The St. Louis Republic. [volume] (St. Louis, Mo.) 1888-1919, 1903-12-20


printed picture isn't Pussy" or Kitty" but
'Cat" Now we all know that the proper way
is to teach the child to say off the alphabet by
heart and then to learn what character goes
to what name ard then call of the sounds.
See, Eigh, Tea, and tell him it spells ''cat."
Now you know there is more in this new
tangled scheme of teaching children to read
than meets the eye. There is dark
spiracy afoot. These people that want to
have us spell philosophy with rs and
through in the nonscnsical fashion of
"thru." have come to see that there is no
use in talking to reasonabe-minded grown
ups. So, what do they do? Under the guisc
OF an improved method of teaching children
to read they render them absolutely incapa
bic of correct spelling, so that when they
grow up they won't be able to do any other
way than spell fonetically.
In our Young days, spelling was regarded
as the tombstone of education. Anybody
that had to stop and think whether "raisin'
was spelled with an az or an so" was a
poor footy kind of creature that ought to tie
ashamed to look folks in the eye. So, long
before | started to school, long and long
before | ever opened book to read in it, |
went through McGuffv's spclling-book from
cover to cover beginning with easy words in
common. everyday use like: alb. alb, e-b, eb,
lib. Id. and so on, through Ia, Ia, d-y, dy,
lady: p-o, po NY, ny, pony. clear to hon
orifcatudinibility and "dsproportonable..
ness" yes. and even to the last page of
twisters like "phthsic" and ''sneiss, word
Il child often has to use, as: 1t is a gneiss
day.
can't say that l enjoyed it. That l pre-
fcrred death itself is no mere figure OF speech,
but the literal truth. For, one day when |
was set to learn my spelling being then about
four years old, l went out into the front yard
and cast myself down on the fower-bed and
inl ner fhpr
sir, | was as dead as l could be-and have
nothing the matter with me but stern re-
solve to make them feel sorry for the way
they had acted toward me. But my Aunt
Lucy came and yanked me out and laid the
broad of her hand to me for MASKING down
her portulaccas. and ] learned then that
diving is not as simple as it looks to be. You
can't Just up and die whenever and wherever
you want to. suppose it is wise provision
of Nature.
But, though no chnstisement at the time
seemcth to be joyful, afterward when came
to go to school and see how much smarter |
was than other children Il always was more
beautiful and nicer in every way, so am
told) / was truly grateful to my Aunt Lucy
and my parents for the care they had taken
with me. Particularly was glad that they
had made me mind my book, when Friday
afternoons came round with the spelling
matches from which / invariably emerged
the victor.
When the first Monday after Labor Day
comes, the father of the six-year-old, whose
Joy in the child is all anticipatory Cts not
so much the present child he loves as what
that child is to be- feels only exultation as,
himself, re-incarnated. he takes a long step
toward the future. All he has to be, to do.
and to suffer is to modify one question asked
when he comes home evenings He puts in the
words sin school" Now it is: "Have you
been good boy in school to-day" The
men-folks have it easy. 1t is very different
with the mother She has lost the past and
has not yet gained the future. Her house
is left unto her desolate. Everything is so
still, it seems as if there must be somebody
dead.
Someone is dead, her baby. The little one
she pressed so hard against her bosom be-
cause she loved him so. the darling whose
lightest cry would waken her from sleep
though the loudest thunder crash would pass
unheeded in the night; the child whose first
articulate words she never can forget; whose
first staggering step from the wall yonder to
her outstrctched arms she will tell about
thousand times and never weary; the dear
one on whose bumps and bruises she has