English literature in the rural high school

Abstract

Samuel Johnson averred to his friend, Bennet Langton, that his prodigious knowledge of Latin was the fortunate result of the merciless whippings inflicted Mr. Hunter, a schoolmaster who did not distinguish between ignorance and negligence, but whose punishment, nevertheless, was purposeful: he whipped the unprepared student to save him from the gallows. Ichabod Crane, a much-maligned educator, had his own reasons for sparing your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the rod, and for appeasing justice by inflicting a double portion on some little tough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. This preceptor, likewise, thought only of the efficacy of his punishment: All this he called 'doing his duty their parents.' Now, though it is conceded that a David Copperfield may suffer complete amnesia in the presence of a stern tutor, it is, nevertheless, a fact that the Mr. Murdstones, the Mr. Hunters, and the Mr. Cranes have their place in the field of education: a healthy, intelligent, and lazy student can be completely trained in certain subjects physical punishment, intimidation, or other varieties of third-degree pedagogy. Latin is a subject which can be rather effectively transmitted, reclaimed, and retransmitted this process. Mathematics, to some extent, can be taught in this fashion, most of the modern foreign languages, the formulae of science, certain aspects of history, and English grammar. But English literature (unless the instructor is so dauntless as to announce himself the authority in the field) cannot be taught thus featly and conclusively in the high school. In the university there is no problem. The assiduous student captures the protessor's winged words, identifies them, and, having permitted them to die, shelves them with his permanent collection. When he encounters novelty, he is properly respectful. The dull student captures them if he can, cages, and nurtures them until the semester's end. The gifted student reverences the scholar; the dull student tolerates him. The gifted student tolerates the purveyor; the dull student reverences him. The classroom is, indeed, a happy place. Nor is the teaching of English literature in the city high school the most formidable task imaginable. The city lad has a score of interests, a score of diversions, a limitless variety of ways in which to express himself outside of school. Liking his English instructors, he prepares his work. Disliking them,