the teacher himself can do imitative writing, is enthusiastic, and has good taste, very pleasing results are often obtained. If the children can do this work successfully, through their efforts to write ballads, fables, and the like, they learn more of form than the teacher is likely to teach them by any other means. But appreciative enjoyment adequate to the age can be had without very much knowledge of form.

Discrimination

Everywhere in literature work the emphasis, as has been said before, should be on appreciation of the excellence; in the lower grades, in fact, nothing whatever should be said about defects. But in the upper grades, where the children are reading so promiscuously for themselves, there should be an effort to make them somewhat discriminating; they should not think that because a poem or story is in print it is perfect. The teacher should determine what weak elements in their reading are making appeals to the children; and then, by contrasting these with similar elements that are acceptable, show the difference. The yellow-back detective story is interesting but not good literature: contrast with that Stevenson's "Treasure Island." A ribald set of verses is amusing but certainly poor trash: read for a contrast some of Holmes's poems. When attempting this, the teacher must be sure to show that the real literature is truly better: his saying so or quoting some critic on the subject will not convince the pupils, and the development of their sense of appreciation

is, after all, the purpose of any such exercise. If a teacher is not himself sure of the difference between what is usually called "trash" and real literature, or if he can not find an illustration of true merit, he would better leave the class to the tedious and uncertain development of their sense of discrimination through reading and growth.

A Lesson Outlined

Browning's "How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix"* has been chosen for the illustration of how a poem may be taught to grammar grade children. This poem is sometimes used as early as the fifth grade; but the following lesson plan is for somewhat older children. Attention must again be called to the fact that this is not the only way of presenting the poem: it is one way of bringing out certain points which, it is believed, lead grammar grade children to a better appreciation of literature. It will be noted that here no formal outline, as in the elementary grade work, is followed. The teacher is supposed to see to it that the class independently look up words whose meaning or pronunciation they do not know,-indeed, by this time they should have had this habit formed from the work in the lower grades. Throughout this lesson plan an attempt is made to lead the class to see not only

*The general plan and many of the questions used in the following pages are taken by kind permission of the publisher from "Penny Classics,'' No. 197, edited by Thomas H. Briggs. C. M. Parker, Taylorville, Ill.

certain effects, but also how these effects are secured, -in other words, to appreciate some of the simpler devices used by the artist to secure his effects. Every point discussed, every question asked has its place in a complete plan leading toward intelligent appreciation. Before asking his class any questions on the following pages, a teacher should see what bearing it has on the understanding and appreciation of the poem as a whole. If he does not see that, he would better pass to another topic.

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX

(16—.)

ROBERT BROWNING

I

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;
"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;
"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

II

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,

Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

III

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;

And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,
So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

IV

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray:

T

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence,-ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

VI

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix❞—for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

VII

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

VIII

"How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils, like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

IX

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

X

And all I remember is-friends flocking round

As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)

Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.