When we have thus got our boys to form the acquaintance of great men, they will have certain associations connected with many towns and countries. Constant reference should be made to the map, and the boys' knowledge and interest will thus make settlements in different parts of the globe. These may be extended by a good book of travels, especially of voyages of discovery. There are, no doubt, many such books suitable for the purpose, but the only one I have met with is Miss Hack's Winter Evenings; or Tales of Travellers,' which has been a great favourite with children for the last five-and-twenty years at least. This is a capital book, but the very childish conversations interpolated in the narratives would disgust a boy a little too old for them, much more than they would an adult reader. In studying such travels, the map should, of course, be always in sight; and outline maps may be filled up by the boys, as they learn about the places in the traveller's route. Any one who has had the management of a school library knows how popular voyage and venture' is with the boys who have passed the stage in which the picture-books of animals were the main attraction. Captain Cook, Mungo Park, and Admiral Byron are heroes without whom boyhood would be incomplete; but as boys are engrossed by the adventures, and never trouble themselves about the map, they often remember the incidents without knowing where they happened.

Of course school geographies never mention such people as celebrated travellers: if they did, it would be impossible to give all the principal geographical

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names in the world within the compass of 200 pages.

What might we fairly expect from such a course of teaching as I have here suggested?

At the end of a year and a half or two years from the age, say, of nine, the boy would read aloud well, he would write fairly, he would spell all common English words correctly; he would have had his interest excited or increased in common objects, such as animals, trees, and plants; he would have made the acquaintance of some great men, and traced the voyages of some great travellers; he would be able to say by heart some of the best simple English poetry, and his ear would be familar with the sound of good English prose. Above all, he would not have learned to look upon books and school-time as the torment of his life, nor have fallen into the habit of giving them as little of his attention as he could reconcile with immunity from the cane. The benefit of this negative result, at all events, might prove incalculable.

XI.

MORAL AND RELIGIOUS EDUCATION.

ALL who are acquainted with the standard treatises on the theory of education, and also with the management of schools, will have observed that moral and religious training occupies a larger and more prominent space in theory than in practice. On consideration, we shall find perhaps that this might naturally be expected. Of course we are all agreed that morality is more important than learning, and masters who are many of them clergymen, will hardly be accused of under-estimating the value of religion. Why, then, does not moral and religious training receive a larger share of the master's attention? The reason I take to be this. Experience shows that it depends directly on the master whether a boy acquires knowledge, but only indirectly, and in a much less degree, whether he grows up a good and religious The aim which engrosses most of our time is likely to absorb an equal share of our interest; and thus it happens that masters, especially those who never associate on terms of intimacy with their pupils out of school, throw energy enough into making boys

man.

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learn, but seldom think at all of the development of their character, or about their thoughts and feelings in matters of religion. This statement may indeed be exaggerated, but no one who has the means of judging will assert that it is altogether without foundation. And yet, although a master can be more certain of sending out his pupils well taught than well principled, his influence on their character is much greater than it might appear to a superficial observer. I intend speaking presently of formal religious instruction. I refer now to the teacher's indirect influence. The results of his formal teaching vary as its amount, but he can apply no such gauge to his informal teaching. A few words of earnest advice or remonstrance, which a boy hears at the right time from a man whom he respects, may affect that boy's character for life. Here everything depends, not on the words used, but on the feeling with which they are spoken, and on the way in which the speaker is regarded by the hearer. In such matters the master has a much more delicate and difficult task than in mere instruction. The words, indeed, are soon spoken, but that which gives them their influence is not soon or easily acquired. Here, as in so many other instances, we may in a few minutes throw down what it has cost us days—perhaps years—to build up. An unkind word will destroy the effects of long-continued kindness. Boys always form their opinion of a man from the worst they know of him. Experience has not yet taught them that good people have their failings, and bad people their virtues. If the scholars find the master at times harsh and testy,

they cannot believe in his kindness of heart and care for their welfare. They do not see that he may have an ideal before him to which he is partly, though not wholly, true. They judge him by his demeanour in his least guarded moments-at times when he is jaded and dissatisfied with the results of his labours. At such times the bonds of sympathy between him and his pupils hang loose. He is conscious only of his power and of his mental superiority. Feeling almost a contempt for the boys' weakness, he does not care for their opinion of him, or think for an instant what impression he is making by his words and conduct. He gives full play to his arbitrium, and says or does something which seems to the boys to reveal him in his true character, and which causes them ever after to distrust his kindness.

When we consider the way in which masters endeavour to gain influence, we shall find that they may be divided roughly into two parties, whom I will call, as a matter of convenience, realists and idealists. A teacher of the real party endeavours to appear to his pupils precisely as he is. He will hear of no restraint except that of decorum. He believes that if he is as much the superior of his pupils as he ought to be, his authority will take care of itself, without his casting round it a wall of artificial reserve. 'Be natural,' he says; 'get rid of affectations and shams of all kinds; and then, if there is any good in you, it will tell on those around you. Whatever is bad, would be felt just as surely in disguise; and the disguise would only be an additional source of mischief.' The idealists, on the other hand, wish their pupils to think of them as