Rhythm as an important educational factor of early childhood is another discovery of his. Froebel sees the natural operation of this in the mother’s dandling of the child up and down on her hand or arm in rhythmic movements and with rhythmic sounds. He writes: “An early pure development of rhythmic movement would prove most wholesome in the succeeding life periods of the human being. We rob ourselves as educators, and we still rob the child as pupil by discontinuing so soon the development of rhythmic movements in early education.... Much willfulness, impropriety, and coarseness would be taken out of his life, his movements, and actions. He would secure more firmness and moderation, more harmony; and, later on, there would be developed in him a higher appreciation of Nature and art, of music and poetry” (5: pp. 70-71). He goes even so far as to say that “for early youth, language representation should assume a rhythmic form, for this is its first form in the early youth of mankind.” He thinks that “all primitive language expressions, as representations of active inner and outer life, are necessarily rhythmic,” and “the loss of this has deprived him and mankind as a whole of one of the foremost, most primitive, and most natural means of elevation” (5: p. 218). Drawing as a means of the child’s self-expression, his natural language, is yet another discovery of Froebel. He says: “The faculty of drawing is, therefore, as much innate in the child, in man, as is the faculty of speech, and demands its development and cultivation as imperatively as the latter; experience shows this clearly in the child’s love for drawing, in the child’s instinctive desire for drawing.” “The word and drawing belong together inseparably, as light and shadow”; they are “mutually explanatory and complementary; for neither one is, by itself, exhaustive and sufficient with reference to the object represented” (5: p. 79). His observation of the development of this drawing instinct in the child is keen and suggestive. “Give the child a bit of chalk or the like, and soon a new creation will stand before him and you. Let the father, too, in a few lines sketch a man, a horse. This man of lines, this horse of lines, will give the child more joy than an actual man, an actual horse would do” (5: p. 77). This linear representation of objects “opens to the child on the threshold of boyhood a new world in various directions. Not only can he represent the outer world in reduced measure, and thus comprehend it more easily with his eyes; not only can he reproduce outwardly what lives in his mind as a reminiscence or new association, but the knowledge of a wholly invisible world, the world of forces, has its tenderest rootlets right here” (5: p. 76).