Many years ago, according to a story which remains vividly in my memory by reason of its grim suggestiveness, two small boys were one day sauntering along a country road. The sight of an orchard, resplendent in its autumn glory of red and green and gold, tempted them with irresistible appeal, as it has tempted thousands of other boys before and since. Over the rail-fence they scrambled, up a well-laden tree they climbed, and soon were merrily at work filling their pockets.

But now from a near-by cottage came the man who owned the orchard, and his coming was the signal for a hasty descent. One of the boys made good his escape; the other, less quick-footed, was dragged, a loudly-protesting captive, to the home of the local magistrate.

“More apple-stealing!” this stern functionary exclaimed. “Something must be done to stop it. Let us make an example of this bad boy.” To prison forthwith he consigned the luckless youth.

His companion, thankful for his happier fate, returned to his home, his school, and his books. From school he went to college, and afterward took up the study of law, beginning his professional career with a reputation for great intellectual ability and strength of character. In course of time he was made a judge.

As judge he was called on to preside at the trial of a man accused of murder. The evidence of guilt was conclusive, conviction speedy. It became his duty to don the black cap and pronounce sentence of death. But before he did this, he was struck with something familiar in the prisoner’s sodden, passion-marked features, made inquiry concerning his early history, and, to his mingled horror and amazement, learned that the wretched man was none other than the happy, buoyant lad who had first felt the heavy hand of the law on account of the orchard-robbing episode in which the judge, now about to doom him to the scaffold, had gone scot-free.

Than this strange chapter in human experience I can at the moment recall nothing that more strikingly suggests and illustrates the dominant theory in modern scientific thought regarding the offender against society. The implication that the contrasting careers of the two boys were largely determined by circumstances over which they had no control, and that it was the brutalising jail experience of the one and the more fortunate upbringing of the other that chiefly accounted for their diverse fates, unquestionably represents the views held by the great majority of present-day students of delinquency and crime. To be sure, there are not a few who would raise the question, “Might not the boy who was caught in the orchard have ‘gone wrong’ in any event, because of inborn defects?” These are the enthusiasts conspicuous to-day as leaders of the so-called eugenics movement looking to the improvement of mankind on stock-breeding principles—by sterilisation of the “unfit,” stricter marriage laws, etc. Nor can it be denied that they have on their side a formidable array of facts which would seem to demonstrate the unescapable fatality of a bad heredity. On the other hand it is equally certain that there is a steadily growing body of evidence giving ever greater support to the opposite view—to the view, namely, that after all the influence of heredity is of quite secondary importance to that of environment in the marring or making of a human life.

Even the facts emphasised by the eugenists themselves sometimes tend, on close examination, to bear out the belief that it is in the surroundings and training of a child rather than in his heredity that the sources of his ultimate goodness or badness are mainly to be found. The history of the notorious Juke family, featured by almost every modern advocate of the “fatal heredity” theory, is a case in point.

The first Jukes of whom anything is known were five sisters of obscure parentage who lived in Ulster County, New York, in the second half of the eighteenth century. At least four of the five took early to a life of vice, and eventually all married and had children. Many years afterward a visitor to an Ulster County jail noticed that among its inmates, awaiting trial on various charges, were six members of one family, including two boys accused of assault with intent to kill. Inquiry showed that the six were directly descended from the oldest Juke girl, and that more than half of their male blood-relatives in the county were likewise in some degree criminal.

Impressed by these facts the jail visitor, Mr. R. L. Dugdale, determined to make a genealogical research into the life histories of as many of the descendants of the five Juke sisters as could be traced. Altogether it was found possible to obtain pretty complete data concerning seven hundred and nine of these, with the following astonishing results:

Of the entire seven hundred and nine, not twenty had been skilled workers, and ten of these had learned their trade in prison; only twenty-two had been persons of property, and of this number eight had lost the little they acquired; sixty-four had been in the county alms-house; one hundred and forty-two had received outdoor relief; one hundred and twenty-eight had been prostitutes, and eighteen keepers of houses of ill-fame; finally, seventy-six were reported as criminals, with one hundred and fifteen more or less serious crimes to their discredit. All this in seven generations of a single family.

Surely one might well be tempted to find here “the most striking proof of the heredity of crime,” as Cesare Lombroso did not hesitate to pronounce this sad history of the Jukes. But there is something to be added.

Following the publication of Mr. Dugdale’s book, “The Jukes,” giving the family record, there came under the care of a charitable organisation an eighth-generation descendant of the oldest Juke sister, a foundling baby boy, cast upon the tender mercies of the world with all the burden of “innate depravity” transmitted from his vicious ancestors. Instead of taking it for granted that he would inevitably come to an evil end, the charity-workers decided to give him the benefit of a refined environment and good family care. Accordingly a home was found for him with a kind-hearted widow, whose own sons had grown to a worthy manhood, and from her for ten years he received the loving and intelligent training which is the birthright of every child.

At the end of that time he had developed into a fine, manly boy, with, however, a somewhat superabundant fund of animal spirits and a tendency to unruliness. It was evident that, owing to her advanced age, his foster-mother could not give him the stricter discipline he now seemed to need, and arrangements were made for his adoption by a farmer and his wife living in a Western State. By them he was again treated with the utmost affection, coupled with more firmness than he had hitherto known. Little by little his unruliness disappeared; he became eager to excel both at school and in the work of the farm, and soon became known as one of the best boys of the neighbourhood. The older he grew the more evidence he gave of possessing a strong moral foundation on which to build his future career. When last heard from by the charitable organisation to which he owed so much, he had struck out for himself, an alert, vigorous, forceful young man, of sterling character, and full of the self-confidence which wins success.

Moreover, Mr. Dugdale himself, in the course of his exhaustive account of the evil ways of the Jukes, calls attention to the case of a fifth-generation descendant, the daughter of a brothel-keeper, and having two sisters who eventually became prostitutes. Nor did it seem at all likely that she would turn out any better than they; for, before she was fifteen, she had been arrested and imprisoned for vagrancy. But, as good fortune would have it, shortly after her release from jail she met, fell in love with, and married a young German, a cement-burner of steady, industrious habits. Taken by him out of her former debasing environment, given a good home and the example of a strong character, she grew to a reputable womanhood, respected and admired by all who knew her.

Many similar instances of the saving power of good surroundings might be cited. “One of the most useful men I know of to-day,” testifies Mr. Ernest K. Coulter, formerly clerk of the New York Children’s Court, “saw his father murder his mother in cold blood. There was a bad record on her side of the house, too. But a good man saw something in that boy while he was being detained as a witness against his father. As a result of that man’s interest, that boy to-day is serving his fellow-men and his country in a most important field.”

In Pennsylvania an eight-year-old orphan girl of poor parentage, drudge in a city boarding-house, with no companionship except that of ignorant servants, was heralded in the newspapers as a “prodigy of crime” because she had been caught setting fire to a house. When asked in court why she had done this, she made the frank reply, “To see the fire burn and the engines run.” There being at that time no probation system in Pennsylvania, she was promptly sentenced to the House of Refuge, where, like the boy sent to jail for stealing apples, she would be sure to come under the influence of vile associates.

But, more fortunate than the boy of the orchard, this child had an unknown friend at court, Mrs. Hannah K. Schoff, who interceded with the judge and gained his permission to place the little incendiarist in a good home instead of the House of Refuge. Five years afterward, reporting to the International Prison Commission the result of her experiment, Mrs. Schoff was able to declare that this dangerous juvenile criminal had developed into “as sweet, attractive, and good a child as can be found anywhere.”

An Italian Camorrist had two sons. The younger, at the age of three, was separated from his father, taken to a distant city, and given a good education. Like the Juke child of the eighth generation he grew to be an exemplary young man. His brother, who remained with the father, became, like him, a man of vice and crime, hated, feared, and despised.

But far more impressive than isolated instances like these are the data now available regarding the outcome of similar experimentation on a large scale. Four years ago the Children’s Aid Society of New York—the organisation which took the Juke foundling under its wing—published a report detailing the results of its “placing out” system for a period of more than half a century. The officials of this society have always been imbued with the idea that every child, no matter how bad his heredity, is entitled to the benefit of a good home upbringing, and in accordance with this idea they have, during the period covered by the report, placed twenty-eight thousand children in carefully selected homes, besides finding situations in the country for about three times as many older boys and girls. Most of their wards have been slum children, having back of them a family history of crime, vice, insanity, or pauperism. Nevertheless, the society’s officials inform us:

“A careful investigation of the records gives the following results: 87 per cent. have done well, 8 per cent. were returned to New York, 2 per cent. died, one quarter of 1 per cent. committed petty crimes and were arrested, and 2¼ per cent. left their homes and disappeared. These last were larger boys of restless disposition, unaccustomed to country life or any sort of restraint. Some of them struck out for themselves, obtaining work at higher wages, and were temporarily lost sight of, but years afterward we hear of them as having grown up good and respected citizens.... The younger children placed out by the society always show a very large average of success. The great proportion have grown up respectable men and women, creditable members of society. Many of them have been legally adopted by their foster-parents. The majority have become successful farmers or farmers’ wives, mechanics, and business men. Many have acquired property, and no inconsiderable number of them have attained positions of honour and trust.”

One of the children thus developed was a typical waif of the slums, a ragged urchin loitering in the streets of New York, and sleeping in store-entrances and hall-ways, until one day taken in charge by a kindly policeman. Investigation disclosed that he was a homeless orphan, and until some definite provision could be made for his upbringing he was committed to the city institution on Randall’s Island. Thence, after a few months, he was transferred to the care of the Children’s Aid Society, which undertook to find a home for him.

In midsummer of 1859, accordingly, he was sent to Indiana with a party of other homeless lads, and was placed with Mr. E. E. Hall, a Noblesville farmer. Two years later, to the mingled grief and pride of his foster-parents, and when not yet fifteen years old, he enlisted in the service of his country, entering the army as a drummer-boy. After the war he went back to the Indiana farm, and, employing his leisure moments to good advantage, prepared for college. In the seventies, equipped with a good education and a well-disciplined mind, he moved farther West. He finally settled in North Dakota, where, after engaging successfully in various enterprises, he became, in 1881, the cashier of a bank.

His thoughts now turned to politics, into which he plunged with great vigour, and with every prospect of success, as he had in the meantime won for himself a commanding position as one of the most popular and trusted men in his community. In 1884 he ran for the post of county treasurer, won his election, and, adding to his reputation by the way he conducted this office, held it continuously for six years. Then higher honours were thrust upon him; for, in the Fall of 1890, “Andy” Burke, the former ragged New York street boy, became Governor Andrew H. Burke, of North Dakota.

Closely paralleling his career is that of another New York child derelict, taken in charge about the same time as young Burke, and, by a curious coincidence, a companion of his in the little party of boys sent to Indiana in 1859 by the Children’s Aid Society. The name of this other lad was John G. Brady. Before coming into the keeping of the Society he had been deserted by his father, after the death of his mother. He was just ten years old when Mr. John Green, of Tipton, agreed to give him a home.

And it was a good home that Mr. Green gave him, a home in which he was taught the value of hard, earnest work, and of love for God and his fellow-man. Remaining on the farm until he was eighteen, he then became a school-teacher, saved enough out of his scanty earnings to give him a start at college, and three years later entered Yale. By this time he had made up his mind to devote his life to the twofold cause of religion and social service; and in 1874, having graduated with credit from Yale, he became a student in the Union Theological Seminary. After his ordination he went as a missionary to Alaska, where his labours, both religious and secular, won him a firm place in the affections of the people, and lasting recognition as one of the real makers of that distant Territory. He was appointed governor of Alaska by President McKinley in 1897, and reappointed by President Roosevelt, serving three terms.

Further, the records show that one ward of the Children’s Aid Society of New York rose to be a supreme court justice, another became chief executive of a Western city, while a third was elected auditor-general of a State. Two were elected to Congress, nine to State legislatures, and about a score to public offices of less importance. Twenty-four became clergymen; thirty-five, lawyers; nineteen, physicians; sixteen, journalists; twenty-nine, bankers; eighty-six, teachers; seven, high-school principals; two, school superintendents; and two, college professors. Farming, the army and navy, and various mercantile pursuits gave occupation to most of the rest.

Is it to be wondered, in view of such a showing, that most authorities are inclining more and more to find in a faulty environment rather than in a bad heredity the explanation of the boy who “goes wrong”? Not that it is as yet possible, and perhaps it never will be possible, to rule out entirely the idea of the “born criminal.” A small proportion of delinquents undoubtedly do show, almost from infancy, an irresistible and seemingly instinctive impulse to evil; but to just what extent this is due to inherited and irremediable conditions remains to be ascertained. Medical progress, indeed, is constantly making it clearer that many supposed instances of “innate depravity” are in reality the result of curable physical defects, and sometimes of defects that are comparatively slight.

To give a typical example, Professor Lightner Witmer, Director of the Psychological Clinic of the University of Pennsylvania, was once consulted about an eleven-year-old boy, of good family, who had been pronounced by several New York specialists “mentally defective” and “certain to prove unmanageable.” His father reported that he was unable to do correctly simple sums in addition and subtraction, and could not read a simple sentence without making a number of mistakes; also that he was cowardly, bad-tempered, and quarrelsome. In fine, the statements made concerning him seemed to stamp him as a fit subject for institutional care. But Professor Witmer’s preliminary testing caused him to take a somewhat hopeful view of the poor youngster’s condition.

“He was,” Professor Witmer says, in an interesting report he has made regarding the case (The Psychological Clinic, vol. ii, pp. 153–179), “a stocky, well-built, healthy-looking child. He had red hair, and the expression of his face suggested an unsteady temper. The brow was low, but not of a character to awaken a suspicion of mental deficiency. The shape of the aperture of the eyes indicated a possible arrest of foetal development, but this was the only suspicious symptom. The teeth were in good condition, the mouth closed, the nose undeveloped, the nostrils small. A hasty examination showed the necessity of consulting an oculist, and the appearance of the nose and nostrils called for an examination of the naso-pharynx. The chest was fairly well developed, the voice was good, but he had a lisp, and his speech was a trifle thick. Hearing was normal. His manners at table were good. His gait was normal, the knee-jerks were present on both sides, the coordination of the hands was good.

“In his conversation with me and with his family, he seemed to me to be a normal boy of eleven, rather alert mentally, a self-contained, independent sort of boy. If I had visited the family casually, I would not have observed anything wrong with him. My first brief examination was therefore negative, and excepting for the history which the father and mother gave, I should have pronounced the boy normal, but probably suffering from some optical defect and from naso-pharyngeal obstruction.”

A more thorough examination confirmed this tentative diagnosis. Although nothing of the sort had previously been suspected, it was discovered that the little fellow was nearly blind in one eye. Also he was suffering from a poor circulation. On the other hand, despite his mental retardation a careful psychological examination showed that naturally he was bright enough. It seemed evident to Professor Witmer, consequently, that the chief cause for the boy’s mental and moral defects lay in improper upbringing, plus the eye-strain which had undoubtedly made school work difficult for him, and had in addition been a source of neural irritation. In verification of this, after he had been provided with eye-glasses and given a few months of special training in the hospital school connected with the psychological clinic, the supposedly “feebleminded child” not only made rapid headway when placed in a regular school, but also showed a surprising moral improvement.

Even diseases of the teeth may play no small part in the making of the wayward boy. There was brought one day to Professor Witmer’s clinic a youngster who for months had been the despair of his parents. He had got completely beyond the control of both home and school discipline; spent his days idling in the streets; seemed incapable of telling the truth; stole all sorts of small articles belonging to his parents, including his father’s watch, which he sold for five cents; and had even begun to steal from the neighbours, a weakness which soon brought him into the clutches of the law. Placed on probation by the judge of the juvenile court, he had behaved as badly as ever, until, as a last resort, it was decided to see what the psychological clinic could do for him.

Beyond indications of some slight eye-strain nothing specially abnormal was found in his physical condition until his mouth was examined. Then it was seen that a number of his first teeth had not been shed, and that the second teeth were forcing their way out alongside the old ones, causing the gums to be greatly swollen and inflamed. Taken at once to the dental clinic he was examined more carefully by Dean Edward C. Kirk, who, advising gradual removal of the lingering first teeth, suggested the possibility that when the boy was relieved of all dental stress his conduct would show marked improvement. The outcome fully justified this suggestion. Says Doctor Arthur Holmes, who watched the case closely in all its stages (The Psychological Clinic, vol. iv, pp. 19–22):

“In spite of Harry’s rebellion and loudly expressed fear, he was immediately relieved of one outgrown canine tooth. The effect was almost instantaneous. His whole nervous system seemed to express itself in one sigh of relief.... From that time his improvement has been marked and continuous. His teeth were removed gradually as it was found expedient. Closely associated with this dental condition, and possibly aggravated by it, was an eye weakness discovered at the eye clinic. In order to insure proper treatment, Harry was placed in charge of the social worker of the psychological clinic, who saw that the drops were regularly put in his eyes, accompanied him to the eye specialist, and not only secured glasses for him but accomplished the hitherto impossible feat of making him wear them.

“On account of the dental work and the refraction of his eyes, he was not sent back to public school. Through the psychological clinic a private school was found where the boy could receive the intelligent and sympathetic training he needed. His whole demeanour under the private instruction has been that of a normal boy. He has been put upon his honour and trusted in numberless ways, and in every case he has justified the expectations of his teacher. He is now a healthy boy, with a boy’s natural curiosity, with good manners, good temper, with no more than the average nervousness, and with every prospect of taking his proper place in society and developing into an efficient and moral citizen.”

A still more remarkable case that has recently come to my knowledge concerns a Cleveland youth who, up to the age of sixteen, had been a model of good conduct. Then, having gone through high school and begun work with a business firm, he suddenly developed thieving tendencies, finally breaking into a post-office, an exploit which earned for him a term in a reformatory. This was so far from curing him that soon after his release he adventured into highway robbery, was caught, and was sent to jail.

So sudden and startling had been the change in his behaviour that the Cleveland police authorities were convinced he was not responsible for his actions, and advised his mother to have him committed to an asylum for the insane. Before taking this extreme step she had him examined by a neurologist, Doctor Henry S. Upson, whose careful testing of the boy failed to disclose any signs of organic brain trouble. Dr. Upson noticed, however, that his teeth were badly decayed, and this led him to suggest an X-ray examination, as a result of which it was discovered that the youthful criminal was suffering from several abscessed and impacted teeth.

Following an operation for their removal, there was a steady improvement in his moral as well as his physical health. When his term of imprisonment was at an end he found work in a printing-shop, and at last accounts, a year after the operation, had won for himself the reputation of being “quiet and industrious, self-controlled, and without any indication of either moral or mental aberration.” (The Psychological Clinic, vol. iv, pp. 150–153.)

In a single institution—the New York Juvenile Asylum—it was found that the degeneracy of 20 per cent. of a group of fifty “bad boys,” who were mentally as well as morally backward, was due in great measure to similar trivial physical defects, adenoids, enlarged glands, eye and ear troubles, etc. Not so very long ago these boys, like the boys in the individual instances mentioned, would have been deemed the hopeless victims of a bad heredity. It is therefore fair to assume that in time to come other remediable, but as yet unsuspected, physical causes of imperfect mental and moral functioning will be discovered.

This is not to say that in such cases medication or the surgeon’s knife will prove all-sufficient to prevent the transition from “naughtiness” into outright vice and crime. To this end good moral training will still be the indispensable safeguard, and particularly the moral training to be had through the subtle influence of a good home and good associates. Surely as, for example, the results of the activities of the New York Children’s Aid Society strongly suggest, the home and the companions of youth are the great determinants of character. As has been so well said by Doctor Paul Dubois, the eminent Swiss physician and philosopher (“Reason and Sentiment,” pp. 69–71):

“If you have the happiness to be a well-living man, take care not to attribute the credit of it to yourself. Remember the favourable conditions in which you have lived, surrounded by relatives who loved you and set you a good example; do not forget the close friends who have taken you by the hand and led you away from the quagmires of evil; keep a grateful remembrance for all the teachers who have influenced you, the kind and intelligent schoolmaster, the devoted pastor; realise all these multiple influences which have made of you what you are. Then you will remember that such and such a culprit has not in his sad life met with these favourable conditions, that he had a drunken father or a foolish mother, and that he has lived without affection, exposed to all kinds of temptation. You will then take pity upon this disinherited man, whose mind has been nourished upon malformed mental images, begetting evil sentiments such as immoderate desire or social hatred.”

And it is not only the homeless, deserted, or neglected child, allowed to run wild in the streets, drifting or forced into occupations which bring him more or less closely into touch with the ways and haunts of wrong-doing—it is not only this child who is likely in time to become a wrong-doer himself. No less than the neglected child is the “spoiled” one, however good his heredity, apt to degenerate into delinquency, perhaps into criminality of the worst description. In short, to borrow Pascal’s pregnant phrase, every child at the outset of his life is a little impulsive being, pushed indifferently toward good or evil according to the influences which surround him.

The blame, then, for the boy who “goes wrong” does not rest with the boy himself, or yet with his remote ancestors. It rests squarely with the parents who, through ignorance or neglect, have failed to mould him aright in the plastic days of childhood. What is needed, especially in this complex civilisation of ours, with its myriad incitements and temptations, is a livelier appreciation of the responsibilities as well as the privileges of parenthood. Most of all, perhaps, from the point of view of coping with the problem of wrong-doing, do parents need to appreciate that it is in the very first years of their children’s lives that the work of character-building should be begun.

In this connection a curious story is told of a father and mother, who, full of that sublime eagerness for the welfare of their young which every parent ought to have, took their only child, a handsome boy of three, to an old Greek philosopher.

“We want you,” said they, “to take full charge of our child’s education, and do the best you can for him.”

“How old is he?” the philosopher asked.

“Just three.”

The sage shook his head.

“I am sorry,” he said, “but you have brought him to me too late.”

Modern students of the nature of man are beginning to realise that there is a world of truth in this reply. They are beginning to realise, that, even in the period of dawning intelligence, interests may be created, habits formed, which all the education of later years may not wholly eradicate. Most people, looking back at their years of childhood, are chiefly impressed by the fact that they remember very little of what then happened. Actually, deep in the recesses of their minds, they possess a subconscious remembrance that may be both remarkably extensive and almost incredibly potent in affecting their later development.

The truth of this will become increasingly evident as we proceed. Here let us pause for only one illustrative instance, taken from the experience of one of the most talked about of American women, Miss Helen Keller, who, as is well known, was left by illness deaf, dumb, and blind when less than two years old, but has nevertheless, by careful training, been developed into a woman of brilliant attainments.

Among her many accomplishments not the least astonishing is her power for appreciating music, which she “hears” by placing her hand lightly on the piano and receiving its vibrations. It occurred to Doctor Louis Waldstein, a pioneer in the study of subconscious mental processes, that quite possibly her appreciation of music was connected with latent memories of music she had heard before her illness. To test this theory he obtained from her mother copies of two songs which had often been sung to Miss Keller as an infant in Alabama, but which she had not heard since. These he played in her presence, with a remarkable effect. She became much excited, clapped her hands, laughed, and communicated:

“Father carrying baby up and down, swinging her on his knee! Black Crow! Black Crow!”

It was evident to all present that she had been drawn back in memory to the surroundings of her infancy. But no one knew what she meant by the words “Black Crow,” until her mother, in answer to a letter of inquiry, explained that this was the title of a third song which her father used to sing to her.

“What you wrote,” commented Mrs. Keller, “interested us very much. The ‘Black Crow’ is her father’s standard song, which he sings to all his children as soon as they can sit on his knee. These are the words, ‘Gwine ‘long down the old turn row, something hollered, Hello, Joe,’ etc. It was a sovereign remedy for putting them (the children) in a good humour, and was sung to Helen hundreds of times. It is possible that she remembers it from its being sung to the younger children as well as herself. The other two I am convinced she has no association with, unless she can remember them as she heard them before her illness. Certainly before her illness her father used to trot her on his knee, and sing the ‘Ten Virgins,’ and she would get down and shout as the negroes do in church. It was very amusing. But after she lost her sight and hearing, it was a very painful association, and was not sung to these two little ones” (the younger children).

Almost by itself this impressive bit of evidence justifies Doctor Waldstein’s unhesitating declaration, as set forth in his interesting book, “The Subconscious Self”:

“In those early impressions of which no one seems to be conscious, least of all the child, and which gather up power as the rolling avalanche, the elements are collected for future emotions, moods, acts, that make up a greater part of the history of the individual and of States, more effective and significant than those that are written down in mÉmoires, however intimes, or that can be discovered in archives, however ‘secret.’ The strange vagaries of affection and passion, which affect the whole existence of men and women—the racial and religious prejudices that shake States and communities to their very foundations, that make and unmake reputations, and set the wheel of progress back into the dark ages—can be traced to such small beginnings and into those nooks of man’s subconscious memory.”

Decidedly, bearing in mind this principle of the importance of early impressions, the education of the child should be begun while he still is in the cradle—and should in especial include a careful arranging of his environment, both animate and inanimate, so as to put most effectively into play that greatest of all educational forces, “suggestion.”