The student of political economy sees clearly enough the need of greater thrift and frugality in the nation; but where and when do we propose to develop these virtues?  Precious little time is given to them in most schools, for their cultivation does not yet seem to be insisted upon as an integral part of the scheme.  Here and there an inspired human being seizes on the thought that the child should really be taught how to live at some time between the ages of six and sixteen, or he may not learn so easily afterward.  Accordingly, the pupils under the guidance of that particular person catch a glimpse of eternal verities between the printed lines of their geographies and grammars.  The kindergarten makes the growth of every-day virtues so simple, so gradual, even so easy, that you are almost beguiled into thinking them commonplace.  They seem to come in, just by the way, as it were, so that at the end of the day you have seen thought and word and deed so sweetly mingled that you marvel at the “universal dovetailedness of things,” as Dickens puts it.  They will flourish better in the school, too, when the cheerful hum of labor is heard there for a little while each day.  The kindergarten child has “just enough” strips for his weaving mat,—­none to lose, none to destroy; just enough blocks in each of his boxes, and every one of them, he finds, is required to build each simple form.  He cuts his square of paper into a dozen crystal-shaped bits, and behold! each one of these tiny flakes is needed to make a symmetrical figure.  He has been careless in following directions, and his form of folded paper does not “come out” right.  It is not even, and it is not beautiful.  The false step in the beginning has perpetuated itself in each succeeding one, until at the end either partial success or complete failure meets his eye.  How easy here to see the relation of cause to effect!  “Courage!” says the kindergartner; “better fortune next time, for we will take greater pains.”  “Can you rub out the ugly, wrong creases?” “We will try.  Alas, no!  Wrong things are not so easily rubbed out, are they?” “Use your worsted quite to the end, dear:  it costs money.”  “Let us save all the crumbs from our lunch for the birds, children; do not drop any on the floor:  it will only make work for somebody else.”  And so on, to the end of the busy, happy day.  How easy it is in the kindergarten, how seemingly difficult later on!  It seems to be only books afterward; and “books are good enough in their own way, but they are a mighty bloodless substitute for life.”

The most superficial observer values the industrial side of the kindergarten, because it falls directly in line with the present effort to make some manual training a part of school work; but twenty or twenty-five years ago, when the subject was not so popular, kindergarten children were working away at their pretty, useful tasks,—­tiny missionaries helping to show the way to a truth now fully recognized.  As to the value of leading children to habits of industry as early in life as may be, that they may see the dignity and nobleness of labor, and conceive of their individual responsibilities in this world of action, that is too obvious to dwell upon at this time.