A child comes to you, for example, and says,
"Will you tell me, sir, where the next lesson is?"
"Were you not in the class at the time?"
"Yes, sir; but I have forgotten."
"Well, I have forgotten too. I have a great many classes to hear, and,
of course, great many lessons to assign, and I never remember them. It
is not necessary for me to remember."
"May I speak to one of the class to ask about it?"
"You can not speak, you know, till the Study Card is down; you may
then."
"But I want to get my lesson now."
"I don't know what you will do, then. I am sorry you don't remember.
"Besides," continues the teacher, looking pleasantly, however, while he
says it, "if I knew, I think I ought not to tell you."
"Why, sir?"
"Because, you know, I have said I wish the scholars to remember where
the lessons are, and not come to me. You know it would be very unwise
for me, after assigning a lesson once for all in the class, to spend my
time here at my desk in assigning it over again to each individual one
by one. Now if I should tell _you_ where the lesson is now, I should
have to tell others, and thus should adopt a practice which I have
condemned."
Take another case. You assign to a class of little girls a subject of
composition, requesting them to copy their writing upon a sheet of
paper, leaving a margin an inch wide at the top, and one of half an inch
at the sides and bottom. The class take their seats, and, after a short
time, one of them comes to you, saying she does not know how long an
inch is.
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