of the past century would have felt no shame to | confess their ignorance. matter of chance, or a following of authority under the pretence of an independent judgment. The greatest defects in our Scottish universities Another more palpable result has been the lamentarise from this want of adaptation in the course of able decay of classical literature. In the early days study to the spirit of the age, and the absence of due of the Reformation, and until civil dissension spread its preparation for any higher instruction in the stu- dark shadows over the land, Scotland was behind no dents when entering college. These are deficiencies country of Europe in classical learning. Many of which even the most zealous and talented teacher our most distinguished scholars had, indeed, frecannot overcome. A great part of the students quented foreign universities, and some of them even come to the universities ignorant altogether of Greek spent their whole lives there; but the number was grammar, and but imperfectly acquainted with that not few who returned to feed the lamp of learning in of the Latin language; and what can a professor do their native land. Small as might be the encouragebut teach them as he would teach a school, or dis- ments to learning, they were not so glaringly dismiss them the class. It is this state of things that proportionate to its rewards in other countries, or to makes the startling affirmation of Professor Pillans, the general wealth of society as they now are. But in reference to the Humanity or Latin class in the we would ask where now is Scottish learning— University of Edinburgh, so true, that "the more where the great heroes who are to uphold its fame in learning and erudition a professorial prelection dis- foreign countries? Instead of filling the chairs of plays, the less chance is there of its doing any good." foreign universities, we have to send to them to fill Not only are the students incapable of understand-our own. And what classical works, we would ask, ing it; but they come to this class at such a time of are now coming forth from the presses of Edinburgh life that they have little inclination to listen to a or Glasgow, once honourable by the names of a lecture. To many students from the country, also, Foulis or a Ruddiman? The utmost that Scotland lecturing is so completely new, that they have diffi- can now boast of, is to copy a few humble extracts culty in following a continuous discourse on any for schools from the text of a German or Swiss critic, scientific subject. In our Scottish colleges, were a sometimes after he himself has rejected it for a professor to take up an elegy of Tibullus, or an better, or to reprint their notes, borrowed at second oration of Demosthenes, and, instead of drilling his hand, from America. But enough of this humbling students like school-boys, on its construction and subject, on which we cannot hope to see any immeaning, to give a critical and exegetical comment provement, till our schoolmasters are raised to their upon it, as would be done in a German university, proper place in society-till they receive incomes nine-tenths of his audience would be asleep, or that will enable them, without imprudence, to buy playing themselves in utter despair of comprehend- a new edition of a classic when it appears-and ing what he was about. This is the great evil of till the teaching in our universities has become our present defective school education, that it binds such as will enable them to know what use to make the professors in our universities down to be mere of such an edition when they have got it. The low schoolmasters, teaching the rudiments of learning, state and small encouragement of classical literature instead of its higher branches. And the necessary in Scotland is a disgrace to the descendants of consequence is, that the elements are only half Buchanan and Melville, and one which the nation learned, whilst the higher departments of criticism should exert itself to remedy. are wholly neglected. We do not blame the professors for this state of matters; they are parts of a system, wheels in a great machine, where any mere partial change would produce unutterable confusion, or, at the best, bring the whole concern to a stand still, and thus compel the necessary changes to be made. One or two results of this low state of academic learning are too important to be passed over in silence. A large proportion of the students of Latin and Greek are intended for the church, and study the classics as a preparation for the study of the Scriptures in their original languages. But as classical literature is now taught the most important departments for this purpose are wholly neglected. The students may be taught the rules of syntax; but the rules of criticism they are not taught. They are never practised in the art of distinguishing the true from the false writings of an author, or the true reading of the text, from the corruptions to which all ancient authors have been liable in the long lapse of ages previous to the invention of printing. Even in regard to the true meaning of difficult passages, they are not so exercised as it is of importance they should be. The consequence is, that when questions of this kind come before them in their study of theology, they are cast, as it were, astray on an untried ocean, with no chart or com pass to direct their path. They are then asked to decide on some of the most difficult questions of criticism, with no former practice in the art, and no rules with whose application they are at all conversant. Their decision, therefore, becomes a mere But though thus low in reality, and, as compared with other nations, classical literature yet holds undue prominence in the scheme of our studies. Of four sessions at college, the usual period for attaining a degree, or qualifying a student to enter the theological schools, the best part of two, sometimes three, is spent in classical studies. Science and philosophy are thus pushed into the back ground, and the little that is got of them is of the most elementary character. In mathematics the professor must begin with the mere elements of geometry and algebra, and spend the most of the student's time on these first branches, to the great neglect of the higher fields of science. The professor is thus employed in teaching what would be better acquired at schools; whilst those parts of the science which cannot be looked for in the schools are not taught at all in Scotland. In this manner, not only is "the university," as Professor Blackie well says, "converted altogether into a school, and the stamp of a thorough and permanent degradation fixed on the academical institutions of the country," but the schools themselves suffer in character and efficiency. The pupils from a well conducted school spend the first three years at college merely in revising what they have already done, or, to speak more correctly, in wasting their time waiting for those students who should have been at school, and not at college. All inducement to seek a higher standard of education in schools is thus destroyed, as the pupils from the most inferior starts with the same advantages as those from the highest. In some respects, the former are even better, since, in the first years at college, they require to be busy, whilst a young man, coming to college properly educated, may spend his time almost in idleness, and acquire the worst of habits. The great remedy for this state of matters is to abolish the elementary classes in the universities altogether, and to confine the instruction there to the higher departments of science. A more elevated standard would thus be imposed on the students, and a due encouragement given to those schools in which it would be acquired. A far more accurate knowledge of the rudiments of Greek and Latin, and of the elements of geometry and algebra, would be obtained in twelvemonths spent in a proper school than in two sessions at the university. And this preliminary training would enable the professors to start from a far higher position, and to carry their students at once into the depths of science. It would also leave room for many studies of importance now much neglected. Instead of crowding the whole of natural philosophy into one session, it might occupy a part of two. Natural history, which can only be properly studied in connexion with an extensive museum, might then compose part of the curriculum for all students, instead of being neglected by the greater number. Civil history would form no bad substitute for a session now spent on the mysteries of the Greek alphabet or verb. Geography, too, not the mere dry bones of the science as taught in schools, but that living reality which points out the connexion that exists between the form and structure of a land, and the manners, habits, government, and history of its people, ought also to form part of the course of instruction in our universities. It is, indeed, a remarkable circumstance that this science, so interesting in itself, and so highly important to a great commercial nation like Britain, should have been utterly neglected in all our higher institutions for education. There is no end, however, of pointing out deficiencies in the system of university education. The mere fact that it has stood still for centuries, whilst the world has been moving onwards, of late with tenfold accelerated speed, is proof enough of its need of reform, provided it is to be maintained in a condition at all suitable to the wants of society. Other institutions for scientific education are springing up around, and our universities must take higher ground, or sink to the level of mere upper schools and mechanics' institutes. Popular science may be left to the care of the public; but science, properly so called, difficult and profound, fitted for the study of the few of higher talents and greater leisure, not of the many busy with the cares and employments of the world, must find a refuge in these academic retreats, or be driven wholly out of our land. The professorial chairs form the only situations in our country to which the learned and studious can look forward; and if they are pandered away to political adherents, or conferred on unworthy persons, an injustice of the highest kind is done to the intelligence of the country. There can be no doubt, that in former times political subserviency, or family interest, was too often the ground on which appointments in the universities were made. Persons altogether unfit for the office, persons who would have formed but indifferent students were thus elevated into the place of teachers; men of incomparably higher talents were forced into secular professions, and a permanent degradation fixed" on the intelligence of the country. The students, forced to listen to drivelling imbecility, learned only to laugh at science, or to slumber in indolent repose. In many cases the in 66 fluence of particular appointments can be clearly traced, in the rise or decline of a particular study. We can see how, under an energetic, able professor, science has grown up, with vigorous stem, and widespread branches; and how, under one of an opposite character, it has been completely dwarfed, and forced to trail its feeble shoots along the ground. It is not the welfare of a particular individual, or a particular university alone, that is thus sacrificed, but that of a whole generation of students, and the whole science of the country for a lifetime. It is, therefore, the duty of the public to watch over all appointments to academic chairs, and see that the patrons make the proper choice. On this depends the scientific reputation of the country, and the proper instruction of the rising generation. In It is for these reasons that we rejoice to see the public attention drawn to this subject in various quarters. We would especially recommend to our readers " A Letter to the Citizens of Aberdeen on the Improvement of their Academical Institutions," by Professor Blackie. Though in some respects of mere local interest, yet most of the evils he points out are not confined to the northern colleges, but equally affect the institutions south of the Tay. In his recommendation to unite the two colleges at Aberdeen, without suppressing the double chairs, we heartily concur. One of the great evils in our Scottish universities, and the root of many others, has been the want of all internal competition, and of that stimulus to exertion which it can alone supply. A professor, once appointed to a chair, has a complete monopoly of the subject he has to teach. No one can interfere with him; and every student who wishes a degree, which can only be got from a university, must attend his lectures, and pay for them, though they may be utterly useless for instruction. stances are well known, where, for years, students were forced to buy a professor's tickets in order to get their degree, whilst they had to attend private lectures, in order to acquire the necessary information. The professor's lectures were worth absolutely nothing, and the students would have gladly compounded to pay the fees, and be excused from attendance, but the monopoly system forced them to waste both their money and their time. The prejudicial effect of such an incubus on a university need not be told. Not only did it hurt the students, but drove many from it to other institutions, and thus injured every professor in it, and permanently lowered its reputation. Now, the plan of double professorships, as recommended by Professor Blackie, and adopted in the German universities, would so far remedy this evil. A bad professor would find no students; they would all flock to his rival, and he would be left in the solitude he deserved. Patrons would be afraid to appoint unqualified persons, whose deficiencies would be so speedily tested, and these persons themselves would shun a situation where their incapacity was so evidently declared. Where the professors were nearly equal in ability, the students would be divided between them, with this advantage, that each student would select that teacher whose mode of lecturing was best suited to his taste or capacity. It is a great mistake to suppose that a good teacher is equally good for all. There are certain peculiarities of thought and expression which render this not the case. Hence it is very important to give a certain degree of choice to the student in the selection of his teacher. The only objection to this system of double, or even triple professorships, which has been found to work well in foreign countries, is, that the emolu ments of the chairs would be so reduced that no man many are subjected. They who toil from morning to of high talent would accept of them. The simple night, without seasons of thought and mental improveanswer to this is an appeal to experience. The most ment, are of course exceedingly narrowed in their faculhighly endowed chairs are not always those filled by ties, views, and sources of gratification. The present the most distinguished men. Indeed, in some cases, pleasures of intellect, of imagination, of taste, of reading, moment, and the body, engross their thoughts. The talent and endowment seem to follow an inverse pro- of cultivated society, are almost entirely denied them. portion. Studious men look less for great emolu- What pleasures but those of the senses remain? Unused ments than for a situation in which they may have to reflection and forethought, how dim must be their leisure to pursue their researches, and an opportunity perceptions of religion and duty, and how little fitted are of communicating the results to others. But the they to cope with temptation! Undoubtedly in this remedy for this evil is, to increase the salaries, to country, this cause of intemperance is less operative than give each professor enough to preserve him from in others. There is less brutal ignorance here than elsewant, but not to dispense with the necessity of exert- where; but, on the other hand, the facilities of excess ing himself to increase it. A country which spends are incomparably greater, so that for the uneducated, the fourteen millions sterling every year on its army and temptation to vice may be stronger in this than in less enlightened lands. Our outward prosperity, unaccomnavy might surely spend one on the education of its panied with proportionate moral and mental improvepeople. It is, however, not the means but the willment, becomes a mighty impulse to intemperance, and that is wanting; and, were the people fully alive to this impulse the prosperous are bound to withstand. the national importance of our universities, a remedy for their defects would soon be provided. THE AUTHORS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. No. VII.-DR CHANNING. ON THE CAUSES OF INTEMPERANCE. THE primary cause of intemperance is in the intemperate themselves, in their moral weakness and irresolution, in the voluntary surrender of themselves to temptation. Still, society, by increasing temptation and diminishing men's power to resist, becomes responsible for all widespread vices, and is bound to put forth all its energy for their suppression. This leads me to consider some of the causes of intemperance, which have their foundation in our social state. One cause of the commonness of intemperance in the present state of things, is the heavy burden of care and toil, which is laid on a large multitude of men. Multitudes, to earn subsistence for themselves and their families, are often compelled to undergo a degree of labour exhausting to the spirits and injurious to health. Of consequence, relief is sought in stimulants. We do not find that civilization lightens men's toils; as yet it has increased them; and in this effect I see the sign of a deep defect in what we call the progress of society. It cannot be the design of the Creator, that the whole of life should be spent in drudgery for the supply of animal wants. That civilization is very imperfect, in which the mass of men can redeem no time from bodily labour, for intellectual, moral, and social culture. It is melancholy to witness the degradation of multitudes to the condition of beasts of burden. Exhausting toils unfit the mind to withstand temptation. The man, spent with labour, and cut off by his condition from higher pleasures, is impelled to seek a deceitful solace in sensual excess. How the condition of society shall be so changed as to prevent excessive pressure on any class, is undoubtedly a hard question. One thing seems plain, that there is no tendency in our pre sent institutions and habits to bring relief. On the contrary, rich and poor seem to be more and more oppressed with incessant toil, exhausting forethought, anxious struggles, feverish competitions. Some look to legislation to lighten the burden of the labouring class. But equal laws and civil liberty have no power to remove the shocking contrast of condition which all civilised communities present. Inward, spiritual improvement, I believe, is the only sure remedy for social evils. What we need is, a new diffusion of Christian, fraternal love, to stir up the powerful and prosperous, to succour liberally and encourage the unfortunate or weak, and a new diffusion of intellectual and moral force, to make the multitude efficient for their own support, to form them to selfcontrol, and to breathe a spirit of independence, which will scorn to ask or receive unnecessary relief. Another cause, intimately connected with the last, is the intellectual depression and the ignorance to which I proceed to another cause of intemperance, among the poor and labouring classes, and that is the general sensuality and earthliness of the community. There is indeed much virtue, much spirituality, in the prosperous classes, but it is generally unseen. There is a vastly greater amount in these classes, of worldliness, of devotion to the senses, and this stands out in bold relief. The majority live unduly for the body. Where there is little intemperance in the common acceptation of that term, there is yet a great amount of excess. Thousands, who are never drunk, place their chief happiness in pleasures of the table. How much of the intellect of this community is palsied, how much of the expression of the countenance blotted out, how much of the spirit buried, through unwise indulgence! What is the great lesson, which the more prosperous classes teach to the poorer? Not self-denial, not spirituality, not the great Christian truth, that human happiness lies in the triumphs of the mind over the body, in inward force and life. The poorer are taught by the richer, that the greatest good is ease, indulgence. The voice which descends from the prosperous, contradicts the lessons of Christ and of sound philosophy. It is the sensuality, the earthliness of those who give the tone to public sentiment, which is chargeable with a vast amount of the intemperance of the poor. How is the poor man to resist intemperance? Only by a moral force, an energy of will, a principle of self-denial in his soul. And where is this taught him? Does a higher morality come to him from those whose condition makes them his superiors? The great inquiry which he hears among the better educated is, What shall we eat and drink, and wherewithal shall we be clothed? Unceasing struggles for outward, earthly, sensual good, constitute the chief activity which he sees around him. To suppose that the poorer classes should receive lessons of luxury and selfindulgence from the more prosperous, and should yet resist the most urgent temptations to excess, is to expect from them a moral force, in which we feel ourselves to be sadly wanting. In their hard conflicts, how little of lifegiving truth, of elevating thought, of heavenly aspiration, do they receive from those above them in worldly condition! Another cause of intemperance, is the want of selfrespect, which the present state of society induces among the poor and laborious. Just as far as wealth is the object of worship, the measure of men's importance, the badge of distinction, so far there will be a tendency to self-contempt and self-abandonment among those whose lot gives them no chance of its acquisition. Such naturally feel as if the great good of life were denied them. They see themselves neglected. Their condition cuts them off from communication with the improved. They think they have little stake in the general weal. They do not feel as if they had a character to lose. Nothing reminds them of the greatness of their nature. Nothing teaches them, that in their obscure lot they may secure the highest good on earth. Catching from the general tone of society the ruinous notion that wealth is honour as well as happiness, they see in their narrow lot, nothing THE TORCH. to inspire self-respect. In this delusion they are not more degraded than the prosperous; they but echo the voice of society; but to them the delusion brings a deeper, immediate ruin. By sinking them in their own eyes, it robs them of a powerful protection against low vices. It prepares them for coarse manners, for gross pleasures, for descent to brutal degradation. Of all classes of society, the poor should be treated with peculiar deference, as the means of counteracting their chief peril; I mean, the loss of self-respect. But to all their other evil is added peculiar neglect. Can we then wonder that they fall? I might name other causes in our social constitution favouring intemperance; but I must pass them, and will suggest one characteristic of our times, which increases all the tendencies to this vice. Our times are distinguished by what is called a love of excitement; in other words, by a love of strong stimulants. To be stimulated, excited, is the universal want. The calmness, sobriety, plodding industry of our fathers, have been succeeded by a feverish restlessness. The books that are read are not the great, standard, immortal works of genius, which require calm thought, and inspire deep feeling; but ephemeral works, which are run through with a railroad rapidity, and which give a pleasure not unlike that produced by exhilarating draughts. Business is become a race, and is hurried on by the excitement of great risks, and the hope of great profits. Even religion partakes the general restlessness. In some places, extravagant measures, which storm the nervous system, and drive the more sensitive to the borders of insanity, are resorted to for its promotion. Everywhere people go to church to be excited rather than improved. This thirst for stimulants cannot be shut up in certain spheres. It spreads through and characterises the community. It pervades those classes, who, unhappily, can afford themselves but one strong stimulus, intoxicating liquor; and among these, the spirit of the age breaks out in intemperance. consisted of three THE family at the parsonage of Eindividuals,--the pastor, who had been long a widower, was the one son, and a daughter. The Rev. Mr N youngest of a very ancient and honourable English family. E had been his first charge, and it was endeared to him by the beauty of its situation, which harmonized with his retiring disposition and refined tastes, as well as by the mutual affection which existed between him and his people. He devoted his whole energies to the work of his Master, and divided the time unoccupied by study for the pulpit between his flock and his family. About the time of my first visit to the parsonage, his only son left the paternal roof, and joined the army, to which the buoyancy of his disposition and his peculiar habits inclined him. Catherine N was thus the only companion of her affectionate parent. Owing to the early death of her mother, the sole charge of her education, the full develop. ment of her character, and the direction of her tastes, depended on him; and at the age of eighteen, his affectionate and judicious tuition had made his daughter an amiable and accomplished young woman. Story-tellers are generally accustomed to entertain their readers with a description of the personal attractions of their heroines; but as the writer of this sketch does not pretend to be a romancist, but to narrate a true story, he has merely to say, that, at the time he first saw the gentle Catherine N, she had all the simple loveliness of some beautiful field-flower, all its retiring character, and its tender delicacy and fragility, Her heart had been drawn to that of her father by a similarity of disposition, and her mind rendered susceptible of the finest impulses and the clear- E An event of a highly interesting character to the vil- fire on the village green, and flags and garlands of flowers The expectant crowds had waited long for the coming He had, however, been struck no less by the personal | The frequency of his visits, and the attentions he paid The agitation consequent on this conversation determined the father and daughter on returning home to the parsonage. Scarce had they passed the porch and gained the small ante-room, when they were aware of the presence of a young lady, very pale, and habited in a travelling dress. Her object, she said, in waiting was to procure a guide to the hall, and some refreshment previous to her departure. These having been procured with all the promptness of hospitality, the stranger lady entered her carriage, which waited at the door, promising to call on her return. Such a circumstance as this was not likely to pass unheeded by Catherine. For the first time in her life she felt as if she had erred in fostering an attachment to one who perhaps was the destined husband of another; but the seeming truthfulness of Sir Henry's every attention, and the expectation of again seeing the stranger lady, in whom she already felt interested, in some measure dispelled her doubts. With some degree of anxiety, therefore, she waited the return of the carriage, but the sunset came, and the stars shone out, and no vehicle came back. The postboy, who came with the evening letters, averred that he had seen a carriage come from the wood gate with a young lady, and one very much resembling Sir Henry; but the return of the latter on the following day to the parsonage at once ended all doubt, and lulled all suspicion. Once, indeed, when the pastor mentioned the circumstance of the lady's visit, Sir Henry for a moment looked confused, but the turn of conversation ended all thought of the matter. And, indeed, an anticipated event engrossed in no small measure the attention of the family, as well as their visitor. This was no less than a visit which Catherine intended to pay to a friend in the metropolis. An occasion such as this to one who had never for a week been away from her native village was one of peculiar importance. Extensive preparations were made, and all was in readiness for the day of departure. Meanwhile Sir Henry, called away by the death of a relative, came to take leave previous to his departure. These circumstances contributed to make this visit of the young baronet a particularly exciting one. Up to this time each had felt emotions which never had obtained a direct utterance; but now the circumstances of leavetaking opened both hearts, and the hitherto silent love was avowed in all the strains of passionate fervour, and, in the case of Catherine, by the eloquent look of the kindling eye, and the heaving breast. They parted, and shortly after Catherine left the parsonage with thoughts at once of sorrow and of joy. Scarce could the enticing pleasure of a first visit to London dispel the sadness which hung around her spirit while thus leaving for a brief space the scene of her childish sports and her womanly pleasures. London was a stirring scene for the inhabitant of a lovely and quiet village among the mountains, but with all its gaiety did not attract Catherine N-———. The bulwark which education, true refinement, and religion had reared around her heart, was too strong to break down before the giddy wave of fashion which swept through the parks and squares of the metropolis; and but for the charm of the domestic circle in which Catherine resided, her visit to London would have been comparatively of little interest. Even here, however, the benevolence of her heart found scope for its exercise. The family whom she had come to visit were pious, and, in the spirit of their faith, went about doing good. With them, on one occasion, Catherine was induced to visit the sick-bed of a young female apparently far gone in consumption. The countenance of the sufferer was familiar to her, and, after some little effort of memory, she recognised in the individual before her, lying in one of the poorest dwellings of a poor district in the metropolis, the young lady whom she had seen at the parsonage a month before. The change of circumstances, and, above all, the change in her appearance, acted powerfully on the heart of the sensitive girl, and she felt irresistibly drawn to visit her again alone. Catherine's second call, and the sympathy she seemed to feel for the invalid, won the heart of the dying Agnes, and with all the confidence of trusting affection, she disclosed the events of her chequered life. She was the daughter of parents distinguished alike for their wealth and for pride. The former had been the fruit of many prosperous undertakings; the latter, the almost invariable result of a rapid transition from middle to high life. She was beautiful e'er yet the worm which was gnawing the thread of her existence through had insinuated itself into her frame. She was admired, had been married privately, and, to avoid the outbreak of parental displeasure, had fled to London, where, deserted by him who in name only was her husband, unfriended and unattended save by the hand of a mercenary attendant, she was what Catherine had found her. The recital of this too frequent tále of woe almost overcame the gentle heart of the pastor's daughter. Her head was buried in her hands, and when the burst of sympathizing sorrow had found way, she raised it to enquire the cause of the visit of Agnes to the village of But the patient had passed away from her sorrows; the recital of them had proved too much for the E |