regular public provision
for the scientific study and teaching of any branch of knowledge?"

[Illustration: Rugby

Matthew Arnold entered Rugby School in August, 1837, living under his
father's roof at the School-house.

He left Rugby for Oxford in June, 1841

_Photo H.W. Taunt_]

But these larger views of education belong, after all, to the region of
theory, and he never had the opportunity, except very indirectly, of
putting them into practice. With the Elementary Schools he dealt
practically, officially, and directly; but even here, as in so many
other departments, his influence was rather critical than constructive.
He had only an imperfect sympathy with "that somewhat terrible
character, the scientific educator." A brother-inspector says that, "if
he saw little children looking good and happy, and under the care of a
kindly and sympathetic teacher, he would give a favourable report,
without enquiring too curiously into the percentage of scholars who
could pass the 'standard' examination." There must be many who still
remember with amused affection his demeanour in an Elementary School.
They see the tall figure, at once graceful and stately; the benign air,
as of an affable archangel; the critical brow and enquiring eyeglass
bent on some very immature performance in penmanship or needlework; and
the frightened children and the anxious teacher, gradually lapsing into
smiles and peace, as the great man tested the proficiency in some such
humble art as spelling. "Well, my little man, and how do you spell
_dog_?" "Please sir, _d-o-g_." "Capital, very good indeed. I couldn't
do it better myself. And now let us go a little further, and see if we
can spell _cat_." (Chorus excitedly.) "C-A-T." "Now, this is
really excellent. (To the teacher.) You have brought them on wonderfully
in spelling since I was here last. You shall have a capital report.
Good-bye." To those who cherish these memories there is nothing
surprising in this tribute by a friend: "His effect on the teachers when
he examined a school was extraordinary. He was sympathetic without being
condescending, and he reconciled the humblest drudge in a London school
to his or her drudgery for the next twelve months."

As regards the matter of education, he was all for Reality, as against
Pretentiousness, "the stamp of plainness and freedom from charlatanism."
He had no notion that children could be humanized by being made to read
that "the crocodile is oviparo