Literary Tours in The Highlands and Islands of Scotland Part 13

TEACHERS AND EXAMINATIONS.

It has always seemed to me a matter for surprise that those who had for years studied the elements of Latin and Greek at school (and that with no small difficulty), should entirely neglect these tongues afterwards and read nothing composed in them. Most elaborate preparations are made to reach the Promised Land, but the weary pa.s.senger never gets there.

Can it be that the preparations are too elaborate?[24] They are certainly not very interesting, and are, indeed, well fitted to disgust pupils with the cla.s.sical tongues. Sir William Ramsay of Aberdeen, in a letter to the _Herald_ some time ago, spoke strongly on this subject.

Sir William says, with justice, that a teacher should teach his subject without any thought of examination. Every teacher would like to do that if he could. As a matter of fact, the secondary schoolmaster is forced to become a crammer. He codifies the catch questions of previous university preliminaries, excogitates similar weird lists of anomalies and exceptions, and doses the pupils on such stuff instead of really teaching the important parts of his subject. Experience seems to prove that the most effective way of rendering a subject dry, uneducational, and generally useless is to set examination papers on it. What can be more outrageous and grotesque than the practice of setting out-of-the-way questions because of the ease thus afforded to the examiners in correcting the answers of the helpless and puzzled candidates! Even though the questions set were plain and straightforward, it would be absurd to suppose that an hour or two in an examination hall could furnish sufficient data to pa.s.s or fail a candidate.

It used to be the glory of our universities that an average college cla.s.s contained representatives of every grade of society in the land.

Professor Ramsay says it is not so now: the professors have become pedagogic coaches, and the students grind rather than study. Sir William a.s.sures us that many who would make good students are frightened away by the preliminary examination. It would be interesting to know where these latter go when they leave school. Do they rush off to business at once, or do they proceed with their education in some extra-mural way? If they can afford the time, the university is certainly the place for them. Let the university gates be opened as wide as possible to all serious-minded youths, and let it be remembered that it is not necessarily those who sweat most over their books or take the highest honours that get most good from attendance at the lectures.

It does not appear that, at present, our universities are adequately in touch with the nation. The great commercial community of Glasgow does not benefit nearly enough from having a famous seat of learning in its midst. We might learn a lesson from the Sorbonne how best to nationalise our universities. In Paris, the lecture halls are open to all, and it is possible for either native or foreigner to listen for hours daily, if he be so minded, to some of the finest and most erudite orators and scholars of Europe. There are, it is true, special students' courses, from which the general public is excluded, but the most important lectures are open to all. Hence the Sorbonne is a national inst.i.tution in every sense of the word. I do not say that Glasgow does not benefit a little from the corps of professors at Gilmorehill. But the benefit is spasmodic, discontinuous, and extremely limited. Some of the professors do at times come down into the open and speak words of wisdom. But more is wanted than that if the universities are to be saved from denationalisation. We hear of Dugald Stewart's cla.s.s-room being, in the old days, crowded with the keenest intellects of the Capital. But a university was not then a kind of higher-grade secondary school.

[24] It is a notorious fact that very few graduates, when they leave college, are able to read Latin from an author they have not specially studied, with ease or pleasure. For this melancholy fact there are several reasons. The range of reading is miserably meagre. Only a few authors are read, and almost every sentence of these is c.u.mbered with such an amount of annotation as to render progress and literary appreciation alike painful. Composition in Latin absorbs far too much time: the first duty of the teacher ought to be to turn out pupils who can read Latin with fluency.

No amount of grammatical detail or laborious composition, as at present practised, will ever make up for the lack of wide reading. Professor Phillimore's recent suggestion that the less-known authors should be read more than they are, is wise and opportune. The authors he mentions would furnish a welcome relief from the unspeakable dreariness of over-annotated texts.

HOWLERS.

Almost every schoolmaster I have met, either in the Highlands or Lowlands, has his budget of anecdotes, usually dealing with children's answers or the droll eccentricities of the local School Board. The answers of children are invariably entertaining; and I wish the Educational Inst.i.tute of Scotland would appoint a committee to codify the howlers that come under the notice of its members. A collection of genuine howlers would be no unimportant service to the science of juvenile psychology. Let it be remembered that the eminent Professor Sully considered it in no way derogatory to his philosophical status to write on the subject of _dolls_. In bi-lingual districts children's answers would have a special value. Children are everywhere, of course, more or less bird-witted and inattentive. Here is a story which ill.u.s.trates what Latin scholars call _contaminatio_. A teacher had given a lesson on the geography of Kent, laying special stress on Canterbury, as giving a t.i.tle to the Anglican primate, and on Greenwich as the place through which, on the map, the first meridian is made to pa.s.s. At the close of the lesson, he wished to test the scholars, and asked one of them what Canterbury was famous for. At once came the glib reply: "Canterbury is the seat of an _archbishop through whom the first meridian pa.s.ses_." The difficulty young pupils have in concentrating their ideas, is largely accountable for many of the diverting essays we have all heard and seen. On a recent visit to the romantic sh.o.r.es of Skye, I was shown the following essay on Water: "Water is a liquid, but in winter you can slide on it. In all kinds of water, little beasts occur to a greater or to a less extent. Even a great amount of heat cannot kill these curious little animals. _Hence some people prefer spirits._" From the same quarter I procured this nugget on patriotism.

"Patriotism is love of country such as we see in Burns or Sir Walter Scott. Burns and Sir Walter wrote beautiful lines about their native land, and thousands of tourists came and circulated their money there.

_It would be telling us_ if writers would imitate these great patriots in our day." Many of the young scribes on the mainland can also indulge in a deal of brilliant irrelevancy. One of them being asked to write an essay on "Rivers," began thus: "_In ancient times, the chief use of rivers was for the baptizing of converts_." Another, in the course of a short life of King Alfred, made a strong point of that monarch's humility, adding, "In order to discover the plans of the Danes, he demeaned himself so far as to go to their camp _disguised as a poet_."

The annual blue book of the Scotch Education Department used to include a recreative series of howlers that had been sent up in the various reports of the Government Inspectors. These t.i.t-bits were well calculated to keep up the gaiety of nations. Of late years these howlers have been excised, but if Scotland had Home Rule they might re-appear.

The finer attenuations of speech are unknown to the soaring human boy.

I was shown an essay on Ireland the other day in which the young writer compendiously remarked, "_The Irish are a bloodthirsty, lazy, and resentful race_." On Wordsworth, another juvenile critic thus expressed himself: "_Wordsworth's compositions are utter bosh_." The following extract is from an "Essay on the '15": "_The Rising of '15 was a failure because the Old Pretender was an unmitigated a.s.s. Fancy an a.s.s trying to take charge of a Rebellion!_"

A genial gentleman, Mr. Sneyd-Kynnersley, who retired from the Inspectorate some years ago, published in 1908 a book of choice reminiscences, containing some good specimens of schoolboy answers. Some of his howlers have long been known in the North: but a howler (like history) is wont to repeat itself. I saw in a Paisley boy's essay on Lambert Simnel the following sentence: "Lambert Simnel was a claimant for the English crown, and went about the country boasting that he was one of the princes who had been murdered in the Tower." Mr. Kynnersley's examinee wrote thus: "Prince Charles Edward claimed to be one of the little princes murdered in the Tower. He was found to be a deceiver, and was put into the king's kitchen to work."

A boy once told Mr. Kynnersley that _a quorum is a question asked at a meeting which the chairman is unable to answer_. I saw a definition of paradox, equally absurd: "_A paradox is something which is apparently not what it seems to be_."

It is a favourite geographical test to require a pupil to describe a coast journey between two seaports, and mention capes, rivers, and towns seen on the way. "Describe a trip from Greenock to the Isle of Man,"

said a teacher to his cla.s.s; "I give you an hour to write it out." Very few were past Lochryan at the hour's end. One daring youth took his boat, which he christened "_The Comet_," right round the Mull of Kintyre, with intent to reach Douglas by way of Cape Wrath, the North Sea, Dover, Land's End, and St. George's Channel. When time was up, the _Comet_, all torn and tattered by the strumpet wind, was beating round the north end of Skye. That boy will, in all probability, turn out a deep-sea captain.

"How many days are there in a year?" asked an inspector of a cla.s.s of Highland youngsters. No answer was given. "Tut, tut," said the inspector testily, "this is ridiculous. Is there _no one_ who knows how many days there are in the year?" "Oh, yes, sir," said a boy reproachfully, "_G.o.d knows_."

"What kind of king was William III.?" inquired another examiner. "He had an aquiline nose, sir," said a boy. "What does that mean?" said the examiner. "_It means_," answered the boy, "_that William III.'s nose was turned up at the point like the beak of an eagle!_" "What right had William to the English throne?" continued the examiner, changing his ground. "_No right under heaven_," was the forceful Jacobite rejoinder.

Here is a tale, from the eastern seaboard of Scotland.

_Inspector_, M.A., Ph.D., LL.D., etc. (examining a cla.s.s of ten-year olds): "Now, boys, what is the shape of the earth?"

_Boy:_ "Roon, like an orange."

_Inspector:_ "But how do I _know_, how can I be _sure_ that the earth is round like an orange?"

_Boy:_ "_Because I tell't ye._"

Pupils show great affection for the phrases of their text-books. Not long ago, at a written examination, a lad wrote in reply to a historical question which was puzzling him: "_The answer to this question is known only to the Great Searcher of Hearts_." What could the boy mean? Was it "cheek," ignorance, or piety? It was none of these. _It was Collier!_ About thirty years ago, Dr. Collier, a modern Euphuist, composed a _History of England_, which deserves to be reckoned among the glories of the reign. Carlyle may be great, but Collier is greater: Collier is a theologian, philosopher, and _a' that_. The style of his history is a wondrous blend of _Ossian_ and Hervey's _Meditations among the Tombs_; and its special peculiarity is that the words, owing to some feature, never really a.n.a.lysed, linger in the mind long after the sentences of the Shorter Catechism have become blurred. Collier is strong in tropes--a highly-dangerous feature. It is no doubt true, as he says, that William the Conqueror ruled with a rod of iron, but when a boy, after reading this metaphor, a.s.serts that that sovereign ruled his subjects _with a long iron pole_, you begin to question the utility of historical study. "Joy-bells pealed and bonfires blazed," is a phrase of the Doctor's which sets all the caverns of the mind ringing, even though its historical setting is long forgotten. But unction is the chief feature of the history: there is a rotund finality about the author's s.p.a.cious utterances, and a dodging of investigation by means of pious generalisations. The book has all the effect of a benediction. When it is really too tiresome to inquire into all the authorities on some affair of magnitude, it is so respectable to sum up in the phrase imitated by the youth alluded to above.

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 uncushioned, 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 fishing 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.