AN UNJUST COMPLAINT.
It would be a strange thing if the public schools of the country gave entire satisfaction. They are so numerous, they cost so much, such large hopes are built on them, they so pervasively affect the most sensitive social regions—those of the family—that a very large amount of criticism, a huge aggregate of discontent, would be properly and naturally expected. The wonder is that there is so little dissatisfaction. Perhaps the most sensitive spot just now is the pass examinations—or the system of regulating the rise of pupils from one department to another. It is affirmed, for example, that in New York and other cities the teachers are constantly employed in coaching their pupils for examinations. It is declared that there is very little of proper teaching, that most of the work is simply cramming for the sake of passing, and that the pupils really learn very little, and are not in any proper sense being educated. The whole mass of these children are being crowded up a stairway—and the getting up, by whatever means, into the higher grades is the sole object of teachers and pupils.
It is easy to see that there must be much use of the spirit of emulation, and the pride of standing, in teaching great masses of young people. There are owlish philosophers who would have children and young people act from the motives that are supposed to regulate the lives of their grandfathers. A public school boy or a college boy is often, perhaps commonly, spoken of as though he were a companion of Socrates and George Washington. This kind of critic assumes that the lad knows all wisdom and only needs to select some bits of knowledge and chew them with the relish of a Plato. The critic can not put himself in the boy’s place. He can not realize that the boy does not know everything, and does not much care to learn anything. This critic has the practical teacher at a great advantage; knowing boys and girls as saints and philosophers, he can condemn the practical instructor who has never met any such boys and girls. The teacher wants to get work out of his pupils; and he goes about it practically, and does get the work done. At the end of his work, the pupils are doubtless very unsatisfactory. In fact, we are all of us, always more or less unsatisfactory.
In New York, there is no doubt that the pass system has developed some bad features. Perhaps some trace of these features will be found everywhere in graded schools. It would be difficult to secure ambitious and industrious pupils without running some risks. You must awaken the desire to rise, even though the desire to rise dishonestly may develop itself in some pupils.
The gravest charge against the schools is that they kill the pupils with hard work. Every city has its story of a pupil (always a girl) murdered by the severe tasks of the school. The simple truth is that negligent mothers are more guilty than the schools. It is a mother’s business to know all about her children—to know when they are overworked—and it is also the mother’s duty to put a stop to hurtful work. We do not hire teachers to take the place of parents. We could not afford to pay enough teachers for this service. The public school system assumes that mothers attend to their duties, and retain their authority. If school work is hurtful to a young girl, the mother has the right to remove the child from the school. If she does not find out that the work is too hard, how can she expect the teacher to discover it? The general health of public school children proves that the system is not too severe; but it will often happen that young girls are physically unfit for study. It is the business of their mothers—not of their teachers—to know when such disabilities exist.
LETTERS OF WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
We love to read the letters of great men, who in letters, art, science, statesmanship, theology, have held a front rank. They discover their personality, and bring us into acquaintance with the men themselves, as nothing else does. We say to the biographer: “Let your subject, as far as may be, tell us of himself; give us any fragments of autobiography or journals which may be in existence; print copiously of his letters.” The wise writer of biography does so; and the most valuable portions of the life of a man of note are those in which he speaks himself. Let Michael Angelo, with candle stuck in his pasteboard cap, teach those who undertake to show us a character in whom there is a public interest; let them keep their own shadows off the canvas. “The Life of Frederick W. Robertson,” by Stopford A. Brooke, and the “Life of Dr. Arnold,” by Dean Stanley, are models of biography. The letters of Robertson and of Arnold are their most prominent feature, and are a priceless treasure, both because of the light they throw upon the personality of the men, and the rich thought with which they sparkle. Mr. Parke Godwin, in his “Life of Bryant,” has done his work well. To have omitted the scrap of autobiography which occupies the first thirty-eight pages of the work would have been a great blunder. It is most charming. And the letters of the great poet and editor are interspersed generously through the two volumes. No one will say that they fill too large a space. Fame came to Bryant early, and he was permitted to live, with his reputation continually widening, and his honors augmenting, until nearly four-score-and-four years had passed over his head; and to die, like Moses, with his eye undimmed and his natural force not abated. It could not have been a difficult matter to secure letters of his in abundance for the purposes of biography; and these the world wants.
We have them here in these volumes of Mr. Godwin; letters written in all periods of life; letters to acquaintances, friends and strangers; letters upon literature, politics, and matters personal; letters to persons well known in letters and public affairs; letters written here and there at home, and from various points in his frequent journeyings in other lands. As might have been expected, we find always, as we read them, the same clear and beautiful style. Bryant could not write, even upon trivial matters, without writing well. It was said of him that “he never said a foolish thing.” No foolish thing is found in these letters, and whatever is said is said clearly and well. The poet was not a humorist; the editor was not. And the element of humor, wanting in his poems and editorials, seldom appears in his letters. They do not sparkle with drollery and wit like those of Dickens. Sometimes, in writing to his old pastor and warm friend, Rev. Dr. Dewey, he unbends and is somewhat playful and jocose; and a letter written to his mother, when a young man, telling her of his marriage, is, for him, rather funny; but as a rule, the letters are of a grave and serious tone. Bryant the litterateur and the politician, appears in his correspondence more prominently than any other character. His interest in politics from early life was evidently very great. Letters are given which he wrote upon state and national affairs, when a boy, to the congressman of the district at Washington; and letters full of wise reflections, written by the mature and sagacious man to President Lincoln and other eminent statesmen. As a matter of course, the man is far more modest, is much less positive, and knows far less than the boy! And numerous and highly interesting are the letters to many associates of his in the field of letters. Richard H. Dana, the senior, gave him valuable aid at the beginning of his literary career, and became his close, life-long friend. Perhaps to him more of the letters of these volumes are addressed than to any other one person. Mr. Bryant’s home-life was beautiful, and his letters to members of his family discover the fact, and his strongly affectionate nature. The death of his wife, for whose recovery to health the climate of different parts of Europe was tried in vain, was keenly felt, and the shadow of the bereavement was upon him the balance of his years. Among the letters, we find that written to Dr. Vincent, in his last years, in which his interest in the C. L. S. C. and its objects was so beautifully expressed, and which has become familiar to all the members of the Circle.