"The beating heart"? It seems a mingled maze Of beating hands, and bludgeons wildly waving. How send "a quickening life" through this dull craze Of deadly, deadening rancour rudely raving? What _is_ their task, these teachers of the untaught, These would-be lighteners of our mental blindness? What is the lesson the child-crowds have caught From these tumultuous foes of human-kindness? They told us, in quaint diction, the Three R's Should renovate the land, refine the people; Break down at last low-birth's invidious bars. Alas! What rings from school-tower and church-steeple? Not the harmonious heaven-aspiring sound Of blessing-bearing bells, but furious clashing Of cracked creed-tocsins, spreading wrath around, Love's efforts thwarting, wisdom's high hopes dashing. Where be the "Three R's" now? Sectarian schism Has cloven up the compromise, and ended In Ugly Rush! See rampant Rileyism Shaking its standard at the door, attended Close by the Nonconformist banner-bearer,-- "Religion without Dogma!" blazoned boldly,-- Denouncing the first "R" as child-ensnarer Into a fold whereon _his_ creed looks coldly, Whilst hating hotly one who hotly hates His shibboleth as vague and vain and vapid. Next, vigorous be-rater of the Rates, Whose rise he vows is ruinously rapid, Unsympathetic Gallio of the Shop Pence-saving soul and strenuous till-protector, The third R rages. Stop, mad zealots, stop! Lest all the toil of Board and School Inspector, Teacher and taught, end in one fourth R--ROW! A vulgar term, my masters, unscholastic; But--the great lesson ye are teaching _now_, To the young mind, and to the conscience plastic, Of gutter-waifs and children of the slum. They have "long ears," _these_ "little pitchers," verily. Think you without joint bidding they will come Whom their old teacher, Vice, employs so merrily? _His_ creed is one, _his_ doctrine's not obscure, _His_ tests and formularies do not vary, _His_ "standards" stand, and his "results" are sure, And of "school-places" _he_ is never chary. Oh self-elected shepherds, with your crooks, Fighting, while round your folds the wolves are creeping!-- Pedagogues wrangling o'er your lesson-books, Whilst your wrath rages human love sits weeping! If of "a common Christianity" Ye were but practical and patient teachers, In Education's task ye might _agree_. Now sense is asking "Who shall teach our teachers?" [Illustration: "THE FOURTH R;" OR, THE "RELIGIOUS"(?) ROW AT THE SCHOOLBOARD. _Quite Un-sectarian Girl._ "OH, MY! WHAT A JOLLY ROW!" _Equally Un-sectarian Boy._ "AIN'T IT! I 'OPE THEY'LL KEEP IT UP, AND WE SHAN'T 'HAVE TO LEARN NOTHINK!"] * * * * * LYRE AND LANCET. (_A Story in Scenes._) PART XXI.--THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER. SCENE XXXI.--_The Morning Room._ TIME--_Sunday morning; just after breakfast._