sion of its merits. The majority of the guests present agreed that Alexander was very rash, while some, among whom were the tutor and the boy, greatly admired his bravery. This was enough to convince Rousseau that none of them had a proper appreciation of the real greatness of Alexander's act. It was to him first of all a profession of faith in mankind. Alexander believed in human virtue; he had faith in his friends, even to the extent of putting his life in their hands.

But the great educator was particularly interested in the interpretation which the boy might put upon the story; accordingly, at the first opportunity after dinner, the two took a stroll together through the park. Rousseau had already come to suspect, from several signs, that the boy had no correct comprehension of the story which he had related so beautifully. He therefore questioned him at his ease and found that he, more even than his instructor or any of the guests, was an admirer of the courage that Alexander had displayed. "But," proceeds Rousseau, "do you know wherein he saw this courage? Solely in the act of swallowing a bitter-tasting potion without hesitation and without showing the least repugnance. The poor child who, less than two weeks before, had been required to take some medicine and had found it extremely difficult, had still the after-taste of medicine in his mouth. To him death and poisoning meant only disagreeable

things have that characteristic, or to see anything inappropriate in the question, What is the color of the days of the week? One child to whom this query was put, very naturally replied that they were probably blue, for he had heard people speak of "blue Monday"; another likened red to the sound of a trumpet. Thus the absence of a certain class of experiences prevents the possibility of interpreting ideas belonging to that class.

The majority of men would learn almost as little from a lecture on calculus as the blind boy from one on color. But as things begin to come within our range of knowledge and interests, they begin to carry meaning. The wild Indian on the western plains would appreciate the sight of a man climbing a telegraph pole in modern fashion, for he does enough climbing himself to realize that it is no easy task to go up a smooth pole. Still, there is such a wide chasm between his daily thoughts and most modern inventions, that he would be unlikely to have much regard for a steam-engine. The schoolboy who reads about the threefold division of society in European countries is confronted by much the same difficulty; his environment being usually his sole source of help, he attempts to divide his own little community into three strata, according to the description. In this country the attempt necessarily meets with failure, and consequently the thought has little force. Thus, in applying the law

that new knowledge can be acquired solely through the old, it must be remembered that the relationship between the new and the old must be very close, if the former is to be well comprehended and appreciated.

condition.

The second consideration is just as important as A second the first in influencing the method of teaching; it is that any one must be fully conscious of this close connection between the known and that which is yet to be learned. If this consciousness is lacking, the two are practically disconnected, no matter how close their real kinship may be. We often meet old friends and regard them as strangers, and this happened so regularly in the schoolroom that it would be difficult to accomplish it more certainly.

For instance, children are not expected to distinguish the grammatical subject and predicate of sentences before the eleventh year of age. But they have been speaking English nine or ten years, and understanding it fully as long. Of course, then, they know "what they are speaking about" when they utter their thoughts, and they know well, too, what they say about their topics of conversation. They understand their mothers and their friends just as well as themselves. Any child, then, has had daily practice for ten years in distinguishing “subject" and "predicate," and has become quite an adept at it before he is required to study such matter in

Proof from Rousseau's experience.

of objects and events can build up in children's minds vivid and correct mental pictures. This view of teaching made instruction an apparently simple and easy matter. Any one could teach who could govern a school, who possessed the necessary knowledge, and who had a good command of language.

But the modern understanding declares teaching to be by no means so easy or mechanical; there are several important conditions to be fulfilled before facts communicated by words can result in real knowledge, and it is the observance of these that makes teaching a difficult process.

One of these conditions that is essential is suggested by a story that Rousseau relates in his "Emile." He had accepted an invitation to spend a few days at the country home of a woman of rank who was much interested in the education of her children, and he happened one morning to be present in a history recitation conducted by a private tutor with the eldest boy. The topic under discussion was the well-known story of Alexander and his physician, Philip. It was related how the former was warned by friends that Philip was untrue to him and was awaiting an opportunity to give him poison; and that, nevertheless, when in need of medicine, Alexander took the proffered goblet and drank its contents without hesitation. At dinner the child was called upon to relate the narrative, and did so amidst much applause. There then followed some discus

sion of its merits. The majority of the guests present agreed that Alexander was very rash, while some, among whom were the tutor and the boy, greatly admired his bravery. This was enough to convince Rousseau that none of them had a proper appreciation of the real greatness of Alexander's act. It was to him first of all a profession of faith in mankind. Alexander believed in human virtue; he had faith in his friends, even to the extent of putting his life in their hands.

But the great educator was particularly interested in the interpretation which the boy might put upon the story; accordingly, at the first opportunity after dinner, the two took a stroll together through the park. Rousseau had already come to suspect, from several signs, that the boy had no correct comprehension of the story which he had related so beautifully. He therefore questioned him at his ease and found that he, more even than his instructor or any of the guests, was an admirer of the courage that Alexander had displayed. "But," proceeds Rousseau, "do you know wherein he saw this courage? Solely in the act of swallowing a bitter-tasting potion without hesitation and without showing the least repugnance. The poor child who, less than two weeks before, had been required to take some medicine and had found it extremely difficult, had still the after-taste of medicine in his mouth. To him death and poisoning meant only disagreeable