will be a barbaric kingdom of the Shoguns, shorn of every vestige of power and prestige,—­the easy victim of the machinations of Western diplomats.  Let our country cease in its work of education, and these United States must needs pass through the reverse stages of their growth until another race of savages shall roam through the unbroken forest, now and then to reach the shores of ocean and gaze through the centuries, eastward, to catch a glimpse of the new Columbus.  Like the moving pictures of the kinetoscope when the reels are reversed, is the picture that imagination can unroll if we grant the possibility of a lapse from civilization to savagery.

And so when we take the broader view, we quickly see that, in spite of our pessimism, we are doing something in the world.  We are part of that machine which civilization has invented and is slowly perfecting to preserve itself.  We may be a very small part, but, so long as the responsibility for a single child rests upon us, we are not an unimportant part.  Society must reckon with you and me perhaps in an infinitesimal degree, but it must reckon with the institution which we represent as it reckons with no other institution that it has reared to subserve its needs.

In a certain sense these statements are platitudes.  We have repeated them over and over again until the words have lost their tremendous significance.  And it behooves us now and again to revive the old substance in a new form,—­to come afresh to a self-consciousness of our function.  It is not good for any man to hold a debased and inferior opinion of himself or of his work, and in the field of schoolcraft it is easy to fall into this self-depreciating habit of thought.  We cannot hope that the general public will ever come to view our work in the true perspective that I have very briefly outlined.  It would probably not be wise to promulgate publicly so pronounced an affirmation of our function and of our worth.  The popular mind must think in concrete details rather than in comprehensive principles, when the subject of thought is a specialized vocation.  You and I have crude ideas, no doubt, of the lawyer’s function, of the physician’s function, of the clergyman’s function.  Not less crude are their ideas of our function.  Even when they patronize us by saying that our work is the noblest that any man or woman would engage in, they have but a vague and shadowy perception of its real significance.  I doubt not that, with the majority of those who thus pat us verbally upon the back, the words that they use are words only.  They do not envy us our privileges,—­unless it is our summer vacations,—­nor do they encourage their sons to enter service in our craft.  The popular mind—­the nontechnical mind,—­must work in the concrete;—­it must have visible evidences of power and influence before it pays homage to a man or to an institution.

Throughout the German empire the traveler is brought constantly face to face with the memorials that have been erected by a grateful people to the genius of the Iron Chancellor.  Bismarck richly deserves the tribute that is paid to his memory, but a man to be honored in this way must exert a tangible and an obvious influence.