CHAPTER VIII.

ALL the schools mentioned are, on the admission of the parties themselves, imperfect in some points. Yet, if a combination of the plans pursued at each, were adopted in some one institution, it is conceived that a pretty near approach to a correct system of normal training might be the result. So far as schools for the industrious classes are concerned, in point of mental and moral training, the normal school of Glasgow certainly maintains a high rank. By mental training, let it ever be remembered, is meant the discipline and development of mind itself, and teaching it to think. I am not aware of any other school of a similar class, where this is so systematically attended to. The framing of the questions, for the most part, is conducted upon the principle of inductive philosophy, and is as far superior to mere interrogatory and dogmatical teaching, as Lord Bacon's Novum Organum is to the hypothetical philosophy of Aristotle. The mind is led by analogy and illustration to explain its own difficulties. These are not explained gratuitously. The pupil must fight his way to truth from collateral data; and this is a first principle that obtains throughout the Glasgow system in all its departments, namely, a training to action and self-helpfulness in all the faculties of a child's nature. In matters of

science, he is shown how to reason out his own conclu sions; in morality, to do good to others, in order to secure happiness to himself; and to become healthy, to exercise his bodily powers, and live in harmony with the laws of nature. To accomplish these all-important ends, certain means are employed of a nature somewhat different from those in use in other normal schools. The master's own mind is the immediate source whence all the children are trained, and hence the greater responsibility of his charge, than that of a monitorial master, who deputes the most difficult part of his duties to others. It is much easier to teach others how to train, than to train personally. Nevertheless, it is in this individual training that the great virtue, as well as chief difficulty, of the art lies.

The peculiar characteristic of this plan, therefore, in its external aspect, is the simultaneous education, by one teacher, of a large number of children assembled in a gallery, and so arranged that each pupil comes immediately under the eye of his instructor. A difficulty occurs here, however, in getting together a class of children of an average status in point of acquirements. But when this is done, and the system itself to some extent effects an equalisation of attainment, a vein of sympathy pervades the minds of all, connecting them together as one, which renders the task of the trainer much easier and more effective than if he were instructing a single isolated pupil.

Nor is this sympathy of feeling less powerful in moralising the conduct and habits. A standard of public opinion is formed by which all their actions are tested; and this moral agency, the presiding mind of the master, if skilled in his duties, may wield with powerful effect. The outward means and opportunities of training

to practical morality are also afforded. The play-ground is not only a theatre for physical exercises and recreation, but the platform of moral action, in which the lessons of the gallery come into practical operation. But neither is this arena perfect without the superintendence of the master. He there watches and encourages the kind deed, and represses the vicious tendency, cultivating the delicate germs of virtue, and pruning the rank shoots of vice. There is also a considerable apparatus for purely physical training, such as the circular swing, &c.; and the mechanical movements and evolutions of going in and out of school, and to and from classes, are superior, but as most of these are in common with other similar institutions, they do not require particular notice. The chief point of difference in these external arrangements, which affects the vitality of the system, is what has just been alluded to in the simultaneous education of numbers, and the immediate contact that takes place between the mind of each individual pupil, and that of the master. In monitorial schools this is not the case; for no monitor who is a mere scholar himself, can be expected to train his class. He may teach it, but he cannot develop their minds on any subject; and such is the prevailing system in all the London normal schools, though in these places, simultaneous instruction is also partially communicated.

In these institutions, however, the moral control over the children seems perfect. The system itself works the school, while the master seems a mere spectator, and yet the ultimate control is vested in him alone. He holds in his hand the reins of government; but, like an easy and tractable steed, the children never feel them. A little boy with the motion of his finger will regulate the simultaneous movement of five hundred children, many

of them no smaller than himself, and be as implicitly obeyed as the master. The principle of subordination to a system is acknowledged and felt by all. Yet no one can enter a monitorial school, without feeling a doubt whether the master ought to allow himself to be a mere spectator of the scene; what is the use of his own teaching powers, if he does not give the children the advantage of them in a more effectual way than merely sustaining order and diligence in the classes? True, he teaches the monitors, and they teach the school, and the discipline of an army is brought forward as an analogy; but, however good military and physical discipline may be in regulating the organic movements of children, it affects but slightly the intellectual and moral training of their minds. The physical discipline of the British army under the Duke of York, was, perhaps, superior to anything ever exhibited by the Duke of Wellington; but one must look at the campaigns of France and Holland, conducted by the former, and compare these with the Peninsula and Waterloo, before estimating aright the superiority of that moral training the latter so successfully infused into his troops. A question, therefore, arises, to what end is this subordination conducive, and what gives spirit and life to that system, of which monitorism is the body? Passive obedience may be either a good or a bad thing according to the end to which it is a means; and a great deal more than compliance with certain forms is necessary to establish character, and develop mind. A school of a certain

number of boys is sectioned out into so many classes, over each of which a boy presides, and to whom the essential work of teaching is committed. But not one boy out of fifty can have a sufficient knowledge of the laws of mind to propose suitable training questions, and

cultivate the reflective powers-or patience and assiduity enough, or even authority to stamp virtuous habits. He at the best but exhibits a faint reflection of the master's plan of teaching, and a very feeble impression must be the result. He may hear lessons, ask questions, and explain words, but he can do little more-while much more requires to be done, that no one else but a master can do.

How, then, is this surplus of work to be effected, even by him? In the industrial schools, large numbers of children must necessarily be assembled, and it is impossible for a master to give his individual attention to each pupil, in going from class to class, so that they must either be classified under monitors, and only partially taught, or a very small part of them receive effectual teaching. This deficiency would of itself, then, naturally suggest the gallery system, by which the largest possible number could be taught simultaneously. But neither is one man sufficient for this continued exertion, and he, on the other hand, must have recourse to monitorial assistance, to supplement his deficiency. It seems, therefore, that while both simultaneous and monitorial classification have their defects separately, a combination of the two plans might produce the most satisfactory results. But this, again, entirely depends upon the animating principle of either system, separately or conjoined, upon the spirit that gives vitality to either body.

The Edinburgh Sessional School, considered as an institution for training mind, seems to occupy a middle position between the others. It is likewise monitorial in its organisation, and the chief characteristic of its working principle, the explanatory method. It is much in advance of former mechanical systems of teaching by