CHAPTER III.

INSTRUCTION.

[Illustration]

We come now to consider the subject of Instruction.

There are three kinds of human knowledge which stand strikingly distinct

from all the rest. They lie at the foundation. They constitute the roots

of the tree. In other words, they are the _means_ by which all other

knowledge is attained. I need not say that I mean Reading, Writing, and

Calculation.

Teachers do not perhaps always consider how entirely and essentially

distinct these three branches of learning are from all the rest. They

are arts; the acquisition of them is not to be considered as knowledge,

so much as the means by which knowledge may be obtained. A child who is

studying Geography, or History, or Natural Science, is learning

_facts_--gaining information; on the other hand, the one who is learning

to write, or to read, or to calculate, may be adding little or nothing

to his stock of knowledge. He is acquiring _skill_, which, at some

future time, he may make the means of increasing his knowledge to any

extent.

This distinction ought to be kept constantly in view, and the teacher

should feel that these three fundamental branches stand by themselves,

and stand first in importance. I do not mean to undervalue the others,

but only to insist upon the superior value and importance of these.

Teaching a pupil to read before he enters upon the active business of

life is like giving a new settler an axe as he goes to seek his new home

in the forest. Teaching him a lesson in history is, on the other hand,

only cutting down a tree or two for him. A knowledge of natural history

is like a few bushels of grain gratuitously placed in his barn; but the

art of ready reckoning is the plow which will remain by him for years,

and help him to draw out from the soil a new treasure every year of his

life.

The great object, then, of the common schools in our country is to teach

the whole population to read, to write, and to calculate. In fact, so

essential is it that the accomplishment of these objects should be

secured, that it is even a question whether common schools should not be

confined to them. I say it is a _question_, for it is sometimes made so,

though public opinion has decided that some portion of attention, at

least, should be paid to the acquisition of additional knowledge. But,

after all, the amount of _knowledge_ which is actually acquired at

schools is very small. It must be very small. The true policy is to aim

at making all the pupils good readers, writers, and calculators, and to

consider the other studies of the school important chiefly as practice

in turning these arts to useful account. In other words, the scholars

should be taught these arts thoroughly first of all, and in the other

studies the main design should be to show them how to use, and interest

them in using, the arts they have thus acquired.

A great many teachers feel a much stronger interest in the one or two

scholars they may have in Surveying or in Latin than they do in the

large classes in the elementary branches which fill the school. But a

moment's reflection will show that such a preference is founded on a

very mistaken view. Leading forward one or two minds from step to step

in an advanced study is certainly far inferior in real dignity and

importance to opening all the stores of written knowledge to fifty or a

hundred. The man who neglects the interests of his school in these great

branches to devote his time to two or three, or half a dozen older

scholars, is unjust both to his employers and to himself.

It is the duty, therefore, of every teacher who commences a common

district school for a single season to make, when he commences, an

estimate of the state of his pupils in reference to these three

branches. How do they all write? How do they all read? How do they

calculate? It would be well if he would make a careful examination of

the school in this respect. Let them all write a specimen. Let all read,

and let him make a memorandum of the manner, noticing how many read

fluently, how many with difficulty, how many know only their letters,

and how many are to be taught these. Let him ascertain, also, what

progress they have made in arithmetic--how many can readily perform the

elementary processes, and what number need instruction in these. After

thus surveying the ground, let him form his plan, and lay out his whole

strength in carrying forward as rapidly as possible the _whole school_

in these studies. By this means he is acting most directly and

powerfully on the intelligence of the whole future community in that

place. He is opening to fifty or a hundred minds stores of knowledge

which they will go on exploring for years to come. What a descent now

from such a work as this to the mere hearing of the recitation of two or

three boys in Trigonometry!

I repeat it, that a thorough and enlightened survey of the whole school

should be taken, and plans formed for elevating the whole mass in those

great branches of knowledge which are to be of immediate practical use

to them in future life.

If the school is one more advanced in respect to the age and studies of

the pupils, the teacher should, in the same manner, before he forms his

plans, consider well what are the great objects which he has to

accomplish. He should ascertain what is the existing state of his

school both as to knowledge and character; how long, generally, his

pupils are to remain under his care; what are to be their future

stations and conditions in life, and what objects he can reasonably hope

to effect for them while they remain under his influence. By means of

this forethought and consideration he will be enabled to work

understandingly.

It is desirable, too, that what I have recommended in reference to the

whole school should be done in respect to the case of each individual.

When a new pupil comes under your charge, ascertain (by other means,

however, than formal examination) to what stage his education has

advanced, and deliberately consider what objects you can reasonably

expect to effect for him while he remains under your care. You can not,

indeed, always form your plans to suit so exactly your general views in

regard to the school and to individuals as you could wish. But these

general views will, in a thousand cases, modify your plans, or affect in

a greater or less degree all your arrangements. They will keep you to a

steady purpose, and your work will go on far more systematically and

regularly than it would do if, as in fact many teachers do, you were to

come headlong into your school, take things just as you find them, and

carry them forward at random without end or aim.

This survey of your field being made, you are prepared to commence

definite operations, and the great difficulty in carrying your plans

into effect is how to act more efficiently on _the greatest numbers at a

time._ The whole business of public instruction, if it goes on at all,

must go on by the teacher's skill in multiplying his power, by acting on

_numbers at once._ In most books on education we are taught, almost

exclusively, how to operate on the _individual_. It is the error into

which theoretic writers almost always fall. We meet in every periodical,

and in every treatise, and, in fact, in almost every conversation on the

subject, with remarks which sound very well by the fireside, but they

are totally inefficient and useless in school, from their being

apparently based upon the supposition that the teacher has but _one_

pupil to attend to at a time. The great question in the management of

schools is not how you can take _one_ scholar, and lead him forward most

rapidly in a prescribed course, but how you can classify and arrange

_numbers_, comprising every possible variety both as to knowledge and

capacity, so as to carry them all forward effectually together.

The extent to which a teacher may multiply his power by acting on

numbers at a time is very great. In order to estimate it, we must

consider carefully what it is when carried to the greatest extent to

which it is capable of being carried under the most favorable

circumstances. Now it is possible for a teacher to speak so as to be

easily heard by three hundred persons, and three hundred pupils can be

easily so seated as to see his illustrations or diagrams. Now suppose

that three hundred pupils, all ignorant of the method of reducing

fractions to a common denominator, and yet all old enough to learn, are

collected in one room. Suppose they are all attentive and desirous of

learning, it is very plain that the process may be explained to the

whole at once, so that half an hour spent in that exercise would enable

a very large proportion of them to understand the subject. So, if a

teacher is explaining to a class in Grammar the difference between a

noun and verb, the explanation would do as well for several hundred as

for the dozen who constitute the class, if arrangements could only be

made to have the hundreds hear it; but there are, perhaps, only a

hundred pupils in the school, and of these a large part understand

already the point to be explained, and another large part are too young

to attend to it. I wish the object of these remarks not to be

misunderstood. I do not recommend the attempt to teach on so extensive a

scale; I admit that it is impracticable; I only mean to show in what the

impracticability consists, namely, in the difficulty of making such

arrangements as to derive the full benefit from the instructions

rendered. The instructions of the teacher are, _in the nature of

things,_ available to the extent I have represented, but in actual

practice the full benefit can not be derived. Now, so far as we thus

fall short of this full benefit, so far there is, of course, waste; and

it is difficult or impossible to make such arrangements as will avoid

the waste, in this manner, of a large portion of every effort which the

teacher makes.

A very small class instructed by an able teacher is like a factory of a

hundred spindles, with a water-wheel of power sufficient for a thousand.

In such a case, even if the owner, from want of capital or any other

cause, can not add the other nine hundred, he ought to know how much of

his power is in fact unemployed, and make arrangements to bring it into

useful exercise as soon as he can. The teacher, in the same manner,

should understand what is the full beneficial effect which it is

possible, _in theory_, to derive from his instructions. He should

understand, too, that just so far as he falls short of this full effect

there is waste. It may be unavoidable; part of it unquestionably is,

like the friction of machinery, unavoidable. Still, it is waste; and it

ought to be so understood, that, by the gradual perfection of the

machinery, it may be more and more fully prevented.

Always bear in mind, then, when you are devoting your time to two or

three individuals in a class, that your are losing a large part of your

labor. Your instructions are conducive to good effect only to the one

tenth or one twentieth of the extent to which, under more favorable

circumstances, they might be made available. And though you can not

always avoid this loss, you ought to be aware of it, and so to shape

your measures as to diminish it as much as possible.

We come now to consider the particular measures to be adopted in giving

instruction.

The objects which are to be secured in the management of the classes

are twofold:

1. Recitation. 2. Instruction.

These two objects are, it is plain, entirely distinct. Under the latter

is included all the explanation, and assistance, and additional

information which the teacher may give his pupils, and under the former,

such an _examination_ of individuals as is necessary to secure their

careful attention to their lessons. It is unsafe to neglect either of

these points. If the class meetings are mere _recitations_, they soon

become dull and mechanical; the pupils generally take little interest in

their studies, and imbibe no literary spirit. Their intellectual

progress will, accordingly, suddenly cease the moment they leave school,

and so cease to be called upon to recite lessons. On the other hand, if

_instruction_ is all that is aimed at, and _recitation_ (by which I

mean, as above explained, such an examination of individuals as is

necessary to ascertain that they have faithfully performed the tasks

assigned) is neglected, the exercise soon becomes not much more than a

lecture, to which those, and those only, will attend who please.

The business, therefore, of a thorough examination of the class must not

be omitted. I do not mean that each individual scholar must every day be

examined, but simply that the teacher must, in some way or other,

satisfy himself by reasonable evidence that the whole class are really

prepared. A great deal of ingenuity may be exercised in contriving means

for effecting this object in the shortest possible time. I know of no

part of the field of a teacher's labors which may be more facilitated by

a little ingenuity than this.

One teacher, for instance, has a spelling lesson to hear. He begins at

the head of the line, and putting one word to each boy, goes regularly

down, each successive pupil calculating the chances whether a word which

he can accidentally spell will or will not come to him. If he spells it,

the teacher can not tell whether he is prepared or not. That word is

only one among fifty constituting the lesson. If he misses it, the

teacher can not decide that he was unprepared. It might have been a

single accidental error.

Another teacher, hearing the same lesson, requests the boys to bring

their slates, and, as he dictates the words one after another, requires

all to write them. After they are all written, he calls upon the pupils

to spell them aloud as they have written them, simultaneously, pausing a

moment after each, to give those who are wrong an opportunity to

indicate it by some mark opposite the word misspelled. They all count

the number of errors and report them. He passes down the class, glancing

his eye at the work of each one to see that all is right, noticing

particularly those slates which, from the character of the boys, need a

more careful inspection. A teacher who had never tried this experiment

would be surprised at the rapidity with which such work will be

performed by a class after a little practice.

Now how different are these two methods in their actual results! In the

latter case the whole class are thoroughly examined. In the former not a

single member of it is. Let me not be understood to recommend exactly

this method of teaching spelling as the best one to be adopted in all

cases. I only bring it forward as an illustration of the idea that a

little machinery, a little ingenuity in contriving ways of acting on the

_whole_ rather than on individuals, will very much promote the teacher's

designs.

In order to facilitate such plans, it is highly desirable that the

classes should be trained to military precision and exactness in these

manipulations. What I mean by this may perhaps be best illustrated by

describing a case: it will show, in another branch, how much will be

gained by acting upon numbers at once instead of upon each individual in

succession.

Imagine, then, that a teacher requested all the pupils of his school who

could write to take out their slates at the hour for a general

exercise. As soon as the first bustle of opening and shutting the desks

was over, he looked around the room, and saw some ruling lines across

their slates, others wiping them all over on both sides with sponges,

others scribbling, or writing, or making figures.

"All those," says he, speaking, however, with a pleasant tone and with a

pleasant look, "who have taken out any thing besides slates, may rise."

Several, in various parts of the room, stood up.

"All those who have written any thing since they took out their slates

may rise too, and those who have wiped their slates."

"When all were up, he said to them, though not with a frown or a scowl,

as if they had committed a great offense,

"Suppose a company of soldiers should be ordered to _form a line_, and

instead of simply obeying that order they should all set at work, each

in his own way, doing something else. One man at one end of the line

begins to load and fire his gun; another takes out his knapsack and

begins to eat his luncheon; a third amuses himself by going as fast as

possible through the exercise; and another still, begins to march about

hither and thither, facing to the right and left, and performing all the

evolutions he can think of. What should you say to such a company as

that?"

The boys laughed.

"It is better," said the teacher, "when numbers are acting under the

direction of one, that they should all act _exactly together_. In this

way we advance much faster than we otherwise should. Be careful,

therefore, to do exactly what I command, and nothing more.

"_Provide a place on your slates large enough to write a single line_,"

added the teacher, in a distinct voice. I print his orders in Italics,

and his remarks and explanations in Roman letters.

"_Prepare to write_.

"I mean by this," he continued, "that you place your slates before you

with your pencils at the place where you are to begin, so that all may

commence precisely at the same instant."

The teacher who tries such an experiment as this will find at such a

juncture an expression of fixed and pleasant attention upon every

countenance in school. All will be intent, all will be interested. Boys

love order, and system, and acting in concert, and they will obey with

great alacrity such commands as these if they are good-humoredly, though

decidedly expressed.

The teacher observed in one part of the room a hand raised, indicating

that the boy wished to speak to him. He gave him liberty by pronouncing

his name.

"I have no pencil," said the boy.

A dozen hands all around him were immediately seen fumbling in pockets

and desks, and in a few minutes several pencils were reached out for his

acceptance.

The boy looked at the pencils and then at the teacher; he did not

exactly know whether he was to take one or not.

"All those boys," said the teacher, pleasantly, "who have taken out

pencils, may rise.

"Have these boys done right or wrong?"

"Right;" "Wrong;" "Right," answered their companions, variously.

"Their motive was to help their class-mate out of his difficulties; that

is a good feeling, certainly."

"Yes, sir, right;" "Right."

"But I thought you promised me a moment ago," replied the teacher, "not

to do any thing unless I commanded it. Did I ask for pencils?"

A pause.

"I do not blame these boys at all in this case; still, it is better to

adhere rigidly to the principle of _exact obedience _ when numbers are

acting together. I thank them, therefore, for being so ready to assist

a companion, but they must put their pencils away, as they were taken

out without orders."

Now such a dialogue as this, if the teacher speaks in a good-humored,

though decided manner, would be universally well received in any school.

Whenever strictness of discipline is unpopular, it is rendered so simply

by the ill-humored and ill-judged means by which it is attempted to be

introduced. But all children will love strict discipline if it is

pleasantly, though firmly maintained. It is a great, though very

prevalent mistake, to imagine that boys and girls like a lax and

inefficient government, and dislike the pressure of steady control. What

they dislike is sour looks and irritating language, and they therefore

very naturally dislike every thing introduced or sustained by means of

them. If, however, exactness and precision in all the operations of a

class and of the school are introduced and enforced in the proper

manner, that is, by a firm, but mild and good-humored authority,

scholars will universally be pleased with them. They like to see the

uniform appearance, the straight line, the simultaneous movement. They

like to feel the operation of system, and to realize, while they are at

the school-room, that they form a community, governed by fixed and

steady laws, firmly but kindly administered. On the other hand, laxity

of discipline, and the disorder which will result from it, will only

lead the pupils to contemn their teacher and to hate their school.

By introducing and maintaining such a discipline as I have described,

great facilities will be secured for examining the classes. For example,

to take a case different from the one before described, let us suppose

that a class have been performing a number of examples in Addition. They

come together to the recitation, and, under one mode of managing

classes, the teacher is immediately beset by a number of the pupils with

excuses. One had no slate; another was absent when the lesson was

assigned; a third performed the work, but it got rubbed out, and a

fourth did not know what was to be done. The teacher stops to hear all

these, and to talk about them, fretting himself, and fretting the

delinquents by his impatient remarks. The rest of the class are waiting,

and, having nothing good to do, the temptation is almost irresistible to

do something bad. One boy is drawing pictures on his slate to make his

neighbors laugh, another is whispering, and two more are at play. The

disorder continues while the teacher goes round examining slate after

slate, his whole attention being engrossed by each individual, as the

pupils come to him successively, while the rest are left to themselves,

interrupted only by an occasional harsh, or even angry, but utterly

useless rebuke from him.

But, under another mode of managing classes and schools, a very

different result would be produced.

A boy approaches the teacher to render an excuse; the teacher replies,

addressing himself, however, to the whole class, "I shall give all an

opportunity to offer their excuses presently. No one must come till he

is called."

The class then regularly take their places in the recitation seats, the

prepared and unprepared together. The following commands are given and

obeyed promptly. They are spoken pleasantly, but still in the tone of

command.

"The class may rise.

"All those that are not fully prepared with this lesson may sit."

A number sit; and others, doubtful whether they are prepared or not, or

thinking that there is something peculiar in their cases, which they

wish to state, raise their hands, or make any other signal which is

customary to indicate a wish to speak. Such a signal ought always to be

agreed upon, and understood in school.

The teacher shakes his head, saying, "I will hear you presently. If

there is, on any account whatever, any doubt whether you are prepared,

you must sit.

"Those that are standing may read their answers to No. 1. Unit figure?"

_Boys._ "Five."

_Teacher._ "Tens?"

_B._ "Six."

_T._ "Hundreds?"

_B._ "Seven."

While these numbers are thus reading, the teacher looks at the boys, and

can easily see whether any are not reading their own answers, but only

following the rest. If they have been trained to speak exactly together,

his ear will also at once detect any erroneous answer which any one may

give. He takes down the figures given by the majority on his own slate,

and reads them aloud.

"This is the answer obtained by the majority; it is undoubtedly right.

Those who have different answers may sit."

These directions, if understood and obeyed, would divide the class

evidently into two portions. Those standing have their work done, and

done correctly, and those sitting have some excuse or error to be

examined. A new lesson may now be assigned, and the first portion may be

dismissed, which in a well-regulated school will be two thirds of the

class. Their slates may be slightly examined as they pass by the teacher

on their way to their seats to see that all is fair; but it will be safe

to take it for granted that a result in which a majority agree will be

right. Truth is consistent with itself, but error, in such a case, never

is. This the teacher can at any time show by comparing the answers that

are wrong; they will always be found, not only to differ from the

correct result, but to contradict each other.

The teacher may now, if he pleases, after the majority of the class have

gone, hear the reasons of those who were unprepared, and look for the

errors of those whose work was incorrect; but it is better to spend as

little time as possible in such a way. If a scholar is not prepared, it

is not of much consequence whether it is because he forgot his book or

mistook the lesson; or if it is ascertained that his answer is

incorrect, it is ordinarily a mere waste of time to search for the

particular error.

"I have looked over my work, sir," says the boy, perhaps, "and I can not

find where it is wrong." He means by it that he does not believe that it

is wrong.

"It is no matter if you can not," would be the proper reply, "since it

certainly is wrong; you have made a mistake in adding somewhere, but it

is not worth while for me to spend two or three minutes apiece with all

of you to ascertain where. Try to be careful next time."

Indeed the teacher should understand and remember what many teachers are

very prone to forget, namely, that the mere fact of finding an

arithmetical error in a pupil's work on the slate, and pointing it out

to him, has very little effect in correcting the false habit in his mind

from which it arose.

The cases of those who are unprepared at a recitation ought by no means

to be passed by unnoticed, although it would be unwise to spend much

time in examining each in detail.

"It is not of much consequence," the teacher might say, "whether you

have good excuses or bad, so long as you are not prepared. In future

life you will certainly be unsuccessful if you fail, no matter for what

reason, to discharge the duties which devolve upon you. A carpenter, for

instance, would certainly lose his custom if he should not perform his

work faithfully and in season. Excuses, no matter how reasonable, will

do him little good. It is just so in respect to punctuality in time as

well as in respect to performance of duty. What we want is that every

boy should be in his place at the proper moment; not that he should be

late, and have good excuses for it. When you come to be men, tardiness

will always be punished. Excuses will not help the matter at all.

Suppose, hereafter, when you are about to take a journey, you reach the

pier five minutes after the steamer has gone, what good will excuses do

you? There you are, left hopelessly behind, no matter if your excuses

are the best in the world. So in this school. I want good punctuality

and good recitations, not good excuses. I hope every one will be

prepared to-morrow."

[Illustration]

It is not probable, however, that every one would be prepared the next

day in such a case, but by acting steadily on these principles the

number of delinquencies would be so much diminished that the very few

which should be left could easily be examined in detail, and the

remedies applied.

Simultaneous recitation, by which I mean the practice of addressing a

question to all the class to be answered by all together, is a practice

which has been for some years rapidly extending in our schools, and, if

adopted with proper limits and restrictions, is attended with great

advantage. The teacher must guard against some dangers, however, which

will be likely to attend it.

1. Some will answer very eagerly, instantly after the question is

completed. They wish to show their superior readiness. Let the teacher

mention this, expose kindly the motive which leads to it, and tell them

it is as irregular to answer before the rest as after them.

2. Some will defer their answers until they can catch those of their

comrades for a guide. Let the teacher mention this fault, expose the

motive which leads to it, and tell them that if they do not answer

independently and at once, they had better not answer at all.

3. Some will not answer at all. The teacher can see by looking around

the room who do not, for they can not counterfeit the proper motion of

the lips with promptness and decision unless they know what the answer

is to be. He ought occasionally to say to such a one, "I perceive you do

not answer," and ask him questions individually.

4. In some cases there is danger of confusion in the answers, from the

fact that the question may be of such a nature that the answer is long,

and may by different individuals be differently expressed. This evil

must be guarded against by so shaping the question as to admit of a

reply in a single word. In reading large numbers, for example, each

figure may be called for by itself, or they may be given one after

another, the pupils keeping exact time. When it is desirable to ask a

question to which the answer is necessarily long it may be addressed to

an individual, or the whole class may write their replies, which may

then be read in succession.

In a great many cases where simultaneous answering is practiced, after a

short time the evils above specified are allowed to grow, until at last

some half a dozen bright members of a class answer for all, the rest

dragging after them, echoing their replies, or ceasing to take any

interest in an exercise which brings no personal and individual

responsibility upon them. To prevent this, the teacher should exercise

double vigilance at such a time. He should often address questions to

individuals alone, especially to those most likely to be inattentive and

careless, and guard against the ingress of every abuse which might,

without close vigilance, appear.

With these cautions, the method here alluded to will be found to be of

very great advantage in many studies; for example, all the arithmetical

tables may be recited in this way; words may be spelled, answers to sums

given, columns of figures added, or numbers multiplied, and many

questions in history, geography, and other miscellaneous studies

answered, especially the general questions asked for the purpose of a

review.

But, besides being useful as a mode of examination, this plan of

answering questions simultaneously is a very important means of fixing

in the mind any facts which the teacher may communicate to his pupils.

If, for instance, he says some day to a class that Vasco de Gama was the

discoverer of the passage round the Cape of Good Hope, and leaves it

here, in a few days not one in twenty will recollect the name. But let

him call upon them all to spell it simultaneously, and then to pronounce

it distinctly three or four times in concert, and the word will be very

strongly impressed upon their minds. The reflecting teacher will find a

thousand cases in the instruction of his classes, and in his general

exercises in the school, in which this principle will be of great

utility. It is universal in its application. What we _say_ we fix, by

the very act of saying it, in the mind. Hence, reading aloud, though a

slower, is a far more thorough method of acquiring knowledge than

reading silently, and it is better, in almost all cases, whether in the

family, or in Sabbath or common schools, when general instructions are

given, to have the leading points fixed in the mind by questions

answered simultaneously.

But we are wandering a little from our subject, which is, in this part

of our chapter, the methods of _examining_ a class, not of giving or

fixing instructions.

Another mode of examining classes, which it is important to describe,

consists in requiring _written answers_ to the questions asked. The form

and manner in which this plan may be adopted is various. The class may

bring their slates to the recitation, and the teacher may propose

questions successively, the answers to which all the class may write,

numbering them carefully. After a dozen answers are written, the teacher

may call at random for them, or he may repeat a question, and ask each

pupil to read the answer he had written, or he may examine the slates.

Perhaps this method may be very successfully employed in reviews by

dictating to the class a list of questions relating to the ground they

have gone over for a week, and then instructing them to prepare answers

written out at length, and to bring them in at the next exercise. This

method may be made more formal still by requiring a class to write a

full and regular abstract of all they have learned during a specified

time. The practice of thus reducing to writing what has been learned

will be attended with many advantages so obvious that they need not be

described.

It will be perceived that three methods of examining classes have now

been named, and these will afford the teacher the means of introducing a

very great variety in his mode of conducting his recitations, while he

still carries his class forward steadily in their prescribed course.

Each is attended with its peculiar advantages. The _single replies,_

coming from individuals specially addressed, are more rigid, and more to

be relied upon, but they consume a great deal of time, and, while one is

questioned, it requires much skill to keep up interest in the rest. The

_simultaneous answers_ of a class awaken more general interest, but it

is difficult, without special care, to secure by this means a special

examination of all. The _written replies_ are more thorough, but they

require more time and attention, and while they habituate the pupil to

express himself in writing, they would, if exclusively adopted, fail to

accustom him to an equally important practice, that of the oral

communication of his thoughts. A constant variety, of which these three

methods should be the elements, is unquestionably the best mode. We not

only, by this means, secure in a great degree the advantages which each

is fitted to produce, but we gain also the additional advantage and

interest of variety.

By these, and perhaps by other means, it is the duty of the teacher to

satisfy himself that his pupils are really attentive to their duties.

It is not perhaps necessary that every individual should be every day

minutely examined; this is, in many cases, impossible; but the system of

examination should be so framed and so administered as to be daily felt

by all, and to bring upon every one a daily responsibility.

* * * * *

We come now to consider the second general head which was to be

discussed in this chapter.

The study of books alone is insufficient to give knowledge to the young.

In the first stage, learning to read a book is of no use whatever

without the voice of the living teacher. The child can not take a step

alone. As the pupil, however, advances in his course, his dependence

upon his teacher for guidance and help continually diminishes, until at

last the scholar sits in his solitary study, with no companion but his

books, and desiring, for a solution of every difficulty, nothing but a

larger library. In schools, however, the pupils have made so little

progress in this course, that they all need more or less of the oral

assistance of a teacher. Difficulties must be explained; questions must

be answered; the path must be smoothed, and the way pointed out by a

guide who has traveled it before, or it will be impossible for the pupil

to go on. This is the part of our subject which we now approach.

The great principle which is to guide the teacher in this part of his

duty is this: _Assist your pupils in such a way as to lead them, as soon

as possible, to do without assistance._ This is fundamental. In a short

time they will be away from your reach; they will have no teacher to

consult; and unless you teach them how to understand books themselves,

they must necessarily stop suddenly in their course the moment you cease

to help them forward. I shall proceed, therefore, to consider the

subject in the following plan:

1. Means of exciting interest in study.

2. The kind and decree of assistance to be rendered.

3. Miscellaneous suggestions.

1. Interesting the pupils in their studies. There are various

principles of human nature which may be of great avail in accomplishing

this object. Making intellectual effort and acquiring knowledge are

always pleasant to the human mind, unless some peculiar circumstances

render them otherwise. The teacher has, therefore, only to remove

obstructions and sources of pain, and the employment of his pupils will

be of itself a pleasure.

"I am going to give you a new exercise to-day," said a teacher to a

class of boys in Latin. "I am going to have you parse your whole lesson

in writing. It will be difficult, but I think you may be able to

accomplish it."

The class looked surprised. They did not know _what parsing in writing_

could be.

"You may first, when you take your seats, and are ready to prepare the

lesson, write upon your slates a list of the ten first nouns that you

find in the lesson, arranging them in a column. Do you understand so

far?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then rule lines for another column, just beyond this. In parsing nouns,

what is the first particular to be named?"

"What the noun is from."

"Yes; that is, its nominative. Now you may write, at the head of the

first column, the word _Nouns_, and at the head of the second, _Nom._,

for nominative. Then rule a line for the third column. What shall this

contain!" "The declension." "Yes; and the fourth?" "Gender." "The

fifth?" "Number."

In the same manner the other columns were designated. The sixth was to

contain case; the seventh, the word with which the noun was connected in

construction; and the eighth, a reference to the rule.

"Now I wish you," continued the teacher, "to fill up such a table as

this with _ten_ nouns. Do you understand how I mean?"

"Yes, sir;" "No, sir," they answered, variously.

"All who do understand may take their seats, as I wish to give as little

explanation as possible. The more you can depend upon yourselves, the

better."

Those who saw clearly what was to be done left the class, and the

teacher continued his explanation to those who were left behind. He made

the plan perfectly clear to them by taking a particular noun and running

it through the table, showing what should be written opposite to the

word in all the columns, and then dismissed them.

The class separated, as every class would, in such a case, with a strong

feeling of interest in the work before them. It was not so difficult as

to perplex them, and yet it required attention and care. They were

interested and pleased--pleased with the effort which it required them

to make, and they anticipated, with interest and pleasure, the time of

coming again to the class to report and compare their work.

When the time for the class came, the teacher addressed them somewhat as

follows:

"Before looking at your slates, I am going to predict what the faults

are. I have not seen any of your work, but shall judge altogether from

my general knowledge of school-boys, and the difficulties I know they

meet with. Do you think I shall succeed?"

The scholars made no reply, and an unskillful teacher would imagine that

time spent in such remarks would be wholly wasted. By no means. The

influence of them was to awaken universal interest in the approaching

examination of the slates. Every scholar would be intent, watching, with

eager interest, to see whether the imagined faults would be found upon

his work. The class was, by that single pleasant remark, put into the

best possible state for receiving the criticisms of the teacher.

"The first fault which I suppose will be found is that some are

unfinished."

The scholars looked surprised. They did not expect to have that called

a fault.

"How many plead guilty to it?"

A few raised their hands, and the teacher continued:

"I suppose that some will be found partly effaced. The slates were not

laid away carefully, or they were not clean, so that the writing is not

distinct. How many find this the case with their work?"

"I suppose that, in some cases, the lines will not be perpendicular, but

will slant, probably toward the left, like writing.

"I suppose, also, that, in some cases, the writing will be careless, so

that I can not easily read it. How many plead guilty to this?"

After mentioning such other faults as occurred to him, relating chiefly

to the form of the table, and the mere mechanical execution of the work,

he said,

"I think I shall not look at your slates to-day. You can all see, I have

no doubt, how you can considerably improve them in mechanical execution

in your next lesson; and I suppose you would a little prefer that I

should not see your first imperfect efforts. In fact, I should rather

not see them. At the next recitation they probably will be much better."

One important means by which the teacher may make his scholars careful

of their reputation is to show them, thus, that he is careful of it

himself.

Now in such a case as this, for it is, except in the principles which it

is intended to illustrate, imaginary, a very strong interest would be

awakened in the class in the work assigned them. Intellectual effort in

new and constantly varied modes is in itself a pleasure, and this

pleasure the teacher may deepen and increase very easily by a little

dexterous management, designed to awaken curiosity and concentrate

attention. It ought, however, to be constantly borne in mind that this

variety should be confined to the modes of pursuing an object--the

object itself being permanent, and constant, and steadily pursued. For

instance, if a little class are to be taught simple addition, after the

process is once explained, which may be done, perhaps, in two or three

lessons, they will need many days of patient practice to render it

familiar, to impress it firmly in their recollection, and to enable them

to work with rapidity. Now this object must be steadily pursued. It

would be very unwise for the teacher to say to himself, My class are

tired of addition; I must carry them on to subtraction, or give them

some other study. It would be equally unwise to keep them many days

performing example after example in monotonous succession, each lesson a

mere repetition of the last. He must steadily pursue his object of

familiarizing them fully with this elementary process, but he may give

variety and spirit to the work by changing occasionally the modes. One

week He may dictate examples to them, and let them come together to

compare their results, one of the class being appointed to keep a list

of all who are correct each day. At another time each one may write an

example, which he may read aloud to all the others, to be performed and

brought in at the next time. Again, he may let them work on paper with

pen and ink, that he may see how few mistakes they make, as mistakes in

ink can not be easily removed. He may excite interest by devising

ingenious examples, such as finding out how much all the numbers from

one to fifty will make when added together, or the amount of the ages of

the whole class, or any such investigation, the result of which they

might feel an interest in learning. Thus the object is steadily pursued,

though the means of pursuing it are constantly changing. We have the

advantage of regular progress in the acquisition of knowledge truly

valuable, while this progress is made with all the spirit and interest

which variety can give.

The necessity of making such efforts as this, however, to keep up the

interest of the class in their work, and to make it pleasant to them,

will depend altogether upon circumstances; or, rather, it will vary

much with circumstances. A class of pupils somewhat advanced in their

studies, and understanding and feeling the value of knowledge, will need

very little of such effort as this; while young and giddy children, who

have been accustomed to dislike books and school, and every thing

connected with them, will need more. It ought, however, in all cases, to

be made a means, not an end--the means to lead on a pupil to an

_interest in progress in knowledge itself,_ which is, after all, the

great motive which ought to be brought as soon and as extensively as

possible to operate in the school-room.

Another way to awaken interest in the studies of the school is to bring

out, as frequently and as distinctly as possible, the connection between

these studies and the practical business of life. The events which are

occurring around you, and which interest the community in which you are

placed, may, by a little ingenuity, be connected in a thousand ways with

the studies of the school. If the practice, which has been already

repeatedly recommended, of appropriating a quarter of an hour each day

to a general exercise, should be adopted, it will afford great

facilities for doing this.

There is no branch of study attended to in school which may, by

judicious efforts, be made more effectual in accomplishing this object,

leading the pupils to see the practical utility and the value of

knowledge, than composition. If such subjects as are suitable themes for

_moral essays_ are assigned, the scholars will indeed dislike the work

of writing, and derive little benefit from it. The mass of pupils in our

schools are not to be writers of moral essays or orations, and they do

not need to form that style of empty, florid, verbose declamation which

the practice of writing composition in our schools, as it is too

frequently managed, tends to form. Assign practical subjects--subjects

relating to the business of the school, or the events taking place

around you. Is there a question before the community on the subject of

the location of a new school-house? Assign it to your pupils as a

question for discussion, and direct them not to write empty declamation,

but to obtain from their parents the real arguments in the case, and to

present them distinctly and clearly, and in simple language, to their

companions. Was a building burned by lightning in the neighborhood? Let

those who saw the scene describe it, their productions to be read by the

teacher aloud, and let them see that clear descriptions please, and that

good legible writing can be read fluently, and that correct spelling,

and punctuation, and grammar make the article go smoothly and

pleasantly, and enable it to produce its full effect. Is the erection of

a public building going forward in the neighborhood of your school? You

can make it a very fruitful source of subjects and questions to give

interest and impulse to the studies of the school-room. Your classes in

geometry may measure, your arithmeticians may calculate and make

estimates, your writers may describe its progress from week to week, and

anticipate the scenes which it will in future years exhibit.

By such means the practical bearings and relations of the studies of the

school-room may be constantly kept in view; but I ought to guard the

teacher, while on this subject, most distinctly against the danger of

making the school-room a scene of literary amusement instead of study.

These means of awakening interest and relieving the tedium of the

uninterrupted and monotonous study of text-books must not encroach on

the regular duties of the school. They must be brought forward with

judgment and moderation, and made subordinate and subservient to these

regular duties. Their design is to give spirit and interest, and a

feeling of practical utility to what the pupils are doing; and if

resorted to with these restrictions and within these limits, they will

produce powerful, but safe results.

Another way to excite interest, and that of the right kind, in school,

is not to _remove_ difficulties, but to teach the pupils how to

_surmount_ them. A text-book so contrived as to make study mere play,

and to dispense with thought and effort, is the worst text-book that can

be made, and the surest to be, in the end, a dull one. The great source

of literary enjoyment, which is the successful exercise of intellectual

power, is, by such a mode of presenting a subject, cut off. Secure,

therefore, severe study. Let the pupil see that you are aiming to secure

it, and that the pleasure which you expect that they will receive is

that of firmly and patiently encountering and overcoming difficulty; of

penetrating, by steady and persevering effort, into regions from which

the idle and the inefficient are debarred, and that it is your province

to lead them forward, not to carry them. They will soon understand this,

and like it.

Never underrate the difficulties which your pupils will have to

encounter, or try to persuade them that what you assign is _easy_. Doing

easy things is generally dull work, and it is especially discouraging

and disheartening for a pupil to spend his strength in doing what is

really difficult for him when his instructor, by calling his work easy,

gives him no credit for what may have been severe and protracted labor.

If a thing is really hard for the pupil, his teacher ought to know it

and admit it. The child then feels that he has some sympathy.

It is astonishing how great an influence may be exerted over a child by

his simply knowing that his efforts are observed and appreciated. You

pass a boy in the street wheeling a heavy load in a barrow; now simply

stop to look at him, with a countenance which says, "That is a heavy

load; I should not think that boy could wheel it;" and how quick will

your look give fresh strength and vigor to his efforts. On the other

hand, when, in such a case, the boy is faltering under his load, try the

effect of telling him, "Why, that is not heavy; you can wheel it easily

enough; trundle it along." The poor boy will drop his load, disheartened

and discouraged, and sit down upon it in despair. It is so in respect

to the action of the young in all cases. They are animated and incited

by being told _in the right way_ that they have something difficult to

do. A boy is performing some service for you. He is watering your horse,

perhaps, at a well by the road-side as you are traveling. Say to him,

"Hold up the pail high, so that the horse can drink; it is not heavy."

[Illustration]

He will be discouraged, and will be ready to set the pail down. Say to

him, on the other hand, "I had better dismount myself. I don't think you

can hold the pail up. It is very heavy;" and his eye will brighten up at

once. "Oh no, sir," he will reply, "I can hold it very easily." Hence,

even if the work you are assigning to a class _is_ easy, do not tell

them so unless you wish to destroy all their spirit and interest in

doing it; and if you wish to excite their spirit and interest, make your

work difficult, and let them see that you know it is so; not so

difficult as to tax their powers too heavily, but enough so to require a

vigorous and persevering effort. Let them distinctly understand, too,

that you know it is difficult, that you mean to make it so, but that

they have your sympathy and encouragement in the efforts which it calls

them to make.

You may satisfy yourself that human nature is, in this respect, what I

have described by some such experiment as the following. Select two

classes not very familiar with elementary arithmetic, and offer to each

of them the following example in addition:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 1

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 1 2

etc., etc.

The numbers may be continued, according to the obvious law regulating

the above, until each one of the nine digits has commenced the line. Or,

if you choose Multiplication, let the example be this:

Multiply 123456789

by 123456789

---------

Now, when you bring the example to one of the classes, address the

pupils as follows:

"I have contrived for you a very difficult sum. It is the most difficult

one that can be made with the number of figures contained in it, and I

do not think that any of you can do it, but you may try. I shall not be

surprised if every answer should contain mistakes."

To the other class say as follows:

"I have prepared an example for you, which I wish you to be very careful

to perform correctly. It is a little longer than those you have had

heretofore, but it is to be performed upon the same principles, and you

can all do it correctly, if you really try."

Now under such circumstances the first class will go to their seats with

ardor and alacrity, determined to show you that they can do work, even

if it is difficult; and if they succeed, they come to the class the next

day with pride and pleasure. They have accomplished something which you

admit it was not easy to accomplish. On the other hand, the second class

will go to their seats with murmuring looks and words, and with a

hearty dislike of the task you have assigned them. They know that they

have something to do, which, however easy it may be to the teacher, is

really difficult for them; and they have to be perplexed and wearied

with the work, without having, at last, even the little satisfaction of

knowing that the teacher appreciates the difficulties with which they

had to contend.

2. We now come to consider the subject of rendering assistance to the

pupil, which is one of the most important and delicate parts of a

teacher's work. The great difference which exists among teachers in

regard to the skill they possess in this part of their duty, is so

striking that it is very often noticed by others; and perhaps skill here

is of more avail in deciding the question of success or failure than any

thing besides. The first great principle is, however, simple and

effectual.

_(1.) Divide and subdivide a difficult process, until your steps are so

short that the pupil can easily take them._

Most teachers forget the difference between the pupil's capacity and

their own, and they pass rapidly forward, through a difficult train of

thought, in their own ordinary gait, their unfortunate followers vainly

trying to keep up with them. The case is precisely analogous to that of

the father, who walks with the step of a man, while his little son is by

his side, wearying and exhausting himself with fruitless efforts to

reach his feet as far, and to move them as rapidly as a full-grown man.

But to show what I mean by subdividing a difficult process so as to make

each step simple, I will take a case which may serve as an example. I

will suppose that the teacher of a common school undertakes to show his

boys, who, we will suppose, are acquainted with nothing but elementary

arithmetic, how longitude is determined by means of the eclipses of

Jupiter's satellites; not a very simple question, but still one which,

like all others, may be, merely by the power of the subdivision alluded

to, easily explained. I will suppose that the subject has come up at a

general exercise; perhaps the question was asked in writing by one of

the older boys. I will present the explanation chiefly in the form of

question and answer, that it may be seen that the steps are so short

that the boys may take them themselves.

"Which way," asks the teacher, "are the Rocky Mountains from us?"

"West," answer two or three of the boys.

In such cases as this, it is very desirable that the answers should be

general, so that throughout the school there should be a spirited

interest in the questions and replies. This will never be the case if a

small number of the boys only take part in the answers, and many

teachers complain that when they try this experiment they can seldom

induce many of the pupils to take a part.

The reason ordinarily is that they say that _any_ of the boys may answer

instead of that _all_ of them may. The boys do not get the idea that it

is wished that a universal reply should come from all parts of the room,

in which every one's voice should be heard. If the answers were feeble

in the instance we are supposing, the teacher would perhaps say,

"I only heard one or two answers; do not more of you know where the

Rocky Mountains are? Will you all think and answer together? Which way

are they from us?"

"West," answer a large number of boys.

"You do not answer fully enough yet; I do not think more than forty

answered, and there are about sixty here. I should like to have _every

one in the room_ answer, and all precisely together."

He then repeats the question, and obtains a full response. A similar

effort will always succeed.

"Now does the sun, in going round the earth, pass over the Rocky

Mountains, or over us, first?"

To this question the teacher hears a confused answer. Some do not

reply; some say, "Over the Rocky Mountains;" others, "Over us;" and

others still, "The sun does not move at all."

"It is true that the sun, strictly speaking, does not move; the earth

turns round, presenting the various countries in succession to the sun,

but the effect is precisely the same as it would be if the sun moved,

and, accordingly, I use that language. Now how long does it take the sun

to pass round the earth?"

"Twenty-four hours."

"Does he go toward the west or toward the east from us?"

"Toward the west."

But it is not necessary to give the replies; the questions alone will be

sufficient. The reader will observe that they inevitably lead the pupil,

by short and simple steps, to a clear understanding of the point to be

explained.

"Will the sun go toward or from the Rocky Mountains after leaving us?"

"How long did you say it takes the sun to go round the globe and come to

us again?"

"How long to go half round?" "Quarter round?"

"How long will it take him to go to the Rocky Mountains?"

No answer.

"You can not tell. It would depend upon the distance. Suppose, then, the

Rocky Mountains were half round the globe, how long would it take the

sun to go to them?" "Suppose they were quarter round?"

"The whole distance is divided into portions called degrees--360 in all.

How many will the sun pass in going half round?" "In going quarter

round?"

"Ninety degrees, then, make one quarter of the circumference of the

globe. This, you have already said, will take six hours. In one hour,

then, how many degrees will the sun pass over?"

Perhaps no answer. If so, the teacher will subdivide the question on the

principle we are explaining, so as to make the steps such that the

pupils _can_ take them.

"How many degrees will the sun pass over in three hours?"

"Forty-five."

"How large a part of that, then, will he pass in one hour?"

"One third of it."

"And what is one third of forty-five?"

The boys would readily answer fifteen, and the teacher would then dwell

for a moment on the general truth thus deduced, that the sun, in passing

round the earth, passes over fifteen degrees every hour.

"Suppose, then, it takes the sun one hour to go from us to the River

Mississippi, how many degrees west of us would the river be?"

Having thus familiarized the pupils to the fact that the motion of the

sun is a proper measure of the difference of longitude between two

places, the teacher must dismiss the subject for a day, and when the

next opportunity of bringing it forward occurs, he would, perhaps, take

up the subject of the sun's motion as a measure _of time._

"Is the sun ever exactly over our heads?"

"Is he ever exactly south of us?"

"When he is exactly south of us, or, in other words, exactly opposite to

us in his course round the earth, he is said to be in our meridian; for

the word meridian means a line drawn exactly north or south from any

place."

There is no limit to the simplicity which may be imparted, even to the

most difficult subjects, by subdividing the steps. This point, for

instance, the meaning of meridian, may be the subject, if it were

necessary, of many questions, which would render it simple to the

youngest child. The teacher may point to the various articles in the

room, or buildings, or other objects without, and ask if they are or are

not in his meridian. But to proceed:

"When the sun is exactly opposite to us, in the south, at the highest

point to which he rises, what o'clock is it?"

"When the sun is exactly opposite to us, can he be opposite to the Rocky

Mountains?"

"Does he get opposite to the Rocky Mountains before or after he is

opposite to us?"

"When he is opposite to the Rocky Mountains, what o'clock is it there?"

"Is it twelve o'clock here, then, before or after it is twelve o'clock

there?"

"Suppose the River Mississippi is fifteen degrees from us, how long is

it twelve o'clock here before it is twelve o'clock there?"

"When it is twelve o'clock here, then, what time will it be there?"

Some will probably answer "one," and some "eleven." If so, the step is

too long, and may be subdivided thus:

"When it is noon here, is the sun going toward the Mississippi, or has

he passed it?"

"Then has noon gone by at that river, or has it not yet come?"

"Then will it be one hour before or one hour after noon?"

"Then will it be eleven or one?"

Such minuteness and simplicity would, in ordinary cases, not be

necessary. I go into it here merely to show how, by simply subdividing

the steps, a subject ordinarily perplexing may be made plain. The reader

will observe that in the above there are no explanations by the

teacher--there are not even leading questions; that is, there are no

questions the form of which suggests the answers desired. The pupil goes

on from step to step simply because he has but one short step to take at

a time.

"Can it be noon, then," continues the teacher, "here and at a place

fifteen degrees west of us at the same time?"

"Can it be noon here and at a place ten miles west of us at the same

time?"

It is unnecessary to continue the illustration, for it will be very

evident to every reader that, by going forward in this way, the whole

subject may be laid out before the pupils so that they shall perfectly

understand it. They can, by a series of questions like the above, be led

to see, by their own reasoning, that time, as denoted by the clock, must

differ in every two places not upon the same meridian, and that the

difference must be exactly proportional to the difference of longitude.

So that a watch which is right in one place can not, strictly speaking,

be right in any other place east or west of the first; and that, if the

time of day at two places can be compared, either by taking a

chronometer from one to another, or by observing some celestial

phenomenon, like the eclipses of Jupiter's satellites, and ascertaining

precisely the time of their occurrence, according to the reckoning at

both, the distance east or west by degrees may be determined. The reader

will observe, too, that the method by which this explanation is made is

strictly in accordance with the principle I am illustrating, which is by

simply _dividing the process into short steps._ There is no ingenious

reasoning on the part of the teacher, no happy illustrations, no

apparatus, no diagrams. It is a pure process of mathematical reasoning,

made clear and easy by _simple analysis._

In applying this method, however, the teacher should be very careful not

to subdivide too much. It is best that the pupils should walk as fast as

they can. The object of the teacher should be to smooth the path not

much more than barely enough to enable the pupil to go on. He should not

endeavor to make it very easy.

(2.) Truths must not only be taught to the pupils, but they must

_fixed_, and _made familiar._ This is a point which seems to be very

generally overlooked.

"Can you say the Multiplication Table?" said a teacher to a boy who was

standing before him in his class.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I should like to have you say the line beginning nine times one."

The boy repeated it slowly, but correctly.

"Now I should like to have you try again, and I will, at the same time,

say another line, to see if I can put you out."

The boy looked surprised. The idea of his teacher's trying to perplex

and embarrass him was entirely new.

"You must not be afraid," said the teacher. "You will undoubtedly not

succeed in getting through, but you will not be to blame for the

failure. I only try it as a sort of intellectual experiment."

The boy accordingly began again, but was soon completely confused by the

teacher's accompaniment. He stopped in the middle of his line, saying,

"I could say it, only you put me out."

"Well, now try to say the Alphabet, and let me see if I can put you out

there."

As might have been expected, the teacher failed. The boy went regularly

onward to the end.

"You see, now," said the teacher to the class who had witnessed the

experiment, "that this boy knows his Alphabet in a different sense from

that in which he knows his Multiplication Table. In the latter, his

knowledge is only imperfectly his own; he can make use of it only under

favorable circumstances. In the former it is entirely his own;

circumstances have no control over him."

A child has a lesson in Latin Grammar to recite. She hesitates and

stammers, miscalls the cases, and then corrects herself, and, if she

gets through at last, she considers herself as having recited well, and

very many teachers would consider it well too. If she hesitates a little

longer than usual in trying to summon to her recollection a particular

word, she says, perhaps, "Don't tell me," and if she happens at last to

guess right, she takes her book with a countenance beaming with

satisfaction.

"Suppose you had the care of an infant school," might the instructor say

to such a scholar, "and were endeavoring to teach a little child to

count, and she should recite her lesson to you in this way, 'One, two,

four--no, three--one, two, three----stop, don't tell me--five--no,

four--four--five--------I shall think in a minute--six--is that right?

five, six,' &c. Should you call that reciting well?"

Nothing is more common than for pupils to say, when they fail of

reciting their lesson, that they could say it at their seats, but that

they can not now say it before the class. When such a thing is said for

the first time it should not be severely reproved, because nine children

in ten honestly think that if the lesson were learned so that it could

be recited any where, their duty is discharged. But it should be kindly,

though distinctly explained to them, that in the business of life they

must have their knowledge so much at command that they can use it at all

times and in all circumstances, or it will do them little good.

One of the most common cases of difficulty in pursuing mathematical

studies, or studies of any kind where the succeeding lessons depend upon

those which precede, is the fact that the pupil, though he may

understand what precedes, is not _familiar_ with it. This is very

strikingly the case with Geometry. The class study the definitions, and

the teacher supposes they fully understand them; in fact, they do

_understand_ them, but the name and the thing are so feebly connected in

their minds that a direct effort and a short pause are necessary to

recall the idea when they hear or see the word. When they come on,

therefore, to the demonstrations, which in themselves would be difficult

enough, they have double duty to perform. The words used do not readily

suggest the idea, and the connection of the ideas requires careful

study. Under this double burden many a young geometrician sinks

discouraged.

A class should go on slowly, and dwell on details so long as to fix

firmly and make perfectly familiar whatever they undertake to learn. In

this manner the knowledge they acquire will become their own. It will be

incorporated, as it were, into their very minds, and they can not

afterward be deprived of it.

The exercises which have for their object this rendering familiar what

has been learned may be so varied as to interest the pupil very much,

instead of being tiresome, as it might at first be supposed.

Suppose, for instance, a teacher has explained to a large class in

grammar the difference between an adjective and an adverb; if he leave

it here, in a fortnight one half of the pupils would have forgotten the

distinction, but by dwelling upon it a few lessons he may fix it

forever. The first lesson might be to require the pupils to write twenty

short sentences containing only adjectives. The second to write twenty

containing only adverbs. The third to write sentences in two forms, one

containing the adjective, and the other expressing the same idea by

means of the adverb, arranging them in two columns, thus:

He writes well. | His writing is good.

Again, they may make out a list of adjectives, with the adverbs derived

from each in another column. Then they may classify adverbs on the

principle of their meaning, or according to their termination. The

exercise may be infinitely varied, and yet the object of the whole may

be to make _perfectly familiar_, and to fix forever in the mind the

distinction explained.

These two points seem to me to be fundamental, so far as assisting

pupils through the difficulties which lie in their way is concerned.

Diminish the difficulties as far as is necessary by shortening and

simplifying the steps, and make thorough work as you go on. These

principles, carried steadily into practice, will be effectual in leading

any mind through any difficulties which may occur. And though they can

not, perhaps, be fully applied to every mind in a large school, yet they

can be so far acted upon in reference to the whole mass as to accomplish

the object for a very large majority.

3. _General cautions_. A few miscellaneous suggestions, which we shall

include under this head, will conclude this chapter.

(1.) Never do any thing _for_ a scholar, but teach him to do it for

himself. How many cases occur in the schools of our country where the

boy brings his slate to the teacher, saying he can not do a certain sum.

The teacher takes the slate and pencil, performs the work in silence,

brings the result, and returns the slate to the hands of his pupil, who

walks off to his seat, and goes to work on the next example, perfectly

satisfied with the manner in which he is passing on. A man who has not

done this a hundred times himself will hardly believe it possible that

such a practice can prevail, it is so evidently a mere waste of time

both for master and scholar.

(2.) Never get out of patience with dullness. Perhaps I ought to say,

never get out of patience with any thing. That would, perhaps, be the

wisest rule. But, above all things, remember that dullness and

stupidity--and you will certainly find them in every school--are the

very last things to get out of patience with. If the Creator has so

formed the mind of a boy that he must go through life slowly and with

difficulty, impeded by obstructions which others do not feel, and

depressed by discouragements which others never know, his lot is surely

hard enough without having you to add to it the trials and suffering

which sarcasm and reproach from you can heap upon him. Look over your

school-room, therefore, and wherever you find one whom you perceive the

Creator to have endued with less intellectual power than others, fix

your eye upon him with an expression of kindness and sympathy. Such a

boy will have suffering enough from the selfish tyranny of his

companions; he ought to find in you a protector and friend. One of the

greatest enjoyments which a teacher's life affords is the interest of

seeking out such a one, bowed down with burdens of depression and

discouragement, unaccustomed to sympathy and kindness, and expecting

nothing for the future but a weary continuation of the cheerless toils

which have imbittered the past; and the pleasure of taking off the

burden, of surprising the timid, disheartened sufferer by kind words and

cheering looks, and of seeing in his countenance the expression of ease

and even of happiness gradually returning.

(3.) The teacher should be interested in _all_ his scholars, and aim

equally to secure the progress of all. Let there be no neglected ones in

the school-room. We should always remember that, however unpleasant in

countenance and manners that bashful boy in the corner may be, or

however repulsive in appearance, or unhappy in disposition, that girl,

seeming to be interested in nobody, and nobody appearing interested in

her, they still have, each of them, a mother, who loves her own child,

and takes a deep and constant interest in its history. Those mothers

have a right, too, that their children should receive their full share

of attention in a school which has been established for the common and

equal benefit of all.

(4.) Do not hope or attempt to make all your pupils alike. Providence

has determined that human minds should differ from each other for the

very purpose of giving variety and interest to this busy scene of life.

Now if it were possible for a teacher so to plan his operations as to

send his pupils forth upon the community formed on the same model, as if

they were made by machinery, he would do so much toward spoiling one of

the wisest of the plans which the Almighty has formed for making this

world a happy scene. Let it be the teacher's aim to co-operate with, not

vainly to attempt to thwart, the designs of Providence. We should bring

out those powers with which the Creator has endued the minds placed

under our control. We must open our garden to such influences as shall

bring forward all the plants, each in a way corresponding to its own

nature. It is impossible if it were wise, and it would be foolish if it

were possible, to stimulate, by artificial means, the rose, in hope of

its reaching the size and magnitude of the apple-tree, or to try to

cultivate the fig and the orange where wheat only will grow. No; it

should be the teacher's main design to shelter his pupils from every

deleterious influence, and to bring every thing to bear upon the

community of minds before him which will encourage in each one the

development of its own native powers. For the rest, he must remember

that his province is to cultivate, not to create.

Error on this point is very common. Many teachers, even among those who

have taken high rank through the success with which they have labored in

the field, have wasted much time in attempting to do what never can be

done, to form the character of those brought under their influence after

a certain uniform model, which they have conceived as the standard of

excellence. Their pupils must write just such a hand, they must compose

in just such a style, they must be similar in sentiment and feeling, and

their manners must be formed according to a fixed and uniform model; and

when, in such a case, a pupil comes under their charge whom Providence

has designed to be entirely different from the beau ideal adopted as the

standard, more time, and pains, and anxious solicitude is wasted in vain

attempts to produce the desired conformity than half the school require

beside.

(5.) Do not allow the faults or obliquities of character, or the

intellectual or moral wants of any individual of your pupils to engross

a disproportionate share of your time. I have already said that those

who are peculiarly in need of sympathy or help should receive the

special attention they seem to require; what I mean to say now is, do

not carry this to an extreme. When a parent sends you a pupil who, in

consequence of neglect or mismanagement at home, has become wild and

ungovernable, and full of all sorts of wickedness, he has no right to

expect that you shall turn your attention away from the wide field

which, in your whole school-room, lies before you, to spend your time,

and exhaust your spirits and strength in endeavoring to repair the

injuries which his own neglect has occasioned. When you open a school,

you do not engage, either openly or tacitly, to make every pupil who may

be sent to you a learned or a virtuous man. You do engage to give them

all faithful instruction, and to bestow upon each such a degree of

attention as is consistent with the claims of the rest. But it is both

unwise and unjust to neglect the many trees in your nursery which, by

ordinary attention, may be made to grow straight and tall, and to bear

good fruit, that you may waste your labor upon a crooked stick, from

which all your toil can secure very little beauty or fruitfulness.

Let no one now understand me to say that such cases are to be neglected.

I admit the propriety, and, in fact, have urged the duty, of paying to

them a little more than their due share of attention. What I now condemn

is the practice, of which all teachers are in danger, of devoting such a

disproportionate and unreasonable degree of attention to them as to

encroach upon their duties to others. The school, the whole school, is

your field, the elevation _of the mass_ in knowledge and virtue, and no

individual instance, either of dullness or precocity, should draw you

away from its steady pursuit.

(6.) The teacher should guard against unnecessarily imbibing those

faulty mental habits to which his station and employment expose him.

Accustomed to command, and to hold intercourse with minds which are

immature and feeble compared with our own, we gradually acquire habits

that the rough collisions and the friction of active life prevent from

gathering around other men. Narrow-minded prejudices and prepossessions

are imbibed through the facility with which, in our own little

community, we adopt and maintain opinions. A too strong confidence in

our own views on every subject almost inevitably comes from never

hearing our opinions contradicted or called in question, and we express

those opinions in a tone of authority, and even sometimes of arrogance,

which we acquire in the school-room, for there, when we speak, nobody

can reply.

These peculiarities show themselves first, and, in fact, most commonly,

in the school-room; and the opinions thus formed very often relate to

the studies and management of the school. One has a peculiar mode of

teaching spelling, which is successful almost entirely through the magic

influence of his interest in it, and he thinks no other mode of teaching

this branch is even tolerable. Another must have all his pupils write on

the angular system, or the anti-angular system, and he enters with all

the zeal into a controversy on the subject, as if the destiny of the

whole rising generation depended upon its decision. Tell him that all

that is of any consequence in any handwriting is that it should be

legible, rapid, and uniform, and that, for the rest, it would be better

that every human being should write a different hand, and he looks upon

you with astonishment, wondering that you can not see the vital

importance of the question whether the vertex of an _o_ should, be

pointed or round. So in every thing. He has _his way_ in every minute

particular--a way from which he can not deviate, and to which he wishes

every one else to conform.

This set, formal mannerism is entirely inconsistent with that commanding

intellectual influence which the teacher should exert in the

administration of his school. He should work with what an artist calls

boldness and freedom of touch. Activity and enterprise of mind should

characterize all his measures if he wishes to make bold, original, and

efficient men.

(7.) Assume no false appearances in your school either as to knowledge

or character. Perhaps it may justly be said to be the common practice of

teachers in this country to affect a dignity of deportment in the

presence of their pupils which in other cases is laid aside, and to

pretend to superiority in knowledge and an infallibility of judgment

which no sensible man would claim before other sensible men, but which

an absurd fashion seems to require of the teacher. It can, however,

scarcely be said to be a fashion, for the temptation is almost

exclusively confined to the young and the ignorant, who think they must

make up by appearance what they want in reality. Very few of the older,

and more experienced, and successful instructors in our country fall

into it at all; but some young beginner, whose knowledge is very

limited, and who, in manner and habits, has only just ceased to be a

boy, walks into his school-room with a countenance of forced gravity,

and with a dignified and solemn step, which is ludicrous even to

himself. I describe accurately, for I describe from recollection. This

unnatural, and forced, and ludicrous dignity cleaves to him like a

disease through the whole period of his duty. In the presence of his

scholars he is always under restraint, assuming a stiff and formal

dignity which is as ridiculous as it is unnatural. He is also obliged to

resort to arts which are certainly not very honorable to conceal his

ignorance.

A scholar, for example, brings him a sum in arithmetic which he does not

know how to perform. This may be the case with a most excellent teacher,

and one well qualified for his business. In order to be successful as a

teacher, it is not necessary to understand every thing. Instead,

however, of saying frankly, "I do not understand that example; I will

examine it," he looks at it embarrassed and perplexed, not knowing how

he shall escape the exposure of his ignorance. His first thought is to

give some general directions to the pupil, and send him to his seat to

make a new experiment, hoping that in some way or other, he scarcely

knows how, he will get through; and, at any rate, if he should not, the

teacher thinks that he himself at least gains time by the manoeuvre, and

he is glad to postpone his trouble, though he knows it must soon return.

All efforts to conceal ignorance, and all affectation of knowledge not

possessed, are as unwise as they are dishonest. If a scholar asks a

question which you can not answer, or brings you a difficulty which you

can not solve, say frankly, "I do not know." It is the only way to avoid

continual anxiety and irritation, and the surest means of securing real

respect. Let the scholars understand that the superiority of the teacher

does not consist in his infallibility, or in his universal acquisitions,

but in a well-balanced mind, where the boundary between knowledge and

ignorance is distinctly marked; in a strong desire to go forward in

mental improvement, and in fixed principles of action and systematic

habits. You may even take up in school a study entirely new to you, and

have it understood at the outset that you know no more of it than the

class commencing, but that you can be their guide on account of the

superior maturity and discipline of your powers, and the comparative

ease with which you can meet and overcome difficulties. This is the

understanding which ought always to exist between master and scholars.

The fact that the teacher does not know every thing can not long be

concealed if he tries to conceal it, and in this, as in every other

case, HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY.