unholy pictures in the streets. On the other hand, there are certain shops, such as the art stores and the bookstores, that do a great work in education. All these things will come about naturally when we shall have turned out our first complement of carefully trained children.

The children on their way to, and coming from, the schoolhouse will soon notice that the great, tall buildings that overshadow and bully the smaller dwellings are not in harmony with the ideas they have seen depicted on the walls of their schoolroom, and what the teacher has told them of the relation of one dwelling to another; they will soon recognize that the buildings which surround them are less. beautiful than those of Europe, and they will go to work in their own way to do something better. A modern poet has written:

"

'The poem hangs on the berry bush,

When comes the poet's eye,

And the whole street is one masquerade
When Shakespeare passes by."

This might have been true of Stratford-on-Avon in Shakespeare's time, and the old town is still most lovely to look upon; it might have been true of the London of Shakespeare's day, but I believe there is not a poet living who can make much beauty out of the waste of brick and mortar, and the human waste, which confronts one in the London of today. Wordsworth, it is true, found Westminster bridge beautiful in the early morning, but the beauty was a borrowed one. When I approach any one of our great cities, I do so with a sinking heart and a wonder that anything good or beautiful can come out of such a smoky, disordered chaos of brick and granite.

A proper regard to art education will make our cities over

make them clean and sweet and fit to dwell in, not, as now, dirty, dingy, and in no sense beautiful.

To return to the schoolroom- for I find myself wandering, the subject alluring me into many a bypath-we must be careful lest the children imbibe an idea that these great arts which they are taught about, and the examples of which

are before them, are all-sufficient for the present. They must be told steadily that we are to produce an art second to no other, and in fact something that shall in a way be more than any art that has ever been evolved. As Tennyson puts it, "We are the heirs of all the ages," and it would be strange if we could not take this precious heritage and strike some grander note than man has yet listened to. We must never let our pupils believe that the last word has been uttered. Great harm has been done to our youth by this order of instruction-men who have buried their heads like the ostrich, in the sands of time, exclaiming, There is no art after Titian! The great examples of the past are furnished to quicken and inspire the present moment. We may show our pupils that Greek art can never be repeated. As Lowell puts it happily, A miracle cannot be encored. But new miracles are forever possible. All attempts to imitate the arts of other peoples end in disaster. Witness the attempts of our early sculptors to reproduce Greek art, which gave rise to the unfeeling, inane, pseudo-Greek school.

Greek art was supremely great, and if we are to have an art which shall be a parallel to it, it must be along lines of our own living, with a thorough knowledge of the conditions, climate, and environment which make for or against great art. We must not try to reproduce Greek art or Egyptian art, or, as many men are now attempting, the art of France. Cypress tried that in her day and failed. She borrowed her art ideas from Egypt on the one hand and Greece on the other, and produced a hybrid which has found no place in æsthetic history. Each flower and tree is beautiful after its kind, and so it is with the arts of the different peoples of the globe. Art cannot be borrowed. It must be owned. Phillips Brooks has put this fact in a most sententious way in one of his sermons on influence: "The old distinctions of useful and useless knowledge will not hold. The responsibility of each man for the working of his intellect must be acknowledged. The whole thought of art must be enlarged and mellowed until it develops a relation to the spiritual and moral natures as well as to the senses of mankind.

It will lack perhaps the purity and simplicity which have belonged to the idea of art in the classic and un-Christian times, but it will become more and more a part of the general culture of human life. This is the change which has come between the Venus of Melos and the Moses of Michael Angelo; between the Idyls of Theocritus and the best modern novel. Mere simplicity of method and effect has given place to harmony of effect; littleness to largeness, fastidiousness to sympathy."

The Greek little dreamed of the study of character as we moderns pursue it. He was taken up with his gods and goddesses, living a beautiful but unfeeling life in their clear empyrean. A modern poet strikes the right note when he says: "He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used; and thought with him is in its infancy." Any education that engenders a contempt for the efforts our art lovers are making to embody the ideals of this people in permanent and symbolic forms, is a system unworthy of any consideration. Greece found her supreme glory in the art of sculpture, and it will not be difficult for a pupil to understand, as he looks upon the Venus of Melos or the Sophocles, that only nations who have had noble ideas have produced sculptors to embody them. So another great lesson of living well is learned in a most natural way. The inhabitants of Tyre and Sidon cared only for possession, and nothing remains of their great commercial centers but a name on a map of the ancient world. No artist arose to hand their ideals down to posterity, because they had no ideals worthy of perpetuating. What fascination such thoughts lend to the dull facts of history! Education takes on a new and charming dress. Let us, then, not be imprisoned by the past, but inspired by it. We are here today to deal with the present tense-Now, now, now! a word more important than the high-sounding Latin mottoes which we are wont to place about our escutcheons.

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MARY A PSYCHOLOGICAL SKETCH.

JUSTINE STERNS.

F only the visitors at a kindergarten could see the growth in this spiritual garden, which, to the kindergartener, is often as apparent as the week's growth of a springing plant!

This is the tale of a small Italian lassie in a slum kindergarten, and how she grew: Mary was five when she came, chronically hungry and dirty, and selfish--oh, so selfish! Possession for possession's sake was her rule of conduct, "What's yours is mine, what's mine's my own," her motto, and grabbing her occupation. She grabbed anything, everything-not necessarily to use-much oftener just to hold tight. She not only wanted to possess everything, she wanted to do everything. Whenever any play was begun on the circle, there was straightway a wail from Mary"Teach', I want make! Teach', I want make!" And she had the most phenomenal power of sustained weeping ever possessed by mortal child. She had evidently been brought up to rule by tears, by her ease-loving Italian relatives, who doubtless gave her what she wanted, to stop the crying which annoyed them, and which they could stop no other way. She had, beside, a wealth of affection, which she knew no way to express except by bear-like hugs as high up as she could reach, and kisses and pattings lavished on the hands of the kindergartners, between storms.

For six long months Mary was the champion problem of the kindergarten. At first it was necessary to make sure that hunger was not the root of her unlovely ways. Feeding her never reformed her, however. After a few months. she seemed to be properly fed at home. She really needed more opportunity for expression of all kinds than the average child, she was so full of vitality that had never had normal opportunities for expression. But nothing short of

everything satisfied her. Day after day she had to be carried from the morning circle, sometimes more than once, because her wails rent the air. Day after day there were tempests at the table, by her and by the children she abused.

Day after day the kindergartners strove to have Froebel's great "third something, which is the right, the best," to which they were "equally subject, rule invisibly" between them and Mary, while they patiently taught her cause and effect, over and over and over in a hundred ways.

She believed in chance, did Mary; that crying very long and very hard would probably get her what she wanted, though it might not. She could not seem to see that when she screamed she was always taken from the circle, away from what she wanted to do or have.

All the time she was given what she wanted as much as was possible without injustice to the other children, or the injustice to herself of yielding to her wilfulness; and all the time she was led to do things for others, that she might forget herself if only for a moment at a time. Still it was impossible to say that she was less selfish or unreasonable.

In the last month of the six the kindergartner at the table bethought herself of the fundamental principle that serving brings loving, and loving is unselfish and made it. concrete for Mary. She racked her brains for helpful things that Mary could do. Most of all, when she began to express selfishness she promptly set her to doing something for some one. If there was nothing else there was a note to the director of the kindergarten lying in wait for Mary, in her belt-a note which said, "Mary needs to serve. Can you give her something to do?" Then she restored what Mary had snatched away, or consoled the slapped child.

It was almost the real Easter time when Easter came to Mary her very own Easter.

When they first noticed that she was changed she stood on the circle leaning forward with her lips parted in a smile, her usually pale cheeks pink with excitement and her eyes shining, watching the children play "Old Mother Hen." For the first time that any of the kindergartners had ever

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