Part 18

_II. Purpose and Expectation._

It is a mistake (_a_) to seek only for a scholar’s conversion. If growth does not follow birth, death will. Upbuilding in Christ is one great purpose of the school.

(_b_) To seek only to create interest in the lesson. There may be _deep intellectual interest created, and no spiritual interest_.

(_c_) To teach for the purpose of performing duty. That robs the teacher of one chief essential to success—_heartiness_.

(_d_) To teach for the purpose of inculcating one’s own peculiar religious views. Paul’s purpose was the right one—“to know nothing save Christ and him crucified.”

(_e_) For the teacher to expect the pupil’s interest in the Gospel theme to equal his own. It is contrary to sinful nature.

(_f_) To expect home work by pupils, unless it has been prepared for by patient effort.

(_g_) _To expect conversion as the immediate result of teaching_, and to grow discouraged and abandon the work because the expectation is not at once realized. God’s way and time are his own.

(_h_) _Not to expect conversion as the ultimate result of teaching_; and hence to fail to direct every effort to that end.—“In the morning sow thy seed,” etc.

_III. Thought and Action._

It is a mistake (_a_) _to think teaching easy_. It has taxed the noblest powers of the noblest men.

(_b_) To think it an insignificant or puerile employment. The two greatest names of the ages, heathen and Christian, were nothing if not teachers: Socrates—Immanuel.

(_c_) To think the Sunday-school a children’s institution only. The three great Christian institutions are the home, the church, the Sunday-school, and the constituency of each is the same.

(_d_) To be irregular in attendance at Sunday-school.

(_e_) To be unpunctual.

(_f_) To be lax in discipline.

(_g_) To fail in example, whether in connection with school work or daily life.

EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

INGENUITY IN LOCAL CIRCLES.

The degree of interest in work depends largely upon the degree of its variety. A class which nods over the same day-in-and-day-out routine of questions and answers, wakes up, smiles, thinks and becomes animated when a new way of doing even familiar work is proposed. Local circle life and strength depends very largely upon wide-awake schemes and novel plans. Unless something fresh is continually arousing interest, a circle will lose ground. There are many workers who are continually developing new enterprises; there are others who never have anything to report but the number of members, the names of officers, and the place and time of meeting. Such societies are dwarfed by their own lack of ingenuity. The kind and variety of work which is to be done in all circles can not be better told than it is in an open letter before us from Newton Highlands, Massachusetts:

“We are a mutual club. Our plan of work is very informal. Our officers have been only a president and secretary. We meet every Monday at the house of one of our number, alternating as we please. We commence precisely on time, viz.: 2:30 o’clock p. m., and continue till 5:30, or later. For the first two years our president was our leader. Since that time we have taken our turn in order, as leaders, and asked questions in order around the circle, on the subject of the former week’s work, taking the lesson up by paragraphs, faithfully examining each, and often incidentally bringing in (for drawing out of the members) much information bearing upon the lesson. Often a subject was allotted to a member, on which she thoroughly prepared herself and contributed the information at the next meeting, either verbally or by reading a paper. The memorial days were faithfully kept, though not always on the identical day; but we selected a day most convenient for the club during the month—for we are all housekeepers.

“For these memorial days great preparation was made. In the first place we all assembled two hours earlier than usual, with the preparations for a banquet, at the home of the lady who had invited us to dine with her.

“Each carried whatever she had previously pledged, or what had been suggested to her; and here the ladies had ample opportunity to exhibit their skill in the culinary line, which they did not fail to improve; so that one of the suggestions, not yet acted upon, was to publish a C. L. S. C. Cook Book.

“We had our post-prandial exercises too, though care was taken to send each member the toast to which she was to respond, that she might not be taken unawares, and having never had any training in that line we were allowed to _read_ our responses, if we chose. Then at the usual time we gathered for our work.

“After having celebrated the birthday of each of those selected by C. L. S. C. for two years, we have since introduced other names to our list, as Walter Scott, George Eliot.

“Once we had a _Roman day_, and one of our party wrote a description of our imagined entrance into Rome, and locating us at a hotel, took us daily trips to different parts of the city; each member describing one or more interesting objects to be found on the way. A map of Rome hung up before us, so that the imaginary excursion could be easily traced. The members brought in any engravings or illustrations, medallions, etc., which were helpful, and our neighbors who had traveled abroad were happy to aid us by loaning their precious mementoes. Our excursions, too, as a club, have been very enjoyable and profitable.

“While studying geology we made an excursion to Harvard College and spent the day in looking over the buildings and listening to the curator, who kindly explained the articles in the Agassiz Museum, and then delivered a lecture to us on “Ancient Mounds,” etc.

“After completing the History of Art, we made an excursion to the Art Museum in Boston, and examined everything in the rooms which had been referred to in the Art Book, thus fixing the knowledge already acquired by seeing its representation. We also, through the kindness of friends, had the privilege of visiting the State House, and examining the original charters and ancient letters of Washington, Arnold, etc., also the Acts and Resolves in the archives of the state.

“On our return, our president proposed to one of our members, whose father had been in the legislature, and was well acquainted with all the technical terms and methods in use there, to write an article for the club, introducing a bill into the legislature, noting the steps necessary for its passage through both houses, and tracing it even till it became a law.

“This afforded us considerable amusement, as the sister was progressive (?) and recognized in her look into futurity some of our club as members of the different houses! and the bills were such as had an amusing local significance.

“A trip to Wellesley College also was made.

“But time and your patience would fail me to tell of all our doings. One thing more, however, I must not omit, and that is that our club _wrote a book_. We will not call it a Romance, though it was the ‘Bridal Trip’ of a couple of young Americans. Each chapter, written by a different member, constituted a part of the journey, and included an account of the points of interest in or around some principal city. The couple journeyed through Scotland, England, France, Italy and Germany.

“Of course it was necessary for a committee to act as editors, and write these chapters so that it would read like a continuous story. Then one afternoon we met and had the whole read aloud by the editors.

“We felt the attempt was an exceedingly great undertaking at first, but as each one had a certain part allotted to her, and was allowed to gather all the ideas she pleased from research, and use them in her own way—fearing no accusation of plagiarism—we found it was not so difficult after all.”

IS CRIME INTERESTING?

The newspaper reader, for one or another reason, regards crime as important news because he is full of morbid curiosity regarding whatever is abnormal in human conduct. A crime is something strange and fascinating because passions play through it, and secret places in human life are uncovered by it. It interests us because we are human, with strange forces of evil coming up now and again into consciousness and suggesting our brotherhood to the thief and the murderer. Many a man reads in a story of defalcation, things he has himself done without being found out. Many a woman reads in the story of a murder, passages from her own life where she also _might_ have taken the fatal step beyond the line of safety. Try as much as we may, we cannot divest ourselves of the curiosity and the unconscious sympathy which make us look over the crime record with more interest than we give to any other part of a newspaper.

The newspapers are reproached for publishing all about crimes; but the average reader, perhaps we might say the best reader, peruses even the details with absorbing interest. He may be ashamed of himself for his curiosity, but he has the curiosity. The fact is not complimentary to us, and we lash the press when we know we ought to lash ourselves. For the reason just given, the remedy for the daily feast of passion and blood is not an easy one to find. A newspaper needs great merits to be able to omit the crime record; and though it should be accepted without that record, many a subscriber of it would look for the record elsewhere. The remedy is difficult because the public has to cure itself—the newspaper can not cure it—of the desire to know “the evil that is in the world through lust.” The world, the flesh and the devil take up a commanding position in our anxieties, solicitudes, curiosities, and sympathies. We must be a great deal better as a people before we shall be content to live in ignorance of any badness which breaks through the calm surface of life and rises into a billow of crime. It is true that the curiosity may be educated out of us—not entirely, but in large degree—and yet it is also true that we do not display any serious desire to be so educated. We want this kind of news. We want to know at least the motives of the crimes, how they were committed and whether they were punished or not. The newspaper may give us these outline facts discreetly and briefly, but the mass of us will secretly hunger for more. The moral of the business may be left to the pulpit; it is tolerably plain to the pews.

A DRAWBACK TO SOCIAL LIFE.

To one examining the society notes of the various cities, it is very evident that never before were we, who are in society, living so sumptuously as at present. Our dinners have become banquets, our teas feasts. The magnificence, the notoriety, the cost, are astounding. One involuntarily rubs his eyes and looks to see some gallant dissolving pearls for his liege lady. This elaborate effort to feast one’s guests is not only prevalent among the millionaires and epicureans of our cities, it is a feature of entertaining which prevails even in small communities. In a village of some six hundred people, well known to us, we have had the opportunity to study the effect of extravagant hospitality upon the society. The people almost without exception are well-to-do, well educated, congenial, a set in every way suited to form a pleasant society. Among them are a few wealthy families. In such a town one would expect to find almost ideal social life—full of good will, of pleasant thought, new amusements, not overcrowded, thoroughly enjoyable; but to our surprise we found very little. A few evenings out, a few questions, and we understand the cause. At a small party given by a leading lady, we were astounded to be called out to a table loaded with every conceivable delicacy; meats, salads, cakes, creams, fruits in every variety. The supper was a work of art, a mammoth undertaking, and it had been prepared by the lady herself and her one servant, with such assistance as is to be found in a small village, off the railroad. Further experience taught us that when any one entertained friends there such refreshments were considered necessary. The effects upon the social life of the town were disastrous. Where there was the possibility of most delightful companionships there was an absolute dearth of social gatherings. A lady of culture remarked: “I can not entertain, simply because I can not afford it. If it were possible I should receive weekly, but our customs demand such outlays for all social affairs that I am obliged to deny myself what otherwise would be a pleasure.” Another, a lady of wealth remarked: “I am handicapped in my social life by the extravagant habits of our people. What I would be glad to do, were I in a city where I could obtain efficient help, it is impossible to do with our servants. I can not prepare my own dinners, and our town requires such extensive preparations for even a small company, that I have ceased entertaining.” But even this feature is not the worst. Social life is virtually killed when the table becomes the feature of the evening, when on the merits of pastry and salads depends the social status of the family. The hostess comes to her guest’s room, worn with the care of the thousand details of a great dinner. The possibility of friction or failure destroys the ease, the mirth, the abandon, that makes her charm. Her spirit oftentimes is contagious, and her guests, too, feel the responsibility which oppresses her. It comes to be true that the most elaborate dinner-givers are the poorest entertainers, that instead of new ideas, pleasant memories and the ring of music, all one carries away from the house where they have been feasted is indigestion and their _menu_ card.

This extravagance is a feature of social life which sensible people can not afford to countenance. There is too great danger that by it the truly desirable and helpful features will be injured; that while epicureans will support the elegance, people of simple habits will be driven in a measure from society; that social life will be changed to feasting, and conversation, wit and music placed a step below eating and drinking.

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.

EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK.

All inquiries and correspondence relating to the business management of Chautauqua should be addressed to Mr. W. A. Duncan, Secretary, Syracuse, N. Y. Mr. Duncan makes his home in that city, and is in easy communication with Chautauqua. He has entered upon the work of the secretaryship with his usual enterprise and zeal, and the management of Chautauqua is being greatly strengthened by his election.

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There is very little of an exciting character in the political world. General W. T. Sherman has been mentioned by his friends for the Presidency, but the newspapers and politicians seem to have dismissed his name from the list of probable candidates. He is too much mixed up with the Romish church in his family relations. President Arthur has made a fine impression by the prudence and statesmanlike bearing of his administration. He has won a high rank as a man, a politician, and a patriot, since he took the oath of office, much higher than he held in the thought of the people before, but he will fail of the nomination for the Presidency. Ohio will not endorse him and his own state did not elect his Secretary of the Treasury governor, and the logic is that New York would not endorse him. All other candidates seem to have gone into private training for the open conflict.

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