stinctive impulses, it is true, get overlaid by
the secondary reactions due to his superior reasoning power; but thus
man loses the _simply_ instinctive demeanor. But the life of instinct
is only disguised in him, not lost; and when the higher brain-functions
are in abeyance, as happens in imbecility or dementia, his instincts
sometimes show their presence in truly brutish ways.

I will therefore say a few words about those instinctive tendencies
which are the most important from the teacher's point of view.

VII. WHAT THE NATIVE REACTIONS ARE

First of all, _Fear_. Fear of punishment has always been the great
weapon of the teacher, and will always, of course, retain some place in
the conditions of the schoolroom. The subject is so familiar that
nothing more need be said about it.

The same is true of _Love_, and the instinctive desire to please those
whom we love. The teacher who succeeds in getting herself loved by the
pupils will obtain results which one of a more forbidding temperament
finds it impossible to secure.

Next, a word might be said about _Curiosity_. This is perhaps a rather
poor term by which to designate the _impulse toward better cognition_ in
its full extent; but you will readily understand what I mean. Novelties
in the way of sensible objects, especially if their sensational quality
is bright, vivid, startling, invariably arrest the attention of the
young and hold it until the desire to know more about the object is
assuaged. In its higher, more intellectual form, the impulse toward
completer knowledge takes the character of scientific or philosophic
curiosity. In both its sensational and its intellectual form the
instinct is more vivacious during childhood and youth than in after
life. Young children are possessed by curiosity about every new
impression that assails them. It would be quite impossible for a young
child to listen to a lecture for more than a few minutes, as you are now
listening to me. The outside sights and sounds would inevitably carry
his attention off. And, for most people in middle life, the sort of
intellectual effort required of the average schoolboy in mastering his
Greek or Latin lesson, his algebra or physics, would be out of the
question. The middle-aged citizen attends exclusively to the routine
details of his business; and new truths, especially when they require
involved trains of close reasoning, are no longer within the scope of
his capacity.

The sensa