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The play way; an essay in educational met

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THE PLAY WAY

THE PLAY WAY

AN ESSAY IN EDUCATIONAL METHOD

BY

H. CALDWELL COOK, M.A. Oxon.

PLAYBOYS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
[After Corbould

NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

The satisfaction felt in returning to schools and scholars after
more than three years in a somewhat uncongenial emplojmnent
has not in any sense altered my desire to help in effecting a
lively reform in these quiet and studious places. I feel the
classroom stuffier than ever, the autocracy of the pedant more
imbearable, the process of spoon-feeding more repugnant ;
and have received, on the other hand, a full confirmation of the
doctrine of self-responsibility and the driving-power of interest.
The methods of instruction even in the army have developed
noticeably in the direction of the Play Way, and the old bulljang
style of the barrack square is giving place to common-sense
training based on the pupils' interest, and using as a medium
games and the acting of what is to be learnt.

Now that the social revolution spoken of above is in every
man's mouth as " Reconstruction," let us see to it that the
fight for liberty (for the peoples have found this outstanding
principle through all complexities) is not rendered tragically
unavailing by our incapacity rightly to interpret the freedom
won. And just as in affairs of State it will be found that we
must temporarily readjust our old life to the new conditions
before imdertaking this wholesale " Reconstruction," so let us
realize in the schools that before we can attain to a complete
all-roimd scheme of natural education in self-governing com-
munities we must undergo a transition stage of " partial
liberation from the classroom." To demonstrate how this
may be undertaken is the purpose and scope of this book.

H. CALDWELL COOK
London, January 1918

vii

PREFACE

This book sets forth some ideas and practical suggestions on
educational method which it is hoped may prove helpful to
those teachers who have not shut their minds against proposals
for reform. The whole conception of the Play Way is the
outcome of original thought and fancy. But if most of the
practices recommended, and all the ideas upon which that
practice is foimded, can be traced to known influences and
matched in the past history of education, then so much the
better for the Play Way. For we must keep in touch with
tradition. The only originality claimed is a fresh realization
of the oldest truths,

Though not unmindful of the great influence which the

present war must exert upon education, I have intentionally

abstained from attempting to draw any conclusions from the

current upheaval, partly because what is here written was

conceived before the war broke out, but chiefly because it is

as yet too early to speak confidently of the results for education

which it will bring. Many thoughtful people claim to discern

a conflict of principle in this war and they are much to be envied

their belief. The issue is very complex, but it is certain at

any rate that the war, with all the sacrifice it involves and all

the nobility it has awakened, is being considered by those who

rule our rulers as a commercial transaction on a consununate

scale. It is the biggest business deal on record. All the ideal

aspects of this world commotion, the liberation, the choice of

rule and the renewal of spiritual activity in the life of the peoples

will still remain to be undertaken by idealists and workers after

the military operations have ceased. A social revolution of

some kind will be necessary in England after the declaration

of peace on the Continent ; for, even supposing some fair principle

ix

PREFACE

established by force of arms, it has still to be •wrought into a
living practice by right education and good government. For
many of us the greater war is yet to come. In any case we are
still only at the very beginning of the changes which this genera-
tion will see. The reader will understand, therefore, why I
have not allowed any thoughts upon the meaning of the present
unrest to complicate these few simple chapters on schoolmastery.

It was originally intended to include three further chapters,
on Prose and Verse Composition respectively, and a sketch of
the organization of an ideal Play School. But the manuscript
proved too long for one volume and so these chapters have been
removed. The reader, however, who is desirous of stud5dng
the method as applied to Prose and Verse Composition is referred
to the Perse Playbooks.* The Utopian scheme of a Play
School Commonwealth which we hope to see founded before
long in England as a model for all English Schools must remain
to be pictured in another book.

Finally I must ask the reader's indulgence for the discursive
and disordered state in which the argument of this book is
presented. For the past four years I have been intending to
write the book of the Play Way, but have always been deterred
by the magnitude of the task. And now, for fear lest the book
should never be written at all, I have been compelled to make
the best of my case in a great hurry. What should have been
the careful work of years is here offered with an apology as the
work of a few overbusy months, eventually brought to a
conclusion somewhere in France. If the reader will bear this
in mind I will imdertake to requite him hereafter with the
fuller and more reasoned discourse which will be possible in a
more quiet time.

H. CALDWELL COOK

Cambbidge, November 1915

* Perse Playbooks, Nos 1-6. (W. Heffer and Sons, Cambridge.)

NOTE

The most part of a series of articles contributed to the
New Age in 1914 have been incorporated in this book
by permission of the Editor. Certain passages from
the introductions to the Perse Playbooks have also
been included. A few paragraphs from an article con-
tributed to Poetry and Drama have also been used with
the Editor's permission. The photographs of Play-
town were taken by a professional photographer, one
or two pictures of the boys by Mr. H. L. Watkinson,
and the rest by the Author. I am also indebted to
the kindness of Mr. Watkinson for the plan of Play-
town, and to Mr. R. B. Appleton and to Mr. D. S.
Paterson for much assistance in the reading of
manuscript and proofs.

XI

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Pirate Ilond {Coloured) Frontispiece

" The Gods " dictating their Lines after inventing

THE " Rag " Scene in Baldr's Death {Act II, Scene 2) 81

A LlTTLEMAN LECTURING OuT OF DoORS 84

A LlTTLEMAN LECTURING InDOORS 84

Mixed Grill Ilond {Coloured) 100

Gareth Hostel, Green Hill, Upper River and Lock 172

The Market-Place, St. Nicholl's Station, and Castle Hill 172

Adrian's Wharf and the Deep Drop Coal Mine 180

The Capture of St. Nicholl's 180

The Witches and Hecate in " Macbeth " 190

The Three Murderers in " Macbeth " 190

" Anthony : You all do know this mantle " 210

" Marulliis : And do you now put on your best attire " 210

BURD TSBEL VISITS YoUNG BeKIE IN PRISON 248

King Alfred in the Camp of the Danes 248

Gerda and Skirnir 270
" Thus they renisht them to ride

Of two good renisht steeds " 270

Two Shakespearean Servants 308

Macbeth 808

The Murderers in " The Babes in the Wood " 308

Baldr the God of Light 324

HoDR the God of Darkness 324

XV

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

lAOIXG Pi.OB

Thobb the God of Thundeb 330

LoKi THE God of Fiee 330

A Hebald 340

Heney the Fifth 340

Viola 340

A Shakesfeabean Soloieb 340

Plan of Flaytown, 191 A At end of volume

CHAPTER I

GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF THE PLAY WAY

Quickly would I make my path even,
And by mere playing go to heaven.

Henky Vaughan

The natural means of study in youth is play, as any one may
see for himself by watching any child or young animal when it
is left alone. A natural education is by practice, by doing
things, and not by instruction, the hearing how, as you may see
in the flight of a yoimg bird. And telling can only be the
servant of trying, not its substitute. Certainly preliminary
advice and warning might save us from many a sore trial, but we
rarely profit by any experience other than our own. The burnt
child dreads the fire, but the child that has only been warned
is still to be burnt. Therefore wild oats are more approved by
men of the world than moral lectures. But instead of leaving a
child to gain wisdom by painful as well as pleasant experience,
it is well to let him try as much as he can for himself under
guidance. It would not be wise to send a child innocent into
the big world ; and talking is of poor avail. But it is possible
to hold rehearsals, to try our strength in a make-believe big
world. And that is Play.

The main concern in a child's life is that manifold business
understood clearly by him, and dimly by his elders, as Play. He
wakes up in bed even before the dawn, and plots out a fairyland
of play-doings for the day imtil he is allowed to get up. Then
while the fires are still crackling on the wood you can hear him
pattering about the landing or singing on the stairs. Dressing
is a nuisance because it reqiiires his presence in one place for
some twenty minutes ; toys must come to table ; food itself must
fumisb a game. Porridge is an island in a sea of milk, and he

A 1

THE PLAY WAY

would be rather more interested than shocked to find a chicken
in every egg. School, above the kindergarten, is a nuisance
because there is no play, So he lives on throughout the dayhght
hours, playing many parts, as pirate, or king-in-a-crown, or beast
of prey ; in the tree tops, or underground, or sailing merrily on
the salt sea, until that little nightly tragedy of bedtime.

After dark, nurse, however amiable, comes as a fury with
abhorred shears. As an onlooker at the drama I always regard
her coming as the prelude to an affecting finish. She is the
executioner whose summons must be obeyed. Have you not
admired the fortitude with which the little hero — ^though there
are cowards, we know — ^goes on his round of farewell to the
waking world ? Have you not observed that he always carries
an air of detachment, salutes even his mother as though he were
thinking of something else ; and how he looks back from the
door ? However, one shall find upstairs certain friends who can
float in a bath ; and after all

My bed is like a little boat ;

Nurse helps me in -when I embark.
She girds me in my sailor's coat,

And starts me in the dark.

And so to dream.

It must have occurred to every one that since a child's life
under his own direction is conducted all in play, whatever else
we want to interest him in should be carried on in that medium,
or at the very least connected with play as closely as possible.

Why should there stretch such an abyss between the nursery
and the classroom ? Ah, yes, they tell us, but life is not going to
be all a game. They must learn the serious side of things. By
the Ufe of the world ! What could be more serious than child's-
play? I know of nothing so whole-hearted, so thorough, so
natural, so free from stain, so earnest, as the spontaneous playing
of a child. Take a child in the nursery and consider him beside
these grave adults at their concerns. Compare a game of toy
soldiers with the conduct of a campaign. The difference is in
degree and not in kind. Consider whether the little maid in the
day nursery is less engrossed in the care of her doll than the other
maid in the night nursery is in the care of her baby. Do you play
2

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

more fair at politics than we do at ninepins ? And has any man as
much care for the rules of the game in commerce, and as much
respect for his opponents, as he has in cricket ? In the one it
is a question of what he can make, in the other all is subject to
fair play. I tell you that sincere endeavour and honesty of
purpose can only be relied on under conditions that favour their
continuance ! Whether he be paid well or not, so long as a man's
heart is in his work it is well with him and well for the work.
Beyond that we cannot go. The force of extraneous need, or
compulsion of any kind, however necessary it be, blunts honesty,
dulls the zeal of whole-hearted endeavour ; and if it come in
much strength will spoil all. The child is the true amateur, he
does a thing for the love of it. Among all workers he is the
player, and alone is fit to stand beside the genuine artist, the
self-sacrificing physician, and the inspired poet or seer. His
hearty interest is a powerful engine which will carry a heavy
load eventually to its appointed destination. What though
you claim to know where that may be, and to know also of a
shorter route ? Is it not better to follow the engine that pulls the
train, rather than drag it back, even though its route be round-
about ? It may be that the way will prove more level and the
countryside more beautiful. A child following his natural
bent wdll play. His whole power is in play. Beware of trying
to make rivers run up hills instead of flowing roimd them.

To me it seems obvious where the trouble Ues : the teacher
works, whether consciously or unconsciously, on his own lines,
and not in and for his children. The teacher may have a beauti-
ful system, a course of work schemed, graded, and ordered in
admirable shape, and thoroughly approved by his or her chief,
and by his Majesty's inspector to boot. But what if the child's
mind does not work orderly ? — ^which happens to be the case.
What will his Majesty do then, poor thing ? What if a growing
mind scorns systematic progress (which also is true), and leaps
back and forth over the field of study, now shining with the
brilliance of a light full focused, now showing as black as the
back of a lighthouse lantern ? Let us have outline schemes by
all means, but leave the details to the hour in which it shall
be told us what we shall do. Let us remember that without
interest there is no learning, and since the child's interest w all in

3

THE PLAY WAY

play it is necessary, whatever the matter in hand, that the method
be a play-method. Otherwise there will be no guests at the table,
and the feast will lie stale in om* hands.

Much of what I have to say is obvious, but that is unavoidable,
for the most well-accepted principles are generally ignored in
practice. The conduct of most people is founded on the prin-
ciples they most condemn.

I have said that when you consider a child you will find, as
Stevenson says, that "he intent, is all on his play-business bent " :
and, therefore, whatever you want a child to do heartily must be
contrived and conducted as play. It may seem a strange thing
to suggest that the boys and girls of the upper school should have
as much play as the infants in the kindergarten, but this is what
I do propose. Boys and girls nowadays have their play gradually
thinned out until little is left to them as adults but a round of
golf or a game of cards. When work and play are separated, the
one becomes mere drudgery, the other mere pastime. Neither is
then of any value in life. It is the core of my faith that the
only work worth doing is really play ; for by play I mean the
doing anything with one's heart in it.

The Play Way is a means, but I cannot say what the end may
be, except more play. In like manner the whole purpose of life
for me, being no philosopher, is simply living. What I have now
to say sounds very puerile, but I have no doubt the same could be
foimd subtly said in many learned books. We must let ourselves
live fully, by doing thoroughly those things we have a natural
desire to do ; the sole restrictions being that we so order the
course of our life as not to impair those energies by which we
live, nor hinder other men so long as they also seem to be living
well. Right and wrong in the play of life are not different from
the right and wrong of the playing-field. We must obey the
clear rules ; and what is more, have a sense of fair play, and, in
chief, play with all our hearts in the game.

Is this foundation of the Play Way so simple as to need no
statement ? Look in our nurseries, look in our schools, look
in our fields, factories, and workshops. Which of us has the
chance to do thoroughly that which he has the desire to do ?
4

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

But the right of every man to live a human life is daily becoming
something more than a sentimental platitude. And when, long
hence, every man shall find work to his hand that is noble to do,
and leisure also to rest from his labours, there will be few foimd
subtle enough to say where the work ends and the leisure begins.
Work that is done with joy at heart, and leisure that is not
wasted, merge into one as Play.

But my especial concern is with the schools. Can any one
say that life in school is so ordered as not to impair those energies
by which the children live ? If the children were moved by
natural desire to do as we now make them do in school, then
there would be no need of this same compulsion. Of the
children's view of the work we give them is it not still true
to say, " Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books " ?
And as for their view of the play we plan, who has not heard
of that crowning indignity, compulsory games ? " Some boys,
are by nature slack," says the public-school man, " and have to
be brought up to scratch." " By nature they are the children
of evil," said the teacher of old time, " conceived in wickedness
and bom in sin." " Many of us are bom blind," say I. " Let
us have the Play Way."

The advice in " Hamlet " that " the purpose of playing, both
at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror
up to nature," is said of actors. But Shakespeare also said :

All the world's a stage.
And all the men and women merely players.

So the words in " Hamlet " come fitly as a text ; the more so
since child's-play, being less artificial, is a nearer parallel to
life than is stage-play.

However dense a maze of difficulty may arise in the appli-
cation of it, the one principle of human conduct is clear enough.
A man's aim in life is to carry out the promptings of his instinct,
to do as he was bom to do, to be natural. It is possible to go
wrong of course, because man has a faculty of free will, as any one
may learn in the third book of " Paradise Lost." The sole
directions towards right are the example of the external world,
and the promptings of the hmnan heart by which we live.
The urging of nature is subject to the contro.' of reason, but

THE PLAY WAY

reason is not the compelling force. Thoughts and deeds can
only be held by reason as right or wrong, wise or unwise, fair
or foul, in r, far as they further or retard the one end of life,
which is to u /v. ir accord with our nature, giving scope to every
faculty, exercise to every power (for good, we might add, but
that vice is only virtue misdirected, power ill-used).

The function of reason is to maintain a just equipoise.
Take the analogy of the body. Food is necessary, but if a man
eat too much his body is made unfit to hve well : the same if
he eat too little. And so with sleep, exercise, and the other
functions of the body ; all of which are pleasiu-able in order
that man may be persuaded to live and be healthy. A natural
function is iastinctively pleasant so that it may not fall into
disuse : and the one end of life is to take these pleasures indicated
by nature as a means to life. But " with this special observancfij
that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature."

Health of body or mind is a matter of balance, it is the
level. But health is a positive thing, not merely the negation
bf sickness and disease. To be fit should be our first endeavour.
But fitness implies fitness for something. Health itself is only
the beginning of things, the floor cleared for dancing. But
how few of us go in for large spaces in our dealing. How many
are content with compromise, with a modicum of comfort,
with freedom from pain. Having cleared a little space we are
happy to sit down in it. Having borne a little burden we look
for sleep ; and there is neither room nor time for play.

A healthy body tingles with an intense power of joy, is
triumphant in his great hold upon life, looks in the face of
heaven, and is himself a god. The body that is full of health
knows neither labour nor loafing, but only play. It seems there
is nothing he cannot do with ease and delight. The red of his
cheek is not hectic, there is no exertion in his vigour, and his
calm is without strain. His very walking is full of imthought
grace, for hs does nothing unlovely. But I find that I have
described the Playboy.

Just as this positive feeling of boiily well-being comes only
with the fitness of every nerve and muscle, so there is a fullness
of life that can come to the spirit of man only in the free play of
all his natural desires.
6

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

There are necessary functions of the body without whose
operation it dies ; and some which, though not so essential to
existence, are essential to well-being. Nearly every man or
woman you know lives only on those functions which are essential
to existence, and ignores those essential to well-being. Few
men starve their bodies, but most men starve their souls. It
is clearly as sinful to take too little of a good thing as to take
too much. But of this the narrow-minded, stay-at-home type
of mind will never be persuaded.

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

The present-day puritan has that negative habit of mind
which condemns all forms of excess but excess of restraint ;
though all may see that the nonconformist conscience stands for
a very debauch of denial.

What a talk there is nowadays, too, of saving time. It
were easy to say that time is to be spent, not saved ; only one
knows that, do what we may, time will go by us. The sole
concern of such as are wise is to take the full yield of every
aarvest, not to sow acres that shall never be reaped. Not he
who covers the most ground, but he who has most delight in his
journey, is tbe better traveller. Hard labom: now in the hope
of a longer rest later on is a delusion that any child may discover.
When my brothers and I, as little boys, grew tired in walking we
used to run on ahead of the nurse to rest on the next seat or
milestone. But she came upon us unpleasantly soon, and we were
still panting. To-day cannot be set aside to be spent next year.
This sacrifice of a present joy in the hope of obtaining a greater
in the future is immoral only because it is so hopelessly futile ; it
is sellmg one's soul with no prospect of anything better to buy.
He who saves up all the meals of a week for one great feed on
Saturday finds himself with no stomach for the banquet.

The application to our schools is this : Education nowadays
is study or, at best, theoretical training. That is, the learning
how things have been done or, at best, how to do them. Study,
simple of itself, is a means only ; and training, as training, has
always some distant end or other. When the joy is not yet felt
the value is still to seek. But whenever we have joy in what we
are doing it is then the doing that is of first importance. Of

7

THE PLAY WAY

course, in doing we are doing something, so we must not look
upon the Play Way simply as a notion of adding interest to
undertakings. In going we are going somewhere, so the whole of
my suggestion is not merely that we go gaily. For the Play
Way is not a bunch of contrivances for making scholarly pursuits
pleasurable, but the active philosophy of making pleasurable
pursuits valuable. But the claim here put forward is not for
the destination, but chiefly for the journey. Any means that
becomes in this way an end in itself I call the Play Way. Play
is the one means that is an end in itself, for " that we would do,
we should do when we would." It is of no use to seek further
for a definition of Play. Play is one of the fundamentals of life,
capable of anything but a further explanation. The refinements
of the learned may lay bare the simple, but they can never
solve it.

* 4: « « 4: 4:

Why this everlasting slavery to books ? We are frightened
of initiative, and cling to what we fancy is established. But
it is only established because we cling to it. It is not knowledge
we store in books, it is ourselves we bury ; for we do not use
our book as an encouragement, a test, or a diversion ; we
make it the very prop and mainstay of our lives. And yet
those very books that make their mark, the ones we admire, are
those which break new ground, and not the ones that glean behind
a long-ingathered harvest. And still we are fearful of step-
ping out ourselves without handbooks, guide-books, textbooks.
Many a man will not write even a coiirse of lectures without
consulting as many volumes as he can reach, giving as much to
search and research as he does to his own thinking. And the
poor child's hfe in school is all books. We adults, for all our
whole-hearted belief in printed wisdom, would not tolerate
day after day the literary confinement we put upon these little
disbelievers. But each generation in its turn so orders the affair
of its successor that revolt rather than recognition becomes more
and more the sign of manhood. The grown youth no longer
dons the toga virilis, he throws off his jacket to fight against the
rule of his elders.

Can we not rid ourselves of the tyranny of print even for
a little while ? To subordinate books to a more active conduct
8

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

of life, whether in the region of original thought or in the busy-
traffic of men and things is to put no slur upon the mighty book-
men that have been. The best of them used or made books,
and did not let them use or make him. And where are your
historians, from the makers of earliest epic down to the latest
biographer, apart from the life they witness ? For the fabric
of their chronicle is wrought of the deeds of men, so that however
noble the record they make, or the prophecy either, life itself,
and not its recital, is still the stuff of their say. Moreover there
are many who feel that the more intense is the glow of romance,
and the more ideal the portraiture, only by so much the more
near comes that showing forth to the real figure of life, quick and
working. But because doing comes before saying, or, coming
after, is greater nevertheless, I do not deny the poet the highest
place in the hierarchy of men of power ; but I put him first as a
maker, a creator, which supposes things still to be, and not as a
recorder, a mere repository of a gleaming past.

The world goes on, and the life of each individual with it,
not in telling what has been done, nor in saying what yet remains
to do, but in the present doing of present deeds. Let the reader
squirm if he will because I labour the obvious ; I will writhe, too,
because for all our knowledge we do not act on it ; power runs to
waste, and the water overflows the wheel it will not turn. A
moment's thought, a pause to recall old faded realizations, will
tell you at once what is lacking. It is the will to do. We do not
feel what we know ; that is, we have not the will to translate
power into deeds.

Interest must be the starting-point in all we do, or we shall
not do well. The best expression of one's thought is the use of
the right words in their fullest sense, the unfolding of the
latent philosophy in words. I can make no clearer exposition
of my thesis than may be found in the true reading of the terms
here in use. Interest is " what matters," the one thing needful.
You may call it " interessence," if you will ; that is, the being
at the very heart of the matter. Once there you have only
to do as interest bids. The operation of interest is Play. To
do anything with interest, to get at the heart of the matter and
live there active — ^that is Play. You need not ask how we are
to come by this interest, for it is the heart's desire we are bom

9

THE PLAY WAY

with. There is no truth but the old truth : interest is only what
your hand finds to do, and play is but doing it with your might.

Consider what pedagogy is doing for the child. This elfish
little being with itching fingers and restless feet, full of ciu:iosity
and a desire to investigate ; this quaint embodiment of wonder,
this ache of instinctive longing, is taught to read before he can
word his questions intelligibly, is given information on subjects
which have no interest for him, while yet his real wants remain im-
satisfied ; is set to pore upon the thrice-diluted opinions of others
rather than allowed to try anything for himself. He is bound
over to letters in defiance of the spirit, and of the play-call of
nature which alone speaks with authority and not as the scribes.

For fear of a possible misunderstanding I must here most
definitely dissociate the Play Way and myself from any who
decry study and belittle the value of books. We yield to none
in our love of and faithfulness to literature. Our complaint is
against that pedantic misuse of books which represents the
greater part of what is called education at the present time.

Why this everlasting slavery to books ? The defenders of
the old regime protest that there is much virtue in your book.
Certainly it is the storehouse of wisdom, and treasures up the
achievement of old time. But to what end ? Is there not virtue
also in your boy ? I say the boy shall master the book ; but not
if he is bound a slave to it. Where is the boy to find the real
experience of his life if not in his own doing and thinking ?
You give him moulds for his brick-making, and overseers, and
models and straw. But you give him no clay.

I sometimes feel that the best models for school-books are
those manuals of conjuring wherein nothing is intelligible imtil
you set to work upon the apparatus ; or dance-books full of
impossible jargon which must be translated into action before
it can have meaning and delight ; or cookery-books which
satisfy neither hunger nor curiosity until the pudding is made —
the proof of which is always in the eating.

For one boy who has gained any knowledge at school through
the experience of his own senses, five hundred — ^nay, five
thousand — ^have been deluded with the shadow of knowledge
cast in the form of some one else's opinion. That one lad is
generally " a lazy good-for-nothing scoimdrel." Another timo
10

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

I should like to take up the discussion of the scholar's mental
content. How much of the learning he possesses is of any value
at all as his own ; and how far does he merely exist in handing
on the conclusions of other men as he has taken them over
entire ? I fear that many a famous scholar is no better than a
shopful of ready-made goods.

The sad condition of our schools is mainly owing to the
teachers' unthinking compliance with a rotten tradition. The
defence of those who have given thought to the matter of book-
learning amounts to no more than this : " The individual child
cannot try over again for himself all the experience of the ages,
and therefore he must study the record of the past." But this
study, to have any value, must persuade the child to live over
again, briefly in his imagination, the ages gone by ; and my
simple contention is that the child be allowed to express his
imaginings in the manner that most appeals to him, the way that
is most natural. This will be the Play Way, with the high
thoughts and noble endeavour of that super-reality which is
make-believe.

It comes in the end to this : Why should we stop a game now
going on in order to dictate the rules of another which we do not
intend shall ever be played ? Why call in Robin Hood and the
Redskins and the Pirate Captain from the playground to read of
Luther, or even of Coeur de Lion ?

" But we have pretty pictures in our books."

" Ah, yes, so we have. And here is a man wielding a sword
just like the one you made me leave in the lobby. Please may I
go and fetch it ? "

" No, you may not."

" But, please sir "

" Get on with your work."

Old habits of mind are not easily broken. You are convinced,
are you not, that school is a place of learning to which a boy
must come in order that he may learn ? But it is not so in
truth. The boy is first. Again, you have told your pupils very
often — ^have you not ? — " You must remember that you come
here to work." Quite apart from the mean way in which the
whole question is thus settled without reference to the wishes
of the one most concerned, this point of view is entirely wrong.

11

THE PLAY WAY

What the Greeks called <rxo^, and the Romans ludus,
be expressed in English by the word play.

Once you realize that the teacher only exists for the learne*,
once you believe that the soul of any other being entrusted to
yoiu- care is greater than the furniture of your own mind, once
this belief in you reaches the level of a faith, then, believe me,
the mountain of your learning and self-sufficiency is easily
removed and brought to the feet of the prophet.

In religion, in philosophy, in poetry, in politics, in all the
affairs of men that go far enough to require a guide, there
is every now and then a revolution. The flow of human thought
is subject to deep-reaching disturbance from time to time.
Numerous causes co-operate to produce a periodical troubling of
the waters, a welter in which the principles of all himian concern
are involved. At such a time faiths are transformed, new ideals
set up, and the hope of millions set in another direction. Fused
in the heat of active change, institutions lose their character,
and creeds, doctrines, and opinions are all melted and remodelled.
Nothing passes scatheless through the fire, and the world, as man
has made it, is created anew.

If this spirit of revolution could be sununed up in a phrase
it would be foimd always to represent a clearing away of encrusted
dogma, a breaking from bondage grown irksome, an upsetting of
the tables of authority, and a restatement of direction and aim.
But, to the great joy of all true believers, the new ideals are only
revivals of the old, stripped of base accretion ; the new heaven
and the new earth are those of the old creation, only cleansed
by the flood. Your true revolutionary is only a conservative
endowed with insight.

The seer brings his vision to the market-place, and urges
the people to destroy their city and rebuild it. They do so,
but live on in these new homes, adding from time to time a coat
of paint or a crust of stucco, and still calling them new imtil
reawakened by the coming of another seer.

Though it would be imwise to prophesy any definite changes
which the war will bring about in education, yet it is possible
tor us to recognize even now its cathartic action, and to feel that
12

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

a spiritual freshening is abroad. It is certain that many educa-
tional fads and quackeries have already been killed by this war.
It is perhaps not quite so clear what positive gain education
will have made. I believe the gain will show itself in a more
practical and common-sense view of the whole problem . There
will be less musty scholarship, less doing of things simply because
they always have been done, less of the dogmatic pedagogue
with his cut-and-dried doctrines and systems, less spoon-feeding
of ready-made opinions. There will be more life, more reality,
more conformity with present-day needs, more recognition of
the pupil's point of view. We shall come nearer to making
our school a place for the life-training of boys and girls, instead
of a place where unworldly men and unimaginative women give
instruction in set subjects. We might even attain a school of
which it would be true to say, " Here we learn," instead of,
" Here they teach."

The spiritual freshening will soon show itself in schools
in the reform of method. The boys (I cannot safely include
girls in any statement I make, for I have had no experience
in teaching them) — the boys, then, being looked at individually
instead of being overlooked collectively, will at once gain
in freedom. For we must not suppose that a teacher will
recognize the existence of John's or Harry's personahty only
to crush it. In the very first use the boys make of their
comparative freedom you will have indications of what was
lacking in your method. And the more eagerly they show their
desire to do or not to do this or that, the more clearly you
will see what is needed. I do not suggest that the boys should
be allowed to wreck the classroom as a demonstration of their
distaste for sitting still in their desks ; nor that they should
be permitted to make a bonfire of French and Latin grammars
as a protest against the difficulties of formal language-study.
But I do say that the teacher who makes the best use of every
opportunity that arises for letting the boys move about the
room in ordered play will soon be convinced that boys can
learn without always sitting still. And it is a case already
proved to the general satisfaction of the intelligent that languages
are more readily as well as more pleasantly learnt when the
study of formal grammar is subordinated to real practice of

13

THE PLAY WAY

the language in speaking. The boys will unconsciously make
clear to you many things about the teaching of boys so soon as
you give them the opportunity.

It will perhaps be said that it does not need a colossal wai
in Europe, the armed conflict of a dozen nations, to show us
how to teach boys. But, in the first place, nothing could more
plainly show the need of a better education in all countries
than a tragedy of this magnitude. And further, I maintain
that only some such universal troubling of the waters as we see
in this present cataclysm is powerful enough in this era to break
the old habits of thought, to clear away the obscuring mists of
prejudice, self-sufficiency, and hypocrisy, and to let in the fresh
air of common sense, along with the sunshine of new interest, to
the minds of men. The schoolmaster, certainly no less than
other men, has need of this fresh air and sunshine.

But then, if incrustation is a natural process, and therefore
unavoidable, and if periodical outbreak is in consequence
equally necessary, must not the world submit to these costly
regenerating cures from age to age. What is the solution ?

The solution, as it seems to me at least, is this. We must
keep us alive through all our hving days, and not give way
to security or the indulgence of lethargy. The longer we keep
pent up those energies which should be daily brought into play,
the greater will be the explosion when they must come out.
And, on the other hand, the more dross we suffer to accumulate
the greater must be our effort to get rid of it when at last it
becomes stifling and insufferable. As the process of metabolism
by which our bodies live is a continuous process of change
and readjustment, and not a periodic renewal, in which
waste matter is normally eliminated in proportion as living
tissue is created ; so must our mental and spiritual life go on
by performing equally its two-sided fimction of creation and
destruction, of going forward and of leaving behind.

So far as in us lies we must neither allow our own minds
nor compel those of others to accumulate more than is assimi-
lable. On the one side there is storing up, on the other side
there is using up ; and beyond a certain limit both of these
are harmful. To take a little more than is needful, whether
for the body in the way of food and rest, or for the mind in the
14

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

way ol learning or contemplation, makes for luxury. To admit
more still above this unfixed margin of luxury* makes the
body or the mind sick and in need of cure by change and exercise.
The same truth holds in the case of too much exercise and use,
with too little nourishment and recuperative rest The body
or the mind will then again fall out of health and be in need of
cure by rest and recreation.

Those who make the body politic their study will find like
conclusions to hold good also of statecraft.

We must, then, for health and well-being, preserve a balance
in the conduct of our lives. Health, power of decision, sanity,
justice, goodness, all these things are his who stands, thinks,
lives at poise. The right ordering of this balance or poise
must be a daily, even an hourly concern, in fact an ever-
present cure. For if we permit ourselves to run to excess in
this or that direction, subject only to a periodic self-examina-
tion, a deferred audit, we shall soon again find ourselves
mantling and stagnating like the later nineteenth century, and
then exploding like 1914.

The Play Way is an endeavour to achieve right conduct in
a true blend of the functioning of all man's powers. If it is
true to say that we must not act without thinking, why is it
not equally true to say that we must not think without acting ?

If all men had kept alive in them the faculty of poetry,
that divine unrest, they would never be satisfied with make-
shift settlement, but would be for ever striving, ever making.
But the exciting influence is always short-lived. The need of
constant change and renewal as the indispensable condition,

* It is, of course, impossible to say exactly when we are making a boy
swallow too much learning. But the mean in all things is never possible
to be determined with exactitude ; it is but a man's judgment between
extremes. I believe that a perfect education sheuld aim at giving a boy
a many-sided active life in school, teaching him at the same time how to
acquire the knowledge needed for each occupation, and how to apply it.
Thus he would not be equipped with a store of learning enough to last him
a lifetime, but would rather be taught how to learn in order to do, and
how to do in order to learn. To call such a training a " general educa-
tion " would be a just description. The " general education " of the age
now passing has been a banquet of instruction without any practe ia
the use of the learning so obtained.

15

THE PLAY WAY

not alone of growth, but of life itself, is not realized by the
common gathering of men. It is the daily inspiration that is
lacking ; the spirit that can be tuned afresh by every new
appeal of beauty. There is no strength from without, nor
inward reservoir of power upon which we may draw in the hour
of hiury or doubt. The manna of to-day will not be sweet
to-morrow, for the love of our reliance must be new every
morning.

To supply this hourly stimulus is the chief function of
poetry ; but of poetry active, not embalmed in printed books.
Poetry keeps alive the spiritual significance which informs all
ceremonial observance, and reinforces that strength and hope
which differentiate work from drudgery. Poetry deals with
real life, but it must deal with the aim and intention of life,
its aspirations and outreachings. It should have but a very
small place as a chronicle of everyday occurrence, with its
tale of vain endeavour, or as a criticism of passing custom,
with its fads and eccentricities. That is more the province
of Punch and other satirists. Poetry must concern itself with
those ideas and appearances which either inform or tjrpify
human enterprise at its highest. " Poetry is the breath and
finer spirit of all knowledge ; it is the impassioned expression
which is in the countenance of all Science."

The class of poetry to set before boys is that — ^whether
ancient, mediaeval, or modem — ^which is full of the spirit which
is stirring at the present day. Also the boys must themselves
come forth as poets. Thus and thus only can the poetry
they read have anything more than an aesthetic appeal. I am
confident that a good teacher, given fair conditions, could lead
his pupils to regard poetry as the inspiration of their daily life.
And this is Play in its finest form, namely, the ideal in action
and reality. Poetry, the work of a maker, must itself be
creative ; must not stop short at impression, but originate
expression ; must not be magniloquent only, but magnificent
as well. " Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge— it is
as immortal as the heart of man."

Play, as I mean it, goes far deeper than study ; it passes
beyond reasoning, and lighting up the chambers of the imagi-
nation, quickens the body of thought, and proves all things in
16

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

action. The study of books, however thorough, may yet remain
but superficial, in the sense that there may be no feeling of
reality behind it. " No impression without expression *' is
a hoary maxim, but even to-day learning is often knowing
without much care ioT feeling, and mostly none at all for doing.
Learning may remain detached, as a garment, imidentified
with self. But by Play I mean the doing anything one knows
with one's heart in it. The final appreciation in life and in
study is to put oneself into the thing studied and to live there
active. And that is Playing. Thus the source of all art is
imitation in the fullest sense, not copy, but identification.
We know that in appreciating a poem one is a poet oneself.
But why ? Because the piece only lives by being played over
and over again for ever, by players who have the true feeling
for it at heart. But in order to earn the high title of Play,
the appreciation must be not only felt, but expressed.

And this hath now bis heart
And unto this he frames his song.

As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.

By definition Play includes the practice of all the arts. And
BO I am brought to face a paradox, which is none of my making,
" Work, then, is Play," says a disputant, smiling. Elaborately
we reason it out that if Play is the doing anything with one's
heart in it, a man's life-work is Play, and all lesser works are
only to be justified by their contributing, in greater or less
degree, to this greatest work — ^which must be Play. Yes, I
subscribe to this.

There is a belief most prevalent among hard-headed business
men that while they are really doing good work an artist is only
playing at it. That is what so annoys the bourgeois, and it
helps to account for the attitude of scomftil tolerance with
which the artist is generally regarded by philistines. The man
thinks he is working, and yet he is quite openly and shamelessly
enjoying himself! It isn't at all right in their opinion that
any one should " have it both ways."

Those unwritten scriptures which guide the souls of rigid
puritans to their damnation distinguish very markedly between

B 17

THE PLAY WAY

work and pleasure The dullest and most soul-killing work is
rich in virtue, and will have its reward, if not here, then here-
after. But even the tamest of pleasures is very risky and
savours not a little of wickedness. If one could really get at
the inside of the puritan conscience, I doubt not this surprising
discovery : That he does not admit that a diversion may be a
recreation. For him no diversion is quite innocent. And those
little pleasxires he allows himself a secular concert, a picnic
on the river, anything in fine more daring than a walk in the
park — all these are as it were a yielding to htmian frailty lest
one be thought arrogant ; a propitiatory offering to the arch-
tempter lest he haunt us in the hours of toil. A puritan feels
much selfrgratification in toiling up a hill, and is rather ashamed
of coasting down the other side. He looks, possibly a little
in envy and certainly much in awe, upon that other daring
fellow who is cheerfully undertaking the climb with nothing
better in view than the immediate reward of achievement. The
puritan is of opinion that every race should be an obstacle race ;
and is convinced that he who goes the primrose way is destined
for the everlasting bonfire.

There is more of the puritan in your average schoolmaster
than is generally recognized, and though of course he does not
frown upon play in its due place out of school, he finds it very
hard to see how play and study can be carried on at one and the
same time. To him it seems that taking joy in the enjoyable
part precludes industrious application to the more laborious part.
As though work and play, pleasure and learning, a measure of
natural freedom and a natural measure of restraint were mutually
exclusive terms.

It is a principle of the Play Way that the finest conceptions
of the mind are not lessened in value, but enhanced, by being put
to use, brought into play. This form of play is not in any sense
a diversion. It is an active expression of what one feels, and
might almost be called an observance of some spiritual rite.
And it is another principle of the Play Way that the use of
certain forms of expression, forms of play, and traditional
observances can themselves help us to appreciate the spirit which
made them. Let us examine this more fully.

Religious faith is a spiritual passion of which art m all
18

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

ts forms may be the expression. A religion which could embody
Itself in stated form on a tract or in a creed would be worth
nothing to art. The deepest things do not easily admit of
definite statement ; they need the power of imagination to body
them forth. But tracts and addresses are merely exhortations to
men that they should give their thoughts to religion ; and hymns
and prayers, and rites and ceremonies, and impassioned sermons
are the various efforts to articulate something of the spirit
which is felt by the devotee. It is always assumed that the
spirit must first be perceived before we can worship it. But my
purpose here is to show that help may come from the other
Bide. If the spiritual feeling which should initiate devotional
exercise be weak or apparently lacking, it may be, and often
is, stimulated and even created by the trustful observance of
the rites and ceremonies and of traditional and conventional
forms in which the spirit has been known to reside.

Not necessarily all art, but the best art is the expression
of faith in some ideal. Faith is an emotional experience to
which a man's life may bear witness and which his death may
ratify, but which art alone can express. But art does not express
the spirit it serves by preaching to the reason to obey, but by
stimidating the imagination to create for itself. I can neither
make clear to myself what I believe, nor teach another what
he shall believe. All I can hope to do by my art is to get others
to bring their imaginative powers into play, to make them gods
of their own. For, as my tutor used to say, " Art teaches,
not by a definitely didactic force, but by an indefinite spiritual-
izing."

Mr. Edmund Holmes, in his educational essay " What Is
and What Might Be," makes, if I remember rightly, a severe
criticism of obedience to authority as a guiding principle in life as
contrasted withf areliance upon one's own ideal conception. The
word " religion " is closely connected with the word " rely," and
religious faith is always said to give an ever-present sense of
being guided, a sense of having some touchstone by which to
distinguish the good from the bad (when it is not a matter of
taste I), a sense of being supported in pursuit of the one and
delivered from the temptation of the other. What we are to
believe in, what faith we are to hold, is of course the one subject

19

THE PLAY WAY

of the deepest speculation, and consequently far beyond my
powers. But though each several man must interpret for
himself the highest experiences of his spiritual life, yet there is
possible a community of reverence and a community of worship ;
"^nd in the end it is only communal worship which gives a reality
to private belief.

So that, though I do not make the absurd claim of preaching
a definite faith, of dispensing religion in tabloid form, yet I
do think that any man may preach worship ; that is, a recog-
nition of the things of value and the value of things, and a hving
in accord with this recognition. Worship is the active recog-
nition of worthiness. The commonplace that worship is not
merely the acknowledgment of good, but the practice of it,
enables me to make my point clear. It is that this statement is
equally true, and in my opinion far more true, when read the
other way on : Only through the practice of anything can come a
full acknowledgment of its worth. This, being such a definite
statement, implies a host of qualifications, but I must be allowed
to hold them in suspension for a while.

Accordingly, if it be asked : " How shall we revive a feeling
for art values in the minds of the people ? " I suggest in reply :
Open up again the practice of the arts, and the stream of tradition
will flow again through your handiwork, and give it life.

Lift up your heads, O ye gates ;

Yea, lift them up, ye everlasting doors :

And the King of glory shall come in.

Who is this King of glory ?

The Lord of hosts,

He is the King of glory.

When I wish to help little boys to see the might and beauty
of poetry, I do not discourse upon poetics. As a plajmtiaster I
know it is more practical to start the whole miracle with the
one word "Make." You must faU straight away upon the
actual work, and you will find out what you are doing as you go
along. More and more you feel what you ought to do, and
now and then, if you are lucky, you manage to do it. And
aU the time, of course, you have a synapathy and understanding
with the art-doings of others, whether those others be the past-
masters of your craft or merely your fellow-prentices.
20

GENERAL PRINCIPLES

To do a thing first in the hope of finding out later on how,
and eventually why, may appear at first a queer suggestion,
as though one should deliberately put the cart before the horse.
But, short of visions and divine revelations, how else, I may ask,
are we to acquire an imptilse to work and a skill in working ?
Of course it is not denied that a great artist often starts with an
idea which he gradually works out into some expressive form.
But, even in his case, consider the manifold additions that accrue
to him as he goes along, the miraculous gifts latent in the nature
of tool and material, the fullness of inspiration that comes only
in the hour of doing. I may instance, in passing, the conventions
of the Elizabethan theatre, which served as it were the office of a
mould to shape many of the most wonderful achievements of
Shakespeare. Or call them paths down which he ran and rivers
he had to bridge. If good plays are to be made, they must
be wrought on an existing stage convention, and wrought fit,
not written out of a man's head. It is the same with other
arts, they must cease to be airy nothing, and get them a local
habitation.

So long as we sit still and ask why some one doesn't get up
and do something, nothing will happen ; but so soon as we
rise and fall to, then it will all be happening as before. The
gods help those that help themselves. If the Devil finds work
for idle hands, which I doubt not, it is equally certain that
God Himself directs the busy. What right has any one to speak
of faith who does not admit that there is some higher aid to be
hoped for than lies in his own poor efforts ? The wise artist is
like a young mother trimming a cradle, and sewing tiny garments
against the happening of a creative wonder. Build you a fair
nest overnight and you may wake to find a bird in it.

It is my expectation, then, that the beliefs and traditions,
which now seem all so dead, will be restored among us when we
observe again the forms and ceremonies in which they reside.
Do we await the visitation of a god ? None but a visitation of
wrath seems possible to-day.* Let us build a fane, and therein,
over the consecrated altar, shall the unknown god be declared.
The sun shines all over the earth, but no flowers grow on the
cinder-heap, which is kept arid by the daily piling up of ashes.
• This was originally written in the spring of 1914.

91

THE PLAY WAY

Where in these days shall the spirit find an abiding-place, and
where shall he set up his rest ? While temple' there is none,

Nor altar heap'd with flowers ;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan

Upon the midnight hours ;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no inoense sweet

From chain-swung censer teeming ;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat

Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.

CHAPTER II

GENERAL METHOD OF THE PLAY WAY

And, in after years.
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure ; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies ; oh ! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief.
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations !

WOEDSWOBTH

The subject of this chapter is such a wide one that the various
matters to be dealt with can best be discussed under a few
positive maxims.

The method of study is quite as important as the matter studied.

The classroom should to a very large extent be considered
the boys' place, and not a sanctum nor a penitentiary. Vittorino
da Feltre, that playmaster among Renaissance educators,
called his school at Mantua " La Casa Giocosa," or the House
of Delight, and decorated it accordingly, so that the children
might be brought up in beautiful surroundings. But teachers
of to-day have to work under authorities so blind to the finer
influences of education as to provide only the barest accommoda-
tion. But our methods of teaching the children need not be
bleak and gloomy to match the surroundings.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heaven o' Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

The creative fancy of Littleman in play can " make a sunshine

28

THE PLAY WAY

in a shady place," and under due encouragement he will not
only make this dungeon bright, but wiU triumph over many
another obstacle which would seem to the teacher to make
real play impossible. If the classroom is really regarded
as the boys' room, if the boys' point of view is given faur
consideration in all that takes place in that room, then many
play-methods wiU come into being of their own accord.
Certainly the teacher must initiate many play-ways, but there
can be no doubt that the boys if they are given leave will
initiate many play-ways of their own.

A teacher's chief thought aU the while he is in the classroom
should be for the boys. If he is not present simply for the
sake of the boys what is he doing in the classroom at all ?
Is he practising there for a slave-driver, or cramming the poor
wretches for an examination ; or is he simply earning a living
while he fits himself for another profession ?

It is not denied that many teachers do give carefxil thought
to presenting the subject-matter of their teaching in an interest-
ing way. But few, if any, have realized for themselves (or
will be ready to admit now that it is suggested) that with young
boys the method of study is quite as important as the matter
studied.

It is upon a recognition of this principle that most of the
classroom practice in play is based. Consider what that
statement implies. The teacher instead of being mainly, if not
exclusively, interested in putting some particular subject-
matter before the class, and seeing that they swallow that
and attend to nothing else, will be quite ready to find emerging
out of the subject he introduces some method of study which
will develop a life of its own. It may even leave his original
subject-matter far behind. It will occur time and again that
what was at first undertaken only as a method of dealing with
certain subject-matter will become itself the main concern.

Can such a thing be justified ? Let us take an illustration.

In the kindergarten and the elementary school play-methods
are quite familiar. The simplest illustration, then, can be
drawn from the teaching of very yoimg pupils.

There are lessons for which the children bring daffodils
to school. The lesson begins perhaps with questions and
24

GENERAL METHOD

answers connected with a simple study of the daffodil (nature
stiidy). Then Wordsworth's " Daffodils " is read and discussed
(poetry). In many cases teachers have songs about flowers
for the children to learn (singing). And however many lessons
all this may have taken it is certain that, before they have
finished their study of the daffodils, the children will make
pictures of them (drawing and brush-work). And there is no
teacher of little children who would not, if she had the means,
bring out of those few simple words

And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the dafiodUs

all the joy of spring which the poet put into them, by teaching
the children to perform a " Dance of the Daffodils." Series
of lessons such as this, comprising a play-activity of several
kinds, are an everyday occiirrence in elementary schools. The
fact that the verses used in such lessons are too often the merest
rubbish, and the music and dancing, when included at all,
of the worst possible tjrpe — sentimental wishy-washy stuff —
is a great pity, but it does not in any way affect my illustration.
The subject-matter of such a lesson as this might be described
as " The Daffodil." It probably is thus simply entered in the
syllabus of work done. But it is obvious that the whole value
of the lessons lies in what the children have done in reading,
singing, painting, and dancing, and in the way all this activity
is bound up with the beauty of flowers, the joy of spring-time,
the feeling for music, and the glad experience of rh3i;hmical
movement. Here then are many of the finest experiences of
life centred roimd the alleged study of one flower. The value has
come, not from the subject, but from the method of treating it.
Could not something of the same method be carried out
in secondary schools ? Why should we give up all that is active
and real and alive in method so soon as the subject with which
we are concerned becomes of serious moment ? Why should
children be considered adult so soon as they leave the kinder-
garten ? The play-method is not asking for every school subject
to be treated as though it were a parlour game. But it is asking
that school studies should be brought more into relation with
the activities of daily life. Some teachers speak and behave

25

THE PLAY WAY

as though a man actively engaged were always just amusing
himself, or otherwise wasting time which he might be devoting
to study !

Others imagine that while active movement may be desirable
and easily possible in connexion with such things as the acting
and making of plays, it is in no way an essential part of more
formal subjects such as mathematics, science, or language study.
It is often thought that an active play-method in connexion
with such studies can only be introduced as a means of diversion
or for the lightening of the burden of abstract study. That
in itself were surely reason enough for including a measure
of play in all our teaching. But it happens that play as treated
in this book includes always two meanings, one, the sheer
enjoyable activity of a game, and the other, that active side,
that bringing into play of what one knows, which in real life
is always as large a part of any undertaking as is the learning
side. That is a modest statement, for in real life we gain
proficiency far more through practice than we do through
instruction or theoretical study.

What active measures of play, then, can be suggested
in the study of the more formal subjects ? At this point I
can only offer a few tentative and rather himiorous suggestions
which would have to be shaped into practical use by the
specialist teachers of such subjects ; for one cannot give detailed
proposals for the teaching of subjects of which one knows
nothing. But I am convinced that the general method of the
Play Way is in accord with the nature of boys, and that it
can be adapted by any original teacher to suit his special
circumstances.

Small boys learn geometry nowadays instead of EucUd;
and this, I understand, has the advantage of giving them a
few little operations to perform carefully with instruments.
This exercise requires some dexterity and neat fingering to ensure
absolute accuracy. But we should go further than this in
the use of implements and handiwork in connexion with
mathematical study. Milton says, " At the same time might
be taught them the rules of Arithmetic, and soon after the
Elements of Geometry, even playing, as the old manner was."
Several mathematicians have assured me that many parts of
2G

GENERAL METHOD

their subject could be taught actively in connexion with
handicrafts, such as carpentry. Working to scale from a plan
suggests itself at once. Accuracy and clean work are essential
to a carpenter. That necessary precision of a joiner, who by
measurement makes things fit, is surely a mathematical
quality. There is assuredly much scope for active handwork
and the making of things in connexion with elementary mathe-
matics.

In addition to plays there are many other sides of English
teaching which have flourished in our classroom in an atmosphere
of games and " goings on." If such an essentially literary
thing as a poem can be turned into a game, if a good prose
style can be honestly shown as the outcome of a course of
noisy play, what an opportunity there must be for the teachers
of mathematics, elementary science, and handicraft to come
near to the boys' real interests. For most boys are fascinated
by technical and mechanical things. They love engines and
motors and dynamos and explosives and aeroplanes and photo-
graphy. If their intense love of these gins is not made use of
in connexion with the school subjects most nearly concerned,
then those teachers are surely neglecting a most powerful aid
to their work. Even such a commonplace toy as a boy's kite
offers scope for much in the way of practical lessons. If an
ingenious master of geometry should give a course of lessons,
as a result of which twenty-five boys had made twenty-five
kites, I think those toys would not be the sole result. And
what a sight it would be when they all trooped out on the first
windy day to fly them on the hills !

More than once I have sat in a classroom and looked on
at a fascinating lesson, in which one determined the width
of a given river, not by direct measurement, but by doing
learned things with convenient and obliging trees by means
of angles, and many strange signs and tokens. Possibly the
position of the sun was brought in also, but of this I am not
sure. I was always consumed with a desire to ask two questions.
First, 10% one should want to know the width of the river ?
and secondly, what one would do if the tree were not there,
or happened to be in the wrong position ? I have spent many
days boating or swimming, or lounging by the river-side, but

27

THE PLAY WAY

never yet saw any one attempting these calculations on a real
river. But perhaps it is done.

When a mathematical master comes to that point in his
teaching where the width of a river is to be determined, why
should he not hold a class by the river-side, with a few patrols
of senior scouts ? Under the direction of the scoutmaster
and the woodwork master the boys might then build a bridge
Even the Latin master might turn up, and contribute not a
little by improving the luncheon interval with a few quotations
from the text of Csesar !

But, jesting apart, much might be done with formal studies,
even in the classroom, to link them up with the doing of
something, if masters would but give their minds to it. Not
only handicrafts are required, but some active application
of the thing learnt such as is here described in connexion with
English studies. If some thought were given to use and
skill in all school subjects; as well as to knowledge and appraisal,
education would soon become more truly a training for life
than any one can claim it to be at present. Let us not forget
how much of life-practice it was possible to plan for the tiny
children in the simple study of a daffodil.

Direct instruction is only a smalt part of what can take place in
the classroom.

The habit of spoon-feeding has become a second nature
to most of us, so that we are now unable to realize that in our
teaching we are all the while giving first consideration to what
is after all merely a partial treatment of some subject. We
give scarcely any positive consideration to the boys. All is
conceived m relation to the sacred Subject. This will be
vigorously denied by teachers. But let us take an illustration
which will remove the scales of habit from our eyes.

Suppose yourself to enter a classroom full of boys, with
no intention of administering a dose of any subject whatever.
The boys would sit and wait, and you would sit and look at
them without the remotest notion of what to do with them for
forty-five minutes. Without a dose of some subject to ad-
28

GENERAL METHOD

minister you would be powerless. The period would probably
be frittered away in desultory conversation.

How much worse is the position when illness or something else
prevents the master from taking his lesson. If the boys are
left imattended they do absolutely nothing of any educational
kind. If some one comes to set them to work it is always desk-
work, exercises done from the book ; that is to say, self-spoon-
feeding from a store of preserves.

One of the best experiences of practical method which could
be planned for training college students would be to take a
classroom full of boys — any group of boys more or less of an
age — ^and require the student to take charge of them for an
hour, imder a promise not to " take the lesson " himself, not to
teach any recognized subject, and as far as possible to avoid
giving any instruction at all.

" But what is the poor man to do ? " you ask. That of
course is the first question which would occm- to the student,
" What do you want me to do with them ? " My reply would
be, " Anything you or they can think of, for this first period ;
and after that you won't need to ask."

It is some such position as this which he who wishes to
understand the Play Way methods should start from. Not
that the Play Way implies in any sense the negation of a subject
to be taught. Far from it. But the daily dose of a subject
is not the only thing that nciakes a lesson. And this device
of trying to get through a whole period without a " subject "
might be the quickest way of discovering for oneself all the
possibilities there are of " things to do " other than direct
instruction.

It would be an excellent plan if a free period could be assigned
once a week, or once a fortnight, to every form in every school ;
the boys being left to decide for themselves, either individually
or collectively, what should be done with the time. At first
they would merely read books or talk idly. Soon they would
begin to band together in concerted play. A few hints or
some play organization by the master could then set afoot
all kinds of activities which, as time went on, would gradually
become more purposeful, more serious. And in the end this
" free " period, in the hands of a tactful master, could, with

29

THE PLAY WAY

the enthusiastic consent of the boys, be filled with sonae " goings
on " which would be quite as valuable from the point of view
of learning as any of his direct instruction lessons.

The matter has been approached from this aspect, not
because there is any practical advantage to an understanding
teacher in starting from sheer undirected play, and working
gradually up to learning, but in order to make it quite
clear (i) that direct instruction is only a small part of
what can take place in the classroom, and (ii) that the
play-methods suggested throughout this book are not a
relaxation or a diversion from real study, but only an
active way of learning.

It may be thought that the wretched student turned into
a classroom full of boys with apparently nothing to do would
be lucky to come out with his reason unimpaired at the end
of the hour. But boys always " try it on " with a new teacher,
and there is no reason why the student should be any better
off if he were trying to instruct the class than if he were willing
to let them have their own way for this first period. Boys
accustomed to the usual system of classroom instruction will
certainly make a great noise during their first lesson with
any new teacher, and will continue to " rag " him until he has
gained command over them. But for how long do you fancy
the class would continue to be noisy if the student informed
them that they could do as they pleased for all he would say ?
Of course if he tried sarcasto his chances of gaining their goodwill
would be considerably reduced. Boys accustomed to classroom
instruction all their days would, I fear, be unable to suggest
any occupation for that hoxu", and the student would have to
"put them up to something," at least to give them a start.
Thus he would fail in the letter of his promise. But at all
events he would have had a good initiation into the possibilities
of practical method. But with boys accustomed to undertake
some part of their classroom studies in active play there wovdd be
no such difficulty. The new teacher only need have the wisdom
to leave everything to the boys at first, and then gradually make
his influence felt in their counsels. If he boimced in and
began ordering them about, these boys would forget all their
self-government, all their habits of unconscious discipline,
80

GENERAL METHOD

and would turn round and " rag " the new-comer as unmercifully
as did the boys who had had no such training. In return he
would have to assert his authority by every means in his power,
and it might then be months before any system of self-govern-
ment could exist under him.

Boys accustomed to learn in active play are not only able
but anxious to continue their work, whether the master is
actually directing or not ; and will take a pride in looking
after themselves even in his absence. No one denies that the
master is a necessary part of the scheme. He is of course
the very centre of it, or, better still, he is the circumference,
the primum mobile. And no one denies, either, that it is an
important part of a master's duty to give the boys direct
instruction. But his work with the boys shoiild not be merely
a succession of daily lectures and " obstinate questionings,"
but rather an influence continuously operative, though not
constantly asserted.

Self-government is not a matter of discipline only, but a condition
which makes it possible for the boys to learn by themselves
in actiud lessons.

Every teacher knows that boys can conduct certain re-
vision lessons on their own account. And in many small ways
boys are already permitted to learn without help, to correct
themselves from a book, or even to " hear " one another.
But the self -teaching system is capable of much extension.

If active play-methods have been running for some time
under the master's guidance, the method will have become
familiar to the boys, so that they can not only repeat what
has already been done, but carry on into the study of new
matter. If a certain class has worked through " The Merchant
of Venice " on the play-method, there is no reason at all why
the same boys could not go through the first reading of " Julius
Csesar " or " Macbeth " without a master being present at
any one of the lessons. This is possible because the first
reading merely consists in acting the play straight through
under the direction of a mister,* without any unnecessary

* See p. 67.

31

THE PLAY WAY

interruptions.* The master would of course go over the ground
with them a second time to deal with scores of interesting and
important points. And a third and even a fourth - reading
would still leave much to be studied. But any class which
did not contain too large a proportion of stupids could carry
through that first reading quite alone, and obtain great benefit
from it. While this was going on the master, in another room,
could give special tuition to one or two boys at a time.

This actual experiment has not been tried, but there are
obvious advantages in the plan. For instance :

1. The boys would be doing as Dr. Johnson
recommended in the study of Shakespeare, i.e. First of all
to read the play straight through from beginning to end for
the sake of sheer enjoyment in the story, passing over all
difficulties, and completely ignoring all that the critics
have said.

2- They would get fiirst of all their own view of the
play, uncomplicated by any possible influence from the
master.

8. They would be learning to study for themselves.

4. They would be learning the advantages of working
amicably together in pursuit of the same end, without the
possibility of recourse to a higher authority, who would
settle disputes by crushing one side of an argument or the
other.

5. They would be sure to make the study an enjoyable
one (because there would be no occasion to make it anything
else) and would thus discover for themselves the pleasant side
of learning.

* Of course there will be many mistakes. I remember a very amusing
misconception of a mister who was directing the production of " Macbeth "
while I was present. In Act i. Scene 7, there is a very important stage-
direction : " Hautboys. Torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants
with Dishes and Service over the stage. Then enter Macbeth." I told
the boys that this was important because the procession of servants going
in with dishes is all we are shown of the banquet which occupies Duncan
and the rest while Macbeth and Lady Macbeth speak together outside. The
mister seemed to have more players than were necessary, so 1 asked him,
" "Who are these two boys f " " Those, sir," replied the mister confidently,
" are the Ho-boyi."
82

GENERAL METHOD

6. They would also discover that play with something
of substance in it was more satisfying than aimless amusement,
and thus lay the foundations of an intelligent use of leisure
hours which might well last them a life-time.

In another chapter instances are given of a junior class
which (in the presence of the master) conducted its own oral
composition lessons for a whole year in the form of original
lectures ; and of a group of Belgian boys who, though new to
the play-methods and previously most unruly, not only con-
ducted one chance lesson in the absence of the master, but
actually petitioned to run that lesson in private for themselves
as a regular thing. The petition was granted.

Such instances as these, which could be multiplied, are
given prominence here because teachers who put faith in
methods of self-government are still too apt to look upon a
boy's own charge of his learning as something unusual, a
chance experiment which even if not very successful they find
entertaining, much as one does the tricks and antics of a per-
forming dog. Dr. Johnson, when making a similar comparison,
said : " It is not well done, but you are surprised to see it done
at all." Teachers must not look upon self-teaching as a kind
of side-show. They must not be surprised to see it ; and
they must allow enough practice at it to ensure its being well
done. If the play-methods are in any way to mark an advance
upon the old repressive methods, it must be in their absolutely
natural character. The boy under the old system has no
chance to be himself. We must make sure that any new
system does not involve an equally artificial behaviour, but
that the boys are free to be boys, frank and genuine in the
pleasure they take in their work, and not deceiving either
themselves or the teacher when they behave well and work
well without compulsion.

The educational advantages to be obtained from including
this self -teaching as a regular part of the school course require
but little demonstration for those who are not prejudiced.
The interest of the boys can be counted upon with greater
certainty if they are working in their own way, and under
their own responsibility, than if they were always under the

c 33

THE PLAY WAY

Instruction of a teacher. And when instruction time comes
they will give a truer and more active attention — first, because
their respect for the teacher is not based upon fear of pimishment,
but upon a sure knowledge that he is trusting them, and that
he has even a greater belief in them than they have in themselves ;
and, secondly, because they have a tise for the content of that
instruction. Boys about to act a Shakespeare play under
their own mister will listen closely to the master's preliminary
instruction lesson about the conditions of play-production
in the classroom. This lesson would not of course consist
of warnings against misbehaviour, but would embrace much
teaching in the craft of the stage, and of Elizabethan con-
ventions concerning costume, scenery, lighting, business,
properties, and " shows." And after the first reading there
would be literally hundreds of questions asked, and an inteUigent
audience ready to give good heed to the answers, and able
to understand them.

The active form in which the boys' own lessons are generally
conducted gives them an understanding of the relationship
between learning and doing, between study and practice.

Of course it is possible for one boy to instruct the rest,
instead of the whole class taking active part. Some interesting
examples of this have been seen, notably a series of three lessons
given by a boy of thirteen to the fourth form when the master
was absent through illness. They were Latin lessons, and
throughout each whole period of forty-five minutes scarce a
score of Enghsh words were uttered in the rooni. The lad was
only just tall enough to be seen over the mountain of huge
tomes such as classical masters pile upon their desks. And it
was a delight not easily to be forgotten to see his alert and
merry face bobbing up and down behind the leather-backs,
and to observe how, the more difficulties he had to negotiate,
the more he enjoyed himself. Every now and then he would
turn aside with a learned air but doubtful, as who should say,
" M-yes, but I wonder if you would find it in Cicero ? " and
forthwith consult a tremendous dictionary which was almost
more than he could lift. He had been called out unexpectedly
to take the lesson, and so there was more need to consult Lewis
and Short than he could have wished. In the evening he excused
84

GENERAL METHOD

himself from a dress rehearsal of his own play, which he was
stage-managing, on the ground that to-morrow's Latin lesson
must be very thoroughly prepared. He also asked me if
schoolmasters ever had to prepare their lessons ; and I repUed
that of course they had to look over the matter, unless they
already had it at their finger-tips.

But as a general rule it is best, in those lessons where the
master himself is not teaching, for instruction to be suspended,
and for as many boys as possible to engage in operations.
For though one boy may not often be able to teach the rest
very much, a number of them playing together can learn very
well by themselves.

Particular methods of self-teaching in connexion with oral
composition, playmaking, and other subjects are given in
full in other chapters. But a system of testing " Repetition "
and other memory work may be described here.

The hearing of " Repetition " is a great nuisance. Either
a few selected boys only are tested, in which case many others
feel, though of course unjustifiably, that their labour of the
night before was wasted ; or the whole class is heard in turn,
and the best part of a period is thus frittered away. In either
case there is no real opportunity for teaching anything in the
way of delivery or expression, because the lines are only just
known, and the boy's main attention is therefore given to
recalUng them. And for the whole class to write out the set
passage means either encouraging careless writing and neglect
of punctuation, or, alternatively, a punctilious attention to
these things, which takes the mind off the appreciation of the
poetry, which was presumably to have been the valuable part
of the exercise.

Repetition can very well be heard in partnership.* The
boys sit in pairs and each hears the other, and marks him
according to some scheme agreed upon. At first our playboys
organized a competition between Rights and Lefts. The

* A special study of Partnership in classroom teaching has been made
by Mr. Norman MacMmm, and the method worked out in connexion with
the teaching of French and other subjects. Partnership has obvious
limitations, and can never become the principal method in the classroom ;
nevertheless it can be put to very good use,

85

THE PLAY WAY

marks of all those sitting on the right hand of a pair were added
together, and compared with the total of all those sitting on
the left of a pair. For a few weeks they used to watch for
the totals with interest. But one day some thoughtful boy
in the third form pointed out that, as there was no combination
of effort among the members of a side, they could share no
common glory. At that the adding of totals was abandoned
amid laughter.

The boys fall upon the hearing of repetition of Shakespeare
passages as soon as they enter the classroom, and they waste
no time over it, in order that the acting may begin as soon as
possible. While the hearing is in full swing the noise is con-
siderable, but it is one of the most gratifying experiences of
their goodwill and discipline to hear this great babble of voices,
which gradually thins out until but one voice is left. The latest
reciter generally makes a brave show, because he knows every one
can hear him. Then he also ceases. In the silence the mistei
rises with his list and calls only the first name of the roll. Each
boy in turn cries out his marks. Precious time is not wasted
in calling out all the names.

Twenty or thirty lines can thus be tested from the whole
class in a few minutes. It is not pretended that this is anything
but a test of repetition. Expression and delivery must be
dealt with separately. Also, the affair is not always put through
so neatly as I have described it. But the boys should in this,
and in all other matters, be encouraged to aim at a perfection
of discipline. A piece of business of this kind, if thoroughly
well done, has a beauty of its own.

// boys are to be taught by means of play the master must have
a genuine interest in the play.

All boys are alike in some respects, but no two boys are
alike in all respects. The duty of the master is to be for ever
making opportunities for boys of every type of character to
express themselves, and so bring about the natural perfection
of their several abilities. He must so order his method that
the group of boys under his guidance may act as a corporate
body, influenced by communal ideas ; and at the same time
36

GENERAL METHOD

he must see that scope is given to the development of individual
personality. There is many a mtist in educational practice,
but the most urgent of them all is the must which nature has
implanted in the character of the boy.

Although the members of a class are seldom enough treated
as individuals, it is even more rare to find a class treated as a
conscious group. The boys are either addressed collectively,
or they are set to do each his version of the same task separately.
It is an excellent plan to treat the class, whenever possible,
as a body of workers collaborating. Will not the habit of
thought thus induced fit them better for their after hfe in the
world ? Or is it our object to train them all either to be tjrpical
imitators, characterless units of a mob, or to follow the occupa-
tion of being " in business on their own " ? As the combined
movements of several dancers are knit up into a figure of the
dance, or the several soundings of the string and wind instru-
ments together compose the concerted orchestra, so may the
common laboiu-s of the playboys together bring about what no
one of them could compass alone. Combined effort and corporate
discipline are familiar on the plajdng-field. Such things have
<!ome naturally into being there because the business in hand
is action. Combined effort and corporate discipline will never
be possible in the classroom tmtil the master relinquishes the
sole command, and until the boys are permitted to undertake
some parts of their course of learning in an active form.

A master must of course understand boys. But it is not
enough for him to understand boys in a general way. He must
know the particular boys now imder his guidance, and, so far
as in him lies, regard everything from their point of view.
In order to be on friendly terms with his boys it is not enough
for a master to mix with them in a condescending manner.
He must join in their interests in school and out of school,
honestly and heartily, not with any idea of amusing the boys,
but because he is of like passions with them. Some teachers
are afraid that the boys may not respect them if they do not
maintain an artificial dignity. Is it such a frail thing, then,
the respect they inspire in their boys ? Will the boys in their
hearts think any less of a master who confesses himself human ?
On the playing-field, where both boys and master behave in

37

THE PLAY WAY

a perfectly natural way, they can play together without any
loss of dignity to either side. The sternest of schoolmasters
can in a Rugger game butt into the very scrum with his boys.
Why should he not be on equally good terms with them at all
times, and frankly enjoy with them the play of the classroom
as he does the play of the games-field ?

If at any time you aim at giving boys play solely because
they like it, surely your very presence will be apt to dull their
enjojrment. The play that celebrates a relaxation of authority
cannot be enjoyed under the eye of authority. Therefore
there is a type of play (out of school) in which a master has no
place. There will always be play of sheer exuberance, " letting
off steam," the expression of animal spirits. In this form
of play mischief has no small part, and half the fun consists
in doing what one ought not to do and taking the risk. For
there will always be the play of the mice when the cat's away —
be the cat never so sympathetic.

Full opportunity should be given for this natiu-al free activity
of children. But the play suggested as a classroom method
is of a different kind. It is play with a purpose. But be
careful that you do not leave all the play to the boys, and find
yourself sole keeper of the purpose. Just as the boys must
appreciate the purpose, so must the master appreciate the
play.

Though it is not necessary for the master to take an active
part in play, yet he cannot be a playmaster imless he appreciate
Littleman's point of view. It is evident that unless the master
can help m the planning of games he will be imable to turn
those games to good account in the direction of learning. In
other words, it is useless for him to stand aside and consider
Littleman's idea of play merely as a relaxation from the master's
idea of work.

In the play that goes on in the classroom while the master is
present he must have as keen an interest as the boys themselves.
Only in such a case can they feel that his part is genume, and
not fear that he is "getting at them." Littleman will un-
doubtedly feel this if the master appears in any sense to be
pandering to his childish tastes. For the ambition to be manly
stirs early in him— long before there is any need for him to put
88

GENERAL METHOD

away childish things, or any wisdom in encouraging him to
do so. With ever so Uttle untimely encouragement the man-
instinct, which is his future strength, will overbear the child-
instinct, which is his present glory.

If the games-master played cricket only to amuse the boys,
and not because he liked the game, the boys would discover
it at once, and forthwith despise both cricket and the games-
master. It is the same with the play of the classroom so far
as real interest is concerned, for the master though he rarely
takes an active share in classroom play must be in it heart and
soul. Littleman of course knows that the presence of the
master has a distinct influence upon the character of the play —
he would be a poor master who hadn't — ^but any possible
dissatisfaction felt at the presence of a grown-up playfellow
is easily counterbalanced by the pride of having a grown-up
fellow to play with. So much will be clear to any one who
really knew how to play when he was a child, or who has ever
joined in the play of children since he has grown up. But
in the classroom of the present day you may add this considera-
tion : The boys recognize all the time that you are the master,
with authority to say, " These revels now are ended ; " yea, at
a word to abolish the great globe of self-government itself;
to require again the dead labour of common drudgery, and even
to inflict punishment for misdemeanours occasioned or imagined
by the state of your own nerves.

It is indeed a pity that this spectre of Orbilius still looms
in the background, that there is in the mind of Littleman a
£ear, however dormant it may be, that if he is not careful the
goblins will get him. Any day, for all he knows, the prince
may turn back into an ogre, and the volcano erupt and break
up the fairyland. It is, I say, a great pity, but that fact remains,
and it perhaps helps to explain why Littleman is so ready to be
taught in play, so willing to keep the rules, so anxious still to
dream.

It is the blend of pleasure and duty, of freedom and direction,
that makes the boy so prolific in those works of play, rising
even to true lyrics and tragic drama,* which in ordinary life
the nursery does not demand and the classroom will not allow.
* For lyrics see Perse Playbooks, Nos. 2 and 5 ; for tragic drama, No. 3.

89

THE PLAY WAY

As an adult you cannot hope to be a fully qualified player
among children in the nursery, and by the same token you need
not exercise the powers of a fully authorized master among
children in the classroom. But if you are to qualify in any
positive sense as a teacher of Littleman you must combine the
qualities of both player and master. So I call you a playmaster.

One knows of course that there are genial uncl^ who would
not for the world interfere with nursery fun for the sake of
bringing in some sense of reality, some matter of substance ;
uncles home from the Front, for instance, who would stand by
and applaud Littleman's spirited assault upon an opposing
trench, even though in his dash and daring he ignored the
enemy's wire defences. One knows also that there are teachers
who would not for a fellowship permit Littleman to stir from his
desk ; teachers hot from college who would pester Littleman
with every device of notes, diagram, paraphrase, resum6,
sjmopsis, and examination, without a thought of that boyish
Interest in playing the thing, trying some active form of it,
seeing how it works, which makes the study for him so much
more worth the imdertaking. But the playmaster must be
a true blend of the genial uncle and the exacting academic
teacher. There are some characteristics of masters which,
though they do little harm among senior pupils, really render
a man unfit to teach little boys. Such are the haughty
demeanour of the man whose standard for all work is nothing
short of perfection, and who will have no mercy upon mistakes
of any kind ; the absent-mindedness of the man whose thoughts
are fixed all the time upon his subject, and who pays little
regard to his pupils ; and the insensitiveness of the man who
does not properly imderstand small boys and their feelings,
and who is half the time at cross-purposes with them on this
account. I fancy that this last type of failing is more common
than we think, and that quite half the worries and troubles of
the junior classroom arise out of a misunderstanding between
boy and master owing to the master's lack of a nice perception,
want of tact.

We are confident that the Play Way system could be
administered in such a way as to suit all boys, but we have
never been so sanguine as to believe that it could suit all masters ;
4iO

GENERAL METHOD

for many masters have already formed habits and opinions
which it is beyond our power to influence. These teachers,
however, do not concern us here, for they would never consent
to join forces with us.

One of the first qualities of a playmaster is tact.

In view of the immaturity of his charges a playmaster must
be a fellow of infinite tact. There is no occasion to be mawkish
and over-tender with boys. They are hardy little rascals in
many ways. And, in any case, one of the functions of school
is to make them ready for the buffets of the world. But the
boys themselves may be trusted to do enough buffeting of
one another. The master can well leave "ragging," ridicule,
and the whole process of " rounding off the corners " of an
individual boy to that boy's peers. The master will be doing
better educational service in acting as a pilot to steer each
little iadividuality on its voyage. The waves are often trying
for the little craft.

A playmaster must be easy of approach and always regarded
by the boys as a person naturally helpful. Thus they will
not be afraid to ask questions, however childish they may seem,
and will have no dread of making silly mistakes. One should
never laugh at a childish misconception, nor even smile indul-
gently, however the fault may tickle one's sense of the ridiculous.
For although among boys there are many sturdy ones who do
not feel a joke at the expense of their lack of knowledge, yet
many of those who venture to suggest an answer rather than
to ask a blunt question are the sensitive ones. And unfeeling
ridicule, however gentle it may appear to you, often hurts them
more than a blow. Who has not heard some blundering
unsympathetic fool laugh aloud when a small person approaches
him with a quiet question ? " Just listen to this," he announces
to the crowd grinning in anticipation : " here's a fellow who
wants to know ..." And then he gives a cruel parody of the
timid question. The crowd being expected to laugh, laughs ;
for crowds like to signalize their advantage over some helpless
victim. The poor shy boy thus held up to ridicule smiles
feebly, though be is often nearer the verge of tears than any one

41

THE PLAY WAY

knows. That boy may never ask another question of that
man.

This care for a possible sensitiveness must be constantly
exercised, even in the mildest instances of error. When a
boy, for instance, reads such a word as Antipodes as three
syllables — ^as any one naturally would do on meeting it for
the first time — some jolly teachers laugh. It is such an amusing
" howler." But after such an experience a boy may for months
after be reluctant to read aloud. Such a feeling in the boy
is not a softness to be knocked out of him. It is a sensitiveness
in his nature of which due care must be taken. In our regard
for sense we must not lose sensibility.

I give this rather obvious question some importance because
1 know from personal experience how real a trouble it is to a
boy — ^and not by any means a small boy only — ^not to have at
hand some one whom he may question on the most trifling
matters without fear of being made to look a fool. For after all
we must learn the very simplest things from some one.

Can the reader remember his anxiety as a boy when he
first went out to a dinner-party ? Can he stiU feel in the pit
of his stomach the nervousness he felt when he had to glance
furtively round to find out how a certain dish should be
negotiated ? Or was my reader one of those brazen creatures
who would have turned to the hostess and said in a loud voice,
" What rirni food you have here ! "

Few adults seem to reaHze the discomfort and often actual
misery they occasion boys by taking for granted that they
are at ease anywhere and everywhere. Dinners were bad
enough ; but a boy's first experience of a large club, or of hotel
life, or of taking a long journey alone, have generally been
occasions of perspiring anxiety unless there was a tactful elder
at hand to initiate him.

Grown-up people quite frequently cause one another annoy-
ance for want of a little tact in mentioning some necessary
information. People often invite one to a homely dinner with-
out any warning to " come as you are." The unfortunate man
who goes in full dress and finds the company in flannels is as
wretched as the man who turns up in a lounge suit at a full-
dress function. And who has not been asked on sitting down
42

GENERAL METHOD

to dinner, " Now what will you drink ? " A most tactless
question, which prompts the almost irresistible reply, " What
have you got ? "

Once a young fellow knows how to eat asparagus, how to
make use of the hall-porter, how much to tip a waiter, how to
sleep on a train, how to pass the custom-house, and all other
such things, he will be perfectly at ease in those things for
ever after. But the process of discovery is often needlessly
discomforting.

The reader, as I say, may have been a hardy devil-may-care
in these and similar matters. But we are not all so gifted.
When I was a boy I sacrificed pleasures many and many a time,
and stayed away from gatherings of various kinds, not from
a feeling of lasting shyness, but for fear of the opening stages,
for lack of knowing the ropes. Actual instances of the simple
things I feared, and the shifts I made to avoid them, would
convince the reader at once of the good sense of this appeal.
But I dare not give any actual instances, for fear you should
laugh at me !

The way to spare young people all such distress is in the
first place to be easy of approach, always to greet a timid
question as though it were the most natural inquiry ; and in
the second place to make a point of telling them exactly what
to do whenever you think they may need the information.

Some one may ask if this recommendation is not against
the spirit of our educational principle, namely, that boys must
not be pampered and spoon-fed, but allowed to gain experience
for themselves. But a moment's thought will show that it
is not so. These little tactful aids are a recognition of the
small yet disconcerting difficulties any boy will meet so soon
as he leaves the nursery. In giving him information about
these small matters of social life you are really giving the boy
the rudiments of self-reliance. Without some launching he
might well fear to venture the least thing, and remain shut
up within himself.

Schoolmasters whose acquaintance with boys is limited
to the classroom, where they are merely inactive students of
some book-matter, may wonder what relevancy to education the
foregoing paragraphs can claim. But those who know boys

43

THE PLAY WAY

best out of school will agree that such things are intimately
bound up with the growth of a boy's experience. Parents
who are in the confidence of their sons wil bear me out in
this.

The need of instruction in these obvious matters of daily
life is rather the concern of parents than of schoolmasters.
But I have taken these very plain instances to point a moral.

When wiU schoolmasters realize that, because of their
iniquitous preoccupation with their " subjects," more than
nine-tenths of the growth of a boy's experience is going on
without any influence from them ? When will they realize that
a boy is somehow, or anyhow, adjusting himself with life quite
apart from all their school-teaching ? Because of their lack
of sympathy and contact with a boy's real interests he is all the
time out of their reach. Let any schoolmaster honestly con-
sider which boys he is influencing, and he will find them to
be those whose interests he shares, those in whose confidence
he is, and these will not necessarily be the boys who are any
good in his " subject." And the intimacy upon which this
influence of his rests is for the most part an out-of-school
companionship or understanding. A master's educational
influence often has very little to do with the subject-matter
of his teaching, and sometimes none whatever.

In any case, most boys learn so httle of these precious
school " subjects," even imder the most efficient instructor,
that it is time teachers were shamed into more effective action
of some kind. I would ask all teachers to remember that by
widening a boy's boundaries you extend his reach.

How full of meaning is our maxim that " Direct instruction
is but a small part of all that can take place in the classroom."
Even if the master refuses to consider an3rthing but that the
boys must learn the lesson, how much else will nevertheless
be taking place in their minds, which neither he nor any other
can stop, and of which he might just as well decide to make
use. What silent processes of growth quite unconnected with
the classroom or the mathematical master are quietly and
steadily going on in that bullet head of Johnny Jenkins while
he is learning quadratic equations. And among all the multitude
of images and thoughts which pass through the mind of young
44

GENERAL METHOD

Dick in the course of a day, of what relative importance is it
to him that verbs in the ablative are always feminine ?

Scientific investigators may proceed with the study of
psycho-physiological pedagogy imtil all that is plain has been
made obscure, and even now those learned men are probably
saying the same things as we are in their own way. The truth
remains, however we arrive at it and however we state it,
that every boy requires special treatment. A method that is
wrought in keeping with this realization can only be administered
by a teacher who is on intimate terms with the boys, and in
touch with their individual needs. To be thus in the confidence
of boys requires the constant exercise of tact. The measure
of a teacher's sympathy is the measure of his influence, and the
measure of his influence is the measure of his responsibility.

The basis of educational method must be a regard for the pupil's
interests.

Some wag has defined genius as an infinite capacity for
making other people take pains. This is essentially the genius
of the playmaster. The boy takes pains because his interests
have been considered first. When the subject of study is
given first consideration the boy finds the pains thrust upon
him, often not unaccompanied by penalties.

Most teachers put the subject first in their estimation,
and give the boy second place. As a result of this, compulsion
has to be the basis of method. Teachers will say that we
exaggei'ate in this statement. But would the boys come to
school at all if they had any opportunity to stay away ? How
many of them would come back to your classes if it were open
to them to do anything else ? Compulsion is the basis.

If you put the boy first and subordinate all subjects to his
needs and abilities, then you may find that, while he comes
gladly to school and demands all kinds of learning, it is the
subject which will then be under compulsion — ^all kinds of
learning needed by this little fellow, all kinds of masters required,
subjects and teachers collected by order from aJl sides for the
service of the real educational force — ^interest. This conscrip-
tion of subjects in the interest of the boy is a promising line of

45

THE PLAY WAY

thought. The reader may find it tempting enough to pursue it
for himself.

But when we claim that the Play Way takes the interest
of the boy as a starting-point, some teachers affect to beheve
that by interest we mean mere amusement. This criticism
arises either out of intentional misrepresentation, or a limited
intelligence on the part of the critic. For it has been stated
plainly and often that interest, in our use of the term, is that
which you have nearest at heart, that which has your very
being in hold. Our Play is the play of interest in this sense,
and not the play of entertainment.

What is the master to do, then, if he is neither to force
a subject of study upon a boy from outside, nor yet to tempt
him from outside with the sweet baits of pleasure ? My answer
is this :

He is to go straight to the interest which the boy has at
heart. There he will find guidance for all the rest of his duty.
That is the secret of playmastery.

If the teacher is thus in complete and thorough sympathy
with his pupils, under his encouragement and guidance the
boys will find in what he gives them to do the satisfaction
of their instincts, the exercise of their inherent powers, and
the true expression of their natural desires. Boys thus rightly
treated are keen to learn and to do and to be ever active-minded.
When boys are lazy and stubborn the fault is only half their
fault. There is something amiss between them and the teacher
which must be set right.

If every teacher cannot be expected to have such an under-
standing of his boys as all this implies, then every school should
have at least one playmaster. But surely we can all approximate
to this true sympathy for the boys' point of view. One some-
times hears it said, " Ah yes, how true all that is, if only
teachers could do it." Does this mean that our school system
must for evermore be based upon this iniquitous spoon-feeding,
because teachers as a body are unfit to do anything else ? Let
us not be so modest.

GENERAL METHOD

Under a natural system of education there can be no absolute
standard of discipline. Bight behaviour is a relative condition
to be determined by its appropriateness to the occasion.

A playmaster should give his pupils all the space and freedom
they can possibly make good use of. If the right comes worthily
from his hands it will not be abused. There need be no fear
that, once a meadow is thrown open, nothing but leap-frog and
horse-play will follow. That is the fear of those who are accus-
tomed to see the coarse outburst of spirits fermented by un-
natural restraint. The healthy body is moderate.

The practice of self-government of all kinds should be
encouraged, both in the individual that he may learn respon-
sibility for his own actions and form for himself a body of
right habits, and in the community that they may build up a
system of good order based on mutual understanding. Every
boy should grow early accustomed to coromand without a trace
of domineering and to obey without a taint of servility.

If a boy asks " Why ? " after the order " You must," he may
not be questioning authority, but seeking a reasoned adjustment
with it. In any case the retort, " Because I say so," is enough
to anger any one into rebelHon. Prompt obedience should
certainly be exacted ; but the reason for the giving of an order
should always be understood. If teachers would honestly
bear this in mind they would soon observe how many orders
they give out of the habit of their imquestioned authority
for which no reasonable defence can be foxind. Such are the
perpetual injunctions to " Sit still." Why ? To sit still for
a protracted period is not only quite a feat for Littleman, but
it is usually quite imnecessary.

That " sit-stillery " is a useful accomplishment is not
denied. But it is not nearly of such general utUity as teachers
imagine. Learning how to move is of inuneastu-ably greater
importance than learning to sit still. In all natural life, for
one moment of apparent stillness there are milhons of active
movements. A child who is left to profit by experience will
soon learn when to be still, when to move, and even how to move,
in due accordance with the need of the occupation he is engaged
upon.

47

THE PLAY WAY

The narrow outlook to which most teachers have restricted
themselves has limited the word " discipline " in its school
sense to that particular form of restraint which means the
inhibition of active movement. But there is an appropriate
discipline for every aspect of life, mental and bodily.

The question is too wide for present discussion, and in any
case the classroom imposes obvious limitations. But, in
passing, teachers may be recommended to make less fuss over
" sit-stUlery," to allow natural movement, and, in allowing
it, to pay some attention to the fitness, aptness, and beauty of
movement — ^in a word, to rhythm.

Tn all effective action the amoimt of muscular force exerted
is more than would be necessary for the mere execution of the
action, but this strong force has to be controlled and guided
by a complementary muscular restraint equally strong. Over-
restraint will render action ineffective as easily as will lack of
restraint. One hears so much on this imnatural system of
boys being told to restrain themselves. But, if you will believe
me, under natural conditions they quite as often need encourage-
ment to let themselves go.

Teachers often sigh after some sense of corporate respon-
sibility among a group of boys. It is the easiest thing in the
world to set afoot if you go the right way about it. Boys
can readily understand and effectively carry out a corporate
discipline. But the master and the boys cannot both rule
at one and the same moment. If the master rules continuously,
then he must not look for any sense of responsibihty in the boys
— ^for he grants them no responsibihty.

Even a little boy can appreciate for himself the meaning
of individual mental discipline, self-control.

The following instances will probably surprise the reader
who has had no experience of boys other than that of so many
honey-pots to be stored with the sweets of learning :

Form Ila (average age under 12|) used to have Stick-
wagging (that is, the group-recital of poems in play) in the
second morning period, and Speeches in the fourth period,
for it had seemed advisable to put at the end of the morning
a lesson in which all the boys but one were resting, and listening
to an interesting lecture. But fatigue, from which all little boys
48

GENERAL METHOD

suffer after two or three hours of lessons, soon made itself fel
in the Speeches. The speakers had not the requisite grip o
their subject-matter. They were not fresh. Their deliver;
showed hesitation ; and the er and hum-and-ha, common t<
adult lecturers, which the Littlemen were so proud to havi
abolished, came in again. The frequency of the hammer-rap '
became unbearable.

" What is the matter ? " I protested.

" He keeps saying er," replied the hammer-boy.

" But as a rule he does not hesitate."

" No, sir, but we always used to have Speeches in the seconc
period. It's much harder to speak well at the end of the mominj
I found it so myself just now." Observe that correction an(
criticism were in the right hands, for the hammer-boy kne^
from experience the precise conditions of the speaker he wa
correcting. Yet for all his knowledge of the difficulties he wouk
not abate a rap of his requirement.

" What is yoTU" opinion ? " I asked the lecturer.

" I don't feel I'm speaking very well," he replied, " bu
then, you see, the class is not attending properly, and tha
makes a difference."

The obvious reply would have been that it was the speaker'
business to hold their attention. But that would have been i
shallow observation — one of those unthinking retorts so cleverh
used by teachers. The truth of comrse was that the fatigue o
the speaker and the fatigue of the class reacted upon one another
When a master addressing the class imder like conditions find
the same difficulty, would it not be more fair and honest dealin|
for him to say, " I know you are tired. Perhaps I am no
claiming your attention so firmly as I might, because, I suppose
I am tired too. But let us all make an effort to do ourselve
justice in the last lap."

There is a jolly chorus to a folk singing-game which ends

I'll do all that ever I can
To push the business on.

And if schoolmasters were not obsessed with the indefensible
notion that method in teaching is a kind of trade secret, the}

♦ A rap of a little hammer is used for current criticism.

D 4!

THE PLAY WAY

might take Littleman openly into their confidence and shape
with him the inspiration of those lines. Instead, they visit
their •wrath upon the unfortunate boys, whether the fault be
in the time-table, or in the weather, or in the enforced dullness
of the subject, or merely in the state of their own health. I do
not of course claim inununity from this condemnation for myself.
We are all in the same box, and that box is the classroom.

The Littlemen and their master agreed to change the lessons
about, to hold Speeches in the second period and to put Stick-
wagging in the last. Stick-wagging is our active play-method
of reciting poems in chorus. Many of the poems have developed
into games, and with some of them are associated toys such as
cats, birds, and ships. Many voice inflexions and modulations
are heard in the chorus recital, sticks are waved, the little
ship sails in a dish of water, the cat pounces upon the bird,
and the boys make expressive gestures of all kinds. There is
need for the master or the boy-conductor to keep the reciters all
together in expressive rhythm, just as an orchestra is controlled
by the conductor. Each boy also must exercise individual
self-control in order to take his due part — and neither more
nor less than his due part — in the chorus-recital. If well
done, this method of rendering poems is in itself an effective and
beautiful art form.

Well, when we put Stick-wagging as the last lesson of the
morning the recital gained tremendously in life and gusto,
but the boys exaggerated their expressive effects. The bangs
and dnun-taps and shouts which were part of the poems were
overdone, and the "Hark, hark. Bow-wow," and "Cock-a-
diddle-dow " of the Ariel song were rendered with such vigour
as to spoil all sense of art in the recital. Also the raps of the
hammer-boy interrupted every opening bar. " Start together"
he insisted. No one who saw those lessons could deny that we
all enjoyed every minute of the time, and that we did some
exceedingly good work. But from a director's or teacher's
point of view there was an uncomfortable looseness about the
whole business. There was not enough conscious discipline
for art. The thing wanted pulling together.

Once after a particidarly energetic rendering of " Hunting " *
• See Perse Playbooks, No. 8.
50

GENERAL METHOD

I observed, " You boys were too tired to make good speeches
at the end of a morning and yet you seem always to have more
vigour than is required for the play-songs. How is it," I asked,
" that you Littlemen make more noise, and seem to be more
full of energy when you are tired ? "

The question was too much for most of the small people.
But presently a quiet boy of eleven, who never, I think, can
have made a noise in his life, said, " Isn't it because the more
tired you are the less you can control yourself, and so you
keep letting yourself go ? " I agreed that it was so.

When freedom and ease are necessary for the forwarding
of the business in hand, then freedom and ease must of course
be permitted by the playmaster. During many lessons the
playboys have been allowed to " unsit," that is, to attend in
any comfortable attitude. Many sit on the desks or the
windowsills and dangle their legs. Others stand about the
room in easy postures. The only criticism made is of ungainly
positions, or of those prejudicial to health. A Littleman
sitting in comfort, or standing at ease and giving all his attention
to a speech or a play which is going on, is often an unconsciously
beautiful figure. It is some such easy standing posture as this
which I should choose for a statue of Littleman. And of the
same boy sitting in the stocks with his arms folded, I would
make a cartoon to the perpetual shame of the repressionist
spoon-feeder.

It has been said that boys have sometimes actually to
be persuaded to let themselves go. This of course is mainly
seen in connexion with acting and the other forms of play
which are full of movement. But the reader will not by this
time be likely to imagine that the play-method sets order,
quietness, and systematic discipline at naught. On the contrary,
play-methods in the classroom demand a far more rigorous
attention to systematic order and true discipline than do the
dead conditions of pedant rule. But in connexion with what
business soever, you cannot get so real a discipline by coercion
as you can by relying on the goodwill of the company and
their recognition of what is required for the matter in
hand.

There must be in your playmaster a spice of the drill-sergeant.

51

J.XXJK jc u x^. 1. »Tn.x

He must be exacting of precision. But there is not so much
need of severity as there is of stimulus and encouragement.
Enthusiasm will do more than bullying, and a quiet insistence
is more forcible than shouting. The boys can be brought to
take a pride in their corporate discipline. They can be made
to feel that there is a distinct joy and beauty in precision of
movement and in absolute trim, just as there is in rhythmical
motion, or dancing in time.

In Greek education — ^but let us not for shame pursue that
line. The glory that was Greece is represented in the schools
of to-day as an ancient language to be studied, nothing more.

A play-method is designed to make leisure valuable and
labour light. Sincerity of purpose will dignify the merest
hobby, and interest will lighten the severity of deep study.
Wrongly applied, a play-method can as easily spoil a good game
by requiring too much care as it can render a serious under-
taking of no account by admitting too much wantonness.

When order, silence, and discipline are required then the
playboys know how to observe the strictest order, the dead
silence, and a discipline that is really a living and potential
thing. Have you really considered that discipline is not an
absolute necessity, but a relative one — a potential condition?
There is no strain about this silence and calm. The master
whose class gives him the perfect discipline of a ready trust
finds the boys responsive to his touch, not struggling against
his rule, nor sunken into sulks, but quietly alert and ready,
" awaiting but the signal to begin." Among teachers, only
a playmaster in thorough accord with his boys can know what
it means to have one's finger on the pulse of life.

These maxims of the Play Way, and discourses in explication
of them, might be continued indefinitely. But it should not be
necessary to go on. Those who have not been stimulated
by what has already been said to work out particulars of
method for themselves would not be persuaded or convinced by
anything more in the way of argument or exposition which
might be written here. For a player, Uke a poet, must he
born before he can be made. For the born player there is no
doubt of the main question. It is answered in his very being.
And as for those who are not players, well, we wish them good
52

GENERAL METHOD

luck in their arduous ways. It is of no avail to quarrel and
get angry with one another over these things. If you are
bom a cat and I am bom a dog, then I shall no more be able
to persuade you to be canine than you will find it possible
to convert me to felinity.

If a disputant offer criticism, and cavil at details, he may
help you to amend ; but if he deny the principle upon which
your whole action is based, the principle you were bom to
believe, then his criticism is not positive in any sense for you,
but negative entirely, and you must let such words go by you
as the idle wind which you respect not, for they are a very
denial of the faith to which you owe adherence.

The minds of men are not at bottom subject to mere whim,
but are moved constantly, though most often without their
knowledge, in pursuit of one aim. It is predisposition, the
inherent cast of mind, that in the long run gives us to agree
or disagree with any given thesis. That is why a man convinced
against his will is of the same opinion still. We are horn to
believe this or that (unless we are bom without brain enough to
beheve positively and intelligently in anything). Against this
predisposition or settled habit of mind logic is of no avail.
No appeal, however reasonable, wins through the ear when the
mind is shut, for man is a creature not guided by reason but
by prejudice — " is either a little Liberal or else a little Con-
servative."

To be thus in earnest, then, as we are in the views expressed
in this book — ^to have one's feet thus planted on a rock of
certainty — does not come of having accepted a doctrine after
logical consideration, but it comes of innate belief; for the
springs of human action lie not in the reasoned intention of
the individual, but in the intuition of man's mind, in the gathered
energy of inherited tendency and communicated desire. And
so this expression of an educational ideal will ultimately appeal
only to those who already feel an answer to it within them-
selves.

98

CHAPTER in

SELF-GOVERNMENT

The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come at large.

" Troilus and Cressida "

The subject of self-government is here treated in two parts.
The first part deals with discipline and the charge of affairs
in the hands of boys. The second discusses an aspect ol
teaching rarely considered in connexion with self-government,
and too often neglected altogether — ^namely, the individual
boy's government of himself, and his responsibility for his
own learning. The question of self-government in discipline
is treated from a purely practical point of view, and a few
experiments are described. But the wider aspects of the
subject are dealt with in connexion with individual responsibility.

We need not spend much time in arguing the case in favour
of giving self-government to boys in school. The subject
has been discussed in theory often enough. It is one of the
cardinal tenets in most proposed reforms of educational
method. So we may presimie that if teachers have not by
now adopted some form of self-government with their boys,
it is either because they are not convinced of its value or because
they are still waiting to be shown how to set about it.

Those teachers who are not convinced that self-government
is a natural and necessary part of school administration need
not detain us now. But those of us who do believe in the
principle must put it into practice from now onwards, consistently
and whole-heartedly, so that the new tradition of freedom may
soon get a firm hold upon our schools, and remain rooted there.
The method of teaching which consists of spoon-feeding under
repression — overriding the natural habits and desires of boys
$4

SELF-GOVERNMENT

so that they may be crammed with instruction in certain
subjects — ^is already discredited. Few defend the old system
now. The most you will hear from the old-fashioned pedant
is a querulous complaint that he is not a pedant. And the
harshest of disciplinarians now feels it necessary to justify
his severity. The spirit of freedom is strong enough to make
every one profess adherence to it.

But, as we all know, spoon-feeding and repression go on as
before, and the classroom system upon which all schools are run,
is still based upon these twin demons of futility.

The practice of education reforms itself very slowly, partly
because all men find it easier to continue in bad ways than to
amend them according to their better lights, and partly because
the schoolmaster in particular has so little outside pressure
to keep him up to the scratch. The only thing required of
most schoolmasters is that they should dodder on in the same
old way.

Apart from a few foundations recognized as progressive
or experimental, school as we know it to-day is a gigantic
humbug. Reformers for the most part have been afraid to fall
upon this ancient fraud itself, and have gone aside to found
little modem schools of their own or merely to become a voice
in the wilderness. But those who earnestly desire to see
an immediate reform of school method would be well advised to
stay in their present schools, and begin the reform from inside.
This will, of course, mean for the present the restriction of all
their ideas to fit the limitation of the classroom. Periods of
forty minutes in a room full of desks with twenty-five boys
(and in elementary schools often double that number) do not
offer any great scope for any one whose ideas of education
embrace wider activities than reading, writing, and figuring.
But much can be done under such limitations ; and it is in the
hope of their being of some service as hints that the following
experimental devices have been described.

When a teacher is set down to conduct lessons in a certain
subject at stated times he cannot of course give the boys
much freedom of choice. If the school time-table says
" Arithmetic," then arithmetic it must be, and any teacher
whose ideas of self-government should go so far as to allow

55

THE PLAY WAY

the boys to do anything else in that period would be failing
in his duty to the school. But when your subject is a wide
one, such as " English " for example, it should be possible
to include many various activities. If the authorities who
are responsible for the scheme of work insist on drawing up a
rigid syllabus for you, stating that one period shall be given to
dictation, one to reading aloud, one to parsing, one to learning
verses by heart and so on, then I admit you are done for. There
is nothing for it but to abandon your ideas or abandon the school.
But in many schools to-day a responsible subject-teacher is
given a reasonably free hand within the periods devoted to that
subject, and can apportion the time among the different phases
of his work to suit his own intentions.

But with only three or four periods a week in which to teach
all that goes by the name of English, where are you to find
time for the practice of self-government ? Our plan was to
set up some kind of governing system, and then let it run
concurrently with the subject-study. The master need not
always be teaching, the boys can conduct many lessons them-
selves. Then there is the round of daily routine duties, and
these also can be entrusted to the boys. Finally, there is the
maintenance of discipline — ^for discipline in an active community
does not run itself, it has to be maintained — and this also can
safely be left in the hands of the boys. Let us, then, take these
opportunities for self-govenment, and consider them from a
practical point of view.

One of the first essentials of self-government is the election
of a body of officials. Some portion of the school-time may
at first be set aside for this government business, but once it is
firmly set afoot the boys may be willing to transact these
affairs in their own time. As a beginning it is well to ask the
company to suggest posts to which they will presently elect
officials. A chief is necessary, and him we call the Prime
Monitor. Sometimes he chooses his own cabinet, and sometimes
the whole committee is elected by the citizens. One monitoi
will be responsible for the homework, another will take charge
of the acting of a play, a third will see that the classroom is
kept tidy, and so on. The cabinet makes rules and regulations
for the conduct of debates, settles the responsibilities of monitors
59

SELF-GOVERNMENT

and the duties of the citizens, and may (if you decide so) even
impose penalties for misdemeanours. The power vested in
the cabinet has varied from time to time, but one of the most
interesting experiments was when the boys of the third form
had complete control, not only of discipline, but of all their
schoolwork in English. "The Jimior Republic of Form
Illb " (average age about thirteen) held sway for two whole
terms, much to the joy of the playboys, and entirely to my
own satisfaction. The House at first divided on the question
of Prose and Verse. The books to be studied during the
term had already been chosen by myself. There was a book of
ballads, and an anthology of poems, and, for prose, a collection
of essays. "When the Verse party were in power they conducted
lessons only in verse subjects. When they were thrown out
we had only prose for a time. In reality the boys had a fairly
equal interest in all the books, but they had to divide on some-
thing as a beginning, imtil actual practice of self-government
should reveal a more genuine and less artificial difference of
opinion. And, as a matter of fact, though prose or verse were
in equal favour for readiag, many of the boys had a decided
preference for making ballads and poems as homework instead of
writing prose compositions. The debates held on the relative
merits of prose and verse were naturally rather feeble. But
the real interest centred in matters of administration. The
Verse government would be defeated by the opposition, not
because the majority of the class felt an urgent desire to study
prose, but because under a vote of censure they had been
foimd guilty of slackness in certain duties, and were consequently
held to have forfeited the confidence of the community. One
government went out because its Homework Monitor had failed to
set the homework one night. He protested that every one knew
what he would have set, and therefore every one ought to have
learnt it. But certain members of the opposition boldly asserted
that they had done no homework simply because no homework
had been set. So the leader of the opposition was able to score a
telling point, and he made it very plain to the Prime Monitor that
under his administration the class was not doing all it should do,
and was not even given a chance of doing its duty. So the vote
of censure was passed and the opposition formed a government.

57

THE PLAY WAY

The boys were really anxious to show that they could
work properly without any need of compulsion. Every one
enjoyed the game of debates and voting. But once when a
certain section nominated the stupidest boy in the form foi
some ojBBce, just for the fun of the thing, the prominent leaders
on both sides were very angry. They said precisely what anj
master would have said — ^namely, that fun was all very well,
and they hoped the debates would continue to be conducted
with good humour. But if any one thought he could turn the
whole thing into a " rag " by setting up " Aunt Sally candidates "
then he would soon find himself mistaken. " It is no good
doing the thing at all," they said, " if you can't do it properly."

The case as put b^ another speaker against tomfoolery
was that, if the practice of self-government degenerated into
a " rag," Mr. Cook would abolish the Republic, and they
would all return to ordinary lessons. Which was true, I
suppose, for school conditions would have required that action
on my part. Yet I am convinced that even without arty fear
of a higher authority stepping in with a threat of abolition,
public opinion among a group of boys would ensure an earnest
respect for order. The majority would be in favour of serious-
ness and would keep the " raggers " in hand. The experience
of other teachers who have had fuller opportunities for putting
this to the test bears out my opinion. But this seriousness of
purpose can only be expected on one condition : there must be
something to be serious about.

In those little communities which are entirely run on self-
government lines, such as the Junior Republics in the United
States and The Little Commonwealth down in Dorset, the
driving-power which makes the citizens conduct their affairs
seriously is real social necessity ; for what is not done by the
citizens for themselves in the way of rule is not done at all.
They must earn their own living, and therefore cannot be
idle ; they must safeguard their possessions and their peace,
and therefore must uphold the law and punish wrongdoers.
I am one of those who believe that all schools should be run
as far as possible on such a genuine system of self-government.
But while we are confined to the classroom, and our main efforts
are devoted to the study of some subject imposed, it is obvious
58

SELF-GOVERNMENT

that we are not living under natural conditions governed by neces •
sity, and so we must find some other central force, some other
driving-power. There must be some artificiality here, for there is
no getting away from the fact that it is not a necessity for a boy
to learn, for instance, a play of Shakespeare. What then shall we
devise of equal power to claim the boys' serious interest, to gain
their goodwill and enlist their whole-hearted co-operation ?

The answer is. Play. The subjects to be learnt must be
presented in an interesting way, and then the boys will have
a natural desire to do the work. They will work well imder
free conditions partly out of sheer enjoyment and partly for
fear of losing these rights.

As regards discipline during lessons, I know that many a
teacher's time and temper are wasted away because of his
endeavour to enforce an unnatural discipline, when it should
be obvious that the only discipline worth having is a natural
one got by interest and habit. The play-method not only does
require order and attention, but for its efficient working demands
that higher discipline which is habitual and has become so
by the operation of interest. To subject the will to perform
subordinate duties mechanically, leaving the thinking part
a free agent, is one of the conditions that make possible the
intellectual life of man. If every small act of daily life demands
attention every time, if self-control is always to be conscious,
men could never rise above the level of machines. The discipline
maintained by a ruling fear or by the immediate imposition of an
outward authority (" yoxir eye on the class ") is but a rigor mortis;
the free, self-government kind of discipline is simply a necessary
condition of Play. It is the rule of the game, and a sense of fair-
play. If you have it not you are merely drilling your class.

That is how you enlist their co-operation in the classroom.
It is, I hope, unnecessary to insist that the freedom postulated
is freedom from hampering conditions, not freedom from
doing the work. Yet some people have spoken to me in criticism
of the Play Way as though it meant abandoning work for play,
and letting the dear boys amuse themeslves instead of bothering
their little heads with learning ! *

* Of course it is on these lines that the Play Way will always be
criticized. We have answered the criticism time and again in these pages.

59

THE PLAY WAY

The Junior Republic of Form Illb, then, settled down tc
do good work and to maintain good discipline. I once went
away to Oxford for a day without making arrangements foi
any one to take their lessons. One master looked in, but they
begged him not to stay. As they grew in practice they foimd
their real differences very few, and gradually ceased to make
opposition for the mere sake of it. They got over party politics
as a puppy gets over distemper, for the simple reason that the
whole body was working to achieve a healthy system.

It is important to state at this point that although the
" politics " side of this self-government experiment interested
the boys at first it gradually fell out of favour. The speeches,
elections, and parliamentary business generally had very little
practical educational value at any time. I never expected
them to have much. The value expected of this self-govemmeni
scheme lay in the school work done by the boys under theii
own officers, and in the hearty spirit of freedom which informed
that work ; and not in the election of the officers or the passing
of votes of censure. The boys after a time felt this themselves,
and in every class with which I tried a system of self-govern-
ment the same thing happened. The boys felt unconsciouslj
that all this political business was an artificiality, and after one
term or so politics generally fell through.

I will confess now that I was often disheartened at sue!
happenings, though at the time I would not confess as mud
even to myself, for very fear of killing belief. It seemed tc
me that even in the stupid old classroom self-govemmen1
ought to be possible, so I made it a point of honour to set afoo1
some form of self-government in every class that came into mj
hands. In the end I saw that this faith was justified. Bui
■ before showing how, I will relate the story of a most dishearten
ing experience :

The form was a certain Ila, average age about twelve anc
a half, and the best form I ever had. Other masters agreec
at the time that the school had never had such a group of boys
More than half of them were distinctly able, the kind of bo]
who is found in twos and threes at the top of most classes
All but a few were very wilUng to try their best, and, whethe
clever or stupid, they were all good fellows. They had beei

SELF GOVERNMENT

in charge of their own affairs for a whole year, but under various
play-schemes (such as a band of knights), and not on the
parliamentary system. For a term or so the parliamentary
system ran its course, governments rose and fell. Prime Monitors
and their cabinets, " dressed in a little brief authority," held
sway for a time and then were defeated. But in the end there
was a motion put forward and support:ed by a powerful body
of opinion, not for the defeat of one government or another,
but actually for the abolition of self-government itself. You
may imagine with what feelings I heard that motion stated.
It was the most hotly contested fight we ever had in the school.
It was certainly true that the cabinet in power was very weak,
but that was not a sufficient reason for doing away with cabinets
altogether. There was one boy in the class who had made a
perfect Prime Monitor, though as it happened he was the
youngest of them all. In his time of power he had been most
efficient, and had insisted upon his colleagues carrying out all
their duties properly. Moreover he could control the class with
A word. The party now in power, finding a strong move-
ment afoot for the abolition of self-government, invited this
boy to come and lead them. The Prime Monitor (himself a
boy very good at aU his work, but no leader) pointed out rather
pathetically that his own failure need not bring about the
downfall of self-govenment itself. And there and then he
resigned, and nominated Sir Pelinore as his successor. But
Sir Pelinore refused to stand. He kept his own coimsel, and
never declared either for the abolition of self-government or
for its continuance. But the fact was plain, that if Sir Pelinore
declined to take command, the whole fabric would topple
down in ruin. The No-government party became clamorous,
and in despair the other side, who still had a shaky majority,
set up a totally untried fellow, who, though not remarkable for
ability, was big. His adherents spoke brave words about
a strong right arm, and implied that here was a Dictator.
But at the hour of dismissal, when the class should have remained
sitting still until homework and other business had been trans-
acted and they had the Prime Monitor's leave to go, one member
of the No-government party rose from his place coolly (though
p ale with anger and excitement) and strolled out. The wretched

61

THE PLAY WAY

dictator told him peremptorily to sit down. But his rule was
ignored, and so another anti-government member made tc
walk out. Then this Prime Monitor, vaunted by his adherents
for strength of arm, stepped between this second defiant and the
door. And I sat watching, and wondered if government would
descend to a trial of brute force. But he of the strong arm was
weak to command, and the second defiant walked out. Others
followed him. Fortunately no one appealed to me. But it
had been clearly established long ago by Sir Peliaore that a
boy's rule which rested on the master's authority and could
be enforced at his command was no self-government at all.
So I was a mere onlooker. Having seen enough I also walked
out, remarking to the dejected Prime Monitor that he had
better take some measures for the morrow, before dismissing his
adherents and what remained of the class.

The Prime Monitor who had lately resigned had a long
and excited tale to tell his mother ; and from her I had it
afterwards. He maintained that the one thing needed was a
strong Prime Monitor, who had the confidence of the class and
could manage his cabinet and keep them efficient. So he laid all
the blame for the cataclysm upon Sir Pelinore, who had refused
to come from his retirement and step into the breach.

Meanwhile great excitement prevailed at the School House,
for it happened that three or fom* of the malcontents were
boarders there. The wretched dictator, he of the strong
arm, was also a member of the School House ; and before the
evening was out the agitators had converted him to their
point of view and made him promise to resign ! A day now
intervened on which no government business was held ; but
both sides prepared eagerly for the coming struggle. The
No-government party in the School House chose green as their
colour. They had a two-handled banner made, with a design
on it, showing the Prime Monitor's mace being severed by
a sword-blow. I was told afterwards that the School House
had heard little else but self-government talk throughout the
week-end ; and one boy, usually very quiet and retiring, had
stated repeatedly and with great emphasis, " Self-government
must be abolished. Down with the Prime Monitor ! Mr. Cook
shall rule over us."
62

SELF-GOVERNMENT

The debate when it came was excitmg, and before the end
speeches gave way to violence. The leader of the No-govem-
ment party began an oration, while two supporters held his
green banner overhead. But he dared his opponents too far,
and when he grew eloquent about the sword-blow that should
shatter the Prime Monitor's mace, the Government party
rushed the platform. A fight ensued in which the banner was
destroyed ; and the supporters used the sticks of it upon their
assailants. When order had been restored the motion was
put to the House, " That Self-government shall be abolished."
By a crowning jest of fate, many of the malcontent Littlemen
voted No, thinking in their excitement that they were voting
against self-government. So the No-govenunent party, although
they had by now an overwhelming majority, were defeated.
But the next division-day saw the downfall of self-government.
So the boys thought, at all events.

Too much importance must not be made of such incidents
as this, but some interesting comments arise from it. The
first is that teachers who really give their boys freedom of
speech and action, and do not only make a pretence of it,
must be prepared to look on and see differences of opinion
carried to such extremes as this. If you interfere at any point
and say, " I can't have this," then you are abolishing self-
government in those four words. If the boys are to worry
through on their own account, and in the end achieve some
good working system, the teacher must give them time, and
be patient while they work out their experiments.

My second comment is this : The boys for all their excite-
ment were not abolishing self-government at all, but merely the
political or parliamentary aspect of it. The cry, " Mr. Cook
shall rule over us," simply meant that, as Sir Reginald had
said, the one thing needed was a strong Prime Monitor. The
boys were tired of nagging, tired of votes of censure and an
alinost weekly change of government. But under my rule
the boy-officials carried out their appointed tasks as before,
rhe only change was that I was not called a Prime Monitor,
and that I called my cabinet a committee 1

But while such fights as this were going on, and before
I saw how little they really touched the principle of self-

63

THE PLAY WAY

government among boys, I used to feel very disheartened. Let
us then consider divisions and votes of censure and such
machinery aboUshed, and see what it is that the boy-ofiicials
really do in the way of self-government. The following is
an account written a year or two ago of our experiments with
the lowest forms : *

The most well-ordered classes are those in which a body
of boy officials has control. There are so many details of
organization in the rule of a corporate body that the form-
master who would run his class systematically must either
spend half his time in matters of routine, to the neglect of his
teaching, or omit some details of the necessary adn inistration.
In the lowest forms where everything has to be sjstematized
and done by rule, we hand over a large proportion of classroom
administration to the boys. The youngest playboys need the
strictest rule, but the strictest rule itself can be administered
by the youngest playboys. In the first form you may have a
single monitor and a number of attendant spirits. His assistants
are responsible each in his degree for the tidiness of desks,
the readiness of books, the opening of windows, and the boys'
part of the scavenging. The monitor himself plays many parts.
He pricks the late-comers and the absentees, and collects
their excuses ; he harasses the staff for the weekly reports,
marshals his men at need, and acts deputy in the master's
absence. He annotmces the homework in the evening and
collects it the next morning. All these duties are his even
when the master is present ; and it is he who waits until the
class is quiet before dismissing them. A form-monitor is
appointed for his fitness, and is not always at the top of his
class. It has proved a good plan to put in authority aged
persons who otherwise might be in danger of doing little or
nothing.

In lib (average age under twelve) it chanced appropriately in
connexion with our reading of " Le Morte Darthur " that certain
boys should be knighted for single deeds of prowess or for
general renown. Thus it happened that a certain six came to be
Icnown as The Knightly Guard. There was the Knight Captain,
who held supreme sway, while the rest divided among them

♦ See Perse Playbooks, No. 4, p. 21.
61

SELF-GOVERNMENT

the control of the homework and the desks, and those other
cares with which a Knight could be charged. In this form
the oflBcers have a fuller responsibility. A Knight of the
Guard holds a daily wapenshaw to assure himself that all have
fit and ready their equipment of pens, ink, and paper ; and the
Knight Captain marshals his men orderly from one room to
another. The Knight Captain has his troubles of discipline
just as any teacher has. But there is always perfect goodwill
on both sides. Let us emphasize this point.

At the end of the school day the class is restless. Perhaps
after prayers the inefficiency of the Knight in charge of the
homework delays dismissal. Several squires make protest,
others volunteer information. The master simply waits. Add
to this chatter the hum and bustle of other traffic, such as the
collection of exercises and the packing of satchels, aggravated
now and then by the intrusive voice of some Casca crying " Peace,
ho ! " and you will understand that " disorder " is the only word
to describe the condition of this perfectly weU-meaning class.
Now the Knight Captain has a badge of office, a mace made
by one of the Knights, consisting of a gold handle of wood
about a foot long attached to a blue wooden ball about the size
at a man's fist. With this the Knight Captain knocks once
on the table, and silence immediately follows. I say that on
the tap of the mace all traffic and bustle is suddenly suspended,
flitting functionaries slip into their seats, and there is dead
silence. Then at an intimation from the Kiiight Captain,
" Homework " confesses that he cannot remember " the Maths,"
and some one is called upon to make good the deficiency. The
homework is then properly announced ; and perhaps another
official gives warning that certain cards are to be brought
without fail on the morrow. Maybe the Knight Captain,
in giving out his various notices, requests that certain boys
remain to confer with the master about some work. Then
he taps again. All sit breathlessly quiet while the Knight
Captain solemnly holds aloft a pin, and then drops it. Every one
hears the resoimding fall of the pin. Then follows a final tap
of the mace, and off they run. Such was the daily ceremony of
dismissal in this Form.

In saying there is goodwill on both sides I mean that

E Q5

THE PLAY WAY

intentional noise or " ragging " is unknown between them.
Thoughtless and undisciplined some small boys will be, but
to " rag " the Knight Captain has never entered any one's head.
On one evening in the week I did not appear at dismissal.
By report I gathered that there had been some good healthy
noise in the transaction of affairs. Busybodies and sticklers
for accuracy delayed the class, and then " every man said his
advice and the noise was great in the Court.' But all
members agreed that things were getting better every week.
My dictum would be that the noise they make is the noise
they are learning not to make. A visitor who was present
one evening told me : " There was a fair shindy, but they got
all the business done and were not dismissed until there was
absolute silence. But I should like to see any one try that
game with our boys. They would be off in a great racket
without waiting for the homework or any blessed pindrop ! "

Which set of boys has been spoilt ? Those given the freedom
and self-government of Play, or those others who are taught
that work and play are incompatible, so that they look upon
school as a necessary evil ? There are head masters, and even
assistant masters, who are saying : " No play for me ; but
strict obedience and hard work. The boys shall do what I
wish. Give them their heads indeed ! Life's not a game, sir,
or a joke, if that's what you mean with your ' Play.' The
great fault of this age is to be casual, to take things easily.
But I'll knock the slackness out of these loafers. I'll make 'em
sit up." * When I hear this I think that life is indeed a very
good joke, and most laughable^

Although the boys when left to worry things out for them-
selves soon find the party game artificial and imsatisfying,
they never tire of taking charge of real affairs. There are a
hundred details of class administration which one is able with
perfect confidence to leave in their hands. One relies on the
assurance that a little thing is often better done by some one
who considers it no small matter, but one of the weighty
responsibilities of office. And the official duties are not always
trivial by any means. The librarian's office, for instance, is

* This, I fear, sounds very coarse ; but the words are those of s head
master of a secondary school as quoted to me by one of his assistants.
66

SELF-GOVERNMENT

Qo sinecure, for books are constantly being borrowed from the
shelves, and he alone is responsible for their return. It may take
him a week to trace a borrowed volume that has gone from hand
to hand unregistered. The official who is responsible for the
collection of written exercises has also an important task.
Even on the old cut-and-dried homework system, where the
same exercise was set overnight for the whole class, and collected
on the morrow, it was not always easy to get all the exercises
delivered punctually. And homework with us generally consists
of half a dozen different types of work on the same day, such
as prose studies, ballads, chap-books, and ilonds. Some of
these take several nights to complete, and need not be presented
every morning. Such things as this complicate the duties of
tiie official.

The word " official " did not please us long, and none of
the words in common use, such as " monitor," " prefect,"
" captain," " director," " manager," seemed to us fitly to
describe the boy-official-in-charge-of-the-lesson. So I introduced
the word Mister. The word is a coinage, but it is coined of
sterling metal. The word " mistery " still exists (though now
confounded with " mystery " and written with a "y "), and
means a craft or occupation. The dictionary will show you
that " mistery " is parallel with " ministry " ; so our new word
" mister " is coined as a parallel to " minister," and means
" the fellow in charge of the craftsman-players." " Mister "
is not pronounced like " Mr." but as though it were written
" mist^re " and pronounced with a thoroughly English accent.

The teacher who has permitted self-government in his
classes, on whatever system, must be careful not to interfere
when interference is not necessary. Force of habit may cause
the teacher on entering the room to say to the homework mister,
" Collect the homework. Jack."

"Yes, sir," says Jack, and begins to do so. But he pos-
sibly remarks, " I intended to collect them after the lesson."
That means that Master Jack is a little hurt, look you, and
justifiably so.

Even while conducting a lesson myself, asking a series
of questions or expounding some matter to the class, I have
found it feasible to leave the responsibility for order and

67

THE PLAY WAY

quietness in the hands of the chief monitor. You may think
that the boys could hardly be disorderly while a master with
any disciplinary power at all is actually addressmg them.
But the Play Way methods are nearly always stimulating.
Questions are asked in such a way that (theoretically) every one
is anxious to answer at once. A matter is expounded in such
a way that, even while the master is speaking, half the class
is bursting with questions, and the other half bursting to tell
the master what he apparently doesn't know or has chanced
to overlook. There is a liveliness about such lessons, an
effervescence, which is most heartening. It is possible, of
course, for the master at the same time to keep the class as
lively as this and to keep them in hand. In reality he has them
in hand all the time. But there are good reasons in poetry
and in composition lessons why he should confine himself to
stimulating the boys, and leave the mister to keep them within
bounds.

One of my friends affirms that such a live condition of the
class would kill him in a week. During the lessons when he
himself is teaching he will not allow one boy to fidget with
a pen or to finger his ink-pot. He says it gets on his nerves.
So while he roams about the room, waves a pointer, or does as
he will with his hands, the boys must sit still and forget they
have hands at all. Of course it is just a matter of what the
teacher sets himself to do. If you demand dead silence, a
little clicking noise may easily drive you frantic ; but it is
wiser always to be prepared for just a little more noise than
the class is hkely to make. Thus, so far from having to crush
the signs of interest and energy, you are always expecting
them.

But of course no gratuitous noise need be allowed, and
no show of spirit cotmtenanced, that is not clearly directed
to the advancement of the work in hand. The mister can
look after this while the master teaches.

Again, if it should be necessary for the master to speak
when a lesson is nmning itself, or when the class is dispersing
after a lesson, he could of coiurse cry " Silence." But it is
equally effective and more in keeping with the self-government I
principle for him to turn to the mister and say, " Get me a '
68

SELF-GOVERNMENT

silence." Then the mister taps with his mace, and the class
is attentive.

These suggestions will appear not only ridiculous but
shocking to many teachers, but they are only addressed to those
who have already instituted some form of self-government
in their classes.

Sometimes when teaching a self-governing class of which
I was not the form-master, I have put both the mister and all his
men on their mettle, and instantly obtained model behaviour
simply by observing, "The discipline of this class seems to
be rather weak."

If, owing to shortness of time or for any other reason, a
teacher is disinclined to allow the institution of a cabinet,
or any body of officials, he should nevertheless have at least
one mister at all times. This mister should be elected by the
class, but if one boy, and one boy only, seems fitted for the
office the teacher may deem it wise to appoint him. The
advantages of having a mister are many. He represents not
only all that was represented by a " form monitor " in our day,
but a great deal more. He will perform for the master aU the
duties which a company sergeant-major performs for an officer.
A good mister is one's right-hand man, and can be a very busy
little person, I once had the same boy as my mister for a whole
year. The committees in charge of various lessons, such as
Speeches, Shakespeare Acting, Chorus Recital of Poems, and the
rest, changed from time to time, though this boy held a prominent
place in most of them. And when the class for a time ceased
to bother about electing committees he remained as my ever-
ready assistant. He was a very quiet boy, and did not enjoy
the position for the sake of any opportunity it might afford
for officiousness or showing off. On the contrary, he was too
retiring altogether, and could not be persuaded ever to act a
part in any play or even to make a speech during lecture-lessons.
Perhaps some measures should have been taken to make him
come into the open, since so much of the class-work was active
and oral. But he was by no means idle during these lessons,
nor did he lose the value of whatever was being done, for the
administration of the whole affair was always in his hands. It
was he who found the speakers, or did the stage-management.

69

THE PLAY WAY

And when these little boys performed a play in the school
theatre it was the mister who saw that the clothes were put
away in the right places after each of the many rehearsals.
It was the mister who helped them to dress, handed each his
properties as he required them, and ran all the business behind
the curtain and in the tiring-house, without a master's assistance.
Only he who has had to act as manager, producer, dresser, and
general nurse to some twelve or fifteen boy-players of twelve
years old can appreciate the magnitude of this feat for a boy.
But this boy would never appear in public. His was really
an extreme case, and it was obvious that the little good he would
get from acting a part now and then, or making a few isolated
speeches imder urgent entreaty, or even under pressure, would
be more than counterbalanced by the acute distress he would
feel all the time. For it was plain that such reluctance to
appear pubUcly would never wear off even if he should be
compelled to appear every day. After all, he certainly knew
what he could do, and he gave the community a more thorough
service than any other boy I have known. It is important
to state, too, that as he found more and more scope Lq the
charge of affairs his other work in Enghsh showed a distinct
improvement, and though he was not a boy adapted for school
studies at all, teachers of other subjects, including French,
Arithmetic, and Nature Study, made special mention of a
noticeable change at this time.

In his capacity as mister there were many occasions on
which he should have made announcements, but these he either
persuaded another official to give out, or he pinned a notice
on the screen, or simply asked the master to tell the class
so-and-so. For a whole year this mister was in charge of the
discipline of the class, and his position was never challenged
nor his authority openly questioned. Only on two occasions
did he report a difficulty, and in each case his judgment was
found right. Once was when he had made a boy scavenger
for leaving waste-paper about. The boy made no objection,
but as his scavenging was not satisfactory the mister kept
him at it for a second week. To this the boy objected, but
it was not he but the mister who came to me for an opinion.
Then the three of us in conclave came to the momentous
70

SELF-GOVERNMENT

decision that a scavenger must scavenge. The second occasion
was also a matter of mitidiness. The mister always pinned up
a list of the names of those whose desks had to be made tidy
before the same hour of the next day. Once he added to this
the names of two whose satchels were bulging with an accumula-
tion of old papers, and so stuffed that nothing could ever be
found in them when wanted. The culprits in this case protested
that their satchels were their own concern. But when the mister
had pointed out that the state of their satchels occasioned
trouble for them and for him and for the master, owing to the
temporary loss of homework and other necessary papers, they
had to admit the justice of his case.

This mister fulfilled many clerkly duties. For a year he
kept the chronicles of the lectures and recorded the title of
every lecture, the speaker's name, and the marks. This book
has been of inestimable service for purposes of reference and
reminder in the writing of one of these chapters. He not only
collected weekly reports from the masters (some of whom were
busy outside the school and difficult to catch), but copied all
these reports on to the cards ready for the form-master's
signature. Many an administrative duty which in the rush
of busy days a form-master (surely to the detriment of his boys)
cannot but neglect, or at least postpone, was thus punctually
and efficiently carried out.

Business connected with a little school theatre often detained
me in another building after school lessons were over. But
the mister could always be rehed upon to see that homework
in all subjects had been set, and to conduct an orderly dismissal.
Dismissal by the mister can become so much the order of the day
that the boys, when the master is there, do not regard him as
being present for that purpose ; in fact, so long as the master
remains in the classroom after school one boy after another will
have some little matter to discuss with him, or some piece of
work he is engaged upon to present for approval. All those
countless questions which only children can think of will fill the
air, until the master takes flight, and then the mister calls order
for dismissal.

This mister held himself responsible for the good name
of his class at all times, and delighted to relate accounts of

7i

THE PLAY WAY

their doings in other lessons. Once the whole company got
into trouble with a master, and were all put down for detention.
The mister of his own accord reported the whole matter as it

had fallen out, and concluded, " And then, sir, Mr. said

he would put us all in detention."

" Well, what of it ? " I asked, judging that I was expected
to see Mr. and persuade him to let them off.

" Nothing sir," replied the mister, " only I thought you'd
like to know how it happened."

INDIVIDUAL RESPONSIBILITY IN LEARNING

The sense of responsibility for one's own actions, pride in
self-control and loyalty to one's group are a great stimulus to
well-doing. If self-government were established in schools,
not experimentally here and there, but as a tradition of method,
a boy would no more dream of fooling during lessons than he
would think of fooling while his side was fielding in a cricket
match.

If this seem an exaggeration, that is because the master's
attitude has still to be considered. I mean the master regarded
as subject-teacher. If he persists in spoon-feeding, then what
has just been said in praise of self-government will not hold
good, because spoon-feeding and complete self-government
in a classroom cannot exist at the same time.

Why not ?

Because complete self-govenment must include for the
boy the control of his learning as well as the control of his
discipline. That is a very important view of the scope of
self-government, and one to which too little attention has
been paid.

Suppose for the sake of clearness we divide a boy's school
activity into two parts, behaviour and learning. Now most
teachers in considering self-government think of it only in
relation to discipline. Those who have tried it find that the
boys behave much better when given responsibility for their
own behaviour. Very well then, why not bring in self-govern-
ment for the other side of school activity, and test whether or
72

SELF-GOVERNMENT

not the boys will learn much better when given responsibility
for their own learning ?

But how can this be done ?

The question of how to persuade a boy to feel responsibility
for his own learning, and to realize that nothing can be taught
him which he does not cause himself to leam, is perhaps the
most difficult problem which a teacher has to face. I have
had the privilege of discussing the problem very thoroughly
with two or three thoughtful teachers. All agreed that spoon-
feeding was bad. But they said one often had to fall back
upon it when the boys did not pursue learning of their own
accord. That form of teaching (or learning) is best, we agreed,
in which a boy sees a mark and aims at it. The function of
the teacher is to stimulate the boy to fix his eye on a mark,
to encourage him to pursue it, and to help and correct him
when necessary. But all this activity on the part of the teacher
presumes a previous activity in learning on the .part of the boy.

This activity on the part of the boy is what I mean by
3elf-government in learning — ^responsibility for his own studies.
And the problem is, " How can the teacher set m motion this
activity in learning ? " *

Well, I have my solution. I cannot answer for teachers
of a different class of subject ; and perhaps for the teaching
of Latin, French, Mathematics, and Science my suggestions
will be of no avail. But for the study of Uterature in the
mother tongue, and for the making of literature in the mother
tongue, in plays, poems, and prose, the suggestion which I
am about to put forward has proved satisfactory over a period
of four years. And further, the principle, so far as can be seen,
holds good in the practice of other arts such as acting, speaking,
dancing, and also in handicraft.

The driving-power must be interest. One can be interested
in the means or in the end, but the means is only right if it
leads to the end. Therefore, you say, we must first decide
what is the end, and then work towards it. True, but what
do we mean by the end ? An immediate end or an ultimate
end ? Immediate ends must satisfy, for we shall never find

* The word " activity " in this connexion must not be confused with
the physical activity of the methods described throughout this book.

78

THE PLAY WAY

the ultimate end. If there is any ultimate end to our pursuit
it is so far off that none of us can see it. That elimination
leaves us with ends near and ends remote, but no ultimate
end, and therefore we are always on the way.

But as the means is only right in so far as it leads to an end,
we must postulate an end of some kind, in order to determine
our coiu-se of action. And this is where teachers fail their
pupils. They give them no end to work towailis, no mark
upon which they may fix their eyes.

Suppose a boy asks, " Why must I do this exercise ? "
The reply is, " Because it will help you to learn the language."
A shrewd boy sees that this is no answer, because he can always
ask, " Why must I learn the language ? " And after five minutes
of such questions he would have pushed the wisest philosopher
to the last refuge of casuistry. Such questions the schoolmaster
in self-defence cuts short with, " Because I tell you to," or
" Because you must, and there's an end of it." Thus conapulsion
is the end, and instead of some mark before him upon which
he may fix his eye, the boy gets only a peremptory push from
behind.

But what is the alternative ? What is there to save us from
this nightmare of an ever-receding objective ?

My answer is that we must give our attention to what
is usually called the means, and make that otir end. Thus
we get something definite to do at once : what lies nearest.
We put ourselves heart and soul into pursuing this immediate
" end," which of course is no end at all, but just one of those
milestones marking the stages of the eternal way.

A discussion of the ethical side of this question would be
engaging, but the reader expects definite and practical pro-
posals. So I will endeavoiir to be quite explicit.

If a boy is to be responsible for his own learning he must
have an interest in it. I have already shown how much is
included in this term " interest." A boy must have his heart
set upon what he is doing. Some things are interesting in
themselves, others are not. Those that are not interesting
must be associated with the things nearest at hand which are
interesting.

Interest, w^other immediate or remote (but not too remote),
74

SELF-GOVERNMENT

is what the teacher must depend upon to set in motion and to
keep in motion that activity of learning, the creation and fostering
of which was our problem.

For the practical purposes of school the immediate interest
is what you must chiefly rely upon, more especially with young
boys. But tasks not immediately interesting in themselves
wiU be undertaken readily and accomplished thoroughly if
they contribute directly to something not too far off which
is of interest.

Take an example : a boy may not find it interesting to
learn lines of blank verse by heart, and so long as he cannot
see that any end or purpose is served by learning them he
will not be active in his learning, will not be doing the work
because his heart is in it, but because the master has the power
to make him. The fact that his general culture is served by
the performance of this work leaves him cold. The end is
too distant, and so the work becomes not a pleasure but a task.
But now suppose that same boy to be learning blank verse
lines in order to take his part in the performance of a play.
Now the uninteresting work contributes directly to something
near at hand which is of interest. Instead of twenty or thirty
lines poorly studied and deUvered, without Ufe, you will find him
readily learning even two or three hundred lines. And being
now active in his learning the boy is anxious to be taught still
further, and willingly studies to master the extra tuition in the
way of expression, deUvery, action and so on which his teacher
gives him.

Similarly, a boy may find it a bore to write well, but if you
ask him to practise until his handwriting is neat enough for
him to copy some of his work (or even some one else's work)
into an album in which you take a pride he will do his best at
once.

Drill may be dull, and smartness at a detention driU can
only be obtained by the harshest discipline of a drill sergeant.
Fear is the motive. But if you are practising scouts for a
display, or cadets for a section competition or for an inspection,
you get them to take a pride in their smartness and efficiency
— so much so that the good fellows rejoice in a strict and
exacting sergeant, and are very xmhappy if they are drilled by

75

THE PLAY WAY

some weak or inefficient commander. Interest now is the motive.
Those who think there can be Uttle room for self-government
in such a thing as drill simply do not miderstand what self-
government means.

Notice that the interesting end for which a dull task is
willingly undertaken is not always greater than the task. The
means is generally of more value than these false ends. For,
as I have said, these so-called ends are only encouraging mile-
stones marking stages on the eternal way, and it is the going
that really matters. A boy may be persuaded to do the really
valuable work he disliked for the mere sake of some compara-
tively trivial thing he is interested in. The drill, for example,
is the thing of real importance, and the display or the inspection
is nothing but a tape a hundred yards down the course for
•him to run to. When the boy's interest is not stimulated in
some way he has to be pushed, and you never yet saw any one
run at top speed with some one pushing ! Carrots ahead are
better than a stick behind, for a goal is always better than a
goad.

Teachers are ready to admit all this, but they seem unable
to find carrots or bits of tape. They do certain' y give marks
and prizes, but that the use of these as an incentive is either
ineffective or harmful needs no demonstration here. But until
teachers look at things from the Littleman point of view they
will never be able to lead Littleman.

Further to illustrate the contention that interest in even
a trivial " end " will cause a boy to do really valuable work
which he could not otherwise be brought to take an interest
in, let me give an extreme example : The writing of poems and
ballads seems to me a good thing for a boy's study of language
and literature. A boy may fancy he cannot make poems,
or is not interested enough to try. You can of course set
him to make ballads as a task. But the work is all but useless
to the boy unless he takes an interest, and is active in his own
learning. Well, many a Littleman who saw no fun in writing
poems did see the fun in making a chap-book of his own, a
gaudy little book tied with bright ribbons and bearing a fine
title on the cover. But there has to be something inside the
chap-book. So many a boy who cared little for poems for their

re

SELF-GOVERNMENT

own sake has put his whole heart into making them, and making
them good enough to pass chap-book standard. Strange, is
it not ? But if that is Littleman's way it is the teacher's business
to take count of it.

But not only will a boy sometimes do good work for an
apparently trivial end : the other aspect of the case is alst
true. That is to say, boys who are not interested to achieve
some end can be encouraged to achieve it if the means thereto
be made interesting. This does not mean that schoolwork
shall all be made easy and pleasant. Keenness takes necessary
labour in its stride. Once the boys' interest is aroused they
will cheerfully overcome that modicum of drudgery which is
an indispensable part of all imdertakiugs.

Take an example of this other aspect — a study, which
does not in itself interest the boy, mastered because he has been
interested in the stages which led up to it. I consider a know-
ledge of stage-craft essential, not only for the practice of play-
making, but also for a due appreciation of Elizabethan dramatic
literature. Yoimg inexperienced boys would find this study
very dull, for by stage-craft in this connexion I do not mean
mere matters of entrances, exits, scene-divisions, and scenic or
lighting effects ; but rather a critical study of the dramatist's
art and workmanship. When I gave a course of lectures on this
subject to senior boys, we read plays and some of the best
dramatic criticism, and one or two of them entered into the
spirit of the study. But eight out of ten, although this was a
chosen group out of the sixth form, were as bored as possible,
and though the matters imder discussion were interesting in
all sorts of ways, they would not become active in their own
learning.

This failure to learn on their part was probably due
to the fact that I was spoon-feeding, doling out facts, and then
doling out conclusions drawn from those facts, and leaving these
boys no responsibility in the study, no self-government in the
process of learning. For they were not idle or stupid boys,
and therefore the fault was most likely in the method of teaching.

The same study was then undertaken with junior boys
in the third form, and even in the second, but on the Play
Way. The magnitude of the undertakiug never appalled them,

77

THE PLAY WAY

for " The study of dramatic art and workmanship " was never
mentioned. Long prosy discourses did not bore them, because
discourses were not delivered until the boys had obtained
enough interest in and knowledge of the subject not to find
them prosy. And then they delivered the discourses themselves !

We simply took a play of Shakespeare and acted it. We
soon found that certain things had to be done, and that their
doing was directed by the dramatist. The boys were interested
in acting the play, and soon became interested in observing
many things essentially connected with the acting of the play.
They were fascinated when many examples showed how the
" scenery " was given as part and parcel of the play, and was
meant to be carried in the mind's eye. When it was further
shown, not in lectures, but always in a passing reference while
play was going on, that Shakespeare also gives most of the
necessary stage directions in the lines, the boys were delighted,
because as they said, Here were they acting a play, and the play
itself told them what to do. Then it does not need any great
persuasion to get a boy who is acting a certain part to study
the character he represents. And by such natural processes,
always mingling the practice with the instruction, and drawing
rules out of examples instead of hunting for examples to illustrate
rules, the interest was maintained through all the upward
stages.*

In the end these boys had a considerable acquaintance
with stage-craft and dramatic workmanship. Several third-
form boys gave lectures on the subject in connexion with
Henry IV. The lecture of one boy (aged 12|) lasted through
fom- school periods because the others raised so many points
for discussion and questions with which he had to deal.

* Although these active methods are here instanced as ways of engaging
the interest of the boys their attractiveness is not by any means the sole
reason for using them. We act the plays we study, not only because it is
entertaining to do so, but because plays are made to be acted. The making
of broadsides and chap-books also was introduced (and many another
handicraft proposed), not only for the fun of the thing. All this was really
a tiny part of an ideal scheme for connecting the arts and the crafts, of
bringing lore to life and life to lore. But the classroom system made any
adequate realization of this dream impossible. We must wait for a Play
School Commonwealth.
78

SELFGOVERNMENT

Does any one imagine that third-form boys could find enough
interest in this suli^ject of dramatic craftsmanship unless their
interest had been catered for step by step from the start ?

In connexion with plays the need for acting is obvious,
but in other connexions people have often thought there was
an unnecessary amount of play in our classroom. Visitors
have indulgently observed, " Of course your aim is to represent
the extreme as a demonstration of the Play Way." Toys and a
miscellaneous assortment of apparatus, much jumping about,
some dressing up, and often quite a din — ^all this as a method
of teaching literature and composition has often moved my
friends to jocular comment. There seemed to be more of the
gamesome element than was really inherent in the subject
under study ! Quite so. But the boy is more important than
the subject, and I fancy there was rarely more of the Play
Way than was suited to the nature of the active self -learning,
self-teaching student, Littleman.

Such, then, is my solution of the problem, " How is tht
teacher to set in motion an activity in learning on the part of the
boy ? " As has been said already, the method was only devised
in and for the practice of what can best be described as " the
arts." But it may be that some of those masters of arts en-
gaged in teaching languages, mathematics, history, and science
would find their younger pupils more active in learning if the
masters and the boys between them could devise methods of
study which were at once as interesting as the finest game and as
valuable as the deepest study — in short, Play-ways.

79

CHAPTER IV

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

He first begins to perceive himself, to see or taste, making little
reflections upon his actions of sense, and can discourse of flies
and dogs, shells and play, horses and liberty : but when he is
strong enough to enter in arts and little institutions, he is at
first entertained with trifles and impertinent things, not because
he needs them, but because his understanding is no bigger, and
little images of things are laid before him, like a cock-boat to a
whale, only to play withal. — Jeeemy Taylor.

There is a school-lesson which is able to hold children from other
play and old men from the chimney-corner The game may be
played anjrwhere and by any number of persons, and no appara-
tus is required. All the work is done by the boys, and the master
may if he likes take no active part at all. Yet every moment of
the time is filled with something of value to all.

Briefly the scheme is but this : The boys come out one at a
time and speak to the class for a few minutes on subjects of their
own choosing. The lectures may be either prepared or extem-
pore. One member of the class acts as chairman and announces
the speaker, another goes about to discover who is ready to speak
next and upon what subject, and a third official at the close of
each lecture ascertains the marks. The marks are apportioned
by the boys of the class, voting with a show of hands.

This scheme, like most of our methods, originated in a chance
discovery, which was afterwards adapted in various small ways
to suit current requirement.

In the summer term of 1914 I was much interested in
oral composition. We had just pubHshed a book of prose
studies,* and the boys were reading these in class, and
trying to equal them. The published work of their fellows in

* Perse Playbooks, No. 4.
80

'The Gods" dictating their Lines after inventing tlie
in Baldr's Death (Act II, Scene 2)

•Eag ■' Scene

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

the class above had an immediate interest for the Littlemen.
And, for my part, I was so full of enthusiasm for the pages we
were reading as to overlook for the moment the method which
had produced them. We were, in fact, working on entirely
wrong lines, for those prose studies had not come of reading
prose and admiring it, and trying to equal it in imitation. They
had come of new practice. So the books were put away, and the
boys were called upon to dehver extempore prose studies orally.
But the boys, come hot from the study of literary models, natu-
rally kept their attention fixed upon the style of what they were
saying.

The result was horrible. Boys would go up to the platform
one after another and either spout forth turgid orations, insincere
and meaningless, or they would build up with much pausing and
going back for self-correction the most laboured of narratives
and the most highly-coloured descriptions. We heard too much
of evening and of sunset ; the " gentle breeze " became terribly
familiar. People ceased to go naturally from place to place, they
either " wound their way slowly down the hill," or " wended."
One came to anticipate with a nervous fidget such phrases as
" The silence was only broken by . . . ," or " Now all is bustle
and confusion," or, as a peroration. " Until at last the something
somethinged and all was still."

I soon saw what was amiss. Our interest in the finished
work of others had led us to believe that we could take up the
work as it stood, and carry on. The boys were working on the
assumption that the use of this effect or that turn of phrase
would make good prose. As a result they were simply cultivat-
ing clicks and empty journalese. Although I had just written
an emphatic exposition of the play-methods which had brought
about these very models, I had actually been encouraging the
boys to start from the wrong end of the stick.

This mistake has been described here as a warning to other
teachers, who may on such an occasion be equally thoughtless.
It is perilously easy to fall away in practice from our own good
theories. A teacher of English literature and composition must
often be tempted to say to his class, " Let us use this writer as a
modd." or " Let us take a hint from this essay, or that." But
we must never forget that the first essential of good writing is

F

THE PLAY WAY

the having something to say. Many teachers with a fine piece
of hterature before them in class are content to point out the
merit of the work rather than to insist that it was only brought
about by this measure of toil, by that kind of discipline, and
above all by that eagerness which presses forward to make
rather than halts at each step to remark progress.

So we recollected ourselves, and returned to the Play Way.
There had been no lack of interest in the work, but it was
obvious that we had to get back to the position of having
something to say. So, one summer morning, when the class-
room was very stuffy, the boys were let out into the play-
ground — ^to talk. I suggested stump-speeches, street-comer tub-
thumping, believing that a period or two of sheer " rag " would
clear away the cobwebs of the artificial effort at " style," and
persuade the boys to find their own means of expression. You
will see what came of it.

We trooped out into the yard. A chair was brought, and
one boy at once stood on it and began to shout against Woman
Suffrage. I encouraged the crowd to cry disagreement, or to
murmur approval, and to heckle the speaker with searching
questions. A defender of the cause followed, and soon the crowd
began to show some interest. There were now not only cries,
but counter-cries. Next came a crude attack upon Home Rule
(the reader will recollect that such matters occupied men's minds
in 1914). By this time the class was so loud in the expression of
its opinion that I had to reassure several earnest prefects : for
prefects no less than masters are apt to confuse noise with dis-
order.

But mark what happened. While there was actually an
opportunity for making a real big noise during school-time, while
the master was actually urging the crowd of listeners to shout
for or against the speaker's views, and expecting to see a surging
crowd of Littlemen making belief of difference for the sake of
turmoil — ^the third speaker mounted the chair and observed that,
although he was unable to speak forcibly upon subjects which
would cause commotion, yet he was anxious, if they would allow
him, to describe certain methods of fishing.

Fishing ! Could anything be imagined more in contrast to
the tumult I had been trying to stir up ? But of this offer the
82

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

Littleman crowd expressed genuine approval. They cried "Hear
hear," and prepared themselves to listen in silence. Now, the
very same lecture might have been given under the regime we
had just abandoned, for the Littlemen had been quite free to
say whatever they liked. So a thoughtless person might easily
say that my attempted excursion into Hyde Park oratory was a
piece of gratuitous tomfoolery.

Superficially regarded, this shifting from the classroom to
the playground, and the incitement to noise and disorder may
indeed seem pointless But if you will consider the matter you
will agree that it was mainly owing to the uprooting, this break-
ing away, and the starting of new groups of association in the
mind, that the boys were able to rid themselves of the classroom
obsession with its tyranny of the book, and to be free of that
too heavy burden of models.

When you put less faith in mere instruction and give more
regard to the boys' point of view you must take such things as
this into consideration. Play Way notions may often look
absurd at first sight, but there are more things in boys and the
way of treating them than are dreamt of in your pedagogy.

The lecture on Fishing began. While it was going on I
retired from my place in the crowd.

The speaker divided his subject well, first enumerating the
various ways of fishing, and then dealing briefly with each in
turn. It was clear that on some points, he could easily have
spoken more fully than he did. The class awarded him full
marks. The next lecture was on How to milk a Cow. It was
a short and practical description by a country train-boy, who
told us that he spoke from everyday experience. His unsmiling
description of some common errors, and the resulting mishaps,
caused great amusement. The lecturer seemed surprised that
we laughed at the cow plunging her foot into the pail, or lurching
so as to upset pail, milkman and all. He was thinking doubtless
of the spilt milk and the clumsy milker. But we laughed the
more at his earnest manner, and enjoyed it all very much. But
he repeated himself once or twice, so the class gave him only
seven marks out of a possible ten.

None of the boys remarked on the abandonment of our
original plan. They were interested to hear what the lecturers

83

THE PLAY WAY

had to say, and had no wish to make a noise. On the other
side of the playground railings runs the main street of the town.
Yet the attention of the class was not noticeably distracted.
I had grouped them so as to face the passing traffic, and so every
boy without turning round could see that there was nothing to
see. The speaker stood on his chair facing his audience, and
when any lecturer allowed the noise of the passing vehicles to
drown his speech, we simply set him, not nearer his audience,
but farther off, and thus persuaded him to make better use of
his voice.

On the day when the oral composition lesson came round
again the boys were unanimously in favoiir of going to the play-
ground. They did not pause to think that we could give our
lectures with less effort indoors. The interesting lesson was
now associated with the playground ; and I really believe that
if we had been kept in by rain the Littlemen would have had
to think twice before realizing that the lesson was not necessarily
ruined.

One of the boys of this form (lib, average age about 11)
came to ask if he might be mister. This meant that he would
take complete charge of the proceedings, see that lectures were
forthcoming, announce each speaker and his subject, give due
opportunity for criticism, see that the marks were apportioned
by a vote of the class, and be responsible for the general ordei
of the gathering. Since the petitioner was one of the less able
boys in the form, an old-stager, I was very glad to grant his
request. Within five minutes the mister had benches set out,
a deputy appointed to call for the marking, a lecturer on the
chair ready to begin, and the whole class sitting attentive before
him. This class, be it said in passing, had never been subject to
a mister before. And this new mister was not in any sense aided
by my presence. Indeed I was not present at the start. While
the first lecture was going on the mister canvassed the circle,
and took promise of speeches to follow.

At the close of a lecture the marker stands up and takes
the marks in this way. He counts, not very slowly, from one
to ten, and the boys raise their hands as he reaches the number
they judge fit.

Delays may at first be occasioned by the company's falling

A Littleman Lecturing Oiat of Doors

[See p, ^4

A Lifctlemau lecturing Indoors

[See p. in

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

into conversation between lectures. This is not a harmful
practice, but a perfectly natural one, and should not be ruthlessly
suppressed. The boys and I have found it very congenial to
chat in pairs and groups about the last speaker and his subject.
To break out into a buzz of talk after a period of silent attention
— ^is it not common to audiences the world over ? Why then
should this be prohibited in eager boys, O pedagogue ? But we
are only permitted a few moments of chatter, for the marker
knows his business, and steps out almost at once to take the
marks.

There may also be a slight initial difficulty with the voting.
Most people are unwilling to rely entirely upon their own judg-
ment, if there is any chance of gauging first the opinion of others.
At first during the counting you will see many of the Littlemen
looking round to see how the others are voting before raising
their hands. But if the boys are warned of this tendency (Little-
men are much interested in Play- ways, and quite frankly discuss
ways of learning things), and if they are asked to be ready with
their several decisions before the coimting begins, they will at
once take a pride in their individual judgment. Hands will be
thrown up most decisively on seven or eight or ten, as the case
may be, and the business put through with dispatch. An
experienced marker can count from one to ten and announce
the decision in less than a quarter of a minute. That is because
he does not actually count the hands held up for each number
he calls, but relies, as it were, on the " show." He gets his eye
in. The mister then announces the next speaker : " The
Chicken will now give a lecture on Architecture." The interval
between speeches, for conversation, marking, and annoimcement
has been at most a minute.

At the close of that second lecture-lesson the mister on
his own initiative handed me a report-sheet which is now
before me. It is dated July 7, 1914, and there are two
columns, headed respectively " Speeches " and " Marks "
Titles of seven lectures are given (the Littlemen still call them
" speeches " from that first tub-thumping experiment), and the
marks are chronicled. Then follow eight names bracketed, with
the note : " Were going to speak, but there was no time." Then
five more names bracketed, with the comment : " Did not offer

85

THE PLAY WAY

to speak." At the bottom of the page appear the names of th
mister and the marker. Here, then, were twenty-two boys o
whom only five were unwilling to take an active part. Truly W(
had invented a type of lesson which interested the boys. Threi
of the laggard five were only temporarily indisposed, for thej
lectured a few days later, as my record shows. These were th(
subjects chosen by the speakers in that first real lecture-lesson

Flying a Kite.

On the Use of a Handkerchief.

How to do your Hair.

Learning to swim.

Saturn and his Rings.

Motor-Buses.

The Rule of the Road.

The lecture On the Use of a Handkerchief was interesting
because at first sight it appears that there is nothing seemly to
say. But the speaker dealt with his subject in the manner of a
Book of Courtesy, giving directions of what to do, and warnings
against things to be avoided. He made a point of the unobtru-
sive nature of the operation, counselled his hearers not to indulge
in any preliminary wavings, and gave a graphic description of
what happens in the mrgency of a sneeze, when the handkerchief
has to be snatched hurriedly out of a pocketful of accumulated
boy-stuff. He raised merry laughter by his catalogue of the
miscellanea which most of his hearers had at that moment in
their pockets — string, pencils, papers, stamps, knife, whistle,
and Littleman alone knows what. Another point which
delighted the listeners was the serious warning against " that
loud trumpeting sornid," though the lecturer, with conspicuous
restraint as it seemed to me, refrained from any illustration.

The choice of How to do your Hair as a subject also surprised
me, for to all outward seeming Littleman does not as a rule
" do " his hair at all. But the speaker was a boarder, and had
doubtless observed the scrupulous care with which some of the
senior boys in the House attended to their toilet. I well re-
member a clique of youths, when I was about sixteen, who spent
nearly an hour on Simday, between breakfast and morning
Chapel, in " doing their hair." There was much talk of " part-
86

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

ings," much care to have them clean and straight. And it was
essential for smartness to part your hair in the middle rather
than at the side. I always affected to take my hair as a matter
of course ; but I bestowed much thought upon selecting among
some half-dozen ties, and very nice was I about the adjustment
of a tie-pin I had. But recollections of one's own schooldays
must not intrude here. Perhaps the life of the adolescent boys
in our public schools will yet find its H. G. Wells. But that will
be a very different story from the story of Littleman.

Saturn and his Rings was a very good lecture. As an ordinary
ignorant schoolmaster I could not on that morning have said
two words about Saturn and his Sings, so I listened attentively
to this boy of eleven while he told us what he had seen for him-
self through his astronomical telescope, and what he had read in
books.

In common with most other people I have attended popular
lectures on many scientific subjects, and I can say that a good
Littleman lecturer, speaking very plainly and without tiresome
repetitions and unnecessary explanations, will give an attentive
listener more information in ten minutes than the usual adult
lecturer will in half an hour. Littleman is not discursive, he
says a thing once and leaves it. Very much, of course, depends
upon one's audience. Littleman is not conscious of any need to
talk down to his hearers. In any case his hearers are boys of
like passions with himself. One thing which makes for a good
straightforward style, full of matter, is the need to be brief.
The boys Usten to every word the lecturer says, and if the
interest should lapse or if the speaker should wander into im-
necessary wordiness the class at once shows impatience. " Hurry
up," they say ; and show their anxiety to get on to the next
speaker. No one could desire closer attention from a class than
is shown during these lectures.

Two American visitors who happened to be present during
this experimental period were surprised to see the boys them-
selves apportioning the marks, and asked if they were capable
of judgment. I said they were as fit to judge in this matter as
their master ; more fit perhaps, because they knew more about
the subjects chosen, and had themselves tried making such
speeches. At this moment a very good lecture on The Rule of

87

THE PLAY WAY

the Road, explaining why traffic has to keep to the left, came tc
an end. The class voted the speaker only four marks.'

" That isn't fair, surely," whispered the visitor.

" How do you know ? " I replied. " There must be a reason.'
So I made a little speech, pointing out that in my judgment the
lecture was quite as good as others which had been voted twice
as many marks. One of the boys in reply pointed out that al]
they had just heard had been told them in class by one of the
masters a few days before. That was the reason. But he paid
the speaker a compUment on his style and delivery. Then the
clock struck, and so ended the first whole period of Littlemati
lectures.

When the boys were gone one of the American visitors ex-
pressed surprise at the fluency of the speakers, and the width
of their vocabulary. " How long," she asked, " has it taken to
bring them to such a high standard ? " I told her that this was
only the second " lesson " in free lecturing, and that none ol
these lectures had been specially prepared.

" But how is it possible ? " she insisted. My answer was
that in this matter the boys were not being taught at all. They
were simply being allowed to speak naturally and easily on
subjects which interested them. Any boy can speak fluently
if he knows what he wants to say. And as for the erudition
shown by some of the speakers, and their familiarity with tech-
nical and scientific terms, that also is common among smal]
boys on subjects which interest them. It is only school-teachers
who find small boys ill-informed.

But the visitor was charmed above all by the entire absence
of self-consciousness. There was no shyness, no faltering;
every one spoke as one speaks to one's friends. That, I agreed,
was the most delightful part of this work ; and I was trying tc
make clear that Littleman is frank and happy and unselfcon^
scious simply because he is not yet adolescent, when this good
lady burst in with, " Yes, it's wonderful, but what I don't see is
how you teach them to he natural ! " Then I saw that I had befon
me the absolute thing in American teachers ; so I simply said,
" I don't," and fled after the boys.

After that day, throughout the whole school year,
" Speeches " has been the most popular lesson in Form!
85

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

Ila and lib. Improvements in the method of procedure made
their appearance one by one. Before long some sage fellow
complained that the class was giving the best marks for the
most enjoyable speeches, without giving due attention to the
style. He suggested that the marks be taken twice, once for
" Interest " and once for " Style." This excellent suggestion
was at once adopted.

A master who introduced speeches with another class sug-
gested marking also for deportment, because while some boys
stood upright and faced the class, others were slovenly in their
attitude. This deportment column he proposed to call " Stance.'
We experts in Ila approved of the intention. Perhaps the more
so because we had observed that masters often addressed the
class with their hands in their pockets, a habit of which Little-
man had long since cured himself. But we did not add the
" Stance " column to our mark-table because we decided that
the deportment of a speaker was either satisfactory or un-
satisfactory, and could not be appraised in degrees of one to ten.

After two and a half terms had passed it occurred to one of
the boys that there should be a column to represent the master's
opinion. Certainly some adjustment is necessary in cases here
and there, if you intend religiously to copy all these marks into
a mark-book, and then periodically to add up the rows and rows
of figures, and delude yourself that the result signifies anything.
Marks are always given for these speeches, and recorded in the
book where all the titles are chronicled. But I never add them
together. A numerical mark is quite a useful means of indicat-
ing your opinion of a single speech or a piece of prose or even a
poem, and so we have always given marks both for oral and for
written work, but it is years since I gave up adding these tokens
together ! An order based on marks in such a subject as English
is so unrepresentative, so meaningless, that it might as well be
abolished.

A valuable part of the procedure which soon made its appear-
ance was " Criticism." The mister calls for this after the speech
and before marks are taken. The coming of criticism did away
with the general conversation which had previously filled the
intervals. Some of the criticism has been very good, and all of
it interesting. Criticism rarely exceeds two sentences in length.

89

THE PLAY WAY

Anjiiihing may be said as criticism, a flat contradiction in a
matter of fact,* a correction of some inference drawn or ar
amplification of some important point treated too briefly,
Mannerisms of style, such as the too frequent use of one word
or a constant repetition of the same form of sentence, are sooe
picked out. " Stance " is also dealt with by the critics.

Single speeches were occasionally criticized for lack of interest,
or the marking was sufficient to show the feeling of the class,
But on one occasion an excellent lecture in several chapters on
Architecture was abandoned out of deference to their wishes.
The boy had given a chapter each on :

Greek Architecture.
Roman Architecture.
Byzantine Architecture.
Norman Architecture.

They were excellent lectures and well prepared. The speaker
used the troublesome architectural terms correctly and with ease,
and his sketches were always clear. Visitors found these lectures
very interesting, but some of the Littlemen were bored. No
complaints were made during criticism, perhaps because of the
master's evident approval. But out of school some of them
suggested to the lecturer that he should give it up. So he did.
And for his next lecture he brought in a puff-ball as big as his
head and gave a most popular object-lesson ! I easily persuaded
him not to drop his architectural studies by asking him to write
for me " Littleman's Book of Architecture." Thus criticism
does make citizens of us all.

But praise is expected as well as blame. Praise is so much
more difficult that it may be recommended as an adjunct for set
use by those teachers who feel that free lecturing by itself is too
much of a game and not sufficiently a task. It is evident that
even a few words in appreciation of a lecture just given must be
a studied piece of work, and cannot come trippingly on the
tongue unless it is merely a bunch of conventional phrases.

Among boys " taught to be natural " criticism in the forir
of praise is of course rare. One boy, Sir Bevis, himself all bul

* There was once a three-cornered discussion about electricity anc
magnetism which lasted some time and was quite unintelligible to me.
90

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

unsurpassed as a lecturer, and a double-tenner nearly every day,
made a series of efforts to encourage weaker boys when after
long silence they had been persuaded by the mister to make their
appearance. But his appreciation generally took this form :

" Sir, I am sure the class has enjoyed the lecture on Cranes
which Jim has just given. It is a good thing he has wakened
from his long sleep, and I hope we shall soon hear him again."
Sir Bevis was much in love with his metaphor of hibernation, and
used it three or four times in a fortnight. But very soon Sir
Bevis was squashed by his peers and bidden to "take a long sleep."
It is very difficult to praise well.

In addition to the criticism which comes after a lecture there
is current correction by the hanuner. One boy in the class holds
a small mallet and raps with it smartly on his desk whenever he
wishes to pull up the speaker for some error.

What follows here is not a digression from the subject of
Littleman lectures, but a brief account of some errors which are
corrected by the hammer-boy in current criticism while the
lecture is going on. Much of the boys' knowledge of the English
language is thus at once learnt and made sure in practice. As
they go gaily along they pick up facts of vocabulary and forms
of construction, which as a rule — ^if they are taught at all — are
taught in dull lessons by themselves. These facts are in any case
not learnt in such dull lessons for in the absence of any free prac-
tice in speaking during school-time it is impossible for boys to
bring this knowledge into play and so make it their own.

The two words nice and lot, which are the only words I abso-
lutely forbid (save in their special meanings), do not require the
hammer. They have become so imutterable that if they should
slip out in an unguarded moment the whole class jumps and
cries " Oo ! " and the speaker hurriedly corrects himself. The
hammer-boy raps whenever he misses a word and says, " Louder,
please,' ' or simply, " Can't hear." He knocks also for bad gram-
mar, mispronunciation, or any obscurity. In fact it is his busi-
ness to knock whenever the speaker makes a fault. If he fails to
Icnock some one else cries correction, and the hammer is his. If
any reader should fancy that the need of hammer-correction is
confined to small boys in school let him attend as carefully as a
Littleman to the next adult lecturer or preacher he sits under, and

91

THE PLAY WAY

count the number of hammer-raps he might have given if he had
had the chance.

In the matter of vocabiolary women are great offenders. It
is rare to find a woman who troubles herself at all about any
relation between the words she uses and their meanings. I have
heard a woman use the word nice over sixty times in an hour.
The word was used to cover about forty meanings such as
" warm," " cold," " pretty," " interesting," " useful " ; it was
also used as an intensive, as in a " nice hot bath," a " nice big
bun " ; and also to express irony, as in " Here's a nice state
of affairs ! " or " A nice mess you've made of it." But nice is
perhaps chiefly used to express inarticulate approval. Where a
baby would gurgle, a cat purr, or a dog wag his tail, a woman
says " Nice." This use expresses a vague satisfaction upon
which the intelligence has not been brought to bear. " How
nice ! " " Nice and cosy," " Nice man."

This is at present the most misused word in our language, but
many more are being rendered almost meaningless by the habit
of overstatement so common to-day. Thus " perfectly," " ab-
solutely," "simply," "hopelessly," "vast" ("a vast deal"
is current journalese for " much "), " fine," " splendid,"
" wretched," " heaps," " tons," " ages." And in fact most of
the strongest and most expressive words are becoming daily
weaker and less expressive.

Teachers' lessons are not the best corrective of this tendency.
The trouble does not arise from lack of knowledge, but from
careless, unthinking speech ; and so, after the evil has once been
pointed out, it is best corrected while the speaker is actually
speaking. The hammer-rap is effective because it gives correc-
tion on the spot, and easily prevents the formation of bad habits
which later on would be almost too hard to break.

Littleman lecturers are fluent speakers, and do not as a
rule indulge in hum and ha. But the slightest hesitation is
ruthlessly shown up by the hammer-boy. A lecturer may say,
" This is called the — er — ^gauge." Rap, goes the hammer. " No
er ! " says the boy. I have heard this correction many times,
although I had not noticed the er. Here again you have Little-
man as a more exacting critic than his master.

Adult public speakers might gain some benefit from an occa-
92

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

sional practice at home, subject to the hanuner-correction of their
children ! Suggestions of this kind are apt to shock such self-
satisfied people as preachers and pubUc speakers. I have tried
the suggestion upon one or two. They snort through their noses,
and walk up and down uneasily, and talk about " making the
boys into abominable self-satisfied little prigs." The abominable
self-satisfied big prig, look you, will not have his preserves
invaded. Children have been so long suppressed that we had
really come to believe that adults were the only ones who could
teach, and children the only ones who required teaching.

It is repression which makes for priggishness, smugness, and
hypocrisy. A boy treated naturally remains natural and frank
and open, and corrects his master just as freely as he corrects his
fellows, and not with any malicious glee.

Certain common errors, such as a split infinitive or the
beginning a sentence in one construction, and finishing it in
another (very common to all speakers), can be pointed out
once by the master. The hammer then drives the point
home by insisting upon immediate correction whenever the
fault occurs. Another famihar mistake is our old friend, " Being
a wet day I wore a mackintosh." You may find instances of this
error every day in the newspapers, for instance, " Arriving at the
station no one was there to meet me."

These mistakes the Littlemen soon learn by practice to avoid ;
but there is one error which no amount of correction in school has
stamped out. That is the use of " lay " for " lie." When a speaker
says " There he laid for an hour," we ask him, " Eggs or bricks ? "
And I have expounded many times on the blackboard the dis-
tinction between " lie, lay, lain," and " lay, laid, laid." But I
now believe the confusion has taken root in the language, and
that in another twenty years or so teachers will be accepting
even " Lay down " (in the imperative) as inevitable.

But the hammer is heard more often in correction of pro-
nunciation than anything else. To retard as far as possible
the deterioration of spoken English I have suggested that the
vowels in unaccented syllables should be pronounced. At present
these vowels are all becoming degraded into a uniform er
sound. Among us there is a formal speech and an " informle "
speech. During lectures the formal is the only one allowed, and

93

THE PLAY WAY

the hammer-boy insists upon "away mstead of " erway,"
" question " instead of " quesch'n," " possible " instead of
" posserble," " general " instead of " gen'rle," and so on.

The subject of pronunciation is, of course, a wide one and full
of technicality. But this particular proposal for reform, namely,
that we should pronounce the vowels in unaccented syllables can
be set before boys of twelve without any lengthy or technical
exposition. In fact I set the whole business afoot among the
Littlemen in five minutes, simply by pronouncing a few words in
the formal way as examples. For instance, the following pairs
of words do not rhjnne :

table label

fowl vowel

boil royal

garden pardon

letter debtor

Try the following also in formal pronunciation : " Seven,"
"message," "pavilion," "absurd," "courage," "interval."

The boys see at once what is suggested, and the practice begins
immediately. At the end of the first lesson — ^not a lesson on
pronunciation, of course, but a period of Speeches — many will
be proficient in the formal style. You may think it absurd when
you first hear this formal speech. You may be offended at the
pedantry of it. But no one unprejudiced will deny that it is
more beautiful than the jabber and grunt of the everyday slip-
shod pronunciation. It is comfortable to listen to also, because
you hear every syllable clearly instead of having to guess at the
half of every second word. Many visitors have said, " How
clearly the boys speak, you can hear every syllable distinctly.
But they pronounce some of the words rather queerly, don't
they ? " " Yes," I say, " but remember that you only hear
them so clearly because they pronounce unconventionally. This
morning you have heard syllables carefully pronounced, which
are generally slurred, slipped, or swallowed — ^left, in fact, to your
imagination. The very fact that those syllables are pronounced
gives an unfamiliar soimd to the speech."

Readers may test the sound of this proposed formal speech by
reading a page aloud and pronouncing the vowels in unaccented
94

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

syllables. Most people will of course shy at such words as choc-
o-late, en-gage-meni, period, e-lev-en, par-tic-u-lar-ly, but the use
of some formal speech such as this is the only practical means to
save us from that process of deterioration which will soon find
s saymg— if indeed we do not already say— choklit, 'lem, 'tikly.

This proposal that we should endeavour to make our spoken
English more clear and more varied by pronouncing the vowels
in unaccented syllables has been warmly opposed by several pro-
fessors of phonetics. But so far as one can judge by their works
these phoneticians are chiefly, if not solely, interested in record-
ing the existing sounds of spoken English. Recording speech is
one work, and an effort to improve the standard of speech is
quite another work, and much vain controversy will be avoided
in the near future among students of the language if that simple
fact is borne in mind, If it is thought advisable to set up soon
some official standard prommciation of English, Englishmen will
be wise not to entrust this work entirely to phoneticians. Many
of the well-known phoneticians in England to-day* are, or have
been, associated with the reform of spelling. And the pronuncia-
tion given by them in the books and pamphlets printed in their
new spelling should be a warning to all men of taste. I, for one,
shall never countenance the slovenly forms of London middle-
class prommciation as standard English speech.

If, then, the pronunciation of English is ever to be more clear
and more pleasing to Usten to than it is to-day, people other than
these satisfied phoneticians must insist on taking a hand. The
council of reformers must be truly representative of educated
English opinion. Dr. Bridges, the poet laiu:eate, is an eager
advocate of the betterment of English, as distinct from the mere
stereotyping of present speech as it is. But the point of view re-
presented by him in his book " English Pronunciation " and in
the formal speech practice suggested here is deserving of more
active support than it can boast at present.

Corrections in grammar and prommciation, then, are made in
passing, in obedience to the rap of the hammer. The interrup-
tions are not so frequent as you would suppose. Though of
course some speakers need more ctorsection than others and some

* Among others. Professors Daniel Jones, Noel Annfleld, and Walter
Rippmann.

95

THE PLAY WAY

hammer-boys are more exacting than others. At the start the
mister gives the hammer to one boy, and he relinquishes it as soon
as he misses a fault. The hammer often goes through the hands
of six or seven boys during one period.

If an error occurs with which the boys entirely fail to deal,
the master may at his discretion either interpolate a correction
or postpone the matter for more general treatment at a better
opportunity.

In the course of the year's experiment a few conventions
have grown into our practice and procedure. Some of these
are interesting. Many boys found it impossible to compress all
they had to say on one subject into the space of a single lectiure.
Lectures vary in length from five minutes to about fifteen. Some
boys are known to have skill in moulding their lectures so that
they round off naturally in ten minutes. These the mister leaves
alone. Others are known to lose thought of time, and to these
the mister makes a sign when they should stop. Boys soon chose
large subjects such as Railways, Aeroplanes, Dickens ; and these
lectures were given in a series of chapters, or fits. We always
call them fits.

A lecture on Astronomy was given ia six fits, (i) Saturn and his
Rings, (ii) Mars, (iii) Venus, (iv) Asteroids, (v) Jupiter and his
Moons, (vi) Nebulae. The boy (aged 11) used no notes, and the
speeches showed no trace of labour. He was, in point of fact,
just telling us straightforwardly what he knew about the planets.
Yet a verbatim record of his lectures would have made an excel-
lent little handbook of astronomy for boys. The same speaker
followed with five fits on Aeroplanes. We had by this time re-
turned to the classroom (for it was now the Christmas term), and
the blackboard was available for diagrams. Another speaker,
also aged eleven and a half at this time, lectured on Modern
Fighting Ships in no fewer than twelve fits. He not only showed
a thorough acquaintance with all types of fighting ships and their
armament, but proved himself really eloquent. From that time
until the end of the year he has been recognized both by boys
and masters as our principal lecturer. There is never time for
more than six speakers, but whoever else might speak the boys
insisted on hearing John W. in every lectiu:e-period. I find in
the chronicles that he has spoken on :
96

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

The Mechanism of a Zeppelin.

Japan.

The Royal Marines.

Contraband.

Turbines.

Explosives.

Military Tactics.

The Battle of Copenhagen.

And on many other subjects. And in every case he is recorded
as having received full marks for interest and full marks for style.
The fact that most of these subjects are technical, and none of
them the kind of subject likely to be suggested by a teacher to a
boy of eleven, is most significant. And if any reader fears that a
good " literary " style is not likely to be developed by speeches on
such subjects, I can only tell him that his fears are groundless.
Those who have heard these lectures agree that one could not
desire a readier or more finished lecturer.

Some taste of his quality will be found in the written lectures
given in this book : The Condition of Affairs in Germany and
Methods of Defending a Ship from Torpedoes and Mines. For-
tunately it occurred to him at the end of the year to write on
How to make a Speech or Lecture. The work is also included here.
The last-mentioned essay was completed at one sitting in school
hours during one of those breaking-up days when regular work
is over, and the boys do more or less what they please. Some of
the other boys were tidying their desks, some were playing Nine
Men's Morris, and the room was full of a most admired disorder.
But the writer, so far from being disturbed, was making as much
noise as any one in the intervals of his writing.

At one moment he walked up and down the room waving his
arms and making a most unaccountable din.

" Steady," I protested, " that surely isn't necessary."

" Yes, it is, sir," he replied, " some one behind was talking too
loud about a secret, and I had to drown his voice."

The secret concerned a presentation they were making to my-
self. It is a wise practice not to be angry at apparent breaches
of discipline without inquiry !

This form Ila was an average form, yet it included six speakers

o 97

THE PLAY WAY

who might lecture with credit even to an adult audience. At the
other end were some six poor speakers who preferred to remain
silent if they could. The remaining ten or twelve were sound
and reliable, willing to speak frequently, and always interesting ;
but they were not so well informed as the first group.

It has several times happened that a silent member, who has
been thought " weak," has tried his voice one day in criticism or
questions, discovered to his surprise that speaking is easy (for a
Littleman), and turned out within a few weeks to be one of the
best lecturers.

There are not only long lectures which are divided into
fits, and lectures which just fill ten minutes or so, but also
speeches made up of disconnected observations on a variety
of subjects. This kind of speech is called a Mixed Grill. If
any teacher wishes for a graduated scale of effort culminating
in the twelve-fit lecture, here it is : (i) Short question, (ii) Longer
question, (iii) Criticism, (iv) Mixed Grill, (v) Single-fit lecture,
(vi) Several-fit lecture. But we have found no need of syste-
matic teaching in this matter.

The Mixed Grill serves many purposes. It is a useful safety-
valve for the talkative fellow. After his interruptions and
proffered remarks have been quashed, his criticism cut short by
the mister, and his reiterated questions ruled out of order, he
finds he can bear it no longer. So he puts in for a Mixed GriU.
He gets the ear of the house, and then " lets them have it " — says
his say right out. It is a useful stand-by, also, for the silent
member when the mister importunes him for a speech. He has
no speech, cannot think of anything perhaps, so he puts in for a
Mixed Grill and fills five minutes or so with general remarks,
congratulations, reminders, suggestions, or what-not. The Mixed
Grill also gives the master an opportunity for saying a few words
without seeming to hold up the proceedings. In the space of
five minutes one can give the orders for the day, make announce-
ments, point out faults, bestow praise and even set the homework
and distribute corrected papers. The only drawback to the
master's making a speech or his use of the Mixed Grill is that it
invites comparison between his fluency and that of the Little-
men ! This may seem an affectation to some reader, but I can
assure him from experience that it is not easy for an adult to
98

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

speak as plainly and fluently as a Littleman. There is the
hammer of Damocles too — and " No er ! "

It is probable that this scheme of lecture-lessons could be
carried right up the school as the boys grew older. But it is
certainly advisable to start it with boys who are still Littlemen.*
If they had a weekly lecture-lesson from the age of ten up to the
age of sixteen, the self-consciousness which comes and spoils all
about the age of thirteen or fourteen might be rendered less
troublesome by the force of habits of self-expression. I mean that
shyness, awkwardness, and the self-consciousness which often
makes adolescent boys unintentionally rude and unsympathetic
— ^these shades of the prison-house might close in less harshly
upon a boy who " still is nature's priest," and the shadow fall
ulmost imperceptibly upon one who looked ever about him upon
the " vision splendid."

But to start lecture-lessons with adolescents (and most public-
school masters are chiefly concerned with adolescents) would be
quite a different thing. Isolated speeches might be good, as in
debating societies, but there would be little of the corporate
spirit in the work. Criticism would not be so frank, brief, and
to the point. In a word, the spontaneity of Littleman would not
be the informing spirit.

But I had, an encouraging experience in this respect with
Belgian boys. There were nearly forty Belgians in the school,
but the group I speak of numbered about twelve, and their
ages ranged from eleven and a half to seventeen. They had
been in England about three months. They were being taught
English proper by other teachers ; and their periods with me
were to be devoted, not necessarily to any subject, but to what
one of my friends calls " Cookery." We began by trying to act
" Thorr's Hammer."t First a scene was read and explanations
given, and then it was acted on the stage with full complement
of dress and properties. They enjoyed the acting of course, but
understood only the bare plot. The reading was unintelligible
both to readers and listeners, for blank verse at its simplest
involves many imcommon words. Before long I found that the
course would be nine-tenths explanatory teaching and one-tenth

* A Littleman is any boy under thirteen.
t Perse Playbooks, No. 1.

99

THE PLAY WAY

acting ; a proportion which caused me to abandon the play after
a first rough reading, for I hold only that teaching effective in
which there is at least as much of practice as there is of instruc-
tion.

It appeared that these boys knew hardly enough English to
put one sentence together, but I decided to introduce them to
Speeches. Some of the Belgians had attended lecture-lessons in
Ila, so they knew the usual form of procediu-e. In the absence
of a subject I suggested to one boy to narrate the story of Freyr's
Wooing,* which they had seen played a day or two before. This
was done, but the amusing underplot concerning Beggvir and
the blessed pig was omitted. The relation of this underplot
made the second " Speech'" By the time the third speaker was
due the game was well afoot, for the mister announced. " Con-
stant will now tell us the story of Black Beauty, Fit 1." The
fourth speaker told a fairy tale. And with the fifth we made a
start in lectures. He lectured on " The Pig." The title of the
sixth was " Cambridge." And that brought the period to an end.
It appeared after all that these boys could speak English after
a fashion. Each spoke continuously for more than five minutes.

One of the first conventions to arise among a company of
boy-speakers seems to be a conventional way of beginning land
ending a speech. The English boys generally open with " Sir,
I have come up here this morning to tell you about so-and-SQjf
and they plunge right into the matter forthwith. They close
with, " That is all I have to say ^' ; or " That is all I will teU
you in this fit about so-and-so." The Belgians soon foimd a
little conventional phrase of their own which nearly all of them
used. It always made me laugh. They laughed also, but they
kept the phrase. " Sir, I will make a speech about so-and-so.
I think it shall be very interesting for you." At the close it came
again. " That is the end of my little speech. I think it has
been very interesting for you."

The chronicles record titles of nearly a hundred and fifty
speeches by this group of Belgians alone. Some of them are
stories and fairy tales from all sources, including Grimm, " Robin
Hood," the " Arabian Nights," and " Robinson Crusoe." One of
the eldest boys imdertook to tell the story of Monte Cristo. He

♦ Perse Playbooks, No. 3.
100

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

went steadily on day after day, until the chronicler lost count of
the fits, and the mister simply announced, " Monte Cristo, next
fit." He must have reached fit twenty when the school year
ended and left him in mid-career. His younger brother, aged
twelve, gave an account of their journey from Belgium, and an
expert lecture, on " How to grow Chrysanthemums," from his
own very thorough experience. He also gave us " The Tale of a
Cherry-Tree."

This was a delightful true history of a cherry-tree which grew
in the garden of the English house they now occupied. The old
gardener — " He is a very silly old man with a white beard " —
asked the boys' father to buy the cherry-tree in the garden. The
father said he had no use for the tree, but would buy it on condi-
tion that the silly old gardener sat in the tree to keep off the birds.
Then the old man went to the boys' mother, and our lecturer
acted as interpreter. The mother said that cherries were only
cherries for her when they appeared upon a plate. So in the
end the three boys bought the cherry-tree from the old man for
four shillings. Jean himg a bell in the tree and connected it by
a string to his bedroom window. When he wakened in the morn-
ing he pulled the string, " and all the birds fly away and eat no
more the cherries." The boys sold the fruit to their mother on
a plate, at so much a pound ; and, at the last I heard, were on a
fair way to regaining their initial outlay in addition to getting
their share of the cherries. That, briefly told is the story of the
cherry-tree. " I think it has been very interesting for you."

Many of the lectures given by the Belgians were on the usual
Littleman subjects. Submarines, Torpedoes, Birds, Flowers,
Insects, Architecture. But they made an interesting develop-
ment of the Mixed Grill. Several boys described tricks with
paper and string, or asked conundrums, or tasked us with
problems concerning donkeys, fox, geese, lengths of rope, railway-
sidings, and the crossing of rivers. More than one lecture-lesson
with the Belgians was given over entirely to these parlour tricks
and problems. My only stipulation was that the demonstrator
should, after the manner of a professional conjuror, talk all the
time.

But the Mixed Grill in the hands of one boy, H , became

quite an art form. He stood up virith a diffident, semi-cynical

101

THE PLAY WAY

air and made a series of observations, so obviously disconnected
and unrelated that the amusement of the class, beginning with
a smile, culminated in roars of laughter. And still the wonder
grew how long he could go on thinking of fresh topics for his
detached observations. It was a most amusing and finished
variety entertainment. The class soon learnt to call eagerly for

" H in a Mixed Grill." I will attempt to recall something of

his style. But the quaint effect of his accent and his diffident
air must be left to your imagination.

" Sir, I will give a speech. I think it shall be very interesting

for you. No, it is a Mixed GriU. M is telling very well

his Monte Cristo. I think he will finish it some day. Perhaps.

The flowers in this room will soon be dead. I think J will

bring us some more. It is very good to have flowers. Yes.
The swimming races was very good. I did not race. I am no

good to swim. L is in long trousers to-day. His legs looks

very silly. I think long trousers is no good for him. The people
of Cambridge speaks very bad. They speak in the nose like this.
[Here a good imitation of the Kimebridge accent.] Yesterday
I went to take tea with my friends. Yes. It was a good tea.
Plenty of jam and cakes. Soon I wiU go again. Yes. English
gardens have no flowers. In Belgium we say of garden without
flower, ' English garden.l Mr. Cook is laughing. I don't
know why he is laughing. Albert is a silly ass, he has broken
my penholder. Illb acts very well Shakespeare. I like to see
Sir Toby and to hear sing the other chap. I don't know what
he is call, but he sing very well ' O Mistress Mine ' . . ." And
so on ad libitum.

The serious-minded will find this ridiculous ; but it is at least
as useful as the usual " exercise " composed of disconnected
sentences. The errors do not, of course, go uncorrected. The
hammer in the hands of another Belgian boy is always ready to
pull up the speaker. There is also another piece of apparatus,
used only by the Belgians. It is a massive wooden thing in the
form of a letter H which is dropped with a great noise whenever
a speaker misses an aspirate. This is called the Belgian H.
But I made no pretence of correcting every single mistake, or
the very idea of free practice in speaking would have been de-
stroyed. The hammer kept them up to the mark in simple
108

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

grammatical points, and from time to time I corrected and
explained general errors, or mistakes which showed a misimder-
standing, such as a confusion in sound between " afraid " and
" frightened." For the rest they were simply learning to speak
Enghsh by speaking it. Whatever happens it is essential that
the speaking shall go on. Whether with English boys or
Belgians the lectures are the thing of main importance in learn-
ing the use of oral English, and if you hold fast to this all the
lesser things such as points of correct grammar and right use in
vocabulary shall be added imto you.

This is perhaps not so obvious to all as one could wish,
for many textbooks on composition still set out to teach
first of all the rules, and only bring in actual sentences as
examples to illustrate these rules ! Many a class of boys,
who, if the teacher only realized it, could be freely lecturing
in admirable English periods, have to undergo a laborious
study of sentence-making, in which, after much exposition, an
exercise is set which consists of sticking together jig-saw scraps
of phrases. In this he is most skilful who can best conceal the
joins. Chapters in some manuals of composition discuss at
length the various figures of speech, and the boys marvel to
encoimter, and struggle to distinguish. Metaphor and Simile,
Allegory and Hyperbole, and even — if you can believe it — ^An-
tonomasia and Paranomasia. In a book called " English Com-
position " I have even found paragraphs on Epanaphora, Epi-
strophe. Litotes or Meiosis, Prolepsis, Epanorthosis, and Aposio-
pesis. I do not pretend to remember what all these terrific
words mean, but I have copied them faithfully from a modem
textbook of composition now in front of me. That soimds more
like a catalogue of diseases than anything to do with this our
mother tongue. These are, indeed, some symptoms of the
disease of pedantry — a malady most incident to teachers.

It is false to claim that these cumbrous phraseological mon-
strosities of rhetoric are needed even for the special study of
literature. Present-day teachers can do no better service to
English letters than by encouraging the clear, straightforward
saying of what one has to say. Simphcity and brevity do not
perhaps exhaust the desirable qualities of style, but they come
first. And clear style can only be poisoned by the use of those

103

THE PLAY WAY

tricks, graces, paddings, and affectations which are the most
noticeable result of successfully working through primers of
composition.

Consider, moreover, whether the usual school custom of
setting subjects to speak or write upon is not a deliberate
fostering of the artificial and the insincere. Even if it is not so,
it is at least an unnecessary limitation. Boys will find quite
enough to talk about without any officious nursing. The follow-
ing list of subjects is taken direct from the Littleman chronicles.
They are not selected, but represent forty speeches given on seven
consecutive lecture-days. I give them (except for the grouping
of fits) in the order of the chronicles for the purpose of illustrating
their variety. Only the first two subjects were suggested, and
even those I submitted to the class and not to individuals.

1. Eating in the Olden Times.

2. The Willow Pattern.
8. Maxim Guns.

4. Nebul«.
5-9. Aeroplanes (in five fits).

10. Air-trains.

11. Ways of Fishing.

12. Police Traps.

13. Work in Nature Study.

14. Turbines.

15. Foreign Stamps.

16. Making an Ilond.

17, 18. Meccano (in two fits).

19. Preparations of the Germans.

20. The Classroom Toy-shelf.

21. Chapbooks.

22. Military Tactics.

23. Spring Guns.

24. Musical Instruments.

25. How to start a Long Poem.

26. The Tidiness of the Form-room.

27. The Largest Crane.

28. On the Kaiser's Brain.

29, 80. Self-Government (in two fits).
104

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

31. Explosives.
82. Early Arms.

The remaining eight of the forty speeches chronicled for these
seven days are long criticisms, " winding-up speeches," or Mixed
Grills.

How to start a Long Poem was advice from the author of the
only long Littleman poem, at the time when he was engaged
upon My Christmas Week at Little Pinewood End*

The four lectures Ways of Fishing, Spring Guns, Musical
Instruments, and Early Arms are all by one boy. His chief de-
light is in strange gins and quaint contrivances. His ways of
fishing were not the usual ones of net or rod and line. Nothing
so commonplace would suit him. The essential point of the
schemes he described was that one didn't fish in person at all,
but set afloat upon the water some ingenious contrivance of
planks and string and balancing things. A baited line dangled
in the water, and was attached above to a bell or to the trigger
of a pistol. " You then lie down and slack it, or you go about
your work near-by, imtil suddenly you hear the bell ring, or the
pistol go off bang. Then you take a boat and row out "

This kind of fishing cannot have been indulged in either for
the pleasure of the exercise or for profitable return. It must have
been devised out of sheer joy in the working of home-made gins.
One of our best illustrators brought to school one day a picture
he had painted of a quiet meadowland by the river. On the bank
a person was lying in a deck-chair while some contrivance
floated upon the water. The picture was called " One of
Johnny's Gins," His spring gims and his musical instrmnents
were of a like character, ingenious and unorthodox. He could
not have invented them all, but there is no doubt that he eagerly
collected them from boys' papers, a jimior encyclopaedia, and the
records of savage tribes — ^those " natives " so dear to the hearts
of boys.

The Early Arms, again, were all implements of death with

something peculiarly and grotesquely effective about them. He

drew them on the blackboard, and described with satisfaction

the curve, or the twist, or some other diabolical characteristic

• Perse Playbooks, No. 5.

105

THE PLAY WAY

which made these daggers, spear-heads, or bayonets so deh'ght-
fully horrible.

This boy started very modestly, but presently became one
of the three or four best speakers. At first he was very nervous,
and on this account spoke too rapidly. But because of his
wonderful speed the class always called for him if it happened
that only a minute and a half remained before the clock struck !
Not one minute could be wasted.

" Finish up, mister," I would say, " there remains but a
minute and a half."

" Johnny ! " the class would cry, " Johnny can easily do one
in the time." And Johnny always did. I wonder which of my
readers would care to answer such a call.

In spite of this rapid nervous delivery there was never any
fumbling. If he saw a blank ahead where a wanted word was
missing, he went round it. Periphrasis, look you, come into
use, not from study, but from a practical discovery of the need
of it. And with all his hm-ry he was rarely pulled up for careless
pronunciation. On the contrary, he was correct to a fault. So
much so that he always pronounced the and a as the and a, which
is not in accordance even with our formal speech. This and
other overeareful peculiarities caused me to suspend the hammer-
rap altogether during his speeches. The faults of nervous de-
livery wore off in a little whUe, and though the rapidity remains,
the correctness remains too, both tempered by much practice.
And it is, as you may well believe, a pleasure to hear a lecture
full of matter delivered briskly and in a clear and almost fault-
less pronunciation.*

If my readers could have been present last term they would
have found it difficult to say whether they enjoyed most
the swift description, aptly illustrated, of Johnny's innumerable
Gins, or the fuller and more measured eloquence of John W. on
the subject of Ships or Military Matters or Foreign Affairs — ^his
speech never hurried, never dragging, but rounding off smoothly
through period after period until, without any sign of conscious
peroration, one foresaw the inevitable close ; or the thoroughly
practical and equally humorous technicalities of Sir Bevis, or the

* A lecture on Gins and two fits on Model Aeroplanes by the speaker
referred to will be found at the end of this chapter.
106

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

purely simple narrative of Mac, telling straightly what he knew
of Two Birds.*

Sir Bevis lectured always in a number of fits. His subjects
were Astronomy, Aeroplanes, and Railways. He spoke upon
any topic with equal ease, but one chiefly remembers these three
— and his criticisms. His astronomy has already been men-
tioned. The lectures on aeroplanes, though I can claim no
expert knowledge, were certainly most thorough. Every pass-
ing detail was made clear by diagrams on the blackboard, every
technical term used was explained, and the whole subject divided
among the fits with a masterly regard for " plan," " scheme,"
or whatever we teachers call it when we cut up a subject for
purposes of outline.

" That is all I have to say about gliders. In the next fit I
will tell you of the experiences of the brothers Wright when they
first applied engines to their craft."

It is important to record that Sir Bevis (aged eleven and a
half) did not by any means exhaust the material he had available
for each fit. He it was who instituted " Questions," in addition
to " Criticism." It was his custom to end a fit with these words :
" I will not tell you any more in this fit, in order to allow time for
questions." The class always had questions to ask — as Sir
Bevis expected — and the master also rose to the occasion. For
whether or not one's interests ran among aeroplanes. Sir Bevis
could always stimulate one to a question or two. Boys would
come up to the rostnmi one after another, and, with finger on the
diagrams, ask for further information. In the end this lecturer
found it necessary to give half his time to exposition and the
other half to " Any questions ? " In fact the Littleman teacher
on the rostrum and the Littleman class in front of him seemed to
be so absorbed in one another and in their study of the subject
that the official teacher found himself for the time being ignored.
But this often happens on the Play Way. This boy's lecture on
Railways was not nearly finished when term came to an end. He
gave fits on " The Inside of the Engine," " The Wheels," " The
Coaches," " The Track," " Signals," and so on. One of his

* I do not here exaggerate a single particular, and those who heard
the Speeches will bear me out. I have most carefully stated exactly
what was to be heard.

107

THE PLAY WAY

minor written lectures is given at the end of this chapter. Out
of school Sir Bevis is above all things a Pirate Captain. I have
in my possession a big book of his in fifteen chapters called
" Littleman Pirates." It was written last winter, and records
the pirate play of him and the band he led since June 1910.
In 1910 he was only seven.

Mac always lectured on Two Birds. He told us of the birds
and their habits, described all he saw when he went bird-nesting,
and handed round eggs for our inspection. But it was never
explained on what principle, if any, he associated the two birds
of each lecture. One day it would be " The Starling and the
Blackbird," another day " The Thrush and the Wren." It was
not because what he had to say of one bird would not fill the
time. Because however short or however long his speech might
be it was always on Two Birds.* Possibly this was an inkling
of the comparative method of study. His delivery is simplicity
itself, and his pronunciation of English is the most beautiful I
have ever heard. It was pointed out to me by an observer that
this speaker was also nervous. But one would scarcely have
guessed it. The only trace of shyness was in his screwing up
a little piece of paper in his fiLngers. This boy, like the others
I have mentioned, was eleven years old, but very childish, and
in his manner and appearance might have passed as a year or two
yoimger. I mention this because, according to my experience,
it appears that the younger a boy is the better he speaks.

Tlie advice I would offer to the teacher in the matter of the
boys' delivery is " Let well alone." There are of course scores
of things one could teU them, but they are not necessary. I
cannot remember having told these boys anything at aU about
delivery. The obvious danger is that so soon as you mention
delivery, or give any directions, you set the boys thinking of
how they are speaking instead of giving their entire attention to
what they are saying. This seems to me obvious, but I am afraid
the warning is needful ; for if there is one thing teachers wiU do,
in and out of season, it is — ^teach. Just as teachers think more
of their subjects than of the boys, just as they prefer grammar
and figures of speech and the study of sentence-structure to the

* In Fit 2 of the written lecture given on p. 122 there are three birds,
but that is exceptional.
108

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

free making of original prose and verse, so I fear will those whc
adopt Littleman Lectures soon fall into the habit of directing
and correcting delivery, interfering with a boy's own plan of his
fits, and in the end even going so far as to set the subjects of the
lectures. Then when things go wrong, as they certainly will if
Littleman's interest is set aside and his creative power of play
harnessed to pull a load of formal rubbish, the teacher instead
of loosening the bearing-rein will tighten it ! Littleman will work
less well in proportion as his point of view and the needs of his
nature.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,

receive less consideration. The learned taskmaster remarking
this deterioration, will not think of blaming himself but will blame
the boys, and will rule more and more strictly, and teach harder
and harder. The upshot of this senseless procedure will be " As
you were," and repression and compulsion will soon again be the
order of the day.

The delivery of one or two Littlemen after a time was marred
by signs of striving after effect. I showed a mild disapproval
and thought to discourage these precocious arts by laughing at
them. The class took it up and there was a ready ridicule for
conscious effects. As a teacher I ought to have been satisfied
with this success. Is it not so ? But I was not satisfied, I was
frightened. I saw that the hearers were not so much expressing
a genuine disapproval as they were following my lead. The
power of suggestion in the hands of a master who has the good-
will of his boys is simply tremendous. One has to be careful
how one uses such an influence. Encouragement to a boy to do
his best is the one right use. Self-gratulation and scorn of
weaker (or merely different) boys could as easily be encouraged
by suggestion. Therein Hes the responsibility. Any one who
has influence must realize that though it is his duty to exert
it, his plain duty quite as often is not to exert it.

Blackboard illustrations to the lectures are of two kinds,
diagrams and pictures. The diagrams are necessary for a
lecture on Periscopes, for instance, or Architecture. These the
lecturer draws for himself as he requires them. But he must

109

THE PLAY WAY

not be allowed to pause and turn his back to the class while he
sketches on the board. He must take the diagrams in his stride,
as it were, without interrupting his description. That is one
advantage of their use. Another is that the diagram not only
helps, but compels the lecturer to be explicit. For he can
scarcely be vague and superficial in his account if he is making a
diagram of the mechanism as he describes it. The disadvantage
of diagrams is that they explain many points which it would
have been better for the boy to describe in words. It is there-
fore useful to recommend to a technical lecturer from time to
time that he forgo the aid of diagrams for a fit or two.

Apart from diagrams the pictures in illustration of a lecture
are generally drawn by other boys. During a speech on Spies
or lAon Hv/nting, or during the narration of a story the mister
allows two or three of the class to come out and draw on the
board in coloured chalks. What they hear they draw ; and if
they misrepresent the speaker or let their imagination carry
them away they generally hear of it during " Criticism."

It was stated in the beginning that no apparatus is required.
But though it is not strictly necessary there is nothing to
be gained by forbidding it. The lecturer on birds likes to
show the eggs he is describing ; and when a speaker tells how
to make simple toys he is expected to give something in the
way of demonstration. Object-lessons given by the boys are
much more interesting for the class than those given by the
teacher, and quite as full of matter. Once, after several boys
had lectured on conjuring tricks and magic coins and so on, we
proposed to set aside a whole lecture period for demonstration
purposes. The idea was to get a table and put on it some bottles,
corks, glasses, pins, coins, sheets of paper, and so on, and then
invite speakers to come forward who could make a performance
out of these materials. Examinations fell due and interfered
with the project, but " I think it should have been very interest-
ing for us."

For the last two terms or so we have had two permanent
platform properties without which the boys now feel that
lectures are not really lectures. One is a httle round-topped
table, like a garden simdial column. The speaker stands beside
this. The other is a brass bell with a figure of Shakespeare for
110

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

the hancTIe, and it stands on the table. The mister opens the
proceedings by tinging the bell, and he always does so before
announcing any speaker. Such trifling details as this have their
part in giving character to the proceedings. The hammer, the
bell, and the black table ; the lecturer standing in the middle
of the platform with the mister sitting on one side and the marks-
man on the other — that and the strict rule of our procedtire make
up a kind of ceremonial which adds a dignity. And it takes out
of our minds unpleasant associations of lessons in which the
master, in solitary state upon the platform, faces his class in the
stocks, and takes complete control.

In the foregoing account many small and apparently trivial
things have come in for notice. Toys, parlour problems,
and amateur conjuring tricks have foimd a mention, and
even blackboard scribbling has received official sanction.
Most noticeable of all perhaps, to teachers, the small boy's
passion for general information and his " love of hearing himself
talk " have been taken seriously. Valuable school time has
been sacrificed to sheer boys' talk, without so much as a pretence
at teaching.

Externally regarded the Piay Way certainly appears to
consist largely of a busy preoccupation with trifles of all kinds.
We cannot recite little poems without our sticks to beat time ;
and when we chant

Rolling, rolling, rolling
O'er the deep blue sea,

the little cork boat floating in the dish of water seems to claim as
much attention as the ship which is the subject of the poem. A
boy acting a king must have a crown, even if it be only a paper
one. Mister makes a fuss if his bell is missing, and would rather
wait while it is fetched than go on without it. This, as every
child-lover knows, is characteristic of Littleman the world over.
He must have it right. Similarly no speaker, whether master
visitor, or boy, may omit the conventional opening, " Sir." * He
will be " hauled " before he has said ten words. These are all
trifles, but every facet of a tiny gem may envision the whole width

* Other masters, and visitors too, have on occasion been found bold
enough to deliver a speech, or to take a share in debate.

Ill

THE PLAY WAY

of sky. Toys and games and conventional properties are small
things ; but grammatical rules learnt by heart, and copy-books,
and writing on one side of the paper only, are small things too,
and not so entertaining. I had rather make a mountain out of
a molehill than be the mountain in labour that brought forth a
mouse. Coleridge might have said,

He playeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small.

The criminal error of the spoon-feeding pedant is that in his vain-
dealing he ignores the great things and elevates the small to
their place.

For all the care which teachers spend to give importance to
such things as correctness in grammar, accuracy in mathematical
calculations, and precision in scientific experiments, can it be
claimed that the boys feel at all strongly the necessity for this
care and accuracy ? Does it worry the average boy if his nouns
are in the wrong case, or his verbs in the wrong mood ? We all
know it does not worry him ; that is our grief. Yet who will
deny that the same boys can be most punctilious about their
rights, and about the observance of the most minute school
customs ? Who has not seen a hot dispute arise over the break-
ing of the smallest rule in cricket or football ? Who has not
marked the strength of feeling a small boy exhibits against any
bad form or false play even in the least particular ? Why this
strange difference between in-school and out-of -school ? Don't
ask the boys, ask the teachers. But the teachers cannot tell you
— or rather they won't. It is a matter of interest.

Once in asking a question about aeroplanes I called a tractor
a propeller. I was pulled up at once by the boy-lectmrer. It is
no use trying it on and saying, " Oh, well, it's all the same." How
would you feel if your pupil regarded indicative and subjunctive
with the same levity ? An illustrator once put one mast too
many on a ship he was drawing. The lecturer happened to look
round and see it. He took the duster and the chalk and put the
matter right before proceeding. The description of engine
wheels by numbers such as 2-4-0, or 0-6-0 is part of a mystery I
have not mastered, but in spite of this I am sure no boy has ever
112

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

been allowed to describe them wrongly or even to draw them
wrongly, in my classroom !

Some one may ask me why the small boy's insistence upon
accuracy in story-telling and in lectures and his demands for
obedience to rules in games cannot be turned to good use upon
his spelling, arithmetic, and so on. My good sir, it can be. It
should be. It has been. That is one of the chief claims in this
book. If a boy's heart is set upon anything he will see that he
gets it right. If his heart is not set on it, the insistence is left
to the master, whose heart is set on it. It seems clear enough.
The Play Way is not a proposal for the relaxing of rules and
discipline but a demonstration of the only way in which rules can
be naturally enforced, and discipline made to live of its own
accord. And that is by the operation of interest. But in educa-
tion, as in life, the game must not be brought in only to make the
rules palatable ! The play's the thing, and only the boy's real
interest in it can make it worth the plajdng.

From the first there has never been any doubt that the
boys were interested in Speeches. If for any reason a
Speech-period was turned to other uses, it had to be given
back somewhere else. On the other hand, the Belgians
succeeded in borrowing periods for Speeches which they never
paid back. They had a lesson with me in the afternoons of
Monday and Friday. For the corresponding Wednesday lesson
I was off duty, and they were supposed to be worldng by them-
selves in hall. One Friday there were references to recent
speeches of which I had no recollection. Also I seemed to have
lost touch with Monte Cristo ; and the other lecturers were a
fit in advance of what was expected. Inquiry showed that they
had held a lecture-lesson by themselves on the Wednesday.
They said, " You were absent, sir, and so we make the lesson
ourselves only." I pointed out that according to the time-table
they should have been in hall. The mister for the day being
then asked to give an accoimt of Wednesday's proceedings de-
scribed a normal lecture-lesson. The chronicles showed also that
the usual mmiber of speeches had been made. On the whole,
it was quite clear that the stolen lesson had been the counter-
part of any lecture-lesson at which I had been present. This
was their first introduction to the possibilities of self-government.

B iia

THE PLAY WAY

And these Belgians were at this time the most unruly members
of the school.

Of course the boys, once they had left the hall and got into
a room alone, especially since that room was in a separate build-
ing, might have done as they pleased. And that is what they
did ; for Speeches and good order pleased them better than idle
chat and tomfoolery. The Belgian Littlemen found it difficult
to believe that the time-table was correct. The same mistake
occurred the following week ! In the end they were allowed the
Wednesday period for Speeches, and I saw to it that they " made
the lesson themselves only."

The active interest taken in Speeches by another boy was
remarkable. He was from New Caledonia, and had spent many
years in France, and only a few months in England. It was
nor surprising that he took small interest in the Shakespeare
lessons, nor that he should in consequence have come to be
looked upon as a slacker. He was one day present at a Belgian
lecture-lesson. The following day he brought a list of subjects
upon which lectures might be made. It includes the following ;

Monuments of the World.

Rare Animals.

How different Things are made (e.g. Paper, Glass, etc.).

Ways of Defence through Centuries.

Ways of Transport through Centuries

Ways of Hunting in Wild Coimtries.

Comparison of Wars in the Past with the Present One.

He also introduced among the Belgians two other topics upon
which many Speeches were made. One was How I made my Boat.
Any playboy who has spent a holiday near a pond must have
made a boat, and ventured out in it. We heard tell of many
escapades as interesting as c(iuld be foimd in boys' books. There
were as many speakers on this subject as we had time for. Other-
wise I should Uke to have told of the boats my brothers and I
had made. In especial I remember a home-made punt in which
we sailed on a shallow salt lagoon somewhere at the other side
of the world. We had a stiff cowhide for a sail, and we went out
to shoot black-necked swans and flamingoes. The boat, of
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LITTLEMAN LECTURES

course, leaked — ^home-made boats are poor fun if they don't
leak — and we baled it out with the carpenter's hat. As we
couldn't speak his language, nor he ours, this resource perhaps
brought home to him as much as anything the flaws in his handi-
work. While we were cruising about and trying not to sink,
the men on the shore, some of whom had never seen a boat or
a fish in their lives, killed and skinned a sheep, then built a fire
and roasted it, basting the meat with salt water from the lagoon.
And that brings me to the second inviting topic which this boy
suggested. He began with How they cook Fish in New Caledonia.
Another Belgian boy followed with How the Indians in North
America cook a Pig. A third described How I cook Potatoes on
the Seashore in Belgium. A fourth told us How a Boy Scout
cooks Meat Out-of-doors. And this topic also lasted until the
end of its period.

The boy I speak of lectured well on every occasion. He
gave us in several fits his journey from Australia, describing
Bombay, Port Said, Stromboli, Messina, and other sights and
places vividly, and without the tedious reflections of a travel-
book. His triumph came when he lectured one day for a whole
period on New Caledonia to the most part of three forms and
their masters and several visitors, an audience of fifty. He dealt
with the geography of the island, its mountains, rivers, towns,
and the coral reef surrounding it ; he described the natives and
their customs, their boats, and the pearl-fisheries. Animal life
came in also, from the octopus to the birds ; and the coco-nut
and date-palms were but the beginnings of an account of the
fruits. Nickel-mines were to have been fully described also, but
there was no more time. I have never heard a lecture so full of
matter.

Not many boys have travelled so far and seen so much of
life in other parts of the world. But there is no doubt that in
any class of twenty-five boys you will find at least one who is as
stimulating as this fellow. Boys are full of information, and
always ready to come out with it under encouraging conditions.

When one class has foimd the joy of Speeches the tale soon
goes round, and other classes will soon be asking for Speeches
also. We have found it a good plan when beginning Speeches
with a new group to admit them as audience to a practised class.

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THE PLAY WAY

This gives them the chance of profiting by the experience of
the proficient ones, and of adopting straightway the essentials
of the procedure, without the need of inventing it all again.
This plan also gives the beginners something of a standard
to aim at.

It is also very helpful to a class of beginners to bring in as a
visitor I proficient lecturer from another class. The Belgians,
after they had exhausted their first fund of stories, devoted a
period or two to problems, riddles, tricks, and Mixed GriUs. It
seemed to me that they were now at a juncture where they would
find a difficulty in getting into the swing of regular subject
lectmres. So I requested the woodwork master over the way to
lend me three of my best lecturers for a few minutes. As we
entered the lecture-room I asked, " What will you speak on ? "
" Oh, anything," the boys replied.

If an opportimity for Speeches suddenly arises there are
always several boys ready to speak at once, and while the first
few lectures are going on most of the other boys can prepare
themselves. Even with those weaker brethren who need much
encouragement and speak but rarely, the difficulty is not so
much a need for preparation as the inability to think of a
wbject.

This raises the question of compulsion, for it may easily
happen that some boys, lacking initiative, or having found them-
selves not very good at lecturing, may prefer to listen to the will-
ing speakers and take no part themselves. In extreme cases a
boy may be really so nervous that it is a positive torture for him
to have to stand up on the platform before the rest. I know
very well what such feelings mean, having suffered from the
same sensitiveness myself as a boy. And it is not very helpful
to give such a boy ample notice, in order to give him time to
prepare, saying, " You will have to speak next Monday." This
may only fill him with dread apprehension. He makes earnest,
almost feverish preparations to avoid disaster, as it seems to him,
and all the time his heart sinks at the thought of the approaching
ordeal on Monday. Many a kindly intentioned teacher, genial
and encouraging, is in reality, for lack of a truly sympathetic
understanding of Littleman, nothing better than a blind,
blundering fool. And when I say that many a small boy, all
116

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

unknown to his smiling teacher, sometimes goes through what
can only be described as mental agony, I am not speaking
without knowledge, for I have felt how

Bet-ween the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma or a hideous dream.

Let us avoid at all costs the imposition of this torture upon
any Littleman. If a boy has spoken several times already, he
may in his present retirement be considered merely slack. The
mister can generally get him to resume activity. But those who
have not yet ventured must be given time. The master may
encourage them to make criticisms &st, and after a while they
will offer to make a speech. So long as a boy is left to take the
decisive step of his own accord he is not suffering any mental
agony. It is having the ordeal thrust upon him which causes
him dread. Therefore refrain from persuading Littlemen to
swim by throwing them into the water.

I do not wish to give the impression that the making of
Speeches is ever a trial for boys. But before they have tried it
some of them are apt to think it will be. That is my point.
Any one who sees little boys diving from high places and sporting
in deep water may say, " These little beggars don't know the
meaning of fear." But the teacher who a week or two before
stood for half an hour waist-deep in the water, gently
persuading the same little beggars to get wet above the knees,
knows this cheery point of view to be both false and mis-
chievous.

From this aspect there is something to be said for the
question of that American visitor, " How do you teach them
to be natural ? " And the answer is still the same, " Leave
them as much as possible to do things in their own time and
in their own way." Of course the teacher must see to it that
there is always something before the boys ready and suitable
to be done. In saying that the master may encourage a shy
boy to make criticisms first, I do not mean that the master
should stand up and say cheerily in front of the whole class,
"Now come along, George, old chap." Nothing could con-
ceivably give a shy boy a more difficult opening. He imagines

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THE PLAY WAY

that all eyes are upon him, and, if he hesitates at all, they soon
are. As the master is merely an intelligent onlooker during
Speeches he may sit among the boys — ^like the Village Black-
smith. Then, as some error or obscurity arises in the Speech
the master may comment on it quietly to the retiring fellow
beside him, and at the end of the Speech, when opportunity
for criticism is given, say, " Ask him what he meant by that."
Without thinking about himself the boy does so, and having
thus found his voice in a question will in a day or so make
criticisms from the rostrum — ^and so to Speeches.

The master must at all times be very sensitive of any faltering
due to nervousness in any boy, and " help him out " in an easy
matter-of-fact tone.

A fact which seems to have escaped the notice of many is
that most nervous speakers are only really nervous at the start
of a speech. His fumbling and stuttering makes the speaker
worse, and even though he may not in his mind feel any
occasion to be nervous, he finds that some strange physical
infirmity is interfering with his breathing operations. But if
some diversion should occur such as prolonged applause or
laughter, the speaker is able to collect himself in the interval,
and can then Speak afterwards without a trace of nervousness.
In public places this useful diversion cannot be planned, and
so the poor nervous starter must get through as best he can.
But in the classroom it is possible for the master, when a
speaker on mounting the rostrum is momentarily upset by the
expectant silence, to create a diversion in some way, in order
to give him time to collect himself and to get his breath.
Many a time I have made apparently senseless interruptions
just as a speaker was about to start, much to the annoyance of
the mister. But these officious interruptions were deliberate.

Many boys will not need such a tender thoughtfulness from
the master. But a little boy's sensibility is a frail mechanism,
and infinite tact is one of the chief qualities required in a play-
master. The Littlemen are only children after all.

But when most of the class have found their legs what is
to be the arrangement of the Speeches ? Do the boys each
speak in turn vmtil the roimd of the class is completed, or do
they speak or remain silent at their will ? Neither plan would
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LITTLEMAN LECTURES

be satisfactory. On the first method some one would certainly
be out of his order when he wanted to speak, and another
would be called upon when he didn't want to speak. On the
second method some of the boys might never volunteer at all.
It is best to leave the solution of such a matter to the boys.
If you give them self-government during lecture-lessons they
will soon settle the procedure with perfect fairness and to the
satisfaction of all. For though a master may try to satisfy
the class, a mister must satisfy them, for his position depends
upon it.

With us the best speakers were ready at all times, and in fact
were called for on almost every occasion. Others came out
frequently enough of their own accord. A few were persuaded
by the canvassing mister when he thought they had been silent
long enough. And only a very small number remained to be
" dealt with." The boys' system of dealing with the laggards
was to announce the names of those who had not spoken for
three weeks or so, and indicate that they would be expected
to make an appearance during the current week. But such
was the goodwill among them that the culprits would often
turn the tables upon the ruling caste, and protest, amid cheers
and counter-cheers, that they had had a speech in mind for
weeks, but could not get a word in because A, B, and C spoke
on every occasion ! This was largely true, and a good mister
would often have to disregard the cries for a certain popular
speaker until some others had had their turn. The canvassing
mister should have in hand a waiting list of at least six
speakers.

Desiring to have some record of Littleman lectures I
sought the services of a shorthand Tvriter. The boys of
course were not told of this, but they soon found it out.
It made no difference, however, to their speaking. So little
was thought of it that not one even mentioned the matter
to me afterwards. But the fluency of the speakers was too
much for the shorthand writer. The rule of "No er" was
perhaps more exacting than she had been accustomed to. The
restilt was a mere report of the lectures and not the desired
verbatim record. The services of an expert were then
obtained, and some of the lectures in the following pages are

119

THE PLAY WAY

the verbatim reports he made. This man, who had had
many years' experience of public speakers, said that the
boys were much to be complimented on the clearness and
fluency of their speech. " I only wish," he observed, " that
all speakers were as easy to take down. It is not a question
of speaking loudly, but of speaking distinctly." Another
virtue which I am sure must have been noticeable is that
the boys have learnt to speak in sentences which make
good Enghsh when written down. Most adult speakers I
have heard get themselves involved in periods of mixed con-
structions from which they can only get free by — ^making a
dash for it.

For the purpose of record also the boys were called upon to
write lectures following their oral style. As this was only done
in the last week or so of the last term, there is not much material
to select from. The works given here, however, may be read
as fair examples of Littleman Lectures. It need hardly be said
that there can be no comparison between the interest of these
printed speeches and the interest of a like speech orally delivered.
The words are there, but the life of the speaker is not. Unlike
essays, these pieces cannot be expected to reflect their authors.
Most of the errors which the reader will note in the following
pieces would have been corrected by the hammer-rap. The
repetition of " it " in this sentence, for example, would certainly
be noticed, " If it falls off the branch she gets angry with it and
makes it do it all over again until it can fly properly." The
fxunbling in the opening paragraph about the French partridge
could not be put right with a word ; but the hammer-boy would
rap and cry, " Don't muddle," or " Say that again," and the
speaker would mend his style at the second effort. Many
sentences which will not pass in print are quite permissible when
spoken ; such as this of the shark on deck. " He struggles and
smashes about, and knocks people down for about half an hour,"
because the speaker makes the necessary pause after " down."
Many unsatisfactory turns of phrase would escape the notice of
the hammer-boy altogether ; and where it is a matter of any
subtlety the master would be wise not to break in. Time and
practice will mend many imperfections. It must be remembered
that these are boys of eleven and twelve speaking extempore,
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LITTLEMAN LECTURES

and it is not fair to judge their spoken periods according to the
canons of prose style.

Of this lecture on Birds the first fit is the verbatim report as
taken down by the shorthand writer. The other two fits were
written by the boy.

BIRDS

Fit 1. The Sparrow Hawk and the
French Partridge
Sir,

I am come up here to-day to make a speech on two birds
which you find quite often about Cambridge.

I wUl deal first with the sparrow hawk. It is a rarer bird
than the kestrel hawk, and builds a larger nest, and much higher,
than the kestrel. It lays from three to five eggs, which are green
and have brown blotches upon them. This is an egg of the
sparrow hawk. [Egg handed round.] When you are climbing
for a sparrow hawk's nest you will probably see the sparrow hawk
sitting there ; until you get within two yards of her she wiU not
get off, and if she has yoimg ones you will probably get pecked
two or three times before you can push her off. She feeds upon
mice, and very often yoimg partridges. That is why, if you
look at a keeper's hanging-tree, where they nail all the skins of
their enemies, you will often see a sparrow hawk nailed to the
tree, because it has taken the young partridges or pheasants.
But really it does more good than harm, as it feeds on rats, moles,
and other vermin. The young of the sparrow hawk are born
with very nearly all their feathers on, and it only takes about two
weeks before they can leave the nest. When they first leave the
nest they are brought by the mother bird into some valley with
grass. They then rim about for some time, and are then given
their first flying lesson. The mother goes to the end of a
branch and gets the young one to fly to her. If it falls off the
branch she gets angry with it and makes it do it all over again
until it can fly properly. The sparrow hawk is rarer than
the kestrel. Though you always see the kestrel taking a rat
or mouse, it really takes far more pheasants than you think
it does. The reason the sparrow hawk is rarer than the
kestrel is because it has been killed so much by keepers, and

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if it goes on being killed, very soon there will not be any sparrow
hawks left.

The French partridge is the second bird I will deal with this
morning. It is called a French partridge for the simple reason,
not that it is a French bird, but because the ordinary partridge
and the French partridge vary, because the ordinary partridge
is very much different.* The French partridge has red legs, and
you can either call it a red-legged partridge or a French par-
tridge, but people do not often care to say, " I have shot a red-
legged partridge." They think it better to say, " I have shot a
French partridge.' It makes a nest of grass on a flattened-out
space in the grass, and lays six to twelve eggs. The egg of the
French partridge is putty-coloured, spotted with bits of red, and
sometimes a smear of brown. The other distinguishing feature
of the French partridge is that whereas the French partridge runs
a long way, if you are chasing him, before he flies, the ordinary
partridge, if he sees any one, jumps up straight away and flies
away. It can go farther than the partridge as it has larger
and longer wings. The French partridge's young, different to
the ordinary partridge, are not bom with their feathers on, but
they very quickly get their feathers. About a week after they
are bom the feathers appear on the young ones. The mother
feeds them the whole time with little pieces of wheat and other
small grain. She will sit on the nest until you nearly touch her
whilst she has young ones. She likes to have her nest near the
roots of a tree, with holes between the roots, and if any one goes
near, the young ones can run in between the roots of the tree and
you will not find them. That is all I have to tell you to-day
about these two birds.

Age 11.9. E. P. M.

BIRDS

Fit 2. The House Sparrow, the Sand Martin
AND THE Robin
Sir,

First I will speak to you about the house sparrow. This
dingy little bird is seen everywhere, in and out the traffic looking

* The fumbling here is doubtless due to the change of subject from
one bird to the other.
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LITTLEMAN LECTURES

for a piece of food. If you go to the country you will see a very
different sparrow. He will be a beautiful brown bird with a
white bar across his wing and a glossy black throat, an alto-
gether neat little bird.

The hen makes a nest in any sheltered nook in a house, where
she lays six grey eggs spotted thickly with black.

When the young are gone the mother rears another brood all
through the year.

I will now deal with the sand martin. This is the smallest of
all martins and is the most quaint and interesting. This bird is
a sand colour with a very delicate thin black beak and little
shining eyes. With his little beak he digs a hole in the sand
about four feet long. At the end of this he builds a mud nest and
lines it with feathers. In this four white eggs are laid. When
the young come out of the egg they are kept in the nest and you
can often see them sitting at the mouth of the hole. When you
go to look at them they scuttle to the back of the hole.

I will now speak about the last bird, the robin. This is
always a favourite among mankind because he is so tame. In
April he will find a mate and, like the bullfinch, pairs for life.
The male and female robin go about to look for a nesting site.
The nesting site of the robin is a hole or a stump of a tree thickly
covered with ivy. In this the mother places a pretty little nest
with moss and twigs on the outside and feathers and hairs on the
inside. The nest takes about a fortnight to build and when it
is finished the hen sits on it and lays five white eggs thickly
mottled on top with red. When the young are ready to fly
fierce conflicts take place between the young and parent birds
as to who shall have the old estate.

I may as well tell you that if any of you wish to have a tame
robin, you have only to feed him well in the winter and he will
always love you and nest in yoiu* garden. (I have one.)

Age 11.9. E. P. M.

BIRDS

Fit 3. The Wild Duck and the Hedge Sparrow
Sir,

First I wish to say something about how birds' eggs are
formed. When they are laid they are the yolk just in a soft

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skin and about thirty minutes afterwards the shell is formed.
And if the sun is shining on it the colour and spots are
formed.

I have a French partridge's egg which was very nearly hidden
from the sim and in consequence only a little part of it was
coloured and spotted. Therefore it is like this :

I will now tell you the most important facts in the habits of
the wild duck. It makes a nest in rushes or under a hedge or bush
on the bank and lays from ten to fourteen eggs, green blotched
with light buff colour. The young are hatched in eighteen days.
As soon as they are hatched they swim away with the mother in
search of food.

I will now tell you about the hedge sparrow. It is not really
T, sparrow but a linnet, because it is much more graceful in its
movements than its cousin the house sparrow. The hen makes
a beautiful nest with moss on the outside and hairs on the inside.
Four to six pale sea-blue eggs are laid. In seventeen days the
young appear and it is twenty-one days before they venture
from the nest with the mother.

Aged 11.9. E. P. M.

The following Speech on Gins was fully reported by the short-
hand writer. But the speaker has such a rapid delivery that a
few mistakes in taking down were unavoidable. In correcting
these on the transcript the boy has made a few other altera-
tions, but they are so slight as to be negligible.

The lecture on Model Aeroplanes which follows was written
by the same boy. It relates the practical experience he gained
with his father while experimenting with these craft.

124

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

GINS*

Sir,

I am here to make a speech on gins The simplest kind of gin
is a noose. It is used for catching rabbits or cats. It is made of
brass wire. Steel wire will not do. When the cat or rabbit
goes through her run, she sticks her head into the noose, the
noose tightens, and in a few minutes the cat is dead.

Another trap, for catching fish, is used in Australia. Two
natives wade out into a stream holding each end of a long net.
One walks to the opposite bank. Then they begin to walk down
stream. The one on the opposite bank gradually brings round
his net until he is on the same side as his friend. The net is then
parallel to the bank and is gradually worked into a small circle
containing the fish, the natives being careful to press the edges
of the net close to the bank or else the fish would escape. The
women then arrive and throw the fish on the bank.

I will now tell you about a hippopotamus trap. The first
thing they do when they start to make a hippopotamus trap is
to dig a big hole in the groimd, driving large spikes into the
bottom. They then cut some yoimg trees and place them over
the top. On this they place brushwood covered with grass.

When the hippopotamus comes blundering along he walks
over this and crashes in ; falling pierced on the spikes. The
natives come clambering down the sides by means of rough
ladders and feast on him, often getting right into his inside.

Another trap is a mole trap. Here is the earth thrown over
a mole burrow. You get a piece of wood about 2 ft. long and 6 in.
wide, with a stone lashed on the top and two or three spikes
underneath. It is supported at the top end by two sticks which
have been lightly driven into the mole nm. As the mole comes
strolling along the rim he disturbs the sticks, which give way,
and the spikes fall on his head, fixing him into the ground.

You all know an elephant's trap. It is simply a hole dug in
the ground exactly like the hippopotamus trap and is covered
with brushwood.

Another way of catching elephants is to form a keddah, that

* The rapid description of each gin was made clear by a blackboard
illustration.

125

THE PLAY WAY

is to say, a strong enclosure with an entrance at one end barred
by a gate. To this are attached long lines of ropes in the shape
of a V with flags attached. When a herd of elephants is dis-
covered a large party of natives go out on elephants and on foot
and drive these wild elephants towards the enclosure. When
the elephants find themselves penned in by the ropes and waving
flags they become terrified and rush madly towards the keddah.
The big gate is swung open and the herd dashes madly in. The
large bulls of the herd hurl themselves against the stockade,
generally without effect, although sometimes a savage old bull
will smash his way through. When the wild elephants have
quieted down several tame ones with keepers on their backs
enter the stockade — ^they hustle a wild elephant towards a large
post to which it is firmly attached by its legs with ropes. Then
they are tamed in the usual way.

Another way to catch mice and rats is to get a big wooden box.
You reduce the size of the lid until it just loosely fits the inside of
the top of the box. You then balance it by means of two rings
which are passed over a steel rod which runs right through both
sides of the box. You then place your bait in the centre of the
hd. You next lean a piece of wood against the side of the box
as a ladder up which the rats can run. When all is ready you
place a brick upright on the bottom of the box and fill with water
up to the top of the brick. The first rat comes running up for
the bait and collapses into the water and swims for the brick.
He sits there squealing until a second rat comes to see what is the
matter and he too falls into the water. Finally, if you are lucky,
you have the whole box full of struggling rats, and then you can
fill up with water and leave them there comfortably to be
drowned.

Another way of catching rats is to get what is called a steel
trap. Two pieces of steel are fixed with a spring on each side
attached to a solid frame. These are kept open by a small steel
rod upon which is placed some cheese or tempting bait. The rat
comes along, nibbles the cheese and disturbs the steel rod, the
jaws of the trap then close together and hold the animal's nose,
generally with fatal effect. When caught by the legs they have
been known to gnaw them clean off in their efforts to escape.

There is another trap, the ibex trap. In the same way as for
126

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

elephants there are long lines of ropes with coloured tapes and
flags attached to them placed in the form of a V. The hunters
surround the unfortimate little animals, tearing along screaming
and shouting, -with waving of flags and sometimes firing of guns.
At the end of the enclosure there is a marshy piece of ground into
which the animals prefer to jump and be choked rather than be
killed by the spear.

Another trap is a shark trap. The hook is large, somewhat
resembling a butcher's hook, and it is fixed on a piece of fine
tempered steel chain, generally about eight yards long. On the
hook is himg a fat piece of salt pork. Then they have a very
strong rope fixed roimd a belaying pin at the stem of the ship,
with plenty of slack on the deck. They then drop the bait into
the water, lowering it about three feet deep. Here comes the
shark with his mouth open, and generally he has a cruise round
the ship at first, and finally decides to take the bait. He opens his
horrid mouth, turns slightly on one side and makes a grab at it.
Then comes a jerk on the line, and the line is let out. Soon the
line is drawn in again, but he makes another bolt, and finally he
is too tired to do anything else. The crew hold on, a rope is
thrown over the shark's tail and pulled tight, then it is fixed to
the main boom, the shark is pulled up and he struggles on the
deck on which he is thrown like a log. He struggles and smashes
about, and knocks people down for about half an hour. It is
advisable not to go too near the tail of a shark for a shark has two
business ends. The tail can knock a man flat. After a desperate
struggle they succeed in cutting off his tail, and finally his head,
but he will still continue to jump about after his head has been
cut off, and an account tells of how two hours after a shark's
head was cut off he was still jiunping about and his heart was
still beating. I think this is all I have to say for the present.
Age 11, G. M. J.

MODEL AEROPLANES

Fit 1
Sir,

I am here to make a speech on the model aeroplane. It is
a pretty sight to see the model aeroplane gliding about in

the air.

127

THE PLAY WAY

There are several points to be considered when you start to
make a model.

The first and most important is the type. The best type for
all-roimd work is the Wright type monoplane. This type has
an elevator in front and a large main plane about six inches in
front of the screw. The size of the plane must be according to
the size of the machine.

The best kind of wood for the frame of the plane is American
white wood. The wood for the stick is deal. For this you take
a strip of wood about two feet six inches long and quarter of an
inch square. At the end of this you lash a piece of brass (see
Diagram I). Through one end of the brass you drill a small hole.
You then bend the brass until it forms a right angle (see Diagram
II). or better, bend it before attaching it to the stick. The brass
is attached to the stick as shown (see Diagram III). At the other
end of the stick you lash a hook (see Diagram IV).

Now I will tell you about the making of the plane. You take
two strips of wood about eighteen inches long and half of an inch
broad and one-sixteenth of an inch thick You lay these side by
side. You then take two small pieces of wood about three and a
half inches long, three-eighths wide and one-sixteenth thick and
lay these so that each end touches one of the strips and nail
them together. You then nail two others in the same way at
equal distances from the middle (see Diagram V). Now your
plane is ready for the aero silk. The silk may first be stretched
on a stretching frame to enable you more easily to stick the
frame of the aerofoil on it (see Diagram VI).

Having thoroughly covered the top of the frame with thin
glue you place it top down upon the stretched silk and press
down until it sticks tightly. You then cut round the silk with
a sharp pair of scissors. Having done this you bring the over-
lapping pieces round and glue them underneath. Let this dry
thoroughly and there you have your nearly finished aerofoil.
The next thing is to put some camber on the wing (see Diagram
VII) and also give it some dihedral angle (see Diagram VIII)
or perhaps it is better to bend the angles before gluing on the
silk. Then yoiu- plane is ready for use.

Now I will tell you how to make the screw. Take a piece of
birch wood one-sixteenth of an inch thick, seven inches long and
128

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

ten-sixteenths of an inch wide. Put this in boiling water for
about ten minutes and then take it out and twist it into the
shape of a propeller. Hold it in position for about ten minutes
over a flame and it will still remain in position. Then you fix a
piece of wire (with hook on end) to the screw (see Diagram IX).
Pass the hook of the screw through the hole in the brass fin
the one end of the stick, and stretch eight strands of elastic from
hook to hook. Then fix the plane to the stick (see Diagram X).
Wind up the elastic a number of times and launch it (see Diagram
XI). It will probably crash down on its nose. If it does push
the elevator (see beginning) forward and by and by it will go
sailing away in a circle. It is a poor machine that will not fly
100 yards.

MODEL AEROPLANES

Fit 2
Sir,

I am here to continue my speech on model aeroplanes.

The model aeroplane of which I am going to tell you to-day
is the racing type.

This type can travel at about thirty miles an hour. It has
a long stick and a rear elevator. It is sometimes strengthened
by wire lashed to the stick to strengthen it. The planes of
these are sometimes made of wood planed very thin with the
smoothing plane. This plane can be stained any colour, but
it must not be painted. The prettiest colour to stain these
planes is blue.

These machines will not travel very high. Sometimes the
stick can be strengthened by lashing bow-shaped pieces of wood
to it. You can buy little rings to put on the screw to prevent it
from scraping against the brass. These machines are capable
of flying 150 yards if wound up 500 times, but it is difficult to
start them and requires a good deal of practice. If there are
many people about it is dangerous to fly them as they might
easily spear some one. This type of plane is easy to make, but
they do not always glide down so well, and sometimes come
down on their noses. Their screw is much the same as the
Wright type.

Now I will tell you about the single plane machine without

I 129

THE PLAY WAY

any elevator. This type has the plane in the centre of the stick,
but it will not rise high and will not glide very well and is very
difficult to manage. The planes of this type, like all wooden
planes, are very liable to spUt, and sometimes they will split
clean in half. During the four months in which we were ex-
perimenting with wooden planes no fewer than twelve planes
split at the ends.

Now I will tell you about the two-screw tjrpe. The sticks
of these types are of two kinds. The first kind has cross-pieces
at one end (see Diagram XII). This type is capable of travelling
200 yards and twenty miles an hour. They have built-up aero-
foils and are good all-round machines.

Another type is in the form of a triangle (see Diagram XIII)
with the screws at the broad end. They can be made extremely
long and fast flyers.

This is all I have to say to-day about model aeroplanes, for
an ounce of practice is worth a pound of theory.

Age 11. G. M. J.

[Written Lecture]

RAIL MOTORS

Fit 1. A Lecture on a Rail Motor on the Kent and
East Sussex Railway
Sir,

I have come up here this morning to tell you something of
a very interesting Rail Motor. The owning company, which only
operates twenty-four miles of line, is wonderfully modern in most
of its rolling stock, and this little Rail Motor shows that the
company is not afraid to make experiments.

The boiler is at the front, and is vertical to economize space,
as you find in steam road wagons The cylinders are five and a
half inches in diameter, and operate on to the front axle. The
car runs on four wheels, the front pair being drivers. It seats
thirty-seven passengers, and the seats are arranged like those on
the top of a 'bus. At the end there is a compartment for carry-
ing chiu'ns of milk, as this railway serves an almost purely
agricultural district. In this compartment the passengers'
luggage — ^usually of a very light character — is carried.
130

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

THE PLAY WAY

There Is a guard and a driver for this Rail Motor, and the
guard issues and collects the tickets, acts as porter and does all
the " odd jobs."

There are no stations, but the Rail Motor is equipped with a
pair of steps reaching to the ground. When you want to catch
the " train " you watch from yoiir cottage window till you see it
coming, and then go and stand by the side of the Hne, and hold
up your umbrella, and stop it in the same way as you would stop
a 'bus in the street. The guard then lets down the steps and you
get up. He then asks you to buy a ticket, which you do, and he
writes down on a slip of paper where you want to go to, and
hands it to you. He often forgets to take your money. He then
gets down, tells the driver that you are inside, and gets on again.
Then the train starts.

It has no fixed time for starting, but as soon as it arrives at
one end, it starts to go again to the other and goes backwards
and forwards like a tramway-car.

When cans of milk are to be carried, the farmer draws his cart
across the lines to stop the train. Sometimes it is nearly dinner-
time, and the driver does not want a delay, so he goes straight
for the cart. The farmer, to prevent an accident, draws his cart
off the rails, and the train goes on, leaving the farmer to swear
and wait for the next train. Sometimes the next train does not
arrive for several hours.

This Rail Motor is very interesting, as being one of the
smallest in the world.

Next time I will tell you about another kind of Rail Motor on
the London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway.

Age 12.2. F. G. C.

RAH. MOTORS

Fit 2. A Lecture on a Rail Motor on the London,
Brighton, and South Coast Railway
Sir,

In the last Rail Motor that I described the motive power was
supplied by the coach itself, but in this case the power is supplied
by a separate engine.

The engine is an old terrier tank engine built in 1872 for the
132

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

South London section of the Une, which was then in very bad
condition, and quite unfit to bear a heavy locomotive.

The engine has 4 ft. drivers, and is a 0-6-0, though the engine
which I have chosen as my example has the front drivers removed
and a pony truck substituted. Thus it is a 2-4-0.

It is so small that when you see it coming into the station the
coach towers over the little engine.

It is so small that the driver covdd not see the signals when
going the other way, so a compartment is supplied for him at the
other end of the coach, where all the levers are duplicated.
When he is in that compartment the fireman is still in the cab of
the engine.

The coach is divided into two compartments, smoking and
non-smoking. The seats are arranged as those on the top of an
omnibus, and are cane-covered.

The stations at which the trains stop are called halts. They
consist of a plain platform without any shelter. They rarely
have even a seat. When the coach comes along there is a train
attendant who gives out the tickets. If there are no passengers
waiting at the halt, the train does not stop.

These little motor trains have vacuum brakes fitted, and a
Rail Motor going at full speed can stop in the length of one of
these halts. The regular trains do not stop at these halts.
Sometimes when there is much trafiic on the line they couple a
coach on to the front of the engine, and the engine driver, when
going forwards, has to lean out of the cab to see the line ahead,
so small is the engine.

This engine and coach form one of the most interesting of all
Rail Motors, and any one staying in the suburbs served by the
London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway will often have seen
these little trains.

This is the second kind of Rail Motor, having the motive
power in the form of a separate engine.

These are the chief forms of Rail Motors, and I will not teil
you anything more in this lecture.

Age 12.2. F. G. C.

188

THE PLAY WAY

[Written Lecture]

METHODS OF DEFENDING A SHIP FROM
TORPEDOES AND MINES

Sir,

As I have told you about torpedoes and mines and how
deadly they are, you may think that there is no adequate way
of defending a ship from them. As a matter of fact there are
many ways, especially in the case of mines, which we will deal
with first. The first way of defending a ship against mines is by
sweeping. This is done in several ways. Two boats may go
out with a chain between them and in company with a torpedo
boat. When a mine fouls the chain it either explodes or gives a
jerk to the chain. In the latter case the ship tells the T. B.
by signals where the mine is and the T. B. fires at it and
explodes it.

The mine sweepers have a kind of framework sticking out all
round them as they do not need to go fast. Sometimes this
framework is only in front of them and in a few cases it is not
there at all. This framework explodes the mines before they
are able to reach the ship. Much time, is however, wasted by
sweeping where there are no mines.

Now objects just under the water can be seen better from a
height, so an aeroplane, captive balloon or airship is often sent
up. Then the craft in the air signals to the boat where any
mines it can see are. The mines are then exploded by rifle fire
from the ship on the water, or they are dragged, poked, or
exploded in any other way. Sometimes the aircraft goes out
alone and explodes the mines itself.

If a liner or big ship gets torpedoed or strikes a mine all the
water-tight doors leading from one room into another are closed.
The ship may then be regarded as a structure composed of water-
tight boxes. Several of these boxes are flooded owing to the
hole blown in the side. More may have small leaks burst in
them by the explosion. If the ship floats the pumps are set
going and measures are taken to stop up the hole, and to get to
the nearest port as quickly as possible, (Of course the nearest
port with a dock.) The most powerful mine could not sink a
134

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

large British super-dreadnought in under eleven hours, so she
would have a fair chance of getting somewhere before she sank.

When a ship is attacked by a submarine she turns her stern
to the submarine as the wash of the propellers will usually alter
the course of a torpedo. The ship's stern also presents a smaller
target to the enemy. The ship zigzags, and may raise a
cloud of black smoke to hide its movements. If several fast
boats are travelling together, there may be a chance for one to
ram the submarine. Destroyers and ships of war mounting
small gims will fire at the submarine. A submarine has more
than one periscope and when these are in a line with you the
submarine is ready to fire. When the torpedo is coming only a
quick man is able to put the helm over to avoid it, as the torpedo
runs about as fast as a first-rate or " crack " British express
train. It looks like a white flash as it whizzes past. Needless
to say a boat must be going at full speed all the time it is fighting
a subma rine. Torpedo nets are hung out about thirty feet from
the ship's side on those slanting rods you may see on battleships.
Torpedo nets are not fitted to small boats. Some torpedoes can
get through the nets without exploding, and the speed of a ship
must be under five knots when she has her nets out (for fear of
the nets and torpedo booms being washed away). Torpedo nets
are seldom used in British ships though all the ships are provided
with them. The Forth and other large bridges that are in reach
of German submarines are defended with them, and other nets
for catching submarines of which I will tell you later. I am
afraid that I have trespassed on the grounds of my next speech,
which will be, " How Submarines are Fought." But prevention
is better than cure, and a sure way to defend yourself from
torpedoes is to fight the submarine which sends them.

Age 12. J- B. W.

[Written Lecture]

CONDITION OF AFFAIRS IN GERMANY FROM THE
GERMAN POINT OF VIEW (JULY 1915)

Sir,

I wish this morning to show you that Germany is not beaten
and rim out as most people suppose.

185

THE PLAY WAY

When Germany instituted bread tickets it did not mean thai
she was short of bread or ever expected to be. It was only a
wise precautionary move to prevent waste. The great German
agricultural firms negotiated with the manufacturers of artificial
manure and the result will probably be a record harvest for
Germany. Manure is to be made by the hundred tons, and some
areas of land will be taken over by the Govemmeni;, There will
be a huge demand for manure, because the German Government
have decided to put the brake on the price of manure and offer it
at a price within the reach of the poorest farmer. " Grants " of
manure will probably be made in certain circumstances.

Then the nationalization of foodstuffs was a wise measure,
and certainly ought to be copied. Here however it would not
work as we treat our men as men ; while in Germany the men
are treated as parts of a machine so to speak. The whole of
Germany is now a great nation-wrecking machine with the
(Government as the engine which supplies the motive power.

Then take the case of the armies of Germany. In the westerii
theatre of war they enclose practically all Belgium with its
manufacturing cities and the richest part of France. Frona the
products of this alone a large portion of the German people
could be fed.

In the east the forces of the Kaiser and the Archduke Charles
of Austria enclose a big piece of Russian Poland. They have
hurled back the Russians and are advancing^ on the capital
of Russian Poland. Warsaw is very important because it
is the centre of one of the few railway systems the Russians
have.

It is true that the Indians have been splendidly loyal, but,
so thinks the German, Time and knowledge of the English
meanness will cure that.

At sea the submarines are " starving out the English."
When the EngUsh fleet is reduced to about one and a half times
the size of the German fleet an engagement will take place the
result of which of course will be the annihilation of the English
fleet. You must remember of course that this is the German
idea.

The Germans appear to be very confident of getting American
help. A more serious problem to them is how to lure Roumania

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

and the other Balkan States to their side. These States seem to
favour the cause of the Allies too much.

Then as to the much discussed question of cotton. This is
the only commodity for the manufacture of shells which the
Germans cannot produce. Realizing this years before, they set
about storing up cotton in huge quantities. Now their fore-
sight is rewarded by enormous warehouses stuffed as full as they
can with cotton.

Germany has immense reserves of copper and the confisca-
tion of old copper pots and kettles was only to prevent waste.
Kettles and pans can be made of tin plate, which is thin sheets of
iron dipped in or coated with tin. By using first scrap copper
they leave the Government supplies untouched and still make
shells just as good as would be made with any copper.

The damage to German overseas trade is, according to Ger-
mans, temporary, and German ships will be able to run with even
more safety than before the war. The Germans always avoided
our warships as far as possible. The Germans always hated
us, and believed that we stopped their merchant ships unneces-
sarily.

The average German believes implicitly in the press bureau,
which does not tell so many lies as some people imagine. There
are various post-card photographs used to hearten the Germans ;
but these are of cinema actors usually. Of course the Germans
do not believe that these are actors. They never suspect any-
thing.

From these remarks I think you will see that the war is going
to be a long and fierce one. Maybe we shall fight in it when we
grow up.

Age 12.1. J. B. W.

How to make a Speech or Lecture was written at the very
end of the course by our best lecturer. It is a pity that it did
not occur to the boys to make a httle book of directions earlier,
and then to add to it as their experience grew. It was this boy's
own idea to write this lecture, and the rules and suggestions are
all his own. I carefully refrained from giving the class any
teaching in the method of speech-making just to see if practice
bore out my theories. The fact that the conventional opening,

187

THE PLAY WAY

" I have come up here to tell you about . . .," survived for a
whole year, in itself shows that the master did not interfere, for a
good beginning is the first thing a teacher would insist upon. I
believe the plan of writing down stock beginnings was never
tried. If it had been it would soon have been abandoned.
The only point which the writer has borrowed is a recommenda-
tion of mine about the best way of obtaining silence in a noisy
assembly.

[Written Lecture]

HOW TO MAKE A SPEECH OR LECTURE

Sir,

I propose to show you my rules for making good speeches.
Of course there are several ways and this is only one. But
first as to beginnings. If I shut my eyes and Johnny got
up and spoke a speech through a gin to alter people's voices,
I should know him by his beginning : " Sir, I am up here
this morning (or this afternoon) to make a speech on so-and-
so."

Now Johnny would be " floored " in more senses than one if
he was called upon to make a speech from where he sat. So
study good beginnings, don't use the same beginning for each
lecture. It is a good thing to think out about two or three
really good beginnings and write them down on a piece of paper.
Then write down developments of these beginnings below until
you have about six beginnings. Then take another piece of
paper and think out two or three beginnings on a totally different
line. Then write developments of these and so on. You will
find now that you will have enough beginnings for a week or so,
Don't be always telling the class that " You are up here this
morning to make a speech " on this, that, or the other. They
can see you are on the platform, they know it's this morning,
and your speech has been, or ought to have been, announced
properly.

The next thing to remember is not to be lengthy. I am
afraid I am often far too long. The Chinese have a proverb,
" Blessed is he that maketh short speeches for he shall be asked
to come again." A good way to make speeches short is to make
138

LITTLEMAN LECTURES

it a rule not to have more than a very few " by-the-bys " in youi
speech.

If you are always by-the-bying and by-the-waying the
audience are apt to miss the point.

Mention of " by-the-by " brings us to the most important
point of clearness. It is best not to talk with your hands, for if
you say " about as big as this " and stretch out your hands, the
class will not remember half as well as if you said " about two
feet six inches long," or something like that.

Speak slowly. There is no hurry. Pronounce every word
clearly and distinctly. Speak according to sense-groups, that is
do not gulp out your phrases in inarticulate gasps but pause at
the right places. Remember it is better to speak too loudly than
not to speak loud enough. It is very irritating for the people at
the back to see the misters enjojdng a speech in all other ways
good, and not be able to hear a word. Do not flourish about,
and if the other side are shouting at you, wait till they have
stopped.

This last remark of course applies to committee-matter
speeches only, but if there is any disturbance the best way to
put a stop to it is to be perfectly quiet and motionless yourself
until there is silence again.

For the most part keep your eyes fixed on a point in the
middle of the back wall about a foot above the head of the
middle boy. Occasionally glance round the class and see how
your remarks are catching on. If the audience are getting bored,
conclude.

If you are simply lecturing, your object ought to be to please
your audience ; if you are speaking on conunittee mattes ram
your point home through anything. Though if you are clever
enough to " hold " the class, a quiet bringing home of the point
is often more effective than any amoimt of roaring. Mind by
ramming a point home, I do not mean creating a species of
thunderstorm on the platform, but speaking with great force
and weight.

Always stand still when you speak. Never run about and
stamp. That does not force home your point at all. It is best
to stand with your hands behind your back and not fidget at all.
If you have apparatus arrange it all neatly on the desk or table in

139

THE PLAY WAY

front of you. I think a feeble speaker shoiJd not have apparatus-
as it is apt to divert the attention of the audience.

When you feel you have no more to say conclude at once.
Never repeat anything, and never spin out your speech. Spun-
out speeches annoy the audience, and selfishly steal time from
the next speaker.

Then about conclusions. Never, never say " I think this is
all I have to say." Make a different ending to every speech.
Sometimes briefly sum up your points and place them in a clear
and concise form before the class. Sometimes you may mention
your next fit or speech, but do not do this too much. Then
again you may hope the class have enjoyed the speech. Never
allude to your marks in your ending. It soimds bad. If you
have notes, hold them in your left hand and occasionally glance
at them. If you are answering another person make mental
notes of the weak points in his speech. When you get up
compliment him first and then attack him on his weak points.
Sum up for an ending. If anybody is drawing on the board
and goes wrong, quietly correct him and do not make a great
fuss about it.

Now we will talk about notes. I for myself think no one
should have notes Certainly no one should read his speech
unless he is called upon to read a written lecture. Never take
books up with you. If you speak on a .subject, you ought
to be proficient enough in it to be able to speak without a
book. Never read extracts from books, or quote at any length
poetry or prose. Never read newspaper cuttings. The less
you read to your audience the better.

And now in conclusion I think that if you wiU keep these
rules you will make very good speeches with ten-tens and
VGs showering round you.

Age 12.1. I. B. W.

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CHAPTER V

ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

My travels' history :
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle.
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven.
It was my hint to speak, — such was the process ;
And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders

" Othello "

See, at his feet, some little plan or chart.

Wordsworth

Grown-up people who cannot draw usually do one of two
things. Either they pretend they can, and make horrid pic-
tures on their holidays, or they make no attempt at all. But
every one should draw sometimes, whether he is any good at it or
not. There is a world of entertainment in rapid sketches made
on the back of an envelope or in thumb-nail caricatures drawn on
the table-cloth during dessert.

Most people in their hearts love to make pictures, but they
resist the temptation for fear of " doing it wrong." The " art "
master with his models and his casts and his rules of perspective
has frightened away the practice of sketching for fun. The art
master is hke all other school-teachers, he does not base his
teaching on anything which it interests you to do, but sets all
that aside and compels you to go through his course of formal
study.

But if Littleman does not find his natural desire for play
recognized officially he will satisfy it unofficially, and there are
few boys who have not at one time or another risen to the temp-
tation offered by the margins and fly-leaves of their school books.

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THE PLAY WAY

Those who are denied the privilege of this literary expression
draw on whitewashed walls.

Most people who have to attend lectures with notebooks in
front of them will draw while they hsten. Many a school-
master at a round-table conference will amuse himself by fidget-
ing with a pencil and making strange patterns and geometrical
designs on the paper before him. He would not imderstand
what you meant if you accused him of not attending to the
speakers ; and yet many a small boy in his classes gets a smart
rap on the knuckles for doing precisely the same thing.

An Ilond is one of those dreamlands which all children
imagine, and love to teU stories of. We use the older form of
the word, and call our thing an Ilond, to distinguish it from
a piece of land surrounded by water. For an Ilond has no
geographical situation. It is rather a region of faery, a country
in the clouds.

It needs very little encouragement to persuade a playboy
to make a picture-map of an imaginary country. There is a
delight in making a creek just where you want to land, afford-
ing good shelter for your boat. Far inland you see a chain of
mountains, and there must needs be a river up which you may
paddle on your explorations. A volcano, a trackless forest, and
a lagoon will be good things to find, so you put them in. A
grotto seems a secure place to live in, so you put that in too.
There you may be safe from surprise by the native inhabitants,
whose huts and fires soon make their appearance. There is a
fascination, too, in naming features of the Ilond, such as bays
and capes and passes.

With such a game as this in hand a boy will work industriously
for hours. " To what end ? " I may be asked. I don't know.
It may end in anything. Certainly, you cannot claim to have
definitely taught a boy something. But you may have set him
going strongly on the path of that self-expression of which we
hear so much. It is possible, too, that by going the same road
in pursuit of the same goal he may shortly find himself in com-
pany with certain other adventurers not unknown to students of
literature or science or geography.

Of coiu"se we don't know what will happen if we give Little-
man pencil and paper and a free half-hour to draw an imaginary
112

ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

island. He may draw another plan of the school playground ;
or he may attempt another version of Great Britain ! On the
other hand, he may give free expression to his playful fancy.
It all depends upon what Littleman has learnt to think of his
teacher.

A word or two will be enough to show the Littlemen what you
propose they shall do. As Othello says :

It was my hint to speak, such was the process.

Every boy is full of Eonds. You may ask the boys if they
have ever imagined themselves cast away upon a desert island.
Have they, indeed ! Or you may recount the opening of a dream
which broke off disappointingly just as your boat overturned on
the reef and . . .

An introduction to the making of Ilonds would in itself make
a fascinating essay in imaginative literature. But in this matter
the playboys require but the merest suggestive beginning ; and
the wise teacher will not go beyond a certain point. That point
is reached when every Littleman is wide awake, almost pain-
fully interested, and anxious to help the story along by every
means in his power. One jumps about in his seat and cries, " O,
yes, sir," in excited corroboration of a proposed shark waiting by
the coral reef. Another adds, " And the sea is deep blue and
there are palms and a sandy shore " ; and another says, " You've
drifted for days in an open boat and yoiir lips are swollen and
black with thirst."

This only is the witchcraft I have used.

To proceed is more than imnecessary, it is almost a denial of
right. The boy who cannot make an Ilond after such a begin-
ning really deserves to be spoon-fed on Mimgo Park and Marco
Polo.

Ilonds themselves are not the invention of the playboys or
their master. We have simply borrowed a word and given it a
special application. We do not so much invent as remember
things, and devise ways of playing them. The interest in what
we call Ilonds is world-wide, and the love of them lies deep in the
hearts of men. Consequently some of the greatest players have
turned their hands to the making of Ilonds.

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THE PLAY WAY

When Robinson Crusoe was wrecked, he came ashore upon an
Ilond. However many unread chapters may lead up to it, that
event is the beginning of his book. Robert Louis Stevenson's
chief work, according to his own estimate as well as in the judg-
ment of his readers, is " Treasure Island." And to-day we have
Peter Pan's Neverland, which is already a classic among Honds,
and can never grow old and civilized so long as Littlemen
delight in Redskins and Pirates and Mermaids, and in building
houses underground or up in the trees. From the " New
Atlantis " of Bacon to the short stories of H. G. Wells, Ilonds have
been so numerous that they might almost form a branch of litera-
ture in themselves.

In addition to the element of adventure in Ilonds, which is
concerned with perils which might actually beset the traveller
by land and by water, there is the magical element. The
most famous authority on this is Sir John Mandeville, who
tells of such wonders as a sea " called the Gravelly Sea, which
is all gravel and sand, without a drop of water." This may
well be just an interesting way of describing a desert, for even
of a desert it is true that it " ebbs and flows in great wave^
as other seas do, and is never still." But Sir John adds that
" men find therein, and on the banks, very good fish, of different
nature and shape from what is found in any other sea ; and they
are of very good taste and delicious to eat." Again he tells us
of small trees which " every day at sunrise begin to grow, and
they grow till midday bearing fruit ; but no man dare take of
that fruit, for it is a thing of faerie. And after midday they
decrease and enter again into the earth so that at sunset they
appear no more ; and so they do every day."

Again, Sir John Mandeville tells how " In many places of
the sea are great rocks of stone of adamant, which of its nature
draws iron unto it ; and therefore there pass no ships that have
either bonds or nails of iron in them ; and if they do, anon the
rocks of adamant draw them to them, that they may never go
thence. I myself have seen afar in that sea, as though it had
been a great isle full of trees and bushes, full of thorns and briers,
in great plenty ; and the shipmen told us that was of ships that
were drawn thither by the adamants, for the iron that was in
them."
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

There, indeed, is a strange thing for a man to have seen.
But he knows also of a river that " runs only three days in the
week,"* and of " many wild men hideous to look on, and horned ;
they speak nought, but grunt like pigs," and of many other
wonders. It is diflBcult to cease quoting MandevUle to your
playboys. Certainly they have a right to know that " Nigh
to the river of Pison is a marvellous thing. There is a vale
between the mountains which extends nearly foiu- miles ; and
some call it the Enchanted Vale, some call it the Vale of
Devils, and some the Perilous Vale. In that vale men hear
oftentimes great tempests and thunders, and great murmurs
and noises, day and night ; and great noise as it were of tabors,
and nakeres, and trumpets, as though it were of a great feast.
This vale is all full of devils and has been always ; and men
say there that it is one of the entrances of heU. In that vale
is plenty of gold and silver ; wherefore many misbelieving
men, and many Christians also, oftentimes go in, to have of
the treasure ; but few return, especially of the misbelieving
men, for they are anon strangled by the devils."

Let us not be numbered among the misbelieving men. Sii
John tells us that it is the devils who are " So subtle to make a
thing to seem otherwise than it is," and he makes it quite plain
that those who " went in for the treasure " but had " overmuch
feebleness in faith " never came out again to tell the wondrous
tale. Therefore let us ventxire into the Enchanted Vale to bring
away the treasure, being full of faith and not troubled in con-
science as are misbelieving men.

But perhaps, of all models, our best Bonds most closely
resemble those old maps made by voyagers in the days when
discovery might still bring to light a new continent or an
imcharted sea. Much of Asia was unknown then, and there
must have been many maps drawn " with the augmentation of
the Indies." These old charts are full of pictures with comments

• The Littlemen combine fact and fancy to a remarkable degree (just
as when they were little children they would have related imaginary
adventures of their own and almost thought they were real). When 1
read of these rivers to the boys one of the most imaginative of them
observed, "Merely an exaggerated [i.e. romantic] description of inter-
mittent springs, I suppose." There can be no sharp dividing-line for a
Littleman between science and poetry.

K 145

THE PLAY WAY

to them such as, " Here lives the Great Khan," " These are the
realms of Prester John." In the sea figure many ships, and
other voyagers of the deep such as " Mermaids," and " Whales "
and " Delphines." And " Here be fissches that fly." Some of
the pictures are so quaint, and the comments so naive, that it
is difficult to imagine a state of knowledge in which such things
were taken seriously. Perhaps, however, they were not taken
so seriously as we think, for, before the coming of the exact
sciences with their fancy-killing quest of bare fact and their arid
terminology, mariners and explorers seem to have been just like
boys out upon an adventure. Even the merchant bowed unto
the seaman's star.

In Elizabethan times there was more romance and poetry in
the daily life of an unlettered prentice than most schoolboys get
out of Shakespeare himself in these days of dead learning.

Without questioning the wisdom of the scientists, one must
regret the loss of those old pictures. Scientists themselves must
admit that cartography — or whatever it pleases them to call
map-making — ^has taken most of the romance out of maps.
Then let all the wonder and romance of voyaging find refuge in
Ilonds. Here at least the Great Khan shall rule on, and Prester
John keep his wonted state from the East to Western Ind. Devils
shall dance roimd fires to the terror of misbelieving men, and
syrens shall sing upon the rocky places and make a tale of wrecks.

The Play interest is stDl seen in the names given by Antarctic
explorers to the capes and sounds and islands they find : Hut
Point, Mount Discovery, Razorback, Inaccessible Island, Mount
Terror, Butter Point, The Cloudmaker, the Bay of Whales.
What a freshness there is about these when compared with the
stay-at-home names of our streets and villas, "Acacia Road,"
"Victoria Avenue," " Sunnybank," " Brookside," and "Hill
Crest."

For the sake of cheapness we have sacrificed man's pride
of home to live in the cardboard shanties of the jerry-builder.
But a sense of humour might have saved us from allowing the
ignorant scoundrel to name them. Better be plain No. 64 than
" Verbena Croft." But perhaps the shrewd builder foresees
what would happen if the names were left to the residents. One
wag with a friendly circle of neighbours could spoil the whole
146

ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

"Estate." Fancy such appropriate names as "The Rabbit
Hutch," " Topple Down," " Chimney Row," " The Hat Box,"
" Ditto Villa," " The Cubic Foot," and so on.

Playboys often have a very apt fancy in naming places and
things. Witness the nicknames they find for masters and the
less popular articles of diet.* This knack is given a wide scope
in the making of Bonds. The outline is drawn first without
much care for anything, save to get in a few exciting capes and
one or two comfortable bays, and to allow for a river-mouth.
Many names are then suggested by the shape of the land, such
as KJnee Cape, Toe Point, Horseshoe Bay.

In " The Art of Writing " Stevenson tells us how he made the
Ilond which was the genesis of his greatest book. He tells of a
schoolboy who was staying with him in a cottage, " and with
the aid of pen and ink and a shilling box of water-colours, he
had soon turned one of the rooms into a picture gallery. My
more immedate duty towards the gallery was to be show-
man ; but I would sometimes unbend a little, join the artist
(so to speak) at the easel, and pass the afternoon with him in
a generous emulation, making coloured drawings. On one of
these occasions, I made the map of an island ; it was elaborately
and (I thought) beautifully coloured ; the shape of it took my
fancy beyond expression ; it contained harbours that pleased me
like sonnets ; and with the unconsciousness of the predestined,
I ticketed my performance ' Treasure Island.' I am told there
are people who do not care for maps, and find it hard to believe.
The names, the shapes of the woodlands, the courses of the
roads and rivers, the prehistoric footsteps of man still distinctly
traceable up hill and down dale, the mills and ruins, the ponds
and the ferries, perhaps the Standing Stone or the Druidic Circle
on the heath ; here is an inexhaustible fund of interest for any
man with eyes to see or twopence-worth of imagination to see
with."

But the pedant's eye is not on the look-out for a " fund of
interest," nor does he care twopence for imagination.

The first Ilonds we made were simply pencil-sketches

* Instances, of course, abound, but I have just heard two most
appropriate and typical schoolboy names for roly-poly jam-pudding
— " Dead Baby " and " Sore Leg."

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THE PLAY WAY

made in a few odd minutes at the end of a lesson. The
experiment proved so interesting that the boys asked for
nonds to be set as homework. This not only gave the oppor-
timity of getting them painted in colour, but it meant
almost unlimited time. An Ilond requires unlimited time,
because each thing you put in suggests something else. After the
coast-line is made, the first thing that suggests itself is a river.
If you have left no estuary in your coast-line for the river-mouth
you generally begin again. The next essential is mountains for
the river to start from. Mountains are rarely indicated now by
the old herring-bone design so familiar twenty years ago in the
maps of schoolboys. Some boys use the atlas convention of
varied shadings according to different heights. But others quite
frankly draw their mountains as little cones. Ilonds differ from
maps in many respects, but chiefly in this, that they give you the
elevation of mountains, castles, woods, and so on, instead of the
mere plan. The prospect map, such as the illustrated news-
papers often use for battle areas, is perhaps the most attractive
method of all. But the exigencies of perspective make this far
too difficult for small boys. Consistency is not looked for in
Ilonds, and, while lakes are always given from the bird's-eye
view, trees are regarded from the ordinary human standpoint.

It is impossible to guess what a boy will put on his Bond.
Some features will be obvious, such as " Salmon River," or "Here
is the Sea-serpent." Other points and places will be beautifully
named by sheer luck of fancy. I find, for instance, " The Bay of
Nothing," " Straits of Guidance," " Legend Lake," and " The
Village of Moimtain Guides." No traveller could find names
more fair. Again, we have " Mount Goodwill," " The Bay of
Moths," and "Memory Town." To me these names suggest
some earthly paradise, or the voyaging of dreams. It is phrases
such as these that Morris sought for the titles of his books. But
we come into touch with Poe and Stevenson with " Mad Desert,"
" Fool Forest," and " Victim Glade." These names are surely
an eloquent record of things which happen. How anxious the
mariners must have been at " Point Ructions," how troubled
was the captain in " Grumbles Sea." If you want the story of
these places you have only to ask the boy who made the Bond.
He will soon make a story to fit.
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ILONDS AND CHAPBOOKS

In making of Ilonds there will be borrowings, imitations, the
use of conventions, and also sheer originality. Here and there you
get glimpses of what has passed through the boy's mind. Stray
hints and chance associations will show you much of the direc-
tions in which his interests lie. For Ilonds, as I have said, give
great opportunities for self-expression in one way or another.

The conventions borrowed from the old maps are sometimes
very amusing. Often these amount to no more than " This is
where the King lives," "Eels caught here." But there are
certain conventions which have arisen among ourselves. Nearly
every boy, of course, will put on his Ilond " Here I live," or
" This is my boat." And not a few draw busy little figures
hunting, or killing a dragon, or cruising about, and label them
" This is myself," or simply " Me." Most of our Ilonds have
the devil's own fire somewhere. This originated in a certain
success of mine with coloured chalks on the blackboard in the
only Ilond I ever made. The back view of an elephant has been
common also, ever since one of the boys showed how simply it
oould be sketched. Another item which had a certain vogue was
a large yellow patch with a camel on it and the legend, " Here a
big desert which only camels can cross." On every Bond you
may expect elves and demons, and probably a giant or a witch.
Gibbets appear frequently, and there is usually a tree bearing
strange fruit. There is nearly always some horrid animal such
as a man-eating spider, a great homed beast or a gigantic insect
to shock the master, who is disgusted with all such things. In
the surrounding sea, watched by the rising or setting sun, you
will find ships of all kinds, and often a derelict. There are
whales and mermaids of course, and nearly always a little shoal
of LuUa fish. The Lulla fish is an invention of our own. He
originated in this way : While reciting poems in chorus we
wave sticks to keep us together and to express the rhythm
of the verse. In our recital of the line in Shakespeare's " You
Spotted Snakes."

Lulla, lulla, lullaby,

the movement of the stick follows the outline of a dolphin's
back ;* and thus the dolphin came to be known as the Lulla fish.

• See Perse Playbooks, No. 5.

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THE PLAY WAY

A feature may arise any day into sufficient favour to make
it a convention, but for the most part they are things of fashion.

But the demons are a permanent race, and Hell in one form
or another is constantly recurring. Sometimes it is, " Here is
the mouth to the Pit of Hell," and sometimes just the big fire
already mentioned. In one case there was a drawing of a brick
oven with two parboiled victims in it. Near at hand stood a
group of implements labelled " Torture Gins." There was quitCj,
a mediaeval suggestion about it all, and the legend above said.
" Here be Hell." On the same Ilond is depicted an " Exhaust-
pipe through which repenting people are blown to Heaven."
A little soul in bright yellow is making the belated ascent, while
a demon with a trident regards his loss with evident dismay.
In this, which is called " Mixed GrUl Hond," there is another
demon figure, " My host of the Hond, a retired devil, but still
dressed red." In the " Isle of King Wimipus " there are " Devils
fighting " and " Baby devils doing tricks " ; and in " The
Ilond of Dreams " there is a " Wicked Fairies' Maze where they
cast their Christian prisoners."

In other boys' Ilonds are to be found such incidents and
features as " The good witch of the Hond with her blood and milk
pails," "Runaway Cat," "A Fesaunte," "Walrus," "A Beetle
Dragon," " Miser's House," " Milestone," " Fairies who do play
in the Sun," " Giraffe who walks nine miles a day," " Freaks,"
" The Baxx, very fierce," " Idol which the natives worship,"
" Nunul, who holds a lantern for the Idol to see during night,"
" Mrs. Noah waiting for the animals," and " The Mayor's Hut."

Explanatory and helpful comments abound — " A thief was
hung here," " Barley never ripens here," " Here be a large
brass trumpet," and " Witches tell other people's fate by their
fire." This last has a parenthetical acknowledgment " (from
Macbeth)."

Nearly every Bond will have some feature in it which is
entirely original. In " The Ilond of Mieke " (pronounced Meeky)
there is a man pulling the top of a tree to the ground, and he is
called " The Pine Bender." In another, looming larger than the
mountains, is a " Monkey sucking water through a tube."
" Wonder Ilond," can boast " a town on wheels " and an invisible
castle. And as " very big animals lurk here " it is not sur-
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

prising that " The King lives by himself under the sea in a ginger-
bread house." But he doesn't look very contented. There
have been a few allusions to the war, such as " Zeppelins drop
bombs here," but they are generally given some tinge of literary
reminiscence such as " Bombish exilations {sic) whizzing in the
air." There has been but one Kaiser Dond and that was a kind
of Rake's Progress. In one place he grew his " moustarche,"
then proceeded along the " Road to Ruin via Belgium," and
ended in the " Slough of Despond." We shall perhaps not
discover until this war is over how very little romance of any
poetic kind there has been in it.

In the making of Ilonds a Littleman's imagination is so active
and his attention taken up with so many things that spelling is
apt to suffer neglect. Letters frequently drop out, and you find
Kangrdo, Grillars, Stgnant Pool, and Wods.

The earliest Ilonds, as I have said, were just rough pencil
sketches. The next step was the use of a large sheet of drawing
paper and very bright colours. It is better to cover the Ilond
with some pale coloiir before putting in the geographical features
and the people and the wonders. This makes a clear distinction
between the Ilond and the sea. But best of all is the use of a
sheet of stiff coloured paper as the sea. The coast-line is then
drawn on white paper, and the Ilond cut out and stuck on to the
large coloured sheet. When it is dry the painting proceeds as
usual. The ships, LuUa fish and other sea-dwellers are drawn
upon the coloured background, or cut in outline and affixed.

There may be some difiiculty in obtaining the stiff coloured
paper. Brown paper will do if it is not too dark, but the appear-
ance of a finished Ilond on brown paper is not very lively. I
cast about for some time to find stiff coloured papers. Stationers
could supply nothing useful, so I had recourse to the grocer.
From him I obtained a maroon and a dark blue paper which he
used for wrapping up tea and sugar. But this did not satisfy
us for long. At length a happy idea struck me, and for a shilling
I purchased remnants of self-coloured wall-papers in great
variety. Thus we obtained scarlet and bright yellow, many
greens and mild blues, and even a deep purple. It is worth
remembering the remnants of wall-paper, for they can befput to
many uses. But for Ilonds we found wall-paper of scant avail.

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The preparation on the paper caused the ink to be absorbed,
and anything one wrote or drew in the sea became blurred
at once.

Eventually I hit upon " cover " papers such as are used by
printers and bookbinders. I avoided all the muddy nondescripts
or " art shades," in the sample-books, and chose a range of bright
colours. This included true green, blue, red, orange, and purple,
a maroon and a light brown. I ordered " 21 quires assorted
colours," and a few days later a great stack of paper arrived
at the school on a hand-cart. The size of the sheets was about
twenty-five inches by twenty inches. Half a sheet is just a good
size upon which to stick an Bond. Later I obtained some thinner
paper coloured only on one side, and this the boys used to stick
round the outer edge of the great sea, cut out as sun and moon,
planets, many-pointed stars, and signs of the zodiac.

Some boys adorned the outer edge of the sheet with small
bright labels in which the scenes and important features of the
Ilond were reproduced in miniatiu-e. This touch was very telling.

It is essential that an Hond should be clear to see and to read.
Everything should therefore be drawn or written upright so
that it can be understood without any need of turning the
Ilond sideways or upside down. For the drawing it is best to
use a decorative style with a distinct outline. Some of the
boys outline their painting figures in black, which makes them
very clear. It is, of course, better to use indian ink than the
anaemic blue-black liquid common nowadays for writing. The
legends should be neatly printed in a compact space, not
scrawled wildly over the landscape. An imitation of itaUc
print makes a neat script. A good Hond is very neat, very
clear, and generally highly coloured. It is, in fact, a bright
and satisfactory piece of work altogether. The final touch is
to put a red or orange label in one of the bottom comers, and
to print on it the name of the Bond and your own, thus, " The
Ilond of King Wumpus, by Jack Jingle," or " Dreamland, an
Ilond by Richard Wilding."

Most of our Honds have been wholly imaginary, but some-
times the boys take their subjects from a book read in class.
The Hond is then a kind of epitome in illustration. " A Mid-
summer Night's Dream " makes a beautiful Ilond.
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

It is to be presumed that most teachers of junior classes
allow their boys to draw and paint pictures of the stories and
ballads they read, in addition to recounting them in class or as
written homework. Ilonds are very useful in this connexion, for
they enable a boy to illustrate all the incidents of a story upon
the same stage, instead of having to choose out some isolated
episode for a single picture.

BeowuK Hond, for instance, consists of two isles. On one is
the home of Hygelac, whence Beowulf with his fourteen picked
men starts out across the sea on his expedition for the relief of
Hrothgar from the fell demon Grendel. The ship with its curved
prow is upon the waters, going over the gannets' bath. Many
whale-fishes and sea-nickers follow the men upon their voyage.
Soon they draw near the land of Hrothgar, and meet the coast-
watcher riding down from the cliff. He speaks bold words to
Beowulf on his landing, asks who he is and what his errand.
A. little stone path runs inland to Heorot, the hall of Hrothgar,
The roof is horn-gabled and shining with plates of gold. Hroth-
gar sits upon the gift-stool. The men of Beowulf beach their
ship, and bring out shields and bymies and war-gear. Yonder
in the marshes is the lair of Grendel, the lone-goer, he who
walks by twilight and snatches up men as they sleep. In a
cavern beneath the mere lurks Grendel's dam, grisly, awaiting
her death-blow at the hands of Beowulf.

For the telling of a story in pictures it is allowable, or rather,
necessary for the persons to appear several times over. Con-
sequently Beowulf will be represented once in his ship, again in
the fight with Grendel, and a third time in the struggle with
Grendel's dam under the mere. But some stories are too long or
too full of incident to be shown fully upon one Hond. These are
best illustrated in a series of pictures. The tale of Big Claus and
Little Claus, for example (one of the best stories ever collected),
can be admirably told in about a score of pictures ; and among
ballads, " King Estmere," " The Gay Goshawk," and " Young
Bekie " are best illustrated in this way. The pictures should
be made contiguous by pasting them on a long scroll of calico.
Or they may be painted on the stuff itself; but then one
blunder is fatal. The legend, most tersely worded, runs along
under the pictures. The best model for this picture-narrative

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is, of course, the Bayeux Tapestry, a great favourite with all
playboys.

Just as Ilonds can be made in illustration of an existing
story, so can a story be devised to tell the tale of an existing
Bond. I mean that you may draw an Bond first, and then
make up a story to fit your pictures. This may seem a
strange procedure, but such things are by no means imusual
with us.* I will not say that this plan gives a stimulus to the
imagination, because a playboy's imagination, if unrepressed, is
already active enough. But this plan does afford a great oppor-
tunity for the imagination to express itself. The exercise of
ingenuity is also required, for he who draws his pictures first, and
then sets about to make a story of them, must give some plausible
account of what he has drawn. Of the numerous ways of " teach-
ing composition " the making of Bond stories is the most con-
ducive to originality and ingenuity, and therefore one of the
most enthralling.

Speaking of his Bond story Stevenson says, " I have said the
map was the most of the plot. I might almost say it was the
whole. A few reminiscences of Poe, Defoe, and Washington
Irving, a copy of Johnson's ' Buccaneers,' the name of the Dead
Man's Chest from Kingsley's ' At Last,' some recollections of
canoeing on the high seas, and the map itself with its infinite,
eloquent suggestion, made up the whole of my materials. It is,
perhaps, not often that a map figures so largely in a tale, yet it is
always important. . . . But it is my contention — ^my super-
stition, if you like — that who is faithful to his map, and consults
it, and draws from it his inspiration, daily and hourly, gains
positive support, and not mere negative immunity from acci-
dent. The tale has a root there ; it grows in that soil ; it
has a spine of its own behind the words. . . . Even when a
map is not all the plot, as it was in ' Treasure Island,' it will be
found to be a mine of suggestion."

* Once while designing covers for chap-books I happened to make up
a green cover with a band of mixed colour running across it. The design
pleased me, and it next occurred to me that a suitable title for a poem to go
in this cover would be " Greenwood and Arras." My friends were amused
to see the cover made and the title written upon it, while yet there was no
poem. But later on I made the poem to fit, and liked it even better than
the chap-book cover.
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

This passage from Stevenson should be sufficient proof, if
proof be needed, that in recommending the use of Ilonds in the
teaching of English, we are talking, not only sense, but a sense
above the common.

When the story of an Ilond is written it is bound up into the
form of a chap-book. If it is your intention afterwards to
write the story you should be careful not to draw the Ilond on
too large a sheet ; for it must go in as the frontispiece to your
chap-book.

The book itself should not be too large ; yet it cannot
be very small, because writing takes up so much more space
on a page than print. The paper should be white and not
ruled.* The book is covered with one of the stiff
coloured sheets, and tied with a bright but very narrow ribbon.
A boy beginning on his second chap-book should be counselled
to make it uniform with the first, but in a cover
of a different tint. Thus he will make the beginnings of a
series. Some design should appear upon the outer cover. If
the cover paper is too dark, the design and title may be set
upon a label.

The use of the chap-book is, of course, not restricted to
Bonds and their stories. Any tale can be bound up in a chap-
book with its own illustrations. A long ballad, a short play or a
collection of little poems will each make a chap-book. For short
poems, generally light verses, we use the broadside. This is
nothing but a single sheet of coloured paper of a fairly large size
with the verses neatly inscribed upon it, and a gay picture on
the top. Sometimes there is another picture at the bottom.
Although little is said here of broadsides they will be found
a very useful means of keeping the boys actively interested
in the making of verses and pictures. The broadside, being
but a single sheet, may be considered as a first step towards
chap-books.

Here is the first chapter of an Ilond ballad-narrative by a
second-form boy aged twelve. He would be a sour and un-
responsive reader who would not be tempted by the last verse to
turn over and read the second chapter.

* The boy will of course make his own pencil ruling which he can rub
out after writing.

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I requested a copy of this ballad for my album and received
it with the title :

FAIR COPY OP CHAPTER I OF MY ILOND

A village there was upon my Ilond

In the middle of the ocean blue,
And I, the king in this wondrous land,

Dwelt with my courtiers true.

With gables high and towers strong

In the midst of a land so free,
My palace stood with windows of gold

Looking out o'er the fairy sea.*

The Ilonders had all their wants.
No fighting for this and that ;
But all exchanged with a very good will
And called it tit for tat.

But a set of rogues spoiled all our sport

And made a great to-do.
But here is the end of Chapter I,

The rogues are in Chapter II.

D. H.

The ballad quoted next is a description rather than a narra-
tive. The Ilond of which it tells was not one of those finished
works affixed to a coloured background and carefully painted,
but merely a very rough sketch drawn in an odd moment. The
sketch was only preserved because it chanced to be drawn on
the wrapper in which the boy carried the bulky manuscript of a
book he was writing. Considered as verse the following ballad
is worthless. But its very crudity perhaps makes it more useful
as an illustration. It represents, as it were, a " first step in
Ilond balladry."

LAUGHING ILOND

There is a little Bond

Upon the Spanish main.
Its name is Laughing Bond

Where boys never get the cane.

* The reminiscence of Keats's " magic casements " may be very faint,
but the reader has my assurance that this is a reminiscence.
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

To the northward is Cape Caldwell,

Below it Nig-nag Bay,
On its shore there is a village

Where the little people play

Just by it is a nigger boy

A-dancing on the sand.
And then a Pirates' cavern

On the salt sea strand.

Then there is a polar bear

That breathes out fire and smoke,

And the lone pines are a-swaying,
But the tallest tree is broke.

And then there is a greenwood

And it hight Ding-a-dong,
And there you see a funny tree.

On wheels it runs along.

Then comes the King of the Bond

Who dances on the shore,
He has a crown which when he puts on

You see his face no more.

Then there is the Rippling Shore,

At one end Kaiser point.
At t'other Austrian headland

That looks like a thumb-joint.

That finishes the mainland

Except for a Redskin tent.
Which is pitched on the shore of Nig-nag Bay

W"here the Redskin Injuns went.

To the north is Wee-wun Bond,

In the centre is a lull
From which smoke is arising

Which is thick and makes you ill.

On the east you find the Lulla fish

A-basking in the sim.
On the West the Wee-wun people

Who sport and have much fun.

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To the south of Laughing Ilond

The Wa-wa fish doth sup.
My eye, an' he is big enough

To eat the nond up.

There is the end of the balloon-man,

He who failed to fly.
Eaten by the LuUa fish —

A fearful death to die.
Age 12. F. G. G.

The reader who is interested in Ilonds and what may come
out of them will agree that this ballad, for all its weakness, was
worth quoting. Many of the touches mentioned in the foregoing
pages will be found illustrated in it. The writer is not one of the
weaker brethren, he is one of our best playboys, but it happens
that in this case he has spoken too much in the character of a
guide and has not done himself justice as a poet. The following
ballad, however, illustrates Ilond balladry at its best. One
would think, perhaps, that the boy might have been content
with such a work, but the truth is that even this ballad is but an
off-shoot, while the Ilond itself has from first to last been the
ihief interest. The boy's father was telling me one evening how
the interest of the whole household was centred in the invention
and development of this Hond ; and yet I found that the father
did not even know of the existence of this ballad, which was
already in the printer's hands. The Bond itself was brought to
school at my request, and the mister hung it up for all to see.
But when term ended the maker of the Hond took it away with
him, explaining that he intended to make a chap-book on it.
There is as much potentiality in the way of story-making in this
Hond as there was in Stevenson's map. We may yet hear more
of the adventures of the new Hogginarmo and his enemy the
King and those Pirates.

THE KING AND THE COUNT AND THE PIRATES

This Bond's king is a noble man

And hath a fime stronghold.
The domes upon his palace roof

Are all of burnished gold.
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

When he goes to his senate house

His flag is unfurled then,
And mth the help of his soldiers

He punishes bad men.

On a large, far-distant Bond

Count Hogginarmo dwells,
And north of him a burning mount

And boiling water wells.

Hogginarmo is bad and bold,

A mighty man is he.
When the king sent to say, " Obey 1 "

He cried, " Obey, not me ! "

" Now have I not a walled town

And a castle on the hill ?
I'll run him through with my good sword

Right readily I will ! "

Then bugles, trumpets, lutes and lyres

Struck out a martial tune,
And in the town were music-men

Who played the loud bassoon.

" Now rede me, rede me," said the king,

" My rede shall rise at thee."
" I'd have the good and strong sea-wood •

And quickly put to sea."

The king put out with five good ships,
And staunch and strong were they.

And he came to the Straits of Indigo
Upon a Saturday.

Count Hogginarmo's men came forth

And stood upon the wall.
With gunners, bowmen, musqueteers.

At one loud bugle call.

Then the king attacked the castle

And smoke and dust flew high.
And all along the shrieking sound

Of roimd-shot tearing by.

• " Rede me " is from " King Estmere " ; " Sea-wood " from a
translation of Beowulf

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Then the king landed his soldiers

And charged the castle Trail,
But in face of Hogginarmo's guns

Full many men did fall.

At last the top of this great wall

Was gained by only two.
They slashed out right, they slashed out left.

And many men they slew.

Count Hogginarmo's cowards fled

Before the doughty twain,
And they pursued them aU alone

And struck and struck again.

And quite alone they cleared the wall,

And when a man was found
That turned his face and tried to fight

One smote him to the ground.

At last a fearful oath they hear

And the great Count they see.
Who rushed on one and with his sword

Bashed his brain-pan in three.

The other dealt the Count a blow

As made him reel full sore.
Alas ! the Count pierced him right through —

He died upon the floor.

Three of the king's good ships were sunk

And one so badly hit.
That when they tried to go a-speed

The water entered it.

Then Hogginarmo ruled the land

For full a month— but anon
The king thundered down with might and main

Upon the bad Baron.

Then said the king to the Pirates,

" If you storm his stronghold,
m give you jewels by the pound,

And tons and tons of gold.''

ILONDS AND CHAP BOOKS

The Pirates then they sailed around,

And all along the shore
They set up guns, and many guns.

And guns and guns galore.

Then the pirates fired red-hot shot

And made a fearful charge
Upon the town ; whose walls were strong

And very tall and large.

The pirates soon had won the town.

They spared no single bit.
But plundered right and plundered left,

And then set fire to it.

So Hogginarmo sulkily,

Though he hated the thing.
Was forced to pay a fine and do

Low homage to the king.
Age 12. J. B, W.

After the Littlemen have played at Honds and chap-
books for a while many of them will be anxious to make a
book entirely by themselves ; to do the composition, painting,
writing, binding and all, even as did William Blake with
his books. They like to keep the matter secret imtil they can
approach trimnphantly with a finished work. But the teacher
should insist upon seeing a rough copy of the proposed story
or ballad or poem before the making of the broadside or chap-
book begins, because there will always be some little faults of
spelling or sentence-structure or metre to be amended. And
nothing is more distressing to a boy — and consequently to his
master — ^than to find the result of his joyful labour marred by
trivial errors that might so easily have been corrected.

The question of the handwriting for broadsides and chap-
books must have occurred to the reader. Any boy who takes a
pride in his handiwork will soon be dissatisfied with writing a
book in his ordinary hand. Modem handwriting has so many
decorations, so many ugly curls and unnecessary links between
letters that, however neat, it can never be beautiful. It is, for
a number of reasons, most unsuitable for a book. And type-
writing is, of course, altogether out of the question. You cannot

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mix together handicraft and machine-work, for the simple
reason that the one allows the individual touch and the other
does not.

There is only one way of writing in a hand-made chap-book,
and that is in formal script. There are many styles of lettering,
but for school use the best is the simplest. It is best for three
reasons : (i) that a simple formal hand is mastered fairly soon
for use in chap-books and other careful writing ; (ii) that, being
simple, it is more likely to come into cursive use ; and (iii) that
the simplicity of the letters is in direct antagonism to the curly,
twisty abominations of the modem hand. And so the teacher
should be careful to avoid any ornate style of old lettering, and
introduce his pupils to the simple, severe, essential forms of the
letters.

This warning is necessary, because most people foolishly
imagine that present-day handwriting is lettering at its simplest ;
and when one speaks of formal script they think at once of
ornamental letters and the illuminated capitals of old missals.
It is news to most people that quite half the strokes they make in
their handwriting are unnecessary links. If you will look in a
printed book you will find that the letters of a word are not
strung together, but bunched. I shall say no more about script
here, but refer the reader to an expert authority.*

Mr. Graily Hewitt says : " No doubt but few people can
find time to learn and practise a formal hand ; but all might
adopt and adapt a method of writing that acknowledged tradi-
tions achieved by centuries of painstaking, centuries qualified,
if only by the absence of machinery, to assist in a matter where
the hand is still essential. . . . To-day the connecting stroke
between the letters of a word has been insisted upon till it has
become a fetish. Of old it was only used when convenient, the
letters were made one after another and connected automatically
by bunching or clamping together. This bunching assists
legibility, for we read the bunch of a word rather than the
separate letters forming it. To separate these by a connecting
stroke is to protract the reading. . . . The modern pen is chiefly

* See the Oxford Copy Books by Graily Hewitt, published by Henry
Frowde and Hodder & Stoughton, Nos. 1 and 2, price 3d. each. Broad
pens can be had of Wm. Mitchell, 3 Warwick Lane, E.C.
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

to blame. It is fine and pliable. The mediaeval pen was
comparatively broad and stiff. Thickness of down-strokes
requires pressure upon a fine pen ; a broad pen does without,
and the writer's attention is not distracted by such an unneces-
sary demand upon him. With a fine pen a child cannot make a
page of writing imiform in its downstrokes. But if he use
the old method he can do this at once, and attend to direction
unembarrassed — a very great gain. . . . With a broad stiff
pen a child could not go far wrong if he tried to imitate printed
letters stich as our italics without any copybook at all. . . . The
tool that was chiefly concerned in the evolution of the Roman
Alphabet up to the sixteenth century might be trusted again."

Perhaps some teacher may feel that his own inability (or
unwillingness) to master a formal hand renders him unable to
introduce penmanship to his boys. It depends, of course, as
every proposal in this book depends, on your view of a teacher's
function. It is no use trying to teach what you are incapable
of teaching, but a master can do wonders by putting his boys
on the track of something which they can teach themselves.
As soon as I came into touch with formal script I told the boys
of it. Two of them in the sixth form took it up, and, being born
with a skill for the craft, were beyond my reach within a week.
Before the end of the following term these boys had executed
" outside orders " for addresses for presentation. Among the
Littlemen there are a few who write extremely well, and many
more who can make a very fair page. All these outstrip me, for
I am only just a little better than those despondent ones who
say, " I'm no good at this game, sir." Yet with the joyous
labour of many perspiring hours even we clumsy-fisted ones
have produced some interesting chap-books. Some teachers,
again, are unable to draw. What matter ? In my time I have
even ventured on pictures. They may have been horrid — ^in fact
they were horrid ; but some of the pictures made by the Little-
men thereafter afforded me an ample excuse.

The two passages which follow are Bond stories written as
prose studies. Both writers are boys of twelve in the second
form. These quotations illustrate two very distinct styles.
Neither of the boys had an atom of help in his work.

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THE ILOND OF NUMOWAN

Elng Nmnowa lived on the west side of the Ilond of Numowan.
On the eastern shore, opposite Devilton and Devilton harbour,
was the harbour of Wolumbrigia, and King Wamgig's castel
where King Wamgig lived.

One day as Kiag Nmnowa was out watching his fleet fishing
he fell overboard and a shark swallowed him up. His fishing
fleet then ran back to Numowton harbour and told the poor
Numowtonians the sad news of the death of their good king for
whom great regret was felt and many people wept.

In the middle of their sadness news was received that the
devils had invaded the land of Numowa and were pouring
through the pass in the mountains which separated the two
lands. So the Numowtonians went out and fought with the
devils. The devils were soon beaten and were put to flight and
chased as far as the pass by which they had entered the land ol
Numowan. Meanwhile strange things had happened at Devilton
harbour. One of King Wamgig's boats had put into Devilton
harbour by mistake and had been captured, and the king of the
devils told the devils to take King Wamgig and take his robe off
and burn him, and he said he would come along later to see that
his work was done properly.

The devils did as they were told and took King Wamgig's
robe off and hvant him. The king of the devils was true to his
word and came down to see the fire and that the work had been
done properly. When the king of the devils came to the fire
he saw that everjrthing had been done as he had commanded,
but he was very cross when he saw Eng Wamgig's legs sticking
out of the fire so he ordered the men who put him in to be put
in also.

H. C.

IN THE ISLE OF KING SHACK

It is in the Isle of King Shack that fiery dragons do reside.
And it so happened once that a brave knight did attempt their
killing, but the wicked witch Wyrd, who doth reign o'er all the
world, did give the dragons power to master him, and they
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

imprisoned him in the Cave of Darkness, which is their resting-
place. And so the knight's bones did gradually decay, till they
gave way from under him, and he died. Then demons and
devils came unto his corse, and did eat of it. But as he was a
good man when he lived, they liked not his flesh.

Then came a young man, who had done no sin, unto an aged
man, and said :

" Now I have heard how my father was slain by the dragons,
and I would avenge his death. If thou wilt give me counsel,
then will I be to thee a trusty squire." Then the aged man
said, " If thou wouldst do as thou sayest, lad, then go now into
my cabin and fetch me my staff." Then the young man went in
and fetched the staff. " Now," said the old man, " When thou
comest unto the dragons, lie down as if thou wert dead, then the
dragons will go away, and as they depart, strike them with this
staff.

"When the lad came unto the Cave of Darkness, he lay down
on his back. Then came the dragons out, and when they looked
on his face that was so pure, for he had done no sin, they were
affrighted. Said one : " This is the man who has done no sin,
and who it is prophesied shall work our destruction." Then they
turned away, and the lad sprang up. He struck the first dragon
upon the head, and looked hard upon him. The dragon shrank
before his glance, and fell upon the ground. Then the second
dragon sprang upon him, but he was light of foot, and sprang
him nimbly aside. The second dragon fell upon the first, and
killed him.

The lad retiamed to the aged man, and was faithful unto his
death.

G. S. S.

A complete chap-book is too long to quote by way of
illustration, but some account may be given to show how
in these longer works the story becomes of more importance
than the original Hond, as happened in the case of
Stevenson. " The Isle of Adrian " is the work of a boy of fifteen
or more in the fifth form. He is one of those who " never grew
up." Several senior boys, such as sixth-form prefects, and
those who had already entered the university, took a keen

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interest in the play-productions of the Littlemen. But that was
an adult interest, the interest which teachers will show in the
course of time. But the author of " The Isle of Adrian " really
wished himself back in the second form. " I wish I had a chance
to do these things," he often said. He was a playboy to his
finger-tips. " The Isle of Adrian," opens with a prologue :
" A happy Littleman am I, and in these few pages I shall explain
to Uncle Joe the joys of my Hond."

There is a large coloured picture showing the slippered Uncle
Joe sitting in his armchair smoking a long pipe and reading the
paper. On the floor a small boy is kneeling. A box of toys lies
open beside him, and he is setting out upon a square board,
which represents his Bond, some trees and men and Noah's Ark
animals. On the next page appears a real Littleman Lond,
showing the Hond full of life as it was appearing in fancy to the
nephew of Uncle Joe. The thirty pages or so which follow give
an account of the inhabitants of the Hond, their habits, their
hatmts, and their goings on. Almost every page has a picture,
and some have three or four. The first chapter is a general
survey, and the others give particulars of chosen characters.

" King Carranzabar, the noble ruler of this land, lives with
his family and court of all-valiant knights in his stately castel,
which stands so proudly, sporting its red minarets here on the
hill. We see him at present driving in his state coach, with
footmen in cocked hats. . . ."

" Two knights we see jousting in friendlike mien. The
shaggy lion lays aside his kingly state and watches the fun with
imdignified interest, while the glowing snake wriggles up to his
side. Jumbo, the grey elephant, has strolled from the wood on
to the cliff, and gazes over the blue scape of water at a ship dim
on the horizon. High in air we see Bavieca the witch, astride
her broom, floating down through the fresh morning air. . . while
Fender, the green Dragon, is keeping up his morning practice of
hurling forth red-hot abuse at some imaginary foe. On the side
of the grassy slope the Flat-foot bird is flapping his wings to
brace him for the day, while on the grass many little elves are
prancing, prancing merrily. Over the palm-tipped crest of the
hill. Lout, the Giant, is looming."

"Look, Uncle ■! here in the offing you may find the king's
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ILONDS AND CHAP-BOOKS

two sons fishing from a neatly rigged little boat, and the Sea-
serpent follows the Royal yacht, perhaps in playful chase, or
perhaps on the off-chance of a sympathetic crumb. But I fancy
a whole loaf would be more to his liking, and not even the Royal
yacht with a pattern on its sail can afford whole loaves for
ordinary coily sea-serpents. You must understand. Uncle, that
these beings on the isle are well-intentioned. . . . As for Fender
his appearance is must misleading, for one could scarcely be
fond of a being who breathed forth fire and chewed cinders.
But in his less energetic moments he is a sweet old thing. He
would not intentionally hurt a soul. In fact the childer of the
ilond love him so much that they may be seen every afternoon
toddling off to him, each with a piece of house-flannel to polish
up his scales. This kind attention the dragon well enjoys, and
during the operation lays himself out flat and tells stories to his
gay little troop of polishers."

At this point there are two very pleasing pictures, one
showing six " childer " running out with duster in hand, and the
other showing them all grouped on and about old Fender
busily polishing him.

TOie second chapter consists of the autobiography of this
genial monster as " told to the blithe young children who were
rubbing his scales to brightness." The chapter is long and ends
with these words, " Here the dragon ceased. The little children
had stopped polishing and were sitting round him, enraptured of
his telling."

" Surely the most wonderful of the beings on the Isle of
Adrian is Gorger, the red beast to the left of the wood. Gorger
is not his real name. He is really a very fine relic of the Model-
in-plasticine tribe ; but as his chief virtue is his marvellous
eating capacity, the islanders gave him this name."

There is unhappily no space to relate the legend of " Ten-
Three, the Gayest Bird that ever bore a Tail," nor the spell of
" The Fat Pink Pig with the Big Black Spots," nor even to quote
the descriptions of the other residents in the Isle of Adrian. A
passage from Chapter IV must conclude these extracts :

"You must know. Uncle, that the brave walls and lofty
towers of the castel enclose many fair ladies and many doughty
knights. There are beautiful terraces hidden behind those solid

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battlements, where flowers grow, and knights court ladies
in the sunlight. Each day at noon the warriors parade in
line on their frisking steeds and charge down the winding
road on to the Lower Island, there to rehearse the arts of
war. Meanwhile His Majesty the King, dressed in shining
armour with breeze-blown plumes a-fluttering, strides proudly
round, attended by his equerries, clapping the gests of his
knights. . . .

" When the knights have shot their arrows and given practice
to their sword-play for a space, a herald, at the word of the king,
raises his brasen horn to his lips and blows a mighty blast with
great pouting of cheeks. The knights on hearing this signal
form themselves full briskly into two equal companies. They
then disarm and provide themselves with wooden swords, each
man having a tuft of paper plumes stuck in his helmet — ^those
of one side a red tuft, those of the other a white. Then a second
blast is blowen and the knights, ranged in two opposing ranks,
give eye to the Bang who is now holding aloft a purple kerchief.
This he duly drops and the knights, digging their spurs into the
flanks of their white chargers, dash to meet in mock battle.
Then the ranks crash together as two roaring waves that meet.
The chargers rear on their haimches and each sturdy fighter
strains his abilities to flay his adversary's plumes from his
polished helmet.

" Vigorously he slashes at them with his wooden sword, at
the same time struggling to safeguard his own. Fierce waxes
the fight with the cracking of swords and the clanking of armour,
till at length when the ground is strewn with paper plumes, and
those who have lost them are many, the king again gives word
to his herald, who sounds his horn yet a third time. The knights
on hearing deliver no farther blows, but retire to their order.
EKs Majesty proclaims in his clear ringing voice which company
has triumphed. The announcement is received with long
cheers and hearty.

" These things done, all retire to the castel. , . ."*

Throughout the whole chap-book Uncle Joe does not vouch-

* A hypercritical reader may complain of the artificiality of this style.
But the writer is consciously aiming at style, and the conscious eftortB
of beginners must always look artificial.
168

ILONDS AND CHAP BOOKS

safe a word, and the writer does not tell us whether he Hstened
or read the paper, or fell asleep.

This is very true to life, for Littleman play requires no
audience. It is not a show, but a rehearsal. While Uncle Joe
sits in his chair before the fire Littleman camps on the hearthrug,
and sets out his wooden toys in a pattern of life. And all the
time he prattles away to himself. He is only half aware of the
presence of Uncle Joe. He may from time to time feel dimly
sorry that the old gentleman is missing so much. But Uncle
Joe is only in the margin of his consciousness. His mind is
really concentrated upon this realm of fancy he is creating, this
Ilond. It is to himself that he is prattling of dragons and
witches, of kings, castles, and knightly combat.

All this the writer of the " Isle of Adrian " knows as well as
any of us, you may depend upon it. For as the artist creates in
a flash that which critics take years to expound, so the playboy
gaily produces innumerable works of self-expression, while his
teachers are fumbling blindly in the murk of theoretical
psychology.

Education will always be the stodgy process it is to-day, until
teachers throw the pedagogical professors overboard, and turn
their whole attention upon the boys. Pedagogy, forsooth ! The
very word reeks of humbug. Play, sir, is what you need for
boys.

If the painting of the prologue-picture to the" Isle of Adrian "
had been left to me I should have put in the hands of the
preoccupied Uncle Joe, not a newspaper, but a volume of
" Education in the Home." But sarcasm is an adult vice.

The reader must not expect me to reason him into a belief in
Ilonds considered as a device of educational method. There has
already been far too much vague nonsense talked about " training
the imagination," " exercising the boy in self-expression," and
so on by people who haven't a notion how to set about it. There
have been whole conferences and books without number devoted
to such theoretical recommendations. It is high time to suggest
something in the way of practice, and let psychology be a while.

Many teachers, it is to be feared, will consider Ilonds a
childish game, appropriate only for leisure hours in the nursery.

169

THE PLAY WAY

Others, possibly, will allow Ilonds in the schoolroom, and then
spoil them by making them properly instriictional. And many
teachers of English will cast these proposals aside as a waste of
the all-too-brief time allotted to literature. K so, I hope that
one day, when in search of out-of the-way words with which to
puzzle their pupils, or " stiff " pieces of poetry to be paraphrased
into a prose mince, these good people may light upon a certain
book which, though inappropriately named, is yet the supreme
masterpiece among Ilonds. A king with, his son and their
attendant lords are cast ashore upon an Ilond. There are also a
few shipwrecked mariners. In a cave there lives a strange
beast, whose mother was a witch. The Ilond is full of little
elfin people who spend the hours in play, now mock the travellers,
and anon sing and dance to the waves upon the yellow sands.
The master of the Ilond is a sorcerer, and at his bidding an airy
sprite, whom he freed from a cloven pine, does many wonderful
magics.

The homework for teachers will be to analyse the last
sentence.

170

CHAPTER VI

PLAYTOWN

This is the best fooling, when all is done.

" Twelfth Night '

In a book concerned with educational method — for this is a
book on educational method, however remotely it may be
connected with modem classroom practice — ^the subject of Play-
town must be treated but briefly. For Playtown is essentially
an out-of-school occupation, and most teachers will not consent
to be bothered with it. But there are some who will take any
amount of trouble to cater for their boys' real interests, and
some who themselves are players by nature, and it is to the ear
and to the fancy of these that the following notes on Playtown
are commended.

For the site of your Playtown you take a spare piece of land.
It may be a waste patch near the scullery, or an unused comer
of the kitchen garden, or, as in our case, a mere back yard. This
terrain you will transform into a model countryside. It may
be that you have soil and sand and sods of earth at your com-
mand, and if so, your way is made more easy. But we had
nothing to work upon but a concrete back yard. The only
encouraging circumstance was the opportunity of water-supply
from a tap ten yards off and round the comer of the house.

First a load of coarse gravel and a load of sand were procured.
These were dumped in the middle of the yard, and for lack of a
shovel I distributed the heaps with a broom. It is perhaps,
worth recording that a heap of sand can be shifted more expedi-
tiously with a broom than by shovelling it about in spadefuls.

The yard sloped gradually towards a drain. So in plotting
the river-course I began at the far end from the drain ; and
added length to the proposed river by setting a hill in the direct

171

THE PLAY WAY

route to the drain. This made it necessary for the river-course
to go up and round. The river was to be supphed by means of
a hose from the tap round the comer.

To keep the water within the gravel banks it was of course
necessary to cement them. So I ordered a sack of cement, and
we sifted the sand from our hills. We soon grew proficient in
the craft of mortar-mixing and cementing. The river banks
were made about four inches high at first. But as soon as the
water was put in it became apparent that the banks near the
drain would have to be built some inches higher. For the water
of course did not run straight down the drain, but was dammed
just above it to give us some depth. But while the depth at
the end of the coiu'se was over six inches there was (owing to the
slope) no water at all in the upper reaches. It was therefore
necessary to put in a lock. For the gates we took two small
square tiles (only one for each end of the lock), and made cement
grooves for them to slide into as a window slides up and down
in its frame. There was some skilful trowel-work about that
lock. A similar single gate at the lowest part of the river kept
the water above the level of the drain.

We kept our railway dead straight with a view to running
the trains on a cable system. The advantage of the cable
system in toy trains is that it enables you from either terminus
to stop the train at any point. The disadvantage is that it is
very difficult to avoid getting the cable, or belt, either too
tight or too loose.

We decided that our railway should encounter and overcome
by means of embankment, tunnel, bridge, and cutting all the
difiiculties it was possible to contrive. The track started on
an embankment with a station. Then it plunged into a tuimel
under the hill and emerged upon the second station. A bridge
spanned the river, intentionally at its widest point, and an islet
mysteriously sprang up in the middle to facilitate this engineer-
ing feat. There was another station cut precipitously out of
the far hill-side, and the track terminated just beyond.

It is impossile to do any practical surveying on such a
diminutive scale, and so everji;hing was done empirically. What
did not fit was done all over again in the light of experience.
The most foolish mistake we made was to measure for thfi
172

(rdreth Hostel (jieen Hill Uppei Ri\ei and Lock

The Market-Place, St. NiLUoU'b bt.itiou, and Castle Hill

PLAYTOWN

height of the bridge from the bed of the river (the water was
turned off while we were working there) instead of allowing for
the height of a ship from the surface of the water. The level
of the whole railway track could not be raised to correct this
error, because the timnel was already finished, and a strong
cement castle had been built on the hill over it.* And of
course the whole river level could not be lowered. So the rail-
way bridge was only some three inches above the river surface
Instead of a good six, and no boats other than barges could
pass beneath.

It happened at this time that two inspectors came specially
down from Whitehall to see what all this Play Way business
was about. After they had seen all the things we did in the
classroom they were suddenly taken to a back yard and con-
fronted with Playtown. Both were surprised of course, but
while one stood and nursed his amazement — stood upon a
farmyard and made great ruin — ^the other grasped the Play
idea at once, and, setting aside officialdom and pedagogy, went
down on his knees and endeavoured to solve the problem of
the bridge. The Tower Bridge device and all sorts of swing-
bridges, such as he and others suggested, were impracticable,
because toy railway lines are made in sections which must
remain joined. In the end we had to make a steep gradient
from the tunnel and onwards to make room for boats to pass
under the bridge. This steep gradient has been a nuisance to
us ever since.

In the beginning the first form was admitted to Playtown
for one period a week during school hours. But there were too
many boys for the small yard, and as the game was new to them
they all needed direction, and careful watching lest they did
damage. So classes were abandoned, and Playtown became the
haunt of a chosen few out of school hours. There were generally
about six or eight there at a time. In all, some fifty or sixty

* The photographs show the castle on the hill over the tunnel, but the
plan of Playtown shows it in another situation. This is because the
photographs were taken in 1913, and the plan represents the countryside
as it was in 1915. Various other discrepancies are to be explained by this
fact, the principal ones being the disappearance of Gareth Hostel, and the
coming of a Netherland with a Tramway in its place; and the conversion
of the whole hill above St. David's into one tremendous citadel.

173

THE PLAY WAY

boys of all ages ranging from nine to nineteen had their part in
the building up and carrying on of this miniature countryside.

The making of the river and the railway (and playing with
them) occupied all our spare time during the first summer term.
The following season we covered the gravel with a layer of soil
and planted grass and the cuttings of trees. Little wooden
houses were made, and meadows and farms were fenced in and
filled with a great variety of live stock. Roads were driven
across the land, wharves appeared here and there along the river
banks, with cranes and warehouses for the merchandise, and
the railway stations became Uttle centres of civic life. We
found the cable system too difficult to work with any certainty,
and abandoned it in the second year for clockwork engine power.

Most of the inhabitants were perforce military. It is possible
to obtain from toy-shops a railway staff and a boK of civilians.
But in the experience of toy-naakers there are only eight civilian
t3^es. Two of these are the same female figure, but painted in
(Afferent colours, and three more are men in uniform, a policeman,
a yachtsman, and a chauffeur. There is no shopkeeper, no
workman, no newsboy, no loafer. Just two clerks, one man in
a sun-hat, two identical women, and then back we go to uniforms.
The public in this matter, as in all its dealings with manufacturers,
must just take what it can get or go without. The commercial
man's idea of service is to follow his own limited notions, and
then to thrust his shoddy wares down the throats of the com-
munity, shrieking aloud to them all the while to avoid imitations.
If this were true only of children's toys it would be bad enough,
but it is very much the same with all the things we have to buy.

As time went on certain boys claimed estates of their own
and colonized them. There were many residences, a few farms,
two fortresses, a coal-mine, a builder's yard, and a market-place.
The builder's merchant supplied gravel and sand, and stakes
for palings. He also kept little cement bricks, which, however,
every one made for himself, and no one ever used. The " Deep
Drop Coal Mine " was owned by Digging Bros., and worked by
some boy scouts, a wounded soldier, and a chauffeur because
he had a lamp. There was a superstructure of "meccano,"
and a cage which went down into the pit The usual stock of
merchandise upon a wharf consisted of little sacks filled with
174

PLAYTOWN

sand. These could be grain in times of peace and protective
sand-bags in time of war. Cats and dogs were to be found near
the houses ; and rabbits, pigs, cows, horses, and even a few wild
boars lived in the fields. Every household had its baby, but
sometimes exigency of circumstance compelled a white mother
to adopt a black piccaninny.

Diiring the third season many improvements were made.
The countryside was extended by the addition of territory, and
became half as large again. The railway was also extended by
the addition of a branch line with another station. The grass
was now well tended ; and the Uttle roads, just wide enough
for a boy to walk along by putting one foot carefully before the
other, were kept neat by frequent sprinklings of fresh sand.
The introduction of paint made the whole place look much
brighter and more toy-like, for houses, wharves, station platform,
bridges, and fences, as well as the boats and trains, were painted
all manner of gay colours.

The general lines of play as it is carried on with toy trains
and boats and lead soldiers must be known to all. There is no
space here to go into the details of floor-games. But a few
particulars of our especial play may be given. We rarely went
to war, for the boys foimd ample occupation in the ordering of
each his own domain and in commercial transactions. As a genial
onlooker once observed, " Here is citizenship in the concrete."

Little clockwork tugs pulled laden barges up the river,
bumping first into one bank and then into the other, and some-
times wasting so much power on the journey that they could
not face the outrush of water when the lock was opened. Trains
ignored the signals, ran off the rails, stopped dead in the tunnel,
or came in collision with one another, as they do in nurseries
and playrooms everywhere. Boys shouted up the river or down
the line, " I'm sending you a ton of coal for Mr. Orkney," or
" The guard has orders to wait for the key of the small engine."
There were excited shouts whenever accidents happened, and
shouts more excited still when they didn't. Cries of " Just
look at The Little Beast coming into my wharf ! " " Mind your
silly head out of the light," and " Sir, sir, sir \ " were heard on
all sides. There seemed to be enough to do in this little world
without any need of war.

175

THE PLAY WAY

In a small shed the work of fretsawing and hammering and
painting went steadily on. And while some were indulging in
mere fun others took it in turns to cut the grass on the common
land, to tidy up the roads, and to renew paint-work that didn't
need renewal. These gatherings took place after school in the
summer evenings, and occasionally during half-holidays when
the citizens were not " down " for compulsory games.

At first we used to repair to the house for an interval for tea,
but the boys were so absorbed in Playtown that they actually
asked, not without some fear of seeming rude, that tea might
be aboUshed, because " it takes up time." The refreshment,
however, was not entirely abolished, but adapted to the circum-
stances, and we had set out upon one of our benches a bottle
of lime-juice with jugs and glasses, and a round tray piled witl
buns. Thus we were able to eat and drink without interrupting
the play.

The features of the landscape were soon named, there was
Green Hill and Castle Hill, and Adrian's wharf with the Deep
Drop Coal Mine (Digging Bros.). The harbour and railway
station adjoining the river sluice were called St. Louis on that
account. The places at the other termini of the railway were
called St. NichoU's and St. David's after their respective founders,
who, however, had not previously been canonized. The river
had its source in a waterfall (of which, by the way, any " land-
scape gardener " might have been proud), but this waterfall was
not named, because it was in the " Undiscovered Country."

These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry soHtudes ;
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink.

The lake into which the water fell was called " The Lake of
Magellan " after another boy, until an explorer was drowned in
it, and then it became " Dead Man's Lake."

The body of the explorer was recovered and conveyed down
the river in a barge with much funeral pomp. He was buried
with military honours on the slopes of Castle Hill, and a monu-
ment erected to his memory. Here the intrepid one lay in
peace for two years, until, being exhumed by chance one day
176

PLAYTOWN

during excavations, he was resuscitated and restored to his rank
in the army. His cenotaph remains — a hollow mockery.

The reader may recall " The Dumb Soldier " of Stevenson,
who had the enviable experience of lying buried for a season.

Under grass alone he lies.
Looking up with leaden eyes.
Scarlet coat and pointed gun
To the stars and to the sun.

I shall find him, never fear,
I shall find my grenadier ;
But for all that's gone and come,
I shall find my soldier dumb.

When a man falls into the water a crane is hxuried to the
spot. If he can be fished out at the first angling he may live,
but if not, he is presumed dead, and becomes for the time being
a thing of naught.

The " Undiscovered Country " is known to be inhabited by
various tribes, whose history would make an interesting study
for an ethnologist. For it is said by those who live at " The
Last Post " that one of these warring factions is led by one
Hullabaloo the Zulu, and another by a certain Hitchy Koo or
Bread upon the Waters, a Red Indian Chief. Another attractive
personality, who made his first and only appearance at a War
Council of the Powers, was Tin Can, the Chinese ambassador.

We have made so little of wars that the subject need not be
treated here. The reader is referred to Mr. H. G. Wells's " Little
Wars," upon whose rules of campaigning we based our own.
Of the many interesting civil events which occurred during our
four Playtown seasons I have space to record fully but one.

Sir George Thorpe, a landowner of local importance, was
asked by Mr. Flaggy, the station-master of St. NichoU's, to plant
a tree, in commemoration of some event not stated. The
occasion was an important one, and the whole countryside
made ready to attend the ceremony. But a difficulty arose
from the fact that each household seemed to have a double in
every other household. The station staff at St. David's could
not be distinguished from those at Castle Hill Station. And
Mr. Orkney so closely resembled C. Tain, the builder's merchant,

M 1T7

THE PLAY WAY

that Mrs. Orkney refused to let her husband travel in the same
train, for fear of " mixing him up."

Matters came to a head when Sir George Thorpe declared,
with some heat, that unless that journalist fellow, Mr. Noseabout,
ceased to duplicate him in every particular he would plant no
trees — ^no, not though the military paraded six regiments, and
all the military bands in the comitry played " He's a Jolly good
fellow." Things were looking very gloomy, and it seemed as
though the pubUc holiday would have to be abandoned, when
suddenly one of the trolley porters of St. David's fell into a pot
of white enamel, and was fished out a milkman \ The solution
of the difficulty was hailed with delight, and every one hurried
home to change his clothes. Sir George left the joiunalist
fellow to wear navy blue and himself appeared in a rich brown
— of which trouble was to arise. Train after train now arrived
at St. NichoU's bringing families hardly yet dry in their new
clothes, and with them their domestic pets. Army and Navy
were both represented, and it was rumoured afterwards that
even Hiillabaloo the Zulu had painted little white buttons on
his brown skin and come to the great tree-planting.

Speeches were made, the tree was duly planted, bands
played, and the soldiers fired what some one in the crowd called
a "Few de Joy." And then discord arose. Sir (Jeorge having
had the bad taste in his third speech to make some scathing
remarks about journalists, Mr. Noseabout, the reporter, clad
in neat blue serge, referred impudently to Sir George as " that
chocolate eclair." The crowd began to shout and to take sides,
and soon there would have been a tumult, had not the captain
of the garrison, with admirable presence of mind, opened fire
with his guns upon the populace.

Now it happened that in the assembly was a quiet little
woman, Mrs. Bimbo by name, a lodging-house keeper. Finding
that it was growing late, and not being particularly interested
in the quelling of riots, Mrs. Bimbo decided to go home " and
cook the chops for her young gentlemen's dinners," But when
she arrived at the station there was no train and no staff.

It was all deserted around,
For they all had gone to the fab, sir,
And there was no one to be found,
178

PLAYTOWN

It was a long walk home to the other side of Castle
Hill by road, so Mrs. Bimbo decided to take a short cut through
the idle tunnel. A few minutes later, the riot
haying been cut short by the death by misadventure of
Mr. Noseabout, the return excursion train started from
St. NichoU's. And the young gentlemen had no chops for their
diimer that night, for little Mrs. Bimbo had been decapitated
in the tunnel.

There have been, of course, many tragedies and romances
connected with the railway. One of the most remarkable
was the case of old Mr. Peaky, the railway official, who spent
a whole winter in the tunnel. On his being recovered
in the early summer it occurred to some one, apropos of nothing
at all, that poor Mr. Peaky in his present state was " the
image of Ibsen." None of us understood why, but Mr. Peaky
was honoured accordingly, and placed on a pedestal in the
market-place.

While Playtown is in full activity every one has to be careful
where he steps, and to walk only on the appointed " treads."
For one is a Gulliver in this Lilliputian land. But towards the
end of the season we relax care, and take less interest in the
minute things. We even run up and down by the river in sailing
our boats, as though it were a dyke and had no roads, fences,
buildings, and wharves along its banks. Thus it happens that
with the restoration of each returning spring, many relics are
excavated which were trodden into the ground in the autumn.
A boy digging the foundations of his new house, or making a
cutting for a railway extension, will unearth old walls, pieces of
machinery, bits of forgotten people, and all manner of treasure.
These we carefully preserve in a Playtown Museum kept in the
shed. The finds are labelled with the most romantic ascriptions :
" Roof beams of a manor house of the last century unearthed
on the site of the present Gareth Hostel." " Rim and a few
spokes of an old cart-wheel found when digging the Well of
the Lady Oliver." * The query sometimes seen on museum
labels is also quaintly mimicked : " ? Skull of a Zulu warrior."
" ? Funnel of a primitive steam-engine." And so on. This may
be poor funfor the adult reader, and offensive to an archaeologist,
* This name was not a corruption of Olivia, but had a separate origin.

179

THE PLAY WAY

but it is excellent play. For who that knows boys will
deny that they love excavations, and can appreciate the
excitement of a find as keenly as the most learned geologist ?
And surely it is better for them to dig up something which
really is exciting than to fall back always upon unsupported
make-believe. But I must not argue here, for an under-
standing of Playtown, more than of all these other
schemes, depends upon one's having a player's instinct. And
that is imcommunicable.

Our Playtown in shape is an irregular oblong, and in size
some four yards by fourteen. There are four hills, the largest
of which is about two feet in height. Those who wish to make
a Playtown are recommended to go where soil is available, for
in our yard more than a dozen loads of ^avel, sand, and soil
have been required to form the land. Cement is necessary if
you propose to have any water. We used about a sack and a
half of cement each season, for the banks of the river need
occasional repair, and new cement is always being laid for
wharves and station platforms and to support the sides of cuttings
on roads and railway. Cement-work can be painted, but the
colour fades rapidly imtil several coats have been applied.
Battlements can be cast or carved in cement, but the operation
is difficult. The round towers of our castle were made by
filling coffee-tins with soft cement and ripping the tin away
when the cement had hardened. For the water, a large lake
would probably be more convenient than a river. The river
current makes navigation difficult for tiny clockwork boats.
Also a flowing river, if not given constant attention, will over-
flow. We had many floods. If possible your whole Playtown
should be raised three feet or so from the ground. It would
thus be easy to handle things without sitting on the ground or
stooping, and, more important still, the coimtryside would not
be constantly trodden upon. We were always having to repair
damage done by our careless feet. One way of getting the
Playtown three feet above ground level would be to build a
wall all round the proposed coast-line and then fill the space
enclosed. But a simpler plan would be to make your Play-
town on ground level, and then dig trenches round it, to
walk in.
180

Adrian's Wharf and the Deep Drop Coal Mine

The Capture of St. Nioholl's

PLAYTOWN

The country itself is permanent — for the season. Houses
and stations can also be made to stand the weather. But
railway lines, trains, boats, and the inhabitants should be put
away in a shed for the night.

A Playtown of course demands a certain amount of attention.
You cannot keep the little country in trim if you bestow no
more care on it than you would upon nursery floor-games.
But there is no reason why a man or a boy should not spend as
much care and attention upon such a thing as this as he would
upon his garden. During the summer term I was accustomed
to give ten or twelve hours a week myself to working at Play-
town, though this of course included building new features and
repairing old ones, as well as tending the place in a general
way.

Needless to say we do not anticipate that there will ever be
many Playtowns. But those few players who like the idea
may be glad of the above hints.

The Play Way, let it be said again, is not the easy way.
You cannot just throw a few materials to the boys and leave
them to amuse themselves. They will find enough sheer amuse-
ment in their own free time ; but where a teacher takes part
the play should be something of pith and substance. There is
more hard work, even actual labour, attached to the Play Way
schemes than there is in classroom " work." And the driving
power, which enables both the boys and the masters to undertake
the arduous duties which are always part and parcel of real
play, is interest. If it chance that you are so made that you
could never take an active interest in Playtown, then of course
you will leave it alone and try something else. But if any one
fancies that grown-up people (grave and reverend signiors as
we all fancy we are) cannot be thoroughly enchanted with
such toys as clockwork boats and trains, then he is blind. Men
and women do not play with toys, simply because they are too
busy or because toys are not at hand. But while Pla5i;own
has been available many grown men and several women have
spent hours playing there. And on more than one occasion,
when the Littlemen had all gone home to bed, three or foiur
staid and responsible adults have left care behind them in the
house, and come out with me after dinner to sail the boats and

18X

THE PLAY WAY

to run the trains. When it grew too dark to see any longer we
did not go in, but brought out lighted candles and still pursued
the game. Sometimes we have played away the length of two
whole candles after dark.

" But what has all this to do with education ? " you may
ask. Yes, you may well ask ; but, like Shylock, " I'll not
answer that 1 "

1S2

CHAPTER VII
ACTING SHAKESPEARE IN THE CLASSROOM*

Within this wooden O.

" Henry V "

A TEACHER who is dcsirous of adopting play-methods with his
boys in connexion with at least some of their lessons will perhaps
at first find some difficulty in devising schemes of play. It is
too much to expect that the boys or the master should start
suddenly from their desks and say, " Go to, we will now study
in the Play Way." For the teacher of English the easiest way
of making a start is obviously to let the boys act some story or
portion of a book which they are reading. It is of course out
of the question for any one to sit down and write a dramatic
version of the story. The thing must be acted extempore in
the classroom. But unless you happen to have a special knack
of casting stories into dramatic form you may find yourself in
difficulties at the very start. And it is very disheartening to
the boys if their experiments keep falling through, and the play
of which so much was expected turns out a failure.

We early formed a habit of dramatizing almost everything
we read. But at first I used to give the boys suggestions of a
scheme of action. This was a very simple aid, but without it
the boys never would have found the acting successful.

What is meant by planning the play will be seen best in an
actual illustration. In dramatizing the story of Beowulf, the

* This chapter should have been on " Acting in the Classroom,"
but in writing it I found that apart from matters in connexion with
Shakespeare, there was very little of importance to say, which is not
dealt with in the chapters on "Miming" and on " Playmaking."
After all, if you can act Shakespeare you can act anything, and if you
cannot act even Shakespeare you might as well sit down again.

183

THE PLAY WAY

boys would be qiiite likely to begin with the coming of Beowulf
to the land of Hrothgar. But as Beowulf is coming to help
Hrothgar against the demon Grendel, who has teen carrying
off his men, it is obvious that earlier scenes must show Hrothgar
in his difBculty. Accordingly one would take as the first scene
the building of the hall Heorot, and the holding of a beer-
drinking there as a celebration. The building of the hall,
presents no difficulties in the classroom, as it may be thought
although it is best (if you have to avoid making a noise, out of
consideration for the neighbouring classes) to repair to the
gymnasium or some empty place afar off. Of course you do
not dwell in the hall you build ! We simply stood a few benches
on end to represent the trees of the forest. Then the king
entered and, after announcing in a fine speech his intention of
building a great hall, directed his men to hew down the trees.
This they soon accomplished, and then two men to each log
bore away the timber, chanting a song as they went. If you
wish to show the actual building operations they are easily
represented by going through the motions of sawing, planing,
and so on, but as there is but small opportunity for anything
of purpose to be said at this point it is best to set your second
scene as the interior of the finished hall. But note, in passing,
that when your playboys become expert in acting and play-
making they will, at such a jimcture as this, interpolate a comic
scene in which the builders rag one another and make comments
upon life in general. This interpolated comic scene is of course
borrowed from Shakespeare as instanced in the porter in
" Macbeth," and the grave-digger in " Hamlet." But the
tradition goes back to the Miracle Plays, and further.

During this second scene Hrothgar, the king, makes a great
speech, inaugurating the hall and foreteUing many a feast
therein and the prospect of long and happy days. Then the
minstrel comes forward and chants a lay* in praise of Hrothgar

* As all this actually took place it is possible to state that a boy
tan chant an extempore lay. Beowulf was dramatized in the first
instance by Form lib (average age about 12). No book was used.
The story was told by the master, first as a whole and then in the sections
as required in detail for each scene. Certain simple elements of the
style, such as alliteration, were explained. And for the purposes of
the lay balance of phrasing was also mentioned. Ttus and other chants
184

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

and the new dwelling, tells of other noble kings and other jBne
halls, and praises Hrothgar and Heorot above them all. A
touch of irony may fitly be introduced here. It would be well
in keeping with the spirit of a minstrel's lay, if he should refer
to the troubles and disasters which had overcome those kings
and those castles. This touch will actually be found in the
epic, where it is foretold that Heorot would end by fire.

Now, of course, the boys prepare to sleep upon the benches,
and Grendel draws on his huge fur gloves (his claws) in view
of a predatory onslaught. But the master intervenes. This
is not the way to tell a story dramatically. They are in too
much of a hurry to reach the climax. But how are we to delay
the coming of Grendel and give Hrothgar and his men at least
a few days of peace in their new hall ? Obviously by interpolating
a scene in some other place, and introducing some other charac-
ters of the story. It might be well to show Beowulf at home
in the court of Hygelac ; or even to have a scene of the mumbling
and grumbling of Grendel and his dam over a few well-gnawed
bones, which would prepare us for the coming raid upon Heorot.

Some such planning and direction of the dramatized story
is essential. But, as I have said, it may be that the master
has not a previous knowledge of this craft nor a ready knack
of invention. In that case the affair will be a fiasco, or at best
a muddle-through on the part of the boys.

Well, these things can be learnt. One is not bom with a
working knowledge of playmaking and dramatic conventions.
We have learnt all we know in this kind from Shakespeare.
The best way to make a start in classroom acting is to take a
play of Shakespeare and act it. The boys will there find that
everything is set down for them in the book.

After having performed but one play they will be more at
ease in moving about the classroom, and consequently more
able to devise play-methods of studying matters which are not
in themselves dramatic.

were distinctly rhythmical, but we used no melody at this time. Folk-
airs, especially chanteys, might be introduced with excellent effect.
For an example of the style of speech attained by the boys in this ex-
periment see Perse Playbooks, No. 4, pp. 124, 125. The other Beowulf
pieces in that book belong to a different occasion.

185

THE PLAY WAY

However young the boys may be, provided they are over
ten, a Shakespeare play is the most useful beginning.* Some
teachers are afraid of the difficulties of the language. This is
perhaps because they have been accustomed to look out for
difficulties in the subjects they teach, and to base their instruc-
tions principally upon such things.f If the teacher has had to
prepare his boys for examinations this will certainly be the case.
But if the chief interest of the boys is centred in the story of
the play as shown in the action and the speeches of the charac-
ters, it will be found afterwards that the plot of the play has
been perfectly well imderstood, and that the characters have
become familiar friends. And what, after all, could you desire
further of a small boy's first study of Shakespeare ? Of course
there may be scores of matters left untouched which might
have been made the subject-matter of the whole term's lessons.
But if your time is limited you must decide between the play
and these unessential matters. If you decide on acting, then
" the play's the thing," and the " might have beens " can for
the moment be disregarded.

If time allows, the numerous matters of study connected with
a play of Shakespeare can be dealt with afterwards. Although
we have always made it our first care to act the play simply as
a play, even the lowest forms have been taught many things
connected with the life and times of Shakespeare, either in a
few words in passing or in lessons set apart. We have of course
made a point of understanding the historical events upon which
" Henry V " or " Richard II " are based ; and the boys them-
selves have given lectures on such subjects as " The Colossus,"
" Tudor Architecture," " Domestic Life in Shakespeare's
Time," J "Nine Men's Morris," "Fairies and Witches,"
" Rogues and Vagabonds," " The Globe Theatre," and so on.
We have even on occasion gone very thoroughly into the study
of the three authentic portraits of Shakespeare. The study of
blank verse metre has also been undertaken in connexion with

* For boys under ten the traditional ballads afford the best material
for dramatization.

t Cf. p. 195.

X A verbatim report of this lecture is given in Perse Playbooks
No. 4.
186

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

every play, not idly, but for use in the boys' own poems and
playmaking. So far from overlooking or ignoring the intel-
lectual and learned side of Shakespeare study, we have gone
most thoroughly into every branch of it, whether in the literary
aspect, the archaiological aspect, the aspect of the craftsman-
ship of dramatic art, or the mere technicalities of stage procedure.
But these things were not all huddled together in a mess during
the study of one play. Whatever the master knew in this
" subject " he taught, sometimes discoursing throughout a
whole period to the fourth form on the meaning of tragedy,
sometimes entertaining Ilia by comparisons between the art
of Elizabethan days and the music-halls and cinemas and
concerts of our own time, sometimes merely chatting about
living actors and their ways, and what they had said in this or
that Shakespearean connexion. But all this was based upon,
and most intimately bound up with, the actual liviiig familiarity
which the boys had made with the plays by acting them. A
man or a boy who has acted through a play of Shakespeare will
not require any bidding to listen to a learned discoiurse upon
that play, its characters, its plot, and its illustrations of the
dramatist's skill in the use of stage conventions. A fellow so
primed with the means of appreciative study as this acting
gives simply demands lectures by a master. But the lectures
to be interesting, to be imderstood, to be effective as instruction,
must be given in response to a demand. They must come
after a familiarity with the subject-matter of the play has
whetted the appetite for closer study. Hunger is the best
sauce, but surfeit ruins the digestion.

With a play to act and all these humanist studies to be
undertaken in connexion with it, it will easily be understood
how a playmaster is not only wiling to ignore parsing, para-
phrasing, and the cramming of notes and introductions,* but
feels himself in a position to dispute with (and even to ridicule)
those who give all their attention to such things. The impor-
tant thing about the study of Shakespeare on the Play Way is

* I need hardly say that I have obtained much help from the schol-
arly notes of the late Dr. Aldis Wright. But such notes are not adapted
for class use. They should be studied by the teacher, and only put
into a bov's hands if he is preparing for a lecture or an essay.

187

THE PLAY WAY

that the play must be acted first, acted two or three times if
possible. And while this acting is going on all matters which
do not forward the acting must be held in suspension.

But one must not too hastily cast aside in the acting lessons
all that does not immediately concern the story of the play
and the actors. Although we shall at first refrain from any
detailed study of words and phrases, and any pedantic investi-
gation into the meaning of every allegory, allusion, metaphor,
or reference to mythology, we must nevertheless remember
that this is a play which we are acting, and not merely a tale
which we are reading aloud. And the acting of a play demands
the consideration of many things in addition to the story and
the persons. So long as the boys were only allowed to sit in
their desks and read in turn, even the stage directions were of
no accoimt, but so soon as they begin acting everything is
changed.

There must be a stage of some sort, even if it is but a space
cleared of desks and left quite bare. There must be recognized
entrances and exits. Then you must consider what you propose
to do about scenery and costume and properties. Above all
there is the acting itself, for the performance of a play does not
consist of reading speeches in rotation.

Now it happens that the study of Shakespeare is full of
helpful instruction in these very matters ; and this, quite apart
from their unapproachable literary value, is an excellent reason
for starting with the plays of Shakespeare, however difficult
they may seem at first sight, rather than pottering about with
that feeble amateur rubbish which is sometimes sent to one on
approval.

Since " the dramatic method of teaching " first came into
notice, publishers have turned out numerous books of " Plays
for Schools," not so much to meet a demand as in the hope of
creating one. The playlets thus offered to us are generally
written by inexperienced schoohnistresses, and have no spark
of literary value nor any dramatic power whatever. To shun
Shakespeare for his difficulty, and fall into the accommodating
laps of these dear ladies would indeed be a sorry descent.

In discussing educational method one ought perhaps to take
for granted that the teacher at least knows his subject. But
188

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

there are many ways of being learned in a subject so extensive
as Shakespeare. The Shakespearean learning of most school-
masters is of an exclusively literary kind, and in consequence
they find themselves none too well equipped to direct the study
of a Shakespeare play in any active form.

Indeed, it may be stated (for there is nothing to be gained
and much to lose by concealing the fact) that most teachers
bother their classes with word-study, and the pursuit of
references to gods and heroes, and the solution of other riddles,
simply because they have not the requisite knowledge safely
to leave these academic questions and deal with what really
is proper to the study of a Shakespeare play.

It will therefore be in place to describe fully the manner in
which our playboys have been trained to look to the play for
most of what they require, and in all things appertaining to the
production to trust to Shakespeare himself. For though he is
generally regarded as a happy-go-lucky playwright who achieved
all his success by some slapdash method vouchsafed only to
genius, Shakespeare has nevertheless stood ever before us
players as a model of the most perfect yet unobtrusive crafts-
manship.

The chief point about a stage-play is that it is meant to be
played on a stage. Therefore, whether you are studying some-
one else's play or making one of your own, you at once seek
after a stage. And if a wicked generation determine that no
stage be given you, you fall back upon the natural resources
of the player, and make-believe a stage : fashion a heaven in
hell's despite, and proceed with your playing maugre the un-
godly.

Acting on an imaginary stage is not so impossible as it may
appear. It is in fact the invariable custom of the playboys in
the classroom.*' We invented the imaginary stage because our
thorough study of Shakespeare on the Play Way demanded

* For the last two terms of our four years' course we did have a
Uttle school stage. We designed it to suit our Elizabethan methods of
production, and made great use of it. The story of our experiences
with this playhouse, which we called The Mummery, would be very
interesting to tell, but as the work of most of my readers is necessarily
confined to the classroom, only classroom acting shall be considered in
this chapter.

18»

THE PLAY WA\

an Elizabethan setting, and this we could only supply in our
imagination.

The imaginary stage we use for the study of Shakespeare
in the classroom is naturally that of an Elizabethan playhouse.
This was not the picture stage familiar at the present day, with
its picture-frame proscenium arch, its front curtain, and its
footlights, but the platform stage, which happily is being re-
introduced, with its natural accompaniments of diffused light-
ing, and with hangings and other decoration in place of painted
canvas scenery.*

All the while the boys are playing Shakespeare in the class-
room they consider themselves subject to most of the conditions
of an Elizabethan playhouse stage, and they observe the con-
ventions which such a setting would require. This method of
acting Shakespeare is carried out very thoroughly. Yet the
reader must not hastily conclude with a chuckle that we are as
academic about our stage conventions as are any of the pedants
we abuse about their book-lore.

Some one may say that the conventions are of small account,
and that a Shakespeare play is just as valuable a hterary study
when these are ignored. This is a false and ignorant view.
For the Shakespeare plays were wrought with such care to fit
the Elizabethan conditions of stage production that to leave this
fact out of accoimt is to produce nothing but a travesty of the
plays. Without a full respect for these conventions you do
not get the real Shakespeare at all, but a modern translation.
The truth of this will be made apparent later.

That is the first reason for acting the plays in the Elizabethan
manner. But from the point of view of classroom production
there are many other reasons. When one of the Littlemen is
cast to play Titania, he and his companions will realize the

* The researches of E. K. Chambers, William Poel, W. J. Lawrence,
and many others have established beyond any reasonable doubt the
shape of an Elizabethan playhouse stage and the conditions that governed
it. Many readers will have seen Granville Barker's recent London
productions in which a front stage was used, though the shows were
not Elizabethan in many other respects. The above-mentioned writers
ehould be consulted, but the reader is warned against unscholarly
treatises on the subject. The chapter in the " Cambridge History of
Literature," for example, is of little value for our purpose.
190

The Witches and Hecate in •■ Macbeth

[Set" fi'fit-iHjte on p. IIH

i^'u^J'A.^^i

The Three Murderers in " Macbeth"

|S(\e foot-note on p. I'Jl

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

fairy queen more truly in the rich robes woven of their own
fancy than they could do were she decked out in the poor
tinsel makeshift so painfully familiar in school performances.*

A boy reading a play from the book for the first time might
be expected at most to imderstand the sense of the words, but
not to express it at all. And this is what happens when the
play is undertaken in the spelling-bee manner of a literary
society, the boys all sitting in the stocks and spouting in turn.
But by letting them act the scenes you will fimd that they not
only take in the sense, but bring it out.

Action requires its fit setting. Shakespeare, having no
artificial stage pictures to rely upon as a background, described
the necessary scenery in the words of the play. The classroom
has no painted canvas background either, and so the boys
welcome and appreciate that wonderful word-painting. For
the active imagination of the poet-player the beauty of the
lines calls up a far more satisfying surrounding than a painted
cloth can do, even when aided by lights and music.

A good playwright not oijy realizes that he must build
his play in accordance with the conditions of the stage, but,
what is far more important, he relies for some of his neatest
touches, and some of his finest effects, on those very conven-
tions which would hamper a weaker craftsman. A playboy
who has been trained to observe this in the models set before
him, and to try it for himself in his own work, will never consent
to make sensational departures from accepted rule, nor to
lean upon empty artificial aids. Consider the question of
scenery. I do not say that Shakespeare would not have used

* In The Mummery we had a grand collection of costumes and
properties, but while we were confined to the classroom we made use
of anything we could lay our hands on. One or two boys brought
short cloaks, a blanket turned up from somewhere, and some scout
hats were lent. There was also an indescribable piece of red cloth which
did duty as every imaginable class of apparel. For properties we had
our Morris-dancing sticks and swords — the iron swords of the Kirkby
dance were especially favoured — ^and aU the usual appartus of a class-
room, such as desks, benches, books, chalk-box, easel, blackboard, wall-
map, window-blind, cord, duster, and waste-paper basket. If any class
of playboys cannot stage a play with such a wealth of material they
deserve to be spoon-fed.

191

THE PLAY WAY

painted scenery if it had been obtainable. I believe he was
the kind of craftsman who would be glad to make the best use
of any likely aid that came his way. But I do say, that it was
more fortunate for a man of his poetical powers, and incal-
culably a greater gain to poetry and to drama, that there was
not any realistic scenery available in the form of painted canvas.
Shakespeare's plays contain almost as much descriptive poetry
as they do speeches in character — ^the third element being the
proverbial reflections and moralizings which so disturbed Mr.
Bernard Shaw. There is a two-fold reason for this full flood
of poetry. In the first place, the man Shakespeare was full
of that power of imagery and melodious expression which kept
overflowing in the splendour of rare description and the majesty
of high-soimding lines. And, secondly, it was necessary to
supply the " scenery." Had the stage been set about with
great drop-curtains, frameworks of canvas, and painted cloths
upon which the scenes were represented, the descriptive
passages which now stand as half the beauty of the plays would
have been either uimecessary or incongruous. Perhaps I shall
be reminded that those same plays are staged to-day in a full
setting of realistic paintings, and lighted by an ingenious
mechanism. But, for those of us who can still hear with our
ears and see with the eyes of imagination that far finer setting
which is given in the lines, it is all this scenery and lime-
lighting which are now both imnecessary and incongruous.
When Horatio says :

But look, the morn in russet mantle clad
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill,

is not all said ? Is it not unnecessary to flash about with
pink limes — incongruous, moreover, to a ridiculous degree
to those who know that " russet " here means grey, and
not red at all ? And what of the " mantle " and the " dew " ?
Since the thing cannot be adequately done with scenery,
why not rely upon a simple decorative setting and permit
the onlookers to do as Shakespeare directed in the prologue to
" Henry V " ?

Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
192

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

Again, what artificial representation can do more than spoil
Romeo's despairing note :

Look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east :
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops :
I must begone and live, or stay and die.

It is noteworthy that there is here as much of the gladness
of dawn as there is of despair. " Candles," " tiptoe " ; strange
that these actual words should widen and extend the bounds
of the imagined scene, while a back-cloth streaked with painted
clouds can only narrow it. Not strange at all ; these words,
though one is a metaphor of indoors, and the other a personi-
fication, are bred in the bone of the play, while the canvas
back-cloth is a piece of stupid impertinence.

Of course it is not easy for a modem audience thus to
fancy for themselves the imagery from the words. But con-
temporary stage productions give us no chance to try it Who
can enjoy a soundless rehearsal of a symphony in his head
while a restaiu-ant band is celebrating musical comedy airs ?
But if some one should kill all the professional managers,
producers, and scene-painters, our living actors could at once
play Shakespeare to us as he should be played. It has been
done in a hole-and-corner sort of way, time and again. The
present duty of all who are interested in the restoration of the
real drama is to fight in favour of some such training as I hav*
advocated in connexion with the Play Way in the classroom.

The putting of all these passages of descriptive poetry into
the mouths of the persons of the drama has naturally
had a noticeable effect upon the characters as they appear
to us. Thus, many literary critics, not being aware that
stage conventions have an influence upon the plays, have
conceived a very lop-sided view of Shakespeare's characters.
Shakespeare himself was a poet, and many of his chief
creations are poets too ; but not by any means can every one
in the plays who utters poetry be claimed a poet. For its
own sake the romantic drama cannot stoop to represent in
a realistic manner the speech of all its minor personages. And

N 193

THE PLAY WAY

in many of the lines the characters, both high and low, are
but serving the office of scene-shifters, so to say.

In contrast to such a scene-painting as Oberon's description
of the bower of the Fairy Queen,

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,

consider those gentlemen in shirt-sleeves whom one sometimes
sees rushing on just as the scene-drop comes down. How flurried
they are about their packing-cases, and their shrubs and their
ivy twigs. Dear souls ! so eager, and only to spoil the play.
And as the curtain goes up again twenty minutes later — ^that
curtain with its pretty chocolate-box picture of fountains
and naked nymphs — ^there again we mark a pair of aproned
legs scuttling away into the wings. Pathetic pretence at art.

The boys may safely be left to body forth the fancies of
Shakespeare without any but the most simple appUances.
One of the Littlemen in shorts and a jersey showed a charm-
ing appreciation of Titania — ^always an unsatisfactory part
when seen on the stage. By the very enchantment of his
bearing one could see that he pictured for himself the green
woodland simk in the deep blue night, and went not unattended
by a meiny of his own calling up, a retinue of sprites and fays.

Many who have forgotten their childhood will be surprised
to see from the following how completely the Littlemen
identify themselves with the persons they play. We were
turning over Arthur Rackham's illustrations to "A Mid-
summer Night's Dream " and nearly every page called forth
some arresting comment, such as this from Titania : " 0,
look at the tiny pages holding up my train " ; or thi^, " 0,
sir, siurely I shouldn't be wearing a kind of ball-dress in the
woods " ; or this, with delight from the whole group when
one of Bottom's fellows was found pictured with a comical
grimace, " Just look at Billy ! " This interesting trait of
child psychology (really to imagine oneself living as a character
seen or heard of in a picture or a story) is the subject of that
chapter " Its Walls were as of Jasper " in Kenneth Grahame's
" Dream Days."

A visitor inquired of me recently, " What do you do with
a play of Shakespeare?" "Act it," I replied. "What else
194

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

can you do with a play ? " What the old-fashioned pedant
could do to a play of Shakespeare is too well known to bear
relation, but, incredible though it may seem, it is still rare
to find acting the principal means of dealing with plays in
school. Teachers stiU compel their pupils to examine minutely
a play they have not even read as a story. Here is a paragraph
from " Notes on the Teaching of English in the Lower Middles,"
at Rugby, published in 1914 :

" A reading lesson, when the book is a play, proceeds as
follows : the Master reads aloud himself, the boys all follow-
ing. He reads as dramatically as possible, exaggerating his
effects, taking ells himself in order to encourage the boys to
try an inch. WTien he has read twenty or thirty lines the
work begins. The meaning is examined : dug out of the
words, torn out of the idioms, enticed out of the allusions.
Every bush is beaten, and hares that start up, whether his-
torical, mythological, moral, geographical, political, etymolo-
gical, architectural, or ecclesiastical, are pursued, and, if
possible, caught. All this must be done by the Form, and
the Master should play the part of huntsman while they are
hounds. . . ." Doubtless, these hounds are bred out of the
Spartan kind. Alas, poor " Lower Middles." " As soon as
a scene has been read intensively in this way, the parts are
assigned to readers, the others shut their books, and it is read
dramatically with any amount of coaching in emphasis and
inflexion by the Master. . . . When, in the coxurse of a fortnight
or ten days, a whole act has been finished, it is read right
through dramatically." But then, surely, it is too late. As
well hand over your dog to be hanged, drawn, quartered, tarred
and feathered, and then whistle him out for a run ! One play
vivisected in this manner at the school referred to was no other
than " Twelfth Night." One recalls Toby's " Tut, there's Ufe
in't, man." And we can fancy the "Lower Middles" over-
looking the opening line,

If music be the food of love, play on,

and chanting in chorus :

Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting.
The appetite may sicken and so die.

195

THE PLAY WAY

If the meaning has been " enticed " out of the allusion to
" fell and cruel hounds " which occurs in Orsino's second speech,
this Master at Rugby knows what he risks as huntsman of such
fearful wild-fowl. Ecclesiastical hare, forsooth I

When a teacher says that in his treatment of Shakespeare
" the parts are assigned and the play read dramatically,"
this generally means no more than the boys reading in turns
while seated in their desks. I insist that to ignore action is
to ignore the play. A book in the hand is not a very serious
impediment to a boy who has the chance to stab some one,
or to storm a city wall. The writer I have quoted actually
applies to school lessons what Disraeli said of public dinners,
" They are meant to be dull." So we must allow that he is
lot unaware of the boredom necessarily incurred by his strange
partiality for pursuing the architectural and political hare
in the study of a Shakespearean comedy. The Play Way
on the other hand, desires to avoid unnecessary dullness, so
the playboys are allowed to make their first acquaintance
of the play in the manner that most appeals to them. Thus
they do all the necessary work of their own accord.

Two episodes in class one day were the occasion of great
merriment. Evidently the mister was slack or overfull of
self -affairs, for Portia, about to enter with the Prince of Arragon,
foimd herself unattended. Thereupon, striking a most comical
attitude to suggest the offended dame, the playboy observed
in character, " And whereas my train ? " — ^just as a prim lady
on finding the servants in bed in the morning might ask, " What
is the meaning of this, pray ? " But the mister got his own
back before the end of that scene. When Arragon opens the
silver casket he should start back amazed ; and Portia should
say, " Too long a pause for that which you find there." The
mister had looked ahead ; and when the Hd of the chalk-box
was drawn open there appeared such a startling " portrait
of a blinking idiot " that Portia's whole retinue burst into
shouts of laughter. Such episodes do not spoil the comedy
for the boys, but add to its fun ; and there is no need to dig
the meaning out of the words, tear it out of the idioms, or
entice it out of the allusions. Anything not readily intelligible
is suffered to go by at the first reading, unless the players get
196

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

hung up over a difficulty. In that case the master gives a
brief explanation, and on they go.

In support of my contention that the boys do really feel
the play when they act it in school, it may perhaps be allowable
to quote the report of an onlooker which appeared a while back
in a London paper. " Remember how you were taught
Shakespeare at school, the dreary reading of a dull play, the
dreary explanations of the meaning of obscure words, the
lifeless recitation of speeches, and then consider this : ' Well,
Jones,' said the master, ' you're producer, I'll leave it to you.'
Then the master retired to the back of the room, while the
sacred area roimd his desk was invaded by Jones and his cast.
And then they put their backs into it with a vengeance. They
read their parts from the book so well that they had to be
pulled up only occasionally by the master or by the youthful
Jones. They acted too, and imconunonly well. The great
scene was the charge into the breach of Harfleur. To my
astonishment I realized that there was actually going to be
a fight in the classroom of a school. I saw half a dozen boys
armed with sticks take up a position behind the master's desk,
and then I saw Jones mounted on a bench urging his followers
on to the attack. In a great voice he reminded them of their
duty, and at the word of command a dozen boys charged the
little force holding the master's desk. In a moment the class-
room was filled with the sound of blows, while the master
looked on smihng. Twice the charge was repeated, and even
a third time did the enthusiastic Jones cry aloud :

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or close the wall up with our English dead I

But at last the master thought there had been fighting enough.
* Steady, Jones,' he said. ' You can make the speech, but we
don't want another charge.' Jones looked round reproachfully."
It is only to be expected that the boys will do justice to
noisy heroics. But it is not generally recognized that by
letting them act the plays from the beginning you make it
possible for boys under fifteen to appreciate some of the most
difficult and moving passages of tragedy. To know this as
a fact surely gives great support to my belief that a true feeling

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THE PLAY WAY

jof art values may be expected to arise out of the trial practice of
the arts. Two instances may be given.

The fourth form having read most of the Shakespeare plays
usually done in school, the bold experiment was tried of intro-
ducing " Hamlet." It is not so bold if you are to treat it as
archaeology, but as a pkiy for boys of fourteen there is a fair
risk of the motive, the passion of Hamlet, being unappreciated.
We came to Hamlet's interview with his mother. The four-
teen-year-old boy who played Hanolet had read over the scene
beforehand, but there had been no coaching. True, he had
been with me to see Mr. Poel's production at the Little Theatre,
but his rendering of the scene was qtiite unlike Mr. Esme
Percy's fine interpretation. There is no doubt in my own
mind — ^and this is the remarkable thing — ^that the boy inter-
preted the words spontaneously. In fact he said afterwards
that he " made it up as he went along." Hamlet began the
scene with an air of assumed madness, snapping out the words
in a high-pitched voice. But with " Come, come, and sit
you down," his whole bearing changed to suit his altered
purpose. He became outwardly calm, but spoke in a tense
voice full of restrained excitement. Just that voice, in fact,
which so frightened the Queen that she cried out on murder.
At this point the death of Polonius provided, of course, an
exciting sensation for the class. But, after that, nothing else
was thought of but the passion of Hamlet. The boys all
watching in breathless interest. No one moved in his seat
It is a pity that the boy playing the Queen became uncon-
sciously an onlooker also, and simply walked through his part.
A change from pathos in " This was your husband," to contempt
in " This is your husband " — ^no easy thing for a boy to express
— ^was very effective, and the tone in " Ha ! have you eyes ? "
rose to a kind of shriek, which seemed to make clear once and
for all that the madness of Hamlet was neither real madness
nor assumed, but hysteria. Just before the Ghost appeared
Hamlet was openly ranting, shouting and throwing his arms
about. But now he fell suddenly to his knees, bent low his
head and prayed in a hushed voice :

Save me and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards 1
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ACTING SHAKESPEARE

And when he crouched right low upon the ground, and moaned
appealingly, " Do not look upon me," I really almost wished
Polonius might have come to life to break the tension with
" Look whether he has not turned colours, and has tears in's
eyes. — ^Pray you no more."
Yet when the Queen said,

O, Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain !

he had spied enough of Hamlet's next attitude not to speak
sympathetically ; but assiuned again his high-pitched tone of
madness, and rapped out his lines as before. A school edition has
to cut most of what remains of this scene. But the concluding
words appealed to me as much as anything. The dead body
could not be dragged along the floor, but though Polonius
arose and walked out by Hamlet's side no one laughed. And
Hamlet, all his excitement gone, piped in a high, mad, jaunty
voice, " Good-night, mother." It was diabolical.

The other boys remained sitting and no one spoke a word.
The atmosphere showed that no comment was needed, so I
simply praised it as the finest piece of work I had ever seen
in the school ; and the class dispersed.

Another instance of the playboys' appreciation of both
comedy and tragedy was seen in " Richard II," a play which
they thoroughly enjoyed in Form Ilia (age 13). A favourite
scene was the hsts at Coventry, which they played quite half
a dozen times. The King, surroimded by his court, was seated
high aloft on a chair perched on top of my desk, and there was
much heraldic display. The champions had each a squire to
bear his shield, and a herald with a scroll to read his challenge.
The mister, acting the part of the Marshal, elaborated the
business every time, and required more and more performers,
until at last the master alone remained sitting in the stocks.
They had much fun out of old York, who was played as a
fussy old gentleman, and nicknamed " Boots " from his idiotic
behaviour in the fifth act. The murder of Richard was carried
out with some vigour. After the King had slain the two
servants, and Exton was about to run him through, the mister,
who had consulted Holinshed's account in a note in another
edition, interrupted to insist that Exton must stand on the

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THE PLAY WAY

chair and smash the King's head from above. Richard in his
turn insisted, for the sake of the climax, on the two servants
rising to be slain again. The menials rose and dusted themselves.
Exton blundered again, so Richard, who resolutely refused
to be dispatched unless the deed were done well, had the
whole business repeated, servants and all — ^he had now con-
trived to get in six slaughters for the two of them ! Last of
all the King died also.

The triumph came at the very close. While Bolingbroke
was winding up his affairs, and collecting the heads of traitors,
the ingenious mister made ready the funeral procession. A
blackboard easel was brought out, and thereon, to be borne
in by four stalwarts shoulder-high, was laid the body of King
Richard. It was supremely ridiculous, because the bearers
were of different heights, and the body much in peril of rolling
off. But I called a hush, and we all proceeded to play the
finale seriously. Exton and Bolingbroke spoke with feeling,
and the rest were now perfectly solemn. On the words,

March sadly after ; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier,

the bearers elaborately turned about, and the coffin was borne
away foot foremost. Bolingbroke stepped down from the
dais sceptre in hand, and the lords attendant followed in pairs,
each with his bare sword resting on his arm. Poor Exton
shuffled hopelessly on behind. The door was opened, and
very slowly and solemnly the procession of twenty passed out
of the room. I was left alone with a visitor. We were both
absurdly impressed. Without scenery, lighting, costume, music
or any other aid but the thoughts which are able to piece out
all imperfections, and even to deck the obsequies of a kiag,
these playboys out of the spontaneity of their hearts had staged
us a tragedy.

A moment later in the passage the dead King came to the
ground with a flop, and as the easel was replaced in the corner
they all rushed in to know what I thought of it. " Stop this
noise," said the mister. " Shut, the door, and sit down at
once."

Stage conditions must of course be studied in connexiba
200

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

■with the acting of a play. When the third form say, begins
to act "The Merchant of Venice," their attention is called
to an imaginary line drawn across the floor-space they are
using. This line divides the two-thirds in front from the third
at the back. It soon wants a name, so you call it the " curtain
or " traverse." Some boy is sure to protest that the curtain
ought to be in the very front. He can then be told, not only
that the stage for which Shakespeare wrote was different from
those we have now, but also that this fact made a great differ-
ence to the plays themselves, as he shall see. Many questions
arise at once, but we imdertake that such of them as the
performance does not answer for itself shall be dealt with at
the end of the lesson. All the rules of the game are at first
known only to the master. If he insists on the actors keeping
in front of the traverse line throughout the first scene, their
interest is at once aroused. Whenever I have opened the
performance in this way — ^and we always read " The Merchant "
in nib — several boys not acting at the moment have, by
turning over to the next scene, discovered why the imaginary
curtain was kept shut. Once a boy called out excitedly, " O,
I see, Portia's house is hidden behind there." " There " was,
of course, nothing more substantial than the imaginary curtain.
Then while Bassanio is telling Antonio,

In Belmont is a lady richly left,

the mister quietly ushers his Portia and Nerissa into a corner at
the back, whence they are ready to walk on as soon as the first
scene is ended. The class easily imderstands that no curtain
comes down at the end of Scene I. Instead, the traverse
is now declared open, and the master explains that the
Street in Venice disappears and the whole stage becomes
Belmont. The boys are not quite ready for this. Some have
convinced their imaginations that this is a street. They have
fancied houses, and the canal, and the masts of shipping in
the distance. If any teacher doubt this — and many teachers
behave as though they doubted all the powers of their pupils
— ^let him get this opening scene played thus by a group of boys,
and then allow them to talk about it. After they have been
at pains to construct such a complete setting it appears rather

201

THE PLAY WAY

cool to clear this picture all away upon the opening of an
imaginary curtain behind ; and start all over again, this time
to picture the interior of a palace. For a moment it seems as
though they might dispute the plausibility of the change
demanded. For, strange to relate, the playboys are permitted
to have a say in the conduct of a lesson which, after all, is
being given solely for their benefit. It seems as if they might
be indisposed to grant what Coleridge calls " that willing
suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes
poetic faith." So the master seeks to justify the dramatist
by asking the boys whence they obtained their picture of the
first scene. They admit that Antonio and his friends suggested
it in what they said, and one boy actually gives Salarino all
the credit for the ships ; which, if you know the play well,
you will easily understand. It is now a simple matter to suggest
that the gentlemen have taken away with them the street-
stuff they had brought. They think. One presently asks :
" Is the scenery mixed up with the actors ? " And another,
not necessarily the master, replies : " No, the scenery is given
in the lines."

On the opening of the curtain, Portia and Nerissa are ex-
pected in their turn to suggest another setting. But they
do not seem to give any very definite help ; and the onlookers
are clearly more sparing of their fancy over the second scene,
and do not localize it at all definitely. Some are for a boudoir,
some for a garden. Discussion springs up again. At such
an early occasion in the play discussion should not be too
ruthlessly checked. The playboys have still to master the
conventions. One protests that neither Portia nor Nerissa
has told us " where they are.' The master asks, " Where
do you think they are ? " " At Belmont," comes the reply
in chorus. That is all we know, and all we need to know.

Already, by the conclusion of the second scene, the master's
aid in this matter of " scenery " is no longer required. The
playboys have grasped the first rules of the game. While the
mister goes through the motions of closing the traverse — ^you
must " do it in action " lest the imaginary fittings be forgotten
and the play marred — ^Bassanio walks on to the front stage in
company with Shylock. At once the onlookers, already more
202

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

than audience now, and almost equivalent to a chorus, smile
knowingly to themselves as they recognize that Bassanio is
bringing back the street, with the rigging of ships in the back-
ground. If he were not, you may be sure that Shakespeare
would have made clear the change of locality. And the play
boys are now ready to give careful heed to learn whether
Shylock will lend Bassanio the " three thousand ducats " of
which he keeps muttering to himself. For however familiar
the story may be to some of us it is as well to remember that
children are not bom knowing the plot of " The Merchant
of Venice."

But the scene-openings of this play are not by any means
the easiest to cope with. I have just shown one difficulty
at the very start : the audience having been prepared already
for the appearance of Portia at Belmont, no more in the way
of explanation is deemed necessary by the dramatist when
she is shown. His concern now is to get the matter of the
caskets introduced as soon as possible ; which he does with
no little skill. But "The Merchant of Venice" does furnish
an excellent example of the alternation of scenes on the Eliza-
bethan stage. Throughout the first three acts the scenes are
laid in Belmont or in a Venetian street. Venice is always on
the front stage ; Belmont always on the back. This makes
your exposition of the elementary principles of Elizabethan
stage-craft quite a simple undertaking. A grasp of the " alter-
nation theory " may not at first sight appear to have any
particular value. But in addition to making the story clear,
it directs the interest of the boys to the constructive side of
the artist's work. It is also an extremely useful asset in their
own playmaking.

Here, then, are matters worthy of consideration when you
take up the reading of a Shakespearean play in the classroom.
The pursuit of hares, " whether historical, mythological, moral,
geographical, political, etymological, architectiiral, or ecclesi-
astical," not only bores the class, but distracts their attention
from the very subject they are called upon to study. And
the pedant alone knows how difficult it is to hold the attention
of the boys by the system of teaching which prevails every-
where at the present time. The Play Way is not a collection

203

THE PLAY WAY

of schemes for keeping small boys entertained during school-
hours, without reference to the subject-matter of their lessons.
On the contrary, it is the main principle of the Play Way that
you shall get right to the heart of the matter you have in hand
and then do actively wfiai your interest bids, as the necessity
of the case demands. If you have a play in hand, and get to
the heart of the matter, you "will find that your interest bids
you act it. If you do not find this, you are not yet at the heart
of the play. And the necessity of the case requires that you
get some knowledge of the conditions in relation to which this
particular play was wrought actable.

Accordingly the play-method allows the master or the boys
to hold up the dramatic narration of the story from time to
time. But these interruptions only occur often at the beginning
and become less and less frequent as the boys' grasp of the
Elizabethan stage convention makes comment more rarely
necessary. When a proffered remark is obviously on some
point now quite familiar to the whole class it may with more
gain than damage be suppressed. The notable distinction
between the two methods is this. The hunting method, as
approved and practised at Rugby and most other schools,
is off the point at every interruption. The plan upon which
the whole himting method is founded — ^that of taking a slice
of thirty lines or so and proceeding to mince it into an un-
recognizable slush — ^is in itself enough to kill the play. But
the interruptions made by the playboys serve only, by rais-
ing the discussion of essential questions, to enhance the value
of the whole study.

In many of the plays the scene-openings are not only very
carefully localized, but they serve also to make the author's
purpose clear by explaining the plot and characters, precisely
at that point where exposition is necessary. Look at Act I
of " Twelfth Night." * You must, of course, always ignore the
printed stage directions, which, with a few exceptions, do not
appear in the First Folio. Orsino partly introduces himself,
and he and Valentine clear the way for Olivia. But the second
scene introduces Viola. So, to save confusion, the place, the

* It is hoped that the reader will take the trouble to look up the
few simple references required, and so obviate much lengthy quotation.
204

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

persons, the recent events, present circumstances, and future
possibilities are all dealt with in the utmost precision.

Viola : What country, friends, is this ?
Captain : This is Ulyria, lady.

Then they discuss her brother, and the shipwreck, the
captain, the duke, Olivia again, and Viola's own position and
prospects. Which being done they go off. They only came
on to do that. The third scene opens with the remarks of a
stout and jovial person, who is addressed as Sir Toby, referring
to his niece, who is lamenting the death of her brother. This
is the third time we have heard about the lamented brother,
so there can be no doubt that the niece in question is no other
than that same Lady Olivia, whom we are by now quite
anxious to look upon. She is discussed again in the fourth
scene, and only enters in the midst of scene five. In the mean-
time, since the play opened, no fewer than ten persons have
become known to us ; and the plot is well afoot. We are
all in a very good humour, and would not even notice the
escape of an astrological hare when Toby says, " Were we not
bom imder Taiirus ? "

We have not fared ill, then, with our imaginary line called
a traverse, and our scene-openings. If " Shakespeare wanted
arte " it was doubtless the kind of art typified by rare old
Ben himself, who was so stuffed up with much Greek and
more Latin that he applied the critical standard of one age to
the creative production of a totally different one, as though
the influence of intervening time (during which, as a matter
of fact, the drama of his day actually took its rise) were of small
account, and the whole new character of contemporary hfe
and art, including his own, of no account at all. The critical
standpoint of such craftsmen as Jonson, who himself confessed
that he wrote his poetry first as prose and then translated it
into metre, is not unknown among us at the present day. Any
work which shows abounding vigour and joy is, without
respect to its intrinsic worth, held undisciplined by those whose
own uninspired productions reveal their laboured mechanism
at every joint. Am I not right in saying that Shakespeare
is indulgently regarded as a rare genius who was able to rely

205

THE PLAY WAY

with glorious abandon upon the first fine careless rapture ?
Yet did he not actually copy out his lines with such a finished
care that his editors received of him scarce a blot in his papers ?
At all events, the craftsman who had that skill, in scene-
openings alone, which I have been able to illustrate, will serve
well enough as a master for my playboys. But the most
remarkable fact about Shakespeare's skill in stage-craft is the
way he tells his actors at every important moment exactly
what he wants them to do. Could anything be at once so
interesting for the boy-players to notice and so helpful to them
in their acting of the plays ? The mister in charge has only
to read the book with care to fiid all the directions Uterally
waiting for him.

In Shakespeare we have everything given, as any one may
find for himself by studying the text with a purpose. Over
and above the plot and characterization Shakespeare gives us
poetry that is not mere gush. Lorenzo brings his moonlight
with him, Macbeth wraps himself in darkness, and Romeo
points out the dawn. It is the moonlight and darkness they
want, the dawn he dreads. Who more fitly then may indicate
their presence ? As a model for playwrights (as opposed to
play-writers) it is the greatest of Shakespeare's merits that
his plays seem to have been written after rehearsal. He never
forgot his stage. You could almost " dress " the whole play
" Julius Caesar " correctly in the EUzabethan manner out of
all the hats, cloaks, shoes, daggers, nightcaps, leather aprons,
kerchiefs, tapers, letters, tools, and musical instruments that are
mentioned. And as for Caesar, are we not told both of his
nightgown and of his doublet ? Again, just before the entry of
the conspirators, Lucius tells Brutus,

Their hats are pluck'd about their ears.
And half their faces buried in their cloaks,
That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favour.*

Our playboys in consequence always enter in the muffled

* A knowledge of Shakespeare's use of the word favour by the way
and of many other apparently simple words, such as fancy, for example^
is essential to a right understanding of the plays.
206

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

guise of the traditional stage conspirators. But always in the
representations seen on the modern stage, this secretive company
strolls on bareheaded. And of course every man of them wears
a toga !

The very stage-directions and " business " ol Shakespeare's
plays can be found in the text, to say nothing of what we now
call the "programme." The nuster has only to keep alert
and he will find (quite apart from the modem editor's stage-
directions, which we always ignore) that the knockings, the
drawing of the curtain, the sewing of banquets and the taking
up of bodies are all clearly indicated. At the very first knock
on the door Macbeth says, "Whence is that knocking? "
Presently Lady Macbeth says, " I hear a knocking at the
south entry," and again, " Hark, more knocking." The porter
comes in with " Here's a knocking, indeed ! " and throughout
the scene with his " Knock, knock, knock " he makes it quite
plain that the knocking must continue.

Both Lorenzo and Jessica mention, on the occasion of
her flight, that she is dressed in boy's clothes. The curtain
which screens Portia's caskets is scarcely ever drawn apart or
together without some one saying, " Draw the curtain."

And for the current aid of the actors themselves, " Here,"
" Thus," " Yonder " are frequent hints. Characters are often
named as they enter, or they announce themselves. This is
so usual that we might almost dispense with " Enter So-and-
so." The custom reminds one of the Mummer's Play&
where the persons nearly always announce themselves with,^
" In comes I King George " or " In comes I the Fool." The
famiUar observation of the clown in the Harlequinade, " Here
we are again ! " is in the direct tradition. Of course the purpose
is to make everything quite plain to the audience, but there
is more in it than that, I am convinced. A study of these
old stage conventions would make an excellent subject for a
thesis.

It is in fact difficult for the boys to miss an intended action,
for curtsies, handskakings, pointings, and the smallest move-
ments and gestures of all kinds are actually described in the
doing. A few illustrations will make the point quite clear :
"Sit, Jessica," "Here, catch this casket," "Why dost thou

207

THE PLAY WAY

whet thy knife ? " " Eat, look you, this leek," " Nay, never
shake thy gory locks at me," " Look where it comes again,"
"There's blood upon thy face," "Who did strike out the
light ? " " This is the door— I'll make so bold to call," " Here
is the scroll of every man's name," " Here come two noble
beasts, in a man and a lion," " Well moused, Uon ! " " This
thorn-bush my thorn-bush, this dog my dog," " My tables —
it is meet I set it down," " Leave thy damnable faces and begin,"
*' Look here upon this picture and on this," " Take up the
bodies," " Go, bid the soldiers shoot."

The words themselves tell the actor what to do, and what
properties wiU be required. In fact Shakespeare is so much
at ease in instructing his players in the very text of their
speeches that he even puts stage-directions into the body of
his songs ! The reader will possibly think that such a state-
ment is pushing the case to a ridiculous extreme. But most
■convincing instances of these stage-directions in the songs
are easily given. Ariel's song, " Come unto these yellow sands,"
is from start to finish nothing but a little pageant-mister's
direction to his troupe of fairy dancers.* They are all invisible
to Ferdinand, of course, but they should appear upon the stage
nevertheless, and do as Ariel bids. They foot it featly here
and there, and cry their nursery rhyme at one another
across the stage. Instead of saying " Chorus " the mister says,
^' Sweet sprites the bmi;hen bear." Then the group which is
footing it featly " here " cries " Hark, hark ! " and the group
which is footing it featly " there " answers " Bowgh-wowgh ! "
Then the fairy mister suddenly stops his nimble prancing and
•says ,

Hark, bark ! I hear
The stTain of strutting chanticlere.

And then some little fellow behind cries " Cock-a-diddle-dowe ! "
The song is a miniature Littleman play.

He who has not tried putting himself and his players entirely
into Shakespeare's hands, and playing all his games exactly
as he directs they should be played, has missed half the fun so
generously given by this amazing craftsman.

* Cf. Perse Flaybook, No. 3, Introduction.
^8

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

Ferdinand now speaks. But he has hardly uttered ten
lines before Ariel begins again his enchantments. He sings
his song about the underwater world, and then gives his chorus
off stage the cue when to join in with their " burthen." He
says,

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,

and the chorus chimes its " Ding-dong." Then he repeats his
chanticlere phrase, " Hark, now I hear them," and the whole
choir breaks into a round of " Ding-dong, bell."

If the music were treated in a true Elizabethan manner,
and the dancing and play-business carried out as Shakespeare
most clearly directs, these two little songs would make in
themselves a most enchanting performance. All the business
is actually given in the words of the song ; but as Ferdinand
truly says, " This is no mortal business." Nowadays musicians
don't care, producers don't understand, and — ^most unkindest
cut of all — ^boys don't have the run of the stage. When children
appear at all in modem Shakespeare productions the most
you will see is a group of badly drilled amateur girls jumping
about in tennis shoes.

But my illustrations of stage-directions in the songs are
not confined to those two songs ia " The Tempest." A boy
sings a song in " The Merchant of Venice " while Bassanio is
making his speech before the caskets. It is a good plan to
have the song going on while Bassanio is speaking, in order
to drown his stodgy moralizings. At the close of his song the
boy calls for the chorus, just as Ariel did. It must have been
a boy. It was probably Ariel himself. He says :

Let us all ring fancy's knell,
I'll begin it, — ^Ding-dong, bell.

And the chorus, either on or oft the stage, takes up the cue,
and sings " Ding-dong, bell."

Remember that all the ladies-in-waiting and Portia herself
were played by boys. Is it too much to suppose that it was
the same group of boys as played with Ariel, and that they
may even have sung the same round for this "Ding-dong,
bell," as they did in the character of sea-nymphs ?

o 203

THE PLAY WAY

"I'll begin it." Could you think of any statement so
obviously a conductor's direction. It is equivalent to " Now,
all together." Yet the one is lyric utterance here and the
other is not.

In " A Midsummer Night's Dream " Oberon and Puck
spend most of their time in painting scenes, giving directions
to the actors, or explaining the play to the audience. Titania
need never be anxious whether her band of little fairy people
has been sufficiently rehearsed, because she tells them what
to do at every turn, " Fairies, skip hence," " Fairies, away."
" Come now, a roimdel and a fairy song," " Come, wait upon
him ; lead him to my bower," " Fairies, begone, and be all ways
away." And when she goes to sleep they direct their own
play, as did Ariel and his troupe, in the words of their fairy
song. At the end of the play all the little people come in with
Oberon and Titania, and " now are frolic." After what has
been shown you will not be sm:prised to find that Oberon and
Titania in their singing give most explicit directions to their
meiny of Littlemen.

Through this house give glimmerlDg light.

By the dead and drowsy Are :

Every elf and fairy sprite

Hop as light as bird from brier :

And this ditty after me,

Sing and dance it trippingly.

Here, then, once again, the cue for the chorus is given by the
chief singer.

The modem editor's final stage-direction, " Eiseunt Ob., Tit.,
and Train," is not only hideous, but ludicrously out of place,
following, as it does, on the heels of Oberon's.

Trip away.
Make no stay.
Meet me all by break of day.

Such mastery of a craft is wonderful. But it has escaped the
knowledge of the general, because it is " set down with as
much modesty as cimning."

The fact that Shakespeare puts into Hamlet's few words
210

' Antony : Yon all do know this mantle"

Cf p. -ra

' MaruUus : And do you now put un your best attire"

[See fout-uote uii

p. v.n

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

of advice to the players such explicit warnings against stage-
mannerisms and faults of overacting, tells the actors not to
mouth his words, not to saw the air with their hands, not to
tear a passion to tatters ; and the fools not to prolong the
patter of their interludes and so spoil the continuity of the
play — all this put in so few words shows that the dramatist
had very decided opinions upon what should and what should
not be done in the acting of his plays. Is it not more than
likely, then, that all this meticulous description of actions
by the characters is intentionally put into their lines in order
to make sure they do them ? Yet actors of to-day are very
casual about this. They do not observe with any artistic
precision the law laid down by Shakespeare in the words of
Hamlet, " Suit the action to the word, the word to the action."
Professional actors and producers may prefer to ignore this
method of direction so systematically observed by Shakespeare
throughout the plays. But to the boys, whether in the class-
room or on the stage it is a very godsend. The mister knows
that he must make ready certain little scrolls of paper when
he sees " I will bestow these papers," and Lucius knows that
he must enter with one in his hand, because he presently has
to say, " I found this paper." The modem editor adds the
gratuitous stage-direction, " CHves a paper." Cassius knows
when to draw Brutus aside and whisper with hin, because
he himself says the cue, " Shall I entreat a word ? " The
rest are also made to tell themselves w^iat to do, " Here, as I
point my sword, the sun arises," and so on. The mister, ever
watchful for what is coming, is told when to strike his beU by
" Peace, coimt the clock," and he is told how often to strike
it, " The clock hath stricken three." In " Macbeth " also we
find, " Go, bid thy mistress . . . strike upon the bell," and the
cue a while later, " The bell invites me." "When " the games
are done and Caesar is returning " Brutus describes to Cassius
the appearance of the whole company so clearly that not a man
of them but must know how to look.

The angry spot doth glow on Csesar's brow,
And aU the rest look like a chidden train :
Calphumia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyea

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THE PLAY WAY

As we have seen him in the Capitol,

Being crossed in conference by some senators.

If still further illustration of this characteristic habit in Shake-
speare's workmanship be deemed necessary the reader is referred
to Act III, Scene 1, of " Juhus Caesar." There is hardly a
gesture or a movement in that important scene but is clearly
directed in the text : " Look how he makes to Caesar," " Look,
he smiles, and Caesar doth not change,"

Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, Brutus,
He draws Mark Antony out of the way,

" I kiss thy hand," " As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall,"
" Speak hands for me," " Stoop, Romans, stoop, and let us
bathe our hands in Caesar's blood," " Thus, Brutus, did my
master bid me kneel " — ^and so throughout.

The Elizabethans loved fights and shows and all kinds
of spectacular effects in their plays. The theatre supplied
them with all the sensations which in modem days we may
obtain from boxing, fencing, and wrestling matches, from
conjuring shows, the melodrama, the cinema, and the variety
entertaiimients. So Shakespeare filled his plays with sen-
sations. There is always much display of clothes, much
pageantry, music, the braying of trumpets and the letting off
of firearms. " Macbeth " gives us witches, a ghost, apparitions,
a sleep-walker, a forest on the move, a great battle, several
murders and a head brought in on a pole. " Hamlet," with
the ghost, the stage-play, the madness of Opheha, the killing
of Folonius, the crowd that hails Laertes king, the fight in the
grave, and all the poisonings and stabbings at the end, contains
more sensational elements than any melodrama you can see
to-day. It is not for nothiug that the very last words of this
play are, " Go, bid the soldiers shoot."

All such things are the very stuff that boys delight in, so
that if plays had not been available containing so much show
and noise and sensation it would have been necessary to invent
them. And whether Shakespeare put in such things solely
to cater for the tastes of his hearers or not, he most certainly
212

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

gave the sensational element a status in drama. And so the
boys can at the same time revel in din and clash and horrors,
and leam to appreciate literature in its highest form.

Sir Walter Raleigh says:* "The citizens delighted in
exhibitions of juggling, tumbling, fencing and wrestling ; and
these also were provided by the drama. Shakespeare is profuse
in his concessions to the athletic interest. The wrestling
match in ' As You Like It,' the rapier duels in ' Romeo and
Juliet ' and in ' Hamlet,' the broadsword fight in ' Macbeth,'
— ^these were real displays of skill by practised combatants.
The whole First Act of ' Coriolanus ' is so full of alarums and
excursions and hand-to-hand fighting with hard blows given
and taken, that it is tedious to Shakespeare's modem admirers,
but it gave keen pleasure to the patrons of the Globe. ' The
Comedy of Errors ' is noisy with beatings and the outcries
of the victims. All these things, though it discolour the
complexion of his greatness to acknowledge it,| were imposed
upon Shakespeare by the tastes and habits of his patrons and
by the fashions of the primitive theatre. It was on this robust
stock that his towering thought and his delicate fancy were
grafted." And again, J

" In nothing is Shakespeare's greatness more apparent
than in his concessions to the requirements of the Elizabethan
theatre, concessions made sparingly and with an ill grace by
some of his contemporaries, by him offered with both hands,
yet transmuted in the giving, so that what might have been
a mere connivance in baseness becomes a miracle of expressive
art. The audience asked for bloodshed, and he gave them
' Hamlet.' They asked for foolery, and he gave them ' King
Lear.' "

There is another quality about the work of Shakespeare
which stands out so prominently that the boys can easily
learn to appreciate it in their acting, and to try and imitate
it in their own playmaking. That is the quality of being
distinct and broad in treatment. Much of Shakespeare's

* " Shakespeare " (" English Men of Letters "), p. 102.
t Sir Walter Raleigh's unfortunate lapse as a critic in this phrase
is happily made good in the passage next quoted.

t " Shakespeare " (" English Men of Letters "), p. 27.

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THE PLAY WAY

greatness rests in this. He was not a&aid of exaggeration.
Look at Falstaff. Was ever man so fat ? And, given such
an apparently obvious topic for jest as a very fat man, were
there ever so many jokes made on the same subject ? Has
any one ever counted the number of jokes made by Falstaff
and others at the expense of his waist-line ? There must be
himdreds. Yet Shakespeare was quite right ; though no
modem writer would dare to do a thing like that. We are
all too fearful. We never let ourselves go. Again, look at
Pistol's swaggering, and Bardolph's red nose. And according
to our puny modem standpoint Bottom's blunders in speaking
would be an impermissible exaggeration. " The eye of man
hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen ; man's hand is
not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report
what my dream was." Why, it is absurdly overdone, is it
not ? Mistress Quickly and Dogberry and Slender and many
others make the same improbable blunders. For even if we
are to believe that such mistakes as " I am freely dissolved
and dissolutely " were not improbable in Shakespeare's time,
the fact is that they are quite unconvincing to-day. And yet
we laugh still, and would not spare one of them. In fact, it
is well worth while to investigate those we do not immediately
see the point of, such as Mistress Quickly's " Good people,
bring a rescue or two," and " O thou honeysuckle villain 1
WUt thou kill God's oflBcers and the king's ? O thou honey-
seed rogue ! Thou art a honey-seed." The good dame means
" homicide." This " broad " comedy is the very essence of
boy-stuff, and the playboys delight in it. The ridiculous
business between Lancelot Gobbo and his father, in the matter
of the beard which Lancelot grew on the back of his head, is
one of the favourite features of this popular fellow. And
the more outrageous you can make the antics of Pyramus and
the Lion and the Moon the better pleased they all are. We
have also found our audiences delighted with our broad treat-
ment of what is manifestly broad comedy.

The question of why Shakespeare's exaggerations and
burlesques are recognized by all as fitting and genuinely comic,
while the tamer and more modest foolery of such turns as
" Charley's Aunt " and the red-nosed, lunbrella-wagging tramps
214

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

of the modem variety stage are often found silly, and never
for long satisfying, cannot be examined here. There is a very
demonstrable reason, but the discussion would not be in place.
Suffice it for the present to say that Shakespeare for all his
tomfoolery somehow always makes us feel that his creations
are true to life ; but the aim of modem farce is to amuse by
strangeness, and by the sudden introduction of the unexpected.

But it would be leaving the case for broad, bold treatment,
as instanced by Shakespeare, in a very one-sided position if
we did not show that his touch is just as decided, and his taste
just as courageous in the serious side of his work. Laertes is
hardly less of a swashbuckler than Pistol, only we are not
meant to laugh at him, and so we do not find him funny. The
ravings of Lear are immoderate. He out-Herods Herod at
times. Othello and even Hamlet rant. And Shakespeare
himself pokes fim at the bloodthirsty character of Hotspur,
in the words he gives to Prince Hal. But there is a touch of
subtlety in all this character-drawing which makes every one of
these persons a human being for us, even while we notice the
emphasis with which one side of their nature is brought out.
Consider the best criticisms one reads of the characters of lago,
Goneril, Regan. The writers, although they speak of nothing
but the villainy or cruelty of these people, never speak of them
except as people, Goneril and Regan may be unnatural
daughters, but daughters they are, and natural.

This bold, definite touch is to be seen in every side of
Shakespeare's work, and I have made a special point of it here
because it is this quality in the workmanship and the whole
art of the plays which makes it at once so easy for the boys
to " see something in them " from the first, so easy for boys
to act them, and which makes the study of Shakespeare so
helpful to their own playmaking.

There is always " something to get hold of " in Shakespeare.
Whatever subject he took for a plot he always made of it a
story you could never forget. The history we know best is
the history we learn from Shakespeare. Those characters he
means to draw he draws so distinctly that you cannot but
feel they are as actual as any one you ever met in real life.
Who will believe me if I say that Falstaft never lived, and that

215

THE PLA f WAY

Shylock is only " made up " ? And when Shakespeare does
not mean to draw a character as a real live person he is generally
careful not to do so, and thus avoids the blurred impression
we should get from a half-delineated figure. Demetrius,
Lysander, Hippolyta, Salanio, Hamlet's uncle, and others
merely fill parts in a plot. That is all they were meant to do.
But so creative is his touch that sometimes even minor characters
insist on coming to life and taking affairs into their own hands.
There are many instances of this, such as Bamardine in " Measure
for Measure " as instanced by Sir Walter Raleigh. But Mercutio
is another. He becomes so obtrusive that Shakespeare has to
kill him to save the play. He does not kill Sir Toby, and so
this genial old scoundrel takes the direction of matters into
his own hands and pushes Orsino and Olivia into the back-
ground. Even Falstaff was not originally intended to bulk
so large throughout the epic of Harry. " He had been brought
in as an amusement, and had rapidly established himself as
the chief person of the play."

If Shakespeare's workmanship could produce figures so
life-like as to confound their maker it is easily understood
how his most unlearned readers may at once be captivated.
You cannot confuse one play of Shakespeare with another
play, or get " mixed up " between the persons, because the
plays and the persons are real and distinguishable. They are
as distinctly recognizable as one's brothers and sisters and
friends.

Even in the matter of the merest accessories the same
distinctive touch is seen. Most of the plays require one or
more properties which appear in their own place and nowhere
else. There are the caskets in " The Merchant of Venice," the
skull in " Hamlet," the bear in " The Winter's Tale," the caul-
dron in " Macbeth," the hot irons in " King John," the mirror
in " Richard H," the deer in " As you Like It," the handker-
chief in " Othello," the worm in " Antony and Cleopatra," the
ass-head in " A Midsummer Night's Dream," and the leek in
" Henry V."

Literary critics are apt to overlook the importance of these
concrete things. And many teachers of Shakespeare, not
understanding the power of association that is in them, pay
216

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

them no attention at all. But the property-master and his
goods contribute very much to the reality of a play. When
the playboys have in their tiring-house a cauldron, three caskets,
a hand-mirror, a skull, a lanthom, a bunch of thom-t-wigs, and
the masks of an ass, a lion, a dog, and a bear, they look upon
each as a kind of emblem or concrete embodiment of one most
distinct play.

The works of Shakespeare represent so many sides of life
and study that it is possible for a man totally to ignore many
elements and yet own a rich possession in the rest. It is possible
to devote many busy and well-spent years solely in studying
Shakespeare's use of language or to the impersonation of his
characters upon the boards, or to the critical elucidation of the
text. Some of the truest lovers of Shakespeare are engaged
daily with ropes, hammers, lamps, and such things behind
the scenes. A student of Shakespeare, sick of much study
in learned books, may, even in this material and unimaginative
age, find a full refreshment by spending an evening in a tavern
at Oxford or Stratford-on-Avon with the stage-hands of the
Benson Company. Those whose daily occupation is the traffic
of the stage, even if they be simple unlettered men, are often
nearer to the spirit of Shakespeare than the most learned
among scholars.

No man can come to the end of all there is to learn and
to feel about Shakespeare. And, in common with the rest
of mankind, boys have their due part in him. What is thii
part ? Under right guidance, I think a company of boys might
well find that Shakespeare belongs more to them than to some
of their learned elders. Their romantic, adventurous tastes
bring them nearer to the life of Shakespeare's own day than
has been possible for most adults during the past three himdred
years of puritan dominion. And Shakespeare himself knew all
about boys.

You may be surprised to see how few boys are represented
among the crowd of Shakespeare's characters. They are
generally children, and a boy is not by any means the
same thing as a child. Mamillius in " The Winter's Tale "
and Falstaft's page (who lives on as the boy in " Henry V")
are real boys. The princes in " Richard III " and Arthur

217

THE PLAY WAY

in " King John " are less convincing. Lucius in " Julius
Caesar" serves to bring out the gentleness of Brutus, but has
no separate being. Looked at beside that shrewd and knavish
sprite called Robin Goodfellow these lads show up for what they
are, figures for pathos. Their main function is to excite our
pity. Macduff's little son is similariy placed. He does show
some touches of nature in his prattling ; but he is not meant
to live, he is meant to die. These gentle babes are after all
but food for slaughter, and the reader will not be surprised
to learn that all the sympathy of our playboys is with those
who murder them. They much enjoy playing the scene in
which Lady Macduff and her son are slain, but they refer to
it with rude relish as "the fried-egg scene." This is a nick-
name suggested to a boyish fancy by the lines,

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain.
Murderer. What, you egg ?

Young fry of treachery ! [Kills him.

What is the boys' share in Shakespeare's gift to the world ?
Is it confined to their healthy appreciation of the sensational
and knockabout elements ? Most teachers have not the wit to
allow their boys even this small share in the greatest treasury
of life-lore our nation has produced. But what further can
we expect schoolboys to understand and appreciate in Shake-
speare ? Can they have any real feeling for the poetry ? Can
they appreciate the subtleties of plot-development ? Can they
comprehend the characters ? These are no idle questions,
nor shall they be idly answered.

One of the best ways of teaching English to boys (whether
you mean by that word a knowledge and appreciation of
literature, or a skill in the use of language ; or even if you
include as part of this study the abiUty to make literature)
is to base all their English studies on their acting of the plays
of Shakespeare. The first acquaintance a boy makes with
literature, after his simple reading of stories and ballads, should
be this acting of Shakespeare. And thereafter all you wish to
teach him in English can be directly or indirectly associated
with this.

On what authority can such a recommendation be made?
218

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

Although the methods described in this book are one and all
the outcome of actual experiments, the reader has only one
man's word for it that the experiments have been successful.
It may be thought merely a matter of opinion that Speeches
and Ilonds and Playtown and Miming and these other devices
are adapted to the character and preference of boys, and do
really represent their natural way of leanung. But in advis-
ing teachers to let their boys act Shakespeare, with full confi-
dence that they can and will appreciate not only the sporting
side but also the poetic, the dramatic, and the human aspects
of the work, we have the support of the highest authority,
that of Shakespeare himself.

Though there may be but few real boys drawn among his
characters there were many real boys among his players.
Shakespeare had with him just the same sturdy, naughty,
laughing, loving English boys as you and I have with us
to-day. They liked the same things, such as fights and din,
and high adventure, and broad nonsense. Their imaginations
were as rich in the poetry of life as your boys' are, only Shakes-
peare knew it and you don't. There was as much noisy chatter
and heroic make-believe in the tiring-house as there is in the
schoolroom, but with this difference : that the noise was
greater, the laughter louder, and the fancy much quickened
when the master was present. Shakespeare was familiar with
the same tousled heads, the same grubby paws, the same
quarrels and appeals, the same cries of " Sir ! " The little
wretches left their stockings on the floor, and mislaid essential
properties, and dropped their wigs into the sink, just as they
do to-day — ^that is, if you give them stockings and wigs and
a sink, and other essential properties. Can you not see Master
Shakespeare in the tiring-house ? The boys knew him and
loved him as all men did. They had no cause to be afraid
of him, and did not hush their boy-business at his approach.
They did not think him a tyrant or a bore. They did not
associate him with stodgy lessons and " swot." This is note-
worthy, for you must remember that the lads had to learn
hundreds of his lines by heart and deliver them as he would
have them delivered, neither drawling them nor mouthing,
them; but speaking them trippingly on the tongue. And

219

THE PLAY WAY

there was some very stiff work to be gone through in the way
of rehearsals. For Shakespeare was in the midst of it all,
and he would have things right. Yet the boys would do any-
thing for him. Ben Jonson was not, by many a score, the only
one who, after his death, could say in candour, " I loved the
man, and do honour his memory on this side idolatry as much as
any."

This first of playmasters knew the capacity of his boys.
While Shakespeare was writing the lines which embodied the
life of Imogen and Portia he knew that the parts would be
played by his boys. He had no thought of any one to play them
but his boys, and often he knew the very boy who would be cast
for a certain part. It is true that Imogen and Portia and Jessica
played their most important scenes in the guise of men, and that
Rosalind and Viola appeared in a male habit throughout most of
their parts. But Portia the wife of Brutus was also played
by a boy, and so were Juliet and Lady Macbeth and Ophelia.
Consider what a faith in — or say rather a knowledge of—
boys he must have had who could create Cordelia and Desdemona
to be impersonated by boy-players, Nowadays there is much
reading of Shakespeare in the study, much regard for the
plays quite apart £rom their representation on the stage, and
rightly so. But we may safely challenge any one to produce
the least tittle of evidence that Shakespeare counted upon this,
or even thought of his plays except as matter for the " three
hours' traffic of the stage." He requires the onlooker to

Eke out our performance with your mind.

But he never doubts that there will be a performance.

Are Shakespeare's women dummies ? Is nothing required

to represent these parts but dressing up and an unbroken

voice ? Or have we not rather in these creations all the

characteristics of a world of womankind ?

The only sign of any dissatisfaction is, just where you

would expect it, in Cleopatra. She says :

the quick comedians
Extemporally -will stage us . . . and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness.
220

ACTING SHAKESPEARE

One of the very few contemporary allusions made by Shake-
speare is the mention in " Hamlet " of the " aery of children."
Rosencrantz tells Hamlet that the tragedians of the city, those
he was wont to take dehght in, are on travel, because they
do not hold the same estimation as they did, and are not so
followed. They have not grown rusty, their endeavour keeps
in the wonted pace, but they have been put out of favour by
a company of children which has become fashionable. Rosen-
crantz explains that much of the interest is excited by a
controversy, and by the introduction of personal abuse into
the plays. But the quarrel and the exchange of personalities
among the poets and actors does not concern us here. When
Hamlet asks, " Do the boys carry it away ? " Rosencrantz
replies, " Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules and his load
too." Which shows that the success of the boys had even
troubled the company at the Globe.

So long as Shakespeare's work is thoroughly studied and
whole-heartedly played by boy^, not only will the boys them-
selves profit, but the fine traditions of Elizabethan drama
will be carried on. " For," as the boy says in " Henry V,"
" there is none to guard it but boys."

The study of Shakespeare in schools to-day should be not
only a means of encouraging self-expression but the medium
of much learning in literature and in life. If it cannot be made
so, the fault lies not in any want of appreciative power on the
boys' part but in the ignorance and incompetence of narrow-
minded teachers. To these, and to many who are not teachers,
may be commended for reflection Sir Walter Raleigh's deUberate
statement, "With the disappearance of the boy-players the
poetic drama died in England, and it has had no second life."

221

CHAPTER VIII
MIMING AND THE BALLADS

And then bespake the schoohnaster

Unto the Lord of Learne said he,
" I think thou be some stranger bom

For the Holy Ghost remains -with thee."

He said, " I am no stranger bom.

Forsooth, master, I tell it to thee.
It is a gift of Almighty Gk>d

Which He hath given unto me."

" The Lord of Learne "

Miming, the language of gesture, is as old-established a form
of expression as any other language, and it can be made of
much educational value. There must be books on the subject,
and they should be both learned and entertaining, but we did
not happen to come across them, and all that is said here springs
directly from our own original and unaided experiments.

In miming, the first thing to note is that you have to make
yourself understood without uttering any words. We have
used two classes of gesture. We communicate our thought to
others (i) by the use of those signs, gestures, looks, and actions
which every one understands ; or (ii) by the use of certain
conventional signs and gestures previously agreed upon. These
two means of expression we have always combined, using our
own conventional signs only where there was no commonly
accepted way of expressing a thing.

The first class includes such easily intelligible action as
extending something towards a person to Offer it, or holding
out the hand to imply " Give it to me " ; a nod of the head for
Yes and a shake for No. Eat and drink are easily shown ; and
most people without using any words can say, " Come here,"
222

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

" Go," " Good-bye." Facial expression alone can easily put
a simple query, " Is it ? " " Does he ? " " May I ? " " Shall
we ? " " Who ? " " Why ? " And in conjunction with a shrug
of the shoulders (and a context) facial expression can indicate
more particular inquiry such as, "What am I to do with this ? "
"Where shall I put it?" "What shall we do now?" A
look and a simple movement are all that is needed to say " Get
out of my chair," " Put that back where you took it from," or
" Dare you push him in ? "

Momentary hesitation, with a pm-sing of the lips, shows
Doubt. Perplexity is shown by placing the forefinger on the
temple and frowning. Recognition of the solution of a difficulty
is obviously a silent " Ah ! " Those who think they have never
tried miming will perhaps be surprised to hear that all the
instances given above and himdreds of similar expressive
gestures are exchanged daily by all ordinary people — even in
England.

Even in circumstances where movement is not the usual
medium of expression, any one can invent it, if necessary, for
such meanings as " Where shall I hide ? " " Where did I put
that letter ? " " Good luck, old fellow," " It's getting late,"
— ^the last, of course, by simply looking at one's watch.

There are many other gestures which those good people we
call foreigners use to express a world of meaning which could
scarcely be put into words at all. A Frenchman or an Italian
can keep up his side of a conversation for a long while merely
in gesttire. In his gestures he can say, " Ah ! my friend, why
have you not told me this long ago ? " " True, true, but what is
to be done ? " or, "' She is a woman, after all."

If you should take up miming it is weU that you should
temember it is not a mere matter of descriptive dumb-show.
Although you have no words, you have the use of all those
varied expressive movements which went with words.

Apart from these there are gestures which, although perfectly
'ntelligible, are never used (by Englishmen at least) when words
are available, because the gesture, save for emphasis, means
no more than the word. Such are pointing to one's chest
to express " I," and to the other person's chest to express
" you " ; pointing i9 the mouth as a request for food ; going

223

THE PLAY WAY

through the motion of drinking off a bumper to indicate thirst,
and drawing the hand across the throat to express either a fear
of, or a threat of, assassination. Englishmen at home are not
prone to expressive gesture. An EngUshman feels a fool if
he makes any hand-movements. But since he has colonized
half the world without learning any foreign languages he must
behave differently when away from his friends !

If these various kinds of expressive gesture be considered
it will be seen that, although I have divided the gestures
used in our mining into two classes only, it is possible to
make numerous subdivisions. But a twofold division at least
is essential — ^into signs universal and signs conventional. The
sign imiversal has been sufficiently described. Let us consider
the sign conventional.

When in your miming you wish to signify " day " or " night,"
or " yesterday," " to-day," or " to-morrow " you find yourself
" stumped " as regards signs imiversal. And if you meet a
Russian who caimot speak English, you cannot make him
understand in gesture " I arrived," " He came on horseback,"
" You go by boat," " It is ten miles away," or " That is the
King." Gesture as universally understood will not convey
" Where is your mother ? " " liis is my son," " Can you hear
the Cathedral clock ? " or " Over the hills and far away."
Without using any words you can express simple ideas such as
" Come," " Hush ! " " Look " ; and you can ask for things,
such as a knife, a fork, or a spoon. But you cannot express
equally simple ideas, such as " Begin," " Stop," " Hurry up,"
" More slowly," " Wait for me," " Look out 1 " or " Give me
a bed."

The Play Way is happy to have realized from the beginning
that a necessary thing which does not exist can be invented.
But this fact is proverbial. Necessity, they say, is the mother
of invention. It would be a sorry thing if those who invented
an imaginary stage to act on could not also invent muning
signs for a few common objects. So we foimd no difficulty
in devising conventional signs for meanings which did not seem
to be covered by the universal language of gesture. There is
no doubt that our signs could easily be improved upon. We
have endeavoured to make them simple and direct so that they
224

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

might be understood by all. But all innovations grafted on
to an old stock are subject to grave disabilities. As innovators
we have recognized this difficulty, and we have coped with it.
The question of the rights and duties of an innovator will be
discussed in its place, but some of our new conventional signs
must now be described.

The description of gesture is a thankless task, because gesture
chiefly exists to save description. Words, in any case, are
cumbrous to explain movement. A simple wave of the hand
may be talked about for a whole paragraph, and still not be
made visible. An action may express hope, desire, anger,
fear, despair. Words also may express hope, desire, anger, fear,
despair. But the attempt to describe in words the feeling as
shown in the action is hopeless.

Novelists say, " ' Damnation ! ' said Travers, with a gesture
of impatience " ; or, " ' Leave it all to me,' replied Miss Phipson
airily, indicating with a sweep of the hand that she was perfectly
capable of managing the whole affair." But they have to leave
the gesture of impatience and this comprehensive sweep of the
hand to the imagination of their readers.

So I will not attempt to give descriptions of those gestures
which we have used to express feeling of any kind, but will
confine my detailed illustrations to those signs and symbols
which we have devised to represent persons and things and
simple ideas.

King is indicated by making a plain circle round one's head.
Preceded or followed by the sign for " woman," this means
" queen " ; and in conjunction with the sign for " boy " it
means " prince."

Day is indicated by making a circle on the right with the
finger, then carrying the line over in a curve to the left and
making another circle there. This figure, not unlike a pair of
spectacles with an exaggerated bridge, is designed to represent
the sun in the east, going over, and in the west — hence a day.

Here is indicated by pointing to the ground at one's feet.

To-day is indicated by " Day-here," or " Day-now."

Yesterday is indicated as " Day-back-one." " Day " is done
first, then the thumb is pointed back over the shoulder for
" back," and then the forefinger is held up for " one." Either

P 225

THE PLAY WAY

hand may be used. The actions are run smoothly together
into one rhythmical movement.

To-morrow is " Day-forward-one."

Now is indicated by a grasping action of the hand (main-
tenant).

The action may be performed comparatively quickly or slowly
according to the sense which it is desired to express in the word.
The reader will be surprised to learn that it is possible to express as
many different tones of " now " with the hand as it is with the
voice. Of course facial expression, and the whole posture and
set of the body, have part in this expression by the hands, just
as they do in the expression by the voice. Consider some
"nows." There is the threatening approach of a fiendish
enemy who at last has one in his grasp. He comes toward
his victim with a devilish leer and, instead of saying " Now ! "
he holds his hand before him and slowly closes his contorting
fingers. Try it. There is a totally different movement in the
hand of the captain who cries to his men awaiting the signal
for a charge, " Now ! " He clenches his fist and throws his
whole arm upward and forward in one inspiring command.
Then there is the eternal " Now " of old Omar, " one moment
in annihilation's waste." What an infinitude of meaning he
would express with his fingers as he closed them tenderly
about the rose that lay in his palm !

But such interpretations as these lie outside the scope of
the present description. We must confine ourselves to plain
signs for simple meanings.

Signs such as these (for " day," " king," " here," and so on
will not be invented by a boy on the spur of the moment as
he needs them ; and even if some boys are able to devise such
signs, the rest may not understand the movement on seeing
it for the first time. Such s3Tnbols must be suggested and
agreed upon in a council met together — a convention.

But we did not begin to devise these signs until we found
it impossible to get on without them in miming. And we
never made more at one sitting than were immediately required.
Consequently there was never a long and forbidding vocabulary
to learn. The boys picked up the necessary signs as need
occasioned their invention.
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MIMING AND THE BALLADS

When a sign for " night " was demanded we all thought
carefully for a while. One boy suggested "day-not," but
although this would have passed in an emergency, we decided
to think out something better. I made an equally feeble
suggfestion, "day-blind," to be shown by closing the eyelids
with the finger-tips after making the sign for "day." But
presently it occurred to the youngest boy in the class that if
the path of the sun was shown to curve over for " day," it might
be shown to curve under for " night." This was obviously the
right symbol, and so we straightway adopted it.

For some time we had found a difficulty in expressing
"man," "woman," "boy," and "girl." Eventually we
decided to describe them by the fashion of the hair.

Man is indicated by placing the hands flat on each side of
the head.

Woman is indicated by drawing both hands down from the
temples to the waist.

Girl is indicated by ringlets falling to the shoulder.

Boy is indicated by twiddling the forefinger just above the
ear to imply " curly-head."

But one twiddle of the finger is not enough to show the
ringlets or the curls which imply " girl " or " boy." So small
an action as a hasty movement of one finger will scarcely be
caught by the onlooker. These and all the other movements
of the conventional signs must be done slowly, in a measured
and rhythmical manner. Slowness is essential in miming. The
fault of all beginners is to make the movements too quickly.
This makes the gestures not only difficult to understand but
ugly in themselves.

A teacher who is not alive to the beauty of gesture will
probably not be alive to the value of expressive movement
at all, and will in consequence be unlikely to introduce miming
in his classes. But there may be some who will try miming
either " for the fun of the thing " or at the request of a
principal, without previously having realized that as much
seriousness and care is required in the practice of expressive
movement as in music or speaking.

Any advice or warning we are able to give is based solely
upon our own short experience, but whoever will make a few

227

THE PLAY WAY

s«rious and careful experiments for himself will at once agree
that miming as a means of expression has real educational
value. It is therefore worth while to undertake it earnestly.
We do not wish the slang and Cockney of daily speech to have
their parallel in the language of gesture, and we hope that
the public taste in music, as seen in the popular sentimental
and comic songs, will not be considered a sufficiently high
standard for miming.

It is necessary to say a word also about the cinema. A
few days after we started miming, a senior boy, who in his
day had been a keen Shakespearean actor and a good mister in
the third form, met me in hall and said in jest, " What is this
I hear about your taste having come down to the level of the
cinema ? It is a great drop, after all you have said about
drama." Of course our miming has no connexion at all with
the moving pictures of the cinema. The representation of
a story without the use of spoken words is all that is common
between the two. To attempt any closer comparison would
be as false as to compare the cartoons of Raphael with the
cartoons in the Daily Mirror because both are drawings !
If, as seems to be the case, the cinema has come to stay, men
of taste might go to the aid of those low-minded men who are
responsible for the choice of what is thrown upon the screens,
and show them how to make the entertainment more intelligent
and less vulgar, without lessening its attractiveness in the least.
In some respects the cinema has opportunities of representation
which are denied to the other kinds of stage show. The
photographers can, for instance, give us coloured and moving
scenes of streets in all the great cities of the world ; they can
show Venice, Athens, Rome, Egypt, and the great Cathedrals,
the Monuments, and the Markets. Scenes may be shown by
the lake of an Italian garden, in a wooded English park, or
in the Rocky Mountains. But the effect of these wonderful
backgrounds is marred by the rubbishy character of the stories
shown ; and even more by the fact that the cinema method of
representation ignores all the literary quality of a tale, and
treats it as a mere string of incidents. Even then the narration
of this emasculated story has to be eked out by the periodical
appearance of explanatory labels. The present cinema method
228

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

of telling a story is nothing but external show ; it is a hollow
sham, a mere travesty of art. But every form of representation
has certain conditions proper to itself ; there are things you can
do and things you cannot do in painting, drawing, sculpture,
acting, and so on. The cinema is not an artistic medium at all,
but only a machine. Nevertheless there are certain laws and
conditions which the cinema as a means of representation must
obey. No one, so far as we can see, has made it his business to
study the conditions which govern representation by cinema-
tography. If the money-snatchers could be persuaded to
allow some higher order of intellectual life to co-operate with
them in their production, the ubiquitous cinema-show might
be made quite an interesting experiment. Our position, then,
with regard to the moving pictures is that we are not indebted
to them in the slightest degree. But we think it quite possible
that the introduction of miming in cinema representation might
be found helpful in civilizing and refining that mechanical
substitute for the acting of live players.

Some of the descriptions of our signs, as jotted down in
words by the boys in their notebooks, are in the right spirit
of taste. " King " they call " crowned one," " man "
is "crop-head," "boy" is "curly-head." Thus "prince"
becomes " crowned curly-head " — a charming description of a
royal lad.

At one lesson we invented signs for the days of the week.
They were not really necessary, but one of the boys began
with Sunday and Monday, and then we decided to go through
with it. We already had our sign for " day," and this was of
course used in each case, preceded by particular descriptive
signs to indicate the days of the week.

The sun was a circle drawn with one hand while the other
described " day." The moon, for Monday, was of course a
crescent. Tuesday is the day of Tiw, or T^r, who, as the god
of war in the Norse mythology, was already a familiar figure
to the boys. Tyr had his right hand bitten off by Fenris the
wolf. So our conventional sign for Tuesday is described in
the notes as " Left-hand-sword-day," and is shown by the
action of drawing a sword from the right thigh with the left
hand. Thursday gave no difficulty ; it was called " Hammer-

«*29

THE PLAY WAY

day," after old Thorr and his trusty Miolnir. Friday became
" Lady-day " after Frigga, the mother of the gods.

But what were we to do about Wednesday and Saturday ?
We knew much about Woden or Othinn, but we were long
puzzled in our choice among his attributes. At last one of the
boys remembered that the father of the gods had but one
eye, having given the other to buy wisdoiQ. Wednesday,
then, was shown by closing one eye with a finger and drawing
day with the other hand. The boy at the blackboard wrote
up, " Wednesday — One-eyed's day."

For Saturday, the planet and his rings were suggested.
But every one was sorry to leave the company of the Norse
gods. I promised to do a little research. As a result of my
learned labours we described Saturday as " Washing-day " !
The action for this was, of course, the " Rub-a-dub-dub,"
familiar to all in the Nursery Rhymes. To have overthrown
Saturn from his place and described his ancient reign as
" Washing-day " may appear to some a sad drop from the
sublime to the commonplace. But if the reader will pursue a
scholarly research into folk-lore he will find that tradition has
not been set at naught. And fair white linen has ever been
associated with godliness.

As a sign for " week," " seven days " readily suggested
itself, but we bettered this by adopting " sennight." " Month "
is "wax and wane." The movement of the thumbs and
forefingers showing how the crescent fills out into the full
moon and then thins out again into a silver bow, though
beautiful to see, would be tedious in a detailed description.
For " year " the revolution of the earth about the sun is shown
in a movement of the two fists.

In the ballad narratives, which we very soon used for
the stories of our miming, persons generally travelled on
horseback or by boat. A player wishing to say " I came on
horseback " would make the signs for " I-ride-here."
The movement of the hands in a make-beheve of riding is
familiar in every nursery. Refinements which would
make it possible to say " hither " instead of " here " or to
indicate the past and the future tense could easily be invented.
But it is better to confine oneself to the simple essential things
230

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

first. In any case I am only describing here the conventional
signs we did invent and bring into daily use. If you were
directing a traveller to cross a ferry at a certain point you
would tell him " River-you-row-over." The action for rowing
is obvious.

River is indicated by a flowing line, as on a map. If you
wish to describe its widening or narrowing at a certain spot you
trace the course with two hands, and draw them together or
apart to emphasize your point.

Hill is indicated by a slant.

House is indicated by a gable.

Castle is indicated by a line of battlements.

Scores of other necessary signs for things can be invented
on this model. But verbs are more difficult.

To see is indicated by touching the eye-lid, then pointing
forward and describing the thing seen.

To hear is indicated by placing a finger behind the ear.

To think is indicated by pausing with the forefinger on the
temple.

To know or to understand is indicated by touching the
temple and nodding slowly.

To ask is indicated by holding out one hand, palm upwards.

To implore or to pray is indicated by interlacing the fingers.

To love is indicated by placing one hand on the heart.

To marry is indicated by touching an imaginary ring on the
third finger of the left hand with the thumb and forefinger
of the right hand.

To lie down is indicated by a depressive movement with the
open hand, as in the military signal.

To stop is indicated by the military signal for " Halt."

Slowly is indicated by a movement similar to " lie down,"
only this is more a stroking.

Hurry up is indicated by a stirring motion with both hands
such as is used in shooing hens. But a player expressive in
gesture can signify " hurry up " with a quick motion of one
hand — a kind of beckoning upward.

To sleep is indicated by " folding " the hands and slightly
inclining the head upon them.

No, or any form of the negative, is indicated by wagging the

231

THE PLAY WAY

forefinger. This has been found in practice a more natural
form of denial than shaking the head.

The making of a sign for " dead " or " to die " was a
valuable experience for the players. The need for some des-
criptive sign arose suddenly while a mime was going on.
But the boy would not break silence to voice a difficulty. He
preferred to find some immediate solution and to convey his
meaning, even if the sign he invented should not prove good
enough to come into permanent acceptance.

According to the story they were miming, two princes
were asking their father which of them should inherit the
crown. When the time came to put this question the elder
son fumbled a little, and could not make his meaning clear.
But the younger pointed to his father, then shut his eyes,
opened his mouth, and thrust one forefinger into each cheek.
This was caught at once by the class to mean " You-dead " ;
and it was followed by the accepted gestures for " I-crowned."
The newly invented sign for dead (an improvised skeleton
head) pleased the onlookers by its quaint and almost comical
effect. But the first comment offered when criticism was
called for upon the conclusion of the mime was that a better
sign for " dead " must at once be agreed upon. Nothing
acceptable to the class was suggested then, and so the comic
sign lived for a few days. But before long we devised a more
dignified symbol of death. The eyes were closed and the
wrists crossed upon the breast in the posture of those old effigies
one sees upon cathedrals tombs.

The list of our new-created symbols and gestures need
not be further prolonged. There is no occasion for the reader
to be afraid of the number of these signs agreed upon. More
than half of the new vocabulary we used is comprised in the
above descriptions. And the signs are all so obvious that, once
seen and understood, they are set in mind for ever. Moreover
the signs conventional are so very very few, in proportion to
the signs universal, that it is possible (as we have often proved)
for a spectator perfectly to understand a play in mime without
any previous familiarity with these set signs, even if he has
never seen a mime in his life before. Even if you should find
it necessary to invent scores of signs conventional, they will
282

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

but appear now and then in acting, for nine-tenths of the
descriptive gestures necessary for your story ■will always be
possible in signs universal.

Nor must it be thought that there is any initial difficulty
in miming. Our list of conventional symbols need not deter
any ingenious person from beginning at once without any
knowledge or outside help whatever. Assuredly a handy book
on miming, if it were well written, would be a welcome aid.
But there are no handy books on the practice of miming, and
even if there were they would only be catch-penny manuals.

We started from bare nothing. The boys were simply
told that to mime was to describe or relate something in
dumb-show. The idea of expressing meaning by action was
already familiar to them all in the parlour-game known as
" Dumb Charades." It rested with the master to see that
charades when imported to the classroom became a thing of
value without becoming a whit less entertaining. This case
Tiffords an excellent illustration of the Play Way principles
in working. Left entirely to their own devices, the boys
could hardly be expected to make charades in any real sense
a vehicle of learning. They would have continued indefinitely
that somewhat inane occupation of rainy days — ^the guessing
of acted words. But with a master to infuse something of
value into the subject-matter and to keep a gmding hand
upon the representation, the whole occupation was lifted
from the level of mere pastime to the level of true play. The
supersession of charades by miming, so far from lessening the
fun, increased it, made a real interest of it.

In the beginning the boys were directed to mime the very
simplest things, such as " Little Miss Muffet." They Uked
the notion of miming, but were not much impressed with
the subject suggested. But so soon as one boy had tried
to mime " Little Miss Muffet " several others sprang up to
offer criticism. One of the most urgent of the critics was
invited to try his skill. Some of the simplest details were
omitted from the story in these early attempts. The critics
were soon loudly insisting that Miss Muffet did not sit on
the ground, but on a tuffet. They pointed out that, just

233

THE PLAY WAY

as Shakespeare mentioned everything in his lines, so the player
must show everything in his actions or gestures ! But what
is a tuffet ? Some, in recollection of the pictures in their baby
books, said a tuffet was a hassock. Some said it was a tuft of
grass. The master maintained a safe and benevolent neutrality.
The dictionary gave us no help, so we decided that " tuffet "
was a rhyme ; and proceeded to the next point of criticism.

It was claimed by one objector that the last playboy who
impersonated Miss Muffet had eaten curds and whey without
ever putting spoon to mouth. A still stronger criticism was
that the mimist, although he had certainly shown fright enough,
had not made it clear that it was a spider which had occasioned
his retirement. " It might have been a bull in the field,"
said one critic. " Or even a clap of thunder," added another.
Enough difficulties were discovered to make the miming of
this simple Nursery Rhyme a task worth attempting.

Before long the master ventured a trial — ^a rare event. He re-
presented the spider by wriggling the fingers of the right hand, held
high up and well back, while calmly eating curds and whey with
the left hand from an imaginary bowl and spoon. The next
movements were, to look quietly around as though enjoying
this supper in the meadow ; then, catching sight of the right
hand behaving like a spider, suddenly to jump aside, throw
up both hands in horror and make a precipitous exit. This
was really a most skilful interpretation of the tragic narrative ;
but even then there were some exacting critics who asked
whether Miss Muffet had taken the supper bowl along with
her, or left it for the delectation of the spider.

The next subject tried was " Little Jack Horner." It
was no easy matter to satisfy the critics about the pie. One
boy began by stealing the pie out of the oven. But the only
way of indicating " Christmas " seemed to be a rather laboured
reference to Santa Claus and gifts in one's stocking. "He
put in his thumb " is not so easy as it looks ; for it is unlikely
that Jack speared the plum instead of using his forefinger
and thumb in the ordinary way.

" Curly Locks " proved to be one of our most successful
mimes. In the hands of two skilful and imaginative playboys
this Nursery Rhyme can afford a quaint little performance
284

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

fit to be shown on any stage. It was here that we discovered
our signs conventional for " man," " woman " " girl," and
" boy," Once we had learnt to call a little girl " Curly Locks "
it soon occurred to us to describe other folk also by the fashion
of the hair. Here also we first mimed love and the proposal of
marriage, which come into so many stories fit for miming.

The little boy says to the little girl, " Curly Locks, I love
you. Will you marry me ? " The little girl ponders demurely
and remains silent. Then he presses his suit more earnestly,
and soon she looks at him and says, " You love me. I marry
you ? No." He looks disappointed and she bids him, with
a motion of one finger. " Mark this." She turns on a tap,
holds a plate under it, and with the tips of her fingers takes a
nasty, greasy dish-cloth and cleans the plate. Her face expresses
her disgust at the business. Then the plate is dried and stood
on the dresser. The little boy lover begins to protest, but she
cuts him short with another " Look you " ; and goes again
through the business of washing a greasy plate. Then she
tells him that there would be plates and plates and plates to
wash ; and the rag would get greasier and nastier. When
her fingers and her face have shown unspoken disgust, she
concludes with, " No. I'll not marry you." It would be
meaningless if the little boy simply gave a reassuring denial
by means of the sign for " No." So, in his reply, he refers
to the washing-up by repeating her chief gestures in a
briefer form, such as " tap — opiate — ^greasy — ^rag," and then
says, " If you marry me there will not be any of that nasty
washing-up." Or, to put it in the literal order of the words
mimed, " You — ^marry — ^me. Nasty — ^washing-up — ^you — No."

The little girl then says again, " But look you." She
points to where a number of (imaginary) fat creatures, who
have curly tails and say " Er," are waiting for something to
eat. She next prepares, with many indications of distaste,
a mess of kitchen-refuse in a pig-pail, and, holding it away
from her, steps daintily through the muck of the yard, and
shoots it over the gate of the sty. Of course to " feed the
swine," in this traditional verse, more probably means the
driving out of a herd of clean-bristled animals to feed upon
he beech-mast and acorns of the forest floor. But for the

235

THE PLAY WAY

purposes of this mime we thought it better to substitute the
modem m^uck-pig for the nobler swine of other days. Well,
the relish of the fat creatures who have curly tails is clearly
shown, and the dainty lady's disgust at their beastliness is
made equally apparent. Then with an air of finality she says
to her lover, " I marry you and do all this for the fat things
who have curly tails ? Certainly not." The little boy replies.
He makes a brief reference to her description of pig-tending,
as he did to her complaint about the nastiness of washing-up.
He assures her that nothing of the kind will ever be expected
of her as his wife. On the contrary, he pictures a life of ease
and luxury, where her hands shall always be clean : where
she may sleep if she will upon soft cushions, or sew awhile at
some elegant embroidery. She shall make the fruits and the
flowers and the birds so real by the skill of her needlecraft
that he will be content to stay from the orchard and the meadow
only to look upon her handiwork. He will forgo the hunt
itself, if only he may pursue the quarry in following her nimble
fingers. When the time comes to eat and drink, there shall
be no thought of dishes to wash, or kitchens which make refuse,
but only " strawberries, sugar, and cream." And so the little
girl is captivated. It may turn out that the fears of Curly
Locks were well grounded. Sugar makes a sticky mess upon
a plate ; and perhaps she will have to keep a cow to supply
the cream. But this is a digression. The end of the mime was
that Curly Locks said, as all practically minded little girls
eventually do say to their rosily romantic lovers, " You love me.
I marry you."

Only the very best playboys could mime without previous
rehearsal or instruction this story as I have described it.
But if the whole class is given the opportunity of miming,
the boys soon become proficient, not only in the language of
gesture, but also in adapting all kinds of stories to make them
suitable for miming. " Where are you going to, my Pretty
Maid ? " is already in the form of a dialogue, and consequently
requires no adaptation. But the little play of " Curly Locks "
is built up out of eight short lines which, in the Nursery Rhyme,
are spoken only by the boy lover. " Baa, baa, Black Sheep,"
again, can be mimed without change ; but " Little Bo-Peep "
286

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

will afford any two or three boys an excellent exercise in
adaptation. We did not really spend much time over repre-
senting the Nursery Rhymes, but a few more may be mentioned
here as the easiest illustration of certain points it is necessary
to make.

The following are capable of direct representation :

Where are you going to, my Pretty Maid ?

Baa, baa. Black Sheep.

Simple Simon.

Little Polly Flinders.

How many Miles is it to Babylon ? *

Old King Cole.

The following can be represented by turning the narrative
form into dialogue :

I had a little Pony.

A Frog he would a-wooing go.

There was a Jolly Miller.

Taffy was a Welshman.

There was an Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.

I love Sixpence.

Skill of adaptation is needed in these exercises. For instance,
in " I had a little Pony " a dialogue must be represented between
the little boy proud of his pony and the lady who comes to
borrow him for the second time. "No, no," says the boy.
" Last time I lent him, you whipped him and slashed him and
rode him through the mire. You shan't have him again at
any cost." Taffy's defeat could be represented by an amusing
series of visits, each party calling when the other was not at
home, and describing his naughty doings in a soliloquy of
gesture.

But there is one form of telling a story without word
which the boys must use but sparingly. That is the acting

* Miles, or any other tokens of distance, are shown by shading the
eyes with the open hand and looking far away. Thus ten miles is
shown as " ten fars." This is quite deiinite enough.

aS7

THE PLAY WAY

of incident without the accompaniment of language in gesture.
Many stories consist entirely of action, and nothing at all is
said either in words or gestures.

The following Nursery Rhymes can be acted thus without
speech of any kind.

The Lion and the Unicorn.
The Queen of Hearts.
Tom, Tom, the Piper's son.
Humpty Dumpty.
Jack and Jill.

The first of these merely consists of a fight and a cadging
run round the town. In the second the queen simply goes
through the motions of pastry-making, and then the knave
comes and steals the tarts. In the third, a pig is stolen and
a hue and cry made after the thief. " Humpty Dumpty " and
" Jack and Jill " are represented merely by getting up on
something and falling down. Obviously there is little of true
miming in all this. Such play with very yoimg children has
its place ; and at the very beginning of an experimental course
of miming with older boys it may be useful. But the players
must soon be told that talking with the hands is required.

After trying " Little Miss Muffet," " Curly Locks," " Old
King Cole," and a few more under the master's direction
our boys were left to choose their own subjects. At this
stage the lesson was often conducted for half an hour
at a stretch without a word being uttered. The mister
would command attention by raising one hand as if to say
" Silence." A click of the fingers called the attention
of any one who was not looking. Then the mister would
indicate one boy as leader of a mime, and this boy would
choose several accomplices, and go out of the room for a minute
or two to arrange the performance. When the players were
too quick in their movements (and aU the boys mimed too
quickly in the beginning) the boys in the class would snap
their fingers and then make the sign for " Slowly." When any
boy failed to understand a certain movement, he would first
call attention by this snapping of the fingers, and then indicate
by a shrug of the shoulders that he could not understand.
238

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

Many players at first used twice as many movements as
were really necessary for the expression of their meaning.
But the continuous interruptions of " I don't understand that,"
followed by a repetition of the idle movement, soon caused
the players to confine themselves to intentional and expressive
gestures. The players were very keen, and often excited, and
this was a fine lesson in restraint and self-control.

When a short story was spun out in mime to a tedious
length (this was often occasioned by poor players repeating
themselves again and again for lack of a quick inventiveness
in devising the next step) the onlookers would snap their
fingers and make the sign for " Hurry up " ; showing the same
impatience of tiresome prolixity as they did during Lectures,
when a speaker spun out his discourse beyond the limit of real
interest.

In the first miming exercises made by these boys without
the direction of the master the fault of acting incident only,
without representing any speech, was very noticeable. One
faoy produced a mime of a barber's shop. There was shaving,
shampooing, and hair-cutting, but, as the barber ventured
nothing in the way of conversation, the show was quite
unconvincing ! Another group of players presented a shoeing-
forge. One plied the bellows, another was busy with hammer
and anvil, and there was some entertaining by-play on the
part of the horse ; but nothing was " said." And when at
last another group represented a church service, the fault in
question became apparent to the whole class. We were given
the playing of the organ, the blowing of the bellows, the reading
of the lesson ; and also prayers, hymns, and the taking of the
collection. The parson then went up into the piilpit and
delivered a soundless sermon, which, for vigorous gesticulation
(and especially the recourse to a glass of water to mark the
stages "thirdly" "fourthly," "fifthly") would have done
credit to a comic cinema star. But when spoken criticism was
called for several speakers pointed out, and the rest of the
class agreed, that this dumb-show merely represented externals.
What lesson had been read ? What hynm had been sung ?
Upon what subject had the parson preached so earnestly ?

In this practical way, by trial and manifest error, the

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THE PLAY WAY

boys came to learn what a mime should be. They had
now realized the need for speech to be represented. To
make this realization quite sure I then directed that repre-
sentation by the acting of players be entirely suspended for
a space, and meaning conveyed in gesture by a single mimist
in the form of an anecdote. This struck the boys as a very
difficult exercise. And so it was. But several anecdotes
were successfully narrated without a word being uttered.
The performer would go through his exercise without having
told the class beforehand what he was about to show. One
told that chestnut of the boy who had been swimming, contrary
to his mother's orders. He represented both sides of the
dialogue, indicating the mother or the son in turn by making
the sign for " woman " or " boy," and shifting his position to
the right or to the left. The mother asks the boy if he has been
swimming. He denies it. She points out that his hair is wet.
He replies that he had not meant to go in the water, but found
the temptation too much for him. She preaches to him that
when he is tempted he must say to the Devil, " Get thee behind
me, Satan." The boy replies that he did so, but the Devil got
behind and pushed him in ! The Devil was shown as *' that
horned one, horrid, with a long barbed tail."

An even more difficult anecdote was well told by another
player. Two boys have stolen some apples (or nuts — ^the
mimist was criticized for not making clear precisely what he
meant by " round eatable things off a tree ") and have climbed
over the wall into a graveyard to apportion the spoil between
them. But in clambering over they have dropped two apples,
and dare not go back for them because the old sexton (shown
in mime as " old man of the graveyard ") is coming along,
the road and they might be seen. While they are coimting
" One for you, and one for me," the parson and the sexton
chance to meet in the roadway on the other side of the wall.
After listening a while the old sexton tells the parson that in
the graveyard over the wall God and the Devil are sharing out
the dead. At this moment one of the boys says, " That's all."
But the other asks, " What about those two on the other side
of the wall ? " Consternation of the sexton and the parson !

It is not a story of any arfKb laierit, but it is an extremely
240

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

difficult exercise for a boy to have chosen as a subject for miming.
Yet I can assure the reader that I myself and quite half the
class understood the story from the boy's gestures and signs.
One of those who had understood then told the story to the
class in words. The only real discrepancy between the two
versions was that one boy said apples though the other had
intended nuts.

There had previously been no sign conventional agreed
upon for " God." The narrator's first idea, shown in gesture,
after a scarcely perceptible pause, was " Crown of Prayer."
That phrase, of course, is only my way of stating what I saw.
The boy himself would probably have worded his gesture as
" King to whom one prays." But the idea, however it be stated
in words, is a beautiful idea. Those of my readers who (though
not perhaps shocked at the anecdote itself) are inclined to
feel that the idea of the Deity, in connexion with this story,
could not have been in any sense a noble conception in the boy's
mind, are asked to try and forget the puritan outlook, the
limited and fearful notions of modern belief, and think them-
selves back into those days of a simpler and more childlike
faith — ^mediaeval days if you like — when belief was robust and
hearty, and an honest man could without blasphemy share
even his jokes with God. Later on I met a man who told me
that he remembered somewhere having seen God represented
in symbolism by forming the arms into a circle with the face
looking through. This somehow reminded me of Blake.

One morning the boys were anxious to spend the English
period in miming, but we had suspended plays in mime
for the time being, and no one volunteered to describe an
anecdote. So I called upon one boy to relate to the class om
experiences of the night before. It was the winter term and
a group of these boys had been learning the folk-carols
with a view to singing them outside the houses of oxa friends
when Christmas came near. Two of the senior boys came
with us on these wanderings and played their fiddles, and several
grown-up friends joined us with viola, 'cello, and voice. In
all, our band of waits numbered about fifteen, and eight of the
boys carried lanterns hung upon scout-poles to show a light
for the musicians. We did not march in fours along the street,

Q 241

THE PLAY WAY

but trooped from house to house in a scattered procession, and
the light from the swinging lanterns as the boys ran hither and
thither gave a wil]-o'-the--wisp impression which was very
pleasing. And when the company was clustered together
outside some door to give its performance, the lanterns lighted
up such a group of merry faces that any one could see that our
charity began at home, and that the benefit of these outings did
not entirely consist in the money we collected for a Red Cross
fund.

The boy who was called upon to narrate in mime the
happenings of the previous evening described this lantern-
lighted throng of singers and musicians. He related who
played, who sang ; and told how a certain person, who had
no skill with voice or fiddle, bore a box with a slit in it, and
knocked the knockers and rang the bells of the house-doors
to take toll of the good people within. The other boys were
interested to learn of our good fortune in having been received
with such hospitality at several houses that we actually had
to decline cakes and buns and ginger-beer and coffee after the
first few visits. I asked the boy if he could not tell the others
what carols we had sung, and he then described in gesture,
" The Wassail Song," " King Herod and the Cock," and " Mary
Mother Mild." * This boy was our chief mimist ; it is doubtful
if any other boy could have done this. He finished his story by
telling how one of the playboys had been taken ill at the last
house we visited. But fortunately it was a doctor's house.
The doctor-man revived the boy, who had nearly fainted, and
then very kindly offered to drive three of them to their homes.
The conclusion of this narrative in gesture had the same effect
upon me as if I had read it in a piece of well-written prose ;
though of course I must content myself here with a mere
description of the events related. The first house was reached.
The boy got out, shut the door of the car, raised his cap and
thanked the doctor, and then went straight in to bed. The
second house was the home of the boy who had been unwell.
The doctor hoped he was better now. The boy thanked him
for his kindness, said good night, and went in to go to bed. Then

* See " English Folk-Carols " collected by CecU J. Sharp (Novello)
and Perse Playbooks, No. 5, p. 163.
242

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

the boy who was teUing the story was taken to his home. He
also thanked the doctor, then went to bed, and was soon asleep.
But the doctor had still to get home. He started his engine,
leapt to his seat, turned various corners, and at last arrived
at his house. Here he put the car in the garage, let himself
in with his latch-key, found that all his household was in bed,
and so himself retired, and was soon asleep. " So," concluded
the playboy with the customary bow, " everybody sleeping."

Not only was there much skill in the description of the
night's events solely in gesture, but surely some art of peroration
also.

After a little practice in the difficult exercise of relating
anecdotes in gesture, the boys were ready to include plenty
of speech-gesture (as distinct from mere acted epidodes) in
the miming of dramatized stories. One of the best mimes
performed at this period was the story of King Alfred in the
camp of the Danes. The Danes were described as " Winged
Hats," but we could think of nothing appropriate for the
English, and referred to them simply as " Our men." A single
player performed this mime.

Taking the part of Alfred, he crept up to a tent in which
the Danish leader and his captains were discussing their plan
of campaign. A more clever piece of acting could not be
desired. The boy represented with one hand the part of the
harper-king. He told us who he was and what he was about,
and made clear the danger he was in as a spy in the enemy's
camp. With the other hand he first showed, by touching
the ear and holding up one finger, that he was listening atten-
tively, and then described what he heard of the plans which
were being discussed within the Danish tent.

As I write I can see the figure of the king in the dark,
straining to catch the drift of the murmured conference ; I
can see the group of " Winged Hats " sitting about the table
inside the tent, while in the dim light of a lamp the leader's
long finger maps out his plans for the disposition of his men
and his ships. Yet there was no tent, no lamps, no darkness,
no " Winged Hats " even. There was nothing but a single boy
in ordinary school dress making a story live in the play of his
hands.

248

THE PLAY WAY

While such a mime is going on the other boys sit quietly
but they are by no means idle. They " play with their fancies,"
as Shakespeare directs, and " eke out the performance with
their minds." And so it happened that, although the master
was more than pleased with this piece of acting, several of the
Littlemen at once sprang up to offer critical suggestions. They
took for granted all the brilUant representation of Alfred the
King, and began to discuss the weak points in the Danish
leader's plan of campaign ! I excused the player to his critics
on the ground that he was doing several things at the same
time, and had but one hand with which to represent the leader
and his captains and all they were saying. Two of the critics
were then sent up to the platform to mime the parts of the
leader and his second in command.

The leader began by showing " Here is a line of hills, and
here another. The valley runs along here. Now the English

will march along this valley "

" Why should they ? " interrupted the captain.
" Because there is no other road for them to march on,"
replied the leader. " You will take half our men and go up
the hills, here, and I with the rest will go up on the other side,
here. Then as the English reach this point in the valley
between us, we rush down from both sides and fall upon them."
" No," said the captain, " they will see us coming down
the hills, and will make off along the valley."

" There are trees enough on the hill-side," replied the leader,
" to hide all our men."

But the captain still protested. " The English are not
so foolish as to march along this valley without having scouts
ahead on the hills on either side."

The Danish leader was persuaded in the end to abandon
his plan of campaign. The details need not be further related,
but the discussion of that matter outlasted the period. And
yet no one was allowed to speak a word.

We next took the stories of the traditional ballads and
acted them in mime. It is very good to have many devices
for use in connexion with the ballads ; for the essential
thing about a ballad is that it should be thoroughly
familiar. Poems, plays, stories, and essays may be read and
244

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

carefully studied, and then set aside. But your knowledge
of a ballad is not complete, your work upon it is not finished,
unless you carry it for ever after in your mind. Ballads above
all else in literature must be known by heart. It is poor fun
learning a few stanzas at a time for homework. And repeated
readings and re-readings in class are almost as dull, once the
story is known. Here then, once again, comes in the school
necessity which is the mother of Play Ways.

In the first place a ballad may be read aloud by one boy
while the rest listen with their books closed. This method
has obvious advantages for a first reading. Then the ballad
can be read again by one or several of the boys while the rest
follow in their books. Any discussion which springs up of its
own accord should of course be permitted. But it seems to me
a mistake for a master, in connexion with such a simple thing
as a ballad, artificially to raise inquiry by asking unnecessary
questions. If difficulties are thus made where no real diflBculties
exist, the boys will be less likely to turn to the reading of ballads
for their own enjoyment out of school. The matter has been
mentioned before in these pages ; and the suggestion has been
made that teachers still consider everything a matter for
questions and problems simply because they cannot think of
anything better to do.

A good way of getting a ballad read carefully time and again,
without risking that boredom which robs learning of its joy
and makes study a thing of naught, is, after the first two or
three readings, to bring in an alternative version of the ballad.
Comparisons are interesting, and the quest of them causes one
to read both versions several times. By this time the ballad
will already be shaping in the memory. Then many of the
ballads can be read in parts by a number of boys, with one of
them acting as chorus to fill in the narrative passages. The

mister reads.

The king sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blude-red wine ;

and the king reads,

" O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o' mine ? "

245

THE PLAY WAY

The mister even puts in " He said " and " She cried." Even so
simple a device as this adds variety, and gives you another
reading or two without boredom. Then again, we have often
borrowed the tunes of the folk-ballads which have been recently
collected by Mr. CecU Sharp and others, and have used them for
the ballads in our other books. Thus we have sung " King
Estmere" to the tune of "Ward the Pirate," and "Young
Bekie " to the tune of " The Outlandish Knight." We only
did this in a rough-and-ready manner in the classroom, and
without any accompaniment. Here and there the words and
the music did not quite fit, but we made adjustments in passing
and thus gaily sang through our ballads instead of reading
them. It is only fair to the music master to add that he would
not have approved of these singing lessons !

Ballads, again, can be acted without book. You have
at command a good actable story and a number of keen players.
Nothing more is needed but floor-space, and a few odds and
ends to serve as properties. The mister plans the scenes,
and the players make up their parts as they go along, using
whenever possible the actual words of the ballad. My readers
may fear that to attempt the performance of a play without
preparation is to court failure. Of course it is. The first
effort, when a spoken part has to be taken extempore, generally
results in a shocking mess. It is this very disaster which
causes the boys to read the ballad again very carefully, and
to commit great swarths of it to memory against the next
day when the master shall be in a good mood, and may be
approached with " May we act ' King Estmere ' ? " Few teachers
realize that the process of learning consists as much in failure
as in success.

Finally, as a method of making ballads thoroughly familiar,
there is miming. There need be no fear that the absence of words
in miming implies any loss in the study of a ballad in this way.
It is one of the characteristic virtues of the traditional ballads
that they give the bare story without trimmings or ornament ;
so that the players, by the time they know the story well
enough to represent it in detail, will already have the stanzas
almost by heart. And, as the story has never been thought
of apart from its ballad form, the words and the phrasing, and
246

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

the very rhymes and rhythms, will be running in every one's
head all the time.

The ballad of " Young Bekie " opens thus :

Young Bekie was as brave a knight

As ever saOed the sea ;
An' he's done him to the court of France,

To serve for meat and fee.

The first scene of the mime will show Young Bekie, a fine
upstanding young fellow, presenting himself to the King of
France, and offering his knightly service. The king accepts
Young Bekie as his man, and presents him to his daughter,
Burd Isbel.

He had nae been i' the court of France

A twelvemonth nor sae long,
Till he feU in love with the king's daughter.
An' was thrown in prison strong.

The first two lines of this stanza are passed over. The second
pair supply all the material required to complete the two opening
scenes. The king tells his daughter to entertain the young man,
and then he goes out. This exit, however, did not seem
convincing to our playboys ; and so the second time the mime
was given, they arranged for a " little wee page " to enter at
this point with a scroll of some business which required his
majesty's immediate attention. The king, therefore, begs the
young knight to excuse him while he attends to this urgent
matter, and goes off the stage with good reason. After he
has gone, the young couple chat for a while about things in
general. If the mime were being represented fully as a stage
performance, " music and a song " would be introduced at
this point. Eventually the knight declares his love for the
lady. She is on the point of accepting him as her lover when
the king returns* He is very angry indeed ; bids the princess
out of his sight, and straightway sends Sir Bekie to prison.
The details of this sending to prison are mimed in the following
manner ; the king claps his hands, and a little page comes
in and bows. A janitor is summoned, and the king directs
him to take * big key, open a heavy door ; then manacle this

247

THE PLAY WAY

fellow and thrust him in. " There shalt thou stay for many
a month," he adds to the wretched knight.

If the mime is being performed in the classroom, most
of the stage-fittings will have to be imaginary. The second
scene then opens with the entrance of the janitor bringing
in Young Bekie with his hands crossed, as though manacled.
Boys are always vivid in representation, and it is probable
that the player taking the part of Bekie will hobble in as
though his ankles also were fettered. Our playboy, in point
of fact, after the first performance, cautioned the king always
to command this ankle-fettering in futiire. If the janitor
does his part well, there need be no one among the onlookers
who does not most clearly see the key unhitched &om his
leathern belt, the opening of the ponderous door, the thrusting
in of the prisoner, and the parting appeals and jeers exchanged
through the iron grill. Yet if you look blindly you will see
nothing but two boys making signs at one another through the
barred back of a Windsor chair !

Visitors who casually dropped in and looked on at two
or three miming lessons out of a consecutive series of fifty
must have wondered how sane persons could spend so much time
in making apparently unintelligible gestures. But any language
sounds barbarous to one who does not understand it.

It has taken many words to describe the representation
of those two lines, consisting of scarce a score of syllables.
And the acting of those two scenes might easUy fiU twenty
minutes. Yet no one could accuse the players of having added
any ornament or trimnlings. It happens that ballad-narrative
is most condensed.

The three verses which follow tell how the lady went to
the prison-house, and heard the captive making his moan.
The shrewd Bekie spies her through the bars, but affects to
be unaware of her presence, and makes a piteous appeal for
some lady who will borrow him for a footpage, or some widow
who will take him as her son. Then he cries :

" Or gin a virgin would borrow me,
I would wed her wi' a ring ;
I'd gie her ha's, I'd gie her bowers,
The bonny tow'rs o' Linne."
t48

is

60

a

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

She then comes to the grill, and they talk together. She
tries to force the door, and he tries to rid himself of the fetters ;
but of course it is of no avail. The lady then goes away deep
in thought. Presently she returns on tiptoe and tells her
lover that she has found her father asleep, and is going to steal
his keys.

O barefoot, barefoot gaed she but,
An' barefoot came she ben ;

It was no for want o' hose an' shoou,
Nor time to put them on ;

But a' for fear that her father dear,

Had heard her making din :
She's stown the keys o' the prison-house door,

An' latten the prisoner gang.

The theft of the keys shoiJd be shown in the mime, and this
is easily contrived. The stage must represent two places
at once. Then, either the king enters on one side and lies
down to sleep while his daughter is at the prison on the other
side of the stage, or she meets him as she is leaving the prison
and, seeing the keys at his belt, wheedles the old man into taking
an afternoon doze. The second plan is the more convincing,
but the more difficult. It is the plan which our playboys
devised ; for they aim always at the truest and most natural
representation of their story, without thinking of difficulties
beforehand. A playboy pursuing the easiest way would, of
course, simply go off the stage to get the key and presently
return with it in his hand. But this would be depriving the
onlookers of a scene they would fain have witnessed, as well
as throwing away the opportunity for some good acting by
two of the players.

The next few stanzas of this ballad afford the richest
miming stuff that any playboy could desire. Burd Isbel
liberates her lover :

O whan she saw him Young Bekie,

Her heart was wondrous sair !
For the mice but an' the bold rottons •

Had eaten his yallow hair.

* This is simply a metrical way of saying, " the mice and the rats.

249

THE PLAY WAY

Any one reading this ballad will not, of course, pause to
think over that stanza, but will just give one laugh and read
on. But think of it staged. The lady comes nimbly to set
free her splendid knight, and, on the opening of the great door,
out comes a pathetic figure with his lovely golden hair all
nibbled by the mice and rats which have been running about
in the straw of his cell. This excellent picture of comedy
will always stick in my memory as it was brought to life one
evening after tea in my room, when two or three Littlemen,
without costume or any apparatus but one Windsor chair,
mimed the story they had read in school. The players performed
in a little inner room which was lighted, while the rest of us
sat in darkness. For half an hour there was no sound from the
whole party, save for a periodical outburst of Shakespearean
laughter when a point of comedy got home. It was only
later on in the evening, when the players were fast asleep in
their beds, that I realized that these were schoolboys, and
that their evening's amusement showed them to possess a very
firm grasp of what their teacher called miming, balladry, play-
making, Shakespeare, discipline, and above all, activity in
their own learning.

Although we had consciously been pursuing the Play Way
for some years, it came as a new surprise to me that night
that so much pleasure could be taken in the exercise of learning,
and so much learning shown in the sheer exercise of pleasure.

Burd Isbel followed in every detail the next stanza of the
ballad,

She's gi'en him a shaver for his beard,

A comber till bis hair.
Five himder pound in his pocket.
To spen' and nae to spair.

The shaver and the comber had been fetched by Buid
fsbel from somewhere off the stage. The " five hunder pound "
was represented by a bag of money stolen from the king at
the same time as the key. All these things could easily have
been brought in as concrete properties ; rulers would have
served for shaver and comber, and a duster could have been
tied up in a bundle for the bag of money. But the player
in this instance preferred to mime everything, to have even his
250

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

properties imaginary. And, of course, having brought these
things into existence in our minds, he had to account for them
all, carry them to the prison, and put them down while he
unlocked the door. This he did with such vividness and
precision that those of us who were giAdng our diligent attention
could have said positively at any moment which of the imaginary
properties the player was handling, whether the razor, the
comb, the bag of money, or the big key. Burd Isbel could
not bring the rest of her gifts to the prison, but she promised
her lover a steed and a saddle and a leash of hounds. Then

Atween this twa a vow was made,

'Twas made full solemnly.
That or three years was come and gane.

Well married they should be.

Here the scene ends, and Sir Bekie will steal away to England
as soon as he can. The playboy who was acting the lady's
part put in a delightful little touch of character at this point.
While they were making their farewell she alluded again to
his nibbled hair, and said in much distress what a shame it
was that he should be so disfigured. Then, suddenly, brightening
again into her practical and sunny self, she added cheerily,
" But in three years it will have plenty of time to grow again ! "
And so they parted with merry laughter.
The story continues,

He had nae been in's ain country

A twelvemonth till an end,
Till he's forced to marry a duke's daughter.

Or then lose a' his land.

The playboys can easily make a scene of this stanza if some
method is devised of indicating the possession of land. A
tenure-sword might be agreed upon as the sign conventional
to represent Bekie's title to his estates. Then Sir Bekie, on
his return from France, can find the villainous duke in possession
of this tenure-sword ; and the duke can force the knight to
marry his daughter by threats of dispossession. Burd Isbel
is made awajc of this unhappy trend of events by a vision,

251

THE PLAY WAY

in which the benevolent household sprite, " Billy Blin," appears
to her.

O it fell once upon a day
Burd Isbel fell asleep,
An' up it starts the Billy Blin,
An' stood at her bed-feet.

This makes an excellent scene. The good little demon
tells the lady in detail what she is to do, how she is to dress
herself and two of her mother's maids, and how she is to get a
boat ; and he himself promises to come at her call and be
the steerer to row them o'er the sea. So this sweet and brave
princess goes over to England to liberate her lover for the second
time. The rest of the story needs no detailed description here,
for all the necessary action will be found clearly given in the
lines. Thus :

She's pitten her hand in her pocket
Gi'n the porter guineas three.

And again, of the porter :

O whan that he came up the stair
He fell low down on his knee.

Though the ballad tells the whole story in thirty-six stanzas
only, the representation of it in mime will take an hour or two.
But even if it should take a week it is well worth all the time
passed upon it. Surely any teacher who could take such a
ballad as this, and make it the subject of " literature lessons "
in which word-study was made of more importance than the
tale, would be guilty of a crime not only against literature
but against life-lore itself. How much real learning is at once
too simple and too joyous to engage the attention of school-
masters !

Among many other ballads which will make whole plays
in mime " The Lord of Learne " and " King Estmere "
must be specially mentioned.* " The Lord of Leame "

* AU these are available for school use in the collection of " Old
Ballads " edited by Frank Sidgwick, and published by the Cambridge
University Press.
252

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

mns into more than a hundred stanzas, but it can of
course, Uke any other story, be subdivided. King Estmere
has been ever an especial favourite with us. Estmere and his
brother Adler, although they set about to find a queen, and
although they have " dukes and lords and knights " at their
command, are essentially boys. " The king his son of Spain,"
that foul paynim with the kempery-men at his back, who swore
to pull down the halls and castles if he could not have the lady,
makes the right lusty villain of the piece. Childe Estmere
might well be proud to have such a man to his foe. King
Adland, the timorous old father, is a character which any clever
boy can make live. And his daughter, although she does not play
so full a part in this story as Burd Isbel does in " Young Bekie,"
is nevertheless not the colourless ineffectual maiden such as
one finds in some romances, but a young lady of wit and purpose.
She snaps her fingers in the paynim's face, tells her trembling
father that his castles and towers are strong, and decides very
definitely that she will marry the man she wants to marry,
and will have " none of your swaggerers."

The ballad of King Estmere can be easily mimed, because
there is very little discussion in it, and plenty of expressive
action. King Estmere and his brother Adler gallop to and
fro upon their horses. The King of Spain blusters in with his
meiny of kempers. Every one is eager to get things done.
All affairs are urgent.

They had not ridden scant a mile,

A mile forth of the to-wn,
But in did come the King of Spain

With kempes many a one ;

But in did come the King of Spain

With many a bold barone,
Tone day to marry King Adland's daughter,

Tother day to carry her home.

She sent one after King Estmere

In all the speed might be.
That he must either turn and fight,

Or go home and lose his lady.

The very ring of the lines warns you that it is impossible to

258

THE PLAY WAY

walk through such a story ; far less sit through it. We seized
two bamboo curtain-poles to serve as hobby-horses for King
Estmere and Adler yoimg, and on these they capered and
cantered through the epic ! Horses of some kind must be found
for the boys, for time after time they " renish them to ride of
two good renisht steeds." And, on his return to the castle of
Adland, Childe Estmere splendidly rides into the hall where the
banquet is going on, and

The froth that came from his bridle-bit
Light in King Bremer's beard.

The play brings in many a thing which delights the hearts
of boys. There is magic, or gramary, for purposes of disguise
and safeguard :

There grows an herb -within this field

And if it were but known ;
His colour, which is white and red.

It will make black and brown ;

His colour, which is brown and black

It will make red and white ;
That sword is not in all England

Upon his coat will bite.

There is music and song :

And you shaU be the best harper

That ever took harp in hand,
And I will be the best singer

That ever sang in this land.

And there is a great fight to end it all :

Up then rose the kempery-men

And loud they gan to cry ;
" Ah, traitors, ye have slain our king.

And therefore ye shall die."

King Estmere threw his harp aside,

And swithe he drew his brand.
And Estmere, he, and Adler young
Right stiff in stour did stand.
254

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

If our schoolmasters knew their business as teachers of
literature to boys, this ballad of King Estmere would be known
by heart in all the schools of England. And then, if the teachers
objected to any acting in the classroom, King Estmere would
nevertheless be played, in nurseries and suburban gardens,
and even in the courts and back alleys of the great cities all
up and down the country.

The stories of most of the ballads include a love-affair
of some kind, and teachers might expect on that ground
to find the boys not in favour of ballads for acting purposes.
Your sturdy English boy considers love-making a silly
business. And if Peter thought he was expected to
stand out before his fellows and go billing and cooing with
his friend Jack, he might well say, " I'll be blowed first." He
might, with even greater justice, offer to see some one else
" blowed " ; for the master whose boys regard the acting of
ballads in this light has himself a totally wrong way with boys,
and has given them a totally wrong idea of ballads. The love
element in all these old romances, so far as their stage representa-
tion is concerned, is not a kissing business at all ; it is an occasion
for the utterance of fine poetry. It is not soft wooing, but
brave courting. It is not the whispering of amorous senti-
mentalities, but outspoken gallantry, courtly vows and pro-
testations. In a word, it is not cuddling, but chivalry.

Littlemen know nothing at all of one kind of love, the way
of a man with a maid ; and they are impatient of all kissing.
But in that kind of love which is chivalry, the knight's devotion
to his lady's service, they can ride at ease among the truest
romantic poets.

I am anxious to make this point perfectly clear because,
although the true representation of parts in character may
be a matter of no account to those who confess themselves
mere book-teachers, it is a matter of great moment to play-
masters, and those who feel for the life of the study in the minds
of the boys. The play-methods must not run counter to any
natural feelings of the boys. Many teachers will think that
it must be against a boy's instinct to act the part of a girl.

Given the least opening, the least suspicion of " girlishness,"
a righfc-minded boy is only too ready to " see you blowed first,"

255

THE PLAY WAY

and to resent this proposed upset of his boyishness. For
when a playboy acts well he puts himself into his part, lives
in character. How then can he, a boy, live a girl's part ? *
The teacher who goes in for play at all thoroughly must soon
come upon this difficulty; and the danger is that he will
atLempt its solution by permitting all the female parts to be
simply " walked through." This is to sacrifice in the repre-
sentation that thoroughness which alone makes any art a thing
of value. If we have the women's parts casually presented
" then the play is marred ; it goes not forward, doth it " ?

The solution of this difficulty, as it seems to me, lies in
a master's complete understanding of his boys — ^not boys
in general, but his very boys — and a complete tmderstanding
also of the subject he is teaching. This may seem a heavy
requirement in any teacher ; but it is, I must protest, the
first essential of method in playmastery. Given this under-
standing a master will not offend either the player or the play.
" The lady shall say her mind freely," and the blank
verse shall not halt for't. The playmaster with any insight
will realize that the boy, being an unselfconscious Uttle fellow
is not really unable or unwilling to take a woman's part. His
objection is a very simple one. He is told to act " the girl,"
and he fancies, without thinking, that he will have to stand
up before his fellows and behave in the silly simpering manner
which he usually associates with love-making and girls, unless
he has been properly brought up with them.f

* There must be no confusion of this matter with the question of
Shakespeare's boy-players and their acting of women's parts. The
Elizabethan playboy was doubtless coached and rehearsed and put
through his paces in every imaginable way, in order that he might fitly
present a play before an audience. After highly specialized training
a boy could represent any woman's part. But the playboys in the class-
room must interpret the play as they go along (with a minimmn of coaching
in the acting) and solely for their own benefit. This is a very important
distinction.

t AU that is said here refers solely to those plays in which boys
take all the parts. It would be very interesting to Imow exactly what
is possible when the female parts are played by little girls. I have no
experience at all in co-education, and have refrained from making
guesses. The love-affairs of the romances would of course have to be
represented in the same chivalrous manner between boys and girls as
256

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

But, as has been said, there is no silliness about the girls
in these romances, nothing mawkish about the ladies and the
queens, and nothing sentimental in their love-affairs. What
boy could find anything derogatory to his boyhood even in
the childish character of Curly Locks when treated as we
treated it in our mime ? What playboy would not gladly seize
the opportunity to act Burd Isbel rather than to represent
the minor majesty of the king, her father ? And which of
your boys have you so mistaught that he will find the vigorous
love-maldng of King Estmere imbefitting the nature of a
thorough-going Littleman ?

Then King Estmere pulled forth his harp

And played a pretty thing ;
The lady upstart from the board

And would have gone from the king.

He played again both loud and shrill,

And Adler he did sing —
" O lady, this is thy own true love ;

No harper, but a king.

" O lady this is thy own true love,

As plainly thou mayst see,
And I'll rid thee of that foul paynim

Who parts thy love and thee."

That is the Estmere vein. It is true that the ballad says

The lady looked, the lady blushed.

And blushed and looked again.
While Adler he hath drawn his brand

And hath the Sowdan slain.

they are between boys alone. Girls would, presumably, be able to act
girls' parts at least as well as the boys can. But the representation of
boys' and men's parts by girls, whether in the amateur shows at girls'
schools or on the professional stage, gives one little hope of then: actmg
powers. Girls have no initiative.

It is not by any means certain that even Shakespeare's female char-
acters are best acted by women. Viola and Rosalind, at all events, can
only be properly done by boys. The modern practice of givmg aU Shake-
speare's boys, princes, and pages to be played by women is of course
indefensible. To have a weU-shaped young woman mmcmg about the
stage on high heels, with her legs clad in pink tights, may be good baUet
or " revue," but it is most certainly not Shakespeare.

B 257

THE PLAY WAY

But we may be sure that the interest of all, including not least
the lady, will be so centred in the slaughter of the Sowdan
that no one will look critically to mark whether or not the
playboy can conjure up a maidenly blush.

A little boy of eleven once entertained us for a whole hour
at tea-time by making heroic love, in the Estmere vein, to a
girl of twenty. Of course he was doing it for fim ; and very
good fun we all had of it. But the fine ideas he struck upon
were a great thing to hear, and the fashioning of his knightly
vows, cried straight out in a moment of play, were pure
poetry. I believe the affair ended in my being slain as a false
steward, or an ogre, or a rival lover, or something of the
kind.

Another boy, aged ten, was once acting at school in " Sir
Patrick Spens " as " the king's daughter o' Norroway." No
books were in use at the moment, and the boys were composing
their parts extempore in ballad measure. TTiis, believe me, is
none too easy. I can remember but one of this boy's stanzas in
the character of a princess. But the second line alone is enough
to show that he did not feel that he " would be blowed first " :

O bring to me my robe of silk

And a girdle of rubies red,
Go, fetch me here a crovm of gold

And set it upon my head.

This type of love and ladyship, then, as seen in our examples
from the romances of Curly Locks, Burd Isbel, King Estmere's
queen and the king's daughter o' Norroway, is the kind of
chivalrous love which I know Littleman can appreciate.
Possibly these few brief instances of high romance, and of the
poetry which Littleman uses as a medium even in nursery
or classroom play, will make more clear what we meant by
quoting at the end of the chapter on Shakespeare the words
of Sir Walter Raleigh : " With the disappearance of the boy-
players the poetic drama died in England, and it has had no
second hfe." For, with the possible exception of the Irish
plays of J. M, Sjmge, we know of nothing in the way of poetic
drama to-day at all comparable with the old romantic plays
as acted by boys,
258

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

This is not the place to open a discussion on the whole
field of poetry. But in connexion with all that is said in
this chapter, I should like to record my conviction that modem
poetry can only be cured of its headache by a tonic draught
of boys and balladry. The poems of adults to-day are vague
and sickly, or harsh, flatulent things. Before we can write
again with the fullness and glory of Spenser and Milton and
Shakespeare we must learn again the secret of that English
freshness in Chaucer ; the secret of that vision and simplicity
in Blake ; the secret of that merry wit, and simple, touching
pathos in the folk-songs and ballads. We must learn the
secret of inspiration and of play. The secret of all this is with
the boys of England. I have found it there.

In conclusion of this account of miming and the ballads a
description shall be given of an entirely original play which
lasted three-quarters of an hour, and yet had taken less than
ten minutes to prepare.

Our band of carol-singers and musicians met one evening
at the house, but we were prevented by the weather from
going out on our rounds. The Littlemen were eager to stay
at home instead, and spend the evening in miming. But by
the time tea was done the weather had cleared, and the lady
director of the singing was in favour of our going the rounds,
the more especially since she had promised several friends
in the neighbourhood that the troupe would pay them a visit
that evening. But, being now set on miming, we outvoted
the lady director of the singing and stayed at home. Then
I suggested to the boys that they should take a ballad entirely
new to them, and see what they could make of it as
a play, without any preparatory discussion or rehearsal.
The ballad taken was the following.* It is the composition
of one of the playboys of the school ; but it was written two
years before this date, and was quite imknown to the
carol-singers.

* The ballad will be found in Perse Playbooks, No. 2, p. 62, under
the title of " The Two Brothers."

259

THE PLAY WAY

THE GOLDEN CUP

The king sits on his golden throne,

With his two sons at his knee.
" The one that fetches the golden cup

Shall reign king after me."

The two brothers at once set oft

To fetch the golden cup.
The younger one was faster much

When he was in the stirrup.

At last he came to the castle grim,

Wherein the cup did lie ;
And he had started back again

Before the sun was high.

And when he came to a lonely wood

His brother he espied
Running to him with all his speed,

With his long sword at his side.

He's stabbed his brother through the heart,
And he's ta'en the cup from his hand.

And hastened back to his good father.
To reign o'er all the land.

It happened that in the house at this time was a schoohoom
hung with curtains as a temporary stage,* and in lockers near
at hand were stored the dresses which had been used a year
earUer in the production at the school of " Baldr's Death "
and " Freyr's Wooing." The carol-party went into the school-
room, and I read this short ballad. Then the parts of the
king and his two sons and a " little wee page " were assigned
to four of the Littlemen, and one of the ladies of the party
undertook to try her hand as the lady of the castle " wherein
the cup did lie." We soon had the players dressed very simply
from our assortment of costumes ; giving merely a crown and
a robe to the king, a tunic, cloak, sword, and coronet to each
of the sons, a tunic and ruff to the page, and a robe to the lady.

Then, to save time, instead of leaving the plot-construction
for the boys to discuss, as would have been done in school,

* This little stage only existed for one term while I was testing
various effects of design and colour before fitting up the new Mummery
at the school. It was not available for class lessons.
260

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

I gave a rapid outline of the story as it might be adapted for
the purpose of the play. The third stanza obviously requires
amplification. I therefore suggested that the golden cup should
be in the keeping of a lady. She lived in a castle and was a
kind of magician. She had been instructed by her father
JDcfore his death carefully to guard the cup, and only to yield
it to that man whom she truly loved. The idea, of course,
was an adaptation of Portia's caskets in " The Merchant of
Venice." The lady was to fall in love with the younger son
upon his arrival, and, after a scene which the players were left
to invent when the time came, she was to give him the cup, and
he was to take her for his queen when he had inherited his
father's kmgdom. I suggested, further, that (instead of having
the scene in the wood) the elder son should arrive just as the
younger son was leaving his lady, and should spring from behind
the curtain, stab his brother and make off with the golden
cup. The younger son could either be quite dead or, better,
simply wounded. In either case he would be restored by the
magics of the lady ; and together they would return to the
king's castle and expose the deceit of the elder brother, who
by this time would be celebrating his achievement in a great
banquet before the king and would, at the moment of their
entrance, be on the point of drinking off a bumper of wine
from the golden cup itself.

The whole scheme of the plot was put before the players,
and a few recommendations made in passing, in as brief a
space of time as it has taken the reader to read this account
of the plan. Then the fiddlers and the 'cellist, and the remaining
Littlemen and the rest of us sat down in the dark at the other
end of the room, and the mime began.

The first scene of the king and his two sons proceeded
straightforwardly. As soon as the quest of the golden cup
had been stated by the king the younger soon took his leave.
But the elder one stayed with his father and boasted of his
better wit. The curtain was then closed, and the younger
son at once cantered in before it, astride of a bamboo pole
for his hobby-horse. He told us that he was now in quest
of the golden cup, but was at a loss which way to take. He
feared his brother might be first to find the cup. Presently

261

THE PLAY WAY

he spied a castle in the distance, and spurred his horse in that
direction. The third scene introduced us to the lady-magician,
and showed her brewing, spells to attract errant knights. The
lady should have referred to the golden cup and the conditions
attaching to her possession of it.* But the lady-player had
never mimed in her life before, and was indeed much to be
complimented on filling a rdle at all, among such a proficient
company of Littlemen. When the curtain closed again the
elder brother galloped in on his piebald bamboo steed, and
expressed an easy assurance of his chances of outwitting his
silly little brother.

The elder son wore about his head a brass circlet fitted
in the front with three jewels, and the yoimger wore a similar
circlet, but with one jewel only. Thus the two princes were
easily able to refer to one another throughout the play by
making the signs for " coronet of three stars " or "coronet
of one star." No latent symbolism was intended in these
signs. They simply arose from the fact that we found two
such brass circlets in the store of costumes, and used them.
The fifth scene was played on the inner stage, and again showed
us the lady-magician in her castle chamber, with the golden
cup on a pedestal close at hand. Soon the prince of the single
star arrived. He dismounted in a comer outside the curtain.

This detail is very interesting. The boy had it in mind
to make his arrival at the castle the occasion of the traditional
comic scene with the porter.f But the only thing he could do,
on finding the curtain already opened, was to stand in the
corner just outside the stage, in sight of the audience, but not
in view of the lady and her page. Apparently the others had
not expected this interpolation. In any case there was no
porter available, and so the " little wee page " had to come
forward and go through the business of inquiring who was there,
and what he wanted. Having said this, the poor little page
was at a loss how to proceed. For the whole play was unre-
hearsed, and his own part in any case but a small one. The

* Cf. " The Merchant of Venice," Act I, Scene 2 : the third speech
of Portia and the third speech of Nerissa.

t As in "Macbeth," Act II, " King Bstmere," " Young Bekie," " Thi
Harrowing of Hell." and many another place in early literature.
262

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

particular scene he was now called upon to enact had suddenly
been sprung upon him by the zeal of a fellow who appeared
out of nowhere on a bamboo horse, and insisted on being a
prince at a castle gate, and nothing but a prince at a castle
gate. The boy who was plajnng the little wee page was not
of any great note as an actor, and his attitude throughout
this scene (no word, of course, was spoken on either side) was
a comic blend of the ineffectual desire to do something and a
constant surreptitious miming to the other boy of, " What
do you want me to do ? " The Prince of the Lone Star, on the
other hand, was an actor of great genius, the perfect Littleman
player ; and he took full advantage of the puzzle in which he
had involved the other boy. The bewilderment of the porter-
page exactly suited his purpose, and he treated him just as the
gallants treat the witless clowns in the old comedies. And
the more the porter-page endeavoured to carry off the situation
by nodding and smiling, and the general " Quite so " tomfoolerj
which comedians at a loss always use as a gag, the more de-
finitely did the prince indicate his lordly and contemptuous
baiting of the clown for the entertainment of the spectators.
The perfect player had the whole company of us in his hands
We laughed heartily. The only mistake was due to the lack
of preparation in management, for this should have been
arranged as a scene on the front stage. As it was, the whole
business was conducted in a half-light, while the unfortunate
lady in her chamber beyond was left all the time with nothing
to do. Eventually the Prince of the Lone Star suffered the
page to conduct him into the presence of the lady. Here
again he took the whole scene into his own hands. Observing,
(or, rather, making us believe that he observed) the apparatus
of alchemy on every side, he affected to dread magic in all
that occurred. When the lady offered him a horn of wine
he smilingly accepted it, but secretly expressed a fear of being
poisoned (Magics !— I drink— I dead— Not I !) and surreptitiously
poured the wine away. While the lady made herself busy
about some other matter in order to give him an opening,
the little prince examined the drinking-horn, and kept the
onlookers in a roar of laughter by his descriptions of the strange
devil." and horned demons which he found graven upon the

268

THE PLAY WAY

bands of metal. " Magics, magics everywhere," mimed the
little Prince of the Lone Star.

From time to time I explained a gesture for the benefit
of the audience, most of whom had never seen a mime before.
But except in a few cases, where our signs conventional appeared,
the spectators assured me they were able to follow it all quite
easily without interpretation. And why not ? For I, the
interpreter, had myself never seen these particular gesture-
expressions in use before. However strange all this may seem,
however remotely connected with what is ordinarily regarded
as educational method, I feel it to be important that the incidents
of this out-of -school play should be described as they actually
happened. Here was a room divided in two by a curtain
now drawn open. On one side, in the dark, sat a group of
men, women, and boys, and on the lighted side stood this boy
of twelve in a green cloak and with a brass circlet on his head.
In his hand was an imdecorated drinking-horn, and without
using any words the boy, by his skill in the art of expressive
gesture, was keeping the whole company of onlookers thoroughly
interested and highly amused by his fearful discovery of totally
imaginary demons pictured upon the drinking-horn. The more
we laughed the more ready was the little prince to discover
further shapes of sorcery. His crowning touch was the finding
of a little grinning gargoyle at the very tip of the horn at the
moment of the lady's re-entrance. At once he hushed his
apprehensive soliloquy and became a model of courtesy, though
wary still.

The inexperience of the lady-player as a mimist and the
backwardness of the boy-player because he did not quite know
how to set about making love to her, rendered the rest of this
scene rather weak as a stage in the story. In fact, I had to
break silence at this point to give a spoken direction. But
if the two had rehearsed together a few times, this scene would
soon have become the best in the play, for the lady and the
Littleman would not have been long in coming to intimate
terms with one another.

The rest of the mime requires no particular description. The
elder brother, Prince of the Three Stars, after some peeping
and skirmishing behind the curtains, made a dash into the
234

MIMING AND THE BALLADS

chamber, smote his younger brother, seized the cup from his
hands, and fled. The scene of the wonderful cure, wherein
the lady, assisted by the page, brewed magic charms in a
smoking cauldron, was played in a dim light and was quite
effective. But, as there was little speech-gesture in it, this
scene had no especial virtue as part of a mime. I told the
players afterwards that a cinema could have done as much.
For the rest, as time was now growing short, the players briefly
followed the directions I had given at the start. The Prince
of the Three Stars was exposed before the king, his father,
just as he was about to drink off a bumper of wine from the
golden cup. He was ignominiously banished ; and the Prince
of the Lone Star and his magic lady were received as the rightful
heirs to the kingdom. May they live happily ever after.

The mime of the Golden Cup lasted fully three-quarters
of an hour, with none of those London intervals between the
scenes. Thus did the Littlemen spend the evening, after we
had persuaded the lady director of the singing that it was
too wet to go out on a round of carols. It was not by any
means that we did not love to go trooping round the town and
singing folk-carols by the light of swinging lanterns. But
one has moods.

In connexion with performances such as the one just des-
cribed, the boys might be encouraged to make short ballads
for miming. There are, unfortunately, no examples of the boys'
work in this ; but the following verses which I made to fill a
chap-book will perhaps afford some hints. There is, however,
no plot in this. It is rather an exercise in simple stage design
than a story.

KING ROLDO AND HIS LITTLE PAGE

Mister came forth in a purple gown

Before the green curtain,
He bowed and told us some of his play>

Then he went in again.

There came two little beadles

And drew the curtain back ;
The stage was grey with purple hangings.

And the walls dead black.

265

THE PLAY WAY

The king came out in a crimson doak

With a crown upon his head ;
He called to him his little wee page

To hearken what he said.

The page he did him in a purple tunic,

Bordered it was of gold ;
Courteous he bowed and seemed right quick

To do as the king him told.

The king he bade bring a taper

And a bowl of wine to drink ;
And soon he called for a parchment

And a pen and a horn of ink.

And he wrote a proclamation
To the folk of his meadow-land ;

And ever the page in his gold and purple
Stood fair at his right hand.

The king he sipped of the bowl and thought.

And anon he wrote a line,
Tai the whole was writ and he put his sea

And finished the bowl of wine.

And the king he read it over,

And nodded upon the scroll ;
And the page blew out the taper

And took up the empty bowl.

And the king stood up in his crimson.
And went forth out of the hall ;

And the little page followed him after
So the place was empty aU,

266

CHAPTER IX
PLAYMAKING

Play out the Play. — Falstaff

The chapters on the Acting of Shakespeare and on Miming
the traditional ballads have sufficiently shown how young
boys can be taught to appreciate literature in dramatic form.
In connexion with those studies certain elements of play
construction were mentioned, such as the alternation of scenes,
the excellent craftsmanship of suiting the word to the action,
and the necessity of making the plot self-explaniatory without
adventitious aids. We are now to consider how the boys
may put into practice what they have leamt, in the making
of original plays.

But in this chapter we must also consider the necessity
of setting a high standard of literary workmanship. When the
boys are acting Shakespeare all the poetry is waiting for them ;
they have only to appreciate its worth and give due expression
to it. But in playmaking the plot and the poetry and the
acting have all to be fashioned by the boys themselves. It
is therefore necessary for the master to set before them the
very best material and models, and to keep their work up to a
high standard of literary taste.

Now as touching originality, it is, I think, a mistake to
encourage boys to invent the story and characters for themselves.
They will be too apt to lay the scene in the cellar of a London
bank, or in a Wild West canon, or in the boarding-house of a
public school ; and to choose for their protagonist a detective
or a bushranger, or one of those caricatures of boyhood who
strut and fret their hour in magazines written for schoolboys,
and then are heard no more. This side of the boys' interests
should not by any means be neglected in school-work. But

267

THE PLAY WAY

we have always found place for the crude expression of this
youthful taste in preliminary exercises, and in " asides " from
the main business. In the oral exercises, for instance, with
which our study of prose composition began — ^soliloquy,
description, narrative, and dialogue — ^the boys were not only
permitted but encouraged to choose subjects which had an
immediate interest for them. There were at first no restrictions.
The main piurpose was that the boys should exercise themselves
in " oral composition " of some kind, until they should become
ready speakers. Early practice was not hampered by an
exacting literary taste ; nor was self-expression at first con-
ditioned by the quest of " art forms." But after a time the
boys came to feel the inadequacy and superficiality of
their exercises based upon the commonplace. They were then
easily persuaded to use craft in selection and condensation.
They began with some feeling to say things with an artistic
intention, and to express where before they had been content
to describe. The soliloquy of a man in a dentist's chair, or
the description of a crowded railway station, were all very
well as furst exercises ; but these preliminaries were succeeded
by prose studies which had the merit of style.*

Similarly, in our miming experiments, after a few intro-
ductory lessons under the master's direction the boys were
allowed to practise in exercises of their own devising for a
week or two. The feeble mimes of the Shoeing Forge and the
Church Service have been mentioned, but there were many
other bojdsh ventures of a similarly poor standard. But by
following this natural course of gradual training we were able
after p, while to mime a whole ballad story as a play.

The same course should be followed in playmaking. Boys
should not be plunged at once into the deeps of an expressive
art without some preliminary paddling on the margin. A
boy's desire to try his hand at some new thing without tiresome
direction (vividly, if crudely, expressed in the words " Let's
have a go I ") may be allowed free play before sober and studious
business is put under way. Football, a game played in obedience
to strict rule, never begins without a free and easy kicking

* For examples, and an account of a full course of lessons in prose
composition by the play-method, see Perse Playbooks, No. 4.
268

PLAYMAKING

of the ball about the field. Cricket, a game of skill and precision,
generally has a prelude of bat-swinging and the exchange of
catches. And, if you have ever leamt to skate, I am sure
you were not content for long to dodder about hand-in-hand
with your instructor. " Let's have a go ! " is the right spirit
in which to undertake any enterprise of play.* It is far more
healthy for the beginner that he learn his earliest adjustments
of balance empirically at the risk of (and better still at the
cost of) a few real sprawls upon the hard ice, than that he

* I have noticed a very interesting example of this boyish desire to
make free play with a new instrument, in connexion with languages
taught on the Direct Method. The seniors who have attained a feir
mastery in French or Latin or Greek will speak in these languages only
of set intention, and to one who xmderstands them. But the Littlemen,
when they first begin to learn Latin, love to come out with the odd words
and phrases they have learnt, whenever they are excited, in the playground
or at tea parties. But these boys do not confine their exuberant exercise
to words and phrases which they have learnt thoroughly and can repeat
correctly. They wUl venture random utterance in long sentences com-
posed of the most ungrammatical jargon, which sometimes resembles
Latin, sometimes EngUsh ; and they will often tack Latin endings on to
English words when their Latin vocabulary fails them. This gibberish
is painful to hear, and, for no better reason, I have always discouraged
it.

The existence of this jargon has probably no real signifteance for a
language teacher. Inventiveness wUl hinder and not help language
study. He may rejoice that the new language is such a Uve one for
the boys that they struggle to speak it even before their knowledge is
sufficient ; but his clear duty is to go straight ahead with his teaching
until they can speak correctly. But in connexion with plajnnaking
and other forms of self-expression in which inventiveness is required, this
stage of the boys' interest is of great significance. The parallel to this
shockingly ungrammatical jargon is, in prose composition, a piece of lurid
description ; in speech-making it is a turgid oration ; in miming it is
wild inarticulate gesticulation ; in playmaking it is a disordered and
chaotic performance, full of sound and fury, but signifying nothing in
any artistic sense. The language teacher must directly discountenance,
or at least ignore, these crude initial efforts and experimentations,
because his subject requires precision, accuracy, learning. The play-
master, on the other hand, may encourage these crude manifestations
of delight in a new instrument, and should even take them into his
account and build upon them ; for his concern is inventiveness, conceit,
and flights of fancy. This is, I submit, a matter which concerns all
teachers of boys.

269

THE PLAY WAY

sit secure and idle, and admire the evolutions of his skilled
instructor.

After a series of preliminary exercises, a few free kicks,
a few nasty sprawls, the pupil returns to his master — ^ready
now for the instruction to begin. But not, I hope, at all
apologetic for having adventured on his own account, tried his
hand at the new instrument — ^had, in fact, his " go." For it
would be a grave mistake for a teacher (in the arts at all events)
to fancy that the pupil's venture had only served to convince
him of the supreme necessity of reliance upon his instructor.
The pupil has certainly found the need of a teacher, but he
has also discovered many another thing of value. He has
discovered not only difficulties but potentialities, not only
the need of instruction but a consuming desire for it.

The boyish craving for exciting adventure, undirected, is
content with cheap sensational stories such as those connected
with crude horrors and mysteries and what is called " raw "
crime. But, discreetly guided, it finds equal stimulus, and
eventually a fuller enjoyment, in good literatiu:e. But in
introducing the boys to those things which are of highest
worth, the master must still cater for their interests. Herein
lies the virtue of the master's method and selection. He must
see that hmiger is not dulled, but rendered obedient to taste ;
zeal to judgment.

In the present disordered and ill-managed state of education
a boy may satisfy his crude desire for novelty and sensation in
the reading of books which have no spark of literary value, and
in the shows at the cinema which are equally destitute of all
dramatic or artistic taste. He may seek f tm and the satisfaction
of his sense of humour in the unspeakable halfpenny comics,
or in sheer brainless tomfoolery with his fellows. School
gives but little guidance to his amusements. During lesson-
time his serious-minded teachers stolidly read with him some
of the masterpieces of classical literature (which at last is
recognized as including something outside the sacred pale of
Greek and Latin). They pass all too cursorily over what
is easy to understand ; all that might, without any loss to the
dignity of learning, serve for the ready satisfaction of the
play-instinct ; but they insist upon a careful and often prolonged
270

Gerda and Skirnir

|See p. 3;K

' Thus they renisht them to ride
Of two sood reuisht steeds

[See p LiSi

PLAYMAKING

study of all passages which present any natural difficulty,
or which can, by any device of pedantry, be made to yield
artificial difficulties. * All the fun is out of school, unrecognized
and uncontrolled. All the study is in school, an overearnest
matter, unrelieved and unsympathetic.

Owing to this blindness of our educators the gap is ever
widening between work and play, and each loses more and more
of what the other held of value to it. Amusements, on the
one hand, become daily less and less intelligent, and on the
other, so far as school is concerned, the pleasure of duty is
much diminished.

The Play Way, while giving scope to the natural interests
of the boys, insists upon a good standard of literature in their
playmaking. And, after the preliminary exercises have run
their course, the deeds of detectives and bushrangers, and
the goings-on of bulUes and fags will not pass muster as material
for drama. It would take the length of this whole chapter
to give in full the critical reasons why such persons and their
settings are not conducive to good plajrmaking — but we have
reason good enough. Here it will be sufficient to point out
that the incidents of everyday life, before they can become
fit stuff for drama, have to undergo a process of refinement
or sifting, and it is too much to expect this work of young
boys. And so long as the world is full of tales already in fair
shape as material for playmaking it is quite unnecessary for
boys to sift their daily experience for the subject-matter of
plays.

To make a drama out of a tale of adventure in modern
times, or the school-life of everyday, is an exercise in realism ;
and a conscious pursuit of realism is inadvisable for boys :
(i) Because it is frankly beyond their powers, since realism
implies a representation of things as they are, and boys have
not experience enough to go beyond impressions and appear-
ances ; (ii) because it would be outside the scope of our
educational purpose, since true realism implies a certain
sacrifice of conventions and the avoidance of types of character
and situation, while our purpose as teachers is to ensure that

* Compare, for instance, our treatment of a play of Shakespeare with
that implied by any examination paper ever set.

271

THE PLAY WAY

by the exercise of playmaking the boys shall become familiar
with these very artistic conventions, and with the dramatic
situations and characters which have become typical from
their frequent occurrence in the literature we are taking as
our model ; and (iii) the pursuit of realism by boys is inadvisable
because it implies the abandonment of that tower of their
artistic strength, the ready comprehension of a romantic theme,
and a fitly imaginative treatment of it.

The plays of boys should be romances, and the style should
be poetic*

For these reasons, then, the boys (when an important play
is afoot) should not be encouraged to take for their material
any themes which are not essentially romantic. It remains
for them, then, either to invent a brand-new romantic story
or to borrow one. But the experiment of inventing your plot
is so difficult and attended with so much risk of disaster that
it is wiser to follow the example of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare.
Milton, and all our other great poets, and found your story
upon the firm rock of some traditional tale. The man is to
be pitied who hopes to put forth new fruits without having
his roots firm set in the soil from which all other fruits have
sprung.

The boys, having borrowed their story, may take what they
have need of, and set aside the rest. They may add, divide, and
multiply. But they must start by borrowing. The creative
skill of the stealers and their choice in theft are the test of
their Promethean virtue.

In taking an existing tale as the story of their play the
boys will find that they have in hand a core of substance.
Persons and events exist already ; characterization and plot,
those twin deities of the drama, have been wed together in
the tale for perhaps five hundred, perhaps two thousand years ;
and in making their play, with what additions and modifications
soever, the boys are but making one more version of a tale
that has outlived, or rather lived through, a thousand versions.

* The word " lomance ' is used here in the sense of an imaginative
or fanciful story, as opposed to the faithful representation of real ex-
perience. To say that the style must be poetic does not mean that the
parts must always be written in verse
272

PLAYMAKING

The tale has been bandied about until nothing but the essentials
(and perhaps a few of the latest accretions) remain. On the
other hand, a new plot, conceived yesterday, and thrown down
to-day into the ring to be wrought upon by a group of urgent
playmakers, each anxious to have his say, each eager to insist
upon this modification or that, will be knocked to pieces in
an hour or two. It has no essential being, no core.

The sources of tales fit for playmaking are inexhaustible,
for we have all the treasury of mythology and all the fairy
tales and folk legends to draw upon. The teacher's taste,
knowledge, and experience are naturally of great weight in the
selection ; and a group of boys under one master will show a
preference for a certain type of story which the pupils of
another master will find quite foreign to their taste. A man
gifted with an appreciation of Hindu mythology could easily
engage the interest of his boys in the exploits of Krishna and
tales from the Mahabharata. The Egyptian Book of the Dead,
also, would make a great morality play. But, since the making
of a play demands the close and careful work of the boys for a
considerable length of time, it is wiser to associate the subject
with some of their regular school studies, in Greek, Latin,
JBYench, or English literature, and in history.

A play should be in hand for at least a term, and it will
do nothing but good to keep it building throughout the school
year. The historical period in which the play is set is of
importance in a hundred ways. It may either be determined by
the courses of history and literature going on at the time ; or,
if it is done on a large enough scale, and time can be found
for good reading in many books, the plajmaaking circle might
include in itself the study of the history and literature of
the period. The reader can expand this suggestion for himself.
Consider a playmaking circle of history and literature, to last
a year's course, centring in King Alfred and bringing in a
reading of Old English literature in poetry, and of history in the
Chronicles. No English boy should spend ten years of learning
in an English school without at least making the acquaintance
of the following: Widsith, Deor's Lament, Caedmon, The
Phoenix, The Charms, The Seafarer, The Battle of Brunaburh,
The Battle of Maldon, Cynewulf and Cyneheard, The Voyage

s 273

THE PLAY WAY

of Ohthere, and, above all, Beowulf.* Another playmaking
circle for a year's course might centre in John of Gaunt or in
Wat Tyler ; and, while the history lessons dealt with the
Peasant's Revolt, the literature lessons would include selections
from Piers the Plowman and from Chaucer, and the whole
of Shakespeare's " Richard II." Cromwell is the centre of
another playmaking circle, but it would take a whole chapter
of this book even to indicate the scope and design of such a
great argument.

Then again the boys might be given each a book of North's
" Plutarch " as material, and allowed to choose their communal
path therein for a year of weekly lessons. There is a fine
nobility about that book ; life, letters, and learning on every
page of it.

All teachers of history intend to, and some actually do,
read the English literature of the period under study. And
the same is true of literature teachers in relation to history.
Lack of time is always the difficulty. We mtist have more
time for teaching English history and English literature, imless
this nation intends to remain satisfied, as it is at present, that
its sons should have a mere smattering of education ; knowing
little more than the names of the greatest men of our people,
and not even the names of some of the greatest books in our
literature. Playmaking is a helpful device by which the study
of history and of literature can be brought together and under-
stood in a live relation.

The stories of the Greek gods and heroes are beyond
compare for beauty of conception and grace of treatment,
but I cannot think of them as material for playmaking in
the schools of to-day. But other teachers, especially those
with a thorough knowledge of Greek literature, and some
sympathetic understanding of Greek life and art, might not
think the experiment too rash, provided that the boys and
the master earnestly set themselves to make their play as
Greek in character as possible. But the undertaking
involves many grave difficulties. At the outset you are faced

♦ At present teachers must do the best they can with translations.
But it is not too much to hope that Old English will some day be taught
in schools, at all events to specialists in upper forms.
274

PLAYMAKING

•with a dilemma : Will you attempt to cast your play in the
conventional classic form of the Greek drama, or will you
attempt to create some less rigid and exacting form which shall
be equally appropriate as a representation of the theme ?
For my part I would not dare venture either alternative. The
only way out is to present certain elements of the Greek
mythology in pastoral form. But the pastoral is not a form
suitable for stage representation ; and the pastoral is not the
kind of play we are now considering. Another difficulty is the
music. But the greatest difficulty of all is the carriage and
bearing of the players themselves. Adequately to present before
the eyes of men a living show of some story which embodies a
Greek conception of beauty requires in the performers some
approximation to the Hellenic ideal of physical perfection.
And what scope or encouragement is there for the most sensible
and energetic of playmasters, in a modern public school, to train
his boys in that true gymnastic which makes for grace as well
as strength of limb, and for rhythm as well as speed of movement?

It is true that the heroes of the Bible stories and the gods
of the Norse mythology also demand a nobility of bearing
in a stage representation- but these are figures of strength
and grandeur rather than of idyllic grace, and we have not
their sculptured beauty in marble to shame us by a comparison
with our puny modem standard of address and carriage. A
teacher who has any real sense of what art means in connexion
with his work, before undertaking the production, in a modem
school, of a show with anything of the Greek about it, will,
at the very least, go and study the Panathenaic procession in
the British Museum. Having looked upon the figures of Apollo
and of Eros, having marked (as did the unlearned John Keats)
the mysterious priest leading that heifer lowing at the skies ;
having but once seen the very folds of the drapery as worn by
the maidens, or the mien and bearing of the youths who renish
them to ride, he will go home a wiser and a very much sadder
man and abandon his ambitious enterprise.

There sits the youth of England at its education ; row
upon row of magnificent boys, imprisoned in the stocks, and
clad in ridiculous trousers and knickerbockers. Look at the
lads in their Eton collars and their jackets and waistcoats

275

THE PLAY WAY

William Morris complained of having to wear two coats ; one
with a back and no front, and another with a front and no back^
These are insane garments, which a due care for health and free
movement would not allow, and which the faintest glimmer of a
sense of beauty in clothes could not tolerate for a moment.
Look also, I beg you, at the feet of the Littlemen ; those feet
which you as a teacher have so often had to call to order.
The boots alone of a group of modem schoolboys are enough to
render impossible the school production of any play which
claims kinship with the Greek. But, as Sir Toby says in
" Twelfth Night," " These clothes are good enough to drink in,
and so be these boots too " ; and no doubt knickerbocker
suits and Eton trousers and ploughboy boots are a good enough
apparel in which to walk about stone passages and gravel
yards, or to sit at a desk and imbibe the grammar of ancient
tongues.

The Bible has always been one of the great sources of
inspiration in English literature ; and many of the stories in
the Old Testament make excellent material for playmaking.
In the style of the Bible narrative the boys would have before
them the very purest and most beautiful of English prose,
But the problem of style in the boys' work shall be discussed
later. Let us look first at some available stories.

The story of Jacob and Esau could be wrought into drama, but
it would probably require more condensing than inexperienced
hands could compass. The life-story of Joseph is epic rather
than dramatic. David's history is also of an epic character ;
but if certain episodes, and especially those in relation with
Saul, be chosen out and presented consecutively, there is as good
matter for an heroic play here as can be found anywhere. But
it would be far better, I think, to make Saul the central figure,
and the play a tragedy. The tale of Samson, again, after
some adaptation, would provide a good story for the boys to
dramatize. The story of Rahab and the Spies is another
suitable one. But all stories require adaptation to fit them for
stage presentation. I^et us first examine the story of Rahab
and the Spies, because it is the shortest of these, and see how
it can be turned into a play.

Joshua sends out two spies to view the land of Jericho;
276

PLAYMAKING

but they are hardly come to their lodging in the house of
Rahab before the King of Jericho sends to look for them. Rahab
tells the messengers that the men went out about the
time of shutting of the gate, when it was dark; but she
had brought them up to the roof of her house and hid them
with the stalks of flax. The messengers go out in pursuit as
far as the fords of Jordan ; the town gate is shut after them,
and the woman goes to talk with the men on the roof. Her
account of the terror which had fallen upon the men of Jericho
because of the Israelites makes a wonderful speech as it stands.
In return for her kindness the spies promise to deal kindly and
truly with her, if she will not utter their business, and to save
the lives of all in her father's house. They give her the true
token she asks. She binds the scarlet line in the window,*
lets them down over the town wall by a cord, and bids them
get to the mountain to avoid their pursuers. The spies go into
hiding, and eventually return to Joshua.

That is the substance of the first act. The boys may now
discuss how the incidents shall be staged, f and into how many
scenes the act shall be divided. Two scenes only are essential.
The first wiU be on the front, or outer stage (i.e. traverse closed),
the second on the back, or whole stage (i.e. traverse open). Here
is a stage version such as I would propose for myself, or the
boys working with me.

Scene 1, (Outer.) The two spies come in, and make clear
where they are, who they are, and what they have to do. J

* A touch of the concrete which adds considerably to the life of the
story.

t For the plots sketched in this chapter I have had in mind the Eliza-
bethan playhouse stage, because that is the plan which in my opinion
is the best fitted for plays of this character. There is no need for the
reader to call into his mind an exact model of the Globe Theatre. All
this chapter requires is a picture in the reader's mind of a very large
platform in front with doors on either side, but no front curtain. At
the back is a smaUer inner stage, shut off by a traverse consisting of two
curtains which can be drawn together or apart from the side.

% According to the Bible story the spies learn only of the faint-hearted-
ness of the men of Jericho, and that is all they report to Joshua. If
they have " come to search out all the country," as the King believes,
they must nevertheless have been satisfied with Rahab's account of the
state of terror which the Israelites had inspired. " Our hearts did melt,

277

THE PLAY WAY

They must give the onlookers to understand that a certain
captain, by name Joshua, has sent them as spies of Israel to
this walled city, by name Jericho. The exposition of these
matters will of course need some wrapping up. Exposition
must not be given as a bald announcement. But all extraneous
matter must be rigidly excluded here because the essentials,
are quite enough to handle in the opening passage, and the
audience desires at this point nothing but a clear understanding
of what is afoot. As soon as we are all quite sure who these
two persons are, and what they are about, they may discover
their lodging, but not before. At their summons Rahab comes
out between the ciui;ains of the traverse. They arrange to
lodge in her house, and all go in together. At once the
messengers sent from! the King come in (still on the front stage),
and after having made clear in their talk who they are, whence
they came, and what they are about, they call for the warden
of the gates. (Surely we have met this man before. AU good
porters when they die go into drama.) The King's messengers
complain that, although it is dark, the gates are not yet shut.
The porter has of course been asleep ; or, better still, he has
been having a bit of a sup with an old friend who has come
from the other side of Jordan with a great tale of what those
men of Israel did to Sihon and Og, the two kings of the Amorites.
The King's messengers* have no concern with all this. Their
business is to bully the porter for his not having shut the gates,
for his not having observed the particular men they are in
quest of, and for his general stupidity. But for all his apparent
stupidity in the play this porter fellow, in repeating again and
again the story of his friend from the other side of Jordan, may
contrive to tell the audience all they need know about the men
of Jericho and their fear of the Israelites. The audience will
find this clown very entertaining, and the plajrwright will find
him all but indispensable ; but the critics of your play will be

neither did there remain any more courage in any man, because of you."
They would add little to their knowledge during their three days spent
subsequently in the mountain.

* For models of King's messengers you have Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern, and also Osric, in " Hamlet," Le Beau in " As You Like
It," and several others.
278

PLAYMAKING

" inclined to feel that the episode of the porter and his tedious
reiterations constitute an unwarrantable intrusion and interfere
with the continuity of the " — etc. etc.

But there is yet more service to be had of this porter. The
story tells that the King actually sent to Rahab's house
for the spies. It will add to the interest, and save the intro-
duction of another character, if we let the porter eventually
admit that he did see two such men come into the city, and
that they went into the house of Rahab, hard by here upon
the wall. He would not state this important fact earlier
because he was anxious to tell the tale (and a far more important
tale it is for the audience) of what the Israelites did to Sihon
and Og, the two kings of the Amorites, The King's messengers
then call at the house. Rahab comes out and, in reply to the
officious inquiries of the messengers, says that two men had
been in her house, but she does not know whence they came
nor whither they went ; but they cannot have gone far, for
they only went out at dusk. She sends the messengers in piu-suit,
away to the fords of Jordan. The porter has a final chat with
Rahab about what the Israelites did to Sihon and Og, the two
kings of the Amorites, and then he shuts the gate. The town
gate must of course be off stage, for the central opening in the
traverse curtain represents the door of Rahab's house. Rahab
goes in, and the porter goes oft at the side. He makes a grinding
and a clanking noise with bolts and chains. This ends the
first scene.

Before sketching the plan of Scene 2, 1 will show the technical
significance of this new character, the porter, who does not
appear in the Bible narrative. The playboys must be taught :
(i) That the porter was originally introduced because some one
had to direct the King's messengers, and he was the most likely
person to have seen the spies come in. (ii) That he is suggested
by the mention of the town gates in the story. To ignore
the town gates would be an undoubted loss to the play. The
creation of a porter arising out of a simple mention of gates
will show the boys how to dramatize intelligently, and how to
look always to the story for what they require, (iii) That,
being in, he can be used to let the audience know what Jericho
feels about Israel. This is most important, since it is the sole

279

THE PLAY WAY

information which the spies obtain. Certainly Rahab later on
tells them clearly of the terror and faintness which possess the
men of Jericho, but as her speech with them i* chiefly concerned
with an appeal for the safety of her own family, it is well that
the general feeling of Jericho should have been made dear
beforehand. The porter does this for the audience in his tale
of what the Israelites did to Sihon and Og, the two kings of the
Amorites. We have heard what Israel feels about Jericho
from the opening words of the spies, (iv) That in any case
there must be some delay between the going in of the spies
and the calling of the Kings' messengers at the house of Rahab.
The action must not rush on from point to point. There must
be no crowding, (v) That necessary delays of this kind in the
action must not be filled with padding, but used in the early
stages of the play for explaining what needs to be explained,
and in the later stages of the play for developing what needs to
be developed, (vi) Finally, the boys can be shown how it is
that a character comes to life. This porter is an excellent
illustration, for he had no existence at all in the Bible story.
The needs of playmaking occasioned his creation. He was
originally introduced as a mere technical necessity, but has
somehow got him a being of his own. We seem to know him
already as a living man. Of all the six persons introduced io
this act he is so far the most real.

Scene 2. {Inner.) There is no break at all between the
scenes. The traverse is drawn apart, and the action goes straight
on. Rahab is now seen talking to the two spies on the inner
stage, which is laid with stalks of flax and represents the roof
of her house. There must be some kind of window at the
back for the men to be let down by. All the talk between
the woman and the spies is given in the Bible story, and cannot
be bettered. When persons in a play make a compact, or give
directions to one another, it is well for the matters at issue
to be said clearly more than once, for the sake of the audience.
The repetition will be found ready to your hand in this Bible
story. Part of the conference is held upon the roof, and
then the men are let down.* Reassurances are exchanged after

* Although they had been hidden on the roof they escaped through a
window. This was probably the window of a room to which they descended
280

PLAYMAKING

the men are out of sight. Rahab's leaning out of the window
to speak with them in a loud whisper will admirably suggest
the height of the town wall upon which her house is built, the
darkness of the scene, and the secrecy of the whole business.
After they go away the woman binds the scarlet line in the
window. She does this at once, and will not put it oft until
the morrow. Perhaps the spies will not go to the mountain
after all, but return straightway to their captain, and the
host of Israel may be before the walls of Jericho by dawn.
This is improbable in fact, but not in drama. At all events,
the story tells that Rahab bound the scarlet line in the window ;
and no playwright with any eye for effect would depart from
his original in this particular. While Rahab is thus occupied
the traverse closes, and this is the end of the first act.*

This descent from the window of a house built upon the
town wall could have been represented far better on the stage
of a real Elizabethan playhouse. For there was an upper stage,
a kind of balcony that ran along over the top of the traverse.
In the sight of the audience Rahab would let the spies down by
a cord. They would alight upon the front stage, speak with
her from there, and then go off at one side.

If the second act of this story were as simple to stage as
the first has been, the reader might be spared another detailed
demonstration. But it happens that the rest of the story
as it stands is by no means in shape for straightforward staging ;
and so it would be a shirking to pass it over.

In the first place, we have not yet got our spies back to
Joshua, but have left them hiding in the mountain. If you
call upon the imagination of your audience to work with you,
and to see in fancy what you do not show, you must satisfy
their imagination, and not leave it in the lurch like this.
The audience in fancy has obediently followed our spies to
their hiding in the hills ; and there the men must remain
later. It doesn't matter for the play, so long as the back stage (which
represents the roof) has a window at the back.

* I have not had space to quote the Bible story ; but this accoimt
is written with the confident expectation that the interested reader will
turn to the second chapter of the Book of Joshua and compare my sug-
gested staging with the original Bible story — ^more especially for the
Bake of the speeches.

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until the plajrwxight gives further directions. It would be
best, I think, to add a short third scene to our first act, showing
the return of the spies to Joshua, and their telling him of all
that had befallen them. This plan would follow in detail the
Bible narrative, for the chapter is divided into three sections
which exactly correspond with the three scenes I have suggested.

In the Book of Joshua nearly four chapters intervene
before we come again to Rahab. What are the playboys to do
about all the incidents related in those four chapters ? Clearly
they must select those incidents which have bearing upon
their chosen story and set aside the rest. The passing of
Jordan is too great a matter to be set aside. Yet we caimot
show the host of Israel going over the river-bed.

What then ? Let us again look for help to the story.

Twelve men may come upon the stage each bearing a large
stone upon his shoulder, " And those twelve stones which
they took out of Jordan, did Joshua pitch in Gilgal. And
he spake imto the children of Israel, saying, ' When your
children shall ask their fathers in time to come, saying. What
mean these stones ? Then ye shall let your children know,
saying, Israel came over this Jordan on dry land.' " If the
olay is to be presented on a roomy stage, and if plenty of
actors are available, this scene could open with the coming
in of the priests bearing the ark of the covenant before the
people. Then would come the twelve men bearing each a
stone upon his shoulder ; then a company of armed men with
Joshua ; and then a few women and children to represent
the rest of the people. Joshua's words at the setting up of
the stones would clearly explain all that had just occurred
at the Jordan. The fruit of the land of Canaan might also
be brought in to show that the manna had ceased. The scene
treated in this way would make an impressive spectacle.
Such forms of representation belong to pageantry rather than
to drama. But if they are not shown in this way these events
cannot be shown at all, and in that case we might just as well
have ended our play when the spies left the house of Rahab.

If it is possible to have a procession of at least thirty persons
then the stage representation of the capture of Jericho is easy.
For, look you. the capture of Jericho was effected solelv by
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PLAYMAKING

means of a procession which compassed the city. It will be
necessary to have at least thirty persons, because seven are
required for the trumpets, about six for the ark ; and this with
Joshua and ten men of arms (which is a modest requirement)
leaves you only six persons to come in as the rereward.

The Elizabethan playhouse was admirably adapted for shows
of this kind. The traverse remained shut, and their processions
marched across the front stage, in on one side and out at the
other. In the case of sieges the attacking force was gathered
on the front stage and the citizens appeared in a row upon the
balcony, which represented their town wall.* Modern stages
never have this balcony. But something as like to it as possible
must be contrived, for you cannot do the capture of Jericho
properly without showing the citizens upon the wall, looking
on in awe and faintness at the solemn daily procession of the
Israelites. And do not forget the trumpets. The word
" trumpets " occurs no fewer than fourteen times in the sixth
chapter of the Book of Joshua, yet a modern producer would,
as likely as not, have his Jericho captured to the gentle accom-
paniment of a string band.

The second act of Rahab and the Spies, then, might be
planned in the following way :

Scene 1. (Outer.) The King's messengers, who have now
in their turn been sent out to spy upon the enemy, report
to the King that the host of Israel is removed from Shittim,
and is come to the banks of Jordan and lodged there. The
King fears that the Lord will dry up the waters of Jordan to
give passage to the men of Israel, as he did at the Red Sea,
which he dried up from before them, until they were gone
over. Accordingly he commands that the city be shut up.
He then goes away, and the messengers call out our old friend
the porter. " Now Jericho was straitly shut up because
of the children of Israel : none went out, and none came in."
But the King and the porter and the messengers go up on the
wall (thus running straight on into Scene 2), and they look
out in the direction of the fords of Jordan. They are waiting
for the Israelites to come. The King and his two messengers

* Cf. " Henry V," Act III, Scene 2, " Richard II," Act IV, Scene 3 ;
" King John," Act II.

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go down from tne wall to make preparation in the city. Other
townsfolk now join the porter on the wall — ^Rahab and her
father and mother and friends, and they all look out fearftdly
in the direction of the fords of Jordan.

We might let those on the wall see the amazing sight of
a host of people afar off marching through the river-bed, and
then send hurriedly to tell the King. Jericho is near enough
to Jordan for this to be plausible. In any case the story says
that "the people passed over right against Jericho." By
this well-known stage device, of describing an action supposed
to be taking place out of view, we can stimulate the audience
to imagine what we cannot show. Now Rahab anxiously
bids her parents and friends to come at once into her house.

Scene 3. {Whole stage.) For this scene a curtain must
be drawn across the balcony to hide the town wall of Jericho.
Now there comes in on the front stage the procession of Israel.
This is not the procession with trumpets which is to compass
the city, but the procession just come over Jordan, of priests,
men of arms, and the twelve men bearing each a stone upon
his shoulder before the people. The traverse must be open
for this scene, because Joshua will command his men to build
a cairn or altar with the stones, and they must do this on the
inner stage where the curtain may be drawn to conceal it at
the end of the scene. If they were to set up their caim on
the front stage, they would have to unbuild it again after and
take it away, and that would be a foolish thing. The audience
now hears all the story of the crossing of Jordan in the words
spoken by Joshua to the people. After the ceremony of
dedication Joshua and the priests come out again on to the
front stage. The traverse at once closes ; and while the
Israelites are going off, some one behind the curtain makes away
with the stones and sets a table and a chair or two on the back
stage.

While Joshua is watching his people depart, there appears
in the traverse opening, from the spot where he had just
dedicated an altar, a man with his sword drawn in his hand.
" And Joshua went unto him, and said xmto him, ' Art thou for
us or for our adversaries ? ' And he said, ' Nay ; but as captain
of the host of the Lord am I now come.' "
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PLAYMAKING

Scene 4. (Inner). The traverse opens again as soon as
the Israelites and Joshua have gone, and Rahab comes in on
the back stage with her parents and the friends she has chosen
to save. She tells them the story of the spies and of their
promise to her. Rahab is confident of their good faith, but
the whole company is distressed, and full of anxiety for the
city. There is room for a little character-study in one of the
relatives of Rahab.

Scene 5. (Outer.) The traverse is closed and the balcony
curtain drawn back. This gives us the walls of Jericho again.
All the available townsfolk, with the exception of course of
Rahab and her company, appear upon the walls. This should
be the seventh day, and the people are speaking about the awe-
inspiring procession they have seen go once round the city
every day for six days past. They are terrified because they
do not understand. And now on this day the procession has
already passed about the city fom- times, and still the men of
Israel march with the seven priests blowing seven trumpets of
rams' horns,, and with the ark borne before the people and all
the men of war. This the townsfolk of Jericho tell one another.
Then the procession passes over the front stage. After it
has gone we hear again the anxious talk of the townsfolk.
Then the procession passes once more. There is another
interval filled with the talk of the townsfolk on the wall. Thus
when the Israelites enter for the third time, their seven times
compassing of the city will have been completed. Then the
priests make a long blast with the ram's horn, and Joshua
cries, " Shout ; for the Lord hath given you the city," and
all the people shout with a great shout.

In the story "the wall fell down flat." What shall be
done about this ? For my part I think it will be enough to
close the balcony curtain suddenly at the moment of the shout ;
and then, after the making of a great noise — a noise of crashing
and banging and falling things, the men of Jericho fight hand
to hand on the front stage with the men of Israel, rushing
in on both sides. Alarums and excursions follow, with the
clash of sword-play and much stir and din. Joshua's voice
is heard above the confusion urging his men to " destroy
utterly all that was in the city both man and woman, young and

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old, and ox, and sheep, and ass, with the edge of the sword."
The Bible says, " But all the silver, and gold, and vessels of
brass and iron, are consecrated unto the Lord : they shall come
into the treasury of the Lord." And so while the men of
arms are fighting, the priests, I think, might busy themselves
in carrying off the treasure. Vessels of silver and gold, and
pots, pans, and other furniture are borne away. Men are
slain or driven to flight. Then Joshua calls to the spies and
sends them to bring out Rahab. The traverse opens and
the company is foimd within, cowering in terror^ Now the
noise of the conflict dies down, and while Joshua and the two
spies are in talk with Rahab and her grateful friends on the
back stage, the men of Israel in front bear away the bodies
of the dead. A child runs in and picks up a sword that was
left. When Joshua has finished his comfortable words to
Rahab the traverse closes, and the play is done. Some
playmakers might prefer to end with the adjuration of Joshua
to his people, " Cursed be the man before the Lord that riseth
up and buildeth this city Jericho." But that would mean
the coming together again of all the Israelites after the fight.
<I!ertainly Shakespeare ends " Macbeth " in this manner ;
but there they have a new king to acclaim. The victors in
our play are still sacking and burning the city.

A quiet coming to an end in a play is a refreshing contrast
to the sensational finale, which has grown ever more into
favour as the traverse crept gradually forward (eating up
action) until it became the front curtain. Several writers have
pointed out that more dramatic skill is needed on the Elizabethan
type of stage than on the modem. This is especially true of
the closing scenes of acts. The modem playwright can work
up the action to a pitch of excitement from which he could not
possibly come off without disaster ; but at the very height of
the climax he drops the curtain. This may be fine shovravanship,
but it is very poor art. If you have no front curtain thus to
cloak your shortcomings you must play the thing out to the
«nd. When an angry man bursts in upon two others who have
been deceiving him, it is not enough for him to say " So ! " or
" Ha, ha ! " and wait for the stage-manager to " draw a veil
over this painful scene." The minutes subsequently wasted by

28e

PLAYMAKING

the actors in a fatuous bowing to the audience, while the curtain
soars up and down, should have been spent in delivering the
speech of the angry man. But our modern playwrights find
themselves unable to get over the top of a climax and come
down quietly on the other side. The drop-scene covers a
multitude of deficiencies.

The stage-play of two other Bible stories containing battles
may be given in outline; the stories of Deborah and of
Gideon. In the space of the first short tale we find three such
elements of poetic drama as the battle of the river Kishon,
the death of Sisera, and the song of Deborah. The whole
story is told in one chapter ; the song is in another.* The
first chapter falls into three main divisions.

Scene 1. Deborah under the palm-tree hears the complaint
of Israel, and summon Barak, to confer with him.

Scene 2. The Battle.

Scene 3. Jael kills Sisera.

The killing of Sisera should be done according to the con-
vention of the Greek drama. The closed traverse represents
Jael's tent. Sisera is persuaded to go in ; and Jael takes in,
first, milk for him to drink, and then a rug to cover him. He
bids her watch. She comes out, speaks a short space, then
takes a nail of the tent and a hammer and goes in softly. Now
Barak comes in on the front stage and speaks alone. Presently
Jael comes out with only the hammer, and tells Barak what
she has done.

This third scene has given the fighting men an opportunity
to collect themselves. For the second act the whole company
marches in. They are headed by Deborah and Barak chanting
antiphonally the glorious song.

The story of Gideonf makes a much longer play. So long
in fact that here I can but sketch the plan of a part of it in
outline. Part of the story can well be divided into three acts.
But that will not complete the tale.

Act I. The call of Gideon.

* Judges, chapters iv and v.

t Judges, chapters vi, vii, viii. Here again the reader is asked to
turn up the Bible story. The following scheme is but the barest
outline.

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Act II. Gideon's preparations.

Act III. Gideon's defeat of the Midianites.
This takes the story up to the defeat of the Midianites by the
three hundred men with trumpets, torches and pitchers. But
it omits the splendid story of Gideon's requital to the men of
Succoth and of Penuel ; how he " taught " with thorns and with
briers the three score and seventeen elders of Succoth, and
broke down the tower of Penuel and slew the men of the city.

The outline of the scenes would be as follows :

Induction. The prophet speaks (see chapter vi, verse 8).
He not only reproaches the Israelites for their sin, but describes
the impoverishment brought upon them by the Midianites.

Act I, Scene 1. (Ottter.) An angel appears to Gideon
while he is threshing wheat by the wine-press, and says, " The
Lord is with thee, thou mighty man of valour." Their confer-
ence is told fully in the Bible story. When Gideon goes in
to prepare his present the angel goes in also. The miracle is
not shown.

Scene 2. (Outer.) Gideon's father, Joash, and his house-
hold, and certain men of the city come in and speak of the
grove and the altar of Baal. Perhaps they could speak of a
festival in honour of Baal to be held on the morrow. Then
they go out.

Scene 3. (Outer.) Gideon comes through the traverse
opening and says, "Alas, O Lord God ! for because I have
seen an angel of the Lord face to face." He then reflects
upon what he has been told to do.

If you have the means of showing the miracle, a much
better version of these opening scenes can be given. The
first scene is held on the outer stage as but now suggested,
and, after his talk with the angel, Gideon goes in to prepare
the flesh and cakes. The angel having promised to tarry
until he comes again, must fill the interval in some way. We
might therefore put in at this point what was, in our first version,
the Induction, and let the angel speak the words instead of
the prophet. When Gideon is ready the traverse opens and
the angel goes in with him. The rest of the scene is played
on the inner stage. Now in " The Tempest " there is a stage-
direction, " Thunder and Lightning. Enter Ariel (like a Harpy).
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PLAYMAKING

claps his wings upon the table, and with a quaint device the
banquet vanishes." If, by means of gunpowder on the rock
and electric wires in the angel's wand, you can contrive a
quaint device of this nature, then the scene with the miracle
can be shown fully. " And the angel of God said unto him,
' Take the flesh and the imleavened cakes, and lay them upon
this rock, and pour out the broth.' And he did so. Then the
angel of the Lord put forth the end of the staff that was in his
hand, and touched the flesh and the unleavened cakes ; and
there rose up fire out of the rock, and consumed the flesh and
the unleavened cakes. Then the angel of the Lord departed
out of his sight. . . ." Gideon said, " Alas, O Lord God !
for because I have seen an angel of the Lord face to face."
Gideon comes out and the traverse closes.

This, in my opinion, is by far the better version. But it
requires a quaint device. Gideon now reflects how it was
commanded him that he should throw down the altar of Baal
and cut down the grove. So he calls to him Phurah, his
servant, and tells him to come soon at nightfall, with several
others and to bring axes.

Scene 4. (Outer.) The men of Midian marching.

I suggest this episode partly because it is quite time something
was seen of the Midianites, but also to mark the passage of time
before the men of the city can come in to Joash to complain
of the deed of Gideon. A scene on the rear stage showing the
deed is not worth the trouble it would entail. But Phurah
and his accomplices should certainly come through with lanterns
and axes and be told by Gideon what they aU have to do. The
men of Midian must march with torches, because it is night.*

Scene 5. (Inner.) Now it is morning (Joash says so in
the story) and the men of the city complain to Joash. He
defends his son. Gideon presently comes in and calls the
men of the city to arms. Tlien he blows a trumpet, and sends
out messengers throughout all Manasseh. Joash and the others
go out to stir up the people. Gideon remains and decides to
test the Lord's will in the proof of the fleece. (End of Act I.)

Act II. Scene 1. (Outer.) Men of Israel marching — ^Asher

* For the stage suggestion of a whole night and the following morning,
cf. " JuUus Caesar," Act II.

T 289

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and Zebulun and Naphtali. Gideon addresses them, bidding
the fearful ones return home.

Scene 2. (Inner.) Gideon finds himself justified in the
proof of the fleece. We need not show both episodes, the
fleece wet and the fleece dry. One is shown, and the other
made clear to the audience in Gideon's soliloquy. It will be
well to change the Bible order, to refer to the case in which the
fleece was found dry, and to show the case in which the fleece
was found wet, because the latter is finer for the stage : " He
rose up early on the morrow, and thrust the fleece together,
and wringed the dew out of the fleece, a bowl full of water."

Scene 3. (Outer.) Gideon comes in with his army. They
go, a few at a time, in behind the traverse where a river is
supposed to run. Gideon sends away those who bowed down
upon their knees to drink. He warns them to return home
directly, for " the host of Midian was beneath him in the valley."
To his picked men he then gives victuals and trumpets, and
they all go out. (End of Act H.)

Act III. Scene 1. (Outer, then Inner.) Midianite soldiers
in their camp. They talk about the Israelites, and the dark
of the night as it comes on. They have plenty to eat and drink,
for they have been living on the fat of the land ever since they
came down upon Israel before the harvest. The soldiers have
also brought rich plunder with them into camp. After a
time they say it is dark, and they go behind the traverse, which
is their tent. Gideon and Phurah enter presently as spies
and listen outside the tent. Phurah hears a man tell his dream
to his fellow, and he relates it to Gideon. They go out. A
Midianite captain comes and (the traverse now opening) finds
the soldiers all asleep among their pots and baggage, and turns
them out, for it is broad day.

Scene 2. (Outer.) Gideon divides his men into three
companies, " and he put a trumpet in every man's hand, with
empty pitchers, and lamps within the pitchers." He tells
them his stratagem. They go out marching to a chant.

Scene 3. (Whole stage.) The Midianites enter on all sides
ecah bottles and booty, singing and making revel. After a
cwiaf ge carousal they fall asleep one by one. Those on the
bton ketss lie among piles of booty and camp baggage. Now
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PLAYMAKING

the last man awake wanders from group to group with a lantern,
looking for a boon companion, and singing tipsily. Finding
none awake he swears, then trips over a prostrate form, and
falls. His lantern goes out, and the whole camp lies still in
the dark.*

Now a company of the Israehtes steals in on one side, their
pitchers glowing dimly from the torches within them. Now
another company steals in on the other side Then Gideon
leads in the third company at the back, and they line the back
stage. In the (supposed) dim light Gideon mounts a bale and,
with a flourish of the sleeve, sets his trumpet and blows a long
blast. At once all the men of Gideon, surrounding the stage
on three sides, smash the pitchers by knocking them one against
another, and blow a great blast on the trumpets. ■}■ They hold
" the torches in their left hands, and the trumpets in their
right hands to blow withal : and they cry, ' The sword of the
Lord and of Gideon ! ' " But they do not move from their
places. The stupefied Midianites spring up. But what with
the wine they have taken, and their sleepiness, and the light
of the torches and the blare of the trumpets they are confounded
altogether. Every man's sword is turned against his fellow,
and those who are not slain take to flight.

There is no drop-curtain to fall at this point and spoil
the story. Gideon calls his torch-bearers together and bids
some go straightway to Naphtali and Asher and Manasseh and
stir them up to pursue after the Midianites, and some he sends
" throughout all Mount Ephraim saying, ' Come down against
the Midianites, and take before them the waters imto Beth-
barah and Jordan.' " With a great shout of " The sword of

* Elizabethan conditions necessitate the playing of such a scene as
this in broad daylight. Hence the need of this lantern business to
suggest dark.

t Gideon's party of three hundred would be represented on the stage
by some thirty, but the breaking of even this number of pitchers would
be a costly performance. In the discussion at the opening of the third
act of " A Midsummer Night's Dream," the rude mechanicals effectively
solved many knotty problems of representation. Playboys in like
maimer could find a device to make all well. I suggest metal cans
instead of earthenware pitchers. These would be dropped with a crash
instead of broken.

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THE PLAY WAl

the Lord and of Gideon ! " the men with their torches run out
on all sides. (End of Act III.)

Here we must leave Gideon, though some of the best is yet
to come. Shakespeare, however, at the end of his second play
of " Henry IV," has still more to promise of his hero. So
perhaps we also may undertake to " continue the story "
another day.

Of the many Bible stories suitable for playmaking the
types of action here illustrated in " Rahab and the Spies,"
in " Deborah and Barak " and in " Gideon " are the most
suitable for schoolboys at the typical schoolboy age of eleven to
fifteen. But because we have chosen stirring tales of battle
for our instances the reader must not conclude that the rousing
element is all that the Play Way can find for boys in the Bible.
There are many other types of action in play besides the heroic
and the processional, but space is not unlimited, and many
wonderful tales must be passed over here. With sixth-form
boys of sixteen to nineteen years old the story of Ruth might
be taken as a subject for playmaking ; and also the story of
Esther. These tales are drama itself; but they are not the
most suitable for Littleman.

There are many elements to be considered in the study of a
subject so ample as playmaking, and every side of the question
cannot be discussed at the same time. I fea'r that more than
one of my readers is tired by now of the show of brave deeds
and the tramp of armed men. And perhaps the opening and
shutting of the traverse has become a weariness. But we are
now to leave the staging element for a space and turn to the
question of style.

In the teaching of English hterature and composition in
schools the most important task, in my judgment, is the
imparting of a living style to the pupil ; a style which he will
use in his own work. I say to impart a style because, although
" the style is the man," we, as teachers of literatm-e, must
endeavour to foster the native artistic power in the pupil by
means of the study of great books. You cannot make a silk
purse out of a sow's ear, and you cannot make a poet out of a
bom stupid ; for though poets must be made, they must be
bom too. But, given an able pupil, by what means are we to
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PLAYMAKING

get him to practise a conscious and yet a natural style ? It
is important to observe that the question is not, " How can we
get boys to write good poetry or good prose ? " Our Playbooks
are full of lyrics and ballads and prose studies, and some of
those pieces are of high literary merit. But all those pieces
are short, and they are, so to speak, the work of chance.
They are the product of some quite unconscious, some quite
inexplicable power in yornig boys. There is nothing in the
quaUty of the Littleman prose studies and poems which can be
defined by the term style, in the more restricted sense of the
term. The work is artless. How is the master to train his
boys to express themselves consciously in some artistic manner,
deliberately to study style ? How shall the boy learn to know
(or is it not rather to feel ?) what is good from what is not
good, and how to judge of the fitness and appropriateness of a
word or a phrase or a manner of utterance ?

Style, in the narrower sense of the term, is well enough
understood by present-day teachers, and finds a sufficient
place in their lessons. But there are two points I should
like to make in this chapter with regard to style. One is that
boys cannot do any satisfactory work in connexion with style,
in the more restricted sense, before the age of fourteen or there-
abouts ; and the other point is that the quest of style in the
wider sense of the term may begin in mere child's-play, for it
includes many diverse activities. Style is not all book-study.
First, then, consider the possibilities of imitation. A boy
must read the masterpieces of literature, some very thoroughly,
and some very often. Then he may take some distinctive
styles and deliberately set himself to write in imitation.
But he must take them one at a time and, during the period
of this practice, must scrupulously avoid mixing the charac-
teristic elements of one style with those of another. Bible
Elnglish is in a style which any boy can recognize whenever he
hears it. He must, then, school himself to write in this style
until his fellows on hearing him read his exercise can say,
" That is like nothing but the Bible." The writing of the
plays I have sketched in this chapter, " Rahab and the Spies,"
" Deborah and Barak," and " Gideon " would be a simple
and delightful introduction to this practice, because many of

THE PLAY WAY

the speeches can be taken whole out of the Bible, or rendered
fit for the play with very little change.

Such passages as are not to be found in the Bible and
have in consequence to be freshly composed by the boys — ^the
porter's part in " Rahab and the Spies," for instance, the
soliloquy of Barak before Jael's tent, and all that is said by
the Midianites in " Gideon " — ^would have to be so carefully
modelled on the Bible idiom that no hearer could point out the
slightest incongruity. In the course of their practice the
boys themselves would be able to single out and describe
certain distinctive elements of the style they were engaged
upon ; and several points would be demonstrated by the
master in his teaching. We could say, " This is like the Bible, for
such and such a reason. That is not like the Bible." But I
think it would be unprofitable to define and tabulate the
various elements. Style is to be learnt, if at all, by example
and experiment rather than by rule and prescription. In the
study of style by imitation a daily exercise gives excellent
practice, even if it has to be very short because only a few minutes
can be spared for it. But of course there must also be long
exercises done, and lessons devoted to the study. AU the
reading, and the literary study, and the dramatic craftsmanship,
and the sensible composition, and the lively acting are knit
into a whole by their being the different parts of one concern
— ^the play.

Elizabethan narrative prose is another beautiful style
which the boys should study to reproduce. A story can be
taken out of North's " Plutarch " and dramatized as a prose
play. In this form of exercise Incongruity (i.e. that which is out
of keeping with the model) would be regarded as the chief
fault of style, as Impropriety (i.e. that which is not peculiarly
fit) is the chief fault of style in original writing. With a
distinctive model before them the boys would learn what was
meant by a standard. And later on those who had successfully
come up to a standard which had been set before them, and had
learnt to avoid Incongruity, would be more able to set up a
standard for themselves, to avoid Impropriety, and maintain a
conscious effort at good style.

Several other distinctive styles can be found both in prose
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PLAYMAKING

and verse, worthy and possible to be imitated, though differing
greatly from one another as they come from different ages.
There is the style of Shakespeare's plays, and the style of the
traditional ballads. Both of these can be reproduced (in an
external sense) by boys. For older boys a useful exercise is
the imitation of Pope's heroic couplets, and the style of Robert
Browning. As representative of to-day we have the style
of Synge in his Irish Plays, and of Captain Scott in his Polar
Journals.* Perhaps some one may accuse me of impropriety
in speaking of all these diversities in the same paragraph.
But they are all styles.

* The style of Synge is easy to copy because it is sp largely composed
of a certain phraseology. The same words, phrases, and turns of sentence
occur again and again. Here are a few taken at random ; the reader will
find them in a context on almost any page Of the plays : IVs myself — Is
it me fight Mm ? — Fm thinking — IVs a poor (fine, great, hard, etc.) thing —
A little path I have — Let you come — God help us all — Till Tuesday was a
week — The end of time — The dawn of day — Let on — Kindly — Now, as in
Walk out now — Surely — Maybe — Itself — At all — Afeard — Destroyed — A
curse. Synge is also mighty fond of the words ditch and ewe. And there
are certain forms of rhythm about Synge's prose which are used with equal
frequency, and are quite easy to catch. So far from this imitation of
style being an artificial method, the fact is that once a boy of sixteen or
over has read a play or two of Synge's, if he has any power of style in him
it will be aU but impossible to stop him writing like Synge for a few weeks.

In Scott's Journals there is no deliberate style or conscious art, but
only a plain narrative set down in a straightforward manner. This
is a good style. There is, to be sure, a sprinkling of irregularities which
may offend a hypercritical reader in his arm-chair, such as a split
infinitive now and then, a rare lapse into sailor slang, and a few mixed
constructions. But a man who is marching to the South Pole must be
allowed to chronicle the day's doings while in camp at night in the words
which come to him most readily. In any case Scott's readers of three
hundred years hence will not be aware that these irregularities were even
questionable at the date of his writing. I know several schoolmasters
who profess to admire the tales of Elizabethan voyagers and yet cannot
be bothered to read Scott's Journals. They would tell you it was a
question of style. Which is as much as to say that clear straightforward
English prose of to-day must wait a few centuries before scholars will
recognize it as style.

As regards imitation of this, a model that has no outstanding
characteristics, no positive tricks, graces, or ornaments may seem to
be a very difficult one to imitate. So it is ; but some clear, straight-
forward, " uncharactered " prose style makes an excellent final model

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i: tiVj rijAx WAX

Now I have not suggested for a moment that it is easy,
or even that it is possible, for any pupil, man or boy, to get
by imitation the style of one of the great writers and to use it
with any mastery. To begin with, the imitation is httle more
than a verbal one, for the young pupil cannot borrow the cast
of mind and the habit of thought which made Shakespeare write
in his rich, abundant style, and Robert Browning in his swift,
crowded style. The pupU studies to recognize the outstanding
characteristics of expressive form in his model and strives to
reproduce them. There is nothing of parody about it, but the
mention of parody will give a hint of what I mean. A teacher
with an understanding of his subject and of his pupil — of
Shakespeare, let us say, and of Littleman — should be able to
teach his boys to follow this master of style just as the old
painters taught their school of pupils to follow their style.

This method of imparting a sense of style to the pupil is
well known in the teaching of classics, as a part of the system of
seventeenth-century educators ; and it need not, in consequence,
be discussed here in greater detail. But the imitation of
models in one's writing is only a part of the process which goes to
the making of a living style. The study and the practice of
style in writing is partly a science and partly an art. Scholarly
teachers in schools have given all their attention to the scientific
side. We would not have a like exaggeration practised by the
teacher who is an artist, that is the playmaster ; but it is
necessary to insist that the artist side of any maker of literature,
be he a past master or simply a prentice, must be fully repre-
sented.

The method of " learning Shakespeare " through acting the
plays instead of only through a reading and discussion of
them, and the method of performing parts in history and of
declaiming orations, especiaUy if due attention is given by
the master to the clear enunciation of words and to the free
and open delivery of the speeches, will do much to foster the

when a boy is ready to leave this method of imitation and write a style
of his own. Tested by the standard of the plain model all faults of bad
boTTowing, and the persistence of certain elements not truly assimilated,
would be shown up, and archaisms, affectations, and other faults easily
exposed.
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pupil's appreciation of style. Many teachers to whom I have
suggested this have been inclined to scoff at the idea. They
admit that from play-acting may come certain benefits, but an
appreciation of style is not one of them. Style, they say,
is to be leamt by study and not by exhibitions and holdings
forth. Milton, however, thought otherwise : ". . . then will
the choice Histories, Heroic Poems, and Attic Tragedies of
stateliest and most regal Argument, with all the famous
Political Orations, offer themselves ; which if they were not
only read, but some of them got by memory, and solemnly
pronounced with right accent and grace, as might be taught,
would endue them even with the spirit and vigour of Demos-
thenes or Cicero, Euripides or Sophocles."

This is no small claim to come from one so learned in the
ancient masters as was Milton. I would ask the reader to note
in especial the method approved here by Milton, " if they were
not only read, but pronounced with right accent and grace "
and he adds, " as might be taught." In an earlier passage he
directs, " Their speech is to be fashion'd to a distinct and
clear pronunciation." He is speaking of Latin, and would
have their speech fashion'd " as near as may be to the Italian,
especially in the vowels." That good counsel of a learned
man and a poet was offered nearly three hundred years ago,
yet our schoolmasters in most English schools still pronounce
Latin, the tongue of old Italy, as though it were some bastard
Scandinavian dialect. And these are the men who set themselves
up, in libraries, studies, and schoolrooms, to instruct the un-
scholarly among us in the imparting of style.

Milton spoke also of " grace." Who ever saw grace insisted
upon by an English schoolmaster in connexion with lessons in
history, poetry, or oratory ?

In the quest of style the next stage, after play and imitation,
is the study of technique. This includes such things as the
arrangement of matter, and the construction of the sentence, the
paragraph, and the essay. It would not be in place here to
offer any constructive suggestions on this matter; and in
any case, this side of the study of literature and composition
is akeady all too familiar to teachers of English. They teach,
in fact, little else in early composition but the minor technicalities

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of framework and punctuation. The very existence of English
verse composition is rarely acknowledged in the schools of
England to-day ; the writing of poetry is never practised
consistently as part of the school course of study. But in their
middle-school lessons on prose composition, teachers bring in
the full apparatus of technical instruction far too early. What
with the making of frameworks and outlines for essays, para-
phrase and precis, notes to write on the figures of speech, and
chapters to learn on the elements and qualities of style, such
as Brevity, Perspicuity, Lucidity, Vivacity, Frigidity, Sublimity,
and many another Pomposity, the wretched pupil has not the
mind to write any prose of his own real making, nor the time
to do it if he would. We do not deny that some of these matters
of technical instruction have their place in the teaching of
composition. All we ask is that teachers would find out the
due place of these matters and keep them in it.

Here following is a brief indication of a course, such as
I would suggest, for the various occupations which, on the
Play Way system, go to make up the quest of style for a boy.

(i) Form II, Age 10-12. The making of simple artless
poems, ballads, and prose studies (the Littleman pieces) in
connexion with his early reading of stories in prose and verse.
At this time come his own original speeches and lectures, which
must be correct in grammar and sweet in delivery, but by no
means mannered or artful. He speaks simply in his own proper
person, and is innocent of any mannerism or contrivance. At
this time also is placed the rhythmical recital of little poems to
the accompaniment of his stick for beating time, to school him
by a plajrful device in the measure and melody of verse. This
is the age of a boy which I have called Littleman.

(ii) Form III. Age 12-14. The acting of Shakespeare's plays
conducted in such a way that he may learn how to move well
and freely, and how to use his limbs with vigour and with grace,
so that as he grows to manhood he may have attained a handsome
" presence," such as we English were noted for in other days.
He must now learn with more than playful care how to speak
well, pronouncing cleanly and distinctly, and not muttering.
Milton says : " For we Englishmen being far Northerly, do not
open our mouths in the cold air, wide enough to grace a
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Southern tongue ; but are observ'd by all other Nations to speak
exceeding close and inward."

Since the days of Shakespeare and Milton we have more and
more disgraced our own tongue, for at present you may go
many days up and down the coimtry without hearing good
English spoken.

With his acting of Shakespeare goes Miming, to the
furtherance of free movement and expressive gesture. For we
English, as Milton would say, dare not take our hands out of
our pockets in the cold air, and are " exceeding close and inward "
with all our movements. At this time also comes his chief
practice in playmaking, for the fuller understanding of
Shakespeare's dramatic craftsmanship. At this time his writing
may still be good by chance, through natural genius and childish
inspiration ; but it can scarcely yet be good through conscious
art, for his sense of style as it may be learned is only beginning
here. He will sometimes strive after effect, and produce many
monstrosities, the correction of which must chiefly be looked
for in his close imitation of the best writers.

At this age (which more or less begins the age of puberty) it is
necessary for his bodily welfare, no less than for the perfection
of his mind, that his schooling should be as much as possible in
active pursuits and bodily exercises in the open air ; and as
little as possible indoors, sitting still, or in long-continued
reading. Therefore this age is the fittest time for the making
and acting of plays, especially those of a martial and heroic
character, and for dancing. At this age also he first begins
to understand music, and his taste can be formed to know and
partly to appreciate what is good, through glees and madrigals,
processional chants, folk-songs, choir-singing, and playing some
instrument. In all this he can take part. But he should
also hear much good music performed by an orchestra, and on
the organ, in school and out. He should be taught to shun
all the shallow, rubbishy airs, dances, and songs of to-day ;
and his nattiral desire for entertainment and fun in music, as
in other things, should be fully gratified with light and gay
and dainty songs and airs, which are nevertheless good music.
At this age I have called the lad a Playboy.*

* The terms " Littleman " and " Playboy " as the names for stages

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(iii) Fonn IV. Age 14-16. At this age it is proper for a boy
to begin those studies which are fit for one able to reason.
This he could not well do before, being at the first too little
and then later, not only still inunature, but also too much taken
up with bodily development and physical changes. Now in his
quest for style, he may begin to learn technique and the
conscious art of writing. His imitation of models will now be
more thoughtful ; and the composition of his own prose and
verse, being now a studied business, will cost him some pains,
and show at first but little result. Therefore the interest in
producing something must be discouraged as the chief aim ;
and his teacher must give him to understand that he is now to
be a student, and must for the remainder of his school time
concentrate all his powers and his main interest upon learning
in its more restricted sense.

Milton says : " And now lastly will be the time to read
with them those organic Arts which inable men to discourse and
write perspicuously, elegantly, and according to the fitted
style of lofty, mean, or lowly. Logic, therefore, so much as is
useful, is to be referr'd to this due place with aU her well coucht
Heads and Topics, until it be time to open her contracted palm
into a graceful and ornate Rhetoric."

Having brought our boy in his quest of style, not through
this last stage, but only to the threshold of it, we propose,
to the surprise of the reader, to leave him. But I will explain.
We leave him in other hands. Many a man in considering
this matter, the quest of style, would only be starting his in-
vestigations at this point where we propose to leave off. That
is to say, for most teachers style begins with what Milton
calls the organic arts and (elementary) logic. But in the
reckoning of the Play Way it is not so. In this survey I
have started with a boy of ten, at which age he is a mere cMd,
and have taken him up to the age of foiui;een, where he must

in the boy's school course are definitely described here, but have not been
consistently used throughout the book. The Play Way is still in its
experimental stages, still an essay in method, and theiefoie I have
thought it advisable to avoid using such terms according to a strict
application, for fear of seeming to suggest that the Play Way was already
in shape as an ordered system of education.
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begin to be a man. There I shall hand him over, a potential
student now, to those teachers whose work lies, if not principally,
at any rate firstly, among the organic arts and logic. In him-
self a playmaster may be a student of style in the more re-
stricted sense of the term, and he may be ever so learned in the
technique of rhetoric, but in so far as the subject of this book
is concerned, namely, the Play Way, we must leave our playboy
at this point to become a student.

The quest of style may begin in books of grammar ; it
may begin anywhere. But it certainly does not spring solely
from the organic arts and logic. Even if we take the term in
a very restricted sense to mean the conscious art of technique
in writing, we must stiU give consideration to the spirit which
is to inform that work, and to the matter upon which this
conscious art is being exercised. Style is inextricably boimd
up with matter and with man. And therefore I do not scruple
to claim for the Play Way that in these activities of acting
and reciting and singing and dancing and free composition, so
long as they are guided and controlled by a master possessing
taste as well as humour, and judgment as well as enthusiasm,
we are laying not only a foundation but the very best founda-
tion for a learned and reasoned appreciation of style later on,
and for a conscious and scholarly pursuit of style Ijy the pupil
in his own work.

In our study of practical playmaking we have now dealt
with the adaptation of the story, and with the working out
of the plot in accordance with the conditions and conventions
of a given stage. In school the first step in playmaking is
to find your story and to have it read and told, and re-
read and retold, until it is thoroughly familiar to every one
who is to take a share in the playmaking. Discussion then
follows. It is impossible to lay down any rule respecting the
order in which the various matters should be taken, or the
method in which the discussion should be conducted. I have
found the system very successful which at this junctxire frankly
admits " ITie debate is now open to the House." A whole
lesson at a time can profitably be given up to an informal
discussion and exchange of views among the boys. Many
talk at the same time. There is, so far as I can see, no reason

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why six or seven persons should not be speaking their views all
at once, provided that it is not necessary for every one to hear
every speaker.* There is so much to be said that the boys
soon split up into little groups according as their chief interest
lies in the adaptation of the story, or the working out of the
characters, or the allotment of the parts, or the staging, or the
provision of make-shift costume and properties, or the actual
writing of provisional parts in the form of notes giving cues
and a rough suggestion of the dialogue. The class at this
stage of the playmaking has in fact resolved itself into a number
of sub-committees ' sitting " all in the same room. That
is why there is such a noise. I have seen whole lesson-whiles
devoted to this busy arguments There is merry laughter, some
scolding, and much debate. Several boys are walking about ;
a few perhaps are illustrating to one another on the platform a
bout or a death or a method of harangue or of capture — doing
it in action as they will do it before the duke. One perhaps
sketches a plan on the blackboard. Some sit in the desks
while others stand before them or lean over their shoulders.
They are gathered in working groups, putting their brown
heads together for the making of their play ; and the room
is full of an industrious chatter. A visitor entering suddenly
might fancy that he had come by mistake into a classroom
of the old school in the absence of the master ; for the noise
of allowed play sounds at first just hke the noise of disorder.
But if you listen you will find that it is articulate. The master
is present, and is perfectly satisfied with the discipline. He
visits the groups in turn at their requirement, and spends
his advice according to need ; though he might easily find
enough of interest and value to occupy him in one sub-committee
throughout the period.

The next stage in the playmaking is the preparation of
notes by the boys, partly in school during this informal
discussion, but chiefly as a series of homework in the evening.

* This state of affairs is only recommended as allowable in the
particular circumstances under consideration. My colleagues who teach
languages on the direct method have pointed out that in the learning
of French, Latin, and Greek it is essential that all the boys shouH hear
every word spoken in the classroom.
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PLAYMAKING

These notes represent, as it were, the " finding " of each
member of a sub-committee. Those who have been working
upon the adaptation of the story will draw up as homework an
outline of the scenes, such as I have given for the dramatization
of Bible stories in the earlier pages of this chapter. Those
who have given their chief attention to the characters will
sketch out the part of some principal person, or make a little
study of the place to be filled by a number of minor parts.
Others will actually write parts for the principals in the chief
scenes, giving them all their cues, all the stage-directions, and
the openings of their most important speeches. In order to
follow out as far as possible the craftsmanship of Shakespeare
it will be advisable for the boys to jot down on their parts,
either beforehand in preparation or during the early rehearsals
before the play is actually written, all the stage directions, all
the important movements they have to make, and all the
properties required at certain junctures. Then when the play
is finally written the makers will, as far as possible, mention
or allude to these things actually in the lines to be spoken.
Some reader may overlook the importance of this suggestion.
But the embodiment of all the action and the material in the
words written to be spoken is an essential part of playmaking
on this system. It is one of the chief characteristics of work-
manship which — ^to make aU clear in a verbal quibble — dis-
tinguishes the playwright from the playivriter.

With boys imder fifteen you must at this point begin to
act your play if you wish to get any life into the composition.
Of course it is an amorphous thing at this time. The speeches
are partly read from notes and partly composed impromptu on
the spur of utterance. The action is interrupted from time
to time by the onlooking playmakers, by the master, and by
the actors themselves. The understanding is that during the
early composition rehearsals there may be as many interruptions
as are necessary. If the matter of inquiry or suggestion can
be settled at the moment, by adoption or rejection, it is so
settled ; but if it should involve longer discussion or repeated
trial, or elaborate changes, or much recasting and rewriting of
what is already done, the matter is postponed to a later and

special discussion period,

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The boys chosen to act the amorphous play in the composition
rehearsals may not be the ones who will eventually play the
parts. But it is of course a good plan to settle as soon as possible
upon the actual cast, because once you have a player before
you in actual being you can build your created character to
fit him ; or he and his part can grow up together in the making.
This suggestion may surprise some reader who has always
regarded characters in a play as the absolute creations of the
artist's invention. But just as a character when played gains
or loses by the individual interpretation of the actor, so may
a character in the making be modified, shaped, and influenced
by reference and approximation to a living model. It would
be fruitless and digressive to argue the point here, but in
passing we may instance the parallel with the painter's model.
How many of the most sublime Madonnas of Raphael and
Leonardo and Botticelli are in part the portraits of beautiful
women. The boy playmakers under their master's guidance
must learn not only that they are to make Peter's part in the
play like Peter himself in some respects (because that seems a
natural and an easy thing to do) but they must also learn what
it means to take the living thing as a model for the art form.

After the acting there is more discussion, and after the
discussion more acting. And all the time there is many a
child among you taking notes, and busily thinking out the
speeches, and fashioning his draft lines. The purpose of
acting the play from the very first is that the boys may see
the story in rough dramatic form. Then they can trim it and
shape it, and finally write it.* The discussions are of two
kinds — ^first, the informal exchange of ideas among the boys,
and secondly, the lessons of the master ; in the course of which
the boys — ^as in lessons everywhere — ^may ask for information
or raise difficult points for discussion.

The master in these lessons can teach the rules and proprieties

* At a time when both seniois and juniors had been engaged in
communal playmaking one of the sixth-form players, writing a hiunorous
account of oin: goings-on (in one of those " rag " magazines that crop
up in schools) sought a true word to describe the activity of the boy-
plajrwrights. There is no present tense of " wrought," and so he coined
the expression Plan-wreaking. This term, however, I have not adopted
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PLAYMAKING

of the art of dramatic poetry so far as suits the age of his boys.
They should have notebooks and write down what they learn
about action, construction, characterization, and diction,
with a multitude of examples, for a rule is both xmderstand
and remembered best in an example. Even boys of ten could
be taught to understand and to observe many rules and
proprieties which the modem play-writers of London would be
the better for knowing. At first the things taught will be
simply practical, such as the way of making your play to suit a
given stage, the use of the traverse, advice about exits and
entrances, about light and dark, about crowds, processions,
" business," and so on. Later on the boys will be taught the
meaning and force of certain literary and dramatic conventions,
the distinction of styles, the power of tradition. Of this study,
which we shall call Poetics, Milton says, " that sublime Art
which . . . teaches what the Laws are of a true Epic Poem,
what of a Dramatic, what of a Lyric, what Decorum is, which
is the grand masterpiece to observe. This would make them
soon perceive what despicable creatures our common Rimers
and Play-writers be, and show them what religious, what
glorious and magnificent use might be made of Poetry both
in divine and human things."

But the teacher must never get so engrossed in his lecturing
as to forget that " the play's the thing." At the very most
the lessons on the art of dramatic poetry should never take more
than a third part of the acting and playmaking time ; the study
and acting of Shakespeare should take another third, and the
making and acting of the bojrs' original plays should fill the
remaining part.

In a few playmaking experiments with senior players we
found that the method of acting the scenes while they were
still unwritten was a failure. The sixth-form boys pointed
out that the self-consciousness of their age (sixteen to eighteen
years) made it impossible for them to stand up and speak a
part impromptu. And so, after the preliminary discussion,
various individuals each imdertook to write a whole scene.
Their work was then discussed, acted, amphfied, and amended
until all the playmakers were satisfied with it.

It would be dangerous to draw up any scheme of playmaking

u 305

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lest any one should be tempted to stick to the letter of it. So
a mere list shall be given here of the activities of boys and master
which result in a finished play :

i. Reading and telling of the story.

ii. Informal discussion,

iii. Sub-committee stage.

iv. Preparation of rough notes.

V. Acting in the rough.

vi. Master's lessons,

vii. Discussion of special points,

viii. Careful fashioning, shaping, and writing.

ix. Careful acting, as in rehearsal.

X. Final revision of text of speeches,

xi. Performance with all due ceremony.

The sub-committees really exist throughout the playmaking,
for there will always be groups of boys interested in one
branch of the work more than in another, and more able than
the other boys to do the work connected with it. Thus there
are the plot-managers, the actors, the poets, the producers,
the craftsmen, and so on. But one boy may fill several of
these functions. Sub-committees should not be formally
appointed, for this would lead to specializing, and specializing
is not desirable here.

Let us take two examples of plays which might be made,
" The Golden Goose " and " The Cherry Bough," and illustrate
further matters of playmaking with particular reference to
those stories.

The story of " The Golden Goose " may be read in " Grimm's
Fairy Tales." After the story had been read once or twice one
of the boys would be set to tell it in a form more fit for our
playmaking piu:pose. After his relation and the subsequent
informal discussion the tale would be in something like the
following shape. I give the outline only :

A boy goes out to cut wood and meets a little old man in
the forest with whom he shares his simple meal. The little
old man rewards him with the gift of a golden goose. The
boy decides to run away from home, where he is not happy, and
seek his fortune with this prize. He goes to an inn, where
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PLAYMAKING

he discovers that the goose has the magical property that all
who touch it are unable to get free again. The daughters of
the inn-keeper become fixed, and the boy walks away followed
by the three girls in a row. In the fields he meets the Parson,
who cries shame on the girls for thus pursuing a young man and
in seeking to restrain them, he himself becomes attached to the
procession. Other folk are drawn in as the boy continues his
course, each one in turn becoming fastened to the tail of the
procession. Now there is at the court a Princess who cannot
laugh, and the King her father has promised her hand in
marriage to the man who shall undo this melancholy imper-
fection. The boy comes before the Princess, and causes her
to laugh heartily at the motley crew which he draws in his
train. So he marries the Princess, and they live happily ever
after.

Note that certain elements of the fairy tale, as it is to be
found in Grimm, have already been shed. We have dropped
out at the start the experiences of the two elder brothers.
The elder brothers are a conventional part of many folk-tales ;
and they might be retained in our play out of a respect for
tradition. But they are not essential. Two of the playboys
during the first actings might be glad to try parts as the elder
brothers, to chop wood, to converse with the little old man of
the woods, to refuse him hospitality, and then to meet with
some misfortime in consequence. But if all this is acted twice
over before we get to the youngest son, who is to find the golden
goose, the class of playmakers will certainly say during their
discussion that this is a very bad opening. They will see that
the only possible way is to begin with the youngest son. If
it is thought desirable not to cast out the elder brothers alto-
gether from the story, the youngest boy can refer to them and
their experiences in his opening soliloquy.

The other chief excision is at the end of the story. We
finish our play when the boy has made the Princess laugh and
so is entitled to marry her. We may claim, if we like, that
the further conditions subsequently imposed by the bargain-
breaking King her father do not necessarily concern us as
playmakers. We have made the Princess laugh with our
entertainment, and no further considerations, whether of

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eating, of drinking, or of travel by land and by water shall be
allowed to complicate the denouement. But we must allow a
true discussion of the point, for certain boys may wish to act the
play out to a finish. All praise to them, for in a mere going
over the ground one may sometimes pick up a rich find. It is
quite possible that two comedians acting the parts of the hungry
man and the thirsty man could by persuasive demonstration
effect what sound argument would not at first accept. There
is certainly something quite promising about these two fellows.
One, according to Grimm, has " a very miserable face " ; and
he says, " Oh, I suffer such dreadful thirst that nothing seems
able to quench it ; and cold water I cannot endure. I have
emptied a cask of wine already, but it was just like a drop of
water on a hot stone." This is an inviting figure for a comic
interlude ; one, moreover, with an expressive style of speech.
The hungry fellow is an equally engaging figure. " There sat
a man binding himself round tightly with a belt, and making the
most horrible faces." He reminds one of an allegorical figure
in one of the old plays.

Now the two comedians who ask to be allowed to try and
create these parts in the first actings might make an excellent
piece of work out of them. In the discussion that foUows,
they, and those who think with them, are in favour of carrying
the story on in order to include these two characters. They
have the strong argument on their side that the master has often
told them to look to the story — ^to trust their sources pretty
thoroughly. The player who represents the little old man of the
woods is also on their side, for the inclusion of these two persons
will give him another appearance at the end of the play, instead
of his being sent to bed at noon. The King would also be
glad to have his part fattened. Against this party are the wise
plot-managers who think it best to end the play when the
Princess is won in her laughing. The boy and the Princess
and the whole train of folk in the wake of the goose will vote
with the plot-managers, if they have a right idea of their parts
and are duly standing up for the characters they represent.
For it is to the interest of all these that the play should not
tail off into a series of comic interludes. And so a great consult
begins, and discussion is rife.
SOS

Two Shakespearean Servants

[See p 341, Plate K

Macbeth

[See p. nil, Plate G

The Murderers in "The Babes m the Woud"

[See p. 3-H, Plate F

PLAYMAKING

If the reader has taken the pains to turn up the story
in Grimm, and to follow this account of it as the nucleus of
a playmaking business, what, in his opinion, will the master
be thinking while the boys are busy with their talk ? It is
clear that some decision must be made by the master. And
he will be wise to give good reasons for his verdict, so that the
losers will learn something and not feel merely sat upon. On
all such occasions there is an opporuntiy to teach the whole
company something of good sense in dramatic craftsmanship
and something of good taste in literature. I take this trifling
instance of the tail-end of a simple story because it affords a
useful illustration of the way in which playmaking can be
connected with the study of literature. Of course all but the
practical things must be postponed imtil the master's lessons
later on in the playmaking. Some considerations must be
postponed even further, for there are many studies in literature
which are beyond a class of average Littlemen ; and these must
be taught to a select few of them in private tuition out of school,
or put off altogether until the boys have reached sixth-form
standard. It may perhaps be asked what lessons in literature
could possibly be taught in connexion with so simple a tale.

Well, while the Littlemen are debating the claims of the
thirsty man and the hungry man to have a part in their
play, let us imagine that the thoughts of the playmaster
wander. From this starting-point of play in the making, he
comes to think of play already made. He thinks of the folk-
legends, of the origin and handing down of these old tales.
He thinks of the attempted interpretation of myth and legend
by students of folk-lore, and wonders if they would interpret
the lure of the goose as auri sacra fames. He wonders what
they would make of the King's strange demand for a man
who could drink all the wine in his cellar, and eat up a whole
mountain of bread, and bring him a ship that could travel by
land and by sea. Next the playmaster wonders whether it
would be wise for him, since boys of twelve cannot perhaps be
expected to create characters in a real literary sense, to make
them model their work on early drama, and make the persons
of their play (their kings, princesses, knights, younger sons
their villains, magicians, dwarfs, and fairies) conventional figures

309

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of allegory — ^but with the moral left out ! Then, in connexion
with Himger and Thirst in " The Golden Goose," he thinks
of Maeterlinck's " Blue Bird," with its allegorical figures of
Bread and Water. But he soon dismisses this train of thought
in order to get back to literature. Then he thinks of Littleman
and of " Everyman," and reflects how much of " their lyves in
this worlde " the old writers designed to show forth " in manner
of a morall playe." And he thinks of the men of the old craft
guilds with their " pageants " and their Mistery Plays ; and
he wonders if craftsmen could not again have a place of their
own in literature.

Then the playmaster, still sitting in thought, observes
that some of the boys are acting again, to illustrate to one
another certain parts in the proposed play. And he thinks
of Sackville and of Spenser and of Bunyan ; and he wonders if
the figures pictured by the great allegorical poets were conceived
first as abstractions and afterwards materialized; or whether
it is not more likely that these poets were incapable of conceiv-
ing abstractions apart from some image or form of representa-
tion. He considers the application of this to the work of his
boys.

The playrnaster in his musing decides that, if the boys
determine to have those figures of Hunger and Thirst in theii
play, then it shall not be in a mere comic representation,
but as something modelled on the work of the early dramatists
or that of the allegorical poets. He decides that the boys
who are to write the lines for Hunger and Thirst to speak
shall learn by heart several stanzas of Sackville and of Spenser
There is, for instance, the figure of Dread in the Induction to
" The Mirror for Magistrates."

Next sawe we Dread, al tremblyng how he shooke,
With foote uncertayne profered here and there :
Benumde of speache, and with a gastly looke
Searcht every place al pale and dead for feare.
His cap borne up with staring of his heare,
Stoynde and amazde at his own shade for dread,
And fearing greater daungers than was nede.*

* See also the descriptions, in the same Induction, of Sorrow,
Remorse, Misery, Old Age, and Death.
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PLAYMAKING

There is the figure of Doubt in " The Faerie Queene."*

Next after him went Doubt, who was yclad

In a discolour'd cote of straimge disguyse.

That at his back a brode Capuccio had,

And sleeves dependaunt Albanesd-wyse :

He lookt askew with his mistrustfull eyes,

And nycely trode, as thomes lay in his way,

Or that the flore to shiinke he did avyse ;

And on a broken reed he still did stay

His feeble steps, which shrunck when hard thereon he lay.

The playmaster, indulging such a train of thought, has
no doubt whatever that the simplest tale opens up innumerable
lines for the teaching of literature, if only the adequate time
were allowed for it. But at this point his reverie is broken
in upon by cries of " Sir, Sir, Sir ! " and he wakes up and
realizes that the boys' discussion of the point of plot-management
is inconclusive, and that they require his aid to find a settlement.
He advises them to end with the Princess and her laughing,
and to cut out the rest of the story. For these are Littlemen
at the beginning of a course of playmaking, and not students
with some experience of literature. Simple, active things are
their immediate need.

If these simple, active thmgs are conducted imder a wise
direction the boys' early efforts at playmaking can be made
the foundation of that real interest in good literature which
is indispensable to a true understanding of it. We teachers
may not have the ability to do what we know ought to be done,
but I am convinced that the ideal method, here called the
Play Way (if only teachers could be found able to work in it)
would give us in the course of time not only worthy readers
of great books but worthy makers of great books too.

Let us, then, turn back to simple, active things. Here
is a simple scenario for " The Golden Goose," such as boys of
twelve should be able to draw up after having worked at play-
making for a term or two under the direction of their master.
The play needs but one act.

Scene 1. {Outer.) The boy — ^let us call him Andrew —
comes in with a bundle of faggots, singing. After an expositional

* Book ni, Canto xii.

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THE PLAY WAY

soliloquy he sits down to eat the frugal meal which is all his
cruel stepmother has allowed him. After certain peepings
and queer noises a little old man comes in. Andrew consents
to share his poor meal with him. But when the basket is
opened the dry bread, for which Andrew has made apology in
advance, is found to have turned into buns, and the plain
water or sour milk has turned into ginger-beer with a pop in
it. Some conversation must go with the meal ; and even if
the boys have learnt only the very first things about playmaldng
they will see that the part of the story which concerns the
Princess may well be set afoot here. The little old man tells
Andrew of the Princess who never smiles, and of the King's
decree. Then he tells Andrew that he will find something
good behind yon tree, and vanishes. There is no need to cut
down a tree, as in the story. The golden goose can simply
be fotmd behind the curtain. One of the most valuable things
which a playmaster can teach his boys is that they should
not strive after useless effects, nor ever be afraid of the simple.
Andrew goes off to see the world, with his goose imder his arm.

Scene 2. {Inner.) The Princess comes in with her father,
and attended by her ladies. The King speaks about her hmnour
of melancholy and tells her of his decree. The Princess replies
that she would not be sad if there were any due occasion to
be merry. The King bids her ladies find more entertainment.

Scene 3. {Outer, then Inner.) Andrew comes in gaily and,
after a few words about going to see the world instead of
returning home, he knocks at the door and an inn-keeper comes
out. As the two go out by the door of the front stage the
traverse opens, and they come in again at once on the back
stage. This is the inn parloiur and the daughters of the Host
are there. There is some amusing play for Andrew here when
the Host speaks of his dinner and his bedroom. For of course
poor Andrew has never ordered a dinner in his life before,
nor ever slept in a bedroom. He understands little of what
the Host is asking and suggesting, but he makes a brave show,
and carries it off with an air. The girls, of course, will titter
and giggle. Andrew forgets the goose and goes out with the
Host to view his bedroom. The girls now have some good
play before they find themselves all stuck fast to the tail of the
812

PLAYMAKING

golden goose. Remember that they are girls as conceived
by the playboys. They will therefore shriek and make a big
fuss. The Host and the boy Andrew will then come rmming in.
I think the boy-playmakers at this point would be inclined to
ignore the dinner still to be eaten and the bedroom still to be
slept in, and would cause Andrew simply to put the goose under
his arm and walk away, with the girls behind him. If not,
I do n'ot see how we are to continue. After all, we only brought
Andrew to the inn that he might attach the daughters of the
Host.

Scene 4. {Outer.) The Parson of the parish now comes in
with gout and a learned book. We need not give the Parson
much time because it will be obvious to the audience that he
is only introduced as the next victim to get caught up by
Andrew. So after reading aloud a few lines of learned matter,
interrupted by twinges of pain from his toe (cf. the singing of
Parson Hugh Evans interrupted by tremblings of mind, in " The
Merry Wives of Windsor," Act III, Scene 1), he hears a lilting
air * and sees (off stage) what he indignantly describes as three
girls pursuing a young man. They run on and around the front
stage (which should be roomy). The old Parson shakes his
stick and hobbles after them in protest. The girls utter plaintive
appeals, but Andrew sings as he trots and is delighted with the
fun. As soon as the Parson touches the tail of the procession
he is caught up in it and made to trot with the rest. Andrew
now runs off, and as the mingled noise of song and plaint and
protest dies away down the corridor the traverse opens.

Scene 5. {Inner.) The Princess comes in with her ladies.
They try to make her merry (cf. " Richard II," Act III, Scene 4),
but she remains sad. She asks for a song, and a boy comes
in and sings to her ; but before the end she bids him break
oft (cf. "Measure for Measure," Act IV, Scene l).t This
is the simplest form in which to cast the part of the Princess.

* It will add much to the onlookers' delight in the growing train
of people if their recurrent approach is heralded and accompanied by
a rhythmical tune, which will soon become familiar. Andrew might
sing a little rhyme to the tune.

t Boys of twelve will not have read these plays, but they will have
learnt these things from their master.

813

THE PLAY WAY

But if the boys wish to ampUfy it, the King could come in
bringing a suitor who, in response to the decree, has come
to try his skill. It is difficult to see what devices we could
put him up to. If the suitor brings in with him some clown
to play the fool before the Princess, the clowning must be
exceptionally well done and draw real laughter from the audience,
although it fail to move the Princess. Rubbishy knockabout
stuff will not serve. Perhaps it is best to assume that she is
to be gratified into a smile rather than tickled into a laugh,
and the boy singer could then be brought by the suitor for her
entertainment. If it is desired to amplify this side of the play
still further, other suitors, could arrive each in a scene of his own
(cf. the suitors to Portia), and bring dancers and instrumental
music. If this be the plan adopted, the Princess will have
some excellent speeches, and we have the whole literatiu:e ol
Melancholy to draw upon for models. Consider what an opening
is here for special reading with the best boys.

Words for the songs in the plays should be composed by the
boys.* The music can be borrowed from the folk-song
collections, where there are scores of melodies grave and gay.
If the master is himself a musician he can compose simple
settings for boys' voices. But it will be best of all if he can
teach the boys to compose their own music. There is all too
little music in English schools. For simple and beautiful
dances there could be nothing better than the country dances
deciphered by Mr. Cecil Sharp from Playford's " EngUsh Dancing
Master " (1650) and taught by The English Folk Dance Society.
Our playboys have danced many of these and also the Morris
and sword dances. But boys cannot do the country dances
without girls. If you haven't any little girls you must borrow
some, as we did.

Scene 6. (Outer.) Andrew's procession is heard off stage
trotting along to its lilting air. Presently they run across the
front stage, and we see that one or two more victims, say a
round Miller and a long Carpenter, have been added to the

* Cf. Perse Playbooks, No. 3, the song in " The Wraggle Taggle
Gypsies," " A mist came out of the lake to-night " ; and the two songs
in " Baldr's Death," " Who wakens Wala " and " Fleecy Cloud and
Feathery Snow."
814-

PLAYMAKING

train since we last saw it. The procession runs across and out.
Then the inn-keper comes in on one side, and the Town Beadle
on the other. The Host is very angry and scolds the Beadle.
He says there is a great disorder in the town and his daughters
have been stolen away, all three of them, and under his very
eyes, and by a young whipper-snapper of a lad. The Beadle
replies angrily that it is no fault of his if all the people go mad,
and suggests that the Host should keep his daughters under
better control, and so on. While they are wrangling Andrew's
procession comes lilting in again, the girls looking tired, the
Parson nearly dead, and the long Carpenter and the roimd
Miller about as angry as two men could well be. But Andrew
is singing more gaUy than ever. His rhymes might be written
to suit the various victims as they are captured. The Host
tries to stop the train, and of course gets attached to the tail
of it. At this the Beadle falls into a roar of laughter, and the
Host infuriated, as he comes in his trot near to the Beadle,
smites him hard ; and so the Beadle stops laughing suddenly
and runs with the rest. We have now eight persons of very
various appearance in the wake of Andrew, and I think that
mil be enough. But the number of scenes showing the capture
of victims will be conditioned by the number of scenes in which,
we show the Princess and her suitors. We must be careful
not to overdo in number either the court scenes or the street
scenes, for there is little variety of subject to be had of either.
The court scenes must be refined and charming full of a
rich poetry of melancholy, sped with lyrics of love and Hey-
nonny-nonny, and with dainty dances. The street scenes
have a broader tone, the himiour is more crude, there is the
sound of heavy feet and the noise of angry protestings. Andrew's
music is of a rollicking kind, like that of " Tom the Piper's
son."

Scene 7. This should open in a balcony of some kind,
the upper stage of the Elizabethan playhouse. But if we
have no such thing we must play it on the back stage. The
Princess comes in with her ladies and the King, and possibly
a suitor. He who plays the King should be encouraged to
invent something for himself here, for the King has had all
too little to do, and we need some little thing from him at

S15

THE PLAY WAY

this point. Presently Andrew's procession is heard and the
court folk see it before it comes in. They point out to one
another the amusing variety of the train, and they wonder
what it is all about. Then, just as Andrew dances in, the
Princess smiles, laughs, and breaks out into a ripple of delight.
The procession runs round in its noisy way, the court folk
applaud the sight and gather about the Princess. She confesses
to being a-sudden very happy, and sends one to bring the lad
to her. Andrew drops the goose, and all his following are set
free. The Host claims his daughters and gives them a scolding.
The roimd Miller and the long Carpenter stare open-mouthed
at the King and the Princess, but the Beadle officiously orders
them to be off. The Parson sinks down with exhaustion, and
is borne away by the Miller and the Carpenter. Then the King
announces that this lad has won his daughter's hand according
to the decree. The Princess speaks a few words of avowal,
and the boy Andrew makes the final speech. Then they all
go off while music plays. The conclusion may soimd imconvinc-
ing. That, however, is not my fault, but that of the story.
Fairy tales are so incorrigibly romantic ! We have spoken
throughout of Andrew as a boy, and a boy he certainly is. He
may seem very young to be betrothed to a Princess ; but I
cannot say the point worries me.*

One of the most interesting facts which I have noticed
about the communal plajrmaking of the juniors (boys between
twelve and fifteen) is that the boy who is cast for a certain
part in the first actings, before the play is written is quite
ready to take it upon himself to live that character, to represent
himself and his case during discussions, and to see
that he gets fair treatment. The actor may or may not be
one of the best writers. But in any case there will always
be more boys in the class than there are principal parts in
the play ; and it is useful to encourage all the boys to take
a special interest in one character or another. This gives
you a group of plajmiakers to stand up for the right
of each person in the drama. Jack and his followers will
then insist upon certain facilities for the character which Jack

* These doubts and queries could all be solved in an Epilogue to be
spoken by the Little Old Man of the Woods.
816

PL AY MAKING

is representing. Tom and his supporters may insist that the
King personated by Tom must have a scene to himself at a certain
juncture. This claim may be put forward simply because Tom
has made the King an interesting or an amusing character.
Possibly the admission of the scene demanded would help
on the plot ; possibly it would be a mere interlude. Those
who want the scene will of course claim that it is essential.
If they can make out a good enough case, supporting it by
sound argument or persuasive demonstration, then Tom and his
following get their way and the scene is put in. The master's
duty at the conference is to represent the play as a whole. It
may drift one way or another. The powers and personalities
of your first players necessarily condition the trend which
the playmakers follow. The master mu^t allow a certain
latitude for this bias and drifting. If he become more than
a judge, and go so far as to direct rather than to control and
harmonize these conflicting claims of the various appellants
then in so far is the play his and not the boys'.

The prototjrpe of this lively suit among the characters,
with their claims and counter-claims, is of course the work of
Shakespeare. There are many scenes in Shakespeare which
find place simply because sound argument shows them to be
essential. Such are the expositional dialogues between a
first and a second lord, as in the opening scene of " Cymbeline "
and of " The Winter's Tale," and that talk between Salarino
and Salanio in Act II of " The Merchant of Venice," beginning
" Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail."

The demand for an ampler hearing which is supported, not
by sound argument, but by persuasive demonstration is
paralleled most perfectly in Mercutio, Sir Toby, and especially
in Falstaff. Whether the fat knight was needed or not, he
always came in, and the very sight of him was enough to banish
sound judgment from the head of Master Shakespeare. Of such
is the validity of persuasive demonstration. The recognition of
this lawless influence as a principle in the making of drama may
offend scholars. But there has not been a scholar yet who could
conceive how the plays of Shakespeare could possibly be the work
of one man, imless that scholar were a player-artist too.

In " The Merchant of Venice " there is a group of young

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THE PLAY WAY

Venetians, friends of Bassanio and Antonio. Now let the
reader imagine that this play, as he knows it, is not yet written,
but is a story in the hands of his playboys at the stage of fif st
actings and early discussion. Which of these young Venetians
is to carry off Jessica, and which of them is to accompany
Bassanio to Belmont, and which of them shall have the honour
of opening the play with Antonio and the fun of baiting Shylock
in the place which is now the opening of Act III ? Readers of
Shakespeare always look upon these things as already decided ;
and so they are, of course, now that the play is written. But
there was a time when Shakespeare himself did not know for
certain what would happen to all these yoimg men. If the
story were being wrought into a play by the boys, a number
of them would be cast simply as " young Venetians," and nothing
further settled definitely at the time. It would rest very largely
with the player himself whether he became one of the leading
characters in the play or a mere walker-on. Observe, then,
what happens in the supposed case of playmaking by the
characters themselves in " The Merchant of Venice."

The chatterbox who calls himself Gratiano takes young
Lorenzo by the arm and tells him to leave the other two fellows
to open the play. " And then we'll stroll in later on with
Bassanio." Our playboys cannot be bothered to distinguish
those undistinguishables, Salanio, Salarino, and Salerio — ^to
whom some editors would even add a Solanio. They bunch
them all together under the collective name of " the Salads."
Very well, the Salads go on with the man who is to act the
title-r61e, and they open the play. They do not manage to
make a very cogent business of it as playmakers. In fact,
after Antonio has made a begiiming by saying he feels sad,
all three of them can think of nothing else to talk about but his
sadness. So much for the first playing of the opening passage.
Later on, when the scenes are written up, the poets do their
best to express these commonplace remarks in fine words ; and
one delights the whole company by bringing to school a purple
patch about the wind and the sandy hour-glass and the rocks,

Which touching but my gentle vessel's side
Would scatter all her spices on the stream.
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks. . . .
3)1 «

PLAYMAKING

This fine passage is given to one of the Salads, and, as
he is now a speaker of fine words, he is also given the other
wonderful passage about the argosies with portly sail. I hope
the reader will catch my meaning. The Salads have no life
and being, they cannot manage to create a scene for themselves,
and so the poets give them instead great lines to speak. But
how different is the case when the chatterbox Gratiano strolls
on arm in arm with young Lorenzo. The chatterbox has no
sooner come upon the boards than he shows by quips and jests,
burlesque and mockery what a real player can make of comments
upon a man's humour of melancholy. The fine speeches of
Salarino would be supplied by the poets ; the live speech of
Gratiano is equally the work of a poet, but it originates in the
trial acting of a player. Shakespeare was poet and player too
and we need not suppose that any preliminary actings were
necessary to aid his imagination. But the playboys have not
the invention of Shakespeare, and they need all the help they
can get from one another, A group of average boys can compass
collectively with ease what would be a marvel of versatility
in an individual — ^what is, in fact, a marvel in Shakespeare.

The playboy who is creating Gratiano goes on his merry
way, and gradually makes his part a living character. There
is no reason at all why one of the Salads should not rather
have been chosen to accompany Bassanio to Belmont, except
the Gratiano has by that time got him a being, while they are
Still walking on as first and second lords. So he goes there,
wins Nerissa to wife, becomes one of the central figures at the
trial, and is one of the principals in the story of the rings. But
the Salads have so little personality, even by the third act,
that we go so far as to forget how to spell their names, and
bring in a " Salerio."

Lorenzo is another of these young Venetians. He does
not bring himself into any great life. His share in the play
throughout is but to fill a part in the story. We may think
of him perhaps, on reading the finished play, as a lover-fellow
full of beautiful words. But look you if all his part in the
fifth act is not simply a gift to him from the plot-managers
and the poets and the musicians. The plot-managers require
a scene of some kind to mark tb« passage of time before Portia

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THE PLAY WAY

can get back from Venice after the trial. This interval is not,
however, put in entirely from an artistic regard for the audience
and their imaginations. It is necessary at this point for Portia
and Nerissa to get back into their women's weeds, and this
woiild take some time. While they were changing the first
time, from women into men, the interval was occupied by
Launcelot talking nonsense with Lorenzo, which could be
spun out in patter by the clown to any length, until the boys
were ready. And similarly, there must be a scene of indefinite
length here, after the trial, before Portia and Nerissa can enter
as women again. If the player who is Lorenzo could devise
anything interesting in connexion with his under-plot, the
playwrights would give him an ample opportunity at this point.
But Lorenzo and his playmaking group cannot think of anything
so the poets are called in to make a love scene. Launcelot is a
lively player, so he manages to get in a little foolery here.
But still the plot-managers are not satisfied that all this —
the love scene and the foolery — will give enough time for the
two players to turn themselves back from a worthy doctor
of law and a little scrubbed boy into two fine ladies, so the
master of music also offers to take a share of this scene. It
is arranged that the musicians shall go on playing until Portia
has come in and spoken.*

These observations upon the minor characters in " The
Merchant of Venice " will serve to illustrate, then, how such
a play would have been wrought by the playboys, and how
each can put in something according to his ability or preference.
Some lover of Shakespeare who has for many years regarded

* Note the difference here between Shakespeare's way and that of
OUT modern playwriters. Shakespeare gives us a nocturne of wonderful
beauty to fill the space required, and makes his play continuous. The
modern play-writer (having less sensibility for art-values in his whole
body than Shakespeare had in his little finger) would drop the curtain
and suspend all artistic control over the audience for ten minutes or so.
The lights would go up. The band would play " The Merry Widow " or
" The Cinema Girl " or some such thing, the men would struggle out to
get whisky and soda and a little air, the women would eat chocolates and
fan themselves, and do without air ; and the play would be as dead as a
stone when the curtain went up again. (Our modern producers of
Shakespeare give us the interval for refreshment and bad music, and the
nocturne as well 1)
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PLAYMAKING

the opening of this Act V simply as a beautiful poem, may
be ahocked at being thus taken behind the scenes. To some
it will appear false teaching to treat English literature in this
rude shirt-sleeve manner. But in the eyes of your true player,
your honest teacher in the Play Way, Shakespeare's poetry
is of the kind which can be appreciated all the better for a
knowledge of the conditions which in part occasioned its creation.

Poetry for me has never been a thing set apart from
everyday life and work. Those teachers who make it their
business to treat literature only as a thing to be studied, and
never new-made ; as some framed thing by a great master,
hung up for the pupil to appreciate ; who feel that literature
has a place only in the lecture-room and the library, and is to
be approached only in the fit attire of a scholar's cap and gown
in the daytime or in a dressing-gown and slippers at night —
such men will be shocked at this rude and unscholarly way we
have of associating literature with things done and things still
to do ; this shirt-sleeve manner of approach, that will read
the best books, not only by the quiet lamp on a study table,
but also by the guttering candlelight of the tiring-house.
There is yet another possible light in which to read literatm-e.
It is the too often misleading will-o'-the-wisp lantern borne
hither and thither by that lover of the preposterous, Robin
Goodfellow, a knave to all night wanderers, but the very darling
of simple folk, and a familiar of the fairy king himself.

The clear distinction between our view and that of our
scholarly friends is that, while they are content to study
literature with the boys, we aspire to Tnake it with them.
According to the spirit of the Play Way, poetry for the playboys
should be, as it were, an occupation song, at once the inspiration,
the accompaniment, and the finest expression of their play.
When our drama has been wrought then it may be written.
And the same is true of our national history. For those of
us who have been present throughout the whole process of
playmaking, the shirt-sleeve period is so intimately a part
of the work that we cannot truly say afterwards whether we
love more the literary achievement of our work in the finished
book of the words, or the piece of our life which is embodied
in those word* : the flavoiu- of old play which they hold, the

X 321

THE PLAY WAY

recollection of our doings and dealings behind the scenes, and
of the traffic of the stage at rehearsals.

I confess, for my own part, that the lamps and the boards,
the ropes and tne ladders of the off-stage, the silk and the
velvet and the braiding of dresses as they hang in the tiring-
house, the leather of belts and pouches and boots, and the brass
of sword-handles and trumpets, have for me a fascination
which cannot be told in ordinary words. I have more than
once been taken to task for deliberately associating these
mere accessories with literatm;e. But remember that the word
literature in school, according to the Play Way, means not
only the reading of literatiure, but the making of it ; and for
me these toys are the tokens of play, and play is the token of
a wider activity. John Earle says of the child, " We laugh
at his foolish sports, but his game is our earnest, and his drums,
rattles, and hobby-horses but the emblems and mocking of
man's business."

Is it so inconceivable, then, to the reader in his study that
a playmaker, given an absolute choice between the continued
existence of one of his finished plays and an equal opportunity
to make such another like it, would choose to sacrifice the
finished work and once more engage upon his making ? The
statement that the period of pla3anaking is a piece out of our
life is not only my own view. One of our senior playmakers,
in a prologue which shall presently be quoted more fuUy, says :

For know.
The songs we sing, the gods that here we show . . .
Spring not from print and paper, but present
Our living work, pur tears, our merriment
Our new-sprung life, and thence their being hold.

This is really true ; it is the Play Way of making literature.
It is because the boys have created the characters in their
own image, and put themselves into their work, that they can
act the parts with such a compelling power, and at the same
time without losing touch with their natural selves. He who
plays Baldr, the God of Light, can move the onlookers to
tears without any sentimentality or exaggeration, and without
for a moment ceasing to be the boy Donald. He who plays
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PLAYMAKING

Loki, the fiend, can make the onlookers shudder at the things
he says without causing one of them to be shocked ; for we
know him all the while as our little friend the Squirrel.
Strange, is it not, that a boy of twelve can walk before you
in the character of a sublime tragic figure, and stir your emotions
as they are stirred by the great tragic dramas, yet uttering
only the speeches which have been made for him by his fellows
and age-mates ?

Hodr, the blind God of Darkness, as he gropes on his way,
speaks almost with the voice of another poet equalled with him
in fate :

Lo, I am blind and cannot see the light,
Black darkness hems me in on every side.
For me the rising sun salutes the slqr
With ■wreaths of golden beams, alas, in vain.
To me, alas, the trees and rivers call
In vain, for I am blind and see them not.
But here I stand friendless and all alone,
I know not whether day is here or night,
And all the beauties of the spring are lost
Upon these rolling sightless eyes of mine.

Strange, is it not, that all the time, however your emotions
may be stirred, you recognize that this is not the result of
elaborate coaching, it is no prodigy of artificial performance,
for the little fellow seems to be speaking as you have known
him to speak, only with more dignity, more seriousness.

This was the feeling expressed by the dramatic critic of
the Daily Telegraph after the production of " Baldr's Death."
He says : " We do not want children to take play-acting
play- writing, or any form of emotional excitement, too seriously.
That is the way to the bottomless pit of sentimentality. But
it is quite obvious — and this, I think, is the most wonderful
thing in this method — ^that such dangers have been completely
avoided. The boys take it all in the way of a game. You
can feel every moment that they have no illusions about the
importance of themselves and their plays. Said the author of
the tragedy (' Baldr's Death ') to his critical master, ' My job's
woe.' That is the clear voice of sanity. . . ." That is the one
side, and for the other he says : " The small boys of twelve

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find thirteen who acted the tragedy of ' Baldr's Death,' were
amazing. Their sublime sincerity, their reahzation of the
emotions, the manner proper to their divine parts, their utter
earnestness, left you with new opinions on the imagination of
childhood."

The playboys are quite at ease upon the stage. In fact
one is at pains diu^ng the last rehearsals (in preparation for a
public performance) to schbol them not to break away from
their divine parts whenever it occurs to them to make some
comment or inquiry — ^to ask or suggest, " Wouldn't it be better
if I did so-and-so ? " After a term or so of active playmaking
it would even at times be difficult for me to say for certain when
a boy was speaking in character and when he was speaking in
his own person, for the little tricks and ways of a lad get into
his part, and the feelings and sayings proper to a part grow to
the lad. There are also whimsical ways of quoting, and current
tags of speech, and even a sort of communal manner of thought
which always grows up in a company of close friends. After
a, while it is not possible to be definitely sure whether you
are in the play or out, whether the figure that accosts you in
the tiring-house is speaking in propria persona or trying on
you, to see what you think of it, an addition to his part which
occurred to him but now on the stage. I do not mean that
such a blend of boy and part, of player and character, is possible
under any conditions of " school theatricals " ! No. It is a
consiunmation devoutly to be wished, but one which is only
attainable when you as a company are making your own play,
when the master knows his boys almost as well as their parents
know them, and when every one can feel that his fellow's heart
is in the work even as his own. The playmaster at the centre
of such a play-activity finds himself in a whirl of the real, the
make-believe, the conventional, and the humorous elements —
and even if he could disintegrate them, he would not know
which he best appreciated.

There is no end to the stories which might be taken for
playmaking. It is best to take those first which have a
literature connected with them, so that the boys in writing
the lines of their play can follow the style of some original.
Thus the Biblical plays will be written in the Bible style, the
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PLAYMAKING

plays out of Plutarch's Lives will be written in the style of
Sir Thomas North. For the study of Shakespeare's style as
a model I would suggest the writing of what might be called
" Unwritten Scenes in Shakespeare." For purposes of practice
the boys take some incident which Shakespeare has not shown
on the stage and write it up for themselves, taking the characters
of the play as they stand and writing in accord with them. For
instance, in "Richard II," Act IV, Scene 1, York comes in
attended by other lords and says :

Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee

From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with willing soul

Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields

To the possession of thy royal hand.

Boys who have acted and studied this play might be set
to write the interview which has just taken place between
the pathetic figure of Richard and his ineffectual uncle. I
should put in Northmnberland as one of the lords, for he is
the most likely man to have brought about the abdication.

In " Henry V," Act III, Scene 5, Fluellen tells Gower, " I
assure you there is very excellent service committed at the
pridge." The boys might write the scene at the bridge, showing
Exeter, Pistol, Fluellen, and others. This scene might also
include the death sentence passed by the Duke of Exeter upon
Bardolph.

In " Julius Caesar " many misfortunes befell the conspirators,
" which was enough to have marred the enterprise." North's
" Plutarch " tells of three, of which Shakespeare has chosen two,
namely, the tarrying of Caesar, and the ambiguous words of
Popilius Lena. The boys might write up the other occurrence.
" The second cause was, when one came unto Casca being
a conspirator, and taking him by the hand said unto him :
' O Casca, thou keptest it close from me, but Brutus hath
told me all.' Casca being amazed at it, the other went on
with his tale, and said : ' "Why, how now, how cometh it to
pass thou art thus rich, that thou dost sue to be ^dilis ? '
Thus Casca being deceived by the other's doubtful words,
he told them it was a thousand to one he blabbed not out all
the conspiracy." This is the very Casca whom Shakespeare

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has pictured. It should not be difficult for a class of boys
to show this episode in his career.

The romances of the Middle Ages give us many stories
fit for playmaking with a pure and simple style for a model.
We should naturally place the study of this matter early in
the course and before the three seventeenth-century styles of
the Bible, Shakespeare, and North's " Plutarch." We have read
selections from Malory's " Morte Darthur " * with Littlemen of
ten, and found it quite the best prose to give them as they
emerge from the preparatory stage of " readers." With Malory
go the " Chronicles of Froissart " in the rendering of Lord
Berners, For their writing the Littlemen at first make ballad
versions of certain episodes, f and later on they can try their
hands at the prose itself, or make little plays about the knights
in rhjnning verse. There is a series of " Arthurian Romances
unrepresented in Malory " admirably rendered into English
by Miss J. L. Weston.J One of these is the story of Sir Cleges,
which we several times began to write as a Christmas play.
But we had few facilities and precious little time, and this is
one of the many plays which were never finished. There is
no space here to tell the story of Sir Cleges, nor to plot out
the scenes of our projected play, which was to have been called
" The Cherry Bough." The illustration of a few matters
connected with playmaking, which have not been discussed
already, is all om: present limits allow. But the reader who
will turn to Miss Weston's version of the tale will find there all
the material his boys will need for one of the merriest and
most beautiful Christmas plays any man's heart could desire.
There is in it " the sound of divers minstrelsy, trump, pipe,
and clarinet ; harp, lute, and guitar," and " on every side the
voice of singing of carols and of fair dancing." There are
simple prayers : " Lord Jesu," he quoth, " King of Heaven,
Who hast made all things of naught, I thank Thee for these
Thy good tidings." There is a miracle of a cherry bough
which at this season had " green leaves thereon and cherries
beside." There is our old friend the Porter at the King's gate,

* " Selections from the Morte Darthur," by Miss C. L. Thompson,
t See Perse Playbooks, No. 5.
t Published by David Nutt.
826

PLAYMAKING

a churlish man this time ; and also a false Steward and a
naughty Usher. There is a Harper who has " journeyed far
and wide " and now sings before the King the gest of a knight
— the story of Sir Cleges himself. And for mirth and solace,
which are becoming to all folk at Christmas-time, there is for
a finish the sound beating of three naughty servants and a
great banquet in the King's hall.

Here is the Prologue to our projected play, as written,
entirely without help, by a boy of eleven :

Listen, lordings, -while I tell

Of a knight who served King Uther well ;

Sir Cleges of the Table Round.

No man more courteous could be found.

So gentle was he and free of hand

To those had wandered in wasted land.

To the poor he gave both gold and fee.

Well loved was he for his charity.

Sir Cleges' wife was passing fair.

Right down to her knee fell her golden hair.

Dame Clarys was that lady hight.

None bare them ill-will for they ever did right.

At Christmastide this knight would hold

A royal feast for young and old,

In honour of that Maiden mild

And Jesu Christ her little chUd.

He held ten years these revels gay

Till, sooth to say, upon one day

His goods were spent, his manors gone.

And scant had he to live upon.

His men forsook him on every side,

No nag was left for him to ride.

One Christmastide Sir Cleges found

Amidst the snow that lay around,

A cherry bough with fruit so sweet

He took them for the King to eat.

At court he met adventures sore —

And in the play ye'll hear of more.

As the Prologue is going out he is met by a band of villagers,
and the Morris men of Kardyf town. They wish him " A merry
feast of Yule," and he rephes.

Good-morrow, gentles, but wherefore this merry music
Stirring the echoes among the frozen hills ?

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THE PLAY WAY

Upon what errand are you bound, good sirs,
In gauds and bells and all this glad array ?

They tell him they are bound for the Court to dance before
the King, and he asks for a taste of their quality. The Morris
men dance " Glorishears," and then some of the others sing
the following carol : *

O, MARY MOTHER MILD

O, Mary Mother Mild,
Thou maiden undeilled,
Didst trust thy Holy Child
To a lowly manger.

The oxen standing by
Looked on with simple eyes,
And stilled His infant cries
With a gentle lowing.

The wise men from afar
Beheld a guiding star.
And came with gifts of myrrh
And a store of spices.

The night was cold and still.
And the shepherds on the hill
Beheld the heavens fill
With a host of angels.

The shining angel throng.
So piffe from sin and wrong.
Did chant this joyful song
Of the Infant Saviour.

" CJoodwill and peace on earth
Is given by His birth,
So let all men in mirth
Praise Him with thanksgiving."

* Written at a tea-party conference by a group of Ha boys for this
play. But the master's help in this carol was considerable. We have
here, I believe, an example of pure collaboration ; since neither the
master nor the boys could have made this carol alone. The folk-song
tune, "A Farmer's Son so Sweet," will be found in " Novello's School
Songs," No. 954.
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PLAYMAKING

We were not afraid to be simple in writing this carol. It
is too unstudied to read well, and should be heard sung. Mr.
Sharp's accompaniment to the last verse of the folk-song is
also especially appropriate to the last verse of our carol. After
hearing it any one would understand the feelings of the sixth
Morris man, who says.

Ay ! that's the song that heartens up a man.

The Prologue thanks them, and then the leader of the Morris
says, " Well, masters, we must on." And I fear we too must
leave these folk, and the play of " The Cherry Bough," to
speak of other things.

The Norse Mythology has perhaps gone so long neglected
in schools because there is no literature connected with it which
the boys in school could profitably study. So long as school
method remains a matter of reading and writing only, the Norse
mythology can hardly find a place above the first form, because
the master will say he has no time to waste on the mere telling
of stories. But those teachers who admit the educational value
of the making and acting of plays will find excellent materia]
in these old tales. Certainly all English boys should be familiar
with the myths and legends preserved in Icelandic literature,
" for it may safely be asserted that the Edda is as rich in the
essentials of national romance and race-imagination, rugged
though it be, as the more graceful and idyllic mythology of the
South." *

William Morris, in his Introduction to the " Volsunga Saga,"
says, " This is the Great Story of the North, which should be
to all our race what the Tale of Troy was to the Greeks." And
Carlyle, in " Heroes and Hero- Worship," says, " To me there is
in the Norse System something very genuine, very great and
manUke. A broad simplicity, rusticity, so very different from
the hght gracefulness of the old Greek Paganism, distinguishes
this Scandinavian System. It is Thought ; the genuine Thought
of deep, rude, earnest minds, fairly opened to the things about

* H. A. Guerber, Introduction to "Myths of the Norsemen." This
book contains most of the material which boys wfll require. But the
stories are just briefly told, and the boys will have to work them up and

shape them-

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them ; a face-to-face and heart-to-heart inspection of the
things — ^the first characteristic of all good Thought in all times.
Not graceful lightness, half sport, as in the Greek Paganism,*
a certain homely truthfulness and rustic strength, a great
rude sincerity discloses itself here." And again he says of the
Scandinavian mythology, " Sincerity is the great characteristic
of it. Superior sincerity (far superior) consoles us for the
total want of old Grecian grace. Sincerity, I think, is better
than grace, I feel that these old Norsemen were looking into
Nature with open eye and soul : most earnest, honest ; childlike
and yet manlike ; with a great-hearted simplicity and depth
and freshness, in a true, loving, admiring, unfearing way."

Surely, then, the stories of the Norse mythology will be
a fit material for our English boys to play with ; so long as
we treat them with sincerity. Of course it is not a sincerity
of belief in the myths which we require of boys to-day ; but
we do require a sincerity of artistic purpose. If Carlyle is
right about these old stories where could we fimd a more suitable
treasury for the playboy ? For he also is " childlike and yet
manlike ; with a great-hearted simplicity and depth and
freshness." I believe, if these myths and legends of the North
were given their right place in school studies, that not only
would the boys themselves rejoice in their heritage, but in
due time there would be a corresponding accession to English
literature.

In the writing of our Norse plays, " Thorr's Hammer,"
"Baldr's Death," " Freyr's Wooing," and the unfinished
" Skadi," the boys were directed to recoimt in passing reference
as much as seemed appropriate of the mythology. Matthew
Arnold does this in " Balder Dead," so that his poem as well as
telling the tale of Balder is quite a reference-book of the myths.
The boys (Form III, ages from 12 to 14 years) did this well.
For instance, Thrym at the opening of " Thorr's Hammer "
finds the Thunder God asleep, and he says,

Aha I here lies my ancient enemy,

Old Thorr, the God of Thunder, whom I hate.

• These words are quoted in commendation of the Norse mythology,
and not in any disparagement of the Greek. But I do not believe Carlyle
intended anything derogatory to the one in extolling the other.
880

3

O

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PLAYMAKING

He ravages my land and kills my men.
Here is his hammer Miolnir which he wields
Against my people in the land of giants.

In fact the whole of Thrjon's opening speech is divided
between the necessary dramatic exposition and explanations
of the words Miolnir, Asgard, and Giantland. A moment later,
when old Thorr is making a fuss over the loss of his giant-
crushing hammer, he also gives information about the Norse
mythology.

O 1 if I find the thief,
His bones shall rot in the surrounding sea,
The prey of Jormundgandr, the great snake
Whose monstrous coils encircle the whole world.

The members of the audience might well be startled at this
terrific word Jormv/ndgandr if Thorr were not, even in the
moment of wrath, considerate enough to explain what he is
talking about. Freyja's falcon-robe is also explained by
Loki when he borrows it ; and Thorr's belt when he returns
that to him. Runic signs are mentioned twice by Thrym,
and although the accuracy of what he says is doubtful, Thrym
at any rate makes plain what he means by the use of runes.
In " Frejrr's Wooing " the Boar " Golden-bristle," which is an
attribute of Freyr the God of Summer, becomes the theme of
the comic interludes. Beggvir, its keeper, who has managed
to lose the beast, says, in reply to his wife's horror-stricken
inquiry for " the master's sacred Boar,"

I mean the pig, the blessed, blessed pig !
I used to be the butler to a god,
But now I am promoted from that place
To be a beastly swineherd. Mucky job.
And now I've lost the pig, so I am nought.
I would I'd never seen the animal.

And Beggvir goes on to complain of the strange partiality
among the gods for pets, thus putting in a humorous reminder
to the young students of mythology of the attributes of certain

of the Msa.

Why in the world must every god
Have some such pet to give us folk hard work ?
My master keeps a pig ; his sister, cats.
Othinn has ravens, Thorr his team of goats.

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Skimir, in the same play, is given a sword, a shield, an apple,
and a ring. The sword is important in the mythology because
Freyr, having presented it to Skimir on this occasion, has no
weapon with which to defend himself at Ragnarokr. The
authors of the play have made clear all that should be known
about the sword, and Draupnir is explained to Gerda thus,

If you consent, he seals it with this ring.

'Tis Draupnir from which every ninth night drop

Eight others, each as precious as the first.

Iduna's golden fruit is explained in the space of one line in

" Skadi," as

The golden apples of eternal youth,

Skirnir's shield does not come directly out of the mjrthology.
It is accounted for in this way. Freyr sends his man Skirnir
to woo the maiden Gerda and gives him the sword for himself,
and Draupnir and some of Iduna's golden fruit with which
to tempt the maiden. But when Freyr lapsed again into a
lover's reverie Skimir drew nigh and stole the reflection of his
master's face from the surface of the pool into which he was
gazing. With this picture in his drinking-horn Skimir was
far more confident of success than in the possession of the other
gifts. But as Snug would say, " You can never bring in a
pool." So the boys put their heads together, and after actor,
property-master, plot-manager and poet had each contributed
his share of the work the passage stood ready for print thus :

Skimir. Who is the maiden that hath moved thee so ?
Freyr. Her name is Gerda, daughter to Gymir's wife.
Go thou to woo her, and if thou dost succeed.
My magic sword shall evermore be thine.

Gives sward.
And take thou one of Iduna's golden fruit.

Gives appk and ring.
And magic Draupnir, and lay them at her feet
If she consents to be my wedded wife.

Freyr looks down into his shield on the floor.
Skimir. See, as he gazes on his burnished shield.
The fair reflection of his wistful eyes.

Takes shield and looks in.
By summer's sun ! This is for more puissant
To charm the lovely Gerda than Draupnir,
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PLAYMAKING

Or twenty thousand of these other gifts.
Come on with me, thou art my chiefest charm.
May fortime favour me in this exploit !

To be quite accurate, it must be said that actor, property-
master, plot-manager and poet, in the making of this play,
were all one and the same boy — ^age thirteen. Other actors and
poets had a share in the work, but this passage at any rate
is entirely his own. To make the play this boy first imagined
himself as Skirnir. Then he made the scheme of the play and
gave Skirnir a good part. Then he wrote the scenes, more or
less in outline. Then in a few gatherings out of school, the
boy poets (of whom he was one) refined and perfected his rough
lines, and made his lean speeches fat. Here is one of the
speeches of Freyr in love.

Her arms are whiter than the palest lily
That ever fading spring brought forth to fill
The lonely vale with honey-laden breath.
And while she paused, like to a stately swan
Borne on the sUver surface of a lake,
A motion visible invisible drew on,
Took her away, and left me sorrowing.

The above passages have been quoted mainly to illustrate
how references to mythology can be brought in and made
self-explanatory, either in a serious passage or in a humorous
one. The references and their explanations do not read as
excrescences because they are bom and bred in the play. These
little lessons in the subject-matter of mythology are, in fact,
more of a piece with the dramatic form in which they appear
than are the long conventional similes of a piece with the epic
form in which they appear. In the longer passage which is
quoted next, a scene from " Baldr's Death," the reader is asked
not only to notice the self-explanatory references to the
mythology, but also to remember those other matters of
workmanship and qualities of style which we have recommended
should be taught to boys in connexion with their playmaking,
and which we have maintained they are able to understand
and to practise even at the age of thirteen — namely, in craft,
to put the " scenery " and " the stage directions " into the
lines, that is, to wrap up all the action and the gestures of the

883

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characters in the words given them to speak ; for style to
write poetry ; and in the whole spirit of the undertaking to
maintain a sincerity of artistic purpose. If the reader cannot
find all this exemplified in the following scene from " Baldr's
Death," then playmaking as a method of teaching literature,
both the learning and the making of it, is not what I think it is,
and my case is lost.

Pri^.

Voices.
Frigg.

Voices.
Frigg.

Voices.
Frigg.

Loki.

334

Now after passing through these grassy glades
To this wild spot I come, where nought but rocks
Confront the eye. O swear, ye mighty rocks.
That Baldr's sunlit life is safe with you.
We swear.

Ye clinging creepers, twined among the rocks,
Swear that ye will not tear his holy flesh.
We swear.

Now all dose-clustering moss, harbour no thorn
To pierce his foot as he fares sadly by.
We swear.

(Going). And yon great eagle towering in the sky-
Descend, and swear the oath as all have done. Exit.

Enter Loki.

Ha ! farewell, Frigg.

Fail but one thorn to swear, and Baldr dies.

Let her but miss the least important thing,

And it will serve my purpose. Curse them all !

Now reigns my evil spirit over me.

For good being crush'd and smother'd in my breast,

Dies like a wild flower trampled under foot.

And evil devils cry out for revenge.

Revenge me for my children's injuries

I will against these silly simpletons ;

They who have banished my three children hence,

Aided by cunning of the underworld.

Penris the Wolf they boimd with dwarf-wrought chain.

Shaped on the anvil of the prying elves.

And Jormungandr, mightiest of my brood,

They threw into the sea, to wallow there.

Stirring the deep with his tempestuous tail.

And Hel, my only daughter, they cast forth

Down to the misty depths of Niflheim,

To overlook the tribes of coward dead.

These wrongs I wiU avenge ; but, hark ! who comes ?

It is the fatLer of the gods ! Away ! f^t,

PLAYMAKING

Enter Othinn.

Othinn. Now must I wake the prophetess who lies

Among these rocks. Arise, I thee command I

Wala, Wala, waken from thy grave,

Where thou hast lain for many a long, long year

In death's firm grasp ; and answer me one thing.

For 1 have ridden many nules to-night.

And passed through many perils by the way

In search of thee, and now that I have found

Thy grey stone grave, come lift the mighty slab

That covers it, and hearken what I say. Waits a moment.

1 bid thee rise, by the World Ash's root,

I call thee by thy name, and bid thee rise. Strikes tomb.

Now by these sacred runes, arise and speak.

Makes circle with nmic staff.
By aU the knowledge in the darkening world.
By all the lore bmied in cave and well,
Break once thy rock-bound tomb and answer me.

Tomb curtain opens. Wala rises.
Wala. (Sings). Who wakens Wala
Untimely, from her tomb ?
Woe to him who wakens Wala
Ere the day of doom.
Long have I lain in my lonely bed.
Stir not the silence of the dead.

Waken not Wala

As thou lovest light.

To the one who wakens Wala,

From the deeps of the night,

Shall be foretold the fate to befall

The light-giving Baldr, beloved of all.

Othinn. O Wala, tell me who the stir is for

In Hela's drear domain. Whose gorgeous seat
Is that bedeck'd with rings and amulets ?
Say in whose honour stands the banquet there.
It is for Baldr that the feast is laid,
And Hel holds revel with attendant sprites.

Othinn. By whose hand then shall he be forc'd from home ?

Wala. By darkness shall the light be driven away.
Who shall avenge this sacrilegious deed ?
The goddess Frigg shall bear another son
Whose name is Wali. In one night he'll grow.
And neither wash his face nor comb his head
Until his brother's death has been avenged.
Now, leave me to repose again.

Wala.

Othinn
Wala.

S85

THE PLAY WAY

Otkinn. Farewell.

Tomb curtain closeg^
Now wiU I hie me back unto the gods
And tell them of the breaking of the tomb.
Oh, if this prophecy could be revoked,
How blithely should I hie me back again Exit.

This is the work of third-form boys aged twelve and thirteen.
We should like to have discussed certain interesting questions
connected with playmaking by the older boys, for although
the sixth-form boys who wrote " The Wraggle Taggle Gypsies "
were all but scholars of the university at the time, they wrought
their play as nearly as they could manage on the method followed
by the younger playboys. But this chapter is already very
long and it cannot be concluded without a representation of
the work of our Prologue. This is, so far as my present claims
go, the finest instance of poetry as it can be made in connexion
with playmaking in schools.

This Prologue is the work of a sixth-form player. The
lines not only express a hearty feeling of kinship with the brave
gods of old, but they indicate with no hesitating voice a belief
in the stimulus which these tales can give to literature and to
life.

PROLOGUE

The Beadles draiv the curtains apart, and Prologue advances.

Prologue. Fair greeting, friends, and may you find to-night,
Here in our haU, an hour or so's delight.
But first be warned, that such of you as looks
Upon the world and man only through books.
And not himself ; such as will never turn
His hand to toil by which to live and learn
As others do : be far from hence : he'll find
In what we bring, but little to his mind
Or understanding : ours not to read, but do.
Not only dream, but make our dreams come true
In act and earnest all our days. And when
Oxu hands, so long withheld, are given again
Their freedom : when the spade and oar we ply.
Or wield the hammer, when we steep the dye,
And practise every craft that men pursued

PLAYMAKING

While their hands kept their cunning : then renewed

Indeed, as in some fresh heroic age.

We'll act our gods with all the world for stage —

True Players, who all day long and every day.

Making the years one never-closing play.

Enact our " Dream of human life." For know.

The songs we sing, the gods that here we show

To-night — brave gods unsoured by mortal strife,

Seen fresh and bold in the clear dawn of life —

Spring not from print and paper, but present

Our living work, our tears, our merriment.

Our new-sprung life, and thence their being hold.

Think you that they who made those gods of old

Made them of books ? Nay, sterner stuff were they

Than such, with scanty time to whUe away

In dreams. Men of their hands, unused to ease,

They plowed the hard-bound earth and on the seas

Fought cold and shipwreck : sought their daily food

From perilous sea or wild unfriendly wood ;

Pierced with high winds that swept by night and day

Their frozen earth, and stung by bitter spray

On shore and shipboard : till their hard-won years

Of labour, where scant dreaming-time appears,

Brought forth the gods, that those unsmiling skies

Grew bright and wonderful to men's new eyes.

That barren world divine.

There is a vigour and gladness in these lines which would,
have c'elighted the heart of Carlyle. Most of all, perhaps
would he have welcomed this poet's claim that these gods are
not dead so long as there are any strong young folk to rejoice
in them. In an earlier Prologue this poet, after deploring
" this Iron Age of smoke and steam," had said,

We would raise up once more on this our stage

Some shade, some echo of the Golden Age,

And have one spot at least where you may see

Man as he is, not as he seems to be ;

Who, though times change, though fashions rise and £Edl,

Lives yet unchanging and unaged through all ;

Who loves and hates, grieves and rejoices still.

Just as he always did and always will ;

Still swayed by passion ; still, for all his light.

Meeting with gods by day and ghosts by night,

Fond of a song and eager for a fight.

Y 887

THE PLAY WAY

And in the later Prologue, after showing how the gods
arose to inspire the minds of the old Norsemen, he says,

And if to-day
That morning light seem spent or driven away
From earth ; or if our stage seem small and bare
For the brave gods of old to figure there ;
Yet never doubt, in all their ancient might
And ageless forms, the gods are here to-night ;
For though their heaven may seem disturbed and bound,
And straitened by this hurrying, changeless roimd.
Though vanished seem that beauty that once gave
Men's toils a glory to outlive the grave :
Yet while there's youth to see the earth and skies
With hopes undimmed and no book-wearied eyes.
To take delight in toil, still to feel strong.
To love brave deeds and do them, for so long
The gods are safe : but when his heart no more
Delights in sword and hammer, spade and oar,
When he puts down his tool, hangs up his spear,
And tales of toil and hardship lose his ear.
The twilight of the gods indeed is here.

I have always been carried away by those stirring lines.
They were first spoken from the stage one night in the spring
of 1913. Quietly waiting behind the curtains on either side
stood the whole Littleman company of boy-players, dressed
for their parts and ready to appear soon as the host of Asgard.
In front sat row upon row of the inhabitants of this renowned
city, sleepy old dons and absent-minded scholars from the
university, commercially-minded business men and shopkeepers
from the town ; many women and a few children. The Prologue
in a velvet gown and attended by two little beadles dressed in
gold and purple tunics and ruffs, appeared before the assembly
and delivered this stirring prelude — " The gods are here
to-night." But the people of this city of renown had long
since made them gods of their own ; and, if they had thought
at all about the matter, would merely have said, " This poetry
business is all very well, but . . ."

Certainly this poetry is not the kind of occupation which
makes directly for learning, nor is it in any sense the kind of
business which makes money. But poetry of this character
does go to the making of men. At the end of the show the
838

PLAYMAKING

Epilogue, a boy of twelve, appeared, and with equal ceremony
delivered his closing lines,

Our plays are done. To all that you have heard,

Merry or sad, I add the parting word.

Here on this narrow stage we act our plays.

But in a wider field in coming days

Are sterner toils, real battles to be fought,

Great steeps to mount, a future to be wrought.

And if this pageant of our joys and fears

Has stirred your laughter or called forth your tears.

Remember, yours is but the passing pleasure.

Ours the possession of a lasting treasure.

Long may the gods among their people dwell I

With that I bow, and bid you all farewell.

All this was written and delivered in 1913. And when, a
year later, the wider field showed us that real battles had to
be fought in a most literal sense, it was proved that the poet-
players were right. I do not mean this statement in any small
sense ; I have in mind the wide significance of our Prologue's
rousing appeal. Boys must be taught.

To take delight in toU, stUI to feel strong,
To love brave deeds and do them.

And then, and only then, will the gods be safe. We musi
not allow the " tales of toil and hardship " to " lose his ear,"
nor permit him to lose delight in " sword and hammer, spade
and oar." Masters and boys must never forget that it is

Ours not to read, but do,
Not only dream, but make our dreams come true
In act and earnest all our days.

And then, whether it be peace or war.

We'll act our gods with all the world for stage.

Sincerity of artistic purpose has been mentioned as the desirable
spirit in which to undertake the representation of these tales
of the old Northern gods. But I would appeal for a very high
standard to be set in all playmaking by the boys. We should
be earnest and serious, not only when we take for our material
stories which are bound up with an ancient tradition, but in
connexion with any theme which has in itself some native

389

THE PLAY WAY

dignity. I would go further, and say that as teachers of
literature we should resolutely decline to countenance in our
presence any show upon a school stage which is not sound in
art and unimpeachable in taste. We should hold ourselves
responsible as keepers and guardians of a valued tradition,
and feel in honour bound to insist always upon the finest regard
for good literary quality in the subject-matter and in the
treatment of all school plays.

NOTE ON SIMPLE COSTUME FOR CLASSROOM PLAYS

The photographs in this book show three kinds of costiune for plays.
The pictures of " the gods," Baldr, Hodr, Loki and Thorr and of Gerda,
show the dresses worn on the stage for a public performance. It will
be noted that these players also wear wigs.

For classroom use something far more simple must be devised. The
pictures of the murderers and of the witches in " Macbeth " show how the
boys of the third form furnished themselves a wardrobe. The effect as
shown here is admittedly absurd. But the reader will observe that the
second form when acting " Julius Caesar " in the same rough-and-ready
costume achieved a most satisfactory crowd of stage citizens. (Se
Illustrations facing pp. 190 and 210.)

It is well always to have some disguise, however simple, for to change
the everyday appearance of the actors adds materially to the life of the
play. But if acting in the classroom be allowed as a regular thing some
less haphazard maimer of dress is advisable. It is quite easy to have a
collection of tunics and cloaks in a cupboard near at hand ; and, if
these are not elaborate, a boy can take off his jacket and dress up for
the play in less than a minute.

Plate A shows the very simplest form of stage costume. The
player was dressed for school in shorts and a jersey. The change was
effected simply by putting on the ttmic and rolling up his sleeves. This
tunic is of a particularly useful shape. I have shown it again in several
other photographs to illustrate the variety of ways in which it can be
worn. A dozen of these could represent the half of your wardrobe.

Plate B shows an easy development of the costume. The same
tunic is worn, with the addition of a cloak and a cap ; and a pair of
baggy pantaloons are pulled on over the shorts. The pantaloons are
threaded with elastic at the waist and knees and the timic is similarly
gathered at the neck.

Plate C shows how even the tunic can be left out of the scheme it
the player is wearing a jersey.

Plate D shows how a player in scout unitorm was transformed into
a Shakespearean soldier by the simple addition of cloak, hat, and shield.
This doak is the one worn by Harry the Fifth, and by Anthony in the
340

A Herald

[,Si!C p. 340, Pliite A

Henry the Fifth

ISue p. 340, Plate C

Viola

[See p. 340, Pl'iti; )!

A Shakespearean Soldier

IScL- p. 340, Platf D

PLAYMAKING

Forum. It is cut circular and held at the neck by one large coat-button.
It is ample enough to envelop any playboy, and falls naturally into
good folds. Being made of rough blue serge it is very serviceable and
may well outlive generations of playboys.

Plate E shows again how a tunic alone can satisfactorily disguise
everyday costiune. The player on the left is in military uniform, and
having been summoned hurriedly by the mister from his place among
the onlookers has not even had time to take off his jacket.

Plate F shows two Belgian playboys in the costume selected by
themselves in the Mmnmery Tiring-house. Their class was acting the
story of " The Babes in the Wood," as an extempore play, for practice
in English. The players asked to be allowed to dress, and as I could
not be bothered to direct the dressing, I gave them five minutes'
leave from the stage to do what they could. These two figures are the
murderers. The one on the left is in military uniform as to his legs
He has added an orange cloak, originally made for Tyr, the God of War,
a scoutmaster's hat, a striped waistcoat, and a strip of material from the
rag-bag for a neck-wrap. The one on the right has taken the red
Paisley tunic, and tied it about with a sash to serve as sword-belt. A
battered scout hat and Sir Toby's boots complete his rig. They chose to
be photographed in these attitudes : the player on the left is saying,
" By this murder I will get much money for me " ; the other anticipates a
flow of liquor and says, " Only to drink, to drink. I don't care, only
to drink."

Plai'e G. a player who was acting Macbeth suggested that he should
get a kilt made at home. The photograph shows the costume which
arrived about a week later. It is very smart, but scarcely suitable for
Macbeth 1 The player was allowed to wear his kilt, but with tunic,
cloak, helmet, and sword from ovx Tiring-house.

" The provision of costimie for classroom plays is a simple matter.
But if the teacher leaves the boys to get tunics and cloaks made by
their mothers, the result will naturally be a strange assortment of attire
representing aU styles and periods. For the making of costumes we
are indebted to the kindness of parents ; but my system was to go to a
player's house with materials of my own choosing, and then drape the
boy this way and that until I hit upon a satisfactory design. Then
the mother stuck pins here, there, and everywhere, and I left her to
carry on. This is only a rough-und-ready method of designing costumes,
but the suggestion may be useful to those who can boast no more skill
in the craft than myself.

Materials should be obtained from a theatrical costumier, because
a draper's stock is not bold enough in pattern and colour for stage
purposes.

841

CHAPTER X

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

In the difference of wits I have observed there are many
notes ; and it is a little maistry to know them, to discern
what every nature, every disposition will bear ; for before we
sow our laud we should plough it. There are no fewer forms
of minds than of bodies amongst us. The variety is incredible,
and therefore we must search. Some are fit to make divines,
some poets, some lawyers, some physicians ; some to be sent
to the plough, and trades.

B£N JONSON

There is much to be said in criticism of the subject teacher.
Perhaps of all the influences which have operated to reduce
school to its present unsatisfactory position as a repository
of education this fetish of dividing the whole teaching time
among a limited number of set subjects is most to be blamed.

The whole system should be organized on a far wider and
more practical, basis. We must make it our end to prepare
boys for life in the world ; and such a preparation to be sound
must be considered in relation to the world's needs. We
schoolmasters must not centre our whole thought in the teaching
of mathematics or science or languages, but must pay more
heed to the point of view of the man of the world. One of
the first new studies to find a place would be politics, both
in the organization of the school and in the teaching. For a
theory of education if it is designed to be carried out in practice
at all must have been considered in relation to the social
conditions of its day. Schoolmasters of to-day are always
expected to keep their politics out of their teaching. The
wisdom of this counsel may be admitted, so long as " politics "
means nothing more intellectual than a narrow and prejudiced
partisanship, a blind belief in one or other of the self-seeking
342

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

cliques who conspire to take turn about in governing the country.
But even to-day there are many to whom " politics " means
something wider, some regard for the State more befitting
the dignity of an honest and intelligent man.

Surely schoolmasters should take a leading part in the
education of public opinion, to put an end to the criminal
farce known to-day as "politics," and to train the future
electorate to understand their duty to themselves and to the
State.

If the boys now facing you in school are to be educated
for hfe, trained to cope with the difficulties and to realize
the duties which will confront them in the modern world, then
the system on which our schools are organized must in the
first place be wrought in keeping with the social and economic
conditions which obtain at the present time, and, further, both
schoolmasters and their pupils must have an understanding,
a very real and practical understanding, of the state of public
affairs, if they are to act rightly as citizens.

What if there should one day be a school in which the boys
of fifteen and upwards took a real interest in public affairs,
and held clear views on current events such as strikes, lock-outs,
factory bills, and insurance proposals — views which were not
only independent of the newspaper leaders, but for the most
part right contrary to such party influence ? Perhaps you
will say, " There never will be such a school." And you may
be right. But if these things do not come about, it will be
because parents and school governors remain too narrowly
partisan to permit boys to be educated on such lines, and not
because boys of fifteen are unable, in their way, to understand
State affairs, nor because masters are not available to teach
them such things. If the teaching of modern history extended
to the year 1914 — as it certainly should, since that year was the
culminating-point of many influences and tendencies which
have been operative for many decades past — ^then, unless
the teaching were a mere sham, the observant and thoughtful
boys would apply their knowledge of politics and economics
(elementary though it might be) to the events of the current
weeks.

The study of ancient and modern history, of constitutions,

343

THE PLAY WAY

of peoples and their government in the past, of laws and
customs, of rights and duties — all these should be but a
background to the intelligent understanding of the peoples and
the government and the constitution of the present day. Is
it not ridiculous that boys of sixteen to eighteen should be
taught to write essays on the constitutional and popular
history of Greece, Rome, France, and Stuart England, and yet
be unable a few years later to vote with any independence or
intelligence as British citizens ?

Lest any teacher should feel that his pet school debating
society is here being rudely passed over, I may say that, to
the best of my knowledge, even the good speakers at school
debating societies do no more than reproduce in dilute form
the bribed opinions of the party newspapers, or build upon
facts and statistics which have no better authority than the
" Daily Mail Year Book."

Boys must be taught to imderstand as clearly as possible
the conditions of this present world in which they live. There
can surely be no division of opinion on such a point. It seems
to me just plain common sense. Many others agree, and there
is actually in existence a school subject known as " Civics."
But " Civics " generally begins with a study of the policeman
and the fireman, goes on to a tame investigation of municipal
affairs, considered as a matter of parks, trams, and the water-rate,
and peters out among the machinery of party government and
the passage of a bill through parliament. Rarely, if ever, does
" Civics " deal fully with the problems we have always with
us, poverty, unemployment, women in industry, overcrowding
in cities, and the other social evils apparently inseparable
from the wage system. Never does " Civics " lay bare all
the wire-pulling and log-rolling of the party system, with its
" Hobson's choice " elections, its secret party funds, and its
corrupt sale of " honours."

Schoolmasters like to read of these intrigues and to discuss
among themselves what is rotten in the State. In common
with other men they find some relish in the wickedness of
those in great place, but they will not stir themselves to cleanse
public life of its evident scandals. As teachers, they find
that the past appeals to them as a more fit subject of study.
844

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

Why is this ? I believe this is but an example of the teacher's
limitations. The past is already surveyed for him, its tendencies
made clear, its characteristics summarized and set in order
for his studious eye. Life has been interpreted and set down
in books. He can read those books, and he can expound their
lessons to his pupils. But he cannot, or will not, read life
itself. He goes aside from the moving crowd, and retires to
some quiet place, taking his pupils with him. There he will
not give them any training in what they will soon have to face,
but he will teach them about life in other days (nobler days,
he always feels, because those men did something, but modern
men are only trying to do it !) and presently he will drop his
pupils one by one into the troubled stream of contemporary
life.

None of us, of course, can read the lesson of current life
surely enough to lay down the law ; to say, " This is, that
must follow." But education does not consist entirely in
laying down the law. Sometimes a teacher and his pupih
may study some matter on equal terms, some matter in which
the teacher is not already primed with all the necessary
information. And many teachers would benefit by the study
in school even of some matter of which the pupils knew more
than the teacher. Docendo discimus is not true only of school-
masters but of pupils also.

Many of the noblest-minded of our schoolmasters in this
evil commercial age have set their faces dead against the
tendencies and influences which have been swaying the world
of men outside the walls of their schools. But, though we
honour them for their noble intentions, we cannot admit
that this attitude has caused any noticeable change in the
conduct of the outside world. That is the trouble with
schoolmasters all through. When men criticize us as un-
practical and unworldly, we are apt to make some haughty
reply, more than half suggesting that the practical is ignoble,
that to be worldly is to be sordidly commercial ; and some-
times, I fear, even implying that only theoretical study requires

intellect.

We claim, and rightly in my judgment, that the arts and
the nrofessions are on a higher intellectual plane than trade

345

THE PLAY WAY

and commerce. But then, in defiance of all logic and common
sense, we proceed to teach (theoretically) the elements of
some of the arts and professions to all boys who are sent to
us, although most of them, as we must admit, will be driven
by choice, ability, or social necessity into trade and commerce.
Such procedure helps neither theoretical study nor practical
pursuits.

Modem education having no clear aim can reach no definite
end. Some schools cater for a few specialist boys, some masters
pay particular attention to particular boys, and so work with
a definite end in view. But no school caters for all its boys
with equal justice ; and most teachers, charged with the
education of boys of all the various powers and attainments
spoken of by Ben Jonson in the words we have quoted, simply
look to no goal at all. Owing to the limitations of the classroom
system they cannot hope to educate each boy as he should be
educated, and so they simply go on teaching a subject week
in and week out to all comers. In the end they are not worried
about those whom they teach, and they cease to think why
they teach this or that subject. The slow suffocation of the
soul of Johnny Jenkins they do not observe, and the gradual
paling of that spark of initiative once so characteristic of young
Dick is not noticed. The futility of throwing cube root,
specific gravity, oratio obliqua, isotherms, prosody, and
paradigms at unreceptive heads has not occurred to many
teachers. Or, if the futility of the undertaking becomes
from time to time too apparent to be missed, then wrath is
potired out upon the boys. " What on earth is the good of
trying to teach this to you ? " shouts the master. The boy
does not know the answer, and would not be suffered to reply
if he did. So we may answer for him. This question asked
by the angry teacher is, look you, a rhetorical question,
intended to imply the answer, " It is no use, sir, for we are
dolts." But let us suppose the angry teacher to add, " I
pause for a reply." Then the chorus of citizens shall take
up the cue, and shout " None, Brutus, none ! "

In other words, a teacher brought to exasperation by
the futility of trying to teach, say " oratio obliqua " to a
class found mentally unfit to learn it should first of all count
846

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

ten, and bethink him the while what is his aim in teaching
at all. If his aim is to teach, at all costs for the boys' sake,
then obviously he must give up teaching Latin to these boys
if they are not capable of learning it. If, on the other hand,
his aim is to teach Latin at all costs, then obviously he must
give up these boys if they are not capable of learning it.

But fortunately for the present geners^tion of schoolmasters
the choice is not really an absolute one between teaching all
boys and teaching one's subject. Even now in schools it is
possible to teach one's special subject to special boys, and still
to teach the rest something else of valtie. This possibility of
having a hand in the education of boys other than one's
specialists, this chance of guiding, training, and sharing the
interests of all kinds and degrees of boys — ^including the dear
dullards, who are often the most delightful companions — ^is
very precious to some of us. Here the form master, the games
master, the scout master, and the house master have undeniably
the advantage over the special or subject master — ^not only
the advantage of a wider fellowship and a fuller understanding,
but also a distinct educational advantage.

Yet one feels at times that those subject teachers who cannot
see anjrthing notable in the boys they cannot teach, and who
cannot take any interest in the unscholarly boys, are perhaps
to be envied their peace of mind. For in truth they do not
lie awake o' nights to worry out some consecutive relation
between boys in school and men in the world. The life of the
subject master, apart from these occasional outbursts of " What
is the use ? " must be very restful.

Some of the best schoolmasters have set themselves to
inspire their pupils with noble ideals and to fill them with
the spirit of the finest achievement in literature. But in
respect of the living world outside they have at most
expressed grave warnings, or taken refuge in the petulant
complaint, " What influence can we hope to have in an
age so eaten up with commercialism ? " The answer, of
course, is that we can hope to have no influence so long as
we neglect to make any application of the studies we teach.
We teach mathematics, history, geography, science, languages,
and literature, and we are ready at all times to prove that

347

THE PLAY WAY

these studies are of value. But we rarely trouble to show
how that value can be translated into terms of life. We make
no obvious and sure connexion between a school of studies
and a world of deeds.

In consequence of this unpractical attitude we schoolmasters
are still the laughing-stock of men of the world, or at best
our efforts are regarded with mere indulgence. Parents who
feel that their son at school is not getting any adequate
equipment for his after life in the world are apt to regale
themselves with the grumble, " Well I know / never learnt any-
thing useful until after I left school." By " useful," of course,
they too often mean " money-making." But that retort does
not go to the bottom of the complaint. Those schoolmasters
who find the average parent's standpoint vexing should
recognize that there are two sides to the question. They should
remember that the parents often find the schoolmaster equally
obstinate and unconvincible. You tell yom- Mends that a
boy's father is only anxious that his son shall be taught how to
make money. But the boy's father goes home and tells his
friends that his son's teachers are such unpractical dreamers
as to think that education consists in filling a boy up with
Latin grammar and algebra and poetry, and stuff like that.
Of coiu-se neither of these statements is fair to the other side.

It is one of the chief claims of the Play Way that it could
bring these two opposing points of view together and give
good satisfaction to both. The world of busy men is too
commercially-minded, the world of scholars is too wrapped up
in abstract studies. That the mere commercialist is the very
devil I grant you, but for little boys the scholar with all his
learning represents a very deep sea.

That form of agreement which disappointed extremists
bitterly call an empty compromise is often a just and proper
settlement, which has resulted from reducing the exaggerated
claims on both sides to their due place and proportion. I
believe the Play Way will prove such a true settlement in
educational reform. If we can get the ail-too- worldly merchant
away from his counting-house, and the all-too-unworldly
(yet not necessarily more spiritual) pedant away from his
books ; if we can get the merchant to appreciate value and the
348

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

pedant to appreciate use, then we shall have made a contribution
of no small weight to education, and eventually to ethics.

But this service to man is not to be rendered by the writing
and reading of such books as this. It were a most treasonable
act in any player to suggest such a thing. This book is first
and last an appeal for action, and only in so far as the appeal
results in action can this book be held of any real value.

Of all the education which a boy needs, and somehow
manages to acquire, the most part is picked up out of school
and not in it. To remedy this, a school must be a little world
in itself, where boys might learn under tuition the general lines,
both in theory and practice, of what they will have to do actually
and on their own account when they leave school and go out
into the world. As schools are run in these days nine boys
out of ten at once drop all their school studies on leaving school
No one will deny this, and, surely, such a realization must give
us pause.*

If school studies and life in the world of the present day
cannot be made so to overlap and intermingle that they may
be considered truly consecutive, there must be something
wrong. Which end is wrong ? Both perhaps. I agree that it
is so. Both school studies and everyday life in the world are
being wrongly conducted. But the schoolmaster's remedy
does not lie in piling on more and still more of this instruction
in unworldly subjects, however great may be their intrinsic
worth. The remedy lies in reforming our schools in such a
way that the good we teach will be immediately put into
practice, first diu"ing schooldays, and then after schooldays,
for the betterment of that misguided outside world.

A community whose land is flooded is not in need of lectures
on agriculture. You will do them better service if you go
down and show them how to drain their flooded land than if
you stand up in the town hall on the hill and go most keenly

* The criticisms in this chapter are mainly destructive. Apology
must be made for the lack of positive suggestions for reform. All
these were embodied in the cancelled chapter, but in brief outline
only. It is now my hope that the whole may yet be worked out in
greater detail, and a constructive scheme put forward for the complete
organization of a Play School Commonwealth.

849

THE PLAY WAY

and most carefully into botanical lore and the statistics of
stock and crops.

The school course of to-day in England is of no direct and
immediate use to the world. School teaching is too exclusively
literary ; social life is too exclusively practical. There is no
bridge from the one to the other, and consequently a boy on
leaving school falls between two stools. He has always to
start afresh.

Is this statement too extreme ? Does it require qualification ?
Very well, I will admit that there are exceptions. But I also
submit that it is a very feeble defence of an educational system
to say that " It is a jolly good thing for the exceptions."

A critic replies that those boys whom I call the exceptions
{those who carry on into later life the scholarly pursuits begun
in school) are in his estimation worth a whole theatre of others.
It is better, he says, to teach the very essence of a subject to
a fit audience, though few, than so to lower yom- standard for
the less able boys that the subject taught loses all its virtue.
Here is a fine state of affairs. Behold here again the devil
and the deep sea ! Either the majority must be sacrificed
that the few may get the full value out of a subject, or
the best of the subject must be sacrificed in the interests
of the many.

As this is a difficulty which must in the long run confront
all schoolmasters who know the full value of the subjects they
teach, it will be worth while to look into it more fully.

Every schoolmaster engaged in teaching boys old enough
to learn what is known as a " subject," as distinct from the
general preliminaries of the preparatory school, finds before
long that in a class of some twenty-five boys he has a scale
of such varying abilities that he cannot teach all the boys
alike. This difficulty is not so pronounced at the very top
of the school, because it is only the selected spirits who ever
get there. The weaker brethren have fallen by the way —
generally into " father's office " or a " commercial college."
But all those masters who have to teach subjects to boys
between the time when they are divided off into " classical "
and " modern " (or sheep and goats — or whatever the idle
dichotomy may be) and the time when they leave the fifth

sso

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

form find themselves confronted with this difficulty of varying
standard and ability in their pupils.

A short time ago I asked some twenty or thirty secondary
schoolmasters whom I met in various places, " To how many
boys of an average class do you actually succeed in teaching
your subject ? " I made it plain that by " teaching a subject "
I simply meant getting enough of the real thing into the boys'
heads to make it worth while undertaking the business at
all. Most of these teachers, after a little beating about the
bush, claimed to teach their subject in this sense to some
four or five out of the twenty-five of an average class ! One
or two cynical scholars replied, "Two — ^possibly." But one
thoroughgoing fellow, a teacher of chemistry, actually claimed
to teach the whole class, every one of the twenty-five. Incre-
dulous, I asked him, " Do you really teach them all ? " And
he replied, " Yes, I make a point of keeping them all going
hard. But, mind you, I don't pretend to teach them any
chemistry ! "

This man is a thoroughly efficient classroom teacher.
His own education is based upon a beginning in an elementary
school, so he prefers " to keep them all going hard " rather
than to teach chemistry to the two or three boys at the top.
He went on to complaim that a certain form, my especial
Littlemen (who had written scores of poems and ballads and
prose studies, had acted plays with some success and had
achieved, according to my view, some progress at the age
of twelve in the practice of self-government) — he complained
that these boys had no sense of discipline at all, would not
think, were frightened of hard work, and in fact could only
be instructed at all under a most rigorous system of repression.

*' It is a pity, perhaps," said he, " to bully the poor fellows,
but you can't do anything else if you mean to get any work out
of them."

" Oh, yes, you can," I said. " They work splendidly on the
Play Way."

Then he said, " Pish," or something like that, and we went
our several ways.

Most teachers soon abandon all hope of treating the twenty-
five feoys as twenty-five individuals. Thev recognize that

351

THE PLAY WAY

their choice is between alternatives, either the master must
push on with the best boys — which would mean pushing out
of sight with one or two — and neglect the majority ; or he
must retard the whole class to keep pace with the sediment —
that which always sinks to the bottom. Neither alternative
is satisfactory, because, as I have said, " Either the majority
are sacrificed that the few may get the full value out of a
subject, or the best of the subject is sacrificed in the interests
of the many." It is a difiicult problem.

What a pity it did not occur to us long ago that we might
just as well expect one boy to be equally adept at twenty-five
subjects as expect twenty-five boys to be equally adept at
one. It is an impious thing to say that boys who are
" weak " in one or two or even three school subjects are
" weak " boys. Boys do of course vary in power and in
aptitude ; but the limitation which confines advantage to the
few and prevents the majority from excelling is not, look
you, a limitation of ability in the boys, but a limitation of
adaptability in the teachers.

However faulty may seem the reforms suggested in this
book, however inadequate may appear our plans for giving
scope to the individuality of a number of boys, nothing surely
could be conceived in educational method so inadequate, so
pitiably piecemeal, as the classroom system of teaching stttjects
which has landed us in this dilemma. Our present educational
system has been centuries in the making ; time enough, one
would have thought, for experience to have evolved, by
innumerable readjustments, an all-but-perfect system. Yet in
this present time it is possible to suggest some obvious reform
in almost every branch of method. Just before the war new
proposals of every kind were being put forward. We heard of self-
governing commimities, self-teaching, wider curriculum, greater
choice of subjects, and new methods in music, dancing, acting,
history, mathematics, geography, language teaching, nature
study — ^in fact there were suggestions, and revised suggestions,
for the improvement of every side of school life. But they
made no perceptible difference. Boys and girls are stiU penned
in the stocks, twenty-five to sixty of them at a time, to be
spoon-fed on the same subject by the same teacher. Iimovations
352

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

are always welcome to teachers so long as they displace nothing
and leave the sacred classroom system untouched.

The educational system has in fact not been evolving at
all, it has been congealing. And now it has become clogged,
stuck fast. The educational system has ceased to be educational.
Consequently we cannot look for reform through minor adjust-
ments. The suggested improvements of which we have heard do
not go to the heart of the matter. We must have an upheaval.

Those who still put their faith in subjects, those who are
convinced that schools exist for the teaching of Latin or French
or chemistry or English poetry, rather than for the training of
Johnny Jenkins and young Dick, will of course for many years
to come continue to teach their subjects to the best boys they
can find, ignoring the rest. But those who feel dissatisfied with
this system, those who agree with me that our schools are not
providing for the great majority of boys an education anything
like commensurate with their needs or their abilities, are asked
seriously to consider whether it is not essential that we should
give up trying to improve this sytem, and decide to abandon
it, and start out on new lines.

Do but consider the special subjects in which most of the
school hours are now spent. We have languages taught
by the hour which are rarely, and in many cases never,
spoken. We have weighing, measuring, counting, and calcu-
lating done for the most part on paper. We have indoor
geography, sedentary history, the master often doing more
than the pupil. In all this the wretched pupil is deceived
into mere watching where he ought to see, and listening when
he shoiild be free to hear.

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide and

measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much

applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick.
Till rising and gUding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night air, and from time to tim«
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.*
* Walt Whitman.

Z 858

THE PLAY WAY

Let us then give due thought to the sprinkled heavens in our
teaching of astronomy, to the teeming earth in our teaching of
geography, and to the Ufe of man in our teaching of history.
As we are specialists in these subjects we shall have in our
possession many proofs and figures, many lists, systems, columns,
and vocabularies. But we are to ask ourselves whether it is
not right to forgo most of these charts and diagrams until
at least the pupil has felt the wonder and the majesty of those
great regions which knowledge sets out to conquer.

Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ;
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
StUl quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins :
Such harmony is in immortal souls ;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

We know of course that a boy must end in the office or the
engine-room or the fields, as his ability shall dictate or his
chance determine. And in consequence some teachers would
bid us look to what they consider practical considerations and
leave the poets to their dreaming and star-gazing. But this
is simply begging the question. The specialist masters of our
secondary schools, those who lecture on, and set exercises in,
Latin, French, mathematics, history, geography, and science, are
not practical men ; they are merely limited. If any one will
think of the world of men in connexion with such teachers he
will see that they are but training their pupils to see life
fitfully and see it piecemeal. History shows that most of the
educational reformers have been men of spirit, imagination, and
energy rather than men of learning. And even when they were
scholars they carried their learning lightly. For teachers
of boys we do require men of learning, but not speciaUsts
in learning ; we require rather those men who are specialists
in boys. That is to say, the charge of education should be
m the hands of educators. We require men of insight and
understanding, men of imagination, men with a good knowledge
of affairs. Not the professor, but the artist is your true
schoolmaster.
854

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

Let us, therefore, refrain from stufiing all comers indis-
criminately with the subject in which we ourselves are most
learned. Let us regard our pupils as individuals, and train
their innate power along its natural course of development, so
that we may have in education growth instead of manufacture,
training instead of instruction, and be always encouraging rather
than piuiishing, guiding rather than goading. Thus, instead of
alienating their sympathies more and more from all that we hold
good, and finding in most of our pupils an unwillingness to
profit by our teaching, we " might in a short space gain them to
an incredible diligence and courage : infusing into their young
breasts such an ingenuous and noble ardor " as would make of
every pupil who passed under our care from childhood to
stripling manhood a missionary to carry nobler ideals and
ambitions to the outside world.

Is it not the concern of teachers that public opinion has
now for many years rotted in a money-poisoned condition ?
Is it not our business as honest incorruptible teachers to consider
a remedy for money-poisoning ? K you have observed that
most of the people of England are too poor to give fair thought
to anything beyond ensuring the necessaries of life, is it not
your business as an educator to seek out and support some
plan which will ensure a fairer distribution of security and
leisure V * Or have you not yet realized what it means for
the life of our nation that the poor have no secure leisure,
simply because the return (or shall we not rather say the price ?)
of their labour is barely sufficient to keep them in a condition
to go on labouring ? If you have regretted the total absence
of good taste in modem life, and have felt the accusation of
row upon row of horrid villas, of impossible sitting-rooms
full of jim-crack " ornaments," of dirty back courts and alleys,
of ragged clothing on the one hand or tawdry dressiness and
fiuery on the other— if you have felt really angry at the jobbery
of the newspapers, at the vulgarity of advertisements, and
(on a people's festival) at the glaringly hollow amusements

* I refrain from discussion here, because it opens up the whole
question of economics and home politics. The reader, however, is
referred for a constructive economic solution of present political troubles
to " National Guilds," edited by A. R. Orage. (G. Bell & Sons.)

355

THE PLAY WAY

of a bank-holiday, will you not recognize the inraiediate need
of a social and economic reform ? Or do you seriously believe
that current "politics" has nothing to do with education,
and that your duty to the State and to your fellow-citizens has
been creditably discharged when you have spent five or six
hours a day in stuffing cube root, specific gravity, oratio obUqua,
isotherms, prosody, and paradigms into the imreceptive heads
of Johnny Jenkins and young Dick ?

We appeal to the overieamed schoolmasters of the public
schools to consider that education must recognize a closer
connexion between the life and work of the Littlemen at their
desks and the life and work of their fathers in offices and
behind counters, and in fields, factories, and workshops. And
we ask the more sympathetic teachers of the elementary schools
to consider whether all the love and labour they spend upon
their little people can have the least effect upon those same
children when they shall have grown up into men and women, so
long as the majority of men and women are of necessity living
right contrary to such teaching. Social environment outside
the walls of your school is not only an influence worthy of
your consideration, it is in truth the most potent factor in
general education. And when the course of your instruction
has come to an end and your pupil goes out into the world,
what can he make of the world ? Nothing. The world makes
him. He can do nothing against such an all-surrounding
influence. If you have given him an ideal course of education
and he has profited by it, he may protest in words ; but, if
he is to live, he must eventually give way in deeds.

The teachers in our schools, both of primary and of secondary
grade, must not be content to spend their effort as instructors
in various subjects which are rarely learned, and never by any
chance put to use for the betterment of social life ; but must
take up the real charge of education as the responsible governors
and teachers of young England. If not, we shall find, after
the war, that we are in for another stretch of years under the
domination of the money-god, that king who sits all day in
his counting-house counting in his money. Our people will
continue to live as a race of petty and exploited town-dwellers ;
having their homes in tenements, slums, and villas, seeking
356

gramophone, their sport in the vicarious football of hirelings,
their food in tins and packets, and their literature and politics
in halfpenny newspapers bribed by the advertising manufacturers
of soap, drink, tobacco, underwear, and patent medicines. As
a result of this exploitation the majority of the people will
continue to exist, as they did before the war, in such a state
of unenlightenment that their whole religion, philosophy,
politics, courtesy, and even humour could be summed up in a
handful of catch-phrases.

There is of course nothing new in this claim that school
should be a place where boys may leam how to face the
world, how to cope with its problems, and how to give
society the benefit of their able service ; and there are many
schoolmasters, even in the old public schools, who are quite
ready to agree, so long as the proposal is stated as vaguely as
it is in this sentence. But when we come to practical sugges-
tions, and say that in order to make all this good a school musi
be as far as possible a little State in itself, representing business
organization, governmental duties, arts and crafts, and so on, as
part of the life of the place, then the protests begin. You
may add as much as you like to an already overcrowded time-
table, but you mustn't take anything out !

So far as the framing of a curriculum for the little schoo!
State is concerned many subjects which are not now regarded as
" specialist " in the usual school sense would have to be sc
regarded ; and in order to plan out a reasonable system at all
we should have to consider the very beginnings of a special sul^ee
as part of a special subject, and consequently disallow then:
until the age of special subjects had been reached. A Latic
teacher thought it ridiculous of me to suggest that boys ol
thirteen were specialists, simply because they began to lean
Latin at that age. The teacher of science thought the same
Of course the Latinist and the scientist looked upon the boys as
very tyros, and therefore not to be numbered among specialists
But the effect was this : twice as many lessons had to be giver
to Latin beginnings as to English proper, and nature stud)
had to be dropped entirely (at the age of thirteen) in ordei
that a beginning might be made in physics and chemistry

85:

THE PLAY WAY

If this is not specializing in classics and science to the detriment
of other and more general subjects perhaps a more resounding
word can be foimd to describe it ; but the effect is the same
whatever term we use.

I was much refreshed recently to hear a specialist science
master stating a strong case against any specializing in science
by boys during school years. He said that he had too full a
realization of what a thorough scientific knowledge should mean
in a man's view of life to believe that boys even of fifteen or
sixteen could gain any wide benefit by spending most of their
school time upon it. The more closely their attention at that
age was concentrated upon chemistry, physics, botany, anatomy,
or what not, the narrower would their outlook become. The
general advantage to a man's mind which comes of having an
expert knowledge of some branch of science, and the recognition
of the value of science in relation to other aspects of life —
to art, literature, sociology — ^these were the ultimate benefits
of specializing, and they were the benefits which boys could
not attain luitil they had gained at least a fair acquaint-
ance with life-lore as a whole. School specializing could
only do harm by turning their minds aside from all they
might be attending to of the general and the universal ; and
confining their attention at this most impressionable age to
intricate particulars and the mastery of specialist details in
method.*

As a solution of the difficulty the scientist suggested that
nature study be substituted for science throughout the school
course ; but nature study in a wide and generous sense, nature
study as a humanist subject, correlated on the one hand with
active pursuits such as gardening, collecting, hedgerow ramblings
and regional survey, and on the other hand with geography
and with English literature. In suggesting the correlation of
natiu:e study with literature he was not thinking merely of the
poems on flowers which are so often read in connexion with
object-lessons, but had in mind such students of nature as

* Accoiding to the Play Way the same conclusion holds good of the
study of ancient tongues, or of mathematics, or of any other specialist
subject which requires early attention to the particular at the cost of
the general.
858

THE SUBJECT TEACHER

Izaak Walton, Thoreau, Fabre, Jefferies, and others more than
I had heard of.

How easy it will be for the classical teachers to see this
aspect of our case and to appreciate the argument against
young boys specializing particularly in science, when there
is so much of the general still to be compassed as nature study.
But how difficult it will be for them to accept the " tu quoque,"
or rather the " et tu Brute," when we remind them that English
is not only available for general study, but even contains a
fair literature of its own ; and that it does not require four or
five years of arduous study before the pupil can read this our
mother tonguei for what it has to convey to him, whether in
content or in style.

But indeed it is not surprismg if teachers of Latin and
Greek still feel themselves justified in plugging away at ancient
tongues for the sake of imparting a reflected glow of cultiu-e
upon the very few who ever learn to read in those tongues.
For do but observe what our teachers of English are doing.
English having been elevated to the dignity of a " subject "
in English schools, must at once be surrounded by difficulties
and set about with entanglements, in order that there may
be something to teach ; that is to say, according to a subject
teacher's view, some barrier between the pupil and his normal
objective. The fact that the boys of a secondary school have
already a considerable familiarity with their mother tongue
should be seized upon by the teacher of English as a great
opportimity to be rid of subject limitations. He should be able
immediately to read the classics of English literature with the
boys. Boys of twelve in a secondary school know enough
English to understand all that is needful for a due appreciation
of many of the English classics. In fact, even if we restrict
ourselves to the very first rank of English poets and prose-
writers there are more books to be read than any boy could
read with profitable study, even if he did nothing else but read
English in his school-time.* Boys of twelve in a secondary

* The statement is so obviously true that no instances are really
required. But the following should occur to every teacher as representing
literature of the very best within the comprehension of boys of twelve :
Malory, Bemers' " Froissart," North's " Plutarch," the Bible, Mandeville,

359

THE PLAY WAY

school, also, know enough English to make good lectures and
straightway to write fair prose, poems, and even plays. On
the very day the boys come to school they have far more
knowledge of and power in English than most of them will
ever have in any other tongue. Teachers of Greek, Latin,
French, and German are handicapped. There must (according
to our present system) be years of toilsome language study
before the literature of these can even be read with comfort,
or the language used freely and beautifully as a medium of
expression. But does the teacher of English use this advantage ?
Not he. As a conventional schoolmaster he has it so stuck in
his mind that everything in school is a svJyect to be learnt that
he apes the teachers of more difficult and unfamiliar subjects,
vies with the Latin master in teaching grammar ; affects to
believe that English still has cases, a subjunctive mood, and the
other effete paraphernalia of parsing ; and when all else fails,
and the boys really have come at the content, he makes them
translate the sense of a passage out of that glorious mediiun
which makes it literature into journalese or current schoolmaster.
I believe that if the eating of apples were appointed to be taught
in schools some special course of study would immediately
spring up which would make it impossible for a playboy to get
a really satisfactory bite, and to know the flavoxu" of apples,
until at least a year's course had been completed. In that case
I should be a firm supporter of the robbing of orchards.

When one directly charges schoolmasters with wasting
time, effort, and latent interest in teaching subjects in such
a way that they have no appeal to the boys and no clear
connexion with life as it is understood by the outside world,
the earnest men among them, those who have really thought
about their work in relation to life, are apt to make the
following reply : " The duty of a school is to teach the
highest things ; to give the boys a general outlook of an

Hakluyt, about a fourth part of Shakespeare, Bunyan, the Ballads,
some of the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century essayists, novelists
such as Defoe, Dickens, Scott, selections from Wordsworth, Coleridge,
Keats, Shelley, Byron, Tennyson, Browning, Arnold. The list, of
course, is endless. Yet this is only what is fit for boys of twelve to
appreciate at once. Ten years later they should still be reading the
same writers as well as those they had taken up in the senior standards.
860

practical anairs or daily Ute ; to set an ideal belore tbem
towards which they may work, whatever their daily sphere of
Ufe may be later on." While one smiles at the naiive vagueness
of this claim, they come out with an emphatic answer to what
they fancy is the case against them : " You seem to think that
it is the business of schoolmasters so to teach that the boys, at
the end of their school course, will be fully qualified merchants,
engineers, architects, lawyers, soldiers, journalists, grocers,
and so on." So far as the present school system goes any
attempt at a definite vocational training is, of course, a great
mistake.* But I think it would be wise so to modify the present
school system that a course of training would be possible which
would render the boys thoroughly efficient in certain methods
and disciplines which are common to all of these callings.
But we are more concerned to challenge the positive part of
the statement just quoted. Do we claim " to give the boys a
general outlook " ? To how many of the boys imder our care
can we as subject teachers claim to have given a general outlook ?
Possibly to that same four or five out of twenty-five to whom
we really manage to teach Latin or history or English literature.
Certainly we cannot have given a general outlook to the rest,
for we can only claim the ultimate benefit of our teaching for
those whom we really teach.

And then consider those words " something to serve as a
guide." Surely a guide is one who goes with you and shows
the way and not a mere bimch of theoretical directions and
recommendations. Rules which are taught before examples are
encountered must be taught again afterwards if they are ever
to be learnt. In the process of learning there should be at
least as much of practice as of instruction, and the theory and
practice of a study must be united in education. Even if all
our schools actually did inspire their pupils with noble aim,
and a zeal for high endeavour (which is far from being the
case), we should still be no nearer to the real function of the
school, namely, the training of boys and girls to take their
places in the world. It is not enough for the school to have
given the pupil an ideal outlook and a thorough knowledge

• Cf. Perse Playbooks, No. 4, p. 36.

361

THE PLAY WAY

of Latin and Greek, or science or mathematics or modem
languages (quite apart from the fact that to most pupils the
school gives neither the one nor the other, neither the ideal
outlook nor the thorough knowledge of a special subject).
If we are agreed that education should be a preparation for
life, the pupils must have some practice at life. This it could
be made possible for them to do under encouragement and
due guidance by the establishment of the Uttle school States
we propose. And the method of education would then become
truly Play in the best sense of the word, in the sense of life-
practice, a making ready for that world game which is to
follow.

Some teachers may remind us that not all our pupils are
destined to be practical performers in the busy world. There
must be the man of wisdom, they will say, as well as the man of
action. Assuredly ; and if we allow boys to develop in a
natural way, encoxu-aging rather than repressing the growth of
their minds, we shall presently o bserve in one boy a tendency in
one direction and in another boy a tendency in another direction.
But during the school period, during the years that are devoted
to his training, every boy should study both the wisdom to know
and the skill to do. This " union of thought and conduct in a
life of action guided by reason " is not the invention of any
modem educational reformers. It was the ideal of the Greeks.
But our learned friends, who have been in charge of education
in England ever since the days of the Renaissance, have long
since repudiated the Greek system. For, look you, they give
the most of a boy's school-time to the study of ancient
languages.

862

CONCLUSION

The final pages of this book Jreally embody more of promise
than of conclusion ; for in the foregoing chapters we have
only been demonstrating how the Play Way may be appUed
in the classroom itself, or as a partial liberation from it in schools
where the curriculum is based on classroom practice. But if
we are ever to bring the Play Way fully into being we require
no less than a Little Commonwealth devoted to that end, a
commonwealth unhampered on the one hand by the relics of
obsolete systems, or on the other by the fear of adopting new
methods not yet perfected. Such a school, with a sketch of
its curriculum and time-table, of its studies, games, sports, and
festivals — ^and even of the dress of the boys and girls — ^had been
discussed in the final chapter, since cancelled because the
subject required a book to itself. And so, if any of my readers
has anticipated in this conclusion to be presented with some
charming ideal pictm-e of daily life as we conceive it would be
in a school run entirely on Play Way lines, he must, I fear, be
disappointed.

For the past ten years, all the good I have seen in life or
have been able to learn from books — ^whether in music, in
poetry, in scholarship, in handicraft, in social life, or in the
simple joys of children — has been to me stone upon stone in
building up that ideal republic in my fancy. Whenever I have
seen boys and girls playing happily or working well I have
imagined they must be citizens of my Play School. Whenever
I have spoken seriously with any man or woman I have told
them of my dream. Even the invigoration of a frosty morning,
or the enchantment of the moon at night, have always made
me think : Here is gone by another morning or another
evening which might have been made some occasion of
good hap in the Play School. The one thing upon which

868

THE PLAY WAY

my heart is fixed is to make this dream come true in this
our England.

I will not cease from mental fight,

Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem

In England's green and pleasant land.

One knows of course that all idealist reformers have been
equally ambitious and yet have rarely if ever achieved more
than the first promise of their great intent. But in idealism
to aim at anything less than perfection is not to aim at all.

In comparison with these great hopes this book as a whole
seems to its writer nothing more than a first essay in educational
method ; and, since the best thing to do with an ideal is to
realize it, my next duty shall be to set out in plain terms the
practical lines to be followed in making this dream come true.

It was stated at the outset that the only originahty
claimed in this book is a fresh reahzation of the oldest
truths, and that your true Revolutionary is only a Con-
servative endowed with insight. Accordingly we ask the
reader to recall how, both in small things and in great, we
have advocated nothing in the way of novelty, but have looked
rather to antiquity ; how we have set forth no inventions, but
given all our thought to the rediscovery of what has been too
long overlaid with the dross of thoughtless observance and the
ashes of dead fires. There is, we are told, nothing new under
the sun, and there can be nothing really old, even under the
moon, for those who have learnt of the human heart why it is
that history repeats itself.

Bacon in his essay " Of Innovations " puts together many
wise saws which must be of permanent interest both to reformers
and to reactionaries : " Surely every medicine is an innovation,
and he that will not apply new remedies must expect new evils ;
for time is the greatest innovator : and if time of course alter
things to the worse, and wisdom and counsel shall not alter them
to the better, what shall be the end ? It is true that what is
settled by custom, though it be not good, yet at least it is fit.
And those things which have long gone together are, as it were,
confederate within themselves ; whereas new things piece not
so well ; but though they help by their utility, yet they trouble
864

CONCLUSION

by their inconformity. Besides, they are like strangers, more
admired and less favoured. All this is true if time stood still ;
which contrariwise moveth so round, that a froward retention of
custom is as turbulent a thing as an innovation ; and they that
reverence too much old times are but a scorn to the new. It
were good, therefore, that men in their innovations would
follow the example of time itself, which indeed innovateth
greatly but quietly and by degrees scarce to be perceived."

The Play Way is no turbulent novelty. We do but propose
to cast away all that is purposeless and ciunbersome, to keep
all that is good of existing institutions, and where invention is
necessary, to follow out tradition in a common-sense manner,
so that we seem not to be innovating at all, but simply carrying
out the next step in a natural development.

In this book we have introduced certain new words, or
have used some old ones in a new sense. Ben Jonson in his
" Discoveries " says, " Pure and neat language I love, yet
plain and customary. A barbarous phrase hath often made
me out of love with a good sense." And again, " All attempts
that are new in this kind are dangerous, and somewhat hard,
before they be softened with use. A man coins not a new word
without some peril and less fruit ; for if it happen to be received,
the praise is but moderate ; if refused, the scorn is assured.
Yet," he says, " we must adventure ; for things at first hard
and rough are by use made tender and gentle. It is an honest
error that is committed following great chiefs."

We have been careful to innovate wisely, always choosing
words simple in form and plain in meaning. Let the reader, in
proof of this, try how many of our new words he can recall.
His vocabulary will start with "mister," but will, I fancy,
proceed little farther.

In fact, the honest reader will agree, I am sure, that there
is nothing new in this book. Most of the reforms advocated
either here or in the proposals for a Play School Commonwealth
are in existence already ; either thriving, as in the case of the
dramatic method, self-government, or scouting ; or merely in
abeyance as in the case of festival observance and the arts
of the people. Dr. Rouse has said,* " The dream is only to
* Preface to Perse Playbooks, No. 3.

365

THE PLAY WAY

co-ordinate under one plan, with one central idea, the work of a
number of persons who have been working separately. The
dream has come true in parts and all that remains is to put the
parts together." Putting together will not do, however ; the
parts must be fused.

But though new and old are words to juggle with to-day, so
that any one may call the one by the name of the other, yet it is
most certain that there are things fresh and things stale, quite
easy to be distinguished. The central idea of this book is that
education, which is the training of youth, should be filled with
that spirit which is everywhere recognized as the character of
youth, namely freshness, zeal, happiness, enthusiasm. That is
our guiding principle. Those who now shall cling to what is
left of the immediate past, and bemoan what is lost of it, will
only be unhappy in themselves and do no service to their fellows.
But those who intend to live in any sense positively in these
present years will work for the era which is already well begim,
and for the appointed work of our time, which is even now
afoot. This is the age of the young men. Possibly om- young
men as they mature will develop into the same insufferable old
humbugs as oiu" greybeards are now. But the world to-day is
full of freshness, vigour — ^yes, and sanity — ^and it is the Play
Way and nothing else which can keep it so.

For the matter of our learning we shall bring back into
full play all that is naturally bound up with the true interests
of young people, and reverently set by in a museimi all studies,
subjects, and methods for which we can find no present use. We
must store the rejected things with prudence, and label them
carefully, for they will all be needed again ! " The whirUgig of
Time brings in his revenges."

A certain modest but well-known writer says that genius is
best described as brilliant common sense ; and if you will think
of all the greatest men, whether in art, science, politics, or
literature, you will see that he is right. Above all must common
sense be the presiding genius in education.

Reformers make the more valuable contribution to that
periodical change in human society which is called progress,
the more they preserve of the good parts in the overgrowth and
accumulation they destroy. Let us be iconoclasts by all means

CONCLUSION

if we deem it necessary, but let us not presume to go beyond the
breaking of images. The only evil in them is the evil of
" incrustation," of belief congealed into inactive acceptance, of
faith hardened by long habit and thoughtless observance into
formalism and a dead ritual. The spirit which makes images and
the spirit which breaks them is one and the same. The sole
enemy is the want of spirit which renders worship to the mere
image.

And so, realizing that extremes are always dangerous except
just at that one point or centre where they meet and are fused in
the character of a man, let us, with Blake for pattern, seek a
blend of vision and reality, with Milton's ambition and Milton's
modesty, so that in ourselves we may become an example to show
that work and play, old things and new things, use and value,
enthusiasm and common sense, though often contrary in them-
selves, are possible to be united in each of us and in the body oi
our Commonwealth. And now at this time of stir and change
^et us make our choice among dreams.

For each age is a dream that is dying
Or one that is coming to birth.

PLAYTOWN, 1915

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