In a conversation one always has a tendency to overstate a case, and as the argument went on I found myself saying wild things. Writing calmly now I still hold to my attitude concerning style. I love a book written in fine style, but I refuse to impose style on children. In every child there is a gigantic protest. Thus the son of praying parents often turns out to be a scoffer. I had a good instance of the danger of superimposition of style. I had a class of boys and girls of fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen years of age. For one period a week we all wrote five minute essays, and then we read them out. Sometimes we would make criticisms; for instance one girl used the word "beastly" in a serious essay, and we all protested against it. Then one day the head-master decided that they should write essays for him. He set a serious subject--The Function of Authority, I think it was--and then he went over their books with a blue pencil and corrected their spelling and style. Three days later my English period came round. I entered the room and found the class sitting round the fire. "Hullo!" I said, "aren't you going to write?" "No," growled the class. "Why not?" "Fed up with writing. We want to talk about economics or psychology." A fortnight later they made an attempt to write short essays, but it was a miserable failure; all the joy in creation had been killed by that blue pencil. I can give an example of the other way, the only way. One boy of fifteen hated writing essays, and when I began the five minute essay game he sat and read a book. After a time I gave out the subject "Mystery," and I saw him look up quickly with flashing eyes. "Phew! What a ripping subject!" he cried, "I must have a shot at that!" His shot was promising, and he continued to make shots, until some of his essays were praised by the class. Then one day he came to me. "I don't know anything about stops and things," he said, "and I want you to tell me about them." This is my ideal of education; no child ever learns a thing until he wants to learn it. That lad picked up all he wanted to know about stops in half-an-hour. He was interested in stops because he wanted to write better essays. I need hardly say that he had listened to hundreds of lessons on stops during his school career. * * * * * To-morrow I return to London, and to-night I went over to say good-bye to Dauvit. "Aye, dominie, and so ye're gaein' back to London!" he said. "I don't want to leave this lazy life, Dauvit," I said, "but I must go back and start my school." "It'll cost ye some bawbees to gang to London," put in Jake Tosh. "Penny three ha'pennies a mile noo-a-days I onderstand." "A shullin' a mile for corps," remarked the undertaker. Dauvit chuckled. "So ye'll better no dee in London, dominie," he laughed.