Chapter XX: Part 20

These, then, would be my books to be worked at the same time by a beginner, say in German:—A book for drill in the principal inflexions, followed by the main facts about gender, &c., and a book like the _Heroengeschichten_. This I would have prepared very much after the Robertsonian manner. It should be printed, as should also the Primer, in good-sized Roman type; though, in an appendix, some of it should be reprinted in German type. The book should be divided into short lessons. A translation of each lesson should be given in parallel columns. Then should come a vocabulary, in which all useful information should be given about the really important words, _the unimportant words being neglected_. Finally should come _variations_, and exercises in the lessons; and in these the important words of that and previous lessons should be used exclusively. The exercises should be such as the pupils could do in writing out of school, and _vivâ voce_ in school. They should be very easy—real exercises in what is already known, not a series of linguistic puzzles. The object of the exercises, and also of a vast number of _vivâ voce_ questions, should be to accustom the pupil to use his knowledge _readily_. (But some teachers, young teachers especially, are always _cross_-examining, and seem to themselves to fail when their questions are answered without difficulty.) The ear, the voice, the hand, should all be practised on each lesson. When the construing is known, transcription of the German is not by any means to be despised. A good variety of transcription is, for the teacher to write the German clause by clause on the black-board, and rub out each clause before the pupils begin to write it. Then a known piece may be prepared for dictation. In reading this as dictation, the master may introduce small variations, to teach his pupils to keep their ears open. He may, as another exercise, read the German aloud, and stop here and there for the boys to give the English of the last sentence read; or he may read to them either the exact German in the book or small variations on it, and make the pupils translate _vivâ voce_, clause by clause. He may then ask questions on the piece in German and require answers in English.

For exercises, there are many devices by which the pupil may be trained to observation, and also be confirmed in his knowledge of back lessons. The great teacher, F. A. Wolf, used to make his own children ascertain how many times such and such a word occurred in such and such pages. As M. Bréal says, children are collectors by nature; and, acting on this hint, we might say, “Write in column all the dative cases on pages _a_ to _c_, and give the English and the corresponding nominatives.” Or, “Copy from those pages all the accusative prepositions with the accusatives after them.” Or, “Write out the past participles, with their infinitives.” Or, “Translate such and such sentences, and explain them with reference to the context.” Or, questions may be asked on the subject-matter of the book. There is no end to the possible varieties of such exercises.

As soon as they get any feeling of the language, the pupils should learn by heart some easy poetry in it. I should recommend their learning the English of the piece first, and then getting the German _vivâ voce_ from the teacher. To quicken the German in their minds, I think it is well to give them in addition a German prose version, using almost the same words. Variations of the more important sentences should be learnt at the same time.

In all these suggestions you will see what I am aiming at. I wish the learner to get a feeling of, and a power over, the main words of the language and the machinery in which they are employed.

[183] I append in a note a passage from the old edition of this book referring to the Cambridge man of forty years ago. “The typical Cambridge man studies mathematics, not because he likes mathematics, or derives any pleasure from the perception of mathematical truth, still less with the notion of ever using his knowledge; but either because, if he is “a good man,” he hopes for a fellowship, or because, if he cannot aspire so high, he considers reading the thing to do, and finds a satisfaction in mental effort just as he does in a constitutional to the Gogmagogs. When such a student takes his degree, he is by no means a highly cultivated man; but he is not the sort of man we can despise for all that. He has in him, to use one of his own metaphors, a considerable amount of _force_, which may be applied in any direction. He has great power of concentration and sustained mental effort even on subjects which are distasteful to him. In other words, his mind is under the control of his will, and he can bring it to bear promptly and vigorously on anything put before him. He will sometimes be half through a piece of work, while an average Oxonian (as we Cambridge men conceive of him at least) is thinking about beginning. But his training has taught him to value mental force without teaching him to care about its application. Perhaps he has been working at the gymnasium, and has at length succeeded in “putting up” a hundredweight. In learning to do this, he has been acquiring strength for its own sake. He does not want to put up hundredweights, but simply to be able to put them up, and his reward is the consciousness of power. Now the tripos is a kind of competitive examination in putting up weights. The student who has been training for it, has acquired considerable mental vigour, and when he has put up his weight he falls back on the consciousness of strength which he seldom thinks of using. Having put up the heavier, he despises the lighter weights. He rather prides himself on his ignorance of such things as history, modern languages, and English literature. He “can get those up in a few evenings,” whenever he wants them. He reminds me, indeed, of a tradesman who has worked hard to have a large balance at his banker’s. This done, he is satisfied. He has neither taste nor desire for the things which make wealth valuable; but when he sees other people in the enjoyment of them, he hugs himself with the consciousness that he can write a cheque for such things whenever he pleases.”

[184] On this interesting subject I will quote three men who said nothing _inepte_—De Morgan, Helps, and the first Sir James Stephen. De Morgan, speaking of Jacotot’s plan, wrote:—“There is much truth in the assertion that new knowledge hooks on easily to a little of the old thoroughly mastered. The day is coming when it will be found out that crammed erudition got up for examination, does not cast out any hooks for more.” (_Budget of Paradoxes_, p. 3.) Elsewhere he says:—“When the student has occupied his time in learning a moderate portion of many different things, what has he acquired—extensive knowledge or useful habits? Even if he can be said to have varied learning, it will not long be true of him, for nothing flies so quickly as half-digested knowledge; and when this is gone, there remains but a slender portion of useful power. A small quantity of learning quickly evaporates from a mind which never held any learning except in small quantities; and the intellectual philosopher can perhaps explain the following phenomenon—that men who have given deep attention to one or more liberal studies, can learn to the end of their lives, and are able to retain and apply very small quantities of other kinds of knowledge; while those who have never learnt much of any one thing seldom acquire new knowledge after they attain to years of maturity, and frequently lose the greater part of that which they once possessed.”

Sir Arthur Helps in _Reading_ (_Friends in C._) says:—“All things are so connected together that a man who knows one subject well, cannot, if he would, have failed to have acquired much besides; and that man will not be likely to keep fewer pearls who has a string to put them on than he who picks them up and throws them together without method. This, however, is a very poor metaphor to represent the matter; for what I would aim at producing not merely holds together what is gained, but has vitality in itself—is always growing. And anybody will confirm this who in his own case has had any branch of study or human affairs to work upon; for he must have observed how all he meets seems to work in with, and assimilate itself to, his own peculiar subject. During his lonely walks, or in society, or in action, it seems as if this one pursuit were something almost independent of himself, always on the watch, and claiming its share in whatever is going on.”

In his Lecture on _Desultory and Systematic Reading_, Sir James Stephen said:—“Learning is a world, not a chaos. The various accumulations of human knowledge are not so many detached masses. They are all connected parts of one great system of truth, and though that system be infinitely too comprehensive for any one of us to compass, yet each component member of it bears to every other component member relations which each of us may, in his own department of study, search out and discover for himself. A man is really and soundly learned in exact proportion to the number and to the importance of those relations which he has thus carefully examined and accurately understood.”

[185] This essay, which was written nearly twenty-five years ago, I leave as it stands. I take some credit to myself for having early recognised the importance of a book now famous. (June, 1890.)

[186] This proposition has been ably discussed by President W. H. Payne. _Contributions to the Science of Education._ “Education Values.”

[187] “The brewer,” as Mr. Spencer himself tells us, “if his business is very extensive, finds it pay to keep a chemist on the premises”—pay a good deal better, I suspect, than learning chemistry at school.

[188] Helps, who by taste and talent is eminently literary, put in this claim for science more than 20 [now nearer 50] years ago. “The higher branches of method cannot be taught at first; but you may begin by teaching orderliness of mind. Collecting, classifying, contrasting, and weighing facts are some of the processes by which method is taught.... Scientific method may be acquired without many sciences being learnt; but one or two great branches of science must be accurately known.” (_Friends in Council, Education._) Helps, though by his delightful style he never gives the reader any notion of over compression, has told us more truth about education in a few pages than one sometimes meets with in a complete treatise.

[189] J. S. Mill (who by the way, would leave history entirely to private reading, _Address at St. Andrews_, p. 21), has pointed out that “there is not a fact in history which is not susceptible of as many different explanations as there are possible theories of human affairs,” and that “history is not the foundation but the verification of the social science.” But he admits that “what we know of former ages, like what we know of foreign nations, is, with all its imperfectness, of much use, by correcting the narrowness incident to personal experience.” (Dissertations, Vol. I, p. 112.)

[190] It is difficult to treat seriously the arguments by which Mr. Spencer endeavours to show that a knowledge of science is necessary for the practice or the enjoyment of the fine arts. Of course, the highest art of every kind is based on science, that is, on truths which science takes cognizance of and explains; but it does not therefore follow that “without science there can be neither perfect production nor full appreciation.” Mr. Spencer tells us of mistakes which John Lewis and Rossetti have made for want of science. Very likely; and had those gentlemen devoted much of their time to science we should never have heard of their blunders—or of their pictures either. If they were to paint a piece of woodwork, a carpenter might, perhaps, detect something amiss in the mitring. If they painted a wall, a bricklayer might point out that with their arrangement of stretchers and headers the wall would tumble down for want of a proper bond. But even Mr. Spencer would not wish them to spend their time in mastering the technicalities of every handicraft, in order to avoid these inaccuracies. It is the business of the painter to give us form and colour as they reveal themselves to the eye, not to prepare illustrations of scientific text-books. The physical sciences, however, are only part of the painter’s necessary equipment, according to Mr. Spencer. “He must also understand how the minds of spectators will be affected by the several peculiarities of his work—a question in psychology!” Still more surprising is Mr. Spencer’s dictum about poetry. “Its rhythm, its strong and numerous metaphors, its hyperboles, its violent inversions, are simply exaggerations of the traits of excited speech. To be good, therefore, poetry must pay attention to those laws of nervous action which excited speech obeys.” It is difficult to see how poetry can pay attention to anything. The poet, of course must not violate those laws, but, if he _has paid attention_ to them in composing, he will do well to present his MS. to the local newspaper. [It seems the class is not extinct of whom Pope wrote:—

“Some drily plain, without invention’s aid
“Write dull receipts how poems may be made.”

_Essay on Criticism._]

[191] Speaking of law, medicine, engineering, and the industrial arts, J. S. Mill remarks: “Whether those whose speciality they are will learn them as a branch of intelligence or as a mere trade, and whether having learnt them, they will make a wise and conscientious use of them, or the reverse, depends less on the manner in which they are taught their profession, than upon _what sort of mind they bring to it—what kind of intelligence and of conscience the general system of education has developed in them_.”—Address at St. Andrews, p. 6.

[192] “Comme vous n’avez pas su ou comme vous n’avez pas voulu atteindre la pensée de l’enfant, vous n’avez aucune action sur son développement moral et intellectuel. Vous êtes le maître de latin et de grec.” Bréal. _Quelques Mots, &c._, p. 243.

[193] Mr. Spencer does not mention this principle in his enumeration, but, no doubt, considers he implies it.

[194] “Si l’on partageait toute la science humaine en deux parties, l’une commune à tous les hommes, l’autre particulière aux savants, celle-ci serait très-petite en comparaison de l’autre. Mais nous ne songeons guère aux acquisitions générales, parce qu’elles se font sans qu’on y pense, et même avant l’âge de raison; que d’ailleurs le savoir ne se fait remarquer que par ses différences, et que, comme dans les équations d’algèbre, les quantités communes se comptent pour rien.”—_Émile_, livre i.

[195] This is well said in Dr. John Brown’s admirable paper _Education through the Senses_. (Horæ Subsecivæ, pp. 313, 314.)

[196] After remarking on the wrong order in which subjects are taught, he continues, “What with perceptions unnaturally dulled by early thwartings, and a coerced attention to books, what with the mental confusion produced by teaching subjects before they can be understood, and in each of them giving generalisations before the facts of which they are the generalisations, what with making the pupil a mere passive recipient of others’ ideas and not in the least leading him to be an active inquirer or self-instructor, and what with taxing the faculties to excess, there are very few minds that become as efficient as they might be.”

[197] A class of boys whom I once took in Latin Delectus denied, with the utmost confidence, when I questioned them on the subject, that there were any such things in English as verbs and substantives. On another occasion, I saw a poor boy of nine or ten caned, because, when he had said that _proficiscor_ was a deponent verb, he could not say what a deponent verb was. Even if he had remembered the inaccurate grammar definition expected of him, “A deponent verb is a verb with a passive form and an active meaning,” his comprehension of _proficiscor_ would have been no greater. It is worth observing that, even when offending grievously in great matters against the principle of connecting fresh knowledge with the old, teachers are sometimes driven to it in small. They find that it is better for boys to see that _lignum_ is like _regnum_, and _laudare_ like _amare_, than simply to learn that _lignum_ is of the Second Declension, and _laudare_ of the First Conjugation. If boys had to learn by a mere effort of memory the particular declension or conjugation of Latin words before they were taught anything about declensions and conjugations, this would be as sensible as the method adopted in some other instances, and the teachers might urge, as usual, that the information would come in useful afterwards.

[198] Mr. Spencer and Professor Tyndall appeal to the results of experience as justifying a more rational method of teaching. Speaking of geometrical deductions, Mr. Spencer says: “It has repeatedly occurred that those who have been stupefied by the ordinary school-drill—by its abstract formulas, its wearisome tasks, its cramming—have suddenly had their intellects roused by thus ceasing to make them passive recipients, and inducing them to become active discoverers. The discouragement caused by bad teaching having been diminished by a little sympathy, and sufficient perseverance excited to achieve a first success, there arises a revolution of feeling affecting the whole nature. They no longer find themselves incompetent; they too can do something. And gradually, as success follows success, the incubus of despair disappears, and they attack the difficulties of their other studies with a courage insuring conquest.”

[199] On this subject I can quote the authority of a great observer of the mind—no less a man, indeed, than Wordsworth. He speaks of the “grand elementary principal of pleasure, by which man knows, and feels, and lives, and moves. We have no sympathy,” he continues, “but what is propagated by pleasure—I would not be misunderstood—but wherever we sympathise with pain, it will be found that the sympathy is produced and carried on by subtile combinations with pleasure. We have no knowledge, that is, no general principles drawn from the contemplation of particular facts, but what has been built up by pleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The man of science, the chemist, and mathematician, whatever difficulties and disgusts they may have to struggle with, know and feel this. However painful may be the objects with which the anatomist’s knowledge may be connected, he feels that his knowledge is pleasure, and _when he has no pleasure he has no knowledge_.”—Preface to second edition of _Lyrical Ballads_. So Wordsworth would have agreed with Tranio: (_T. of Shrew_, j. 1.)

“No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en;
In brief, Sir, study what you most affect.”

[200] This remark, I am glad to say, is much less true now (1890) than when first published. Indeed some purveyors of books for children are getting to rely too exclusively on the pictures, just as I have noticed that an organ-grinder with a monkey seldom or never has a good organ. Of large pictures for class teaching, some of the best I have seen (both for history and natural history) are published by the S.P.C.K.

[201] Tillich’s boxes of bricks (sold by the B’ham Midland Educational Supply Company, and by Arnold, Briggate, Leeds), are very useful for “intuitive” arithmetic: for higher stages one might say the same of W. Wooding’s “Decimal Abacus” with vertical wires.

[202] The grammar question is still a perplexing one. There are Inspectors who require children (as I once heard in a remote country school) to distinguish “7 kinds of adverbs.” Then we have children discriminating after the fashion of one of my own pupils, (I quote from a grammar paper,) “Parse _it_.” “_It_ is a prepreition. Almost all small words are prepreitions.” In such cases it is very hard indeed to find any common ground for the minds of the old and the young. The true way I believe is to lead the young to make their own observations. The way is very very slow, but it developes power. I have lately seen an interesting little book on these lines, called _Language Work_ by Dr. De Garmo (Bloomington, Ill., U.S.A.)

[203] Books for a beginner should contain a little matter in much space, and, as they are usually written, they contain much matter in a little space. Nothing can be truer than the saying of Lakanal, “L’abrégé est le contraire de l’éléméntaire: That which is abridged is just the opposite of that which is elementary.” When shall we learn what seems obvious in itself and what is taught us by the great authorities? “Epitome,” says Ascham, “is good privately for himself that doth work it, but ill commonly for all others that use other men’s labour therein. A silly poor kind of study, not unlike to the doing of those poor folk which neither till, nor sow, nor reap themselves, but glean by stealth upon other’s grounds. Such have empty barns for dear years.” (_School Master_, Book ij.) Bacon says (_De Aug._, lib. vj., cap. iv.), “Ad pædagogicam quod attinet brevissimum foret dictu.... Illud imprimis consuluerim ut caveatur a compendiis: Not much about pedagogics.... My chief advice is, keep clear of compendiums.” And yet “the table of contents” method which I suggested in irony I afterwards found proposed in all seriousness in an announcement of Dr. J. F. Bright’s _English History_: “The marginal analysis has been collected at the beginning of the volume so as to form an abstract of the history _suitable for the use of those who are beginning the study_.”

I would rather listen to Oliver Goldsmith: “In history, such stories alone should be laid before them as might catch the imagination: instead of this, they are too frequently obliged to toil through the four Empires, as they are called, where their memories are burthened by a number of disgusting names that destroy all their future relish for our best historians.” (Letter on _Education_ in _the Bee_: a letter containing so much new truth that Goldsmith in re-publishing it had to point out that it had appeared before Rousseau’s _Emile_.) A modern authority on education has come to the same conclusion as Goldsmith. “The first teaching in history will not give dates, but will show the learner men and actions likely to make an impression on him. Der erste Geschichtsunterricht wird nicht Jahreszahlen geben, sondern eindrucksvolle Personen und Thaten vorführen.” (L. Wiese’s _Deutsche Bildungsfragen_, 1871.)

[204] Dr. Jas. Donaldson has well said of the educator:—“The most unguarded of his acts, those which come from the depth of his nature, uncalled for and unbidden, are the actions which have the most powerful influence.” _Chambers’ Information_ sub v. _Education_, p. 565.

[205]

“That you are wife
To so much bloated flesh _as scarce hath soul_
_Instead of salt to keep it sweet_, I think
Will ask no witnesses to prove.”

BEN JONSON: _The Devil is an Ass_, Act i. sc. 3.

[206] I fortify myself with the following quotation from the _Book about Dominies_ by “Ascott Hope” (Hope Moncrieff). He says that a school of from twenty to a hundred boys is too large to be altogether under the influence of one man, and too small for the development of a healthy condition of public opinion among the boys themselves. “In a community of fifty boys, there will always be found so many bad ones who will be likely to carry things their own way. Vice is more unblushing in small societies than in large ones. _Fifty boys will be more easily leavened by the wickedness of five, than five hundred by that of fifty._ It would be too dangerous an ordeal to send a boy to a school where sin appears fashionable, and where, if he would remain virtuous, he must shun his companions. There may be middle-sized schools which derive a good and healthy tone from the moral strength of their masters or the good example of a certain set of boys, but I doubt if there are many. Boys are so easily led to do right or wrong, that we should be very careful at least to set the balance fairly” (p. 167); and again he says (p. 170), “The moral tone of a middle-sized school will be peculiarly liable to be at the mercy of a set of bold and bad boys.”

[207] As I have been thought to express myself too strongly on this point, I will give a quotation from a master whose opinion will go far with all who know him. “The moral tone of the school is made what it is, not nearly so much by its rules and regulations, or its masters, as by the leading characters among the boys. They mainly determine the public opinion amongst their schoolfellows—their personal influence is incalculable.” Rev. D. Edwardes, of Denstone.

[208] About Preparatory Schools I find I am at issue with my friend the Head Master of Harrow (See _Public Schools_, by Rev. J. E. C. Welldon, in _Contemporary R._, May, 1890). I do indeed incline to his opinion that very young boys should not be at a public school, but I cannot agree that they should be at a middle-sized boarding school. I hold that they should live in a _family_ (their own if possible) and go to a day school. Day Schools have now been provided for girls, but for young boys they do not seem in demand. English parents who can afford it send their sons to boarding schools from eight years old onwards. This seems to me a great mistake of theirs.

[209] “What is education? It is that which is imbibed from the moral atmosphere which a child breathes. It is the involuntary and unconscious language of its parents and of all those by whom it is surrounded, and not their set speeches and set lectures. It is the words which the young hear fall from their seniors when the speakers are off their guard: and it is by these unconscious expressions that the child interprets the hearts of its parents. That is education.”—Drummond’s _Speeches in Parliament_.

[210] In what I have said on this subject, the incompleteness which is noticeable enough in the preceding essays, has found an appropriate climax. I see, too, that if anyone would take the trouble, the little I have said might easily be misinterpreted. I am well aware, however, that if the young mind will not readily assimilate sharply defining religious formulæ, still less will it feel at home among the “immensities” and “veracities.” The great educating force of Christianity I believe to be due to this, that it is not a set of abstractions or vague generalities, but that in it God reveals Himself to us in a Divine Man, and raises us through our devotion to Him. I hold, therefore, that religious teaching for the young should neither be vague nor abstract. Mr. Froude, in commenting on the use made of hagiology in the Church of Rome, has shown that we lose much by not following the Bible method of instruction. (See _Short Studies: Lives of the Saints_, and _Representative Men_.)

[211] This theory of the educator’s task which makes him a disposer or director of influence rather than a teacher, led Locke to decry our public schools, for in them the traditions and tone of the school seem the source of influence, and the masters are to all appearance mainly teachers. Locke’s own words are these:—“The difference is great between two or three pupils in the same house and three or four score boys lodged up and down; for let the master’s industry and skill be never so great, it is impossible he should have fifty or a hundred scholars under his eye any longer than they are in the school together, nor can it be expected that he should instruct them successfully in anything but their books; the forming of their minds and manners requiring a constant attention and particular application to every single boy which is impossible in a numerous flock, and would be wholly in vain (could he have time to study and correct everyone’s particular defects and wrong inclinations) when the lad was to be left to himself or the prevailing infection of his fellows the greatest part of the four-and-twenty hours.” But the educator who considers himself a director of influences must remember that he is not the only force. The boy’s companions are a force at least as great; and if he were brought up in private on Locke’s system, he would be entirely without a kind of influence much more valuable than Locke seems to think—the influence of boy companions, and of the traditions of a great school. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that our public schools used to be, and perhaps are still to some extent, under-mastered, and that the masters should not be the mere teachers which, from overwork and other causes, they often tend to become. The consequence has been that the real education of the boys has in a great measure passed out of their hands. What has been the result? A long succession of able teachers have aimed at giving literary instruction and making their pupils classical scholars. Both manners and bodily training have been left to take care of themselves. Yet such is the irony of Fate that the majority of youths who leave our great schools are not literary and are not much of classical scholars, but they are decidedly gentlemanly and still more decidedly athletic.

[212] I append a note written from a different point of view—“_With how little wisdom!_” certainly seems to cover most departments of life. _Seems?_ Yes; but are we not apt to overlook the wisdom that lies in the great mass of people? In some small department we may have investigated further than our class-mates, and may see, or think we see, a good deal of stupidity in what goes on. But in most matters we do not investigate for ourselves, but just do the usual thing; and this seems to work all right. There must be a good deal of wisdom underlying the complex machinery of civilised life. Carlyle’s “Mostly fools!” will by no means account for it. At times one has a dim perception that people in general are not so stupid as they seem. Perhaps a long life would in the end lead us to say like Tithonus,

“Why should a man desire in any way
“To vary from the kindly race of men?”

There is a higher wisdom than the disintegrating individualism of Carlyle. Far better to believe with Mazzini in “the collective existence of humanity,” and remembering that we work in a medium fashioned for us by the labours of all who have preceded us, regard our collective powers as “grafted upon those of all foregoing humanity.” (Mazzini’s _Essays_: _Carlyle_.) This is the point of view to which Wordsworth would raise us:—

“Among the multitudes
“Of that huge city, oftentimes was seen
“.........................the unity of man,
“One spirit over ignorance and vice
“Predominant, in good and evil hearts;
“One sense for moral judgements, as one eye
“For the sun’s light. The soul when smitten thus
“By a sublime _idea_, whence soe’er
“Vouchsafed for union or communion, feeds
“On the pure bliss and takes her rest with God.”

_Prelude_ viij, _ad f._

Though unable to share in “the pure bliss” of Wordsworth we may take refuge with Goethe in the thought that “humanity is the true man,” and enjoy much to which we have no claim as individuals. Tradition, blind tradition, must rule our actions through by far the greatest part of our lives; and seeing we owe it so much, we should be tolerant, even grateful.

[213] Professor Jebb has lately given us the main ideas of the great Scholar Erasmus. “In all his work,” says the Professor, “he had an educational aim.... The evils of his age, in Church, in State, in the daily lives of men, seemed to him to have their roots in _ignorance_; ignorance of what Christianity meant, ignorance of what the Bible taught, ignorance of what the noblest and most gifted minds of the past, whether Christian or pagan, had contributed to the instruction of the human race.” (Rede Lecture, 1890.) Erasmus evidently fell into the error against which Pestalozzi and Froebel lift up their voices, often in vain—the error of forgetting that knowledge is of no avail without intelligence. What is the use of lighting additional candles for the blind?

APPENDIX.

=History of this Book.=—Some wise man has advised us never to find fault with ourselves, for, says he, you may always depend on your friends to do it for you. So, having looked through the proofs of this book, I abstain from fault-finding. I fancy I _could_ find fault more effectively than my friends or even my professional critics. As the _Spectator’s_ “Correspondent in an easy chair” says very truly; the author has read his book many times; the critic has read it _at most_ once. In fact the critic gives to the book (in some cases to the subject of the book also) no greater number of hours than the author has given months, perhaps years. Partiality blinds the author, no doubt, but unless he is a fatuous person it does not blind him so much as his haste blinds the critic. An author of note said of a book of his, which had been much criticised: “The book has faults, but I am the only person who has discovered them,” to which a friend maliciously appended: “For _faults_ read _merits_.” Whatever was the truth here, I am inclined to think the author has the best chance of putting his finger on the weak places.

But if I see weaknesses in the foregoing book, why do I not make it better? Just for two reasons: to improve the book I should have to spend more time on it and more money. The more I read and think about any one of my subjects, the more I want to go on reading and thinking. Perhaps I hear of an old book that has escaped my notice, or a new book comes out, sometimes an important book like Pinloche’s _Basedow_. So I can never finish an essay to my satisfaction, and the only way of getting it off my hands is to send the copy to the printer. By the time the proof comes in there is something that I should like to add or alter; but then the dread of a long bill for “corrections” restrains me. However, now the book is all in type, I see here and there something that suggests a note by way of explanation or addition, so I add this appendix. Taking a hint from one of my favourite authors, Sir Arthur Helps, I throw my notes into the form of a dialogue, but being entirely destitute of Helps’s dramatic skill I confine myself to =E.= (the Essayist) and =A.= (Amicus), who is only too clearly an _alter ego_.

=A.= So the Americans have kept alive your old book for you, and at last you have rewritten it. You at least have no reason to complain that there is no international copyright. Your book would have been forgotten long ago if a lady in Cincinnati had not persuaded an American publisher there to reprint it. =E.= Yes, I very readily allow that I have been a gainer. The Americans have done more for me than my own countrymen. To be sure neither have “praised with the hands” (as Molière’s _professeur_ has it); and, in money at least, the book has never paid _me_ its expenses; but three American publishers have done for themselves what no Englishman would do for me, viz., publish at their own risk. In 1868 when my MS. was ready, I went to my old friend, Mr. Alexander Macmillan; but he would not even look at it. “Books on education,” said he, “don’t pay. Why there is Thring’s _Education and School_, a capital book” (I assented heartily, for I was very fond of it), “well, _that_ doesn’t sell.” I was forced to admit that in that case I had little chance. “But,” I said, “I suppose you would publish at my risk?” “No,” said Mr. Macmillan. “The author is never satisfied when his book doesn’t pay.” “What would you advise?” I asked. “I’ll give you a letter of introduction to Mr. William Longman,” said Mr. Macmillan; “I dare say he’ll publish for you.” With this letter I went to Mr. William Longman (who has since those days been gathered to his ancestors, formerly of Paternoster Row). Mr. Longman said he would put the MS. in the hands of his reader. If the reader’s report was favourable the firm would offer me terms; if not, they would publish for me on commission. I sent the MS. accordingly, and soon after I had a letter from the firm offering to publish “on commission.” When the book was in type, Mr. Longman advised me to have only 500 printed, and to publish at a high price. “I should charge 9_s._,” he said. “Very few people will buy, and they won’t consider the price.” This was not my opinion, but in such a matter I felt that the weight of authority was enormously against me. So I consented to the publishing price of 7_s._ 6_d._ And at first it seemed that Mr. Longman was right—at least about the small number of purchasers. £30 was spent in advertising, and the book was very generally and I may say very favourably reviewed; but when about 100 copies had been sold, it almost entirely ceased “to move.” I think 13 copies were sold in six months. So to get rid of the remainder of my 500 copies (some 300 of them) I put down the price to 3_s._ 6_d._ Then it seemed that Mr. Longman had made a mistake about the price. Without another advertisement the 300 were sold in a month or two. Some time after, I heard that the book had been republished in Cincinnati, and on my writing to the publishers, Messrs. Robert Clarke & Co., they presented me with half-a-dozen copies. This proved to be a perfect reprint, which is more than I can say of those which years afterwards were issued by Mr. Bardeen and Messrs. Kellogg. I have therefore from time to time purchased from Messrs. Clarke and imported the copies (I suppose about 1500 in all) that have been wanted for the English market. I hope these details do not bore you. =A.= Not at all. The history of any book interests me, and your book has had some odd experiences. It has lived, I own, much longer than I expected, and for this you have to thank the Americans. =A.= In my case the absence of international copyright has done no harm certainly; but after all copyright has its advantages, international copyright included. Specialists suffer severely from the want of it. Perhaps the “special” public in this country is so small that an important book for it cannot be published. If to our special public were joined the special public of the U.S., the book might be fairly remunerative to its author. Take, _e.g._, Joseph Payne’s writings. These would have been lost to the world had not Dr. Payne published them as an act of filial piety. With an international copyright these works would be very good property. =E.= You think then that in the long run “honesty is the best policy” even internationally? =A.= I must say my opinion does incline in that direction.

=Class Matches (p 42).=—=A.= I think you have had a good deal to do with class matches? =E.= Yes. One must be careful not to overdo them, but I have found an occasional match a capital way of enlivening school-work. Some time before the match takes place the master lets the two best boys pick up sides, the second boy having the first choice. The subject for the match is then arranged, and to prevent disputes the area must be carefully defined. Moreover, there must be no opportunity for the boys to ask questions about unimportant details that are likely to have escaped attention. When the match is to take place each boy should come provided with a set of written questions, and whenever a boy shows himself ignorant of the right answer to a question of his own he must be held to have failed even if his opponent is ignorant also. At Harrow, where I had a class-room (“school-room” as it is there called) to myself, I used to work these matches very successfully in German. Say Heine’s Lorelei had been learnt by heart. I set as a subject for a match the plurals of the substantives and the past participles of the verbs in the poem. Or the boys had to make up for themselves and number on paper a set of short sentences in which only words which occurred in the poem were used. In this last case the questioner handed in to the master his paper with both the English and the German on it, and the master gave the other side the English, of which they had to write the German. The details of such matches may of course be varied to any extent so long as the subject set is quite definite. The scoring will be found best at the lower end, so that a match stimulates those who need stimulus. =A.= What did you call “scratch pairs?” =E.= Oh, that was a device for getting up a little harmless excitement. Knowing the capacities of my boys, I arranged them in pairs, the best boy and the worst forming one pair, the next best and next worst the second pair, &c., &c. I then asked a series of questions to which all had to write short answers. I then looked over the answers and marked them. Finally the marks of each _pair_ were added together, and I announced the order in which the pairs “came in.” It was really “anybody’s race” for neither I nor anyone could predict the result. If the number of boys was an odd number the boy in the middle fought for his own hand and had his marks doubled. Perhaps on the whole he had the best chance.

=Competition.=—=A.= There were then some forms of emulation which you did not set your face against? =E.= There were many, but I preferred emulation which stimulated the idle rather than the industrious. Most “prizes” act only on those who would be better without them. =A.= Do you see no danger in encouraging rivalry between different bodies? The strife between parties has often been more virulent than the strife between individuals. =E.= Yes, I know well that in exciting party-feeling one is playing with edged tools; and besides this, a boy who for any cause is thought a disgrace to his side, is very likely to be bullied by it. Let me tell you of one form of stimulus which seemed to work well and was free from most of the objections you are thinking of. When I had a small school of my own in which there were only young boys, I put up in the school-room a list of the boys’ names in alphabetical order with blank spaces after the names. I looked over the boys’ written work very carefully, and whenever I came across any written exercise evidently done with great painstaking and for that boy with more than ordinary success, I marked it with a G, and I put up the G in one of the spaces after that boy’s name in the list hung up in the school-room. When the school collectively had obtained a fixed number of G’s we had an extra half-holiday. The announcement of a G was therefore always hailed with delight. =A.= I see one thing in favour of that device. You might by a G give encouragement to a boy when he has just begun to _try_. This is often a turning-point in a boy’s life; and a master’s early recognition of effort may do much to strengthen into a habit what might, without the recognition, have proved nothing but a passing whim. At the very least, all such devices have one good effect; they break the monotony of school-work; and monotony is much more wearing to the young than it is to their elders. Can you tell me of others who have used such plans? =E.= A friend of mine who has a genius for inventing school plans of all kinds and marvellous energy in working them, has a boarding-house in connexion with a large school. The marks of every boy in the school are given out for each week. My friend gives a supper at the end of the quarter if the average marks of his house come up to a certain standard. He puts up each week a list of “Furtherers,” _i.e._, of the boys who have surpassed the average, and of “Hinderers,” _i.e._, of boys who have fallen below it =A.= No doubt this is an effective spur, but I should fear it would in practice deliver the hindermost to Satan. The boy whom nature has made a “hinderer” is likely to have by no means a good time in that house. Do you know if such devices as you have mentioned are common in schools? =E.= I really can’t say. I have seen in American school papers accounts of class matches. In the New England _Journal of Education_ (22nd November, 1888) Mr. A. E. Winship gave an account of some inter-class matches at Milwaukee. There is a match between three classes, say in penmanship. If there are seventy boys in the three classes together, each boy draws a number from one to seventy, and puts not his name but his number on his paper. The same lesson is set for all. The papers are collected, divided into three equal heaps, and looked over and marked by three masters. Finally the _average_ of each class is taken. In mental arithmetic each class chooses its own champions. This would be fun, but would do nothing for the lower end of the class. The principal of McDonough School No. 12, New Orleans, Mr. H. E. Chambers, gives an account in the New York _School Journal_ (8th December, 1888), how he organised sixteen boys into teams of four, putting the best and worst together as I did in making up scratch pairs. The match between these teams was to see which could get the best record for the month. As Mr. Chambers tells us the sharper boys managed with more success than the master to let light into the dull intellects of boys in the same team with them. This union of interests between the “strong” and the “weak” as the French call them, is a very good feature in combats of _sides_.

=The Jesuits.=—=A.= What is it that interests you so much in the Jesuits? =E.= Two things. First, the Jesuit shows the effects of a definitely planned and rigidly carried out system of education; and next, in such a society you find a continuity of effort which is and must be wanting in the life of an individual. If ever “we feel that we are greater than we know” it is when we can think of ourselves as parts of a society, a society which existed long before us, and will last after us. For instance, it is a great thing to be connected with an historical school such as Harrow. We then realise, as the school’s poet, Mr. E. E. Bowen, has said, that we are no mere “sons of yesterday,” and thinking of the connection between the mighty dead and the old school we join heartily in the chorus of the school song:—

“Their glory thus shall circle us
“Till time be done.”

=A.= I verily believe you expect your share in this “glory” for having invented the Harrow “Blue Book,” which is likely to outlive _Educational Reformers_; but if the boys ever thought of the inventor (which they don’t) they would naturally suppose that he was some contemporary of Cadmus or Deucalion. _Sic transit!_ But what has this to do with the Jesuits? =E.= Only this, that by corporate life you secure a continuity of effort. There is to me something very attractive in the idea of a teaching society. How such a society might capitalise its discoveries! The Roman Church has shown a genius for such societies, witness the Jesuits and the Christian Brothers. The experience of centuries must have taught them much that we could learn of them. =A.= The Jesuits seem to me to be without the spirit of investigators and discoverers. The rules of their Society do not permit of their learning anything or forgetting anything. Ignatius Loyola was a wonderful man, but he must have been superhuman if he could legislate for all time. By the way, I see you say the first edition of the _Ratio_ was published in 1585. What is your authority? =E.= I took the date from the copy in the British Museum. According to a volume published by Rivingtons in 1838 (_Constitutiones Societatis Jesu_) the _Constitutions_ were first printed in 1558, but were not divulged till “the celebrated suit of the MM. Lionci and Father La Valette” in 1761.

=Alexander’s Doctrinale (p. 80).=—=A.= I thought you made it a rule to give only what was useful. What can be the use of the quotations which your old Appendix contained “from a celebrated grammar written by a Franciscan of Brittany about the middle of the 13th century”? =E.= Perhaps I had an attack of antiquarianism; but I rather think the quotations were given in order to shew our progress since those days. The Teachers’ art of making easy things difficult is well exemplified in Alexander’s rules for the first declension. But life is short, and folly is best forgotten.

=Lily’s Grammar (p. 80).= =A.= Would not your last remark rule out what you told us about Lily’s Grammar? =E.= As regards Lily’s assertion, “Genders of nouns be 7,” it certainly would. Surely nobody but a writer of school-books would ever have thought of making a “gender” out of “hic, hæc, hoc, felix”! But the absurdity did not originate with Lily. He was all for simplification, and though there were some changes in the Eton Latin Grammar which succeeded the “Short introduction of Grammar” known as Lily’s Grammar, these changes were, some of them at least, by no means improvements. The old book put _a_ before _all_ ablatives and taught that “by a kingdom” was _a regno_. If this was not any better than teaching that _domino_ by itself was “by a Lord,” it was at least no worse. The optative of the old book (“_Utinam sim_ I pray God I be; _Utinam Essem_ would God I were, &c.”) and the subjunctive (“_Cum Sim_ When I am, &c.,”) were better than the oracular statement which perplexed my youth, “The subjunctive mood is declined like the potential.” How often I said those words, and being of an inquiring mind wondered what on earth “the subjunctive mood” was!