among men by furnishing a universal language. I said that under
its beneficent influences war might pass away. Thinking this, what
place can I ascribe to art in our education? If children grow up
among all fair and lovely things, they will grow to love beauty and
detest ugliness before they know the reason why. If you go into a
house where everything is coarse, you find things chipped and
broken and unsightly. Nobody exercises any care. If everything is
dainty and delicate, gentleness and refinement of manner are
unconsciously acquired. When I was in San Francisco I used to
visit the Chinese Quarter frequently. There I used to watch a
great hulking Chinese workman at his task of digging, and used to
see him every day drink his tea from a little cup as delicate in
texture as the petal of a flower, whereas in all the grand hotels
of the land, where thousands of dollars have been lavished on great
gilt mirrors and gaudy columns, I have been given my coffee or my
chocolate in cups an inch and a quarter thick. I think I have
deserved something nicer.

The art systems of the past have been devised by philosophers who
looked upon human beings as obstructions. They have tried to
educate boys' minds before they had any. How much better it would
be in these early years to teach children to use their hands in the
rational service of mankind. I would have a workshop attached to
every school, and one hour a day given up to the teaching of simple
decorative arts. It would be a golden hour to the children. And
you would soon raise up a race of handicraftsmen who would
transform the face of your country. I have seen only one such
school in the United States, and this was in Philadelphia and was
founded by my friend Mr. Leyland. I stopped there yesterday and
have brought some of the work here this afternoon to show you.