and learn to read. When I asked her what she did all day before I brought her the beads and the little scissors, and she answered, "Oh, I just sat in my rocker, and rocked back and forth, shaking my hands." And when I asked why she did not play and act like other children, she began to cry, and said, "Nobody never told me nothin' else to do till you came."

When six years old, a blind child should be sent to the nearest state school for the blind, or to a special class, if there is such a department in the public schools of the city in which it lives. The necessity of sending the child to school thus early can not be too strongly emphasized, and education of blind children should be made compulsory, just as in the case of ordinary children. This is a measure which should be considered by all those interested in child welfare. The unwillingness of parents to send their children away to boarding school at so early an age is one of the strongest arguments in favor of the special classes in public schools. But it is not possible to have such classes in the small cities and towns, and very often the home conditions are often unsuitable for the proper development of a blind child, and so, in every state, a residential school is an absolute necessity.

Such a school should consist of a kindergarten, primary, intermediate and high school department, and the life of the children should conform as closely as possible to that of a large family in a well-ordered home. Those in charge of the children should be impressed with the responsibility of the task they have undertaken and should do their utmost to assist in the work of fitting the little ones for the preliminary skirmish in the battle of life. All children should have constant supervision during the formative period, but more especially does the blind child need watchful guidance in his work and at his play. Little habits must be broken, awkward movements discouraged, self confidence fostered, and every effort made to develop the child along sane and normal lines, so that, in later life, he may have the poise and bearing so often lacking in those who are blind from early childhood.

It is sometimes claimed that it is not essential that a teacher of the blind be possessed of more than an ordinary education, and this is why so many schools for the blind fail to turn out capable, cultured, self-reliant boys and girls. Dr. Illingworth, the noted English educator, gives the following qualifications for a teacher of the blind: "a sound education, self-control in a high degree, a boundless enthusiasm, a determination to succeed, should be kind and sympathetic, and at the same time firm, and should be true to his word." These are qualifications which should be possessed alike by the blind teacher and sighted teacher, and only teachers so qualified should be entrusted with the divine privilege of bringing light to the minds of these helpless little ones. I wish to add a few more qualifications to Dr. Illingworth's list, and they are these: a broad, comprehending sympathy, a sense of humor, and a heart brimming with love for all children—a heart capable of sharing the joy and grief of every child heart. And I wish to emphasize, in a special manner, one of the doctor's qualifications—namely, "a boundless enthusiasm," and to add yet another, a living, breathing faith that teaching is a divine calling, and that the opportunities for good or ill are limitless. To be successful, a teacher should be able to bring himself to the level of his pupil. I once heard a man say of a great teacher, "he had the heart of a boy, and understood our every thought and feeling."

In many schools for the blind the inspirational value of a blind teacher is overlooked or ignored. In this connection Dr. Illingworth says: "it is almost as impossible for a seeing teacher to realize what it is to be blind, and know all the difficulties of his blind pupil, as for a congenitally blind person to enter into and share with one who can see, the beauty of a glorious picture or landscape." Dr. Illingworth continues, "it takes a seeing teacher to become what might be called a naturalized blind person, that is, one able to see things from the blind point of view; though he is never in the favorable position of a blind teacher who can say to a child, 'do it so; I can do it—I am blind like you.'" In the residential schools Dr. Illingworth recommends that the ratio of blind teachers to seeing should be one to two. He says, "their very presence is a continual inspiration and incentive to the pupils," and he adds, "the education of blind children in those subjects in which the methods of instruction are necessarily and essentially totally different from those of the seeing, is best in the hands of a properly qualified blind teacher." The wisdom of this recommendation is recognized in the largest schools of England and France, and some of them have blind superintendents as well. America is slower to recognize the ability of the blind, but this period of reconstruction and readjustment through which we are passing may quicken their sense of the importance of employing blind teachers and superintendents, whenever possible. Superintendents are no longer required to perform clerical work. All these details are left to stenographers and bookkeepers. Neither is the superintendent expected to teach. But he should be a scholar, a man of culture, with broad vision and high ideals, and with a sympathetic knowledge of the difficulties to be met and overcome by the students in his care. It should be the aim of the residential school to train its pupils along lines best suited to their individual needs, and, when possible, to fit them to become partially self-supporting, if not wholly so.

The child in a residential school knows very little of life outside the buildings, knows little of the trials and struggles going on in its own home, perhaps. Its days are well ordered. It is clothed and fed, and is not expected to practice self-denial or to exercise any of the qualities of courage or fortitude which the exigencies of later life demand. Clarence Hawkes says: "courage a blind person should have above everything else. He must be literally steeped in it. It will not do to have just the ordinary, temporary supply allotted to the average seeing man—he will run out in a single day. But he must have courage that is perennial, a ceaseless fount of it—courage for the morning, courage for the noonday, and courage for the evening. Life is a battle and a struggle which never ends. He must fight for hope and cheer, laughter and happiness, every inch of the way along life's path." Another writer has said, "courage is the standing army of the soul, keeping it from conquest, pillage and slavery." But the child in the residential school knows little of all this, has little occasion to know. Dr. Park Lewis says: "The added importance of having blind children educated with those who see is, that they may realize more keenly the real difficulties of life which are to be met, and which have to be overcome. They will not always find kindness and courtesy, and they must be prepared to adjust themselves to the harder conditions when they arise."

When the child finishes the required curriculum of the residential school, and goes forth to his place in the world, he is often unprepared for the struggle, unable to adjust himself to the altered conditions, lacking in patience, perseverance and pluck; the "three P's" of which Clarence Hawkes so often speaks, and without which he claims no blind person can successfully overcome his handicap. The need for this preparation is better known to a blind teacher or superintendent, and for that reason, if for no other, his presence in the school is desirable. He knows the value of higher education to the blind, and he will urge the pupils to fit themselves for college, reminding them that blindness is a physical, not a