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and one separating them from the spectators in the Park. The floor of the grotto between the steep rock and the pool of water which represented the Arctic Ocean was narrow; but on it one of the bears was exercising with a rhythmic motion strange and inexpressibly sad. He moved from the centre of the grotto two or three steps toward the rock, swung his head wide and low three times to the right and three times to the left, with a sweep like that of a scythe, stepped back two or three paces, completing a sort of ellipse, stepped forward again, swung his head right and left again three times, precisely as before, — then back, then forward, then swinging, on and on and on. At intervals, whether with numerical precision or not I cannot say, he broke his circuit, walked to the iron fence between him and the grizzly bears, walked back, and began once more the round of motions devised, as it seemed, to save him from madness or from death. Three times that day I visited him; and always I found him at his self - appointed task, — forward, swing, back, forward, swing, back, on and on and on. The rocky bottom of his den was worn into holes where, always in the same spots, he set his feet in this forlorn attempt to put a saving routine into a hopeless life. Near him, in a narrow house with a little window-like door, a small brown bear moved round and round, casting one quick, sharp glance at the outer world in every round, as he walked briskly by the door; and in a neighboring house a hyena strode angrily back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth again. Here were captive animals finding in routine the nearest possible approach to an enrichment of their lives.
The reaction against routine in modern education, the notion that children should be pleased with a variety of subjects made easy and interesting, rather than drilled in a few, and roused to interest themselves in these few and in the thoroughness that drill demands, accounts, I believe, in large measure for the collapse of many a student's will before any subject that requires hard mathematical thinking. In Harvard College an elementary course in philosophy used to begin with lectures on psychology, which fascinated the class; but "oh, the heavy change" when in the second half-year psychology gave place to logic! The text-book, "Jevons's Elementary Lessons," is so simple that any youth of fair intelligence who will come to close quarters with it should master it with ease; yet more than one student, apparently in full health and intelligence, declared that he could make nothing of it, that it was too hard for him altogether. He asked to leave the course, to count the first half of it toward his degree, and to take up something more congenial. These boys, through the labor-saving appliances of their schools, supplemented by their choice of lecture courses in college, had lost, or what is almost as bad, thought they had lost, the power of close logical application. Worst of all, they had lost the stimulus of surmounting difficulties. How were they training themselves to be "there"?
I constantly meet students who declare that they cannot learn geometry. This commonly means that they hate geometry so cordially as never to give it their close attention. There may be some intelligent persons who cannot learn geometry; but the vast majority of those who think they cannot learn it, learn it if they have to.
"I hold very strongly," says Cardinal Newman, "that the first step in intellectual training is to impress upon a boy's mind the idea of science, method, order, principle, and system; of rule and exception, of richness and harmony. This is commonly and excellently done by making him begin with Grammar; nor can too great accuracy, or minuteness and subtlety of teaching be used towards him, as his faculties expand, with this simple purpose. Hence it is that critical scholarship is so important a discipline for him when he is leaving school for the University. A second science is the Mathematics : this should follow Grammar, still with the same object, viz., to give him a conception of development and arrangement from and around a common centre. Hence it is that Chronology and Geography are so necessary for him, when he reads History, which is otherwise little better than a story-book. Hence, too, Metrical Composition, when he reads Poetry; in order to stimulate his powers into action in every practicable way, and to prevent a merely passive reception of images and ideas which in that case are likely to pass out of the mind as soon as they have entered it. Let him once gain this habit of method, of starting from