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dustry, transportation, economic development, etc., afford many opportunities for the teacher to co-operate with the manual training instructor in emphasizing the important and honorable position of intelligent hand-labor among the forces that make nations and give them their power. In many ways it is possible for the regular teacher to contribute toward the interest and success of manual training, while at the same time broadening and strengthening her own work. Likewise the efforts of the manual training teacher should supplement much of the work in other departments of the school.

The following corps of teachers are in charge of the instruction: Mr. Everett E. Goodeli, Comers Commercial College; Massachusetts Institute of Technology; Normal School, Castine, Maine; one year instructor in Mechanical Department of State Reform School, Portland, Maine; two years instructor in Manual Training in Austin, Texas, High School.

Mr. Archie L. Read, Throop Polytechnic Institute, Pasadena, including the Normal Sloyd Course and courses in wood and iron working.

Mr. Chas H. Thorpe, State Normal School, Los Angeles, including special course in manual training, one year in the Whittter. Cal., public schools.

Mr. M. Doyle, practical experience, including clay modeling and carving in wood and ivory; two years instructor in Manual Training in the Lincoln and Irving Scott Schools, San Francisco.

Mr. B. F. Simcoe, State Normal School, Missouri; Bryant and Stratton Business College: Throop Polytechnic Institute, Pasadena, Cal, including courses in Sloyd, Carving, Clay Modeling and Drawing; ten years as teacher in graded schools, including principalship; five years as teacher of Sloyd and Supervisor of Manual Training, San Diego, Cal.

There are about 1900 boys taking the work, those of the seventh grade receiving one lesson of one hour and a half each week, the eighth grade boys having two hours. The equipment provided for the work, while not elaborate, is of good quality. Seven schoolrooms, centrally located with respect

to as many groups of grammar schools, are fitted out with benches, tools and other appliances, as follows:

One of the laboratories contains 20 individual work benches, two of them 25 each, two 26 each, and two 28 each. Each bench has the following tools jack plane, block plane, spoke shave, sloyd knife, seven-eight inch chisel, back saw, two-foot rule, six-inch try square, marking guage, bench hook, sandpaper block. drawing board with T-square rule and triangles, drawing clip, and a whisk broom. Each room contains a good cedar case for general tools in which are kept crosscut saws, ripsaws, turning saws, special planes, hammers, braces, bits, carving tools, chisels, guages, flat, round and half-round files, whetstones, hand screws, clamps, awls, nail sets, reamers, countre-sinks, mallets, mitre box and saw, etc. On shelves in the lower part of the case are kept glue. Enails, hooks, screws, sandpaper, and other miscellaneous materials. There are also in each room several cases of lockers for pupils' unfinished work. In the lobby adjoining the room is a case for finished work, racks for lumber, a good bicycle grindstone, etc. On

the racks are to be found various kinds of lumber, as pine, poplar, redwood, maple, sycamore, Spanish cedar, white cedar and hickory.

In short, the entire equipment is just such as fits the average boy's mechanical proclivities, and such as is calculated to inspire in him a high degree of intellectual effort in properly caring for and using the outfit. When in full operation each laboratory is a veritable hive of industry where the brain, the hand and the eye are being trained in unison, where problems of the school are being concretely demonstrated, where many of the experiences of practical living are being anticipated.

Notes on the Schools of England.

MY DEAR JOURNAL:-As the schools were having their summer vacation in Scotland, little was to be learned that was worth while. But in England it was different. It is hardly conceivable that certain conditions could exist. For example: It is common not to have any backs to the settees or benches, which are twelve to fourteen feet long; but there is a narrow strip in front for the children to rest their elbows and place their books. To get into these seats, the child must put his feet over the bench and under the resting-board. On asking one teacher if the children did not get very tired sitting so long with nothing to rest their backs, and if spinal curvature were not probable, he replied with a practical question, "But how would they get into the seats if they had backs?" He had never dreamed of making them short enough to get in at the ends. This getting in and out movement is amusing when done in unison at the tap of the bell, but rather unbecoming the girls in their 'teens. I found these same kind of desks at King's College, London. When I suggested to the official the desirability of backs, with perfect freedom from playfulness, he said, "Why, the boys would go to sleep during the lectures!" Nowhere, in schools or churches, have I found any consideration for special comfort in the seating matter. From St. Giles at Edinburg, by way of Durham and York to Westminster, where there are not little split bottom chairs, there are absolutely straight backs, with narrow seats, and no cushioning for the worshiper. It was not different in France. I can't conceive how students can sit on some of the painfully straight and bad benches at Oxford for two or three lectures per day. Possibly it is the drill in such discomforts and not the Greek and Latin that has made such institutions so productive of persistent workers.

In one rural school I had a very pleasing surprise, and all the more because of its unintentional but happy filling. The teacher, an Oxford graduate, kept plying me with questions about America, to which good land he hoped to come. The school wagged on noisily, as they will when the teacher is neglectful. So I urged him to have a recitation. He called the class forward and asked them what their recitation was about today, to which they replied, "Barbara Fritchie." Then they, in concert, sailed into that splendid American poem, born out of the heat of war, and with its Vir

ginia background, and did it well. It seemed opportune then to tell them a few words of the old Maryland town, the rich-lifed "Stonewall" Jackson, and that my home town was his birth place. I should say that the drill work in uniform action was well done in the English schools. Another example: Before a school was dismissed at noon, the children, with mechanical accuracy, put their hands together in attitude of prayer, and gave an invocation so quick, short and understandable, that it would take a reaction instrument to find the lagging one. And then, without a word of caution, the boys filed past me, each one touching his forehead in salute, and the girls likewise making that funny little perpendicular genuflection, whose naine I forget. But the mannerliness of the action of every student was highly pleasing. The children were of the coal mining district. When the last one was past me, the teacher asked me to stop with him for lunch, and when I thanked him, and was about to ask the exact wording of the grace the children had given - for I wanted to know what sort of prayer was allowable in a public school — when he insisted that I have a glass of beer with him. I had not gone far enough into Europe to see how thoroly religion and beer are mixed, so in my surprise forgot the "grace." He had been teaching there thirteen years, had a nice home, and said he could remain as long as he desired. Though his salary was small-it had been reduced much, he regretted, by the death of his wife, who aided him—yet the security of his situation was a large compensation.

These children go to school until they are about thirteen or fourteen, and then there is nothing beyond except they have money enough to go off to some private school. England has no conception of the American principle that a good education is every man's birthright, nor much notion of the value to the state of an intelligent citizenship. Their aristocracy extends decidedly to education. Oxford is largely a case of arrested development. It has a pile of old buildings, venerable enough, and suited to the demands of a period in which the lawyer, the preacher and the gentleman were the only learned, and needed certain studies of a humanitarian sort; but to think today of over twenty colleges, with full faculties, making one the two universities of England, all teaching the same thing, and that the same that was taught four centuries ago! There are very few exceptions to this. London University does not teach anything, and a degree obtained from it does not signify that you have learned anything there. It is a body of men who exemine people and give them degrees. As in Scotland, no consideration is given for any class work. At Oxford a fine new building, with splendid hall and staircase, is just finished, for examination purposes only. The degree A.B. is given for about three years' work, and A.M. is given for living so long after that-three years, I think. But, after all, it is a very interesting place. The walls of old Baliol College reflected the flames that burned Cranmer, Ridley and Latimer, and a monument is erected to their memory. In the dining halls, which are a kind of Pantheon to each college, are placed the pictures of the great men that have been students there; and it makes an impressive array. But England's greatest literary man has no picture on Oxford's walls, nor grave at Westminster.

Heidelberg, Germany, Sept. 2, 1900.

C. J. C. BENNETT.

The Strength of Being Clean.

BY DR. DAVID STARR JORDAN

President of Leland Stanford Junior Univ rsity.

I wish to make a plea for sound and sober life. I wish to base this plea on the fact that to be clean is to be strong; that sinfulness makes for feebleness and vice for decay. If I were to take a text it would be this: “If sinners entice thee, consent thou not!" But I should change this to read: "If sin entice thee, consent thou not; " for the enticement which leads to sin comes from our own ill-governed impulses more often than from the persuasions of others

When I was a boy I once had a primer which gave the names of many things which were good and many which were bad. Good things were faith, hope, charity, virtue, integrity and the like, while anger, wrath, selfishness and trickery were rightly put down as bad. But among the good things, the primer placed "adversity." This I could not understand, and I remember to this day how I was puzzled by it. The name "adversity" had a pretty sound, but I found that the meaning was the same as “bad luck." How can bad luck be a good thing?

Now that I have grown older and have watched men's lives and actions for many years, I can see how bad luck is good. It depends on the way in which we take it. If we yield and break down under it, it is not good; but neither are we good. It is not in the luck, but in ourselves, that the badness is. But if we take hold of bad luck bravefully, manfully, we may change it into good luck, and when we do so we make ourselves stronger for the next struggle. It was a fable of the Norsemen, that when a man won a victory over another, the strength of the conquered went over into his veins. This old fancy has its foundation in fact. Whoever has conquered fortune has luck on his side for the rest of his life.

So adversity is good, if only we know how to take it. Shall we shrink under it, or shall we react against it? Shall we yield, or shall we conquer! To react against adversity is to make fortune our servant. Its strength goes over to us. To yield is to make us fortune's slave. Our strength is turned against us in the pressure of circumstances. A familiar illustration of what I mean by reaction is this: Why do men stand upright? It is because the earth pulls them down. If a man yields to its attraction he soon finds himself prone on the ground. In this attitude he is helpless. He can do nothing there, so he reacts against the force of gravitation. He stands upon his feet, and the more powerful the force may be, the more necessary it is that the active man should resist it. When the need for activity ceases, man no longer stands erect. He yields to the force he has resisted. When he is asleep the force of gravitation has its own way so far as his posture is concerned. But activity and life demand reaction, and it is only through resistance that man can conquer adversity.

In like fashion temptation has its part to play in the development of character. The strength of life is increased by the conquest of temptation.

We may call no man virtuous till he has won such a victory. It is not the absence of temptation, but the reaction from it, that ensures the persistence of virtue. If sin entice thee, consent thou not, and after a while its allurements will cease to attract.

In a recent journal, Mr. W. C. Morrow tells the story of a clergyman and a vagabond. They met by chance on the street and each was tempted by the other. The young clergyman, fresh from the seminary, in black broadcloth and white necktie, seemed to the vagabond so fresh, so innocent, so pure that he revolted against his past life, his vulgar surroundings, his squalid future. The inspiration of this unspoiled example gave him strength to resist. For the moment, at least, he threw off the chains which years of weakness had fastened upon him.

The minister, on the other hand, found an equal fascination in sin. All the yearning curiosity of his suppressed impulses cried out for the freedom of the vagabond. The untasted fruit, so long forbidden, seemed to call to him. He longed for the unknown joys of life, and for the moment in these untasted joys he seemed to fancy life's realities. He had never known temptation before, and hence he had never resisted it. In his first acquaintance with it, its cheap meanness was not revealed.

As it chanced, so the story goes, when next the pair met, the vagabond and the minister, the two had exchanged places. From a curbstone pulpit the vagabond was talking to his fellow sinners from the fullness of his heart. As one who would turn to better things, he urged them to forsake sin and to throw themselves into the arms of Him who has for so many centuries been the symbol of purity and light. And as he went on with his harangue, two policemen came up leading away the other, flushed of face, disheveled of garment and unsteady of step, his tongue uttering words of foulness and profanity. The pleasures of sin were over and the minister was on his way to the city jail, in the weakness and disgrace that comes from unresisted temptation.

Perhaps this is not a true story, and very likely the incident happened only in the fancy of the writer. But something of that sort takes place every day. It is only the strength of past resistance that saves us from sin. We must know it and fight it if we would not have it take us unawares.

In the barber shop of a Washington hotel, this inscription is written on the mirror: "There is no pleasure in life equal to that of the conquest of a vicious habit." This the barber keeps before his eyes every day, that its truth may give him strength in his struggle against self-indulgence. Along this line, to him at least, is the road to true happiness.

In every walk in life, strength comes from effort. It is the habit of self-denial which gives the advantage to men we call self-made. A selfmade man, if he is made at all, has already won the battle of life. He is often very poorly put together. His education is incomplete; his manners may be uncouth. His prejudices are often strong. He may worship himself and his own oddities. But if he is successful in life in any way, he has learned to resist. He has learned the value of money, and he has

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