materially in their ability to cover the course. However, there are thousands of earnest teachers who realize the great injury done to the pupils by such a method of stifling talent.

But by far the largest number of schools are supposed to be graded for the "average pupil." At first sight this looks reasonable. But, in truth, can anything be more absurd than the idea of neglecting the everpresent individual pupil of flesh and blood, of soul and life and infinite possibilities, in the attempt to reach all, by shaping the work for the mythical "average pupil "?

At the end of a year's course, when the sun has reached a certain altitude in the heavens, when the thermometer is "ninety-five degrees in the shade," and when the nerve energy is nearest zero, the children, in the vast majority of instances, are subjected to an examination, which the lucky ones pass, while the rest lose a year or leave school. Thus, year after year, in chain gangs, are the bright and the slow bound together and forced to move at the same pace. At the time of writing, some seventeen million boys and girls are more or less in doubt as to whether or not they will be passed to advanced work, in spite of the fact that their teachers and they themselves know very well whether or not they are fitted for that work. .

The effect of such methods on the bright children is most disastrous; for it injures them greatly, both mentally and morally, to hold them down to the pace of the slower ones. Who would work the mettlesome racer with the heavy draught horse and not expect such treatment to end the usefulness of the racer? What man of spirit could long bear to walk in step with a child, if he felt the need of arriving at his destination quickly?

Regardless of thoroughness, the dull are rushed over the work. They fall behind, stumble for a time at the foot of the class, then, misunderstood, unappreciated, and discouraged, they drop out of school. What teacher has not seen such pupils leave school, having lost all interest in study? Sad it is that they have lost the confidence of their teachers. Sadder still that they should no longer be encouraged by the confidence of their parents. But infinitely more are such pupils to be pitied because they have lost all confidence in their own abilities. How many of these become lost characters! Yet, most of them could have been saved if only they could have been permitted to go at a pace in accordance with their ability, instead of being obliged to go at the rate that some board of education had fixed. Why should any one wonder that most of these children leave school? Is it not time that an effort be made to suit the

pace to them, instead of forcing the teacher to urge them continually at an unnatural gait?

When we consider this matter thoughtfully, need we wonder that the usual iron-clad system, which disregards individual differences, is beginning to lose its prestige, and that a demand for greater flexibility is coming from all sides, a degree of flexibility which will obviate the necessity for the teachers to attempt to overcome not only the differences in physical ability and physical environments, but even the differences in mental ability and mental predilection? It is a hopeful sign that, on all sides, thoughtful educators are studying this problem as never before, and planning to replace the Procrustean beds of grades by something more elastic, something that will make it possible for the teacher to fit the work to the pupil, instead of forcing her to make the pupil fit the work. Surely it is time we cease condemning the teacher because, in spite of all her efforts, she cannot produce symmetrical nonentities. Surely, the poor teacher, limited in power and by conditions, should not be criticised because she cannot overcome the differences predetermined by the Almighty. WILLIAM J. SHEARER.

THE OLD EDUCATION AND THE NEW.

SOME say that the difference between the old education and the new consists in the fact that the old taught the three R's only, while the new teaches a great deal more. Others say that the old taught the essentials, while the new stands for the luxuries of life and contributes to the gaiety of nations. Still others offer the theory that the distinction is one of method; the old reaching the goal by means of "rod, rule, and remembrance," while the new offers a quicker and more humane transit by the assistance of interest, self-activity, or something else which probably means about the same thing. But, whatever the form of the report concerning this conflict, there is a current notion, expressed or assumed, that the new is offering itself as a substitute for the old, and that our business is to determine which of the two we want.

History throws some suggestive light upon the nature of the conflict; for at the time when what is known as the common-school system originated, there existed a definite and simple understanding between the people and their schoolmaster. I am not prepared to present evidence, as a matter of historical fact, that there ever was an actual contract in writing; but, certainly, there was a tolerably clear understanding of the same kind as that which lies at the foundation of common law. The schoolmaster was hired to teach his pupils to pronounce printed and written words, to spell them, to manipulate figures in their ordinary combinations, and to memorize a modicum of useful facts. There were some local variations to this understanding, but these concerned the quantity rather than the kind of matter taught. Certainly the schoolmaster was not hired to teach morality, train character, or make citizens. This is the essential point. The home and the church undertook to look after character and morality, and there was no citizenship to teach because the kings of those times did not approve of citizens. They were likely to get in the way and interfere with things which did not belong to them. If a boy did not learn his lessons, or if he indulged in mischievous habits when he should have been figuring, it was in the contract that the schoolmaster had the right to pummel the boy. This

clause, however, was not regarded at all as one ministering to morality, but was merely a personal perquisite of office; for in those early times it was conceded that the schoolmaster was entitled to some indulgence in the sweets of life.

As long as this simple contract was respected, there was no conflict between an old and a new education. The trouble commenced when this contract was broken. It was not broken by the schoolmaster, but by the parties of the first part-the parents, the people, the citizens. Parents as a class are more or less a shiftless lot, and gradually, in the interest of self-indulgence, they begin to shunt off upon the hired schoolmaster first this little duty and then that little duty in the matter of training the characters of their offspring. But, really, the chief trouble originated with the kings. The old-fashioned kings, who ruled the lands when the schoolmaster's contract was drawn up, always slept with one eye open so as to be upon watch for citizens; but the later kings fell into loose and careless habits. Consequently, in the darkness of night, citizens clambered up the sides of the Ship of State, danced upon the deck of freedom, and began to tamper with the helm. The citizens increased in impertinence until the kings were weakened and finally tormented to death. After some painful experiences with the rule of citizens, in their raw state, of which the French Revolution serves as an example, the people set up a cry that if the country really had to be ruled by citizens, they should be at least partially civilized first. This task was thereupon added to the burden of the schoolmaster. It is not reasonable to suppose, nor is there a scintilla of evidence to show, that the schoolmaster ever foolishly assisted in shifting these parental and civic duties upon his own shoulders. The contract was broken by the carelessness of parents and the degeneracy of kings.

But let us not suppose that all these duties were forced upon the schoolmaster suddenly by fiat. The thing was accomplished stealthily and gradually, and centuries passed before the deed was clearly apparent. The schoolmaster has been like the frog the temperature of whose bath was raised by such insensible gradations that he never discovered the water was hot until he was dead and it was too late to complain. Even now, the large mass of schoolmasters really believe they are teaching under the original contract, and would be shocked to learn that new tasks have been added to their duties. In history there have been several partial awakenings; but probably no ruder shaking has disturbed the schoolmaster than that which began toward the close of the nineteenth century and is still continuing. The schoolhouse has been surrounded

by mobs of parents, people, citizens. Mothers are there, hysterically asking where are their wandering boys to-night. The fathers and the churchwardens, in brazen forgetfulness of the original contract, are demanding to know why it is that jails are being erected as rapidly as schoolhouses. The citizens are indecently holding up exhibits of malformed citizen-rulers, and wanting to know why equality, freedom, and the right to do as one pleases are not dealt out evenly. The scientists, the temperance people, the humane societies, the artists, and the tradesmen are there, in a motley mob, making use of lulls in the disorder to inquire why this, that, or the other thing is not taught in the schools. Then, from the other side of the schoolhouse comes a hoarse grumbling roar. This is the vox populi. The vox wants to know what the schoolmasters mean by teaching this, that, and the other thing, to the neglect of reading, writing, spelling, and figuring.

As may be well imagined, there is bustling and scurrying to and fro within the schoolhouse, and charges and recriminations fly thick and fast among the schoolmasters. Where is the original contract? Who had it last-Comenius? Really, now, was there anything in it about teaching citizenship and character? What did you say was the latest definition of morals? Tell them it is all the fault of the text-books, etc., etc. Old Rip Van Winkles, stretching the sleep from their bones, are drowsily demanding why the younger fellows have left the transom open, thus permitting the parents and citizens to shovel all this litter into the schoolhouse. There are disorganized plans of defence. Some have rushed to the windows on the side of the citizens and parents, and are attempting to prove, by neat diagrams and courses of study, on paper, that the schools are teaching morals, character, and citizenship — and won't the good state please go away and sit down quietly? On the other side, an equally terrorized band of orators is attempting to drown disorder by shouting that the school does not teach, and never has taught, anything except reading, writing, and spelling. Yet ever and anon a victim is captured by the mob and led to the block. There is heard a sputtering defence in terms of some unintelligible words - apperception, culture epochs, correlation, mental discipline, and least common multiples, followed by a gurgle of warm blood; and the trustees proceed to elect a successor. It is the murder of the innocents, and a cruel shame. I say it, and I am prepared to prove it - yet it must be frankly admitted that mine is a schoolmaster's proof.

The

The cause of this trouble and confusion is not far to seek. parents, the citizens, the people are demanding character and citi