anomaly, of course, would gradually disappear. But this is far from being the case. Three classes of opinions, or rather of feelings, seem to pervade the public mind on this point. There is a large, and it is hoped, an increasing body, who wish to educate the people for the people's own advantage; aware that there is no evil that may not be dreaded from a state of ignorance, and no real good. that may not be expected from an enlightened community. Another party proceed to the work of educating the poor by compulsion rather than choice, and who would do nothing of the sort, if without some such effort they could equally retain their station and social influence. And a third party, more honest indeed, but still less benevolent, openly decry every attempt to educate the humbler classes. The existence of this party is no chimera. "It is impossible," says the assistant poor-law commissioner, Edward Twisleton, Esq., in a late report, "to shut one's eyes to the fact, that a certain portion of the upper and middling classes harbour a rooted distrust of any plan for the education of the poor. .. Amongst many small farmers, and some of the gentry, unwillingness to educate the poor is openly defended by argument; and a merchant of a sea-port town gravely assured me, not long ago, that an agricultural labourer was very little above a brute, and that to educate him would merely have the effect of rendering him dissatisfied with his situation in life." While such a diversity of feeling and opinion exists, therefore, it is plain no united universal effort can be expected, either of a national or social nature, sufficient to meet the exigencies of the whole case. That it may tend, in some small degree, to harmonise these conflicting opinions, by disseminating more widely clear views of what education really is, is a principal end the writer has had in view in committing to paper

....

the preceding and following remarks. It is as necessary to have an acquaintance with the remedy as the disease; and before a uniformity of opinion can be obtained regarding certain modes of educating the people, the principle at issue must be analysed and understood.

There are now several Normal Schools in the country. The Glasgow Normal Seminary; the General Assembly's Normal School at Edinburgh, or Sessional School; the British and Foreign School Society's Model and Normal School, Borough-road, Southwark; the National Society's Central Model School, Westminster; the Training School, at Battersea, with others. But before preceeding to say a word or two regarding these, I would beg to call attention for a moment to what must surely have struck many as a remarkable feature in the case. If the object of a Normal School be to set up a standard for a correct mode of teaching and inculcating scientific principles, regarding the best means of governing the minds and habits of the young, such institutions must be necessary for all classes of society, the rich as well as the poor. Human nature is the same in all ranks of life; and the right government of the intellect, and morals, and physics of our common nature, all depends upon the application of the same right principles. But these and all other model schools in the country are designed as nurseries for teachers to the poorer classes of society only; no similar institution has yet arisen to train masters for the higher schools, and tutors to the families of the rich. Connected with the Glasgow Normal School, indeed, a "private seminary" was instituted some years ago, to which from the highness of the fees. children of the wealthier classes only were eligible, and this formed a sort of model school, in which the higher branches were taught upon the same great principles that

were in operation in the public schools. But even this was given up, or merged into a preparatory collegiate school having no connexion with the public Normal Institution, except occupying one or two of the halls of the building. At first sight, one should say, the cause of this was, that no such institutions were needed for supplying the superior schools with masters; otherwise, as a lack of means to support them could not be urged, they would have been in existence. A conclusion is here drawn, however, from only one premiss, for although they are not in existence, it may be easily proved that they are much needed. If teaching be an art, and a difficult one,—and few will deny this,—it must also be granted, that, like every other art, it can only be acquired by practice. But where do our higher teachers and tutors acquire the practice of this art? Certainly not at Oxford and Cambridge! or any other inferior college or school throughout the country; and it has already been shown that the mere reading about educational systems, or seeing them in operation, is practically useless. The only conclusion must, therefore, be, that whatever art such instructors attain must be self-acquired, and that, too, at the expense of the moral and intellectual havoc of those juvenile minds upon which they first begin to operate and experiment. Of course, as any person of ordinary intelligence may teach himself an art, and acquire a greater or less degree of dexterity in it, according to his natural abilities and application; so may any one gain an aptitude for teaching, and the moral governance of children, without attending a Normal School. But he cannot do this without first experimenting upon children, and without the children being mentally and morally the worse for such a process. It might as well be expected that an artist, on his first attempt to paint, would pro

duce a correct picture, and never spoil a sheet of paper in his life. The mind of a child, in this respect at least, is a tabula rasa, and the blemishes first made upon it by the experimenting teacher are just about as indelible as the misapplied colouring on the material of the painter. It might rather, perhaps, be called a photogenic process, in which similar surfaces presented to the same object under different influences, will carry off very different impressions of that object. A teacher, in the case supposed, is the archetype from whom the impression proceeds; but it depends not a little upon the nature of the medium through which that impression passes, whether a correct likeness or a caricature may be formed, and, consequently, whether the receiving material be improved or damaged.

But though the human mind is a recipient of impressions and indeed the very terms denoting its capacity of thus submitting to foreign influences are scarcely metaphorical-it is not always, like wax, to retain facsimiles of them. The perceptive faculties may be morbidly sensitive or callously obtuse, or ranging anywhere between an extreme quickness and impenetrability of apprehension. In the former instance, an active fancy will not only catch up its ideas at once, but throwing around them certain embellishments of its own, give to the judgment more than the original thoughts of a teacher. Or his language, the medium through which the ideas pass, may be too dazzling for the mind's eye, thus impressing upon it an equally exaggerated picture. The mental vision, through the too much light of fancy, will be dazzled and the judgment darkened. In both cases, there may be a union of the real with the ideal; some truth and some fiction: there may even be a beautiful picture, but no true likeness; and,

to form correct impressions, the whole must either be rubbed out or chastened down.

It is not difficult, therefore, to see that the mental fabric is itself injured in the process. If clear and just conceptions on any subject be not obtained, the judgment will draw erroneous conclusions, and, as from these, other opinions will be arrived at equally fantastic, like the bend given to a sapling, this tortuous mode of judging in infancy may, if persevered in, be confirmed into a fatal habit in mature years. The imagination will, in this case, be overtrained, and reason left to grope its way into light through the mists of a romantic speculation. Much easier it is to captivate the fancy than to educate the judgment. The former is generally lively and the latter inert. An exuberance of apprehension must therefore frequently be curtailed, and many loose conjectures set aside before a direct appeal be made to reason. The mind must be denuded of this glittering tinsel, and an exposed surface presented to catch the rays of truth so as to fix down a true impression.

Or, on the other hand, there may be an obtuseness of perception, requiring all the light and colouring of fancy to portray the simplest idea. An artificial surface must then be prepared to quicken the mind's perception so as to retain an impression long enough to sink into the understanding. On such a material, even the broad outlines of a picture can with difficulty be drawn. Its colouring must be stronger than nature, and its dimensions exaggerated before it can be perceived. The fancy must be enlightened by the contemplation of some analogous and kindred idea, a reflection of which may illustrate the darker shades of the picture and impress the understanding itself. And if it be thus difficult to delineate a rude sketch from nature, how