houses, we robbed them of much of their natural physical activity, and lessened the education that comes through the senses. There were some compensations. We brought about a certain amount of self-control. We made the boys acquainted with certain facts. We bespoke an interest in the things of the spirit. The humanities made some progress. But the fact remained that in all this we were dealing with the symbols of things rather than with the things themselves. It was observed that our children dwelt in a curious and a somewhat unwholesome world of unreality. It was startling to find, as I once did, a boy of fourteen who had been so persistently taught that the moon shone by reflected light, that he believed the moon to be nothing more than an image of the sun cast on the celestial sphere, much as we throw a sunbeam on the wall. He was greatly surprised at the time of an eclipse to find that the moon was a solid body. It reflected somewhat on the usefulness of geography to find children whose main impression, after a considerable study of the map, was that Pennsylvania was yellow and New Jersey pink, while for some unexplained reason New York was green. Doubtless things have improved since those days, but even now, in the year of grace 1895, the study of child psychology is revealing the fact that large percentages of our school children are ignorant of the most everyday realities of life. These same children can out-talk and out-name their less-schooled elders. They can make a quiet country boy silent and abashed in the presence of their wordy knowledge. But in spite of it all they leave an impression of undesirable helplessness. Now, we are all agreed that, as things stand at present, the school can not be dispensed with. Its benefits are much too substantial. But it can be supplemented, and some at least of these deficiencies corrected. The early motive for the introduction of manual training was precisely this. It was a desire to bring boyhood back into a world of reality through an acquaintance with things. Dexterity in the use of tools, and in the handling of such stubborn facts as wood and clay and metal, was held to be important as a part of this reality. The work went on with earnest singleness of purpose and commands the respect of even those who see in manual training something much deeper than this mere convenience.
This first end was objective. It must always remain valid. An intelligent regard for the conditions imposed by a world of matter is a large element in successful living. No one appreciates this more keenly than your out-and-out transcendentalist. After all, he is our truly practical man. But this quiet good began to expand into something larger when men came to cherish it for a wider motive. To do certain things was useful—to saw and plane and chisel and turn and chip and file. To do them well was more
