DESIRABLE LIMITATIONS OF LOCAL CONTROL
SUMMARY
PREFACE RESUMED
MR. GEORGE ALEXANDER'S PROTEST
ELIZA AND HER BATH
A KING'S PROCTOR
COUNSEL'S OPINION
WANTED: A NEW MAGNA CHARTA
PROPOSED: A NEW STAR CHAMBER
POSSIBILITIES OF THE PROPOSAL
STAR CHAMBER SENTIMENTALITY
ANYTHING FOR A QUIET LIFE
SHALL THE EXAMINER OF PLAYS STARVE?
LORD GORELL'S AWAKENING
JUDGES: THEIR PROFESSIONAL LIMITATIONS
CONCLUSION
THE SHEWING-UP OF BLANCO POSNET
A TREATISE ON PARENTS AND CHILDREN
PARENTS AND CHILDREN
The Child is Father to the Man
What is a Child?
The Sin of Nadab and Abihu
The Manufacture of Monsters
Small and Large Families
Children as Nuisances
Child Fanciers
Childhood as a State of Sin
School
My Scholastic Acquirements
Schoolmasters of Genius
What We Do Not Teach, and Why
Taboo in Schools
Alleged Novelties in Modern Schools
What is to be Done?
Children's Rights and Duties
Should Children Earn their Living?
Children's Happiness
The Horror of the Perpetual Holiday
University Schoolboyishness
The New Laziness
The Infinite School Task
The Rewards and Risks of Knowledge
English Physical Hardihood and Spiritual Cowardice
The Risks of Ignorance and Weakness
The Common Sense of Toleration
The Sin of Athanasius
The Experiment Experimenting
Why We Loathe Learning and Love Sport
Antichrist
Under the Whip
Technical Instruction
Docility and Dependence
The Abuse of Docility
The Schoolboy and the Homeboy
The Comings of Age of Children
The Conflict of Wills
The Demagogue's Opportunity
Our Quarrelsomeness
We Must Reform Society before we can Reform Ourselves
The Pursuit of Manners
Not too much Wind on the Heath, Brother
Wanted: a Child's Magna Charta
The Pursuit of Learning
Children and Game: a Proposal
The Parents' Intolerable Burden
Mobilization
Children's Rights and Parents' Wrongs
How Little We Know About Our Parents
Our Abandoned Mothers
Family Affection
The Fate of the Family
Family Mourning
Art Teaching
The Impossibility of Secular Education
Natural Selection as a Religion
Moral Instruction Leagues
The Bible
Artist Idolatry
"The Machine"
The Provocation to Anarchism
Imagination
Government by Bullies
YOU NEVER CAN TELL
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
ACT IV
George Bernard Shaw
Collected Works
ATHENEMEDIA
In the dusk of an October evening, a sensible looking woman of forty came out through an oaken door to a broad landing on the first floor of an old English country-house. A braid of her hair had fallen forward as if she had been stooping over book or pen; and she stood for a moment to smooth it, and to gaze contemplatively—not in the least sentimentally—through the tall, narrow window. The sun was setting, but its glories were at the other side of the house; for this window looked eastward, where the landscape of sheepwalks and pasture land was sobering at the approach of darkness.
The lady, like one to whom silence and quiet were luxuries, lingered on the landing for some time. Then she turned towards another door, on which was inscribed, in white letters, Class Room No. 6. Arrested by a whispering above, she paused in the doorway, and looked up the stairs along a broad smooth handrail that swept round in an unbroken curve at each landing, forming an inclined plane from the top to the bottom of the house.
A young voice, apparently mimicking someone, now came from above, saying,
“We will take the Etudes de la Velocite next, if you please, ladies.”
Immediately a girl in a holland dress shot down through space; whirled round the curve with a fearless centrifugal toss of her ankle; and vanished into the darkness beneath. She was followed by a stately girl in green, intently holding her breath as she flew; and also by a large young woman in black, with her lower lip grasped between her teeth, and her fine brown eyes protruding with excitement. Her passage created a miniature tempest which disarranged anew the hair of the lady on the landing, who waited in breathless alarm until two light shocks and a thump announced that the aerial voyagers had landed safely in the hall.
“Oh law!” exclaimed the voice that had spoken before. “Here’s Susan.”
“It’s a mercy your neck ain’t broken,” replied some palpitating female. “I’ll tell of you this time, Miss Wylie; indeed I will. And you, too, Miss Carpenter: I wonder at you not to have more sense at your age and with your size! Miss Wilson can’t help hearing when you come down with a thump like that. You shake the whole house.”
“Oh bother!” said Miss Wylie. “The Lady Abbess takes good care to shut out all the noise we make. Let us—”
“Girls,” said the lady above, calling down quietly, but with ominous distinctness.
Silence and utter confusion ensued. Then came a reply, in a tone of honeyed sweetness, from Miss Wylie:
“Did you call us, DEAR Miss Wilson?”
“Yes. Come up here, if you please, all three.”
There was some hesitation among them, each offering the other precedence. At last they went up slowly, in the order, though not at all in the manner, of their flying descent; followed Miss Wilson into the class-room; and stood in a row before her, illumined through three western windows with a glow of ruddy orange light. Miss Carpenter, the largest of the three, was red and confused. Her arms hung by her sides, her fingers twisting the folds of her dress. Miss Gertrude Lindsay, in pale sea-green, had a small head, delicate complexion, and pearly teeth. She stood erect, with an expression of cold distaste for reproof of any sort. The holland dress of the third offender had changed from yellow to white as she passed from the gray eastern twilight on the staircase into the warm western glow in the room. Her face had a bright olive tone, and seemed to have a golden mica in its composition. Her eyes and hair were hazel-nut color; and her teeth, the upper row of which she displayed freely, were like fine Portland stone, and sloped outward enough to have spoilt her mouth, had they not been supported by a rich under lip, and a finely curved, impudent chin. Her half cajoling, half mocking air, and her ready smile, were difficult to confront with severity; and Miss Wilson knew it; for she would not look at her even when attracted by a convulsive start and an angry side glance from Miss Lindsay, who had just been indented between the ribs by a finger tip.
“You are aware that you have broken the rules,” said Miss Wilson quietly.
“We didn’t intend to. We really did not,” said the girl in holland, coaxingly.
“Pray what was your intention then, Miss Wylie?”
Miss Wylie unexpectedly treated this as a smart repartee instead of a rebuke. She sent up a strange little scream, which exploded in a cascade of laughter.
“Pray be silent, Agatha,” said Miss Wilson severely. Agatha looked contrite. Miss Wilson turned hastily to the eldest of the three, and continued:
“I am especially surprised at you, Miss Carpenter. Since you have no desire to keep faith with me by upholding the rules, of which you are quite old enough to understand the necessity, I shall not trouble you with reproaches, or appeals to which I am now convinced that you would not respond,” (here Miss Carpenter, with an inarticulate protest, burst into tears); “but you should at least think of the danger into which your juniors are led by your childishness. How should you feel if Agatha had broken her neck?”
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