of view, we are led to the re-assertion of my main proposition. And so all roads lead to Rome.'

Another great and important object which is attained by making the ancient languages an integral part of education must not be passed over; and that is the development of the critical faculty, in other words, the cultivation of taste. It must be allowed, and, indeed, it is frequently urged as an objection to the system, that a young boy can be brought to take but a feeble interest in the metamorphoses of Lycaon and Daphne, the trials of pious Æneas, the up-country marches of Cyrus, or even the wrath of Achilles. The reason is that his whole attention is centred in the language, the difficulties of which, requiring to be thoroughly mastered step by step, compel him to proceed so slowly as to lose all interest in the story. Now, as I have before observed, the duty of education, properly so called, is not merely to add to, but also, in some respects, to counteract the acquirements of infancy and childhood. So it is in the case before us. Up to this period the boy has been accustomed to regard, in the stores of romance which form the whole of his present treasure, the meaning only, and not the language, the substance, not the form. His Ovid and his Xenophon, his Virgil and his Homer, are regarded from the opposite point of view. He is made now to take cognizance of the form rather than the substance. Thus his mind is enabled to conceive form as an object of thought, distinct from the subject matter, and vice versa, and hence, generally, to judge of the application of the one to the other in literature with a degree of accuracy which is never attained except by those whose critical faculty or taste has received this slow, but sure, training in boyhood and in youth.

Good taste is not instinctive, nor of natural growth. The most intelligent child will often show the worst taste. So far as form is concerned, a child seldom appreciates anything beyond sounding long-tailed words in prose and jingling rhymes in verse. He has to be taught that prose may be beautiful without polysyllables, and verse harmonious without rhyme. And, I repeat, it is only by the employment of literary models widely different from those of our own country and our own time, in thought, language, and expression, that this result can be obtained.

In these studies, with the addition of ancient history and ancient geography, which necessarily includes to a certain extent modern geography also, and, towards the close, Euclid and algebra, a boy's school-days pass.

But before we leave the school for the university, we must notice the loud cry which has been raised out of doors for

modern history. Teach boys modern history,' say they, as if modern history lay in a nutshell, and could be taught like Rule-of-Three. We should like to take one of these gentlemen into a great library, and show him how many thousands of volumes go to form what he talks so glibly of as 'modern history.' Having convinced him of the impossibility of getting through a complete course of modern history on this side of fifty, much less before eighteen, we should then like to know what periods he would select, and what text-books? We are curious to learn what portion of this world's history since the fall of the Roman empire a boy must know, and what portion he may be ignorant of. Our ideal companion would perhaps solve the difficulty by declaring, with the honourable Member for the West Riding, that whatever is most modern is best. We arrive, therefore, at Alison's History of Europe. Now, what with the school-lessons above described, and the needful intervals of sleep, eating, cricket, and general relaxation, boys have not much spare time on their hands. Considering this, and considering also that the length of each lesson must be fixed with due regard to the slowest intellect of the class, the perusal of this work (which by no means includes the whole of Modern History,') would occupy about six years! But the objector may say, I have seen a book called Compendium of History,' which includes all modern history, and ancient too, in a space of three hundred pages. We also have seen the book, and a most loathsome object it is—a mere series of dry facts and dates, which may be learnt, page by page, for repetition by the aid of some idiotic gabble, called memoria technica, which the learner regards with just repugnance, and within a few days inevitably forgets.

In what I have to say about university education, I wish to be understood as speaking of Cambridge only, of which alone I am entitled to speak from personal knowledge and experience. Doubtless my remarks, if true of Cambridge, will be approximately true of Oxford also; but to be strictly true, they would require to be re-stated, with certain modifications in detail, the explanation of which would be inconsistent with my prescribed limits and irrelevant to my main purpose. So strong, indeed, is the generic resemblance between those 'two most noble and most equal sisters,'* that they are perpetually confounded in the panegyrics or tirades of strangers; on the other hand, we, the alumni, are prone to dwell exclusively upon their distinctive differences. But this by the

way.

* Ben Jonson's Dedication to The Fox, vol. iii., p. 161. Ed. 1816.

The University of Cambridge, like all universities, has a twofold character. It is at once a depository and a seminary of learning. It has a twofold object: the advancement of science and the education of youth.

By the theory of its constitution, it is supposed to have within its walls at least one professor of each great branch of human knowledge, who devotes himself to the especial cultivation of that branch, and is bound to give instruction therein to all comers. Its teaching, in theory at least, is only limited by the limits of man's intelligence. Its programme includes omne scibile, everything knowable. Now, the simplest plan— a plan, too, which would fit the public taste of the day—would be, having spread this feast of reason, to present each new comer with the bill of fare, and allow him to choose the dishes which might best suit his appetite and his digestion. The masters of the feast have otherwise judged. They do not prohibit the study of any science even to the new comers, but they attach all the honours and rewards they have to bestow to the successful pursuit of two or three branches of knowledge, leaving the acquisition of any others to be its own reward, which, seeing how keenly the English mind appreciates substantial advantages, acts as a kind of prohibition. It is true that modifying regulations have of late years been introduced in compliance with the popular movement, whose war-cry was, 'England expects every boy to be universally proficient at one-and-twenty.' It has been enacted that, in addition to the course formerly prescribed, every person shall attend at least one course of Professors' lectures, in order that our youth may acquire a notion of the mutual connexion of all sciences, by combining Greek with mineralogy, and algebra with comparative anatomy. New triposes have also been instituted in the moral and natural sciences, and, more recently still, in theology and its subsidiary studies, so that the University now not only recognises, but encourages by honorary rewards, the following branches of knowledge: mathematics, pure and mixed, natural philosophy, the Greek and Latin languages and literature, philology, ancient and modern history, civil law, moral philosophy, political economy, general jurisprudence, the laws of England, anatomy, comparative anatomy, physiology, chemistry, botany, geology, mineralogy, theology, Hellenistic Greek, Patristic Latin, ecclesiastical history, and Hebrew; and if the recommendation of the Commission be adopted as to the institution of yet another tripos,* we shall have the gratification of adding to this list political geography,

* Report, p. 101.

international law, diplomacy, and all the modern languages. One science only, or rather, part of a science, will then be unhonoured in Cambridge, namely, 'the mathematical part of crystallography.'* We commend this victim of exclusive bigotry to the patronage and advocacy of an enlightened

press.

Nevertheless, these new regulations, though framed to meet the spirit of the age, have failed in producing any practical change. The curriculum has been extended, but no one will enter for the new races. The moral and natural triposes present, year by year, a singular spectacle-more examiners than examinees. The experiment, in the opinion even of those most anxious that it should be tried, is admitted to be a failure. Where the candidates are so few, the distinction of even the first place is not sufficient to merit any substantial reward, and so long as the first place wins no substantial reward, it attracts no candidates; and thus the new triposes keep turning round in a vicious circle of inefficiency. But the evil lies deeper, and consists in the combining in one examination five or six different branches, each of which might well form the serious study of a whole life-time.

Most men are drifting to the opinion of the distinguished Professor of Modern History, who denounced the new scheme from the beginning, as tending to encourage 'a shabby superficiality.' The Report of the Commission (p. 100) says :

It has always been a leading principle in the classical and mathematical studies of the University, to discourage vague and inaccurate knowledge, as fatal to those habits of strict observation and reasoning without which no fruits can be brought to maturity. We hold it to be of the utmost importance to the character of the University that the maintenance of this great principle should never be abandoned or even endangered.

From these premises it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the said triposes should be forthwith abolished. If they attracted students, they would produce the evil effects here deprecated; as they do not, their existence is a mockery. No partial changes can give efficiency to a scheme radically vicious. Above all, let us not deface with shams a system of education hitherto eminently straightforward and honest. Let the University content itself with being the depository of these various sciences; let it secure, if possible, a succession of eminent men to cultivate each, and to give instruction therein to any one who, after passing through the course of mental discipline prescribed to all, may feel a disposition to

* Report, p. 26. + Lectures on the History of France, Preface.

devote himself to this science or that. The study will be its own reward. What honours can you devise for a botanist or zoologist equal to that of giving his name to a new lichen or a new barnacle? It is to be hoped that, for the future, 'the common sense of most' will prevent, as in this case it has nullified, ill-considered change.

Hitherto, by the old theory, the University was held to be, on the one hand, bound to provide instruction in all branches of knowledge for any member who chose to avail himself of it, but, on the other hand, entitled to select particular branches for the compulsory training of all under-graduates. The selection which was made I conceive to have been the best possible. It was not made hastily, or at hap-hazard, but was dictated to successive generations by long experience, by a profound acquaintance with the requirements of the mind of youth, and by an enlightened view of the respective capabilities of different kinds of knowledge. The true reform, I conceive, would have been to remedy our admitted deficiencies on the first point,* and, as regards the second point, to postpone all alterations affecting a principle till time had been given for a full discussion of the question. I am sure that the result of such discussion would be this:-Admitting, as the University always has admitted, the necessity of such modifications in detail as may be dictated by the change of times, the growth of science, and gathered experience, mathematics and classics must remain the best and only solid basis of general education.

It cannot be too often repeated that the object of a general or liberal education is not to impart the greatest possible amount of what is strangely and falsely called Information,' but rather in the true sense of that much-abused word-to inform the mind, to fit it for the acquisition and retention of all sound learning, and for the perception of beauty and truth. To effect this we must employ such processes as shall train the three great faculties, reason, memory, imagination, to a natural and harmonious development. That mind is maimed and crippled wherein one of these members has been exercised to the neglect and enfeeblement of the other two.

All reasoning is in its essence the same, and may ultimately

*It is not a little remarkable, that the Commissioners have not included, in the subjects for which they recommend the creation of new Professorships, either the English language or comparative philology. The latter is a science as yet too inchoate and imperfect to be made part of our classical examinations, but we cannot doubt the great results which the next age will reap from the study, and the sooner it is recognised and taught in the University the better.