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Professor Sale's Introductory Lecture.

Mr. Vice-Chancellor, Ladies and Gentlemen—

It will naturally be expected that in beginning a course of Lectures on the Greek and Latin Classics, and on the English Language and Literature, I should in the first place say a few words upon the value of those studies, their proper place in a system of education, and the mode in which I propose to treat them. It would indeed be unnatural if I were to refrain from doing so. If I had formed no opinions on the subject I should hardly have been a candidate for the Chair which I have the honour to fill; and having formed opinions, now, if ever, is the time to express them. I do not allude simply to the event-fulness of the occasion, to the interest which naturally centres round this our first meeting as Tutor and Students, to the anxiety which I feel, and which all of us feel, that the beginning which we make this day may be made in a right direction, that the studies which we here pursue may have the effect of making us better citizens and better men. Others more able than myself have already spoken on this subject, and I would not lessen the effect of what they have said. My object to-day is more practical. It is simply to measure the real value of classical studies as a means of education, to give to my class students some plain directions such as my own experience tells me may be useful, to make some suggestions which they may themselves work out, to point out some errors against which it would be well that they should guard.

First then with regard to the value of classical studies.—I am not going to combat the often told and almost worn-out objections which have been urged against them. The founders of this University have decided already, and no doubt upon sufficient grounds, that classical studies shall occupy an important place in our system of education; and probably there are few in this place who would object to their decision. At the same time there is no doubt that those studies may be, and in England for a long time have been, pursued too exclusively. A great change, however, is taking place in this respect. The Classics are no longer placed on the high and solitary pedestal which they used to occupy. It has come to be page 24 admitted that however valuable the study of language and literature may be, it is not, and cannot be comparable in value with the study of nature: that the most precious faculty we possess, that of observation, which is healthy and vigorous in every young child, becomes dwarfed and stunted, and eventually dwindles away and dies, if his thoughts are forcibly directed throughout his education to books only; and that the process, instead of being in any sense of the word education, becomes in reality the most foolish and fatal mental perversion.

You will perhaps think it strange that I, of all men, should so strongly deprecate the exclusive study of the Classics. I can only say that I have bitterly felt the truth of what I am urging; and to all young students who may come to me for help in their classical studies, I say most earnestly—Along with those studies have one other pursuit at least which shall preserve your eyes and your ears from being deadened; it matters not whether that pursuit be Chemistry, or Botany, or any of the branches of Physical Science; only make sure that you have something which will constantly take you away from books and words, and bring you face to face with facts and things.

I have said that a great change is taking place in England. Within my own memory it was quite possible for a student to obtain the highest distinctions which the English Universities could confer, without knowing anything of the literature, laws, or constitution of his native country, without knowing one single word of any modern European language, without knowing one single fact in natural science, without having any acquaintance, worthy of the name, even with the literature of the two languages with which his whole life had been occupied. His sole claim to the distinctions which were conferred upon him might be, and sometimes was, simply a thorough knowledge of the words and grammatical structure of Greek and Latin, together with a fair command of the English language. He need not even know the contents of the books in which the language had been studied. For instead of his grammatical knowledge being used as a key to give access to the treasures of the language, the language might be looked upon as valuable solely for the difficulty of unlocking it, and the treasures within might be neglected altogether—the language might be studied for the sake of the grammar, and not the grammar for the sake of the language.

I would not be misunderstood in what I am now saying. I do not wish to imply that the scholar who has acquired a masterly use of the Greek, Latin, and English languages has acquired anything contemptible; nor am I ignorant of the great powers of mind, and the close application of which it is the result. "It would take," says Mr. Clark, "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 page 25 or Tacitus. The facility and rapidity with which an accomplished student does this ought really to enhance in our eyes the value of his previous training—not lead us to depreciate it, or to underrate the difficulties which he is thus enabled to master. Intuitive perception of truth is not a lucky guess, but a masterly condensation of long observation and painful reasoning." I cordially echo these words; and those who have watched the career of many a distinguished lawyer in England will admit that, so far as the training of the reasoning faculties and the growth of habits of intensity and concentration of thought are concerned, the accomplished Greek and Latin scholar has received a better training than he could possibly have obtained by any other means. But still I hold that even this result is dearly bought if it is at the expense, as it sometimes is, of his natural powers of observation; and more dearly still if it has left him ignorant of his own country, and careless of the great events that are happening around him.

What then is the real value of Greek and Latin as a means of education, and what should be the object which the student should set before himself in studying those languages. I think a general answer to this question may be fairly given in a few words: The Greek language is worth studying chiefly for its literature; the Latin language not only for its literature, but more especially for its vocabulary and for its almost perfect grammatical structure. Now if this account of the value of Greek and Latin be generally true—and I think most scholars would allow it to be so—it follows that so far as practical utility is concerned, using the phrase in its lowest sense, neither Greek nor Latin is of very great value to a man whose life is likely to be spent in the ordinary trades or callings of a colony. For it is plain that the success of the merchant, the farmer, the miner, the handicraftsman, do not depend in the slightest degree on his appreciation of the beauties of ancient literature, nor even upon a knowledge of grammar. He may certainly derive some advantage from the study of the ancient languages in obtaining a readier and more accurate insight into the meaning of the numerous words, constantly becoming more numerous, which are incorporated from them into English. But so far as his business is concerned, such an insight can be obtained sufficiently for his purpose from an ordinary English dictionary. There are indeed the learned professions, admission to which is impossible without a certain knowledge of Greek and Latin. To the theologian, the surgeon, the lawyer, the schoolmaster, some acquaintance with the ancient languages is a necessity; and to them, even in the lowest and most commercial sense of the word, classical studies may be said to be valuable. Nor do I wish to say one word which might seem to check the ambition of those who will, I hope, resort to this University for assistance in enabling them to enter those honourable professions.

When, however, I speak of the value of Greek and Latin as a page 26 means of education, I am speaking not of a special but a general value, and of an education not for a special purpose but such as every man would desire to have, no matter what his trade or profession, provided it were within his reach. I speak, in short, of what our grandfathers called a "polite" and what we call a "liberal" education; one which will enlarge the powers, cultivate the taste, refine the manners of him who obtains it; an education which in England is open to a few; in Scotland, I believe to many; but which here ought to be open to all.

Viewing the question then in this light, it may, I think, be said generally that the Greek language is valuable chiefly for its literature. It is true that a knowledge of the words themselves is not without importance. There are sciences, Botany for instance, the phraseology of which is taken largely from the Greek. But still in all such cases a right understanding of the meaning of the scientific terms depends not so much on a knowledge of the Greek words from which they are derived as on an actual acquaintance with the thing or quality of which they are the symbols. Take for instance such a word as cotyledon in Botany, or artery in Anatomy. It is the actual dissection of the seed of the plant, and the actual examination of the body which alone can give a right understanding of the meaning of the words. And in such cases all that a knowledge of Greek can do for us is to satisfy our curiosity as to their etymology, and perhaps also to make it easier for us to learn and remember them. This, however, would be but a poor compensation for the long labour and study necessary to make a student even moderately acquainted with the Greek language; and therefore I think I am justified in saying that the chief value of the study of Greek is, that it introduces us to the unrivalled literature of Greece. To shew what the value of that literature is it would be easy to quote high authorities. I will content myself with giving the words of one who, from the direction of his own studies, would be very unlikely to set an excessive value on an acquaintance with Greek literature. Mr. Marsh in his lectures on the English language has the following passage:—"I cannot speak of even Greek as being of any such value in reference to English grammar or etymology, as to make its acquisition a well-spent labour, unless it is pursued for other purposes than those of domestic philology. But, that I may not be misunderstood, let me repeat, that so far from dissuading from the study of Greek as a branch of general education, I do but echo the universal opinion of all persons competent to pronounce on the subject, in expressing my own conviction that the language and literature of ancient Greece constitute the most efficient instrument of mental training ever enjoyed by man; and that a familiarity with that wonderful speech, its poetry, its philosophy, its eloquence, and the history it embalms, is incomparably the most valuable of intellectual possessions." These words, coming from the mouth of page 27 a highly educated American, a man of the world, one holding high diplomatic position, one moreover whose literary labours have been chiefly spent on the English language and literature, seem to me to have a force and weight far greater than they would have possessed had they been the words of a scholar trained in an English University, and accustomed from boyhood to look upon a correct knowledge of Greek as one of the highest human accomplishments.

If, however, the study of Greek is to be pursued for the sake chiefly of the literature, it follows that anything short of such an acquaintance with the language as will enable us to read that literature easily and with pleasure to ourselves, will be but lost labour. And this is, I think, true. There is nothing more elevating both to the moral and intellectual nature than to become familiar with great works of genius; and the remains of Greek literature are among the greatest: they are the grand originals of which more modern works have for the most part been copies. But for a student to acquire such a mastery of the Greek language as will enable him to read with pleasure the great works of Greek literature, several years of unremitting labour are necessary; and unless this labour can be given, I would not advise any one, simply for the sake of the process itself, to commence the study of Greek. To quote the words of Professor Seeley:—"What avail all the merits and beauties of the Classics to those who never attain to appreciate them? If they never arrive, what was the use of their setting out? That a country is prosperous and pleasant is a reason for going to it, but it is not a reason for going half way to it. If you cannot get all the way to America, you had better surely go somewhere else." Those, however, who can face the labour of the journey may feel sure of a sufficient reward; and the labour, great as it is, is constantly lightened by the prospects which open upon us at every turn of the road.

With the study of Latin the case is very different. It is not only that the literature is valuable, but every Latin word stored in the memory is valuable also. The Romance languages, as they are called, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, are derived so entirely from the Latin that we are even told by those acquainted with them that the greater part of the labour of acquiring them is removed by a previous knowledge of Latin. I need not speak of the vast number of Latin words in our own language: a number which has been estimated by Archbishop Trench at thirty per cent, of the whole number of words in use, and which is every year increasing. Surely with these facts before us it must be admitted that every word of Latin learnt is a gain to him who learns it, and that no time is lost which is spent in obtaining even a superficial knowledge of that language. But a knowledge of Latin is valuable not only nor even chiefly for the sake of the words. Its highest value lies in this, that it has been pronounced by page 28 competent authorities to be far beyond any other language, ancient or modern, perfect in its grammatical structure. "The Latin language," says Mr. Marsh, "is a universal key to all language, a general type of comparison whereby to try all other modes of human speech." And again: "The Latin grammar has become a general standard wherewith to compare that of all other languages, the medium through which all the nations of Christendom have become acquainted with the structure and the philosophy of their own: and technical grammar, the mechanical combinations of language, can be nowhere else so advantageously studied." The Latins were indeed, as Professor Munro calls them, "a nation of grammarians." The science of grammar was elaborated by them as it never has been by any other nation. For centuries the keenest intellects among them were unceasingly employed in bringing the language to perfection; and the result is, that for directness and logical precision, and consequently as a field for the study of the science of grammar, the Latin language is unequalled. "That singleness of purpose," says Professor Thomson, "by which the Roman achieved the mastery of the world, is as clearly indicated in the unswerving correctness of his grammatical usages, as in the unswerving directness of his military roads."

Of the value of the Latin literature I need not speak at great length. In literature as in art, the Romans followed directly in the footsteps of the Greeks: and much of their literature, beautiful as it is, shines only with a borrowed light. In one branch only they were originators. But their excellence in that one branch made them the rulers of the world, and has been, and will be to the end of time, the model for all succeeding nations. I allude of course to their skill as law-makers. "Legal science," says Mr. Maine, "is a Roman creation." It would be an impertinence in one who has not received a legal education to attempt to enlarge on the advantages to be derived by the English law student from a study of Roman law. The greatness of those advantages has been established by the decision of those who alone are competent to pronounce upon the question: and it is enough to say that the Inns of Court and the Incorporated Law Society require that a candidate shall possess a sufficient knowledge of Roman law, in the original Latin, before he can be admitted to either branch of the legal profession: and in the examination of law students this subject is every year becoming of higher importance. Moreover, it is not only to the law student that this branch of Latin literature is valuable. Mr. Maine says, "I know nothing more wonderful than the variety of sciences to which Roman law, Roman contract law more particularly, has contributed modes of thought, courses of reasoning, and a technical language. Of the subjects which have whetted the intellectual appetite of the moderns, there is scarcely one, except Physics, which has not been filtered through Roman jurisprudence. The science of pure Metaphysics had in- page 29 deed rather a Greek than a Roman parentage, but Politics, Moral Philosophy, and even Theology, found in Roman law not only a vehicle of expression, but a nidus in which some of their profoundest enquiries were nourished into maturity." And further on he speaks of Roman law as "the most plentiful source of the stream of modern knowledge, the one intellectual result of the Roman civilisation,"

Now there may be some parts of ancient literature which may be understood not perhaps adequately, but sufficiently for the purposes of an ordinary liberal education, through English translations. But this cannot be said of Roman law. It is incapable of translation. We have embodied words and phrases from it in our own language; and it is impossible, without a knowledge of Latin, and without seeing the words themselves in situ, to use a geological expression, to have even a remote perception of their meaning. If then the passages I have quoted be not exaggerations—and lawyers are not usually prone to exaggerate—there is abundant reason why every Englishman should become acquainted with Roman literature, even if Lucretius, and Catullus, and Cicero, and Virgil had never existed.

I have referred to the studies of Greek and Latin, and have pointed out a few only of the most striking peculiarities of each which make them valuable as a means of education. There are other features common to both studies which, though they ought not to be forgotten, yet do not require that I should speak of them at great length. I have already alluded incidentally to one of these. I have said that the study of the Greek and Latin languages makes a man a close and powerful reasoner. I will add that the kind of reasoning on which the mind of the student is exercised is similar to that which he will have to employ in all the concerns of life. And in this respect the study of the Classics possesses an inestimable advantage over that of Mathematics, and even over that of many of the natural sciences. The chemist, for instance, makes an experiment with certain results. He knows that if the same experiment be repeated under precisely similar conditions, the same results must inevitably follow. He never has to use his judgment in weighing probabilities. His life is spent among certainties. The mathematician, starting either from some given fact or from some admitted axiom, proceeds by necessary deductions, each step being the inevitable consequence of the preceding one; and when he arrives at his ultimate result he finds thai throughout the process his judgment has never once been called into play; he has not in fact even reasoned; the work has been done, so to speak, mechanically; and in the ordinary concerns of life the instrument which he has employed (for I cannot call it a faculty) will never on any single occasion stand him in stead. I speak especially of pure analytical Mathematics, and of the method ordinarily employed by the mathematical student in that page 30 part of his studies. I am well aware that nearly all great discoveries have been made by a very different process. The great physical laws, although their certainty may afterwards be established by deductions made on the assumption of their truth, must yet have been originally discovered by observation and induction. These great discoveries, however, have nothing to do with the ordinary training of the mathematical student. The eminent men to whom we owe them have been something more than mere mathematicians.

On the other hand let us analyse the process employed by the classical student. First of all, in discovering the meaning of words, and in arriving at grammatical principles, he is, or ought to be, constantly occupied in collecting, comparing, and classifying examples; and in every separate example he has to decide between conflicting probabilities. Even in the case of the youngest student, whose faith has to be pinned to his lexicon and grammar, even he has, in a less degree, to employ the same process. For his lexicon gives him many meanings for each word, and out of these he has to select the most suitable; and his grammar, though it gives him a number of rules, yet does not inform him which rule he must apply in the particular case, one perhaps which may be susceptible of several interpretations. At every step the classical student must use his memory, taste, and judgment; and his decision, when he arrives at it, is made on precisely similar grounds to those upon which he will have to decide in all the affairs of life—on the grounds, namely, of probability—of moral and not mathematical certainty.

I have already referred to the habit of concentration which the classical student acquires. There is a common defect in the mind which the Greeks denoted by the epithet kouphonous, an epithet which Sophocles applies to birds; and probably from this circumstance Bacon describes the same defect by the epithet "bird-witted." It is that habit of wandering from a subject to which children especially are liable. His Honor Mr. Justice Chapman, in his excellent remarks upon the value of classical studies, insisted particularly on their efficacy in curing this defect, and I need not repeat what he then said. I will only remark that although, I believe, some other studies, Mathematics for instance, may be equally efficacious with Classics, yet the study of English provides no sufficient remedy, but on the contrary, if not narrowly watched, is apt to aggravate the disease. And it would be well if those who, not very wisely, maintain the sufficiency of English as an instrument of education, would lay this matter to heart. It is most common indeed for a person, when this wandering habit of mind has taken hold of him, to hear, read, and even repeat long passages of English, not one word of which has really affected his mind. He has heard the sounds, but they have struck his ear much as they might have struck the ear of a sleeper, who hears page 31 indeed, but is not awakened. Of all habits this is the most pernicious, and unfortunately our parents and teachers take great pains to implant it in our minds. In our very earliest years we are taught to repeat sentences and phrases, of the meaning of which we have not even the most remote conception. The consequence is, that the child contracts the habit of saying or hearing one thing and thinking of another. If there be any benefits derived from teaching a young child catechisms and formularies, I am convinced they are infinitely outweighed by this serious and almost universal mischief.

Now when we come to a difficult language like Greek or Latin we cannot, if we would, repeat the words in that dreamy half-conscious manner in which we may accustom ourselves to repeat English. In English we know the meaning of the separate words, and the sounds being familiar may easily pass by us unheeded. But in reading Greek or Latin our attention is arrested at every moment. If we pass over a syllable we must go back for it, or else we are lost altogether. It seems to be chiefly for this reason that classical studies encourage the growth of habits of concentration.

It is often asserted that an Englishman cannot really understand or appreciate the literature of his own country unless he is acquainted with the masterpieces of Greek and Latin. This subject is a very wide one, and I can do no more than just refer to it in the limits of this lecture. That the vast majority of English writers have drawn largely from classical sources cannot be denied; and it is I think true, that to be able to appreciate them perfectly we must place ourselves in their position—we must drink at the spring at which they drank—we must go to the same temple at which they received inspiration. But it has been also argued with considerable force that Shakespere, the greatest name of all, though he certainly must have been well acquainted with a good deal of the contents of ancient literature, was yet only acquainted with it at second hand: that for understanding him, at any rate, we need do no more; and that for understanding more Latinised writers, English translations of the Classics are, though not perfect, still for ordinary readers amply sufficient. I acknowledge the force of this argument, and I confess that if it be only for the purpose of appreciating our English literature, it is not worth while in my opinion to spend many years in the acquisition of Greek and Latin.

There is one more point to which I must allude, and that is the invaluable effect of the study of the ancient languages in giving us mastery in writing and speaking our own. I shall have to refer to this subject again when I come to speak of the study of English. I will only say now that it seems to me impossible to imagine any better or more efficacious means of learning to write page 32 and speak English than that of translating from another language; and further, that in translating from Greek and Latin we have this immense advantage, that while the modes of thought of the classical writers often correspond closely with our own, yet the idioms of the language are completely different, so that we have the two essential requisites for such an exercise—a complete understanding of an author's meaning, and the necessity of entirely altering the form in which he has clothed it.

But it is time that I should say a few words concerning the method which I propose to follow in studying the ancient Classics. There are two extremes to be avoided. There is the one to which I have already alluded—that of mistaking the means for the end, of attending too closely to the niceties of grammatical structure, to the neglect of the real scope and meaning of the author. And there is the opposite and much more dangerous one of reading in a careless and superficial manner, raising up a showy building with no foundation, deluding ourselves with the idea that we are becoming imbued with the spirit of the ancients, and forgetting that in the study of language and literature, as in painting, breadth and freedom of handling, unless it be the result of long-continued, laborious, and minute industry, is nothing better than slovenliness.

How then are we to combine the two things—an intelligent appreciation of an author, and a thorough acquaintance with his language and its grammatical structure? Let us take an illustration. How do we get a thorough knowledge of the geography of a country? Is it by following up every gully—by exploring every piece of swamp, or bush? Or is it by mounting to a height and getting a general survey of the whole? I answer—by both. The details will be perplexing without the general view; and the general view will be vague and worthless without the details. So with the study of Latin and Greek authors. Let us not be afraid of the minute and often tedious labour of mastering verbal difficulties. Let us not grudge the necessary toil of translation and re-translation. There is no other way of obtaining facility in the use or understanding of a language; and secondly, let us read an author generously. Not piece-meal as we have been of necessity compelled to do at school, but in masses. And when we have patiently and carefully studied every sentence, let us endeavour, by a rapid review of the whole work, to get a connected and comprehensive idea of the author's meaning. Again, in translating from English into Greek or Latin, you will find the converse method invaluable. First get your general view, and then fill in your details. After writing numerous exercises in the style, suppose of Cicero; take one of these—examine every word that you have used, even the most familiar of them minutely—take your lexicon and find out how Cicero has used the same word in analogous sentences. The operation is tedious, but it is effectual; and a few page 33 hours spent in this way once in every five or six weeks will be amply repaid.

You will observe that I have said nothing concerning the practice, almost universal in schools, of committing to memory rules of grammar. The omission was intentional. I believe such an exercise to be in the great majority of cases not only worthless but mischievous. Use grammars by all means, but use them rationally, and treat them as books of reference. I look back with astonishment at the prodigious waste of time which was caused in my own younger days by committing to memory pages and pages of indigestible rules of grammar—rules which, though they could be repeated when called for, were never really applied in practice; for the simple reason that all boys, and, I believe, nearly all men, invariably reason from particulars to particulars, and never from generals to particulars. Learning by heart, it is true, is one of the most useful exercises in studying any language: but it is passages from good authors which should be committed to memory—passages of which the meaning and grammar already are well understood, not the rules of grammar, which when taken neat are, to my stomach at least, both nauseous and indigestible. There may be others of more cormorant-like digestion who can assimilate grammar pure and simple; but I find at any rate that my own experience corresponds with that of Professor Thomson and Professor Seeley, both of them high authorities in any question connected with classical studies.

But I will go further. Even in the very rare cases, if there be any, in which the rules of grammar are remembered and applied, and make—so to speak—a short cut for the student in learning to write Greek or Latin correctly, even there the process, instead of being beneficial, is, I believe, most hurtful. For it is not rules but principles of grammar which we want to get at. And these principles can only be seen by an intelligent comparison of actual passages taken from classical authors, in fact by a process of careful and systematic induction. I will give one single example of what I mean. The usual school Latin grammars give a short rule to the effect, that when the relative pronoun is used to denote "cause," it has to be followed by the subjunctive mood. Now if this rule were universally true, which I do not think it is, it would be far better learnt by seeing one or two actual examples in the course of reading, than by loading the memory with the trash in which grammatical rules are usually written. Now, instead of learning the rule, suppose a student met with a case where the relative pronoun, in a causal sense, was followed by the subjunctive. An intelligent tutor would first remind him that an idea may be represented in two ways, either as a thing actually existing, or as a thing conceived in the mind—that the Romans had a language capable of making it perfectly clear which of the two notions was intended, and that the subjunctive proved that it page 34 was the latter that was intended, and not the former; and he might quote from his own memory, or from any scientific grammar, instances in which the same principle was involved, including many in which the relative pronoun might be used in other senses besides that of a cause. Is there not here all the difference between an intelligent perception of a principle and a blind submission to a rule neither understood, nor in this case, as I believe, even true? In the one case, it seems to me, a student is led to reason and think for himself; in the other, even if the rule were true, he would simply be using the lowest and most parrot-like kind of memory, and at the same time would be learning the very worst lesson which it is possible for a reasonable being to learn—that, namely, of submitting blindly to authority when the reason is neither satisfied nor even touched.

I have detained you rather too long on this subject, but, if I do not overrate its importance, it is one the right understanding of which makes all the difference between a man of thought and a man of words, between a scholar and a pedant.

It is for this very reason that the most thoughtful men of our time are coming to the conclusion that the study of Latin should be deferred until the age, say of 14 or 15, by which time a boy has his reasoning faculties developed sufficiently to enable him to grasp the principles of grammar, and can study it as a science, not as a mere collection of arbitrary rules. If the subject is begun at too early an age, it must of necessity be treated unscientifically. "In the contest between the children and the grammar," says Professor Seeley, "the children have the better. They have more influence upon it than it has upon them. Instead of the children becoming grammatical the grammar becomes childish."

There is a passage in Locke which, though not referring especially to the study of grammar, but to reading in general, is yet so apt to what I have been saying that I shall not apologise for quoting it; and if the quotation should have the effect of inducing any one to read and think carefully over the short but valuable essay in which it is contained, it will not have been thrown away. "The mind," he says, "is backward in itself to be at the pains to trace every argument to its original, and to see upon what basis it stands, and how firmly; but yet it is this that gives so much the advantage to one man more than another in reading. The mind should by severe rules be tied down to this at first uneasy task; use and exercise will give it facility. So that those who are accustomed to it, readily, as it were with one cast of the eye, take a view of the argument, and presently in most cases see where it bottoms. Those who have got this faculty, one may say, have got the true key of books, and the clue to lead them through the mizmaze of variety of opinions and authors to truth and certainty. This young beginners should be entered in, and showed the use of, that they might profit by their reading. Those page 35 who are strangers to it will be apt to think it too great a clog in the way of men's studies, and they will suspect they shall make but small progress if in the books they read they must stand to examine and unravel every argument, and follow it step by step up to its original. I answer, this is a good objection, and ought to weigh with those whose reading is designed for much talk and little knowledge, and I have nothing to say to it. But I am here inquiring into the conduct of the understanding in its progress towards knowledge; and to those who aim at that I may say, that he who fair and softly goes steadily forward in a course that points aright, will sooner be at his journey's end than he that runs after every one he meets, though he gallop all day full speed."

We come now to the study of the English language and literature; and this is, I confess, the most difficult subject with which I have to deal. For, strange as it may seem, it is comparatively a new subject. There is not at the present time in either of the old English Universities a Professor of the English Language and Literature. It is true there are English Professorships at the Scotch Universities: but in the short visit which I was able to pay to Edinburgh and Glasgow I could gain but a very imperfect idea of the method followed there; and from the examination papers which I have seen, that method seems to be one which I should be both unable and unwilling to adopt. For, so far as I can judge, it is one which is exactly adapted to foster and encourage that very vice which it should be the especial object of a University to eradicate—I mean shallowness and superficiality.

I am compelled, therefore, to strike out a line for myself. In the first place it is in this subject, above all others, most important that we should be on our guard against the danger of mistaking mere talk for knowledge. In the study of the words of the English language, and still more in the study of English literature, the student is constantly exposed to the temptation of adopting other men's opinions and fancying them to be his own. Almost every one has a tendency to do this, and this tendency is greatly encouraged by the periodical literature of the day. Even such a book as "Trench on the study of words," interesting though it is, to my mind is a most dangerous book for a student. For the conclusions at which the author has arrived, although they represent the results of long and careful labour spent by the author himself, are easily caught up and appropriated by a reader, and he may be tempted to talk of the sense in which Wyclif, for instance, has used a certain word, when all the time Wyclif's writings may be entirely unknown to him, except through Archbishop Trench's book. If this is to be the result of reading such treatises, it would be far better that they should not be read at all, or that, having been read, they should speedily be forgotten.

But this tendency to display and the affectation of knowledge is much greater and more dangerous in the case of the literature page 36 than in the case of the language. How many persons are there who saunter pleasantly through the pages of the "Academy," for instance, or the "Athenæum," dipping into reviews of books, taking up opinions about their styles and merits, learning—for the time only—just enough to supply them with a fund of literary small-talk, but never gathering the smallest grain of real knowledge, nor acquiring the slightest interest in the works which form the subject of their conversation. And the mischief which thus results from the reading of periodicals is, I think, certain to follow from attending lectures, as they are ordinarily conceived, on English literature.

The popular idea of a lecture on this subject is, I imagine, something of this kind. The lecturer is supposed to take up some such subject as "The dramatists of the reign of Queen Elizabeth." He will first give a rapid and interesting sketch of the rise and progress of dramatic representations in England. Having done this he will take the reign of Elizabeth; he will review the events of that reign; he will give a string of names of soldiers, statesmen, divines, philosophers, and poets—pausing here and there to speak more particularly of the achievements of one more celebrated than the rest. He will perhaps give a short sketch of the condition of literature at the commencement of the reign. He will then come to his real subject: he will describe wittily and pleasantly the styles of Greene, Peele, and Marlowe. (I take these names from a text-book on English Literature; I have not myself read a single play written by any one of them). He will now come to Shakspere. He will tell us (at second hand) all that antiquarians have been able to discover of his biography. He will give a list of his plays, describing the plots of the most celebrated, and informing us (again at second hand) from what sources those plots were derived. He will quote Schlegel, and Coleridge, and Hallam—perhaps even Goethe, or at least Carlyle's translation. It is to be hoped (for there will surely be a few grains of wheat scattered among this intolerable amount of chaff) that he will read for our benefit some at least of the more striking scenes from a few of the plays. Having despatched Shakespere he will proceed to the less important authors. He will have a few words to say about Ben Jonson, about Beaumont and Fletcher, about Massinger and Ford. He will no doubt institute comparisons between those authors and Shakespere, and finally perhaps he will hazard a few opinions of his own, or quote those of others, as to the general effect which all these writers have produced on the language, literature, and morals of the English nation.

I think this is not an unfair description of the generally-received notion of what a lecture, or course of lectures on English literature, should be. It would no doubt be a pleasant though an unprofitable amusement to attend such a course. Nay, it might even be profitable to those who attend, not for the purpose of page 37 getting knowledge, but for the purpose of enabling themselves to talk as if they had got it. But to all who went with the honest intention of learning, it would be the most utter waste of time. And if, in addition to this, the student were expected to pass an examination in the subject—if he were expected, that is, to have remembered and adopted the views propounded in the lecture room—it would not be merely a waste of time, it would be a most serious and lasting mischief. It would be a mischief if the views of the lecturer were erroneous, for they might remain in the student's mind uncorrected. It would be a still greater mischief if they were true and original, for the student would be more likely to rest satisfied with them, and less likely to undertake the labour of reading the authors for himself. And whether the views of the lecturer were true or false, it would have the effect of encouraging the vice of which I have already spoken—the vice of affecting a knowledge which we do not actually possess: or it might engender the still more dangerous and hardly less contemptible habit of resigning ourselves to other men's opinions, surrendering, and ultimately losing altogether our own power of independent judgment.

Again, it is, J believe, customary in almost all English classes for the students to be put frequently to the task of writing original essays, or even original poetry, on given subjects. Now if the subject be one with which the student is really familiar, one which he has thought out for himself, and on which he has got something of his own to say, then the writing of an original essay is no doubt an exceedingly useful and valuable exercise. It gives shape, consistency, and clearness to his thoughts. But how many of such subjects are there? Is it not almost a certainty that in the majority of cases he will really have nothing to say, and that he will then either be driven to read, from existing authors, disconnected fragments bearing on his subject, or he will be compelled to make the best of his own barren ideas, to whip up his small modicum of cream into a showy and frothy syllabub. Such an exercise as this would be little if at all better than that affectation of knowledge to which I have just alluded. If we have nothing to say on a subject, by all means let us remain silent; and if we have, our labour should be employed in condensing it as much as possible, not in diluting it—in expressing it not in many words, but in few.

What then is the province of the lecturer? and how is the student to derive more benefit from attending lectures than from private reading? I answer: First, there are, I have no doubt, some students who would not benefit by attending lectures. These who have had their interest in the great works of English literature already awakened, who already feel a delight in reading our great masters, and who can understand what they read—such students as these need no lecturer to help them. The only possible benefit they could derive from a lecturer would be that of page 38 comparing notes with him, of ascertaining whether their interpretation of the meaning and their sense of the beauties of an author agreed with his. But it would be a clear waste of time for such students to attend regular classes; and I hope none such will attend.

The province of the lecturer I conceive to be something of this sort: First of all to awaken an interest in the mind of his students; to read passages from the author whose works are to be the subject of their study; and to give them, if he can, a keen appetite for more. For the same purpose of awakening their interest, and for no other, he may quote from writers on such subjects short passages to show the estimation in which the author is held, and the position in English literature to which he is entitled. Having done this, he has done all that he can do as a lecturer; he must now be a fellow-student, and as a fellow-student he must read through the works of his author carefully and sys-tematically along with his class. He must notice the history and meaning of words, especially of such as are used in a different sense from that in which we commonly use them; where the meaning of a passage is difficult or doubtful, he must suggest what seems to him the most likely interpretation; where the grammatical construction is involved, he must analyse it. And when he has in this way gone through a sufficient portion of his author, let him return to the beginning, and endeavour, by reading it through consecutively, to get a clear and comprehensive view of the whole. This is the only way that I know of, or can imagine, by which we can acquire a real knowledge of English literature. It will probably be objected, that if we adopt this method our progress will be but slow, and the results will hardly be commensurate with our expectations. To this I can only answer with Locke—"This is a good objection, and I have nothing to say to it."

Again, in studying English as a language, and in practising ourselves in the use of it, by far the best and most effectual exercise that I know of is, that of translating from other languages into English. Those of my students who study Greek or Latin as well as English must look to translation especially as the means of improving them in the use of the latter. For those who study English alone, some substitute must be provided. Several may be devised. Two of the most useful would be those of condensing, and reproducing from memory uncondensed, passages from any English author. I remember that in the working men's college at Cambridge one of the exercises was that of paraphrasing an author. And Professor Seeley apparently approves of this practice. He says "the exertion of clothing a thought in a completely new set of words increases both clearness of thought and mastery over words." I would not venture to contradict so high an authority, but I am sure that in many cases at any rate the effect of paraphrasing an author will be simply to obscure his meaning; and if page 39 we clearly understand that meaning, and if the author has, as he probably has, carefully chosen the best words to express it, the advantage of finding a less perfect expression would not seem to be very great. After all, the one infallible way to improve our own English is—constantly to read, study, and imbue ourselves with the best models; and this not that we may become mere copyists of their styles, but chiefly that we may enlarge our vocabulary, and perfect ourselves in those grammatical usages which are observed by all good writers. As to the advantage of increasing our vocabulary, it is enough to mention that Mr. Marsh estimates the whole number of English words actually in use at one hundred thousand. "Out of our immense magazine of words," he adds, "and their combinations, every man selects his own implements and weapons;" and he goes on to say that persons of fair intelligence do not make use of more than three or four thousand out of the hundred thousand words we possess; that even Shakespere only uses fifteen thousand, and Milton not more than eight thousand.

I have, I hope, indicated with sufficient clearness the course which I propose to take in dealing with my three subjects. I will conclude by adding a few words of caution. From the unexpected number of those who have entered their names as students, I am afraid there may possibly be some who expect that by attending University lectures they will be able to acquire knowledge easily and without much exertion. They may imagine that there is some superior virtue residing in an Institution called by the high-sounding name of a University, or in a tutor glorified into a Professor. If there be any who have deluded themselves in this way, by all means let them shake off their delusion. As for the Professors they will have to be in many cases what I have called them—fellow-students. Indeed they must be learning themselves if their work is to be effective. They must be like running water, receiving as well as giving, if they are to supply anything wholesome and pleasant to their students. As soon as they cease learning themselves, they will become like stagnant pools—flat, vapid, and unwholesome. And let it never be forgotten that the main part—I had almost said the whole—of the work that is done must be done by the student himself in private. When he comes to the lecture-room he can test what he has learnt by himself, but it is at home in his own study that the labour must be gone through. And after all, the function of a University is not to teach—a phrase hateful in itself, and which ought to have no existence outside of the walls of a nursery—but to educate; that is, to draw out what is already within, to induce a student to work, and to think for himself; to bring out and call into vigorous exercise the faculties which he possesses, not to attempt to pour in draughts of ready-made information, an attempt most mischievous when made, and in which, fortunately for us, success is impossible.