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"Flureat Academta,
Mater alma noster pia,
Huicparavius hanc amainus
Ergo fortiter canamus,
Floreat Academta!'
Henry Johnstone.
1846 - 52
At' the Edinburgh Academy, to
which I was sent when I left Circus Place School, I was in my first session
fortunate Dr.Cummmg.who in the following year went to take up a better
appointment, was my preceptor—kindly, just, and inspiring, to whom we boys
looked up with genuine-regard. He could punish as well as others, but no one
ever felt that he got more than he deserved, or that the doctor was working
off his temper, and not doing what he felt to be a duty. His memory is
revered by those who were under him, and for fifty years the few who
remained of his former pupils met annually, and not one had a corner in his
heart from which his old master was excluded. Oh, how different he was to
some others whom I do not name, and of whom I will only say now, that I
believe they did not know how unfit they were to deal with young boys. A
little less learning, and a little more common sense, and our ignorances
would not have made them so frantic, and they would not have inflicted
punishments which were silly. Oh, those nonsensical poems—those orders to
write out three or even five hundred lines; a punishment as practical as the
old prison crank, which was abandoned as being a useless and therefore
demoralising punishment. What better mode could be invented to make a boy
hate classical study than to burden the scholar with a task purely
mechanical, degrading the classics, and of no conceivable utility, forcing
him to use the time when he was expected to be preparing his work for next
day in doing what could not benefit himself or anybody else, and making all
the labours of the writing -master futile, by causing thousands of words to
be scribbled anyhow, at utmost speed of the pen—they could not be written in
a style that would please him. What senseless insult to a poet like Virgil,
to make his beautiful lines an instrument of torture. No better way could be
taken to crush out all prospect of a love of classical literature developing
in youth. This punishment was brought to us from England, along with that
acrne of conceit which ordered the pronunciation of Latin as it was modern
English, an absurdity which it is satisfactory to know is now a thing of the
past. Whether the writing is still considered a sensible and useful
punishment I do not know, but if it' still survives, an old man asks to be
allowed to make his earnest protest, and to beg of those who are over our
grandsons to consider whether something less contrary to good sense cannot
be found as a substitute. Corporal punishment even would be less contrary to
reason, and any plucky boy would rather bear a few "palmies" than be
subjected to so hateful a penalty as scribbling for hours in meaningless
recording of thousands of mere words.
The Academy, which owed us
origin to Lord Cockburn and Leonard Horner, and was encouraged by Sir Walter
Scott and Lord Jeffrey, had established itself well when I first became a
Grit, (if that is the proper way to spell it). Archdeacon Williams was the
Rector, as he had been from the opening. He had given up his post some years
before, but was brought back. His successor had been a certain Dr.
Sheepshanks, who tradition says proved hopeless as a disciplinarian, and had
to retire, probably being glad to go. It may give an idea of the state of
things during his year of office to quote what was retailed to me by an old
Academy boy. An upper class, which was taught by the Rector, had been
directed to write some English verses on the Satires—at leastl presume
theire's were intended. But however that was, a youth wrote, and handed to
the Rector the following:
"The Satyrs of old were Satyrs
of note,
With the head of a man and the legs of a goat;
But the Satyrs of our day all Satyrs surpass,
With the shanks of a sheep and the head of an ass."
The Archdeacon, whom I
remember well, was a kindly man, and popular with us all. He kept up the
dignity of his office, but being no prig, I have seen him when crossing the
yards, if a football came towards him—which happened probably by
intention—run his two or three paces towards it, and with a smile on his
face, put all the momentum of his ponderous form into his kick, drawing a
cheer from all in sight. Ponderous he was, very rotund in build. I can
recall a piece of boys doggerel, quite as good as the nursery nonsense of
"Hey, diddle diddle," and with much more point, and which referred to the
Archdeacon, and named three other masters—the classical, Carmichael
(senior); the mathematical, Gloag; and the writing, Hamilton. It ran thus:
"Fat Punch likes his lunch;
Greasy Gloag likes to flog;
Hairy Hammy likes to pammie;
Caesar, Csesar quod—because
Bowsy Carmichael's lost his tawse."
I have no doubt chat if I had
repeated this flppant verse to my elders, I would have been told that in
their day "boys respected their teachers"; and I have no doubt that many
parents of today would assert with confidence that "our boys" would not do
such a thing as to write Disrespectful lines about their masters at school.
Well, I will only say, I "hae ma doots'' about recollection in the one case,
and about knowledge in the other. Boys will do such things, but they do not
do them with a meaning which is malicious or vindictive, any more than there
is a desire to injurei;n the little mischievous tricks they sometimes
indulge in. In any boy who has real life in him, and an active brain,
something of Puck may be expected to show itself, whether in saying or
doing. If he has any spirit, he cannot be a model of discretion. Let him
have a light rein, and let him frisk a bit; do not hold him a reprobate
because he flings his heels now and again. Keep severe censure for what is
real offence—what is delinquency, as distinguished from exuberance. Let the
former be dealt with firmly. The latter is an effervescence, and wiII pass
away.
Our classes at the Academy
were large—as I feel convimced now, much too large. One teacher of sixty or
seventy boys could neither keep them in his eye to observe their behaviour,
nor give a fair share of aid to each, The result was that the smart, clever,
and more studious boys formed a set by themselves, and a long string farther
down constituted to him what the huntsman would call "a rubbishing tail,"
ministration to whom was a weariless to the flesh and a waste of energy; for
time did not permit that one teacher should really instruct such a number,
or train them for life— not the least part of the schoolmaster is province.
Another evil was that each class advanced to a new course of study as a new
school year came round, and this under the same master, so that only those
could make the second step who had mounted and stood firm upon that of the
previous year, and the teacher only expected these to do him any credit.
thus the start was made with a reversed handicap, Those who had been left
behind in the race were started for the second race over more difficult
ground, some distance behind, at the very commencement. This tended to cause
all struggle to improve to seem hopeless, and the master being the same as
before, could not be expected to provide fresh propulsive power. The
failures of the last session were apt to be accepted as hopelessly out of
the running. It is difficult to see now it could have been otherwise. Boys
were run on from the Delectus to Cresar, from Caesar to Livy, to Virgil, to
Horace, and to Tacitus and Goero, getting through but a fraction of each;
and while still but poor hands at Latin were rushed in Greek to Xenophon and
on to Homer, and even to AEschylus, gaining a loose smattering of the
classics, but in nine cases out of ten receiving no real cultivation, and
remaining quite unable to appreciate the beauties of Horace or the grandeur
of Homer. I can use the words of Lord Cockburn to describe the situation,
when he speaks of the "weariness of sitting six hours a day stairing idly at
a page. ... The beauty of no Roman word, or thought, or action, ever
occurred to me! nor did I ever fancy that Latin was of any use, except to
torture boys." He states that he was "driven stupid." Well may the poet
(Young) speak of
"Petrifying a genius to a
dunce."
I can well recall that the
first time at which I found a real delight in my Horace was when I sat down
to study him, after I was of age, in preparation for my examination for the
Bar. The charm of the Odes was like a revelation to me. What had been
uninteresting when brought to a boy as a task for drudgery, before real
appreciation was possible, became delightfully fascinating when its
qualities disclosed themselves with a new light on them. What was before
something to be got through somehow, had become a source of real pleasure.
How many thousands of boys were in those days turned against classical
literature, by the writers of beautiful works both in prose and poetry of
Rome and of Greece, being associated in their memory with much that was
disagreeable; they being to the young mind not comprehensible, and therefore
unpalatable, and associated with disagreeable inflictions. The mothers who
feed infant children on adults' food—pork sausage and saveloys—are looked
upon as unnatural and cruel. There is a corresponding cruelty in forced
feeding of young boys on literature that is sweet to the palate of the
Oxford graduate who is set to teach, and who loses his temper over their
blunders, and stamps with rage at a false quantity. I well remember at an
examination at the close of the session—when Directors sat at a table
covered with red bake— hearing a fellow-scholar, who was reading from
Horace, say romancte presso. The preceptor made a rush across the room, with
his book clenched, to administer a box on the ear, and shouted: "Oh, you
abominable b—when suddenly realising the occasion, he stopped before the
word "boy was out, and got very red. I am afraid we laughed, and I am not
quite sure that the worthy listening Directors understood the scene, or were
aware of the cause of our suppressed hilarity. How many false quaint ties,
much less excusable, have I had to listen to from men, spoken of as
"learned." I have heard the following. In the House of Commons an honourable
and learned member spoke of a simulacrum of a Bill, and when the laugh
subsided, he indignantly exclaimed, "Well. I suppose I am entitled to
pronounce an English word in any way I like." On another occasion, in the
Court of Session, the words ultrapetita in a Petition had by a blunder been
printed with an "o" instead of an "a" at the end, and the learned counsel
read the phrase ultra petito, to the astonishment of the Bench. Not long
ago, in my own Division, one of the learned told us that a certain thing was
the origo mali in the case. Unius is often a trap for the unwary. A sad case
occurred once, when a youth came up for his preliminary examination as an
intrant for the Bar, he having had no training in the classics, and having
worked up his Laun by personal study, without any tutorial help. What were
the sensations of the examiners, when an Ode being pre-scr bed to him, he
calmly read out: "Eheu, Ehue, fugaces, Posthume, Posthume"!
Of course a false quantity
strikes on the ear as does a false note, and when the reading is of a
poetcal effusion, grates terribly on those who know the rhythm. But is a
young boy deserving of violence, or an order to write out lines in hundreds
because he makes a mistake, when probably his whole thought has been
concentrated on working out grammatical construction and translation, and
the passage has never addressed itself to him rhythmically at all? Do not we
know, too, that quantities in words can alter with general acceptance, and
the new quantity give no offence to the ear? Instances are the word revenue,
which only pedants now call revenue, and balcony, which we are told should
be pronounced balcony, but which a determined public insists successfully on
pronouncing as balcony. I venture to repeat a well-known story of that
sardonic wit, John Clerk of Eldin, who on one occasion in the House of Lords
was pleading the case of a curator bonis, which, according to classical
reading, would be pronounced long, but which had in the course of centuries
come to be pronounced short in Scotland, as being the name of an office in
modern operation. Clerk having spoken of the curator boris, the Lord
Chancellor in pompous tone said: "Curator, I suppose you mean, Mr,. Clerk."
John, without a moment's hesitation, replied: "I'm vera proud to be
correctit in my quantities by such a splendid orator, such a biuliant
legislator, and such a learned senator, as yer lordship," dwelling long on
the "a" in each word.* History does not tell how the great man looked., and
it may safely be guessed that he never told anyone how he felt. But I beg
that it will not be supposed that I suggest that in the actual reading of an
ancient language attention to correct quantity is not called for. It
certainly ;s called for. But when single words have come to be used iin a
modern language, it is pedantry not to pronounce them as accepted custom
prescribes.
Although not exactly apropos,
I ask leave to tell of an incident in which an amusing false quantity
occurred. There sin the "laigh" Parliament House, now part of the Advocates
Library, a very characteristic statue of Walter Scott in his homely dress,
and with his walking-stick between his knees. On the plinth in front the
words are carved: "Sic sedcbat" A party of tourists, walking through the
Iibrary, had their attention called to the statue, at which they gazed in
wonder how so plain a style of man should be honoured by having his carved
image put in a place of distinctlon. One at length said: "'Sic Sedebat,' who
was he now? It is not recorded whether the party came from the United
States. If they did, and had they learned to whom the words Sic sedebat
applied, it's only justice to them to say that they would have been
interested. For, alas, they know their Walter Scott better than do many of
our own race. Forgive me, reader. One story leads to another; the scene not
very far from "Sic sedebat. he placeof John Knox burial in Parliament Square
a marked by a circle enclosing brass letters standing for "John Knox."
A party of Americans being brought into the Square in a cab, the driver
stopped opposite the place, and pointing with his whip, said: "That's where
John Knox is burnt." A voice, with Yankee twang, came from the cab: "Ah,
waal now, who was this John Knox; what did he do that was wonderful, eh? The
cabman was so taken aback that he turned sharp round, with a frown, saying:
"Man! dae ye never read yer Bible?"
In the boys' doggerel which I
quoted above, the words "Greasy Gloag" occurred. The word "greasy" was
inserted for all tertative purposes, as was the expression "hairy" applied
to Mr. Hamilton. Dr. Gloag, to whom the expression "greasy" referred, was a
stout gentleman, but certaily did not earn the word as a fair description.
He taught us arithmetic and mathematics, and he was one of the best teachers
at the Academy. He joined it at the opening, and continued to teach for a
long period of years, with never-flagging energy, and to good effect. He
only failed with those in whose case success was impossible. With a stern
sense of duty, he had a side for humour, whch he only let out occasionally.
The best story told of him relates to an occasion when the Rector,
Archdeacon Williams, came to the classroom on his tour of inspection. Dr.
Gloag stopped the work that was going on, and wrote a proposition on the
blackboard, saying, "Now, boys, let us see how quick you can work that out.'
The whole class took to their
slates, and did their best, but no hand was held up. The Rector banteringly
encouraged them, saying, "Can't you work that out?' in a tone which seemed
to say that he saw the answer. All the while the old doctor stood by with an
inscrutable face. At last he asked, "Do you all give it up?" All did,
whereupon he exclaimed, "No wonder, and seizing the clothjand with a sly
look at the Rector, rubbed the proposition out, adding: "Canna be done,
canna be done." The Rector took it well, and all enjoyed a good laugh except
the old doctor, who kept an expression which seemed to say that he was not
sure whether he ought not to be ashamed of himself.
But the most characteristic
anecdote of Dr. Gloag is one which I must tell at my own expense. Some years
after I left the Academy, and when I was in the conceit of the young man
state, I went down one day to the old school to "visit/' and when I went
into the doctor's class, he came forward most affably to speak to me. He
evidently did not recognise his former pupiI, and I reminded him, saying my
name was Macdonald, and that my brother and I had been under him— naming the
number of years before, thereupon, having been looking down and listening,
he suddenly raised his head, and said, "Oh yes, yes, I remember ye, idle
fallaws that ye were." I have been accused of inventing this story—all I can
say is that I have not consciously concocted it. It is a true epitome of the
man—kind but candid, and with a way of saying such a thing that ;t could not
offend.
Dr. Gloag's reputation as a
teacher is beyond cavil, seeing that two such really great men as Clerk
Maxwell and Peter Guthrie Tait entered their student life well grounded by
him. Their truly brilliant careers had their foundation laid sound and
strong by him at the Academy.
When Archdeacon Williams
finally left the Academy, he was succeeded by the Rev. Dr. Hannah, a kindly
and refined gentleman, who earned the respect of all and the affection of
many. He was still Rector when I left the school. During all my time it was
managed on strict classical lines. Other things than Latin and Greek were of
little account. German, French, English, had their odd hours here and there,
but there always was a sort of feeling among us that they were but of little
consequence, and as to obtaining a real grasp of any of the languages, that
was a thing impossible. Many a boy who could not write a grammatical letter
in his own tongue, and without a proportion of misspelt words, was being
required to write Latin Hexameters and Pentameters, and to master Greek
plays, The idea then was that if a boy was to be fitted for life, he must be
well steeped in the dead languages. But splendid men came out of the
"rubbishing tail,' and many who were at the head, or near it, never made any
mark in life at all.
I do not say this to
encourage idleness, but only to encourage parents and teachers to realise
that it is not to be expected that all boys will be students—earnest
students—of what is prescribed to them as "lessons," and not to cast them
off in despair, telling them that they will never do any good in this world.
On the other hand, by all means, if a boy develops a taste for classics,
encourage him to advance in classical knowledge; but act with judgment in
not forcing such study to a point that throws a lad back in the preparation
for the business of life who cannot ever take a high professional position
in classics. The child was the father of the man in such a case as Lord
Cockburn's, although he once sat booby.
Speaking of schoolboys, in
regard specially to school itself, one thing I can say with certainty that I
am speaking truth. Although no doubt we acquired some knowledge, we often
learned also that while we were expected to exercise self-control and not to
d splay temper, we sometimes got little help towards such a condition of
virtue from teachers. In some cases I can remember displays of what can only
be described as being of most example to young boys, o see a learned
pedagogue, whom we were called on to look up to and to respect, stamping on
the floor, tearing his hair, while he shouted: "Oh, these boys, these boys,
these wretched boys," could scarcely tend to aid his pupils in acquiring
self-control and patience. To see a book flung from one side of the room to
the other so violently that it flew out of the binding, formed a not very
desirable lesson for youth. I purposely avoid to mention at what school or
time these things took place, as I do not desire to identify them with
individuals. "Nil nisi bonum is the true maxim for report on an individual
who has passed away. I would fain impress on those who teach, that know)
edge s not the sole end of school life, and that moral influence is of the
essence of good training, such influence being unattainable if the teacher
cannot command himself, and that he commits a moral wrong when he allows his
learnedness to make him forget himself, because the pupils' ignorance
offends against his superior knowledge.
I shall allow myself to say
that it did not appear to me in my youth, and does not appear to me now,
that it is sufficiently realised that the possession of great learning is
not necessarily accompanied by a capacity to teach, especially in the case
of the teaching of the young. It is often rather a disqualification. For the
very learned person is too often tempted to treat the pupil as if his little
half-pint bottle could be made to take in what his own magnum measure can
contain easily, and is impatient at mistakes, quite pardonable in the pupil,
but which grate on his finely polished classical surface. It would be well
if Lord Cockburn's terse remark were considered when he says, "No mistake is
more usual than that of supposing that the power of acquiring, and that of
communicating knowledge, is the same."
Too often the very learned
person is the most unfit to be a teacher of the young, and too often the
less learned, but capable of imparting what he has, will benefit the child
and fit him to go on, when the very erudite individual would leave most of
his pupils hopelessly behind. The higher class training is best prepared for
by a teacher who will not hurry the pupil on to what he is not fit to cope
with, or even to appreciate.
Unlike the Circus Place
School, we had "the Yards" to play in at the Academy, an expanse of loose
gravel, the marks of falls on which I still bear upon my knees. But no
provision was made for games of any kind. We played Prisoners Bars, and a
game on the same principle as hockey, which was called "hails," driving a
small ball with a "claken," a short round-ended bat, which I despair of
being able to describe clearly. The game was a good one, and was an Academy
game, known nowhere else. I understand that in the upper school it has not
survived the day of cricket and football fields, and I am sorry,, Football
was also played, the inside of the ball being a common bladder, which soon
pushed its way through the holes quickly made in the cover by the stones
over which we played, not without spreading a scent. It was not a game of
much elaboration, but it was vigorously engaged in and enjoyed. "Fives' we
played with our "clakens" against the walls, and when summer came round,
cricket was played with balls covered wi'th thick coarse leather to
withstand the stones. As a substitute for stumps we chalked the size of a
proper wicket upon the wall, and the chalk acted as umpire. The batsman was
out when there was a chalk mark on the ball.
Such were our sports. How
different from today, when the Academy boys disport themselves in costume
two great fields, each with its pavilion, with lavatory and even baths.
Professional cricketers keep the grounds, and coach the players. Football
matches and cricket matches are played every week during their respective
seasons, and annual games on a large scale—with challenge cups and prize
cups—intervene between the winter and the summer seasons. What a contrast to
our sports in the Forties! A day's cricket was only to be got in a corner of
the then Grange field at Grove Street beside the Caledonian Railway, the
professional coming round and extracting two pence from each of us for the
privilege. I daresay we in our way enjoyed ourselves. The advantages we had
were few, but we were not discontented, as we knew of nothing better. The
boy of to-day has much cause to be grateful for all that is done for him.
There is another department
in which much has been done to improve matters, and it is one in which
there, was great call for change, not for pleasure or for luxury, but for
proper comfort, and still more for health. In my Academy days the
arrangements were, from a hygienic point of view, so bad as to be
unspeakable. Some of them I refrain from describing. But one will give an
idea of how little health questions were considered in connection with
schools. In a place where about four hundred boys were confined for six
hours, and where thirst was promoted by hails and fives and football, and in
the summer months by cricket, the only means of obtaining a drink of water
were discreditable. Within the window of the janitor's lodge a common tin
pail was placed on a stool, and two tin mugs were hung in the water by
hooked ears attached to them. Each boy after he drank returned the mug into
the remaining water, and when the pail was nearly empty, the janitor's wife
poured more water on the top of what was left. I doubt whether that pail was
ever cleaned during the whole of a term. Thus the tin mugs, to which two to
three hundred had applied their lips, were each time washed by being
re-plunged into the water, and that water left in the pail to be drunk by
the next comers. If such an arrangement were made at an ordinary Board
School to-day, Indignant Parent" and "Distressed Mother" would send letters
to the newspapers, and the School Board would be denounced in no measured
terms in leaderettes. But in the Forties such an insanitary arrangement
created no remark. The day of the microbe was not yet, and we were expected
to drink the washings of hundreds of lips, although catarrh and consumption
bacillicae. &c., might be floating in the polluted contents of our
refreshment (!) pail. It could not be called cleanly, and it certainly was
not sanitary. |
