day they may stand beside the white man as equals. Behind them,
laughing gayly and chattering as if without a care in the world,
comes a larger group of kinky-haired, thick-lipped youths with
black skins and African features. They, too, have been working
with the hands to train the mind. Those two diverse races, red
and black, sit down together in a classroom, and to them comes
another race. The faces that were expressionless or merely
mirthful a minute ago light up with serious interest as the
teacher comes into the room. She stands there a slender,
golden-haired, blue-eyed Anglo-Saxon girl just out of college--a
mere child compared with the score of swarthy, stalwart men as
old as herself who sit before her. Her mobile features seem to
mirror a hundred thoughts while their impassive faces are moved
by only one. Her quick speech almost trips in its eagerness not
to waste the short, precious hour. Only a strong effort holds her
back while she waits for the slow answers of the young men whom
she drills over and over again in simple problems of arithmetic.
The class and the teacher are an epitome of American history.
They are more than that. They are an epitome of all history.

History in its broadest aspect is a record of man's migrations
from one environment to another. America is the last great goal
of these migrations. He who would understand its history must
know its mountains and plains, its climate, its products, and its
relation to the sea and to other parts of the world. He must know
more than this, however, for he must appreciate how various
environments alter man's energy and capacity and give his
character a slant in one direction or another. He must also know
the paths by which the inhabitants have reached their present
homes, for the influence of former environments upon them may be