thus be kept calm. He avoids confusion and perplexity. But no skill or
classification will turn the poor teacher's hundred scholars into one,
or enable him, except to a very limited extent, and for a very limited
purpose, to regard them as one. He has a distinct and, in many respects,
a different work to do for every one of the crowd before him.
Difficulties must be explained in detail, questions must be answered one
by one, and each scholar's own conduct must be considered by itself. His
work is thus made up of a thousand minute particulars, which are all
crowding upon his attention at once, and which he can not group
together, or combine, or simplify. He must, by some means or other,
attend to them in all their distracting individuality. And, in a large
and complicated school, the endless multiplicity and variety of objects
of attention and care impose a task under which few intellects can long
stand.

I have said that this endless multiplicity and variety can not be
reduced and simplified by classification. I mean, of course, that this
can be done only to a very limited extent compared with what may be
effected in the other pursuits of mankind. Were it not for the art of
classification and system, no school could have more than ten scholars,
as I intend hereafter to show. The great reliance of the teacher is upon
this art, to reduce to some tolerable order what would otherwise be the
inextricable confusion of his business. He _must be systematic_. He must
classify and arrange; but, after he has done all that he can, he must
still expect that his daily business will continue to consist of a vast
multitude of minute particulars, from one to another of which the mind
must turn with a rapidity which few of the other employments of life
ever demand.

These are the essential sources of difficulty with which the teacher has