Full text of "The Third Year Book Of The National Society For The Scientific Study Of Education Part I"

129 861

THE THIRD

OF THE

NATIONAL SOCIETY FOR THE SCIEN-
TIFIC STUDY OF EDUCATION

PART I

THE RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE IN
THE EDUCATION OF TEACHERS

(i) JOHN DEWEY; (2) SARAH C. BROOKS; (3) F. M. McMURRY, T. D.
WOOD, D. E. SMITH, C. H. FARNSWORTH, G. R. RICHARDS

EDITED BY

CHARLES A. McMURRY

MEETINGS OF ACTIVE MEMBERS FOR THE DISCUSSION OF THESE PAPERS WILL BE

HELD AT 4:00 P.M., MONDAY, FEBRUARY 22, AND AT 2:30 P.M.,

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 1 904, PIEDMONT

HOTEL, ATLANTA, GA.

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

CHARLES A.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

PUBLISHED FEBRUARY, 1904
SECOND IMPRESSION MAY, 1912

Composed and Printed By

The XJuiversity of Chicago Press

Chicago; Illinois, U.S A

NOTICE TO ACTIVE MEMBERS.

THERE will be two -meetings at Atlanta for the discussion of these
papers by active members. It is requested that the active members, as
far as possible, attend these meetings and come prepared for careful
discussion.

It is recommended that local round tables be organized at schools
engaged in the education and training of teachers for more general
and thorough discussion of this important phase of education.

Those holding such meetings can secure additional copies of the
YEARBOOK, and any of- the previously published YEARBOOKS of the
National Herbart Society, from The University of Chicago Press,
Chicago, Illinois.

OFFICERS AND EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE

OF THE

NATIONAL SOCIETY FOR THE SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF
EDUCATION

WILBUR S. JACKMAN, School of Education, University of Chicago, President
CHARLES DEGARMO - Cornell University, New York

WILLIAM L. BRYAN - University of Indiana, Bloom ington, Ind.

DAVID FELMLEY - State Normal University, Normal, 111.

C. P. CARY - State Superintendent, Madison, Wis.

CHARLES A. McMuRRY, Northern Illinois State Normal School,
DeKalb, 111., Secretary -Treasurer.

CONTENTS.

PACK

THE RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE IN EDUCATION.

John JJewey g.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE. Sarah C. Brooks - - 31

THEORY AND PRACTICE AT TEACHERS COLLEGE, COLUMBIA UNI-
VERSITY. JF. M. McMurry, T. &. Wood, JO. -E. Smith, C. H.
Farnsworth, G. &. Richards 43

LIST OF ACTIVE MEMBERS .......65

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

THE RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE IN
EDUCATION. 1

JOHN DEWEY,
The University of Chicago, Chicago, III.

IT is difficult, if not impossible, to define the proper relationship
of theory and practice without a preliminary discussion, respectively,
(i) of the nature and aim of theory; (2) of practice.

A. I shall assume without argument that adequate professional
instruction of teachers is not exclusively theoretical, but involves a cer-
tain amount of practical work. The primary question as to the lat-
ter is the aim with which it shall be conducted. Two controlling
purposes may be entertained so different from each other as radically
to alter the amount, conditions, and method of practice work. On
one hand, we may carry on the practical work with the object of giv-
ing teachers in training working command of the necessary tools
of their profession ; control of the technique of class instruction and
management; skill and proficiency in the work of teaching. With
this aim in view, practice work is, as far as it goes, of the nature of
apprenticeship. On the other hand, we may propose to use practice
work as an instrument in making real and vital theoretical instruc-
tion ; the knowledge of subject-matter and of principles of education.
This is the laboratory point of view.

The contrast between the two points of view is obvious ; and the
two aims together give the limiting terms within which all practice
work falls. From one point of view, the kim is to form and equip the
actual teacher ; the aim is immediately as well as ultimately practi-
cal. From the other point of view, the immediate aim, the way of

1 This paper is to be taken as representing the views of the writer, rather than
those of any particular institution in an official way ; for the writer thought it better
to discuss certain principles that seem to him fundamental, rather than to define a
system of procedure.

10 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

getting at the ultimate aim, is to supply the intellectual method and
material of good workmanship, instead of making on the spot, as it
were, an efficient workman. Practice work thus considered is admin-
istered primarily with reference to the intellectual reactions it incites,
giving the student a better hold upon the educational significance of
the subject-matter he is acquiring, and of the science, philo'sophy, and
history of education. Of course, the results are not exclusive. It
would be very strange if practice work in doing what the laboratory
does for a student of physics or chemistry in way of securing a more
vital understanding of its principles, should not at the same time
insure some skill in the instruction and management of a class. It
would also be peculiar if the process of acquiring such skill should not
also incidentally serve to enlighten and enrich instruction in subject-
matter and the theory of education. None the less, there is a funda-
mental difference in the conception and conduct of the practice work
according as one idea or the other is dominant and the other subordi-
nate. Uf the primary object of practice is acquiring skill in perform-
ing the duties of a teacher, then the amount of time given to practice
work, the place at which it is introduced, the method of conducting
it, of supervising, criticising, and correlating it, will differ widely
from the method where the laboratory ideal prevails ; and vice versa.
In discussing this matter, I shall try to present what I have termed
the laboratory, as distinct from the apprentice idea. While I speak
primarily from the standpoint of the college, I should not be frank if
I did not say that I believe what I am going to say holds, mutatis
mutandis, for the normal school as well.

I. I first adduce the example of other professional schools. I
doubt whether we, as educators, keep in mind with sufficient constancy
the fact that the problem of training teachers is one species of a more
generic affair that of training for professions. Our problem is akin
to that of training architects, engineers, doctors, lawyers, etc. More-
over, since (shameful and incredible as it seems) the vocation of teach-
ing is practically the last to recognize the need of specific professional
preparation, there is all the more reason for teachers to try to find what
they may learn from the more extensive and matured experience of other
callings. If now we turn to what has happened in the history of train-
ing for other professions, we find the following marked tendencies :

i. The demand for an increased amount of scholastic attainments
as a prerequisite for entering upon professional work.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE II

2. Development of certain lines of work in the applied sciences
and arts, as centers of professional work ; compare, for example, the
place occupied by chemistry and physiology in medical training at
present, with that occupied by chairs of "practice" and vi"materia
medica" a generation ago.

3. Arrangement of the practical and quasi -professional work upon
the assumption that (limits of time, etc., being taken into account) the
professional school does its best for its students when it gives them
typical and intensive, rather than extensive and detailed, practice.
It aims, in a word, at control of the intellectual methods required for
personal and independent mastery of practical skill, rather than
at turning out at once masters of the craft. This arrangement
necessarily involves considerable postponement of skill in the routine
and technique of the profession, until the student, after graduation,
enters upon the pursuit of his calling.

These results are all the more important to us because other pro-
fessional schools mostly started from the same position which training
schools for teachers have occupied. Their history shows a period in
which the idea was that students ought from the start to be made
as proficient as possible in practical skill. In seeking for the motive
forces which have caused professional schools to travel so steadily
away from this position and toward the idea that practical work
should be conducted for the sake of vitalizing and illuminating
intellectual methods two reasons may be singled out :

a) First, the limited time at the disposal of the schools, and the
consequent need of economy in its employ. It is not necessary to
assume that apprenticeship is of itself a bad thing. On the contrary,
it may be admitted to be a good thing ; but the time which a student
spends in the training school is short at the best. Since short, it is an
urgent matter that it be put to its most effective use,- and, relatively
speaking, the wise employ of this short time is in laying scientific
foundations. These cannot be adequately secured when one is doing
the actual work of the profession, while professional life does afford
time for acquiring and perfecting skill of the more technical sort.

i) In the second place, there is inability to furnish in the school
adequate conditions for the best acquiring and using of skill. As
compared with actual practice, the best that the school of law or medi-
cine can do is to provide a somewhat remote and simulated copy of
the real thing. For such schools to attempt to give the skill which

12 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

comes to those adequately prepared, insensibly and unavoidably in
actual work, is the same sort of thing as for grammar schools to spend
months upon months in trying to convey (usually quite unsuccess-
fully) that skill in commercial arithmetic which comes, under penalty of
practical failure, in a few weeks in the bank or counting-house.

It may be said that the analogy does not hold good for teachers'
training schools, because such institutions have model or practice
departments, supplying conditions which are identical with those which
the teacher has to meet in the actual pursuit of his calling. But this
is true at most only in such normal schools as are organized after the
Oswego pattern schools, that is to say, where the pupil-teacher is
given for a considerable period of time the entire charge of instruc-
tion and discipline in the class-room, and does not come under a room
critic-teacher. In all other cases, some of the most fundamentally
significant features of the real school are reduced or eliminated. Most
"practice schools" are a compromise. In theory they approximate
ordinary conditions. As matter of fact, the " best interests of the chil-
dren " are so safeguarded and supervised that the situation approaches
learning to swim without going too near the water.

There are many ways that do not strike one at first glance, for
removing the conditions of "practice work" from those of actual
teaching. Deprivation of responsibility for the discipline of the room ;
the continued presence of an expert ready to suggest, to take matters
into his own hands ; close supervision ; reduction of size of group
taught; etc., etc., are some of these ways. The topic of "lesson plans"
will be later referred to in connection with another topic. Here
they may be alluded to as constituting one of the modes in which the
conditions of the practice-teacher are made unreal. The student who
prepares a number of more or less set lessons , who then has those
lesson plans criticised ; who then has his actual teaching criticised from
the standpoint of success in carrying out the prearranged plans, is in a
totally different attitude from the teacher who has to build up and
modify his teaching plans as he goes along from experience gained in
contact with pupils.

It would be difficult to find two things more remote from each
other than the development of subject-matter under such control as is
supplied from actual teaching, taking effect through the teacher's own
initiative and reflective criticism, and its development with an eye
fixed upon the judgment, presumed and actual, of a superior super-

RELATION OP THEORY TO PRACTICE 13

visory officer. Those phases of the problem of practice teaching which
relate more distinctly to responsibility for the discipline of the room,
or of the class, have received considerable attention in the past ; but
the more delicate and far-reaching matter of intellectual responsibility
is too frequently ignored. Here centers the problem of securing con-
ditions which will make practice work a genuine apprenticeship.

II. To place the emphasis upon the securing of proficiency in
teaching and discipline puts the attention of the student-teacher in the
wrong place ', and tends to fix it in the wrong direction not wrong abso-
lutely, but relatively as regards perspective of needs and opportunities.
The would-be teacher has some time or other to face and solve two
problems, each extensive and serious enough by itself to demand
absorbing and undivided attention. These two problems are:

1. Mastery of subject-matter from the standpoint of its educational
value and use ; or, what is the same thing, the mastery of educational
principles in their application to that subject-matter which is at once
the material of instruction and the basis of discipline and control ;

2. The mastery of the technique of class management.

This does not mean that the two problems are in any way isolated
or independent. On the contrary, they are strictly correlative. But
the mind of a student cannot give equal attention to both at the same
time.

The difficulties which face a beginning teacher, who is set down for
the first time before a class of from thirty to sixty children, in the
responsibilities not only of instruction, but of maintaining the required
order in the room as a whole, are most trying. It is almost impossible
for an old teacher who has acquired the requisite skill of doing two or
three distinct things simultaneously skill to see the room as a whole
while hearing one individual in one class recite, of keeping the pro-
gram of the day and, yes, of the week and of the month in the
fringe of consciousness while the work of the hour is in its center it
is almost impossible for such a teacher to realize all the difficulties that
confront the average beginner.

There is a technique of teaching, just as there is a technique of
piano-playing. The technique, if it is to be educationally effective, is
dependent upon principles. But it is possible for a student to acquire
outward form of method without capacity to put it to genuinely educa-
tive use. As every teacher knows, children have an inner and an outer
attention. The inner attention is the giving of the inind without

14 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

reserve or qualification to the subject in hand. It is the first-hand and
personal play of mental powers. As such, it is a fundamental condi-
tion of mental growth. To be able to keep track of this mental play,
to recognize the signs of its presence or absence, to know how it is
initiated and maintained, how to test it by results attained, and to test
apparent results by it, is the supreme mark and criterion of a teacher.
It means insight into soul-action, ability to discriminate the genuine
from the sham, and capacity to further one and discourage the other.

External attention, on the other hand, is that given to the book or
teacher as an independent object. It is manifested in certain conven-
tional postures and physical attitudes rather than in the movement of
thought. Children acquire great dexterity in exhibiting in conven-
tional and expected ways the form of attention to school work, while
reserving the inner play of their own thoughts, images, and emotions
for subjects that are more important to them, but quite irrelevant.

Now, the teacher who is plunged prematurely into the pressing and
practical problem of keeping order in the schoolroom has almost of
necessity to make supreme the matter of external attention. The teacher
has not yet had the training which affords psychological insight
which enables him to judge promptly (and therefore almost automatic-
ally) the kind and mode of subject-matter which the pupil needs at a
given moment to keep his attention moving forward effectively and
healthfully. He does know, however, that he must maintain order ;
that he must keep the attention of the pupils fixed upon his own
questions, suggestions, instructions, and remarks, and upon their "les-
sons. " The inherent tendency of the situation therefore is for him
to acquire his technique in relation to the outward rather than the inner
mode of attention.

III. Along with this fixation of attention upon the secondary at
the expense of the primary problem, there goes the formation of habits
of work which have an empirical, rather than a scientific, sanction. The
student adjusts his actual methods of teaching, not to the principles
which he is acquiring, but to what he sees succeed and fail in an
empirical way from moment to moment : to what he sees other teach-
ers doing who are more experienced and successful in keeping order
than he is; and to the injunctions and directions given him by others.
In this way the controlling habits of the teacher finally get fixed with
comparatively little reference to principles in the psychology, logic,
and history of education. In theory, these latter are dominant; in

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 15

practice, the moving forces are the devices and methods which are
picked up through blind experimentation ; through examples which
are not rationalized , through precepts which are more or less arbitrary
and mechanical ; through advice based upon the experience of others.
Here we have the explanation, in considerable part at least, of the
dualism, the unconscious duplicity, which is one of the chief evils of
the teaching profession. There is an enthusiastic devotion to certain
principles of lofty theory in the abstract principles of self-activity,
self-control, intellectual and moral and there is a school practice tak-
ing little heed of the official pedagogic creed. Theory and practice do
not grow together out of and into the teacher's personal experience.

Ultimately there are two bases upon which the habits of a teacher
as a teacher may be built up. They may be formed under the inspira-
tion and constant criticism of intelligence, applying the best that is
available. This is possible only where the would-be teacher has become
fairly saturated with his subject-matter, and with his psychological and
ethical philosophy of education. Only when such things have become
incorporated in mental habit, have become part of the working tenden-
cies of observation, insight, and reflection, will these principles work
automatically, unconsciously, and hence promptly and effectively. And
this means that practical work should be pursued primarily with refer-
ence to its reaction upon the professional pupil in making him a
thoughtful and alert student of education, rather than to help him get
immediate proficiency.

For immediate skill may be got at the cost of power to go on grow-
ing. The teacher who leaves the professional school with power in
managing a class of children may appear to superior advantage the
first day, the first week, the first month, or even the first year, as com-
pared with some other teacher who has a much more vital command
of the psychology, logic, and ethics of development. But later "pro-
gress " may with such consist only in perfecting and refining skill already
possessed. Such persons seem to know how to teach, but they are not
students of teaching. Even though they go on studying books of peda-
gogy, reading teachers' journals, attending teachers' institutes, etc.,
yet the root of the matter is not in them, unless they continue to be
students of subject-matter, and students of mind-activity. Unless a
teacher is such a student, he may continue to improve in the mechan-
ics of school management, but he can not grow as a teacher, an
inspirer and director of soul-life. How often do candid instructors in

1 6 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

training schools for teachers acknowledge disappointment in the later
career of even their more promising condidatesl They seem to strike
twelve at the start. There is an unexpected and seemingly unaccount-
able failure to maintain steady growth. Is this in some part due to
the undue premature stress laid in early practice work upon securing
immediate capability in teaching?

I might go on to mention other evils which seem to me to be more
or less the effect of this same cause. Among them are the lack of intel-
lectual independence among teachers, their tendency to intellectual
subserviency. The "model lesson "of the teachers* institute and of
the educational journal is a monument, on the one hand, of the eager-
ness of those in authority to secure immediate practical results at any
cost; and, upon the other, of the willingness of our teaching corps to
accept without inquiry or criticism any method or device which seems
to promise good results. Teachers, actual and intending, flock to those
persons who give them clear-cut and definite instructions as to just
how to teach this or that.

The tendency of educational development to proceed by reaction
from one thing to another, to adopt for one year, or for a term of
seven years, this or that new study or method of teaching, and then as
abruptly to swing over to some new educational gospel, is a result which
would be impossible if teachers were adequately moved by their own
independent intelligence. The willingness of teachers, especially of
those occupying administrative positions, to become submerged in the
routine detail of their callings, to expend the bulk of their energy
upon forms and rules and regulations, and reports and percentages, is
another evidence of the absence of intellectual vitality. If teachers
were possessed by the spirit of an abiding student of education, this
spirit would find some way of breaking through the mesh and coil of
circumstance and would find expression for itself.

B. Let us turn from the practical side to the theoretical. What
must be the aim and spirit of theory in order that practice work may
really serve the purpose of an educational laboratory ? We are met
here with the belief that instruction in theory is merely theoretical,
abstruse, remote, and therefore relatively useless to the teacher as a
teacher, unless the student is at once set upon the work of teaching;
that only "practice" can give a motive to a professional learning, and
supply material for educational courses. It is not infrequently claimed
(or at least unconsciously assumed) that students will not have a pro-

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 17

fessional stimulus for their work in subject-matter and in educational
psychology and history, will not have any outlook upon their relation
to education, unless these things are immediately and simultaneously
reinforced by setting the student upon the work of teaching. But is
this the case ? Or are there practical elements and bearings already
contained in theoretical instruction of the proper sort ?

I. Since it is impossible to cover in this paper all phases of the phi-
losophy and science of education, I shall speak from the standpoint of
psychology, believing that this may be taken as typical of the whole
range of instruction in educational theory as such.

In the first place, beginning students have without any reference
to immediate teaching a very large capital of an exceedingly practical
sort in their own experience. The argument that theoretical instruc-
tion is merely abstract and in the air unless students are set at once to
test and illustrate it by practice-teaching of their own, overlooks the
continuity of the class-room mental activity with that of other normal
experience. It ignores the tremendous importance for educational
purposes of this continuity. Those who employ this argument seem
to isolate the psychology of learning that goes on in the schoolroom
from the psychology of learning found elsewhere.

This isolation is both unnecessary and harmful. It is unnecessary,,
tending to futility, because it throws away or makes light of the
greatest asset in the student's possession the greatest, moreover, that
ever will be in his possession his own direct and personal experience.
There is every presumption (since the student is not an imbecile) that
he has been learning all the days of his life, and that he is still
learning from day to day. He must accordingly have in his own
experience plenty of practical material by which to illustrate and
vitalize theoretical principles and laws of mental growth in the process
of learning. Moreover, since none of us is brought up under ideal
conditions, each beginning student has plenty of practical experience
by which to illustrate cases of arrested development instances of
failure and maladaptation and retrogression, or even degeneration.
The material at hand is pathological as well as healthy. It serves to
embody and illustrate both achievement and failure, in the problem of
learning.

But it is more than a serious mistake (violating the principle of
proceeding from the known to the unknown) to fail to take account of
this body of practical experience. Such ignoring tends also to per-

1 8 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

petuate some of the greatest evils of current school methods. Just
because the student's attention is not brought to the point of recog-
nizing that his own past and present growth is proceeding in accordance
with the very laws that control growth m the school, and that there is no
psychology of the schoolroom different from that of the nursery, the
playground, the street, and the parlor, he comes unconsciously to
assume that education in the class-room is a sort of unique thing, hav-
ing its own laws. 1 Unconsciously, but none the less surely, the student
comes to believe in certain "methods" of learning, and hence of teach-
ing which are somehow especially appropriate to the school which
somehow have their particular residence and application there. Hence
he comes to believe in the potency for schoolroom purposes of mate-

Js, methods, and devices which it never occurs to him to trust to

his experience outside of school.

I know a teacher of teachers who is accustomed to say that when
she fails to make clear to a class of teachers some point relative to
children, she asks these teachers to stop thinking of their own pupils
and to think of some nephew, niece, cousin, some child of whom they
have acquaintance in the unformalities of home life. I do not suppose
any great argument is needed to prove that breach of continuity
between learning within and without the school is the great cause in
education of wasted power and misdirected effort. I wish rather to
take advantage of this assumption (which I think will be generally
accepted) to emphasize the danger of bringing the would-be teacher
into an abrupt and dislocated contact with the psychology of the
schoolroom abrupt and dislocated because not prepared for by prior
practice in selecting and organizing the relevant principles and data
contained within the experience best known to him, his own. 2

From this basis, a transition to educational psychology may be
made in observation of the teaching of others visiting classes. I
should wish to note here, however, the same principle that I have men-
tioned as regards practice work, specifically so termed. The first
observation of instruction given by model- or critic- teachers should

* There is where the plea for " adult " psychology has force. The person who
does not know himself is not likely to know others. The adult psychology ought,
however, to be just as genetic as that of childhood.

*It may avoid misapprehension if I repeat the word experience. It is not a meta-
physical introspection that I have hi mind, but the process of turning back upon one's
own experiences, and turning them over to see how they were developed, what helped
and hindered, the stimuli and the inhibitions both within and without the organism.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 19

not be too definitely practical in aim. The student should not be
observing to find out how the good teacher does it, in order to accumu-
late a store of methods by which he also may teach successfully. He
should rather observe with reference to seeing the interaction of mind,
to see how teacher and pupils react upon each other how mind
answers to mind. Observation should at first be conducted from the
psychological rather than from the "practical" standpoint. If the
latter is emphasized before the student has an independent command
of the former, the principle of imitation is almost sure to play an
exaggerated part in the observer's future teaching, and hence at the
expense of personal insight and initiative. What the student needs
most at this stage of growth is ability to see what is going on in the
minds of a group of persons who are in intellectual contact with one
another. He needs to learn to observe psychologically a very dif-
ferent thing from simply observing how a teacher gets "good results"
in presenting any particular subject.

It should go without saying that the student who has acquired
power in psychological observation and interpretation may finally go
on to observe more technical aspects of instruction, namely, the various
methods and instrumentalities used by a good teacher in giving instruc-
tion in any subject. If properly prepared for, this need not tend to
produce copiers, followers of tradition and example. Such students will
be able to translate the practical devices which are such an important
part of the equipment of a good teacher over into their psychological
equivalents ; to know not merely as a matter of brute fact that they do
work, but to know how and why they work. Thus he will be an inde-
pendent judge and critic of their proper use and adaptation.

In the foregoing I have assumed that educational psychology is
marked off from general psychology simply by the emphasis which it
puts upon two factors. The first is the stress laid upon a certain end,
namely, growth or development with its counterparts, arrest and
adaptation. The second is the importance attached to the social
factor to the mutual interaction of different minds with each other.
It is, I think, strictly true that no educational procedure nor pedagogical
maxim can be derived directly from pure psychological data. The
psychological data taken without qualification (which is what I mean
by their being pure) cover everything and anything that may take
place in a mind. Mental arrest and decay occur according to psycho-
logical laws, just as surely as do development and progress.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 2 I

proceeding still more gradually to the attempt actually to influence the
mental operations of others, can educational theory be made most
effective: Only in this way can the most essential trait of the mental
habit of the teacher be secured that habk which looks upon the inter-
nal, not upon the external ; which sees that the important function of
the teacher is direction of the mental movement of the student, and
that the mental movement must be known before it can be directed.

II. I turn now to the side of subject-matter, or scholarship, with the
hope of showing that here too the material, when properly presented,
is not so merely theoretical, remote from the practical problems of
teaching, as is sometimes supposed. I recall that once a graduate
student in a university made inquiries among all the leading teachers in
the institution with which he was connected as to whether they had
received any professional training, whether they had taken courses in
pedagogy. The inquirer threw the results, which were mostly nega-
tive, into the camp of the local pedagogical club. Some may say that
this proves nothing, because college teaching is proverbially poor, con-
sidered simply as teaching. Yet no one can deny that there is some
good teaching, and some teaching of the very first order, done in col-
leges, and done by persons who have never had any instruction in either
the theory or the practice of teaching.

This fact cannot be ignored any more than can the fact that there were
good teachers before there was any such thing as pedagogy. Now, I am
not arguing for not having pedagogical training that is the last thing
I want. But I claim the facts mentioned prove that scholarship per se
may itself be a most effective tool for training and turning out good
teachers. If it has accomplished so much when working unconsciously
and without set intention, have we not good reason to believe that,
when acquired in a training school for teachers with the end of making
teachers held definitely in view and with conscious reference to its
relation to mental activity it may prove a much more valuable peda-
gogical asset than we commonly consider it?

Scholastic knowledge is sometimes regarded as if it were something
quite irrelevant to method. When this attitude is even unconsciously
assumed, method becomes an external attachment to knowledge of
subject-matter. It has to be elaborated and acquired in relative inde-
pendence from subject-matter, and/>fo*z applied.

Now the body of knowledge which constitutes the subject-matter
of the student-teacher must, by the nature of the case, be organized

22 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

subject-matter. It is not a miscellaneous heap of separate scraps.
Even if (as in the case of history and literature), it be not technically
termed "science," it is none the less material which has been subjected
to method has been selected and arranged with reference to con-
trolling intellectual principles. There is, therefore, method in subject-
matter itself method irideed of the highest order which the human
mind has yet evolved, scientific method.

It cannot be too strongly emphasized that this scientific method is
the method of mind itself. 1 The classifications, interpretations, expla-
nations, and generalizations which make subject-matter a branch of
study do not lie externally in facts apart from mind. They reflect the
attitudes and workings of mind in its endeavor to bring raw material
of experience to a point where it at once satisfies and stimulates the
needs of active thought. Such being the case, there is something
wrong in the "academic" side of professional training, if by means of
it the student does not constantly get object-lessons of the finest type
in the kind of mental activity which characterizes mental growth and,
hence, the educative process.

It is necessary to recognize the importance for the teacher's equip-
ment of his own habituation to superior types of method of mental
operation. The more a teacher in the future is likely to have to do
with elementary teaching, the more, rather than the less, necessary is
such exercise. Otherwise, the current traditions of elementary work
with their tendency to talk and write down to the supposed intellectual
level of children, will be likely to continue. Only a teacher thoroughly
trained in the higher levels of intellectual method and who thus has
constantly in his own mind a sense of what adequate and genuine intel-
lectual activity means, will be likely, in deed, not in mere word, to
respect the mental integrity and force of children.

Of course, this conception will be met by the argument that the
scientific organization of subject-matter, which constitutes the academic
studies of the student-teacher is upon such a radically different basis
from that adapted to less mature students that too much pre-occupation
with scholarship of an advanced order is likely actually to get in the
way of the teacher of children and youth. I do not suppose anybody
would contend that teachers really can know more than is good for

1 PROFESSOR ELLA F. YOUNG'S "Scientific Method in Education" (University of
Chicago Decennial Publications) is a noteworthy development of this conception, to*
which I am much indebted.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 2

them, but it may reasonably be argued that continuous study of a special-
ized sort forms mental habits likely to throw the older student out
of sympathy with the type of mental impulses and habits which are
found in younger persons.

Right here, however, I think normal schools and teachers' colleges
have one of their greatest opportunities an opportunity not merely
as to teachers in training, but also for reforming methods of edu-
cation in colleges and higher schools having nothing to do with the
training of teachers. It is the business of normal schools and collegiate
schools of education to present subject-matter in science, in language,
in literature and the arts, in such a way that the student both sees and
feels that these studies are significant embodiments of mental operations.
He should be led to realize that they are not products of technical
methods, which have been developed for the sake of the specialized
branches of knowledge in which they are used, but represent funda-
mental mental attitudes and operations that, indeed, particular scien-
tific methods and classifications simply express and illustrate in their
most concrete form that of which simple and common modes of thought-
activity are capable when they work under satisfactory conditions.

In a word, it is the business of the "academic" instruction of
future teachers to carry back subject-matter to its common psychical
roots. 1 In so far as this is accomplished, the gap between the higher
and the lower treatment of subject-matter, upon which the argu-
ment of the supposed objector depends, ceases to have the force
which that argument assigns to it. This does not mean, of course,
that exactly the same subject-matter, in the same mode of presenta-
tion, is suitable to a student in the elementary or high schools that is
appropriate to the normal student. But it does mean that a mind
which is habituated to viewing subject-matter from the standpoint of
the function of that subject-matter in connection with mental responses,
attitudes, and methods will be sensitive to signs of intellectual activity
when exhibited in the child of four, or the youth of sixteen, and will
be trained to a spontaneous and unconscious appreciation of the subject-
matter which is fit to call out and direct mental activity.

We have here, I think, the explanation of the success of some
teachers who violate every law known to and laid down by pedagogical
science. They are themselves so full of the spirit of inquiry, so sensi-

1 It is hardly necessary to refer to Dr. Harris's continued contention that normal
training should give a higher view or synthesis of even the most elementary subjects.

24 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

tive to every sign of its presence and absence, that no matter what
they do, nor how they do it, they succeed in awakening and inspiring
like alert and intense mental activity in those with whom they come in
contact.

This is not a plea for the prevalence of these irregular, inchoate
methods. But I feel that I may recur to my former remark : if some
teachers, by sheer plenitude of knowledge, keep by instinct in touch
with the mental activity of their pupils, and accomplish so much
without, and even in spite of, principles which are theoretically
sound, then there must be in this same scholarship a tremendous
resource when it is more consciously used that is, employed in clear
connection with psychological principles.

When I said above that schools for training teachers have here an
opportunity to react favorably upon general education, I meant that
no instruction in subject-matter (wherever it is given) is adequate if it
leaves the student with just acquisition of certain information about
external facts and laws, or even a certain facility in the intellectual
manipulation of this material. It is the business of our higher schools
in all lines, and not simply of our normal schools, to furnish the
student with the realization that, after all, it is the human mind, trained
to effective control of its natural attitudes, impulses, and responses,
that is the significant thing in all science and history and art so far as
these are formulated for purposes of study.

The present divorce between scholarship and method is as harmful
upon one side as upon the other as detrimental to the best interests
of higher academic instruction as it is to the training of teachers.
But the only way in which this divorce can be broken down is by so
presenting all subject-matter, for whatever ultimate, practical, or pro-
fessional purpose, that it shall be apprehended as an objective embodi-
ment of methods of mind in its search for, and transactions with, the
truth of things.

Upon the more practical side, this principle requires that, so far as
students appropriate new subject-matter (thereby improving their own
scholarship and realizing more consciously the nature of method), they
should finally proceed to organize this same subject-matter with
reference to its use in teaching others. The curriculum of the ele-
mentary and the high school constituting the "practice" or "model"
school ought to stand in the closest and most organic, relation to the
instruction in subject-matter which is given by the teachers of the

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 2$

professional school. If in any given school this is not the case, it
is either because m the training class subject-matter is presented in an
isolated way, instead of as a concrete expression of methods of mind,
or else because the practice school 'is dominated by certain conventions
and traditions regarding material and the methods of teaching it, and
hence is not engaged in work of an adequate educational type.

As a matter of fact, as everybody knows, both of these causes con-
tribute to the present state of things. On the one hand, inherited
conditions impel the elementary school to a certain triviality and pov-
erty of subject-matter, calling for mechanical drill, rather than for
thought-activity, and the high school to a certain technical mastery of
certain conventional culture subjects, taught as independent branches
of the same tree of knowledge ! On the other hand traditions of the
different branches of science (the academic side of subject-matter) tend
to subordinate the teaching in the normal school to the attainment of
certain facilities, and the acquirement of certain information, both in
greater or less isolation from their value as exciting and directing
mental power.

The great need is convergence, concentration. Every step taken in
the elementary and the high school toward intelligent introduction
of more worthy and significant subject-matter, one requiring con-
sequently for its assimilation thinking rather than "drill," must be
met by a like advance step in which the mere isolated specialization of
collegiate subject-matter is surrendered, and in which there is brought
to conscious and interested attention its significance in expression of
fundamental modes of mental activity so fundamental as to be com-
mon to both the play of the mind upon the ordinary material of every-
day experience and to the systematized material of the sciences.

III. As already suggested, this point requires that training-students
be exercised in making the connections between the course of study of
the practice or model school, and the wider horizons of learning com-
ing within their ken. But it is consecutive and systematic exercise in
the consideration of the subject-matter of the elementary and high
schools that is needed. The habit of making isolated and independent
lesson plans for a few days' or weeks' instruction in a separate grade
here or there not only does not answer this purpose, but is likely to be
distinctly detrimental. Everything should be discouraged which tends
to put the student in the attitude of snatching at the subject-matter
which he is acquiring in order to see if by some hook or crook it may

26 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

be made immediately available for a lesson in this or that grade.
What is needed is the habit of viewing the entire curriculum as a
continuous growth, reflecting the growth of mind itself. This in turn
demands, so far as I can see, consecutive and longitudinal considera-
tion of the curriculum of the elementary and high school rather than
a cross-sectional view of it. The student should be led to see that the
same subject-matter in geography, nature-study, or art develops not
merely day to day in a given grade, but from year to year throughout
the entire movement of the school ; and he should realize this before
he gets much encouragement in trying to adapt subject-matter in
lesson plans for this or that isolated grade.

C, If we attempt to gather together the points which have been
brought out, we should have a view of practice work something like
the following though I am afraid even this formulates a scheme with
more appearance of rigidity than is desirable : ^

At first, the practice school would be used mainly for purposes of
observation. This observation, moreover, would not be for the sake
of ^seeing how good teachers teach, or for getting "points" which may
be employed in one's own teaching, but to get material for psycho-
logical observation and reflection, and some conception of the educa-
tional movement of the school as a whole.

Secondly, there would then be more intimate introduction to the
lives of the children and the work of the school through the use as
assistants of such students as had already got psychological insight and
a good working acquaintance with educational problems. Students
at this stage would not undertake much direct teaching, but would
make themselves useful in helping the regular class instructor. There
are multitudes of ways in which such help can be given and be of real
help that is, of use to the school, to the children, and not merely of
putative value to the training student. 1 Special attention to backward
children, to children who have been out of school, assisting in the care
of material, in forms of hand-work, suggest some of the avenues of
approach.

This kind of practical experience enables, in the third place, the
future teacher to make the transition from his more psychological and
theoretical insight to the observation of the more technical points of

x This question of some real need in the practice school itself for the work done is
very important in its moral influence and in assimilating the conditions of " practice
work" to those of real teaching.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 27

class teaching and management. The informality, gradualness, and
familiarity of the earlier contact tend to store the mind with material
which is unconsciously assimilated and organized, and thus supplies a
background for work involving greater responsibility.

As a counterpart of this work in assisting, such students might well
at the same time be employed in the selection and arrangement of
subject-matter, as indicated in the previous discussion. Such organiza-
tion would at the outset have reference to at least a group of grades,
emphasizing continuous and consecutive growth. Later it might, with-
out danger of undue narrowness, concern itself with finding supple-
mentary materials and problems bearing upon the work in which the
student is giving assistance ; might elaborate material which could be
used to carry the work still farther, if it were desirable ; or, in case of
the more advanced students, to build up a scheme of possible alterna-
tive subjects for lessons and studies.

Fourthly, as fast as students are prepared through their work of
assisting for more responsible work, they could be given actual teach-
ing to do. Upon the basis that the previous preparation has been
adequate in subject-matter, in educational theory, and in the kind of
observation and practice already discussed, such practice teachers
should be given the maximum amount of liberty possible. They should
not be too closely supervised, nor too minutely and immediately criti-
cised upon either the matter or the method of their teaching. Stu-
dents should be given to understand that they not only are permitted
to act upon their own intellectual initiative, but that they are expected
to do so, and that their ability to take hold of situations for themselves
would be a more important factor in judging them than their following
any particular set method or scheme.

Of course, there should be critical discussion with persons more
expert of the work done, and of the educational results obtained. But
sufficient time should be permitted to allow the practice-teacher to
recover from the shocks incident to the newness of the situation, and
also to get enough experience to make him capable of seeing the /##*&-
mental bearings of criticism upon work done. Moreover, the work of
the expert or supervisor should be directed t getting the student to
judge his own work critically, to find out for himself in what respects
he has succeeded and in what failed, and to find the probable reasons
for both failure and success, rather than to criticising him too defi-
nitely and specifically upon special features of his work.

28 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

It ought to go without saying (unfortunately, it does not in all
cases) that criticism should be directed to making the professional
student thoughtful about his work in the light of principles, rather
than to induce in him a recognition that certain special methods are
good, and certain other special methods bad. At all events, no greater
travesty of real intellectual criticism can be given than to set a student
to teaching a brief number of lessons, have him under inspection in
practically all the time of every lesson, and then criticise him almost,
if not quite, at the very end of each lesson, upon the particular way in
whkh that particular lesson has been taught, pointing out elements of
failure and of success. Such methods of criticism may be adapted to
giving a training-teacher command of some of the knacks and tools
of the trade, but are not calculated to develop a thoughtful and inde-
pendent teacher.

Moreover, while such teaching (as already indicated) should be
extensive or continuous enough to give the student time to become at
home and to get a body of funded experience, it ought to be intensive
in purpose rather than spread out miscellaneously. It is much more
important for the teacher to assume responsibility for the consecutive
development of some one topic, to get a feeling for the movement of
that subject, than it is to teach a certain number (necessarily smaller
in range) of lessons in a larger number of subjects. What we want,
in other words, is not so much technical skill, as a realizing sense in
the teacher of what the educational development of a subject means,
and, in some typical case, command of a method of control, which
will then serve as a standard for self -judgment in other cases.

Fifthly, if the practical conditions permit if, that is to say, the
time of the training course is sufficiently long, if the practice schools
are sufficiently large to furnish tie required number of children, and to
afford actual demand for the work to be done students who have
gone through the stages already referred to should be ready for work,
of the distinctly apprenticeship type.

Nothing that I have said heretofore is to be understood as ruling
out practice-teaching which is designed to give an individual mastery
of the actual technique of teaching and management, provided school
conditions permit it in reality and not merely in external form pro-
vided, that is, the student has gone through a training in educational
theory and history, in subject-matter, in observation, and in practice
k^ of the laboratory type, before entering upon the latter. The

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 29

teacher must acquire his technique some time or other ; and if condi-
tions are favorable, there are some advantages in having this acquisition
take place in cadetting or in something of that kind. By means of this
probation, persons who are unfit for teaching may be detected and
eliminated more quickly than might otherwise be the case and before
their cases have become institutionalized.

Even in this distinctly apprenticeship stage, however, it is still
important that the student should be given as much responsibility and
initiative as he is capable of taking, and hence that supervision should
not be too unremitting and intimate, and criticism not at too short
range or too detailed. The advantage of this intermediate probationary
period does not reside in the fact that thereby supervisory officers may
turn out teachers who will perpetuate their own notions and methods,
but in the inspiration and enlightenment that come through prolonged
contact with mature and sympathetic persons. If the conditions in the
public schools were just what they ought to be, if all superintendents
and principals had the knowledge and the wisdom which they should
have, and if they had time and opportunity to utilize their knowledge
and their wisdom in connection with the development of the younger
teachers who come to them, the value of this apprenticeship period
would be reduced, I think, very largely to its serving to catch in time
and to exclude persons unfitted for teaching.

In conclusion, I may say that I do not believe that the principles
presented in this paper call for anything Utopian. The present move-
ment in normal schools for improvement of range and quality of
subject-matter is steady and irresistible. All the better classes of nor-
mal schools are already, in effect, what are termed "junior colleges."
That is, they give two years' work which is almost, and in many cases
quite, of regular college grade. More and more, their instructors are
persons who have had the same kind of scholarly training that is
expected of teachers in colleges. Many of these institutions are already
of higher grade than this; and the next decade will certainly see a
marked tendency on the part of many normal schools to claim the right
to give regular collegiate bachelor degrees.

The type of scholarship contemplated in this paper is thus practi-
cally assured for the near future. If two other factors co-operate with
this, there is no reason why the conception of relation of theory and
practice here presented should not be carried out. The second neces-
sary factor is that the elementary and high schools, which serve as

30 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

schools of observation and practice, should represent an advanced type
of education properly corresponding to -the instruction in academic
subject-matter and in educational theory given to the training classes.
The third necessity is that work in psychology and educational theory
make concrete and vital the connection between the normal instruction
in subject-matter and the work of the elementary and high schools.

If it should prove impracticable to realize the conception herein set
forth, it will not be, I think, because of any impossibility resident in
the outward conditions, but because those in authority, both within
and without the schools, believe that the true function of training
schools is just to meet the needs of which people are already conscious.
In this case, of course, training schools will be conducted simply with
reference to perpetuating current types of educational practice, with
simply incidental improvement in details.

The underlying assumption of this paper is, accordingly, that
training schools for teachers do not perform their full duty in accepting
and conforming to present educational standards, but that educational
leadership is an indispensable part of their office. The thing needful
is improvement of education, not simply by turning out teachers who
can do better the things that are now necessary to do, but rather by
changing the conception of what constitutes education.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE.

SARAH C. BROOKS,
Baltimore, Md.

A LATCH key was given me recently, with instructions as to its use,
by the lady of the house. As she inserted the key and opened the
door, she said : " I don't know whether you can use this key, for it
doesn't always behave. If you push it in too far, or press upon it with
too much force, it will not unlock the door."

While accepting the doubtful treasure with thanks, I humbly made
note of the cautions given, resolving to exercise the greatest care in its
use. When that closed door stood between me and lunch, a few hours
later, and I essayed to enter the house, my first efforts failed, because
in my efforts to profit by instructions I neither inserted the key the
required distance nor turned it with sufficient power. My precon-
ceived notions were lacking when put to the test. Repeated experiments
gave the proper adjustment at last ; but with the experiments came a
decided modification of my estimate of instructions given. Frequent
use has made me familiar with all the aggravating peculiarities of the
key, and compelled me to return to the first theory of adjustment. If
turning it over to a stranger to use, I should probably give the same
directions that were given me.

Now, what is the difference between the theory as held in the first
case and in the second? While identical in form, the first was poor
from lack of judgment in interpreting and applying; the second is
enriched by experience. Between the two lie a period of doubt and
uncertainty as to the value of the instruction given, and a return of
confidence. The one was adopted ; the other has been proved. The
one was the formulation of another's experience ; the latter is my own
through experience.

The incident, while of no value in itself, affords a typical illustra-
tion of the relation of theory to practice in ordinary life. However
efficient instruction may be, the learner is almost certain to go wrong
in the application from lack of ability perfectly to interpret and apply;
and much practice is necessary to bring about the proper adjustment.
The more delicate the material and the nicer the adjustment, the more
practice is required before skill is attained.

32 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

The key and the lock afford an illustration of the simplest form of
problems, because, being mechanical contrivances and subject to fixed
laws, they are more or less constant in action, even when imperfectly
adjusted. Life is full of problems of a much more complicated char-
acter, for humanity is by no means a constant quantity, subject to fixed
laws. Among these complicated problems is the preparation of stu-
dents for the profession of teaching.

If this problem were as simple as that of the key and the lock, the
practice of Dotheboys Hall would answer every purpose, and Dickens
would have lived in vain. To spell "horse" and then proceed to curry
him covered the theoretical and the practical in the process of becom-
ing familiar with this branch of zoology at Dotheboys Hall. If nothing
were necessary but a slight knowledge of the subject-matter, the incipi-
ent teacher would need only a spelling acquaintance with the subjects
to be taught, and then proceed to teach. Dotheboys Hall has still its
disciples; for few days pass without some query as to the value of
training schools, or some suggestion, even from teachers, of the supreme
and overmastering importance of practice in the preparation for teach-
ing. Yet among intelligent students of the problem of teaching there
can be no question of the immense importance of the theory.

The point of danger to the student teacher is m the inadequate
time allowed for adjustment of practice and theory. There should be
leisure, during the term of practice or afterward, for comparison and
explanation of experiences, and a fresh inspection of general principles
both of mental development and of pedagogy. If the student is turned
out into the city schools before this adjustment takes place, the result
is a distinct loss in two directions : first, to the schools in efficient
work ; and, second, to the young teacher in the time spent in helpless
floundering in what too frequently proves to be a veritable slough of
despond. It may be years before a professional attitude toward the
work is finally attained ; and many drop out of the ranks because of
these early discouragements. Mark Twain says that his first lesson in
piloting a boat was received on the way from New Orleans to St.
Louis, and that he took the greatest pains to impress upon his mind
the various sand bars, shifting currents, appearances of islands, bends
of shore, and what not; but when the boat was headed down the stream
everything presented such a different aspect that he had to learn the
lesson the other way around. The young teacher's experience is some-
what similar to that of the gifted pilot. Fortunate for her if both

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 33

lessons are learned while she is still within the training school, where per-
plexities and doubts may be cleared away, and apparent contradictions
are reconciled by means of sympathetic explanation and exposition.

Omitting the question of natural aptitude, the importance and
elusiveness of which none will deny, it may be well to inquire into the
causes which complicate the training-school problem, and to discuss
ways and means of securing the most satisfactory results under the
circumstances.

The first element of complication, and the element upon which
all other things depend, is that of time devoted to training. Accept-
ing students on the scholarship basis of a high-school course, the time
varies, according to schools and localities, from one to two years, with
a large balance on the side of a one-year course. Sometimes a two-
year course includes the last year of the high school, during which time
certain professional studies are pursued, or certain reviews given in
preparation for the regular training-school year.

Now, if the fourth year of the high school be devoted to studies
which shall prepare certain students for the training school, it is worth
while to consider which branches will prove most helpful when the
professional work really begins.

Proceeding by elimination, first of all, psychology and the history of
education are basic professional studies of such value that no teacher
of theory would be willing to have them divorced from pedagogy. The
laws of presentation are ordained by the laws of mental development,
and must be present at the same time in the consciousness of the stu-
dent. A knowledge of the progress of educational theory and the growth
and development of the course of study should be presented at the
same time with, or under the same conditions as, those under which the
theories of presentation are given. Psychology especially calls for an
attitude of mind not at all compatible with the manifold interests, dis-
tractions, and pleasing excitements incidental to graduation year in
the high school. Psychology calls for reflection, for subjective and
objective study and experiment, and these require a professional atmos-
phere in which to thrive.

Secondly, teachers are required, more and more, to be thinkers, to
reserve judgment, and encourage pupils to do so until testimony
accumulates in any given case to experiment, to observe. Nature-
study is an accepted topic in our present course of study, and the teacher
must have first-hand acquaintance with nature before she can present

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 35

Still other schools, notably normal, as distinguished from the ordi-
nary city training school, devote two full years to the course, receiving
students upon a scholarship basis of high-school graduation. These
schools vary in time and amount of practice afforded each student
Some devote the first year entirely to theory and observation, and the
second year largely to practice. That is, each student teaches at least
one hour a day, giving attention to but one subject at a time, and pre-
senting that subject to but one grade at a time. When the term of
practice, which may be five or ten weeks, expires, the student may
present the same subject to another grade, or present a different sub-
ject, as the case may seem to require. At least one other normal
school devotes a portion of each day of the two-year term to practice.
The practice work is under the supervision of certain members of the
faculty, and the plan provides that new students shall act first as assist-
ants to older or more experienced, and later be given charge of rooms
for a specified period each day. The new and inexperienced students
are thus strengthened and assured by observing and assisting the work
of one more experienced.

Other training schools having a one-year course, from lack of facil-
ities, size of classes, limit of time, or other reasons, divide classes into
sections, each of which, in turn, is sent to practice under expert direc-
tion. In some cases the practice is given in various ward schools in
which are provided classes under the care of a critic-teacher. Some-
times the term of practice is completed in a central building housing
the two branches of theory and practice. Again, part of the students
practice in the central building, and part in the ward schools. This
plan is due, perhaps, to lack of facilities in the central building, or it
may be from the desire to scatter classes which are under the care of
students, and so distribute the discomforts due to fault-finding on the
part of parents. The term of practice varies from eight to twelve weeks
or more, according to circumstances. For economic reasons, this
division frequently necessitates sending students to practice who have
had no training in theory, unless arrangements are made for two
entrance periods yearly to the training school.

The next complication in the problem of training is in connection
with the studies pursued by students during the time at their disposal.
These studies have been suggested, in part at least, under the high-
school phase of scholastic preparation for the training school. First
in the list stands psychology, with both subjective and objective studies

36 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

of children. History of education, pedagogy, and school management
follow in the order of importance. Pedagogy is a title which includes
a number of subjects. In its first aspect, of general method, it is inti-
mately associated with psychology. In its second aspect of special
method, it deals more directly with the actual presentation of subjects
in the schoolroom, and gives opportunity for much illustrative teaching.
It includes nature-study, children's literature, drawing, and music, as
well as the elementary branches. Some of the richest and most prac-
tical experiences of the professional term are the direct outcome of
special method.

I have not found the subject of enthusiasm in any text-book which
can be placed in the hands of students, but it is a fact beyond dispute
that enthusiasm is one of the most important subjects considered.
Like chanty, one may have all the other qualities and yet, lacking
enthusiasm, is nothing in the educational world. It does not appear
on any program or in any course of study, yet it not only is an essential
qualification of the teacher, but requires time for cultivation.

What is the least time that can be devoted with profit to these
studies, provided there is one year given to professional training?
What a pity, too, that in school matters, matters pertaining to the
training of that which is imperishable, we must always ask for the least
rather than for what is adequate !

A year is none too much for theoretical preparation; but by keeping
up steam and filling the program with recitations, instead of providing
periods of alternating rest and study each day, or periods of observa-
tion of grade work, the ground can be covered in seven months. In
the hurry to accomplish a necessary amount of work in a given time we
frequently lose sight of the educational importance of a little leisure,
and yet it is one of the essential conditions of perfect comprehension.
Seven months devoted to theory leaves an aggregate of three months
for practice ; and the conditions under which the practice is given have
much to do with the degree of benefit accruing to the individual
student. It is, therefore, exceedingly important that the practice
school be so organized and situated as to afford both teachers and
students the best possible conditions for work. In order to know
what these conditions are, it is necessary to know the specific needs of
the student.

First, in connection with a study of the theory of presentation, and
later when practice begins, there is urgent need of observation of the

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 37

work of a skilled teacher. The "what "and the "how," however well
presented theoretically, need the anchor of practical illustration with
pupils of a given degree of advancement. Then, when students begin
to teach they need to observe the work of a skilful teacher who fur-
nishes a model by which they are enabled, in a measure, to "true"
their own imperfect efforts.

Secondly, the students need direct daily contact with children while
studying the laws of mental development and of the presentation of
subject-matter. The period from childhood to maturity is so full and
rich of experiences, so marvelous with both physical and mental devel-
opment, so roseate with dreams, hopes, and aspirations, that the student
of eighteen or twenty is completely out of touch, ordinarily, with chil-
dren. Life has been so strenuous as to afford no time for intimate
associations with the outgrown self of childhood. Consequently, the
incipient teacher must now be encouraged to renew acquaintance with
the past self and to observe children daily. Intelligent sympathy with
the needs and tendencies of children is one of the first qualifications
of the teacher ; and the parent, for that matter.

Thirdly, there must be opportunity for actual practice in teaching
and in the care of a room ; and this work should be done under the
most encouraging conditions possible to the student necessarily sub-
ject to criticism from those who have the supervision of her work; for
this is the proving-ground of the teacher ; she is timid and doubtful
of her own powers, as a usual thing. She is also subject to criticism
of a less intelligent character from the pupils, who have been fed from
the pedagogical spoon until they have grown critical even of the way
it is presented, not to mention the quality of the food it contains. It
is therefore important that an air of dignity and a feeling of confidence
be established first of all, for the sake of both student-teacher and
pupils. The slightest neglect of these precautions is unfortunate in
its effects, however trivial they may seem.

The term of practice should furnish as much variety of teaching
experience as possible, and also opportunity to learn something of the
details of managing a room. The management of a room calls for
many more qualifications than that of successfully conducting a recita-
tion, important as we acknowledge that to be. The order of exercises
for the day, change of classes, seat work, temperature of the room, dis-
cipline, make constant and insistent demands upon the teacher's time
and judgment, and every detail must be settled before we pronounce the
aspirant ready for regular work in the city schools.

38 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

It is therefore important that the term of practice include two
phases : first, variety of teaching experience, and, second, concentra-
tion of energy m the mastery of the details in connection with the
management of a room and the daily preparation of all lessons. In a
period of twelve weeks, five weeks may be given to the first phase and
seven to the second, apportioning the time in accordance with the
demands made upon the student-teacher by the second phase. But
even under the best of conditions a twelve-week period of practice is
not long enough to meet the various needs of the student-teacher.

Now, in actual practice in the various training schools of the coun-
try, so far as I have been able to learn, either one phase or the other is
made prominent ; and in many cases one or other phase occupies the
entire period. The neglect of either causes a distinct loss to the young
teacher, although insuring a greater amount of proficiency in the other
direction.

Take the case of a school whose course covers two years. Suppose
the practice to cover a period of forty weeks, the student teaching one
period daily. This would afford opportunity of presenting one sub-
ject to any one grade for another period of five weeks. In this way
one subject may be presented to all grades in the practice school ; or,
during the same period, different subjects may be presented to the
various grades, the plan varying according to conditions. The value
of such an arrangement as this is apparent, acquainting the student with
the various divisions of the subject-matter, and the necessary modifica-
tions in presenting these to the different grades. Unless provision is
made, however, for the practice in school management, the efficiency
of the plan is lessened somewhat.

Where students spend three, or even five, months quietly in one
room, teaching, observing, and managing the various requirements of
the day, in any one grade, they leave the practice school at the close
of the period proficient in the work of that grade, and more or less
settled as to convictions, according to the circumstances under which
the practice was conducted. If these students can be appointed to cor-
responding grades in the ward schools, their experience will prove
beneficial to themselves and to the city. If, however, the opposite
course is pursued, the results are disastrous, because the young teacher
lacks perspective. It is vain to urge that the teaching spirit is the same
in all grades. That water has power to float a human body is of no
particular value as a physical fact to a drowning man. Give a student

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 39

practice for three or five months in the first grade, and then appoint
her to the third grade ; or give practice in the fifth, and then appoint
to the first ; and you behold, usually, the floundering of a drowning
man. Results are disastrous, not only so far as the work is concerned,
but in a far sadder way, to the young teacher herself, in unsettling her
mind regarding the value of previous instruction and experience.

Any real or apparent disparity between the principles deduced in
the study of psychology and pedagogy, and their application in prac-
tice, or any lack of harmony between the departments of theory and
practice, is unfortunate for the student-teacher who has little power of
adjustment from lack of experience. It has much the same effect as that
produced in the primary school when the home interests are ignored
or slighted. A soul cannot develop steadily and perfectly without a
harmonious adjustment of relations. For this reason, it is incumbent
on the two departments to work together for the attainment of the one
end m view. In all other matters admitting of a variety of opinion
the utmost care and the utmost consideration should be exercised.

The final need of the student-teacher is that of participation in
critic meetings meetings in which there is both constructive and
destructive criticism. To be of the greatest benefit, the student should
meet here, not only with practice teachers, but with teachers of theory
as well. The most fruitful source of discussion in these meetings, of
course, is the illustrative lesson, in the process of which it has been the
purpose of the teacher to show the application of some principle of
pedagogy. All parties participating in the discussion after the lesson
is concluded, the student begins to feel part of a whole body of seek-
ers after truth, be that body great or small. She also sees the real
meaning of criticism as applying to her own efforts. If what she does
is in accordance with general principles, her work is commended ; if
not, someone is ready to point out the errors and suggest a remedy, as
far as possible. If she is brainy and capable, she responds to the stimu-
lus and improves in her teaching. These meetings react in a whole-
some manner upon the training teachers also. Personally I know of
no greater stimulus to teaching, nor of a more wholesome check to
idiosyncrasies of every kind, than this form of critic meeting.

We have determined the needs of the student-teacher, in her term
of practice, to be observation of model lessons; direct contact with
children for purposes of study and of reviving past states of mind ;
and actual practice in teaching which shall give variety of experience

40 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

and at the same time a knowledge of the management of some one
grade or class. We have also decided that a unit of experience, so far
as theory and practice are concerned, is most desirable for the student.
Our next and last question concerns the manner in which all these
needs may be met. What disposition shall be made of the practice ?
Shall it be distributed among the various ward schools under compe-
tent critic-teachers, or shall both the theory and the practice be in one
building.

Distributing the practice among the various ward schools has some
distinct advantages. Among these are a greater variety of working
models, as afforded by the examples of the critic- teachers of the various
localities, who have little opportunity to compare work, and are com-
paratively free from any dominating influence that might be felt if all
were collected in one building and under one head.

By this arrangement, also, the training school has numerous points
of contact with the city schools, thereby affording more opportunities
for sharing with the city teachers whatever good may accrue to the
training school from the combined study and efforts of its various
members.

With only two or four practice rooms in any one locality, the
discomfort of complaints of parents on account of the supposed unsat-
isfactory work done in critic classes is reduced to a minimum. This
consideration is scarcely worth noting; for, as every experienced person
knows, these classes compare most favorably, in the long run, with
those taught by regular teachers. The critic-teacher, who is always
selected for superior qualifications, sees to it that children do not lose
in the change of student-teachers, or in the event of unsatisfactory work
by the student-teachers.

The distinct disadvantages to distributed practice are these :
Isolation does away with that indefinable, but necessary, something
we call a professional atmosphere, which is possible only where numbers
are working together, and are in such accord with each other that unity
of purpose and enthusiasm are everywhere and at all times in evidence.
It is as necessary to the incipient teacher as sunshine and moisture are
to the incipient tree.

Observation of grade work, except in the case of the class immedi-
ately under her charge, ceases with the term of theory. She is then
confined to one set of experiences until the expiration of her period of
practice. She has no opportunity to practice in the different grades,

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 41

and consequently must lose the good accruing from a broad experience
in teaching. In other words, she will know but one grade or class.

Critic meetings whose distinctive feature is the illustrative lesson
are an impossibility. The classes are so widely dispersed that meetings
must be conducted after school, when children are no longer in the
building; or, if held for the meeting, are subject to unnatural condi-
tions, which place both themselves and the teacher at a decided
disadvantage. Teachers and students are wearied with the day's work,
and enthusiasm is thereby reduced to the minimum.

It may also be necessary, for reasons incidental to organization,
while a mutual understanding is being established and the course of
study considered, that student- and critic- teachers have separate
meetings. Here the separation sometimes reacts in misunderstanding
of suggestions and criticisms given when the students assemble for
critic work ; for it is not often possible for the critic-teacher to attend
both meetings.

Supervision is rendered difficult and unsatisfactory, the more so as
the schools are widely separated. While it is both the duty and the
pleasure of principal and assistants to visit the critic classes, many
duties make inroads upon time; and the various customs regarding
general exercises, sewing, manual training, teachers' meetings, and the
like, in spite of the fact that arrangements are made to prevent conflict,
render a portion of the actual visits abortive. A consensus of opinion
is always possible and profitable, but no one visitor feels that the
results personally are in any sense commensurate with the effort put
forth and the energy expended. Where it is possible to have the super-
vision in the care of one person, results are more satisfactory.

Last of all, there is no adequate opportunity to work out a course of
study where classes are isolated. The necessity of a separate course of
study for the practice school is in some cases essential to a unit of
instruction for the student-teachers. Under any circumstances it must
have points of contact with that of the city schools, but may vary in
some essential features. Suppose a third grade to be in the hands of
critic- and student-teachers. Previous to this period the regular course
of study has been followed. Succeeding work will come from the same
source. What foundation and what perspective has any departure in
this present year from established customs ? A brave effort may be put,
forth by all parties concerned ; but here again results are not commen-
surate with the time and energy expended.

42 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

Where schools of both theory and practice are housed in one build-
ing there is always the danger of a deadly sameness m ideals and of
practice ; and danger, too, of self -satisfaction. Self-satisfaction means
mental inertia, and nothing is a greater menace to progress. This may
be obviated m great measure by the active co-operation of all mem-
bers of the faculty. Study and independent thinking, with good-
natured freedom of expression, will do wonders in keeping the spirit
of originality alive; and these activities are easily encouraged.

The question of dissatisfaction of parents is met m every city sup-
porting a training school for teachers; and, while unpleasant, it is not
unanswerable nor unreconcilable.

The unified training school certainly does afford fewer points of
contact with the city schools, but it may, by the very fact of its unified
life, have greater richness of results and of suggestion to present to
those who visit the building.

The distinct advantages of the unified school, on the other hand, are
as follows :

It affords frequent and varied opportunities for observation of
expert teaching.

Students are placed in direct contact with children of the various
grades before beginning to teach.

They have opportunity to practice in the different grades, thus
gaining variety of experience in presenting work to children of differ-
ent degrees of advancement.

They have the benefit of participating in the discussions based upon
illustrative lessons, and of all other phases of discussion incidental to
critic meetings.

It is possible in the one-building plan to create an atmosphere con-
ducive to growth and to unity of purpose. This condition is most
essential to the right development of the young teacher.

For the same reason, a course of study for practice schools is
possible from the fact that it has both foundation and perspective.

If, therefore, as I believe, the foregoing conditions are necessary m
order that the best possible results may accrue to the student-teacher
in her inadequate term of practice, a one-building plan is essential,
under ordinary circumstances, to the harmonious and effective workings
of the schools of theory and practice.

THEORY AND PRACTICE AT TEACHERS COLLEGE,
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY.

COMPLEX NATURE OF TEACHERS COLLEGE.

THE extremely complex nature of Teachers College renders any
discussion of the above theme peculiarly difficult. Students may enter
the college as freshmen, specialize in Education the last two years of a
four-year course, and receive a B.S. degree in Education. They may
then continue their studies three years longer until the degree of Ph.D.
in Education is received.

The undergraduate two-year professional courses prepare students
for teaching in the kindergarten, the elementary school, or the second-
ary school, or for teaching domestic art, domestic science, fine arts,
manual training, music, or physical education, in both schools. The
graduate courses allow more advanced work in any of these lines, and
for the work of supervision and administration.

Thus a student may spend seven years at the college in preparation
for educational work, five of which are devoted to professional study;
or, in accordance with his previous training and the special line which
he has chosen, he may spend only one year there. It is evident from
these facts that it is very difficult to make statements that apply to all
students completing a course, and to all grades of work.

COURSES IN EDUCATION VERSUS ACADEMIC OR SUBJECT-MATTER

COURSES.

In the year 1902-3 there were 146 separate courses offered in
Teachers College, varying from i to 6 hours per week, and extending
over a period of either a half or a whole academic year. Fifty per
cent, of all the work offered dealt with Education proper, in distinction
from academic courses, although the subject-matter of nearly all of the
latter was distinctly professional, as, for instance, courses on Textiles
and Foods, for prospective teachers in domestic art and domestic
science.

Less than half of the hours taken by students, however, were in
Education. In fact, on the average, a student taking 16 hours of
instruction per week chose 6 of them in Education proper and 10 in
subject-matter courses. This fact shows conclusively the prevalent

44 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

conviction in the college, that knowledge of subject-matter is at least
not inferior to a knowledge of method and of other educational
theory in the training of teachers. And this was true in spite of the
fact that of the 729 students in residence in 1902-3, 230 were college
graduates, 107 had had a partial college course, and 181 were normal-,
training-, or technical-school graduates, before entering Teachers
College.

In addition, the amount of time spent in study per each unit of
credit was probably somewhat greater in the subject-matter than in the
education courses. Returns from 229 students giving their estimate
of their amount of study show the average amount per each hour of
credit to be 2.16 hours, the average for each hour of credit in subject-
matter courses to be 2.37 hours, and that for each hour of credit in
Education courses to be 1.87 hours. This may be misleading, because
the time spent in practice-teaching and other practical work can
with difficulty be estimated, since it usually consumes a large amount
of time for only a few weeks, and it is very probable that most students
omitted entirely this item from consideration. Yet these figures
approximate the facts, at any rate.

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE ACADEMIC WORK OF TEACHERS COLLEGE
AND THAT OF NON-PROFESSIONAL COLLEGES, LIKE COLUMBIA AND
BARNARD.

i. Teachers College offers 146 courses, aggregating 328 hours, an
"hour" meaning one hour a week for one year. There are, besides
these, four courses (Botany n, 13, 17, 28) given in connection with
other institutions.

Of the 146 courses, 74 (50 per cent, of the total, aggregating 164
hours, also 50 per cent, of the total) are purely educational, although
in the case of Kindergarten courses, Music 10, n, Physical Education
12, 14, and Physical Science i, 2, they are not called courses in Edu-
cation.

Of the nominally academic courses a surprisingly large number are
professional in fact, and are not given in non-professional colleges like
Barnard and Columbia. There are 58 of these courses (81 per cent,
of the nominally academic courses), and they aggregate 131 hours
(8 1 per cent, of the number in the nominally academic courses, and 40
per cent, of the total number of hours).

The following are the courses nominally academic, but in fact
professional :

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 45

Biblical Literature i (2 hours), taken by those who are preparing for
Bible teaching.

Domestic Art 10, 12, 14, 15, 16, 17 (14 hours), taken by those who are
preparing to teach domestic art.

Domestic Science 10, u, 12, 13, 14, 15, 51 (i 8 hours), taken by those who
are preparing to teach domestic science.

Hospital Economics 10, 12, (3 hours), taken by those who are preparing
to train nurses.

English 10 (i hour), "Folk Story," taken by elementary teachers for use
with children.

Fine Arts I, 2, 3, 4, 10, n, 12, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19,22,23(24 hours), taken
by those who are preparing to teach art.

Geography i, 2, 10 (7 hours), taken by those preparing as elementary
teachers, or as special teachers of geography.

German 10 (2 hours), "Reading Educational German;" offered, as its
name suggests, for the use of teachers only.

Greek 5 1 and Latin 5 1 (4 hours), reading courses for high-school teachers.

Manual Training i, 10, u, 13, 15, 17, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 25 (38 hours),
taken by those who are preparing to teach the subject.

Mathematics 51 (2 hours), a course in the history of the subject, designed
especially for high-school teachers.

Music 2, 3, 4, 12, 14 (9 hours), taken by those who are preparing to teach
music in the schools; the same might well be said of music i, included below
in the purely academic list.

Nature Study 10, 12 (4 hours), taken by elementary teachers.

Physical Science 51 (2 hours), a course in the history of the subject,
designed especially for high-school teachers.

While occasionally some of these courses as, for example, Geog-
raphy 10, or some of the courses in Music or the Fine Arts are
duplicated in name in some non-professional college like Columbia or
Barnard, this is exceptional, and even in that case, the aims of the
courses being radically different, there is only a nominal duplication.
Take, for example, a subject like Geography i. While courses in
General Geography, arranged to fit one to become an investigator in
this line, and given with only the scientific end in view, are offered in
academic colleges, and are excellent in their results, these courses
would need to be materially modified to give the best academic prepa-
ration for a teacher.

2. There are 14 purely academic courses, that is, courses not per-
taining to teaching (10 per cent, of the total), aggregating 33 hours
(10 per cent, of the total), offered in Teachers College. These are as
follows :

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

French A and i, German A and 2, History A, and Mathematics A
all offered for economical reasons, there being sufficient students to fill
one or more sections of each. There are also History 2 and 10,
demanded by the number of teachers wishing these courses for high-
school work; Music i, a preliminary for the teachers 7 courses in music,
and demanded for all kindergarten teachers ; and the courses in
Physical Education, which are so manifestly professional that, although
offered in non-professional colleges, they must be given here.

It will, therefore, be seen that the only real duplication of work
with Columbia and Barnard Colleges is necessitated by the size of the
sections, and is as follows :

French A and I (6 hours). History A and 2 (6 hours).

German A and 2 (6 hours). Mathematics A (3 hours).

This is a total of 7 courses, 21 hours, or 5 per cent, of the total
number of courses offered in Teachers College, and 6 per cent, of the
total number of hours. It is evident, too, that the method of instruc-
tion in these courses is, by the nature of the aims of the students
involved, quite different from that in non-professional colleges,
although this point can hardly be made clear to the instructors to
whom these classes are often left in such institutions.

Nevertheless, these subjects in group 2 might with no serious harm
be handed over to Columbia and Barnard Colleges, if it were not for
the economical question involved. If the university should cease to
require subjects like Mathematics A, German A, and History A, the
problem would be to quite an extent solved by the diminution in the
size of classes.

3. The following is a summary of the courses offered at Teachers
College :

COURSES

HOURS

Number

Percentage

Number

Percentage

Purely educational

74
58

SO
40

164
131

50
40

Education in fact, though not in name . . .
Total

132
7
7

5
5

295
12
21

4
6

Purely academic, though not duplicating
Columbia or Barnard Colleges

Duplicating such work

Grand total

146

100

328

100

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 47

It is evident that the above-outlined policy of Teachers College in
regard to subject-matter courses calls into question the special fitness
of the academic subjects in the customary college for those persons
who are expecting to teach.

NATURE OF GENERAL AND SPECIAL COURSES IN EDUCATION THEIR
RELATION TO EACH OTHER AND TO PRACTICE.

In the organization of Teachers Colleges a number of courses
bearing on the general problems of education are provided, as well
as special courses relating to the theory and practice of teaching in
each of the separate departments represented.

The nature of the general courses is twofold : first, a number of
courses that deal with the basic facts of child-life, fundamental educa-
tional principles and leading points in methods of teaching that are
considered as essential elements in the work of all undergraduate
students; and, secondly, a larger number of courses that consider
more advanced problems of the educational philosophy, child-study,
supervision, and school administration, and which are in general
intended for senior and graduate work.

In the first group fall courses in the Elements of Psychology, Educa-
tional Psychology, the History and Principles of Education, and in
General Method and Practice-Teaching, although the latter is a
required course only for the students preparing for general teaching
in the elementary school.

In the second group are courses in Educational Problems, Modern
Educational Theory, School Administration, Child-Study, Genetic
Psychology, Supervision, Critic Work and Experimental Teaching,
and general courses on Secondary Education. In addition to these,
seven "practica" and six seminar courses are offered for further
graduate study. These latter courses call for research work and
intensive study on special phases of general problems, and are open
only to graduate students.

In the first group the course in the Elements of Psychology deals
with the fundamental facts of mental life. While aiming at breadth
and thoroughness, the needs of the prospective teacher are given
prominence through the selection of topics of special pertinence, and
by the use of illustrations from school life whenever possible.

The course in Educational Psychology aims to develop in students
the power to apply the facts of psychology to the problems of teaching.
Special study is made of the meaning of apperception, the problem of

48 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

attention, the relation of memory to knowing, the part played by
imagery, the emotions and interests in child-life, the importance of
habit, and the place of suggestion in teaching.

As a part of the course there is systematic observation of teaching
in the Horace Mann School, during which the points previously
considered are kept to the front. And besides that, a study is made
of ten or more lessons from text-books, the good and the bad points
being noted and the decisions justified.

These two courses, each a three-hour course for one-half year, are
required of all students in the first year of the undergraduate two-year
professional courses for the Bachelor's diplomas and degree in Educa-
tion, and more than any other courses in the institution they are
intended to furnish a basis for the specialized study of education in
each department during the senior year and later.

The only required work in the senior year for all undergraduate
professional courses is the History and Principles of Education.

The first portion of this course examines the ideals and character
of education m oriental countries, in Greece and Rome, passing
thence to the influence of the Middle Ages, and later to the concep-
tions and types of education developed at the time of the Renaissance
and the Reformation. After this, the influence of the great educators
of modern times Rabelais, Montaigne, Milton, Locke, Rousseau,
Basedow, Pestalozzi, Herbart, and Froebel is analyzed, and their
contributions to the present thought and practice are studied.

The psychological conception of education, as represented by
Pestalozzi, Herbart, and Froebel, is contrasted with the sociological
conception, as advanced by Spencer, and the influence of the latter
idea on subject-matter is considered.

At the end of the course a study is made of contemporary concep-
tions of education, involving the nature and aim of Education, the
institutional factors in the process, the subject-matter and method,
and the organization and administration of education.

This is a three-hour course for one year, and, since the average
student is expected to take fifteen hours of work per week, the pro-
portionate time belonging to it is evident. Returns from 101 students
who were taking this course last year show it, too, to have required
possibly more than the average time for educational courses, namely,
1.96 hours of study for i hour in class.

Several important questions arise m regard to the relation of this

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 49

course to other requirements of students, particularly to those of
students in the several technical departments of the college:

1. Is not the total amount of the time required for it out of pro-
portion to the other work of the senior year ?

2. Does it not devote too large an amount of students' time to the
study of ancient educational ideals and practices, which have relatively
small direct bearing on modern thought, and which lack vital
suggestiveness and stimulating quality to students whose main
interests are in the present problems of the methods courses ?

If the reply is made that one important aim here is culture, is it
not true that the devotion of a large amount of time to this early
period for its culture value is out of place in the most strictly pro-
fessional year of the undergraduate work ? Also, may it not be true
that as great breadth of view can be obtained from a more intensive
study of problems that appear more vitally related to the student's
outlook and experience ?

On the other hand, is not too little time devoted to the more
recent ideas of educational theory and practice, such as the ideas of
unification and correlation in the course of study, the relation of
school life to community life, the influence of vocational demands and
conditions upon school work, the place of art and occupations in
interpreting social life ? In brief, how practical should a course in the
history and principles of education plan to be ?

These problems are too difficult to attempt to solve them at the
present time, but since much the same questions arise in other insti-
tutions for the training of teachers, the hope may be here expressed
that they will receive due attention in the near future.

The undergraduate special methods courses need no description at
this point. Among the graduate courses the "practica" are of special
interest because they aim primarily to teach the proper methods of
investigating educational problems. It is true that ideas are still
vague as to how the scientific method can be applied to the field of
education, but it is certainly in place to undertake the task. The
advance of the science of education is directly dependent upon the use
of the scientific method, for otherwise the conclusions reached are
only views, opinions, not fairly proved facts. The seminars are
continuations of the "practica," their special purpose being the
preparation of dissertations for the degree of Ph.D. A consider-
able portion of the advanced work, therefore, has for its distinctive

50 THE THIRD YEARBOOK.

aim the teaching of right methods of investigation of educational
problems.

PRACTICAL WORK.

The term "practical work" was finally hit upon in the search for
a suitable name to cover the various kinds of practice, m distinction
from theory, undertaken by students in the Horace Mann School and
the Speyer School. Included among these kinds are :

Observation of a single child, a small group, or a class.

Instruction of a single child, a small group, or a class.

Preparation of materials for use of a class.

Examination of papers, collecting data for a class.

The observation or study of a school as a whole, its organization and
discipline.

Any work that involves direct contact with children, or with their parents,
or with the environment of both, for the purpose of influencing the school
instruction, or for improving the condition of either, through educational
means.

The practical work, therefore, finds its center in the government,
instruction, and study of children, although it includes whatever
neighborhood work is primarily educational. Thus the practical work
in Teachers College includes far more than observation and practice-
teaching, as these terms are commonly used in training schools for
teachers.

The two schools used for practical work differ widely in their nature.

THE HORACE MANN SCHOOL.

The Horace Mann School, in a building connected with Teachers
College, consists of a kindergarten (37 children), an elementary school
of seven grades (424 children), and a high-school with a five-year
cdurse (430 students); the three departments together having 891 pupils.
The number of teachers is 65. The tuition in the kindergarten is $75
per year, which is gradually increased in the grades, until the amount
per pupil in the high school is $250.

The school is under the control of a superintendent, assisted by
three principals, /. <?., of the high school, the elementary school, and
the kindergarten. Thus the so-called "Horace Mann School" is
really a system of schools, corresponding to a full city system, in
miniature.

The numerous heads of departments in the college bring m an
additional factor. These have always been active in determining *5e

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 5 1

Horace Mann School curriculum in their respective subjects, and in
the selection of text-books, apparatus, etc. They also meet the teach-
ers frequently, individually and in groups, for discussion of the work
of the school. Yet their relation to the school in all these matters is
advisory only, the superintendent and principals possessing the final
authority to decide upon curriculum, text-books, etc. The reason for
this arrangement is the conviction that specialists, no matter how com-
petent and energetic, are unprepared to control the instruction in a
school. Final responsibility must be centered in one person and his
assistants, in order to secure a good curriculum and a fair degree of
unity in other respects.

This arrangement, however, leaves it practically to the option of
each department how much energy it shall expend in trying to better
the school. It is the opinion of the undersigned that a faculty regu-
lation, whereby each department shall put in writing its recommenda-
tions as to curriculum, text-books, method, etc., would effect an
important improvement. If such a recommendation were expected to
reach the superintendent of the school by a certain date each year, a
positive responsibility would be placed upon each department. If, in
addition, a brief reply to the main points, in writing, could be expected
from the principals or superintendent of the school, a business relation
between the two parties would be established which might prove very
beneficial to .all concerned.

Yet there is another need more important than this. Thus far the
Horace Mann School has not been a center of interest for Teachers
College as a whole. Each department bears a certain relation to the
school, to be sure, but the many departments have failed to work
together in the solution of the problems of instruction there. The
result is that both the college and the school lose the benefit of a close
contact between departments in the discussion of practical school ques-
tions. This means that the college fails to take advantage of its
highest opportunity.

Whether this evil can ever be largely remedied is a question. The
size of the city, which places the homes of members of the faculty ten
to fifteen miles apart, makes it extremely difficult to bring many
together for evening meetings. But, worse than that, the diverse
interests of the departments render it difficult to find vital questions
of common interest. For example, departments representing the
kindergarten, elementary instruction, secondary instruction (such as

52 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

Latin, Physical Education, Music, and Handwork), college instruction
(as History of Education), school administration, and child-study, can-
not readily unite in the discussion of practical problems.

Possibly it is best not to attempt unity in such diversity. But it
might, at least, be feasible for the departments to be grouped in two or
more divisions ; for instance, those interested primarily in elementary
instruction constituting one group, aud those interested in secondary
instruction, another group. Each should have its own executive com-
mittee or chairman and its stated meetings, and the latter could well
equal the library as a stimulus and source of suggestions.

The high tuition is partial explanation for the fact that the school is
little used for practice-teaching, although some instruction is under-
taken by students in each of the three departments. The absence of
such practice, however, renders the school all the more valuable as a
model for observation, which is its chief function.

There are at present twenty-three methods courses that make much
use of the Horace Mann School for various kinds of practical work.
They are given by sixteen departments in the college and average
about fourteen students per class, with the exception of one required
course that has two hundred members. One of these is a kindergarten
course, one is a kindergarten and primary course combined, seven deal
with elementary instruction alone, eight with secondary instruction,
and six with both elementary and secondary teaching. Twenty of
these are special methods courses, only three being general. These
twenty-three courses average almost three hours per week for one year,
and a little more than one-third of this time is spent in practical work
in the Horace Mann School, the remainder being occupied in class-
room instruction m the college. Several other education courses make
some use of the Horace Mann School.

It is evident, from the above, that it is the policy of the college to
have subject-matter and methods courses quite distinct from each
other, although all departments would agree that a large amount of
method is taught in the subject-matter courses. The idea prevails that
there is a sufficient quantity of work pertaining to method to make it
necessary to offer separate courses in that field.

Each of these professional courses has been developed independ-
ently by the department concerned. No extensive uniformity exists,
therefore, or has been aimed at, although comparison of views has no
doubt influenced every course materially. In general, it can be said,

RELATION' OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 53

however, that the students are divided into small groups, and each
group is placed in charge of a regular teacher of the Horace Mann
School. In case a methods class has very few students, they may con-
stitute only one such group ; but a class of twenty-five members might
be divided into two or three divisions, and asssigned to as many
teachers, for practical work.

These teachers naturally have their preferences even in the primary
department, and some degree of specialization is customary in the
grammar grades, as well as in the high school. Each head of depart-
ment, therefore, can without difficulty find satisfactory teachers particu-
larly interested in his field among whom to divide the students in his
methods courses. Notices of assignment and records of the same are
all attended to by an administrative officer of the college, and the stu-
dent's program must be arranged in this respect, as in others, at the
beginning of the year.

From the time of receiving a group of students, the teacher in the
Horace Mann School is the one primarily responsible for their welfare
in this work. Indeed, the head of department concerned may seldom
put in an appearnce to see what the students are accomplishing,
although this is the exception rather than the rule. But, on the other
hand, it is the rule that the teachers having charge of students in any
branch are intimately acquainted with the desires of the college depart-
ment that they represent, and are in such sympathy with it that they
are capable of acting as valuable assistants to it in the field of practice.
Indeed, their very reliability offers a temptation to the heads of depart-
ments to leave with them the entire responsibility. It should be
remembered, too, that the professors in the college are usually experi-
enced teachers of children or of young people below college rank, and
in conjunction with the teachers in the Horace Mann School have
largely determined the present curriculum of the school. They are,
therefore, capable of keeping in close touch with the practical work
of their students, without seeing a large amount of it. The responsi-
bility for accepting the practical work for college credit rests primarily
with the teachers of the Horace Mann School. This is a serious
responsibility, in addition to their other regular duties ; but usually
any one teacher has no more than one group of college students to
supervise, and the cheerfulness with which, almost universally, this
duty is undertaken is convincing proof of its worth to the teachers.
The requirements for the various diplomas and degrees are so

54 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

different that it is impossible to state exactly how much practical work
a student takes. But, m general, each undergraduate student pursues
at least one general methods course, and the undergraduate and grad-
uate students alike pursue from one to four other methods courses,
general and special. Ordinarily, therefore, a student cannot receive
any kind of diploma with less than one hour per week, for one year,
of practical work in the Horace Mann School, and it is the rule to take
from two to three times that amount.

The observation work naturally finds its motive partly in the
practice-teaching that is to follow; yet the time devoted to observation
by the student is much greater than that devoted to actual teaching.
In fact, the amount of instruction in the Horace Mann School given
by a student does not, as a rule, exceed a half-dozen recitation periods,
although there are numerous exceptions. The fact that the Speyer
School is primarily the school for practice-teaching partly explains
this, as does also the high tuition, already referred to. But, in addi-
tion, the faculty of Teachers College is practically unanimous m its
hearty belief in the great value of observation, when preceded and
accompanied by well-developed theory, and when the observation is
tested in discussion by competent critics.

THE SPEYER SCHOOL.

The Speyer School, located eight blocks directly north of Teachers
College, at 94 Lawrence street, is a free school entirely supported by-,
and under the control of, the College. The term "school" here, how-
ever, includes not only a school in the ordinary sense, but an organiza-
tion for neighborhood work as well. The school proper consists at
present of a kindergarten and six grades (160 children in all), the
seventh and eighth grades to be added as the present sixth grade
advances. The number of regular teachers is 7, besides an acting
principal and several supervisors. The children are desired to repre-
sent average families in their home advantages, and have been chosen
with this in view from those who have happened to offer themselves a&
pupils.

The neighborhood work is under the control of a director, who is-
assisted by three regularly employed assistants, besides twenty or thirty
other workers, giving one or more hours per week each. The resident
workers occupy the fifth floor of the building. The school and neigh-
borhood work together keep the greater portion of the building occu-

RELATION OP THEORY TO PRACTICE 55

pied throughout the day and evening. The "school," including these
two kinds of work, is under the general supervision of two departments
of the college, the department of school administration being responsi-
ble for all matters of business, and the department of elementary edu-
cation for all matters strictly educational, such as curriculum, selection
of text-books, etc. The other departments of the college have a
decided influence on the school ; indeed, in several cases, a very active
share in its work ; but their relation is only advisory, as at the Horace
Mann School.

The school proper is primarily a school of practice and experiment.
It is used mainly by college seniors and graduate students. A large
percentage of the former are normal-school graduates, and many are
experienced teachers. They undertake practice-teaching as a required
part of their methods courses, and they find its chief value in the
criticisms received. As a rule, they teach one branch of study for a
month or more, after having observed a class long enough to become
fairly well acquainted with the children and their work.

The graduate students who do work at the school are more numerous
than the undergraduates. They get the benefit of criticism, as do the
others ; but that is not the main profit aimed at. Their work is usually
of an experimental nature, although they sometimes act as supervisors
and critics of other students. Most of such work, as most of the other
practical work both at the Horace Mann and at the Speyer School, is
immediately a part of some college course, the class-room discussion
dealing with theory, and this practice aiming at the application of that
theory. In connection with such courses, some topic bearing on the
curriculum or on method may be selected that calls both for research
in the library and for actual experiment in the Speyer School. For
example, this year two students have chosen the problem of teaching
children how to study history; one, the problem of primitive life in the
first two grades ; three, the possibility and feasibility of a much better
kind of problem in arithmetic; one, the difficulties in the way of uni-
fying the kindergarten and primary school, and the remedies for them.
The last topic calls for library research and observation mainly, rather
than practice-teaching. Whatever assistance can be gotten from any
department is entirely admissible, but the student must have force
enough to carry on his investigation in his own way, and reach safe
conclusions of some sort from data that an outsider can appreciate.
Valuable new knowledge is one thing aimed at, but a good method of

56 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

working on educational problems, approximating a scientific method,
is not less important. Thus there are two values aimed at in such
graduate work that are not expected for undergraduate students.

The neighborhood or settlement work has been begun by attempt-
ing to duplicate such work as is done in the better "Settlements" in
cities. To this end classes in cooking, sewing, and dancing have been
conducted in the afternoon ; numerous clubs have been established for
the evenings, devoting their time to exercises in the gymnasium, includ-
ing the use of the bath, to manual work, to literature, to parliamentary
law, home nursing, etc., and the library with two reading rooms, has
been kept open at certain hours for the use of adults and children.
In addition, a large number of children collect at the building on
afternoons for games of various kinds, and for story-telling; and
on certain evenings young people and adults meet there for social
entertainment, including games, music, reading, and dancing in their
program. Through these means as many as three hundred families
are affected more or less, while the school proper reaches about one
hundred and fifty other families, the two groups of families overlapping
very little. Thus the neighborhood work supplements that of the
school, so that the two together influence between four hundred and
five hundred families in a community of perhaps 150,000 persons. And
since the classes and clubs are conducted or supervised mainly by vol-
unteer students from Columbia College as well as from Teachers
College, the value to the university as a whole is apparent. Much of
this volunteer work is no part of any course and receives no credit,
being undertaken solely on account of a desire to engage in some
form of social work.

The moment, however, one attempts to do considerably more than
entertain children in a club for an hour or more that is, the moment
one undertakes to put such work on an educational plane he is con-
fronted with a most difficult problem. Proper discipline requires more
judgment and successful appeals to interest demand more skill, than
in the day school. Both subject-matter and method, must therefore,
receive special attention. More originality and a more careful study of
home habits, street life, etc., are demanded than in ordinary instruction.
For such reasons this work may now also be accepted m Teachers Col-
lege as practical work with credit for graduate students. For example,
one student the present year has general charge of the manual training
in the several boys' clubs ; two together are in control of a club that

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 57

aims at the good oral reading and also telling of classic stories, dramas,
etc.; one will soon undertake the instruction of a class of children
defective in hearing ; and one is responsible for teaching games and
other kinds of entertainment to a class of fifteen-year old girls. All
s/uch work is peculiarly difficult and truly experimental, since neither
The customs of the schools nor those of the settlements can be adopted.
There is the assumption here, too, that social service is fully within the
sphere of the duties of teachers in training, and experience of this sort
will have a much-needed effect upon the common school.

As time passes an attempt will be made to modify this neighbor-
hood work radically, and to bring it and the day school together. At
present, although the two are conducted in the same building, they
deal with different classes of people and have different aims, so that
they are practically unrelated. In consequence, each is seriously defec-
tive. Anyone must admit that even the so-called good school of the
present is a thoroughly theoretical institution, imparting a large amount
of theory about how to live and exciting a good degree of interest, but
not following up either to the point of use or practice. So it is with
the Speyer School. The neighborhood work, on the other hand, is
superficial and scattering, offering little of theory; in fact, trying to be
practical on a meager quantity of thought.

If the two efforts could be united into a single work, something of
far more value might be accomplished. Then the solution of probably
the greatest modern educational problem would be undertaken, namely,
the question : Is it possible for a school to be so conducted as to com-
bine theory with practice abundantly? The first step toward a solution
would consist in centering the attention of the teachers and neighbor-
hood workers alike upon largely the same set of persons ; that is, the
children in the school and their parents. A few concrete examples
will suggest the possibilities that might follow.

The fourth grade in the school recently planted some narcissus
bulbs in a small flower garden out-of-doors, and afterward made some
study of such bulbs. Suppose, in this connection, that the children
were brought to realize that the long winter is before us, during which
the coloring of vegetation can be little enjoyed, and that the narcissus
bulb is a special means of securing beautiful flowers at the earliest
possible moment in the spring. Suppose that it is also shown that
thousands of persons in our city so hunger for such beauty during the
cold season that they spend money for flowers, just as for bread, thus

58 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

supporting a florist's establishment every few blocks. Suppose, finally,
that similar flower-producing bulbs are studied and associated with the
narcissus, such as the hyacinth, tulip, jonquil, and tuberose. At this
point school instruction must usually stop owing to pressure of other
duties.

But the real fruitage of the learning is lost, unless other things are
added. Awakened to a sense of the beauty and need of more color
in winter, the children might be led to care for some house plants dur-
ing this period. But what kinds, where obtained, where placed, and
how cared for? Under guidance they might form the habit of visiting
the florists occasionally for the purpose of seeing the variety of plants
on hand, renewing the acquaintance with some, and buying some.
The children even in the kindergarten have volunteered the ^informa-
tion that they can "work" their fathers for pennies, if they ask for
one at a time, and the first five cents spent by a child for flowers marks
an epoch in his life much as when one's first book is purchased.
Where, also, might some of these several kinds of bulbs be bought,
how much would they cost, where and how might they be planted, and
how should each be cared for ? The school breaks down at such work
as this because of a lack of helpers; and at this point it is proposed
that the neighborhood workers come in to give assistance, following
up each of these points to its execution.

But these workers might well, also, make demands on the school.
In the course of their visits to the homes in the neighborhood they dis-
cover what newspapers and magazines, if any, are read, and to some
extent how they are read. They make some observations on the topics
of conversation at meal times, the furniture of the home, the sanitary
conditions, the extent to which the families spend their evenings together,
the behavior of older children toward their younger brothers and sisters
and their parents, the games that are played, and other amusements.
Conscious of the needs that these observations suggest, why should
not these workers influence the teachers to instruct the older children
about differences among newspapers, what the characteristics of the
best ones are, what the best parts of a paper are, and how to read the
various parts ? Why should they not, likewise, expect the teachers to
acquaint the children, and the parents through parents' meetings, with
the faults of poor magazines, and the names of some of the best and
cheapest, including some discussion as to how to read them ? Why
might they not further insist that more topics be included in the school

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE 59

curriculum that would prove acceptable as topics of conversation at
home, the teacher aiming to present these in such a manner that the
children would be able to converse about them intelligently ? Why
not, in addition, suggest that the ability to tell a story and read well
aloud be so developed on classic subject-matter that the ability
may often prove the means of holding the members of a family
together in the evening ? The school already partly accomplishes
these tasks. If it would go farther, the neighborhood workers could
be of great assistance in carrying them to the end, in executing the
theory offered by the school. In this manner the teachers and the
neighborhood workers might well co-operate, each assisting the other
and each asking assistance from the other.

The problem involved calls into question the nature of the school.
So much of what is taught there is never followed up to the point of
execution, is not made to meet real needs, even when it might well
meet them. And so much of what is taught is quite unrelated to real
needs, to life ! It is no wonder that many persons doubt the possi-
bility of making the school strongly practical as well as theoretical. If
a number of experimental stations, such as the Speyer School, would
work energetically on this problem, a different faith might come into
being. It would take a larger force of teachers to conduct a school that
actually applied a fair part of the knowledge that it presented, but the
public would finally be far more willing to employ a larger number.
There are many indications that the school of the future will combine
many of the characteristics of the present public school with those of the
present settlement work, being perhaps a sort of cross between the two.
It is the purpose, at least, to strive in this direction in the Speyer
School, and to call upon graduate students to share in such work,
whether they undertake "practical work" in the school proper or in the
other branches of the institution. Gradually the two must become one,
if the educational theory of the college finds realization in the school.

In conclusion, it is impossible to determine from the preceding
statements just how much observation, practice-teaching, or other prac-
tical work is required from students of Teachers College. It should
be remembered that this is due to the great variety of purpose and
advancement of the students. It is at least a question whether college
graduates who have taught for a number of years, and who are now
specializing in the history of education or child-study, should be

60 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

required to do any practice-teaching whatever. And it is evident that
others should do more or less of such work, according to their past
training and present object. But, on the other hand, any student who
wishes to specialize to a considerable extent in practical work in the
" elementary " school can do so to his heart's content at Teachers Col-
lege. The two schools offer ample facilities at present. When it comes
to secondary work, however, this is unfortunately not yet the case.

PLANS OF RECITATIONS.

There is a general agreement among the departments of the college
that written plans for recitations are an essential element in the train-
ing of teachers. But the nature of such plans has been differently con-
ceived by the various instructors, so that students taking a methods
course under one professor have made out one kind of plan, and taking
such a course under another have followed a different scheme. This
lack of harmony has led to much confusion and loss of time. It has
seemed important, therefore, that some agreement be reached as to the
main characteristics' of these plans. Following is a typical plan, taken
from Manual Training, whose form has been agreed upon as acceptable
by about half of the departments of the college. Quite possibly it will
prove acceptable to the remainder when opportunity has been found
for its careful consideration.

LESSON PLAN FOR MAKING A SAILBOAT FIFTH GRADE.

PREPARED BY DR. E. B. KENT.

Teacher's aim. To make a sailboat which shall have value for the children as a toy, and thereby
to determine some fundamental principles of boat construction. Illustrations of these principles are to be
observed at the One Hundred and Twenty-ninth street piers.

Children's aim. To make a sailboat.

SUBJECT-MATTER. METHOD.

How many of you have made sailboats?
What difficulties, if any, did you meet m

making them? In sailing them?
We shall try to avoid these.
A. ThthulL What shall we make first?

i. It must float; f. *., be lighter than i. What is the most important point to

equal bulk of water. look out for in making the hull?

Advantages of wood, paper, etc. What, then, are good materials?

How iron may be used. But are not steamships built of iron?

Why do they float? Illustrate with
a cup.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE

SUBJECT-MATTER.

Hollowness, rather than lightness
of material, keeps most boats
afloat.

Wood best for our purpose because
it will float without being hol-
lowed.

Form.

a) Must be such as to allow the

greatest speed.

Sharpening the prow will in-
crease speed.
Length of point, 3" 4*.

b] Must be such as to sail straight;

i, e. t bi-symmetrical.

Prow must be in middle of end.
Slant must be the same on both

sides.
Use of chisel.

Advantage of making the cuts

parallel to the line.
e) Other details of form affecting
speed.

All splashing by the boat is
wasted energy.

Occurs at corners.

Bottom to be rounded with

plane or knife.

Stern cut to semicircle, and
made to slant upward from
keel.

B, Motive power.
I. Mast.

The larger the sail, the more power.

METHOD.

What, then, has lightness of material
to do with keeping the ordinary
boat afloat?

Best material for us to use?

a) Why not use these blocks just as
they are (i*X2 <r X 10") for our
hulls?
Why make them pointed?

How long shall the point be?
&) In planning the point, we must
think of something else besides
speed.
How would a boat act if shaped

like this? ( >- - -

(top view).

How, then, must we plan the point?
Draw lines for point.

What tool shall we cut them with?
Who can show us how to use it?
(Class begins work.)

f) Is there anything else which we
may do to the hull to increase
the speed?

The point increases speed because
it reduces the splashing of the
boat saves the water from turn-
ing sharp corners.

At what other points will there be
splashing and disturbance of
water?

How remedy this?

Process treated as above.
How describe a good hull?
(Work.)

What shall we do next?
How tall a mast?

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

SUBJECT-MATTER.

The size o sail is limited by the
height of the mast.

The height of the mast is limited
by the stability of hull.

Consequences of too high a mast.

Ballast.

Steadies boat and so allows in-
creased sail area.

Freight ships depend on their car-
go for ballast.

Racing yachts have a deep-reach-
ing metal keel.

Use of large nail as ballast

a) As common keel, fastened to
bottom of boat with staples.
Better for use in shallow
water.

t) As "fin" keel, by driving per-
pendicularly into bottom of boat.
Much steadier, but requires
deep water.
Best height for mast.

Determined by experiment at sink
or in pail of water. Allow some-
thing for weight of sail.

A mast should taper to give maxi-
mum of strength and lightness
respectively where each is most
needed.

Process.

1) Bore #* hole through boat i'
or 2* forward of center.

2) Spht a long piece from a %*
board and fit to boat.

3) Test in water and cut off at top
till boat becomes steady.

4) Cut off about more to allow
for weight of sail.

5 ) T aper mast using plane or knife.

6) Split the lower end of mast, in-
s ert in hole, and secure by driv-
ing wooden wedge into the split.

METHOD.

Why so tall?
Why not taller?

Can we do anything to the hull which
will enable it to carry more mast and
sail without capsizing?

Is this done with real boats? How?

In what two ways could you use this
spike as ballast for your boat?

Advantages of each?

(Work.)

Now, once more, how tall shall we make
the mast?

How find out? Only by trying. Begin
with a mast you are sure is tall enough
and cut it down till boat behaves prop-
erly in water.

What is the proper shape for a mast?
Why?

What shall we do first in making the
mast? Why? What next? Why? etc.

RELATION OF THEORY TO PRACTICE

SUBJECT-MATTER.

3. Sail.

a) Size as high as mast will al-
low and almost as broad at
bottom .

&) Shapes.

(1) Common, four sided; gives

largest surface.

(2) Triangular, or "leg of mut-

ton;" less surface, but
more easily made and
rigged.
f) Spreading.

Use of boom, gaff, hoisting-line.
Loops for attaching to mast.
Hems for holding boom and gaff.
Process.
Cut sail.
Make hems.

Attach mast-loops and hoist-
ing-line.
Insert spars.

Make small hole in top of
mast and pass hoisting-line
through it.

C. Means of steering.
Necessity of rudder.

It tends to push the stern of the
boat away from the side toward
which it is turned.

A sailboat cannot be steered very much
by the rudder alone. The slant of
the sail must often be changed too,
and this we cannot do on our boat
Still we shall need a rudder to hold
the stern in place, and thus make the
boat point always with the wind in-
stead of turning around and around.
(Possibly discuss tacking and ex-
plain how a boat may sail almost
into the wind.)
Making a rudder.

Surface about i^ ff square.
Fitted to hole in stern.

METHOD.

What shape and size of sail shall we use?

Advantages of the different shapes.

How kept spread?

Cut paper pattern just the shape and size

you wish your sail to be.
Cut from cloth, allowing enough for the

hems.
Now, what do you think are the two

most important things to look out for

in making a sail?

Does the boat need anything else? How
are boats steered?

On a sailboat, is the steering done en-
tirely by the rudder?

(State facts opposite.)

What shall be the shape of the rudder?
How large?
How attached?

Conclude with excursion to the One Hundred and Twenty-ninth street piers.
Study the adaptation of the different types there seen to their various purposes, and
explain in this way the larger differences in form, speed, motive power, etc.

64 THE, THIRD YEARBOOK

The first characteristic of this plan is that it has two parts, subject-
matter and method, that are quite distinct from each other. The
primary reason for this separation is that poor teaching is as often due
to lack of digestion of subject-matter as to bad method; and when the
subject-matter is not placed entirely by itself it is difficult to see how
poorly it has been organized or how meager it is in content. And
since it is necessary to think subject-matter through, independently of
method, indeed before method has been considered, the former is
placed on the left.

The method of presenting any portion of the subject-matter is
found immediately to the right in the method column a plan that
can be followed in most cases, though not in all.

The method of presentation is shown in direct discourse because,
when the recitation is finally being conducted, the thought of the
teacher must take that form. This characteristic, also, cannot belong
to all recitations, although it can to a great part of them.

The paragraphing and indentation, both in subject-matter and
method, are intended to reveal the relative values of facts and remarks,
a matter of the utmost importance in teaching. Only when relative
values are thus clearly foreseen by the teacher are they likely to be
appreciated by the learner.

There is no opposition between the Herbartian "formal steps" and
the form of plan here suggested. In fact, they merely supplement
each other; the "formal steps" indicate the main steps in the inductive-
deductive movement, and this form of plan merely suggests other
thoughts besides those that might well be guides when one is preparing
lesson plans.

F. M. McMuRRY.
T. D. WOOD.

D. E. SMITH.

C. H. FARNSWORTH.

G. R. RICHARDS.

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

OF THE

NATIONAL SOCIETY FOR THE SCIEN-
TIFIC STUDY OF EDUCATION

PART II
NATURE-STUDY

WILBUR S. JACKMAN

The University of Chicago

EDITED BY

MANFRED J. HOLMES

MEETINGS FOR THE DISCUSSION OF THIS PAPER WILL BE HELD AT 4:00 P. M.,

MONDAY, JUNE 27, AND AT 4:30 P. M., TUESDAY, JUNE 28, 1904,

ROOM I, HALL OF CONGRESSES, WORLD'S

FAIR GROUNDS, ST. LOUIS

CHICAGO

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS
1904

MANFRED J. HOLMES
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

NOTICE TO ACTIVE MEMBER^

THIS YEARBOOK brings before the National Society a timely and
valuable contribution dealing with one of the most vital problems of
the elementary course of study.

Professor Jackman is a well-known pioneer and leader in nature-
study, and what he says on the subject will command the attention
of all serious students of the elementary-school problem.

There will no doubt be a large attendance of active members at
our St. Louis meetings, and it is urged that each member make a
careful study of the paper beforehand. Experience shows clearly
that such preliminary study is necessary to appreciation and fair
treatment of the author, and that without it our meetings cannot
yield their highest value.

It is probably the unanimous voice of the members of the Society
that the discussion should be on the paper, and that those who have
studied it should be given preference in discussion. Carefully pre-
pared discussions will be valuable for the YEARBOOK.

It will do much to extend and carry out the work of the Society
if members will form local round tables for the study of the prob-
lems discussed in the YEARBOOKS. Such local circles can get extra
books at a reduction of one-fifth the retail price by sending directly
to The University of Chicago Press.

Election of active members and other business will be transacted
at the Tuesday meeting. The time for this second meeting can be
changed, if necessary, to meet the convenience of the members
present.

At one of the meetings time will be given to the reception of five-
to ten-minute reports from active members setting forth some specific
problem they are at work upon, showing method of attacking the
problem, and indicating results when results have been reached.
These reports ought to be of value in several ways ; but first of all
they will show the extent to which scientific spirit and method are
found in the educational field, so far as the members of the National
Society represent that field.

It is believed that these written reports will be one of the most
interesting features of our programs, and, at the discretion of the
Executive Committee, may be printed in the YEARBOOK. Any mem-
ber having such report, but being unable to attend the meetings, is
requested to send it to the Secretary.

OFFICERS AND EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE.

WILBUR S. JACKMAN, University of Chicago, President.
CHARLES DEGARMO, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.
CHARLES P. CARY, State Superintendent, Madison, Wis.
REUBEN POST HALLECK, Male High School, Louisville, Ky.
CHARLES A. McMuRRY, Northern Illinois State Normal School,

DeKalb, 111.
MANFRED J. HOLMES, Illinois State Normal University, Normal, 111.,

Secretary- Treasurer.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

FOREWORD - - - _ g

CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION --------- 9-21

1. Nature-Study Its General Meaning 9

2. The Unity of Nature-Study and Natural Science - - - n

3. The Nature of Observation - 15

4. Imaging in Nature- Study 18

CHAPTER II. THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 22-43

1. Field-Work ---------- 22

2. Nature-Study and Man in the Landscape ----- 27

3. The Farm ----------- 29

4. The Garden --- 31

5. The Dwelling - - - 37

6. The City 39

7. Nature-Study and History -- 41

CHAPTER III. THE STUDY OF INDIVIDUALS versus THAT OF TYPES - 44-49

CHAPTER IV. NATURE-STUDY AND EXPRESSION 50-64

i. Color - 50

2 Drawing ----------- 54

3 Modeling ----------- 55

4. Making --_ -- 55

5 Reading and Writing --------- 56

6. Music ----------- 62

CHAPTER V. NUMBER- WORK IN NATURE-STUDY ----- 65-72

1. Dispersal of Seeds --------- 69

2. Seasonal Conditions : Were They Favorable or Unfavorable? 70

CHAPTER VI. NATURE-STUDY AND MORALS ----- 73-81

APPENDIX A. A RECORD IN NATURE-STUDY ----- 82-83

APPENDIX B. COURSE OF STUDY -------- 84-96

MINUTES OF MEETINGS HELD AT ATLANTA, GA , FEBRUARY 22-25, 1904 97~99
LIST OF ACTIVE MEMBERS --------- 100-103

FOREWORD.

IN placing this contribution before the Society, it is deemed neces-
sary to offer a word of explanation as to form and content. Nature-
study is not a matter that can be argued into the schools, nor can it
be established by tumbling down upon them a great load of miscel-
laneous facts. Neither can it ever play any important part in educa-
tion while it is treated as a thing in itself. This monograph has been
prepared, therefore, with three points in mind: (i) that nature-
study must be presented in accordance with the general principles of
psychology which apply to all other subjects ; (2) by a few illustra-
tions, to show how it is necessary to start with great general views or
pictures of nature and to proceed gradually to the details, thus
enabling the mind as it grows, to organize the facts, the lesser under
the greater, at every step ; (3) that nature-study forms but a part of
the educational work; its relationships reach into all other sub-
jects which go to make up the whole. The aim has been to emphasize
these points by stating reasons, without entering upon exhaustive
arguments ; by suggesting salient centers of subject-matter, without
becoming submerged in minute details ; by dealing with the prin-
ciples of method, without prolonging a discussion of devices ; and,
finally, by carrying through the whole a due regard for the needs of
the young and growing mind, and a proper consideration for its
methods and modes of development.

The paper embodies the best results of the author's experience of
several years of teaching the subject, and he will be only too happy
if it calls forth from his colleagues and many friends a discussion
that will point the way to better things.

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

NATURE-STUDY.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.

i. NATURE-STUDY: ITS GENERAL MEANING.

THE spirit of nature-study requires that the pupils be intelligently
directed in the study of their immediate environment in its relation
to themselves ; that there shall be, under the natural stimulus of the
desire to know, a constant effort at a rational interpretation of the
common things observed. If this plan be consistently pursued, it
will naturally follow that the real knowledge acquired, the trust-
worthy methods developed, and the correct habits of observing and
imaging formed will lay a sound foundation for the expansive scien-
tific study which gradually creates a world-picture, and at the same
time enables the student, by means of the microscope, the dissecting
knife and the alembic, to penetrate intelligently into its minute details.

The study of nature ultimately resolves itself into a study of
energy. The great aspects under which energy may be observed
color, form, and force are presented to the children through an
inquiry into their functions.

In nature-study as in everything else, the work must begin
with what the individual has already acquired, and it should pro-
ceed from this according to the natural laws of mind-growth. The
pupil's knowledge of nature, which must be recognized as the basis
for further study, has been gathered by a more or less careful
observation of his surrounding landscape. The function of the
teacher is to assist the learner through experiment, and by following
the suggestions derived from experience in an elaboration of the
details of this great indefinite picture. If properly conducted, the
study will lead to a fuller recognition of natural laws which are
simply the statement of the sequence of phenomena, that, so far as
observed, remains constant.

10 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

It is a fact of tremendous import for teachers to remember that
there can be no rational observation of anything that is not stimu-
lated and guided by the suggestion of law. This is true whether
the pupil is a child or an adult. Failure to understand the impor-
tance of this point is responsible for the unspeakable confusion
which now exists in most teachers' minds regarding the selection
and presentation of material in nature-study. The examination
by children into the minute details of a subject is not only a physical
impossibility, but it is also an absurdity, for the simple reason
that for them through these minutiae there can be no manifestation
of law. Illustrations are abundant. The older botany, when tried
with the children, failed for precisely this reason. The children
could see, physically, the venation, margin, shape, etc., of leaves;
but their work fell below true observation, and consequently interest
died out, because as presented, no reason or law suggested itself in
explanation of these facts. When the same facts are reached through
a broad presentation of the plant's relations to light, heat, and
moisture, they at once become true and interesting objects of
observation and fruitful sources of thought, because the perceived
relationships suggest reasons that explain them. The same is true
whatever may be the aspect of presentation that of beauty as well
as that of use. For the idea of beauty rests finally upon the
perception of fitness, of adaptation; and adaptation points to the
statement of a law.

It must not be supposed that it is here maintained that everything
done in nature-study should lead at once to an actual formulation
of law. This would be manifestly impossible and absurd. Many
things are under observation at present for which the wisest cannot
state the law but it is their suggestion in that direction that preserves
interest in the study. The sweep of the seasons is a fact that
may be so presented to children that its hint of law will stimulate
active observation and thought long before any formula for it can
be stated.

The region of nature is for the child, as for the savage and the
ignorant man, a domain of mystery and of fancy. The aim of the
teacher should be so to present nature and its various manifestations
that the reasonableness of things shall appear. The pupil must be
trained to see things, as nearly as he can, as they actually exist, and
not as though he were intoxicated or insane or in a delirium.

INTRODUCTION II

There is no reason to fear that this will rob anyone of his enjoy-
ment of nature, or that it will reduce it at one stroke to the level
of the prosaic. Truth in science is always more splendid than
fiction, and the pictures developed by the imagination out of real
conditions always eclipse those that are conjured up by flights
of fancy.

II. THE UNITY OF NATURE-STUDY AND NATURAL SCIENCE.

In a general survey of the place and functions of nature-study
it is quite important that its relation to the more technical branches
of natural science should be duly considered. For the purpose of
properly defining a subject it may be necessary to set it apart in a
state of isolation and to place the emphasis upon its differences;
but for finding the full measure of its usefulness it is of far greater
importance to discover its true relations.

What seems to be an almost inherent tendency of the human
being to worship the abstruse, the mystical, and the learned has
never been more amusingly exemplified than in the disposition of
many of those who call themselves scientists to disown nature-study
and to deny that it bears any particularly useful relation to their
own special subjects. This refusal to recognize nature-study as
a part of science, and the denial that its methods are distinctly
scientific, have done much to discredit the subject in the eyes of
teachers and pupils and the public at large.

The objections as urged may have been valid, in some degree,
against the crude and rudimentary methods employed in the begin-
ning; these nature-study itself disowns. But they cannot be suc-
cessfully maintained against the study when it is properly conducted.
That nature-study is the forerunner, the direct progenitor, of natural
science is a perfectly obvious and most helpful truth to anyone
who will fairly consider the matter and the methods of both.

Nature-study is precisely what it proclaims itself to be the
study of nature. Its subject-matter lies in the kingdoms of earth,
air, sky, and water; it embraces a search for knowledge of all
phenomena and of the laws by which these are associated. Natural
science finds all of its subject-matter in the same fields, and it pur-
sues its course toward the same end.

In nature-study everything depends primarily upon the integrity
and the proper use of the senses. Knowledge becomes clear and

12 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

trustworthy exactly in proportion to the accuracy with which the
senses furnish the data. Natural science is dependent upon the
same organs and upon data obtained by precisely the same means.

In nature-study the value of the subject to the individual
depends upon his own observation and investigation. The original
and personal character of these determine the rate and amount of
progress that an individual can make. It is this point, too, that
is strongly insisted upon in natural science. Everything is open
to question by everyone. Nothing is necessarily assured simply
because someone else has claimed to have made the observation.

In nature-study the aim is to have the pupil investigate phe-
nomena and things for the purpose of determining their relation.
Nothing is studied in isolation. By such methods certain relation-
ships are discovered to be constant and the pupil early gets the clue
to the meaning of natural law. In natural science the aim is the
same; the student seeks then the study of natural phenomena for
those abiding relations, those sequences of cause and effect, the
expression of which becomes the statement of natural law. The
determination of the constant, hence natural, order of phenomena
is the ultimate end of all study. It is the task of the scientist,
the historian, the philosopher alike, and nature-study represents
but a primary stage of the same thing. There is no actual dividing
line, therefore, between the pupil in nature-study and the student
of natural science. The motive, the material, and the principles
of method are precisely the same. In practical instruction, however,
the characteristic differences are encountered in teaching these sub-
jects to pupils of different ages that are met with in other studies
of the curriculum.

In nature-study with children the teacher has to deal with
untrained senses and with mental powers generally undeveloped.
The pupil is unable either to see great detail or to grasp relation-
ships that exist among the minutiae of the subject. As the story
told by the pupil's senses is vague and inaccurate so the pictures
of his incipient imagination are erratic and fanciful. He must
therefore deal with larger masses than are necessary with the trained
student of science. The sights must be more vivid, the weights
heavier, the relations more striking, the movements more pro-
nounced, and the functions more obvious. In natural science the
better-trained student discovers minute details and recognizes more

INTRODUCTION 13

delicate relations. It is upon these facts that a true system of
gradation in nature-study and science must rest. The attempt is
usually made to establish grades by changing from one branch of
the science to another and by the introduction of new and often
unrelated subject-matter. This is done partially on the theory that
repetition of the same thing becomes tiresome, which is true, and
partially on the theory that, to keep alive the interest, the subject
must be changed, which is not true. Nothing could be more detri-
mental to the genuine development of the pupil than the continual
snapping of his thread of interest which is involved in the customary
plans of gradation. The materials and phenomena of nature as
subject-matter for study do not in themselves actually change;
the continual and growing interest in the same thing, therefore,
must always be preserved.

Nor is the distinction between nature-study and science, some-
times made, that the results in the latter may be more quantitative
than in the former, a valid one. Such results in nature-study are
possible and proper in any particular field when the student of science
would find them desirable, and necessary. For example, in all study
of physical force there is but one line open to the student who
attempts to investigate, whether he is six years old or sixty, and that
is to find out its value ; this can be done only by measuring it.

The pupil very soon exhausts the qualitative aspects of such a
subject, if indeed he has not already done so before he enters school.
By this it is not meant that the pupil from the beginning must be
asked to run down the result to the last decimal point in an
indefinite series. In the outset it may involve none of the usual
units at all. He may get the result in terms of which he can himself
lift or push or pull, or otherwise physically accomplish. It is only
then that he actually finds the need of the unit, pound, foot, gallon,
etc. ; it is as these gradually become definite in his mind that the
fractional part has any value to him.

Where the average student of science might be able to develop
the picture he seeks by the analysis of a single leaf, or of a drop of
water, or of an ounce of earth, the beginner in nature-study must
use bushels, gallons, or pounds. There are two reasons for this:
first, the pupil's undeveloped imagination must picture in the large
he cannot think in grains of sand ; and second, because, unskilled
in manipulation, the liability to losses during experimentation with

14 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

the small quantities, enormously increases the percentage of error.
True nature-study, therefore, is natural science, and its methods are
strictly scientific.

It is not here sought to establish merely an identity of terms.
Failure to recognize the true relation of the different parts of the
subject has helped to emphasize the break that is already too pro-
nounced between the elementary and the higher schools. Believing
that there is some radical difference, the high-school teachers, as a
rule, make but little effort to prepare a course of study that substan-
tially continues the work of nature-study. The consequent abrupt
change of method and material simply adds to the loss that the pupil
suffers in other directions in this transition stage. The study of
nature is the same, regardless of the age of the student. It will
be a great step in advance when all teachers recognize this, and
so plan the course of study that the pupil will not find it necessary
to unlearn, ignore, or forget what he has learned in earlier stages.
Every step taken should be a substantial preparation for the next
throughout the course from the kindergarten to the university.
This plan would also immensely strengthen the elementary teachers,
and give stability, tone, and dignity to the work that it has seldom
yet assumed. No teacher can put the best into his work when he
feels that he is engaged simply in " busy work," which must serve
as entertainment, at least, for the moment. It is not so in other
subjects, and this fact contributes not a little to the strength of the
position they hold in the curriculum. Every scrap of history, for
example, that the pupil learns anywhere in his course is accounted
for as he passes from grade to grade and from the grades to the
high school. But not so with science ; some misguided high-school,
and even college, teachers have gone so far as to say that they would
prefer to have their pupils come to them with no elementary work
a most preposterous position to assume. When the teachers
from lowest to highest feel that all the good work they do will
receive due recognition,; when each understands that the true ele-
mentary work is as essential and fundamental as the more refined
which is done farther along, then for the first time shall we be in
the proper attitude of mind to develop a science course that will at
once add strength to the curriculum and be a valuable contribution
as a means to the development of the pupil.

INTRODUCTION 15

III. THE NATURE OF OBSERVATION.

One of the serious obstacles in the way of securing the best
results in nature-study is that few teachers fully understand the
nature and function of true observation. The primary reason for
having introduced this study, as well as its ancestor, the object-
lesson, into the school, was that it offered a direct means of sense-
training. It is generally understood that sense-training is peculiarly
necessary in nature-study, but it is not so clearly recognized that
all education finally rests upon it.

Education depends upon observation. Whether it is in the
domain of natural science, where, obviously, knowledge is gained
by presentation of objects and phenomena to the senses, or in the
field of history, where the lessons are to be interpreted and applied
to life in its present condition, observation is of fundamental
importance.

The most serious mistake made in dealing with the subject of
observation is that of treating it as though it were wholly an affair
of the senses. Educative observation depends not more upon the
senses than it does upon the mental attitude of the observer. It is
quite as much a concern of attention as it is of eyesight or hearing.
It is the function of observation to furnish data ; these data form the
basis for determining relations ultimately the mutual relations
of form and function. The great fault to be avoided therefore,
in planning and conducting work in observation, is that of insisting
upon presentation of objects or parts of objects that make no
appeal through either their function or their form. When this is
done, it is inevitable that the interest must be spurred on by
factitious means which never come from honest purpose and never
lead directly to real knowledge. Through this mistake, chiefly,
arise all the difficulties pertaining to the various forms of expression.

Observation is the mother of inference; given the former, the
latter is inevitable. Nothing points more clearly to the distinct
personality of each human being than the fact that no two persons
will make exactly the same inference regarding an object which
they observe in common. Each observes from a point of view that
is slightly different from that occupied by the other, and his infer-
ences vary accordingly. This may lead to endless contention ; but
discussion respecting the meaning of facts is always healthy until

1 6 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

those engaged refuse to repeat their observations that their infer-
ences may be corrected. The natural test for the extent and
correctness of an observation lies in the expression which the indi-
vidual is able to give respecting it. While it is not uncommon for
one to say that he sees and knows more than he can express, it is
doubtful if this is ever true. The technique of expression in all
its forms is exceedingly simple. For instance, in expressing him-
self through a drawing, the pupil is required to do so by means of
lines, straight and curved, which he can draw with little or no
trouble. The real difficulty lies in putting the lines together at their
proper angle, and in their right relation. But this does not belong
to the technique of expression ; the inability to represent by drawing
must be referred, therefore, to the fact that the image is indistinct
as a result of insufficient observation.

Again, in language, it is possible to describe things, most com-
plex, by the use of words that are employed in common speech;
yet it is not uncommon for the pupils to say that they can see more
than they can tell, although their ability to talk may be beyond
question.

In modeling, the clay is most plastic. It readily yields to treat-
ment; but there are comparatively few who can bring it into a
form which corresponds to the object observed. This is clearly not
the fault of the material used, nor of the ability of the pupil to mold
it; but the difficulty lies rather in an imperfect image that has
been obtained through faulty or deficient observation.

The accuracy and the extent of an observation depend upon the
purpose which controls the one who is making it. It is usually
true that the desired knowledge concerning an object may be
obtained through a partial examination, and the observation upon
this point will be clear in proportion to the importance of the
knowledge. All other knowledge of the object, which is absolutely
necessary if we are to have an image of it clear enough to enable
us fully to represent it by any means of expression, is weak and
defective because the observation has not been intense.

Drawing, painting, modeling, etc., are difficult, therefore, because
they require an accuracy and extent of observation which is not
considered absolutely necessary by most people. For example, one
may know, for all practical purposes of his life, the house in which
he lives, and yet he may be utterly unable to represent that house

INTRODUCTION I?

in a drawing. That is, while he may know the proper number of
windows in the front, he would fail, perhaps, in getting the due
proportions of each window, and this would be because that par-
ticular observation had never been called out by any function that
the house or window had performed for him. The window allowed
light to come into the interior, and he learned to know it from this
function, but he learned nothing more.

So in the study of a tree. The lumberman recognizes a tree by
signs, most superficial, because his knowledge may end with know-
ing the kind of wood. The nurseryman by a glance merely at the
fruit recognizes the different kinds of apple trees in his orchard.
Both, however, might utterly fail in an attempt to draw the tree,
because its function, so far as they are concerned, has not demanded
that close and specific observation of form which must precede any
drawing.

The fact seems to be that most people see just enough of an
object to enable them to dodge it. Very much observation, so called,
results in nothing more than a mere consciousness of the presence
of the object. No image of educative value is formed. It will be
a surprise to anyone to scrutinize closely the impressions received
from an object, even after looking steadfastly at it for some time.
He will find that he has been impressed chiefly by those character-
istics and properties which indicate a particular function. Other
characteristics and properties, no matter how important, lie indis-
tinctly in the background of his consciousness, and it requires con-
siderable effort, on returning to the observation, to bring them to
their proper relation in the image.

Observation, therefore, does not become a vital part of the educa-
tional process because we wish to train the senses, but rather because
we wish the senses to train the individual. They can fulfil their
mission in furnishing data regarding the outside world only when
the mind has been prepared through the impulse of a strong motive
to receive them. The value of observation cannot be determined,
primarily, by the character of the object presented, but, rather, by
the attitude of mind which the pupil brings to it, or which the object
before him can induce and control. Like all other educational prob-
lems, observation finally resolves itself into one of purpose or
motive. There is no escape from this, and the only way to have it

1 8 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

perform its proper function in nature-study is to be governed by
the appeal which a generous presentation of nature makes to the
child.

IV. IMAGING IN NATURE-STUDY.

The direct purpose of observation is the development of an
image. That it often falls short of this is a fact which will largely
account for lack of interest in study, muddled thinking, and waste of
time in education. Until an image of the thing desired is clearly
formed in the mind, it is useless, and worse, to attempt to take the
next step. Until this is done, in fact, there is no next step to be
taken. To overemphasize the importance of external presentation,
and to underemphasize the importance of the resulting mental
product, is the mark of much poor teaching. This mistake is largely
due to the intangible and indefinable nature of the image which in
itself is the mystery of mysteries.

When an object or a physical phenomenon is presented to one or
more of the senses, an effect is produced that in no conceivable
manner can be said to resemble the cause. The phenomenon of
vibration derived from a blow by a hammer striking some object
may be traced along purely material channels, and its rate of move-
ment is but a problem in mathematical physics. At a given point,
however, its physical identity is lost, and in its stead there flashes
out a mental phenomenon which remains. Assuming the integrity
of the senses, each normal individual must bear witness to the con-
stant correspondence between the physical presentation and the
psychic result which is called an image. It is not properly an
image, though, if there is associated with this word its ordinary
meaning. An image is a likeness or a counterpart. The mental
image is not a likeness, but a result which is remarkable in its
unlikeness to the cause. In the process of living, during the con-
scious hours there is a continual effort, first, to interpret these
psychic results that is, to refer them to the proper material source ;
and, second, to organize them that is, to discover by what rela-
tions they are associated. These operations are to the end that one
may obtain his bearings and preserve his proper place in the scheme
of creation. The process of education is the systematized attempt
to economize this effort. It accomplishes its purpose only as it
keeps unobstructed the pathway between the physical and psychic
phenomena, and so far as it discovers methods of interpretation and

INTRODUCTION 19

organization that can be applied under the proper motive in dealing
with psychic results or images.

Mental images, although bearing no resemblance to each other,
may be considered as related when they can be referred to the
same external source. The sound of the hammer striking the nail,
the appearance of its falling through the air, the sinking of the
nail into the wood, all give rise to images, that it is impossible to
compare with each other ; yet they are related, since they are referred
to a common cause. When the psychic results of the sight giving
color, and of the sight giving the effect of the blow upon the nail,
and of the sound giving the nature of the substance, are interpreted
as belonging to the same thing, the hammer, they become organized
at once as the related parts of the image of the hammer, which has
a certain form, weight, and substance. Psychic results may be pro-
duced from outside occurrences which follow in immediate sequence
in time, or which may take place simultaneously; yet this time-
relationship alone will not admit of their being organized into an
image in the educative sense. As the hammer falls, a bird may
fly across the field of vision; but the psychic result of the latter
bears no educative relation to those derived from the hammer.

In nature-study, the landscape, embodying the entire field of
observation, presents itself to the beginner as a great composite of
confused parts ; and to most people, perhaps, it always remains so.
It should be the aim of instruction to assist the pupil to refer the
separate and more or less confused mental impressions to the appro-
priate source, and, as this is done, to organize those referred to the
same source into a clear and definite image. The landscape is
revealed to the observer through its color, the initial interest being
roused through the aesthetic sense. Everything, therefore, which
involves color can be referred to a common external source, namely,
light. All color-impressions, consequently, become organized in
the mind, since they are related to a common cause. Whether it
is the foliage of a tree or the decorative colors of a room, the
questions arising in both are solved by this relation to the one thing
light. Still further, in plants many of the myriad varieties in
form are nothing but inextricable confusion until their relationship
to light is recognized ; then the seeming confusion of forms becomes
an orderly array. Even two structures so extreme in their unlike-
ness to each other as a leaf and the human eye become related,

20 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

from the fact that each represents a concession of the organism to
the same controlling cause found in light. A large number of
landscape phenomena, therefore, may be grouped together, from
which there will be formed an image of related parts representing
the effects of light Another group of phenomena will be referred
in the same way to heat, another to moisture, another to soil, and
so on. The channeling of the grass blade and the bladdery vesicles
of submerged plants as isolated facts are of little importance. But
when one is recognized as a dew-spout and the other as a swim-
bladder, and that both are an attempt to make friends with water,
they become the organized parts of an image that is fundamental
in the study of botany. Imaging thus begun opens the way to
endless study. Simple enough in the outset to be clear to the child,
the last step in scientific research is but the latest attempt of the
trained mind to define more clearly the same image.

The chief reason why observation is slow and tedious is that
sufficient aid in defining the image is not given through adequate
expression. Expression is usually confined to one or two modes,
whereas observation furnishes the data for a many-sided image
which may need all the modes of expression to define it properly.
People are continually wrestling with form, but they have almost
no training in the development of form through the production of
a model. They are continually called upon to distinguish colors,
but expression through color has been practically unknown to most
adults of the present time. Even in oral and written expression
the pupils are enormously delayed by being compelled to deal with
these modes in the beginning from the side of technique rather than
from that of content. It seems to require endless time for teachers
to learn that it is content which furnishes the motive to define an
image, that must control technique in every form of expression. To
attempt to teach technique beyond the demand of image-growth, or
apart from it, is both to destroy the growth and defeat the real pur-
pose of art-study. Even in most schools where the various modes
of expression are employed the desultory character of the work
growing out of and coupled with a corresponding desultory kind
of observation tends to dissipate, rather than to conserve and
strengthen, the pupil's power to image. If observation is of the
highest educational character, the imagination is constantly called
upon to arrange the different parts of the growing image in the

INTRODUCTION 21

proper order. Nature-study then becomes more than a simple
amassing of facts ; it involves also the organization into a rational
and consistent whole. Science itself is nothing more. This kind
of image-growth is educational because it is rationally continuous.
No other kind of imaging is worth the trouble. The demand for
details by an ever-incompleted image impels that research which
always marks the true student of nature.

CHAPTER II.

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY.
I. FIELD-WORK.

WITH that conception of nature-study which has already been
set forth it follows that the children must lay the foundation for
their knowledge by direct contact with nature under normal condi-
tions. This end is to be attained by a variety of investigations,
which for convenience may be classed under the head of field-work.
It is not intended, here, to limit this to the mere collecting tours, but
rather to expand the meaning so that it may include all the great
aspects of life outside the schoolroom which may be conveniently
studied. Field-work of this kind is usually done so irregularly, and
with such a lack of well-conceived plan on the part of the teacher, that
it often falls quite short of having its full educative value. The
following principles, in accord with which outdoor work may be
conducted, are offered as the basis of a plan that may be generally
applied to the different aspects of field-work.

I. Each study should begin with a comprehensive survey of the
landscape as a whole. In thus treating the landscape, it should
not be regarded as a great composite of confused facts, but as an
organism of tremendous strength, having the relations of its parts
balanced with the greatest delicacy.

Evidence of its strength, for example, may be witnessed in any
garden or cultivated field. In the area of cultivation the foster-plant
is brought into competition with wild ones that, in their own way,
have made themselves possessors of the ground. It may be assumed
that the conditions are generally favorable for the cultivated plant,
or man would not have selected it for this particular spot. In
addition to this, in most cases it requires the vigorous use of the
best implements that the wit of man has yet devised to enable the
plant to maintain itself against the onslaughts of the aborigines of
the soil. There is not a cultivated plant in existence that would
dare match itself, single-handed, in a race against the common
garden purslain or pigweed on its own ground. As soon as a child

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 23

is old enough to follow the growth of plants through a single season
and to take some little part in their cultivation, he cannot but be
impressed that this mighty support which nature gives to her own
is something more than accident. In his realization of this fact
is a stimulus that will drive him to examine, according to his skill,
the leaf, the root, the stem, the seed, the soil, and all that has
contributed to the victory of the one and the discomfiture or defeat
of the other.

The delicacy of the balance that exists among the parts of the
landscape is scarcely exceeded by the sensitiveness of the poise
maintained by the organs of the living body. The slightest change
anywhere is sufficient to destroy the balance abruptly and cause a
readjustment of all the adjacent parts. The drying out of a marsh
is marked year by year with a gradual reorganization of the flora
and fauna. The falling of a tree in the midst of a forest allows a
few shafts of light to fall unhindered upon the ground. Forthwith
the shade-loving plants are driven from the spot, and grass sets in
and works its way in all directions, literally, according to its light.
The gradually changing course of a stream is continually reorganiz-
ing the life in the valley. The advent of a stray plant or seed
may light the torch of conquest. Driven almost to desperation by
the chance introduction of the Russian thistle, the farmers of the
Northwest have besought government aid as they would against an
army with banners.

Such a presentation of the landscape, by its simplicity and
breadth, will not only attract the attention and enlist the interest
of the children for the time being, but it will also place them at
once in line with the best materials and methods of science.

2. In proceeding from the landscape to its details, the study
should be directed to its related parts, not merely to unrelated frag-
ments. From the whole to the parts in this instance does not mean
from the whole to the pieces. Almost any stretch of landscape will
present some evidences of an underlying unity. Within the general
scope, certain aspects or phases in its appearance will indicate minor
related unities. Thus, in general, a landscape may include a valley
or a stretch of prairie, each having a certain completeness. Within
this there will be slopes, or marshes, or ridges, or lakes ; and each
of these aspects will be found to stand as secondary centers of
organization for the plants and animals; and, still further, each

24 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

minor center may be resolved yet into others, which have an
organizing influence within the whole. The rational study of a
landscape involves nothing but the study of the relations that exist
among its parts.

The course of a stream is the dominating organizing influence in
a valley. But each slope, especially if the stream lies east and west,
will have an organizing individuality of its own. The writer
recalls two such slopes which supported the two species of a genus
of plants. Each species, however, was confined entirely to its own
particular hillside, though the valley was not more than a quarter
of a mile in width.

Each slope will present in itself different centers of organization.
Even the casual observation of children will show that it is some-
thing more than accident that segregates the plants with the fine
capillary roots on the sandy crest, and that it is more than coinci-
dence that groups the thicker-fascicled roots in the alluvial bottoms.

Even a single living tree becomes an interesting center for study.
It is beset by many things that without it could not possibly exist.
The green algae on one side and not on the other speak of the
contrasts of heat which it affords. The moss clustering at its base,
and ascending the stem in a thinner layer, accurately measures the
area of moisture furnished by its capillary bark; while the papery
lichens take undisputed possession of the dryer areas above. Its
dried and riven bark furnishes protection for crowds of insects
that find shelter in the crevices, and these in their turn become the
chief attraction for a vigilant host of birds. Even when dead
and prostrate it is a center of no less activity. Beset by a new
race of animals and plants, it remains a determining influence upon
a considerable community until the last vestige is returned to the
original elements. Here again a broad presentation brings the pupil
at once face to face with nature at work. He acquires some notion
of the dynamism in creation, which is the beginning of wisdom.

3. The landscape as a composite whole presents several series
of aspects, each of which includes a well-defined succession of events.
These may be described as:

a) The transitory and somewhat irregular changes; as, for
example, those caused by the movement of a cloud over the sun,
the passing of a storm, the work of a flood, etc.

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 2$

b) The seasonal : those which accompany the changes of tem-
perature and other modifying climatic influences.

The observations under this division should take several
directions :

(1) Toward a determination of the amount of sunshine. With
the younger pupils, the variation in proportion to the day's length
and to the amount of cloudiness can be understood. With older
pupils, the relative values of sunshine, also, determined by the vary-
ing slant, can be calculated from measurements easily made.

(2) Toward a determination of the temperature of the air, of the
soil at different depths, and of bodies of water.

(3) Toward a determination of the amount of moisture in the
soil at different depths and in the air.

(4) Toward a determination of the amount of rainfall, and the
distribution of rainy days through the year.

(5) Toward a determination of the amount of water, ash, and
other constituents in plants at different periods of growth.

(6) Toward a study of all the habits of plants and animals
germination, growth, maturity, nesting, feeding, migration, etc.
that are associated with the season and conditioned by it The pres-
entation need not be in accord with any fixed order; the topics
indicate merely the general observations that should be made.

c) Those operations resting upon profound causes, which,
gradual and subtle, effect radical and permanent changes. Thus
the slow drainage of a marsh (it may be for the purpose of agri-
culture), the denudation of the country of its timber, the encroach-
ment of the water upon the shore or coast line, the shifting of the
sand-ridges by the wind, the breaking of the shelving rocks in the
cliff, are all changes which almost imperceptibly, but profoundly,
affect the balance of parts in the landscape. These changes differ
from those first named in being more gradual, and from those
mentioned second, in being irregular. Whatever there may be of
recurrence is at intervals that seem to be variable.

4. The study of landscape details, therefore, means the following
of each minor unity, through each of these series of aspects as the
changes occur, with due regard to the relations of the various
aspects to each other. For example, a tree presents certain phases
of life which are due to the daily and hourly shifting influences of
sun and shower, of light and darkness, etc.; these phases are

26 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

marked mainly by the constant play of shade, tint, and color. Still
further, other phases appear that correspond with the month and
season ; these show themselves in bud, leaf, flower, and fruit. And,
finally, there are those phases which present themselves through
the accumulation of years that are found in the tree's maturity, its
decline, its death, its decay, and in the distribution of the elements
of which it is composed. A true study of the tree will consist,
therefore, of the thoughtful consideration of all the different phases
of life which it presents, with due regard to their relations to each
other and taken in connection with the underlying causes. The
results of such study will always appear as a rational and coherent
story, whether it is told by tongue, brush, spatula, or pen ; but the
description can be even approximately complete only when all are
used. Every feature of the landscape, whether it be a plant, an
animal, or a rock, must be studied in the same general way.

5. The different series of aspects presented by the landscape
make their appeal according to a well-defined order which is deter-
mined by the age and experience of the pupils. The series of
fleeting aspects possessing a lesser, though subtle, significance is
strikingly beautiful, and they are generally most attractive to chil-
dren. The appeal is made chiefly to the aesthetic sense; and, as
these phases manifest themselves largely through changes in shade
and color, the mode of expression must correspond.

Those aspects, which are included in the regularly recurring
events of the season, have a deeper significance, none the less
beautiful ; but, in their relation to man, they appeal strongly to his
notions of utility. Through this appeal, which reaches the mind
gradually as it matures, they call forth from the human being
those inventions, arts, devices, measurements, and calculations
which have enabled man to utilize the forces of nature.

The series of aspects, including those gradual changes that can
be timed, perhaps only by ages, enlist the profoundest interests of
the mind. No comprehension, even approximately adequate, is
possible without the aid of a great perspective of experience which
has been developed through an intelligent contact with nature. The
real significance of these larger aspects of creation can never fully
appear. They make the appeal only as the mind ripens, and they
become intelligible only as it acquires the disposition and the power
to arrange, in accordance with the rules of philosophy, the facts that
have been gathered and treasured by sense.

THE SCOPE OF NA TUKE-STUD Y 27

In a study of a landscape, therefore, the teacher and pupil should
seek for the dominant influence which organizes it into a great
unity. For example, in the area in and about Chicago the center
of influence at present is the lake, while one a little more remote
and far-reaching is the glacier. Everywhere the country presents
the character given to it by the lake, present and past. The sand,
the pebbles, the small lakes and pools all testify to its work. But
within this area are minor features which themselves operate as
centers of influence. The trees, for instance, speak of the sand-
ridges everywhere ; while the rushes, reeds, flags, sedges, and coarse
grasses speak of the more or less submerged lowlands.

The innumerable colonies of animals and plants which infest
these minor centers tell of still further contrasted conditions, which
differ from each other in slope or soil or sunshine, but mainly in
water supply. The chance excavations in road-making or for build-
ings reveal something as to what the conditions have been in the
past. The rapidly occurring changes which accompany the settle-
ment of the country the displacement of the fish, the tadpole and
frog, the mussel and snail, the heron, rail, snipe, and bittern, by
the earthworm, the toad, the snake, and the lark; the substitution
of the fine meadow grass for the water lily, the bulrushes, the
flags, the cattails, and the sedges all give a glimpse of what the
future may be. To decipher the story of the past, so to interpret
the present that we may plan for the future this is the funda-
mental purpose of all field-study.

II. NATURE-STUDY AND MAN IN THE LANDSCAPE.

One of the most important lessons of field-study is to show how
man by slow and progressive stages avails himself of the various
natural features of a given area. The home life, the industries, the
transportation of products, the location of towns and cities, are
in the immediate control of the natural features. Among these
the most important is water supply, and this in turn is closely
related to the nature of the rocks. A limestone region usually
abounds in springs. The water, filtered and cool, is a prime
necessity in the human life. Hence it is that in such a region the
location of the home, the fundamental unit of our social and political
system, is determined largely by this single physical feature. The
pupils can easily canvass the area within reach of observation and

28 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

note how uniformly this fact prevails. But the springs, still
further, do much to determine the topography of a region. The
general land-slope determines the direction of the water-flow, but
the water and the nature of the rocks determine the channels and
the character of the sloping sides of the valley. These, in turn, fix
the accessibility and the immediate surroundings of the home which
so powerfully react upon the life and character of the occupants.
If the site of the home is unfavorable from the aesthetic or artistic
standpoint; if it is beset by features which render it difficult of
access; or if in any way the physical features make the labor for
a livelihood so onerous and taxing as to leave little time for the
rest and leisure so necessary for reflection, reading, and study, the
character of the people who occupy such homes will be distinctly
affected thereby.

The location of the roadways, too, are closely connected with
the physical features. They follow, as far as practicable, the
ravines and valleys that have been caused by the streams because
of the easier grade. It reduces the cost of transportation to recog-
nize this particular point. When it is necessary for the roads to
ascend the hill, it is interesting to note how with increasing intelli-
gence the grades are carefully surveyed and improved. In locating
the railroads, too, the same features are observed ; the easiest grades
are along the streams.

The natural lines of transportation determine also the location
of the villages, towns, and cities. The convergence of even but
two country roads to a common point is often enough to establish
a store, with perhaps a post-office and a cluster of houses. The two
roadways bring to this point the merchandise or products of two or
more different sections, and the opportunity for trade is created.
The amount of barter and sale depends upon the soil, the natural
products, and the extent and character of the thoroughfares. If
the latter are two rivers, for example, of navigable size, a city is
the inevitable result. These are enormously reinforced, but never
quite replaced, by railroads that give speed to the movement of
goods, but always at increased expense. The streams of a country
are closely associated with the industrial history. They furnish
the earliest and cheapest power for various kinds of mills. The
course of almost any stream will show a number of generations
of these which have come and gone keeping pace with the settlement

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 29

of the country. First, the old overshot wheel, cumbersome and
wasteful of water, then the turbine, and finally the steam-engine
supplanting both each serving its day and purpose; each repre-
sents a given horizon of ability that man has reached in availing
himself of the natural features of his environment.

The location of the timber reserves, of the quarries, and of the
mines bears a direct relation to the value of the soil for the purpose of
cultivation, and to the natural transportation facilities. The houses,
too, show an interesting evolution. The earlier ones were of wood
log cabins or sod dugouts. These are often followed with stone
buildings, when quarries of good building-stone are a part of the
country's features. These are still further succeeded by either
wooden ones of finer worked lumber, or by cut stone, or it may be
by imported brick and tile. This study tends to bring out the fact
that education and training do not, as often supposed, enable man
to live at variance with nature, or in a measure independent, or even
at war with her. They simply show how man learns to avail him-
self more widely of the benefits that nature is ready to bestow
upon those who are willing to consider themselves a part of the
great whole. This is the fundamental motive for nature-study. It
can be brought to the experience of children of the earliest teach-
able age ; and, once fixed, no artificial stimulus to observation will
ever after be needed. The study of nature then becomes for the
pupil a personal matter. Its problems are personal ones that make
their appeal directly to him. There is an abysmal difference
between learning about nature and learning from nature. Both
methods of study may have outwardly the true scientific form; but
it is the latter only that is really educative. In the former process
the student finds her inert, spiritless, and dumb. In the latter she
becomes active and eloquent, and almost conscious in her meeting
at every point the gradually awakening needs of man.

III. THE FARM.

As a smaller or minor unit in the general landscape the farm
may be considered as practically a natural division. When the topog-
raphy varies at all, the farm boundaries will usually follow certain
natural lines. For example, it is difficult for a man to farm if his
land lies on opposite sides of a deep ravine or sharply divided ridge.
The effort is made, then, in buying and selling, to recognize the

30 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

fact, and so to arrange the lines that each farmer may get land
that can be worked to the best advantage. Farmers who do not
recognize these general facts soon find themselves in possession
of undesirable areas, and consequently they suffer actual financial
loss and physical discomfort from their failure to observe the char-
acter of the natural features.

The different soils and locations are always considered in the
choice of crops. The lower lands are chiefly for grass ; the higher
for grain ; the warmer southern slopes for corn and early pasture ;
the cooler northern hillsides for wheat and oats ; the alluvial bot-
toms for gardens and vegetables, and the well-drained uplands for
orchards and fruits. This distribution does not represent the arbi-
trary choice of man, but rather his implicit observance of the
general facts of temperature, moisture, and soil. In short, all the
rural occupations of agriculture, horticulture, and grazing should
be determined upon beforehand by a scientific investigation of
natural conditions. It would be preposterous for a man to erect
an elaborate and expensive gold-mining plant on a spot that had
not been thoroughly prospected. But many thousands of dollars
are spent and endless disappointment results from a failure on the
part of farmers to "prospect" similarly their farms before they
begin their work. These financial losses, and the infinite social and
physical discomforts of country life, will not be relieved until people
are recreated by that rational study of nature which it is the func-
tion of nature-study in the schools to stimulate and direct.

It is important, too, to study the relation of the farm as a unit
to all other sources which minister to the comfort and happiness of
people. The country roads which radiate in different directions
from it as a center are but the beginnings of lines that may connect
it with the ends of the earth. Along these simple paths of trans-
portation may begin the flow of aid, comfort, and blessings to people
of every degree of need and in every station in life. This should
be made in the lives of the children a personal matter. Upon their
personal effort, their personal industry, honesty, honor, and integ-
rity, depends the welfare of those more or less distant people to
whom they are thus related. The fact that their productions are to
be consumed by people in a remote quarter of the earth, savage or
civilized, instead of by neighbors on an adjoining farm, lessens not
one whit the obligation that such productions shall be prepared as

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 31

honestly as nature can grow them. A pound should mean precisely
a pound, and the contents of the package should correspond exactly
with the claims of the label. The pupils should be taught that there
are practically no limits to which the distinctively fine products and
the distinctively honest preparations may not become known and
honored. Inward, toward themselves, over the same routes flow the
contributions demanded in their daily lives; and they learn in a
different way to appreciate those qualities of character in others
which others are glad to recognize in them. Herein lies the root
of finance, and here is the basis of social and political structure.
The financial condition of the farmer depends upon the ratio of his
sales to what he buys. His whf at, corn, cattle, and minerals he
transmutes to gold ; if this be not used in part for those imported
products which he naturally requires ; if it be hoarded and put out
at usury, instead of being devoted to means of perpetual intellectual
attainment ; if through it he become not a source of greater general
influence, then the very last and highest lesson that nature has to
teach remains unlearned, and ultimate disaster, if not to him then to
his children, is the inevitable result. Here again, in this approach
to nature, we find the motive for the study. It is not remote ; it is
immediate. It is not vague ; it is definite. It is not something which
can be deferred ; it is that from which the stimulus to the study must
proceed.

IV. THE GARDEN.

A most common and useful adjunct of the home is the garden.
It offers an approach to nature that is fascinating both to old
and young. The fresh and odorous earth; its swarm of worms,
grubs, and insects ; the birds rejoicing in the bountiful food supply ;
the spontaneity of the plants, incarnating as they grow the mysteri-
ous force of the sunshine; the appetite whetted by the gradual
appearance of the vegetables that bring release from the monotonous
and heavy menu of winter ; the flowers that, in patches, rows, and
clumps, give changing color to the whole all these combine to
draw man irresistibly from the usual daily routine and to place him
once more under the benign influence of primeval nature. The
children are charmed with the opportunity to do such work; they
are not fretted by the feeling that it "does not seem to be like
school," which is always the source of more or less worry to the
older ones, to their teachers, and to the parents.

32 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

The many vacant and desolate-looking school-yards still to be
seen in both country and city; the door-yards of thousands of
houses that almost cry out against the indignities of rubbish that
are thrust upon them by careless and ignorant people of vulgar
tastes, all testify how far away we still are from knowing how to
utilize effectively a most potent means in education.

There are few problems in the plant world that are not presented
in the garden in a form fit for study. It is true, too, that animal
life is but little, if any, less well represented. It is a perfect
laboratory in which to study the subjects of temperature, light,
moisture, soil, and air that are the fundamental conditions of growth.

The chief reason why the school garden often falls short of the
hopes of those who plan for it is that its projectors usually greatly
underestimate the attention and labor which it should -receive.
Gardening is one of the highest arts, and there can be no more
serious mistake than to suppose it is only necessary to plant the
seeds and let them grow. Bacon said long ago that men come to
build stately sooner than to garden finely.

It should be remembered in the outset that, in several senses, a
garden represents a war with nature, as the latter term is usually
understood. In the first place, it is commonly made up of plants that
have been drawn from remote parts of the earth, often from places
having diverse climatic conditions. These are all expected to
grow within a limited area, for which naturally, they are not
specially suited, and their "personal" objections are supposed to
be overcome chiefly by artificial means and by processes known as
cultivation and forcing. Cultivated plants can never be made to
forget the ancient haunts of their ancestors. The one, therefore,
that flourished best in primeval times in marshy soil will never
feel quite at home in a dry, loamy garden alongside of a plant that
has been enticed away from a sandy ridge. Nor will a plant which
has been kidnapped from a warmer climate take kindly to a yoke-
fellow that has spent countless ages in learning how to outwit the
north wind.

In the second place, almost every cultivated plant may be
regarded as either a freak or a genius ; usually it exhibits all the
eccentricities of both types. Man, in looking selfishly after his own
ends, in many instances has seriously interfered with the ancient
and prosaic process of seed-production, which comprises the whole

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 33

of a plant's ambition in the wild state. Even where the want of the
gardener and the need of the plant meet in the same thing, as in
the seed, in some underground forms, and in many flowers, these
parts are. forced by the tricks of cultivation to a point in size and
number that the plants could not sustain for a single season if they
were left to battle alone with the elements and their natural enemies.
Thus the potato, as well as the turnip, parsnip, and other roots;
the cabbage, kale, kohlrabi, and other leaves and stems; the peas,
beans, and other seeds, in their present marketable form, represent
the ambition of the gardener rather than the needs of the plants
themselves. The distortion and exaggeration of the normal form
found in the majority of cultivated plants represent with fair direct-
ness the modification of the natural conditions under which these
plants are produced. If members of the vegetable world were
endowed with reflective powers, they would certainly view some of
the results obtained by the gardener with alarm; as, for example,
the production of the "seedless fruit" and the double flower,
in which the original purpose of this particular part is entirely
defeated.

Again, it should be remembered that cultivated plants are not
only herded together without much regard for their natural affini-
ties, but they are set down in a place which in most cases was
pre-empted ages ago by other plants that have learned thoroughly
how to take care of themselves on that particular spot. It has been
part of the business of these plants to kill off without mercy all
members of any weakling tribe that might appear among them.
The enormous strength with which these " natives " literally hold
their ground is evidenced by the fact that the gardener's favorites
must be aided and protected by the active and vigilant use of the
best instruments yet devised for the extermination of weeds in order
to carry the cultivated crop to a successful issue. There is no more
striking illustration than this of the trouble one may expect, if he
interferes with one of nature's established ways.

In designing a garden in connection with an ordinary school,
therefore, three things should be observed: (i) select plants which
do not represent a wide diversity of habit, unless the garden will
lend itself to a variety of conditions as to water, sunshine, and soil ;
(2) select plants which represent fairly well-established stages of
cultivation; that is, avoid the so-called novelties, unless there is

34 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

ample provision for unusual attention; (3) allow plenty of time for
systematic care; odds and ends of time will not do; the weeds
do not grow by fits and starts.

For the aesthetic effects of the garden most people will depend
upon the flowers and ornamental foliage plants. Several arrange-
ments may be suggested which will commend themselves according
to the taste and opportunities of different individuals. The follow-
ing is a description of the garden planned and cared for by the
pupils of the University Elementary School :

The garden occupied a plot of ground lying on the south side of
the school building, 55 meters long east and west, and 30.5 meters
wide north and south. The south side and the ends were inclosed
by a wire netting 6 feet high, and the north side was bounded by the
schoolhouse.

The main cultivated portion was a strip near the south side 48
meters long and 12 meters wide. In the middle of the strip a
circular bed 12 meters in diameter was devoted to flowers, one-
eighth of the area being assigned to each grade. A bed in each
comer, 6 meters square, was sown with spring grains. The four
remaining plots on either side of the circular area, each about 6
meters square, was assigned to the grades as marked, and they were
planted with vegetables.

Near the building there were nine beds, in which about one
thousand tulip bulbs were planted in the fall. After these had fin-
ished blooming, their places were given to plants that bloom later
in the season-
On the walls of the building, between the windows, preparations
were made for planting a great variety of rapidly growing vines,
which, it was believed, would somewhat soften the glare of the
summer's sun upon the treeless grounds.

At the inner end of each bed, in the circular plot reserved for
flowers, there was planted a castor bean; at a suitable distance
from this, moving outward, there was planted a calladium ; next was
a ring of salvias; then cornflowers, verbenas, and a border of
phlox, or sweet alyssum. By this selection and distribution the
bed had the features of ornamental foliage and flowers, which was
made possible by its large size. The flowering began rather early
and, by the choice of plants, continued until frost. The order

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 35

decided upon gave each different kind of plant a fair opportunity
for growth.

The four adjacent areas on either side of the flower-bed one
for each grade were devoted to plants selected for their economic
value. Such plants were selected as would be useful in preparing
the children's luncheons the next year. To this end each plot, 20
feet square, was devoted to one or two kinds of plants, and the
grade caring for it was responsible to the entire school for the
result. The plants chosen were beans, peas, potatoes, cabbage,
carrots, parsnips, beets, tomatoes, turnips, onions, peppers, cucum-
bers (for pickles), and corn. Radishes and lettuce were sown in
certain spots not available for other plants.

It was proposed to show, for example, the great debt of man-
kind to the Cruciferae. There is no part of the plant body that has
not been developed in different members of this useful family for
the food of man; thus, in the turnip and radish, the root; in the
cabbage, the leaves. The Solanaceae were represented by the tomato,
potato, and pepper, the innocuous relatives of the poisonous night-
shade. The parsnip and carrot represented the Umbelliferae, and
beets strove for the ascendancy with their wild and vigorous relative,
the pigweed of the goosefoot family, or Chenopodlaceae. The peas
and beans are the favorites chosen from the Leguminosae an
interesting family of plants, both useful and ornamental.

The four areas at the opposite ends of the garden were devoted
to various members of the grass family maize, wheat, oats, rye,
barley, broom-corn, and sorghum ; and a small strip was sown with
flax. Later in the season some space was found for buckwheat,
the most useful member belonging to that family of gutter snipes,
the smartweeds. The same aspects for study were presented by the
plants cultivated for their flowers.

In connection with this part of garden-work there are three
interesting lines of study: (i) the original habits of the plant
in its wild state, and its near relatives that now may be found
growing wild ; (2) the steps in cultivation and the conditions pro-
vided which have developed the cultivated form; (3) the nature,
constitution, relative value, and distribution of the food-product
thus obtained.

Another point of view from which the garden as a whole was
studied is that of the actual problems which the different plants

3<5 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

must solve in the process of growth during different periods of
the season. These problems are alike to all the plants cultivated in
the garden, though differing somewhat in degree of importance.
They arise mainly from the plant's efforts to establish helpful rela-
tions (i) with sunshine, meaning both light and heat; (2) with
the soil for support and as a water reservoir, as well as for the sake
of small quantities of minerals; and (3) with the atmosphere as a
reservoir of oxygen and carbon dioxide as a food-supply.

The clew to a solution of the problems falling under (i) and
(3) are found chiefly in a study of the leaves, including their mode
of attachment, position, relative size, shape, margin, arrangement,
structure, and movements. The problems involved in (2) are to
be worked out through careful observation of the root, beginning
when it leaves the sprouting seed.

Certain movements of the plants were shown by the various
kinds of climbers that were trained up the walls of the schoolhouse.
The amount of work done by the plants was approximately calcu-
lated from data gathered from growing plants under special condi-
tions. Thus, the amount of water discharged through the leaves
was found by growing a plant in a wide-mouthed bottle closed
about the stem so as to prevent evaporation. By weighing at inter-
vals, placing the plant now in the sunshine, now in the shade, the
loss noted will be from transpiration, and the quantity of water
can be measured out so that the pupils may see it. Plants may
be weighed fresh, and afterwards dried and weighed again, then
burned, thus giving an idea of the water and of the dry solid,
and mineral matter built up during any given period of its
development.

Again, the resources upon which the plant must draw for
materials were investigated through a study of the soil, rainfall,
temperature, slant and distribution of the sunshine. The gist of
the whole study under this head is (i) to see how the plants suit
their problems to the seasons : germination to the cool, moist April
and May; the rapid development of the leaf and flower to the
long, bright, hot days of June and July ; and the filling up of the
seed to the early autumn; and (2) to observe how they manage
to resist the encroachments of each other and to use each other,
as they all together take possession practically of the whole earth.

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 37

V. THE DWELLING.

Something has been said already about the relation of the home
to the general features of the landscape. People as yet by no means
fully realize how directly its great aspects affect them. This does
not refer to the momentary effect upon the emotions, but to the
power that such influences have upon the development of character.
The constant presence of a great mountain range, studded with its
cloud-capped peaks ; or of a sweep of water whose surface, whether
smooth or turbulent, is a constant reminder of the primitive forces
of nature ; or of the majesty of a river that rolls its way from hill
to hill through a valley; or of a stretch of prairie whose vastness
seems to lift and expand the arch of the sky into an almost limit-
less dome the constant presence of any of these great elemental
facts of nature insensibly impresses itself, especially in the early
years of childhood and youth. In later years we become conscious
that these raw materials, by the mysterious chemistry of life, have
been transmuted into the strength, the refinement, and the subtleties
of human character.

Realizing these facts, the outlook of a home becomes an impor-
tant consideration. ' Farms are usually purchased with an eye chiefly
to fertility of the soil, but no less attention should be given to pos-
sibilities of outlook for the dwelling. The site of a home does
something to determine whether its occupants will be honest or
dishonest; the way it faces will in some degree determine whether
the family will be happy or morose. These facts are not the prod-
ucts of the imagination belonging to the domain of poetry; they
rest largely upon chemistry and physics, and are the legitimate
considerations of science. In its construction, from the arrange-
ment of its rooms and windows so as to secure the maximum
amount of sunshine, to the means employed for the disposal of
garbage, everything should rest upon scientific principles. The
character of the soil and subsoil determines its stability upon the
foundation, and it also affects the drainage. In latitudes having
long winters the questions of heating and ventilation are of para-
mount importance. To solve these problems, properly, requires a
fairly liberal education in physics and chemistry. Most of the
teaching and most of the text-books in these subjects, however, are
still as hopelessly dull and remote as though no such necessity
existed. Modern construction involves plumbing, gasfitting, and

38 1 HE THIRD YEARBOOK

electric wiring, all of which rest upon the very latest results
obtained by experts in physical and sanitary science. Many houses
may be so located that the water supply, delivered from a spring
having a higher level, may be piped to all parts of the dwelling
where it is needed. These and other conveniences, which soon
become necessities, might have a place in many homes, were the
instruction in the schools to take them into due account The
actual personal investigation into one's own home, with a view to
understanding its relations to himself, is certainly as legitimate as
it is for him to spend his time in the study of the red man's wig-
wam or the igloo of the Esquimos.

The study of the materials that enter into the construction of
the dwelling opens endless opportunities for observations. The
stones can be traced to the quarries and to the rock strata from
which they were obtained, the bricks to the "yards" and to the
sand and clay pits furnishing the raw materials. The processes
of manufacture are easily understood, and may be duplicated by
the pupils themselves. The use of wood and iron in the building,
the strength of materials, and the means of testing the same open
to the pupils the usefulness of mechanics which is one of the most
interesting branches of physical science to children.

The lack of knowledge and appreciation of nature is not more
apparent on the side of the mechanical and sanitary aspects of
the average home than it is on the artistic side. Thousands of
homes and schoolhouses too, that present an appearance of neglect
and desolation might be made beautiful by a little thoughtfulness
and care in the planting of trees and shrubbery. Landscape archi-
tecture is, indeed, one of the most refined sciences, drawing, as it
does, directly from the fields of both technical science and art. It
is especially close to the interests of children, because of the direct
appeal which it makes to their zesthetic nature. But the neglected
door-yards everywhere testify to the insensibility of the general
public to the importance of this factor in the education of the
children.

The dreariness of the exterior, as a matter of course, usually
finds its counterpart inside the house. The waste of Sahara is not
more lonesome than a house whose furnishing and decorations bear
no relation to the lives of the occupants; that do not grow out
of and bear the Impress of the thought of those who live with

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 39

them. Instead of really contributing to the joy and movement
of home life, such decorations introduce a stiffness that always
exists between strangers. The parlor and "best rooms" become
places to be shunned, not enjoyed, and the real available portion
of the house for living purposes becomes narrowed down to those
regions where the work is actually done.

This opens up at once the true function of the domestic arts.
Instruction in textiles, manual training, modeling, drawing, and
painting should at this point find easy entrance into the lives and
affections of the pupil, and nature-study properly presented should
furnish an inexhaustible supply of material and an endless variety
in design. It is useless to try to teach the relation of nature-study
to art until the pupils feel a need for the art until they see a
place for it and begin to picture in their imagination what it can
do. The study of art usually begins in a gallery which is but a
warehouse and most people grow old and die without once realizing
that it can exist anywhere else.

Homes that are made more livable through a greater sanity of
arrangement and decoration would react powerfully upon the social
relations. In many otherwise good communities the people are not
social because they dread each other's parlors; whereas, if their
rooms expressed something of the actual joy that the people get
out of living, they would add immensely to the pleasures of social
intercourse.

This phase of home life offers one of the easiest and most
obvious points of departure for the instruction of our pupils, but
it is one of the last to be discovered. If teachers were to devote
as much time to such instruction, were to bring to it the same
enthusiasm, the same use of pictures and books which they now
bring to the study of the houses of savages and of primitive men
of other days, their own homes and home life and the general social
condition would be almost revolutionized in a generation.

VI. THE CITY.

The most that has been said and written about nature-study has
been done with direct reference to the country. The city, however,
is no less a natural object than a tree or a fox. It belongs to the
earth ; it is as inseparable from it as a mountain range or a river,
and it should be studied in precisely the same way. Chicago is

40 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

no less a natural feature than Lake Michigan. The waves that
roll up on the sandy beach are not more natural than the stream of
life that rolls up and down the streets of the great city. As in
the case of the country, the study should begin with field-work.
The location of the city, as a natural feature, in the landscape, is
as truly a theme for nature-study as the clouds that float overhead.
The widest possible conceptions of which the children are capable
should be developed first by observation of fundamental conditions.
The great congregation of people upon one spot has a general
meaning that appears at once on the surface. Just as the single
dwelling is built with due regard to the country highway and the
village with regard to the " crossroads/' so the city bears an obvious
relation to the great highways of commerce. These all center in
its markets, and from them again traffic radiates to the country. The
location of the earliest dwellings and business houses will be found
to bear some relationship to the primitive natural features which
lend themselves to economy of construction, to sanitary conditions,
or to business advantages. From these initial points as centers the
buildings creep outward along the natural lines of least resistance.
The surrounding farms gradually change their general agricultural
character to more special forms of gardening, the raising of small
fruits and other products to meet the immediate demand of the
city. In their turn, these areas become suburban, and are finally
absorbed, becoming secondary business districts that accommodate
the part of the population that is now too remote from the principal
centers. The transportation facilities follow the population and
play an important part in differentiating the residence sections from
those devoted to business. As the town or city is favored with
natural means of communication with other points, it reacts upon
the surrounding country to an indefinite distance, stimulating pro-
ductive energy. With the increase in production of raw materials,
the city is driven to take advantage of whatever natural features
there may be which favor manufacturing, thereby diminishing labor
and expense in shipping and acquiring additional profits from sales.
From the side of nature-study, the facts to be emphasized here
are those which show the close adherence of man in his city build-
ing to natural conditions. Just as the root of a tree seeks this way
and that for the moisture and the best soil, so the growing city
seeks and finds its nourishment in equally elemental features. A

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 41

city so developed possesses the stability and the majesty of a
mountain, and it bears no more relation to the sporadic growth
of the illy considered "boom town" than the towering oak does
to the made-up plant with paper leaves. The result of such study
will be to unite the interests of the city and country in the minds
of the pupils, not to separate them. The life of each will become
less strange to the other, and every step taken will tend to develop
and strengthen the bonds of sympathy necessary to a happy social
life and to strong political existence.

VIL NATURE-STUDY AND HISTORY.

In adapting the general plan of nature-study here suggested to
a particular region, it is evident that it will involve many interesting
facts in history. Our country is so young that its history is com-
paratively simple, and the relationship of man to primitive natural
features may be easily traced from the earliest settlements.

A study of boundary lines will usually show how the present
farms have been derived from those of larger areas which were
secured by original government grants. This will be true also of the
township and county lines. The history of all boundaries, political
or otherwise, will show the influence of topography and natural
products, in which ravines and ridges play a conspicuous part.

From the first generation that devoted itself to pioneering and
the rudest agriculture almost everywhere, there have issued those
specialized occupations that mark at each step a close acquaintance
with nature. Each occupation has drawn to it men of a peculiar
type of mind and of a particular social grade from the Old World,
and each has exerted a unique influence upon the education of the
young. The undisturbed quiet of a strictly agricultural and graz-
ing region has produced a distinctly different kind of man from
the one developed in a mining or a manufacturing district. An
area not easily accessible by natural lines of communication lacks
the alertness and progressiveness in its people usually found in
communities having freer communication with social and indus-
trial centers of a somewhat different order. The effect of the
occupation upon the intelligence of the workmen is simple and
direct. It would be unreasonable to expect the same mental and
moral character in a man who delves day after day in the gloom
of the mines, performing an endless task, every day's part being

42 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

like that of every other day, that we should expect to find in the
man who under better physical conditions performs work which at
every moment exacts his individual and personal initiative. The
great differences which are easily recognized do not arise because
the one kind of labor is so much harder than the other , for both
may make about the same drafts upon the sum total of human
strength. They depend much more upon quality upon the kind
of reaction that they stimulate in the worker. Herein is the real
reason for the long struggle for shorter hours in the working-day ;
it is not so much that the muscles may be relaxed, as it is that the
mind may be released from the monotonous alternatives of the
pick and shovel, and the rhythmic bang of steam-driven tools.
The short working-day will accomplish its true purpose only when
the hours now largely spent in idleness shall be filled with some
stimulating purpose that turns the energies of the individual upon
some personal problem relating to the public good.

Mingling with the influences of the present surroundings are the
traditions that in many instances go back to some remote spot in
the Old World. The result is a general disturbance of ideals and a
modification of methods that serve to add to the confusion which
a great diversity of new conditions would of itself naturally induce.
Add to this the theory of self-government, only imperfectly under-
stood, but which by its very terms must mean the extreme reverse
of what a large part of the people have been accustomed to, and
there is no need to seek farther for the causes of social and political
turbulence. The mystery concerning the origin of political parties
no longer remains ; the only wonder is that there are not more of
them than already exist. The shifting of political boundaries in our
country's history following, now one great natural feature, now
another, is a very simple story that need not be detailed in this
connection. The pupils should be taught to study the great drama,
not as a spectator reviews the panorama of the stage, but as active
participants. For most people history is an affair of the books;
for our pupils it should be a matter of present concern and of
personal experience. It is only as they really become intelligent
as to man's place in nature that the theory of self-government can
be appreciated or fully understood. It is from such wisdom that
the proper machinery of government must be devised, so that the
mutual and natural relations between the governed and their repre-

THE SCOPE OF NATURE-STUDY 43

sentatives may be preserved. Civics is as essentially a subject of
natural history as are the instincts of the brute creation or the
habits of climbing plants. When we learn how to draw its lessons
from the story of man's efforts to adapt himself to ever changing
conditions, it will be possible to frame a machinery of government
that will be flexible enough to meet his growing needs, and still
have all the stability of nature's laws.

CHAPTER III.
THE STUDY OF INDIVIDUALS VERSUS THAT OF TYPES.

ONE of the most important reasons for the remarkable hold
which the stories of history and biography take upon the minds
of children, and of older students, too, is the fact that they contain
a dramatic element which fires the imagination. The characters
portrayed in history are in action ; they are doing something which
always involves their relations to others, and the part they play is
easily recognized as being essential in the general movement. The
events themselves become the embodiment of action. One thing
follows another in an order that stirs the emotions, appeals to the
reason, and irresistibly fastens the entire attention. The treat-
ment also of the subject-matter has been essentially different. In
the teaching of history, there is a careful arrangement of details in a
proper perspective. The great actors stand well in the foreground
as chief centers of interest. The influence of a people, often cover-
ing the entire life of a nation, is summed up as a single event in the
great historic succession.

The plan followed by most teachers of nature-study has been
the reverse. Believing it to be largely an affair of the senses, the
pupil at the outset is completely immersed in details so numerous
and minute that it is beyond the power of his reason and imagina-
tion to reduce them to order. It is as though the teacher of history
should begin the study of a great military campaign by a critical
study of all the different kinds of buttons on the uniforms of the
soldiers. The imagination is a fact and a factor in human educa-
tion which must be taken into account, regardless of the kind of
subject-matter presented. If the presentation for any reason fails
to reach and rouse the imagination, no educative result can come
from it, though the appeal may have been made to every sense in
the body. Many teachers, realizing the lack of this element in
nature-study, have sought to supply it by treating all individuals
under the guise of human beings. There is nothing in nature, from
a raindrop to an oyster, that has not been personified in the hope
that this personal relationship to the pupils may be brought out a

THE STUDY OF INDIVIDUALS VERSUS THAT OF TYPES 45

little stronger. The general effect of this plan reminds one of the
grotesqueness of the hand-organ monkey that is dressed up in a
red coat and a cocked hat. His ill-fitting garments certainly add
nothing to his character as a monkey, and they fail to give him
anything of the bearing and dignity of a man.

An attempt has been made in the foregoing pages to show how
the pupil may become properly conscious of the sweep and move-
ment of nature. The events of the year keeping step with the
seasons, if properly presented, form the natural setting and back-
ground for all the minor details. The latter must be studied as
to the part they play in the well-ordered whole. This leads to
a study of personal traits and characteristics that are peculiar to
each individual ; and the study becomes a thousandfold more inter-
esting than it is when everything is reduced to the common
denominator man. In the past too much emphasis has been
placed upon classification. There has been too little attention given
to individuals and too much stress laid upon types. The type is a
figment of the imagination. The typical animal or plant cannot
do anything, because it does not exist. Such study, therefore, is
uninteresting and profitless.

The most interesting thing about an animal or plant is its own
peculiar methods of solving the personal problems that come up
in its life. It is able to make its way in the world not more by
reason of its likeness to other individuals than by its unlikeness to
them. The most fortunate thing in life is to be born different
from everything else ; with just enough difference to have a unique
point of view ; to have novel ways of reaching results ; to be able
to see the opposite sides of questions presented; to be able to
utilize what others waste; to have the ability to save when others
lavish these are the personal traits which contribute to the
strength and virility of the individual, and it is through such that
the race survives. Everything born into the world becomes the
immediate possible progenitor of a line of individuals not more
remarkable for their likenesses than for their power to vary from
each other. It is by means of these fortunate unlikenesses that
living forms have been enabled to take possession of every nook
and corner of the whole earth.

While it is barbaric and unnatural therefore, to clothe every-
thing in the garb of a man in order to study it, it is most desirable

46 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

to treat it as a unique personality that has a particular mission to
fill in the world's economy, and as having the power to devise
special ways and means for accomplishing its work. Studied in
this way, it becomes an actor with a definite part, not merely a
cumberer of the earth.

It is safe to say that one rarely observes with care the habits of
any particular creature without discovering that it has some peculi-
arity not noted in the books. The hunter and trapper, the breeder,
the fancier, the keeper of pets, the man of science, each has his
story that shows up the child of nature from his own particular line
of approach. The following instances, taken from personal obser-
vation, will serve to illustrate the point :

I once was on more or less intimate terms with an old fox that
had a large family of young housed in a deserted coal mine that
entered the side of the hill about half a mile away. Naturally
enough, the mother depended largely upon the farm-yard prod-
ucts for the maintenance of her family, and one time I had a
chance to study her methods. She was observed, some distance
away from the barn, stalking a flock of chickens. She simply
walked after them, apparently knowing that if she became too
enthusiastic in the pursuit, they might, and probably would, take
wing. Finding that she was being watched, she bounded away
to the den. Noticing a bunch of feathers lying in the course over
which she had stalked the chickens, I proceeded to investigate, not
doubting that I should find the mangled remains of a fowl. To
my astonishment, instead, I found a rooster, with his heels in the
air, lying on his back in a shallow hole, left by a horse's foot in
the soft turf, and entirely unhurt. When I set him upon his feet,
he ran away, no doubt much surprised to find himself alive. The
fox evidently had put the chicken on his back into this hole, at
the same time hypnotizing him into the belief that he could not
extricate himself. Presumably he, by following this plan up, would
have secured a full load of poultry before returning to the den
to face the clamoring youngsters. I subsequently tried the same
experiment upon a rooster, and found that by placing him on his
back, as the fox had done, I, too, could make him lie still but I
learned the trick from the fox. I have never read of a similar
observation, and cannot say whether it was a habit peculiar to this
particular fox or not.

THE STUDY OF INDIVIDUALS VERSUS THAT OF TYPES 47

One time, in a large city, I kept an opossum as a pet for nearly
a year. It is a misnomer to speak of him as such, for he never
seemed to appreciate in any way the attentions he received. One
day in the summer he escaped, and for a time all trace of him
was lost. The following" spring, hearing that a man several blocks
away had killed an opossum which he had caught in his chicken-
house, I visited the place and found that it was my unfortunate pet.
The man said that he had been missing chickens all winter, but
had been unable to find the marauder until he had actually lain in
wait for him. The interesting point was to know where the
creature had lived all these months following his escape. About
half a mile away was a shelving rocky cliff formed by the construc-
tion of a railway tunnel through a hill. It seemed most plausible
that he had sought shelter and refuge in this place, but one could
not be sure. The important fact was that this stupid (?) little
beastie, reared in the wilds of the Blue Ridge Mountains, with cer-
tainly no opportunities of knowing city ways, had managed to
support himself and remain undiscovered for nearly a year, in the
midst of thousands of his most deadly enemies. Could a human
being under corresponding circumstances have done any better?
Would a Japanese spy get along so well if he tried to live in
Russia? "Vet the opossum took just such chances in staying in the
city, and he must have found it necessary to invent some ways of
doing things that were new and strange to the " typical * possum/ "

It is well known that the members of the pigeon family lay but
two eggs. I once found a dove's nest in an apple tree that con-
tained but one young one. While it was still quite small the mother
dove laid a second egg. This one the young dove kept warm until
it was finally hatched; by this time the first one was able to leave
the nest. Whether this curious arrangement was made by accident
or design it is difficult to say. The only advantage seemed to be
in the fact that the nest did not have to be quite so large, nor
the food supply at any one time quite so great. I have never seen
it noted as being a characteristic habit of doves.

I recall an instance where a weasel produced a reign of terror
in a certain chicken-house, and a reign of indignation in the house-
hold, for almost an entire summer before his whereabouts were
discovered. The marauder was known to be a weasel from the
peculiar way that the chickens were killed. In each case the throat

4$ THE THIRD YEARBOOK

was cut, and often there would be a number of victims in one night.
One day while in the door-yard I saw something like a flash dart
down a gatepost and enter a knot-hole on the side. Investigation
revealed the devastator of the chicken-coop. This creature had
managed to maintain itself on the fowls and to live within one
hundred feet of the door of the dwelling, in a gatepost which was
passed scores of times every day by the different members of the
family. It appeared that he had the habit of entering the hole by
coming down the post, and that he traveled to and from the chicken
house on a fence so that he was safe from discovery by the dogs.

An even more remarkable case was that of a polecat that
made her nest and reared her young almost to maturity in a pile of
old fence rails that lay within a few feet of a path between the
house and barn. There were two or three dogs about whose sole
business was to look after "varmints," but this family was able
to thrive undiscovered, and their presence was revealed only by
an accident. Of course, this animal is nocturnal in its habits, but
how, even so, it was able to leave and return to the wood-pile for
almost an entire summer without once rousing the suspicions of the
inquisitive dogs must always remain a mystery.

These animals adapted themselves to new and novel situations.
It seems almost impossible to believe that they obey merely the
instincts of the type, the traditions of the race. Apparently they
had to invent ways of getting along that were made necessary by
the strange and dangerous surroundings.

The knowledge acquired by working out the customs of indi-
viduals is more interesting and stimulating in the direction of
further study than anything that can be gotten from books or from
a more general study of types. The same principle must be applied
to the study of nature that we observe in the study of human beings.
No one is interested, except in a general way, for example, in the
study of tailors as a class. But the study of how the individual
tailor makes his way, by contriving special forms of advertising,
by changing the cut of his clothes, and by other devices that are
peculiar to himself, and which tend to distinguish him these
are full of interest. The same applies to all living things. The
fact that they are on the earth today shows how skilful they have
been in devising ways and means of self-support. Those less
skilful are embalmed in the rocks as fossils or have utterly disap-

THE STUDY OF INDIVIDUALS VERSUS THAT OF TYPES 49

pearecL The survivors, therefore, should be objects of the greatest
individual interest. In their field their skill outwits our own.
Were we to attempt to live by the chances taken by a kingfisher,
we should have to go to school to the kingfishers for a million
years. It is only through the study of the personal life of the
individuals that we can have that true nature-study upon which we
must depend to broaden the sympathies of the children for the
world of nature at large.

CHAPTER IV.
NATURE-STUDY AND EXPRESSION.

IN nature-study it Is indispensable that adequate and intelligible
records, corresponding to the different modes of observation, shall
be carefully made and preserved. Few people seem to appreciate
sufficiently the importance of appropriate and adequate expression.
Teachers are apt to be content with having the pupils see, and then
"tell what they see" in oral language, forgetting that the most
and the best that they have to tell cannot be expressed in that way.
The fear that the technical side of the various modes of expression
cannot be mastered in the earlier grades adds materially to the
difficulty. The fact is, however, that the mere technical or formal
side of a subject is always the easiest part of the subject to learn.

Whatever may be the mode employed it is of the greatest
importance that the expression shall be preserved carefully in the
form of a record of the work done. Such a record is a powerful
and a perfectly legitimate stimulus to further study and effort, and
at the same time stands as a coherent history of what has been
accomplished. In this way, also, a just basis is established for the
judgment of teacher, parent, and pupil as to the merits of the work.

I. COLOR.

Among the records that can be made by pupils of all grades
there is no one capable of a wider and more varied application than
that of color. Of the mediums that may be employed, for simpli-
city and effectiveness water-colors are superior to others. With
children and with all beginners this record has the highest value:
first, because with children, particularly, nature exists as a thing
of color, and it is through color that it makes its earliest appeal;
second, because the simplicity of the materials used water-colors
enables the children to express more fully and more graphically,
by this means than by any other, what they see

Fig. I shows one month's record in a pictorial history of the year
in color. In the Chicago Normal and Practice School this plan
was followed with various modifications for several years. Above

FIG i. Pictorial History for November. (Water Color )

FIG 2. History of the Dandelion. (Water Color )

NA TURE-STUD Y AND EXPRESSION 5 *

the fifth grade, the pupils daily painted the landscape, having chosen
the time and place most convenient or that would best tell the
story of the day. By vote of the children, that landscape was chosen
which seemed to be the most faithful portrayal, and it was mounted
upon a card. Fig. i shows the record of the month of November.
Space forbids the reproduction of more of these, and the effective-
ness is also much impaired by the necessary loss of color in the
half-tone. As such cards are prepared, day by day and month
by month, they form a record of the transient aspects of the land-
scape that is far more graphic and impressive than any other form
of expression that can be used by the pupils. The series of cards
for the year show with surprising clearness and with panoramic
force the seasonal aspects that appear in color. No other form
of record brings out so well those subtle changes, occurring from
day to day and through the seasons, which appeal so strongly to the
aesthetic sense. All are invariably filled with surprise to find the
incessant change in the shades of green that sweep over the land-
scape during the summer. No two months are the same. The
earliest tingeing of autumn shades strikes the treetops, and through
a series of browns and yellows finally descends to the winter drab
of the ground. In the spring the earliest signs of reviving life
appear on the surface, and they gradually work their way, through
a new series of shades, to the treetops again. In the winter almost
the entire color effect is derived from the dead the dried grass
and weeds, the bark on the trees and from the inorganic domain
of nature the ground, rocks, streams, bodies of water, snow,
and ice. That this scene does not become a pulseless monotony
through the long winter is very largely due to the infinite change
in appearance that is wrought by its constantly shifting background
the sky. The rose and the pink, the purple, the lilac, the gray and
blue of the winter heavens in the evening and morning, seem to be
the finest of the year.

In the summer time color speaks of life and of work. Every
hue and shade tells of something done of a twig that has grown,
of a flower, or of a fruit. No record of tongue or pen that the
children can prepare will compare in its completeness and vividness
with this history which they can write with the brush.

In descending to the details of the landscape the same mode of
expression may be used with equal effect. In Fig. 2 there is given

52 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

the history of a dandelion from its earliest sprout to the seed. This
history finds an interesting parallel in the docks, thistle, cinquefoil,
and many other plants that are in almost every vacant spot of
ground.

In Fig. 3 the story of germination is told in a series of paintings
illustrating the growth of the ragweed which infested a vacant lot
adjacent to the schoolhouse. These plants were observed through
the spring; and in the autumn, when school reopened, the children
again went to the lot and finished the history by studying and
representing the full-grown plant with ripened seed.

It has taken teachers a long time to find out how much more
interesting it is to study germination when all creation is sprouting
than it is when observations must be confined solely to window-
boxes. The latter may supplement, but they should not take the
place of, outdoor study. By the latter means only, when the plants
are starting under natural conditions, is it possible for the pupils
to find out the fundamental facts in germination. A seed repre-
sents a plant in a state of isolation. Germination and growth mean
the establishment of definite relations with heat, moisture, and
light When the proper degree of heat is reached, the plantlet
establishes relations with moisture, which it finds in the soil, by
means of a root A little later it forms its relationship with light
by means of stem and leaf. The relative importance of these two
relationships is indicated by the measurements of root and stem.
Later, as the plant develops, the part that the leaf plays in the
plant's adaptation to varying quantities of heat and moisture also
appears.

The study of germination in this manner includes observations
on the temperature of the soil at different depths, the moisture in
the soil, the temperature of the air, and the distribution of sunshine
and rainfall.

Another interesting detail of the landscape which may be studied
in the same way is the development of branches, flowers, and leaves
from buds. Fig. 4 shows such a record made by fifth-grade pupils
from a study of various trees in the neighborhood. This history
shows that in taking up the work of a new season the plants form
a regular procession, in time, in which each has a tolerably well-
defined place.

The bud, like the seed, has several interesting problems to solve.

NATURE-STUDY AND EXPRESSION 53

It involves no small risk to unfold the tender leaflets and shoots to
the uncertainties of early spring. The extent of the risk may be
broadly imagined by the numbers of dormant buds that are held
as reserves. In sundry ways each plant tries to checkmate the
possible treachery of the elements. In some cases, as in the ash,
the bud scales grow and attain considerable size, thus affording the
early protection possibly needed. In others the stipules perform
a similar office; and all seek to gain more or less time, before
fully exposing the young leaf surface to the glare of heat and light,
by a diversity of folding, wrinkling, and curling of leaves. The
brilliant coloring of some young leaves, as in the oak and sassafras,
probably expresses a heat-relation by means of which the young
cells are able to extract a little more warmth from the sunshine,
and thus give the plant the advantage of a little earlier start. This
seems like a doubtful explanation in the case of the sassafras, at
least, whose young leaves put forth in July are as highly colored
as those are which start in April and May.

In addition to their work upon the landscape and its details,
many of which limited space forbids even mention, the pupils
for several years had under observation an area known as the
school garden. A view of this is given in Fig. 5. The garden
was about 40 by 50 meters, and contained approximately half an
acre. It was divided in various ways to suit changing conditions,
but always in such manner as to give each grade, from the kinder-
garten up, a fair proportion of the ground to care for. It is a great
point for the teacher to recognize the fact that children's interests
are by no means all identical in nature-study. None are lacking
in all interest, but very few interests run exactly in the same chan-
nel. The value of the work is much enhanced by throwing open
the whole field to the pupils. Some of them, therefore, have been
allowed to follow up certain phases of the garden-work, while
others have devoted themselves more closely to the wild plants or
to the birds or insects. As the different pupils report upon their
work, however, there always appears a considerable community of
interest, corresponding to the interrelations that develop among the
things studied.

In autumn the color record becomes, if possible, more varied
and richer. The landscape changes are more vivid and striking.
Insect life is at its best. Caterpillars in almost endless variety

54 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

afford continued entertainment, and through their curious habits
initiate the children into some of the most interesting- of life's
mysteries. Fig. 6 shows some of these studies. One is that of
a caterpillar that found its way into the schoolroom, and in seeking
the upper comer of the window frame in order to spin its coccoon,
for reasons possibly known to itself, certainly not to the observers,
it spun for itself a kind of Jacob's ladder on the window pane, by
means of which it climbed to its destination.

Another is that of the sand spider which the children dug out
of a sand dune at a depth of two feet This little creature had
walled up its chimney-like burrow with a finely woven web which
prevented the loose sand from caving in upon it when, relatively,
as far below the surface as a man would be in one of our deepest
mines.

A third study shows the larva, a caterpillar, which has itself
become the unwilling and luckless host that supports two or three
score of smaller larvae, which now have spun their tiny white
coccoons on the outside of its miserable and shriveling body. A
fourth shows how some of the insects have successfully run the
gauntlet so far as to be snugly ensconced in their winter garments
the coccoon. But whether they shall escape the lynx-eyed, hungry
blue jay, and emerge in the springtime in the glorified garments
of their final transfiguration, no one can tell.

IL DRAWING.

There is a good deal of confusion in the minds of most teachers
as to the relations of painting or color-work to drawing. It is
evident that both modes of expression, as such, have certain ele-
ments in common. For example, form in two dimensions must be
expressed by both. It is equally clear, though, that there must be
some points of fundamental difference, and the failure to recognize
these leads to undiscriminating and vague use of both. The func-
tion of any mode of expression depends upon the nature of the
image. In this case it would seem, therefore, that when the func-
tion of the thing observed is expressed through color, wholly or
chiefly and the image thus is largely visual painting is the proper
mode to be adopted. But in cases when the color is secondary in
denoting function, and when outline is primary, and the image is
therefore chiefly motor, then drawing is the most direct mode to

FIG. 5. The School Garden.

FIG $a. The Same Garden in the Month of June.

NA TURE-STUD Y AND EXPRESSION 5 5

be used. As an illustration of this point, it may be said that when
a child sketches a tree in winter with its bare branches, color plays
a secondary and unimportant part ; but the outline of the tree, by the
direction of its branches and the contour of its top gives rise to an
image involving direction and distance, and the image is therefore
chiefly motor, and drawing is the direct and appropriate mode of
expression. But in the summer, when the life of the tree is shown
in the color of the leaves, the contour of the top and other outlines
are secondary; the image is chiefly visual and painting becomes
the appropriate mode.

III. MODELING.

The relation of both these modes of expression to modeling is
obvious. When the function of the thing is expressed wholly or
chiefly only when the third dimension is taken into account, then
the image becomes motor, and it is clear that modeling is the directly
appropriate mode of expression. For example, in the case of a
fruit, the chief function is not dependent upon either color or out-
line, but upon the form in three dimensions. The image is, there-
fore, motor ; and since the three dimensions are involved, modeling
is the mode that should be used. If, now, color, too, plays an
important function, as it does in the case of some fruits, then the
model should be colored also, because an important aspect of the
image is visual.

IV. MAKING.

The great value of making, which is here intended to include
all forms of manual training and constructive work, lies in the fact
that the thing made need not be constructed in accordance with
any model or pattern. In painting a landscape, the result, to be
rational, must embody the essential features of this or that area,
or it may be a composite of many areas. But in building a con-
veyance, for example, the maker is at liberty to invent a form never
yet beheld by anyone the only prime requisite being that it shall
perform its function better than any other conveyance already built.
In this respect, mechanical drawing is closely allied to making.

Nature-study opens up an exhaustless field for manual work,
not only in the construction of apparatus, but in the performance
of experiments in physics, chemistry, and other sciences, all of
which require the constant exercise of the inventive function of the
mind and the greatest manual skill that the pupil can command.

56 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

V. READING AND WRITING.

It is needless to dwell upon the fact that the chief reasons why
reading and writing become irksome tasks are that the form side has
been emphasized at the expense of interesting content. The ordinary
school-work does not furnish a great demand for the use of these
particular tools. In order to illustrate the part that these subjects
may play in nature-study from the earliest steps in observation, the
following lesson is given with a summary showing the way in which
it was prepared and something of its educational value :

READING LESSON ON THE FARM.

November 2 we went to visit a farm.

It was a beautiful day.

Deep-blue sky above us.

Not a cloud in it

Cool fresh air around us.

Bright warm sunshine all day long.

"The nicest day of all the year!" said Fritz

The farm we visited is fifteen miles from our school.

It is on Halsted Street.

We might have gone all the way out in wagons.

That was too slow for us.

It took us forty-two minutes to go to Thornton, on the train.

Then we were only one mile and a half from the farm.

Big hay-wagons were waiting for us at the station.

Oh, what fun we had going to the farm!

We passed a big limestone quarry.

We wanted to see it.

But we could not stop for that.

We passed some beautiful oak woods.

We wanted to gather leaves.

But we could not stop for that.

We passed a great yard full of horses and colts.

We wanted to watch them.

But we could not stop for that.

We passed cows and calves, goats and little pigs.

We saw old hens and chickens, and a big, proud peacock.

But we could not stop for any of these things.

They needed our horses at the farm, you see

After a while we came to more beautiful woods.

NA TURE-STUD Y AND EXPRESSION 5 7

We heard turkeys gobbling.
We saw a red-brick house.
We were at the farm.

'I he people at the farm were very kind to us.
They came out to meet us.
They let us go everywhere.
They let us see everything.

We went fust to the horse-barn.

We saw each horse go into his stall.

They were fine, large horses.

They were black, white, and brown.

Some of us liked the white one best.

Some liked the big black one best.

In each stall was a manger full of hay.

We saw the horses fed and watered.

We saw them hitched up for work.

The man showed us how he kept the horses clean.

He combed their hair with a curry-comb.

One boy said : " I am glad my hair is not combed that way ! "

The man showed us the hayloft full of hay.

He showed us the oat-bin full of oats.

Then we went to the cow-barn.

The cows were out in the cow-yard.

That was back of the barn.

There were twenty-five cows in the yard.

In the barn was a little black and white calf

It was only two days old.

Its mother was in the yard.

She kept calling it.

It always answered her.

"Moo! Moo!" said the old cow.

"Maa! Maa! " said the little calf.

We wanted to stay and watch him. *

But there were many things to see yet.

We had to go on.

We saw all the food for the cows.

There was ground corn, and oats.

There was plenty of hay and corn fodder.

Corn fodder is the dry stalks and blades of corn.

We saw the stalls where the cows were milked.

They were not like the horses' stalls.

5 8 7 HZ THIRD YEARBOOK

There were no mangers in them.

There were slats to hold the cows' heads straight.

Why do people wish to hold the cows' heads straight?

We saw much straw for the cows' beds.

In summer the cows sleep outdoors.

Then we went to see the pigs.

They grunted and squealed when they saw us.

" Give us something to eat," they said.

We ground corn for them in the corn-grinder.

We fed them some of our lunches.

Still they grunted and squealed.

Pigs never seem to know when they have enough to eat.

They would eat all the time, I think.

Then we went to see the machines.

There was a shed full of them.

There was a ground-roller.

We rode on that awhile.

There was a drill to make holes for the seeds.

There was a hay-rake and corn-cutter.

There were a great many other machines, but we did not see them used.

Then it was noon.

We sat down outdoors to eat our lunches.

Some of us sat on pumpkins on the porch.

Some of us sat under the trees.

It was nice to look up at the blue sky.

We had to look out through the red and yellow leaves.

There was a large woods across Irom the house.

Oh, there were such pretty leaves on those trees!

The oak leaves were purple, brown, and red.

The maple leaves were bright yellow.

The pines were deep green.

After lunch we ran over into the woods

We played games and climbed trees.

We filled baskets with acorns for Bunny, our squirrel.

We gathered pretty leaves to take home to mother.

We saw a man cut down a pine tree.

First he cut a notch all around with his ax.

Then he cut in deeper and deeper on one side.

Down came the fine tree.

We wondered why he cut it down.

One boy said: "It's for a Christmas tree."

NA TU RE- STUD Y AND ^EXPRESSION | 59

Do you think it was?

Another said : " Oh, they want to get the pineapples."

He thought the cones were pineapples.

That was a joke. Do you know why?

We went to see the man plow a field.

It took three horses to draw the plow.

The plow-knife was round like a wheel.

It cut through the sod.

The plowshare was behind the wheel.

It was made of bright steel.

It turned the soil over.

It was a long, long field, but we went to the end of it.

The soil by the house was sandy, but this soil was black.

We brought some of it home.

It is not like our garden soil.

At four o'clock we all got into the hay-wagon again.

" Good-bye, pretty woods," said one girl.

"Good-bye, nice farm," said another.

" Good-bye, and thank you," we all said to the kind people

Then we came home.

Was it not a nice day?

In summing up this lesson as to its educational place and
function, the following points may be noted :

1. The day's observations of a widely varied character, enlisted
the equally varied interests of the pupils.

2. When the pupils returned for days, perhaps weeks, they were
permitted invited to tell the stories of their experiences.

3. They were confronted by the fact that the oral story could not
be held strongly in mind, and they at once appreciated the real
function of writing as a means of keeping a record.

4. The teacher at first wrote these stories, as they came to her,
on the blackboard. This was the strongest possible stimulus for
the pupils themselves to make the effort to write. It is of the
utmost importance that the teacher be a clearly legible and rapid
writer, so that the pupils may have as nearly as possible the perfect
copy.

As to the method, the teacher wrote the entire sentence or story.
After the opportunity of a minute or two had been allowed the pupils
for examination, it was erased and they were permitted to try to
reproduce it from memory. If they failed, as they always did at

60 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

first, the sentence was rewritten, and repeated trials were permitted
until the pupils could reproduce the story. This was to induce the
pupils to grasp and hold the entire thought and the complete forms
that embodied it, and to prevent that painful copying, letter by
letter, which is the bane of the old copy-book method.

5. As the stories were written on the board, they were read by
the pupils. These were interesting to all, because each generally
contained some bit of a picture that had partly or wholly escaped
the attention of others, and then writing and reading were both
given immediately their proper function.

6. It was soon evident to the pupils that the order in which the
stories were told by the class was not the best to express the
experiences of the day as a whole. They then selected those stories
which bore upon the same point and grouped them together, form-
ing something of a chapter. Within this chapter, too, they arranged
the stories in the most effective sequence.

7. When this work was done, the stories were copied upon
paper and sent to the printing-office. In a day of two it came back
in large type. It was a matter of some conjecture as to whether
the pupils would care to read the story, now, after having dealt
with the details so fully before printing. But the doubt was
immediately dispelled. There was the most eager desire to read
partly, no doubt, from the novelty, and from the fact that each had
contributed to the composition, and therefore had a desire to see
himself in print ; but, in the main, because through the reading they
actually lived the day over again. In this way the reading per-
formed its perfect function as an aid in imaging.

Of course, the pupils did not recognize all the words perhaps
not more than half of them. Their eagerness to get the meaning,
though, rendered them alert in getting the new ones; and the
meaning was clear to all. Teachers are frequently so overconsci-
entious in making sure that the pupils get every word that they
spoil the spirit of the reading. Nobody is ever expert enough to be
perfectly sure that he will know either the pronunciation or meaning
of every word on the page of the ordinary newspaper, magazine,
or book. Yet we get the sense from the context without this final
detail of meaning, and we get from the page all it was intended
to give. The same rule should apply to the children. The nature

NATURE-STUDY AND EXPRESSION 6 1

picture is the thing to be developed, and the reading must be, and
it is, a useful means, not a hindrance, to that end.

8. When the work of the school, in reading as well as in other
subjects, can be printed, as it was in the present instance, the pupils
can be given an opportunity for bookbinding. In the present case,
an old book was soaked and the cover removed, and the different
parts were separated so that the pattern could be obtained. Then,
with cardboard, and paper suitable for the covering, and leatheret,
the pupils constructed a back that held a number of short stubs of
leaves. To these, they pasted the printed sheets, as they were
prepared, and thus built up their own reader and text-book.

Reading taught in accordance with the principles suggested
above becomes of immense service to nature-study, and it is also
much more. It makes a direct appeal to the literary taste. Not
only does it create a taste for what others have written, but it lays
the basis for literary composition by the pupil himself. The two
following reading lessons on " Sunrise " and " Sunset " are a child's
original expression concerning two sets of natural phenomena that
have given to literature some of its choicest gems :

SUNKISE.

I saw the sunrise.

It was beautiful.

Some clouds were red.

Some clouds were white and pink.

Some clouds were golden.

The sky was blue.

Then the sun came.

I could not look at it

It was too bright.

The birds were singing

The dew was on the grass.

The sun rose in the east.

That way is east.

SUNSET.

That way is west.

The sun sets in the west.

I saw the sun setting.

It was beautiful.

It was large and red.

62 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

I could look at it.

Some clouds were golden and pink.
Some clouds were white and fleecy
The white clouds looked like ships.
The sky looked like a great still lake.
Will you look at the sunset tonight?

Teachers of nature-study too often imagine that their work ends
when the senses have been employed in observation. Pupils are
taught to observe for themselves, but they are generally given the
impression that for the literary and artistic aspects they must depend
upon others. Hence, while they see for themselves, they read the
poetry and sing the songs of other people. This is as bad as it
would be to have them depend wholly upon the observations of
others. The literary and artistic impulses are roused in the chil-
dren by nature, as they have been aroused in older people before
them, and it is the teacher's business to nurture and develop the
appropriate forms of expression in the children themselves. This
cannot be done by having them always read what has been said any
more than they can be taught to observe by telling them what some-
one else has seen. A field trip has not been wholly successful if it
does not rouse the artistic feelings if it does not stimulate them
to paint, or lift them up to the use of the best language; or if
it does not furnish the spirit for a song. The chief reason why
these results are not secured is that teachers pay no attention to the
foundations which nature-study lays for them. These impulses in
children are easily roused ; but, uncared for, they soon wither and
die, never again to reappear. Hence, the dull and prosaic life, instead
of one rich in feeling, in sympathy, and in appreciation of both
nature and man.

VI. MUSIC.

The following song was composed under the direction of Mrs.
May Root Kern by a class in the Laboratory School of the Univer-
sity. Song-writing should be almost as common an expression in
connection with nature-study as drawing or written composition.

NATURE-STUDY AND EXPRESSION

The day was pleas-ant, The air was fresh and cool As we
The air was per-fumed By pur- pie li- lacs gay, As we

mi j

start - ed on the train for our ex - cur - sion, We
went a - long the road on our ex - cur - sion, We

passed green hills and mead-ows Where hap-py chil-dren played; We
saw the bud -ding lil - ies Up - on the wa-ter blue, We

6 4

TffE THIRD YEARBOOK

saw a lit - tie streamlet Flowing gen - tly thro* a glade, And we
gathered dew-y vi - o- lets, And ap - ple-"blos-soms, too, And we

all felt glad and gay on that ex -

cur

j ' ii

sion!

all felt glad and gay on that ex - cur

sion!

1 1 e j j |

1^- 8 ^-

1 H

M=*

1 1 '

4-- H
j ii

K~t J J ^

. ^ d

j-t H

CHAPTER V.
NUMBER-WORK IN NATURE-STUDY.

IT is the function of observation to define a mental picture or
image. By means of number the image is defined through a deter-
mination of quantity. In the application of number therefore, the
same principles must be observed that are employed in defining the
image by other means.

1. There must be a clear idea concerning the image to be defined.
If, for example, a pupil is required to find the number of barrels
of water in the rainfall of a given area, he should know beforehand
how this result is to contribute to the nature-image that is being
developed. The life-conditions of a given area are largely affected
by the rainfall. By finding the quantity the student determines
exactly the value of that particular factor, which enables him to
make definite comparisons with other areas, or with the same area
in different months or years.

2. There must be an appropriate selection of units of measure-
ment. The units chosen must be such as will involve the pupils
least in the details of process, and which, at the same time, will
best approximately define the image.

Pupils in the early grades should deal with quantities of large
amount. For example, the amount of water in the soil found by
drying out one cubic inch might serve the purpose with an adult,
but it would make practically no impression on young children;
whereas the picture might be made very interesting if in the latter
case a bucketful of soil were used. The bucketful would be, perhaps,
as much as the pupil could lift, and might weigh ten pounds. It
would be much easier to get numerical results that would be intel-
ligible if pounds were used, than it would be if ounces were
employed. So, too, yards in many cases would mean more than
feet or inches,

3. The most expeditious methods of measurement should be
adopted. Estimate, then measure. Neglect the fractions that do
not stand for an actual image in the pupil's mind. This will fix
naturally the limits of the decimal. If a hundredth of a pint

66 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

possesses no significance to the pupil in his image of the quantity
involved, then neglect it. Fractions should be taught along with
whole numbers when they assist in determining an actual image -
not otherwise, any more than a useless or meaningless word.
Common and decimal fractions should be taught from the begin-
ning. The difference is merely one of written language.

4. There must be careful selection of the processes by which the
comparisons are made. This will be determined by the pupil's
ability to picture and use the different standards of comparison.
The earliest processes will be addition and subtraction ; then frac-
tions , later ratio and percentage.

5. The results obtained must be represented objectively until they
will be habitually imaged. Thus, if it is found that a cubic foot
of soil contains three gallons of water, (a) the actual size of the
cubic foot must be shown (by a model or otherwise), and (b) the
water must be actually measured and put into some convenient
receptacle. In the same way, the units yard, foot, inch, acre, mile,
square mile, etc., etc., must be actually seen until they become a
part of the mental equipment. They should be ready for immediate
use, just as the color green or red is always ready when needed in
our thinking. Represent proportions by diagrams and models.

6. Using the results obtained as data, a great nature-picture
must be constructed. By calculation, the real magnitude of the
world-operations should be brought out with all possible distinct-
ness. For example, a certain series of rainstorms that crossed the
United States gave an average depth of five and one-half inches of
rainfall. This amounted to nearly three and one-half gallons of
water per square foot of surface. (The result should be shown
objectively, as suggested in 5.) When the amount of water is cal-
culated for the entire area, the mind is staggered at the quantity.
It would fill a hole having a cross-sectional area of twenty acres,
about two thousand miles deep. Athough the quantity of water is
so enormous, it fell as rain not only harmlessly, but in such a way
as to greatly revive and refresh the earth. There is no other means
of opening up these world-pictures to the pupil except through the
intelligent use of numbers.

It is useless to merely enumerate topics in nature-study which
require number-work. The number-work is not required in fact,
unless the topics themselves are fully worked out. A random use

NUMBER-WORK IN NATURE-STUDY 67

of number with nature-study materials is as bad as the present
sterile array of problems in the ordinary text-book in arithmetic.
There will never be any such thing as rational mathematical work
until it is confined to the appropriate part it plays in the development
of an image.

One of the chief obstacles to intelligent number-work is the
deep-seated feeling in the minds of most teachers that a large
amount of drill-work is necessary in order to fix the process. That
much repetition may be necessary does not imply, however, that
it shall take the nature of drill on empty and meaningless forms.
The same principles apply here that apply to reading. It would
be just as senseless to isolate the words of a lesson and require the
pupil to learn them all by rote before learning to read, as it is to
isolate a lot of facts in the form of the multiplication table or the
tables of compound numbers and require the pupils to memorize
them. That both words and certain results in arithmetic must be
memorized no one will dispute, but there is no reason for doing
one thing with words in reading and another thing with number.

The tables of various kinds in arithmetic should be built up just
as a vocabulary is formed. When a word is used by the pupil in
the development of an image, the teacher usually, as she should do,
makes an effort to fix the word in the mind. If the child fully
understands its function in the development of his image, it is
comparatively easy to do this ; otherwise it is not readily done. So
in number, if the development of the image requires that the pupil
get the product of 6 times 8, when the result, 48, is obtained the
operation should be fixed in the same way that the word is memo-
rized. In fact, this part of the work is nothing but a language
lesson, and it should be treated as such. If from day to day these
operations are all gathered up and tabulated as they occur, the
tables will take care of themselves.

The real point of importance that is involved here is a moral one.
No one has yet been able to calculate the evil done to the pupil
by enforcing the current drill methods in arithmetic. By this prac-
tice it habituates the pupils to dealing with forms without meaning
to blindly doing things from which they expect no intelligible
result. If we were to practice the same methods in teaching read-
ing, if we were to " drill " the pupils upon words without meaning
for year after year, as we now drill them year after year upon

68 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

processes which lead to senseless or meaningless results in arith-
metic, we should engender the same indifference, not to say hatred,
to literature that now exists in regard to mathematics. Why is it
that when pupils leave school they always have more or less taste
for their literary studies while not one in ten thousand even
attempts to "keep up" his mathematics? Why is it that at a
certain point in the academic course students have sometimes insti-
tuted the custom of publicly burning their calculus? Why is it
they have never thought of burning their Shakespeare, or Milton,
or Tennyson? There is no reasonable answer to these questions,
except that in the one case the study of literature has been made
to contribute something to their lives of real value which they are
able to appreciate, while in the other case they have got nothing.
Everybody clings to that which really helps him grow, and the fact
that the great majority of pupils who leave school either detest
mathematics or are in a state of helpless despair about the subject
is enough to make the philosophers who are inundating us with
volumes on the psychology and pedagogy of the subject stop to
think. They have surrounded the subject with so much mystery
that most teachers are no longer even curious about it, and they
have given up trying to penetrate it. There is no more mystery
about the psychology of number than there is about the psychology
of reading or drawing or any other subject. The fact is that there
is no psychology of any subject it is all the psychology of thinking.
It is simply a question of finding out what image the pupil has that
is worth developing, and then of helping him to the use of tools,
as he needs them, in its growth. Mathematics plays a distinct part
in image-development which any teacher of ordinary sense can
recognize. It is nothing but the blindest slavery to tradition that
keeps the pupils from a rational use of number. It is due to the
general prevalence of the antiquated notion that in these early
stages of education it is necessary to isolate in a meaningless way
the process side of the subject for the purpose of drill. It has
been shown very clearly, both in theory and in practice, that the
pupil does not get by this method that mental discipline that is
supposed to come with the study of mathematics. It is evident
that this must be so because, as before pointed out, the drill is
necessarily much more a matter of language than of number ; the
drill fails even as a linguistic exercise because the language is

NUMBER-WORK IN NA TURE-STUD Y 69

meaningless. With the disciplinary idea out of it, the ancient
method of teaching number that still so largely prevails has not a
single foot left upon which to stand.

The lessons given here are submitted as illustrations only.
They are worthless to any except those pupils who actually made
and recorded their observations. The work was done with great
deliberation and covered many weeks, because great nature-images
grow slowly with children. The lessons in this connection, are only
intended to illustrate what has been said as to the function of num-
ber in defining an image.

I. THE DISPERSAL OF SEEDS.

An attempt is made to form some idea of the rate at which
plants might multiply, as indicated by the seed-production.

1. Near the schoolhouse a vacant city block rather thickly cov-
ered with wild verbenas was selected for study.

2. By measurement and calculations this area was found to
contain approximately one-fourth of an acre.

3. Areas of one square yard each were measured in various
places and the average number of plants was calculated.

4. An average of thirty plants per square yard gave approxi-
mately 36,000 to the quarter acre.

5. Each seed pod contained four seeds, one of which, on the
average, it was found, failed to mature. The number of pods on
a spike was counted, which, when multiplied by the number of
spikes, gave 2,300 seeds as the average number produced by each
plant. Since only three-fourths of the total number matured, each
plant furnished, therefore, (approximately) 1,700 good seeds avail-
able for growth.

6. If these good seeds were properly distributed, and if each were
to produce a plant, the one-fourth of an acre the second season could
populate 425 acres approximately two-thirds of a square mile;
i. e., equal to an area bounded by Cottage Grove Avenue and State
street on the east and west, and Sixty-third and Fifty-fifth streets
on the north and south.

The third season, under the same suppositions, enough seeds
would be furnished to populate 1,122 square miles; i. e., more than
six times the area of Chicago.

The fourth season, under the same suppositions, the area popu-

70 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

lated would be 1,907,400 square miles; i. e., equal to about thirty-
four times the area of Illinois.

The fifth year the number of seeds would be sufficient to furnish
plants as thickly as those found on the quarter of an acre for an
area equal to sixteen times that of the entire earth.

These measurements and calculations give (a) an idea of the
vitality and the tremendous push and rush of the living things ; (b)
since there is no such increase, as an actual fact, they indicate the
degree of failure on the part of the plant to get its seeds properly
scattered and safely planted, and also the enormous resistance
offered by other plants and climatic agencies to the growth and
spread of the verbena.

ii. SEASONAL CONDITIONS: WERE THEY FAVORABLE OR

UNFAVORABLE?

1. Rainfall. One inch of rainfall furnishes 540 fifty-gallon
barrels of water per acre, or 135 barrels for the quarter acre. Dur-
ing the month of May, June, July, August, and September, where
the verbenas grew, the rainfall due the plants, according to the
thirty-year average given by the Weather Bureau, is 16.1 inches,
or 2,229 barrels. The actual rainfall for three months in 1901
was 13.9 inches, or 1,874 barrels. There was, therefore, a shortage
of 2.6 inches, or 351 barrels. That is, from this cause alone the
vitality of the plants was reduced by about 16 per cent. This may
be viewed in different ways : (a) that only about eight plants out
of ten would grow this season ; or ( b) that eight seeds out of ten
would mature ; or (c) that the general vitality was lowered, which
would be felt the following season.

2. Sunshine. The Weather Bureau records for the past eight
years show that this region has received 65 per cent, of the sun-
shine possible 'during the months under consideration. Injhe year
1901 this area received 68 per cent, of the possible sunshine. It
follows therefore that, since plants are most active in sunshine,
there was an overstimulation of 3 per cent, above the normal.
Since, also, during sunshine plants are most active in the trans-
piration of water, and since there was a shortage in the supply of
16 per cent., it follows that the combination of these two causes
operated to intensify the strain upon the plant. The plant endeavors

NUMBER-WORK IN NATURE-STUDY 71

to resist this strain by reducing the leaf surface exposed to the
sunshine.

3. Temperature. The average temperature for the five months
for thirty-one years is 66 degrees. For the year 1901 the average
temperature for the same month is 68 degrees. There was actually,
however, an excess of 6 degrees during this time, as shown by the
Weather Bureau records. This condition meant, also, not only a
possible increase of plant activity; it meant more than the normal
evaporation from the soil which would tend to cut off the water
supply from the plant.

4. Variation in intensity of sunshine. On the twenty-first day
of each month the distribution of a given beam of sunshine at noon
is proportional to the following areas : May, 108 ; June, 105 ; July,
107; August, 115. These results are obtained approximately by
the use of the skiameter. The intensity of the sunshine varies
inversely with the areas of distribution. In the month of June,
when the intensity of sunshine is greatest, the average cloudiness
is 32 per cent.; in 1901 the average cloudiness was 31 per cent.
Therefore the withdrawal of the friendly cloud shelter by the amount
of i per cent, in the month when the intensity was greatest served
still further to increase the stress laid upon the plant in the year
1901.

These causes all happened to combine directly in this particular
year to menace the future of the verbena. They also operated indi-
rectly, so far as they favor other plants that know how to get along
with the reduced amount of moisture and the increased amount of
sunshine and heat.

The botany of the verbena, therefore, for this particular year,
becomes chiefly a study of the various devices of leaf, stem, and root
by which this plant is able to maintain itself against all these unfavor-
able influences, which the work in number shows to be actual and
definite forces of enormous power.

As an illustration of the point, already urged, that the form side
of the subject should be studied as the image-growth proceeds, it
will be found by an examination of the lessons that the following
processes have been involved, which should be formulated or tabu-
lated in any convenient fashion ( and learned) as the study proceeds :

1. Reading and writing of numbers up to and beyond six places.

2. All the fundamental operations.

72 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

3. Fractions: common and decimal; fundamental operations.

4. Percentage : all the processes or " cases."

5. Square measure, units : acre, square rod, square yard, square
foot, square mile.

6. Linear measure : inch, foot, yard, rod, mile.

7. Volume: pint, quart, gallon, barrel.

A word further must be said as to the method of teaching
these forms and processes in connection with the actual image-
development. Most teachers are so overconscientious about the
matter, to put it charitably, that when a pupil fails to learn the
processes at once, he forthwith drops everything else and proceeds
to belabor him so that "he will never have to learn that particular
fact again." The teacher who does this is not thinking of what he is
doing. He is merely trying with his eyes shut to make a reputation
for being "thorough." Such a teacher pays no attention whatever
to the way in which we naturally learn all those things in child-
hood that we never, never forget. A child never learns anything
thoroughly the " first time ; " neither does an adult But he comes
back to it again and again as he needs it ; its function becomes all
the while clearer and clearer, and finally we have the astonishing
result that neither the worries of active life, nor the ravages of
disease nor length of years, can efface the picture from memory. It
is probably not without the deepest significance that teachers would
do well to heed that, when in old age all the experiences of an entire
middle life fade, there remain those vivid memories of childhood
that were garnered up in nature's own deliberate way. In the
delight of those visions of a long-ago youth, it is doubtful if the
multiplication table or the division of fractions ever plays an impor-
tant part. The pupil should not be belabored into mathematical
processes any more than he should be belabored into words in his
reading. In the latter subject the principles of the kindergarten
are beginning to be appreciated ; in the former, the methods of the
penitentiary still prevail.

CHAPTER VI.

NATURE-STUDY AND MORALS

THE questions which relate to material and method in nature-
study are beginning to be treated with great intelligence and skill.
It is a serious mistake to suppose, however, that when all such
problems are solved we shall find the subject on its final and highest
educational footing. The teacher until now has been concerned
chiefly with matters of expediency and of lesser importance. He
has but barely reached the point where a discussion of the funda-
mental question is possible. I refer to its place in the training
for moral character. In spite of the tremendous impetus from
the practical side which nature-study has received within the past
decade, its position in the schools is still tentative, and its final
mission in education is still problematical. It might be said, better,
that its position is tentative because its mission is problematical.
In these days there is a decided tendency to measure the value
of any subject by the direct contribution which it is able to make
to the development of character. In answer to this question,
"What can nature-study do to make the pupil more upright,
and more moral generally?" the teachers have not been specific;
they have been hesitating, equivocal, indirect, and quite unsatis-
factory. As compared with the teachers of the so-called humani-
ties, in their answer to this great question which is the final one in
education, the teachers of nature-study have not appeared to the
best advantage. The former are always ready to point out that,
since the materials for their subjects are drawn directly from the
interrelations of men, the results of such teaching will therefore
bear directly upon those mutual relations. The claim is commonly
made that it is only through this direct study of human relations
that moral standards become known, established, and enforced.
There is scarcely any dealing between man and man that cannot
be seized upon by the shrewd teacher of the humanities as proper
material from which to derive a legitimate lesson that will tend to
elevate and more clearly define the moral status of the human being.
But when the teacher of nature-study is called upon to show an

74 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

equivalent value in the studies that he requires his pupils to make
of the tree, of the grasshopper, of the snake, of the crayfish, or of
all of them together, he is not so ready with an answer. I have
frequently made some interesting tests with my pupils which indi-
cate that this indefiniteness of purpose, or possibly a lowered pur-
pose, in teaching has its effect upon them. When they are asked
for specific instances of lessons that they feel have made distinct
and direct contributions to their character, they almost invariably cite
examples that fall within the humanities. They say that this or
that lesson has made them distinctly stronger. It has made them
more certain of themselves in times of temptation than they other-
wise likely would have been ; that the withdrawal of such lessons
from their fund of experience would be to them a real and specific
loss. On the other hand, it is rare to find any student who has
had high-school science who will attach anything like the same
value to the lessons he has had upon the grasshopper, the earth-
worm, the beetle, the dandelion, or the oak tree. They are generally
ready to say, still further, that, so far as they can see, these lessons
might be blotted out from their experience without affecting in the
least their status as moral beings.

I certainly have no desire to overstate the case, but I am decid-
edly of the opinion that we have here the real reason why science
has such a tremendous struggle to maintain itself in the curriculum.
It matters not how ignorant the teacher may be, he generally has,
at least, vague notions that it is his chief business to turn out people
of good moral character. He therefore devotes whatever energy and
skill he may possess to the presentation of those subjects which, as
he has been taught, lead to that end, and everything else is left to
become the incident, or rather the accident, of the curriculum.

That we may see what has brought this state of things to pass,
it is only necessary to enumerate briefly the stock reasons that are
usually given for the teaching of science. In the pre-evolutionary
period, all things in nature were considered almost entirely as having
a peculiar relation to man. They were classified broadly into the
useful and the useless. In the former there was always a strong
selfish interest ; toward the latter there were feelings of indifference,
if not positive hostility.

With the advent of Darwin's Origin of Species, a new interest
was aroused that, for the popular mind, was derived chiefly from

NA TURE-STUD Y AND MORALS 7 5

those novelties of animal and plant life which this book so strikingly
portrays. It is quite probable that most teachers even today depend
more upon the novelties of nature as a means of interesting their
pupils in their subject than upon any other one means.

Still further, it is claimed that a great mission of science is to
train the pupil in the art of seeing that its distinct mission is to
minister to the senses. That the work in science came into promi-
nence at a time when such training was bitterly needed no one will
deny, and neither will anyone claim that its value in sense-training
has been overestimated.

It is urged, too, that the constant dealing with the realities of
nature tend to beget an accuracy in statement, and in all forms of
expression, that is directly conducive to a high moral tone. This
reason is probably the corner-stone upon which, so far, the claims of
science to moral training have chiefly rested.

The reason for the study of science, however, that has made the
strongest appeal is probably found in its bearing upon the practical
and economic affairs of life. Its enormous influence for good in
all that we prize in material affairs is apparent to the dullest mind.
The rapid development of technical schools within a generation is
the strongest possible evidence as to a sincere belief in the value
of a scientific education.

Finally, it is often said that nature is the embodiment of truth ;
that in studying science we are dealing with the eternal verities,
and the effect of this must necessarily be intrinsically moral.

It is interesting to inquire whether these reasons just enumer-
ated either separately or taken together are sufficient to give science
a standing in the curriculum on as high moral grounds as that
which is supposed to be occupied by the so-called humanities.
While each of the reasons given may make it apparent that science
is a valuable and even necessary study, it will be seen that they may
be explained as mere incidents in the situation. It is no longer
possible to present nature to our pupils in the two classes, the useful
and the useless, because these are now known to be but relative
terms, and they express but accidental relations rather than those
belonging to a great design. Thus the amiability and strength
of the horse are the accidents of creation which made him useful.
These characteristics were developed under influences that are not
wholly understood, and it has happened that man has for a time'

76 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

availed himself of the advantages offered by these qualities. But
it is conceivable that the development of the automobile and its
successors may seriously disturb, if not entirely change, the rela-
tionship that has heretofore existed between man and the horse.
Similarly, the housefly is worse than useless ; it is injurious in its
habit of feeding, which makes it a carrier of disease. But the
ultimate solution of this difficulty will likely be through the dis-
covery of some means of destroying the disease germ rather than
in the utter destruction of all the flies. If the germs can be con-
trolled, the flies will become harmless. It is evident, therefore, that
the study of man and the other forms of life must be done in the
light of some other relationship of a more fundamental character.
No one will claim that the study of nature as a novelty can ever
do more than afford entertainment for a passing hour. Nor is the
training of the senses an ultimate reason. For, as it has been
stated already, we do not study nature so much because we wish
to train the senses as we do because we wish the senses to train
the man. In this function, other things not usually classed as
natural objects may play an important part.

As to the claims for a training in accuracy that comes with
dealing with the realities of nature, it may be said that in this the
demands of science are not unique. Accuracy is required in all
the relations of life, and its importance is far more evident in the
dealings between man and man than it is in the enumeration of
the legs of a beetle. If the claims of science are to rest upon
practical grounds, then what is to be said of the study of the
thousand and one things in nature that interest the children, and
older students too, which cannot by any stretch of the imagination
be ranked with the so-called practical aspects of our lives? And,
lastly, if we assert that nature is an eternal verity worthy in itself
of study, are we not assuming the proposition which it might be
conceived to be the business of science to prove?

If I have not misstated nor overstated the case, we find our-
selves confronted with a difficult problem in education toward the
solution of which but little has been done. It is evident, too, that
until some common ground is reached upon which the two great'
divisions of learning, the humanities and science, may stand, we
shall always find the parts of our curriculum at cross-purposes.
If we are to unravel the difficulties of the situation, we must begin

NA TURE-STUD Y AND MORALS 7 7

with the fundamental point from which the humanities and science
have diverged. Having arrived at this, we may be able to deter-
mine whether the divergence is necessary, and to what limits it
should extend.

In the first place, it must be remembered that it was the function
of all education in early times to teach dogmas which were usually
summed up in the form of a creed. This was equally true of both
the humanities and science. ** The heavens declare the glory of
God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork," expressed the
essence of a creed which for centuries held the scientific thought
of the world as in the grip of a vise. In its relation to science
this creed was no less exacting than the dogma set up by the
humanities in regard to "the chief end of man." Modern science,
however, through its slow development, gradually drew away from
this creed-bound condition, and with the advent of Darwinism it
suddenly broke all the bonds that remained. Then, practically, for
almost the first time, men began to investigate nature with an open
mind. They began to hunt for the facts unbiased by prejudice or
by traditions, and utterly regardless of results. The world has
never expressed even a tithe of the debt which it owes to these
bold pioneers in true scientific thought and method. With almost
reckless abandon they turned their backs upon all creeds and all
philosophies and said: "We will know the facts. No matter
whether they teach rightly or wrongly, or whether they teach any-
thing at all, we will have the facts." This independent attitude of
mind was absolutely necessary that solid foundations for natural
science should be laid. It was an attitude so entirely different
from what had ever been assumed before by the students of nature
that it is no wonder it was misunderstood. Throughout the past,
the so-called facts of science had been marshaled to prove the
preconceived notions of men; not only their notions regarding
their relations to each other, but also to those regarding the mission
and destiny of things in general and of man in particular. It is
easy to understand how these scientists, divesting themselves of
every ulterior purpose in the investigation of the facts of nature,
should give rise to the widespread impression that they believed,
therefore, that the facts themselves were without moral significance
in the lives of men. From that day forth science has seemed like a
purposeless study, except so far as it may incidentally minister to

78 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

our material wants. It is no wonder that the apparent indifTer-
entism of science should seem cold and heartless in contrast with
the sympathies of philosophy and the consolations of religion which
watched every step of man's life through all its vicissitudes from
the cradle to the grave, and even beyond. Teachers of science have
been trained to take every precaution to prevent their pupils from
bringing to their studies a preconceived notion. But we should
remember that the preconceived notion is dangerous and obstructive
in the search for truth only when it assumes the obstinacy of a
prejudice. The preconceived notion as a tentative hypothesis is
absolutely necessary to intelligent scientific research. The world
for centuries was so anxious to identify the significance of the facts
of nature with some selfish interest in human life that accuracy of
observation became a secondary matter, and finally observation itself
seemed even not to be necessary. As a reaction against this, most
teachers of science have gone to the other extreme of attaching
no importance whatever to the moral significance of these facts
in the lives of the pupils. In many instances, no doubt, the pupils
get the impression that there is no moral significance to be looked
for; and so a large part of science- work remains vague and pur-
poseless in their consciousness. I should be the last to reimpose
upon science the task of supporting dogmas in morals or religion.
I should like at this point, however, to raise the question distinctly
as to whether it is not advisable to lay more emphasis, relatively,
upon a rational interpretation of the facts of nature in terms of
human life and character. It seems to me to be true that a study of
the moral significance of the facts in their relation to human life is as
much the subject for scientific research as the facts are themselves.
Indeed, to go still farther, this relationship is itself a part of the
fact that is studied, and no more to be parted from it than the
color is to be separated from the rose. It is evident that these facts
either have a significance in the upbuilding of character, or they have
not. If they have, then the pupil has a right to be taught what it is,
or at least how to search for it. If they have no such significance,
then it is difficult to see why they should be studied at all. Even if
the study of science is pursued only for the sake of the white light of
truth which it is supposed to contain, such study ever must find its
ultimate justification in the effect it has upon human character,
good or bad ; and the pupil should be so taught as to keep this end
clearly in view.

NA TURE-STUD Y AND MORALS 7 9

In the endeavor to work out the moral bearings of science-
teaching, we should be careful not to employ the utterly unscientific
methods of those who teach the humanities. If there is anyone
who would like to support the proposition that the humanities under-
stand how to teach morality, I should like to have him explain why
it is, after centuries of effort in which they have had it all their
own way, it happens that we have so much corruption, vice, and
dishonesty In public, in social, and in private life. And, in these
latter days, if there are any signs of quickening of the human
conscience, may it not be true that it is in part due to the enlighten-
ing moral influence of scientific knowledge? I believe that morals
in the past have been badly taught, because the lessons have been
enforced either through a warning to flee from the wrath to come
or through an exhortation to imitate some illustrious example.
The moral forms may be established through fear or through imita-
tion, but morality itself is a deeper matter. The fact that somebodv
else is scared into certain forms of action, called moral, by the idea
of future punishment is no good reason why I, too, should be
scared into the same forms. Neither is there in the simple fact
that George Washington would not prevaricate any real reason why
I should not lie like a pirate if I wish to do so. I believe that
the exceedingly shallow and primitive methods mostly employed
in teaching morals belong as far back at least as the age of the
stone hatchet.

It is now the privilege of science to place the teaching of morals
upon as solid ground as that upon which science itselt rests. It
appears to me that moral relations among men represent or express
nothing more nor less than the highest known adaptations among
living creatures. The final lesson of science, its very last words,
are concession and adaptation. In the whole gamut of life, whether
we study the microscopic motes that throng the waters, or the
awkward crab that fiddles his way over the sands of the beach, or
the insect buzzing in the grass, or the grass itself, or the trees, or
the birds in the branches, or the tender heart that proffers the cup
of cold water to the thirsty wayfarer, or the glorified soul that at
once sacrifices and saves itself for the weak and unfortunate it
is still a question of concession and adaptation. To recognize and
abide by this fact means development and life physical, mental,
and moral ; failure to do so means degradation and death annihila-

Bo THE THIRD YEARBOOK

tion. This lesson is taught as plainly and forcefully by the grass-
hopper, the mosquito, and the roadside weed as by the life of man.
This is the ground of the new morality, which, supported by modern
science, will furnish the ethical code for the twentieth century.

The supreme test for the value of nature-study is now at hand.
For years teachers all over this country have bravely struggled to
get the children in touch with nature. Books have been written
by the score suggesting endless ways by which this may be done,
and detailing devices to make the study interesting and pleasant;
and substantial ground has been gained. During this time many
burdens have been lifted from the pupils, and the teacher's work
has been greatly improved. But the period of diversion is approach-
ing an end. Not that the study of nature is to be less pleasant and
interesting, but its purpose is to be more serious, more definite, more
manifest.

The task now set for the friends of nature-study is great. It is
not without deep-seated result that for centuries mankind has been
taught that the world and the flesh have been the joint partners of
the evil one. That nature-study can be a positive stimulus to the
moral nature of man is a proposition resisted by the prejudices deep-
rooted in the ignorance and bigotry of two thousand years. From
the standpoint of moral development, man at first feared nature as
something that was bent upon his eternal ruin; then he despised
nature as a stifling incubus upon his spiritual life. Today he
regards nature as neutral and her teachings as irrelevant. This
false view has given rise to an equally false and utterly misleading
classification of studies in our curriculum, namely, the humanistic
and scientific. We may study man and the tree; but we must study
man. This partial view must always give undue precedence to the
so-called humanistic, to the corresponding detriment of the so-called
scientific; whereas in the not distant future we shall find through
the study of nature a proper evaluation of the so-called humanistic
studies. It will be according to new standards of morality set up
by a study of nature, that the true worth of all studies will be
determined. When this is done, all studies will be humanistic. As
long as the ancient, but now almost obsolete, dualistic conception
of man's nature prevailed ;" as long as man the spiritual being was
set over against man the carnal being, so long has the house been
divided against itself. But through the study of nature of life,

XT A TURJS-STUJD Y AND MORALS 8 1

in the last analysis, human life, and its conditions from that
tiny speck, that, somehow, came into being in some sequestered
spot, in a mysterious way, countless ages ago, down to the magnifi-
cent functions of a great brain that in its sympathy embraces the
world, we are slowly getting rid of our primitive conception of a
divided man. When at last our study shall no longer be man and
nature, but man in nature, then for the first time shall we be able
properly to marshal its facts as the natural means of developing the
highest moral life.

APPENDIX A.
A RECORD IN NATURE-STUDY.

EXPLANATION OF FIG. 7.

THE three charts above the landscapes record graphically the observations
of certain meteorological phenomena for April, May, and June. The narrow
vertical strips are eighteen inches long and represent (arbitrarily) the day of
twenty-four hours. Upon the lower part of the strips (blue on the chart) is
measured off the correct proportion to represent the length of night. What
remains above (yellow on the chart) represents the daylight. Upon the latter
the cloudy days and the rainy days are represented respectively by the lighter
and darker shades of gray. The straight horizontal line represents the freezing-
point Above and below this, at either end, the edge of the card is graduated
as a thermometer. The upper zigzag line shows the curve of mean tempera-
ture, and the lower one shows the barometric curve, the card at one side being
scaled as a barometer.

Between the two lines, arrows are placed which indicate the direction of
the wind. Various relationships are easily worked out. The wind that
oftenest accompanies clouds, rain, or sunshine; the combination of events
that accompanies the low or the high temperatures; the rise and fall of the.
barometer, and the rise and fall of temperature; the relation of both these
curves to cloudiness and rainfall ; the gradual change in the length of day and
night, absolute and relative; the bearing of all combined upon the landscape
pictured below these and many other comparisons may be made at a glance,
and all reveal the close interdependence of the phenomena of nature

Above these charts, by means of the skiameter, the relative distribution of
sunshine for the latitude of Chicago is shown for each month Since the
intensity varies with the distribution, and the ratio of the April rectangle is
to that of June as 15 to 12, it follows that the intensity of the latter month is
one and a fourth times the intensity of the former. In other words, the sun-
shine that does duty on a fifteen-acre field in April will cover only about
twelve acres in June.

At the left of the chart, three drawings show the slant of the sun's rays
for each of the three months, and also the area that each beam covers.

The Mason jars below the landscape illustrate graphically the rainfall.
Each jar contains the quantity of water that fell in a month on an area of
twenty-four square inches, January being on the left. The upper row shows
the average for each month during a period of thirty years. The lower row
shows the rainfall by months for the year 1901. The upper row shows what

FIG 7 A Record in Nature -Study

A RECORD IN NATURE-STUDY 83

nature promises ; the lower one shows how she performs at least how she
did in 1901. During the growing season, the months are marked by important
events as, for example, germination of seeds, opening of buds, flowering,
insect-development, ripening of fruit The variation in the rainfall from the
average, as told by the jars, shows how the plant and animal world, ourselves
included, is subjected to great strains. It gives a striking meaning to the
phrase "struggle for existence"

In the upper right-hand corner the story of the seedlings for these months
is told by some plants selected from the garden. At the upper side a series of
paintings shows the chapters of the dandelion's history, which represents a
large number of plants that spring from roots which have survived the winter.
At the bottom, the unfolding of the buds, the story of how the plant makes
friends with the sunshine during these months, is told in a similar way. On
the right, a few of the birds and the opossum give something of complete-
ness to the season's pictures

Associated with the observations of the development of plant life are
records of the temperature, not only of the air, but also of the soil at differ-
ent depths and of the water m the ponds. By these means the really complex
nature of the environment of the living thing comes to be better understood,
and the sensitiveness and plastic character of the organism grow to be more
thoroughly appreciated.

APPENDIX B.
COURSE OF STUDY.

IT is practically impossible to prepare in detail a schedule of work in
nature-study that will have much value beyond that of suggestion. The
aspects of nature vary greatly, and the subject-matter selected for the curricu-
lum must vary in a way that corresponds.

The following outlines, selected from a year's work given in the author's
Nature Study and Related Subjects, are submitted with a view to indicating
certain typical selections of subject-matter based largely upon seasonal con-
ditions, and also the relations of other subjects to nature-study. It must be
understood that this is not an attempt to make nature-study the organizing
center of the curriculum; it merely tries to show some of the things which t
the pupil will be interested in, most likely, and it offers suggestions as to how
some other subjects may be used to assist in the development of the nature-
picture. Three months, September, January, and June, representing the
extremes of seasonal conditions are presented. These charts and the remain-
Ing ones for the year are described in detail in the author's book above noted.

REFERENCES FOR SEPTEMBER. (Numbers correspond to those found in the
charts, Appendix B.) (r) Population of an Old Pear Tree (Macmillan) ; (2)
Readings in Nature's Story Book (American Book Co.) ; (3) Living Creatures of
Land, Water, and Air (American Book Co.) ; (4) Flyers, Creepers and Swim-
mers (American Book Co.) ; (5) This Continent of Ours, King; (6) Entertain-
ments in Chemistry (Interstate Publishing Co.) ; (7) World of Matter (D. C.
Heath & Co.) ; (8) Normal Course in Reading (Silver, Burdett & Co.).

REFERENCES FOR JANUARY. (i) Seaside and Wayside, No. 4 (Heath & Co.) ;
t (2) Seaside and Wayside, No. 3 ; (3) Readings in Nature's Story Book (American
Book Co.) ; (4) Normal Course in Reading; (5) Hooker's Child's Book of Nature
(American Book Co.) ; (6) Story of our Continent (Ginn & Co.) ; (7) Storyland
of the Stars, Pratt; (8) Stories Mother Nature Told Her Children (Lee &
Shepard) ; (9) First Book in Geology (Heath & Co.) , (10) Monteith's Science
Readers; (n) King's Geographical Reader, No. 2, (Lee & Shepard); (12) Com-
mon Minerals and Rocks t (Heath & Co.) ; (13) Leaves and Flowers (American
Book Co.) , (14) Fairyland of Science (Appleton) ; (15) Heart of Oak, Book I
(Heath & Co.) ; (16) Heroes of Science; Botany, Geology, Zoology (E. & J. B.
Young & Co., New York) ; (17) Normal Course in Reading; (18) Pioneers of
Science, Lodge. On Foods : Human Body, Martin (Holt & Co.) ; Chemistry of
Cooking and Cleaning, Richards (Estes & Lauriat).

COURSE OF STUDY

SEPTEMBER.
THOUGHT WORK.

ZOOLOGY

BOTANY

GEOGRAPHY

PHYSICS

CHBMISTKY

Insects* List of
birds in the neigh-
borhood.

Relation of the
flower to the
fruit. Insect
depredations
on plants.

Distribution of
fruits.

The spectrum.
Use of the
prism. Use
of compass.

Chemical
change illus-

ing the ash in
fruits. Chem-
ical properties
of the ash.

The adaptations of
animal life through
form and color.

The transforma-
tion of parts of
the plant for
special func-
tions.

Fruits as
affected by
climate.

Relation of
color to light.
Direction.

The composite
nature of
fruits.

Insects of all kinds ;
especially butter-
flies. Materials for

poles, fishes, craw-
fishes, and turtles.

Seeds and all
kinds of fruits.
Leaves and
flowers. Nuts.

Pictures show-
ing fruit trees
of various
kinds, and the
manner of cul-
tivation. Also
the various
nut-bearing
trees. Fruits
and nuts.

Leaves and
fruits showing
different
colors.

The apple,
peach, plum,
pear, quince,
melon, squash,
egg-plant.

Drying boards for in-
sects. Insect nets.
Cyanide bottles.
Insect trays. Jars
for aquana. Col-
lecting boxes.

Boxes for pre-
servation of
seeds.

Sandpans for
modeling.
Clay for mod-
eling.

Prism, mirrors,
and lenses

Scales, Drying
trays. Batter -
sea dishes or
porcelain
crucibles.

i
i

Flight and other
modes of locomo-
tion of insects.
Compare with
birds. Food and
feeding of animals.
Colors as related
to plants.

Colors of flow-
ers as related
to the visiting
insects. Colors
of fruit un-
ripe and npe.

Influences of po-
sition as seen
in ripening
fruits Ripen-
ing^ of same
fruits in differ-
ent parts of the
country.

Colors appear-
ing in fruits,
flowers, leaves,
and animals
compared with
spectrum.

The decayof
fruits. The

left after burn-
ing wood and
coal.

Special-Experiment

Organs of insects
for feeding and lo-
comotion. Struc-
ture of wings in
different insects
butterfly, beetle,
grasshopper, fly,
bee.

Parts of a fruit.
The modifica-
tions of the
leaf. Work of
insects upon
the leaf and
fruit.

Location of
fruit belts
Study of the
geography cal
origin of culti-
vated fruits.

Study of condi-
tions under
which the spec-
trum is formed.

of spectrum by
means of con-
cave mirrors
and convex
lens.

of fruits. Burn
definite w'ghts
of fruits. Ob-
tain amount of
water, dry solid
and ash in
each.

A Tragedy in the
Grass.* (i) Mira-
cles of the Butter-
fly 00 Muscular
Strength of Insects,
(a) Butterflies
and Moths. (3)

Fruit and
Grain Destroy-
ers (4) How
Plants Employ
Insects to
do their
Work. (2)
The Fruit (2)

Some industries
of Canada. (5)
The People of
Mexico (5)
From St. Louis
to St. Paul. (5)

" Sunbeams and
Their Work "
Fairyland of
Science.
(Buckley )

The Chemistry
of Yeast. (6)
A Lesson in
Chemistry. (7)

HISTORY
LITBRATURJK

Grasshopper and
Cricket. Leigh
H-unt,
The Humble Bee.
Emerson.
The Katydid
Holmes.

field Flowers.
Campbell.
To Daisy Ele-
gans. Pal-
mer.
To the Fringed
Gentian
Bryant.

The Mountain
Monarch
Painter.
The Apple.
Burroughs

"Light,"
Echoes of Half
a Century.
Palmer.

Apples in the
Cellar.^^/-
land.

It seems as if that day was not wholly profane, in which we have given heed to some
natural object. The fall of snowflakes in a still air preserving to each crystal its perfect
form, the blowing of sleet over a wide sheet of water, and over plains, the waving rye-
field, the mimic waving of acres of houstonia whose innumerable florets whiten and ripple
before the eye , the reflections of trees and flowers in glassy lakes , the musical steaming
odorous southwmd which converts all trees into wind harps ; the crackling and spurting of
hemlock in the flames , or of pine logs which yield glory to the walls and faces in the
sitting room these are the music and pictures of the most ancient religion. EMERSON,
Essay on Nature.

* Numbers refer to lists of books given on page 84, Appendix B.

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

SEPTEMBER.
THOUGHT WORK. Continued.

METEOROLOGY

ASTRONOMY

GEOLOGY

MINERALOGY

Daily record of observa
tions on the weather.

The equinox. Slan
of the sun's rays

General aspects of
the surrounding
country.

Mechanical constit-
uents of sod.

Relation of the weathe
to the appearance o
the landscape.

Relation of the
changing slant of
the sun's rays to
meteorological con
ditions.

The forces that have
determined the
present appearance
of the country.

The means by which
rock and vegetable
products become
mixed.

The maps of the Weather
Bureau.

Various rocks and
stones associated
with different kinds
of soils.

Samples of soil and
subsoil.

Barometer.
Hygrometer.
Wind vane

Shadow- stick.

taxes for speci-
mens.

Sieve i -10 inch
mesh. Sieve 1-50
inch mesh. Scales.

Sffect of temperature
and moisture upon
ripening and coloring
ox fruits and leaves.

'osition of sun on
meridian and on
the horizon.
Eclipse of
moon.
Venus evening
star. Jupiter
morning star.

Hope of land.
Direction of
streams. Kinds of
rock exposed.

Soil associated with
best plant growth.
Animal life in the
soil.

Special-
Experiment

ilnd amount of rainfall;
relative humidity; ab-
solute amount of
moisture in atmos-
phere. Kinds of
clouds.

ind areas covered
jy given volume of
sunlight at differ-
ent times of the
month. Find angle
of sun's rays.

!est the hardness
and solubility of
the country rock.

find coarse and fine
gravel and sand
and amount of clay
and loam in sam-
ples of soil.

READING

louds. (8) The Air-
Breathers. (9)
Ktngsley.

Morning in
tfoonland. (zo)
Cing Sol. (10)
Amy Johnsons
Sunshine, (zx)
Looking: for the
Sun. fia) -Dr.
I. /. Hayes.

ngin of Valleys
and Lakes. (13)
Skaler.

Relation of Geol
ogy to Agriculture,
is Relation to
Health," Applied
Jeology.
Williams.
oils. Skater.

P< P

I a

ymn to the Clouds.
Palmer.
ic Tempest.
Dickens.

atumn Tides.
burroughs
le Wind and the
oon. MacDon -
aid.

laciers of the
Alps. Formation
f Glaciers Move-
ment of Glaciers.

n the Cliff.
Rossiter Johnson,

Whatsoever is beautiful is for the same reason good, when suited to the purpose for
which it was intended. Whatsoever is suited for the end intended, with respect to that
end is good and fair; and contrariwise it must be deemed evil and deformed when it
departs from the purpose which it was designed to promote. SOCRATES.

COURSE OF STUDY

SEPTEMBER.
FORM WORK.

ZOOLOGY

BOTANY

GEOGRAPHY

PHYSICS

CHEMISTRY

Geometric form of
the wing ; propor-
tions of parts.
Meaning of the
form and propor-
tions. Form and
proportions of the
bodies of insects.

Geometric
forms and pro-
portions Jn va-
rious fruits and
leaves. The
meaning of
these forms and
proportions.

Relief forms in
continental
areas.

The form of the
prism. Size
of its angles.^
Forms of mir-
rors used.

NUMBER

Prevailing colors of
insects. Relation
of insect coloration
to colors of flowers
and plants in gen-
eral. Varieties of
insects.

Proportion of
leaves on dif-
ferent kinds of
trees partly
eaten by in-
sects. Fruits
injured by in-
sects. Propor-
tion of water
and dry solids
in different
kinds of fruits.

Relative value
of the various
fruits produced
in the United
States. Rela-
tive production
in different
fruit regions.
Fall crop
regions.

Primary colors.
Colors found
in fruits. In
the landscape.

Proportions of
ash m fruits.
Ratio of ash to
dry solid; to
the water.

II 8

Forms of the bodies
of animals studied.
Drying board for
insects.

Fruits and
leaves studied.
Trays for dry-
ing fruits.

Maps showing
fruit areas.

Make a prism
and mount it.
Make a mag-
netic needle.

Show structure of
insect as a whole
and in its parts :
* f-t wing, foot,
leg, mouth.

Fruits and
leaves. Fruits
in various sec-
tions to show
structure.

Maps showing
distribution of
fruits and
grains.

Drawing of rays
of light m their
course through
the prism.

Drawing of
apparatus.

Animals conspic-
uous by color.
Show adaptation of
color.

and leaves.
Landscape
effects prodVd

Landscape
colors.

The spectrum.

WRITING

How animals hide
themselves. How
animals move
walking, flying.
How insect flight
differs from that of
birds.

How different
fruits are
formed How
insects use
leaves and
stems.

Preparation and
shipment of
fruits to mar-
ket. Prepara-
tion, of fruits
for food.

The combina-
tions of colors
in a September
landscape.

How to find the
ash in fruits.

Study of the language forms necessary in all written and oral expression which occurs
in the study of all subjects. Choice of words; spelling; capitals; pronunciation; punc-
tuation; sentence; subject and predicate, paragraph; figures of speech. Function of
words parts of speech. Relations of words.

l * Hunting Glee,"
National Music
Reader No. 4.

"The Hunter
and the Wild
Rose," Na-
tional Music
Reader No. 4.

" The Field and
the Wood,"
National
Music
Reader No. 4.

" Autumn,"
National
Music
Reader No. 4.

"The Sad
Leaves are
Dying," Public
School Music
Course No. 5.

REFERENCES

Birds Through an
Opera Glass
Meriam.
Some Studies in
Nature. Treat*
fairyland of
Science, chap.
ix. Buckley.
Darwinism. Wal-
lace.
H-uwbolt Lib.

How to Know
the Wildflow-
ers. Dana.
Flowers, Fruits,
and Leaves. -
Lubbock.
Introduction to
Botany.
Spalding.
Recreations in
Botany.
Creevy
Fairyland of
Science.
Buckley,
chap. vii.

Handbook of
Commercial
Geography.
Chisholm.
Java, the Pearl
of the East.
Higgtttson.

Six Lectures on
Light. Tyn-
datt.

*' Decay in the
Apple Barrel,"
Popular
Science
Monthly, May,
1903- , ^
Remsents Chem-
istry. Cookers
Laboratory
Practice. First
Book on Chem-
istry. Skaitu-
Brewsfer.

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

SEPTEMBER.
FORM WORK. Continued.

METEOROLOGY

ASTRONOMY

GEOLOGY

MINERALOGY

Cloud forms at different
times of the day.

Varying form of
the moon. Size
and variation of
the angle of the
sun's rays.

Relief forms

Forms of weathered
minerals and
rocks. Meaning
of the forms.

Compare the rainfall by
weeks. Ratio to the
annual rainfall.
Amount of water to an
acre. Humidity of the

Ratio of length of
day to that of the
night. Rate of
change in day T s
length during the
month. Variation
in size of angle of
noon rays.

Comparison of va-
rious areas having
natural boundaries
in the neighbor-
hood.

Proportion of sand,
gravel and clay in
soil studied.

* 1
s

Make a hygrometer.
Rain-guage. Baro-
meter.

Make a shadow-
stick.

Make boxes and
trays for speci-
mens.

Make sieves for
analyzing soils.

Drawing of cloud forms.
Of instruments to be
used in T^fcingi

Varying angle of
noon rays of sun.
Moon's phases.

Various natural
areas studied*

Cloud effects in color at
different tinges during
the day.

Sky colors.

landscape effects
produced by soil
and rock.

^andscape effects
produced by soils.

WRITING

Compare the meteoro-
logical conditions of
September at Chicago
with other regions.

low the moon
changes in one
month*

low soil is made
from rock.

low soils are
mingled.

LANGUAGE

Study of the language forms necessary in all written and oral expression which occurs
in the study of all subjects. Choice of words; spelling; capitals; pronunciation; punc-
tuation; sentence: subject and predicate; paragraph; figures of speech. Function of
words parts of speech. Relations of words.

* When Comes Re-

tional Music Reader
No. 4.

' Song of the
Stars," National
Music Reader
No. 4.

* The Mountain-
eer's Song,"
Public School
Music Course
No 6

" Nutting Song,"
PubhcSchool
Music Course
No. 6.

REFERENCES

Elementary Meteor-
ology. DOMIS.
instructions to Volun-
tary Observers, U.
S. Weather Bureau.
Tairyland of Science,
chap. iv. Buckley.
owns of Water Tyn-
dll.

reacher's Manual <
of Geography.
Rcdway.
StarlandT Ball. i
(Astronomy. New-
comb Briefer j
Course.

Shall We Teach
Geology.
Winchell.
Seological Story.
Dana.
Aspects of the
Earth. Shaler.

Common Minerals
and Rocks.
Crosby.
Crosby's Tables.

COURSE OF STUDY

JANUARY.

THOUGHT WORK.

ZOO'LOGY

BOTANY

GEOGRAPHY

PHYSICS

CHEMISTRY

Foods, kinds, prepa-
ration. Respir-
ation.

Winter condi-
tion of plants.
Buds, bark,
twigs.

Sources of dif-
ferent kinds of
food. Climatic
influences upon
food required.

Air, its physical
properties,
elasticity,
pressure, xno*

Tests for starch
and albumen
Hydrogen a
constituent of
water.

The income of the
organism. Organ-
ization of living
matter. Storing of
energy.

Resting state of
living matter.

Adaptation of
organism to
different geo-
graphic con-
ditions.

Energy acting
through the
atmosphere

Chemical
change.

All the different
varieties possible.
The proportions
necessary for a
day's fare.

Buds. Twigs.

Seeds.

Samples of food
that can be
preserved in
jars and other-
wise. Repre-
sent different
regions if poss-
ible, e, g.,rice,
coffee, tea,
wheat, corn,
molasses, etc

Toy balloons
Rubber balls.

Varieties of
starchy foods.
An egg. A
small piece of
lean meat.

APPARATUS

Scales for weighing.
Receptacles for
holding different
kinds of foods,
jars, bottles, etc.

Sharp knife for
cutting buds
and twigs.
Magnifying
glasses.

Maps and draw-

Glass tubing x
ft. long, x in.

pump stock.
Smaller tubing
Rubber tubing
two ft. in length.
Bottles and
quart jars.

Test tubes or
small bottles.

or nails. One
oz. iodine tinc-
ture. One oz
hydrochloric
acid. Alcohol
lamp.

OBSERVATION

The kinds of foods
used at home.

kets. The neces-
saries. The luxu-
ries. Modes of
cooking. Times of
eating^ Move-
ments in breathing.

Appearance
given to the

trees. Appear-
ance of buds,
of twigs, of
bark.

Location of
places produ-
cing different
foods. Coun-
tries with simi-
lar food supply
Location of
ores and min-
ing regions.
Places on the
snow line in
January.

Observation of a
pump. Visit a
fire engine.
Note working
of air-brake.
Working of
gates at R. R.
crossings.

Changes pro-
duced in food
by cooking.

Tests for im-
pure air; odor;
mental effects.

Weigh out the
proper amount of
food for one meal.
Arrange these in
proper vessels in
three groups show-
ing the three meals.
Visit JPzeld jftfit-
sevm^ Dept of
Physiology.

Dissect the
buds to find the
living parts.
Dissect the
twigs and de-
termine the
living parts.

Use maps m
locating regions
of the various
food supplies.
Locate mining
regions. Snow
line in January

Use tubing to
make a pump.
Use tubes by
suction to show
air pressure.
Use quart jar
and tubing to
find out quan-
tity of air
breathed.

Apply iodine

starchy foods.
Apply heat to
albumen of egg
and meat. Ap-
ply the lime-
water test to
the breathed
air. Take air
from various
parts of the
room.

READING

Tood of animals, (i)
The Alligator, (i)
The Vampire. (3)
How the
squirrel eats his
food (4)

rood of plants
(a) Leafbuds
and covering of
buds, leaves
and flowers. (13)

Story of our
Continent,
chap. I (6)
Productions of
the West
Indies, (i)

Hooker's Child's
Book of Na-
ture. Part III.
chaps, iv to
vn. (5) Aerial
Ocean in Which
We Live. (x 4 )

The Three Beans.
(15) Cuvier (16)
Scatter your

The Little Pine
Tree. (4) The
Discontented
Pine Tree. (4)
Talking in
Their Sleep.
(17) Nothing
out Leaves. (4)
Linnaeus ( 16)

The Bugle
Song. Tenny-
son.
The Sun upon
the Lake is
Low Seo ft.

The World is Too
Much With Us
Words-
worth.
Winter's Wild
Birth-night.
Holland.

Hydrogen.
Short History
of Natural
Science.
Buckley.

II B

The true object of science is to lead the mind of man towards its noble destination
a knowledge of truth to spread sound and useful ideas among the lowest classes of people,
to draw human, beings from the effects of prejudices and passions, to make reason
the arbitrator and supreme guide of public opinion. CUVIKR, Heroes of Science.

THE TH2RD YEARBOOK

JANUARY.
THOUGHT WORK Continued.

G ^

METEOROLOGY

ASTRONOMY

GEOLOGY

MINERALOGY

1 f

Effects of weather upon
demand for food. ( Ef-
fects upon productions.

Effect of season
changes upon food
required.

Fossil plants as a
history of life
on the earth

Testing minerals.
Ores.

Sensitiveness of the or-
ganism to meteorologi-
cal influences.

Changing relation
of the earth and
sun.

Persistence of life
upon the earth.
Time included in
life history on the
earth,

Contrast between
the organic and the
inorganic.

Fossils that may be
found in lake-shore
pebbles or in coal
and slate at the
coal yards.

Stones Ores.

APPARATUS

Rain gauge. Barometer.
Thermometer Hygro-
meter. Weather maps.

Shadow-Stick.
Ruler. Brass Pro-
tractor.

Pars for holding
water and sand to
show how leaves
and other forms
may become im-
bedded.

Acid. Alcohol lamp.
Blowpipe. Char-
coal. Forceps.

[RVATION
General

Influence of the weather
upon the appetite. In-
fluence upon mental
and physical activity.
Character of the ram.
Kinds of clouds. Forms
of snowflakes. Frost
crystals.

Points on the hori-
zon of sunrise and
sunset. Moon's
phases. Venus
evening ^star. Mars
and Jupiter. Con-
stellations.

Burial of sticks,
leaves and other
forms in mud and
silt. Visit coal
yards and quarries
and the lake shore
in search of fossils.

Jses of metals of
various kinds. Iron,
lead, brass, copper,
tin. zinc in ma-
chines and in man-
ufactures.

OBSE

Special-
Experiment

Vfeasure the rainfall.
Depth of snow.
Measure the humidity
with hygrometer.

Measure slant of
sun's rays Note
length of day and
night.

nto a jar of water
sprinkle sand or silt
and illustrate how
leaves and twigs or
bones may be
buried.

Test the ores as to

solubility, fusibility,
hardness, etc.

Clouds and Rain. (4)

Storyland of the
Stars. Pratt. (7)

tory of the Amber
Beads. (8) Earth
Building, (i) A
mountain of fossils.
Written in Rocks,
(i) Footprints in
the Sand, (i)
Fossils. (9)

fining. (10) Com-
mon Minerals and
Rocks. (12)

HISTORY.
LITERATURE,

nowflakes. (a) Rime
of theAnaent Mariner.
Coleridge.
The First Snow-fall.
Lowell.
Blow Blow Thou Winter
Wind. As You L^ke

What Can I Do. (2)
Copernicus. (18)
The Silver Boat
(7) i M. F. Butts.
[esperus* Song.
Ben Jonsoit.

ifeofSteno (16)
The Petrified Fern.
Mary Bo lies
Branch.

lint and Steel
Saxe

In nature, all is useful, all is beautiful. It is therefore beautiful because it is alive,
moving, reproductive; it is therefore useful because it is symmetrical and fair. Beauty
vill not come at the call of a legislature, nor will it repeat in England or America its
listory in Greece. It will come as always, unannounced, and spring up between the feet
of brave and earnest men. It is in vain that we look for genius to reiterate its miracles in
the old arts ; it is its instinct to find beauty and holiness in new and necessary facts, in
the field and roadside, in the shop and mill EMERSON, Essay on Art

COURSE OF STUDY

JANUARY.
FORM WORK.

9 1

ZOOLOGY

BOTANY

GEOGRAPHY

PHYSICS

CHEMISTRY

Forms of fruits used
as food as wholes
and In sections.

Geometric forms
found in buds
and their sec-
tions. Form in
section of twigs
showing mode
of growth.

Vertical and
horizontal
forma-of natura]
divisions

in apparatus.
Circle, rect-
angle, cylinder
Relation of
form to
function.

NUMBER

Cost of a meal : of
each article of food ;
of a day's board,
board for a week,
month, year. Cost
for a family.

Compare num-
ber of buds
frost-killed
with the num-
ber of buds still
alive on last
year's growth.

Areas of the
regions produ-
cing different
foods compared.
Mining regions.

Amount of air
breathed each
respiration.
Examples
showing elas-
ticity of air.
Diameters of
the chest in
various phases
of respiration,
before and after
exercise.

MAKING
MODELING

To show bulk of food
needed. Fruits
used as food.

Forms of buds,
twigs and seeds.

Sand modeling
maps Show-
relief of differ-
ent food areas.

Make suction
and force
pumps. Siphon.
Form of the
chest, relative
diameters m
respiration

Apparatus for
for making
hydrogen.

DRAWING

Fruits used as food.

Sections of buds,
and twigs show-
ing location of
living material.

Maps showing
location of food
producing
regions. Min-
ing regions.

Apparatus need-
ed to show
properties of
air. Essentials
of a fire engine ;
of an air brake ,
of R. R. cross-
showing valves.
Barometer

Apparatus need-
ed for making

Colors of fruits used
as food.

Paint sections of
buds and twigs
to show living
parts.

Landscapes.
Winter colors.

The color of
starch in the
test with iodine.

Preparation of food.
Time of eating
with different ani-
mals. Flesh eaters.
Vegetarians Sum-
mary of work*

Winter aspects
of plants. The
woods in win-

of observations.

Foods of differ-
ent nations.
Modes of eat-
ing Modes of
cooking.

Description of
a fire engine.
Description of
an air brake
Description of
a lifting pump
Description of
a barometer
Summary of

Hydrogen com-
pared with oxy-
gen. How
Hydrogen is
prepared.

Study of the language forms necessary in all written and oral expression which occurs
in the study of all subjects. Choice of words , spelling , capitals ; pronunciation , punctu-
ation, sentence, subject and predicate ; paragraph, figures of speech Function of words
parts of speech. Relations of words.

* Nature gives no
sorrow." ' Nat.
Mus. Course No. i.

"Evening Prayer
ia the Forest,"
Nat. MUB.
Course No. 4.

" Midwinter."

Nat. Mus.
Course No. a.

" What God per-
forms." Nat.
Mus. Course
No. 4.

"Winter Song.
Nat. Mus.
Course No. a.

REFERENCES

Life in Nature
H-utnboldt Lib.

The Study of Ani-
mal Life. Thom-
son.
The Human Body
Martin.
**Air and Life."
Smithsonian. Rep.
'03.

A Year with the
Trees. Flagg,
Aspects of the
Earth.
Shaltr.

Geographical
Reader.
Johonnot.
Geographical
Readers.

Aspects of the
Earth.

" Breath and
Breathing."Sci.
for All. Vol.
IV
Conservation of
Energy, ffuitt-
boldt Lib.
Balfour
Stewart.

Entertainment
in Chemistry.
Tyler.
Chemistry of
Common Life.
Johnson.
First Book in

Shetw-
Brfwster.
Foods Inter-
National Sex.
Sertes,
Chemistry of
Cooking.
Wtlhams.

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

JANUARY.
FORM WORK.-G*'*/.

METEOROLOGY

ASTRONOMY

GEOLOGY

MINERALOGY

Cloud forms. Compare
with previous months.

Angles formed by
slant of sun's rays.
Compare with pre-
vious months.

Forms of fossils.
Ferns.

Forms of crystals.

NUMBER

Averages of daily rec-
ords. Compare with
previous month, xo
inches snow = i inch
rainfall. Compare
rainfall and humidity
with previous months.

Compare slant of
sun s rays and (
day's length with
slant and length m
previous months.

Estimated rate of
erosion in N. A.
i ft. in spoo yrs.
Estimated length o
time to unearth a
carboniferous
fossil.

Relative weight of
ores. Specific
gravity.

*A
*5

Chalk-model cloud
forms.

Make shadow-stick.

Fossil forms. ^ Im-
print leaves in clay
and dry or bake.

Crystal forms.

DRAWING

Maps showing isotherms,
and course of storms.
Snow crystals. Cloud
forms.

[n a large circle
draw radii showing
changing slant of
sun's rays during
month. Moon's
phases.

Tossil plants found
in coal, slate, and
elsewhere.

Crystal forms.

Cloud colors. Sky
colors sunset, sunrise.

Color of the planets.

Color of fossil
remains.

Colors of ores and
metals.

WRITIHG

The storms for the
month. How to pre-
dict the weather. Why
the wind veers.

Summary of changes
during the month.
Comparison of the
appearance of the
planets; their
apparent motions.

Tie earth history
suggested by a
fossil plant.

low ores are
smelted. How
ores are mined.
Mineral wealth
compared with
other resources.

Study of the language forms necessary in all written and oral expression which occurs
in the study of all subjects. Choice of words ; spelling, capitals ; pronunciation ; punctu-
ation; sentence, subject and predicate, paragraph; figures of speech. Function of words
parts of speech. Relations of words.

S
S

* Evening Shades are
Falling "Nat. Mus.
Course No. 4.

"The Evening Star."
Nat. Mus,
Course No. i.
"Evening." Nat.
Mus. Course No. 4

"God the Lord."
Nat. Mus.
Course No. 2.

8
g
g

Elementary Meteorology.
Davis*
Aspects of the Earth.
SJtaler.
nstructions to Volun-
tary Observers.
Weather Bureau,

Astronomy with an
Opera Glass.
Serviss.
5 tarland. Ball.
Cowperthwaite*s
Planisphere
A . Flanagan*

Aspects of the
Earth. Skater
The Geological
Story. Sana.

World of Matter.
Ballard.
Common Minerals
and Rocks.
Crosby.
Mineral Resources
of the IT. S. ( Re-
ports.) Applied

Williams.

COURSE OF STUDY

JUNE.

THOUGHT WORK.

ZOOLOGY

BOTANY

GEOGRAPHY

PHYSICS

CHEMISTRY

Insect life. Use the
tree as a center for
study.

Plant Physiol-
ogy. Passage
of water
through the
plant.

Conditions of
life at this
season Vari-
ous stages of

Electricity,
Fractional and
Voltaic.

Chemistry of a
battery.

Inter-relations of
animals and plants*

Vital functions
in the plant.

crops to
geographic
conditions.

Nature of elec-
trical energy.

Chemical
change as a
source of
energy

Butterflies, moths,
bees, beetles. In-
sect eggs. Young
larvse. Grasshop-
pers. Dragon -
flies

Different kinds
of seedling
plants. Oak,
maple and ash
seedlings one
year old. Use
sunflower
plant Study
of flowers

Pictures showing
growing crops
of various
regions at this
season.

Bottles, wide-
mouthed, or
jars. Small -
sized copper
wire with
insulation.
Glass tubes
and sealing
wax.

Pieces of cop-
per and zinc.
Bottles. Acid.

APPARATUS

Frame for mount-
ing insects.
Poison bottle. Nets
for insects. Jars
and boxes for in-
sect and larva
cages.

Scales and
weights. Wide-
mouthed
bottles. Grad-
uate for meas-
uring water.

Sand -pans for
modeling maps.
Clay for model-
ing.

Jars or wide-
mouthed bot-
tles. Copper
wire. Tubes.
Zinc and cop-
per plates for
battery

Battery outfit
used in
Physics.

[nsects that infest
the leaves of plants ,
the bark ; the wood ;

the roots , that fre-
quent the flowers.
Depositories of
eggs. Food of
larvse.

The wilting of
plants-. Rela-
tion of leaves
to sunshine.
The flow of
sap.

Character of
vegetation in
different lo
cahties. The
environment
and growth of
annuals, bien-
nials, and
perennials.

Examination of
the telephone
The telegraph.
Trolley street
car. The
dynamo and
electric motor.

Arrangement
of batteries in
a telegraph
office. In
telephone

Special-Experiment

[nsect mounting'.
Modes of flight;
of walking; of se-
curing food , of
eating. Hatching
of insect eggs.

Determine
amount of

pired by a
seedling oak,
maple, ash or
sunflower.
Place in -wide-
mouthed
bottles in soil
saturated with
water. See
Nature Study
for June.

Trace on
weather maps
the areas of
the various
crops. Note
the isotherms
crossing each
area.

Use glass ( rod
and sealing
wax and cloth
to develop
electricity.
Connect bat-
tery with small
door bell.
Test the current
with galvano-
meter. See
Nature
Study, p. 4x6.

Observe the
chemical

simple zinc
and copper
battery. See
Nature
Study, p. 4*5-

sober, (i) Flying
bugs and walking
sticks, (i) Wings
of gossamer and
gold, (i) Fruit
and grain destroy-
ers, (x)

Song and Hymn
of Garden and
Wood, (a)
The Sexes of
Plants. (3)
The Arrange-
ment of Leaves.
(3) Hidden
Flowers. (3)

The Central
Plain and
Eastern High-
lands (4)
The Great
Northwest. (4)
Mexican
Farming and
Mining (4)

Electricity
the Science of
the i9th cen-
tury, chap. I
(Humboldt
Lib., No. 148).
Ibid, chap.
ii. Part II.
/it*., con-
eluding
chapter.

Electricity the
Science of the
i9th century,
pp. 79 and 84.

a 3

Jirds in Spring, (i)
Tom. (i) Birds at
Dawn, (a) The
Rochester Robin.
(*)

The Ivy Green.
Dickens.
My Window
Ivy. Mary
Mates Dodge.
The Birch Tree.
Lowell.

To the Dande-
lion. LovutlL
In Stacking
Time. Gar-
land.
Color in the
Wheat. Gar-
land.
Corn Shadows.
Garland.

Spring.
Holmes.
Lines on Re-
visiting the
Country.
Bryant.

After a Tem-
pest. -Bryant,
Summer Wind.
Bryant.
Tune. Bryant*

S is

Not less conspicuous is the preponderance of nature over -will in all practical life. There is less
intention in history than we ascribe to it We impute deep-laid, far-sighted plans to Caesar and
Napoleon, but the best of their power was in nature, not in them Men of an extraordinary success,
in their honest moments have always sung "Not unto us. not unto us *' EMHRSON, Essay on.
Spiritual Laws

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

JUNE.
THOUGHT WORK

METEOROLOGY

ASTRONOMY

GEOLOGY

MINERALOGY

Thunder-storms .
Lightning.

Summer solstice.

Fieldwork.
Erosion.

Mechanical con-
stituents of soil.

Electrical conditions of
earth and air.

Relations of earth
to sun.

Modification of
earth forms.

Relation of soil con-
stituents to fer-
tility.

Weather Maps.

Specimens of rock
showing weather-
ing and wearing.

Various specimens
of soils.

Thermometer. Barome-
ter. Hygrometer.
Rain-guage. Wind
Vane.

Shadow- stick.
Brass protractor.

Trays or boxes for
specimens.

Boxes for soils.

OBSERVATION

1
I

Formation of thunder
clouds. Character of
lightning flashes.
Examine trees struck
by lightning 1 . Charac-
ter of the weather
before and after such
storms.

Position of sun on
meridian. Note
noon shadows.
Position of the sun
on the horizon.
Change in day's
length.

Visit lake or river
shore. Formation
of bars. Wearing
of banks.

Soils producing
different kinds of
plants. Where
the healthiest
plants are pro-
duced.

Note the average daily
temperature best
suited for planted
growth. Note amount
of rainfall received.

Compare the area
covered by a
given volume of
sunshine with the
area covered by
the same volume
in previous months.

Collect specimens
showing various
phases and stages
of erosion.

By means of sieves*
find the amount of
material, fine,
medium and
coarse, in different
samples of soil.

READING

First Book m Geology,
pp. 56-66. Shaler.

Illustrated Lectures
in Astronomy
Tht Oxford
Handy Helps.
The Storyland of
the Stars.
Mara Pratt.

first Book in
Geology, pp.
107-130. Shaler.

First Book in
Geology, pp. 1-46.
Shaler.

HISTORY
LITERATURE

The West Wind. -Ga r-
land.
Song of the Winds.
Garland,
Spring Rains.- Gar-
land.

Sundown. Gar-
land.
Drought. Gar-
land.
The Noonday Plain.
Garland.
Moonlight.
Longfellow.

The Gladness of
Nature Bryant.
A Summer Ramble.
Bryant.

Plowing.
Garland.
Earth. Bryant.

11'

A true announcement of the law of creation, if a man were found worthy to declare it,
would carry art up into the kingdom of nature, and destroy its separate and contrasted
existence. The fountains of invention and beauty in modern society are all but dried up.
.... Now men do not see nature to be beautiful and they go to make a statue which
shall be. EMKRSON, Essay on Art.

COURSE OF STUDY

JUNE.
FORM WORK.

ZOOLOGY

BOTANY

GEOLOGY

PHYSICS

CHEMISTRY

Form of insect
bodies. Meaning
of the various forms.
Advantage in loco-
motion, walking
and flight.

Forms assumed
by tree tops
Study form as
determined
by bud devel-
opment, and
angle of
branches
Adaptation of
leaf forms.

Forms of the
various crop
areas.

Most economical
forms in con-
struction of
apparatus.

Most economical
forms of zinc
and carbons or
copper used in
batteries.

1
I

Varieties of insect
life. Number that
live on the leaves ;
that deposit eggs
on the leaves ; in
the twigs > in the
ground. Number
different kinds of
ground insects.

Growth of twigs
per week. Lat-
eral and ter-
minal growth
compared.
Leaf area esti-
mated from
measurement.
Am't of water
transpired by
an ordinary
tree.

Comparison of
deltas and
other areas
bearing upon
the amount of
erosion in vari-
ous places.

Measurements
necessary in
various appara-
tus needed.

Measurements
needed in bat-
tery construc-
tion.

II s

Model insect forms.
Forms of eggs
enlarged.

Forms of leaves
modeled.

Maps showing
distribution of
river systems,
slopes, etc.

Making of ap-
paratus.

Making of bat-
teries.

DRAWING

Drawing of insects
showing structure
of parts.

Drawing of tree
forms* Forms
of leaves.
Forms of early
forming fruit.

Maps showing
distribution of

Location of
deltas and
other features
relating to ero-
sion.

Drawing of ap-
paratus show-
ing connec-
tions necessary
for various
purposes.

Drawing of bat
teries showing
connections
and relations
of parts

Paintmg of butter-
flies, moths and
other insects.

Landscape
work. Trees,
showing
change of foli-
age. Leaves.

Coloration of
maps showing
relief, slopes,
valleys and all
features of
erosion.

WRITING

How insects fly.
How insects walk.
How insects eat.
How insects are
dependent upon
plants.

The dependence
of plants upon
insects. Water
in plant life.

Relation of val-
leys to the set-
tlement of the
country. Effect
of mountains
upon settle-
ment.

Electricity com-
pared with
steam power.

Effects of chem-
ical changes in
a battery com-
pared wtth ef -

cal changes in

w a

The study of thought expression through language. The limits of the sentence The
phrase. Technical terms as needed. Choice of words; spelling; capitals; pronunciation;
punctuation; sentence; paragraph; figures of speech.

%
S

' The Humble Bee,"
Riverside Song
Book.

** Summer
Studies," Riv-
erside Song
Book.

"A Mid- Sum-
mer Song, 7 '
Riverside
Song Book.

"The Light that
is felt," Riv-
erside Song
Book.

"Woodnotes,"
Riverside
Song Book.

Our Common In-
sects Packard.
Half-Hours with In-
sects. Packard.
^omstock's Ento-
mology. Comstock
Pub. Co., Ithaca,
N.Y.
Distribution of Ani-
mals and Plants.
(H-untboldt Lib.
No. 64.)

Trees of N. A.

Physiological
Botany.
Gray.
Recreations in
Botany.
Crtevy.
Flowers, Fruits
and Leaves,
Lvbbock
(ff-u-mboldt
Lib. Nos.
i6i-z.)

Earth and Man.
Gttyot.
The Earth's

Roberts.
Handbook of
Commercial

Chisholytt
Aspects of the
Earth.
Shaler.

Electricity the
Science of the
Nineteenth
Century.
(Humboldt
Lib. Nos.
148-3.)
The Electric
Light. I6fd. t
No. 119.
Modem Views
of Electricity.
Lodge.

Force and En-
ergy. (ffuitt-
A7?flfrLib.No
106.)
Lessons in Elec-
tricity. Tyn-
dalL (Hum-
boldt Lib.)
No 18.)
The Electric
Light. Ibid.,
No. 119.

9 6

THE THIRD YEARBOOK

JUNE.
FORM WORK. Continued.

METEOROLOGY

ASTRONOMY

GEOLOGY

MINERALOGY

Forms of clouds at differ-
ent times in the day*
Form of thunder-
clouds.

Form of shadow-
stick. Angles
made by sun's rays
at different
seasons.

Forms made by
erosion due to
slope, hardness of
material and
amount of water.

Rainfall ; rainy, cloudy
and clear days com-
pared with previous
month.

Angle of noon rays
compared with
preceding months.
Day's length com-
pared. Area cov-
ered by a given
volume of sunshine
compared with
similar areas m
preceding months.

measurements the
amount of silt in
suspension in
different samples of
water.

Various mechani-
cal constituents of
soils compared.
Proper ratio of
different constitu-
ents for plant life.

ll>

Chalk-modeling of
cloud- forms. Thun-
der-clouds.

Making of shadow -
stick.

Sand-models of
eroded districts ob-
served.

Slaking of sieves
and other necessary
apparatus.

Maps showing distribu-
tion of rainfall and
course of isotherms.

Drawings showing
slant of sun's rays
at noon for the

Drawings showing
course of streams,
of lake shore and
other features of
erosion.

Drawing of ap-
paratus.

Slcy colors at different
times of day.

landscape work
showing features of
erosion.

landscape work
showing colors due
to differences in
soil.

Description of a thun-
der-storm.

ihe apparent course
of the sun during
die year.

)escnbe changes
witnessed by
erosion.

Relative value of
different soils.

The study of thought expression through language. The limits of the sentence. The
phrase. Technical terms as needed. Choice of words ; spelling . capitals ; pronunciation J
punctuation, sentence; paragraph; figures of speech.

* There is Music in the
Air," Riverside Song
Book.

"Softly Now the
Light of Day,"
Riverside Song
Book.

" Stars of the Sum-
mer Night," Riv-
erside Song Book.

"The Harp at Na-
ture's Advent
Strung," River-
side Song Book.

Elements of Meteor*
ology. Davis*
instructions to Volun-
tary Observers
Weather Bureau.
.lightning. Thunder and
Lightning Conductors.
(Hvmloldt Lib.
No. 139.)

Starland. Ball.
The Sun.(ffui#-
botdt Lib. No. 49.)
Romance of Astron-
omy. Ibid.f
No. 20
Fhe Wonders of the
Heavens. ffad. ,
JNo. 14.

Aspects of the
Earth Shaler.
Town Geology.
Kmgsley.
The Earth's His-
tory. Roberts.

Vrilttaitts.
The World of
Matter.- Bayard.
Crosby's Tables.

MINUTES OF MEETINGS HELD AT ATLANTA, GA.,
FEBRUARY 22-25, 1904.

(CONVENTION HALL, PIEDMONT HOTEL.)

Four sessions of the Society were held at Atlanta. In the
absence of President Jackman, Professor Reuben P. Halleck was
chosen chairman, and conducted the discussions and business with
marked acceptability.

The first session was held, as appointed, at 4 o'clock p. M., on
Monday, February 22. The entire time was devoted to the dis-
cussion of Dr. John Dewey's paper on " The Relation of Theory to
Practice in Education." This paper stirred up a good deal of
vigorous thinking, and aroused, perhaps, more than the usual
interest both within and outside the membership of the Society.
The discussion was highly valuable in that it revealed the different
points of view and methods of attacking a problem by many differ-
ent persons whose aims are common, but who are often working
under widely different conditions. It was found necessary to limit
the speakers to five minutes each, and allow no person to speak
twice as long as any who had not yet spoken wished the floor.

The meeting set for Wednesday (February 24) was changed
from 2 : 30 p. M. to 5 : 30 p. M. This was to avoid conflict with
section meetings of the Department of Superintendence, in which
most of the members were interested.

The Monday evening meeting proved to be well attended, and
there was close and progressive discussion of Dr. Dewey's paper.
At this meeting there was an informal consideration of what work
the Society ought to take up next. The following lines were
suggested :

CHARLES DEGARMO : Since many of us are deeply interested in the prepa-
ration of teachers for secondary education, it might be well to go to that field.

F. M McMujtRY : It would be a good plan to have a thoroughgoing dis-
cussion of what is *' scientific method " in the study of education.

SAMUEL T. DUTTON: (i) The field of the kindergarten and primary
school; (2) how conserve the benefits of school education for adult life?

9 8 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

STRATTON D. BROOKS : The question of admission to the university with-
out examination.

A. KASWELL ELLIS: Take one of our educational problems and make
a thoroughgoing scientific treatment of it.

GRANT KARR: Define the psychological nature of the common-school
subjects.

J. STANLEY BROWN: .The time element as it affects the elementary,
secondary, and college courses. The six-year course for the high school.

Other suggestions were offered, but were to be made more
definite and sent to the Secretary.

On Wednesday at 5 p. M., at the regular business meeting the
following officers and members of the Executive Committee were
chosen :

President Professor Wilbur S Jackman, College of Education, Uni-
versity of Chicago (continued another year).

Secretary-Treasurer Manfred J. Holmes, Illinois State Normal Uni-
versity, Normal, III.

Members of the Executive Committee, to serve for two years Charles
A. McMurry, State Normal School, DeKalb, 111.; Reuben Post Halleck, Male
High School, Louisville, Ky.

A motion was carried to appropriate fifty dollars ($50) for
the Secretary's expenses during the past year.

A motion was carried to allow the Secretary one hundred and
fifty dollars ($150) for expenses ; provided, that such sum remain
in the treasury after all other indebtedness of the Society has been
discharged.

The discussion of Miss Brooks's paper on "The Relation of
Theory to Practice in City Training Schools" brought out some
helpful comparisons as to how different cities are trying to supply
their schools with trained teachers. This discussion also suggested
the question of having a few leaders of discussion well prepared
beforehand, and ready to do justice to the paper discussed.

On Thursday, at 9 A. M., the following-named persons were
elected to active membership :

Ezra W. Benedict, principal of high school, Warrensburg, N. Y.
Sarah C. Brooks, principal of Teachers' Training School, Baltimore, Md.
Edwin C. Broome, superintendent of schools, Rahway, N. J.
John F. Brown, professor in education, State University, Iowa City, la.
J. Stanley Brown, superintendent of Township High School, Joliet, 111.

MINUTES OF MEETINGS HELD AT ATLANTA, GA. 99

W. T. Carrington, state superintendent of public schools, Jefferson City, Mo.

Charles E. Chadsey, assistant superintendent of schools, Denver, Colo.

J. M. H. Frederick, superintendent of schools, Lakewood, O.

Albert Ross Hill, dean of Missouri Teachers' College, Columbia, Mo.

Homer P. Lewis, superintendent of schools, Worcester, Mass

Elizabeth Mavity, Illinois State Normal Universty, Normal, 111.

George A. Newton, superintendent of schools, Greenville, Tex.

James J Sheppard, principal of High School of Commerce, New York, N. Y.

Waite A. Shoemaker, State Normal School, St. Cloud, Minn

Elmer W. Walker, superintendent of State School for the Deaf, Delavan, Wis.

After informal consideration of plans and conduct of the Society,
it was moved and carried that the topic for the next YEARBOOK be
taken from the field of secondary education.

Annual financial statements will be printed in Part I of each
YEARBOOK, published regularly for the February meeting.

LIST OF ACTIVE MEMBERS.

Edwin A. Alderman, president of Tulane University, New Orleans, La.

Zonia Baber, School of Education, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111

Frank Bachman, Normal College, Athens, O.

C. M. Bardwell, Aurora, 111.

R. H. Beggs, Whittier School, Denver, Colo.

Ezra W. Benedict, principal of high school, Warrensburg, N, Y.

Frank G. Blair, State Normal School, Charleston, III.

Frederick Bolton, Iowa City, la.

Richard G. Boone, Yonkers, N. Y.

E. C. Branson, Normal School, Athens, Ga.

Francis B. Brant, 1637 S. Fifteenth Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

Sarah C. Brooks, principal Teachers' Training School, Baltimore, Md.

Stratton D. Brooks, Mason street, Boston, Mass.

Edwin C. Broome, superintendent of schools, Rahway, N. J.

Elmer E. Brown, University of California, Berkeley, Calif.

George P. Brown, editor, Bloomington, 111.

John F. Brown, State University, Iowa City, la.

J. Stanley Brown, Township High School, Joliet, 111.

Martin G. Brumbaugh, 3324 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

William L. Bryan, University of Indiana, Bloomington, Ind.

George V. Buchanan, 614 W. Seventh Street, Sedalia, Mo.

Edward F. Buchner, University of Alabama, University, Ala.

Frederick Burk, State Normal School, San Francisco, Calif.

Jesse D. Burks, 557 W. Twelfth Street, New York, N. Y.

W. H. Burnham, Clark University, Worcester, Mass.

Nicholas Murray Butler, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

B. C. Caldwell, president of Louisiana State Normal, Natchitoches, La.
W. T. Carrington, state superintendent, Jefferson City, Mo.

Charles E Chadsey, assistant superintendent of schools, Denver, Colo.
Clarence F. Carroll, Worcester, Mass.

C. P. Cary, state superintendent, Madison, Wis.
E. W. Chubb, Athens, O.

P. P. Claxton, Southern Education Board, Knoxville, Tenn.

David E. Cloyd, 116 Nassau street, New York, N. Y.

John W. Cook, State Normal School, DeKalb, 111.

William J. Crane, Marshalltown, la.

Ellwood I. Cubberly, Leland Stanford Junior University, Palo Alto, Calif.

100

UST OF ACTIVE MEMBERS loi

Frank M. 'Darling, 320 W. Sixty-first Place, Chicago, 111.

William M. Davidson, Topeka, Kan.

Washington S. Dearmont, State Normal School, Cape Girardeau, Mo.

Charles DeGarmo, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.

John Dewey, University of Chicago, Chicago, III.

Edwin G Dexter, State University, Urbana, 111.

Richard E. Dodge, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Newton C. Dougherty, Peoria, 111.

Augustus S. Downing, One Hundred and Nineteenth Street and Second

avenue, New York, N. Y.

F. B. Dressier, University of California, Berkeley, Calif.
Samuel T. Dutton, Columbia University, New York, N Y.
Charles B. Dyke, Kamehameha School, Honolulu, H. I.
Andrew W. Edson, Park Avenue and Fifty-ninth street, New York, N. Y.
A. Kaswell Ellis, University of Texas, Austin, Tex.
W. H. Elson, Grand Rapids, Mich.
David Felmley, State Normal University, Normal, 111.
Frank A. Fitzpatrick, Boston, Mass.

George M. Forbes, Rochester University, Rochester, N. Y.
J. M. H. Frederick, superintendent of schools, Lakewood, O.
R. S. Garwood, Marshall, Mich.

Charles B. Gilbert, D. Appleton & Co., New York, N. Y.
Newell D. Gilbert, DeKalb, 111.
E C. Glass, Lynchburg, Va.
John Glotfelter, Emporia, Kan.
J. P. Gordy, Ohio State University, Columbus, O.
James M. Greenwood, Kansas City, Mo.
W. N. Hailman, Ainsworth & Co., Boston, Mass.
Reuben P. Halleck, Boys' High School, Louisville, Ky.
Rufus H. Halsey, State Normal School, Oshkosh, Wis.
Paul Henry Hanus, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass
Ada Van Stone Harris, city schools, Rochester, N. Y.
W. H. Hatch, Oak Park, 111.

Mrs. Josephine W. Heermans, Brunswick Hotel, Kansas City, Mo.
J. W. Henninger, State Normal School, Macomb, 111.
Walter L Hervey, 320 Manhattan Avenue, New York, N. Y.
Edgar L. Hewett, Las Vegas. N. M.

Albert R. Hill, Missouri Teachers' College, Columbia, Mo.
M. J. Holmes, State Normal University, Normal, 111.
W. W. Howe, White Hall, N. Y.

Wilbur S. Jackman, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.
J. I. Jegi, State Normal School, Milwaukee, Wis.

102 THE THIRD YEARBOOK

Jeremiah W. Jenks, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.

Lewis H Jones, State Normal College, Ypsilanti, Mich.

Grant Karr, State Normal School, Oswego, N. Y.

J. A. Keith, Northern Illinois State Normal School, DeKalb, 111.

John R. Kirk, State Normal School, Kirksville, Mo

Henry E. Kratz, Calumet, Mich

Ossian H. Lang, editor, 61 E. Ninth Street, New York, N. Y.

Isabel Lawrence, State Normal School, St Cloud, Minn.

Homer P. Lewis, superintendent of schools, Worcester, Mass.

George H. Locke, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Livingston C. Lord, State Normal School, Charleston, 111.

Charles D. Lowry, 307 Touhy Avenue, Chicago.

Herman T. Luckens, State Normal School, California, Pa.

G. W. A. Luckey, Lincoln, Neb

President E. O, Lyte, State Normal School, Millersville, Pa.

John A. MacVannel, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

David R. Major, Columbus, O.

C E. Mann, St Charles, 111.

Frank A. Manny, Ethical Culture Schools, 109 W. Fifty-fourth Street, New

York^ N. Y.

Elizabeth Mavity, State Normal University, Normal, 111.
Guy E. Maxwell, State Normal School, Winona, Minn.
William H. Maxwell, superintendent of schools, New York, N, Y.
Charles McKenny, State Normal School, Milwaukee, Wis.
Charles A. McMurry, State Normal School, DeKalb, 111.
Frank M. McMurry, Teachers College, New York, N. Y.
Israel C. McNeil, State Normal School, West Superior, Wis.
William A Millis, Crawfordsville, Ind.
J. F. Millspaugh, State Normal School, Los Angeles, Calif
Paul Monroe, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.
Will S. Monroe, State Normal School, Westfield, Mass.
Ernest C. Moore, University of California, Berkeley, Calif.
Frank Morton, Lowell High School, San Francisco, Calif.
George A. Newton, superintendent of schools, Greenville, Tex.
Theodore B. Noss, State Normal School, California, Pa.
M. V. O'Shea, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.
Simon N. Patten, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.
John H. Phillips, Birmingham, Ala.
John T. Prince, West Newton, Mass.

J. F. Reigart, 109 W. Fifty-fourth Street, New York, N. Y.
R. R. Reeder, Hastings-on-Hudson, New York.
C M. Richards, 230 W. One Hundred and Fifth Street, New York, N. Y.

LIST OF ACTIVE MEMBERS 103

Emily J Rice, School o Education, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

R. N. Roark, Kentucky University, Lexington, Ky.

Stuart H. Rowe, 30 Academy Street, New Haven, Conn.

J. E Russell, Teachers College, New York, N. Y.

Lucy M. Salmon, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.

Howard Sandison, Terre Haute, Ind.

Myron T. Scudder, State Normal School, New Paltz, N. Y.

Levi Seeley, State Normal School, 482 W. State Street, Trenton, N. J.

Burgess Shank, Normal School, Valley City, North Dakota

James J Sheppard, High School of Commerce, New York, N. Y.

Waite A Shoemaker, State Normal School, St. Cloud, Minnesota.

H. W. Shryock, State Normal School, Carbondale, 111

Herbert M. Slauson, Ann Arbor, Mich.

David E. Smith, Teachers College, New York, N. Y.

George M. Smith, University of South Dakota, Vermillion, S. D.

Z X Snyder, State Normal School, Greeley, Colo.

F. Louis Soldan, Ninth and Locust Streets, St. Louis, Mo.

Edward D. Starbuck, Leland Stanford Junior University, Palo Alto, Calif.

J. W. Stearns, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.

J. R Street, University of Syracuse, Syracuse, N Y.

W. S. Sutton, University of Texas, Austin, Tex.

Joseph S. Taylor, 2275 Aqueduct Avenue, University Heights, New York,

N. Y.

Charles H Thurber, Gmn & Co, Boston, Mass.
C. C. VanLiew, State Normal School, Chico, Calif
James H Van Sickle, Baltimore, Md

Elmer W Walker, superintendent of State School for the Deaf, Delavan, Wis.
Sarah J. Walter, Willimantic, Conn.
Samuel Weir, Clarion Normal School, Clarion, Pa.
Guy Montrose Whipple, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y
A. S. Whitney, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich.
J. J. Wilkinson, Chicago, III.

J. M. Wilkinson, State Normal School, Emporia, Kan.
Lightner Witmer, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.
L. E. Wolfe, San Antonio, Tex.
O I. Woodley, Menominee, Mich.