be studied free from any foreign element or influence. She has not entertained the ambitious expectation that in three years she can teach her pupils to understand the entire fortunes of mankind. She has thought it sufficient if she can bring them to understand something of man by studying his actions in close and minute detail."* And to somewhat the same effect Mr. Clark observes: "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 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..... Reasoning is divided into two main divisions, exact or demonstrative, and moral or probable. The study of mathematics exercises almost exclusively the former, the study of classics chiefly the latter process; and there is no conceivable subdivision of either process which is not brought into play by the one study or the other."

We take these two passages to constitute the answers of one school of admirers of the existing University system to the attacks which have been made upon it by some of the reformers. With far greater sympathy for the Universities than for many of their assailants, we cannot but regret the line taken up by their defenders. We shall not stop to consider minutely how far Mr. Froude's ingenious argument is an afterthought. There is something grotesque enough in the notion of the original authors of the Oxford curriculum selecting the writings of heathens, "because in them the purely human character could best be studied." We should like to know what Dean Jackson would have said of such a sentence. The phrase "purely human" would have sounded very strange at Christchurch some thirtyfive years ago. It would not, we imagine, be hard to show that the selection of studies at Oxford was guided to a very great extent by accident, and to a still greater extent by the nature of the accomplishments possessed by the governing body, who naturally preferred to teach what they knew or could easily learn themselves. We take wider ground than this, and assert that the distinction between information and education is a mere distinction of words and not of things; and that the classification of education, as being primary, commercial, liberal, and professional, is really no classification at all.

* Oxford Essays, p. 53.

No human being ever advocated the doctrine, that information, in the sense of mere acquaintance with a number of facts, is in itself desirable. Even Mr. Froude's bête noir, the "GowerStreet Council," would not give much to know that Mr. A. lives at 100 Gower Street, and Mrs. B. at 101. The greatest enthusiast for "general knowledge" has some principle of selection. He proposes to teach what he considers desirable to be known, and not to teach what he does not. On the other hand,

we never yet heard of any education which did not consist of information. The old Persians, who taught their children to ride, to draw the bow, and to speak the truth, gave them at least three very useful pieces of information; when a child is taught to suck, which is perhaps the earliest of all educational processes, it is taught the practical application of hydrostatics. Indeed, education without information is like substance without qualities, or speech without words. The question, therefore, between Messrs. Froude and Clark on the one hand, and their despised opponents on the other, is only a question as to the comparative usefulness (a word which the gentlemen in question generally print in inverted commas) of certain kinds of information, and not a question between two processes of different kinds. Mr. Clark's classification of education seems to us to be open to precisely the same criticism. Professional, liberal, and commercial education, all imply primary education; and a professional education is to a great extent a liberal one. Indeed, neither classification seems to us to advance the question one step. It still remains precisely where it was, and is shortly this: What is the most useful kind of information which can be imparted to a young man between eighteen and twenty-two, independently of his future plans in life; and what is the most effective way of imparting it? Nor can we see that these gentlemen contribute in any degree to the solution of the question by contrasting the shallow character of that "general knowledge which is general ignorance" with the thoroughness with which the Universities teach classics and mathematics. Is there any necessary connection between what is modern and what is superficial? Is there in the nature of things some alternative between teaching philology and mathematics thoroughly, and a little universal knowledge superficially? Why might not the University, if it thought it on the whole best to do so, teach nothing but Fearne's Contingent Remainders, and allow nobody to leave Cambridge without an absolutely perfect acquaintance with all the learning involved in a full appreciation of the great mystery of Perrin v. Blake? Why might not Cain, or the Life of Tom Jones, or the Arundines Cami, be made the subjects of study as profound and as minute as Thucydides or Plato? We can suggest many

reasons why they should not, but none why they could not. The wisdom of learning well what you learn at all, and of not attempting to teach your pupil more than he can take in, is unquestionable; but it is recognised, though Mr. Froude may not think so, at other places than Oxford, and by other banks than those of the Isis and the Cam. These gentlemen may be right in supposing that classics, mathematics, and what Oxford men call science," are more useful than any other parts of learning, but that is not because they are the only subjects capable of being studied profoundly, but because of some inherent convenience or excellence.

Whilst, for these reasons, we cannot fully sympathise with the University conservatives, we are equally unable to go along with the popular cry for reform. We feel strongly that the Universities are and must be places of education for the comparatively rich,—for those who have sufficient means to enable them to spend the first twenty-four years of their lives in pursuits which will not afford them any definite prospect of immediately earning a livelihood at the end of that time. To turn the Universities into finishing schools for the middle and lower classes, would be to destroy their usefulness altogether. No doubt provision might be made, by certain applications of part of the University funds, for extending their advantages to a small number of able youths of the poorer classes; but these must of necessity be the exceptions. If a man is to pass at once from the University to a shop or a counting-house, he had better not come there at all. The expense of a University education is not a question of money. It is a question of time. If it is to retain any portion of its distinctive character, it must take place at a time of life when the mind has attained a certain maturity and power of apprehending great subjects, and must not be cramped by the necessity of being turned to immediate money profit. At all events, if we vulgarise the Universities by shortening the time of study, by teaching such common accomplishments as go to raise the salary of a clerk, or to increase the value of a commercial traveller, we shall have to establish some other places of education for the training of statesmen, of clergymen, of lawyers, of physicians, and of gentlemen. The usefulness of the teaching of a University depends upon the degree in which it qualifies men to take high stations in life, and to serve their country in those functions in which a certain grasp of intellect and clear perception of large principles is more necessary than any amount of mere commonplace cleverness. To compare the rough-and-ready tact of a common man of business with the real power and intellect of a highly educated person of equal original powers, is the commonest, the vulgarest, and the

silliest of all mistakes. It is like comparing a gossiping country apothecary in good business to a first-rate London physician, or a keen-witted attorney to one of the fifteen judges. We will assume, therefore, that in considering the usefulness of different branches of study we are to take into account a somewhat remote future, and an enlarged sphere of action. Upon this view of the subject, we think there is much truth in what Messrs. Froude and Clark urge with respect to the advantages of classical study. We do not quite see our way to agreeing with Mr. Froude's admiration for it on account of its "heathenism." Surely there is a modern literature which is not altogether ecclesiastical. A man might read Blackstone's Commentaries, or even Hallam's Constitutional History, without knocking his head against many "theological prejudices." It is not every man who looks at the universe through ecclesiastical spectacles, and who finds in all the events of life contrasts between the human and the superhuman, the ascetic and the Benthamic, and hints upon the subjects on which Milton's devils had so much conversation. Still, no one can deny that we get a greater amount of literary excellence in a smaller range in the classics than is to be found elsewhere, and we will go so far as to concede to Mr. Clark the truth of his apology for philology—that "it would take many pages to write out at length the inductive syllogisms which have to be proposed and solved in determining the true meaning of a difficult sentence in Thucydides or Tacitus." Our concession will be made all the more readily, inasmuch as the same would be true of speaking or taking a walk, of throwing a stone at a mark, or of any other of those processes which admit of a logical description, but which are performed by the agency of a kind of habit which becomes almost instinctive. We will also admit the full value of mathematics as a mental discipline; and we should wish not only to admit, but to call closer attention than is usually bestowed upon it, to the fact, that these subjects are unquestionably far more convenient for the teachers than any others; that by their selection it is easy to ascertain that the pupil has really mastered his instructions; to choose the particular branches to which he is to address himself, and to compare his progress with that of others. But it is not so clear that what is pleasantest for the tutor is best for the pupil, or that it is wiser to learn, because it is easier to teach, Greek and Latin, than English history. The conclusive objection to the existing Cambridge course of study is, that the students will not learn it, and the University cannot make them. That a man, fully instructed in the whole range of classics and mathematics, has received an admirable education, may be perfectly true; but it is quite consistent with this that twenty other

persons have received almost no education at all in order to fit him out. It may be better to learn mathematics than to learn law; but it is certainly better to learn law than to learn nothing. The interests of the students who would have adopted studies of various kinds are sacrificed to those of the few who take an interest in what are considered the highest kinds of studies. It may be answered, that the failure of the natural and moral science triposes is conclusive against this view;-it does, in fact, confirm it. The University adopts a mode of teaching-competitive examination-totally unfit for any subjects except classics and mathematics; and then turns round on the students and says, "You take no interest in the studies which I do not enable you to learn."

The advantages claimed for the present studies of the University consist partly of their intrinsic value, and partly of the mental habits necessary for their cultivation; partly, that is, of the matter taught, and partly of the manner in which it is taught. In respect of the intrinsic value of the studies pursued many arguments are urged, with which our readers are undoubtedly sufficiently familiar. No one capable of forming an opinion upon the subject doubts that classical literature is, as far as style goes, the best of all literatures, and that it contains much valuable matter in a small compass. Of the intrinsic value of mathematics greater doubts may be entertained. Except in certain special studies, they are of little use; indeed the knowledge and the application of the higher branches of analysis are almost exclusively confined to professional mathematicians. In such pursuits as civil engineering, navigation, and the like, certain results, condensed into short practical forms, are used, in total ignorance of the principles upon which they are based. It must be observed moreover, that however intrinsically valuable a profound acquaintance with classics or mathematics may be, a superficial acquaintance with them is almost entirely useless; and that they are sure, in most instances, to be less thoroughly learnt, and more thoroughly forgotten, than almost any other subjects. If, after infinite labour, a man has learnt at twentytwo to construe some of the easier parts of Xenophon and Virgil with some sort of approach to accuracy, the value of his knowledge is considerably diminished by the reflection that he is sure to have forgotten it by twenty-three. If he has obtained an equally. unsatisfactory knowledge of some of the commoner rules of political economy, there is, at any rate, a chance that later in life he will find them less useless than he would find the other accomplishment. A forged cheque, which you cannot present for payment, is less valuable than a bad sovereign, which you may pass innocently.