where we at once proceed to show them that we regard cricket as a sort of alleviation of their hard lot, and with football console them for their French lessons, and redress arithmetic by "rounders." There is no reason why this should lead to any neglect of athletics. Only, athletics will be properly treated as only one of the joys of a school life that will be fulfilled of other pleasures equally absorbing. The method which will make education agreeable instead of repulsive is part and parcel of the system on which education will be conducted, and it is only incidentally that it will subserve the concurrent sentimental tenderness which finds expression to-day in unwise use of games in themselves highly beneficial, just as elsewhere it finds expression by cultivating gluttony. [23] The true object of instruction being to show children how to think, the intellectual exercise of thinking will be always found, as it has already long ago been found where this highly unusual method has been experimented with, to give keen pleasure to the instructed. [24] A great deal that has been said both in regard to the excessive and in part exclusive training of memory, and in regard to the propriety of reversing the general order of tuition by proceeding from concrete facts to generalised theories instead of beginning with generalisations and illustrating these by specific instances, is, for practical reasons, hardly likely to be acted upon by our descendants. To begin with, the culture of memory is not in itself an abuse; on the contrary, it is a highly necessary feature of education. What is an abuse is the substitution of remembrance for ratiocination. Teachers in the future will be more anxious to develop the mind from within than to graft information upon it from without. But they certainly will foster the faculty called memory--or to speak more exactly, they will refrain from destroying that faculty in the way that present-day education destroys it. For as a matter of fact, the memory of a young child who has never been taught anything is invariably good, being both copious and retentive. One often hears it said that children quickly forget; but it is also the case that they very quickly remember again. An Anglo-Indian friend told me a somewhat pleasing anecdote which (though of course it does not prove) illustrates a general fact of which anyone can find proofs for himself by a little observation. Having taken home for a year's leave his children, reared, like all other English children in India, amid native servants, and speaking quite correct Urdu instead of the barbarous dog-Hindustani which suffices for their elders, he was under the impression, when the "wicked day of destiny" arrived, and the family had to return from refreshment in England to labour in India, that they had completely forgotten the soft vernacular speech which formerly came much more easily from them than English. And his belief was confirmed when, the children