It is unnecessary to give further illustrations of our method. Every one will see that it consists essentially in the observation and investigation of facts, the most important of which is that we have before us a pupil going through a definite system of education. We are convinced that it is education, because it developes faculty, and therefore conduces to development and growth. By close observation we detect the method of the master, and see that it is a method which repudiates cramming rules and definitions, and giving wordy explanations, and secures the pupil's utmost benefit from the work by making him do it all himself through the exercise of his unaided powers. We thus get a clue to the construction of a Science of Education, to be built up, as it were, on the organized compound of body and mind, to which we give the name of baby. Continuing still our observation of the phenomena it manifests, first, in its speechless, and afterwards in its speaking condition, we gain other principles of · education; and lastly, colligating and generalizing our generalizations, we arrive at a definition of education as carried on by Nature. This may be roughly expressed thus:-Natural education consists in the development and training of the learner's powers, through influences of various kinds, which are initiated by action from without, met by corresponding reaction from within.

Then assuming, as we appear to have a right to do, that this natural education should be the model of formal education, we modify our definition thus-`

Education is the development and training of the learner's native powers by means of instruction carried on through the conscious and persistent agency of the formal educator, and depends upon the established connection between the world without and the world within the mind-between the objective and the subjective.

I am aware that this definition is defective, inasmuch as it ignores—or appears to ignore the vast fields of physical and moral education. It will serve my present purpose, which is especially connected with intellectual education.

THE ART OF EDUCATION.

Having gained a general notion of a Science of Education, we go on to consider the Art of Education, or the practical application of the Science. We are thus led to examine the difference between Science and Art, and between Nature and Art. Science tells us what a thing is, and why it is what it is. It deals therefore with the nature of the thing, with its relations to other things, and consequently with the laws of its being. Art derives its rules from this

*The Bishop of Exeter, in the admirable address which he lately delivered on the occasion of his presiding at the giving of Prizes to the successful candidates for schools in union with the College of Preceptors, confirmed in various ways the principle above laid down. This address was delivered since my lecture at the College. It may be found fully reported in the Educational Times for February. Among other remarks were the following:-" We often find that when teachers fancy their pupils have obtained a thorough mastery of a subject, they are deceived, because they have not noticed that, in almost imperceptible ways, they have been doing for the pupil what he ought to be doing for himself. I have repeatedly gone into a school and on examining it, say in arithmetic, have been told by the master, 'It is very strange that the boys do not know it; I thought they knew it thoroughly.' I have always asked them this, 'When you have exmined them, have you made them answer for themselves?' And the reply has been, Yes; I have left them with themselves except just the very slightest possible help occasionally; just enough to prevent them from wandering about.' That is the whole thing. That very little help is the thing which vitiated the examination altogether; and the test of real mastery is that the knowledge shall be produced [and therefore obtained] without any help at all. When a man or woman in after-life come to use their knowledge, they will find that the knowledge is really of no use unless they are able to apply it absolutely without assistance, and without the slightest guidance to prevent them falling into the most grievous mistakes."

"Do this or that with

knowledge of the thing and its laws of action, and says, the thing in order to accomplish the end you have in view. If you act otherwise with it, you violate the laws of its being." Now the rules of Art may be carried out blindly or intelligently. If blindly, the worker is a mere artisanan operative who follows routine, whose rule is the rule-of-thumb. If intelligently, he is a true artist, who not only knows what he is doing, but why this process is right and that wrong, and who is furnished with resources suitable for guiding normal, and correcting abnormal, action. All the operations of the true artist can be justified by reference to the principles of Science. But there is also a correlation between Nature and Art. These terms are apparently, but not really, opposed to each other. Bacon long ago pointed out the true distinction when he said, Ars est Homo additus Naturæ-Art is Nature with the addition of Man-Art is Man's work added to (not put in the place of) Nature's work. Here then is the synthesis of Nature and Man which justifies us in saying that natural education is the type or model of formal, or what we usually call, without an epithet, education, and that the Art of Teaching is the application by the teacher of laws of Science, which he has himself discovered by investigating Nature. This is the keystone of our position; if this is firm and strong, all is firm and strong. Abandon this position and you walk in darkness and doubt, not knowing what you are doing or whither you are wandering at the mercy of every wind of doctrine.

The artist in education, thus equipped, is ready not only to work himself, but to judge of the work of others. He sees, for instance, a teacher coldly or sterly demanding the attention of a little child to some lesson, say in arithmetic. The child has never been led up gradually to the point at which he is. He has none but confused notions about it. The teacher, without any attempt to interest the child, without exhibiting affection or sympathy towards him, hastily gives him some technical directions, and sends him away to profit by them as he may-simply "orders him to learn," and leaves him to do so alone. Our teacher says, "This transaction is inartistic. The element of humanity is altogether wanting in it. It is not in accordance with the Science of Educa tion; it is a violation of the Art. The great educator, in his teaching, presents a motive and an object for voluntary action; and therefore excites attention towards the object by enlisting the feelings in the enquiry. He does not, it is true, show sympathy, because he acts by inflexible rules. But the human educator, as an artist, is bound not only to excite an interest in the work, but to sympathize with the worker. This teacher does neither.

Another case presents itself. Here the teacher does not leave the child alone; on the contrary, is continually by his side. At this moment he is copiously "imparting his knowledge" of some subject to his pupil, whose aspect shows that he is not receiving it, and who therefore looks puzzled. The matter, whatever it is, has evidently little or no relation to the actual condition of the child's mind, in which it finds no links of association and produces no intellectual reaction, and which therefore does not coöperate with the teacher's. He patiently endures, however, because he cannot escape from it, the downpouring of the teacher's knowledge; but it is obvious that he gains nothing from it. It passes over his mind as water passes over a duck's back. The subject of instruction, before unknown, remains unknown still. Our artist teacher, looking on, pronounces that this teaching is inartistic, as not being founded on Science. "The efficiency of a lesson is to be proved," he says, "by the part taken in it by the pupil; and here the teacher does all the work, the pupil does nothing at all.

It is the teacher's mind, not the learner's, that is engaged in it. Our great master teaches by calling into exercise the learner's powers, not by making a display of his own. The child will never learn anything so as to possess it for himself by such teaching as this, which accounts the exercise of his own faculties as having little or nothing to do with the process of learning."

Once more our student, informed in the Science of Education, watches a teacher who is giving a lesson on language—say, on the mother tongue. This mother tongue the child virtually knows how to use already; and if he has been accustomed to educated society, speaks and (if he is old enough to write) writes it correctly. The teacher puts a book into his hand, the first sentence of which is, “English grammar is the art of speaking and writing the English language correctly." The child does not know what an "art" is, nor what is meant by speaking English "correctly." If he is intelligent, he wonders whether he speaks it "correctly" or not. As to the meaning of "art," he is altogether at sea. The teacher is aware of the perplexity, and desiring to make him really understand the meaning of the word, attempts an explanation. “An art," he says (getting the definition from a dictionary), “is a power of doing something not taught by Nature." The child stares with astonishment, as if you were talking Greek or Arabic. What can be meant by a "power"—what by "being taught by Nature"? The teacher sees that his explanation has only made what was dark before darker still. He attempts to explain his explanation, and the fog grows thicker and thicker. At last he gives it up, pronounces the child stupid, and ends by telling him to learn by rote—that is, by hurdy-gurdy grind the unintelligible words. That at least the child can do (a parrot could be taught to do the same), and he does it; but his mind has received no instruc. tion whatever from the lesson-the intelligence which distinguishes the child from the parrot remains entirely uncultivated.

Our teacher proceeds to criticise. "This is," he says, "altogether inartistic teaching. Our great master does not begin with definitions—and indeed gives no definitions-because they are unsuited to his pupil's state of mind. He begins with facts which the child can understand, because he observes them himself. This teacher should have begun with facts. The first lesson in grammar (if indeed it is necessary to teach grammar at all to a little child) should be a lesson on the names of the objects in the room-objects which the child sees and handles, and knows by seeing and handling—that is, has ideas of them in his mind. 'What is the name of this thing and of that?' he inquires, and the child tells him. The ideas of the things, and the names by which they are known, are already associated together in his consciousness, and he has already learned to translate things into words. The teacher may tell him (for he could not discover it for himself) that a name may also be called a noun. What, then,' the teacher may say, ‘is a noun?' The child replies, ‘A noun is the name of a thing.' He has constructed a definition himself—a very simple one certainlybut then it is a definition which he thoroughly understands because it is his own work. This mode of proceeding would be artistic, because in accordance with Nature. There would be no need to commit the definition to memory, as a mere collection of words, because what it means is already committed to the understanding which will retain it, because it represents facts already known and appreciated. Thoroughly knowing things is the sure way to remember them.” In some such way as this our expert brings the processes commonly called teaching to the touchstone of his Science, the Science which he has built up on his observation of the processes of Nature.

THE KINDERGARTEN SYSTEM.

Froebel first gave the name of Kindergarten about the year 1840 to his school of young children between three and seven years of age at Blankenburg, near Rudolstadt. Its purpose is thus briefly indicated by himself:-"To take the oversight of children before they are ready for school life; to exert an influence over their whole being in correspondence with its nature; to strengthen their bodily powers; to exercise their senses; to employ the awakening mind; to make them thoughtfully acquainted with the world of nature and of man; to guide their heart and soul in a right direction, and lead them to the Origin of all life and to union with Him." To secure those objects, the child must be placed under the influence of a properly trained governess for a portion of the day after reaching the age of three.

Froebel differs from Pestalozzi, who thought that the mother, as the natural educator of the child, ought to retain the sole charge up to the sixth or seventh year. This necessarily narrows the child's experience to the family circle, and excludes in many cases the mutual action and reaction of children upon each other-under conditions most favorable to development. Mr. Payne embodies the genesis of Fræbel's system in his own mind as follows:

Let us imagine Froebel taking his place amidst a number of children disporting themselves in the open air without any check upon their movements. After looking on the pleasant scene awhile, he breaks out into a soliloquy:

"What exuberant life! What immeasurable enjoyment! What unbounded activity! What an evolution of physical forces! What a harmony between the inner and the outer life! What happiness, health, and strength! Let me look a little closer. What are these children doing? The air rings musically with their shouts and joyous laughter. Some are running, jumping, or bounding along, with eyes like the eagle's bent upon its prey, after the ball which a dexterous hit of the bat sent flying among them; others are bending down towards the ring filled with marbles, and endeavoring to dislodge them from their position; others are running friendly races with their hoops; others again, with arms laid across each other's shoulders, are quietly walking and talking together upon some matter in which they evidently have a common interest. Their natural fun gushes out from eyes and lips. I hear what they say. It is simply expressed, amusing, generally intelligent, and often even witty. But there is a small group of children yonder. They seem cagerly intent on some subject. What is it? I see one of them has taken a fruit from his pocket. He is showing it to his fellows. They look at it and admire it. It is new to them. They wish to know more about it-to handle, smell, and taste it. The owner gives it into their hands; they feel and smell, but do not taste it. They give it back to the owner, his right to it being generally admitted. He bites it, the rest looking eagerly on to watch the result. His face shows that he likes the taste; his eyes grow brighter with satisfaction. The rest desire to make his experience their own. He sees their desire, breaks or cuts the fruit in pieces, which he distributes among them. He adds to his own pleasure by sharing in theirs. Suddenly a loud shout from some other part of the ground attracts the attention of the group, which scatters in all directions. Let me now consider. What does all this manifold movement-this exhibition of spontaneous energyreally mean? To me it seems to have a profound meaning.

"It means

61.

That there is an immense external development and expansion of energy of various kinds-physical, intellectual, and moral. Limbs, senses, lungs, tongues, minds, hearts, are all at work-all coöperating to produce the general effect.

Lecture delivered at the College of Preceptors at London, Feb. 25th, 1874, by Joseph Payne, Professor of the Science and Art of Education to the College.

"2. That activity-doing-is the common characteristic of this development of force.

"3. That spontaneity-absolute freedom from outward control-appears to be both impulse and law to the activity.

"4. That the harmonious combination and interaction of spontaneity and activity constitute the happiness which is apparent. The will to do prompts the doing; the doing reacts on the will.

"5. That the resulting happiness is independent of the absolute value of the exciting cause. A bit of stick, a stone, an apple, a marble, a hoop, a top, as soon as they become objects of interest, call out the activities of the whole being quite as effectually as if they were matters of the greatest intrinsic value. It is the action upon them-the doing something with them-that invests them with

interest.

"6. That this spontaneous activity generates happiness because the result is gained by the children's own efforts, without external interference. What they do themselves and for themselves, involving their own personal experience, and therefore exactly measured by their own capabilities, interests them. What another, of trained powers, standing on a different platform of advancement, does for them, is comparatively uninteresting. If such a person, from whatever motive, interferes with their spontaneous activity, he arrests the movement of their forces, quenches their interest, at least for the moment; and they resent the interference.

"Such, then, appear to be the manifold meanings of the boundless spontaneous activity that I witness. But what name, after all, must I give to the totality of the phenomena exhibited before me? I must call them Play. Play, then, is spontaneous activity ending in the satisfaction of the natural desire of the child for pleasure-for happiness. Play is the natural, the appropriate business and occupation of the child left to his own resources. The child that does not play, is not a perfect child. He wants something-sense organ, limb, or generally what we imply by the term health-to make up our ideal of a child. The healthy child plays-plays continually-cannot but play.

"But has this instinct for play no deeper significance? Is it appointed by the Supreme Being merely to fill up time-merely to form an occasion for fruitless exercise?-merely to end in itself? No! I see now that it is the constituted means for the unfolding of all the child's powers. It is through play that he learns the use of his limbs, of all his bodily organs, and with this use gains health and strength. Through play he comes to know the external world, the physical qualities of the objects which surround him, their motions, action, and re-action upon each other, and the relation of these phenomena to himself; a knowledge which forms the basis of that which will be his permanent stock for life. Through play, involving associateship and combined action, he begins to recognize moral relations, to feel that he cannot live for himself alone, that he is a member of a community, whose rights he must acknowledge if his own are to be acknowledged. In and through play, moreover, he learns to contrive means for securing his ends; to invent, construct, discover, investigate, to bring by imagination the remote near, and, further, to translate the language of facts into the language of words, to learn the conventionalities of his mother tongue. Play, then, I see, is the means by which the entire being of the child develops and grows into power, and, therefore, does not end in itself.

"But an agency which effects results like these is an education agency; and Play, therefore, resolves itself into education; education which is independent of the formal teacher, which the child virtually gains for and by himself. This, then, is the outcome of all that I have observed. The child, through the spontaneous activity of all his natural forces, is really developing and strengthening them for future use; he is working out his own education.

"But what do I, who am constituted by the demands of society as the formal educator of these children, learn from the insight I have thus gained into their nature? I learn this-that I must educate them in conformity with that nature. I must continue, not supersede, the course already begun; my own course must be based upon it. I must recognize and adopt the principles involved in it. and frame my laws of action accordingly. Above all, I must not neutralize and deaden that spontaneity which is the mainspring of all the machinery; I must rather encourage it, while ever opening new fields for its exercise, and giving it