But to speak more seriously: yet another matter to bear in mind is that monotony must at all costs be avoided. A speech which, however good in other ways, is entirely pathetic, will fail to keep children’s attention, while a speech that is entirely funny will fail to rouse their interest in the object of the meeting. There may be tears—a few—there must be laughter—now and then. There must be stories and there must be morals: the art is to make the one almost as interesting as the other. [Sidenote: Position of Speaker Important.] It may perhaps be allowed to insert here one or two practical hints. For instance, it is absolutely essential that the children should be able to see the face of the speaker clearly. It is well that he, too, should be able to see the faces of his audience. But the former is the more important. If a room, then, has windows so placed that either the speaker or the children must face them, it is better that the speaker should do so. Children find it almost impossible to listen to anyone whom they cannot see, a fact which points to the value of a sustained effort on the part of the speaker to catch the eye of first one and then another of his audience. [Sidenote: Meetings as Informal as Possible.] That leads on to the desirability of getting rid so far as possible of _formality_. There should be no barriers between the speaker and the children. A high platform is fatal. It is even more fatal when there is also a table and a water bottle. The speaker should be as close to the children as he can, consistently with being able to see and be seen. [Sidenote: A Successful Meeting.] Here is a description of a thoroughly successful children’s meeting. A large low room with old oak beams and a dark polished floor. The only light a blazing fire of logs. In the darker corners a few groups of mothers and other “grown ups.” Near the centre of the floor, two or three large Indian mats, and in front of them a big low easy chair facing the fire light. In this chair is the speaker, and on his knees and on the arms of the chair cluster three or four of the smallest children. The rest are sitting just anyhow upon the coloured mats. They are all perfectly quiet and well inclined for a rest, for they have just had a succession of games—blind man’s buff and “Jacob, where art thou?” the favourites. For half-an-hour or so they sit and listen to the story of other children less happy than themselves, and learn how best to help them. Then comes “Good-night,” and they go away with impressions still vivid, and with new and brave resolutions. [Sidenote: Garden Meetings.] Some such happy informal talks as this may often be held in summer on the grass beneath the trees, but the many distractions of the open air—a butterfly may turn away all thoughts—make such meetings more difficult than those held indoors.