The Education of the Farmer not to be separated from Middle-Class Education generally

"All things bright and beautiful,All creatures great and small,All things wise and wonderful,The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,Each little bird that sings,He made their glowing colours,He made their tiny wings.

The rich man in his castle,The poor man at his gate,God made them, high or lowly,And ordered their estate.

The purple-headed mountain,The river running by,The sunset, and the morning,That brightens up the sky.

He gave us eyes to see them,And lips that we might tellHow great is God Almighty,Who has made all things well."

"Little birds sleep sweetlyIn their soft round nests,Crouching in the coverOf their mothers' breasts.

Little lambs lie quiet,All the summer night.With their old ewe mothers.Warm and soft and white.

But more sweet and quietLie our little heads,With our own dear mothersSitting by our beds.

Birds are not so merrySinging on the trees.

Lambs are not so happy,Mid the meadow flowers;They have play and pleasure,But not love like ours."

Socrates asks, Do you know that this is a square?Boy. Yes.Socrates. Why?Boy. Because the four sides are equal, and the lines which are drawn acrossthe middle, from corner to corner, are equal.Socrates. May there be a square twice as great as this?Boy. Yes.(Thus far have we elicited knowledge already possessed, and refreshed theboy's memory.)Socrates.—How long must one side of the new square be that its area maybe twice so great as that of the old square?

Boy. Twice as long as the side of the first square.(Here we have brought out for us the error—a very common one, as youall know:—now for the teaching-skill in making the boy detect theerror.)Socrates. So you say the square on a double line will be the double of the first square? Now let us fit to one end of the first square a second square which is equal to it; and let us fit two other squares of the same size to the sides of those two squares; then what figure have we?Boy. A square.Socrates. And how many times as great as the first square is it?Boy. Four times as great.Socrates. Not twice as great, as you said?Boy. No, it is four times as great.(Thus is the error exposed, the boy being thoroughly convinced:—now for the teacher's guidance in the discovery of the new truth.)Socrates. If in this new square, which is made up of four of the old squares, we draw four diagonals, so as to cut of the four outside corners, each of these diagonals cut each of these squares, how?Boy. Into halves.Socrates. And you already know that these four diagonals will be equal, and will form another square?Boy. Yes, I know.Socrates. And of what parts of the four squares is this inside square made up?Boy. Of the four inside halves.Socrates. And four halves are equal to what?Boy. To two wholes.Socrates. Then we have got a square that is equal to how many of the original squares?Boy. To two of them.Socrates. And it is a square upon what line?Boy. Upon the line that divides the original square into two halves.Socrates. That is, upon its diagonal?Boy. Yes.

What! my young master? my gentle master,O my sweet master, you memoryOf old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here?····O unhappy youth,Come not within these doors;····

What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?····

… I have five hundred crowns,The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,Which I did store to be my foster-nurse.When service should in my old limbs lie lame,And unregarded age in corners thrown:

Take that and He that doth the ravens feed,Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;All this I give you. Let me be your servant;Though I look old, yet am I sti'ong and lusty.For in my youth I never did applyHot and rebellious liquors in my blood;Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you;I'll do the service of a younger manIn all your business and necessities.

O good old man; how well in thee appearsThe constant service of the antique world,When service sweat for duty, not for meed!Thou art not for the faction of these times,Where none will sweat but for promotion;And having that, do choke their service upEv'n with the having. 'Tis not so with thee.But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree.That cannot so much as a blossom yield,In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.But, come thy ways, we'll go along together;And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,We'll light upon some settled low content.

Master, go on; and I will follow thee.To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.From seventeen years till now almost fourscoreHere lived I, but now live here no more.At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;But at fourscore, it is too late a week.Yet fortune cannot recompense me better,Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

That none, the meanest of created things,Of forms created the most vile and brute,The dullest or most noxious, should existDivorced from good—a spirit and pulse of good,A life and soul, to every mode of beingInseparably linked.

While from door to door

This old man creeps, the villagers in himBehold a record which together bindsPast deeds and offices of charity,Else unremembered; and so keeps aliveThe kindly mood in hearts, which lapse of years,And that half- wisdom, half-experience gives.Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resignTo selfishness and cold oblivious cares.

Among the farms and solitary huts,

Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages.Where'er the aged beggar takes his rounds,The mild necessity of use compelsTo acts of love, and habit does the workOf reason; yet prepares that after-joyWhich reason cherishes. And thus the soul.By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued,Doth find herself invariably disposedTo virtue and true goodness.Yet further.—Many, I believe, there areWho live a life of virtuous decency;Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feelNo self-reproach; who of the moral lawEstablished in the land where they abideAre strict observers; and not negligentIn acts of love to those with whom they dwell.Their kindred, and the children of their blood:Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace!But of the poor man ask, the abject poor—Go and demand of him, if there be hereIn this cold abstinence from evil deeds.And these inevitable charities.Wherewith to satisfy the human soul?No—man is dear to man."

"Oh the spirit in the ball,Dancing round about the wall,In your eye and out again.Ere there's time to feel the pain;Hands and fingers all alive.Doing duty each for five.Oh the spirit in the ball.Dancing round about the wall.

See again, now up it goes.Whizzing by that startled nose,Hands and feet are everywhere.Twinkling in the middle air,Bodies, bodies are no more.All is hit, and spring, and score.Oh the spirit in the ball.Dancing round about the wall.

Poets sung it long ago,All the fight and all the woe,Geryon and thundering Zeus,Hundred-fisted Briareus,Argus with his million eyes.Oh 't was but a game of Fives.Oh the lordly game of Fives.Oh the spirit in the ball.Dancing round about the wall."