ning, as in the lower seminaries. Were it possible to
have a Normal School, not which should undertake to teach the entire
encyclopaedia of the sciences, but which, limiting itself to its one main
function of developing the art and mystery of communicating knowledge,
should turn out College Professors, and even Divinity, Law, and Medical
Professors,--men who were really skilful teachers,--it would work a
change in those venerable institutions as marked and decisive as that
which it is now effecting in the common schools. Of course, no such
scheme is possible; certainly, none such is contemplated. But I am very
sure I shall not be considered calumnious, when I express the
conviction, that there are learned and eminent occupants of Professors'
chairs, who might find great benefit in an occasional visit to a good
Normal School, or even to the class-room of a teacher trained in a
Normal School. I certainly have seen, in the very lowest department of
the common school, a style of teaching, which, for a wise and
intelligent comprehension of its object, and for its quickening power
upon the intellect and conscience, would compare favorably with the very
best teaching I have ever seen in a College or University.

I come back, then, to the point from which I set out, namely, that a
Normal School, or Teachers' Seminary, differs essentially from every
other kind of school. It aims to give the knowledge and skill that are
needed alike in all schools. To make the point a little plainer, let me
restate, with what clearness I can, some of the elementary truths and
facts which lie at the foundation of the whole subject. Though to many
of my readers it may be going over a beaten track, it may not be so to
all; and we all do well, even in regard to known and admitted truths, to
bring them occasionally afresh to the mind.

As it has been already said, a man may know a thing perfectly, and yet
not be able to teach it. Of course, a man cannot teach what he does not
know. He must first have the knowledge. But the mere possession of
knowledge does not make one a teacher, any more than the possession of
powder and shot makes him a marksman, or the possession of a rod and
line makes him an angler. The most learned men are often unfortunately
the very men who have least capacity for communicating what they know.
Nor is this incapacity confined to those versed in book knowledge. It is
common to every class of men, and to every kind of knowledge.