e points, and extending from one side of the
heavens to the other, shall be the axis of the earth, and of the sun's
apparent daily motion. A spherical top, turning on its point, shall
represent the heavens revolving on their axis; the two extremities of
the top are the two poles. The child will be interested in knowing one
of them, which I will show him near the tail of Ursa Minor.

This will serve to amuse us for one night. By degrees we shall grow
familiar with the stars, and this will awaken a desire to know the
planets and to watch the constellations.

We have seen the sun rise at midsummer; we will also watch its rising
at Christmas or some other fine day in winter. For be it known that we
are not at all idle, and that we make a joke of braving the cold. I
take care to make this second observation in the same place as the
first; and after some conversation to pave the way for it. One or the
other of us will be sure to exclaim, "How queer that is! the sun does
not rise where it used to rise! Here are our old landmarks, and now it
is rising over yonder. Then there must be one east for summer, and
another for winter." Now, young teacher, your way is plain. These
examples ought to suffice you for teaching the sphere very
understandingly, by taking the world for your globe, and the real sun
instead of your artificial sun.

Things Rather than their Signs.

In general, never show the representation of a thing unless it be
impossible to show the thing itself; for the sign absorbs the child's
attention, and makes him lose sight of the thing signified.

The armillary sphere[2] seems to me poorly designed and in bad
proportion. Its confused circles and odd figures, giving it the look
of a conjurer's apparatus, are enough to frighten a child. The earth
is too small; the circles are too many and too large. Some of them,
the colures,[3] for instance, are entirely useless. Every circle is
larger than the earth. The pasteboard gives them an appearance of
solidity which creates the mistaken impression that they are circular
masses which really exist. When you tell the child that these are
imaginary circles, he understands neither what he sees nor what you
mean.

Shall we never learn to put ourselves in the child's place? We do not
enter into his thoughts, but suppose them exactly like our own.
Constantly following our own method of reasoning, we cram his mind not
only with a concatenation of truths, but al