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ganizing contact with things, our race has experienced such a rebirth, such an inflow of new truth and such re-enforcement of power for growth and for efficiency as that which comes to a tree in the spring. The old core of life was there, but it has awakened to the new life of growth and productivity under the thousand touches of the outside world. The old fable of Antæus has come true. We have touched the earth and it has given us

new life. We have touched the earth and it has not degraded us. There are those who think otherwise. "Tell Evenus," said Socrates on the day of his death; "tell Evenus to follow me as soon as possible into the house of death.” For, he goes on in substance, as everywhere in the dialogues, it is the business of a wise man to die, to escape from the confusion and corruption of the senses, to escape from the degradation of work with the hands, to escape every day of one's life, by every means, from every sort of contact with the earth, and by pure reflection to ascend into complete fellowship with the Absolute Good.

That sounds like gospel. It is gospel; but there is a better gospel. I appeal from these earth-despising prophets to a prophet who did not despise the earth; who came eating and drinking; who cared for the bodies of men; whose last prayer and whose last command was that his disciples should not desert the world even to dwell apart in a mountain of transfiguration, but should go out into the earth where the people are.

There is another band of disciples not less sacred, not less brave. Their mission is not to preach, but to see. What are they looking at? The dictionary is too short for an answer. At the earth, from skin to core, wherever it can be set eyes on; at every living thing and every shred of its body; at every man and every work of man, from the playthings of a baby to the pyramids, and constitutions, and philosophies, and to science itself-nothing is insignificant. An earthworm is studied to as good a purpose as an empire. Nothing is common or unclean. Swamp and plague and boil, dark age and savage continent, uncouth dress, grotesque religion, Hottentot, Zulu, child, and pedagogue; everything comes into its divine right of being looked at.

I have seen a picture of a roomful of monks sitting in elegant leisure hearing the story of a returned missionary. It may be that among those who listened were good men, who had faith in God, in the goodness of His world, and in the triumph of righteousness. But the haggard story-teller was one who believed that the world has to be made good, and so he had gone forth to struggle with publicans and with Pharisees, to have the mother-love within him insulted and tortured by those he longed to save, and to lie prostrate in Gethsemane, with every friend fled and the face of God hidden. I would have beside this picture another. I would have a roomful of philosophers listening to the story of the scientist. They sit aloft in peace, declaring that the world is rational. He also believes that the world is rational; but that is not enough. He must go forth and see that it is rational, and how it is so. He must go forth to be tortured by exceptions. Again and again he must fail

Through the grauite-seeming
To see the smile of Reason beaming.

Again and again he must see the well-ordered, schematized reason of the books shattered by pitiless reality-all this in order that there may rise, vast and substantial, the Reason which is.

I need not say how profoundly this whole movement of modern science has affected the world. This movement has without doubt given us an incredible advance toward the millennium. It has helped us to master the brute earth and made us all neighbors and brothers. It has changed the whole spiritual atmosphere, so that there was doubtless not a sermon preached here this week not deeply modified by what a century of science has done.

And still modern science is for the most part outside the public school. Can it come inside? Not easily. It is not easy for any good thing to get really inside of any institution. You cannot get common sense or philosophy or any sort of science inside the school between the lids of a handbook. You cannot get any of these things entirely and thoroughly inside from a committee of great outsiders who talk at the school. There are special reasons why it is hard to get science into any kind of art, such as teaching. There are two battle lines in human progress. Some are trying to find out what is true; some are trying to find out what to do. Sometimes the two lines are near together, and they may become one. Sometimes they are far apart. What science discovers may have to wait a dozen or a hundred years before it can be turned to practical account. Faraday was long dead before there was commercial electric light. And so the discoveries of science must often pass through a long digesting process before they can be schoolroom wisdom.

Nevertheless, there are those who believe that elementary education and modern science cannot much longer remain as isolated from each other, and as ignorant of each other, as at present. We must short-circuit the connection between the university and the common school. The established results of science must get a quicker path from the laboratory into the schoolroom, so that the children will not be taught so many as true which are known to be false, and so that most certain conditions of physical and mental health will not be ignored. We need to get the method of science inside the school, so far at least that everybody, from the kindergarten baby to the normal school president, will acquire a habit of not deciding ques. tions without reference to the facts involved. We need to get the spirit of science to fill us, every one, with zeal for work, with infinite patience, with the secret of growing along with all that is good in the old into the ever new, with humility because we have seen so little, and with reverence because we have seen so much.

All that I have said in plea for science has been more powerfully said in the person of the distinguished scientist who has preceded me. He has brought us a message not found without infinitely laborious study of minute facts by himself and other such missionaries of science as he. That message has touched our late-born race to the marrow, and that man stands among us a living proof that one may spend his life in scientific study of the earth and therewith grow into the spiritual vision of a prophet.





The advancement of the teacher's work is in no particular more manifest than in the views now held concerning the preparation of teachers for that work. Sixty years ago there were in this country no agencies for specifically preparing teachers to do their work. "What one knows, that he can teach," was the maxim everywhere believed and acted upon, and plans of school organization, government, and methods of instruction, so far as they may be called plans, were traditional, or were derived, either consciously or unconsciously, from imitation. Now, a distinction is made between knowing and the ability to impart knowledge, and among the teacher's qualifications methodology is given a scarcely lower place than a complete knowledge of the subjects to be taught.

To supply these technical or professional qualifications half a score of different means are provided, all tending toward the same general end. This technical training of teachers is the specific function of the normal school. Allied to this, in form or purpose, are teachers' associations of all kinds, teachers' institutes, reading circles, teachers' classes, teachers' colleges, and chairs of pedagogy in colleges and universities. All of these have for their main object the giving of the ability to use one's powers most economically and advantageously in the work of teaching.

To this group of special agencies the institute belongs. It is differentiated from the normal school and the college by its lack of permanence and continuity; it differs from teachers' associations in the fact, that, while an association is an assemblage of equals, gathered for the purpose of deliberating on questions of common interest, the institute is a definite part of a school system, with a certain responsible headship and a definite and systematic plan of work. In its time-limits the institute often resembles the association; in the character of its work it is like the normal school. Indeed, Chancellor Payne defines the institute as a normal school with a very short course of study.

The institute came into existence at almost the same time as the normal school, and, like it, has had a rapid development, especially within the past twenty years, and its influence has never been more widely felt than now. Together with the other agencies for enriching the teacher's work, the institute has been partly a cause and partly an effect of the improved conditions of the present day, when teaching is more scientific and the teacher's work is receiving a wider and more generous recognition than formerly.

The successful teacher has three cardinal qualifications—character, knowledge, skill. Character is mainly the product of heredity and home influences; knowledge is the joint product of the home and the school; for the development of skill we look to the normal school, or to its substitutes and equivalents. The teacher has no greater need than for skill to make potent the character and knowledge which she possesses.

There are two classes of teachers in our schools-professional and non-professional. By professional teachers, I mean those who have been thoroughly trained for their work and who are permanently engaged in that work. Their efficiency is usually increased by skilled supervision. The positions held, the compensation received, though inadequate, and their personal qualities, make them worthy representatives of a real profession.

The class of professional teachers is both absolutely and relatively larger now than ever before. But in spite of the 200 normal schools in the country, the great body of American teachers are almost entirely without special training for their work. They are educated in the district school, which may be good, so far as it goes,-perhaps receive some high school training, secure a teacher's certificate, and teach in district schools for a longer or shorter time until they can make more lucrative or more attractive engagements. This is the non-professional class of teachers, who comprise, it is safe to say, at least three-fourths of the 400,000 teachers of the country.

The division between the two classes is thus loosely marked, but there is a constant interchange between them. Non-professional teachers seek to align themselves with the professional class, and it is not an unusual thing to see a professionally-trained teacher assume a non-professional attitude toward her work. One can find large cities among whose teachers there is more of intellectual and educational provincialism than among the teachers in many villages and small towns.

The most important work of the institute is to aid the first and check the second of these tendencies; to make it easy for a teacher to pass from the non-professional to the professional class, and to prevent a teacher from dropping out of the professional class.

It is plain that institute work for the professional class should be of a character different from that required for non-professional teachers. For the latter more time, more concrete work, less of abstract philosophy, is required than for the class of professional teachers. The institute for professional teachers needs not to deal so much with the matter of instruction; even the methods and devices of presenting knowledge may not need to be emphasized; but the principle lying back of the method or device, the law of mind involved, and the determination of general educational relations should be emphasized. Though it be not through a study of the rudiments of pedagogical science, still the institute has its message and its work for the professionally-trained teacher. If for no other reason, its existence would be justified as a sure prevention of stagnation. As a single illustration, I have in mind a city school system with which are connected nearly 400 teachers, whose energy, skill, and excellent work are known in all parts of the country. One day each month is devoted to institute work, and it is safe to say that the marked success of these schools is due, in no small measure, to the unifying and energizing influence of the institute. The superintendent says, "During the past year the monthly institutes have been, as always with us, efficient means of unifying the schools, rousing enthusiasm for new information and better work, developing hidden talent, cultivating professional feeling and esprit de corps, and encouraging sympathetic social relations among the teachers.” The work was carried on as a general meeting, in which subjects of common interest were treated, and section meetings, in which more detailed work was done. In the list of topics presented to the general meeting I notice such subjects

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