THE bear so often mentioned in Scripture belongs to the species known as the Ritck, Dubb, or Syrian Bear (Ursus Isabellinus), an animal which is far from uncommon in the mountainous parts of Palestine. It appears to prefer the summits of the loftiest mountains, being often found even above the line of perpetual snow.

In order that it may be enabled to withstand the extreme cold of its native haunts, the fur is of double thickness, so to speak; a thick covering of woolly fur lying beneath the longer hairs, which alone are visible without close examination. The colour of the fur varies at different periods of the animal's existence, being of a brownish-grey hue while the bear is yet. young, and becoming gradually paler as the years roll on, until, when the animal reaches maturity, it is almost white.

The nature of the Syrian bear is remarkably gentle, and it is seldom known to molest a passer-by unless it is attacked or greatly annoyed. It is almost entirely a vegetable feeder, and sometimes causes considerable damage in the plantations in the neighbourhood of its haunts. It feeds by night only, descending from the mountains when darkness sets in, and returning shortly before the break of day.

TURNING to the American continent, we find that it furnishes us with two very well-known bears, namely, the Musquaw, or Black Bear, and the terrible Grizzly.

The first of these (Ursus Americanus) is a native of various parts of North America, where, although it is still found in some plenty, it is sensibly decreasing in numbers, owing to the constant attacks of the hunters, who find in the fur and the fat two very valuable articles of commerce. The flesh, also, when properly cooked, is always considered as a great dainty, alike by civilized and savage hunters.

The black bear is an excellent climber, and obtains a large proportion of its food by the exercise of its scandent powers. Few trees will baffle a musquaw when upon the look-out for a wild bees'-nest; and few obstacles will render the saccharine treasures secure when once discovered by the eager and powerful animal. Tooth and claw are alike brought into requisition, and, even if the prize be deeply buried in the hollow of a tree, the bear is sure before very long to tear open a passage, and so obtain the coveted dainty. Success attained, the subsequent proceedings of the bear are of a very summary character, combs, grubs, and perfect insects alike being crammed into the mouth as fast as possible, the animal paying no attention whatever to the remonstrances of the aggrieved owners of the hive.

Quiet and retiring as are its habits when unmolested, the black bear becomes a truly terrible foe when pursued and brought to bay. Launching a shower of tremendous blows with its powerful forepaws at the head of its foe, the animal seems literally carried away with fury, nothing short of a bullet in the heart or brain checking the course of its passion. Many a hunter has perished beneath the claws of an enraged musquaw, which, indeed, when once provoked, seems little inferior in strength and courage to the dreaded grizzly itself.

During the first year of its existence, the fur of the musquaw is of a light grey tint, very different from the glossy black colour which it afterwards assumes.

So

different is it, indeed, that for many years the young musquaw was thought to belong to a separate species, and was known as the Yellow, or Cinnamon Bear. The fur is shed twice in the year, namely, in spring and autumn.

Like the brown bear of Europe and Asia, the musquaw is accustomed to pass the winter in a state of torpor, concealing itself during the autumn in some snug retreat, where it may be protected from the inclemencies of the weather. Experienced hunters tell us, however, that unless the bear is in good condition when the time for its hibernation arrives it does not trouble itself about a winter retreat, but roams the forest throughout the winter in search of food.

Of all the bear tribe, the terrible Grizzly Bear (Ursus ferox) of North America is-with the exception of the Polar bear, which some naturalists will not allow to be a true bear-by far the most savage and powerful. Unlike all the other members of its tribe, except, perhaps, the Polar bear, it will attack a man without receiving the slightest provocation, although, curiously enough, it will not follow up his track. Indeed, the scent of a human being appears to exert a strange influence over the bear, which has more than once been known to relinquish its designs upon a man whom it was proceeding to attack, merely upon experiencing the detested odour.

Should it be wounded, however, the human scent appears to lose its deterrent power, and the animal rushes upon his foe with desperate and reckless fury. Woe betide the hunter if his nerve tremble, and he thereby lose the single chance of a fatal shot which the bear is likely to allow him, for in all probability his doom is sealed.

This solitary opportunity of inflicting a mortal wound is afforded by the habit of the grizzly bear of halting for a second when within a few feet of its victim, in order to rear itself upon its hinder limbs. Should the hunter fail to take advantage of this brief pause, or should he not succeed in inflicting an instantaneously mortal wound, he has but a very slender chance of escaping with life; for the grizzly bear is perhaps even more tenacious of existence than the rest of its kind, and will certainly wreak dire vengeance on its enemy before itself succumbing.

By the native tribes of North America the warlike propensities of the grizzly bear are held in the greatest reverence, and any warrior who is fortunate enough to kill one of these animals in single combat is regarded almost with adoration by his less-favoured comrades. The successful hunter always constructs a necklace from the claws of his slain foe, which he proudly wears, as a visible token of his prowess in the chase. Such a necklace is the equivalent of our Victoria Cross, and it is hardly possible to persuade the owner of such a trophy to part with it on any terms. A natural dread of the grizzly bear seems to be implanted in the breasts of every animal inhabiting the same land. It is even said that no beast of prey will venture to interfere with the carcase of any creature slain by the bear, even though he may long since have deserted the body of his victim.

Even the most carefully trained horses can scarcely be induced to face the grizzly bear, or 'Ephraim,' as he is generally termed by the hunters; and evince great terror if they are merely required to carry the skin taken from the body of a slaughtered specimen.

A full-grown grizzly bear is a very large animal, weighing from eight to nine hundred pounds, and averaging about eight feet six inches in total length.

It is difficult to obtain a correct idea of the size of an animal merely by a statement of its measurements, and we can scarcely appreciate the huge dimensions of this bear unless we compare it with that of some object with which we are well acquainted. Let us, therefore, by way of illustration, suppose that we have before us a man six feet in height. Now let us take a child of five or six years of age, and stand it erect upon the crown of our man's head. Then let us multiply the girth of his body by three, and cover him with long shaggy hair, and we shall have some little idea of the huge bulk of a grizzly bear as it appears when rearing itself upon its hind legs in readiness for attack.

The paws are of great comparative size, measuring nearly eighteen inches in length, and armed with claws fully five inches long. It is a rather curious fact that the animal possesses the power of separately moving any single claw, without reference to the rest.

These formidable claws are used for various purposes besides those of mere attack and defence, such as digging in the ground for the roots and bulbs which form a considerable part of the diet of the bear, or in burying the carcases of the animals which have fallen victims to their terrible foe.

By their aid, too, the bear is enabled to climb trees, at any rate during the first few years of its life. It would seem, however, that when it attains to adult size, the bulk of the body is too great to be sustained merely by the hold which the claws are able to obtain in the crevices of the bark; many hunters having escaped from an infuriated grizzly bear by ascending some convenient tree, into which their ursine foe made repeated but ineffectual efforts to follow them.

While still young, however, the bear is frequently in the habit of ascending the oak-trees in order to obtain a supply of acorns, which it procures by violently shaking the boughs, and then descending to the ground in order to feast upon the results of its exertions.

Notwithstanding its fierce and savage disposition, the grizzly bear has more than once been tamed; such animals, however, having always been taken while still quite young. Many amusing stories are told of the freaks of these domesticated bears, which, however, seem at the best but rough and rather dangerous pets.

The fur of the grizzly bear is very variable in colour, so much so, indeed, that some writers have considered that there are two separate species included under one name. While the animal is still young, the fur is of a brown colour, with a dark stripe running along the spine. At this period of the animal's existence it is so thick and long that it shakes up and down at every movement of its owner.

In the adult animal, the fur varies in colour from dull brown, irregularly sprinkled with grey hairs, to an uniform greyish white. In the coat of all specimens, however, something is found of the "grizzled nature from which the animal derives its popular title. The head is larger in proportion to the size of the body than is the case with bears in general, and the tail is so short as to be completely concealed from view by the long hairs of the hinder quarters. (To be continued.)

A

Eminent Practical Teachers.

PESTALOZZI.—(Conclusion.)

BY THE REV. CANON WARBURTON, M.A., Her Majesty's Inspector of Training Colleges for Schoolmistresses.

VI.

MAN should know something about everything, and everything about something.' It was a very shallow retort on the part of a distinguished architect, to whom complaint was made that a building which he had erected was crumbling to pieces from defective materials: 'I am an architect, and not a brick-burner.' A consummate artist is bound to be acquainted with the minutest details involved in his art, and an architect should have learned not only how to burn bricks but to lay them; should be well acquainted with the relative strength and durability of materials, and so ascend through statical certainties and common-places to these grand imaginative conceptions by which monumental structures are raised, and domes 'hung high in air,' defying the assaults of time. Those who have taken the trouble to read the former notices of Pestalozzi in this journal will have seen that he possessed in a remarkable, perhaps in an unequalled degree, the gifts by which children's hearts and sympathies are won. He was never so much at home as when surrounded by a circle of little folks, with a child upon his knee, absorbed in the delightful task of making the acquisition of knowledge delightful. It is in this aspect of his character that 'Father Pestalozzi' is best known and best remembered by his own pupils, and those who have learned from them to love him. But it must not be forgotten that along with all the simplicity and gentle enthusiasm of a village dominie of the old school, Pestalozzi was gifted with a profound and original insight into what may be called the 'metaphysics' of education, and that he speaks when he addresses the world at large with all the authority of a great thinker, and a full confidence in the inspiration of genius.

It was, indeed, a rare combination of gifts! The famous writers on education who preceded him had been, for the most part, philosophers and theorists, and had left to others the practical task of carrying their principles into effect. His own master, Rousseau, after elaborating a scheme for the education of an imaginary son, 'Emile,'* in such affectionate and touching detail, had allowed his own children to be brought up in a foundling hospital. Pestalozzi's strength lay in the two extremes-in an instinctive knowledge of the way to win the confidence and the affections of the individual child, and in deep and far-reaching research into the abstract_principles of the science of human culture. To revert to our illustration of the architect, Pestalozzi may indeed be said to have understood the position of a brick and the way to handle it; in planning lofty and enduring thought-edifices, he was in his element still; but between moulding bricks and designing palaces there lies a whole region of practical activity, skill, and knowledge requisite for success, and in this region he was no better than an old woman or

* See page 3.

com

a child. We have his own confession that 'in spite of his grand ideals embracing the destinies of the whole human race, he did not possess the knowledge and ability requisite for conducting a village school.' His life was therefore a succession of failures and disappointments, notwithstanding his rare natural endowments and his single-hearted devotion to the highest and most unselfish objects.

It is important to bear in mind the causes of Pestalozzi's ill-success as a schoolmaster, because that illsuccess has brought discredit on his system, and given rise to the idea that it is unsound, or at the best, unpractical-a charge which is sufficiently rebuked by the fact of the survival, or rather the successive revivals, of his principles. On the manner of teaching particular subjects he had little influence, but he compelled the educational world to revise the whole of their task, to take into their purview the ultimate destiny of man and the means of leading him from his youth upwards straight towards that destiny. 'I find the battle raging,' says Pestalozzi, 'about particular and isolated systems of instruction; the mind is filled with fragments of truth, while the very spirit of truth itself is quenched; we have forms, not so much of thinking, as of verbal expressions about what has been thought-forms which suck the blood out of good sense, like a marten that fixes itself on the neck of a poor dove. I put to myself the question, "What would you do if you wanted to give a single child all the theoretical knowledge and practical skill which he requires in order to attend properly to the great concerns of life, and so attain to inward contentment ?"" This passage, taken alone, might almost lead us to suppose that Pestalozzi took such a view of the objects of education as might have commended itself to the mind of an Epicurus or an Antonine, and I have quoted it partly with a view of correcting that impression, and partly because it forms a fitting introduction to the main topic of this article.

It is commonly said, by those who have undertaken to expound the 'Principles of Pestalozzi,' that 'the first of those principles is that education must be religious!' Now it is quite true that, in common with most men of reflection and intelligence, Pestalozzi held that education without religion loses half its depth and value, and more than half its moulding influence and penetrative power, but to say that religion was the leading principle,' or even a prominent feature' in his system, involves a grave misconception. Nor would it be quite true, though perhaps it might be nearer to the truth, to say, as some have said, that Pestalozzi was an enthusiast, whose enthusiasm took the form of subordinating everything to intellectual and moral culture; that religion was looked upon by him as subsidiary to that end,' and that his endeavour was to apply Christianity to the business of education.' The fact is that with him religion is an antecedent condition, a presupposed element, apart from which education would be useless or impossible. It was not so much that religion was to be taught, as that everything was to be taught religiously. Thus, for example, the lessons in natural science and history were to be of such a character, that the child himself could not fail

Speaking of the intended opening of a new educational institution, I,' says he, 'was to represent the abbot of the monastery; really, in certain respects, I was more fitted to be the donkey, or, at least, the sheep of the monastery than the abbot. My friends, I speak plainly.'

to infer the necessity of a Final Cause and an overruling Providence. The works of God were to be successively presented in such vivid and attractive colours to the mind of the learner, that childish wonder should gradually brighten into admiration, and admiration warm into love. And there were to be not only religious lessons, but religious influence, and religious example; religion in spirit, in aims, in methods, in associations, in principles, in practice.'

All this is as it should be, but here again Pestalozzi's actual practice fell lamentably short of his ideal. At Yverdun, if we are to believe the testimony of more than one of his own pupils, religion was far too much presupposed,' and too little inculcated. Moreover the religion which is said to have 'pervaded the institution' was a religion of the feelings, ignoring the corruption of human nature, ignoring doctrine, almost ignoring Scripture, and deriving no strength or authority from church tradition on the one hand, or from sacramental grace on the other. In fact, Pestalozzi's own religious views were for a long period of his life dim and unsettled in the extreme, and though they cleared and brightened with his advancing age, they were never wholly free from the transcendentalism and indefiniteness which are supposed, rightly or wrongly, to be the characteristic of Teutonic Protestantism. With 'Father Pestalozzi,' as with the aged survivor of the twelve Apostles, religion seemed to resolve itself into the single element of love; but, unlike him, Pestalozzi believed in a natural birth-tendency in the child to what is good and holy, requiring only to be protected in its development from the corrupting influences of the world.

Allusion has already been made to his favourite theory that all education is founded on the relationship which subsists between the infant child and the mother. The feelings of gratitude, confidence, and love, in the child towards the mother gradually unfold themselves, and are at a later period transferred by the child, on the admonition of the mother, to God.' To this Dr. Mayo eloquently adds:-'The great means to be employed in moral development Pestalozzi held to be love. The mother's love draws out the child's love; the mother's care and tenderness awaken the first dawnings of faith; the child feels safe in her arms; he confides in her word; what she says he believes, and her will is the law to which he yields, and which he obeys. Thus it is in the mother's arms that the moral character is first developed, and moral education passes its first stage. Rightly to direct and exercise the nascent faculties and sentiments is the next point, and here, God Himself, our Heavenly Father, as early as possible, must be presented as the first object of love, His superintending Providence as the object of faith, and His will as the rule of life." A beautiful, we will not say, an ideal picture--for, thank God! the experience of most of us will testify that it can be, and has been, realised; but it presupposes the mother -the average mother, be it remembered-as pure and innocent as the new-born child, enfolding it, like an angel, under her wings, and enshrining it safe, in the sanctuary of an unruffled bosom, from all the coarseness and defilements of the outer world. Pestalozzi,

In the 'Evening Hours of a Hermit' (see page 67), Pestalozzi says, in language of real beauty, though perhaps of questionable orthodoxy: Faith in God is the pure sense of simplicity-the ear of Innocence listening to the voice of Nature proclaiming the Fatherhood of God.'

He

however, always regarded this idea with peculiar affection, as the first and best of his 'discoveries.' says, 'I should not anticipate half the consequences for the real benefit of mankind as long as our system failed of extending to the earliest stage of education; and, to succeed in this, we require the co-operation of the most powerful ally of our cause, so far as human power may contribute to an end which Eternal love and wisdom have assigned to the endeavours of man. The object of our ardent desires will never be obtained but through the assistance of the mothers.' Upon this passage, a well-known English Pestalozzian* observes, The estimate which Pestalozzi formed of this "prize,' the tenacity with which he held it, and the place which he assigned it in his system ought to be thoroughly realised.' It took that undivided possession of his mind which a familiar thought will sometimes acquire from a novel combination. It inspired him with the most sanguine hopes; it was from that moment the nucleus, the luminous centre of all his efforts, and the foundation of his system of moral influence and moral elevation. But in time Pestalozzi became dissatisfied here, and he then made his final discovery. He would carry the parental feeling into the schoolroom, and convert the schoolroom into a home. He saw that the family was the original school-God's model school in the beginning of the world. The trainers of children according to the order of nature are their parents, their brothers and sisters. And depend upon it,' he came to assert, 'just so far as we fail to conform the school to a family in spirit and character, it will be imperfect, it will bear the impress of human, not of divine wisdom?' We are justified then in saying that it was one of the first principles of Pestalozzi's system that all education must be essentially of a parental

character.

(2.) Had we been strictly following the order of importance, the foremost place among Pestalozzi's principles should undoubtedly have been assigned to the next axiom, or 'discovery,' as he would perhaps have called it; which, in fact, underlies all the rest, and has done more to revolutionize our modern systems than the whole of them put together; namely, All education must be founded upon a knowledge of the nature of the child, and must follow the natural order of the development of the human facu ties. The artist must be acquainted with the subjectmatter of his art, which, in the case of the educator, is the mind of childhood; and 'the study of the mind must form the basis of the science which aims at developing it.' And the true teacher must be not only a mental analyst, but a student of character; for in different individuals tastes and faculties are developed in a different order, and it will be necessary for him to know when to apply to each of them encouragement, or guidance, or restraint. The mind is a living organism with laws of its own, for its growth, nutrition and development; its treatment must be in harmony with these laws. The physician has long since discovered that he can only assist the efforts of nature; the cultivator, that he can create nothing in, can add nothing to, the plant, but only contribute to its proper development by protecting the tender germ from all injurious influences, and by supplying it with the nourishment best suited to assist its growth. So it is with the cultivator of the mind;-and there

* Mr. Dunning.

fore, in selecting the proper nutriment for it, he should attach their relative importance to the different subjects of elementary instruction, not so much for their own sake as for the educative power which they severally possess; he should regard the mind of his pupil not so much in the light of a receptacle for knowledge, as of an instrument which can be made more or less perfect for the acquisition of knowledge for itself.

(3.) The concluding clause of the last Pestalozzian axiom may best be taken in close connection with the next, namely, that all education must be founded on observation. Imbued with the materialistic philosophy of the French school, Pestalozzi held strongly, perhaps too strongly, with our own countryman Locke, that all human knowledge is derived from the senses. The powers of perception were, therefore, what was first to be cultivated, for the senses themselves cannot be developed without education; we must be taught how to feel, to see, to touch, and to hear; and the child's best first text-book is the world. Examples must be drawn from familiar objects; things must be learned before words; facts and qualities must be apprehended before we attempt to form, or even to learn, definitions. All knowledge is comparatively worthless which is merely bookish and verbal, and not based upon actual experiences, which may be acquired either by the intelligent observation of the individual, or by an abridgment of the natural process, i.e., by a vivid and methodical presentation of the facts to the learner's mind by a skilful teacher. 'In book-learning there is always a danger that the thing signified may not be discerned through the sign. The objects of a child's instruction should constantly be brought under its eyes. So Pestalozzi was careful to devise lessons on 'objects,' in which, by actual contact with the sense, the children were led to discern qualities which they afterwards described in words. To the young, the truth bare before the sight, palpable to the touch, embodied in forms which the senses realize, has a charm which no mere words can convey, until they are recognized as the sign of the truth which the mind comprehends. In all that relates to the external world the best book is nature with an intelligent teacher. The master who neglects his opportunities of satisfying the intelligence of his pupils on anything that can be made obvious to the sense, must be content to find that when his lessons rise to abstractions he will be gazed upon by vacant faces. The mind will refuse a lively confidence in general truths when it has not been convinced of the existence of the particular facts from which they are derived.' Thus, then, the teacher, having laid a foundation of fact, apprehended and tested by the senses, advances from the known to the unknown, from the simple to the general, from the concrete to the abstract, never moving a step forward till the preceding foothold is secure, and the pupil, following his guidance, and having no false steps to retrace, is enabled, without straining his faculties, to arrive at results which might otherwise have been difficult, or slow, or impossible of attainment.

Lastly, All education is imperfect without due attention to the training and development of the physical powers. The faculties of the mind are often clouded by bodily disease or by confinement, or even by want of

* Sir James Shuttleworth,

proper exercise. Hence the importance of providing suitable apparatus, and setting apart regular times, for gymnastic exercises; of attending to ventilation, light, temperature, wholesome food, and proper clothing-it remained for the English Pestalozzianism of the future to add, above all, to cleanliness.

Such, in rough outline, are the main features of the system of Pestalozzi-the development, natural, progressive, and harmonious, of the intellectual, moral, and physical powers, in an atmosphere of mutual. trustfulness and simplicity, under the sunshine of sympathy and love.

If it be asked, as it is fair to ask in the case of a man so respected and renowned, what permanent benefits has Pestalozzi conferred upon mankind? it may fairly be answered-first, that though he may not have been the actual discoverer of the great truths which he enunciated, they were, with him, the fruits of original research. He was the first to popularise them, to bring them down to the public schoolroom, and apply them for the improvement of the masses, and he is, therefore, justly entitled to be called the father of Poor School Education. Again, he was the first to define fully and clearly the work of the schoolmaster, to give him the highest aim, and bid him measure his modes of education by it, to inspire him with the right spirit, and enable him to proceed in his work with all the certainty of the light of the science, and give a reason for every part of his procedure.* Once more, he called attention to the fact that education, to be successful, must aim at assisting the natural expansion of the innate powers of the mind, and this in their proper order of development-that perception, being the earliest born of these powers, must be the first to be cultivated. If he failed to see with sufficient clearness that some truths are in their nature axiomatic, self-evident, and intuitive, and some must rest on authority and the testimony of others, he did. good service in making it clear that the great mass of human knowledge is derivable from observation, and only so far trustworthy as it has been, or can be tested and verified by experiment. Lastly, he inculcated by reiterated precept, and still more by example, an almost unlimited belief in the educative power of patience and self-devotion, of trustfulness and sympathy. It is no exaggeration, but the literal truth, that he gave his life for the lambs of the flock.

It is easy enough to find faults in his views, and to call them, as some have done, unscientific, one-sided, and even mutually contradictory; but those who have any acquaintance with the Elementary Schools of to-day will hardly need to be told how completely those views have interpenetrated our modern system, and how beneficial their influence upon it has been. Those results, indeed, it was not granted to Pestalozzi himself to see. Like the dying Lawgiver of Israel, he had led a younger generation to the borders of a Promised Land, into which he was not permitted himself to enter, and lay down to die amid the apparent collapse of all his undertakings. But he found his consolation in the unshaken hope of the wide future expansion and dissemination of his ideas, in the 'Pisgahprospect' of the rich inheritance which lay before those who had followed him faithfully through the stony wilderness of his disappointed career. There is, perhaps, nowhere to be found a more affecting memorial

* Mr. Dunning.

of a crushed and bleeding, but still indomitable faith, than the following passage from a letter of Pestalozzi's, which was found among the papers of a friend: 'Let me now for a moment forget my aim and my labours, and abandon myself to the melancholy which comes over me when I remember that I still live, though I am no longer myself. I have lost everything, I have lost myself: nevertheless Thou, O Lord, hast preserved in me the longings of my life, and hast not shattered to pieces before my eyes the aim of my sufferings, as Thou hast shattered the aims of thousands who have corrupted themselves in their own ways. Thou hast preserved to me the work of my life in the midst of my own ruin, and hast caused to arise upon me in my hopeless declining age an evening brightness, and the sight of its loveliness outbalances the sufferings of my life. Lord, I am not worthy of the mercy and faithfulness which Thou hast shown me. Thou alone hast had pity on the trampled worm; Thou alone hast not broken the bruised reed; Thou alone hast not quenched the smoking flax ; and hast not to the latest period of my life, turned away Thy face from the offering, which from childhood, I have tried to bring to the forsaken in the land.'

How I Teach Elementary Science.'

BY RICHARD BALCHIN,

Head Master of the Gloucester Road Board School, London. FOURTH-SCHEDULE

IT

MECHANICS.

SUBJECTS:

T is astonishing to see how strong the desire to make something or other 'beats in the breasts' of boys. They long to be employed in doing something in connection with every lesson that is given. The children seem to have a dislike to sitting still in the desks while the teacher is engaged in performing all the experiments himself at the table. I am afraid this feeling on part of the boys is not sufficiently taken advantage of by us teachers. A short time since a quantity of clay was dug up near the school. Juvenile brickmaking at once commenced. On nearly every doorstep young Israelites were busy at work fashioning bricks and other articles, without either taskmasters or straw; all for the mere love of the thing. They brought some of their work to show me. I at once sent out for some lumps of clay, procured a board, and shaped the plastic material into a landscape, consisting of a range of mountains, plain, table-land, island, inland sea, river basin, etc. Then I told the boys to try and make something like it themselves at home. Brickmaking declined. Art advanced a step. For several days the youngsters continued to bring in more or less artistic representations of a landscape to illustrate geographical terms. They made the hills also.' That year the second standard passed well in geography. In fact H.M. Inspectors actually questioned the boys from the clay model. The only drawback was when I found that the young artists proceeded, in time, by the aid of their models, to illustrate things too exalted for them; for, in imitation of Milton's terrific battle of the gods, they tore up the solid hills and hurled them at each other.