This definition, which seems fairly to state the conditions under which a problem can be called "real" in the schoolroom, involves three points: (1) people must be liable to meet such a problem; (2) in that case they will solve it in the way suggested by the book; (3) it must be clothed in language familiar to the pupil. For example, let the problem be to find the dimensions of a rectangular field, the data being the area of the field and the area of a road four rods wide that is cut from three sides of the field. As a real problem this is ridiculous, since no one would ever meet such a case outside the puzzle department of a schoolroom. Again, if by any stretch of a vigorous imagination any human being should care to find the area of a piece of glass, bounded by the arcs of circles, in a Gothic window in York Minster, it is fairly certain that he would not go about it in the way suggested in some of the earnest attempts that have been made by several successful teachers to add interest to geometry. And for the third point, a problem is not real to a pupil simply because it relates to moments of inertia or the tensile strength of a steel bar. Indeed, it is unreal precisely because it does talk of these things at a time when they are unfamiliar, and properly so, to the pupil. It must not be thought that puzzle problems, and unreal problems generally, have no value. All that is insisted upon is that such problems as the above are not "real," and that about 90 per cent of problems that go by this name are equally lacking in the elements that make for reality in this sense of the word. For the other 10 per cent of such problems we should be thankful, and we should endeavor to add to the number. As for the great mass, however, they are no better than those that have stood the test of generations, and by their pretense they are distinctly worse. It is proper, however, to consider whether a teacher is not justified in relating his work to those geometric forms that are found in art, let us say in floor patterns, in domes of buildings, in oilcloth designs, and the like, for the purpose of arousing interest, if for no other reason. The answer is apparent to any teacher: It is certainly justifiable to arouse the pupil's interest in his subject, and to call his attention to the fact that geometric design plays an important part in art; but we must see to it that our efforts accomplish this purpose. To make a course in geometry one on oilcloth design would be absurd, and nothing more unprofitable or depressing could be imagined in connection with this subject. Of course no one would advocate such an extreme, but it sometimes seems as if we are getting painfully near it in certain schools.