and, as they are usually written, they contain much matter in a little
space. Nothing can be truer than the saying of Lakanal, “L’abrégé est le
contraire de l’éléméntaire: That which is abridged is just the opposite
of that which is elementary.” When shall we learn what seems obvious
in itself and what is taught us by the great authorities? “Epitome,”
says Ascham, “is good privately for himself that doth work it, but ill
commonly for all others that use other men’s labour therein. A silly
poor kind of study, not unlike to the doing of those poor folk which
neither till, nor sow, nor reap themselves, but glean by stealth upon
other’s grounds. Such have empty barns for dear years.” (_School Master_,
Book ij.) Bacon says (_De Aug._, lib. vj., cap. iv.), “Ad pædagogicam
quod attinet brevissimum foret dictu.... Illud imprimis consuluerim ut
caveatur a compendiis: Not much about pedagogics.... My chief advice is,
keep clear of compendiums.” And yet “the table of contents” method which
I suggested in irony I afterwards found proposed in all seriousness in
an announcement of Dr. J. F. Bright’s _English History_: “The marginal
analysis has been collected at the beginning of the volume so as to
form an abstract of the history _suitable for the use of those who are
beginning the study_.”
I would rather listen to Oliver Goldsmith: “In history, such stories
alone should be laid before them as might catch the imagination:
instead of this, they are too frequently obliged to toil through the
four Empires, as they are called, where their memories are burthened
by a number of disgusting names that destroy all their future relish
for our best historians.” (Letter on _Education_ in _the Bee_: a letter
containing so much new truth that Goldsmith in re-publishing it had to
point out that it had appeared before Rousseau’s _Emile_.) A modern
authority on education has come to the same conclusion as Goldsmith.
“The first teaching in history will not give dates, but will show
the learner men and actions likely to make an impression on him. Der
erste Geschichtsunterricht wird nicht Jahreszahlen geben, sondern
eindrucksvolle Personen und Thaten vorführen.” (L. Wiese’s _Deutsche
Bildungsfragen_, 1871.)
[204] Dr. Jas. Donaldson has well said of the educator:—“The most
unguarded of his acts, those which come from the depth of his nature,
uncalled for and unbidden, are the actions which have the most powerful
influence.” _Chambers’ Information_ sub v. _Education_, p. 565.
[205]
“That you are wife
To so much bloated flesh _as scarce hath soul_
_Instead of salt to keep it sweet_, I think
Will ask no witnesses to prove.”
BEN JONSON: _The Devil is an Ass_, Act i. sc. 3.
[206] I fortify myself with the following quotation from the _Book about
Dominies_ by “Ascott Hope” (Hope Moncrieff). He says that a school of
from twenty to a hundred boys is too large to be altogether under the
influence of one man, and too small for the development of a healthy
condition of public opinion among the boys themselves. “In a community
of fifty boys, there will always be found so many bad ones who will be
likely to carry things their own way. Vice is more unblushing in small
societies than in large ones. _Fifty boys will be more easily leavened
by the wickedness of five, than five hundred by that of fifty._ It would
be too dangerous an ordeal to send a boy to a school where sin appears
fashionable, and where, if he would remain virtuous, he must shun his
companions. There may be middle-sized schools which derive a good and
healthy tone from the moral strength of their masters or the good example
of a certain set of boys, but I doubt if there are many. Boys are so
easily led to do right or wrong, that we should be very careful at least
to set the balance fairly” (p. 167); and again he says (p. 170), “The
moral tone of a middle-sized school will be peculiarly liable to be at
the mercy of a set of bold and bad boys.”
[207] As I have been thought to express myself too strongly on this
point, I will give a quotation from a master whose opinion will go far
with all who know him. “The moral tone of the school is made what it
is, not nearly so much by its rules and regulations, or its masters,
as by the leading characters among the boys. They mainly determine the
public opinion amongst their schoolfellows—their personal influence is
incalculable.” Rev. D. Edwardes, of Denstone.
[208] About Preparatory Schools I find I am at issue with my friend the
Head Master of Harrow (See _Public Schools_, by Rev. J. E. C. Welldon, in
_Contemporary R._, May, 1890). I do indeed incline to his opinion that
very young boys should not be at a public school, but I cannot agree
that they should be at a middle-sized boarding school. I hold that they
should live in a _family_ (their own if possible) and go to a day school.
Day Schools have now been provided for girls, but for young boys they do
not seem in demand. English parents who can afford it send their sons to
boarding schools from eight years old onwards. This seems to me a great
mistake of theirs.
[209] “What is education? It is that which is imbibed from the moral
atmosphere which a child breathes. It is the involuntary and unconscious
language of its parents and of all those by whom it is surrounded, and
not their set speeches and set lectures. It is the words which the young
hear fall from their seniors when the speakers are off their guard:
and it is by these unconscious expressions that the child interprets
the hearts of its parents. That is education.”—Drummond’s _Speeches in
Parliament_.
[210] In what I have said on this subject, the incompleteness which is
noticeable enough in the preceding essays, has found an appropriate
climax. I see, too, that if anyone would take the trouble, the little I
have said might easily be misinterpreted. I am well aware, however, that
if the young mind will not readily assimilate sharply defining religious
formulæ, still less will it feel at home among the “immensities” and
“veracities.” The great educating force of Christianity I believe to be
due to this, that it is not a set of abstractions or vague generalities,
but that in it God reveals Himself to us in a Divine Man, and raises us
through our devotion to Him. I hold, therefore, that religious teaching
for the young should neither be vague nor abstract. Mr. Froude, in
commenting on the use made of hagiology in the Church of Rome, has shown
that we lose much by not following the Bible method of instruction. (See
_Short Studies: Lives of the Saints_, and _Representative Men_.)
[211] This theory of the educator’s task which makes him a disposer or
director of influence rather than a teacher, led Locke to decry our
public schools, for in them the traditions and tone of the school seem
the source of influence, and the masters are to all appearance mainly
teachers. Locke’s own words are these:—“The difference is great between
two or three pupils in the same house and three or four score boys lodged
up and down; for let the master’s industry and skill be never so great,
it is impossible he should have fifty or a hundred scholars under his eye
any longer than they are in the school together, nor can it be expected
that he should instruct them successfully in anything but their books;
the forming of their minds and manners requiring a constant attention
and particular application to every single boy which is impossible in a
numerous flock, and would be wholly in vain (could he have time to study
and correct everyone’s particular defects and wrong inclinations) when
the lad was to be left to himself or the prevailing infection of his
fellows the greatest part of the four-and-twenty hours.” But the educator
who considers himself a director of influences must remember that he
is not the only force. The boy’s companions are a force at least as
great; and if he were brought up in private on Locke’s system, he would
be entirely without a kind of influence much more valuable than Locke
seems to think—the influence of boy companions, and of the traditions of
a great school. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that our public
schools used to be, and perhaps are still to some extent, under-mastered,
and that the masters should not be the mere teachers which, from overwork
and other causes, they often tend to become. The consequence has been
that the real education of the boys has in a great measure passed out of
their hands. What has been the result? A long succession of able teachers
have aimed at giving literary instruction and making their pupils
classical scholars. Both manners and bodily training have been left to
take care of themselves. Yet such is the irony of Fate that the majority
of youths who leave our great schools are not literary and are not much
of classical scholars, but they are decidedly gentlemanly and still more
decidedly athletic.
[212] I append a note written from a different point of view—“_With how
little wisdom!_” certainly seems to cover most departments of life.
_Seems?_ Yes; but are we not apt to overlook the wisdom that lies in the
great mass of people? In some small department we may have investigated
further than our class-mates, and may see, or think we see, a good deal
of stupidity in what goes on. But in most matters we do not investigate
for ourselves, but just do the usual thing; and this seems to work
all right. There must be a good deal of wisdom underlying the complex
machinery of civilised life. Carlyle’s “Mostly fools!” will by no means
account for it. At times one has a dim perception that people in general
are not so stupid as they seem. Perhaps a long life would in the end lead
us to say like Tithonus,
“Why should a man desire in any way
“To vary from the kindly race of men?”
There is a higher wisdom than the disintegrating individualism of
Carlyle. Far better to believe with Mazzini in “the collective existence
of humanity,” and remembering that we work in a medium fashioned for us
by the labours of all who have preceded us, regard our collective powers
as “grafted upon those of all foregoing humanity.” (Mazzini’s _Essays_:
_Carlyle_.) This is the point of view to which Wordsworth would raise us:—
“Among the multitudes
“Of that huge city, oftentimes was seen
“.........................the unity of man,
“One spirit over ignorance and vice
“Predominant, in good and evil hearts;
“One sense for moral judgements, as one eye
“For the sun’s light. The soul when smitten thus
“By a sublime _idea_, whence soe’er
“Vouchsafed for union or communion, feeds
“On the pure bliss and takes her rest with God.”
_Prelude_ viij, _ad f._
Though unable to share in “the pure bliss” of Wordsworth we may take
refuge with Goethe in the thought that “humanity is the true man,” and
enjoy much to which we have no claim as individuals. Tradition, blind
tradition, must rule our actions through by far the greatest part of our
lives; and seeing we owe it so much, we should be tolerant, even grateful.
[213] Professor Jebb has lately given us the main ideas of the great
Scholar Erasmus. “In all his work,” says the Professor, “he had an
educational aim.... The evils of his age, in Church, in State, in the
daily lives of men, seemed to him to have their roots in _ignorance_;
ignorance of what Christianity meant, ignorance of what the Bible
taught, ignorance of what the noblest and most gifted minds of the
past, whether Christian or pagan, had contributed to the instruction of
the human race.” (Rede Lecture, 1890.) Erasmus evidently fell into the
error against which Pestalozzi and Froebel lift up their voices, often
in vain—the error of forgetting that knowledge is of no avail without
intelligence. What is the use of lighting additional candles for the
blind?
APPENDIX.
=History of this Book.=—Some wise man has advised us never to find fault
with ourselves, for, says he, you may always depend on your friends to
do it for you. So, having looked through the proofs of this book, I
abstain from fault-finding. I fancy I _could_ find fault more effectively
than my friends or even my professional critics. As the _Spectator’s_
“Correspondent in an easy chair” says very truly; the author has read
his book many times; the critic has read it _at most_ once. In fact the
critic gives to the book (in some cases to the subject of the book also)
no greater number of hours than the author has given months, perhaps
years. Partiality blinds the author, no doubt, but unless he is a fatuous
person it does not blind him so much as his haste blinds the critic. An
author of note said of a book of his, which had been much criticised:
“The book has faults, but I am the only person who has discovered them,”
to which a friend maliciously appended: “For _faults_ read _merits_.”
Whatever was the truth here, I am inclined to think the author has the
best chance of putting his finger on the weak places.
But if I see weaknesses in the foregoing book, why do I not make it
better? Just for two reasons: to improve the book I should have to spend
more time on it and more money. The more I read and think about any one
of my subjects, the more I want to go on reading and thinking. Perhaps I
hear of an old book that has escaped my notice, or a new book comes out,
sometimes an important book like Pinloche’s _Basedow_. So I can never
finish an essay to my satisfaction, and the only way of getting it off my
hands is to send the copy to the printer. By the time the proof comes in
there is something that I should like to add or alter; but then the dread
of a long bill for “corrections” restrains me. However, now the book is
all in type, I see here and there something that suggests a note by way
of explanation or addition, so I add this appendix. Taking a hint from
one of my favourite authors, Sir Arthur Helps, I throw my notes into the
form of a dialogue, but being entirely destitute of Helps’s dramatic
skill I confine myself to =E.= (the Essayist) and =A.= (Amicus), who is
only too clearly an _alter ego_.
=A.= So the Americans have kept alive your old book for you, and at last
you have rewritten it. You at least have no reason to complain that there
is no international copyright. Your book would have been forgotten long
ago if a lady in Cincinnati had not persuaded an American publisher there
to reprint it. =E.= Yes, I very readily allow that I have been a gainer.
The Americans have done more for me than my own countrymen. To be sure
neither have “praised with the hands” (as Molière’s _professeur_ has it);
and, in money at least, the book has never paid _me_ its expenses; but
three American publishers have done for themselves what no Englishman
would do for me, viz., publish at their own risk. In 1868 when my MS. was
ready, I went to my old friend, Mr. Alexander Macmillan; but he would
not even look at it. “Books on education,” said he, “don’t pay. Why
there is Thring’s _Education and School_, a capital book” (I assented
heartily, for I was very fond of it), “well, _that_ doesn’t sell.” I was
forced to admit that in that case I had little chance. “But,” I said, “I
suppose you would publish at my risk?” “No,” said Mr. Macmillan. “The
author is never satisfied when his book doesn’t pay.” “What would you
advise?” I asked. “I’ll give you a letter of introduction to Mr. William
Longman,” said Mr. Macmillan; “I dare say he’ll publish for you.” With
this letter I went to Mr. William Longman (who has since those days been
gathered to his ancestors, formerly of Paternoster Row). Mr. Longman
said he would put the MS. in the hands of his reader. If the reader’s
report was favourable the firm would offer me terms; if not, they would
publish for me on commission. I sent the MS. accordingly, and soon after
I had a letter from the firm offering to publish “on commission.” When
the book was in type, Mr. Longman advised me to have only 500 printed,
and to publish at a high price. “I should charge 9_s._,” he said. “Very
few people will buy, and they won’t consider the price.” This was not my
opinion, but in such a matter I felt that the weight of authority was
enormously against me. So I consented to the publishing price of 7_s._
6_d._ And at first it seemed that Mr. Longman was right—at least about
the small number of purchasers. £30 was spent in advertising, and the
book was very generally and I may say very favourably reviewed; but when
about 100 copies had been sold, it almost entirely ceased “to move.” I
think 13 copies were sold in six months. So to get rid of the remainder
of my 500 copies (some 300 of them) I put down the price to 3_s._ 6_d._
Then it seemed that Mr. Longman had made a mistake about the price.
Without another advertisement the 300 were sold in a month or two. Some
time after, I heard that the book had been republished in Cincinnati,
and on my writing to the publishers, Messrs. Robert Clarke & Co., they
presented me with half-a-dozen copies. This proved to be a perfect
reprint, which is more than I can say of those which years afterwards
were issued by Mr. Bardeen and Messrs. Kellogg. I have therefore from
time to time purchased from Messrs. Clarke and imported the copies (I
suppose about 1500 in all) that have been wanted for the English market.
I hope these details do not bore you. =A.= Not at all. The history of any
book interests me, and your book has had some odd experiences. It has
lived, I own, much longer than I expected, and for this you have to thank
the Americans. =A.= In my case the absence of international copyright
has done no harm certainly; but after all copyright has its advantages,
international copyright included. Specialists suffer severely from the
want of it. Perhaps the “special” public in this country is so small that
an important book for it cannot be published. If to our special public
were joined the special public of the U.S., the book might be fairly
remunerative to its author. Take, _e.g._, Joseph Payne’s writings. These
would have been lost to the world had not Dr. Payne published them as an
act of filial piety. With an international copyright these works would be
very good property. =E.= You think then that in the long run “honesty is
the best policy” even internationally? =A.= I must say my opinion does
incline in that direction.
=Class Matches (p 42).=—=A.= I think you have had a good deal to do with
class matches? =E.= Yes. One must be careful not to overdo them, but I
have found an occasional match a capital way of enlivening school-work.
Some time before the match takes place the master lets the two best boys
pick up sides, the second boy having the first choice. The subject for
the match is then arranged, and to prevent disputes the area must be
carefully defined. Moreover, there must be no opportunity for the boys to
ask questions about unimportant details that are likely to have escaped
attention. When the match is to take place each boy should come provided
with a set of written questions, and whenever a boy shows himself
ignorant of the right answer to a question of his own he must be held to
have failed even if his opponent is ignorant also. At Harrow, where I
had a class-room (“school-room” as it is there called) to myself, I used
to work these matches very successfully in German. Say Heine’s Lorelei
had been learnt by heart. I set as a subject for a match the plurals
of the substantives and the past participles of the verbs in the poem.
Or the boys had to make up for themselves and number on paper a set of
short sentences in which only words which occurred in the poem were used.
In this last case the questioner handed in to the master his paper with
both the English and the German on it, and the master gave the other side
the English, of which they had to write the German. The details of such
matches may of course be varied to any extent so long as the subject
set is quite definite. The scoring will be found best at the lower end,
so that a match stimulates those who need stimulus. =A.= What did you
call “scratch pairs?” =E.= Oh, that was a device for getting up a little
harmless excitement. Knowing the capacities of my boys, I arranged them
in pairs, the best boy and the worst forming one pair, the next best and
next worst the second pair, &c., &c. I then asked a series of questions
to which all had to write short answers. I then looked over the answers
and marked them. Finally the marks of each _pair_ were added together,
and I announced the order in which the pairs “came in.” It was really
“anybody’s race” for neither I nor anyone could predict the result. If
the number of boys was an odd number the boy in the middle fought for his
own hand and had his marks doubled. Perhaps on the whole he had the best
chance.