comes his own educator, using teachers and others as means towards his ends, he has still within himself the two aspects: from one point of view he is still educand, though the educator happens to be himself. The process remains bipolar.

The third essential element in the connotation of education is the use of knowledge as an instrument. That we use knowledge for this purpose has been long recognised, for the work of the school is very generally regarded as the communication of knowledge. The teacher has been, and is, generally accepted without question as an educator. This is strikingly illustrated by the fact that for so long we have been content to use one term pupil as the correlate of the two distinct terms teacher and educator. It is only now, when we are beginning to analyse educational processes with some degree of care, that the need for an accurate correlate to educator has driven us to adopt the term educand. But in the development of educational theory the view of the function of knowledge has materially changed. Originally the communication of knowledge was regarded as the supplying of the educand with information that was essential to him. He had to know certain things in order that he might conduct himself wisely in the environment in which he found himself. This is what is implied in the somewhat esoteric definition of education as the process by which the educand absorbs and is absorbed by the environment. As a result of this process the educand adapts himself to his surroundings, which lends some justification to those writers who regard education as a means of adjustment to varying conditions. By-and-by, however, knowledge began to be valued for its own sake, apart from any use to which it could be applied, and this disinterested view has much to recommend it. But it gradually led to a curious misunderstanding of the relation between knowledge and power. Obviously knowledge of our environment is power. But when studies had become greatly elaborated, their subject-matter ceased to have any connection with the practical affairs of life, and therefore the studies lost their prima facie claim to rank as power-givers. Naturally, the school people who spent their lives in acquiring and communicating this abstruse knowledge did not see their way to admit the practical worthlessness of their acquirements. They therefore hit upon the theory that subjects have to be studied, not for the intrinsic value of the knowledge they supply, but for the training effect on the mind. Certain subjects are to be studied for the intrinsic value of the subject-matter, and certain others for the training to be obtained in the process. This view is usually known as the doctrine of 'formal training.' It has had its day, but is now generally discredited. Herbert Spencer used the law of parsimony as an argument against it, maintaining that it is contrary to the laws of nature that we should have to learn one set of subjects for the sake of acquiring knowledge, and another for the sake of training the mind. This is hardly convincing; but the careful investigations of such writers as E. L. Thorndike have made it clear that while there is a certain amount of transference of power from one subject to another, the amount of this transference is in direct proportion to the number of elements that are common to both subjects. It cannot be denied that the careful study of any subject will to some extent train the mind, but it is no longer a tenable position that certain subjects should be chosen for the sake of training alone, quite irre spective of the value of the subject-matter. The old faculty psychology gave some support to the 'formal-training' theory; but with the recognition of the essential unity of all mental process, it has

become clear that it is not reasonable to set apart special studies in order to cultivate special faculties of the mind. On the other hand, it is admitted that there are certain general ways of regarding things that may be transferred from one kind of mental activity to another. Professor W. C. Bagley, for example, maintains that certain ideals of such things as neatness, accuracy, perseverance, may be acquired in dealing with one subject, and yet be applied to others. In this attenuated form the doctrine is generally accepted.

What gave a certain strength to the formaltraining doctrine was the unreasonable faith many people showed in the power of mere knowledge. Facts were regarded as of value merely as facts. If cramming means the acquiring of facts, then cram, cram,* said a distinguished teacher, with a full knowledge of the opprobrium attached to cram. Opposed to this view was that of drawing out,' largely based upon etymological grounds. Considerable confusion sometimes prevails in educational writing with regard to this drawing-out process. Sometimes it is rightly confined to the drawing out of latent powers, but not infrequently it is applied to the elicitation of knowledge. It is forgotten that we cannot draw out what is not there. The mind must be nurtured as well as exercised.

Education may be regarded from many points of view. It may be considered in connection with various categories. With regard to the incidence of the personality of the educator, we have direct or indirect education. When the personality is exercised without the intervention of books, or studies, or the manipulation of environment, we have obviously the direct form. When we have education classed as material and formal, we are dealing under the category of the value of know ledge as intrinsic and as means of training. The distinction between positive and negative education is based really on Rousseau's view that we must not interfere with the course of nature. We must learn how wisely to lose time. He regards as positive education all those forms that seek to modify the development of the educand at the will of the educator, apart from considerations of the natural development of the human being. The Froebelians, with their definition of education as a passivity, a following,' are clearly exponents of negative education. One is apt to think of Comte in connection with the positive form, but the Comtist view of education is represented by the term integral. It is difficult to suggest an inoffensive correlate to integral. The obvious term fractional represents an ideal that no one would be willing to accept. Perhaps sectional is the least irritating term. Integral education does not mean that everybody should be taught everything, though this is the only meaning that M. Jules Simon can take out of the term; but that the body of knowledge presented to the educand should be thoroughly organised. Instead of being a thing of shreds and patches, it is to be worked up into a whole, in which each part is organically related to all the others. The ideal is excellent, but the Comtists have gone but a little way towards its realisation. Specific and general are the two terms that result from the consideration of education under the cate gory of the use to be made of it. In some cases the purpose of education is to produce a certain type of man. Thus seminarist education is specific. On the other hand, education may have as its aim the production of a mere all-round man-one who is prepared in a general way in all directions, without any bias for any particular walk in life. non-professional parts of education at the universities illustrate the general form. A very interesting category under which education may be considered is that of the agent by whom it is

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conducted. Huxley speaks of 'artificial' education, meaning the education that is given deliberately by inen as opposed to that given by nature. All education would thus be either natural or artificial. But as the term natural is often used in educational writings to indicate artificial education when carried on in accordance with the laws of nature, there is a certain danger of confusion; so it is sometimes suggested that the terms human and cosmic should be substituted, the second term covering all cases of education carried on by nature, the world-spirit, God, apart from any deliberate share in the work by human beings. Lessing's curious little book on The Education of the Human Race is a treatise on cosmic education in this sense.

We must distinguish between education and educational theory. Even in the form of human education, in the sense defined above, there must have been education long before there was any theorising about it. Letourneau devotes a whole chapter to Education in the Animal Kingdom, in which abundant evidence is given of more or less purposive training of the young. This stage corresponds to cosmic education, and the same is true of the earlier stages of the education of man. It is only when men begin to take themselves in hand, when they deliberately set about making themselves different from what they are, that true human education may be said to begin. In the course of evolution man gradually becomes aware of the nature of the process, and begins to take a hand in helping it forward. So soon as he begins to intervene in the evolutionary process he becomes an educator, and introduces the elements of educational theory. For long the theory is very crude, and consists mainly in speculations regarding the most satisfactory mode of producing the best sort of man to fulfil certain necessary functions in society. All education begins as specific education.

This preparation for specific work introduces a permanent struggle between the educational ideals of the individual and of society. No doubt when viewed from the point of view of eternity the two ideals coincide, but at the short range of ordinary life it is sometimes hard to reconcile them. Mr Benjamin Kidd assures us that the interests of society and of the individual are inherently opposed to one another; so we need not be surprised to find that there is trouble in meeting the demands of the individual and the state with regard to education. In the old Greek states, where the theory of education practically began, so far, at any rate, as concerns written records, we find the claims of the state predominant. In Sparta the individual was entirely subordinated to the state; and though in Athens there was greater scope for the individual, he was always made to feel that in the ultimate resort he belonged body and soul to the city. Of the thinkers of that time Socrates was more individualistic in theory than Plato; but Socrates recognises the supremacy of the state, since he consented to die in obedience to the laws, even while recognising their injustice. Plato regards the state as supreme, and goes the length of holding that the happiness of the whole may be gained at the expense of the parts. Here Aristotle vigorously opposes him, and practically sets up the organic ideal in which the parts and the whole can reach full development only when both have freeplay. In his famous paradox, 'The state is prior to the individual,' he emphasises the interdependence of the individual and the state. But though man is 30 constituted that he cannot be himself except in a state, it does not follow that he exists for the sake of the state. The truth is that the state exists for him. If man be regarded by the statesman as a mere means to attain public ends, then

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the state can never get the best out of the individual. Though in the Republic the citizen is throughout subordinated to the state, from the lowest grade to the highest, yet in the Athens of Plato's time the free citizens certainly regarded themselves as ends and not as mere means. wise educator must take full account of the need to recognise every educand as an end, though it may be necessary also to keep in view his function as a means. In the Aristotelian system the educator has to take his orders from the statesman, since education is a practical science that produces materials to be used by another science. Politics is architectonic to education. In modern states it cannot be denied that this is the principle on which / education is conducted. In sober truth, the edu cator is subordinated to the statesman. But this does not by any means imply that the determination of the aim of education is to be settled by another science. In so far as the statesman interferes with the aim or method of education he ceases to be a statesman, and to that extent becomes an educator.

In the ultimate resort true education and true statesmanship cannot but agree that the final aim of all education is the self-realisation of the individual. Many other aims have been put for ward-to prepare for complete living; to secure a sound mind in a healthy body; to produce perfect citizens; to develop children as imperfect human beings into perfect human beings; to secure the harmonious development of all the faculties; to secure the adjustment of the individual to his environment. Yet each and all of these may be fairly claimed as a part of self-realisation. There is, indeed, only one of the recognised views of the aim of education that cannot be said to be included under the wider term, and this is the Herbartian view that the aim of education is the cultivation of many-sided interest. It will be shown that this aim is necessary in order to give content to the other.

Self-realisation recognises the independence of the individual, and at the same time does not deny the need for a social environment. The individual is educated not so much by the state as in the state. We must get rid of the idea that in a healthy state there can be any antagonism between the self-realisation of the citizen and the best development of the state. Confusion sometimes arises, because it is assumed that self-realisation means the removal of all external restraint. This error is implicit in the term that is sometimes used as if it were an equivalent-self-expression. Both self-realisation and self-expression imply the existence of a self; but the first regards the self as a potentiality to be developed; the second, as something ready-made, and only seeking a mode of expressing itself. Those who are pertinaciously claiming the right to lead their own life' are really working on the self-expression ideal. Self-realisation does not necessarily imply freedom from restraint. Often restraint is of the essence of the process that aids in the development of the true self, and should be welcomed by the educand who understands his own ideals.

It is for metaphysicians and psychologists to discuss the possibility and nature of a self; the educator is entitled to assume its existence and to busy himself about its development. Here arises one of the difficulties of self-realisation as the educational ideal. There is the implication that all selves are either neutral or are inherently good. If we are merely to aid the educand in realising the potentialities of his self, we must help the bad self to become a perfectly bad self, just as we help the good self to become a perfectly good self. Self-realisation must therefore be limited by the proviso that it is confined to the development

of the higher or better self that is possible to each educand. This implies that the educator has to take a stronger line in education than at first sight appears. He must not only aid the self of the educand in its development, but must select those elements in it that are worthy of encouragement, and do all he can to suppress the others. It is here that the need for the supplementary ideal of many-sided interest becomes manifest. Selfrealisation is a somewhat empty ideal. 'Realise thyself' is not a helpful exhortation by itself. It needs to be supported by a reference to the environment in which the realisation is to be carried out. The presentation of content in an ordered way is an essential part of the work of the educator. The communication of knowledge and the manipulation of the environment are integral parts of the edu cator's function. The knowledge communicated is valuable for its own sake and also as a means of training; but the ideal on which Herbart laid stress was the effect upon the self of the subject-matter dealt with. The result is a sensitiveness to certain cognitive and affective impressions: the self has acquired a permanent interest in certain worthy elements that have been selected by the educator. Interest which in the educative process has been a means becomes as an educational ideal the end. Self-realisation remains the final goal of education, but many-sided interest supplies the wider ideal with the content necessary to make it effective.

History of Education. As in prehistoric and early historical times all knowledge was in the hands of the priests, it is natural to suppose that the beginnings of education would be in their hands too. At first education would be confined to the priestly class themselves, and to those young people who were marked out by their birth for high estate. It would certainly be to the advantage of the priestly class to acquire influence thus early with those who were to be the leaders of the tribe or nation. With regard to the common people, the only education they required was the education of life. They learnt by the mere process of living. Imitation and convention were the forces that moulded them into the shape required by the society in which they lived. Education would be purely specific-the learning of a trade or occupation of some sort, with the ordinary social customs that went with the corresponding social grade. In the ordinary histories of education we usually find at the beginning some vague generalities on the state of education among the early Chinese, Egyptians, Indians, and Persians. But we really know remarkably little about education among those early peoples. It is probable that in the case of China that cake of custom' of which Walter Bagehot speaks proved too strong to allow of the freedom necessary for further development, and that education was one of the instruments used in the hardening process. The education rapidly became literary, and has remained so throughout the ages. In India, and especially in Egypt, the history of education is really inferred from the progress of the nation in actual knowledge. While the Egyptians were learning astronomy and geometry, as testified by the evolution of the pyramid into a time-measurer, they must have passed on from generation to generation the knowledge as it was acquired. There must there fore have been practical education, and it is unlikely that among such intelligent people there should be no theory of education at all. It has to be remembered that the priests owed their power to their skill in manipulating the warrior-class; so it is exceedingly likely that they studied human nature with great care, and it is only natural to suppose that the experienced priests would communicate their knowledge of human nature to

their successors, and this would amount to a theory of education since it included a system of manipulating knowledge in order to produce certain definite effects upon individual human beings. With regard to Persia we have a few vague notes, gathered together by Xenophon and strung out into his Cyropadeia. The schools of justice sufficiently indicate the general ideal of the education attempted, and the saying that among the Persians the young were taught to ride, to tell the truth, and to use the bow indicates that there was already a discrimination between moral and physical training. It is not till we come to Greece, however, that we have a full record of both theory and prac tice of education. In Sparta and those states that followed this type, the education was specific both for slaves and for citizens. Each of the slaves had to learn his particular trade; while the citizens were all trained to the same trade-that of soldiering. In states of the Athenian type the education of the citizens was still to a certain extent specific, since every man had to be able to bear arms and to take his share in the government of the state. But there was greater freedom of individual action. All had to learn gymnastics for the body and music for the soul. But into the term 'music' much or little could be read. In Sparta it was confined to the uses that could be made of it in warfare and the things connected with warfare. In Athens it was made to include poetry and literature, and even a certain amount of science. Education was public in both types, began at the age of seven, and was continued to eighteen; though the period from eighteen to thirty might not unfairly have been also called a period of educational probation. In Athens the Sophists arose to meet the demand for individual instruction. They were regarded with great disfavour by the more conservative statesmen, as tending to sap the old authority of the state. Aristophanes and Xenophon had no sympathy with them, and did all they could to favour a return to the simplicity of the olden times. It is because he had this thesis to maintain that we regard Xenophon's Cyropadeia with a certain amount of suspicion as a record of what actually was the state of affairs in Persian education. In Plato's Republic and in Aristotle's Ethics and Politics we have the first recorded systematic statements of educational theory. In both cases we have the current state of Greek education taken as the basis of the theory; though in the case of Plato we have this used with great freedom as the mere material for an imaginative reconstruction, whereas in the case of Aristotle we have the experience of the past used as a guide in the logical development of a general theory.

Among the Romans education was essentially specific. The citizen was trained to fulfil his duties as citizen whether in peace or in war. While the great nobles had private tutors for their sons, the ordinary citizens sent their boys to schools that bore very clearly the impress of Greek influence. On the theoretical side, Roman education is best represented in Quintilian's Institutes of Oratory, in which an account is given of the education of an orator. By profession Quintilian was a trainer of orators. But among the Romans an orator was not a mere maker of speeches. He was a man of affairs, both civil and warlike. Before a man could hope to be an orator he had to become an all-round well-trained man. Accordingly the education of an orator resolved itself into general training and special. Quintilian considered the educand in all his relations and not merely as an orator, though no doubt oratory was the goal of the specific education up to which the general led. Thus it is that his Institutes is regarded as one of the classics of education. With the introduction of Christianity

a different view was naturally adopted. Instead of seeking to train men who would be useful to the state and capable of governing other men, it turned to the spiritual development of the individual. Men were still to be trained as citizens, but of a city not made with hands. The beginnings of Christian education are to be found in the catechumenal schools, where neophytes were instructed in the doctrines of the faith before admission to membership of the Church. These schools, at first very informal, gradually developed into definite institutions, and are commonly known as catechetical schools, from the question-and-answer form of the instruction. The natural development followed. As Christian dogma became more firmly established and more logically elaborated it demanded more and more intellectual skill to understand it. Accordingly, there was a differentiation between the mere lay pupil and the pupil who had capacity and inclination for deeper study. An intellectual atmosphere was cultivated, and those who aspired to office in the Church had to give evidence of power to deal with the new body of doctrine. Gradually the schools became the repositories of whatever learning was available at the time. As the Roman empire decayed, the distinction between the pagan schools and the Christian would become more marked, and the increasing organisation of the Church would give the Christian schools an advantage. Gradually schools became attached to all the great churches and cathedrals, and the concentration of whatever learning there was into church connections became more and more marked. Parallel with this bookish learning went on the practical education of life. There was an education of the castle as well as of the cloister. The soldier, the artisan, and the merchant found education for themselves. The boy of common birth but warlike connections received instruction in arms in the castle courtyard; as page and as squire, the well-born was prepared for the duties of knighthood; the apprentice was trained to his craft, and the son of the merchant to business.

The further development of the bookish side of Christian education led to the establishment of the universities, which were to a considerable extent free institutions so far as teaching went, though the influence of the Church is manifest in the limitations within which the schoolmen did their ingenious thinking. It was after five centuries of this over-elaborate refinement of thinking that the reaction came in the form of the Renaissance. The rediscovery of the classical literatures must be regarded as merely one of the important elements of a great movement that signified the bursting of the fetters of human thought. It is at this stage that the 'isms' of education begin-the first, very naturally, being humanism. As a philosophy of life it resolves itself into the claim for free development of the individual; each is to be entitled to develop the humanity that is within him. The joy of living is to be recognised, and artificial restraints are to be removed. In its essence humanism is not necessarily a bookish movement. In fact, part of its creed is a protest against the limitations of books, and a plea for more life and fuller. In education, however, the humanistic movement naturally depended upon books to bring back the ideas of the old classical times which, seen through the haze of centuries, seemed to offer a freer and happier medium of life-realisation than could be found in the present. But while the early humanists made an extensive use of books, it was for the sake of the matter they contained. Their aim was not the study of languages as such, but the use of language in order to get at the thoughts of the writers of the classical times. It was not till humanism had lost

its early enthusiasm, and had hardened into a complicated system of education, that the claim was put forward that the mere classical languages as such were the best educational instrument. Scholarship in the narrower sense of that word did not form an essential part of the original humanistic ideal. The Renaissance schools began in the true spirit of humanism. Vittorino da Feltre's (13781446) school at Mantua realised the older humanistic ideals, and justified them by the very name it adopted-The pleasant house.' The same cannot be said for John Sturm (1507-89), whose gymnasium at Strasburg exemplified the mechanical degeneration of the humanistic ideal. With him education was mere linguistic. The school course was divided up into the work of the ten classes. Each pupil had to fit into the Procrustean limits of each class, for it was as great an offence to be in front of the work of the class as to be behind it. Yet, such as it was, Sturm's gymnasium has proved the type on which the German system of secondary education has been modelled. It is sometimes said that our own English public schools are the lineal descendants of the Strasburg institution; but while there may be an element of historical truth in the assertion, it must be borne in mind that our English schools have developed another side on which they justly pride themselves. While the Continental schools surpass ours in regard to instruction, ours claim precedence in so far as education is involved. Old Sturm would certainly not acknowledge the present English public school as approaching his ideal.

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What is called realism in education is usually regarded as a reaction from humanism. Its usual cry is, 'Things, not words.' It is easy to show that it is possible to over-emphasise things quite as much as words. The truth naturally is that we must not-in fact, cannot-separate things and words. The real motto ought to be, "Things and words in their proper relations.' Nothing else is of any value. Realism is, therefore, a protest against verbalism, rather than against humanism. As a matter of fact, the humanists are as keen about the realities of life as are the professed realists. only a degenerate humanism that lays itself open to attack on the grounds of verbalism. John Amos Comenius (1592-1670), for example, is usually classed as a realist, yet most of his text-books are little more than collections of words. It is true that he makes a special point of correlating, as far as possible, words and ideas. His Orbis Pictus, for instance, consists of a series of words and phrases directly connected with a set of pictures, the more complicated of which have careful reference-marks. It may be just as truly said that he approaches things through words as that he approaches words through things. The truth is that there is the greatest difficulty in classifying educational theorists as humanists and realists. We have humanisticrealists like Erasmus, sense-realists like Mulcaster and Bacon, social-realists like Montaigne. modern times, however, there is a more definite meaning attached to the terms humanism and realism. The subject-matter of a school course determines whether it is humanistic or realistic. Matters dealing directly with human interests, and, in particular, languages and the fine arts, are marked off as humanistic; while the natural and physical and mathematical sciences are set apart* as the real of realism. The distinction is most strikingly made in the contrast between the German gymnasien and realschulen.

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Naturalism as a form of educational theory does not concern itself specially with instruction at all, whether in the form of words or of things, but rather with the process of living. Rabelais (14831553) is sometimes classed as a humanistic-realist,

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but he may be equally well ranked with the naturalists. The most striking example of naturalism, however, is Rousseau (1712-78), who in his Emile (1762) gave the world a book that has probably had more influence on education than any other that has ever been published. His principle is that man is born good, but is gradually corrupted by society. Education consists, therefore, in keeping the child free from contamination till such times as his character is fully formed. cation is thus negative. The educand is to be allowed to develop naturally without any external influence. The only book he is to be allowed to read is Robinson Crusoe, and the only people he is to be allowed to have communication with are his tutor and the people of the house and village, from whom it would be impossible to isolate him without making him practically a prisoner. But the tutor is to do all the manipulation of life, and a thoroughly artificial system is the result of this naturalistic scheme. Naturalism in education is now mainly associated with reactions against an over-bookish tendency. The athletic side of our English schools represents the naturalistic movement, and several private schools in England have been established on professedly naturalistic lines. There is a good deal of confusion in educational theory about the meaning of the term nature in connection with naturalism. It may mean either the nature of things or the nature of the educand. Obviously the two meanings run into each other, and it may not unreasonably be maintained that the nature of the educand must necessarily be included in the nature of things. But it is of some consequence where the incidence of the emphasis occurs. It has been claimed, for example, that Rousseau is the first writer who has adopted what Dr Stanley Hall calls the paidocentric point of view-that is, the view that regards the whole problem of education from the standpoint of the nature of the educand. He must, however, share this honour with John Locke (1632-1704), who in his Thoughts on Education, an unsystematic but very practical treatment of the educational problem, gave us the first book that makes the child the centre of the problem. The Jesuits, too, in their educational system made a very definite application of the paidocentric view. The idealist writers on education, who were powerfully influenced by Rousseau, are very much inclined to adopt the policy of following nature without analysing too closely the connotation of the term. Pestalozzi (1746-1827) and Froebel (1783-1852) both base their theories on a more or less clear appreciation of the idealist philosophy prevalent in their time. There is no doubt that if Froebel had been questioned whether he proposed to follow the nature of the child, or nature in the sense of the nature of things, he would have replied that it did not matter, as it would be impossible to follow the one without following the other. Pestalozzi's influence was that of a prophet rather than a philosopher. He knew little about psychology, and produced his remarkable results by the sheer force of personality and native insight. Froebel was much more systematic -too systematic, some of his critics maintain. His kindergarten system is built up on a metaphor. The school is regarded as a garden and the children as the plants. The teacher has the office of gardener. The plant-metaphor is excellent so far as it goes; but it necessarily breaks down, because children, in plain English, are not plants, but something much higher. The introduction of the idea of self-consciousness must modify the whole position. However, as a stage in the development of true educational theory, Froebel's work was of the first importance, and the later developments of his system are on the whole satisfactory.

The Froebelian position tends to become too negative. A passivity, a following,' comes to be a rather depressing ideal; so the more positive doctrine of Johann Friedrich Herbart (1776–1841 ) was very generally welcomed. Founding on an atomistic psychology that cannot be defended, he erected a system of educational theory in which the value of nurture is emphasised as opposed to the paralysing view that everything depends upon original endowment. It is hardly too much to say that Herbart regarded as possible a process that would be named by the older philosophers an implanting of faculty' in the educand. The Froebelians and the Herbartians each over-emphasise one aspect of the truth. Between the two comes Dr Maria Montessori, who gives the Froebelian self-activity a practical turn, and applies to the education of normal children the lessons she learnt in using the motor methods that have proved so successful in training defectives. The materialists, as represented by La Mettrie (1709-51), D'Holbach (1723-89), Helvétius (17151771), and Huxley (1825-95), treat the human being as a machine, and in this way simplify a great many of the problems of education for those who can accept their premises. Herbert Spencer (1820-1903) represents the evolutionaryutilitarian point of view, and his little book on Education, in spite of the criticisms to which it has been subjected by educational experts (or perhaps because of these criticisms), has probably exercised more influence than any other book on education published in English during the 19th century. At the present moment educational theory has become more consolidated than it has ever been before. There is now a large body of views that are generally accepted, however much opinions may differ in other particulars. The most promising line of advance at present appears to be in the quantitative analysis of educational problems, and in the experimental work associated with such names as Meumann, Dewey, Claparède, and Nunn. The correlation formulæ of Pearson and Spearman hold out great hopes. Expert psychologists are at present collaborating with experienced students of education all over the world, and there is every prospect of valuable results.

ENGLAND.-By the Education Statute of 1406 the English parliament had proclaimed the right of every man and woman 'to set their son or daughter to take learning at any school that pleaseth them within the realm.' Then in 1410 the Court of Common Pleas decided that by the common law of England any one had a right to teach. There was thus in England freedom of learning and freedom of teaching. The law did not recognise the right of the Church to monopolise the licensing of teachers. Yet, as a matter of fact, it was for centuries practically impossible to teach in schools without a license from some church official. The history of national education in England, from the 14th century onwards, is largely a record of the struggles between different religious parties for the control of the schools. It has been shown by recent investigations that in the last quarter of the 14th century there was a much more complete system of primary, secondary, and university edu cation than had been generally supposed. Through the struggles with Lollardy the system as a system was broken down, though the effect of the Lollard spirit on the education actually given was good. The increased use of the vernacular and the greater freedom of thought were gains for education. A similar movement marked the great Reformation, of which the Lollard movement was the precursor. There was an advance in the national ideal of education, but this was accompanied by an actual set-back to the national system. The new learning