with the effects of the Puritan culture of Massachusetts, had reached even at the very commencement of his intellectual endeavors a fundamental civil problem upon the solution of which all the philosophical thought of Jefferson exhausted itself in support of the American Revolution and to establish the affirmative of which Washington dedicated all his imposing powers. In the mind of this young graduate of Harvard the condensed thought of more than a century of colonial life found an abiding place, and the topic which occupied his meditations was the subject which lay nearest to the hearts of his people. He was not alone in his investigations: the highest and best laws of state and society occupied the active minds of that day wherever they might be found, whether in the assemblies of the elders, or in the austere labors of the Puritan pulpit, or in the town meetings, or in the institutions of learning, the common schools, the academies, the colleges. Every village had its Samuel Adams. Every town record had its Declaration of Independence. From many a meeting house went forth the announcement of faith in human equality as the foundation of the state long before the national utterance at Independence Hall. It was American citizenship which constituted the first great object of American education. In all the practical affairs of life the fathers exercised their best powers, and became good merchants, good mechanics, good farmers, good legal advisers, strong and influential parish ministers; and for this service they stored their minds with the best knowledge to be derived from experience and books. But they knew well that the great civil problem committed to their hands required intelligent thought and needed the support of cultivated minds as well as defiant hearts and strong arms; and while they had great confidence in the correctness of the popular impulse of their day, they had still greater confidence in the enlightened consciences and educated instincts of a people who believed in mental culture and made provision to obtain it. And to-day, as in the former days, surrounded as we are by the most perplexing questions of state and society, called upon to strike as well as to bear, laden with the trials of war and the highest responsibilities of peace, compelled to be ruthless now and now generous and placable and forgiving, we must recognize the value of that intelligence and thoughtfulness which are the natural fruits of popular education.

Not long ago one of the most remarkable students of the theological and political questions which involve the welfare and the destiny of state and society in America, prefaced one of his eloquent lectures before an admiring audience in the city of Boston with the following incisive quotation from De Tocqueville :

Individualism' is of democratic origin, and it threatens to spread in the same ratio as the equality of condition. Among aristocratic nations, as families remain for centuries in the same condition, often on the same spot, all generations become, as it were, contemporaneous. A man almost always knows his forefathers and respects them; he thinks he already sees his remote descendants, and he loves them. He willingly imposes duties on himself toward the former and the latter; and he will frequently sacrifice his personal gratifications to those who went before and to those who will come after him. Aristocratic institutions have, moreover, the effect of closely binding every man to several of his fellow citizens. As the classes of an aristocratic people are strongly marked and permanent, each of them is regarded by its own members as a sort of lesser country, more tangible and more cherished than the country at large. As, in aristocratic communities, all the citizens occupy fixed positions, one above the other, the result is that each of them always sees a man above himself whose patronage is necessary to him and below himself another man whose cooperation he may claim. Men living in aristocratic ages are therefore almost always closely attached to something placed out of their own sphere, and they are often disposed to forget themselves. It is true that, in these ages, the notion of human fellowship is faint, and that men seldom think of sacrificing themselves for mankind; but they often sacrifice themselves for other men. In democratic times, on the con'De Tocqueville distinguishes between selfishness and individualism: selfishness he defines as the exaggerated love of self which leads a man to connect everything with himself and to prefer himself to everything else; individualism, as a mature feeling which disposes a man to sever himself from the mass of his fellows and draw apart with his family and friends, forming a little circle of his own and leaving society at large to itself. Selfishness originates in blind instinct; individualism proceeds from erroneous judgment more than from depraved feelings.

trary, when the duties of each individual to the race are much more clear, devoted service to any one man becomes more rare; the bond of human affection is extended, but it is relaxed.

Among democratic nations new families are constantly springing up, others are constantly falling away, and all that remain change their condition; the woof of time is every instant broken, and the track of generations effaced. Those who went before are soon forgotten; of those who will come after, no one has any idea. The interest of a man is confined to those in close propinquity to himself. As each class approximates to other classes and intermingles with them its members become indifferent and as strangers to one another. Aristocracy had made a chain of all the members of the community from the peasant to the king. Democracy breaks that chain and severs every link of it.

As social conditions become more equal, the number of persons increases who, although they are neither rich nor powerful enough to exercise any great influence over their fellows, have nevertheless acquired or retained sufficient education and fortune to satisfy their own wants. They owe nothing to any man. They expect nothing from any man. They acquire the habit of always considering themselves as standing alone; and they are apt to imagine that their whole destiny is in their own hands.

Thus, not only does democracy make every man forget his ancestors, but it hides his descendants and separates his contemporaries from him; it throws him back forever upon himself alone, and threatens in the end to confine him entirely within the solitude of his own heart.1

It is this democratic characteristic which lies at the very foundation of American civilization and thought, and which when based on intelligence is admirable and when based on ignorance is repulsive and dangerous. It is this which makes an American truly American, and forbids that he should be ingrafted upon any other nationality. It is this which tempts all men to our shores, expanding their powers as they come under the influence of free institutions and converting them into Americans long before they have laid aside the customs of their native land. The emigrant who seeks only a home and a subsistence here, as he ponders upon the social privileges and civil rights which come within his grasp, feels the uprising of that sense of personal dignity and importance which forbids, at any rate, that he should return to the condition which he left behind him in the Old World, and which, perchance, may thoroughly fit him for the duties and opportunities of the new. A student passes out from one of the great universities of Europe, accomplished, educated, filled with knowledge which fits him for high service in life, and finds himself attracted to America as a sphere in which he can exercise his powers. On him the expanding influence of free institutions is not wasted, and he rises at once into the regions of active Amercan thought, accepts the best doctrines of human freedom, takes his place slowly in the ranks, is found among the leaders, fights his own fight, is individual and alone, and becomes by natural growth the most striking specimen of American individualism in all his speculations and actions. And so it comes about that you can Americanize every nationality on earth, but you can denationalize an American never. Now, not to our ignorance, not to our depravity, not to our low moral elements, not to our defects and faults do we owe this power, but to whatever there is in us as a people which is morally attractive and intellectually imposing, to the influence upon us of our churches and institutions of learning. It is not the chance for political preferment or the contest for social and civil supremacy which impresses the minds of even the ignorant as they make their homes here. It is the moral and intellectual endeavor going on here, and the opportunity afforded for the free cultivation and exercise of the best faculties, which constitute that indescribable charm felt even when it is not understood. Nor is this individualism to be perfected by placing the protection and defence of man's intellectual rights in the hands of a few set apart by education or good fortune for the work of marshalling the mental forces of society. But when the masses of men are brought to a position superior to dogmatism and bigotry; when they listen to the voice of reason in things temporal and spiritual; when they have learned enough to know that intellectual arrogance and abject ignorance are equally dangerous to free institutions; when they learn the true value of man's noble qualities and the true hideousness of his mean ones, then will they have reached that point 'Democracy in America, Bowen's translation, vol. ii, pp. 119-121.

of mental and moral development which will prevent either their enslavement or their betrayal, which will protect them against both the coercion of the dogmatist and the wiles of the sophist. I can conceive of a high toned and intelligent individualism which will elevate a pure democracy as far above the classifications of imperialism, either political or intellectual, as the home of a refined and prosperous citizen is superior to the abiding place of a serf. And that is to be reached by education alone; by a popular system of education which opens the school-house to all and provides that all who will may drink of the waters of life freely. Is not this manifestly an important object of American education? Not yet has this object been reached, nor will it be until American men cease to consider that they may be educated above the public questions of the day into a region of sublime contempt for the political duties and problems which present themselves on every hand to the patriotic and thoughtful, and cease to intrust the cares of the state to the unworthy. Not yet has this object been reached, nor will it be until American women learn to realize the responsibilities which rest upon them, and to meet with readiness and courage the duties which are continually falling into their hands, and which are but the prelude to higher and more active service.

That one object of American education is to give to labor the additional power of intelligence and skill it is hardly necessary for me to state. All men here believe in the well taught as against the ignorant in all the practical service of life. But you will allow me to allude to certain details in which practical education may not only cheer the hours of culture and luxury, but may also lighten the burdens of toil and ameliorate its cares. Men now believe in a busy life. They have even less faith in an idle one than Dr. Watts had when he wrote

For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

I have no idea that the value of precept, and the power of doctrine, and the importance of abstract morals, "line upon line," and the efficacy of appeal, and the restraining influence of threatened punishment are all forgotten in these days of material enterprise and untiring ingenuity. But to all these we have added the encouraging and restraining and cheering influences of diverse industries. The law of reform and of prevention of error and crime is now based upon an active and cheerful employment of the head and the hands. We have found that there is less of crime and intemperance in the busy than there is in the idle communities, and that immorality decreases in proportion as every variety of occupation increases. The possession of a quick eye and skilful fingers is always a delight to the possessor; and as the average human mind is constituted, more cheer and comfort and encouragement are derived from the achievements of practical faculties than from communion with the great creations of the highest intellectual powers. The exhilaration which attends scientific investigation, or the application of mechanical forces, or designing, or constructing, or inventing, is great. We have a kindly attachment to the work of our own fingers; and when they are busy, and the product of their labor is constantly unfolded before us, we are in good condition to carry into practical operation good resolutions, and are filled with a cheerful courage to contend with an approaching foe. We turn, then, from the book of maxims to the pages of science and technology with confidence, and call in industrial and technical education as a powerful ally to the moral agents which are employed for the benefit of society. The day of crude labor, moreover, is over. In almost every avocation, toil is the triumph of man over the obstacles which surround him; and as he stands erect before them, bowed down no longer by their depressing weight, he is filled with a sense of exhilaration which gives him new and unfailing strength to meet the trials and temptations of life; and he is also filled with a consciousness that he is using the powers of art and science to enable him to meet all the requirements of business based on rapid production and an economical supply.

The day of ugliness is also well-nigh over. Men are not satisfied with clumsiness

and want of grace, nor with the absence of adornment and decoration. They all undertake to judge of shapes and colors; demand pleasing designs in their carpets-and carpets they will all have; are pleased with the Greek square in the paper which adorns their walls; will have a few lithographs, or photographs, or chromos, or engravings; are eager for illustrated literature; believe in spanning continents and seas by steam, and converse from one great city to another with the telephone; are impatient of delay, and have little love for clumsiness and little faith in ignorance. For the purposes, then, of moral reform, for the amelioration of labor, for the cultivation and gratification of the tastes, for the development of our industries, we demand schools of technology, and normal art schools, and schools of design; and let no man who opposes the founding of such schools suppose for a moment that he is obedient to the popular demand, or considerate of popular necessities, or devoted to publie economy, or mindful of the public good. Carry the fruits of industrial education into the various walks of life and we shall give fresh vigor to our arts and industries, we shall give new employment to an active and intelligent generation, we shall hear no more of the ignorance of our artisans, and have no more chance for the gloomy pictures, either real or imaginary, of the social and domestic degradation so freely and, as I think, unjustly charged upon our rural homes.

PRACTICAL METHODS OF AMERICAN EDUCATION.

And now, gentlemen, in an assembly like this, I am sure I may with propriety suggest that to all this object of American education there should be laid a comprehensive and liberal foundation. The wise and sagacious husbandman, who would secure abundant crops, prepares his land with uniform skill and care in early spring, and supplies it liberally with all the elements of fertilizing material, conscious that while his crop may differ the land may by one process be brought to a condition suitable to the growth and maturity of every variety of his plants. It is a fertile and genial soil that he needs, whatever may be his crop. So, I think, may the teacher of childhood and early youth prepare the young mind by a broad and liberal and general culture for the specific duty which is laid out for it în after life, for the specialty to which each scholar is to dedicate his maturer powers. I say this with entire deference to those who belong to that complicated and organized machinery of education, composed of committees, teachers, institutes, and every variety of school, and a part of which is the graded system now so generally adopted. But I have been young, and now am old; I have been a scholar and a teacher, and am now an observer; and I would remind those engaged in the business of leading the youthful mind through the early paths of knowledge, that teachers may be converted into machines and children may be benumbed by a method as systematic and unvarying in its operations as a Jacquard loom. The mind, like the body, soon grows weary if subjected to one continuous and unchanging effort. The work becomes mechanical and uninteresting. And in a room dedicated to one grade of education for teachers and pupils alike, I am often reminded of that rude old interrogatory rhyme which has never yet been answered:

If all the earth were paper and all the seas were ink

And all the trees were bread and cheese, what should we do for drink? The mind craves change. The young mind especially demands variety. It cannot live by bread alone. The teacher who has it in charge cannot satisfy it by one thought or one illustration, or by pointing out but one way for it to travel. Nor is any companion more distasteful and wearying to a child than a companion who has but one side to present, but one gift to bestow, but one story to tell, but one lesson to teach. I may be mistaken in this matter, but I cannot conceive how under circumstances like these any intimacy whatever can grow up between teacher and pupil; and without intimacy the labors of both are vain. It is as necessary to the perfect working of a school that a true and intimate relation should be established between the teacher and those who are to be taught as it is to establish a true relation between parent and child in a well ordered family, for the well being and benefit of both. Under the

guidance of the teacher, moreover, the best relations should be established between the scholars. And above all, and almost more than all, the most friendly and cheerful relations should be established between the scholars and their books, so that lessons shall in no sense be tasks, the printed page shall never be distasteful, and in after life the books themselves should be the most agreeable companions. All this may possibly be done in a graded school; if so, I am content.

But let us contemplate now another picture. The academic system--and I call it the academic system because it was the educational system of the old American academy when it was in its prime and was engaged in most useful and honorable educational work-presents itself to view. A teacher is placed in charge of a number of scholars, not so large that he cannot understand and appreciate the wants and weaknesses and characteristics of each. The business of the school goes on. It is a work of general culture in which all are engaged. The teacher makes himself the leading scholar of the school; solves the hard problems with the dull; encourages the application of the bright; presents the beauty of the study when there is any; smooths the hard, dull way whenever such a way is entered. The discipline is one of mutual understanding, not of authority and fear alone. The teacher attracts the scholars and secures their respect by his varied accomplishments. The text books themselves appear in his hands as the companions of the cultivated and competent guide. Not the studies and the teacher alone are strengthening and instructing the minds of the pupils, but the pupils themselves are imparting knowledge to each other, and when the page grows dim to the weary eye and the phrase has no meaning to the benumbed and tired faculties, the stimulus of a bright recitation irradiates the room, the relief of a new train of thought comes like a fresh breeze from the north to vitalize the heavy air, and perhaps by the voice of that young scholar and teacher combined the first spark is struck which points to the fire within. That all this can be done, I know, for I have seen it done. I had many a schoolmate in my youth who, in after life, could tell me the companion who first taught him the methods of solving the problems of mathematics, and the one who suggested the best inflection in reading, and the one whose voice first warmed him with a love of oratory, and the one who first impressed his mind with the idea that a recitation might be gracefully done, and that the modes of expression used in common conversation are worthy of the careful study of every one who values the intercourse of his fellow man and who knows that the light and cheer of the household are largely dependent upon the manner in which its inmates convey their thoughts to each other. And what public and private benefactors these are: a good reader, who has not plunged into the Dead Sea of modern inflection; a good writer, who expresses his thoughts in sound, well defined English, and knows where to place his adverbs and how to choose his prepositions and conjunctions; and a good talker, who knows how to lead his companions gracefully into subjects of interest and does not bury them alive under his own talk when he gets them there. You may call an educational method like this a Kindergarten prolonged into the time when the scholar is to enter upon his college career or upon the specialty to which he determines to devote himself. It may be so, but it is a garden in which may grow minds filled with a love of knowledge, supported by the vitalizing food of general culture, in sympathy with all intellectual endeavor, knowing enough of human nature to preserve their own self-respect and to secure the respect of others and, if the teacher has done his duty, imbued with a brave and keen moral sense, without which all education is but a mockery and a sham. You may say that a system like this requires smaller schools and more teachers. But do you think this would be an unmitigated evil? Are you sure that in the great crowds of children which are gathered in our vast schoolhouses, crowds which oftentimes no man can number, the individualism of the child is not destroyed, his view of education chilled and darkened, his sensibility blunted, his self-respect lost as he counts himself but one among so many machines, all modelled alike and all apparently intended for the same purpose? I must confess that I have no admiration for these great populous structures, either on the score of economy or as