Chapter XXV: Section II: The Knowledge of Man (2)

But Juno knew all; and her anger was great
And Echo this dreadful thing heard
“Since you are so fond of talking, from now
You only shall have the last word!”

Now Echo went far from the dwellings of men
And spent her sad life all alone
And often she’d weep and think of the past
And over her fate make her moan.

Echo loved a Greek youth, but he could not love her.
And she watched him all day from her bower
Till she pined away, all but her voice, which lives still,
And the youth was turned into a flower.

(R. C. 15. III. Elementary, Convent School.)

_Write some verses on (a) ‘Dandie Dinmont,’ or, (b) ‘Atalanta,’ or, (c) Allenby._

Atlanta was a huntress,
Who dearly loved the chase.
She out-ran the deer in fleetness,
And possessed a lovely face.

Many eager suiters sought her,
But they sought her all in vain,
For she vowed she’d never marry
And her suiters all were slain.

She had heeded well the warning,
From a witch well skilled in lore,
Who had told her if she married,
Happiness was hers no more.

Then a youth whom Venus favoured,
Came one day to run the race,
And by throwing golden apples,
He out-ran her in the chase.

In their hour of joy and triumph
Venus they forget to thank,
And the goddess sore offended,
Lowered them to the wild beast’s rank.

(J. T. III.)

Phaëton was a wilful youth who always got his way.
He asked to drive his father’s charge upon a certain day.
But Phœbus knowing well what danger lurkéth in the sky,
Implored of him to wish again and not that task to try.
But Phaëton determined was to best this dangerous way,
And leaped into the chariot to spite his father’s sway.
The horses started forward at a dashing headlong pace,
Phaëton tried to hold them back and modify the race.
With dreadful swiftness on he flew, losing his proper road,
The earth and sky began to smoke in an alarming mode.
At length when all had burst in flames, Jupiter cried aloud,
Phaëton who had lost his head was killed beneath a cloud.

(H. E. M. 15-8/12 IV.)

_Write thirty lines of blank verse on (a), “A Spring Morning” (following “A Winter Morning Walk”), or, (b), Pegasus, or, (c), Allenby._

A SPRING MORNING.

’Tis Spring; and now the birds with merry song
Sing with full-throated voice to the blue sky
On which small clouds float, soft as a dove’s wing.
Against the blue the pale-green leaflet gleams.
The darker green of elder, further down,
Sets off the brilliance of the hawthorn-hedge.
Close to the ground, the purple violet peeps
From out its nest of overhanging leaves.
On yonder bank the daffodils toss their heads
Under the shady lichen trees so tall.
Close by a chesnut, bursting into leaf,
Drops down it’s sticky calyx on the ground;
An early bumble-bee dives headlong in
To a half-opened flower of early pear.
O’erhead, in the tall beech trees, busy rooks,
With great caw-caws and many angry squawks
Build their great clumsy nests with bits of twig
And little sticks just laid upon a bough.
And by the long, straight, path tall fir trees wave
Their graceful heads in the soft whisp’ring breeze
And pressed against one ruddy trunk, an owl
In vain tries to avoid the light of day,
But blinks his wise old eyes, and shakes himself,
And nestles close amid the sheltering leaves.
Now on the rhubarb-bed we see, glad sight,
Large red buttons, which promise fruit quite soon
And further down the lettuce shoots up pale
Next to a row of parsley, getting old.
But see the peas, their curly tendrils green
Clinging to their stout pea-sticks for support.

(B. B. 15. IV.)

A SPRING MORNING

Soft on the brown woods
A pale light gleams,
And slowly spreading seems
To change the brown wood to a land of dreams,
Where beneath the trees
The great god Pan,
Doth pipe, half goat, half man,
To satyrs dancing in the dawning wan.
And then comes Phœbus,
The visions fade
And down the dewy glade
The rabbits scuttle o’er the rings they made.
In the fields near-by
The cattle rise
And where the river lies
A white mist rises to the welcoming skies.
Where the downs arise
And blue sky crowns
Their heads, fast o’er the mounds
The mist is driv’n to where the ocean sounds.
White wings against blue sky,
Gulls from the cliffs rise,
Watching, with eyes
That see from shore to where the sky line lies,
Where blue sea fades in bluer skies
Soft, doth the tide creep
O’er the golden sands
With sea-weed strands
Which, mayhap, knew the dawn of other lands.

(R. B. IV.)

_Write thirty lines of blank verse on “Pegasus.”_

The sky was blue and flecked with tiny clouds
Like sheep they ran before the driving wind
The sun was setting like a big red rose
The clouds that flew by him like rose-buds were
And as I gaz’d I saw a little cloud
White as the flower that rises in the spring
Come nearer, nearer, nearer as I looked
And as it came it took a diff’rent shape
It seemed to turn into a fairy steed.
White as the foam that rides the roaring waves
Still it flew on until it reached the earth
And galloping full lightly came to me
And then I saw it was a wondrous thing
It leapt about the grass and gently neighed
I heard its voice sound like a crystal flute
“Oh come” he said “with me ascend the sky
Above the trees, above the hills we’ll soar
Until we reach the home of all the gods
There will we stay and feast awhile with them
And dance with Juno and her maidens fair
And hear dear Orpheus and the pipes of Pan
And wander, wander, wander up above”
“Oh fairy steed, oh angel steed” I said
“Horse fit for Jupiter himself to ride
What is thy name I pray thee tell me this”
Then came the magic voice of him again
“If thou wilt know my name then come with me.”
Yet tell me first I hesitating said
He told me and when I had heard the name
I leapt upon his back and flew with him.

(A. B. 16. V.)

_Some verses, in the metre of Pope’s “Essay on Man,” on the meeting of the League of Nations._

From each proud kingdom and each petty state
The statesmen meet together to debate
Upon the happy time when wars shall cease
And joy shall reign, and universal peace.
No more shall day with radience cruelly bright
Glare down upon the carnage of the fight.
No more shall night’s dark cloak be rent aside
By flashing shells and searchlight’s stealthy glide
No more shall weary watchers wait at home
With straining eyes for those that cannot come
The nations shall forget their strife and greed
The strong shall help the weak in time of need
May they succeed in every peaceful plan
If war can cease as long as man is man.

(E. H. 16-11/12. V.)

_Gather up in blank verse the impressions you have received from your reading of Tennyson’s poems._

Take up a volume of the poet’s works,
Read on, lay it aside, and take thy pen,
Endeavour in a few, poor, worthless lines
To give expression of thy sentiments....
Surely this man loved all the joys of life,
Saw beauty in the smallest and the least,
Put plainer things that hitherto were dim,
And lit a candle in the darkest room.
His thoughts, now sad, now gay, may surely be
The solace sweet for many a weary hour,
His words, drunk deeply, seem to live and burn
Clear, radiant, gleaming from the printed page.
Nature to him was dear and so has made
Her wiles for other men a treasure vast.
Old Books, his master mind could comprehend
Are shown to us as pictures to a child.
Read on--and when the volume’s put away,
Muse on the learnings thou hast found therein;
The time thus spent thou never will repent,
For love of good things all should seek and find.

(E. P. H. 16-11/12 V.)

A LULLABY SONG

The little waves are sighing on the shore,
And the little breezes sobbing in the trees;
But the little stars are shining,
In the sky’s blue velvet lining,
And Lady Sleep is tapping at the door.

The little gulls are flying home to shore,
And the little lights are flashing from the ships,
But close your eyes, my sweet,
And be ready then to greet
Dear Lady Sleep who’s tapping at the door.

The wind is rising all around the shore,
And the fishing boats speed home before the gale;
But hark not to the rain
That is lashing on the pane,
For Lady Sleep has entered by the door.

The storm has sunk the ships and swept the shore,
But there’s weeping in the town and on the quay,
But, sweet, you’re dreaming fast
Even though the dawn be past,
And Lady Sleep has gone, and closed the door.

(M. H. 17⅓. VI.)

_Write a letter in the manner of Gray on any Modern Topic._

Mr. Gray to Mr. ---- At Torquay.

My dear ----

“Savez vous que je vous hais, que je vous deteste--voici des
termes un peu forts,” still, I think that they are justified,
imagine leaving a friend for two months in this place without
once taking up the pen upon his behalf. If this neglect be due
only to your low spirits, I will for once pardon you but only
upon condition that you should come down here to visit me and at
the same time strengthen your constitution. I can promise you but
little diversion, but I think that the scenery will repay the
journey--not to speak of myself. You will also be able to study
many “venerable vegetables” which are not usually to be found in
England. But, I waste your time and my paper with these “bêtises”
and I know well upon what subject your mind is at present
dwelling--which of us indeed is not thinking of Ireland. I would
give much to hear your views upon the subject. For my part it
seems to me that there can be but one true view, and it surprises
me mightily to hear so much discussion upon the subject. Are we
not truly a peculiar nation who pass bills of Home Rule etc.,
with much discussion and debate, when neither of the two parties
concerned will accept the conditions that we offer them? The one
considering they give too little freedom, and the other too much.
Accursed be the man who invented a bill which was and will be the
cause of so much trouble “in sæcula sæculorum.” Surely we need
not have any doubt as to what line of action we should adopt,
surely it has not been the habit of England to let her subjects
revolt without an attempt to quell them, surely the government
will not stand by and see its servants murdered, and the one
loyal province oppressed. But alas many things are possible with
such a government. Here it is said by people who have been driven
from that country by incendiaries that the Government will let
things take their course till everything is in such a condition
that the Premier will rise in the house and say “You see how
things stand--it is no use trying to control Ireland, let us
leave it to the Seinn Feiners, and live happily ever afterwards,
free from such unprofitable cares.”

Such is the talk, but I believe it not. We have as a nation
always muddled things but we have muddled through triumphant
in the end. It is so obvious that our interests and those of
Ireland co-incide, that even to contemplate separation is to me
incredible.

Thus I remain your harassed friend, etc.

(N. S. 15-10/12. VI.)

_Gather up in blank verse the impressions you have received from your reading of Tennyson’s poems._

ON READING TENNYSON’S POEMS.

Oh! Prophet of an era yet to come,
When men shall sing where men were wont to speak
In words which even Englishmen knew not.
And when I read thy songs, at once I felt
The breath of Nature that was lurking there.
And then I knew that all thy life thou dwelt
Amid the changing scenes of Nature’s play,
And knew the very language of the birds,
And drank the essence of the honeysuckle.
And when thou wast but young, I knew thy thoughts,
Thy Doubts and struggles, for thou gave them me;
And yet, had I been thee, my thoughts would still
Have rested deep within my heart; but still
T’would be relief to pour out all my woes
In the sweet flow of sympathetic verse.
Thy epithets produce a vivid scene
Of knights in armour or of maiden fair,
And yet, methinks, the fairness of her face
Doth sometimes cover many a fault below.
But to thy genius and thy work for ever
Be owed a debt of thankfulness that we
No longer tread the paths of level Pope
Or read those words that are not English-born.

(K. B. 16. V.)

THE CLOUDS

Among the spirits of the nearer air
There are three children of the sun and sea--
The Genii of the clouds; it is their care
To give the ocean’s bounty to the earth:
Oft they retain it in a time of dearth,
But they give all, however much it be.

The youngest of the three is very fair;
She is a maiden beautiful and sweet,
Of ever varying mood, changeful as air.
Now, plunged in merriment, she takes delight
In all she sees, now tears obscure her sight;
A breeze-swept lake shows not a change more fleet.

The fleecy clouds of April own her sway--
They, golden, lie against the golden sun,
Or sport across the blue when she is gay;
But when, anon, her girlish passions rise,
She marshalls them across the sunny skies
To flood the earth, then stops ere half begun.

Her elder brother is of different mien,
The clouds he governs are of different mould;
When the earth pants for moisture he is seen
To spread his clouds across the filmy blue.
When his rain falls, it steady is and true;
Persistent, gentle, ceaseless, yet not cold.

From the grey bowl with which he caps the earth,
It sweetly falls with earth-renewing force.
Not April’s rapid change from grief to mirth
Excites its fall, but calm, determined thought
Of middle age, of deeds from judgment wrought;
He recks not blame, but still pursues his course.

Aged, yet of awesome beauty is the third,
Of flashing eye and sullen, scornful brow--
With an imperious hand she guides her herd
Of wild, tempestuous mood; quick roused to ire
Is she, slow to forgive, of vengeance dire;
Before her awful glance the tree-tops bow.

And when enraged, she stretches forth a hand--
A long, thin hand--to North, South, East and West,
And draws from thence clouds num’rous as the sand;
They crowd on the horizon, and blot out
The sun’s fair light; then, like a giant’s shout,
The thunder booms at her dread spear’s behest.

(A. P. V.)

_Sketch a scene between a “Mr. Woodhouse” of to-day and a neighbour of his._

SCENE:--Mr. Woodhouse’s private study.

_Persons present_:--Owner of study, and Miss Syms, a very modern
young lady.

_Mr. Woodhouse._--“Oh, good afternoon Miss Syms, I am charmed to
see you. Dear, dear, how dark it is. One might almost think it
were evening, if the clock opposite did not directly oppose the
fact.”

_Miss S._--“Oh, I don’t know, it’s not so bad out. I’m awfully
sorry to blow in like this, but I came to enquire after Miss
Woodhouse’s cold. Is she better?”

_Mr. W._--“How very thoughtful of you! No, I am afraid dear
Emma is very indisposed. It is so trying having an invalid in
the house, it makes me quite miserable when I think of my poor
daughter having to stay all alone, in bed. But really, that is
almost the best place in this dreadful weather. Do you really
mean to say that you have been taking a walk.”

_Miss S._--“Yes, why on earth shouldn’t I? It’s about the only
way to get really warm.”

_Mr. W._--“If the liberty might be allowed me, (dryly) I should
say, that it was the one way in which to get a feverish cold,
besides making oneself thoroughly miserable; and the ground is so
damp under foot!”

_Miss S._--“Oh, it hasn’t been raining much lately. I only got
caught in a little shower, (visible start from Mr. W.). (coyly,)
Excuse me, but is that a box of cigarettes up there on the
mantlepiece?”

_Mr. W._--“Cigarettes? Oh, no! I couldn’t think of keeping them
near the house. I _never_ smoke. It irritates my throat, which is
naturally weak.”

_Miss S._--“But don’t your visiters ever take the liberty
of enjoying something of the sort? Besides, what about Miss
Woodhouse?”

_Mr. W._--(horrified,) “Dear Emma smoke a cigarette!! Why, I
never heard of such a thing. What would she say if I told her.
Dear Emma smoke, no, no, certainly not.”

_Miss S._--(Laughing,) “Oh, I am sure I’m very sorry. I didn’t
mean to offend.

How do you think the old Johnnies in Ireland are behaving
themselves?”

_Mr. W._--(coldly,) “I _beg_ your pardon.”

_Miss S._--(sweetly,) “I said, how do you think matters are
looking, in Ireland.”

_Mr. W._--“I am sorry, I think I could not have heard aright
before.--Matters in Ireland, yes, oh I think the Irish rebels are
positively awful. To think of breaking into houses, and turning
the poor inhabitants out into the cold streets, (where they
probably nearly die of cold), it is too dreadful!”

_Miss S._--“Oh, I s’pose they are rather brutes sometimes. But
in a way I almost sympathise with them. I wouldn’t like to have
to knuckle under to the English (catching sight of Mr. W.’s
expression of horror and pained surprise,) I really think I’d
better get a move on. Please don’t look at me like that! I really
don’t mean half I say. Cheerio!!”

_Mr. W._--“Good afternoon Miss Syms, it was so kind of you to
come. (aside) Oh, how unfeeling of dear Emma to have a cold, if
it means visiters like this every hour. (aloud,) Good afternoon,
can you find your way out. I really shall catch cold if I move
out of this room!!”

(E. G. 17. V.)

_Write some lines on “Spring” in the metre of “Allegro.”_

SPRING

Begone! for a short space
Ye whistling winds, and fogs, and snowy clouds,
And frosts that with fair lace
Each window-pane in dainty pattern shrouds,
Offsprings of Winter, ye!
Begone! find out some icy arctic land.
Upon that cheerless strand
’Mongst piercing ice, and chilling glaciers dwell
Such regions suit ye well,
Go, cold Winter, well are we rid of thee!
Come Spring, thou fairest season come!
With the bee’s enchanting hum,
And the dainty blossoms swinging
On the tree, while birds are singing,
See how they clothe the branches gray
In dress of freshest pink, all day,
Then when the dewy evening falls
They close their flowers till Morning calls.
Sweet Morn! Spring leads thee by the hand
And bids thee shine o’er all the land;
Thou send’st forth beams of purest gold,
To bid the daffodils unfold,
While Spring bends down with her fresh lips
To kiss the daisie’s petal tips.
And as she walks o’er the green sward
A cheerful mavis, perfect bard
Breaks into song; his thrilling notes
Are echoed from a hundred throats
Of eager birds, who love to sing
To their sweet mistress, fairest Spring.
Then as she sits on mossy throne
A scarlet lady-bird, alone,
Bids her good welcome; and above
Is heard the cooing of the dove.
Two butterflies in russet clad
Fly round her head with flutt’rings glad;
While at her side a giddy fly
Buzzes his joy that she is nigh,
Oh! Spring my heart’s desire shall be
That thou wilt ever dwell with me!

II

THE KNOWLEDGE OF MAN

(_e_) LANGUAGES

_English_ is rather a logical study dealing with sentences and the positions that words occupy in them than with words and what they are in their own right. Therefore it is better that a child should begin with a sentence and not with the parts of speech, that is, he should learn a little of what is called analysis before he learns to parse. It requires some effort of abstraction for a child to perceive that when we speak, we speak about something and say something about it; and he has learned nearly all the grammar that is necessary when he knows that when we speak we use sentences and that a sentence makes sense; that we can put words together so as to make utter nonsense, as,--“Tom immediately candlestick uproarious nevertheless”--a string of words making perfect nonsense and therefore not a sentence. If we use words in such a way as to make sense we get a sentence; “John goes to school” is a sentence. Every sentence has two parts, (1), the thing we speak of, and (2), what we say about it. We speak of John, we say about him that he goes to school. At this stage the children require many exercises in finding out the first and second parts of simple sentences. When they are quite familiar with the fact that the first part of a sentence is what we speak about, they may get a name for it, subject, which will be made simpler to them if they know the word subject means that which we talk about. For instance, we may say, the subject of conversation was parsley, which is another way of saying the thing we were speaking about was parsley. To sum up such a lesson, the class should learn,--Words put together so as to make sense form a sentence. A sentence has two parts, that which we speak of and what we say about it. That which we speak of is the subject.

Children will probably be slow to receive this first lesson in abstract knowledge, and we must remember that knowledge in this sort is difficult and uncongenial. Their minds deal with the concrete and they have the singular faculty of being able to make concrete images out of the merest gossamer of a fairy tale. A seven year old child sings,--

“I cannot see fairies,
I dream them.
There is no fairy that can hide from me;
I keep on dreaming till I find him.
There you are, Primrose! I see you, Blackwing!”

But a child cannot dream parts of speech, and any grown-up twaddle attempting to personify such abstractions offends a small person who with all his love of play and nonsense has a serious mind. Most children can be got to take in the notion of a sentence as, words making sense, especially if they are allowed a few excursions into non-sense, the gibberish of strings of words which do not make sense. Again, by dint of many interesting exercises in which they never lose sight of the _subject_, they get hold of that idea also.

One more initial idea is necessary if children are not to wander blindfold through the mazes of grammar ‘as she is’ not ‘spoke,’ but writ in books. They must be familiar with verbs and perhaps the simplest way to approach this idea is to cause them to make sentences with two words, the thing they speak of and what they say about it,--Mary sings, Auntie knits, Henry runs. In each of these examples, the child will see the thing we speak of and what we say about it.

But these are matters familiar to all teachers and we have nothing new in the teaching of grammar to suggest; but we probably gain in the fact that our scholars pay full attention to grammar, as to all other lessons. We look forward hopefully to the result of efforts so to unify grammar that it will no longer perplex the student, as English, Latin, French grammar, each with its own nomenclature.

Children in Form IIB have easy French Lessons with pictures which they describe, but in IIA while still engaged on the _Primary French Course_ children begin to use the method which is as full of promise in the teaching of languages as in English, that is, they are expected to narrate the sentence or paragraph which has been read to them. Young children find little difficulty in using French vocables, but at this stage the teacher should with the children’s help translate the little passage which is to be narrated, then re-read it in French and require the children to narrate it. This they do after a time surprisingly well, and the act of narrating gives them some command of French phrases as far as they go, much more so than if they learnt the little passage off by heart. They learn French songs in both divisions and act _French Fables_ (by Violet Partington) in Form IIA. This method of closely attentive reading of the text followed by narration is continued in each of the Forms. Thus Form II is required to “Describe in French, picture 20.” “Narrate the story _Esope et le Voyageur_.” Part of the term’s work in Form III is to “Read and narrate _Nouveaux Contes Français_, by Marc Ceppi.” Form IV is required amongst other things to “Read and narrate Molière’s _Les Femmes Savantes_.” Forms V and VI are required to “Write a résumé of _Le Misanthrope_ or _L’Avare_,” “Translate into French, _Modern Verse_, page 50, ‘Leisure.’”

We have not space to follow in detail the work of the P.U.S. in French, which of course includes the usual attention to French Grammar but it may interest the reader to see the sort of thing that students of the House of Education are able to accomplish in the way of narration. The French mistress gives, let us suppose, a lecture in history or literature lasting, say, for half an hour. At the end the students will narrate the substance of the lecture with few omissions and few errors. Here is an example of the sort of thing Mr. Household heard, on the occasion of a short visit to the House of Education, Ambleside,--

“A French lesson was given to the second-year students by the
French mistress, a native of Tournai, who came to Ambleside in
1915. She had been teaching in England for some years, but had
not previously come into contact with Miss Mason’s methods.
Those methods were exactly followed during the lesson. There
was the book of recognised literary merit, the single reading,
and the immediate narration--of course in French. The book was
Alphonse Daudet’s _Lettres de Mon Moulin_, and the story read
was ‘La Chèvre de M. Seguin.’ Before the reading began, a few--a
very few--words of explanation were given--of course, in French.
Then nine pages of the story were read straight through by the
mistress, without pause or interruption of any kind, at the same
pace that one would read an English story. The students followed
by ear only: they had no books. As soon as the reading ended,
on the instant, without hesitation of any kind, narration began
in French, different members of the class taking up the story
in turn till it was finished. All were good; some astonishingly
good. To all French was a tongue in which they could think and
speak with considerable facility. Yet the time given to French
is two hours and three-quarters a week only. Such results compel
attention. It may be added that last year the writer heard a
history lecture on the reign of Louis XI given in French by
the same mistress to the then senior students, and the content
of the lecture was narrated in a similar manner, with the same
astonishing success.”

This hitherto unused power of concentrated attention in the study of languages whether ancient or modern appears to hold promise of making us at last a nation of linguists. We have attained very good results in Italian and German by this same method, both in the House of Education and the Practising School belonging to it, and we are in a fair way to produce noticeable results in Latin. The Classical mistress writes,--

“Latin is taught at the House of Education by means of narration
after each section has been thoroughly studied in grammar, syntax
and style. The literature studied increases in difficulty as
the pupil advances in grammar, etc. Nothing but good Latin is
ever narrated, so the pupil acquires style as well as structure.
The substance of the passage is usually reproduced with the
phraseology and style of the original and both students and
children learn what is really Latin and realise that it is a
language and not a mere grammar.”

Here we get Grammar, that is, construction, learned as we learn it in English, at the lips of those who know, and the extraordinary readiness in acquiring new words shewn by the scholars promises English folk the copious vocabulary in one or another foreign language, the lack of which is a national distress.

II

THE KNOWLEDGE OF MAN

(_f_) ART

There are few subjects regarded with more respect and less confidence in our schools than this of ‘Art.’ Of course, we say, children should have their artistic powers cultivated, especially those who have such powers, but _how_ is the question. The neat solution offered by South Kensington in the sixties,--freehand drawing, perspective, drawing from the round, has long been rejected; but nothing definite has taken its place and we still see models of cones, cubes and so on, disposed so that the eye may take them in freely and that the hand may perhaps produce what the eye has seen. But we begin now to understand that art is not to be approached by such a macadamised road. It is of the spirit, and in ways of the spirit must we make our attempt. We recognise that the power of appreciating art and of producing to some extent an interpretation of what one sees is as universal as intelligence, imagination, nay, speech, the power of producing words. But there must be knowledge and, in the first place, not the technical knowledge of how to produce, but some reverent knowledge of what has been produced; that is, children should learn pictures, line by line, group by group, by reading, not books, but pictures themselves. A friendly picture-dealer supplies us with half a dozen beautiful little reproductions of the work of some single artist, term by term. After a short story of the artist’s life and a few sympathetic words about his trees or his skies, his river-paths or his figures, the little pictures are studied one at a time; that is, children learn, not merely to see a picture but _to look at it_, taking in every detail. Then the picture is turned over and the children tell what they have seen,--a dog driving a flock of sheep along a road but nobody with the dog. Ah, there is a boy lying down by the stream drinking. It is morning as you can see by the light so the sheep are being driven to pasture, and so on; nothing is left out, the discarded plough, the crooked birch, the clouds beautiful in form and threatening rain, there is enough for half an hour’s talk and memory in this little reproduction of a great picture and the children will know it wherever they see it, whether a signed proof, a copy in oils, or the original itself in one of our galleries. We hear of a small boy with his parents in the National Gallery; the boy, who had wandered off on his own account, came running back with the news,--“Oh, Mummy, there’s one of our Constables on that wall.” In this way children become acquainted with a hundred, or hundreds, of great artists during their school-life and it is an intimacy which never forsakes them. A group of children are going up to London for a treat. “Where would you like to go?” “Oh, Mummy, to the National Gallery to see the Rembrandts.” Young people go to tea in a room strange to them and are delighted to recognise two or three reproductions of De Hooch’s pictures. In the course of school-life children get an Open Sesame to many art galleries, and to many a cultivated home; and life itself is illustrated for them at many points. For it is true as Browning told us,--

“For, don’t you mark, we’re made so that we love
First when we see them painted, things we have passed
Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see.”

Here is an example of how beautiful and familiar things give quite new delight when they are pictured. A lady writes,--

“I was invited to a small village to talk about the P.U. School.
Twelve really interested women came in spite of heavy rain.... I
suggested introducing them to some of the friends their children
had made and we had a delightful picture talk with Jean B.
Corot, delightful to me because of the way one woman especially
narrated. She did it as if she had been set free for the first
time for months. It was the ‘Evening’ picture with a canal on the
right and that splendid mass of quiet trees in the centre. The
others gave bits of the picture but she gave the whole thing. It
was a green pasture to her.”

The noteworthy thing is that these women were familiar with all such details as Corot offers in their own beautiful neighbourhood, but Browning is right; we learn to see things when we see them painted.

It will be noticed that the work[35] done on these pictures is done by the children themselves. There is no talk about schools of painting, little about style; consideration of these matters comes in later life, but the first and most important thing is to know the pictures themselves. As in a worthy book we leave the author to tell his own tale, so do we trust a picture to tell its tale through the medium the artist gave it. In the region of art as elsewhere we shut out the middleman.

Forms V and VI are asked to,--“Describe, with study in sepia, Corot’s ‘Evening.’” Beyond this of a rough study from memory of a given picture or of any section of it, these picture studies do not afford much material for actual drawing; they are never copied lest an attempt to copy should lessen a child’s reverence for great work. We are shy in speaking of what we do in actual drawing since Herr Cizek came among us and shewed what great things children could do with scarcely any obvious teaching and but little suggestion. But probably such work is only to be done under the inspiration of an artist of unusual powers and I am writing for teachers who depend upon their children rather than upon themselves. They illustrate favourite scenes and passages in the books read during the term and the spirit with which the illustrations are drawn and the fitting details introduced make the teacher aware of how much more the children have seen in the passage than he has himself. Their courage in grappling with points of technique is very instructive. They tackle a crowd with wonderful ingenuity, a crowd listening to Mark Antony’s oration, cheering the Prince of Wales in India, in fact wherever a crowd is wanted it is suggested pretty much as an artist would give it by a show of heads. Like those Viennese children they use all their paper, whether for a landscape or the details in a room. They give you horses leaping brooks, dogs running after cats, sheep on the road, always with a sense of motion. It is evident that children study the figures they see with due attention and will give you a gardener sharpening his scythe, their mother sewing, a man rowing, or driving, or mowing. Their chairs stand on four legs and their figures on two feet in a surprising way, and they are always on the watch to correct their errors by what they see. They have a delightful and courageous sense of colour, and any child will convince you that he has it in him to be an artist. Their field studies give them great scope. The first buttercup in a child’s nature note book is shockingly crude, the sort of thing to scandalise a teacher of brush-drawing, but by and by another buttercup will appear with the delicate poise, uplift and radiance of the growing flower.

Drawing is generally so well taught now that we need do no more than emphasize one or two special points in our work, such as the definite study of pictures and the illustrations of Nature Note Books.

We do what is possible to introduce children to Architecture; and we practise clay-modelling and the various artistic handicrafts, but there is nothing unusual in our work in these directions.[36]

With Musical Appreciation the case is different; and we cannot do better than quote from an address made by Mrs. Howard Glover at the Ambleside Conference of the Parents’ Union, 1922:--

“Musical Appreciation--which is so much before the eye at the
present moment--originated in the P.N.E.U. about twenty-five
years ago. At that time I was playing to my little child much of
the best music in which I was interested, and Miss Mason happened
to hear of what I was doing. She realised that music might give
great joy and interest to the life of all, and she felt that just
as children in the P.U.S. were given the greatest literature
and art, so they should have the greatest music as well. She
asked me to write an article in the _Review_ on the result of my
observations, and to make a programme of music each term which
might be played _to_ the children. From that day to this, at the
beginning of every term a programme has appeared; thus began a
movement which was to spread far and wide.

“Musical Appreciation, of course, has nothing to do with playing
the piano. It used to be thought that ‘learning music’ must mean
this, and it was supposed that children who had no talent for
playing were unmusical and would not like concerts. But Musical
Appreciation had no more to do with playing an instrument than
acting had to do with an appreciation of Shakespeare, or painting
with enjoyment of pictures. I think that all children should take
Musical Appreciation and not only the musical ones, for it has
been proved that only three per cent. of children are what is
called ‘tone-deaf’; and if they are taken at an early age it is
astonishing how children who appear to be without ear, develop it
and are able to enjoy listening to music with understanding.”