Lodges Lake. But how many were missing of those who had been there with us ten years before! Gone to the Sandhills, dread abode of the dead of the Blackfeet tribes, were the shadows of TailFeathers-Coming-Over-the-Hill, Medicine Owl, Boy Chief, and other leaders of the tribe.

Counseling together around the evening fire in Curly Bear's sacred Beaver Medicine lodge, we soon came to agreement upon the prosecution of the work. Briefly, it was decided that

had been a part of the vast country of the Kutenai Indians, they should be asked to restore to it the names that they had given its various features.

4. That Takes-Gun-First-or Eli Guardipee, as he is known to the whites and Curly Bear should be my close and constant assistants in the work.

So ended our council. Camp was broken and we went our various ways; Guardipee, Curly Bear, and I north to Fort Macleod, Alberta, to meet some members of the north, or Canadian, branch of the Kutenai tribe. One of them was a half-Kutenai, half-Pikuni man of great intelligence, named by his Pikuni mother Kakitos (Star), who gladly acted as our interpreter. When he told his companions the object of our visit to them, they became quite excited over the opportunity we offered to restore to the west side of Glacier Park the names that their ancestors had given its various features. We worked with them for several weeks, and were greatly pleased with the picturesque, really poetic names that they had for several of the glaciers and lakes.

Returning south, we passed the remainder of the summer in recording the Blackfeet tribes' names for the topographical features of the east side of the Park and the history of each name so far as known. This against an everrising tide of protest: Florence, Josephine, and Elizabeth did not want Indian names restored to the lakes that had been named for them; Stark Point should continue to be the name for the point of the mountain which, in deepest gratitude for his aid when in dire need, the Pikuni had long since named for Dr. George Bird Grinnell, or Fisher Cap, as they affectionately call him; and certain religious organizations insisted that Heavens Peak was far more appropriate for a certain mountain than any old Indian name by which it had been known.

The result of our work on the east side of the Park is really the history of the Blackfeet tribes to far back times. For instance, mountains named for Bull Back-Fat and Eagle Ribs recall the fact that these two men were the leaders of the Blackfeet party that in 1830 engagé Berger induced to visit Fort Union, at the mouth of the Yellowstone, and there make a treaty of peace with Little Water-Whiteman, Kenneth Mackenzie, American Fur Company factor at that place; and thereby was opened up for purposes of trade and for early settlement the whole of the upper Missouri country. We have, too, the life history of each of these chiefs, and vastly interesting they are. Their portraits, which

are in the National Gallery, in Washington.

Then, instead of Trick Falls, we have Running Eagle Falls, named for the long-ago virgin woman warrior of the Pikuni, the only woman of the tribe ever given a man name. A number of other features of this east slope of the Park bear the names of women who in one way and another have important place in the history of the tribes.

Different from the Blackfeet tribes, the Kutenai Indians have practically no historic background. They were ever a timid people, living in the fastnesses of the mountains and the vast forests to the west of them, and their coups were the killings of grizzly bears, instead of human foes. The most interesting information that we got from them was that about their names for certain features of the great range. To them the largest ice sheet in the Park, the Blackfeet Glacier,

T

is Old Man Ice. He is believed to be the father of Son Ice (Sperry Glacier) and Daughter Ice (Pumpelly Glacier); while Old Woman Ice (Red Eagle Glacier) is Old Man's wife.

Long Bow Ice (Harris Glacier) was so named because, in the very long ago, a huge bow was found embedded in it.

Ice-Where-the-Goats'-Children-Play is the small Baby Glacier of the Geological Survey map.

Sacred Dancing Lake (Lake Macdonald) was so named for the reason that it was on its shores that the tribe held its annual religious ceremony. And Old Woman Lakes are the St. Marys Lakes; like the head of an old woman, they are almost constantly white with wind-driven waves.

Said Curly Bear, when winter came and our task was finished: "Well, in this we have, anyhow, done good work, lasting work. When we old Pikuni die, our knowledge dies with us. But the whites

put their knowledge upon paper before they die, and that knowledge lives forever. Our children are now learning the white men's ways; they will read this, our work, they will study this, our map, and their hearts will be glad. Kyi! Let us smoke and rest."

Ai! But here is a thought: Since 1917 the people of the State of Washington have been trying to induce the United States Geographic Board to give Mount Rainier its ancient and rightful name, Mount Tacoma, and have met with no success in their effort. So is it that we fear our work will meet a like fate.

Said Theodore Roosevelt of this: "Why should we Americans abandon the splendid Indian name, Tacoma, in order to call our noblest landmark after an obscure foreigner whose only connection with our history is that he fought against us when we were an infant nation?"

HERE is something brewing in
China.

For the past half-dozen years something special has been brewing. It has not yet found its way into the columns of our American dailies. But it may at any time. It has been crowded into the background and out of our journals.

Despatches dealing with brigandage, civil war, anti-foreignism, Communist propaganda, tariff reform, and all the ugly activities of foreign Powers have been displayed as a daily diet for our confused reading public.

But what does the average citizen of this country or Canada know of China's heroic fight against one of her deadliest internal enemies? The answer is nothing.

The battle royal which is now on in China is a battle against ignorance. It is a fight to the finish against illiteracy. And when we stop to consider that eighty per cent of China's 400,000,000 population can neither read nor write we get an idea of the length and breadth of the battle-front.

China is not a stupid nation. Far from it. Paradoxical as it sounds, she is a land of scholars. Her people love learning. I have seen her old men as well as her youths in the great interior cities carefully pick up newspapers from

the streets rather than tread on the characters printed thereon. Yet the great mass of people, the peasants and workers, have been so busy trying to keep their rice bowls filled that they have had neither time, money, nor energy with which to get an education.

China has suddenly become articulate. She has grown vociferous in recent years. She has developed a national conscious

Y. C. James Yen

ness. She has been stabbed awake by her students from within and by the activities of foreign Powers from without.

An intellectual awakening called the Hsin Su chao or new thought tide is sweeping over the land with terrific velocity. A great revolution has occurred in the language. To understand the significance of the mass attack on illiteracy one should first consider that for centuries there have been two distinct languages in China. The classical language is used only as a literary medium, and the vernacular or spoken language used by scholars and common people alike in conversation. There is as much difference between these two as there is between English and Latin.

The need for something else became so keenly felt with the importation of Western culture and science-the classical language could not express scientific terms-that in 1917 Mr. Hu Shih, a graduate of Cornell and Columbia, advocated the adoption of Pei Hua, or the spoken language, as a literary medium.

The "literary revolution" of 1917-19 resulted in the overthrow of the classical language, and immediately newspapers, magazines, and books written in the Pei Hua flooded the country. The adoption of the simplified language as a literary medium made it possible to accomplish in a few years what had formerly re

quired a lifetime. But the desperate struggle for existence made it impossible for the masses to devote even a few years to education.

A reformed language, but no one to take advantage of it! Was the struggling giant to be denied the fruits of hard-earned reform? No. Suddenly, rolling up out of the west, but headed by a brilliant son of Han, came the mass education movement. Last summer, at the Institute of Pacific Relations in Honolulu, where the nations of the Pacific met to discuss their common problems, President Ray Lyman Wilbur, of Stanford University, characterized the movement as "the most significant undertaking in the Orient." Although it is less than five years ago that the first classes were held in Changsha, more than two million text-books have been issued and more than three million students, averaging in age from twelve to twentyfive, have been enrolled. It is the most extraordinary democratic movement of the age, and it is progressing by leaps and bounds from one end of China to the other.

The leader of this significant undertaking is Y. C. James Yen. "Jimmy" Yen, as he is familiarly called by his foreign friends, is a graduate of an American university. Much has been said about the inability of the "returned student" to serve his country upon his return to China. But Yen is one of many who have taken more than a degree from our institutions of learning. He took an idea and an inspiration from Yale, and

Yen was a secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association with the Chinese labor battalions in France during the war. His family are among the Chinese literati of Szechuan Province, of stock popularly believed to trace back to Confucius. "Jimmy" had the chance to make a brilliant but easy career among his kind, but he cast in his lot with the toiling, ignorant masses of China.

I met him first in Shanghai, shortly after his return from Europe. I discovered in him strong qualities of leadership enriched by an abounding enthusiasm that drew men to him. He is a good mixer, a fiery speaker, an excellent tennis player, and a singer of charm. No party or group can remain dull when Yen is in its midst.

When Yen found himself with G. H. Cole, another Y secretary, together with a number of Chinese students, in intimate contact with the least favored members of his own race on a battle-ground in a foreign land, he came to a realization of their terrible need. There they were, with little news from home and unable to read it when it came. He determined to teach them how to read and write. Being a Christian, Yen's urge to service soon found expression.

Instituting classes for his coolie charges, he found an astonishing thirst for learning. He discovered that they

soon learned to read and write. He started the first Pei Hua paper. It was issued for the "coolies." The word coolie is derived from two Chinese words, ku li-bitter strength. The paper was called the "Laborers' Weekly." This intimate contact with the burly sons of Shantung afforded a unique opportunity for the practical study of the problem of mass education. With his college background and his burning desire to serve his less fortunate brothers, Yen carried on an experimentation which lasted even until his return to China, where he finally worked out the device known as the "Foundation Character System." It consists of but one thousand Chinese characters. It grew out of a tabulation of over a million characters, and its significance lies in the fact that one who knew these one thousand most frequently used characters could read the news of the day in specially prepared papers, read a large number of books, keep accounts, and write letters.

Special text-books based on the latest dictates of psychology and pedagogy were prepared and different methods of instruction for different kinds of classes were worked out.

Two of the methods are especially interesting. One is for people of itinerant callings, such as the rickshaw coolies and the itinerant venders, who cannot attend regular classes, and the other for instructing from four to six hundred students simultaneously. The rickshaw coolie or vender receives his instruction at "question stations"-shops or resi

A lantern-slide class in the Shanghai Y. M. C. A. to teach students how to write Chinese characters

dences in all parts of the city where there is a literate willing to help any man who wants to learn. All the "stations" are plainly marked, so a student with a leisure moment has no difficulty in finding an instructor willing to give him a private lesson.

in three representative cities in different parts of China. In each place a city-wide campaign touching every one from the highest magistrate to the beggars on the street was conducted. The help of the fortune-tellers and story-tellers was especially sought, and proved very effective. A general committee of the leading citizens was organized, volunteer teachers recruited, and free classrooms secured in all parts of the city. Following an intensive publicity campaign a house-tohouse canvass for students was made. Over five thousand students were enrolled in the three cities and attended the classes each week night during the four months. The cost of instruction was about one dollar per pupil, but this was raised by popular subscription. The only expense incurred by the student was the price of his books, which amounted to about five cents.

Experiments have shown that the method of teaching large groups brings better results than any other. First, all lights go off and the stereopticon throws a brilliantly colored picture on the screen. There is no trouble getting attention, as no student can see his neighbor. The teacher asks questions about the picture, so as to bring out the words in the vocabulary. Let us suppose that there is the word "man" in the vocabulary, and that this was brought out in the questions. Following the discussion, the character for man will be thrown on the screen in gigantic size. The pupils see the written character for the spoken word and are called on to repeat the word "man." Four hundred voices shout "man" as loudly as possible. You can't imagine the noise they make. It is terrific! The huge character makes an indelible impression through the eyes. The vocal organs form the word and yell it out. Hundreds of voices pour the sound in upon the ear-drums and the hands draw the character in the air. Do you think they will ever forget it? Never! They eat, sleep, and dream characters. They have never had so much excitement Mass education is now under way in in their lives. a thousand villages in twenty-two of Mr. Yen's experiments were conducted China's twenty-three provinces, and Yen

The Y. M. C. A. sponsored Yen at the beginning, and classes were held in Y. M. C. A. buildings, stores, churches, temples, and all sorts of meeting-places, as well as in the open. The movement spread over rural as well as urban sections of China with amazing rapidity, graduates of a class often taking charge of a fresh class. The movement is no longer under Y. M. C. A. leadership, although it has a full-time secretary, Daniel Fu, directing its activities in this field.

himself does not know how many classes there are. He is trying to co-ordinate the work and to improve the quality of instruction through provincial supervisors, but all the local classes are selfsupporting and spontaneously organized. More than one hundred thousand teachers have volunteered their services.

central

The central organization through which Yen works is headed by Mme. Hsiung Hsi-ling, wife of the former Pre-' mier and herself a well-known social reformer; Dr. Yuan Hsi-tao, former Vice-Minister of Education; P. W. Kuo, President of National Southeastern University; Chang Po-ling, President of Nankai University; and many other noted educators and literary men.

Many classes are held in the army, with officers and literate soldiers as tutors of the illiterates. Several generals requested mass education for their soldiers.

Judging from the results already obtained in Changsha, Chefoo, Kashing, Hangchow, Shanghai, Hankow, and other big cities, the mass education movement in China has demonstrated that it has captured the imagination of the people. It is a unifying force in the life of the nation. Politically China is divided, but in education, and particularly in mass education, she is one. The new system enables a mechanic of Manchuria to correspond with a carpenter of Canton-something that he had always paid a public letter-writer to do.

True citizenship is being taught in the "follow up" schools. "Good citizenship weeks" in China will soon be as popular as Thrift Week in America. A taste and a demand for a new literature is developing rapidly. A people's literature is in the making, and the intellectual awakening is becoming a reality not merely among a few of the intellectuals but among the four hundred million people.

The movement has shown its ability to live under the present chaotic conditions, and is the only educational movement which has afforded a practical solution of China's illiteracy. Millions do not even know whether China is a monarchy or a republic and have no thought of taking part in the Government. In China's struggle for democracy she must have an educated citizenship which can take an intelligent stand on the issues at stake. This can be brought about by education, and the mass education movement is one of her greatest hopes at pres

ent.

If the present pace is maintained, Mr. Yen will live to see his slogan fulfilled"Make China a literate nation in this generation."

S

OME years ago I went steerage to Europe with those who were going back to take up life again in the Old World; fifteen hundred persons slung on sail-cloth bunks, three deep, tier touching tier, down in three great iron cavities reached by two flights of steep grimy stairs.

How little most of these people had learned of American habits, of hygiene, of open-handedness, of that basic democratic trait-instinctive regard for the rights of others! Yet in every case there was something, if no more than the habit of using a patent shaving cream, wearing B. V. D. underwear, or greeting fellow-men with an informal freedom that betokened subjective changes that longer acquaintanceship might have disclosed.

True, in some cases Americanization appeared complete. There was, for instance, the clean-cut Basque who joined three of us in a game of coon-can on one of the hatchway tarpaulins, a man who had worked in the Texas oil fields for

six years.

"I'm just going back for a visit," he explained without accent. "You see, I have a wife in Vizcaya, who's afraid to cross the ocean, and two kids. I'm going to bring the older one back with me -make an American out of him."

A Catalan whom I met a year later in a first-class cabin between Barcelona and Genoa had a different tale. The Catalans, proud and tenacious of their nationality, have little reason to love the Castilian royal Government. Perhaps this same abiding recalcitrancy partially explained his critical attitude toward the United States:

"I couldn't stay in a country where I was just a 'dam' dago,' that's all. Late one night I was hunting for a house number in Brooklyn. A big bull follows me and yells out: 'Hey, what yez doin' around here, you dirty dago? I got my eye on yez! Get along now, or I'll run yez in.'

"You Americans talk liberty like it was God Almighty; but you can't get a drink of wine without breaking the law. And look at the places where you can't go to the theater or a ball game on Sunday, or drive an auto-some where you can't even buy a package of cigs!

"And look how you kill the niggers! I get on a car in New Orleans. Pretty soon the conductor, he taps my arm and says, 'These seats a' fo' niggahs.' 'S all right,' I say him. 'I don't mind sitting

By CARLETON BEALS

here.' 'Get out,' he hollers, 'or I'll call a cop,' and the guy yanks my arm.

"A nigger girl asks me for a street in New York. I say her: 'I go that way; come along, please.' We ride together on the street car. I pretty near get my head knocked off. Americans don't know how to be polite."

Some of these crudely expressed criticisms touch fundamental evils. But what to an American is a wrong to be righted to an unassimilated foreigner is an irksome tyranny.

But always the Catalan would hark back to the story of the policeman on that dark night in Brooklyn. That trifling incident, the harshness of those two words, 'dam' dago,' summed up all he felt about America, shutting out every other light.

I had just been in the Balearic Isles, off the southern coast of Spain, where to-day, after six centuries, the Catalans still contemptuously call the descendants of Christianized Jews "chuetas,;" yet my first-cabiner was blind to the parallel. The inborn contempt of the ignorant for the stranger, the foreigner, is a social force that every man who travels is compelled to experience, be it the more enlightened ignorance of the Boston élite who elevate their noses at lesser American breeds, or of a "native son" of California who is a bit more golden with Westness, or a Timbuctoo chieftain proud of his black skin and purple plumes.

Yet the majority of those original fifteen hundred going steerage, whatever minor grievances they cherished, harbored a kindly feeling toward the land they were deserting. After all, the number of people who tear themselves away from an established home for some abstract ideal never equals the number who are stimulated by hope of material bet

terment.

I recall vividly the three swart Armenians, the "spittoon chorus" that befouled the deck with constant expectoration, and my wonder that they should wish to return to troubled Asia Minor. It transpired that they had been suddenly bit by the urge of again seeing the fatherland, an urge of whose overriding strength only one who has been away from his native country an extended length of time can appreciate. Yet this strange migratory instinct appeared doubly strange in these three, whose shrewd eyes and blunt thumbs seemed best suited for cunningly measuring out

short lengths of dry-goods in some East Side shop. And, indeed, they proved to be stuffed with wild facts concerning the fabulous rates of exchange and low prices. They would settle down and be great merchants among their own people.

From conversations such as I have described with emigrants returning to Europe and from interviews with many others who have resettled in Spain and Italy, I find it is possible to fit most of these into three categories.

Leaving out of account those who had returned to take part in the war-some 250,000 in the case of Italy-there are, first of all, the natural wanderers, those who talk glibly of many lands and bizarre adventures, the people who will never stay put.

There was Dolan, a stocky, two-fisted Irishman with three teeth knocked out by a "belayin'-pin in the auld days on a durrty two-master poundin' roun' the Horn." He knew Tokyo, Shanghai, Liverpool, Havre, Hamburg, Calcutta, better than Dublin. He could flirt with señoritas in a Peruvian cantina or make love to a dusky damsel in a South Sea beach-comber's hut. He had once landed in New York with fifty cents, and had flung it away because he didn't wish to enter such a big city with so little money. He had soldiered in South Africa, mined in western Australia, harvested wheat in Manitoba. He could tell the distinction in vivid terms of taste and after-effect of whisky, Mexican mescal, Andean chicha, Jamaica rum, and Russian vodka-all drunk in their native habitat. Dolan was an Irish epic, and no mistake.

Some immigrants may have merely done their wandering from Bleecker Street to the Barbary coast, from the levees of New Orleans to the automobile factories of Detroit, but the shiftless, aggressive character of this type is readily distinguished. They will soon be wandering again from their native countries.

Then there are the potential wanderers, whose lack of initiative or courage alone causes them to cling to one spot. They are the disillusioned ones of earth, who see the good things ever mas allá. They were vaguely dissatisfied in the United States. Italy, France, Poland, after a few years seemed to them lost paradises. Home again, they see in the United States another lost paradise, and will spend the remainder of their lives. scheming to return.

Sereno, a melancholy brown-eyed Italian from Settignano, in Tuscany,