coupled with an air of absolute wisdom on
the part of that artful personage. Take the
square of five, multiply it by fifteen, divide it
by three, deduct eight from it, add four dozen to
it, give me the result in pence, and tell me how
many eggs I could get for it at three farthings
apiece. The problem is hardly stated, when a
dozen small boys pour out answers. Some wide,
some very nearly right, some worked as far as
they go with such accuracy, as at once to show
what link of the chain has been dropped in the
hurry. For the moment, none are quite right;
but behold a labouring spirit beating the buttons
on its corporeal waistcoat, in a process of
internal calculation, and knitting an accidental
bump on its corporeal forehead in a concentration
of mental arithmetic! It is my honourable
friend (if he will allow me to call him so) the
fifer. With right arm eagerly extended in token
of being inspired with an answer, and with
right leg foremost, the fifer solves the mystery:
then recals both arm and leg, and with bump in
ambush awaits the next poser. Take the square
of three, multiply it by seven, divide it by four,
add fifty to it, take thirteen from it, multiply it
by two, double it, give me the result in pence,
and say how many halfpence. Wise as the
serpent is the four feet of performer on the
nearest approach to that instrument, whose
right arm instantly appears, and quenches this
arithmetical fire. Tell me something about
Great Britain, tell me something about its
principal productions, tell me something about
its ports, tell me something about its seas and
rivers, tell me something about coal, iron, cotton,
timber, tin, and turpentine. The hollow square
bristles with extended right arms; but ever
faithful to fact is the fifer, ever wise as the
serpent is the performer on that instrument, ever
prominently buoyant and brilliant are all members
of the band. I observe the player of the cymbals
to dash at a sounding answer now and then
rather than not cut in at all; but I take that to
be in the way of his instrument. All these questions,
and many such, are put on the spur of the
moment, and by one who has never examined
these boys. The Uncommercial, invited to add
another, falteringly demands how many birthdays
a man born on the twenty-ninth of February
will have had on completing his fiftieth
year? A general perception of trap and pitfal
instantly arises, and the fifer is seen to retire
behind the corduroys of his next neighbours,
as perceiving special necessity for collecting
himself and communing with his mind. Meanwhile,
the wisdom of the serpent suggests that
the man will have had only one birthday in all
that time, for how can any man have more than
one, seeing that he is born once and dies once?
The blushing Uncommercial stands corrected,
and amends the formula. Pondering ensues,
two or three wrong answers are offered, and
Cymbals strikes up "Six!" but doesn't know
why. Then modestly emerging from his
Academic Grove of corduroys appears the fifer,
right arm extended, right leg foremost, bump
irradiated. " Twelve, and two over!"

The feminine Short-Timers passed a similar
examination, and very creditably too. Would
have done better perhaps, with a little more
geniality on the part of their pupil-teacher;
for a cold eye, my young friend, and a hard
abrupt manner, are not by any means the powerful
engines that your innocence supposes them to
be. Both girls and boys wrote excellently, from
copy and dictation; both could cook; both could
mend their own clothes; both could clean up
everything about them in an orderly and skilful
way, the girls having womanly household
knowledge superadded. Order and method began in
the songs of the Infant School which I visited
likewise, and they were even in their dwarf degree
to be found in the Nursery, where the
Uncommercial walking-stick was carried off with
acclamations, and where "the Doctor"—a medical
gentleman of two, who took his degree on the
night when he was found at an apothecary's door—
did the honours of the establishment with
great urbanity and gaiety.

These have long been excellent schools; long
before the days of the Short-Time. I first saw
them, twelve or fifteen years ago. But since
the introduction of the Short-Time system it has
been proved here that eighteen hours a week of
book-learning are more profitable than thirty-six,
and that the pupils are far quicker and brighter
than of yore. The good influences of music on
the whole body of children have likewise been
surprisingly proved. Obviously another of the
immense advantages of the Short-Time System
to the cause of good education is the great
diminution of its cost, and of the period of time
over which it extends. The last is a most
important consideration, as poor parents are always
impatient to profit by their children's labour.

It will be objected: Firstly, that this is all
very well, but special local advantages and
special selection of children must be necessary
to such success. Secondly, that this is all very
well, but must be very expensive. Thirdly, that
this is all very well, but we have no proof of the
results, sir, no proof.

On the first head of local advantages and
special selection. Would Limehouse Hole be
picked out for the site of a Children's Paradise?
Or would the legitimate and illegitimate pauper
children of the long-shore population of such
a river-side district, be regarded as unusually
favourable specimens to work with? Yet
these schools are at Limehouse, and are the
Pauper Schools of the Stepney Pauper Union.

On the second head of expense. Would
sixpence a week be considered a very large cost
for the education of each pupil, including all
salaries of teachers and rations of teachers? But
supposing the cost were not sixpence a week,
not fivepence? It is FOURPENCE-HALFPENNY.

On the third head of no proof, sir, no proof.
Is there any proof in the facts that Pupil Teachers
more in number, and more highly qualified, have
been produced here under the Short-Time system
than under the Long-Time system? That the
Short-Timers, in a writing competition, beat the
Long-Timers of a first-class National School?