“‘On Selfishness.—Of all the vices which degrade the human character, Selfishness is the most odious and contemptible. An undue love of Self leads to the most monstrous crimes, and occasions the greatest misfortunes both in States and Families. As a selfish man will impoverish his family and often bring them to ruin; so a selfish king brings ruin on his people and often plunges them into war. Example: The selfishness of Achilles, as remarked by the poet Homer, occasioned a thousand woes to the Greeks—μυρί’ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε’ ἔθηκε—(Hom., Il., A. 2). The selfishness of the late Napoleon Bonaparte occasioned innumerable wars in Europe, and caused him to perish, himself, in a miserable island—that of St Helena in the Atlantic Ocean.
“‘We see by these examples that we are not to consult our own interest and ambition, but that we are to consider the interests of others as well as our own.
George S. Osborne.
“‘Athenè House, 24 April 1827.’
“‘Think of him’ (George was 10) ‘writing such a hand, and quoting Greek too, at his age,’ the delighted mother said.”
And well might Mrs George Sedley be delighted. Would not many a mother to-day triumph in such a literary effort? What can Thackeray be laughing at? Or does he, in truth, give us this little ‘theme’ as a tour de force?
An Educational Futility.—I think this great moral teacher here throws down the gauntlet in challenge of an educational futility which is practised, and an educational fallacy which is accepted, even in the twentieth century. That futility is the exaction of original composition from schoolboys and schoolgirls. The proper function of the mind of the young scholar is to collect material for the generalisations of after-life. If a child is asked to generalise, that is, to write an essay upon some abstract theme, a double wrong is done him. He is brought up before a stone wall by being asked to do what is impossible to him, and that is discouraging. But a worse moral injury happens to him in that, having no thought of his own to offer on the subject, he puts together such tags of commonplace thought as have come in his way and offers the whole as his ‘composition,’ an effort which puts a strain upon his conscience while it piques his vanity. In these days masters do not consciously put their hand to the work of their pupils as did that ‘prodigiously well-read and delightful’ master who had the educating of George Osborne. But, perhaps without knowing it, they give the ideas which the cunning schoolboy seizes to ‘stick’ into the ‘essay’ he hates. Sometimes they do more. They deliberately teach children how to ‘build a sentence’ and how to ‘bind sentences’ together.
Lessons in Composition.—Here is a series of preliminary exercises (or rather a part of the series, which numbers 40) intended to help a child to write an essay on ‘An Umbrella,’ from a book of the hour proceeding from one of our best publishing houses:—
“Step I.
“1. What are you?