shop, the sowing, ploughing, haymaking, reaping, harvesting, etc. ;-to all these matters their attention should be directed, and the results of their own observation, not the observation of the teacher, elicited. Then, descending into particulars, let each child tell how many rooms are there in his home, how the rooms are used, the colour of the walls, the pattern of the paper; what the houses are built of; how many windows, doors, chimneys, etc. have they gardens? what is grown in them? what flowers, herbs, vegetables, trees, etc.? Then the schoolroom how many walls, windows? how many desks, tables? how high? how long?-the dimensions being referred to an actual rule and measured by themselves. Then let them say how many books there are on the table; how many leaves in a given book; how many lines in a page; what is the weight of a book or any other object (ascertained by actual weighing it themselves with scales); also the weight of a given object, guessed at by poising it in the hand, and then let the accuracy of the guess be tested by weighing; how far is a tree, a pool, the end of the playground, off, to be · guessed at, then tested by measuring done by themselves; how high is a wall, ascertained by counting the layers of bricks and measuring the thickness of

a brick, etc., etc. In all these exercises, which are numberless, the actual observation of the children, their own personal experience, should be the means and the limit of the knowledge. Nothing need be told them but conventional names-their senses and their minds should do the rest, without help from others. It is truly wonderful that all exercises of this kind are, as a rule, unknown in our primary schools, where they would be especially valuable—the result being that the scholars go forth into the world with eyes that do not see, ears that do not hear, and minds undeveloped. The knowledge of things that lie about them in daily life, knowledge which Milton emphatically points out as the prime wisdom, is studiously ignored. They are left 'unpractised, unprepared, and still to seek;' and what is even more important, the consciousness of their power to acquire such knowledge by their own efforts is never awakened.

I visited the Fröbel-Verein Institute for training (1) Kindergarten nursery governesses; (2) Kindergarten teachers. This institution has also a private Kindergarten in connection with it, for the practice of the teachers, but this I did not see. Mrs. Goldschmidt kindly accompanied me, and introduced me to the intelligent head-mistress and the young novices,

who numbered about forty. These pleasant-looking maidens sang for my entertainment some pretty songs, accompanied by the piano, and further indulged me with two well-enunciated recitations, together with a specimen of the movement - play adapted to the children of the Kindergarten. I was very favourably impressed with the earnest interest manifested throughout, and only regretted the narrowness of their accommodation. The rooms were small, and not well adapted to the purpose of the institution. The informing spirit, however, appeared active, large, and generous.

Next morning I again visited the same establishment, in order to be present at Professor Hoffman's weekly lesson to the young students. I was much interested by the Professor's appearance, and by his quiet, appropriate manner towards them. They too, on their part, seemed to have a perfectly good understanding with him, looked very happy in their work, and indulged every now and then in ebullitions of innocent fun, which did not, however, hinder their serious attention to business. The girls were occupied, when I entered the room, in laying down on the table folded slips of white paper forming various figures (schnürstreifen). These, I was told, were

representations of forms of 'Life,' 'Knowledge,' and 'Beauty' (Leben-Kenntniss-Schönheitsformen). Here are some specimens of them—

**

There was here a field for considerable ingenuity and taste, but I was surprised to see that the demand for these qualities was strictly confined to an imitation of what the teacher did. The girls were told almost everything - scarcely anything required of them but rigid performance. The argument for this was, that these were the very exercises the children were to be carried through in the Kindergarten,—an argument plainly insufficient if the object of the Fröbel principle is, as I believe it is, to develop a direct native power. Not only were the girls told in every instance exactly what they were to do, but were also told, even when the case was most obvious, how to correct every mistake. 'This is too short,' That is too long,' 'You must do so and so,' were words of constant occurrence, when 'Correct this by looking again at the pattern' would have been amply sufficient; as it is an article of our

educational creed, that the learner's blunders are to be corrected by himself, and thus to be utilised for his benefit. I was proportionally disappointed at the mechanical nature of this teaching, which made so little demand on the intellect of the pupils. My convictions on this point were strengthened, when, in the second lesson (on network drawing), I heard the teacher, in his criticism of the work, telling the girls most assiduously what was perfectly obvious. 'This line is not straight,' 'These lines are not wide enough apart,' 'This line should be horizontal, that perpendicular,' etc.-remarks all perfectly just, but also perfectly unnecessary in the case of girls of sixteen or seventeen years of age.

This vice of 'telling' seems quite ingrained in teachers generally, and is very commonly even regarded as a virtue. But I hold it to be a fundamental canon of teaching, never to tell a pupil what he can find out for himself; and the canon is, I am bound toassert, violated to a very great extent (I cannot, of course, say universally) in the training schools for Kindergarten governesses. The consequences are naturally seen when these governesses take the charge of children themselves; and hence the tendency to formal mechanism, on which I have already made some remarks. It may