y, of the valuable notes in
Professor Hales's Longer English Poems; what would that signify, in
comparison with the reading of the poem, which would unmistakably show
whether he had responded, to any extent, or not, to its sweet evening
pensiveness, to the general tenor of the theme, to the moulding spirit
of the whole?

That he should understand the articulating thought, all the grammatical
constructions (and there are several which need to be particularly
looked into), and all points to which attention is called in Professor
Hales's notes, is, to be sure, important; but an examination confined to
these would not be any test of his literary capacity, of his
susceptibility to the poem as a poem.

In these remarks, I assume, of course, that the prime object of a
literary examination should be to test not so much a student's
knowingness, as his literary capacity, which means a capacity to respond
to the spiritual life of a poem, or any other form of literature, in
the true sense of the word 'literature.' It is its spiritual life which
makes a poem a poem, whatever the thought articulation may be. The
student who is capable of such response should rank higher (nobody but a
Dr. Dryasdust could deny this) than the student who could answer all
questions which the most prolific questioner could ask him, but who
could afford no evidence, through his reading of it, that the poem was
anything more to him than was a primrose to Wordsworth's 'Peter Bell.'

As the student advances to the higher literature, he should be trained
in the higher, more complex vocal functions demanded for its
interpretation; he should understand, all along, in his vocal education,
the relation of that education to the rendering of works of genius. He
should always know what his vocal exercises are for, what relation they
have to the interpreting and symbolizing of thought and feeling.

I remember a teacher who advised his scholars--I was one of them--to go
out frequently into the open air and exercise their voices. And the poor
fellows did go, and 'fright the isle from her propriety' with their
bawling without having any conception of what they were bawling for.
Their lungs were exercised thereby, but the bawling did nothing for
their vocal training.

Vocal exercise must not only be physiologically intelligent, but there
must always be some conception back of it which it is the aim of the
exercise to realize in the voice. One may have a concept