science is the education that is of most worth, we may incline to the belief that success is possible if only the intellectual qualities are present in full force. If, however, we agree with Herbart that moral education is the most important end to be sought in all instruction, we must deny real success to any teaching which is simply intellectual and unmoral. I think it I think it may be assumed that most American teachers do not omit moral ends from the aims of school education, and would, therefore, consent to the inclusion of the moral qualifications among the qualities indispensable to success in teaching.

Among these moral qualities, moreover, there is a hierarchy. A few years ago a distinguished professor in our oldest university published a statement that the young professors about him regarded their subjects as of far more importance than their students. This is obviously a reversal of the true order. Devotion to one's subject is indeed good, devotion to one's vocation even better, but best and most important of all for the teacher is devotion to one's pupils.

This devotion to the children it is which constitutes the basis of sympathetic relations between teacher and pupil. We sometimes use the term love to describe these relations. We say that the children love their teacher and that a teacher loves her children; and in a general way the word does well enough, for it is a term of many meanings. But the word sympathy seems to me more apt in this connection, and for this reason. In the home we have parental love, an instinct which under ordinary circumstances is deepened and strengthened year after year. It is spontaneous in its origin and unconscious in its growth. In the school, however, the relation between teacher and child, save in exceptional cases, is somewhat different. Though the former stands in the place of parent there, the feeling that springs up is not instinctive, but grows out of immediate experience or of motive. It seldom rises to the intensity or the selfsacrifice of mother-love on the one hand, or, on the other, becomes the whole-hearted devotion and complete surrender which are often found in children.

This relation of sympathy, I have said, is not instinctive. I mean that it is not universally instinctive, as parental affection may be said to be. Some teachers, however, display it from

their youth. They are fond of children, happy in their presence, easily patient with their childishness, gladly sharing their joys and their trials. Others-and I seem to observe that this is true of most men-come to the same attitude of mind only because of repeated contact with particular children whom they desire to appreciate, and whose interests for some reason they wish to advance. Sympathy, I mean to say, is a quality that is cultivable. Most teachers who possess it in high degree have attained it through effort in addition to native tendencies.

However acquired, sympathy in a teacher is a magnet for the pupils. It attracts them to her with a force which they feel but cannot explain. They are quick to discern it or the lack of it, and as quick to respond to it, as a rule. They seek the teacher's society, for they enjoy her presence. They are glad to accompany her to and from the school. They welcome her to their homes, and delight to entertain her. They invite her to share their sports. They bring to her their griefs and their special joys. A mutual relation of friendship is thus created, which is an admirable atmosphere for both intellectual and moral progress.

With respect to the discipline of the school, the value of the relation of sympathy becomes evident at once upon consideration. Disobedience to the ordinary rules at school is usually the result of transitory impulse or of thoughtlessness. When sympathy prevails in the room, temporary impulse will often be checked and overborne by the stronger impulse of interest in the teacher, which is stronger because it has the strength of habit on its side. Thoughtlessness in matters of school conduct is likely to give way gradually to a feeling of responsibility, when the thought of pleasing the teacher-friend becomes a constantly recurring experience. And so with the whole range of minor annoyances which nest in the schoolroom. Over against the specific impulses, sporadic and varying in their action upon the will, is acting a constant force which gathers acceleration as it repeatedly pulls upon the same will. In the prevalence of sympathetic relations the teacher finds a more powerful ally for good order than all the checks and demerits, all the punishments and fears, which constitute the usual armory against offenders. This is true when the object of school discipline is

simply to secure and maintain school order. School order in itself, indeed, is worth maintaining. I have no intention of disparaging it. Yet we must recognize that it is in a degree artificial. There is no home in which whispering and other forms of communication are forbidden, or moving from room to room restricted to specified times. Freedom of a kind entirely permissible elsewhere becomes a hindrance, and so a misdemeanor at school. This is inevitable under school conditions, but it is artificial rather than natural, and its artificial character makes it seem to the child at times unreasonable. Then it is that the higher sanction, sympathy with his teacher, I comes to the aid of the lower, the rule of the school, and aids in the building of habits which tend to good order as a custom in school.

But if sympathetic relations are of avail on this plane of discipline, what shall we say of their help when the teacher is consciously aiming through her management of the pupils to build up moral character? And this, I believe, should be the direct and continuous aim of school discipline, both in its positive and continuous aspects and in what may be termed its negative and incidental phase, the treatment of cases of discipline. In moral training there are three sources of help which the school possesses: the moral content of the subjects studied, the sweep of school routine with its requirements, and the personality of the teacher. We shall soon consider the bearing of sympathetic relations upon the instruction attempted. Concerning the efficiency of the ordinary requirements of school life, that the pupil shall be punctual, orderly, neat, attentive, persevering and thorough in all his school work; that he shall be silent on occasion, obedient always, and courteous, honest and truthful in his dealings with the whole school community; we have simply to observe that they are rigidly enforced in every good school, and more rigidly in poor schools than in many careless homes. These virtues the school by its very being impresses upon its pupils as a whole, and impresses the more effectively, as we have seen, the more sympathy reigns within its walls.

But for all the value of the moral ideas and impulses proceeding from the studies, for all the effect which school routine pro

duces upon the children en masse, there are lamentable lapses. in conduct on the part of individuals. No school is altogether without its cases of discipline,- instances in which a specific appeal must be addressed to a specific personality in order to stimulate moral activity of a definite kind. It ought to be evident that such work can be prosecuted most effectively when the pupil is alone with his teacher and is strongly moved by some special interest. Too many teachers forget this, and make a vain attempt to produce the change of purpose in the presence of a larger or smaller group of children. I believe such conditions preclude genuine moral reformation among self-conscious adolescents, and I doubt their efficacy among little children.

The better way is to isolate the offender until passion has fled from both pupil and teacher, and then to devote mature wisdom to an analysis of the moral condition of the offender and to the application of a remedy that shall promise permanence. This is the opportunity which every such case presents; but when we come face to face with it, how helpless we often feel!

Just here is where the value of sympathetic relations most strongly appears. Suppose that you are closeted with some offender who is now in opposition to your wish and your authority, but with whom for weeks, or even months, you have been on terms of sympathy. On your part you know the personality of the child with some particularity of knowledge, and you appreciate the strength of the temptation which led to the offense, the previous habits or the warped judgment which now lead to resistance, and the pride which withholds confession and apology. Therefore your patience will be longer of suffering, your course will be plainer, your tact will find resources more adequate for immediate use. On the other hand, the offender from previous experience knows that you are not his natural enemy, but a kind-hearted friend of pleasant ways, who has shown interest in him always and particular sympathy in certain times of his need. Hence he will not long harden his heart against correction or persuasion, but will feel his anger melting away, the scales falling from his eyes, every intent to deceive departing, and a gracious willingness to be led asserting domination over his whole being. And so a mutual victory is won, through the abiding influence of sympathy.

Turning now to the distinctly intellectual work of the teacher, we shall find scarcely less value resident in the presence of sympathetic relations.

In the first place, the whole atmosphere of the schoolroom seems to take on a more exhilarating quality where such conditions are habitual. As Virgil sings of Elysium, "Largior hic campos æther et lumine vestit Purpureo."

To teach pupils whom you know to be interested in yourself and eager to please you, is to teach with twice the freedom, and so with an earnestness that tells. I once knew a rough old pedagogue who was wont to assert that in all his forty years in school he had never taken a cent for teaching. He had received, to be sure, a regular salary; but that he had counted as pay for the abuse he had got. The teaching he had always thrown in! Many of us would almost consent to teach "for fun," as the children say, if our schoolroom were continuously an Elysium through perfect sympathy. Certainly strain on nerves and fatigue over the whole body would be reduced in exact proportion as the ozone of personal interest should permeate our place of work. And evidently where the teacher feels free to teach, the pupil feels a corresponding freedom to learn. No cloud of conflicting feeling shuts away the truth presented; no passion distracts the attention. If there is any power of inspiration in the personality of the instructor, it has free course to the center of being in the child.

Again, sympathy for the pupil will lead to a desire to know the intellectual aptitudes and deficiencies of the individual, and to a lasting remembrance of these when perceived. Then lines of least resistance will open before the teacher. Difficulties will be anticipated and robbed of their power to furnish obstruction to the progress of thought. Lessons will be adapted to the apperceptive basis actually existent in the child's mind. It makes a great difference whether volleys are hurled into a wood in which we think it possible the enemy is lying, or are aimed at lines in plain sight at close range.

Still again, sympathetic relations encourage the child to reveal himself to the teacher by bringing his difficulties promptly to her. The electric thrill of sympathy, a current of lower voltage than love though it be, generates the X-ray which