conduct and happiness-has not yet been perfectly apprehended even in the United States. Too many of our own people think of popular education as if it were only a protection against dangerous superstitions or a measure of police, or a means of increasing the national productiveness in the arts and trades.

"The democratic school should begin early in the very first grades-the study of nature; and all its teachers should therefore be capable of teaching the elements of physical geography, meteorology, botany and zoology, the whole forming in the child's mind one harmonious sketch of its complex environment. Somewhat later in the child's progress toward maturity the great sciences of chemistry and physics will find place in its course of systematic training. From the seventh or eighth year, according to the quality and capacity of the child, plane and solid geometry, the science of form, should find a place among the school studies, and some share of the child's attention that great subject should claim for six or seven successive years.

"There is another part of every child's environment with which he should early begin to make acquaintance, namely, the human part. The story of the human race should be gradually conveyed to the child's mind from the time he begins to read with pleasure. This story should be conveyed quite as much through biography as through history; and with descriptions of facts and real events should be entwined charming and uplifting products of the imagination.

"Into the education of the great majority of children there enters as an important part their contribution to the daily labor of the household and the farm, or at least of the household. It is one of the serious consequences of the rapid concentration of population into cities and large towns, and of the minute division of labor which characterizes modern industries, that this wholesome part of education is less easily secured than it used to be when the greater part of the population was engaged in agriculture. Hence the great importance in any urban population of facilities for training children to accurate hand work and for teaching them patience, forethought and good judgment in productive labor.

"Lastly, the school should teach every child by precept, by example and by every illustration which its reading can supply, that the supreme attainment for any individual is vigor and loveliness of character. Industry, persistence, veracity in word and act, gentleness and disinterestedness should be made to thrive and blossom during school life in the hearts of

the chidren who bring these virtues from their homes well started, and should be planted and tended in the less fortunate children.

The education thus described is what I think should be meant by democratic education. It exists to-day only among the most intelligent people or in places singularly fortunate in regard to the organization of their schools; but though it be the somewhat distant ideal of democratic education, it is by no means an unattainable ideal.

"From the total training thus described there should result in the child a taste for interesting and improving reading, which should direct and inspire its subsequent intellectual life. That schooling which results in this taste for good reading, however unsystematic or eccentric the schooling may have been, has achieved a main end of elementary education; and that schooling which does not result in implanting this permanent taste has failed. The uplifting of the democratic masses depends on this implanting at school of the taste for good reading.

"Another important function of the public. school in a democracy is the discovery and development of the gift or capacity of each individual child. This discovery should be made at the earliest practicable age, and, once made, should always influence, and sometimes determine, the education of the individual. It is for the interest of society to make the most of every useful gift or faculty which any individual member may fortunately possess, and it is one of the main advantages of fluent and mobile democratic society that it is more likely than any other society to secure the fruition of individual capacities. The perception or discovery of the individual gift or capacity would often be effected in the elementary school, but more generally in the secondary, and the making of these discoveries should be held one of the most important parts of the teacher's work.

The vague desire for equality in a democracy has worked great mischief in democratic schools. There is no such thing

as equality of gifts, or powers, or faculties among either children or adults. On the contrary, there is the utmost diversity, and education and all the experience of life increase these diversities, because school, and the earning of a livelihood and the reaction of the individual upon his surroundings all tend strongly to magnify innate diversities. The pretended democratic school with its inflexible program is fighting not only against nature, but against the interests of democratic society.

"As an outcome of successful democratic education, certain habits of thought should be

splendors of nature. The school should be a vehicle of daily enjoyment, and the teacher should be to the child a minister of enjoyment.

"Finally the democratic school must teach its children what the democratic nobility is. The well-trained child will read in history and poetry about patricians, nobles, aristocrats, princes, kings and emperors, some of them truly noble, but many vile; and he will also read with sympathetic admiration of the loyalty and devotion which through all the centuries have been felt by men and women of humbler condition toward those of higher. He will see what immense virtues these personal loyalties have developed, even when the objects of loyalty have been unworthy, and he will ask himself what are to be the corresponding virtues in a democracy? The answer is, Fidelity to all forms. of duty which demand courage, self-denial and zeal, and loyal devotion to the democratic ideals of freedom, serviceableness, unity, toleration, public justice and public joyfulness."

Whittier is a typical New Englander. was born at East Haverhill, Mass., the son of a sturdy farmer, on both sides descended from generations of God-fearing ancestors. His early life was narrow and hard. Not a dozen books were to be found in his Quaker father's library, and the boy, who was eager for learning, found small means of gratifying his taste. One of his schoolmasters gave him a copy of Burns, which proved an inestimable treasure. After attending the school at Haverhill he spent two years in the Academy at the same place. Beyond this he was self-educated, being always an omnivorous reader. He began to write very early, but his first printed poem appeared in the Newburyport Free Press when he was eighteen years old. He early identified himself with the abolitionists, although to do so cost the sacrifice of his political prospects, and became a life-long friend of William Lloyd Garrison. His early verse was a strong force for abolition but brought him obloquy and persecution. He was editor of the Pennsylvania Freeman for two years, until his utterances drew down a mob upon the office who sacked and burned it. Afterwards for twelve years he was editor of the National Era, in which as an abolitionist organ, Uncle Tom's Cabin first appeared, for which Lucy

Larcom and the Cary sisters also wrote. From its foundation to his death he was a contributor to the Atlantic Monthly. Whittier never married. He lived at Amesbury with his sister Elizabeth until her death in 1864, and the friendship between them was very close. He pays her touching tributes in Snow Bound, and her death was perhaps the deepest personal sorrow of his life. He was tall in person, of dignified carriage, with dark, flashing eyes. Kind and simple in manner, fond of children and pets; of a deep, serious, religious nature which found satisfaction in the calm and simple worship of the Quakers. He was buried in the Friends' Cemetery at Amesbury, Mass., and at his open grave Lucy Larcom read "The Vanishers"-the first piece he wrote after his sisters death.

Whittier's Rank.

Whittier's rank as a poet must depend more and more upon his lyrical studies of his native New England. His songs of freedom, notwithstanding their vigor, are constantly losing their interest as the great events, of which they are a part fade into the past; but his idyls and songs of humble life are as secure in their immortality as are those of Burns. Whittier won his place among American poets not in spite of his want of early culture, but rather on account of it. A broad education would have smoothed and refined his verses, but it would also have taken away much of the simple idyllic beauty which is now their chief charm. His were "native wood-notes wild," often crude in form, awkward in rhyme, and homely in thought, but nevertheless intensely original and sincere. He was near the soil, he knew by heart the "sinple annals" of humble life, and he poured out without a thought of books the songs that came to his lips. Thus, though he covered minutely only one section, he is recognized both at home and abroad as the most national of our poets, a singer distinctively a product of American soil.-Pattee's American Litera

ture.

The Barefoot Boy.

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes.
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,

Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;

From my heart I give thee joy,—

I was once a barefoot boy!

Prince thou art,-the grown-up man
Only is republican.

Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side

Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,-
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild flower's time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,

And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the groundnut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!-
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;

Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,-
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw;
Me, their master, waited for.

I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night.
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!

Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

O for festal danties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread,-
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gay and rude!
O'er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purpled-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wing swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:

All too soon these feet must hide

In the prison cells of pride,

Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

The Vanishers.

Sweetest of all childlike dreams
In the simple Indian lore
Still to me the legend seems

Of the shapes who flit before.
Flitting, passing, seen and gone,
Never reached nor found at rest,
Baffling search, but beckoning on
To the Sunset of the Blest.

From the clefts of mountain rocks,
Through the dark of lowland firs,
Flash the eyes and flow the locks
Of the mystic Vanishers!

And the fisher in his skiff,

And the hunter on the moss,
Hear their call from cape and cliff,
See their hands the birch-leaves toss.

Wistful, longing, through the green
Twilight of the clustered pines,
In their faces rarely seen

Beauty more than mortal shines.

Fringed with gold their mantles flow
On the slopes of westering knolls;
In the wind they whisper low

Of the Sunset Land of Souls.

Doubt who may, O frind of mine!
Thou and I have seen them too;
On before with beck and sign

Still they glide and we pursue.
More than clouds of purple trail
In the gold of setting day;
More than gleams of wing or sail
Beckon from the sea-mist gray.

Glimpses of immortal youth,

Gleams and glories seen and flown, Far-heard voices sweet with truth, Airs from viewless Eden blown,

Beauty that eludes our grasp,

Sweetness that transcends our taste,

Loving hands we may not clasp, Shining feet that mock our haste,

Gentle eyes we closed below,

Tender voices heard once more,
Smile and call us, as they go
On and onward, still before.
Guided thus, O friend of mine!
Let us walk our little way,
Knowing by each beckoning sign
That we are not quite astray.

Chase we still, with baffled feet,
Smiling eye and waving hand,
Sought and seeker soon shall meet,
Lost and found, in Sunset Land!

The River Path.

No bird-song floated down the hill, The tangled bank below was still; No rustle from the birchen stem, No ripple from the water's hem.

The dusk of twilight round us grew,
We felt the falling of the dew;

For, from us, ere the day was done,
The wooded hills shut out the sun.
But on the river's farther side
We saw the Hill-tops glorified,—
A tender glow, exceeding fair,
A dream of day without its glare.

With us the damp, the chill, the gloom;
With them the sunset's rosy bloom;

While dark, through willowy vistas seen,
The river rolled in shade between.
From out the darkness where we trod,
We gazed upon those hills of God,
Whose light seemed not of moon or sun.
We spake not, but our thought was one.
We paused, as if from that bright shore
Beckoned our dear ones gone before;
And stilled our beating hearts to hear
The voices lost to mortal ear!

Sudden our pathway turned from night;
The hills swung open to the light;

Through their green gates the sunshine showed,
A long, slant splendor downward flowed.

Down glade and glen and bank it rolled;
It bridged the shaded stren with gold.

And, borne on piers of mist, allied
The shadowy with the sunlit side!

"So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near
The river dark, with mortal fear,

"And the night cometh chill with dew,
O Father! let thy light break through!
"So let the hills of doubt divide,
So bridge with faith the sunless tide!

"So let the eyes that fail on earth
On thy eternal hills look forth;
"And in thy beckoning angels know
The dear ones whom we loved below!"

"Why do they treat Miss B. in that way?" I asked. "Don't they like her?"

"O yes; but they just love to rattle her, you know; she gets so mad."

"Do they treat Miss C. that way too?" "Oh, no! they can't rattle Miss C. The worst boy in the school wouldn't try that." "What would she say if he did?" I asked artfully.

"Oh, I don't know; maybe she'd say, 'That'll do, Otto, subside,' and she'd say it in that

pleasant 'we-understand-each-other' way, that would make him feel kind of good, you know, even if he is ashamed."

Here I made a mental note: No idle words there; just a pleasant "we-understand-eachother" way which the boys immediately fall in with and like immensely.-School Education.

THE GILL SCHOOL SYSTEM-A NEW EDUCATIONAL IDEA.

A somewhat novel experiment has been tried in New York city during the month of July and a part of August. Mr. Wilson L. Gill is the inventor of a plan, called the "Gill School City," which organizes the schools into a perfect miniature municipality, governed exactly like large cities; with a mayor, aldermen, police, street cleaning, and health departments. The vacation school, which is situated in the heart of the thickly populated east side of New York, numbers about 1,200 children and is divided into "buroughs," like those which will comprise Greater New York. Each borough is represented in the city council. The officers are elected as provided for in the Greater New York charter. The street cleaning department has drawn up laws which oblige children to keep the school building and yard in order, and not to deface any school property. Other departments of the school municipality are carried on in the same practical manner. Children hold office and are promoted or deposed according to merit. three judges, consisting of two boys and a girl, recently impaneled a jury to try a police captain accused of improper conduct; the verdict "guilty" was returned and the captain, much to his chagrin, deposed.

The

Mr. Gill, satisfied with the success of the experiment, hopes to spread the plan throughout all the principal cities of the Union. He expects that in New York it will be made a permanency in two or three schools this fall; and the Hoffman School of Philadelphia has definitely decided to introduce it immediately.

The idea of the founder is that the system of absolute monarchy enforced in our schools to-day is an injustice both to the teacher and to the pupils. In the experiment tried the children have shown themselves capable of self-government; their pride in school order has been most gratifying. Mayor Strong of New York, and the heads of deparments have given the school city their cordial sympathy and coöperation, believing that children should early be trained to take part in municipal affairs. Condensed from Public Opinion.

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