Part 13 (2/2)

It is in the Secondary Schools of the country that the confusion of thought is apt to be most painfully seen. Far too much is attempted, and the pupils are overworked. A teacher in the neighbourhood of Glasgow, a _laudator temporis acti_, has a ma.n.u.script collection of howlers, drawn from elementary, secondary, and university sources, with the following fearful lines as a preface:--

”Ye statesmen all, of high or humble station, Collective conscience of the British nation, Whether the frothing vat has made your name Or tropes in carpet-bags begot your fame, Behold the _product_ of the education Wherewith is dosed the rising generation.

And see the modern devotee of cram At midnight hour hard-grinding for the exam., A moistened towel garlanding his brow, And coffee simmering on the hob below.

High on a three-legged stool uncus.h.i.+oned, he Sits glowering through his goggles painfully, Nagging his brain with all a grinder's might Till _one_ sounds on the drowsy ear of night.

Like Sibyl's leaves the papers strew his floor Wrought-out examples, 'wrinkles' by the score, Conundrums algebraic, 'tips' on Conics And th.o.r.n.y 'props' remembered by mnemonics.

Betweenwhiles as the slow time lagging goes, He takes the spectacles from off his nose, Removes the damper from his aching head, Pours out the coffee, cuts a slice of bread, Sips wistfully the liquid from his cup: The zeal to pa.s.s the exam. has eaten _him_ up.

Thrice happy ye! born 'neath the ancient reign When _t.i.tyre tu_ alone possessed the brain (Ere Tyndall's tubes made sweating students numb) And the whole aim of life was _di, do, dum_.”

COMPETING SUBJECTS.

So numerous indeed are the subjects of the school curriculum in our day that howlers and confusion are bound to result. Formerly there was but one scheme (containing cla.s.sics, mathematics, and a little English), and everybody took it. Now there is a kind of compet.i.tion among the departments of a school as to which is the most culturing. When a fond mother asks the opinion of the masters as to what course of study her boy (whom she is ent.i.tled to think a genius of the first order) ought to pursue, she is often puzzled by the variety of answers. Mr. Test-tube, the Science Master, invariably prescribes an extensive course of chemistry. If a boy is to be a lawyer, he ought to know the principles of atomic combination and the doctrine of gases; if he thinks of the ministry, why then, having a thorough acquaintance with science, he will be competent to close the mouths of heretics, infidels, and such vermin.

Dr. Aorist, on the other hand, believes that a sound knowledge of ”_qui_ with the subjunctive” is a splendid sheet-anchor for every squall in life's rude sea. ”I wish my boy to be a civil engineer; what advice would you give me as to his studies?” ”I have no hesitation in affirming,” the Doctor replies, ”that the boy will build bridges all the better if he has his mind expanded and (so to speak) broadened by the study of subjects outside his special trade, such, _e.g._, as the interesting fact that in ancient times 'All Gaul was divided into three parts.'”

The average boy has an impartial mind. As a rule, he has no prejudice in favour of either science or letters, his maxim being never to do to-day what he can put off till to-morrow.

His favourite books for home Are buccaneering combats on the foam, Or grim detective tales of Scotland Yard, Where gleams the bull's-eye lamp and drips the poniard.

Parents may be reminded that the wide s.p.a.ces of the colonies remain to be peopled and that many a _stickit minister_ might have made a first-cla.s.s empire-builder.

CHAPTER V.

A TRIP TO SHETLAND.

Aberdeen--En route--Lerwick--Past and present saints--Some notes on the islands--A Shetland poet--A visit to Bressay--From Lerwick to Sandwick--Quarff--”That holy man, Noah”--Fladibister--Cunningsburgh--”Keeping off”--The indignant elder--Torquil Halcrow--Philology--A Sandwick gentleman--Local tales--Foulah and Fair Isle--The fis.h.i.+ng season.

ABERDEEN.

The most expeditious and comfortable way of getting to Shetland is by way of Aberdeen.

I have pa.s.sed through the city of _Bon Accord_ about six times during the last twelvemonth, and like it better the more I see of it. It is one of the stateliest towns in Britain, and its main street, s.p.a.cious, airy, and symmetrical, is hard to match. The architectural taste of the new University Buildings is perfect, and will be more striking still to the casual visitor, when the unsightly buildings all round have been torn down. It would be worth while going to Aberdeen if for nothing but to see the superb stretch of sandy beach between the mouths of the Don and the Dee: one could sit and dream away a whole forenoon there and be entirely oblivious to the proximity of a large town.

The finest tribute paid to Aberdeen was written nearly four hundred years ago by the great Scotch poet, William Dunbar. Three years before Flodden, Queen Margaret pa.s.sed through the town, and Dunbar, who accompanied her, was so delighted with the hospitality, loyalty, and lavish expenditure of the magistrates, that he wrote a eulogistic poem to commemorate the occasion. Dunbar carried away the impression that Aberdeen was a _blythe_ place:

”_Blythe_ Aberdeen thou beryl of all tounis, Thou lamp of beauty, bounty and _blitheness_.”

I do not find that the town has produced many poets, but it has been the cause of poetry in others.[25] A few years ago Mr. William Watson, out of grat.i.tude for the LL.D. bestowed on him by the University, wrote a pleasant sonnet in which Aberdeen is represented as

”Beaming benignant o'er the northern main.”

As I sat on the seash.o.r.e, repeating to myself the lines of Mr. Watson's poem, and breathing the fresh air, which an official of the bath-house told me was _made in Germany_ (meaning thereby that the wind was blowing from the east), the thought struck me that it would be a pardonable pastime to employ the spare time I had before the boat started for Lerwick, in writing a _Sonnet to Mr. William Watson_. In such exercitations it is necessary to employ the second person singular:

Watson! I would thy pen were fluenter, And yet, perchance, thou usest stores of ink, Ampler than any of thy readers think, In blotting that wherein the first quick stir Of thought and genius made the language err.

If Heaven had lent thy polished Muse a blink Of saving humour for her crambo-clink, Then never-dying fame had fallen to her.

Yet Heaven be thanked for what it has bestowed On thee of what is tunefullest and best: The trim epistle, the heart-stirring ode, The witching freshness of a _Prince's Quest_, The soft romance that dreams of years gone by, Bright noons and dewy glades of Arcady.

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