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investigation; but his understanding is not of the head alone, but of the heart and the inmost life.

But the thorough understanding of a literary masterpiece involves more than the assimilation of the thought and the appreciation of the author's character. Very much of literature is highly imaginative, and there can be no fruitful study without constant use of the imagination. American zeal for the practical has gone so far as to discredit the study of art and poetry as being rather the accomplishments of women than proper subjects for study by men. The imaginative has small value in daily life; everything is subservient to use. The American looks upon the grandest scenery with his hands in his pockets, his cigar between his teeth, and with a mental calculation as to the market value of the land which he sees. In the schools, the popular demand is for education which the boy of sixteen or eighteen years can turn directly into money. The three months' commercial school is abroad in the land, and it flourishes right

well.

Again, the last ten years have seen a marvellous increase in scientific knowledge; the value of scientific training is clearly recognized; and, as a result, there is no patience with any subject which does not lend itself readily to such treatment. The proper cultivation of the imagination is almost entirely neglected, even in secondary schools and colleges of high rank. Intellectualism is fastening itself more and more upon us; in the school as well as in life. Men forget that the development of the child is very closely comparable to the development of the race, and that the childhood of all nations has been characterized by the keenness of the imagination. They forget that progress of almost every sort is frequently due directly to the imagination; that inventions are made through this power; that great business enterprises exist in idea before they come to be in fact; that good government is largely the product of worthy ideals upon the part of the citizens. They fail to remember that the imagination inspires the young with dreams of future usefulness, comforts the men of mature years who feel the weight of life's burdens, sustains the aged who are thinking of the heavenly mansions. In the last analysis, there is nothing more practical than the imagination. It is a sorry ideal of education and of the true preparation for

American citizenship which encourages men to become mere machines, content to live from day to day, to work as the ox works and to live as the ox lives. Whatever else be ommitted from the school curriculum, we cannot afford to neglect the study of the great works of the imagination; and this study must be conducted in such a manner as to develop and strengthen the imaginative power of the pupils.

In his poem entitled A Death in the Desert, Robert Browning discourses of the soul of man in these words:

"How divers persons witness in each man
Three souls which make up one soul: first, to
wit,

A soul of each and all the bodily parts,
Seated therein, which works, and is what Does,
And has the use of earth, and ends the man
Downward; but, tending upward for advice,
Grows into, and again is grown into

By the next soul, which, seated in the brain,
Useth the first with its collected use,
And feeleth, thinketh, willeth,—is what Knows:
Which, duly tending upward in its turn,
Grows into, and again is grown into
Subsisting whether they assist or no,
By the last soul, that uses both the first,

And, constituting man's self, is what Is-
And leans upon the former, makes it play,
As that played off the first: and, tending up,
Upward in that dread point of intercourse,
Holds, is upheld by, God, and ends the man
Nor needs a place, for it returns to Him.
What Does, what Knows, what Is; three souls,
one man."

In such language does the poet express his conception of the elements which, combined, make up the perfect man. No one of these can be neglected. Physical education is an important part of the work of the school, and a sound body must be insured as the proper basis for mental and moral training. Intellectual education satisfies man's insatiable desire to know, and develops those elements of character which lead men to search for the pole, to explore the darkest continent, to delve in the musty records of the past, and to search out the secrets of the stars. But men are not content merely to live and to know; they must also understand. So in all ages and in every clime poets are born, whose high office it is to act as seers to help men to understand the deeps of life.

For in the last analysis, the education of the "what Is" must ever be the transcendent aim of all education. Says Scott: "We shall never appreciate our true character and destiny until we consider everything else as moonshine as compared with the education of the heart." If the American republic is

to pass safely through the perils which ever come to the nation which has wealth and power, it will be because men do not permit greed for gain to crowd out those elements of character which, after all, are the essentials. Emerson writes: "The age of the quadruped is to go out; the age of the brain and of the heart is to come in." And in this training of the "what Is," the study of literature must have an important part. In the hands of a teacher who approaches

the subject merely from the intellectual standpoint, considering it to be simply a means for mental gymnastic, there is, it is true, a certain disciplinary value; but in the hands of one who by qualities of mind and soul is prepared for his high office, it becomes a minister of life unto life, and an instrument fitted to open the soul of the student to the unseen realities. "For the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal."

NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY.

I

THE TEACHING OF PHYSIOLOGY IN THE GRADES.-I.
By LOUIS J. RETTGER.

T is the intention to suggest in a few brief articles on the subject of teaching physiology, a tentative course of study in this branch extending through the eight grades with a final article on its presentation in the high school. While there has been progress in teaching this branch as well as in the teaching of others, a student of physiology observing the way in which this subject is still too generally treated, sees an urgent necessity to call attention to a few cardinal faults. The most pathetic of these is the haphazard way in which every point in physiology is made to adorn a hygienic tale whether it fits or not. How the most interesting fields of study are quickly dismissed with a few platitudinous remarks on their care, remarks which are frequently not intended to be taken too seriously but which serve as a kind of afterlude to the topic dismissed, and a prelude to the next point to be similarly considered. It may be our legislators had this mainly in view when by enactment physiology was made a commonschool branch of study, but while these reasons may have been valid for its introduction, there are better reasons to be found for its continu

ance.

There is a wider purpose in the study of history, for instance, than to enable one to decide about voting the democratic, republican or populist tickets. History deals with things which in addition to giving this, transcend local policies, or ephemeral questions of state. The study of astronomy in its contemplation of the infinities of space, the exactness of planetary movements, and the widened interpretation of the universe, ought to do more than to enable

one to read the almanac or predict the weather. Who wants the story of geography and geology as to the manner in which the mountains were made, and the valleys cut out, and the soils prepared, to degenerate into a question whether potatoes should be planted on a low plain, or a rocky plateau, or whether sand-dunes might be more profitably used for raising melons finally; or left bare to adorn the landscape? What would the botanist say who should be asked to limit his study entirely to the extraction of specifics for the fevers, or the flavors for the palate, or to make the analogy more exact,-to the mere questions of growing successfully certain plants? All these things are desirable in their place and even necessary. But there are scores of people who know how to raise turnips, and cabbage and corn who are not students of botany in any real sense of that term. There is an endless difference between the study of zoology, and the mere successful raising of cattle for the market.

Now the physiologist shares with the students of these other fields of study the desire that his branch shall be put on its real scientific basis. There is a wide difference between knowing how to take care of the eye in a general way and understanding the physiology of the eye. One may know the former and have not an inkling of the latter. To learn the remarkable way in which in accordance with the laws of physics and harmony, we hear the multiplicity of sounds reaching the ear, has nothing in common with the mere assertion that the ear-wax must not accumulate, or the concha be pulled too hard. The person who knows the physiology of the ear will

incidentally without noise or tumult have discovered the latter.

The hills, the valleys, the planets, the stars, the plants and the animals are-to use a current expression-incarnated thoughts or truths, to grasp, interpret and rethink which is infinitely more valuable to the mind than to limit everything to its most obvious utilitarian connection.

No less is the real physiology of the human body a vast system of truths, the culminating expressions of thought in the physical world. There is as much thought in the eye as in all the light that pervades space. There is as rich a thought in the physiology of the ear as in all the myriad sounds and harmonies that vibrate. There is as much thought in the physiology of respiration as in the chemical oxidations of furnace or engine. The test-tube of the laboratory has not yet been able to reproduce the chemical processes of every-day digestion and assimmilation. In short, the body is a little universe in itself-the highest expression, perhaps, of the natural world. To understand and interpret its life history as fully as we can is to understand and interpret some of nature's best truths-to know which will help to make us free to as full an extent as any bit of real truth can make us. Really to understand just how in obedience to definite laws all the organs of the body perform their work, often with an exactness and nicety unsurpassed in the most elaborate and ingenious mechanisms, and constructed on lines which reveal an almost perfect adaptation to complex physical forces or still unknown chemical processes in order to accomplish the purpose for which they exist-this is physiological study. To understand the circulation of the blood in terms of the laws of dynamics as thoroughly as the circulation of a city's water-works system by an engineer, is to study the physiology of the blood stream.

To study the reaction of nerves to stimuli, to interpret the laws which seem to govern muscular contraction in the same manner as the builder of a locomotive tries to determine the manner of movement of his engines' pistonsthis is studying the physiology of the muscle.

It will therefore be the aim in these brief articles to emphasize the study and interpretation of real things either structures or experiments. Except in so far as the teaching of physiology deals with real structures or actual experiments, at least enough of these to form a rational basis for other work, it is worthless. To have one's mind burdened with a lot of meaningless names standing for unknown structures r processes is a mere loss of energy and brain

space. To have the terminology of a text-book ever so well is in itself no more real physiology than to have swallowed a menu-card is to have eaten a nutritious meal, and their relative values are the same. If in lieu of the large amount of word-work we could substitute just a few real high-grade experiments and demonstrations the gain would be much. To suggest how this may be done by anyone, even without the aid of elaborate apparatus, is the present purpose.

By the foregoing it is not meant unreasonably to discredit all hygienic references. It is rather aimed to place these on a more rational basis. The clearest perceptions of hygiene spring from correspondingly clear conceptions of structure and function, and to disassociate them is fatal. The care that anything demands arises altogether from the material and manner of its construction and the purposes for which it is intended.

There need never be a fear that the student who has real physiological conceptions will ever miss the hygienic aspect of this knowledge. He will, on the other hand, give added emphasis because he has added insight, and his emphasis will be born of understanding, and not be a verbal reflection of the page of his text-book. But, best of all, real physiological study is full of interest, because nature properly approached is never dull. How devoid of any redeeming feature is the vague description of the text when it attempts to explain say the workings of the heart! "Auricle," "ventricle" are words rather than ideas, and for such terms as valves, cords, etc., there is no corresponding meaning. For awhile under the spell of the words things seem clear, but soon the inherent fallacy comes to light. Fortunately the words are soon forgotten, and with them leave the vestiges of thought as far as any real knowledge of the heart is concerned. This verbal text-book work on the heart may have consumed a recitation hour daily for a week or two, and yet this valuable time would have been better spent for the children if they had been allowed to run out of doors, or had been provided with some reading that had an intrinsic value in its perusal. No power of the mind was helped, not even the memory. There was no added capacity to understand later on some new structure that might demand their study. They are no more able now than before the study to interpret a heart itself should one be put into their hands for explanation. valuable time and the opportunities of the common school demand that this drain of energy shall cease, and that the study of physiology result in living information and added mental power, or else make room for something that

The

will do this. If it should be argued that actual study of structures and experiments is too hard for the pupils and is rather intended for the special student later on, it would only demand a single second thought to show that an attempt to understand structures and experiments when stripped of all concreteness and reduced to mere verbal descriptions is many times more difficult. Which is the more easily and yet the more thoroughly done-to study London in an actual visit to the metropolis, noting streets and buildings from the top of an omnibus, and loitering in and around its noted places, or to study a guide-book to London? Even when the descriptions are masterpieces of literature they fall far short of a sight of the thing itself. Who will have the clearer notions of Westminister Abbeyhe who has read Irving's beautiful description of it, or he who has himself loitered in the Poet's Corner and wandered among the royal tombs?

Not everybody can see Westminister Abbey, and possibly Irving's description is a matchless substitute, but it is different with matters in physiology. Leaving out as irrelevant many elaborate and technical points, the bulk of physiological study is as available to the common school as to the class in college. Animal structures which for all practical purposes duplicate the anatomy of the human body are as plentiful as meat markets, and experiments in physiological processes as possible as elementary ones in chemistry, physics or botany.

It is hoped that some of the practical lessons to be suggested in succeeding papers may be followed by some teachers in this subject who realize the desirability, in fact the necessity of lifting the subject of physiology out of the meshes of the text-book and putting it upon its real scientific footing, thus substituting a study of ideas for the juggling of words.

HOW TO USE THE NEW GEOGRAPHIES.—III.

THINGS VS. WORDS.

By CHARLES R. DRYER.

Probably no mistake in the teaching of geography is so common or so serious as to make it chiefly the memorizing of words. This assumes its most flagrant form in that ear-mark of a fossil teacher, the assignment and verbatim recitation of a portion of the text-book. This allusion to such a thing as a possibility is evidence that in the mind of the writer there is no assurance that there is not a teacher somewhere in the state of Indiana who is starting out to use the new geographies in that way. This is a subject upon which it is difficult to write calmly and to refrain from expressing strong personal opinions as to what ought to be done to such teachers, if there are any, and to school officers who employ such teachers and permit them to teach that way. But let us dare to hope that harsh remarks would apply to only a small minority and would therefore be unjustifiable.

It can never be too much insisted upon that geography is a study of things and not of words and that the constant effort of the teacher must be to make his teaching as realistic as possible. Probably there are none of us whose work is incapable of improvement in this particular.

Location, distance and direction are the fundamental concepts of geography, but how many

teachers themselves have that educated geographic sense which enables them always to know "where they are" and never to "get turned around?" to have clear and definite perceptions of "the lie of the land," the location, direction and distance of the features with which they are most familiar in their own neighborhood, and to quickly acquire such when placed in new surroundings? Many a child has repeated glibly the words "If I stand with my face to the north the east is on my right hand, etc.," without really (that word really means a great deal) knowing which way was north or east in his own schoolroom. Page 18 of the Introductory Geography and page 15 of the Advanced suggests many ways in which this knowledge may be made real. The points of the compass should be plainly marked upon the floor of the room and also in the schoolyard. Such questions should be asked as to lead the pupils to notice the directions traveled on their way to and from school, the points of the compass at their homes, and the directions of prominent and well-known objects from the school and the home. Finally they should be taught how to find the cardinal points day or night anywhere by observing the position of the sun or stars. There are many educated adults, even schoolteachers, who have

very vague notions as to where the sun rises or sets at different times of the year and in what part of the heavens he may be looked for at different hours of the day. In stating geographic distances feet and miles are the most useful measures. In cities fifty feet, the usual width of a lot, 60 feet, the usual width of a street, and 300 feet, the usual length of a block or square, lead up to 330 feet or one-sixteenth of a mile. In the country, roads are usually one mile or half a mile apart, 5,280 or 2,640 feet, some a quarter of a mile, 1,320 feet.

Definitions are often the bane of good teaching. When presented before the things defined they are an abomination; when made by the pupil himself from direct observation of the things they are valuable as exercises in language, and as clarifiers of the pupil's thought. As soon as made they become useless. We never think of making a definition of book, pencil, cap, button, or of anything else with which we are perfectly familiar. The old geographies began with several pages of formal definitions of common features, as river, lake, island, cape, peninsula, strait, etc., and millions of children have learned and recited them without being able to recognize either feature when they saw it. A child may catch the idea from a definition but there is no assurance that he will, and the idea at best must be a vague one compared with that caught from the thing. A class of teachers was once asked, What would be the best way to teach a child the idea of a flood-plain?" One answered that she would make a model of it in sand. It was only after several minutes reflection that it dawned upon another as a happy thought that he would take the child out and show him a flood-plain. This illustrates how far from the minds of many teachers is the simple, direct, common-sense method of teaching by things. But I hear a hundred teachers say, "There is no flood-plain near my school, and if there were, the parents or the trustee or the superintendent would object to my taking the children out." The first statement may be doubted: floodplains, although not universal, are very common. The latter statement is, in too many cases, true. How much the teacher may do to overcome this obstacle will not be discussed here; but even it, strongly entrenched as it may seem, does not prevent the teacher from doing realistic teaching. Simple water poured upon the table or floor may be made to assume all the plane forms which arise from the relations of land and water. A little sand or clay may be put into all the forms of relief. A combination of water and clay may reproduce the whole face

of the earth. When the child has learned the form or feature by seeing it in the field or in miniature, he can satisfy the teacher that he knows it by making a definition. The little Irish boy who said that "an island is a part of the sea that hasn't any water into it," knew the thing, and made just as serviceable a definition as any.

PICTURES.

All this work is essential with any book and can be done as well with none. Our Indiana texts do as much realistic teaching as it is possible for books to do, and by means of pictures. This is far from comparable in efficiency with field work or even modelling. A picture is not a presentation of a thing, but a re-presentation of it, and cannot give so vivid and unmistakable an image. Pictures, like words, may be and often are misunderstood. Savages and uneducated persons often fail to see any meaning in a picture. Children sometimes display a similar disability. Every adult can recall strange and absurd misinterpretations of pictures of which he was guilty in childhood. But in spite of these defects, pictures are a valuable aid to realistic teaching. In the opening pages of our textbooks which are devoted to fundamental ideas constant reference is made to the pictures displayed there. No feature is introduced or described without one or more pictures, and by the use of the Index other illustrations of the subject may be found. It does not seem possible that any healthy-minded child could read and study such pages as those on the subject of mountains without looking at the pictures and spending more time upon them than upon the text; yet there are many adult students who habitually read a page or a book without a glance at the illustrations, and are scarcely conscious of their existence. The explanation probably is that such persons have never learned to interpret pictures; they mean little or nothing to them and are therefore uninteresting. The teacher should know whether or not his pupils can read pictures.

MAPS.

One of the difficulties inherent in the subject of geography is the fact that most of its material is large and distant and cannot be brought under direct observation. This makes it all the more necessary that whatever realistic work is possible should be done. The difference between geography with it and geography without it cannot be overestimated; but after all is done the greater part of the earth must be seen

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