been raining, and when
the sun shone, the vapour began to rise from the grass. "Does the man
mowing _make_ the smoke rise from the grass?" said the little boy. He
was not laughed at for this simple question. The man's mowing
immediately preceded the rising of the vapour; the child had never
observed a man mowing before, and it was absolutely impossible that he
could tell what effects might be produced by it; he very naturally
imagined, that the event which immediately preceded the rising of the
vapour, was the cause of its rise; the sun was at a distance; the
scythe was near the grass. The little boy showed by the tone of his
inquiry, that he was in the philosophic state of doubt; had he been
ridiculed for his question; had he been told that he talked nonsense,
he would not, upon another occasion, have told us his thoughts, and he
certainly could not have improved in reasoning.

The way to improve children in their judgment with respect to
causation, is to increase their knowledge, and to lead them to try
experiments by which they may discover what circumstances are
essential to the production of any given effect; and what are merely
accessory, unimportant concomitants of the event.[88]

A child who, for the first time, sees blue and red paints mixed
together to produce purple, could not be certain that the pallet on
which these colours were mixed, the spatula with which they were
tempered, were not necessary circumstances. In many cases, the vessels
in which things are mixed are essential; therefore, a sensible child
would repeat the experiment exactly in the same manner in which he had
seen it succeed. This exactness should not be suffered to become
indolent imitation, or superstitious adherence to particular forms.
Children should be excited to add or deduct particulars in trying
experiments, and to observe the effects of these changes. In
"Chemistry," and "Mechanics," we have pointed out a variety of
occupations, in which the judgment of children may be exercised upon
the immediate objects of their senses.

It is natural, perhaps, that we should expect our pupils to show
surprise at those things which excite surprise in our minds; but we
should consider that almost every thing is new to children; and,
therefore, there is scarcely any gradation in their astonishment. A
child of three or four years old, would be as much amused, and,
probably, as much surprised, by seeing a paper kite fly, as he could
by beholding