ity. One can usually distinguish a person by his intonation. It is a part of his make-up. In the same way, one should be able to distinguish individuals by their handwriting. Individuality ought to reveal itself through the hand as well as through the tongue. It would be wrong to make all pupils intone in the same way, or gesticulate in exactly the same manner, or assume the same facial expression in response to any stimulus. So it seems wasteful to try to force a certain style of penmanship on all pupils, regardless of their individual temperaments.

It is not intended to imply that a pupil should have no guidance or instruction in handwriting. Of Instruction course, he must be guided in his efforts in technique to write a legible form, especially in the beginning. It will be of help to a child when he is beginning to walk to give him assistance. Also one can do something toward helping him to acquire spoken language, though formal instruction can not accomplish much in this regard. Perhaps more attention should be given to writing at the start than to any of these other activities. But once a pupil gets started in the use of penmanship as a means of expression, then the chief emphasis should be put always upon the thing to be expressed. If his writing is not legible, there will be need for greater care, just as when his speech can not be interpreted he

must make an effort to improve it so that he can be understood. It is probable that if we should follow this principle in our criticism of a pupil's handwriting, we would accomplish the most we can for him.

It may be mentioned in this connection that a study of the life of a child outside of school will show that he learns a great deal more or less incidentally while he is active in other directions. This is especially true in respect to his acquiring the means of doing things. The child never gives much, if any, conscious attention to walking; he simply keeps in his attention the objects he wishes to attain. Again, the child gives very little conscious attention to the learning of oral language. He endeavors to make himself understood. His mind is always filled with some idea to be conveyed, and the very complicated processes of speech are required with but slight deliberate effort. The child of three or four years is an expert in gesture, in facial expression, and the like, and yet he rarely endeavors consciously to acquire these arts. So one might go on at length to mention activities, skill, and ability which the child acquires without making them a matter of formal study. In all such cases, the end to be attained is the thing in the focus of consciousness, and the means of attaining it are gained on the side, as it were. The principle undoubtedly applies to the

mastery of technique in handwriting and the like, though not to such an extent as in speech, perhaps. This question of magnifying technique, especially in the early years, brings up other problems assoToo great emphasis ciated directly with it. The upon technique may Italian children are, as a rule, lead to nervous neurotic. They show nervous overstrain

grades of school.

overstrain even in the first There are undoubtedly many reasons for this; but it is probable that a potent cause of nervousness is too great insistence upon finely coördinated work in writing and the like. The problems arising here have been well presented in a letter to the present writer from a teacher in an eastern city. She says: "In an institute last summer, a lecturer stated that children just starting to write ought not to be permitted to make small-sized letters. He said their writing should be three or four times as large as the ordinary writing of a grown person. He thought it would injure the child's writing if he did fine, small work at the outset. But I have found in all my experience that the youngest children like to write as small as possible. I can not remember any child just starting in to write who ever of his own accord wrote in a large way, such as the lecturer advised. If the thoughts presented in the lecture are

correct, why is it that very young children always wish to write in such a small hand? I have noticed that they grasp their pencils tightly and bear on."

It is unquestionably true that children five or six years of age, when required to write with a pen or pencil, will tend to make unusually small forms. They will seize the writing instrument tightly between their fingers and "bear on". So far as I have observed, all teachers of young children must constantly work against the child's tendency to write in a cramped way, provided it is thought that this is injurious, either to his nervous system or to the development of efficiency in writing. The letter suggests that it is "natural" for children to write in this manner; and this brings up a difficult problem. It seems reasonable that if children almost universally write as indicated, this style must be "natural."

But we should doubtless look at the matter from another standpoint. It is probable nature never designed that a child of five years should write with a pen or a pencil. At this tender age he has not acquired delicate, precise coördination of his fingers, such as is required in fine writing. Test him in threading a needle, for instance, and you will see that he grasps the thread and the needle in an extremely tense way, much as he grasps his pen when

he tries to write. On the other hand, if you ask him to execute a task requiring crude strength rather than delicate coördination, you will find that he can perform it without undue strain or stress. For instance, he can use a knife in whittling usually with success, because he can grasp it with the whole hand, instead of simply with the tips of the thumb and fingers. Nature probably intended that a child of five or six should apply himself only to tasks that permit of rather coarse, non-precise actions, instead of fine coördination and precise control.

Ask a child of five to perform delicately coördinated movements, and he will try to execute them by using crude power rather than precise coördination. When he undertakes a delicate task he appears to say: "Now I must make a great effort to do this." And "great effort" means using muscles for all they are worth. It means "bearing on" or pushing hard or grasping tightly with the fingers, and so on. In the adult's consciousness, a fine task like writing is interpreted to require exact control of the fingers without the use of the biceps, so that there is no undue force exerted. One can not observe in a well-trained adult when he is writing, any muscular tension in the face, in the hands, or even in the fingers which are controlling the pen. There is practically no muscular effort; there is simply very