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138 THE CRISIS In this connection Dr. Montessori makes use of the three periods into which the lesson, according to Séguin, is divided: "First period—The association of the sensory perception with the name. "For example, we present to the child two colors, red and blue. Presenting the red, we say simply 'This is red,' and presenting the blue, 'This is blue.' Then we lay the spools of colors upon the table under the eyes of the child. "Second period—Recognition of the object corresponding to the name. We say to the child, 'Give me the red,' and then, 'Give me the blue.' "Third period—The remembering of the name corresponding to the object. We ask the child, showing him the object, 'What is this?' and he should respond, 'Red.' This process is reiterated many times." One day the child, who has been drawing little trees and coloring them all blue or green, or red, as strikes his fancy, voluntarily draws a tree with brown trunk and green leaves. He has observed a tree, and has found, with great pleasure, that he can recognize its colors. Undoubtedly this voluntary observation will have a more lasting effect upon him than knowledge received at second hand. And in addition to the mere possession of this knowledge, note the coordination of the visual impression with the execution of the hand. The most noteworthy result, however of Dr. Montessori's method has been obtained in the matter of teaching children to write and read. By her system children of four, five and size have been taught to write in a manner equal to that obtained in the third elementary grade. These cases are not exceptions. To obtain these results she used small wood tables, metal insets, outline drawings and colored pencils. The child takes the metal frame, places it upon a sheet of white paper, and with a colored pencil draws around the contour of the empty center. Then he takes away the frame, and upon the paper there remains the geometric figure. This the child fills in. In this wise he learns to practice the vertical and horizontal strokes required in penmanship, and also the co-ordination of the mental concept with the manual action, because in filling in he tries not to go outside the border line. Gradually he becomes master of the pencil. Next the children are given cards upon which the single letters of the alphabet are mounted in sandpaper; also larger cards containing groups of the same letters. He becomes familiar with the outline of these by the means of touch, then he traces them, then he draws them, and lastly, he learns how to compare and recognize the figures when he hears the sounds corresponding to them. At last, some fine day, he begins to copy words which contain letters that have impressed him, though not yet conscious that he is writing, and still later he learns that a word may be written at any time to convey an idea. Thus his reading follows swiftly on the heels of his writing and he has practically accomplished it himself. It is easy to see how rich may be the future of children equipped thus early with sharpened sense perceptions, with independence and judgment and growing self-control. For them everything in the world takes on a more vivid coloring, avenues hitherto unsuspected are open, and the sheer joy of living is keener and stronger. Such a child gets practically an extension of the years of his life. Of course we do not want prodigies, though, after all, the quality of prodigyship is relative. For if all the eleven-year-old boys in a given radius can work problems in differential calculus, which on of them, then, is remarkable? The FAITHS OF TEACHERS By G. S. DICKERMAN An occupation means much or little, according to the way it is taken. In almost any pursuit that can be named you will see some who go through its forms mechanically and without interest, having in mind merely to meet requirements and draw the pay; and alongside of them other who seize on every take with avidity, grappling its difficulties with a sort of joy, trying experiments, making ventures, incurring heavy risks and looking for returns beyond any stipulated wages. The latter do honor to their occupation and are likely to be honored by it. The teacher's occupation is no exception. Think of the teachers you have known, some without aim and drifting into their places as floating sticks drift into the pool by the side of a mountain brook, to circle around there in the still water for awhile till a freshet comes to throw them out; and then another, so unlike these, who began in his early schooldays to set the teacher's calling before him as a goal to ambition to be diligently prepared for by years of serious study, and finally entering on it, put into its duties his best and holiest service as for end the highest to be found in all the world. NOw that which makes the difference in these is the difference in their faiths. Behind achievements are faiths. Great teachers are men and women of great faiths. And there are certain faiths that they all hold in common. Let me mention some of these: 1. Faith is the pupil's worth-and in the worth of all pupils. There are pupils whose worth none ever question, unusually attractive boys and girls, gifted in mind and sunny of disposition; of course these should be educated, for anyone can see that there is something in them. But there are others of whom people are not so sure; perhaps their fathers and mothers hope that something can be made of them, but the neighbors say: "No, all the pains taken with their education is just so much thrown away; there is nothing there to build on." It takes the clear-eyed teacher to see the deeper things in that child; those latent powers which are waiting to be called into exercise. Eighty years ago people thought that nothing could be made of a blind mute. Then a teacher arose and gathered about him a little group of blind children and began to try what could be done for them. We know now the story of Dr. Samuel G. Howe and of the little speechless, vacant-minded, sightless Laura Bridgman, whom he trained into an intellectual and accomplished woman, and with whose development was established the Perkins Institution for the Blind. And at that time, eighty years ago, a similar hopeless feeling prevailed about other children unfortunate for a different cause, when this same great teacher began to try his experiments on these also, and straightway there grew up a second wonderful school, the Massachusetts School for Idiotic and Feebleminded Children. There was a faith in the unpromising pupil and we see that it was not in vain. Every school has its unpromising pupils; but in these the true teacher will search for promise and will find it. I know a teacher, a brilliant, highly educated woman, who for a number of years has devoted herself to a class made up of the backward children in a public high school, the children too dull to keep in the ranks of the regular classes, and she delights in her work because she is able to discover in those stupid pupils unsuspected capabilities and to kindle in them a flame of self-respect and of ambition. She has had repeated invitations to other positions, but she declines them as less interesting than this. Not long ago I visited a school in which the principal talked with me very freely about his methods and called to the office a number of boys for personal conversations. Among these was one for whom he showed especial solicitude, and this was on account of his inferiority. Out of a low family and from bad home influences, he was what might be called a hard case, dull-witted, whiffling and unreliable, without ambition and unresponsive to his teachers' best efforts-what was to be done with him? The principal