraordinary versatility and their keen interest in and knowledge of literary and artistic subjects. They consider that these are the real values of life rather than the more material and social ones which are stressed in the United States.

American influence is exerted to a considerable extent through American schools in the Latin American countries. They are to be found in practically every capital and in many other large cities. Many are private-adventure schools of poor standards, but some are highly regarded and nearly always well filled with students. Their popularity is due primarily to the fact that, though they are seldom equal to schools of the same grade in the United States, their methods of school organization and teaching are usually more modern, their equipment more up-to-date and, aside from actual information imparted, their standards of attainment are higher than those of the local schools. Moreover, they attempt to give a rounded education, looking after physical welfare and character training as well as intellectual discipline. Their success has sometimes been pronounced, and many people prominent in social and political life send their children by preference to these schools rather than to national schools or Church schools.

Though there are also a considerable number of German, British, and French schools scattered about Latin America, they have not encountered the opposition of the Church as have the American schools. This opposition is due to the fact that most American schools started as adjuncts to Protestant missions and although some of them are now independent organizations and receive little or no financial support from mission boards in the United States, all of them are still regarded by the Catholic Church as mission schools. The Church naturally looks upon these schools as agencies for proselytism and wherever one is established the local bishop usually issues an annual denunciation of it. It is hard to believe that proselytism was not the prime reason for their establishment, despite denial by those in charge of the schools. Observation of the work of some of them, however, disclosed no evidence of a deliberate attempt at it or of much place for it in the daily routine. The teachers of some of these schools are sometimes inferior to those in similar institutions in the United States, partly because of the difficulty of retaining teachers over a considerable period of years and partly because of the lower salaries they receive. Nevertheless, they are apparently making a real contribution to the welfare of the communities in which they are established.

The denunciations of the bishops apparently have little effect upon the prosperity of the strong schools and colleges, and their existence has stimulated the establishment of better Church schools in some places. That the Church can maintain schools equally good is made evident by the splendid work accomplished by the Catholic University of Santiago, one of the very few private universities in Latin America. It has fine scholars as teachers, excellent equipment, and a progressive spirit and outlook. The Catholic University at Lima has become popular in conservative circles because of the radical character of the student body at San Marcos. If the Church in Latin America wishes to compete successfully with the American schools already established there, it would do well to secure teachers who are familiar with American educational methods and ideals. They might be selected from the many nationals who have studied in American institutions or from American teachers who speak Spanish or Portuguese. After the American occupation of the Philippines the Church adopted this policy there with excellent results. Americans have much to learn from other nations in many fields of thought and endeavor, but despite the imperfections of their school system they have much to give in the field of education.