Absorbing standards.—If we give full credence to Tennyson's statement, "I am a part of all that I have met," then it follows that we have become what we are, in some appreciable measure, through the process of absorption. In other words, we are a composite of all our ideals. The vase of flowers, daintily arranged, on the breakfast table becomes the standard of good taste thenceforth, and all through life a vase of flowers arranged less than artistically gives one a sensation of discomfort. A traveler relates that in a hotel in Brussels he saw window curtains of a delicate pattern; and, since that time, he has sought in many cities for curtains that will fill the measure of the ideal he absorbed in that hotel. Beauty is not in the thing itself, but in the eye of the beholder, and the eye is but the interpreter of the ideal. One person rhapsodizes over a picture that another turns away from, because the latter has absorbed an ideal that is unknown to the former.

Education by absorption.—This subject of absorption has not received the careful attention that its importance warrants. In the social consciousness education has been so long associated with books, and formal processes, that we find it difficult to conceive of education outside of or beyond books. If, as we so confidently assert, education is a spiritual process, then whatever stimulates the spirit must be education, whether a landscape, a flower, a picture, or a person. The traveler who sits enrapt before the Jungfrau for an hour or a day is becoming more highly educated, even in the absence of books and formalities. The beauty of the mountain touches his spirit, and there is a consequent reaction that fulfills all the claims of the educational processes. In short, he is lifted to a higher plane of appreciation, and that is what the books and the schools are striving to achieve.

The principle illustrated.—In the presence of this mountain the tourist gains an ideal of grandeur which becomes his standard of estimating scenery throughout life. A boy once heard "The Dead March" played by an artist, and when he was grown to manhood that was still his ideal of majestic music. A traveler asserts that no man can stand for an hour on the summit of Mt. Rigi and not become a better and a stronger man for the experience. A writer on art says that it is worth a trip across the ocean to see the painting of the bull by Paul Potter; but that, of course, depends upon the ideals of the beholder. All these illustrations conform to and are in harmony with the psychological dictum that in the educational process the spirit reacts to its environment.

The teacher as environment.—But the environment may include people as well as inanimate objects, mountains, rivers, flowers, and pictures. And, as a part of the child's environment, the teacher takes her place in the process of education by absorption. A city superintendent avers that there is one teacher in his corps who would be worth more to his school than the salary she receives even if she did no teaching. This means that her presence in the school is a wholesome influence, and that she is the sort of environment to which the pupils react to their own advantage. It might not be a simple thing to convince some taxpayers of the truth of the superintendent's statement, but this fact only proves that they have not yet come into a realization of the fact that there can be education by absorption.

The Great Stone Face.—The people of Florence maintain that they need not travel abroad to see the world, for the reason that the world comes to them. It is true that many thousands visit that city annually to win a definition of art. There they absorb their ideals of art and thus attain abiding standards. In like manner the child may sojourn in the school to gain an ideal of grace of manner and personal charm as exemplified by the teacher, and no one will have the temerity to assert that this phase of the child's education is less important than those that are acquired through the formal processes. The boy in the story grew into the likeness of the "Great Stone Face" because that had become his ideal, and not because he had had formal instruction in the subject of stone faces, or had taken measurements of or computed the dimensions of the one stone face. He grew into its likeness because he thought of it, dreamed of it, absorbed it, and was absorbed by it, and reacted to it whenever it came into view.

Pedagogy in literature.—Hawthorne, in this story, must have been trying to teach the lesson of unconscious education or education by absorption, but his readers have not all been quick to catch his meaning. Teachers often take great unction in the reflection that they afford to the child his only means of education, and that but for them the child would never become educated at all. We are slow to admit that there are many sources of education besides the school, and that formal instruction is not the only road to the acquisition of knowledge. Tennyson knew and expressed this conception in the quotation already given, but we have not acquired the habit of consulting the poets and novelists for our pedagogy. When we learn to consult these, we shall find them expressing many tenets of pedagogy that are basic.

The testimony of experience.—But we need not go beyond our own experiences to realize that much of our education has been unconsciously gained, that we have absorbed much of it, and, possibly, what we now regard as the most vital part of it. We have but to explore our own experiences to discover some person whose standards have been effective in luring us out of ourselves and causing us to yearn toward higher levels; who has been the beacon light toward which our feet have been stumbling; who has been the pattern by which we have sought to shape our lives; and for whom we feel a sense of gratitude that cannot be quenched. The influence of that person has been a liberal education in the vital things that the books do not teach, and we shudder to think what we might have been had that influence not come into our lives. This ideal is not some mythical, far-away person, but a real man or woman who has challenged our admiration by looks, by conduct, by position, and by general bearing in society.

The one teacher.—This preliminary part of the subject has been dwelt upon thus at length in an effort to win assent to the general proposition that unconscious education is not only possible, but an actuality. This assent being once given, the mind feels out at once for applications of the principle and, inevitably, brings the parent and the teacher into the field of view. But the parent is too near to us in time, in space, and in relation to afford the illustration that we seek, and we pass on to the teacher. In the experience of each one of us there stands out at least one teacher as clear in definition as a cameo. This teacher may not have been the most scholarly, or the most successful in popular esteem, or even the most handsome, but she had some quality that differentiates her in our thinking from all others. Others may seem but a sort of blur in our memory, but not so this one. She alone is distinct, distinctive, and regnant.

Her supremacy.—The vicissitudes of life have not availed to dethrone her, nor have the losses, perplexities, and sorrows of life caused the light of her influence to grow dim. She is still an abiding presence with us, nor can we conceive of any influence that could possibly obliterate her. She may have been idealized by degrees, but when she came fully into our lives she came to stay. She came not as a transient guest, but as a lifelong friend and comrade. She crept into our lives as gently as the dawn comes over the hills, and since her arrival there has been no sunset. Nor was there ever by pupil or teacher any profession or protestation, but we simply accepted each other with a frankness that would have been weakened by words.

The role of ideal.—But the role of ideal is not an easy one. It is a comparatively simple matter to give instruction in geography, arithmetic, and history, but to know one's self to be the ideal of a child, or to conceive of the possibility of such a situation and relation, is sufficient to render the teacher deeply thoughtful. Once it is borne in upon her that the child will grow into her likeness, she cannot dismiss the matter from her thinking as she can the lesson in grammar. The child may be unconscious of the matter, but the teacher is acutely conscious. When she stands before her class she sees the child growing into her image, and this reflection gives cause and occasion for a careful and critical introspection. She feels constrained to take an inventory of herself to determine whether she can stand a test that is so searching and so far-reaching.

The teacher's other self.—As she stands thus in contemplation she sees the child grown to maturity with all her own predilections—physical, mental, spiritual—woven into the pattern of its life. In this child grown up she sees her other self and can thus estimate the qualities of body, mind, and spirit that now constitute herself, as they reveal themselves in another. She thus gains the child's point of view and so is able to see herself through the child's eyes. When she is reading a book, she is aware that the child is looking over her shoulder to note the quality of literature that engages her interest. When she is making a purchase at the shop, she finds the child standing at her elbow and duplicating her order. When she is buying a picture, she is careful to see to it that there are two copies, knowing that a second copy must be provided for the child. When she is arranging her personal adornment, she is conscious of the child peeping through the door and absorbing her with languishing eyes.

The status irrevocable.—Wherever she goes or whatever she does, she knows that the child is walking in her footsteps and reenacting her conduct. Her status is irrevocably fixed in the life of the child, nor can any philosophy or sophistry absolve her from the situation. She cannot abdicate her place in favor of another, nor can she win immunity from responsibility. She is the child's ideal for weal or woe, nor can men or angels change this big fact. Through all the hours of the day she hears the child saying, "Whither thou goest I will go," and there is no escape.

The child's viewpoint.—This is no flight of fancy. Rather it is a reality in countless schoolrooms of the land if only the teachers were alive to the fact. But we have been so busy measuring, estimating, scoring, and surveying the child for our purposes that we have given but scant consideration to the child's point of view as regards the teacher. We have not been quick to note the significant fact that the child is estimating, measuring, scoring, and surveying the teacher for purposes of its own and in the strictest obedience to the laws of its nature.

The child's need of ideals.—Every child needs and has a right to ideals, and finds the teacher convenient both in space and in the nature of her work to act in this capacity. Because of the character of her work and her peculiar relation to the child, the teacher assumes a place of leadership, and the child naturally appropriates her as the lodestar for which his nature is seeking. And so, whether the teacher leads into the morass or into the jungle, the child will follow; but if she elects to take her way up to the heights, there will be the child as faithful as her shadow. If the teacher plucks flowers by the way, then, in time, gathering flowers will become habitual to the child, nor will there be any need to admonish the child to gather flowers. The teacher plucks flowers, and that becomes the child's command. Education by absorption needs neither admonition nor homilies.

The ideal a perpetual influence.—And all this is life—actual life, fundamental life, and inevitable life. Moreover, the inevitableness of this phase of life serves to accentuate its importance. The idealized teacher gives to the child his ideals of conduct, literature, art, music, home, school, and service. Take this teacher out of his life and these ideals vanish. Better by far eliminate the formal instruction, important as that may be made to be, than to rob the child of his ideals. They are the influences that are ever active even when formal instruction is quiescent. They are potent throughout the day and throughout the year. They induce reactions and motor activities that groove into habits, and they are the external stimuli to which the spirit responds.

The teacher's attitude.—The vitalized school takes full cognizance of this phase and means of education and gives large scope and freedom for its exercise and development. The teacher is more concerned with who and what her pupils are to be twenty years hence than she is in getting them promoted to the next grade. She knows full well that vision clarifies sight, and she is eager to enlarge their vision in order to make their sight more keen and clear. She, therefore, adopts as her own standards of life and conduct what she wishes for her pupils when they have come to maturity. She may not proclaim herself an ideal teacher or a model teacher, but she is cognizant of the fact that she is the model and the ideal of one or more pupils in her school and bases her rule of life upon this fact.

Prophetic conduct.—In her dress she decides between ornateness and simplicity as a determining factor in the lives of her pupils both for the present and for the years to come. In this she feels that she is but doing her part in helping to determine the trend and quality of civilization. She is reading such books as she hopes to find in their libraries when they have come to administer homes of their own. She is directing her thinking into such channels as will bear the thoughts of her pupils out into the open sea of bigness and sublimity. Knowing that pettiness will be inimical to society in the next generation, she is careful to banish it from her own life.

Her rule of life.—In her thinking she comes into intimate relations with the sea and all its ramified influences upon life. She invites the mountains to take her into their confidence and reveal to her the mysteries of their origin, and their influence upon the winds, the seasons, the products of the earth, and upon life itself. She communes with the great of all times that she may learn of their concepts as to the immensities which the mind can explore, as well as intricate and infinite manifestations of the human soul. She associates with the planets and rides the spaces in their company. She asks the flowers, the sunrise glow of the morning, the hues of the rainbow, and the drop of dew to explain to her what God is, and rejoices in their responses.

Her growth.—And so, through her thinking she grows big—big in her aspirations, big in her sympathies with all nature and mankind, big in her altruism, and big in her conceptions of the universe and all that it embraces. And when people come to know her they almost lose sight of the teacher in their contemplation of the woman. Her pupils, by their close contact and communion, became inoculated with the germs of her bigness and so follow the lead of her thinking, her aspirations, her sympathies, and her conceptions of life. Thus they grow into her likeness by absorbing her thoughts, her ideals, her standards, in short, herself.

Seeing life large.—The bigness of her spirit and her ability to see and feel life in the large superinduce dignity, poise, and serenity. She never flutters; but, calm and masterful, she moves on her majestic way with regal mien. Nor is her teaching less thorough or less effective because she has a vision. On the contrary, she teaches cube root with accuracy and still is able to see and to cause her pupils to see the index finger pointing out and up toward the mathematical infinities. She can give the latitude and longitude of Rome, and, while doing so, review the achievements of that historic city. She can explain the action of the geyser and still find time and inclination to take delight in its wonders. She can analyze the flower and still revel in its beauty. She can teach the details of history and find in them the footprints of great historical movements. All these things her pupils sense and so invest her with the attributes of an ideal.

QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES

1. Do most teachers realize to what extent they have influence?

2. Is it comfortable to think that one is an example? If not, why not? Is it only teachers who need to feel that they are examples? Is it fair to demand a higher standard of the teacher and preacher?

3. Give from your own experience instances in which you have absorbed an ideal which has persisted. Is there danger of adopting an ideal that, while it is worthy as far as it goes, is merely incidental and not worth while? (Such are an accurate memory of unimportant details, certain finesse in manners and speech, punctiliousness in engagements, exhaustiveness in shopping before making purchases, perfection in penmanship and other arts at the expense of speed: suggest others.)

4. How can the contemplation of a rainbow educate? What education should result from a view of Niagara Falls?

5. What qualities would a teacher have to possess that her influence aside from her teaching might be of more value than the teaching itself?

6. That one may have influence is it enough for one to be good, or is it what one does that counts? Suggest lines of action for a teacher that would increase her influence for good.

7. Explain how a fine unconscious influence exerted by a teacher helps to keep pupils in school.

8. In Hawthorne's story of the Great Stone Face what qualities were attained by those whom Ernest expected to grow into the likeness?

9. Why did Ernest's face come to resemble that of the great stone face?

10. In what ways is good fiction of value to teachers?

11. Cite something that you have gained from the unconscious influence of another.

12. What attainments or qualities have you yet to acquire in order to stand out as "distinctive and regnant" to a good many pupils?

13. A bacteriologist makes a "culture" of a drop of blood, multiplying many times the bacteria in it, to determine whether serious disease germs are prevalent. If the influence of a person could be observed in a large way, would that be conclusive as to the person's character, just as the result of the culture proves the condition of the blood? May there not be an obscure element in the teacher's character that is having a deleterious effect? Or is it only the outstanding features of his conduct that affect the pupils?

14. Why is it more important to acquire ideals than to acquire knowledge?

15. Describe the attitude of the teacher toward the pupils in the "vitalized" school.

16. Show how the teacher should have in view the future of the pupils.

17. Is it a compliment to be easily recognized as a teacher? Why or why not?

18. Just what is meant by "narrowness" in a teacher? What is meant by "bigness"? What is their effect if the teacher is taken as an ideal?

19. Can one instill high ideals in others without frequently absorbing inspiration himself? What are suitable sources?



CHAPTER XV

THE SOCIALIZED RECITATION

The term defined.—The socialized recitation, as its name implies, is a recitation in which teacher and pupils form themselves into a committee of the whole for the purpose of investigating some phase of a school study. In this committee the line of cleavage between teacher and pupils is obliterated as nearly as possible, the teacher exercising only so much of authority as will preserve the integrity of the group and forestall its disintegration. The teacher thus becomes a cooerdinate and cooeperating member of the group, and her superior knowledge of the subject is held in abeyance to be called into requisition only in an emergency and as a last resort. It will readily be seen, however, that the teacher's knowledge of the subject must be far more comprehensive in such a procedure than in the question-and-answer type of recitation, for the very cogent reason that the discussion is both liable and likely to diverge widely from the limits of the book; and the teacher must be conversant, therefore, with all the auxiliary facts. She must be able to cite authorities in case of need, and make specific data readily accessible to all members of the group. This presupposes wide reading on her part, and a consequent familiarity with all the sources of knowledge that have a bearing upon the subject under consideration.

The pupil-teacher.—In order to make the cooeperative principle of the recitation active in practice a pupil acts as chairman of the meeting, serving in rotation, and gives direction to the discussion. He is clothed with authority, also, to restrict the discussion to time limits that there may be no semblance of monopoly and that the same rights and privileges may be accorded to each member of the class. The chairman, in short, acts both as captain and as umpire, with the teacher in the background as the court of final appeal. Knowing the order of rotation, each pupil knows in advance upon what day he is to assume the functions of chairman and makes preparation accordingly, that he may acquit himself with credit in measuring up to the added responsibilities which the position imposes. In taking the chair he does not affect an air of superiority for the reason that he knows the position to have come to him by rotation and that upon his conduct of the duties depend his chances for honor; and acting for his peers he is careful not to do anything that will lead to a forfeiture of their respect and good will.

Some advantages.—It requires far more time to describe these preliminary arrangements than it does to put them into operation. Indeed, after the first day, they become well-nigh automatic. Because of their adaptableness the pupils look upon the new order as the established order, and, besides, the rotation in the chair affords a pleasing antidote to monotony. Each day brings just enough novelty to generate a wholesome degree of anticipation. They are all stimulated by an eagerness to know just what the day will bring forth. The class exercise is relieved of much of the heavy formalism that characterizes the traditional recitation and that is so irksome to children of school age. The socialized recitation is a worthy enterprise that enlists the interest of all members of the group and unifies them upon the plane of a common purpose. In the common quest they become members in a social compact whose object is the investigation of some subject that has been found worthy the attention and thoughtful consideration of scholars and authors.

The gang element.—The members of the group represent all strata of society, and the group is, in consequence, a working democracy. Moving in the same direction under a common impulse and intent upon a laudable enterprise, race and class distinctions are considered negligible, if, indeed, they are not entirely overlooked or forgotten. The group is, in truth, a sublimated gang with the undesirable elements eliminated and the potential qualities of the gang retained. The gang spirit when impelling in right directions and toward worthy ends is to be highly commended. In the gang, each member stimulates and reenforces the other members, and their achievements in combination amply justify their cooeperation. The potency of the gang spirit is well exemplified in such enterprises as "tag day" for the benefit of charity, the sale of Red Cross stamps, and the sale of special editions of papers. People willingly enlist in these enterprises who would not do so but for the element of cooeperation. We have come to recognize and write upon the psychology of the gang, and the socialized recitation strives to utilize these psychological principles for the advancement and advantage of the enterprise in hand.

Proprietary interest.—In a cooeperative enterprise such as the one under consideration each member of the group feels a sense of responsibility for the success of the enterprise as a whole, and this makes for increased effort. In the traditional recitation the pupil feels responsibility only for that part of the lesson upon which he is called to recite. In his thinking the enterprise belongs to the teacher, and therefore he feels no proprietary interest. If the lesson is a failure, he experiences no special compunction; if a success, he feels no special elation. If the trunk with which he struggles up the stairs is his own, he has the feeling of a victor when he reaches the top; but since it belongs to the teacher, he feels that he has finished a disagreeable task, takes his compensating pittance in the form of a grade, and goes on his complacent way. The boy who digs potatoes from his own garden thinks them larger and smoother than the ones he digs for wages. The latter are potatoes, while the former are his potatoes. Proprietary interest sinks its roots deep into the motives that impel to action.

This interest in practice.—The recitation in question strives to generate a proprietary interest in the enterprise on the part of every member of the class so that each one may have a share in the joy of success. Such an interest gives direction and efficacy to the work of the class exercise. Given such an interest, the pupil will not sit inert through the period unless stimulated by a question from the teacher, but will ask intelligent and pertinent questions to help the enterprise along. Moreover, each pupil, because of his proprietary interest in the enterprise, will feel constrained to bring to class such subsidiary aids as his home affords. His interest causes him to react to clippings, pictures, magazine articles, books, and conversations that have a bearing upon the topic, and these he contributes opportunely in his zeal for the success of the recitation. His pockets become productive of a varied assortment of materials that the tentacles of his interest have seized upon in his preparation for the event, and so all members of the class become beneficiaries of his explorations and discoveries.

The potency of ownership.—A child is interested in his own things. The little girl fondles her doll in the most tender way, even though it does not measure up to the accepted standards of excellence or elegance. But it is her doll; hence her affection. Volumes have been written upon the general subject of interest, and we have been admonished to attach our teaching to the native interests of the child, but the fundamental interest of proprietorship has strangely enough been overlooked. If we want to discover and localize the child's interest, we have but to make an inventory of his possessions. His pony, his dog, or his cart will discover to us one of his interests. Again, if we would generate an interest in the child, we have but to make him conscious that he is the owner of the thing for which we hope to awaken his interest. This is fundamental in this type of recitation. The teacher effaces herself as much as possible in order to develop in the pupils a feeling of proprietorship in the exercise in progress, and the pupils are quick to take the advantage thus afforded to make the work their own.

Exemplified in society.—The socialized recitation has its counterpart in many a group in society. In the blacksmith shop, at the grocery, in the barber shop, in the office, at the club, and in the field, we find groups of people in earnest, animated conversation or discussion. They are discussing politics, religion, community affairs, public improvements, tariff, war, fashions, crops, live stock, or machinery. Whatever the topic, they pursue the give-and-take policy in their efforts to arrive at the truth. They contest every point and make concessions only when they are confronted by indisputable facts. Some feeling, or even acrimony, may be generated in the course of the discussion, but this is always accounted a weakness and a substitute for valid argument. The recitation is rather more decorous than some of these other discussions, but, in principle, they are identical. Every one has freedom to express his convictions and to adduce contributory arguments or evidence. There are no restrictions save the implied one of decorum. The utmost courtesy obtains in the recitation, even at the sacrifice of some eagerness. There may be a half-dozen members of the group on their feet and anxious to be heard, but they do not interrupt one another without due apology.

Abiding resultants.—Unlike some of their elders, they are ready to acknowledge mistakes and to make concessions. They do not scruple to correct the mistakes of others, knowing that corrections will be gratefully received, but they do not accept mere statements from one another. They must have evidence. They combat statements with evidence from books or other sources that are regarded as authorities. They read extracts, or draw diagrams, or display pictures or specimens in support of their contentions. There is animation, to be sure; and, at times, the flushed face and the flashing eye betoken intense feeling. But the psychologist knows full well that these expressions intensify and make abiding the impressions. Both in victory and in defeat the pupil comes to an appreciation of the truth. Defeat may humiliate, but he will evermore know the rock on which his craft was wrecked. Victory may elate and exalt, but he will not forget the occasion or the facts. The truths of the lesson become enmeshed in his nervous system and throughout life they will be a part of himself.

Reflex influence.—Still further, this type of recitation reaches back into the home and begets a wholesome cooeperation between the home and the school, and this is a desideratum of no slight import. The events of the day are recounted at the home in the evening, and the contributions of the members of the family are deposited as assets in the recitation the next day. Then the family is eager to learn of the reactions of the class to their contributions. Such a community of interests cannot be confined to the four walls of a home, but finds its way to other homes and to places of business; the discussions of the class become the property of society, and the influence is most salutary. Indirectly, the school is affording the people of the community many profitable topics of conversation, and these readily supplant the futile and less profitable topics. It is easy to measure the intelligence of an individual or of a community by noting the topics of conversation. Gossip and small talk do not thrive in a soil that has been thoroughly inoculated with history, art, music, literature, economics, and statecraft.

Influence upon pupils.—From the foregoing it will be seen that this type of recitation represents, not a modus operandi, but, rather, a modus vivendi, not a way of doing things, merely, but a manner of living. The work of the school is redeemed from the plane of a task and lifted to the plane of a privilege. The pupil's initiative is given full recognition and inspiriting freedom ensues. The teacher is not a taskmaster but a friend in need. Pupils and teacher live and work together in an enterprise in which they have common interests. The emoluments attending success are shared equally and there is no place for envy in the distribution of dividends. There is fair dealing in every detail of the work, with no semblance of discrimination. There is a cash basis in every transaction. If a pupil's offerings are rejected, he sees at once that they are inferior to others and becomes a willing shareholder in the ones that are superior to his own. Nothing that is spurious or counterfeit can gain currency in the enterprise, because of the critical inspection of the members of the group, all of whom are jealous for the preservation of the integrity of their organization.

In this cross section of life we find young people learning, by the laboratory method, the real meaning of reciprocity; we find them winning the viewpoints of others with no abatement or abrogation of their own individuality; we find them able and willing to make concessions for the general good; we find them learning justice and discrimination in their assessment of values; we find them enlarging their horizons by ascending to higher levels of intelligence. This work is as much a part of life for them as their food or their games and they accept it on the same terms. They are becoming upright, intelligent, effective citizens by performing some of the work that engages the time and energies of such citizens. They are learning how to live by the experience of actual living.

Part of an actual recitation given.—Some schools have developed this type of recitation to a very complete degree and in a very effective way. In one such school the young woman who teaches the subject of history makes the following report of a part of one of her recitations in this study:

The class was called to order by the chairman for the assignment for the next day's lesson, which proceeded as follows:

Teacher:—To-morrow we shall have for the work of this convention the New Constitution as a whole. We are ready for suggestions as to how we had best proceed.

Earl:—It seems to me that a good way would be to compare it with the Articles of Confederation.

Joe:—I don't quite get your idea. Do you mean to take them article by article?

Earl:—Yes.

(Joe and Frank begin at the same time. Teacher indicates Joe by nod.)

Joe:—But there are so many things in the new that are not in the old.

Earl:—That is just it. Let's make a list of the points in one that do not appear in the other. Then by investigation and discussion see if we can tell why.

Teacher:—Frank, you had something to say a moment ago.

Frank:—Not on Earl's plan, which I think an excellent one, but I wished to ask the class if they think it important while looking through these two documents to keep in mind the questions: "Is this the way things are done to-day?" and "Does this apply in our own city?" and "In case the President or Congress failed in their duty, what could the people do about it?"

Ella:—It seems to me that Frank's suggestion is a good one for it bears upon what we decided in the beginning, that we must apply the history of the past to see how it affects us to-day.

Violet:—I should like to know how the people received the work of this convention. You know that it was all so secret no one knew what they were doing behind their closed doors. If the people were like they are to-day there would certainly be some opposition to the New Constitution.

Elsie:—Good. Mr. Chairman, I move that Violet report the reception and rejection of the New Constitution by the people of the several States as a special topic for to-morrow.

Robert:—Second the motion.

Chairman:—Miss Brown, have you any suggestion as to time limit?

Teacher:—I suggest ten minutes. (Chairman puts vote and suggestion is carried.)

Teacher:—Mr. Chairman, may we have the secretary read the several points in the assignment?

At the chairman's request the secretary reads and the class note as follows: Study of the New Constitution, emphasizing points of similarity and difference.

Seek reasons for same.

Application of Constitution to our present-day life.

Remedy for failures if officers fail to do their duty.

Special topic ten minutes in length on the reception of the Constitution by the people of the different States.

Teacher:—I think that will be enough—consult the text. In connection with the special topic some valuable material may be found in the Civics section in the reference room. The other references on this subject you had given you. Mr. Chairman, may we have the secretary read the points brought out by yesterday's recitation?

QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES

1. What is meant by the "socialized recitation" as the term is here used?

2. Define separately the word "socialized" as used in this connection.

3. What are the teacher's functions in such a recitation?

4. What are the teacher's functions in the traditional recitation?

5. Compare the kinds of knowledge required of a teacher in connection with the two types of recitations.

6. Suggest a method of proceeding in a socialized recitation and show the advantages of the method.

7. Give some of the reasons why the socialized recitation enhances interest.

8. What is the essence of the "gang spirit"?

9. Compare the character and extent of the individual's responsibility in the two types of recitations.

10. In what other ways is the socialized recitation likely to produce better reactions?

11. Some one says that the convention style of recitation will not do, because a few do all of the work. From your experience or observation do you find this true? If so, is this condition peculiar to that type of recitation? Suggest methods of counteracting this tendency in the socialized class. Would these prove effective in a class taught in the ordinary way?

12. Is one likely to overestimate the value of one's possessions, mental or physical? Are the pupils (and perhaps the teacher) likely to overestimate what is done in the socialized recitation? What things may offset this tendency?

13. Compare the socialized recitation with a debate.

14. Compare it with an ordinary discussion or argument.

15. Show just why the results of the socialized recitation are likely to be permanent.

16. How does socialized class work affect the home and society?

17. Though school is a preparation for life, it, at the same time, is life. Show that the socialized recitation presupposes this truth.

18. Compare the value of the assignment of a history lesson in the manner described in the notes quoted with the value of an ordinary assignment.

19. Describe at least one other socialized recitation.

20. Compare socialized work as described in Scott's Social Education (C. A. Scott, Ginn & Co., 1908) with the socialized recitation here described, as to (a) aim, (b) method, (c) results.

21. "Lessons require two kinds of industry, the private individual industry and the social industry or class work." Is this true? If so, what sort of recitation-lesson will stimulate each kind?



CHAPTER XVI

AGRICULTURE

Agriculture a typical study.—In the vitalized school the subject of agriculture is typical and may profitably be elaborated somewhat by way of illustrating the relation of a subject to school procedure. From whatever angle we approach the subject of agriculture we find it inextricably connected with human life. This fact alone gives to it the rank of first importance. Its present prominence as a school study is conclusive evidence that those who are charged with the responsibility of administering the schools are becoming conscious of the need for vitalizing them. Time was when arithmetic was regarded as the most practical subject in the school and, therefore, it was given precedence over all others. History, grammar, and geography were relegated to secondary rank, and agriculture was not even thought of as a school study. But as population increased and the problem of providing food began to loom large in the public consciousness, the subject of agriculture assumed an importance that rendered it worthy a place in the school curriculum. It is a high tribute to the school that whenever any subject takes hold of the public mind the school is thought of at once as the best agency for promulgating that subject. The subjects of temperance and military training aptly illustrate this statement of fact.

Its rapid development.—So soon, therefore, as the subject of agriculture became prominent in the public consciousness there ensued a speedy development of colleges and schools of agriculture for the training of teachers. This movement was prophetic of the plan and purpose to incorporate this study in the school regime. And this prophecy has been fulfilled, for the school now looks upon agriculture as a basic study. True, we are as yet only feeling our way, and that for the very good reason that the magnitude of the subject bewilders us. We have written many textbooks on the subject that were soon supplemented by better ones. The more the subject is studied, the more we appreciate its far-reaching ramifications. We find it attaching itself to many other subjects to which it seemed to have but remote relation in the earlier stages of our study. In brief, we are now on the borderland of a realization of the fact that agriculture is as broad as life and, therefore, must embrace many other studies that have a close relation to life.

Relation to geology and other sciences.—In the beginning, geology and agriculture seemed far apart, but our closer study of agriculture has revealed the fact that they are intimately related. It remained for agriculture to lay the right emphasis upon geology. The study of the composition and nature of the soil carried us at once to a study of its origin and we found ourselves at the very door of geology. When we began to inquire how the soil came to be where it is and what it is, we found ourselves yearning for new and clearer lines of demarcation in science, for we could scarcely distinguish between geology and physiography. We soon traced our alluvial plains back to their upland origin, and then we were compelled to explain their migration. This led us inevitably into the realm of meteorology, for, if we omit meteorology, the chain is broken and we lose our way in our search for the explanation we need. But having availed ourselves of the aid of meteorology, we have a story that is full of marvelous interest—the great story of the evolution of the cornfield. In this story we find many alluring details of evaporation, air movements, precipitation, erosion, and the attraction of gravitation. But in all this we are but lingering in the anteroom of agriculture.

The importance of botany.—Advancing but a single step we find ourselves in the realm of botany, which is a field so vast and so fascinating that men have devoted an entire lifetime to its wonders, and then realized that they had but made a beginning in the way of exploring its possibilities. In our own time Mr. Burbank has made his name known throughout the world by his work in one phase of this subject, and a score of other Burbanks might be working with equal success in other branches of the subject and still not trench upon one another's domain. Venturesome, indeed, would be the prophet who would attempt to predict the developments in the field of botany in the next century in the way of providing food, shelter, and clothing for the race. The possibilities stagger the imagination and the prophet stands bewildered as he faces this ever-widening field. But botany, vast as it is seen to be, is only one of the branching sciences connected with agriculture.

Physics and chemistry.—Another advance brings us into the wide and fertile field of physics and chemistry, for in these subjects we find the means of interpreting much in agriculture that without their aid would elude our grasp. We have only to resolve a grain of corn into its component elements to realize the potency and scope of chemistry. Then if we inquire into the sources of these elements as they have come from the soil to form this grain of corn, the indispensability of a knowledge of chemistry will become more apparent. In our explanations we shall soon come upon capillary attraction, and the person is dull, indeed, who does not stand in awe before the mystery of this subject. If we broaden our inquiry so as to compass the evolution of an ear of corn, we shall realize that we have entered upon an inquiry of vast and fascinating import. The intricate and delicate processes of growth, combining, as they do, the influences of sunshine and moisture and the conversion into food products of elements whose origin goes back to primeval times,—these processes are altogether worthy of the combined enthusiasms of scientist and poet.

Physiology.—But no mention has been made, as yet, of the science of physiology, which, alone, requires volumes. We have but to ask how wheat is converted into brain power to come upon a realization of the magnitude of the study of this science. We have only to relax the leash of fancy to see that there are no limits to the excursions that may be made in this field. If we allow fancy to roam, taking the a posteriori course, we might begin with "Paradise Lost" and reach its sources in garden and field, in orchard, and in pasture where graze flocks and herds. But in any such fanciful meandering we should be well within the limits of physiology, and should be trying to interpret the adaptation of means to end, or, to use the language of the present, we should be making a quest to determine how the products of field, orchard, and pasture may be utilized that they may function in poetry, in oratory, in discoveries, and in inventions. In short, we should be trying to explain to ourselves how agriculture functions in life.

Art as an auxiliary.—In a recent work of fiction a chapter opens with a picture of a little girl eating a slice of bread and butter which is further surmounted by apple sauce and sugar. If the author of the book "Agriculture and Life" had only caught a glimpse of this picture, he might have changed the title of his book to "Life and Agriculture." He certainly would have given to the life element far more prominence than his book in its present form affords. His title makes a promise which the book itself does not redeem, more's the pity. If science would use art as an ally, it need not be less scientific, and its teachings would prove far more palatable. The little girl with her bread and butter would prove quite as apt as an introductory picture for a book on agriculture as for a work of fiction. It matters not that agriculture includes so many other sciences, for life is the great objective of the study of all these, and the little girl exemplifies life.

Relation of sciences to life.—The pictures are practically endless with which we might introduce the study of agriculture—a boy in the turnip field, a milkmaid beside the cow, or Millet's celebrated picture "Feeding the Birds." And, sooner or later, pursuing our journey from such a starting point, we shall arrive at physiology, chemistry, botany, physics, meteorology, and geology, and still never be detached from the subject of life. In the school consciousness agriculture and domestic science seem far apart, but by right teaching they are made to merge in the subject of life. Upon that plane we find them to be complementary and reciprocal. In the same way chemistry, botany, and physiology merge in agriculture for the reason that all these sciences as well as agriculture have to do with life. In the traditional school chemistry is taught as chemistry—as a branch of science, and the learner is encouraged to seek for knowledge. In the vitalized school the truths of chemistry are no less clearly revealed, but, in addition, their relations to life are made manifest, and the learner has a fuller appreciation of life, because of his study of chemistry.

Traditional methods.—In the traditional school domestic science is taught that the girl may learn how to cook; but in the vitalized school the girl learns how to cook that she may be able to make life more agreeable and productive both for herself and for others. In the traditional school the study of agriculture consists of the testing of soils and seeds, working out scientific theories on the subject of the rotation of crops, testing for food values the various products of the farm, judging stock, studying the best method of propagating and caring for orchards, and testing for the most economic processes for conserving and marketing crops. In the vitalized school all this is done, but this is not the ultimate goal of the study. The end is not reached until all these ramifications have touched life.

The child as the objective.—Reverting once more to the little girl of the picture, it will be conceded, upon careful consideration, that she is the center and focus of all the activities of mind and hand pertaining to agriculture. Every furrow that is plowed is plowed for her; every tree that is planted is planted for her; every crop that is harvested is harvested for her; and every trainload of grain is moving toward her as its destination. But for her, farm machinery would be silent, orchards would decay, trains would cease to move, and commerce would be no more. She it is that causes the wheels to turn, the harvesters to go forth to the fields, the experiment stations to be equipped and operated, the markets to throb with activity, and the ships of commerce to ply the ocean. For her the orchard, the granary, the dairy, and the loom give of their stores, and a million willing hands till, and toil, and spin.

The story of bread.—But the bread and butter, the apple sauce, and the sugar! They may not be omitted from the picture. The bread transports us to the fields of waving grain and conjures up in our imagination visions of harvesters with their implements, wagons groaning beneath their golden loads, riches of grain pouring forth from machines, and brings to our nostrils the tang of the harvest time. Into this slice of bread the sun has poured his wealth of sunshine all the summer long, and into it the kindly clouds have distilled their treasures. In it we find the glory of the sunrise, the sparkling dewdrop, the song of the robin, the gentle mooing of the cows, the murmur of the brook, and the creaking of the mill wheel. In it we read the poetry of the morning and of the evening, the prophecy of the noontide heat, and the mighty proclamations of Nature. And it tells us charming stories of health, of rosy cheeks, of laughing eyes, of happiness, of love and service.

Food and life.—The butter, the apple sauce, and the sugar each has a story of its own to tell that renders fiction weak by comparison. If our hearts were but attuned to the charm and romance of the stories they have to tell, every breakfast-table would be redolent with the fragrance of thanksgiving. If our hearts were responsive to the eloquence of these stories, then eating would become a ceremony and upon the farmer who provides our food would descend our choicest benedictions. If the scales could but fall from our eyes that we might behold the visions which our food foretells, we could look down the vista of the years and see the children grown to manhood and womanhood, happy and busy in their work of enlarging and beautifying civilization.

Agriculture the source of life.—Agriculture is not the sordid thing that our dull eyes and hearts would make it appear. In it we shall find the romance of a Victor Hugo, the poetry of a Shelley or a Shakespeare, the music of a Mozart, the eloquence of a Demosthenes, and the painting of a Raphael, when we are able to interpret its real relation to life. When the morning stars sang together they were celebrating the birth of agriculture, but man became bewildered in the mazes of commercialism and forgot the music of the stars. It is the high mission of the vitalized school to lead us back from our wanderings and to restore us to our rightful estate amid the beauties, the inspiration, the poetry, and the far-reaching prophecies of agriculture. This it can do only by revealing to us the possibilities, the glories, and the joy of life and causing us to know that agriculture is the source of life.

Synthetic teaching.—The analytic teaching of agriculture will not avail; we must have the synthetic also. Too long have we stopped short with analysis. We have come within sight of the promised land but have failed to go up and possess it. We have studied the skeleton of agriculture but have failed to endow it with life. We must keep before our eyes the picture of the little girl. We must feel that the quintessence and spirit of agriculture throbs through all the arteries of life. Here lies the field in which imagination can do its perfect work. Here is a subject in which the vitalized school may find its highest and best justification. By no means is it the only study that fitly exemplifies life, but, in this respect, it is typical, and therefore a worthy study. On the side of analysis the teacher finds the blade of grass to be a thing of life; on the side of synthesis she finds the blade of grass to be a life-giving thing. And the synthesis is no less in accord with science than the analysis.

The element of faith.—Then again agriculture and life meet and merge on the plane of faith. The element of faith fertilizes life and causes it to bring forth in abundance. Man must have faith in himself, faith in the people about him, and faith in his own plans and purposes to make his life potent and pleasurable. By faith he attaches the truths of science to his plans and thus to the processes of life; for without the faith of man these truths of science are but static. Faith gives them their working qualities. There is faith in the plowing of each furrow, faith in the sowing of the seed, faith in the planting of each tree, and faith in the purchase of each machine. The farmer who builds a silo has faith that the products of the summer will bring joy and health to the winter. By faith he transmutes the mountains of toil into valleys of delight. Through the eyes of faith he sees the work of his hands bringing in golden sheaves of health and gladness to his own and other homes.

QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES

1. In what ways is agriculture a typical study?

2. Why was its importance not realized until recently?

3. What educational agency in your state first reflected the need of scientific instruction in agriculture?

4. The study of agriculture in the public school was at first ridiculed. Why? What is now the general attitude toward it?

5. To what extent is the study of agriculture important in the city school? Is there another subject as important for the city school as agriculture is for the rural school?

6. Mention some school subjects that are closely related to agriculture. Show how each is related to agriculture.

7. Is Luther Burbank's work to be regarded as botanical or as agricultural? Why? To which of these sciences do plant variation and improvement properly belong?

8. In many schools agriculture and domestic science are associated in the curriculum. What have they in common to justify this?

9. In the chemistry class in a certain school food products are examined for purity. How will this increase the pupils' knowledge of chemistry?

10. In a certain school six girls appointed for the day cook luncheon for one hundred persons, six other girls serve it, and six others figure the costs. Criticize this plan.

11. Show how some particular phase of agricultural instruction may function in agricultural practice.

12. What benefits accrue to a teacher from the study of a subject in its ramifications?

13. In what respects is agriculture a noble pursuit? Compare it in this respect with law. How does agriculture lead to the exercise of faith? Teaching? Law? Electrical engineering?



CHAPTER XVII

THE SCHOOL AND THE COMMUNITY

An analogy.—If we may win a concept of the analogy between the vitalized school and a filtration-plant, we shall, perhaps, gain a clearer notion of the purpose of the school and come upon a juster estimate of its processes. The purpose of the filtration-plant is to purify, clarify, and render more conducive to life the stream that passes through, and the function of the school may be stated in the same terms. The stream that enters the plant is murky and deeply impregnated with impurities; the same stream when it issues from the plant is clear, free from impurities, and, therefore, better in respect to nutritive qualities. The stream of life that flows into the school is composed of many heterogeneous elements; the stream that issues from the school is far more homogeneous, clearer, more nearly free from impurities, and, therefore, more conducive to the life and health of the community. The stream of life that flows into the school is composed of elements from all countries, languages, and conditions. In this are Greeks and barbarians, Jews and Gentiles, saints and sinners, the washed and the unwashed, the ignorant, the high, the low, the depraved, the weak, and the strong.

Life-giving properties.—The stream that issues from the school is the very antithesis of all this. Instead of all these heterogeneous elements, the stream when it comes from the school is composed wholly of Americans. A hundred flags may be seen in the stream that enters the school, but the stream that flows out from the school bears only the American flag. The school has often been called the melting-pot, in which the many nationalities are fused; but it is far more than that. True, somehow and somewhere in the school process these elements have been made to coalesce, but that is not the only change that is wrought. The volume of life that issues from the school is the same as that which enters, barring the leakage, but the resultant stream is far more potent in life-giving properties because of its passage through the school.

Changes wrought.—When we see the stream entering the filtration-plant polluted with impurities and then coming forth clear and wholesome, we know that something happened to that stream in transit. Similarly, when we see the stream of life entering the school as a mere aggregation of more or less discordant elements and then coming forth in a virtually unified homogeny, we know that something has happened to that stream in its progress through the school. To determine just what happens in either case is a task for experts and a task, moreover, that is well worth while. In either case we may well inquire whether the things that happen are the very best things that could possibly be made to happen; and, if not, what improvements are possible and desirable.

Another misconception.—The analogy between the plant and the school will not hold if we still retain in the parlance of school procedure the expression "getting an education." The act of getting implies material substance. Education is not a substance but a process, and it is palpably impossible to get a process. So there can be no such thing as getting an education, in spite of the tenacity of the expression. Even to state the fact would seem altogether trite, were we not confronted every day with the fact that teachers and parents are either unable or unwilling to substitute some right expression for this wrong one. Education is not the process of getting but, rather, the process of becoming, and the difference is as wide as the difference between the true and the false.

Just how long it will require to eradicate this conception from the school and society no one can well conjecture. Its presence in our nomenclature reveals, in a marked way, the strength of habit. Many teachers will give willing assent to the fact and then use the expression again in their next sentence. Certainly we shall not even apprehend the true function and procedure of the vitalized school until we have eliminated this expression. If we admit the validity of the contention as to this expression, then we may profitably resume the consideration of our analogy, for, in that case, we shall find in this analogy no ineptitude.

The validity of the analogy.—We cause the stream of water to pass through the filtration-plant that it may become rectified; we cause the stream of life to pass through the school that it may become rectified. When the stream of water becomes rectified, bodily disease is averted; when the stream of life is rectified, mental and spiritual disease is averted. The analogy, therefore, holds good whether we consider the process itself or its effect. We have only to state the case thus to have opened up for us a wide field for profitable speculation. The diseases of mind and spirit that invade society are the causes that lie back of our police courts, our prisons, and, very often, our almshouses. Hence, if the stream of life could be absolutely rectified, these undesirable institutions would disappear, and life for the entire community would be far more agreeable by reason of their absence.

Function of the school.—The school, then, is established and administered to carry on this process of rectification. By means of this process ignorance becomes intelligence, coarseness becomes culture, strife becomes peace, impurity becomes purity, disease becomes health, and darkness becomes light. The child comes into the school not to get something but to have something done to and for him that he may become something that he was not before, and, therefore, that he may the better execute his functions as a member of society. In short, he comes into the school that he may pass through the process of rectification. In this process he loses neither his name, his extraction, his identity, nor his individuality. On the contrary, all these attributes are so acted upon by the process that they become assets of the community.

Language.—In order to lead to a greater degree of clarity it may be well to be even more specific in explaining this process of rectification. Language is fundamental in all the operations of society. It is indispensable to the grocer, the farmer, the lawyer, the physician, the manufacturer, the housewife, and the legislator. It is the means by which members of society communicate with one another, and without communication, in some form, there can be no social intercourse, and, therefore, no society. People are all interdependent, and language is the bond of union. They must use the same language, of course, and the words must be invested with the same meaning in order to be intelligible.

Language a social study.—Just here great care must be exercised or we shall go astray in depicting the work of the school in dealing with this subject of language. The child comes into the school with language of a sort, but it needs rectification in order to render it readily available for the purposes of society. Herein lies the crux of the whole matter. If this child were not to become a member of society, it would matter little what sort of language he uses or whether he uses any language. If he were to be banished to some island there to dwell alone, language would be unnecessary. Hence, his study of language in the school is, primarily, for the well-being of society and not for himself. Language is so essential to the life processes that, without it, society would be thrown out of balance. The needs of society are paramount, and hence language as it concerns the child relates to him chiefly if not wholly as a member of society.

Grammar.—Grammar is nothing else than language reduced to a system of common terms that have been agreed upon in the interests of society. People have entered into a linguistic compact, an agreement that certain words and combinations of words shall be understood to mean certain things. The tradesman must understand the purchaser or there can be no exchange. The ticket-agent must understand the prospective traveler or the latter cannot take the journey and reach his destination. Hence, grammar, with all that the term implies, is a means of facilitating the activities of society and pertains to the individual only in his relation to society.

Needs of society.—True, the individual will find life more agreeable in society if he understands the common language, just as the traveler is more comfortable in a foreign country if he understands its language. But we need emphasis upon the statement that we have grammar in the school because it is one of the needs of society. The individual may not need chemistry, but society does need it, and the school must somehow provide it because of this need. Hence we place chemistry in the school as one of the ingredients of the solvent which we employ in the process of rectification. Those who are susceptible to the influences of this ingredient will become inoculated with it and bear it forth into the uses of society.

Caution.—But just here we find the most delicate and difficult task of the school. Here we encounter some of the fundamental principles of psychology as explained and emphasized by James, McDougall, and Strayer. Here we must begin our quest for the native tendencies that condition successful teaching. We must discover what pupils are susceptible to chemistry before we can proceed with the work of inoculation. This has been the scene and source of many tragedies. We have been wont to ask whether chemistry will be good for the boy instead of making an effort to discover whether the boy will be good for chemistry—whether his native tendencies render him susceptible to chemistry.

Some mistakes.—Our procedure has often come but little short of an inquisition. We have followed our own predilections and prejudices instead of being docile at the feet of Nature and asking her what to do. We have applied opprobrious epithets and resorted to ostracism. We have been freely dispensing suspensions and expulsions in a vain effort to prove that the school is both omniscient and omnipotent. We have tried to transform a poet into a mechanic, a blacksmith into an artist, and an astronomer into a ditcher. And our complacency in the presence of the misfits of the school is the saddest tragedy of all. We have taken counsel with tradition rather than with the nature of the pupil, the while rejoicing in our own infallibility.

Native dispositions.—Society needs only a limited number of chemists and only such as have the native tendencies that will make chemistry most effective in the activities of society. But we have been proceeding upon the agreeable assumption that every pupil has such native tendencies. Such an assumption absolves the school, of course, from the necessity of discovering what pupils are susceptible to chemistry and of devising ways and means of making this important discovery. Because we do not know how to make this discovery we find solace in the assumption that it cannot or need not be made. We then proceed to apply the Procrustean bed principle with the very acme of sang froid. Here is work for the efficiency expert. When children are sitting at the table of life, the home and the school in combination ought to be able to discover what food they crave and not insist upon their eating olives when they really crave oatmeal.

The ideal of the school.—We shall not have attained to right conditions until such time as the stream of life that issues from the school shall combine the agencies, in right proportions and relations, that will conserve the best interests of society and administer its activities with the maximum of efficiency. This is the ideal that the school must hold up before itself as the determining plan in its every movement. But this ideal presupposes no misfits in society. If there are such, then it will decline in some degree from the plane of highest efficiency. If there are some members of society who are straining at the leash which Nature provided for them and are trying to do work for which they have neither inclination nor aptitude, they cannot render the best service, and society suffers in consequence.

Misfits.—The books teem with examples of people who are striving to find themselves by finding their work. But nothing has been said of society in this same strain. We have only to think of society as composed of all the people to realize that only by finding its work can society find itself. And so long as there is even one member of society who has not found himself, so long must we look upon this one exception as a discordant note in the general harmony. If one man is working at the forge who by nature is fitted for a place at the desk, then neither this man nor society is at its best. And a large measure of the responsibility for such discord and misfits in society must be laid at the door of the school because of its inability to discover native tendencies.

Common interests.—There are many interests that all children have in common when they enter the school in the morning, and these interests may well become the starting points in the day's work. The conversations at breakfast tables and the morning paper beget and stimulate many of these interests and the school does violence to the children, the community, and itself if it attempts to taboo these interests. Its work is to rectify and not to suppress. When the children return to their homes in the evening they should have clearer and larger conceptions of the things that animated them in the morning. If they come into the school all aglow with interest in the great snowstorm of the night before, the teacher does well to hold the lesson in decimals in abeyance until she has led around to the subject by means of readings or stories that have to do with snowstorms. The paramount and common interest of the children in the morning is snow and, therefore, the day should hold snow in the foreground in their thinking, so that, at the close of the day, their horizon in the snow-world may be extended, and so that they may thus be able to make contributions to the home on the subject of snow.

Real interests.—In the morning the pupils had objective snow in which they rollicked and gamboled in glee. All day long they had subjective snow in which the teacher with fine technique caused them to revel; and, in the evening, their concept of snow was so much enlarged that they experienced a fresh access of delight. And that day was their snow epiphany. On that day there was no break in the stream of life at the schoolhouse door. There was no supplanting of the real interests of the morning with fictitious interests of the school, to be endured with ill grace until the real interests of the morning could be resumed in the evening. On the contrary, by some magic that only the vitalized teacher knows, every exercise of the day seemed to have snow as its center. Snow seemed to be the major in the reading, in the spelling, in the geography, and in the history.

On that day they became acquainted with Hannibal and his struggles through the snow of the Alps. On that day they learned of the avalanche, its origin, its devastating power, and, of course, its spelling. On that day they read "Snow Bound" and the snow poems of Longfellow and Lowell. Thus the stream of life was clarified, rectified, and amplified as it passed through the school, and, incidentally, the teacher and the school were glorified in their thoughts.

Circus day.—But snow is merely typical. On other days other interests are paramount. On circus day the children, again, have a common interest which affords the teacher a supreme opportunity. The day has been anticipated by the teacher, and the pupils have cause to wonder how and whence she ever accumulated such a wealth of pictures of animal life. All day long they are regaled with a subjective menagerie, and when they attend the circus in the evening they astonish their parents by the extent and accuracy of their information. They know the animals by name, their habitat, their habits, their food, and their uses. In short, they seemed to have compassed a working knowledge of the animal kingdom in a single day through the skill of the teacher who knows how to make the school reenforce their life interests.

The quality of life.—If we now extend the scope of common interests that belong in the category with the snow and the animals, we shall readily see that the analogy of the filtration-plant holds good in the entire regime of the vitalized school. But we must never lose sight of the additional fact that the quality of life that issues from the school is far better because of its passage through the school. The volume may be less, through unfortunate leakage, but the quality is so much better that its value to society is enhanced a hundred- or a thousand-fold. The people who pass through the school have learned a common language, have been imbued with a common purpose, have learned how to live and work in hearty accord, have come to revere a common flag, and have become citizens of a common country.

QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES

1. What is the general function of the school?

2. What is meant by the school's being the "melting-pot"?

3. What objection is there to the expression "getting an education"? What would be a better expression to indicate the purpose of attending school?

4. What diseases that invade society would be checked if in school the stream of life were rectified?

5. Why is it desirable that pupils shall not lose their individuality in passing through school?

6. What is the primary purpose of each school study, for instance, language?

7. What is the true purpose of grammar?

8. What do these functions of the school and of its studies teach us regarding the adaptation of subjects and methods to the individual?

9. Tell something of the work done in vocational guidance in Boston.

10. Tell something of the methods employed by some corporations in choosing employees naturally fitted for the work.

11. Tell something of the psychological tests for vocations devised by Professor Muensterberg. (Psychology and Industrial Efficiency, Hugo Muensterberg, Houghton Mifflin Co., 1913.)

12. What do you think is the practicable way of helping the pupils in your school to develop along the lines of their natural endowment?

13. What is the effect on society when a man does work for which he is not fitted?

14. Show some ways in which the interests of the school as a whole may be fostered and a natural development of the class as a whole be secured.

15. There has been a big fire in town. Show how the interest in this event may be used in the day's work.

16. In what ways is one who has had private instruction likely to be a poorer citizen than one who has attended school?

17. What conditions might cause some of those who go through school to be polluted instead of rectified? Whose fault would it be?

18. What questions should we ask ourselves about the things that are being done in our schools?



CHAPTER XVIII

POETRY AND LIFE

Poetry defined.—Poetry has been defined as "a message from the heart of the artist to the heart of the man"; and, seeing that the heart is the center and source of life, it follows that poetry is a means of effecting a transfusion of life. The poet ponders life long and deeply and then gives forth an interpretation in artistic form that is surcharged with the very quintessence of life. The poet absorbs life from a thousand sources—the sky, the forest, the mountain, the sunrise, the ocean, the storm, the child in the mother's arms, and the man at his work, and then transmits it that the recipient may have a new influx of life. The poet's quest is life, his theme is life, and his gift to man is life. His mission is to gain a larger access of life and to give life in greater abundance. He gains the meaning of life from the snowflake and the avalanche; from the grain of sand and the fertile valley; from the raindrop and the sea; from the chirp of the cricket and the crashing of the thunder; from the firefly and the lightning's flash; and from Vesuvius and Sinai. To know life he listens to the baby's prattle, the mother's lullaby, and the father's prayer; he looks upon faces that show joy and sorrow, hope and despair, defeat and triumph; and he feels the pulsations of the tides, the hurricane, and the human heart.

How the poet learns life.—He sits beside the bed of sickness and hears the feeble and broken words that tell of the past, the present, and the future; he visits the field of battle and sees the wreckage of the passions of men; he goes into the dungeon and hears the ravings and revilings of a distorted soul; he visits pastoral scenes where peace and plenty unite in a song of praise; he rides the mighty ship and knows the heartbeats of the ocean; he sits within the church and opens the doors of his soul to its holy influences; he enters the hovel whose squalor proclaims it the abode of ignorance and vice; he visits the home of happiness where industry and frugality pour forth their bounteous gifts and love sways its gentle scepter; and he sits at the feet of his mother and imbibes her gracious spirit.

Transfusion of life.—And then he writes; and as he writes his pen drips life. He knows and feels, and, therefore, he expresses, and his words are the distillations of life. His spiritual percipience has rendered his soul a veritable garden of emotions, and with his pen he transplants these in the written page. And men see and come to pluck the flowers to transplant again in their own souls that they, too, may have a garden like unto his. His elan carries over into the lives of these men and they glow with the ardor of his emotions and are inspired to deeds of courage, of service, and of solace. For every flower plucked from his garden another grows in its stead more beautiful and more fragrant than its fellow, and he is reinspired as he inspires others. And thus in this transfusion of life there is an undertow that carries back into his own life and makes his spirit more fertile.

Aspiration.—When he would teach men to aspire he writes "Excelsior" and so causes them to know that only he who aspires really lives. They see the groundling, the boor, the drudge, and the clown content to dwell in the valley amid the loaves and fishes of animal desires, while the man who aspires is struggling toward the heights whence he may gain an outlook upon the glories that are, know the throb and thrill of new life, and experience the swing and sweep of spiritual impulses. He makes them to know that the man who aspires recks not of cold, of storm, or of snow, if only he may reach the summit and lave his soul in the glory that crowns the marriage of earth and sky. They feel that the aspirant is but yielding obedience to the behests of his better self to scale the heights where sublimity dwells.

Perseverance.—Or he writes the fourth "AEneid" to make men feel that the palm of victory comes only to those who persevere to the end; that duty does not abdicate in favor of inclination; and that the high gods will not hold guiltless the man who stops short of Italy to loiter and dally in Carthage even in the sunshine of a Dido's smile. When Italy is calling, no siren song of pleasure must avail to lure him from his course, nor must his sail be furled until the keel grates upon the Italian shore. His navigating skill must guide him through the perils of Scylla and Charybdis and the stout heart of manhood must bear him past Mount AEtna's fiery menace. His dauntless courage must brave the anger of the greedy waves and boldly ride them down. Nor must his cup of joy be full until the wished-for land shall greet his eager eyes.

Overweening ambition.—Or, again, the poet may yearn to teach the wrong of overweening, vaulting ambition and he writes "Paradise Lost" and "Recessional." He pictures Satan overthrown, like the Giants who would climb into the throne on Olympus. He pictures Hell as the fitting place for Satan overthrown, and in his own place he pictures the outcast and downcast Satan writhing and cursing because he was balked of his unholy ambition. And, lest mortals sink from their high estate, borne down by their sins of unsanctified ambition, he prays, and prays again, "Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget, lest we forget." And the prayer echoes and reechoes in the soul of the man, and the world sees his lips moving in the prayer of the poet, "Lest we forget, lest we forget."

Native land.—Or, again, he writes Bannockburn and the spirit is fired with patriotic devotion to native land. We hear the bagpipe and the drum and see the martial clans gathering in serried ranks and catch the glint of their arms and armor as they flash back the sunlight. We hear their lusty calls as they rush together to defend the hills and the homes they love. We see, again, the Wallace and the Bruce inciting valorous men to deeds of heroism and hear the hills reechoing with the shock of steel upon steel. From hill to hill the pibroch leaps, and hearts and feet quicken at its sound. And mothers are pressing their bairns to their bosoms as they cheer their loved ones away to the strife. And while their eyes are weeping their hearts are saying:

"Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha so base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee!"

Faith.—And after the sounds of battle are hushed he sings "To Mary in Heaven" and causes the man to stand in the presence of the Burning Bush and to hear the command "Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground." And the heart of the man grows tender as the poet opens his eyes to catch a glimpse of the life of faith that the star foretells even as the Star of Bethlehem was prophetic. And, through the eyes of the lover, he looks over into the other life and knows that his faith is not in vain. And when faith sits enthroned, the music of the brook at his feet becomes sweeter, the stars shine more brightly, the earth becomes a place of gladness, and life is far more worth while. The poet has caused the scales to fall from his eyes and through them the light of Heaven has streamed into his soul.

The teacher's influx of life.—And the teacher imbibes the spirit of the poet and becomes vital and thus becomes attuned to all life. Flowers spring up in her pathway because they are claiming kinship with the flowers that are blooming in her soul. The insect chirps forth its music, and her own spirit joins in the chorus of the forest. The brooklet laughs as it ripples its way toward the sea, and her spirit laughs in unison because the poet has poured his laughter into her soul. She stands unafraid in the presence of the storm because her feeling for majesty overmasters her apprehension of danger. The lightning's flash may rend the oak but, even so, she stands in mute admiration at this wondrous manifestation of life. Her quickened spirit responds to the roll and reverberation of the thunder because she has grown to womanhood through the poet's copious draughts of life.

The book of life.—The voices of the night enchant her and the stars take her into their counsels. The swaying tree speaks her language because both speak the language of life. She takes delight in the lexicon of the planets because it interprets to her the book of life, and in the revelations of this book she finds her chief joy. For her there are no dull moments whether she wanders by the river, through the glades, or over the hills, because she is ever turning the pages of this book. She moves among the things of life and accounts them all her friends and companions. She knows their moods and their language and with them holds intimate communion. They smile upon her because she can reciprocate their smiles. Life to her is a buoyant, a joyous experience each hour of the day because the poet has poured into her spirit its fuller, deeper meanings.

The teaching.—And because the poet has touched her spirit with the wand of his power the waters of life gush forth in sparkling abundance. And children come to the fountain of her life and drink of its waters and are thereby refreshed and invigorated. Then they smile back their gratitude to her in their exuberance of joyous life.

QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES

1. What is poetry?

2. What is the purpose of rhyme?

3. May writing have the essentials of poetry and yet have no regular rhythm? What of the Psalms?

4. Why is poetry especially valuable to the teacher?

5. Show how some poem other than those mentioned in the chapter teaches a lesson or gives an inspiration.

6. Name, if you can, some methods of treatment that cause poetry to fail to affect the lives of the pupils as it should.

7. Suggest uses of poetry and the treatment that will insure the right results.

8. Is there danger that a teacher may become too appreciative or susceptible—too poetic in temperament? Recall observations of those who were either too much so or too little.

9. Is there danger that one may have too much of a good quality, or is the danger not in having too little of some other quality?

10. Show how a wide and appreciative reading of poetry makes for a proper balance of temperament.



CHAPTER XIX

A SENSE OF HUMOR

An American story.—There is a story to the effect that a certain Mr. Jones was much given to boasting of his early rising. He stoutly maintained that he was going about his work every morning at three o'clock. Some of his friends were inclined to be incredulous as to his representations and entered into a kindly conspiracy to put them to the test. Accordingly one of the number presented himself at the kitchen door of the Jones residence one morning at half-past three and made inquiry of Mrs. Jones as to the whereabouts of her husband, asking if he was at home. In a very gracious manner Mrs. Jones replied: "No, he isn't here now. He was around here early this morning but I don't really know where he is now." This is a clean, fine, typical American story, and, by means of such a story, we can test for a sense of humor. The boy in school will laugh at this story both because it is a good one and because he is a normal boy. If he does not laugh at such a story, there is cause for anxiety as to his mental condition or attitude. If the teacher cannot or does not laugh, a disharmony is generated at once between teacher and pupil which militates against the well-being of the school. If the teacher reprimands the boy, the boy as certainly discredits the teacher and all that she represents. If she cannot enjoy such a wholesome story, he feels that her arithmetic, geography, and grammar are responsible, and these studies decline somewhat in his esteem. Moreover, he feels that the teacher's reprimand was unwarranted and unjust and he fain would consort with people of his own kind. Many a boy deserts school because the teacher is devoid of the saving grace of humor. Her inability to see or have any fun in life makes him uncomfortable and he seeks a more agreeable environment.

Humor in its manifestations.—A sense of humor diffuses itself through all the activities of life, giving to them all a gentle quality that eliminates asperities and renders them gracious and amiable. Like fireflies that bespangle the darkness of the night, humor scintillates through all life's phases and activities and causes the day to go more pleasantly and effectively on. It twinkles through the thoughts and gives to language a sparkle and a nicety that cause it to appeal to the artistic sense. It gives to discourse a piquancy that stimulates but does not irritate. It is the flavor that gives to speech its undulatory quality, and redeems it from desert sameness. It pervades the motives and gives direction as well as a pleasing fertility to all behavior. It is pervasive without becoming obtrusive. It steals into the senses as quietly as the dawn and causes life to smile. Wit may flash, but humor blithely glides into the consciousness with a radiant and kindly smile upon its face. Wit may sting and inflame, but humor soothes and comforts. The man who has a generous admixture of humor in his nature is an agreeable companion and a sympathetic friend to grown-up people, to children, and to animals. His spirit is genial, and people become kindly and magnanimous in his presence.

One of John B. Gough's stories.—The celebrated John B. Gough was wont to tell a story that was accounted one of his many masterpieces. It was a story of a free-for-all convention where any one, according to inclination, had the privilege of freely speaking his sentiments. When the first speaker had concluded, a man in the audience called lustily for a speech from Mr. Henry. Then another spoke, and, again, more lustily than before, the man demanded Mr. Henry. More and more vociferous grew the call for Mr. Henry after each succeeding speech until, at last, the chairman with some acrimony exclaimed: "The man who is calling for Mr. Henry will please be quiet. It is Mr. Henry who is now speaking." The man thus rebuked was somewhat crestfallen, but managed to say, as if in a half-soliloquy: "Mr. Henry! Why, that ain't Mr. Henry. That's the little chap that told me to holler."

At the conclusion of one of his lectures in which Mr. Gough told this story in his inimitable style, a man came to the platform and explained to him that he had a friend who seemed to lack a sense of humor and wondered if he might not prevail upon Mr. Gough to tell him this particular story in the hope that it would cause him to laugh. In a spirit of adventure Mr. Gough consented, and at the time appointed told the story to the old gentleman in his own best style. The old gentleman seemed to be deeply interested, but at the conclusion of the story, instead of laughing heartily as his friend had hoped, he solemnly asked, "What did he tell him to holler fur?"

The man who lacks a sense of humor.—There was no answer to this question, or, rather, he himself was the answer. Such a man is obviously outside the pale, without hope of redemption. If such a story, told by such a raconteur, could not touch him, he is hopeless. In his spiritual landscape there are no undulations, but it reveals itself as a monotonous dead-level without stream or verdure. He eats, and sleeps, and walks about, but he walks in a spiritual daze. To him life must seem a somber, drab affair. If he were a teacher in a traditional school, he would chill and depress, but he might be tolerated because a sense of humor is not one of the qualifications of the teacher. But, in the vitalized school, he would be intolerable. If children should go to such a teacher for spiritual refreshment, they would return thirsty. He has nothing to give them, no bubbling water of life, no geniality, no such graces of the spirit as appeal to buoyant childhood. He lacks a sense of humor, and that lack makes arid the exuberant sources of life. He may solve problems in arithmetic, but he cannot compass the solution of the problem of life. The children pity him, and no greater calamity can befall a teacher than to deserve and receive the pity of a child. He might, in a way, teach anatomy, but not physiology. He might be able to deal with the analytic. He might succeed as curator in a museum of mummies, but he will fail as a teacher of children.