I like the Theosophist schools, although I do not like all Theosophists. Some of them seem to be living the higher life consciously, and repressing their lower natures. Most of them do not smoke or drink or eat meat or swear or go to music-halls. That may be living on a higher plane, but it is not living fully. Still, in many ways they are broad-minded. In their schools they do not force Theosophy down the children's throats; they allow a great amount of freedom, but their schools are not free schools. There is a definite attempt to mould character chiefly by insisting on good taste. I am quite sure that no head-master of a Theosophical School would take his children to see a Charlie Chaplin film. Charlie is not obviously living the higher life; he stands for the vulgar side of life; he picks up girls and gets drunk (in the play) and is sea-sick and very vulgar about soda-water. I find myself insisting on the inclusion of Charlie in any scheme of education because no one ought to be taught to be shocked at sea-sickness and soda-water squirting. Charlie to me is the antidote to the higher-plane crowd; he and his kind are as essential as Shelley. I admit that reading Shelley is a higher kind of pleasure than watching "Champion Charlie," but no human being can safely live on the higher plane, and no child wants to. Education must deal with _all_ life; a higher plane diet will produce hot-house plants, beautiful perhaps, but delicate and artificial. * * * * * Old Willie Murray the cobbler had been bed-ridden for over a year, and when I dropped into Dauvit's shop this morning Mary Rickart was telling Dauvit that his old master was dead. "Aye, Dauvit," she was saying when I entered, "I'm no the kind that speaks ill o' the deid, but I will say this, that Wull Murray had his faults. Aye, and though he's a corp the day, I canna pertend that he was ony freend o' mine." When Mary had gone Dauvit turned to me with a queer smile. "Dominie, you tell me that you have studied the science o' the mind, psy--what is't you call it?" "Psychology," I said. "That's the word. Weel then, dominie, just tell me why Mary Rickart had sic a pick at auld Willie Murray." I smoked for a time thoughtfully. "It's difficult, Dauvit. I haven't got enough evidence. However I think I can make a good guess." "Weel?" "Mary and Willie sat in the same class at school?" "Good!" said Dauvit, "they did." "And Mary was Willie's first sweetheart?" "Imphm!" "Mary loved Willie and he loved her. They were sweethearts for a long time, but another damsel came and stole Willie's heart away. Mary wept bitter tears, but in time she repressed her love . . . and it changed into hate." Dauvit chuckled. "A very nice story," he said, "but, ye ken, it's just a story. You cudna guess the real reason why Mary hated him so much." "Then what was the real reason, Dauvit?" He laughed.