best, a very intimate prize distribution in which we ourselves make the discourse, and deliver the certificate to ourselves.  This is the culminating point at which educators aim; they are all agreed that prizes in the end are meant to lead up to it, but the way is long between them.  And both one and the other are good in so far as they lead us on to the highest judgment that is day by day passed on our work.  When prizes, and even the honour of well-deserved praise, fail to attract, the thought of God the witness of our efforts, and of the value in His sight of striving which is never destined to meet with success, is a support that keeps up endurance, and seals with an evident mark of privilege the lives of many who have made those dutiful efforts not for themselves but in the sight of God.

The subject of play has to be considered from two points of view, that of the children and ours.  Theirs is concerned chiefly with the present and ours with the future, far although we do not want every play-hour to be haunted with a spectral presence that speaks of improvement and advancement, yet we cannot lose sight of the fact that every hour of play is telling on the future, deepening the mark of the character, strengthening the habits, and guiding the lines of after life into this or that channel.

Looking at it from this point of view of the future, there seems to be something radically wrong at present with the play provided for children of nursery age.  In a very few years we shall surely look back and wonder how we could have endured, for the children, the perverse reign of the Golliwog dynasty and the despotism of Teddy-bears.  More than that, it is pitiful to hear of nurseries for Catholic children sometimes without shrine or altar or picture of the Mother of God, and with one of these monsters on every chair.  Something even deeper than the artistic sense must revolt before long against this barbarous rule.  The Teddy-bear, if he has anything to impart, suggests his own methods of life and defence, and the Golliwog, far worse—­limp, hideous, without one characteristic grace, or spark of humour—­suggests the last extremity of what is embodied in the expression “letting oneself go.”  And these things are loved!  Pity the beautiful soul of the child, made for beautiful things. II y a toujours en nous quelque chose qui veut ramper, said Pere de Ravignan, and to this the Golliwog makes strong appeal.  It is only too easy to let go, and the Golliwog playfellow says that it is quite right to do so—­he does it himself.  It takes a great deal to make him able to sit up at all—­only in the most comfortable chair can it be accomplished—­if the least obstacle is encountered he can only give way.  And yet this pitiable being makes no appeal to the spirit of helpfulness.  Do what you can for him it is impossible to raise him up, the only thing is to go down with him to his own level and stay there.  The Golliwog is at heart a pessimist.