it comes to pass that he goes on teaching subjects of which he himself is ignorant, subjects, too, of which he does not recognize the importance, with an enlightened disbelief in his own method of tuition. He finds it up-hill work, to be sure-labor of Sisyphus, in fact—and is conscious that his pupils do not get on, however hard he may try to drive them; but he never hoped for success in his teaching, so the want of it does not distress him. I may be suspected of caricature, but not, I think, by university men who have themselves had to teach anything besides classics and mathematics.

If there is any truth in what I have been saying, school-teaching, in subjects other than classics and mathematics (which I am not now considering), is very commonly a failure. And a failure it must remain until boys can be got to work with a will, in other words, to feel interest in the subject taught. I know there is a strong prejudice in some people's minds against the notion of making learning pleasant. They remind us that school should be a preparation for after-life. After-life will bring with it an immense amount of drudgery. If, they say, things at school are made too easy and pleasant (words, by the way, very often and very erroneously confounded), school will cease to give the proper discipline: boys will be turned out not knowing what hard work is, which, after all, is the most important lesson that can be taught them. In these views I sincerely concur, so far as this, at least, that we want boys to work hard and vigorously to go through necessary drudgery, i. e., labor in itself disagreeable. But this result is not attained by such a system as I have described. Boys

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do not learn to work hard, but in a dull, stupid way, with most of their faculties lying dormant, and though they are put through a vast quantity of drudgery, they seem as incapable of throwing any energy into it, as prisoners on the tread-mill. I think we shall find, on consideration, that no one succeeds in any occupation unless that occupation is interesting, either in itself or from some object that is to be obtained by means of it. Only when such an interest is aroused is energy possible. No one will deny that, as a rule, the most successful men are those for whom their employment has the greatest attractions. We should be sorry to give ourselves up to the treatment of a doctor who thought the study of disease mere drudgery, or a dentist who felt a strong repugnance to operating on teeth. No doubt, the successful man in every pursuit has to go through a great deal of drudgery, but he has a general interest in the subject, which extends, partially at least, to its most wearisome details; his energy, too, is excited by the desire of what the drudgery will gain for him.

*

* On this subject I can quote the authority of a great observer of the mind-no less a man, indeed, than Wordsworth. He speaks of the "grand elementary principle of pleasure, by which man knows, and feels, and lives, and moves. We have no sympathy," he continues, "but what is propagated by pleasure-I would not be mis understood-but wherever we sympathize with pain, it will be found that the sympathy is produced and carried on by subtle combinations with pleasure. We have no knowledge, that is, no general principles drawn from the contemplation of particular facts, but what has been built up by pleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The man of science, the chemist, and mathematician, whatever difficulties and disgusts they may have to struggle with, know and feel this. However painful may be the objects with which the anatomist's knowledge may be connected, he feels that his knowledge is pleasure, and when he has no pleasure he has no krwledge.”

Observe, that although I would have boys take pleasure in their work, I regard the pleasure as a means, not an end. If it could be proved that the mind was best trained by the most repulsive exercises, I should most certainly enforce them. But I do not think that the mind is benefited by galley-slave labor: indeed, hardly any of its faculties are capable of such labor. We can compel a boy to learn a thing by heart, but we can not compel him to wish to understand it; and the intellect does not act without the will. Hence, when anything is required which can not be performed by the memory alone, the driving system utterly breaks down; and even the memory, as I hope to show presently, works much more effectually in matters about which the mind feels an interest. Indeed, the mind without sympathy and interest is like the sea-anemone when the tide is down, an unlovely thing, closed against external influences, enduring existence as best it can. But let it find itself in a more congenial element, and it opens out at once, shows altogether unexpected capacities, and eagerly assimilates all the proper food that comes within its reach. Our school-teaching is often little better than an attempt to get sea-anemones to flourish on dry land.

We see, then, that a boy, before he can throw energy into study, must find that study interesting in itself, or in its results.

-Preface to second edition of Lyrical Ballads. If we accept Professor Bain's doctrine, "States of pleasure are connected with an increase, and states of pain with a diminution, of some or all of the vital functions," it will follow that the healthy discharge of the functions, either of the mind or the body, must be pleasurable. However, I merely suggest this for consideration.

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Some subjects, properly taught, are interesting in themselves.

Some subjects may be interesting to older and more thoughtful boys, from a perception of their usefulness.

All subjects may be made interesting by emula

tion.

Hardly any effort is made in some schools to interest the younger children in their work, and yet no effort can be, as the Germans say, more "rewarding." The teacher of children has this advantage, that his pupils are never dull and listless, as youths are apt to be. If they are not attending to him, they very soon give him notice of it, and if he has the sense to see that their inattention is his fault, not theirs, this will save him much annoyance and them much misery. He has, too, another advantage, which gives him the power of gaining their attention their emulation is easily excited. In the Waisenhaus at Halle I once heard a class of very young children, none of them much above six years old, perform feats of mental arithmetic quite beyond their age (I wished their teacher had not been so successful), and I well remember the pretty eagerness with which each child held out a little hand and shouted, "Mich!" to gain the privilege of answering.

Then again, there are many subjects in which children take an interest. Indeed, all visible things, especially animals, are much more to them than to us. A child has made acquaintance with all the animals in the neighborhood, and can tell you much more about the house and its surroundings than you know yourself. But all this knowledge and interest you would

wish forgotten directly he comes into school. Reading, writing, and figures are taught in the driest manner. The first two are in themselves not uninteresting to the child, as he has something to do, and young people are much more ready to do anything than to learn anything. But when lessons are given the child to learn, they are not about things concerning which he has ideas, and feels an interest, but you teach him the Catechism-mere sounds-and, that Alfred (to him only a name) came to the throne in 871, though he has no notion what the throne is, or what 871 means. The child learns the lesson with much trouble and small profit, bearing the infliction with what patience he can, till he escapes out of school, and begins to learn much faster on a very different system.

An attempt has been made by the Pestalozzians to remedy all this. They insist strongly on the necessity of teaching children about things, and of appealing to their senses. But, to judge from the Cheam manual, they have succeeded merely in proving that lessons on things may be made as tiresome as any other lessons. They hold up an object, say a piece of sponge, and run through all the adjectives which can possibly be applied to it. This is sponge. Sponge is an animal product. Sponge is amorphous. Sponge is porous. Sponge is absorbent," etc., etc. I have no practical acquaintance with this method, but confess I do not like the look of it from a distance.*

* Mr. Herbert Spencer has conclusively shown Pestalozzian practices are often at variance with Pestalozzian principles.-Education, chap. ii.