Inspector: "But how do I know, how can I be sure that the earth is round like an orange?"
Boy: "Because I tell't ye."
Pupils show great affection for the phrases of their text-books. Not long ago, at a written examination, a lad wrote in reply to a historical question which was puzzling him: "The answer to this question is known only to the Great Searcher of Hearts." What could the boy mean? Was it "cheek," ignorance, or piety? It was none of these. It was Collier! About thirty years ago, Dr. Collier, a modern Euphuist, composed a History of England, which deserves to be reckoned among the glories of the reign. Carlyle may be great, but Collier is greater: Collier is a theologian, philosopher, and a' that. The style of his history is a wondrous blend of Ossian and Hervey's Meditations among the Tombs; and its special peculiarity is that the words, owing to some feature, never really analysed, linger in the mind long after the sentences of the Shorter Catechism have become blurred. Collier is strong in tropes—a highly-dangerous feature. It is no doubt true, as he says, that William the Conqueror ruled with a rod of iron, but when a boy, after reading this metaphor, asserts that that sovereign ruled his subjects with a long iron pole, you begin to question the utility of historical study. "Joy-bells pealed and bonfires blazed," is a phrase of the Doctor's which sets all the caverns of the mind ringing, even though its historical setting is long forgotten. But unction is the chief feature of the history: there is a rotund finality about the author's spacious utterances, and a dodging of investigation by means of pious generalisations. The book has all the effect of a benediction. When it is really too tiresome to inquire into all the authorities on some affair of magnitude, it is so respectable to sum up in the phrase imitated by the youth alluded to above.
It is in the Secondary Schools of the country that the confusion of thought is apt to be most painfully seen. Far too much is attempted, and the pupils are overworked. A teacher in the neighbourhood of Glasgow, a laudator temporis acti, has a manuscript collection of howlers, drawn from elementary, secondary, and university sources, with the following fearful lines as a preface:—
"Ye statesmen all, of high or humble station,
Collective conscience of the British nation,
Whether the frothing vat has made your name
Or tropes in carpet-bags begot your fame,
Behold the product of the education
Wherewith is dosed the rising generation.
And see the modern devotee of cram
At midnight hour hard-grinding for the exam.,
A moistened towel garlanding his brow,
And coffee simmering on the hob below.
High on a three-legged stool uncushioned, he
Sits glowering through his goggles painfully,
Nagging his brain with all a grinder's might
Till one sounds on the drowsy ear of night.
Like Sibyl's leaves the papers strew his floor
Wrought-out examples, 'wrinkles' by the score,
Conundrums algebraic, 'tips' on Conics
And thorny 'props' remembered by mnemonics.
Betweenwhiles as the slow time lagging goes,
He takes the spectacles from off his nose,
Removes the damper from his aching head,
Pours out the coffee, cuts a slice of bread,
Sips wistfully the liquid from his cup:
The zeal to pass the exam. has eaten him up.
Thrice happy ye! born 'neath the ancient reign
When Tityre tu alone possessed the brain
(Ere Tyndall's tubes made sweating students numb)
And the whole aim of life was di, do, dum."
COMPETING SUBJECTS.
So numerous indeed are the subjects of the school curriculum in our day that howlers and confusion are bound to result. Formerly there was but one scheme (containing classics, mathematics, and a little English), and everybody took it. Now there is a kind of competition among the departments of a school as to which is the most culturing. When a fond mother asks the opinion of the masters as to what course of study her boy (whom she is entitled to think a genius of the first order) ought to pursue, she is often puzzled by the variety of answers. Mr. Test-tube, the Science Master, invariably prescribes an extensive course of chemistry. If a boy is to be a lawyer, he ought to know the principles of atomic combination and the doctrine of gases; if he thinks of the ministry, why then, having a thorough acquaintance with science, he will be competent to close the mouths of heretics, infidels, and such vermin. Dr. Aorist, on the other hand, believes that a sound knowledge of "qui with the subjunctive" is a splendid sheet-anchor for every squall in life's rude sea. "I wish my boy to be a civil engineer; what advice would you give me as to his studies?" "I have no hesitation in affirming," the Doctor replies, "that the boy will build bridges all the better if he has his mind expanded and (so to speak) broadened by the study of subjects outside his special trade, such, e.g., as the interesting fact that in ancient times 'All Gaul was divided into three parts.'"
The average boy has an impartial mind. As a rule, he has no prejudice in favour of either science or letters, his maxim being never to do to-day what he can put off till to-morrow.
His favourite books for home
Are buccaneering combats on the foam,
Or grim detective tales of Scotland Yard,
Where gleams the bull's-eye lamp and drips the poniard.
Parents may be reminded that the wide spaces of the colonies remain to be peopled and that many a stickit minister might have made a first-class empire-builder.