Original intention of the gallery—What lessons are adapted for it—Its misapplication—Selection of teachers—Observations—Gallery lessons an a feather—A spider—A piece of bog-turf—A piece of coal—Observations on the preceding lessons—Scripture lessons in the gallery—The finding of Moses—Christ with the doctors—Moral training—Its neglect in most schools—Should be commenced in infancy—Beneficial effects of real moral culture—Ignorance of teachers—The gallery most useful in moral training—Specimen of a moral lesson—Illustrations of moral culture—Anecdotes—Simpson on moral education—Observations—Hints to teachers.
There is no part of the infant system which has been more misunderstood, than the system of giving lessons in the gallery; and hence I have thought it necessary to devote a larger space to the subject, than I did in the former editions of this work. The gallery was originally intended by me, to give the children such lessons as appealed directly to the senses, either orally or by representative objects: thus the teaching arithmetic by the frame and balls, inasmuch as it appealed to the eye as well as to the understanding, was suitable for a gallery lesson. The same observations hold good with respect to a Scripture picture, or the representation of an animal, a tree, or any object that can be presented to the eye. We have also found it very useful in teaching the catechism, or anything that is to be committed to memory, and this part of our plan has proved so useful and successful, that it has been adopted in many schools for older children of both sexes, I mean in the Normal schools of Glasgow and Edinburgh, the Corporation Schools of Liverpool, and the government Model Schools at Dublin. In the two latter the arrangements, both in the fittings up of the play-grounds, galleries, and school-rooms, were made under my especial inspection, and I have no doubt that the use of the gallery, when it becomes more generally known in large schools, will become universal.
The taught should see the face of the teacher in these lessons, and the teacher should see the face of the taught: it establishes a sympathy between both to the advantage of each. The face is the index to the mind, and at times shews the intention, even without words. Some animals can read this index: the horse, the dog, the elephant, and many of the higher order of animals. Children can always read the countenance of the sincere, the wise, and the good. Yea! mere infants can. Reader! Don't smile! were this the time and place, I could demonstrate these opinions by facts. This is not a book for controversy and metaphysical disquisition; but for use to teachers. When the children and teachers see each other, as in the gallery, the effect is highly beneficial. This may be proved by any teacher. As to the cause for this effect, it would be out of place to argue it here. I therefore simply state it is true. Sympathy is a power destined to be of use in teaching, and hereafter will be better understood.
Many friends to infant education, and casual visitors, having found these erections in infant schools, have concluded that the children should always be sitting on them, which is a fatal error, and deprives the children of that part of the system which legislates for the exercise of their locomotive powers, such as the spelling and reading lessons, and the method of teaching object lessons, as described in another part of this work: the consequence has been, that the schools have become mere parrot-schools, and the children are restless and inattentive. And this has not been the only evil that has attended a misapplication of the gallery; for the teachers, for want of knowing the system properly, have been at a loss how to occupy the time of the children, and scores of teachers have ruined their own constitutions, and also the constitutions of some of the children, by the perpetual talking and singing, which, I am sorry to say, too many consider to be the sum total of the system: and I may state here, that the children should never be more than one hour at a time, or, at most two hours, during the day, in the gallery. All beyond this is injurious to the teacher, and doubly so to the little pupils. The forenoon is always the best time for gallery lessons; the teacher's mind is more clear, and the minds of the children are more receptive. After the children have taken their dinner they should be entertained with the object lessons, a small portion of spelling and reading, and the rest of the afternoon should be devoted to moral and physical teaching in the play-ground, if the weather will at all permit it. The more you rob your children of their physical education to shew off their intellectual acquirements, the more injury you do their health and your own; and in the effort to do too much, you violate the laws of nature, defeat your own object, and make the school a hot-bed of precocity, instead of a rational infants' school for the training and educating infants. I have been blamed, by writers on the infant system, for that which I never did, and never recommended; I have been made answerable for the errors and mis-conceptions of others, who have not troubled themselves to read my writings; and, in their anxiety to produce something new and original, have strayed from the very essential parts of the plan, and on this account I am charged by several writers with being unacquainted with the philosophy of my own system. I thought three-and-thirty years ago that if I could arrest public attention to the subject, it was as much as could be expected. I knew very well at that time that a dry philosophical detail would neither be received or read. My object was to appeal to the senses of the public by doing the thing in every town where practicable. By this method I succeeded, where the other would have failed, but it by no means followed that I was unacquainted with the philosophy of my own plans, merely because I preferred the doing of the thing to the writing about it. Believing, however, that the time has now arrived, and that the public mind is better prepared than it was then, I have thought I might venture to go a little more into detail, in order to remove some well founded objections, which, but for this reason, would not have existed. The infant mind, like a tender plant, requires to be handled and dealt with carefully, for if it be forced and injudiciously treated during the first seven years of its existence, it will affect its whole constitution as long as it lives afterwards. There are hundreds of persons who will not believe this, and those persons will employ mere boys and girls to teach infants. Let them do so if they please; I simply protest against it, and merely give it as my opinion that it is highly improper to do so. If ever infant schools are to become real blessings to the country, they must be placed under the care of wise, discreet, and experienced persons, for no others will be fit or able to develop and cultivate the infant faculties aright. I have felt it necessary to make these remarks, because in different parts of the country I have found mere children employed as school-masters and school-mistresses, to the great detriment of the young committed to their charge, and the dishonour of the country that permits it. No wise man would put a mere child to break his colts; none but a foolish one would employ an inexperienced boy to break in his dogs; even the poultry and pigs would be attended by a person who knew something about them; but almost any creature who can read and write, and is acquainted with the first rules of arithmetic, is too frequently thought a fit and proper person to superintend infants. I know many instances of discarded servants totally unfit, made teachers of infants, merely to put them in place; to the destruction of the highest and most noble of God's creatures! which I contend infants are. To expect that such persons can give gallery lessons as they ought to be given, is expecting what will never, nor can take place. The public must possess different views of the subject; more rational ideas on the art of teaching must be entertained, and greater remuneration must be given to teachers, and greater efforts made to train and educate them, to fit them for the office, before any very beneficial results can be seen; and it is to produce such results, and a better tone of feeling on the subject, that I have thus ventured to give my opinion more in detail. Efficient gallery lessons—efficient teachers must be made. They do not at present exist in large numbers, and can only be made by a suitable reward being held out to them, and by their being placed under the superintendence of experienced persons acquainted with the art. The art of teaching is no mean art, and must, sooner or later, take its proper rank amongst the other sciences. It is a science which requires deep study and knowledge of human character, and is only to be learned like all other sciences, by much perseverance and practice. In another work, on the education of older children, I have given some specimens of gallery lessons; in this I shall endeavour to give a few specimens of what I think useful lessons for infants, and shall also try to clothe them in language suited to the infant apprehensions; and I sincerely hope they may shew in a plain manner the method of giving this species of instruction to the children, and that teachers who were before ignorant of it, may be benefitted thereby. I shall not pretend to give my opinion as to whether I have succeeded, but will leave this point entirely to the judgment and candour of my readers; for I know by experience that it is a very difficult thing to put practice into theory; and although this may seem paradoxical, yet I have no doubt that many have experienced the very same results when trying to explain theoretically on paper what they have with ease practised a thousand times.
These oral lessons on real objects ought to be given in pure, simple, and plain language, level to the understanding and capacity of children. It may be well at times to use words of a more difficult or scientific character; but these should always have the proper explanation given; the words used most frequently in common life, in ordinary and proper conversation, ought to be most strongly impressed on their memories. It may, perhaps, be retorted on me—why then teach the difficult and scientific names of geometrical figures. The answer is very simple. Most of them have no other, and where they have I always give them also, as sloping, slanting, inclined, for oblique. The geometrical figures are the elements of all forms, and the simplest objects which can be presented to the young. I have found them always learned with the greatest ease and pleasure. Pestalozzi, I have understood, was led to the use of them by observing the wants of the young mind, in a similar manner that I was myself. This is, therefore, one of the many coincidences in thought and discovery by minds wholly independent of each other, which have been directed to the same subjects. This is an evitable result. If two men look at the moon, both must see that it is round, bright, and mottled; and if two minds far apart, turn their attention to similar subjects, the probability is that their views will coincide. The most powerful mind will of course make the deepest and simplest discovery.
Object lessons should be given chiefly on such things as fall under more constant observation and are daily coming before the sight, and then useful knowledge will be accumulated, and frequently reimpressed upon the memory by the seeing of the objects.
GALLERY LESSONS ON A FEATHER.
We will suppose the children all properly seated, the little girls on one side of the gallery and the little boys on the other, as represented on the plan-plate. If the morning is fine and clear, a lesson may be given on an object that the children are not frequently in the habit of seeing; but should the weather be hazy, and the atmosphere heavy, then a lesson must be given on some object which they all frequently see, say, for example, a feather. The feather must be held up in the hand, or placed in a small niche on the top of a pointer, so that every child will see it, and it must be moved about in various directions to arrest their attention. The first lesson should be pure development, which is to get every idea from the children relative to the object before you. Explain to them yours; as for example,
"What is this?" The universal shout will be, "A feather." You may then ask them, What are its uses? Some little creatures will say, to blow about; others will say, to cover birds; others will say, to stuff pillows and beds to sleep upon. Having got all the information out of them you can in their own simple language, you have acted according to nature's law, and it is now your turn to infuse additional information into their minds, and, give them the benefit of your superior knowledge; which may be done as follows:—You have told me that feathers are useful to cover birds, it was for this that they were made by God; they keep the birds warm just in the same way as your clothes keep you from being cold; and as the poor birds cannot make themselves clothes as men can, God has given them feathers that they may not be cold when the bad weather comes. The feathers are useful to the birds also in flying; the long feathers in a bird's wing keep him in the air, which he could not fly through if he was covered with any thing else, because feathers are very light. Seven of the large feathers out of the great eagle's wing would not weigh more than two halfpennies. The wings of a bird make him able to fly, and the tail guides him through the air, just as you may see the men steer boats with the rudder; and if you pulled the feathers off his tail, he would not be able to fly near so straight or fast as when they are on. When the rain falls on the feathers, they are never soaked through with it as a piece of rag would be if you threw water on it, because they are covered with a sort of oil which does not let in the water. If you ever look at a duck dive into the water, you can see it when it comes up quite dry; but if you dipped you head into the water it would wet it all over. When little birds, such as the sparrow and canary, come out of the egg, they have no feathers on, but the old ones cover them with their wings to keep the cold away, and the feathers soon grow, and then they can fly away and find food and make nests for themselves; but large birds, such as the goose, turkey, hen, and duck, have a sort of soft down on them when they come out of the shell, and little ducks will go and swim as soon as they are hatched, as I suppose some of you have seen.
Some birds' feathers are much prettier than others: the goose has not such pretty feathers as the swan, nor the swan as the peacock; but we must not think ill of the goose for this, for its flesh is better to eat than either the peacock or swan. I am sure many of you little children like roast goose. The peacock has very pretty feathers indeed, and so has the pheasant, and the drake, and the cock; but some birds that live in countries many hundred miles away from this, have much prettier than any bird that lives in this country. This feather that we have for our lesson is the feather of a goose; it is not very pretty, but if we examine it well we shall find it is very curious, and all the men in the world could not make one like it. Goose feathers are the most useful; the small ones make stuffing for pillows and beds, and the large ones make pens to write with. Birds change their feathers often; they drop off and they get new ones; this is called moulting.