CHAPTER V

METHOD FURTHER DISCUSSED AND ILLUSTRATED.

SUMMARY

In the following chapter some phases of method not fully treated before will be discussed and illustrated.

1. The proposal to treat literary masterpieces as units of thought implies a searching study and sifting out of the essential idea in each poem or selection. In some, both of the longer and shorter pieces, it is not difficult to detect the motive. In Bryant's "Ode to a Waterfowl," it is even suggested as a sort of moral at the close. Likewise in the "Pied Piper of Hamelin," and in Burns's "Tam O'Shanter." In "Glaucis and Philemon," as well as in "The Golden Touch," even a child can quickly discern the controlling idea of the myth. But in many of our choicest literary products it requires deliberate thought to discover the poet's deeper meaning, especially that idea which binds all the parts together and gives unity to the whole. In Lowell's address "To the Dandelion," we may find in each stanza the gleam of the golden thread which unifies the whole. The first lines suggest it:--

"Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold."

And again in the second stanza:--

"'Tis the Spring's largess which she scatters now To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand."

In the succeeding stanzas he calls to mind how the dandelion suggests the riches of the tropics, the full promise of summer, the pure joys of childhood, the common loving courtesies of life, the rich love and prodigality of nature, and the divinity in every human heart.

When by reflection we bind all these thoughts together, and find that they focus in the idea that the best riches abound and even burst forth out of common things and from the hearts of common men and women, we realize that the poet has brought us to the point of discovering a deep and practical truth, which, put to work in the world, would bring rhythm and harmony into human life.

But such a deep impression is not made by a superficial or fragmental study of the poem.

A somewhat similar result may be wrought out by the study of Lowell's poem, "An Incident in a Railroad Car," and the idea is well expressed in the verse:--

"Never did poesy appear So full of heaven to me as when I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear To lives of coarsest men."

The study of a poem or other masterpiece in this way, to get at its inner life and continuity, reveals to us an interesting process of mental elaboration and comparative thought. Such self-active reflection is the subsoiling of the mind.

To set children to work upon problems of this sort, to put them in the way of thinking and feeling for themselves, and that too even in the longer classics like "Evangeline," "Enoch Arden," "Silas Marner," etc., is to bring such studies into the realm of great culture-producing agencies.

Many minor questions of method will be solved by having these centres of thought, these problems for thinkers. Teachers are bothered to know what sort of questions to ask. It would be safe to say, those questions which move in the direction of the main truth, toward the solution of the chief problem. But let the questions be shrewd, not revealing too much, stimulating to thoughtfulness and heading off errors. To what extent shall geographical, historical, or biographical facts be gathered for the enrichment and clarifying of the poem? Those materials which throw necessary light on the essential ideas, omitting what is irrelevant and secondary.

A careful study of the life of Alexander, by Plutarch, will bring to light, more than anything else, his magnanimity. The thing that so much distinguished him from other men was his large, liberal temper, displayed on many various occasions. It reminds the mature student of that remarkable utterance of Burke, "Great affairs and little minds go ill together." The large-minded statesmanship with which Burke discusses conciliation with the colonies is of like quality with this magnanimous spirit of Alexander.

One who reads receptively Emerson's "The Fortune of the Republic" will open his eyes on two opposite but closely related ideas, the serious faults,--the low political tone, the materialism, the spread-eagle strut and slovenly mediocrity of much in American life,--and over against this the splendid promise, manliness, and intense idealism of our national life. To work out this conception in the brains of young people and let it kindle their hearts with some true glow of patriotism, is the highest form of teaching. Such instruction would convert every schoolhouse into a true temple of freedom and patriotism.

But in order to reach these results both teachers and pupils must put their minds to the stretch of earnest work. In the introduction to the above-named essay of Emerson, in the "Riverside Literature Series," occurs the following interesting and suggestive passage: "Yet many of his most notable addresses were given before audiences of young men and women, and out of the great body of his writings it is not difficult to find many passages which go straight to the intelligence of boys and girls in school. The plan of this series forbids the use of extracts, or many numbers might be filled with striking and appropriate passages from Emerson's writings; but there are certain essays and addresses which, though they may contain some knotty sentences, are in the main so interesting to boys and girls who have begun to think, they are so inspiring and yield so much to any one who will take a little trouble to use his mind, that it is obviously desirable to bring them in convenient form to the attention of schools. Some of the best things in literature we can get only by digging for them; and there is great satisfaction in reading again and again masterpieces like the essays in this collection, with a fresh pleasure in each reading as new ideas spring up in the mind of the attentive reader."

It will be a day rich in promise and fruitful of great things when the general body of our teachers take hold of our great American classics in this determined spirit, treating them as wholes and grasping firmly the essential fundamental ideas.

2. It is in the thought-analysis of a reading lesson that a teacher's wit and wisdom are brought to the severest test. The words of Shakespeare may be applied to the teacher:--

"A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatched wit and judgment."

There is much danger of wasting time in formal questions, questions striking no spark of interest, questions on familiar words that really need no elucidation, vague and unpremeditated questions that make no forward step. Simple, far-reaching questions, which touch the pupils' deeper thoughtfulness in preparing the lesson and stimulate his self-active effort, are needed. If the teacher has become keenly interested, he will ask more telling questions. If he has probed into the author's secret,--the thing which he has been hinting at and only gives occasional glimpses of to whet your curiosity,--he will discover that thought-getting is almost a tantalizing process with great writers. The teacher must spur and almost tantalize the children with a similar shrewdness of question.

Problem-raising questions, involving thoughtful retrospect and shrewd anticipation, questions which cannot be answered offhand but lead on to a deeper study, are at a premium. Ruskin says:--

"And, therefore, first of all, I tell you earnestly and authoritatively (I know I am right in this), you must get into the habit of looking intensely at words and assuring yourself of their meaning, syllable by syllable,--nay, letter by letter." Again he says, of a well-educated gentleman, that "above all he is learned in the peerage of words; knows the words of true descent and ancient blood at a glance from words of modern canaille."

In order to make his thought unmistakable, I quote at length a passage from Ruskin's "Sesame and Lilies":--

"And now, merely for example's sake, I will, with your permission, read a few lines of a true book with you, carefully; and see what will come out of them. I will take a book perfectly known to you all; no English words are more familiar to us, yet nothing perhaps has been less read with sincerity. I will take these few following lines of 'Lycidas':--

"'Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain), He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake, How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain, Enow of such as for their bellies' sake Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold: Of other care they little reckoning make, Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else, the least That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said.'

"Let us think over this passage, and examine its words.

"First, is it not singular to find Milton assigning to St. Peter, not only his full episcopal function, but the very types of it which Protestants usually refuse most passionately? His 'mitred' locks! Milton was no Bishop-lover; how comes St. Peter to be 'mitred'? 'Two massy keys he bore.' Is this, then, the power of the keys claimed by the Bishops of Rome, and is it acknowledged here by Milton only in a poetical license, for the sake of its picturesqueness; that he may get the gleam of the golden keys to help his effect? Do not think it. Great men do not play stage tricks with doctrines of life and death: only little men do that. Milton means what he says; and means it with his might, too,--is going to put the whole strength of his spirit presently into the saying of it. For though not a lover of false bishops, he was a lover of true ones; and the lake-pilot is here, in his thoughts, the type and head of true episcopal power. For Milton reads that text, 'I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of Heaven,' quite honestly. Puritan though he be, he would not blot it out of the book because there have been bad bishops; nay, in order to understand him, we must understand that verse first; it will not do to eye it askance, or whisper it under our breath, as if it were a weapon of an adverse sect. It is a solemn, universal assertion, deeply to be kept in mind by all sects. But perhaps we shall be better able to reason on it if we go on a little farther, and come back to it. For clearly, this marked insistence on the power of the true episcopate is to make us feel more weightily what is to be charged against the false claimants of episcopate; or generally, against false claimants of power and rank in the body of the clergy; they who, 'for their bellies' sake, creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold.'

"Do not think Milton uses those three words to fill up his verse, as a loose writer would. He needs all the three; specially those three, and no more than those--'creep,' and 'intrude,' and 'climb'; no other words would or could serve the turn, and no more could be added. For they exhaustively comprehend the three classes, correspondent to the three characters, of men who dishonestly seek ecclesiastical power. First, those who 'creep' into the fold; who do not care for office, nor name, but for secret influence, and do all things occultly and cunningly, consenting to any servility of office or conduct, so only that they may intimately discern, and unawares direct the minds of men. Then those who 'intrude' (thrust, that is) themselves into the fold, who by natural insolence of heart, and stout eloquence of tongue, and fearlessly perseverant self-assertion, obtain hearing and authority with the common crowd. Lastly, those who 'climb,' who by labor and learning, both stout and sound, but selfishly exerted in the cause of their own ambition, gain high dignities and authorities, and become 'lords over the heritage,' though not 'ensamples to the flock.'

"Now go on:--

"'Of other care they little reckoning make, Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast. Blind mouths--'

"I pause again, for this is a strange expression; a broken metaphor, one might think, careless and unscholarly.

"Not so: its very audacity and pithiness are intended to make us look close at the phrase and remember it. Those two monosyllables express the precisely accurate contraries of right character, in the two great offices of the Church--those of bishop and pastor.

"A Bishop means a person who sees.

"A Pastor means one who feeds.

"The most unbishoply character a man can have is therefore to be Blind.

"The most unpastoral is, instead of feeding, to want to be fed,--to be a Mouth.

"Take the two reverses together, and you have 'blind mouths.' We may advisably follow out this idea a little. Nearly all the evils in the Church have arisen from bishops desiring power more than light. They want authority, not outlook. Whereas their real office is not to rule; though it may be vigorously to exhort and rebuke; it is the king's office to rule; the bishop's office is to oversee the flock; to number it, sheep by sheep; to be ready always to give full account of it. Now it is clear he cannot give account of the souls, if he has not so much as numbered the bodies of his flock. The first thing, therefore, that a bishop has to do is at least to put himself in a position in which, at any moment, he can obtain the history from childhood of every living soul in his diocese, and of its present state. Down in that back street, Bill, and Nancy, knocking each other's teeth out!--Does the bishop know all about it? Has he his eye upon them? Has he had his eye upon them? Can he circumstantially explain to us how Bill got into the habit of beating Nancy about the head? If he cannot, he is no bishop, though he had a mitre as high as Salisbury steeple; he is no bishop,--he has sought to be at the helm instead of the masthead; he has no sight of things. 'Nay,' you say, it is not his duty to look after Bill in the back street. What! the fat sheep that have full fleeces--you think it is only those he should look after, while (go back to your Milton) 'the hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, besides what the grim wolf with privy paw' (bishops knowing nothing about it) 'daily devours apace, and nothing said'?

"'But that's not our idea of a bishop.' Perhaps not; but it was St. Paul's; and it was Milton's. They may be right, or we may be; but we must not think we are reading either one or the other by putting our meaning into their words.

"I go on.

"'But, swolln with wind, and the rank mist they draw.'

"This is to meet the vulgar answer that 'if the poor are not looked after in their bodies, they are in their souls; they have spiritual food.'

"And Milton says, 'They have no such thing as spiritual food; they are only swolln with wind.' At first you may think that is a coarse type, and an obscure one. But, again, it is a quite literally accurate one. Take up your Latin and Greek dictionaries, and find out the meaning of 'Spirit.' It is only a contraction of the Latin word 'breath,' and an indistinct translation of the Greek word for 'wind.' The same word is used in writing. 'The wind bloweth where it listeth;' and 'So is every one that is born of the Spirit,' born of the breath, that is, for it means the breath of God, in soul and body. We have the true sense of it in our words 'inspiration' and 'expire.' Now, there are two kinds of breath with which the flock may be filled; God's breath and man's. The breath of God is health and life and peace to them, as the air of heaven is to the flocks on the hills; but man's breath--the word he calls spiritual--is disease and contagion to them, as the fog of the fen. They rot inwardly with it; they are puffed up by it, as a body by the vapors of its own decomposition. This is literally true of all false religious teaching; the first and last and fatalest sign of it is that 'puffing up.'

"Lastly, let us return to the lines respecting the power of the keys, for now we can understand them. Note the difference between Milton and Dante in their interpretation of this power; for once the latter is weaker in thought; he supposes both the keys to be of the gate of heaven; one is of gold, the other of silver; they are given by St. Peter to the sentinel angel, and it is not easy to determine the meaning either of the substances of the three steps of the gate or of the two keys. But Milton makes one, of gold, the key of heaven; the other, of iron, the key of the prison, in which the wicked teachers are to be bound who 'have taken away the key of knowledge, yet entered not in themselves.'

"We have seen that the duties of bishop and pastor are to see and feed, and, of all who do so, it is said, 'He that watereth, shall be watered also himself.' But the reverse is truth also. He that watereth not, shall be withered himself, and he that seeth not, shall himself be shut out of sight,--shut into the perpetual prison house. And that prison opens here as well as hereafter; he who is to be bound in heaven must first be bound on earth. That command to the strong angels, of which the rock-apostle is the image, 'Take him, and bind him hand and foot, and cast him out,' issues, in its measure, against the teacher for every help withheld, and for every truth refused, and for every falsehood enforced; so that he is more strictly fettered the more he fetters, and further outcast as he more and more misleads, till at last the bars of the iron cage close upon him, and as 'the golden opes, the iron shuts amain.'

"We have got something out of the lines, I think, and much more is yet to be found in them; but we have done enough by way of example of the kind of word-by-word examination of your author which is rightly called 'reading,' watching every accent and expression, and putting ourselves always in the author's place, annihilating our own personality, and seeking to enter into his, so as to be able assuredly to say, 'Thus Milton thought,' not 'Thus I thought, in misreading Milton.'"

3. In reading successive poems and prose selections from different authors, strong resemblances in thought or language are frequently detected. It is a thought-provoking process to bring such similar passages to a definite comparison. Even where the same topic is treated differently by two authors, the different or contrasted points of view are suggestive. Calling such familiar passages to mind is in itself a good practice, and it is well to cultivate this mode of turning previous knowledge into use.

To illustrate this point, let us call to mind some familiar passages, touching the winter snow-storm and the fireside comforts, from Whittier, Emerson, and Lowell.

Whittier's description of a snow-storm in "Snow-Bound" is well known:--

"Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, As zigzag wavering to and fro Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

"So all night long the storm roared on: The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs, In starry flake and pellicle All day the hoary meteor fell; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below,-- A universe of sky and snow! The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road; The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant splendor, seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle."

Again the fireside joy is expressed:--

"Shut in from all the world without, We sat the clean-winged hearth about, Content to let the north-wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door, While the red logs before us beat The frost-line back with tropic heat; And ever, when a louder blast Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draught The great throat of the chimney laughed, The house-dog on his paws outspread Laid to the fire his drowsy head, The cat's dark silhouette on the wall A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; And, for the winter fireside meet, Between the andirons' straddling feet, The mug of cider simmered slow, The apples sputtered in a row, And, close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood.

"What matter how the night behaved? What matter how the north-wind raved? Blow high, blow low, not all its snow Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow."

If these passages and others in "Snow-Bound" are familiar to the children in previous study, the reading of Emerson's "The Snow-Storm," might set them to recalling a whole series of pictures from Whittier:--

"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

"Come see the north wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore, Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he For number or proportion. Mockingly, On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate A tapering turret overtops the work. And when his hours are numbered, and the world Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, The frolic architecture of the snow."

The architecture of the snow can be compared point by point in both authors, in the objects about the farmhouse, while the picture of the snug comforts of the fireplace is in both.

Of a somewhat different, yet closely related, character is the description in the Prelude to Part Second, in the "Vision of Sir Launfal":--

"Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, From the snow five thousand summers old; On open wold and hill-top bleak It had gathered all the cold, And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek; It carried a shiver everywhere From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; The little brook heard it and built a roof 'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; All night by the white stars' frosty gleams He groined his arches and matched his beams; Slender and clear were his crystal spars As the lashes of light that trim the stars; He sculptured every summer delight In his halls and chambers out of sight; Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt, Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees Bending to counterfeit a breeze; Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew But silvery mosses that downward grew; Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops And hung them thickly with diamond drops, Which crystalled the beams of moon and sun, And made a star of every one: No mortal builder's most rare device Could match this winter-palace of ice; 'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay In his depths serene through the summer day, Each flitting shadow of earth and sky, Lest the happy model should be lost, Had been mimicked in fairy masonry By the elfin builders of the frost.

"Within the hall are the song and laughter, The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly, And sprouting is every corbel and rafter With the lightsome green of ivy and holly; Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide; The broad flame-pennons droop and flap And belly and tug as a flag in the wind; Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, Hunted to death in its galleries blind; And swift little troops of silent sparks, Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear, Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks Like herds of startled deer."

The elfin builders of the frost have raised even more delicate structures than the snow. The descriptive power of the poets in picturing nature's handiwork cannot be better seen than in these passages. It is hardly worth while to suggest the points of resemblance which children will quickly detect in these passages, as the comparison of--

"Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide,"

with this,--

"The merrier up its roaring draught. The great throat of the chimney laughed."

Such passages, suggesting like thoughts in earlier studies, are very frequent and spring up in unexpected quarters.

For example, Emerson, in "Waldeinsamkeit," says:--

"I do not count the hours I spend In wandering by the sea; The forest is my loyal friend, Like God it useth me."

Again, in the "Apology," he says:--

"Think me not unkind and rude That I walk alone in grove and glen; I go to the god of the wood To fetch his word to men."

And Lowell, in "The Bobolink":--

"As long, long years ago I wandered, I seem to wander even yet. The hours the idle schoolboy squandered, The man would die ere he'd forget. O hours that frosty eld deemed wasted, Nodding his gray head toward my books, I dearer prize the lore I tasted With you, among the trees and brooks, Than all that I have gained since then From learned books or study-withered men."

And Whittier says:--

"Our uncle, innocent of books, Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, The ancient teachers never dumb Of Nature's unhoused lyceum."

It would not be difficult to recall other passages from Bryant, Shakespeare, Byron, and many others, expressing this love of solitude in woods or on the seashore, and the wisdom to be gained from such communion with nature. This active retrospect to gather up kindred thoughts out of previous studies and mingle them with the newer influx of radiant ideas from master minds is a fruitful mode of assimilating and compounding knowledge. It may be advisable at times for the teacher to bring together a few additional passages from still wider sources, expressive of a thought kindred to that worked out in the class. Such study leads to a self-reliant, enthusiastic companionship with the thoughts of great men, and is most profitable.

4. There is a pronounced value in dramatic representation of literary selections. The impersonating of characters gives an intensity and realism to the thought that cannot be effected in any other way. In some cases it is possible to provide a stage and some degree of costuming, to lend more complete realization of the scenes.

In favor of such dramatic efforts it may be said that children, even in the earlier grades, are naturally dramatic, and enjoy greatly both seeing and participating in them. It gives scope to their natural tendency toward action, rather than repose, and proper verbal expression is more easily secured in conjunction with action than without it. In this connection it may be said that acting lends greater freedom and spontaneity to the reading.

Schlegel, in his description of dramatic art, says:--

"Even in a lively oral narration, it is not unusual to introduce persons in conversation with each other, and to give a corresponding variety to the tone and the expression. But the gaps, which these conversations leave in the story, the narrator fills up in his own name with a description of the accompanying circumstances, and other particulars. The dramatic poet must renounce all such expedients; but for this he is richly recompensed in the following invention. He requires each of the characters in his story to be personated by a living individual; that this individual should, in sex, age, and figure, meet as near as may be the prevalent conceptions of his fictitious original, nay, assume his entire personality; that every speech should be delivered in a suitable tone of voice, and accompanied by appropriate action and gesture; and that those external circumstances should be added which are necessary to give the hearers a clear idea of what is going forward. Moreover, these representatives of the creatures of his imagination must appear in the costume belonging to their assumed rank, and to their age and country; partly for the sake of greater resemblance, and partly because, even in dress, there is something characteristic. Lastly, he must see them placed in a locality which, in some degree, resembles that where, according to his fable, the action took place, because this also contributes to the resemblance: he places them, _i.e._, on a scene. All this brings us to the idea of the theatre. It is evident that the very form of dramatic poetry, that is, the exhibition of an action by dialogue without the aid of narrative, implies the theatre as its necessary complement."

"The invention of dramatic art, and of the theatre, seems a very obvious and natural one. Man has a great disposition to mimicry; when he enters vividly into the situation, sentiments, and passions of others, he involuntarily puts on a resemblance to them in his gestures. Children are perpetually going out of themselves; it is one of their chief amusements to represent those grown people whom they have had an opportunity of observing, or whatever strikes their fancy; and with the happy pliancy of their imagination, they can exhibit all the characteristics of any dignity they may choose to assume, be it that of a father, a schoolmaster, or a king."

In his book, "Imagination and Dramatic Instinct," S. S. Curry says:--

"Since dramatic instinct is so important, the question naturally arises respecting the use of dialogues for its education. There are those who think that all histrionic art is useless; that it is even deleterious to character to assume a part.

"The best answer to this is the study of the little child. The very first means a child adopts to get out of itself, or to realize the great world about it, is by dramatic action and instinct. No child was ever born with any mind at all, that had not some of this instinct; and the more promising the child, the more is it dramatic and imaginative. Dramatic instinct is universal. It is the secret of all success; it is the instinct by which man sees things from different points of view, by which he realizes the ideal in character in contrast to that which is not ideal."

"Professor Monroe was once asked by a clergyman for private lessons. He told him that was impossible. 'Well,' said the minister, 'what can I do then?' 'Go home and read Shakespeare dramatically.' Why was such advice given? Because the struggle to read Shakespeare would get the minister out of himself. The struggle to realize how men of different types of character would speak certain things would make him conscious whether he, himself, spoke naturally. He would, in short, become aware of his mannerisms, of his narrow gamut of emotions, his sameness of point of view; he would be brought into direct contact with the process of his own mind in thinking."

The supreme value of a vivid and versatile imagination in giving full and rich development to the whole mind is now a vital part of our confession of faith. The question is how to cultivate such a resourceful imagination. The literature of the creative imagination is felt to be the chief means, and the dramatic instinct toward interpreting, assimilating and expressing human thought and feeling opens the avenue of growth.

Dr. Curry says:--

"Dramatic instinct should be trained because it is a part of the imagination, because it gives us practical steps toward the development of the imagination, because it is the means of securing discipline and power over feeling. Dramatic instinct should be trained because it is the insight of one mind into another. The man who has killed his dramatic instinct has become unsympathetic, and can never appreciate any one's point of view but his own. Dramatic instinct endows us with broad conceptions of the idiosyncrasies, beliefs, and convictions of men. It trains us to unconscious reasoning, to a deep insight into the motives of man. It is universally felt that one's power to 'other himself' is the measure of the greatness of his personality. All sympathy, all union of ourselves with the ideals and struggles of our race, are traceable to imagination and dramatic instinct."

He further emphasizes the idea that dramatic instinct has two elements--imagination and sympathy. "Imagination affords insight into character; sympathy enables us to identify ourselves with it." "Together they form the chief elements of altruism. They redeem the mind from narrowness and selfishness; they enable the individual to appreciate the point of view, the feelings, motives, and characters of his fellow-men; they open his eyes to read the various languages of human art; they enable him to commune with his kind on a higher plane than that of commonplace facts; they lift him into communion with the art and spirit of every age and nation. Without their development man is excluded from the highest enjoyment, the highest communion with his kind, and from the highest success in every walk of life."

Dramatization is the only means by which we can bring the reading work of the school to its full and natural expression. The action involved in it predisposes the mind to full and natural utterance. The fulfilment of all the dramatic conditions lends an impetus and genuineness to every word that is spoken. It has been often observed that boys and girls whose reading is somewhat expressionless become direct and forcible when taking a part in a dialogue or dramatic action. It would be almost farcical not to put force and meaning into the words when all the other elements of action and realism are present.

Educational progress is everywhere exerting a distinct pressure at those points where greater realism, deeper absorption in actualities, is possible. This is the significance of outdoor excursions, of experiments, laboratories, and object work in nature study. In geography and history it is the purpose of pictures, vivid descriptions, biographical stories, and the accounts of eye-witnesses and real travellers, etc.

In literature we possess, embodied in striking concrete personalities, many of the most forcible ideas that men have conceived and dealt with in the history of the world. It is very desirable that children should become themselves the vehicles for the expression of these ideas. The school is the place where children should become the embodiment of ideas. It would be a grand and not impractical scheme of education to propose to make the school a place where each child, in a well-chosen succession, should be allowed to impersonate and become the embodiment of the constructive ideas of our civilization.

We reason much concerning the educative value of carpentry, of the various forms of manual skill in wood and iron, of weaving, gardening, and cooking, of the work of shoemaker, basket-maker, and potter, and of the educative value of these constructive activities; for the purposes of universal education, is it not of equal importance that children become skilled in the histrionic art, in the apt interpretation and expression of good manners, in that deeper social insight and versatile tact which are the constructive elements in conduct? Or, putting it in a more obvious form, is it any more important for a person to know how to construct a bookcase or even a steam-engine, than to shape his speech or conduct skilfully in meeting a board of education or a business manager.

It is not the purpose of the school to educate players or public readers, any more than to train carpenters or machinists. But the reading exercises in school should culminate in the ability to sympathetically interpret a considerable variety of human life and character as presented in our best literature. Modern educators, however, are not satisfied, in any important study, with theoretical knowledge derived from books. They demand that knowledge shall pass over into some sort of practice and use. Reading passes naturally and without a break from the interpretation of life to its embodiment in conduct. In this important respect it is the most practical of all studies. Its subject matter, derived from literature, consists largely of an interesting variety of typical and artistically beautiful character delineations from the hands of the supreme master of this art. Dramatic representation is the last and indispensable step in the art of reading; and the interest that naturally attaches to it, from early childhood up through all the stages of growth, removes one chief obstacle to its introduction.

Keeping in mind that wisdom, skill, and versatility in conduct are the natural and appropriate outcome of successful dramatic representation, it is not at all extravagant to say that the average child will have far more use for this result, both now and in all the vicissitudes of later life, than for skill in carpentry, or ironwork, or weaving, etc.

Nor have we any disposition to detract from the value usually attributed to manual training in its various forms by its advocates.

It is not uncommon for teachers generally to employ the dialogue form when the selection admits of it, and to assign the parts to different children. Our purpose, however, in the fuller discussion and emphasis of the dramatic element is to suggest a more liberal employment of dramatic selections, and to provide for a much fuller dramatic representation, using simple, inexpensive costumes and stage surroundings where possible.

When we examine in detail the number of dramatic selections in a set of readers, or among the masterpieces sometimes read in the classes below the high school, we shall find a number of purely dramatic works. "The Merchant of Venice" and "Julius Cæsar" are well adapted to seventh and eighth grades, and there are many selections in which the dialogue is an important feature, as in "The Cricket on the Hearth," "King of the Golden River," "Tanglewood Tales," "Lady of the Lake," "Marmion," "Pilgrim's Progress," "Grandfather's Chair," and many others.

"The Courtship of Miles Standish" has been published in a form specially adapted for school exhibitions by Houghton, Mifflin, & Co. Longfellow's "Giles Corey of the Salem Farms," in the "Riverside Series," is a drama well suited to sixth grade. The story of "William Tell," derived from Schiller's drama, is adapted to sixth and possibly to fifth grade.

Some of the ballads are cast in the form of the dialogue, and can be easily treated so in the school, as "Proud Lady Margaret," "Robin Hood and the Widow's Sons," "King John and the Abbot of Canterbury," and many others. The Robin Hood stories are full of dialogue and could be easily dramatized, and so with "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and others.

An examination of our literature from this point of view will discover a strong dramatic element in a large portion of it, and the cultivation of this spirit will qualify the children for a better appreciation of many of the great works.

5. Treatment of the "Odyssey."

The "Odyssey" is probably as well known as any masterpiece in the world's literature. For the sake of illustration, therefore, we will enter upon a brief discussion of the mode of handling it as a unit in the school.

There are abundant sources in English from which the teacher can get an adequate knowledge of this great poem without using the original Greek. A few of the leading books which the teacher may consult are as follows: "The Story of Ulysses" (Cook). A very simple, abbreviated narrative of Ulysses' wanderings, sometimes used as a reading book in fourth or fifth grade. (Public School Publishing Co.)--"Lamb's Adventures of Ulysses." A pleasing prose rendering of the chief incidents of the story, more difficult than the preceding. Sometimes used as a reader. (Ginn & Co.)--"Church's Stories of the Old World," in which "The Adventures of Ulysses" forms a chapter. A good short treatment of the story in simple language. (Ginn & Co.)--"Ulysses among the Phæacians," consisting of selections from five books of the "Odyssey" as translated into verse by Bryant. This seems well adapted for use as a reading-book in fourth or fifth grade, and will be discussed more fully as such. (Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.)--"The Odyssey of Homer" by Palmer, is an excellent prose-poetic rendering of the whole poem, and is of great service to the teacher. (Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.)--Another excellent prose translation, by Butcher and Lang, has been much used. (The Macmillan Co.)--Bryant's "Homer's 'Odyssey,'" a complete poetic rendering of the whole twenty-four books of the poem, is probably the best basis for school reference and study of the poem.--"National Epics," by Rabb, has a good narrative and introduction for the "Odyssey," and a list of critical references. (A. C. McClurg & Co.)--"Art and Humanity in Homer," by Lawton, has an interesting discussion of the "Odyssey." Other famous translations of the whole "Odyssey" were made by Alexander Pope, William Cowper, George Chapman, and others.

It is not unusual in schools for teachers to give children of the third or fourth grade an oral introduction to the whole story in a series of lessons. This requires skill in presenting and discussing the episodes, and should be attended by good oral reproductions by the children. Such oral work should be done in distinct lessons apart from the regular reading. Later, in fourth or fifth grade, the story is sometimes read in class from one of the simple prose narratives of Miss Cook, or Lamb, or Church. In the fifth or sixth grade, "Ulysses among the Phæacians" forms an interesting reading-book, with which to acquaint the children more fully with the poetic beauty and descriptive detail of the original, so far as it can be secured in English. In connection with such reading it may be interesting to choose from Bryant's complete translation other selected parts of the story, and encourage the children to read them, if books from the library or homes can be provided.

We may dwell for a moment upon those qualities of Homer's story which have commanded the admiration of the great poets in different ages and countries. The peculiar poetic charm and power of the original Greek are probably untranslatable, although several eminent poets have attempted it. But we have at least both prose and verse renderings of it that are beautiful and poetic.

Some of the critics have said that the whole poem is a perfect unit in thought,--much more so than the "Iliad,"--centring in the person of Ulysses. His wanderings and his final return constitute the thread of the narrative. In the main it is a story of peace, with descriptions of cities, islands, palaces, strange lands, and peaceful arts and manners. After their return from Troy we meet Nestor and Menelaus, dwelling happily in their palaces and surrounded with home comforts. Ulysses, himself, the great sufferer, is tossed about the world, or held captive on sea-girt, far-away islands. He passes through a series of wonderful adventures, keeping his alertness and balance of mind so completely that his name has become a synonym in all lands for shrewdness and far-seeing wisdom. And it is not only a wise perception, but a self-control in the midst of old and new temptations which is most remarkable. This over-mastering shrewdness or calculation even overdoes itself and becomes amusing, when he tries, for example, to deceive his guardian goddess as to who he is. The descriptions of women and of domestic life are famous and delightful. The constancy of Penelope, her industry and shrewdness in outwitting the suitors, have given her a supreme place among the women of story. The descriptions of peaceful manners and customs, of public games, of feasting and music, of palace halls and ornament, are among the great literary pictures of the world.

The particular adventures through which Ulysses passed with Circe, with the Sirens, with Polyphemus, with Eolus, with the lotus-eaters, and others, are plainly suggestive of the dangers which threaten the thoughtless minded, those who plunge headlong into danger without forethought. Ulysses does not give way to folly or passion, is bold and skilful in danger, and persevering to the last extreme.

In the treatment of the "Odyssey," the teacher will need a general knowledge of Greek mythology, which can be easily derived from "Greek Gods, Heroes, and Men" (Scott, Foresman, & Co.), and from several other of the reference books. Some study of Greek architecture, sculpture, and modes of life will be instructive and helpful, as given in Smith's "History of Greece" and other histories. Pictures of Greek temples and ruins, sculpture, and palaces will be pleasing and attractive to children. (See Lübke's "History of Art," Vol. I, Dodd, Mead, & Co.) Some of the children's books also contain good pictures.

A good map, indicating the supposed wanderings of Ulysses in the Mediterranean, is given in several of the books, _e.g._ in Palmer's "Odyssey," and fixes many of the most interesting events of the story. The teacher should not overlook the geography of the story and its relation to this and later studies in history, literature, and geography.

In using "Ulysses among the Phæacians" as a reader in fourth or fifth grade, the first unit of study is the voyage of Ulysses on his raft, from the time of leaving Calypso till he is wrecked by the storm and driven upon the island of Scheria, the home of the Phæacians. We will suggest a few points in the treatment. The supposed places and the route of the voyage can be traced on the map. Let the teacher sketch it on the board in assigning the lesson. Suggest that the children locate in the sky the stars and constellations by which Ulysses is to direct his course. The story of the construction of the raft on which Ulysses is to make this journey, just preceding this part of the story, could be read to the class by the teacher, as it is not contained in these extracts. In length of time how does this voyage compare with a voyage across the Atlantic to-day? Why is it said, in line 329, that the Great Bear "alone dips not into the waters of the deep"?

From previous studies, the children may be able to tell of Ulysses' stay upon the island with Calypso. What may the children know of Neptune? Why is he angered with Ulysses? A picture of Neptune with the trident is in place. Explain the expression "while from above the night fell suddenly." Was Ulysses justified in saying, "Now must I die a miserable death"? In spite of the desperate storm, in what ways does Ulysses struggle to save his life? How do the gods assist him? In what way does this experience of Ulysses remind us of Robinson Crusoe's shipwreck and escape?

With how many men had Ulysses started on his way to Troy? Now he alone escapes after great suffering and hopeless buffetings. In what way during this voyage and shipwreck did Ulysses display his accustomed shrewdness and foresight? After landing, what dangers did he still fear?

The nearly three hundred lines of Book V, which give this account of Ulysses' voyage and shipwreck, will require several lessons, and the above questions are but a few of those raised in its reading and discussion. When Neptune, Ulysses, or Ino speak, let the speaker be impersonated so as to give greater force and reality. In the next book (VI), there is more of dialogue and better opportunity for variety of manner and voice.

It would be tedious to enter into further detail suggesting questions. But we may believe that a spirited treatment of this part of the story of Ulysses in reading lessons, including his stay and treatment among the Phæacians, will give the children much appreciation of the beauty and power of this old story. By means of occasional readings of other selected parts of the "Odyssey," from Bryant or Palmer, some of the most striking pictures in the story of his wanderings can be presented. Even the children may find time for some of this additional, outside reading. In any event the story of Ulysses, as a piece of great literature, can thus be brought home to the understandings and hearts of children, and will constitute henceforward a part of that rich furniture of the mind which we call culture.

SUMMARY OF SIGNIFICANT POINTS IN READING

1. The teacher's effort is first directed to a vivid interpretation of the author's thought and feeling, and later to an expressive rendering of the thought.

2. Every exertion should be made to lead the children to an absorbed and interested attention in the selections.

3. The author's leading motive in the whole selection should be firmly grasped by the teacher. By centring all discussion toward this motive, unnecessary digressions will be avoided.

4. The teacher will hardly teach well unless he has saturated himself with the spirit of the selection, and enjoys it. To this end he needs not only to study the selection, but also the historical, geographical, biographical, and other side-lights.

5. The teacher needs great freedom and versatility in the use of his materials. Warmth, animation, and freedom of manner are necessary.

6. Children often do not know how to study a reading lesson. In the assignment and in the way of handling the lesson they should be taught how to get at it, how to understand and enjoy it.

7. In the assignment of the lesson the thought of the piece should be opened up in an interesting way, and such difficulties as children are not likely to grapple with and master for themselves pointed out and approached. Difficult words need to be pronounced and hard passages explained.

8. The assignment should be unmistakably clear and definite, so as to insure a good seat study.

9. The seat study should be chiefly on parts already discussed in class.

10. During the recitation proper, strong class attention by all the members of the class is a first necessity. Much knowledge, alertness, and skill are necessary to secure this. One must keep all the members of the class in the eye constantly, and distribute the questions and work among them promptly and judiciously, so as to secure concentrated effort.

11. The teacher can often judge a recitation better without looking at the book while the class is reading.

12. Skill in questioning is very useful in reading lessons.

(_a_) Questions to arouse the thought should appeal to the experience of children.

(_b_) Questions to bring out the meaning of words or passages, or to expose errors or to develop thought, should be clear and specific, not long and ambiguous.

13. Let the teacher be satisfied with reasonable answers, and not insist on the precise verbal form present to his own mind.

14. The teacher needs to awaken strongly the imagination in picturing scenes, in interpreting poetic images and figures, and in impersonating characters. The picture-forming power is stimulated by apt questions, by suggestion of the teacher, by interpretation, by appeal to experience, by dramatic action.

15. The use of the dialogue and dramatic representation is among the best means of awakening interest and producing freedom and self-forgetfulness.

16. The pupil should give his own interpretation, subject to correction, and interpret parts in relation to the whole.

17. Without too much loss of time children should learn to help themselves in overcoming difficulties in solving problems.

18. Sometimes it is well for children to come prepared to ask definite questions on parts they do not understand.

19. The tendency to more independent and mature thinking is encouraged by comparing similar ideas, figures of speech, and language in different poems and from different authors.

20. There should be much effective reading and not much mere oral reproduction. The paraphrase may be used at times to give the pupil a larger view of the content of the piece.

21. Let the pupil reading feel responsible for giving to the class the content of the printed page. Often it is best to face the class.

22. The teacher should occasionally read a passage in the best style for the pupils, not for direct imitation, but to suggest the higher ideals and spirit of good reading. A high standard is thus set up.

23. Children should be encouraged to learn by heart the passages they like. In the midst of the recitation it is well occasionally to memorize a passage.

24. The teacher must drill himself in clear-cut enunciation of short vowels, final consonants, and pure vowel sounds. Cultivate also a quick ear for accurate enunciation in the pupils and for pleasing tones. Frequent drill exercise, singly and in concert, is necessary.

25. Use ingenuity by indirect methods to overcome nasality, stuttering, nervously rapid reading, slovenly and careless expression, monotone, and singsong.

26. By means of physical training, deep breathing, vigorous thought work, encourage to self-reliant manner and good physical position.

27. Give variety to each lesson; avoid monotony and humdrum.

28. Each lesson should emphasize a particular aim, determined by the nature of the selection or by the previous bad habits and faults of the children in reading. It is impossible to give proper emphasis to all things in each lesson, and indefiniteness and monotony are the result.