stages of manual training upon a larger, yet systematic basis, in which the regular school studies are linked with work in wood and metals. We cannot undertake to teach trades in the public schools, but we can train the hand, the eye and the practical judgment at the same time that the mental powers are developed, informed and strengthened, and made available for use in whatever position in life the pupil may subsequently be placed.

The world has no use at this period and on this continent for uneducated men and women except for their brawn and muscle, as hewers of wood and drawers of water for those who are in position to command their services. Educated mind and skilled labor hold the sceptre in practical affairs, and they who are not properly and efficiently educated must be subordinate in the battle of life to those who are. From the logic of this position there is no escape, and it is a wrong done to school children to deny them the opportunities which are to fit them for success in the age and the land in which they live. Rightly understood, if you will read human nature between the lines, the cutting of furniture and fences by boys who happen to own a jack-knife is but the outward and spontaneous manifestation of an inborn impulse intended for good by the Creator who implanted it; and the remedy is not repression and suppression, but guidance and direction. Give them tools to work with, and materials to work on, and the mischievous propensity becomes a commendable and useful virtue.

ARITHMETIC IN THE SCHOOLS.

THE

BY PROF. JOHN W. COOK.

HE essential facts of addition are the sums of any two numbers neither of which exceeds nine. Of these there are forty-five. The list may be readily written by any teacher. The child who has learned that two and one are three may not be able at once to tell the sum of two and two. If he will change the order in which he reads his objects, however, he will perceive that since he has the same number of objects as before, he must have the same result. Of these derived facts, obtained by changing the order of thought, there are thirty-six. There are, then, eighty-one in all. The first forty-five must be learned independently; the remainder are readily derived from them. The child who has learned

that seven and eight are fifteen will not encounter serious trouble with seventeen and eight, twenty-seven and eight, etc. By the method here hinted at, the number of facts to be memorized is reduced to the minimum, and the subsequent work consists chiefly in using these elementary facts to discover other facts. There will thus be a constant reference to what may be called the alphabet of combinations, by which any desired result may be spelled out.

But multiplication, the second method of uniting numbers, calls for additional knowledge. In the work to 9+9=18, some of the "multiplication table" is, or may be, found. What is called the "table of ones" is there, the twos to nine twos, six of the threes, four of the fours, three of the fives, three of the sixes, two of the sevens, two of the eights, and two of the nines. Putting the limits of the necessary multiplication at 9+9, we find the following laying outside of eighteen : Three of the threes, five of the fours, six of the fives, six of the sixes, seven of the sevens, seven of the eights, and seven of the nines, forty-one in all, thus increasing the whole number to one hundred and twenty-two.

Turning to the resolving or separating processes and examining subtraction, and omitting all cases in which minuend and subtrahend are equal, we find the same number of facts as in addition. Since the process is substantially the converse of addition, every fact learned there helps the acquisition of every fact here. There are, as we have seen, eighty-one of them. vision and partition stand in the same relation to multiplication that subtraction does to division.

Di

We have, then, a body of knowledge which the child must acquire. The facts comprising it may be tabulated so that the teacher shall know when the field is traversed. These mastered, he is well on the way toward all necessary knowledge for ordinary computation.

The separation of a number into equal numbers in its two forms we have called respectively, division and partition. It is here that the difficulties begin to thicken. Problems in addition, subtraction and multiplication may always be resolved into elementary problems or something quite akin to them. What we call "long division," however, involves all of the other operations. When the divisor is a two-place number, the pupil attempts to utilize his knowledge by thinking of the left hand term as the divisor. This he should be encouraged to do, and the second term should

be kept so small, for a considerable time, as not to interfere with his operations. Thus he divides by twenty, thirty, forty, etc., almost as easily as by two, three or four. So with twenty-one, thirty-one, forty-one, etc., any of which offers far less trouble than sixteen, seventeen, etc. The increase of the right-hand term of the divisor, however, soon necessitates recalculation, and the pupil learns that he must make experimental calculations before settling upon the quotient. By the isolation of difficulties, the teacher may strengthen and establish the pupil's confidence in the sufficiency of the elementary facts to help him through all the various problems that may present themselves.

From a somewhat extended observation of pupils that come to the Normal school and from what observers of common schools tell me, I am convinced that the value of a thorough mastery of about two hundred and fifty elementary facts is underrated, and that the chief criticism to be made upon many teachers, at least so far as their number work is concerned, is that they are unwilling to devote sufficient time and energy to this elementary work.

Illinois School Journal.

THE PETERS OF TO-DAY.

MYRIA

YRIADS of deaths have occurred in wellnigh every minute of time in the history of the race. All the countless millions who have trod the earth have gone inevitably down into the grave; why should that one death of a poor Jew upon a hill in Syria stand out apart from all others? Why should each detail of his last hours be familiar to SO many millions to-day, now that long ages have passed?

It behooves business men, and secular newspapers, too, to ask this question, for there is no power at work as real or as actual as that which comes from Calvary-nothing which so solidly underlies and gives a basis of motive to the least part of the every-day life and business of the world, as the faith in or disbelief of that death upon it. All other things change and go and are forgotten. Even a conquered army or a nation dying of famine is forgotten in a few months, with all the other dead. But if Jesus has not died, if there be any mistake or deception about the life and sacrifice of that Man yonder upon the cross, then the lives, the purpose, the deeds of all Christian men and women have been ludicrous, ghastly failures; then all the finest civilization, all the help

ful brotherly humanity, all the reforms, all the progress of the world, in short, for two thousand years, have been a lie and been built upon a lie.

This story of Calvary was meant for the hearing of all humanity. It is curiously free from all national traits; Socrates died a Greek among Greeks, but Jesus a man for men. Every detail of the history of those days is vital with meaning to each one of us here to-day. Take, for instance, the night on which he was betrayed: the awful solitude in which he stood. We forget the God in the man, as we watch him clinging to those friends whom he had loved, as death drew near, just as we may cling when that last hour comes. How, as they sat at meat for the last time, he gave to them a remembrance of himself, bidding them farewell in words whose infinite pathos and hope have lifted the world to higher levels for all time, but which their dull ears did not comprehend. How he took those who were dearest to him out with him to the mountain to watch with him while he passed through that unnamable agony which no human soul can understand-how they did not watch, but took their ease and slept. Angels ministered to him, but perhaps the touch of one human hand-a man's whom he loved and for whom he was dyingwould have given more strength in that hour than all the aid of the heavenly host. How, when he was dragged through the streets by night to judgment, they all forsook him and fled. How, at last, standing alone in the palace of the high priest, he was condemned to be guilty of death; and the crowd spat on him and buffeted him, and the very servants struck him with their palms; and standing afar off was Peter, his friend, the man who two hours before had sworn to die with him. He cried out as loudly now, "I know not the man.' ""And the Lord turned and looked upon Peter." The reproach, the judgment in that look, has come down to us through all the ages.

And we here to-day, do we not call ourselves his disciples, just as did Peter? Are we beside him when his cause is on trial before the world? Peter, too, was a faithful friend while the multitude crowded about his Master. But what about our behavior at home, or in the school, or in the office? Are we so patient, so honest, so truthful, that the man who buys goods from us, and the boy who sweeps out the office, or the pupils who look to us from yonder desks, have no doubt that we know the Man ?" Or does it need only a petty annoyance or

temptation to make us turn our backs on him, and deny as loudly as Peter?

We call ourselves a Christian nation, too. Take the latest scandal trial, and all the depth of infamy which it indexed; take the last shooting-matches in Richmond and New York, and the condition of society which. they show; take the Indian and the Negro as examples of the way in which we have dealt with his weaker brothers whom he left to our care; take the reckless waste of opportunity everywhere about us in the home, the church, the school-room, in society at large. What are these things saying to the world if not, "We know not the Man ?"

What if the Lord should turn now and look upon Peter?

"IT'S

SNEERED AT.

BY MARIE B. WILLIAMS.

[T'S a shame and disgrace to the graduating class that any one of us should be dressed so shabbily!" said Edith Linton to a group of girls who were discussing the closing exercises of Lester Seminary, now near at hand. "Of course it reflects on us to have a poor nobody with us."

"Particularly since that poor nobody is to recite the valedictory poem," laughed goodnatured Bessie Long. "If we could keep her in a corner, or draw attention from her by our own better appearance, she might be overlooked; but if she is shabby she will be conspicuously shabby that night.'

"When people can't dress their children as they ought, they have no right to send them to a school like this," said Edith.

"Oh, I've heard Alga Rivers say her uncle in California pays her school-bills," one of the girls answered. "She says her father is too poor to send her here, and she's going out as a teacher next year."

64

"Why don't her uncle in California give her decent clothes, then?" Edith said. It's an insult to every scholar in the school to send a beggar here, where the first families in the country send their daughters. Here's Blanche Armstrong. Blanche, we're discussing Alga River's dress. You sit next to her. How shall you like your elegant white silk grenadine to be cheapened by her coarse white muslin ?"

Blanche Armstrong was an heiress, and a leader among the girls. She was not quick in her studies and was very indolent, but she was not purse-proud, and she had very generous instincts. She thought little of the money which was profusely lavished on her, but a great deal of the talent and genius which her money could not buy. Of late she had given great dissatisfaction to some of her companions by seeking the society of Alga Rivers.

"How would I like it?" she answered, in her

slow way. "Well, I'd like it better if the scholarship covered by the coarse white muslin could be communicated by contact to the white silk

grenadine. If I could have written that valedictory poem I'd be willing to make a bonfire of my wardrobe and go in coarse serge, at least for awhile."

"Oh, my! what noble sentiments!" sneered Edith. "Now, for my part, I must confess that I think to dress well is as necessary to make a lady as her birth, or manners, or anything else."

"Oh, but Alga's dress is so awful coarse, Blanche!" cried Susy Randolph. "It's a muslin, just as coarse as lining, and is made perfectly plain: not a ruffle or flounce on the skirt, not a shred of lace on the neck. Nothing but a narrow frill of the muslin. Why, it's so shabby one of our servants would be ashamed to wear it!"

"You know," said a gentle-looking girl, 'Alga's mother used to be a lady. Oh, I don't mean she isn't a lady now, but she used to be rich; and, poor as she is, she will not let Alga wear imitation lace or jewelry. She says it's vulgar, and that a clear, plain, white muslin, no matter how coarse, is in better taste than any imitation."

"She's right!" Blanche said, rousing up to animation. "With Alga's fine figure and face, she can stand the severest simplicity. I only wish I could, for I'm disgusted with finery."

"I'd like to see you forced to wear Alga's dresses for awhile!" Edith cried. "I don't think we'd hear anything more about simplicity."

Blanche seldom took the trouble to argue any question with her companions. She did not answer, but sauntered with her usual languid step to the extreme end of the play ground. A girl sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree, with dark hair cut short like a boy's, and bright, eager gray eyes, was reading intently in a large book she held on her knee.

I've come here for quiet, Alga," Blanche said, throwing herself on the grass. The girls are chattering like so many magpies over there, and they've given me a headache."

Alga pushed up her short hair with an impatient, boyish gesture.

Chatter, yes! I believe you, especially when dress is the subject. Of course, they've been discussing my coarse, mean muslin. That will give them enough to talk about until the end of the session. Don't deny it, Blanche. I know my dress was the topic."

Why should I deny it?" Blanche said, quietly. "You are above such things as dress, I am sure, and you can afford to be indifferent to their foolish talk-you who have so much else to think of."

"But I do mind it!" the girl cried, vehemently. "It hurts me to the very quick. I don't mind telling you this, Blanche, for I believe your my friend; but, do you know I'd willingly give up most of the prizes I expect, to be decently dressed, and know that dunce, Edith Linton, wouldn't be able to sneer at me. Oh, of course, I'm ashamed to feel so, and I see you're ashamed of me for saying it, but it's a truth nevertheless."

Blanche sat almost astounded at this revelation. She had believed that people who possessed talent lived habitually in lofty regions, where such petty things as dress never intruded. It was the first time her friend had ever spoken of her personal feelings in such matters, and she was confounded at the revelation.

"I never thought-I never dreamed you were hurt by such things!" she stammered.

"Why, they are constant pin-pricks, and often make me cross and irritable. I shall be glad to get away from here; but then I suppose I shall be obliged to endure the same vexation wherever I go. Of one thing I am certain a poor teacher won't be expected to dress like rich people!" she added bitterly.

"We're such intimate friends, you know," Blanche said hesitatingly, "and we are about the same size. Now, why can't you wear one of my dresses that evening?"

Alga put her hands over her friend's mouth. 'Don't say any more, Blanche. I know I'm very foolish, but my dear mother has given me some lessons of independence that I can't forget. My dear, I don't think it would mend matters for me to show myself ashamed of my clothes by flaunting in borrowed finery. I only wish poor mamma had been able to get me a few yards of lace; a muslin frill looks so cheap and dowdy. You see I'm cursed with a taste for delicate toilet accessories."

"I wish you'd let me help you," Blanche sighed.

"You do help me!" Alga cried, throwing her arms around her friend's neck. "Your friendship gives me a better opinion of girls, and helps my better nature; but you shan't help my frivolous, groveling tastes. It's all over now, Blanche," raising her bright face, where not a shadow remained. "My dark hour has passed. I had become demoralized by dress-talk and spitefulness, but 'I've wakened to my marcies,' as good old Mammy Dinah used to say. It's among my marcies' that kind Uncle John has given me a good education, and my grumbling is over until I get back home and begin to practice the minor economies,' as old Professor Allen calls them."

This was brave talk, but Blanche, who was a silent observer, and in a little way a philosopher, noticed that as the eventful day drew near Alga grew very grave, and was often foolishly irritable. If by chance she came upon a little knot of girls discussing dress, she would turn from them with a flushed face; her sharp wit was unsparingly used on her companions, and, of course inspired in them a feeling of intense dislike. They whispered to each other that she was so cross and envious that they hated the very sight of her, and hoped she would lose the prizes.

She did not, however. She took them with a defiant air, so unlike her usual calm dignity, that her teachers stared with surprise. A few hours before the evening exercises Blanche, who was alone with her, said, "You are not yourself, Alga. What is the matter with you? You are so nervous I'm almost afraid you will break down this evening."

It was as much as Alga could do to keep from bursting into tears

"I know what you've done this for, you dear, noble girl," she whispered, her eyes shining through repressed tears. Yes, and you shan't make this sacrifice for nothing. Do you think I could fail with you before me? I'll do my best, for you've made me forget my own foolishness and the petty malice of the other girls."

She did her best, and her best was very good, indeed. Her poem was greeted with applause, and Blanche heard more than one person ask eager questions about that handsome girl who repeated the valedictory poem so exquisitely. Such simplicity of dress-actually classic, you

CR

MUSIC AS A REVELATION OF GOD.

BY REV. T. T. MUNGER.

REATION is interpreted to us by the five senses, all of which act by some kind of impression and form the one bridge between ourselves and the world of matter-one bridge of sensation, but dividing, as it were, at the end where it touches man, and be coming sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. If man were considered as made up of mind and heart and an animal nature, sight might be regarded as revealing creation to his mind, hearing to his heart, smell and taste and touch to his animal nature. The distinction is only apparent and is vaguely general, for as the five senses are but one sense of touch, so man is a being who cannot be divided into parts; man is one. But the distinctions are practiclly valu able, and are necessary to a classification of knowl. edge. By the eye we discover an immeasurable universe packed with thoughts, or laws and processes that are based on thoughts-chiefly mathematical; for whatever else the universe may be and may express, it is mathematical, and mathematics, as all will confess, touches only the intellectual side of us. It is true that we may see, and feel by seeing, but if creation were revealed to us only through the eye, we should know far more than we should feel. So an other organ is provided that shall bring creation to us as emotional beings-the ear, conveying sound. It is true that the eye can feed the heart and the ear can minister to the mind; they play into each other; still, the distinction is real. Hence, if using the eye we look at creation and find mathematical laws in gravitation and crystallization, and so infer, as we must, that there is a mind behind the laws that speaks to our minds through them, so using the ear and hearing sounds that touch our hearts, we must infer that there is a heart behind the laws of sound that seeks to reveal itself to us through them. We cannot escape this conclusion. For as the mind can get out of creation no more mathematical relations than were put into it, so the heart cannot get from sounds more emotion than was originally lodged in the laws that produce sounds; the effect never exceeds the cause. If the laws of nature seen by the eye reveal an infinite thought or thinker, so these laws heard by the ear and acting on the heart reveal an infinite heart that ordained them. But the laws of sound rest as fully on mathematics as do the laws of gravitation and crystallization, and so point to the same source-eye and ear, mind and heart, resting on One who is both mind and heart. There are theories that conceive of the source of creation as only thought, because they find everywhere thoughtrelations; other theories which claim that it is force, because they find a universal and indestructible energy; but it would be as logical to claim that this original source is feeling or emotion, for there is as much in the universe to awaken emotion as there is to indicate thought or energy. Indeed, as we only come to full consciousness of ourselves in emotionsemotion or feeling being the highest exercise of our nature-so far as we can reason from our nature to of its origin, it indicates that we spring from a source feeling, or an infinite Heart. Hence the highest wisdom has declared that God is Love, and that the worlds were made by the Son of God--the eternally begotten manifestation of Love; and the severest science cannot logically assert the contrary.

Leaving the field of metaphysics, let us enter the world of sound that lies about us and see how vast