These enormities then shew them selues, when children do chaunge both

schooles and maisters: where alteration hindereth beyond all crie, the

new maister either thinking it some discredit to himselfe to beginne

where the old left, or misliking the choice which the former hath made,

or in deede by dispraysing him to seeke to grace himselfe: or the

order of his schoole not admitting the succession, as in deede they

be all diuerse. Sometimes the boy being vngrounded, by his maisters

ignorance if he could not, by his negligence if he did not the thing

which he could, will not bende to be bettered, but must keepe the

same countenaunce which he himselfe conceiueth of himselfe. And this

commonly falles out so, when the parentes be peuish, and thinke their

childe disgraced if he be once set backward (for so the tearme is)

whereas in verie deede he is bidde but to looke backe, to see that

which he neuer saw, and ought to haue seene verie substantially. Which

disorder proceeding from the parentes ouerruleth vs all, causing great

weakenes, and much mismatching in the fourmes of our schooles: so that

we either cannot, or may not finde fault euen to amend it, whereas

the order being one, and planted by authoritie, though the childe

vse to chaunge often, yet his profiting is soone perceiued: and the

parentes also wilbe well contented, when they suspect no partialitie

by priuate passion, and see indifferencie in publicke prouision. Such

be the frutes which _varietie_ bringes foorth, _perillous_ in great

affaires, still gathering strength by traine in those petie principles:

wheras to the contrarie _vniformitie_ is full of contentment. Nothing

continueth one in our schooles but the common grammar set furth by

authoritie, which confirmeth mine opinion both by pollicie in the first

setting out, and by profit in the long continuing, wherein we all agree

perforce as in a case of higher countenaunce, and already ruled. Which

booke whether it may stand still with some amendement, or of necessitie

must be cast some other way, for better method, it shall then be seene

when comparisons come in season, that the alteration may shew, whether

there were cause to chaunge, or some iniurie offered to chaunge without

cause. For both that booke, and all the like, which serue for direction

and method must be fashioned to the matter which they seeme to direct

by rule and precept, being not of themselues, but made to serue others.

This we haue by it, that _vniformitie_ out of al controuersie is best,

but whether it selfe be best, that is yet in controuersie.

[Sidenote: Sparing of expenses.]

For _sparing_ of _expenses_, the second commoditie which _vniformitie_

bringes with her, this is my opinion: while it is left to the teachers

libertie to make his owne choice, both for the booke which he will

teach and the order how, betweene the varietie of iudgementes, and

inequalitie of learning in teachers, which by order must be made one,

by consent neuer will, the parentes purses are pretily pulled, and

poore men verie sore pinched both with chaunge of bookes, the maister

oft repealing his former choice: and also with number, while euery

booke is commended to the buyer, which either maketh a faire shew

to be profitable: or otherwise is sollicited to the sale, as in our

dayes necessitie must sell, where such an ouerflush of bookes growes

chargeable to the printer. For the old periode is returned, that

_Iuuenall_ found in his time, learned and vnlearned must needes write,

he is marde that comes lag. Nay ordinarily some few leaues be occupied

in the best chosen, and biggest booke, besides the oft leasing and

much spoiling of them sachels and all, to their gaines it may be said

that sell them, though to the parentes losse that buy them, and those

of the meaner sort, whose children maintaine schooles most, and swarme

thickest in all places and professions, which thing might be farre

better vsed, if the best onely were bought, and with the losse of his

bookes the childe lost no more. All which inconueniences may easily be

remeadied, and with small adoe. For whatsoeuer is needeful to be vsed

in schooles, may be verie well comprised in a small compasse, and haue

all his helpes with him being gathered into some one pretie volume

compounded of the marrow of many: neither will the charge be great, the

ware being small, and our profession is not to perfit, but to enter.

Neither yet hereby is any iniurie done to good writers, whose bookes

may verie well tarie for the ripenes of the reader, and that place

which is dew to them, in the ordinarie ascent of learning and studie,

being no intruders into rowmes to meane for them, and content to take

that place whereunto they are marshalled by their value, and degree:

to their praise which made them, when the student can iudge: to the

studentes profit, when he can vnderstand: and the fast retaining of

them, when order maintanes memorie.

In our _grammer_ schooles we professe the toungues nay rather the

entraunce of toungues. Euerie profession that is penned in any toungue

ministreth to her student those wordes that be proper to her owne

subiecte. Which wordes be then best gotten when they follow the

matter, as they will do most willingly in the peculiar studie of the

same profession. If a _grammarian_ therefore be entred to _write_,

_speake_, and _vnderstande_ pretily in some well chosen argument best

to follow for aptnes ech way, though he neither know all, nor most

wordes in any toungue, which is reserued to further studie: yet our

schooles be discharged of their dewtie, in doing but so much. They

that assigne _grammer_ maisters wherein to trauell, appoint them

_histories_, and _poetes_, though they make some choice of men, and

some distinction of matter in regard of vertuous maners and purenes of

stile. In our schooles what time will serue vs to runne ouer all these?

nay to deale but with some few of them throughly? how then? Is not some

litle well pickt, and printed alone the praise of our profession and

the parentes ease? And be not the maine bookes to be consigned ouer to

the right place in their owne calling? Some vaines be rapt, and will

needes proue _poetes_, leaue them the art of _poetrie_, and the whole

bookes and argumentes of _poetes_. Some will commend to memorie, and

posteritie such actes and monumentes, as be worthy the remembrance: Let

them haue the rules, whereby the penning of _histories_ is directed to

write thereby with order: and the matter of _histories_ to furnish out

their stile. If men of more studie and greater learning haue leysure

and list to reade, they may vse _histories_ for pleasure, as being

but an after meates studie: neither tyring the braine, nor tediouse

any way: as they be not generally to build on for iudgement: bycause

ignorance of their circumstances make some difficultie in applying,

and great daunger in prouing. They may also runne ouer _poetes_, when

they are disposed to laugh, and to behold what brauery _enthousiasme_

inspireth. For when the _poetes_ write sadly and soberly, without

counterfeating though they write in verse, yet they be no _poetes_

in that kinde of their writing: but where they couer a truth with a

fabulous veele, and resemble with alteration. We are therefore to

cull out some of the best, and fittest for our introductorie, and to

send away the rest to their owne place, in the peculiar professions,

and that not in _poetes_ and _histories_ alone, but also in all other

bookes whatsoeuer, which be at this day admitted into our schooles. The

_poetes_ wordes be verie good, and most significant, as it appeareth by

_Platoes_ whole penning, whose eloquence is thought fit for sainctes,

if any heauenly creature had a longing to speake _greeke_. And in

the latin they haue the same grace, in his iudgement, which best

vnderstoode what wordes were best, as being himselfe the best, and

eloquentest oratour, speaking of them in that booke,[74] wherein he

both sheweth his eloquence most, and vseth the personages of the most

eloquent _oratours_, to deliuer his minde. The quantitie of _syllabes_

is to be learned of them, to auoide mistiming, as the wise writer

_Horace_ pointeth the poet therfore first to frame the tender mouth of

the yong learner.

Moreouer some verie excellent places most eloquently, and forcibly

penned for the polishing of good manners, and inducement vnto vertue

may be pickt out of some of them, and none more then _Horace_. We may

therefore either vse them, with that choice: or helpe the pointe our

selues if we thinke it good, and can pen a verse that may deserue

remembraunce. Suche an helpe did _Apollinarius_ offer vnto his

time, as _Sozomenus_, and _Socrates_ the scholer, report in their

ecclesiasticall histories. For _Iulian_ the renegate spiting at the

great learning of _Basil_, _Gregorie_, _Apollinarie_, and many moe

which liued in that time, which time was such a breeder of learned

men, as in _Christian_ matters and _religion_ we reade none like, by

decree excluded the _christian_ mens Children from the vse of prophane

learning wherin the christian diuines were so cunning as they stopt

both his, and his fauorites mouthes with their owne learning, they

passed them all so farre. Then _Apollinarius_ conueighed into verses of

all sortes, after the imitation of all the best prophane poetes diuine

and holy argumentes gathered out of scripture whereby he met with

_Iulians_ edict, and furnished out his owne profession, with matter and

argument of their owne. Now in misliking of profane arguments some such

helpe may be had and appropriate to our youth. But there must be heede

taken, that we plant not any poeticall furie in the childes habit. For

that rapt inclination is to ranging of it selfe, though it be not helpt

forward, where it is, and would not in any case be forced where it is

not. For other writers, _number_ and _choice_ of wordes, _smoothnes_

and _proprietie_ of composition with the _honestie_ of the argument

must be most regarded. _Quintilianes_ rule is very true and the verie

best, and alway to be obserued, in chusing of writers for children to

learne, to picke out such as will feede the wit with fairest stuffe,

and fine the toungue with neatest speach. So that neither slight, and

vnproper matters, though eloquentlie set foorth, neither weightie and

wise being rudely deliuered be to be offered to children, but where the

honestie and familiaritie of the argument is honored and apparelled

with the finesse and fitnes of speach. Which thing if it be lookt vnto

in planting _vniformitie_, and pointing out fit bookes, besides many

and infinite commodities which will grow thereby to the whole realme,

assuredly the multitude of many needelesse volumes, will be diminished

and cut of. So that _vniformitie_ in schooling may seeme very

profitable seeing it will supplant so great defectes, as the likelyhood

giues, and plant the redresse, which in nature it importeth: besides

that which the common weale doth gaine by acquainting yong wittes euen

from their cradeles, both to embrace and apply orderly _vniformes_,

which in thinges subiect to sense is delitefull to behold: in

comprehensions of the minde is comfortable to thinke on: in executions

and effectes is the staie whereon we stand, and the steddiest recourse

to correct errors by. I am led by these reasons and many the like, to

thinke that either nothing in deede, or very litle in shew, can iustly

be alleaged to the contrary but that such an order must needes be verie

profitable, to giue schooles a purgation to voide them of some great

inconueniences: as I take the thing also to be verie compassable, if

authoritie shall like of it, without which an opinion is but shewed,

and dieth without effect.

I entend my selfe by the grace of God to bestow some paines therein,

if I may perceaue any hope to encourage my trauell. If any other will

deale I am ready to staie, and behold his successe: if none other will,

then must I be borne with, which in so necessarie a case do offer

to my countrie all my duetifull seruice. Wherein if any vpon some

repining humor shall seeme to stomacke me, bycause being one perhaps

meaner then he is himselfe, I do thus boldly auaunce my doinges to the

stage, and view of my countrie: yet still he step foorth and shew vs

his cunning he hath no wrong offred him, if another do speake while he

wilbe silent. And whosoeuer shall deale in generall argumentes, must

be content to put vp those generall pinches, which repining people do

vse then most, when they are best vsed, and esteeme it some benefit,

when doing well he heareth ill: and thinke that he hath gotten a great

victorie if he please the best, and profit the most, as he may profit

all and yet displease many: either through _ignorance_ bycause they

cannot discerne: or through _willfulnes_ being wedded to preiudice: or

ells through _disdaine_ bycause it spiteth some, to see other aboue

spite. A disease proper to basest dispositions, and of meanest desert,

to pinch the heele where they pricke at the head.

But such as meane to do well, how souer their power perfourme, so

the height of their argument ouertop not their power to farre, and

discouer great want of discretion in meddling with a matter to much

surmounting their abilitie, they may comfort and encourage themselues

with that meaning, if their doing do answere it in any resonable

proportion, and thinke it a thing, (as it is in deede) naturally, and

daily accompanying all potentates either in person, or propertie, and

therefore no disgrace to any meaner creature to wrastle with repyning

and sowre spirites euen verie then, when they worke them most good,

which are readyest to repine. If the doinges be massiue they will beare

a knocke: if they be but slender, and will streight way bruse, beware

the warranting. As in this my labour I dare warrant nothing, but the

warines of good will, which euen ill wil shall see: if it haue any

sight to see that is right, as commonly that way it is starke blinde,

and so much the more incurablely, bycause the blindnes comes either of

vnwillingnes to see, or of an infected sight, that will misconsture and

depraue the obiect. I craue the gentle and friendly construction of

such as be learned, or that loue learning, and yet I neede not craue

it, bycause learning that is sound in deede and needes no bolstering,

and all her louers and fauorers, be verie liberall of friendly

construction, and nothing partiall to speake the best, euen where it

is not craued. I must pray, if prayer will procure it, the gentle and

curteouse toleration of such, as shall mislike. For as I will not

willingly do that, which may deserue misliking: so if I once know

wherein, I will satisfie thoroughly. And therefore in one word, I must

pray my louing countriemen, and friendly readers, this to thinke of me,

that either I shall hit, as my hope is, and then they shall enioy it:

or if I misse, I will amend, and my selfe shall not repent it.

[Sidenote: Schoole orders publicke.]

2. The second remedie to helpe schoole _inconueniences_ was to set

downe the schoole _ordinaunces_ betwene the maister, and his scholers

in a publicke place, where they may easily be seene and red: and to

leaue as litle vncertaine or vntoucht, which the parent ought to know,

and whereupon misliking may arise, as is possible. For if at the first

entry the parent condiscend, to those orders, which he seeth, so that

he cannot afterward plead eitheir ignorance, or disallowing, he is not

to take offence, if his childe be forced vnto them when he will not

follow, according to that fourme, which he himselfe did confirme by

his owne consent. And yet when all is done the glosse will wring the

text. Wherefore the _maner_ of teaching, the ascent in fourmes, the

_times_ of admission, the _preuention_ to haue fourmes equall, the

_bookes_ for learning, and all those thinges, which be incident vnto

that _vniformitie_, wherof I spake, being already knowen to be ratified

by authoritie, as I trust it shalbe: or if not, yet the same order in

the same degrees being set downe, which the maister priuately according

to his owne skill entendes to kepe: it shalbe very good to take away

matter of iarre betwene the parentes and the maister, in the same table

publickly to be seene, and shewed to the parentes, when they bring

their child first to schoole, besides all that, which I haue generally

touched to set downe also in plaine and flat termes, 1. what _houres_

he will kepe, bycause there is great consideration in that, what to

haue fixed and perpetuall, and wherein to giue place to particular

occasions, as there be very many, why all children cannot kepe all

_houres_, though the schoole _houres_ must still be certaine: and

discretion must be the determiner. 2. Againe what _occasions_ he will

vse to let them go to play, which be now very many, and very needefull,

while ordinarie exercises be not as ordinarily admitted, as ordinarie

schooling, is ordinarily allowed: 3. and such other thinges as the

schoole shall seeme necessarily to require. For a certaintie resolueth,

and preuentes douting.

[Sidenote: Of curtesie and correction.]

But he must cheifly touch what _punishment_ he will vse, and how much,

for euery kinde of fault that shall seeme punishable by the _rod_.

For the _rod_ may no more be spared in schooles, then the _sworde_

may in the _Princes_ hand. By the _rod_ I meane _correction_, and

_awe_: if that sceptre be thought to fearfull for boyes, which our

time deuised not, but receiued it from auncientie, I will not striue

with any man for it, so he leaue vs some meane which in a multitude

may worke obedience. For the priuate, what soeuer parentes say, my

ladie _birchely_ will be a gest at home, or else parentes shall not

haue their willes. And if in men great misses deserue and receiue

great punishment, sure children may not escape in some qualitie of

punishment, which in quantitie of vnhappinesse will match some men.

And if parentes were as carefull to examine the causes of beating, as

they are nothing curious to be offended without cause for beating,

themselues might gaine a great deale more to their childrens good: and

their children lease nothing, by their parentes assurance. But commonly

in such cases rashnesse hath her recompence, the errour being then

spied, when the harme is incurable, and repentance without redresse.

Terme it as ye list, beate not you saye for learning but for lewdnesse.

Sure to beate him for learning which is willing enough to learne, when

his witte will not serue, were more then frantike: and vnder the name

of not learning to hide and shrowd all faultes and offenses, were more

then foolish: and what would that childe be without beating, which

with it can hardly be reclaimed? in whom onely lewdnesse is the let,

and capacitie is at will? The ende of our schooles is learning: if it

faile by negligence, punish negligence: if by other voluntarie default,

punish the default. Spare learning: so that still the refuge must be

to the maisters discretion: both for manners, and for learning, whom

I would wish to set downe as much in certaintie as he can, at the

beginning, and to leaue as litle as he may to the childes report, who

will alway leane and sway to much to his owne side, and beare away the

bell, euen against the best maister, cheifly if his mother be either

his counsellour, or his attourney: or the father vnconstant, and

without iudgement.

The maister therfore must haue in his table a _catalogue_ of schoole

faultes, beginning at the commandementes, for _swearing_, for

_disobedience_, for _lying_, for _false_ witnesse, for picking, and

so thorough out: then to the meaner heresies, _trewantry_, _absence_,

_tardies_, and so forth. Such a thing _Xenophon_[75] seemes to meane

in rekening vp the faultes, which the _Persian_ vsed to punish, though

he limit not the penaltie, what, nor how much. Which in all these

I wish our maister to set downe with the number of stripes also,

immutable though not many. Wherin the maister is to take good heed,

that the fault may be confessed, if it may be, without force, and the

boye conuicted by verdit of his fellowes, and that very euidently.

For otherwise children will wrangle amaine, and affection at home

hath credulitie beyond crye, which makes the boy dare, what reason

dare not. If any of their fellowes be appointed monitours, (as such

helpes of Lieutenauncie must be had, where the maister cannot alwaye

be present himselfe) and take them napping, they wil pretend spite, or

some priuate displeasure in most manifest knauerie. And if ye correcte,

as your Lieutenant must haue credit, if you meane to keepe state, that

must go home to proue beating without cause. If the maister differre

execution, that delaie will enstruct them to deuise some starting hole,

and that also if it be not heard in schoole wilbe heard at home.

To tell tales out of schoole, is now as commonly vsed to the worst,

as in the old world it was high treason to do it at all. There be as

many prety _stratagemes_ and deuises, which boyes will vse to saue

themselues, and as pleasaunt to heare as any _apopthegme_ in either

_Plutarch_, _Ælianus_, or _Erasmus_. The maister therefore must be very

circumspecte, and leaue no shew, or countenaunce of impunitie deserued,

where desert biddes pay. It were some losse of time in learning,

to spend any in beating, if it did not seeme a gaine that soundeth

towardes good, and seekes amendement of manners. It is passing hard,

to reclaime a boye, in whom long impunitie hath graffed a carelesse

securitie, or rather some deepe insolencie: and yet freindes will

haue it so, and beating may not be for discouraging the boye, though

repentaunce be in rearward. It is also not good after any correction

to let children grate somwhat to long of their late greife, for feare

of to greate stomaking, onlesse the parentes be wise and stedfast,

with whom if a cunning, and a discrete maister ioyne, that childe is

most fortunate which hath such parentes, and that scholer most happie

which hath light on such a maister. “But certainly it is most true,

let plausibilitie in speach vse all her excusing and blanching colours

that she can, that the round maister, which can vse the rod discretely,

though he displease some, which thinke all punishment vndiscrete, if

it tuch their owne, doth perfourme his duetie best, and still shall

bring vp the best scholers: As no maister of any stuffe shall do but

well, where the parentes like that at home, which the maister doth at

schoole: and if they do mislike any thing, will rather impart their

greife and displeasure with the maister priuately, to amend it, then

moane their child openly, to marre that way more then they shall make

any way. The same faultes must be faultes at home, which be faultes

at schoole, and receiue the like reward in both the places, to worke

the childes good by both meanes, correction as the cause shall offer,

commendacion as neede shall require.”

They that write most for gentlenesse in traine reserue place for the

rod, and we that vse the terme of seueritie recommend curtesie to the

maisters discretion. Here is the oddes: they will seeme to be curteous

in termes, and yet the force of the matter makes them confesse the

neede of the rod: we vse sharp termes, and yet yeilde to curtesie more,

then euen the verie patrones of curtesie do, for all their curifauour.

Wherin we haue more reason to harp on the harder stringe for the

trueth of the matter, then they to touch but the softer, so to please

the person: seeing they conspire with vs in the last conclusion, that

both correction and curtesie be referred to discretion. Curtesie goeth

before, and ought to guide the discourse, when reason is obeyed which

is very seldome: but the corruptnesse in nature, the penalties in lawe,

courage to enflame, desire to entice, and so many euilles assailing one

good do enforce me to build my discourse vpon feare, and leaue curtesie

to consideration: as the bare one reason of reason obeyed, a thing

still wished, but seldome wel willed, doth cause some curteous conceit,

not much acquainted with the kinde of gouernment, vpon some plausible

liking, to make curtesie the outside, and keepe canuase for the lyning:

but euer still for the last staffe to make discretion the refuge.

Wherin we agree, though I priuately chide him, and saye why dissemble

ye? Vnder hand he aunswereth me, I lend the world some wordes, but I

will witnesse with you, I do not speake against discrete correction,

but against hastinesse, and crueltie. Sir I know none, that will either

set correction or curtesie at to much libertie, but with distinction,

vpon whom they be both to be exercised: neither yet any, that will

praise cruelty: and all those, that write of this argument, whether

Philosophers or others allow of punishment, though they differ in the

kinde.

And it is said in the best common weale,[76] not that no punishment is

to be vsed, but that such an excellent naturall witte, as is made out

of the finest mould would not be enforced, bycause in deede it needes

not: neither will I offer feare, where I finde such a one: neither

but in such a common weale shall I finde such a one. And yet in our

corrupt states we light sometime vpon one, that were worthy to be a

dweller in a farre better. And I will rather venture vpon the note of

a sharp maister to make a boye learne that, which may afterward do him

seruice, yea though he be vnwilling for the time, and very negligent:

then that he shall lacke the thing, which maye do him seruice, when age

commeth on, bycause I would not make him learne, for the vaine shadow

of a curteous maister. It is slauish sayeth _Socrates_ to be bet. It

is slauish then to deserue beating sayeth the same _Socrates_. If

_Socrates_ his free nature be not found, sure _Socrates_ his slauish

courage must be cudgelled, euen by _Socrates_ his owne confession.

For neither is punishment denied for slaues, neither curtesie for

free natures. This by the waye, neither _Socrates_ nor _Plato_ be so

directly carefull in that place, for a good maister in this kinde, as

the place required, though they point the learner. And in deed where

they had _Censores_ to ouersee the generall traine, both for one

age and other, there needed no great precept this waye. If parentes

might not do this, neither children attempt that, then were maisters

disburdened: If all thinges were set in stay by publike prouision,

priuate care were then mightily discharged. But _Socrates_ findes a

good scholer which in naturall relation inferreth a good maister. And

yet _Philippe_ of _Macedonie_, had a thousand considerations in his

person, moe then that he was _Alexanders_ father, and it is not enough

to name the man, onelesse ye do note the cause why with all, and in

what respect ye name him. A wise maister, which must be a speciall

caueat in prouision, wil helpe all, either by preuenting that faultes

be not committed, or by well vsing, when soeuer they fall out, and

without exception must haue both correction and curtesie, committed

vnto him beyond any appeal. _Xenophon_[77] maketh _Cyrus_ be beaten of

his maister, euen where he makes him the paterne of the best Prince, as

_Tullie_ sayeth[78] and mindes not the trueth of the storie, but the

perfitnesse of his deuise, being him selfe very milde as it appeareth

still in his _iourney_ from _Assyria_ after the death of _Cyrus_ the

younger.[79] For a _soule_ there could not be one lesse _seruile_ then

he, which was pictured out beyond exception: for _impunitie_, there

could not be more hope, then in a Prince enheritour, and that is more,

set forth for a _paterne_ to Princes. And yet this Princes child in

the absolutenesse of deuise, was beaten by his deuise, which could

not deuise any good traine exempt from beating beinge yet the second

ornament of _Socrates_ his schoole.

The case was thus, and a matter of the _Persian_ learning. A long boye

had a short coate, and a short boye had a long one: The long boye

tooke awaye the short boyes coate, and gaue him his: both were fit:

But yet there arose a question about it. _Cyrus_ was made iudge, as

iustice was the _Persian_ grammer. He gaue sentence, that either should

haue that which fitted him. His maister bette him for his sentence:

bycause the question was not of fitnesse, but of right, wherein eche

should haue his owne. His not learning, and errour by ignorance, was

the fault, wherfore he was punished. And who soeuer shall marke the

thing well, shall finde, that not learning, where there is witte to

learne, buildeth vpon _idlenesse_, vnwilling to take paines, vpon

_presumption_ that he shall carie it awaye free, and in the ende, vpon

_contempt_ of them, from whom he learned to contemne, where he should

haue reuerenced. Slight considerations make no artificiall anatomies,

and therfore wil smart, bycause they spie not the subtilities of

creeping diseases. It is easie for negligence in scholers, to pretend

crueltie in maisters, where fauour beyond rime, lendes credit beyond

reason. But in such choice of maisters where crueltie maye easily be

auoided, nay in such helpe by Magistrate, where it may be suppressed:

and in such wealth of parentes which may change where they like not,

if I should here a young gentleman say he was driuen from schoole, he

should not driue me from mine opinion, but that there was follie in

the parentes, and he had his will to much followed, if his parentes

had the training of him, or that his gardian gaue to much to his owne

gaine, and to litle to his wardes good, if he were not himselfe some

hard head besides, and set light by learning, as a bootie but for

beggers. For gentlenesse and curtesie towarde children, I do thinke

it more needefull then beating, and euer to be wished, bycause it

implyeth a good nature in the child, which is any parentes comfort, any

maisters delite. And is the _nurse_ to liberall wittes, the maisters

_encouragement_, the childes _ease_, the parentes _contentment_,

the _bannishment_ of bondage, the _triumph_ ouer torture, and an

_allurement_ to many good attemptes in all kinde of schooles.

But where be these wittes, which will not deserue, and that very much?

and where much deseruing is, who is so shamles as to deny correction,

which by example doth good, and helpes not the partie offender alone.

Giue me meane dispositions to deserue, they shall neuer complaine

of much beating: but of none I dare not say, bycause insolent

rechelessenes will grow on in the very best, and best giuen natures,

where impunitie profers pardon, eare the fault be committed. My selfe

haue had thousandes vnder my hand, whom I neuer bet, neither they euer

much needed: but if the rod had not bene in sight, and assured them

of punishment if they had swarued to much, they would haue deserued:

And yet I found that I had done better in the next to the best, to

haue vsed more correction, and lesse curtesie, after carelessenesse

had goten head. Wherfore I must needes say, that in any multitude the

rod must needes rule: and in the least paucitie it must be seene, how

soeuer it sound. Neither needeth a good boye to be afraid, seeing his

fellow offender beaten, any more then an honest man, though he stand by

the gallowes, at the execution of a fellon. This point for punishment

must the maister set downe roundly, and so as he meaneth in deede to

deale, bycause the pretence is generally, not so much for beating, as

for to sore beating, which being in sight, the conclusion is soone

made, and he that will preuent that sore, may see that set downe,

which is thought sufficient. Whervnto if the parent submit himselfe in

consent, and his childe in obedience the bargain is thorough, if not

there is no harme done.

If the schoole rest vpon the maister alone, thus must he do if he

meane to do well, and to continue freindship where he meanes to do

good. If it be some free foundacion, the founders must ioyne with the

maister, if they meane that the frute of their cost shalbe commodious

to their cuntrey. Leaue nothing to had I wist where ye may aunswere ye

wist it. When any extraordinary fault breaketh out, as _Solon_ said of

parricide, that he thought there was none such in nature, conference

with the parent, and euident proofe before punishment, will satisfie

all parties. And euer the maister must haue a fatherly affection,

euen to the vnhappyest boye, and thinke the schoole to be a place of

amendment, and therfore subiect to misses.

[Sidenote: The maistres yeares and alonenesse.]

For the maisters yeares, I leaue that to the admitters, as I do

his alonenesse. Sufficiency of liuing wil make marriage most fit,

where affection to their owne, worketh fatherlynesse to others: and

insufficiencie of liuing will make a sole man remoue sooner, bycause

his cariage is small. Most yeares should be most fit to gouerne, both

for constantnesse to be an ancker for leuitie to ride at, which is

naturally in youth: and for discretion and learning, which yeares

should bring with them. But bycause there be errours I leaue this to

discretion. The admitters to schooles haue a great charge, and ought

to proue as curious as the very best Godfathers, whose charge yet is

farre greater, then the account of it is made, among common persons.

These thinges do I take to be very necessarie meanes, to helpe many

displeasures wherwith schooling is anoyed, and to plant pleasure in

their place. And yet when all is done the poore teacher must be subiect

to as much, as the sunne is, to shine ouer all, and yet see much more

then he can amend: as the diuine is, which for all his preaching,

cannot haue his auditorie perfit: as the Prince is, who neither for

reward nor penalty can haue generall obedience. The teachers life is

painfull, and therfore would be pityed: it is euidently profitable, and

therfore would be cherished: it wrastles with vnthankfullnesse aboue

all measure, and therefore would be comforted, with all encouragement.

One displeased parent will do more harme vpon a head, if he take

a pyrre at some toy, neuer conferring with any, but with his owne

cholere: then a thousand of the thankfullest will euer do good, though

it be neuer so well deserued. Such small recompence hath so great

paines, the very acquaintance dying when the childe departes, though

with confessed deserte, and manifest profit: Such extreme dealing will

furie enforce, where there is no fault, but that conceit surmiseth,

vnwilling to examine the truth of the cause, and lother to reclame, as

vnwilling to be seene so ouershot by affection. This very point wherby

parentes hurte themselues in deede, and hinder their owne, though they

discourage teachers, would be looked vnto by some publike ordinaunce,

that both the maisters might be driuen to do well, if the fault rest

in them: and the parentes to deale well, if the blame rest there:

considering the publike is harmed, where the priuate is vncharmed, to

ende it in meter as my president is.

But in the beginning of this argument I did protest against _Philip

Melanchthons_ miseries, and therefore I will go no further, seeing what

calling is it, which hath not his cumbat against such discurtesies? The

prouerbe were vntrue, if man should not be as well a wolfe to man, as

he is tearmed a God and did not more harme, in vnkyndenesse, then good

in curtesie: so maruelosly fraught with ill and good both, as _Plinie_,

cannot iudge whether nature be to a man, a better mother, or a bitterer

stepdame. But patience must comfort where extremitie discourageth: and

a resolute minde is a rempare to it selfe, vpon whom as _Horace_ saith,

though the whole world should fall, it might well crush him perforce,

but not quash him for feare.

FOOTNOTES:

[73] P. Melancthon.

[74] De oratore.

[75] 1. παιδί.

[76] 7 De rep. Plato.

[77] 1. παιδ.

[78] Ad Quintum Frat.

[79] Ανάβασις.

CHAPTER 44.

THAT CONFERENCE BETWENE THOSE WHICH HAUE INTEREST IN CHILDREN:

CERTAINETIE OF DIRECTION IN PLACES WHERE CHILDREN VSE MOST: AND

CONSTANCIE IN WELL KEEPING THAT, WHICH IS CERTAINELY APPOINTED, BE THE

MOST PROFITABLE CIRCUMSTANCES BOTH FOR VERTUOUS MANERING AND CUNNING

SCHOOLING.

Of all the meanes which pollicie and consideration haue deuised to

further the good training vp of children, either to haue them well

learned, or vertueously manered, I see none conparable to these three

pointes: _conference_ betwene those persons, which haue interest

in children, to see them well brought vp: _certainetie_ in those

thinges, wherein children are to trauell, for their good bringing vp:

_constancie_ in perfourming that, which by _conference_ betweene the

persons is set _certaine_ in the thinges: that there be either no

change at all after a sound limitation: or at least verie litle, saue

where discretion in execution, is to yeald vnto circumstaunce. Therfore

I entend to vtter some part of mine opinion concerning these three

things, _conference_ to breede the best: _certainetie_ to plant the

best: _constancie_ to continue the best: and first of _conference_.

Which I find to be of foure cooplementes: _parentes_ and _neighbours_:

_teachers_ and _neighbours_: _parentes_ and _teachers_: _teachers_ and

_teachers_: whereof euerie one offereth much matter for the furthering

of both learning and good maners in children. Vnder the name of

_neighbours_ I comprehend all forraine persons, whom either commendable

dewtie by countrie lawe: or honest care of common curtesie doth giue

charge vnto, to helpe the bettering of children, and to fraie them from

euill.

[Sidenote: Conference betwene parentes and neighbours.]

1. Now if parentes in pointes of counsell vse to conferre with such,

they may learne by some others experience: how to deale in their

owne. And as this point is naturally prouided to assist infirmitie,

which craues helpe of others, where it standes in dout: so there is a

naturall iniunction wherby all men are charged to bestow their good and

faithfull counsell, where it is required, doing thereby great good to

the parties, and no harme to themselues, vnlesse it be to be rekened a

harme, to gaine the opinion of wisedom, the estimation of honestie, and

the note of humanitie, and a well giuen disposition. This consideration

resteth most in the partie mouer, which is to receiue aduise, when

himselfe shall require it. The next is an euident signe of an excellent

inclination, which of it selfe will doe good, euen bycause the thing

is good, though he be not conferred with. For if such persons will

conferre with parentes, when they spy any thing that is not well in

their children is it not honorable in them to deale so honestly? is it

not wisdome in parentes to constrew it most friendly? is it not happie

for those children which haue such carefull forraine helpers abroad,

such considerate naturall hearers at home? A simple meaning in both

the parties, the _neighbour_ to tell friendly, the _parent_ to take

kindely, and to excute wisely will do maruelous much good. And what is

this else but to loue thy neighbour as thy selfe, when thou mindest

his childe good, as thou doest thine owne? And what is it else but to

thinke of thy neighbour, as thou wouldest be thought on thy selfe,

when thou beleeuest him in thine, as thou wouldest be beleeued in

his? A true president of naturall _humanitie_, a religious patterne

of honest _neighbourhoode_, which in no other thing can declare more

good will, in no other thing can do one more good, then in respect

to his children, whether ye consider the childrens persons, or the

thing which is wished them. For in deede what be children in respect

of their persons? be they not the effectes of Gods perfourmaunce in

blessing? of his commaundement in encrease? be they not the assurance

of a state which shall continew by succession, and not dy in one brood?

be they not the parentes naturall purtracte? their comfort in hope,

their care in prouision? for whom they get all, for whom they feare

nought? And can he which desireth the good of this so great a blessing

from heauen, so great a staie for the countrie, so great a comfort to

parentes, deuise how to pleasure them more in any other thing? for to

wish children to be honest, vertuous, and well learned, is to wish that

to proue perfitly good, which standeth in a mammering, to proue good

or bad. And can this so great a good wish but proceede from a passing

honest disposition, and most worthy the embrasing? Nay most happy is

that state, where youth hath such a staie, in such libertie as it is,

not to helpe vnlesse one list. Hereupon I conclude that _conference_

betwene _parentes_ and others, whether by way of asking counsell, or by

aduertisemente to check faultes, is very profitable for the weale of

the litle ones.

[Sidenote: Conference betwene teachers and neighbours.]

2. This _conference_ may fall betwene the _neighbour_ and the

_teacher_. Wherein the _teacher_ must be verie warie bycause he hath

to deale with the informer for credit: with his scholer for amendment:

with the parent for liking. When the parent dealeth with his owne

childe, either of his owne knowledge, or by credited report, his

doome is death or life, the childe hath no appeale, but either must

amend, or feele the like smart. At the _teachers_ dealing, vpon any

aduertisement, there may and wilbe taken many pretie exceptions. Why

did you beleeue? why should he medle? why dealt you in this sort? And

whatsoeuer quarell miscontentment can deuise, being incensed with

furie: or some extreme heat, as angrie nature is an eager monster. And

in deede some ouerthwart conceit may moue the complainant, whatsoeuer

the pretence be. Againe some wise man, may light vpon so conuenient a

maister, as he may proue a better meane to redresse, then the parent

will be, in whom blinde nature will neither see the childes fault, nor

the friendes faith. But how soeuer it be, the maister must be warie,

where his commission is not absolute. But in the wise handling of this

ciuill _conference_ the childe shall gaine much towardes his well

doing, when wheresoeuer he shall be, or whatsoeuer he shall do, he

shall both finde it true, and feele it so, that either his parent or

his maister, or both together see him, if any other bodie see him.

[Sidenote: Conference betwene parentes and teachers.]

3. The next _conference_ is betweene _parentes_ and _maisters_, whereof

though I haue saide much, yet can I neuer say to much, the point is so

needefull: bycause their friendly and faithfull communicating workes

perpetuall obedience in the childe, contempt of euill, and desire to do

well: seeing both they trauell to make one good. There is nothing so

great an enemie to this so great a good as credulitie is in parentes,

not able to withstand the childes eloquence, when shed of teares,

and some childish passion do plead against punishment for assured

misdemeanour. But though for the time such parentes seeme to wynne,

bycause they haue their will: yet in the conclusion, they want their

will, when they wish it were not so. Before change either of place, to

proceede onward to further learning: or of maisters when the old is

misliked, and a new sought for, then this _conference_ is a meruelous

helpe. For in change of place, it growndes vpon knowledge, and growes

by aduice: in change of maisters, it is mistresse to warines not to

lease by the change. For can the new maister vnderstand and iudge of

the childes fault in so small a time, as the old maister may amend it

if he be conferred with? You are offended with the former maister,

haue ye conferred with him? haue ye opened vnto him your owne griefe,

your childes defect, his owne default? are ye resolued that the fault

is in the maister? may not your sonne forge? or may he not halt, to

procure alteration vpon some priuate peuishnes? _Cyrus_ as _Zenophon_

writeth[80] surprised the king of _Armenia_ being tributarie to the

_Medians_ but minding to reuolt, when the _Assyrians_ armie should

enter into _Media_. And yet though he found him in manifest blame,

he left him his state, as the best steward for the _Medians_ vse,

considering the partie pardoned is bound by defect, he that shall be

chosen, will thanke his owne merit, not the chusers munificence. Such

consideration had _Cyrus_, and such _conference_ with him, whom he knew

to be a foe, before he surprised him, and yet found the frute of his

considerate _conference_ and his determination vpon his _conference_,

to be exceding good and gainefull for himselfe after, and his friendes

for the time. A number of ills be auoided, and a number of goodes

obtained by this same _conference_ betwene _parentes_ and _maisters_.

If the _maister_ be wise and aduisedly chosen though he chaunce

to misse, he knowes to amend: if he neither be such a one, nor so

considerately chosen, yet _conference_ will discouer him, and shew hope

her listes, and what she may trust to. But not to dwel any longer in

this point, wherein elsewhere I haue not bene parciall, I must needes

say thus much of it at once for all, that no one meane either publike

or priuate makes so much for the good bringing vp of children, as this

_conference_ doth.

[Sidenote: Conference betwene teachers.]

4. The last _conference_ I appoint to be betwene those of the same

professions, whereby the generall traine is generally furthered. For

whersoeuer any subiect is to be dealt in by many, is not the dealers

_conference_ the meane to perfit dealing? and to haue that subiect

absolutely well done, which it selfe is subiect to so many doers? Is

either the patient any worse if the _Physitians_ conferre, or their

facultie baser by their being togither? is not the case still clearer,

where there is _conference_ in law? is not the church the purer were

_conference_ is in proufe? and doth not the contrarie in all do much

harme in all? And do ye thinke _that_ conference among teachers would

not do much good in the traine? or is the thing either for moment

so meane, or for number so naked, as it may not seeme worthy to be

considered vpon? Or can there any one, or but some few, be he or they

neuer so cunning, discerne so exactly, as a number can in common

_conference_? do not common companies which professe no learning, both

allow it, and proue it, and finde it to be profitable? where it is vsed

among teachers for the common good, it profiteth generally by sending

abroad some common direction. In places where many schooles be within

small compasse, it is very needefull to worke present good, and to

helpe one another, where all may haue enough to bestow their labour on.

But this _conference_, and that not in _teachers_ alone must be builded

vpon the _honest care_ of the _publike good_, without _respect_ of

_priuate gaine_: without _sting_ of _emulation_: without _gaule_

of _disdaine_: which be and haue bene great enemies to conference:

great hinderers to good schooling: nay extreame miners in cases aboue

schooling, and yet for the footing of that, which must after proue

fairest, good schooling is no small onset. I neede not to rip vp

the position to them, that be learned, which know what a mischiefe

the misse of _conference_ is, where it ought to be of force, and is

shouldered out by distempered fantsie. He that can iudge, knoweth the

force of this argument, which followeth: “where many illes seeke to

chooke one good, which themselues were displaced, if that good tooke

place: that good must needes be a great one, and worthy the wishing,

that it may procure passage.” Of _conference_ I must needes say

this, that it is the cognisance of humanitie, and that of the best

humanitie, being vsed for the best causes that concerne humanitie,

and all humaine societie. I dare enter no deeper in this so great

a good: but certainely in matters of learning there would be more

_conference_, euen of verie conscience. And if that honest desire

might bring downe great hart, the honorable effect would bring vp

great good, in all trades beyond crie, in our traine beyond credit. In

matters of engrosing, and _monopoleis_, in matters of forestauling and

intercepting there is dealing by _conference_ among the dealers, which

we all crie out of, bycause it makes vs crie, in our purses. And yet we

are slow to trie that in the good, which proues so strong in the ill,

and was first pointed for good. I vse no authorities to proue in these

cases, where reason her selfe is in place, and standeth not in neede of

alleaging of names, bycause she may well spare her owne retinew, where

her hoste himselfe doth tender his owne seruice.

[Sidenote: Certaintie.]

2. The next point after _conference_ is the chiefe and best offspring

of all wise _conferences_, _certainetie_ in direction, which in all

thinges commendes it selfe, but in bringing vp of children it doth

surpasse commendation, both for their manners and their learning.

This same so much praised _certainetie_ concerneth the limiting of

thinges, what to do and what to learne, how to do and how to learne,

where, when, and so furth to do that, which fineth the behauiour,

and to learne that which aduanceth knowledge. For children being of

themselues meere ignorant must haue _certainetie_ to direct them:

and trainers being not dailie to deuise, are at once to set downe

certaine, both what themselues will require at the childrens hand for

the generall order: and what the children must looke for at their

handes for generall perfourmance. This _certainetie_ must specially be

set sure, and no lesse soundly kept, in _schooles_ for _learning_, in

priuate _houses_ for _behauiour_, in _churches_ for _religion_, bycause

those three places, be the greatest aboades, that children haue.

[Sidenote: Certainetie in schooles.]

1. Concerning _certainetie_ in schoole pointes, and the benefit

thereof, I haue delt verie largely in the last title: so that I shall

not neede to vse any more spreading in that point, sauing onely that

I do continue in the same opinion: as the thing it selfe continueth

in it selfe most assurance of best successe, when the childe knoweth

his _certainetie_ in all limitable circumstances, whether he be at

schoole himselfe to prouide that must be done: or if he be not there,

yet to know in abscence, what is done there of course. So that where

ignorance of orders cannot be pretended, there good orders must needes

be obserued, which ordenarily bringe foorth a well ordered effect.

The best and most heauenly thinges be both most certaine, and most

constantly certaine, and the wisest men the certainest to builde on, in

the middest of our vncertaineties. So that _certainetie_ must needes

be a great leuell, which procureth such liking in those thinges where

it lighteth. In _schooling_ it assureth the parentes, what is promised

there, and how like to be perfourmed, by sight of the method and orders

set downe: it directeth the children as by a troden path, how to come

thither, as their iourney lieth: it disburdeneth the maisters heade,

when that is in writing, which he was in waying, and when experience by

oft trying hath made the habit able to march on of it selfe without any

renewing: whereunto mutabilitie is euerie day endaungered.

[Sidenote: Certainetie in priuate houses.]

2. The second point of _certainetie_ entereth into families and priuate

_houses_, which in part I then touched, when I wished the parentes so

to deale at _home_, as there might be a _conformitie_ betwene _schoole_

and _home_. This point will preuent two great inconueniences euen at

the first, besides the generale sequele of good discipline at home. For

neither shall schooles haue cause to complaine of priuate corruption

from home, that it infecteth them, when nothing is at home done or

seene, but that which is seemely: neither shall the schooles lightly

send any misdemeanour home, when the childe is assured to be sharpely

chekt, for his ill doing, if it appeare within doares. This is that

point which all writers that deale with the _œconomie_ of householdes,

and pollicie of states do so much respect, bycause the fine blossomes

of well trained families, do assure vs of the swetest flowres in

training vp of states, for that the buddes of priuate discipline be

the beauties of pollicie. I shall not neede to say, what a good state

that familie is in, where all thinges be most certainely set, and most

constantly kept, which do belong to the good example of the _heades_,

the good following of the _feete_, the good discipline of the whole

_house_. Though some not so resolute wittes, or gredier humours will

neither harken to this rule, neither keepe it in their owne, bycause

the distemperature is both blinde, and deafe, where the minde is

distempered, and violently giuen ouer either to extreame desire of

gaine, or to some other infirmitie which cannot stoup to staid order:

yet those _families_ which keepe it, finde the profitablenesse of it.

There children so well ordered by _certaineties_ at _home_: when to

rise: when to go to bed: when and how to pray euening and morning: when

and how to visit their parentes ear they goe to bed, after they rise,

ear they go abroad, when they returne home, at tables about meat, at

meeting in dutie with officious and decent speches of course, well

framed, and deulie called for, cannot but proue verie orderly and good.

He that in his infancie is thus brought vp, will make his owne proufe

his fairest president, and what housholde knoweth not this is extreame

farre of from any good president. Obedience towardes the prince and

lawes is assuredly grounded, when priuate houses be so well ordered:

small preaching will serue there, where priuate training settes thinges

so forward. Being therefore so great a good, it is much to be thought

on, and more to be called for.

[Sidenote: Certaintie in Churches.]

3. Now can _certaintie_ being so great a bewtifier both to publik

_schooles_, and priuate houses, be but very necessary to enter the

Church with children vpon _holydaies_? to haue all the young ones of

the Parish, by order of the Parish set in some one place of the Church?

with some good ouer looking, that they be all there, and none suffred

to raunge abroad about the streates, vpon any pretence? that they may

be in eye of parentes and parishioners? that they may be attentiue to

the Diuine seruice, and be time learne to reuerence that, wherby they

must after liue? I do but set downe the consideration, which they will

execute, who shall allow of it, and deuise it best, vpon sight of the

circunstance. How other men will thinke herof I know not, but sure

methinke, both publikly and priuately, that _certaintie_ in _direction_

where it may be well compassed, is a merueilous profitable kinde of

regiment, and best beseeming children, about whose bettering my trauell

is employed. In the very executing it sheweth present pleasure, and

afterward many singular profites: and is in very deede the right

meane to direct in _vncertainties_, as a stayed yearde to measure

flexible stuff. _Bladders_ and _bullrushes_ helpe _swimming_: the

_nurses_ hand the _infantes going_: the _teachers line_ the _scholers

writing_, the _Musicians tune_, his _learners timing_: what to do?

by following _certaintie_ at first to direct _libertie_ at last. And

he that is acquainted with _certaintie_ of _discipline_ in his young

yeares will thinke himselfe in exile, if he finde it not in age, and

by plaine comparisons, will reclaime misorders, which he likes not,

to such orders as he sees not. Who so markes and moanes the varietie

in _schooling_, the disorder in _families_, the dissolutenesse in

_Church_, will thinke I saye somwhat.

[Sidenote: Constancie.]

3. The third part of my diuision was _constancie_. For what auaileth

it to _conferre_ about the best, and to set it in _certaine_, where

_mutabilitie_ of mindes vpon euery infirmitie either of iudgement, or

other circunstance, is seeking to retire, and to leaue that rouling,

which was so well rewled. In this point of _constancie_ there be but

two considerations to be had, the one of knowledge in the thing,

the other of discretion in the vse. For he that is resolued in the

goodnesse and pith of the thing, will neuer reuolt, but like a valiant

general building vpon his owne knowledge, is certaine to conquere,

what difficultie so euer would seeme to dasle his eyes, or to dash

his conceit. It is weake _ignorance_ that yeildes still, as being

neuer well setled: it is _pusillanimitie_ that faintes still, not

belieuing where he sees not. Assured _knowledge_ will resemble the

great _Emperour_ of all, which is still the same and neuer changeth,

which set a lawe, that yet remaines in force euen from the first,

among all his best and most obedient thinges. The _sunnes_ course

is _certaine_, and _constantly_ kept. The _moone_ hath her mouing

without _alteration_, and that so _certaine_, as how many yeares be

their eclypses foretold? A good thing such as wise _conference_ is

most like to bring forth, would be _certainly_ knowen, and being

so knowen would be _constantly_ kept. The fairest _bud_ will bring

forth no frute, if it fall in the prime, but being well fostered by

seasonable weather, it will surely proue well. The greatest thinges

haue a feeble footing, though their perfitnesse be strong, but if

their meane be not _constant_, that first feeblenesse will neuer

recouer that last strength. I medle not with change of states, nor

yet with any braunches, whose particular change, quite altereth the

surface, of any best setled state, but with the training of children,

and the change therin: which being once certaine would in no case be

altered before the state it selfe vpon some generall change do command

alteration, whervnto all our schooling must be still applyed, to plant

that in young ones, which must please in old ones. As now our teaching

consisteth in toungues, if some other thing one daye seeme fitter for

the state, that fitter must be fitted, and fetcht in with procession.

But yet in changes this rule would be kept, to alter by degrees, and

not to rush downe at once. Howbeit the nature of men is such, as they

will sooner gather a number of illes at once to corrupt: then pare any

one ill by litle and litle with minde to amend.

Concerning _discretion_: there is a circunstance to be obserued in

thinges, which is committed alwaye to the executours person, and hath

respect to his iudgement, which I call no change, bycause in the first

setting downe that was also setled, as a most certaine point to rule

accidentarie _vncertainties_, which be no changes, bycause they were

foreseene. Such a supplie hath iustice in positiue lawes by equitie in

consideration, as a good chauncellour to soften to hard constructions.

That is one reason why the _monarchie_ is helde for the best kinde of

gouernment, bycause the rigour and seueritie of lawe, is qualified

by the princesse mercie, without breche of lawe, which left that

prerogatiue to the princesse person. The conspiracie which _Brutus_ his

owne children made against their father for the returne of _Tarquinius_

euen that cruell Prince, leanes vpon this ground, as _Dionysius_ of

_Halicarnassus_, _Liuie_, and others do note. So that _discretion_

to alter vpon cause in some vncertaine circunstance, nay to alter

circunstance vpon some certaine cause, is no enemie to _certaintie_.

When thinges are growen to extremities then change proues needefull to

reduce againe to the principle. For at the first planting, euery thing

is either perfitest, as in the matter of creation: or the best ground

for perfitnesse to build on, as in truth of religion: though posteritie

for a time vpon cause may encrease, but to much putting to burdeneth

to much, and in the ende procures most violent shaking of, both in

religious and politike vsurpations.

But this argument is to high for a schoole position, wherefore I

will knit vp in few wordes: that as _conference_ is most needefull,

so _certaintie_ is most sure, and _constancie_ the best keeper: that

it is no change, which _discretion_ vseth in doing but her duetie:

but that altereth the maine. Which in matters engraffed in generall

conceites would worke alteration by slow degrees, if foresight might

rule: but in extremities of palpable abuse it hurleth downe headlong,

yea though he smart for the time whom the change doth most helpe. But

in our schoole pointes the case falleth lighter, where whatsoeuer

matter shalbe offered to the first education, _conference_ will helpe

it, _certaintie_ will staye it, _constancie_ will assure it. Thus much

concerning the generall positions wherin if I haue either not handled,

or not sufficiently handled any particular point, it is reserued to the

particular treatise hereafter, where it will be bestowed a great deale

better, considering the present execution must follow the particular.

FOOTNOTES

[80] παιδ. 3.

CHAPTER 45.

THE PERORATION, WHERIN THE SUMME OF THE WHOLE BOOKE IS RECAPITULATED

AND PROOFES VSED, THAT THIS ENTERPRISE WAS FIRST TO BE BEGON BY

POSITIONS, AND THAT THESE BE THE MOST PROPER TO THIS PURPOSE. A

REQUEST CONCERNING THE WELL TAKING OF THAT WHICH IS SO WELL MENT.

Thvs bold haue I bene, with you (my good and curteous countriemen)

and troubled your time with a number of wordes of what force I know

not, to what ende I know. For my ende is, to shew mine opinion how

the great varietie in teaching, which is now generally vsed, maye be

reduced to some vniformnesse, and the cause why I haue vsed so long a

preface, as this whole booke, is, for that such as deale in the like

arguments, do likewise determine before, what they thinke concerning

such generall accidentes, which are to be rid out of the waye at once,

and not alwaye to be left running about to trouble the house, when more

important matters shall come to handling. Wherin I haue vttered my

conceit, liking well of that which we haue, though oftimes I wishe for

that which we haue not, as much better in mine opinion, then that which

we haue, and so much the rather to be wished, bycause the way to winne

it is of it selfe so plaine and ready. I haue vttered my sentence for

these pointes thus, wherin if my cunning haue deceiued me, my good will

must warrant me: and I haue vttered it in plaine wordes, which kinde

of vtterance in this teaching kinde, as it is best to be vnderstood,

so it letteth euery one see, that if I haue missed, they may wel moane

me, which meaning all so much good haue vnhappily missed in so good a

purpose. Vpon the stearnesse of resolute and reasonable perswasions,

I might haue set downe my Positions aphorismelike, and left both the

commenting, and the commending of them to triall and time: but neither

deserue I so much credit, as that my bare word may stand for a warrant:

neither thought I it good with precisenesse to aliene, where I might

winne with discourse. Whervpon I haue writen in euery one of those

argumentes enough I thinke for any reader, whom reason will content:

to much I feare for so euident a matter, as these Positions be, not

assailable, I suppose, by any substantiall contradiction. For I haue

grounded them vpon reading, and some reasonable experience: I haue

applied them to the vse, and custome of my countrey, no where enforcing

her to any forreine, or straunge deuise. Moreouer I haue conferred

them with common sense wherin long teaching hath not left me quite

senselesse. And besides these, some reason doth lead me very probable

to my selfe, in mine owne collection, what to others I know not, to

whom I haue deliuered it, but I must rest vpon their iudgement. Hereof

I am certaine that my countrey is already very well acquainted with

them, bycause I did but marke where vpon particular neede, she her

selfe hath made her owne choice, and by embrasing much to satisfie her

owne vse, hath recommended the residue vnto my care, to be brought by

direction vnder some fourme of statarie discipline. Now then can I but

thinke that my countreymen will ioyne with me in consent, with whom my

countrey doth communicate such fauour? Seeing her fauour is for their

furtheraunce, and my labour is to bring them to that, which she doth

most allow.

[Sidenote: The examining of all the contentes of this booke.]

And what conclusion haue I set downe wherin they maye not very well

agree with me, either for the first impression which set me on worke,

or for the proofe, which confirmeth the impression? My first meaning

was to procure a generall good, so farre as my abilitie would reach, I

do not saye that such a conceit, deserueth no discourtesie for the very

motion, how soeuer the effect do aunswere in rate: but this I may well

thinke, that my countreymen ought of common courtesie to countenaunce

an affection so well quallified, till the euent either shrine it with

praise, or shoulder it with repulse. I do not herein take vpon me

dictatorlike to pronounce peremptorily, but in waye of counsell, as

one of that robe, to shew that, which long teaching hath taught me to

saye, by reading somwhat, and obseruing more. And I must pray my good

countrymen so to construe my meaning, for being these many yeares by

some my freindes prouoked to publish something, and neuer hitherto

daring to venture vpon the print, I might seeme to haue let the raine

of all modesty runne to lowse, if at my first onset I should seeme like

a _Cæsar_ to offerre to make lawes. Howbeit in very deede my yeares

growing downward, and some mine obseruations seeming to some folkes to

craue some vtteraunce, vpon shew to do some good: I thought rather to

hasard my selfe in hope of some mens fauour, then to burie my conceit

with most mens wonder. But before I do passe to mine Elementarie,

which I meane to publish next after this booke, I must for mine owne

contentation examine what I haue done in this, to see whether I haue

hit right, or writen any thing that may call repentaunce. 1. Was I not

to cut this course, and to begin at Positions? 2. And are not these the

cheife and onely groundes in this argument? 3. And in speking of these

haue I in any point passed beyond my best beseeming? 1. For the first.

Whether I ought to begin at Positions, or no, that is not in doubte now

I hope, bycause I made that pointe very plaine in the beginning of my

booke: but whether I haue done well to dwell so long in them, that maye

seeme to deserue some excuse, if I mislike it my selfe: or els some

cause, to satisfie other.

If I had had to do with either _Romain_, or _Grecian_, in their owne

language, where these thinges be familiarly knowen, I would not haue

taryed in them any long while, but dealing with my countrymen in my

countrey toungue, in an argument not so familiar to my countrey, and

yet desiring to become familiar vnto her: I thought it good rather to

saye more then enough, to leaue some chippinges: then by saying to

litle, to cause a new cruste, where none should be: and to referre

the rest of my suppressed meaning to my learneddest reader, to whose

vse as I needed not to write, so in deede I do not, though I wish him

well, and pray the like againe. They that frame happy men, absolute

oratours, perfit wisedome, paragonne Princes, faultelesse states, as

they haue their subiect at commaundement, which they breede in the

commentarie of their owne braines: so their circunstances being without

errour, where their maine is without match, neede very few wordes, as

being in daunger of very few faultes. But I deale with a subiect, which

is subiect to all vncertainties: with circunstances, which are chekt

with many obiections, lying open, to much disturbance, cauilled at by

euery occasion: where one sillie errour, is of strength enough, to

ouerthrow a mans whole labour. I thought it good therefore to declare

at large, what my meaning was, to satisfie therby euen the meanest

vnderstandinges, that waye to procure mine opinion the freer passage,

when it should passe by none, which vnderstood it not. I could not

but begin with them, bycause herafter I shall haue so many occasions

to make mention of them, to directe the traine by them, to referre my

selfe vnto them, which if they had not bene handled here, they might

and would haue troubled me there. Besides this, I would gladly (if

I could obtaine so much at their handes) that all my countrymen did

thinke, as I do in these same pointes, that by their consent my good

speede might go on, with the readier and rounder currant, so that I

cannot conceiue, but that I was both to begin my treatise at Positions,

as the primitiue in such discourses, and to dwell long in them, to

satisfie my most readers.

2. Now whether these be the cheife groundes in preparatiue to that,

which I entend to deale in, I thinke there is none, but may very easily

iudge. For what is it whervnto my trauell to come hath promised her

endeuour? to helpe children to be well taught for learning: to tell

their maisters, how to exercise them for health: to aide the common

course of studie in what I can for the common good. And what accidentes

belong vnto such an argument, if these which I haue quoated out do not?

Must there not be a time to begin, to continue, to ende the course of

schoole learning? Then time must needes come in consideration. Must

there not be somthing, wherin this time must be bestowed, both to haue

the minde learned, and the body healthfull? Then the matter of traine,

and the kinde of exercises could not haue bene passed ouer. Must there

not be some vpon whom these thinges are to be imployed in these times,

of both the sexes, and of all degrees? Then the generall schooling

of all young ones, and the particular training of young maidens, and

bringing vp of young gentlemen must needes haue their handling. Could

these thinges be done with out conuenient place? cunning teachers? and

good schoole orders? I thinke no. And therefore I picked these out, as

the onely circunstances, that were proper to mine argument, and that

were to be handled eare I entred my argument, if I had neuer seene any

writer before vse the same choice.

3. But how haue I delt in them. For the time to begin I haue measured

it by strenght of body and minde that may well awaye with the trauell

in learning without emparing of the good of either parte. For the

continuing time in euery degree of studie, I haue limited it by

sufficiencie and perfitnesse of habit, before the student remoue. For

the ending time, the bounder of it is abilitie to serue the common

countrey, and the priuate student in euery particular calling. In this

distinction and sorting of time, I thinke I haue so dealt, as no reason

will gainsaye me. 2. For pointing so many thinges to be learned in

the Elementarie schoole, as I do it vpon good warrant, so is no man

iniuried by it, and euery man may be helpt by it. For though neither

all men deale with all, nor all men can obtaine all, it is no reason

but that those which will and may, shall know what is best to get: and

that those which neither will nor can, yet maye see, what they maye and

ought to get, if circunstances serue. For the traine is to be framed

after the height, which freedome in circunstance maye well attaine

vnto. A poore mans purse will not stretch so farre: must abilitie

therfore be to much restrained? Some mans time will not dispense with

all: must therfore the libertie of leasure be forced to the fetter?

Some parente makes light of that, which some other esteemeth greatly:

must he therefore be disapointed of his liking, which alloweth to serue

his humour, which misliketh? Some maime in some circunstance may be

some particular let: must therefore parciality in not pointing the best

proue the generall losse.

The best being set downe, without euident dispaire to come by it, or

manifest noueltie to disgrace it, why should it not be sought for by

them, which are willing to haue it, and know the meanes how? It is no

noueltie for some to towre aboue the clowdes though other in the same

flight do but flutter about the ground, and yet with commendation. For

where the whole is good, and partible by degrees, euerie ascent hath

his praise, though the prerogatiue be his that mounteth highest. And

therefore my plat is to satisfie those which will medle with the most,

and yet so left at libertie, as it may serue euen them, which seeke but

for the least. 3. For the choice of wittes and restraint of number, not

to pesture learning with to great a multitude, no wisedome will blame

me. 4. For the helpe and health of body, that the doinges of the soule

may be both strong and long, to ioine ordinarie exercise in forme of

traine, who so shall mislike, I will match him with melancholie, with

fleame, with reumes, with catarres, and all needelesse residences,

to see how they will musle him. The limitation of certaineties in

maisters for their securitie, and parentes for their assurance, if it

be well wayed; is worth the wishing. 5. For the places and personall

circumstances, who so will cauill, neither deserues such a place to

be trained in, nor such a maister to be trained by, nor such parentes

to prouide him such a traine. 6. For the good bringing vp of yong

gentlemen, he that taketh no care, is more then a foole considering

their place and seruice in our countrie: and so of all the rest. 7. But

did any man thinke that I would not mention my dealing in trayning vp

of yong maidens, whether that be to be admitted in such sort as I haue

appointed it? That is such a bulwarke for me, as who so shall seeme to

pinche me for dealing liberally with them, had neede to arme himselfe

against them. For they will translate the crime, and becomming parties

themselues discharge me from daunger for vsing them so curteously. Is

that point in suspition of any noueltie or fantasticallnes to haue

wymen learned? Then is _nature_ fantasticall for giuing them abilitie

to learne: _custome_ for putting them to it: _pollicie_ for placing

them where to vse it: in all ages in all degrees, in all countries,

both at home and abroad. Innouation it is not, for I reade it, I see

it, I finde it, it is not my deuise. I put the case, that it were one

of my wishes, that wymen might learne, if they did not. Assuredly the

proufe that wee see, the profit that we feele, the comfort that we

haue, the care that we haue not, the happines we enioy, the mishap we

auoide, the religion we liue by and like, the superstition we fly from

and hate, the clemencie we finde, the cruelitie we feare, by the meere

benefit of our learned princesse, whom God hath so rarely endewed and

endowed, giue me leaue to wish that sexe most successe in learning, and

her maiesties person all successe in liuing: all the residew, all the

best, and her highnes alone all aboue the best: as wish can aspire,

where nothing else can come. In generall I do not remember any thing,

that I haue dealt in, but it may be very well digested by any stomake,

if it be not to farre distempered.

My wishes perhaps may seeme sometimes to be nouelties. Nouelties

perhappes, as all amendementes be to the thing that needeth redresse,

but not fantasticall, as hauing their seat in the cloudes. If no man

did euer wish, then were I alone. If my wish were vnpossible though it

made shew of very great profit, impossibilitie in deede, would desire

profit in wish to be content with repulse: but where the thing is both

profitable, and possible to, why should not profitable possibilitie

haue rowme, if wishing may procure it? I wish commodious situation and

rowmh in places for learning and exercise. Our countrie hath it not

echwhere, nay scant any where as yet. Euen by wishing that it had, I

graunt that it hath not: but I would not haue wished it, if the meane

had bene hard: and the motion naturally goeth before the effect. I wish

that the colledges in the vniuersities were deuided by professions: I

wish graue and learned readers: I wish repetition to the same readers,

yea euen for the best graduate, that is yet an hearer. I wish neither

heresie nor harme, ne yet any thing, but that may very well be wrought,

and deserues endlesse wishing till it be brought to an ende. I wish

restraint to stop ouerflush, and such other things whereto I dare

stand, and assuredly beleeue, that I wish my countrie very great good,

as I hope many wilbe partakers with me in wish, to be partakers of the

good. But some wil say what neede you to medle with so much, or so

high matters your selfe creeping so low? Syr, I did professe in the

beginning vnder ech title to deale in the generall argument, for all my

professing the elementarie example. And by the way I do thinke, that

I may deserue some more equitie in construction, bycause I do entend

to my great paines to helpe my wish forward, and to trauell for the

helping, and healthing of all studentes. Wherfore I conclude thus,

that seeing my dealing in those positions was occasioned of so good a

ground, and hath so passed through them, as I hope it may abide the

tuch. I must craue of my good and curteouse countriemen to laie vp

allouance in hope, and misliking in pardon, till the euent dischardge

both, and make me bound to all, and some benefited by me.

_FINIS._

HARRISON AND SONS, PRINTERS IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY,

ST. MARTIN’S LANE, LONDON.

[Illustration: Decorative border]

APPENDIX.

RICHARD MULCASTER.[81]

The birthplace of Richard Mulcaster seems to have been the old border

tower of Brackenhill Castle, on the river Line. The exact date of his

birth is uncertain, but it was probably 1530 or 1531. The Mulcasters

had for centuries been an important family on the Border. Among the

old Exchequer Records in the Tower is a letter from Sir Robert de

Clifford, King’s Captain of the counties of Cumberland, Westmorland,

and Lancashire, to the Treasurer and Barons of the Exchequer, desiring

them to excuse Sir William Molcastre, Sir Thomas de Felton, Robert de

Molcastre, and Richard de Molcastre from appearing in the Court of

Exchequer according to their summons, by reason of their attendance

on him in defence of the Marches; dated at Lochmaben Castle, 4th

July, 1299. The Sir William Mulcaster here spoken of was for five

years in succession High Sheriff of Cumberland, and was much engaged

in the war with Scotland. An old pedigree of the Mulcasters drawn

up in Queen Elizabeth’s time says that Sir William Mulcaster in the

reign of “Edward Longshanks entayled his landes at Torpenham, Bolton,

Bolton-Yetten, and Blennerhasset on his eldest son, Robert Mulcaster,

whom he marryed to Eufemia, sister to Raphe Nevil, Erle of Westmerland,

and Erle Marshal of England. He entayled his landes at Brackenhill and

Solport on his second sonne, Richard Mulcaster.” The elder branch,

however, did not thrive. In the next generation “Sir Robert Mulcaster

became ane Unthrift, and for smale summes of present money in hand did

alien his landes in parcels to his Unkel the Erle of Westmerland, who

knowing the title to be weake by reson of the entayle did straytway

selle the said landes. Sir Robert presently after the sayle died.” But

the Richard Mulcasters have flourished on and on through the centuries,

and these particulars were communicated to me by the last Richard

Mulcaster, who lived to see this reprint of his ancestor’s book.

In the fifteen hundreds, St. Bees was a noted place for instruction,

and Bishop Grindal and Archbishop Sandys were brought up there. But

the Mulcaster of the first half of the century sent his sons Richard

and James to be “frappit” by the mighty Udal at Eton. The _vates

sacer_ of Udal is Tusser, without whose help he could hardly have been

remembered. As it is, his name inevitably calls up the lines——

“From Paul’s I went, To Eton sent,

To learn straightways The Latin phrase,

When fifty-three Stripes given to me,

At once I had,

For fault but small, Or none at all;

It came to pass, That beat I was,

See, Udall, see! The mercy of thee

To me poor lad.”

(_From Tusser’s Metrical Autobiography, printed

with his “Points of Husbandry,”_ 1573.)

In 1548 (according to A. Wood) Richard Mulcaster gained his election

from Eton to King’s, Cambridge; but for reasons unknown he did not

take a Cambridge degree, but migrated to Oxford, where in 1555 he was

elected Student of Christ Church, and the year following was “licensed

to proceed in Arts.” Here he became distinguished by his knowledge of

Eastern literature, and “that great English Rabbi, Hugh Broughton,” a

contemporary, speaks of him as one of the best Hebrew scholars of the

age. But the University had been preyed upon by “Reformers,” and many

students had to beg for their living. So Mulcaster went to London and

became a schoolmaster in 1558. Three years later the Merchant Taylors’

Company opened their new school at Lawrence Pountney Hill (between

“Caning,” now Cannon, Street and the River), and made Mulcaster their

first Master.

Thus we find Mulcaster’s reign at Merchant Taylors’ began three years

before the birth of Shakespeare, Mulcaster himself being about thirty

years old. But his monarchy was by no means absolute, and he was not

always happy in his relations with the Company. The Merchants probably

thought of him as one of their servants, and he, as “by ancient

parentage and linnial discent an Esquier borne” (so he describes

himself in his wife’s epitaph), thought himself a better man than they.

Certainly many of his successors, though unable to lay stress on their

parentage, would have grumbled at the terms imposed upon him.

The instructions to the Master are in many ways interesting. He was

told that he was to teach the children not only good literature, but

also good manners; he was to resign his post whenever ordered to do so

by the Governors, but might not depart without giving the Governors

a year’s notice; and he was never to be absent from the school more

than twenty working days in the year. The number of boys is limited to

250, and these are to be taught by the High Master and two or three

Ushers. “The children shall come to the school in the morning at 7 of

the clock both winter and summer, and tarry there until 11, and return

again at 1 of the clock, and depart at 5.” “Let not the school master,

head usher, nor the under ushers, nor any of them, permit nor license

their scholars to have remedy nor leave to play except only once a

week when there falleth no holiday. And these remedies to be had upon

no other day but only upon Tuesdays in the afternoon or Thursdays in

the forenoon. Nor let the scholars use no cock-fighting, tennis-play,

nor riding about of victoring [_sic_] nor disputing abroad, which is

but foolish babbling and loss of time.” (“History of Merchant Taylors’

School,” by H. B. Wilson, 1812, i, 17.)

The Company agreed to pay to Mulcaster £40——_i.e._, £10 each for the

High Master and the ushers; but Mr. Hills, the Master of the Company,

undertook to double Mulcaster’s £10 out of his own purse. Some years

afterwards Mr. Hills had heavy expenses with one of his children, and

was obliged to discontinue his grant to Mulcaster; which led to a

serious disagreement. But there seem to have been “difficulties” about

other matters as well. In the very middle of his twenty-six years’

mastership (26th November, 1574) we find the following significant

entry in the Minutes of the Court:——“Mr. Richard Moncaster convented

at this Courte to be admonished of suche his contempt of the good

orders made for the government of the Grammar Schole founded by the

Worshipful company in St Lawrence Pountney’s parisshe where he is now

Scholemaister; And also of suche his injurious and quarrellinge Speache

as he used to the Visitors of the said Schole at the last callinge

thereof, refused to here his fformer doings in that behalf recyted,

willinge the said M^[r.] Warden and assistants to procede against him

angrily or otherwise as they listed, so as he mighte have a copie of

their decree.” (H. B. Wilson’s “Hist, of M. T. Sch.,” p. 56.) However,

the “Esquier borne” found it prudent to yield. In the following month

(14th Dec., 1574) it is recorded that Mr. Richard Muncaster confessed

before the Court that he had spoken “merely of choller,” and promised

obedience for the future. Four years later he was in high favour with

the Company, for at the Court holden 29th April, 1579, an order was

passed by which the Company undertook, in consideration of Mulcaster’s

“painful services for near 20 years,” to provide for his wife if she

survived him. But this was the only recognition his “painful services”

received. After Hills’s grant of £10 a year had ceased, Mulcaster

applied to the Company for a larger salary than he had received from

them; but this very reasonable request was refused. Mulcaster then

urged that he had been giving additional stipend to the senior Usher,

and he made a claim for the amount he had lost by the stoppage of

Hills’s subsidy. In reply to this the Court voted that he “might seeke

his remedie.” He then petitioned humbly, but without avail, and in high

dudgeon he resigned his post in 1586, either quoting or inventing the

expression, _Servus fidelis perpetuus asinus_.[82] In the appointment

of his successor (Wilkinson) he had no influence, and the dispute

between Mulcaster and the Company was carried on, the Company making

a counter claim against him for £50, and offering to waive this claim

only on receiving from Mulcaster a receipt in full. The quarrel was

never made up, and years afterwards when Mulcaster had left St. Paul’s

he applied to the Merchant Taylors’ Company for a gratuity and was

refused.

So at about the age of fifty-five, Mulcaster found himself out of

office. Five years before this he had published his “Positions” (1581),

and the year after, the “First Part of the Elementarie.” Why the Second

Part never appeared we cannot tell. Perhaps in this country publishing

books about education was then, as now, an expensive occupation, and

Mulcaster having lost half his income could publish no longer.[83]

Ten years later he became High Master of St. Paul’s School. In 1598

Elizabeth made him Rector of Stanford Rivers, in Essex, but as he

was High Master of St. Paul’s for twelve years, he must have been

non-resident at his living till 1608. Then at all events he took up his

abode at Stanford Rivers, where his wife died in 1609. It seems strange

that Mulcaster should have remained at the head of a great school till

he was about seventy-seven years old, but there is no reasonable doubt

of it; and that he lived to a great age is proved by his wife’s epitaph

in which he records that they had been married fifty years. He himself

died in 1611, only five years before Shakespeare, who was his junior by

more than thirty years.[84]

Though Mulcaster himself has been well-nigh forgotten, he had

relations, friendly or otherwise, with some of his contemporaries who

are in no danger of being forgotten——Queen Elizabeth, Shakespeare, Sir

Philip Sydney, and Edmund Spenser.

Elizabeth, as we have seen, gave Mulcaster a living. This was not

till near the end of her reign, but he seems to have been long in her

favour. This book, the “Positions,” was dedicated to her, and the tone

of the letter in which Mulcaster addresses his Sovereign is not that

of a stranger, but rather of an old acquaintance, who is sure of a

friendly reception. In the fifteen hundreds a very common entertainment

was the performance of plays by boys. In the Queen’s book of household

expenses we find: “18th Mch. 1573-4. To Mr. Richard Mouncaster for

2 plays presented before her on Candlemas-day, and Shrove Tuesday

last, 20 marks: and further for his charges 20 marks.” Again: “11th

Mch. 1575-6. To Richard Mouncaster for presenting a play before her

on Shrove Sunday last, 10 pounds.” This performance seems to have

been continued for many years. In the _Liber Famelicus_ of Sir James

Whitelocke (Camden Society’s Publications, No. LXX), Sir James tells

of his bringing up at Merchant Taylors’. He was born in 1570 and was

elected from the School to be a probationer of St. John’s College,

Oxford, in June, 1588. He says: “I was brought up at School under Mr.

Mulcaster in the famous school of the Merchant Taylors in London, where

I continued until I was well instructed in the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin

tongues. His care was also to increase my skill in music, in which I

was brought up by daily exercise in it, as in singing and playing upon

instruments: and yearly he presented some plays to the Court, in which

his scholars were [the] only actors, and I one among them; and by that

means [he] taught them good behaviour and audacity” (p. 12).

It has been suggested to me by Mr. Lupton that Shakespeare may have

had Mulcaster in his mind when he put Holofernes the schoolmaster

in _Love’s Labour’s Lost_. There was, as we know, rivalry between

Shakespeare and the boy actors, and when Armado says (Act V, sc. 2), “I

protest the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain, too

too vain,” he uses a common expression of Mulcaster’s.

That Shakespeare had a contempt for the schoolmasters or “pedants”

of his time is tolerably clear, and he must have seen in Mulcaster

a typical schoolmaster and also a rival of his in producing court

entertainments. Holofernes is both a “pedant” and a court entertainer,

but in other respects he does not answer to Mulcaster, for he is a

parish schoolmaster and teaches both boys and girls. However, as

Mulcaster was a favourite at court, Shakespeare, if really thinking of

him, may have had reasons for not making the resemblance too striking.

In _Hamlet_ (Act II, sc. 2) there is a very remarkable dialogue which

shows the rivalry that then (_i.e._, about 1603) existed between “the

tragedians of the City” and “the boys.” There is, too, a very beautiful

epitaph by Ben Jonson on a boy who had become famous for playing the

part of an old man. Mulcaster no doubt had had a great share in keeping

the playing of boy actors in fashion; but he probably had nothing to do

with “the children of Powles” whose acting was stopped by edict from

about 1589 to 1600, and then started again with increased popularity

(see J. P. Collier, “Annals of the Stage,” edition of 1879, vol. i, pp.

271 ff), or with “the children of the Revels” who acted at Blackfriars

Theatre, and are probably the “aiery of children” talked of by

Rosenkrantz.

To return to Elizabeth, it seems that Mulcaster took part in preparing

the pageant at Kenilworth in 1575. I have not read the accounts by

George Gascoigne and Robert Laneham or Langham to which Collier refers

(“Annals of Stage,” i, 225), but the late Mr. Mulcaster gives some

Latin verses preserved by Gascoigne which were, as he says, “devised

by Master R. Muncaster.” The “Middlesex Minstrel” also recited King

“Ryence’s challenge to King Arthur.” Of this Bishop Percy says: “It was

sung before Queen Elizabeth at the grand entertainment at Kenelworth

Castle in 1575, and was probably composed for that occasion” (Percy’s

“Relics,” Wheatley’s edition, 1877, vol. iii, p. 24). If so, it may

have been Mulcaster’s as well as the Latin verses, though for my part I

doubt his writing so simply.

On Elizabeth’s death in 1603, Mulcaster published “Nænia consolans in

mortem Serenissimæ Reginæ Elizabethæ,” in which he seems quite consoled

by the accession of James.

Mulcaster was a correspondent of Sir Philip Sydney’s, and he wrote to

him in Latin. This was against his own principles, for perhaps his

best chance of being remembered rests in his vigorous protest against

the use of Latin, and his advice to his learned countrymen to write in

their own language (_cfr._ Masson’s Life of Milton).

Perhaps Mulcaster’s enthusiasm for English may have influenced one of

his pupils who lived to write imperishable verse in it. The late Mr.

Mulcaster, in his MS. notice of his ancestor, surmised that Spenser may

have been a “Merchant Taylor” and therefore have come under Mulcaster.

The guess was a happy one. Dean Church, in his volume on Spenser

(“English Men of Letters”), tells us how the account books of the

executors of a bountiful citizen, Robert Nowell, have been preserved,

and that at his funeral in 1568 two yards of cloth were given to

selected scholars of the great London Schools. The names of these

scholars are recorded, and at the head of the Merchant Taylors’ list

stands Edmund Spenser.

It is very remarkable that a schoolmaster noted for his classical

attainments should before the last decade of the fifteen hundreds

have urged the literary use of the mother tongue. It is remarkable,

too, that this man was the master of Edmund Spenser. In these and

some other respects Mulcaster seems to have been more memorable than

Ascham. Yet Ascham is known by all, and Mulcaster is unknown, not only

by ordinary Englishmen, but even, as it would seem, by scholars like

Mr. George Saintsbury, the author of a book on Elizabethan Literature.

In Professor Arber’s invaluable work for the bibliography of our old

books, his “Transcript of the Registers of the Company of Stationers

of London, 1554-1640,” we find in vol. ii, p. 178_b_, the following

curious entry:——“Thomas Chare _sub manu Episcopi Londinii_. Sexto die

Marcii [1581] Receaved of him for his license to printe _positions

whereupon the trayning up of children and so consequentlie the wholle

course of learninge ys grounded_ ... xvj_d_. Provyded alwaies that

yf this booke conteine any thinge prejudiciall or hurtfull to the

booke of maister ASKHAM that was printed by master Daie called the

Scholemayster, That then this lycense shal be voyd.” But Ascham’s widow

needed no protection from the Bishop of London. His posthumous book did

for the English language what Mulcaster tried to do in vain: it showed

how English might be used for clear and even graceful expression.

Mulcaster thought that the English language had then reached its

highest point. In his very curious and interesting allegory of the

progress of language (“Elementarie,” pp. 66 ff.) he says that Art

selects the best age of a language to draw rules from, such as the

age of Demosthenes in Greece, and of Tully in Rome. “Such a period in

the English tongue,” he continues, “I take to be in our days for both

the pen and the speech.” And this language, then at its best, was,

he thought, shown at its best in his own writings. After enumerating

its excellencies he says, “I need no example in any of these, whereof

mine own penning is a general pattern.” This tempts one to exclaim

with Armado, “I protest the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical;

too too vain, too too vain” (_Love’s Labour’s Lost_, Act V, sc. 2),

and posterity has most emphatically rejected the offered pattern.

Dean Church describes the writers of that time as “usually clumsy

and awkward, sometimes grotesque, often affected, always hopelessly

wanting in the finish, breadth, moderation, and order which alone can

give permanence to writing,” (“Spenser,” p. 3). Some of these epithets

certainly hit Mulcaster hard. I have spent much time on what he calls

his “so careful, I will not say so curious writing” (“Elementarie,”

p. 253), and I perfectly agree with him when he says, “Even some of

reasonable study can hardly understand the couching of my sentence and

the depth of my conceit” (_ib._, p. 235). This, no doubt, explains to

us why Mulcaster has been long forgotten.

But if he had taken less pains with his “style,” Mulcaster would have

been recognised as a master of his subject. A right conception of

education could not be formed by the worshippers of “learning;” and

the false ideal set up at the Renascence has had a disastrous effect

on European education ever since. But Mulcaster, scholar though he

was, was not in bondage to scholarship. With him education was not

instruction in the classics. How few schoolmasters have asked the

question, “Why is it not good to have every part of the body and every

power of the soul to be fined to his best?” (“Positions,” p. 34.)

The following passage from the “Elementarie” (p. 22) shows how much

he had risen above the ideal of the learned:——“The end of education

and train is to help nature unto her perfection, which is, when all

her abilities be perfected in their habit.... Consideration and

Judgment must wisely mark whereunto Nature is either evidently given

or secretly affectionate, and must frame education consonant thereto.”

And having shown this admirable conception of the end to be attained,

he sets to work to consider what are the powers that need training.

“We have,” he says, “a perceiving by outward sense, to feel, to see,

to smell, to taste all sensible things; which qualities of the outward

being received in by the _common sense_, and examined by _fancy_, are

delivered to _remembrance_ and afterward prove our great and only

grounds unto further knowledge” (“Elementarie,” p. 28). Here we see him

feeling after the foundation of a science of education. He goes still

further when in the “Positions” (p. 27) he tells us of the natural

inclinations in the soul, and of the three things which we shall find

“peering out of the little young souls,” viz.: Wit to take, Memory to

keep, and Discretion to discern.

Michelet (“Nos Fils,” p. 170) with justice gives credit to Montaigne

for avoiding the great blunder of his time, and basing his scheme of

education, not on what was to be learned, but on the nature of the

learner, “_non l’objet, le savoir, mais le sujet, c’est l’homme_.” This

was indeed a wonderful step in advance, a step which placed Montaigne

before most schoolmasters of that time, perhaps of any succeeding time.

But in Mulcaster we have a schoolmaster who in Montaigne’s own day

seems to have shown similar wisdom. Perhaps admirable results might

have followed had Mulcaster’s mode of expression only been somewhat

less “curious.”

Looking to human nature as a whole, Montaigne and Mulcaster saw that

“it was not a mind, it was not a body that we have to educate, but a

man, and we cannot divide him.” A writer of the present day who is

supposed to be in the van of modern thinkers has given us his notion

of “Education as a Science.” In some respects the conception of the

Elizabethan writer seems to me more complete and truly scientific.

Mulcaster thinks that the educator should care both for mind and body,

and adapt his “train” to each of them. The treatment of the body

recommended in the “Positions” will surprise some Continental authors,

who seem to think that physical education had hardly been considered

before the appearance of Locke’s “Thoughts.”

There are several other points where Mulcaster seems to me to show

remarkable wisdom. He does not approve of a very early start in the

learned languages, and is specially strong against the “hastening on”

of a “sharp young wit;” so that one of the earliest English writers on

education warns us against some of the latest English practices (see

“Positions,” pp. 19, 33; also “Elementarie,” xi, pp. 52 ff).

Another of our head-masters, whose teaching now, alas! comes to us

also recommended by the proverb, _Optimi consiliarii mortui_, Edward

Thring, has testified to the difficulty and to the importance of

instructing the younger classes properly. Mulcaster is so strong on

this point that instead of handing over the younger boys in a crowd

to the least experienced and worst paid master, as the custom still

is, he would have the forms smaller at the bottom than at the top of

the school, and would have the best and best paid teacher for them

(“Positions,” pp. 233 ff.)

His wisdom appears, too, in his curriculum for the young. What a

blessing for them could he have arranged their studies all over Europe

instead of his contemporary, Sturm! He would have taught them to read

and write their own language, to draw, to sing, and to play some

musical instrument, and he maintains that if instead of beginning

with Latin the child were put through a preliminary course in these

five things, he would learn “the tongue” sooner and do more between

12 and 16 than from 7 to 17 the other way (“Elementarie,” chap. xi).

So school instruction in drawing and singing was recommended by this

old schoolmaster more than 300 years ago. I take up the New England

“Journal of Education,” dated 2nd February, 1888, and I find a

well-known writer, Col. T. W. Higginson, telling us: “I can remember

when the introduction of singing, and later of drawing, into our public

schools was regarded as a finical whim, suitable for girls’ schools

only. _Emollit mores_, each of these practices is found to help school

discipline and refine the taste, so that the whole tone of school life

is elevated.” Thus we are at length adopting Mulcaster’s proposals, and

quoting in their favour what Ovid said 2,000 years ago.

It is interesting, by the way, to observe that the unfortunate “three

R’s” had not been invented in Mulcaster’s time, and his “Elementarie,”

with its five studies, ignores arithmetic.

The five studies are intended for those who are to be put to learning,

and those only; but we see that Mulcaster would have had _every one_

taught to read and write (“Positions,” p. 139).

We have seen that we are at length introducing drawing and singing, as

Mulcaster advised. In one particular he is still in advance of us. He

would have at the University a college for training teachers. “Is the

framing of young minds,” he asks, “and the training of their bodies so

mean a point of cunning? Be schoolmasters in this realm such a paucity

as they are not even in good sadness to be soundly thought on?... He

that will not allow of this careful provision for such a seminary of

masters is most unworthy either to have had a good master himself or

hereafter to have a good one for his.” (“Positions” p. 248.)

In another respect Mulcaster showed much good sense, and though perhaps

not in advance of his own generation he was far before the generations

of the two succeeding centuries. I was at a private meeting connected

with the founding of Girton College, when, I remember, the late

Professor Brewer denied that girls in the Elizabethan age were better

educated than in the days that followed. Joseph Payne, who was also

present, expressed a strong opinion that they _were_. If he had had

his copy of the “Positions” with him (his collection of rare books

on education included this work) he might have proved his point by

apposite quotation. This was twenty years ago. Much has been done for

girls’ education since then; and in one respect at least the Victorians

have advanced beyond the Elizabethans, for no English writer can now

say with Mulcaster, “I set not young maidens to public grammar schools,

a thing not used in my country; I send them not to the universities,

having no precedent thereof in my country.” (“Positions,” p. 167.)

I have now, I think, said enough so show that at least for the history

of education Mulcaster’s books are of great interest and value.

Travellers are always ready to run any risks in exploring the source

of great rivers. When we consider how many millions of the human race

using English as their mother tongue receive instruction in school, it

might seem worth while to spend some little time and trouble in tracing

back the history of that instruction, and seeing what it was in its

earliest days. Such knowledge as is now obtainable must be derived from

a few books, among which Mulcaster’s are almost the first, both in time

and in importance. I know of nothing earlier except Elyot’s “Governor”

and Ascham’s “Schoolmaster.” The next English work on education known

to me is W. Kemp’s “The Education of Children” in 1588, which probably

furthered his wish that the good town of Plymouth might “bring forth

some young imps and buds of learning;” but this is in every way a small

book. The next important book is John Brinsly’s “Ludus Literarius; or,

the Grammar School,” and this was not published till 1612.

The first edition of the “Positions” was dedicated to Queen Elizabeth.

This, which is as far as I have seen the second, I should dedicate to

no contemporary, not even to the Queen herself; but to the coming New

Zealander. The prescient eye of Macaulay sees that Mulcaster’s scheme

of instruction will by that time have been adopted, and our intelligent

descendant will be able to draw. I hope he will know of the old book

in which drawing in schools was first recommended. He will, I feel

certain, take a deep interest in the most important discovery of his

age, the new science of education, and gratitude for this science will

make him think kindly of those quaint old writers, standing almost

together, “foreshortened in the tract of time,” who in the days of

Elizabeth and Victoria made the first crude suggestions and surmises

towards it.

_16th February, 1888._ R. H.Q.

HARRISON AND SONS

PRINTERS IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY

ST. MARTIN’S LANE.

FOOTNOTES:

[81] Almost all we know of Mulcaster is given in “Gentleman’s Magazine”

for 1800——_i.e._, vol. lxx, part i, pp. 419-421, 511, 512; and part ii,

pp. 600 and 604. The writer, “E. H.,” is always said to be Henry Ellis.

Besides this we have H. B. Wilson’s “History of Merchant Taylors’

School.” It is a pity these writers do not always refer us to their

authorities. I have had much kind assistance from Rev. J. H. Lupton,

the author of “Life of Colet,” &c. I much regret that the late Rev.

Richard Mulcaster, of Anglesea House, Paignton, did not live to see the

use I have made of materials collected by him for an article on his

ancestor, which materials he was good enough to place in my hands.

[82] Mr. Lupton has pointed out to me a passage in Bishop Pilkington’s

“Works” (Parker Soc.), p. 447: “The servant, he will write on the wall

_Fidelis servus, perpetuus asinus_.”

[83] In the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” vol. lxx, p. 603, we read of a

second edition of the “Positions” published in 1587, in 4to. W. C.

Hazlitt (“Handbook,” p. 404, ed. 1867) says the “Positions” was

reprinted in 1587 and 1591.

[84] Our information is very scanty. H. B. Wilson, the historian

of Merchant Taylors’ School, a very painstaking writer, says that

Mulcaster was “Surmaster of St. Paul’s, 1586; Vicar of Cranbrook, in

Kent, 1st April, 1590; Prebendary of Sarum, 29th April, 1594; Rector of

Stanford Rivers, in Essex, 1598; died 15th April, 1611.” Did Mulcaster

go first as “Surmaster” to St. Paul’s? Knight, in his “Life of Colet,”

says Mulcaster “came in upper master in 1596,” which is consistent with

his being “surmaster” previously. But after his reign of twenty-six

years at Merchant Taylors’ he would not be likely to accept any

mastership where he would be a subordinate. Mr. Lupton tells me that in

Gardiner’s “Registers of St. Paul’s School,” Richard Smith is put down

as “surmaster” from 1586 to 1599, when he was pensioned, “being fallen

into decay of his eyesight and impotency;” but a note speaks of these

dates as probable, not certain. From Fuller we should suppose that

Mulcaster left St. Paul’s before he was seventy-seven years old; but it

seems certain that he was “high-master” till 1608. He must therefore

have been for some years non-resident, either in his school or in his

parish. Fuller inaccurately puts him down as a _Westmorland_ worthy;

but as Fuller got information from hearers of Mulcaster the following

passage is valuable:——“In the morning he (Mulcaster) would exactly and

plainly construe and parse the lessons to his scholars; which done,

he slept his hour (custom made him critical to apportion it) in his

desk in the school; but woe be to the scholar that slept the while!

Awaking, he heard them accurately; and Atropos might be persuaded to

pity as soon as he to pardon where he found just fault. The prayers

of cockering mothers prevailed with him as much as the requests of

indulgent fathers, rather increasing than mitigating his severity on

their offending child. In a word he was _plagosus Orbilius_, though it

may truly be said (and safely for one out of his school) that others

have taught as much learning with fewer lashes. Yet his sharpness was

the better endured because unpartial, and many excellent scholars were

bred under him; whereof Bishop Andrews was the most remarkable. Then

quitting that place (St. Paul’s School) he was presented to the rich

parsonage of Stanford Rivers, in Essex. I have heard from those who

have heard him preach, that his sermons were not excellent; which to

me seems no wonder, partly because there is a different discipline in

teaching Children and Men; partly because such who make divinity (not

the choice of their youth but) the refuge of their age seldom attain

to eminency therein.” (Fuller’s “Worthies,” edited by John Nichols (2

vols., 1811), vol. ii, p. 431.)