Puslapio vaizdai

"And I never knew you could be so foolish-to me," said Miss Sophie, still laughing. "What is Dr. Bynum to me?"

"Not having his spectacles to look over, how do I know?"

"But," persisted Miss Sophie, "you need no spectacles to look at Mildred. I have seen you looking at her through your fingers." "And what was she doing?" inquired Underwood, coloring in the most surprising way. "Oh," said Miss Sophie, "she was pretending not to notice it; but I can sit with my back to you both and tell by the tone of her voice when this and that thing is going on."

"This, then, is courtship," said Underwood. "Why, brother, how provoking you are!" exclaimed Miss Sophie. "It is nothing of the sort. It is child's play; it is the way the youngsters do at school. I feel as if I never knew you before; you are full of surprises."

"I surprise myself," he said, with something like a sigh, "and that is the trouble; I don't want to be too surprising."

"But in war," said his sister, "the successful general cannot be too full of surprises." "In war!" he cried. "Why, I was in hopes the war was over."

"I was thinking about the old saying," she explained" the old saying that all is fair in love and war."

"Well," said Francis Underwood, "it would be hard to say whether you and Dr. Bynum are engaged in war or not. You are both very sly, but I have seen a good deal of skirmishing going on. Will it end in a serious engagement, with casualties on both sides? The doctor is something of a surgeon, and he can attend to his own wounds, but who is going to look after yours?" "How can you go on so!" cried Miss Sophie, laughing. "Are we to have an epidemic of delusions?"

"Yes, and illusions too," said her brother. "The atmosphere seems to be full of them. Everything is in a tangle."

And yet it was not long after this conversation that Miss Sophie observed her brother and Mildred Bascom sauntering together under the great cedars, and she concluded that he was trying to untangle the tangle.

There were many such walks, and the old Judge, sitting on the piazza in bright weather, would watch the handsome pair, apparently with a contented air. There was something about this busy and practical young man that filled Mildred's imagination. His individuality was prominent enough to be tantalizing. It was of the dominant variety. In him the instinct of control and command, so pleasing to the feminine mind, was thoroughly developed, and he disposed of his affairs with a promptness and decisiveness that left nothing to be


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that is always new, and that has as many phases as there are stars in the sky. Here, before his eyes, was a combination for which there was no warrant in his experience - the wit and tenderness of Rosalind, blended with the self-sacrificing devotion of Cordelia. Here was a combination -a complication - of a nature to attract the young man's attention. Problem, puzzle, what you will, it was a very attractive one for him, and he lost no favorable opportunity of studying it.

So the pleasant days came and went. If there were any love passages between the young people, only the stately cedars or the restless poplars were in the secret, and these told it only to the vagrant west winds that crept over the hills when the silence of night fell over all things.


THOSE were pleasant days and nights at the old Bascom Place, in spite of the malady with which the Judge was afflicted. They

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He was indeed at home. He had come to the end of his long and tiresome journey. He smiled as he lay sleeping, and his rest was pleasant; for there was that in his dead face, white and pinched as it was, that bore witness to the infinite gentleness and mercy of Christ, who is the Lord.

It was an event that touched the hearts of his old neighbors and their children, and they spoke to one another freely and feelingly about the virtues of the old Judge, the beautiful life he had lived, the distinction he had won, and the mark he had made on his generation. Some, who were old enough to remember, told of his charities in the days when prosperity sat at his board; and in discussing these things the people gradually came to realize the fact that Judge Bascom, in spite of his misfortunes, had shed luster on his State and on the village in which he was born, and that his renown was based on a character so perfect, and on results so just and beneficent, that all could share in it.

His old neighbors, watching by him as he lay smiling in his dreamless sleep, shortened the long hours of the night with pleasant reminiscences of the dead. Those who sat near the door could see, in an adjoining room, Mildred Bascom sitting at Miss Sophie Underwood's feet, her arms around the older woman's waist. It was a brief and fleeting panorama, as indeed life itself is, but the two, brought together by grief and sympathy, often sat thus in the years that followed. For Mildred Bascom became the mistress of the Bascom Place; and although she has changed her name, the old name still clings to Underwood's domain. Joel Chandler Harris.

He tottered forward and would have fallen, but Underwood caught him and placed him in his chair. The old man's nerves had lost their tension, his eyes their brightness. He could only murmur indistinctly, "Mine, mine, mine." He seemed suddenly to have shrunk and shriveled away. His head fell to one side, his face was deadly pale, his lips were blue, and his thin hands clutched convulsively at his clothes and at the chair. Mildred was at his side instantly, but he seemed to be beyond the reach of her voice and beyond the limits of her grief, which was distressful to behold. He tried indeed to stroke the beautiful hair that fell loosely over him as his daughter seized him in her despairing arms, but it was in a vague and wandering way.

Judge Bascom's condition was so alarming that Francis Underwood lifted him in his arms and placed him on the nearest bed, where he lay gazing at the ceiling, sometimes smiling and at other times frowning and crying, "Mine, mine, mine!"

He sank slowly but surely. At the last he smiled and whispered "Home," and so passed




ONE rose before waiting for the light to be;

NE rose before the dawn, and stole along But from the bed where one all night has lain.

That he, before the unimpatient throng,
Might watch the sunrise on the splendid


And one who cared not for the glorious sight,
But for the joy to come with that first ray,
Ran to his casement to greet there the light
That ushered in for him his wedding-day.

But to the One who gives both sea and shore,
Who from the darkness light and gladness

Rises the sweetest hymn forevermore

Not from the lips of such glad souls as these.

Stilling his moans to let his watchers sleep, Who suddenly across his bed of pain Sees the faint gray of early morning creep.

He cannot haste with eager eyes to see

Its coming; whether it be dull or fair,This day that dawns, he knows not; it may be It brings him suffering keener still to bear.

Ah, God! how great the gift that thou hast given,

When those who only know the night is past Send to thee, in thy far-off, silent heaven, The gladdest thanks that day has dawned at last!

Alice Wellington Rollins.




T is very instructive to study the development of the professional teacher. In earlier times teaching was the duty of the parent, a little later a function of the priest. Hrabanus Maurus himself, who holds the proud title "primus præceptor Germania" even against Melanchthon, could not see that the monk who was to become a teacher needed anything more professional than broad culture, high character, and sound learning.1 But the training of the teacher, to be adequate, must include professional knowledge and skill in addition to these general and very desirable characteristics. This professional element in the teacher's equipment is to be gained by the study of the history and philosophy of education, which unfold the principles on which education is based and the story of their growth and development; by the study of psychology, which familiarizes the future teacher with the characteristics and qualities of the human mind and the laws of 1 "Scientiæ plenitudinem, et vitæ rectitudinem, et eruditionis perfectionem."

its development; and by the study of the methods of school organization and instruction, by which he is informed of the best results of experience in the field of educational practice. This knowledge is not to be gained by what is vaguely termed intuition, nor by imitation alone.

The absence of any proper and adequate professional training in the past-of over three hundred and twenty-five thousand teachers in the United States, but a small proportion are graduates even of normal schools-has made itself felt not only in the schools of the United States, but in those of Europe as well. The work of the schools, speaking broadly, has been poorly done and the mass of the school population has not even been properly instructed, much less educated. It is not meant by this that the common school, the world over, has accomplished nothing; for the history of Scotland since Knox, of the United States under the Constitution, of Prussia since Jena, and of France under the Republic, tells a far different story. But popular education has not accomplished all the results hoped for, simply because popular education does not as yet exist. The framework, constitutional and administrative, is generally provided, but the proper supply of the necessary agents, thoroughly trained and equipped teachers, is not yet forthcoming. Reasons may doubtless be given why this is so. The teacher's salary is small and his tenure of office is insecure. These obstacles are not easily removed. In the United States the absence of any national system of education makes their removal a matter of extreme difficulty and one involving great loss of time. Public opinion - which, as our latest and kindest critic, Mr. Bryce, says, is not made, but grows in America- must stimulate State, municipal, and district authorities in turn before any appreciable results can be secured. The process is a laborious and uncertain one, for the name of these authorities is legion. Because these obstacles are not removed, the profession of teaching involves a sacrifice which the lawyer, the physician, or the man of business is not called upon to make.

Another consideration, and a very important one, deserves notice. The fact that the universities have very generally neglected to provide instruction in the science of education has had a powerful influence in retarding the

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progress of the teaching profession. In view of the relation which in any sound system the universities should bear to the schools and to the state at large, this neglect is nothing less than culpable, and the efforts now making to repair it come too late to prevent serious loss to the cause of popular education. At least nine German universities, two Scotch universities, and six of our own institutions of first rank have recognized the claim of the science of education to a place in their calendars. It is only a question of time when the English universities and the older and more conservative of our American colleges will follow their example. What has been lost by the delay is pictured by Professor Laurie when he says, "Had Roger Ascham's college, at Cambridge, founded a lectureship on the first two books of Quintilian and on Ascham's own work, and done nothing more, the whole character of English public education would have been revolutionized more than two hundred years ago. We should have been as great a nation, measured by the standards of imperial power and wealth, but our citizens would have had a better use of their brains, greater love of truth, more open minds, more kindly hearts, more of wisdom, justice, righteousness." Enough has been said to show that while the adequate training of the teacher is not a new subject, yet any general recognition of its importance is new. Indeed it would be concealing the truth not to say

that its earnest advocacy is to-day chiefly in the hands of those educationists who are known among their fellows as radicals and progressives.

It seems clear enough that certain fundamental principles of this professional training may be laid down. In the first place, it should follow the secondary education and be wholly distinct from it; and in the second place, it should include the practical work of teaching under competent supervision and criticism, as well as the study of educational theory. These two principles should be examined separately and somewhat carefully.

If the teacher's professional training is to follow his secondary education, it should not be begun before the student is at least eighteen years of age and in possession of what is known as a good high-school or academic education. This is the foundation on which any special education should rest, and on which it must rest if it is to be really valuable. If a college course can be added, so much the better; but the number of those who seem to be able to spare the time and expense for this advanced instruction is not large. It is not easy to see how this position as to the necessity of separating the general education from the special training can be gainsaid, yet the normal schools of this country, almost without exception (there are a few notable ones), violate this principle entirely and plead the force of circumstances as

their justification. The result is that too many normal schools are but high schools with a slight infusion of pedagogy in the curriculum of the last year. More often than not students graduate from these schools before they are eighteen years of age, and before it is possible for them to have acquired that necessary general education which should precede any special and professional training whatever. Students thus graduating become at once teachers in the common schools, and at the expense of the education of countless children slowly acquire that "experience" which is to serve as a substitute for the training they have not secured.



This is a serious evil and one which is not being very rapidly remedied.

The contention of some normal-school principals that unless the students receive their general education under the normal-school roof it will not be good for anything will not bear examination. An educational system cannot be built up on any such basis as that. Trust, not distrust, must be the motto. The grammar schools and the high schools must be trusted to do their own work properly; the normal school can protect itself by its entrance examination. In teaching elementary or secondary subjects it is leaving its own sphere and entering that of another. The law school does not teach history, nor the medical school reading; neither should the training college give in struction in those branches. It should demand

a knowledge of them from candidates for admission, and only refer to them again to discuss their pedagogic relations and for the purpose of explaining how their subject-matters may best be taught.

As to the principle that the professional training of the teacher should include the practical work of the school-room under proper supervision and criticism, there is little difference of opinion. But the practice of normal schools falls far below their professions in this respect. The student teaches in a practice school for a few hours each week or for a few days each month, but this is not sufficient either in

quantity or in quality. In some of the German training colleges, certainly in that at Weimar, the student has a subject assigned him which he teaches uninterruptedly for a whole year in the practice school; and careful preparation for this instruction is made. This arrangement is held to be necessary in order that the student may obtain real grasp of his subject and familiarize himself with the special needs of the children whom he instructs. That the German practice in this respect is superior to that common among ourselves is very apparent. It should be that at which we aim.

On these two principles, and on the further one that manual training should be an integral part of the common-school course, the New York College for the Training of Teachers has been founded, and on these principles it will

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