PART III. (continued 2)

In teaching the alphabet to adults, whose minds are capable of appreciating and applying the principle of analysis, the "Classified Alphabet" should invariably be used. By this means their memory, in endeavouring to recall the form and name of any particular letter, instead of having to search through the whole twenty-six, has never to think of more than the four or five which compose its class,—a circumstance which makes the alphabet much more easily acquired by the adult than by a child. But even here, the principle of individuation must not be lost sight of; each letter in the class must be separately learned, and each class must be familiar, before another is taught.

The principle of individuation continues to be equally necessary in teaching children to combine the letters in the formation of words; and when it is attended to, and when the only real use of letters, as the mere symbols of sound, is understood by the pupil, a smart child may be taught to read in a few minutes. This is not a theory, but a fact,—evidenced in the experience of many, and in the presence of thousands. Nor is it necessary that the words which are taught, should consist only of two or three letters; if the word be familiar to the child in speech, it becomes instantly known, when divided and taught in parts or syllables; and when once it is learned by the sounds of the letters, though these sounds merely approximate to the pronunciation of the word, it is sufficient to give a hint of what the word is, and when once it is known, it will not likely be again forgotten. By this means, the child is never puzzled except by entirely new words; and by knowing the use of the letters in their sounds, he receives a key by which at least to guess at them, which the sense of the subject greatly assists; so that one day, or even one hour, is sometimes, and we have no doubt will soon be generally, sufficient to overcome the hitherto forbidding and harassing drudgery of learning to read.

In teaching children their first lessons, it is of great importance that the main design of reading should be clearly understood, and attended to. As writing, philosophically considered, is nothing more than an artificial substitute for speaking, so reading is nothing more than an artificial substitute for hearing, and is subject to all the laws which regulate that act. Now one of the chief laws impressed by Nature on the act of hearing the speech of others, is the very remarkable one formerly alluded to, namely, the exclusive occupation of the mind with the ideas communicated, to the entire exclusion of the words, which are merely the means by which the ideas are conveyed. The words are no doubt heard, but they are never thought of;—for if they were, the mind would instantly become distracted, and the ideas would be lost. This law equally applies to the act of reading; and every one feels, that perfection in this art is never attained, till the mind is exclusively occupied with the ideas in the book, and never in any case with the words which convey them. But in learning to read, the difficulty of decyphering the words, tends to interfere with this law, and this must be guarded against. The remedy simply is, to allow the child time to overcome this first difficulty, by repeatedly, if necessary, reading the sentence till he can read it perfectly; and then, before leaving it, to discipline the mind to the perception of the ideas it contains, now that the child can read it well.

The catechetical exercise, as in the "First Class Book on the Lesson System," will almost always accomplish the object here pointed out; and the value of the exercise it recommends will be best understood and appreciated, by observing the evils which invariably follow its neglect. For if the child be allowed to read on and on, while the difficulty of decyphering the words in the book remains, the ideas will be left behind, the attention will be fatigued, and at last exhausted. The child will continue to read without understanding; and the habit thus acquired of reading the words, without perceiving the ideas at all, will soon be established and confirmed. Custom has robbed this relict of a former age of much of its repulsiveness; but it is not the less hurtful on that account. Were we to run a parallel with it in any other matter, its true nature and deformity would at once appear. For example, were we to suppose ourselves listening to an imperative message from a superior, by a messenger with whose language we were but partially acquainted, we would not allow him to proceed with his communication from beginning to end, while the very first sentence he uttered, had not been understood, and the mind was unprepared for that which was to follow. We would stop him at the close of the very first sentence, and would master the meaning of that, before we would advance with him another step; and then we would make him proceed at such a pace as we could keep up with him. If he left us again behind, there would be but one remedy. He must return and repeat the sentence where he left us, till we had comprehended his master's meaning; and if he refused to do this, he could not conscientiously say to him on his return, that he had delivered his message. By following this plan, and adopting this branch of the natural principle of individuation in such a case, two benefits would arise. We would first become perfectly acquainted with the will and message of our superior; and next, we would, at the close of the exercise, be so much more familiar with the language in which it was delivered, as that it would require less effort on a future occasion, to comprehend the meaning of the same speaker. If this method had not been adopted, and the message had been given entire and without a pause, it might have been rehearsed in our hearing a hundred times, but the meaning would neither have been mastered, nor would our knowledge of the language have been in the least improved.

The application of this principle of individuation in the early stages of a child's learning to read, suggests the propriety also of making some preparation for his reading every new lesson in succession. We have seen that it is chiefly the new words in a lesson that create difficulty, and prevent the operation of that important law in Nature which induces the mind at once to lay hold of the ideas. To obviate this distraction of mind therefore beforehand, the new words which are to occur in the lesson should be selected, and made familiar to the child previously, and by themselves;—he should be taught to read them easily by the combination of their letters, and clearly to understand their meaning, in precisely the same shade in which they are used in the lesson he is to read. When this is done, the lesson will be read with ease and with profit;—while, without this, the difficulty will be much greater, if not beyond his powers. In accordance with this plan, the "First Class Book," before referred to, has been constructed, and its efficiency on that account is greatly increased.

The neglect of this special application of the principle has been long and painfully felt in society, and most of all where the young have been sent earliest to school. The habit of reading the words without understanding the meaning of what they read, having once been acquired, the weak powers of children are not sufficient to overcome the difficulties with which this habit has surrounded them. They feel themselves burdened and harassed with unnatural and unmeaning exercises for years, before they can acquire the art of reading the words of the simplest school book; and, what is still worse, after they have left the school, and have entered upon the busy scenes of life, they find, that they have now to teach themselves an entirely new art,—the art of understanding by reading. Instead of all this waste of energy, and patience, and time, experience has fully proved, that by following the plain and easy dictates of Nature, as above explained, all the drudgery of learning to read may be got over in a week,—it has been times without number accomplished in a single day,[16]—and this without any harassing exertion, and generally with delight. Of the truth of this, a few out of many instances may here be enumerated.

In the summer of 1831, the writer one morning found himself, by mere accident, and a perfect stranger, in a Sunday school in the borough of Southwark, London. He attached himself first to a class of children, some of whom he found on enquiry had been two years at the school, and were yet only learning the alphabet. In the same school, and on the same morning, a young man who only knew his letters, but had never yet attempted to put them together, was classified with the infants, whom he had willingly joined in his anxiety to learn. He had a lesson by himself. By a rigid adherence to the above principle of individuation, this young man, to his own great astonishment, was able in a few minutes to read a verse. The lesson went on, and in somewhat less than half an hour he had mastered several verses, and now knew perfectly how to make use of the letters in decyphering the several words. By that one lesson he found himself quite able to teach himself. In proof of this, as was afterwards ascertained, he read that same day on going home, without help, nineteen verses of the same chapter; and these verses, on returning to school on the same afternoon, he read correctly and without hesitation, to his usual and astonished teacher. There can be no doubt, from this circumstance, that if it had been at all necessary, he could, without further aid, and with still greater ease, have read a second nineteen verses, and perfected himself by practice in this important, and supposed difficult art of reading, by this one lesson of less than half an hour.

In a later experiment, made in Dumfries, in the presence and under the sanction of Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick, and the clergymen and teachers of that town, the power of this principle was put to a severe trial, in a very unexpected and extraordinary manner. The week-day teachers of that town having heard of some of the above circumstances, and of the powers of the Lesson System generally, in enabling children to read with but little trouble, were desirous of having its powers tested in that town, where the writer happened to be for a few days. He agreed; and Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick, the Sheriff of the county, with the clergymen and teachers, at his request, formed themselves into a committee for the purposes of the investigation. A sub-committee of the week-day teachers were appointed to procure a boy to be taught, which they did, and who, on being closely examined at a preliminary public meeting of the whole examinators, was found totally ignorant of words, and knew not one letter from another, with the exception, of "the round o."

With this boy the writer retired, having agreed to call them again together at a public meeting, as soon as he was ready. This at the time he did not doubt would have been on the very next day;—but he was disappointed. He had not been five minutes with his pupil, till he found, to his great mortification, that he had little or no intellect to work upon. The boy was twelve years of age, and yet he was perfectly ignorant of all the days of the week, except one, the market day, on which he was in the practice of making a few pence by holding the farmers' horses. He could in no case tell what day of the week went before or followed another. He could count numbers forward mechanically till among the teens; but by no effort of mind could he tell what number came before nine, till he had again counted forward from one. The most obvious deduction from the simplest idea appeared to be quite beyond the grasp of his mind. For example, though repeatedly told that John was Zebedee's son, yet, after frequent trials, he could never make out, nor comprehend who was John's father. Yet this boy,—one certainly among the lowest in the grade of intellect of our species,—by a rigid application of the principle of individuation, was enabled to overcome a great part of the drudgery of learning to read, by exactly eight hours' teaching. This boy, who at the preliminary meeting on Wednesday, knew only "the round o," read correctly in the Court-House on the following Monday, a section of the New Testament, to the Rev. Dr Duncan, minister of Ruthwell, before the Sheriff, clergymen, teachers, and a large assembly of the inhabitants of Dumfries. To ascertain that he had in that time really learned to read, and that he did not repeat the words of the section by rote, he was made to read before the audience, in a chapter of the Old Testament, and then from a newspaper, the same words that he had read in his lesson. This he did readily, and without a mistake.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAP. V.

On the Means by which Nature may be imitated in Applying the Principle of Grouping, or Association.

The principle of Grouping, or Association, as employed by Nature in her educational process, is obviously intended to enable the pupil easily to receive knowledge, and to assist the memory in retaining and keeping it ever after at the command of the will. It is employed to unite many objects or truths into one aggregate mass, which is received as one,—having the component parts so linked, or associated together, that when any one part is afterwards brought before the mind, it has the power of immediately conjuring up, and holding in review, all the others. For example, when a child enters a room in which its parents and relations are severally employed, the whole scene is at a single glance comprehended and understood, and will afterwards be distinctly remembered in all its parts. The elements of the scene are no doubt all familiar, but the particular grouping of these elements are entirely new, and form an addition to his knowledge, as we formerly explained, as substantial, and as distinct, as the grouping of any other kind of objects or circumstances could possibly do. Here then is a certain amount of knowledge acquired by the child, which could be recorded in writing, or which might be communicated by words; but which, by the operation of this principle of grouping, has been acquired with greater ease, and in much less time, than he could either have read it, or described it. It has been done in this instance by Nature bringing the ideas suggested by the group directly before the mind of the child, without even the intervention of words; and we see by this example, how much more laborious it would have been to communicate the very same amount of knowledge to the pupil, by making him read the description of it, and how utterly preposterous and unnatural it would be to compel him, for the same purpose, to commit the words of that description to memory. The words are merely an artificial contrivance for the conveying of ideas;—and the more they can be kept out of view, it will be better for the teacher, and more natural and easy for the child.

In communicating knowledge, therefore, to the young, the more directly and simply the ideas to be communicated are presented to the mind the better. They must usually be communicated by words; but these, as the mere instruments of conveyance, should be kept as much as possible out of view. To bring them at all under the notice of the child is a defect; but to make them the chief object of learning, or to make the pupil commit them to memory, is not only laborious and unnecessary, but is unnatural and hurtful.

In all this we ought simply to take our lessons from Nature, if we wish to succeed in conveying knowledge by the combination of simple objects. In the above example, we have seen that a single glance was sufficient to give the infant a distinct idea of the whole scene; and the reason is, that the principle of individuation had previously done its work. Each of the elements of which the scene was composed, had undergone an individual and separate examination, and therefore each was familiar. This is Nature's method of communicating knowledge to the young; and it is obvious, that a different arrangement of the objects or actions would have made no difference in the effects produced by the operation of the principle. Whatever the circumstances might have been, the new scene, with all its variety of incidents, persons, and things, which it would take ten-fold more time to enumerate than to learn, would at once be impressed on the mind, and delivered over to the keeping of the memory, without labour, or any perceptible effort. The whole grouping forms a chain of circumstances, any one link in which, when afterwards laid hold of by the mind, brings up all the others in connection with it. The memory by this means is relieved from the burden of remembering all the individualities, and the innumerable details of the scene, by maintaining a comprehensive hold of the whole united group, as one undivided object for remembrance.

From this it appears evident, that this principle is intended to succeed that of individuation, and never to precede it. Objects and truths which form the elements of knowledge must be individually familiar, before they can be successfully grouped, or associated together in masses, in the way in which the several parts of the knowledge of the young are usually presented; but after these objects or truths have once become known, they may be permanently associated together in any variety of form without fatigue, and be retained on the memory for use without confusion or distraction of any kind.

In our investigations into the nature and working of this principle, as detailed in a former chapter, we found several causes which gave rise to certain uniform effects, which, for the purpose of imitation or avoidance, may be classed under the following heads:—We found,

1. That wherever the principle of grouping acted with effect, it had always been preceded by the principle of individuation.

2. That wherever the principle of individuation was made to interfere, the effect intended by the principle of association was in the same degree obstructed or destroyed.

3. That whenever ideas or objects, whether known or unknown, were presented to a child in greater number than the mind could receive or reiterate them, it silently dropped the surplus;—but if these were forced upon the mind, all the mischiefs arising from the interference of the two hostile principles immediately took place.

4. That children, in grouping under the tuition of Nature, received and retained the impressions of objects presented to their notice, in a natural and regular order;—forming in their minds a continuous moving scene, where motion formed a part of it; and that this movement of the objects, actually was a portion of the grouping.

These being the facts connected with this portion of Nature's educational process, the object of the teacher should be to endeavour to imitate her in all these circumstances; carefully avoiding what she has shewn to be inoperative and hurtful, and copying as closely as possible all those that tend to forward the objects of instruction.

The first thing then to be attended to by the teacher, is, that in every attempt to communicate knowledge to a child by the grouping of objects, he takes care that the principle of individuation has preceded it;—that is, that the various ideas or objects to be grouped, be individually familiar to the pupil. In communicating a story, therefore, or an anecdote, or in teaching a child to read, care must be taken that the objects or individual truths, the words, or the letters, be previously taught by themselves, before he be called upon to group them in masses, whether greater or smaller. If this be neglected, an important law of Nature is violated, and the lesson to this extent will be ineffective, or worse. But if, on the contrary, this rule be attended to, the pupil, when he comes to these objects in the act of grouping, is prepared for the process; he meets with nothing that he is not familiar with; he has nothing to learn, and has only to allow the objects to take their proper places, as when he looked into the room, and grouped its contents as before supposed. All this being perfectly natural, is accomplished without effort, and with ease and pleasure.—This precaution on the part of the teacher, will at once remove many of the difficulties and embarrassments which have hitherto pressed so heavily upon the pupil in almost every stage of his advance, but more especially in the early stages of his learning to read.[17]

As an illustration of our meaning, we may notice here, that a child who knows what is meant by "sheep," and "the keeping of sheep," of "tilling the ground," and "making an offering to God," &c. is prepared to hear or to read an abridgement of the story of Cain and Abel. We say an abridgement or first step, for reasons which shall afterwards be explained. Without a previous knowledge of these several elements of which this story is compounded, he could neither have listened to it with pleasure, nor read it with any degree of profit; but as soon as these are individually familiar, the grouping,—the knowledge of the whole story,—is a matter of ease, and generally of delight. As the story advances, it causes a constant and regular series of groupings on the mind by the imagination, which are at once exquisitely pleasing and permanent. The child, as in a living and moving picture, imagines a man laboriously digging the ground, and another man in a distant field placidly engaged in attending to the wants and the safety of a flock of sheep. He imagines the former heaping an altar with fruits and without fire; and the latter killing a lamb, laying its parts on an altar, while a stream of fire descends from the skies and consumes it. His imagination goes on with increasing interest to picture the quarrel-scene in the field; and he in effect sees the blow given by the club of Cain, that destroyed the life of his brother. All this living and moving scene will be remembered in groups; and these groups will be more or less closely linked together, and will be imagined more or less distinctly as a whole, in proportion to the mental advancement of the particular child.

The next thing to be attended to in communicating knowledge to a child by grouping, is, that no strange for unknown object or idea be introduced among those which he is called upon to group; because in that case, the operation will be materially interfered with, and either marred or destroyed. The completeness of this operation in the hands of Nature, depends in a great measure, as we have seen, upon the perfect composure and self-possession of the mind during the process. If there be no interruption,—no element of distraction introduced into the exercise,—all the circumstances, as they arise in the gradual developement of the story, are comprehended and grouped. The living and moving picture is permanently fixed upon the memory, so that it may be recalled and reviewed at any future time. But if, on the contrary, the placidity of the mind be interrupted,—if some strange and unknown object be introduced, whose agency is really necessary for connecting the several parts of the story,—the very attempt of the child to become individually acquainted with it, throws the whole process into confusion; and he has either to drop the contemplation of this necessary part of the machinery, or to lose the benefit of all that is detailed during the time he is engaged with it. In either case the end is not gained; and the great design aimed at by the teacher,—the communication of the knowledge connected with the narrative,—is more or less frustrated. Like the landscape pictured on the placid bosom of the lake, the formation and contemplation of his own undisturbed imaginings are delightful to the child; but the introduction of an unknown object, like the dropping of a stone in the former case, produces confusion and distortion, which are always unpleasant and painful.

One general reason why the introduction of unknown objects into these groupings of the child is so pernicious, may also be here adverted to. It arises from the circumstance, that no person, whether young or old, can form, even in his imagination, the idea of an entirely new thing. This is commonly illustrated by the well known fact, that it is impossible to conceive of a new sense;—but it is equally applicable to the conception of a new object. Adults can no doubt conceive and picture on their imaginations, objects and scenes which they never saw;—but this mental act is not the imagining of an entirely new thing. All such scenes or things are compounded of objects, or parts of objects, which they have seen, and with which they are familiar. They can readily picture to themselves a centaur or a cerberus, a mermaid or a dragon,—creatures which have no existence, and which never did exist; but a little reflection will shew, that nothing which the mind conceives of these supposed animals is really new, but is merely a new combination of elements, or parts of other animals, already familiar. Children accordingly can easily conceive the idea of a giant or a dwarf, a woman without a head, or a man with two, because the elements of which these anomalies are compounded are individually familiar to them;—but were they told of a person sitting in a howdah, or being conveyed in a palanquin, without having these objects previously explained or described to them, the mind would either be drawn from the story to find out what these meant, and thus they would lose it; or they would, on the spur of the moment, substitute in their minds something else which perhaps had no likeness to them, and which would lead them into serious error. For example, they might suppose that the one was a house, and the other a ship;—a supposition which would distort the whole narrative, and would render many of its parts inconsistent and incomprehensible.

As adults then, in every similar case, are under the necessity of drawing materials from their general knowledge, for the purpose of compounding all such unknown objects, it must be much more difficult for a child to do this, not only because of his want of ability, but his want of materials. The remedy therefore in this case is, to explain and describe the objects that are to be grouped, before the pupil be called upon to do so. And when the object has not been seen by the child, and cannot be exhibited by a picture, or otherwise, the teacher must exert his ingenuity in enabling him to form an idea of the thing that is unknown, by a combination of parts of objects which are. Thus a tiger may be described as resembling a large cat; a wolf, a fox, or even a lion, as resembling certain kinds of dogs; a howdah as a smaller sofa, and a palanquin, as a light crib. In all these cases, it is worthy of notice, that a mere difference of size never creates confusion;—simply because, by a natural law in optics, such differences are of constant occurrence in the experience both of children and adults. A water neut will convey a sufficiently correct idea of a crocodile; and the picture of an elephant, only one inch square, will create no difficulty, if the correct height be given. When these rules have been attended to, it will be found, that this principle in Nature has been successfully imitated; and the pupil, by the previous process of individuation, will be perfectly prepared for the delightful task of grouping the objects which he now knows. When he comes to these objects in the narrative, he conceives the idea of them accurately, and he groups them without effort. There is no hesitation, and no confusion in his ideas. The painting formed upon the mind is correct; the whole picture is united into one connected scene, and is permanently imprinted on the memory for future use.

Another circumstance connected with this principle of grouping in children, we found to be, that when, at any time a greater number of objects were presented to the mind than it was able to reiterate and group, it silently dropt the surplus, and grouped those only which came within the reach of its powers; but if in any instance an attempt was made to force the child to receive and reiterate the ideas of objects beyond a certain point, the mind got confused, and its powers weakened.—The imitation of Nature in this point is also of great importance in education, particularly in teaching and exercising children in reading. To perceive this more clearly, it will be necessary to make a few remarks on the nature of the art of reading.

Reading is nothing more than a mechanical invention, imitative of the act of hearing; as writing is a mechanical mode of indicating sounds, and thus becomes a substitute for the art of speaking, and conveying ideas. But there is this material difference between reading and hearing, that in hearing the person giving attention is in a great measure passive, and may, or may not attend as he pleases. He may receive part of what is said, and, as prompted by Nature, he may silently drop all that he cannot easily reiterate. But in the act of reading, the person has both the active and the passive operations to perform. His mind, while he reads, must be actively engaged in decyphering the words of his book, and the ideas are, or should be, by this act, forced upon the observation of the mind at the same time. As long, therefore, as the child is required to read nothing except that which he understands, and to read no more, and no faster, than his mind can without distraction receive and reiterate the ideas which he reads, the act of grouping will be performed with ease, and with evident delight, and the powers of the mind will be healthfully and extensively exercised and strengthened:—But if this simple principle of Nature be violated, the exercise becomes irritating to the child, and most pernicious in its consequences. The neglect of this application of the principle is so common in education, that it usually escapes observation; but on this very account it demands from us here a more thorough investigation.

We say then, that this principle is violated when a child is required to read that which it does not, and perhaps cannot understand; and also when he is required to read more, or to read faster, than he is able to reiterate the ideas in his own mind. On each of these cases we shall say a few words, for the purpose of warning and directing the teacher in applying this important principle in education.

Let us then suppose a child set to read a section which he does not, and which there is every probability he cannot understand, and then let us carefully mark the consequences. The child in such a case reads the words in his book, which ought to convey to his mind the ideas which the words contain. This is the sole purpose of either hearing or reading. But this is not accomplished. The words are read, and the ideas are not perceived; but the child is required to read on. He does so; and of course when the first part of the subject or sentence has been beyond his reach, the second, which most probably hangs upon it, must be much more so. In this therefore he also fails; but he is still required to read on. Here is a practice begun, which at once defeats the very intention of reading, and allows the child's mind to roam upon any thing or every thing, while the eye is mechanically engaged with his book. The habit is soon formed. The child reads; but his attention is gone. He does not, and at length he cannot, understand by reading. This habit, as we formerly explained, when it is once formed, it requires great efforts on the part of the child to overcome. Most people when they are actively engaged in life, do at last overcome it; while thousands, who have nominally been taught to read, never can surmount the difficulties it involves. Many on this account, and for want of practising an art which they cannot profitably use, lose the art altogether.

But again, let us suppose a child set to read that which he may understand, but which he is required to read more rapidly than allows him to perceive and to reiterate the ideas while reading, and let us mark what are the necessary consequences in such a case. The child is called on to read a sentence, and he does so. He understands it too. But the art of reading is not yet familiar, and he has to bend part of his attention to the decyphering of the words, as well as to the perception and reiteration of the ideas. This requires more time in a child to whom reading is not yet familiar, than to a child more advanced. But give him a little time, and the matter is accomplished the ideas have been received, and they will be reiterated, grouped, and committed to the keeping of the memory,—and then they will form part of his knowledge. But if this time be not given,—if the child, while engaged in collecting the ideas from the words of one sentence, be urged forward to the reading of another, the mental confusion formerly described instantly takes place. More ideas are forced upon the mind than it can reiterate; no group can be formed, because the elements of which it ought to be composed, have not yet been perceived; the imagination gets bewildered;—the mind is unnaturally burdened;—its faculties are overstretched;—the child is discouraged and irritated; the powers of his mind fatigued and weakened; and the whole object of the teacher is at once defeated, and rendered worse than useless.—In every case, therefore, when the child is called on to read, sufficient time should be given;—the teacher taking care that the main design of reading, that of collecting and grouping ideas, be always accomplished; and that the pupil reads no more at one time than he can thoroughly understand and retain.

There is yet another circumstance connected with this process of grouping, which ought not to be overlooked. It refers to the order in which the objects to be grouped by the child are presented to his notice. A child under the guidance of Nature, receives and retains its impressions of objects in a natural and simple order. When it witnesses a scene, the group of objects, or actions formed and pictured on the mind by the imagination, is exactly as they were seen, the one circumstance following the other in natural and regular order. In telling a story therefore to a child, and more especially in composing lessons for them to read, this part of Nature's plan should be carefully studied and acted upon. The elements of which the several groupings are composed, or the circumstances in the narrative to be related, should be presented in the order in which the eye would catch them in Nature, or the order in which they occurred, that there may be no unnecessary retrogression of the mind, no confounding of ideas, no fear of losing the links that connect and bind together the minor groupings of the story. In the history of Cain and Abel, for example, the child is not to be required to paint upon his imagination, a deadly struggle between two persons of whom as yet he knows nothing; and then, retiring backwards in the story, be made acquainted with the circumstances connected with their several offerings to God; and last of all, their parentage, their occupations, and their characters. The minds of the young and inexperienced would be perplexed and bewildered by such a plan of proceeding; and the irregularity would most probably be the cause of their losing the whole story. The opposite of this plan is no doubt frequently adopted in works of fiction prepared for adults, and for the sake of effect; but every one must see that it is unnecessary in simple history, and is not at all adapted for the instruction of the young. When Nature's method is adopted, the child collects and groups the incidents as he proceeds, and paints, without effort, the whole living and moving scene on his imagination, as if he himself had stood by, and been an eye-witness of the original events.

The ascertained benefits of these modes of imitating Nature, are literally innumerable; and it is happily within the power of every parent or teacher, in a single hour, to test them for himself. We shall merely advert to one or two instances which occurred in the recorded experiments, where their effects, in combination with the other principles, were conspicuous.

In the experiment upon the prisoners in the County Jail of Edinburgh, the acquisition of their knowledge of Old Testament History, instead of being a burden, was to them a source of unmingled gratification. There were painted upon their minds the leading incidents in the history of the patriarchs, not only in groups, but their judgments being ripened, they were able to perceive them in regular connection. These pictures, then so pleasantly impressed on their imaginations, are likely to remain with them through the whole of their lives. The Report says, that "they were examined on their knowledge of the Book of Genesis," and "gave a distinct account of its prominent facts from Adam down to the settlement in Goshen, and shewed by their answers that these circumstances were understood by them in their proper nature and bearings."

By the same means, but in less time, and to a greater extent, the same object was attained with the children in Aberdeen, who, though chosen from the schools specially on account of their want of knowledge, were, by only a few hours teaching, enabled, besides many other subjects of knowledge, to receive and retain on their minds the great leading circumstances that occurred from "the death of Moses downwards, to that of the revolt of the ten tribes in the reign of Rehoboam."

In the experiment in London also, a large portion of Old Testament history, with much other knowledge, was acquired in a few hours by a boy of about nine years of age, who, previously to the commencement of the experiment, knew no more of God than the name;—who had no idea of a soul, or that he should live after death;—who "had never heard of Adam, Noah, or Abraham;"—"had no idea of a Saviour; knew nothing of heaven or hell; had never heard of Christ, and knew not whether the name belonged to a man or a woman." Yet this boy, in an exceedingly short time, could give an account of many groupings in the Old Testament history.

We shall only remark, in conclusion, that if, by the proper application of this principle, so much knowledge may be acquired by rude and ignorant children, not only without effort, but in the enjoyment of great satisfaction; what may not be expected in ordinary circumstances, when the pupils are regularly trained and prepared for the purpose, and when all the principles employed by Nature in this great work, are made to unite their aids, and to work in harmony together for producing an enlightened and virtuous population? This may most assuredly be gained in an exceedingly short period of time, by a close and persevering imitation of Nature in these educational processes.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAP. VI.

On the Methods by which Nature may be imitated in Communicating Knowledge by Classification, or Analysis.

In a former chapter we had occasion to notice a fourth principle brought into operation by Nature in the acquisition of knowledge, which is the principle of Classification, or Analysis; and we shall now enquire how this principle may be successfully imitated by the teacher for the furtherance of his art.

There are two forms, which in a former chapter we endeavoured to trace out and explain, in which this principle of Analysis appears in the educational process of Nature. We shall here again very shortly advert to them, beginning with that which in education is perhaps the most important, but which hitherto has certainly been least attended to,—that of teaching connected truths by progressive steps.

When we read a connected section of history for the first time, and then examine the state of our knowledge respecting it, we find that we have retained some of the ideas or truths which we read, but that we have lost more. When that portion which we have retained is carefully examined, we find that it consists chiefly of the more prominent features of the narrative, with perhaps here and there occasional groupings of isolated circumstances. We have, in fact, retained upon the memory, little more than the general outline,—the great frame-work of the history. There will be the beginning, the middle, and the end, containing perhaps few of the minor details, but what is retained is all in regular order, bound together as a continuous narrative, and, however meagre, the whole forms in the imagination of the reader, a distinct and connected whole. There is perhaps no more of the intended fabric of the history erected in the mind than the mere skeleton of the building; but this frame-work, however defective in the details, is complete both as to shape and size, and is a correct model of the finished building from top to bottom. This is the state of every advanced pupil's mind, after he has for the first time closed the reading of any portion of history or biography. If the narrative itself has been correct, this general outline,—this great frame-work of the history,—remains on his mind through life, without any material alteration. Additional information afterwards will assist in filling up the empty spaces left between the more massive materials, but it will neither shake, nor shift them; and even the most minute details of individual or family incidents, connected with the general narrative, while they add additional interest, and fill up or ornament different and separate parts, will never alter the general form of the fabric, nor displace any of the main pillars upon which it is supported.

This is one way of illustrating this analytical process of Nature; but for the purposes of imitating it in education it is not perhaps the best. The idea of a regular analytical table of the history, formed of successive branches, by successive readings, is by far the most natural and applicable. By a first reading of a portion of history, there are certain great leading points established in the mind of the reader, which form the first branches of a regular analysis, and to some one or other of which parts or divisions every circumstance of a more minute kind connected with the history, will be found to be related. This first great division of the history attained by the first reading, if correct, will, and must, remain the same, whatever addition may afterwards be made to it. By a second reading, our knowledge of the leading points will greatly assist us in collecting and remembering many of the more minute circumstances embodied in them, or intimately connected with them; but even then, an ordinary mind, and more especially a young person, will not have made himself master of all the details. A third, and perhaps a fourth reading, will be found necessary to give him a full command of all the minuter circumstances recorded.[18]

In endeavouring to take advantage of this principle, so extensively employed by Nature, it is of great importance to observe, that a certain definite effect is produced by each successive reading. A first reading establishes in the mind of the pupil a regular frame-work of the whole history, which it is the business of every successive reading to fill up and complete. There is by the first course, a separation of the whole subject into heads, forming the regular divisions of a first branch of the analysis;—the second course tends to subdivide these again into their several parts; and to form a second branch in this analytical table;—and a third course, would enable the pupil to perceive and to separate the parts of the narrative included in these several divisions, by which there would arise a third branch, all included in the second, and even in the first.

We have here supposed, that the pupil has been engaged with the very same chapters in each of these several courses;—and that he read the same words in the first course that he read in those which followed. He had to read the whole, although he could retain but little. He had to labour the whole field for the sake of procuring plants, which could have been more certainly and more healthfully raised upon a square yard. His reading for hours has produced no more knowledge than is expressed by the first branch of the supposed analysis; and therefore, if the teacher would but analyse the subject for the child, whether it be a science or a history,—suppose for example, the History of Joseph,—and give his younger pupils no more at first than the simple outline of the story, some very important advantages would be the result. In the first place, the very difficult task of keeping the volatile mind of a child continuously fixed to the subject during the lengthened reading of the whole narrative will be unnecessary;—the irritation and uneasiness which such a lengthened exercise must produce in a child will be avoided;—time will be economised, the labour of the teacher will be spared, and the mind of the child at the close of the exercise, instead of being fagged and prostrated, will be found vigorous and lively. And yet, with all this, the positive result will be the same. The child's knowledge of the subject in this latter case, will in reality be as extensive, and much more distinct and permanent, than in the former.

Here is the first step gained; and to attain the second, a similar course must be pursued. Nature, who formed this first branch of the analytical table on the minds of the first class of the children, formed another and more extended branch in the minds of the second class. The teacher therefore has only to take each of the branches which form the first step, and sub-divide them into their natural heads, so as to form a second,—and to teach this to his children in the same manner that he taught them the former. By this means, the first class will now possess an equal degree of knowledge with those who occupied the second;—and by a similar process, the others would advance to the third and the fourth classes according to circumstances.

The plan here proposed for imitating Nature by progressive steps, has been tried with undeviating success for many years. Its efficiency, as embracing the principle employed by Nature for the communication of knowledge, has been repeatedly subjected to the most delicate and at the same time the most searching experiments. By its means, in connection of course with the catechetical exercise by which it is wrought, very extraordinary effects have been produced even upon individuals whose minds and circumstances were greatly below the average of common children.

In the experiment made upon the adult criminals in the County Jail of Edinburgh, the pupils acquired easily and permanently a thorough knowledge of the history contained in the Book of Genesis. "They gave a distinct account of its prominent facts, from Adam, down to the settlement in Goshen, and shewed by their answers, that these circumstances were understood by them, in their proper nature and bearings. They gave, in the next place, a connected view of the leading doctrines of revelation; when their answers evinced, most satisfactorily, that they apprehended, not merely each separate truth, but that they perceived its relation to others, and possessed a considerable knowledge of the divine system as a whole. They were also examined upon several sections of the New Testament; where their answers displayed an equally clear and accurate knowledge of the subject." These persons, be it observed, belonged to a class of individuals, who are generally considered to be peculiarly hostile to the reception of information of this kind, and certainly who are least able to comprehend and retain it; and all this, besides other portions of knowledge, on which they were examined during the experiment, was communicated with ease by about twenty hours teaching.

By the experiment made at Aberdeen, upon children the most ignorant that the Committee of Clergymen could find among the several schools in the city, it was ascertained, that after only nine or ten hours teaching, they had not only received a thorough knowledge of "several sections of New Testament History," but that they had acquired a knowledge of all the leading events included in the Old Testament History, from "the death of Moses, downwards to that of the revolt of the Ten Tribes in the reign of Rehoboam. Here they distinctly stated and described all the leading circumstances of the narrative comprised in the 'First Step,' whose brief but comprehensive outline they appeared, in various instances, to have filled up at home, by reading in their Bibles the corresponding chapters."

The efficiency of this form of analytical teaching, as exhibited in successive steps, when employed for the purpose of teaching a knowledge of civil history and biography, was also proved with equal certainty;—for these same children showed a thorough knowledge of that portion of the History of England embraced by the reign of Charles I. and the Commonwealth; and in biography, the life of the late John Newton having been employed for the purpose, they shewed such an acquaintance with the leading facts, and the uses to be made of them, that the reverend gentlemen in this report of the experiment say, that the children had "to be restrained, as the time would not permit."

In teaching the sciences, particularly the science of natural philosophy, this method of employing the principle of analysis has been found equally successful. Nature indeed, by the regular division of her several works, has obviously pointed this out as the proper method of proceeding, especially with the young; and the success that has invariably accompanied the attempt, shews that the opinion is well founded.

In the experiment at Aberdeen, the class of children, who were specially selected from their companions on account of their ignorance only a few days before, were "interrogated, scientifically, as to the production, the nature, and the properties of several familiar objects, with the view of shewing how admirably calculated the Lesson System is, for furnishing the young with a knowledge of natural science and of the arts. One of their little companions being raised before them on a bench, they described every part of his dress, from the bonnet downwards, detailing every process and stage of the manufacture. The bonnet, which was put on his head for this purpose, the coat, the silk-handkerchief, the cotton vest, were all traced respectively from the sheep, the egg of the silk-worm, and the cotton-pod. The buttons, which were of brass, were stated to be a composition of copper and zinc, which were separately and scientifically described, with the reasons assigned, (as good as could be given,) for their admixture, in the composition of brass." "A lady's parasol, and a gentleman's watch were described in the same manner. The ivory knob, the brass crampet, the bamboo, the whalebone, the silk, were no sooner adverted to, than they were scientifically described. When their attention was called to the seals of the gentleman's watch, they immediately said, 'These are of pure, and those of jeweller's gold,' and described the difference. The steel ring was traced to the iron-stone in the mine, with a description of the mode of separating the metal from its combinations. The processes requisite for the preparation of wrought-iron from the cast-iron, and of steel from the wrought-iron, with the distinguishing properties of each of these metals, were accurately described, and some practical lessons drawn from these properties; such as, that a knife ought never to be put into the fire, and that a razor should be dipped in warm water previous to its being used. Various articles were collected from individuals in the meeting, and successively presented to them, all of which they described. India-rubber, cork, sponge, pocket combs, &c. A small pocket thermometer, with its tube and its mercury, its principles and use, and even the Turkey-leather on the cover, were all fully described. After explaining the nature and properties of coal-gas, one of the boys stated to the meeting, that since the commencement of this experiment, he had himself attempted, and succeeded in making gas-light by means of a tobacco-pipe;—his method of doing which he also described."

The other form in which the principle of Analysis may, in imitation of Nature, be successfully employed in communicating knowledge to the young, is not to be considered as new, although the working of the principle may not have been very clearly perceived, or systematically regulated. It is seen most simply perhaps in the division of any subject,—a sermon for example—into its great general heads; and then endeavouring to illustrate these, by sub-dividing each into its several particulars. By this means the whole subject is bound together, the judgment is healthfully exercised, and the memory is greatly assisted in making use of the information communicated.

It is upon this plan that the several discourses and speeches in the Acts of the Apostles have been analysed, as an introduction to the teaching of the epistles to the young.[19] Upon the same principle depends the success of the "Analysis of Prayer," of which we shall afterwards have to speak; and it is by means of this principle, in connection with the successive steps, that the several departments of natural philosophy are proposed to be taught.

The efficiency of the principle in this form, as applied to the teaching of natural philosophy to mere school boys, has been ascertained by numerous experiments, of which the one in Aberdeen, already alluded to, has afforded good evidence. But the experiment conducted in Newry, on account of several concurrent circumstances, is still more remarkable and appropriate, and to it therefore we propose briefly to refer.

"In the year 1830, the writer, in passing through the town of Newry on his way to Dublin, was waited upon by several Sunday school teachers, and was requested to afford them some information as to teaching their schools, and for that purpose to hold a meeting with them and their fellow teachers, before leaving the place. To this he readily agreed; but as he intended to go to Dublin by the coach, which passed through Newry in the afternoon, the meeting had to take place that same day at two o'clock. At that meeting, the Earl of Kilmorey and a party of his friends were very unexpectedly present; and they, after the business of the meeting was over, joined with the others in requesting him to postpone his departure, and to hold a public meeting on the following Tuesday, of which due intimation would be given, and many teachers in the neighbourhood, who must otherwise be greatly disappointed, would be able to attend." To this request, accordingly, he at once acceded.

"In visiting the schools next day, the propriety of preparing a class or two of children for the public meeting was suggested and approved of; and the day-teacher being applied to, gave Mr Gall a list of six of his boys for the purpose. With these children he met on Monday; and after instructing them in the doctrines of the Gospel, and teaching them how to draw lessons from Scripture, he began to teach them some parts of natural philosophy, and to draw lessons also from these. Their aptness, and eagerness to learn, suggested the idea of selecting one of the sciences, and confining their attention principally to it, for the purpose of ascertaining how much of the really useful parts of it they could acquire and learn to use, in the short space of time which must intervene between that period and the hour of meeting. Considering what would be most useful and interesting, rather than what would be most easy, he hastily fixed on the science of anatomy and physiology, and resolved to mark the time during which they were engaged with him in learning it. These lessons were altogether oral and catechetical,—as neither he nor the children at that time had any books to assist them in their labours.

"The method adopted by Mr Gall in communicating a knowledge of this important and difficult science to these school-boys, was strictly analytical;—classifying and connecting every part of his subject, and bringing out the several branches of the analysis in natural order, so that the connection of all the parts was easily seen, and of course well remembered. An illustration of his method may induce some parents to try it themselves.

"He first directed their attention to the bones, and taught them in a few words their nature and uses, as the pillars and safeguards of the body;—the shank, the joint, and the ligaments, forming the branches of this part of the analysis. He then led them to imagine these bones clothed with the fleshy parts, or muscles, of which the mass, the ligaments, and the sinews, formed the branches. He explained the nature of their contraction; and shewed them, that the muscles being fastened at one end by the ligament to a bone, its contraction pulled the sinew at the other, and thus bent the joint which lay between them.—He then taught them the nature and uses of the several viscera, which occupy the chest and belly, and their connection with each other. This prepared the way for considering the nature of the fluids of the body, particularly the blood, and its circulation from the heart and lungs by the arteries, and to them again by the veins, with the pulsation of the one, and the valves of the other. The passage of the blood through the lungs, and the uses of the air-cells and blood-vessels in that organ were described; when the boys, (having previously had a lesson on the nature of water, atmospheric air, and the gases,) readily understood the importance of bringing the oxygen into contact with the blood, for its renovation from the venous to the arterial state. The nature of the stomach and of digestion, of the intestines, lacteals, and absorbents, was next explained, more in regard to their nature than their names,—which last were most difficult to remember;—but the knowledge of the function, invariably assisted the memory in recalling the name of the organ. They were next made acquainted with the brain, the spinal cord, and the nervous system generally, as the source of motion in the muscles, and the medium of sensation in conveying intelligence from the several organs of sense to the brain, by which alone the soul, in some way unknown, receives intelligence of outward objects. This prepared the way for an account of the organs of sense, and the mechanism of their parts; and lastly, they were made acquainted with the integuments, skin, hair, and nails, with the most obvious of their peculiarities.—On all these they were assiduously and repeatedly catechised, till the truths were not only understood, but were in some degree familiar to them. In this they were greatly assisted by a consideration of their own bodies; which Mr Gall took care to make a kind of text-book, not only for making him better understood, but for enabling them more easily and permanently to remember what he told them. When he shewed them, by their hands, feet, and face, the ramifications of the blood-vessels and nerves,—the mechanism of the joints,—the contraction of the various muscles,—the situation and particular uses of which he himself did not even know, but which were nevertheless moved at their own will, and whenever they pleased,—the young anatomists were greatly pleased and astonished; and this added to their eagerness for farther information, and to their zeal in shewing that they understood, and were able again to communicate it.

"These preparatory meetings were never protracted to any great extent, as the whole time was divided into three or four portions,—the boys being dismissed to think over the subject, (for they had nothing to read,) and to meet again at a certain hour. The watch was again produced, and the time marked; and when the whole period occupied by this science and its connections was added together, it amounted to two hours and a half exactly. One of these lessons, and the longest, was given during a stroll in the fields.

"The public meeting of parents and teachers was held at Newry on the 5th of October 1830, when the above class, with others, were examined on the religious knowledge which had been communicated to them on the previous days, with its lessons and uses; after which the six boys were taken by themselves, and thoroughly and searchingly catechised on their knowledge of the anatomy and physiology of the human body. They were examined first on the nature and uses of the bones, their shapes, substance, joints, and ligaments. Then on the nature and offices of the muscles, with their blood-vessels, nerves, ligaments, sinews, and motions;—the uses of the several viscera;—the heart with its pulsations, its power, its ventricles and auricles, and their several uses;—the lungs, with their air-cells, blood-vessels, and their use in arterializing the blood;—the stomach, intestines, &c. with their peristaltic motions, lacteals, &c.;—the brain, spinal cord, and nerves, with their connections, ramifications, and uses;—the senses, with their several organs, their mechanism, and their manner of acting. On all these they were questioned, and cross-questioned, in every variety of form: And that the audience might be satisfied that this was not a mere catalogue of names, but that in fact the physiology of the several parts was really known, and would be remembered, even if the names of the organs should be forgotten, they were made repeatedly to traverse the connecting links of the analysis forward from the root, through its several branches, to the extreme limit in the ultimate effect; and, at other times backward, from the ultimate effect to the primitive organ, or part of the body from which it took its origin. For example, they could readily trace forward the movement of the arm joint, or any other joint, from the ligament of the muscle at its junction with the bone, through its contraction by the nerve at the fiat of the will, by which the sinew of the muscle, fastened at the opposite side of the joint, is pulled, and the joint bent;—or they could trace backward any of the operations of the senses,—the sight, for example, from the object seen, through the coats of the eye, to the inverted picture of it formed upon the retina, which communicated the sensation to the optic nerve, by which it was conveyed to the brain. In all which they invariably succeeded, and shewed that the whole was clearly and connectedly understood.

"When this had been minutely and extensively done on the several parts of the body, some medical gentlemen who were present were requested to catechise them on any of the topics they had learnt, for the purpose of assuring themselves and the audience that the children really and familiarly understood all that they had been catechised upon. One of the medical gentlemen, for himself and the others present, then stated publicly to the meeting, that the extent of the children's knowledge of this difficult science was beyond any thing that they could have conceived. And afterwards affirmed, that he had seen students who had attended the medical classes for six months, who did not know so much of the human body as these children now did."

This experiment became more remarkable from a circumstance which took place within a few days afterwards, and which tended still more strongly to prove the permanence and efficiency of this method of imitating Nature; shewing, not only that truth when communicated as Nature directs, is easily received, and permanently retained upon the memory, but that all such truths when thus communicated, become more and more familiar to the mind, and more decidedly under the controul, and at the command of the will. The circumstance is thus recorded in the account of the experiment[20] from which we have already quoted.

"At the close of the meeting, Mr Gall took farewell of his young friends, not expecting to have the pleasure of seeing them again; and (after a promised visit to Ravenstile,) he proceeded on the following Thursday to Rostrevor, where he found a numerous audience, (publicly called together by Lady Lifford, the Rev. Mr Jacobs, and others, to receive him,) already assembled.

"Here, in the course of teaching a class of children brought to him for the first time, and explaining the nature and capabilities of the system, reference was made to the above experiment only a few days before in their neighbourhood at Newry. Two gentlemen,[21] officially and intimately connected with the Kildare Place Society of Dublin, being accidentally present, were at their own desire introduced to Mr Gall by a clerical friend after the close of the exercises. The circumstances of the Newry experiment, which had been mentioned during the meeting, were strongly doubted, till affirmed by the clerical friend who introduced them; who, having been present and witnessed it, assured them that the circumstances connected with the event had not been exaggerated. They then stated, that it must of necessity have been a mere transient glimpse received of the science by the children; which, being easily got, would be as easily lost; and that its evanescent nature would without all question be found, by their almost immediately having forgotten the whole of what had been told them. Mr Gall, however, assured them, that so far from that being the case, he was convinced, from long experience, that the information communicated would be much more lasting than that received in any other way. That the impressions, so repeatedly made upon their minds by the catechetical exercises, would remain with them very likely through life; while the effect of the analytical mode, by which he had linked the whole together, would prevent any of the important branches from ever being separated from the rest. If, therefore, they remembered any of the truths, they would most probably remember all. And besides, he shewed, that the daily use, in the ordinary business of life, which they would find for the lessons from the truths taught, would revive part, and perhaps the whole, upon their memories every day. But as it was of importance that they should be satisfied, and to set the matter at rest, he agreed to call the boys unexpectedly together at another public meeting in Newry, where they might be present and judge for themselves; and without seeing or talking with the boys, he would examine them again publicly, and as extensively as before; when he was convinced they would shew, that the whole was as fresh on their memories as when they at first received it. In short, that they would be able to undergo the most searching ordeal, with equal, if not greater ease, than they had done formerly.

"This was accordingly done. A meeting took place next day, equally respectable, and perhaps more numerous than the former, to which the boys were brought from their school, without preparation, or knowing what they were to be asked. They were then more fully and searchingly examined than at first; and there being more time, they were much longer under the exercise. It was then found, that the information formerly communicated was not only remembered, but that the several truths were much more familiar, in themselves and in their connection with each other, than they had been at the former meeting. This had evidently arisen from their own frequent meditations upon them since that time, and their application of the several lessons, either with one another, their parents, or themselves. The medical gentlemen were again present, and professed themselves equally pleased."

From the number and variety of these facts, which might be indefinitely extended, it is obvious, that a new path lies open to the Educationist, which, as yet, has been scarcely entered upon. The same amount of success is at the command of every teacher who will follow in the same course, and keep rigidly in the path pointed out to him by Nature.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAP. VII.

On the Imitation of Nature in Teaching the Practical Use of Knowledge.

The third step in the educational process of Nature we have found to be, the training of her pupil to the practical use of his knowledge.—All her other processes, we have seen from numerous circumstances, are merely preparatory and subservient to this; and therefore, the attempt at imitation here by the teacher is of corresponding importance. The practical application of knowledge must be the great end of all the pupil's learning; and the parent or teacher should conduct his exercises and labours in such a manner as shall be most likely to attain it. The powers of the mind are to be cultivated;—but they are to be cultivated chiefly that the pupil may be able to collect and make use of his knowledge:—And knowledge is to be pursued and stored up;—but this is to be done that it may remain at his command, and be readily put to use when it is required. To suppose any thing else, is to suppose something directly opposed to all the indications of Nature, and to the plainest suggestions both of reason and experience.

If in this department then, the teacher is to imitate Nature with effect, there are two preliminary objects of which he ought never to lose sight. The first is, that he studiously select from the numerous subjects which may form the staple of education, those only, or at least chiefly, which are to be most useful, and which may most easily and most frequently be put to use by the pupil;—and the second is, that whatever be the truth or the subject taught, the child should, at the time of learning, be instructed in the methods and the circumstances in which it may be used. To neglect these preliminary points, is really to betray the cause of education, and, besides inflicting a lasting injury on the young, to deceive the public.

In our enquiries into Nature's method of applying knowledge, we found, in a former chapter, that she employs two distinct agencies in the work. The one we denominated the Natural, or Common Sense; and the other is the Conscience, or Moral Sense:—the one appearing to regulate our knowledge in so far as it refers to the promotion of our own personal and physical comforts; and the other, in so far as it refers to the rights and the well-being of others, and to our own moral good. The method which she employs in working out these two principles, is, as we before explained, very nearly the same; consisting of the perception of some useful truth,—the deduction of a lesson from that truth,—and the application of that lesson to corresponding circumstances. On that account, our attempts to imitate her operations as exhibited by the one, will, in form, be nearly the same as in the other. We shall here, therefore, attend to the methods by which Nature may be successfully imitated under both agencies, and shall then state a few illustrations and facts which are more peculiarly applicable to each in particular.

Before doing this, however, we cannot help once more pressing upon the mind of all connected with education, the great importance—the necessity—of that part of the subject upon which we are now to enter. We have said, and we again repeat, that this is education; and every thing else taught to a child is, or ought to be, either preliminary or supplementary;—belonging to education, perhaps, but not education itself. It is practice, and not theory, that constitutes the basis of all improvement, whether in the arts, or in morals and religion; and it is to this practical application of what he learns, that every child should be trained, by whatever name the mode of doing so may be known. All our blessings are destined to come to us by the use of proper means; and this general principle applies both to temporal and spiritual matters. Now "the use of means," is only another mode of expressing "the practical application of knowledge." And if so, what are we to think of the philosophy or the candour of the person, who is apparently the friend of education, but who remains indifferent or hostile to the thing itself, merely because it is presented to him under another name. He may be a zealous advocate for the spread of knowledge;—but that is not education.—Knowledge is but the means,—the application of it is the end; and when therefore he stops short at the communication of knowledge, while he is indifferent to the teaching of its use, he endangers the whole of his previous labour. One single truth put to use, is of more real value to a child than a thousand are, as long as they remain unused; and of this, every friend of the young ought to be convinced. Our health, our food, and our general happiness depend, not on knowledge received, but on knowledge applied; and therefore, to teach knowledge that is inapplicable or useless, or to teach useful knowledge without teaching at the same time how it may be put to use by the pupil, is neither reasonable nor just. Hence the importance of our present investigation; and hence we have no hesitation in saying, that the enquiry, "How can Nature be most successfully imitated in her application of knowledge?" is the most momentous question that can be put by the teacher; and a successful answer will constitute the most precious boon that can be afforded to education. To assist in this enquiry is the design of the present chapter; and we shall accordingly examine a little more in detail the circumstances that take place in the experience of the young, when they are induced to apply their knowledge under the guidance of Nature, and without another teacher.

For this purpose, let us suppose two children about to cross a piece of soft ground. The one goes forward, and his foot sinks in the mud. Does the other follow him? No indeed. The most stupid child we could find, if within the limits of sanity, would immediately stand still, or seek a passage at another point. Here then is an example of the way in which children, while entirely under the guidance of Nature, make use of their knowledge, by applying the principle of which we are here speaking in cases of urgency and danger; and we shall now endeavour to analyse the process, that we may the more readily arrive at some exercise, by which it may be artificially imitated, whether the application be urgent and required at the moment or not.

We have supposed one child going forward on the soft ground, while the other is slowly following him. When the foot of the first sinks, the other instantly stands still; and a spectator can perceive, better perhaps than the child himself, that something like the following mental process takes place on the occasion. The child thinks with himself, "Tom's foot has sunk; if I go forward, I also will sink; I will therefore stand still, or cross at another place." This is an exact parallel to thousands of similar instances which come under the notice of parents and others every day; and is a process quite familiar to adults who have paid any attention to the operation of their own minds when similarly circumstanced. When it is analysed, we find it to consist, as shewn in a former chapter, of three distinct parts, not one of which can be left out if the effect is to be produced. There is always, at the commencement of such an operation, the knowledge of some fact; "Tom's foot has sunk." There is, secondly, an inference or lesson drawn from this knowledge, "If I go forward, I also will sink." And there is, thirdly, the practical application of that lesson, or inference, to the child's present circumstances: "I will stand still, or cross at another place."

It is this process, or one in every point similar, that takes place in the mind, either of the young or the old, whenever they apply the facts gleaned by observation or experience for the guidance of their conduct. Now what we are at present in search of, is an exercise applicable to reading, as well as to observation;—to the school, as well as to the play ground or the parlour;—and to knowledge whose use may not be required at the instant, as well as that to which we are driven by necessity.

The desideratum here desired is to be found by the teacher in the method, now very extensively known, of drawing lessons from useful truths, and then applying them to the future probable circumstances of the pupils. For example, when a child reads, or is told that Jacob was punished by God for cheating his brother and telling a lie, the great object of the parent or teacher is to render these truths practical,—which the question, "What does that teach you?" never fails to do. The child, as soon as he knows the design of his teacher in communicating practical truths, and is asked the above question, will tell him, that he ought never to cheat his neighbour, or tell a lie. The application of these lessons, when thus established as a rule of duty founded on Scripture, is as extensive as the circumstances in which they may be required are various;—and the teacher has only to suppose such a case, and to ask his pupil, if he were placed in these circumstances, what he should do. The dullest of his children will at once perceive the duty, and the source from which he derives confidence in performing it.

There is no difficulty, as we have seen, in drawing and applying practical lessons in cases of urgency, where experience and the common sense of the individual prompt him to it;—and this attempt to imitate Nature in less urgent cases, and especially in hearing, or in the more artificial operation of reading, has been found in experience to be completely successful. We shall endeavour to point this out by a few familiar examples.

Let us for this purpose suppose, that one of the boys formerly mentioned is accompanied by his teacher, instead of his companion, and is approaching the soft ground which lies between them and the house. Before they arrive at the spot, his teacher tells him, that the marsh before them is so soft that even a child's foot would sink if he attempted to tread upon it. The boy might hear, and perfectly understand the truth, and yet he might not at the time think of the use to which it ought to be put. But if the teacher shall immediately add, "What does that teach you?"—his attention would instantly be called, not so much to the truth itself, as to the uses which ought to be made of it, and his answer in such a plain case would be ready, "We must not cross there, but seek a road to the house by some other way." Now here the fact was verbally communicated; and although the object was in sight, and the use of the fact might in some measure have been anticipated so as to suggest the answer, yet a little consideration will shew, that a similar effect would have been produced by the question, had the parties been in the house, or had the truth been derived from reading, and not from the oral communication of the teacher.

It is the want of something like this in the acquisition of truth by books, which renders that kind of knowledge in general of so little practical benefit. The truths and facts learned while attending school, are too often received as mere abstractions, without reference to their uses, or to the personal application of those uses to the circumstances of the child or his companions. Events daily occur in which the pupil's knowledge might be of important service;—but the benefits to be derived from it not having been taught, and the method of applying the facts which he has acquired by reading not having been explained,—the knowledge and its uses are seldom seen together, and the practical benefit of the teaching is accordingly lost. This at once accounts for the very remarkable circumstance, that children, and not unfrequently adults also, derive far more benefit from the scanty knowledge which they have gleaned by observation and experience, than from the many thousands of highly useful facts which have again and again been pressed upon their notice by reading and study. In almost every case Nature prompts us, as we have seen, to turn to our own benefit the knowledge which she has imparted; but as the mode of teaching reading, which is the artificial method of acquiring information, often overlooks the use we are to make of it, we remain satisfied with the knowledge itself, and do not think of its application. To illustrate this fact in some measure, let us suppose a basket of filberts set down for the use of a company of boys, and that one of them tries to crack the shells with his front teeth. He fails. But he sees his companions put the nuts farther back in the mouth, and succeed. Does he lose his share, by continuing to misapply the lever-power provided for him by Nature?—No indeed. He, by a single observation, at once draws and applies the lesson;—he immediately cracks his nuts as readily as his companions, and he continues to do so all his lifetime after. But the same boy may have, that very forenoon, been reading a treatise on the power of the lever, and might read it again and again without considering himself at all interested in the matter, or thinking it probable that he ever would. His reading, without the application we are here recommending, would never have led him to perceive the slightest similarity between the fulcrum of the lever, and the insertion of his jaw; or any connection between the lesson of the school, and the employment of the parlour:—But that would.

This is but one of a thousand examples that might be given, of the evils arising from the non-application of knowledge in reading, and which are applicable, not to children merely, but also to adults. The drawing and applying of lessons, the exercise which we are here recommending, has been found a valuable remedy for this defect in ordinary reading. The object of the teacher by its use, is to accomplish in the pupil by reading, what we have shewn Nature so frequently does by observation;—that is, to train the child to apply for his own use, or the use of others, those truths which he acquires from his book, in the same way that he does those which he derives from experience. To illustrate this, we shall instance a few cases of every day occurrence, in which the question, "What does this teach you?" when supplemented to the fact communicated, will almost invariably answer the purpose desired, whether the truth from which the lesson is to be drawn, has been received by observation, by oral instruction, or by reading.

When an observing well-disposed child sees a school-fellow praised and rewarded for being obliging and kind to the aged or the poor, there is formed in the mind of that child, more or less distinctly, a resolution to follow the example on the first opportunity. Here is the fact and the lesson, with the application in prospect. This whole feeling may be faint and evanescent, but it is real; and it only wants the cultivating hand of the teacher to arrest it, and to render it permanent. Accordingly, if on the child hearing the praise given to his companion for being kind and obliging to the poor, he had at the time been asked, "What does that teach you?" the lesson suggested by Nature would instantly have assumed a tangible form; and in communicating the answer to the teacher, both the truth and the lesson would have been brought more distinctly before the mind, and the reply, "I should be kind and obliging to the poor," would tend to fix the duty on the memory, and would be a good preparation for putting it in practice when the next occasion should occur.

Again, if another thoughtful and well disposed child sees a companion severely punished for telling a lie, the question, "What does that teach me?" is in some shape or degree formed in his mind, and his resolution, however faint, is taken to avoid that sin in future. This, it is obvious, is nothing more than a practical answer to the above question, forced upon the child by the directness of the circumstances, but which would not have so readily made its appearance, or produced its effect, in cases of a less obtrusive kind, or in one of more remote application; and every person must see, that the beneficial effects desired would have been more definite, more effectual, and much more permanent, had this faint indication of Nature's intention been followed up by orally asking the question at the child, and requiring him audibly to return an answer.

Let us once more suppose a child in the act of reading the history of Cain and Abel, in the manner in which it is commonly read by the young, and that the child thoroughly understands all the circumstances. He may be deeply interested in the story, while the uses to be made of it may not be very clearly perceived. But if, after reading any one of the moral circumstances, such as "Cain hated his brother," or after having it announced to him by the teacher, he was asked, "What does that teach you?" the practical use of the truth would at once be forced upon his mind, and he would now very readily answer, "It teaches me that I should not hate my brother." In this case also, it is quite obvious, that without such a question having been proposed, and the answer to it given, the practical uses of the truth recorded might have been altogether overlooked; and even although they had not, still the question and its answer will always have the effect of making them stand out much more prominently before the mind, and will enable the memory to hold them more tenaciously, and bring them forth more readily for practice, than if such an operation had been neglected. Hence the great importance of training the young by this exercise early to perceive the uses of every kind of knowledge, particularly Scriptural knowledge; because the habit formed in youth, will continue to render every useful truth of practical benefit during life.

We may remark here, that the exercise is not limited in its application to the young. For if an adult were first told, that the squalid beggar before him, though once respectable and rich, had made himself wretched by a course of idleness and dissipation, and were then asked, "What does that teach you?" he would instantly perceive the lesson, and would be stimulated to apply it. When, in like manner, the farmer is told that his neighbour has ruined himself by over-cropping his ground; or the iron master, that the use of the hot-blast has doubled the profits of his rival; a similar question would at once lead to the legitimate conclusion, and most likely to the proper conduct.

In all these examples, the operation of mind which we have endeavoured to describe, is so exceedingly simple, that it is perhaps difficult to decide how much is the work of Nature, and how much belongs to the exercise here recommended. This at once proves its efficiency, as an imitation of her process, in following her in the path which she has here pointed out; and it at the same time recommends itself as strictly accordant with observation and experience. The teacher then, in order to render the knowledge he communicates useful, has only to do regularly and by system, that which, under the direction of Nature, every intelligent and enquiring mind in its best moments does for itself. Wherever a useful truth has been communicated in the school or family, or a moral act or precept has been read or announced, the question by the parent or the teacher, "What does that teach you?" will lead the pupil to reflection, not only on its nature, but on its use; and the ability to do so, as we shall afterwards see, may be acquired by almost any individual with ease. Regular training in this way, leads directly to habits of reflection and observation, which are of themselves of great value; but which, when found acting in connection with the desire and ability to turn every truth observed into a practical channel, become doubly estimable, and a public blessing. The pupil therefore ought early to be trained of himself to supplement the question, "What does this teach me?" or, "What can I learn from this?" to every circumstance or truth to which his attention is called; because the ability to answer it forms the chief, if not the only correct measure of a well educated person. In proof of this it is only necessary to remark, that as it is not the man who has accumulated the greatest amount of anatomical and surgical knowledge, but he who can make the best use of it, that is really the best surgeon; so it is not the man who has acquired the largest portion of knowledge, but he who can make the best use of the largest portion, that is the best scholar. Hence it is, that all the exercises in a child's education should have in view the practical use of what he learns, and of what he is to continue through life to learn, as the great end to which all his learning should be subservient.

The moral advantages likely to result from the general adoption of this mode of teaching useful knowledge are exceedingly cheering, and the only surprise is, that it has been so long overlooked. That the principle, though not directly applied to the purposes of education, was well known, and frequently practised by our forefathers, appears obvious from many of their valuable writings. One beautiful example of its application is familiar to thousands, though not always perceived, in the illustration given of the Lord's prayer towards the close of the Assembly's Larger and Shorter Catechisms. The study of the lessons there drawn from the truths stated or implied in that prayer, will afford a better idea of the value of this mode of teaching, than perhaps any farther explanation we could give, and to these therefore we refer the reader.

Before closing these general observations upon the value and necessity of this method of training the young to the practical use of knowledge, there is a circumstance which should not be omitted, as it tends to double all the advantages of the exercise, both to the teacher and the pupil. It will be found in general, especially in morals, that every practical lesson that is drawn from a truth or passage, actually embodies two,—both of which are equally legitimate and connected with the subject. There is always a negative lesson implied, when the positive lesson is expressed; and there is in like manner a positive implied, whenever it is the negative that is expressed. As for example, when the child, from the history of Cain and Abel, draws the negative lesson that he should not hate his brother; the opposite of that lesson is equally binding in the positive form, that he should love his brother. And when, from the history of Job, the positive lesson is drawn that we ought to be patient; the negative of that lesson becomes equally binding, and the child may, by the very same fact, be taught and enjoined not to be fretful, discontented, or impatient, during sickness or trouble. Of this method of multiplying the practical uses of knowledge, we have a most appropriate example in the Assembly's Larger and Shorter Catechisms, where the illustrations given of the decalogue are conducted upon this important principle, and in a similar way.

CHAP. VIII.

On the Imitation of Nature in Teaching the Use of Knowledge by means of the Animal or Common Sense.

A large portion of what has been advanced in the foregoing chapter, has reference to the practical application of all kinds of knowledge, whether by the Animal or Moral sense; and we shall here offer a few additional remarks on the teaching of those branches which are more immediately connected with the former.

When a person is sent to learn an art or trade, such as a carpenter, he is not sent to hear lectures, or to get merely an abstract knowledge of the several truths connected with it; but he is sent to practise the little knowledge that he is able of himself to pick up. His is a practical learning; ninety-nine parts in every hundred being employed in the practice, for one that is employed in acquiring the abstract principles of his occupation. When, on the contrary, a child is sent to school, to prepare him for this practical application of his knowledge, the former proportions are generally reversed, and ninety-nine parts of his time and labour are taken up in attaining abstract knowledge, for one that is occupied in assisting him to reduce it to practice. Both modes of teaching the boy are obviously wrong. He would, when sent to it, learn his business in much less time by a previous acquaintance with its principles; and all these ought to have been furnished him as a part of his general knowledge while he attended the school. Such information, indeed, ought to have formed a large portion of his education;—and it will be a matter of surprise to every one who closely considers the subject, how soon and how easily the principles, even of so complicated a trade as a carpenter, may be acquired when they are taught in the right way, and at the proper time. A few of the simplest principles in mechanics practically learned,—a knowledge of the strength and adhesion of bodies,—of the nature of edge tools,—and the importance of accuracy and caution, might have been made familiar to him while attending his studies; and if carefully and constantly reduced to practice, these would have been of the greatest service to him when called to the work-shop.