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be pruned, without detriment to its force and with distinct gain to its beauty and its truth, until it becomes serviceable. But a great wealth. of material lies at our hand that needs no editing. Of this sort, what shall we choose?

The first qualification that a book should possess is that of interest. It should be a work that will enlist the intelligence, the sympathies, and the imagination.

The intelligence needs to be kept on the alert. There is a subtle appeal to a reader when a book assumes knowledge on his part slightly in advance of his acquisition. It stimulates his pride; and if his quickened thought does not bound forward by intuition to conclusions hitherto undreamed of, his curiosity often will be piqued so that he will explore the unknown land and make delightful discoveries.

The sympathies should be stirred; for we are creatures of passion, or at least we ought to be. To be cold and heartless, to be unemotional and hopelessly serene, is a calamity.

A third element of interest is added by an appeal to the imagination. Ideals are confessedly imaginary, for the most part. We aim at them and do not expect to hit the white, yet are we justified in our endeavor?

A second qualification besides interest, of which I should speak, is that of style. This element adds charm to what is already interesting of itself, or creates an interest in things otherwise unattractive.

Now, style is a term which we all understand, but which none of us can quite successfully define. One is reminded of the small boy's attempted definition of salt: "It's what makes pertaters taste bad when yer don't put none on 'em "; for literature without style cannot satisfy; it may nourish, but there is danger that it may also nauseate.

Le style, c'est l'homme, like all epigrams, must not be pressed unduly; but it is scarcely too much to presume that the works of an author which are in his best style come nearest to exhibiting his ideals and are the most elevating of his product; and as a corollary to this, broadly speaking, the better the style the better for our purposes is the author.·

Finally, I submit that in the choice of literature for a liberal education, either in school or college, a certain amount should be chosen possessing positive virtues; some that is not merely eloquent, pathetic, euphonious, rhythmical, and above criticism, but that is also moral and spiritual; some that is not merely great, but ennobling. Doubtless, if literature were chosen at random, much of it would be of this character, for, as I have said before, the largest part of our literature has a distinctly moral tone. But I believe it should be the conscious

purpose of those who determine school curricula to see that some of the literature read shall make for righteousness beyond a cavil. I believe the importance of this can scarcely be overrated because of the impressibility of youth.

We come to our last consideration. What methods of implanting moral ideals in the course of our teaching are most effective?

The fact which we have just established, that books may implant their own ideals without a medium, should be a warning to all who are called to teach.

We should never stand in the way of the author that is being studied. In a modern fable a window-blind is said to have cried with complacency, I open the way for the sun." We can imagine with what cynic scorn a Diogenes, sitting in the darkened room, would have greeted this remark. When great books are read in class it should be with a minimum of comment. The teacher may interpret important passages by a sympathetic rendering, where subtle inflection, skilfull accent, and clear enunciation may serve to rivet the attention to some significant thought that might otherwise be unnoticed; but he should beware lest he darken counsel by words without knowledge, or dilute virile truth with weak remark. All supererogatory effort at gilding gold and adding an exoteric odor to fragrant flowers is more to be deplored than even a loud-voiced "mastery of the obvious."

There is a possible danger, however, to be avoided. If we do not need constantly to explain, we need frequently to ask, Understandest thou what thou readest? and often unexpectedly it will be found that some one does not, except some other-teacher, or preferably pupilshall guide him.

A somewhat varied experience has convinced me that truths which pupils can be induced to discover for themselves enter into their moral consciousness in a way which they will not when they are extracted, clarified, condensed, and seasoned by the professional instructor, and then stuffed into receptive but unassimilating brains. Therefore I suggest that one of the methods useful in implanting high moral ideals. of any sort is to let the pupil do a good deal of the planting himself— under guidance.

I have already intimated that good reading on the part of the instructor is a most efficacious means of fixing the attention of a class upon a noble thought. In this way such passages as―

"Breathes there a man with soul so dead

Who never to himself has said,

"This is my own, my native land!'”

"It did depend on one, indeed;

Behold him!-Arnold Winkelried!"

"They conquered-but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein!"

"Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us!
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!"

Such passages as these will make a brave boy's heart beat higher, and sow within it the undying seeds of patriotism. A simple reading of, or an apt quotation from, that great elegy which Wolfe professed he would rather have written than to be the captor of Quebec; or an introduction to Lincoln's especial favorite,

"Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud?"

will serve without explanation, to show that life is short, and that they who design to labor must labor while it is day. Portia's exquisite plea for mercy, and her description of earthly power when it seems likest God's should be learned by heart and left like a good seed to germinate; and the same may be said of many another passage by the great masters. Let them first be studied in the context that their full force may be felt, then committed to memory and stored like a precious jewel in the head.

Let me briefly summarize. I have assumed that the study of English literature is a means of implanting high moral ideals. Next I have endeavored to show that it is a valuable means. I have examined the sort of literature required to further this object, and find it may be discussed under four heads: that which is not immoral; that which possesses interest, appealing to the intelligence, the sympathies, and the imagination; that which has style; and that which directly inculcates moral and spiritual truths. I have expressed my conviction of the supreme importance of implanting moral ideals during the periods of childhood and adolescence. And lastly I have come to discuss, from a somewhat personal standpoint, what seems to be the most effectual means of accomplishing this purpose. I have stated some things that I believe the teacher should not do, and also a few means that it would be helpful to employ. I come, in closing, to what I shall maintain is the teacher's principal function.

You look into the face of a mirror, and an image is before you— more truthful, if less flattering, than that which the photographer produces. You pass on, and another comes and looks into the same mirror; but it tells no tales of you, revives no recollection. A thousand per

sons pass before the glass, and when the day is done, it is just as brilliant and just as vacant as when it made its first reflection. Do we desire a likeness that shall endure, Science must come to our aid with its camera and its chemicals; the image must be caught upon a sensitized plate of film and then fixed so it shall not fade.

In like manner the teacher may hold up a truth before an untrained pupil. It may be beautiful and inspiring, as reflected in the mirror of the pupil's mind. He may understand it, assent to it, even enjoy it; but he may also forget it as he looks upon the next picture. To prevent such loss, it becomes the teacher's function to see that his pupil's mind is not a mere mirror from whose polished surface glide these bright images in swift succession, but a sensitized plate on which truths may be photographed and fixed.

Rhythm, melody, harmony, choice of words, beauty of thought, felicity of expression, taste, style, proportion, emphasis, unity, ease, force, climax, simile, metaphor and allied tropes, wit, humor, pathos, suggestion, argument, exposition, narration, description, these are some of the chemicals with which the English teacher works. With these he produces the sensitive mind-plate according to his ability. When all is ready, he exposes an object in the shape of a poem, a novel, a play, an essay, an oration, or an epigram. A picture is the result, to be fixed and developed by comparison, analysis, or some of the minor devices to which I have referred.

But there are pictures and pictures; and just here is where the teacher needs to be an artist. In the photographic studio it is not enough to have a favorable light, expensive lenses, and the latest arrangement of shutters and slides. It is not enough to have fair women and brave men before the camera. It is not enough to have a perfect plate, ready to respond to the faintest ray of light: there must also be a skilled operator, who shall moderate the glare, arrange the shadows, measure the distance, adjust the instrument, calculate the exposure, pose the sitters, engage the attention, and at the psychologico-photographic moment spring the shutter.

In like fashion the artist-teacher deals with his carefully sensitized pupil as he prepares to take a picture worth developing. Deftly he arranges each detail and improves every condition; then he unveils before him some image of truth and beauty wrought by skillful hands and eagerly awaits the result. If he succeeds, he knows it without troublesome delay. He glances swiftly about his class, detecting here and there a pupil who responds, "his rapt soul sitting in his eyes "; and the instructor glows with the consciousness that his labors have not been in vain.




What is literature? Not mere writing, but writing which has revelation, revelation not of the facts (that belongs to science), but of truths, the purpose of which is to inspire. Hence, it follows that the element of time is a necessary factor in determining what is literature. "A classic is that type of writing which has enriched the human mind, increased its treasures, and caused it to advance a step; it has revealed. some moral truth, some eternal passion." "Around this," says Wordsworth, "with tendrils as strong as flesh and blood, our pastime and our happiness will grow." To cultivate pastime and happiness is the main business of every exercise in the English class room.

The reason why literature is such a power is that it is permanent in its interest. Literature is neither ancient nor modern, but is as universal as the heart of man, and the heart of man aspires in three directions in feeling, in thought, and in action. This is seen in the lyric, or song, which is full of emotion, noble as contrasted with ignoble, revealed by a singer; in the epic, full of thought and motion, revealed by a narrator; in the dramatic, full of action, thought, and emotion, revealed by men and women seen in typical situations.

Through literature, truth is revealed in forms of beauty, compelling wonder, love, and admiration. "We live by admiration, hope, and love." Look at the heights of our own peerless English literature from Chaucer to Arnold. They reveal the history of the race; each height shows that period when the people were moved to aspire, when the poets, the gleemen, and minstrels voiced these aspirations. Browning, in the "Grammarian's Funeral," reveals one of these, when he says, "Leave now for dogs and apes, man has forever."

Do you believe that students who catch the inspiration of such teachers can remain unmoved? I know they cannot. Every man is judged by his ideas of conduct on the one hand, and of beauty on the other, and the source of such ideas in men and nations is the world's revelation in its literature. It everywhere teaches us what to love and what to hate, whom to honor and whom to despise. Its word is not knowledge, but power; its purpose, not that man should know more, but that he should be better. Hence, its business is not with things, and their laws, but with persons and their thoughts. We must not read for knowledge, for specialized learning, but for life; our business is to create readers, readers of this great movement of the human soul to its highest realm of thought and action.

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