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tions, both cantonal and federal. The Middle Class recast the constitutions after its own ideas and created the representative democracy. It was the Middle Classes' golden age, and their prophet, Guizot, argued with great force for the "juste milieu politique," for the creation of a middle class of citizens, who were neither exhausted by poverty or by overwork as laborers, nor overfed and dull, as the nobility and money aristocrats." The "tiers état," its policy and work meant practically the division of the governmental initiative, introduction of parliamentary forms, and a denial of the sovereignty of the people. With the battle cry "republican equality," a movement against the Swiss oligarchy was started after the July revolution. It became a conflict between the old society and the new-of historical traditions against the new spirit of the times. The conflict which has been raging and is raging still in Switzerland, since 1830, is really a continuation of an old issue. It is the issue which was so prominent at the end of the last century, between the ideas of Montesquieu and Rous

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The first fought for the English constitutional system, with representatives of the people, etc,, while Rousseau was the spokesman for the people's sovereignty, most emphatically rejecting representation. 'Sovereignty," he wrote, "cannot be represented, nor delegated. It means will, and will cannot be delegated. The people's deputies are not its representatives, they are its attorneys only. They cannot finally settle anything. Every law not made by the people personally is null and void. .. The English people lose their sovereignty the moment they elect representatives." Montesquieu in his "L'esprit des lois," IX., I., had said about republics: “When a republic is small, it will be ruined by foreign power; when it is large, its own weight will destroy it. The evil is in the thing itself, and no form can cure it. No doubt men will be compelled to live under monarchic forms, unless a form can be found which unites all the inner advantages of the republic and the outer of the monarchy." Montesquieu thus really defined the republic of the United States and also the Swiss Confederation of 1848.

But Rousseau's ideas were not realized by the French revolution. Mirabeau, Sièyes, et al. united with Kant, Fichte, et al. in declaring the representative republic the true form of government for the modern civilized State, and even the Vienna Congress could not suppress that form. With Sièyes's famous, Que c'est que le tiers-état? as parole, the bourgeoisie forced their way to power, and found the representative democratic monarchy very well suited to their ideas. The movement is, therefore, rightly called the States reform of the teirs-état, or the middle classes."

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The Swiss Cantons are now beyond this constitutional A B C. They are not satisfied to have the people vote at certain solemn occasions. With them the direct voting of the people is an every-day affair, and when no voting is done it is simply because the will of the people is known beforehand, and the trouble of coming together unnecessary. The representative bodies have disappeared from most Cantons, and in the others they will soon go, aiso. The Swiss motto is "by freedom to make freemen"; by that the radical party fights the feudal party. Numa Droz says, Democracy means government BY the people," and not FOR the people. The veto power of a Governor or the President of the United States is inconceivable in Switzerland. In the United States, the Ministers and most officeholders are appointed by the executive; in Switzerland the people elect them by direct vote. The United States has not known a constitutional revision of any radical nature for over a hundred years. In Switzerland they are continually busy with revisions. It is inconceivable to a Swiss mind that their constitutions could be firm and unchangeable. They are not progressing towards that formula which the Norwegian Professor Aschehoug has defined: Society will finally be governed by the impersonal and, to a certaint extent, unchangeable, fundamental law." They believe, to the contrary, that

human society is best protected when the people have the freest and easiest means to make changes in its constitutions. In all the constitutions now in force there is a clause which demands that "at any time" they may be changed. The constitution of Geneva forms an exception. It demands that a revision is to take place every ten or fifteen years. According to these notions all Swiss laws, regulations, enactments, etc., are only temporary and intermediate. Marsauche, in his "La Confederation Helvetique," remarks truly, that this continual changing and revision of the constitutions is the most characteristic trait of political life in Switzerland, and shows how the constitutions are perfected without any disturbance in the life of the people. It must be said that these continual revisions are not the result of desires for innovations and experiments, and that nothing new is introduced till it has already become recognized by the people as an improvement. The revision is the summing up of experience rather than the start to make

one.

The difference between those Cantons which have "pure democracy" and those which have not, is not so great as it might seem. In these six, Appenzell äusseren Rhoden, Appenzell innern Rhoden, Unterwalden, ob. und nid. Wald, Uri, and Glarus, for instance, the government is direct, as described in a former article, yet that body of people, which meets yearly, does not administer the government, it chooses its agents and controls them. The laws are not laid immediately before the people; they are prepared and shaped by some authority chosen for the purpose. Some Cantons have not introduced the "pure democracy" because they are too large, and for all the people to come together would involve too many sacrifices. Yet the people exercise the most direct control of their representatives. They can recall them at any time and elect new ones, and as no Canton maintains the two-Chamber system and each elects a great many representatives, the people virtually rule very directly.

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standard of life and comfort, from the point of view of food, clothing, and house accommodation, is lower than the pauper or criminal, yet these people will not accept relief, but struggle on in the vain hope of work that never comes, and if it did it would find them too low to perform it. I believe that the cheapest, best, and safest way of all to prevent the idle man the potential loafer, pauper, or criminal, from being a burden, is to provide him with work which will be his salvation and the community's benefit.

But how is this to be done? It may not be so easy as many imagine, but certain it is that the solution of the question must be attempted by the adoption of proper measures, insignificant, perhaps, in themselves, but as a whole tending towards the industrial reorganization of society.

In attempting to deal with this "unemployed" problem, it must be admitted that whatever is done under a competitive form of society, can only be palliative and not permanently remedial. In fact, the commercial classes must be told, if they do not know it already, that, to some extent, the existence of an unemployed contingent of workers is a necessary corollary of the existing, almost unrestricted, competitive system, in which production for profit by a class is carried on, irrespective of the social consequences to the community and to the producers. The harshness of Capitalism has of late years been much tempered in England by the Socialistic Poor Law and by much

voluntary charity for the relief of the distress incidental to the present form of wealth-production. The immediate question we have to discuss is how this money and existing charitable and relief agencies can be best economized and utilized for the prevention of further additions to the army of paupers, and of the perpetuation of a pauper class. And before this question is answered, let us say, in the light of experience gained from the Mansion House Fund in 1886, that all charitable schemes for the relief of the unemployed who are able to work, have only one end, and that end the demoralization of the donors and the degradation of the recipients. I go further, and, as a trade-unionist, a member of a friendly society, and a Labour representative, knowing the life, the needs, and requirements of the working people, particularly the unskilled labourers and the unemployed, say that the time has arrived when the common sense of all sections of the community, represented by Act of Parliament, should prevent Utopian philanthropists, like General Booth and Mr. Arnold White, and all such unscientific amateurs and spasmodic manipulators of other people's charity, from making London, as they are, the happy hunting ground of charitable debauchees, and the centre to which loafers and tramps are drawn from all parts of the country, to the confusion of the proper authorities and the detriment of the London poor.

What is needed is to supply the unemployed with work of some public utility. All experience in this direction goes to prove that it is better to spend one million pounds sterling in public works, than two millions in charity. The hours of labour should be reduced to provide work for greater numbers. In the public departments, too, there is much extra duty" that ought not to be done by the regular staff at overtime rates, but by extra men. An eight-hour day would reduce the preventable slaughter due to railway accidents by 50 per cent., and make room for another 100,000 workmen. How many, too, might be advantageously employed in street cleaning!

But, whatever may be done of a gradual and tentative character in the towns or cities by public works or the reduction of the hours of labour, will be permanently useless till the influx from the countryside be stopped, and machinery be made the servant, and not, as now, the master of men. How this is to be done it is difficult to say; apparently nothing but the appropriation by the rural authorities of the uncultivated land will do it. In the general interest of the country something must be attempted to prevent the land lying idle.

Any attempt at labour colonies, unemployed settlements, elevators, farm colonies, municipal workshops, and other social will-o'-the-wisps will fail, as they always have done. Into the mass of the industrial army the ragged regiments must be absorbed. They must be distributed through every department of commerce, agriculture, and labour, through a reduction of the hours of labour. This is the simplest way, avoids friction, displacement, and migration. Absorption of the unemployed by general reduction of hours, followed by municipalization of industry and nationalization of monopolies, is the line of least resistance for all. It is regulation or riot, reduction or revolution.

We are passing through a transition period. Laissez faire has heen abandoned, and for the first time in the history of the human race the working people possess universally the power, through elective institutions, to embody in law their economic and material desires. Concurrently with the growth of personal independence is the desire for State aid and municipal effort when individual action is futile. The unemployed movement embodies the growing desire for useful, healthy lives. It is the protest of Labour against the charitable palliation of a social system that in all countries is breaking up, and must, either by force or steady change, give place to the collective and organized domination by the people, of their social life, through municipal administration and political change.

ECONOMIC QUESTIONS INVOLVED IN MOVEMENTS OF POPULATION.

THE

Edinburgh Review, October to January.

HE increase or decrease of population by natural or artificial causes, and the distribution of mankind over different parts of the globe, are the dominant factors of the history and condition of the human race. The rise and fall of nations and of empires, the progress or decline of civilization, and the domination of men over the uncultivated parts of the earth, are all due to the waves of population, which are driven by various causes to new scenes of existence and new seats of power. These tidal movements of humanity have occurred again and again at many periods of the world's history, but with great irregularity. There have been times when the increase of population has been slow and its habits sedentary. There have been times when the whole human race seems to have been in motion, driven by some mysterious impulse to seek new lands to cultivate and new homes.

If the progress of population had been continuous from the remote periods of antiquity, it is evident that the numbers of mankind would be much greater than they are, and the globe would be already overstocked with human beings. Other causes, however, not less mysterious in their operation, have checked that progress. Many of the populous countries of antiquity have become depopulated and apparently unable to support life. It is uncertain whether, at the present moment, the population of the globe is greater than it was two or three thousand years ago. There is congestion in Europe, in India, and in China; there are innumerable tribes in Central Africa on whom even the slave-trade makes no perceptible impression. Yet the vast plains of Asia, which swarmed with men under the Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Empires, are deserted. The civilization of Europe is no longer threatened by the Eastern hordes, which swept over the Roman Empire in the earlier centuries of the Christian era. That prodigious migration, however, laid the foundation of the States of modern Europe.

Of the highest importance are the economic questions involved in these movements of population. The key to much of economic history is found in the progressive desires of mankind. The amount which can be consumed by any individual is limited, but there is no limit to its variety. This constant effort to attain to a greater and greater variety of objects of consumption has produced extraordinary effects on the world. It is the motive power, so to speak, which has brought into existence the division of labor. The savage, being comparatively indifferent to variety, is supplied with all he needs by his own labor and that of his family. The moment that the passion for variety seizes him, he becomes dependent upon others for his supplies, and civilization begins. This division of labor is seen on the largest scale in the international trade of the present day. It is the gradual spread of population over the whole earth which has brought within the reach of the poorest laborer in England the great variety of products which he consumes. The tea which he drinks, the tobacco which he smokes, the sugar which he eats in so many forms, the cotton and the wool which he wearsall these are the results of the movements of peoples. Economists have laid it down that, in the absence of artificial restraints, capital and labor will find the place in which they can be most productively employed, and that place will be determined by the demand of mankind for the several products of the different parts of the earth's surface.

If the direction which the demand for commodities takes in a country is determined by the progressive nature of man's desires, its strength must be proportional to the number of its population—the quantity as well as the quality of desire must be taken into account. Malthus, in his great treatise, showed how closely the two are connected together. The satisfaction of a natural instinct would increase our numbers

to a fabulous extent, if it were not for an obstacle which nature interposes. A limit to the increase of population is set by the fact that the productive capacity of the earth is limited. The earth, from which ultimately all our wealth is derived, ceases after a time to give a proportionate return to increased labor and capital employed upon it. From this law of diminishing returns, it results that at a given point mankind is no longer able to raise a supply of food adequate to maintain the rate of increase.

Granting the assumption that men multiply as fast as they can (an assumption which Malthus verified by a vast mass of classified experience), and the law of diminishing returns, and the conclusion is beyond doubt. A time must come when population will press hardly on the means of subsistence, and its further growth will be prevented by a high rate of infant mortality, due to diseases which spring from insufficient nourishment. Such a result is often postponed by the action of such checks upon increase as war, pestilence, and famine; but the growth of civilization implies a weakening of all these, and thus hastens the arrival of a period when further increase is stopped by want of food, and the high death-rate mentioned above becomes chronic. The only hope which Malthus saw of avoiding this catastrophe lay in the growth of a desire for a greater and greater variety of objects—in a word, the quantity of desire would be limited by its quality.

The theory of Malthus was incontestably true as an explanation of the facts with which he had to deal. If the facts of modern life are different, a different explanation may be necessary. In short, there is very possibly room for a new inquirer to win new laurels, by forming and verifying a new hypothesis; and when he comes, the highest praise to which he will be able to lay claim, or which his contemporaries and posterity can award him, will be that he is a new Malthus.

THE

PHASES OF ITALIAN Life.

Leisure Hour, London, December.

HE army is a sore point with the Italian people, whom it crushes by the cost it entails. The military recruiting takes away the wage-earning population for three years—i. e., all men who have entered their twenty-first year. The social consequences of conscription are of various kinds. The military service leads to the desertion of the rural districts, modifying the customs of the people; on the other hand, the boor who enters the army acquires before leaving it some instruction and a little polish. Weighing one thing against another, the conscription is perhaps temporarily useful, and forms a powerful agent for the future formation of the Italian people, by making those from different regions acquainted with one another, and also by diffusing the correct spoken tongue. Students and professional men can serve their time under certain favorable conditions in one year, but they can never have absolute exemption from military service, a fact which bears very hardly upon their scientific training, often temporarily unfitting them, and in any case frequently proving a serious delay and interruption in their course of study and commencement of earning. The day can surely not be far distant when compulsory military service, the cause of notable weakness to all European States, will be abolished. A time may come when the people will no longer bear these heavy, useless, unchristian, and provocative burdens. When everything that can be said in favor of the system is said, it corresponds to several years of idleness on the part of half the nation, and in the best time of their lives, when they should be fitting themselves to become useful members of their country.

The huge military and administrative establishment has brought another evil upon Italy. This multitude of officers and employés acquire at the comparatively early age of fiftytwo a right to a pension, and this represents a mass of living forces lying absolutely idle. Their life as public servants has robbed them of every idea of initiative, and they reënter the

national hive like to those bees of male sex who produce no honey, but would eat the whole store of the working bees did they not, as they prudently do, make a yearly sacrifice of them. Unfortunately, in the human hive such sacrifices for the sake of the common weal are not permitted, and hence they may eat the bread of idleness and drain the resources of their working fellows.

There is one noticeable point in Italy, and that is that no trace remains of the ancient feudal system. This was destroyed by the republics and the foreign conquerors, who hoped by this means to bring about concord; and when for the republics was substituted the government of the indigenous signori, so far from restoring feudalism, this extinguished its last spark. In Italy, therefore, no aristocracy exists in the political sense of the word. There are princes, dukes, marchesi, counts in plenty, but more than half of these have no right to the titles they bear, many of which are self-imposed. There are proud and humble titled men, poor and rich, some of ancient lineage and some of new creation, but they all have this in common, that they have no importance outside the drawing-room. The country has been given over for so many years to democracy that the democratic instincts run in the veins of all. The Court understands this, and acts on it by being affable to all men of all ranks. The handful of the old nobility that presents itself from time to time as candidates for public careers knows this too; hence they never vaunt their surnames, and sometimes they forget to put their titles to their manifestoes, preferring to use such professional dignities as they have acquired by study, as, for example, those of lawyer, doctor, and professor. The people know this, too, who have courteous and respectful manners to their social superiors, but demand also that they in their turn should treat them with respect, especially in those provinces where the historical republican life has been most intense-that is to say, in Tuscany and Liguria. Some vestige of the subjection of the poor to the rich is still to be found in Sardinia and Sicily; but, taken as a whole, Italy is as democratic as France, and the English customs are not understood here. This is one explanation why the English novel based on life in the upper classes is hardly read in Italy, and why it remains incomprehensible. Even Thackeray's masterpieces are only appreciated by a few, to say nothing of Benjamin Disraeli's later works, which are absolute Sanscrit to Italians. Such a social state of things naturally leads to easy social relations. The impoverished nobility, even while it preserves its historical pride, preserves it more in words than in deeds. At bottom it bends before the purse with the greatest calmness. Fumer ses terres! There is hardly a historical family that has not renovated its patrimony by marriage with foreign women who have brought to its coffers the magic pound or the almighty dollar.

THE WORLD'S FAIR AND THE DEATH-RATE OF 1893.

JAMES C. BAYLES, PH.D.

Engineering Magazine, New York, December.

WER

ERE Chicago as perfect in its appointments as the dream-city of Hygieia, the fact would remain that an appalling mortality will attend the movement of population due to the Exposition, unless it is possible to educate the American people very quickly and very thoroughly in matters to which they habitually give little attention.

At no time are the conditions of transient residence in a city so abnormal and so generally uncomfortable for the transient visitor as during an international exhibition. It cannot be otherwise in Chicago. There will be food enough and probably beds enough. The provision in both cases is likely to exceed rather than fall below the average requirement for. the Fair season. But anything approaching comfort will be had only at high cost, or as the result of prudent foresight. For a vast majority of visitors the former will be impossible,

the latter improbable. Those who have desirable accomodations to offer cannot afford to hold them subject to precarious occupation of chance comers for brief periods. For these there will be the temporary structures and extemporized boardinghouses which no municipal sanitary code would sanction, and no board of health tolerate under any other conditions, and the cheap restaurants where badly-cooked and generally inferior food is served. We need waste no time in suggesting how these evils may be prevented. They will exist because needed, for without them thousands would go hungry by day and sleepless by night. All that the city of Chicago or the Exposition management can do will be done. The evils from which the average visitor is likely to suffer will be due to causes for which he is chiefly responsible, and from which he cannot be protected without involving unwarrantable restriction of personal liberty.

But

Most of us remember our own experiences or those of our friends at Philadelphia in 1876. That these will be repeated in Chicago on a much larger scale cannot be doubted. A large percentage of transient visitors will be people who should stay quietly at home. They cannot afford to go in the only way in which it is possible to go comfortably and safely. Another large percentage will include those too old, too young, or too feeble from disease to incur without imminent risk of serious illness or death the fatigue and exposures which cannot be avoided by those who see the Exposition even superficially. Eliminate these two great classes of visitors who should stay at home, and the problem would be greatly simplified. they cannot be eliminated. Not only will they suffer immediate and more or less permanent physical harm, but they will increase the care, anxiety, and fatigue of the stronger ones upon whom they depend. To see the Exposition will doubtless be a great privilege, and to enjoy it will warrant reasonable sacrifices; but to paraphrase the mediæval proverb, so that it shall read, "See Chicago and die," should not commend itself Lo so practical a people as ours. Those who should not go are, as the rule, the ones who will most want to go, and would feel most keenly the disappointment of being left behind. It will seem so easy to go, and so difficult to arrange to leave the unfit ones at home. When it is over, all concerned will be wiser, and family circles smaller.

That old people, feeble people, and children will suffer first, and from causes more directly traceable to the great pilgrimage, is in accordance with nature's laws. The fertile germ of typhoid fever will be planted in a thousand new centres of favorable development, and the aggregate mortality caused by it would be neither easy or pleasant to estimate. Every variety of diarrhoeal disease may also be expected to prevail among returning visitors who have "seen the Fair." The causes will be excessive fatigue, imprudent eating and drinking, unaccustomed exposure to sudden changes in temperature, and specific infection. Contagious diseases, especially those of children, will be widely distributed. Deaths due to aggravation by exposure, fatigue, and personal imprudence, of preexisting weaknesses or slow-developing chronic diseases, will help to swell the total. Finally, if we assume, as average experience warrants, that for every death we shall have five or more cases of serious illness which do not end fatally, the net results of the Exposition are likely to be very costly to the country.

Some suggestions as a basis on which intelligent people can construct rules for their guidance, are offered:

I. Determine whether you are physically able to see the Exposition, and can afford it.

II. Take with you none for whom you are responsible, without the approval of your physician.

III. If you go, make it your first business to secure wholesome and comfortable lodgings.

IV. Avoid excessive fatigue.

V. Eat regularly, lightly, and frequently, keeping strictly to plain and wholesome food.

VI. Drink moderately and carefully, avoiding unknown or unaccustomed beverages.

If reasonable people who go to Chicago would exercise while there the self-restraint and practical common sense displayed at home, we might dismiss all anxiety on their account.

EDUCATION, LITERATURE, ART.

THE

THE FIVE L's IN EDUCATION.
PROFESSOR SAMUEL HARRIS.
Andover Review, Boston, November.

object to be aimed at in education is the development of the person to the mastery of himself and of his resources, and to the realization of the highest possibilities of his being. In attaining this glorious end two lines of education are to be distinguished. The first aims to develop the person so as to realize the highest ideal of manhood or womanhood. The second is designed to instruct and train the person for the mastery of that line of business which is to be his special life-work. The former is the principal object of the schools up to, and including, the college. The latter is the specific object of professional schools, and of apprenticeship and training for a mechanical trade or any line of business. Both are essential. The former is the higher and more comprehensive aim; the latter more specific and subordinate; nevertheless, without it, the person, whatever his scholarship, and however wide his general knowledge, is helpless to take care of himself and accomplish the true work of his life.

Having thus considered the true idea and aim of education, I proceed to suggest some of the principles in accordance with which the methods of education in the schools must be determined. Education has advanced beyond the three R's of former times. I propose, instead, the five L's,-Life, Liberty, Light, Law, Love.

I. LIFE. Education is cultivating and directing the growth of living beings, as distinguished from mechanical construction. The majestic oaks, which some of us remember as gracing the hill-side across the river, are gone. If you would replace them you cannot do it by sending a carpenter to build new ones. You must plant acorns, or set out young oaks. When the acorn is planted, the soil lies heavy upon it, but cannot hold it down. By its own vital force it thrusts its shoot through the ground and grows into a tree, lifting its mighty mass against all the force of gravity, speading wide its branches, and crowning itself with leaves. You can dig about it and dress it, you can prune it and direct its growth:

"Tis education forms the common mind Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined. Because the child is a living being its education must proceed from within, by awakening its own powers into activity. It is not a mechanical pouring of knowledge in, as one pours water into a cistern, it is rather the opening of living springs within the child's own mind.

Since education is the cultivation of a living growth, repression and restriction, pruning and tying, cannot be primary and dominant in true methods of education. The primary aim must be to stimulate and nourish.

Every living organ requires nourishment and this it must not only receive but assimilate. True culture insures the assimilation of knowledge into life and growth, into character, skill, and power; it is assimilated in forming habits, acquiring the command of the faculties and facility and skill in using them, in strengthening the powers, and calling new powers into action, and awakening new susceptibilities and interests, in incorporating facts and principles, and all knowledge into the living tissues of the mind, so that without conscious and definite memory they enlighten, guide, and vivify the conduct, and live in the character.

True culture implies both sweetness and light. "The bee visits all the flowers of the field and garden, and, by a universal search, much study, true judgment, and distinction of things, brings home honey and wax, thus furnishing mankind with the two noblest things, sweetness and light." So says Dean Swift in his "Battle of the Books." This, too, is the aim of education, to enable a person to assimilate his knowledge, and

from all his studies and resources to bring home sweetness and light.

The analogy with the culture of living organisms may be carried further. There is analogy in the continuousness of reception from environment. It is the work of the educator to place the pupil under favorable conditions, in an environment conducive to his right development, to supply nourishment by direct instruction, protect from noxious influences, prune and direct his growth by discipline, and prepare him to discriminate intelligently between the good and the evil influences of the environment, and with right moral purpose to refuse the evil and choose the good.

II. LIBERTY. The educator must recognize the instinctive desire for liberty or freedom, as a legitimate impulse in human development of which he is to avail himself in education, but which requires judicious regulation and direction.

III. LIGHT. In order to develop a person so as to give free and full play to all his diversified powers and susceptibilities, and to insure their harmony and union in a larger unity, the first requisite is light, or intelligence. Knowledge is light. Reason is the eye by which we see. Then, in order to his right education and development, the person must use his rational powers to ascertain the truth and must submit his will to it as the light and guide of life.

IV. LAW. The second aspect of submission to reason is submission to law. Reason not only sees the light which is to guide us, and to disclose the path of wisdom, but also authoritatively commands us to walk in it. The conscience from the inmost depths of our being responds that we ought to walk in it, and fills us with self-reproach if we neglect to do so. It is self-evident that a rational being ought to act reasonably. In that consciousness of obligation expressed in the phrase, I ought, is the consciousness of subjection to law, incorporated into the very constitution of man as a rational being; and, because rational, therefore endued with free-will. Right education trains the person to bring his will and all the motive forces of his being into harmony with truth and subjection to law.

V. LOVE. Love is the final force which brings all the other forces into harmony with each other and with itself. In love is the union of righteousness and good-will. In love is the unity of duty and spontaneity, the firmness and inflexibility of duty in obedience to law, and the spontaneity and enthusiasm of love. In this union, in love of the two great moral forces, duty and spontaneity, the person attains his most complete freedom.

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In our day, much is said about Pedagogy resting upon Psychology. Of course, it would be well if our educational efforts were based upon a correct knowledge of the child's soul, but Psychology is too far behind in development to be of much use, at any rate for schoolmen. The general psychic laws `known to us do not apply to special cases, hence, they are of no practical value. Pedagogy is, and must remain for some time, an art rather than a science, because we must proceed by guesses and individual experiences.

This applies especially to training in the national language. Here, more than anywhere else, the teacher must possess a series of faculties which I can only call artistic. He must possess a true instinct, correct ear, developed tact, and ability

to enter into the child's soul, so that he can speak to it in its own language. A National Reader, the most important instrument for the teaching of the national language, must, therefore, be written by a man who is such an artist. Readers are too often mere anthologies, containing selections not adapted to the child's soul and comprehension. Hence, they do not ordinarily reach the child. I have often watched the children read and noted their inattentive looks. If I then have asked: "Do you think it tiresome?" they usually have answered in the affirmative. When I have told them that the lesson was not tiresome and have tried to read it to them as impressively as possible, I have carried them along with me for awhile, but finally lost their attention. But when I have laid the book aside, and told them the lesson in my own words, they have all listened attentively and remembered the lesson. This has taught me the necessity of making the Reader SPEAK rather than read.

Such a book Nordahl Rolfsen has recently made for the training of children in Norwegian. His book is printed speech, a phonograph, not only reproducing thought, but the living word, the voice and its inflexions. The author has seated himself upon the school bench, and talks to the children in their own voice and language. Rolfsen's book is a friend who understands and who is willing to answer all kinds of questions and who never tires. The special branches of learning abstract their subject from its relations to other subjects, and then treat it specially. But a linguistic Reader must do the opposite. It must show things in their connection, stimulate: and nourish the child's inquisitiveness, and lay the foundation for a practical philosophy of life. To do that it must interest the child. Interest is the cogwheel which drives the child's spiritual machinery.

The best part of Rolfsen's book is the ethical division. We must rejoice that he has not chosen to give any of the hackneyed moral tales. He never tells how the good man is recompensed and the bad one punished, nor does he use those heavy moral lessons which may suit old sinners, but which distort the child's moral sense. The child is not to be taught "thou shall not," but is to be encouraged to say "I will"; he is not to be loaded down with moral precepts, but lifted up in living, innocent love for the good. We must teach the children positively, and let them rejoice in the good, but not burden them with a knowledge of the false and evil.

Tw

HISTORY.

MARK REID.

Macmillan's Magazine, London, December.

WO lectures on history have lately been delivered by two eminent men, Mr. Froude and Mr. Lecky. Mr. Froude spoke from the Chair of History, to which he has been called by the University of Oxford, Mr. Lecky spoke as president of the Birmingham and Midland Institute.

Between their ideas of history there does not seem to have been much radical difference. Mr. Lecky was indeed less outspoken than Mr. Froude. The former described the methods of the two opposing schools, the Epic and the Scientific, without committing himself to any direct advocacy of either. Mr. Froude, on the other hand, as a writer in The Oxford Magazine tersely puts it, "fired a sharp volley into the flank of the so-called scientific historian." He could not teach a philosophy of history, because he had none of his own. Theories shifted from generation to generation, and one ceased to believe in any of them. He knew nothing of, and cared nothing for, what were called laws of development, evolution or devolution, extension of constitutional privileges from reign to reign, to end in no one knew what. He saw in history a stage only on which the drama of humanity was played from age to age. History, like Shakespeare, must aim at revealing character, without seeking to enforce a moral. The history of mankind," says Carlyle, "is the history of its great men." To find out these, clean the dirt from them and place them on their proper pedestals, is

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