CHILDREN’S PAGE.
THE GRASSHOPPER TEACHER.
By M. K. Smith. Atlanta University, Ga.
A young lad who had found his way from the West coast of Africa to Atlanta University entered my class in entomology last October. Shortly after, when naming the teachers under whose instructions he came daily, he quaintly designated me as his “grasshopper teacher.”
In order to give some idea of the amount of enthusiasm the common grasshopper is capable of rousing in the mind of the average colored student, it may be interesting to give a brief explanation of the method of study pursued.
The pupils had no particular love for the troublesome insect; in fact, they had hitherto entertained for him a sentiment the reverse of friendly, and when I gave each student a pin upon which a grasshopper (it had been killed by immersion in alcohol) was transfixed, a dissatisfied giggle or a contemptuous sniff from each gave evidence that the little world of the class-room was decidedly out of sympathy with the existing state of affairs.
The African boy refused to touch a “specimen,” and regarded me with an expression in which surprise, fear and defiance were blended. The fear was doubtless the result of experience with poisonous insects in his fatherland, while the surprise was that a grasshopper should usurp the place of a book, for which the savage has all the superstitious reverence which characterizes the civilized student, and the defiance probably arose from a resolution that no earthly power should induce him to touch the strange animal. I did not urge him, but quickly called attention to the insect in hand. Without much difficulty they found the principal parts, to which I gave the names, head, thorax and abdomen. By the time these words were written on the board the class was pacified, for the colored student loves new words whose significations are beyond his comprehension just as well as his white brother. When the shape of the head was considered the students realized for the first time the lack of words which is so general among these people. “It’s like a horse’s head,” broke forth a boy, impetuously, while a hum of approval ran along the forms. I accepted the resemblance, and asked them to observe other things in connection with the head, and very soon the eyes were mentioned. I drew on the board a diagram of hexagonal cells, closely connected, and explained that the compound eye of the grasshopper is composed of facets of similar form and each having power of sight.
“Why, he is better off than we are,” exclaimed a wondering youth. “We have only two eyes apiece, while he has thousands of ’em. What’s that for?”
“God made him that way,” returned another, as he handled his “specimen” a little more gently, while the African boy leaned over to get a good look at those queer eyes that were even nicer than his own.