Reveries of a Schoolmaster | Page 3

the colt wasn't angry, and that I ought to
show as good sense as a mere horse. That reflection relieved the tension
somewhat, and I thought it wise to meditate a bit. Here am I; yonder is
the colt. I want him; he doesn't want me. He will not come to me; so I
must go to him. Then, what? Oh, yes, native interests--that's it, native
interests. I'm much obliged to Professor James for reminding me. Now,
just what are the native interests of a colt? Why, oats, of course. So, I
must return to the barn and get a pail of oats. An empty pail might do
once, but never again. So I must have oats in my pail. Either a colt or a
boy becomes shy after he has once been deceived. The boy who fails to
get oats in the classroom to-day, will shy off from the teacher
to-morrow. He will not even accept her statement that there is oats in
the pail, for yesterday the pail was empty--nothing but sound.
But even with pail and oats I had to go to the colt, getting my shoes
soiled and my clothes torn, but there was no other way. I must begin
where the colt (or boy) is, as the book on pedagogy says. I wanted to
stay on the hill where everything was agreeable, but that wouldn't get
the colt. Now, if Mr. Charles H. Judd cares to elaborate this outline, I
urge no objection and shall not claim the protection of copyright. I shall
be only too glad to have him make clear to all of us the pedagogical
recipe for catching colts and boys.
CHAPTER II
RETROSPECT

Mr. Patrick Henry was probably correct in saying that there is no way
of judging the future but by the past, and, to my thinking, he might well
have included the present along with the future. Today is better or
worse than yesterday or some other day in the past, just as this cherry
pie is better or worse than some past cherry pie. But even this pie may
seem a bit less glorious than the pies of the past, because of my jaded
appetite--a fact that is easily lost sight of. Folks who extol the glories of
the good old times may be forgetting that they are not able to relive the
emotions that put the zest into those past events. We used to go to "big
meeting" in a two-horse sled, with the wagon-body half filled with hay
and heaped high with blankets and robes. The mercury might be low in
the tube, but we recked not of that. Our indifference to climatic
conditions was not due alone to the wealth of robes and blankets, but
the proximity of another member of the human family may have had
something to do with it. If we could reconstruct the emotional life of
those good old times, the physical conditions would take their rightful
place as a background.
If we could only bring back the appetite of former years we might find
this pie better than the pies of old. The good brother who seems to
think the textbooks of his boyhood days were better than the modern
ones forgets that along with the old-time textbooks went skating,
rabbit-hunting, snowballing, coasting, fishing, sock-up, bull-pen,
two-old-cat, townball, and shinny-on-the-ice. He is probably confusing
those majors with the text-book minor. His criticism of things and
books modern is probably a voicing of his regret that he has lost his
zeal for the fun and frolic of youth. If he could but drink a few copious
drafts from the Fountain of Youth, the books of the present might not
seem so inferior after all. The bread and apple-butter stage of our hero's
career may seem to dim the lustre of the later porterhouse steak, but
with all the glory of the halcyon days of yore it is to be noted that he
rides in an automobile and not in an ox-cart, and prefers electricity to
the good old oil-lamp.
I concede with enthusiasm the joys of bygone days, and would be glad
to repeat those experiences with sundry very specific reservations and
exceptions. That thick bread with its generous anointing of apple butter

discounted all the nectar and ambrosia of the books and left its marks
upon the character as well as the features of the recipient. The mouth
waters even now as I recall the bill of fare plus the appetite. But if I
were going back to the good old days I'd like to take some of the
modern improvements along with me. It thrills me to consider the
modern school credits for home work with all the "57 varieties" as an
integral feature of the good old days. Alas, how