GRADGRIND'S IDEA OF EDUCATION
By Charles Dickens
Thomas Gradgrind was proud of himself. He was a "self-made" man who attributed his own successes in life to his mastery of Facts. He is here represented as officially testing a school upon its knowledge of his favorite Facts.
"Now what I want is Facts. Teach these boys and
girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted
in life. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals
upon Facts; nothing else will ever be of any service to
them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own 5
children. Stick to Facts, sir; nothing but Facts."
The speaker, and the schoolmaster, and the third grown
person present, all backed a little and swept with their eyes
the inclined plane of little vessels then and there arranged
in order, ready to have gallons of facts poured into them 10
until they were full to the brim.
Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of realities. A man of
facts and calculations. A man who proceeds upon the
principle that two and two are four and nothing over,
and who is not to be talked into allowing for anything over. 15
Thomas Gradgrind, sir, with a rule and a pair of scales
and the multiplication table always in his pocket, sir,
ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature
and tell you exactly what it comes to.
It is a mere question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic. 20
You might hope to get some other nonsensical
belief into the head of George Gradgrind, or Augustus
Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind; but
into the head of Thomas Gradgrind—no, sir!
Indeed, he seemed to be a kind of cannon loaded to the
muzzle with facts.
"Girl number twenty," said Mr. Gradgrind, squarely 5
pointing with his square forefinger. "I don't know that
girl. Who is that girl?"
"Sissy Jupe, sir," explained number twenty, blushing,
standing up, and curtsying.
"Sissy is not a name," said Mr. Gradgrind. "Don't 10
call yourself Sissy. Call yourself Cecilia."
"Father calls me Sissy, sir," returned the young girl in a
trembling voice and with another curtsy.
"Then he has no business to do it," said Mr. Gradgrind.
"Tell him he mustn't. Cecilia Jupe. Let me see. What 15
is your father?"
"He belongs to the horse riding, if you please, sir."
Mr. Gradgrind frowned, and waved off the objectionable
calling with his hand.
"We don't want to know anything about that, here. 20
You mustn't tell us about that, here. Your father breaks
horses, don't he?"
"If you please, sir, when they can get any to break, they
do break horses in the ring, sir."
"You mustn't tell us about the ring, here. Very well, 25
then. Describe your father as a horse breaker. He
doctors sick horses, I dare say."
"Oh, yes, sir!"
"Very well, then. He is a veterinary surgeon, a farrier,
and a horse breaker. Give me your definition of a horse." 30
Sissy Jupe was thrown into the greatest alarm by this
demand.
"Girl number twenty unable to define a horse!" said
Mr. Gradgrind. "Girl number twenty possessed of no
facts in reference to one of the commonest of animals!
Some boy's definition of a horse. Bitzer, yours."
The square finger, moving here and there, lighted suddenly 5
on Bitzer, perhaps because he chanced to sit in the
same ray of sunlight which irradiated Sissy.
"Bitzer," said Thomas Gradgrind, "your definition of a
horse."
"Quadruped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth: namely, 10
twenty-four grinders, four eyeteeth, and twelve incisors.
Sheds coat in the spring; in marshy countries, sheds hoofs
too. Hoofs hard, but requiring to be shod with iron.
Age known by marks in the mouth."
"Now, girl number twenty," said Mr. Gradgrind, "you 15
know what a horse is."
She curtsied again and would have blushed deeper, if she
could have blushed deeper than she had blushed all this
time.
The third gentleman now stepped forth. A mighty man at 20
cutting and drying, was he; a government officer; always
in training, always with a system to force down the general
throat, always to be heard of at the bar of his little public
office.
"Very well," said this gentleman briskly, smiling and 25
folding his arms. "That's a horse. Now, let me ask you,
girls and boys, would you paper a room with representations
of horses?"
After a pause, one half the children cried in a chorus,
"Yes, sir!" Upon which the other half, seeing in the 30
gentleman's face that "yes" was wrong, cried out in a
chorus, "No, sir!"—as the custom is in these examinations.
"Of course not. Why wouldn't you?"
A pause. One corpulent slow boy, with a wheezy manner
of breathing, ventured to answer, "Because I wouldn't
paper a room at all; I'd paint it."
"You must paper it," said the gentleman rather warmly. 5
"Yes, you must paper it," said Thomas Gradgrind,
"whether you like it or not. Don't tell us you wouldn't
paper it. What do you mean, boy?"
"I'll explain to you, then," said the gentleman, after a
dismal pause, "why you wouldn't paper a room with representations 10
of horses. Do you ever see horses walking
up and down the sides of a room in reality—in fact?
Do you?"
"Yes, sir!" from one half. "No, sir!" from the other.
"Of course not," said the gentleman, with an indignant 15
look at the wrong half. "Why, then, you are not to see
anywhere what you don't see in fact; you are not to have
anywhere what you don't have in fact. What is called
taste is only another name for fact. This is a new principle,
a discovery, a great discovery," said the gentleman. "Now 20
I'll try you again. Suppose you were going to carpet a
room, would you use a carpet having a representation of
flowers upon it?"
There being a general conviction by this time that "No,
sir!" was always the right answer to this gentleman, the 25
chorus of "No," was very strong. Only a few feeble
stragglers said, "Yes"; among them Sissy Jupe.
"Girl number twenty," said the gentleman, smiling in
the calm strength of knowledge.
Sissy blushed and stood up. 30
"So you would carpet your room with representations of
flowers, would you?" said the gentleman. "Why?"
"If you please, sir, I am very fond of flowers," returned
the girl.
"And is that why you would put tables and chairs upon
them and have people walking over them with heavy
boots?" 5
"It wouldn't hurt them, sir. They wouldn't crush and,
wither, if you please, sir. They would be the pictures of
what was very pretty and pleasant, and I fancy—"
"Aye, aye, aye! But you mustn't fancy," cried the
gentleman, quite elated by coming so happily to his point. 10
"That's it! You are never to fancy."
"You are not, Cecilia Jupe," Thomas Gradgrind solemnly
repeated, "to do anything of that kind."
"You are to be in all things regulated and governed,"
said the gentleman, "by Fact. You must discard the word 15
'fancy' altogether. You have nothing to do with it.
You don't walk upon flowers in fact; you cannot be allowed
to walk upon flowers in carpets. You never meet with
quadrupeds going up and down the walls; you must not
have quadrupeds represented upon the walls. You must 20
use," said the gentleman, "for all these purposes, combinations
and modifications (in primary colors) of mathematical
figures which are susceptible of proof and demonstration.
This is the new discovery. This is Fact. This
is taste." 25
—Hard Times.
1. Make a list of adjectives that fit the character
of Gradgrind.
2. Does Dickens agree with Gradgrind's ideas of
teaching? Prove your answer. Define irony; sarcasm.
Does either of these words apply to Dickens's
presentation of Gradgrind?
3. What do you think of Gradgrind's theories? How
far do you agree with him? In what do you disagree?
THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE,
OR THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY"
By Oliver Wendell Holmes
Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894) was born at Cambridge, Mass. Although he practiced his profession of medicine, was Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at the Harvard Medical School, and wrote some scientific works, he is best known as the author of poems and essays, mostly humorous, light, and fanciful. He was very popular in his time as a witty conversationalist and a brilliant speech maker.
Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
That was built in such a logical way?
It ran a hundred years to a day,
And then, of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,
I'll tell you what happened without delay— 5
Scaring the parson into fits,
Frightening people out of their wits—
Have you ever heard of that, I say?
Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.
Georgius Secundus was then alive— 10
Snuffy old drone from the German hive.
That was the year when Lisbon town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
And Braddock's army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown. 15
It was on the terrible Earthquake day
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.
Now in building of chaises I tell you what,
There is always somewhere a weakest spot—
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,
In panel or crossbar or floor or sill,
In screw, bolt, thorough-brace,—lurking still, 5
Find it somewhere you must and will—
Above or below or within or without—
And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,
A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.
But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, 10
With an "I dew vum" or an "I tell yeou")
He would build one shay to beat the taown
'N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun';
It should be so built that it couldn't break daown.
"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain 15
Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain;
'N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain,
Is only jest
T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."
So the Deacon inquired of the village folk 20
Where he could find the strongest oak,
That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke—
That was for spokes and floor and sills;
He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees 25
The panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheese
But lasts like iron for things like these;
The hubs, of logs from the "Settler's ellum"—
Last of its timber—they couldn't sell 'em—
Never an ax had seen their chips,
And the wedges flew from between their lips,
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery tips;
Step and prop iron, bolt and screw,
Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 5
Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
Thorough-brace, bison skin, thick and wide;
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
Found in the pit when the tanner died.
That was the way he "put her through." 10
"There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!"
Do! I tell you, I rather guess
She was a wonder, and nothing less!
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
Deacon and deaconess dropped away, 15
Children and grandchildren—where were they?
But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay,
As fresh as on Lisbon-Earthquake day!
Eighteen hundred—it came and found
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. 20
Eighteen hundred increased by ten—
"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came—
Running as usual; much the same.
Thirty and Forty at last arrive, 25
And then come Fifty—and Fifty-five.
Little of all we value here
Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
Without both feeling and looking queer.
In fact there's nothing that keeps its youth,
So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
(This is a moral that runs at large;
Take it.—You're welcome.—No extra charge.)
First of November—the Earthquake day— 5
There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,
A general flavor of mild decay,
But nothing local, as one may say.
There couldn't be—for the Deacon's art
Had made it so like in every part 10
That there wasn't a chance for one to start.
For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,
And the floor was just as strong as the sills,
And the panels just as strong as the floor,
And the whippletree neither less nor more, 15
And the back crossbar as strong as the fore,
And spring, and axle, and hub encore.
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt
In another hour it will be worn out!
First of November, Fifty-five! 20
This morning the parson takes a drive.
Now, small boys, get out of the way!
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,
Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.
"Huddup!" said the parson.—Off went they. 25
The parson was working his Sunday's text—
Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed
At what the—Moses—was coming next.
All at once the horse stood still,
Close by the meet'n'house on the hill.
First a shiver, and then a thrill,
Then something decidedly like a spill—
And the parson was sitting upon a rock, 5
At half past nine by the meet'n'house clock—
Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!
What do you think the parson found
When he got up and stared around?
The poor old chaise in a heap, or mound, 10
As if it had been to the mill and ground!
You see, of course, if you're not a dunce,
How it went to pieces all at once—
All at once, and nothing first—
Just as bubbles do when they burst. 15
End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.
Logic is logic. That's all I say.
1. What kind of vehicle did the Deacon build? What was his theory as to building a "shay"?
2. How did he carry out his theory? Read the passages that answer this question. Make a list of the special parts of the chaise named.
3. On what day did the Deacon complete his task? Is Holmes correct as to the dates of Braddock's defeat and the Lisbon earthquake?
4. Explain lines 10-11, page 286; 8, 17, 27, page 289; 17, page 290.
5. What happened finally to the "masterpiece"? Was the Deacon still living? How did the chaise happen to go to pieces? Was the Deacon's theory of building correct?
6. Suggested readings: Holmes's "How the Old Horse Won the Bet"; Lowell's "The Courtin'."