LETTER VII.

MY DEAR ANNA,--I am somewhat reconciled to your being in a less independent situation than I wished for you, by learning that you are, after all, in a school-room of your own, surrounded by children educated thus far under various influences. The range of ages in your little company appears to me rather too unequal; but I have such confidence in your resources, that I will not forebode failure. I only hope you will not be distracted by too various calls. In my own experience, I was obliged to relinquish older and more advanced pupils in favor of younger ones, because I found the proper attention to the two classes incompatible, and in my own case my heart was with the little ones. You are better fitted to cope with older children, because your force of will is superior to mine.

I rejoice in your lovely surroundings. I once kept school near a gurgling brook, whose banks were ornamented with wild flowers, and the room was always redolent of perfumes, and garlanded with clematis and other flowers in their season. Not only children's heads, but mine, were wreathed with them; and many a lesson was given and learned under the trees, and on the grassy turf, golden with buttercups and dandelions. But now a few feet of sky, and a glimpse of verdant back-yards from one window, is all I can boast of when housed. I am blessed with the proximity of Boston Common, through which I daily wander with my little flock, and many of my children have country summers to remember,--vacations at least. Cities are unnatural places for the young. All childhood should be passed in the country, and in afterlife its memories can be pitted against the evils the grownup must bear in pursuit of certain social privileges.

I feel modest about describing my lessons, now you actually have your classes before you, and are sounding certain depths to meet the occasion. I wonder if you will begin with creation, as a friend I could name told me she did, when first meeting face to face a little disciple, her first pupil.

I am glad you do not begin with a large school. In many schools that I have visited, I have seen that the teachers were overpowered by numbers. This is apt to necessitate--no, not necessitate, for that cannot be necessary which is wrong,--but it is apt to introduce the motive of emulation, as a part of the machinery. Emulation is a passion--I call it an evil propensity, so strongly implanted in the natural constitution of man, that it needs no fostering. It should be checked and restrained like any appetite, so that its only function may be the desire to emulate noble deeds, but never to be degraded into competition for praise or honors. One of the mothers of my children thinks it is a very useful ally to induce children to study hard spelling-lessons; but I assure her it cannot be made to play into my spelling-lessons, which are natural growths out of reading-lessons. No, I banish that evil spirit from my dominions, and endeavor to teach my scholars to have a deep interest in "each other's" progress instead of wishing to rise upon the ruin of others. I have a device which answers all the purpose of a healthful stimulus, and insures some of the lawful rewards of industry.

In my present school, where the children are all under twelve, I made one class in arithmetic, including all who could count their fingers and thumbs, and, arranging them in the order of ages, began with the youngest, asking the questions in Colburn's first lessons in arithmetic, and saying that I should take the first section and let each one go through with it before I went farther. When the youngest missed a question, I marked the number of it with her name, and began at the beginning with the next in order. Some of them soon missed, others went straight through without a mistake. I simply said to the first one who did this, "You may return to your seat and occupy yourself quietly in any way you please every day at this hour until this lesson is over."

The lesson was to continue half an hour.

Those who did not go straight through, remained and took another turn after each had tried.

I had seen the pleasing effect of this mode of hearing a recitation practised upon older scholars, and knew that its charms would gradually unfold to these little ones.

The first section was accomplished by all that first day. But I gradually took longer and longer portions; and soon the pleasure of getting through, and having the disposal of little times thus gained, was very animating. I liked the effect much better than that I heard described by a distinguished German mathematician, who told me that his father, who was a soldier, had a triangle of wood made, very sharp at the edges, on which he obliged him to _kneel_ while he studied his arithmetic lessons. The effect was very stimulating to his mathematical faculties, and though he hated his father at the time (a consequence I thought more of than he appeared to), he attributed to it a remarkable power, second only to Sir Isaac Newton's (who could think a train of mathematical thoughts consecutively for twenty minutes), of thinking his mathematical thoughts consecutively _fifteen_ minutes.

My little people were so delighted with their leisure, thus gained, that they voluntarily studied their lessons beforehand (which I did not require), and soon I was obliged to set off the older portion into a separate class, who went on with the mental arithmetic very rapidly, while the younger ones, who recited on the same plan, and enjoyed themselves in the same way, were more deliberate. I followed the same plan with "Fowle's Geographical Questions on the Maps," which is a very nice book for children's use. It makes them very thoroughly acquainted with maps. My favorite geography lessons (and the favorite lessons of my scholars too), are oral; and I now have a course of lectures delivered on a certain day in the week by the children, which would amuse you, I am sure. I put my work-table on one end of the long writing-table, and my little lecturers stand behind i: in turn, sometimes with a written lecture, sometimes with only a wand to point at maps or pictures,--and give their little lectures. One little fellow of eight would talk all the afternoon over a map if I would let him, telling stories of countries which he has heard of from me or others. Another is very fond of natural history, and her little lectures are about insects, and birds, &c. Indeed, these are their chief topics,--geography and animal life.

In arithmetic I also have many other exercises, such as arranging beans in certain numerical forms; and on the black-board I teach numeration in a simple way. I use Shaw's box of arithmetical blocks to teach the philosophy of carrying tens, and I think it admirable. I also have Holbrook's frame of balls. All these devices help to make processes clear. I find a very great difference in children in regard to arithmetic. I have had one scholar who never could go (she died at fifteen) beyond a certain section in "Colburn's Mental Arithmetic." She reached that after repeated trials; for when I found her grounded at any special point, I always turned back and let her review, and in that way she would gain a little at every repeated trial. This child found geometry easier than numbers, and mastered "Grund's Plane Geometry." She could also write out a reminiscence of Dr. Channing's sermons, or remember anything interesting in history, natural history, or anything of an ethical character. I also had one gifted little scholar who could not learn to spell accurately; but she drew with great power and beauty,--with "an eye that no teaching could give," as was said of her by a fine artist. These discrepancies in talent are very curious. Phrenological philosophy alone explains them.[L]

Having thus disposed of geography and arithmetic, in the last of which I doubt not your mathematical faculty will strike out something new, you will expect me to describe my modes of teaching language, as you know that to be my personal hobby. I think I might have other hobbies if I knew more. But I do think the teaching of language covers a great deal of ground, bringing into play, as it certainly does, so many faculties.

The first thing to be aimed at in language is, that it shall be clearly understood. It is not necessary to go out of one's own language to teach etymology. I take such words as _funny_, _kindly_, _sweetly_, and ask from what words those are derived.

"What does funny mean?" The answer will be, "Full of fun," or "Something that has fun in it." "What is kindly?" "Full of kindness." "What does agreeable mean?" "Something we like," said a little boy one day in answer to this question.

"Does every one like the same things?" said I.

"No."

"Then something may be agreeable to you that is not agreeable, to me."

"Yes."

"Can you think now what the word agreeable is made from?"

He could not think.

"A thing agrees with something in me that does not agree with something in you, perhaps. I do not like the perfume of a narcissus. It does not _agree_ with my sense of smell, but it agrees with some people's sense of smell."

He was pleased with this, and saw that _agree_ was the word.

"From what is _lively_ made?" I asked.

He hesitated.

"What does it mean?" said I.

"Oh, _lively_, why it means _very_ lively!"

"Can a table be lively?"

"No, it must be something that is alive. Oh, I know now--_alive_ is the word."

"What is alive made from?"

"Living," he answered.

"All these words are made from the name of something."

This brought him to the word _life_, and then he sprung up and clapped his hands and whirled round.

I do not always check these natural gymnastics.

Such lessons as these I am teased for continually. Those who have studied I can carry still farther in derivation. I sometimes reverse the process and ask for all the words that are made from _life_, _action_, &c.

Often when I give the children their slates to amuse themselves a little while, they bring me lists of words made on this principle of analysis; and I assure you that when I read to them, I am never allowed to pass by a word that is not understood. Several times when I have deliberately pronounced a very long word that I expected to be questioned upon, it has brought half a dozen of my little audience to their feet.

I was very fond, when a child, of listening to lessons upon figures of speech, given in my mother's school; and was quite expert in hunting up metaphors, tropes, hyperboles, and personifications. So I impart the same pleasure. The spiritual applications of words is pleasantly educed out of their sensuous qualities, also. "The sweet apple," and "the sweet child," are equally significant; and it is well to trace back words thus figuratively used to their original meaning in the sensuous world, for they are felt to be more significant when thus verified. It leads to sound thinking. There are so many poetical expressions in common parlance, that it is very easy to put children upon this track.

I have lately set up a little class in thinking, preliminary to giving some idea of the construction of sentences. I do not attempt to teach grammar technically to such little people as mine; but I contrive to induct it into them by certain devices, not wholly original, for they are recorded in the "Record of a School." Allow me to repeat the drilling with which I began.

I called them around me one day to have a _new lesson_, which is always joyfully acceded to by these little lovers of new things, and nothing pleases them better than to be set to thinking.

I asked them if they knew what their five senses were.

Not one had ever heard those words used together, apparently.

I enumerated; sight, hearing, smell, touch, taste.

Several individuals jumped up, whirled round, and sat down again.--

I then asked each in turn to name some object, and tell me by which of their senses they could perceive it; and by how many?

This they did readily again and again. They could see, and smell, and touch, and taste a rose, but they could not _hear_ it. So of other things.

I then said, "I have a thought; do you know what it is?"

"No."

"Cannot you see, or hear, or smell, or touch, or taste my thought?"

"No."

"Now each one of you think of some object, but do not speak till I ask you for your thought."

"Can you see your thought?"

Some answered "No," others "Yes."

I asked each in turn for their thoughts. They were a bird, a house, a horse, &c., all visible objects.

I said, "All these things can be seen when they are before you; but can you see the thought?"

Some answered "Yes" to this, which I found meant that they could see the image of the thing in the mind; others said "No."

"Can you see your thinking?"

"No."

"Can you not send your thoughts out into the country, where you have sometimes taken a ride?"

"Yes."

"Can you see, smell, hear, taste, or touch your mind?"

"No."

"But is not mind a real thing? Have not you a mind that you think with?"

"Yes."

"There are some real things, then, beside those we can see, hear, smell, taste, and touch?"

"Yes."

"What other things beside your mind?"

No one answered.

"Have you any love?"

This brought many to their feet, with a shouted "Yes."

"Any happiness?"

"Yes."

"Goodness?"

"Yes."

"Naughtiness?"

"Yes."

"Is truth in the mind, or outside of it where we can see it?"

"In the mind."

I then took Mrs. Barbauld's hymns, in the first of which occur the words _reason_, _kindness_, _heart_, _life_, beside the names of many objects of the senses, and made two columns on the black-board, in which I put down respectively, as they were mentioned, all the names of objects, both of the senses and of the mind. To the latter list I added the words _God_ and _soul_, by the direction of the children, upon asking them if they could think of any more such words.

I then made the same discrimination between actions of the body and actions of the mind, which they followed very well, sometimes confounding the two, as older philosophers do.

I endeavored to give them the idea that things which they see, hear, &c., exist both in the mind and out of it. This I could do by asking them if the person who made the first chair did not think of it first. Was it not in his mind before he could make it? So everything in the world existed in God's mind before he made it.

I then asked, "Which column of words gives the names of real things?"

They all said the objects of the senses were the real things.

"Can they not be broken up, or burnt, or worn out?"

"Yes."

"Can the soul, or love, or goodness, or happiness, be broken, or burnt up, or worn out?"

"No."

"Which are the things that last forever, then,--these objects of your senses, or these objects of your mind?"

"The objects of the mind."

"Does your goodness always last?"

"No."

"Where does it go to when you are not good?"

Nobody knew.

"Can you have it again when you wish to?"

"Yes."

"Who do you think keeps it for you?"

"God."

"That is what we mean when we pray to God to help us to be good."

All seemed to understand this.

"Then we find," I said, "that the real things that last forever are in the mind?"

"Yes."

"Do our bodies last forever?"

"No."

"Do we live forever?"

"Yes."

"Yes, our souls are the real things."

This was enough for one lesson. Another day I asked about the qualities of things, and added a column for such words as green, white, pretty, &c. These are the main classes, and I shall go on by degrees to words expressive of relations, and to words that are substituted for the names of persons and things which are pronouns. The children are very fond of making lists of words of this sort, and often bring them to me, divided off into their respective columns.

I have put the whole school, except the babes, into this class; and of those who know how to read well I have made a Latin class. For this I use the interlined translation of "Æsop's Fables," which Mr. G---- T---- first imported into this country. I began with a line of a fable committed to memory, with the English words beneath them. It is not only good for spelling to begin Latin early, but it gives precision to thinking, if used aright. After learning one fable, by degrees, I let the children vocabularize the words by putting the names of things into one column, the names of actions into another, as in the analysis of English; and this has given them quite a vocabulary of Latin, from which we often make lessons in derivation. Putting the nouns into a column soon showed the modifications of termination, and then I explained the difference between that language and ours in that respect, and showed them how few small words were used in Latin. They have also studied the indicative mode of the verb _amo_, and have learned to substitute other verbs in the various tenses. But I confine them at present chiefly to committing to memory the fables.

Dr. Follen thinks it well to teach German very early also, which gives the Teutonic element to our language; but I have not done this in my present school, because the difficulty of the German letter is such a puzzle to little brains.

French I only teach them colloquially as yet; for the sight of French words confuses spelling very much with little children. It is well to exercise their organs in pronouncing the words; and all my children can say many things in French. By and by I shall show them the words, if they stay with me till they are ready for them. All these exercises of mind, if not made fatiguing by too long continuance at one time, are perennially interesting to children. The new life and vigor a little hard thinking imparts to them makes one almost a convert to a theory lately set forth by one of our contemporaries, that the scholar and thinker should be the longest lived man. I believe it will be found true, if the brain be healthily, not morbidly worked. I love to see the eye fixed in thought for a moment, even in a very young child: but I would have in the next moment a jump or a run, or a laugh; and these generally alternate with thinking, if nature is left free. I am jealous of one moment's weariness at this age. I speak particularly now of very young children, who are only too willing to think, not of the wilful, playful rogues whom it is hard to fix one moment, because they would have no work, but all play. There is a great difference, however, in children of all ages, and I would be careful of them all. Force and vigor are so essential to health of mind, as well as of body, that I would secure those first to every child.

I once had a very bright boy of four in my school, who had a very remarkable memory. He would learn a verse of poetry by my repeating it once, and learned to read with marvellous rapidity. It was almost alarming; but I took care not to stimulate him in any way. He was suddenly seized with a violent influenza, and did not return to school for two months. When he returned, he had not only forgotten all he had learned, but never showed the same aptitude again. In a year afterwards he had not caught up with those first few months. This taught me never to urge a child to exertion while suffering from a cold; and my attention having thus been directed to the point, I have often observed how that malady dulls the action of the faculties.

I have one dear little scholar now, only too willing to exert her mind; and if I see that anything seems difficult to her earnest spirit, I advise her at once to put it aside; for the tearful eyes tell me plainly that there is no need of urgency on my part, and that the danger is in too great persistence of the will for duty's sake. If it is necessary to explain the matter to others, I do not hesitate to say that that little scholar studies too hard for her health, and I do not wish her to be fatigued. It is necessary for her peace of mind to say as much as this, and the others only see more clearly what I wish them to see, that I measure them by the effort they make, not by the results they achieve. The same persistence of will and earnestness of spirit sometimes produces a violent shock of feeling in this child, if she is arrested in any of her purposes, even of play; but a gentle steadiness on my part soon brings the repentant little head on my bosom.

I often wish I knew how much moral and mental effort I ought to require of children, to keep the soul in full play and never encroach upon nature, which adjusts the balances so happily in her own way, when not constrained. I have to fall back upon my instincts for this, as the mother undoubtedly does. This adjustment has been very happily and wisely made in the case of Laura Bridgeman, one proof of which is, that an obstacle in her path is only met as a joyful occasion for some new effort. If she finds a stumbling-block in her way, instead of falling over it, or being discouraged by it, she dances round it, and apparently hails it as a new proof of the power within her to conquer all things. If her thread gets tangled when she is sewing, she laughs and adjusts it. Giant Despair would in vain tempt her, but would try again to hang himself, as when, in olden time, Truth and Holiness together escaped from his clutches. Principles, when known to her, seem to be imperative; and cut off as she is from the deceptive senses, she recognizes only the power within herself, which laughs at the defiance of insolent brute matter. It was the plan of her education that she should not be told of God's existence till she gave indication of some idea of Him; but in some way or other she became possessed of that name for the existence of absolute power and goodness (we do not know yet how far that embodiment of the idea was intuitive); and she already refers all things to His agency. One suggestion pointing towards that idea would necessarily fructify in such a mind as hers, and immediately she would have a name for the law within her which she obeys so wonderfully in conscience, and exemplifies so remarkably in her intellectual operations. She answers to me the question which I have heard asked, "Whence do the intuitions of the mind come?"

But I must go back to my little family once more. These children are quite expert printers, and have followed their fancies very much as to what they printed; as, favorite stories or scraps of poetry, for I did not wish the process to become tedious. One day I let each dictate to me a short story, which I wrote down as they dictated; and while they were full of delight I proposed that they should write stories themselves, instead of copying them. This they subsequently varied with writing what they could remember of my readings to them; so now I am overwhelmed with compositions of all sorts, and often very good ones. I have always thought it well for children to write a good deal, and I have never found any difficulty in making them like to do it. When I read or tell them anything I wish them to write, I often put leading words on the black-board, to suggest the order of the story, or the description; or, to spell difficult words. One child writes funny stories, and laughs herself as she writes; another gives descriptions of natural scenery, in the midst of which her characters find themselves. One writes about wolves and other horrors. I have a variety of pictures hanging on the walls, and I sometimes propose that they should write stories about them. These writings are all printed with lead pencil, or on the slate, because the mechanical difficulty of writing script with the pen makes it tedious to children.

I shall look impatiently for your account of your proceedings. I believe I have told you the principal things I endeavor to teach, but it is impossible to describe all the occasions on which one can minister to the inquiring minds of children. I suppose many persons would think I give too much time to playing and singing, but I do not often invite people into my school, for my ideas of order are different from the ordinary one of sitting still and not speaking. I am perfectly content as long as the lifting of my finger or the tinkling of my little bell will reduce my subjects to order.

I forgot to mention that one day in the week we resolve ourselves into a sculptor's studio. I seat the children around one of the long tables and let them model in clay. They make miniature vases, and even faces, and who knows but what some genius may be developed?[M] Paper cutting is also one of my arts. It teaches forms as well as drawing, and some of these children cut very decent birds and other animals. Sometimes I draw for them to cut, and I have shown them the properties of a circle by cutting one and dividing it up into angles, acute and obtuse, and teaching them to put them together again. I was much pleased myself when I first understood the relation of angles to a circle, and find that other children also enjoy it. I let them play with the Chinese puzzle also, which exercises their inventive faculties.[N]

If all teachers loved to play with children as well as I do, I think they would discover what I think I have; that children need superintendence in their plays to defend them against each other. The only danger is, that the older person may lead too much, and not sufficiently follow the leading of the children. When children do work at anything, they should be taught to do it accurately and well; but a concentrated effort should be very short. I hope everything, as I told you, from your discoveries in this charming science, of which I am never tired, I am never weary of talking about my little flock, and all the little flocks I have from time to time presided over. The last always seems to me the most interesting; especially the younger ones. A new little being just waking up to a consciousness of the world environing it, is a new study to me always, one of which I never tire, as I am very apt to do of older people. When you have taught a few years, we will compare notes again.

Very affectionately yours, M.

FOOTNOTES:

[I] All these difficulties with which I wrestled so many years in my character of _champion of childhood_, are entirely solved and done away with by the more recently introduced method,--introduced by authority of a distinguished philologist, of teaching the Italian alphabet, and always calling _c_ and _g_ hard, as the old Romans are supposed to have done. This mode is made practicable in the "First Nursery Reading-Book," and the last edition of the "Primer of Reading and Drawing." Abundant experience shows that reading taught in this way leaves nothing to be unlearned in English, and teaches an analysis of words into letters which contributes very much to the ease of the subsequent study of European languages, to which the sounds of the letters of the Italian alphabet apply almost without an exception. Experience upon this subject has given me confidence in the general rule of _never_ teaching exceptions to anything until the rule is well understood and mastered.

[J] The work referred to, by Peter Schmid, of Berlin, was subsequently translated, and published in the 6th vol. of the _Common-School Journal_, and afterwards in a pamphlet called the _Common-School Drawing Master_. It is largely used in the public schools of Germany, and formed a new era in Germany, in the teaching of Perspective Drawing, as truly as _Colburn's First Lessons_ formed a new era in the teaching of Mental Arithmetic here.

[K] Since writing the above he has died untimely.

[L] Since these letters were written, the St. William's school established in Edinburgh by George Combe, Esq., and in which that distinguished man taught personally during the latter years of his life, has proved conclusively that the Phrenological philosophy is a fine basis for education. The principle there practised is, to cultivate assiduously those faculties which were found naturally deficient in the pupils; thus aiming to make whole men out of what otherwise would have been but fragments of men.

[M] One of these children subsequently evinced much talent for the plastic art, which she traced back to this opportunity. She always kept it up, and gave fair promise of accomplishing something in this department of art.

[N] Several years after these letters were written, the Rev. Thomas Hill issued a series of cards containing geometrical figures composed of triangles of different sizes. They were very useful in aiding the development of the mathematical faculty in a private family, and might be used with advantage in the present Kindergarten-schools, whose success forever settles the question of the manner in which young children should be taught. The above letters exemplify the blind gropings of a true child-lover after that which has now been so beautifully developed by observation and genius united.

SONGS.

I. Lord's Prayer.

Our Father, who in heaven art, Thy name be hallowed; Thy will as 'tis in heaven be done, Let thy dear kingdom come; Give us this day our daily bread, Our trespasses forgive, As we forgive the trespasses Of those who injure us. Deliver us from doing wrong; O, lead us from temptation's snare; For thine the kingdom and the power, And glory evermore.

II. The Fishes.

Happy the fishes now appear, Sporting in water bright and clear; Now swimming, now diving, above, below; Now they are straight, and now they all bow.

III. Brotherly Love.

1.

How delightful 'tis to see Little children who agree; Who from every thing abstain, That will give each other pain; O, how lovely 'tis to see Little children who agree.

2.

Angry words they never speak, Promises they never break; Unkind looks they never show; Love sits smiling on each brow. O, how lovely, &c.

3.

They are one in heart and mind; Courteous, pitiful, and kind; Willing others to forgive, And make happy all who live.

4.

When at home, at school, at play, They are cheerful, blithe, and gay; Always trying to increase Human pleasure, social peace.

5.

If we for each other care, All each other's burdens bear, Soon the human race will be Like one happy family. O, how lovely, &c.

IV. AT THE BEGINNING AND CLOSE OF PLAY, IS SUNG:

Front to back we march away, Let us all go out to play. Front to back we march away, Now we all have done our play.

V. The Pigeon House.

We open the pigeon house again, And set all the happy flutt'rers free; They fly o'er the fields and grassy plain, Delighted with joyous liberty; And when they return from their merry flight, We shut up the house and bid 'em good night.

VI. The Cuckoo.

Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo; The cuckoo calls the children, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, Let us all call him to us, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo; Yes, yes, the cuckoo is alone to-day, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo; Yes, yes, he wants to join our merry play, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo; You have not been calling your friends in vain, We now can play all together again, cuckoo, cuckoo, Dear little child, cuckoo, cuckoo, dear child.

VII. The Peasant.

1. Would you know how does the peasant, Would you know how does the peasant, Would you know how does the peasant, Sow his barley and wheat?

Look, 'tis so, so does the peasant, Look, 'tis so, so does the peasant, Look, 'tis so, so does the peasant, Sow his barley and wheat. La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la.

2 Would you know how does the peasant Reap his barley and wheat? Look, 'tis so, so does the peasant Reap his barley and wheat. La, la, la, &c.

3 Would you know how does the peasant Thrash his barley and wheat? Look, 'tis so, so does the peasant Thrash his barley and wheat. La, la, la, &c.

4 Would you know how does the peasant Sift his barley and wheat? Look, 'tis so, so does the peasant Sift his barley and wheat. La, la, la, &c.

5 Would you know how rests the peasant When his labor is done? Look, 'tis so, so rests the peasant When his labor is done. La, la, la, &c.

6 Would you know how plays the peasant, When his labor is done? Look, 'tis so, so plays the peasant, When his labor is done. La, la, la, &c.

VIII. The Sawyer.

Let us now begin our sawing; Forwards, backwards, pushing, drawing, Sawing, sawing wood in two; Little pieces, bigger pieces, See saw, see saw, see saw, see!

Let us now leave off our sawing, Rest awhile in pretty playing, Playing, playing, playing so; Playing, playing, playing, playing, Till 'tis time to saw again.

IX. The Cooper.

I am a cooper, and barrels I bind; And on my brow perspiration I find; But happy and merry I always am found, While with my big hammer I pace all around, around, around, around, round, round, round.

X. The Wheel-barrow.

Come, take your barrow, neighbor John, The clock strikes six, we must be gone; The birds are singing in the bower, The bees are busy on the flower; Come, take your barrow, let us go, And call upon our neighbor Joe; We've much to do, and time flies on, Make haste, make haste, we must be gone.

XI. The Clappers.

The clappers in the cornmill move gently up and down, The water gives them motion; What heavy sounds, Clip, clap, clip clap, clip clap, clip clap, clip clap.

XII. & XIII. Windmill and Water-wheel.

See the windmill, how she goes, While the wind so briskly blows; Always turning freely round, Never idle is she found.

or, XIII.

See the WATER-WHEEL, how she goes, While the water freely flows, &c.

XIV. The Pendulum.

See it run, see it run, See the clock's straight pendulum Move its long arm here and there, Not across, not in the square; Stroke by stroke, both there and back, Always tic, and always tac, tic, tac, tic, tac, tic, tac, tic, tac, Clock be steady, not unruly, Pray the right time tell me truly For eating, for sleeping, for work and play, O tell me the proper time ev'ry day. If my life in order be, Health and peace will dwell with me. Little arm go there and back, Always tic and always tac, tic, tac, tac.

XV. The Rovers.

We like to go a-roving, From place to place a-moving, For wandering is such sweet employ, It fills our hearts with quiet joy. Wander, we'll wander, We hear the warblers singing, The air with music ringing; We hear the sheep cry bah! We hear the sweet bees humming, We see the large flies coming, See, see, they fly away! Wander, we'll wander, Wander, we'll wander, The flocks move on so stately, The fields are dressed so neatly, All flowers smell so sweetly; Come, wander, we'll wander, wander, we'll wander.

XVI. The Weathercock.

Like the weathercock I'm going, When the stormy wind is blowing; While to East and West I'm turning, I the compass points am learning.

XVII. The Bees.

The bees are flying and humming, Why are they all coming? Honey they do seek, Honey they do seek.

Hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum, Hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum.

Take care, beware, the drone is there; Take care, beware, the drone is there.

XVIII. The Ring.

Equal treading, equal stepping, We dance and sing all in a ring; All round we dance and sing. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.

XIX. The Hares.

Hare in the hollow, sitting still; Poor hare, are you ill, that you cannot jump and spring, jump and spring, jump and spring.

2.

Hare now be careful, Sit quite still, The hunter is near; Dogs are running down the hill, Sit quite still, sit quite still.

3.

Hare now be cheerful, Jump and spring; All danger is past. Hare now spring, jump and spring, Jump and spring, jump and spring.

XX. The Little Master of Gymnastics.

Look at little Albert, He's happy and glad; Look at little Albert, what he has just made.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Text uses both Co-operate and coöperate.

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

In the text Froebel does not have a ligature, in the footnotes the ligature is present. This was retained but will only be present in the utf-8 and HTML versions.

Page 25, "fal" changed to "fa" (fifth, fa-la-do)

Page 78, pronunciation table "oh" changed to "[)o]h" to match rest of usage.

Page 86, two of the proofreaders caught amidst the mind-numbing word lists that "put" should not belong in the pattern of drunk, trunk, hunt, blunt... and should either go a few words before with cut, gut, hut, jut or be changed to "punt." The transcriber has chosen to change it to "punt."

Page 88, "ex-except" changed to "except" (preceded by vowels, except)

Page 88, in the list for W, "owner" occurred twice. Once after "growth" and once after "lower." The second instance was removed.

Page 165, "wont" changed to "won't" (a half whisper, "won't.")