ardent prosecution of any one reform, however vital, to produce such a result.  We appoint investigating committees, who ask more and more questions, compile more and more statistics, and get more and more confused every year.  “Are our criminals native or foreign born?” that we may know whether we are worse or better than other people?  “Have they ever learned a trade?” that we may prove what we already know, that idle fingers are the devil’s tools; “Have they been educated?”—­by any one of the sorry methods that take shelter under that much-abused word,—­that we may know whether ignorance is a bliss or a blister; “Are they married or single?” that we may determine the influence of home ties; “Have they been given to the use of liquor?” that we may heap proof on proof, mountain high, against the monster evil of intemperance; “What has been their family history?” that we may know how heavily the law of heredity has laid its burdens upon them.  Burning questions all, if we would find out the causes of crime.

To discover the why and wherefore of things is a law of human thought.  The reform schools, penitentiaries, prisons, insane asylums, hospitals, and poorhouses are all filled to overflowing; and it is entirely sensible to inquire how the people came there, and to relieve, pardon, bless, cure, or reform them as far as we can.  Meanwhile, as we are dismissing or blessing or burying the unfortunates from the imposing front gates of our institutions, new throngs are crowding in at the little back doors.  Life is a bridge, full of gaping holes, over which we must all travel!  A thousand evils of human misery and wickedness flow in a dark current beneath; and the blind, the weak, the stupid, and the reckless are continually falling through into the rushing flood.  We must, it is true, organize our life-boats.  It is our duty to pluck out the drowning wretches, receive their vows of penitence and gratitude, and pray for courage and resignation when they celebrate their rescue by falling in again.  But we agree nowadays that we should do them much better service if we could contrive to mend more of the holes in the bridge.

The kindergarten is trying to mend one of these “holes.”  It is a tiny one, only large enough for a child’s foot; but that is our bit of the world’s work,—­to keep it small! If we can prevent the little people from stumbling, we may hope that the grown folks will have a surer foot and a steadier gait.

A wealthy lady announced her intention of giving $25,000 to some Home for Incurables.  “Why,” cried a bright kindergartner, “don’t you give twelve and a half thousand to some Home for Curables, and then your other twelve and a half will go so much further?”

In a word, solicitude for childhood is one of the signs of a growing civilization.  “To cure, is the voice of the past; to prevent, the divine whisper of to-day.”

What is the true relation of the kindergarten to social reform?  Evidently, it can have no other relation than that which grows out of its existence as a plan of education.  Education, we have all glibly agreed, lessens the prevalence of crime.  That sounds very well; but, as a matter of fact, has our past system produced all the results in this direction that we have hoped and prayed for?