BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. (continued 3)

University Readers.

The last reform which I am ready to contend for is that there should be University readers appointed, of mature years, accredited learning and secure position, who should direct and control the studies of the students. Private study alone can never be compared with the opportunity of working under one who has read and digested all the best books in the subject, whose judgment has been formed by his wide reading, and whose experience and intercourse with many intellects has given him skill and address. The student who has not this advantage will gain less with greater pains, since he could in one lecture have the benefit of his reader’s universal study, put in such a form that he can use it at once. Such readers would save their cost in books alone, which would not then be so needful to the student. They could be appointed with little or no cost to the universities, and if they carried on their work in convenient houses of their own, they would undoubtedly draw as many students to their private establishments as there are now in the public colleges.

Evils of Overpressure.

Hasty pressing onward is the greatest enemy that anything can have, whose best is to ripen at leisure. I have appointed in my elementary teaching—Reading, Writing, Drawing, Singing, Playing. Now if these are imperfectly acquired when the child is sent to the Grammar School, what an error is committed! How many small infants have we sent to Grammar who can scarcely read, and how many to learn Latin who never wrote a letter! Even though some youngster could do much better than all his companions, it were no harm for him to be captain a good while in his elementary school, rather than to be a common soldier in a school where all are captains. Many and serious are the evils that are caused by such hasting, and if deploring them could amend them, I would lament that they are so numerous and so hard to remedy. How common is the lack of proper grounding in children, and how great is the foolishness of their friends in regard to it! This is the chief cause that at once makes children loth to learn, and schoolmasters seem harsh in their teaching. For as the master hastens on to the natural aim of his profession, and the scholar draws back, being unable to bear the burden, there rises in the master an irritation which can only be controlled by the wisdom and patience that are the fruits of experience. And as in the teacher irritation breeds heat, so in the scholar weakness breeds fear, and so much the more if he finds his master somewhat too impatient, wherefore neither the one nor the other can do much good at all. Whereas if the boy had nothing to fear, how eager he would be, and what a pleasure the teacher would take in his aptness to learn! But even if the child’s weakness is felt both by himself and by his teacher, it is difficult to get the parent to believe in it, owing to the blindness of his affection, and he will prefer to seek out some other teacher who will adopt his views, and undertake the task. Thus change feeds his humour for the time, though he will afterwards repent his folly, when the defect proves incurable, and the first master is at last admitted to have been a true prophet. So necessary a thing is it to prevent ills in time, and when warning is given not to laugh it to scorn nor blame the watchman.

If the imperfections which come more from haste than from ignorance did not go beyond the elementary school, the harm done might be redressed, but as one billow driveth on another, so haste, beginning there, makes the other successions in learning move on at too headlong a pace. Is it only to the Grammar School that children are sent too early? Are there none sent to the University who, when they come out of it years afterwards, might with advantage return to the Grammar School again? Do not some of good intelligence find in the course of their study the evil effects of too great haste at the beginning, and wish too late that they had been better advised? And even if they make up what they have missed, do they not find it true that a process which may be pleasant enough to young boys is full of pain for older people? The Universities can best judge of the weaknesses of our Grammar Schools when they find the defects of those youths whom they receive from us, though they were not sent by us. We see these defects ourselves, but we cannot remedy them, for the partiality of parents over-rules all reason, and when the pupil is removed all conference with the teacher is cut off. In some places the multitude of schools mars the whole market, giving too great opportunity for change, generally for the worse, so that by degrees the elementary scholar enfeebles the Grammar School boy, and he in turn transporteth his weakness from his schoolmaster to his university tutor. So important is it to avoid haste at the first, lest it cause injury to the last.

Are not youths often sent into the world, who may receive consideration on account of their degrees, but deserve none for their learning? If men did not judge sensibly that young shoots must be green, however good an appearance they may make, youth might deceive them with its titles, as it deceives itself with conceit. The causes of haste are—impatience, which can abide no tarrying when a restless conceit is overladen; the desire of liberty, to live as he pleases, because he pleases not to live as he should; arrogance, making him wish to appear a person of importance; hope of preferment, urging him to desire dignities before the ability to support them. In the meanwhile the common welfare is sacrificed to personal advantage, and even that advantage is in appearance and not in reality. The canker that consumeth all, and causeth all this evil, is haste, an ill-advised, rash, and headstrong counsellor, that is most pernicious when there is either some appearance of ripeness in the child, or some unwise encouragement from a teacher who is without true discernment. It is time that perfecteth all; it is the mother of truth, the touchstone of ripeness, the enemy of error, the true support and help of man.

Limit of Elementary Course.

When the child can read so readily and confidently that the length of his lesson gives him no trouble; when he can write so neatly and so fast that he finds no kind of exercise tedious; when his pen or pencil gives him only pleasure; when his music, both vocal and instrumental, is so far forward that a little voluntary practice may keep it up and even improve it; then the elementary course has lasted long enough. The child’s ordinary exercises in the Grammar School will continue his reading and writing and he will always be drawing of his own accord, because it delighteth his eye, and busieth not his brain. His music, however, must be encouraged by the pleasure taken in it by the teacher and his parents, for in those early years children are musical rather for others’ benefit than for their own. It is certain that in tarrying long enough to bring all these things to perfection there is no real loss of time, especially seeing that these attainments, even if they go no further, make a pretty adornment to a household if they be thoroughly acquired.

Difficulties in Teaching.

A great and learned man of our day, Philip Melancthon, thought so much of the troublesome and toilsome life which we teachers lead that he wrote an interesting book on the miseries of schoolmasters. We have to thank him for his good-will; but as there is no kind of life, be it high or low, that has not its own share of troubles, we need not be overwhelmed by a sense of our special difficulties. Our profession is certainly more arduous than most; but, on the other hand, not many have such opportunities of doing good service. There is little profit, however, in such comparisons. To what purpose should I show why the teacher blames one thing, the parent another, the child nothing but the rod which he is so prone to deserve? So apt are we to repine at the pain we suffer, without weighing the offence which deserved it. I will rather proceed to deal with the remedies for what he calls “miseries,” but I would prefer to term inconveniences, with which the teaching profession has to contend in our own time. The counsel I offer, though referring specially to the youngest scholars, may well be carried further and applied to the oldest and most advanced in any course of learning. The remedies I take to be two—uniformity of method, which would secure economy both of time and expense, and the establishment of public school regulations, made clearly known to all concerned, which would prevent misunderstandings between teachers and parents or scholars.

Uniformity of Method.

No one who has either taught, or has been taught himself, can fail to recognise that there is too much variety in teaching, and therefore too much bad teaching, for in the midst of many by-paths there is but one right way. This is proved by the differences of opinion that men show, due to better or worse training in youth, to greater or less application to study, to longer or shorter continuance at their books, to their liking or disliking some particular kind of learning, and many other similar causes, which may lead ignorance to vaunt itself with all the authority that belongs to sound knowledge. The diversity of groundwork which lies at the root of so much confusion of judgment is a great hindrance to youth and a discredit to schools, and causes serious inequalities in the universities. It may happen that a weak teacher by some accident brings up a strong scholar, and that an abler man owing to some ordinary hindrance makes little show for his labour. But if variety had given place to uniformity, even the weakest teacher might have done very well, if he had the intelligence to follow the directions put before him.

This defect has often been deplored by our best teachers, who have nevertheless shrunk from the task of supplying the remedy. If a uniform system could be agreed upon, all the youth of this whole realm will seem to have been brought up in one school, and under one master, both in regard to the matter and to the manner of their teaching, while differing in their own invention, which is individual by nature, though it may be trained by general rules of art. Such a measure must needs bring profit to the learner by saving him from the chances of going astray, ease to the teacher by lightening his labour, honour to the country by providing a store of good material, and immortal renown to the enlightened sovereign who should confer so great a benefit. Though agreement in a uniform method must be enforced by authority, it must be based on some likeness of ability in teachers in regard to their own specialty, though they may differ much in the manner of applying it and in other qualities. Now the only way to procure this equal standard of efficiency, where natural differences are so great, is to lay down in some definite scheme what seems best, both as to what and as to how to teach, with all the particular circumstances that may apply to the best-ordered schools not beyond the reach of the indifferent teacher, yet such as to satisfy the more skilful. Thus diligence on the part of the less able may even effect more than the greater learning of the other, who may become negligent or insolent from over-confidence. If I am not mistaken, there are good reasons for holding that it is better for the commonwealth to provide some direction for the ordinary teacher who will continue in his profession the greater part of his life and have many chances of doing good, than to leave it at random to the liberty of the more learned, who commonly make use of teaching only to shift with for a time, and are but pilgrims in the profession, always thinking of removing to some easier or more profitable kind of life. Scholars cannot profit much when their teachers act like strangers, who, intending some day to return to their own country, cannot have that zealous care which the native showeth, and though conscience may sometimes cause an honest man to work well and do his duty in this temporary position, such cases can be only exceptional, and general provision must be for the leading of the weaker, who will always need it.

If when this scheme for settling the matter and the manner of teaching is set down, those who have to carry it out prove negligent, and delay or even defeat the good effects, by their ill-advised handling of what was well meant, the overseers and patrons of schools must bring pressure to bear on such teachers, of their own motion if they can, and if they cannot, then by the assistance of learned men who are competent to act, and who out of courtesy will help to further the end in view. Our precepts are general; the application must be made according to the circumstances of particular cases. I have only roughly indicated the purpose of uniformity in teaching, and the disjointing of skill by misordered variety, yet who is so blind as not to discern that the one removes the evils caused by the other, and thereby relieves the schools of many hindrances? Rapid progress in learning would at once follow, through the choice of the best and fittest authors from the first, the use of exercises adapted to the advancement of the child, and the teacher’s orderly procedure in general. By this means the scholar would not learn anything he ought to forget, or leave anything needful unlearned, through the ill-advised counsel of his teacher, and the teacher on his part would be saved from hurrying on too fast, or dwelling too long on one thing. The best course being hit upon at the first, as may be generally appointed, one thing helpeth another forward naturally, without forcing; what is first taught maketh way for what must follow next, and continual use will let nothing be forgotten which is once well got, and the gradual advance in learning will succeed in proportion, without loss of time or unnecessary labour either through lingering too long or hurrying on too fast. This result cannot possibly be brought about at present, while things are left to the discretion of teachers, of whom the most are not specially enlightened, and even the very best cannot always hit upon the most fruitful methods, and while the customary education is held as a sanction, alteration even for the better considered a heresy, and approval determined by personal prejudice. I do not touch upon any hindrances that cannot easily be removed, if the matter be taken in hand by authority; difficulties that belong to special circumstances must be dealt with at another time.

The lack of uniformity is clearly shown when children change both schools and teachers; either the new master thinks it some discredit to himself to begin where the old one left off, or disapproves of the choice that the previous teacher had made, or seeks to exalt himself by finding fault with the other, or else the arrangement of his school does not admit of a regular progression, every school having a plan of its own. Sometimes the boy not being properly grounded, either through the ignorance of his teachers or his own negligence, cannot easily be influenced for the better, or led to give up his own conceit of himself, and this generally happens when the parents are unreasonable and think their child disgraced if he is “put back,” as the phrase is, whereas in reality he is bid only to look back, to see that which he never saw and ought to have seen very thoroughly. This cause of disorder, proceeding from the parents, affecteth us all, causing great weakness and much failure of classification in the forms of our schools, whereas if there were a uniform order fixed by authority, however often the child may change, his advancement is easily tested, and the parents will have no pretext for discontent, when they see that the matter is fixed by public provision, and that there is no room for private partiality. At present the only thing that is uniform in our schools is the common grammar set forth by authority, the use of which confirms the opinion I have expressed, as regards both the policy of adopting it from the beginning, and the advantage of having something definitely decided to which we are all bound to agree. Whether the book now in use may be retained with some amendment, or should give place to one with a better method, is a matter for consideration, for all such books, serving for direction, must be fashioned to the matter which they seem to direct by rule and precept, existing as they do, not for their own sake, but as a means to an end. The experience of having a common grammar proves the value of uniformity, but it remains a matter of controversy whether it is itself the best possible grammar.

The second advantage of uniformity is the saving of expense. While it is left to the teacher’s liberty to make his own choice, both as to what book he shall use and what method he shall adopt, what with the variety of judgment and inequality of learning in teachers, which may be unified by authority, but will never be by consent, the parents’ purses are heavily taxed and poor men are sorely pinched. This is brought about both by the change of books, the master often reversing his former choice, and also by their number, every book being commended to the buyer which either maketh a fair show to be profitable, or is otherwise solicited to the sale owing to the need for disposing of an over-supply. Whatever is needful to be used in schools may be very well comprised in a small compass; one small volume may be compounded of the marrow of many, and the change need not be great. Nor yet hereby is any injury done to good writers, whose books may very well tarry for the ripeness of the reader, and the place that is due to them in the ordinary ascent of learning and study, according to their value and degree, so that they may win praise for their authors from those who are able to judge, and may bring profit to the student when he is able to understand and remember them.

Choice of School Books.

In our Grammar Schools we profess to teach the tongues, or rather to make a beginning with teaching them. Every subject that is treated in any tongue supplies the student with the terms that belong to it, which are most easily got up in connection with the matter. If, then, the scholar of the Grammar School be taught to write, speak, and understand readily in some well-chosen subject, the school has performed its duty in doing even so much, though the boy may not know all, or even most, of the words in the language, which is a matter for further study. Those that assign their tasks to Grammar School teachers recommend historians and poets, though they make some distinction of writers according to the tendency of their matter and the purity of their style. But what time is there in our schools to run over all these, or even to deal with a few of them thoroughly? Would it not be more creditable to our profession, and more convenient for the parents, to have a selection carefully made and printed by itself? And should not the most important books be left over to be taken in connection with the particular callings to which they refer? Let those who are gifted with imagination make a special study of the poets, and those who take most interest in the records of memorable deeds devote themselves to history. If men of greater learning have leisure and desire to read, they may use histories for pleasure as an after-dinner study, neither trying the brain nor proving tedious, since they cannot generally be accepted as a basis of judgment, because ignorance of the circumstances causes a difficulty in applying conclusions. They may also run through the poets when they are disposed to laugh, and to behold what bravery enthusiasm inspireth. For when poets write soberly and plainly, without attempting any illusion, they can scarcely be called poets, though they write in verse, but only when they cover a truth with a veil of fancy, and transfigure the reality. We should therefore cull out some of the best and most suitable for our introductory course, and leave all the rest for special students, and that not in the poets and histories alone, but also in all other books that are now admitted into our schools. Some very excellent passages, most eloquently and forcibly penned for the polishing of good manners and inducement to virtue, may be picked out of some of the poets, and from none more than Horace. But heed must be taken that we do not plant any poetic fury in the child’s disposition. For that impetuous imagination, where it already exists, is in itself too wayward, though it be not helped forward, and where it is not present it should in no case be forced. As for other writers, regard must be paid to the number and choice of their words, the smoothness and propriety of their composition, and the solid worth of their matter. Quintilian’s rule is the best, and should always be observed in choosing writers for children to learn, to pick out such as will feed the intelligence with the best material, and refine the tongue with the most polished style, so that we avoid alike trivial and unsuitable matter, however eloquently set forth, and what is rudely expressed, however weighty and wise it may be, reserving only those passages where the good tendency and intelligibility of the subject are clothed and honoured with refined and fitting language.

I intend myself, by the grace of God, to bestow some pains on this task, if I see any hope of my labour being encouraged. If any one else will take the matter up I am ready to stand aside and rejoice in his success; if none other will, then I trust my country will bear with me when I offer my dutiful service in so necessary a case. If any one of higher position should be inclined to resent my action, I must appeal to the public judgment, yet if such a one does not step forth and prove his own skill, he cannot complain if another speaks while he is silent. I crave the gentle and friendly construction of such as be learned, or love learning, and if I should have the misfortune to dissatisfy any in my work, I will do my best to improve it.

School Regulations.

The second remedy for the difficulties of teachers is to set forth the school regulations in a public place, where they may be easily seen and read, and to leave as little as possible uncertain which the parent ought to know, and out of which dissatisfaction may arise. For if at the first entry the parent agree to those arrangements which he sees set forth, so that he cannot afterwards plead either ignorance or disapproval, he cannot take offence if his child be forced to keep them in the form to which he consented. Yet when all is done there may be doubt about the interpretation of the rules. Wherefore the manner of teaching, the method of promotion, the times of admission, the division of numbers, the text-books, and all those matters into which uniformity can be introduced, being already known to be fixed by authority, as I trust they will be, or at least the arrangements being set down which the schoolmaster on his own judgment intends to keep, it will further remove the chance of contention between the teacher and the parents if it be also stated what are the regular hours of work, exceptions being made in special cases, and what will be the intervals for play, which indeed is very necessary, and not as yet sufficiently taken into account.

Punishments.

But the teacher must above all make clear what punishments he will use, and how much, for every kind of fault that shall seem punishable by the rod. For the rod can no more be spared in schools than the sword in the hand of the Prince. By the rod I mean some form of correction, to inspire fear. If that instrument be thought too severe for boys, which was not devised by our time, but received from antiquity, I will not strive with any man in its defence, if he will leave us some means for compelling obedience where numbers have to be taught together. Even in private upbringing, if the birch is wholly banished from the home, parents cannot have their will, whatever they may say. And if in men serious faults deserve and receive severe punishment, surely children cannot escape punishments which bring proportional unhappiness. And if parents were as careful to enquire into the reasons why their child has been beaten as they are ready to be unreasonably aggrieved, they might gain a great deal more for the child’s advantage, and the child himself would lose nothing by the parent’s assurance. But commonly in such cases rashness has its recompense, the error being seen when the mischief is incurable, and repentance is useless. Beating, however, must only be for ill-behaviour, not for failure in learning, and it were more than foolish to hide all faults and offences under the name of “not learning.” What would that child be without beating, who even with it can hardly be reclaimed, whose capacity is sufficient, the only hindrance lying in his evil disposition? The aim of our schools is learning; if it fails through negligence, punish the negligence, if by any other wilful fault, punish that fault. Let the teacher make it clear what the punishment is for, and leave as little as possible to the report of the child, who will always make the best of his own case, and will be sooner believed than even the best master, especially if his mother be his counsellor, or if his father be inconstant and without judgment.

The schoolmaster must therefore have a list made out of school faults, beginning with moral offences, such as swearing, disobedience, lying, stealing, and bearing false witness, and including also minor breaches of discipline, such as truancy and unpunctuality. To each of these should be apportioned a certain number of stripes, not many but unchangeable. The master should also try to secure that the fault should be confessed, if possible, without compulsion, and the boy clearly convicted by the verdict of his schoolfellows. For otherwise children will dispute the matter vigorously, relying on credulity and partiality at home. If any of their companions be appointed monitors—and such help must be had where the master cannot always be present himself—and take them napping, they will allege spite or some private grudge. And if the master use correction, to support the authority of his lieutenants, the culprit will complain at home that he hath been beaten without cause. If the master postpone punishment, the delay will serve them to devise some way of escape, in which they can count upon home support.

To tell tales out of school, which in olden times was held to be high treason, is now commonly practised in an unworthy way. There are so many petty stratagems and devices that boys will use to save themselves that the master must be very circumspect, and leave no appearance of impunity where a penalty is really deserved. It were indeed some loss of time for learning to spend any in beating if it did not seem to make for the improvement of manners and conduct. It is passing hard to reclaim a boy in whom long impunity hath grafted a careless security, or rather a sturdy insolence; and yet friends will urge that the boy should not be beaten for fear of discouraging him, though they will have cause to regret this afterwards. It is also not good after any correction to let children dwell too long on the pain they have suffered, lest it cause too much resentment, unless the parents are wise and steadfast; and indeed that child is happy who has such parents, and who lights as well on a skilful and discreet master who acts in harmony with them. “But certainly it is most true, whatever plausible arguments may be used in a contrary sense, that the determined master who can use the rod discreetly, though he may displease some who think all punishment indiscreet when it falls on their own children, doth perform his duty best, and will always bring up the best scholars. No master of any force of character can do other than well, where the parents follow the same treatment at home which the teacher does at school, and if they disapprove of anything, will rather make a complaint to the master privately than condole with their child openly, and in so doing bring about more mischief in one direction than they can do good in any other. The same faults must be faults at home which are faults at school, and must be followed by the same consequences in both places, so that the child’s good may be considered continuously as well in correction as in commendation.”

Those who write most strongly in favour of gentleness in education reserve a place for the rod, and we who frankly face the need for severity on occasion, recommend teachers to use courtesy towards their pupils whenever it is possible. The difference is that they seem to make much of courtesy, but are forced by the position to confess the need for the rod, while we, though accepting the necessity openly, are yet more inclined to gentleness than those who make greater professions in their desire to curry favour. I would rather hazard the reproach of being a severe master in making a boy learn what may afterwards be of service to him, even though he be negligent and unwilling at the time, than that he should lack any advantage when he is older, because I failed to make him learn, owing to my vain desire to be considered a courteous teacher. A schoolmaster, if he be really wise, will either prevent his pupils from committing faults, or when they are committed, will turn the matter to the best account, but in any case he must have full discretion given to him to use severity or gentleness as he thinks best, without any appeal. But I do think gentleness and courtesy towards children more needful than beating. I have myself had thousands of pupils passing through my hands whom I never beat, because they needed it not; but if the rod had not been in sight to assure them of punishment if they acted amiss, they might have deserved it. Yet in regard to those who came next to the best, I found that I would have done better if I had used more correction and less gentleness, after carelessness had got head in them. Wherefore, I must needs say that where numbers have to be dealt with, the rod ought to rule, and even where there are few, it ought to be seen, however hard this may sound. But the master must always have a fatherly affection even for the most unsatisfactory boy, and must look upon the school as a place of amendment, where failures are bound to occur.

Condition of Teachers.

Where the salary is sufficient, it is well for a schoolmaster to be married, for affection towards his own children will give him a more fatherly feeling towards others, and smallness of salary will make a single man remove sooner, as he has less to carry with him. An older teacher should be more fit to govern, being more constant and free from the levity of youth, and owing to the discretion and learning which years should bring with them.

When all is done, the poor teacher must be subject to as much as the sun is, in having to shine upon all, and see much more than he can amend. His life is arduous, and therefore he should be pitied; it is clearly useful, and therefore he should be cherished; it wrestles with unthankfulness above all measure, and therefore he should be comforted with all encouragement. One displeased parent will do more harm in taking offence at some trifle, than a thousand of the most grateful will ever do good, though it be never so well deserved. Such small recompense is given for the greater pains, the very acquaintance dying out when the child leaves the school, though with confessed credit and manifest profit. But what calling is there which has not to combat with discourtesies? Patience must comfort when difficulty discourageth, and a resolute mind is a bulwark to itself.

Consultation about Children.

Of all the means devised by policy and reflection to further the upbringing of children, as regards either learning or good habits, I see none comparable to these two—conference among all those who are interested in seeing children well brought up, and systematic constancy in carrying out what is so planned by general agreement, so that there shall be no changes except where circumstances demand it.

The conference of those interested in the upbringing of children may be of four kinds—between parents and neighbours, between teachers and neighbours, between parents and teachers, and between teachers and teachers. Under the term “neighbours” I include all strangers who are moved either by duty or courtesy to help in the training of children. Now if parents are willing to take counsel with such, they may learn by the experience of others how to deal with their own families. If neighbours are willing to give advice to parents when they notice anything amiss in their children, is it not honourable in them to act so honestly? And does it not show wisdom in parents to take it in a friendly spirit? And are not these children fortunate who have such solicitous helpers among their friends, and such considerate listeners at home.

This consultation may be between the neighbour and the teacher. In this the teacher must act very warily, for he has to consider what credit he may give to the informer, how far the scholar is capable of amendment, and how the parents will look at the matter. When the parent is dealing with his own child, either from his own knowledge or from accepted report, his judgment is life or death, without appeal, but when the teacher takes this office on him many objections may be made. ‘Why did you believe? Why did he meddle? Why did you act in this way?’ But if such consultation be wisely handled by all concerned, it will be a great advantage to the child to be made to feel that, wherever he is and whatever he does, if anyone sees him, his parent or his master, or both together, will also see him through the eyes of others.

As for consultation between parents and teachers, I have already said much on this head, but it is such an important matter that I can never say too much about it, because their friendly and faithful co-operation brings about perpetual obedience in the child, scorn of evil, and desire to do well. Nothing hinders this so much as credulity and partiality in the parents, when they are unable to withstand their children’s tears and pleading against some deserved punishment. Though the parents may at the time gain their point, they will find in the end that they cannot have their own will as they would like. Such consultation is of special value when the child is leaving school to proceed onward to further learning, and when there is a question of changing masters owing to some fancied grievance. In the former case, the parent by seeking the teacher’s advice can be surer of his ground. In the latter case, it may prevent loss to the child through misunderstanding. You are offended with the master, but have you conferred with him, and explained to him openly the cause of your dissatisfaction? Have you made quite sure that the fault is not in your son, or in yourself? If the master be wise, and if he hath been advisedly chosen, though he should chance to have erred, he will know how to make amends; if he be not wise, then the consultation will help to show him up, and make it certain how much trust can be put in him. I must needs say once for all that there is no public or private means that makes so much for the good upbringing of children as this conference between parents and teachers.

The last kind of consultation that I recommend is that among the members of the teaching profession, which has a good influence on education generally. Can any single person, or even a few, however skilful they may be, see the truth as clearly as a number can, in common consultation? Even in matters not concerned with learning such conference is found profitable, and where it is practised among teachers for the common good, it may have the advantage of giving forth a unanimous opinion to the public. In places where there are a number of schools within a small compass, this kind of conference can be easily secured and is very desirable.

Systematic Direction.

The next condition of good upbringing is the best offspring of wise conferences, namely, certainty of direction, indicating what to do and what to learn, how to do and how to learn, when and where to do that which refines the behaviour, and to learn that which advanceth knowledge. For children, being themselves ignorant, must have system to direct them, and trainers must not devise something new every day, but should at once make definitely known what they will require from the children, and what the children may look for at their hands. This systematic regularity must be laid down and maintained in schools for learning, in the home for behaviour, and in churches for religion, because these three places are the chief resorts that children have.

In schooling it assureth the parents as to what is promised there, and how far it is likely to be performed, by informing them of the method and orders that are set down; it directeth the children as by a well-trodden path, how to come to where their journey lieth; it relieveth the master’s mind by putting his meaning and wishes into writing, and giving the results of experience in a form that can be followed as by habit without constant renewal.

As for regularity at home, I have already urged it, in wishing that parents would act so in the home that there may be conformity between their management and that of the school. By this means neither would schools have cause to complain of infection from private corruption, nor would they easily send any misdemeanour home, since the child would be sure to be sharply checked by its parents for any ill-doing. There should be the utmost regularity for children in the home, deciding for them when to rise and when to go to bed, when and how to say their morning and evening prayers, when and how to greet their parents night and morning, on leaving and on entering the house, at meat and on other occasions. Obedience to the prince and to the laws is securely grounded when private houses are so well ordered; there is little need for preaching when private training is so carefully carried out.

Regularity and order are equally needful for children when they attend the churches on holidays and festivals. All the young ones of the parish should be placed in a particular part of the church, where they can be properly supervised, none being suffered to range through the streets on any pretence, and all being in the eye of the parents and parishioners. They must further be attentive to the divine service and learn betimes to reverence the rule they will afterwards have to live by. Regularity brings present pleasure and much advantage later on, and he that is acquainted with discipline in his youth will think himself in exile if he find it not in old age. Whoever perceives and deplores the present variety in schooling, the disorder in families, and the dissoluteness in the church, will think I have not said amiss.

Yet this systematic regularity is not to be so rigid that it will not yield to discretion where a change in the circumstances demands it. As now our teaching consisteth in tongues, if some other thing at a future time seems fitter for the State, it must be adopted and given its proper place. But in making changes it is well to alter by degrees, and not overturn everything all at once. Unfortunately human nature is readier to receive a number of corrupting influences than to take pains to lessen a single evil by degrees.

Thus bold have I been with you, my good and courteous fellow-countrymen, in taking up your time with a multitude of words, whose force I know not, but whose purpose hath been to show how, in my opinion, the present great variety in teaching may be reduced to some uniformity. I have given free expression to my opinions, not because I am greatly dissatisfied with what we have, but because I often wish for what we have not, as something much better, and the rather to be wished because it might be so easily attained. I might have set forth my principles in aphoristic form, leaving commentary and recommendation to experience and time, but in the first place I do not deserve so much credit that my bare word should stand for a warrant, and in the second place I was unwilling to alienate by precise brevity those whom I might win over by argument. Wherefore I have written on all the various points enough, I think, for any reader who will be content with reason,—too much, I fear, for so evident a matter, as I believe these principles cannot be substantially contradicted. For I have grounded them upon reading, and some reasonable experience, and have applied them to the circumstances of this country, without attempting to enforce any foreign or strange device. Moreover I have tried to leaven them with common-sense, in which long teaching hath left me not entirely deficient. I do not take upon me, dictator-like, to pronounce peremptorily, but in the way of counsel to say what I have learned by long teaching, by reading somewhat, and observing more; and I must pray my fellow-countrymen so to understand me, for having been urged these many years by some of my friends to publish something, and never hitherto having ventured into print, I might seem to have let the reins of modesty run loose, if at my first attempt I should seem like a Caesar to offer to make laws. Howbeit, my years beginning to decline, and certain of my observations seeming to some folks to crave utterance, I thought it worth the hazard of gaining some men’s favour. My wishes perhaps may seem sometimes to be novelties. Novelties perhaps they are, as all amendments to the thing that needeth redress must be, but at least they are not fantastic, having their seat in the clouds. I am not the only one who has ever wished for change. If my wish were impossible of fulfilment, though it seemed desirable, it would deserve to be denied, but where the thing is both profitable and possible, why should it not be brought about, if wishing may procure it? I wish convenient accommodation for learning and exercise. This does not now exist in every part of the country,—indeed it scarcely exists anywhere as yet. I would not have wished it if there had been any real difficulty in accomplishing it, and it will not come about before the wish is expressed. There is no heresy nor harm in my wishes, which are all for the good and happiness of my country.

The Standard of English Spelling.

Because I take upon me to direct those who teach children to read and write English, and because the reading must needs be such as writing leads to, therefore I will thoroughly examine the whole certainty of our English writing, as far as I am able, because it is a thing both proper to my subject and profitable to my country. For our natural tongue being as beneficial to us for our needful expression as any other is to the people who use it, and having as pretty and fair phrases in it, and being as ready to yield to any rule of art as any other, why should I not take some pains to find out the correct writing of ours, as men have done in other countries with theirs? And so much the rather because it is asserted that the writing of it is exceedingly uncertain, and can scarcely be rescued from extreme confusion without some extreme measure. I mean, therefore, to deal with it in such a way that I may wipe away the opinion that it is either uncertain and confused or incapable of direction, so that both native English people may have some secure place to rest in, and strangers who desire it may have some certain means of learning the language. For the performance of this task, and for my own better guidance, I will first examine the means by which other tongues of most sacred antiquity have been brought to artistic form and discipline for their correct writing, to the end that by following their way I may hit upon their method, and at the least by their example may devise some means corresponding to theirs, where the custom of our tongue and the nature of our speech will not admit of the same course being exactly followed. That being done, I will try all the variety of our present writing, and reduce the uncertain force of all our letters to as much certainty as any writing can attain.

I begin at the subject of correct writing, because reading, which is the first elementary study, must be directed both in precept and practice according to the way that the thing which is to be read is written or printed. And considering that the correct writing of our tongue is still in question, some, who are too far in advance, esteeming it quite unfit, some, who are too far behind, thinking it perfect enough, some, who have the soundest opinion, judging it to be on the whole well appointed, though in certain particulars requiring to be improved, is it not a very necessary labour to fix the writing, so that the reading may be sure? Now, in examining the correct method of our writing, I begin at that which the learned tongues used, to find out what was right for themselves, when they were in the same position in which ours now is. For all tongues keep one and the same rule for their main development, though each has its special features. In this way I shall be able to answer all those objections which charge our writing with either insufficiency or confusion, and also to examine, as by a sure touchstone, all the other supplements which have been devised heretofore to help our writing, by either altering the old characters, or devising some new, or increasing their number. For if the other tongues that have been so highly esteemed, when they were subject to, and charged with, these same supposed wants with which our writing is now burdened, delivered themselves by other means than either altering, or superseding, or increasing their characters, and made use of their own material, why should we seek means that are strange and not in keeping with our language when we have such a pattern to perfect our writing by so well-warranted a precedent? That the finest tongue was once quite rude is proved by the very course of nature, which proceeds from weakness to strength, from imperfection to perfection, from a low degree to a high dignity. What means, then, did those languages use, which have won the opinion of being correctly written, to come by the method that produced that opinion? There are two considerations in regard to speech concerning the way that has been followed in its refining. For if we look into the first degree of refining, before which no tongue at all had any beauty in the pen, we have to consider how the very first language proceeded from her first rudeness to her fullest perfection. Again, we have to consider how other secondary languages have improved and purified themselves by following the same method as that used by the primitive tongue.

But I desire to be warranted by them both, that is, to follow the first refiners and also the second improvers in this course, which, as far as I know, no man has yet kept in this subject, though several have written orthographies. And my opinion is, that it best beseems a scholar to proceed by art to any recovery from the claws of ignorance. Therefore, I will examine, even from the very root, how and by what degrees the very first tongue seems to have come by her perfection in writing, and what means were taken to continue that perfection, ever since the time that any tongue was perfected. Consideration, however, must always be had to the special peculiarities of any particular tongue, as these cannot be comprised under a general precept along with any other tongue, but must be treated as exceptions to the common rule. And yet even these particular features are not omitted in the general method of the first refining, and thus it is commended to us by means of translations, which come in the third degree, and refine after the first, by following the intervening process. Now, in this long passage from the first condition of extreme rudeness to the last neatness of finished skill, I will name three stages, each naturally succeeding the other, where the reader’s understanding may alight and go on foot, if it be wearied with riding. The first stage is while the sound alone bore sway in writing. The second is while consent in use removed authority from sound alone to the joint rule of reason, custom, and sound. The third, which is now in progress, is while reason and custom secure their own joint government with sound by means of art. For as sound, like a restrained but not banished Tarquinius, desiring to be restored to his first sole monarchy, and finding supporters only in the province of sound, sought to make a tumult among the writers, ever after that reason and custom were joined with him in commission. I will, therefore, first deal with the government in writing which was under sound, when everything was written according to the sound, though that stage came to an end long ago.

I should begin too far back in seeking out the ground of correct writing, if I should enquire either who devised letters first, or who wrote first,—a thing as uncertain to be known as it would be fruitless if it were known. For what certainty can there be of so old a thing, or what profit can arise from knowing one man’s name, even if one were the founder, which can scarcely be? For though he be honoured for the fruit of his invention, yet his authority would do small good, seeing that the matter in question is to be confirmed not by the credit of the inventor, who dwells we know not where, but by the user’s profit, which everyone feels. And therefore as they who devised the thing first (for it was the invention of no one man, nor of any one age), did a marvellously good turn to all their posterity, so we, as their posterity, must think well of the inventors, and must judge that pure necessity was the foundress of letters, and of all writing, as it has been the only general breeder of all things that better our life, need and want forcing men’s wits to seek for such helps. For as the tongue conveyed speech no further than to those that were within hearing, and the necessity of communication often arose between persons who were further off, a device was made to serve the eye afar off by the means of letters, as nature satisfied the ear close at hand by the use of speech. For the handing down of learning by the pen to posterity was not the first cause of finding out letters, but an excellent use perceived to be in them to serve for perpetuity a great while after they had been found by necessity. The letters being thus found out in order to serve a needful turn, took the force of expressing every distinct sound in the voice, not by themselves or any virtue in their form (for what likeness or affinity has the form of any letter in its own nature to the force or sound in a man’s voice?) but only by consent of the men who first invented them, and the happy use of them perceived by those who first received them.

Hereupon in the first writing the sound alone led the pen, and every word was written with the letters that the sound commanded, because the letters were invented to express sounds. Then for the correct manner of writing, who was sovereign and judge but sound alone? Who gave sentence of pen, ink, and paper, but sound alone? Then everyone, however unskilful, was partaker in the authority of that government by sound. And there was good reason why sound should rule alone, and all those have a share in the government of sound, who were able even to make a sound. In those days, all the arguments that cleave so firmly to the prerogative of sound, and plead so greatly for his interest, in the setting down of letters, were esteemed most highly, as being most agreeable to the time, and most serviceable to the State. But afterwards when sound upon sufficient cause was deposed from his monarchy, as being no fit person to rule the pen alone, and had others joined with him in the same commission, who were of as good countenance as he, though not meant to act without him, then their credit was not at all so absolute, though reasonably good still. This any well-advised supporters of sound may well perceive, and be well content with, if they will but mark the restriction in the authority of sound, and its causes. For as great inconveniences followed, and the writing itself proved more false than true, when the pen set down the form that the ear suggested to answer a particular sound, and as the sound itself was too imperious, without mercy or forgiveness whatever justification the contrary side had, men of good understanding, who perceived and disliked this imperiousness of sound, which was maintained with great uncertainty,—nay rather with confusion than assurance of right,—assembled themselves together to confer upon a matter of such general interest, and in the end, after resolute and ripe deliberation, presented themselves before sound, using the following arguments to modify his humour, but seeking rather to persuade than compel:

That it would please him to take their speech in good part, considering that it concerned not their private good, but the general interest of the whole province of writing: That he would call to his remembrance the reasons which moved them at the first to give him alone the authority over the pen, as one whom they then thought most fit for such a government, and indeed most fit to govern alone: That they now perceived, not any fault in him, for using like a prince what was his peculiar right, granted by their own commission, but an oversight in themselves in unadvisedly overcharging him with an estate which he could not rule alone without a sacrifice of his honour, whereof they were as tender as of their own souls: That their request therefore unto him was not to think more of his own private honour than of the good of the whole province: That they might with his good leave amend their own error, which however it concerned his person yet should not affect his credit, the fault being theirs in their first choice.

They paused a little while, before they uttered the main cause of their motion, for they noticed that sound began to change colour, and was half ready to swoon. For the fellow is passionate, tyrannous in authority but timorous.

Howbeit, seeing that the common good urged them to speech, they went on, and told him in plain terms that he must be content to refer himself to order, and so much the rather because their meaning was not to seek either his deprivation or his resignation, but to urge him to qualify his government, and make use of a further council which they meant to join with him, as a thing likely to bear great fruit, and of good example in many such cases, since even great potentates and princes, for the general weal of their states, were very well content, upon humble suit made to them, to admit such a council, and use it in affairs: That the reasons which moved them to make this suit, and might also move him to admit the same, were of great importance: That because letters were first found only to express him, therefore they had given him alone the whole government therein, and were well contented with it, until they had espied, not his misgovernment, but their own mischoice: That the bare and primitive inventions, being but rude, and being ruled accordingly, and experience at the time affording no more growth in refinement, why should they not now yield to refinement, upon better cause, what they yielded to rudeness from mere necessity? That no man having any sense of the correctness in writing that is commended by experience would yield the direction to sound alone, which is always altering, and differs according as either the pronouncer is ignorant or learned, or the parts that pronounce are of clear or stop delivery, or as the ear itself has judgment to discern: That considering these defects, which crave reform, and the letter itself, which desires some assurance of her own use, it might stand with his good pleasure to admit to his council two grave and great personages, whom they had long thought of, and through whose assistance he might the better govern the province of the pen.

Since they praised the parties so much, he desired their names. They answered—Reason, to consider what will be most agreeable upon sufficient cause, and Custom, to confirm by experience and proof what Reason would like best, and yet not to do anything without conference with sound.

The personages pleased him for their own worthiness, but the very thing that recommended them to him for their own value made him dislike them for the danger to himself. For is not either reason or custom, if it please them to aspire, more likely to rule the pen than sound? said he to himself. Howbeit, after they had charged his conscience with all those reasons in one throng, which they had used individually before, urging that it were no dishonour to yield a little to those who had given him his whole rule: That they might have leave to amend their own error in overcharging him: That though they seemed to lower his rank, yet they did not seek to defraud him of his own: That the wrongs done to writing, which they indicated to him were matters worthy of redress: That the councillors whom they appointed were honourable and honest: That the common benefit of the whole province of writing earnestly sued for it, and they were very well assured that so good a father as he was to that poor estate would never be unwilling, but rather voluntarily condescend without any request, that he might not be half dishonoured in delaying the request from not knowing the grievances. After they had pressed him so closely, though he was very loth, after being once a sole monarch, to become almost a private person by admitting controllers, as it seemed to him, rather than councillors, as they meant, yet perceiving that their power was such that they might force him to grant what they begged of him if he should try to make terms with them, he was content to yield, though with some show of discontent in his very countenance, and to admit Reason and Custom as his fellow-governors in the correct method of writing.

For in very deed wise and learned people, whatever they may lend ignorance to play with for a time, reserve to themselves judgment and authority to exercise control, when they see unskilfulness play the fool too much, as in this same quarrel for the alteration of sounds according to a presumptuous rule they had very great reason to do. For as in faces, though every man by nature has two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth, and so forth, yet there is always such diversity in countenances that any two men may easily be distinguished, even if they are as like as the two brothers, the Lacedaemonian princes, of whom Cicero speaks; so likewise in the voice, though in everyone it passes through by one mouth, one throat, one tongue, one barrier of teeth, and so forth, yet it is as different in everyone, as regards the sound, by reason of some diversity in the vocal organs, as the faces are different in form, through some evident distinction in the natural cast of features. And this diversity, though it hinders not the expression of everyone’s mind, is yet too uncertain to rule every man’s pen in setting down letters.

And again, what reason had it to follow every man’s ear, as a master scrivener, and to leave every man’s pen to its own sound, where there were such differences, that they could not agree where the right was, everyone laying claim to it? Again, why should ignorance in any matter be taken for a guide in a case demanding knowledge? Because of the clamour of numbers? That were to make it an affair of popular opinion, whereas the subject is one of special difficulty, requiring wisdom. And therefore if any number, though never so few, deserve to be followed, it were only they who could both speak best, and give the best reason why. But that kind of people were too few at the first to find any place against a popular government, where the ear led the ear, and it was asked why sound should give over his interest, seeing letters were devised to express sound in every one of us, and not merely the fancy of a few wise fellows. And yet when corn was once introduced, acorns grew out of use though a fit enough meat in a hoggish world. For naturally the first serves the turn till the finer and better comes forward. And as something worthily took the place of nothing, so must that something again give place to its better; as sound did something to expel rudeness, though it may not set itself to keep out progress in refinement.

Wise men would stand no longer to that diversity in writing, which necessarily followed, when everyone spelt as his vocal organs fashioned the sound, or as his skill served him, or as his ear could discern. All these means are full of variety, and never in agreement, as appears by the example of whole nations, which cannot sound some letters that others can.

Owing to these discontentments, and by consent of those who could judge and pronounce best, they arrived at a certain and reasonable custom—or rather, truth to say, to a customary reason—which they held for a law, not inadvertently hit on through error and time, but advisedly resolved on by judgment and skill. Nor yet did they, contrary to their promise, deprive sound of all his royalty, which was like that of a dictator before, but they joined reason with him, and custom too, so as to begin then in acknowledged right, and not in corruption after, as a Caesar and a Pompey, to be his colleagues in a triumvirate. From that time forward sound could do much, but not at all so much as before, being many times very justly overruled by his well-advised companions in office. Thus ended the monarchy of sound alone.

We are now come to that government in writing which was under sound, reason and custom jointly, and which proceeded in this way. Reason, as he is naturally the principal director of all the best doings, and not of writing alone, began to play the master, but yet wisely and with great modesty. For considering the disposition of his two companions, first of sound, which the letters were to express in duty, being devised for that purpose, and then of custom, which was to confirm and pave the way to general approval, he established this for a general law in the province of writing—that as the first founders and devisers of the letters used their own liberty, in assigning by voluntary choice a particular character for the eye, to a particular sound in the voice, so it should be lawful for the said founders and their posterity, according as the necessity of their use and the dispatch in their pen did seem to require it, either to increase the number of letters, if the supply seemed not to satisfy the variety in sound, or to apply one and the same letter to diverse uses, if it could be done with some nice distinction, in order to avoid a multitude of characters, as we apply words, which are limited in number, to things which are without limit; and generally, like absolute lords in a tenancy at mere will, to make their own need the test of all letters, of all writing, of all speaking, to chop, to change, to alter, to transfer, to enlarge, to lessen, to make, to mar, to begin, to end, to give authority to this, to take it from that, as they themselves should think good. This decree being penned by reason, both sound and custom at once approved—sound, because there was no remedy, though his heart longed still for his former monarchy, which was now eclipsed; custom, because that served his turn best. For if necessary use and dispatch in the pen could have authority, which was given them in law, by consent of the men who were successors to those that first founded the letter (which were men of the most learned and wisest sort), then were custom indeed, having reason for a friend, and sound no foe, a very great prince in the whole province in both writing and speaking. And good reason why. For custom is not that which men do or speak commonly or most, upon whatsoever occasion, but only that which is grounded at the first upon the best and fittest reason, and is therefore to be used because it is the fittest. If this take place according to the first appointment, then is custom in his right; if not, then abuse in fact seems to usurp upon custom in name. So that I take custom to build upon the cause, and not to make the cause.

After reason had brought both sound to this order, and custom to this authority, then was there nothing admitted in writing but that only, which was signed by all their three hands. If the sound alone served, yet reason and custom must needs confirm sound; if reason must have place, both sound and custom must needs approve reason; if custom would be credited, he could not pass unless both sound supported him and reason ratified him.

During the combined government of these three, the matter of all our precepts that concern writing first grew to strength; then rules were established and exceptions laid down, when reason and custom perceived sufficient cause. But none of all these were as yet commended to art and set down in writing; they were only held in the memory and observation of writers, having sufficient matter to furnish the body of an art, but lacking in method, which came next in place, and joined itself with the other three for this purpose.

All this time, while reason and custom governed the pen as well as sound, the discontented friends of sound never rested, but always sought means to supplant the other two, ever buzzing into ignorant ears the authority of sound and his right to his own expression; and the same errors that troubled the pen while sound alone was the judge, began to creep in again, and cause a new trouble, inasmuch as all of the more ignorant sort were clearly of opinion that the very sternness of sound was simply to be accepted without all exception, though those of learning and wisdom, who had first set up reason and custom as companions to sound, and still continued of the same mind, could very well distinguish usurpation from inheritance, and right from wrong.

Reason therefore, finding by the creeping in of this error both that he himself was being injured by senseless time, and his good custom sorely assailed by counterfeit corruption, perceived the fault to lie in the want of a good notary, and a strong obligation, by which to set in everlasting authority, by right rule and true writing, what he and custom both, by the consent of sound, had continued in use, though not put down in writing. This would ever be in danger of continual revolt from the best to the worst, by the uncertainty of time and the elvishness of error, unless it were set down in writing, and the conditions subscribed by all their consents, for a perpetual evidence against the repiner. For this is the difference between a reasonable custom and an artificial method, that the first does the thing for the second to confirm, and the second confirms by observing the first.

While nothing was set down in writing, sound and his accomplices were in hopes of some recovery, but this hope was cut off when the writings were made, and the conditions settled. The notary who was to cut off all these controversies and breed a perpetual quiet in the matter of writing, was Art, which gathering into one body all those random rules that Custom had beaten out, disposed them so in writing, that everyone knew his own limits, Reason his, Custom his, Sound his. Now when Reason, Custom, and Sound were brought into order, and driven to certainty by the means of art and method, then began the third, the last, and the best assurance in writing.

Art, being herself in place, perceived the direction of the whole tongue to be an infinitely hard task—nay to be scarcely possible in general, considering the diverse properties of the three rulers, reason, custom, and sound, which alter always with time. For what people can be sure of their own tongue any long while? Does not speech alter sometimes for the better, if the State where it is used itself continue and grow to better countenance, either for great learning, or for any other matter, which may help to refine a language? And does it not sometimes change to the more corrupt, if the State where it is used chance to be overthrown, and a master-tongue coming in as conqueror, command both the people, and the people’s speech also? In consideration of this uncertainty, Art betook herself to some one period in the tongue, when it was of most account, and therefore fittest to be made a pattern for others to follow, and pleasantest for herself to work and toil in. Upon this period she bestowed all those notes, which she perceived by observation (the secretary to reason) to be in the common use of speech and pen, either clear in sound, or suitable to reason, or liked by custom, but always supported by them all.

Such a period in the Greek tongue was the time when Demosthenes lived, and that learned race of the father-philosophers: such a period in the Latin tongue was the time when Cicero lived, and those of that age: such a period in the English tongue I take this to be in our own day, both for the pen and for speech.

Art choosing such a period in the primitive tongue, and having all the material gathered into notes, wherewith to set up her whole frame and building of method, distributed them in such a way that there was not any one thing necessary for correct writing, but she had it in writing, saving some particulars which will be always impatient of rule, and make fresh matter for another period in speech; though that which is now made so sure by means of art can never be in danger of any alteration, but will always be held for a precedent to others, being most perfect in itself. For a tongue once enrolled by the benefit of art, and grown to good credit, is established in such assurance that its right cannot be denied, and opposition would be soon espied, however it should wrangle; then it is made a common example for the refining of other languages, which have material for such a method, and desire to be so refined.

This course was kept by the first tongue that ever was refined, from the first invention of any letters, until corruption which had slily crept in, but had been wisely perceived, made a reform necessary. This reform grew again to corruption, in the nature of a relapse, because, though it was soundly made, yet it was not armed with sufficient security against the festering evil of error and corruption. Therefore, when it felt the want of such an assurance, it begged aid from art, which, like a beaten lawyer, handled the matter with such forethought in the penning of his books, that each of those who were in any way interested was taught to know what was his own. Other tongues besides the first to be refined, on marking this current of events, applied the same to their own writing, and were very glad to use the benefit of those men’s labour, who wrestled with the difficulties of sound, error, corruption, and the residue of that ill-humoured tribe.

This original precedent in the first, and transferred pattern in the rest, I mean to follow in finding out our correct English writing, and whether it will prove to be fashioned accordingly and framed like the pattern, shall appear when the thing itself shall come forth in her own natural hue, though in artificial habit.

Before I deal further with this matter, I must examine two principal points in our tongue, of which one is, whether it has material in it for art to build on, because I said that art dealt where she found sufficient matter for her labour. The other is, whether our writing is justly challenged for those infirmities with which it is charged in our time, because I said that this period of our own time seems to be the most perfect period in our English tongue, and that our custom has already beaten out its own rules, ready for the method and framework of art. These two points are necessarily to be considered. For if there be either no material for art owing to the extreme confusion, or if our custom be not yet ripe enough to be reduced to rule, then that perfect period in our tongue is not yet come, and I have entered upon this subject while it is yet too green. However, I hope it will not prove premature, and therefore I will first show that there is in our tongue great and sufficient stuff for art to work upon; then that there is no such infirmity in our writing as is pretended, but that our custom has become fit to receive this framing by art by the method which I have laid down, without any outside help, and by those rules only which may be gathered out of our own ordinary writing.

It must needs be that our English tongue has matter enough in her own writing to direct her own practice, if it be reduced to definite precepts and rules of art. The causes why this has not as yet been thoroughly perceived are the hope and despair of those who have either thought upon it and not dealt with it, or have dealt with it but not rightly thought upon it.

For some, considering the great difficulty which they found to be in the writing of our language, almost every letter being deputed to many and various—even well-nigh contrary—sounds and uses, and almost every word either wanting letters for its necessary sound, or having more than necessity demands, began to despair in the midst of such a confusion of ever finding out any sure direction on which art might be firmly grounded. Perhaps either they did not seek, or did not know how to seek, the right form of method for art to adopt. But whether difficulty in the search, or infirmity in the searchers, gave cause for this, the parties themselves gave over the thing, as in a desperate case, and by not meddling through despair they fail to help the right.

Again some others, bearing a good affection to their natural tongue, and being resolved to burst through the midst of all these difficulties, which offered such resistance, devised a new means, in which they placed their hope of bringing the thing about. Whereupon some of them who were of great place and good learning, set forth in print particular treatises with these newly conceived means, showing how we ought to write, and so to write correctly. But their good hope, by reason of their strange means, had the same result that the despair of the others had, either from their misconceiving the things at first, or from their diffidence at the last.

The causes why their plans did not take effect, and thus in part hindered the thing, by making many think the case more desperate than it really was, were these. The despair of those who thought that the tongue was incapable of any direction, came of a wrong cause, the fault arising indeed not from the thing which they condemned as altogether rude and incapable of rule, but from the parties themselves, who mistook their way. For the thing itself will soon be put into order, though it requires some diligence and careful consideration in him that must find it out. But when a writer takes a wrong principle quite contrary to common practice, where trial must be the touchstone, and practice must confirm the means which he conceives, is it any marvel if the use of a tongue resist such a means, which is not in conformity with it? From this proceeded the despair of hitting aright, because they missed their intention, whereas in reality they should have changed their intention, in order to hit upon the right, which is in the thing and will soon be found out, if it be rightly sought for.

Again, the hope of the others deceived them too quite as much. For they did not consider that whereas common reason and common custom have been long engaged in seeking out their own course, they themselves will be councillors, and will never yield to any private conception, which shall seem evidently either to force them or cross them, in acting as they themselves do, never giving any precept how to write correctly, till they have railed at custom as a most pernicious enemy to truth and right, even in the things where custom has most right, if it has right in any. Therefore when they proceeded in an argument of custom, with the enmity of him who is Lord of the soil, was it any wonder if they failed of their purpose, and hindered the finding out of our correct writing, which must needs be compassed by the consent of custom and the friendship of reason? So in the meantime, while despair deceives the one, and hope beguiles the other, the one missing his way, the other making a foe, and both going astray, they both lose their labour, and hinder the finding out of the best mode of writing, because the true method of finding out such a thing has another course, as I have shown before.

Yet notwithstanding all this, it is very manifest, that the tongue itself has matter in it to furnish out an art, and that the same means which has been used in reducing other tongues to their best form, will serve this of ours, both for generality of precept and for certainty of foundation, as may be easily proved on those four grounds—the antiquity of our tongue, the people’s intelligence, their learning, and their experience. For how can it be but that a tongue which has continued for many hundreds of years not only a tongue, but one of good account, both in speech and pen, should have grown in all that time to some refinement and assurance of itself, by so long and so general a use, the people that have used it being none of the dullest, and labouring continually in all exercises that concern learning, and in all practices that procure experience, either in peace or in war, either in public or private, either at home or abroad?

As for the antiquity of our speech, whether it be measured by the ancient Teutonic, whence it originally comes, or even but by the latest terms which it borrows daily from foreign tongues, either out of pure necessity in new matters, or out of mere bravery to garnish itself with, it cannot be young—unless the German himself be young, who claims a prerogative for the age of his speech, of an infinite prescription; unless the Latin and Greek be young, whose words we enfranchise to our own use, though not always immediately from themselves, but mostly through the Italian, French, and Spanish; unless other tongues, which are neither Greek nor Latin, nor any of the forenamed, from which we have something, as they have from ours, will for company’s sake be content to be young, that ours may not be old. But I am well assured that every one of these will strive for antiquity, and rather grant it to us than forgo it themselves. So that if the very newest words we use savour of great antiquity, and the ground of our speech is most ancient, it must needs then follow that our whole tongue was weaned long ago, as having all her teeth.

As for the importance of our tongue, both in pen and speech, no man will have any doubt who is able to judge what those things are that make any tongue to be of account, which things I take to be three—the authority of the people who speak it, the subject-matter with which the speech deals, and the manifold uses which it serves. For all these three our tongue need not give place to any of her peers.

First, to say something of the people that use the tongue, the English nation has always been of good credit and great estimation, ever since credit and estimation in the course of history came over to this side of the Alps, which appears to be true—even by foreign chronicles (not to use our own in a case that affects ourselves), which would never have said so much of the people if it had been obscure, and unworthy of a perpetual history.

Next, as to the matter with which it deals, whether private or public, it may compare with some others that think very well of themselves. For not to touch upon ordinary affairs of common life, will matters of learning in any kind of argument make a tongue of account? Our nation then, I think, will hardly be proved to have been unlearned at any time, in any kind of learning, not to use any stronger terms. Therefore, having learning by confession of all men, and uttering that learning in their own tongue for their own use, they could not but enrich the tongue, and bring it consideration.

Will matters of war, whether civil or foreign, make a tongue of account? Neighbouring nations will not deny our people to be very warlike, and our own country will confess it, though loth to feel it, both on account of remembering the suffering, and of fearing to gall our friends by vaunting ourselves. Now, in offering material for speech, war is such a breeder that, though it is opposed to learning because it is an enemy to the Muses, yet it dares compare with any department of learning for the multitude of its discourses, though these are not commonly so certain or useful as learned subjects. For war (besides the many grave and serious considerations about it) as sometimes it sends us true reports, either privately in the form of projects and devices that are intended, or publicly in events which are blazed abroad because they have occurred, so mostly it gives out—I dare not say lies, but—very incredible news, because it can hatch these at will, being in no danger of control, and commonly free from witnesses. Every man, moreover, seeks both to praise himself and to harm his enemy, besides procuring some courteous entertainment by telling what is not true to those that love to hear it. All these tales about stratagems and engines of war and many other such things, give matter for speech and occasion for new words, and by making the language so ready, make it of renown.

Will all kinds of trade, and all sorts of traffic, make a tongue of account? If the spreading sea and the spacious land could use any speech, they would both show you where and in how many strange places they have seen our people, and also let you know that they deal in as much, and in as great a variety of matters, as any other people, whether at home or abroad. This is the reason why our tongue serves so many uses, because it is conversant with so many people, and so well acquainted with so many matters, in such various kinds of dealing. Now all this variety of matter and diversity of trade, both make material for our speech, and afford the means of enlarging it. For he who is so practised will utter what he practises in his natural tongue, and if the strangeness of the matter requires it, he who is to utter, will rather than stick in his utterance, use the foreign term, explaining that the people of the country call it so, and by that means make a foreign word an English denizen.

All these reasons concerning the tongue and its importance being put together, not only prove the nation’s exercise in learning, and their practice in other dealings, but seem to infer—to say the least—no base-witted people, because it is not the part of fools to be so learned, so warlike, and so well-practised in affairs. I shall not need to prove any of these positions, either from foreign or home history, as my readers who are strangers will not urge me for them, and those of my own nation will not, I think, gainsay me in them, since they know them to be true, and may use them for their honour.

Therefore I may well conclude my first position, that if use and custom, having the advantage of such length of time to refine our tongue, of so great learning and experience to furnish material for the refining, and of so good intelligence and judgment to direct it, have attained nothing which they refuse to let go in the correct manner of our writing, then our tongue has no certainty to trust to, but writes all at random. But the antecedent is, in my opinion, altogether impossible; therefore the consequent is a great deal more than probable, which is that our tongue has in her own possession very good evidence to prove her own correct writing; and though no man as yet, to judge by any public writing of his, seems to have seen this, yet the tongue itself is ready to show it to anyone who is able to read it, and to judge what evidence is trustworthy in regard to the standard of writing. Therefore, seeing I have proved sufficiently in my own opinion that there is great cause why our tongue should have some good standard in her own writing, and consider myself to have had the sight of that evidence by which such a standard appears most capable of justification, and am not altogether ignorant of how to give a decision upon it, I will do my best, according to the course which I said was kept in the first general refining of any speech, and has also been transferred to every secondary and particular tongue, to set forth some standard for English writing. This I will base upon those notes which I have observed in the tongue itself, the best and finest therein, which by comparison with themselves offer the means of correcting the worse, without either introducing any innovation, as those do who set forth new devices, or mistaking my way, as those do who despair that our tongue can be brought to any certainty without some marvellous foreign help. Thus much for the material fit for art in our tongue; now for the objections which charge it with infirmities.

Those who see imperfections in our tongue either blame certain errors which they allege to be in our writing, or else they will seem to seek its reformation. In pointing out errors they rail at custom as a vile corrupter, and complain of our letters as miserably deficient. In their desire for redress they appeal to sound as the only sovereign and surest leader in the government of writing, and fly to innovation, as the only means of reforming all errors in our writing.

In their quarrel with custom they seek to bring it into general hatred, as a common corrupter of all good things, declaring it to be no marvel if it abuse speech, which in passing through every man’s mouth, and being imitated by every man’s pen, must needs gather much corruption by the way, because the ill are many just as the good are few, and common corruption, which they term custom, is an ill director to find out a right. Hereupon they conclude that, as it seems most probable, so it is most true that the chief errors which have crept into our pen take their beginning from the sole infection of an evil custom, which ought not so much as once to be named, for direction to what is right, in either pen or speech, being so manifestly false, notwithstanding whatever any writers, old or new, can pretend to the contrary. Then they descend to particularities, proving that we sometimes burden our words with too many letters, sometimes pinch them with too few, sometimes misshape them with wrong sounding, sometimes misorder them with wrong placing. And are not these marvellously great causes of discontent with custom, which is the breeder of them? And yet if good writers seem to favour custom, then the case is not so clear as you take it to be, that it is nothing but a hell of most vile corruptions; that it alone infects all good things; that it alone corrupts correct writing. For if it were indeed only this, they would not warrant it, and give it such great credit, as I remember they do. Is there not, then, some error in the name, and may not custom be misconstrued? For certainly these writers, when they speak of custom, mean that rule in conduct and virtuous life in which good men agree, and their consent is what these men term custom, as they call that rule in speaking and writing the custom wherein the most skilful and learned agree. And is it likely that either the honest in act will mislead virtue in living, or the learned will disapprove of correctness in writing? And, again, those honest men who approve of custom in matters of life complain very much of corruption in manners and evil behaviour; and the learned men, who approve of custom in matters of speech and pen, complain very much of error in writing and corruption in speech; and both accuse the majority of people as the leaders to error, and set down the common abuse at the door of the multitude. And therefore it cannot be otherwise but that the double name is what deceives. For those who accuse custom mean false error which counterfeits custom, and is a great captain among the impudent for evil and the ignorant for rashness, and yet has the chief part in directing all. And those who praise custom mean plain truth, which cannot dissemble, which is the companion of the honest in virtue, and of the learned in knowledge, and directs all best. Now will ye see? This mistermed “custom” in the pen is that counterfeit abuse which was the only cause why the monarchy of sound, of which I spoke before, was dissolved, and itself condemned by those wise people who joined reason with sound; and the right custom which writers commend so is that companion of reason which succeeded in its place when the counterfeit was cast out. Now you see the error. So neither do writers approve of such a corruption, nor is custom your opponent, but both writers and custom, as well as you and I will scratch out the eyes of common error, for misusing good things and belying custom. If good things are abused it is by bad people, whose misnamed custom is rightly named error. If words are overcharged with letters, that comes either by the covetousness of those who sell them by lines, or the ignorance of those who, besides pestering them with too many, both weaken them with too few, and wrong them with the change of force and position.